#can you tell I’ve been trying to read knight terrors or what’s it called

[rising-lotus]

The Hunt, 3/2/22

Logs from a hunt based roleplaying event! Rising and crew travel to the Fringes, something has been terrorizing the people at night! They say it’s the spirit of a deceased magitech colossus named Bellator that caused a ruckus a few months back, but Rising isn’t so sure...

Rising Lotus stood waiting for the group, eyes straining to read a map as daylight was quickly fading. "Oh good." she looked up at the group as they approached, tucking the map away. "Was gettin' some more infor 'bout what we're after. Somehow I doubt it'd be the spirit of a machine, even if it is the one I'm thinkin' off..."

Augusta Aventurine gazes upon you in deep reflection.

Riylli Aliapoh: "I'd suggest makin' a visit to Stillglade Fane. The teachers there would be able to help you get through a mental block if that's your issue, and if not then they'd at least be able to tell you what the issue is! If theres anything good about Gridania it's that place."

Augusta Aventurine: "The flyer did say something about a machine... is it a leftover Garlean machina from the war?"

Reille Halleina: "It's probably just imperial desserters."

Zoronado Tatanado beams at Riylli Aliapoh.

Ziv Zorasch: "I've battled many spirits any many machines but never the spirit of a machine..."

Ziv Zorasch seems lost in thought.

Rising Lotus: "Well, the locals are sayin' it's the ghost of a magitech that caused a ruckus back there sometime back, which I can only assume they mean is Bellator." she crossed her arms. "But we know his remains were takin' away..an' if he did, or does have a spirit, I don't think he'd be hauntin' people, let alone killin' 'em in the night."

You draw your weapon before Augusta Aventurine.

Ziv Zorasch furrows his brow.

Augusta Aventurine ponders over you.

Zoronado Tatanado does a backflip.

Riylli Aliapoh: "Probably a voidsent, the Twelveswood is full of 'em. This may not be the forest proper, but I doubt they'd care"

Rising Lotus: "Stay on you're guard, we ain't know what we're up against. I'm assumin' some sort of broken garlean thing, but we'll see. We're headed southward, to some place called Dimworld. I've heard it's swampy so try to stay on the path."

Augusta Aventurine nods to you.

Ziv Zorasch made a sour expression at Rising's explanation, feeling the power welling up inside him as his emotions simmered. "A populace terrorized. Innocent lives lost. Say no more." He reached into the darkness of his heart and conjured a katana for protection.

Riylli Aliapoh: "I wonder if a voidsent can posess a Garlean mech... I cant think of a reason why they couldnt"

Rising Lotus: "They're in statues an' stuff, so maybe?"

Ziv Zorasch: "It wouldn't surprise me. Voidsent have a way of working their corruption into all sorts of things..."

Reille Halleina: "It could certainly pass as a body by voidsent qualifications."

Augusta Aventurine seems lost in thought.

Rising Lotus looks around the swampy area, a light fog hiding most of the broken woods. "...well this certainly looks like some place you'd find somethin' like that. Wonder what happened down here."

Augusta Aventurine: "I wonder what kind of voidsent could possess a magitech..."

Reille Halleina passes by Zoro and whispers "BOO!"

Zoronado Tatanado smirks confidently at Reille Halleina.

Zoronado Tatanado: "It'll take more than that to spook a Bulwark Knight!"

Riylli Aliapoh: "I love a good swamp... Hey, you guys wanna see something cool?" Riylli asks excitedly

Augusta Aventurine nods to Riylli Aliapoh.

Augusta Aventurine: "I do!"

Ziv Zorasch ponders over Riylli Aliapoh.

Zoronado Tatanado ponders over Riylli Aliapoh.

Reille Halleina feels like this might be a loaded question coming from Riylli. "Suuure."

Rising Lotus | While it was still dusk, the fog and trees of the Dimwood make it quite dark. "Hmm...should've brought some lanterns..." she glances to Riylli. " It might attract attention...so sure. Maybe you'll lure it out."

Riylli Aliapoh needs little encouragement to show off, so with Augusta's response she eagerly rushes to the side of the swamp and pulls out a shard of crystal from her pocket. Those familiar might recognize it as the golem core shard she uses to summon her familiar. Her ringbands begin to glow, and she tosses it into the swamp

Rising Lotus: "The locals say they see red eyes in the fog before it strikes, see keep an' eye out for that though. Wheter they're eyes or jus', lights? Like from magitech?"

Augusta Aventurine scans the area around Riylli Aliapoh.

Zoronado Tatanado: "Careful... I think these are goosefish waters. They'll grab you by the leg and drag you into the muck if you're not careful."

Riylli Aliapoh waits there for a second as the water glows, then out crawls a little goopy friend!

Riylli Aliapoh: "Ta-da!"

Augusta Aventurine motions joyfully to the mudpie.

Augusta Aventurine: "That's a cute little guy!"

Ziv Zorasch looks around.

Reille Halleina: "Ah, it's a little mudperson."

Rising Lotus: "Hmm, would've figured it'd be to watery to do that. Looks pretty neat, maybe it can throw itself in the beast's eyes to blind it!"

Ziv Zorasch stayed on the lookout for potential threats--his green eyes darting alertly around the shadowy corners of the swamp which he otherwise found quite comfortable.

Riylli Aliapoh: "It needs a name, if anyone's got any ideas. The dirt golem I named Pummel"

Augusta Aventurine gazes upon the mudpie in deep reflection.

Rising Lotus: "Uhh...Rolling Filth."

Reille Halleina: "Hmmmm, Riylli, I thought you were trying to avoid water aether, your little friend seems a little damp." Reille sounds more than a little smug.

Augusta Aventurine: "Hmmm, how about... Squirmel!"

Zoronado Tatanado: "I'd go with Podorodo."

Atreus Sergius has logged in.

Zoronado Tatanado keeps a watchful eye over his surroundings.

Riylli Aliapoh crosses her arms and glares at Reille. "Not my fault mud holds water so well y'know."

Ziv Zorasch tries hard to concentrate.

(Riylli Aliapoh) (I like how Rising and Zoro gave race appropriate names))

Reille Halleina smiles patronizingly at Riylli, "It's almost as if aether works better when balanced."

Riylli Aliapoh: "Hmm... All good names, but none of them feel *right*. Lets keep goin' for the bounty, and if y'get anymore ideas shout 'em out!"

Augusta Aventurine nods to Riylli Aliapoh.

Rising Lotus nods. "Aye, stay to the bridge, by the looks of that fella you could get your foot stuck in there."

Augusta Aventurine concentrates on the mudpie.

Riylli Aliapoh: "It IS balanced. Earth and earth. How can y'get more balanced than that!"

Zoronado Tatanado is taken aback.

Zoronado Tatanado: "Did you see that?!"

Augusta Aventurine: "Hm? See what?"

Reille Halleina mutters to herself, "Honestly, I've met rocks more stubborn than that child."

A question springs to Ziv Zorasch's mind.

Zoronado Tatanado: "Over there!"

Zoronado Tatanado points.

Riylli Aliapoh || The mud blob follows at Riylli's feet, climbing up onto the docks and immediately slipping through the cracks into the water below

Zoronado Tatanado: "Oh it's... just a goosefish."

Ziv Zorasch snaps his fingers, causing the inside of the Pumpkin Butler's head to illuminate and light up the way a little.

Augusta Aventurine looks around.

Reille Halleina: ((less stubborn ack))

Ziv Zorasch fails to understand Zoronado Tatanado.

Zoronado Tatanado beams at the Pumpkin Butler.

Rising Lotus | as the group continued onward through the swampwood, they'd pass more broken trees, magitech long abandoned along with the occasional soldier remains. There was also the sounds of what lurked in the dark, animal or otherwise scurrying and rustling about.

Augusta Aventurine: "Hmm... wonder if there's any ceruleum left in them..."

Rising Lotus: "Hmm..nothin' but trees an' broken shite. Maybe folks an' chocobos are jus' gettin' stuck in the mud..."

(Zoronado Tatanado) This is the way

Ziv Zorasch closed his eyes and tried to hone his senses to reach out for any signs of a nearby dark presence.

Zoronado Tatanado adjusts his grip on his sword. "It's rarely that simple..."

Reille Halleina hangs back to see if she sense anything amiss with the aether in the Dimwold swamp around them. Or steps other than the footfall of their small party.

Riylli Aliapoh sniffs the wind

Augusta Aventurine looked about, for any signs of a big moving magitek device.

Rising Lotus | The groups searching would be mostly fruitless. The smell of swamp covered up anything too out of the ordinary, or perhaps there prey just lurked around here too much? There were a few piles of magictech scrap sticking out of the waters, a strange amount at that. The aether wouldn't feel to out of the ordinary.

(Rising Lotus) Ziv give me a roll))

Random! Ziv Zorasch rolls a 912.

(Zoronado Tatanado) "Legolas! What do your elf eyes see?!"

Rising Lotus | Ziv however would definitely feel something off! Coming towards one of the piles of scrap in the water...

Ziv Zorasch takes a moment of silence.

Reille Halleina sighs in frustration at sensing nothing out of the ordinary. "Maybe we should start looking for a bandit camp?"

Ziv Zorasch: "It's near. That heap of debris."

(Rising Lotus) <se.1> !!![Something is happening! Please keep to banter!]!!!

Augusta Aventurine ponders over Ziv Zorasch.

Augusta Aventurine looks around.

Ziv Zorasch would point out to them the wreckage that had the weird energy.

Ziv Zorasch points.

Augusta Aventurine draws her weapon.

Reille Halleina: "Which heap. there are so many."

Ziv Zorasch: "A dark presence. Be on guard. Maybe it is a spirit after all..."

Augusta Aventurine nods to Ziv Zorasch.

Augusta Aventurine: "If Ziv says there's something, it's good enough for me!"

(Reille Halleina) *Reille gets smacked in the face with a giant sword*))

Zoronado Tatanado looks around.

Rising Lotus | The very heap would started rustling and rumbling, something started to raise out of the water. It was massisve, definitely the size of a magitech colossus! Two glowing red eyes blinked open and looked at the group, followed by a gutteral roar! It started stomping toward the group, and as the moonlight peeking through the trees hit their mark, it's idently was revealed!

Zoronado Tatanado readies for battle.

Rising Lotus While it was a voidsent, it was...much less elegant than something possesing a broken piece of tech. A muud Suud must of wandered into the Fringes, using the scraps of garlean infintry as makeshift armor! It started lumbering toward the group, but luckily they were able to find it before it got the jump on them!

(Rising Lotus) Pic of it in the event chat!

Rising Lotus draws her axe as the ground started to tremble, looking up at the giant voidsent. "Well looks like you were right!" she smirked as she glanced at Riylli. "..that is a voidsent right? With them glowin' eyes?"

Riylli Aliapoh readies her staff and immediately begins to channel, the muddy familiar sifting up through the cracks in the planks and casually spinning in mid air besides Riylli. "YEET" Riylli flicks her staff forward and sends her friend flying towards the enemy's eyes (hopefully)

Augusta Aventurine looks at the newcomer. "That's one big voidsent... and is that..." she squints her eyes. "Rusty, metal pieces of magitek on it? No wonder people thought it was a magitek."

Reille Halleina mutters to herself as she draws her rapier, "This is what I get for spacing out through X'rhun's lectures. Oblivious to voidsent."

Ziv Zorasch: "Wretched brute! Hold nothing back. If it is voidsent then I might be able to consume it once it's weak enough."

(Rising Lotus) Some special rules for tonight! As the foe is partially armored, any rolls 400 or under will be blocked and will do no damage! Although, if someone's attack manages to hit over 900, then he'll lose some armor, lowering the nondamage number!))

Zoronado Tatanado didn't hesitate to leap off the bridge to put himself between this unholy beast and his team. "RANANOOORRRAAAGH!" He slammed his sword against his shield, sending bright sparks all around in an attempt to gain--and keep-- its attention!

Rising Lotus |The mud golem hits him in the face, but the beast has been wallowing in mud. It seems unaffected.

(Riylli Aliapoh) fool, the extra mud will only make my familiar more dangerous

(Rising Lotus) Alright combat start! For those that wern't here last week, if you're going to attack give me a /random after your post!))

(Reille Halleina) do we have turns?))

(Rising Lotus) It'll go ally turn, and then enemy turn, and then repeat!

Augusta Aventurine looked around and then jumped to the tree to her left. Bouncing off it, she dove spearfirst towards the voidsent, aiming for the unarmored parts of it.

Random! Augusta Aventurine rolls a 976.

Rising Lotus hopped off the wooden bridge, charging toward the beast with her axe barred. She veered to its flank at the last moment, swinging wise and aiming at it's leg.

(Rising Lotus) Random! 551

Ziv Zorasch raised his greatsword high above his head with a deep breath, drawing on the dark energy that was replete in the swamp. The air around him grew thick with dark energy as waves of shadowy energy rippled from the greatsword and crashed into their enemy like a wave.

Riylli Aliapoh: "Go little guy! Try to get in its nose or something!" She calls out to her splatted friend, and those with a keen eye would see her familiar's face shifting around in the mud that covers the voidsent. Doing as it's told, the face travels up towards the nose and attempts to plug it up, being more of an annoyance than a danger

Random! Ziv Zorasch rolls a 535.

(Riylli Aliapoh) (Can I still take the 500

(Rising Lotus) Yes! Thank you, if you don't want to chance it, you can always take a flat 500 for your roll))

Zoronado Tatanado did his best to provoke the best, raising his glimmering sword high above his head (which would be waist high for everyone else) and setting the blade ablaze with a bright but silent and odorless white flame!

Random! Zoronado Tatanado rolls a 539.

Reille Halleina summons a swarm of seven small aether rapiers around her. She twirls her rapier like a baton, then points it at the void sent sending her rapiers out to impale it.

(Reille Halleina) random

Random! Reille Halleina rolls a 488.

(Rising Lotus) <se.4> !!![Attack Resume!]!!!

(Rising Lotus) woops

(Reille Halleina) I remember how to do commands in the critically acclaimed mmo))

(Rising Lotus) <se.1> !!![Something is happening! Please keep to banter!]!!!

.

Rising Lotus | The Iron Suud had its arms raised like it was about to strike, but the squirming mud trying to cram its way up the voidsent's nose caused it to stagged. While it struggled with the pint sized annoyed, it let out a pained roar as Rising's attack made contact, making a light gash against it's muscled thigh. It then was barraged with not only magical rapier lightly piercing its skin, but Ziv's dark wave of magic! >

Rising Lotus All of this left if perfectly open for Gusta's plummeting spear attack, her spear driving deep into the beast's shoulder. Using it's opposite arm as it screeched and wailed, it would attempt to swipe Gusta off. After finally snot-rocketing the mud golem to the ground, the first thing it saw was Zoro's bright sword, and bringing both fists together, it started to bring them down in his direction!

(Rising Lotus) Can I get a roll from Gusta and Zoro?))

Random! Zoronado Tatanado rolls a 28.

Random! Augusta Aventurine rolls a 989.

(Riylli Aliapoh) hes DEAD

(Augusta Aventurine) OwO ""

(Zoronado Tatanado) RIP spudknight

Rising Lotus | As it swiped Gusta off it knocked some of it's armor off as well!

(Rising Lotus) Gusta gracefully avoids the swipe and is set up for a counter attack! +100 to their next roll. Zoro is getting very heavily hit, and loses their next attack.

(Rising Lotus) <se.4> !!![Attack Resume!]!!!

(Rising Lotus) Also! You can use your attack to defend someone! You lose your attack for that turn though, as you're using the roll to defend them.

Ziv Zorasch moved in quickly to take some of the heat off of Zoro, winding up and delivering a discus slash at the giant's leg. His blade trailed with black particles as the shadows coalesced into a tangible weapon.

Random! Ziv Zorasch rolls a 597.

(Rising Lotus) Basically Cravs rules if you'd done combat events with them xD))

Augusta Aventurine takes a breath as she finds herself up against a tree after getting thrown back, her feet positioned and ready to pounce on the foe. She takes lance in hand and aims for the nape of the neck of the giant voidsent. (Or assuming there's armor there, some open spot)

Random! Augusta Aventurine rolls a 545.

Zoronado Tatanado had just enough time to raise his shield and brace himself for the double-whammy, disappearing in a cloud of dirt and mud when the fists slammed down where he was standing! When the Suud lifted his hands, Zoro was on his back, and halfway buried.

Riylli Aliapoh: "Hey! That's rude! How's'about I show you the fruits of my training!" She yells at the voidsent, then begins to gather aether into her staff. The mudsplat on the ground begins to gurgle and grow in size, more and more mud being drawn towards it including what remained on the voidsent's body. "Now!" Riylli calls out and lifts her staff high. With a flash of golden aether a humanoid form bursts upwards from the mud, with long limbs and a dripping grin. It attempts to go for a rising uppercut-

Riylli Aliapoh: -as it bursts from the ground, but can Riylli hold its form long enough?

Random! Riylli Aliapoh rolls a 110.

Riylli Aliapoh: THE ANSWER IS NO, and the fist fizzles back into mud as the mudman tries to throw its punch

Reille Halleina begins conjuring a ball of wind in her left fist until it becomes a small cyclone she shakes off her hand and it begins rippling on the ground beside her. She continues to coax the cyclone into a bigger and bigger shape until it is the size of Ziv. Then she flourishes her rapier at Iron Suud and sends the cyclone rushing across the ground towards it.

Random! Reille Halleina rolls a 823.

Rising Lotus feinted backwards after the suud attacked. Unable to get to Zoro's aid in time, she raised her axe high and lept towards its arm, bring her weapon down with all her weight on the voidsent's limb.

(Rising Lotus) Random! 689

(Rising Lotus) <se.1> !!![Something is happening! Please keep to banter!]!!!

(Augusta Aventurine) think I'm too far and missed some rolls, lol

Ziv Zorasch: "Zoro! Are you stuck?"

Ziv Zorasch expresses his worry with Zoronado Tatanado.

(Riylli Aliapoh) (want me to repost?

(Augusta Aventurine) if you'd like, but it's okay XD. I'll probably find out what's going on in a sec. ))

(Riylli Aliapoh) (The tldr is Riylli summoned a mudman, but its fist fizzled as it went for a punch

(Reille Halleina) and a Ziv sized cyclone

(Augusta Aventurine) poor mudman ))

(Reille Halleina) and Zoro is on it's back

Zoronado Tatanado: "Uuugh.... nngh... 'tis.... b-but a scratch...!"

Rising Lotus | Raising its fists right after bonking poor Zoro into oblivion, it was left open to the groups attacks, Rising managing to give it another decent sized gash on its arm, while the dark slashes to its other leg caused it to stagged for a moment, but the beast's hulking form rose one more! The nape of its neck didn't have armor, but the natural scales prevented Gusta's attack from doing too much damage. >

Rising Lotus | While the mudman had heart, his aim wasn't up to par. The punch hit a piece of armor squaredly before it burst back to mud and the voidsent was unphased. The suud's arms were raised over its face as the wind gave it several little knicks, but with a mighty roar it broke the windy barrage! >

Rising Lotus | Squatting down for a few moments, it suddenly leapt a surprisingly high amount in the air. While it looked flabby under that armor, it must bepretty ripped! It Drove itself back down to the ground with a mighty crash, anyone in melee range in danger, while those in the distance would have to worry about mud and debris getting flung in their direction!

(Rising Lotus) Everyone defensive roll.

Random! Ziv Zorasch rolls a 850.

(Rising Lotus) Random! 283

Random! Augusta Aventurine rolls a 259.

Random! Reille Halleina rolls a 531.

Random! Zoronado Tatanado rolls a 877.

(Riylli Aliapoh) Random! 92

(Reille Halleina) I'LL SAVE HER

(Riylli Aliapoh) HOW DARE

(Reille Halleina) LET ME DO IT

(Rising Lotus) Alright give me another roll

Random! Reille Halleina rolls a 139.

(Reille Halleina) WE DIE TOGETHER

(Riylli Aliapoh) QUICK SOMEONE ELSE SAVE HER SO SHE CAN SAVE RIYLLI

(Rising Lotus) Who's all in melee range, Rising Ziv and gusta?))

(Ziv Zorasch) yeah))

(Augusta Aventurine) I'd think so, Augi may jump off it's body after getting her strike in, but she would probably be close enough? ))

(Rising Lotus) Alright!

(Zoronado Tatanado) Couldn't Zoro save Riylli since she's right next to him?

(Rising Lotus) Ziv avoids damange, Gusta takes a glancing blow, and Rising takes damage and loses her turn.

Ziv Zorasch threw up his hand as the giant came down, pulling the shadows over him as a shield that he could be seen letting disippate as the dust settled from the attack.

(Rising Lotus) Zoro is safe, Reille gets battered by some mud, and Riyll would of got decked by a stump but we'll let Reille's defense through anyway! She doens't get an attack this turn though!

(Rising Lotus) <se.4> !!![Attack Resume!]!!!

(Riylli Aliapoh) (Is Riylli the she without an attack

(Reille Halleina) Reille I think

(Rising Lotus) Yeah for Reilli, Riylli gets an attack now!

Augusta Aventurine grits her teeth as she felt the blow through her armor. It may have been pretty but didn't have quite the durability her spiky armor had. She found herself near the others. Not bothering to jump this time, she put all her strength into a powerful thrust, hoping to break the beast's defenses and penetrate its scales.

Random! Augusta Aventurine rolls a 984.

Rising Lotus was about to strike once more, but as her weapon was swung the voidsent lept upwards! She stumbled a bit, awkwardly trying to dodge backwards, but she didn't make it into. The impact shot her backwards, tumbling to her back in the mud with a groan.

Reille Halleina uses a burst of aether to dash across the field and impales a tree stump with her rapier before it hits Riylli.  Reille and the stump land several feet away from. Her sword is logged deeply inside the stump. "Riylli, are you okay?"

(Rising Lotus) Sword in the stump

Riylli Aliapoh unfortunately (or purposefully) doesn't really notice Reille's valiant rescue as she is too focused holding her mudman's form. It was not a real golem, more like an enkindling of a familiar, and it required her to maintain a constant feed of aether that she was not well experienced in yet. The mudman looks sadly at its lost hand, and Riylli shakes her head. "Don't worry, you still got the other one! Go for a chokehold!" She calls out, the mudman nodding before slithering around the voidsent-

Riylli Aliapoh -and hooking its arm around the beasts neck.

Random! Riylli Aliapoh rolls a 639.

Riylli Aliapoh glances over to Reille and gives a huff. "I didn't need your help. I woulda dodged it y'know." She lies without any sense of hesitation or remorse

(Riylli Aliapoh) (I ALWAYS FEEL BAD HAVING RIYLLI BE MEAN TO REILLE

Zoronado Tatanado could feel it-- a sharp pain in his chest, right beneath the dent in his breastplate. He grit his teeth and endured the pain, plucking his feet from the ground to charge at the fiend to drive his blade into where its dangly bits would be!

Random! Zoronado Tatanado rolls a 931.

Ziv Zorasch felt the need to press the attack. Having enjoyed the feeling of his blade sinking into the giant, he cleaved at the beast's leg again with a surge of strength as his Blood Weapon activated, channeling his very own life force into his sword arm to empower the attacks.

Random! Ziv Zorasch rolls a 534.

Reille Halleina makes an unladilike snort of disgust at Riylli and rolls her eyes. Then struggles to get her rapier out of the stump.

(Reille Halleina) SOMEDAY MAYBE Riylli will find her manners))

(Rising Lotus) <se.4> !!![Attack Resume!]!!!

(Rising Lotus) damnit

(Rising Lotus) <se.1> !!![Something is happening! Please keep to banter!]!!!

(Rising Lotus) the macro has a sword on it you'd thing I'd know the difference xD

(Rising Lotus) Reille Give me a roll

Random! Reille Halleina rolls a 387.

Rising Lotus Try as she might, Reille' sword remains stuck in the stump, looks like she'd be without it for now. As the beast lurched forward it was stopped by the mudman's arm, grappling with the golem and being kept distracted for Ziv to keep slashing away at the beast's side. Gusta's spear once again hit its target deeply, while Zoro would slip between it's trunk like legs and hit some soft spots, great cuts along its undercaridge now!

Rising Lotus the onslaught from the two caused more armor to fall into the swamp with a splash, it didn't have much left now! The party could tell its stamina was fading, but it still wasn't out yet! It thrashed around until the mud man would let go, and then threw it's massive claws around it's body, not aiming really but hoping to hit anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby!

(Rising Lotus) Ziv and Gusta can I get a roll? Zoro is safe since he's underneath his legs!

Random! Ziv Zorasch rolls a 840.

Random! Augusta Aventurine rolls a 439.

(Rising Lotus) Ziv is once again safe! Gusta would get lightly clipped but is still in the fight!

(Rising Lotus) <se.4> !!![Attack Resume!]!!!

(Rising Lotus) Also he lost more armor with those two 900s! Only attacks 100 or less will be ignored now!

Zoronado Tatanado didn't even realize he couldn't lift his shield arm over his waist anymore. He tightened his grip on his sword and went for a gash on the leg, choosing to drive it deep until only the hilt of his blade remained!

Random! Zoronado Tatanado rolls a 273.

Augusta Aventurine tried to block the attack with her spear, but found those claws of his pushing against her, knocking her back a few feet. She was starting to feel the damage, but her adrenaline didn't let her stop. She charged forward and jumped. Now that it was tired out, she hoped she could hit one of its eyeballs.

Random! Augusta Aventurine rolls a 891.

Rising Lotus rolled from her back, coated in the nasty smelling mud. "Gods damned arsehole...that anyone would think you had any relation to Bellator..." she steeled herself, teeth grit as there was a bit of a red spark in her eyes. She charged back into the fray, letting out a battle cry as prepared to slam her axe down once more!

Random! You roll a 923.

Riylli Aliapoh cannot hold it anymore, releasing her spell and allowing the mudman to melt back down into a simple familiar. "Ugh... More trouble than its worth." She mutters, then taps her staff against the ground to call out to the earth below, summoning forth her axe. She walks over to the stump that holds Reille's sword, lifts her axe, and swings it down to chop it in half. She makes no comment while doing this of course

(Riylli Aliapoh) (Lets jsut pretend like she was wearing this outfit the whole time

(Riylli Aliapoh) (LIFE WAS SO MUCH SIMPLER WHEN RIYLLI ONLY HAD ONE OUTFIT

(Zoronado Tatanado) Suddenly started raining lalafell over here so if I disappear let's just say Zoro got stepped on and died

(Riylli Aliapoh) (Oh also Im not attacking this turn

(Rising Lotus) o7

Ziv Zorasch kept his feet planted, finding plenty of darkness around him to create another barrier. Shards of darkness like broken glass were scattered everywhere as the monster's claw shattered the barrier, just as Ziv wanted. Gathering the shadows around his greatsword, he plunged the weapon directly into the beast's lower abdomen.

(Rising Lotus) Gimme a roll ziv!

Random! Ziv Zorasch rolls a 901.

(Rising Lotus) jesus our rolls this round

(Ziv Zorasch) dark mode ziv came to whoop ass

Reille Halleina is covered in mud struggling to pull her sword from the stump, but the stump seems unlikely to yield it. Reille is shocked when Riylli joins her and conjurers a boulder axe to chop the stump. Reille is splattered in more mud in the process, but her sword is free. "Th-thank you," Reille says stunned her expression inscruitable from all the mud.

(Zoronado Tatanado) The power of friendship and also this gun we found

(Rising Lotus) <se.1> !!![Something is happening! Please keep to banter!]!!!

Riylli Aliapoh just grumbles incoherently

Rising Lotus the voidsent continued on despite Zoro's sword driven into its leg. Rising's attack manages to make major contact hower, cleaving the suud's leg open, along with, to her suprise, splintering the ground open near the voidsent's left leg. As it dropped to one knee Ziv had the perfect angle to skewer the beast, making through all those hard ab muscles and into it's innards. The beasts Screams echoed through the Dim wood until Gusta's spear pierced its skull.

Of the 84 parties currently recruiting, all match your search conditions.

(Riylli Aliapoh) UH

(Riylli Aliapoh) (Reille is missing her sword

(Riylli Aliapoh) (Shes posing but its still sheathed

(Rising Lotus) *Dim wood ))

(Riylli Aliapoh) (WAIT SO IS ZIV

(Reille Halleina) photos or it isn't .... REILLE))

(Riylli Aliapoh) (I get the impression that my ssd is actively in the process of dying

Rising Lotus The voidsent remained there motionless for a few moments before its body started breaking down in black miasma. It fell forward towards the group, but the only thing that hit the ground was its remaining armor, the body dissapearing in a puff of black smoke.

Ziv Zorasch celebrates victory.

Augusta Aventurine celebrates victory.

Augusta Aventurine looks around.

Riylli Aliapoh lets her axe dissolve and walks over to find her mudball friend. "Nice job out there!" She says to it, reaching out with an arm so it can crawl up onto her shoulder

Ziv Zorasch stabbed his greatsword into the ground, allowing it to melt away into black particles that faded into the darkness of the forest.

Augusta Aventurine searched for Zoro, having been too focused on the fight to keep track of him, she wondered where he was. "Zoro?" She said in a soft voice, the hits she took taking their toll as she looked for him.

Reille Halleina kicks an empty piece of magitek plating that had been part of the suud's armor. "I just washed my hair!"

Rising Lotus panted, a bit dumbfounded as she looked at the crater her strike just made. "...Well the spirit of 'Bellator' will haunt this place no longer." she stood her axe upright as she rubbed her back. "Everyone alright, Zoro?" she eyed the Lalafell, taking the major strike of the night.

Ziv Zorasch: "Damage report! Are we all in once piece?"

Augusta Aventurine nods to Ziv Zorasch.

Augusta Aventurine: "A couple of bruises but not too bad... "

Augusta Aventurine expresses her worry with Zoronado Tatanado.

You confuse Ziv Zorasch.

Zoronado Tatanado pulled his blade out and managed to sheathe it with one fluid motion. He limbed around the beast back to the group, and tried to wave to everyone with his shield arm, but his shoulder was lower than it should be, and his arm just kinda... swung a little.

Ziv Zorasch: "Bellator...you don't mean -our- Bellator?"

Augusta Aventurine stares at Zoronado Tatanado in fear.

Augusta Aventurine: "Zoro!"

Zoronado Tatanado smiles weakly at Augusta Aventurine.

Augusta Aventurine: "Your arm, what happened?"

Riylli Aliapoh: "Ow..."

Zoronado Tatanado: "I think my collarbone snapped. Is anyone else hurt...?"

Rising Lotus winced a bit as she definitely had ANOTHER bruise in the making on her back. "The locals thought it was his spirit..he caused a ruckus at the castrum before he died, when Florus escaped."

Reille Halleina rushes to Zoronado her field medic training kicking in, "Let's take a look, Zoro."

Riylli Aliapoh sighs, and reluctantly glances over to Reile. "Can you heal with that dumb thing or do you need to borrow my staff?"

Augusta Aventurine: "Uuu... Zoro..."

Zoronado Tatanado is deep in thought.

Zoronado Tatanado: "And my ribs. A few of my ribs aren't where they're supposed to be. Stomach feels a bit wet. I don't know if it's mud or..."

Augusta Aventurine stares at Zoronado Tatanado in fear.

Rising Lotus looked to Zoro and winced. "Eesh...well considerin' how big its fists were, guess you got out pretty lucky. Squishy ground to thank I guess?" she started poking around the crack in the ground she made.

Zoronado Tatanado: "But I don't feel anything yet... I think the adrenaline is still doing its thing."

Ziv Zorasch reached into his pocket and clutched the dark knight soul crystal as the sadness of it sank in. "How tragic to think...our poor old friend, reduced to this monstrous form."

Augusta Aventurine: "I don't think you shoudl move too much... I can help get that armor off of you."

Zoronado Tatanado smiles at you.

Ziv Zorasch expresses his worry with Zoronado Tatanado.

Reille Halleina: "Don't need a staff to heal, but thatnk," she says softly to Riylli, "Let's see,Z." She hovers her hand over Zoro's shield arm and over his ribs sensing what is disrupted in his physical body.

Rising Lotus shook her head. "Nah, this ain't him. This was jus' some voidsent that was smart enough to make armor from scrap."

Zoronado Tatanado breathed in a bit, hearing a faint gurgle in the back of his throat. "Oh... my lung is punctured."

Augusta Aventurine is taken aback by Zoronado Tatanado.

Augusta Aventurine: "Wh-WHAT?"

Riylli Aliapoh huffs. "Right, well, me and my friend have got lots more training to do apparently." She says as she turns away, giving the blob on her shoulder a poke. She walks over to Rising instead. "Thanks for the bounty! I'll be headin' out to Kugane tomorrow, but I'll let you know if I hear anything, 'kay?"

Reille Halleina presses a hand against Zoro's chest as soon as he gurgled and starts using aether to seal the puncture until she can find the bone.

Zoronado Tatanado: "... as long as no one else was seriously hurt, I did my job."

Augusta Aventurine: "R-Reille, I can use some healing magicka... let me know if you need help!"

Augusta Aventurine furrows her brow at Zoronado Tatanado.

Augusta Aventurine: "NO IT ISN'T MISTER! If you didn't come home, what would I tell Leni!?"

Rising Lotus nodded. "You see that hole in the ground I made?" she jabbed her thumb in the direction of it proudly. "Anyway, money will be in your cubby like always." she turned her attention to Zoro. "You gonna make the trip back to the Castrum, or should we get a chocobo to cart ya there?"

Reille Halleina: "We need a cart, Rising. Quickly please."

Riylli Aliapoh: "...It aint a cubby, it's a mailbox..." She grumbles as she walks off

Ziv Zorasch: "Most definitely. Try not to move, Zoro."

Ziv Zorasch bids farewell to Riylli Aliapoh.

(Riylli Aliapoh) (Thank you for the rp all! I am too tired to stay much longer unfortunately ;-;

(Ziv Zorasch) night night!

(Augusta Aventurine) ye, thanks Riylli! o/ ))

Zoronado Tatanado used his good arm to rub at his nose. "Gosh.... she's going to be very upset at this news. Maybe we can.. avoid telling her?"

Reille Halleina: ((okay ty, good night!))

Augusta Aventurine furrows her brow at Zoronado Tatanado.

(Zoronado Tatanado) I can feel those goosefish eyes staring into my soul.

Rising Lotus nodded. "Alright, Ziv with me. The rest of you stay here with him. That thing is dead, but there is yet more out here to watch out for, voidsent or no."

Ziv Zorasch nods to you.

Augusta Aventurine nods to you.

Ziv Zorasch relaxes his pose.

Augusta Aventurine: "I'll guard him and keep him safe. For Leleni to give him an earful later!"

Reille Halleina: "Gusta, can yo use your healing to keep Zoro awake, please. And a little numb. No need to feel this yet." Reille is acting EXTREMELY calm.

Zoronado Tatanado expresses his worry with Augusta Aventurine.

(Augusta Aventurine) this is Augi's angry aura, lol ))

Zoronado Tatanado: "Should I sit down...? That might put more pressure on my ribs, no?"

(Rising Lotus) Alright give me a moment and I'll have the closer!))

Augusta Aventurine nods to Reille Halleina.

Augusta Aventurine sat down and took a deep breath. Trying to focus her healing magicka. She wasn't very good at it, but she was good enough to help treat during an emergency!

Random! Augusta Aventurine rolls a 309.

Augusta Aventurine tried to focus her aether, but the light faded as soon as it started. "Oh, why now!?" She tried again.

Random! Augusta Aventurine rolls a 786.

Ziv Zorasch expresses his worry with Zoronado Tatanado.

Augusta Aventurine managed to keep it steady and focused hard on trying to keep Zoro awake and numb, as the doctor suggested. Not that she could focus very well but she tried!

Zoronado Tatanado: "I would have been mashed if I didn't come in this heavy plate...! My thanks to my smith...!"

Zoronado Tatanado is positively beaming.

Augusta Aventurine bit her lower lip. She wouldn't be giving up her armor anytime soon.

Ziv Zorasch: "In all the damage could have been much worse. Great work everyone."

Reille Halleina "You can stay standing," Reille says as her eyes flutter closed. She starts conjuring huge amounts of aether to move Zoro's bones back to where they should be, then starts healing his internal injuries to prevent further internal bleeding. This is where she concentrates all her efforts and after several minutes she's satisifed and little light headed. "All right, you shouldn't die on the way home. You're also not allowed to move."

headed. "All right, you shouldn't die on the way home. You're also not allowed to move."

Rising Lotus and Ziv would make haste back to the Castrum, and half a bell later they'd return with a Chocobo cart to get poor Zoro back safely. While the healers back at Oriens would be able to mend the groups wound's, Zoro was only put in a stable enough condition to travel back to Heartwood, where he would get taken care of in the clinic!

(Rising Lotus) That's all I got for the night! Hope everyone had fun!

Augusta Aventurine let out a sigh of relief, it's dangerous if she exerts her healing magicka for too long. She was already starting to feel a little light headed herself.

(Ziv Zorasch) i did! thanks rising! thanks all

(Augusta Aventurine) ye! thanks Rising!

(Reille Halleina) thank you Rising!!))

Ziv Zorasch bids farewell.

(Zoronado Tatanado) Ye this was fun

Zoronado Tatanado gives Reille Halleina a big hug.

Augusta Aventurine gently pats Zoronado Tatanado.

Reille Halleina gently pats Zoronado, "Absolutely no training until Aslinn and Gentle Fist give you the all clear." She gives Augusta a little pat seeing she's a little worn, "Thank you for your help."

Augusta Aventurine smiles at Reille Halleina.

Zoronado Tatanado looks disgusted.

Augusta Aventurine lets out a looong breath, feeling her adrenaline draining. "I... I did what I can."

[exhaustedpirate]

another late contribution for this year's CS Supernatural Summer - hopefully it'll be worth your while ! i clearly lied last year so i'm posting the long-awaited second chapter of last year's entry today. you should definitely check out the first chapter before.

i hope you like it and feel free to share your thoughts!

thank you so much to @th3capta1n for being my beta

Summary: Ever since he was a boy, Killian Jones could see ghosts. Some were kind, others were a nuisance and rarely, he found the worst of them. This time he meets a woman who remembers nothing, except her name. Together, they’ll find out her story and help each other.

Word count: 7211 words  

Rating: Teen and Up

tag list: @thisonesatellite @profdanglaisstuff @winterbaby89 @stahlop @winterbythesea @sotangledupinit

read on AO3 | read the first chapter here and AO3

Chapter Two The Swan

“Alright, can we all just calm down?” 

Killian stepped away from the table under the looks of barely contained excitement from Emma and Henry. One of them should have a leveled head and it apparently fell on him.

“There is a mysterious book written in a completely foreign language that conveniently appears exactly when we need it and you’re not even the slightest bit suspicious?” His nervous expression didn’t seem to dissuade his audience as they just smiled.

“It’s clearly a magic book.”

“It’s magic, Mr. Jones!”

He exhaled a defeated sigh as he threw his head back.

“Magic? That’s your justification?”

“Mr. Jones,” Henry crossed his arms with a completely unimpressed look that almost put his mother’s to shame. “My gym teacher is a mermaid and a werewolf serves me hot chocolate every Friday. Magic is the only explanation.”

There was a satisfied smile on Emma's face as she mimicked the boy’s pose.

"So, Mr. Jones." Emma's use of his last name called his attention to her. "Do you have any other easily explainable issues or can you take a leap of faith and see what's in that magical book?"

A leap of faith. As he looked between Henry's eager eyes and Emma's worriedly excited expression, he thought he could. That it would take the sheer belief in a centuries old ghost and a 10-year-old boy to get him to believe wasn't lost on him.

"Fine." Killian sighed amused at the excitement clear on Henry's face. He turned a reassuring smile to Emma's steadying breath. "Let's see if the magic book has some answers."

“Yes!” Henry was quick to reach for the book while rushing around the desk to sit at Killian’s chair. 

“You said it was written by Alice Jones?” Killian asked as he stepped to Henry’s left side.

“Do you know her?” 

“Alice was my mother’s name, but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her write a book, much less in a language she didn’t speak.”

“Maybe it’s your ancestor?” Emma offers. “I have been dead for a long time.”

“My mother named me after my grandpa, maybe it’s the same?” 

Killian’s fingers stroke the ring still clutched in his hand trying to rationalize their suggestion. “This situation just gets curiouser and curiouser.”

“Maybe I should read the book?”

“We should see what Alice Jones has to tell us.”

Killian nods. Trusting a mystery book seemed to be the least crazy thing for him today.

There is a story that no one knows, the story of the Princess and the Huntsman. Of how they fell in love and wished for happily ever after. The story that no one knows but me.

“I can see now why you’re so dramatic.”

Killian rolled his eyes at the teasing kid - and the snickering ghost - despite the uptick of his lip, gesturing for him to carry on reading.

Misthaven was a kingdom of peace and prosperity and it had been so since before my youth. Its people loved their royalty and they loved them back. Those good times didn’t last for long. I remember my mother’s solemn face as she returned from work - a handmaiden to the Queen must be her confidant, but even she couldn’t keep Queen Snow’s worry to herself. 

Ships with black sails threatened to surround Misthaven’s borders; black armored knights terrorized provinces; a menacing cloud of dark magic frightened everyone.

No powerful villain stepped forward to claim such attacks and no accomplice confessed. The Queen appeared to be frightful even as she summoned every war council available.

Despite their efforts, the darkness seemed undefeatable. The fairies’ light magic barely managed to keep it at bay. The kingdom needed a solution. 

A neighboring kingdom housed a powerful King. A King whose army was unbeaten by any forces that threatened him. A King whose power didn’t compare to Misthaven’s light. A King who wanted unlimited power. King Rumplestilskin.

Misthaven was, for a while, blessedly ignorant over the imminent threat. As well as its young Prince. As for Princess Emma, she had been allowed to participate in the war councils presided by her parents since she became of age. Now, a decade after the first, she was more than ready and shared opinions with intelligence and level-headedness.

Killian could see Emma’s blush covering her cheeks and he wished he could hold her hand. He wished she wouldn’t be so surprised to hear such compliments. He wished a lot when it came to Emma.

I have been her handmaid since we were both children. I have watched her grow beside me, never feeling like less, but like an equal. I still hold fond memories of afternoons of joy and companionship. I also learned things that I will take to my grave, however her story of love won’t be one of them and for that I apologize. This I do to guarantee my princess’ rescue.

“Do you want me to keep reading, Emma?”

She seemed startled from Henry’s sudden stop, looking from the book, to the boy and back before looking at Killian. He hoped she saw the reassurance he was trying to show. She nodded.

“You can carry on, lad.”

Henry nodded and cleared his throat.

Once she became of age, there was no end to the line of suitors hoping to gain her hand in marriage. (Killian pushed down on the surge of jealousy in his chest.) However, the Queen and her Prince had married for love and they wished the same on their daughter. Every suitor she refused was led out with a tight lipped smile and well wishes. There was no talk of arranged marriages for the throne was hers regardless of matrimony.

And the Princess treasured her freedom - if not of life, of heart. Her father had started his life as a shepherd and was now the Queen’s prince consort. Perhaps an unknown sailor would have the same luck.

But it was no sailor or baker who won such honor as to hold the Princess’ heart in his hand. It was a huntsman. 

As the Princess’ closest friend and confidant, I was able to hear about their first meeting, when he was nothing but a crude hunter. How she had been out for a pleasant ride. How he was ready to kill a defenseless deer. How she didn’t quite like my reminder that her table was regularly filled with defenseless animals too. How she blushed and said her issue was his rudeness, not his eating habits. How he had finally let the animal go. How she could not stop talking about him for the next few days.

I was also able to witness their second interaction. See the Princess’ provoked by the handsome Huntsman’s quips. See how she liked his quick wit and he enjoyed the irritated blush on her cheeks. See how she gave him her name with her nose in the sky and how he smiled and gave her his. I was able to hear it all again for the next week.

During the next month, Emma would go see him alone. And when she came back, there was always something to talk about. From the annoyance she felt about him to the quiet confession about her restless heart when around him. From the way he had almost hit her with an arrow to the way he had helped her off her horse. From the way he was also too close to the way he was never close enough. From crude hunter to Graham.

“Graham…”

Her whisper caught his attention and he saw a multitude of emotions behind her eyes.

“Do you remember him?” Killian asked.

Henry had stopped reading and was now looking between them.

“I do.” Her voice quivered and when she looked at him, he saw her glassy eyes.

“Should I stop?”

That seemed to bring Emma back, the determination replacing the grief.

“No, I need to know how it ends.”

“Are you sure, love?”

“I am.” The strong tone in her voice was enough to convince him even as worry filled him.

Killian nodded to Henry who seemed to feel the same as him.

Emma wished to keep him secret. He didn’t know she was the Princess, as he seemed to have lived in the woods since childhood and she wanted to keep it as such. She wanted to keep the pressure away from their budding romance. For that’s what it was. From blushing cheeks to tangled hair. To stained riding pants. To-

“I think you should skip to the next paragraph, lad.” Killian insisted as he scratched behind his ear.

“Why? What does this mean?”

“It just means that Emma and Graham became boyfriend and girlfriend.” He screamed internally as he wished he didn’t have to have this conversation with his boss’ son. 

He didn’t have to look at Emma to see her blushed cheeks and embarrassment.

“Oohh!” Henry’s expression would have made him laugh if he wasn’t so focusedly hoping that the subject be put to rest. “I understand.”

He really hoped for this not to get back to Regina. She’d kill him faster than one can say ‘fireball’.

Their secret courtship turned into love. Her books were filled with dried flowers, one for every encounter. I was the only one who knew of their relationship. Despite her trust in her mother, Emma knew how difficult it would be to bring Graham into this life, keeping the Queen in the dark was the only way to assure the ease in their romance.

However, every good thing must come to an end. 

The threat becomes more dangerous. The dark magic encroaches them. There is no other solution. The fairies’ light magic isn’t strong enough. Emma wants to help, as she did before.

Once, when the Princess was no older than 11 years old, Prince James invaded the kingdom. A Prince from a kingdom led to poverty by its careless royalty. A Prince who wasted his years fighting battles that did not involve his kingdom and spending its money. Until his father died and there was no kingdom left to rule - its people either migrated or dead. A Prince who was the Prince Consort’s twin, since the King had wanted a child and took one of the shepherd’s wife’s twins, a mother who only wished the best for her children. A mother who accepted the deal to make sure her babies did not succumb to illness.

Prince James invaded the kingdom claiming injustice for the way his twin brother’s life had progressed while he rotted away in misery. It should have been a quick matter to resolve had it not been the dragon whose wrath James had unleashed on the kingdom. The dragon had wreaked havoc in the kingdom and as everyone watched, threatened to burn the royal family to a crisp had it not been for the burst of magic that saved them. 

No one knew exactly what happened, but the ones who saw remember seeing a bright white light coming from the Princess making her resemble a wide winged bird - a swan. The dragon was quick to escape as the wave of magic because there was no other name for it, incapacitated Prince James and his crew. Everyone clamored Emma’s bravery and songs were written and played in the streets. 

However, despite their efforts that seemed to be the only magical experience the Princess would experience. Nothing the fairies did seemed to bring forth another hint or spark from the young girl. Songs were corrected and Emma’s magical achievements were seen as a simple blessing, a power born from her parent’s true love that protected the family. They called her the Swan Princess - not only for the circumstance of her magic, but also for the fact that under her beauty hid a vicious bravery.

To say that Emma had been disappointed over her magical failure was an understatement. But so much like her family, she chose not to give up and dedicate herself to learning sword fighting from the soldiers, something she could actually grasp.

And now, just as before, Emma wants to help. She offers to join the soldiers, defend her home and her people. Unfortunately, that is not what her parents have in mind. “We can’t risk losing you, Emma”, They said. “We need a powerful alliance.” And Emma was smart enough to understand what they meant even before they confessed their plans.

An arranged marriage. Something she had been assured all her life wouldn’t happen. The tears that fall down her face are unconscious as she begs her parents for a different solution. She speaks to them, for the first time, of how her heart belongs to another even though his name is never even whispered. But Emma knows. This is her parent’s plan, the only solution that will keep her and the kingdom safe. So she accepts, even as her heart breaks.

I try to console her tears that night, to no avail. 

The arranged marriage would be to the Kingdom’s closest neighbor. A Kingdom whose King owns the strongest army. A Kingdom whose King has fathered only one son, close to Emma’s age. Give or take a couple of years. There isn’t much to say about Prince Baelfire. King Rumplestilskin shelters him from everyone, practically confined to the castle. His mother escaping a life of such imprisonment, according to rumors, by joining a band of pirates. The young man is said to be a fairly nice Prince, educated and capable.

This union would entail a merging of Kingdoms. Such creation would result in the strongest Kingdom in existence. A merging that still required more planning, were not for the desperation of Queen Snow and Prince David for Misthaven.

But Emma’s stubbornness is unrivaled. Her room is vacant the next morning when I arrive to wake her up. Nothing, but a letter. A letter explaining that she will be leaving in search of another solution. That her heart is not ready to forget her love. That despite the love she has for her kingdom, she doesn’t wish to marry someone she doesn’t love. But she promises to return, after she finds a solution or once she realizes her journey is fruitless.

At the breakfast table, the Queen, her Prince and the Princeling await the arrival of the heiress. They receive me and the letter. Their expressions are full of pain and the whole castle is sent to a frenzy as they prepare an expedition to find her. 

As a handmaiden, I am given no task except to wait for my charge. But I know I must attempt to find her. She is my Princess, but most of all, a friend, the only one I’ve ever had. The journey to that place in the woods isn’t familiar, but it takes merely a blink of an eye. But the camp is empty. The Huntsman has left - not in search of a new home but, I suspectbecause a stubbornly determined Princess has asked for his help in her quest.

The Princess has always been more than capable to defend for herself, that is without doubt. She who survives a dragon, can survive much worse. But I worry. And such worry is blinding when it comes to the ones you love.

Killian pretends not to notice Emma’s quiet sniff.

The Blue Fairy was known by all of Misthaven. If there was ever a blue star in the sky, children were told to wish upon it for she would grant their wishes if they were pure of heart. A child’s story for centuries, she seemed to be on familiar terms with the royal family. 

The Blue Fairy was, once, Misthaven’s savior. When Queen Snow was but a runaway Princess, she was the one who helped her regain her throne. Regardless of her lack of involvement now, I was sure she would still be eager to help. My worry grew when Emma hadn’t gone to her first.

Under the shade of a willow tree, I called for her. My heart was put to the test but it seemed to be pure enough. Her voice called my name and there she was, in front of me. She was the size of a human, not as small as an acorn as my mother had told. It didn’t matter, in the end. I urged for her help, to bring back my Princess safe and sound. 

Her magic was a light blue and it felt cool to the touch. I saw as she surrounded herself with magic and then sigh in disappointment as it got warmer once more. She said that my wish was a wish she couldn’t fulfill, for my Princess was no longer safe and sound. “Emma is no longer in our plane, I’m afraid she has been taken from us.” She explained and I attempted to fight my tears.

His hand reaches for hers, subconsciously. The cold feeling extends to his whole hand as he sees Emma do the same. There was no feeling of her hand in his, but there was something.

I begged for another wish. I wished for a way to save Emma. A way to bring her back to the people who loved her. My vision was filled with blue and I was able to feel the coolness of the Blue Fairy’s magic. I felt no different. “Your wish was granted. I have given you all I can to realize your heart’s desire.” It wasn’t much of an explanation.

Magic, she said, was as hard to explain as it was to understand. Their magic came from a higher entity, a Sorcerer. A powerful being capable of seeing the future. She couldn’t bring Emma back as it was far beyond her capabilities, but she had granted my wish, given me a tool that would help. I saw her when a blur of yellow caught my attention. She was sitting closer to the branches as if she had been there since I had arrived, but that wasn’t possible. I hadn't seen her.

There was an odd expression in the Blue Fairy’s face when I asked about her. Though I received no explanation except for an expression of grief in her face, I was told as to what gift I had been given. A capacity to see those who are no longer in the plane of the living. 

"How will I be able to bring her back with this?" I asked, feeling as if the Fairy's help hadn't been so helpful. "This gift will help you save the Princess." Cryptic as all magic is. I tried not to feel frustrated as I exited the willow tree. When I reached the Huntsman's camp, I saw him.

I was angry and I snapped as I could only think he had left Emma alone. He simply looked at me with surprise. Surprised, I learned, that I was able to see him. He told me how he had attempted to beg for help from anyone whose path he'd crossed, but no one seemed to see him.

He was dead.

"He was dead."

That was the only explanation. As cryptic as magic was, it seemed to work. I wasted no time asking for Emma's whereabouts. He told me that he had been killed at the neighboring Kingdom's castle when Emma and he had requested an urgent meeting with the King.

The shrill sound of a phone startled them all. Henry took a breath as he saw the name on his phone's screen.

"It's my mother." One look at the clock and he winced. "I was supposed to be in her office ten minutes ago."

"Go, lad, we'll stay here." Killian reassured the curious boy as he glanced at Emma's expression, an expression of grief that clawed at his heart.

"I'll be back." In a rush that none of the other adults could muster, he exited the library.

"Are you alright, Emma?" He gave her a moment in the silence, hoping her whirling thoughts had the chance to calm.

"I can't believe I would forget all of this. I would forget falling in love, the love of my family."

"It isn't your fault, there is clearly something else at work here."

When she looked into his eyes, his heart broke. There was pain, grief, anger. "I remember what happened, I remember why Graham died. I know who did this."

