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the-californicationist · 1 year ago

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Guile & Guilt (Ch. 09)

Soap/Reader - MDNI/18+ AO3 Link

WEDNESDAY — Evening: 2 days until the wedding

The worst part was the pretending. You thought that you’d be in the most pain when you were alone, sobbing in your room, clutching Marlowe like a comfort stuffie, but that wasn’t it. The hardest thing, actually, was smiling when you should be smiling.

No, the hardest thing was staring down at his bed and knowing you had to sleep in it because why shouldn’t you sleep in it? What reason could you tell her that you weren’t able to climb into his sheets and smell his scent in your nose again?

You couldn’t tell her that the softness of his Rangers jersey felt like thorns to you now. You couldn’t tell her why you’d prefer to sleep on the couch, the floor, outside — anywhere but his bed. No. You had to smile, and it needed to be believable. It couldn’t be a masked grimace through tears like you’d been using to get back and forth from the coffee shop and your bed, unable to even make yourself a boiled egg.

You’d come down, as planned, for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night, and the real kicker — the stake that just twisted right into your heart — was that Johnny and his whole team would be down, too. Of course all the hotels (of which there were one) and the bed and breakfasts were booked solid. So, they’d all just crash here, as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing except for you.

You were anything but ordinary. You were desperate for some sort of relief from the pain in your chest. Every time you looked down at your phone, you felt it. You ignored the 47 missed calls and the countless text messages, keeping it on silent no matter what. You’d gotten calls from him, from all of his friends, even one from Ghost. You didn’t return them. You thought he had even come to your door one night, but you didn’t answer it. You couldn’t. All you could do was tell yourself to breathe, to eat, to shower, and to make it to the next hour in one piece so you could get through this wedding without falling the fuck apart.

“You all set in here, babe?” Pidge asked behind you, watching you stare down at the empty bed, “Johnny’ll be here in just a bit so be sure to claim the good side before he does.”

She laughed. You laughed. You sounded crazy.

“Makin’ your favorite tonight. Chicken tikka,” she was talking to you like a parent talks to a child when they know something is wrong but are determined not to pry.

“Thanks, Pidge. I’ll come help in a moment.”

“Alright,” she smiled again and shut the door.

You dropped your bag and waited what you assumed was a normal amount of time before heading out into the kitchen, a brave mask on in place of your face.

She set you to work after you washed your hands, and you were grateful for it. Pidge was talking for you, retracing her steps from her hen do, telling you the parts she couldn’t remember. It was as if everything she’d said to Johnny had just disappeared into thin air, and you wondered how much of that was by choice or by accident. She didn’t even remember you getting a cab.

Now, she was gushing about how amazing her photographer was, and how he was coming down for the walkthrough. You nodded when you needed to nod; you smiled when you needed to smile.

“...told him you’d stand in for me at the altar.”

“What?” You’d missed something important.

“The photographer needs to shoot Hamish and I, but we cannae be at the altar until our wedding, obvi, so I told him you and Lachlan would be the stag and hen for that practice shoot. Is that alright?” She was looking at you like she’d made a mistake.

You shook your head,

“Yeah, yeah. That’s fine. No problem. Whatever you need me to do.”

The front door creaked open and you almost dropped the saucepan onto the floor.

“Pidge?” His voice called through the house.

“In the kitchen!” She called back.

You stirred the sauce.

He must have been staring at you because Pidge made a comment,

“We’re doing chicken tikka. It’s her fav, and I thought she deserved it after what I put her through last weekend.”

“Aye,” his tone was odd, “I’ll go drop my bag. The lads are on their way in.”

You could tell he left the room. It was as if your body could sense it somehow. You wondered if he was staring at the bed. You wondered if it would feel like thorns for him, too.

Why would it?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You screamed inside of your mind. Get it together.

You stirred the sauce. It was the only thing you could do. If someone had tried to take the pan from you, you might have smacked them with it.

Hamish came up beside you with the cream,

“Ready for me?”

“Sure,” you held your spoon away so he could pour it in.

“Smells great. Go sit, lass. I poured you a wine. I’ll make your wee plate.”

You smiled at Hamish and marched yourself over to the table. Price came in and saw you sitting there, and after he said hello to Ham and Pidge, he sat next to you in some sort of act of mercy. Hamish poured him a wine as well and they caught up. Small talk. Just the weather. You performed your vanishing act, becoming invisible.

Until you weren’t.

His eyes bored into you from the hallway as he made his way into the kitchen. He was forced to sit all the way at the other end of the table, as far from you as he could be, next to Gaz and Ghost.

Everyone was chatting, drinking, eating. And you worked hard to be unseen. But, he just kept staring. You felt his eyes when you took a bite, when you dropped your fork, when you wiped your mouth… he may as well have been pinning you down with his huge hands; you were so scrutinized. You felt like you were being dissected, a frog on a student’s desk, your heart plucked out for examination.

What was he looking for? Forgiveness? Wrath? You didn’t know, and you didn’t want to guess. You wanted to melt into the carpet like a fallen ice cube, to evaporate into nothingness so you didn’t have to feel his eyes on you anymore.

Suddenly, you looked up at him, catching him. Only then did he look away. He must have seen something inside of you that answered his question.

You cleaned up the plates, making an excuse to do the dishes while everyone else lounged in the den.

Then, disaster. Hamish cut himself while putting away his knives. Blood rushed out of the cut and down his elbow, dripping onto the counter and the tile. You rushed over with a towel,

“Here, put some pressure.”

Pidge took over for you, and she told you,

“Go check Johnny’s bag. He’s got a wee first aid kit in there, I know he does.”

You looked around for Johnny to make him do it instead, but he’d gone outside to smoke with Price, so you jogged off to his room alone. His bag was on the bed, and you took a deep breath before unzipping it, staying tight to your mission. Then, you spotted the little red kit near the bottom. You pulled it out in a hurry, and the rucksack dropped to the floor, spilling its contents.

“Shit,” you muttered, bending to clean it up.

You tossed all the clothes back in, but you noticed a journal that had fallen out. It was splayed open, its spine facing you. Your hands shook a bit as you went to pick it up. Then, you saw the one thing you hadn’t expected to see: you.

