#but yes in the ship realm he knows her as one of those warriors | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novaursa · 2 months ago

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Fire and Blood (reader's choice)

- Summary: For as long as Maegor could remember, you were denied to him by others. By his own father, by his half-brother, by the gods themselves. They saddled him off with a barren bride and locked you away on Dragonstone. And once Aenys died and Maegor has returned from exile to take the crown, he also takes you, as was his right. But before the wedding could happen, you disappear. You never arrive at the capital with your royal procession. And Maegor tears the realm apart.

- Paring: niece!reader/Maegor I Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The air was heavy with the heat of the afternoon sun, and the sky above King's Landing was an expanse of pale blue. The waters of Blackwater Bay sparkled under the light, and the wind carried the scent of salt and stone, mingling with the hum of the city behind. The Red Keep loomed in the background, a skeletal structure still rising from the hill, its walls unfinished, its towers yet to scrape the heavens as Maegor intended. The clatter of hammers and the creak of scaffolding were distant echoes, reminders of the power he was building, brick by brick.

But today, all of that faded into insignificance. Maegor Targaryen stood with his mother, Visenya, the only one who had ever stood by him. His bannermen, royal retainers, and lords stood at a respectful distance, their whispers nothing but gnats in his ears as he stared out at the empty horizon. You were supposed to arrive today, your royal procession expected any moment, the ships that carried you from Dragonstone cutting across the bay.

You. His bride. His blood. His right.

His gloved hands tightened around the pommel of Blackfyre, the ancient sword of his house, as his mind drifted, despite himself, back to all the times you had been denied to him.

His father, King Aegon the Conqueror, had made the first refusal. Maegor had been young then, but old enough to know what he wanted. You were young too, of course, but even then, Maegor saw the fire in your eyes, the way the blood of Old Valyria ran through you. You were his match in every way. He had stood before his father, demanding you be betrothed to him.

"It is not your place to demand, Maegor," Aegon had said, his voice calm, but his eyes cold. "Your brother's daughter is not for you. Aenys' children will be wed to strengthen the realm, not to satisfy your desires."

It was the first time Maegor had felt the sting of denial, but it would not be the last.

His half-brother, Aenys, had been no better. When he became king after Aegon’s death, Maegor thought surely now, with the crown on his brother’s head, he could finally claim what was his. You had grown by then, blooming into a woman with the beauty and strength of their ancestors. Maegor had approached Aenys, who sat upon the Iron Throne, looking every inch the weak ruler he was.

"You will not have her," Aenys had said, shaking his head. "She is promised elsewhere."

"To whom?" Maegor had demanded, his voice laced with barely contained rage. "Who could be more worthy of her than I, her blood and kin?"

"A match will be made in time, but not to you, brother," Aenys had answered, his tone patronizing. "I have other plans for her."

Other plans. The words still tasted bitter on Maegor’s tongue, as though they had been spoken only yesterday.

He had begged. Yes, even he, Maegor the Cruel, had begged. But only to one person. His mother, Visenya. The warrior queen, the woman who had conquered Westeros by Aegon’s side. The only person who had ever truly understood him.

"I will not be denied her," he had told Visenya, pacing the halls of Dragonstone in frustration. "Father, Aenys, the gods themselves conspire against me. They will not give her to me."

Visenya, regal and fierce, had looked at him with those sharp, violet eyes of hers, the eyes of a dragon, and she had smiled—a cold, knowing smile. "They fear you, my son," she had said. "They fear the strength of your blood. Aenys and his ilk think they can control you by keeping her from you, but they are fools. They do not see what I see."

"And what do you see, Mother?" Maegor had asked, desperate for the answer he knew only she could give.

"I see the future of our house," she had answered, stepping close to him, resting a hand on his armored shoulder. "And I see you at its head, with her at your side. The dragons of Old Valyria will rise again, Maegor. And no one—no one—will deny you what is yours."

Her words had kept him sane through the years of exile, through his marriage to Ceryse Hightower, a woman who had proven barren, and a marriage that had been nothing but a chain around his neck. All the while, he had thought of you. You, locked away on Dragonstone, hidden from him by his enemies, the gods, the world. But now, none of that mattered. Aenys was dead, the throne was his, and soon, you would be too.

And yet... the ships did not come.

The sun was sinking lower, casting ghastly shadows over the unfinished Red Keep, over the city of King's Landing, over the assembled lords and banners. Maegor’s patience was wearing thin, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface like wildfire ready to consume all in its path.

"They are late," he growled, his voice low, but his anger clear. "Where are they?"

Visenya stood beside him, silent and still as ever. Her presence was the only thing that soothed him, that kept him from mounting Balerion and flying to Dragonstone himself. But even her patience had its limits, and he could see the tightness in her jaw, the tension in her shoulders. She felt the delay, the insult, as keenly as he did.

"They will come," she said, though there was a note of uncertainty in her voice that Maegor did not like.

And what if they did not? What if something had happened? What if your brother, Aegon, or even that fool Rhaena, had interfered, whisked you away before you could reach him? The thought sent a surge of fury through him, and he gripped Blackfyre tighter, his knuckles turning white beneath his gloves.

"No one will keep her from me," he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Not this time."

Visenya turned to him, her sharp gaze cutting through his anger. "If they try," she said, her voice cold and final, "then we will burn them all."

Maegor’s heart beat with the promise of fire and blood. They had all denied him for so long. His father. His brother. The gods themselves. But he was king now, and no one could deny the King of the Iron Throne.

You would be his, one way or another. The realm would tremble at his wrath if you were not.

But still, the horizon remained empty.

Maegor’s patience shattered like glass underfoot. The stillness of the harbor, the absence of the royal procession, and the delay that felt like a deliberate insult boiled within him until he could bear it no longer. His fury was a living thing, a fire in his chest that demanded release.

Without a word to anyone, Maegor turned sharply on his heel and stalked away from the gathered lords and his waiting bannermen. Visenya's gaze followed him, but she did not call him back. She knew what was coming, and she would not try to stop him. No one would.

He marched through the half-constructed Red Keep, past the workers who hastily moved out of his way, their eyes wide with fear at the sight of him. His blood thundered in his veins, his mind consumed by a singular thought: you. You were not here. Someone had kept you from him again, and he would have answers. One way or another, he would have answers.

Balerion waited for him, the great black beast shifting restlessly as though sensing the storm of rage within his rider. Maegor did not hesitate. He approached the dragon without a word, his dark cloak billowing behind him as he climbed onto Balerion’s back. The dragon’s scales were hot beneath his hands, and the air filled with the smell of smoke and brimstone as Balerion opened his massive jaws, letting out a low growl that reverberated through the air.

"To Dragonstone," Maegor commanded, his voice sharp and cold as steel.

With a mighty beat of his wings, Balerion launched into the air, and the city of King’s Landing fell away beneath them. The wind roared in Maegor’s ears as they ascended, higher and higher, until the Red Keep and the harbor were nothing but distant specks below. His eyes narrowed against the rush of air as they flew toward Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, a place that should have been your prison but was now the key to your disappearance.

The journey was swift. Balerion’s immense wings cut through the sky, and soon, the looming shape of Dragonstone appeared on the horizon, its dark, foreboding towers rising from the volcanic island like jagged teeth. The familiar silhouette of the castle did nothing to soothe Maegor’s fury. If anything, it fueled it. Whoever had dared to take you from him was hiding here, he was certain of it. And they would pay.

Balerion descended with a roar, his massive form casting a shadow over the castle courtyard as he landed with a thunderous crash. Maegor dismounted swiftly, his boots hitting the ground with purpose, and strode toward the keep without hesitation. The guards, clad in the black and red of House Targaryen, scrambled to stand at attention, but Maegor paid them no mind. His eyes were fixed on one figure—Alyssa Velaryon, Dowager Queen, widow of his late half-brother Aenys.

She stood at the entrance of the great hall, flanked by her own royal guards, her expression calm but her eyes wary. She had been expecting him.

"Where is she?" Maegor’s voice was thunder, echoing across the courtyard as he approached. His gaze was locked on Alyssa, his hands still resting on the hilt of Blackfyre at his side.

Alyssa’s lips thinned, but she did not answer immediately. Her silence was an insult in itself.

"Where is she?" Maegor demanded again, his tone darkening, his patience long gone. "The ships have not arrived. My bride is not here. Where is she?"

Alyssa lifted her chin, her eyes meeting his with a quiet defiance. "I do not know," she said, her voice steady, though her guards shifted uneasily around her. "She is not here, Maegor. I swear it on the blood of my children."

His anger flared like a flame doused in oil. He stepped closer, towering over her, his eyes burning with rage. "You lie. Do you think me a fool, Alyssa? Do you think I will believe your false words? You know where she is. Someone here knows."

Alyssa did not waver, though there was a flicker of fear behind her eyes. "I do not lie, Maegor," she said, her voice firm. "Your niece is gone, but I do not know where. You think you can demand answers, but the gods have taken her from you."

"The gods?" Maegor spat the word as if it were poison. "The gods have no power here. I am king. I am the only god that matters in this realm."

He drew Blackfyre from its scabbard with a vicious hiss of steel. The sight of the ancient Valyrian blade, its edge gleaming in the waning sunlight, caused Alyssa’s guards to stiffen, their hands moving to the hilts of their swords. But Maegor did not care. He had faced armies and dragons alike; these men would not stand against him.

"You will tell me where she is," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Or I will take this castle stone by stone and burn it to the ground. I will burn you all."

Alyssa stood her ground, but her defiance was waning. Still, she did not answer.

Maegor’s grip on Blackfyre tightened. "Very well," he said, his voice cold and final. "If you will not speak, then I declare war on you, on this entire realm, and on the gods themselves. I will rip the truth from your dying lips if I must."

He raised the sword high, and Balerion let out a deafening roar, his fiery breath licking at the sky, as if in answer to his rider’s fury. The ground beneath Maegor’s feet trembled as the beast’s wings unfurled, casting the courtyard into shadow once more.

"Do you hear me, Alyssa?" Maegor shouted, his voice carrying across the castle walls. "I will bring fire and blood to this land until she is returned to me. Every house, every banner, every village will burn. No one will be spared."

Alyssa’s face paled, but she held her tongue, her defiance crumbling under the weight of his rage.

With one final, furious look at her, Maegor turned and mounted Balerion once more. The dragon’s wings beat against the air as they took to the skies, leaving the castle of Dragonstone behind, but not forgotten.

War was coming. The realm would know the full wrath of Maegor Targaryen, and nothing would stand in his way.

Not even the gods.

The sky had darkened with storm clouds, a fitting shroud for what was to come. Maegor could feel the death in the air as Balerion, the Black Dread, flew low over the countryside, the sound of his massive wings beating like the drums of war. Beneath him, the land stretched out in peaceful ignorance—green fields, small villages, and the occasional hamlet, all unaware of the doom that was about to descend upon them.

His fury had not abated. If anything, it had grown, simmering inside him like the flames that Balerion carried in his belly. For days, he had waited—waited for some word, some message, some whisper of where you had been taken. But there had been none. Not from Dragonstone, not from King's Landing, not from any corner of the realm. Silence. It was as if the earth itself conspired to keep you hidden from him.

And so, Maegor had decided to speak in the only language he knew would reach them all—fire.

The town below was small, insignificant in the grand scheme of his rule. It had no great lords, no strategic importance. It was nothing more than a farming village, its people simple, its streets quiet. But that did not matter to Maegor. He was no longer a king seeking strategy. He was a dragon in search of blood.

Balerion let out a growl as they descended, and the townspeople, who had begun to gather in the streets, looked up with wide, terrified eyes. They had heard tales of dragons, but few had seen one in the flesh, let alone the Black Dread himself. Some screamed, others fled, scattering like ants before a boot.

But it was too late.

Maegor did not speak as they approached. He did not announce his arrival or give them time to prepare. His rage did not allow for such mercy. Instead, he gave the only command he had come to deliver.

"Dracarys."

Balerion unleashed his fury with a deafening roar. Flames erupted from his jaws, a torrent of fire that engulfed the first row of houses in an instant. The wooden structures went up like kindling, the dry summer heat making them burn even faster. Screams filled the air, high-pitched and desperate, as people fled their homes, only to be caught by the flames that licked at their heels.

The fire spread with terrifying speed, consuming everything in its path—roofs, walls, fields. The village was alight, a beacon of destruction visible for miles around.

Maegor watched from above, his face cold and impassive, his grip on Balerion’s reins tight as the dragon circled over the burning town. The people below looked so small, like insects scurrying for cover, trying to escape the inevitable. But there was no escape. Not for them.

A handful of soldiers, likely from a nearby lord's keep, arrived, rushing into the chaos with spears and shields. They might have hoped to protect their people, to fight off the monster in the sky, but it was a hopeless effort. Balerion roared again, and another wave of fire descended, swallowing the soldiers in flames before they could even raise their weapons.

Still, Maegor felt nothing. No satisfaction, no relief, just the same gnawing fury. This town was but the first of many. If no one would give him what he demanded, then they would all burn.

Balerion landed in the town square, his massive form crushing the few remaining carts and stalls beneath him. The fires crackled and raged around them, the air thick with smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Maegor dismounted, his black armor gleaming with the reflection of the flames, and strode through the smoldering ruins. The people who hadn’t already fled or died in the fire cowered at the edges of the square, their faces streaked with soot and tears, their eyes wide with terror.

One man—a farmer by the looks of him, his face blackened with ash—dared to stand before Maegor. His legs shook, and his hands trembled as he held out a crude pitchfork, a pitiful weapon against the man who wielded Blackfyre.

“Please!” the man cried, his voice cracking. “We’ve done nothing! We don’t know where she is!”

Maegor’s gaze fixed on him, cold and unfeeling. “Then you are of no use to me.”

With a swift motion, he drew Blackfyre and swung. The blade cut through the air with a whistle, and the man’s head rolled to the ground, his body collapsing like a puppet with its strings severed. Blood pooled at Maegor’s feet, mixing with the ash and dirt.

He turned to the remaining villagers, their tear-filled eyes pleading for mercy. “Where is she?” Maegor demanded, his voice cutting through the crackling flames. “Tell me, and you will be spared.”

But there were no answers. Only silence, punctuated by the occasional sob or gasp. They knew nothing, and he could see the truth of it in their frightened, helpless faces. These people had never laid eyes on you. They did not know your name. They were caught in a storm that was not theirs, a storm they could not hope to survive.

“Then burn,” Maegor said, his voice flat, his heart devoid of pity.

Balerion roared once more, and fire swept across the square, swallowing the villagers where they stood. The screams of the innocent echoed in the night, but they were distant to Maegor, drowned out by the roar of the flames. He mounted Balerion again, his mind already turning to the next town, the next village. There would be no end to his wrath until you were returned to him.

As they lifted into the air, the once-quiet town was a sea of fire below, the smoke rising in dark plumes that would be visible for miles. The next town would see the flames and know what was coming. They would know the price of silence.

But as they flew over the burning ruins, a grim thought gnawed at Maegor’s mind: even this, even the screams of the dying, had not brought forth any word of you. No ravens, no messengers, no spies. It was as if you had vanished from the face of the earth.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes hard as stone as he looked out over the darkened horizon. Let them hide you. Let them try to keep you from him. He would burn every inch of this realm to ash until they had no choice but to deliver you back into his hands.

War had come, and the realm would know the full measure of his wrath before it was over.

And still, you remained lost to him, as distant and unreachable as ever.

The halls of Oldtown’s grand keep were filled with the scent of burning torches and incense, the air heavy with the weight of old stone and old gods alike. Maegor strode through the corridors, his armor clinking with each step, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. The lords of the Reach had gathered in the great hall ahead, awaiting his arrival, their banners lining the walls like silent witnesses to the war he was bringing to their doors.

He would have their armies. He would have their swords and their oaths. And soon, the realm would bleed for keeping you from him.

Yet, as he approached the towering doors of the hall, he was intercepted by a voice that grated on his already thin patience.

“Maegor.”

He halted but did not turn immediately. He recognized the voice, the cold, haughty tone that had once filled his ears with promises of alliances and power. Ceryse Hightower, his wife—the woman the Faith of the Seven deemed his lawful bride. The one who had failed him, who had borne him no heirs, no strength. She was a chain, an anchor from a life he despised. And now, she stood between him and the destruction he sought to bring upon the world.

With a slow turn, he faced her. She stood in the narrow corridor, her expression as cold as the marble pillars that flanked her. Her gown was white and gold, as befit a woman of her station, but there was no warmth in her. She had never had any warmth for him, nor he for her.

Ceryse’s eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, her chin lifted in defiance. "This madness must stop, Maegor. What you are doing—it is unholy. This war you wage for your niece, this obsession, it will bring the gods’ wrath upon you. Upon us all."

Maegor’s eyes, dark and brooding, bore into hers. "The gods?" he scoffed, his voice laced with venom. "Which gods, Ceryse? The Seven who gave me nothing but a barren wife? The gods who have denied me my rightful bride and my throne time and again? They are nothing to me. I am the king, and I will take what is mine."

"You are the king," she snapped, stepping closer, her voice rising, "but I am your wife. The only true wife you have before the gods. I was wed to you under the light of the Seven. I am your queen, not some girl you lust after because she shares your blood and your fire."

Maegor’s lips curled into a sneer. "Do not speak of things you do not understand. She is more than fire. She is mine by right, by blood, by destiny. You are nothing but a symbol of a failed marriage and the weakness of the Faith. Your gods mean nothing to me, Ceryse. They have never meant anything."

Ceryse’s face flushed with anger, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “The Faith is all that holds this realm together. The Seven bless our rule, and you spit on their favor. Do you truly believe this war you’ve started will end with your niece in your arms? The realm will turn against you, the Faith will rise—”

“The Faith?” Maegor’s laughter was dark, a cruel sound that echoed off the stone walls. “The Faith cowers beneath the strength of dragons. I have already broken their High Septon, and I will do it again if they dare stand in my way. Do not speak to me of the Faith when they have already bled under my blade.”

Her eyes flashed with fury. “And what of me? Do I mean nothing to you, Maegor? I am your queen. I stood beside you when the world was against you, when you were exiled, when you returned to take the throne. I have endured your temper, your ambitions—everything. And yet you throw it all away for her, for a girl who should never have been yours.”

Maegor stepped closer, towering over her, his voice low and filled with menace. “You have never stood beside me, Ceryse. You have stood in my way, like all the others. The day you failed to give me an heir was the day your use to me ended. You are not my queen. You are a symbol of weakness and failure.”

Her breath caught in her throat, but her pride would not allow her to shrink before him. She held her ground, her chin raised defiantly. “This war is blasphemy. Even your late father would not stand for it. You break every sacred vow for this—this madness. And for what? For a girl who may be dead already, taken by the gods to punish your arrogance.”

Maegor’s hand shot out, gripping her throat, though not enough to truly harm her. His eyes were burning coals, his patience long gone. “Speak of her again,” he growled, his voice dangerously low, “and I will end you here and now, wife or not.”

Ceryse’s eyes widened, but she did not flinch, even with his hand at her throat. “Do it,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but steady. “Do it, and see how the realm turns against you. They already whisper of your cruelty, your madness. Kill your wife, and you will become the monster they fear.”

For a long, tense moment, Maegor said nothing. His grip tightened slightly, the temptation strong, but he released her with a shove, sending her stumbling back a step.

"You are a fool if you think I care for their whispers," Maegor said, his voice filled with disdain. "I will rule through fear if I must. The realm will submit to me, whether they love me or hate me. And you will stay out of my way, or you will burn like the rest of them."

Ceryse straightened, her hand to her throat, her eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and fear. She had pushed him as far as she could, and she knew it.

“You will destroy yourself,” she said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to hide it. “This war, this rage... it will consume you.”

Maegor turned his back on her, his cloak swirling in the dim torchlight as he moved toward the doors of the great hall. "Then let it," he said coldly, without looking back. "I would rather burn the world to ash than live in a world where I am denied what is mine."

The heavy doors of the great hall swung open before him, and Maegor strode inside, leaving Ceryse standing alone in the darkened corridor, her hands shaking, her heart pounding with a fear she had never known before.

The lords inside turned as one to face him, their faces pale with the knowledge of the man they served. Maegor took his place at the head of the long table, his eyes sweeping over the gathered men like a predator surveying its prey.

"You will gather your armies," he said, his voice echoing through the hall, "and you will march with me to war. I care not for the gods, nor for the Faith. Those who stand against me will burn, and those who submit will live. But I will have my bride, or I will see this realm consumed by fire."

The lords exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared defy him. They knew the price of disobedience under Maegor’s rule.

"Are there any who would challenge me?" Maegor demanded, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light.

Silence fell over the hall, thick and suffocating. Not a single voice rose in opposition.

"Good," Maegor said, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Prepare your men. The realm will bleed until she is mine again."

And with that, the great hall of Oldtown descended into preparation for war, while outside, Ceryse Hightower stood in the shadows, her heart heavy with the knowledge that her words had fallen on deaf ears.

The battlefield stretched wide before Maegor, a patchwork of torn earth, trampled grass, and bloodied banners. His army stood in sharp contrast to the smaller force across the field, led by his nephew, Aegon the Uncrowned. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a bloody hue over the land, as if the gods themselves had abandoned all hope of peace.

Balerion, the Black Dread, shifted beneath him, his great black wings stretching wide as the dragon growled, sensing the impending battle. Maegor’s grip tightened on Blackfyre, the weight of the ancient sword familiar in his hand as he surveyed the field below. The banners of House Targaryen and Velaryon fluttered in the wind, a cruel mockery of what should have been unity between their blood. But unity had long been shattered.

On the opposite side of the field, Aegon sat astride Quicksilver, his dragon a flash of silver-white scales that shimmered in the dying light. Aegon’s army was smaller, but it was fiercely loyal—men who believed in the legitimacy of his claim, men who called Maegor a usurper and a tyrant. Men who were willing to die for a boy who had been denied his crown.

Maegor’s jaw clenched as he gazed across the field at his nephew, the boy who had dared to raise arms against him. Aegon had your blood running through his veins, and that alone made Maegor’s rage burn hotter. But it was not just Aegon’s challenge to the throne that stoked Maegor’s fury—it was his insolent defiance in keeping you from him.

The armies stood still for a breath, the wind carrying the sound of clinking armor and the distant neighs of restless horses. Maegor’s soldiers waited, their faces grim, their hands tight on their weapons. His bannermen were eager for the bloodshed to begin, eager to crush the boy who dared challenge their king.

But Maegor had eyes only for Aegon, who met his gaze across the field with the same cold intensity. Even from a distance, Maegor could see the steely resolve in the young man’s face. Aegon was no longer the boy he had once dismissed, and that truth gnawed at him.

Without a word, Maegor spurred Balerion forward. The great dragon let out a thunderous roar, his massive wings lifting him from the ground in one powerful sweep. The air around them seemed to hum with tension as Balerion soared into the sky, circling high above the battlefield, casting an enormous shadow over the armies below.

Aegon wasted no time. With a sharp command, he urged Quicksilver into the air, the silver dragon shooting upward with graceful speed. The two beasts circled one another in the sky, the gathered armies below looking up in awe as dragon met dragon.

Maegor’s eyes locked onto Aegon, his blood boiling with the need for victory. He would crush this boy, as he had crushed all who had stood in his way. Blackfyre was already in his hand, the sword gleaming as he prepared to strike.

Quicksilver let out a high-pitched roar and dove toward Balerion, claws outstretched. Aegon, no doubt thinking speed would be his advantage, urged his dragon forward with a deadly precision. But Balerion was no ordinary dragon—he was the Black Dread, the most fearsome of all Targaryen dragons, and his size alone was enough to instill terror in any opponent.

With a bellowing roar, Balerion met Quicksilver head-on, jaws snapping as the two dragons collided in a flurry of wings, fire, and claws. The sky around them lit up with dragonflame, bright orange and yellow in the fading light. The sound of their clash echoed across the battlefield like thunder, and Maegor felt the familiar thrill of battle pulse through his veins.

Aegon swung his sword at him, their blades clashing as Quicksilver veered away, trying to outmaneuver Balerion. But Maegor was relentless. He urged Balerion onward, following the silver dragon, breathing down its neck with every beat of its wings. Aegon was skilled, but Maegor could see the hesitation in his strikes, the uncertainty in his eyes.

"You will never have her, Uncle!" Aegon shouted over the roar of the wind and the battle below, his voice laced with both fury and desperation. "She is free of you! The gods will never let her fall into your hands."

Maegor’s face twisted into a snarl, his fury consuming him as he swung Blackfyre toward Aegon with all the strength he could muster. Their blades met again, the force of the strike sending sparks flying between them. "The gods be damned!" Maegor roared. "You think they care for your claims, boy? I will have her, and no man or god will keep her from me!"

Aegon’s lips curled into a bitter smile, his eyes flashing with defiance. "You’re a fool if you think she would come to you willingly," he spat. "She despises you. She will never be yours."

Maegor’s rage flared hotter than dragonfire. He urged Balerion forward, closing the distance between the two dragons, but Quicksilver darted away, its speed giving it the advantage. Maegor’s strikes were powerful, but Aegon’s precision allowed him to evade, always one step ahead, always just out of reach.

Below, the armies had clashed. The sounds of battle—clanging steel, screams, and the thunder of hooves—rose from the ground, but Maegor cared little for what happened below. His focus was entirely on Aegon, on the boy who had denied him his rightful bride, on the nephew who dared to defy him.

Suddenly, Quicksilver darted upward, high into the clouds, and Aegon disappeared from sight. Maegor cursed, pulling Balerion up after them, but by the time he broke through the clouds, Aegon and Quicksilver were gone.

A howl of frustration escaped Maegor’s throat. He scanned the skies, his eyes searching for any sign of the silver dragon, but Aegon had vanished, leaving nothing but the roar of the wind and the distant sounds of the battlefield below.

"Damn you, Aegon!" Maegor bellowed into the empty sky, his voice echoing across the heavens. His blood boiled with fury, his vision clouded with rage. Once again, Aegon had slipped through his fingers, just as you had been denied to him time and time again.

He descended with Balerion, landing amidst the chaos of the battlefield, his soldiers still locked in fierce combat with Aegon’s forces. But it was not enough. The battle, the bloodshed, the cries of dying men—all of it paled in comparison to the rage burning inside Maegor. He had come for victory, for vengeance, for you—and he had been denied once more.

The soldiers around him fell to their knees, their faces streaked with blood and mud, their eyes filled with terror at the sight of their king. But Maegor’s gaze was distant, his thoughts consumed by the promise Aegon had made before vanishing into the clouds.

You were free of him, Aegon had said. You would never be his.

But Maegor was not a man who accepted defeat. Not now. Not ever.

The realm would continue to burn until you were in his hands, and not even his nephew’s empty threats would change that.

With a final, chilling glance at the battlefield around him, Maegor mounted Balerion once more, his mind already racing with thoughts of what was to come. The war was not over. Aegon may have escaped, but Maegor would hunt him down. He would tear the realm apart, piece by piece, until there was nowhere left for his enemies to hide.

And in the end, you would be his.

Whether you wished it or not.

The second clash between Maegor Targaryen and his nephew, Aegon the Uncrowned, was inevitable. The gods had no place on this battlefield; only dragons, fire, and blood would decide the victor. Beneath the clouded skies of the God's Eye, the two riders faced one another atop their colossal beasts. Quicksilver, the pale silver dragon, hovered in the air with Aegon astride him, eyes blazing with defiance, while Maegor sat atop the mighty Balerion, the Black Dread, a shadow over the land, a force of destruction waiting to be unleashed.

Aegon was no child, but neither was he the match of his uncle. And yet, as they circled high above the waters of the God's Eye, you could almost feel the weight of his resolve. Maegor could sense it, too—a determination to stand, to fight, to protect what little remained of his claim. But Aegon was a fool to believe he could stop what was coming. Maegor had returned, stronger than ever, and no man, no dragon, no usurper would deny him what was his—neither the throne nor you.

The dragons roared and circled, Balerion’s immense shadow darkening the sky. Maegor’s heart was black with fury, the rage of the denied, of one betrayed by his own kin. For years, he had been denied you, stolen from him by a weak brother and a cowardly nephew. Aenys had never been strong enough to hold the kingdom together, nor had he the will to make the hard choices. Now Maegor would show Aegon the price of such weakness.

“Tell me where she is,” Maegor bellowed, his voice a force of its own, carrying across the winds between them. “Tell me, and I’ll make your death quick.”

Aegon’s expression hardened, but his lips remained sealed. He said nothing, his jaw tight, the defiance in his eyes unbroken. It was clear that he would rather die than betray your whereabouts, and for a brief moment, Maegor almost admired the boy's stubbornness. Almost.

But that would not save him.

Quicksilver lunged first, his bright scales gleaming like molten metal in the dim light. His teeth snapped, his wings beat the air, and Aegon drove him forward, spear in hand, hoping to catch Balerion’s flank. But Balerion was no ordinary dragon, and Maegor was no ordinary rider. The Black Dread twisted mid-air with terrifying speed, jaws snapping shut around Quicksilver’s wing. The smaller dragon shrieked, a sound that echoed over the lake like thunder, and his body faltered as he was dragged downward, closer to the earth.

Balerion's fire erupted, black and red flames that swallowed the sky. Quicksilver was engulfed, his silvery scales turning black as smoke and ash filled the air. Aegon fought back, his dragon resisting, but it was clear to all who watched that there could only be one outcome.

With a final, sickening crunch, Balerion’s teeth sank into Quicksilver’s neck, tearing through flesh and bone. The dragon screamed, a high-pitched, agonizing cry that seemed to go on forever. And then, with a sickening crash, Quicksilver and Aegon were flung into the earth below, the ground trembling from the impact.

Maegor descended slowly, his eyes never leaving the crumpled form of his nephew. The once-proud Aegon, Uncrowned and unbroken, now lay battered and broken beside his dying dragon. Maegor dismounted, stepping down from Balerion’s back as if descending from a throne. The grass beneath his feet was scorched from the battle, and the air smelled of death and fire.

Aegon coughed, his body shattered, blood pouring from wounds too numerous to count. His breaths were labored, each one a struggle. Maegor stood over him, the weight of his fury and triumph heavy in the air.

“Where is she?” Maegor demanded once more, his voice like steel.

Aegon lifted his head weakly, his eyes meeting Maegor's with the last of his strength. Blood bubbled on his lips as he smiled—a bitter, bloody smile.

“You’ll never find her,” Aegon rasped, defiance even now.

The anger that surged through Maegor was all-consuming, a wildfire burning through his veins. He had half a mind to rip his nephew’s head from his body then and there, but he knew Aegon would welcome such an end. No, his death would come soon enough. But it would not be swift, nor merciful.

With a final look of disgust, Maegor turned his back on the dying boy, mounting Balerion once more. There was no more time to waste on the Uncrowned. He would find you, with or without Aegon’s cooperation. And when he did, nothing and no one would ever separate you from him again.

After the battle, as Maegor's forces regrouped, a rider approached him. The man, bloodied and worn from the fight, bowed low before his king.

“My lord, we have received word,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “It is said... she is being held in Lys.”

Maegor’s eyes narrowed, his blood roaring in his ears. Lys. So far away, beyond the sea, beyond his immediate reach. But no distance was too great. He would cross oceans, burn cities, and tear apart entire kingdoms if need be.

“Prepare the fleet,” Maegor ordered, his voice like iron. “We sail at once.”

Balerion let out a low rumble, as if sensing his master’s intent. There would be no peace until you were his, no rest until the blood debt was paid in full. The dragons were coming, and all of Lys would burn if it meant bringing you home.

The sun had long begun its descent when the black sails of Maegor's fleet appeared on the horizon, darkening the waters that surrounded Lys. The city, gilded with beauty and wealth, stood as a gleaming jewel in the far east. But to Maegor, it was a den of thieves—those who had dared to steal what belonged to him. As Balerion descended from the skies, casting a vast shadow over the city, panic spread like wildfire through its streets. The people of Lys had never seen the likes of such a beast, nor the wrath of a king who had come to reclaim what was his.

