#but I have the warden bug tonight | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eldritchaccident · 1 year ago

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Timing: Pre-Goo Location: Some Bar Feat: @mortemoppetere & @eldritchaccident Warnings: Suicidal Ideation tw, alcoholism tw Summary: A good old fashion bar fight.

This isn’t going to help anything. The voice in his head that sounded a little like Juliana — the one that often said things that were true, even when Emilio didn’t want to hear them — was out in full force tonight. Teddy was probably going to die. Levi had been clear about the uncertainty of the ritual he was planning, and Teddy seemed sure that it wouldn’t exactly go their way. Emilio had never been stupid enough for optimism. If both demons involved in this ritual figured it’d kill Teddy, it probably would. Meeting Teddy at a bar with the intention of starting a fight with a stranger would change that. This wasn’t going to help anything. Emilio knew that.

But he was here anyway. His hands were clenched into fists that longed to hit something. It wasn’t going to help anything. It wasn’t. But it might make the noise outside his head a little louder than the noise within it.

Teddy came over, drinks in hand, and Emilio took the glass of whiskey he assumed was for him and drained it in a gulp. “Anybody look like they need punching?” A little too eager, maybe. A little too restless. But hadn’t that always been the story of his fucking life?

—

The drinks and the demon returned with a wild eyed grin that fully answered the question posed. But they decided to confirm it anyway. “Nine o’clock” Teddy gestured with their now empty hand as they watched Emilio down the whiskey. “Beardy over there has been talking up how much he’s been shitting on the new guy at work. Pushing him around. Seems like a real class act.” The man in question had almost a whole foot overtop Teddy, and quite a lot more bulk than either the slayer or the demon. “I think he could use some tips on workplace safety.”

If this was the kind of thing the man liked to brag about in public, there was no telling what kind of heinous shit he got up to in his more private hours. He seemed exactly like the type of person Teddy liked to knock down a few pegs. Exactly the kind of person who would think they could take on two ‘scrawny by comparison’ assholes at a dive bar. Perfect.

—

Emilio’s head turned in the direction Teddy had indicated, and he squinted at the bar through the thin haze the drinks had put over his vision. Teddy said beardy and, nonsensically, Emilio almost expected to see Rhett at the bar. As if his unemployed brother would be bragging about work, as if Emilio wouldn’t have locked in on the warden’s voice if there had been even an inkling of it within the crowd. He wasn’t sure if it was relief or disappointment that flooded him when his eyes found the stranger at the bar instead, but he nodded all the same. “Sure,” he agreed, getting to his feet.

In all honesty, Teddy could have pointed out anyone at the bar and Emilio would have gone for it without hesitation. His skin felt like it was buzzing these days, like there were bugs crawling underneath it. He got like this, sometimes. Restless in a way that meant he couldn’t sit still, lack of focus eating away at everything at once. His mother had always figured the best way to combat it was to give him something to hit, and Emilio defaulted to that tactic now, too. “You coming?” He glanced back to the demon as he took a few steps towards the bar.

—

"Right behind you." Teddy grinned, slipping in step with the slayer. It wasn't a long walk over to the group, and unsurprisingly it wasn't even hard to get the man's attention. Two strangers sauntering over was enough to get him riled in a new way. Apparently the rookie looked enough like Emilio and acted enough like Teddy that beardy was more than ready to start slinging shit the second he saw them both heading over.

Perfect.

"What's this? Some sort of shithead clone convention in town??" Not his best work, but he was a few drinks in and more than a little self satisfied. So he wasn't analyzing his work the way someone else might have.

"Just wanted to see what all the ruckus was about, meet the most amazing manager on the board. I've heard some pretty great things about you." Teddy leaned in, a bit too close, a bit too smiley. Big guy didn't like that.

"The fuck you know about me, huh punk?" As predicted, beardy shoved Teddy. Giving a perfect opening for Emilio to get that first punch in. Teds was a demon of their word after all.

—-

It didn’t matter why Teddy had picked this particular group of people. They could have pointed to anyone in this bar, anyone, and Emilio would have gone with it. It wasn’t just that he trusted them to pick someone worth taking a swing at, though that was the truth — it was that he needed to swing his fist so badly that he didn’t care who he hit with it. He was so full of this pent-up anger, so overflowing with this strange grief. He didn’t know what to do with it.

Emotion was a pointless thing, for a hunter. What you felt would always be less important than what other people felt, because hunters were houses built on sand. They were always going to collapse beneath their own weight sooner rather than later. Other people were meant to be more permanent fixtures, with decent foundations beneath them. Emilio wasn’t a person, but a blade. Sharp and unforgiving. And what was the point of a blade with thoughts and feelings? His mother spent years stripping them from him. He was punished for them until he learned to shove them deep, deep down.

Everything except his anger.

It was always too big to fit in the box with the rest of it, no matter how hard he tried. It was bright and burning, like a wildfire eating through a forest that hadn’t seen rain in years. His mother tried and tried and tried to shrink it down, tried to smother it and to drown it and to beat it out of him, but nothing ever did the trick. Eventually, she decided it could be useful. Joy and sadness were hard to do anything with, but anger could be utilized to sharpen the blade. Emotion was pointless but, eventually, Emilio was allowed to keep his anger.

And he knew how to use it, too.

He didn’t really bother tracking the conversation. He didn’t know what Teddy said, or what was said to them in return. All he knew was that someone shoved them, and his knuckles cracked against a nose hard enough for him to feel bone give way beneath them. There was blood on the bar’s sticky floor, and the fire in his chest burned hot enough to smoke out the emptiness even if it would be a temporary thing. The grief would return, as it always did. This wasn’t going to help anything. Teddy would still be doomed. Emilio would still be unsure how to feel about it. This wasn’t going to help anything.

But he’d always liked the way it felt to crack ribs beneath his knuckles, so he took another swing, anyway.

Someone jumped him from behind, arms wrapping around his throat as they hung off his back, trying to trap his arms so one of the other men could take a cheap shot. Emilio turned, slamming his back against the bar. His heart was pounding, and it felt good even if the wild look in his eyes seemed something less than human.

—

Things escalated quickly, because they were always meant to. Each solid hit ignited an electricity in the air that seemed to incite a bloodlust amongst the bar patrons. An explosion of violence erupted, the scene quickly becoming a volley of fists and elbows. Teddy dodged an incoming blow meant for them, only to have it land squarely on Emilio’s target, beardy didn’t seem to like that very much so he grabbed at the man who had just gone for Ted. Another well timed swing had the demon arching their back over a barstool to avoid, taking to a handstand to get out of the way of a drop-kick.

Gravity pulled Ted’s legs back down towards the floor, only to bring their heel straight down on the noggin of some guy who was going after the slayer with what looked like it intended to be a headbutt. The demon hadn’t always been the most acrobatic, but they were flexible. Ready to make the most out of whatever was coming after them. And right then it was a very robust, hardy looking woman with a leather vest. She grabbed Teddy before they were even upright. She lifted them off the ground and tossed them effortlessly. Like they weren’t even the prime target. There was a fire in her eyes and it was aimed at the man who’d been spouting shit all night. Like she’d been itching for an excuse.

Wait– No. Not an excuse.

She was the security guard. Ruh Roh.

—

Teddy moved with all the fluidity of water. It was hard to keep his eyes off them as they fought, hard to lose himself in the violence the way he’d intended to. There was something magnetic about how Teddy moved, something so alluring. Emilio had training, but it wasn’t the organized kind. His mother taught him how to take a punch long before she’d taught him how to deliver one, and his fighting style reflected as much. Take the hit, then send one back while the person who’d thrown it was off balance. Absorb the blow, push the pain away, and use your opponent’s inability to do the same to your advantage. But the way Teddy fought was different. It looked more like dancing. Emilio thought he could have watched it for hours without losing his fascination for it.

He paid for his lack of concentration by catching a blow to the jaw, but it hardly slowed him down. Emilio was good at taking a beating — on nights like tonight, part of him wanted one. It was so much easier to focus on the rapidly forming bruises that would decorate his face in the morning than it was to focus on the empty feeling that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his gut, or the aching in his chest that wasn’t physical but hurt anyway.

A body entered his line of vision, blocking Teddy off. They were picked up and tossed aside, and Emilio took no notice to who the woman was or who she was heading towards. He was angry, because he always was. He ducked under the arm of the man who’d been trying to hit him, twisted it back until he heard something snap and pushed the body to the floor, then launched himself at the woman who’d just tossed Teddy aside.

—

A mop of curly dark hair with one familiar white streak bounced its way into Emilio's field of view, dramatically shaking from side to side. Just in time to give him a heads up that Teddy was twirling him away. Almost like they were dancing, but this time with him. Ted took the momentum Emilio had already built up and used it to spin him away from and around the woman until he landed square in their arms, one hand on the fist that was going for a punch, and one around the small of the man's waist.

"Security. Avoid." They whispered, before flashing a salacious grin. A quick squeeze then Teddy had already spun Emilio in the opposite direction. Even if they avoided her, they could help thin out the rest of the rowdy crowd.

A man (who must have truly believed that it was his destiny to bring back mutton chops to modern fashion) charged up to Teddy, must have been beardy's right hand man 'cause he was pissed. Practically seething. His actions were predictable, in a way that Ted had no shortage of fun with. The demon kept their manic grin, slipped their hands in their pockets and barely had to move their head at all to avoid the incoming blows. This, of course, infuriated him. Baiting him further like a bull seeing red.

Teddy carefully stepped through the fray, backwards, taking a whole bunch of notes from those old kung-fu movies they loved to watch. When mutton chops finally lost it and went for the tackle, Teddy smirked and fully jumped over him. Letting the man spill out the open door and onto the concrete sidewalk, face first. He didn't really look like he was getting up any time soon. Good.

—

Before he could land a hit, a pair of arms grabbed him. For a moment, Emilio struggled in the grip, still worked up over the fight, but the familiar scent of sulfur and Teddy’s body wash clued him in on just who had grabbed him, and he forced himself to relax as much as he could. His muscles were still taut, his body still poised for a fight, but Teddy was as far from his intended target as a person could be, and Emilio didn’t want to risk tossing them someplace.

They spoke, and his eyes settled on the bouncer. Vaguely familiar, giving him a look as she grabbed for the bearded stranger who’d started the mess. Emilio scowled at her to show his displeasure, but allowed Teddy to spin him away to focus on someone else.

Someone dove for him, and Emilio let them get a hit in before twisting their arm with a brutal pop, tossing him aside as he let out a strangled cry of pain. The next man to come at him got a broken nose, the next a sharp knee to the ribs. There was an undeniable brutality to the hits the detective was delivering. They weren’t entirely warranted, given the situation. It was a barfight, but to Emilio, it might as well have been a warzone. His chest was heaving, his eyes wild.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he spun around again, ready to throw another punch, but it was caught in the bouncer’s hand. She motioned to the floor behind him, littered with men he’d taken out and men Teddy had, with clear markings as to who’d taken on which group. The people Emilio fought were in much rougher shape, it seemed. “Get off me,” he mumbled, yanking his fist out of her grip. He sulked over to Teddy, angry that the fight was over, angry that it hadn’t been more of a fight, angry that he was angry. “Bouncer says I have to stop,” he said bitterly, hands clenched into tight, trembling fists at his side.

—

This time Teddy got to watch the champion at work. Emilio masterfully moved throughout the remains of the crowd, applying pressure where needed. Making more than quick work of the stragglers until the only ones left standing were the bouncer and them. While Teddy could certainly appreciate the man for everything outside of his fighting prowess (of which he would no doubtedly deny there was anything he was good for outside of his fighting prowess) they couldn't help but marvel at every strike. No wasted energy, quick, efficient, maybe taking a few more blows than necessary but always with a goal in mind.

Each crack or pop sent a thrill through Teddy that they might have rejected months ago, but now? Now it was like watching a goddamn superhero. Well. Maybe an antihero. Like… The Punisher or Red Hood. Two references Emilio wouldn't ever understand without outside influence. Unfortunately that thought was all it took to remind the demon of how short their time left together was.

How many more adventures could they get up to before the research for the ritual was finished, was at its inevitable dead end? How many bar fights, how many drinks, how many days?

Even trying to violently shake the ideas away from their head didn't do much to brighten their mood. The more the adrenaline rush from the fight wore off the worse they felt. What did appear to work, was that Emilio was coming over to them. The smile returned, the awe they felt at his skill winning the internal struggle. A sulky sunken expression blanketed Emilio's features. The bouncer told him to stop, but she was making no move to admonish either of them further. At least not right away. So of course, Teddy had to shower him with compliments.

"Holy shit Em, that one move you did with the arm bar? That was incredible." Teddy slung an arm around his shoulders, knocked their head into his in a moment of breathless delight. "Then the way you absolutely flattened that other guy, just wow."

—

Where Emilio was angry and empty and dark, Teddy was excited and bouncing and bright. It was a game to both of them, the slayer realized, just in vastly different ways. To Emilio, violence was a game the way war was a game. It was dirty and gritty and necessary, was something where losing and dying were the same thing, where winning felt empty and brought more guilt than satisfaction. To Teddy, it seemed more like a traditional game, with pieces to move and dice to roll. There were winners and losers, but not in a permanent sense. And Emilio wondered what that was like, how it would feel to partake in things like this without them being the be all end all, without it being a measure of your worth.

Would Teddy still look at him with those bright eyes if he’d lost the fight? With anyone else, the question would have seemed ridiculous. It would have been such an obvious no, such a clear negative. How could anyone think him worth something if he lost? How could anyone want to keep him around? But Teddy, Emilio was learning, was different. They’d probably stare at him with just as much wonder if he’d come away the loser as they were looking at him now. He didn’t understand it. He wasn’t sure he ever would. In a matter of weeks (or maybe days), the ritual with Leviathan would be complete, and Teddy would be gone. Another name etched into the graveyard of Emilio’s chest, another person he’d never had any chance of saving. He couldn’t let himself get used to that look on their face; he wouldn’t be seeing it for long.

But it still felt a little nice to be complimented. No one had ever really done it before. Had his mother been here, she would have pointed out the things he’d done wrong. He’d been too slow with his uppercut. His leg was a problem — he’d felt it tremble when he’d lifted his good one to swipe the feet out from under the third man who’d come at him. He was sloppy with his elbow jabs. He’d had weapons tucked in his jacket that could have been used against him if his opponents had been smart enough to find them. Emilio had a list of ways he’d failed in the altercation, but Teddy seemed content to marvel at things that had looked cool or ways he’d come out on top. And Emilio hated the warmth that filled his chest at the demon’s words. It wasn’t allowed to last, and it would be so much colder when it was gone.

“It wasn’t so good,” he replied with a shrug, but he made no move to duck out from under Teddy’s arm. “You looked better.” Their grace was something he’d never learned how to match, because it hadn’t mattered. Hunters were tanks, designed to take the hit so that no one else had to. If they bled, it was because they were meant to. If they died, it was how things were supposed to be. Teddy fought differently. Like they didn’t want anyone to bleed, even themself. It was strange, to someone like Emilio.

—

Teddy’s features scrunched into a mock-incredulity as Emilio did the thing he was best at, talking shit about himself. Truly nothing surpassed his need to self-flaggelate at any turn. Ted palmed the slayer’s whole face as if they were wiping away the notion. “There’s no world where I looked better than you in a fight. Have you seen your biceps? I’m pretty sure they invented the phrase rippling muscles after taking one peek at you.” The demon hadn’t ever seen anything quite like it. Even professional boxers or MMA fighters couldn’t hold a candle to what they had just witnessed.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure I look a lot like a chicken with its head cut off whenever I’m in a big scrap. Waddling around having no idea what the hell I’m actually doing.” True, Teds didn’t have any formal training. They had mostly just grown up getting into too many scrapes with shitty teens before dropping out of school entirely. With all the moving and the weirdness surrounding them, they were an easy target. Or they should have been. Quick reflexes and a little demon magic made them a bit more slippery than most bullies and jocks would like.

“I just think you looked pretty ama–”

“Oi. You two. C’mere.” A rough voice with a thick Jersey accent cut off Teddy’s next wave of compliments. Stopping them in their tracks and bidding the demon to look over. The security guard. Oh. Guess they weren’t out of hot water just yet. Teddy offered an apologetic smile, which she returned with more of a grimace. “Listen boys, we gotta have a talk, probably in private unless you want all our friends here to wake up while we’re havin’ it.” She motioned towards the back door, or at least one that lead further into the building rather than out of it.

Teddy peeked over at Emilio, a little dumbstruck, a little giddy, and shrugged. Bouncer lady didn’t seem to pay them much mind during the fight, and it didn’t look like she was gearing up to get them in trouble. The rest of the mess would clean itself up. The ER was probably about to get a decent influx in the next couple hours. The thought alone was enough to make the demon smile. Justice, they figured, for all the shitty deeds and shitty things these guys had said or done.

—

Teddy’s hand found his face, and Emilio wrinkled his nose against the demon’s palm. He knew he looked good, of course; of all the carefully tucked away insecurities the slayer held, few were about his physical appearance. But the way he fought? He’d learned at an early age to scrutinize himself there, to pick apart every punch he threw and try to determine where he’d gone wrong with it. The way Teddy fought looked like water in motion. An ocean wave collapsing overtop itself in absolute fluidity, always flowing with grace. By comparison, Emilio was a bulldozer. There wasn’t anything pretty about it.

“I find that hard to believe,” Emilio replied, ducking away from Teddy’s palm to avoid having his voice muffled by their hand. “You’re quick on your feet. Goes a long way in a fight.” Emilio used to be able to claim the same. Rosa was more skilled than him, and Edgar was stronger, but Emilio had always been able to boast that he was fast. He’d been good at ducking and swerving, even if his mother had never seen it as a skill worth having. He’d lost that in the massacre along with everything else, felt it slip through his fingers along with the full range of motion in his leg. And there was no one around to judge him for it, of course, but he assigned his mother’s disdain to himself, anyway. He still heard her in his head sometimes, even now.

But… not right now. Right now, all he heard was Teddy, saying all the things he hadn’t heard as a kid desperate to prove himself.

At least, up until the moment they were interrupted. Irritation flared in Emilio’s chest as the security guard stepped in to break up the conversation the same way she’d broken up the fight, and she didn’t seem particularly put off by the glare Emilio shot her. There wasn’t much he wanted to talk about. The fight was over, the emptiness it had so briefly replaced was seeping back into his bones, and there was little more to do about it. But it seemed to be less of a request and more of a demand, and Emilio didn’t particularly want to be banned from the bar, so he nodded.

“All right, all right.” He raised his hands in a motion of surrender, tugging Teddy along towards the door. The back alley was a familiar one. He was pretty sure he’d been tossed out that door more than once, for various reasons. It was a little strange walking through it on his own two feet now. He did take some satisfaction in walking by the unconscious pile of guys he and Teddy had taken out, though he didn’t take much time to revel in it. Maybe later.

—

The pair was led around and once the back door was closed behind them the security guard lit up a cigarette and took a long deep drag while eyeing both of them. Teddy felt a little like a teen being scrutinized by a teacher who didn't know whether to punish or praise them. She quirked a brow and pulled the cigarette from her lips, then tossed it down and stamped it out. "Terrible habit, my wife's been gettin' on me to stop, but yous two–" The woman shook her head and let out an exasperated sigh. "Now what the hell is a hunter doin' pickin' fights with human assholes? Run out of shit to stab?"

She stared at Emilio for a bit before turning her attention towards Ted. "And you, I don't know what you are and frankly, I don't give a shit. You don't move like a hunter but hey, maybe there's some new age hippie bullshit hunter family out there, or maybe you're some shifter or somethin'. I. Don't. Care." She made a point of stressing each word, clearly knowing exactly what a normal hunter might think of one of theirs hanging with one of them. "Ya just can't fuckin do that shit. Even if yous was right, even if they deserved it."

"Wha-a-aat?" Teddy was the first to break their side of the silence. A smile blossoming from their joyful confusion. "So we–"

"You ain't in trouble. No." She held her gaze for another beat then pinched the bridge of her nose as Teddy's expression bloomed into one of sheer delight. "Yeah, yeah, I'd be a lot more pissed off if yous didn't just take care of the biggest problem I've had for the last month or so. Jimmy back there is a real fuck. So, thank you for that." Another pause. "Rhonda. That's me. You two alright?"

—

Emilio glared sullenly at the bouncer, fingers itching to pull out his own pack of smokes and light one up. He resisted the urge, if only because doing so seemed like confessing to having a need, and need and weakness had always been synonyms to his addled mind. The glare only intensified as she called him out, arms moving to cross over his chest as he tilted his chin up. He gave no verbal answer to her question, mostly because she was right. He shouldn’t be picking fights with run-of-the-mill humans, but he was so fucking angry, all the goddamn time. Especially now, especially with the knowledge that Teddy would be dead in a few days time, just after he’d finally managed to befriend them.

