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celtigxr · 3 months ago

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The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. ii : Familiar Strangers

Chapter Summary: The King and his family greet and welcome their guests of honour in the Throne Room, but someone is a bit late.

Word count: 3217

Sneak Peak: ��My brother isn’t very competitive,” Aegon came to his side, the back of his hand hitting Aemond’s shoulder in jest before folding it in front of him. “Though, mayhaps that will change this season, eh, brother?” Aemond had to turn his head to glare at Aegon, “If you are competing, dear brother, mayhaps I will.” Aegon’s grin never faltered. That infuriating grin that haunts Aemond’s every insecurity was like the smile of a great white shark that approached its prey. Aegon extended his hand in front of them, “You remember Valeana—"

Warnings: Fatph0bic remarks.

T H E R E D S

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The Throne Room was just as Val remembered, though smaller. She had memories of towering ceilings, and a throne sitting on a mountain of swords, but perhaps that was a fever dream. The Iron Throne was still intimidating beyond all sense, with its sharp edges threatening to slice anyone who dare sit on it. Then there was the garden of swords that were smelted onto the ground around it. It made King Viserys a lot more frightening than he actually was.

When the Celtigars entered the Throne Room, it was led by Bartimos, his lady wife on his left, and Clement on his right. The three daughters and Arthor walked behind until they approached dais, where the four of them flanked their sides. The entire family all fell into a deep bow and curtsey before the King and one half of his family.

“Your Grace, we are filled with humility and privilege at your most honourable invitation,” Lord Bartimos spoke, his voice professional, courteous, as if he was not addressing an old friend. His eyes, however, were filled with nostalgia and conflict.

“Bartimos Celtigar!” The King sat up from the Throne, mouth in a wide smile, hand extended while his other used his cane to step down closer to the family. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Valaena turned to watch the exchange between her father and the King. She stood at the far right, after Arthor who stood next to Clement. Her eyes briefly roamed over the room, glancing at the green queen and her Hightower-Targaryen children. Well, two of them.

The corner of Bartimos’ mouth twitched, his face fighting to remain stoic and regal, but his nature was desperate to be familiar, as he once was with Viserys. There was so much tension in the room, that the rusted swords of the Throne cut through it. Valeana tried to keep her eyes trained onto the King, but she found herself glancing back at the fair-haired prince and princess, and noting that he wasn’t there.

Then Aegon glanced at her, and she pulled her gaze back onto the King.

“You look well, your Grace,” Bartimos’s eyes darted down and back up, “You’ve gotten…”

Viserys lifted his chin and eyebrows, the corners of his smile twitching upward, “...fat?”

“I was going to say you’ve gotten your hair back.”

“Wish I could say the same for you.”

The two men stared at each before breaking into a fit of laughter. The tension was lifted. Shoulders loosened, muscles relaxed, and breath was released from lungs.

After embracing in the way men do, King Viserys went down the line of each Celtigar, beginning with Lady Ursula, and then moving onto Clement, the heir, who Viserys had not seen since he was an infant.

“Gods, you are a giant,” Viserys clapped his shoulder. “The Blood of Old Valyria runs strong in you, my boy, I can see it. It’s like staring into the face of the Conqueror.”

“My Lady Floris, you have grown into a fine young woman. The spitting image of your beautiful mother.”

“And do my eyes deceive me, or is this little Shyla? Gods, I remember when you were just a little thing, dancing around my corridors like a butterfly.”

“Ah, you must be Arthor. You were just a babe last time we met, but I’d recognize those large brown eyes anywhere. I always knew you would become a strapping lad – you remind me of your grandsire, Lord Frey. He had a strong jaw like yours.”

When his lilac eyes landed on Valeana, his features seemed to change. There was some confusion, and then a tinge of pain and regret, but not until after he put the pieces of the puzzle together. Not until he realized who he was staring at.

“Valeana,” he spoke her name as if he was reading an epitaph etched on a tomb. His four-fingered hands reached to cup her cheeks, thumb running just under her eye, “I see your mother in your eyes.” His voice was wistful as his hands moved from her face to her shoulders, “Your presence has made me a very happy man. And–” He looked over his shoulder, to his children, finding that his one-eyed son was still not in attendance. His mouth fell into a firm line as the words were lost into the wind. He turned back to Valeana with a rueful smile, “Well, let’s not get into it now. I am sure you are all tired from your journey– you’ll be staying in your old apartments. I hope you’ll find yourself at home as you all once had in the past.”

Before the Celtigars were led through the familiar route to Maegor’s Holdfast, there were brief, albeit awkward, greetings with Queen Alicent and her two eldest children. They made no mention of Aemond’s absence, though Val preferred it and would have thanked them for it if it was appropriate. She politely stood between her two brothers, silent, demure and polite.

The Targaryens, who were once a second family to her, were now strangers in front of her.

The King, Queen, and the Lord and Lady Celtigar went on up ahead, catching up on years lost, and left the youth to their own devices in the corridor.

“It is good to see you again, Lady Valaena,” Heleana’s gentle voice reached her ears for the first time in ten years. She had memories of the princess sitting on the floor, examining bugs, or spending hours with Val embroidering. Helaena was not like her brothers or nephews; as children she lived in her own world, preferring the company of insects than to people. Val did not understand why until the day she preferred the company of stray cats and mice over people.

“It is a gift you’re still with us,” The princess added, and her choice of words felt intentional. They held meaning, they held knowing, and Val wondered what exactly she knew about what happened to her when she returned to Claw Isle.

Valeana’s mouth hung open, a complete loss of words for a moment. Licking her bottom lip, which felt dry, she gave the princess a small smile and a nod of her head, “I am glad to have reunited with you, my Princess.”

Aegon’s voice caught their attention; he stood nearby, having given obligatory greetings to each member, though his demeanor was blasé until he got to Shyla. His eyes sparkled with the shameless playfulness that Valeana remembered him for.

“Lady Shyla Celtigar,” he took the youngest sister’s hand and gave a kiss on her knuckles. Her cheeks bloomed roses, her eyes looked up at him like glittery topaz gems under the light of the sun. “You’ve grown to be the very image of the Maiden. I do not know who to thank more, your mother or your father.”

“Oh Seven Hells,” Val could not help the words from falling from her lips. She knew her sister, she knew how easily her heart sways, and the look Shyla was giving Aegon when he turned to look at Valaena was the same way a hungry cat would look at a fat pigeon.

Aegon regarded her like an old toy he was nostalgic over. Odd, considering he held no love for her, if anything he was the bane of her existence. While Aemond’s cruelty was from betrayal, Aegon’s was more blatant, brazen and frequent.

He stepped closer to her, hands pulled behind his back, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Little Val. Looking very little indeed.”

Val pursed her lips and lifted her chin in an attempt to level her eyes with his. “And how can I forget you, my Prince.”

“So formal,” he tutted, “We were friends once, remember?”

Val furrowed her brow, “No we weren’t.”

“Valeana,” Floris hissed, overhearing the conversation. She immediately turned to the prince, “Forgive her impertinence, my Prince. She has forgotten herself after all these years. Her injury forced her into isolation for such a long time– politeness and etiquette are lost to her now.”

“Oh, what a tragedy,” Aegon’s sarcasm wasn’t well disguised.

“You can thank your brother for that,” Val’s tone was dry in her jest. She had forgotten whose company she was in. Her siblings' eyes were on her as if she had just committed treason, but Aegon’s smile reached his eyes before he barked out a laugh.

“Why don’t you thank him yourself?” His violet gaze looked over Val’s shoulder, and that was when she felt an icepick go down her spine.

T H E G R E E N S

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When Ser Arryk (or Erryk, he can never tell which) had found him, drowning in his cups with a maid on his knee, with clear instruction from his father to meet the family in the Throne Room to greet the Celtigars, Aegon very nearly did the opposite. He thought of fleeing the castle, into the bowels of the Street of Silk, never to be seen until this Royal Conclave farce was over with. He was already betrothed to his sister (as far as he was aware), and should have long ago wedded and bedded her, siring silver-haired and purple-eyed Valyrian children, but King Viserys would not see it happen. With his health improving, his mind became less weak to the influence of Aegon’s mother and grandsire.

Viserys had his heir, and many grandchildren to inherit the crown and throne. Unlike what his mother wishes, what Otto Hightower alludes to, Aegon will never inherit the crown. He did not wish to… He had no taste for duty. However, if marriage to a noble lady of the realm was the extent of his duty, then all he asks is for her to be nice on the eyes. He supposed Helaena was attractive, but when he looked at her, he did not see anything other than his strange sister. He had no desire for her.

However, when the King had announced that the Celtigars would be one of two guests of honour at the Keep, Aegon had an unsettling realization that Viserys may have intentions to marry him to one of the Celtigar daughters. A shudder went down his spine at the thought. Perhaps Helaena would be the better option.

He was old enough to remember when they left King’s Landing, his memory far more crystal clear than any of his nephews or siblings who were younger at the time. The Celtigar sisters were not pleasant creatures. The eldest, the Grafton girl, reminded him of one of those preying-something bugs with large eyes that his sister carries in tiny cages. The youngest one had no eyebrows, giving her a massive forehead, and the third… Well, she was fat.

Aegon remembered her to be so robust that some thresholds were far too narrow for her to go through without her sides brushing each side. He even remembered the sight of her taking a fall down the stone stairs and how he couldn’t look away; it was horrifying, seeing the rolls of her thighs ripple as they flew over her head, flashing what might have been her twat, Aegon wasn’t sure. But it was also hilarious – of all fifteen seconds before he heard the snap. Then it went back to horrifying.

There was little news of what happened to little Val after that. Last thing he heard was that, despite the Grand Maester righting her leg back into position, she was still incapable of walking, and guards had to bring her around on a litter. Aegon doubted that her inability to move would have done anything for her size – so he fully expected to meet a whale on a settee when he entered the Throne Room.

Aegon for once in his life, was glad he wasn’t getting lost in the Street of Silk. As he stood on the dias before the Iron Throne, he found himself a little bit excited. His hands were clasped behind his back in an attempt to hide his fidgeting fingers. Floris looked the same as he remembered, only older, more pinched faced, but tall. He was surprised how much Shyla grew into her appearance – eyebrowless and all, she still flowered well. Though Aegon found himself at a loss of words for the fair-haired sister, standing at the end of the line, next to her two brothers.

Valeana Celtigar was still the shortest of her family, but she was no longer the most horizontal. Perhaps her breaking her leg was the best thing that could have ever happened to her.

When she caught his eye and immediately looked away, Aegon couldn’t help but grin to himself.

Oh Aemond, he bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. You fool. You poor, late, one-eyed fool.

“Why don’t you thank him yourself?”

The devil in which they talked about had finally arrived, his gait languid, unrushed like a billow of smoke. He had changed, as per his grandsire’s request when Otto intercepted him, which is why he had not made it on time. Though, truly, he was in no rush and had hoped that he would find them all gone by the time he got there. Yet Aemond caught their guests just as they exited the Throne Room, catching his brother’s eye over the shoulder of a fair-haired lass.

“Thank me for what?”

The faces that turned to him were familiar strangers. Clement, he hadn’t met, but knew of, and Aemond suspected the other lordling with the dark hair to be Arthor. He recognized Floris and Shyla immediately, since their most characteristic features had not dissipated with time. The young maid with the head of fair hair before him turned to him like a stone statue trying to move on its own. He did not recognize her at first, he did not regard her initially, not until viperous green eyes met a regal violet one. Aemond faltered, his eye widening from surprise. He immediately tried to cover up by relaxing the muscles in his face.

Eyes that once looked up at him full of warmth and fondness, ones that would light up a room and a space in his chest whenever he had said something that made her laugh. The last time he saw those eyes, they were wide, glossy with fear and betrayal before they disappeared into the back of her head.

Now they looked at him with something that set his hot Valyrian blood to ice.

Indifference.

“Prince Aemond,” Clement stepped to his sister’s side, then placed his shoulder in between the two. It was the only thing that pulled Aemond’s gaze off of her. When his eye was not on her, he was himself once more. “We didn’t see you in the Throne Room with your family.”

“A keen observation, Lord Clement,” Aemond tilted his chin up at the eldest. He found that he loathed having to look up at someone, least of all a Celtigar. “Nothing gets by you, I see.”

Clement’s tight lipped smile betrayed the boil of his blood, “Glad to see you still can.”

“Hm,” Original. “Pardon my tardiness. I was in the middle of training when I received word of your house’s arrival.”

“I’ve heard you’re quite the swordsman, Prince Aemond,” Floris approached her step-brother’s side. Her long-fingered hand placed on his forearm, a way to calm those clenching fists. “Will we see you compete in the tourney?”

Aemond’s eye flickered to her and then back at Clement, “I have thought of it.”

“My brother isn’t very competitive,” Aegon came to his side, the back of his hand hitting Aemond’s shoulder in jest before folding it in front of him. “Though, mayhaps that will change this season, eh, brother?”

Aemond had to turn his head to glare at Aegon, “If you are competing, dear brother, mayhaps I will.”

Aegon’s grin never faltered. That infuriating grin that haunts Aemond’s every insecurity was like the smile of a great white shark that approached its prey.

Aegon extended his hand in front of them, “You remember Valeana— Where’d she go?”

Sometime in the midst of the tense interaction, Valeana Celtigar had slipped away. Aemond had been actively trying to pretend she was a part of the tapestries, lest he get caught in her viper pit of a gaze. Then his brother had to bring up her name; he had to bring up the elephant in the room, the reason why tensions were high and why Clement was trying to spear him with his glare alone.

But she was not there.

Even her own siblings were confused by her disappearance.

T H E R E D S

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“Get away from me, you pig!”

It was a mistake for her to come. She knew this weeks ago, but her arms and legs were chained to duty, and Valeana had no choice but to let her father lead her into a den of dragons. It took all her will power to look at him, to keep her eyes trained to stare right through him, as if he was just another servant that filtered through the halls. If it weren’t for Clement stepping in front of her, she would’ve broken. Her eyes would’ve watered, forced to look away out of shame and fear.

Valeana had thought her feelings for him were long gone, replaced with resentment and dislike, but she was quickly reminded of how much she used to love him. With her needle and thread, she spent years trying to sew back her heart, and with one look, one reminder of the colour of his eyes made those seams break.

She heard of how he lost his eye, and at the time she found it truly fortuitous, until she found out what he had gained in exchange. Seeing it in person reminded Valeana of how she had yet to be repaid by the gods for what she lost. Aemond Targaryen did not pay for what he did to her, not truly.

These feelings came rushing back to her in those brief seconds, and Val needed to flee and collect herself. She took advantage of the discourse and the shield of her brother’s broad back, and slowly retreated until she was part of the shadows, where she shared a look with Arthor. Her half brother didn’t say anything when she rounded the corner, didn’t even regard her with concern or reprimand.

Arthor Celtigar, the forgotten son, was so used to shadows, he had grown accustomed to being a spectator. He never lived in the Red Keep, and held no nostalgia over childhood friends he never had. He was only seven when his sister returned with a lame leg and a cloud of despair over her head. Being bound to Claw Isle while his father and sisters remained at King’s Landing had made him indifferent to his siblings, particularly his sisters. He was raised by a Frey mother, in the mighty shadow of his half-brother, Clement. Eventually, he became one with the shadows, like a spider in the corner that no one sees.

But Helaena Targaryen saw him, and she saw his sister fly down the corridor like a bat out of a closet.

He supposed that he would no longer be the only spider on the wall.

Tag: @queen-of-elves

(if you want to be tagged for new chapters, just reply!)

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

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teriri-sayes · 8 months ago

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Reactions to Chaos Creator's Chapter 267

TL;DR - Cale and Alberu tease each other. Cale meets Pope Kesilia. Raon is curious about DHB's name. Raon's friendliness warms Kesilia's heart.

The Teasing First half of the chapter was Cale and Alberu teasing each other.

Alberu: In that virtual world, levels have a huge impact. Even if Rank 1 Ahn Roh Man is on our side, it's only proper for me to become as strong as possible. That way, I can carry you, CH, and Raon. Raon: Human, what is carry? What are levels? Alberu: I'll tell you more when you return to Roan. But let me say this. This place, this place is really… It's a new and huge world. As if several worlds came together. Cale: You're having fun now, right? Alberu: … Cale: It's fun, right? Alberu: … Cale: You're having fun so you pull all-nighters, right? Alberu: … *smiles* Cale: You look awkward, so don't smile. Alberu: You truly are irreverent. Cale: For The Irreverent Emperor to say that, I truly appreciate it. Alberu: …

Cale calling out Alberu for saying he was irreverent/disrespectful when Alberu's in-game name was The Irreverent Emperor was so funny. 😂 The sarcasm in Cale's words as he says that line while using polite language was just 🤣🤣🤣

Cale: You tend to work hard at everything, don’t you? So, as you played, you probably learned about the fun of the game. Anyway, since you are the one handling it, take care of yourself. Alberu: Cale Henituse. Aren’t you speaking too casually? feels annoyed Cale: Not really. I say this out of utmost respect and consideration for the crown prince. Could it be that His Highness the Crown Prince also- Alberu: ??? frowns Cale: grins Would you like to faint and collapse like me? Oh, will you have a nosebleed? I don't know if this will make you healthier. Hahaha! Raon: Human, human! The crown prince's pride looks very hurt right now! Cale: Hahaha! gets more excited upon hearing Raon's words Alberu: … I've come to my senses. Pfft. Cale: (Hmm? Why is he suddenly smiling suspiciously? Why does it make me feel upset?) Alberu: Cale Henituse. Do you think that is possible? Cale: … Raon: I don’t think the crown prince will end up like my human! Hong: That’s right! That’s what our youngest said! On: The difference between exercising and not exercising is quite big. You can't compare to the crown prince. If His Highness needs to be compared to someone, a knight is the best. Cale: sees On pitying him … Alberu: Hahaha! On: patting Cale's leg to comfort him

Cale's attempt to tease Alberu's health completely backfired on him. 🤣🤣🤣

Raon and Kesilia Raon was so cute today. Pope Kesilia was depicted as a character obsessed with dragging down everyone with her, but now that she met Raon, it might be possible that she would have a change of heart.

Raon asked for her name, but Kesilia refused to say it, being fine with just being called the pope. Raon was being friendly with her, not minding that she was a mixed blood dragon, so she felt confused. He even offered to introduce Cale's DHB to Kesilia if she wanted friends.

There was also Raon noticing that she was in pain, and offering again to introduce her to his mom and Eruhaben who helped with treating DHB's pain. Kesilia felt strangely warm at Raon treating her nicely.

DHB's Name Oh my goodness, the author finally remembered this! We still did not get a name reveal, but Cale confirmed that he had already thought of one after putting much thought in it.

But our cutie Raon did not believe Cale, and was asking the pope for her name in hopes that Cale would get inspiration from hearing the name of another mixed blood dragon. And then, Raon made a cute assumption.

Raon was talking about DHB, and blurted that DHB was called someone Miru. Hmm... why is this hard to word? It's something like ____ Miru. Blank Miru? That doesn't sound right. Whatshisname Miru? Sounds better, but still strange.

Everyone was surprised to hear that, even Raon himself. From the fact that Raon assumed that Cale would give DHB the last name of Miru like him, to the fact that Raon knew that DHB once tried to kill him, yet he was fine in sharing the same last name with DHB.

I guess Raon was feeling conflicted like his mom regarding DHB. Meanwhile, Kesilia was puzzled about this young dragon willing to share the same last name to a mixed blood dragon who once tried to kill him. It must be unimaginable for her who was treated badly by the Aipotu dragons on the Dragon Lord's side. 😢

Crazy Clopeh Clopeh claimed that it was Rasheel who destroyed one of the temple's buildings, but Cale was having doubts about that, given the expression of the pope towards Clopeh. 😂

We never got to know what exactly the destructive trio did at the temple, but it was pretty much confirmed that Clopeh talked about Cale so much like a legendary hero. And Hannah said that Cale was a kind guy. So it was no wonder that 3rd Bishop Horns and the unnamed 1st Bishop treated Cale in awe. Or Pope Kesilia being friendly and cooperative with him.

Of course, Cale wondered how Clopeh introduced him to them because of their reactions. 😂 And also felt dizzy just thinking about it. 🤣🤣🤣

Ending Remarks Today's chapter was so good with its funny and heartwarming moments. 🥰 Next chapter would be Cale beginning his dragon lair looting plans, or probably more planning stuff. But the name tease of DHB has got me excited. I guess his last name will be Miru too because Cale did not object to Raon's words. So the only mystery now is his first name. Raon Miru. Dodam Miru. It seems like the Miru family is gaining a new member~!

#tcf spoilers #trash of the count's family

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daenysthedreamer101 · 6 months ago

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Daughter of Steel and Bronze ~ HOTD

Ch 11 - The comforts of home

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

Warnings: This chapter includes physical violence, attempted SA, sl*t shaming, threats of SA, cursing, and descriptions of the inflicted wounds; but I swear the first half is cute 😭

HOTD masterlist

"In 114 AC, Princess Rhaenyra started her royal tour with the goal of finding a potential husband. She first toured the Crownlands and the Reach. She then visited the Westerlands and the Riverlands. Her next stop would be the Stormlands and after that, the Vale.

During that time, her cousin, Princess Daena, returned to her birthplace of Runestone. She was joined by Ser Harwin Strong, her new personal guard, and his sisters, Hanna and Joy who were the Princess's maids.

In the Princess's entourage was also her grandmother, Lady Rowena Redfort, a famed beauty throughout the Vale, during her youth. But beauty was not the only asset she possessed - a sharp tongue and a quick mind is also something she passed on to her daughter and granddaughter."

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

On a peninsula east of the Eyrie, north of the Bay of Crabs and Gulltown, lies the castle of Runestone - the seat of House Royce. They were a proud and noble house and one of the oldest and most powerful families in the Vale of Arryn.

The current ruler of Runestone was Lady Rhea Royce, daughter of the late Lord Yorbert Royce and Lady Rowena Redfort, wife of Prince Daemon Targaryen, and mother to Princess Daena.

In her entourage were her ladies-in-waiting, Joy and Hanna, her grandmother, Lady Rowena, and her sworn protector, Ser Harwin. She was very excited to show the Vale to the Strong siblings, seeing they were from the Riverlands.

114 AC, Runestone

Harwin watched in amazement as they neared the castle of Runestone. It was situated on the western shore of the Narrow Sea, was seated on the cliffside, and hills surrounded it. It was nowhere near as big as Harenhall but it was still a large, well-made keep.

It was a bright, sunny day, though it was also pretty windy. The castle gates were open and he could see the Royce banners flapping in the wind. The guards at the entrance let them in and they entered the outer courtyard.

He was on his horse while the Princess, her grandmother, and his sisters were in the carriage. He saw someone who could only be Lady Rhea standing in the middle of the yard - she was a comely woman with dark, curly hair that was cut short. She was wearing the famous bronze armor of House Royce and riding breeches. Her brown eyes bore into his blue ones, almost like she was sizing him up. She moved toward him once he got off his horse.

"You must be Ser Harwin. Be welcome." She greeted politely.

"I am. Thank you for your hospitality and for hosting me and my sisters."

"Of course. I have heard so much about you and your sisters. I know how fond my daughter is of your family."

Harwin couldn't help but smirk at her words. His sisters have indeed bonded with the Princess and quickly became good friends. As for him, he cannot deny that he too quickly became fond of the Princess. They became even closer once she named him as her protector.

"Mother!" The Princess exclaimed once she exited the carriage and sprinted toward her lady mother. She hugged her mother tightly and placed her head on her mother's shoulders. It reminded Harwin of his late lady mother and how she held his little sisters when they were young.

"Oh, my sweet girl. Look at you! You're a woman grown!" Lady Rhea said, cupping her daughter's face. The last time Rhea saw her, Daena was 12. Now she was 16.

"You cut your hair! You didn't tell me!" Daena exclaimed surprised. Lady Rhea laughed. She looked Daena up and down, clearly very proud and happy that her only child was back home.

Then, Lady Rowena stepped out of the carriage. Lady Rhea hugged her mother and kissed her hand. "Mother."

Lady Rowena was happy to be back in the Vale as well. Harwin watched as grandmother, mother, and daughter held hands and happily talked with each other. It was beautiful, seeing the three women together. He knew how much the Princess missed her mother and how much she wanted to leave King's Landing.

It was strange, the Princess at first glance shared no physical similarities with her mother or grandmother. But on further inspection, Harwin could see she had the same nose as her grandmother and the same curly hair her mother did, except hers were silver. She was also the tallest one out of the three and had the fairest skin.

"Ser Harwin. Come. Let's go inside." The voice of his Princess brought him back to reality. He looked at her and she chuckled at his dazed expression. He loved the sound of her voice, especially her laughter.

"Come on." She repeated softly and he followed her inside.

115 AC

For the past eight months, Daena has been staying at Runestone, her birthplace. With Rhaenyra going on tour, she had no real reason to stay in King's Landing. So, quickly after Rhaenyra went on her royal tour, Daena too left the Red Keep.

Today was a special day - it was Daena's 17th name day. And luckily for her, she would be able to celebrate with her family and friends. She was disappointed Nyra wasn't here, but she already received a letter from her. Last she heard of her cousin, Nyra was in the Riverlands where she made a stop at Riverrun and was heading for the Stormlands.

She also received a letter from her father. She hasn't seen him since the egg incident on Dragonstone years ago. Then he went on to participate in a war in the Stepstones. She didn't know where he was, but he wished her a happy name day and that she shouldn't worry about him. He wrote he would soon visit. She wanted to believe it was true.

"Don't move!" Amanda scolded Daena as she braided her hair. Daena chuckled but stopped moving. She couldn't help herself, she was excited to go out and celebrate. She played with her heart-shaped pendant; she decided to wear it to feel closer to her father.

"You should rest. Not stand for hours braiding my hair." Daena said as she looked at Amanda's swollen belly. Amanda fell pregnant a couple of weeks before Daena's arrival. She was now over 8 months pregnant and the maester predicted she would give birth in the next couple of weeks.

Amanda just waved her hand. "Nonsense. I am braiding your hair because I want to. You are a woman grown and today is a special day. I want you to look perfect. Maybe you catch the eye of a handsome lord." She said suggestively.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Daena replied, rolling her eyes and Amanda chuckled.

"Oh? Let me be more specific then. A tall, handsome lord with dark curls who happens to come from the Riverlands and is currently our guest."

"No. No idea who you're talking about." Daena said, looking at her nails.

Amanda clicked her tongue and chuckled. "He fancies you, you know." This made Daena stiffen her back and turn her head.

"He does. It's obvious as day." Amanda added as she tied the last braid.

Daena looked at herself in the mirror - she wore a stunning gown made of velvet and silk; the top was made of red velvet with long cape sleeves and a square neckline while the skirt was made of black silk. A big, chunky belt made of silver and decorated with rubies hung on her hips. Amanda masterfully braided her silver hair. Multiple braids connected at the back into a bun while the rest flowed down her shoulders.