You had not expected him so soon.

The small tower in which you were held offered little more than a view of the sea and distant freedom, but you knew that no bars or walls could hold you forever. You had seen the men sent to guard you, faces hardened by greed and violence, yet even they had begun to whisper in hushed tones over the past days—of dragons, of black sails, of the King who would come. Maegor.

For weeks, you had wondered if it was only a matter of time before your captors sold you to another—or worse. But it was not the men of Lys who had taken you—it was Aegon. Your own brother. He had sent you here, far away from Maegor, far from the throne. He believed it was for your own good, to keep you safe from the king who had burned through the realm to take the Iron Throne. To keep you from the man who had claimed you as his.

But your brother had gravely underestimated the lengths to which Maegor would go to have you back.

And now he had come.

The tower trembled beneath your feet as Balerion’s roar split the sky, shaking the very stones of Lys. The dragon’s fire lit the horizon, the harbor a hellscape of flames and destruction. You could hear the distant cries of men fleeing from the wrath of the Black Dread, and in that moment, a strange calm settled over you. You knew Maegor. You had known him since childhood—his strength, his darkness, and above all, his possessiveness. He would burn this city to the ground for you. He would raze every last building, tear every stone apart brick by brick, until he had you back in his grasp.

The door to your chamber flew open, splintering as it slammed against the wall. The guard who had been stationed outside was gone, replaced by men bearing the black and red sigil of House Targaryen. They moved aside without a word, and there, standing in the doorway, was Maegor.

He was just as you remembered him, but now there was a fierceness in his gaze that you had never seen before. His armor, still streaked with blood from battle, glinted in the dim light. His silver hair, windswept from the flight atop Balerion, framed a face carved from stone, hard and unyielding. And his eyes—those dark violet eyes burned with a hunger, an obsession, that had only grown stronger with time. He had come for you.

Without a word, Maegor strode into the room, his presence filling it like a storm. He did not wait for pleasantries, nor for explanations. He reached for you, his hand closing around your arm with a grip that was firm but not painful, his eyes searching your face as if to assure himself that you were real, that you were truly here.

"You’re coming with me," he said, his voice low and rough. There was no question, no hesitation, just the ironclad certainty that had always driven him.

"Maegor," you began, your voice quiet but steady. The words you had rehearsed in your mind seemed to dissolve as you looked into his eyes. The fury, the relief, the need—it was all there, laid bare. He was not a man to be denied.

"You will never be taken from me again," he growled, his fingers tightening slightly around your arm as if to emphasize his point. "I’ve burned half the world to get to you. No one will stand between us now."

You had heard tales of what he had done—of how he had torn through Aegon’s forces at the God's Eye, of how he had set the seas aflame in his pursuit of you. But you never imagined that it would come to this—that your own brother would try to keep you from him. And now that he stood before you, towering, unyielding, you realized that there was no escaping the inevitability of what came next.

"You were mine from the moment you were born," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "And they kept you from me. All of them—my father, your brother, the gods themselves. But no more. You will be my queen, and no one will ever take you from me again."

His words, raw and fierce, echoed in the space between you, and for a moment, all you could hear was the distant roar of Balerion outside, the great beast that had carried him across the skies to find you.

You met his gaze, and in that moment, something shifted within you. You had known Maegor your whole life. You had seen the violence in him, but you had also seen the man beneath it—the one who, for all his ruthlessness, had always looked at you as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered. And now, standing before him, you understood that there was no escaping him, not now, not ever.

"Then take me," you whispered, your voice soft but clear. "I’m ready."

Maegor’s eyes darkened, and in one swift motion, he pulled you into him, his lips crashing against yours with all the pent-up fury and longing that had driven him to Lys. His kiss was fierce, possessive, and you knew then that the man who had come for you was not just the king, but the dragon itself—untamable, unstoppable, and wholly yours.

When he pulled away, his hand still cradled the back of your neck, his eyes locked on yours. "We leave now," he said, his voice a low growl. "There’s nothing for you here. Nothing but ash."

He led you from the room without another word, the tower and all its horrors fading behind you as you stepped out into the night. Balerion waited, his massive form dark against the sky, and as Maegor helped you onto the dragon's back, you knew that whatever fate awaited you, it would be by his side.

And so, with a single command, Balerion’s wings unfurled, and together you soared into the night, leaving Lys in flames behind you.

#fire and blood #game of thrones #house of the dragon #hotd #got #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf x reader #maegor x y/n #maegor x you #maegor x reader #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #maegor i targaryen #house targaryen

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bokettochild · 2 years ago

Text

Does anyone remember Violet?

Okay, how about the Nancy LU animatic? Yeah, the fic I write for that, you remember? No? Yes? It doesn't matter

I wrote a sequel >:)

The Return of "Violet"

Wind is going to owe Four big time.

Of all the things to ever happen, he, a pirate, has been caught stealing, and honestly it’s probably the most ashamed he’s felt since he was seven and put a hole in the roof of their house while playing with Aryll. In this instance though, he’s not going to have his sweet and understanding granny that he’s answering too. No, this time he has to answer to Four, and probably someone else after that, because with the way things are going, he’s going to need more than just Four’s help to get out of this one.

They’re in his era, visiting one of the islands that he and Tetra had discovered after their adventures together. That almost makes it worse though because they’re here with Tetra. After finding themselves on Dragon Roost Island he’d managed to get ahold of her through the gossip stones, and although she charges worse fees than even Ravio (as Legend had made a point of complaining about) she and her crew have agreed to let the heroes sail with them until they find whatever it is that caused them to be brought to this era. So far though, they’ve had little to no luck, and for the time being, the ship is docked here while they gather supplies and allow the land-lubbers now in their company to enjoy being on land for a short bit while Tetra and the others do… pirate-y things. That was what she said they’d be doing anyway, and the heroes, in the interest of not inviting trouble for once in their lives, hadn’t asked.

Wind knows. Usually he’d be with them, but right now he’s a hero first and a pirate second, and so he’s with the heroes instead, picking his way through the bustling market with Four while the other heroes busy themselves at stands. Currently, Legend is trying to teach Wild some form of bartering, because the champion repeatedly has been overcharged already for basic items since, apparently, in his world those prices would fly. Not in this one though, and not with Legend in their group.

Twilight’s following after them, an amused expression on his face as he sits back and lets the vet have his way with teaching the champion, shaking his head and chuckling every so often at the duo as he turns and glances back to wherever the nearest brother is and exchanging silent words with them about it all.

Time is the most frequent receiver of Twilight’s laden stares, and the old man himself likewise shakes his head with a small smile before turning back to the captain’s side as Warriors picks over a display of knives that has been laid out in one of the nearby stalls.

The market is a colourful place, beautiful too, in its own unique way. Sea-salt breezes are carried up the island cliffs to them and play around their ears and hair, sending windchimes singing and overhanging fabrics and tarps swaying. Most are tightly tied down, providing brief shade to those who step beneath their protection and into the realm of one vendor or another, who will only too happily try and cheat newcomers out of their wages and will banter and barter in loud and fast moving phrases with the more experienced buyer.

Honestly, he’s surprised that Legend’s keeping up.

Colour surrounds them. In visiting the other eras, he’s come to understand that his is one of the more bright, Twilight’s being near drained of colour in most places by comparison. Here in the market though, that fact makes itself most apparent, the overhangs woven in bright jewel tones and tents and stalls hung about with the same over handcrafted poles and tables. The wares are bright and eye-catching too, and Hyrule is currently eyeing them all in awe, as though he’s never seen such an amalgamation of items and beautiful things in his life. He has though, because all of them have had at least a peek inside Legend’s storage shed, and that was truly a sight to see, even if it wasn’t nearly as attractively presented as the stalls and tables here.

As for himself, Wind’s more looking around for anything relatively useful, but more than anything, he’s keeping his ears open for the telltale sound of bombs going off, just in case he needs to create a distraction to keep the others from investigating. That would be incredibly awkward and he’s not keen on having to answer for that particular set of crimes.

Not that he ends up having to, because by the time that the bombs do go off (because of course they do) the heroes are too busy dealing with another issue.

It’s an artefact that catches his eye. Not one from his time either, but one he remembers seeing at the Hero’s Shrine in Warriors Hyrule at the Skyview Temple. Well, it had been the Skyview Temple, back in Sky’s time, but he’s not sure what it was being called in the captain’s era. It’d become something of a hall of history to the Hylian people, and there were shrines there for the heroes of the past, set in different alcoves, and the item in question had been one laid in the one for the veteran hero himself.

It was probably the first time he’d ever found out anything about Legend. Ravio had taken one look at the shrine and started talking about each of the items and their abilities, and while he’s not entirely sure what this particular rod does, he does know that Ravio had seemed very nervous about it being left at a shrine where someone could steal it. He’d been even more nervous though when someone had stolen it. Wind’s not sure who it had been, and at the merchant’s warnings the captain had had them all search and investigate, but the war took the most of their attention and the search had to be abandoned when the enemy had started moving again.

He’s still not sure what the thing really does, but he knows it’s the same one as he remembers. It’s just too similar to what he remembers, and the sight of it causes a sinking feeling to make itself known in his stomach.

“Shit.”

“Language,” Four murmurs to him, distracted, “cap doesn’t like that kind of talk.”

Usually he’d snicker at something like that, he imagines he’s probably half the reason that joke is still running (because Four knows he’ll still be laughing) but this time he’s too distracted for that.

“Four, I have to commit a crime.”

The smithy doesn’t even startle, just turns to him with a face far too calm as green eyes search his own. “What sort?” The question is spoken as calmly and casually as if asking after a flavour of pie, but he knows, based off of the fact that Four is looking at him at all, that he’s got the smithy’s full attention.

“I need to steal something.”

“Not so loud about it,” the smithy snorts, setting a hand on one hip and side-eyeing him with a playful look, “I thought you were supposed to be a pirate. Isn’t announcing your pillaging against some code?”

“No, it’s not like that,” he catches the smithy’s wrist and tugs, and while Four stumbles just a bit, he lets himself be pulled a bit closer to the stall so Wind can point out the rod sitting innocuously amidst jewellery and fabric, like some sort of stylized cane or staff instead of a Cautious Ravio level of Dangerous Item. “I need to steal that.”

Four hums. “Okay, and you’re telling me…”

“I need your help.”

He expects some hesitation or thought, but all Four does is cock his head, stare at the item, one hand reaching to stroke his chin before aborting with a shrug. “Okay.”

He really thought Four would be more against crimes than this. Still, a partner in crime is a partner in crime (in this case literally) and Four seems to take no issue with following him over to the stall in question. He’s not sure, off the top of his head, how he plans to go about stealing the thing, but he’s a pirate and he’s good at theft, he can handle this.

As it would turn out, he does not end up needing to handle this, which turns out to be for the better, because the merchant who owns the stall watches him like a hawk. Of course theft would be a common problem in a place such as this, and apparently Wind, lanky, young, still just this side of man-hood, looks all too well the part of a troublesome youth looking to score a steal, and no matter if a customer comes to the stall or not, the man seems to keep an eye on him at all times.

Fortunately, Four, well dressed in bright jewel tones as he is, is not regarded with such distaste. If anything, the merchant motions to the smithy while speaking to a patron and points out “the cute lil’ lass” which Wind only very nearly prevents himself from laughing at.

Dark eyes trail back to him coldly at the coughing he makes while trying to avoid laughter though, but then the man is turning back to his patron. “Recken she’s some small thing from these merchant folk, her da’ll pay well for whatever catches her fancy, all these rich folks are that way; coughin’ up rupees fer what’er pleased their kids.”

With an eye on his customer and one on Wind, the merchant doesn’t have enough eyes to catch the scathing glance the smithy shoots the man’s way at hearing that.

Four would usually correct someone, but considering they’re trying to keep a low profile, the smithy blessedly keeps his mouth shut.

Wind turns back to a pile of jewellery. Absently, he wonders if he could barter a ring out of the man to provide a window for Four to stash the rod in his pack or something.

He doesn’t get the chance to try.

“Hoy there! Where do you think you’re going, lass!”

The sailor spins about just in time to see the merchant catch Four by the back of his bright tunic, and…

Oh Spirits, Four didn’t even bother to stash the rod. Is this the first time the smithy has stollen something?

In hindsight, it probably is; Four’s fame in his home era after all did start with him vanquishing pirates and dealing with thieves.

And that’s how they end up as they are. The merchant goes from laughing and smiling at the smithy to trying to twist the small hero’s arm and demanding answers about where he’s going, and- well, what was Wind supposed to do?

“Hey!” He squawks, and yes, he most certainly did overturn that display on purpose as he rushes over to his brother’s side. “Let go!”

“You’re together then,” the man hisses, narrowing his eyes, “I shoulda guessed. What respectable lass goes snoopin’ about without a guard or her mam around to watch that she ain’t taken? Thieves, the both of you!”

“We’re not thieves!” Wind protests, despite the fact that they are, in fact, thieves. Well, he is anyway. “We’re just kids!” And then, as inspiration hits, he adds, “now let my little sister go!” Oh yeah, he’s so going to owe Four one after this.

Luckily, Four doesn’t stumble once, instead squirming in the man’s hands and, somehow, managing to muster up a stream of tears as he fights weakly (as a small child would) against the hands restraining him. “Let me go!” The smithy squeaks, “I just wanted to show Mama!”

“‘Show mama’?” the man mocks, and shakes Four harder than is probably safe to shake a child, “and where’s your mama at, little miss snitch?”

“Right here.”

Wind could kiss Legend on the cheek, although he’d probably owe the vet even more if he did after the man has just stepped in to save their asses, Twilight and Wild both on his heels.

Oh crap, this is going to become another Violet situation isn’t it?

“Mum!” it bursts out of him as he darts to the vet’s side, hands catching on red fabric as he looks up at the vet as though pleading for help, and he is, he is so pleading. He is pleading so very much and genuinely, see?

No really, he really is. He really didn’t think this one through.

“We were just looking, I swear, and Violet wanted to show you something, but this mean man-”

Twilight is staring. Twilight and Wild are both starring in something between shock and confusion and Wild’s brows are very quickly disappearing under his hair as they rise higher and higher with every word out of Wind’s throat.

Oh yeah, he’s going to owe Legend big time.

“Mama!” Four wails, quite convincingly as he kicks at his captor, “make him let me go!”

For a brief moment, Wind can see the resignation and pain in Legend’s eyes, but then the vet is steeling himself and then, at the very top of his lungs (which only drives home how much like last time this will be) shouts “let go of my child, you horrid man!” in what is possibly the most hystericaly angry voice Wind has heard from anyone, never mind from the vet.

Wild chokes.

The scream, however, has what he can only assume is the intended effect, because the crowd immediately near them all whips around so fast he’s sort of shocked they don’t downright fall over, and then all eyes are on them.

Again.

Well, apparently if Legend’s going to cover up for your crimes and save your ass he’s going to do it by being as loud as possible. Honestly, Wind doesn’t care, as long as it works.

It does work. The man immediately lets go of Four, and then the smithy is all but flinging himself into the veteran’s arms, where he’s immediately caught and held while Legend once more adopts the same act as the time before, fussing and murmuring with terrifyingly believable distress as he looks at the bruising on Four’s arm and then immediately pulls the smithy closer, looking up at the merchant with fury in his eyes. “How could you do this to a child! She was only looking, she wasn’t causing any harm!”

Frosty violet eyes fix the merchant in place, and the man takes a step back at the sight of them.

Two kids causing trouble, he was prepared for. What appears to be a finely dressed young mother who perceives her child to have been attacked, he was not prepared for at all. “She was stealing!”

“She’s only eight!” Wind protests, wrapping an arm around Four’s shoulders and pouting up at the man accusingly, but also cutely because he needs to play up the role of a child right now, rather than even try and look at all serious and mature like he usually would try to.

“She’s only eight!” Legend repeats, likeways wrapping an arm around Wind. “How dare you! It’s her first time at a big market, how was she to know the rules! I’m teaching her the best I can but I can only be so many places at once!”

Past the vet’s arm, and now that the attention is on Legend and not himself, Wind can glance out and see the crowd. Eyes are fixed on them, murmurs already rising and disapproving looks being shot at the merchant even as crystal tears in amethyst eyes begin to garner sympathy and pity from the onlookers while Legend switches out the furious mother act for the overworked and struggling one.

Amidst it all, Wind can clearly see Time and Warriors, watching them. Time has the most confused expression on his face, neither privy to the events of last time or apparently aware of what’s happening now, but Warriors…

Oh gods, Warriors looks so done already.

“I don’t care how old she is, a thief is a thief!” The merchant yells, and with his words, Legend starts back, dragging Four and Wind with him and drawing the sailor’s attention back to the man before them. Said man is currently red in the face and huffing, both trying to uphold his right to punish the thieves who attempted to steal from him, but also under the judgemental stares of the whole market.

“You can’t hold a child responsible for such a silly mistake!”

“You’re right,” the man breathes, and while it almost sounds like he’s trying to contain and calm himself, Wind sees the flash of his eyes before the man steps closer and raises a hand, definitely and truly beyond reason at this point, “the parents are the ones to be held responsible.”

Legend could catch that hand. Wind could, Four could. Any one of them could do something to avoid it, but that would come at the cost of dropping the act, and while unspoken, the rule remains to never drop an act, although at what cost he’s not sure.

“Stop right there!”

Hang on, is that-? And it is.

Warriors is storming over, and it’s such a dramatic and poetic image; the captain stalking along the street, armour glistening and scarf billowing out behind, that if he wasn’t playing a part, Wind would definitely be grinning a bit at it. After all, it’s like something straight out of one of the stories he’d told Aryll when they were kids. Well, younger kids.

To the merchant however, Wind knows that’s not the case. The merchant sees the blazing blue eyes and the silver sword and he stops mid-swing, face paling as the captain comes to stand beside the three younger heroes, hand settling on Legend’s shoulder and stare stone cold. As someone who's seen that stare employed before, Wind’s honestly surprised the man doesn’t piss himself.

“Lay a hand on my family,” the captain growls, and yes, he actually growls, “and I’ll cut it off.”

Twilight whistles lowly.

Oh dang, add Warriors to the list of people he owes. This is really getting out of hand.

“Who are you?” The man stammers, stepping back but not away, gaze trailing up and across the knight and taking in sparkling armour and steely stare, sweat beading across the salesman's face with each passing second.

“Papa,” Four whimpers, and oh gosh he’s good, “I was just trying to show Mama the pretty staff…”

“I see.” Warriors doesn’t even look down to the smithy still plastered across Legend’s front, instead staring until the merchant squirms under his gaze. “What pretty staff, precious?”

Oh no. Oh Hylia, the endearments. Oh gods Wars is so going to sit him down about this. Endearments aren’t uncommon from the captain, but “precious”? Oh no, that one isn’t one he uses, and it’s a clear warning to the sailor at least that he’s going to be answering a lot of questions later.

Dang it, all this over a stupid rod!

“That one,” Four turns and points to the item lying on the ground by their feet, “I thought it looked like something Mama could use for her magic.”

Ah, yes Four, drop the fact that Legend can do magic, that’ll definitely scare the shit out of those present and hopefully convince this guy to just let the scoot. Please? Please let that work?

Except it doesn’t because Warriors recognizes the item too, and he’s bending to scoop up the troublesome rod in question even as the merchant protests and splutters.

“Ah.”

Oh yeah, someone’s screwed.

“Is that…” Legend pauses, and the act drops for a moment, however brief, as he stares at the item. His item. His thing that Ravio never explained but said was his and which now looks very, very old.

“Where did you get this?” Warriors demands, and now he really is mad. Someone threatening to hit his family is bad, but knowing Wars, he wasn’t really all that mad since he knows they can all defend themselves with ease. Stealing from a shrine? Yeah no, that’s territory even Wind isn’t willing to cross.

The merchant huffs. He’s got guts, Wind will give him that. A lesser man would have caved or run away or even just tried to snivel and plead to avoid the wrath of this odd little family and the crowd watching them, but he doesn’t, and for that Wind has to give him props. He’s got guts. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I traded for it. It’s a powerful magical rod, capable of-”

“Nothing.” Legend interjects, releasing his hold on Wind (rude) to reach for the rod in the captain’s hand, and Warriors lets him, gaze trailing down to watch the vet inspect the thing with a frown. “It’s damaged,” Legend continues, frowning as gnarled fingers trace the stone set on top, the actual source of the thing’s supposed magic. A sigh. “Violet, this was hardly worth the fuss,” the vet frowns and hands the item off, casually, to the captain.

Warriors holds it, scowling. “Probably best if we didn't buy it then, love. Besides, it being stolen from a shrine, Hylia only knows what sort of curses the gods would have put on it.”

Oh. Oh yes. Wind is very near smiling, but doesn’t even as he watches his older brothers play it out perfectly, not a word passed between to communicate, not even a look, but picking up the threads the other lays with all the skill of the most masterful weaver of lies, and it’s working too. While the heroes look at each other in confusion, and Twilight is sort of smirking in that utterly lost and confused but also humored way he does, the merchant is quickly paling again.

“Cursed?”

“Of course,” Legend scoffs, straightening up but not shaking off the arm Warriors still has about his shoulders, “anything stolen from a shrine would be cursed. The souls of the dead never take kindly to people disrespecting them so blatantly.”

“But I didn’t steal it!” The man protests.

The vet sniffs, tossing his head and looking down his nose at the man, even as the captain follows his lead and likewise stares the man down with all the revulsion one would assume someone married to a great mage might have. “That hardly matters, sir. Frankly, anyone who disrespects such a sacred thing, be it in sale or theft, is simply begging suffering on themselves, and I’m hardly inclined to wish that upon my children.” Violet eyes then turn to them, and both he and Four can feel the weight and warning in them as Legend stares, not dropping the act but also not entirely acting anymore. “Which is why I’ll be sure to make sure this never happens again.”

It won’t.

“All the same, love,” Warriors murmurs, and there’s a step made, and they pulled along, “it’s likely best if we finish our business as soon as possible. I’d rather we head back to the ship and leave port before whatever bad fortune that thing is cursed with reveals itself.” He shakes his head, staring at the item even as the vet takes his lead and starts ushering both younger heroes away. “They say that shrine was one for a goddess’ son, so I can only imagine how that will play out.”

The weight of their words seems to hit as the captain makes a turn, and while Wind can’t see it, he can definitely hear the feet pattering after them and the man calling out, now suddenly closer. It makes him stop and try to peek around Legend, who sighs but follows his lead to look as the man thrusts the rod in question at their captain. “Please! If you know where it’s from, send it back! Maybe the spirits will forgive me if I restore what was taken from them. Please sir!”

“After you attacked my wife and child?” And Warriors definitely learned that haughty, contemptuous voice from all the balls and dealings with nobles he’s suffered through after the war, “I don’t think so.”

“But you know where it came from!” The man tries, “I don’t!”

“Darling,” and the word almost grates off of Legend’s lips, hand coming to settle in the crook of the captain’s arm.

Wind is going to owe Legend the best freaking thing ever, although what, he’s not sure, since Legend has everything already.

“Perhaps we should help.”

“Someone like this?” He has no clue why Warriors is making this harder than it has to be, and with the attention of all others on the captain and vet, he and Four exchange a quick glance of confusion.

“Think of all the innocent people this fool has endangered,” Legend continues, still glaring at the man and item in question. “We can’t let his greed and foolishness cause their demise! Such a thing would surely disrupt the spirits even further.”

Ah yes, the warning of a mage. It sets the people about them fussing and worrying, until there are others stepping out from the crowd and begging until at last Warriors 'concedes’ and accepts the rod, which is quickly handed back to its original owner and stashed away in the vet’s bag.

That should be the end of it, but like last time, it’s not. Because people.

Wind really loves people most times, but right now he’d rather they just… not. He’d rather they not watch, or worry, or fuss. He’d rather not, but he’s sure that even if they didn’t, Legend would still be catching Four’s hand as they walk and Warriors would still be setting a hand on his shoulder that is heavy, oh so very heavy.

He’d also rather they not because when he sees Tetra staring at him from within the crowd, face red with unreleased laughter, he can’t do anything about it except keep his head down and silently bemoan the loss of whatever sort of respect he may have gained among his fellow pirates.

He botched a simple theft. He had to be rescued by a soldier and a teenage boy in a dress pretending to be his mother.

He is never going to live this down.

“At least,” Four murmurs, once they’ve moved to the edge of the market, finished with their shopping and with the eyes of the others all trailing after them with innumerable questions, “I got to be older this time.”

Legend sighs, releasing the smithy’s hand to rub at his temples, figure blocked by the captain’s own and thus out of sight of the market behind them. “Oy vey, you two.”

“We owe you guys big time,” he tries.

Warriors snorts, grip tightening on his shoulder. “You owe us an explanation, but yeah, big time, sailor.”

Ahead, the ship is waiting, Tetra leaning against the bulwarks and smirking down at him with danger in her eyes and laughter already touching her lips, and Wind sighs.

This is never going to go away.

He kind of regrets teasing Legend now for last time.

211 notes · View notes

nebulablakemurphy · 2 years ago

Text

The Queen’s Hand

(Part VIII: The Black Queen)

Summary Y/N Targaryen is Princess of the seven realms. First born daughter of, Viserys I and Aemma Targaryen. Heir to the iron throne, forced to make impossible decisions to ensure peace amongst the land and the safety of those she holds most dear.

Prologue | I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII

“My Queen,” Lord Lyonel says in greeting. The room is empty, save for the two of them. Aemmia has requested him and him alone.

“Grandsire,” Aemmia chokes out. “Now is no time for formalities. I need a kind word and a familiar hand.”

Harwin’s father sighs, “what can I do, dearest?”

“Give me the truth of it. How bad off are we?”

“We?” Lyonel whispers. “Those of us on King’s Landing?”

“Start there, yes.” Aemmia nods.

“We are fortified against any attack, with ships in all directions. No one will come by surprise.”

“The Velaryons will come by sea, my family will come by dragon.” She points out.

“Aemmia,” Lyonel takes her hand in his, “if I may? Vhagar is the largest claimed dragon in all the realms. She would do much damage. Same as Aranthi and Sunfyre. But Rhaenyra has more dragons with more experienced riders. Though none of them have been to war.”

“What about man power? We have Ser Criston, Aemond can fight, along with what’s left of the King’s Army.” She trails off, “they have Daemon, a warrior in his own right, more experienced than any of our soldiers. They have my father, the strongest knight in the seven kingdoms.”

“Who does not intend to use said strength against you of all people. You are his child. He loves you, as your mother loves you.”

Aemmia nods, attempting to compose herself.

“Such love does not disappear on a whim.”

“I know I- I do not know what’s come over me.” She holds a protective hand to her belly, just begun to protrude.

“You are frightened. I have left you too often by yourself, that was not my intention.” Lyonel apologizes.

“We are all doing what we can.” Aemmia shakes her head.

“What of Aemond? I’m sure his presence would be most reassuring to you in these times.”

“My husband cares for me and I for him. But we’ve come up differently. I was taught to lean in for comfort, he learned to close in on himself for solace.”

“Perhaps you will find compromise.” Lyonel smiles, kindly.

Aemmia blinks in quick succession, he is regarding her in a way he never has. “What is it?”

Lyonel pats her cheek. “When your mother first asked for your father’s hand, I denied her. She was highly sought after, proposals flew in from right and left. I, as Hand to your late Grandsire, saw them all. She could have married into a house of higher standing than my own. But she would not marry. I believed it was her chosen path to serve the crown.

My son, had already sired a son by Princess Rhaenyra. King Viserys denied it, but everyone knew. Some say I love Harwin to a fault. Still I could not bring myself to allow Y/N the shame. Nor could I speak on the parentage of Jacaerys, it would mean exile and death for all involved. After Lucerys was born, Y/N came again. She said onto me, I will take him as he is. All he has done, all he will do matters not. I will take Ser Harwin Strong and unsully his name. I will love his sons as my own and ensure their legitimacy. I will bear him children of high status in court and heirs to Harrenhal.”

Lyonel recounts, with a far off look in his eyes. “If you had told me then that one of those children would become Queen of the seven kingdoms, I would’ve laughed. Over the years your mother has become very dear to my heart. It gives me hope to know that her legacy and my boy’s will live on in you.”

“She is much stronger than I.” Aemmia argues, “I am not suited for this.”

“What you do now will live in infamy, Aemmia. By your hand will come the rise or fall of the mighty House Targaryen.”

————————————🌱———————————

Y/N learns of their intruder by a tune. A simple melody echoing up from the lower level. Daemon ordered him locked away for later questioning, though he did not alert the Queen, nor her Princess Hand.

It has been but minutes since the return of Laenor, carrying Viserys’ crown. Passed straight from Aemmia’s hand to his own.

‘How is she, Laenor? How is my girl?’ Y/N takes his arm.

‘She is well,’ Laenor holds back.

Y/N hoped the affirmation of Aemmia’s intentions would calm her uncle. Perhaps she was wrong. The rogue prince still lives within him.

The song has passed down through Y/N’s mother, Aemma, to her children. Y/N follows the sound to the cellar. A body is hunched over on the floor, curled in against itself for warmth.

Carefully Y/N closes the distance between herself and the prisoner. “Aegon?”

He startles, “Y/N.”

“Why’ve you come?”

“By my Grandsire’s will, to plead for the life of my mother and house.” Aegon informs her.

“You seem very lax for delivering such a message.” Y/N scoffs.

“What does it matter?” He throws up a hand. “If you wish to show mercy, then we are already saved. And if you wish to collect on bloodlust then we are naught but walking corpses.”

“Why send you?” Y/N wonders. “Why not Aemmia or Aemond?”

“They are too valuable these days.” Aegon purses his lips.

“Hmm.”

“He thought I might also play into the love we once shared.” Aegon replies, flippantly. “I cant recall, but I’m sure you do.”

When Aegon was born, until his second name day, Y/N doted on her sweet brother. Bringing forth the most beautiful dragon’s egg for him. Unfortunately it was a love that could not be, although they both desperately needed it. Driven apart by jealousy and aspirations of power.

‘She will poison his mind.’ Otto told Alicent, ‘he will favor her over you.’

Y/N nods. “I would like you to return to your mother. Assure her that we are drawing up fair terms, for each and every one of you.”

“Did you love me?” He wonders, cocking his head to the side. He’s never known her to love any of them but Rhaenyra.

Y/N pauses, swallowing down all her guilt. Her heart tearing anew as she finds his eyes, hollow from the hand he was dealt. Much different from hers, and what his own might have been if only- “I did love you, Aegon.” She admits, “I loved you with all my heart.”

Aegon holds her stare, as if willing his mind to recount details it cannot. “Pity.”

“Indeed.”

“That would, however make you one of the few people who ever did.” He lifts a shoulder, “I will not exploit you for it. I do ask you spare my children at least.” Aegon whispers, “I’ve not been much a father to them, but our sins should not be their’s to account for.”

Y/N turns away. “Be a better father when you return, a better husband to your wife. Become the man I hoped you to be and do not take for granted the mercy afforded you.”

“I am not like you, I’m not cut out for this.” Aegon calls out to her. “I never wanted this.”

“And I never wanted it for you. But it matters not what we want, only what we do with the cards we are given.”

————————————🌱———————————

“Do you wish me bald?” Aemond quips, as his wife’s anxious fingers pull at his locks.

He does not mind her toying with his hair, Aemond has come to enjoy the gentle intimacy that Aemmia has brought into his life. But something is off about this.

“There is a time for tugging and a time for stroking, wouldn’t you say?” Aemond tries again. Her restless motions continue until he reaches back, catching her wrist. “Aemmia.”

“Forgive me.” She says immediately, dropping the blonde tresses. Reeling her mind back from the great unknown.