Your face was sketched out in careful detail. There were little scratches of pen for the shadows, and negative space for the highlights. Your eyes were looking off in the distance, and your smile was soft, almost like it wasn’t even there. You looked beautiful.

You couldn’t help yourself. You flipped the page. You found a map, and a sketch with some attack dogs, but in the margin you saw Sonnet 91. You turned the page again. Your face was everywhere. Your body, your eyes, your hands… you were scattered across the paper in bright blue ink. Then, Sonnet 145. Coffee stains and what may have been blood marred the masterpieces he had left behind. You flipped again, and it was you. Pieces of Sonnet 29. Then you. You were on every page. All of the images of war and maps and guns disappeared and now it was just you, you, you.

Your heart slammed into your mouth and you couldn’t breathe. You thought of golden sunrises across the Urzikstani desert half a world away, imagining him sitting on the open tailgate of a Humvee with this book open in front of him. You thought of how closely he had watched you for months; how his hands had traced the curves of your body so beautifully sketched before you. How he had noticed the three freckles on the side of your eye, the ones you thought no one could see.

You shoved the book back in the bag and ran back into the kitchen, first aid kit in hand.

Pidge noticed something was wrong.

“You alright, hen?”

“Just squeamish,” you feigned nausea, pointing to Hamish’s blood.

Johnny came back in from the porch, looking at you, distress creasing his brow,

“What’s happened?”

“Hamish…” You gestured at the injured man, pointedly avoiding looking at Johnny.

“Don’t like the sight of blood, thief?” Price asked, using your nickname. In your periphery you could see Johnny stiffen at the comment, but no one else seemed to notice. Price continued, suggesting, “Why don’t we go for a walk.”

“Thanks, John,” Pidge smiled at him, glad that he could tend to you as she was tending to her fiance.

You let yourself be led out of the house through the front door. Price had you by the arm, none too gently, you thought, and walked you into the cool night air, wrapping his jacket around you and shutting the door.

He was relighting a fat cigar, letting the smoke linger in his mouth, walking slowly, aimlessly down the path, without a destination in mind, leading you nowhere.

“Are you alright?” He asked, knowing the answer.

“No.”

You weren’t sure why you told him the truth. He was just going to run back and report to Johnny. But, there was something in his eyes that made you think he genuinely cared, and you so desperately needed someone to care.

“Have you listened to his side of it?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

You didn’t answer. You wanted to say no, but something stopped you.

Price stopped walking, his boots scraping in the gravel of the path, his bright blue eyes icy and a little sad.

“Listen,” he frowned, “I’ve known Johnny a lot longer than you. I’ve seen him broken. I’ve seen him scared. I’ve seen him mad, and drunk, and happy, and beaten… but I’ve never seen him like this.”

You crossed your arms in his jacket, trying to find some warmth. Suddenly, you felt Price’s finger dig inside of the neckline of your shirt. You almost knocked his hand away, but he put up his other in a sign of peace. And when he found what he was looking for, he smiled.

He’d pulled out Johnny’s dog tag from beneath your shirt, and you knew you’d been caught. Price held the coin up to you like the sacrament, discovering your shame, bringing your sin out into the open. In that moment, you wanted to bend down on both knees and take it into your mouth, and you wanted him to make you whole again with it.

“This isn’t like him,” he said, the porch light made the silver gleam, and it blinded you for a moment, “He’s generous enough with his smiles and compliments, but he doesn’t give freely of himself. Not like this. Would’ve thought you’d known. He’s kept himself hidden all this time. But, not from you.”

You cried. You didn’t want to. You bit your lip and furrowed your brow. You swallowed your spit and tried to breathe through the tears, but they came anyway. He held you to his chest, and you knew his tee shirt would be wet from your weakness, but he kept a steady hand on your back, regardless.

He tucked the tag back into your shirt and it lay cold against that spot between your breasts; the same spot Johnny had kissed you when he’d taken your guilt from you the first night you’d been together, there, in his bed. You thought Price would make some sort of face, some judgment. But, he didn’t. He simply walked you back inside and held the door for you.

You went through it on your own accord, and Johnny’s eyes were the first thing to greet you. He raked them over you like a forest fire, burning you from roots to boughs, seeing Price’s jacket over your shoulders and lingering on it for a while until you handed it back to his captain.

“All covered!” Hamish chuckled, holding up his bandaged finger to you, “Sorry, babes.”

You smiled,

“No worries. I think I’m just tired from the ride in. Gonna lay down early.”

Pidge caught your attention,

“Don’t forget, you and Johnny have to make it before two. Pictures are at two.”

You nodded, retreating to what used to be a sanctuary. Now, it felt more like a cell.

Your goal was to get to sleep before he could join you. You knew it would be too suspicious for him to follow you into his room, so you had the advantage of time. How strange it was to avoid what you had been craving.

You climbed into the sheets, and you did your best to ignore all of the memories that kept rushing back. The smear of her purple lipstick across his soft earlobe haunted you like a ghost.

THURSDAY — Midnight: 1 day until the wedding

He came in as quietly as he could, but you woke up anyway. You tried your best to pretend to be asleep, keeping your breathing heavy and long. It was pitch black, and when he sat on the bed, you heard the familiar creak of the coils.

He pulled the covers back, he fluffed the pillow, he took off his watch, and then he just… laid there.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting he would do. Wake you up? Demand your attention? You’d shut him out completely. He knew his company was unwanted.

The dark voice laughed at you in your head. It knew the truth. It wanted him to fight for you. It wanted him to beg for your mercy. It wanted him to take you in his arms anyway, despite your protests. It wanted him to ignore your wishes. It wanted the animal in him to claim the animal in you, to remind you that you were his woman and that he could do with you as he wished.

But, he wasn’t an animal. He was a man, and he respected you enough to stay on his side of the line.

It was only when he thought you were well and truly asleep that you felt his finger graze the metal chain of his dog tags on the back of your neck, not heavily enough to wake you, but enough to feel that they were real. You wondered if Price had ratted you out or if Johnny had noticed himself. You thought it was the latter, knowing him.