Daena smirked, pleased with her appearance. She then added golden ruby earrings.

"One more thing," Amanda said, handing her a mermaid-shaped perfume bottle. It was a gift she received from her grandmother. Lady Rowena imported it from Lys. Daena smelled it - it was a sweet, heady scent. She could smell lemon and spice-flower and cinnamon.

Amanda took it from her and applied it to Daena's neck, behind her ears, and her wrists. "There. When he bends down to talk to you, he'll be hit with this lovely fragrance. You'll have him wrapped around your little finger by the end of the night."

"Amanda!" Daena exclaimed, embarrassed. She sighed and shook her head. Why did everyone have to tease her about Harwin? Giving herself one final look, she exited her room and walked toward the Central Hall, ready to sweep the strongest knight in the Seven Kingdoms off his feet.

Harwin was in the Central Hall of Runestone where the feast in honor of the Princess's name day was being held. He was standing and talking with his sisters when the door opened.

Princess Daena walked in and Harwin's heart skipped a beat. She wore a beautiful red and black gown that fit her body perfectly and her silver hair flowed down her back. She was a goddess in a mortal body, he thought as she greeted her mother.

She then locked eyes with him and he felt his breath being taken away. She then proceeded to walk up to him. "Ser Harwin." She greeted him in her usual melodic voice.

"Princess." He greeted back and before he could say more he was hit with a sweet, heady smell. It was heavy and it made his head spin, but he didn't pull back. No. He leaned in, wanting to be closer to her.

He looked into her lilac eyes and could see a spark of mischief in them. She tilted her head and smirked at him. "I hope you enjoy yourself tonight, Ser." And with that, she left, her hips swaying from side to side. Harwin was mesmerized.

"Brother." The voice of his sister brought him back. Joy looked at him with a raised brow. He cleared his throat, embarrassed that he was caught off guard.

But when he looked back, the Princess was still looking at him.

This was going to be an interesting night indeed.

The moon was now high in the sky, but the castle of Runestone was still brimming with life. Daena was having the time of her life - talking with her friends, dancing, and feasting. She even danced with Harwin. It was exhilarating; being so close to him, feeling his breath on her skin, his eyes never leaving her face, hands barely touching. She was a blushing mess by the end of it.

She was also drunk for the first time in her life. Or maybe she was just really tipsy. She wasn't sure. She decided to get some fresh air and walked to the outer courtyard. The cool night air felt wonderful against her hot skin as she stumbled to a small garden in the back of the castle.

In the middle of the garden was a heart tree; it wasn't a weirwood but a great oak. Nonetheless, it commanded respect and the carved face was not any less creepy. It always unnerved Daena, especially when she was a child. Though, in her drunken state, she paid it no mind. She sat on a small wooden bench next to the tree.

"Princess? What are you doing here?" An unfamiliar male voice asked. Daena turned around to see a young man. She couldn't remember his name or his house but she recognized his face; He was one of many lords who tried wooing her tonight. She politely rejected all of them - her heart was already set on someone.

"Oh, I just wanted some fresh air. That's all." Daena replied politely but kept her distance.

Unfortunately for her, he didn't keep his distance. He came closer and sat next to her. She was immediately hit with the stench of alcohol. She moved away discreetly. "Ser, please. Leave me alone."

"You looked so beautiful tonight, Princess. A true...V-Valyrian beauty." He slurred. She gave him no reaction and just sighed.

He then proceeded to grab her hand and pull it toward his breeches. Disgusted, Daena tried pulling away but he was stronger and harshly twisted her hand. She gasped in pain.

"A silver-haired beauty and a silver-haired whore." He hissed. Daena angrily pulled her hand away and pushed him. She quickly stood up and distanced herself.

"How dare you talk to me that way!? My uncle, the King, will have your head for these words!" She exclaimed, offended. Who was he to talk to her that way? What was he even talking about?

"You don't think I noticed? You rejected every lord who approached you save for that brute from the Riverlands. What would your uncle say when he learned his niece was throwing herself to men like a common whore? You're nothing but-" He insulted further but was cut off by a fierce slap across his face.

"HOW DARE YOU!? I'LL FEED YOUR BODY TO VERMITHOR MYSELF AND I'LL BURN YOUR HOUSE DOWN! YOU DARE QUESTION MY VIRTUE!?"

He looked at her stunned, surprised that she would slap him. He moved closer to her and under the moonlight she could see that the rings on her hand caused him to bleed. He grabbed her long hair and harshly pulled it. He pushed her toward the heart tree and blocked her with his arms.

"LET ME GO! NOW! LET ME GO!" She yelled but he covered her mouth with his hand. She did the obvious thing and bit his fingers harshly. He cursed and grabbed her neck, choking her in the process. Fear began to set into her heart. Gods, spare me, she thought as her eyes began to water.

She usually carried a small dagger on her person, but she didn't think she would need it tonight. Oh, how wrong was she. She kicked him between his legs and this allowed her to run away from him. She didn't get far.

He grabbed one of her long sleeves and pulled her back. He held her tightly and ripped the upper part of her gown, exposing the chemise she wore underneath.

"GUARDS! GUARDS!" She remembered to yell again. He covered her mouth again and continued ripping her gown. She was desperately thrashing, trying to push him off her body.

"You little slut! You dare hit me! I'll show you-" Before he could finish his threat, he was harshly pulled from Daena. In the darkness of the night, she could barely see who came to her rescue.

Before she could say anything, the man was getting beaten to the ground. The horrible sound of bones breaking made her realize who it was - Harwin.

"HARWIN! STOP! STOP IT, PLEASE! YOU'LL KILL HIM!" She yelled but the knight made no effort to stop. He continued beating the man's face.

"What is the meaning of this?" Her grandmother's voice rang through the night air and made everyone stop.

Her mother, Joy, Hanna, Amanda, and the castle guards also came. Her mother was quickly by her side, covering her with a shawl. The women led Daena back into the castle while the guards dealt with Harwin and the assailant.

She didn't even realize when she started crying.

That night, no one slept. Daena was in too much shock to do anything besides crying. She felt horrible. She felt disgust, anger, and guilt. She felt...sullied. Why? Why did she leave the feast by herself? The only thing on her mind was Harwin. He was the one who saved her, the one who protected her virtue and defended her honor. She wanted to see him, to talk to him.

Rhea and Rowena, with the help of Joy, Hanna, and Amanda, managed to get Daena to open up and tell them what transpired; all the vile insults that were hurled at her and how she tried defending herself. Rhea was infuriated that someone dared attack her daughter in her home.

"I shall write to Lady Jeyne Arryn and His Grace. This miscreant will be dealt with. Either he loses his head or I'll have him sent to the Wall! I shall not settle for anything less." Rhea announced, determined to get justice for her only child and heir.

Daena refused to let the castle's maester inspect her body. She wanted no man near her or her body. After some persuading, she let the castle's septa, Arabella, look at her wounds. Her neck was red and bruises started appearing alongside her jaw and arms, her left wrist was sprained and she had scratch marks on her shoulders.

Lady Rowena was pained to see her granddaughter in such a hysterical state; she ordered the measter to make some tea and put milk of the poppy in it. The twins were sad their Princess was so viciously assaulted and they did everything they could to help Daena.

"You should rest now, my lord," Maester Cerion said to Harwin as he finished bandaging Harwin's hand. The measter left and Harwin was finally alone. He sighed and looked at his bandaged hand; he beat the idiot's face so hard it caused his knuckles to start bleeding. But he would do it all over again if it meant his dear Princess was safe.

A couple of minutes after the Princess left, Harwin had a weird feeling in his gut telling him something was wrong. To his horror, once he walked outside he heard screaming and shouting from afar. He barely made it to the godswood, just as the miscreant was about to tear the Princess's gown completely.

Rest was the last thing on Harwin's mind; the only thing he could think about was Daena. From what he's been told, the measter has given her milk of the poppy to calm her down. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her terrified face, her lilac eyes wide with horror and shock.

He felt awful and extremely guilty he wasn't there to protect her. That was his job, to be her protector and he couldn't even do that. Would she dismiss him from her service? Would she banish him to Harenhall? Would she yell at him and curse him out?

A knock on the door banished such thought from his mind. It was Hanna. She gently closed the door and sat next to him. Her eyes appeared to be red and glossy, which was unusual for her since Hanna was the more aloof one of the sisters.

"How is she?" He asked desperate to know. Hanna shook her head and sighed.

"She...there are bruises all over her body and her wrist appears to be sprained. But the measter said it would heal and she's not in any danger. She just needs rest."

Harwin could feel his heart breaking; his darling Princess, his sweet angel bruised and battered. All because of him. How could he ever look into her eyes? How could he ever come back from this? He felt a great sense of shame wash over him.

"Harwin...It's not your fault." His sister said softly. "She doesn't blame you."

This made Harwin look up. "She doesn't?"

Hanna chuckled. "Of course not. The only thing she talked about while she was awake was whether you were alright. You were the only thing on her mind."

His sister picked up his bandaged hand. "Are you alright? You almost beat him to a pulp."

"I would've if I wasn't interrupted."

Hanna clicked her tongue, obviously not pleased with his words. "Look. It's been a very eventful night. Rest and try to get some sleep. You know she would want that."

And with that, she left and Harwin was once again left alone with his thoughts. The last thing on his mind before he fell asleep was Daena.

***

This was a very sad, angsty chapter. Our poor Daena was attacked and on her birthday no less 😔 Next chapter we'll see how people in KL react to this horrifying news.

Thank you for reading! 💕💕💕

If you have any opinions/questions feel free to ask.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon #hotd #house targaryen #daena targaryen #my original characters #hotd oc #asoiaf oc #ser harwin strong #harwin strong #daewin #daena x harwin #hotd masterlist #my fanfiction #my writing #westeros #runestone

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unusual-raccoon · 8 months ago

Text

Silver Son (Ch. 2) | by Unusual_Raccoon (JaceLuke)

@livinginafantasysposts, @andromaxeoftroy, @saintbehemoth, @mondstaub1, @the-heartlines, @the-white-w0lf, @potatochips-15, @arkah-archive, @lunar-19, @bimyself06

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Jacaerys Velaryon, Blonde Jacaerys Velaryon, Jace is Daemon's Biological Son, Complicated Relationships, Political Alliances, Canon-Typical Violence, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Jacaerys Velaryon, Omega Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra), Episode: s01e08 The Lord of the Tides (House of the Dragon), Viserys I Targaryen Lives, Daemyra Have Disney Parent-itis = they died, Brother/Brother Incest, POV Alternating, Political Alliances, Arranged Marriage, Valyrian Culture & Customs (A Song of Ice and Fire), Valyrian Wedding, Loss of Virginity, Explicit Sexual Content, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Knotting Summary: With few options left, Lucerys travels to Dragonstone to marry his mother's eldest son and heir, Jacaerys Targaryen. WC: 8,9K+ Ao3 Link

It began with a proposal. The promise of marriage in exchange for protection.

A marriage…to the prince of Dragonstone.

Their breakneck pace had consumed two weeks' worth of time in an instant, and before Lucerys had a true moment to recuperate, he was standing upon blue-veined white marble within the Eyrie’s High Hall.

“Prince Lucerys,” The lady of the Vale welcomed him, eyes as blue as the sky creased at the corners in a small sign of fondness.

“My lady,” he greeted, lowering his head in a show of deference to his host.

“I pray your time in King’s Landing has seen you well.”

“It has my lady, and while I am eternally grateful for your hospitality, I’m afraid I will need to depart from the Eyrie soon.”

To her credit, Jeyne Arryn took the news with aplomb.

“Might I ask, who is stealing you away, dear cousin?”

“I am Targaryen, my lady, I worry you may find the truth upsetting.”

She arched a single brow, the same shade of honeyed-gold as her hair. Whatever fondness she reserved for Lucerys in the months since his mother’s passing seemed to vanish at the mere insinuation of him.

What power you wield, dear brother.

The image of pale hair stained more crimson than silver flashed through his mind.

“I see.” She replied with an icy sort of diplomacy that made his teeth clench cold. Her disdain gleamed through in the blue of her eyes.

“And you’re certain there is nothing I can do to persuade you otherwise?”

She spoke with a royal I, not only of herself but also of the Eyrie and all its vassal houses…House Corbray amongst them. He thought of Ser Corwyn – the kind, gentle Valeman that had seen him return to the Eyrie safely.

Corwyn, who carried Valyrian steel upon his hip. He pondered briefly the wail Lady Forlorn might make when she collided with Dark Sister.

The hairs on his arms stood on end. He prayed it would not come to such unpleasantries.

Yet, as he imagined falling sway to Lady Arryn’s suggestions and wedding Ser Corwyn, Lucerys’ mind only conjured the image of Alyssa’s Tears scorched dry by dragonfire, yellow-orange flames shot through with veins of green, and his betrothed’s body severed at the neck, his handsome head gnashed between Vermax’s thorny jaws…

Have care, I will crush him if he intends to deny your departure.

He recalled his brother’s words even a fortnight later, as though he was yet twined in Jacaerys’ arms rubbing mindless fingers against the dried blood, blood his brother had spilled in Lucerys’ name, upon the velvet of his sleeve. He chastised himself still for the thoughtless creature he had been reduced to with his lungs full of his elder half-brother’s scent: the heat of an open flame and the heady musk of white oak.

The thought inspired a conflicting sense of hot and cold spreading through his body. A simultaneous pleasure and pain.

“I think it is for the best, my lady.”

Her smile was amiable, but far from pleased.

“Very well,” She hummed in acquiescence.

It was not until she descended from her carved weirwood throne that Lucerys voiced another rather pressing concern.

“I must admit, dear cousin, I fear how he will take the news.”

Jeyne Arryn offered a soft smile, her hand folded over the delicate expanse of his forearm and he was reminded of the few times the lady of the Vale had taken him hawking in the Mountains of the Moon.

“He loves you, he’ll understand.” she reminded with a knowing tilt of her lips.

Lucerys exhaled. He hoped love might be enough to soften the blow of his elder brother’s proposal as Lady Jeyne escorted him to his apartments in the Maiden’s Tower.

. . .

A long soak in a marble tub had not seen his nerves much improved. In fact, Lucerys felt more disturbed knowing he was avoiding the inevitable.

He sank deeper into the water scented with orange blossoms and rose hips, while it was a distraction, it was certainly a pleasant one; it did wonders for his sore bottom after two hard weeks on horseback.

He hadn’t dithered for much longer before dressing.

He omitted his usual high-collared samite gown with a laced-tight bodice to accentuate curves nature had failed to provide, in exchange for a soft, modest shift to sleep in.

He layered a patterned dressing gown over his shift to stave off the everpresent wind of the Vale.

There was a knock at the door and Lucerys grimaced. He wasn’t ready, yet still approached his fate with a raised chin - as mother had taught him.

“Prince Lucerys-”

“Ser Corwyn,” He greeted, voice lilted in surprise.

“My deepest apologies, forgive the intrusion, I was not aware-” the knight stammered at Lucerys’ state of dress.

“There is nothing to forgive, the fault is mine own,” Lucerys murmured, cheeks warm, as demure as any proper worshiper of the Seven desired in an Omega.

The insinuation of his nakedness was enough, even layered in sleepwear as he was.

Lucerys crossed bashful arms over himself and Corwyn reddened further.

“I have heard the news of your departure,” Corwyn informed steadily and to the point, eyes focused on some fixed point just over Lucerys’ shoulder.

“From Lady Jeyne, I have no doubt” he had shared the news with none other,“– forgive me, it is uncouth to speak of my host in such a way.”

Corwyn shook his head.

“It was uncouth of my Lady to share business that was not hers.”

Lucerys swallowed, wringing his hands together, discreetly scratching small scent glands in his wrists until the air sweetened with his natural scent.

Vanilla and browned butter.

“I gather that she has informed you as to why I must be leaving…”

Corwyn nodded, nostrils flaring subtly. His jaw tightened.

“She has…”

He looked away, sheepishly with a dusky color upon his cheeks that revealed what his nonexistent scent did not. He chafed at the thought of Lucerys departing to Dragonstone - to Jacaerys.

“Ser, I pray you will not think less of me now…it is not a thought I think I can bear.”

Corwyn’s eyes were a bluish-grey, a beautiful, but understated color that Lucerys admired as the knight turned back towards him in shock.

“My Prince I would never.”

“I don’t believe our Lady shared this information with the thought that it might sour my opinion of you.”

“Oh,” Lucerys exhaled with the kind of smile that enamored countless at court, “good,” he hummed with a dithering kind of naivete a simpering storybook Omega possessed.

Corwyn appeared ensorcelled.

He prayed silently that Jacaerys might be so simple to gain mastery over.

“I believe my cousin has shared with me this news to embolden me…”

Embolden, Lucerys thought. Corwyn’s eyes focused on him then, breathing a touch shallow like he meant to sling Lucerys down onto the floor to ravage him…

Instead, the knight drew Lady Forlorn from the sheath upon his hip.

Lucerys’ heart stilled for a moment before Corwyn knelt before him, head lowered.

“With your permission, my prince, I would swear myself to you…as your protector.”

His brother’s words rang through his head once more as the knight’s hands clasped the weeping woman carved into the sword’s pommel and grip.

You have gone too long without an Alpha. Too long without proper protection.

Lucerys was not acquisitive enough to think he could have both his brother’s protection and Ser Corwyn’s.

A choice was required.

He imagined yet again the sound that Lady Forlorn might make when she clashed with Dark Sister, yet when he pictured Valyrian steel on steel he could only hear the bellow of a dragon…

“You honor me deeply, ser…but, I am afraid I cannot accept. To bind yourself to me on the eve of my marriage…it would not be wise. I fear my betrothed will think ill of it. However, I hope that should I ever need such a gallant knight you might permit me to call upon you?”

Ser Corwyn rose with a conflicted look etched upon his face.

His bluish-grey eyes softened as Lucerys draped an effete hand over the knight’s forearm. Corwyn’s gaze lingered on Lucerys’ hand.

“Of course, my prince.”

Again, Lucerys offered that affable smile and his sweet scent and all was well.

“Rest well, my prince.”

Lucerys blinked slowly, a soft smile about his lips, “I shall certainly rest easier now ser, thank you.”

With Corwyn addressed he would face his greatest challenge yet on the morrow.

. . .

In the morn he was awoken by the sound of his door opening and a riotous blur bolting inside. He was spared only a moment before said blur was atop his bed – bouncing.

“You’re back!”

“Joff,” Lucerys hummed, half asleep, partially shielding his body from each spring of his younger brother’s body.

“You’re back!” He exclaimed again with a wide, gap-toothed smile, “What was the capital like? Did you get to see the king? Is it true that you killed someone?”

Lucerys’ eyes widened immediately, what vestiges of sleep remained fled from him.

He wrangled his younger brother in his hands like catching lightning in a bottle.

Joffrey tugged at the silk sleeves of Lucerys’ shift, irritated at being held captive.

“Where have you heard such things?” Lucerys asked seriously.

“A girl from the kitchens,” Joffrey shrugged, “She said someone died-”

Gods damn Jacaerys Targaryen. Already whispers floated about the validity of his hearing of succession. Matters hadn’t been helped by the same rumor mills purporting that Ser Vaemond’s head had allegedly been fed to his elder brother’s dragon; he had yet to hear the word kinslayer but knew it hung on countless tongues.

“You should not repeat such talk, it is not princely.”

Joffrey tugged upon Lucerys’ sleeve, eager to be released.

“Swear it,” Lucerys commanded with a waggle of his finger.

“Fine, I swear it, let go-”

“You swear what?”

“I swear not to repeat unprincely things, Luke-” Joffrey whined.

Lucerys smiled fondly despite himself and released his grip upon his younger brother, content to let him whirl about.

And whirl he did. He had become so content in the Vale. A part of Lucerys mourned the thought of taking him from what had just started to feel like home. It wasn’t fair.

“Joffrey?” Lucerys called as Joffrey’s dark head bobbed around. His brother fiddled with something on the other side of Lucerys’ apartments; something breakable no doubt.

“Something did happen at court…something important.”

“Is this about you getting married? I already know,” Joffrey said, sounding rather bored as he watched the viscous swirl in a stoppered inkwell.

“Another rumor from your spy in the kitchens?” Lucerys asked, unmoved by his brother’s pout.

“No - and she’s not a spy!” He huffed defensively, “Melara told me that you’ll marry her father. I’m not upset, Luke, I promise. I like Ser Corwyn. If you marry him, do you think he’ll train me to be a knight and give me his sword when I’m older?”

Lucerys felt ill.

“Joffrey, come here,” He beckoned, voice trembling. His brother whined a petulant little noise, but remained at Lucerys’ desk, shaking the stoppered inkwell.

“Now.”

It was cruel, Lucerys knew, but he prayed none of his children were Alphas, that none would ever be so obstinate as his brother - brothers. He prayed for Betas and Omegas to quicken in his belly when the time came, for obedient children with sensible little heads on sensible little shoulders.

“She said House Corbray’s colors are like ours, red and black - and white too, but that we wouldn’t have to change very much.”

Change, Lucerys thought to himself, how much of that have we endured already?

Joffrey continued his blabbering, stubborn at that. Lucerys winced, his frustration mounting to a point of eruption.

“I won’t be marrying Ser Corwyn!”

Distantly, he heard glass shattering as the inkwell toppled to the ground. Lucerys bolted from the bed, taking Joffrey’s little hands in his own. He scrutinized his brother’s palms for any shards of glass amidst the overwhelming pools of ink on his pale skin…

“Why not?!”

“Oh, Joff, look at your hands! You mustn’t be so careless.”

His younger brother tore his hands out of Lucerys’ grasp, visibly crestfallen. The pristine white silk of his sleeve was slashed with ugly splatters of black ink.

“Why aren’t you marrying Ser Corwyn?”

Why? Why indeed…

Lucerys sighed. How could he tell a child of seven years about the politics of the matter? Or worse yet, that in the most aggravatingly primal sense, a piece of him yearned for Jacaerys…

“I’ve been presented with a stronger proposal.”

“But, you said we’d be safe here, that we wouldn’t have to leave!”

His younger brother argued, what else could he have said to a grieving child who had just fled the only home he had ever known? Their exodus from Dragonstone had been a hasty affair, yet in the midst of their pain and fear, it seemed the only thing they could do.

“This proposal means more protection, real protection,” Lucerys swallowed, each breath scraping the inside of his throat like shards of glass as his brother’s face reddened, “Joff, we can go home.”

Tears welled in the muddy brown of Joffrey’s eyes.

He held his brother’s dirty little hands so tightly in his own, clinging desperately.

“But if I am to keep my word, we must leave soon.”

Lucerys brushed an affectionate finger beneath the cleft in his brother’s chin.

“You haven’t misplaced Tyraxes’ saddle have you?”

Joffrey blinked slowly with a dawning realization, sadness forgotten at the prospect of flying again.

“No…”

“Good,” Lucerys hummed before ruffling his brother’s dark curls, swallowing beyond the lump in his throat as he spoke, “you’re going to need it.”

. . .

The fortnight he had allotted had passed, and for two days and two nights longer, Jacaerys had waited.

He had spent 6 years in the North as a ward of Lord Cregan Stark, estranged from his family, and yet, he had never yearned more ardently for his own blood than he did in the two weeks since leaving King’s Landing.

Every morning he waited on Dragonstone's beaches for a young white dragon to pierce the clouds and the scent of vanilla and browned butter to shower him from the sky; for Lucerys to come home to him.

Each day that passed he weighed the worth of simply collecting his brother on dragonback. Of flying to the Eyrie, Dark Sister in hand…like Visenya on Vhagar, and dragging his little wife home.

But then he thought of Lucerys…of sweet, gentle Lucerys.

He refused to force the matter. Lucerys would come to him in time, he knew it…

And so he waited, morning after morning.

And each morning yet he had been disappointed, though he was not the only one.

Baela was still bitter about his decision to break their betrothal that had been arranged since they’d been born…

A marriage done in the tradition of Old Valyria was binding, unbreakable, a union that could never be undone or annulled. Immutable to the word of any king or council. It was everlasting.

He’d been rehearsing the words since he’d had ears to know them. Leagues away in the bitter cold, they had given him warmth. The knowledge he might one day speak them to the one that he loved, as his mother had, as his father had, as was his right.

He was owed this. Tradition dictated for the two oldest children to marry, as Aegon and Visenya had; there was duty and honor in it. By definition, Jacaerys and Lucerys were their mother’s eldest children - the two destined to wed.

He stared at the sky, awaiting his destiny.

. . .

It was the third morning and the sky was a cool blue, drowsy in color when a bright streak sailed through it…

Descending toward the island like a falling star.

Lucerys.

Jacaerys had never seen anything so picturesque, so perfect-

Then came the rambunctious squawk of a dragon scarcely large enough to fly. Black and red and chasing after gulls, belching plumes of black flames.

Joffrey.

“Dohaerās, Tyraxes!” A reedy little voice called.

“Ninkiot, Arrax,” Lucerys commanded calmly and Jacaerys watched as that young dragon, glittering pearl white and gold, spread his wings to slow his descent to the island.

The sea breeze rolled over the shore, tasting of salt and morning air, of vanilla and browned butter…

Lucerys was a vision in supple charcoal gray, wool-lined riding leathers. His dark curls were wind-tossed and his cheeks a ravishing shade of red.

Those beautiful brown eyes widened at the sight of him.

His younger brother cleared his throat, calling up to Joffrey.

“Come down here,” He commanded, “now.”

Lucerys’ expression was unreadable as he marched across the sands toward Jacaerys, Joffrey in tow.

The dragonkeepers handled their mounts, even the unruly Tyraxes who had feathers hanging from his maw.

“Jacaerys,” Lucerys greeted coolly, with a defiant little raised chin. Jace wanted him then and there — marriage be damned, he wished to pup Luke in the sand. He pushed the thought away, quite capable of ignoring his hindbrain.

“Brother,” Jacaerys responded smoothly, smile softening, “welcome home.”

Lucerys gave a small nod, dainty gloved hands clasped together demurely.

“I apologize for making you wait,” Lucerys said primly, poised and practiced and perfect.

Jace chuckled, “Oh, I doubt that very much. Come along, we’ll get you both settled.”

They stepped through the Great Hall’s massive red doors, flanked by household guards at every step.

He felt Lucerys gasp as he pressed a palm to the small of his brother’s back, leading him into the hall. Luke walked along, spine stiff, his scent dripping from his pores.

It was surreal, sharing the space with Lucerys once more… It had been so long since they had been here together, lived here together.

“Prince Jacaerys,” Maester Gerardys greeted fondly, “and Prince Lucerys, how comforting it is to see you two together once more…”

For the first time since his brother had returned home, Jacaerys witnessed that icy demeanor thaw. His smile was soft and genuine and beautiful…

“It is…good to be home,” He answered, and to Jacaerys’ surprise, his words seemed sincere. Buried somewhere beneath the stoicism his younger brother wore like a coat of mail, he was happy.

“Your mother would be pleased.”