“Where did you go?”

“I was only thinking.” Aemmia presses a kiss to his cheek to reassure him.

“What about?”

“If our children take my features over yours, will you be very disappointed?”

Aemond’s mouth quirks up, “of all the things to worry about, you choose this?”

“And if it is a daughter instead of a son?”

“Then I shall have a father’s girl in your image. She will be terribly spoilt.”

“How about a dragon?” Aemmia goes about pacing the floor.

“Atara might bring forth another clutch.” Aegon’s dragon, Sunfyre, said to be the most magnificent in all of Westeros, was a gift from her first.

Aemmia nods, Atara is her mother’s dragon. “My mother always said that dragons are one with our souls. They’re privy to our fears, strengths, weaknesses, our heart’s greatest desires. That’s why some are born to us while others find us later.”

“Hmm,” Aemond hums, it’s an interesting theory.

“Atara and Aranthi have never been apart.”

“Dragons are different than humans, my love.” Aemond murmurs. If Atara is in any distress it would be more likely from Y/N’s longing for Aemmia than the dragon’s longing for one of its own children.

“Did you know my father learned High Valyrian to speak to Atara?”

“Why?”

“Because she is one with my mother and therefore part of him.” Aemmia breaks off.

“You mustn’t do this to yourself.” Aemond scrubs his fingers over his forehead.

“I know that, Aemond. Only sometimes I can’t help it.”

“You miss them terribly,” Aemond says.

“I do,” she admits, staring down at the floor.

“I would like to know them.”

“You plan to stay with me then, when this is finished?”

Aemond sighs, “I do. If it’s allowed of me.”

Aemmia gives him a gentle smile. “Who knows, you may even come to love them.”

“Let’s not be overzealous.”

“My mother would like you.” The brunette presses on.

“She never did.” Aemond replies, with a shake of his head.

“She never had a chance.”

———————————🌱————————————

“It is imperative that we know the intentions of Eyrie, Stark and Baratheon. With house Stark the north will follow.” Daemon says, his tone clipped. He is irritated, to say the least, at Y/N’s choices.

‘If you are to be Hand, you must hold the Queen’s safety above all others. You must be willing to drench yourself in the blood of thousands in her name!’ He scolds Y/N.

‘Who has stood more faithfully by her side than I? While you waged wars and fathered children, free to marry as you saw fit, who was there for Rhaenyra? When you abandoned her during her labors with your daughter to raise hell, who held her? You dare tell me what it means to be my sister’s hand? I have done it all her life!’ Y/N spits back.

‘You love her, I will not deny this.’ Daemon lowers his voice. ‘But loving her and leading her are two very different tasks. You need to toughen your skin as well as your heart to succeed in both. Think of our numbers, in dragons alone. Atara, Syrax, Caraxes, Seasmoke, Meleys, and that doesn’t include the children’s dragons, three more wild reside here on Dragon Stone. We could have every Green head mounted on a spike and Rhaenyra on the throne before the fucking day’s end.”

‘I will not advise Rhaenyra to slay her own kin!’

“Send us.” Jace suggests, “dragons are faster than ravens. We’ll be there in half the time.”

Y/N would usually speak up. Say no, it is an unnecessary risk. Rhaenyra considers this, hoping to meet her sister’s eye for insight. Y/N offers none, stonewalling her. Or maybe she cannot bear to look upon her.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra agrees. “Jacaerys will take Eyrie and Winterfell. Deliver our message, see if they will stand with us.”

“I shall fly with him, my Queen.” Geniysa offers.

“Geniysa-” Harwin shakes his head.

“I’ve received proposals from members of these houses. It is past time for me to marry, we shall kill two birds with one stone.” Geniysa points out.

“You’re prepared to make such a decision on your own?” Y/N frowns at her daughter.

“I will have Jacaerys,” Geniysa slaps her cousin once on the back.

“Indeed,” he agrees. “I will help guide her hand.”

Y/N bites out. “Let it be done, we shall await your safe return.”

Geniysa snaps her mouth shut, nodding curtly to her mother.

Harwin joins his wife, near the head of the table, brushing hair away from her ear to whisper. “Are you absolutely sure about this? Once a betrothal is set in place it, ending it would be frown upon.”

Y/N turns in to him, keeping her tone hushed. “She is a woman grown. Worse still, she is a child of yours and mine, incredibly stubborn. The move is hers to make.”

Harwin gives a tight nod of acknowledgment.

“Your devotion moves me, Princess.” Rhaenyra tells her niece. “It will not be forgotten.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

“Lucerys and Viserus should take to Storm’s End. It is a short flight from here.” Rhaenyra tells the younger boys. They have always done well together, this has not changed with the years.

“I will aid in his safe passage, my Queen.” Viserus tells her.

“And I his,” Luc looks to Y/N.

“I have no doubt. You’ll do us all proud.”

————————————🌱———————————-

The days drag on, leaving Aemond in a state of unease. He spars to soothe the frazzled bits of him that his wife cannot. Though Aemmia would put him out of his misery with her lips to his; whispering the sweetest of nothings as tender hands caress his face. His wedding gift to her bouncing about her neck before the sapphire finally clings to her sweat damp skin. However, fucking his frustrations into her would not allow a favorable place for their child to grow. Only love for you.

Aemond swings his sword toward his opponent, the clank of metal is familiar. Here he has complete control.

“Brother, I have returned with word from Dragon Stone.” Aegon interrupts.

The King huffs, tossing his weapon to the ground. His head aches, radiating out from the scar around his left eye socket. He drags the heel of his palm across the patch, willing it out of his mind. “Let’s hear it.”

“They’re assembling a battalion. Not to fight, unless it comes to that. Drawing up ‘fair’ terms for the lot of us. All of which will presumably including bending the knee to Rhaenyra.”

“Hmm.”

“We should also rally allies.” Aegon looks away, eyes scanning the grounds.

“What for?”

“You would bet your life and that of your child on their willingness to accept our surrender?”

“Rhaenyra would have no reason to harm us.”

“If it is Y/N’s word she follows.” Aegon points out. “Daemon is thirsty for blood and will stop at nothing to get it.”

“How would you advise me?” Aemond squares his shoulders.

“Houses Stark and Baratheon hold the north, both of whom swore oaths to Rhaenyra. Securing them would give us a leg up, should we need it.”

“You think it will come to that?”

“They are a house divided amongst themselves…and we know how well that works out.” Aegon stares down at the dirt.

“Very well.” Aemond agrees, “I will make the journey to Storm’s end.”

“Make haste, Aemond.” Aegon warns, “their troops will be upon us sooner rather than later.”

“What has brought about this sudden sense of urgency?” Aemond asks, it seems out of character.

“Rhaenyra lost the babe.”

“Gods be good.”

“Y/N,” Aegon breathes, “she is unhinged.”

“Yet she let you live.” Aemond points out.

“You did not see her eyes.” The eldest boy’s hands ball into fists. “She is on the precipice.”

————————————🌱———————————

“He asked for what?” Surely Y/N has heard Viserus wrong.

“Stark asked first for Geniysa, then for Rhaelys. I told him no, on both counts. They are not mine to offer.” Viserus repeats.

“Well done, son.” Harwin assures him.

“Well done?” Daemon scoffs, “he has lost us the North.”

“Instead, I offered my hand to Borros Baratheon’s daughters. The youngest is around my age, a bit older, but she seemed quite taken with our terms.” Viserus smirks, “we have the North, dear uncle.”

The older man huffs, squaring his shoulders.

“You can say you’re proud of me,” Viserus jests, “it’s alright.”

Daemon says nothing, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He claps the boy once on the back as he passes.

Jace and Geniysa return a while after with good news. Rhaenyra’s oath still stands amongst Eyrie and Winterfell.

The middle two Strong children exchange stories about their newly betrothed. Geniysa’s future husband, Arnold Arryn of Eyrie, is older by a handful. “He has his own personal vendetta against a cousin for stealing his place as heir. He believes women are too soft to lead.” Nevertheless, he is willing to reside with her on Dragon Stone or King’s Landing.

“No one better than you to change his mind, cousin.” Jacaerys offers.

Viserus is to wed Floris Baratheon, “she is quiet, but I hope she will warm up.”

Y/N and Harwin are invited to dine with the Queen and King Consort. Along with the Lord of the Tides, his lovely wife and their new found friend, Ser Lynis. But as the hour grows later, the Princess has no appetite.

Rhaelys hums happily in the mother’s lap as Y/N weaves a line of intricate patterns into her silver locks.

“Y/N,” a voice calls from the entryway of her chambers.

“Your grace.” Y/N responds, turning to see her sister. Tapping Rhaelys on the shoulder. “Go, love. Angette is waiting just outside for you.”

“Aunt Rhaenyra?” The little girl peers up at her.

“Yes, Rhaelys?”

The six year old frowns, tossing both arms around the woman’s waist. “I’m sorry about your baby.”

Rhaenyra passes a hand over the crown of her head, “me too, my sweet. Run along now, your supper will get cold.”

Rhaelys dashes out the door without any fuss.

“Ser Harwin informed me that you are unwell.” The Queen comes round, closing the space between she and her sister.

“I will see this through, Rhaenyra. You need not worry.”

“I do not worry for my hand, I worry for my sister.” Rhaenyra says, firmly. Taking a seat beside her on the foot stool, leaning her head against Y/N’s shoulder.

The older girl kisses the top of her sister’s head, resting her cheek there. “I will be better on the morrow.”

“Shall I sit with you a while?”

“Or,” Y/N begins, “we could sneak down to the kitchens.”

Rhaenyra draws back to look at her sister. “And eat cake?”

Y/N nods, fighting back a grin.

————————————🌱———————————-

“Aemmia,” Alicent rushes in to the sitting room.

“Alicent.”

“Word has come, the Velaryon fleet has taken to the seas. They will surround King’s Landing before the moon turns.” She warns.

“It is time then.” They all knew this was coming.

“I can only imagine the things your mother hath told you of me, but I do not wish her dead. Nor Rhaenyra.”

“My mother never spoke an ill word about you, Alicent.” Not to her anyway. “Whatever guilt you hold over things past is your own.”

“All I’ve done is to protect my children.”

“Why do you assume she would harm them?”

“That is what-”

“That’s what you would do.” Aemmia crosses both arms over her chest. “Luckily my mother is better than that.”

“I never meant for it to be this way. We had hoped that with you on the throne, the secession would be peaceful.” Alicent eyes the younger girl, warily.

“Supplanting Rhaenyra was never going to be peaceful. Not when my mother and late Grandsire, spent their lives preparing said throne for it’s rightful heir.” Aemmia turns away from her, staring out the window.

“Perhaps this was miscalculated,” Alicent catches her elbow, “but we thought it best for everyone involved.”

“We?”

“My father and I.”

Aemmia scoffs, “Otto has no love for my mother or Rhaenyra.”

“I do.” Alicent murmurs, half under her breath.

“Then agree to their terms. I’m sure they would accept your surrender and spare your life. Trust may take a while but it would come, eventually.”

“You’ve spent a great deal of time with Helaena as of late,” Alicent changes the subject. “I like to think the two of you could’ve been friends.”

“Helaena is my friend.” Aemmia pulls away from her. “We can still right this, for all of us, with no blood shed. We still have a chance.”

The ships arrive the next morning, just after the dragons. Vhagar, Sunfyre and Aranthi have all been freed from the pit, incase they should need them. Leaving only Helaena’s dragon, Dreamfyre, within, she is a small creature. Not suited for war.

“Do I sit or stand?” Aemmia paces anxiously before the throne. Her dress suddenly too tight, constricting her breath.

Aemond takes her hand. Holding her against his side, facing the throne room doors. “Be still.”

Their army stands behind them, more just outside, lying in wait.

Aemmia’s family does appear, with Rhaenyra at the forefront. She is not alone of course, her mother is there and her father. Daemon and their children at her side. The show of force that trails after them makes Aemmia’s stomach turn.

When they finally stand opposite each other no one speaks for a long while.

Finally it is Y/N to land the first blow. “We shall hear the terms of your surrender, in hopes they align with ours. But first I shall have my daughter, and my sister shall have her throne.”

“Go,” Aemond nods, “go to your mother, love.”

Aemmia squeezes his fingers then drops them, prepared to close the gap between their two families. Before her foot touches the first step down, Otto Hightower has his dagger drawn and at her throat.

“Hold,” Rhaenyra puts an arm out, hearing the shuffle of armor behind her.

“Drop your weapons.” Otto demands, watching the enemy do so. “On your knees.”

Only Daemon fights it.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra warns, “do it, now.”

The man rolls his eyes, kneeling beside his wife. “I am growing too old for such things.”

Otto presses the blade a bit more firmly against Aemmia’s neck, tiny beads of scarlet pooling around the edge. “Here you stand, largest army in Westeros at your heels, come to take what is yours. All you’ve fought for, all you’ve bled for and yearned for; yet you cannot seize it. Instead you drop like flies to your knees. Love is your downfall. Love stays the hand.”

“Grandsire, this is not my wish.” Aemond cuts in. “She is your Queen, to harm her would be the highest of treasons.”

“In a matter of minutes her reign will end, as will yours. Your very lives will be forfeit. Is that your wish Aemond?”

“She is with child.” Aemond informs him, “my child. I wish to see her bear it, mend our houses. As my father so willed it.”

“Your father was so blind to the affairs of your family that he allowed you to be maimed. All in the name of Rhaenyra and her bastards. Sired by the same man as the whore who hath wrought these delusions upon you. Viserys did not defend you. I did! Your mother did!” Otto shouts.

He and Otto move in unison. Aemond is fast to draw his sword, using the blade of it to impale his Grandsire and drive him forward.

“Say what you will, but she has my loyalty.” Aemond seethes. I love her.

Otto’s blood soaked dagger falls to the ground. Aemmia stumbles away with a hand to her throat. Blood oozing out between her fingers, down her wrist and forearm to her elbow.

Alicent is the one to break her fall, moving the girl so that she is cradled against her on the floor. “We must have the Maester!”

Rhaenyra’s army prepares to pounce. “Stay your hand,” the Queen commands.

Aemmia’s parents rush past Otto and Aemond to their daughter.

“There you are,” Otto sputters out as Rhaenyra comes into view. “Come to sit upon your beloved throne.”

She ignores him, headed for her niece instead. Crowding around the girl like everyone else.

“Mama,” Aemmia whispers, her head is light; floating above her body.

“I’m here,” Y/N gentles her. “I’m here.”

“Papa.”

“Yes, sweetheart, all accounted for.” Harwin, pushes a bit of hair from her face. “Let me see,” he pries her fingers away from the wound. Aemmia’s head resting in Alicent’s lap. It is deep, but doesn’t appear to have hit a vein. She will live if they act quickly to seal it. Blood loss will be their worst enemy. “Not too bad, hmm?” Harwin applies firm pressure with his own hand as they wait for the maester. “Just a scratch.”

Y/N holds her daughter’s hand. Unable or willing to focus on anything else.

“For the love of the gods, let us heat up a blade and seal it. I’ve seen this a thousand times in battle.” Daemon says, feigning indifference, though clearly worried as the rest.

“I will do it.” Laenor sprints over to the corner torch lamp. Holding his knife to the flame until it burns red hot.

“Move her hair away.”

“Hold her steady, we want the edges to be clean.”

Everything moves out of time, the smell of charring flesh, the sound of Aemmia’s scream. A collective lurch of bodies, crying out in warning. Y/N turns her head just in time to see Criston Cole charging her way. Sword drawn.

The princess does not move, frozen as lords and knights alike rush to her defense. But they are too late. The sound of metal against metal startles Y/N more than the impact she braced for.

“You dare attack my sister while her back is turned?” Aegon seethes, deadlocked with Ser Criston.

“They cannot take the throne, my Prince. I will die defending your honor.” The man who helped raise him replies. Pushing back against Aegon’s hand.

“I will not kill you, Cole. You have been dear to me, but you mustn’t harm my family.” Aegon says, cooly. “Guards, remove Ser Criston and place him under lock and key.”

Perhaps they are not too far gone. Perhaps they will save each other.

Part IX

Taglist @evyiione @bubblebuttwade @hotd-fanfic@leoramage @hyperfiaxed-freak @chonisbestmistake @poemfreak306 @giulia2372 @stargaryenx @rxscpctals

#the queens hand #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenrya targaryen #rhaenyra fanfic #harwin strong x y/n #harwin strong x reader #ser harwin x reader #ser harwin strong #laenor valeryon #daemon targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen #alicent hightower #helaena targaryen #ser criston cole #lucerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon #harwin strong imagine #princess rhaenyra

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driftward · 1 year ago

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Title: FFXIV Write 2023 - 7. Noisome Characters: Y'shtola Rhul, Baderon Tenfingers Rating: Teen Summary: Y'shtola has a request for Baderon. Notes: None

Y'shtola strode into the Drowning Wench, an establishment she would previously have described as noisome at the best of times. With the smell of a variety of boozes mixing with the smell unique to a fishing pier, and the cacophony of the jeers boasts and story telling of many a privateer, she had thought the place offensive to both nose and ear.

However, it was the central hub for La Noscea, moreso than even the pier itself. The piers where the ships were was where work was done. It was here that rumors pooled and flowed, where news could be sent and heard, and where men and women and others of every stripe and vocation would eventually find their way through. From the lowest of wharf rats to the most celebrated of captains, the Drowning Wench served as a second home to all, and certainly, and now it also served at least as a frequent haunt of one Y'shtola Rhul.

It was late. Not that late mattered, Limsa Lominsa was not the sort of place that ever went to sleep, and so the Drowning Wench never shut her mouth, but it was quiet enough to present a reasonable expectation of privacy, even at the counter. Baderon was cleaning a glass as she approached, and he put it aside to shift to using the rag to clean the counter.

"Well, now, what trouble's bein' brought to ol' Baderon this time?"

"Trouble? And what of all the times I have brought tidings to bring succor to your own woes? Indeed, I believe 'tis more like you have trouble for me."

Baderon chuckled. "Aye, good ol' Y'shtola, never one to allow herself to be the center of a spot 'o good humor."

"I need not entertain such. As experience has shown the both of us, apparently such humor shall find me though I seek it not."

At that, Baderon laughed heartily, and Y'shtola gave him a wan smile. It was true enough, and she was not so prudish as to deny the facts. Her misadventures in the surrounding environs were only a matter of record because of the cares she had taken to be of use to the people of Limsa Lominsa.

They had warmed to her, and though she inwardly still felt cool towards them, nevertheless, an equitable existence had been carved out, and she had done her part to help the nation along its course.

"...been a bit now, hasn't it? S'good o' ye to drop by, as somethin' 'as been on my mind as of late... got a question... if you don' mind."

Y'shtola had business of her own she wished to discuss, but decided it would wait.

"As you ever were a friend to the Path of the Twelve and also of the Circle of Knowing, you are yet as a friend to me. Ask your question."

Baderon went back to cleaning the glass he had discarded earlier, picking it up and wiping absently at it. A nervous gesture, Y'shtola thought.

"It's been damned near a year. 'aven't you 'eard nought of those 'venturers I 'elped send down t' that 'ell? Those brave warriors who 'eld the line for us at Carteneau?"

Memory returned to her, vague and blurry. A silhouette, its outline as watery as a reflection in the sea, haloed by light. A cadre of adventurers, companions, heroes. One in particular, her friend, and more... lost to her, now. Lost to the realm at large, it seemed.

"Warriors, clad only in light in our memories. Well, they remain to be remembered only as servants of the source of that self same Light for the time being," she said.

"Warriors o' Light," said Baderon, idly. And then, "what little grasps my mind can make of them, they were more than alright sorts. That I can' bring their faces to sight drives me bugger-mad."

He started at the expression that must have crossed her face at the moment.

"...beggin' yer grace. I think you may've been rather closer than I was."

Y'shtola shook her head. "And it is of no harm done. You touched a soreness, but unknowingly and without malice. Nay, it is good that you remember that much of him, and them. And such memory, thin though it may be, only spurs me to my duty evermore. To that end, my reasons for approaching you at such hour."

"Ah, there's the trouble. Well, don't let it be said Baderon don't bend an ear to his friends."

"As head of the local Adventurer's Guild, you were ever a friend to the Path of the Twelve, and also to that of the Circle of Knowing. Indeed, it was your keen instincts that led one of those adventurers to our arms."

"Aye, that much, I do remember," he said, idly. Then he grinned at her. "D' you? Our friend made much of the time of his first meeting you here - you overlooked him at th' time, as I recall."

"And more the fool me, unwilling to see that which was right in front of me. Which is why it is good and well that you were here, watching out for what I could not see. Just so, and as you set him on his path, I found mine crossed over with his, and all was well. And for your intercession, this realm gained a hero, true and such," said Y'shtola. "I wonder, if you would be willing to continue in this service?"

"Willin' an' able, aye, lass. 'Venturers like that give me 'ope for our collective futures. I have fun at ye, but tha' one looked a spot o' nothin' when I first saw 'm myself, other than - I remember he was friendly-like. An' though I can' see them now, I remember... I remember thinkin', there was a kindness to his eyes. An uncommon kindness at that."

Another pair of eyes rose to Y'shtola's memory. Not the ones that she wished, so sorely wished, she could see once more in the missing adventurer, but kind, nevertheless.

"And it is such we seek once more," she said, chasing the memory off. "Will you continue your work, Baderon? This time, on behalf of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn?"

"Huh. You lot changed your name then, did ye?"

Y'shtola nodded. "We thought best to turn two organizations into one, and continue our mission. The turning of the star continues, and Minfilia believes we still have need of a hero."

"Signs and portents, then? Some sort o' prophecy, maybe?"

"Not a prophecy as such, no. More a continuation of that search, for those blessed by Hydaelyn, to share her Light and continue to help us find our way in this umbral era. We may have survived one calamity, but we would like to prevent another. I ask again, will you help us?"

"You hardly need to ask at all, lass. I feel blessed to have been part o' things, sour though they've ended. And tho' I'm not eager to send any more to their 'arrow, we can' always expect the worst, can we? I'd spend the rest of my days to meet someone with 'alf the caliber of the last bunch. If I can help them find their way in this sorry world, and maybe 'elp keep the light a lil' brighter? I'll do it. Ye've got my support, if ye'll have it."

Y'shtola smiled warmly at him. "I am grateful for your kindness. And I will continue to tend to my mission, then, comforted at having such a stalwart ally."

She wrinkled her nose a bit, and turned to face the bar proper. "Even if your drink remains as noisome as ever."

"Oy, that's hurtful, that is. I thought we were 'aving a real moment of comaradarie, we were."

"And we still are. I shall drop some instructions for how we may yet help one another on the morrow. Pleasure as always, Baderon."

"And good night t' ye, Y'shtola."

She made her way out of the Drowning Wench, one more deed done. Noisome and quarrelsome though Limsa Lominsa could be, it had become a home of sorts to her. Her duty kept her present, but still, for the sake of memory, she felt she owed it one. And so she would keep to her tasks, until the work was done.

#ffxivwrite2023 #final fantasy xiv #y'shtola rhul #baderon tenfingers #noisome #202309-07 #biot writes

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thirsty4villains · 2 years ago

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Bound | A Loki x Reader fic

Rating: E

Warnings: Eventual smut, human sacrifice, torture, blood and injury, violence, angst

Tags: sharing a bed, slow burn, eventual romance, fix-it, canon divergence of Avengers Infinity War/Endgame, humor, limited use of Y/N, action and adventure

Consider joining my Patreon where all fics are posted earlier than anywhere else and you can make fic requests!ヽ(•‿•)ノ

Summary:

A year has passed since the Snap. As you look to find a fresh start in life, you end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. A small cult dedicated to the newly revitalized Norse religion chooses you as a sacrifice with the belief that this will give Thor and the other gods the strength to undo what Thanos has done. What you don’t know is that human sacrifices come with a powerful magic — those who are sacrificed become linked with the god they have been given to. It’s been a millennia since a human was sacrificed to one of the gods. You’ve been bound to Loki.

CHAPTER 15

The trip back to Valhalla was mostly quiet

Freya landed the ship on the same field that you and the others were kidnapped from.

Outside, Odin, Freya, and everyone else was there to greet you and the rest of the captured upon return. The Allfather clapped his warriors on their backs and they embraced their friends and family.

"Freya! You're alright!" Frigga said. "You're hurt."

She winced upon Freya’s embrace, but returned the hug. "Yes, they tortured me a few times,"

"Tortured!" the Allmother gasped.

"But we killed them, and I am OK. If I could, I would like to rest here for a bit before returning to my realm. I am… exceptionally tired."

"Of course, Freya. You know these halls, take any room you like."

Freya nodded, said a quick greeting to Odin, and strode toward the palace.

Loki helped you down the ramp of the ship. Your dehydration and exhaustion were so severe that your legs felt light and wobbly under you.

His mother strode up to you both, taking you and Loki in her arms.

"I knew you would find the way," she whispered to her son. "I am elated to see you both back here in one piece." She hugged you both so closely and for so long that you were unsure if she would release you.

"I don't feel like I'm in one piece. But yes, it was a close call," you said.

Odin approached the three of you. "Your mother told me what you did. That was very intuitive, my son."

"It wasn't too risky, father? You actually approve?"

"I'm telling you well done, Loki,"

"Thank you, father, now if you'll excuse us…" Loki shifted, allowing most of your weight to be transferred to him, and he led you back to the palace of Valhalla.

~~~

You awoke in his room, the one with the large scarlet bed. It was such a contrast to the pale skin and green cloth of Loki.

You didn’t remember falling asleep. You didn’t even remember the walk here. Rubbing your eyes, you still felt exhausted, dehydrated, and sore, but considerably better than your condition on the ship. You took a drink of water from a glass on the night stand beside you. The cool liquid refreshed your dry throat.

As you came to your senses, you noticed Loki sleeping on the couch in front of the fireplace, his head resting on the back cushions, facing you, with his arms cradling his chin like how a dog might sleep. He must have been watching you until he inevitably succumbed to sleep himself. However, he was a light sleeper, as the god’s eyes fluttered open upon the clink of you setting the glass back down.

He rubbed his eye. “I fell asleep.”

“You deserve to. You did a lot today.”

“The day before yesterday.”

“The day before..? I was out for that long?”

“Yes, there were several times I checked to make sure you still had breath. And no, I don’t deserve to sleep. I allowed them to take you.”

There was a flutter in your chest momentarily at how worried Loki was for you.

“Loki, your father was right. You saved all of us on that ship.”

“Perhaps,” he said curtly.

“Ugh,” you scoffed. You couldn’t find the energy in you right now to argue whether he was a hero or not.

"Why are you all the way over there?” You asked. “This is a huge bed, you could have slept next to me instead of that couch."

"You seem to always get flustered when I'm around you so closely, like when we shared the sleeping bag. So, I was respecting your modesty."

Heat ran up your cheeks.

He continued, "However, at the moment I feel… very protective of you. The couch is closer to the door than the bed and that way I may hear anyone approaching the door. I have permitted no one to enter aside from my mother to administer healing."

You removed the blankets and swung your legs over the side of the bed. With bare feet, you walked on the lush carpet toward the god brooding on the couch. You placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Loki, I'm safe now. I don't think your father, Freya, or anyone else is going to harm me."

"Unlikely, however, we can't know for sure if that's the last we will see of those fire giants. If more were to come back, perhaps shapeshift into a Viking, or my father…"

"Loki, you're not making sense."

He shook his head. "No, you're being naive. If even the afterlife isn't safe, nowhere is, and you are a fragile thing."

"Loki Odinson, you are acting as if you did lose me, as if I died. I didn't die, I'm right here. You seem as if you're in grief!"

Loki grasped the sides of your arms. "Because I did lose you. You did not die but you were dying, I felt our bond grow weaker and I felt you growing weaker."

"But now I'm strong again. I'm alive thanks to you." You moved in closer, nestling your head in his chest. "I'm right here."

Loki wrapped his long arms around you, holding you securely against him. He stroked your hair a few times, before pulling you away in order to see your face.

"Mortal maid, what dark magic you've cast upon me."

For the first time in days, your bond felt the way you knew it to feel when you were in physical contact with the god of mischief. That tug toward him that was weak a few days ago was full-force now. And you welcomed it because it meant security, it meant familiarity, it meant affection. It meant…

Well, it was powerful magic after all. It wanted to make you feel like these things. It wanted to make him feel like these things. It had a purpose.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t have to like it.

You finally spoke: "I don't think I've cast anything that you haven't taught me.”

The god pressed his lips to the top of your head and kept you in his embrace for such a long time that you were unsure he would ever let you go.

~~~

You were only conscious for a few more hours, enough to eat, bathe, and change your clothes, but then you went to sleep again. Your body was still healing. Before taking your rest you were finally able to convince Loki to sleep in the bed next to you. The bed had plenty of room and you felt bad that he kept sleeping on the couch.

The next morning the two of you awoke to a knock on the door. Before you could even finish rubbing your eyes, Loki had cracked it open. It was barely open an inch as he questioned the visitor.

You were about to ask who it was when the god invited his father into the room. By now you had seen the Allfather a handful of times, however, his presence was no less commanding or intimidating than the first. He held himself the way a ruler should, and he was undoubtedly the king of Asgard.

So when he entered the room and you had nothing but a blanket and some pajamas covering you along with a head of unbrushed hair, you felt a little sheepish.

“Good morning, um, Your Majesty.”

And Odin did something you didn’t expect. He smiled.

“It is customary to call me ‘Allfather’ rather than ‘majesty,’ but you, child, may call me Odin.”

“Oh! Okay. Well, good morning, Odin.”

The Allfather bowed his head. “Good morning,” he responded. “I feel you have earned to address me so informally because I must thank you, both of you, for saving my warriors and of course the goddess Freya.”

“Thank you, All - I mean, Odin,” you corrected yourself. “And of course! I would have done whatever I could to help.”

“It is good to see the both of you are on the mend.” He turned to his son. “How are your injuries, Loki?”

“Fine now, especially thanks to mother’s aid,” the god said.

You envied Loki’s ability to recover from injuries so quickly. He had taken quite a beating on the fire giant ship but just two days later he moved as he did on any given day. Meanwhile, your ass was still recovering from its whooping.

“While I am glad to know the two of you are well, I have also come to deliver a message.”

Loki quirked an eyebrow. “A message?”

“From atop the mountain, from Idunn,” Odin said.

You felt your heart stop – and you were fairly sure you heard Loki’s do so too. You sat up, and the two of you allowed Odin to continue.

“It is a short message, but all she relayed to me is that she would like to convene with you today.”

Odin bowed, and when no one said anything more, he took his leave. He shut the door behind him.

You let out the breath you’d been holding. “Loki, do you think she’s going to give you the apples?”

“I cannot imagine any other reason why she would call on us, but I also will not keep my hopes up. I could barely control my anger the last time she rejected my request.”

Atop the mountain again, after the snow and clouds cleared away, you and Loki were greeted by the sunny, small paradise that held a grove of a hundred different trees and fruits, but in the very center and most prominently was the tree of golden apples. And crouched underneath it was Idunn.

Upon your arrival, the goddess set down the pair of shears she had been using to prune branches off the tree. She stood up, and despite having just been kneeling in the dirt - her dress remained perfectly pristine white.

“Loki and… I am so sorry to have forgotten your name, child.”

You recited your name back to the goddess. Idunn repeated it back to herself. “I also apologize for referring to you as Loki’s mistress. That was unkind of me.”

“Thank you,” you said.

Idunn then turned to Loki. “I would not have expected such valor and selflessness from you when you decided to stop and turn around that fire giant ship. These centuries certainly have changed you.”

Loki crossed his arms. “Oh please, I wasn’t as bad as you make me out to be.”

Idunn’s eyes expressed both irritation and amusement.

“To the matter at hand,” she clasped her hands together. “I don’t summon people up to my garden very often. In fact, I have done it perhaps less than a dozen times in the past millennia. These apples are meant to be preserved and protected, lest their power fall into the wrong hands.”