You passed out eventually, listening to the sound of his quiet snoring, your pillow soaked from tears that had spilled out across the bridge of your nose. Tears he wouldn’t be able to touch.

THURSDAY — 2:00PM: 1 day until the wedding

Saint Patrick’s church was quaint, and the interior was minimalistic compared to other Catholic churches you’d visited before. There was something sort of liminal about the space, as if it were unfinished. You wondered what it would look like when it was full of people.

You were standing at the altar, fake bouquet in hand, pretending to be a blushing bride. The photographer was very much in charge of this ordeal, and he was as outspoken as he was confident.

“Okay, perfect. See? She’s perfect. Can you be perfect, too, Mr….?”

“It’s Lachlan. Lachlan Black,” he reminded him for the third time.

“Ugh, okay. Lachlan. If only you were a little more memorable, but my brain just — whoosh!” The photographer, Gary, made a little noise and a motion with his hand like a bird flying through a window.

“And you’re just too damn tall, you know that?” Gary sighed.

He looked around the room, appraising all of the bridal party like a dealer at an auction, looking for the solution amongst the chaff. Then, he waved Hamish up from the front pew, getting him to stand. Gary looked him up and down, and motioned for him to sit again. With a snap of his fingers, he said,

“Hey! You. Mohawk. What’s your name again? You know what — that’s enough names actually. Mohawk will be groom instead. Nice and tall, but not too tall. Yes, yes… okay, thank you, Lachlan… buh-bye.”

You were face to face with Johnny at the altar.

You felt the panic make your blood rush into your cheeks. It was hard to catch your breath.

Of all the times you’d imagine being at the altar with Johnny, this was certainly not it.

You stared at your fake, paper bouquet and prayed in your mind, loudly, for a sudden plague. Toads, rivers of blood — whatever you’ve got, Heaven! Throw it down here, please. You begged for a miracle or a smiting. Either would do.

The Lord did not oblige you.

“Okay… better! Yes, this is much better. Cute. Can you scooch in a bit, mohawk? She doesn’t bite, I don’t think.” Gary winked.

Mohawk scooched in. You dared to look up into his eyes, and when you did, you knew you made a mistake. You were trapped in him and he was trapped in you. You felt like you were frozen in place, unable to breathe or speak or scream, no matter how badly you wanted to.

You had a whole conversation with him in the span of those few seconds. You asked him why he’d been covered in someone else at the bar. You begged him to give you some evidence that you hadn’t seen what you saw. You told him about all the nights you’d lay awake, about all the times you’d thrown his tag into the corner of your room, only to crawl on your hands and knees to retrieve it, clutching it to you and feeling sorry that you’d done so.

He was telling you something as well, but you couldn’t hear him. He was screaming it, you knew that much, but it wasn’t loud enough.

Gary interrupted you,

“Okay, hold hands around the bouquet, pretty please…”

He grasped your hands, and it was so familiar, you almost melted into him. By some magical power, you held yourself together, but as the camera clicked and flashed, with every moment you lost a little more control.

“...annnnnnnd now the kiss? C’mon. We’re all adults here. This lighting is shit — forgive me, Father — and I can’t deal with the actual money shot being trash. Today, people!”

You hesitated. But, Johnny didn’t. He seemed to set himself, his mouth in a tight, resigned line, and then he held your face in his hands, just as gently as he always did. When he kissed you, he really kissed you. He didn’t fake it for the cameras, and he didn’t hide his passion from Pidge or any of the others. You couldn’t help but kiss him back, letting him guide you as he liked, his big jaw shaking a bit as he let go.

“Perfect! Okay, and now the happy couple is smiling at the crowd…”

Gary took a step back into the aisle, and Johnny held up your hand in the air in mock triumph, posing for a gleeful moment that didn’t exist. You looked right at Pidge, but she was laughing at something Hamish had said, fully oblivious to the war raging right in front of her face.

“Alright… well, I don’t know if I’d call that smiling, necessarily, but here we are. Okay. Mohawk, you’re done.”

The way Johnny dropped your hand made you feel like you were on fire, as if he could no longer stand to hold you, or like he had been burned. It was sharp, and you weren’t sure what you were expecting. Did you want him to linger? To profess his undying love in front of his sister and ruin her one special day? You didn’t. So you let his absence cut you like a blade, severing you like a limb from a tree.

THURSDAY — 7:00PM: 1 day until the wedding

The rehearsal dinner venue, the Auchentoshan Distillery, was gorgeous. Johnny had spared no expense on the stylings, and there was food everywhere you looked. The cakes were elegantly plated, the roast hung shining, its drippings making the shank glitter, and even the boiled potatoes made your mouth water.

Johnny had obviously arranged the table settings a few weeks ago, because you were sat right next to him and Price, across from Gaz and Ghost. Pidge was two seats down, and the rest of the girls were across from her and Hamish. Lachlan and the other groomsmen were on the opposite side. But, other than for the initial dinner, you hadn’t been made to sit by him much at all. He mingled around the room, talking to everyone except for you, making sure all of the cups were filled and all of the faces were smiling.

He was an impeccable host. His charisma was electric. And he looked upsettingly handsome. He wore a kilt tonight, one of his hunting tartans, with a sharp button down embellished with gleaming pearl buttons. His shoulders were bursting through the fabric, pulling it taut against his wide back. If you looked carefully enough, you could imagine where his tattoo peeked through.

Gaz cleared his throat, whispering low,

“Have you talked to him, then?”

Your eyes tore themselves away from Johnny to stare at Gaz. You checked over your shoulder to see if Pidge had heard him, and he glanced at her, too.

“No.”

Ghost spoke at full volume, not caring who heard him,

“Are you going to?”

Price dropped his fork so that it clattered on the plate, giving Ghost a chastising glare.

“She’ll talk to him when she’s ready to talk to him, and it’s none of our bloody business.”

You didn’t hear much else out of Gaz or Ghost, but as they chewed their food, you could tell that they didn’t believe Price for one damn second. It very much was their bloody business.

And maybe it was. Price had certainly made it his business on your walk last night, and it seemed like your relationship with Johnny was slowly becoming everyone’s business. You had tried your best to return to that same old invisibility you were used to, but it wasn’t enough now. You felt like you were on full display.