Lucerys’ throat bobbed and his eyes misted, for a moment he seemed to lean into Jacaerys’ touch upon his back. He steadied Lucerys instantly, naturally — it was what elder brothers were meant to do.

He caught a brief flash of gratitude in the corner of a brown eye when Lucerys glanced back at him.

“I’ll show you to your rooms,” Jacaerys said softly, to which Lucerys nodded, a pliant little thing.

“I know where my room is,” Joffrey called, running off blindly, to Lucerys’ horror and Jace’s amusement. Lucerys seemed mortified of Joffrey’s boyish behavior, like some minute thing would pull the rug out from beneath them, as though he may cast them out to the wilds once more…

He’d sooner fall upon his own sword than permit such a thing to happen.

“It’s alright,” Jace soothed, tasting the frantic spike in his younger brother’s scent, vanilla and burnt butter, “he’s home too.”

Lucerys nodded, swallowing thickly.

“When will the ceremony be?” Lucerys asked, his voice steady like he’d practiced the words.

“When would you like it to be?” Jace asked in return, something that seemed to bewilder his younger brother who stared up at him owlishly. Something he hadn’t prepared for.

“Soon,” he said, a tad uncertain as Jacaerys slowly circled him like prey.

“Soon?” Jacaerys echoed with a wily smirk. Lucerys’ brow dipped in what he knew was annoyance.

“Yes, soon, unless you intend on making me wait.”

There he was, Jacaerys grinned, all teeth - his Luke.

“Had I known you were so eager to be my wife, I never would have left King’s Landing without you…” His lips touched his younger brother’s ear.

Lucerys exhaled a shaky breath that he very badly wanted to be a scoff, struggling to right his mask of aloofness. The rich scent of vanilla and browned butter, nutty and earthen and sweet, betrayed him.

“Is tonight soon enough for you, brother?” Jacaerys asked, his subvocals flanging.

Lucerys turned, blinking up at him, pink-cheeked.

“Y-yes.”

“Good.”

“Good,” Lucerys said with his raised little chin, as though he had been so decisive, to begin with; Jacaerys could only focus on the cute cleft of his chin that he wished to trace with his tongue.

Without another word, his younger brother turned and exited the Great Hall, marching down a corridor after Joffrey.

. . .

Valyrian wedding ceremonies were not as time-consuming as weddings performed under the faith of the seven. The very same priest that had performed their mother’s wedding was summoned to conduct theirs.

The materials had been gathered and garments prepared.

A natural stone dias was dressed accordingly. A thick chalice of inscribed Valyrian steel sat upon the dias, filled halfway from a decanter of blood wine.

Jacaerys’ hands shook as he reached for the traditional robes worn during Valyrian wedding ceremonies. The fabric was a pale cream color, with thick blood-red collars and a gradient along the hem and sleeves.

They were meant to symbolize blood purity… the irony wasn’t lost on him.

“Father was the last to wear these…”

Jacaerys exhaled, fingers trailing over the dyed collar of the robe. He never had the right to refer to Daemon Targaryen as his father publically, yet as he stared at the garment, shapeless against his dressing table, it felt right. His father had worn these robes, and Jacaerys would wear them after him.

“He’d be proud of you…”

Baela intoned, her voice alarmingly gentle despite how angry she had been with him in the past weeks.

“Even if I’m marrying against his wishes?”

His sister smiled a radiant thing. Pretty enough to kiss, but he knew better than to try.

“Especially because you’re marrying against his wishes. You chose your own bride…he’d admire that.”

Baela stepped closer, inspecting the ceremonial garment. The fabric seemed endless when lifted into her tiny hands.

“You have every right to wear them, Jace. You’re a Targaryen.”

He nodded and began unlacing his tunic.

“Slower,” His sister bade, her deep violet eyes raking over every ounce of unveiled flesh with unbridled want. Spice flower and cinnamon hung heavy in the air. There was time when that scent beckoned him like a siren’s call, yet there had always been another scent, more potent —— dragonsong.

“I don’t want to forget a thing,” She added sadly, and Jacaerys felt a twinge of regret…she had always been good to him.

Jacaerys slowed, plucking away each individual lace with the utmost care. The garment swayed open and he heard the sharp intake of her breath.

He smiled softly. He couldn’t marry her, but he could give her this.

. . .

It all felt foreign to Lucerys like something out of a dream. His hair painfully twined into a snug series of plaits and braids atop of which the ceremonial headdress was placed.

The robes were long, the dyed hem puddled like blood around his feet.

Unbidden emotion snagged in his throat as he straightened the headdress. His entire life had led to this moment, from the day he was born and the maester had announced what resided between his legs. He was an Omega, he was born to be someone’s wife. Jacaerys’ wife. His face burned hot for reasons he dared not contemplate.

He was to be married and his mother wasn’t here to witness it…

He glared at his reflection in the looking glass.

He blinked away the tears quickly and straightened his back. Jacaerys wanted a wife and he’d get one…and Lucerys would get the legitimacy he’d been lacking. He would certainly be a wife, but Jacaerys had been born an Alpha —— he would become Lucerys’ weapon. It was all he could find comfort in; for this was not a union borne of love.

Lucerys’ bravado held up quite nicely as they traveled to the dais where the ceremony would be held. Jacaerys looked as he always did, aggravatingly handsome; rakish, even, in the long ceremonial robes with his silver hair bound in twists away from his face.

Countless candles burned around the dias, ensconcing them in a golden hue.

It was surreal, standing on warmed stone in the very same spot, in the very same gown his mother had once worn…

Joffrey stood beside Maester Gerardys, a sour look on his little face, in the same spot where Lucerys had stood as a child. Fragmented memories of his mother’s wedding washed over him like the dewy evening rain.

A hand in his clutched so tightly. Father had died. Warm lips pressed to his crown, there was no giggling when he pressed his cold little feet to the backs of warm knees; just a need to be sated, and comfort that was given. There was no room for laughter on the grim day. Mother had never looked so beautiful. The hand in his was pulled away. It hurt, that missing piece, like a severed limb…

“Luke?”

Lucerys felt the memory fade away as he blinked his way back to the present. Jacaerys stared at him with unabashed concern.

“Hm?” he hummed, “I’m sorry.”

“Are you ready for the ceremony to begin?” The priest asked.

“Yes,” Jacaerys said without hesitation, and all eyes were on Lucerys.

“Yes,” Luke nodded, the tassels of the headdress bouncing.

“Very well.”

Ceremonial dragonglass daggers were given to each of them.

“I’ll go first,” Jacaerys told him and Lucerys nodded, and when he smiled at Luke, it was the smile of an elder brother.

Rest easy, little brother, that roguish smile said, I’m here. His hands trembled as he brought the shard to his Jacaerys’ mouth. He didn’t flinch when Luke cut him. The dagger split the supple flesh of Jacaerys’ lower lip with ease. Blood oozed bright and warm. He gathered some upon his thumb, transfixed by it. The candles seemed to glow brighter, the air more fragrant. He painted the sigil upon Jacaerys’ skin.

His own dagger was lowered as Jacaerys approached. A large hand came to grip his chin, stroking the skin fondly. He tensed in anticipation of the sting of the dagger. He met his brother’s gaze, those hypnotic violet eyes, silver lashes brushed gold in the candlelight. He felt warm, very warm wrapped in Jace’s scent. His hindbrain was alight. Gently, the dagger sliced his lower lip, he hardly felt it.

He blinked and Jacaerys’ thumb was wet with his blood.

The liquid crimson felt hot against his skin as his brother painted the accompanying sigil.

Blood would flow, and their line would continue.

He watched as Jacaerys’ dagger carved a wound across his palm. Lucerys did the same.

The priest carried forth the chalice and spoke the binding words. An embroidered chord of gold tied them together.

“Hen lantoti ānogar”

Blood of two

“Va sȳndroti vāedroma”

Joined as one

Jacaerys’ hand clasped with his, the open wounds upon their palms bleeding into one another. Unerringly intimate; eternally entwined. The golden chord soaked crimson. Red oozed into the chalice.

“Elēdroma iārza sīr”

And song of shadows

“Izulī ampā perzī”

Two hearts as embers

Lucerys stared into the chalice, at the placid surface of the blood wine, small dots of liquid crimson littered the rim, like crushed garnets. His reflection stared back.

The wine smelled of figs and iron and was thick upon his tongue. He’d never known something so foreign, yet so perfect. Heat raced in his veins when he swallowed it. Jacaerys’ eyes never left his, his hand clutched so tightly…they were a perfect fit.

“Prūmī lanti sēteksi”

Forged in Fourteen flames

Fourteen candles stood taller than the rest.

“Hen jenȳ māzīlarion”

A future promised in glass

Jacaerys tilted the chalice toward his lips. Lucerys squeezed at his brother’s hand, fresh blood sticking between their palms.

“Qēlossa ozūndesi”

The stars stand witness

“Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo”

The vow spoken through time

“Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi.”

Of darkness and light.

“Your vows must be spoken.”

Lucerys nodded and swallowed the urge to mewl as Jacaerys’ hand squeezed his; both comforting and consuming.

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” they spoke the words in unison. The lingering taste of wine on his tongue deepened. The richness of Jacaerys’ scent thickened in his lungs. He could taste only fire and blood…

The priest lowered his hands and inclined his hooded head towards them to indicate the ceremony was complete. Lucerys’ entire being pulsed hotter than the dragonmont. They were married. Bound in blood.

He stared at Jacaerys, still struggling to fathom when his brother’s lips were on his - kissing him, ravenously; like he had waited his entire life for such a moment. And it returned to him, the frayed pieces of a memory, like torn pages in a book, as Jacaerys’ hands gathered his face between them, tender and so familiar - they had done this before.

Oh.

He felt a fool.

He gasped when his brother pulled away, mouth red. Lucerys’ legs felt boneless. His hand clutching Jacaerys’ sleeve, anchored to his brother, his husband, his other half…

Jacaerys’ tongue chased the trickle of crimson from Lucerys’ mouth. He mewled then, openly, unabashedly, without meaning to.

His brother’s forehead touched his, tacky with blood. A deep flanging purr swelled there and Lucerys struggled to remain upright with his knees turned to liquid. A strong arm curled around his waist.

The sky shook with the triumphant cries of Vermax and Arrax. Blasts of dragonfire burst above them in a spectrum of color, yellow-orange, gold, copper, and bronze, swirls of white, pearl, emerald, and jade green. There were streaks of rainbow light where their flames collided as their dragons danced in the sky overhead.

With the wedding complete, only one thing remained…

Their wedding night.

. . .

The inside of the Lord’s chambers were carved in dark stone, the snarling heads of dragons frame towering columns around the bed, a blood-red canopy draped above it.

Dragonstone was not known for its forgiving weather, and despite the chill that was ever-present in the air, Lucerys felt like the flesh might slough off his bones from the heat that raged within him.

A fire burned in the hearth that resembled a dragon’s maw, with flames crackling between pointed stone teeth.

A touch dragged featherlight over his pulse and he gasped, body burning hotter than the fire.

He looked at his brother - his husband with new eyes.

“Forgive me,” He murmured in apology, “I feel…warm.”

Jacaerys offered a smile, a flash of pointed teeth that left Lucerys breathless.

“‘Tis your blood calling.” His husband explained.

Lucerys flushed deeply.

“Do not fret,” Jacaerys hummed, fingers finding Lucerys’ chin, stroking the skin fondly, “We will answer it.”

Lucerys nodded, struck into a demure state, his heart hammered hard in his chest.

There was nothing entirely complicated about seduction, Lucerys knew, most Alphas simply desired a chase. A submissive bit of prey that they could play with before devouring them whole. It became clear Jacaerys was no different in that regard.

It brought to mind a memory far more recent…

“Tilt your head, just gently over your shoulder. A tad more. Perfect. Lower your eyelids. Less, Lucerys.” Daemon clucked.

“I feel like an imbecile,” Lucerys complained, though his step-father chuckled.

“I assure you, you don’t look like one.”

He snorted, “Is this how mother got you to fall in love with her?”

Daemon hummed a laugh, flicking Lucerys’ ear as he passed by, “Don’t slouch, extend your neck. There. Delightful. Any Alpha with a knot between their legs will understand the invitation. And, no, your mother was the exception in that regard.”

Lucerys rolled his eyes. Unsurprised to find that his mother, as always, was so perfect.

“You have no shortage of suitors, even now, but it never hurts to know how to keep them.”

Lucerys flushed, “I have…suitors?”

Daemon nodded, “Many. Amongst our vassals Houses Bar Emon, Celtigar, and Massey have already put forth proposals for your hand. You even have the attention of an Alpha up North…”

“Truly?” Lucerys gasped, strangely flattered.

“He’s been the most persistent of all,” Daemon said with a wink.

“That’s enough practice for today, little one. With any luck, matters of marriage won’t be relevant for some time. At least not while your mother and I draw breath.”

The fresh loss of his parents' death yawned open once more, like a gash across his heart, at the memory, but he ignored the pain. His blood had already spilled today. Lucerys turned his back to Jacaerys as he began the tedious process of removing countless metal pins from his hair. Discreetly, he nipped at the scent gland in his wrist.

The aroma of vanilla and browned butter, rich and sweet dripped into the air. A Siren’s call.

Unlike Ser Corwyn who had merely blushed and floundered at the presence of his scent, his husband however, evidenced a more promising reaction.

He heard the sharp intake of Jacaerys’ breathing. The subtle beginnings of a growl left Lucerys weak at the knees.

He shook his curls loose with a soft sigh, he arched his back with an indulgent stretch.

When he turned back towards his husband, he did so employing everything Daemon had taught him. His head tilted coyly, his eyes hooded just right, bare neck extended boldly…

“Husband,” he called with intention, his voice a touch higher than it typically was, “shall we- mmph!”

Being kissed was as disorienting as it had been the first time, scorching, the taste of blood on his tongue. His husband’s hand cupped his bottom. Lucerys considered it a rousing success.

He panted, mouth slick. Jacaerys’ tongue glided against the roof of his mouth and something glittery and warm surged down to his toes. His brother’s fingers curled beneath Lucerys’ chin. A softer, kinder kiss was pressed to his crown, and yearning opened up in him like an old wound.

“I’ve missed you…” Jace whispered against Lucerys’ dark fringe. Longing resounded in his voice, spanning deep like the roots of a tree.

Lucerys swallowed, a strange sense of guilt left him feeling hulled. A part of him wanted to feel what his brother did as well, yet there were still pages torn from their story in his mind; pages he feared he may never recover.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t-“ He stammered, frightened that his husband may be slighted by history Lucerys had forgotten…

“I know,” Jacaerys soothed, thumb pressed to the cleft in Lucerys’ chin. A dizzy back and forth was etched in his flesh by the callused pad of his husband’s finger.

When his brother kissed him a second time, it was a slower exchange. Jacaerys’ mouth and tongue coaxed his into action. It was evocative, sensual, reciprocal; dragonsong. It was the stoking of embers, the spreading of wildfire to every corner of his being.

“On the bed,” his brother growled, a crass hand swatted his bottom.

Lucerys nodded.

Their robes were placed aside and Lucerys settled upon the bed, skin bare and pulsing hot.

He laid carefully upon his stomach, firelight licking at his back. His face burned as he arched his back, his bottom sticking out in subtle invitation.

The bed dipped beneath the addition of another body and Lucerys drew in a steadying breath. His lungs were coated with the aroma of white oak and an open flame; heady and thick. His hindbrain secreted pacifying pheromones that left him strangely at peace.

He was going to be claimed, he realized, holding fistfuls of sheets. He would be mounted like a broodmare…

A warm hand grazed his spine.

A breath that smelled of figs and blood wine caressed his ear.

“What are you doing?”

Laid upon his stomach, Lucerys should have felt vulnerable; his neck was left exposed. He tilted his head against the bedding, curls loose as he caught the corner of his husband’s statuesque visage knelt upon the bed.

“I-” Lucerys swallowed, mouth uncomfortably dry. Even now, as bare as the day he was born, he was meant to exude aplomb. Jacaerys clearly desired a confident lover.

“I am not so naive, journals and written accountings detail that being upon one’s stomach is the most efficient way to ensure a successful mount…”

Jacaerys’ expression remained unreadable, but then he chuckled that pleasant sound that buzzed in Lucerys’ ears.

“...a successful mount.” Jacaerys echoed to himself with a shake of his damnable silver head. Lucerys flushed hot with embarrassment, feeling anything but confident.

A warm hand settled upon the small of his back. The simple touch inspired a strange building pressure. Jacaerys’ lips touched his ear and Lucerys exhaled a flustered sound into the bedding.

“You have spent too long with Andals that do not know how to fuck…”

His husband’s voice dripped thick and hot into his skull, like honey, or blood. His quim clenched. His husband seemed intent on showing Lucerys the error in his ways.

“Fucking is a pleasure. And Omegas were made to be pleased.”

There was lightning in Jacaerys’ voice, raw power, like the crackling of logs in the hearth.

“Here,” Jacaerys murmured, “turn over.”

He blinked up at him, at his pale hair, at his violet eyes that were nearly glazed black, at the sharp contrast of gold light and rich velvety shadows painted by the hearth across his husband’s body. His mouth had grown wet at his lean abdomen and sturdy shoulders, at his firm chest and strong arms…

A picturesque virile Alpha.

“There you are,” Jacaerys hummed, eyes so very fond.

His thighs are eased apart and Jacaerys settled between them. Each touch exchanged between them felt like it might set them alight. Mere kindling to a fire.

Every sensation titillated and overwhelmed.

A finger trailed featherlight from the hollow of his throat to the spot above his navel where that building pressure persisted. He was left gasping. Tears beaded in his eyes.

“Mm,” Lucerys sighed, unaccustomed to such intimacy, such nearness as his husband caressed the spot as the feeling worsened.

His fingers dipped lower toward the dark mound of his quim, wiry curls matted with slick.

Lucerys’ hips leapt from the bed with a cry at the barest touch. A clever, knowing thumb unveiled his bud, teasing it. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, wetting his temples, inevitably soaking into his loose curls.

His husband’s damp fingers teased along the seam of his quim; leisurely, as if skimming the lines of a book he had read before.

He felt as a digit slipped down to the knuckle into his velvety embrace.

“Jacaerys,” He croaked. The concave dip of his stomach quivered as his husband’s attention returned to the pink ache of his bud; his fingers made a lewd sound, so thoroughly wetted with slick.

Jacaerys’ silver head lowered with a knowing look and began to kiss him breathlessly; each press of Jace’s lips against his own selfishly stole what air remained in his lungs, and good sense from his mind.

He anchored a fist in his husband’s pale hair if only for an ounce of control, to claim something in return.

He sucked on Jacaerys’ tongue when it dipped into his mouth; he felt his husband’s body shake with a melodic swell of his subvocals.

“When I claim you, it shall be like this,” Jacaerys murmured through spit-slick lips into Lucerys’ panting mouth, their foreheads were pressed together, tacky with dried blood and sweat.

“Not for a ‘successful mount’, but so that I may look upon you, so that I may see the pleasure writ across this face,” His husband paused mouthing at Lucerys’ jaw, weight steadied on a forearm, Jace gazed down at him with such longing, “to have gone six years without it, ‘tis a crime against our nature. Yours and mine.”

Lucerys longed to pry the words apart, like field dressing a fresh kill, to permit nothing to escape his grasp nor understanding. Yet, his husband’s fingers grazed his cunt once more and all sense was lost, bleeding from the pulsing, open wound of his weeping gash.

A few fingers glided into his heat, effortlessly and Lucerys moaned. Ashamed of how easily his body had been reduced to something so carnal.

He was lost in the pleasure, the thick haze of pheromones in his head, and the scent of Jacaerys in his lungs.

When his hips leapt once more, it was to chase the rhythm of Jacaerys’s fingers spreading him open; shaping the walls of his quim like a smith molded metal — with patience and dedication.

His husband’s digits sought deep, fingers squelching amidst the sticky nectar and slick flesh. Without preamble, that knot of tension above Lucerys’ navel was pulled so readily to its limits, fingers pressing at the tender raised flesh until the tension broke.

Lucerys yowled, the sensation smarted, whip-fast as he came undone. His cocklet, stiff and yearning just above the seam of quim, spurted a few delicate ribbons of white against his stomach and chest. His quim gushed as a more potent release took hold, soaking around his husband’s fingers and onto the bed. A pleasure swallowed him so readily that he could not make sense of an end or beginning.

A garbled stream of hybridized Valyrian and common peppered his ears like a rain of arrows.

“There you are,” Jacaerys huffed, eyes ablaze with awe, “Issa lēkia.”

“ābrazȳrys…” he snarled, “mate…”

His body, so laden with pheromones only longed for one thing. To be claimed.

What power you wield, dear brother.

Jacaerys had tasted his blood once already. Surely he wanted more, needed more, needed to sink his teeth into Lucerys’ neck, where his bonding gland lay pristine and untouched.

“I, I need-”

“I shall give you what you need, wife.”

Pangs of longing littered his flesh, like ground glass in raw meat. He watched, mouth wet as Jacaerys’ cock swayed heavy and thick between well-muscled thighs.

It seemed impossibly large then; too large.

“Mm, b-brother… it won’t-”

“It will fit,” Jacaerys assured with a smile that Luke wanted terribly to believe, a brief kiss was pressed to Lucerys’ lips, “you were made for this,” another kiss, “you were made for me.”

Lucerys nodded, permitting his body to fall slack, tensionless, sedate with pheromones and supplicant for his Alpha.

The fattened head of his husband’s cock rubbed slowly along his quim, gathering nectar along the girth.

His stomach quivered as the glistening crown of Jacaerys’ manhood pressed obscenely large to Luke’s quim, puffy and pink.

“Shh,” Jacaerys soothed. His thumb toyed with Lucerys’ bud, rubbing tender little circles as the head applied a hint more pressure.

His legs spasmed as pleasure frothed in his belly.

He whined, the lips of his quim stretching to welcome the thick, drooling head.

His hips inched higher as Jacaerys’ eased lower. He envisioned the steel-tipped head of an arrow piercing the soft cushion of a straw-stuffed target.

The lips of his quim opened like a flower in bloom.

Jacaerys held himself painfully still as Lucerys mewled beneath him at the thin barrier of his maidenhead halting his brother’s path.

His brother kissed the salty spill of his tears; seeming to savor them as readily as he had Luke’s blood.

He awaited the agony that every maester and septa warned young Omegas of, for a geyser of blood to burst from between his thighs as his Alpha sank down to the bulb of his knot.

Yet, as Jacaerys finally slipped completely inside, it wasn’t at all as violent as Lucerys had imagined. It stretched the walls of his quim to what felt like its limits, certainly, but, the sensation did not inspire any pain. Rather, it felt like a wound being sewn shut, flesh knitted together, a sword in a sheath, a sense of completeness so profound that he wished to weep.

Oh.

“There you are,” Jace panted, a wry turn to his lips before his hips eased back.

A hand cradled his jaw as they laid, forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Blood upon their skin, sharing the same dewy breath.

One flesh, one heart, one soul…

The motion of Jacaerys’ hips was fluid, they beat against him as wrathful as the gale upon the sea. Every wave threatened to drag him under. Devastatingly beautiful.

Lucerys gasped, mouth agape as his brother’s eyes stared into his. Jacaerys’ hips pumped, large cock pushing and pulling his insides; molding him anew.

There was a harmony to it, the creaking of the bed, the crackling of the logs, the wet rhythm of Jacaerys’ hips colliding with his. The blood-red canopy above the bed quivered like a razed kingdom behind his husband’s silver head.

He dug frantic nails into the muscle of his brother’s back. He felt power. True power rippling beneath his fingertips.

The broad tip of his brother’s manhood found the raised flesh tucked away within his walls upon every thrust; pleasure spiraled and screamed within him.

Jacaerys’ grip tightened around his jaw. He began to lose track of what limbs were his and which were not.

Barely-there breasts bounced with every thrust, grazing his brother’s muscled chest. His nipples pebbled stiff as they scraped against Jacaerys, the sensation worsening the tension that tangled in his belly.

His quim fluttered, each pulse yearned to draw his husband deeper.

Lucerys dug a heel into the flexing muscle of his husband’s buttocks, urging him faster.

He mewled. Beyond words. Thrashing to bare his neck; recalcitrant and desperate. That only made Jacaerys fuck him harder.

Bloated stones, swollen with seed, slapped against Lucerys’ milk-white bottom.

Jacaerys’ free hand dug into the pliant flesh of Lucerys’ soft little bottom, urging his narrow hips to meet every harrowing plunge of Jace’s cock.

The wet lips of his quim, stretched thin, kissed the bulbous swell of Jacaerys’ knot upon every perfect union of their hips.

He urged his hips down, guided by his brother’s hand, yearning in a primal mania to have that knot inside of him.

The head of his brother’s cock kissed his womb, caressing that soft pink channel on every deep thrust.

His insides felt molten, like the flesh may slough off his bones at any moment. Like every cant of his brother-husband’s hips urged a tongue of dragonfire to lap at that sacred place. The place he yearned to have filled.

Jacaerys offered the dripping length of his tongue and Lucerys suckled upon it readily, filled by him so completely.

He anchored himself to his husband, nails caught upon the rippling muscle of his back.

He has no words left to give, save for a garbled string of “please”.

“Are you close, my love?”

Jacaerys asked, voice little more than a growl, his forehead pressed to Luke’s.

Lucerys thrashed at the delicious torment of his building release, tears streamed down his cheeks. He was close, horrendously so.

His husband’s lips found his, drinking deeply of his anguish.

The cadence of his husband’s thrust had grown all the more ardent in response. The very bed seemed to quake. Yet all he could see was Jacaerys, the silver of his hair, the violet of his eyes, Lucerys’ own blood painted upon his skin…

“Please!” Lucerys cried out, drunk upon the scent of white oak and an open flame, burning with a longing writ in their shared blood upon his very bones. Stripped of all constraints and vanity, he was simply an Omega in dire need of his Alpha.

When he arched his neck, his husband hadn’t the will to refuse a second time. He mouthed at the spot that so dearly needed attention, he adored it with his lips and tongue.

Each thrust fucked him so deeply into the rich, sweat-soaked featherbed. He arched, yowling at the unbearable sensation of his husband’s broad head at his womb.

“Once more, wife,” Jacaerys panted, breath hot as dragonfire ghosted along his lips, “come for me, brother. Shower me in your love.”

His bud was found and assaulted with the unrelenting press of sword-callused fingers; Urging him and higher.

And in a moment, he was undone, his release snapped like their chord of blood-red and gold and his world shook like all of Dragonstone would fall apart around them. His release gushed from his stretched-wide quim, drenching his husband and the bedding further. Jacaerys growled a deeply pleased guttural sound, his hips continued to pump into the squelching mess of Lucerys’ dripping sex, the firm grip of his hand cradled Lucerys’ jaw, forbidding him from looking elsewhere, at anything but Jacaerys.

He could only watch as a trembling look of awe passed over his husband’s face.