300 years earlier

His hand in hers gave her strength, strength she wasn't sure she felt. Emma needed this mission to be successful, she didn't intend to spend her life attached to someone she didn't love, burdened by duties that she never thought she had to fulfill. Her heart was still set on saving her kingdom and she would, if there was no other way, but she needed to try first.

The halls of the castle were cold, quiet and dark. There was a prickling under her skin at every step, as if she was being watched, pursued. There was an eagerness in the dark corners of the room, eager to pull you in, drag you. The great hall wasn't better - still as cold, quiet and dark as the rest of the castle. And the man sitting on the large throne was the epitome of darkness.

He wore a wide, almost mad, smile, his eyes expectant. She felt like a prey. Graham's hand was no longer wrapped in hers, but she still felt his strong presence. She had a hunter on her side, it would all work out.

Next to his father's throne, sat a young man, close to her age. Give or take a year. Prince Baelfire, of course. A curious man, he was. The darkness didn't seem to reach him but entrap him. He seemed fragile - not by choice.

“Welcome to Aur, your Highness.”

As she was taught, Emma bowed. And so did Graham, playing the part of her escort. She saw the Prince bow to her from the corner of her eye and ignored his father’s admonishing gesture in response. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit in this early morning?”

Emma swallowed at the predatorial look in his eyes. It didn’t help that there was no one else in the room but the four of them. She could sense Graham’s discomfort matching hers.

“I’ve come to discuss the agreement you have made with my parents.” She attempted to keep her voice determined, brave - all she knew she was despite the threatening aura of the room.

“Yes, Prince Baelfire and I are looking forward to this union.”

“That’s what I wanted to discuss, your Majesty. You see, I don’t wish to marry your son if there is another alternative.” She held her breath as the royal looked at her, analytical. Emma sees Prince Baelfire await his father’s judgment - no disappointment, no joy, merely expectant with a hint of fear.

“It doesn’t seem to be your decision, is it, Princess? Your parents, as rulers of the Kingdom, have blessed this union, therefore there is no other choice.” 

“I understand that it was their decision, but I am here hoping to reach another solution. The merging of our two Kingdoms won’t be easy and it might lead to complications with lineage.” As she speaks, she realizes just how complicated this deal is.

“I have no intention in merging our Kingdoms, Your Highness, so there will be no complications.” King Rumplestilskin’s smile turns wider, his eyes glinting with excitement. Prince Baelfire lowers his head at his words. Graham takes a step closer to her.

“What do you mean?” Emma was confused. There was a feeling deep in her gut that told her to run - her stubbornness was unrivaled. “My parent-”

“Your parents made a deal with me. I would help them with their threat in exchange for you marrying my son.” His giggle was manic and caused shivers down Emma’s spine. “They were so desperate, poor things, that they didn’t question my intentions.”

“And what are your intentions?” 

“To take over Misthaven, of course. You’ll marry my son ensuring lineage and after your parents mysteriously pass away, I will be free to reign Misthaven as I see fit.” 

“And what makes you think I will let that happen?” There was a scowl in Emma’s face as she balls her fists.

“There is nothing you can do about it, dearie.” Rumplestilskin rises from his chair, a far more threatening presence than she expected. “You underestimate my power.” He makes his way slowly to her. “Who do you think has been terrorizing Misthaven in order to make this happen?”

“It was you…” She whispered, reluctantly surprised. “But how? You don’t have magic. Especially not magic as dark as that.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” Emma tried not to feel like a caged animal as he began walking in a circle around her. “But I made a friend, a friend who does indeed wield such magic. A friend whose plans match mine.”

“You won’t get away with this, I promise you that.”

Her threat lost its power at the King’s loud laugh. He seemed relaxed as if she posed no danger to his plan. And she believed it, it made her feel small. She wasn’t accustomed to being made to feel small.

“There is nothing you can do, dearie.”

With a snap of his fingers, dark tendrils wrapped around the two visitors. While her restraints seemed focused on her wrists, Rumplestilskin had Graham by the neck. As strong as he was trying to be, he was no match for such powerful magic.

“Please, he has nothing to do with this, just let him go!” Emma kept her eyes on the King’s hoping he wouldn’t see exactly how much it hurt to see Graham suffer as he was. 

But she couldn’t help it.

She could pinpoint the moment he noticed, the way his smile widened and his tongue ran through his teeth - like a crocodile preparing to eat his prey. Her heart hammered against her chest praying to every entity she knew for their safety.

But no one was listening. 

There was a crack and a heavy body falling to the ground. Her heart stopped. Her future destroyed in a second. The love of her life gone. There was no stopping the distraught cry that exploded out of her. 

She didn’t notice how she had freed herself until she had her arms around Graham���s lifeless body. Her tears had landed on his unmoving face. And there was silence around her. She saw the King’s unconscious form laying on the floor as well as the absence of dark magic. A burst of magic, it seemed, to save her.

Unfortunately, not to save her from heartbreak, as she continued to hold a dead Graham in her arms. Her hands caressed his face and she felt it growing cold under her touch. She wished, more than anything, to have him open his eyes, to have him smile at her one more time.

“Princess?” A too small voice from a young man startled her and she raised one hand, hoping for another burst of magic to save her - but there was nothing, not even a spark.

Thankfully, she knew where her Huntsman kept his dagger and she quickly wielded it. She kept herself embracing him, however, one hand on his face.

“Take one more step and you’ll regret it.” Her voice was shaky but her determined stare wasn’t.

To her surprise, the dagger pointed at him doesn’t seem to frighten Prince Baelfire. He approaches with his hands raised to his chest until he stops a step away from her.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds honest in his whispered words as he looks into her eyes.

Emma lets out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding and her whole being deflates as even the dagger falls to the floor. She turns back to the man laying on her lap, her hand cupping his cheek.

“If you must kill me, do so now. Your father won’t have my Kingdom.” Her voice is small, not usual for her.

“I have no intentions of killing you or of marrying you.”

That calls her attention and she looks back to the Prince.

“I simply do as my father wishes, he’s a powerful man.” He sighs as he kneels in front of her. “I have been carrying this for years.” Her eyes watch him closely as he removes a small vial from his coat pocket. “And I think it’s supposed to help you.”

“What is that?” She is wary, nothing good should come from such a dark liquid.

“I’m not quite sure, I was never fond of magic. I found it in the library. It had a note.” He removes a small paper from the same pocket which he gives to her.

She will need this.

“Who is ‘she’?”

“I don’t know. There isn’t anyone I know who would need this but you. My father won’t give up. This is all I can do to help.” He extends the vial to her.

“How do I know you speak the truth?” She took the vial even as she kept her eyes on him.

“I don’t know. But I am.” The Prince shrugged his shoulders as he returned the eye contact. She had always been able to tell when someone was lying to her. He was telling the truth.

Both turned when they heard a groan from their right. Rumplestilskin was regaining consciousness. She needed to act fast.

“Thank you.” She quickly said to the Prince as she removed the cork from the vial.

There was no time for second thoughts. It was trusting a mysterious vial with an even more mysterious message or seeing her Kingdom conquered by this villain.

With a deep breath and a final look to her hunter, she drank the strange liquid to the last drop.

Everything went black.

Now

“The potion killed you, then.” Killian didn’t know what to think, it had been a strange story. He wasn’t sure whether he’d like to hug Emma or punch someone who had probably been dead for centuries.

“I don’t think so… Remember the garden?” Killian nodded. “No other ghost has been there, I don’t think I was dead.”

“Aye, I just-” Killian interrupts himself when he turns to her. There is the wet streak of a tear on her cheek. “I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry about Graham.” His hand inches closer to hers.

“That’s alright, I remembered…”

The door opens suddenly for Henry to run inside.

“My mum is going for a meeting so I still have an hou- is everything alright?” Henry asks as he looks at Killian’s expression. The small lamp on his desk flickers on and off slowly. “Emma?”

His call seems to catch her attention. She turns to him with a small smile.

“I’m alright.” The lamp stops flickering.

“Everything’s alright, lad.” His smile is reassuring and Henry seems to deflate as he feels a more calm environment.

Wanting to give Emma a few moments to rearrange her thoughts, Killian busies himself giving Henry a resumed version of what Emma had told him.

“So that Baelfire turned her into a ghost!”

“Actually, the potion did.”

“Someone must have given that to him, someone who knew what was going to happen!” Killian swore he could see the cogs in Henry’s brain turn.

“Perhaps we’ll get some answers if we carry on reading.” Emma’s voice seemed back to normal, quieter but more herself. Looking into her eyes, she nodded.

“Aye, we should keep reading, lad.” 

“Right!” Henry quickly ran to the book that had remained open on the desk.

Graham told me what happened. How the King-

“Okay, she’s saying what we know, I’m just going to skip.” Henry interrupted.

After he passed away, there was too much. Too much confusion, too many sounds, too many colors. Once he was able to concentrate on his whereabouts, all he saw was Emma laid on the floor next to him as Rumplestiltskin paced angry. Prince Baelfire seemed to be telling him how Emma had killed herself out of grief. How she had taken a potion, a poison he assumed, how he had been unable to stop her.

“He’s protecting you.” Henry seemed surprised by the revelation.

“He didn’t seem to be as bad as his father.” Emma admitted.

“Aye, the lad had courage.”

Unfortunately, there was nothing else I could do. I couldn’t go to the castle to retrieve the Princess nor could I tell the Queen where she was. While magic is common, talking to the deceased did not seem to be something that would be celebrated. 

“Right you are.” Killian whispered. Henry turned to him followed by Emma, making him blush. He cleared his throat. “Carry on, lad.”

It was hard to see how distraught the Royal Family was about the Princess’ disappearance. The castle seemed too quiet at times and her room even emptier. But it didn’t take long to receive news. Prince Baelfire arrived at court with Emma’s body carried by a fleet of guards.

The tall ceilings of the hall echoed the Queen’s cry of anguish as she saw her only daughter’s lifeless body. The Prince with a wall of bravery behind his heartbreak, commanded the servants to take Emma to another room. Everyone was dismissed. As the last to leave, I saw as the Prince attempted to comfort his wife, even as he cried with her.

Prince Baelfire was quick to leave the castle. I, however, couldn’t stay far from my Princess. I followed the procession as they took Emma to a guest room. I entered as they did, but did not leave as they did. I touched her hand, it wasn’t cold, it was rigid, it was as if she was sleeping. Graham stood by my side, a mournful expression in his eyes as he kneeled at her bedside. I pretended not to see his sadness as he attempted to hold her hand.

“Do you want me to continue? I know this can’t be easy…” Henry interrupted, looking to where he felt Emma’s presence.

“We need to know what happens next.” Emma’s voice was determined even as she wiped a fresh tear from her cheek. Hearing her parent’s pain wasn’t easy. She then turned to Killian with a nod. “I’m alright.”

Henry turned to him when he didn’t say anything, but Killian couldn’t take his eyes off Emma’s, hoping he was able to give her some reassurance. Finally, he nodded.

“She is not dead.” The Blue Fairy watched from the end of the bed. She startled me. I had never known her to be able to appear wherever she wished. Regardless, it was reassurance. She wasn’t dead. “I was told that I needed to come to this room at this time, now I see why.” Cryptic.

With a wave of her hand over Emma’s body and a familiar spark of cold, blue magic, she seemed to have her answer. “She is asleep. A cursed sleep.” She said. The half-answers and enigmatic posture were maddening. And I said so. “She will remain asleep until someone breaks her curse.” I turned to look at Graham, but he hadn’t moved, he seemed unwilling to care about anything else but the sleeping Princess. He was dead, unable to be with her again.

“Oh, Graham…” Emma whispered.

I was determined to break the curse. Not only to spare her parents the heartache, but also because I needed her back. “You mustn’t wake her up now.” The Blue Fairy told us. I was angry, why should Emma be suffering when we can help her? “Rumplestilskin believes her dead, his plan has been stopped. Wake her now and we’d be doomed.”

“She knew Rumplestilskin’s plan?!” Killian’s fist was balled against the table as he attempted to hold back his anger.

She knew his plan, even though no one had told her! “The Sorcerer knows all, Alice Jones. He’s seen this and more and we are to follow his plan.” His plan to destroy a family? To take their daughter from her? “Yes. All is as it should be.” I cursed. I never cursed anyone before. But I did now. “I understand your frustration, but all is as it should be.” She repeated, with an infuriating calm.

The feeling of inadequacy was like a fireball in my chest. But as angry as I was, the Blue Fairy was right, Emma was safe while she was asleep. What was I to do next? “I will place a preservation spell on her body, you will urge her parents not to bury her for it will surely kill her.” Before I could say anything else, she was gone.

Bloody fairies.

Bloody fairies. As helpful as she was, the hardest part was my chore. I left Graham to his vigil. I only returned the next day, her parents having had some time to compose themselves. But still I saw the lack of light in the Queen’s eyes and the slumped shoulders in the Prince’s posture - for a stranger, they would look the image of collectedness but not for me. 

It was easier than I thought to convince them not to bury Emma. I was never fond of lying but saying that the Blue Fairy had blessed Emma’s form to withstand the course of time was nothing more than a half-truth. In a matter of days, a glass coffin was produced to hold the Princess. It was placed in the family’s mausoleum and everyday for years, the royal couple would place fresh flowers, usually accompanied by the young Prince.

The story was kept quiet. Both to ensure the Kingdom’s trust in their leaders’ safety but also to prevent any conflict between the two Kingdom’s involved. King Rumplestilskin remained quiet, his plan had failed. The dark magic surrounding the Kingdom was unable to get in. Even with Emma gone, there was too much light to let in the darkness. 

His failure drove him to madness, pushing the darkness as far as it could. Until, decades after, he was killed with a dagger through his heart. A culprit was never found and the Kingdom, as fragile as it was, accepted the new King without protest. King Baelfire would do great things. Both Kingdoms fell into peace once more.

Life had returned to normal after Emma’s presumed death. Even as the country mourned, they celebrated Prince Leopold’s milestones. 

Despite mine and the family’s desire to keep working with them, they had no need for me, not with the Princess gone. But, a year or so later, I was married. This might not seem important to you, but I discovered something. I welcomed a son soon after. A son who would grow up, as children do and would talk to entities no one else could see but me. The Blue Fairy’s gift was passed down. I was able to witness a granddaughter with the same gift.

We kept it secret, as well we could. I attempted to share this story with my kin, but I see now my time is short so I’m hoping that writing it will preserve it in its most perfect state. I understand now that I am not the one supposed to save Emma. But I hope that one of my own blood will. 

I saw her, long after Rumplestilskin was killed, after her parents passed away - one not far from the other -. She was as if no day had passed her by, still in the clothes she wore when she fell asleep. She did not recognise me, but she was the one who found me. She did not recognise me because she did not remember who she was. All she knew was her name. 

Emma.

You, who reads this book, my kin, I hope your heart remains true. For that is the only way to save her. Please, save her.

“Wow…” Henry breathed.

“Indeed.” Killian sat on his desk feeling his shoulders tight.

“I’m sorry.” Emma spoke softly, catching his attention.

“What do you mean? Why are you apologizing?”

“This was never supposed to be your burden.” Emma looked at him, her eyes a mix of apology and determination. “The only one who’s supposed to save me is me.”

“This isn’t a burden, Emma. I’ve spent years helping people like you. Apparently, generations. This is my mission and I’m gladly doing it for you too.” His smile was reassuring and he hoped that he wasn’t showing too much.

She doesn’t seem to notice as she looks down with a hint of pink in her cheeks. “Thank you, Killian, for helping me.” Her smile when she looks back at him sets his heart hammering against his chest.

Henry’s attempt at being quiet is louder than he seems to want as it breaks their moment. His cheeks are red and he tries to hide his satisfied smile.

“There’s nothing else in the book?” Killian asks, clearing his throat, hoping to get the attention off their small moment. “There seems to be some writing on that side.”

“Oh!” Henry’s brow furrows as he stares at the strange writing. Emma, he sees, has moved back to standing next to the boy. “I can’t read it.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s in a weird language, even weirder than what I just read.”

“Hmm, strange.”

The library door is opened once more, the sound catching their attention. 

“Henry?” Principal Mills calls from the door as she looks around for her son.

“It’s time to go already?” Killian can hear the pout in the boy’s voice and knows it’s there when Emma shows that soft smile that, he learns, is reserved for Henry.

“Yes, I’m done with the meeting. Come on, you have homework to do.” There is a smile on the Principal’s face too, it seems involuntary when Henry is involved.

“Fine.” He huffs as he rushes to put his backpack on. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Jones.”

Killian nods with a grin. “Master Mills.” 

“Mr. Jones.” Regina dismisses him with barely a look. As Henry reaches her, she places her arm around his shoulders and kisses his forehead.

“You may think she’s scary, but Henry knows how to soften her.” Emma quipped as the door shut behind the mother and child.

“The lad has abilities that we don’t know half of.” Killian winks.

After such a heavy afternoon, it seems odd to be in silence. There is much he wants to say but doesn’t know how to start or if he should. He shouldn’t.

“Would you like to watch a film tonight?” Killian asks quickly.

She seems to startle but relaxes almost as quickly. “In the box that has the people inside?”

“The people aren’t exactly ins- Nevermind,” He laughs. “Aye, in the box.”

“I would love to.” 

The headiness her smile causes chases him out of the door. They keep silent. There is no need for anything to be said. Nothing needed to change the quiet, light mood between them.

Of course, their plans are meant to be ruined. A short blonde woman carrying a bright pendant stops in front of them, stopping their walk. She looks at him with curious eyes.

“Are you Killian Jones?” She asks, igniting his curiosity.

“I am, who is asking?”

“The Blue Fairy wishes to speak with you.”

[eirikaanemo]

Can You Keep A Secret?

Warnings: imprisonment, mentions of starvation and sickness

Note: I haven't actually played Dvalin's quest but I tried to keep it as close to canon as possible. Feel free to leave a comment or message me if you see something wrong.

Venti x GN!Reader

1.9k Words

Your soulmate is secretly Barbatos... now what?

Everyone has a soulmate. And everyone is born knowing your soulmate's biggest secret. For most people it’s really unhelpful, but for some people it helps them find their soulmate. You’re in the latter group, because yours gives you a name.

You've known your whole life that your soulmate is secretly Barbatos. It's… interesting, to say the least. Of course you'd never dare to tell anyone. Thankfully, asking someone what their soulmate’s secret is isn’t very common. It’s considered to be very rude, so no one asks you what your secret is. They'd think you're crazy!

Barbatos hasn't been around for centuries and you're a mortal. This is the sort of thing you would read about in trashy romance novels! But even though it’s crazy and kind of overwhelming, you know it's true. You don't know if he'd ever accept you or want to be with you, in fact, you’re pretty sure he won’t, but you want to try.

Once that’s settled, you just have to find him. If he's anywhere, it's probably the city of Mondstadt. That’s where he seems to have shown up the most in the past, after all. So you move to Mondstadt. It’s a nice place and the people are friendly. Finding a job with the Knights of Favonius was fairly easy and it paid pretty well.

Unfortunately, the 'Storm-terror' problem starts shortly after you move. He throws the whole city into chaos the first time, and then proceeds to keep doing it regularly. The fear is all encompassing, but that's fine, you try to convince yourself. It will all be worth it when you find him. ‘If you find him’, your traitorous mind whispers.

It's been months, a year even, and you're starting to lose hope. How were you expecting to find Barbatos anyway? Shout from the rooftops for him to reveal himself and whisk you away? He hasn't been around for a long time and you knew that. And to be honest, at this point you've given up.

Going home is the logical thing to do, it’s where your family is after all. But you stay because you made yourself a home here. You have friends: Jean, Lisa, and Kaeya. You have come to love the city: music, freedom, and camaraderie. Well, you love the city except for the 'Storm-terror' attacks. Those aren't very lovable.

What concerns you the most though is that 'Storm-terror' is a dragon. And dragons trend to be important (like, archon important). But no one seems to remember this one. So you research. You visit the cathedral and speak with some nuns. You dedicate some time to listening to bard’s tales, asking them if they know any songs about dragons. One does, and it's surprisingly informational. You spend time at the library, pouring through book after book. And after all this investigation, you've come to the conclusion that 'Storm-terror' is actually Dvalin of the Four Winds. Not that anyone actually believes you

It didn't stop you from telling people your theory though, and being more respectful in how you refer to him, despite all the damage he's caused. Eventually they do start considering it and the city starts catching on. If you keep doing this, you may be able to change the city's perspective of and reaction to Dvalin.

The abyss mage catches on to this, and he just can't let that happen. It could compromise the whole plan. So one day he has Dvalin abduct you and locks you up. And true to your luck, this happens out of the blue while you’re taking a walk that you’d finally convinced Jean to go on with you. Which, of course, reverses all your progress and makes the situation even worse than it was before. Incidentally, this also does the exact opposite of what you’d been trying to do by stressing out poor Jean more.

The abyss mage doesn’t care about anything other than making sure you’re not able to go back to Mondstadt. The mage does not care about human necessities. Who cares if you die? Not him. He hates humans. It's kind of part of his job description.

Your prison is where Dvalin retreats to when not attacking. And the mage has to go report to someone else sometimes, giving you opportunities to speak with Dvalin. He never responds to you, but you can tell he eventually starts listening. You start by rambling about various subjects; then talking about how you know he's Dvalin, and that you're sorry he was being treated like he was, once you know he is listening. Because while you don’t know the whole situation, you know that he feels hurt by how humans have treated him.

After several days of talking to him, he slowly starts warming up to you. It’s a strange sort of bond that grows stronger as time goes on. He starts responding and the two of you actually have conversations instead of just you talking. Eventually you even mention how you know your soulmate is actually Barbatos and that you've kind of given up finding him.

He gives a thoughtful hum, lets you vent out your feelings, tries to think of an appropriate response, then allows you to drop the subject once you’ve worn yourself out emotionally. It’s becoming obvious that your health, physical, mental, and emotional, is degrading faster as time goes on.

One day Dvalin and the mage both disappear for longer than usual. After the mage makes sure you won’t be able to escape, of course. It’s not like you would’ve been able to leave anyway. At that point you’re not able to do much at all.

Little did you know that only Dvalin would be returning. They ended up facing the traveler and their companions in battle, and Dvalin was freed from the mage’s influence. The first thing Dvalin does is take them to help "the one decent human, that he actually cares about". You're in bad shape at this point, starving, sick, and weak. But you’re aware enough to hear Jean call your name and feel someone gather you in their arms before blacking out.

When you wake up you're at the cathedral and are feeling much better. Certainly you are not fully recovered, that will take weeks. That one bard who was able to play you a song about Dvalin is always there. You vaguely remember him being there when you were found. He doesn’t really interact with you much, he’s just kind of there, but he does play peaceful music that helps you fall asleep when you’re struggling to rest.

Then the day comes for you to go home. They’ve done all they can for you and you’re past the worst of it. But you’re well enough to be out and about. “Now you take care of yourself,” Barbara lectures you. “Don’t push yourself, get plenty of rest, drink lots of water, and eat three square meals a day, got it?”

“Got it,” you confirm. “Thank you for taking care of me, I really appreciate your help.” She smiles, wishes you well, and returns to the cathedral. You take a moment to breathe and just appreciate being back home, free of your prison and the small cathedral room they’d kept you in while treating you.

Taking a deep breathe you start on your way home. “Hey!” You hear someone exclaim behind you. “Could you hold on a second?” Turning around, you see the bard quickly excusing himself from a street performance before running to catch up to you. Once he’s caught up, he gives you a smile.

“Hi! I’m Venti the bard! Would you be willing to speak with me about something? It’s kind of private so we would need to go to windrise or something, but you’ll want to hear this, I promise.” He says. “Alright,” you agree, “but I can’t make it all the way to windrise. Would my home do? I live alone so we’ll have privacy.” He nods, “that’ll work great!”

The walk home is quiet but comfortable. The bard’s content to hum a tune as he follows you through the streets. Soon you’re home, unlocking the door to let you and your guest in. You lead him over to the couch where you both sit down. “So,” you say, “what did you want to talk about?”

“Well, I was talking with Dvalin a day or so after we freed both of you and he said you mentioned you came to Mondstadt searching for your soulmate. And that you said your soulmate’s biggest secret, the one that you know, is that they’re Barbatos,” he explains. You feel a pang of betrayal at Dvalin’s actions and some guilt for sharing your soulmate’s secret in the first place.

It probably showed on your face because he quickly spoke up again. “He didn’t just tell me for no reason though. You see, I am Barbatos. I’m your soulmate.” Your head, which had been drooping with the weight of your emotions suddenly shot up as you fumbled for a response.

Apparently that showed too because he continued, “And I’m sorry I made it so hard for you to find me. I’m sorry I almost made you give up on me. Most of my waking time is spent incognito so I can watch over everyone while not being put in a position of authority. I didn’t anticipate meeting you ”

There’s a moment or two of silence as you gather your thoughts. “It’s okay,” you assure him. “I understand why you did what you did and I’ll never hold it against you. How were you supposed to know I was even born yet, not to mention that I’ve been in the area searching for you.”

You take another moment or two to gather your wits. “I will also understand if you don’t want to do anything about this,” you state. “I don’t want you to feel forced into having a relationship with me if you don’t want to. The last thing I’d want to do is be responsible for making you miserable. And that’s not to mention how you’re an archon and I’m just a mortal.”

Your talking speeds up as you start rambling, losing control of the conversation as you feel more and more nervous. Once you realize you’re rambling you shut your mouth with a click. “Sorry about that,” you mutter. “I do that sometimes when I’m nervous.”

When you chance a glance at him, he honestly looks a little offended but mostly just really sad. “Is- is that really what you think I think about this?” He asks softly. “Because it’s not. I absolutely want this. I absolutely want you. I’ve been looking forward to this moment for millenia and I wouldn’t give this up for the world.”

He reaches over and slowly, hesitantly, so as to give you time to escape if you want, gathers you into his arms. You realize that he’s the one who picked you up to bring you home. Your ear rests against his chest as lean against him, and his heart skips a beat as you gently grab one of his hands and kiss it. “I’m glad,” you breathe. “I’m glad too,” he voices softly.

You yawn, feeling the exhaustion from your journey home and the rest of the day hit you. He pulls you close and whispers in your ear, “Sleep well, my cecilia, I’ll be here when the sun comes up and when you wake up.” You fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

[jamaisjoons]

the dragon’s princess ⤑ jhs | m.

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:  with your mother’s death, and your father remarrying, came your abandonment in a tower - under the pretence that you’d be saved by a prince when you were older. now, it’s been over a decade and the princes come in droves to save you from the dragon that guards you. but you don’t want a charming prince. no. you prefer sweet ferocious dragons. one sweet, ferocious dragon in particular. fantasy au. royalty au. fairytale au. childhood friends to lovers au.

⟶ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: dragon shifter!hoseok x princess!reader

⟶ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: angst • fluff • smut

⟶ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 23.5k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: child abandonment, fairytale cliches: evil stepmother, abandoned princess, protective dragons and saviour princes, mentions of violence/action, mentions of death, brief descriptions of drowning (v v brief), alcohol consumption, soft dom!hoseok, sub!reader, slight body worship, hoseok, of course, has a dragon cock, hoseok is a tease, fingering,  unprotected sex,  first time sex + virgin sex, marking/mating, creampie, kidnapping,  reader makes reckless decisions (DON’T randomly jump out a window in a spur of a moment decision)

⟶ 𝑎/𝑛: LOOK IT’S A SEXY COMEBACK!! hello ladeez n gentlenutz, I have missed you all! It’s been SO long since i’ve written (only 3 months really but it feELS LONGER) so anyway, here we are!! I hope you enjoy!! dedicated to miss bette aka peanut aka @ddaenggtan​, i love and appreciate u so much okay thank you xxx

❥ thank you to @honeymoonjin​, @hobisbeautifulass​, @shadowsremedy​ and @jungtaeyoongles​ and of course miss bette, but you’ve already been tagged uwu, for being sweet babies and reading this and giving me the much needed validation to keep me inspired and writing this fic, i love u sexy losers

❥ happy birthday to my love, my sunflower, my king jung hoseok. i love u to the end of the worlds and further

⏤ part of the @ficswithluv​ ‘The Luv Library’ project

Your footsteps crunch along the ground as you make your way back to the tower you’ve called your home for the past decade. Leaves crackle under the soles of your sandals, the sound entwining with the gentle rustle of the trees as the soothing cacophony of sounds eases your soul. A soft wind flitters past, the light gale wisping through your hair, causing a few strands to dance in the squall. It shouldn’t take you long to reach home - you’d only been out foraging and hunting for supper. A victorious smile creeping onto your face, your eyes glance down at the wicker basket nestled next to your hip, the handle resting in the crook of your elbow.

An array of mixed berries, fruits and vegetables sit in the basket, nestled next to the cloth-covered slab of boar meat - and a few different herbs stalks taking up the rest of the space. Your grin widens as you silently praise yourself over your success. The boar meat especially gets you excited - it’s Hoseok’s favourite. Once again, you internally cheer, as you imagine the inevitable look of excitement on your dragon’s face when you tell him about your catch. Boar meat was rare to come by - well, somewhat rare - considering it was a fool’s folly to hunt for one without someone to accompany you. However, today, you’d managed to stumble across an injured one and tried your luck - and as it turned out, your luck had won out. Though, you do chalk most of it down to Seokjin’s archery training. The elf had tried his hardest to impart onto you some of his skill; and apparently, he’d been successful, since you’d managed to skewer the boar with one, well placed shot to the head, consequently putting it out of its misery.

You continue your way back home, practically moving on muscle memory alone - you’d walked this same path more times than you could count - the trek ingrained into the soles of your feet. The dense thicket of trees, while almost identical to each other, doesn’t confuse you as they used to and you find yourself easily navigating through the forest. It doesn’t take you long to reach home, and moments later, you approach the giant tower nestled within the dense canopy of the enchanted forest.

Taking a deep breath, you bite your lip before quickening your steps, more than excited to get dinner started. One small glance at the sky lets you know that dusk will soon approach, the sun low in the sky, casting its darkened luminescence across the forest floor. Nearing the heavy wooden door, you take in its appearance. The dark wood has faded over time, greyed from its rich cherrywood colour to a duskier oak colour. Thick clusters of moss have settled into the grooves of the bark, blanketing the hardwood in a layer of soft fuzz. Large grey slabs of stone surround the door, making up the walls of the tower and vines of ivy and honeysuckle creep along the sides, brightening up the dull grey with its vivid emerald foliage and vibrant chromatic petals.

Once, long ago, the tower seemed daunting to you. Of course it had, with its towering stature and imposing appearance. You could remember it somewhat fuzzily, despite it being so long ago. When the knights had first dropped you off, you’d only been seven years old, and you’d no idea what had been going on. Back then, the tower had seemed daunting - of course, it had, you were just a child. Vaguely, you remember the knight who had escorted you into the forest - his sweeping blonde hair and wary green eyes burned into the back of your mind - and still, you can hear his voice, almost hesitant as he thrust the small basket of food into your hands before telling you this would be your new home, and that he was sorry. Then, you didn’t really know what he’d been apologising for - now you do - he was apologising for being the one to have abandoned you.

From the hazy images in your memory, you have a vague recollection of why you’d been left here: your stepmother had convinced your father to abandon you, after your mother’s death, under the impression that you would be saved by a prince - your knight in shining armour. You had expected your father to fight for you, but distraught by the death of your mother, and your face only a cruel reminder of her, he’d agreed to his wife’s wishes, and thus, you’d been whisked away into the enchanted forest that bordered your kingdom.

The moment the knight had left, jumping onto his white stallion before riding back out, you’d called out to him - begged him to take you back with him - but your pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Scared, you’d retreated into the dark tower, its tall walls looming over your small frame as you desperately cried out for your father. In the blackened room, with the sun setting, you had feared for your life, curling into a ball and crying into your hands as you wished for someone to come help you.

And someone had.

In the most unlikely of forms.

Twelve years ago

You watch in panic and despair as the knight rides off on his horse; the stallion’s mane fluttering in the wind beside him. The clip-clop of the horse’s gallop soon fades, leaving you in the quiet forest. Terror immediately floods through your being as you look around the forest for any signs of life. There isn’t any. You’re completely alone. Looking at the wicker basket of food next to you, your bottom lip juts out, trembling as tears well in your eyes. You’re all alone.

Picking up the basket, you waddle into the tower, the dimness of the room only illuminated by thick beams of waning sunlight that filtered in through the sparse and sporadically carved out arched windows in the walls. Walking over to one of the corners, you slowly sit down, looking at the tower fearfully. The knight had said this was your new home - but you don’t want it to be your new home. You wanted your old home. Nothing about this tower feels like home; it’s dark, dreary and crushingly isolated.

Though, loneliness is something you’re used to.

Ever since your mother died, you’ve been lonely. Distraught by the death of his first wife, your father had sequestered himself from you and thrown himself into his kingly duties, leaving you completely alone. Then, mere months after your mother’s untimely departure, your father had remarried and your loneliness had only increased as you watched your father and stepmother rule the kingdom.

Curling up into a ball, you pull your knees up to your chest, your chin resting between the kneecaps. Sobs fill the air, your quiet whimpers floating through the atmosphere; the broken cries juxtaposed against the eerie quiet of the forest and the solitude of the tower. The sun slowly sets over the horizon, the dusky colours of twilight blackening the sky in darkened shades of gold, mauve, and lavender. With each second that passes by, the tower grows darker, the chill of the evening wind slowly setting into your bones as you start to shiver.

All of a sudden, you hear the crunching of twigs and the crackling of dried out leaves. The hair on the back of your neck stands on their ends, your skin prickling with goosebumps - and not from the cold. Instantly, you stifle your sobs, low whimpers escaping your mouth, even as you try to muffle them. Footsteps shuffle closer, a heavy presence lingering in the air as you try to curl tighter into a ball, attempting to make yourself as small as possible.

The footsteps move closer and soon you hear the door to the tower creak open. Palpitating heavily in your chest, all you can hear is your heartbeat thundering - so loud it feels like it's right beside your eardrums. A high pitch whimper escapes your lips, wondering if it's an animal or one of the forest creatures who’ve come for you.

“Are you okay?” a voice calls out, shock evident in the voice. You let out a small whine, curling tighter into yourself. The newcomer grows quiet, a tense silence thickening the atmosphere. You try to stay as quiet as possible, hoping whoever it is will leave you alone.

“Are you all alone?” the voice asks this time. You freeze, your heart still beating rapidly in your chest, even as confusion seeps into your skin. The voice is timid and slightly wary, but it’s sweet and high-pitched - almost comforting. With great trepidation, you slowly lift your head, only to come face to face with a young boy standing in the doorway of the tower. Blinking owlishly, you stare at him blankly.

Quietly, and warily, you take him in - your eyes trailing over his features. He looks fairly human - with lithe limbs, and soft features: rounded, ample cheeks and a gently sloping jaw - both juxtaposed by a sharp, pointed nose. His hair is dark in colour, and though he’s silhouetted by the sunset, you note the russet tinge to his hair, his locks falling gently to frame his forehead. If you didn’t know better, you’d consider him human - if it weren’t for his eyes. They’re a light yellow-hued hazel, almost glowing in the darkroom of the tower, and the pupils are slit vertically. A ripple of fear shoots through you, and you shuffle further back against the wall, keeping your wary eyes steady on him.

“Why are you here? Do you need some help?” the boy asks again. He moves to step closer to you, one hand reaching towards you. However, his actions cause you to immediately stiffen. Noticing your muscles tense, the boy immediately stills before retreating - but not before throwing his hands up in surrender.

“I just want to help. I heard you crying. Are you here alone?” he repeats once again. Hesitantly, you nod, answering him this time. The boy bites his lip, his eyes drooping slightly in sadness.

“I can help you if you want? I live here - in this tower I mean. I’m Hoseok,” he introduces, pushing the door wider open before fully entering the room. Once again, you stiffen slightly but Hoseok does his best to stay away from you, giving you space as he flits about his tower. You watch his every movement, keeping your distrustful eyes on him. He turns to a small window carved out into one of the walls, his nose crinkling in distaste as he takes in the darkening sky.

“It’s gonna be very dark soon. But don’t worry! I have some candles!” Hoseok says cheerily, sending a smile your way. You watch as he walks to the wall, staring up at the rusted iron candle fittings several feet above his head. Tilting your head to the side curiously, you wonder how he’s going to light the candles - they’re far too high for him to reach. Noticing your curiosity and slight skepticism, he sends you a cheeky smile, and then all of a sudden, his cheeks puff out.

Your eyes widen as he releases a strong puff of breath, fire shooting out of his mouth in a strong stream - almost like a flamethrower. The jet of flames bursts through the air, dowsing the candle in its fire before lighting the wick. It’s a miracle the candle wax doesn’t melt into a puddle. You stare at him in awe, watching as he repeatedly blows puffs of fire, lighting up the entire tower in a bright amber glow, the residual heat of his fiery breath tingling over your chilled skin. Hoseok turns back to you, a look of absolute victory on his face, his eyes slitted into little half-moons and cheeks pulled under them as the eyelids crinkle in the corner. You don’t notice any of it - instead completely in awe of the suddenly bright room.

“Did you like that?” Hoseok asks, causing you to nod, still completely starstruck over his display of power. Sensing that you’re slightly less wary, Hoseok quietens down before levelling his curious gaze at you. You watch him quietly, still curled up into a ball as you wonder what he’s thinking. Then - he slowly approaches. Your eyes widen, fear once again gripping at you - but he moves slowly, one step at a time, so as not to scare you.

“Are you feeling better now?” Hoseok asks timidly; his gaze briefly flicks to your tear-stained cheeks before returning it to your own gaze. Pulling your lip between your teeth, you nod hesitantly. You do feel slightly better - though, fear, confusion, and sadness still linger around you. You’re alone now - abandoned by your family and left in this isolated tower to fend for yourself. Well, not so alone - you think, momentarily glancing at Hoseok.

Then, almost as if reading your mind, “Are you alone here?” Hoseok asks, echoing your thoughts. Muscles locking, you shrink into yourself before once again nodding. “Why?”

Shrugging, “My parents don’t want me anymore,” you reply quietly, tears brimming in your eyes. The rustle of fabric fills the air as Hoseok squats down to your level, looking at you with wide, bewitching hazel eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok replies gently - nothing but truth evident in his eyes. Eyebrows furrowing, you cock your head to the side, but before you can ask why he’s sorry, he continues, “but it’s okay - because you’re not alone. I’m here now!” The words fall out of his mouth easily, a bright grin on his face, his lips pulled into the shape of a heart. Instantly, your heart soars, hope blooming inside your chest. You should know better than to trust strangers, your father had taught you that much - but your father had also been the one to abandon you - and you were desperate for someone, anyone, to relieve the ache of loneliness that you’d gotten so used to.

“I’m ____,” you finally introduce yourself, “I’m… I was a princess,” you continue, before your voice trails off. Hoseok only grins in response. Then, he stands back up before holding out his hand for you. His palms are small, chubby little fingers sticking out. You look at it intently, as if it held all the secrets to the world.

“Well, ____, I’m a dragon! And from now on, I’m gonna be your dragon! I’ll protect you!” Hoseok promises, his voice full of conviction and promise.

Then, he grabs your smaller hand in his and pulls you up to your feet.

The memory fades from your mind, a fond smile on your face. That night, Hoseok had cooked you some herbal broth, made from the different plants he’d foraged in the forest. You remember it being extremely bitter, borderline inedible, and nothing like the food you’d gotten in the castle - but you hadn’t minded. No, because the entire time you’d watched the nine-year-old painstakingly bend over a pot, with a fire he kept going himself, just to cook you a meal - despite being a mere two years older than you, having no culinary experience and only needing to feed himself before. Back then, and even now, you appreciated the gesture. It had meant the world to you.

Not to mention, that for the first time since your mother died, you hadn’t felt so lonely. Hoseok had been a blessing - one you had desperately wished for every night since your mother’s death and your father’s abandonment. In every way, shape, and form, he’d crushed your loneliness, giving you much-needed company, friendship - and not to mention, a family; because the next day, he’d introduced you to his friends, the different creatures of the forest.

“____? Wake up! I want you to meet some people!” Hoseok’s high-pitched voices calls out. With a soft groan, you awaken from your slumber. Opening your eyes, you come face to face with the boy you’d only just met yesterday. His kind eyes smile at you, his lips pulled into a cheery grin.

“What?” you groggily ask.

“Come meet my friends!” Hoseok says cheerily. Your eyes widen, nervousness colouring your veins. Hoseok’s friends? It shouldn’t sound as daunting as it is - but it does - because you’ve never met them before. What if they don’t like you? What if they get Hoseok to leave you? What if you’re left alone again? The thought terrifies you - you’ve only known Hoseok for a short while, but you were already coming to rely on him - he was your first friend after all.

“Oh! Here! There was food in your basket - have some breakfast,” Hoseok says, thrusting out a little loaf of bread and some cheese towards you. Blinking owlishly, your sleep fogged mind reels slightly. Nevertheless, the smell of the food has your stomach rumbling, and graciously you accept Hoseok’s offering - but not before breaking the loaf and handing him some. Hoseok looks at you in surprise, but takes the food from you nonetheless.

“Come on then! They’re waiting to meet you,” Hoseok says before holding out his hand for you. With trepidation, you place your smaller hand in his; and despite your fear, you decide to trust Hoseok - because he’s all you have now.

The two of you wander through the tower, down the spiral steps until you’re back at the entrance. With each step, your nervousness grows, your palms turning clammy as you grip Hoseok’s hand tighter. “Are you okay?��� Hoseok asks, his slightly pointed ears twitching as he hears your heartbeat quicken. Taking a deep breath, you swallow thickly before nodding.

“I’m okay,” you manage to squeak out. Hoseok’s head cocks slightly, looking at you in uncertainty, however, you squeeze his hand to reassure him, causing him to squeeze back.

“Let’s go then. I promise they’re nice,” Hoseok whispers quietly before opening the door and guiding you out.

Instantly, sunlight floods through the door, your eyes squinting immediately as you try to adjust to the bright light. Once your eyes have adjusted, Hoseok leads you past a dense brush of bushes and down a covertly hidden, narrow path. You both walk for a couple of minutes before you find yourselves at a little clearing nestled in the middle of the woods. From just past the clearing, you can hear raucous laughter and happy chattering, a particularly thick bush acting as a barrier between you and Hoseok’s friends.

It only takes a couple of moments for Hoseok to peel apart the bush, creating a narrow path for you to walk through - and then, you’re greeted by six young boys. Two boys are running around the riverbank that cuts through the glade, another boy floating in the river as he happily splashes the two boys chasing each other. Another one is happily resting on a tree branch, his eyes closed and little snores escaping his nose as he naps. The last two boys are sat on a boulder, simply watching over the rest of the boys: observing them. Welcomed by the sight of the six unknown boys, you can’t help but cower behind Hoseok, hiding most of your body behind his slightly taller one as you peer in curiosity over his shoulder.

The first person to notice the two of you is one of the boys on the boulder. As soon as he stands up, your eyes grow wide - he looks to be a couple of years older than even Hoseok, but still pretty young, yet he stands tall - much taller than you and Hoseok - and straight. He’s dressed in brown leather, with a bow and quiver full of arrows strapped to his back. Stalking over to the two of you, he draws the attention of all the other boys, except the sleeping one.

“Hi! Welcome to the enchanted forest,” the tall boy greets, a friendly smile on his face. His hair is dark, framing his face and his bright amber eyes are kind. “I’m Seokjin, it’s nice to meet you,” he introduces. Ducking your head, you shyly curtsey to him, not knowing how else to greet him. Your gesture causes Seokjin to chuckle, Hoseok frowning before stepping further in front of you, levelling a glare on the older boy. Noticing his protectiveness, Seokjin simply laughs at the dragon.

“She’s here!” the boy in the river cries. Instantly, the two on the riverbank stop chasing each other. You watch from over Hoseok’s shoulder as the two boys start running towards you - but they’re not what has most of your attention. No, it’s the boy from the river. You watch as he pulls himself onto land, your eyes widening it awe at the tail attached to his torso. However, it doesn’t last long - because the moment it touches land, they transform into legs. Eyes glued to him, you’re completely intrigued by how he stands up before approaching you slowly with shaky legs and you can’t help but giggle over how adorable he is. Suddenly, one of the boys turns around and quickly walks over to him, letting the merman lean on him as the two of them approach you.

“Hi! I’m Jimin, it’s nice to meet you,” Jimin introduces, reaching you first, the other two still walking slowly, the merman’s wobbly legs strengthening slightly with each step they take. You turn your attention to Jimin. He’s around your height, with adorable puffy cheeks, warm rose-pink eyes, pale blonde hair, and pointed ears. Noticing your gaze, currently glued to his ears, Jimin smiles brightly. “Have you never seen a nymph before?” he asks. Blushing at being caught staring, you shake your head but mumble out an apology. “It’s alright! We haven’t seen a human this close either!” Jimin replies easily, nonchalance laced in his voice.

“That’s Namjoon - he’s a griffin,” Jimin says, pointing towards the boy still sitting on the boulder. He watches you intently, his honey, eagle eyes trained on you as his white-feathered, pointed ears stand erect, perched on the top of his head, between his platinum-white hair. His gaze slightly unnerves you, causing you to shrink further behind Hoseok.

“Joon! Stop that,” Hoseok growls out, snapping at the other boy. Namjoon blinks owlishly before blushing sheepishly.

You watch as he rubs the back of his head before cocking his head to the side. “Sorry,” Namjoon mumbles under his breath.

“You’ll get used to him. He’s really nice, he’s just wary of new people,” Seokjin whispers conspiratorially in your ear.

“Yeah, don’t worry, we’re all nice I promise,” Jimin says, popping up on your either side. Both their actions cause you to jump suddenly. When did they sneak up beside you? Noticing you jerk, they both apologise before stepping back.

“Sorry, sorry,” Seokjin and Jimin call out at once, before backing off.

“Ignore them, they’re all just excited to meet you. I’m Yoongi by the way,” comes out a new, unfamiliar voice. Your gaze moves to the boy on the tree - except now, he’s fully awake. Perched on the tree, he simply looks at you through his pale pink locks; his emerald-green eyes glowing so vibrantly that you can see them even with the distance between the two of you.

“Guys! Stop it, you’re scaring her!” Hoseok whines, stomping his little foot.

“It’s okay Hoseok! They’re just being nice,” you quickly call out, shaking your head at him - not wanting to offend his friends. As overwhelming as it is meeting them, they seem friendly enough - not to mention that none of them seem to dislike you, putting you more at ease. Finally, the last two boys appear. One of them, the smaller of the two, has bright red, almost orange toned hair, glowing in the sunlight: almost as if he’s on fire. The second, slightly taller one - the merman - has dark blue hair paired with icy blue eyes.

“I’m Taehyung! This is Jungkook!” the blue-haired merman greets you, smiling brightly, even as he leans heavily on the smaller boy - who you now know to be Jungkook. “I’m a merman,” Taehyung says proudly, a bright smile on his face.

Teal eyes flashing in annoyance, “And I’m a phoenix!” Jungkook butts in, pouting slightly when the older boy doesn’t introduce him before elbowing him in the rib playfully. Taehyung, however, only laughs him off.

Heart gripping, you can’t help but be jealous of the interaction. You’ve never had friends you could play with like that. Suddenly, Taehyung jerks slightly, his knees buckling under his weight. Before he can fall, Seokjin and Jimin’s hands instantly reach out for him, steadying the merman. The brief action only causes your chest to tighten. Is that what having friends was like? “Are you okay?” you blurt out, looking at Taehyung’s wobbly legs worriedly. The merman blinks at you before letting out a sheepish, boxy smile.

“Uh… Yeah... it’s just a little weird - I’m not used to having legs. But Hoseok couldn’t stop talking about you this morning and we all wanted to meet you!” Taehyung replies. You look up at Hoseok curiously, the younger boy’s cheeks tinging pink as he looks away, rubbing the back of his head shyly.

“Don’t tell her that… it’s embarrassing,” Hoseok mumbles under his breath. You stare at him for a couple of moments before letting out a little giggle. The boys look at you in surprise as you laugh, before turning to each other in confusion. You can’t help yourself, however, because as strange as the experience is, you find yourself happier than you’ve been in a long time. You’ve never been surrounded by this many children before. Back when you were a princess, you didn’t have any friends - only the children of dukes and duchesses to play with; and even they would only visit every so often, when their parents had business with yours.

“____?” Hoseok asks, poking your cheek as he tries to get your attention. Biting your lip, you greet them all with a bright smile - a real one. You smile so wide, it hurts your cheeks, but you can’t help yourself.

“It’s nice to meet you all! I’m ____, I hope we can be friends,” you blurt out without thinking. Silence fills the air for a couple of moments causing you to bite your lips. Had you made a mistake? Deflating slightly, you shrink under their blank stares, their curious gaze focused intently on you. Had you done something wrong in your excitement? Was asking to be their friend too much? Would Hoseok leave you now?

The silence stretches on for what seems like an eternity - but in reality, it is only a couple of moments. Then, all of a sudden, it’s broken by a chorus of laughter. Your eyes widen as all the boys begin chuckling. Fearing the worst, your fists clench into the skirt of your dress, balling the material as you hold it tightly.

“Yeah! Let’s be friends. For a long time,” the boys all chime in, bright smiles on their faces. Even Namjoon chimes in, his once wary gaze softening as he looks at your small, frightened frame. The moment those words fall from their lips, your heart soars, your chest lifting as happiness blooms within you.

Friends. You have friends.

Drawn out of your musings, you blink in surprise at your surroundings. Somehow, you’d moved on muscle memory alone - and now, were by the firepit in the room that served as both your kitchen and dining room in the tower. Except, you hadn’t just moved to this room on muscle memory, you’d also somehow managed to begin cooking dinner. Blinking in confusion at the cut-up vegetables and meat, you simply shake your head. Turning to the pot hanging over the firepit, the vessel already filled with the water, you add in the vegetables and meat before haphazardly throwing in the herbs for the stew. However, without Hoseok, you’re unable to light the fire under the pot, which means you have to go find him.

You turn to one of the windows, your eyes narrowing when you realise it’s going to be dark soon. Yet, Hoseok still isn’t home. Eyebrows furrowing, you decide that perhaps it may be worth looking for him. You have a while for the stew to cook anyway - and there are only a few places Hoseok could be - that is - if he’s nearby. Grabbing your cloak to shield you from the evening chill, you wrap it around your shoulders before making your way up the tower. Briefly, you stop in your room, wondering if Hoseok was in there. He isn’t - and travelling a little further up, you know he’s not in his own room either.

With a sigh of frustration, you descend back down the stairs, checking each room of the tower for any signs of your best friend. He’s not in any of them, which means he’s either in his den or in the Goblin’s Glade - the little clearing where you and your friends hang out. You decide to try the den, considering it’s a little closer than the meadow. Exiting the tower, you head off in the direction you know Hoseok’s den to be in.

You remember the first time you’d found out Hoseok had a secret den - you’d heard the stories of course, about dragons and their dens - and how they would steal treasures from people to horde in their nests. You hadn’t believed any of them, especially since Hoseok had never shown any tendency for hoarding - nor had you ever seen a den. Until he’d disappeared one day - when you were twelve years old.

Seven years ago

“Hobi?” you call out, wandering through the tower as you scour the area for your draconic best friend. Small pout marring your face, your eyebrows scrunch as he’s nowhere to be found. Leaving the confines of the tower, you look around the clearing for any signs of the copper-haired dragon.

“Hobi?!” you shout once again, your voice carrying through the forest.

“____, what’s up?” a voice suddenly asks. Jumping, you let out a shriek before turning to the newcomer. Namjoon hovers over you, his large eagle wings spanning around him as he glides on the air.

“Namjoon! Don’t do that!” you cry out, sending him a scowl. The older boy simply laughs at you before gracefully landing on the ground. Or at least, it would have been a graceful landing - if he hadn’t been Namjoon, because in classic Namjoon fashion, the moment his feet land, he almost trips. “Will you ever stop being so clumsy?” you tease, cocking your hip to the side and placing your hands on them.

Namjoon sneers at that, dusting himself off, “One day! I’m still getting used to them you know,” he mutters under your breath. You let out a little giggle at his words. It had surprised you that the forest creatures weren’t born with every one of their attributes - no instead, they slowly came into them over time - kind of like their own version of adulthood. Sure, they were born with some fantastical features - like their eyes, or ears - but the rest usually came with age. Seokjin had fully come into his elven self, and thus his magic, when he’d turned fourteen - three years after you had met him, and Yoongi had fully transitioned into a dryad the year after Seokjin’s.

Namjoon, however, had only come into his wings a month ago, when he’d turned fourteen. Briefly, you wonder when Hoseok would change. So far, he still looked mostly human - if it weren’t for his draconic eyes. “Thinking about Hoseok?” Namjoon asks, a cheeky grin on his face as his dimple indent. Instantly, your face heats before you playfully smack him. Or at least, you attempt to - but Namjoon sees it coming, his eagle eyes catching the movement instantaneously and allowing him to dodge.

“Does the wittle pwincess still have a wittle cwush on Hobi Hobi?” Namjoon teases as he reaches out to pinch your cheeks. Batting his hands away, his words cause your cheeks to heat further.

“Sh-shut up! It’s not like that!” you screech in indignation. Namjoon lets out a little tut before looking at you impishly.

“If you say so, Princess,” he sing songs.

“Stop calling me that!” you scowl, stomping your foot while letting out a huff.