“That said,” Idunn continued. “I know what Thanos did and the misery he brought, but I would not have given these fruits to anybody claiming they would use them to correct what he’s done. The actions of the Mad Titan must be reversed, and I can confidently say that I believe you will do it. Loki Odinson, god of mischief and lies, you have proven to me that your cause is true, and that you are worthy of receiving the golden apples.”

Loki crossed one hand over his chest and bowed deeply in front of the goddess. You did the same.

Idunn did a small bow herself, her braided hair dangling over her shoulder. She turned toward the tree and, reaching outward, picked five large, brilliantly golden apples, placing them in a basket. The goddess extended the basket to Loki, who grasped the handle with the utmost tenderness, as if it carried a newborn.

You peered over to look at them. Their golden skin was so lustrous that your and Loki’s faces were reflected back to you. As delicately as you could, you traced your fingers around the curve of one of the apples. It felt the same as an ordinary apple, except for the tingle that shot through your fingertips. When you pulled away you felt almost rejuvenated, like you hadn’t just been through hell two days ago.

“What did it do?”

Your initial thought was that its magic healed you, but you looked down and the burns were still on your arms.

“These apples, as I am sure you just felt, are very powerful,” the goddess explained. “Had you taken a bite, it would have healed you, but when simply touched it is more of an anesthetic.”

“Wow.”

Loki touched an apple as well, cocking his head as he processed the sensation. “I see what you mean. Fascinating.”

Idunn smiled. “Please take good care of them. These apples are the only ones I will grant you, so if you lose them or eat them all I will not be giving you any more. Five should be more than enough.”

“We’ll make every one count,” Loki said, clenching his grip on the handle.