“Excuse me,” you got up and fled to the bathroom.

When you opened the door, you saw Bekah and Anjali inside, freshening up their makeup.

“Hey!” They said in high-pitched unison.

“Hey,” you replied, inching by them to get into the stall.

“Where’d you disappear to the other night, babe?” Anjali called out to you through the door.

“Just got too drunk. Took a cab,” you told her, hoping that would end the conversation.

“Fuck,” Bekah laughed, “That was me, too. Did Cherise tell you about that bloke at Max’s?”

“No,” you said, captivated like a prisoner.

“Arsehole thought he could put something in my drink. Soap saw him and beat him within an inch of his fuckin’ life! You should’ve seen the man. Needed a damn doctor, so he did,” Bekah confessed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you said, genuinely. Bekah was not your friend, but she didn’t deserve to be assaulted.

Anjali laughed,

“Soap had to carry her out! She was stumblin’ all over the road.”

“Wasnae my fault!” Bekah protested, “But, he was a gentleman. Drove me home. Him and Gaz.”

“Oh, that Gaz is fine, no?” Anjali interrupted.

“Aye. I thought Johnny might kiss me back, just this once, but he still didn’t. That lad is harder to wear down than the goddamn Pope, I swear. I’ve given up.”

“Didn’t you sleep together?” You asked, torturing yourself.

“God, no! He won’t have any of us. Pidge thinks he has, but I’ve never slept with him. Definitely would though,” Bekah gushed.

“Hasn’t Cherise?” Anjali asked.

“No! Cannae believe it. All this talk for being a big slut and he’s a choir boy,” you could hear Bekah’s voice get louder with her disbelief.

“Shame,” Anjali lamented.

“Aye, a shame,” Bekah agreed, “Was he a good kisser? He looked it. You were quite a pair up at the altar. Maybe he’d go for you, hen.”

You pulled open the stall door and joined them at the sink. Your hands were trembling.

“Babes,” Bekah noticed, “Are you alright? You havnae seemed well since the hen do. You’re working too hard for this wedding.”

“I’m alright. I think I just need some fresh air,” you smiled, pushing your way out of the door.

When you walked back into the main hall, everyone was standing. A waitress with a tray found you and handed you a glass of champagne. You moved to the side around the crowd to see what all the commotion was, and it was Johnny. He was standing next to Pidge with his glass raised high, clinking it delicately with the side of his fork.

“Alright, alright. Settle down,” he smiled at his sister, “I know Lachlan is the one supposed to be up here haverin’ about Hamish, but he was kind enough to give me his go because I needed to talk to my sister.”

His eyes found you and settled there, no longer scanning the crowd. You watched him take a breath before he continued,

“If you dinnae ken me, I am Johnny MacTavish, Sergeant of His Majesty’s Special Air Service —” he was interrupted by proud applause, “Uh, thank you. And I am the younger brother of our darling Brigette here. While I was away, Pidge has taken care of my life for me. She took care of our ma when she was ill, and she buried our da without me. She managed to keep the wee house from fallin’ into the river, and still she has time to volunteer at Saint Mary’s children’s ward on the odd weekend.”

More applause. He paused and went on,

“All that to say, my sister doesnae need anyone. But, love isnae about need. It’s about choosin’ to be with a person who makes you feel like you can be yourself, that you can confess to all the desires and the wants and the hopes and the fears that you have inside of you, and you know that they understand you. They see you for who you are, and they love you for it anyway.

Love isnae patient, and it certainly isnae bloody kind. It loves to boast! And it falls prey to envy. Love is in a rush, and it eats you alive from the inside out. Love isnae about needing. It’s want, pure and simple. To Hammie and Pidge, may you live a hundred years, and may you want each other endlessly in each of them. Slàinte mhath.”

“Slàinte mhath!”

You drank your champagne, numb and panicking.

Someone shoved a small microphone onto the strap of your dress, clicking it in place, and you stared down at it while everyone else stared at you, waiting.

You breathed into the mic, listening to your breath come through the speakers. You wanted to talk to him, to tell him you’d learned the truth. But, you were surrounded, literally, by all of his friends and family. There was no worse time for your truth-telling. So, you tried to lean on the speech you remember preparing, mashing it together with words that kept pouring from your heart.

“Hello,” you tried out a smile, “I’ve known Brigette for years, and she is the only real family I have. I’m not Scottish. I know the accent gives it away,” some polite laughter, “But, I’m wearing the MacTavish boar around my neck because Pidge welcomed me here with open arms and took me in as if I had been here the whole time. Like it was the most natural thing to do. She’s selfless in all the ways you should be, and she always promised that I would have a home with her. And I love her dearly for that.”

You spoke directly to Johnny, just as he did to you,

“I’ve been thinking about selflessness, and about making promises. I’ve been thinking about the type of man who does the right thing, even when it’s hard. I’ve been thinking about the type of man who breaks a promise when he needs to break one, and I’ve been thinking about the consequences of our actions. But, when you love someone, the consequence is just… more love. There’s really nothing else, is there? You could get a shovel and dig until you reach the bottom of the earth looking for them, but there are no real consequences when you’re in love. It trumps… everything.”

You paused for a long time. Johnny was captivated by your eyes, hanging on every word, and you’d been silent for too long. You said, directly to Pidge,

“So, I hope, when you’re wondering if you’ve done the right thing or not, and you’re digging around for the consequences of that, I hope you just keep pulling out more and more love. Just love all the way down. Forever. Cheers, to Hamish and Pidge.”

“Cheers!”

You finished your champagne and walked over to Pidge. Everyone was applauding and talking loudly again, laughing and sharing their own joys about the happy couple. You were overwhelmed, but you wanted to see her.

Pidge held out her arms and folded them around you, clutching you tightly to her chest, whispering I love yous and thank yous into your skin. You kissed her on the cheek, whispering to her,

“I’m gonna step outside for a moment, are you alright for now?”

“Yes! Go. Take Johnny with you. When he gets sappy, he starts to hover,” she swatted Johnny away as he leaned in to kiss her, fighting through her protests.