“They’re human,” he snapped when she turned her attention towards Teddy, because if she recognized Emilio as a hunter then that probably meant that she was one, too. Teddy only had a short amount of time left, but Emilio wouldn’t let anybody make it shorter. “And we can do whatever the fuck we want. They don’t like it, they can stop talking shit.”

But… the bouncer wasn’t angry. It took Emilio longer than it should have to recognize it. His own anger burned so hot that he assigned it to everyone else, too, sometimes. He pretended it was too big to be his alone, that other people must have felt the same. But she didn’t. Rhonda, as she introduced herself, wasn’t responsible for the fire burning in the slayer’s chest. It was just his. It always had been. “We’re fine,” he said, still snappish but a little less fiery now. “Didn’t need you stepping in. Are we done here?”

—

A curious and confused smile pulled at Teddy's cheeks and brows, staring again at the slayer who so ardently defended their 'humanity' to the other hunter. Was she a hunter? Kinda seemed like that's what she was alluding to. But in the same breath she was acting a lot more like Emilio than any other hunter they had ever met. Kind. Almost, almost, level headed. Able to think past the programming at least. Teddy kinda liked her.

"How about you though, did you catch any hands?" Okay, so they weren't ignoring the fact that Emilio clearly wanted to skiddadle, just... Being a good sport. Returning the courtesy. They did however elbow the slayer for being such a grump. "She wasn't stepping in to help us dumbass, she was doing her job."

"Hah. Just what I was gonna say. You started a bar fight. Those ain't supposed to happen. I figure I'm lettin' you off easy." Rhonda leaned a massive shoulder against the cool brick of the building. She slipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out her phone. "I've seen you around." She motioned with her free hand towards Emilio again. "Got a temper like a wasp's nest, but at least you tend to go after the real shitheels. Seen you knock a ranger out flat one punch. Pretty damn impressive. Also seen you defend a young vamp who was being harassed. Kid's a friend of mine. Jodi. Sweet. Tries real hard to be a good one. You helpin' her? Makes you alright in my book."

Rhonda spoke and Teddy's smile grew into a grin. She was fussing with her phone, obviously looking something up. The demon looked over at Emilio, trying to gauge his reaction to all this. Guess he wasn't the only one out there detectiving on people. Though hers didn't sound so much like a profession as a hobby. Maybe an acquired skill?

"Look yous two can go on your way, but uhh– Jenny says I gotta be more social. Here's my number, you run into something that needs more than your human buddy right there, you call me capiche?" She held out her phone like it was a business card, and even if Emilio might not move to take her offer, Teddy was right there taking the number down.

"Well, give Jenny our appreciation then." The demon smiled over at their new buddy. "I'm Teddy. This is Emilio. He is actually capable of smiling, which came as a surprise to me too."

—-

The tension didn’t bleed from Emilio’s shoulders, even as Teddy turned to look at him. He was on edge, though that was hardly a thing worth noting. When wasn’t he on edge? Emilio had lived most of his life in a state of fight or flight, but it had only gotten worse since the massacre. There were times when he seemed physically incapable of relaxing, the paranoia and restlessness eating through him like a hungry beast. He didn’t want to be this way, but he didn’t quite know how to be anything else, either. So he let the anger settle, let it twist his features into a scowl even as Teddy continued speaking to Rhonda in a friendly manner.

“Well, if she did her job better, there wouldn’t be any bar fights,” he replied flatly, as if he hadn’t been the one to start the bar fight. He tensed a little more as Rhonda’s hand went into her pocket, instinctively reaching for the knife in his own. But… she pulled out a fucking phone, and he felt like an idiot for the way his hand trembled as he released the blade, for the way he had to stuff it into the pocket of his jeans to keep the shaking from turning into something more obvious. Rhonda mentioned seeing him in the past, and Emilio wondered, for a moment, if she was the kind of hunter who’d take someone out for choosing to help a vampire or punch a ranger. She didn’t seem like it, but the question still lingered. “Not going to kill someone just for being,” he said, like it was a challenge.

He thought of the vampire who’d cornered him outside his apartment building, the way he’d been able to justify killing children in Mexico so easily because they were hunters. He thought of Teagan and her traps, too, of how it didn’t matter who was caught in them so long as their genes went a certain way. It was shit. Whether it was a hunter or someone hunting hunters, it was all shit. Killing someone for the way they’d been born or what they’d been made into wasn’t an excusable thing for Emilio anymore. Not after Mexico. Not after Flora. Most hunters didn’t agree with him, but Rhonda seemed to. He didn’t relax entirely, but he let his shoulders untighten just a little.

She held her phone out, and Emilio just stared at it. Teddy, it seemed, was invested enough to take the number down for him, which wasn’t as surprising as it probably should have been. Emilio glanced over to them, to the grin on their face. Knowing them, they were probably doing it to… give Emilio someone to watch his back when the ritual went how it would doubtlessly go. As if he deserved that, as if he wanted it. He scowled again, looking sullen. “Asshole,” he mumbled in Teddy’s direction, rolling his eyes as they insisted that he could smile. He reached out, grabbing Teddy by the arm because they’d talk all night if nobody stopped them and he knew it. “You ready to go?”

—

Emilio grabbed their arm and they knew that this new little game was at an end. Not in a particularly bad way, ‘cause hey, all things considered Teddy thought it was a pretty great night. “Yeah alrighty.” They turned from the slayer one last time for a quick “Very nice to meet you Rhonda!” As they were already being whisked back inside by the detective. “Give Jenny our love!” They added from a few paces away. Rhonda, for her part, simply chuffed and struck up another cigarette. Mumbling something about already regretting giving out her number in a tone that reminded the demon far too much of every time Emilio tried to hide his growing fondness with anger.

The bar had a very different feel when they re-entered. The few patrons who weren’t in the skiffle had finally settled down, though they visibly stiffened when the pair walked past. Far too busy with themselves to notice anyone in particular. A shame, because a familiar face sat in the back corner, curt and seething with Well fine. If they were going to play games, she could too. Emilio Cortez had another thing coming. Sooner or later, she’d get him and his little shithead too.

#wickedswriting #mortemoppetere #eldritchaccident #alcoholism tw #suicidal ideation tw #gun tw #only in the picture #no guns in the thing

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stickswrites · 3 years ago

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Because ya boi is in a weird/off mood tonight I’m writing some relationship headcanons for C! Sam

Warnings: mentions of stress, mentions of Tommy’s death

Gn! Reader x C! Sam

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

- Sam is literally the sweetest person to you and loves and supports you no matter what

- You guys met when you were helping Ranboo and Tommy out with a few things and he was just immediately flustered by you

- Was definitely not (read as “definitely”) forced by Tommy and Tubbo to tell you how he felt about you

- You and Sam live on his little island base together and whenever he comes home you are waiting out on the dock every time just to make sure he knows you’re still there

- When he gets on the dock, he greets you with a sweet and loving kiss and apologizes for making you wait for him

- One of the things Sam is the most insecure about is the fact that he can’t spend a lot of time with you due to his responsibilities as warden at the prison

- He stresses out about you leaving him for someone that can give you more time and attention even though you always reassure him, saying that you love him and only him

- Sometimes being the warden at the prison is too much stress and leads Sam to have nightmares. When that happens, you wake him up as gently as possible

- If he wants to talk about it, you guys both go make a cup of tea and sit down in the living room

- If he doesn’t want to talk about it, he’ll cuddle into you, hugging your waist and nestling his face into the crook of your neck and fall asleep knowing you are right there in his arms

- After Tommy’s death, he is absolutely devastated and completely blames himself. You’re right there telling him that it wasn’t his fault but he doesn’t entirely believe you

- While Tommy was dead was when Sam had the most nightmares

- You and Sam built the small, unofficial grave for Tommy to try to help Sam get closure

- When Tommy was revived, it was like Sam was a whole new person

- He seemed revitalized and he tried to make more of an effort to spend time with you because he knew that you never know how long you may have with someone

- Believe it or not, Sam is a huge cuddle bug and will just pull you down onto the couch or bed to cuddle with him if he thinks you’re working too hard

- Mumbles something about “we can deal with that later, let me love you” and you know that there is no escape from him. Not that you mind of course

- He tries his best to make sure that he doesn’t let his work life interfere with his relationship and you always reassure him that it’s okay if there’s a little crossover and that you don’t mind as long as he makes it back home to you at the end of the day

- Listen I just have so many feelings about soft Sam who does everything in his power to make his relationship with you as normal and loving as possible

- I’ll probably add onto these at another point in time but for now, I’m calling it here

Hope you all enjoyed!!

#c!sam #c!awesamdude #awesamdude x reader #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp x gender neutral reader #dsmp sam #dsmp imagine #dream smp imagines #mcyt x reader #dsmp headcanon #awesamdude headcanons

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bitesizedpromises · 2 years ago

Text

An endless road to you

ZevWarden Week 2022 Day 1 - Culture

Pairing: Zevran/Katoss (Original Non-Warden Character)

The artist wanted to paint the wind, and he saw that he was always painting something else.

Zevran looked up. The sky was ink black, but clear; the only flaw in its smooth velvet surface was the moon which hovered right above his head, perfectly round and shiny like a newly minted coin. The air was warm, bugs and critters of various species were singing their songs in the foliage around them.

Zevran put another log in the fire. The wood cracked and then a handful of embers flew into the air, dancing before his eyes for a split second before fading away. Zevran sighed in content and leaned back again. In many ways, he thought, tonight was a perfect night.

Having been disturbed by the movement, Katoss opened his eyes. He watched Zevran for a few moments, then reached up lazily, took hold of a strand of hair and tugged on it to get his attention.

„You look so forlorn, my lord,“ Katoss said with a smile. “Are you perhaps bemoaning your fate of being left behind while our friends are currently facing darkspawn fangs and talons?”

“Would it be unnatural if I am?" Zevran asked. "Our brave comrades are making their place in history. And we ...” He paused and looked down. Katoss was smiling at him. One eyebrow was arched up, and his eyes were sparkling with a silent challenge. Zevran realized another game had started, and he continued with a chuckle. “And we are sitting here, in this quiet warm place, completely out of harm's way. Oh, tell me, my beauty, are we not the most wretched souls in all of Thedas!”

Katoss laughed. He was lying on the ground, with his head resting on Zevran's lap. He'd flung one long leg over the other and was slowly swaying his foot in the air, following a rhythm only he could hear. His hair was spilled over Zevran's thighs like molten copper.

„Then what is weighing on your heart?“ Katoss asked. He reached up again, this time brushing his fingertips against Zevran's forehead. “Right here, do you feel that? You're getting wrinkles already.”

„Wrinkles are like patina on brass – a sign of quality and experience!“ Zevran turned away, slightly indignant and the insinuation that a mere wrinkle could tarnish his face. “But you are right, my beautiful boy, that I am feeling a bit melancholic right now. Look at this night before us – such perfection! A night that I have always dreamed of. And now that I have it, it is all thanks to my failure!”

„Failure?“

"I was sent here to kill Alistair,“ Zevran reminded him with a smile. “Alas, he lives still. He might die before the sun is up, but that won't be because of me. In many ways, I have failed the Crows, and yet I am being rewarded for it.”

He had to lose everything to finally find what he'd always been looking for. Fate, he thought, had a twisted sense of humour indeed.

“How funny, to see your inability to take someone's life as a failure,” Katoss said. “Is this how people in Antiva think, my lord?”

„I suppose many do.“ Zevran shrugged. “Living with Crows among you can turn a man into a realist very quickly.”

He thought back on his childhood. Even when he still lived in the brothel, he'd known death. It was a constant presence in Antiva. He remembered one time, he was hiding in the alley and enjoying a pastry he'd filched from a baker's cart, when he stumbled upon a man who was a regular at the brothel. He was a Rivaini pirate who boasted that he was as rich as Orlais. He even had golden tattoos sprawling all over his back and his arms. It was thanks to the tattoos that Zevran was able to recognize him, as the head was missing.

Corpses were a usual occurrence in the streets of Antiva, he thought as he smiled fondly. In some streets, even, they were simply part of the landscape.

„Of course,“ Zevran said, continuing his musings out loud, “there's a bright side to it, too. Death makes one value life more.”

“What do you mean?”

„Well, my fragrant flower,“ Zevran smirked and pinched Katoss on the nose, “if you are aware of the fact that each day could be your last, you want to experience as many pleasures of life as you can. Why put off all those fun stuff like dancing, drinking, making love, if you know that you might not get to them later?” He sighed wistfully. “We Antivans, we like to live for the day, before our end arrives.”

„Ah, I see now.“ Katoss nodded. “That's the best way for one to live, isn't it? It was the same back in the Pearl. Fancy clothes, good food and wine, jewellery, we got it all … as long as we earned good money. And really, with our life, we only have a handful of years before we get tossed out and replaced, so we might as well enjoy the finer things in life while it lasted.” He suddenly burst into a giggling fit. “I guess whores and Antivans have some things in common!”

Zevran looked at him. It was odd, the way his little dancer's mind worked at times. He could never when Katoss was joking; he was starting to suspect that perhaps Katoss viewed life itself as one big jest.

Katoss sudden stirred and a soft sigh rolled off his lips. He sat up with a groan and stretched out his arms until his joints cracked. Then he arched his back, very much like a cat would after a long nap. Finally, he turned to Zevran and leaned in until his forehead was pressing against Zevran's shoulder.

„Do tell me more about Antiva, my lord,“ he said, purring softly as he snaked his arms around Zevran's waist. “But I want to hear the good parts only.”

Zevran grinned. He wrapped an arm around Katoss and pulled him in, then began stroking his hair.

„You want to hear about the Antiva of my heart?“ He said. “Very well, listen carefully then. My Antiva ...”

He fell silent and closed his eyes for a moment, wondering just how he could detail the picture that arose in his mind, of the land which he pined for, which was as real as a tablecloth of the finest silk that had seen a thousand feasts. Yes, it was still there, but dirty and tattered, its beauty damaged beyond repair.

„My Antiva is wonderful. Sunny, always sunny, always warm and golden. Oh, if you could only see it, my Katoss! The land of love, of wine, of joy!“

„The land of riches?“ Katoss asked, chuckling.

„Who needs money when you have love and wine. And adventure!“

„We are on an adventure now,“ Katoss said, laughing. "You must be very happy then."

„Bah!“ Zevran waved his hand. “You call this a true adventure? Cold and deadly, and save for you, I find our companions a rather dreadful lot. Where's the fun, the passion?!" He sighed and shook his head. "No, my flower, I am talking about the adventures that bards sing of! You've heard of them – daring rebels, bold pirates, rugged scoundrels climbing towers and seducing queens!” Zevran closed his eyes and sighed again. “Why are you Fereldans allergic to romance? Your lives are so dull and grey!”

"All of us?"

Katoss was looking at him. His voice was quiet, broken as if on the verge of tears. A masterful performance that would have taken Zevran in, had he not been aware of Katoss's tricks by now. Though the tone was sorrowful, his eyes were sparkling with mirth and mischief. Once he realized he was caught, Katoss threw his head back and laughed.

Zevran laughed too. He reached up and dug his hand into Katoss's hair, marveling at how smooth it was. He'd never seen Katoss brush it, yet it was always soft, with no traces of knots to hinder his fingers. Zevran smiled and leaned closer, his stomach tightening in anticipation.

Then, as he came within an inch of Katoss's face, Katoss suddenly pulled back.

"Ah, perhaps I shouldn't torture you with my dull and boring lips, my lord," he said. "After all, you pine for passion and adventure!"

He got up do swiftly that Zevran, who was already dizzy by the sudden drop in mood, stumbled backwards. Katoss started walking away, but paused after a few steps. He looked back at Zevran and gave him a sweet smile.

"What a pity that I am not a queen, my lord, for you to seduce."

Ah! So the game was still on! Perhaps Katoss had some Antivan in his blood after all. Zevran jumped to his feet, his lips stretching into a grin.

"I can still be a scoundrel."

He chased after Katoss. The two ran through the camp, Katoss's long legs keeping him at a distance from Zevran, until he finally slowed down when they reached their tent and allowed Zevran to capture him. Zevran embraced him and lifted him, and then finally pulled Katoss in to get the kiss he'd earned.

Later, when they were lying together, Katoss still clinging to him, his fiery hair glued to Zevran's chest, Zevran thought that perhaps the Antiva in his heart was not gone after all. It just wasn't where he'd thought he would find it.

#zevwarden week 2022 #zevran arainai #katoss #zevran x katoss #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age fanfiction

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bellafragolina · 3 years ago

Note

hello hello! i’m a bit tired tonight and trying to recover from a very weird migraine (it’s one of those migraines that lasts for the whole day and makes you feel nauseous the whole time… it sucks). instead of bugs being on my mind, i’ve been thinking a lot about warden ingo. a whole lot. and reading your spicy headcanons and drabbles featuring him… *fans self dramatically* we must stay focused brothers, we MUST stay focused…. i do have a quick question before i send in my request, though: would you feel comfortable writing for a transmasculine reader? i don’t see much spice at all where the reader is trans and i am craving it LOL. it’s okay if not though! hope you’re having a wonderful night! —🐛

Hello! I'm happy to write for a trans-masc reader! I'm not trans myself, though, so I'm afraid it won't be terribly accurate! Still, I'm willing to give it my best shot for you! And of course, you can always tell me if there's something within it that you want fixed, and I'll happily fix it for you!!

I hope your migraine gets better soon! I have an arsenal of Ingo smut in the masterlist for your perusal if it helps you feel better! Otherwise, I'm sending you hugs from me and the katydids!! If you feel weird little legs on you, that's just us! Don't worry!

We love you, 🐛 anon!! <3

~Renee

#🐛 anon #feel better sweetheart #<3<3<3

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imagine-darksiders · 4 years ago

Text

Cold Hands, Warm Heart.

Chapter 13 - Nepenthe.

Summary: Upon returning to Tri Stone, you discover just how much of an impact you’ve made on the makers there....

Tags: Darksiders, Found Family, Fluff, Death X Reader, Dust is here too, Muscly women, giant dads, giant mother, Idk what Alya is? Feral?

-----

The first thing you notice when you step through the yawning hole that serves as Tri Stone's main gateway, is that the village is eerily, uncharacteristically quiet.

Nothing but the strange duet of lava and water murmuring side by side disturbs the blanket of silence that has settled upon every corner, and even the wind seems to hold its breath as you follow Death over to the stone staircase. Tentative in the face of such a noticeably change, you begin to descend, taking a peek over the wall's side to cast your eyes warily around the training circle where Thane is typically busy laying waste to his wooden dummies. Tonight however, the warrior is nowhere to be found.

“Where is everyone?” you ask aloud, not expecting any kind of answer from the night air or the insects chirping in nearby trees.

Death slows to let you catch up and, providing his own answer to your question, he points a finger down the length of the village, guiding your eyes to the vast doors that lead into the maker's forge. Brows furrowing, you venture up beside him and begin to hear muffled shouting from inside. The closer you get, the louder and sharper it grows.

“That... sounds like Thane, huh?” you gulp, earning a snort from the Horseman.

“It certainly does.”

There are no discernible words, not until you reach the door and Death moves ahead of you to slide them open. As soon as there's a gap to slip through, he nudges you inside and is about to follow when a flurry of pitch-black feathers shoots part his nose and into the forge behind you. Death glares at his bird's receding tail feathers and grumbles, “Oh, by all means, after you.” Then, he too steps inside, letting the door close with a dull thud.

Evidently, your guess as to the owner of the muffled voice had been spot on.

“Yer bloody LUCKY she wasn't hurt!” Thane's roar bounces around the cavernous room and you're fairly certain the force of it dislodges some dust that rains down on you from the ceiling.

All six of the makers are gathered around the anvil in the centre of their forge with a familiar youngling hunched in the middle of them, his ears cast down and his spine bowed under the torrent of scolding he's apparently received before you even arrived. None of them have noticed the newcomers ambling slowly down the hall towards them. As you reluctantly fall behind Death’s longer stride, you can hear the meagre defence Karn is presenting to a notably furious Thane.

“I weren't gonna let anythin' bad happen to her!” he whines.

A patient sigh alerts you to Eideard's presence as he steps up to Thane and rests a hand on his shoulder, tugging him back a little to give Karn some breathing room. “We know you weren't, young one,” he says with the patience of an experienced mother, “And we're sure you were more than prepared to protect her if you had to. But that is besides the -”

“Oh hooo, no. No, you don't!” Thane roughly shrugs the Old One's hand off and whips around to face him. “Don't you start coddlin' the boy! He needs to know he crossed a damn line!”