“I’m sure you will.”

~~~

The painkilling property of the apple wore off a few hours later, demonstrating just how potent these fruit were.

With more help from Frigga and Loki’s healing magics and plenty of rest, you were finally mostly healed from the abuse you suffered from the fire giants.

One morning, you woke up to Loki stroking your hair. His emerald gaze was entirely undivided and on you. Quick on the trigger, the binding magic and the butterflies in your stomach made you want to get closer. So you did, and scooched closer to him.

“Morning,” you spoke.

“Closer to afternoon, actually.”

You stuck your tongue out at him.

“You look like you have something you want to say,” you said.

Loki broke his gaze from you and sighed. “Yes, actually.”

“What is it?”

“I…” he paused to look beyond you, at the basket of golden apples resting on the nightstand. “You’re healed now and you’re safe. My father has given his blessing for me to leave his realm and, well, it’s time I finally set this insane plan in motion.”

“When do you want us to leave?”

Loki began slowly: “I don’t quite think you understand what I’m getting at.”

But you knew exactly what he was getting at, and yet you needed to hear him say it. You continued to play dumb until he finally did.

“I am going with the apples. I am going to find the Avengers, show the apples to them, and we will track down Thanos, kill him, and reverse the Snap.”

“You,” you said.

“Yes, me. And you, my darling – you will stay here and regain the last of your strength. When we win, I will return here and we’ll figure out how to sever the bond, then you can go home.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“That’s a nice thought but Thanos took people I love from me. I’ve come all this way with you and if I just stayed here and did nothing… I’m tired of feeling useless. You taught me magic; I can use it.”

“You can’t come with me,” Loki said, firmer this time.

“Well, I can’t really stay here either. If you leave, my bond will get weaker again because I won’t be close to you,” you said.

“That’s why I’m going to leave half an apple with you.” Loki gestured to the basket. You hadn’t noticed that he already cut one in half. “When you start to feel weakened, just one bite will be enough to strengthen you again for days.”

“Once again, that’s a nice thought, but I’m coming with you.”

Loki made a sound of irritation. “This conversation wasn’t intended to be a debate.”

“Well, too bad, because I can help!” Your voice rose an octave.

His did the same. “You can do magic but you are nowhere near ready to take on someone like Thanos!”

“But. I. Can. Help!”

“It’s not about help!” Loki pushed back.

“We’ve come all this way together!“ You felt the sting of tears in your eyes.

“And you’ve done a fine job. So stay here!”

“But –”

“I DON’T WANT TO LOSE YOU!”

Any wind you had behind your next argument… Poof, gone. You closed your mouth after realizing it was agape. In all your time with Loki, you had seen him in all forms of anger, but never had he yelled at you.

You reached out to him. “Loki…”

“You stubborn, stubborn mortal. I almost lost you back with the fire giants. I couldn’t live with myself if that madman killed you. I couldn’t, I couldn’t…”

Those butterflies when you awoke seemed to have invited some friends.

You scooted closer to Loki and cupped your hands around either side of his face, pulling him in for a kiss. He was incredibly tense but relaxed after a moment. The god returned the kiss, resting his palm in the crook of your neck. It was tender at first; they were small kisses of care, of affection. He poured all of his fear into you, and you poured all of your hesitation into him. There was so much unsaid, and it all came apart here.

After a minute, they became kisses of want, of desperation. A few times you had to break off to catch your breath and although he’d never admit it, there were times he needed to catch his breath too. Your hands traveled to his chest, grasping the cloth of his shirt in your hands and keeping him so he couldn’t escape from you. Because he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t escape from you. He wouldn’t go off to fight Thanos and leave you here, not after all this and after all you two have been through.

Loki held one of his hands behind your neck, cradling your head while his other hand caressed your side, tracing up and down your curves. As he did this he occasionally bit your lip, or took a break from your lips to nibble your ear or your jaw. How he was able to multitask all these little things; his lips, both hands - you didn’t know, but a thousand years of experience was probably a good guess.

Nothing much had even happened yet but your body was on fire, not just because you were becoming incredibly turned on but because the bond – it was almost singing. It was singing a song of passion and desire but it couldn’t be completed until you went further. And you wanted to hear it, you wanted to conduct the song with the god of mischief.

Mid-kiss, Loki chuckled.

“What?” you asked, mirroring his smirk.

“I really, truly don’t know how we’ve been able to go for this long without – “

“Without?”

Loki pursed his lips. “Without, hmm… Sealing the deal.”

You blushed. It really was a wonder how long both of you had the restraint for weeks, months now without making love. And it was something you pondered about quite a bit. How would it be to make love to the god of mischief? Ignoring how every kiss turned that tug in your chest into a violent yank, there was a good extent of your feelings that weren’t from the bond. The magic was meant to persuade you to couple with him but it wasn’t just that. It was his charm, his intelligence, his humor, his eyes, his voice, and honestly everything else – that attracted you to him.

“I’m not sure either, but I’d say it’s my stubbornness, probably,” you said.

“Now, that is the most likely answer.”

“It is pretty funny.”

“May I ask why?” Loki asked. “Why have you pushed me away for so long? I know at first we could barely stand each other, but we’ve both known for a while our attraction to each other. It would be so much easier to just do it and free you from your bond to me. Why?”

It was a great question, and one you had an immediate answer to: you didn’t want to submit. You wanted to break this bond with work and determination, not by going the easy route. And at one point this may have been the true answer, but not anymore, not really.

Tears stung your eyes as you confronted your hidden fears. You shut your eyes tightly to will them away. There was a real reason why you kept him at bay.

“Because what happens after?” you said.

Loki blinked. “After?”

“After we have sex, how will we feel about one another? How much of this, this stupid tug in my chest from that stupid sacrifice, is drawing us to each other? What if…” You willed more tears away. “What if we don’t actually feel anything for each other? What if all this is a lie? Or even worse, what if what I’m feeling is real, but you’re just attracted to me because that’s what the bond wants you to feel?”

You continued, shaking your head. “I can’t stand it,” you gasped. “I can’t stand not knowing what’s real and what’s not. I couldn’t give myself to you and, after it’s done, learn that it really was just the magic and that you could never love me. I couldn’t do it, Loki. I think it would break me.”

“Heh,” Loki chuckled, but it wasn’t the same kind of chuckle when he was musing to himself earlier. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t have the same reasons.”

“What?”

The god brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes.

“At first, I was fine with the prospect of sleeping with you just to unbind you to me. It would have been a bit of fun and then you’d have gone on your way. But over time, well, things just had to get more complicated.”

So, it wasn’t just you.

“You’ve been holding back too?”

“Yes, you silly earth girl. The attraction and the binding magic are a hell of a drug together. It’s been quite maddening.”

“So… What do we do?” you asked.

“I think the decision is yours to make.”

You were afraid of what the truth may be, but not knowing was equally vexing. Whether you broke the bond by conventional means or through reversing it, you were going to find out regardless.

You looked up at him. When had he gotten on top of you? His bright green eyes bore into your own and the desire for this man came flooding back, especially with his lean, fit body hovering over your own.

You answered with action instead of words, and pulled the god of mischief toward you. It was time to find out. You resumed touching and kissing him as you had before, and he returned your advances, making your body and bond sing again. The relief of just giving in flooded over you; your desires, your needs, your bond, they were all going to be satisfied and you would be freed of the magic, finally.

That is, until he whispered something and a lavender light encircled his fingers. Before you could question him, Loki touched his hand to your temple. Your eyelids became incredibly heavy.

Everything went black.

#loki #bound #loki x reader #loki fanfiction #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #mine #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #romance #loki romance

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captainkurosolaire · 3 years ago

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Prompt #27 ~ Warfare

♫Till I Die♫

The fall of Garlemald's effects ran-through out the realm suddenly the shift of power had been flipped over. As many of the countrymen deserted, or those scattered, were pursued. Now they understood what it was like to be the spoils to war. Hunter's turned to prey. A privateer ship supporting under the banner of the Crimson. Chased pursued in the open seas of an attempted escape, a remnant squadron. Their division shattered as their Empire was crumbling to dust. The divisional commander of her ship was taking huge mortar's although the sea-vessel was sturdy and advanced, was taking blows, her men were taking hefty causalities, hearing in screams. They couldn't flee from this. In the fang's of revenge, under the skies of war, monsters were born. The people who once felt were fighting for righteousness, become no-better. These Privateer's were rejoicing. "Commander. Two more alliance accompanying vessels of the opposition have ascended over waves, we've nowhere to go!" The morale of her people were descending. "We've deserved this outcome. It was an honor." Her sentimental tone, spoke they'd rather imperial salute each-other, and commit suicide before becoming prisoners. Right in their contemplated end. The shift was about to turn again.

"A third vessel had wedged between the middle of their reinforcements!" Was shortly called out, giving them further, resolve of hopelessness, before... "Wait. The middle-vessel is bombarding the others!" Suddenly a massive ship rising over tides, removing the fake red Maelstrom banner had been withdrawn into an iconic pirate flag hoisted. Upon the bow-spirit was a tricorne-man. Treading past the destruction of two smaller privateers vessels. The ambush assault left them fodder out-maneuvered. Gathered man, etched in warpaint, they were banned ready for a fight. To intervene between this naval battle. The Seeker leapt back to his decks to bolster. "I would ask ye my Crew, within my helm. T' PRAY for yer enemies. Give them an early moment of silence. For these poor unfortunate soul's will b' educated, they'll earn their red-coats upon this Sun!" He roared and screamed with a warrior shout That followed behind others. "Give Boy-Lad his sea-legs. Let him earn his stripes t' walk over bones!" A crippled and amputated legless fighter crawled on the floor in disbelief, as Sol made augmented prosthetic legs. Unified chaos positioned, to invade the vessel of the privateer from behind. "Aid th' carrier of Garlean's, give all others no-quarter!" Viciously a stampede of leaps was drawn, it was anarchy. Projectiles flung back and forth, sniper shots from the crow's nest of the Worldly Finder started picking off them. Each Crewmate nearly about to be butchered by an opposition was protected by another, they fought as sword and shield, and reversed the roles. Rallied by a leader who was believed-long-flung dead. The brute Seeker skirmishes an assortment of parries to one of the swashbucklers before pulling out a sheathed revolver in the other hand and angling it under his chin and pulling the trigger in a massacre. Completely butchery. Blood of not his own making savagely drew over his face. As he bellowed another victoriously battle-cry that kept even his own injuries gaining on Crew to fight-on. The Garlean's left their hunker, to unity in bewilderment anyone would fight under their behalf. The Captain was almost executed by an aimed shot musketeer but was shot back by an assault rifle of the imperialist. The buccaneer brought terrifying laughter. "THEIR NUMBERS ONLY GIVE US MORE HEADS T' ROLL!" Not only bolstering morality to his own fighters, but also was making hesitation and fear start wearying the grip's of his oppositions, a tactician of dirty behavior. How long have they gotten to do anything they wanted? Or used the excuse of the Garlemald for them to justify or blame their heinous antics? These seas held no discrimination. Yet being constantly corrupted. Putrid borders, barriers for entries, they started skewering Beast Tribes because they strictly took advantage of the Calamity. They put a price-tag on the seas, owning it. Law and restricting and it's no different than what Captain's seen before, they're vindictive and greed-coated. Yet unlike Garlemald who were openly wanting to conqueror, the Maelstrom and Grand Companies alike played fantasy pretend. They're unbeatable, the good! Couldn't do any wrongs, existed of no poison. Bullshit, in war there was no such thing. It's a contest of ego. How many times had the Captain seen a Maelstrom get promoted after they violated his kinsmen, while preaching they were pirates... How many times did he watch them do nothing as people plead in the dirty-alleys before a gal went abducted and missing. These seas would find freedom from vile. Disarray and unorganized, suddenly being attacked by two-sides, the privateer's were being annihilated. Counter measured every-time they brought their marine scholars out, their magic was cancelled by the Historian of the Goldbrand, the purest faith in the Twelve, who brought them no harm, other than silencing their spells. The God's weren't on their side, they belonged to this pirate. That fiendish outcast hound of an Xaela, who ghoulishly shrieked, was feasting on arm's while slewing them in beheaded messes. A Quartermaster

followed by impaling them and hurling the smaller runt's of the enemies. Captain leapt up off that mountain of a Hellsguard on his Crew and bounced off his shoulders dexterously onto the stern. Exchanging in runaways some jumping overboard. "Draw them from th' seas back up here! Their corpses is unworthy t' share with the benthos!" Angry swarming came to their noisy vocalized leader. If they could just behead that blasted vermin then all of them would crumble to despair. He played defensively and evaded one of them about to slayed, was sniped from afar. The handicapped soldier got a puncturing stab on one of the men to protect his Captain before collapsing as his new leg's were already damaged and punctured. The Seeker picked up the adrenaline as blood cut's were protruding from his cheek. He threw his coat onto one of them and jabbed a series of quick deft dirks. A swishing blade came again as he relied on his above-feline scents. The thing he was mocked for by these giants. Doing a handstand leg, disarm from twisting the wrist of the deathly aggressor. The Seeker rolled away and jumped off the stern and swung a leap into the cabin, where he saw the frantic Head-Captain of this enemy helm, run-into, gathering up belongings to attempt plotting retreat. Unexpectedly a flintlock shot at his leg making him fall over all his glistening golds and gil he was trying to rummage into a burlap sack like a coward trying to recollect himself. He brought his own gun out but was disarmed by the wrist from another firearm shot, "Cap'n Daniwyrn... Ye have lost your sense. Recall me." These two knew each-other full and well, this was more than just a one-sided squabble, now. It held harboring emotion. "...Yer supposed t' b' blimey dead!" The callus blood-thirsty Seeker lowered his arm. "Dead is what ye did t' someone I loved. Well, I got yer message. Ye saw t' remove her head cause she moved t' me. If you couldn't have her, neither ov' us could." He lectured in all this chaos-warfare and took a menacing seat. "See, I am not here for revenge on you. This goes beyond that. Now, ye made a crime, sin I find very offensive..." The sea-wolf tried regaining himself while trying to also slowly scoot his bottom and get back his disarmed gun. Knowing was about to be sentenced to a horrific death, or believed. "You have tainted these seas, Daniwyrn. The punishment fer losing your sense. Is crueler than death by my hand. It's t' live as such." He shot the ear's respectively of the privateer. Then the Seeker stood up. Fiendishly brought out his coeurl toothed carved dagger and carved out eye to eye from his enemy. While he was screaming in anguish and incomprehensible pain never able to reel back. He cut that tongue like a fleeting ribbon.

Taking the senses of someone who lacked senses firstly. A fitting treatment, barbarically exercised. He bathed in all the blood over his inferior feline frame. "I know you can't hear me, see, nor speak, though I'm also a nice-guy, I'll leave ye with yer gun... if get the opportunity you should kill yourself." He'd savagely trail, beating his enemy who barely was functioning, stuck in a haze, discombobulated, suffering severe blood-loss. Loading and priming the revolver with one bullet, he'd force it into the arm's of his blind foe and make him squeeze it. Captain walked out as if this was just a regular circumstance. The duty of returning. Closing the cabin door. Hearing a procedure gun-shot ring-throughout. A signal was overhead horned, "They've got more crimson reinforcements!" The battle sizzled and the sparks were over. "Let us gather up, plunder post-haste. Burn this shite down." They took the Garlemald survivors and retreated, licking wounds but won victorious.

#Prompt - Benthos #FFXivWrite2021 #ffxivwrite2021 #FFxivwrite #tw: war mention #Tw:gore #tw: violence #ffxiv writers #Tales of the Goldbrand #long one'#Naval Battles #darker themes #-Captain Kuro Solaire #Creative Writing #Pirate

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anastasiaskywalker4 · 3 years ago

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MisterLuu

That is actually the best pairing DC can make out of Trinity aside Lois and Clark. Or Bruce

and Clark for that matter. They both fit Bruce well, though Diana is even more matched with

him. In fact she's the best match romantically for him out there. At least so far. Though

number of fanfiction and arts on the net would suggest that that spot is reserved for

Superman not Wonder Woman :D

Except maybe for Silver and Julie - all Batman's love interest are abusive and downright

toxic. Selina, Talia, Adrea, Jet. Because in terms of comics and not relationships it fits

Gotham mold. People just tend to forget it after rebirth run. Yeah the one that made Batman

impotent and unable to do anything without the Cat around. Exactly that one. And tend to

forget how terrible as human beings his lovers really are.

Going back to the point. Both Talia and Selina tried to kill him multiple times in the past, or

those close to him. Whatever right? Who wouldn't like a lover that tried to end you few times

over. Both assaulted him physically and emotionally. Repeatedly. Both scared his body and

his mind. Repeatedly. Both tried to seduce his wards (adopted sons if u like), just to get to

him. In Talia's case that was basically pedophilia. That's just sick and makes you want to

puke. Both are possessive bitches, Cat threatening his flings while they are in bed while

Talia, well Talia can even go as far as beheading (to her credit she was right with this one).

Both makes him a goddamn hypocrite. Both face no repercussions after a cold blooded

murder while at the same time he berates Diana like a dick when she came to look for his

friendship and support after Max incident. Difference is she had no choice while Selina or

Talia most certainly had. Great move Bats, hypocrite much? And most importantly they both

lie and betray him, and leave him. Over and over again. Again, that's a constant with Cat

and miss Al Ghul. Diana never showed any of those traits with any of her lovers.

Get any counselor or psychiatrist to read actual Bat love history throughout the decades

and they would be writing books on how disfuncional they are. For a love-hate dynamics

they work fine. Or for some adrenaline fueled sex, but that's it. Hell, he even banged Dinah

when they were on adrenaline high. It all has a clinical term. Trauma bonding. As opposed

to authentic bonding. Which he could have with WW, had even one of them tried.

They did not though. Out of fear of ruining their mutual respect and deep bond. In

pre-flashpoint it may have been a thing if Diana acted on it. Again, Diana, not Bruce, so cut

the crap on how he was deflecting her. He was in doubt, yeah, but clearly was ready to give

it a go. She was the one that got scared even though she was clearly had over bat hills in

love with him. Even Martian stated this to Supes. Pre Crisis ? Not really. Some flirting and

kissing, nothing more. Post-flashpoint, New 52 and Rebirth ? Also not, though DC like to

tease those two. Forever Evil gets a hint that Bruce feels more than friendship towards her,

much to Selina's dismay. And that goddamn tension when they got to spends decades

together in another realm. Mostly from Diana side again. But no. The real canon love that Diana had for Bruce was during pre-flashpoint, not counting alternative universes. And it

was so strong that it showed her loving him more than her mother and sisters. And her

lasso forced her to admit it when facing Mera. But Bruce was "dead" at that point. So yeah,

never acted upon this. Pity. You could see she regretted it.

Aside their comics history in canon universe, realistically speaking Diana is way more

similar to Bruce than Selina will ever be (or Talia for that matter). Even though at a the first

glance they are nothing alike. She's the light , he's the darkness. She believes in love and

trust, tries to see the good in everyone. He's cunning, distrustful and downright realistic to

her idealistic approach. She's honest and straight while he will not hesitate to lie or to use

violence to get results. And you know what? It makes for great couple chemistry and

tension. It may be a cliche, yeah, but Yin and Yang dynamics work. That's why Clark ends

up with Lois all the freaking time. Even on elseworlds he and Diana are a thing only after

Lois is out of the picture. But that's not the most important thing. Yin and Yang provides for

a tension yes, but it would never last in the long run. For a relationship you need also

something in common. And Bruce has that in spades with Diana.

They might be on opposite side of the spectrum but than you realize how much alike they

really are. They are both kindred spirits. Both born fighters, warriors at heart. Arguably two

of the best in the world. At least Diana is according to Batman. And judging by Wonder

Woman's choices in man that is a highly important trait to her. Both endlessly fighting for

others. Both have utmost respect and admiration for each other. Both tirelessly train to

make themselves physically and spiritually better. Constantly. And to make the other better.

Their sparring sessions are legendary. And heated. Both with a great heart and

compassion. I would argue that Bruce's compassion is even bigger than Diana's. Even

though their methods might differ they share the same goal, which he has with no other

woman. Both have the heart of a warrior and are pushed by the circumstances of their

upbringing to reach for impossible dreams. They are also two of the most stubborn and

obstinate people in DC universe. Both perfectly capable of operating solo, and yet both

performing the best in a team. And yes, Bats is a great team player. Both natural leaders

that other heroes follow without hesitation. Both selfless and able to sacrifice for those they

value, trust and love. None of the other Bat trollups have any of those traits. Not to mention

they emotionally and physically find the other highly attractive. One being a literal goddess

and the other perfect male specimen. As for Batman, his relationships tend to collapse due

to a lack of trust. He's either unwilling to bring his romantic partner fully into his world or he

can't bring himself to trust completely. While Selina got his trust now, it's recent

development. And a mistake judging by latest issues. Again. One would think he's smarter.

When it comes to Diana, he trusts her. Fully. She's not privy like BatClan is to his world, but

they aren't that close in mainstream DC. She's not a psycho with daddy issues or a violent

narcissist. List can go on. Selina on the other hand doesn't have that much in common with

Bruce than she has. Not even close. He loves her, yes. But I don't see Di leaving him

countless times over the choices he makes. Or lying, or betraying, or trying to sleep with

Dick to spite him or... you get the point. Though there is one thing that gives Kyle an edge.

Immortality. Diana won't die unless killed. It doesn't make for a great long term relationship

prospect. But then again, those are comics, and he's a goddamn Batman. He would find a

way :)

The thing is - there is no other woman that fits his world as much as Diana does. And Bat is

capable to loving deeply and going to great commitments with a special woman. He showed

it with Andrea, he showed it with Silver. Problem is he always got burned. Every time he let

his guard down and opened himself. And he would have to do it when it comes to Wonder

Woman. She deserves that. It's hard to imagine with current Bruce, but it is most definitely

possible. It would be harder than with an ex criminal or an assassin though. Because there

would be much more on the line. The other two would crawl back anyway if he messed it

up, Di wouldn't.

There is also another aspect to this outside comic universe. His partners tend to be minor

characters compared to WW. She has her own series, JL, JL dark and every major

crossover/event happening in DC. They don't. And so does Batman. Both are one of the

most popular DC characters.

Besides changes to Bruce writing that are needed to make this work (cough.. pre flashpoint

Bats... cough), it would require fitting it to their distinctive titles. And frankly Diana can easily

function without any love interest and generate money. It's even easier that way. It fits her

as an independent, strong female character. Arguably most iconic of them all. And It's most

certainly easier for DC with a tease here and there than an actual WonderBat in mainstream.

Maisterluu wrote this is a comment on a YouTube video which is dow in the comments. They make really good points for ww and bats. No hate to other DC ships with ww and bats.

#batman x wonder woman #wonderbat #dc comics #dc animated movies #dceu verse

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how-about-you-rogal-dont · 3 years ago

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Wrote a thing, felt like sharing

some background:

I'm an aspiring writer, and I have a collection of CSM, CU, and general Chaos OCs do not steal blah blah blah (feel free to steal). I decided to write a bit about how their most recent addition joined the crew! Specifically, a Sororitas Meleficarum of the Order of the Verdant Chalice called Zethra. This bit of writing is a bit long, so I'll put it under a read more. TW for: violence, nurgle shit, space marines. Enjoy, feedback appreciated.

The inner halls of the Seventh Hell were a maze of lush gardens and fetid swamps, overtaken by the crawling filth that marched with Norvegicus’ every step. This ship had been under his sway for a very long time. Hives of unknowable daemonic parasites honeycombed the walls, squeaking rodents scuttled underfoot, and the buzzing of flies threatened to drown out any spoken communication. I could feel disgust rising in my throat with every step we took further into this despicably lush realm. It was difficult to read the other’s faces, sealed as they were beneath layers of steel and ceramite. None of us dared to bare an inch of skin in this place.

I looked over my shoulder, Cataphractii plate growling with killing instinct as my eyes fell upon Zethra. Despite her desertion from Norvegicus’ host, my skin still crawled at the thought of having my back watched by a member of the Plague God’s chosen. How much further? I did not bother holding my disgust away from the sending.

There was a slight click as Zethra tuned in over the vox. “Two hundred meters ahead, then we’ll be in the welcoming hall.” If she noticed my contempt, she did not care to remark on it.

“What manner of warship requires a welcoming hall?” Came Kalus’ voice a moment later. The duelist-marksman was walking with a casual gait, baroque bolt rifle slung over one shoulder. His helmet, like his armor, was the deep amethyst of his birth legion, with an obscenely loud crest of white feathers running down the middle. In all things, ostentation. Kalus never changed.

Djehouti spoke next. “This vessel was not always solely an implement of destruction. During the great crusade, when it still bore its original name, it would be host to all manner of dignitaries. Visitors from other legions, surrendering leaders of target systems, the like. Though I am surprised they have kept it for its original purpose.” Djehouti walked briskly, clearly struggling to keep up with the lumbering gait of my terminator plate. A brush against his mind revealed a certain distance in his thoughts, as though he were not entirely paying attention to the situation. I closed my mind off from the others, sending my thoughts to him and him alone.

Are you well, brother dearest?

Zandros. Yes, all is well. Forgive my absence. This ship brings back memories. Of course it did. It reminded him of our time aboard the Endurance during Horus’ rebellion. It stank of the same decay.

You are remembering our time as Ahriman’s emissaries to the Fourteenth. It was not a question. With my brother’s memory fading more with every day as the Wych’s toxins worked through his mind, any memory he could manage to grasp was worth ruminating on.

Djehouti’s response came slowly, tinged with more emotions than I could name. Yes.

We were younger then.

Young. Foolish. Power-hungry. A nostalgic smirk tinged his thoughts.

We might not have changed as much as we would like to think.

At this, he gave a single, forceful exhalation. After a moment of silence between us, with only the trudging squash of our armor against the filthy deck to break the monotony, he sent again: Zandros, should we survive this excursion, I have something to ask of you.

Anything, brother. What would you wish of me?

Djehouti smiled beneath his helm, coloring his thoughts with a whistful sadness. It can wait. I nodded.

“We’re here.” Zethra’s voice came abruptly, with a fuzz of static. I returned my gaze to the corridor ahead of us. It open up as we stepped forward, widening in size from a hive street to a grand causeway large enough to admit a Warhound Titan. It was here that Norvegicus’ touch was most evident. The ‘welcoming hall’ did not resemble the gilded splendor of an Imperial-built spacecraft. Instead, it was covered, every inch, in growths of flora both natural and empyrean. The room was lined with twisted, pale mangrove trees, drinking greedily from shallow pools of green scum that spread beneath their shade. A thick coating of mud covered the floor, with mushrooms of every color and shape sprouting from beneath the diseased soil. The walls were covered completely in snaking alien vines, bulbous pustules of ichor pulsing at irregular intervals. The ceiling was hung with lichen, smothering the lumiglobes almost completely. Cackling Nurglings stalked and butchered each other for sport in a twisted mockery of children at play. All in all, the room was so overgrown as to leave only a single foot path traveling down the center clear of the grove’s touch. But the centerpiece of the room was undoubtably the warrior standing sentinel at the far edge.

He was an astartes, and massive even for one of the XIV. Like I, he was clad in Cataphractii plate. That was where the similarities ended. His armor was a rich green, the trim a burnished bronze. He carried no visible firearm, instead leaning on a massive two-handed chainscythe. What singled him out amongst his brethren of the death guard was the total lack of decay visible on his armor. Not a single fleck of rust could be seen, not a single dribble of pus or twisting bone growth. Indeed, to the naked eye, he seemed completely devoid of Nurgle’s taint. But beneath that clean exterior, there was a certainty. A fear. Where other champions of the Seventh exemplified to terror of rotting flesh, the pungent smell of blight, this man seethed from within with the hushed fear of infection. Held breaths, averted eyes, a populace knowing there was disease among them, but not knowing when or from who it would come. He was the knowledge that every breath you take could doom you, that shaking your neighbor’s hand would have you dead within a week, the simple truth that you were not safe and that the threat could not possibly be fought against. His helm swiveled to meet our gaze, red lenses glinting in the sickly light.

“Miscreants. You walk the halls of hallowed ground. Your unholy sanitation is an affront to the beauty of these luscious halls.” His voice was deep and harsh, with the barest hint of a Barbarusii accent. The vox-grille of his helm rendering it a predator’s growl.

Mizi’s mind connected with mine in an instant. I’ve got a shot. The sending came with a series of images: Crosshairs held steady over a green helm, the kick of a rifle thumping against a shoulder, the red smear of a head bursting.

I stepped forward, my external vox opening with a barely-audible click. “I am Zandros Lucarian, and I speak for the Ashen Hunters. State your name, that I might know whose death I command.”

A series of sharp barks escaped the warrior’s helm. After a moment, I realized he was laughing at me. “You speak for a mongrel warband of bastards and thin-bloods. But you shall know my name. I am Holgius, seventy-seventh scythe of the Deathshroud.”

The minds of those at my side sharpened instantly. Before us stood a member of the Deathshroud, the chosen blades of the lord of the Seventh Legion. This was no petty champion, no pit brawler elevated above his brothers by savagery alone. His deeds had been enough to draw the attention of the Rotten King himself. To face him would be to invite ruin in a thousand different forms.

And so, of course, it was Kalus who stepped forward, twinned cutlasses slithering from their sheaths with a crackle of energy. “I’ve always wanted to kill a Deathshroud,” he purred. “Never thought that one would volunteer.”

Holgius did not turn his gaze from me. “Does this wailing peacock speak for you, Zandros Lucarian?”

A poorly-contained snicker distracted me as Mizi’s aura smeared with mirth.

“In as many words.” The challenge had been issued. Kalus knew this dance. Like the Samar-Hai of ancient terra, warbands were fond of sending champions forth to duel to the death before the commencement of a slaughter. It was clear that the rotting creatures that served as crew aboard the Seventh Hell understood the significance of Kalus’ headstrong challenge, too. Obese nurglings crowded the fetid canopy above us, clamoring for a better look at the contest. Through my sixth sense, I felt other, more ethereal eyes lock on to our plight.

The Gods were watching.

Holgius stepped forward, revving his chainscythe in a squall of tortured metal. Kalus did likewise, his blades twirling in lazy, lethal arcs. The Deathshroud regarded him for a moment, then rolled his shoulders into a hunched combat stance. My champion crossed his blades over his sternum, lowering himself into a catlike stance. “You seem confident.”

Holgius’ response was a husky, rasping laugh like a knife scraping the rust from ancient metal. “When set against such a meager creature as you? I see no reason why I should not be.” He had begun to pace their arena now, his boots trudging puddles in the floor.

Kalus raised his blades to compensate for his foe’s movement. “Now you seem overconfident.”

The first blow was struck faster than the eye could follow. With a snarl of servos, Holgius swept his weapon towards Kalus. Kalus was already ducking below, spinning into a strike that was both parry and riposte. The scythe roared harmlessly over his head, guided further upwards by a flick of his left blade. His right was already lashing out like a silver viper to bite into his opponent’s knee. There was a flash as the strike connected, but the armor held. Kalus danced out of engagement range, and I did not need my psychic gifts to see the wry smile spreading below his faceplate.

Holgius was already spinning, keeping the momentum from his first missed stroke into a crushing downward blow. I watched frantic realization bloom in Kalus’ mind as he realized that the warrior had guessed his plan, and was already striking towards where he stood crouched. Even he could not evade in time, and so he crossed his blades over his head, braced to take the strike. It impacted with a scream of micro-engines. Pain flooded Kalus’ aura as greenstick fractures began to spread down his arms. He was holding the blade, mere inches from his marble helm, but the clash of weapons was straining his swords’ power fields to their limit. Thousands of miniscule impacts from the teeth of the chainscythe built until the haze around the blades began to flicker and dull.

Kalus spun aside, letting the natural weight of his opponent’s weapon buy him precious nanoseconds as its tip ground against the muck. Two more flashing strikes thudded into Holgius’ side, opening deep gashes in the ceramite. Holgius lashed out with a hand, thudding a fist against Kalus’ helm. Kalus soared through the air, landing with a splat against a pale, warp-touched tree.

Holgius did not pursue his quarry, instead looking down at his dented armor. The gashes opened by Kalus’ strikes had not penetrated his plate. Neither had my champion angled his strikes for the weaker joints in his opponent’s hide. Holgius raised his gaze to Kalus, now standing with defiance in his eyes. “You are mocking me.” The barely-controlled rage beneath his voice shone like a beacon to my sight.

Kalus was rising from where he had fallen against the fetid flora. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” His breathing was ragged and labored; the pain that smeared his aura evident of a punctured lung. Still he stood, mischief painted across his stance as it was his face.

Holgius gestured to the rents in his armor. “Three strikes against me,” he said accusingly, “All of them botched. Every one could have been fatal. You are mocking me.” The grating fury in his voice had been restrained to a dull seething just below his skin.

Kalus shrugged. “Well…” He struck again, faster than we could see. Holgius swept his blade upwards, but too slow. Like lancing a boil, the blade in Kalus’ right hand plunged into Holgius’ forehead with terrifying ease. As his opponent wavered, not yet realizing he was dead, Kalus met his eye, their faceplates inches apart. “…Maybe a little.”

What happened next is difficult to describe. Not in terms of the physicality of the matter, for what took place was simple, if incredible. Holgius went slack, held aloft by misfiring nerves, hands twitching in the final throes of a death rightfully earned. And then… he bloomed. His armor split apart, ceramite shearing away and peeling back like the petals of a diseased lotus. In its place, bloated, pestilent flesh swelled and bulged outwards, throwing Kalus’ sword free. Knots of warped bone split forth from his shoulders, piercing skywards with the promise of infection. Row upon row of greenish fangs crowded his human teeth. While all of this happened, he was growing. We watched on in horror as he swelled from a giant of a man to a corpulent, heaving mass of filth. The Daemon within him, so well camoflauged until now, had been forced into the open by its host’s death.

What my sixth sense saw was altogether more complicated. In his human form, Holgius had been choked thick with the warp-spun false memories of a population terrified of the plague in their midst. Now, with his possessor revealed, those emotions took on a whole new context. Before me stood a daemon born of realization. For so long, the fear it gorged itself on had been limited to the sight of one’s neighbors covering their face, the scent of decay on the air, the primal certainty that something was terribly wrong. But here was the terror of a society advanced enough to look within, and realize that it was dying. The full extent of the infection revealed, and there was nothing to do but watch.

The thing that had been Holgius was on Kalus before my champion could react. Bloated, sore-pocked fists pummeled into Kalus with preternatural strength. A horrific shriek of tearing metal shuddered through us as Kalus’ breastplate split, caving inward under the force of the daemonic assault. Holgius grasped the broken pieces and hauled the cavity open even wider, exposing pale flesh to the diseased air of the Seventh Hell. A weak gurgle escaped from Kalus, carried to us over the vox. Holgius raised his fists to finish the job.

I commanded his death with a single word, spoken clearly and calmly over our group’s Vox.

“Mizi.”

The cracking report of a las-fusil accompanied the split-second in which the entire chamber was washed with red light. When the momentary blindness had cleared, Holgius stood slack-jawed over Kalus. Mizi’s shot had scorched a deep, blackened pit into his misshapen head. Steam curled from the crater as his dying mind struggled to comprehend what was going on. The daemon riding within his veins howled in rage as its handhold on reality began to slip away. As his spirit began to fade, Holgius met my eyes.

“C-co… ward…”

An insult that had long since lost its bite. I informed the Deathshroud as such, before tossing his limp corpse aside with a whim of telekinesis. I pulsed my orders throughout the chamber, calling my bound to follow.

Forward.

I was nearing the far end of the chamber when Kalus spoke. He was a ruin, his helm torn off to allow him to breath through a mangled face, his torso a bloody ruin, bone protruding near his pectorals. Still, he stood, swaying back and forth as he forced words out.

“I… would have… had him…” I smirked at that. A rudimentary scan of his mind revealed he truly believed it, too. He began to waver, and his legs would have given out if Mizi had not arrived at his side, steadying him. “I would have had him.” He repeated, firmly this time. Mizi shot me a look. I didn’t need my second sight to register the exasperation in her thoughts.

I am sure you would have, cousin. I extended a hand, willing his riven flesh to reknit itself. Kalus winced as the psychic impulses began to do their work. I am not so naïve to believe I can be rid of you that easily.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #chaos space marines #fanfic #mine

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Blood in the Rivers: VIII

A/N: I apologize for the wait (again). Thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, and commented on the last chapter. And thank you for all the shenanigans about dogs and unicorns last night. You all make me smile

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T - mentions of death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, my continued overuse of italics

Word Count: 9.2k (Don’t look at me)

Read Chapters I-VII here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Eight: Pockets Full of Pebbles

“Raise your elbow.”

The bow was a bit too big for her little hands, even if it had been specially made just for her. But she did as her father bid and tried to focus on the target just a few feet away in the courtyard outside the keep’s armory.

“Perfect. Now loose.”

The arrow soared through the air and hit the side of the target. A shrieking giggle soon erupted from her throat as her father’s strong arms wrapped around her waist and hoisted her into the air.

“You are a natural, my darling girl! My little warrior!” His smiling lips pressed a kiss against her cheek as she continued to laugh.

“Oh, Brynden. You will have her running wild if you continue,” Vaella said, fondness in her tone betraying her love for her husband and child.

Brynden adjusted his grip on Y/N so he could hold her a little closer, little legs wrapping around his waist, and he pressed another kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “She is already wild. Aren’t you, Y/N?”

There were few rivers in Dorne. The Tullys drew their strength from the river, and it was to the river they returned when their lives had run their course. But the nearest was too far. She would not delay his soul’s rest any more than necessary. “All rivers lead to the sea, darling girl,” her father had once said. So, the Summer Sea was her only choice. It wasn’t the muddied rivers around Riverrun. It wasn’t The Trident in The Vale where her father had laid her mother to rest. “All rivers lead to the sea,” she repeated her father’s words.

She barely remembered filling a small boat with kindling and stones and small slips of parchment before carefully placing her father’s head inside, atop the makeshift body she’d made from rolls of black fabric and straw.

She would never recover the rest of his body. There had been a note shoved behind his teeth: his body was fed to a caged bear at Harrenhal. Another desecration. Oberyn had matched it by having Ilyn’s body hacked to pieces.

The words of a familiar prayer slipped by her lips as she finished, hoping his soul would find rest in the Seven Heavens and that he would be reunited with her mother. “Goodbye, papa.” The words were strangled in her throat.

Ellaria quietly stepped to her side. Oberyn soon followed. Harmen and Daisy took their places, too. Without a word, they each placed a hand on the boat and helped shove the small tender out onto the gentle waves of the sea. Her heart was in her throat as she watched it start to pull away from the shore and then Daemon was there, handing her the bow and arrow. Y/N nocked the arrow with her bandaged hand and murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ to an injured-but-healing Trystane as he lit the end, letting it blaze with orange fire. A steadying breath is all she gave herself before she pulled the bow taut with perfect posture, just like her father taught, and let it loose. The arrow hit the boat and it erupted in flames. Her hands shook as she finally let the bow drop to her side. The stitches on her palm had torn. She didn’t feel it. Blood dripped onto the sand.

The boat drifted away and she watched until it sunk beneath the water.