She gave in, melting into him and smiling as he planted a kiss to her cheek.

“I love you, Pidge,” he said to her, not letting her go.

“I love you, too, Johnny-boy. And I’m sorry for all the mean things I’ve said. You’ve changed. I dinnae ken what’s gotten into you, but all this…” She looked around at the reception hall, “All this has made me realize that you finally see me, you finally see what I’ve been going through, and I’ve been unfair. Thank you, brother.”

He kissed her forehead, trying to blink away tears as he did so, lingering with his lips on her skin before removing himself from her embrace.

“C’mon,” he nodded at you and took you by the hand, right in front of her, leading you out to the back courtyard.

The distillery was situated right next to its water source, north of the River Clyde, and the waters churned from a pump run by the whisky makers. The flow of the water was invigorating and challenging, but the calmness of the lake itself was still and quiet; a dichotomy. It was the same within you, a roiling, tumbling sea of glass, ready to shatter.

Johnny turned and looked at you like he knew what you would say. As he approached you, slowly, he held up his hands, trying to hide that they were shaking, offering peace, carrying no weapon, for once. You unfolded your arms, still clutching yourself around your waist, waiting for him to prove you wrong, for him to confirm the truth you’d overheard from Bekah.

“Are you willing to hear me now, thief?”

“I already heard,” you said, “From Bekah. And I saw your journal.”

He was speechless. All of the things he’d planned to say to you had dried up, and now he was left chewing on their remains. He put his hands on his hips and looked out at the water,

“I’m so goddamn in love with you, it hurts.”

He pinned you with his gaze, then. Watching you take in his confession. He continued,

“It hurts when I wake up, and it hurts when I go to bed. I dinnae ken how to stop it from hurtin’ like this. Feels like I’m burnin’ up, like I’m on fire inside of me. And when you left me, I…” he had trouble forming the words, “I wasnae… I couldnae ken how bad it would be. It was worse, somehow, and I was prayin’ to whatever god that would hear me for some sort of mercy. And I had none. Until I saw, or I thought I saw…”

He came closer to you, reaching around your neck and pulling out his tags just like Price had done. His eyes shone with unshed tears.

“You made me hope.”

He took your hand in his and held it tightly, as tightly as he dared, and looked you right in the face,

“I didnae sleep with Bekah, nor Cherise, nor Anjali.”

“I know.”

“I didnae want to, either.”

“I know.”

“I’m in love with you, mèirleach.”

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Johnny used his tags around your neck to pull you into him, kissing you harshly, not allowing you to let go. You kissed him back, pressing at him with your tongue, tasting the champagne in his mouth, feeling his shaven face bristle against your smooth cheek. He moaned into you, speaking to you in a low whisper,

“Please, mèirleach, forgive me.”

“Johnny, there’s nothing to forgive.”

He hugged you to him and you rested your head against his neck, finally able to relax into him after days of being on a knife’s edge.

But, you were distracted by the sound of a loud knocking against glass. You turned back toward the distillery and saw Ghost tapping on the huge floor to ceiling window and pointing to a microphone in his hand. You looked down and realized you never handed them back the mic from your speech. You were still wearing it, and the red light was on.

You showed it to Johnny, stunned by your own idiocy. He spun to see Ghost waving slightly, and the rest of the wedding party — hell, the whole distillery — standing behind him in shock

+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Chapter 10 (Ending)

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #john soap mactavish #soap call of duty #johnny mactavish #call of duty #cod #soap x you #soap x reader #soap smut #soap mw2 #soap mctavish #soap cod #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #cod soap #guile and guilt

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daenysthedreamer101 · 8 months ago

Text

Daughter of Steel and Bronze ~ HOTD

Ch 8 - Crossroads

HOTD x Targaryen!OC, eventual Targaryen!OC x Harwin Strong

Warnings: Daena does not like the Hightowers, Daemon complaining about Rhea, cursing

Corresponding episode: HOTD 1x2

HOTD masterlist

"Half a year later after the passing of Queen Aemma Arryn, His Grace decided to take a new wife. The chosen one was Lady Alicent Hightower. No one was more shocked by this decision than the King's daughter, Princess Rhaenyra. It is said she stormed out of the Small Council Chamber with tears in her eyes.

Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, also poorly took the news. He had offered his own daughter, Lady Laena, as a candidate. He resigned as Master of Ships and went back to Driftmark, furious.

The King's niece, Princess Daena, also disagreed with the choice. It is said she frowned the entire time and stared angrily at the Hand, Ser Otto Hightower. If anyone had any reservations about how the Princess felt about the Hightowers, their doubts were confirmed that day."

(Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros, by Archmaester Gyldayn)

112 AC, King's Landing

Six months have passed since the tragic death of Queen Aemma. Six months have passed since Prince Daemon was disinherited as heir to the Iron Throne and banished from the capital. Six months have passed since Daena last saw her father.

She started this day differently - today she was to choose two ladies to be her ladies-in-waiting. She was now 14 years old. "Almost a woman grown", Septa Marlow kept nagging in her ear.

"Two more years, and I won't have to listen to her annoying voice ever again." Daena thought as she walked to the weirwood garden where the get-together was being held.

She went dragon riding in the morning, as she always did on the first day of the week. As soon as she returned to the castle she was immediately rushed to the gardens. She thought she would have more time to clean herself before meeting the ladies. Hopefully, no one would mind the smell. Dragons were not the most pleasant-smelling creatures, Daena learned.

"Well, I suppose I'll just go like this." She thought as she entered the garden - just from one glance she could see at least two dozen young girls and women waiting for her.

"Oh, Gods, help me!" She murmured as she stood frozen. All the ladies turned and stopped talking. She could see there was a long table and an empty seat at the head of it. "That's for me, surely."

She walked quickly to her designated seat. "My ladies. Please, sit." She said and gestured. They followed her words, and everyone sat and waited for her to speak.

Daena cleared her throat. "Firstly, I want to thank you all for coming here in such high numbers. I'm honored that so many of you wish to be my ladies-in-waiting. Unfortunately, there are only two spots. Now, shall we begin?"