Jace’s hips surged forward and Luke bowed off of the bed at the undeniable ache of his husband’s knot popping inside. The thick head pressed against the slender pink opening of Lucerys’ womb. His thighs shook. Teeth were at his neck, kissing then breaking the skin. The bite was clean and perfect and unifying. Lucerys cried out towards the blood-red canopy above them. In that moment he saw a burst of color behind his eyes: the endless rainbow of their combined dragonfire. A third sharp release was upon him; brief and blinding. His cocklet spurted weakly, his quim clenched, milking the fattened bulb of his Alpha’s knot. A desperate whine fell from his lips as he felt it begin to swell. They were tied now, irrefutably: in body and blood.

His unspooling mind retreated to their vows once more as his brother’s seed distended the concave of his belly —— one flesh, one heart, one soul.

A rumbling purr started in his chest and his fingers wound through Jacaerys’ silver hair of their own volition. It was an intrinsic need as primal as the ache to purr, was the need to touch his brother. His husband. His mate.

He became prey pinned beneath his Alpha. His toes curled in atavistic delight.

He felt unbearably whole like he had found his missing piece.

When his brother’s lips inevitably withdrew from the fresh site of Lucerys’ bondmark, he was overcome with the bone-deep urge to weep. Yet, Jacaerys soothed him with a low, nearly musical flange of his subvocals that said, ‘Rest easy, little brother. I am here.’ Lucerys felt the spike of pacifying pheromones filling his frantic hindbrain, putting him promptly at ease. He felt the press of an aquiline nose to his temple, gentle and familiar. He fought his body's need to fall slack and submissive, instead twisting stubbornly upon the bed if only to feel the tug of his Alpha’s knot keeping them tied. A satisfied prickle of overstimulated tears stung his eyes. A dutiful tongue lapped at the slow ooze of blood from the site upon his neck.

A tug persisted at the base of his skull. A nascent thing through which all flowed. Their bond.

There was no word so apt for his current state other than claimed. Even still, adrift within the overwhelming emotion of it all, Lucerys sought some semblance of assurance; some logic to the disorder Jacaerys had made of him.

His mind scrabbled for clarity, despite how his eyelids drooped and his limbs curled into the preternatural heat of his Alpha’s body, wrapped in the woodsy aroma of white oak and the bittersweet bite of an open flame.

He fell deeper still into a place so utterly content as an aquiline nose and warm lips nuzzled fondly at his hairline. It was not long until whisps of vanilla and browned butter roamed in fragrant curls from his sweat-slicked skin.

“I’ll be going soon,” Lucerys said amidst a yawn as firm fingers pressed warm divots into the underside of his thigh.

“Going where, precisely?” Jacaerys asked, indolent, but displeased. The emotion trickled over, like rainwater through a leaking roof. Lucerys frowned at the feeling.

He thought of propriety, of what he’d been taught of formal marriages such as theirs.

“To my own chambers, husband,” Lucerys informed, though he hadn’t the strength to lift his head while he spoke.

“I could use the rest,” he added sweetly, knowing an Alpha’s ego was utterly in want of stroking.

Jacaerys exhaled through his nose before Lucerys felt its straight bridge touch the upturned curl of his own.

“Mm,” his Alpha hummed, “then rest.”

Longing poured over as a hand settled at the dip in Lucerys’ waist where they lay.

“You are my wife now, Lucerys. My chambers are yours.”

Curious, he thought to himself.

It brought to mind a memory formerly lost to him…

“Let me in!” Lucerys demanded in a nasally whisper, lips pressed to the crack in the door.

“Jace-”

The door budged far enough for him to catch the gleam of his elder brother’s silver-gold hair and he felt a swell of victory.

“I can’t let you in, Luke. Mother will have my head-”

“She will not! Oh, Jace, she won’t catch us. She never does.”

Jacaerys’ face twisted in a conflicted expression, but in his heart, Lucerys knew he had won. The door swung open and Lucerys rushed inside. His hand clasping with his brother’s pulling him towards the bed.

“You mustn’t make a sound, hm?” Jacaerys warned, a finger held to Luke’s lips.

Lucerys nodded giddily.

“I won’t. I promise.”

As the memory faded, Lucerys found himself unbearably drowsy, his head pressed to a strong chest, his cold little feet tucked to the backs of warm knees, as familiar as the lines traversing his palms.

I had mastered you once brother, he thought to himself as he squirmed closer into the cage of his husband’s arms, I can do it again.

#my writing #jaceluke #jaceluke agenda #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #dark jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #jacaerys x lucerys #hotd fanfic

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jimblejamblewritings · 1 month ago

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Marauders Fanon vs Canon??? (I don't have a good title but hear me out)

So I'm writing a fic but I wanted to make it more in line with canon for some parts and was looking up some stuff and realized a lot of stuff we think is common knowledge is fanon mixed with canon or something wasn't stated in canon when it was. This isn't about Team Snape or Team Marauders. I went to pick up my copies of the books since I owned them and noticed these things:

Keep in mind, anything anyone says is biased. On both sides. Especially when they're talking to Harry or showing him something. They want to make themselves look the best. So there might be contradictions by characters

(Sidenote: James says "you-know-what" when telling Lily he can't be as bad as Snape because he'd never call her a mudblood like he just did. So, yes, that very much shows mudblood is meant to be a slur like the n-word. we can put that argument to rest)

Snape Invented Levicorpus:

There's a lot of maybe he did maybe he didn't on every side but in Half-Blood Prince Ch. 28 (pg.603-604) it states:

“Sectum— !” Snape flicked his wand and the curse was repelled yet again; but Harry was mere feet away now and he could see Snape’s face clearly at last [...] Mustering all his powers of concentration, Harry thought, Levi— “No, Potter!” screamed Snape. [...] You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? It was I who invented them — I, the Half-Blood Prince! And you’d turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, would you? I don’t think so."

Snape reacts only after Harry is about to use Levicorpus. So it's confirmed on page that when Snape says spells, he means both Sectumsempra and Levicorpus. And we know from his worst memory that the only spell James uses on Severus that isn't taught in school is Levicorpus. So that could be the only witnessed spell of Severus' James would have turned on him.

Also in the Worst Memory, he definitely uses a form of sectumsempra on James:

“SECTUMSEMPRA!” bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly. Blood spurted from Malfoy’s face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. (Half-Blood Prince Ch. 24, p. 522)

Snape had directed his wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood. (Order of the Phoenix Ch. 28, p. 647)

They both cause gashes although James' hex is obviously a lot less intense than Draco's hex. I don't know if this would imply Snape wasn't advanced enough yet in the spell but he seems very proficient even at the end of 5th year where this scene takes place. So maybe he used a different form of it? Either way the spells match up in the look of them, it's just the severity is different.

Lily was NOT a bad friend to Severus. I've seen people say oh she didn't use her wand during Snape's Worst Memory therefore making her a bad friend and not that invested in him. She literally pulls out her wand and threatens James and Sirius if they don't let him go. Just because they listened to her threat so she didn't get to fire a hex doesn't mean she wasn't going to. She wanted to talk first and try to reason before resorting to violence. She was a good friend to Severus. Period.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily. (Order of the Phoenix Ch. 28, p. 648)

Sirius claims that James always hated Dark Arts. This could definitely be a skewed perspective but so far I've treated every quote as truth of the person who said it so I'll do the same here for now. If this is true, then James never hated Snape out of nowhere and happened to be proven right that he's a Death Eater. They knew.

James and Snape hated each other from the moment they set eyes on each other, it was just one of those things, you can understand that, can’t you? I think James was everything Snape wanted to be — he was popular, he was good at Quidditch, good at pretty much everything. And Snape was just this little oddball who was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts and James — whatever else he may have appeared to you, Harry — always hated the Dark Arts. (Order of the Phoenix Ch. 29, p. 670)

The war started in 1970. The Marauders and Snape's first year at Hogwarts was 1971. So Death Eaters, Voldemort, and the war in general was their entire school career. Severus wasn't hanging out with pre-Death Eaters. They were always preparing to join the Death Eaters. They were called Death Eaters at the school. So whether that's his actual motivation or not, James and literally everyone else would know from first year if their fellow students were on Voldemort's side or believed in his cause or not.

You and your precious little Death Eater friends—you see, you don’t even deny it! You don’t even deny that’s what you’re all aiming to be! You can’t wait to join You-Know-Who, can you? (Deathly Hallows Ch. 33, p. 676)

To me that makes the use of mudblood constantly even worse. From the beginning students knew the implication of that and would call and honestly torment their fellow muggleborn students that slur anyway. Everyone at school was well aware of the war and their actions, even the first years.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said in a constricted voice. “Why not?” “Tuney h–hates me. Because we saw that letter from Dumbledore.” “So what?” She threw him a look of deep dislike. “So she’s my sister!” “She’s only a— ” He caught himself quickly; Lily, too busy trying to wipe her eyes without being noticed, did not hear him. “But we’re going!” he said, unable to suppress the exhilaration in his voice. “This is it! We’re off to Hogwarts!” She nodded, mopping her eyes, but in spite of herself, she half smiled. (Deathly Hallows Ch. 33, p. 670 - 671)

James and Severus were at each other's throats. It wasn't one-sided bullying on either side. They both attacked each other. Literally starting on the train they both made petty enemies out of each other and it escalated each year. Now we never get to see on page who started the physical but whoever did the other side returned it just as much as they dished it.

“You’d better be in Slytherin." “Slytherin?” One of the boys sharing the compartment, who had shown no interest at all in Lily or Snape until that point, looked around at the word, and Harry [...] saw his father. [...] “Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?” James asked [Sirius]. “My whole family have been in Slytherin,” he said. “Blimey,” said James, “and I thought you seemed all right!” Sirius grinned. “Maybe I’ll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you’ve got the choice?” "Gryffindor." Snape made a small, disparaging noise. James turned on him. “Got a problem with that?” “No,” said Snape, though his slight sneer said otherwise. “If you’d rather be brawny than brainy— ” “Where’re you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?” interjected Sirius. James roared with laughter. Lily sat up, rather flushed, and looked from James to Sirius in dislike. “Come on, Severus, let’s find another compartment.” “Oooooo . . . ” James and Sirius imitated her lofty voice; James tried to trip Snape as he passed. “See ya, Snivellus!” (Deathly Hallows Ch. 33, p. 671-672)

“She started going out with him in seventh year,” said Lupin. “Once James had deflated his head a bit,” said Sirius. “And stopped hexing people just for the fun of it,” said Lupin. “Even Snape?” said Harry. “Well,” said Lupin slowly, “Snape was a special case. I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James, so you couldn’t really expect James to take that lying down, could you?” (Order of the Phoenix Ch. 29, p. 670)

I'm also sure of this because of what Severus does to Petunia who has no magic. More than likely this was a back and forth but not one-sided bullying from the marauders or from Snape.

Then a small rustling noise behind Harry made him turn: Petunia, hiding behind a tree, had lost her footing. “Tuney!” said Lily, surprise and welcome in her voice, but Snape had jumped to his feet. “Who’s spying now?” he shouted. “What d’you want?” Petunia was breathless, alarmed at being caught. Harry could see her struggling for something hurtful to say. “What is that you’re wearing, anyway?” she said, pointing at Snape’s chest. “Your mum’s blouse?” There was a crack. A branch over Petunia’s head had fallen. Lily screamed. The branch caught Petunia on the shoulder, and she staggered backward and burst into tears. (Deathly Hallows Ch. 33, p. 668)

Like this is an overkill response and could have genuinely hurt Petunia just for her being a little shithead. So the notion that Severus dished it and took it probably isn't a lie from the characters but true. And I don't feel bad for adult Petunia. She was a horrible woman and abused Harry and should have been held accountable more for that.

But we have to be honest that child Petunia deserved better. She thought at strange neighbor was spying on her and her sister and then after he becomes friends with her baby sister, he either harms Petunia or convinces Lily to invade Petunia's privacy. And then she finds out she can't go be with her sister who is disappearing for months out of the year at what sounds like the best school ever. I mean baby Petunia didn't deserve this shit.

“You didn’t think it was such a freak’s school when you wrote to the headmaster and begged him to take you.” Petunia turned scarlet. “Beg? I didn’t beg!” “I saw his reply. It was very kind.” “You shouldn’t have read— ” whispered Petunia, “that was my private—how could you—?” Lily gave herself away by half-glancing toward where Snape stood nearby. Petunia gasped. “That boy found it! You and that boy have been sneaking in my room!” “No—not sneaking— ” Now Lily was on the defensive. “Severus saw the envelope, and he couldn’t believe a Muggle could have contacted Hogwarts, that’s all! (Deathly Hallows Ch. 33, p. 669-670)

The two wouldn't have known Dumbledore's reply was kind if they just saw the letter. They went into her room and then opened her mail. Also, me, I would have freaked out more if some boy I didn't really know or liked was just in my room. This point doesn't really matter in relation to canon or anything, I just thought I'd mention that child Petunia deserves a mention every now and then.

The Marauders' pranks seem to all be hexes. Everyone considers them harmless and sometimes funny or annoying or pranks. So hexes even if not legal are seen as just pranking and stupid. This also kind of implies that James and Sirius did most of the pranks not really Peter or Remus but I don't think that was intentional and is just a book contradictory.

walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can — I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. (Order of the Phoenix Ch. 28, p. 648)

“And stopped hexing people just for the fun of it,” said Lupin. (Order of the Phoenix Ch. 29, p. 670)

He pulled out a card from one of the topmost boxes with a flourish and read, “ ‘James Potter and Sirius Black. Apprehended using an illegal hex upon Bertram Aubrey. Aubrey’s head twice normal size. Double detention.’ ” Snape sneered. “It must be such a comfort to think that, though they are gone, a record of their great achievements remains [...] It was, as Harry had anticipated, useless, boring work, punctuated (as Snape had clearly planned) with the regular jolt in the stomach that meant he had just read his father or Sirius’s names, usually coupled together in various petty misdeeds, occasionally accompanied by those of Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. (Half-Blood Prince Ch. 24, p. 532)

I don't think Snape was a loner. Even in his own memories, he doesn't present them as if he had no one once he got to Hogwarts. The text itself makes it seem like obviously Lily was his best friend but he hung out with the Death Eaters on a level of actually liking them.

"thought we were supposed to be friends?” Snape was saying, “Best friends?” “We are, Sev, but I don’t like some of the people you’re hanging round with! I’m sorry, but I detest Avery and Mulciber! Mulciber! What do you see in him, Sev, he’s creepy! D’you know what he tried to do to Mary MacDonald the other day?” Lily had reached a pillar and leaned against it, looking up into the thin, sallow face. “That was nothing,” said Snape. “It was a laugh, that’s all— ” “It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny— ” [...] "Mulciber's and Avery's idea of humor is just evil. Evil, Sev. I don't understand how you can be friends with them." (Deathly Hallows Ch. 33, p. 673 - 674)

Also we never find out what Mulciber does but in Goblet of Fire it's revealed that he's really good at the Imperius Curse. Now, he probably wasn't doing Unforgivables at school (although all the Crucio's thrown around even during Harry's time might prove otherwise). But it might have been something along the lines of that curse.

People change and grow which is good but Hermione and Ron definitely had a prejudice of werewolves and threw that in Lupin's face during the Shrieking Shack. Like it wasn't about him helping Sirius, they were also appalled at the werewolf bit seperately. Also it was wrong of Snape to teach that and make a whole essay hoping students would pick up on the symptoms matching Remus' symptoms.

Canon does confirm that Severus suspected Remus of being a werewolf before The Prank™. He wanted to know where Remus went every month. Severus had worked out the schedule exactly and knew it was once a month.

"Severus was very interested in where I went every month [...] We were in the same year, you know, and we — er — didn’t like each other very much. He especially disliked James. Jealous, I think, of James’s talent on the Quidditch field . . . anyway Snape had seen me crossing the grounds with Madam Pomfrey one evening as she led me toward the Whomping Willow to transform. Sirius thought it would be — er — amusing, to tell Snape all he had to do was prod the knot on the tree trunk with a long stick, and he’d be able to get in after me. Well, of course, Snape tried it — if he’d got as far as this house, he’d have met a fully grown werewolf — but your father, who’d heard what Sirius had done, went after Snape and pulled him back, at great risk to his life . . . Snape glimpsed me, though, at the end of the tunnel. He was forbidden by Dumbledore to tell anybody, but from that time on he knew what I was." (Prisoner of Azkaban Ch. 18, p. 356 - 357)

Also I think this shows that The Prank™ happened in 5th year a little before Snape's Worst Memory but it wasn't what made Severus drop hints to Lily about Remus being a werewolf. His suspicions were confirmed that night of the Shrieking Shack but they formed well beforehand. We don't know if this is what Severus actually saw that led him to start being suspicious because it doesn't seem likely that he and Remus ever talked about it but this is really the only in depth detail we ever get so it's what we've got to go off of.

The one thing that never gets explained is how Severus approached Sirius or what happened that would lead to them having any sort of conversation where Sirius would say if you want to go after Remus, here's how you get past the Whomping Willow. Which is a missed opportunity in my opinion. Clearly Sirius was aware that Snape wanted to go after Lupin and they both understand that. So what did Snape do or say to lead up to that. Because based on how his character is written in the rest of the books, unless Severus alluded to knowing Remus was a werewolf, it's out of character for him to risk his friend like that. We get this scene showing Sirius' character in the exact same scene after Remus tells the story:

“Two more for Azkaban tonight,” said Snape, his eyes now gleaming fanatically. “I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this. . . . He was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin . . . a tame werewolf —” “You fool,” said Lupin softly. “Is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back inside Azkaban?” BANG! Thin, snakelike cords burst from the end of Snape’s wand and twisted themselves around Lupin’s mouth, wrists, and ankles; he overbalanced and fell to the floor, unable to move. With a roar of rage, Black started toward Snape, but Snape pointed his wand straight between Black’s eyes. (Prisoner of Azkaban Ch. 18, p. 357)

If Snape had just said something like he was going to tell they were breaking curfew, I doubt Sirius would have just blurted that our so I wish it had been given a scene.

But this does show that even though Sirius was wrong to tell him how to get into the Whomping Willow, Severus suspected something was up and proceeded to go on a full moon anyway. If you suspected he's a werewolf, why take the chance?

Even though it makes no sense for fanfic purposes (or canon really but different convo) the timeline is: Snape is suspicious —> The Prank —> Snape's Worst Memory. And all in a matter of days or weeks in 5th year. Feel free to switch it up though because that's a lot crammed into a short time.

And personal opinion, but Dumbledore wasn't wrong in this moment. Remus can't control what he is and potentially getting expelled would make him a victim as well. We don't know if Sirius was punished by some made up excuse but I don't think forbidding Snape to tell was wrong when it doesn't affect Sirius but Remus.

Lily also knew about his theory. Even though this conversation is after the prank, this isn't new information. It's Severus reiterating what he suspected before, just with the added context that he has confirmation of Remus being a werewolf.

“He’s ill,” said Lily. “They say he’s ill— ” “Every month at the full moon?” said Snape. “I know your theory,” said Lily, and she sounded cold. “Why are you so obsessed with them anyway? Why do you care what they’re doing at night?” “I’m just trying to show you they’re not as wonderful as everyone seems to think they are.” The intensity of his gaze made her blush. (Deathly Hallow Ch. 33, p. 674)

Unfortunately, I think people were right that Severus was jealous of James over... Quidditch. It sounds like a cover up and so foolishly silly. There's definitely more things but being jealous over quidditch was true. It comes out of Snape's mouth in his own memories.

The words seemed wrenched from him against his will. “And he’s not . . . everyone thinks . . . big Quidditch hero— ” Snape’s bitterness and dislike were rendering him incoherent, and Lily’s eyebrows were traveling farther and farther up her forehead. (Deathly Hallows Ch. 33, p. 674)

This is more speculation than overt in text but I don't think James did take off Snape's underwear during the second Levicorpus in Snape's Worst Memory. The Deathly Hallows is a YA book not middle grade so it would be acceptable to put that in the book. The book has worse stuff in it. But the first time the memory appears, Harry is pulled out by Snape returning to his office before he can find out. The second time, it skips it. If the scene had finished playing out with Severus having his underwear forcibly removed, I think it would have been on page by this point in the last book. That doesn't make it right by any means, I'm not saying that. But I think it's not concrete that James ever did that.

Now what else isn't concrete is that "Snape never used Levicorpus the way the Marauders did". It lifts people up by their ankles. It's a spell Snape confirms was invented. It's a spell that became a popular jinx around Hogwarts. The Hogwarts uniforms are black robes and point hats. Those things are confirmed and canon by text. So if Snape or any other student was using Levicorpus, unless they were wearing something underneath their robes, they all would have been exposed like Severus was in his Worst Memory. That makes literally everyone look bad and is actually problematic of all the characters. And means Snape invented the spell knowing it would do this and did it to people. And then all the other students did. They'd all be shitty.

Of course this can be remedied by just stating that people wear clothes under their robes and Snape just happened to be in only underwear that day but the books seem to be wishy washy on if people are wearing clothes under the robes or not or even wearing the robes at all sometimes. This also does lend some credibility to people saying Snape's Worst Memory was the part where he called Lily a mudblood not the part about being Levicorpused. Because if everyone in school was doing that to each other and it's just seen as stupid jinxes then the Levicorpus wouldn't be the most horrifying thing. I used to not believe in this thought but seeing the text again, it's possible.

This specific scene tackles a lot of what was said before but I want to address it as a whole instead of breaking the dialogue up:

“I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here.” “I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just— ” “Slipped out?” There was no pity in Lily’s voice. “It’s too late. I’ve made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends—you see, you don’t even deny it! You don’t even deny that’s what you’re all aiming to be! You can’t wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?” He opened his mouth, but closed it without speaking. “I can’t pretend anymore. You’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine.” “No—listen, I didn’t mean— ” “— to call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?” (Deathly Hallows Ch. 33, p. 675 - 676)

There's something pretty traumatizing that Mary was the one around to hear Snape threaten to sleep in front of the Gryffindor Common Room. Like his friends assaulted you with Dark Magic and then he's there and threatening to sleep there. Mary dealt with a lot of trauma that we never talk about.

Severus never meant to call Lily a mudblood, once again confirming it is viewed as a slur in this world. It doesn't just slip out. He's comfortable using it. For years, he's been friends with people who want Lily and people like her harmed or dead. It's not just convenient to hang out with these people because he has to see them since they're all in Slytherin. It is Severus' ideology and belief.

And not to harp on her too much but Lily actively hung out with someone constantly calling people a slur and only gave up on him after he said it to her specifically. Like babes, stand up, please. She also says she made excuses for him for years implies he did in fact dish it out like he took it.

Snape calling every muggleborn a mudblood, hangs out with known Death Eaters, aims to be one officially, and wants to join You-Know-Who. All around the end of 5th year into early 6th year. The war had been raging and they all knew it so Severus wasn't a troubled teen who joined a bad cause. He actively participated in it. Troubled teens don't always join neo-Nazis simply because they're troubled. That claim robs Severus of the agency his character has. He made these decisions and has to contend with them. That's a more powerful character.

Even when he was alone though, Snape still used that word. Even when there was no part to play. He never changed his ideology. He only joined the right side because the woman he loved was killed by the other side.

And now Snape stood again in the headmaster’s study as Phineas Nigellus came hurrying into his portrait. “Headmaster! They are camping in the Forest of Dean! The Mudblood— ” “Do not use that word!” “— the Granger girl, then, mentioned the place as she opened her bag and I heard her!” “Good. Very good!” cried the portrait of Dumbledore behind the headmaster’s chair. (Deathly Hallows Ch. 33, p. 689)

He's still calling muggleborns a slur. Unprompted and Unprovoked.

(Side Note: Why does this feel like a retcon of Phineas Nigellus? He's not mentioned much but I think maybe fanon has me remembering him as being more awful but he's not that bad here or really does much in the series)

No one from the marauders era saw Harry as a real person. There's way too many quotes to show it but I think we all know. Every last one of them saw Harry as James 2.0 or James reincarnate but they never saw him as just Harry.

Final Thoughts:

The look-back into actual canon was very helpful. A lot of unanswered questions are actually explained in other spots, we just tend to forget when they are never explicit or lingered on and the book series is as huge as it is.

I do have to say though that the re-read actually made me not like Snape more. Like, I don't remember half the quotes being like this but they were actually worse than I thought. Particularly the point where he's in Sirius' bedroom, takes a letter not addressed to him and then rips a photo in half to only keep the part of Lily and throw the rest of her photo that has her husband and CHILD on the floor. I hate to say it but canon actually made me not like this character, the opposite effect I was expecting.

It also did make me sympathetic to child Petunia and remember that they were two very different people. Shame she became awful.

#marauders era #snape #severus snape #marauders #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #remus #sirius #peter pettigrew #mary macdonald #lily evans #lily potter #harry potter

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songmingisthighs · 1 year ago

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Genesis

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. xxiii - you tell me

fashion mogul!mingi × reader

buy me coffee ?

things aren't always what it seems but when even the truth is left unheard, what can people do? one musn't lie but what if the lie is more accepted than the truth? the scariest thing in this world isn't monsters or demons. it's people with no agenda and time to waste.

You didn't realize that Mingi would be so quick to arrive. You were in the middle of retching your dinner out into the toilet bowl when you heard stern knocks on the front door. So you rushed to flush the contents, gargle to remove the stench of puke, and rush to open the door, not realizing that you looked dishevelled.

"Hey!" You grinned at Mingi who was standing in front of you, "You're rather prompt, come in!" You stepped aside to let Mingi in, not noticing one arched eyebrow and careful steps into your treshhold. "You took your time opening the door," the comment made your eyes widen and you almost slip when you closed your front door, "Someone here?" He began looking around your apartment, trying to see if anyone else were there. But telling the truth, you simply shrugged, "No, I'm all alone here but my friend just left not too long ago after dropping me."

There it was.

Mingi could feel his eye twitch in annoyance at your attempt to subtly cover the truth. It's not even a good attempt, you were just using synonyms that can get you off from the truth on a technicality. He hates that. No amount of technicality should get someone off the truth and boy, considering the secret, Mingi deserves the truth.

The gears in Mingi's head was turning, he hadn't exactly decide how he wanted to play this. Honestly, he didn't expect to be annoyed from the get go. It was just that dishonest people, people who have a reason to hide the truth for their own benefit, chafed his ass. And he knew from experience that he can't just barge in guns-a-blazing and demand the person to come clean with their plan. That person would bluff their asses off and that's something mingi was not gonna let happen. With that in mind, Mingi decided to give you a chance and let you come clean.