The last word booms out like a clap of thunder and almost has you ducking behind the safety of the Horseman.

As it turns out, makers absolutely can be as scary – if not scarier than - Death.

You'd never stopped noticing their size, but you violently recall how much bigger makers are when Thane draws himself to his full height. There's a stony edge to his tone that's harder than the surface you walk upon and each ragged breath is puffed out through flaring nostrils, reminding you more of a beast than a man. Even Karn looks as though he wants nothing more than to sink into the ground and escape from the tirade and the judgemental eyes of his fellow makers.

He's fiddling with something in his hands, turning the object over and over anxiously and although you're at a distance, when a flash of copper glints in the firelight, you recognise it as the lost compass you'd found for him in the Temple. His knuckles are almost bone-white as he clings to it with his ungloved hands and every reprimand that Thane tosses his way causes the youngling's fingers to flinch. For all of Karn's size and strength, in the face of Thane's chastising, he looks as though all the courage has been sapped right out of him.

Something in your belly suddenly twists itself into a hot, ugly coil and any dread is replaced with indignation. The gleaming tusks of Tri Stone’s resident warrior don’t seem nearly as intimidating after you’ve seen your friend cowering in a horribly familiar reflection of yourself.

If you could face down the Grim Reaper in Karn's defence, then you sure as Hell aren't about to refrain from defending him again now.

Rolling up your sleeves, you begin to march up ahead of Death, missing the shock that flashes in his eyes and the hand he shoots out to grab at your arm. The Horseman barely manages to keep his fingers from curling into the back of your jumper before he freezes, blinking down at his appendage in surprise. The reaction to try and hold you back had been completely driven by instinct as some older, more cautious part of him recalled how dangerous an angry maker can be.

‘No need to worry about Thane hurting her though,’ he rationalises. Seconds later, Death remembers to aggressively assert to himself that he was not, in fact worried. Snapping his gaze away from his hand, he pads along behind you as you reach the foot of the steps and raise your voice to be heard over Thane's new bout of hollering.

“HEY! Leave him alone!”

The Horseman rolls his eyes. 'Oh, that'll be effective,' he scoffs to himself.

More fool him because funnily enough, it is.

Thane's tirade is promptly cut off at your shout and he swings his head around towards you, his lips falling to cover the tusks jutting from his lower jaw. “Lass?”

Alya and Valus immediately perk up at the sight of you and Muria splays her fingers over her heart, breathing a quiet sigh. “Thank the Stonefather...”

Even Eideard leans a little more heavily against his staff when his old bones are flooded by a dizzying wave of relief washing through them.

Ignoring the others, you march up the stairs like a human on a mission, striding forward until you come to Karn's side and proceed to park yourself directly in front of him, folding your arms and tipping your chin back to glare at Thane. “I've said it to Death and I'm not afraid to say it to you as well!-” That isn't entirely true, given how clammy your hands are becoming as you meet the warrior's steely gaze. “- Don't take it out on Karn! I'm the one you should be yelling at.”

The enormous warrior stares you down with his clouded eye screwed shut and his chest heaving. He's torn, for a moment, between relief at seeing you back unharmed and anger that you'd managed to slip past him earlier. The whole forge seems to wait with bated breath as his face tries to settle on one expression until at last, he curls his lip and looks like he's about to take your advice and divert his frustrations onto you instead of the youngling. Before he can however, there's the sound of a throat being softly cleared and it draws his stare to where the Horseman is leaning back against the surrounding wall.

Death isn't making eye contact with him, apparently too busy inspecting some dirt beneath his fingernails, but the message conveyed in his over-casual stance and hardened jawline is clear to the warrior.

'Don't.'

Thane clenches his teeth as he swaps a heated look between you and the Horseman a few times before he finally lets out a bearish grunt and stabs a finger down in your face, giving it a shake for good measure. “You and Karn,” he growls, “have about as much sense between you as a... as a bloody bomb bug.” And with that cutting retort, he storms past Karn, making sure to collide with the youngling's shoulder on the way.

'Oh,' you blink, pleasantly surprised when Thane doesn't utter anything further as he trudges to the wall and lets his arms slump over the ledge with a churlish huff, 'Is that it?' You'd been prepared for a much louder confrontation.

With a shrug, you peer up at the young maker at your side, finding his eyes are already locked on you and he's sporting a crooked grin.

“You okay?” you mouth.

He whispers back a soft, 'Yeah,' before a wrinkled hand falls on his shoulder and he's guided aside, leaving room for Eideard to step forwards and look down at you. “Y/n, Death. It is good to see you both return in one piece,” he says, giving you a pointed stare, “Thane told us the Horseman had left you here, so when we couldn't find you, I’m afraid we assumed the worst.”

Unable to hold herself back any longer, Alya jumps in, glaring at Karn. “Aye! N' when we realised this howlin' eejit was gone as well, we put two an' two together!”

“Alya!” Muria all but gasps in her direction.

“What? He is an eejit!”

“Alya, for goodness sake, don't be so childish.”

The young maker crosses her arms, lips pursed.

Shooting her a withering glance, Eideard clears his throat. “In any event, the important thing is that you didn't come to any further harm. And-” He lowers his eyes to Death. “- You managed to awaken the Warden. His help will be instrumental in reaching the Foundry.” The Old One then bows his head in a show of both respect and gratitude, uttering, “Thank you, Horseman.”

Regarding how Death's eyes flicker, you imagine he may never get used to receiving a heartfelt 'thank you.' As if he's doubly eager to shrug off Eideard's words, the Horseman pushes himself off the wall and wanders over to you. “Don't thank me just yet, Old one. I have yet to awaken your Guardian.”

“Given your track record, I have no doubt you will succeed in that endeavour as well,” the maker smiles, though the expression soon turns more serious and he adds, “You must, if you want to reach the Tree of Life.”

His pale eyes flick down to you before darting away again so quickly, you nearly miss the movement.

“Ah... Horseman. I understand you are eager to reach the Tree, but...” He stops to think for a moment, unsure of how to phrase his question without insulting Death's abilities. Eventually, he settles on, “The Foundry is dangerous enough in the daylight. Do you intend to tackle it tonight?”

Death narrows his eyes. He knows what the old maker is doing. It's a subtle attempt to keep you in the Forge for a few more hours, to give you some time to rest. They both know, after all, that if you followed Death once, chances are you'll do it again, even if it means foregoing some much needed respite.

He still isn't sure how he's going to address that particular detail – of whether or not you should accompany him to the Foundry. Perhaps waiting until morning will give him time to ponder over the issue. “The darkness will not hamper me,” Death huffs. From the corner of his eye, he sees your face fall. Ah. Perhaps even you are starting to realise you can't keep going forever. “But,” he adds, “There are some.... preparations I need to make first. The Foundry will still be there come sunrise. As will the Tree.”

“Sunrise?” you ask, “What time is that here?”

When all you receive from Death and the makers are blank looks, you smack a hand lightly to your forehead. “Oh yeah, forgot you guys don't wear watches.”

Death resists the urge to let his eyebrows knit together. How many things that he and the makers deem unnecessary or pointless do you miss having from Earth? Things as trite as timepieces? An odd twinge tugs at his chest and it takes him a second to register the sensation as sympathy, and then only another second to shake the feeling loose.

Abruptly, the Horseman lifts his hand and claps it down on your shoulder, getting a surprised 'oof' in response. You turn to shoot him a quizzical look but he's already given you a tender squeeze and let his hand drop, striding past you. “Sunrise will be here soon enough. In the meantime, why don't you 'take a load on,' as you humans like to say?” he suggests, and you're so perplexed by the decidedly considerate gesture, you dumbly stammer back, “I-it's 'take a load off, actually.'”

The Horseman doesn't particularly care if he got the phrase wrong, only that you understood the sentiment behind it. Grunting, he otherwise doesn't respond as he heads towards the furthest set of steps that lead down to a bench sitting beside the outer wall, leaving you in the company of six makers and a crow, who has found a new perch atop Eideard's pronged helm and twists his beak to regard the proceedings with a level of interest only a nosy corvid could have.

Briefly, you make as if you're going to follow Death, then your footsteps grind to a halt when it occurs to you that he might be deliberately separating himself from the group and you're reminded of how much you enjoyed your alone time back home. You can certainly relate to needing some moments to yourself, so, though your legs are burning from being on them all day and your bruised side has begun to ache you remain where you are. Karn and Eideard are still standing by your side, the latter of whom has his long, gnarled fingers stroking absently through the bristles of his beard.

There's a long silence following Death's departure, stretching on and only growing more deafening he longer it remains unbroken. You struggle to find a word to fill it. What should you say? And who should you say it to first?

It's suddenly all so.... overwhelming – having their eyes on you. They've never been gathered together in one place like this before and you can't help but feel as though you're at the centre of the world's biggest intervention. Ironic that the elephant in the room happens to be the smallest member.

Ironic too, is the fact that Valus is the one who eventually breaks the uncomfortable stalemate. He shifts, mumbling something that's lost in his metal helmet and gestures to you with the back of a hand.

“I-I'm sorry, I didn't catch that...” you say in a small voice.

“He said~” Alya huffs, taking a deep breath before she suddenly snaps, “What in the blue, blinkin' name of the Stonefather were you thinkin' of, you - Ow!”

She's cut off by a swift elbow to her side from Valus. “Ugh. Fine, he dinnae say that.” Her bunched shoulders loosen a little, the hard glare on her face turning less severe. “He... just wants to know if you're alright?”

Six pairs of eyes –

Dust ruffles his feathers from the top of Eideard's head-dress

- Seven pairs of eyes peer down at you expectantly, causing a flash of heat to creep up your neck unwarranted.

'Shit,' you think, 'Are they really that worried? I must've been more banged up than I thought after Karkinos...'

It doesn't make sense to you. You knew there was some level of concern but this is...

You don't know what to do with this.

Answering the lingering question seems like a good place to start though.

Linking your hands, you scuff at the ground with the toe of your boot and shrug, peeking up at Valus from beneath your lashes. “I'm okay, guys. Really. Karn kept me safe.”

All at once, Alya's expression sours and there's a skeptical growl from Thane's corner.

On the youngling's behalf, you grimace, sheepishly raising your head to meet his glum stare.

“I'm sorry for getting you in trouble, Karn,” you whisper to him and reach out to give his boot a consoling pat.

The maker blinks down at you, utterly dumbfounded by your apology. He's grown so used to things being his fault – and being told they're his fault – that seeing somebody take the blame for him feels like an oddly pleasant slap to the face. Technically, this time, he is at fault. You never would have been able to leave the village and follow Death were it not for his interference. However, even if the other makers hold Karn accountable, you don't seem to.

Suddenly, he finds he doesn't much care if the others are angry with him.

You - his first, best and only friend – are not.

After several seconds of staring dumbly down at you, a lopsided grin worms its way onto the youngling's face.

“Karn can take care of himself,” Eideard interrupts, “He may be a little foolhardy, but he is undoubtedly a strong and skilled adventurer. And he is aware of the many dangers that lurk in our realm. He should have known better.”

“He... he did know better...” you murmur, ducking your head and wishing you'd worn something with a higher collar that you could hide behind, “I was the one who kept pushing until he agreed to take me.”

The Old One sighs, sending you a gentle frown. “I had hoped that you were at least sensible enough to know you were – and in fact, still are – in need of recuperation.”

You watch the maker's bushy eyebrows furrow, drawing the wrinkles on his forehead down to form crevasses in his ancient skin. He's staring you down, and though you try to meet his gaze, you find it easier to cave in first and avert your eyes, dropping them to his boots instead.

After a moment, you hear the maker's chest heave with a slow exhale.

“I am not angry with you, lass,” he says softly, “None of us are.”

Snorting, you raise your head to glance pointedly over at where Thane is aggressively drumming his fingertips on top of the stone wall and muttering a string of words too low for you to pick up, though you have a sneaking suspicion they aren't very polite.

Eideard follows your gaze and a smile crinkles the corners of his eyes when he sees who you're looking at. “We all worry in our own way. Some of us worry louder than others.” He nods towards the warrior. “While some worry quietly.” This time, his focus shifts onto Valus.

At once, Alya barks out a laugh. “Ha! Quiet?” She pauses to roughly elbow her brother in the arm before carrying on. “When he realised you left the village, all he did was pace up and down the forge, moanin'!”

Valus twists his helm and grunts something accusing, in response to which she merely offers a shrug. “Well, s'true.”

“If I recall correctly, Alya,” the Shaman says from her spot beside the cooling trough, “you were particularly vocal as well.”

Vocal was an understatement. The Forge sister hadn't stopped huffing and growling about what she planned to do to Karn if he didn't return you to Tri Stone in one piece. The boisterous young maker shoots Muria a scathing look, tipping her ears down in displeasure.

There's a sudden tightness in your throat and you swallow past the lump, fingers twisting into the fabric of your jumper. “I... I didn't realise,” you murmur, more to yourself than the giants around you.

Thane pipes up anyway.

“Didn't realise what?” he grunts, “That you about scared the life out of us when you up n' disappeared?”

Wincing, you drop your gaze to the floor. “I didn't realise that you... Well, it just seems like you all care. About... about me.”

There's a long spell of silence in which all the makers share wide eyed glances with one another, save for Muria, who tilts her head to the side, listening attentively to the shifting room.

Then, slowly, Alya's lips split into a grin, a grin that soon turns into a loud chuckle. With a hard blink, you stare up at her, confusion evident in the way your brows creep together. Even Valus seems to share his sister's sudden mirth and his shoulders begin to heave up and down with silent laughter. Behind you, Thane’s head turns slightly to peer down at you over his shoulder pauldron, something fond tugging at his lips.

Eideard however, remains perfectly unaffected whilst he watches you carefully, examining the bewilderment on your face.

His old heart hums in displeasure. Do you really think so little of yourself that you can't even fathom how others might care about you?

Swiping a few fingers underneath her eyes, Alya's giggle finally tapers off and she exclaims, “Well of course we care, you daft girl!”

“But...” You pause, scrunching up your nose as you try to understand why. “But I'm not even a maker?”

“Well... Do you care about Karn?” Eideard suddenly interjects.

The answer comes to you immediately when you flick your gaze up and meet the youngling's wide, curious eyes. He looks as though he fully expects that you might say 'no.'

“Yes. Yes of course I do.” Shyly, you glance down again. “I care about all of you guys.”

“Why?” Eideard lowers his head to try and coax you into looking at him. “We are not humans.”

“Well, yeah, but -” Perplexed, you fumble for words, eventually settling on, “-but that doesn't matter!”

The point he's trying to make finally hits home and you promptly snap your mouth shut. The Old One's aged grin widens when he recognises the wave of realisation that crashes over your face.

You miss the secretive glance he shares with the others.

“Come. Walk with me,” he offers gently and turns, his robes sweeping along on the ground behind him as he trails down the steps and makes his way towards the doors leading out onto Tri Stone's lower courtyard.

Dust gives an offended squawk and flutters off Eideard’s helm, swooping down to the wall and tossing the maker’s back a dirty look, irate that his perch had begun to move.

After a moment of hesitation, still reeling at the knowledge that you are worlds away from home yet there are still those who care, you trot along behind the village elder.

------

The cool night air laps at your skin once you step outside again, prompting your hands to retreat inside the sleeves of your jumper as you follow the old maker through his village with your eyes transfixed on the gently swinging braid that hangs halfway down his back. In the pale moonlight, you could imagine his hair had been spun from solid silver.

Chewing your lip, you ponder over the things that had been said inside the Forge. Perhaps it had been wrong of you to assume that humans were the only species who could know compassion. Is it really so strange that the makers care about your wellbeing? After all, you do care about theirs. Just as you care about Death’s - enough to follow him into dangerous temples, at least. Or just as you care about whether or not Blackroot gets his stone bites - ‘Ah!’ You almost smack yourself on the forehead for nearly forgetting. ‘Blackroot!’

“Um, Eideard?” you call out, kneading at your jumper, “Can I ask you something?”

Without breaking his stride, the Old one twists his head around and you catch the gleam of his tusks as he softly replies, “Anything.”

“Do you know someone called Blackroot?”

“Blackroot,” he breathes, his grey eyes going wide and misty, “Ah, now there's a name I haven't heard in a long time.” Turning to face forwards again, his steps suddenly falter, as though he's just realised you have no way of knowing that name. Perhaps Karn had... Hmm.

“I know him, yes. He was an old and dear friend of mine.” Eideard looks down at you as you jog to fall in line beside him. “But... How do you know of him?”

“Because we met him. In the Fjord,” you explain.

This time, the maker does stop and his breath hitches. “He's alive?”

Nodding, you feel a flutter of hope ignite in your belly for the construct. “Yeah! Yeah, but he's stuck. I think his roots go down too far. And he said he's gonna starve soon! Death and I gave him some stone bites to tide him over, but...”

“You fed him!” Eideard laughs breathlessly, riding the elation at hearing the news of his friend, “Of course you did, you compassionate little thing!”

Covering a cheek with one hand, you scoff away his praise, asking, “So.... can you help him?”

“I – yes, yes, of course! I shall need -” Pausing, the maker inhales long and deep, regaining some composure. He'd allowed himself to get a little too excitable. But good news is rare and hard to come by in the Forge Lands of late. “I shall need to speak with Muria. His roots, you say? Hm. She may have something that will preserve him if a severance causes any damage...” He trails off and places a hand underneath his chin, deep in thought.

Once again, Eideard begins to walk while in the meantime, you're content to let him ponder and so you keep your lips pressed respectfully together until the giant's footsteps come a halt. Automatically, you stop as well, peering up at him and finding one of his hands has begun a slow descent towards you. You remain stock still, gulping as you watch the appendage loom closer and closer until the pad of a single, warm fingertip lands on your shoulder, pressing down with the barest amount of pressure.

He's smiling at you, the lines around his eyes as deep as his voice when he breathes, “Thank you, Y/n.” Before you can reply, he pulls away and sets off again. After a beat, you grin, feeling a weight lift off your chest before you follow.

The world around you is peaceful and silent once more save for the soft thumps of his boots hitting the stone pathway and the clinking, clanks of his staff as it strikes the ground ahead of his footfalls. He leads you to the fallen tree that had first brought you into Tri Stone and strides through it without a word.

Stone gives way to soft, bouncy grass when you emerge out into the tunnel on the other side, the path ahead lit by dozens of lunar thrips and the scattering of moonbeams that slip through cracks in the jagged ceiling and fall upon Eideard's shoulders, casting him in dappled light as he passes underneath them. It isn't until you amble by the place Muria had brought you to bathe that curiosity finally compels you to break the shroud of silence that presses upon the back of your mind like a persistent presence. “Um, where are we going?”

Twisting his head around, Eideard peers at you over his shoulder, head dress glinting as he strolls under another stray flash of moonlight. “Patience, youngling. You'll find out soon enough,” he replies, as though he'd been expecting that very question.

“Thought you said I could ask you anything,” you smirk.

The maker’s eyes glint with mischief and the smirk he returns is an almost perfect reflection of your own. Deliberately so, you’d wager. “Ah. But I did not say I would answer anything.”

You stare up at him for a moment, jaw hanging slack. Following a disbelieving little huff, you lower your gaze to the grass underfoot and press on.

It isn't long before the two of you traipse out into the glade where you'd first awoken to the sight of an old giant's bearded face smiling warmly down at you.

“It's so weird,” you mutter, idly watching the lunar thrips as they whizz around the clearing, their tiny lights leaving streaks of orange and gold across your vision for a few moments before fading to darkness.

Up ahead, Eideard hums questioningly, stopping beside a short, rocky slope and then hefting his bulky weight around to face you.

Tearing your gaze off the bugs that remind you so bitterly of fireflies, you trundle over to the maker and rub at the edges of your eyes, shrugging. “It just feels like I've been here a lot longer than I actually have, you know? I can hardly believe it's only been... what? A few days since Earth was -” Your jaw snaps shut and you grimace, lips twisting at their corners. 'A few days? Is that really all it's been?'

An enormous hand suddenly appears before you, a quiet offer from the village elder and you accept it with nary a second's hesitation, though a tiny part of your psyche wonders if you ought to reflect on how far you've come since you were cowering away from the makers. If you had been told a week ago what you were going to accomplish in the coming days, you'd likely laugh as though you'd just heard the funniest joke in the world.