“Okay, okay! Anyway, why were you calling out for Hoseok?” Namjoon asks, looking at you curiously. Cheeks still flushed, your nose scrunches as you remember why you left the tower.

“I can’t find him, do you know where he is?” you ask, cocking your head to the side, your previous ire completely forgotten. Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow in worry.

“Was he not in the tower? He’s not with any of us. Jimin, Tae and Kook are playing in the Merfolk Mangroves and Seokjin and Yoongi went to the forest edge for a walk. I was reading in my nest when I heard you calling out for Hoseok,” Namjoon replies. Hearing that, your eyebrows only furrow further in confusion.

“But- he told me he was staying with you last night? He was supposed to be back this morning, but he hadn’t shown up. It’s afternoon now, so he should have been back,” you inform. The look of shock and slight unease on Namjoon’s face worries you. “What’s wrong?” you ask.

“He wasn’t with me last night,” Namjoon replies. Your eyes widen slightly, heart thundering in your chest. Had Hoseok lied to you? Seeing the worry evident on your face, Namjoon reaches out and places a hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay, I can track him,” Namjoon says. Biting your lip, you nod your head, watching as Namjoon begins sniffing the air for Hoseok’s scent.

“He’s… he’s close?” Namjoon says, confusion laced in his voice. Namjoon gestures towards you to follow him as he begins walking behind the tower. You follow him through the thicket of trees, Namjoon sniffing the air every now and then as he tracks his friend.

Eventually, you reach a small hollowed-out cave. Your head cocks to the side as you take it in. Trees grow out of the rocks, the roots entwining around the boulders that form the entrance to the cave. Vines of ivy hang down around the entrance as iridescent mushrooms and flowers bloom around the bark that surrounds the cave. Moss blankets almost every other inch of the cave, the plush, vibrant foliage cushioning the rough terrain of the rock.

“He’s in there - and I think I hear snoring,” Namjoon says. His words confuse you - why would Hoseok be sleeping in there? Especially when he has his own room in the tower you both live in. Sure, the tower isn’t the epitome of comfort, but surely it would be better than a cave. “You wanna go in?” Namjoon asks. Taking a deep breath, you nod. Hoseok had never hidden from you before, you’ve lived together for five, almost six years now - you didn’t keep secrets from each other.

Slowly, the two of you approach the cave, dread settling deeper and deeper into your bones with every step you take. Once you pass the threshold of the cave, you expect it to be dark, and dimly lit by the light from the entrance - however, just like the tower, the inside is lit up by Hoseok’s dragon flames.

Illuminated by brilliant, amber flames of Hoseok’s dragon fire, the interior flashes in almost blinding light. Scores and scores of treasure litter the cave, different trinkets of gold and silver strewn across haphazardly. The cave is larger than you expected, Hoseok laying in the middle of it all, curled up on a little mound of gold coins. However, he doesn’t look completely like Hoseok.

No - instead, there’s a large tail springing out from his back, the leather looking appendage curling around the treasure and flicking absentmindedly as your best friend sleeps. The tail isn’t the only difference, however: two large, leather wings curl around his body, the limbs dwarfing his smaller frame, and two curled horns twist out of his head. The scales that make up his draconic features are a copper tinted red, glowing an iridescent scarlet in the bright lighting of his flames.

Suddenly, his nose twitches and then with a whine, and a huff - a puff of smoke escaping his nose - Hoseok blinks awake. The moment his eyes open, you’re met with his familiar hazel eyes, his gaze instantly finding and locking with yours. The two of you stare at each other for what feels like millennia, Namjoon quietly sneaking out and leaving the two of you by yourself.

All of a sudden, Hoseok springs to his feet, his draconic features retreating into his body as he looks at you in fear. “____- I can explain,” Hoseok quickly calls out, taking a few steps towards you. But immediately tears pool in your eyes, and before he can reach you, you run out of the cave. Blindly, you race through the forest, your chest aching with each step you take - though, you don’t know whether it’s from running or from the heartache of seeing Hoseok’s draconian attributes.

Out of the blue, you hear the heavy beating of wings before arms wind around your small form, bringing you to a stop. The telltale scent of burnt amber and pine fills your senses and despite yourself, you find yourself calming down. Sinking into Hoseok’s scent, tears heavily pool into your eyes. “Why?” you croak out, not understanding why Hoseok would hide such a huge part of himself from you. When had he changed? You know it doesn’t happen overnight - and with the amount he’s changed, it has to have been a while. How long had he kept something this big from you?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see me like that, I’m sorry. Please don’t be scared of me. ____, please,” Hoseok begins crying, little whimpers escaping his lips as he holds you tighter. Over and over again, he keeps muttering out little apologies, his tears falling onto your shoulder and wetting the cotton of your shirt. His words ricochet through your ears, ringing loudly throughout your being. Why was he apologising?

Placing your hands onto his arm, you slowly unwind them from your body before turning to him. When you see him again, he looks like he’s always done - human - other than his eyes. The bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks mirror yours, you know they do - but unlike yours - his are filled with fear, trepidation and dread. “Hoseok? Hobi- what are you talking about? I’m not afraid of you. Why would I be?” you ask him, pushing away your hurt at having him hide his draconian form from you.

“You ran away from me- after seeing me… like that,” Hoseok whispers, his voice carrying heavy through the quiet forest. Your eyes widen as you realise what he’s talking about - he thinks you’re afraid of him.

“Idiot. I ran because I was hurt, not because I was scared,” you reply quietly, your head lowering to look at the ground. He thought you were scared? How could you be? He’s Hoseok. He’s your best friend - the one who had saved you from your loneliness all those years ago.

“Hurt?” Hoseok repeats, looking at you in confusion. Nodding, you kick your feet slightly.

“You went through your change... but you didn’t tell me. Why?” you ask. Had you done something to betray his trust? Had you done something that made him feel like he couldn’t be completely honest with you?

“I was scared… I don’t- I don’t look human anymore. What if you didn’t want to be my friend anymore? What if you start to hate me?” Hoseok asks, his voice hoarse as he lays his insecurities at your feet. Tears brim in your eyes and you let out a little cry before running and hugging him tightly.

“I could never hate you- or be scared of you. Hoseok, you are my best friend. My dragonbest friend. I ran away because you kept this big secret from me. Not because I was scared of you. I’m sorry,” you apologise, feeling somewhat responsible for his pain.

“I’m sorry too. I should have trusted you…” Hoseok mumbles, returning your hug. You smile into his hug. “Are you sure… you won’t hate me? Or be scared of me? Now that I look like a monster?” Hoseok asks. You tut and shake your head.

“You’re not a monster - you’re a dragon. My dragon, remember? You promised. And yes, I’m sure,” you reply earnestly. Nothing but sincerity in your voice, Hoseok frowns.

“How?”

“Because you were there for me... when no one else was.”

Entering Hoseok’s den, you note that the torches are lit up and as usual, the dazzling amber-gold flames illuminate the cave. Hoseok’s treasure trove had grown over the years - your dragon unable to help himself whenever he’d see something shiny. Sometimes, he’d even travel to the villages that bordered the forest, looking for any shiny trinkets he could find. Gold coins, precious jewels and various different ornate articles are strewn all over the place. You know Hoseok has no use for them nor does he have any concept of monetary value - he only collects them because he likes them - but you can’t help but liken them to the gold coffers of the palace. Not that you remember much of them - just that they were filled with excessive wealth.

Eyes scouring over the cave, you find no sign of your dragon and with a sigh, you exit the den. That left only one more place he could be: the Goblin’s Glade - if he was around here. Though, looking at the sky, you know there’s no real reason for him to be anywhere else. If by some chance he’d ventured further into the forest, you had no idea where he could be - but the chances of that are slim; Hoseok very rarely went somewhere without telling you, especially now.

Turning on your heel, you trek back the way you came. Your feet move automatically as you trudge through the grass and towards the Goblin’s Glade. You’d been there so many times, the meadow being where you would frequently meet up with the rest of your friends, that the path towards it was ingrained in the soles of your feet. Some of your fondest memories took place in the meadow - including the first time you had really realised the extent of your feelings for Hoseok. Sure, you’d always had a crush on him - who wouldn’t, he was the most enamouring dragon shifter you’d ever met. Well - really the only one, but you had met other creatures - and you’d never been attracted to them like you had Hoseok.

Three years ago

“Get her!” Jimin calls out, the nymph running after you, even as you agilely escape his clutches. Your eyes widen in surprise when Jimin pops up in front of you all of a sudden.

Looking at him from the corner of your eyes, the first thing that you notice is the mahogany vines that ensnare his thick neck, pale pink blossoms and vibrant jade leaves adorning the vines. The next thing you notice is his eyes flashing magenta before he swipes you with his arm. Moving on instinct honed into you by Seokjin, you instantly duck, narrowly evading his hand. Jimin cries out in surprise and a cackle of triumph escapes your lips as you watch the nymph trip over a tree root - clearly, Yoongi had caused it to grow rapidly from the ground. Momentarily, you turn to the dryad, perched on a tree branch above you and smile at him in gratefulness.

“Thanks, Yoongi!” you call out. Suddenly, a flash of dark hair catches your eyes from the corner of your eyes - Seokjin. You let out a tut of annoyance before ducking under the elf’s arm as he attempts to wrap his arms around you. Turning around, you grin at Seokjin, sticking your tongue out before continuing your sprint.

The eight of you were currently playing a game Jungkook had coined ‘Capture the Princess’ - in which, the lot of you were split into two teams of four, one holding the princess and her knights - and the other team making up the evil villains. Really, it was just an overcomplicated game of tag. Usually, you’d draw lots for who got to be the princess, and much to your chagrin, today you’d drawn the shortest stick. Of course, it gave your friends a wonderful reason to tease you about your royal heritage - even though you’d long since abandoned it.

Your current team consisted of Yoongi, Namjoon and Taehyung - the three making up the ‘knights’ while Seokjin, Hoseok, Jimin and Jungkook made up the villains. With Jimin’s ankle still entangled in the roots thanks to Yoongi, and Namjoon having tackled Seokjin out of the blue, you’re left with Hoseok and Jungkook chasing you. The two-winged shifters fly above you, causing you to yelp in surprise as you make a break for the riverbank.

“____ watch out!” Taehyung calls out from the river - usually, he’d be on the ground running with the rest of you - however, after the third game he’d grown tired of his legs and retreated back to the water- feeling much more comfortable with his tail. Your eyes widen as  Taehyung ricochets a jet of water just past your left shoulder, where Jungkook had attempted to swoop down to capture you. The stream of water collides directly with Jungkook’s wings, drowning the feathers in water and grounding him.

“Damn it, Taehyung! You know I can’t fly properly with wet wings,” Jungkook scowls, the competitiveness in him flaring as he pouts over missing his opportunity to capture you. A sudden flare of heat emanates from behind you, and despite yourself, you turn to look back. Jungkook’s wings are ablaze, dazzling with golden flames, the vermillion and crimson feathers scintillating under the amber-hued flashes of fire. However, the momentary distraction is all you need for Hoseok to catch up to you.

“I’ve got you!” Hoseok calls in triumph, his clawed hand gently reaching out for you. In a last-ditch effort to evade him, you skid to a halt and lower yourself, attempting to duck. However, the minute you do, your foot slides against the slippery riverbank and you feel yourself falling backwards. Hoseok instantly calls out your name, reaching for you - but it’s too late - because you’ve already fallen into the river.

The ice-cold water rushes around you, drenching your entire body in its frigid embrace. Rapidly rushing currents surround you as you submerge further into the river, your heart racing as you desperately try to hold your breath, even as you claw for the surface - but it’s n use, because the current is far too strong for you to fight - or even attempt to swim to the surface. Heart hammering in your chest, you try to keep yourself as calm as possible - knowing Taehyung would come to your rescue soon.

You don’t have to wait long, because moments after being submerged, you notice Taehyung’s strong, ice-blue scaled tail. Even deep in the river, his tail iridescences with a pearlescent hue, drawing attention to it. Desperately, you reach out for him, Taehyung’s tail beating in an almost entrancing motion as he swims towards you. It only takes him a couple of moments to fight the current and reach you, even as you’re carried further down the river. Within moments, Taehyung reaches out to you, grasping your outstretched hand tightly before turning and swimming back upwards.

Breaching the surface, you gasp for air, Taehyung quickly dragging you towards the edge of the riverbank. Instantly, you begin coughing and sputtering, trying to get the water out of your lungs before gasping for air. Strong arms wrap around you, pulling you into an incredibly warm chest, the scent of burnt amber and pine filling your senses. Though, this time, you don’t need his scent to tell you it’s Hoseok - you can feel it just from the intensity of the heat he’s radiating.

“Fuck. ____, are you okay?” Hoseok asks, his hands rapidly moving over your arms, whimpers escaping his lips as he feels how utterly cold your skin is.

“F-Fine. J-J-Just cold,” you stutter out, your body shivering in an attempt to warm you up.

“You need to get her home, Hoseok,” Seokjin calls out. Hoseok nods swiftly before picking you up in his arms easily. However, you don’t hear much else, because soon, you’re blacking out.

The next thing you know, you’re waking up in your bed. Your eyebrows furrow as the memories come rushing back and you let out a small groan. By the Old Elders, you had to be more careful - the riverbank was dangerous, the surface of the river deceptively calm; hiding not only the depth but the strong currents underneath as well. The boys had warned you - hell, Taehyung himself had warned you, knowing better than anyone how harsh the currents were. Really, having experienced it, you have to wonder just howstrong Taehyung’s tail is for him to so easily navigate through those harsh conditions.

Sighing, you snuggle further into the mattress, more than happy to relish in the warmth after the freezing depths of the river. With a relaxed sigh, you snuggle further into the hard warmth that surrounds you. Wait. Hard warmth? Your bed isn’t hard. Instantly, your eyes shoot open and you come face-to-chest with none other than Hoseok. Involuntarily, a squeak of surprise escapes your lips - why was he in your bed?

Of course, this isn’t the first time you’d shared a bed - Hoseok would frequently crawl into your bed when you were younger, both as a medium of heat during the cold nights the sparse tower would experience, as well as a deterrent to your nightmares. Of course, you’d outgrown the nightmares ultimately, and eventually, you and Hoseok had created better furniture and bedding to protect yourselves - well, more you - from the cold winter nights.

Now, however, it feels different. He’s pressed tightly against you, blazing heat emanating from his chest - most likely in an attempt to warm you up, a gesture you were incredibly grateful for. Shifting back slightly, you use the opportunity to study him a little. It’s dark outside, the large window letting in thick streams of moonlight to light up your room. Had you slept the entire evening away?

Bright beams of moonlight settle over Hoseok, causing his deep, tanned skin to gleam under the pristine light. You’ve always known Hoseok is beautiful - but under the moonlight, he looks completely and utterly ethereal. His russet hair glistens, the long locks falling into his eyes. Your eyes trace his features, the elegant slant of his nose, his defined, sharp jaw, the soft swells of his cheeks - not to mention his heart-shaped, soft and utterly kissable lips.

Wait.

Kissable lips?

Instantly, heat floods your cheeks. Kissable?! Why the hell had that crossed your mind. Did you want to kiss Hoseok? I mean, of course you’ve thought about it - he was far too attractive for his own good. Not to mention how kind he is; or how his smile lights up the room, and how really, he’s the only person who can make you feel safe. Fuck - the boys had always teased you about your childhood crush, but had it somehow morphed into something more over the years?

“Boar meat… ____,” Hoseok mumbles under his breath, his eyes moving under his eyelids as he dreams about whatever it is he’s dreaming off. His mutters cause you to giggle slightly, even as you attempt to stifle them so as not to wake him up. Your gaze flicking over his features, and a smile involuntarily curling over your face, you can’t help but roll your eyes playfully as he continues mumbling. Suddenly, you stop - because if you’re smiling over the fact that he muttered your name after boar meat, you’ve got to have it bad.

“____… that’s my gold,” Hoseok mutters almost incoherently, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, a pout forming on his face. Shaking your head, you snuggle closer to him, your head resting in the crook of his nest. The moment you shuffle closer to him, Hoseok places his nose against your head before he takes in a deep breath, his arm tightening around your waist. By the Old Elders, he’s such a dork. But at least, he’s your dork.

Drawn out of your reverie, you arrive at the open field, a smile on your face as you remember the day fondly. There was nothing that soothed you or brought you as much happiness as Hoseok’s embrace. Something about being in his arms just felt right, felt like safety - like home, in a way nothing else did. Which is why, you have to find him soon - because with every moment that passes without you knowing where he is, or if he’s okay, your heart grips with worry and fear. You have no idea what you would do if you lost Hoseok.

Entering the clearing, you scan the area for any signs of life, your friends, or even Hoseok. However, as usual, no one is to be seen. You pull your lower lip between your teeth, chewing on it as worry clouds your head. It’s dark now: the sun has long since set. The moon is out in full force, illuminating the forest in its dewy, pristine light. That was something you were eternally grateful for - the magic of the forest amplified the moonlight, allowing all the creatures that made the forest their home to see clearly at night. Nonetheless, bioluminescent mushrooms light the ground, prismatic flowers incandesce around the trees: their vines clinging to the bark, while opalescent fireflies flitter about; their gleaming light only lighting up the forest further. It’s as if, under the light of the moon, the forest came to life.

Hoping beyond hope, and sending a silent prayer to any of the Old Elders of the Forest that would listen to you, you pray that you had somehow missed Hoseok and that by some miracle he was back at the tower. A sliver of dread passes through you, what if something had happened to him? It was no longer safe for him to be out for long times - not since you’d turned eighteen. The day after your eighteenth birthday, princes and their guards had begun turning up at the forest, looking for you, ready to slay the dragon and rescue you. Of course, it was all ridiculous - because you didn’t needrescuing - you’re happy where you are - with Hoseok. Sure, you’d tried explaining that to the princes, but they hadn’t listened to you, instead, trying their best to fight Hoseok.

All of a sudden, you hear a commotion coming from near where your tower is located. It seems like people are yelling and your chest immediately tightens, your eyes widening as your hands begin trembling with fear. Then, a roar. A dragon roar. Turning on your heel instantly, you sprint back towards the tower, your feet thundering across the grass-cushioned ground as you run as fast as you can. Racing back, your heart hammers in your chest, your lungs burning for oxygen while the muscles in your leg smart at being pushed so hard so suddenly - but you implore them to move faster - you have to get to Hoseok.

Skidding to a halt when you reach the tower, your heart leaps to the back of your throat, your knees almost buckling at the sight. Hoseok is heavily leaning on Yoongi, the dryad’s support the only thing keeping him up. Seokjin, Taehyung, and Namjoon driving off the last of the vanguard, the knights retreating under the merciless barrage of arrows, rapid jets of water and unrelenting gusts of wind from your friends. Bright flashes light up the night as magic spells fly around, the guards trying their best to retreat from the commotion. However, you ignore your friends, instead, running towards Hoseok.

“W-what happened?” you cry out as you help Yoongi support Hoseok. Your dragon whines reassuringly, though it comes out more pained than anything, trying to let you know he’s okay. Now that you’re closer to him, you notice the sheen of perspiration that coats his forehead, his clothing ripped in various places, belying the various cuts and scrapes that litter his skin.

“Those knights invaded the forest. They were looking for you and found Hoseok instead. When we heard the commotion, Hoseok was already fighting them - he’s badly hurt. One of them shot him in the stomach as he tried to flee,” Yoongi replies through gritted teeth. Involuntarily, a sob escapes your lips, though you stifle it. This is no time for you to be crying, Hoseok needs your help.

Carrying Hoseok into the tower, you and Yoongi begin lifting him up the stairs. “We need to get him to my room. His room is too far up the tower, we won’t be able to get him up there,” you quickly say, even as you try to blink away the tears. This is all your fault. If you weren’t with Hoseok, if Hoseok hadn’t promised to protect you, none of this would be happening to him.

“Stop worrying - he’ll be fine. Jimin went to get Jungkook,” Yoongi snaps, his green eyes flashing. You bite your lip - you’d spent so much time with the boys, that you could read each other clearly. “Also stop blaming yourself. You belong here, and Hoseok would fight anyone and anything that would try taking you away,” Yoongi reprimands and you know he means well, but it only has you feeling guiltier.

“That’s the problem,” you whisper. You don’t want Hoseok to fight, you want him safe, with you, for as long as you can have him. Before Yoongi can reply, the door to the tower bursts open, Namjoon and Seokjin quickly scaling the tower stairs and reaching you in no time. Seokjin swiftly takes your position, helping Hoseok up the stairs and towards your room, something you’re utterly thankful for. Hoseok was a lot heavier than he looked.

“How are you doing?” Namjoon asks, looking at you in worry. His eyes trail from your tear-filled eyes to your slightly swollen face.

“I’m not the one hurt, Namjoon,” you reply, almost bitterly.

It’s all your fault.

As if reading your thoughts, Namjoon pulls you in for a hug. His strong arms wrap around your body, enveloping it in his embrace, but your hands stay limply against your sides. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t ask to have those princes come to save you. None of us blame you, and Hoseok definitely doesn’t either,” Namjoon says quietly. A sob escaping your mouth, you muffle them, and instead, causing you to hiccup.

“But I blame myself,” you reply quietly. Namjoon tuts slightly but tightens his embrace.

“Come on, let’s go. Jungkook’s probably already up there,” Namjoon says before taking your hand in his and leading you up towards your room. You get there just in time to see Jungkook fly in through your window, his body shifted into his complete phoenix form as Jimin clings to his back.

You watch as Jungkook perches beside your bed, leaning over Hoseok, his glowing teal eyes roving over each and every inch of Hoseok’s body as he examines all his injuries. His gaze stops directly over his stomach, where an open wound lies - most likely where the arrow punctured Hoseok. Closing his eyes, Jungkook lets little teardrops fall over Hoseok’s body, starting from his stomach and making his way around any cuts and scrapes your dragon has. Instantly, the phoenix tears begin working their magic, Hoseok’s skin knitting back together until it seems he hasn’t been hurt at all. Seeing his wounds clear up, you let out a deep sigh of relief. Once he’s all patched up, Jungkook shifts back into his human form.

“He’s fine now, his wounds are all healed. But he’ll need to rest for a couple of hours. He’ll also need some food to get up his strength, he’s pretty much exhausted of any energy,” Jungkook informs, his gaze levelled on you.

“I have dinner prepared, but I can’t get the fire started without Hoseok,” you mutter.

Nodding, “Alright, let’s go. I’ll light it up for you,” Jungkook says before gesturing you out of the room.

“We’ll also leave. We’ll see you tomorrow to check up on him,” Seokjin says before guiding the rest of the members out. However, before leaving, he places his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. You relish in his comfort, sending him a grateful smile. Then he leaves.

Guiding Jungkook towards the kitchen, you gesture him towards the filled pot. Gently, Jungkook sucks in a deep breath before blowing gently, a stream of golden flames emanating from his mouth. It’s not as ferocious as Hoseok’s fire, nor does it burn at hot, but there’s a certain warmth through it. You watch as Jungkook leans over the pot, a grin on his face. “Boar meat? He’ll love that when he wakes up,” he comments, stirring the pot. Then, you watch in confusion as Jungkook drops another tear into the pot. “That’ll help him gain his strength quicker. Don’t worry so much, when he wakes up he’ll be fully healed and as energised as he always is,” Jungkook says. You nod quietly, muttering your thanks.

Jungkook looks at you intently, your eyes downcast and refusing to meet his gaze. “It’s not-” Jungkook begins, but before he can finish, you let out a bitter scoff.

“It’s not my fault I know. Everyone keeps saying that, but it feels like my fault. If I wasn’t here, Hoseok wouldn’t be hurt. If I wasn’t here, those princes and knights wouldn’t come to the forest. If I wasn’t here, you’d all be better off. I’m a danger to all of you,” you suddenly burst out, your fists clenched as you breathe heavily.

“Do you really believe that?” Jungkook asks, his head cocking to the side. Jaw flexing as you grit your teeth, you nod while clenching your fist tighter, your fingernails digging into your skin.

“Yeah okay. Sure, if you weren’t here Hoseok wouldn’t be hurt. And sure, if you weren’t here those princes and knights wouldn’t keep coming. But you’re wrong in thinking that we’d be better without you. Hoseok would be heartbroken - he’d be crushed if you were to go. And so would the rest of us. We’re not just friends anymore, ____. We’re family. And every single one of us loves you and we’d fight to keep you here. In the forest. Where you belong. With us. Because that’s what family do,” Jungkook says, nothing but conviction in his eyes.

His words cause your eyes to tear up, your chest swelling with all the emotions you feel. Guilt. Worry. Happiness. Love. The conflicting feelings well up in your chest, causing your throat to tighten. It’s like you’re tongue-tied, unable to even form the words to express what Jungkook’s words mean to you. So instead, you simply smile at him, Jungkook responding with his own reassuring smile.

“I’ve got to go, but take care of him alright? And stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” Jungkook jokes.

Then, with a wink, you watch as his back lights up with blazing gold flames, and then, he flies out the window. You turn to the pot, watching the water boil as the meat and vegetables soften into a thick stew. Grabbing a ladle, you begin stirring the pot absentmindedly, wondering how long it’d be till Hoseok woke up.

Once the stew is ready, you grab a bowl and begin serving Hoseok a portion. Carefully, you carry it up to your room before placing it on the rickety table beside your bed. The sight of the table brings a sad smile on your face. It’s uneven, and wobbles but Hoseok had built it for you with his own hands when you were both younger. With a deep breath, you pull up a ramshackle chair and sit besides Hoseok, simply watching over him. You sit for a while, tending to Hoseok - wiping the sweat off of his forehead, brushing his hair out of his eyes and ensuring he’s comfortable.

Once again, the moonlight streams through your window, highlighting his elegant features. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he were the prince sent to rescue you. But you do know better - and he’s no prince. He’s a dragon. Your dragon. Soft sigh escaping your lips, you think back to your eighteenth birthday. It had been so easy back then, before the princes had started coming.

10 months ago

Feet shuffling, “Are you sure we can do this?” you ask, looking at Hoseok uneasily. Even as you utter your words, your dragon best friend ignores you, instead, pulling a boat out of a small alcove. You’re currently in the Merfolk Mangroves, the river that runs through it being the only way to sneak out of the enchanted forest. Sure, you could always walk to the border, but then you risked being stopped by the elves that patrolled the border - and Hoseok didn’t want any questions.

“It’s alright - don’t worry. It’s a special day, we’re gonna do something exciting!” Hoseok says cheerily as he tethers the dingy boat to the docks.

Looking around nervously, you do as Hoseok says: keeping a lookout. You’ve been to the Merfolk Mangroves a fair amount in your time in the forest, yet it never fails to amaze you each and every time. Gigantuous roots from the even more colossal mangroves twist and wind around the area, providing the environment with plenty of cover. The roots are a deep oak in colour, the bark obscured by thick blankets of olivine moss and supple viridian leaves. Streams of water drip from the roots of the mangroves, cascading downwards and into the river the runs along the forest floor.

The musky scent of the earth and the dewy scent of freshwater is thick in the air, clouding your scenes and bathing your nose in its enticing smell. An array of different creatures make their home in the Merfolk Mangroves - merfolk, of course, live in the different shallows of water - surface merfolk closer to to the riverbank and deep-river merfolk further down towards the riverbed. Nymphs, fae and elves made their homes on the branches and canopies of the trees; and of course, dryads of all kinds carved intricate burrows into the trunks. In fact, the Merfolk Mangroves is where most of the population of the forest lived - only very few lived outside the safety and magic of its comfort.

Suddenly, a voice calls out “Whatcha doing?” Instantaneously, you jump, almost slipping on the slippery bank. However, before you can fall, two hands steady you. Once comes from behind you: Hoseok, and the other, from in front. Fuck. It’s Seokjin. Looking behind him, you let out a moan of lamentation - because the rest of the boys - except for Taehyung - are also behind him, the lot of them looking at you cheekily. Though, you have no doubt that Taehyung is somewhere in the river.

“Going somewhere?” comes Taehyung’s deep, gravelly voice, causing you to sigh - and there he is.

“How did you find us?” Hoseok yells in indignation, throwing the rope that tethers the boat to the pier down. The boys only chuckle, before looking around.

“Some elves noticed you and ____ sneaking around and informed me - and well, some mermaids spotted you here and told Taehyung. So, where ya going?” Seokjin says. Hoseok curses under his breath, more than miffed that his plan had been ruined.

Hand running through his hair, “It’s ____’s eighteenth birthday - I’m taking her to the village on the edge of the forest to celebrate,” Hoseok mumbles under his breath, knowing you’ve been caught. Though, you do count your blessings that Seokjin is the elven prince - meaning that you’re not really in trouble for trying to sneak out. It had come as a surprise to you when you’d found out your friend, and the boy who’d been like your older brother while growing up, was next in line for the throne - but it had made sense. Seokjin is a powerful elf, and probably the best marksman in the entire elven vanguard.

“Hoseokie, you know it’s dangerous for the forest creatures to leave. Humans don’t like us - they hunt us for fun. Just last week a unicorn was found dead at our borders,” Seokjin says warily. Your eyes widen, a gasp falling from your lips. Unicorns were wholly innocent - who would want to kill one? Just the thought of it has you feeling sick.

“I know… I just… I wanted to do something different for her,” Hoseok mutters before looking away, his eyes downcast. Eyes softening, you look at him tenderly.

“Hobi… you don’t have to do that for me,” you reply, Hoseok shrugging.

“I know I don’t- but I want to,” comes his reply.

Seokjin lets out a little sigh before running his hand through his hair. You look at him curiously - he stands tall, his dark hair falling to his shoulders, some strands swept out of his face. Bright gold eyes glitter in the sparse beams of light that fall through the mangrove canopy, his pointed ears twitching slightly.

“There’s a tavern - just on the outskirts of the forest. It’s run by a fae I knew when I was younger. Humans and magical creatures are both allowed, but because of that, you can imagine it’s not the nicest of places. I’ll grant you permission to go for today,” Seokjin begins. As soon as he begins speaking, Hoseok’s ears twitch, his head snapping up and excitement brimming in his deep hazel eyes. “However,” Seokjin continues, a teasing smirk crawling on his face, “we have to come with you,” he finishes.

Spluttering in outrage, “What?! Why?” Hoseok bursts.

“It’s ____’s eighteenth birthday, do you really think we’d forget? Or not want to celebrate with her?” Yoongi asks, his eyes rolling as he looks pointedly at Hoseok.

“Yeah, I can’t believe you didn’t invite us,” Jimin pouts, looking at Hoseok in playful ire.

“It’s not fair Hoseokie, you can’t keep the princess to yourself,” Namjoon teases, a knowing look evident on his face. Hearing his words, both you and Hoseok blush brightly, your heads turning from each other, even as you sneakily steal side glances towards the other.

“Come on! Let’s go! I’m excited, I’ve never been out the forest,” Jungkook says, already jumping into the boat. Knowing there’s no way to get his friends to leave, Hoseok lets out a sigh of defeat, his shoulders drooping. Really, he was hoping it would be just you and him, but with the arrival of his stubborn friends, he knew it wouldn’t be possible. Really, this was the real reason he had tried to sneak out.

The seven of you cautiously enter the boat, Taehyung choosing to swim beside you until you reached the outskirts of the forest. Though, you think he did it more considering how cramped the small boat already was. You’re currently pressed between Hoseok and Yoongi’s laps, Jimin sitting on Seokjin’s lap as Namjoon and Jungkook squeeze themselves in the back.

The eight of you float down the river, carried by the gentle current Taehyung generates with his powerful tail, making sure that the boat doesn’t catch the more powerful currents underneath. You watch in awe as the forest passes you by - different creatures milling about. Fairies flitter around the high tree branches, showers of magic and fairy dust falling gently from their wings. Little pods of merfolk swim around, some sitting on the boulders on the shore waving to Taehyung before giggling between themselves.

“Woah look at that,” Jungkook says, pointing to the other side of the river. You all turn your gaze, your eyes widening when you spot the pegasus at the edge, gently sipping water.

“By the Elders, it’s rare to see pegasi, even in the forest. They’re male celestial beings, - borne only under certain conditions - when a drop of moonlight falls from the sky and onto a morning glory. Being solitary beasts, they shy away from the rest of the forest’s creatures. Today must be a lucky day, huh ____?” Seokjin asks, smiling happily at you. You nod slowly, unable to take your eyes off the creature.

Its coat is as white as white could be - so pure that it glows softly with every movement - as if made of moonlight - though, from what Seokjin says, they are moonlight themselves. His mane idly drifts around him, dancing with each gentle wisp of wind that combs through his hair. Large, white-feathered wings spring out from his back, the wingspan almost dwarfing his equine body. Each further is iridescent, gleaming in a kaleidoscope of pure pastel colours. You’ve never seen anything like it - and you’ll never see anything like it again. You can feel it - this is a once in a lifetime experience.

“There it is! The edge of the forest!” Jimin calls out, abruptly standing up in the boat and pointing towards a clearing. His sudden movement causes the boat to rock dangerously, everyone yelling out in surprise.

“Jimin! Be careful,” Namjoon admonishes. The nymph lets out a sheepish smile before taking his seat on Seokjin’s lap again.

As soon as you float through the clearing, Taehyung twists the water currents, helping the boat move to shore. Hoping out, Seokjin and hoseok drag the boat the rest of the way onto the shore, docking it until you’re ready to return home. The alcove you find yourselves is attached by a small stream to the river that runs through the enchanted forest, and really, it doesn’t look all that different. Trees line the alcove, providing ample shade with its supple foliage. The sand is soft, your sandals sinking into the ground as soon as you step onto it - but something is different.

There’s no magic in the air. No potent crackling of life or enchanting tingles or energy wafting through the atmosphere. It feels slightly strange - empty - especially since you’ve been used to the forest’s magic for over a decade of your life. Suddenly, you feel a little uneasy. Was it okay for you to leave? Would your friends be okay? Almost as if sensing your worry, Hoseok walks up beside you, his hand entwining in yours before he squeezes it reassuringly. You look up at him, smiling at him in thanks before returning his squeeze.

“Are we ready?” Seokjin asks, taking charge of navigation - which makes sense, considering he’s the only one who knows where the tavern is. You turn to the rest of your friends, noticing Taehyung’s already pulled himself out of the river and is now dressed in simple brown trousers, leather boots and a white shirt. It always surprised you that he could simply magic up some clothes for himself whenever he stepped out the water.

Guiding the group out of the alcove and out of the sparse underbrush of shrubbery, Seokjin brings you to a little hut just on the outskirts of the forest. You spot little lights a little further down - a small village just a few kilometres further down from the forest edge. You follow Seokjin closely, the group practically glued to him as you look around in wonder.

The moment you enter the tavern, your senses are overwhelmed. The atmosphere is warm, borderline stuffy from all the patrons crowding it - really, you’d be lucky to get a table for all of you together. The scent of alcohol is thick in the air, the pungent smell burning your nostrils, causing you to wrinkle your nose. Abruptly, someone bumps into you, pushing you out of the way and spilling some ale on your shoes. With a little frustrated sigh, you push further against Hoseok. Why had you chosen to come here when you could be doing something else? However, remember how excited Hoseok had been to take you out of the forest, you can’t help but smile. He had meant well, and really, this is all Seokjin’s fault anyway - he’s the one who suggested the tavern.

“Jaebum!” Seokjin calls out, the bartender looking up. His eyes flash mulberry for a moment, his dark hair framing his face in that typical, dark, bad boy style. His pointed ears are pierced in multiple locations, a silver ring sitting on his bottom lip. Even his nose and cheek are pierced - how many piercings did one guy need?

“Seokjin, what brings you to my neck of the woods? The forest too boring for you?” Jaebum asks snarkily. Seokjin simply rolls his eyes before gesturing to the group.

“It’s my friend’s birthday. We need a table,” Seokjin says simply. Jaebum rolls his own eyes before shrugging.

“Nowhere’s available,” comes Jaebum’s simple answer.

With a tut, “You know that’s not true. You couldn’t best me in illusions when we were younger, and you definitely can’t best me now,” Seokjin replies, a victorious smirk crawling onto his face. Illusions? You watch as Jaebum scowls, and then suddenly, the atmosphere ripples before changing. You watch in awe as the once crowded bar dies down right before your eyes. It’s still full, just not nearly as much as it was before. You even easily spot a table large enough to hold you and your friends.

“Thanks, Bummie,” Seokjin sing songs, causing the bartender to scowl further. Seokjin leads you to the table, gesturing to Jaebum to bring each of you a pint of ale. Appearing out of thin air, you expect a tankard of ale or something similar - but you’re pleasantly surprised by the jug of a sweet-smelling beverage in front of you.

“It’s Sugar Venom - a fae spirit. Some of the best there is. Jaebum may be a shitty spellcast, but no one can ferment spirits quite like him,” Seokjin says, a large grin on his face as he sips his drink. You watch as each of the boys looks at it curiously, before taking a sip. The sweetness tingles on your lips, the drink easily going down from how enticingly saccharine it is.

Almost an hour after drinking, all of you find yourself pleasantly tipsy, your tongue loosened by the flowing alcohol. Only Seokjin, Hoseok and Jungkook find themselves unaffected by the effects of the fae spirit. Seokjin because he was more than used to his fair share of alcohol, while Hoseok and Jungkook were unable to become intoxicated in any way - their high body temperature burning off alcohol quicker than it could affect them.

“Y-You know, hic-” Namjoon slurs, being interrupted by a hiccup, “you and ____ would make such a cute couple, Hobi,” Namjoon continues, a sleepy smile on his face. Seokjin lets out a chuckle, clapping Namjoon on the back while Jungkook snickers, Hoseok looking away in embarrassment. He steals a glance towards you; you’re smiling gently, your cheeks flushed as you look at him coyly. Though, he’s unsure if the warmth to your cheeks is because of the alcohol or embarrassment.

“I agree! How long are you gonna make us wait, Hobi? We’re tired of watching you and ____, you know,” Jimin scowls, his voice coming out louder than he’d intended. Yoongi hushes him, the two falling into a fit of giggles over seemingly nothing.

“Come on Hobi-Hobi, we’re all waiting,” Taehyung joins in, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at the dragon. Well, attempting to waggle them - in his inebriated state of mind he only manages to move them slightly.

“Yeah Hobi, ____ has been waiting a very long time for you to tell her you love her. Do you not love ____, Hobi?” you ask, your words surprising everyone. Hoseok looks at you in alarm as you begin addressing yourself in the third person, ranting and raving about how it’s not fair that he’s made you wait this long for a confession.

“____, are you okay?” Seokjin asks, looking at you in worry, even as a hint of amusement shines in his eyes.

“No!” you pout, your arms crossing around your chest as you look at Hoseok, “____ has been waiting very long for Hobi to say he loves ____. It’s not fair. ____ loves Hobi very much…” you trail off, “but he doesn’t love ____,” you mumble under your breath. The effects of the alcohol are clear and you know usually, you wouldn’t dare say any of this, but the alcohol has made you loosen your inhibitions slightly, your tongue freed under its influence. Hoseok’s heart begins beating roughly as he hears your unintended confession. Do you mean you love him as a friend… or something more?

“____ just wants Hobi kisses,” you pout, pathetically lamenting to yourself in your tipsy state. Hoseok takes in a deep breath, his heart fluttering in his chest. You love him? Like he loves you? Unable to suppress it, a wide grin crawls onto Hoseok’s face. He reaches out towards you, slipping your hand between his, your fingers entwining as he squeezes it reassuringly. Feeling his touch, you perk up, your demeanour doing a completely one-eighty as you begin smiling brightly.

“Hey pretty lady, can I buy you a drink?” comes a voice from behind you. You don’t notice, too busy gazing at Hoseok with starstruck eyes. However, immediately, Hoseok, Seokjin and Jungkook are alert, eyeing the large man in steel armour behind you warily.

“Oi, lady,” the man repeats, trying to get you to notice him, only to get annoyed when he realises your undivided attention is on the dragon next to you. Noticing the man lift his hand, Hoseok’s eyes flash dangerously, immense heat radiating around him. The boys at the table suddenly jump, blinking wearily, alcohol still clouding their heads, as they look at Hoseok’s, the tavern’s temperature rising rapidly.

“Hoseok,” Seokjin warns, looking around warily. The man’s friends have obviously noticed the commotion, all of them placing their hands on their weapons, ready to defend their friend.

“Just move along,” Hoseok growls, the sound low and threatening.

The man, realising the danger of the situation, puts his hands up in surrender before retreating. Before he leaves, however, “Why would a human want to be with a monster of all things,” he drunkenly mutters under his breath. Instantly, the heat surrounding Hoseok is doused, his spine-shivering as if Taehyung had dumped ice-cold water down his back. Hoseok’s hand turns limp in your hand, his previous happiness forgotten. The guard had a point - why would you ever want to be with him? He was a dragon, he lived in a forest - and sure you did too - but he could never give you the life you deserved.

“You could have hurt her, you know,” Seokjin sighs, shaking his head at Hoseok. The dragon simply sends an annoyed glance towards the older boy, a huff escaping his nose.

“I’d never hurt her. My flames can’t hurt her,” Hoseok says, Seokjin’s eyes widening at the admission, realising the gravity of Seokjin’s words. A fire dragon’s flames burned hotter than hellfire - and Hoseok wasn’t just an ordinary fire dragon - he was a sun dragon: their flames burning at hot and bright as the sun itself. For Hoseok’s flames to not be able to hurt you, there was only one explanation. Hoseok had chosen you to be his mate.

“Hoseok, are you serious? Does she know?” Seokjin asks, looking at you. The dragon simply shakes his head before standing up. He holds his hand out for you, and eagerly, you place yours in his. Pulling you to your feet, you stumble slightly, Hoseok easily catching you before steadying you against his side. Grinning brightly at him, you muster your alcohol-given courage, and stepping on your tip-toes, place a kiss on his cheek.

“We should go home. It’s getting late,” Hoseok says, ignoring the way his skin tingles from where your soft lips brushed oh so innocently against his flesh.

Seokjin looks at him pointedly before nodding. Waving his hands at the boys, he urges them to get up. One hand wrapped around your waist, he guides you out of the tavern, but not before throwing a leather-bound bag of gold to Jaebum in payment for the alcohol. Hoseok crinkles his nose in distaste, not really wanting to hand over his precious gold to the barkeep, but knowing it was worth it if you had a good birthday.

The next thing you know, you’re waking up in your bedroom, Hoseok gently placing you down on your bed. When had you fallen asleep? You remember Hoseok carrying you out of the bar and towards the boat. He’d been incredibly warm, his body heat a creature comfort against the chill of the night. Clearly, you’d fallen asleep on the journey home. “Hoseok?” you croak. The haziness of the alcohol had mostly ebbed away by now, your cheeks tinging pink as you remember how you’d acted earlier in the night. You’re just lucky it’s dark in your bedroom, preventing Hoseok from noticing your embarrassment.

“Shh, it’s okay. Go back to sleep,” Hoseok mumbles, as he tucks you into bed.

Swallowing thickly, you gather up your courage. You had to say in now, “I meant what I said earlier. I like you… more than a friend,” you rasp, swallowing once again as the words escape your lips. Hoseok smiles gently at you, brushing your hair out of your face. Your eyelids flutter, your forehead nuzzling into the warmth of his hand.

“I know you did, but… can you give me some time?” Hoseok asks, his voice quiet, as if afraid to utter out the words. Smiling tenderly at him, you sluggishly lift your hand and entwine your fingers into his.

Then, bringing his hand to your lips, you press a soft kiss against the back of his hand. “Time? I’ll give you all the time you need, Hoseok. I’d wait for you forever. I love you,” you whisper, voice laced with nothing but love. Hoseok’s chest tightens, his heart fluttering between his ribcage.

“I love you too,” Hoseok whispers back, however, you’re already fast asleep, his confession falling on deaf ears. He sits for another few moments, simply watching you sleep. He does love you - there’s no truer truth in the world than his love for you. It was only reinforced by his dragon choosing you as his mate. But his mind flashes back to the tavern, ‘Why would a human want to be with a monster of all things’. The man’s words ring loudly in his head, and Hoseok has to wonder if his love was enough for you - if he was enough for you.

Looking at Hoseok, you smile sadly at him. You had meant what you said that night, you would wait forever for him - but looking at him now, you wonder if you even should. After that night, the knights and princes had started invading the forest - looking out for you. They would come randomly, giving Hoseok no time to prepare for them, but your dragon is strong, and fierce and ferocious - with the power of the sun burning inside his chest, and time after time, he’d manage to drive away the princes or knights, or whoever came for you.

Except for today.

Today is the first time Hoseok’s been so badly injured - if it were anywhere else, the arrows would have deflected off of his dragonhide, his scales harder than the strongest metals. But he’d been hit in his stomach, the only weak point in his leather armour. It has been almost a year since they started coming for you - though, you have no idea why. You know your stepmother had said to leave you here till a prince could come to save you, but you hadn’t believed her. You knew she wanted to be rid of you - so whywere they coming? It doesn’t make sense.

You avert your gaze from Hoseok’s face, instead, staring intently at his hand. Hesitantly, you reach out for it, mindless playing with his fingers as you ponder your thoughts. Was it worth going back? You didn’t want Hoseok to be hurt - you never want to see him like this again. But in order to never see him hurt again, you have to never see him again and you don’t think your heart could take it. For the last decade, Hoseok is all you’ve known, all you’ve needed. Could you so easily leave him? Definitely not - at least, not easily. But you could leave him - it would hurt, more than you could even imagine - but you could do it, if it meant he’d be safe.

“Should- should I leave?” you mutter quietly to yourself, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Please don’t,” comes a hoarse reply.

Head snapping towards Hoseok, your eyes widen as you realise he’s awake. “Hoseok!” you cry out. Immediately, you begin fussing over him, making sure he’s okay. Hoseok lets out a little chuckle before grabbing your hands and stilling you.

“I’m okay. I’m a dragon remember? Also, nothing will heal you faster than Jungkook’s tears,” Hoseok says, smiling brightly at you. Your heart grips in your chest seeing his smile, the little dimples indenting above his lips.

“Oh! That reminds me, here, you should eat,” you say, picking up the bowl of the now cold stew and handing it to Hoseok. “Sorry it’s cold, I made it a while ago,” you apologise. Hoseok simply stares at the bowl, however, blinking in disbelief.

Taking a deep breath, “Is that boar meat?” Hoseok asks, his body perking up. Despite yourself, you smile at him, nodding happily. Hoseok swiftly grabs the bowl from you, then lightly breathing fire under the bowl, he heats it up again before tucking in. You simply watch him quietly, relishing in how happy he looks with a simple bowl of boar stew. Even doing the most mundane of things, he’s enticing.

As he eats, your earlier question still plays in your mind. Over and over again, like a broken record, your mind questions whether you should just leave - go back to the Kingdom with the next prince that comes for you. Finishing off his meal, Hoseok lets out a moan of gratitude before placing the bowl down. You get up to take it, however, Hoseok reaches out, his large hand wrapping around your wrist and halting you. You freeze, looking at him in surprise. His gaze is firm, yet melancholy, bright hazel eyes boring straight into yours.

“Would you really leave me?” Hoseok asks, his voice barely audible - just above a whisper. Goosebumps pricking at your skin, your face crumples with emotion.

“I don’t want to leave you Hoseok, but I- I can’t stand seeing you hurt. I can’t help but feel guilty because I’m the reason they’re coming, and I’m the reason for you being hurt. Seeing you today- I don’t- I don’t want to lose you,” you sniffle, your words coming out broken as you breathe deeply, trying to hold the tears back.

“If you don’t want to lose me, why would you leave?” Hoseok asks, not understanding your logic. Well, he does - somewhat - but it still doesn’t make sense. It’s not like any of the princes could best him in battle anyway - the only reason he was hurt today was because he was caught off guard.

“To protect you! It’s my fault you were hurt today,” you reply with a sniffle. Hoseok looks at you pointedly, shaking his head.

“It’s not your fault-” Hoseok begins and you open your mouth to argue, but Hoseok stops you. Abruptly, he tugs at your wrist, pulling you into his chest. Arms wrapping around you, he holds you close, “It’s not your fault because I choose to fight for you, ____. I promised you I’d protect you. I’ll never stop protecting you, ____ and I’ll never stop fighting for you - because you belong here. In this forest. In this tower. With me,” Hoseok says. Conviction is strong in his voice, his eyes staring at you earnestly.

“What if you get tired of protecting me? What if I lose you?” you mumble, burying your head in the crook of his neck. Burnt amber and pine fill your senses, your eyes fluttering shut as you breathe him in. Nothing felt like safety - nothing felt like home - the same way Hoseok did.

“I would never tire of protecting you and you would never lose me. I’m here for as long as you want me,” Hoseok says, his lithe arm tightening around your waist.

“How are you so sure?” you question, your heartbeat thundering in your chest. Hoseok is always attentive - but this time, his touch is different - more intimate. His head drops to your shoulder, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck - and if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear he just took in a deep breath.

Goosebumps prickle at your skin as Hoseok’s hand wanders down your arm, your skin tingling under his touch. When he gets to your hand, he wraps your palm in his much large one while lacing his fingers between yours. Gently lifting your hand, his head shifts as he presses a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist, “Because I love you. Because you’re who I chose to be my mate. Because I would protect you until the end of the world,” he confesses, his voice soft and heavily laden with emotion.

“W-what?” you ask. Pushing him back slightly, you shift over him, absentmindedly making yourself more comfortable on his lap as you stare at him in disbelief. Hoseok smiles gently at you from underneath, one hand reaching up and cupping your face.

“You’re my mate, ____. You’re who I choose to spend the rest of my life with. But- only if you want to,” Hoseok replies, pulling your chin down and leaning his forehead against yours. You stare intently into his eyes, your heart beating so rapidly you worry it’s going to burst right out of your chest. Searching, you stare into his eyes, looking for any sign of deceit, any sign of a lie - Hoseok has never lied to you before, but you have to make sure.

“A-Are you sure? You want to spend the rest of your life with me?” you ask, suddenly feeling nervous. You were just a human - someone who hadn’t even been wanted by your own parents, abandoned in the tower at a young age - did he really want to mate with you?

“Yes. You’re the only person I want to be with… but do you want to be with me?” Hoseok asks, his eyes imploring yours. Eyebrows furrowing, you look at him in confusion.

“Why would I not want to be with you? You’re the only person I want to be with too, Hoseok,” you ask, rubbing your nose against his. Hoseok lets out a dejected sigh, his eyes slightly downcast as his warm breath fans your lips.

“Because I’m a monster,” Hoseok whispers, his heart-gripping. He knows that’s what humans see him as - just like that man in the tavern that day. He’ll only ever be a monster to humans and you deserve someone better than a monster.

Placing your hands under his chin, you lift his face up. Hoseok’s eyes meet yours, his widening as he notices the mix of melancholy, understand and love in your eyes. “I meant what I said all those years ago, my love,” you say gently, Hoseok’s eyes widening in the slightest at the term of endearment. Lips curling into a tender smile, you place your head against his again and close your eyes, “You’re not a monster - you’re a dragon. My dragon,” you continue. Your words echo through his memory, and he remembers that day - when you were twelve and he was fourteen - months after he’d gone through his change. He’d hidden from you back then too, scared of how you’d seen him, but just like today, you’d alleviated all his fears with those same, simple words.

“I love you, Hoseok. Every. Single. Inch. Of you. And I want to be with you and only you - forever,” you whisper against his lips. Hoseok’s eyes flicker to your lips, your own eyes still closed as you hold him close. With every one of your words, your lips brush against him - enticing him further into you. He’s the one who’s made of magic, made of sunlight and fire, yet it’s you that has him completely bewitched and enthralled.

He wonders what your lips would feel like against yours - what you’d taste like - but, he doesn’t have to wait long - because the next thing he knows, your lips are softly pressed against his.

Soft lips against yours, Hoseok’s eyes widen for a fraction of a moment before slipping shut. He’d spent nights imagining what your lips would feel like, but his imagination could never do you any justice. Instinctively, his hand moves to loosely grip your neck, your own hands moving of their own accord to twist around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. Deepening the kiss, Hoseok swipes at your lips, begging for entrance - and easily, you concede to him. Tongue slipping between your teeth, the silky appendage sensuously moves against yours, bathings your tastebuds in his saccharine taste.

Your kiss is slow - and sensual - your lips gently moving in tandem with each other as you slowly take in each other. Completely lost in each other, the entirety of the world gently ebbs away - until all you can taste, sense and smell are each other - as if you’re the only two people in the universe. Shifting on his lap, you press yourself further against Hoseok, the dragon letting out a small whine as you brush against his hardened length.

Breaking apart from your lips, Hoseok pants heavily, looking at you heavily, “W-we should stop now if you don’t want to go any further,” Hoseok breathes out. Shaking your head, you place another tender kiss to his lips before hiking your dress further up your thighs, the material pooling around Hoseok’s lap. With your movement, he takes in a sharp breath, the scent of your arousal permeating the air. It’s incredibly faint - but his enhanced senses pick it up.

“I want to- I want you, please,” you rasp out, your own heavy breaths intermingling with his. A guttural, almost animalistic sound emanates from Hoseok’s throat - the sound vibrating through the air and straight to your loins. Hoseok’s hands move to your waist before languidly resting on your hips - his thumbs gently rubbing them with his thumbs. Manoeuvring you closer to him, he lightly begins peppering kisses down the outline of your jaw and towards your shapely neck. Stopping by your jugular, Hoseok hums before nipping the skin there. Hands moving from his shoulders to entangle into his hair, a shallow gasp departs your lips as you feel him almost imperceptibly suckle at your flesh.