With confidence, Mingi made his move to your dining table, "I was bored at the office so I ended up watching Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Damn, Snape's... BETRAYAL was just... Crazy stuff," he huffed, eyes darting to your face to see if the word 'betrayal' sparked anything out of you. But so far, nothing. "Oh yeah, I watched that with my friend recently, and all I could think about was how hard it must've been for snape to keep that big of a secret," you wanted to punch yourself for mentioning secret keeping. You were already starting to lose bladder control, why not lose control over your mouth too, right? But nevertheless, you willed yourself to not react. But Mingi took notice of the word you used and he was confident that you WERE keeping a secret from him. He wasn't one to be too into psychology, but he was proud that he remembered about Freudian Slip. "Uhuh... Secret keeping is just... Tough," he said as he crossed his arms and sat down on a chair. Once Mingi made himself comfortable, you noticed the bag of baby stuff Yunho surprised you with earlier during dinner. As smooth as you could, you got behind Mingi and snatch the shopping bag as quickly as you could and tried your best to use your body to cover the damn thing. You thought you did a good job as you fast-walked to the bedroom to toss the item on your bag but unfortunately, Mingi saw it and he found the action very suspicious which doesn't bode well for you. Not that you noticed it.

"Speaking of friends, how was... Your thing today?" Mingi asked loudly while you were still in your room. You peeked your head out and looked at him with an eyebrow raised, "My thing?" "Yeah, the thing you said. You went out to eat with a... Friend?" It was rather obvious that Mingi was trying to insinuate something, get you to feel uncomfortable for lying to him about your boyfriend. But of course, you didn't lie about that so the insinuation just went over your head. "Oh, that was great! And I went with my friends, plural," you answered as you walked out of your room and sat yourself on the chair across from Mingi who was nodding along. "Speaking of friends, don't you have a friend who's tall? I think I saw him on your social media or something," he knows who he was talking about, he just wanted to see you react. You pursed your lips as you think, "Well... Jongho is quite tall I guess? But Yunho is the tallest one amongst the three." You were still not affected it seems. This time, Mingi pursed his lips as if mimicking you, thinking of what he can say to get a reaction out of your lying ass. "And... How close are you with Yunho? What kind of a friend is he exactly?" Your eyebrows furrowed at the tone Mingi used, "Regular... I guess?" "Yeah, but how close are you with him?"

Now you sensed something weird. "Why are you asking about him?" To the rationally minded, your defensiveness were justified as you truly didn't think there is any reason for you to be put under the spotlight like what Mingi's doing to you. "I don't know, why are you avoiding answering my question about your 'friend', huh?" And Mingi just had to use the air quotation gesture at the word 'friend'. You couldn't help but scoff at the absolute ridiculousness, "What are you trying to imply here? Did you just come here to interorigate me about my friends? Because if you are, I think I'm kind of busy all of a sudden," you move to stand up but Mingi beat you to it, towering over you even from across the table, "Busy, huh? Busy with trying to cover up your secret?" When your eyes widened in surprise, Mingi felt like he had checked mate your ass so hard. Cockily, he even leaned down close to you and spoke with a low voice, "Yeah, that's right, I know about your little secret. Well, it's little now but we're just gonna have to see how big it gets in 9 months, right?" And there it was. Your knees buckled and your instinct told you to move back from Mingi. "Fuck," you choked out.

That was all Mingi needed to scoff and pushed his body back up straight, "I knew it," with much disappointment, Mingi shook his head, "Really (y/n), when were you going to tell me that you were pregnant?" You raised your hands up, wordlessly trying to tell him to stay calm, "Look, Mingi, it's not that I wanted to keep it a secret because I so don't. But you have to know that I havenXt figured out how to break the news to you yet." "So you were planning on telling me?" He asked to which you nodded your head frantically only to be replied with him scoffing, "When? After you gave birth to the baby's sibling? After you hand the baby off to kindergarten? When the baby graduates college??" His words were like knives stabbing you all over because it was rather true, you were considering telling him at the very last second because you don't even know what you wanted. But hearing him say it, knowing that he's the baby's father, hurts like hell because you didn't expect your fear to be so menacing when it's really happening. Tears brimming in your eyes but you still willed yourself to not break down rosy cheeks and hot ears be damned, "No Mingi, of course not. I was trying to figure out how to tell you and in the meantime-" "In the meantime what? You can two-time the baby daddy with me?"

Now you were confused. "Excuse me?" You asked, thinking you had heard wrong. "God, (y/n) had it been some guy, I would've probably looked over it and get past the issue but how can you do this to your supposed best friend? And how did he became the baby's father anyways?" You were silent. It wasn't that you were afraid or you had nothing to say, but you were trying to figure out what Mingi meant and what he knew, piecing the facts together and hopefully be able to make a conclusion because Mingi didn't make sense to you. "Wait, wha-" you tried to interject but Mingi just kept going, turning his body around with his hands on his waist, "My God, (y/n), it's not even about me right now but it's about the guy who's having this baby with you! Does he even know that you know me? That you're about to tell the public that we had sex? Were you together with him when we slept together does he know about that?" "YUNHO IS NOT THE FATHER," you blurted out loudly, effectively stopping Mingi's rant. He turned around to face you with a shocked look on his face, "What?" "Yunho is not the father, Mingi," you sighed, preparing yourself to come clean and just tell him. But Mingi mistook your pause for silence and you calming yourself down and preparing yourself for defeat.

"Oh my God, how many people have you slept with these past two months?" That got you to snap your head and made your brain short-circuit. "Excuse me, what?" You asked. "Shit, (y/n) the guy who has been helping you around with your secret pregnancy is not even the dad? That is so cruel even for you! You must know that for a guy to accompany you to the doctor's, it MUST mean that he's dedicated, right? Right? How could you do that to him? No, how could you do that to the baby? You've been slutting around everywhere, sleeping with people that you got pregnant and you had the chance to play daddy roulette and just CLAIM that you're pregnant with your friend's baby. I honestly pity the baby and not even for the situation you're putting it through but for having you for a mom! God, I should've hired that PI before I rope myself with you," he angrily run his fingers through his hair.

There were so much going on, too much information for you to process. First was him thinking that you were pregnant with Yunho's baby, then him slut shaming you, then Mingi saying that he pitied Bean for having you as a mom. But above everything, one word struck you most. "What do you mean PI?" You asked in an eerily calm voice that Mingi didn't notice yet. Without looking at you, or more like refusing to, Mingi simply shook his head and exhaled sharply, "A private investigator that I hired to look you up because you were starting to become shady and thank fuck Wooyoung suggested me to do so because I can't even imagine the crap I'll be dealing with if this got out without my knowledge because despite your uppity attitude about wanting to keep yourself safe by hesitating to help me, you were making yourself as accessible as public transportation on a national holiday."

It was obvious that Mingi didn't see it coming so when he tumbled down to the floor with aching pain to the back of his knee, he could only look up to your seething figure with surprise. "What the hell?" He exclaimed, trying to get back up but you immediately reached over to grab a spatula that was lying on the table and pointed it at him. "Get the fuck out," you hissed, voice trembling in anger. "What do you mean? I need to deal with this before it goes out!" He pushed himself up and you didn't know what came over you, but you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him with the strength that you didn't even know you have. "What are you doing? Let go of me!" He exclaimed, trying to get you to let him go which you did once you opened your front door and shoved him out followed by you tossing his shoes somewhere you don't care. "I can put up with you being angry that I kept something that could jeopardize your career and my credibility as someone who will give a statement about us spending a night together. Hell, I can put up with you insinuating that I'm a slut. But what I can't put up with was you cheating your way by paying a stranger to violate my privacy when you could've sat down and communicate with me, ask me shit. I have a lot of tolerance, Mingi, but that's where I draw the line. Go fuck yourself."

You were about to slam the door shut but Mingi held the door with his hand, glowering because he still had more to say but you were trying to shut the conversation on your own accord. "I might be wrong to have hired a PI, but can you blame me when you're out here being dishonest with me, yourself, and the baby? Do you even know who the father is? Do you know if he's going to pull something on you and me if you were to go public? I have a lot riding on here," he was overwhelmed, for sure. He was huffy and puffy and his chest were rising to accommodate his breathing. But he was saying all the wrong things.

So with a final shake of your head, you dropped the truth bomb that made his anger completely melt away.

"You're the father, Mingi. I got pregnant from that one night that's why I hesitated telling you."

Seeing Mingi's eyes widened and his jaw going slack, you took the opportunity to slam the door shut and left him alone.

"Well fuck, I didn't see that one coming," he ehispered to himself, turning around and leaning on your door, slowly sliding down. That was when it dawned on him, all the things he said to you and the way he treated you.

He fucked up once again. This time, astronomically.

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illisius · 5 months ago

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SEVERUS SNAPE in HARRY POTTER 1—7 (insp.)

this death will be art the people will speak of this day from near and afar this event will be history, and i’ll be great too

— The Buttress, brutus

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sweetestofchaos · 8 months ago

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Blackthorn Ch 15 | M.YG

Forgive Me - In another lifetime, Agust knew what happiness was.

a/n: As always thanks to @sailoryooons for making the banner and being my beta. Shout out to @theharrowing for being another set of eyes!

a/n 2: like before there will be ⚠⚠⚠ to show where murder starts and stops, if you want to skip that part

Character asks and the taglist for Blackthorn are always open! Minors do NOT interact with my work, please and thank you. Also, this is cross posted on ao3, under the same username sweetestofchaos.

Taglist: @thickemadame @loisje123

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

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Silver and gold, two colors that had not existed in the same space in eons, met silently. Agust’s body was frozen as glistening tears spilled from those all too familiar silver pools. A single drop of blood plopped down from the ceiling and splashed on Ceyeh’s cheek. A small river of tinted red streamed down her face, yet she made no move to wipe it away. Agust stepped forward with a hand raised and Ceyeh’s arm shot out with a startled gasp as she took a quick step backwards. The distance wasn’t much, a handful of footsteps, yet Agust felt that there were whole continents between them.

“My moon?”

Ceyeh’s silver eyes narrowed into thin slits as she glared at the animal spirit that spoke to her. Her lips curled over her teeth and the feathers on her shoulders bristled. Agust felt his forked tongue turn to lead. He couldn’t form any words, the hatred in Ceyeh’s eyes was a harsh reminder of their past.

A water drop from his hairline, tinted grey, slid down his face and seeped into the open wound by his eye. Agust hissed, his right eye slammed shut as the pain blurred his vision. Ceyeh took the moment to flee and ran out into the rain. Agust growled, his chest rumbling violently as he spun on his heels and took chase.

Black leathery wings sprouted from Agust’s back and carried him through the rainstorm. The chilled winds and icy rain threatened to freeze the strong appendages, but Agust refused to lose Ceyeh. He would chase her to the end of the Earth, and further still, if he had to.

The town flew by in darkened colors and distorted shapes as he followed the scent of rotten tangerines. The scent was a searing reminder of his past mistakes. Agust growled as he caught sight of brown and grey as Ceyeh darted around a corner. He flapped his wings harshly, just once to propel himself upwards over the houses. Below him, Ceyeh hid against a wall, the roofing created a small awning that shielded her from the rain but not from his sight.

Agust wasted no time, he had chased Ceyeh long enough. Pushing his soaked hair out of his eyes once more, Agust dived in the air and dropped right in front of Ceyeh. The bird spirit's feathers ruffled and she swiped at Agust with her talons. Agust easily caught Ceyeh’s wrist with one hand - the attack was half hearted. Afterall, he was in the body of the very man that Ceyeh’s host loved. He pressed himself into Ceyeh’s space and loomed over her smaller frame as he took shelter from the endless rainfall.

The two of them were soaked, a couple of drowned rats if anyone saw them. Ceyeh’s heart beat harshly as it drummed against Agust’s chest. She moved to push him away, she hated that he was so close. Her eyes were nearly glowing, bright and wide like the moon trapped in the sky. Agust narrowed his eyes and snarled in warning. He wouldn’t hurt Ceyeh but he would not accept her running from him again.

From this distance, what little there was, Agust was reminded of the past once more. The rancid scent that filled his lungs, the blood on his hands, the uncertainty in Ceyeh’s eyes, it all reminded him of the times long gone. The memories raced to the forefront of Agust’s mind and drowned out any coherent thought as he was confronted with his past.

The air was chilled as the night clung to the dark. Its bleakness was all-consuming, a muted reminder of the light that was bound to come. In the far distance, a single tree sat atop of a hill, its silhouette nearly invisible as shadows wrapped around it. The shiny stars above twinkled and gleamed, and the moon casted a silver halo on the land. Nighttime in the spring was peaceful and filled with the songs of tear crickets.

A low rumble broke the silence and the sound of large wings cutting through the air echoed faintly. An enormous shadow covered the land, darker than the night as it soared past the fading moon. A melodic chirp called after the large winged being, and soon a smaller winged creature was by its side. Together the beings glided through the air. Feathers and scales were kissed with moonlight, iridescent and soft.

Day slowly pushed through the darkness of night. Black and deep blue gave way to ruddy red and warm orange. The clouds sprinkled a harsh shadow against the new backdrop as the sun started to rise. Stars glittered to a faded memory as the moon dissolved into the mellow yellow and lighter blue of the day. As the sun crested over the horizon, the two shadows in the sky were bathed in a pleasant bloom of light. Onyx scales shimmered and tiny rainbows were thrown onto misty white clouds as strong wings carried the body of the dragon higher and higher. Brown and silver wings fluttered in the air, gleaming as the sun warmed the body of the lightning bird.

Side by side they flew until they reached the hill with the single tree. The dragon swooped down first. His large body took up most of the space, and he curled his long spiked tail in front of his feet as he sat upright. He lifted his face towards the sky and grumbled a warning as the bird above hovered in the air. The dragon snapped at the air and thumped his tail once; the large limp shook the very ground he sat on. A teasing chirp filled the air and the bird flouted down closer and closer to the dragon. Silver eyes shined as they looked into swirling gold and the dragon started to shrink.

In the air the bird started to shift, and feathers rained down upon the dragon. A woman’s giggles followed the breeze as she danced in the air, wings sprouted from her back. Below, the dragon was not large like before but the size of a man who stood well above six feet. Both were nude but there was no discomfort as the woman allowed herself to sink into the awaiting arms of her lover. Her own ebony arms wrapped loosely around the man’s tanned neck as her wings folded against her back and were absorbed into her body.

“Looks like I beat you, my moon.”

The woman scoffed and tangled her fingers into the man’s long raven black hair.

“I let you win, mpenzi.”

The man huffed a laugh and blew out a plume of smoke through his nose as he lowered himself to the ground. He leaned his back against the tree and cradled the woman in his arms as she sat on his lap.

“Shall we test your theory?”

“I will be the victor everytime.”

The man shifted with a growl and trapped the woman underneath him, pinned to the ground by her arms and hips. The man had a smug smirk on his handsome face and the woman sucked her teeth. Willing the wings on her back to shoot out, she propled herself upward and sent the man sprawling onto his butt. She hovered above him, her foot pressed lightly against his chest as she smiled down at him.

“It is as I said, mpenzi.”

Agust blinked as his vision started to blur. The pain in his right eye had started to throb consistently, no longer a dull irritation as dye tinted water ran down his face.

“My moon, you must stay by my side.”

“I am fine, mpenzi.”

“Ceyeh-”

“Agust.”

Agust huffed as Ceyeh walked ahead of him in a crowd. Snow crunched underneath their feet and Agust cringed. He was not accustomed to wearing shoes, nor was the amount of clothing acceptable, but he refused to let Ceyeh suffer alone. They were in an unfamiliar part of the world, up north to meet with humans that had requested their aid.

It was colder than the land in the southwest but it wasn’t anything that really bothered Agust. He was a dragon and his blood naturally ran hotter than most creatures. Ceyeh, however, had a hard time. She lived for the warmth of the sun and the cool moon on her bareskin. Having to wear such thick clothing was unusual and made her itch.

There were many layers to her garb while in the north. A tan linen dress with a rounded neckline was the base and worn over top was another dress made from wool, dyed a deep brown with white crisscross squares embroidered down the whole length of the front. Ceyeh’s shoulders and head were kept warm by a brownish-black woven cloak with a geometric design stitched throughout. The hood was adored with cowrie shells around the hem and white fox fur was on the inside to keep the wearer warm. Brown leather booties covered Ceyeh’s feet and cuts of fox fur were wrapped around her ankles with thin leather straps.

Agust thought Ceyeh looked lovely. The colors complemented her darker skin tone along with the tan and silver feathers that never left the creases of her eyes or cuffs of her ears. As a warrior, Ceyeh always stayed half shifted in case she ever needed to protect herself. Agust followed her lead, allowing his golden eyes to be framed in tiny black horns and his black scales lined his jawline and collar bones before they appeared in five inch patches along the rest of his body. Except at the small of his back and hips where the scales covered the skin fully and grew sparse as they went lower towards his inner thighs. When Ceyeh felt playful, she would teasingly compare Agust’s scales to that of a naga since their hip placement was similar.

Agust wore dark brown wool breeches with a tan linen round neck tunic. Over top he layered a brown cross collared wool coat with a brown-black woven cloak that had a tan and white swirl design stitched along the hood and hemming. His feet were covered with brown leather turnshoes and tan handwoven leg wraps. The darker tones made his honey tanned skin stand out, and his scales glistened.

“Ceyeh!” Agust called after his lover as she got lost in the crowd. He hurried his steps, ducking and dodging in between people as he followed the scent of warmed tangerines and sweet honey. He found himself in the town square in front of a large stone statue of who he assumed to be the land's first ruler. A flash of tan and brown flickered in the peripheral of his left eye and he pivoted on his heels.

“Cey-”

Whoosh!

“Ack!”

Agust stood as still as stone as children’s laughter filled the air. His eyes were closed and his mouth was filled with an icy substance that melted on his tongue. He spit something out on the ground and wiped his face with his hand. As he looked at the ground, he saw the remains of a ball of snow.

"Ni nini maana ya hii?" Agust asked as he glared at the children, his anger pulled his native tongue from his lips, and Ceyeh appeared with a small child no more than three in her arms.

Ceyeh laughed, her face bright as she hiked the child up higher on her hip, “They call it a snowball fight!”

Agust was at a loss for words. A snowball fight? He looked at the broken ball of snow and licked his lips.

“Is it a declaration of war?”

“Wema!” Ceyeh laughed as she shook her head. “A game, mpenzi.”

The discomfort was clearly displayed on Agust’s face. His lips pursed into a frown, a pout half formed as he brows pulled together. One single word bounced in Ceyeh’s mind as she looked at her ex-lover: Pallas. Ceyeh’s hand shook as she reached up to push away the strands of hair that dug into the open wound. Agust’s whole body tensed and Ceyeh stared unblinking as she tucked the uneven hair behind his ear. Some of the dye had started to melt away, patches of blond shined here and there.

The cut was deep but thankfully not jagged, it would heal in due time. Ceyeh was sure that it would scar and she felt something buried inside tremble in worry. She swallowed and grabbed Agust’s hand. Most of the blood had washed away from the rain, now his black clawed fingers were cold to the touch, his palm the only warmth. They stared at each other, chests rose and fell without a sound. The rain pelted the ground and mud splashed onto the bottom of their clothing.

Ceyeh tugged at Agust’s hand as he squeezed her fingers and she pushed against his chest. Agust didn’t move an inch and Ceyeh narrowed her eyes as a frown formed on her lips.

Ceyeh’s hand was laced with Agust’s as they walked through the town. Humans and creatures alike all placed their fist over their hearts and bowed their heads. Agust returned the gesture while Ceyeh smiled wide. Her hair was plaited into micro braids with small gold hoop rings looped into a few that framed her face.

Ceyeh wore a teal asymmetrical skirt with a white and gold brocaded chest band. A thin rope with red, white, and yellow beads rested against her waist with a single pixie crow’s feather attached at the center. She wore no shoes and walked with black feather anklets that brushed against each other if her steps were too small.

Agust was shirtless and wore a simple pair of white trousers that bunched at his knees and hung loose on his thighs. He too was barefoot and wore a single gold anklet on his right leg. Large golden earrings hung from his ears and his long dark hair flowed freely, his bangs pulled back and braided before they were wrapped together with golden twine.

The market today was said to have beautiful goods and Agust was on the hunt for the perfect gift. Ceyeh had lost the last torment in her village and her spirits were a little low. She smiled and laughed, but it never reached her eyes. Agust couldn’t stand to see his lover down, and as he came upon a foreign vendor, he saw just what he had been looking for.

Agust tugged on Ceyeh’s hand and pulled her towards the vender with a toothy grin. The sun reflected off the scales on his collarbones and casted a multitude of mini rainbows against Ceyeh’s chest as he turned towards her. The smile on her face was soft and true, endeared as she leaned into Agust’s chest and wrapped her arms around his waist as best she could. The dragon was large, even in human form. He kissed the top of Ceyeh’s head before he rested his cheek against her for a short while. They were in a world all their own as they basked in each other’s love, and when Agust pulled away, Ceyeh’s eyes were a pale silver and shined like freshly plucked pearls.

“I love you,” Agust breathed as he cupped Ceyeh’s face in his hands. Her fingers wound around his wrists and she smiled, melting into his touch. “Come now, pick your gift.”

Agust placed a warm, tender kiss upon Ceyeh’s lips and a high-pitched whistle slipped into his mouth. A mating call that never failed to make a sensual flame churn in his gut and threaten to consume him whole. Agust broke the kiss with only a few centimeters in between their lips. He smiled as Ceyeh chased after him and shook his head softly, teasingly.

“Pick what you will wear while I ravage your body again and again, my moon.”

Ceyeh pushed at Agust’s chest again and stepped forward, shoving them out into the rain. The water was startling and forced the clotted blood on Agust’s face to loosen and run red. Agust hissed as the rain stung the wound and he bared his teeth, unimpressed with Ceyeh’s actions.

Ceyeh pointed in the direction of the palace and Agust understood what she had wanted. He allowed for Ceyeh to lead the way. She walked with a purpose and Agust stared at the expense of her bare back where her jeogori had been ripped, showing off dark scarring that resembled ice crystals in the shape of wings. The mark of the lightning bird made Agust’s steps falter as he realized that the wings were just scars. There were no fully formed wings with sleek tan and silver feathers.

Agust closed his fingers into a fist and pulled his arm down at his side. He caught himself in time, he hadn't even noticed that he had raised his arm to touch Ceyeh’s back. Now, halfway to the palace, the rain had lightened and the bleeding cut on Agust’s face continued to sting as raindrops continued to bombard the deep wound. Wanting to get out of the rain as fast as possible, Agust pulled Ceyeh’s hand back harshly which made her stumble backwards into his chest. He was quick to scoop her into his arms and in the blink of an eye, his wings had sprouted from his back once more.

Ceyeh scowled at Agust’s wings, the large black appendages made her want to give him a matching gash over his left eye. Agust tightened his hold on Ceyeh and took off into the air with a single flap of his wings. Agust flew above the houses, only a foot above the roofs to avoid detection from guards and the village folk. Ceyeh watched as the world passed underneath her unknowing. A deep longing radiated in her eyes and as she looked away from the ground, Agust caught sight of the tears in her eyes.

Agust rumbled in his chest, a purr of sorts meant to comfort the woman in his arms as he flew closer and closer to the palace. Ceyeh closed her eyes, she didn’t want to see the view from above anymore. It was a mocking and painful reminder of what she had once had…before it had been stolen away.

Mid-spring in the northwest was humid at best. Full, fluffy clouds of white and blinding rays of sun glared down at the land from above and begged anyone to find shade. The lightning birds worked hard during the humid months and Ceyeh was no exception to the rule. In the middle of the day she would fly to the tree on top of the hill and wait until the sun was the highest in the sky. As she sat parched on top of the branches, she whistled a song that forced cool winds and heavy clouds.

A mild clash of nature created a low rumble as clouds rolled in from the north and filled the sky. The rumbling grew louder and at the first roaring crash of thunder, rain poured down from the Heavens. Thin, steamy vapors raised from the ground as it greedily drank in the refreshing liquid. Sometimes Mother Earth wasn’t fast enough in her gluttony and she choked on the water, sputtering so much that emptied river beds overflowed and villages flooded. It was as much a curse as it was a blessing.

The lightning never came, and Ceyeh sighed as she flapped her wings. Today would be a taxing one and she stopped her singing. The feathers that covered her body started to glow with a dim halo of blue silver, watery like the moon’s reflection on the rivers. Ceyeh’s eyes were a liquid pool of rolling clouds and endless skies. She flew high above and gave a mighty cry as she circled the sun seven times. Lightning cracked, a white-grey tree root in the sky before the electric light followed the rumble of the thunder. Ceyeh hovered in the air, her eyes focused on the flickering light that grew farther and farther away.

Satisfied with her work, Ceyeh turned back to her tree and chirped at the sight of Agust’s human form standing under the cover of the leaves. She flew to him and shrunk in size as she got closer. Agust smiled as Ceyeh landed on his shoulder and nuzzled into his temple.

“You did very well, little bird.”

Ceyeh’s wings ruffled at the teasing lilt to Agust’s voice and he laughed, golden eyes bright and gleaming. Ceyeh headbutted him and nipped at his hair, flapping her wing as she made sure to soak him.

“You will pay for that, my moon.” Agust laughed once more, his gravel-like voice softened at the edges with love. He pecked Ceyeh’s head and stroked the smooth feathers along her back.

“Shall we head home?”

The palace wall came into view and Agust flew towards where the trees were the thickest. He blended in well enough with the cover of the clouds but he wanted to make sure no one saw Ceyeh in such a state. There was only one place that Agust knew they would be safest, and he flew into the seventh garden. He passed the lunch clearing, ignored the Blackthorns and flew right to the man-made water pool. As his feet touched the ground, his chest filled with strong flames and he blew them out onto the top of the water. The flames touched the stone waterfall and the runes turned a yellow orange before the water started to steam.

Ceyeh kicked her feet and Agust set her on the ground, a hand kept close to her lower back if she needed help. She stepped away from Agust and he resisted following her every step. Here in the cover of the trees, no rain fell down around them.

Agust’s wound still bled. It throbbed and the pain spiderwebbed down the length of his face, just below his jaw. Ceyeh refused to look at him, her back turned as she crossed her arms over her chest. Agust’s clenched his teeth, now that they were alone and hidden from the rest of the world completely, he couldn’t seem to untangle the memories and feelings within his heart.

Bodies littered the ground, blood watered the grass, a mass grave had been built and it kept growing in size. Fire and smoke spread to destroy the land. It burned everything down until nothing but ash was left.

In the carnage of it all, Ceyeh and Agust stood face to face. Agust’s eyes were ignited with hatred as he glared at the woman he once loved and trusted with his life. Ceyeh’s eyes glowed as sparkling tears littered her face like glitter.

How had this come to be? What had turned her lover against her and her people? What had gone so wrong?

Agust lunged with a growl and tackled Ceyeh, who in turn used Agust’s momentum to flip them over. She pinned him to the ground, her forearm dug into his neck while her wings pressed into his shoulders.

“Yield!” Ceyeh demanded with tears in her eyes. “Agust, please? Stop this madness!”

Agust snarled, snapping his jaws while spit started to foam in the corners of his mouth as he tried to shake himself free. She had betrayed him and his people, the humans were here for their hoards and their scales. They knew too many secrets about dragons and the leader of the humans had given Agust one name.

“I will kill you!” Agust seethed, his eyes were large and bulbous like a wild boar as he honed in on Ceyeh.