Now, your hand rests delicately on Eideard's wrinkled thumb and you step into his equally calloused palm, sinking to your knees without ever once worrying how much larger and stronger he is as he raises you to the top of the slope and settles his hand down there, patiently waiting for you to disembark. Throwing him a bemused glance, you wordlessly slide off his palm and the Old one steps back, lifting an arm to gesture over the edge of the plateau you're now standing on.

“Tell me, youngling, what do you see?” he asks.

Raising a brow, you follow the line of his index finger and look out towards the inky horizon.

Far below you, glistening silver beneath the light of the moon, sits a vast, serene lake. Your ears abruptly pick up on the distant thundering of waterfalls that tumble down into it from the precipice of a nearby mountain. There's a sharp, refreshing sweetness carried up to you on the wind that conjures faint memories of Christmas trees and pine needles and suddenly, your lungs are swimming in the smell of December as you inhale deeply through your nose, holding all the air in your lungs until you have to expel it in a rush.

All the while, Eideard remains perfectly still at your back, content to let you have a few moments to just breathe.

“I see a lake,” you finally answer.

A gust of warm air glides across the back of your neck. Even from your vantage point, the maker's head is still at the same level as you. “What else?” he coaxes.

There isn't anything obvious, at least not until you cast your gaze further to the left and as your eyes adjust, you manage to pick out several shapes in the dark that sit on the lakeshore, at least a mile's walk from the glade. They're enormous, whatever they are, set individually from one another yet still close enough that they're obviously part of the same feature. Some are square, some are oblong, set like pitch-black monoliths against the dark mountain behind them. Silhouettes of what appear to be -

“Houses?” Turning about to face Eideard, you find the bristles of his moustache have been pushed up by a kindly smile. He nods his head and you turn back to face the shapes below once more.

“Our homes,” the maker elaborates, “Where we used to reside. We lost them eons ago, to Corruption.”

“There are quite a few of them,” you mention.

Behind you, Eideard releases a plaintive sigh. “Once, there were quite a few of us.”

Grimacing, you try to apologise for dragging up the clearly tender memory, but the Old one simply waves your words away and continues, “Before you arrived, we never thought we'd get to see our homes again. But now, you and the Horseman have done what the rest of us failed to do. The Fire and Tears flow through our Forge once again, the Warden has been reawakened-” He pauses for a while, long enough that you throw a quizzical look over your shoulder at him. Once he catches your eye, Eideard leans forwards and fixes you with an earnest stare. “-You are bringing our realm back to life.”

“Death did all the work,” you argue, instantly knowing that the old maker disapproves of your claim by the way his eyes slip shut and he shakes his head, a low gush of air blowing from his nose.

“Stop that,” he scolds you gently, “Stop doubting the impact you have on our realm. On us. Since you arrived, I've never seen Karn happier. Muria's garden is in full bloom, I've discovered an old friend still lives, and for the first time in so long, my people have hope that they will see their old homes again.” The maker's frown lifts a fraction and the corner of his eyes crinkle like plummetless chasms as he smiles, nodding towards the collection of shadowy silhouettes down on the lakeside. “Karn, I know, is especially keen. There's a house next to his own that he's been dying to show you.”

“Why? What's in there?” Curious you stand on your toes and peer over the ledge, trying to pick out the individual huts.

“As of yet, nothing more than an empty home in need of filling.”

At your back, the maker listens to the noncommittal hum you give him in response. Then, after his words have had some time to sink in, you grow still and quiet, your back rigid. The only movement comes from the hair on your head that waves in the nightly breeze.

He can almost feel the uncertainty pressing down upon your shoulders. You've drawn some conclusion from his subtle prompting, that much is clear, but you aren't sure. Not entirely, not enough to react just yet.

Perhaps you require a more direct nudge. “Y/n.” He prepares himself to reach out and steady you because you've begun to sway a little on your feet. “We – that is, the other makers and I - have discussed it at length and we were hoping that you would be the one to fill it some day.”

“What?” you choke, at last shuffling about to fix him with wide, glistening eyes, “Eideard, what are you saying?”

“We makers know how it feels to lose a world,” he presses on, soft and slow, “And we would never wish the same on any friend of ours.”

Your lips press firmly together because you don't trust yourself to remain composed when you fully realise just what it is he's offering.

Eideard's tufted, white brows ease together until he looks as sincere as you've ever seen him. “You do not have to accept,” he continues, “You do not even have to entertain the notion. All I am telling you, is that wherever you choose to go from here, there will always be a home waiting for you with us, should you want it.”

The dam around your tear-ducts starts to crumble and you part your lips to draw in a rasping breath as words try to form on your tongue but none of them strike you as particularly adequate. It's too much, the enormity of suddenly being given the chance to belong somewhere again. So, in lieu of words, you do the only thing that feels right.

Using the back of a wrist to scrub at your eyes, you drop down onto your backside and shuffle forward, sliding feet-first down the rocky slope and pushing off once you reach the ground, staggering straight at the maker. As soon as he sees you move, Eideard bends himself down onto one knee, wincing at the resulting crack of his bones. His arms swing open like a warm invitation and you should find it strange that a maker can anticipate a human's course of action without too much thought.

Before your knees can buckle underneath you, you fall against his leg, wrapping your arms around as much of him as you can and immediately find your back enveloped by a pair of strong yet ancient hands.

The fur trim around his sleeves tickles at your neck as you bury your face into his robes and part of you feels you ought to be ashamed of how sodden the fabric becomes in those first few seconds but then the Old One is rubbing soothing circles into your spine with his thumb and suddenly, your tears don't matter.

“My apologies,” Eideard rumbles above you, “I did not mean to cause you such distress.”

Stifling a sob, you shake your head against his robes, sinking into the comfort and security provided by having the giant at your back. “You didn't.... I mean, I'm not distressed. I'm just...” Your mouth opens and falls shut a few times as you attempt to come up with something to fill the blank.

What are you? What does his offering you a home when you have none mean?

Another, wet sob leaves your throat before you can muffle the sound against him. “I just can't... believe you would offer something like that... to me.”

“And why wouldn't I?” he asks, unfurling his hands a little so you can lean back and look up at him through bleary eyes, “You have been a friend to my people, and we take care of our friends - what seldom few we have.”

Despite willing yourself to remain composed, his words strike at an already tender wound in your heart and your face crumples, so you shove it back into the robes draped over his bent knee and grit your teeth, frustrated that you're letting him see you cry again.

For some time, Eideard remains crouched in the same position, his fingertips resting against you in such a way that you aren't left feeling trapped by his hold. The touch is light yet secure, and you know you could step away whenever you want. For the time being however, you choose to stay.

With that same, unshakable patience, the maker is content to wait for as long as you need him to.

Soon enough, your shoulders stop heaving and the tears making tracks down your face run dry at last. Peeling your forehead off Eideard's knee, you release a rough exhale and swipe at the moisture clinging stubbornly to your lashes.

“Ugh. Sorry for crying all over you,” you sniff, flashing the maker a wobbly smile, “Seems I'm doing a lot of that nowadays. Crying, I mean.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He stops to take a long breath, scrutinising the newfound puffiness of your eyelids with a curious, if not concerned tilt of his brows. “If I may speak plainly, it is a relief to see.”

“A... Wait, what?” Your smile falls and you ask, “Seeing me cry is a relief?”

The Old One moves a hand away from you and lays it on his beard, thoughtfully thumbing the jewelled band that holds his braid in place. “It is a relief to see you cry, youngling, because it means that despite the terrible things you've been put through, you haven't lost your heart.”

Swallowing back a lump, you look down at your chest, fingers slowly unfurling to splay out above the delicate organ that lays tucked beneath your ribcage as if to check that it really is still there.

Above your head, Eideard's smile turns tender. “You humans,” he chuckles, shaking his head in wonder, “You feel things so magnificently. You're a complex little species. The extent of your emotional expression is... it's.... ” He trails off and his hand waves in the air as if trying to pluck out the right words and you notice his voice is almost breathless, awed by an aspect of humanity you've never really taken into consideration before, and you have to briefly wonder how in the world a being as majestic as him could possibly be in awe of a species that only lives a century at best. To you, it hardly makes sense, but you're so busy frowning contemplatively at your own chest, you don't see the way he's marvelling at you. “Well,” he eventually puts, “At the very least, it is astounding.”

A shift in the air draws your head up and you tilt it back, stepping away to give Eideard some more room as he braces a wrinkled hand on his knee and pushes himself upright, a strained grunt brushing past his lips. The leg you'd been crying into gives an abrupt crack that has you pulling a face in sympathy.

Once again, you find yourself cloaked in a shadow that stretches along the ground when Eideard's broad shoulders eclipse the moon. “Are you ready to return to the Forge?” he asks, smoothing down his rumpled clothes, “I imagine the others will be wondering where we are by now.”

Seconds pass and he doesn't make a move, merely regards you expectantly and it suddenly hits you that he's waiting for you to either confirm or deny that you're ready to go back to the others. He doesn't say it with words, but the Old One's knowing gaze speaks volumes. If you aren't ready, if you haven't adequately collected yourself together, he'll wait.

At the sight of your ensuing, grateful smile – one that pushes one last tear from the corner of your eye – Eideard's chest swells with pride, like a father watching his child pick themselves up, dust themselves off and carry on.

With a last, lingering glance back at the rocky slope behind you, you give your head a decisive nod and say, “Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go.”

----------

Several heads swivel towards the Forge's entrance when Eideard pushes it open with a resounding clang and you step through ahead of him, your spirits considerably higher than they were before. Fatigue drags you down by the ankles but you manage to trundle all the way up to the anvil, where Alya is the first to greet you. The young maker doesn't ask for permission, she simply bends down and sweeps your legs out from underneath you, pulling you up until you're level with her beaming face.

“Well?” she demands, “Did he tell you? What do you think? I thought it was a grand idea!”

Yes, he told me, Alya,” you laugh, giving her thumb a reassuring pat and casting your eyes over the other makers surrounding you, “Not sure what I did to deserve that kind of offer, but... Well, you have no idea what it means to me. So, thank you. All of you. Alya's right, it really was a grand idea.”

“Well, of course it was!” the maker exclaims, “Thought of it meself, you know.”

“Really? It was your idea?” you chirp.

At once, her mouth snaps shut and she balances you on one hand, sliding the other out from under you to scratch at the back of her neck. “Er... Well, I mean, I thought of it first!”

Behind her, Thane harrumphs and flicks his thumb over at Valus.

“Ach! Don't take credit for yer brother's idea, Lass. He's the one that suggested it.”

Alya turns with you still poised across one of her palms and you can't help but gape a little at her twin.

“Valus?” you ask, head tipped to one side.

The maker swiftly turns his head to the ground and shrugs his burly shoulders but he peers up at you through the slat in his visor, catching the heartfelt grin you're sending his way. Suddenly, it grows very warm inside his helmet.

“You stayin' here is gonna be so much fun!” Alya announces, all but dumping you on the anvil to save you from being jostled as she begins to gesticulate wildly with her hands. “I've always wanted an apprentice! With me teachin' you, you could become the first human blacksmith!”

“I believe humans mastered blacksmithing some time ago,” Muria says gently.

“Oh...” For a moment, it looks as though Alya's exuberance has been well and truly doused. However, she doesn't stay deflated for long and hardly a second passes before she's bouncing back up again. “Buuut ~ none of them had a maker tutorin' 'em, eh?” She turns to beam at you. “So you won't be the first human blacksmith, but you'll sure as Stone be the best!”

You don't really feel the need to point out how that won't be hard, given that you're likely the only human left who could hold such a title. Her eyes are alight with enthusiasm and you can practically hear a vast whirlwind of ideas scurrying around in her brain already. Far be it from you to take the wind out of her sails.

Pursing your lips to hold in a laugh, you adopt a thoughtful expression and nod agreeably, causing Alya's chest to puff out even further.

“Now, hang on just a tick.” There's a scraping of metal to your side as Thane shifts forward and thumps his axe's handle against the ground to gather the room's attention. “How'd you know the wee lassie wants to be a smith?”

It's easy to tell that his question instantly puts Alya's back up, for she whips her head around and shoots him a challenging glare, her lips parting in such a way, you can't tell if she's smiling or snarling. “Course she wants to be a smith!” Her glare softens as she looks down at you and confidently adds, “Don't you, Y/n?”

You'd been in the process of plonking yourself down on the anvil but her question gives you pause. “Uh-”

“Ha!” Luckily, you're saved by Thane's booming laughter as he slaps a meaty palm against his knee hard enough to rival a thunderclap. “The human kills Karkinos, and you don't think she'd make a better warrior?!”

Raising your voice, you try to interject. “Technically, Death was the one who-”

“Oh! And who's goin' to teach her how to be a warrior? You, old man?”

“Maybe she wants to be an explorer,” Karn bravely suggests.

Naturally, there's an uproarious response.

From the wall of the forge, Eideard's face is bright with peace as he casts a watchful eye over his fellow makers... until he spots Muria standing quietly on the sidelines, her lips pressed thinly. Even without seeing her eyes, Eideard knows she's looking directly at him.

Humming to himself, the Old One collects his staff and begins to skirt around the arguing youngsters, his footfalls and clanking head-dress lost underneath their shouting match. He reaches Muria and greets her with a brush of his elbow against hers and with a subtle inclination of her head, she beckons him to turn his back on the Forge alongside her.

Releasing a curt breath, she delicately drapes her arms over the low wall whilst Eideard does the same, though he leans a little more heavily against the sturdy brick than she does, as though the burden on his shoulders is physically weighing him down.

“Something troubles you,” he muses under his breath, recognising that in turning away, she does not intend for the others to overhear. Not that they really could anyway, given the racket they're making. Alya and Thane have put aside their differences and teamed up to loudly convince you why being an explorer like Karn is sure to end in disaster.

“You should not let them influence her like this,” the Shaman murmurs, her blindfold creasing at the centre between where her brows would be, “She must decide for herself whether or not she wants to stay.”

“They aren't doing any harm...”

Muria turns to the Old One, jaw set. “You want them to sway her decision,” she accuses and her measured cadence rises enough that Eideard has to shush her.

They both glance over a shoulder to see if you've grown suspicious of their hushed whispers, but instead, they find you preoccupied with hiding your face, shoulders wracked by silent laughter as Alya bunts her chest up against Thane's in challenge. Both of the fiery makers have a similar spark in their eyes and cocksure grins, showing one another their teeth.

The sight pulls at Eideard's lips and he heaves a great sigh, fingers drumming on top of the wall for a moment. He'd told you the truth earlier. He hasn't seen his fellow makers this happy for quite some time. Having a human around has been as welcome a distraction to them as they likely are to you. Your fresh and otherworldly presence is... refreshing, especially given how dreary life in their realm has become lately.

The Old One looks back at Muria then, a worry-line growing between his eyebrows. “I only want the girl to be safe. I couldn't bear yet another death on my conscience.”

“Still blaming yourself? Oh, Eideard,” she tuts, though her tone is fond, “Sometimes I think your heart must be larger than your brain.”

“Sometimes? You tell me so at least twice a day.”

The Shaman chuckles at his rare show of playfulness but the pleasant laugh soon turns into a weary hum and she hesitates, tongue flicking over her teeth as she considers her next words. “Eideard... What happened to the others.... There was nothing you could have done differently that would have saved them.” At her side, the village elder half closes his eyes, gazing off at a distant memory as Muria continues, “Since then, you have worked tirelessly to protect us. But, you of all makers know that you cannot keep everyone safe.”

She knows him so well. It has never been spoken to the open air, but all who know Eideard know he bears the weight of guilt upon his shoulders more heavily than most. He's their leader. If he can't protect his own people, then what good is he?

“I can understand why you want her to stay,” the shaman utters, “but do not try to alter her course. However indirectly.” She makes a subtle motion behind her, to the others. “Whatever she may decide, we must trust the human to follow her own destiny. And we must trust Death to be her shield if she travels beyond this realm.”

'Trust,' Eideard thinks, is a funny word to associate with one of the Charred Council's enforcers, but then, in the recent days, he has caught split-second glimpses of the heart that lays twisted up inside the Horseman's ribcage. Cold and motionless though it may be, it's still there. And if a creature so ruthless as the eldest Nephilim – whose sins outweigh most others’ in the Universe – can have a heart, then truly anything is possible.

Even something as absurd as a human surviving impossible odds.

But, the shaman is right, of course. Eideard had barely even noticed that ever since you arrived, he's been trying to guide you down a safer path, without considering that you are your own person, capable of making your own decisions. Just now, he'd been happy to sit back and watch as his fellow makers tried to decide for you what you should do with your life.

Freedom or safety. He wonders if humans ever had to deal with such conundrums.

Slowly, he releases a long exhale and bows his head so low that his helm slips a few inches and the prongs sweeping up from the top of it lay parallel with the floor. “And here I thought I was always the voice of reason.”

“I thought it was about time somebody else started speaking sense.”

“I have always maintained,” he says with a small smile, “that you, Muria, will make a fine leader after I'm gone.”

The shaman finally turns from the wall and rests a hand on her hip. “Not that I wish that day to arrive any time soon, but given the options are myself and Thane, I daresay you're right.”

They share a quick huff of laughter before Eideard dissolves into a few, rasping coughs. He thumps his chest and shoos Muria's hand away when he senses it hovering towards his shoulder. “I'm all right,” he assures her, clearing his throat and straightening up, “I'm all right.” Once she steps back, he pushes himself away from the wall and pivots around to face the Forge alongside her.

A lot appears to have happened since their backs were turned.

Karn has apparently been bullied into sulking beside the south staircase. Frequently, he casts you glances, wearing his jealousy in a tight-lipped pout, and all because your attention has been commandeered by Thane and Alya.

The former of the two has his gigantic hand wrapped around Alya's in a crushing grip, both of their elbows balanced on the anvil whilst you sit precariously close to its edge, looking between them with uncertain amusement that pulls your brows together but your lips apart.

“Thane, Alya?”

They flinch at the sound of their names and look over towards Eideard.

“What are you doing?” the elder asks with practiced patience and authority.

The makers poised above you exchange a glance and you pipe up in their stead. “Arm wrestling!” Hopping up to your feet, you point excitedly at the pair of interlocked arms. “Humans used to do this all the time on Earth!”

Eideard watches you bounce in place on the balls of your feet. It must be a comfort, he realises, to you to see something you recognise from your own species in the makers.

Alya, whose brow glistens with beads of sweat, blows a lock of hair off her face and grunts. “I'm showin' her how much... stronger.... smiths need to be... than warriors!”

Across from her, Thane's biceps bulge and quiver like tightly coiled springs, yet he hasn't broken out into sweat and looks altogether far more relaxed than the youngling. Rolling his eyes, he grins at her teasingly and says, “Think all you're doin' is showin' the wee lassie why she'd want to be a warrior. If she's lookin' to get stronger, that's where she needs to train.”

“S'not just about strength!” Alya rasps, her face rapidly turning the same colour as her hair, “Smithin' build endurance too!”

Valus grumbles something loudly from behind you and Alya starts to sputter, her eyes narrowing as they flick over to glare at her brother. “Wha-! I am not showin' off,” she hisses at him from the corner of her mouth. He merely grunts again and crosses his arms, clearly unimpressed.

“What kind of a brother are you, anyway!? You should be cheerin' me on!”

“All right, that's quite enough.” Eideard steps forward and thunks the end of his staff on the ground. “I'm sure Y/n doesn't care for such antics.”

“Well, actually,” you reply as the warring makers shove themselves off the anvil and shoot one another identical sneers, “Two burly makers fighting over me? I wasn't even this popular at school.”

Alya practically glows after you call her burly and she thrusts her nose in the air, beaming whilst Thane merely barks a quick laugh and reaches over to you, using the tip of his forefinger to ruffle up your hair. You bat his hand away and smooth your tousled locks down into place once again.

Before long, the atmosphere lapses into something a little less competitive as the makers begin drifting over to their own corners of the forge and fall into warm conversation with one another, their voices low and oozing contentment. In the meantime, you laze upon the anvil, picking up the odd fragment of sentences here and there whilst your eyes grow heavier and heavier with every passing minute.

Eideard had accosted Karn before the youngling could hog all of your attention and now they stand side by side, leant back against the wall and talking in hushed tones. Alya sits below the enormous fireplace, tinkering away with a set of gauntlets whilst her brother hovers close by, watching her work. Every now and then, she pauses what she's doing and speaks to him, after which he replies with either a grunt, a hum or a simple shrug of his immense shoulders. To you, he's utterly unreadable, but Alya seems to have no trouble interpreting the vague sounds filtering out of that helm. 'Must be a twin thing,' you shrug mentally.

Behind you, Muria and Thane have occupied the empty space by the south wall and he's telling her how impressive her garden has grown since the Tears flowed back into Tri Stone.