“Will you let me mark you?” Hoseok asks, nuzzling the same spot with his nose before taking a deep breath. Your naturally sweet fragrance mingles with the deeper tinges of arousal seeping from you, the intoxication scent slowly driving him while.

Feeling him purr against you, you nod above him, “Mate with me, Hoseok. Mark me as yours,” you reply breathlessly. His eyes roll into the back of his skull, his shaft twitching with excitement as you whisper the words - not a single moment of hesitation. He’d never thought words could sound so enticing.

Humming in appreciation, Hoseok diverts his attention away from your neck and down your sternum. Littering his descent with soft kisses, Hoseok’s lips flit across your skin, lavishing you with their soft attention. Writhing over his lap, you slowly begin grinding into his hips - your own moving instinctively. A groan of pleasure emanates from both your lips at the added friction, and tiring of the slow pace, you move your hands off of his shoulders. Pulling away from Hoseok, your dragon watches you intently, his glowing hazel eyes never leaving yours. Shy smile on your lips, you move your hands to the thick straps that hold your dress up, and then with a deep breath, mustering up all the courage you have, you slip them off of your shoulders.

Hoseok’s eyes widen, his gaze immediately following the dress as he watches your body slowly reveal itself to you. It only takes moments for the dress to pool at your hips loosely, exposing the entirety of your naked torso to Hoseok, yet somehow, time feels like it moves slowly, Hoseok’s gaze trailing after the motion of the dress. Hazel eyes drink you in, drinking each and every inch of your skin. With each passing minute, Hoseok commits every detail of your body to memory: every swell, every curve, every scar.

“By the Elders, you’re beautiful,” Hoseok murmurs before leaning forward and placing a kiss to the top of your right breast. Placing your hand under his chin, you angle his face upwards before dropping a kiss onto his.

Lips mashing into yours, your mouths move fervently - the ardent desire for each other burning deep within your cores. Your kiss turning urgent, Hoseok’s tongue invades your mouth, the silky appendage curling and wrapping around yours as you taste each other. With shaky fingers - whether from anticipation or lust, you have no idea - you begin tugging at Hoseok’s shirt, the material easily ripping, already damaged from his earlier fight. Warm skin bare under your touch, your hands rove over his body, tracing each contour and hardened, sinewy muscle.

Need for oxygen flaring in your lungs, the both of you do your best to ignore it - choosing instead of sink into each other. Times moves slowly, both your hands roaming over each other - as if you can’t get enough of the other’s touch. Eventually, however, the earlier need for oxygen ignited your chests with molten fire, burning your lungs with the urgent need for air. Breaking away, you breathlessly pant against each other, the mix of your warm breaths circulating the air.

Pulling up onto your knees, you gather the dress into your hands, the material bunching in your fists, before you lift it over your head, leaving you completely naked. The complete naked sight of you has Hoseok’s jaw-dropping, his mouth running dry as he takes in the beautiful sight of you. Bathed in the moonlight streaming from your window, your body glows almost ethereally under its light. Hesitantly, Hoseok reaches out for you, his palm gently cupping your breast as his thumb lazily flicks your nipple.

Under his light ministrations, a throat mewl escapes your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as he continues brushing his thumb over the nipple, teasing the peak to hardness. A shiver of pleasure runs down your spin, heat pooling in your loins as you begin squirming over him. Hands falling into his lap, you play with the buckle of his trousers, undoing them with just a little delay - your hands trembling harder with every passing second. Tugging his trousers, Hoseok lifts his hips before aiding you in shimmying them off of his body.

Once he’s completely naked, you’re unable to resist trailing your eyes down his body. Swallowing thickly, your throat runs dry at the sheer sight of him. Caramel skin is pulled taught over his muscles, each limb toned from the years he’s spent hunting in the forest, or playing with the rest of the creatures. Each muscle is tantalisingly defined and you find yourself unable to look away. You continue trailing your gaze down his chest, before stopping at his lap, your eyes widening as you spot his cock.

He’s long, and girthy - and god are they all that big? Or was it just because he’s a dragon? The base of his shaft is the thickest, his girth slowly tapering off towards the tip. His entire length is covered in little ridges, more prominent ones situated at the base of his cock. That has to be a dragon thing - though, you wouldn’t really know - especially as this is the first cock you’ve ever seen. You can’t help but wonder if he’ll even fit - though, the way it pulses under your gaze, his length throbbing with need, has you growing wetter with wanton desire - your thighs turning sticky with your own arousal.

“Enjoying yourself?” Hoseok asks, his tone light and teasing. Blush dusting your cheeks, you let out a squeak of embarrassment before ducking your head. Hoseok lets out an airy chuckle, his hands moving to cup your cheeks before lifting them up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Hoseok begins, placing a soft kiss to the corner of your lips, “it’s just, I could smell how wet you got staring at me,” he continues.

A gasp of shock escaping your lips, your face heats up further - until you can feel your ears burning, “Hoseok!” you squeal, before curling into him, ducking your head into the crook of his neck as you attempt to hide from him. This time, Hoseok lets out a louder laugh, his arms automatically wrapping around your waist while he peppers kisses along your shoulder. “Sorry. Sorry, I’ll stop,” Hoseok chuckles.

Pulling away from his body, you pout above him, your cheeks still flushed with heat. Hoseok leans up, repetitively placing soft kisses against your lips as he tries to placate you. Somehow, he manages to win you over, his chaste kisses turning into deeper ones. Your hands move to trail over his lean shoulders, your fingers raking over the skin as you begin gyrating over him. Every now and then, the ridged muscle of his cock brushes against your clit, drawing out breathy moans from you.

Breaking away from his kisses, though with much reluctance, “I want you,” you whisper against his lips. Groaning at your words, Hoseok’s hand slips between your bodies and into the space amidst your thighs. Gently cupping your sex, Hoseok’s middle finger runs along the soft, dewy folds. The sudden touch has you letting out a deep groan, your head falling back as he slowly strokes your folds. Spreading your wetness along your mound, Hoseok inhales deeply, relishing in the pungent scent of your sex. He’s never smelled anything as intoxicating as you.

Fingers dipping further between your folds, Hoseok slowly slides a finger into your tightness, a strained groan leaving his lips. If you were this tight around his finger, how tight would you be around his cock? Languidly thrusting his finger into you, Hoseok relishes in the feel of your velvety, pulsing folds. Reflexively, your hips begin swirling over his as you begin riding his hand, your inner walls pulsating in a bid to pull his finger in deep.

Fingers curling into his shoulders, your nails dig into his skin, your hips moving further as you feel your stomach tighten with a foreign pleasure. “H-Hoseok,” you groan, your eyes fluttering in pleasure. Your dragon hums under you before sliding a second finger into you. You let out a squeak at his ministrations, your eyes scrunching slightly at the stretch. Leaning up, Hoseok places tender kisses against your eyelids, hushing you soothingly.

The stinging only lasts a couple of moments, giving way to more pleasure as Hoseok continues pumping his digits into you. With a particularly low grind, you unwittingly push Hoseok’s fingers deeper into you, your dragon crooking his fingers into you. The action causes his fingertips to brush against the velvety sweet-spot inside you, a cry of pleasure departing your lips. “H-Hoseok, please,” you groan - the burning need to feel him inside you coursing through your veins.

Desperation evident in your words, Hoseok pulls his fingers out. You let out a cry of protest, your hips chasing his fingers. Hoseok lets out a small chuckle, lifting his head and placing a tender kiss to your jaw. “Patience, sweetheart. Don’t you want to be good for me?” Hoseok asks. His words have you moaning, your pussy clamping at the dominating tone in his voice. Nodding, you still your hips, “Good girl,” Hoseok murmurs, placing a praising kiss against your cheek.

Hoseok shifts, his hand moving to grip the base of his shaft. You feel him pump it twice, your eyes fluttering open to watch him use his thumb to spread the transparent beads of precum over the tapered head of his cock. Once he’s done, he angles the head towards your entrance, the tip brushing against your engorged clit, causing you to gasp in pleasure. Placing his cock at your entrance, Hoseok moves his hands to your hips before slowly sliding them down.

You feel a build of pressure against your entrance, Hoseok’s cock slowly sliding into you. Crying out in a mix of pain and pleasure, you cling to Hoseok tightly, your eyes scrunching shut as you feel the searing heat of his cockhead slowly stretch you open. Hoseok stills under you, looking at you in fear as he hears your squeak of pain. “Are you okay?” he quickly asks.

Nodding shakily, you take in a deep breath, “J-just go slow, please,” you whimper. Hoseok’s nods, slowing his pace down. With every inch that he slides into you, he opens your walls out further. The two of you move slowly, Hoseok sluggishly feeding inch by inch of his cock into your hot, velvety depths, and soon, you find yourself pressing against the thick base of his shaft. Hoseok stills once again, simply holding you to him as he allows you to adjust to his length. Purring against you, Hoseok nuzzles the flesh just above your jugular, relishing in how euphoric you feel around his cock. Frequently, he’d imagined what you’d feel like wrapped around him - but he’d never known it would feel this good.

After long moments of stillness, you finally shift over Hoseok, the discomfort ebbing away and melting into pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Swivelling your hips, “M-move,” you urge.

Fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, “Are you sure,” Hoseok asks. Your only answer is it swivel your hips again, wanting to feel more of him. Languidly, Hoseok uses his strength to lift you off of him before bringing you back down. Now that the discomfort is gone, you can feel nothing but the euphoria of Hoseok’s cock thrusting into you - amplified by the ridges of his cock rubbing against every pleasurable spot inside you.

The two of you begin moving faster against each other, Hoseok thrusting his hip upwards as you bring yourself downwards. With each thrust, you match his rhythm, gasps of pleasure escaping both your lips as you lose yourself into each other. Goosebumps prickle at your skin, heat stirring in your lungs as you feel pleasure burn in your veins. You’re close - you can feel it. Moaning out his name, you move faster, Hoseok’s hand twisting between your bodies, his thumb moving to rub your clit.

The additional pleasure has you shrieking out his name, your walls clamping in an almost vice-like grip. Repetitively, Hoseok ghosts his thumb over your throbbing clit, rolling the bundle of nerves over and over again as he draws out your pleasure. With every single ministration, the heat in your loin grows - from dull warmth into searing heat. White-hot pleasure prickles at your skin as you feel yourself come undone.

Thighs shaking around him, you cry out in ecstasy as you cum, Hoseok’s name falling from your lips - almost like a prayer - over and over again. You writhe almost uncontrollably over him, losing yourself into the lust-filled euphoria of your orgasm as you shatter over him. Hoseok soon finds himself lost in his own pleasure, the impossible tightness of your walls, paired with the gushing wetness of your orgasm, proving to be too much for him. With an animalistic roar, Hoseok buries his head into your neck before biting down on your jugular.

Your eyes widen as you feel Hoseok’s heat sear into you, his blazing fire searing through your veins and heightening your pleasure. Magic floods into your very being, causing you to shake even more as you wail out his name. Finally having marked you as his, Hoseok pulls his teeth away from you before closing his eyes and succumbing to his own orgasm. Just as the searing heat of his magic fades away from your veins, you feel Hoseok’s cum spurt deep into you, rope after rope of warm semen flooding you. A low moan escapes your lips, your head dropping onto his shoulder as you relish in the feel of his cum deep inside you.

The two of you simply stay there, Hoseok’s cock still buried inside of you, as you breathlessly paint. Sweat coats your skin, your naked chests sticking together - the flesh turning tacky as your perspiration begins drying. Not that you care, no, you’re more than happy to feel Hoseok’s heated, gummy skin against you. Erratically, the two of you twitch, your muscles still reeling from your orgasm.

Coming down from your elated highs, you feel Hoseok pull you close against him, his chest flush against yours. Panting heavily, you gasp for air, even as Hoseok shifts you so that you’re lying next to him. He manoeuvres your body so that you’re curled into his chest, your ear pressed to just over his heart. Swimming in post-orgasmic bliss, Hoseok simply holds you close, his fingers absent-mindedly trailing over your hip, tracing intricate shapes over your skin.

Completely satiated, you simply relish in his tough, more than happy to bask in the feel of Hoseok. Your hand runs over his stomach before you freeze. Titling your head, you stare at where your hand is rested - just over where he’d been hurt a mere few hours ago. Your eyebrows furrow as you trace over the smooth skin - phoenix tears were a powerful thing, but for them to heal to the point of not even leave a scar was something to awe at. Nevertheless, just the memory of Hoseok being hurt causes you to frown.

“Let’s leave this tower,” you finally say as you mindlessly draw circles over where he’d been wounded before. The moment the words drip out of your mouth, Hoseok’s hand freezes.

“What?” he asks, his gaze shifting to look at the top of your head in curiosity. Turning, you shift so you can look up at him.

“Let’s leave this tower. Let’s find a new home,” you repeat, staring at him resolutely.

“Why?” Hoseok questions causing you to giggle slightly at his dumbfoundedness despite the seriousness of your suggestion. Had you reduced him to one syllable questions?

“Because everyone in the kingdom knows I’m in this tower - but if we move, they won’t be able to find us… hopefully,” you suggest, muttering the last words under your breath. You don’t want to leave Hoseok - but then you realise, there’s no reason the two of you couldn’t just move.

“You’ve never wanted to leave before,” Hoseok points out, wondering where the sudden suggestion came from. You shrug nonchalantly, though your eyes flicker momentarily to his stomach. Hoseok’s eyes catch the movement, his hand moving to grip your hip in comfort. “____?” he coaxes, nudging your head with his nose. Dejected sigh slipping from your lips, you relax further into him, your muscles sinking into his and moulding you together - almost as if you’re becoming one.

“You’ve never been this hurt before,” you reply quietly, your voice barely audible. Hoseok’s face softens, your earlier words suddenly making sense. You’re still worried about him.

“The tower is our home - has been for years now. Do you really want to move?” Hoseok asks. Personally, he doesn’t really care - he’d go anywhere as long as it’s with you - but there were so many memories the two of you had in this tower, your entire lives ingrained into its grey stone walls.

Shaking your head, your hair tickles his chest and the bottom of his chin, Hoseok’s nose wrinkling as he tries to push it out of the way, “No, you’re my home. Home is where you are. If you won’t stop fighting for me, at least run away with me. Please? Let’s go somewhere they won’t find us,” you implore, your voice laced in a pleading tone.

Hoseok hums carefully, his arm snaking around your waist. “Where do you want to go?” he asks, causing you to perk up.

“The Merfolk Mangroves. We can build a new home there. It’s deeper in the forest, the area guarded by the elves. Not to mention we’ll be closer to our friends. Please, let’s just go. I don’t want to see you hurt anymore,” you plead. Hoseok hums for another moment before nodding, easily acquiescing to you.

“Alright. We’ll move. How does tomorrow sound?” Hoseok asks, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Tomorrow?” you repeat in mild surprise, not expecting him to be ready to move so soon.

This time, Hoseok shrugs. “It’s not like we have a lot of things. We only really need our clothes. We can always build more stuff - thought building a house may take a while. But it’s okay, we can ask Yoongi and Jimin to help us,” Hoseok says. You gaze at him in shock, murmurs and mumbles escaping his lips as he lists things the two of you would need. “Yeah, tomorrow works. So, how about it?” Hoseok asks, turning towards you. Happiness blooming in your chest, you nod eagerly before nuzzling further into him.

“Tomorrow sounds perfect,”

Five years later, you find yourself near the edge of the forest, in the midst of Salamander Swamps - though you don’t think it’s really a swamp by conventional methods. Tall trees and brushes litter the area, their leaves emblazoned in glittering hues of amber-gold and scarlet-ruby. Rivers and lakes of aurous copper swirl around the area - though, you know it’s not actually water. No, the streams of seemingly liquid-gold are actually made of the fiery salamanders that make their home in the swamp. Sunlight drips through the saffron canopy, the plush foliage gleaming as if made of blazing topazes.

Trusty wicker basket dangling in the crook of your elbow, you happily hum to yourself as you pick off the golden Soleil berries from the low-growing brush. You’d heard about the berries long ago - there were stories, passed down with each generation of the forest’s magical folk - that the berries would harness sunlight and store the sun’s energy, the magic of the sun amplified by the salamanders’ mystical fire. Hence, you’d decided to ask Seokjin, knowing the elf prince had an almost encyclopaediac knowledge of the forest’s fauna and flora, whether he knew where you could find some; and the older elf had not disappointed in the slightest.

Though, really, you should have guessed - with the myths surrounding the Soleil berries, there really was only one place they would grow.

“Hurry up, ____. It’s not safe for us to be out here,” Jimin calls out. Turning your head, you glance at him from over your shoulder. Both him and Taehyung are sat perched on a boulder, mindlessly drawing shapes into the ground as they wait for you to finish. From the corner of your eye, you spot Jungkook, the phoenix happily picking berries and snacking on them.

“I need more berries! I’m making-” you reply, only to be cut off by Jimin.

“A special meal for Hoseok for your five year anniversary and Soleil berries are rumoured to energise Sun Dragons like Hoseok. Yes, yes we know. But I don’t think Hoseok would appreciate us bringing you all the way here - the Salamander Swamp borders human territory. It’s not safe, especially for you, Princess,” Jimin reminds you. His words cause you to scowl as your ire rises.

“I’m not a Princess. Don’t call me that. And I’m sure we’ll be fine. They haven’t found me for five years - ever since Hobi and I moved to the Merfolk Mangroves - they probably think I’m dead or something - or that Hoseok ate me,” you shrug nonchalantly, sarcasm dripping from your words. Really, that was one of the stupidest rumours you knew humans believed - dragons didn’t even like human meat - they prefered animals - and Hoseok preferred boar.

“It’s still not safe for us to be here,” Jimin replies.

“Yeah, I don’t think we should be here any longer,” Taehyung pipes in as he looks around warily.

“Ugh! Fine! Just give me a few more moments,” you bite back before turning back to the bushes.

“We need to go - now,” Jungkook says all of a sudden before grabbing you by the wrist.

“You too, Kook? You’re the one who wanted an adventure!” you hiss in indignation. However, seeing the alertness in Jungkook’s eyes, his teal orbs warily looking around, you find yourself stopping. Blooding rushing through your veins, the hair on the back of your neck stands up. All three boys are on their feet, their senses on high-alert as they look around.

“Guys? What’s going on?” you whisper, knowing that their enhances senses could pick up things you wouldn’t be able to.

Then - you hear it. A snap of twigs, followed by a faint whistling.

All of a sudden, an arrow flies through the air, Taehyung only narrowly managing to duck from under it. “Humans! We need to go! Now,” Jimin roars, already turning out and running towards the boat that you’d used to travel to the Salamander Swamps. Taehyung had already jumped into the river, ready to swim back home. You feel Jungkook grab you, his body twisting as he runs towards his friends. However, before you can follow him, you feel someone else grab you.

“By the Gods! The Princess is alive! We’ve found her,” a knight yells, alerting the rest of the vanguard. A cry of panic escapes your throat, Jungkook hissing as the knight tugs on your arm.

“____!” Jimin and Taehyung yell, their eyes wide with fright, Jimin already stepping back out of the boat to help you.

But he moves to slow - because all of a sudden, out of nowhere, another guard appears, swiping his broadsword towards the hand Jungkook is using to hold onto you. Before the knight can hit him, however, Jungkook removes his arm, subsequently letting go of you.

You feel arms circle around your waist, dragging you backwards and away from Jungkook, even as you desperately struggle against their hold, trying your hardest to escape the knight. You see Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung caught in a fray - the sound of swords clinking and arrows whistling through the air entwine with the raging crackle of fire, torrential splashes of water and echoing snapping of vines - the amalgamation of sounds almost deafening - even as you screech for your friends.

“Let me go! Let me go!” you scream, clawing at the arms that hold on to you - but its no use - your fingernails are useless against the steel of the knight’s armour.

“Don’t worry, Princess. You don’t have to be scared of us, we’ve come to rescue you. We’re taking you back to your father,” the knight says placatingly.

Hissing at him, “I don’t need to be rescued, you idiot! Let me go,” you cry, increasing your struggle against him. But the knight doesn’t heed any of your words, and instead, he throws you onto the back of the horse, jumping on after you before sprinting off.

Moments after the horse begins galloping, you hear a loud screeching sound, “____! We’ll come for you! Hoseok will come for you,” Jungkook roars, the words slightly strained and instantly, you know he’s shifted into his half-phoenix form.

Before you can respond to him, however, you already find yourself further away from the forest. Your heart sinks in your chest, tears filling your eyes as you watch the trees begin to grow sparse as the magic in the air died - you’re no longer in the enchanted forest - and more than that, you can no longer hear Jungkook, Jimin or Taehyung.

The knight gallops away, the ride slightly bumpy as you continue staring behind you, yearning for home. You know you’re to blame for being kidnapped - well, partially, because really, you hadn’t asked for this. Still, you should have listened to Jimin when he said it wasn’t safe - but you’d only wanted to do something nice for your anniversary with Hoseok.

The landscape rushes past you, slowly shifting from the natural terrain of to more human-made, little houses and buildings coming into view. Your back in the kingdom. Unbothered, the guard continues riding, not even acknowledging that you had stopped struggling. Turning your head, your chest tightens as the large, almost opposing, castle comes into view. Vaguely, you can remember it from your memories - the place you had once called home. But it’s not home any longer, home is in the enchanted forest, with your friends, with Hoseok.

Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook’s faces flash in the back of your mind, your chest aching with worry. Closing your eyes, you send a silent prayer to the Old Elders of the Forest, praying that your friends had retreated and are safe.

The next day, groggy and disoriented from sleep, you awake in a large bed. Spine imperceptibly shivering from the morning chill, you instinctively reach out for Hoseok, craving the warmth radiated by your mate. However, instead of coming into contact with Hoseok’s sinewy and heated body, all you feel is the cold of the mattress. Abruptly, the memories crash over you like a bucket of ice-cold water, your body springing up in bed.

You’d been kidnapped from your home and brought to the forest. When you’d finally arrived in the palace, it had been late at night and your father and step-mother hadn’t even bothered greeting you. Instead, you’d been sent straight to your old room. You considered escaping, but knights had stood guard outside your door all night - you’d periodically checked, wondering if you could make a getaway. Momentarily, you’d considered climbing out the window, but your bedroom was several feet off the ground and facing a cliff edge. Eventually, the futility of your escape had dawned on you, and exhausted, you’d fallen into a fretful sleep, your only hope knowing that Hoseok would stop at nothing to come rescue you.

Looking around the room, you hazily recognise the bedroom from your childhood and vaguely, you realise that nothing has changed. The curtains are still a pastel pink, white furniture embellished with intricate gold designs is still perfectly placed around the bedroom, and while slightly faded, the carpet is still a plush grey. The perfect room for a princess - however, not for you. The room makes you feel nauseous: the pastel pink almost overwhelming and the white only washing out the rest of the colours.

Momentarily, you hear a light knock, your head automatically turning towards the sound. The creaking of the door resounds through the air, before, “Princess, you’re awake,” comes a dulcet voice. The voice sounds familiar, ringing through your memory, and when the woman comes into view, you recognise her as the nanny who used to look after you. She’s much older now, with sunken but kind eyes, and greyed hair.

“Mrs Cheon,” you greet quietly. The lady stops in surprise, looking at you in disbelief before a gentle smile graces her face.

“I’m surprised you recognise me,” she replies before walking towards you. Pulling the sheets off you, she urges you out of the bed and towards your large bedroom. The bath has already been drawn, different soaps and shampoos littering the bath’s edge. Mrs Cheon fusses over you, helping out of your clothing before washing away the grime and dirt you’d collected from foraging in the forest yesterday. Every now and then she tuts, scrubbing extra hard to get you clean.

You don’t know what compels you to allow her to fuss over you, because really, you wantto fight, you want to kick and scream and find a way out. But you know you have no choice but to go through the motion of the days. The reality of the situation isn’t lost on you, you’re completely outnumbered, guards posted in every nook and cranny of the palace as a security measure. It would be hard to make it out by yourself, so instead, you choose to wait - because you know Hoseok will come for you. More than any of that, however, you allow Mrs Cheon to lead you because you know there is something you have to do before you can escape this place once and for all.

Once your bath is done, Mrs Cheon leads you back to your room, where several ladies in waiting greet you. Fake smiles plastered on their face, they curtsey towards you before they begin dressing you. You’re not stupid, you can see the disdain clear as day in their eyes because here you are: a princess of royal blood, of higher status than them and theoretically more power and wealth than they could ever have, yet you’d willingly - though, not at first - chosen to live in the enchanted forest. A part of you wants to make a snide remark, but instead, you simply bite your tongue. It wouldn’t do you any good if you caused a commotion now. You had to wait, for help to arrive, for Hoseok to come, and then you could leave this place.

Hands spread out, the ladies dress you up. First, they string a corset around you, two women pulling the straps tight until you find it hard to breathe. Different layers of silk and chiffon follow, before finally, the last layer is draped over you. Unfocused gaze set on yourself, you watch as the women cover you with expensive fabrics, intricate designs embroidered in gold thread. Once done, they lead you to your vanity before sitting you down and beginning on your hair. A woman you don’t recognise begins brushing your hair, your face crinkling as she roughly detangles the knots before styling it.

You sigh and decide to retreat into your own mind, knowing that they still had to do your makeup. When you were younger, you’d seen your mother go through this routine, every day, until she was too sick to go through it anymore. You had once wished to be just like her, your every whim being catered to as women fussed and fawned over you. Now that you’ve had a taste of freedom, of independence, the entire experience feels jarring and exhausting.

By the time the ladies are finally done with you, dusting you in an overpowering perfume that has your nose crinkling in distaste, it’s already been hours. Really, howdid people of noble blood go through this exhausting routine every day? It’s ming boggling to you. Breaking you out of your thoughts, “You’re ready Princess,” Mrs Cheon finally says, and once again you have to bite your tongue to stop from snapping that you’re not a Princess. Not anymore at least. You’d given up that claim a long time ago.

“Come along. I am to take you to the throne room where the King, Queen, and Royal Court await you,” Mrs Cheon informs, and with that, Mrs Cheon leads you out of the room. With each step, the dress and heels weigh you down, the material scratching against your skin and leaving you feeling uncomfortable. You wanted your clothes - the leather boots, trousers and cotton shirts you were used to. Or even the lighter, much more freeing dresses that you’d wear occasionally.

Stepping out of the bedroom, the first thing that comes to your attention is the significant lack of guards. Unlike yesterday, when the corridor was heavily guarded, the knights are nowhere to be found. If she’s noticed anything amiss, Mrs Cheon doesn’t say anything. Expertly, she navigates through the maze-like corridors of the castle and once again, you recede into your own thoughts. The throne room is on the other end of the castle, far away from your wing of the palace and you know it’ll be a while before you reach there.

The two of you walk in silence as you wonder how long it’ll be till Hoseok and your friends come for you. Just as you get to the wing of the castle where your father conducts his official business, the sound of a commotion catches your ears. Head snapping to the window, your eyes widen as hope flutters in your chest. This wing of the castle is closer towards the towns and village, not to mention the entrance to the castle. Gazing out the window, you spot the large castle walls, knights running around while yelling at each other. But that’s not what’s got you so hopefully, it’s the bright kaleidoscopic flashes of colour just outside the walls that have your attention - flashes you know to be magic.

They’re here. They’ve come for you.

Again, Mrs Cheon continues walking, not saying anything even if she notices your attention on the window looking out. Just as you reach the large arched doors to the throne room, a deafening dragon roar resounds, the sound so loud it even penetrates the castle walls, ricocheting straight through your being. Your knees buckle, your heart fluttering as you hear the telltale sound of your dragon. Then, all of a sudden, the drawbridge that leads to the outside is broken into, thick clouds of black smoke filling the air as dragon fire spirals uncontrollably, burning the wood to ashes.

He’s here.

Hoseok’s here - which mean there’s only one thing for you to do. Taking a deep breath, you gather all your courage before stepping in front of Mrs Cheon. The older lady looks at you in surprise, watching as you fearlessly push open the wood doors before taking daring steps forward. As soon as you burst in, every single noble that makes your father’s court turns to you. Your father’s eyes widen, your stepmother’s own narrowing as she looks at you with distaste. As you begin walking towards the back of the room, where your father and stepmother sit upon their thrones, hushed whispers begin filling the air, the noblemen unable to contain themselves.

Ignoring them, you keep your head held high, your unwavering and hardened gaze focused directly on your father. You don’t even bother deigning your stepmother with your gaze, ignoring her completely. When you get to just before them, your father opens his mouth to speak, but before he can speak, you interrupt him by holding up a hand. His eyes widen, another wave of whispers running rampant around you.

“No right. You had no right to kidnap me from my home,” you seethe, your voice hissing through the air. The king sits up slightly, his eyes widening at the venom in your voice.

“We did not kidnap you. The knight rescued you from the dragon that guarded you and as such, he will be the one to marry you,” you stepmother buts in. Though, from her tone, you can tell she’s more irritated by the situation than anything. Clearly, she hadn’t wanted you back - which begs the question, why are you back. It must have been your father’s doing. You internally wonder if hell had frozen over, because you found yourself mirroring her ire.

Scoffing, you roll your eyes, “Yeah, well, funnily enough, I didn’t need rescuing from the dragon. And I definitely will not be marrying some random prince I don’t even know. I don’t love him - I love Hoseok - the dragon that protected me. The dragon that was there for me when my own family abandoned me. I don’t need you - nor do I want anything to do with you. I was happy in the forest, my home is in the forest now. Not here,” you seethe. From the corner of your eye, you notice flashes of magic pass the window that overlooked the front of the castle. Excitement courses through your veins, your hands trembling with eagerness. He’s so close.

“In love?! With a dragon? That’s preposterous. He’s a monster,” A nobleman calls out, cause you to snarl in his direction. The wild anger in your eyes clearly terrifies him, because instantly, he takes a step back.

“____, you’ve clearly been in the forest too long. But this is where you belong. Come home, this is where you belong. You are human, not a creature of the forest. You are next in line for the throne, this Kingdom’s Princess. It needs you,” your father says.

His words cause you to see red, and you level your hardest, most spiteful, glare at your father. “I am not a Princess and I owe this kingdom nothing. You abandoned me in a forest when I was seven years old - and nothing you do or say can ever make up for that. This is no longer my home,” you hiss, gesturing towards the room, “and this,” you say, gesturing to your outfit, “is not who I am. My home is in the forest. With my mate. I belong there with him,” you continue. Then, in the spur of the moment and with more strength than you knew you had, you tug at the dress - hard - causing it to rip into tatters. Shocked gasps flood the air, men whispering at the scene of disgrace. Shreds of the outer dress cling to your body, the material of your inner dress and corset on display. Your hard tug had even pulled loose some of the corset strings, and the moment you hear the tearing of fabric, you feel like you can breathe again

“I gave up on being a Princess long ago - the daughter you knew, the daughter you left in a tower all by herself - I’m no longer her. Leave me alone. I want nothing to do with you or this Kingdom. I have a family - a family who is out there fighting for me - to bring me home. They are all I need. So please, if you have any love for me, or if you have any care for my happiness - let me live my life,” you finally finish. With the last of your words, you feel your anger rush out of you, leaving you feeling freer than you had in years.

Lifting your hand, you touch the crown that sits perched atop your head before tugging it. As soon as it comes off, your hair comes loose, falling wilding around your head. Without care, you drop the crown on the floor, the last of the weight lifting off of your shoulder. Then, with the last of your adrenaline rush, the feeling of freedom coursing through your veins, you run towards the window that outlooks the courtyard - where you know Hoseok to be.

Refusing to even think for a moment, and putting all your faith in Hoseok, you leap onto the window ledge before throwing yourself out the window. The members of the court jerk in alarm, gasps of alarm resounding through the air, your father jumping to his feet as he watches you plummet out the window.

The air rushes around you, the sound of the wind passing you by almost defeaning. Instantly, you shut your eyes, your heart racing a mile a minute as you feel yourself freefalling towards the ground. A scream rips through your mouth - and then suddenly, you come to a halt. You feel strong arms wrap around you, the familiar sound of heavily beating leather wings vibrating through your eardrums. Opening your eyes, you grin as you come face to face with Hoseok’s terrified looking face.

“What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just randomly jump out of a window - you could have died,” Hoseok reprimands, his voice carrying out in a hiss.

An impish smile crawling onto your face, you let out a raucous laugh before throwing your arms around his neck, “I can when I know you’ll be there to catch me,” comes your reply. Hoseok wants to reprimand you, tell you that you were entirely too reckless and that watching you fall out the window had almost given him a heart attack - but seeing your laughter, the lightness to your eyes and the easiness in your muscles, he finds himself lost for words.

Eyes softening, he presses his forehead against yours before nuzzling your nose, “I’m sorry I took so long. I should have come sooner,” Hoseok apologises.

Hearing his words, you shake your head, looking at him with nothing but love, happiness and resolute trust, “It’s okay. I knew you’d come for me. You promised,” you reply. Hoseok’s arms tighten around you, pulling you closer to his chest. Pressing your forehead harder against his, you grace him with a chaste kiss, relishing in the soft feel of his lips. “Let’s go home, Hoseok,” you whisper against his lips. Eyes softening, Hoseok nods before easily turning, flying off in the direction of the forest.

You don’t even bother turning around to look at your father or the castle. Instead, you simply relish in the feel of Hoseok’s arms around you, the calming rhythm of his heart against your ear, and the steady beating of his wings, because you know, that now, you’re finally free.

The End.

a/n: happy sunflower hobi day!! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it!! come tell me what you thought!!

Kofi | Masterlist

[dreamii-yume]

Not a request! ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡  Just Yume trying to dive into darker topics and kinks, that’s all lol Just a heads up in case the whole concept becomes a little too uncomfortable~  (b ᵔ▽ᵔ)b

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Lilia had been watching over his Darling for a very longtime, from beginning and all the way until the end. He had seen both her tears and her smiles, heard every cries and laughter, everything. He was with her throughout the thick and thins of her life. Yet, his Darling had always been a bar that he could never seem to reach no matter how high he could jump. She wouldn't let him, the world wouldn't let him, even a part of himself is preventing him from doing so.

He's sick of it all.

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

It happened in the darkest of the night, in the middle of nowhere, in a no-named town.

Lilia stood high at the top of a bell tower as his menacing red eyes looked down on the chaos that was erupting before him. A gentle breeze blew on his hair so peacefully in contrast of the horrors that was happening from beneath. A mischievous smirk forms on his lips as he watched the flames engulf the houses of the unfortunate villagers, all running for their lives. Green flames roared intensely with no sign of stopping, destroying everything in its way. Bodies soon laying down on the ground one by one, quickly losing what little strength they have left either from a severe injury or the flames that caught up to them.

It was a heart-breaking sight, truly. Lucky for our protagonist though, it takes a lot more than disruption of harmony to break his heart.

Satisfied with view he got, the ancient fae jumped down from the tower, only to land ever so gracefully on the ground, his cloth having not a single wrinkle in them. Lilia looked around, the nonchalant smirk remaining on his face as his eyes observed every single thing around him. He found the green flames swallowing the poor humans' home pretty, like a sight of a bonfire in a camping trip. He walked around without the slightest bit of concern for the screams of anguish the people around him was letting out. Lilia even had the nerve to skip ever so cheerfully, humming as if he was walking around in wonderland.

Until, his sharp ears had heard it. A different kind of sound, buried deep within the terror around him.

Lilia stopped to look around, eventually following where he thinks the sound was coming from. It was quite the walk, he had to go through the corners of many burning houses with all its twists and turns, not to mention avoiding any flaming debris coming down at him. He couldn't really fathom it himself why exactly he was following this sound even after realizing what it could be. Perhaps it was the boredom finally getting to him that a single cry was enough to make him this curious? Even if he knew that he was risking the possibility of disappointment in the end, Lilia always thought of how it wouldn't hurt to try.

Finally, he reached a place far back from the center of the town, a cute little isolated house that was also unfortunately destroyed by the green flames. It had become quite the ruin, deteriorating far quicker than the other houses in the town, sparks of flames still remained to decorate the edges. Lilia approached the wreck of a house, finally coming into terms with a large of debris standing in his way. There was no doubt about it, this was where the sound of an adorable blabbing nonsense was coming from, or rather, underneath this material. With almost no effort at all, Lilia lifted up the debris like that of a window shutter and the price revealing itself to him.

Lilia blinked. It was just what he thought it would be.

A baby tucked neatly in a basket, covered ever so lovingly with a warm blanket. The creature sucked their own thumb as they stared at him curiously with big doe eyes.

Unlike other children in this size he's seen before though, this one smiled innocently upon seeing him, blissfully ignorant of their current situation and their once called home. They laughed, an adorable squeal coming out of them as they must've thought that Lilia was the seeker of a game of hide and seek. The fae was actually astonished on what kind of miracle had befallen on this one human baby to be able to survive such catastrophe. What incredible luck, the universe must've really wanted this poor child to keep on living, even if it's just for a few more minutes. Lilia couldn't help but to return to his usual, laid-back smile as he placed his free hand on his hips, careful to keep the heavy concrete from falling onto the baby.

At least he wasn't disappointed.

"It's unfortunate, isn't it? For us to have met like this." Lilia said, even if he knew that children at this age wouldn't understand any words he'll say. Finally, his hand grew tired of the debris' weight and eventually just threw it in the other direction. The tremors of it falling on the ground reached the child, causing them to laugh once more. Lilia stepped forward and crouched down to have a closer look at the baby who was reaching out for him with their cute, little hands. He chuckled and let them hold one of his fingers as some sort of entertainment.

The baby was very cute, with large (E/C) eyes staring back at him and plum rosy cheeks. Lilia also had come to the realization that the child was most likely a female considering how she was wearing such a cute, puffy dress and headband around her head. Her hair was already a bit longer, giving Lilia the conclusion that she must be at least close to a year old by now. Lilia also paid attention her little basket, it serves as her bed as a few toys were just laying around. Finally, Lilia noticed words written in the hem of her blanket, most notably, her name.

" '(Y/N)', huh..." Lilia read, looking back at the child, who actually responded well at the sound of her given name. He chuckled and brushed his hand on her puffy cheeks. "That's a wonderful name."

Suddenly, Lilia's ears perked as heavy footsteps were heard behind him but the fae did nothing but continue on playing with the giggling child. He didn't need to turn around to know whose presence was looming over him. "Malleus." Lilia called, closing his eyes as he unfortunately has to pull away his hand from the baby, earning a disappointed gurgle. He stood up from his spot before turning around and sure enough, it was the same horned fae that he expected it to be. "Have you had your fun? Are you ready to head back home?"

Malleus silently crossed his arms, not saying anything but his body language was enough for Lilia to understand his response. He then turned his attention towards the cradle of sunshine that his supervisor was so focused on. "A human child...?" Malleus exclaimed, blinking as he raised an eyebrow at the older fae. "Don't tell me that you're going to bring home another one?"

"Well...What can I say?" Lilia shrugged as he gently carried the baby in his arms, removing her from the basket. He smiled widely, his fangs shining under the moonlight as he joyfully spun the child. Lilia looked at Malleus with a cunning look in his eyes, something that the horned fellow had to sigh at. He brought the child close to his face, nuzzling in her warmth before giving her a slight tickle in the tummy, making the child laugh whole heartedly. "You know how much of a soft spot I have for children."

Lilia then brought the child close to Malleus, as if he was flaunting her to him. "See how adorable she is~? I found her under the rubble here and isn't it a mystery on how she survived this long?" He said, excitedly as the child matched his enthusiasm. Malleus merely grunted at his supervisor's behavior, watching him play with the kid in his arms. "I've always wanted to know how it's like to raise a girl, you know~? Like my very own little princess~!

"Besides, wouldn't Silver be delighted to have a sibling this cute?" Lilia said, listening to the child's gentle laughter, like that of bells ringing. "I personally think it'll be fantastic."

Lilia stared brightly at the child, like an angel given to him by God himself. She was certainly worth keeping, worth raising.

A child desperately spared by the universe, only to befall in the hands of someone like him.

No one was quite sure whether it was a blessing or a curse.

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Lilia raised you in a strange but ever-loving manner.

You were placed in a castle so grand, deep within the Valley of Thorns. You were protected, cherished, and loved by not only Lilia, but Malleus and Silver as well. Malleus soon grew fond of you like how Lilia had been the first time and had found himself unable to refuse your invitation to play with him. Silver had treated you like how a brother would, much like what Lilia instructed him to do so. You had no one to fill up the mother role in your very circle but when you already have three eccentric members in your family, what more could you ask for?

Lilia admits that he may have spoiled you a little more than he did with Silver. He would give you anything you would ask him for, even things that you never explicitly asked him about but still somehow, he knew you wanted. It was a bad habit he got from parenting you, but he couldn't help himself especially whenever you would give him those irresistible pleading eyes of yours. To his surprise however, you grew up just fine, you didn't hold any spoiled traits that he was dreading to see. You grew up wonderfully, having remembered all the kind manners and respect that Lilia had specifically engraved in your brain.

Lilia couldn't have been prouder.

"Me and Silver played Knights today! He was so cool! Swinging his sword with a swish and then, bam!" Your little mouth that had just learned how to talk, babbles on and on while making exaggerated hand movements. You were all tucked in your bed, completely dressed in your pajamas with Lilia beside you. He rests his cheeks on the palms of his hand, chuckling at your story. "You should come play with us too, Father! Malleus-sama said he would play as the dragon next time!"

It was already past your bed time but thankfully, Lilia wasn't that kind of overbearing parent that makes a fuss just because they're children aren't sleeping at the right time. Truth to be told, he loved the nights where he got to talk with you like this, hearing stories from you when he was away. "Oh my, that Malleus said that? How controversial~!" Lilia gasped, putting on a fake surprised expression just to entertain you. When he heard you giggled, that's when he returned to his usual, laid-back smile. "I'll come by when I get the chance, alright~? I'll make sure to be the knight who saves you, Princess~"

You giggled once again when Lilia playfully tapped your little nose. "Eh~? But Silver's already playing the knight! Father can't take over his role, silly~!" You said. "Father is better off just playing as Father!"

Lilia puffed his cheeks. "So you prefer Silver being your Knight over me~? How mean, I'm hurt~!" He faked a cry with no visible tears but still enough to pull on your heartstrings. "Did Silver finally became the replacement to the number one spot in my little Princess' heart, I wonder?"

Blinking, you quickly sat up and frantically shook your head in panic. "That's not true! Father is still number one in my heart!" You declared, eyes sparkling in innocence as you laid your head onto him, giving him a big hug. "Silver's a great knight, very cool and amazing, but that doesn't mean he can replace Father!

"I still love Father the most~!"

Lilia couldn't help but smile, feeling genuine warmth in his chest as he stared lovingly at your innocent self. He stroked your hair before leaning down and hugging your small frame in return. You grinned, prompting him to give you a light peck on the forehead, a symbol of deep love between father and daughter.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

This was your daily life. Comfortable, sweet, and wholesome, being well-taken care off by Lilia himself. You and Lilia built your relationship together as family until it grew so strong that things like being unrelated by blood does not matter anymore. He was your beloved father and you were his precious treasure, a jewel hidden away from the public's eye. You thought of how lucky you are, how your relation to one another would forever bloom as that of a parent and a child.

Lilia thought of the same thing as well.

…Until he, the wise ancient fae, who lived for who-knows how long, had made a grave mistake.

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Continue the spice~?

I hate how unnecessarily long this got...It probably got boring right at the end so, I’m very regretful about that.  <(￣ ﹌ ￣)> I didn’t know how to save it aaa- This drained me all of my creative energy way too much lol I’m currently working on three Sinfics at once and the next one is requested so, don’t worry~!  (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.3]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 7.7k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

Chapter 03: Ties That Bind

Where war, and joy, and terror Have all at times held away; Where both delight and horror Have had their fitful day.

The happiest under heaven A king of powerful mind; A company so proven Would now be hard to find

Gawain put on a good cheer. ‘Why should I hesitate?’ He said. ‘Kind or severe, We must engage our Fate.’

[Sir Gawain and the Green Knight]

    „Breathe,“ Hanneman says for the third time. At every tap of his pen against the table, you flinch as if someone is knocking right against the inside of your skull. “You have to feel the Crest, become one with it. Don’t think of it as an addition; see it as an extension of your very self.”

    You exhale but it’s hard to focus after you’ve been sitting in the same position for nearly two hours and your legs keep falling asleep.

    “Focus on it,” Hanneman continues. He starts to gesture with his free hand, an indicator that he’s just as frustrated with your lack of progress as you are. “Focus on the feeling that took hold of you when you fought the bandits. Imagine what you want. Ask yourself what it is you really want, and take hold of that picture.”

    Well, first of all, you really want a sandwich.

    For the past few weeks, you’ve been waking up before sunrise to attend private lessons with Hanneman to get a hold of your Crest’s power. Now the end of the month approaches, and still your body refuses to get accustomed to work at such an early hour, and more importantly without eating first. An hour ago, your stomach started growling, but Professor Hanneman has proved again and again to be very successful in ignoring factors that disturb his lessons. You continue breathing through what you consider hunger pains instead of the raise of new powers, but with the sound of screaming students outside and the occasional flapping of wings as Pegasus Knights fly by on their patrol, it’s anything but successful.

    “Focus!” Hanneman chides again as if he can read your mind and knows exactly you’re thinking of the pheasant roast with berry sauce on the menu today.

    “I’m trying,” you groan and slump into the chair, defeated. “But I don’t feel anything.”

    “Hmm hmmm,” Hanneman hums and looks at you like you were supposed to understand what he’s conveying with that sound. “Maybe we’re looking at it the wrong way,” he says once you don’t follow up on his inexplicable sound. “Maybe we should stop thinking of it as a common Crest, but approach it like it is something entirely different.” He quickly notes something on his paper, then proceeds to flip through the open books he’s splayed out on his desk. “There is so little we know about the Crest of the Herald. I am much frustrated no one thought of studying it a thousand years ago!”

    “I don’t understand. How can it be different?” Your first lesson solely focused on Crests. How they are thought to be power incarnate, bestowed upon humans by the Goddess countless ages ago. Today those who are descendants of Fódlan’s Ten Elites and Four Saints, who fought during the War of Heroes beside Saint Seiros, wear Crests, a sign of wealth and nobility.

    “Well, one possible explanation could be that for whatever reason, the first Herald was different from his fellow warriors, the Ten Elites,” Hanneman offers, leaning back into his chair and looking a lot more interested in the conversation now. “The Goddess must have found him worthy of her power just as she found Saint Seiros worthy.”

    “Then why wasn’t he a Saint?” you wonder. From your understanding, the Four Saints were special comrades of Saint Seiros, just as guided by the Goddess as their leader. What had made the Herald from back then different? “According to everything you told me, he sounds a lot like this Macuil person. Focusing on strategy and all that.”

    “Saint Macuil,” Hanneman corrects you, but there’s no bite in his voice. “And yes, perhaps he was akin to the Saints, but that clearly wasn’t what determined the final decision to name him Herald.”

    “Well, that’s just my kind of luck,” you mumble, but when Hanneman makes a puzzled sound, you ask instead, “And you’re sure I’m a descendant of him?”

    “Most likely! You bear a Major Crest, which means the Herald’s blood runs strong in your body. After he disappeared, he might have settled down and started a family. Unfortunately, nothing is recorded about him after the War of Heroes concluded.”

    “Then how come there was no one else in a thousand years who bore the same Crest?” You aren’t sure you fully understand how they work. Apparently, Crests grant special powers to those who hold them such as high aptitude for magic or enhanced strength. But you know better than anyone that the Crest of the Herald is special. It doesn’t simply give you a boon, it allows you to command the flow of battle. But is it really a blessing bestowed by the Goddess? You don’t remember a divine revelation or talking to a Goddess. Or did that maybe occur even before you were found by the Officers Academy’s students? Before your memory loss? You certainly don’t feel chosen by a deity.

    “Trying to explain the Goddess’ whims would wield about the same result as asking this question,” Hanneman says. “Sometimes a Crest may skip generations. No one can say with certainty who will be chosen. If it will be the first or third born. That is why we must further study Crests! For example, why, unlike other Crests, has your appeared physically visible?” Hanneman mutters more questions under his breath and notes them quickly on his paper. It’s remarkable how enthusiastic he approaches the topic if it only didn’t make you feel like an experiment lying on a dissection table.

    “I want to know so much more about the first Herald,” you mumble. “What was his name? Where was he from?” Why did he disappear and what were the costs he had paid for such a title. Only one month in and Lady Rhea already granted you an impressive room to reside. People treat you with respect and admiration even though you aren’t doing much besides wave at them on the streets or hold some conversations. If being the Herald only encompasses these tasks, you’ll gladly take on the role and speak to people. But that would be a dream too good to be true.

    “We can only speculate,” Hanneman says. “Some believe the Herald came when Seiros needed him most. Our Goddess’ answer to her cry of help. Others believe he was simply a general who originated form a farmer’s family. Other, smaller sources talk about a prince from a far off land who passed through Fódlan and decided to stay. But in all cases, the Herald was a great asset to win the War of Heroes and save Fódlan from the tyranny of the Fell King.”

    “Yeah, no pressure there,” you mumble, sinking further into your seat. Hopefully no one expects you to save Fódlan from evil monarchs. If yes, it certainly won’t happen on an empty stomach. When Hanneman releases you, there’s only one place for you to be. The Dining Hall is crowded at this time of hour. Students and faculty bustle everywhere, eager to get their favourite meal on a plate. Just like them, you are drawn in by the amazing smell of roasted meet and freshly baked pastries.

    The only thing you can live without is how once you enter the room several heads turn in your direction, and a ripple of “Look, it’s the Herald” goes through the crowd, spreading like a wave. Or a disease, you think with a sour taste in your mouth as you move through the parting sea. They want you to acknowledge them but Goddess forbid you actually engage in conversation with them and they flee like you’re the Herald of Pest.

    “Herald!” Well, not everyone escapes. Some seem to like living dangerous.

    Edelgard looks straight at you from between the other students from the Eagle class sitting at a table, removing any doubt she means anyone else but you. Running from her would be a sign of defeat, so you drag yourself over to the Eagle table and give the round an uncertain smile. “Hello.”

    “Herald, if you have time, please sit with us,” Edelgard offers but the look she pins on you doesn't give you any choice. The silence of her classmates speaks louder than words, and a quick glance to Hubert tells you that he very much would like for you to notsit with them.

    “Sure,” you say lamely and sit opposite from her where Bernadetta quickly shuffles to the side to make room, and then further down the bench until she jumps to her feet and flees from the hall. It’s a miracle she’s out of her chambers in the first place, undoubtedly Byleth’s work.

    “Did you manage any progress with Professor Hanneman?” Edelgard asks, carefully cutting her pheasant roast into small bite-sized pieces. She looks the complete opposite from someone capable of hacking away their enemies but you wouldn’t dare to underestimate her.

    “It’s slow,” you admit, solely focusing on shoving potatoes from one side of your plate to the other so you don’t have to look at anyone. “I’ve only grasped the basics of how Crests work and the Herald’s is so different.”

    “Research might prove more fruitful if you’d be called into action,” she says, and it’s difficult to determine if that statement is a simple observation or underlying critique towards Rhea’s decision to leave you out of the major education system. At least that’s something you’re sure of. Edelgard is difficult.

    “Maybe. But chances are higher I get myself killed somehow on the battlefield.” You’re already dreading the approaching noon hours. Byleth has worked out a special training programme for you and the house leaders. So far there hasn’t been a day without aching muscles and bruises for you. Thinking of Byleth, you can’t help but ask, “So how’s Byleth as a Professor?”

    Edelgard considers her plate with mild interest, but her index fingers start tapping against her cutlery. She has small, delicate hands. Cute hands. You gawk at them for two seconds before noticing Hubert starring daggers at you, and quickly avert your eyes to your cup of ginger tea like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

    “Our professor shows knowledge in the most curious things,” he says, surprising you by joining the conversation. “I think the Adrestian Empire will benefit greatly from that.”

    You aren’t sure how leading the class correlates directly to joining the Empire, but you don’t want to point that out. Hubert is still too much of a puzzle you’re adamant on not piecing together because whatever picture waits for you after the assembly might be one of horror.

    “She really is one to look up to,” Edelgard agrees, but she isn’t looking at anyone, so it seems she’s saying it more to herself. You want to try and read more out of her expression, but distraction comes quickly in form of more students from the Eagle class. Caspar is the first bouncing excitedly towards the table, and still he somehow miraculously manages to keep his food from flying everywhere. “Herald!” he calls and slides right on the seat right next to you. “How’s the head situation going?”

    “Caspar,” Linhardt chides and gives his friend the disappointed look of a parent that can’t bring his child to use a fork to eat. “Would you stop pestering the Herald with the same question every day?”

    Linhardt hits the mark. It was nice in the beginning to have someone show so much interest in your wellbeing, but now you don’t know if the daily reminder how you fail to regain pieces of your past is rude or just Caspar’s naive politeness.

    “Yeah well.” You try to stuff as much potatoes in your mouth as possible just to avoid talking about it. “Nothin’ yeff.”

    “Herald, please try to keep your manners in check, will you?” Ferdinand comments because of course he catches you with your mouth full and sauce dripping from the corners. Unlucky for him, you don’t really care.

    “Well, sorry.” Caspar frowns and scratches the remains from his plate. The two minutes you needed to finish your potatoes, he’s cleared his whole plate. “I just thought it might help.”