For the next three hours, Daena conversed with all the ladies. She quickly dismissed certain girls - Lucinda Lannister was the first to comment on an unpleasant smell in the air. Once Daena explained that it was her, the little lioness blushed and apologized.

Ultimately, she narrowed her choice down to four ladies - Leyla Merryweather, Violet Mooton, and the twins Joy and Hanna Strong. Leyla was a sweet girl, though a bit too young, she was only 13, even younger than the Princess.

After further deliberation, Daena chose the two daughters of Lyonel Strong. In the years to come, this would prove a wise decision.

Once she was finished choosing her future handmaids, Daena desperately wanted a bath. On the way to her chambers, she bumped into Rhaenyra who had a satisfied smile on her face.

"Cousin!" Daena greeted as she hugged Nyra.

Nyra sniffed her. "You went dragon riding without me?" She asked, pretending to be hurt.

"I did it this morning," Daena explained.

"Yet you're still in your riding suit?" Nyra questioned.

Daena chuckled. "It's a long story. All you need to know is that I now have two handmaids."

"Oh? And who might they be?" Nyra asked with raised brows.

"Joy and Hanna Strong," Daena revealed.

"Lord Lyonel's twin daughters?"

Daena nodded. "I like them. They're so similar, yet so different. I knew I had to have them both."

"Interesting. Well, Lord Lyonel is a good man. I'm sure his daughters will be the same." Nyra commented.

"Yes...Anyways, your spirits seem particularly high today."

"I chose Ser Criston Cole to be the newest knight of the Kingsguard...and my sworn protector."

It was now Daena's turn to raise brows. "The cute Dornish knight? The one who bested my father?" She asked with a sly smirk.

Nyra smirked, rolling her eyes. Daena chuckled at Nyra's expression. "I'm just jesting, cousin. All in good fun."

"It was good seeing you, cousin, but I have to go now," Rhaenyra said. Daena tilted her head in confusion.

"Where are you going?" She asked. Nyra looked away, avoiding Daena's gaze. Daena could see she was playing with her rings - she always did that when she was nervous.

"Rhaenyra?"

"...I'm going to the Sept...with Alicent."

"Oh...Well then, have fun, I suppose..." Daena mumbled awkwardly and walked away. Rhaenyra sighed in frustration.

After bathing herself and making herself presentable, she once again ventured into the gardens of the Red Keep. She arranged a meeting with the Strong sisters, so that she may further assess them and their personalities.

Once she reached her destination she was greeted by the twins who curtsied slightly. "Please, my ladies." She took a good look at them - both girls were slender with small waists, long dark curls, and big brown eyes. They were comely girls of 17 summers. Any man would kill to have a bride like that, Daena thought.

Joy wore a flowy, forest green gown and her hair was loose, with a couple of braids at the top. Hanna wore a more structured, dark burgundy dress and her hair was up in a complicated Southern style.

"Forgive me, my ladies. I still don't know you well enough. You look so similar. How am I to differentiate between you two?" Daena asked politely. The girls, seemingly used to this question, took no offense.

"I have a mark beneath my left eye, Princess," Hanna said, her voice soft and airy.

Daena looked a bit closer. "Oh! You really do! Well, that should make things easier."

"You'll learn, soon enough, that I and my sister are worlds apart. She's the sun and I'm the moon - complete opposites yet so similar." Hanna added.

"My little sister is just being dramatic. You have to forgive her, she has a tendency towards melancholy. She's been reading too much poetry." Joy added in jest, her voice high and beautifully girlish. Hanna rolled her eyes.

Daena chuckled. "It's all right, I enjoy reading as well. Tell me, why do you think you two would be the perfect handmaidens for me? Why should I choose you?"

"From the little time we've spent in your presence, Princess, I could tell you are someone who values honesty and loyalty. I can tell you right now you would be frustrated with the likes of Lucinda Lannister. What you need are friends, good and kind ones, who have your best interest at heart." Hanna elaborated.

"And how do I know you have my best interest at heart?" Daena inquired.

Joy and Hanna looked at each other. "Princess, we, like the rest of the Realm, wept when our beloved Queen Aemma died. We have heard how close you were to her. We also know that there's a...bit of a rift between yourself and Princess Rhaenyra." Joy stated.

Daena furrowed her pale brows but remained silent. Joy continued. "We know that she's fond of the Hightower girl. Through our father, we also know that the Small Council is currently pushing His Grace to remarry."

"What are you implying?"

"You're still young, my Princess, and it may have slipped your notice, but we have been hearing rumors - ones that include the Lady Alicent. Servant gossip, I thought at first. But over the past six months, we have heard from multiple servants, that Alicent Hightower has been visiting and spending time with His Grace. Alone." Hanna revealed, her voice hushed.

Daena took a deep breath. If what the Strong sisters were saying was true, it would mean that Otto Hightower has been scheming to make Alicent Queen ever since her dear aunt Aemma died.

"We know it's a lot to take in. We're telling you this so that you may warn Princess Rhaenyra. Maybe she could somehow influence His Grace. Ser Otto is on the move and he is very close to victory. Without your father in the capital, there's no one to stand against him." Joy told the young Princess.

"We know Ser Otto is...less than fond of your father and by extension, yourself. Our father told us how worried Ser Otto was when you claimed Vermithor, saying that such a young child shouldn't be in control of such a beast. You must believe us Princess, we truly want what's best for you." Hanna stated, her voice full of honesty and compassion.

Daena nodded. "I do. I do believe you. Everything makes sense now. Ladies, you have truly proven yourselves. I'll see to your admission personally."

She hugged each sister and bid them goodbye. She would have lots to talk about with Rhaenyra.

The following day, Daena decided the best course of action would be to fly to Dragonstone. Her primary mission was to inform her father about Ser Otto's schemes. The second reason she wanted to go was to see her father. Ever since the death of Queen Aemma, she hasn't seen him and they've exchanged only a few letters in the following months.

She was dressed in her black riding suit with black leather boots on her feet. Her long silver hair was neatly braided into two plaits. She also wore dainty amethyst earrings on her ears and the heart-shaped pendant her father gifted her, though the latter was covered by her suit.