Inhaling a deep breath through your nose, you let it out again in a sigh. There's an air of happy domesticity hanging over the forge that etches a wistful smile on your face.

The reminder is bittersweet – of the times like this you'd spent back home, in a room full of friends, all laughing, talking nonsense at one another, evenings that had seemed so throwaway but now leave a dull ache in your chest at their memory.

A silent wish passes through your mind, a wish to go back to those kinder, easier days when you thought you knew how hard life could be – when you didn't know how much harder it could get. You used to wonder why people preferred to remain blissfully ignorant of things happening all around them. Now, you can't help but think they had the right idea, at least partly.

You let your eyes slip closed for several minutes and simply listen to the hum of conversation around you. If you concentrate, you can almost imagine that you're surrounded by humans, like you. You're sitting in a restaurant, or perhaps a cozy cafe, and you're waiting to meet an old friend you haven't seen in a long, long time....

But then, inevitably, your eyes open again and the illusion is shattered. Suddenly, you don't want to start thinking about home.

Unnoticed by the group of makers, you carefully lower yourself off the anvil and meander down the steps and over towards where Death sits quietly on his bench.

The Horseman doesn't acknowledge your approach at first, but after you hover there for a moment, twiddling your thumbs, his pale mask tips in your direction and one of his eyes cracks open, spilling out an eerie, golden glow. “Can I help you?” he grumbles, causing you to jump.

“Mind if I sit down?” You gesture to the opposite side of the stone bench.

For just a second, Death's glower falters. In the dim light of a wall sconce, he notices that the whites of your eyes are tinged with just a suggestion of red. Wordlessly, he jerks his head towards the empty spot and you waste no time in hauling yourself up alongside him.

The bench is too wide, having been crafted with makers in mind, so when you swing your legs out, only your ankles dangle over the ledge. Still, it isn't uncomfortable, and with a shrug, you lean your shoulders back against the wall behind you, feeling heat rise from the lava reservoir that boils far below, warming the stone underneath you.

The moment you get settled, a sharp caw signals the arrival of Dust. He swoops out of the gloom and lands gracefully on your thigh, his talons clamping down to keep himself steady.

“Hey, boy,” you greet him and reach out to run your nails down his sleek, feathery back, earning yourself an appreciative gurgle. The crow sidesteps a little closer to your hip before he sinks down onto his belly, the feathers around his neck puffing up in contentment.

The Horseman shoots him a withering look but Dust returns it by letting out a lazy croon and promptly tucking his head beneath a wing, the very picture of a smug bird. Death’s brows snap together in response.

The makers' idle chatter dulls into the background as time drags on and your mind grows thick with fatigue. From the corner of his eye, Death regards you quietly, glad that you're apparently too preoccupied with staving off sleep to notice you've gained his attention. Slowly, the Horseman's gaze starts drifting down to your injured side. He doesn't realise he's curled his hand into a fist until there's a sudden, stinging sensation and he blinks, glancing down to find that one of his sharp fingernails has pierced the skin of his palm.

Quick as a flash, Death jerks his arms up and folds them tightly across his chest. 'That was... unexpected.'

“So,” he utters, loud enough to rouse you from the slumber you've slipped halfway into, “The makers offered you a place to stay.”

Your eyelids flutter and you draw in a deep inhale through your nose. “Hmm? Mmhmm. They did.”

“Do you think you-...” Death grits his teeth and viciously reminds himself that curiosity drives his question. Nothing more. Following your lead, he leans his head back against the wall and gazes nonchalantly up towards the ceiling, being sure to inject a degree of boredom into his tone when he asks, “Do you think you'll remain here, in the Forge Lands?”

“Why?” Rolling your head around to peer across the bench at him, you throw the Horseman what you mean to be a playful smirk, blissfully unaware that what you end up with is more of a dopey, heavy-lidded grin. “You worried I'd rather stay with them than go with you?”

The Horseman's eyes narrow to deadly slits and let lets out a venomous snort. For several seconds, you manage to hold your tongue, gauging the level of your courage. Then, pursing your lips, you bravely say, “That wasn't a 'no.”

“I'd have thought the absurdity of such a statement would speak for itself,” he snaps.

You try to toss him a grin but it breaks when your jaws part into a wide yawn.

Beside you, Death stews in his seat. 'Does she really think-' he seethes, '- Does she really believe, that I would give a second thought as to whether she stays here or-?”

Something soft slumps against his arm and breaks his private rant. Snatching his head to the side, he's about to give an involuntary jerk but catches himself just in time when he sees what’s pulled him from his musings.

It appears you've fallen asleep sitting up, right there on the bench next to Death, the day's events having caught up to you at long last. Your head lolls sideways and it bumps noiselessly against the Horseman's shoulder. A soft, warm cheek presses against his skin and he feels each of your breaths as they slip between your parted lips.

Dust, although upskittled at first, soon resettles himself and shoves his head back underneath a wing, but not before he fixes Death with a critical eye, as if daring the Nephilim to disturb his comfortable perch.

There is a moment where the Horseman considers pushing you upright again – especially when he glances up and spots Alya bent over the upper wall looking his way, her chin propped on a hand and a smirk stretching from ear to pointed ear.

He sneers at her before remembering she can't see it beneath his mask, so he settles for an exaggerated roll of his eyes instead.

But, he doesn't push you off his shoulder.

Frankly, he can't be bothered to deal with any of the makers reprimanding him for depriving a human of her sleep.

Just then, you mumble something incoherent and the Horseman's lips give a reluctant twitch. To think, just a few, earthen days ago, you'd been a near-inconsolable wreck when you first saw him standing over you on the Crowfather's mountain. And now...

Death finally gives up fighting the ghost of a smile that haunts the edge of his mouth.

“Humans,” he sighs, settling back into one of the few moments of gentle peace that either of you are likely know on your journey.

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daisyxbuckley · 5 years ago

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Put Me Back Together

A/N: okay so this came to me in a dream. Literally. So thank you to @cxddlyash for letting me spew my ramblings at her. Shes also in this. If yall want me to make it a series then tell me!

Description: Callie is Tyler Posey's personal assistant. When she starts falling for his best friend, will she be able to open up enough to let him love her back.

@dylan-obrien-fanblog @n0rdicstar @stiles-o-dylan24

**********************************************

Beep, beep, beep

I groaned as I turned to the side of my bed and shut my alarm off. 630 am. You think I would be used to it by now, but nope. It's been eight months since I was hired on as Tyler Posey's personal assistant and there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't refer to me as his personal assistant from God.

"Fuck." I mumbled as I looked at the schedule for the day. Throwing on a pair of black skinny capris, teal converse and a teal and white tank I quickly brushed my hair and threw it up in a baseball cap to tame the mess from the night before. Tyler thought it would he a good idea to get stoned and head to a showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show that was pretty badass. However, I felt like a giant pile of garbage and was not looking forward to the day that needed to get done. Heading to Starbucks, I stopped and grabbed two coffees and muffins and headed to Tyler's apartment.

"Open up Posey!" I yelled kicking his door. I had my own key but considering my hands were full I wasn't able to reach it. "Tyler you have to the count of 5 to open the door or I'm sending that picture of you in a compromising position to all your friends" I said laughing as the door opened quickly.

"You wouldn't dare." Was all Tyler said as he let me in.

"Oh I would and I will." I squeezed by him and set the coffee and my bag down on his counter and handed him a cup. "You look like shit dude."

"Look Cal. Its not my fault you can roll a joint that knocks me on my ass." He said with a laugh as he took a sip of his coffee. "Jesus this is good. Have I mentioned that you-"

"I'm your personal assistant from God? Yes, plenty of times. And I love hearing it every time" I said pulling my iPad out of my bag. Tyler just watched me, his eyes still cloudy from sleep, no shirt and just pj pants. Most girls would be drooling but I had thought of Tyler as a brother and he thought of me like family as well so it didn't bug me

My bff on the other hand. She was another story.

Opening up the schedule app on the iPad, I took a sip of my coffee. "Okay so you have an audition in two hours, an interview and photoshoot with GQ at 3pm and I guess a date tonight at 8."

"Cancel the date. It was a blind one that i was set up on by Crystal and I am so not interested." He said laughing. You joined in and shook your head walking to his room.

"Whatever you say hotshot. Let's get you dressed for that audition."

***************************

The audition took a bit longer than needed so I was thankful that I drove my own car so we could get tyler to the shoot. Handing him a bag that had burger and fries in it, I never took my eyes off the road as he wolfed it down. "How did it go?" I asked as we stopped at a red light.

"Eh. It was good. But hey Dylan wanted to know if I was free to go out tonight." He said grinning over at me. "I told him I would have to check my shit with my warden."

"Shut the hell up Posey." I said laughing as we turned into the parking garage for the GQ building. "But yeah. You are free and clear. Plus tomorrow is Saturday so you don't have anything going on." I got out of the car and handed my keys to the valet as we walked inside.

The second we stepped into the office Tyler was swarmed. I hung out with the director and helped him choose some outfits that looked the best on Tyler without trying too hard. "Do the red bow tie with the all black. But leave it untied." I walked over and messed his hair up a bit and smiled "There." I said stepping back. The director laughed and everyone got into place "You have a knack for this Callie. Sure I can't steal you from Tyler as my own assistant?"

"Not a chance!" Tyler yelled across the room as we laughed.

"I guess that answers that question." I said shaking my head with a smile.

The rest of the shoot went great and it looked like Tyler had a good time. When they were done we got back into my car so I could drive him home. "Callie, come out with us tonight. You'll be able to see Dylan again" Tyler said looking at me.

I had met most of the Teen Wolf cast already, but everytime dylan had hung out with tyler I was either gone visiting family or only saw him on quick glances as I left for the night or the rare times that I hung out with them, it was at some party or premier so we didn't get to talk much. "Tyler you know the club scene isn't my scene." I said laughing. "Besides I'm sure that Dylan wants to hang out with just you." Tyler continued to plead and beg though and I eventually decided to give in.

And that's how I found myself in one of the biggest nightclubs in LA, dressed in a red crop top and a black skater skirt, with a drink in my hand, laughing hysterically at the way Tyler just got shot down. "Dude her boyfriend almost killed you!" I yelled over the music as he just shook his head.

"Shut up Cal. Let's just not talk about that."

"Talk about what?" I heard the voice in my ear and turned around to find Dylan standing behind me with a grin on his face. His black t shirt, blue over shirt and jeans suited him, as did the backwards Mets cap that sat on his head.

"Oh you know. Tyler almost got his ass handed to him for hitting on the wrong girl. The usual." I said shrugging. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and pulled it out.

Britt-Brat: hey what are you doing tonight? I'm bored and lonely.

Calico: get here NOW PLEASE. Tyler drug me out here and Dylan is here and I'm hyperventilating.

Britt-Brat: girl you need to chill lol. I'll be there in ten.

I sighed as I slipped my phone into my pocket and looked at the two guys staring at me. "What?" I asked as I took a sip of my drink.

"Well you looked like you were about to have an anxiety attack and now you're good." Tyler said with a smile.

"Yeah well clubs aren't my scene so my friend Britt is coming down so I'm not alone. Trust me, you'll like her." I said nudging his ribs. Tyler laughed and rolled his eyes as I felt Dylan’s arm go around my shoulder.

“But you’re not alone. You’re with us.” He said close to my ear so he didn’t have to yell. I was thankful the blush on my cheeks was hidden by the dark and the flashing lights as I took another sip of my drink.

“Yeah, however I know Tyler, and if I know anything I know that he will be going home with someone tonight.” I said shrugging. “And so will you since you guys are so much alike.” Dylan scoffed and held a hand to his heart in mock pain.

“Callie, I am hurt.” He said with a puppy dog pout. “I would NEVER ditch you for another girl.” Laughing I shook my head as I heard my name through the crowd.

“Britt thank god.” I said running over. “Britt this is Dylan and Tyler.” I said pointing to Tyler who just walked back over with a drink for her. “Why don’t we get a table.” I said as I walked over to one of the tables. Britt and I slid into the middle with Tyler and Dylan on each side as we faced the band that was about to start playing.

Feeling a hand on my thigh, I looked down and noticed Dylan hand against my skin. His skin was rough and calloused but felt smooth and warm. He wasn't paying attention and it seemed like he did it without realizing it.

Dylan and I have always had a flirtatious friendship. Though we were never close, whenever he hung out with Tyler in the last few months I always tagged along and it became a thing. Nothing either of us acted on as he was with Britt Roberston and I wasn't interested in dating an actor.

Feeling my phone buzz under my hand, I noticed that Britt had set her phone down and put her attention back on Tyler.

Britt-Brat: Callie, I swear to god if you dont make a move I will do something for you.

Calico: Dont you fucking dare.

I shot the text and put my phone down enjoying the band when I felt something wet go down my side and soak my outfit.

"Oh my God. I am SO sorry." Britt said feigning innocence as I glared at her. "Dylan, you know this club. Can you take her to the back to get cleaned up."

"I hate you." I hissed to her as Dylan stood up and grabbed my hand in his. I hated to admit how nice it felt. I followed Dylan as he led me to the bathrooms and expected him to head back to the table. I was surprised when I walked into the empty girls room and he followed me.

"What are you doing?" I asked as he leaned against the door.

"There were some creeps staring when we came down the hall so I wasn't going to leave you by yourself." He said shrugging as he shot a grin at me. Laughing I rolled my eyes as I turned towards the sink and got a paper towel wet.

"My hero." I said as I stripped the top off my body. When Britt spilled her drink she had soaked the entire top and I knew I wouldn't be able to get it clean. Taking the rag, I started cleaning my skin of the sticky alcohol and readjusted my bra knowing I was going to have to deal with it being damn till I got home.

What I forgot about was Dylan standing there against the door.

POV Change

I wasn't expecting Callie to be okay with me following her in. Then again I also expected she would smack my hand away when I put it on her thigh earlier but she didn't.

After calling me her hero, I was about to quip something back when she decided to strip her top off. I've seen Callie in a bathing suit, but this was different. The red lace bra that she wore pushed her breasts up and my mouth dried when she started cleaning herself off. My eyes trailed down the pale skin that was exposed on her top half, down to her legs that seemed they went on for days. I always thought she was attractive, but it was never the right time.

Clearing my throat, I adjusted my pants to hide the growing erection and watched her turn around. "You look like you just got done running a mile." She said as a laugh escaped her lips.

Her laugh was melodic and I swear that I could listen to it all day. "Nah. Just hot in here. Any luck with your shirt?" I asked trying to change the subject.

"Nope. So I either have to deal with the see through mess or walk out there like this."

Hesitating a second, I quickly took off the unbuttoned overshirt I was wearing and handed it to her. Callie stared at it questionably as I shot her a smile. "Hey its better than nothing." I said as she accepted it and shrugged it on.

"How do I look?" She asked as she twirled around and let out another musical laugh.

"Perfect." I said quietly. Clearing my throat again, I plastered a grin back on my face. "You look great. Now let's go find our friends." I didnt miss the blush that crept onto her cheeks as she looked down at her buzzing phone.

"Well that might be an issue considering they left together." She grumbled. "Would you mind giving me a ride back to my apartment? Tyler and I ubered here."

Nodding, I stepped back from the door and held my hand out. "Of course. Just tell me where to go." Her hand laced into mine again and I loved the feeling that coursed through my body when our skin connected.

Leading her through the pulsing bodies that surrounded the dancefloor, I tightened my grip till we reached the door. Finally getting outside into the cold air I breathed a sigh of relief. I refused to let go of her hand till my car was brought around and we both got in.

Instantly her hand went to the radio and she paired her phone to the bluetooth and put a song on. An unfamiliar song came through my speakers, but she sang along without a care in the world. Her voice was beautiful and I just sat there and grinned while listening to her.

"You take me high when I'm dropping low

And you show me places I never know

Even when we just running 'round town getting stoned

Boy, you put me back together again"

I listened to her laugh again when she turned the music down. "Sorry, I just really love that song." She said shrugging. "Oh, turn right here." She said pointing towards the brownstone down the road. They were nice, not too flashy but also something that were cheap to live in.

"What? Tyler pays well." She said laughing as I parked. Getting out I ran over to the other side of the can and opened the door for her. She grabbed onto my hand again as I walked her up to the front door.

"Hey Callie, do you wanna grab some coffee tomorrow? Kind of get to know each other a bit more?" I asked. She had every right to shoot me down and honestly I expected her too. What I didnt expect was what came out of her mouth.

"Sure." She said with a grin as she opened up her door and stepped inside. "Night Dylan."

As soon as that door shut I pumped my fist with a big smile on my face. Heading back to my own house, I looked the song that she had been playing in my car and put it on my phone as I put my headphones in. Lying on my bed, I closed my eyes and fell asleep to the song playing in my ears.

"You put your hands on my body

And I know that you got me

And you give me that room

When I'm falling into you."

#dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien #dylan o'brian imagine #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski

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secretsfromwholecloth · 5 years ago

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Dragon Age: Origins, day 12.

Crashing while I’m trying to load up last night’s save? That’s new.

Anora, dear, Alix would really just love it if you’d stop this nonsense and vacate her boyfriend’s chair. No? Ah, well, she tried.

I could listen to Riordan all day. All. Day.

Alistair, sweetheart, of course Alix remembered. You’re not the only one who had Duncan (and his war gear) there at a big time in their life. Do you, ah, recognize the dagger strapped to her left shoulder at all?

So. Party for the Landsmeet. I have a decision to make. Alistair is obviously necessary, but I have two more slots after that. It looks like the only combat is going to be the one-on-one duel with Loghain, so Wynne isn’t a no-brainer like she is normally, though I don’t know, she might want to be there for her new son’s big day. Sten makes in-character sense for “scary bodyguard” reasons. So Sten and Wynne it is, I think.

Alix would really rather not fight Cauthrien again, not after how last time went, but if this damned woman keeps refusing to see sense...whew, she stood down. There’s a good ser, now stay well out of Alix’s way.

Ooh, rousing speech time! I love rousing speech time!

Loghain characterizing Alix as Alistair’s “puppeteer” is deeply uncharitable, but it’s hard to call him wrong. If you ask her, she’s merely sheltering him until he has time to grow into someone who can rule effectively on his own and doesn’t need her whispering in his ear every second, so that she can get on with her own work, of which there’s sure to be quite a lot—rebuilding the Ferelden branch of the Wardens on top of all the usual queen stuff like maintaining relations outside the palace, seeing to the royal household, and eventually either popping out a kid by some miracle or finding some other way to secure the succession.

I’d almost forgotten what game I was playing, but then Loghain yelled about rape and insulted Eamon for apparently being fat. Thanks for the reminder!

OK, duel time. Another decision to make: In-character, it makes sense to either have Alix fight herself or have Alistair do it. Or even Sten, who’s there specifically as muscle.

Alix took down Howe, it’s only fair to give Alistair a go at the man who played a similar role in his life.

This is going to be fiddly—I’m used to letting the AI deal with him unless he’s in immediate danger, so I’m less familiar with the use of his abilities than I might be. Lots of pausing, lots of poultices. Come on, kid, we can get through this.

Welp, that’s that taken care of. Alistair, kid, I’m sorry, I could really have gotten you here in a better way, but rest assured that Alix loves you and takes her responsibility to you as (literally) the poor bastard she dragged along on her revenge coup very seriously. You’ll have all the help she can give you in adjusting to being king.

Yes, this is the sound of me desperately headcanoning my fuckups to be less bad and swearing to redo this route one day, because I absolutely owe Alistair some nice things after all this.

And now, we level ‘em up, kit ‘em out, and pray.

...oh, this is that bug where Leliana thinks you were dating and gets hurt and shocked by your engagement to Alistair, isn’t it. Come on, Leliana, I don’t appreciate having to get sharp with you for no reason.

Ah. Here we go. Morrigan is making her offer of the dark ritual. Now, look, considering who perpetrated this bit of writing, I do wonder if the idea was to translate the emotional impact of compulsory heterosexuality for a presumed straight audience. If it is, I am 100% not the person to critique it on that level; as far as the outside world is concerned, I’m a cishet woman slinging strange words around to seem special, and this is very much not my lane. But the particulars launch it into the realm of simple misogyny and rapeyness, and those are things I can speak on. So. I don’t like it. Maker spare me from white dude writers who find the violation of others’ boundaries and bodily and mental integrity absolutely fascinating. Someone please tell sir that this isn’t edgy and cool, it’s creepy.

You know, I’ve said the same thing about Av*ll*ne more than once during Pillars or KotOR playthroughs. But at least he’s subtle about it and tucks the rapey stuff away in backstories or behind metaphors! Never thought I’d be pining for that guy, I swear to God.