    “Help to be reminded what’s missing?” Linhardt doesn’t look convinced. “I think the Herald knows so better than anyone.”

    “Guys, drop the subject,” Edelgard intervenes. “Let us finish our meals now. Classes resume presently and I don’t want to hear any stomachs growling, understood?” The last part goes with a pointed look towards Linhardt, who answers with a lazy shrug while continuing to poke at his food, looking bored out of his mind. It lasts about three seconds before he brightens up and turns towards you while rummaging through his school bag. From that, he pulls out notes and a pen, and unceremoniously shoves them into your hands. “I have a question, Herald. Would you be so kind and look over these strategic proposals I’ve developed from the last lesson? I understand what you taught us were basics as we find them in the library. I simply took the time and applied those to the strengths and abilities of my classmates.”

    You raise your eyebrows. “You did?” Up until now, you didn’t know Linhardt was paying attention whenever you gave the students your sorry excuses of lessons. You feel like you’ve seen him asleep far more than actually looking at the board or writing, so him presenting his notes to you now is more than a surprise. He has a clean handwriting, small letters that curl into themselves and forget to take a break between words. You squint at the sentences, trying to make them out. It sure doesn’t help that half of it is crossed out by what looks like a strategy sketch with little circles and everyone’s names filling out the space.

    “This looks … elaborate,” you comment, unsure if you’ll ever be able to solve this enigma.

    “No worries.” Linhardt gives a little smile. “Please give me your answer report until tomorrow. And feel free to correct me on anything I’ve done wrong.”

    He’s probably done a much better job than you on your lesson notes, but you nod with a lopsided smile. “I will.”

    “Oh, and while we’re at strategy talk,” Caspar jumps right in, “any good ideas how to take on a taller opponent?”

    “A good kick to their shins?” you suggest.

    “A dagger to their liver?” Edelgard says.

    “Poison in their cup?” Hubert offers.

    “You’re all animals,” Ferdinand says.

    Linhardt groans. “I toldyou how to win in a fight like that, Caspar. Why won’t you listen to me?”

    You don’t want to be part of the argument breaking out between them, so you turn away and try to see what the other students are doing in the dining hall. At the opposite end, Claude catches your eyes and waves like he’s been waiting way too long to finally get your attention. He points at Edelgard and flaps his arms like a chicken. He points at you and spreads his hands behind his head, forming antlers with his fingers. When Edelgard follows your eyes, his head whips around and he pretends to agree with whatever Lysithea just said.

    “I hope you forgive Caspar’s enquiries,” she says, steering your focus back to her. She’s gently tapping the corners of her mouth with an embroidered napkin, and oh there they are again, her delicate fingers. You look away before Hubert catches you staring again and decides to put poison in your cup7. “I speak on behalf of everyone in the Black Eagle House when I say we wish for your full recovery to be soon.”

    “If wishing would only get the job done, I might have something to work with by now.”

    Edelgard doesn’t blink, her expression frozen. “Meaning?”

    “I thought I'd come here and one of the Church's healers would just wave their hands to return my memories,” you mumble, scribbling a tiny Claude with little, evil horns on his head in the corner of Linhardt’s notes.

    Edelgard looks at you like you've just insulted her whole noble lineage. “That isn't how magic works.”

    You throw your arms up in frustration to emphasise that yes, that's the point. You don't know how anything works in this place, and you doubt Byleth's four pages of lesson plans are going to help.

    “If no one comes to your aid, maybe it is time you take matters into your own hands.” You flinch at the scornful sound in Edelgard’s voice. Judging the expression on her face, she seems just as surprised about her outburst. She gets up abruptly and bids farewell with a curt nod, followed closely by Hubert as always. Her classmates look after her, each more puzzled than the next.

    “Didn’t she seem … angry to you?” Linhardt thinks aloud, blinking into the empty space.

    Ferdinand harrumphes. “She’s always like this. Please excuse her, Herald.”

    You don’t think she’s done anything wrong, and yet she certainly doesn’t appear as always. Something about her last words strikes you as especially sharp; reproachful. Those weren’t meaningless words, but you don’t have any ways to decipher the message. A little voice tells you she isn’t wrong either. So far nothing has helped returning your memories—Manuela’s medicine, herbs from the Greenhouse, Hanneman’s spells. It seems like your brain has built defencive walls to repel any probing, which begs the answer to the question what is hiding in secret even more. But can you really do it on your own, like Edelgard suggests? It seems impossible.

    With newfound doubt you finish your meal, saying your goodbyes to the now scattering Eagle students as they scurry off to their next lesson. Two hours are left before you’re meeting with Byleth and the house leaders, and since you agreed to look over Linhardt’s notes, the library seems a good next stop. You still want to go over the seven classical manoeuvres of war, especially since the students didn’t really grasp the remaining two last time, and it gives you a good excuse to look over them again as well. At the beginning, you thought there was nothing you could teach those children, not with experienced colleagues at your side who have participated in countless battles themselves. Who could have thought that talking about tactics and strategies came as natural to you as breathing. Well, Rhea did for certain, and even the students drink up your every word like it is a message from the Goddess herself and you her chosen herald. The irony of it.

    But it isn’t only the students accepting your guidance. Something inside you changed in the last couple of weeks as well. When you started going through the books in the library, it was more stumbling and slipping on foreign terrain, but just in a couple of days, you moved through the matter like a fish following smoothly the currents of its native waters. It felt like home. Like building the foundation of a house from thousand variables, the result different each time but still the same: art. You build the art of battle, the last decision that will bring victory or death. You love every second of it. Which opens the possibility that it really isn’t your first time, but also more questions: Who taught you? What battles have you fought? How many of them did you win? Since those aren’t as simple to answer, you focus on fulfilling the first purpose, and hope that it will some day be enough for the students to survive battles.

    If only it would end there. Your second duty isn’t as easy or pleasant, and it lies in wait for you everywhere, stalking you like a dark shadow with monstrous fangs.

    “Herald.” A soldier gives a courteous bow, intercepting you in the Great Hall on your way to the library. “Pilgrims ask for you near the Entrance Hall. Please allow me to escort you.”

    Immediately, your nerves tingle with nervous anticipation. This is the scary part. Meeting the people, seeing the hope in their eyes. You’d gladly send them back where they’ve come from, but some have travelled for multiple days, and denying them audience would be cruel.

    “Don’t let me stop you from your duties,” you say, unconsciously tugging your clothes in order to appear presentable. “I will welcome them on my own.”

    The soldier nods and bows again, his expression barely readable under the helmet before he disappears as quickly as he came.

    Planning lessons is easy. You can find whatever you need in the library and work out the flow with the students. But nothing can prepare or teach you how to act like the Herald people wish for. Nowhere is anything written on the old Herald, how he talked to them and what promises he’d whispered when day broke. That is where you are on your own. Not even Rhea could answer that question. She only instructed that you see them, and remind them about their devotion to the Goddess—for she was the one who made it possible in the first place.

    The Entrance Hall is emptier than usual. Most of the students are in class, and a handful of knights and soldiers might be at the advanced training camp Jeralt and Alois hold in honour of the Blade Breaker’s return. So spotting the pilgrims isn’t difficult. Especially with the Gatekeeper waving his arms in wide arcs as if fearing you might overlook him.

    “Greetings, Herald!” His grin is blinding. “The pilgrims are waiting for you just at the at the foot of the stairs.”

    “Yeah,” you say. “I can see them.”

    “Oh, yes, of course! If anyone causes problems, count on me to help!”

    “Thanks.” You answer his thumbs up with one of your own before moving downstairs. What a refreshing young man. Certainly good looking under his helmet. Byleth seems to like talking to him a lot as well.

    Today’s pilgrims aren’t much different from other days. Old people are supported by their family members, who have brought baskets with sweets and flowers, presenting them at your feet.

    “Herald,” they breathe in awe, bowing. No matter how often you’ve seen it by now, it still feels incredibly wrong.

    “Raise your heads,” you tell them, helping an elderly woman up to hrer feet. She gasps at your touch, then clings to your hands. You try to swallow past the lump in your throat. “The Archbishop and I bid you welcome. The Goddess will smile upon your devotion.” Your cringe slightly when echoing Rhea’s words and wonder if any second the goddess might punish you by throwing lightning your way.

    “We are blessed to finally meet you,” a younger woman says, taking the old woman from your hands—mother and daughter maybe? “Please accept our gifts, and may the Goddess guide you on your path to light.”

    “She will answer your prayers and guide me so I can bring you peace,” you reply just so you can say something they might want to hear. Judging their delighted expressions this wasn’t the worst you could have said. Dorothea would probably be proud looking at your acting skills. Or point out your bad posture and how you’re avoiding their eyes. Dorothea would probably tell you how much you have to polish your acting skills.

    “Bring us peace?” someone from the last row spits, pushing to the front. “You know nothing, the Herald will bring chaos and ruin!” A man in his forties looms above you, an ugly, padded scar crossing his face from one temple to his chin. A war veteran? They way he holds himself looks like he’s been beaten up once too much to get up again.

    “You heathen, don’t you dare speak to our Herald like that,” the old woman barks, immediately doubling over in a coughing fit. Her daughter supports her, glaring at the man. “Go in peace, but go if you only came to talk ill about our Herald,” she says, clearly upset. "Doubting them is doubting our Goddess. How dare you."

    “First I want to see the Herald do something! What if … if this one is an impostor.” The man turns towards the others, throwing his arms in the air. “Bring forward proof that you are not here to ruin our lands, but to actually serve in the Goddess’ name!”

    This time his demand meets less resistance. Until now people were fine with seeing you and the Crest, but to want actual prove? You could easily threaten them and ask if they doubt the Goddess’ decision, but you’d rather leave that method to Rhea. You don’t want to sound like her. You don’t want to scare people. Yet admitting that you don’t really have a clue how to really use the Crest would surely support the man’s accusation. Diminishing the people’s trust in the Herald is the last thing you want, especially if it means facing Rhea’s scorn.

    “I—”

    “Herald!” A voice calls from the top of the stairs. When you turn around, Sylvain waves and jogs downstairs, looking like he’s been running for some time. “There you are. The Archbishop wants to see you.”

    Oh no, has she heard of your failure already? Giving the choice of facing a group of doubting people or Rhea, you’d immediately go to the people. You give him a curt nod, unable to speak because you don’t trust your voice.

    “I apologise,” you say to the pilgrims, clearing your throat when it comes out as a croak. “I will have something prepared for another time.”

    “No, you do not need to prove anything to us,” the elderly woman says. “We will always believe in you. Please tell Her Grace we are constantly praying to our Goddess and thank her for sending you to us.”

    “I will.” You squeeze her hand a last time. “Save travels.”

    The man still glares at you, but without a chance to keep you present any longer, he turns away and follows the rest. You can’t wait to leave all that behind, and as you steel your nerves for what’s waiting for you in the Audience Chambers, you look up to Sylvain and ask, “Did Lady Rhea say what it is about?”

    He looks over at you and blinks a couple of times, then seems to remember. “Ah ... yeah, about that. I lied.”

    You stop dead in your tracks. “You lied?”

    “Yup. I don’t know what Lady Rhea’s doing. But you looked like you were about to puke at those poor pilgrim’s shoes. As hilarious as that would have been, I wanted to spare you the embarrassment.” He stops now as well and smiles a boyish crooked grin. Sylvain knows exactly what to do with his face so girls fall over themselves to do him a favour, and boys grow jealous of all the attention he gets. Two weeks in, and you’ve figured out his game, keeping a respectable distance that wouldn’t birth the thought you’re avoiding him. In fact, this could be the very first time you’re actually holding a real conversation.

    “Well, I … thank you? But I had everything under control.”

    He looks like he doesn’t believe you. The gatekeeper you’re just passing looks like he doesn’t believe you. You press your lips into a thin line and dare any of them to disagree.

    “Okay.” Sylvain shrugs. “But now we’re here.”

    “Sylvain, what do you want?”

    “Cutting to the chase, huh?” He crosses his arms behind his head. “Why do you think I want something?” Your raised eyebrows seem to be answer enough. Sylvain laughs a little helplessly and returns his hands back to his front, raised as an offer of peace. “I promise, I want nothing. Just a little talking. A little talking hasn’t hurt anyone.”

    Something inside you wants to argue against it, but without a solid argument in hand, you follow him silently, wondering where his destination and intention lies. He belongs to the many students you can’t really read, nothing about his ambitions or goals. Sometimes he gives you this strange look through half lidded eyes, his gaze focused on your right eye—his interest in your Crest undeniable, and yet he’s been one of the few not to talk about it with you. It’s strange because whenever you come together, he looks like there’s something he’s dying to say. This time is no different.

    He leads you to the wooden pavilion in the gardens, but instead of offering you a seat, Sylvain leans his slim hips against the table, half sitting on it. Seteth would be furious seeing this.

    “How’s the Herald business doing for you?” he asks the one question you wouldn't expect from him. “Other than you having ‘everything under control.’” He has the audacity to air-quote. This isn’t a conversation you want to hold right now, leastwise with him. Sylvain must discern that you’re ready to bold from whatever your body is showing. With a quick step, he’s standing between you and the escape route, lazily leaning one arm against a column to uphold the illusion that you’re only having a pleasant talk when in reality his body stands between you and your freedom.

    “Do you talk to the other faculty members like that as well?” you say through gritted teeth, crossing your arms. Sylvain blinks like he doesn’t understand, but you’ve seen this act before, followed by an eerily precise repetition of a subject to one of his classmates when he thinks none of the teachers pay attention. Sylvain is playing dumb and deliberately hiding a sharp mind.

    “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend,” he quickly says, nothing about this crooked smile appearing apologetic whatsoever. “I’m generously curious. You’re holding up really good.”

    “In comparison to what?” you demand, your heartbeat picking up. Is he trying to call you out on something? That you aren’t heraldy enough? But to your surprise, Sylvain looks genuinely surprised by your reaction.

    “To nothing. In general?” He shrugs. “Back on the ceremony day, you didn’t look so good standing up there, and His Highness told us everything happened really uh … ‘suddenly.’’ More air-quotes, whatever they mean this time.

    “If you mean I wasn’t really asked to become the Herald, then yes.” Your arms drop back to your side. “It was suddenly.”

    Sylvain watches you for a moment, and again, there’s this look in his eyes; the need to say something he can’t. He kneads the back of his nape, avoiding your eyes. “All I’m trying to say is … having that Crest out of nothing is cool. Probably. And maybe terrifying? And just—”

    You grow impatient. “Come on, get the words out, Sylvain.”

    “A Crest isn’t just this nice letter of invitation to a privileged life. Just take care, is all I’m saying.”

    And there’s another page to the book of surprises with Sylvain’s name on it. The immediate lack of response catches him off guard; it’s like he only notices now that the vital part to understand this conversation is missing: The source of his doubt towards Crests.

    Sylvain’s body turns in a split second, his feet facing the direction he’s ready to bold towards, but this time you stand in his way and block him off. “Sylvain, are you okay?”

    He blinks in confusion, then furrows his eyebrows in deep thought like you demanded he recites the Ten Heroes from memory or else fails classes. His face contorts with the effort of looking fine. “Why, yes! Just peachy. Why would you think something is off?”

    “Because I have eyes in my skull.”

    “Very pretty eyes, if I dare say.” His answer comes out like a fire spell, hard and fast, seemingly more instinct than anything else. He clears his throat and scratches his chin, loosing momentum. “Goddess, I am bad at this.”

    “You are.” No need to sugar coat it. “If something happened, just say it.”

    “Nothing really happened, I just—” He exhales audibly and stares into space for a long minute, before side stepping you without difficulty. “Actually, I remembered Professor wanted to see me after class. Something about extra lessons about eh. Horse riding. Yeah. I’ll catch you later, Herald.” He winks and bolds away, darting under your outstretched arm before you can catch him. For someone this tall, he’s surprisingly agile and fast, already disappearing behind a tall hedge towards the main building.

    If that wasn’t the strangest conversation you’ve held with anyone, you don’t know what might excel that. Maybe it’s time you stop avoiding Sylvain.

    The Training Grounds smells of sweat and oil. Many students and knights train, which is surprising at this kind of hour, the short break between afternoon and evening classes. You’d like to know what they’re working on, but Byleth doesn’t tolerate inattention in a classroom or on the battle field, and demands you do push-ups each time your eyes wander somewhere off. You hate her a little for that. For whatever reason, Claude has taken on the role of your partner in crime, and does whatever necessary to make Byleth punish him as well.

    “What can I say, I like a good workout,” he said when you asked. He didn’t even try to hide his lie, looking as miserable as you felt. Probably hating Byleth a little as well.

    It’s the fourth week of private training with her and the house leaders, and so far you can definitely say that you were not meant to fight on the field. You see how your opponent moves, you can somehow predict what they’re going to do next—but your body simply protests to act accordingly. You stumble, you fall, you need a second too long to get up and before you can do anything, a training sword is at your throat. Byleth always looks like she wants to facepalm her fist through her forehead. Or yours.

    “Herald, this is not how you disarm someone,” she says, as always, and demonstrates it in one smooth, swift movement, as always. You blow hair out of your eyes, knowing you’re about to fail again. At least that gave Claude a reason to give you a new nickname, though if it’s better than the last is debatable.

    “You gotta twist your wrist, duckling!” he calls from the other side of the hall, immediately drawing Byleth’s attention to him. He and Dimitri are facing off, both wielding a spear which should give Dimitri the upper hand. So far, he hasn’t landed a single hit on Claude.

    “Keep your elbows in!” Byleth berates Claude. “Stop flapping them like some kind of chicken.”

    Claude lets out a disturbingly convincing cluck.

    You raise an eyebrow. “At least someone’s having fun.”

    Byleth sighs. “He’s going to get himself killed sooner than later.”

    “I don’t know. He’s managed so far, hasn’t he?”

    “I’m not sure if it’s a talent or a fault.” She turns back to you and nods her chin towards the side. “Take a break. I’m going to see how the boys are doing.”

    You nod, tensing all over because that’s where Edelgard is currently standing and picking out a training axe. You haven’t talked to her since lunch, and you can do without it for a couple more hours. She barely glances at you when you walk over, and instead checks out the edge of the wooden blade, turning it left and right.

    “Is she as strict in the classroom as in here?” you ask, unable to go on in awkward silence. Edelgard hums, throwing a quick glance towards Byleth from under her long, white lashes. “She’s systematic and consistent. Capable in both fields. I have no reason to raise any kind of complaint.”

    “That’s impressive.” You sure as heck still wouldn’t want her as a teacher. “Even though she’s been pushed into all this, she handles it like she’s never done anything else.”

    “I think as a mercenary, she is used to changing approaches depending on the employer.” Edelgard is still looking at Byleth. Reading her expression is impossible, and you don’t want to point out that sticking a sword into thieves and bandits is not the same as teaching kids how to fight in a battle. Her head whips to you suddenly, and she considers the training sword in your hand. “Speaking of different approaches,” she continues, “have you considered that your field of combat might be magic?”

    You have, so the answer comes immediately. “Chances are higher I set myself on fire.” You stare at her. “I didn’t mean it to rhyme.”

    Edelgard ignores your last comment. “But you haven’t really tried it out, have you?” Your lack of response is answer enough for her, and she nods like that proves a point.

    It’s complicated. You haven’t really tried it out because … the simple answer is, you’re afraid. It gets tricky once you try to search for the answer to that. There’s just a strange sensation when you try to use magic, like there’s a vast sea of possibilities and one step inside is enough to get you lost. It isn’t as bad with wind spells or white magic. You haven’t touched Fire spells because a crippling fear chills you to the bones every time you manage to nourish a small flame inside your palm—the complete opposite to Dark magic. When you tried a MiasmaΔ for the first time it felt strangely … secure. The rope tying you to a shore, it had felt like—

    There’s a loud crash when the spears collide and Claude knocks Dimitri off his feet. The whole room is silent as everyone watches how Claude taps the blunt end of his practice spear against Dimitri’s chin. “Steady on there, darling,” he says with a smug grin. Dimitri flushes bright red, and pushes with more force than necessary the spear away, quickly climbing to his feet.

    “That wasn’t bad.” Byleth quickly steps in before Dimitri can throttle Claude. “Dimitri, you rely too much on your brute strength. That’s a big disadvantage against someone like Claude. And you, young man,” she turns to Claude who’s been smiling victoriously, “are scheming too much and lose time to take action. In a serious battle, you won’t be as lucky as today.”

    “Noted.” Claude whirls his spear from left to right, almost dropping it when Dimitri drills his elbow into his side. “But in a serious battle, I won’t be upfront. I’ll be hanging back nicely, and skewing my enemies with a myriad of arrows.”

    “You can barely shoot three at the same time,” Dimitri grumbles, his cheeks still splotched with red specks.

    “You wanna bet—”

    “That’s enough, guys, save it for then next round.” Byleth ignores their sulky expressions and turns to you, raising a single eyebrow. The message is clear. What are you waiting for?

    Your feet feel like they’re glued to the ground. Edelgard doesn’t hesitate at all. “Let’s go.”

    She strides in the middle, training axe raised. It’s made out of wood, but you don’t doubt that she’s able to severe a limb from your body if she only tries hard enough—and what you know of Edelgard is that she alwaysexceeds even her own expectations. You grip your sword tighter. It’s a clear disadvantage, but better than anything else you can handle. Maybe it won’t be as bad.

    The fight lasts for about seven seconds. The moment you raise the blade, Edelgard is on you and unleashes fierce strike after strike, the power behind each hit forcing you back. She doesn’t bat an eyelash when she easily disarms you, the wooden sword flying over your heads and the edge of her axe on your throat. Somewhere behind her, you hear Byleth sigh. “Again.”

    The next hour is torture. Edelgard throws you to the ground, again and again. Byleth keeps telling you to get up, again and again. One might think they would cut you some slack, being the Herald and all, but it feels like Edelgard is so much more aggressive today because you’re the Herald. Or maybe it’s personal. Maybe she’s appointed you to be her sworn enemy, and won’t miss out any chance to make it as hard as possible for you.

    This isn’t fun. Being watched by Dimitri and Claude, who whisper conspiratorially to each other isn’t fun. Luckily, Byleth notices them gawking and bellows them to focus on working on their stances. Right now, you’re thankful nothing escapes her eyes and she calls her students out on their bullshit. It doesn’t make your current situation easier though. Every muscle burns, just raising the sword is exhausting and your feet feel like they’re about to give out any second. This must be hell.

    When Byleth finally ends lessons, you ignore everything and crumble to the ground, splaying your limbs out in all directions. Surely they can clean up without you, two hands less will barely make any difference.

    A shadow settles over you. You know who it is, and don’t bother to open your eyes. “Go away, Byleth. I don’t want to hear how bad I am.”

    “Personally, I think you have improved, Herald.” Your eyes snap open. Dimitri looks down at you, his forehead still glistening from perspiration. “But facing Edelgard as an opponent usually wields those results. Don’t let it bother you.”

    You want to point out that he and Claude don’t seem to have as much problems as you, even though yes, none of them have defeated her yet in practice. He goes down to your level and sits beside you, and you hate how this all barely made him breath hard, like it’s just a stroll around the monastery whereas you’re trying to climb the mountains surrounding it.

    “I think she hates me,” you blurt out. Luckily, most students have already left the hall, Edelgard included. Dimitri considers this a moment, and you don’t know what to make of his lack of immediate response.

    “I doubt she hates you,” he finally says.

    “But?”

    “But she has a hard time warming up to people. Give her time. Once the ice is broken, you will see that her personality is one you’d like to have around.”

    “Oh?” You watch him for a moment, but Dimitri doesn’t blush or look away. It was a heartfelt, sincere statement, which flusters you for some reason. No one should be that honest.

    “Talking about breaking ice. Do you know if something happened to Sylvain?”

    “Sylvain?” Dimitri raises both eyebrows. “Please don’t tell me he harassed you in some kind of way.”

    “No, no, he just—” You finally get up from lying on your back, and try to explain it by frantically moving your hands. Dimitri still looks puzzled. “He said some weird things about Crests in general?”

    “Hm.” Dimitri stares at your hands for a moment, then quickly raises his eyes back to your face. “It’s complicated.” Well, that answer is as good as none. “And I won’t go into details without his consent. I can only say that if he talked about Crests, in whichever way, his brother must have upset him again.”

    “He has a brother?” Now you’re wide awake. Many students have siblings. You know of Hilda’s brother and Raphael’s sister. It shouldn’t surprise you Sylvain has one as well even though he’s never mentioned it before.

    “Do you have siblings?” you ask, generously curious. As heir to a kingdom, it’s hard to imagine his parents would have settled with one child. But he hasn’t mentioned any sisters or brothers as well.

    “Hmm, I have a step-sister,” he says, although very hesitant and you can see if someone doesn’t want to talk about a specific topic. He doesn’t return the question, which is kind of him and makes you wonder … maybe you have a sibling as well. Somewhere. Maybe somewhere in Adrestia or Leicester a younger brother or an older sister is currently looking for you, unrelenting in their journey to be reunited at last. The thought alone brings a flicker of hope alive. Maybe they'll come once word of the Herald’s return travels far enough.

    “I guess as long as Sylvain doesn’t disturb classes or acts out of order, I would leave him to his brooding. I can tell out of experience, only Felix is capable of cheering him up.”

    “Felix?” Your eyebrows rise to your hairline. “Are we talking about the same Felix?”

    A smile forms on Dimitri’s mouth. “I understand why imagining that might prove difficult, but I assure you, Felix is one of the view exceeding in handling the mess Sylvain is from time to time.”

    “Felix and Ingrid?” you guess, earning a nod from Dimitri. “Ingrid is a very nice girl,” you continue, picking at a loose thread from your uniform. “But Felix seems detests me. Every time he sees me, he looks like he wants to throw his sword at me.”

    “That is—” Dimitri stops mid-sentence. “That might be not so far off from his true intentions.”

    You groan.

    “But I assure you it is for a different reason than you think. Felix is simply … difficult with people holding a commanding position.”

    “He doesn’t seem to have the same problem with Byleth,” you point out. No, whenever he trains with her, he manages something close to a smile and accepts her guidance. Then again, she isn’t his teacher.

    “I’m sure you’ll be able to make him consider his opinion on you during the Mock Battle. I as well am looking forward to how you will guide us.” Dimitri beams. You stare at him like he’s just lost his head.

    “What?”

    “The Mock Battle three nights from today?” Dimitri’s smile falters a little. “Have the Professor and Lady Rhea not told you yet? You are to participate in the Mock Battle as the commanding unit of the Blue Lions.” Now he’s pulling his eyebrows together in worry. “Herald?”

    “I—” You jump to your feet. “I have to go.” Go far far away. Just yesterday you introduced the students to the tactic called Feigned Withdrawal, which involves staging a retreat in order to induce the enemy to abandon its position and plunge ahead in an attack. Dimitri abandons his position, getting up to go after you, but instead of turning back to surprise him with an ambush, you flee the battle and hope the enemy doesn’t pursue.

[dany-is-my-queen]

Born To Be Yours | Part I

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader eventually)

Season 1-8

Word Count: 1,494

Note: It’s been a while now since I wanted to post this, I had this idea for around two months, I really hope you enjoy reading it as I enjoy writing it, I’ll might take some time to finish it but have for sure that I’m not leaving this series behind, it’ll end with season 8. I changed a few things, so it’s canon and au. Let me know if you like it!

Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9

You arrived at Winterfell, all the way here Joffrey was complaining, your little siblings were excited to see the North for the first time and you were too.

“I hope this northerner bitch is worth the cold.” Joffrey shivered.

“You shouldn’t talk that way of your future queen, brother.”

“None of your business Y/N, besides you could find here your true love, that bullshit you always dreamt about.” He mocked and you rolled your eyes.

“Perhaps I will.”

You were riding your horses and spotted the castle in front of you, the cold weather on your skin, does a coat really help? You entered by the gates and recognised the Stark family, a little boy beside her mother, the lord and lady, the eldest son, a tall redhead girl, a tiny girl who had a smirk on her face and another kid by her side. They seemed very close to each other, you hoped you have that. Your family was all scattered, your mother cared for you, obviously, you were her daughter but despite that it always felt like she put you beneath the rest of your siblings, your father was the one who taught you how to use a sword and a bow, he was more fond of you, Joffrey hated you, Myrcella and Tommen both loved you so much, uncle Jaime also gave you lessons with the sword fighting, he wasn’t so cold to you, uncle Tyrion adored you, he always give you lessons you will use when you grow up, and your grandfather... he didn’t exactly despise you.

“Winterfell is yours”. Lord Stark said to your father.

“Y/N, see that handsome boy?!” Your sister muttered excitedly, looking upon the one called Robb. “Someday I want to marry a man like him.”

“Oh my dear Myrcella, you will find a man that deserves you, I promise.”

“You should pick him, he seems to be a gentlemen, wouldn’t that be nice?” You just chuckled.

You were on your room unpacking your stuff, you’ve always been the kind that likes to do things herself, your handmaidens just helped you when you asked them or when you were with your family so they don’t tell you you are a princess and everyone is at your service, but that make you feel useless. There was a feast in the night, you prepared and go with everyone.

You sat beside your brother, he was a pain in the ass, but you’ve always behaved in these events, you’ve always been so proper compared to him.

“Enjoying the evening?” He didn’t listen, then you noticed he was staring at the oldest Stark girl. She is quite beautiful to be honest. Her hair was stunning, just like fire. She was staring at him too with a grin. Suddenly the little one threw a piece of cake on her cheek and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Arya!” She screamed.

Truth be told, a lot of lords from all Westeros tried already to wed you to his sons, your excuse was “I’m still young, I don’t want to get compromised so soon” or “I don’t think he is the one” and you were grateful that your mother didn't pressure you into it. You knew having preferences for women didn’t go well, you didn’t really care, as long as it’s someone you can trust and love there shouldn’t be any problem, just a few people thought like you.

Your mother and Lady Stark were having a conversation, soon you became the main topic.

“So, Princess Y/N is not betrothed to anyone yet?”

“She’s on age, but I’ll make her a match with someone of our status.” Cersei was serious and Lady Catelyn just agreed. “My love, come over here.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Stark, thank you for your hospitality, your home is a lovely place.”

“You have a very well mannered daughter, your grace.”

“Indeed.” Your mother said proudly.

You excused yourself and went outside where uncle Tyrion was speaking with a lad.

“There’s my favourite niece.” He held a globet on his hand, the boy raised his head to peer at you. “This is Jon Snow, Lord Stark’s bastard.”

“Oh well, nice to meet you, Jon.” He was handsome you give him that.

“Likewise, princess.” He made a curtesy.

“Why are you not inside?”

“I don’t fit it.” He shrugged.

“I believe you are a good man, Snow, you should prove them wrong.”

The next morning you wake up with the news about one of the Stark boys fell from the tower, Bran was his name, you’ve heard he was a very good climber but didn’t want to listen about how dangerous it was. Hopefully he’ll recover the conscience, even if there are more consequences, you had a hunch it wasn’t an accident but who would want to hurt the little lord?

“What a tragedy.” Tyrion nodded slowly.

“Is he going to be okay?” Tommen asked and you couldn’t tell, only the Gods know.

“It was a long fall, my little lion, let’s pray.” Your mother answered with a suspicious and uncertain tone in her voice.

Before you left, Robb came to offer you a quick walk that you gladly accepted. You were holding on to his arm.

“My princess, I’ve heard only good things about yourself, you truly are one of a kind.”

“Oh my Lord, sadly we couldn’t speak much, get to know each other better.” He turned to face you.

“Maybe one day, when our paths cross again I hope.” You smiled.

“Farewell, Princess Y/N, safe travel.” Jon approached next to your horse.

“Farewell, Jon Snow, good luck on the Night’s Watch.”

Soon you were heading back to King’s Landing with Lord Stark as the new hand of the King, Arya and Sansa. You really wanted to get close to the girls, have a friendship with them.

You were practising with sticks next to a river, the little Stark and the butcher’s son were fighting one other, you saw Joffrey approached with Sansa.

“What do we have here?”

“None of for business, brother, go away.” You looked at Sansa who was frighten.

“A butcher’s boy who wants to be a knight.” Joffrey put out his sword and cut the boy’s cheek. “And you are hitting both my lady’s sister and my own, who is a princess.” Arya strike him and a direwolf came from nowhere biting your brother’s wrist.

“Please, let him go.” You entreat and she and the wolf ran away. “Are you okay, crybaby?” He just sniffed with terror in his eyes.

“Bring help!” He yelled, Sansa went off running while you stayed with him. “That’s what happens when you try to be bold, you’re not.”

Later you all were inside and started to argue about the truth of the earlier situation.

“That’s not what happened!”

“Yes, it is.”

Your mother had a evil look on her face. “Sansa come here darling.”

After the lies she told, you weren’t sure why she was defending him, you finally got your chance to speak.

“I was there too, remember? We were just playing around, after your son tried to hit Arya and insulted her.” Your father knew you were telling the truth.

“Y/N is no liar, it’s done.”

“What about the beast that attacked him? That one might have escaped but there’s another.” Your mother wrapped Joffrey’s arm and glare furiously at you.

“No! That’s an innocent animal, you won’t hurt them, mother please.” You begged but didn’t seem to change her mind nor your brother’s. Sansa was already crying and also begging her father to stop it. “Please no Lady, she didn’t bite anyone.” Your intents were useless when Lord Eddard was about to finish this matter. You were so mad, to see how far they always go to show they are better.

“Let the wolf go, she won’t stay with Lady Sansa, at least let it live.” You implored hoping your father would accept.

“Deal.” Was all he said before leaving the room.

Once you arrived to the capital, you went to check on the Stark girls.

“Do you need anything?” You asked sounding the most polite you could.

“We’re fine, thank you.” The redhead answered first with annoyance in her tone. Their Septa scolded her. “Don’t be rude with your princess, Sansa, she’s being gentle.” “Forgive her, princess Y/N.” You nodded.

“It’s quite alright, I don’t think we’ve been introduced before, my lady, I’m Y/N Baratheon as you already know but when we are alone you can call me Y/N.” You said with a light smile.

“I’m sorry, princess Y/N, I’m still sad because of Lady.”

“I wished I could have done more.” Arya putted a hand on your shoulder.

“You are nothing like your family, I can tell, I like you.”

“And I like you, little lady, I’m sorry about your friend too.” Ned sat and you stand up to take your leave.

[hailbop1701]

Chapter Three: An Explosively Good Time

Chapter three guys! I'm both nervous and excited for you all to read it. It's pretty long and we delve a bit deeper into the story. Kirk wants answers and Bones needs a new shirt. 👀 Well, I don't want to give anything away. I truly hope you all like it! Thank you to my wonderful beta reader @dw-writes. You're amazing doll!

The tram slowed to a smooth stop, John lifted his weapon just as the doors opened. He swept the area with Beckworth on his left. Nodding to the security officer, John moved forward making sure Kirk and Chekov were just behind him. Taking up the rear of the group were Lawrence and Bitar, bickering all the while. Rolling his eyes, John squared his shoulders as he led the group into the residential area. The double doors hissed open to reveal a courtyard and John couldn’t help but appreciate how real it truly looked. Cobblestones, rich green plants, a running fountain, and automated birds chirping happily.

Beckworth let out a low whistle from beside him, “Fancy digs,” he murmured with an amused smirk. John stopped, listening for any possible threats that could be hiding in the area. Nothing. Just the hum of the base and the bubble of the fountain in front of them. It was way too quiet and peaceful for his comfort.

Jim moved so he was standing on his other side. “I don’t like it,” the Captain whispered to him.

John hummed in agreement, something didn’t feel right. He almost let out a snort. ‘Nothing about any of this feels right,’ he thought. The hair on his neck stood on end. John scanned the area again, only this time he eyed the plant life and the cobblestones. All of this said “TRAP”

Lawrence walked forward, his gaze on the plant life all around them instead of what was right in front of his nose.

Spotting what he was looking for, John hissed and was behind the young man within seconds, he grabbed the kid’s vest and yanked him back.

Lawrence yelped as he fell onto his ass, “What the-”

John held up a hand to silence gasps and yells of surprise. He then pointed at a thin fine wire mere inches away from where the security officer had been standing.

“Shit,” Beckworth grumbled crouching down to get a better look at the “Booby trap.”

“Holy crap, thanks Doc.” Lawrence gasped out as he scrambled to his feet again.

Bitar rolled her eyes. Reaching up, she gave Lawrence a swift smack upside the head. The action started a whole new bickering match.

John sighed, gesturing for the others to follow him and move out of the way. Pulling a knife from his boot, he gently tossed it up into the air before catching it nimbly by the blade. With a quick flick of the wrist, the knife shot from his hand. Spinning in the air a couple of times, the blade sliced through the wire before embedding itself into the cobblestone. Cocking his head to the side, he heard a mechanism click. Chekov let out a startled squeal as a haphazard metal spike trap sprung from the bushes and trees. Grunting, John strode forward, he examined the trap with a deep frown.

“Used pretty recently,” he muttered, touching one of the spikes. He showed his fingers to the group, “Fresh blood, and someone had to have reset it.” He wiped his hand on his pants.

Kirk furrowed his brow in confusion. “Do you think that means we’re not the only ones surviving here?” he asked, sounding hopeful.

John jerked his knife free from the path. He grimaced at his friend. “Honestly? It could go either way,”

Jim wasn’t the only one looking at him with a confused expression. Sighing John fiddled with the knife in his hands. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with the right words. He really didn’t want to give his best friend any more bad news. Sheathing the knife back in his boot, John pulled his tricorder free. Scanning the blood he began to explain. “This stuff can really mess with your head, and I’m not just talking about C-24 fucking with your DNA. Being hunted by monsters with an extreme possibility of never making it out, and a chance that you’d turn into something that is worse than death...well, I’ve seen highly trained and skilled men crack. Go insane and beyond reason.” He paused as the scanner chimed with the results that he wanted. Turning the device around so the screen faced the group in front of him. Chekov’s mouth dropped open in shock, he looked at John with horror in his eyes. John continued, “The blood has no trace of C-24 or any sick and twisted variation. It’s completely human…” He paused glancing at the screen again, “And Andorian, and Vulcan,”

Kirk choked for a second, “So you’re telling me that the trap was made by a living person and they’re killing other living people?”

John put the tricorder away, “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

Chekov took a shuddering breath, while Kirk just set his jaw. “So we’re being hunted on two fronts,” the Captain sighed, running a hand messily through his hair. Beckworth’s eyes darted around the peaceful courtyard with a healthy dose of paranoia. His younger security officers ceased their quiet bickering and pulled out their phasers, ready for a surprise attack.

Reaper clenched his jaw and tensed. The hair on the back of his neck and his arms stood straight up. They were being watched, and not just by the cameras, but by a live body. He could hear their heartbeat thudding deeply in their chest. In his periphery, John saw a shadow on the second story landing.

Jim Kirk knew Leonard McCoy. Even though he may not have known as much as he originally thought. So when Bones - Reaper- tensed, he knew something was wrong. “Bones…” Jim prompted, trying to keep as casual as possible. The man tilted his head to the left; a subtle gesture but Kirk got what his CMO was trying to say: “Someone is watching”

Out of the corner of his eye, John watched as a shadow quickly disappeared. The sound of muffled hurried footsteps echoed in his ears. “Beckworth,” his voice carried no southern drawl but reverberated with authority. Beckworth couldn’t help but stand up straighter. In fact, everyone stood up a bit straighter, even the Captain.

“Yes, sir?”

“Get everyone to the third floor, there’s a bridge up there that attaches to the rest of the shopping district.” His orders were clear and without room for argument. Jim opened his mouth to protest but Chekov beat him to it.

“But what about you?” he asked, eyes wide.

John couldn’t help but smirk at the young navigator. With a half-hearted shrug, he turned to look at the second-floor balcony. “I’m gonna go say hello to the locals,” he muttered while moving off. The rest of the away team watched slack-jawed as Reaper bounded up onto a nearby chair, and table before he lept up, catching hold of a stone carving halfway to the second floor.

“Jesus, McCoy!” Beckworth called out with a short hysterical laugh.

John easily clambered up to the second floor. Swinging himself up onto the metal banister, Reaper sat and appraised his surroundings. From this vantage point, he saw a lot more, he couldn’t decide if his new view was a good thing or not.

The courtyard was clean at first glance, but from where he was John saw the gore underneath all the beauty. There were multiple bodies hidden in the garden, blood tainted the fountain and coated the walls surrounding him. Frowning, John leaned back on the banister to look down the long hallway. He was being watched again. Glancing down, he saw that the group was making their way through to the stairs. Nodding in approval, John rolled off of the banister onto the dirty corridor floor. A long blue - or what used to be blue carpet was covered in blood and torn to shreds - lined the hall. If John could hazard a guess, he had a faint idea of what wandered through. ‘ Damn Hell Knights,’ he thought darkly.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, Reaper let his surroundings disappear for a moment. He could hear the base thrum under his feet, but it was growing faint; they were on the clock. The heartbeats of the rest of the away team thudded steadily, some rapid in fear, some in calm easy thuds. Then there was what was a lot closer. Running footsteps, and labored breathing. It was heading straight for him. John sighed sadly; this wasn’t going to end well.

Cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders, John opened his eyes just as a blur of a man jumped at him. Quickly stepping to the side, John saw what had been killing everything and anything. The man was ragged like he had been surviving in this hell hole for quite some time. His hair was long and matted, full of knots, and coated in many different substances. His clothes were ripped and repaired and ripped again. Reaper wrinkled his nose, pitty filling his gut.

‘Poor bastard,’ was all that ran through his mind as the cracked man screamed at him, pouncing again. John leaned back, holding up his arm, only noticing the makeshift knife at the last second. Letting out a string of curses, Reaper kicked away the madman and looked at the shank sticking out of his arm with an annoyed expression.

“God fucking damnit!” he hissed, yanking the blade out of his forearm.

The man he had batted away looked at John in pure terror. “Demon!” the man shrieked, pointing at John with an accusing finger. Rolling his eyes, Reaper tossed the knife away over the side of the nearby banister. He could hear it clunk against a mass of water as it landed in the fountain.

“You’re not the first to call me that, and you’re sure as hell won’t be the last,” he drawled to the man, who was scurrying backward away from John as fast as he possibly could. John held up his hand peacefully, “Easy now, I’m not gonna touch you.”

The ragged man stopped his scuttling and paused. He looked visibly confused. “You’re not- who are you?” he asked, voice raspy and raw.

Reaper chewed on the inside of his cheek; Jim called it his nervous tick. “My name is Doctor Leonard McCoy, I arrived on the USS Enterprise. My team and I are trapped here just like you,” he soothed trying to bring out the humanity in the man before him.

“Enterprise,” the man breathed eyes wide, his breathing quickened, almost panicked. “No, no, no,” The man shook his head in denial, he reared and screamed “No!” once more before he started laughing. It was hysterical and Reaper was now completely convinced that the guy was way too far gone.

John watched the man carefully, trying to figure out if he needed to be taken care of or just locked away in a closet until they could get back to the ship. But before the ex-privine could formulate a plan of action, the survivor abruptly stopped laughing, looking as serious as could be. “You’re the one she wants. Death himself.” The words were in a hissed whisper as if speaking any louder would bring forth the demons lurking in the shadows. John froze, body tense ready for an oncoming attack but none came. “You can’t run away from your past forever. If you do those around you are going to suffer and die.” With those final words, the man whirled around and sprinted at break-neck speed down the long hallway. “Face your past Grimm!” he hollered as he rounded a corner and was out of sight.

That was until John heard him let out a startled scream. To anyone else, it sounds as if a paint-filled balloon popped behind a closed door but, to Reaper, it sounded almost too familiar. During the third world war, John experienced a new form of suicide bombers. The bombs weren’t visible, you could almost never tell it was there until it was too late. “SCED” or “Subcutaneous Explosive Device.”

Reaper flinched at the memories that assaulted the forefront of his mind. During world war three John was not officially in the armed forces but had stepped in multiple times to help the wounded and civilians to safety. During that time he had seen and experienced firsthand what a “SCED” could do. Shaking his head, John moved cautiously forward and peered around the corner. John choked on his breath his eyes went wide,

“Shit,” he cursed, stepping out to take in the scene full on. The corridor was dripping and smoking. Blackened blood coated the walls and floor, parts of more than one person could be identified. What made John’s stomach churn and made his scientific mind curious was the fact that the blood was smoking. The man who had run from him was laid curled up on the floor, covered and burnt beyond recognition.

Kneeling down, John examined the man more closely: he was missing a couple of limbs and his face was stuck in a silent scream. ‘Burns aren’t consistent with an explosion,’ he thought with a furrowed brow. Cocking his head to the side, John sniffed the air and immediately sneezed. Wrinkling his nose, Reaper scowled. “Acid. It smells like fucking acid,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “What in the hell are these things mutating into?” he asked himself quietly as he slowly got back to his feet.

A low rumbling growl made John freeze and cautiously turn around. There stood a very large, incredibly fat infected not even ten feet away from him. Raising an eyebrow, John harrumphed, “Well, aren’t you all quiet-like. I’m impressed with you bein’ as big as you are.”

He had never seen an infected like this before; John fully just realized that he was in completely new territory. The demon snorted, seemingly unimpressed by Reaper. It stepped forward, its form expanding and gurgling as it went. Backing up, John reached and pulled his rifle from his back and took aim. The demon let out a blood-curdling scream as it expanded further, its skin pulled apart and cracked, revealing a glowing blackness underneath.

John fired just as the monster before him blew. The final thought that ran through his mind for quite some time was simple: “Fuck me,”

------------------oOo----------------

Sound was the first thing that came back to him. It wasn’t that spectacular if he were being honest. His head ached and the ringing in his ears was starting to piss him off. Groaning, John rolled to his side so he was sitting up on his elbow. His vision was blurry but was quickly clearing, and he grimaced as his surroundings came into focus. The area was worse off than before, the walls were practically melting and Reaper didn’t want to find out if this was going to cause a hull breach. Quickly pulling his rifle from under him - it was a miracle in itself that he managed to save it last second- and got to his feet, John stumbled down the corridor until he hit the stairwell. ‘Third floor,’ he thought numbly, he could faintly feel his burns and other fractures slowly knit back together. The healing process didn’t take long but it was damn uncomfortable. It felt as if his whole body had gone to sleep, the sensation of old TV static. It was always a painful experience.

Staggering up the stairs, John let out a sigh of relief as the numbness in his body began to fade. “ ‘bout fucking time!” he growled out as he made his way to the third floor. As soon as he was close enough for the sensor, the door hissed open.

Multiple cries of concern and joy filled his ears.

“Bones!”

“Doc!”

“Thank the Gods, we thought you were dead!”

And Chekov’s accented, “Doctor McCoy,” made him smile minutely.

Waving away whoever’s hand was trying to help him through the door, John straightened and cracked his back and neck. He looked closely at the group in front of him with a doctor’s eye before nodding satisfied.

Kirk coughed trying to cover a chuckle, “Ugh Bones, you uh need a new shirt,” he faked whispered, and pointed out the obvious.

Reaper rolled his eyes, “Oh gee Jim, I haven’t noticed,” he ground out.

The Captain scowled back half-heartedly but everyone could see his concern. “You okay?”

“I just got blown up by a fleshy acid bomb and I’m stuck in what has to be one of my worst nightmares. I’m - “ Reaper took a deep breath and shook his head. “I’m fuckin’ fantastic. This place should rate five stars, too bad Yelp is no longer a thing,” he muttered walking toward one of the residential quarters. Kirk grimaced at the blatant sarcasm, McCoy’s tone and quips were answer enough.

John squinted at the nameplate next to the door controls, his lip twitching in irritation. Sure, he was glad to see the away team unharmed, but the exploding demon really wrecked what was left of his day; though that wasn’t saying much.

“Well, Daniel Garrets, I hope you have a shirt my size,” John muttered punching the door just right. Bitar let out a soft curse from the group behind him as the door bent and caved in ever so slightly. Pushing his fingers into the small gap John yanked the door open easily. The door let out a shuddering groan as it was forced to roll on its track. Light from the corridor shown faintly into the dark room. Before anyone could go in, Reaper held up a halting hand and cocked his head to the side, listening. He breathed in deeply and all he could smell was must and dust.

Nothing had been in there for quite some time.

Moving in, John pulled his rifle around so it was aimed into the darkness; he’d rather be safe than sorry. Despite his gun being slightly melted it still worked perfectly fine. Reaper didn’t want to express it but he was rather impressed by how detailed the replica truly was.

Clearing the room, John waved the rest of the team in. John eyed down both sides of the hallway before he forced the door closed with a deafening squeal. Turning around, he saw that Chekov all but collapsed in a chair, his nose buried in a PADD. Jim paced the length of the room in deep thought, muttering to himself. The three from security were quietly talking about the best way to keep their captain and Chekov safe. John wasn’t the least bit offended that he was no longer included in that list. Though it did make him a bit sad, it was a step closer to leaving the Enterprise. To leaving his first home in a long, long time.

Sighing, Reaper shucked his rifle and his tattered shirt. Bare-chested he moved through the small room to the closet, silently praying that the man who had once lived there wore the same size. Opening the closet John frowned a little, not quite but close enough. Grabbing a simple black t-shirt from the hanger he pulled it over his head and rolled his shoulders so it fit on his frame better. Turning from the closet he moved into the bathroom.

Upon finding the sink, John started the tap and let the water run for a few seconds before ducking his head under the stream. Grumbling, he ran his hands through his hair trying his best to pull the matted blood and bone from the tresses. Lifting his head he saw Jim in the mirror. He was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, an almost unreadable expression on his face. He wanted answers now.

The shock of the reveal was wearing off and now Jim Kirk wasn’t going to hold back anymore. Veera’s dramatic reveal was something he didn’t want to believe but now he didn’t have a choice. Since the atrium, Jim has been in complete and utter denial. He had seen what his best friend could do, he had seen how different he was. Jim’s eyes flashed in the light, his jaw set. No more joking, no more keeping up his causal maverick front. He was pissed and McCoy - Grimm- was going to see it. But no matter who Bones was. He will always be Jim’s friend. He had already decided to hear the man out. To listen to what he had to say, to hear what’s true and what’s fiction.

Reaper hummed and jerked his head, inviting Kirk into the small space. Moving into the room, the starship captain kept silent waiting for his friend to talk. As he carefully thought over his words, John rummaged through the cabinets around him, after he found what he was looking for (an electric razor) he finally spoke.

“I told you the gist of what happened on Mars. Olduvai. It was an honest to god shit show, Jim. Eight fully trained specialized privines - eh private military contractors - were sent in to search for some scientists. Well, we sure as hell found them.” John let out a dark humorless laugh and shook his head. He was halfway done cutting down his hair, it was no longer messy but shortened and military. John swallowed hard, he looked just as he did when this all happened the first time.

Kirk thinned his lips as he let his friend search for the words he was looking for. Reaper brushed away the dirty hair from his shirt and clicked off the razor. He turned and leaned against the sink, crossing his arms he looked down at his boots.

“We found that the research up there wasn’t exactly kosher. They uncovered humanoid remains in the archeological dig and found that some of these remains had a synthetic chromosome. It made them superhuman. Faster, stronger, incredibly intelligent, and apparently live obscenely long lives. The Oldulvians ruined themselves and we almost followed in their footsteps more than once. They created a rudimentary transporter called the Ark and fled to Earth to escape themselves. You see, C-24 didn’t affect everyone the same way. There were some that turned into monsters.

My sister - Sam- who was an unwitting accomplice in all of this, had a theory that it only turned those with genes that had markers for insanity. She was actually the one who discovered that not everyone would turn into monsters. But, by that time, my CO had lost what was left of his sanity. He began to kill everyone whether they were infected or not, and at this point, some infected had gotten through the Ark and into the Earth facility. No matter how horrible it sounds, but we were lucky that the quarantine was still active at that time. A little over two hundred people died, men, women, and children, my unit included. Only Sam and I made it out.”

Kirk was smart enough to figure out this was a shortened account of events but it was enough for now. He nodded but frowned, “How did you get C-24?” he asked curiously.

John snorted, chuckling darkly. “Projectile weapons are a bitch kid. I got a damn ricochet in the gut. I was bleeding out and on my way to hell but my sister decided to take a gamble and inject my ass. Turns out she was right, but it had its consequences.” John ran a hand through his newly cut hair, a haunted look crossing his face. He looked up, “For what it’s worth Jim, I’m sorry.”

Kirk looked away his expression guarded. John knew he wasn’t going to get away cleanly but knowing the outcome of something didn’t make it hurt any less. His eyes were locked onto the floor, he was wound tighter than piano chords. He was expecting to be shouted at, told to go to hell. And he believed he deserves it.

“What can we expect here, Bones?”

John relaxed ever so slightly, shocked at Kirk’s tone. It showed less anger and frustration and more like his friend, John wasn’t forgiven yet but it was a start. He grumbled, “Well, we can expect strong ass monsters who want to either turn you or eat you. Other than that, I’m in new territory. This is completely new and, if I had a month, maybe I could tell you how much of a difference it is. The crazy pirate bitch changed things so much that it shouldn’t even be called C-24 anymore. Who knows what else is lurking out there.”

John could see how much Jim didn’t want to hear that by the set of his jaw.

“Keptin, Doctor!” Both men turned to face Chekov as he barreled into the small room holding up his PADD.

“What is it, Chekov?” Jim asked hopefully. The young man turned the PADD around and showed them a single dot on what appeared to be a map of Genesis.