“Agust!” Ceyeh begged as she tried to talk sense into him. She didn’t understand what had happened, and in truth, seeing Agust like this before her was soul-crushing.

She tried to smooth his hair from his face, tried to touch him gently but that only seemed to anger Agust more. He lashed out, stronger than Ceyeh had been prepared for and sent her flying onto her back. He pounced, caged her underneath his legs as he sat on her hips.

His smile was misplaced, something Ceyeh has never seen directed at herself before. It was wicked and cruel, taunting as Agust cupped her face gently. His claws pressed into the meat of her cheeks and drew blood. He hummed deep in his chest and turned her head away from him as he leaned forward.

“You did thisss to ussss, my moon,” Agust’s voice was warped, a hissing growl as he lost more and more of his control.

“Did what?” Ceyeh demanded, her voice full of tears as Agust licked the sweat and dirt from her neck.

Agust growled as he nuzzled into the softness of her throat, the vein pulsed quickly as she tried not to panic.

“The sssweetessst ssscents hide the worst sssecretsss. I wisssh not to hear anymore of your liesss!”

⚠⚠⚠

Ceyeh opened her mouth to speak and screamed. Blood filled her throat and lungs as Agust sunk his teeth into her neck and ripped out her vocal cords. Blood covered his mouth, it was bitter and as Ceyeh gurgled underneath him, Agust finally let his tears fall. Ceyeh’s hand shot to her neck as she tried to stop the bleeding but she knew it was pointless. She managed to pull herself out from under Agust and rolled onto her stomach. Blood spilled from the gaping hole in her neck and she wheezed, a sound choked by bloody bubbles.

Wings sprouted from Ceyeh’s back, shining silver and warm tan, a sight that always made Agust purr. Now he scrambled to his feet as Ceyeh tried to fly away and his chest burned as he heaved a great billowing flame right at her back.

Ceyeh dropped six feet from the air, her body hit the ground with a heavy thud and laid a yard away, unmoving. Agust was panting, his chest ached but he chose to ignore the reason why. He took careful steps in Ceyeh’s direction, his eyes watched for a hint of movement but he saw none.

As he stood a foot away, he saw that Ceyeh had fallen onto her face. The beautiful wings that he had admired so much were gone. Now, singed into her back were fresh burn marks that resembled ice crystals. Agust drew closer and kneeled at Ceyeh’s side, her wings had melted into her skin as they protected her. From the lack of blood and movement, Agust knew that Ceyeh had died before she hit the ground. His eyes stung as they blurred with more tears and he carefully rolled Ceyeh onto her back.

He had seen countless dead bodies, he knew the horrors of war, and yet the sight of his lover, the one he killed with his own two hands… Agust dry heaved. Fat tears poured down his face and he cradled Ceyeh’s lifeless body to his chest. Her blood stained his hands, his chest, his pants. He bent forwards and pressed his lips to Ceyeh’s forehead before he closed her eyes and scooped her into his arms. Agust rose slowly to his feet and carried Ceyeh through the flames that grew around them.

⚠⚠⚠

Humans, dragons, lightning birds, and firebirds alike all froze when they saw the sight of the mighty Agust carrying a body in his arms. The birdfolk knew who it was and they all dropped to their knees in tears. The dragons roared in mass agony at the loss of what they called a soulmate. The one soul in the whole world that reflects yours, a balance of light and dark. One could not be without the other. Agust carried Ceyeh all the way to their shared nest and laid her in the center. He crossed her arms over her chest and placed one final kiss to her cold lips.

Pire, the leader of the firebirds, appeared outside of Agust’s nest. The elder was a tall and narrow slip of a man. Withered with age yet strong from decades of battles and knowledge. He climbed into the nest and sat beside Agust silently as he studied the lifeless form of Ceyeh. Her throat had been ripped out and he could smell the stench of burned feathers and skin. He sighed heavily as his eyes flushed with tears.

“You are not welcome in this land. I banish you and your kind from henceforth.”

Agust didn’t fight against his punishment, he had let his anger get the better of himself, he had lost control. He had felt so betrayed and the anger in his heart had turned it black. He should have listened to what Ceyeh had tried to say.

“I cannot bring her back, you have killed her.”

Pire placed a hand on Ceyeh’s face and smoothed her braids from her dull eyes with a frown.

“I will grant her final wish…”

Pire slid his hand to Ceyeh’s forehead and closed his eyes. The tears in his eyes slid down his face and dripped onto his robes. His hand had started to glow a pale yellow-red. The color of a starting flame. The light grew brighter and brighter and slowly spread from Pire’s whole body as it covered Ceyeh’s. Agust fought to keep his eyes open but the light was too bright. He closed his eyes and a moment later a tiny chirp was heard.

Agust opened his eyes and Pire was no longer in his human form nor was he a full grown firebird. In his place a tiny yellow chick with red ombre wings rested on Ceyeh’s chest and flapped its wings. Another firebird appeared, Dagan, younger than Pire before he turned younger. Agust stared at the chick confused.

“What was her final wish?”

Dagan picked Pire up and cradled the tiny chick to its chest. “To meet you again in another life.”

Agust’s eyes felt like they were made of fire from the tears he cried once again. Agust wiped at his face and nodded his head. Dragons were not immortale. They lived and died, unlike the firebirds, a phoenix, the humans later came to call them. Agust looked to Dagan beside him, he wanted to ask a favor but he knew he would receive no help from those he hurt.

The chick chirped away in the Dagan’s hand and the young firebird spoke up once more.

“Pire says our fates are intertwined by a red string. As the world falls into place around us, your story will continue to be told. This is not the end…that is his promise to you.”

Agust rose to his feet, placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head. He cast one last look at Ceyeh’s body and roared, a call to all the dragons to leave the land that would later be known as Escistan.

“Nitakupata tena, mwezi wangu."

Agust watched as Ceyeh stepped towards the water’s edge and peeled the ruined clothing from her body. She stood before him, nude in a body that wasn’t her own and Agust felt the Prince as he stirred in his mind. He was silent as Ceyeh stepped down into the heated water, submerging everything except her shoulders and head.

The pale silver of Ceyeh’s eyes reflected off the water’s surface, and Agust blinked slowly. Was it truly Ceyeh’s reflection or the moon’s? She stared at him in silence. She raised a hand and water droplets fell back into the pool before she tilted her head in a silent question. Agust carefully removed his clothing and joined Ceyeh in the heated water. His body relaxed from the warm temperature as the chill of the rain slowly faded little by little.

“Ceyeh,” Agust’s voice was shattered glass, rough and sharp but he swallowed and tried again. “My moon…”

Ceyeh watched as Agust got closer to her, the sight of the cut on his face made her wince. The young prince had such a handsome face. She thought that it was lucky that the scar wouldn’t take away from his beauty, but added to it. It would harden his soft features and strike fear into those who looked upon him. She reached out and cupped Agust’s face with wet hands, her thumbs brushed away the blood and dye, and soothed the tender skin.

Healing waters, that is what the runes turned the pool into, and yet Agust wondered if the Princeling even knew. He was sure that the gardener knew, but he pushed that thought from his mind. Agust focused on the way Ceyeh’s hands touched him, gently, slowly…lovingly. He leaned into the caress, one he had missed the moment he lost it, and purred loudly.

He guided Ceyeh to the water’s edge and sat on the steps with her in between his legs. His arms wound themselves around her hips and he pulled her closer. His face smushed into her bare chest and Ceyeh flinched. Her body tensed and Agust purred louder as his fingers slid up and down the skin of Ceyeh’s hips.

“I have wronged you and yet you still care for me?”

Agust inhaled deeply as smooth honey coated his mind and ripening tangerine trickled down his throat. His mind slowly grew quiet, crickets played their song and night birds sung along. His body felt heavy as he started to float in the water, held in place by Ceyeh’s caring hands.

In the palace courtyard, Hoseok and Aga stared at the sky as the rain slowed to a gentle drizzle. The clouds lost their darkened grey hue and glided through the sky in wispy white stokes. The lightest of colors against the darkened night. There high above all, the moon held its place among the stars. A glowing reminder that the young royals were still unaccounted for.

Hoseok’s eyes lost the spark that swirled in his iris like twisted flames and Aga leaned against one of the support beams of an arch way with his arms crossed over his chest. He knew that the young royals were safe by the way the rain came and went. He worried that they could be hurt but he trusted Ceyeh to keep Keena safe, and he knew that if it came to life or death, Agust would protect the Prince at all costs.

“We have to tell them,” Hoseok sighed as he kicked at a pebble in front of him.

Aga agreed with Hoseok, but he knew that the young ones needed time to figure something out. The air was charged with a power that he had not felt in quite some time. The tides were changing and Aga couldn’t tell if that was for the best or not. Hoseok groaned as he rolled his shoulders and looked back at the moon.

“There is only one place we have not looked.”

Hoseok whistled and Ussik, the black eagle, flew down from above shortly after. Aga stared at the bird as it cocked its head to the side and nodded impressed.

“The Min Empire continues to show its strength it seems.”

Hoseok raised an eyebrow confused by Aga’s words.

“Black eagles are extremely hard to tame. They have a warrior’s heart and usually don’t do well working with anyone who doesn’t possess a bird spirit.” Aga explained slowly with a blank expression on his face. Hoseok nodded his head to show that he understood and turned his attention to the Ussik.

“Find Yoongi and Keena. Report back to me straight away.” He spared a glance at Aga and quickly added. “Make sure no one sees you.”

Ussik took off and soared through the air silently. Beady onyx eyes scanned the landscape of the palace grounds and listened for the familiar vibrations of the Prince and Princess. The sound of muffled tones caught Ussik’s attention and the bird flew over the seventh garden. The treetops were dense, sprinkled with shimmering drops of rain that glittered in the moonlight. Ussik slipped through the leaves and landed on a branch three yards away from the Prince and Princess.

The black eagle easily blended into the shadows, its eyes seemed nothing more than two bugs stuck on the bark. Below, the young royals stood face to face, the Prince had the Princess caged between himself and the stone wall, their forms distorted by the waterfall.

Ceyeh had tried to get away from Agust, his grip had become too tight, his face too close to her throat. He had scared her and as she ran, he trapped her beneath the waterwall. The water was deeper here but a single stone bench allowed for both of them to stand on their feet.

Agust had a hand wrapped around Ceyeh’s throat, the grip wasn’t threatening, lighter than he would hold anyone else’s; this thumb resting on her chin. Ceyeh scowled at him, her eyes misty pools of thickening fog. Their noses touched as Agust leaned in closer. His eyes flickered down to Ceyeh’s lips and she flashed her blunt teeth. A silent warning that made Agust’s lips quirk up into a half smirk as he huffed out an amused snort.

The cut on his eye wasn’t fully healed, pink and raw, but it no longer bled, and the pain had faded to a dull heartbeat. Easily ignored with the woman he loved in front of him. Agust loosened his hold even more, his hand slipped and he held both hands up in the air in surrender. The way Agust’s obsidian eyes softened slightly was enough for Ceyeh’s body to untense. The feathers that lined her ears bristled and Agust licked his lips, his fangs gleamed ever so slightly.

“You hate me that much?” Agust mused as he stared at Ceyeh. “Would ripping my throat out make you happy, my moon?” Agust bared his neck in all its smooth and unblemished glory. “My life is yours to do what you would please.”

Ussik observed silently for a moment longer before it flew off to find Hoseok. Ceyeh stared at the unprotected area. How easily Agust had offered his life, it made sparks sizzle in Ceyeh’s eyes. Lightning struck down one of the trees with the seventh garden. Smoke rose into the sky quickly and Agust lowered his head. They stared at each other in silence. Neither one made a move until Agust’s eyes fell to Ceyeh’s lips once more.

He moved slowly as he reached for her face with both hands. She didn’t flinch, only blinked owlishly. Agust’s forehead rested against hers, his words were his final warning.

“Kill me.”

Ceyeh’s own hands grabbed at Agust’s shoulders and he braced himself for death but it never came. Cool lips pressed into his, smooth, and soft. An April shower filled his heart and washed away any doubt in his mind. Ceyeh had still loved him even when he didn’t deserve an ounce of it. Agust dropped an arm to Ceyeh’s waist and pressed her farther into the stone wall. The kiss grew hotter. A desert with a single oasis hidden within many mirages. All optical illusions that Agust’s mind had made up.

Agust nipped at Ceyeh’s bottom lip as he requested permission to taste her. As her lips parted, Agust growled deep in his chest, the vibrations made goosebumps appear on Ceyeh’s arms. Agust was drowning. He drowned in the first rain of the spring, the first snow of winter; that first scoop of sweet and gooey honey. Agust’s body burned with the simmering fire that laid dormant for how long? The two horns at the center of his forehead started to grow outward and he groaned as he pressed into Ceyeh’s soft body more.

The plushness of her thighs called him home, he lifted her wordlessly and she gasped as her ankles locked behind his back; a habit from their past. The heat between her legs was maddening, Agust wanted to take and take and take as much as he wanted to give. He pulled away from Ceyeh’s lips and moved towards her neck, he needed to smell her as the scent of her arousal was washed away by the water around them.

Ceyeh tried to speak. Her lips parted but no sound came as Agust’s teeth nipped at the sensitive skin of her throat. She shoved at his chest, as tears blurred her vision, the past was too close in the forefront of her mind. Her throat throbbed, searing pain made her whine and Agust pulled away at the sound of distress. His chest heaved, his eyes liquid gold as he nosed at her chin. Bitter tangerines, long forgotten in the sun burned his nose and Agust growled. Ceyeh was scared of him. Ceyeh pushed him away sharply and shook her head as he released her.

“N-No! N-Noooo!”

The words were choked, whispered out harshly as Ceyeh forced herself to use vocal cords for the first time in all of her three reincarnations. Agust froze, the voice was the Princess’ but it was sharper, a hard shelled candy with a nutty filling. A voice that was both the Princess’ and Ceyeh’s mixed together. A sound that Agust felt himself submit to easily. He backed away from Ceyeh and kept his hands where she could see them. His clawed fingers twitched as Ceyeh wrapped her arms around herself, seemingly holding everything together all alone.

Agust wanted to hold her tightly, assure her that everything would be okay, but as the smoke from the struck tree grew thicker, Agust knew their time together was short.

“Come,” Agust held out his hand and looked towards the water’s edge. “The guards will be here soon and I’d rather not slaughter those that the little royals are so fond of.”

The critical look that Ceyeh gave Agust made his shoulders ease and a smile pulled at his lips. Ceyeh placed her hand in his and he wrapped his fingers around hers tightly.

“I have had quite some time to think about my misdeeds,” Agust spoke as he led Ceyeh to the edge of the water. “I would like a moment of yours if you would grant it so?”

From behind, Ceyeh took in the expanse of Agust’s back. His shoulders were wide and thick, the muscles that twitched under the skin made Ceyeh bite the inside of her bottom lip. Agust had always been strong, but here in Prince Yoongi’s body, his strength wasn’t clearly seen nor was it shown off. The large black dragon tattoo that covered his back was intimidating, and from how the Prince acted, Ceyeh wondered if it was Agust who craved the bold design. Agust lifted himself out of the water just in time to see Hoseok and Aga break through the bushes.

“That is far enough!” Agust hissed, golden eyes reflecting the flames of the fire on the tree.

“Give me your shirt, bird of fire.”

Hoseok’s brows were furrowed in concern the moment he saw the Prince’s face. His right eye looked damaged and Hoseok feared that it was worse than it looked. He took note of the way the Prince’s hair was dyed and cut short with some blond peeking through…he would have a few choice words with Prince Yoongi once he regained his control.

It was clear to see that Agust had shifted, patches of black scales covered his body, his horns were fully formed, and he spoke with that unsettling snake-like lisp. From the silence that came from behind him, it was safe to assume that the Ceyeh was present as well.

Aga dropped to one knee with his hand over his heart and bowed his head, “Mighty Impundulu have you been-”

Agust bristled at the show of respect and narrowed his eyes.

“Your shirt,” he repeated as he crossed his arms over his chest. He looked Aga up and down before he licked his lips in thought.

“What right do you assume you have to gaze at my moon? Off with your shirt as well.”

Aga removed his shirt without a second thought and threw it to Agust while Hoseok frowned. It was still lightly raining and he really did not want to let the cool water touch the rest of the body. He had just put on a dry cape. As Aga rose to his feet, he raised an eyebrow in Hoseok's direction and Hoseok sucked his teeth. Wordlessly, he removed his cape but kept his shirt on before he tossed it to Agust.

Agust turned his back on the men in the clearing and focused on Ceyeh. He lifted her out of the water and used the cape to dry her off before he carefully dressed her in Aga’s shirt. It was big enough to fall past her thighs and Agust nodded his head in approval. He wrapped the black cape around his waist wordlessly. It was damp from the rain and drying Ceyeh, but better than his wet and bloody clothes.

Aga watched as Ceyeh hugged Agust around the waist and nuzzled into his chest. Agust stroked a hand over her hair and lifted her face upward by her chin. He spoke softly enough for Aga and Hoseok not to hear his words before he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

Hoseok gasped and Aga’s jaw clenched. Aga knew there was history between them and that at some point in time the two had been happy with each other. To see Ceyeh willingly kiss Agust was disturbing, but with how the Prince’s face looked, Aga was sure that the flame they once had reignited over shared trauma.

Ceyeh left Agust’s side and walked right over to Hoseok, she motioned to her eye and Hoseok nodded his head. He knew that the Prince would need medical attention right away. Turning her attention to Aga, Ceyeh walked over the guard and he wordlessly lifted her into his arms bridal style. Agust hissed, fangs flashing and ready to strike, but Ceyeh threw him a look that screamed behave, and he settled. Aga left the seventh garden with the Princess and went right into the palace.

Hoseok stood with Agust and rubbed a hand over his face, “Are you going to behave?”

“Have I not killed you yet, fire bird?”

Hoseok rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, “What happened tonight?”

“It seems that the rat you spoke of has a pack.”

Hoseok’s eyes hardened and his jaw ticked, “We will discuss this later inside…for now, I need the Prince immediately.”

“Something happened while we were away.”

It was a statement, one that Hoseok very much wished he could deny. For the first time in a long while Agust felt…well it did not matter what he felt. Whatever had happened while the foolish Princeling had snuck out had nothing to do with him.

“The Little Prince cannot handle this pain. Fetch the doctor and meet me at the Princeling’s chambers. I will protect him for now.”

Hoseok was weary of Agust’s mocking words, but he didn’t have much choice. He needed Yoongi to come back to his senses and fast. Hoseok nodded his head and whistled loudly for Ussik. Once the eagle was on his shoulder, he relayed the message for Hyungwon and sent the bird off into the night.

Before they left the seventh garden, Hoseok placed his hand on the flaming tree and absorbed the flames. His eyes twirled alight with the new flames and he frowned at the sight of the charred tree. He wondered how long it would take for Namjoon to notice.

As they left the seventh garden, Hoseok crushed a starstone in his hand and blew it onto Agust before he led the way to the Prince’s chambers unseen. He politely declined any conversation with others as he made his way into the palace and Agust thought it strange. What had happened while the Princeling was frolicking about in the night? Once inside the Prince’s chambers, Agust headed right to the washroom and Hoseok followed behind him. Agust stripped himself of the cape and stepped into the hot water with a sigh.

He sat on one of the stone benches and rested his arms on the edge of the bath. His head fell back and he closed his eyes as the scent of lavender and teakwood filled his lungs. His body appeared as the starstone washed away. The horns in the center of his head start to shrink and his scales fade little by little. The points of his claws shortened into rounded blunt nails, the black gone from his fingertips.

Agust was tired. It had been quite a while since he last fought to the death, and he would not admit it to anyone, but his skills were lacking. The world had evolved around him, those who were weak were now able to stand toe to toe with the stronger warriors. Magical weapons gave power to those who didn’t deserve it nor need it. Agust thought back to how the Princess was able to be captured and he growled, his head shooting up as his irises twisted with something wicked.

“I think it’s time for an execution.”

“That is not your call to make, Agust.”

Hoseok sat at the edge of the large tub and dunked a dried washcloth into the water. He had a plan to get the Prince’s body clean and back to the way it should look. First was to wash out the remaining dye used to color his hair black. Once that was taken care of, Hoseok would scrub the Prince’s body nearly raw before he had Hyungwon come to take a look at the cut on his eye.

“Keep your eyes closed.” Hoseok ordered before he folded the wet washcloth and placed it at Agust’s hairline. He grabbed a small bowl and filled it with water before he poured it over Agust’s hair. Two times he did that before he started to scrub at the scalp and strands to remove the dark coloring. As more and more of the blond started to show, Hoseok saw that the Prince’s hair had been poorly cut.

“Who did this to Yoongi’s hair?”

“Bandits,” Agust hissed, his eyes still closed as he allowed Hoseok to wash his hair. “Chopped it clean off with a dagger while the boy was fading. He wouldn’t relinquish control and fought me.”

Hoseok made a noise in the back of his throat in response. Bandits did all of this? His mind went over a list of who he thought was the rat inside the palace and he shook his head. He would make no judgment until all the facts were laid out. Once all the black color was out of Agust’s hair, Hoseok started to wash his body.

“It’s a pity the Min’s are born with blond hair. I quite liked having my natural color back.”

“You had black hair?”

Agust hummed with a slight nod of his head, “Long black hair. Ceyeh made it her duty to style it anyway she pleased when we were younger.”

Hoseok took a moment to think over his next words before he spoke, watching as the small horns that lined Agust’s eyes retracted back into the skin. Most of the scales were now gone and Hsoeok wondered why Agust was giving up control so easily.

“You never share information about your past.”

“What is there to share? I lived and I died, five times now. I have found my soulmate in this life and those before me have granted me a chance to atone for my misdoing.” Agust sighed and peaked open his left eye. “Everything else is meaningless.”

Hoseok opened his mouth to counter Agust’s words, but Hyungwon bursted into the bathing room with his medical supplies floating behind him. His face was flushed and he was panting. He clearly ran all the way here and Agust raised an eyebrow at the good doctor.

“I-I-” Hyungwon folded over in half and inhaled deeply before he straightened up and exhaled. “I have come as requested.”

Now that Hyungwon had gathered himself, his eyes widened at the sight of the Prince’s face.

“Your Highness!!”

“Easy, Hyungwon,” Hoseok warned as the doctor hurried over to the bath. “The floor is wet and His Highness isn’t fully with us…”

Hyungwon froze at those words and he looked at the Prince. He saw it now, the difference in those golden eyes. Even when the Prince got angry and his eyes shifted colors, they never held such ire and turmoil. Agust was in control, and with how the Prince’s eye looked, Hyungwon was thankful.

“Forgive me, Agust. I didn’t realize it was you.” Hyungwon bowed his head deeply and lowered himself to the floor. “May I treat the wound?”

Agust grunted and waved for Hyunwon to move closer. The doctor took his time as he examined the damaged area. The cut was deep enough to scar, that much was clear, and when Agust closed his eyes, the lid was thankfully missed. However, upon further inspection, Hyungwon gulped.

“I-It seems that some first aid has already been applied and in this case, I am thankful. The cut looks to be an inch in depth, though since the area is partly healed, it is hard to tell. The lid is still intact and with a regrowth serum the eyebrow’s hair can go back to normal.”

Hyungwon licked his lips and rubbed the back of his neck before he spoke again.“My greatest concern at this moment is the eyeball itself. There are signs of trauma and I fear that His Highness’ sight may be affected.”

“His sight?” Hoseok repeated, his face horror stricken.

“Agust will you allow His Highness to join us? I need to see the full extent of the injury.”

“I will be near if you so need me,” Agust informed Hoseok before the Prince’s body went limp.

Hoseok and Hyungwon were quick to grab the Prince by his armpits and pulled him out of the water. Laid out on the floor, Hyungwon reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle of smelling salt. They didn’t have time to wait for the Prince to wake up, and Hoseok understood that. He held Prince Yoongi down by his shoulders and nodded his head for Hyungwon to wake him up. Hyungwon swiped the bottle underneath the Prince’s nose and by the third swipe, Prince Yoongi woke with a choked gasp.

“Easy! Easy, Your Highness!” Hyungwon ordered softly and Hoseok applied light presses to his shoulders to keep him down.

“You are safe, Yoongi.” Hoseok spoke with a tight smile.

Prince Yoongi groaned with a wince. His whole body hurt, it felt like a whole herd of horses had trampled him. His vision faded and blurred like he had just come up face first from the sea. He blinked a few times, and as his vision cleared in his left eye, Prince Yoongi’s pulse started to race when no images cleared in his right eye.

“...Yoongi?” Hoseok’s voice was on edge, his grip on his shoulders tightened and Yoongi started to sweat.

His stomach swooped and tumbled as he tried his hardest to focus but nothing changed. Something was wrong, and Prince Yoongi was hit with a wave of nausea as he recalled the events of the night. They were attacked, ambushed! And—

“The Princess!” Yoongi pushed Hoseok away from him and sat up, nearly crashing his head into Hyungwon’s chin, who was dabbing at his face with a damp cotton ball.

“She is safe. Yoongi, Princess Keena is safe.” Hoseok reassured his friend as he forced him to lay down once again. “Aga and the other guards are with her. She is safe, I promise.”

Yoongi groaned as Hyungwon pressed a cold cream against his right cheek. It stung as much as it soothed the burning skin. Yoongi tried to focus on the doctor but he couldn’t see him clearly. Hyungwon’s image was distorted, an opaque film thrown over him and scribbled over with a gray and black hue. A faded shadow with diffused edges and unclear shapes. Even the coloring was off, muted at best if Prince Yoongi had to describe it. It reminded him of the time he got muze dust in his eyes and everything was fuzzy for two days.

“Your Highness?” Hyungwon pulled him from his thoughts and nodded to Hoseok. “Let’s get you up now, slowly.”

Hoseok and Hyungwon carefully supported the Prince’s back and helped him sit upright before Hyungwon pulled back a little.

“Your Highness…how many fingers am I holding up?”

The Prince starred in Hyungwon’s direction and licked his lips, “Four.”

“Very good, Your Highness. Now please cover your left eye.”

The Prince covered his left eye, Hyungwon’s figure was clear as day and he stared at the two fingers in front of him, “Two.”

“Good. Now your right eye, carefully.”

The Prince switched to the right eye and flinched as the skin of his palm brushed against his cheek. He frowned. Hyungwon’s figure was-

“Your Highness?”

Prince Yoongi blinked hard, four times as he tried to clear his vision. His pulse rushed in his ears and he struggled to answer the simple question.

“Yoongi?” Hoseok’s voice was strained as he watched tears collect at the corners of his friend’s eyes.

“I-I can’t…I can’t—”

The hand that covered the Prince’s right eye fell into his lap and he shook his head. He refused to meet Hoseok or Hyungwon’s gaze. The two shared a look with each other and Hoseok nodded his head, his face blank as he patted the Prince’s shoulders.

“Okay. We can take care of it, Yoongi.”

“Yes, I will not give up, Your Highness. I will find a way to gain your sight back.” Hyungwon promised, and the Prince nodded his head.