The Realm had descended into chaos. Myrcella and her Lannister guards had disappeared the night Ilyn had tried to kill Trystane and Doran. Westerland armies tried to cross the Red Mountains into Dorne on the Prince’s Pass but were largely pushed back by the House Fowler armies. House Yronwood raised their banners and fortified the Bone Way, waiting for the Lannisters to try again.

Y/N had been wordlessly invited to join Oberyn, a healing Doran, and the lords and ladies of Dorne who had been at the Water Gardens for the feast and never left. All of them were calling for retaliation. For war. The men and women sequestered in the cooled undercroft serving as a war room did not bat a lash when she joined them. Some even voiced their approval for her plans, stating that she was a natural tactician, “a woman after Princess Nymeria’s own heart!” It almost made her smile. It was a small solace, to know that her opinion was valued enough to earn a seat at the table.

But it had kept long hours. Longer still when she would hide away in Sunspear’s grand library, poring over centuries-old texts about the Red Keep or Casterly Rock, trying to find some slip of information that could be used as a tool against the Lannisters. It had almost become some sort of sad little game to wonder who would be sent in to ask her back to bed.

“You are falling asleep in your seat,” Sansa would say. “Go to bed.”

“You look ill. You will be ill if you do not sleep,” Arya would grumble.

"You must sleep, My Tully,” Ellaria would whisper as she would gently massage the back of her neck. “Come lay with me.”

And sometimes it would work. But sometimes she would wave them on. But she found a surprising companion. Obella, not yet seventeen, quietly helped her find books in the library and show Y/N her own findings—mostly battle formations that had faded from common knowledge but would be brutally efficient. They came to a soft companionability, taking turns to bring food and hot tea to the library when the night grew dark or relighting candles that snuffed themselves out.

“Why do you come here?” Y/N finally asked after their fifth night together.

“I cannot wield a sword like Obara or a bow like you—or even a lance like Elia. But I do want to help.”

She said it with such conviction that it fractured a part of Y/N’s already broken heart. She only nodded and pushed a steaming cup of tea toward her with a sad sort of smile. “You’re helping more than you know.”

Obara, Elia, and Arya were her companions at the training grounds. The two Sand Snakes seemed to innately know the anger that had infested her bloodstream and would silently bandage Y/N’s fingers when she would rub them raw with overuse against the string of her bow.

She was a fine archer and Obara had taken it upon herself to find Y/N a Martell guard who preferred the short blades she was more comfortable with to help her train with those as well.

Her hand ached. She pulled the stitches from her skin on her own, too early for the ugly, jagged wound to be fully healed. But she did it anyway in the dead of night, tired of feeling the scratch of the knots against her palm. Obara said nothing when she saw the messy work when she bandaged Y/N’s hand the morning after

Obara would stand behind her father’s chair when she cared to attend the war stratagem but largely kept to the training grounds with their cavalry and infantry.

Time had turned strange. Days and nights melting into each other without any sort of rest. Tracking the date had not been a necessity or want. She simply needed to do all she could to help. To train. To lend her voice at the stratagem meetings. She could rest later.

Just before one of these meetings Y/N noticed a shaking servant, holding a crumpled missive in his hands. The seal of the Tyrells was broken at the edge. The poor soul looked like he was headed toward the gallows. “I’ll take it for you,” she murmured.

The servant mumbled a quiet but reverent “thank you, Princess,” before all but shoving it into her hand and then pulling open the heavy door to let her in. Her thumb slid beneath the broken seal and she quickly scanned the words, stomach curling with each line of ink

Oberyn noticed the fright on her face within a moment. “What is it, my moonlight?” He asked and pressed a kiss to her cheek before she handed him the letter.

She was thankful that only Doran was present when Oberyn’s beautiful face slid into something monstrous as he read. He curled his fist around the letter as Doran lifted his head from the pile of missives from far-off Lords from the east coast of Dorne, keeping him abreast of any movement or changes in scheme they needed to employ. “Oberyn?”

“Myrcella and her guards washed up in Blackwater Bay.”

“And the Lannisters think we had a hand in it?”

“According to Olenna Tyrell, yes; Cersei thinks we killed Myrcella and she wants all of our heads on spikes.” Oberyn threw the remnants of the warning onto the table with a snarl.

While Y/N knew she would pray for the little princess’ soul to be carried off into the Seven Heavens when she was alone that night, her mind quickly turned toward how they would deal with this newest development. “They must have sailed near the Stepstones. Pirates and raiders-"

“The Lions do not care for logic, my moonlight. They have deemed us guilty.”

Her gut churned. She wanted blood, yes. But not Myrcella’s—not the innocent.

Before any other arguments or plans could be made—the door burst open and Elia was careening into the room, out of breath and dark eyes wild. “Ships! Greyjoy and Stark banners!”

Y/N scarcely recalled leaping up the stairs or dashing through the fortress and out into the dying sunlight to see the ships on the horizon—swathes of grey fabric and black wood rising from the waves like the Deep Ones of legend. Small tenders were already in the sea and rowing toward the shore. One of them had tied a bit of white fabric to their bow.

“Should we trust them?” Y/N asked.

Oberyn, at her back, sighed. “The Starks have not betrayed us yet. Remains to be seen with the Greyjoys.”

The fortress was abuzz with movement as the Northmen settled into their temporary lodging Sunspear was providing (the Ironborn loudly voiced that they’d rather row back out to their ships for rest). Battle plans were being drawn and redrawn. Alliances and promises made.

Y/N learned that after the Boltons had tortured and killed Theon as they took over Winterfell, Yara sent a raven to Robb. He would help her claim the throne of the Iron Islands against the claim of her uncle, Euron, in exchange for drawing the Boltons out beyond Winterfell’s walls so Robb’s men could attack them from behind and finally reclaim Winterfell and wipe out the Bolton line. They both had vengeance with the act and gained an ally.

The North was once again under the rule of House Stark. But Y/N could not delight in that bit of happy news as word was sent that Yara Greyjoy required a private audience with Y/N.

Daemon rowed her out to the Black Wind and promised to stay until she personally told him to go or she came back out to the tender to be taken back to Sunspear. “I would not have you languishing with the Ironborn longer than necessary, my lady,” he muttered before a rope ladder was thrown down.

As she reached the deck of the ship, several of the crew looked her up and down. She caught whispers of “the Mountain” and “princess” before she was led below deck by a man with a salt-and-pepper beard and cold, green eyes. He knocked twice on a sea-weathered door before a gruff, feminine voice called to let him in.

Y/N stepped inside and tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell. It reeked of old hay and excrement—probably a holding cell. Yara was waiting, standing under the single beam of light the room had and holding a chain in her hands. It snaked across the hay-strewn floor and disappeared into a dark corner. This was the first time Y/N had come in contact with Yara Greyjoy—but her reputation obviously preceded her and was well earned. The smirk she had splitting her face was enough to warrant the rumors of callous humor and bloodthirsty nature.

“Ah, you’ve come. Perhaps you can get something out of him before I rip his tongue out. We caught him just off the Stepstones, trying to hide his hideous face under a hood.” She pulled at the end of a chain. The metal links seemed to sing as she continued to yank until the prisoner stepped into her line of sight.

Y/N nearly balked at the sight. “Lord Tyrion. A surprise to be sure.”

Tyrion looked no worse than he did all that time ago in the Water Gardens but his limbs were now all encased in heavy steel and his hair was a little more unkempt. “My lady.” He even bowed a bit.

“The Imp refuses to speak to anyone but you,” Yara said as she stepped forward to hand Y/N the end of the chain with a curled frown. “Was this the one you were intended to marry?”

Y/N bristled but was unsurprised that Yara knew of the Lannisters’ plot. All of Dorne seemed to know it, too. “It was Tywin, actually. His father.”

Yara sneered. “I guess the old lion does still have a cock.” She then left without another word and the door closed loudly behind her.

With a sigh, Y/N set down the chain and wiped her hands on her skirts. “Why have you asked for me, Lord Tyrion? Prince Oberyn or Doran would be the only ones to grant you more comfortable accommodations in exchange for information.”

Tyrion shook his head. “I do not trust them, just as they do not trust me.”

Y/N hummed. “I am surprised they kept you alive at all. The last time you were in the company of Starks, you were accused to trying to murder Bran and only survived Catelyn’s wrath by the gods’ grace and the help of a sellsword.”

“It was more the sellsword than the grace of the gods, my lady, I assure you. But it was under Robb’s instruction that the Ironborn did not tie me to the front of their ship to be pecked to death by gulls.” He pursed his lips. “I was nearly to Essos when my ship was blown out of the water and I was scooped up like some dead fish.”

“Then perhaps you should consider it luck that they found you and not your sister. She wants you dead. Robb wants leverage.”

“If you had counseled your dear king, he would have known that I will hold no leverage as a hostage. They would prefer me dead.”

Y/N paused for a moment, thoughts stirring in her mind. “You asked me here for a reason, Lord Tyrion. And it is not because you fear me the least. What is it you’re offering?”

Something crossed Tyrion’s face then. It was almost a smile. “You would have made a fearsome Lady of the Rock, you know.” But as quickly as it came, it disappeared. “Tell me, are the rumors of Myrcella-”

“Dorne had nothing to do with it. Doran and Oberyn may not care for your family but they do not kill children. They know the ache of the loss of a child.”

Tears gathered in Tyrion’s eyes and tracked down his dirty cheeks. “She was good and gentle.”

“She was,” Y/N said softly. “And I am sorry that the gods have called her home so soon. But we need your help to see this through. You have my word that Tommen will not be harmed when we take King’s Landing.”

Oberyn and Ellaria were waiting for her when she stepped back onto shore hours later. Y/N had slips of parchment crumpled in her hand and streaks of ink staining her fingers and across her cheek. “Is Sarella still in Oldtown?”

“You cannot believe him!” Robb snarled.

Y/N pivoted in her seat to glare at him, uncaring of the other lords and soldiers in the room. “What cause does he have to lie?”

“He is a Lannister!”

“He is hated by his family. They tried to kill him.”

Robb’s face continued to contort in rage as he stood from his seat, fist slamming against the wood of the table. But whatever words he had wanted to say stilled in his throat as Oberyn stood from his seat, too. Oberyn said nothing as he loomed at Y/N’s back. He did not move his hand to the pommel of his sword but the promise of violence was not missed.

The King in the North seemed to swallow his pride at the quiet show of strength but did not sit down. “There is no way to see if this is not a trap.”

And that was when Y/N had a smirk of her own, pulled the rolled missive, stamped with the seal of the Citadel, from the folds of her dress and unfurled it on the table. “Tyrion’s claims of the cisterns and drains of Casterly Rock have been verified, as have the rumors of Wildfire under the whole of King’s Landing.” She pushed the parchment toward Robb and watched his face as he read Sarella’s handwriting. Her findings had given Y/N hope that this war could be won without an unending number of battles. Less bloodshed. Fewer dead Dornishmen. Fewer families without sons and husbands and brothers. Tyrion had told her of how he used to smuggle his favorite girls in and out of his rooms by the way of the drains of Casterly Rock and how that flaw in the Lannisters’ fortress could be exploited and allow for an outside naval force to sack his ancestral home. He’d provided crude drawings of how the tunnels curved and turned from the cliffside up to the balustrades and towers. Tyrion’s placement of the wildfire under the capital were less precise but still damning.

“And what does The Imp want in return for this information?”

“He wants to be set free-” There was an immediate and expected uproar from the Northmen and Ironborn and a handful of the Dornish lords and ladies but Y/N pressed on. “-to live in Essos with little Tommen when this is over.”

Robb held up his hand and quieted the rabble as his lips pressed into a thin line. “We will need scouts in the Westerlands to know of any movement of their armies.”

Lady Maege Mormont, pallid face red with the heat and slicked with sweat, suddenly moved her dark eyes to Y/N and the Dornish prince at her back. “The Riverlands armies are still waiting for command.”

“The Riverlands have not declared to King Robb’s cause aside from a handful of men who still hold Riverrun,” gruffed an Ironborn who tried to hold Oberyn’s gaze but quickly wilted under the Prince’s unwavering stare.

“That is inaccurate,” Robb said, voice cutting through the room’s din without effort. “There is still a small battalion of men loyal to Brynden Tully waiting for a command just outside Pinkmaiden. It would be a sufficient number.”

Oberyn’s warm hand reached down to gently grasp her shoulder and squeeze. A quiet show of support. “Why have they not joined you in Dorne?” Y/N asked, voice steady.

That was when Robb finally sat again and he tried to look her in the eye but failed and glanced down at the maps in front of him. “Your father was waiting for my command to take the Golden Tooth.”

Y/N nodded. He had never made it to Pinkmaiden.

And everyone in the room knew it.

But Y/N’s face did not move and Oberyn’s steadying hand did not falter in its grounding warmth. “Then it seems you have your scouts.”

The meeting continued on into the night and only adjourned when Lord Stonehouse let out a snore, slumped over his plate of half-eaten supper. Y/N wrapped a bit of chicken into her napkin and set out on her own after kissing Oberyn’s cheek before he went to Doran’s side.

She was…exhausted. But, she still sought out the one frivolous activity she would allow herself. Grey Wind, Robb’s hulking direwolf, was curled on the cool marble of the grand hall and lifted his large head when he heard her approach. Ned had told her stories of direwolves during her time at Winterfell and she, a bit childishly, wanted to see one as close as she could manage. Y/N unwrapped the chicken and held out to him with a small smile that grew only a fraction bigger when it was quickly devoured and her fingers were licked clean, too. The direwolf sniffed at her hand for a little longer before pressing his head against her palm, wanting to be pet. And that almost made her laugh, this giant animal who unnerved most others he encountered was gently asking to be scratched behind the ears. (Robb had grumbled his acceptance of Grey Wind not being present in the war room because of how uncomfortable it made some of the lords and ladies of Dorne.)

“You’re just a big pup, aren’t you?”

Grey Wind whined, offended.

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice rung out in the hall and Y/N quickly gave a handful more scratches before trying to find her handmaiden. When she did, Daisy explained that Ellaria had requested Daisy get Y/N “in bed with no distractions!” when she heard the meeting had been adjourned early. So, she let Daisy lead her back to her chambers with a sigh and fuss for a moment or two before she helped her out of her clothes and into her silken nightgown with a small smile. “I feel like I have not truly spoken with you in ages, my lady.”

“I apologize, Daisy.”

“Think nothing of it. I know your heart and mind are occupied.” When she finished, Daisy lingered at her back with a nervous expression. “I know it is not my place-”

“You are my friend, Daisy. Speak freely.” She turned to softly squeeze at Daisy’s fingers before dropping her hands back into her lap.

“I worry about you. And I know others do as well.”

“I am going to sleep-”

“It is not your lack of sleep that disturbs me, Y/N. You…you are not yourself. For as long as I have known you, you have worn your heart on your sleeve. Only tucking it away when you think someone will betray you. I know your heart is broken. Let it be broken. A heart that bleeds alone still bleeds. It is easier to bear with someone at your side.”

Y/N frowned. “You are with me-”

Disappointment colored Daisy’s face as she sighed, cutting off Y/N’s words. “I know you are not this stupid, Y/N. You know exactly what I mean.”

And that poked at the festering wound Y/N had tried to seal over with brick and steel in the cavity of her chest. “When this is over, I will… I will mourn as I should. It would be selfish to do it now.”

Daisy clicked her tongue with a shake of her head. “I have been told that war makes animals of men but I did not think it would make your heart stone. It is not selfish to love your father. It is not selfish to feel.” Before Y/N could even come up with some sort of rebuttal, her friend was striding toward the door and pulling it open. “Sleep, Y/N.” And then she was gone.

But Y/N did not sleep. She sat on her bed and listened to the night’s chatter die down as time slipped by. The fortress grew dark as only the necessary torches were kept aflame. The stars glittered in the moonless sky. Even as her body yearned for rest, she could not sleep.

All she could do was stare out to the sea.

But then she was moving. Slipping off her bed and slinking out of the fortress, wordlessly passing the stationed guards who made no move to stop her but watched her with careful, curious eyes.

“All rivers lead to the sea.” The words were murmured but felt like a rock had dislodged itself from the recesses of her lungs.

Cool marble gave way to paved stone and then to cold, wet sand she let squish between her toes as she walked closer to the sea’s edge. The water was calm. Gentle waves shimmered in starlight and lapped against the shore. She let the cool water splash against her ankles before she discarded her dressing gown. She took one step, then another, another, and another until she was treading open water in just her chemise, feeling the wet fabric glide around her in the water like a curious, silken fish. She dove beneath the waves to feel the chill and rhythm of the sea settle in her bones. For a moment, she wondered if she could spend forever at the bottom of the sea, looking up at the stars through the clear water, weighed down by pebbles sewn into her pockets. But when her lungs started to burn, she rose to the surface slowly and pulled in a deep breath of warm night air as she crested like a leviathan.

Y/N had always been a strong swimmer. Edmure had once joked that she was truly part trout when she would spend hot days swimming against the current of the waters around Riverrun. But she did not want to swim tonight. She wanted to simply feel the water on her skin. To feel the waves beat in time with her heart. To know that the water would always have a place for her.

Her legs stopped pumping and she let them rise to the surface and she floated atop the waves like a wash of seafoam.

The stars were shining above her in their celestial beds, bright and welcoming even as drops of salted water managed to sting at her eyes. She followed the lines of the constellations she knew by heart and licked the salt from her lips.

With each wave, she knew the shore grew closer. She could let herself mourn until then, let the salt of her tears finally meet the salt of the water. She could let herself cry here, mourn here, in the water that welcomed her family home.

They came slowly and then all at once. Great, heaving sobs shook her entire body and nearly took her under as water filled her mouth when she let out a wail—the sounds wrenching themselves free from their hiding places within her tired soul. She cried and sobbed and wept. For her father. Her mother. For Ned and Catelyn. For Rickon and Bran and Hoster. Finally letting herself feel something for longer than a few stolen minutes. Y/N barely registered the arms wrapping around her shoulders and under her knees, the grip keeping her head safely above water.

It wasn’t until the tears ebbed enough to clear her vision that she saw Oberyn standing in the water, cradling her weightless form against the waves. His features were soft in the starlight and he said nothing as her sobs came again and she curled further into his grip.

He let her cry until she was spent and then walked her closer to the shore and helped her stand.

Ellaria was waiting just outside the sea’s reach with a stack of linen towels neatly folded near her feet. She plucked one from the pile and wordlessly started to dry Y/N off with a gentle touch before wrapping another around her shoulders. Oberyn slung one around his damp breeches then leaned forward to press a kiss against Ellaria’s temple, lingering for a moment, before doing the same to Y/N.

“The night is losing its battle with dawn, my loves. We must sleep,” Ellaria said, reaching out to tighten the towel around Y/N’s shoulders.

Y/N nodded, beyond exhausted. But her heart felt the smallest fraction lighter. And perhaps it was not the end of her grieving—it was just the start. But she knew it was a step forward. When Ellaria pushed her into the warm silk and linen sheets of her and Oberyn’s bed and then climbed over her to settle like another blanket, Y/N knew she would finally sleep. Peacefully. Oberyn climbed in after them and murmured soft ‘sleep, my darlings. We will speak in the morning’ into their skin and snuffed out the single candle on the bedside table. One hand brushed against Ellaria’s back as his other brought Y/N’s palm up to his lips to breathe in the lingering scent of salt and water as his eyes closed. Oh yes, she could sleep for eternity if they just held her like this for a little longer.

And the sound of the water, ever-present and ever-moving, lulled them into a quiet, deep sleep.

Morning came sooner rather than later and Y/N woke to Oberyn pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, fingers sliding under the thin strap of her chemise to revel in her soft skin. Much like Ellaria had the night before, he was lounging across Y/N’s back, weight pressing her into the featherbed with a comforting pressure. Ellaria was sitting up, held up by her elbow to look down at her with a soft smile.

It was something Y/N could get used to seeing every morning. She breathed for a few moments, simply wondering in how quiet the room was, how gentle Oberyn and Ellaria were with her. Briefly, she thought of how her life had changed since she had sent that first raven to Dorne. Being this comfortable, wrapped in blankets that did not belong to her, in the arms of not one but two people she was not married to—the scandal of it all. It was a soft sort of loveliness, even with the hurt of her loss. It seemed the water and the forgiving touch of the couple she loved had given Y/N her soul back; fractured and hurt. But hers once again.

“How are you, my moonlight?” He asked, voice quiet in the still of the room.

“I think I will carry this ache until my soul leaves to join whichever of the Seven Heavens the gods deem fit for me. But I know it will be easier to bear with time. Just as it was with my mother. Knowing they are together again gives me a small bit of happiness.” Y/N tapped at his thigh so she could turn to face him, letting her fingers trail through his hair when he laid his cheek against her stomach as they once again settled in the mess of blankets. A handful of grey strands pulled her attention as she let her nails gently scratch against his scalp, gaining a soft groan in return. “Thank you for last night. You… you both seem to know what I require before I even speak.”

Oberyn looked up at her, dark eyes warm but sad. “We each have had our own brushes with loss, my moonlight.” He paused. “We watched you close yourself off to everything aside from the coming war. Your eyes did not sparkle. You did not laugh. We had you, could touch you, feel the warmth of your skin. But you were lost to us.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and reached over to let her fingers roam across her exposed collarbone and the corner of her mouth tilted up when she heard the next breath catch in Y/N’s throat.

“It was never my intention-”

“You have spent too long in places where you cannot feel. You have swallowed your pride and anger and joy and grief in order to survive.” Ellaria said, fingers continuing to trail, burning her in their wake. “That is not how we live here, that is not the life we want for you.”

Y/N pushed out a long breath and let her hands drop to the back of Oberyn’s head, twisting the black and grey locks around her fingers without thought. “What is the life you want for me?”

Oberyn suddenly moved. His hands planting on either side of her shoulders to loom over her like some beautiful, terrible heavenly body. Her legs parted as he moved, cradling his hips with her thighs. “We want you to live, my moonlight. To live freely. Without restraint.”

“We want you to be angry, to be sad, to be joyful—to feel,” Ellaria said, hooking her fingers under Y/N’s chin to make Y/N look at her. “We want you to feel.”

They spoke of their hurts and anger, of their happiness and triumphs as the sun started to rise. “But none of it means anything if you do not feel it.” Oberyn leaned down to steal a kiss and sighed against her mouth as she lifted a hand to slide against his side, delighting in how he shivered. “We want you to take the day. Do not attend the meetings. Do not go to the training yards. Sleep. Pray if it helps your heart. Eat something. Speak with Sansa and Arya. Let yourself feel.” He kissed her again before Ellaria stole another, too. But they eventually all made their way out of the haven of their soft blankets and dressed unhurriedly to meet the day.

“Join me for lunch. The little ones miss you,” Ellaria said, catching Y/N’s hand before she left.

“I will find you,” Y/N promised with a squeeze to her wrist before setting off to find Sansa.

The day passed smoothly, for the most part. She let herself cry again when she spoke with Sansa and joined Grey Wind and Arya in the sea before setting off to join Ellaria and the younger Sand Snakes for lunch as promised. The afternoon was filled with a trip to Sunspear’s sept for prayer and speaking with Daisy. No plans for battle. No talk of alliances. It was not all her heart needed to heal from her loss. But it was another step toward acceptance. As night descended on Dorne, she was rewrapping the leather binding on the handle of Dorea’s Morningstar, having nearly stepped on it when she was walking back to her chambers. The leather had been ripped and torn under Dorea’s exuberant thrashing and Y/N had a bit of leather to spare, not minding to part with it. Oberyn found her as she finished and smiled as she, a little bashfully, showed him her work.

“She will love it,” he said with a warm smile and tired eyes.

Oberyn led her toward Dorea’s chambers and they found Ellaria asleep in Dorea’s bed with a book of fairytales from the Riverlands opened on their laps. Oberyn only tiptoed in for a moment to press a kiss to his paramour and daughter’s cheeks. Y/N had followed to carefully pull the book away and set it on the bedside table and made sure that the blankets covered the pair, tucking them into bed against the sea-scented night air. She placed the Morningstar atop a table before they both slipped out.

“She must have had a nightmare. She rarely lets us leave her bed if some sort of monster has creeped its way into her mind,” Oberyn said softly as he closed the door.

“Does she have nightmares often?” Y/N asked.

“They come and go, as it is with all children.” He grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers with a tired smile. “You will see when you have babes of your own.”

“You want more children?” She asked, head filling with something other than plans for war for a brief moment.

Oberyn’s smile widened and he pressed a hand over her stomach, fingers splaying. “I want as many children as you desire to give me.”

Something playful and teasing and almost unfamiliar bubbled in her chest and she smiled and covered his hand with hers. “Oh, I see. You’ve seduced me in some attempt to fill these halls with little Martells. You have no love for me—just my ability to give you more heirs.” She even laughed, quiet in the hall.

But Oberyn did not smile now and his fingers curled into the fabric of her dress and yanked her close. The heat of his body enveloped her instantly and the burn of his gaze struck at her heart. “Do not say such things.”

“It was-”

“I love you, my moonlight. Even in jest, I will not have you speak of yourself that way.” He released his grip on her dress to gently hold her face in his roughened hands and swept his thumbs across her cheeks. “But it is good to hear you laugh again. I have missed the sound.”

Y/N nearly melted into his grip with a soft sigh and closed her eyes to savor his touch a little more. But then her mind started to wander, back to when she was still untouched by war and courtly politics. “I’ve always wanted one or two.”

He leaned forward to press his head against hers and Y/N could feel him smile as he kissed her forehead. “I can give you that.”

“I want them to have your eyes and good heart.”

Oberyn chuckled and then wrapped his arms around her, dragging her a little closer. “As long as they are healthy, my moonlight, I will be happy.”

And as she curled beneath her blankets that night, mouth still tingling from the kiss Oberyn left her with, she thought of little Loreza and Dorea trying to teach two little ones how to read on the shore as the Dornish sun warmed their skin.

And the thought carried over to her dreams where Oberyn crooned in her ear some lullaby she couldn’t place, a babe in his arms.

“Could you throw one more?” Y/N asked.

The young squire chuckled and nodded, pulling another bruised blood-orange from the pile collected from the groves and threw it into the air. Y/N quickly pulled back the bow’s string and loosed another arrow. It soared through the early morning air and pierced the skin of the orange and ripped through before it sunk into the target. It lined up almost perfectly with the six other speared blood-oranges on the target, dripping red-pink juice across the wood.

Y/N waved off the squire moving to clean off the target and said she didn’t mind the work. “I am sure I have kept you from your duties for far too long.”

“It is a pleasure to serve, Princess. You are a formidable archer.”

“Flatterer,” Y/N mused and watched the squire try to hide a shy smile before bowing and dismissing himself. She carefully pulled the arrows from the target and licked the juice from the tips and threw the discarded oranges out into the garden to let them feed the soil. It was still too early for most others to come to the courtyard to train. The last handful of days had seen most of the Dornish armies leave Sunspear to relieve the sorties at the border and to lead an incursion into the Stormlands.

A sudden noise had her turning and ready to nock another arrow. But it was just Robb, still haggard from sleep, with Grey Wind trailing beside him. The pair stared at each other for a moment and Y/N had to will herself to loosen her grip on the bow and carefully place the sticky arrows back into a pile. Robb approached her slowly. Much slower than Grey Wind who nosed at her leather breeches before letting out a low rumble as her gloved hand found the spot behind his left ear he loved having scratched.

“We have not spoken properly, cousin.” His mouth opened and closed twice. “I have missed you,” was all he managed.

Y/N nodded. She did miss him, too. “We are a long way from Winterfell.”

Robb’s smile was small but sincere. He took a step closer. And then another. And then his arms were wrapping around her and pulling her to his chest in a tight hug. Y/N’s arms wrapped around him tightly without a thought or care. Tears gathered in her eyes and she quickly shut them in a half-hearted attempt to keep them at bay. But then she was holding him in earnest and remembering how he and Jon would laugh in the Wolf’s Wood and string blue roses behind her ears with dirty fingers and would always make her smile whenever they could. It was so strange to see him now, the burden of a bloody crown on his head and scars littering his skin. It was strange that the boy she knew, full of smiles and fond of laughter, was now so quiet and serious.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

The tears were coming in earnest now and she felt Robb’s own trickling onto the shoulder of her tunic.

“You saved Sansa. Arya. You kept them alive and I repaid you with your father-”

“Don’t say it,” she said, biting back a whimper. “Do not say it.”

He held her tighter. And she tightened her hold, too.

“What happened to us, Stark?” She whispered.

The claimant king shuddered in her grip, the tears continuing their descent. “I do not know.”

And the pair held each other for a little longer until they heard other guards and soldiers approaching the training ground. Y/N stepped back first and noticed the sadness in his eyes but he blinked and turned his head and it was gone. The careful mask of kinghood was back in place. “I did come to speak to you of something else, Lady Tully. If you would permit me a moment of your time.”

She nodded, her own mask upon her face, too, and let him lead her toward a quiet corner of the training grounds with Grey Wind trailing beside them. And with each step, she noticed how Robb seemed to hold his shoulders higher to his ears. “What is it?” Y/N whispered when they finally slowed to a stop, mask slipping.

“Your father’s men want to fight. Riverrun still answers to the name Tully. And you, dear cousin, are the only Tully left alive and out of bondage.” When Y/N was quiet, Robb continued. “We sent the raven to Pinkmaiden—they responded that they wanted a commander. A leader.”

“And you think that I-”

“You are a Tully. You are Brynden Tully’s daughter. You have outmaneuvered the Lannisters at every turn. Who else would I send?”

She had kept Robb’s request to lead the Riverlanders’ forces to herself for only a handful of hours, trying to find the words to tell Ellaria and Oberyn. She thought time alone would help her, but all it did was wear on her nerves. A nervous tittering called her attention and she turned to see little Loreza staring at Grey Wind—the direwolf had made it a habit to splash around in the cool water of the Summer Sea at least a few times a day and was currently submerged up to his neck in the water, letting the waves wash over his back.

Y/N smiled despite her heavy heart and walked to Loreza’s side, biting back the question of how she’d managed to evade her Septa’s watchful eye this time. Seeing Loreza so nervous broke her heart a little. She was too young to be so scared. “He’s very big, isn’t he?”

“He’s almost as big as a horse,” the young girl murmured, dark eyes flittering back to the direwolf. “Obella said she saw him eat a man!”

“Obella is just teasing. Grey Wind is gentle—especially to little girls.” Y/N knelt down to Loreza’s level with a smile. “Would you like me to prove it to you?”

Loreza seemed to ponder it for a moment before nodding. Y/N held out a hand for her to take and led her over to the lounging direwolf. She held out her hand for Grey Wind to sniff and quickly lick before she scratched behind his ears. The water was starting to soak through her leathers but she turned to show Loreza how he liked to be scratched.

“Give him your hand, just like I did. Let him smell you.”

Loreza held out a shaking hand toward Grey Wind who sniffed all around before licking a wet strip across her little fingers and Loreza let out a loud giggle at the sensation. Her little dress was floating around her like a pale yellow lily pad.

“See? He likes you.”

Grey Wind continued to nose at Loreza’s arm as she started to run her fingers through his dark fur. “He’s soft!”

“I heard King Robb brushes him every night,” Y/N said with a waggle of her eyebrows. Loreza smiled at that and then let out a surprised squeal when Grey Wind licked at her face. “I think he likes you more than me!”

Loreza finally pulled her other hand from Y/N’s hold and happily pushed her little fingers through Grey Wind’s damp fur. A particularly tall wave washed over them and Loreza laughed as Grey Wind licked the water from her hands. “Would Father let me have a direwolf?”

“Direwolves are of the North, like King Robb and Sansa and Arya. And they are rare there, too.”

The girl pouted at that but did not stop her petting. “Will King Robb let me pet him while he is here?”

Y/N nodded and promised to speak to Robb on her behalf before she noticed a figure standing on the shoreline. “It seems your father has discovered us.”

Loreza looked back at the shore and grimaced. “I did miss my lessons today.”

Y/N urged her gently to find her septa, promising to speak with Oberyn, and watched her dash away through the water toward the sand and dodged her father’s hand as he reached for her with a teasing smile.

Y/N eventually pulled away from Grey Wind and squared her shoulders before pushing against the water toward Oberyn who waited for her.

“It is good to see you with them. You are gentle—but I do think you let them get away with far too many follies.”

Y/N smiled. “Even I missed a lesson or two when I was her age. A little rebellion is good character.”

He shook his head with a soft laugh and pulled her close despite her wet clothes before brushing his lips against her forehead. “I’ve spoken with Doran. He wants me to lead a command of my own into the Crownlands.”

“Oh,” was all she could manage. She knew he was a seasoned commander but the thought of him leaving the safety of Sunspear had not come to her. Perhaps she had deluded herself into thinking he would always be safe.

“And the wolf king has told me of his plans for you.” Oberyn looked at her and she held his gaze, even as she felt his sigh against her wet skin. Slowly, far too slowly for her liking, he reached up to hold her cheeks in his hands. “Do you truly mean to lead them? If this is the wolf king pressing you-”

“I have to, my prince. Robb or not.”

“Does your honor demand it?” He asked, almost teasing. But his tone lacked its usual warmth.

“It does.” Y/N reached up to cover his hands with hers and keep him close, half-scared that he would walk away, too. “Just as yours requires you to do the same.”

The pair was quiet for a moment, only the sound of the waves against the sand to listen to as time stretched on. Oberyn was looking at her, truly looking at her all the while and it was the sadness and resignation in his eyes that dug straight through her heart. He kissed her softly without a word before stepping back. “I would have you safe.”

And Y/N wanted to ask what he meant but he grasped at her hand and led her without a word toward the armory. “She is an archer, she needs to be able to move,” Oberyn said as he started to dig through the careful stacks of pieces of armor and accoutrements the blacksmith had forged for the Dornish forces. He quickly found pieces of light armor; shining mail, vambraces and pauldrons stamped with Martell suns, a light cuirass which would fit her feminine form. And as she gathered all of her armor to her chest, equal parts excited and anxious, she watched Oberyn turn to her. His dark eyes held some secret sentiment. Sad and proud and something else she could not place.

When they found Ellaria, she seemed to already know their news. “Oh, my two warriors.” And then she was gathering them close and lathing slow kisses against their lips and pushing them onto the bed. “Just let me have tonight, my loves. Just tonight before the Realm rips you away from me.”

And there was nothing carnal in the way they all burrowed under the blankets as the sliver of the moon rose or the way hands roamed and lips parted with gentle sighs. It was just love, simple and soft.

The younger Sand Snakes filtered into her rooms throughout the afternoon to watch Y/N pack away the essentials, just enough to fill two small saddlebags. Dorea tried to give Y/N her beloved Morningstar, “to keep you safe!” but Y/N quickly and gently pushed it back into the young girl’s hands. “You have to keep your mother safe until your father and I return. You cannot do that if I have your Morningstar, right?”

Elia sniffed at that and suspiciously turned her head away.

“And your sister, Elia, she will protect you," Y/N said, acknowledging Elia's pain without making it a point of conversation. Elia did not like to dwell on emotion.

It earned another sniff and a curt, “don’t die. I like having you around.” ("I do, too!" Dorea added.)

Nymeria and Tyene arrived soon after with words of encouragement and two matching vials of poison. “Just in case! Father likes to slick his blades with it. Perhaps you could dip a few of your arrows?” And that spoke volumes, at least to Y/N, about how they cared for her in their own way.

But Sansa was near tears despite the steadiness of her voice as she let herself into Y/N’s chambers. “Must you go? It feels like I've just had you return.”

“You know I must, little one. Robb’s asked it of me and I know you would do the same if Winterfell was still under Bolton colors.” Y/N reached out and pulled the redhead into a familiar hold and said nothing when she felt tears start to wet the fabric of her tunic. “But I will come ba-”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say something you cannot know to be true.”

Y/N pulled back and grasped at Sansa’s chin. “I am coming back. The Stranger themselves could not stop me.”

Sansa nodded with a watery hiccup and pulled her close for another hug before there was a knock at the door. Y/N kissed Sansa’s forehead before calling out a welcome to whomever it was. Ellaria stepped in, a roll tucked under her arm and Sansa quickly excused herself and shut the door tight on her way out.

Ellaria was quiet for a moment before she walked to Y/N’s side. There was a quietness to her features now but tears still pooled in her beautiful eyes. She pressed a kiss against her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, before touching her lips to hers in a soft, reverent kiss that tasted like citrus and salt. She sniffled just once as she pulled back and she handed the bundle to Y/N with a single wobble of her chin.

Y/N unwrapped it and marveled as more and more of the gift was revealed. The bow was black, darker than night and stronger than steel. It was dragonbone. A rare prize indeed.

“Father said it was one of the smaller bones from Meraxes. It was meant,” she had to clear her throat. “I meant to give it to you as a wedding gift. But I would rather you have it now. I know your aim will be true.”

Y/N quickly set the bow down on the bed and pulled Ellaria close without a word, trying to somehow convey the hope that she would return through the touch alone instead of words she knew would fail. “I love you,” was the only phrase she dared whisper. I love you. I love you. I love you.

When dawn broke the next morning two Northmen Robb entrusted with her care were waiting for her at the stables. Qēlos nuzzled into her palm as the mare's tack was secured and Y/N smuggled her an apple to devour as she swung up into the saddle. Y/N was finishing saying goodbye to a tearful Sansa when Ellaria and Oberyn appeared at the stables. Oberyn was already dressed in his light armor and Ellaria had donned a fauld of four lame across her waist. A little armor of her own. Everyone around them seemed to understand the need for privacy and quickly vacated the area or decidedly avoided pointing their gazes toward them.

“We will not try to dissuade you. Your wrath is justified and glorious.” His hands reached up to cover hers on the reins. The warmth slowed the wild beating of her heart just a fraction. “But we will ask that you do not forget us.”

Y/N’s poor heart leapt into her throat and she hurried to move her grip, pulling Oberyn’s hands up to her mouth to press a kiss against his knuckles. “The gods themselves could not take you from my mind or heart, my prince. I will see you again when this is over, when the Lions are dead and the Realm can have peace.”

Oberyn untangled his hands from hers only to grasp the back of her head to kiss her, artfully stealing the air from her lungs with ease as his mouth moved against hers in slow, unyielding ministrations. As he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair for a moment before releasing her. His fingers trailed down her arms to tighten the lacings of her vambrace. “Then I shall see you again, my moonlight.”

Ellaria was quiet but kissed her soundly. “Come back,” was all she said.

“I will,” Y/N whispered in return.

And then they were off. Y/N looked back at the gates of Sunspear after every new turn on the road, watching it grow smaller and smaller. The Northmen offered no words but did give sympathetic smiles after they caught her sad expression.

But then there was a thundering of hooves against the sand-covered road and Obara was at her side in a moment, dressed for battle and saddlebags packed. “You will not fight alone, Little Fish.”

And then Arya, on a horse that was definitely not hers, was galloping to her side, too. “I’m coming, too!”

Y/N knew she should tell them no. Send them back to Sunspear and Oberyn and Robb and Safety. But one look at their determined faces left her sighing. “Your father and brother are going to kill me, you know.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Obara said with a smirk. “I’ll protect you.”

A/N: Please let me know what you guys think! I really appreciate it. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut @lostinwonderland314 @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills @nyrnerosmartell @5hundreddaysofsummer @honestlystop @huliabitch @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @karmezii @thesadvampire @sarcasmisakindofmagic @alexa4040 @paintballkid711

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #oberyn martell x ellaria sand x reader #oberyn martell x ellaria sand #game of thrones imagine #asoiaf

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castiels-majestic-wings · 4 years ago

Text

Sixth Sense - Chapter 4

Paring: Loki x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2,761

Warnings: Character Fake!death, injury and violence.

Posted: 10/01/2021

A/N: This one is based on 'Thor: The dark world'