“Sir, I managed to vind this under the station's jamming signal. It appears that there is another Starfleet officer trapped here! “

John and Kirk looked at each other, both were wondering if it could be a trap. “Is it just a signal or-”

Chekov was already shaking his head before Jim could finish. “No, there is a single message attached to the ping. It just says a name and some sort of code…” he trailed off as he tapped hurriedly at the screen. Turning the PADD around Chekov let the message play.

John felt his blood freeze.

“This is Layla Grimm, I’ve been compromised. Code: Ghost, I repeat - Code: Ghost! Run Uncle J-”

Reaper felt his knees buckle as screams filled the air of the bathroom. He faintly felt Jim grip his arm trying to keep him upright. His blood pulsed in his ears and all he could see was red. The look in John’s eyes made both Kirk and Pavel back up a step giving the CMO some space. John gritted his teeth breathing hard. “Where was that sent from?” his voice was sharp, making Jim wince.

Chekov cleared his throat as he looked down at the screen in his hands. “The medical wing sir,”

John looked at Kirk who just nodded in approval.

“Looks like we’re goin’ hunting.”

Tags:

Everything: @thottiewithashotgun, @lauraaan182, @writerdee1701, @stileslover13-blog, @cowenby2, @bluesclues-1234

Hollow Castle: @chook007, @lauranthalasah

[once-upon-a-pirate-ship]

How Restlessly the Stars Do Gleam 3/?

Chapter 3: Moments Long Remembered

read it on AO3 here | from the beginning

chapter 1 | chapter 2

story summary: Princess Emma isn't the princess of much anymore. It's been months since her parents and brother were taken, and she's been on the run with her godmother Red. When Emma and Red board a merchant vessel to sail to Arendelle, Emma quickly finds that the captain is not to be trusted. After helping two slave brothers, Emma takes over the ship and begins her journey to save and rebuild her kingdom.

what's in store for chapter three? New characters (not new new, but new to this particular world)! Some background! Pining & tension!

thank you all for reading and staying with me even when I am too busy (just for this one week and a half time period) to post on schedule

Moments Long Remembered

On the worst day of her life, Princess Emma rode out far beyond the castle walls. She was alone, as she preferred solitary rides on her trusted horse, and the cold air was nothing to her as she raced through the snow covered forest. For a few hours each day, she got to feel entirely free. All responsibilities could wait, every forced smile was just a distant memory. She had no one to try to impress, no one who expected anything from her, no one who needed her to be someone she was not.

It wasn’t the excursion, nor the weather, nor the steed that made this day so horrible. Rather, it was the enemy who had breached the castle walls in her absence.

The most poignant part of this particular memory, for her, were the moments directly before she was made aware of the events inside the castle. She was at ease, content, blissfully happy and oblivious to the screams that tore through the halls she called home. She wasn’t worrying about her parents when they were stolen and taken far out of her reach. She didn’t consider her brother, her little lion cub, as he was yanked from the joy he knew and shown the truths of the world she’d wished he’d never have to learn.

Her happiness was shattered when the Evil Queen appeared before her, the black gown cutting across the crisp white snow in her path. Terror as she’d never known it dropped into her stomach as her hands gripped the reins and her horse skidded to a stop, and the fear that sliced down her spine was colder than the shards of ice that hung from each tree branch.

The Evil Queen’s mouth was curled into a wicked smile, white teeth framed by the wine color of her lips as she moved them to speak.

“Emma.”

But it was not the Evil Queen who stood in front of her now and called her name. It was her most trusted friend, her ally, her godmother, Red. The memory, as vivid as if it had only just happened, dissolved into nothing, sizzling in the early summer air as Emma blinked it away.

“Yes?”

“Liam and I are leaving,” Red told her, “I doubt we’ll be gone more than a few hours.”

Emma could’ve counted on one hand the number of times that she’d been separated from Red in the last months, and no matter how irrational it was, she couldn’t stop her muscles from tensing as if bracing for pain. But they needed some new crew, and Red was more than capable of the job.

“Good, good,” Emma said absently. She wished she had something more intelligent to say, but her mind was still fixated on moments long gone. “I’ll be here,” she added.

“Yes,” Red grinned, “you and Killian.” She didn’t give Emma time to inquire after the tone she’d used before Red turned and called, “Liam!”

Liam stood across the deck in conference with John Terry, but at the call of his name, he excused himself from his fellow sailor and joined Red and Emma where they waited by the gangplank.

“We shall return shortly,” Liam promised his captain. “I hope Killian won’t give you too much trouble,” he added in good humor.

“We’ll be just fine,” Emma told him. The trouble Killian Jones gave her was of a different nature, and she wasn’t about to disclose those particulars to his older brother.

Emma watched Liam and Red until they disappeared into the crowd past the docks, forcing her thoughts from straying to the fear that was an ever-present buzz in her blood. Instead, she planted herself on the steps leading up to the quarterdeck, her mind occupying itself with whatever it could latch onto.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Killian appeared from below, offering Terry a few words as he passed on his way towards her.

“Swan!” he called, and her eyes immediately met his. He’d called her that three times that morning, and it hadn’t seemed unusual once. But perhaps that had less to do with the moniker and more to do with who had said it.

Killian dropped onto a step below hers, a gentle and genuine smile spreading across his lips. “Terry’s gathering his group and then they’ll be off,” he told her. “I double checked the list with the storeroom, and it seems that everything’s in order.”

“Perfect,” she replied, willing a coherent sentence to present itself as she looked away from his striking eyes.

“Tell me, Swan,” he began, his voice low, “do you always dress in a layer of knives, or do you save that for special occasions?”

She laughed, and it made her realize how long it had been since that had happened. Her head thrown back like that, the bounding joy in her chest—weeks, at least. Probably months, probably before that morning ride that featured the Evil Queen.

Emma leaned back a little, her hand going to the edge of the vest to pull out a blade and pass it to him. “Eight in total, four on each side,” she explained. “And yes, I’ve fixed every garment I have with some sort of weapons holder.”

Killian’s eyebrows shot up, glancing up at her from the knife he had been examining. “Isn’t that dangerous? How have you not injured yourself?”

“Not any more dangerous than being unarmed and running into some Black Knights,” she said with a shrug, glancing away to avoid his concerned gaze. “But each blade has a metal casing. That’s what keeps it from hurting me or tearing the fabric, and it snaps into place to stop it from falling out.”

His dark brows furrowed, his eyes flitting from the knife to where she’d pulled it from. “The casing, is it tricky?” he wondered. “Does it get stuck?”

“Only when I forget to clean them,” she replied. Without pausing to consider what she was doing, she reached for his free hand. “Here, try it,” she said, guiding his fingers to the spot on the other side of her vest.

Killian moved slowly, hesitantly, but he allowed her to line his fingertips against the hidden pocket. His eyes locked with hers, and that familiar tug and snapping of electricity surged between them.

“Just, um, push up a little until you feel a click, and then it’ll slide out,” she explained, slightly breathless despite the fact that she’d been sitting for several minutes.

His gaze didn’t stray from hers as he followed her directions, the thin handle of the blade dropping into his hand. She could feel his body heat like this, his hand against her waist, and it seemed like he was both too close and not close enough.

“Captain?”

Emma and Killian broke apart at the sound of Terry’s voice. She stood, brushing back some of the hair that had fallen out of place. “Yes?” she asked, glancing quickly at Killian who had returned to an upright position and was currently examining the two blades closely. The tips of his ears were red.

Terry smiled, and Emma pretended not to notice anything but politeness in it. “With your leave, Captain, we’re off.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” she replied, looking between him and the several crew members gathered a few feet behind. “I look forward to receiving your report upon your return.” It was best that she maintained the pretense of captain with the crew, according to Red. Something about safety or respect or concealing her identity from newcomers. She could hardly remember now.

Emma waited until they were out of sight before returning to her previous position, and Killian had recovered enough that the blush had even faded from his cheeks when he looked at her. He passed her the knives without a word.

He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes back to hers rather than where her fingers secured the blades. “You mentioned Black Knights,” he said, “have you fought many of them?”

It wasn’t that surprising of a question, honestly, given that she’d mentioned them off-handedly before. She just couldn’t figure out why she had mentioned it in the first place. Perhaps it was the same reason she showed him how her vest worked.

“Can you define ‘many’?” she asked, her voice calm and soft and not at all befitting the subject.

Killian’s eyes widened, his jaw tightening to restrain some emotion she couldn’t place. “It’s been…months,” he murmured. “You’ve been fighting them all this time?”

��Fighting them, running from them, gathering information from them,” Emma answered. “Until I figured out that she was tracking me with magic, at least.”

“What did you do?”

“Red got her hands on some potion,” she said, trying for a smile that ended up a little sad. “So that’s why we’re here now. And that’s why there’s not a single Black Knight searching this port.”

Killian was quiet for a moment, and it wasn’t until his jaw released its tension that he spoke. “What information?”

“At first, we tried to get them to tell us where my family was, but they’re not particularly talkative,” she explained, hoping she sounded more unaffected than she felt. “Eventually, we started following them, finding their camps. We spent weeks combing the forest, tracking their movements, and making maps of their locations.”

“Did you find them?”

The ghost of a smile on her lips was revealing. “We discovered where she’s holding my father. It’s remote, not to mention protected by battalions of Black Knights. Red and I are good, but we’re not that good.”

“That’s where Arendelle comes in,” he concluded. “You’re hoping they’ll help you to free him with magic.”

She sighed, her eyes trailing away from him and fixing themselves on the gangplank. “That’s our hope,” she said. “If I can get to my father, he’ll be able to find my mother. And I have no doubt they’ll make quick work of locating Leo.”

“You and your brother,” Killian continued after a moment, “are you close?”

The question was enough to bring happier, lighter memories to the forefront of her mind. “Very,” Emma replied. “He’s like light personified. Always overly enthusiastic, always making me laugh. But he’s driven, too. Spends all day in the practice yard unless I convince him to do something else.”

“He’s probably just trying to keep up with his sister,” Killian said, the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

“Maybe,” she allowed. But thinking about her brother fighting made her think about her brother losing, and then the guilt that had lived in her chest since that day slammed against her heart. “I wish I’d been there to protect him when he really needed me,” she confessed, and the words were almost shocking for her to hear. She’d thought about it again and again, but never had she voiced it, as if keeping it to herself made it less real.

“What happened, exactly?” Killian asked. “If you don’t mind sharing,” he added quickly.

“I used to go for a ride every morning,” she began, “and that morning was no different. Until the Evil Queen showed up and outlined her perfect plan to destroy my family one curse at a time.”

“She cursed all of you?”

“No,” Emma replied, a bitter laugh on her lips, “not me. Because the knowledge that my family is slowly dying while I am powerless to stop it…that’s a curse in its own right.”

“Swan,” Killian breathed, and the emotion in his voice was overwhelming. “I don’t pretend to know the specifics of the Evil Queen’s magic, but you must know that it wasn’t your fault. If your parents, your brother, your numerous castle guards couldn’t stop her, why do you think you’re to blame?”

He paused, shaking his head as he gathered his thoughts. “I have no doubt that you will defeat her, love, but it’s not only your combat skills that are going to take her down.”

Killian believed in her. She’d known it since the very beginning, but her doubt had been strong enough to convince her it was a misled belief. But now, with his head bent in reverence and his startling eyes that wouldn’t waver from hers, she had no choice but to accept his words as truth.

The guilt and the doubt didn’t evaporate into nothing, but their power over her waned.

Emma nodded—acknowledgement, gratitude, something else, she wasn’t sure—and they ventured into safer, less dramatic topics that allowed for a lighter atmosphere to settle over them.

Watching the ship, as it turned out, was not the most interesting job. There was very little for them to do except wait for the others to return, though Emma was relieved for something unexciting for a change. She needed the respite much more than she’d realized, and though the absence of constant panic was almost jarring enough to cause panic itself, she convinced herself that she was secure for the afternoon.

The first interruption to her temporary peace came when a figure appeared on the dock a few steps from the gangplank. Killian and Emma stood, their hands reaching for their swords in a synchronized motion that made the stranger chuckle softly.

“Exactly as Red described,” the woman said, pushing her hood back to reveal a heart-shaped face and blonde hair that was piled atop her head. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?” she asked, looking expectantly at Emma.

Emma relaxed at the mention of her godmother, but she did not alter her posture to show it. She nodded sharply, and Killian stepped forward to put himself between her and the stranger. The action wasn’t shocking or offensive to Emma’s pride; instead, it asserted the rank she held and the loyalty of those who followed her.

The woman was petite, but she moved with the surety of someone who had seen hardship and battle. “They call me Tink,” she informed them once she’d boarded. “I was told I could find you here.”

It took everything in Emma’s power not to revert to her diplomatic training. She could not smile politely, could not offer refreshments or entertainment. Here, she had to appear coarse and immoveable like the captain she was supposed to be, at least until they knew Tink could be trusted.

Killian, following her lead as always, did not falter to play his part. “What is your business here?”

“Friends of yours—Red and Liam—told me you’re looking for a few additions to your crew. I’d like to offer my services,” Tink said, unshaken by their front.

“Why?” Emma asked, and her gut pinched at the rude tone in her voice.

A smile spread across Tink’s face as she paused before speaking. “Well, they’d hardly tell me, would they?” She laughed at her own joke, and then continued, “But they seemed significantly more interested once they learned about my dislike for the Evil Queen, so I suspect that’s got something to do with it.”

“You have a personal vendetta?” Killian asked, though it didn’t quite seem like that much of a question.

Tink’s arms folded across her chest, the smile disappearing from her lips. “I’m an ex-fairy,” she replied, “and let’s just say that before I met Regina, I was not an ex-fairy.”

“And now you’re looking for revenge,” Killian offered.

“Justice,” Tink corrected. “But yes, I’d like to help in the fight against her.”

Emma glanced at Killian just as he was turning back to her, and their eyes locked for a moment. Had Red and Liam been there to witness the silent conversation that passed, there would have been a hushed discussion between them later. Without them there, the only acknowledgement of the event was Tink who smiled to herself.

“Joining this crew would guarantee a death at her hand if we’re caught,” Emma warned, her demeanor nearly returning to normal with Tink’s objective revealed.

Tink cocked her head slightly, her wide eyes studying Emma with a level of perception neither she nor Killian could comprehend. “You’re not just a captain, are you?”

“No.”

“You’re someone special,” Tink added, “I may not be a fairy anymore, but I can still feel it. Who are you?”

At this question, Killian tensed, his eyes scanning their surroundings. Once he’d determined that there was no one close enough to become a threat, he looked back at Emma, another silent inquiry.

Emma moved, a hand on his shoulder to calm him as she passed, and when she stood directly in front of Tink, she almost felt like the princess she hadn’t been in months.

“My name is Emma, and I am the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming.”

The shock on Tink’s face was less than Emma had anticipated, but the grin that replaced it eased her worries. “I knew you weren’t just running,” she said, “and I would be honored to join you in saving your kingdom and your family. Beating Regina is simply a bonus.”

Emma offered her hand to shake, and Tink accepted both the gesture and the wordless accord that came with it. “Welcome aboard,” Emma said.

--

Emma returned above deck from checking the storeroom with Terry, finding Killian speaking with Tink and the other sailor who had been sent by Red and Liam before the suppliers had made their way back.

August Booth was a man who could be charming when he wished to be, but the scowl that had overtaken his expression upon the mention of the Evil Queen left Emma with no doubt of his loyalty. He asked fewer questions than Tink, but his curious eyes were revealing to anyone who cared to look.

To any passing observer, Killian looked relaxed as he stood before the two crew members. His shoulders were back, his left hand resting casually against the hilt of his sword. But Emma could tell by the angle of his neck that he was watching the pier for unexpected visitors, and the set of his feet prepared him for a fight.

“It’s definitely a step up from the last ship I sailed on,” Tink said, her nose wrinkling at a distasteful memory.

“I’m afraid my sailing experience is limited to what I’ve learned in the last few months,” August said with a glance towards Killian, “but I’ve been told that I’m a fast learner, so I hope the captain won’t throw me off at the next port.”

Killian chuckled, “So long as you follow orders, you’ll be fine.”

Emma was pleased to find that Killian had warmed somewhat to August, as he’d been uncharacteristically sharp upon meeting him. While Emma had eased into the topic of the Evil Queen, Killian had been skeptical and quick to determine August’s exact beliefs regarding Emma’s family. August’s father had been murdered when Regina had torn apart the village outside the castle, and though Emma read his grief and anger as nothing threatening to her, Killian had bluntly asked if August found the former king and queen at fault in the tragedy.

Now she leaned casually against the mainmast, neither announcing herself nor bothering to hide to effectively eavesdrop as she watched the group while they talked.

“I’ve heard that the princess is quite the fighter,” August added, studying Killian carefully as he spoke.

It was not the sun that brought red to Killian’s cheeks and to the tips of his ears. “Aye, I have yet to see her equal,” he admitted, making no attempt to mask the pride in his voice.

“Do you suppose she’d agree to a demonstration later?” Tink wondered.

“We could prove our worth with a sword,” August offered, grinning at the prospect.

“You’d have to ask her yourself,” Killian replied. “I’d be happy to spar with you both if you’d like. I don’t pretend to be as skilled as the princess, but I can manage well enough.”

Before Emma could interrupt to agree to the demonstration, a creak of the wood and a flash of movement from the corner of her eye brought her attention away from them. Her defensive instincts sputtered when she recognized Red and Liam, though the third person to step onto the gangplank was a stranger to her.

Killian reacted as she’d expected him to, turning away from Tink and August to meet his brother. They exchanged a nod that held unspoken words, and when Killian stood before the potential crew member, his body language conveyed his reserve. Tink and August fell back, acknowledging Red and Liam without moving towards the man.

“This is Will Scarlet,” Red announced, not meeting Emma’s gaze though she was aware of her presence.

Will Scarlet had no scabbard to hold his sword, but rather a knife that was secured in a leather casing along his belt. His lips were pressed into a tight line, his gaze traveling from each person until it settled on Emma, and she had a feeling that he knew more than he should’ve with a single glance. It was the kind of thing that one learned when forced to, the ability to read a person’s intentions by their movements and everything they did not say.

“I suppose you’re the captain,” he said, causing every eye to shoot towards her. His tone was casual, unaffected, but there was a gravity in his posture that revealed something much more intense.

Emma nodded slowly, but she didn’t move from her position as she leaned against the mast. Her gaze drifted from Will to Killian in a flicker, but she focused back on the stranger before a second had passed.

“I hope our choices have been acceptable thus far, Captain,” Liam said, more a question than a statement. The tone was unfitting of the camaraderie they’d achieved, maintaining the pretense of rank in front of Will.

“Indeed,” Emma replied. She paused, testing the bounds of their attentiveness and therefore respect. No one moved, no one breathed, all waiting for her to speak as they knew she would. There were many differences between acting as a captain and acting as a princess, but commanding the attention of a room, or a deck, was a similarity.

“I was about to consent to a sparring exercise—a demonstration, if you will—for our new recruits when you arrived,” she continued. When her eyes landed on Will, she made a show of studying him. “I assume that you carry no sword because you have no need of one,” she added.

The corners of his lips twitched, his hand patting the leather case that held his knife. “They’re a waste of metal, if you ask me,” he told her, “I prefer to keep things simple.”

She hummed, gauging his expression to determine if he boasted a skill level that he did not possess. “And you believe that you deserve a place on this ship?” she asked, pushing his temper, his pride, to see if she could find a weak spot.

“What I do or do not deserve isn’t important, is it?” he replied, a grumbling sound that came from his throat that revealed either a mild irritation or anger directed towards a third party. “The way I see it, it’s what the Evil Queen deserves that really matters,” he nearly spat, though there was no lack of control in his voice.

Emma, though she couldn’t admit it without first determining Will’s loyalty, was impressed. His eyes burned with a familiar enduring rage that she had seen each time she’d looked in the mirror.

“I’m guessing you’re aware of the risks you’d be taking should you join us?” Emma asked, measuring each shift in his expression for anything alarming.

“I’d hardly be here if I couldn’t face the consequences,” Will said. “And you’re not the first crusade against the Evil Queen that I’ve joined, although Red seems to think you’d give me a better chance than that lot ever did.”

“We beat her or we die trying,” Emma told him as she pushed herself off the mast and moved a few steps towards him, all the ferocity she’d been attempting to hide away behind the sadness and the guilt leaking out in her voice. “Are you ready for that?”

Will grinned, his eyes darkening. “You can count on it, Captain.”

Emma didn’t wait more than a moment before she turned to face the others. “Red, fill him in. Liam, make sure Terry’s ready to set sail and get us going. I want us in the wind before sunset, and we’ve got a prisoner to hand over before we can leave,” she ordered, though her tone had dropped the unforgiving command as she surrendered her facade. “Killian, show our newest allies to their quarters once Scarlet has been briefed, and then I’d like you and your brother to join me in escorting Silver off this ship.”

No one hesitated to obey the second she finished speaking, and though Killian lingered to hold her gaze for a long moment, he said nothing. Emma could not regret this, because there was no lack of communication in his sparkling eyes.

--

Violence had always been a part of her life. It was a byproduct of her existence, a necessity, a simple truth. But before her last ride from the castle, she had never considered herself a violent person. True violence was always accompanied with a driving force beyond rationality, perhaps a hatred, a passionate fury, or bloodlust. Those particular feelings did not promote impartiality or decorum, and they had certainly never been a part of her training. But as Emma walked behind the Jones brothers, watching Silver stumble and fight against his restraints and the firm hands of Killian and Liam, she felt at least two of those three feelings.

He hadn’t come quietly, neither physically nor verbally passive, and the bit of cloth preventing him from speaking had been a necessary addition. He had swung at her and at the brothers, he had tried to kick and scratch at them before the rope had limited his movements, but none of that had affected her the way his words had.

It was not his insults towards her that had stirred the violent feelings she felt now, but rather it was his cutting remarks aimed at Liam and Killian that had led to the swelling cheek he now brandished.

She had known cruelty—hell, she had looked it in the eye and watched its wine-colored lips smile at her—but she had never known it quite like this. Because Silver held no power. He would hang, he would die, he would never be seen by any of them again, and yet he still attempted to slice at the brothers and prod every wound he believed they had. He was a desperate man, she knew. He was a coward. He was a fool.

Silver was defenseless, hopeless, powerless, and yet Emma still wished to draw her sword and cut him the way he’d tried to cut the Jones brothers.

Her hand curled around the hilt of her sword, her grip so tight that it nearly hurt her to hold it. She focused on her steps rather than the anger that swirled in her chest, the hatred that shuddered in her stomach and traveled up to her shoulders and made them tremble as she restrained herself.

Liam spoke quickly and efficiently with the jailor when they arrived, and Emma kept herself three paces behind them to prevent her violence from pushing her to interfere. There were a few formalities that took some time to sort out, some documents to sign verifying witnesses, and the only thing that held Emma back was the look on Killian’s face.

It didn’t lack the anger she felt, but his was the expression of a man resolved. He accepted Silver’s fate and wished for nothing more. His fists did not clench in preparation of beating him, his lips did not part to issue his sentence or even a parting taunt that bragged of flipped roles or lost and gained freedom. If Killian could watch the man who had carved lines into his back with near equanimity, what right did she have to act on her desires?

She signed her name Emma Swan, gave Silver one last pointed glare, and then she led the brothers back towards their ship, eager to put as much distance as possible between them and this port.

[enby-hawke]

For I Have Sinned-Chapter 7

Chapter 7- Renewal

Word Count: 14,555 (lol shoot me)

Tw: elf fetishization bordering on non-con but not a major theme, homophobia

Ships: Malcolm/Leandra,  Maurevar Carver/Mara Hartling

Follow on AO3

Carver never wanted to be a Templar, but his mother and father had the heir, the spare, and then some, so Carver was dedicated while he was still in the womb. They were proud of their Templar lineage but they didn’t know the sacrifices they forced Carver to make. Carver made them because it was his duty, and he did so with a smile. Even if he hardly saw his family outside of the many duties that filled his days.

 No, he found he didn’t have much in common with his parents, who were not even Templars, or his brothers. In all respects he carried their name, but they were just strangers to him, that tried to control his life, and used his good standing like a trophy in their collection.

 And there was a disquiet in him as he wielded power over mages. Chantry rhetoric claimed mages were not people. They were classified as living weapons, and yet they cried the same tears, bled the same blood, had the same fears, died just as easily. And he resented how many who he worked with used that power to harm. Carver didn’t know a better way than the Circle, but he often wondered if what they were doing was actually effective, as blasphemous as that statement was.

 He found few Templars that agreed with him and counted many mages as friends, even if there were rules that said otherwise.

 The fact was that Carver was given the keys to the prison and was free to leave his position at any time. But only through the Chantry could he get lyrium he needed, and he could only get lyrium if he remained a Templar. He thought of leaving, but his own leash held him place well enough.

 “I hate to bring this up,” Carver said hesitantly as they started pulling into the streets of the docks towards the Templar station where he’d need to park his car. “But you should clean up your face before we get back. We’ll be caught for sure.”

 Carver knew Malcolm better than the family that had given him up, knew him almost as well as he knew himself, even when Malcolm tried to keep secrets from him. And there was no denying that Leandra had changed Malcolm. Malcolm smirked often, but tonight on his face was a true smile, the usual frown lines and sarcasm had gone. He had been humming the songs that they had been singing all night, and had been serving as the radio for Carver as they drove through the streets of Kirkwall. There was no chip on his shoulder, no snarl to his words. Leandra had sanded down the edges until all Carver saw was a happy man in love.

 And Carver was scared for them.

 Malcolm laughed pulling down the mirrors as he inspected the red smears, wiping his face clean with his sleeve and a bit of magic when the lipstick remained stubborn. Malcolm seemed sorry to wipe off the evidence of the night.

 Carver reached into the middle compartment and tossed Malcolm some mints. “Your breath smells like alcohol. Take care of that.”

 Malcolm dutifully popped a handful of mints in his mouth, probably not enough to completely cover the smell but it would help.

 Carver knew mages were dangerous. He had lost a few templar brethren hunting down apostates, but among the heavier death toll, mages were always the higher casualty, not that his brethren saw it that way. Still, he thought long and hard, trying to find ways to prevent the same tragedies.

 “So we should get our story straight,” Carver said, as he pulled into his personal parking space which was marked and always clear for him. Carver could see Malcolm squirm in his peripherals, his lips getting tight as he sucked on his mints but he volunteered nothing. Carver turned off the car, stalling the engine so only ships at sea could be heard. He locked the door before Malcolm could get out and the way Malcolm glared made him look like a cornered wolf. “I know I initially tagged along because I wanted to keep that asshole in line, but I know you’re key to the investigation,” more squirming, some hunching. “Though I still need to interview the other mages at the party, I’ve been reading reports all night and no one seems to know more than you do.”

 “I don’t know what’s going on.” Malcolm’s voice was tense in the admission. He played dumb like he always did.

 Carver sighed. Obviously a lie, but calling him on it would only make him more evasive. He kept his eyes on the Templar station, an intimidating fortress that imposed the Docks, guarding a private train-line that went over the water and into the Circle.

 “So what do you know?”

 Malcolm went quiet. Carver glanced over, seeing a hundred thoughts scattering through his mind.

 “It was nothing I’ve ever seen before,” he finally said.

 “Nor I,” Carver said, worried about that admission.

 Malcolm’s hands twisted as he picked at his nails. “What’s going in your report?”

 Carver knew it was against the rules to tell anyone, let alone a mage under his care, what he told the Knight-Commander, but he could understand why Malcolm was scared. The Knight-Commander wasn’t the most tolerant of mages, and often criticized Carver’s approach in spite of the results Carver brought. “Only what’s necessary,” Carver hoped that would reassure him but his friend remained tense.

 More silence, an internal debate in Malcolm’s head as he decided what to tell.

 Carver waited in patience, his gaze expectant.

 “The Veil was sundered and torn, but not only that, corrupted,” Malcolm finally said. “I don’t know how but it seemed like the Fade was leaking into reality, like they were merging together.”

 That didn’t sound good. He wanted to know how Malcolm knew this but instead he asked, “What could cause that?”

 Malcolm avoided Carver’s gaze. “Something dark and ancient and powerful.”

 Carver cocked his head unsure of what that meant. “Like a Tevinter magister?”

 “Worse than that, dude.” Malcolm laughed uneasily. He actually looked scared. “I don’t think you can arrest this.”

 Carver considered what he meant and then it hit him. “Are you saying a demon did this?” Malcolm flinched, keeping silent but Carver knew he was on the right track. “What kind of demon?”

 “Terror,” Malcolm admitted. “And it’s big and hungry.”

 Carver then realized. “Did you fight it in the Viscount’s Palace?”

 Malcolm’s golden eyes blinked up in surprise and he chewed on his lip. “I did, but it’s strong.”

 Carver wondered how many battles he was fighting alone, and he knew Malcolm was too prideful to ask so he said, “It sounds like you could use help.”

 Malcolm sputtered as if embarrassed. “I don’t think you can help with this, dude.”

 If Carver had ego it might have been wounded, but he simply smiled. “It’s my duty as a Templar, and if this demon can sunder reality it is a danger that must be vanquished.”

 Malcolm looked uneasy, but he didn’t argue. “So, what’s going in your report?”

 Carver knew he shouldn’t but he said, “I think it important the Knight-Commander knows that a dangerous demon is hunting. We need to be prepared.”

 Malcolm turned to Carver, pleading. “Don’t say I jumped into the Fade.”

 “It’s an important detail,” Carver said, “and impressive as well. You could probably teach your own class with the types of spells you seem to always come up with.”

 Was this just because he didn’t want more responsibility? Malcolm’s eyes said otherwise. He recognized someone begging for his life. He had seen it too many times in the countless Harrowings he oversaw.

 “It really isn’t,” Malcolm insisted. “Just say we fought a terror demon that opened a rift into the Fade. That’s enough.”

 Carver was uncertain. He wasn’t comfortable with lying, but this seemed important to Malcolm. “And then we spent the night chasing it,” Carver finally agreed, seeing Malcolm’s shoulders finally relax. Still, Carver knew there was a huge piece missing from the puzzle, and it somehow had to do with Malcolm, but he knew Malcolm, and he could see him closing himself off like a vault. He had hoped the alcohol might be enough to loosen that tongue, but Malcolm was the most stubborn man he knew. He prayed it wouldn’t lead to casualties. “You’ll tell me what I need to know before it hurts anyone else, right?”

 “Of course. Trust me,” Malcolm nodded.

 “I do,” Carver said with a grimace. “I just wished you trusted me.”

 Malcolm looked hurt by the accusation. “Of course I trust you.”

 “But you won’t tell me what I need to know,” Carver said bitterly. He didn’t like how many questions he was still left with.

 “I did tell you what you need to know,” Malcolm’s voice was defensive. “The demon will die, soon, and everything will go back to normal.”

 Carver doubted that with the evidence he had seen that night, but he knew that would only lead to an argument. So, instead he placed a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “You don’t have to fight your battles, alone.”

 Malcolm said nothing to this, but he made a tight nod.

 Carver sighed finally unlocking the door and getting out of the car.

 Carver left his car at Templar station and they boarded the train, watching the water over the ocean in companionable silence as the tower of the Circle approached. Dawn was just starting to rise over the ocean cut off by the ugly tower that jutted into the sky with its red Circle flags waving in the ocean wind as bronze slave statues curled into themselves against the ocean spray, weeping.

 Carver felt sorry that the night was over. He could already see that Malcolm was getting antsy approaching the Circle, his fingers drumming on his legs in a steady beat. He seemed wound up with energy still from the night, which he guessed was good since he probably only got a few minutes of sleep.

 Soon they walked off the train and into the courtyard which was still empty, but it would be filled with Templars doing drills. Dawn had broken and so First Bell wouldn’t be too far. Before Malcolm walked back to his room Carver stopped him by a hand on the shoulder. “Remember your promise to Leandra. No lip, and work on your grades.”

 “Yeah, yeah,” Malcolm rolled his neck, cracking it nonchalantly. He said it like he was brushing it off, but Carver couldn’t help but notice how alert he was, his posture straighter with a confidence that carried him with every step. As Malcolm walked away, Carver thought this might be the first time Malcolm actually might consider taking something seriously, and he couldn’t help but think he’d have to find more ways to thank Leandra, if for no other reason to bump into that rather whimsical cat-eyed woman who had mischief in her smile.

 As Carver made his way down the Templar quarters he found his mind wandering back to Mara. He had met many beautiful women, but Mara had a spunk to her that set her apart and made her shine. He was rather impressed that she stood up to her own man for Malcolm and her loyalty to her lady seemed to go beyond just duty. Admiration. That’s what he told himself was stirring inside him. Any other considerations he had long since buried, but like a stubborn weed, irresponsible thoughts were unearthing.

 Carver knew those were thoughts that would go nowhere. He was Knight-Captain, second only to the Knight-Commander. He had a responsibility to his wards and his comrades to be sharp and undistracted and while Templars were not forbidden to marry very few found the opportunity nor the time. Carver himself barely had time in the day to eat so to fully commit to anything like a romance seemed out of the question. Plus, it was clear she already had a man. Still, he hoped Mara would find someone more worthy of her wild adventurous spirit. And the way she inspected him with that scrutinizing stare as he performed for her left a shiver in his spine. He remembered the sassy way she called him “Officer” that stirred something primal in him and he was left unbalanced when she grabbed his arm.

 He shouldn’t have allowed the picture. It could ruin everything, but Mara smelled so good he was left dizzy and his spine turned to jelly. And when Gamlen yanked her back from him it took everything not to punch him and ruin the night Malcolm worked so hard for.

 It was not his place. Carver was only there to protect Malcolm, nothing else, and he felt a little ashamed that he was even thinking such things. He needed to focus, make sure that Malcolm doesn’t ruin what little standing he has left by taking reckless chances. But he couldn’t help but wish the song he sang Mara was a little longer and that Gamlen had stayed on that curb so he might find an excuse to talk to her again.

 The door  to the   Knight-Commander’s office was intimidating, high reinforced steel bars with a heavy plaque of the red Chantry sun, as if they needed another reminder who ruled over them.  Carver went to knock on the door to find that it was slightly ajar, muffled voices coming through the door.

 “Knight-Commander, we need to consider that this might have been an attack on the Amell’s or the De Lancets. We need to reinforce security, pull from the Guard if necessary to ensure the nobility’s safety.”

 Carver gritted his teeth. It was clearly Meredith’s voice coming from the door. Normally he would commend Meredith for her proactive thinking. She was remarkably fast at getting the men to secure the ballroom, but she made it clear to Carver that she was gunning for his job and he was sure this was just going to be another attempt to undermine his command.

 Carver knocked twice before letting himself in, cutting off the Knight-Commander’s reply. Both the Knight-Commander and Meredith’s head flung in Carver’s direction. Knight-Commander Guylian stayed behind his desk, an antique oak with heavy legs, his pale skin popped against the dark leather. He was an older man with a prominent nose, lips so thin they were barely visible and dull grey eyes. He looked fully rested compared to Meredith whose bags from the all-nighter she pulled darkened her creamy skin.

 “Good, I’ve been expecting your report,” the Knight-Commander nodded.

 “Finally,” Meredith scowled as the Knight-Commander motioned for Carver to come in, but she kept her usual barbs to herself for now.

 Carver glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even 6am. He was not late. Still, he couldn’t help the anxiety creeping up his neck as his Commander stared him down, waiting for him to spin his tale. Carver had become good at lying though, years of meditation and duty hardening him into a beacon of calm.

 “Before I go into my report I want to recommend an official reprimand be marked on the Knight-Lieutenant's record.”

   Meredith went red, eyes widening in outrage. “What for!?”

 Carver felt himself mold into the role of Knight-Captain and addressed her while keeping his eyes on the Knight-Commander. “Instead of assessing the area for culprits she assaulted Taylor Filene. Such behavior will sow disorder and dissent in the ranks.”

 “But Taylor Filene might be a culprit,” Meredith barked back.

 “Regardless,” Carver continued. “There are procedures if you have suspicions. Threatening your wards in plain sight of the nobility is not.”

 The Knight-Commander waited patiently studying both templars under the comfort of his cushioned chair. “This is true. The public must not see such things, Knight-Lieutenant. Our public image must be maintained.”

 That was not Carver’s point, but he knew that arguing that it should not be allowed at all would get him nowhere. The Knight-Commander could be a harsh man, himself, and Carver needed to toe the line.

 The Knight-Commander tapped his desk with his finger. “But considering the stress of last night I believe an unofficial reprimand will do just fine. Just see that it does not happen again.”

 Meredith nodded, suppressing a triumphant smile. “It won’t, Knight-Commander.”

 The Knight-Commander leaned back inspecting Carver again. “Now, where did you disappear to last night?”

 “I’ve made an unexpected discovery in Malcolm Hawke’s testimony. He was able to identify that it was a terror demon that sundered the veil at the party and he is assisting me as I hunt it down. The hunt took me all over Kirkwall.”

 “You had an unsanctioned mage assist you in an investigation?” Meredith sneered, echoing the concern on the Knight-Commander’s face. “Without backup?”

 “The Fade interference messed with our electronics. There wasn’t time,” Carver lied quickly, “But I witnessed myself as he closed the rift in the Fade with his magic and calmed the spirits enough to go back, a feat no mage in this Circle I know to be capable of. Without his help, we might have had a bloodbath on our hands. Unsanctioned he may be, but his help may prove invaluable.”

 “That oaf? He’ll make a mockery of this investigation,” Meredith  sneered.

 Carver expected that from Meredith but still he couldn’t help but ask a question he knew the answer to from his reports, “Knight-Lieutenant, what is the status of the Veil?”

 Meredith’s lips thinned into a red line. “It appears to be stronger than before.”

 Carver kept the grin off his face. “So should I issue you a ‘thank you’ to Malcolm myself or will you?”  

 The Knight-Commander stared at Carver and he wondered if the uneasiness on his face was suspicion or something else. “Demons do not usually affect the world without outside help. We should not discount Meredith’s theory that this could have been an orchestrated attack on the Amells or De Lancets.”

 Carver grimaced. He wasn’t sure if Meredith was right, but he knew from the smirk on Meredith’s face that she would use this more to swing her iron fist.

 Then the Knight-Commander asked, “How exactly did Malcolm heal the Veil? I thought using magic only weakened it.”

 Carver knew he had to omit a few details but he wanted to keep as close to the truth as possible. Easier to keep track of the lies that way. “He claimed it to be an aura he developed to calm spirits,” he could tell from the look on their faces that they had questions about that and so did he, but instead he distracted them with something else, “I believe he has the potential to be a Spirit Healer. From my observations he seems to be sensitive to their presence.”

 Meredith and the Knight-Commander shared a look. Spirit Healers made contracts with beneficial spirits to draw upon great healing magic, the kind that could bring men back from the brink of death. They were incredibly rare and watched ever closely by the templars because of how similarly they functioned to blood mages, and how easily they fell to temptation, but because of their beneficial nature they were still highly sought and prized by the Circle. He could see the arguments warring both on Meredith and the Knight-Commander’s faces.

 The Knight-Commander seemed conflicted. “It would be a boon for the Circle, but what makes you think the elf would even do it? He seems insistent to sleeping his potential away.”

 Carver put on his most convincing smile. “Give Malcolm a chance. He’s already proved last night he is capable of much more than he’s letting on.”

 Meredith slammed her hand on the table startling both the men. “Absolutely not,” she snarled. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

 The Knight-Commander’s eyebrow twitched and Meredith reddened, retracting her hand.

 “Is that not for me to decide, Knight-Lieutenant?”

 “Yes, ser,” she simply responded, her eyes on his desk.

 The Knight-Commander leaned forward, resting his fingers on his chin as he thought. “I have an opportunity in mind, but I have reservations about his abilities but since Malcolm managed to not offend anyone at the party…” His calculating gaze locked on Carver as he made his decision. “The Amells and De Lancets will be here for their interviews as well as their Cleansing. If Malcolm can perform without offending them, I may consider speaking with the First Enchanter to rework his curriculum.”

 Carver nodded. “I’ll make sure he takes this opportunity seriously.”

   The Knight-Commander’s blue eyes were like a faded cloudy day. “See that he does. The Amells are high patrons of the Circle and if they are not satisfied with his performance, neither will I.” It sounded like the threat it was.

 Carver nodded, gritting his teeth, a sinking feeling in his gut about how far Malcolm’s place was falling in the Circle. He needed to do everything in his power to make sure he didn’t fall further. Still, Malcolm was one of his best friends and he knew him well enough to know that he would not be thanked for this. But, dangling Leandra seemed to work before. Surely, it would work again.

 Mara’s kitchen was a small but cutely decorated space, with duckling wallpaper and colorful appliances and cartoony knickknacks, some that Leandra had gifted over the years. On the fridge was a homemade frame of a picture of a fishing trip with the family when Mara’s parents and grandma were still alive. Leandra, Gamlen and Mara’s grandfather were also in the picture. He was a pale red-headed elf with green eyes and mischief in his smile. The rest of the family shared Mara’s chestnut hair and her dark unhooded cat eyes. Mara and he were both holding large rainbow trouts, Mara’s slightly bigger and she was rubbing it in Leandra’s face since she had only managed to catch a small minnow which she still showed proudly to the camera.

 Everyone in the family was laughing, their faces in half-blurs as the Hartlings were never ones to sit still. Only Gamlen remained looking out of place as he glowered at the camera, hot and uncomfortable and always letting everyone know about it. Still, that day was perfect, and the memory of it kept Mara going on her darkest days.

 Leandra stared at her phone, sipping at her coffee, her belly full of fried rice, bacon and eggs, helping to stave off an oncoming headache. She had spent many nights sitting at this counter, staying up gossiping with Mara and tonight was no different. Though the pain of exhaustion made her question if anything about the night was real, Mara was there to confirm every detail. And there was more evidence, in her picture, Malcolm was pressing against her cheek, looking as dazzling as in her dreams except now she had the memory of his clover musk that she sorely missed. She didn’t recognize the smile on her face, or how Mara let her hair get so messy, and now that she was slowly sobering up, she realized she was dumbstruck by her own actions.

 She realized with profoundness, that she would repeat everything exactly the same. She had never felt so brave except at Malcolm’s side and now that he was gone the whimsy of the night was over. The reality of her   fiancé   and her parents were coming back to her. She’d need to face them, soon.

 “He really fills out that suit, doesn’t he?” Mara hummed, placing her chin on Leandra’s bare shoulder.

 Leandra hummed in agreement, admiring how Malcolm’s suit cut a striking silhouette, until she registered what Mara said and smacked her playfully on the arm. “Eyes to yourself, lady, he’s mine.”

 “Oh, please, your man’s too skinny,” Mara waggled her eyebrows. “I was talking about Ser Herculean Statue.”  

 “Mara,” Leandra guffawed, scandalized. “What if Gamlen heard?”

 Mara pulled away, rolling her eyes as she departed for the sink in a hasty retreat. “I’m just looking. It’s not like I don’t catch Gamlen’s eyes wandering. Neither of us are blind, y’know.”

 Mara seemed tense at the mention of Gamlen, and she immediately began scouring the pots to put in the dishwasher. Leandra bit her lip. She knew that they spent at least fifteen minutes talking in Mara’s room before Gamlen decided to take a nap and Leandra was unsure if Gamlen would bother to show up for the Cleansing. Mara and Gamlen were still together, but for the first time Leandra was unsure about their future and she could see how uneasy this was making Mara.

   Mara washed off her cat eye makeup making her eyes look more almond shaped and they were red from tiredness, but Leandra looked at the irritated rims of her eyes and knew she had been rubbing them. Her lips were paler and a more natural pink and her hair was still damp from the shower she had. She looked much more comfortable in her baggy t-shirt that looked like it belonged to Gamlen at one point and plain plaid sweatpants.

 “How are things with Gamlen?” Leandra asked hesitantly.

 Mara’s shoulders tensed before she opened up the dishwasher and deposited the pan with some force. “Oh, it’s peachy.”

 Leandra abandoned her place at the counter to saddle up beside Mara to help her wash. She picked up a stray plate and started rinsing the grease from it.

 “Your mother will kill me if you ruin your manicure doing servant work,” Mara took the plate away from her to take over but Leandra just picked up another.

 “Who cares about my mother? We’re talking about you right now,” Leandra sniffed as she scrubbed off some stubborn onion that was sticking to the plate. Leandra’s polished white-tipped pointed nails were soon covered in bacon grease. Leandra gritted her teeth. “You know he’s my brother, but you can always be honest with me.” Leandra met Mara’s uncertain gaze as she paused to bite her lip. “About anything.”

 Mara took the plate from Leandra, placing it in the dishwasher. She was silent, but Leandra could tell there was something Mara was keeping from her. “Promise not to tell, Gamlen?”

 “I won’t say a word,” Leandra nodded, abandoning the chores to give Mara her full attention.

 Mara tucked a wet strand behind her ear as she leaned her back against the sink. “I’ve been with Gamlen for as long as I can remember. I know I love him but…”

 “But…?” Leandra echoed as Mara trailed off.

 Mara kept her eyes to the ground. “Seeing the way you are with Malcolm…maybe I’m a little jealous.”

 Leandra dropped her mouth. Mara? Jealous of her and Malcolm? She was blushing at the idea considering the years she spent in envy in the reverse position.

 “I just met Malcolm last night,” Leandra blubbered. “You and Gamlen have had a solid relationship for years. Malcolm and I are too new to even label our relationship. And the fact that I’m about to be married in two months, you have nothing to be envious over.”

 Mara looked at Leandra biting her cheek. “See that’s the thing. Malcolm looks at you like he’s seen the sunrise for the first time. I’ve never seen a man look so devoted,” Mara looked sad, meeting her gaze hesitantly. “And you have never looked so happy beside him. I think you found something real. And I want that…”

 Leandra felt a rush of warmth at the thought, before her rational mind took over and started tearing the fantasy apart. This was too new for her to even name what she was feeling for him. She was still engaged. Very, very engaged, and though she was angry at her parents, she wasn’t so angry that she would throw her whole future away over one wonderful night, no matter how perfect everything felt. Still, as she looked at her friend’s uncertainty she knew she had to reach out for her hand and ask, “You don’t think you have something real with Gamlen?”

 Mara froze, her eyes dropping again. “I...don’t know.” Then she forced a grin, “He gives me a      real    headache.”

 Leandra laughed in spite of herself, but she knew Mara was just joking to avoid talking too seriously. “I won’t lie and say I don’t want you and Gamlen to work, but if you’re unhappy-”

 “I’m not,” Mara said a little too quickly and returned to cleaning the dishes. “I’m probably just still mad about last night. Just ignore me.”

 Leandra could sense the broiling emotions under Mara, but she nudged Mara’s shoulder with her own before returning to the dishes. “You’re hard to ignore, Mara.”

 A pleased smile pulled on Mara’s lips, her cheeks blushing just a shade pinker.

 Suddenly Leandra’s phone rang from her purse, and Leandra wiped her hands on the hand towel and went to retrieve it. She recognized from the chiming wedding bells that it was Guillaume. Sure enough his name with the screen photo showing Leandra and him on one of their dates to their favorite restaurant at la Rose’ de Safran, a ritzy Orlesian place where their portions were smaller than their wine glasses. She couldn’t help but take a moment to compare how fake her smile seemed as she posed with him keeping a professional distance apart even as they held hands.

 She let only one more annoying bell ring before she answered the phone, her voice cloaked with peppy energy even though she felt so exhausted she was sure she’d fall asleep on the kitchen counter. “Guillaume, what a surprise. Why are you calling so early?”

 Guillaume’s slightly Orlesian accent filtered through the speakers, grating her nerves with anxiety even though his voice was calm and soothing. “I heard you had a fight with your parents last night and I wanted to help if I could.”  

 She was touched and suddenly flooded with guilt. Guillaume was still her friend and a true one and she was deceiving him. “I’m not sure how you could help, but thank you for the thought,” she almost mumbled the words as she struggled to keep herself calm and breathing even.

 “I thought I’d offer you a ride to the Cleansing if you would like, to give you more space between your parents. We can get a cup of coffee and talk.”

 It was just like him, incredibly thoughtful, and the confusion about what the right thing to do was made her dizzy and hesitant. Usually talking with Guillaume would unburden her, but she immediately thought of Malcolm and the jealous look in his eye and how badly she just wanted to belong to only him. How she wanted to come clean and tell Guillaume the truth right there. Would he judge her? He never had before?

 But she wouldn’t. She still didn’t even know what was happening to her heart, and all these urges to make irrational decisions scared her.

 She took in a shallow breath. “You’re right that I’d rather not face my parents,” she admitted, not wanting to say yes, but the thought of a car ride lecture all the way to the Circle was less preferable.

 She could hear the smile in his voice. “Merveilleux, I’ll be at your house in less than ten minutes.”

 “Actually come to Mara’s.”

 Leandra tried to get Gamlen out of Mara’s bed plush polkadot duvet but he was snoring so forcefully he was ruffling his bangs. After shaking him firmly once he told her to ‘bugger off’ and she decided she wasn’t going to do what she normally did and fuss over him and drag him to his duties. He was a full grown man. If he wanted to let his aura fester that was his problem.  

 She texted her family’s group chat to not send the car to Mara’s because Guillaume was picking her up and though she expected an argument over that she didn’t get one. Just a firm reminder to not be late. She tried to distract herself with social media, but soon enough all the congratulation messages and worried ‘are you ok?’ messages about her betrothal ball found her sorely missing Malcolm.

 She wished she could post that picture, let everyone know of the wonderful man she found and share her happiness, but she would hurt Guillaume deeply and knew she would get no congratulations. So she traced Malcolm’s lips with her thumb, wishing things were simpler so she could just enjoy this feeling.

 Soon Guillaume’s town car pulled into Mara’s driveway and Guillaume stepped out.

 Leandra stiffened, brushing herself off as she approached him, smiling in greeting. She couldn’t miss the way his eyes raked her from head to toe taking in her look. She told herself she should appreciate it. Mara had worked hard helping her pluck, smooth out her hair, paint on her face and vet her outfit. Still, she wished that Mara had clothes that didn’t always cling so close or reveal so much. It was almost impossible to find something appropriate to meet her future in-laws in.

 “Are those Mara’s?” His tone was appreciative.

 She tucked hair behind her ear as she shyly hid her figure behind her purse. Normally Leandra’s day wear consisted of airy dresses that were modest but fashionable, but today she had on a loose black knit sweater that hung off her shoulders and a bold peacock patterned pencil skirt that hugged every curve. She was still wearing her red heels from last night since her feet were too small for Mara’s shoes. “It looks awkward on me, right?”

 “Not at all,” his smile gleaned as he stared appreciatively at her bare shoulders. “I’d say it’s a fetching look.”

 No blush came to Leandra’s cheeks but instead she made a strangled sound in her throat.

 Guillaume opened the door for her, chuckling. “I’d say I left you speechless, my lady.”

 Leandra chuckled nervously as she ducked into the car.

 He soon joined her on the other side, the cabin cozier than she wished it. He nestled in close and it took all of Leandra’s willpower not to shy away from him as he took her hand. His hand felt wrong, too large, too imposing. It didn’t feel at all like comfort though she wondered if it ever did. His amber eyes burrowed into her in questioning. “So what happened with your parents?”

 She didn’t feel at all like sharing but she did because she thought she should. “They tried to fire Mara.”

 Guillaume made a dramatic gasp into his spare hand. “No, they can’t.”

 “I said they tried. I rehired her,” Leandra found herself looking at the window rather than at Guillaume, if only so she would stop catching him staring at her shoulders.

 “That was quick thinking, ma chérie,” Guillaume squeezed her hand. “Do you need any financial assistance in the matter? I would be happy to lend any assets.”

 Leandra felt herself get hot and quickly said, “No, no, that’s not necessary,” she shook her head so violently her ponytail swayed from side to side. “I’ll have to cut back on a few expenses but Mara is more important than frivolous things like spa days.”

 “Maker,” Guillaume shook his head. “You are a stronger woman than me. I need my spa days.” Guillaume laughed at his own joke and Leandra joined in politely until his laugh trailed off and was replaced with a silent tension. “Ma chérie, I have a confession to make,” his voice was as tense as his shoulders.

 Leandra turned to face Guillaume, her gut plummeting. “Yes?”

 “You know my mother is a very religious woman,” Guillaume looked at Leandra, and then tucked a hair back in place fondly. Leandra withheld a shudder. “The haunting has spooked her. She thinks it’s a curse on your family and she wants to call off the wedding.”

 Leandra blinked, her heart fluttering and she almost caught herself smiling but she knew from Guillaume’s face that this was a huge source of anxiety for him and she felt herself being pulled by two ropes. She knew she should say something and he was expecting her to, but she was trying not to thank the Maker out loud so she did so in her head. She schooled her face into a frown, and said, “How terrible,” as convincingly as possible.

 It worked because Guillaume brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “We have to convince her not to.”

 This time she did shudder. She knew she should agree and try to use this car ride to strategize but Leandra felt her shoulders dropping. “Do you really want to?” she actually asked. She clapped her hand over her mouth as soon as the question escaped. She could see the hurt written on Guillaume’s face and he dropped her hand.

 “Of course I do! Do you?”

 “I…”Leandra tried to make her face unreadable but her voice was caught in her throat and she hesitated and this time he noticed.

 Guillaume immediately straightened his shoulders like a soldier. “What did I do wrong?”

 “Nothing!” Leandra blurted. “Guillaume, you’re wonderful, it’s just…” she gulped, trying to find the words and still feeling the effects of the residual alcohol in her system she found herself being a little more honest than she usually dared. “We were promised as kids. Do you not ever wonder if there is someone else out there? Someone perfect for you?”