As she was walking through the halls of the Red Keep she saw Rhaenyra pacing toward her. She looked distressed. Nyra grabbed Daena's hand and dragged her into her bed chambers.

"Nyra! Wait! What's happening?" Daena asked confused as Nyra closed the door of her room.

"Daemon stole my brother's egg! He sent a missive saying that one of his whores is pregnant and he will take her as a second wife! And now, Ser Otto is going to Dragonstone to retrieve the egg." Nyra revealed, her voice laced with anger and her eyes full of hurt.

Daena closed her eyes and sighed. Her father could truly be a menace. She knew this was all a farce. He stole the egg to provoke His Grace and get his attention. She didn't even know what to think of him taking a whore as his wife. She knew he disliked her mother and that they mutually despised each other. But this was simply too much.

"I'm sorry," Daena said quietly.

Nyra looked at her with furrowed brows. "Why are you apologizing for your father's provocations?"

Daena sighed again. "Because you don't deserve this. Neither does Uncle Viserys. My father can be... difficult to deal with. I know he is doing this purely for attention."

Nyra took Daena's hand into hers. "It's alright, Daena. I don't blame you."

Rhaenyra looked into Daena's lilac eyes. They were full of emotions - frustration, guilt, and something else. Her face was scrunched up almost like she was on the verge of tears.

"....Daena?"

She looked away and walked to the window in desperate need of fresh air. She put her hands on each side of the wall, trying to stabilize herself.

"Daena, what's wrong?" Nyra asked, worried.

Daena shook her head, her throat tight and her eyes welled up with tears. "I'm sorry, Nyra. I'm so sorry."

"What in the Seven Hells are you talking about?"

Daena turned her eyes toward Nyra. Now or never, she thought. Then, she told Rhaenyra everything.

Dragonstone

Daemon was looking out of the balcony of his room which gave him a clear view of the sea. He sipped on his wine when he heard the unmistakable roar of the Bronze Fury. Then, through the thick clouds and fog that surrounded Dragonstone, Vermithor emerged.

"Who is that?" Mysaria asked, her Lysene accent thick. Instead of answering her, he put his wine down and walked outside to greet his daughter.

Mysaria followed him, her white gown flowing behind her. They walked to the front of the castle, where in front of the gates stood a young girl with long silver hair. "Is this that niece of his he's been talking about?" Mysaria thought.

The girl stared at Daemon and a wide smile appeared on her face. She ran to him and threw herself at him. He caught her, stumbling backward a bit, and smiled. He kissed the top of her head and held her face in his hands. "Little dragon, what are you doing here?"

"I've missed you." The girl said, her voice full of emotion. There was something in Daemon's eyes that Mysaria couldn't quite understand. This wasn't his niece but his daughter, she concluded - the way he was talking to her and looking at her was too fatherly, too parental to make sense.

The girl kissed Daemon on the cheek and turned her face toward Mysaria. Her round, lilac eyes were identical to Daemon's, and her skin was as white as ivory, Mysaria observed. The girl looked her up and down, judging her.

"Who is this?" The girl asked, her voice laced with contempt. Daemon put his arm around the girl's shoulder and started petting her head, almost like he was pacifying her.

"This is Mysaria. My lover." Daemon explained. The girl's brows furrowed slightly and her plump pink lips pouted, making her look even younger. She hummed in acknowledgment but made no effort to greet Mysaria.

"Mysaria, this is my daughter Daena." Daemon introduced Daena and Mysaria bowed her head slightly.

"Father, I wish to speak with you. Alone." Daena said, emphasizing the last word.

Daemon glanced at Mysaria who took the hint and left the two Targaryens.

Daena followed her father to his room where they could speak freely.

Daemon sat down and once again started sipping his wine. Daena stood on the opposite side of the table, the sunlight illuminating her silver hair.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"We both know what I am talking about. You stole Baelon's egg from the Dragonpit and you plan to marry...her. My mother is very much alive unless you've forgotten." She bit back, her frustration with her father growing by the second.

He sighed and lifted his legs on the table. He is acting like a child, she thought. "I don't like your mother. I'm sure you're aware of that."

"She doesn't like you either."

Daemon chuckled at his daughter's words. "You truly are my daughter." Daena rolled her eyes and walked closer to the table.

"I'm not here to argue with you. I have more important information that I feel you should know."

"Yes?"

"The Small Council is currently pushing Uncle Viserys to remarry. Recently, I've found out that ever since Aunt Aemma died, Alicent Hightower has been visiting His Grace, alone."

Daemon's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"I know, I was shocked as well. I told Rhaenyra before flying here. She was furious, to say the least."

"Where did you get this information from?" He asked.

Daena smirked. "I have my sources."

The royal ship has docked on the shore of Dragonstone. Daena followed her father down to the bridge. He was in the front, she to his right, and on his left was Mysaria. Behind them were the Goldcloaks.

Once they made their way to the middle of the bridge, Daena could see Ser Otto on the other side. With him came many people - Ser Harrold, Ser Criston, the Grandmaester for some reason, and knights and dragon keepers.

"Welcome to Dragonstone, Otto." Her father greeted her after many seconds of silence.

Ser Otto told Daemon to leave Dragonstone, give back the egg, disband his army, and banish Mysaria.

"Ser Crispin, wasn't it?"

"Ser Criston Cole, my Prince."

"Ah, yes, apologies. I couldn't recall."

"Perhaps my Prince recalls when I knocked him off his horse."

Daena hated to admit it, but that was funny. It seems her father shared her sentiment because he chuckled at the knight's words.

"This is a truly pathetic show, Daemon. Are you so desperate for the King's attention that you've resorted to skulking about like a common cutpurse?"

"I'm simply keeping with the traditions of my House, the same as my brother did for his heir." Her father responded.

"Those traditions are for the trueborn children of royalty, not for bastards fathered on a common whore."

"Lady Mysaria is to be my wife."

"You already have a living wife. And she gave you a child. You can't just replace her."

"I wish I could." Her father responded and she had to control herself to not say anything. It seemed that Ser Otto noticed that.

"And you, Princess? What are you doing here?" Ser Otto asked her.