Thor had taken you to the best healer in the palace. Odin had asked questions but Thor thought it best to let you explain. You had passed out not long after you left Loki’s cell. You had been unconscious for two days before finally waking up. You stirred before sitting up, the nurse making her way to you.

“Are you alright? How are you feeling?” Your nose wasn’t hurting as much, you assumed they used some sort of magic to heal you. Looking down you saw bandages surround your waist. Had you started bleeding? Looking at the nurse you saw how small she was. About 5’5, small face, short blonde hair framing her face, and her dark brown eyes filled with concern.

“I’m fine. I need to speak to Loki.”

“Thor insisted that you rest”

“Well, it’s his fault I’m injured in the first place!” You swung your legs over to dangle on the side of the bed.

“I’m sorry? He didn’t tell us the cause of your injuries. I-I assumed Loki-” You glared at her.

“Loki didn’t do shit to me. Thor threw a punch at him and I took it. That’s all.” You gaze fell as you hopped off the bed. Ignoring the pain on your waist.

“Where’s Thor?”

“Thor has returned to Midgard. He didn’t say where but-”

“Thank you. But I need to check on Loki.” The nurse knew not to interfere Thor had said you were stubborn, so she let you leave. Walking around the palace you decided to go to Heimdall. He could see over the realms, you had to find out what Thor was doing. Making your way to the Bifrost you saw his figure ready to open a Bifrost. Thor must be returning soon.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Heimdall didn’t need to look at you to know you were there. A giggle escaped your lips as you walked closer.

“I should, but it doesn’t mean I will.” Stopping next to him, you looked up at his figure. “Where’s Thor? I was told he returned to Earth”

“Yes. He went to find Jane after I lost sight of her.” Heimdall seemed lost. He had never lost sight of anyone before.

“Jane? Wait, you lost sight of her? But you see everything within the 9 realms”

“That is why Thor was concerned for her. I assume the convergence has opened portals to places even I cannot see”

“Can you see her now?” Heimdall ignored me as he opened the Bifrost. Thor and Jane appeared as Heimdall removed his sword.

“Thor! When I’m done with you I swear- Jane?” You stopped noticing the brunette stood next to him. “The- Thor, she has, power within her. It’s the same energy as Loki’s. It’s dark- powerful.”

“You can see it?”

“Yes, but her body can’t handle it for long. Her aura is fluctuating. Her body is fighting it. It will kill her if you don’t remove it.”

“Thor-” Jane sounded timid. You realised your mistake after you spoke but it was too late.

“Jane, humans cant hold powers like that for long, I don’t know what it is, but it’s not meant for humans to wield. How did you get it?” As you were walking to the palace again Jane and Thor explained everything they could. Your tactician senses were kicking in. You knew a power like that would draw in enemies. If it was hidden for so long, you knew it was dangerous. You sensed it. Thor had told you to rest. He said he would take you back to Midgard as soon as he could, but for now he needed to help Jane. That was before the attack. How didn’t Heimdall see it sooner? You didn’t know, but you knew something bad was going to happen. Thor had you with Jane, out of the way. Safe. After the attack, you found out that Frigga had died defending Jane, or at least the illusion of Jane she used to deceive the Dark Elf. The funeral was held later that night. You knew Odin sent a guard to tell Loki of her death. You wanted to check on him, see how he was doing. You knew he loved her, even if she wasn’t his real mother. She raised him as her own. He must be broken.

After her funeral, you had been told to stay put until you can go back to Midgard. You obliged. No one was in their right mind after the loss of their queen. You couldn’t exactly fall asleep until Thor came to you. He needed your help. You followed him until you made it into a room, under the castle, unknown to most of the palace. Heimdall, Sif and the Warriors Three were there. They had a plan to save Jane. Thor walked you through it. When the time came he asked for my company to see Loki and get his help. You were the only one who knew Loki’s true self. He would listen to you. When you entered, you knew it was an illusion, you saw Loki’s aura, but it was against the wall. Not the figure you saw standing there. He didn’t want to show how vulnerable he was.

“Loki enough. No more illusions” Loki removed the illusion and the room was trashed, and there sat Loki, right where you sensed him. He was broken, more broken than you had ever seen him. His hair was tussled. He no longer wore his elegant clothing. The furniture was scattered around him. Things were broken and out of place. Yet the way Thor spoke at him. He didn’t care. He no longer believed him to be the brother he grew up with. He wouldn’t even answer his questions. You got mad. But let him continue either way. Loki then hid his feelings again. Before we left. Getting ready to escape. You walked behind them. Loki was messing with Thor using his illusions. You had to admit it was funny. But you were worried about his wellbeing. Being able to look so, normal. So, mischievous. After seeing how broken he was you didn’t understand how he did it. But you knew you shouldn’t ask. Sif escorted Jane to our meeting point. Jane began speedwalking as Loki went to introduce himself she slapped him. You stood forward but was held back.

“That was for New York” A mischievous grin appeared on his face before he replied.

“I like her.” You huffed but didn’t think anything of it.

“Okay, now that we’re all here- let’s get to that ship” Guards appeared as you spoke.

“On my command” Thor got ready to attack before Sif intervened.

“I’ll hold them off. Take them” She nodded her head to you and Jane. You walked with Thor not before noticing everyone’s threats to Loki. You made it into the ship and Thor had tried to control it, but he was being aggressive with it. He didn’t have the patience. You leaned over him and looked at the console. You pressed what you thought was the engine. The ship started. Thor looked at you confused as to how you guessed it, while Loki looked proud.

Thor had turned the ship hitting every column in the area, but one.

“I think you missed a column.” Sarcasm was dripping from his voice. While you giggled Thor growled.

“Shut up.” Thor had started flying the ship, very unstably. Loki knew he wasn’t capable.

“Look why don’t you let me take over? I’m clearly the better pilot”

“Is that right? Well. Out of the two of us, which one can actually fly?”

“Boys! Now is not the time! We’re being attacked!” You looked at Jane, she looked bad. At that moment she fainted.

“Oh, dear. Is she dead?”

“Jane!” Thor yelled, hoping she could hear him.

“I’m okay” Her voice was weak as she raised her arm slightly before it fell back to the floor. Loki looked behind us noticing the guards ships approaching.

“Now they’re following us.” The ship shook as you heard weapon fire.

“Now they’re firing at us” Loki wasn’t helping Thor’s patience but he was at least making me laugh in such a dire situation.

“Yes thank you for the commentary Loki it’s not at all distracting” His voice was strained, but rough. He manoeuvred the ship around avoiding whatever buildings he could but he hit a statue at its neck.

“Well done. You just decapitated your grandfather” Thor growled lowly before you made it over the waters. The ship was unstable, you had no idea how you were going to get put in this.

“You know, this is wonderful. This is a tremendous idea! Let’s steal the biggest most obvious ship in the universe and escape in that!” Loki raised his voice showing his frustration. “Flying around the city, smashing everything in sight, so everyone can see us. It’s brilliant Thor! It’s truly brilliant-” Thor then pushed him out. You heard his scream and got angry.

“Why did you do that?!”

“We must jump Y/N”

“Ju- You want me to jump?!” Thor had picked up Jane and stood next to the open door.

“Trust me!” You looked at him questioning everything. But you knew he was your only way out. You and ran towards the door, closing your eyes as you leapt out the door. You fell until someone caught you. You then felt the thud of Thor’s landing before opening your eyes. You looked up and saw Loki facing you. He placed you down, struggling a bit with the cuffs but he tried not to show it.

“You lied to me. I’m impressed” Loki smiled in Thor’s direction. Proud of his brother’s deception. Loki started piloting to his secret passageway for us to escape. You sensed many people coming your way. You turned around and saw another Asgardian ship approaching.

“More ships incoming!” Thor and Loki both turned to confirm your inquiry. Loki began to avoid the ship’s attacks while you ducked. You forgot your weapons back on earth. You didn’t think you would need them. Loki turned the ship suddenly heading toward a mountain.

“Loki?!” Thor seemed like he knew what Loki was doing, but you feared he would kill you all.

“If it were easy, everyone would do it” Loki seemed calm. He wouldn’t risk his life over this, He knew what he was doing.

“Are you mad?”

“Possibly” Thor held on to Jane while you held onto the side of the ship. The ship became unstable as he went through the passage until the ship made it to a different planet. You didn’t know where you were but you knew you would need a weapon of some kind. A gun, a dagger. Anything to protect yourself. The ship was gliding to our destination. You had calmed slightly. Seeing Loki’s aura pulse, however, made you concerned.

“What I could do with the power that flows through those veins”

“No Loki, you’re body is already reacting to just being near it. It would not only consume you, but it might kill you. God or not.” Your eyes narrowed towards him, he knew you were serious.

“How is she?”

“She’s holding up alright. For now”

“She’s strong in ways youd never even know”

“Say goodbye”

“Not this day”

“This day, the next, a hundred years. It's nothing. It's a heartbeat. You’ll never be ready. The only woman whose love you've prized will be snatched from you.”

“And will that satisfy you?”

“Satisfaction is not in my nature”

“Surrender is not in mine” You couldn't hear the rest of the conversation. Your mind was focused on the other entities nearby. You tried to count them. You tried to control the power you had, Jane had sensed them to. The aether within her woke her up as dark elves entered the realm. She whispered the name of their leader. Malekith. You exited the ship following the brothers. Loki was still in chains. He lifted his hands, gesturing to his brother to remove them.

“You still don't trust me brother?”

“Would you?” Thor rolled his eyes as he freed Loki of his shackles. He rubbed his hands together before speaking quietly.

“No I wouldn’t” He conjured a dagger stabbing Thor. Your eyes went wide. This wasn’t Loki. Not the one who opened his heart to you just days prior. Thor was thrown off the hill and rolled down. Loki jumped down, ready to attack again while talking to Thor. As Thor summoned Mjolnir, Loki cut off his hand. Your hands covered your mouth in shock. You couldn't believe he would do that. Loki picked up Jane, and held her tightly making sure she couldnt leave his grip. He was bargaining with them. You ran towards them focusing on Thor’s hand, but it was still there. You could see the aura around his hand. It was an illusion. Making Malekith think that Loki was on their side. Malekith removed the aether from Jane. As she fell to the ground Thor yelled towards his brother.

“Loki! Now!” With a flick of his wrist the illusion faded and Thor’s hand reappeared. Loki shielded you and Jane as Thor tried to destroy the aether. Afterwards there was a giant force that would've injured you greatly if it wasn't for Loki. After the smoke cleared you looked up and saw the shards of the aether. It wasn't destroyed, but crystalised. As you three stood up, Malekith absorbed the aether. Making him more powerful than ever. He left for his ship while the others attacked. One of the aliens activated a grenade and threw it at us. Loki pushed you out of the way as it detonated, becoming a black hole, that was sucking him in until Thor flew past and grabbed him. You knew you needed to help. You might be a tactician but you were also a S.H.I.E.L.D agent. You were trained in combat.

“Loki! I need a weapon!” He considered the possibilities before conjuring another dagger and throwing it in your direction. Loki and Thor had the big guy. You had the grunts that were left. You held the dagger in your dominant hand before charging the grunt. You slashed at it’s chest before it jumped back dodging your attack. It attacked you and stabbed your stomach. You almost fell but you needed to finish this, You knew you had to act like Natasha on this one. You wrapped your legs around its head before flipping it onto the ground head first. Which knocked it out cold. You looked around trying to find the others when you saw a red beam destroying the last enemy. Seeing Loki on the ground made you panic. You tried to run over to them as Thor held Loki to his chest. You started crying, thinking of the worst. You made your way over slowly, jogging as fast as you could with the stab wound. Once you got there, you heard his last words.

“I didn’t do it for him.” Loki shut his eyes, as his breathing stopped. You waited for his aura to disappear. But it didn't. Once someone dies, their aura is no more. But his was still there. With tears streaming down your cheeks you narrowed your eyes. He wasn’t dead? But why was he faking it? You didn't know but you knew you had to find out.

“Thor! He has the aether! The conversion is upon us! We don't have much time!” Thor looked at His brother grieving. But he knew he had to fight for the 9 realms. For earth. He found a way to get to earth but insisted you stayed behind in Asgard until it was safe. You would have insisted on going with him but with your injuries, you would be no help. Using Nat’s move probably wasn't best suited for them, but you had to help. You agreed to return to Asgard with his help you made it there safely on your own. Once you got there your head felt heavy from the blood loss. You almost fainted then and there. But you were stubborn. You wouldn't let your body fail you. Not right now. You began walking the long distance over the bridge, keeping pressure on your wound. Ready to return to the palace you were determined to make it. You made it halfway before you saw soldiers heading toward you. Letting your body fall, you knew you couldn't take much more. You passed out before you were picked up and taken inside.

Taglist: @lovermrjokerr @lord-byron @lucywrites02 @violetica @quirkyreaderwriter @prettysbliss

#loki #loki lafeyson #loki odinson #mcu #mcu loki #tom hiddleston #mcu fic #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel mcu #marvel #loki x reader #loki x you #loki series #loki imagine #cazza writes

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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Ducktales Shadow Into Light (Lena Restrospective) Finale!: Lena In Season 3! (Commission for WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy people and welcome to the FINAL part of my look at the life and times of Lena Sabrewing. It’s been a long and satsifying journey through the character’s rich arc and some of Ducktales 2017′s best episodes. Lena started as a tourtured but complacient teen willing to do bloody awful evil things if it meant her freedom, who through the power of love and friendship realized what she was doing wrong, that she loved Webby and turned on Magica... and after a brief stint of this going horribly wrong a magica simply just bodyjacked her, she sacrificed herself for Webby he story seemingly done. Of course it wasn’t, Disney woudln’t let them kill a teenager... fully grown lion men horrifcally decaying indiana jones style yeah, of course it’s disney, but killing a teen is where they draw the line. Point is Lena was merley trapped in the shadow realm with a bunch of those guys Yugi beat and with the help of everyone’s faviorte stoic hummingbird, freed Lena. Lena found new family in Violet.. but also found dying is easy but living is harder and had to wrestle with both her fears of turning out like Magica and Magica herself who naturally was gaslighting her to try and get the last scraps of her power back. We also took a detour or two to see where she came from: looking at both Minima De Spell and her rivalry with a 34 year pretending to be a small child, and Magica’s Shadow whose like Lena except almost nothing like Lena. We also took a look at her one comic apperance which was never released here for some reason and was incredibly disapointing.

So yeah i’ts been one long, fun ride filled with gay subtext, launchpad’s spider sense, giant legs, movie refrences from warriors to jaws to nightmare on elm street 3: the dream warriors, toddlers who look and probably are 34, launchpad apparently huffing enough paint to damage his brain as that’s the only way to explain the terror of the terrafirmains subplot and gay subtext. I’ve enjoyed every step of the way so before I take the last one of those steps, i’d like to thank all of ya for reading this. I’ve gained at least 10 if not more followers off this series alone and I appricate all of you. I’d also like to thank Kev for directly comissioning this, keeping me in work and in x-men comics since 2020.

As you can probably guess by the title.. this one’s a bit different. This is a combination of two things: The first is that i already reviewed “The Phantom and the Sorceress” when I was reviewing each episode of Season 3 as it came out. My thoughts have not changed at all so I felt redoing that review would be redudant and a waste of Kev’s money. The same goes for Split Sword, which has the extra issue of being a three story episode with only one of the parts starring the focus of this retrospective. The second is while she shows up about the same amount as season 2, her apperances in season 3 outside of her Christmas Cameo are all more substaial outside of her two starring roles. Both COTHJSW and The Last Adventure shed some more light on our faviorite shadow and feel like natural evolutions of her character so it felt wrong to just flat out ignore them.

So rather than do a full review of the episodes i’m just going to go into Lena’s apperances for Season 3. This way I can cover Phantom again without fully repeating myself, and fully track the last steps Lena takes as the series closes out in a fresh and hopefully enjoyable way. So join me under the cut for one last step into the shadows as we finish bringing Lena into the light.

Challenge of the Senior Junior Woodchucks!

Challenge was one of the very first Ducktales I ever talked about on here, alongside Quack Pack, so it’s quite a trip returning to it a year later, even if i’ts just my memories of it. It’s also an excellent episode, with a great and engaging main plot and a “it’s just kind of there” subplot.

It’s also one of the only three episodes to focus on Violet, and one of only two that focuses just on her and not on Lena in any way. It is a shame: While I love Lena as a character, I wouldn’t of just spent several weeks talking about her if I wasn’t getting paid for this retrospective or not, Violet is equally intriguing and so i’ll be taking a second out to talk about her as I really HAVEN’T gone into her character this retrospective and given how important she is to Lena and to all of us, most Lena fans like Violet just as much and vice versa. I’ll still be talking about Lena in this episode, obviously, but I feel her sister from two misters deserves some time in the spotlight too as the show only gave her three episodes, and one was more focused on Webby and Lena by design and the other we’ll get to.

Violet is an excellent character. She speaks well and with little emotion but that’s just how she is and she’s never called out for it or insulted, something I like. Likewise she dosen’t judge others, never really batting an eye at the rest of the groups own quirks and at most being freaked out by leg huey a bit. She’s just a kind, curious, intellgent young lady.

And this episode shows that off: We get to see her in the spotlight of her own, every bit the Woodchuck Huey is and more, but still supporting and encouring him, seeing their contest as a friendly one and putting no stakes into it as she’s failed before, she can fail again. What matters is she get back up and keep going. Her “razzing” is also just downright adorable, and nicely shows off her and Lena’s new dynamic: they’ve gone from friends to siblings, something really not shown off last time and something that wason’t confirmed on screen till now but it just works naturally, the cool and collected but chaotic underneath that lena just plays perfectly off the uttelry calm and deadpan violet. It’s a natural, perfect dynamic that they clearly had mapped out from the beggining and simply had to build up to that.

Her genuine shock at Huey’s betryal... hurts the heart, as she genuinely thinks it’s her fault and not just my boy having a panic attack and doing something questionable. But it also shows her character.. when givne the same opprunity and no guilt for it, he struck first.. she dosen’t. She saves him because it’s the right thing to do and shows Huey she really is the bettter woodchuck.. but htere’s no shame in it. It’s okay to fail, what matters is you keep trying. And as a result despite giving Huey the opporunity to win with her.. he turns it down. She gets a deserved win, celebrating with her family and just wearing the most adorable smile. She also just has.. buckets of chemistry with Huey. I mean it was apparent to me with the whole Library Scene in Nightmare but god damn do they ramp it up with this one. They just contrast each other perfectly here, the handshake is adorable and he clings to her.. while also being hilarious “I naturlaly defer to authority!”. I will take this ship to my grave, and fully support it... that being said if you ship Huey/Boyd or all three togehter, go for it man. I do the latter sometimes. Your good. You didn’t need me to tell that but sometimes shipping discorse can get downright ugly so rather than make it a war between two ships, I just wanted to offer an olive branch for once you know? Same with Weblena. I obviously adore that ship but if you have a non-boys ship with her, tha’ts cool too. Ship what you want to.. i’m just doing me through this retrospective.

Now back to Lena. Her apperance in this episode is really heartwarming and really nice after all the shit she’s been through. This is the first episode she’s in where NOTHING bad happens to her. No really, every apperance, even her two cameos had her suffer in some way. She spent the entire first season grappling with Magica, and her season 2 apperances trapped in a shadow dimension and nearly loosing her girlfriend to her own jealously, horrifically stalked by her abuser using her own self doubt against her, attacked by a literal tempest in a tea pot and captured by aliens. The girl has not gone one friggin onscreen break since the series started and probably not many off it either.

Here? She just gets to cheer her little sister, proudly celebrating both her and her new dads. She gets to teach her sister to trash talk, even if that ends up backfiring a bit but she meant well. And she gets to celebrate with her family when her little sister wins. It’s all small stuff.. but it’s all things she’s NEVER had. A sibling to be proud of and support. Dads to sit with and go places with. A family to celebrate things with. This is all pretty normal stuff, but not something everyone gets to have and something Lena NEVER had even remotely. But now she’ll ALWAYS have that. A supportive loving family to give her a place to belong, and to support in turn. After a nightmarish 14-15 years of existance, she’s FINALLY allowed to just be happy without having to fight a giant monster first.

She’s finally made it, she’s hoped and she’s waited, for the first time in her life she dosen’t feel alone. Her hearts started to heal, to know this is real, this is how it feels.. to have a home. Yes I haven’t given up on that song. And if you think this is the last time i’m going to quote a song you clearly didn’t read the review I did of the next episode.

The Phantom and the Sorceress:

Season 3′s primary focus outside of the FOWL plot was tying up loose ends. Pretty much every major recurring episode outside of Fethry got an episode tying up their character arc and of course Lena was no exception.

You’d think with Magica no longer a threat to her and having fully accepted she’s a good person now, and having found a place to belong that Lena was done. But while she accepted her past, that she’s not magica, and that she deserves to be happy.. she never accepted Magic as part of her despite being made of it and that’s what this episode ties up as well as the mystery of the blue aura that surronded her magic at times.

The episode starts with Lena’s amulet, which she has back now which is the only part of this episode I don’t like as they don’t really explain why she’d take it back from Violet. But her magic keeps goofing up and making Sleepovers dangerous, and gets Scrooge grousing about how magic is bad.. only to naturally backpedal when an angry Webby points out Lena is magic. He does amend things and genuinely apologize for it, having not meant her at all and not even thinking of her as part of his hatred of the stuff. It also shows why Lena likely didn’t take him up on his offer.. with her self loathing still going she probably thought he was just pitting her and would always resent her.. when really he just geninely did not care despite his overwhelming hate of magic. It worked out granted, she found a better fit for her family wise.

But Lena hates it too.. and while she hasn’t fully brought it up before it makes perfect sense: We saw how she viewed it as dangerous and not worth the risk to bring her back in Friendship Hates Magic and Magic has brought her nothing but pain, nearly killing her on several occasions, allowing magica to fuck with her head or directly control her and general putting the one person she cares about more than anyone in harms way. She hates what she is.. because it’s brought her nothing but pain and misery. She has ever reason to resent it..

Yet this episode is about forcing her to accept it.... to realize that Magic is part of who she is, and that it’s not inherently good or bad, it’s all about the intent of who uses it. Her last two uses of it were not made with any malice and in fact using it to pull her friends into her dreams allowed her to break free of Magica.

And it’s perfectly done by giving her a new enemy, something I REALLY wish tehy’d done with Fenton at some point, but get why it took this long with Lena: The Phantom Blot. The Phantom Blot, like many characters in this series is HEAVILY redone: he keeps the iconic look and threat level but instead of being an operatic supervillian, he’s an anti-villian with a link to magic he never really had before. He works with FOWL sure but it’s likely because unlike the rest of FOWL he actually agrees with Bradford’s goal for a less chaotic world and his desire to wipe out magic is perfectly in line with that.

He’s also given a backstory that perfectly parallels him with Lena: Both were created by Magica in a way and horribly abused by her: Lena mentally and phsycially, and Blot by having to suffer under her rule after he took over her family and then barely survivie as she wiped out his villiage, his family and his normal life swearing vengance on her. LIke Lena magica didn’t care about him or see him as a threat, figuring like most people who swore eteneral vengance on her he’d get swatted down like a gnat once and never return. INstead he returned again and again and again for decades, learning each time getting stronger and wiping out more magic along the way. He went from what was probably a good normal person to a vengeful vigliante dedicated to wiping out magic good or bad because he can’t concieve that it isn’t ALL bad. He’s easily what Lena could’ve become if , ironically enough she hadn’t encountered him, seeing the end result of hating something just for what it is as it tried to murder her. That hating and resenting Magic would just lead her to become as hollow and vengful as the blot, having a good cause to start.. but slowly loosing yourself to hate and anger. Letting the person who ruined your life still control it simply by focusing all your energy on hating them and people like them.

It also gives us an interesting and painful teamup as with the boys and Scrogoe stuck in another dimension, there’s only one person they can turn to deal with Magic: Magica herself, whose resulted to depression eating pizza and the most she can do as a threat is eat the garlic Violet was wearing in case of vampires (”There now your susceptible to vampires!” is easily the best joke of the episode, from how Magica eats the garlic in one bite to her manical laugh to Violet just being annoyed rather than terrified or anything). Magica only agrees because they have a common enemy and if he sucks up her magic amulet, that’s the end of any magic she has left.

It’s also here we learn the reason for the blue and purple color coding: Duckworld magic is indeed color coded.. but rather than be based ont he emotions used or anything.. it’s based on the user. The purple is Magica, and as we later learn Poe’s, magic, and thus Lena borrowing it via the amulet. The Blue is HER magic. Tapping into her emotions and her own inante power. It’s a nice twist I didn’t see coming but makes absolute sense in hindsight: Every time she’s triggered it.. it’s been when she’s been using her own emotions and been doing thigns for her own good, and not for anyone elses. It also explains why the Magica powers aren’t working for her or stable: their not HERS to control and thus are fighting her.

So she trains to use her own using the time honorted traditions of montages and having your sibling shoot things at you out of a magical amulet. She grows in her talent and power and herself, even if she learns from the person she hates more and comes to accept magic.. in time to fight the Blot who misguidedly thinks harming her will show Magica the pain he felt.. even though as we learn later that ship already sailed and we already knew she cares nothing for Lena.

But as he drains her amulet... she focuses on what she cares about... and if we didn’t already ahvea MOUNTAIN of subtext for webby and lena her “frienddship” montage has maybe one or two shots of her sister.. and about 80 of webby. Seriously they.. they weren’t even hiding it at this poitn outside of the finale, which we’ll get to.

And so she takes hold of her magic, no longer need the amulet to channel it and taking on her super mode! Which was highly contreversal at the time. BUt I get why. As a transformation, ala dragon ball, and a superhero type costume it works, giving her a power and grandeur not seen before and showing she’s using all of it, giving weight to when it only shows up in the finale when she needs it most and likely would’ve given it weight any other time it showed up. But it wasn’t clear if this was her permenant look now and Frank’s response to it was to say he wanted to dress everyone up in that outfit , at the same size Lena has it, including launchpad wearing it like a cape. Which while hilarious and it was, was also blatant trolling as her return in Split Sword showed it wasn’t her default form, and they could relax. But as a form showing the apex of her power, character development and confidence, it works and has all the drama i’d expect from a form like this, reflecting the blot’s power back onto him and overloading the gauntlet and facing down Magica easily.

It’s the perfect way to cap things off... Lena finally acccepts herslef as she is fully: she’s not evil and neither is magic.. magic is a part of her and her power is not something to hate.. but to embrace. To use to protect the world from people LIKE Magica who would misue their power to harm others or the blot who belivie her power is inherently evil. This is a lena freed from the chains of self hatred, fully accepted. It turns her story into a wonderful, beautiful story of escaping abuse and accepting yourself as who you are, that no matter what you are or where you come from, you are beautiful, you are good and you can do good. And as she flies off with her sister and girlfriend, she’s finally, fully, truly at peace with who she was who she is now and flies into the future.. and to free her girlfirends dad from another dimension. Nothing is holding her back now, no one can push her around, she’s who she wants to be, she’s the master of her, and the thoughts enough to lift her off of the ground. She and Webby are independent together and they are flying. And yes i’m linking the song again.

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But even with her character Arc Wrapped she still could support others in their own growth. Case in point:

The Split Sword of Swanstantine!

This was the vingette episode, with a pair of the kids, one from Team Magic the other from the Duck Boys, going after a piece. And while Violet’s segment is neat it dosent’ really expand on her enough for me to go into it like I did with Challenge, so i’ll only be covering the cold open and Lena and Huey’s segment. Given these two are some of my faviorites, Lena hasn’t really gotten to have any meaningful interactoins with anyone besides Webby, Violet and Magica (And scrooge but for like.. two minutes), and this bit is really creative and intresting I loved it. It also has Steelbeak so I got a nice Jason Mantzokus fix on top of that despite him barely getting to speak in this one.. and really all season. Season 3 REALLY wasted Steelbeak, only using him three times and just ignoring the whole idea of him growing more compitent with time. Maybe Frank’s saving that for darkwing duck if he gets to do that I dunno. At least Invincible and Close Enough are using the man properly so I got that.

THe setup to the episode as a whole is comedic gold: Scrooge has taken the kids to Monocrow to find the split sword, one of the missing mysteries before FOWl.. only to then realizze in one of the best jokes of the season, after HOURS of plane travel probably that Violet and Lena had also come along having slept over and thus spending the episode in their sleep clothes. As Violet puts it in LIebe’s best delivery of the series “You said eveyrone get on the plane so we got on the plane”. So, fricking relatable. Scrooge’s awkard “Do you.. like history?” is also great, David is a treasure, as if he’s just now realizing he really dosen’t know Webby’s closest friend and girlfriend and is scrambling for some common ground so he can stop talking. 1/2′s good enough and we’re off.

Lena and Huey’s plot, the final one of the three, likewise has a simple setup: Huey finds the sword piece.. and also Steelbeak, whose ready to punch him some children. Lena freezes time as she can do that but can’t delay the inveitble, just give them time to plan.

And this is a nice showcase for Huey and a nice chance for Lena to be snarky as Huey wants to try anything and everything he can do that dosen’t involve fighting as he hates it and Lena endulges him as he gets tossed around, playing on her phone while he tries dumb scheme after dumb scheme from prtending to be his dad, to his inner child, to construction to offering him a snack, to “what sword piece” while hodling the sword blade twice his side behind his back.

Lena eventually calls him on it: He can’t keep avoiding this and there’s some reason he dosen’t want to fight. The reason turns out to be he bruce bannered himself and thus has a split personality for all his agression and primal rage, the duke of making a mess, Huey’s version fo the McDuck family anger he’s buried away and is ashamed of, hating his more impuslive emotions due to his desire for control.

As for how Lena impacts this.. it’s her own acceptance of the part of her she hated, her magic, that gives her the clarity to help Huey, helping him realize like her this shit isn’t healthy and to make peace with the Duke instead of fighting him and locking him away. The result is a perfect combo: a huey with all the power and strength of a mcduck, but the nuance and tactics Huey normally has to beat Steelbeak easily. Lena is impressed, a friendship is forged and we see how far sh’es come: from hating herself.. to helping others stop doing it before it gets worse.

How Santa Stole Christmas!

All we really learn here is that she and Violet share a room and a king sized bed.. but we got that cheek smooch and I had to mention that so there you go.

The Last Adventure!:

Like most of the main cast Lena gets a decent note to go out on, if a bit wobbly. The wobblyiness comes from two sources. The first is just a nitpick of mine; We don’t get to see the climax of her fight with the Blot alongside Manny. No really. The Blot got two spotlight episodes, his own sidekick/wife/amy sedaris, and was built up as one of FOWL’s biggest threats.. and his defeat isn’t even shown on screen for some damn reason. I feel they just ran out of time but given how important Lena and Manny were series wide and how awesome the keith david reveal was, it’s a cop out

Speaking of Cop Outs we can’t talk about this episode without talknig about the elephant in the room: Lena saying Webby “already has two sisters”, seemingly shooting down any posiblity of Weblena. I do not see it that way but do feel the two could’ve phrased it better and we could’ve gotten SOME Weblena by the end instead of none to offset this. I feel Lena’s motivations, esecpailly given the context were purely to try and placate Webby to keep her from investigating the twins further and endangering herself, not realizing how badly this wouldn’t work as Lena’s never cared about where she comes from and her past is all pain and abuse before Webby, while Webby had this gnawing at her her whole life. I do think the last episode was the WORST POSSIBLE place to put this, as it comes off as queerbaiting evne though I don’t think that was the intent. So yeah this line sucks and was poorly conveyed.

Everything else though is thankfully excellent: Her raging frekaout at June feels warranted, as June is literally trying to cut Webby out of her life and was purposffully trying to galight webby as we find out. Her and Violet’s reason for going is also just pure awesome, pure heartwarming and pure badass, both angrily and simply proclaming when stating why their going on the final attack no fowl “It’s Webby”. Webby helped Lena become a better person and lnvoes her more than anyone else and vice versa and Webby gave Violet Friends, a sister and a life of her own. Nothings going to stop them and Scrogoe wisely backed down on that one before they strangled him.

Her final scene is the best though: Not only do she and Violet give May and June friendship braclets but despite the earlier hostlitlity... Lena helps them with not a second though. She now understands them, gets that their like her: a being made by an evil dickhead who saw them as a tool to use and not a person and was willing to kill them the moment they were no longer useful. She too was once lost, sad and felt alone..but Webby pulled her out of that and now she’s going to be there for these two, these alterante versions of the love of her life, to give them the same support and encourages them they’ll find their home. And sure enough my boy comes by not a second later to adopt both of them. In an instnat they’ve gone from alone with only webby like Lena was.. to having a family of their own and loyal friends to stay by their sid.e

And so Lena ends the series charing off into the wild blue with her sister and her newfound friends, the future all ahead of her, the past finally put to bed, and herself finally at peace, in love with Webby.. and with herself at long last.

This retrospective was a wonderful time. I throughly enjoyed going through Lena’s history and being more and more impressed how much I’d missed and how it was even BETTER the second time around. This arc is Ducktales at it’s best and Lena is the finest thing they acomplished. This is easily Kimiko Glenn’s best role and really let her show off her range. Hopefully this isn’t the last we’ll see of this wonderful lesbian shadow, but as it stands with peace, love and self worth found, it’s still a good place to leave her. If she ever returns i’ll of course pick this up again, and free of charge but for now I enjoyed the ride and throughly enjoyed this retrospective. T

Thank you all so much for reading. If you liked this retrospective, please stick around. My next comissioned story arc is covering the various crossovers Lilo and Stitch did, but after that in three weeks return here for Season 2. All three arcs, All done intermidtley. Buckle up.

Until then follow for more, and join my patreon. My next stretch goal is monthly reviews of darkwing duck and reviews of the super ducktales mini series, and after finsihing this post i’m going to throw in some extra non-duck ones! 25 is being changed up from covering Tailspin every month, to covering a Danny Phantom episode every month, and the beloved special ultimate enemy. So check that out. I may throw in some more on both 20 and 25 so stay posted. And just for joining at the 2 dollar tier you get acess to my discord server and get to pick one of the shorts for my varoius shortstaculars I do. Next one up is goofy’s birthday with Donalds in june so join now!

ANd if you just have one speciifc episode I haven’t covered you’d like me to, those are 5 bucks a pop on commission and available via my ask box, direct messages on here or discord at technicolormuk#6550 and until the next rainbow i’ts been a pleasure

#ducktales #weblena #lena sabrewing #webby vanderquck #violet sabrewing #shadow into light #the phantom and the sorceress #the split sword of swantatantine #challenge of the junior senior woodchucks #scrooge mcduck #huey duck #may duck #june duck #manny the headless manhorse

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higuchimon · 4 years ago

Text

[fanfic] The Perfect Home

Yubel wasn’t just in Juudai’s soul. He gently slid their three cards into his deck. He would have to figure out new combos with them but that would take time. If anyone had ever asked, however, he would have truthfully said that he didn’t care if Yubel didn’t work with his deck. He never wanted to be separate from them again.

Yubel’s touch caressed against the side of his neck and he leaned towards it. Yubel didn’t have to appear for him to be aware of their presence. Said presence was there at all times, and he breathed in deeply, luxuriating in the sense of being whole.

He’d never thought that he missed a part of himself until Yubel was there to fill the hole.

“Everything all right?” Juudai murmured. Yubel nodded slightly.

“Your deck is interesting,” they replied. Their other hand caressed something that he couldn’t see. “It has been some time since I saw these.”

Juudai tilted his head and tried to see what they meant. “The Elemental Heroes?” He didn’t think Yubel meant the Neo-Spacians. They’d only been available to be seen during their duels.

“Yes. You don’t remember?” A bit of a smile touched on their lips. “Of course you don’t.”

“Remember what?” Juudai knew things from his past life. He knew that he loved Yubel and that the love hadn’t changed in all the time between then and now. Most of what he remembered involved time with Yubel. But if he tried very hard, there were faint images that he wasn’t even sure existed as more than just fancies…

Yubel chuckled. “Our realm was Kuragari. What you now call monster spirits were just – people there. And you, my beloved prince, had a bodyguard. Those were the Elemental Heroes.

He blinked a few times, then turned to take a long look at the Heroes, whose spirits stood in a clump not that far away, watching as silently as the Neo-Spacians did. He wasn’t sure if they were comfortable here in Neo-Space, but they were there all the same.

“We were,” Featherman agreed. “It’s been a very long time since then. I’d almost forgotten.”

Sparkman shrugged. “I thought there was something special about you but I wasn’t certain. But you are the Prince that we guarded so very long ago. Now that Yubel’s a part of the deck, we remember it too.”

Burst Lady crossed her arms. “What took you so long to get back here? Juudai’s missed you!”

“It wasn't my idea,” Yubel replied calmly. “I would have returned much sooner if I had my way about it.”

Juudai rested a hand on Yubel. “It’s okay. We’re together now.” He didn’t want any part of his deck – his friends – to ever be at war with another part.

Burst Lady didn’t look as if she were too thrilled about this at all but she didn’t argue the point. Juudai smiled, a little tired after everything. He didn’t know how long they’d been here in Neo-Space since he and Yubel’s souls fused, but everything jut seemed so far away and long ago. He knew he needed to get back to Duel Academia eventually, but not now. Not until he’d rested.

But first he needed to do something. He’d not done this for the Neo-Spacians, mostly because he hadn’t known he could. He’d been too eager to get back to school and have that rematch against Edo. Now was different.

Now he turned to all of his deck, and gestured to Yubel. “This is Yubel. They’re the one that I love. I fused my soul to theirs, so they’re going to be with me forever. And they’re going to be joining the deck.” He tilted hi head. “Yubel, do your other forms – do they-”

“I am them and they are me,” Yubel told him. “I merely change how I present myself. One spirit for all three.”

Juudai nodded, before he gestured to the Elemental Heroes and Neo-Spacians. “This is my deck.” It didn’t matter that some of them seemed to know Yubel already. That wasn’t the point. “We’re all friends here.”

Yubel crossed their arms over their chest and regarded all of them. Juudai wasn’t going to force any of them to talk to each other. He just wanted everyone to know that Yubel was there to stay, ad for Yubel to know that they were his friends too.

“Welcome to the deck,” Necro Darkman said, taking a step forward. He bent his head formally towards them. “We have seen what you can do and it is most impressive.”

“Juudai’s deck is a great place to be!” Hero Kid – one of them - chirped up. “I wouldn’t want to be in anyone else’s deck!”

Yubel’s expression softened just the smallest bit. The other Elemental Heroes slowly greeted her, as did the spirits that weren’t part of either side of the deck. After that, the Neo-Spacians added their greetings and welcome. Finally, Neos stepped forward.

“Welcome,” the blank-faced warrior intoned formally. He’d been on the field when Juudai made the decision to fuse himself and Yubel; Juudai wondered if he understood why. Maybe he’d ask when he got the chance. But he didn’t seem to object, whether he knew or not. “We are pleased to see that the Light’s been driven out of you.”

Juudai could feel a wince that washed through Yubel at that, and how many memories just the mention of the Light called up. He wasn’t too fond of it himself. But Yubel’s reply betrayed none of that.

“Juudai’s soul is where I’ve always belonged. The Light – and nothing else – will not harm him while I am here. And I will always be here.”