 Guillaume’s shoulders dropped, looking defeated, and his eyes actually watered before he turned away. “I thought you were perfect for me.” Then his jaw clenched, his mustache twitching. “Did you find your perfect someone? Is that what you’re telling me?”

 Leandra didn’t realize she was such an open book, and she had forgotten how well Guillaume could read her. “No,” she shook her head and clasped both his hands like she used to try to reassure him even though her words were dripping with lies. “It’s nothing like that, just pre-wedding jitters.”

 “Because I’ll back off,” he continued looking hard at her, inspecting every minute reaction. “Just be honest with me, Leandra.”

 Her heart was suddenly in her throat as she tried not to squeak. She wanted to. She wanted to tell him everything, but there was a hardness in his gaze that made her quiver. Was she really going to ruin her future her parents prepared for her over a man she had only met last night?

 She opened her mouth and said, “Let’s find a way to convince your mother not to call off the wedding. I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

 She had no idea if she made the right decision, but the way Guillaume’s shoulders relaxed made her breathe easier. Did he notice that she did not say no? He had already seen through her the first time. She wasn’t sure how convincing she was being.

 Guillaume patted her hand fondly and said, “That’s why we’re getting coffee. It’s always good to start a negotiation with a bribe.”

 Leandra smiled, feeling it unnatural on her face. She had no idea how to act around Guillaume now that he was suspicious and she was trying her best not to give anything else away. She let him hold his hand as he pitched his ideas of what they would say and she nodded along as she panicked. Little did she know the Maker had twisted fate to test her a little more that day.

 Malcolm had a skip to his step as he walked to breakfast, whistling so merrily that the sound echoed through the stone in an unnatural cheer. Nothing could darken his mood; no ugly sneer from a templar, nor the bars on the windows or the winter chill in the air. His backpack was slung over his  shoulder, actually   filled with what he needed for his  day's   study, though his textbooks were vandalized with doodles and blasphemy.

 He was still flooded with energy from Leandra’s kisses and the wheels in his head were working in overdrive to figure out a way to escape again. Could he manage it, tonight? Two breakouts in a row would be risky. He was so in his head, planning and scheduling details he didn’t notice that people were pointing and gossiping about him as he waited in line for breakfast. He found Taylor and Charlie in the usual spot on the corner table where they were looking at him in confusion and worry.

 “Are you alright?” Taylor’s eyebrows knitted together as she picked at her bowl of porridge mostly untouched.

 Instead of Malcolm’s usual brush-off he just pulled his thick eyebrows together in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 Charlie and Taylor shared a look before Taylor said, “You disappeared last night after the haunting. I feared the worst.”

 Malcolm shrugged. “Carver brought me along on an investigation. Nothing serious.” He wanted to tell them the truth about Leandra but Charlie was probably the biggest gossip in all the Circle. If Charlie even got a whiff that Malcolm was seeing someone, everyone would know by lunch.

 Charlie broke out in an excited grin. “Nothing serious? Are you kidding? Rumors are you saved everyone last night and now the Knight-Captain is recruiting you personally to help?”

 Malcolm tried to remain nonchalant but he couldn’t help the puff in his chest. He really felt like things were turning around. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess I’m kind of a big deal now.”

 Taylor shook her head, though even she was grinning. “Don’t let that head get too inflated with hot air. If it wasn’t for Carver you’d have gone home with the rest of us.”

 Malcolm harrumphed. That was true but she didn’t need to say it. Malcolm scooped up his porridge, the sludge looking cold and unappetizing, but with a grin, he weaved a subtle spell in his mind and scooped the porridge into his mouth. Instead of a bland mush he felt a bursting array of sweet, tart strawberries and cream and he groaned in ecstasy as his tongue remembered the feel of Leandra’s kisses caressing him. He immediately licked the spoon clean and scooped up another generous helping, groaning again. The texture was off, lumpy and slimy, but that was something easily ignored.

 Taylor and Charlie stared in confusion. “The food here is not that good.”

 Malcolm grinned offering his hand to Taylor. “You got to try this new spell I made. Take my hand.”

 Taylor stared skeptically at the hand, being the butt of too many pranks to trust it. “I don’t think so,” she wrinkled her nose.

 Malcolm rolled his eyes. He could have cast the spell directly on her but if he was caught casting spells outside of class that would be more trouble. So he moved his hand to Charlie. “Take my hand, dude.”

 Charlie grabbed it without hesitating. “Sure.”

 Malcolm changed the spell slightly in his mind channeling it into his friend. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Now, try a bite.”

 Charlie hesitantly took a bite of his porridge before his eyes bugged out in amazement. Then immediately one handed he started gobbling up his food so fast he was getting it on his face. He was hardly breathing as he inhaled bite after bite.

 Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what I had for dinner last night.”

 “How is it still steamy?” Charlie’s full mouth was dripping with mush.

 Taylor leaned forward, suddenly keen and interested. “Wait, how did you do that?”

 Malcolm tried to hide the pride in his voice but he had to thank Scholar for the idea and all that talk about what taste is. This new deal with him had really gotten Malcolm’s wheels turning. “It’s a simple illusion spell, actually. Even Charlie can manage it.”

 Taylor cocked her head as she started putting it together. “Illusion? You mean you’re substituting visual stimuli for gustatory?”

 Malcolm blinked in confusion. “If that means I tweaked the illusion spell to focus on my memories of good food then yes.”

 Taylor muttered, doing some calculations under her breath. “So if any memory will work then…” She dipped her mostly untouched porridge and took a bite, her violet eyes watering. “I haven’t tasted Mamae’s matzah since I was a girl.” She blinked back the tears before they could fall and she stared at Malcolm with a newfound respect. “Malcolm, this is absolutely brilliant.”

 “Thank you, I feel brilliant,” Malcolm grinned. “Think Enchanter Jakoby will take the spell as extra credit?”

 “I don’t see why not?” Taylor went to take another bite before she stopped blinking back at Malcolm. “Why are you asking about extra credit?”

 Malcolm suddenly felt embarrassed, like he was caught doing something weird. “Dunno…just thought it would be a good idea.”

 Taylor beamed at him with a knowing smile. “I think Enchanter Jakoby would be proud, too.”

 If Malcolm’s skin could go red, it would. “That’s not what it’s about,” he muttered, scooping a lobster infused porridge into his mouth with his free hand to avoid talking more.

 “You said I can manage it?” Charlie asked, still gripping Malcolm’s hand. He looked at the last bite of his bowl like he was sorry that he had eaten it so fast. “I can barely light a candle without sweating. How am I supposed to do something so complicated?”

 Malcolm squeezed, feeling odd that he was holding a man’s hand, or anyone’s hand other than Leandra’s, but the gesture didn’t feel out of place. “It’s not complicated. You just need to practice. I’ll help.”

 Charlie sniffed, rubbing off some of the porridge on his face with a napkin. “Thanks. It’d be nice to eat some nice food before I get tranquilized and can’t appreciate it anymore.”

 The table went silent at the thought as Charlie scooped up the last bite. Malcolm and Taylor both looked at each other in worried silence as Charlie savored it. Finally Taylor leaned in and placed her hand over Charlie’s fist. “You’re not getting tranquilized.”

 “You don’t have to humor me,” Charlie said stiffly. “I overheard the templars talking. There’s no way I’ll survive the Harrowing.”

 “They’re just bastards. You can,” Malcolm said earnestly, though his voice sounded frail in his anger. Carver had managed to put off Charlie’s Harrowing for as long as possible while Malcolm and Taylor tutored Charlie in their spare time and his magic had improved steadily, but he was not built for fighting. Now his Harrowing was any day, and they waited each night wondering if today was the last.

 “Passing the Harrowing is all about believing in your own ability,” Malcolm said. “You can’t let these doubts shake you.”

 “They’re not doubts, dude, they’re facts,” Charlie’s voice was not laced by melancholy but filled with pragmatism, like he had already accepted his fate and that twisted Malcolm’s gut.

 It was times like these when Malcolm wanted to burn everything to the ground.

 “I knew you two were fairies,” a sneering voice said behind them. Malcolm and Charlie dropped hands blushing to find that Matthew, the Templar, had approached their table and from the look in his eyes he was in a cruel mood.

 Malcolm opened his mouth to give lip but he immediately swallowed it remembering his promise to Carver and then turned back to his food with a sigh. “And here I was actually enjoying my morning.”

 “My bad,” Matthew chuckled. “You’re clearly in the honeymoon period. My sincere congratulations.”

 “Sometimes bros hold hands,” Charlie sank down in his seat, his shoulders hunching.

 Malcolm snarled. “Do you really not have anything better to do with your time?”

 Matthew smirked, motioning for Malcolm to follow him. “You dumb? You owe me something.”

 Malcolm’s stomach dropped. In all the commotion with Leandra and the haunting he had forgotten about Matthew’s order and he wouldn’t be the only one looking. Malcolm reluctantly left his seat to take his conversation with Matthew in private. He was lucky he was still in public where someone could get Carver if necessary. There was no way he would leave with Matthew alone.

 Matthew led him to the same barred window overlooking the ocean and Kirkwall’s skyline. His skin was noticeably yellower and his eyes more bloodshot, and darkened with bags.  

 Malcolm nervously shoved his hands in his pockets speaking lowly. “Look, it’s not here, yet. Didn’t you get the memo about me being pulled on some investigation?”

 The man snarled. “I had to work that fiasco last night and got no sleep. But the fact still is I need it today.”

 “Tonight, then,” Malcolm countered. There would be no going around that. He missed the drop-off and it was still waiting where his contact left it.

 Matthew looked like he wanted to argue but the Second Bell rang, signaling it was time for everyone to go to classes.

 “Tonight,” Matthew sneered then stalked off, disappearing into the flood of students moving.

 Malcolm sighed in relief, never having been so grateful to hear that bell. He walked back to Taylor and Charlie who looked as relieved as he was.  

 He set his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Stay tough, man. I’m not giving up on you, so don’t you give up either.”

 Charlie sighed as if he was tired but he smiled back. “Yeah, sure.”

 Malcolm wished that didn’t sound so sarcastic.

 “Guess I’ll see ya’ll later, then,” Malcolm hoisted his bag over his shoulder, leaving his tray abandoned at the table.

 Taylor raised her eyebrows. “I’ve never seen you eager to go to class.”

 “I’m not eager,” Malcolm argued, walking backwards. “I’m resigned. Devastated. Can’t wait to graduate.”

 Taylor actually laughed at his joke along with Charlie as she picked up her bag. “Whatever, Malcolm. See you in class.”

 Charlie looked at Malcolm’s food with puppy eyes as he started shuffling away. Malcolm couldn’t help the little smile on his lips when he heard, “I can’t believe I’m looking forward to lunch.”

 Malcolm wandered through the flow of traffic into the hallways to his first class, Creation Studies, ran by Enchanter Karena, a conservative biddy who didn’t like when Malcolm corrected her on anything, even if she was teaching things wrong.

 She went by the book and by the book only, even though Malcolm found that most of how magic was taught was backwards and counter-intuitive, based on ritual rather than usefulness. She was very religious and that seeped into every lesson. She saw other schools of magic as evil, finding that Creation was the only one deemed blessed by the Maker, even though the whole practice relied on channeling the healing energies of beneficial spirits, which made the whole thing sound like Chantry sanctioned blood magic when you thought of it. Something she did not appreciate hearing from Malcolm.  

 When he saw the silver haired woman, she was arguing with Carver, her wrinkled face so red she looked like an aged tomato but that stopped as soon as Malcolm walked through.

 Carver was here. That wasn’t good. Still Malcolm hadn’t broken any rules that Carver didn’t help him with.

 Enchanter Karena whirled around, her perfectly pinned bun falling slightly out of place. “Messere Hawke,” she sniffed overly politely.

 Malcolm resisted the urge to poke at her and took his seat with an acknowledging nod, but Carver walked over to his desk.

 “Pick your stuff up. You don’t go to this class anymore.”

 Malcolm blinked. “What?”

 “Absolutely not. That blasphemer has no business doing Cleansings or learning the sacred art of Spirit Healing. Those are for only the Maker’s chosen,” Enchanter Karena argued.

 “Pardon, Senior Enchanter, but if Malcolm has the talent, I believe he falls into that category.”

 Malcolm snorted at the way the Senior Enchanter’s mouth puckered in such a scowl it looked like a dog’s asshole. But then he registered what Carver said. “I’m doing what?”

 Carver smirked. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Now c’mon.”

 The other students looked on in wonder as Carver led Malcolm out of the classroom and back out into the hallway. Gossip started flowing from the classroom and Malcolm sighed. He was already sick of the spotlight.

 “So I’m guessing I don’t have a say in this,” Malcolm grumbled as he clenched the strap of his bag.

 “Do you ever have a say in anything?” Carver quipped.

 Malcolm grumbled. “You can be such an ass.”

 “Not denying that,” Carver grinned. “But I’m on your side.” He nudged Malcolm’s shoulder, the metal biting into him. “Trust me, this will be good for you.”

 Malcolm’s shoulders slumped. How many times had he heard that?

 “Would you perk up if I told you we’re going to see Leandra?”

 Malcolm did, his back straightening like an arrow as he jerked in full attention. “It’s her Cleansing?”

 “Her family’s Cleansing and her   fiancé  ’s, so behave. I can’t babysit you with all these interviews.”

 Her fiancé. He had almost forgotten he existed at all in that perfect night together. Still, Malcolm readied himself like he was going into battle. “I can handle that jerk.”

 “He’s actually quite a nice guy,” Carver quipped, already grinning as the scowl rose from Malcolm.

 “Oh, how great is he? He’s Orlesian,” Malcolm shoved his hands into his pockets hunching.

 Carver laughed heartily, knowing he shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he was, but if he could only tell him that he didn’t need to worry, because Leandra always looked at him like she was mesmerized by his existence. But Carver didn’t know how this story would end, and he also knew the Amell’s a little more intimately through Revka. She had once confided in him in a visit about how she’s all but disowned by the family for birthing so many mages. It would be a hard-fought journey, no question.

 Malcolm felt jittery. Would her brother be there? What would happen if he opened his big mouth and ruined everything? He didn’t seem like the type loyal enough to keep a secret. Still, the promise of seeing Leandra so soon after they had parted was too tempting, even paired with less appealing company. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like this was his first impression on her family, and he did want to impress them. Suddenly he found himself a bundle of tight nerves and he found himself needing to emanate his own calming spell to soothe himself.

 The healing quarters were filled with incense and Chantry symbols and candles even though modern lighting was installed. There was something to be said about creating a healing space to perform, but Malcolm felt like the Chantry sisters were just a little too attached to those candles. Malcolm wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or pleased to see that Enchanter Jakoby was there.

 The three other mages were a bit older and looked at him curiously as the Chantry sisters readied the quarters for the nobility’s arrival. He saw a pale elf with black hair and a rather bird-like features whisper to a man who looked like a vampire for his skin was so lucid it looked like it never touched the sun.

 The ghoulish man laughed at the elf’s whisper and Malcolm shivered at the sound for it seemed to belong to a horror film. The vampire was angular with scrutinizing silver eyes that were as cold as steel and he looked at Malcolm in interest while Malcolm tried his best to ignore him. The third mage seemed to fade into the background for how much presence she made. She was a plumpish woman with tan skin and wavy hair that hid her eyes. She avoided everyone else in the room and looked like she’d rather not be there.

 Enchanter Jakoby clasped hands with Carver greeting him. “Ser Carver, thank you again for your intervention last night.”

 Carver nodded humbly. “Only doing my duty.”

 “Well, we’re blessed to have you,” the Enchanter beamed before his smile turned playful at Malcolm, “and we’re blessed to have you, too.”

 Was Malcolm pleased that Enchanter Jakoby wanted him in his classroom? He found any snarky reply that he would have said died in his throat. It was a nice change of pace since he was used to being seen as the local pain in the ass, but part of him felt like he was giving in too easy. “So, you’re just making me a Spirit Healer? Don’t I have to pass some test?”

 “The Cleansing will be your test,” the Enchanter nodded. “If the Amell’s are satisfied with your performance then you’ll graduate into a full Enchanter and into my class as well as take on new duties.”

 “Great,” Malcolm tried not to make that sound sarcastic but it still laced his voice. “So I’m the school nurse now. Any other surprises?”

 “As part of your graduation requirements you will be required to help tutor younger apprentices.”

 Malcolm’s face twisted. Now this was unacceptable. “You really want to put me with kids? The guy that says fuck every other sentence?”

 Enchanter Jakoby looked amused. “Don’t worry. Since you're graduating out of season it’ll be at least a week to arrange the paperwork and find a class for you. You’ll have some time to practice substitutes. Try fudge.”

 “No fucking way,” Malcolm snorted.

 Carver cleared his throat, glaring at Malcolm.

 Malcolm almost blurted out, ‘no fudging way’ just out of habit, but Carver’s stern glare kept the insolence in his throat and he sighed reluctantly. “I mean, I’ll find a way.”

 He didn’t realize it would be so hard to keep this promise.

 Enchanter Jakoby mouthed ‘thank you’ to Carver who only nodded in response.

 Carver then turned to Malcolm with a stern look. “Remember your manners in front of the nobility.”

 Malcolm cracked out the tension building in his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I remember.”

 With that Carver abandoned him to class.

 The next hour was spent in instruction by Enchanter Jakoby not about how to perform Cleansings, as that was a simple thing that most proper Enchanters could manage, but how to address the nobility. There was a lot of protocol about where to stand, how to address a Lord, how not to stare directly in one’s eyes to offend. There were so many ways to offend.  

 Malcolm tried his best to listen like he promised, but he found his mind had gotten in a habit of tuning the Enchanter’s voice out and so he kept catching himself daydreaming about Leandra’s kisses. Malcolm was nervous trying to learn all these new rules but from what he figured the best policy was just to stick to the background and just not bother to talk to anybody unless they needed him. How he was even going to get a word to Leandra he had no idea.

 Then they were each handed a staff to use, just simple metal rods only used for channeling and not fighting. The Enchanter reached through the Veil coating himself with magic, instructing his students to do the same. Malcolm could hear the whispers of the excited spirits answering his summons, flooding their energy into him so he burned the brightest of them all, making the others glance nervously at the difference.

 The Enchanter couldn’t help but beam at the fact that Malcolm was taking instruction so well. No chiding needed. No snark. His eyes were closed in concentration, the colors coming off his flames reflecting rainbows.

 “We start by Cleansing our own auras, because if we ourselves are infected then we will infect our subjects. Now clear your minds and breathe with me.”

 Every mage in the Circle learned how to cleanse their auras from a young age. It was necessary in order to not attract demons in the Fade, so it felt like they were back in Basics as they sat in silence just listening to their own heartbeats as they opened themselves up to the Fade. “If you have doubts or pain or fears open them up now and offer them to the Maker.”

 Malcolm tried not to snort but the sound still echoed through the chamber. In all his walkings of the Fade he had never heard the voice of a God of any kind, just spirits. Still they were eager to pluck up the darker thoughts in his mind until his own thoughts echoed back at him.

     You’re being stupid. She’s a noble. And human. She’ll betray you. Or abandon you. Why are you trusting her? What about your plans to escape? She’s going to ruin everything.  

 The spirits picked at the thoughts in curiosity, like they were baubles in a shop.

 “Don’t give the thoughts power. Just offer them up to the flame and let them be transformed,” the Enchanter instructed.

 Malcolm’s aura lit up in a cloak of flames as the spirits combed through old pain, touching upon his deep-seated anger so he could taste it on his teeth. They poured through his memories so they flowed through him, the good and the bad. His mom, his dad, being kidnapped to the Circle, meeting Carver, Taylor and Charlie, Gamlen’s ugly judgement, Leandra’s righteous anger, burning with jealousy as he watched her on Guillaume’s arm, how she grabbed his tie at the karaoke club and kissed him in front of everyone. The spirits ended up latching onto Leandra’s song, the lyrics filling him with peace as they echoed it in his head and he focused on that until the rest of the doubts floated away until all was left with music.

 “That’s no good. You’ll cleanse no one with that aura.”

 Malcolm opened his eyes but the Enchanter, whose flame burned bright and blue wasn’t speaking to him but to the mousy woman who hid her face. Her flames were dark, purple and smoky and she seemed to be having difficulty with connecting with the Fade.

 The woman stopped the spell breathing heavily. “I’m sorry, Enchanter, I’m just not feeling well today.” Her shoulders looked shaky from the spell.

 The Enchanter frowned sympathetically, closing his connection to the Fade until his bright blue flaming aura died in a smoke. “Well, you won’t be able to participate like that. You may sit out for the noble’s Cleansing but you’ll need to stay and observe.” He then turned to the three men with a pleased smile motioning them to end the spell with a calm wave of his hand.

 “Gentlemen, very well done, especially you Malcolm. I believe you have a talent for this.”

 The other men glanced at Malcolm as he swelled, but their heads quickly snapped back as their names were called.

 “Orsino, Quentin, why don’t you all get acquainted by teaching Malcolm the basics about performing a Cleansing on another person. Be brief though. The nobility arrives any minute now.”

 “Yes, Enchanter,” they spoke in unison like it was rehearsed.

 The Enchanter then turned to the other mage. “Melissa, over here. I’ll have to take care of your aura, later.” He dragged her away to one of the spare cots in the room.

 Then the men both turned on Malcolm, their eyes sparkling in interest and Malcolm suddenly felt like he was on an observation table about to be poked and prodded from every angle.

 “So Malcolm was it?”  The   creepy mage had his arms behind his back as he strolled lazily up to Malcolm. He easily towered over both elves, staring down his pointed nose at each of them.

 “You can call me Hawke,” Malcolm decided suddenly, feeling that his first name in that man’s mouth was just too familiar.

 “Sure Hawke,” the green-eyed elf offered his hand, his black hair slicked back neatly. He also looked far too skinny for his clothes, his hand thin and bony. “I’m Orsino. Nice to see another elf made it into this program.”

 “Sure,” Malcolm took the hand not wanting to start off on the wrong foot though he wasn’t sure that they’d get along just because they were elves.

 The other willowy man offered his thin hand. “I’m Quentin. And you may call me that.”

 Malcolm took the man’s hand too and his nerves locked on edge. Was Enchanter Jakoby certain about this man’s aura? Malcolm felt a coldness in him that seemed unnatural, and Malcolm took back his hand quickly resisting a shiver. He wasn’t sure why but he didn’t like that man but it felt more like instinct than prejudice. He didn’t like the way he smiled, how he moved, how his eyes studied him like a lab rat.

 “So Cleansing someone else’s soul is simple. We guide them through a meditation as we channel their auras into the Fade so their darker actions and thoughts do not get attacked by demons like so,” Quentin then waved his hand pouring Fade magic into Malcolm as he felt his magic coat him, foul with dark energy.

 Malcolm automatically cast a dispel to interrupt the examination. His mind felt a little tingly, like something had tried to pry it open. Did the bastard just try to read him? “Watch it, Q-ball.”

 The man reddened, apparently self-conscious about his thinning hairline. “Just demonstrating,” Quentin squinted his eyes. “You hide it well but I did sense some dark anger in that aura. Dangerous for healers. A friendly warning from your upperclassman.”

 His mind still tingled from the man’s magic making Malcolm’s hands glow in his own spell. “Is it my turn?”              

 Orsino stepped between them hastily. “Perhaps we should focus on examining our patients.” He looked apologetically to Malcolm. “Forgive Quentin. He can be overeager.”

 “Well tell him to watch it. I can, too,” Malcolm huffed, shaking away the spell from his fingers.

 Orsino folded his hands, taking over instruction as he tried to diffuse the situation. “The meditation is usually taken from the Canticle of Trials. You are familiar?” The question was more of a statement and Malcolm found himself stuttering. Was now a good time to say he always slept through Mass?

 “Uh, sure I’m familiar,” Malcolm lied.

 Orsino smiled. “Good then we won’t have to go over that.”

 “Maybe, we should go over it a little,” Malcolm quickly backpedaled.

 But then Meredith and Matthew marched into the room standing straighter than usual. Malcolm noticed that Meredith was glaring at him in particular and he couldn’t help but poke at her with a mock salute.

 Meredith tried to keep the scowl from her face but her lips still twisted in a snarl. “Announcing the arrival of the esteemed Houses Amell and De Lancet,” Meredith’s voice sounded bitter with the false energy she forced into the greeting.

 Malcolm bowed his head with the rest of the mages as the nobles paraded in, two by two, bringing with them the aroma of expensive perfumes and fresh coffee that they still clutched in their hands. Malcolm recognized Leandra’s parents striding in first, in coordinated red outfits. They took the prominent place in front. Guillaume’s parents, a greying red-headed couple in royal purple took the next highest place on the Amells’ right hand, and Leandra and Guillaume came next, completely uncoordinated and settling onto her parent’s left hand side still sipping their cups.

 Malcolm couldn’t help but drag his eyes up Leandra’s legs admiring the newly revealed curves that her other dress hid. Leandra stopped mid-sip, reddening as the coffee dribbling down her chin a bit as she noticed Malcolm in the room staring.

 Malcolm winked, holding back a laugh as she wiped her chin with her hand. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

 Her mother scowled, stepping out of place as she took a red handkerchief and wiped it away properly, making apologetic eyes to the De Lancets. “Leandra, really, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

 Guillaume chuckled. “It’s rather adorable actually.”

 Malcolm tried to keep the sneer off his face but his whole jaw clenched as he tried to remember his place. He lowered his head again, remembering he was just supposed to be furniture.

 Her mother sighed as if she was tired. “I’m glad you think so, dear.” Her mother then took her place measuring each mage against the other. “Is this the whole selection, templar?”

 Meredith bristled. “Spirit healing is a very rare art, Lady Amell.”

 “Still, there is the instructor, no?” Lady Amell sniffed, smoothing out an already perfect strand of greying hair. “Bring him before me.”

 Enchanter Jakoby waited for Matthew to bring him from his place in the wall, and he bowed deeply before Lady Amell saying nothing as she inspected him, too.

 “Ah,” she said in a disappointed tone. “Also an elf.”

 Leandra’s eyes widened, as she reddened in embarrassment, looking apologetically at the Enchanter but the remark didn’t even seem to phase him.

 “Permission to speak, Lady Amell?” Enchanter Jakoby asked evenly.

 “Granted,” Lady Amell nodded in a bored tone as she sipped her coffee.

 “While I would be happy to perform your Cleansing, my students are more than capable to attend to you.”

 “Very well,” she snapped her fingers at Quentin. “You’ll do.”

 Quentin bowed deeply. “I am honored to attend you.”

 Lady De Lancet seemed to eagerly be inspecting Orsino against Malcolm, her gaze a leering and predatory. “Well I think elves are rather pretty.”

 Malcolm gritted his teeth as she stepped up to Malcolm and Orsino, her heels echoing against the stone. She looked them up and down her eyes lingering on their backsides in full view of her husband. Malcolm bit his tongue as he hoped she thought Orsino was prettier.

 But she stepped in front of Malcolm. “You…” she lifted his chin with her manicured nail. “You performed beautifully last night.”

 “Thank you?” Was Malcolm supposed to say something else? He didn’t trust anything flattering to come out of his mouth so he just avoided her eyes as she studied his face.

 She leaned down to meet his eye, patting his cheek fondly with her glove. “I think I’d like you to attend to me, mon petit.”

 Malcolm felt like a worm on the end of a hook about to be swallowed. He audibly gulped. “Uuuh…you don’t want me, I barely started class this morning. Don’t even know the Chant, proper.” Orsino’s bright green eyes widened in alarm as Malcolm grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. “Orsino, here, is just as pretty and has been at this a lot longer.”

 Lady de Lancet tittered in amusement. “I don’t mind breaking you in.”

 Orsino kept his professional smile but his eyes were glaring at Malcolm while Malcolm scanned the room looking for anyone to help.

 Leandra was already fuming from Lady de Lancet’s brazen forwardness, which wasn’t out of character for her, but the lady was practically fondling Malcolm in full view of her husband who was just boredly sipping his frappe’ as he played a candy puzzle game on his phone. She stepped out of place and curtsied politely announcing herself with a, “Pardon me, Lady de Lancet, but may I have a moment of your time?”

 Her parents glared at her, and Guillaume subtly waved at Leandra to come back but Leandra stayed, though she had no idea what exactly to say.

 The lady tutted and turned back to her. “Yes, dear?” she said, the patience in her voice wearing thin.

 Leandra glanced at Malcolm who looked at her expectantly and so she said, “If the mage is so new to this, perhaps I should be the one to be his first test. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

 She looked apologetically at Malcolm for throwing him under the bus but he looked relieved.

 The lady didn’t seem to take kindly to this but before she could speak Enchanter Jakoby stepped forward, his head bowed. “Pardon, but her ladyship has a point. Malcolm is talented but…” the Enchanter trailed off looking to the Heavens as he tried to find a suitable word before he landed on, “untested. I will be coaching him every step of the way, but Orsino is very capable in his own right, and can anticipate your needs much better.”

 Lady de Lancet clucked her tongue. “Oh, very well.” She looked rather annoyed but seemed reluctant to wager her health no matter how pretty that face looked. She snapped at Orsino. “You, come with me.”

 Lady Amell took her husband’s arm as she led him to one of the cots. “I guess we’re starting then.”

 Chantry sisters came bringing bowls of water and towels and set them at the foot at each of the beds that were stone and scoured for a bath of flame. As Leandra and Guillaume approached arm in arm, Enchanter Jakoby and Malcolm bowed and stayed that way until they got comfortable on the cot. Then Enchanter Jakoby led Malcolm in a kneel.  

 On one side of the room the Amell matriarch was flagging down a Chantry sister to say, “I don’t want a mage to touch me.”

 Quentin remained silent as the Chantry sister nodded and took his place kneeling on the floor. Malcolm didn’t envy him, but at the same time every comment from Leandra’s parents dropped his stomach. He wasn’t even a consideration.

 However Lady de Lancet was a bullet he was happy to dodge. He could see Orsino squirming as she eagerly kicked off her heels. “Now make sure to get in between the toes, dearie.”

 Malcolm shuddered. He wouldn’t blame Orsino if he hated him for this.

 The first part of the ritual meant bathing the noble's feet. Why the nobles couldn’t be bothered to bathe their own feet he wasn’t sure why. In Enchanter Jakoby’s lesson he spoke about how the ritual that went back to Andraste’s last day, when her disciple and friend Justinia begged Archon Hessarian to prepare her living body for the Maker. It was said in Andraste’s last hours Justinia was allowed into her cell, offering prayers to prepare her soul and cleansed her remaining sins by offering them to the Maker as the filth was washed from her feet. Malcolm could not find reverence in an old dead woman who couldn’t keep her promise of freedom to her elven allies, but he could find it in touching Leandra.

 Malcolm was not a foot guy, not even close, but even he couldn’t deny how soft her skin was, each toe trimmed and polished, with cute little deco designs that seemed a shame to hide in her shoes. He could tell from her ankles that they were swollen from how long she had been standing in heels, and as he gently pinched at the tendon at her ankle releasing tension.

 “Oh!” Leandra made a surprised sound that she bit down on her lip, her eyes glancing to Guillaume who seemed to also perk at the sound.

 Malcolm felt a devilish impulse pull at his gut at the flush that colored her face from his slightest touch and he couldn’t help but dig his thumbs into the flat of her arch, his heart tugging at the sweet sigh he pulled from her. He sent little soothing healing pulses through his fingers as he renewed his determination, trying to see what more sounds he could force her to make.

 Leandra was melting under his touch, holding back the moans in her throat, but still he could hear the tiniest whimpers escape setting Malcolm’s imagination alight. He suddenly wished no one else was there so he could pull her skirt up and bury himself between her legs so he could hear her cry for him. He knew he was winning the battle, her composure seemed to be coming undone, but before he could claim victory another voice reminded him what he was supposed to be doing.

 “Messere Hawke, I believe her feet are clean enough,” the Enchanter cleared his throat.

 Leandra took back her foot forcefully almost falling over, her eyes flinging to Guillaume who was also going slightly red at the sounds and faces Leandra was making.

 “Just being thorough,” Malcolm hid a haughty smirk, wondering if Guillaume ever managed to make Leandra sound like that but he regretted that line of thought immediately.

 “Perhaps I should give you a massage, sometime,” Guillaume offered with a flirtatious tone that made Malcolm clench his fists to keep from clocking him in the jaw.

 Leandra patted her hot cheeks. “Perhaps,” she said evasively, but Malcolm didn’t like the thought of the man trying to put his hands all over Leandra and he couldn’t suppress the ugly scowl that took over his face.

 Enchanter Jakoby grabbed a staff that was handed to him by a Chantry sister. “Now that the physical impurities have been taken care of, we will now purify your souls. My lord. My lady, please concentrate on offering your sins to the Maker as we sing the Chant.”

 Malcolm took the paltry staff from the Chantry sister, trying to ignore his seething jealousy as the staff started channeling with magic Malcolm and Enchanter Jakoby poured from the Fade. Malcolm could hear all the spirits chattering, scouring into their memories so that he saw flashes of Leandra’s younger days. He tried not to glimpse too closely, but he could see the imprint of her loneliness hidden behind a careful smile that she used for everyone. Her soul had been flattened, like a flower that had been stomped on but still stubbornly peeking up the sunshine trying to take in little bits of light.

 He heard Enchanter Jakoby’s voice take in a chanting intonation, Orsino and Quentin’s voice harmonizing with him.

 “I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade

 For there is no darkness, and no death, in the Maker’s light

 And nothing he has wrought has been lost.”

 Then each of the nobles' auras burned brilliantly as they each bared the darkness of their souls to the Fade. Leandra looked magnificent, too beautiful to be real, amber dancing against her skin as her dark hair ruffled lightly in the burning light. Malcolm almost reached out to touch the magic, to see what her burn would feel like on his skin before he remembered that others still watched them. Still, he couldn’t miss how her eyes watched his every move.

 “For she was reborn to us in flame

 And so flame we consume to be reborn

 May, He Who Burns The Brightest

 Purify the sins we hide in our hearts

 So that we may know true peace.”

 Then the flame snuffed out. All of the nobles looked bright and cheerful, like they each had an invigorated spirit-induced power nap, except for Lord de Lancet who looked pale and uneasy. Unlike the other nobles, the Cleansing seemed to have worn him out and his skin was showing a sheen of sweat.

 “My, that was bracing,” the Lord patted his face with a purple handkerchief.

 His wife tucked to his side with a concerned look on her face. “Darling, did the Cleansing not rejuvenate you.”

 “Oh, I’m rejuvenated, absolutely,” but the man sounded absolutely winded. “Just the old war injury flaring, that’s all.”

 Malcolm felt there was something odd about that. Rightfully a Cleansing should ease old pains, and though not every wound could be Cleansed, it shouldn’t be having that effect.

 Enchanter Jakoby bowed his head and approached the de Lancets. “If you’d like I could take a look.”

 Lord de Lancet nodded tightly and said, “it couldn’t hurt.”

 The Enchanter scanned the man’s aura, focusing on his back where the pain seemed to radiate and Malcolm thought he saw it in the flicker of the Enchanter’s magic, but the Enchanter stopped his spell and said, “I’m sorry, my Lord. I thought there might be something else causing it but I see nothing out of the ordinary.”

 Lord de Lancet rubbed his back nodding as if he expected that and said. “Yes, I’ve spent a fortune on chiropractors and masseuse’s and numbing injections but the pain just comes back worse than ever.”

 Another clue for Malcolm and he stepped forward, forgetting all protocol. “Do you get nightmares…of the exact moment you got your wound?”

 The man’s eyes widened in alarm, but he said, “The psychiatrist told me that was normal.”

 “And are you forgetful lately? Having trouble remembering things that used to be easy?” Malcolm prodded more.

 The man’s face reddened to almost the color of his mustache and he straightened his jacket. “How impertinent. You are not privileged to my medical history.”

 But Lady de Lancet placed a slightly wrinkled hand on her husband’s puffed shoulder. “You have been needing an awful lot of reminders, lately, Reynaud.”

 “I’ve just been stressed, Amelia.”

 But Enchanter Jakoby noticed there was a look on Malcolm’s face and he put his finger on his lightly stubbled chin. “Do you have a prognosis?”

 Malcolm looked at the Enchanter rather than the nobles for permission, breaking another rule. “May I have a look?”

 The Enchanter motioned with his head to the noble who didn’t look pleased with Malcolm’s offer. “What makes you think you could make a difference?”

 Malcolm shrugged. “I mean, I might not, but it could prove educational.” If the Lord didn’t want his help, he wouldn’t force it.

 But Lord de Lancet seemed to be in so much pain he was willing to try anything. He nodded, muttering, “Very well.”

 Malcolm poured magic back into him, revealing the tapestry of his energy in an array of light. He could see the war wound that festered into the spine damaging nerves all along his hip, but what he couldn’t figure out was how the others missed the knot of corded energy that seemed to snake in the heart of the wound, gnarling it up. The pain seemed to be feeding, growing more agitated with the feel of his magic. Was Malcolm the only one that could see it?

 He poked at the knot with his finger. “Is it tender here?”

 No sooner did Malcolm brush it did the noble cry out in pain, and Malcolm couldn’t deny he did relish the sound a little.

 “Andraste’s flaming knickerweasels what are you doing back there!”

 “Yep, we got ourselves a pain demon,” Malcolm cracked his neck nonchalantly stretching. “This one’s really burrowed into you. No wonder the Cleansing couldn’t take effect.”

 “What!?” Lord de Lancet cried out his face paling.    

 Lady de Lancet smacked him on the arm which made him whimper more. “I told you that’s why you shouldn’t skip Cleansings, but do you listen to me?”

 Enchanter Jakoby’s smile reached all the way to his eyes. “Malcolm, how did you spot it? It was hiding very well.”

 Malcolm looked puzzled as if it should have been obvious. “Don’t you see how the energy in his aura moves differently around the pain spike?” Malcolm pointed to the knot in the magic as both Orsino and Quentin huddled in for a closer look. He motioned to the red ugly festering energy that stayed twisted up in the lord’s back. “You can see here is where the natural pain is,” Malcolm waved his hand down his thigh as he mimicked the energy’s movement, “but here the energy moves differently on it’s own wavelength. It’s not actually part of him.”

 “Ooooooh,” the men said in unison as if everything was now obvious to them, too.

 “Yes, yes very fascinating. Now will you get it out of me before it kills me!”

 “Have no fear, My Lord. Pain demons are rarely lethal. Just painful,” Malcolm had forgotten all the training the Enchanter coached into him and without a thought put his hand over the knot, and twisted his fingers into the energy. The colors grew red and chaotic, the bright energy growing from the wound.

 “Now just breathe,” Malcolm commanded, as he grasped around the essence of the demon, feeling the wrongness festering. Lord de Lancet cried out as Malcolm pulled. The creature was starting to become visible under Malcolm’s palm, a sickening black bloody vein-like leech with gnashing teeth screeching in a volume so high-pitched it deafened everyone’s hearing. Then it shriveled and burned away into Malcolm’s brilliant flaming magic until it was nothing but ash.

 “Now how does that feel?” Malcolm pulled his hand away.

 The man’s eyes widened as he patted his back which was not locking up in stiffness anymore. “Andraste’s Mercy. I feel twenty years younger,” He looked to Malcolm in disbelief.

 “You look it, Reynaud,” his wife placed a fond hand on his cheek.

 “Just doing my job,” Malcolm bowed his head with a pleased smirk on his lips. Leandra was beaming at him and he couldn’t help but notice even her parents weren’t looking with the same disgust only moments before.

 That smirk quickly dropped when Lady de Lancet started straightening her husband’s tie, “That settles it. We have to have him as a House Mage.”

 Shit.

 Lord de Lancet looked at Malcolm with renewed interest. “I think you’re absolutely, right, mon amie.”

 Enchanter Jakoby looked pleased, but a little hesitant to agree forthwith. “Malcolm is not a full Enchanter, yet, more an Enchanter in training.”

 “Well then we’ll pluck him up as soon as he’s ripened,” Lady de Lancet twisted her fingers into a promise.

 Malcolm froze, the urge to self-sabotage with a rude comment so strong he bit his tongue to keep himself silent. If he had realized that helping that lord would have led to this he would have let the Orlesian suffer.

 But Leandra also seemed to find this unacceptable and stepped forward. “Pardon,” Leandra said in a voice too forceful to be polite, and before she realized she was doing it she curtsied in front of Lady de Lancet and said, “but I find that with the Haunting I feel absolutely terrified,” she added a believable wobble to her lip, “I do fear that, I, too, might be under a curse and am in desperate need of protection from a House Mage.” She met Malcolm’s eyes as she added, “and only the best will do.”

 “Absolutely not!” Meredith’s outraged voice called out cutting through the discussion that was happening. She looked completely frazzled, as if she couldn’t fathom what was happening in front of her eyes. “You might not know this but Malcolm Hawke is a well-known trouble-maker in the Circle. He is not fit to serve the noble houses and will dishonor you all.”

 Leandra audibly huffed. “Was it not Malcolm who saved everyone last night?”

 “And he did spot the demon even the instructor missed,” Lord de Lancet also stretched his back, admiring the new looseness in his body.

 Meredith scowled, seething with so much hatred for Malcolm he was sure she’d pop a gasket. “Believe me that talent makes him more dangerous.”

 He glared back defiantly. That it did. If only she knew.

 “Pardon,” Enchanter Jakoby raised his finger to silence the argument that was about to spring up from everyone. “But I’m afraid until he has proper training he won’t be doing anything than catching up on his graduation requirements.”

There was a finality in his words that told Malcolm no matter his future, he would be in for a lot of work, and for the first time in his life he found himself praying to the Maker to be kind.  

[innittowinit]

Run Rabbit Run (2/3)

Summary:

When Assassin Technoblade receives an offer he can't refuse, to kill the king, he starts to live a double life as a knight inside the castle walls.

Unexpected to him, he meets a pair of troublesome brothers, a skilled gardener and a father figure in the process, Can he go through with it this time?

AO3

Living in the castle was… different, if he were to put it lightly.

On normal days, Techno would wake up towards 11am, check to see if any potential clients had sent him a letter, and then carry out any assassinations that he still needed to do. Needless to say, jobs never normally needed him to infiltrate the royal workers, most of the time it was just a quick shot of a bow or a swift swing of a sword.

Working quickly and efficiently was what he was known for, in the underbelly of crime.

That being said, a lifetime of working as a criminal had never prepared him for the strict regime that came with being a knight. He had been led to a large dorm room filled with the other knights by Wilbur and Tommy on his first day here, that had been the first shock, he wasn’t used to not having any private space. The next shock had been waking up at 5am, he had to pull himself out of bed and put on his new iron armour, trying the whole while to remind himself that this was in fact worth it for the money he’d be receiving by the end of it.

He had been given a surprising amount of freedom, considering he was the new guy, he had half been expecting someone to follow him around and make sure that he wasn’t doing anything he shouldn’t be. Instead, he’d been given the loose order to just make rounds around the castle grounds and make sure everything was running smoothly. A small percentage of the guards had also been sent down to make their rounds in the main kingdom but he supposed it must be a fairly small area if they didn’t even need all their men down there.

Recently the sheer abundance of gold surrounding him was really affecting his concentration and self-control, naturally, his instincts were screaming at him to drop everything and grab something, anything, to keep for himself. Quite a few times, he had been tempted to ignore the mission and just give in to what he wanted but he knew that would be a sure fire way to ruin any trust he’d be able to build between the fellow workers and the king.

His so-called self control was really put to the test when he was called to stand guard when the King made Wilbur and Tommy try out some new golden additions to the uniform.

Of course though, the Knight uniform was Iron as always, all he needed to do was stand with the king as he judged the boys, trying out the new clothes. It was a little ironic that he had made the mistake of hiring the assassin to protect him from assassins.

“Techno, I don’t think I’ve really spoken to you as much as I should have” The King had sighed as the two waited for Wilbur and Tommy to finish getting changed. “You’re a real character, you know? No matter how hard I try I can’t read you”

“Sometimes, not reading people is for the better, Sir”

The heaviness of the statement rolled off Techno’s tongue easily, not realising how incriminating it really was. Luckily though, the King just laughed and nodded, one hand on his shoulder.

Techno didn’t want to think about how tempted he was to pull the gold rings right off his fingers.

“Done!”

Tommy grinned as he half ran, half jogged out of the changing room, spreading his arms wide, dramatically, and giving a big spin.

The changes to the uniform were minuscule, clearly only done to show wealth to any visitors over the fact that even the king’s chefs and butlers were clad in expensive materials.

“What D'ya think Techie?” With almost a rhythm to the words, Tommy walked towards Techno and stretched his arms out, bringing attention to the golden detailing at the bottom of his sleeves, as well as the thick pads that capped off his shoulders. The uniform really did look ridiculous.

“You’re a Piglin! I bet you love this stuff!”

“Tommy..” The king spoke in a warning tone, Techno didn’t quite understand why he was sticking up for him when stuff like this was so common. By now, he was used to being teased for being a Piglin, that’s just how life was for Mobs.

“What Phil?”

Pulling his hands back to his sides, Tommy rolled his eyes. Wilbur had also joined them, the golden detailing working much better against the black Butler uniform rather than the White Chef’s one.

“Phil he literally is a Piglin! I’m not even being mean!”

Techno couldn’t help but groan. Of course he thought he was in trouble for calling him a Piglin, of course people assumed that was a bad word. It was times like this when he was glad these are the kind of people he hurts with his work… but then again the person defending him was the person he was destined to kill.

Techno decided not to think about it.

What he did think about instead was how close he was going to have to get to the king to not be a suspect. Seriously, he had workers that were so casual with him that they would argue with him and call him by his first name, how long would he have to stay here?

“Toms.”

God the King had nicknames for them too? He was in for a lot of work.

“Look, it’s just not nice to assume he likes things and bring up what species he is as a justification.”

Tommy was clearly getting frustrated, judging by how Wilbur had said that they had been taken in as kids, he assumed the boy wasn’t really used to being told off for things.

“No! Just look! He’s fine with it! It was a joke man!”

And with that, Techno’s hoof was being grabbed and pulled up to touch the shoulder pad. What happened next was a blur, he remembered shoving Tommy away but he couldn't remember if he fell or just staggered back a bit. He noted that Wilbur had yelled something at him but he was more focused on getting the safe feeling that came with feeling the gold back. So, before he could think any better he had swiped the King’s crown straight off of his head and was cradling it close to his chest, like an animal protecting its food.  

“Techno?”

The king’s voice had been gentle and non-judgmental as he carefully placed a hand on his shoulder.

All he got as a response was a low grunt, his bared tusks far too prominent for him to even attempt talking right now.

“Techno, I want you to know that first of all you aren't in trouble, okay?”

With a little nod, Techno attempted to hand the crown back over, trying to salvage what he could of their opinions on him but just as he held it out towards the King his instincts took control again, complete fear and terror coursing through his veins as he imagined having to go back to having no gold to give him that safe feeling he was after.

“That’s alright, you can hold onto it for now, let’s just calm you down a bit bud”

Mind too foggy with anger and instincts, he didn’t even register it when Phi- the King moved him to sit on a bench with one arm around him lovingly. If he didn’t know any better he’d say this man was almost fatherly but he knew there must be a dark side to him if he had been offered so much to kill him.

“I’m very sorry about what happened, I don’t think Tommy really understood what he was doing, We’ll make sure that it won't happen ever again.”

Phil’s voice was kind, it understood that Techno wouldn’t want people teasing him about that kind of thing, it cared that Techno had been upset and wanted to fix that. The same kind voice softly instructed Techno on how to breathe in and out to slow down his pacing heartbeat, eventually helping him lower his tusks and loosen his grip on the crown.

“Ah jeez” Techno sighed, feigning a chuckle “This is humiliating, I’m sorry”

Despite the fact that he was calmer now and was able to think clearly and talk again, it was still very clear that he didn’t want to give up the crown as he twirled it in his hands, carefully tracing each gem as he did so.

Looking up, he could finally read the faces of the people that surrounded him, Phil looked like he was worried, Wilbur looked disappointed and Tommy looked as if he was about to crack under the guilt. This much attention made him feel almost sick, if he didn’t know better he would have leaned into Phil’s gentle touch by now, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little touch starved.

“Tommy.” Wilbur cleared his throat as he nudged his brother forwards, the younger of the two looking down at his boots in shame.

“Uh.. I didn’t think you were going to react like that, I’m really sorry. I know it doesn’t really mean much now but if I'm being honest I did think Piglins just..liked gold. I didn’t think you were going to...lose control or anything. I’m sorry, I do want to be friends with you but I’m scared I’ve biffed it” Techno couldn’t tell whether it was because Tommy was a human teenage boy or because he was just that remorseful but he could hear a slight waver in his voice as he spoke, as if he was holding back tears.

That was strange, nobody had cried over wanting his forgiveness before, or more like, nobody who he wasn’t about to kill had cried over wanting his forgiveness. It was nice to know he was cared for, even if it was misplaced.

“It’s.. fine. Just don’t do it again”

With that, Tommy nodded vigorously and walked swiftly back over to Wilbur, whispering something to him, leaving Techno with Phil- fuck, no, leaving Techno with the King and the crown.

“I meant it when I said you could hang on to it, just keep it safe and you can do whatever you like with it. Hold it, wear it, anything.”

Eyes wide, Techno looked over to Phil, looking for any trace of a joke. Normally, he’d be ridiculed for any aspects of his heritage showing, let alone having a full few minutes where he couldn’t control his actions, plus he really wasn’t used to being given gifts, normally he’d have to make due with the small chunks of gold he could make from his work but the idea of an entire crown was new to him, he was conflicted, naturally, he wasn’t sure if he needed to be on guard or if he was truly cared for.

“I’m serious. This was our fault, it really is embarrassing for us that we didn’t predict this and give you something you could hold on to. You poor thing, you were probably in a lot of pain trying to protect your image, right?”

Techno just sighed, rubbing his eyes. Because he was tired, he told himself, he wasn’t wiping away anything and he certainly didn’t care that the only person to ever treat him so nicely was the person he had to kill.

“Next time something is bothering you, don’t be afraid to speak up. We’re a family here and now that you’re a knight here you’re a part of that family”

Family.

Phil thought of them as a family.

Techno sighed and nodded, giving in and finally placing his head on Phil’s shoulder.

He supposed he’d just have to commit familicide.

[magic-is-something-we-create]

Before you read: This is a short-ish snippet from Veratrum K’Ron’s POV, and happens about 1000 years before the events of Firebreathers. It’s probably going to be an interlude chapter between parts of the book, though this isn’t the whole thing. I just wanted to share it, since I’m proud of this piece, and hopefully you guys like it, too!!

Content warning for death. Let me know if any other warnings apply, too!

--

Tieling stands at the Godwood altar, back as straight as his hair, gazing over the city below as only a born leader could, his expression as stoic and blank as stone. Arthur stands beside me, to Tieling’s right, hand resting gently on the rim of his shield, tapping the plated surface incessantly, stage fright radiating off of him in waves. They’re both young - too young to be crowned, as Tieling is about to be. A few years ago, I would have even said they were too young to be on such public display, in front of a crowd of tens of thousands.

Then again, a few years ago, I thought the magic flowing through my veins would have been gone by now.

Tieling’s aides pour his commissioned potion into three wooden goblets on the altar, then hand each of us one. With a nod from their new king, they step away. He takes a deep breath, and for the first time today, I sense an anxiety about the boy. A tense, fearful silence.

He downs the potion quickly - there is not much to drink - and gestures surreptitiously for Arthur and I to drink as well. I take it like a shot, swirling the coppery - bloody - taste in my mouth for an instant before swallowing the disgusting mixture.

Arthur is slow to reach for it. As his lips graze the edge of the goblet, he lets out a pained gasp. I think little of it, for a moment, but the gasp quickly becomes a scream, and more join him, and soon, there is too much noise for me to think.

I fall to my knees, cursing, gripping my ears, trying to halt the cacophony. My skull - no, my brain feels like it’s splitting, like an axe has been buried to the handle in my head. The screams of agony start wailing up from the crowd, children’s screeches piercing through the muffling of my palms. The tree beneath me begins to shake, the Life wailing in hellish notes through my bones, and swathes of broken, brittle wood come pouring down on us, splinters shattering against my head, and all I can think is I’m going to die here.

Tieling Evergreen, you snake-tongued bastard, I’ll take you with me.

As the screams closest to us fade, I’m able to open my eyes slightly, and everything I see is bathed in the furious heat of rage. The unholy prince is the first thing I see, panicked, pouring the last potion down Arthur’s throat, desperation clear as day on his usually calm face.

Through gritted teeth and the worst pain of my life, I rise as well as I can - one knee still firm on the ground, one foot bracing, ready to launch me across the room at this devilish child - and relinquish my grip on my right ear, reaching for a spear one of the guards dropped.

“What... Have you... done?” I can barely hear my own voice, though my throat sears in a pain that tells me I’m screaming harder than I did when birthing my child.

Tieling looks up, eyes wide and full of terror, his rosy skin now as pale as paper and marble and bone and somewhere deep, behind the rage, beneath the fear, at the very core of my being, I know he did not mean to do this.

The excruciating screams down below start dying off as the realization hits, but the tree around us is creaking, dust still raining down on our backs, and further in, a large portion of the ceiling falls. In the seconds it takes me to gain my balance, Tieling has found his feet again, and has started to drag Arthur’s barely-conscious form towards the opening beyond the altar.