He started to rise, and Hoseok was quick to help Prince Yoongi to his feet. Hyungwon handed the Prince a towel and the three of them headed into his sleeping chambers. Hoseok left the Prince’s side and grabbed a black cross wrap v-neck shirt, the material was light and breathable with a pair of matching sleep pants that fit loosely around the legs for him to settle into.

Once the Prince was dressed with a blended black silk robe with butterfly sleeves and golden waves pattern over top to keep warm, he sat with a cup of tea in his hands, now in the sitting room. Hoseok sat across from him on the smaller couch and ran a hand through his hair.

“Yoongi?”

“Say whatever has been on your tongue, Hoseok.”

The Prince’s face was paler, his right eye wrapped in clean white bandages and his hair hung around his ears messily. Hyungwon had started to comb the Prince’s hair, the strands pushed back and out of his face before he bowed and left.

Hoseok sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face before he looked at his dear childhood friend.

“Your mother has requested an audience with you and the Princess.”

“Can it not wait until tomorrow?”

“If you had been within the palace, you would have heard the news by now.”

“Hoseok, please. I do not have the patience for your word games. What has happened in my absence? Why has mother requested an audience at such an hour?”

Hoseok raised to his feet and stared at his friend, his face pinched as the words left his lips in a rattled croak.

“T-The Emperor…he is ill.”

#yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi smut #bts fantasy au #dragon yoongi #prince yoongi #daechwita yoongi #blackthorn ch 15 #fic: blackthorn #soc yoongi

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misguidedasgardian · 2 years ago

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The Dragon's Mistress (4)

4. Jealousy

MASTERLIST

Summary: A dark sentiment gets you in trouble

Warnings: cursing, mentions of war, mentions of death, humiliation, use of the word bastard and traitor, incest, threats, slight grabbing of chins, not quite choking, might miss some warnings

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 2.9 k

Notes: This is getting good people! I'm sorry I'm not doing a taglist for this one, pelse follow the tag "misguidedmistress", really taglist confuse me and don't work half the time! sorry! ❤️❤️❤️ love you all!

His eyes were on you.

The son of Lord Celtigar that had bent the knee to your mother was older than you, ten years older at the least, you had seen him before, he had come to Dragonstone to plan the war, standing on the side.

He was handsome, dirty blonde hair, gray eyes, his handsomeness was ethereal, clearly the blood of old Valyria ran through his veins.

He looked at you sadly, he pitied you, and that made you look down at Aemond’s feet right by your side

“Lord Celtigar”, greeted Aemond, his arrogance was the one of a King, seated in the Dragonstone throne like it was his own, well, technically it was.

“Prince Aemond”, he answered carefully, “I’m here in the name of my house, of the entire Claw Island”, he said solemnly, but his eyes darted to you once in a while, he was visibly uncomfortable

“Bend the knee”, answered Aemond simply, “do your house and that island a favor”, Lord Celtigar barely nodded and did as he was commanded.

You had always felt fascination for House Celtigar, they were of Valyrian descent but somehow they were believed to be a lesser house than the Velaryons of the Targaryens, they had grown wild on the Claw island, they took to the seas, they were like pirates, they wore furs and braids in their dirty blonde heads, they carried axes instead of swords and round shields made of wood

They were kind of incredible

Lord Ardrian looked at Aemond from the floor, and pledge his house to Aemond’s cause, whatever that might be

But his eyes always turned to you, and Aemond noticed, smirking widely as he leaned in and placed a hand on your shoulder, you were lucky he didn’t palace it in your head like you were some dog.

“Let’s talk in private”, Aemond encouraged, standing from his throne he signaled Ardrian to follow him, and he did, out of your sight.

You were supposed to stay there? you wondered

Both men walked out of the throne room and towards the war room, a smaller room for private audiences where you placed the painted table, the room had a balcony from where you could see the sea.

“They say the Celtigars moved to Westeros even before the Velaryons”, he began

“They did”, he said dismissively

“So far off, you have barely any Valyrian blood left in your veins”, he continued, Ardrian just looked at him, not distracting himself with the beauty of Dragonstone, his castle was even greater, filled with treasures from all over the world

“Indeed”, he accepted, “we have welded with Westeros’ blood”, he only wanted to get this over with

“But it seems you would like to have Valyrian blood again within your family, don’t you?”, and there it was

“It seems a pity”, he said simply, “she is the last remaining daughter of Rhaenyra”

“So?”

“Everybody knows, you are married to Alys Rivers from Harrenhal”, smart, Aemond thought, not referring to her as “the Witch Queen” or “bastard”, or worse

“That is untrue”, he said simply, “we never married”

“As long as she is here, the bastard child of Rhaenyra, in Dragonstone, she will be an obstacle for your reign on the island”, he explained

“So what would you have me do?”, he asked, “you wanted me to feed her to my dragon?”, he would never, of course, he just didn’t need to know that

“Let me take her”, he offered, like it was the trash he was offering to take out, Aemond knew though, it was a trap

“What are you going to do with her?”, he asked, feigning interest

“Make her my wife”, he said, dismissively

“Do you think you deserve a reward?”, he hummed, and then chuckled darkly, “for coming here to beg for forgiveness?”, the face of Ardrian was severe

“The people will not see it as a reward”, he said calmly, “We know House Celtigar is one of the lesser Valyrian Houses, giving her to me will only tell people she is not worth keeping an eye on from the beginning, it will make her look like she is not a worthy Targaryen”

He did not think any of it, but he felt the need to protect you, to save you from the Greens, your entire family was dead, you were the heir to nothing, but he wanted to save you from their clutches, only because even if you were not worth to start another war for, you deserved to be saved.

Aemond only chuckled, not believing his words, not buying it, he could see under his plan.

He wanted you, to save you because he was simply nice or because he wanted you for himself, but he didn’t think less of you, that was for certain

“You won’t tell me how to deal with traitors within my family”, he said, “I think she is exactly where she should be, seated by my feet”, he covered his smirk with the cup of wine. Which he failed to provide for his guest, “it certainly made an impression on you”, he teased, “it will to the other house when they come to bend the knee”

He had failed, the Celtigar Lord thought bitterly, he had failed you, you and the memory of your mother

“What do you want for her?”, he tried then, and Aemond was truly surprised, “you know the rumors surrounding our house, the treasures we have, they are all true, what would you say about a horn that can summon the darkest creatures from the bottom of the sea?”, he tried, “or a coffer that I bet weighs twice as much as her covered in rubies? it belonged to a princess beyond Yi Ti”

“I don’t want trinkets”, he said, now amused, Ardiran was now desperate, “but why would you want the daughter of a traitor?”, he asked

“She is a pretty little thing”, he said dismissively

“Get out of my island before I lose my patience”, he said, tired of the games, “i accept your allegiance, come back again with notions of marrying my niece and House Celtigar will meet its end”

And Ardrian left the room

And Aemond was enraged. He was not going to be only one, he knew it, men weren’t blind, the same things he saw and liked about you were noticeable by other men. This fool was only the first one.

But no, he had the power, he was the second most powerful man in Westeros and most importantly, he had all the power over you.

That is all that mattered

But he would be lying if his blood didn’t boil when that Celtigar said he would take you as his wife. You were his, nobody else's

With long steps he walked back to the throne room, where the Lord were gathered, he didn’t find you seated where he left you, you were in the corner, a maid was offering you a cup of wine.

He walked towards you, hastily and in a rage, he slapped the cup from your hands, and it flied away, it’s contents with it, few drops of the red liquid tainting your dress

“My Prince”, you whined in surprise, the maid left as quickly as she saw him walking towards you

“Did I say you could move?”, he asked, he grabbed your chin between his fingers, making you look at his face.

Lord Ardrian had returned to the room to gather his men, and to witness the scene

“No my prince, I’m sorry, my knees hurt”, you protested, tears of humiliation burning in your eyes and yet you did not shed them, even though Aemond was dying for you to do so.

“I didn’t allow you to move”, he said severely

“I’m sorry my prince”, Aemond looked at everyone while he still held you by your face, his eye stopped in Ardrian Celtigar, who was looking the scene wide-eyed

Aemond's interest peaked, what was he going to do about it? he wondered, was he going to draw his sword? Was he going to call his men to try and stop him?Would he start another war for you?

“My Prince”, he said gently, forming a conciliating smile on his face, “as another sign of my allegiance, I brought you gifts”, he said, and Aemond was completely taken by surprise. He released you when he saw beautiful coffers being brought to the room, Adrian had then open in front of him, revealing colorful bottles with what it looked like wine inside of them

“Wine from Bayasabhad”, he presented, and Aemond seemed pleased, “for the brother of our King”

“I will accept this kind gifts in the name of my brother, the King”, he said, smirking

This man was good, he thought

And you were relieved, but scared of what Aemond might do to you in front of these people, so you stood very still, hoping to blend into the room so Aemond won’t notice you again

Ardrian wouldn’t let his eyes off of you, so much so Aemond got angrier, like never before, but he hid it pretty well, and dismissed the Celtigars, and they abandoned the castle and then Aemond make sure you saw as they sailed away

“He wanted to marry you and take you with him”, he whispered against your ear, and you did nothing but whimper, “how nice of him”

“What did you say?”, you asked innocently, a little flame of hope flaring in your chest

“That if he mentioned again I would kill him and his entire house”, he said then, and you whined

“Why?”, you asked, he leaned even more, until your back was completely against his chest, but you didn’t dare to move, that would anger him

“I will kill anyone who tries to take you away from me”, he whispered in your ear. And it makes you shake on your seat, “let’s eat”, he invited, placing his hands on your shoulders.

Dalya entered the room with a tray in her hands, and you sat down in a small table by a window, and she served you, you tried not to thank her, to show Aemond that you liked and cared for her, and you believed you managed to do so

Across the table Aemond wouldn’t stop gazing at you

You were so beautiful and innocent, the very thought of losing you to someone like Ardrian Celtigar made his blood boil, when he saw you there, seating by his side

The fact that you’d even ask him if he was letting you marry that idiot was proof enough that he wasn’t being clear or determined enough.

He had to change that.

“If you want me to forget your little indiscretion today”, he began, you looked up at him wide-eyed, “you are going to draw me a bath tonight…”, he looked at you and then you nodded, and as he kept talking he looked out the window, “and after…” but then, he got quiet, watching something out the window and over the water, you followed his gaze and you could see a ship coming, it was black as night and in it’s sails it had a green three headed dragon, for a second your breath got caught in your throat, thinking it could de Aegon, but then Aemond frown, cursing something in Valyrian under his breath

He stood up abruptly from the table, and exited the room without a word or explanation

Who was coming in that ship?

Would you take this opportunity to run from the room?

No, that would only anger him. The sun was setting and sun night was going to wash over all of you, and that meant time for his bath.

The door opened again but gently, so you knew it wasn’t Aemond behind it, it was Dalya, she smiled warmly at you

“Thank you”, you whispered as she took the things away. “Do you know where he went?”

“Someone is coming”, she whispered, “is not the King, but he seemed really angry”

And you shook in fear, because, who in this country could make Aemond angry? well, apparently Ardrian Celtigar, but who in his family? Because of that banner… it must have been, was it Queen Alicent? A Green Dragon? made sense

“He would like to have his bath”, you said gently, so she nodded, understanding immediately

“I’ll have the maid warm the water”, she said

“He likes it almost boiling”, you said, and she nodded, understanding, and left you quickly.

You were very thankful for Dalya, she was going to be of great help, it was nice to have an ally, even a friend.

Without further delay you went to the bath room and lit the fire, and the one in his room as well, as the sun came up, the fires lit up the room, and warmed it up. With the war, and all the darkness that came with it, you weren’t sure what season you were in, for you it was always winter, always cold, gray and sad

Perhaps it was only you.

You knew that whomever that was Aemond was going to dispose of them quickly, he was in a mood, he wanted to relax under the water and under your hands, so you prepared the bath without further delay, you opened the doors for the maids that entered walking so slowly, fearful of dropping one single drop of the water in the stone floor

After they left the buckets on the floor near the bathtub they left as quickly as they could rubbing their burnt hands on their aprons, and left you alone once more.

You pour the water on the tub, it was steaming hot, as you wish it to be, then you grabbed the oils and scents and you pour them in the water. Once that was settled, you lit up the candles in the room, folded his nighshirt by the fire as was his towel, so it will be nice and warm when he needs them after the tub, and as you felt the door of the room opening, as the sun already hid under the horizon, you took a long breath, trying to push away the fear that Aemond had recently made you feel with his sudden outburst like the one this afternoon after the visit from Ardrian

So you stood still near the tub, ready to please him so it will make your life easier, but the one that went through the door wasn’t Aemond

Your breath got caught in your throat as it seemed all the air in the room had vanished.

This presence, her presence, was so prepotent and cold, it even blew off some of the flames of the jasmine scented candles.

“So you are the one that has gotten my husband so occupied”, her voice was so enticing, it was like a purr from a kitten, her smile was catching, her eyes were hypnotizing, and only as she awaited her answer, raising one of her dark eyebrows, you realized you weren’t breathing since your hear her coming into the room

“I’m sorry?”, you croaked out, cursing yourself for sounding so pathetic and weak.

She made you feel like you were a rabbit in front of a hungry fox.

She chuckled darkly, she was in control and you just let her know that, you surrendered it so easily

“You are the little whore that has been entertaining my husband”, now she wasn’t playing, her gaze turned severe and you realised you couldn’t let her get the hold and the power of the situation, you were no fucking rabbit

You were a motherfucking dragon

“I do not know who you speak of”, you said then, regaining your composure, if she was cold and prepotent, you were fire and cunning. “I haven’t been entertaining no husband of yours”, you make sure she knew that you were disgusted, and she did, she raised both of her eyebrows, truly entertained

“My name is Alys Rivers”, oh you heard about her alright, she was the self proclaimed Witch Queen of Harrenhal, the alleged Lyonel Strong’s bastard daughter. But you couldn’t let her know you had heard of her. You just raised an eyebrow at her.

She chuckled once more as her green eyes scrutinized you from the tip of your nose to the last finger in your show covered feet.

“I think you know who I am”, you said in turn, and she smiled teasingly

“You are the last dragon”, she said, marveling.

You were interrupted as Aemond almost trotted into the room, looking at you, like he was scared for your life, and then he looked at Alys, warning in his eye

“I told you not to engage with her”, he whispered to the dark haired witch

“My love”, she answered, her hand moved with the delicacy of a snake, and she placed it on his cheek, “I just wanted to come to our chambers, and I found her here”, she batted her eyelashes at him. He swallowed, hard, taking her hand gently in his and remove it from his face

“We need to talk”, he said, and then he turned back to look at you.

This was certainly going to be interesting.

#misguidedmistress #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x alys rivers #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen #hbo house of the dragon #house targaryen #house of the dragon #targaryen!reader #targaryen!oc

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zaceouiswriting · 4 months ago

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Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.24

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: None

As I watch them fight, a sudden rumble runs through me as I hear the training rods colliding, almost like metal clashing against metal. I get excited, although I'm not sure why that is. Maybe they're reinforced, but for training? Far too many injuries occur as a result of such ill-considered training sessions. While wood hurts a little, metal can ruin a soldier's entire career, and specialists are soldiers, so why would they possibly sacrifice them like that?

I half-heartedly want to go over to the older guy, muscular, with big arms and medium-length hair parted in the middle; he looks a bit like a player. Fine stubble adorns his face; he has a well-groomed but rough appearance. A crooked grin is on his lips as he tells his students how they should train.

But as I get closer to him, his eyes catch me. I want to sink into the ground, but before I can do anything, he's already coming towards me, forcing me to interact, so I do the same, and we quickly meet. He holds his hand out, and I take it without thinking, only to feel immense pressure. For a moment, I don't understand what's happening—until I look at our hands and see mine helplessly crushed by his. Annoyed, I channel my fairy magic into my right hand and strengthen it with a spell. "Body of stone," I mutter quietly. Immediately, I give him back what he had given me before. He apologizes with an embarrassed smile and pulls his hand back. Before he can see my little trick, however, I pull my magic out of my hand, making it look normal again.

I don't like this guy. He's loud and obnoxious, two things I can't stand, apart from the fact that he calls perfectly average and good-looking guys "girls," which makes me even angrier. Guys don't need that crap; most of them already have shattered self-esteem.

Even though I know that he doesn't mean it in a directly derogatory way, it still makes me angry for him to tell them that they don't have the form to become soldiers. After all, only one in a hundred million girls and women can become fighting soldiers, and that's why this seems particularly degrading to me.

When his specialists fight against the fairies, he realizes that being a soldier is not the only option, even if they have great power.

"I'd rather not. I'm not fully there yet; I've only woken up and desperately need some fresh air."

“Then there’s nothing better than a mock fight!” He laughs unbearably loudly again. Only this time he also slaps me on the back with his big hand.

Everything goes black for a moment as a wave of pain shoots through my body. When I can see again, however, I am above the tall man, now lying on his back, holding his head up by his shirt. A little blood flows from the corner of his mouth and from his neck, where a sword made of stone, sharper than any metal I have ever seen, cuts lightly into his skin.

I feel a strange anger boiling over, and my face is twisting with rage. But even though I sense it, I can't understand why it's there. I only remember the pain. But I can't push it away or let go of the big man.

"How about next time you challenge someone who's your own size?" I ask him in a furious, mocking tone. Even though I know deep down that I felt this way and needed to say it, I'm desperately trying to figure out where this anger comes from.

But the more time passes, the less I understand my anger. Just as I accept it, I feel myself regaining control. Suddenly, I sense my features relaxing a little, just enough to make me appear weak.

I feel the man beneath me shift, and I reflexively bend backward, just in time for his leg to sweep over me. As he turns, he tries to grab my arm, which he succeeds in doing, and the next moment he grabs my sword, which disappears into thin air. But he doesn't let that stop him. With his next move, he spins me around and hurls me to the ground. With my arm still in his tight grip, I can only half-roll out of the way. But with his strength, I get back on my feet, kick him in the side with my knee, slam my head into his, and finally put my free hand on the back of his neck, sending him tumbling to the ground. I hear a sickening crack, but I don't feel satisfied yet.

"Thousand swords!" I roar. Hundreds and hundreds of swords appear from the ground and in the sky. I can see the fear in the teacher's eyes glistening like stars as the summoned thousands of swords come dangerously close to him. "Next time, think twice before you get aggressive towards me," I whisper in his ear, only to raise my hand and close it firmly. Suddenly, all the swords disappear. Although the fear in the man's eyes has disappeared, it hasn't really helped get his ego back.

I stomp him into the ground and kick him in the side one last time as I stand up. But when I turn around, I see many shocked faces, which I completely ignore. What could I have said to them? Instead, I wander deep into the forest. Hidden between the trees, I can finally drop my mask. Almost immediately, I fall against a tree as my breath catches in my throat, and breathing becomes difficult. My heart is pounding so hard that it makes my whole body shake. What just happened to me? Where does this unimaginable anger come from? I have no idea and no one to ask my questions to, so how can I calm down?

I slide down the tree until my legs are almost at a 90-degree angle, hoping that it will help me somehow. But it is actually the gentle songs of the forest that help me. Especially the song of the few songbirds in the area, and among them in particular the black Barabella songbirds, so called because they sing the Barabella song, a famous song from my home world about love. And a species of bird that becomes aggressive if you don't pet it, if it flies close to you, or if it lands directly on your arms, has, contrary to what its behavior suggests, a relatively gentle song.

There are about a dozen songs that blend into a gentle symphony. It's so calming that it only takes a few minutes for my heart to calm down, and the rising panic is slowly disappearing.

As soon as I can breathe freely again, I head deeper into the forest. I'm glad the wall is so high because it's impossible to miss.

Before I got to the specialists, I wanted to take a side path to the wall, but after the argument with the teacher, I decided to take the path through the middle of the forest. I was hoping that I wouldn't be disturbed along the way because I believe the specialists have had enough of me. But, of course, nothing goes as planned.

The closer I get to the wall, the more astonished I am because of its height and sheer beauty. That I really have made something like this stuns me. I always imagined the spell got its name from my ancestor being eccentric, but no, this wall is beautifully made, and worse, it must have been built before. I don't even want to know where this monstrosity has gone.

I touch the wall with my palm and close my eyes. I feel the throbbing of magic in it, like veins through a body, and smile softly. Taking a deep breath, the wall suddenly disappears into the ground—slowly at first, but it gets there quickly. Now that I have more control over my fairy magic, I don't have to pull rocks out of the ground like I used to. Until getting the other cores out, I thought that was how fairy magic worked, but now I realize it doesn't have to be that way, only when there isn't enough magic. I've never come into a world where there is so little magic that I would need it to change the world itself.

I watch the wall disappear as I play with a summoned stone, letting it float in my hand, fly around, and change its shape. As soon as the wall is gone, I want to turn away to explore the forest and the surrounding area, but I can't take a step because two big eyes are staring at me in horror from the ground. Lying on the floor is a small, plump girl with a beautiful, round face, warm brown eyes, and wavy brown hair tied in a ponytail. She would look gorgeous if she lost a few pounds, but she is pretty enough as it is.

"Can I help you?" I ask this mysterious girl, smiling at her as I go into a squat. Her cheeks flush, surely from embarrassment. "Do you need help getting up, or can you do it yourself?"

Though she hesitates, she closes her eyes. With a warm breath that seems filled with even greater embarrassment, she whispers, "I could use some help," she tells me, her cheeks even redder. "I'm stuck."

I stare at her in confusion, having no idea how she could be stuck, until I look around and, to my great embarrassment, suddenly see that her ponytail is stuck in the ground. I didn't even see it! I have never apologized to anyone so quickly in my life. As fast as I can, I open the floor just enough to help her, pull out her ponytail, and help her back to her feet.

"I'm so sorry; I didn't think anyone would be here considering how far you have to walk to get to the other side of these walls."

She looks away shyly and shows me a broken root. "The plants were crying; I had to help them," she tells me quietly.

“Can you heal them?“

She shakes her head. I see a sad look in her eyes. "I'm not strong enough," she confesses with a heavy sigh. "Many trees have been ripped out of the ground; they're all slowly dying."

It forced me to look around for the first time. And to my horror, she is right. Wherever I look, I see large gaps in the forest: fallen trees, uprooted roots, broken branches, flattened bushes, berries, and vegetables scattered everywhere, and occasionally I can even find a lifeless animal. I didn't notice it at first, but my hand went to my mouth in shock.

I have never had such problems since my home world is almost desolate and only a few settlements outside the capital are inhabited.

I can't let go of it, and I walk almost as if someone else were moving my body towards one of those poor trees that fell victim to my carelessness. As I place my hand on it, I feel a faint magical pulse coursing through the plant, growing weaker by the second.

If I do nothing, these trees will surely die, weakening the entire ecosystem until new trees grow. I can't help but look back at the way I came. Seeing the building in the background, I realize that not only is there this ecosystem here but also this house, built by one of my ancestors with long-forgotten magic; it must have lived off the magic of the land for the last hundreds of years. I couldn't risk the ecosystem collapsing.

"Terraforming!" I have barely uttered these words when the ground beneath me shakes, the once hard ground softens, and from the other side of the tree, a small wave of dirt rises into the air and envelops the tree in its cold embrace. The dirt easily pushes the tree back into place, covers the trunk, and hardens again—not as hard as before, but enough that the tree would not fall over.

Immediately, the magical pulse within the tree increases, but the end of its life seems even closer than before. The trees here can live forever, as they are beacons of magic, which they produce without pause or end. Some even believe that all the dimension's magic is created on this planet, but that is only wishful thinking, as all worlds produce their own magic. But the mere thought of it brought about many positive changes for this planet, which is now revered as a holy place. Even if it all started with a lie, the people responsible and their entire bloodline are long dead—a well-deserved end, in my opinion.

I pour as much of my magical power as possible into the tree, hoping to save it, but since I don't have nature's magic, nothing happens. I must look worried because the girl not far from me asks if she can help.

Focusing my attention on her, I see at a glance that her magic is rather weak; it's barely enough to call her a fairy. But I can still sense something familiar within her. A song, no a humming, that vibrates with another hum within my head. As a child, this humming was much louder; I hadn’t heard it in so many years. Though the hum coming from her is quiet, I can tell what it is from a single note. While she is not the bearer of the song, she must still be part of this bloodline, as only the blood of the ancient Leviathans can hear or omit their part of this song.

"Who are you?" My question seemed to have surprised the girl because she took a trembling step back as if I threatened to kill her entire family. I don't know where this comparison comes from because, to my knowledge, I have never taken anyone's life. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you; I promise I don't bite!"

This seems to calm her down enough to give me a shy smile. But she doesn't just take a step forward; she walks straight towards the tree, but on the other side, which is fine with me.

As she places her hands on the tree, I can feel its pulse drawn to her. Honestly, it hurts to see nature approach another person so easily when I have the ability to literally change worlds. But for now, I should probably just swallow my pride.

I honestly have no idea what she's doing. It almost looks like she's talking to the tree, which isn't impossible but still looks ridiculous. But suddenly, her face twists in pain. Realizing she's lost control due to her low mana, I quickly run around the tree to catch her just in time, supporting her by propping her up against me, taking her hand in mine, and half-clasping them. Since I'm much taller than her, I can see her cheeks blush, giving me a much-needed boost.

I bend my head down and tell her to focus on the magic in the tree and not just mindlessly pour all her magic into it, but to control it too. I hope she listens to me and not to her wildly beating heart.

After a few seconds of nothing happening, I'm already considering giving her more specific instructions when, out of nowhere, I feel the tree's magical lifeline—the last root that connects it to the ground—twitch. Although still alive, it will take a lot of time for the tree to heal, but it will at least give most of the tree enough magic to live on for a while longer.

I can finally breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that the worst is over. Carefully, I release our hands and step back, but I make sure she doesn't fall.

While she stands there quietly, hopefully not feeling pressured by me, I look at the rest of the damage, take another deep breath, and use the spell again, only on a larger scale. A wave of dirt sweeps through the forest, pulling trees back into their holes and devouring already-dead bushes to become part of the system again.

“Can I place the healing of the rest of the forest in your hands?” I even lace a slightly teasing undertone into my voice, but it doesn't seem to come across because her mouth is wide open in shock. I chuckle softly at her reaction and shake my head. "Don't worry, I'll help you. Your magic is far too unstable for you to do this alone."

Her shocked expression turns almost instantly back to embarrassment, even though I didn't mean it that way, although I can understand why she might feel hurt.

The sun is already setting, which draws her attention to the time. She looks over to me and nods silently. Just as quietly, we walk back together, past the specialists just now finishing their training in the orange evening sun. We did get a few looks, but I didn't let that deter me. As we approach the building, we part ways without saying another word. I like her, and hopefully we can be friends one day when I have cleared my name.

[Masterlist]

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sekiromi · 7 months ago

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A Devil You Do, ch. 5

pairing(s): Raphael x Tav/Reader, Astarion x Tav/Reader themes: reincarnation, soul bond, past lives, lost memories, pining, slow burn cw/tw: canon-typical violence, gore word count: 4.5k previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [read this fic in all its glory on ao3!]