Daena didn't think anyone would talk to her. "Simply visiting my father. I don't believe that's a crime."

After exchanging more harsh words, swords were pulled out. A whistle could be heard in the air. Daena knew who it was instantly. From behind a wall of stone and rock, Caraxes appeared and sat on top of the bridge.

He screeched, and Daena couldn't help but smirk at Ser Criston's bewildered face. Ser Otto told his men to sheathe their swords.

Then, from beneath the thick fog, Syrax appeared, and on top of her was Rhaenyra. Everyone, save for Daena, seemed to be shocked by Rhaenyra showing up.

"Take care not to startle Syrax, my lords. She's rather protective of me." Nyra said and walked toward Daemon.

Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged words in High Valyrian.

"You already have a wife." Nyra pointed out.

"Not one of my choosing." Daena could only roll her eyes at her father once again bashing her mother and saying how he didn't choose her. Nyra questioned how that had anything to do with him stealing the egg.

"You shared your cradle with a dragon when you were born. I want the same for my child."

"You already have a child. I suggest paying more attention to her instead of provoking my father." Nyra bit back. Daemon seemed taken aback by her words and glanced at Daena.

Daena gave her father a pointed look and decided she had enough. She turned away from all of them and walked away, ignoring her father's calls. She walked and walked until she saw the big bronze beast lying on one of the cliffs near the castle.

She walked up to him and started caressing his scaly face. He opened his big amber eyes and looked at her. He could sense she was upset so he pushed her lightly with his big snout. It was his way of comforting her.

"Jaelan naejot sōvegon. Jaelan naejot nārhēdegon se ōdres isse ñuha prūmia. Gūrogon nyke qrīdrughagon, kostilus." (I want to fly. I want to forget the pain in my heart. Take me away, please.) She whispered, her voice cracking.

He grumbled in response and shook his head, almost like he nodded to show he agreed with her words. She climbed up and chained herself to the saddle. "Soves, Vermithor." (Fly, Vermithor)

He screeched, ran to the end of the cliff, spread his massive tan wings, and dived down. The cold sea wind hit Daena in the face and ruffled her hair. She wasn't sure if the tears in her eyes were from the salty air or the ache in her chest.

King Viserys was in the Small Council chamber, having a private conversation with Lord Lyonel. They talked about Viserys taking a new wife and how Lady Laena was the best choice. Then, the door opened.

Ser Steffon Darklyn walked in. "Your Grace. Princess Rhaenyra and Princess Daena have returned from Dragonstone."

"Dragonstone?" Viserys said, confused.

The following morning, a meeting was held in the Small Council chamber. Rhaenyra reluctantly went, seeing as she was the Cupbearer. To her surprise, Daena was also invited. The two girls were currently making their way to the chamber.

Rhaenyra wore a pretty, golden-colored dress, in honor of her dragon Syrax. Daena wore a short-sleeved, copper-colored dress with scale-like embellishments made of thin bronze strings going across the chest and shoulders. The front of her hair was pulled back in a braid, while the rest flowed freely like a river of silver.

They walked into the chamber and His Grace and Ser Otto were already there. What surprised Daena was that Alicent was also there, standing next to her father. This only cemented the fact that what the Strong sisters told her was correct.

Daena's mind swirled with thoughts but was pulled out of them by Rhaenyra's voice. "Daena, come here."

She walked over to Nyra who was standing on the side, in front of the serving table which was covered with bowls of fruit, goblets, and wine. The doors opened and the rest of the Small Council walked in.

"Good morrow, my lords." His Grace greeted the people present and walked closer to the table. "I have decided to take a new wife."

Daena noticed how Lord Corlys perched up in his seat at those words and a smirk appeared on his face. If what Daena thought was correct, the Sea Snake was about to experience a massive disappointment. She prayed to all the gods above that she was wrong. "Please choose Laena, please!" She screamed internally.

His Grace looked at Rhaenyra who gave him an encouraging smile. Daena knew the smile was fake and that Nyra was seething inside. After hearing the rumors, Nyra was rightfully shocked and in denial.

Nyra denied it at first, saying that Alicent would never lie to her like that. Daena pointed out to her that this was a calculated move by the Hand to put his blood on the Throne and make House Hightower more powerful.

"I intend to marry...the Lady Alicent Hightower, before spring's end." His Grace revealed.

Daena couldn't help but sigh softly and close her eyes in disappointment. She shook her head, both her mind and body disapproving of the choice. She looked up at Rhaenyra whose entire face fell - her violet eyes were full of hurt and betrayal. Alicent looked mortified and started picking at her nails and a look of guilt washed over her face.

On the contrary, Ser Otto never looked happier. Daena couldn't help but wonder what would happen if she jumped across the table and started choking him with those stupid chains around his neck. She wished her father was here, he would easily chop that snake's head off with Dark Sister.

"This is an absurdity. My House is Valyrian, the greatest power in the realm." Lord Corlys stated, his voice filled with anger. He stormed out of the chamber in a fury.

Nyra's lip trembled and her eyes welled up with tears. "Rhaenyra." His Grace called out to her but she didn't respond. She quickly walked out of the chamber.

"Daena." His Grace called to his niece. She didn't realize that this whole time she was staring angrily at Alicent and Otto. Her uncle's voice pulled her back to reality. She gave him a look of disappointment and shook her head.

For a moment, Alicent thought Daena would truly spit fire upon her with how intense she was looking at them.

At that moment she looked like the human embodiment of the Bronze Fury - her lilac eyes were filled with the fire of injustice and betrayal, and her copper dress flowed behind her like wings as she stormed out of the room.

***

We finally meet the Strong sisters! They are going to be important characters and will become close allies of Daena/Rhaenyra. As we can see Daena is pissed about Uncle Vizzy choosing Alicent.

The next chapter will introduce our favorite man, Breakbones, can't wait for him to finally be in the story, it only took me 9 chapters lol

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon #hotd #house targaryen #hotd fanfic #hotd masterlist #daena targaryen #my original characters #my oc stuff #asoiaf oc #hotd oc #targaryen oc #westeros #young rhaenyra #rhaenyra targaryen #prince daemon targaryen #young alicent #anti otto hightower

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