The “It must be him, and it must be tonight!” bit—OK, we’re clearly playing a fun game of How Much Creepy Can We Load Into One Conversation. Yaaaaaay.

So. We’ve got the dodgy consent thing, we’ve got the “women are scary witches after men’s precious bodily fluids” thing that’s been going on the entire time with Morrigan, glad to see it all in the fucking open. So to speak. *sigh*

Anyway. In-character: Alix has asked a whole hell of a lot of her fiancé over the last few days. Maybe not been too considerate at times. Now there’s one more thing. It’s a big one. He’d be within his rights to hate her for it. Please let him not hate me, she thinks. I only want him to live. I only want us to live.

And yes, she was absolutely mortified to explain the whole thing to him. Pretty much ready to have a panic attack the whole time.

...does Morrigan think the issue here is jealousy? Oh, honey, no. Alix had her whole life to get used to the idea of her future husband potentially having a mistress, a one-off sexual encounter with someone he has no desire to go back to is nothing. No, her worries are a. that this is hurting him and b. that you could wreak all sorts of havoc with a child housing an Old God even if he never presses his claim to the throne. In that order.

I can’t speak for anyone else, but I did not need that cutscene in my life.

Headcanon: Alix and her various boyfriends have had a thing for bathing each other since she was a teenager. It’s a way to fuss over each other and have physical contact that’s only as sexual as you want it to be. So while there wasn’t time for a proper bath, you bet your ass that before she sent Alistair off with Morrigan, she told him she’d be ready with a basin and a rag if he could still stand the sight of her afterwards.

Aw, Alistair’s rousing speech before the battle is rather sweet.

Final party: Alistair and Wynne, my usual undroppables, obviously. I think I need another combat wombat, but does that mean someone tanky, or does it mean a second rogue? Hm, I think I could do with Shale, she picked up some pretty sweet skills at her last level-up.

Aww, mama Wynne is proud of her new daughter.

Really, all of the goodbye speeches are sweet.

And with that, it might behoove me to go get some sleep and finish up tomorrow.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #alix cousland

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 5 years ago

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Swift As Karma (Part 38)

It hit her harder than she realized it would, to not hear Azula fussing over how she hated sleeping on the ground like a peasant. She had grown used to the former princess being around and it was disorienting to not have that presence. It didn’t help to hear TyLee crying herself to sleep. She bunched herself up at Appa’s paws, listening to him snore. She clutched Momo to her chest, despite the little guy trying to wiggle free.

It hurt her in double knowing that she has lost Aang a second time. Should Ozai actually kill Azula, there would be no trace of Aang left at all and almost no hope to save the world.

There was already no hope to save the world.

She missed Aang more furiously than ever.

Katara wanted to talk to her father; she could tell that her father had been eager to ask since arriving by the group only to find one missing. Yet she can’t bring herself to tell him yet. She still hated saying it out loud. And just how the hell was she supposed to explain to him that she is working with the very person who’d taken him out. Worse still, that she was actually rather worried about that person.

Katara rolled over and Momo used the opening to fly away and perch himself atop Sokka’s head, screeching loudly into his ear until he bolted upright with a, “no! Bad lemur, go bug Appa. It’s Sokka sleeptime.”

He met Katara’s eyes and she crawled over to him. “Oh, Sokka, what am I going to tell dad? He liked Aang.”

“The truth?” Sokka asked. He sighed, “do you want me to tell him?”

Katara nodded, “please.”

.oOo.

Toph kicked a rock aside, what an awful day it was turning out to be. Katara just reunited with her dad, it was supposed to be a happy day. But not one person was smiling. She listened to Sokka break the hard news to Hakoda, noticed the way his demeanor changed--his posture going from upright to slouched, as Aang’s whereabouts were mentioned.

“So we have no avatar?” Hakoda asked.

“For a while we still did.” Sokka noted. “We lost her to the Boiling Rock.”

“The princess?” Hakoda asked.

Sokka nodded, “Aang’s spirit and powers transferred over to her. She has been working with us. It’s hard to get used to but she’s been...mostly okay to be around.”

Toph lost track of that conversation when TyLee sniffling grew louder. She had buried herself deep within Appa’s fur. Toph herself could use a bit of the bison’s fluff; she missed chucking rocks at Sparky and listening to her complain about how earthbending was still a pain in the ass and how water was an element from hell. Sparky brought some personality to the group.

“What are we going to do now?” Katara asked. “We’re back to where we started, an invasion plan and no avatar to help us get through it.”

Toph shrugged.

“It’s like I’ve lost him a second time…” She paused. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

Silence was her answer for a moment, “I think that they found us.” Katara noted bleakly as Sokka declared, “dad, isn’t that a war balloon?”

Toph got to her feet, whoever they were, they were going to pay. She listened for the balloon to land. Not that she had to, the vibrations of it landing were jarringly intense. Toph stomped up to it with Katara in tow. She could sense Sokka readying his boomerang. Her own fair sized boulder hovered in the air.

The hatch opened and Toph sent the rock flying with a mischievous smirk. It hit the girl in the stomach and she winced. “Welcome back, Sparky! That was for getting everyone all upset.”

Azula hardly had a chance to recover before TyLee slung her arms around her. “I was worried about you.”

Azula offered TyLee’s back two awkward pats.

“You’re okay.” Katara said.

“I think so.” Azula replied.

“How’d you manage to steal that?” Sokka asked.

“I didn’t.” Azula replied. Apparently that was the cue for Zuko and Mai to step forward.

“I won’t be going home to father.” Zuko declared. “I’m done letting him control my life.”

“Great.” Toph mumbled. “Now I’m going to have to come up with another nickname.”

.oOo.

She never thought that it would be such a relief to be back with this group. Even less, did she expect to find herself actually happy to be there. TyLee continued to cuddle her and she didn’t have the heart to push the girl away.

“Need me to rescue you from her?” Mai asked.

Azula shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Mai shrugged.

“You’re not angry, are you?” Katara asked.

“Hmm?”

“That we left you behind.”

“I would have been angry if you stayed behind and got yourselves captured. My plan would have been for nothing if you had.” Azula replied.

“It doesn’t bother you at all?”

“Not really.” She replied. Though it had stung a little, she couldn’t imagine that anyone but TyLee would truly miss her or worry for her. Katara only cared as far as getting her small piece of Aang back. And yet, Sokka wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and Katara began healing the scab on her lip.

“Believe it or not, I’m glad that you’re okay.” Katara noted.

“You are?”

Katara nodded, “thanks for helping us get our dad back.”

“You’re welcome.” She replied quietly, she hadn’t expected a thank you. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, but she found herself wondering if learning to waterbend would become an easier process now. Azula squeezed TyLee’s hand and the girl propped her head upon the firebender’s shoulder.

Katara’s smile was so warm. It left her feeling awful for leaving the girl’s friend behind and worse still, for hiding that she had seen the Kyoshi warrior at all. But Suki had almost cost them everything. The girl had almost gotten her killed.

Katara was finally warming up to her, as though she deserved acceptance. She was still a liar. She was still a bad person.

This wouldn’t have bothered her in the slightest some months ago; Azula hated that she was going so soft.

She felt TyLee nuzzle her head into her neck and Katara offered her something to drink. They were going to find out eventually so she might as well get the girl mad again before she could get used to feeling like a part of the group. “It was Suki’s fault.”

“Huh?” Sokka asked.

“The Warden promised her freedom for giving my identity up.” Azula answered. “So I left her at the Boiling Rock.”

“We didn’t have time to go back for her.” Zuko added. On a normal day, she would have snapped at him for the interruption, but it was probably going to do her a favor in the long run.

“I figured that she would have a better shot at freedom if we all didn’t get captured. Zuzu...his alliance with father is fragile.” It wasn’t a complete lie, it was a detail that made it even easier to leave the Kyoshi Warrior behind.

And easier to leave Juno behind.

“Well he doesn’t have to worry about that with us!” Sokka snapped.

“He won’t be staying with us.” Azula replied.

“What do you mean!?” Zuko shouted.

“Just how TyLee, Mai, and I took over Ba Sing Se, you have a chance to take father down from the inside.” Azula paused. She stood up and took a deep breath before slugging Zuko in the face, “you’re going to tell father that you had me and that,” she smirked, “as per usual, I proved to be the better firebender and combatant, and managed to escape.”

“Do you know what he’ll do to me if I come home empty handed?”

“The same thing he always did to me when I returned to him with news of you evading me.” Azula replied. “Which is why you’ll be bringing TyLee with you.”

With that her mouth fell agape, Azula didn’t give the girl time to ask questions. “Tell him that you took her because you know that I’ll come for her. I know father, he won’t kill her or hurt her because she’s more useful in one piece.” She tried to speak matter-of-factly, it helped that she was already feeling hollower.

“Azula!” TyLee cried.

“TyLee, you’re our best chance at having someone...three people sabotaging father from the inside. You’ll have Zuko and Mai, you’ll be fine.” For as reassuring as she was trying to sound, she felt as though she were going to fall apart. It had been TyLee who’d been keeping her together this whole time. Now she was going to have to trust that the others would treat her well.

“You really think that this is a good idea?” Zuko asked.

“Yes, now have an agni kai with me.” She said. “We need to make this look real. TyLee, you’re going to need some bruises too.”

.oOo.

Azula hadn’t spoken since the war balloon faded to a speck on the horizon. She denied comfort and company, instead bunching herself up and leaning against a tree. She was decorated in bruises and nursing a sprained ankle. Katara thought that she and Zuko had overdone it, but according to the former princess, her brother was a dreadful liar. In order for him to be able to tell Ozai that Azula had been hurt in the fight, she actually needed to feel pain. She was rather insistent that it was only fair for him to rough her up just as much as she him. Katara was almost certain that it had more to do with punishing herself for gambling TyLee.

“Come by the fire, it’s kind of cold tonight.” Katara offered.

Azula shook her head.

“She’s going to be fine and so are you.” Katara tried. Azula remained quiet. “It’s hard to lose someone that you...love? But she’s coming back…”

Azula goes rigid.

“I’m not saying that to make you feel bad. I just want you to know that I know how it feels.”

Still, she said nothing.

“Anyways, I don’t feel like I’ve completely lost Aang. He’s still here.” She took Azula’s hand. “I know that he is because I sort of see him in you a little.”

Azula lifted her head from her knees. Before Katara realized what she was doing, she had her arms around the new avatar.

And around the old avatar.

#Avatar #Azula #TyLee #Katara #Toph #Sokka #Zuko #Mai #Fanfiction

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ahrorha · 6 years ago

Text

Flame of Winter

Chapter 20

After the Inquisitor had left, the unknown disease spread like wildfire, in a matter of days hundreds of soldiers were ill. They suffered from exhaustion, combined with shivering, cramps, headaches, vomiting, dizziness and heavy limps. The soldiers wounded from the siege were the most affected, and a cure had yet to be found.

Cullen rubbed his forehead, the whole of the Inquisition's army stood at a standstill. With so many ill the healers had a hard time to keep up, and the return to Skyhold was delayed for lack of manpower. He rechecked the list of tasks that still hadn't been completed. “For know concentrate on dismantling the trebuchets.” he ordered to the three officers that stood at his field desk.

“Yes, Commander.” they saluted and left.

Cullen sighed, at least they had the help of the Wardens. Their new allies were helping out where they could, but progress was slow, and he still hadn't figured out how to transport so many sick back to Skyhold.

“Commander, there is a healer here who wishes to give a report.” One of the Warden messengers announced.

“Let them in.” Cullen sighed. “What is the situation?” he asked without looking up.

“I think I finally tracked down the source of the disease.” Eirlana answered.

He made a small jump hearing her voice; he hadn't expected her to come to report to him.

“Eirlana. Come in, take a seat.” He pointed to one of the benches.

She smiled at him and accepted the cup of water he poured for her. With a small gesture, she cooled it slightly.

Cullen felt her using her powers; his templar-senses hadn't dulled even without the lyrium. Like other templars, he had conditioned himself to detect the faintest trace of magic. It was still strange to him how she and Solas used their magic so differently. Back in the Circles magic was controlled and monitored; mages used their power only when necessary. This casual way Eirlana and Solas used their powers was new to him, and he had never met any mage that displayed the wide variety in usage they both showed. Especially Solas used his powers often and didn't seem to bother to hide his talents, even when public. Cullen wondered how, with that attitude, Solas had managed to live undetected by templars for so long. Pouring himself a cup he leaned against the table. “What did you say about the sick?”

“It looks like we managed to contain the immediate spread of the disease, in part thanks to Wardens that have jumped in to help. I believe it is some sort of stomach bug, but our current circumstances make our men more ill than they should be. The heat, lack of sufficient clean water, traces of the Blight and exposure to the magical energies of the ritual have weakened our men in their fight against the disease. So far the Wardens have been less affected, I suspect because they are immune to the Blight and have been stationed here longer. Their healers told me they also had some cases, but less severe. Cassandra and the soldiers that have fought close to the rift are the most ill at the moment. Currently, we have moved the sick to the tents closest to the healers' post so we can make our rounds easier. With so many having become ill I am worried the Inquisitor and the others could be affected as well. Has there been any word from them?”

“No, so far they have only reported that they are still travelling to their destination. They have to travel during the night because the heat has them grounded during the day. I will inform them of your findings.” he made some notes. “How is Cassandra doing?”

“Recovering, the worst is behind her I believe.”

“That's good to hear. What is your further recommendation?”

“I have constructed a potion that eases the symptoms, light healing spells, sufficient rest and clean drinking water have shown more improvements among the ill, but so far we haven't found a cure. For now, my advice is to separate the healthy from the sick. The ones that have not been affected yet should take care to get enough rest and reduce their work during the heat of the day to a minimum. I have talked with the healers of the Wardens, and they have suggested that the Wardens could help out more during the day and that our troops could take over the night and morning shifts. But I think the best remedy is leaving this place as soon as possible.”

“I will change the schedules at once, and thank you.”

“Your welcome, but I am just doing my job.” she stood up. “Do you still have time tonight?”

“Of course, but only if you are not too tired.”

She laughed “You sound like Solas.” and said her goodbyes.

Cullen felt a sting when she mentioned Solas. As much as he was enjoying their small healing-sessions, it was hard on his emotions. The more time he spent with her, the more he was being trapped in his unrequited love for her, and he couldn't suppress the pang of jealousy he felt whenever she mentioned Solas. She had that glow in her eyes when she spoke of him. Cullen was being torn between his own feelings and seeing her happy. Shaking his head, he went back to work; there was still much to be done.

Everyone was relieved when finally after a week most of the sick and wounded were well enough to be transported. The journey back to Skyhold was slow, but Cullen had agreed with Eirlana that it would be best if they left the conditions of the Western Approach as quickly as possible. It took them another week to reach the camp the Inquisition had build on the outskirts of the desert.

Eirlana let out a sigh when she saw the first glimpses of green grass after the weeks she had spent in the desert, and she hoped she didn't have to go back for a long time. She looked forward to seeing Solas again and get some rest. The last couple of days she was feeling sluggish and tired, what wasn't surprising with the long hours she had worked caring for the sick and wounded. Dismounting she walked to the camp's main tent, expecting to find Solas there.

“The Inquisitor hasn't returned yet?!” she heard Cullen cal out when she reached it.

“We were expecting him yesterday.” the officer reported. “The last message we have received stated that they had concluded their mission in the Hissing Wastes and were returning.”

Cullen frowned and traced the Inquisitor's route on the map; there could be a number of reasons why they were delayed. He weighed his options of sending out a search party when a scout entered the tent with a message. His frown only deepened when he read it.

Worried something happened Eirlana spoke up. “Is there any news?”

“It is as you already feared, the Inquisitor has fallen ill together with Sera and several others. They are asking for assistance.” he handed her the note.

It was written by Solas, and she recognised the symptoms immediately. “I will prepare to go to them.”

Cullen nodded, “I will see to it that you will have an escort.”

Outside Eirlana grabbed her pack and started to collect fresh rations and herbs from storage. With no desire to travel again she hoisted her bags up the Dracolisk and secured them.

“So, we are off again.” Dorian huffed. “You know all this sun gives me terrible tan lines.” He noticed how tired she looked. “You know you don't have to go; there are other healers.”

“It is the Inquisitor,” she sighed, “and we need him...” she hesitated because sadly lay on the tip of her tongue.

Dorian lay his hand on her shoulder, guessing why she had fallen silent. “Well, at least you will have good company. Varric is also getting ready.” She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“The Inquisitor better be thankful, that big oaf of a Qunari will think I came because I missed him.”

Apart from them Garrick and a few soldiers also volunteered to escort her, within the hour they stood ready to accompany her. Casting the sun-protection spell, Solas thought her on herself she steered her mount back into the Western Approach.

Solas scanned the horizon looking for Eirlana and the others. A raven had sent word of their departure, and if his calculations were correct, they should reach him soon. He, Iron Bull and a couple of freed slaves from the Hissing Wastes had spent days looking after Ryan, Sera and the soldiers. What had started with one soldier fallen ill a week back soon had grown into a major problem. With their business finished in the Hissing Wastes and only two men ill they had started their journey out of the desert, but as the days went by more and more people became sick. They had barely made it to this small oasis that they were at now. He and Iron Bull did what they could, but Solas' knowledge at treating diseases was limited, and with their meagre resources there wasn't much they could do, especially for Ryan and Sera who were the illest at the moment.

It had been a strange couple of days looking after them, particular taking care of Ryan. After his decision at Adamant Solas wanted to scream at him, ask him if he enjoyed the worship he received. But Adamant had left even Ryan scarred; now he lay sick in his tent praying feverishly to the Maker, asking for forgiveness. He was accepting the disease that had crippled the Inquisition as divine punishment for abandoning the Divine, and he was vowing that he would fulfil his task to stop Corypheus.

Sera, on the other hand, was blaming the Fade and the demons for her predicament in very colourful descriptions. Solas was glad she got some of her fire back. Even when she pestered him often he felt sympathy for her, it was his fault after all she had lost so much of herself, and he had created the world that made her feel like being an elf was something undesirable.

Impatient Solas scanned the horizon again; he felt anxious. At the moment they didn't know what Corypheus was planning next, and they were stranded here. Corypheus absence at Adamant meant he was already moving to his next target and Solas had yet to find out what it was.

“Finally.” he sighed when a group of riders was approaching fast, help had arrived.

“Vhenan.” he helped Eirlana of her mount when they reached the camp.

She gave him a light kiss. “How are they?”

“Not getting any better. I wasn't able to do much for them.”

“What about you?” she brushed his cheek and looked concerned at him.

He leaned into her touch. “It would help if we would leave here soon.” he admitted to her. He couldn't deny that he also was affected by all that had happened. He felt more tired than usual, and his body still ached from the dragon they had fought in the Hissing Wastes.

“Let's hope the medicine I have brought works.”

It took Ryan and the others several days to be well enough to move on. Glad they could finally leave again Eirlana waited with the mounts until the others were ready. She wasn't feeling well, and for a moment dizziness came over her, she leaned against her dracolisk to stable herself.

Solas noticed it and went to her. “Are you alright?”

“Yes!” she snapped irritated and regretted it the moment she saw his shocked face. “I am sorry, I am just tired.”

He embraced her gently so she could lean against him. “Anything I can do for you?”

“Maybe a weeks worth of sleep, and no more vomiting people.” her voice sounded muffled against his shoulder. “And less sun and clothes not full of sand, I could go on for a while.” she joked.

They both laughed, but Solas could see she wasn't alright. She looked too pale, and he knew she had gotten little rest since the siege at Adamant over three weeks ago.

“Please tell me if I can help you somehow.”

“You already do by being here.”

He kissed her on the head and lifted her on the mount.

With everyone ready and eager to leave they set in a brisk pace. By travelling deep into the night and minimal rest they made good progress, soon the vegetation was getting greener, and not long after they spotted the Inquisition's encampment. Soldiers were already dismantling it so they could start their journey back to Skyhold.

Suddenly Eirlana halted her mount and jumped off, ran to the nearest bush and vomited. Solas immediately ran towards her to help her, handing her his waterskin when she was finished.

“Thank you.” she said weakly. She had been feeling nauseated a couple of times now, but this was the first time she got sick. “I am afraid whatever is the cause of the illness has caught up with me.”

She looked pale, and Solas was worried. “Come let's take you to the healers.” he placed her back on her mount and escorted her. As they suspected, she had contracted the disease. With no cure available rest was the best remedy, but with most of the soldiers feeling better the army couldn't delay their departure any longer. Solas wasn't happy; he found it cruel that the person who had helped so many was forced to travel even if she wasn't well. As the days went by he could see she was struggling, even though she took the medicine, it helped her only a little, and she had to vomit several times a day. Whenever they rested, he needed to persuade her to eat, before she fell asleep. Wishing he could do more for her, he went to Dorian to ask him a favour.