Juudai slid his arms around Yubel; their wings and arms folded around him. He thought he remembered times when Yubel took him flying. Perhaps they’d end up doing that again. But for right now, he remained content to have Yubel there, in his deck and in his soul and in his heart.

The End

Notes: From December 21 to December 27 I’m running Soulshipping Week on Tumblr. Very much looking forward to it! I hope you enjoy it too!

Also, the Gem Beasts were sorta there but taking a nap or something. I headcanon that being in Neo-Space isn’t easy for any being that isn’t either a Neo-Spacian or connected to Juudai’s deck and the Gem Beasts were just visiting the deck, not a permanent part of it.

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #ygo gx #yubel #yuuki juudai #yubel x juudai #juudai x yubel #soulshipping

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jcmorrigan · 4 years ago

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blakeworther- I personally I love your hc’s so much- any au’s or anything ya got for them? I really wanna know more about what goes on.

This was once again a BAD QUESTION TO ASK

Aside from the Skyward Sword AU, which I never went back to again, there’s only one AU that I like for Blakeworther, which is the AU that I like for everything ever. I’m not even sure I consider it a true AU, even though it absolutely is. So, okay, I have this thing called the WHAM ARMY, which is a massive crossover group of my favorite villains (led by the eight who make up the acronym but this ain’t about them). Obviously, because Victor, Vincent, and Albert are all pretty firmly villains (even if they lean “those weird morally bereft people we end up being friends with somehow”), I want them to join the WHAM ARMY. So my thoughts for them here are pretty much how they’d react in a multicrossover setting, which of my other villain loves they’d get along with, and what the intro arc is for them. Keep in mind I haven’t gotten here in the fanfic yet, so some of this could change in practice, but here are my plans right now.

Cringe ahead.

-They aren’t the originals. I want to make something that doesn’t trip over canon’s current trajectory, even though I don’t know exactly where canon is going, so what happens is that Vexen (Kingdom Hearts) is going to rebuild the three of them as replicas, since he can easily find memory cores for Victor and Vincent in Myers’ storage rooms and there’s just going to be an Albert core there for no reason.

-Vexen then pulls some Chain of Memories magic and restricts the memories they have access to. They will only remember things we have literally seen in VTSOM/TWDAK, and then I can have him release more of their memory banks to them as we get more chapters. (Even if they all three get redemption arcs, my replica versions can stay little shits!)

-He DOES NOT tell them that they’re not the originals! For all they know, they fell asleep at the last day they remember and woke up here. But they figure it out on their own despite his best efforts. They still want to get their memories back anyway so they know what the people they were replicated from were like and have a framework to build their personalities from.

-Yes, of course they’re cyborgs! Cyborg replicas. Since they’re operating by KH rules, they prooooobably don’t need to eat human meat? But also I like when villains do fucked-up things and I have jokes about the others packaging “cyborg chow” to embarrass them so maybe they still do engage in a little cannibalism, as a treat

-Each was engineered with a different specialty. Vincent’s is raw physical strength; he can walk into a gunfight without even needing a weapon and still have a chance of winning. Victor’s arms have been upgraded to hold a variety of cannons; he’s the team sniper. Albert is the team “mage”; he can conjure Dream Eaters. In this AU, TWDAK Dream Eaters and KH Dream Eaters are basically the same thing. Albert has mastered a strange art of being able to draw Dream Pieces out of the Realm of Sleep and implant them in physical forms of creatures in the waking world, creating his army. They look like they do because he hates the pastel aesthetic of KH Dream Eaters and redesigned his personal ones to look more fitting with his aesthetic. He’s also a speedster.

-The intro mission involves Vexen attempting to track down a newly-rebuilt Xion (this AU is divergent from KHIII) in Radiant Garden so he can bring her back under his control with some brainwashing. I’m also bringing in the Tsviets as past experiments of Vexen’s, so he’s basically pitting his newer models of experiment against his old ones.

-The party he already has built by this point is going to be Demyx, Simon Laurent (Infinity Train), Tsumugi Shirogane (DanganRonpa), skekSil (The Dark Crystal), and a couple other people I haven’t hinted at instory yet and don’t quite want to spoil. But Simon, Tsumugi, and skekSil will all also be Vexen’s creations - Simon and skekSil are replicas and Tsumugi is an android.

-Vincent, Victor, and Albert wake up for the first time, and while Vincent and Victor remember each other as friends, they’re just like “And why is our nemesis from RMU also here?”

-Albert probably fights with Vincent for dominance of the trio and I’m not sure which one of them is the trio leader at this point.

-I moved Nine Bean Hill from World of Final Fantasy to Radiant Garden because Radiant Garden needs a coffee shop and first of all, thanks to Hunger Games Simulator fuckery, my friends and I have an in-joke about Vincent Edgeworth having an eternal grudge against Dunkacino, so I’m going to use the coffee shop to reference this somehow without having to put actual Corporate Brainwashed Al Pacino in this ‘verse

-But also I like to think Lann and Reynn play a lot of bubblegum pop, so catch Victor and Albert dancing to the PA like idiots and then getting Demyx, skekSil, and Simon in on it while Vincent and Vexen are like “Oh God why are these our friends”

-(There are reasons this particular Demyx goes by a different name instory and it’s weirding me out to type “Demyx” for this post)

-Without spoiling too much of the arc, there IS a part where Blakeworther beats up the Tsviets, there IS a part where they battle the Anima summon from FFX and win, and there IS a part where despite all of this, Xion kicks their asses across the city

-They go through this mission seeing each other as partners and friends (though Vincent and Albert are reluctant to use the “friend” word at first), but after they all get back to base, they’re just...suddenly overwhelmed with the fact that they’re strangers in a strange land missing half their memories.

-They room together, and they end up crawling into the same bed for solidarity reasons. This is actually where I first envisioned the “rough day” sleeping position - Vincent and Victor are chest-to-chest, then Albert just snuggles in behind Victor and the other two are like “Okay, we’re gonna just let this happen” and Vincent and Albert touch at one tangent point where their arms cross.

-The days might get a little rougher after they realize they aren’t even the originals.

-Eventually they assimilate into the chaos house with no problem.

-Vincent tends to hang out with the party poopers of the house. Especially Mozenrath (Aladdin: The Animated Series). (P.S. If there are any VTSOM fans out there who also know the 90s Aladdin TV series...I CAN’T be the only one who noticed the surface similarities here, right?)

-Victor Blake and Roman Torchwick (RWBY). Oh, God, this is the hell duo. They’re party animals who love to dance and drink and dance drunk. It was not a good idea to let these two redheads meet.

-Albert and Neopolitan (RWBY)! They both love stabbing people and Victorian button boots! I actually kinda have this idea that they would pick up more fucked-up serial killer types to hang out with them - Mad Madam Mim (The Sword in the Stone) is their patron despite being a much tamer example, but Albert also decides he really likes Scaramouche (Samurai Jack), Junko Enoshima (DanganRonpa), and Jerome Valeska (Gotham).

-For a real deep cut, Albert also opens up a joint Dream Therapy office with Dr. Cheshire Broach (Crypt TV). It’s either called “Krueger & Broach” or “Broach & Krueger” depending on how long it takes either to notice that the other moved his name to the front of the sign again. You should ABSOLUTELY not trust either of these men to give you legitimate therapy (though if you’re good friends with them, they can and will use their dreamon powers to help you best your nightmares in a bloody fashion).

-Actually this ‘verse is the entire reason I thought of them doing drag karaoke to “United We Stand” by Amberian Dawn because the WHAM ARMY is all about karaoke, drag, and any combination of the two

-I haven’t decided yet if their romance will be a slow burn or a faster affair. I’m expecting them to tell me as I write out the fic. But I think in a lot of respects, it’s going to be more of a friends-to-lovers story than their original forms had. The three of them are forced to become an elite cyborg warrior unit created by the same mad scientist, they had a big bonding mission together where they became ride or die (whether or not they want to admit it), and eventually...we can start revealing that they’re CATCHING FEELINGS.

-The WHAM ARMY has many, many power couples and ships of various numbers of people but Blakeworther ends up becoming yet another POWER THROUPLE around base, and it’s understood that messing with one of them will earn the wrath of the other two

-They go on to assist in many, many missions with the purpose of taking over various worlds and kingdoms and just fucking them up

-Vincent Edgeworth will kill the TBTC equivalent of Dunkacino

You have to understand that TBTC is my hyperfixation to end all hyperfixations. Every piece of fiction I touch ends up related to it in some way. At some point the majority of how I interact with Blakeworther is going to be through this AU. I’m just a sucker for crossovers and villains having a place to be bros and party.

#vincent edgeworth #victor blake #albert krueger #blakeworther #friendly reminder that i do also take headcanon requests about the wham army!#just saying!#ASK ME ABOUT MY CROSSOVER UNIVERSE!

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nadiaportia · 4 years ago

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Tarántula

Summary: The new Devil receives a visit from someone from a life that feels like it ended an eternity ago.

Word count: ~4,5k

Because I am a sucker for the reversed routes, of course Lucio’s reversed ending gave me fuel to write down something that could happen at the end of my (still-ongoing) route rewrite. As if this part of a reversed route, it will featured a Devil!MC so if that’s not up your alley, keep on scrolling.

To all others, enjoy 💓

The Devil, or rather the part of the Devil deep down that was still Ximena Rubalcaba y Saavedra, felt the presence of a familiar spirit before being alerted by one of the Wayward Souls of a foreign - a human - soul in its mistress’ realm.

She turned her attention from her pondering on how to proceed with the Prakran resistance led by former Countess, now again Princess, Nadia Satrinava and her sisters when she remembered a face, slender, unblemished light brown skin, a charming smile with impeccable white teeth, shimmering dark eyes, framed by wavy dark reddish-brown hair.

An impulse was sent to her from the guardian of her Gate.

Step aside, sentinel. Let our guest enter.

As you desire, Mistress.

It didn’t take much for the sound of footsteps to echo through the corridors of the otherwise silent Devil’s Castle, where no mortal soul but one dared to walk through.

The clicking of heels on the floor came closer and when the door to the throne room opened, a slender figure entered, dressed in a red so dark a human would have probably mistaken it for black. Silver adorned their neck and shoulders and they took a good look at their surroundings before slowly walking closer to the throne.

“I don’t know what I expected… but it wasn’t this.”

It has been a very long time, or at least felt like one, since she last heard someone speak Calpacian, even as it was the lingua franca of the West, few of its native speakers travelled far these days and those that did were of too little importance to be worth watching.

“What are you doing here?”

Heloisa de Rubalcaba stopped as if it was the first time she had heard the voice; in a certain way, it had to be a novelty to her. Lucio had told the Devil that her voice sounded different than before - back when she had only been a weak and feeble mortal. Now it was steely, sharp and commanding. It wasn’t the voice of someone who could simply be disobeyed.

The glint in her visitor’s brown eyes was something that recalled vague emotions, of evenings spent in houses made of glass, of drinking wine in silver halls and sharp jokes at the expense of the unfortunate souls that hadn’t earned any respect yet.

“Is visiting my little sister a crime these days? Are these the rules of the Vesuvian Empire or of the Devil’s Realm?”

“Answer my question.”

The Devil observed Heloisa with a cool gaze.

She hadn’t changed much in the last three years since the Devil had last seen her, age barely left a mark on her as the years - or what was more likely, she was just exceptionally good at hiding it. Upon looking closely the crow’s feet around her eyes had spread a little further, and the lines on her face were concealed well… but not well enough for the Devil’s eyes.

The Devil didn’t age; she still looked exactly the same as she did on the day the mortal that was before had been so very close to dying, had it not been for the Cold Heart that was now beating in her chest.

There had been some modifications on her, yes, such as the grey patches of her hair that had turned a stark white and the light grey streaks were among her black curls. Then there were the cloven hooves, the horns that were now spouting from her head and what was surprisingly enough the most unsettling: the golden eyes with a black sclera.

After some time of getting used to it the part of her that still clung onto her humanity as fiercely as a frightened child to its mother had accepted the changes as something natural that couldn’t be reversed anymore.

“It is very much the truth. How could I possibly have ulterior motives than simply stopping by for a simple ‘Hello’.”

“I mustn’t remind you how our last encounter ended.”

Heloisa pursed her lips.

“And here I thought your ascension to godhood would make you any less prone to bearing grudges! Some things never change. If you want an apology from me, you can have it, but I’m genuinely surprised to see you still care about that little stunt. After all, shouldn’t you be long above that? Above all mortal affairs from back then?”

The Devil gave her a bored look and put her arms on the rests to each side of her throne.

“You’re correct - I don’t have it within me to care about the past. Who showed you the way to my realm?”

Heloisa stepped closer, pretending to casually watch her long nails as she did so.

“A little bird came to me and chirped in front of my window, of ways to enter the magical realms. Now, that little bird had less than good intentions and probably believes I won’t return from my journey, but I intend on disappointing them. If they wouldn’t be a cold-hearted bastard who cares for none other than themselves, one might say they resent you for turning their relatively laissez-faire boss into minced goat meat.”

“Valdemar. A surprise that one such as you who prides herself on her cunning, would make a deal with a Demon.” There was a hint of amusement in the Devil’s voice. Heloisa scoffed.

“Oh please, of course I didn’t. They gave me what I wanted for free; it wouldn’t surprise me if they’re lurking somewhere here and hoping for some chaos to be unleashed.”

“Surely not. I would’ve noticed a presence like that once it enters my borders.”

Heloisa grinned. “Running a tight ship I see. I have a lot of respect for that. You really turned that shithole Vesuvia into a respectable city-state, even Nadia couldn’t accomplish this.” She paused. “Talking about Vesuvia… where’s whatshisname? Y’know, your guy… your personal warmonger? Plaything? Roué?”

“My husband is—” The Devil began but Heloisa broke into roaring laughter that pearled off the walls and rang through her ears.

She had never liked that laugh a lot but now she felt as if it had desecrated something in her Castle.

“Your husband?” She said in between laughs. “Oh, you have got to be joking! Really, him? And you guys had a ceremony here? Who were your witnesses, the sentinel that led me to the castle?” She wiped a non-existent tear from the corner of her eye but was still grinning broadly. “Oh, how I wish you were lying but I can tell by your face it’s the sad truth. Well, not a surprise but still unwelcome.”

The Devil drummed onto the armrest of her throne with her long dark clawed fingers. Her voice was so sharp it could’ve cut through marble and she had an unamused quirk in her brow.

“...As I was saying, my husband is currently in Firent negotiating with the Papess about her terms of surrender. After that he will return to Prakra to finish this senseless siege. And his name is Lucio — treat him with the respect deserving of a powerful monarch.”

Heloisa scoffed. “What do you want to do, force me to like him?”

“Remember, you are only a guest because I’m allowing it.”

For a few heartbeats there was silence in the throne room. Then Heloisa clapped her hands.

“Anyway, my most earnest congratulations. I hope he makes you happy in whichever way, assuming you still are capable of such mortal emotions,” She shook her head, still smiling. “For fuck’s sake, first Bela, now you, I really am the eternal bachelorette among us. I don’t understand the sentiment of wanting to tie yourself to a person, especially if that person is — just stating a fact here — not on your level. Y’know, Ippolita tried to convince me a couple of times, especially during my house arrest, that we could run off together, take a ship at the port, sailing away into the sunset and never look ba—”

“Don’t waste my time with your personal affairs.” She remembered Ippolita — a skilled warrior, loyal servant to Grand General Esmerelda Rubalcaba and the only one among Heloisa’s many lovers who had remained by her side after years, but their relationship never something out in the open; a high-born noble and a simple foreign commoner who survived in the pits by becoming an assassin was simply not the ideal relationship to be in for someone of Heloisa’s status. “You’re not here just to chat, so get to the point.”

Heloisa regarded the Devil of whom she still thought wholly as her sister and cleared her throat.

“Fine. Since you mentioned Prakra and I happen to have,”, the corners of her mouth twitched, “heard of the difficulties your, ah, ‘husband’ has with securing a victory over the Satrinavas and their remaining hosts… I have a proposal to make.”

The Devil leaned forward on steepled fingers. She had a suspicion as to where this could be going.

“Go on. I am listening.”

“Alright, so we know that dearest Nadia and her sisters are still holding the territory around and of the Star Lakes. The capital of Prakra not only is quite beautiful but also one of the strongest fortresses due to its location, which at the same time could become its undoing. But this isn’t about breaking through their defenses, with the Prakran Royal Fleet scourging the waters an attack from your troops is virtually impossible unless you happen to bring ships or heavy artillery with you… or are currently building them.”

The Devil scoffed in annoyance. Of course she knew why exactly the situation at the Star Lakes was so bothersome, easy on the surface, nasty underneath it.

Whenever Lucio returned from Prakra to her, he was particularly agitated and prone to irritation, at times ranting to her extensively about everything that was going wrong in this particular campaign.

Her own frustration came mostly from having actual trouble with getting past the magical and alchemical defenses, and she knew exactly why. The amount of times the Devil had cursed the name of Sayelle bint Zahir were too many to be counted at this point, and what stung even deeper that this came from someone who had been more than a simple ally to her in a previous life — a friend, maybe one of her best.

“It’s about breaking their spirits, their composure, y’know, engaging in a little bit of my preferred form of warfare: the psychological type,” Heloisa gave her a confident grin. “Your beau cannot get to the capital, but you need someone behind enemy lines who is able to get you insider knowledge or even,” her grin grew wider, “gain the Satrinavas’ trust.”

The Devil stared at Heloisa, then she chuckled. “Nadia will kill you on sight.”

It was a futile plan, soaked in Heloisa’s hubris and plagued by underestimating how smart the Satrinavas were, how powerful a magician Sayelle was, how united the Prakrans as a whole were in their opposition to the Vesuvians.

“No, she won’t. We have a history.”

“Yes, the history of you wanting to merge the mortal and magical realms so the Devil could help you with getting rid of Esmerelda. That is exactly why she would not hear you out.” The Devil’s lips curved into a deep frown. It was near certain suicide.

“I mean, yes, that obviously happened as well but it’s basically common knowledge that they’re sitting ducks and as such desperately in need of help. I have aided Nadia once already, back when the Plague was running amok through Vesuvia. Even when I was helping the previous Devil I told her I would put in a good word for her. She is aware of that and my immense dislike for Lucio,” she paused and sneered, “... who by all means is my brother-in-law and family now. By the way, do you want me to tell that to the others, or would you rather be the bearer of good news at some point?”

The Devil ignored the last statement and sighed deeply. “They would take any help that is offered to them, that’s what you think. Even if this helping hand is attached to your body.”

“Of course. I am known for my generosity after all, and of course for my lack of interest in war — you can thank me for building that reputation for the last fourteen years after you made everything go tits up.” Her tone was joking but the edge to it spoke differently. There was a fire smoldering deep within Heloisa, and the Devil made sure to not forget about its existence.

“Besides… I wasn't the Information Minister for nothing — I know what people respond most easily, and given their situation this will be more than easy pickings. Give me a handful of people who hand out flyers, have someone convince the Prakrans that if they surrender the bloodshed will stop, and you have basically won. ‘Thank you so much for your wisdom, Heloisa, most beloved of my sisters!’ ‘You’re more than welcome, Ximena.’”

The Devil didn’t reply like this. Instead she said, “I will stop the bloodshed as soon as Queen Nasrin surrenders. I wish to have Nafizah and especially Nadia as allies, not enemies. It is a shame indeed things came to be this way but there is a future for the Vesuvian-Prakran relations.”

Heloisa’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Even after you led an unprovoked war against them? I don’t mean to rain on that parade you have surely already planned all the way through, but if Nadia intends to fight until the very end… I don’t think a surrender is an option. Better to install a new Prakran ruler, one who is sympathetic to Vesuvia.”

The Devil considered her words and found herself agreeing with them begrudgingly. It was probably true; Nadia’s hatred for her, the perceived betrayal and the losses on her side weighed heavily but it was rather that she didn’t wish to take extreme measures against her. She was smart, politically adept, brave and a genuinely caring ruler - useful qualities to have in a human ally.

“No. Nadia will see reason, she has to.”

Heloisa rubbed her temples. “Do you want to her to adopt your way of seeing the world with a sword at her throat? Word of advice: that rarely works ever.”

The Devil scoffed.

“But if you have a better strategy of how to beat the Satrinavas, I am all ears. If you’re worried about my safety,”, she put a hand over her heart, “which I would consider quite heartwarming, I wouldn’t even need to go by myself but for the sake of authenticity, it’d be for the worst — but don’t worry,” Heloisa winked, “I know how to take care of myself.”

There was something about blood relations that had always dimmed her perceptiveness as a mortal; it worked well enough on people in general given they had a rudimentary knowledge in magic, could be difficult if the subject had enough magical affinity and was near impossible on trained magicians and of course on residents of the magical realms.

Now that she was more powerful, looking into the hearts and minds of the residents of the mortal realms came as easy to her as breathing came to them. That powerful magicians such as Sayelle or even Asra were able to hide themselves without great troubles was bothersome but barely a surprise.

But Heloisa, who was about as magically adept as a houseplant, was a complete blank slate to her — she could sense her life force, her aura fitting for someone with a strong personality and much subdued her feelings, but what really mattered to her, the notion of her true intentions… It was like standing in front of a polished mirror.

It was forcing her to act according to knowledge of their time as sisters… something she would’ve preferred to avoid completely.

The only person she allowed her humanity to resurface with was Lucio… and he was who he was.

“Hm. I will give the matter thought.” She leaned forwards. “Something tells me that this still isn’t all you’re here for.”

Heloisa let out a defeated dramatic sigh. “You caught me red-handed. That was only the first matter why I am here. Consider it an olive branch, a token of forgiveness and potential allyship between us, Ximenita.”

The nickname out of her mouth made the Devil frown. Not only was she the first human besides Lucio to laugh here but also the one to address her as… something so much lesser. He was allowed to do that, and no one else.

For a moment, the Devil considered reminding Heloisa who exactly she was talking to, but she halted before she acted rashly.

She had always been vindictive and resentful, never forgetting injury to her person of any sort. It would… be an easy way to let grievances fester, and at this very moment that was more than counterproductive.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Speak.”

“What are your plans for Calpacia, specifically? I wonder why the Army of the Vesuvian Empire isn’t already at our borders, demanding our surrender. Hjalle and Nevivon were the first to fall, then Zadith and Venterre and yet there are none of your men - because they are your men, I know that - are to be seen near Calpacia, or Karnassos for that matter because you know that if you attack Karnassos you will feel Calpacia’s wrath.”

Heloisa tilted her head and regarded her with an inquisitive look. The quirk in her eyebrow betrayed her though, it was meant to be a dig.

“Are you afraid of facing your past or simply too nostalgic to see us being destroyed?”

The Devil’s eyes widened but she bit down her fury. I have no reason to be scared of you.

“I do know that our magical defenses are strong, you know better than I how exactly the Guild worked but ever since it was overtaken by these zealots, the Court is counting themselves very lucky it is strong enough a pillar to not be swept to the side by them, in no small part due to our strengthening influence. If we weren’t there, you might have a very unpredictable enemy at your hands. But that doesn’t explain your lack of interest in us.”

Heloisa laughed, and the light sound pierced through the Devil’s ears.

“Unless all of this hard work is meant for us. Is that the case?”

The Devil raised herself from her throne and looked at Heloisa down her nose. She let her take a look at the new ruler of this realm and how much she has changed.

“You give yourself too much credit. My vision is greater than seeing Cartagenth together with its repulsive ruling body and the Zaan burn to the ground.”

“Do tell me though what exactly your vision consists of; uniting the entire world under your Vesuvian Empire so no one steps out of line ever? This reminds me of the plan someone once wanted to hatch, I can’t for the life of me remember who had that idea but I remember a certain young woman being so utterly displeased with that she preferred exile to being around her vicious family.”

Heloisa’s smile was more a baring of teeth now than anything else.

“Where is she now? Does she still have the moral high ground? Does she still feel like a good person who is so much better than her sisters?”

The Devil ground her teeth. She felt her face and ears heat up and could only hope that the red lighting of the throne room worked in her benefit.

“If I had known that one day you’d be exactly what you tried to oppose back then, I would’ve laughed right in your face and told you to get fucked,” she sneered and gave her a look of pure contempt. “You got some nerve to throw us, your family, to the wolves without a second thought, and not twelve years later you are doing the exact same shit you hated us for ever since. How does it feel, knowing that at the end of the day, you’re just like us?”

The Devil closed her eyes. She wouldn’t let herself be provoked by Heloisa, after all she was so very wrong with everything she was saying.

“All of this business with the previous Devil happened because the construction of the realms was fundamentally flawed. I intend on setting things right for once and all under one ruler so that it will not happen again. How I go about that is not of importance to you.”

“It sure as hell is, after all I have a place in this world as well!,” Heloisa exclaimed. In her agitation she stood only ten feet away from her, too close of the Devil’s liking.

“You replaced the Devil after allegedly saving the world from certain destruction and now that you settled, you decide to do just continue his work — except that you think of yourself in the right, as some sort of god-empress or whatever the fuck. But I will tell what you are: you’re just as rotten, self-serving and power-hungry as us,” She laughed, humourless and cold. “No, you’re even worse because you’re also a self-righteous hypocritical piece of shit. You might be even worse than Esmé.”

“Don’t you ever compare me to Esmé!”

The Devil’s voice cracked like a whip and rumbled louder than ever before. Her face was a furious grimace so terrifying Heloisa had to advert her eyes, eyes glowing, long hair billowing and floating around her, and feeling its mistress’ fury, the realm let lightning flash and thunder roar.

And yet, Heloisa did little more than keep her eyes shut, her face away from the demonstration of absolute arcane power and stand planted on the spot, her delicate hands balled into tight fists and her body trembling, either out of fury or fear.

The Devil took a deep breath through her nose, taking in the sulphur-stained air of her realm. As she continued breathing, her fury left her body and she felt the Cold Heart within her slow down its enraged pace.

“It’d be for the best if you leave right now. Don’t test my patience and don’t think of coming back. You’re not welcome in this Realm for as long as I have the say in here.”

Heloisa turned to look at the Devil, tears dwelling in her eyes and a very faint but visible enough drop of blood trailing out of her nose. She dabbed at it, grimaced at its sight and wiped it off with the back of her hand.

“Before I forcibly make you leave.”

“Give me two more minutes of your time; you haven’t listened to my actual proposal. Then I’m gone, unless you want me to come back afterwards.” She cleared her throat and tried to regain her composure.

There was nothing more the Devil wanted to do than throw her back into the mortal realms and hopefully into the deepest and darkest pit that could be found there. But she gave Heloisa de Rubalcaba a small nod. Two minutes, nothing more.

“I sympathize with your course of actions, I really do. If I were you, I personally would have rained fire, brimstone and bloody vengeance on Calpacia, everyone who had wronged me and especially Tía Esmé, both out of spite and to rid the world of her, and in the aftermath leave nothing behind but scorched and salted earth. But this is my nature, not yours. That’s why I’m giving you an alternative course of action.”

She hesitated but then approached the throne over the steps.

“I have many allies at the Court, I’m in the Zaan Saturnino’s favour, Cibela has been just a few steps away from open rebellion against Tía Esmé and to be frank, everyone is tired of the current situation. On paper you are disowned and exiled but in reality and despite everything, you are still Ximena de Rubalcaba, third in the line of succession of the title, and the Court knows that. There are people who would give you actual loyalty for who you are, not because they were forced to kiss the ring on a foreign conqueror’s hand.” With each step Heloisa seemed to gain confidence, until she stood just three feet in front of the throne.

Ximena had almost forgotten how small she was able to look.

“Let me be your agent in Cartagenth and I will give you our home as a gift of reconciliation and a token of my loyalty for you.”

She sighed. The Devil didn’t react, and was careful not to. This is a trick.

“What about the part of me being a ‘self-righteous hypocritical piece of shit’? Are these the words of a loyal vassal?”

Heloisa scoffed and a nervous smile played around her lips. “Of course not; they’re sisterly advice. If you can’t stomach honesty, then that’s your business. If you want to pay me back, come up with an insult on your own though.”

“Why reconciliation?”

Heloisa blinked at the question. “Because,” she began slowly. “I was hoping…” She fidgeted with her fingers, something she never did because a Rubalcaba never showed uncertainty to anyone.

“I thought it would be nice if there was a chance that we could be… sisters once again.”

Something within the Devil stirred and she frowned.

“That is a bridge burned a long time ago,” she stated quietly. It had been for the best, for her own best.

“It doesn’t need to. I can only imagine how lonely you are - because I have been too. Don’t you think I missed having you around? Someone in this pit of vipers that is Cartagenth I can trust in, not solely bound by blood but by genuine familial love and despite our differences.”

The Devil tried to find any hint of a lie in Heloisa’s eyes, eyes that looked so much like hers back when she was a mortal, and there was… nothing. No deception, no falsehoods, but a definite truth.

“I wish to help you, dearest Xime. I understand why you might seek havoc and destruction, the gods know that lashing out at this world and all its obstacles is something I have always done in my own way, but I want to make things easier for you. I know you wish to convince your enemies to become allies before anything and that waging a war of conquest is not your ideal vision… so I’m sparing you any guilt you might have over more shed blood that didn’t need to be spilled.”

She sighed. “I will be leaving for Prakra within the next few days, whether you want me to or not, with a small entourage. I will find a way to contact the Vesuvians or you once I am in the Satrinava castle.”

“I have not yet accepted your proposal.”

“Oh, I don’t need you to. Consider it a show of good faith.” She reached out, with her brows furrowed and gently touched her shoulder. The Devil remained where she was, showing no reaction to the first skin contact with another human who wasn’t her lover in years.

“Until then, sweet sister.” Heloisa leaned forwards, her perfume smelt of almond, bergamot, coffee and lemon. She pressed a gentle kiss on her cheek and the moment her soft lips made contact, it was as if a small shock of magic burned her skin.

She was the Devil and this burning fire within her that was the yearning for a humanity that had once been bothered her. It could make her vulnerable, allow others to deceive her.

It was not something she could allow to persist within her.

#the arcana #the arcana fanfiction #the arcana fan apprentice #the arcana writing #the arcana original character #ximena rubalcaba #heloisa de rubalcaba #i dont even know what to comment in the tags on all of this bc its SO MUCH but the most important thing is that heloisa is truly That Bitch #there is an epilogue floating around in my mind where lucio pops up after that final chapter and he and xime strategize #and come to the conclusion that theyll do this even tho all the little alarm bells in their heads are going off #but oh well it didnt fit in very well bc this is a sisterly professional girlboss VS vengeful ex mortal now deity moment

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an-unknown-writers-world · 5 years ago

Text

The Promise of Our Youth

Warnings: Angst, if you try really hard there is a bit of fluff?

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Characters: Loki; mentions of Frigga, Thor, Sif and Warriors Three

Word Count: 1649

A/N: Based on the Banners song Start A Riot- I don’t know what this is, honestly. It came out and I just kind of went with it.

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I will march down an empty street like a ship into the storm. No surrender, no retreat. I will tear down every wall, just to keep you warm, just to bring you home. I will burn this city down for a diamond in the dust. I will keep you safe and sound when there's no one left to trust. Will you take my hand? We can make our stand.

If your world falls apart, I'd start a riot. If night falls in your heart, I'd light the fire. In the dark, when you sound the alarm, we’ll find each other's arms. For your love, all you are I'd start a riot.

I will wade through the fire and smoke like sunlight through the haze. I will fight till the flag waves white until my dying days. Through the bombs and blasts. We will take it back

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“Penny for your thoughts?” A soft voice broke the silence.

You jumped.

“Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

With a half-hearted smile, you looked up at the man you’d grown so fond of. He stood dressed for the party, a black shirt, and peacoat with green accents and dark green pants tucked into his leather boots. His flawless alabaster skin glowing in the library lights; with enough imagination and the right angle, the reflection of the lights cast a halo in his jet-black hair.

“What are you doing here?” You asked harsher than you meant.

He scooped up your crossed ankles and sat down before laying them across his lap. “I was worried, Sif said you weren’t coming tonight; something about you not feeling well. That seems to be the case a lot lately.”

You nodded slowly; making a mental note to speak with her about the proper excuses for when you’re hiding from people.

“Talk to me,” He said running his fingertips slowly up and down your exposed ankles.

“There isn’t much for me to say, Loki,” You shrugged. “I’m just tired.”

“(Y/N),” He sighed, “I’ve known you our whole lives and can tell when you’re lying to me.”

You fidgeted with the book in your hands. It was an old book, the pages smelled beautifully aged, and were rough and crisp to the touch. You tried to focus on anything but the God currently holding your ankles; the thought of having him so close was agonizing.

Rumors had been flying through the palace that he was in love with a girl; although, no one knew who exactly she was. It wasn’t a secret to most of the royal family’s inner circle that you had been in love with the God of Mischief from a young age. It seemed like the only person it was a secret to was him.

Your mother had passed when you were a child, so you often found yourself with Frigga. They had been best friends before she passed; in many ways, Frigga was the closest thing you’d had to a mother in the last nine centuries. Since the rumors had started, you’d spent many days and even some nights with her, crying out your frustration and pain. Often Frigga would go back and forth between defending Loki claiming his ignorance and blaming him for being so oblivious to what was in front of him.

“Love,” Loki spoke softly breaking your trance.

Looking up at his brilliant blue orbs you smiled feebly.

“Where’d you go?” He asked.

You knew he wasn’t asking where you physically went at any time. He knew you weren’t mentally or emotionally present. The anger and pain you felt started to well up in your eyes, threatening to break free purely by being in his presence.

“Loki, can you please just let me be?” You asked.

“No, I can’t, and I won’t,” He huffed.

A moment of silence passed. You felt no obligation to fill it, you had come here to be alone while everyone else went to the party.

“Do you remember when we were children at your mother’s ceremony,”

“Loki,” you interrupted.

“Please,” he hushed.

You rolled your eyes knowing it was pointless to argue.

“You couldn’t watch, it scared you to see her in that condition.”

“I remember,” you whispered thinking back to the waterfall ceremony. The sight of her casket engulfed in flames as it hovered over the water.

“You buried your face in my chest and made me promise to always protect you, to comfort you and be here.”

“We were just children, Loki. I didn’t know what I was asking. I surely didn’t grasp how long we lived either. Always is a very long time.”

You felt a pang of guilt that he remember this promise and seemed to be clinging to it. His gaze was cast down to where his hands rested on your legs.

“I’ve never broken that promise. It’s been almost 900 years.” He spoke softly.

The wheels in your mind started to turn, feeling as if you knew where this conversation was headed. How could he keep this promise and love another?

“You are not bound to me.” You stated. “I will never hold you to a promise you made me in our youth.”

He sighed. “I remember when we were teenagers and your night terrors started, you were too afraid to tell your father and scared that Frigga would tell him if you shared with her,” a soft smile played on his lips as he reminisced. “I would sneak into your bed chambers and stay up the whole time you slept, promising to chase away any demons that came in the night.”

“Some of the most restful nights,” you smiled remembering. “Until Frigga caught you. To this day I don’t think she believes us.”

He laughed; it was a melodious sound.

“Your first heartbreak, I was there to pick up your pieces.” He stated. “Sif and Thor made me promise to not snap his neck.”

You laughed softly. “He probably would have deserved it.”

“How can I protect you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong?”

You sighed.

How do you tell the person who is trying to protect you that they are the problem?

You don’t.

“Please, just go to the party.” You begged. “Drop this, for both of our sakes.”

He sighed and cupped your check with his palm, adoration, and devotion evident in his gaze. You couldn’t help but lean into it, closing your eyes for the briefest moment.

Before he spoke again, he took his hand from your face and rested it back on your ankle.

“I would burn down the nine realms to protect you. But I can’t if you won’t be honest with me. Let me back in, please (Y/N). I am begging you.” His eyes were fierce with emotion. “You used to come to me, but now I feel as if I am one of the frost giants that so many fear.” He paused, searching your expression for some kind of acknowledgment. “For weeks you’ve become more and more distant. You can be with Thor and Sif and even those imbeciles they call Warriors Three and be fine, but the moment I enter the room you leave. Thor or Sif making an excuse for your abrupt departure. Even my mother has given me terrible explanations that no one would believe.”

You sat idly; he knew something was wrong so how could he not put things together? Surely, he had to know about the rumors.

“Is it me, love? Did I do something to harm you? Upset you someway?” He asked.

You could feel the tears escape your eyes; it broke your heart to see him this way. The thought of causing him the agony he was obviously in. And to think, he is in this state because he rightly fears your anger is directed at him.

“I don’t think it was intentional,” You finally spoke, turning your eyes down to your lap. “I thought they were just stupid jokes at first, but the more the rumors spread through the palace. I guess, I just.” You paused trying to collect the right words. “I thought I could get past it all better if I wasn’t around you.”

“What are you talking about?” He looked confused and almost angry.

“The way you smile every time you come into the room. The way that happiness is just seeping out of you; the thought that someone else is making you feel the way I had always tried. The pain it causes me is suffocating.”

A strangled breath caught in his throat.

It was the first time you acknowledged what was really bothering you. You were incredibly thankful that he was so happy and experiencing the love that he was worthy of but deprived of for so long. It was your own selfishness that was causing the pain you felt.

“I know that you cannot keep the promise you made me and love someone else. Please, Loki forget about the promise.”

His hands came to cover your own; your breath hitched in your throat. You could feel your heart shattering into a million pieces, that’s what he came for. To be released from the promise that he made.

“There is no one else,” He spoke softly, his eyes locking onto yours; “Only you. It’s always been you and will only ever be you.”

“But the rumor?” You asked.

“Someone overheard a piece of a conversation between our fathers and me.”

“My father?” I interrupted.

He smiled, “This was not how I planned and certainly far from the ideal condition for this conversation.”

“Loki,” You begged, “Please, I don’t understand.”

“(Y/N), I love you; I cannot think of a moment of my life that I have not. My hope is that you would be willing to spend the next several millennia with me.”

A tear streamed down your cheek, you felt silly and childish. Instead of asking him about the rumors, you chose to run and hide, causing you both unnecessary pain.

“My love,” He spoke again softly, his hand returning to cup your face.

“Yes,” You whispered, “Yes, I want to spend every moment of eternity with you.”

His thumb carefully wiped away the tear falling down your cheek before kissing you. His lips were soft and warm against yours; the salt of your tears could be tasted in the kiss.

Pulling away he rested his forehead to yours as you breathed each other’s air.

“I’m sorry for being so ridiculous,” you said softly.

He laughed and pulled back to look at you, “You did better than I would have,” He said honestly. “I probably would have started a war.”

This made you laugh, he wasn’t joking.

“I’ve missed that melody,” He smiled.

You rolled your eyes with a smile before kissing him again.

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Thank you for reading! If you liked it, you can find more here!

#loki x reader #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki imagine #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddelston imagine #angst #angst with a happy ending #marvel cinematic universe #fan fiction #fanfiction #An Unknown Writers World writes #An Unknown Writers World

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