He is weak, and as much as I wish to leave him here, beneath the collapsing Godwood, Arthur does not deserve that fate. And he would be devastated if Tieling were left behind.

I leap across the room, grabbing Tieling around the waist in a tackle, and shove him towards the opening. The shock on his face as he stumbles back over the sheer drop is satisfying, for the moment I see it before I turn back to Arthur.

He’s heavier, of course, and wearing thick plated armor. It’s all I can do to heave him over the edge, too, in the hopes that Tieling’s senses have come back to him in time to catch the boy.

I cast one last glance back into the chamber, into the tree, taking note of the corpses that have gone from living, breathing people to decaying skeletons in the last - how long? Minute? It had to be more, it had to be.

It wasn’t.

I take a running leap out into the open air below, and as I fall, I reach for the Life that should be all around - and I find nothing. None of the vines that would have swarmed to my aid, no grasping branches of the trees that would have responded to my call - there is a void around me unlike anything I have ever experienced. There is nothing left to catch me as I fall.

Am I truly to die among the Godtrees, away from my home, away from my people?

I was promised eternity, and this is what I get instead? Betrayal, pain, death - the corpses of my kin strewn everywhere. Every living thing in sight, my Magic, gone.

He said he would stop it.

Tieling Evergreen, I will be wringing your ichor from my hair when I’m done with you.

The silent oath is punctuated by the sudden howling of wind around me, as the boy calls on his Magic - he traded mine to keep his, didn’t he? - too late to catch me.

I land flat-footed on the roof of what was once a guild hall, momentum sending me into a somersault as the bones in my ankle snap and my shoulder hits the shingles with a crunch and I lose consciousness when my back hits the ground below, a final curse on Tieling dying on my lips.

I don’t see the guiding hand of Libin waiting in the darkness. Luma does not shine a gentle light upon my soul. Not even Erra, to whom I have dedicated my very existence, seems to want to help me, for her children do not rise from the soil to bring me home.

Instead, when I open my eyes next, I’m greeted with the sight of the Godtree branch nearest to me crumbling.

I don’t stop to think, to care, about the fact I just landed on my spine, that I dislocated a shoulder, that my ankles can’t carry my weight - I roll to my feet and run. It’s not until minutes later, when Tieling finds me, Arthur hanging from his arm like a child, that I realise I’ve somehow healed from my fall.

When Tieling extends his other hand, I stare at it, and the baby fat that keeps it fleshy still, and the flecks of gold that remain from the potion he forced into Arthur. And I understand.

His face is covered in sawdust and sweat and soot and the paths of tears that still stream from his eyes as he begs me to come with him, to get away. His face, that’s still round with youth and pale with fear.

And a new rage blossoms, one which I cannot ignore, and which will be sated with blood, when the time comes.

“Which one?” My voice rasps with the stick of a dry mouth, and the boy’s confusion grows.

“What? I - please, Queen K’Ron, we need to get to safety.” His voice cracks.

I take his hand. Let him summon the Wind, and whisk us to the cover of the Godtrees that still live. To the outskirts of the city that now burns and collapses and rots in front of our eyes.

We three stand silent, staring, for what feels like hours as Fahrial falls.

Arthur vomits, when the realization hits him. Tieling turns away, tries to leave. Falls to his knees and starts sobbing after a few steps.

I cannot rip my eyes from the destruction. Buildings burn, smoke billowing out from beneath the gargantuan husks of what once were Godwood branches. On the edges of the once-great city, charred bones still reach out from the wave of debris that was unleashed when the tree collapsed. Reach towards us, grasping, frozen in their finite desperation.

At the center of it all, the hollow, rotten bark of the Godtree stands tall and jagged and dead. A single, smoldering shell standing among it’s eternal kin.

Arthur is still heaving, though nothing remains to expel. Tieling has fallen silent, but for his choking breaths. I continue to watch the smoke, even as it begins to die.

The last embers slip away as the evening sun begins to turn golden. As Arthur curls into a ball, holding himself by the knees. As Tieling starts calming himself down.

As I find my voice, finally.

“Which one chose you, Tieling?”

His voice is fragile and hesitant. “Those of Nimia have no names.”

“Do you know her face?” I turn away, at last.

“Yes.” He watches me, eyes hollow, as I step up to Arthur. Knits his brows, when I take the knight’s shield and sword from where they lay beside him. “Why?”

“We will find the nearest town, and bring news of this tragedy. Send a portion of their guard to search for survivors. Recover as much of our wits as possible.” I tighten the shield to my arm with a tug.

”And then you will take me to Nimia, and show me the abomination who chose a child to be the Savior.”

[hyliacursed]

@bransles​​ sent:

✉️ flutters eyes

send “✉️” to read a handwritten letter my muse sent to yours. / accepting!

my most detested octavo,

i'd like to start with my deepest apologies for taking an age to get back to you.  i've been journeying the past several days to the spring of power in akkala;  tomorrow i will be continuing my pilgrimage into faron where the spring of courage rests.  this tiny sliver of spare time i have between traveling i hope to make productive by finally resuming our correspondence...   which i'd also like to apologize still for losing your last letter,  now that i can't tell if anything i'll write is of substance in relation to our past conversation.  just know that your letter was well-read & i've,  of course,  enjoyed hearing from you.  as much as one can be delighted when hearing anything from you,  that is.

akkala has been peculiar.   oh,   i've been so excited to tell you of a traveling bard we met on our way to east akkala stable  ---  he’d worn the most oppressive outfit & sung lyrics that could rival those of that royal poet i refuse to call by name.  truly,  all impression he had successfully made in our six-minute encounter fell flat to the myriad of backhanded compliments &, well, flagrant insults i believe you would've thrown his way had you been on this eye-opening excursion with me.  it goes to perfectly show how much of a terrible influence you are on the most gracious people of hyrule.  oftentimes i think you've cast a merciless hex on my conscience,   infiltrating it with the most vile mannerisms & callous instincts that the goddesses would be ashamed of their destined divine vessel to have.

but i understand better why you do it, somewhat.  that,  or i've honestly become evil & hyrule is well-and-truly doomed in my hands.  you can't blame me.  it's freeing to be uncaring sometimes.   i don’t have the means to be unkind,   typically.   oh,   who am i kidding...   i still tossed some rupees to the bard for his efforts.   he did not deserve that much.

the only person i could ever consistently pester around here is my infuriating knight,   but i fear that one day he might take mercy on himself & finally dice me with his sacred sword shall i poke at him any further,  which is why i've given him his well-deserved rest from my terrors.  but you must know how boring it gets in dreary akkala.  if i can't chase you with a smelly bug in my hands,  what's the point of being outdoors?

i know my duty has barred myself from the liberties that would've allowed me to rollick in the simple joys i've once indulged back at the castle with you.   i've been quite out of touch with the latest tale,  & i still believe it's inhumane of you to deprive me of the most menial of details on my favorite subjects' scandalous lives while i am away.  i sigh,  not even my tone-deaf  'admirer'  has been able to bother me so...  granted,  that must be one of the few good things that has come out of my shackling commitments,  but such thing is the tragic reason why you haven't seen me in many-a weeks.  you must miss me so.  i wish i could've left someone behind to humble you just as i do.

i truly am sorry for not writing you more often.   i swear on my life that i don't hate you...  yet.  i often feel like they try to lock me away from the better parts of life  ---  just when i was beginning to perhaps enjoy the luxuries  ( of which royalty can’t buy )  that i am afforded on our frequent trysts around our town,   they steal it all away just to put me on the mission of a lifetime.  i do miss castle town.  i miss the damp tavern that tried to poison you.  i miss your performances.  i've already forgotten what the music chamber in the castle looks like.  is it still filled with abhorrent snobs such as yourself?

anywho...

'til we meet again,

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 11: A Doctor

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Mrs. Gold seeks some medical advice

Read on AO3 

Her horse thunders down the mountaintop. Cloak streaming behind her, her loose hair tangles in the wind. The leather satchel, in which she carries her most treasured possessions, bounces on her back. She kicks at her horse to make him go faster. Though unused to such urgency, the farm horse neighs and doubles his efforts. They go at a full gallop, bolting away from the castle, their home.

She has to look like she is afraid.

On the road in the forest, she comes upon a prince and his knights. They are travelling up the mountain she is coming down. She has seen this prince before, though he doesn’t know her. Her husband says she can trust the prince and his true love to always do what they think is good. This band of soldiers is armed to the teeth, but they are no threat to her. 

Not if she does this right.

“Oh thank the gods!” she cries when she sees them. Her voice is pitched with fear and relief. “You found me!”

The prince slows his horse to stop and talk to her. “Who are you?” he asks. “Did you come from the castle on top of the mountain?”

“I did!” Tears choke her voice, but her eyes are dry. “I used to live there. The Dark One, he--”

“The Dark One can’t hurt you anymore,” the prince says. He is kinder than most men in his position. “That monster has been defeated. He will never hurt anyone again.”

Behind the prince, the knights nod and laugh in agreement.

Now tears fill her eyes. “Is he dead?”

“He’s captured.” The man who speaks is dressed as a knight, but he has the stature and features of a dwarf. Atop a horse, he is at the prince’s right hand. He seems to speak with authority. “Not even his magic can get him out.”

She shudders. Hopefully, these men will think that she is overcome with terror at what the Dark One has done, and not at what might be done to him. 

“He kept me a prisoner.” She does not lie. “He did things to me, unspeakable things.”

Certainly unspeakable in polite company.

“Then don’t speak of it.” Again, the prince is kind. He could so easily dismiss her, be rude and condescending. But instead he is gentle, considerate. It is easy for a man to show compassion when a pretty girl presents herself as a victim. “You are safe now.”

“Are you going to the castle?” she asks.

“We are.” The prince straightens in his saddle. “We need to find out what other evils the Dark One might have brewing in his fortress.”

“You can’t!” This is far from the most crucial step of the plan, but it is the part she cares about the most. She does not want these men poking about in her husband’s things. “You will take your lives into your hands if you try to invade that place.”

 “We have protections against dark magic,” the dwarf-knight says. “The Blue Fairy herself enchanted our weapons and armor.”

“Is she here with you?” She looks over the knights, wide-eyed in her show of innocence. “Surely such a powerful force for good would want to oversee this victory herself. And of course it would be as safe for her as it is for all of you!”

The prince gives her a careful look and does not answer her question. “How did you escape?”

“Once the Dark One left the castle, nothing stopped me from sneaking out through the stables.” Nothing would have stopped her from leaving the castle even when he was in residence. It was her home and he never forced her to do anything. “But it is much more dangerous to get in than to get out. There are traps and wards and all kinds of dangers to those he doesn’t want to be there.”

The prince furrows his brow. “I’ve come to that castle univintied before.”

“He wanted you there,” she answers grimly. “They say he knows everything, that nothing happens that he hasn’t already foreseen.”

“He didn’t see our trap coming,” the dwarf says.

She covers her mouth so the men can’t see her stern face falter. Her husband saw through their plan to capture him from the very beginning. He practically put the idea into their heads. 

“You have no idea what he is capable of.” She says when she trusts herself to speak without smirking. “Please stay away from that place, for the sake of your own lives.” She looks at the prince. “I am already severed from my husband because of the Dark One’s devious machinations. I would not have any other bride lose the man she loves.”

He sits back at that. “You need to find your love?”

“I don’t know where he is!” Her voice breaks, and that is not a part of the act. “I would give anything to be with him again.”

“Do you know where he might be?”

Sitting on her horse, she is at eye level with the prince. Nevertheless, she makes an effort to look small and weak. Helpless. A damsel in need of rescuing. “He could be anywhere. He might be somewhere in the Queen’s kingdom. And the gods know what happens to people there.”

The prince’s mouth tightens into a hard line. “That woman is not a queen anymore,” he declares. “And that kingdom belongs to my wife.” He turns to his men. “Change of plans! We’re going to escort this young woman to safety. And then we’re going to remember who our real enemy is! We’ll redouble our efforts to take away the witch’s power so she can never hurt innocent people again!”

The knights cheer, all except for the gruff dwarf. “What about the Dark One’s castle? There could be some kind of weapon there that we could use to defeat her.”

“Yes, Grumpy, there might be,” the prince says. “But it could also blow up in our faces. Literally. I, for one, want to look upon my child before I die. We’re going back to Snow.”

On her farm horse, she rides along with the knights and the dwarf and the prince. Later, she is at a castle that is not her home. She is presented to the court. A pregnant woman  dressed in white sits on a throne. Her hair is as black as ebony and her lips are as red as blood. 

Her story is told, her plea for help heard. A talking cricket questions her. Nothing she tells him is a lie. Her husband is gone. She is afraid of the Evil Queen. The Dark One did things to her that none of them could ever imagine. She is good and she seeks a place in this haven they have created. 

A light shines over her. Floating, sparkling, blue light. It threatens to blind her if she looks at it too long or too closely. Through squinting eyes, she can see that the light is really a tiny person. 

No. Not a person. A fairy.

Her husband never had anything good to say about fairies.

The thing looks like a woman. It speaks with a woman’s voice. It flutters around her, examines her. It is trying to see into her soul, to judge whether she is worthy of kindness or trust. 

“You have been touched by dark magic,” the fairy says as it looks her over. “Penetrated by it. Deeply… over and over… everywhere…”

The stakes are too high for her to laugh at what the fairy says. She maintains a stone face.

“But your heart is full of love!” the fairy announces joyfully.  It addresses the crowd. “This is a pure soul, a good person. We must welcome her!”

The court claps and cheers. The woman in white stands to her feet. Holding her belly, she is assisted by the prince and a girl in a long red cloak.

She is embraced and greeted, welcomed to the fight against evil. Someone asks, “What is your name?” 

Before she can answer, everything fades away.

****

It was still dark when Mrs. Gold woke up. Her dream had been filled with light and color and noise. Waking up to blackness and near-silence was a shock.

More shocking, Mr. Gold was in bed with her. She felt the warmth and the weight of him on the mattress. Heard the gentle steadiness of his breathing. It must be early enough that he hadn’t woken up yet.

They had never been the sort of couple who copied each other’s nighttime routines. The trial of two people crowding around a tiny sink to brush their teeth at the same time had never come up in their marriage. Mr. Gold had always kept his own hours, and he allowed her to sleep whenever she wanted to. If her husband wanted her, he had no qualms about waking her up and putting her to work.

But lately, the differences in their schedules had become more pronounced. Sometimes Mr. Gold would stay in his study until she was already asleep. Or sometimes he would have the light turned off before she even came upstairs. No matter what time he went to bed, he always got up earlier than she did.

Almost every morning, she woke up to an empty bed. 

As her dream faded away, Mrs. Gold was left with a crucial memory: Her husband was gone from her. In the dream, the man she loved had been captured or kidnapped. Something terrible had happened to him. He was far away, but she would go to him and get him back. Now, in the real world, Mr. Gold was right next to her.

But she was running out of ways to reach him. 

How long had it been? She didn’t like keeping track of the days. That would just make all the changes in her life more real, and she didn’t want them to be real. If she didn’t know how long it had been, it would be easier to convince herself that it hadn’t been that long. This was just a fluke, a dry spell. It wasn’t as bad as she thought.

She could convince herself of that, until she remembered that Rent Day was this Sunday. Then she knew exactly how long it had been since her husband had last touched her. 

A month.

It had been a month without sex. A month without him. A month without punishments, lessons, or orgasms. A month since the last time she had gotten on her knees and kissed his shoes. A month since Mr. Gold had called her a good girl in that breathless, exhausted way he did when he was really satisfied, when he really meant it. 

A month since he had last looked at her like she was beautiful--or pathetic. Something to be treasured and degraded all at once. Those were always the best times, when he gave her both. Pleasure and pain, affection and malice, hot lust and cold disdain all at once. Perfect whore, he would call her then. Filthy angel, delectable cockslut. 

Mrs. Gold let out the faintest of moans. His voice could always bring her off. Now just thinking of it was enough to make her wet. His voice and his words and the way his lips curled  back like a warning. It always made tension coil inside her, as she waited for those words to become actions.

Before she could do anything stupid, Mrs. Gold pulled her hands up from under the covers. She clasped them together over her stomach on top of the blanket. That was one of the biggest rules: She was not allowed to touch herself for her own pleasure. 

She could tease herself, when Mr. Gold ordered her to. But she was never allowed to have an orgasm without him. Early in their marriage, it had taken her a while to remember all of Mr. Gold’s rules, and even longer to get into the habit of obeying him without question. He had been patient with her about many things, but he had no tolerance for her being self-centered with the body he had bought. 

Even in the middle of this weird patch they were going through, she knew better than to disobey. It wasn’t that she was afraid that Mr. Gold would punish her--if anything, she was becoming afraid that he wouldn’t. But who you really are is who you are when no one else is looking. She wanted to be Mr. Gold’s good girl. 

So she would follow the rules. Even if he wasn’t going to enforce them. She would do it because she wanted to.

She would do it because she loved him.

In the darkness, Mrs. Gold shut her eyes against the tears. She rolled over to her side, so she was facing her husband’s back. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch the soft silk of his pajamas. She wanted to curl up around him, throw her arm over her chest and let their legs get tangled up in each other. She wanted to cling to him and cry.

But she didn’t.

Pain sat heavy in her chest. It made it difficult to breathe. Mr. Gold didn’t like to be touched. And he hated her touching him without permission. Almost every time they had sex, he would make sure her hands were out of the way. Tied together, handcuffed to the furniture, tucked away under her body, or held under his own strong grasp. He could only relax when he knew she was under control. 

Clenching her jaw, Mrs. Gold got on her back again. She wasn’t allowed to touch him any more than she could touch herself. She really should just try to sleep.

But all of her tossing and turning must have disturbed Mr. Gold. While she was on her back, he rolled over to his other side. Now he was facing her. 

He wrapped his arm around her waist, as natural as breathing. Still asleep, he snuggled up to her body. His face buried into the nape of her neck. She felt his lips move against her skin as he murmured, “Sweetheart.”

Mrs. Gold let out a breath. 

The sudden contact--more touch and more gently than she had gotten in ages--brought tears to her eyes. And the words! Had Mr. Gold ever called her sweetheart? Had he ever said anything so loving before? This was like a dream. But she knew she was awake.

She didn’t move. She didn’t dare. She didn’t know how long this embrace would last. She didn’t know how long it might be before her husband touched her again.

Staying as still as she could, Mrs. Gold kept awake until dawn, savoring every stolen moment of her husband’s love. 

****

When she woke again, he was gone. Breakfast was normal. Mr. Gold acted with as much polite distance as he had for the past month. He didn’t seem to remember what he had done in the night. Or if he did, he wasn’t going to talk about it.

Mrs. Gold read the paper aloud, as always. There was a good write-up about the earthquake in the abandoned mines that had happened recently. The mayor’s kid had gotten stuck in a mine shaft and that blonde lady--she was Sheriff Graham’s deputy now--had gone in to rescue him. 

In other news Marco the handyman had fallen off a ladder in front of the hardware store while he was replacing a burnt out lightbulb. He had broken a bone and sought treatment at Storybrooke General Hospital.

“Huh,” Mrs. Gold said after finishing that article. “I never thought of that.”

“What’s that?” Mr. Gold took up the last bite of his eggs and toast. As usual, he wasn’t really looking at her. 

“Oh, it’s nothing important.” Nonchalance was as close to lying to him as she would ever dare. “I just… remembered that doctors exist.” She giggled. “It’s amazing the things you don’t think about. Or at least the things I don’t think about!” 

Normally--or what she used to think of as normally--Mr. Gold would have ordered her to stop playing dumb and tell him what was going on. He would remind her that he knew exactly how stupid she was. She couldn’t fool him by putting on the bimbo act she did for other people.

But today he just made a noncommittal sound and stood up to clear the breakfast dishes. Mrs. Gold stayed seated and let him move around her. She bit her lip and twisted her wedding ring over her finger.

It had been a month. She couldn’t pretend any longer. Something was wrong with her husband. And she had to find out what. 

 ****

The next day, she dressed to impress. Black silk thigh-highs with a line down the back, like old-time Hollywood bombshell. Shiny red heels that would match her red sunglasses. She even got out the black latex bra and garter belt she liked to wear on special occasions. With a tight black dress, cherry red lipstick, and a diamond bracelet, she was ready to go. 

All she needed was a wide-brimmed hat and a cigarette and she’d look like a goddamned femme fatale.

Mr. Gold blinked when she came down for breakfast, but he didn’t mention her outfit. That only strengthened her resolve. She had to get answers, and soon. 

They went their separate ways. Mr. Gold had taken some leftovers for his lunch at the shop. He gave her money and she assured him that she would go to Granny’s if she got hungry.

Her first stop was the drugstore to pick up her birth control. Not that she needed it, but you never knew when things could change. Unlike every other month for as long as she could remember, Mr. Gold hadn’t called in her prescription. When Tom Clark, the pharmacist, realized that she was going to wait in the store until he filled her prescription, he sneezed so hard he nearly blew his nose off. What a stupid little man.     

She killed time until lunch was well under way at the diner. It was a cold day, so she had to spend more time in stores than out on the streets. Even if she didn’t have Mr. Gold’s attention, she could still get a thrill out of the stir she could cause just by walking around in a getup like this. The sunglasses helped disguise the fact that she was watching people stare at her. 

The patio outside Granny’s was empty except for two pre-teen girls drinking hot chocolate. They were huddled up together, playing some sort of hand-held video game. 

“How are we supposed to prove that this is the real sacred urn of Kurain? You know the prosecution is going to want evidence.”

“It’s gotta be fingerprints.”

“But whose?”

She stopped and cocked her head at them. What kind of video game required evidence for the prosecution? Mrs. Gold had an easier time recognizing the girls than she did understanding their game. 

The blonde girl in the lime green puffy coat was Paige Lewis. She was the one holding the device that sounded out a stream of tension-filled music. Her parents owned a large house in New Town. Tim Lewis was an insurance salesman who had a debt with Mr. Gold that he paid extra to keep his wife from knowing about. Of course Paige didn’t have a clue about that. She was a kid, and rich enough to be carefree and happy.     

The other girl was owl-eyed and sallow-skinned. Her brown hair was lank and lifeless. Instead of a real coat, she was wearing an oversized insulated hoodie--the kind a man would wear for hazardous outdoor work. Lexi. Wasn’t that her name? Lexi Paisan. Her father had died in an accident at the cannery a few years ago. The mother, Suzy Paisan, was a waitress and a housemaid here at Granny’s. The rent was never late from them, but Lexi never had new clothes. She always looked cold and hungry.

Today was no exception.

Both girls noticed her looking at them. Paige turned off the game, and Lexi’s mouth dropped open. 

“Damn!” she said, with more energy than her sullen demeanor would have indicated possible. “You look like a million bucks!”

Mrs. Gold snorted and walked over to them. “Not that much, not in this outfit.”

Paige spoke next, “Wait, do you literally have a dress that costs a million dollars?”

“Not one dress, no. But I bet if you added up all my clothes and shoes and bags and jewelry together it would come pretty close.”

“That’s crazy.” Paige spoke like she was the complete authority on the subject.

She looks just like her mother.

Mrs. Gold blinked. Why had she thought that? Paige’s mother, Mia Lewis, was a thin, auburn-haired Realtor with hazel eyes. Paige had a mop of curly blonde hair, beautifully plump cheeks, and dark eyes that sparkled with a specific type of knowing mischief. She was a pretty girl, but she didn’t take after her mother at all. 

Weird. 

Lexi was still staring at Mrs. Gold. “How do you walk in shoes that tall?”

Smirking, she lifted one foot off the ground to give the girls a better look at her heels. “Practice. And your feet get numb after a while.”

“Is that healthy?” Paige asked.

“Nope.”

Lexi nodded her approval. “Badass.” 

Mrs. Gold snorted again. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but never that.”

“How much did those shoes cost?” Lexi asked. 

She didn’t answer. This pair of designer heels had been a gift from Mr. Gold. She had seen an ad for them in one of her magazines and pointed them out to him. He said that he would buy them for her, if she let him make her thighs as shiny and cherry-red as the shoes themselves. When she agreed, he took off his belt and had her lift up her skirt right then and there. Her legs were still bright red when he had finished fucking her, and the bruises had lasted for weeks. 

That was how much these shoes had cost.

Instead of saying any of that, Mrs. Gold put on her widest smile. “Shouldn’t you guys be in school?”

Paige furrows her eyebrows. “It’s Thanksgiving break. We’re off until Monday.”

“Oh.” 

Weird that the major holiday at the end of November could completely pass her by. But it checked out. Thanksgiving was tomorrow. And Rent Day was this Sunday. And it had been a month since Mr. Gold had fucked her. 

“Well,” she kept smiling. “I guess that’s what happens when you don’t go to school anymore! I’ll let you girls get back to your game.” 

****

Inside the diner, every table was full. Mrs. Gold took a moment to survey the scene. Leroy Miner and a few other rough-and-tumble working men lined the bar stools. Ruby Lucas was on the phone with orders for take out. Suzy Paisan walked past with a tray on each arm. And in a booth by the window, Doctors Hopper, Atwell, and Whale were lunching together and arguing.

Perfect. 

Without missing a beat, Mrs. Gold walked up to the table with the best view of the booths. There was already a customer at the table. Keith Sherwood, who never had his rent in on time. He was a younger man, scruffy and unkempt--like almost every man in Storybrooke. He had oddly pursed lips and a chin that looked like a butt. She’d always hated him.

“I want to sit here,” she announced coldly. “Alone.”

And that was all she needed to say. Bug-eyed, Keith swallowed the bite he had been chewing. He nodded vigorously and stood up.

“Yes, Mrs. Gold.”

He held out the chair he had been sitting in, but she walked around to the other side of the table and took her place. Delicately, she pushed away the plate where he still had half a tuna melt and a few scattered fries. 

“Let me clear that for you, Mrs. Gold.” Keith picked up his dishes and silverware and looked around frantically for a place to put them.

“Aren’t you going to tip your waitress?” She examined her fingernails, only slightly disappointed that she was missing the show of Keith trying to grab his wallet while still holding on to his garbage.

Somehow he managed. When she looked up, there were a few crumpled ones on the empty table and Keith was out of sight. 

She barely had time to pull out her purse before Ruby came running out from behind the counter with a pad and pen at the ready.

“Hello, Mrs. Gold! What can I do for you today?”

God, was it only a month ago that she had been shaking down little Ruby for her grandmother’s rent? A lot had changed since then. 

Mrs. Gold did not smile at Ruby. Instead, she placed one fifty dollar bill on the table. “I want a pumpkin spice latte, skim milk.” She set down another fifty. “Burgers and fries for those little girls on the patio.” Another bill. “And when Dr. Whale is done with his ‘meeting of the minds,’ you’ll let him know that his check has been taken care of.” Setting down the last fifty, Mrs. Gold looked up at the waitress’ bulging eyes. “And you will keep this all to yourself. Won’t you, Ruby?”

The cash was in Ruby’s apron pocket so fast it might have never been on the table at all. “Absolutely, Mrs. Gold.”

She rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. 

**** 

As she sipped her too-sweet latte, Mrs. Gold observed the doctors in the booth on the other side of the restaurant. Every Wednesday, the shining stars of the Storybrooke health community met for lunch. Lunch and a ritual re-hashing of the exact same argument every week.

Dr. Atwell was the shortest and oldest of the three men, with gray hair and reading glasses. He had a high-pitched, piercing voice that carried over the bustle of the diner.

“You can’t deny the truth, Archie, and this is the oldest saying in the book: You’re not a real doctor if you haven’t delivered a baby!”

Dr. Hopper shook his head and chuckled good-naturedly. “If that’s the case, then you’re more a doctor than Victor.”

Dr. Whale made a face like he was wounded. “Well, Roy has an unfair advantage! Puppies come out seven at a time!”

All three men laughed. It was eventually agreed, as it was every Wednesday, that they would invite Phillipa Sherman to start coming to these lunches. Then the vet, the shrink, and the medical practitioner could all band together and taunt her for being a lowly dentist.

Shockingly, Dr. Sherman never made an appearance. 

Eventually, they gathered their coats, and Dr. Hopper’s umbrella, and went to the cash register to pay. Dr. Whale was last in line. After a moment of murmured conversation with Ruby, the good doctor looked over at Mrs. Gold.

He began to walk toward her, but before he got to her table she was already on her feet and out the door. 

On the patio, Paige and Lexi were hunched over their game again. The plates on the table in front of them were empty except for smears of ketchup and honey mustard.

Without looking behind her, Mrs. Gold strutted around the corner to the alleyway between Granny’s Diner and the Atlantic Twine and Net store. She leaned against the brick wall across from the dumpster with one foot propped back at an angle behind her. Perfectly casual.

Dr. Whale didn’t keep her waiting long. He followed her into the alley, his usually purposeful stride fumbling a little in this new circumstance. 

“Mrs. Gold.” He kept his hands in his coat pockets, maintained as respectful a distance as the cramped alley would allow. “I understand I owe you lunch.”

She lowered her sunglasses to meet his eyes. He wasn’t bad-looking, if you liked cocky young blondes. Evidence suggested that quite a few ladies around Storybrooke did. 

“You’re doing me a favor just by talking to me, Doctor.” She tossed her hair to expose her neck, watched his genial smile falter into something more serious. How much did he like what he saw?

He cleared his throat. “Is there… something I can do for you?”

 Mrs. Gold pushed off the wall and sauntered closer to him. She made her hips sway as she moved and watched his eyes follow the motion. Slowly, she brought her hand to her mouth, rubbed her thumb over her lower lip. Thank God this lipstick was smear-proof.

“There is something I want to ask you.” She kept her voice breathy, soft. Whale had to lean in to hear her. “But it’s… kind of naughty.”

The noise Whale made in the back of his throat sent a bolt of lightning through her. Not to her libido, but to her ego. Sex appeal was the only power she had, and it had been a solid month since she’d gotten a chance to really use it. 

When Whale was able to speak, his voice was thick and heavy. “I can be naughty.”

Mrs. Gold giggled and reached out to finger the lapel of his coat. It wasn’t bad, a navy blue wool blend. Not as high quality as any of Mr. Gold’s coats, but respectable. And it fit him, which was half the work of looking good in clothes.  

“See,” she said as she closed in the space between their bodies. “The thing I want…”

“Yeah?” They were too close for her to focus on all of Whale’s face, but she could see that his lips were twitching. He was getting excited, but he kept his hands in his pockets like a good boy.  

“I want…” She ran her hand up his collar and stretched out her finger to brush against his ear lobe. “Mr. Gold’s medical records.”

“What?” Dr. Whale straightened up and jerked away. “You--you want what?”

She stood her ground, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re his doctor. He’s my husband. I believe I have a right to know if there’s something wrong.”

Whale ran his fingers through his hair and blew out a long breath. “Oh, that was more effective than a cold shower,” he muttered. Then he looked at Mrs. Gold. “Was that what this was about the whole time?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “Depends on how well it worked.”

“Yeah, but just to be clear,” he said. “This is not a quid pro quo situation, is it? You were never going to deliver on any of that enticing body language.”

“Not unless Mr. Gold wanted me to.”

“And he doesn’t, does he?” Whale looked her over. For the first time since he entered the alley, he appeared to be using his brain. “He doesn’t know you’re talking to me.”

Mrs. Gold swallowed. Then she put on a smile. “It would be very nice of you not to mention it. I’d hate to give Mr. Gold a reason not to trust you!”

Whale opened his mouth, then closed it. He nodded, understanding the way she had set it up. The moment he had walked into an alley with another man’s wife, he had lost any moral high ground he might have ever had. 

“So,” he said slowly. “Whatever happens here… it stays between us. Does that work out for you, Mrs. Gold?”

She stuck out her hand and he shook it. “Deal,” she said brightly. 

Sighing, Whale stuck his hands back in his coat pockets. “I hope you know I can’t just pass out copies of my patient’s medical history.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “I don’t need a paper trail or anything. I just…” she trailed off. She had put so much effort into getting some answers, and now that she had the chance she didn’t even want to ask the questions. 

She took a breath and dug her fingernails into her palms. She had to do this. Her marriage was in trouble and she had to know why.

“I just need to know if Mr. Gold is sick.” When Whale didn’t say anything, she kept going until everything came bubbling out. “I don’t know if it might be heart disease, or somehow his leg got worse or if it’s like a hormone problem or ca--” She choked over the last word, the greatest fear, the enemy that could never be defeated, the war that would never be won or even survived. “Or something worse. And he won’t talk to me about anything and he’s acting strange and we haven’t…” Again she stopped, this time in embarrassment instead of fear. She took off her sunglasses and looked up at Dr. Whale. For the first time in a while, she said something truly honest. “It’s just been really hard for us lately. And I want to know if there’s a medical reason for it.” 

With a deep breath and a small nod, Dr. Whale seemed to come to a decision. He stepped a little closer to Mrs. Gold. Not as close as they had been, but a professional distance. Neutral--not attracted, not repulsed.  

“Mrs. Gold, I need you to understand something,” he began. “The breach of doctor-patient confidentiality is a death sentence for my profession. I could lose my licence to practice and I’d never be able to work again. And I need to work.” His chuckle was tinged with bitterness. “I’ve been a doctor for as long as I can remember and I still haven’t paid off my student loans.”

“How terribly sad for you,” Mrs. Gold said through gritted teeth. She tried not to think about how lucky he was to have student loans. To have even gotten a chance at higher education. Some people’s life savings, including their kid’s college funds, got swallowed up in medical bills. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“That’s what I’m saying, I can’t,” he said. “I can’t tell you about anything that was mentioned in any appointment with your husband. Not without his permission.”

Mrs. Gold felt the pumpkin spice latte curdle in her stomach. “You mothe--”

“But!” Dr. Whale cut her off. “I can tell you if certain subjects were not mentioned. Do you get what I mean?”

“Think about who I’m married to before you ask me again if I understand loopholes.” Instead of any relief or gratitude, all Mrs. Gold could feel was irritation boiling into anger. 

“Right.” He smiled, trying to diffuse the situation. Pathetic. “That being understood, I’m very happy to tell you that I have never spoken to Mr. Gold about heart disease. We’ve never had a reason to discuss hormone imbalances, urological problems, erectile dysfunction--”

“I never said that!”

“Neither did I,” he said with the calm of an ER surgeon. “This whole conversation is about conversations that didn’t happen.” He put one hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye. “And I’ve never spoken to Mr. Gold about cancer.”

She tried to keep her face frozen. But that was hard to do when her legs were shaking. Mrs. Gold closed her eyes and let herself fall back against the bricks. 

She breathed, for what felt like the first time in days. 

He was safe. He wasn’t sick. She wasn’t going to lose him. Not like that, at least. 

“Thanks,” she said softly. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that.”

Dr. Whale grinned. “Best part of being a doctor is making people feel better. That and getting to play God.”

He laughed at his own joke, but Mrs. Gold didn’t react. She was still waiting for her heart rate to return to normal. 

“Listen,” Whale said. “You mentioned that Mr. Gold wasn’t talking to you about things and you were worried. Now, I know we give Archie hell about not being a real doctor, but talking to him does help people.”

Mrs. Gold glared up at Dr. Whale. “I’m not crazy,” she said with determination.

“No, I don’t think you are,” he answered. “But you don’t have to be mentally ill to have problems in your marriage.”

She pushed off from the wall and rounded on him, brandishing her sunglasses under his chin like a switchblade. “Who said anything about problems with my marriage?”

Whale backed out of the alley. “N-no one, Mrs. Gold. But--But it is my job to offer you the best advice I can based on the information I’m presented with.”

“Well you did your job then. Good for you. Do you want a fucking lollipop?”

Before Whale could say anything more, Mayor Mills walked into the mouth of the alley. “What is going on here?” she demanded of them both. “Dr. Whale, did you forget that you have an appointment with my son today?”

Thrown from one infuriated woman to another, Whale had to think for a moment before he recovered himself. “Ye-yes of course, Madam Mayor. Henry’s appointment is at two.”

“And it’s almost one-thirty now.” The mayor had a fascinating way of speaking that turned facts into accusations. “I imagine you want to head back to the hospital so you can review his file before you examine him.”

“Uh, yes. Yes of course,” Whale shook his head. “I definitely don’t want to be here.” He nodded to Mrs. Gold before scurrying around the mayor and all but sprinting down the street. 

“And you.” 

Mayor Mills was the sort of person who was always in charge because it was just so obvious that she should be. She could pin someone to the wall just by using the right tone of voice or raising an eyebrow or putting her hands on her hips. Mrs. Gold knew she wasn’t exempt from that power.

But, when the mayor spoke again, her voice was gentler, almost sweet. It was like she cared. Mrs. Gold suddenly got the notion that the mayor had just as many carrots as she had sticks and that she knew very well how to use both.

“Are you alright, Mrs. Gold? You seem upset.” The furrow of her brow was practically sympathetic. “I hope there isn’t any trouble at home.”

She wanted to say something. Maybe Whale was right, maybe she needed to talk to someone about what was going on with Mr. Gold. And if you couldn’t trust the mayor, who could you trust? But in the back of her head, some voice insisted: No. Not Regina! 

So she didn’t break. She didn’t say anything. Mrs. Gold put on her sunglasses, and for a hot second she felt the way Lexi Paisan had described her earlier. She felt badass.

“Nope,” she lied to Mayor Mills. “Everything’s fine.”   

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Stormlight Archive Character Thoughts - Kaladin

I’ve got piles of thoughts about the Stormlight Archive, and I want to start getting them written down in the lead-up to Rhythm of War.

For people who haven’t read The Stormlight Archive yet - spoilers! (For the first three books only.) If you’re interested in reading the books in future - or, for that matter, if you’re not interested at all and would rather not have them clogging up your dash - you may want to apply some kind of filter to skip these posts.

Kaladin is easily one of my favourite characters, and a lot of that comes from how deeply he cares about people, even people he doesn’t know, and his astounding level of determination. More than any other character in the books, he has to fight for every inch he gets, he has people placing roadblocks in his path literally every time he takes a step forward, and he powers through it all.

Let’s recap. First, at only fifteen years old, he joins the army to protect his younger brother, only 13-years-old, who has been forcibly conscripted due to the town’s brightlord having a grudge against Kaladin’s family. It’s like a sadder version of The Hunger Games, where he can’t even volunteer in place of his brother, just go with him and hope. Soon after their conscription, his brother is forced onto the front lines and killed in front of him.

Kaladin keeps going. He excels in the army and is made a squadleader before he is out of his teens. He spends all his pay bribing officers to send young people who are unprepared for war to his squad, and he protects them; he bribes the support staff to prioritize his men when taking injured soldiers from the battlefield, so they will live. He becomes a legend to his men, who call him Stormblessed. His men are slaughtered by a Shardbearer, a terror that no ordinary soldier could hope to overcome. Kaladin kills the Shardbearer. His commander, the one lighteyes Kaladin still trusted, steals the Shards, slaughters his men to cover it up, brands Kaladin as a slave, and sells him.

Kaladin keeps going. He tries, time and time and time again, to escape, alone or with others. Sometimes he succeeds, briefly. But he is always recaptured, his companions killed. He breaks. He thinks he’s given up. Despite having given up, he tries to save another ill slave, offering medical advice on how he can be save. The slave-traders kill the man anyway. Kaladin is sent to the Shattered Plains as a bridgemen, an existence that is nothing but a painful journey to inevitable death.

He keeps going. He decides, against all odds, to save the men of his bridge crew, who are too beaten down to even want to be saved. He tries to order them to train; they ignore or laugh at him. He tries to inspire them to train; they look at him like he’s crazy. The man in charge of the bridge crew hates him and wants him dead, but is also afraid and in debt; Kaladin puts some of the minimal pay he recieves into bribing him to leave him alone. He tries to buy antiseptic to prevent injured brudgemen from dying of sepsis. He can’t. It costs more money than he will ever have. When the crew go on brudge runs, he stands in the most dangerous place, where he is most likely to die. He runs onto the battlefield, unarmed, to rescue wounded bridgemen from his crew. He heals them as best he can with his limited resources. When the commanders refuse to bring the injured men back to camp because their lives have no value to them, he finds a way to bring them back. The commanders refuse to feed the injured men. He gives up his own rations to feed them, but he’s going to run out of food, money, and medical supplies.

He keeps going. Acting on information from the apothecary, he gets his men assigned to heavy manual labour (which doesn’t make them happy with him) outside of camp and gathers antiseptic from a grass that grows there, to tend his men’s wounds and to sell to the apothecary for profit. He works nights to extract the antiseptic, with the help of a couple other members of his bridge crew. He keeps trying to train his bridge crew so they’re stronger, more practiced, and less likely to die on bridge runs, but many are still too beaten done to have anything to do with it. When he goes to sell the antiseptic to the apothecary, the apothcary tries to cheat him and buy it for a pittance.

Kaladin sees through it the apothecary’s deception, pushes him, and gets a decent price. He uses the money to buy food for his men, Rock makes them stew, and the group finally start to bond. The next day, when he starts training, most of them are willing to participate. Throughout this time, bridgemen kerp getting wounded, keep dying on runs. If this continues, there won’t be enough people left yo carry the bridge. This is intentional on the part of the commanders: they want him to fail, want to deny him any more crew members to replace the ones he’s lost. And then, when he demands more men and can pick one - he picks a one-armed man. Because the man would die immediately in any other bridge crew, and Kaladin is still the person who, when he was a squadleader, had unprepared soldiers sent to his squad so he could keep them alive.

He keeps going. He trains his squad to carry the bridge at their side, so they can use it to block arrows and not be defenseless on bridge runs. He tries this on the next run, because it’s the only way they won’t all die. It works. It also causes the army’s attack to fail, because enemy arches fire at the soldiers and the other bridge crews instead of his crew. And he’s finally told why his men are sent running into battle unshielded and unarmoured. Killing them distracts the enemy from soldiers who have value. He’s been labouring and striving with all his strength to save men whose only military purpose is to die. The commanders string him up in a highstorm to die.

Miraculously, he lives. And he keeps going. Secretly, he begins training his men to fight, in the slim hope that they can excape from the camp, fight off pursuers, and find freedom. On top of this, he starts rescuing and healing wounded men from other bridge crews. Because their lives have value, and no one else values them. And finally, they have a chance to escape - if they walk away and let a losing army be slaughtered by its enemies.

They turn back. A group of people who, months ago, were hopeless, apathetic, and waiting to die, sacrifice their chance at freedom to save men they do not know, soldiers of armies who have never shown any value for bridgeman lives. Men who barely know how to use a spear fight in a battle, a battle against unbelievable odds. (In organizing the retreat, Kaladin manages to take command of men who are stratospherically higher-rank than him, through sheer force of will and level-headedness.) And they win. And thanks to this, they win their freedom. Kaladin’s begun to realize he has powers he doesn’t fully understand.

He’s given immense new responsibilities. Where one he was in charge of maybe thirty or forty bridgemen he’s now in charge of hundreds of brudgemen and soldiers. He learns to identify other leaders. To inspire. To delegate. He considers telling Dalinar about his new powers, and then, just as he’s almost decided, the man who murdered his crew and branded him as a slave comes to the camp, and Dalinar wecomes him as a dear friend. Kaladin tells Dalinar the truth. Dalinar tells Kaladin he has no proof, and all the evidence and testimony is against him; and to all appearances, Dalinar does nothing. Dalinar appoints the man as the new head of the Knights Radiant, the group that Kaladin’s powers genuinely make him one of.

Kaladin keeps going. Despite all of this, he throws himself into a fight against four Shardbearers to protect Dalinar’s son, a man Kaladin doesn’t even like. Against all the odds, he wins. Sering a chance for justice, he demands the right to duel Amaram, his betrayer. Instead, he’s thrown in prison and narrowly escapes the king having him executed (note: Kaladin had previously risked his life to rescue the king from posdibly the most dangerous man in the world). For the second time, he has defeated a Shardbearer, an act that is supposed to instantly make you one of the highest-status people in the kingdom. For the second time, he’s been betrayed and punished for it instead. And then he finds out that the king is also responsible for ‘exiling’, to Kaladin’s hometown, the brightlord respinsible for his brother’s death.

And this is the point where he breaks and decides he’s okay with the king being assassinated. And then, because of that decision, he loses his new abilities and he loses Syl. And he still keeps going, and fights (and kills) a monster out of nightmares to save someone he doesn’t particularly like, and nearly dies doing it. And then, over a space of weeks, he pulls himself together, realizes he was wrong, and stands in defence of the king while still severely injured, about to pass about from blood loss, in a fight he has no chance of winning.

And, oh yes, he does all this while having clinical depression (in addition to some serious situational depression due to the absolute hell that his life is for a lot of the time).

Yes, I’ve skated over a lot of things here, and the involvement of a lot of other characters, but when you put all this together it is amazing. And that, not his powers, is what makes Kaladin a wonderful and intensely admirable character to me. His bond with Syl, and his abilities, are a result of the person he’s continually chosen to be, against constant, unimaginable obstacles. They’re not something that was just handed to him. Do I love his epic moments? Yes. But they work because they’re grounded on the foundation of everything else he’s chosen to be and do.

(I’m hoping to do a separate post focusing specifically on his arc in Words of Radiance, and on Moash’s arc, because there are a lot of nuances there that I want to dig into.)

And in Oathbringer, I love his scenes with the Singers in the first part. He meets people who he expects to be monsters, who both legend and personal experience has told him are monsters, and he empathizes with them and helps them. Because they need it, and because he cares. And I believe that on the long run, that will be a major and important strength, not a weakness. Throughout the books he’s struggled with the question of how you draw a line between the people you’re supposed to protect and the people you’re supposed to kill when there’s no obvious moral difference between the one and this other. I think that’s going to be resolved, and that his capacity for empathy, inspiration and leadership is going to be involved in helping the humans and the Singers to find peace.

[luna-loner]

Gotham Queen: Hazama

So, a while ago, I saw this post where someone, either @assclass-dump or @bea2804 (I don’t remember which one was it, and I am not about to roam through the Hazama tag just to find that one post, so I’ll tag both just in case) point out how Hazama has a unique cape in Koro Q. 

The moment I saw that cape, I instantly thought of one thing: Batman.

That lead to an idea of a Hero!Hazama AU where she was part of the bat-fam, and all because of that one cape.

Anyway, I’ve been trying to think of some Hazama content, and today, I had an idea for a drabble based on that one idea.

***

If she were to be completely honest, seeing the legendary bat-cave was....disappointing.

It was exactly as she'd imagined it: big cave full of fancy equipment, a giant computer, and oh, we shouldn't forget the shiny bat mobile.

Really, what do you expect from a billionaire vigilante?

"Answer the question."

Red orbs met the narrowed white slits of none other than the caped crusader himself. Hazama wondered if this was the notorious "bat glare" that was rumored to send shivers down one's spine. If that were the case, then it was another disappointment. 'He should see my mom when she's in one of her moods.'

Maybe it was just her. After all, nothing came close to the haunting eyes of her own mother as well as the soul-shattering screams that had become the title track of her miserable childhood. In fact, everything else paled in comparison to the devil woman that was her mother.

Hazama shrugged. "I tracked you down, that's it.”

The glare deepened, not that it had any effect on her. 'Maybe I should show him that picture of mom, tell him to take notes.'

"How exactly?" Batman questioned.

"I had help."

"Who?"

'An AI who roams the internet. Oh, and she's been living your big, bat-computer, so that's how I know who you and your sidekicks really are.'

Of course, she wasn't going to tell him that, mainly to get under his skin, but there was a reason as to why she was here in the first place.

"It doesn't matter right now." Hazama spoke, straightening in her seat and regarding the hero with a serious look. "I'm here to help with the tentacled monsters that're suddenly popping up."

The Dark Knight did not seem pleased by that answer. In fact, he was growing irritated with this mysterious girl who had casually strolled in that bat cave like it was no big deal.

"Kirara Hazama." Nightwing stood next to Batman, a tablet in hand. "Sixteen years old. Japanese nationale. Transfer student at Gotham Academy." He looked up to meet the girl's eyes. "Not to mention, you were one of the students involved in that whole assassination ordeal from last year."

Hazama clutched her elbow. A year had passed since Korosensei's passing, but it was still felt so recent, as though that fateful night was only hours ago. Her heart clenched when she remembered the the tiny, yellow orbs floating around them, the feeling of Korosensei literally slipping through her fingers was unforgettable.

And now, her past had followed her all the way to another country; Hazama didn’t know if this was life trying to be funny, but if it were truly the case, then it was an utter, humorless fail. 

Really, all she wanted was to be as far away as possible from her controlling mother, and the opportunity comes in the form of a transfer exchange program. But then one day, she gets attacked by a creature bearing an eerie resemblance to her late teacher. It had everything: the tentacles, the yellow skin, and even that trademark grin of his.

“Koro...sensei?”

Except that grin had been laced with malice, and before the girl could comprehend what was happening, she found a tentacle wrapped around her neck and dangling her in the air to suffocate. 

“Sensei!”   

Were it not for her assassination training, Hazama would not have managed to escape. Those had arguably been the most horrifying seconds of her life, more horrifying than the Okinawa ordeal, where Hazama truly believed herself nearing death’s door. 

“It’s not him.” She breathed, her hand seemingly glued to her neck. “Korosenei would never...”  

And she was right, especially after more and more of these psuedo-senseis appeared on the streets of Gathom city, wrecking havoc in a manner akin to mindless zombies. Hazama didn’t know their origins, but she was deadset on unraveling this mystery. ‘And...’ She bit her bottom lip.

And maybe...by some strange, unforeseeable miracle, he would be be alive.    

Batman scrutinized the girl, her melancholy was not lost on him. The sadness glinting in her eyes was uncomfortably familiar, one that told the story of loss. He may not of read it, but he felt like he already knew the tale.

But that wasn’t the issue at hand. He will eventually learn how this girl managed to track him down, not to mention, do a thorough background check.

But for now, his priorities lied in handling the “Octopus terror” that had plagued Gotham. If this Kirara Hazama person had a solution to this, he was willing to listen, though her words will be taken with a grain of salt. After all, Batman did not trust her, not when she had somehow figured out their secret identities.

“Kirara, was it?”

“Hazama.” She corrected. “I don’t like my first name all that much, so just call me, Hazama.”

The man was silent for a few moments before responding “Very well then, Hazama.” He crossed his arms. “What do you know about these creatures?”

“Not much.” She admitted. “But they’re undoubtedly linked to my teacher.”

“Your teacher?”

“The one we were tasked with killing.” She explained, ignoring the slight ache in her heart. “I know how his past; maybe that could help us get to the bottom of this.”

“Uh...us?” Nightwing spoke up. “Kid, we’re talking dangerous stuff here.”

Hazama raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“What do you mean “And”?” The acrobat questioned irritably.

“Just because you have information on these creatures doesn’t mean you can come with us.” Batman said, regarding her with his notorious bat-glare once more. 

Hazama glared back at him. “You’re going to need me.” She said firmly.

 “I won’t.”

“You will.” She argued. “For a whole year, my class and I were trained on how to kill that octopus.” 

The bat glare intensified. “We don’t kill.”

“Neither do we.” She walked closer to bat until the distance between them was a few centimetres. “At least not when it comes to human life.”

She then pulled out her anti-sensei knife for the two men to see. “This is what I used when I was attacked by one of the monsters. To humans, it’s just a rubber knife.” 

She bent it slightly to prove her point. “But it’s a deadly weapon to those monsters.”

The two heroes still didn’t look convinced.

“We spent a whole year studying that octopus, jolting down all his weaknesses.” She met Batman’s gaze with a determined look. “Like it or not, you’re going to need us.”

Batman narrowed his eyes. “Us?”

“Correct!”

The two men whipped their heads to the bat computer, their eyes widening at the sight of a purple-haired girl displayed on screen.

Ritsu smiled brightly at the two and waved. “Hello!”

The Dark Knight was the first to recover from his shock. He turned back to Hazama, bat-glare ever present.

“I take it this is who helped you, correct?”

The Goth gave him a smug smile. “Yup; and she’ll be a big help in this mission.”

“You bet!” There was a glitch on screen and suddenly, Ritsu was dressed in a female version of Batman’s costume.

Batman was absolutely not amused by this.

“Alright.” He turned back to Hazama. “But once this is over, you both will be answering some question. Is that clear?”

The girl shrugged. “Sounds fair.” She smirked. “But if you’re gonna interrogate me again, you’re gonna need to do better than glaring. Here, take notes.”

She then held up picture and gave it to Batman. Curious, Nightwing leaned closer, then jerked back a second later. 

“Yikes!” He yelled in fright. “What is that?!”

“My mom.” The girl replied casually. “I use this to scare off cat-callers. It’s the one thing my mom’s good for.”

Batman regarded her with a neutral look. “Not the best relationship, I suppose?”

“Nope.” She stretched her arms and walked away.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The Bat asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m starving.” She replied without even looking back. “Your butler said he’ll be making dinner, right? We can’t save Gotham on empty stomachs.” 

Nightwing chuckled slightly. “First Tim, now this Hazama kid.” He turned to his former mentor with a playful smirk. “It’s pretty hilarious how a bunch of kids can easily deduce your secret identity, huh?” 

Batman’s only response was a glare, followed by him holding up the photo to show Nightwing the devil herself.

***

I have no idea what I just wrote...

Question: Has anyone in this fandom ever thought of an AC/DC crossover where Hazama was apart of the bat-fam before?

Because I’m starting to like the idea, especially when I imagine her endlessly trolling the Dark Knight.

Hazama in the bat clan....so many possibilities...Maybe have her be the new batgirl...or take on a completely original mantle...