When Skyhold finally came to view Eirlana let out a sigh of relief, she was exhausted and never had thought she would look forward to sleep in a real bed this much. It didn't help that too many people were fussing over her and asked her after her well-being, it made her uncomfortable and irritable. All that she wanted was to sleep and spending some time alone, but people had a hard time to understand that, especially Solas. She already snapped at him a couple of times, only to feel guilty afterwards.

Everyone in Skyhold was excited that the Inquisitor and the troops had returned safely, especially because they made it in time to celebrate Wintersend. Eirlana had a difficult time to make her way through the crowd of welcoming people; it made her feel dizzy and trapped. She looked around for Solas, but he had disappeared. She suspected he was already in the rotunda to check on the events that had happened while they were away. Out of breath, she reached their quarters, and with a groan she opened the door, hoping to get some rest finally.

“Welcome home Miss.” Rosie greeted her. “I have already prepared everything. Please get well soon.” and left.

For a moment Eirlana could only stare, not believing what she saw. The room was cosy warm by the fire lit in the fireplace, and a tray with food stood ready. Solas was waving his hand above a bathtub that had been placed in the room, warming the water with his magic.

“Come, vhenan.” he took her bag from her so she could undress and get into the bath.

She sighed when she sank into the warm water, and Solas started to massage her head gently. Half asleep she mumbled. “Who did you bride to get a private bathtub?”

He smiled. “I could borrow this one from Dorian in exchange for some bottles of elven wine and a promise from Varric that Cullen would be in the public bath tonight.”

She giggled. “You are joking.”

Moving his hands to her neck and shoulders, her laughter turned into a moan when he kneaded her tense muscles. “I am afraid we will hear every detail of Dorian's sacrifice later.” he pressed a kiss on her temple. “We are all worried about you.” “Thank you, you are sweet.” she murmured half dosing.

After feeding her some light foods from the tray, he ushered her into bed where she fell asleep almost immediately. Carefully he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, hoping she would get well soon.

The candlelight on Solas' table flickered as the door to the rotunda opened. Solas looked up and saw two servants hurrying along with even more pine branches to decorate Skyhold. Ever since they had returned the whole fortress was in a state of excitement for the festivities of Wintersend. Every nook and cranny of Skyhold had been decorated with pine trees and branches, that were adorned with red ribbons, tiny bells and metal ornaments of the Maker and Andraste.

Solas could hear that the great hall was filling slowly with the Inquisitor's guests of honour, nobles and diplomats; apparently, the mass in the gardens had finished. Outside in the courtyard music started to play, making him grumble. With all this activity it was hard to concentrate on all the reports of newly discovered rifts, troop movements of the Venatori, magical readings and the secret messages of his agents. He needed to hurry, Ryan had decided to depart again tomorrow after the festivities had ended. They would head to the Emerald Graves this time to check on a group of refugees that had trouble with deserters from the civil war and red templars. Ryan hoped they would finally find some clues to discover the red templars base of operation.

The door opened again, and Solas groaned, putting down the report he was reading. He pinched the bridge of his nose wondering why he ever thought the rotunda was a great place for him to work.

“Solas?”

He immediately perked up when he heard Eirlana's voice. She had dressed up for the occasion and looked stunning. She wore a dark green woollen dress with an embroidered bodice, a moss green shawl lined with soft rabbit fur rested on her arms. Several strings, consisting of colourful beats and tiny metal plates, were looped around her waist, creating a shimmering sash. Someone had helped her with her hair; it had been partially braided with several ribbons woven through them, the rest of her hair hung loose in shiny waves.

He stared at her. “You look lovely.”

Blushing she sat down on his lap. “Thank you.” She leaned back and stole one of the cake's he had saved from dinner of his plate. Solas opened his mouth to object, but halted when he saw how she enjoyed its rich chocolate taste. He was relieved she gotten her appetite back and that her nausea had finally passed.

“You are developing a sweet tooth.” he smirked and tried to take a bite from the cake in her hand.

Eirlana pulled it away just in time, taking another bite herself. “I think you are rubbing of one me.” she laughed.

He tried to steal a bite again, but she evaded him and quickly finished the sweet without sharing it with him. Determined to get a taste Solas pulled her in for a kiss and hummed when he tasted the chocolate from her lips. She smiled and enjoyed his attention when they were interrupted by her growling stomach.

“Haven't you eaten yet?”

“I did eat.” she held her stomach and blushed in embarrassment. “Apparently not enough. Luckily there will be food at the feast.” She nuzzled herself against him relishing the moment of them being together.

Solas was still worried about her, although she was feeling better after resting a couple of days, it was still too short. She would accompany him, Ryan, Sera and Iron Bull tomorrow, despite his objections. With her being a talented mage and one of the few possessing healing abilities, the Inquisition was demanding too much of her and her health was suffering from the strain. With her going with them he was determined she would get enough rest on their journey.

Sitting up Eirlana pulled a small parcel from her pocket. “I have something for you.”

Curious Solas took it and opened the ribbon. It contained a leather bookmark. It was elegantly engraved with an elvish design, although he didn't recognise its origin. It depicted a couple of grazing halla surrounded by swirling plants and trees. “It is beautiful.” he traced the engravings with his fingers.

“Do you like it? I drew it myself. Josephine had it sent to a leather worker in Val Royeaux to have it made.”

“Thank you.” he smiled at her before pulling her in for another kiss. Slowly he deepened it, and he began to move his hands over her body. He longed to be with her, to be swept away by her, to forget the hundreds of things that demanded his attention.

Eirlana pushed him back. “Please don't. You know I have to go.” she pecked him on the nose and freed herself from his arms. “I will see you later.” she squeezed his hand.

“Have a good time.” he smiled and watched her leave the Rotunda.

She had asked him if he would join her to the feast, but he had declined, stating he had to much work to do. In part, this was the truth; he had redoubled his effort to find Corypheus and his orb, he needed to get it back. The joyful atmosphere that surrounded him the last couple of days irked him; there was little to be joyful about. His orb was lost, and Ryan's actions and decisions steered the Inquisition ever further on a path of power and the Chantry's agenda. The saddest thing was that the world watched and cheered Ryan on. To many agreed with his opinions, his hostile attitude towards magic and his encouragement of corrupted organisations. At this very moment, the hall of Skyhold was full with people congratulating him.

Melancholic he traced the bookmark lying on the table. He should be happy for her; it was remarkable how she had learned to love and trust again. It was even more remarkable how she made him feel. In her presence he felt almost normal, for a moment he was not weighed down by millennia of secrets and responsibilities. He wondered again what she would do if she would discover who he was and what he had done. She already was suspecting him of being more than a simple apostate, but she never pried. He felt ashamed by the trust she put in him, and that she was willing to wait patiently for him to tell her on his own terms. She had no idea how special it was to him to be loved without fearing she had alternative motives. How many partners in his past had claimed to love him but were only trying to better themselves. They had been after his power, his wealth, his status. How many had lied to him, tried to steal his secrets, wanted to use him for their own agenda's? He sighed, now he was the one that was lying.

The cheers and music from outside were getting louder, with pain in his heart Solas stood up, maybe he could take a small peak at the feast, showing her that he cared.

Eirlana manoeuvred herself to the Herald's rest. Maid's were walking around with trays of beer and other drinks between the tables that had been put outside. A stage had been build in front of the smith were a band was playing an upbeat tune with several drums, flutes, violins and other instruments. Many people were dancing to the music on the upper courtyard. She spotted Sera and Dagna sitting on the roof of the tavern, having their own private fun by occasionally throwing candid apples and other sweets at people. Varric waved at her to join them at the table he was sharing with Blackwall, Iron Bull, Dorian, Cassandra and Cullen.

“Is Chuckles not coming?” Varric asked as he pulled back a chair for her.

She shook her head and sat down. She was concerned about Solas; he had even become more withdrawn since Adamant. She could understand he kept his distance from Ryan and Vivienne, and even in some part from Sera, but not towards the others. He was talking less with everyone and spent his time secluded. It was bothering her; it shouldn't be like this after the months they had spent together.

Even towards her, she noticed a distance, not that he wasn't attentive and caring. Thanks to him she was feeling better again, but his mind seemed to be continuously occupied. Too often she saw him with a distant sorrowful and lonely look in his eyes; she had tried to ask him what was bothering him, but he was very evasive. At first, she thought it was connected to the things he saw in the nightmare, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something else was amiss.

Whatever it was it even occupied him in his sleep, it had been weeks since they shared a dream and she missed those wonderful intimate moments with him exploring the Fade, observing the past, talking and listening to the spirits, uncovering stories no one remembered. The time spent in Fade was special to her and one she couldn't share with anyone else.

“Will you dance with me?” Cullen stood next to her, thinking about Solas she hadn't followed the conversation at the table and now everyone was looking at her with a smirk on their faces.

“What?”

Cullen was getting even redder from embarrassment. “Will you dance with me?”

“I don't know this dance.”

“Oh come on Snowflake, it isn't difficult.” Varric pushed her, and she took Cullen's offered hand.

Cullen couldn't believe they all had talked him into this, even before Eirlana had joined them they had persuaded him, and he had taken the bait they had laid out.

“I really don't know this dance, Cullen.” Eirlana flustered as she followed him to the dancing crowd.

“Don't worry it is simple.” he smiled at her trying to ensure her.

They stayed at the edge of the crowd and Cullen had been right it was a fun, simple dance and everyone was doing their own version of it. Soon they were both smiling and moving on the upbeat melody. Suddenly Cullen's smile vanished, and Eirlana turned to look what he saw. Solas stood on the stairs leading to the great hall watching them, his brows were drawn together, and the look in his eyes was venomous. When she caught his eyes, he turned abruptly around and went back inside.

She halted. What was wrong with him?

“Don't worry about it.” Cullen pulled her a little to the side so they wouldn't be in the way of other dancers.

“But...”

“He is angry at me, not at you.”

“You have seen him like this before?”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck; he could tell she was not pleased. “Yes, a few times.” he confessed.

“I will be back.” she left him behind.

He shook his head, hoping he hadn't made a mistake in telling her.

Eirlana stormed inside the rotunda. Solas stood there straight as an arrow, staring at his murals, his hands clasped behind his back. He barely looked back at her when she entered.

“Solas what is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

She knew he was not telling the truth. “Don't lie to me. Are you mad at Cullen?”

He took a deep breath; he needed to calm down, he had no right to be angry. “No.” he lied again. “You should return to the feast.”

She was getting even more frustrated that he didn't give her an explanation, but she was also seeing he was struggling with something. Her worry returned, and she gently touched his arm. “Come, join us.” she offered him. “Take your mind off for a while.”

Solas crunched his eyes shut; she didn't know what she asked of him. How could he take his mind off his purpose? How could he celebrate a world that was wrong, that he would destroy? How could he form even deeper friendships with people he would hurt in the end?

Eirlana saw his painful expression again as if a heavy burden was crushing him. “What is wrong? This can't be just about Corypheus or the Inquisition.” she took hold of his hands. “You can talk to me.”

His layer of half-truths and masks shattered. He knew he should lie, that he should use his excuses of work, difficult reports or the pressure of the Inquisition, but he couldn't. They all sounded shallow.

“I can't.” he uttered with difficulty, his voice broken. He knew it wasn't the answer she wanted to hear, the look on her face told him he had hurt her.

She looked angry at the history books that lay open on his table. “Why can't you talk to me? What is so important that you can't spare one evening? You know that what has past will be just the same tomorrow.”

“You should leave.”

Something broke within her and her eyes teared up before her expression turned to anger. “Fine!” she shoved him and walked away, leaving him alone.

With a foul mood, Eirlana returned to the feast. She loved Solas, and she thought they had become so close to each other, but now he felt so distant. A darkness was growing inside him that she couldn't understand. What hurt her the most was that he still didn't trust her, that he still felt it was necessary to keep things from her.

She sat down at a more quieter corner of the festivities, angrily wiping her eyes in an attempt not to cry. Varric sat next to her a short while later. They sat quietly together for a while.

“I don't understand him sometimes.” Eirlana huffed frustrated.

“Do you love him?”

“With all my heart.”

“That is the most important part. Give it a little rest and talk to him again when you both have cooled down. You don't want to know the love spats Isabella gets in. Not to mention the fights Hawke and Anders used to have, especially to the end.”

“I just don't understand. Why would he get so angry and dismissive?” she turned towards him, hoping he would know some answers.

“Well, I would be jealous too if Bianca would dance happily with our Commander. You two looked lovely together. I would never admit it, but I would get angry.” he saw at her face she didn't know what effect she had on Cullen or other people. He felt sorry for her. She in part resembled Fenris who also had difficulty in understanding how normal people interacted with each other. Feeling guilty for his part in teasing Cullen to dance with her he continued. “Solas is a very private person, and you were very shy and reserved in the beginning. You two found each other in all this shit that has been happening. You two fell in love, and that is something beautiful. But you two got together when you were still discovering yourself, and you still do. Snowflake you have changed dramatically from the scared, shy elf I met back in Haven. You have burst open and are exploring the world, making friends, enjoying life.”

“But he can also make friends.”

Varric saw she didn't understand him; she really reminded him of Fenris. He had to spell it out for her. “Snowflake, he is scared of losing you. You are sweet, kind, beautiful and many people like you. It makes him nervous to see you with other men because he is afraid you will fall in love with them.”

Eirlana thought about what he said, it sounded plausible, but she knew there was more to it than that. “Maybe you are right.” she sighed, planning to talk with Solas again. Her stomach growled for the second time, and she held it in embarrassment.

Varric laughed and pushed a bowl of fried vegetables and some bread with cheese in front of her. “Before you go talk to him eat something. In my experience, hungry women are grumpy women.” .

Solas slammed his fist on the table in their shared bedroom. He still could feel the door slamming shut behind Eirlana as she left the rotunda. It was like it had slammed right into his heart. She had every right to be angry with him, and he was mad at himself that he let it come to this, nothing of what was happening should ever have happened, this world, the Breach, the Inquisition, him being here. Why of all the times had he found love now? How had things got so complicated?

Seeing her dance with Cullen reminded him of all the things he couldn't give her. He couldn't give her a steady life, a real family, a future together. His path was set, and only death and destruction awaited him. He was angry with himself that he had let it come to this and that she would suffer because of his weakness. Maybe he should step back; perhaps he should let her find love with someone else, someone like Cullen. A shudder went through him, and he felt sick from his own thoughts.

What stung him, even more, she was right he couldn't change the past, it didn't matter what he would do countless lives were forever lost, as was Elvhenan. He could only work on a better future for the People, and that meant he had to destroy another world in the process. With the weakening Veil, there was not much choice, either way, things would revert to what once was, and his only hope was that he would find the means to guide and influence the process.

He sighed the more he thought about what he must do, the more he knew he would lose her. She was flourishing, living in the here and now. She had learned to walk her own path and to enjoy her life. It broke his heart that he had to crush it all the same. He knew he was being selfish and that he needed to end things, but he couldn't bear the thought of losing her. He knew he needed to, in the end, he had a task to finish that he started millennia ago. Even when Elvhenan would never return, he needed to create a new future; he owed this to the People. He had to prepare himself; soon he needed to leave Solas behind him and become something else, Fen'Harel needed to return.

The feast went on, people were together, laughing, dancing, getting drunk. No longer in the mood for the feast Eirlana watched them, she wanted to retreat to her room but feared Solas would be there. She was not yet ready to face him. Varric kept her company telling one of his stories about Hawke and their dealings with a certain Orlesian Duke, making her laugh several times.

Slowly the music and the people were getting louder, and Eirlana had a hard time concentrating on Varric's story. “Varric, I am sorry, but I think I am going to bed.” she stood up feeling slightly nauseous. “You're okay? You don't look so good.”

“I think the crowd is getting to me. You have to tell the rest of the story when I am back.”

“Always, safe travels, but I hope I will see you off tomorrow.”

“I would like that.” she smiled at him. “And thank you Varric.”

“Anytime Snowflake, anytime.”

Walking back she dreaded to confront Solas, it was the first time she was angry with him, and it made her unsure how to react to him. As she predicted Solas sat at his small worktable in their room, seeing him ignited her anger anew and she walked inside ignoring him. She started to undo her braids and heard him move behind her. Knowing she couldn't evade their talk any longer, she turned abruptly towards him. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she staggered. Solas grabbed her, holding her until it passed.

“Vhenan?”

Solas eyes were full of concern. Why was he looking at her like that? Why was he suddenly caring when he had dismissed her earlier? Why was she feeling relieved? Why was her anger wavering? Tears sprang in her eyes as her emotions overwhelmed her.

“Vhenan, what is wrong?” he panicked as Eirlana started to cry and took her into his arms. Gently he stroked her head. “I am sorry about earlier, how I acted was unworthy of me. Please forgive me.”

“I don't understand. Why won't you tell me what is bothering you? Why do you think you have to be alone?”

Closing his eyes, he held her. He knew she wanted more from him and he wished he could give her all the answers she sought. “I know you want answers from me, but I can't give them to you now.” He hugged her more tightly before he looked at her. “I know I ask a lot from you, but please wait for me. I... I need more time. I promise I will tell you.” He whispered to her. “Please wait for me.”

His eyes were silently pleading with her, and she saw he was struggling; her anger vaporised into nothing, she couldn't, didn't want to deny his request, but she wished he didn't feel the need for secrecy. She wanted to be there for him; she wanted to be somebody he could trust and rely on.

“You promise.”

“You have my word.” he held her in his arms again. “I will apologise to Cullen tomorrow morning.”

Relief went through him when she finally hugged him back. He felt unworthy of her love and trust in him.

“Ar lath ma, do never doubt that.”

Solas awoke early in the morning, carefully he stood up and casts a light sleeping spell and a bubble of silence around Eirlana. Satisfied she wouldn't wake he proceeded in packing their bags, he wanted to give her as much rest as he could. A few hours later he woke her.

“Vhenan.”

Eirlana stirred wrapping the blankets closer around her.

Solas smiled and called her again. “You have to get up; we will leave soon.”

“What?” she sleepy opened her eyes.

“I have finished everything. I have laid out your travel clothes, and breakfast is on the table. Everything is packed; you just have to get yourself ready.” he gave her a short kiss. “I go and prepare the mounts.” and left carrying their packs. Blinking her eyes a few times she got out of bed she saw everything lying ready for her. She took the steamy cup of tea of the breakfast tray and had to smile as, among the fruit, jam and fresh bread lay one of the small chocolate cake's she stole yesterday from Solas

Solas' determination to let her rest continued during the trip. He was always busy doing things for her, be it changing the water from her waterskin to setting up their tent for the night. He even had apologised to Cullen before they left and made some effort to engage in conversation with the others, although the tension would always exist between him and Ryan.

Eirlana was happy seeing him talk with the others and as their journey progressed into the Emerald Graves, she was physically getting better by the day. The fresh air and soothing atmosphere of the woods did wonders for her mood, and she was feeling better than ever.

The Emerald Graves had been spared the harsh, destructive power of the civil war, probably because the region wasn't densely populated and mainly used by a few nobles who had build their summer-estates out here, to escape the bustle of Val Royeaux and hunt the abundant wildlife.

The forest was beautiful with big old trees and thick beds of moss and soft grass covering the rolling landscape for endless miles. Eirlana could feel that these forests had once been important to the elves, many ruins of their buildings dotted the landscape.

“My people built a life here... it must have been something to see.” Solas said next to her, and she agreed.

She couldn't wait to fall asleep here and explore them in the Fade. “The Veil is thin here can you feel it?”

He smiled at her and took her hand; he pressed it against his lips, his eyes were sparkling.

Sadly there wasn't much time to explore the elven ruins more closely as Ryan wanted to deal with the deserters and red templars as quickly as possible. Luckily it was a fairly easy task, and after a few days, only one of the deserters' hideout was left to clear out.

They had set up camp, and after spending some time at the campfire, everyone retired for the night. Solas was already asleep when Eirlana slipped into the Fade. Once again Solas was nowhere to be found, and she wandered through the forest alone. She was glad that the Fade was peaceful, even when this region had seen its fair share of battle. Memories of elves and humans mingled together even when they had lived here centuries apart. It was comforting to see that even when the waking world insisted there was a difference between humans and elves, here in the Fade, it didn't matter. They all encountered the same issues in life, and the spirits remembered them. Eirlana had walked for a while when she came upon a beautiful grove fed by a small waterfall, several memories where gathered here; they were happy memories. Lovers met in secret whispering sweet words; first kisses were shared and soft touches, children played in the shallow waters watched by mothers and maids sitting at the bank. She noticed the spirit living here float between the memories it had collected; it was a spirit of love, love for another, love for a child. It had gathered all the fond memories that had happened here. When the spirit noticed her it came towards her and got more excited the closer it came. Eirlana at first didn't know what it wanted when she suddenly felt another presence in the Fade; she was not alone.

With a startle Eirlana woke up, it was very early in the morning. Solas was lying next to her, still deep asleep. Carefully she freed herself from his arms, grabbed her shawl and slipped out of the tent. The guards of the last shift greeted her, as she walked out of the elven ruins they had set camp in. There was a big wolf statue just outside of their camp, and she walked towards it. Her feet were getting wet from the morning dew hanging in heavy drops on the grass and moss covering the ground. A couple of deer and august rams were grazing peacefully in the morning mist, a few looked up at her but didn't seem to mind her presence.

She sat down against the statue and leaned back looking at the green foliage above her were the first rays of the sun shimmered through. Unconsciously she brushed her hand over her belly, noticing her action she huffed a laugh. Nervously she let her hands hover over her tummy and let her magic flow. And there it was, clear as day, a new life growing rapidly. Eirlana giggled in her nervousness and tears sprang into her eyes, she was pregnant.

Now her tiredness and periods of nausea made more sense, it hadn't occurred to her she could be pregnant she had taken precautions after Solas and her became intimate, and she hadn't noticed she had skipped her period. She had never been regular after her years of abuse and malnourishment, and the constant stress of conflict, combat and her long working hours didn't help either. Pregnant, she let her magic flow again she was really pregnant. She beamed with happiness, Solas and her were getting a baby, a child.

Solas... she felt a little nervous, he had been very clear he didn't want a child at the moment and saving the world had been their priority until now. How would he react? Her hand reached out to her necklace; there was a tiny voice of doubt in her mind. No, she was sure he would be happy.

Suddenly she was startled by a flock of up flying birds, the august rams and deer shifted and ran away. The forest around her grew silent, and Eirlana got the feeling someone was watching her. Feeling uneasy she quickly went back. As soon as she walked into the camp the feeling left her; everyone was up and getting ready. A report had come in about a pocket of red templars they had missed, and Iron Bull was excited that a dragon had been spotted not too far away. Ryan already mapped out their route of the day, and Eirlana quickly slipped into the tent to dress. Before she got the chance to get Solas alone to talk they left to take care of the last of the deserters and red templars.

Sera jumped off a boulder onto Iron Bull's shoulder and shrieked in glee when he threw her of him further into the water with a loud splash. His deep laughter rumbled through the small grove they were bathing in. It had been a long warm day tracking through the woods, and all of them were relieved when they returned to their camp. Eirlana washed herself a little to the side; she was still wearing her shirt, not feeling comfortable to be seen naked by the others. Floating in the water, she waited for Solas to join them. It was the same grove she had seen in the Fade, and she wondered if the spirit was observing them. Thinking back at the couples she had seen in her dream she wondered if they also been as nervous as she was, waiting anxiously for the right moment to tell their loved ones something important. Her hand trailed to her stomach. She felt nervous and excited, she had never pictured herself as a mother, but she hadn't pictured herself being free either. It was strange, in the past, she had been forced to kill two of her unborn children. It had been difficult, but she rather had them die peacefully than have them born into despair, cruelty and death, for she had no doubt they wouldn't have survived.

But things were different now; she was free, she was safe and with the man she loved. Still, there was doubt, would he even want a family? What were his plans after the Inquisition had finished its mission and they defeated Corypheus? She had never given her life after the Inquisition much thought; she had never had to make plans for the future, this was still new to her. What would Solas do? Would he take up his life of wandering again, and was he planning to travel with her? It troubled her he was still keeping secrets from her, and she didn't want to pry so soon after their fight. Also, what would the others do after the Inquisition? Would they return to the life they had before? She had no life to return to; this was her life, her only life she ever really had. She knew she couldn't wander around following Solas to ancient ruins with a child. Where would she live? Where would they live? What would her future be like?

Finally, Solas came to the grove and stripped out of his clothes. To her relief the others made their way out of the water, they would be alone.

She heard Sera say “Slowpoke.” to him before she slipped into her shirt and skipped towards the tents.

Wading into the water, Solas swam a few strokes and started to wash his face and head, again he seemed deep in thought. Eirlana called out to him, but he didn't react. Carefully she moved closer to him with a smirk on her face.

Solas washed himself not paying any attention to his surroundings. He had found another note in the last camp of the rebels with a Venatori's seal; it asked to capture and hold any elves that were accompanying the Inquisitor. It figured that both groups would also be collaborating after their agreement with the red templars. Apparently, they hadn't given up on capturing him and judging by Corypheus losses he must be getting desperate.

He was just glad that the note hadn't been spread around like the other numerous notes warning everyone about the Inquisitor. In part, he had been in luck, for Ryan had lost interest in the notes after finding the same message over and over again. Still, he had to be careful; he had no doubt Ryan would react suspiciously if he would found out that Corypheus was interested in him.

Suddenly he yelped when a thin film of ice formed on his underwear, abruptly he turned around to Eirlana who laughed and splashed through the water trying to get away from him.

Solas ran after her, and caught her quickly, grabbing her arms while she tried to get away. They both laughed and squealed. With one hand he pinned her hands behind her back, and with his free hand, he teased her under her ribcage, knowing she was ticklish there. She shrieked and squirmed in his grasp. His heart was hammering; he was thrilled she was finally feeling better after he had forced rest upon her, now she was so lively again, almost glowing in her beauty.

“Solas.” she wheezed out of breath when his hand moved under her shirt gliding over her stomach, butterflies exploded within her, she needed to tell him. “Solas stop, we need to talk.”

He let go of her, wondering what she wanted, but before she even could turn towards him, a halla jumped suddenly out of the bushes into the water running through it. Someone cursed in Tevene and two Venatori appeared. Both Solas and Eirlana immediately rained spells down on them, alerting the others in the camp. Iron Bull was the first to come to their aid, but with their cover blown the Venatori retreated swiftly into the forest. “Figures they would also be here.” Ryan commented, “Come you two, no more bathing.”

“Pah Venabory can't think of something else. Always crashing our good fun.”

For once Solas agreed with her.

Back at camp Eirlana sat down by the fire, silently cursing the Venatori for interrupting her attempt to talk with Solas. Not having finished her bath, she finger-combed her wet hair.

“Why don't cut it?” Sera asked “Is it one of those elf things? Not practical at all. See I'm finished in no time.” she shook her short cut hair that was almost dry already, to make her point.

Looking at her, Eirlana grinned. “I need to keep it long. I have to compensate for our other elfy elf.”

Sera burst out in laughter at her remark.

Encircling Eirlana with his arms, Solas pulled her against him. He grazed her ear with his teeth. “You are full of mischief today.” he murmured.

She turned towards him with a glint in her eye. “Do you have any complains?” she challenged him.

“Yes.” he kissed her. “We are not alone.”

“Ah, get a room you two!” Sera yelled.

“Oh, I think we will.” Solas chuckled deeply, picked Eirlana up and carried her to their tent.

“Solas!” she shrieked and blushed fiercely, trying to get out of his arms.

Iron Bull laughed, and Sera rolled her eyes when they both disappeared into their tent.

In their tent, Solas put her down and climbed on top of Eirlana. “So what shall I do with you?” He held her arms while she tried to wriggle herself free, wondering how he should repay her for her actions. His fingers wandered to her ticklish spot again.

Suddenly a force of magic pushed him to the side, and he was forced on his back. Trapped by her magic, he stared at her when she climbed in turn on top of him. He was in awe at her control of her forcefield magic that pinned him down and his blood heated up at how she dominated him.

Who was this alluring creature, that looked with so much love and devotion at him?

Straddling him, Eirlana turned her fingers cold and teasingly glided them over Solas' cheek and lower lip before kissing him. He inhaled sharply from her freezing touch, only to be overwhelmed by her hot lips. Her freezing fingers kept wandering along his jaw down his neck, creating a trail of goosebumps on his skin. His stomach fluttered in anticipation of every move, of every tease she made. Now he had missed this, their intimacy, the last couple of weeks she had been so tired and he too occupied. He wanted to chase every touch she gave him, but couldn't because her magic trapped him. She stopped kissing him, and Solas stretched his neck in an attempt to capture her lips again, but she pulled back smiling at him.

“Vhenan.” he groaned, his body strung by the anticipation and his need, it became overwhelming. When her fingers had wandered to his sensitive ears, he no longer could wait and trusted his hips up.

Eirlana was fascinated by his reactions and by the expressions on his face, making her tease him more and more. When he trusted his hips up, she gasped, her body begging her to continue, but she knew she couldn't wait any longer. “Solas we need to talk.” she released her hold on him and sat back.

Taken aback by the sudden change he sat up. “What is the matter?”

Letting out a deep sigh she looked him in the eyes. “I am pregnant.”

#flame of winter #dragon age #dragon age solas #dragon age inquisition #Solas #solas romance #solas x oc #fanfic

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authorellenmint · 7 years ago

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It always bugged me that the Fade was so impersonal for the Inquisitor, nor that there’s a moment for Cullen who watched you fall had a chance to comment on it.

So I wrote a short story about the Inquisitor right after she emerges from the Fade.

Moment of Fear

Winds whipped debris around the cracked base where a demon nearly broke through to destroy the world. Thunder rumbled the night sky as people, my people, swarmed amongst the now surrendered Grey Warden forces. Most were already quarantined and contained as far from ours as they could get. Forgiveness could only stretch so far and tension still bit in the air.

The others, the ones who walked with me where no one dared tread, moved on. Cole still bore the worst of it, a shake in his paper hands as he whispered to himself, but it was Bull of all people who kept him distracted. It was also the first time I ever found Vivienne speechless, her face mottled with mud from the fade and terror haunting her eyes. She stood beside me for a time, silent as the grave, marking where we jumped free of the demons and I zipped it shut. But now I stood alone. My eyes stung from focusing intently on the empty air, watching to make certain it worked, and wishing it had all been just a nightmare.

"Inquisitor," a hand dropped onto my shoulder and I turned away from my vigil. A boy stood behind me, his flaxen hair matted with demon blood. He looked so young, specks of fuzz pocked above his lip unable to meet in the middle. I tipped my head, waiting for a response, but his eyes travailed the massive pride demon corpse still strewn in pieces across the ground.

"Have you ever seen one before?" I asked the boy. His massive brown eyes widened at my speaking to him. Slowly, he twisted his head in the negative.

"Pray you never do again," I said, patting him on the shoulder. "Now, you needed something from me?"

"Yes, the commander is looking for you. He said it was important stuff."

I bowed my head and twisted back to the still silent veil. Blessed creators, I wish my brother were here. Even if all of his talk about feeling the veil's power was just him showing off in front of the female hunters it'd still make me feel better. A twinge shuddered off my palm and I released my fingers to find the anchor flaring awake. Closing my fist, I turned to the boy, "Right, where is he?"

Cullen was not that difficult to find. In the time we were trapped in the fade, the commander got most of the wounded marked and tended to. The Wardens not gravely injured and bundled off the battlefield huddled against the wall, blankness in their eyes. Whether it was from losing that calling or from watching their leader nearly sacrifice everyone to a demon was hard to say.

Remnants of our siege weapons lay mixed atop the Wardens, as if everyone dropped what they carried and ran. I spotted the commander walking between two of his lieutenants. One was a tight lipped Tal Vashoth who Cullen had to stand on his tiptoes to meet the eye of. But she followed orders to the letter, to the point she seemed more qunari than our ben hassrath qunari. "What's the word?" He paced to peer over the wall, then back to crouch over a soldier laying upon the ground with a sack wadded over her eye.

"Negative, Ser," Vitan said. She held her hands behind her back, as still as a sullen statue.

"Nothing?" Cullen exasperated, throwing an exhausted hand up. "What about..."

"We have to wait for reinforcements," she interrupted. But Cullen was used to it, and sneered at the promised backup and not his lieutenant.

"Commander," I called, stepping closer. "You asked for me?"

He nodded his head at Vitan, dismissing her. She saluted and turned, commanding two soldiers to assist with her orders. But I swore I caught a micro-smirk from her aimed my way as Cullen fell beside me.

"What's the situation?" I began.

"Adamant is ours, for now. I'm not sure for how long," Cullen said.

"Are Wardens trying to regroup?" I asked, the jolt of battle waking me up.

"No, but this place is falling apart. Our sappers did a number on the east wall. We should pay them well. And our people poked around in the lower sections and discovered a secret entrance. Which would have been useful to know before we began this siege."

He reached a hand out and directed me down a staircase. A massive boulder shattered the wall and collapsed half the stairs. I slid my fingers around it as I followed his suggestion downward. "What are the casualties?" I asked behind myself.

Waiting until we got safely to the bottom, he answered, "Could be worse."

"How bad?"

"A few dead, more injured. We've got wardens to deal with as well." He wiped a hand across his face, "There won't be any definite numbers until morning. Make it through the night..."

"And you stand a fighting chance," I finished. After Haven we all knew that one well.

Cullen's grim face twisted to the side. "There's also the food issue."

"Food issue?" I twisted down the final staircase and walked into the courtyard where this all began. A fire still burned in the sand begun before we ever breached the wall. Occasionally, a soldier would throw more sand upon it, but the flames didn't dampen. Cullen glanced to it and sighed at another problem to solve.

He gestured to the door where the battering ram once stood. "Seems the wardens didn't expect to need much what with a demon army presence and something about the calling taint I don't know. So we're short all around. I'm hoping we can get enough of our forces on their feet and back to Skyhold before it's an issue."

I nodded, out of ideas. I'd never marched an army before, never weighed the tables on what was needed to keep bellies of soldiers full. Never tested how far a soldier could march on a broken leg to keep three others from starving. And they put it all on me, the knife-ear that stumbled into this on accident. Twisting out of the battering ram hole, I stepped out of Adamant fortress to find a city of tents sprung up from the wasteland sands. Fires blazed in between the landmarks, each a different color to mark what service they provided in the camp. Blue swarmed with people rushing to heal the wounded and the wounded staggering for healing. Another tongue of thunder rolled above our heads. We both looked up at the black sky, thick with clouds.

"That would just add to this mess," Cullen muttered. He turned away from another problem to catch my eye and bowed his head, "There's a tent set up this way. We can discuss things there away from panicking eyes."

I tipped my head and trailed behind. Soldiers dashed about the sands raising tents and securing our temporary city built upon the sand. One shoved me aside so he could catch a falling pole when he turned and blanched. I smiled and said, "It's all right. We have to pull our weight tonight. You're doing a good job."

"Thh...thank you?" he stuttered before yanking up his hammer and running away.

Cullen paused before a tent the same size as the others, but someone took the time to stick a massive banner with the Inquisition eye outside it. Red flames burned from the brazier beside the entrance, hissing and popping with the herbs tossed inside. He gestured towards it and picked up the flap of the door. I nodded my head, and dipped below his hand. A table was prepared, a small map of the area already scuffed up with dagger marks. Beside it flickered a lone oil lamp. We had access to magic fire, but after the night and the tear in the veil, no one wanted to use it.

I turned around and looked up at the commander as he lowered the tent flap to join me. "Wood is a priority." I began, "Too many demon bodies can attract --"

He wrapped his arms around my body pulling me tight to his chest. At first I froze, surprise slacking my muscles, but slowly I reached around him. We stood entangled for a minute, breathing each other in and not saying a word.

"Maker," Cullen whispered. He buried his face into the top of my head, his breath parting the hair, "I thought, when the dragon and you fell...into the fade." His arms tightened around me and I squeezed back in return, clinging to something real. But it was all real in the fade, too. That was the problem. For the second time I walked there and came out alive. His grip slackened and he looked down into my eyes, "Are you okay?"

I nodded, and with a flat voice said, "I'm fine."

Cullen ran the back of his hand along my cheek. "I'm not asking the Inquisitor, I'm asking you."

A sob broke. Tears burrowed deep in my heart burst free. He wiped at them with his thumb. "It was horrific. The fade and a demon who I...I can't --"

Wrapping me back into a hug his breath shuddered, "It's all right, you don't have to tell me."

The nightmare's voice cracks above the others. In the distance, the Divine's spirit or demon floats, her eyes watching me as the fear taunts me. "We all know what happens to little knife-ears who grow uppity and forget their place. Snip snip snip. They make for quite a pretty necklace, don't they? When you fail, Corypheus' army will take the ears off every member of your clan, your people, then chain them all back to slavery. The last of the free people will no longer be."

"It's all a mistake," I whispered, digging deeper into him. "I'm not Andraste's chosen. I'm an accident." I snorted at the absurdity. Everyone wanted me to be divine, maker sent, needed it to be a miracle and it was just a case of ill conceived timing. If I'd been lost down the wrong corridor or opened a different door...

Cullen ran his hand through my hair, "I don't believe that."

I leaned away from him and spoke plainly, "It wasn't Andraste who sent me through the fade, it was the Divine."

"That doesn't mean anything."

Shaking my head, I broke away from him, "I'm not what you think I am. What they all think I am. I'm a fraud."

Anger swirled through Cullen's eyes, a dangerous one that more than a few wardens saw this night. "You are no such thing."

"They joined up because I was Andraste's Herald. They followed me because of it. Why would anyone follow an elf with some ancient magic embedded in her hand? An elf that can crack open the fade?"

"Every person out there followed you here to this point because of who you are. There are people who don't believe in Andraste that would still follow you to the ends of the world if you asked. The things you've done against the insurmountable..." Cullen waved his arm out towards the army tents, "You just saved them from a nightmare demon army and a high dragon."

The others saw spiders, but I didn't. I wish I did. Shemlan slavers reached for me, tried to bind my wrists and feet. And when that didn't work, when that only drove me to rage, the demon found something else to torment me with. As the combat faded, and the others slackened their stances, all I saw across the ground was my brother's lifeless body. I killed him, because I took his place.

Energy burst from my hand, flaring around the tent. Cullen stepped back in surprise. Tears rolled down my cheeks, sizzling as they plopped into the anchor. I sank to my knees unable to take my eyes off the magic I never wanted, the gift that I stole. A power so incredible it could rip open the veil. Mages and the terrors they inflicted were nothing compared to what that mark on my hand could do. Cullen dropped in front of me and curled his fingers below mine.

"How can anyone want me," I said, watching my hand, "knowing the truth?" I broke from the greens of the fade to watch enlightenment dawn upon his face. He scooted closer to me and reached an arm around my shoulder.

"I believe in Andraste and the Maker," he said. "I believed that she sent you to help save us in our darkest hour." Cullen ran his fingers across my forehead, pulling my eyes into his, "And I still do."

My fist closed, cutting off the anchor, and I fell into him. He caught me, both of us leaning onto the floor as we clung tighter to each other. "We're in this together, all of us. Cassandra, and Varric, and Leliana," he said.

"And Sera," I said, smirking from his grumble.

"For good or ill, yes, even Sera."

"Andraste's Herald, that's what they call you," my brother's corpse rose from the ground, taunting me. "Pathetic. They'll turn on you the second you're no longer useful to them, just as they turned on their own prophet. Shems can't be trusted, you told me that. But I didn't listen, and look at me. Dead because of them. You opened the fade, you could walk into the black city just like Corypheus. What do you think they'll do to one of our kind with that much power? Let you walk after you save them? Or has your infatuation clouded your judgment? Seduce all the shems you want, sister; you cannot change their nature."

My fingers trailed across Cullen's cheek, rubbing against that foreign scruff he never seemed to tame. His tormented eyes met mine, the same pain shrouding them as when he found me in the snows of Skyhold. He could have flexed the might of the Inquisition's muscle upon me, brought me to heel, but he didn't. He gave me a chance.

"Vhenan," I murmured, stroking his jaw.

"I, uh, don't know what that means," he stammered.

Smiling, I cupped my fingers behind his head and pulled him closer. "My heart," I whispered before falling into a kiss. The demon didn't lie, but twisted the truth, keeping me from seeing the possibilities. As long as Corypheus breathed, Thedas needed me and the Inquisition. And after...what was to come of me, of this, would be broached then.

Leaning back, I wiped at my cheeks still stained in tears and nodded, "All right, we still need to solve the food problem and find wood to build pyres."

Cullen smiled as his cloak of duty slipped in place, laying out his ideas, but he kept a tight hold on my hand while we planned our next move, never letting go.

#dragon age inquisition #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x lavellan #commander cullen #fade #the fade #dai #my fic #fanfic #ao3

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