Chapter Five: Enemy Of My Enemy, And All That

Raphael wants to talk; you suppose it can't hurt. The Emperor begs to differ.

On the surface, Baldur’s Gate seemed much unchanged as you gazed across the sprawling city from your camp on the outskirts. From this distance, it looked largely as you remembered it; lively, warm, welcoming. Familiar and dear, home. As with most things, however, distance often obscures the details, it is not until you get closer that you can see the true nature of them, and the truth of your home was a sad one indeed.

It was rotting, from the inside out. Many of the citizens seemed content to blame the incoming refugees, but you could see clearly how wrong they were. A sickness had been allowed to fester and grow beneath the cobbled streets that you once wandered without a care in the world, and suddenly the Absolute felt like the least of your worries.

Raphael had let you in on the secret, finally. He had the key to all but secure your victory in your imminent fight with the Netherbrain, and he was willing to give it to you. For a price, of course.

That price happened to be the Crown of Karsus, the very thing that had begun this whole affair, the object of Raphael’s deepest desires that would bequeath him with God-like powers and allow him to win the Blood War and unite the Nine Hells under one Archdevil Supreme: himself.

Inferna Victoria, indeed.

You heaved a deep sigh into your mug of ale, body half-bent over the bar in Sharess’ Caress as you mulled over the decision that lay before you. Lae’zel was keen for you to take the deal, no matter the cost, adamant that you must secure the Orphic Hammer and free her Prince as soon as possible. Gale, on the other hand, was positively distraught at the notion of you even entertaining it.

“The Crown of Karsus possesses immense and unknown power, it would be incredibly foolish to put it in the hands of a devil! I cannot believe you didn’t outright refuse him.”

He had snapped the moment the door to the Devil’s Den had shut behind you, wasting no time to chew your ear off about how much of an objectively terrible decision you were on the precipice of making, while offering no solutions of his own to the predicament you had all found yourselves in.

You did not like to admit it, but the devil was right; you did not stand a hope in Hells of defeating the Absolute on your own, and you desperately needed to find a path forwards before the whole city, and then all of Faerûn, paid the price for your indecision.

In the end you had gotten so sick of his lecturing you actually told him to fuck off back to camp and wait there until he had gotten over himself, an instruction he followed with an exasperated “Fine!”.

The others, sensing your thinning patience, left you to it as you hopped up onto a bar stool without a word to any of them and got to drinking straight away. Hooch, the barkeep, tried to put you onto her own, unique concoction but you gratefully declined, settling for something a little more mellow. It was barely past midday, after all. You weren’t an animal; you could wait until the evening for something more numbing. For now, at least.

‘You’d do well to heed the wizard, and steer well clear of that devil.’

The sudden intrusion slicing through your brief, blissful moment of calm immediately set your nerves ablaze with an inappropriate rage, shattering your thoughts and sending them into disarray. Ever since he had revealed himself, the Emperor had been rattling around inside your skull more frequently, more feverishly, whispering unwelcome thoughts into your ear at the most inopportune of times. You could not believe you had almost forgotten he was there.

I don’t want to talk about it right now.

He did not answer, but you got the feeling he had retreated as asked, sensing your foul mood. You almost missed the sweet solace the Devil’s Den had provided; Raphael having been able to silence any unwanted, additional voices within your mind with a snap of his fingers. To him it was a convenience, but to you it felt like a gift. He could not have known how desperately you craved the quiet, how you had forgotten what it felt like to be in charge of your own mind. The only drawback was that you had to spend time in his company which, though sometimes welcome, became quickly grating the more he tried to persuade you to sign the blasted contract. Now however, without his protection from the mindflayer’s prying, you felt all exposed and prickly again.

Although, that feeling could also be explained by the unfaltering, beady gaze of the small woman sat next to you. Throwing her a glance out of the corner of your eye, you sensed she wanted to say something, but you pretended not to notice, hoping to be left to enjoy your beer in peace.

If only life were so kind.

“If it isn’t Raphael’s favourite misadventurer.” She eventually spoke up, drawing your attention out of social obligation rather than anything else. “You’ve put me out of pocket, you know. Raphael bet me five soul coins you’d reach the city in one piece.” You looked her up and down with a frown, feeling a vague sense of recognition but unable to recall ever talking to this woman before.

“Who are you?”

“Ah, I forget we haven’t properly met yet. I’ve had my eyes and ears on you so long, we feel like old friends.” She rushed to explain, causing your eyebrow to shoot up. Suddenly you felt vindicated in your insistence to the others that you could not shake the feeling you were being watched at different points along your journey, even when they told you the tadpole was just making you paranoid. “I’m Korilla, Raphael’s…assistant, shall we say.” Interestingly vague, you thought to yourself.

“I would introduce myself, but seems you know enough about me already.” She had the sense to look a little bit apologetic as she gave an awkward chuckle.

“Maybe so. Say, why didn’t you take the boss’ deal? He’s gutted, you know.” Ah, so that’s what she’s here for.

“I haven’t decided what I’m gonna do yet.” You responded cooly, taking another large gulp of your beer.

“I’d strongly urge you do take it. He’s being more than generous with his offer.”

“And I’m being more than generous by considering it, most people wouldn’t bother.”

Korilla sighed, caught Hooch’s eye and gestured that she’d have the same again, before looking down to draw idle shapes into the wood of the bar.

“He’s not all bad, you know. He doesn’t want to see Baldur’s Gate come to ruin, he’s here to help you. He wants you to succeed.” She explained honestly, eyes scrutinising you as you processed her words.

“Why doesn’t he just give me the hammer, then? If he wants me to succeed so badly?” Korilla laughed and shook her head.

“He’s a devil, it’s in his nature. You can’t honestly expect him to just hand over something as valuable as that for nothing in return? Of course he’s going to try to gain something out of the situation.” She leaned in closer, voice suddenly quieter as if you were sharing a secret. “Luckily, you have the means to give him exactly what he wants.” Without intention your face twisted into a soft frown, still not liking the idea at all.

Raphael the cambion seemed bad enough most days. Master manipulator, committer of abhorrent, unknown horrors, power hungry and silver-tongued. A Raphael imbued with the power of the Gods would be nothing short of a nightmare. It would probably take some time for him to unite the Hells and establish himself as their ruler, if he were able to at all. Asmodeus would have to be dealt with one way or another and he had reigned as Supreme Master for as long as recorded history could say. Then there were the other Archdevils that would either need to be won over or dispatched in turn. Mephistopheles, Lord of the Eighth, would be no easy target. The Archduke of Cania would not take kindly to a usurper, he would sooner supplant Asmodeus himself than allow another devil of lesser rank to take the title. Perhaps the chances of Raphael being able to win the Blood War and replace Asmodeus were slim, but on the off-chance he might succeed, could you really expect him to remain satisfied as Archdevil Supreme? He would almost certainly begin casting his eye on other realms, searching for new, diabolical conquests, new targets to subject to his cruelness. In that version of reality, no one and nowhere would be safe from his claws.

After all that you had done, and still undoubtedly had to do, in order to save your home, you were hesitant to leave it even slightly vulnerable to such a fate.

No, Raphael could not be allowed to secure the crown, at least not without certain…assurances on his part.

Did you think yourself charming enough to sweettalk a devil?

“That reminds me actually, he wanted me to give you this.” Korilla’s voice ripped you jarringly from your thoughts, you had nearly forgotten she was there. Looking down, you could see she had slidden a small, off-white envelope down the bar towards you. Eyeing it suspiciously, you put down your drink and carefully picked it up. It was warm to the touch and lightly perfumed, unaddressed on the back, and sealed with a wax stamp depicting a three-faced devil bearing a crown of hellfire. With a strange care, you buried your finger beneath the seal and gently pried it up, unwilling to rip the paper for some reason, and pulled out the message held within. It was short and to the point, bearing none of Raphael’s usual dramatic flair.

Dinner, tomorrow night. Meet me in the Devil’s Den at dusk. Do not be late. Please try to wear something not covered in blood for a change.

- R

You huffed a small chuckle, tucking the invitation back into the envelope, away from Korilla’s prying eyes as she not-so-subtly tried to peer over at the steady, lopping cursive of her master’s handwriting. You found it interesting that she did not know the contents of the letter she had delivered, she seemed to know everything else about you after all. Raphael had not let her in on this little detail, it seemed, which sent a thrill running through you, the joy of a secret shared.

“Well?” She asked expectantly, and instead of giving her the satisfaction you simply smiled knowingly and told her to let Raphael know that you accepted.

‘You cannot be serious. I told you to stay away from him. Nothing good will come of this.’

If I wanted your opinion, I would’ve asked for it.

‘Do not test me, my patience with these distractions is wearing thin. You should be focusing on the Dead Three, not galivanting around and dining with the devil!’

I want to hear what he has to say. I heard you out, I believe I owe him the same.

'Do not compare me to that hellspawn.'

You felt the Emperor retreat in a sulk, your fists clenching in frustration at his incessant need to always be difficult. You understood his reservations about Raphael, after all you had them too, but you just wished he could allow you to make your own decisions, pursue your own path without the constant need to chime in and criticise, undermine, and ridicule. You would never admit it to him, but you preferred it when he was simply the mysterious Dream Visitor offering vague guidance and mostly leaving you be during your waking hours. Gods how you missed having a mind that echoed with just your own inner voice.

In all honesty, you were not certain you had a choice when it came to the dinner anyway. The devil had left little room for refusal in his phrasing, all but ordering you to meet him tomorrow night for what you could only imagine would turn into an evening of him attempting to wine and dine you towards signing your morals away. Oddly, you were sort of looking forward to it.

Korilla gave an indignant huff before downing her drink, bidding you farewell, and jumping off her stool to scurry back to her master. You finished your own drink, closed your tab, and set out to reconvene with your crew and confront Enver Gortash.

—-

Come the evening of your dinner date, you were already set to fall at the first hurdle. After making it to the Lower City and handling some errands (or rather, more deadly battles) you had managed to rent your party a whole floor in the Elfsong Tavern, a welcome reprieve from the barn you had been sleeping in since your arrival, and had then lost a considerable amount of time to waiting for a bath to become available. Despite being the one paying for the room, annoyingly you had somehow ended up at the back of the line, a misfortune that was sure to make you late to meet Raphael.

Grumbling and muttering to yourself you settled into a spare seat at the bar next to Karlach, who was smelling much fresher than she had been an hour ago, and ordered a shot of rum.

“Sorry, soldier, them’s the breaks!” She said with a smile and a stretch, joints in her fingers popping as she interlaced them and lifted them overhead. “I would’ve let you go first any other day, but I needed to wash bits of hag outta my hair.”

You gave her an unimpressed look, bits of hag still decorating your own head and face, and resisted the urge to flick a bit her way. She gave you a sheepish grimace as you asked the barmaid what the hour was.

“Gods, if Astarion doesn’t get out of that bath soon I’m gonna kill him.” You muttered as you glanced out the window, the sun starting to bleed vibrant hues of oranges and reds into the sky. The damned vampire had been in there nearly an hour now, surely the water had to have gone cold at this point?

“What’s the rush? Got plans or something?” Karlach had a half-jesting tone, but upon noticing your strained expression realised she had hit the mark. “Oh I see…you got a hot date, chief?” She nudged your shoulder with hers a little too forcefully as you knocked back the rum, causing it to lash against the back of your throat with a sudden burn. You choked, dropping the glass on the bench quickly and helped yourself to some of her beer for a chaser.

“N-No, not exactly…” You managed once you had cleared your throat.

“C’mon, who’s the lucky guy? Or gal!” She put her hands up as if you had accused her of something to which you just rolled your eyes. In a way, you would rather you were going on a date. As weird as it would be to admit given everything that was going on, it would undoubtedly be less painful than divulging the real itinerary for the evening.

You juggled with the idea of telling Karlach the truth, you never liked lying to your companions, even when it was the easier option. But, out of all of them, you knew Karlach would understand this the least. Whilst the consensus amongst your group was not overly positive concerning Raphael, most had to admit he had his uses, he had pulled through for you all so far. He had upheld his end of the deal with Astarion and explained the true nature of his scars once you had handled Yurgir, and despite withholding certain…details, he had never once misled you nor sought to deceive you. He had been frighteningly honest with you from the very first encounter. The same could not be said of your other supposed allies, including some of your own companions. Despite this, Karlach still hated him with a passion that raged as strong as the fire in her chest.

It was difficult to blame her. After everything she had been through in the Hells, you understood her immediate dislike to anything of an infernal nature. She had been used and abused by devil’s for long enough to warrant her feelings of contempt, but that did not mean you had to share in them.

This begged a certain line of questioning you had been trying to avoid: just what did you think of Raphael, anyway? You were loathe to admit that, deep down, you did not hate him. In fact, there was even an inkling of something akin to fondness growing somewhere in the recesses of your being. You had felt it the moment you were within ten feet of his room at Sharess’ Carress, that shameful, bubbling anticipation of seeing him again that could only mean you were treading some very dangerous waters indeed, waters that would surely drown you sooner or later. He was infuriating, calculating, undoubtedly dangerous, and above all an actual devil, all things which should have made you want to drive a knife through his skull rather than let him take you out to dinner. Still, for some reason you could not find it in your heart to hate him.

“It’s…more of a business meeting, actually.” You glanced at her, trying not to sound too mysterious and arouse her suspicions.

“A business meeting? What d’you mean?”

You shrugged, sliding her beer back over her way.

“A meeting with a potential business partner where we discuss some business.”

“Oh, no shit.” She mocked, taking a large swig. You sighed, deeply.

“Fine…it’s a date.”

“Knew it.” She offered you a sip of her drink, which you gratefully took, supposing you needed all the alcohol you could to survive tonight. “So, go on then, who is it? It’s not Astarion, is it? Thought things were over between you two.”

“It’s not Astarion.”

“Hm…oh, is it Shadowheart? I was just thinking you guys have been looking quite cosy since Shar’s Gauntlet.”

You resisted the urge to sigh again and just shook your head.

“Nope, it’s not Shadowheart.”

“Wyll?” Another headshake. “Lae’zel?” And another. “…Gale?!”

“No!” You did not mean to sound so incredulous, bless Gale. “You don’t know them.” You settled for in the end, hoping that would satisfy her for now.

“Oh really? An old flame, then?”

“Something like that.” You hummed, handing back her drink and resting your chin in your palm dejectedly.

“Alright, keep your secrets. I won’t pry anymore.” She promised with an amused smile, just happy to be somewhat in the know. “Astarion’s just come down, by the way.” Your head shot up, seeing the pale elf sauntering across the room with a towel draped across his shoulders, one hand idly tousling his damp curls, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Oh thank fuck for that! See ya Karlach!”

She laughed as you practically jumped off your stool, stalking past Astarion to make way for the stairs to finally rinse away the blood, guts, and all the other unpleasantness from the last few days.

Almost fully submerged in the scalding water, you shook every bit of debris free from your hair, scrubbed every inch of skin until the dirt that had made itself at home in your pores was finally coming loose, until you were glowing red raw. The bitter dandelion and sharp nettle scent of the soap was not the most pleasing smell, but you supposed it was better than hag and sewer stench. The water had barely started to cool when you lifted yourself from the tub, lamenting that you did not have the time to stay in the warm embrace of the bath for longer. Alone in the room, you searched for an outfit that matched Raphael’s request of not being covered in blood, a task that was surprisingly difficult since you had not had a chance to wash anything yet.

In the end you were able to dig out something that seemed acceptable enough. Nothing too fancy, you did not want to give the devil the satisfaction of making it seem like you had spared your choice of clothes that much thought, or getting the wrong idea and thinking you were trying to impress him, Gods forbid. Still, it was a welcome change to see your reflection in the mirror as you added the final touches, selecting jewellery that made sense from an aesthetic perspective but also in terms of the magical properties they bestowed. Happy with your selection, you stole a drop of perfumed oil from Shadowheart’s possessions littered across the vanity, hoping she would not mind, and gave yourself a final glance, now hardly recognisable from the road-weary adventurer you had become so used to seeing looking vacantly back at you.

Still me, it seems. Despite everything.

Perhaps against your better judgement you resisted the urge to bring a weapon, and slipped out of the room.

It was growing dark when you arrived at Sharess’ Carress. Hurriedly you made your way through the doors and swirling incense, past the bustling of patrons, avoiding Mamzell Amira’s pleasantries and attempts to catch your attention. Slipping through the crowd, you quickly climbed the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, and had to pause for breath once at the top.

How is it that after all the walking and fighting, I’m still not fit enough to run up some stairs?

Once your face had cooled down a little and your lungs did not feel so constricted, you walked around the balcony to the Devil’s Den, and hesitated. Just what exactly would be awaiting you beyond the door? You were alone, almost entirely defenceless, and your companions had no idea where you were, a fact Raphael had no doubt been banking on, knowing you would be too ashamed to admit to them you were dining with the devil. Should the evening turn sour, you stood not a chance of surviving, and nobody would even know where to look for your body.

In that moment, you considered turning back and abandoning the plans entirely. It would be easy to retrace your steps downstairs, turn right outside the Caress, slip into the night and make your way back to the Lower City, slide into the fresh linen of your rented bed and forget the whole thing entirely. Should you cross paths with Raphael again, you could simply tell him something had come over you, that you had made a poor choice at lunch and it had repeated on you just as you were getting ready to meet him. You could be a proficient liar after all, when you wanted to be. That was, as long as Korilla had not been reporting back on your every movement that day.

You were almost resigned to this decision when the door before you flew open, sending your heart racing in a confusing medley of panic, fear, and anticipation. Raphael nearly walked headfirst into you before looking up just in time, shocked expression mirroring yours before settling into a displeased frown. Having been waiting restlessly since the sun had finally dipped below the horizon, he had just been about to head out in search of you, in case you had either forgotten your commitment or somehow lost your way during the walk over here. His face betrayed no sign of this intention.

“You’re late.” He folded his arms across his chest, finger tapping impatiently, and you noticed he was not wearing his usual attire, opting for something that was somehow both more and less decadent simultaneously. His undershirt was lacking its usual frills, instead a stiff rounded collar peeked out just above that of the black and gold overcoat he was wearing, which obscured most of the matching waistcoat beneath. Crisp shirtsleeve cuffs were held together with polished, gold cufflinks that, upon closer inspection, were fashioned to resemble both comedy and tragedy masks, one of each on either side. You sensed those cufflinks alone were worth more than your entire wardrobe. As usual, not a hair was out of place, brown curls gently combed back and tucked behind his ears, face freshly shaven. At such close range, you could smell a hint of sharp citrus beneath the usual blend of cherries and soft musk.

“Sorry. The others wouldn’t let me use the bath…it was either arrive late or arrive covered in blood.” You shrugged, feeling your heart start to slow as his frown fell away to reveal something less severe.

“You mean, you didn’t tell them about your most pressing social engagement this evening?” He teased with a dramatized air of incredulity, stepping fully out of the room and softly shutting the door behind him.

“Well, not exactly…but I did tell them where to look for me if I mysteriously disappear.” You were half-joking, because although you had not, you wished you had. He gave an amused chuckle as he faced the door and turned a decorated key in the lock.

“My dear, I promise no harm shall befall you tonight. After all, the safest place in all the realms for you to be is by my side.”

Only as long as you want it to be, you thought, watching as he rose to his full height before you, gaze flitting across your form, taking in your attire, giving a small nod of mild approval before he extended his arm out at ninety degrees, offering it to you.

“Shall we?”

You eyed him suspiciously, trying to discern his thoughts and intentions, catch a gleam of something in his eyes, but he was as impenetrable as ever.

“There’s no need to look so nervous, mouse. We’re just having dinner.” He assured, tilting his head coyly. With some very warranted trepidation, you slipped your hand into the crease of his elbow, trying not to feel too uneasy as the smile on his lips practically doubled in size.

With a crackle of burning embers and a flurry of smoke, you were whisked away from the balcony of Sharess’ Carress, hurtling through the realms to somewhere entirely anew, somewhere unknown, somewhere that, if you were not careful, you might not return from. There was no turning back now, no cancelling last minute, the unpredictable series of events that were now set to unfold this evening had been put in motion, and you could only attempt to steel your nerves and hope the Gods were looking out for you, pray they could still see you wherever you were headed. Although, you were not sure why you bothered praying – the Gods had done sweet fuck all for you up until this point anyway.

Against every instinct telling you otherwise, you had no choice, it seemed, but to put your trust in Raphael.

[chapter six]

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 raphael #bg3 raphael x reader #bg3 raphael x tav #raphael bg3 #raphael x reader #raphael x tav #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #raphael the cambion #reader insert #x reader #fem reader #female reader #sekiromi #a devil you do

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obae-me · 1 year ago

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Tainted Reflections- CH 15

Start This Story From The Beginning!

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Misery Craves Company

Warning: This chapter contains Blood, Gore, Violence, Burning, Overall Disturbing Imagery.

As Always, Read Safely!

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Bodies. A seemingly endless amount. A torrent of grinding teeth and claws. The screeching roared down on them like a waterfall. Glowing eyes of different sizes and colors stared down at them, so many they dotted the darkness with their own galaxy. Spit and blood dripped onto their cheeks from the feral mass. Close. Closer still.

A snap. Sparks formed between the fingertips. Azure lightning bolted upwards, illuminating the area for a split second. A snapshot of horns and teeth. However many they originally imagined, there were more. Much more. The air clapped with thunder, the echo rolling around the stone walls. Deafening. Debilitating. Those closest to the initial blast exploded. Eviscerated from sheer power alone. The flash tore through the wall, cutting through demons, metal, and brick like butter. Yet, in total, it had struck only a tiny portion of the storm. Not enough. For every one destroyed, a dozen more would be there to take their place.

Wind whipped. Harsh gales spun around them in circles. The deadly forms were thrown off course, smacking against the enclosure with a lethal crack. But the hurricane wasn’t finished. The draft began to condense, taking shape. Gossamer crows with shining yellow eyes swirled protectively. With a single synchronized cry, they were sent spiraling upwards. Pulled off of walls, pecked from their places, torn to shreds, plenty of the hive was obliterated in seconds. Corpses fell to their place at the bottom of the pit, but there were still so many alive in comparison. Not enough. The army plummeted towards them.

A single breath. A flame in the palm of an open hand. Tossed into the air with a flick of a wrist. As soon as it struck a figure, the victim was instantly incinerated. Not even enough time to scream. Engorged, the fire grew bigger, consuming more, feasting on the souls of the damned. It spread, the inferno blazing. Blinding. Ash began to drift down in sheets. However, a few more resilient demons held together with nothing but bones and an unrelenting homicidal soul managed to come through, even if they were half melted. Quantity verses quality. Not enough. Something snuffed out the firewall.

Mammon was caught first. A demon who had been resorted to a chest, head, and one arm snagged his shoulder with a grasp of nothing but bone. Before Greed could do anything about it, Lucifer destroyed it, grabbing the demon by the back of the head and tearing it off his brother.

And then the rest came.

A flood of snarls and slashes. Cocooned, it was difficult to see where the others were. Every so often one could catch a glimpse of blue or yellow. But aside from that, they were all lost in the sea of flesh and bone. The demons were weak, that much was apparent. There were just so many. Staving off every single attack took every bit of concentration, trying to keep from getting pulled down in the current. However, if this was all they needed to worry about, soon they’d reach the end. Three of the most powerful demons in the Devildom could manage a simple army like this on their own.

Something in the air shifted.

Diavolo threw several bodies off of him. Taking the face of one enemy in his hands, he used the limp body to bat several others away from him. “Lucifer!” No answer. “Mammon!” The same. Although, to be honest, the prince could hardly hear his own shouting. Everything was drowned out by hundreds, perhaps thousands of angry voices. Most of which were incomprehensible howls of corrupt devils who had lost most of their senses eons ago. Although those who had clung to whatever sliver of wit that remained were squalling his name. Diavolo, Diavolo, Diavolo. A hum- a chant- from the mob who wanted nothing more than to see him dead. Or worse. Definitely worse.

Something smelled like sulfur.

Every attack was feeble, paltry at best. Against royal blood, none of these prisoners stood a chance. But still, if Diavolo lost his focus for even one moment, a grip at his ankles or his wings would push him back downwards. At this point, he had no idea where he was in comparison to the others. Was he close to the bottom? Had he only moved a few inches? Not even he could fully tell. The only thing he knew right now was that the rabble was beginning to bother him. Did he go full out and destroy the rest? Would his companions get caught up in it? Lucifer might be able to take a hit from him, but would Mammon? Too risky.

Something in the distance began to hum.

At this point, a bit of guilt began to root at the back of Diavolo’s mind. He’d dragged Lucifer and Mammon in with him, demanded it of them even. Had he made a mistake? Mammon was already a bit injured. Would they get hurt further? If something happened to the second eldest brother of the Sins, would the others ever forgive him? Would Lucifer forgive him? Your choices bring nothing but misery. A hushed whisper seemed to slip past the barbaric wailing and into his ears. Diavolo had nearly forgotten… Pain and suffering follows in your wake. It’s in your blood. You’re destined to create torment. The prison was a force to be reckoned with as well. Failure of a demon. Failure of a prince! Concentration lost for just a moment. A cluster of limbs latched onto his wings. A choked out gasp of shock bubbled in his throat as he fell. The weight sent him spiraling downwards for a moment. Flames sprouted from his pores, licking across his skin. Those touching him were soon turned to dust. A pant. A small bead of sweat running down his forehead. This was getting out of hand.

Apparently he was not the only one thinking such things. A little further below him, light began to pour out in all directions. Between the shadows, Lucifer stood out in the darkness. Bright. Shining. Steadfast. Like always. A beacon for him to turn to. A four-pointed glare. A morning-star.

Diavolo allowed himself to lower further down the chamber, diving to Pride’s side. “You’re okay,” the prince sighed a bit, allowing himself to smile even as he noticed blood running down Lucifer’s cheek.

“Get below me.” An order most would not have the audacity to even think much less say. Only three people could get away with such things. Barbatos, Lucifer, and more recently, MC. From the look on his face, Diavolo knew there was no reason trying to argue, especially not during battle. The prince hovered a little bit below his right-hand-man, his closest companion. Back to back, spines pressed up against one another, they tackled the cluster.

It wasn’t long before the third member of their party noticed the light. However, he was much further below, more off to the side, fighting to push upwards. Mammon was holding his own, but gashes and tears were clear on his body. Lucifer noticed these details, his eyes flicking between Diavolo, his brother, and the seemingly endless amount of enemies. Pride looked distressed.

“I’ve got him!” The prince broke away. A few weights crashed into his back as he swooped down. Diavolo shook them off, refusing to be swept away so easily. A ripple of flame spread out from his sides, culling the herd enough to dip down to the right. His hand grasped Mammon’s wrist, refusing to let him drown in this mess. A large hand dusted the demons off Greed’s body as if they were simple insects. “I got you,” he shouted, wings spread wide enough to shield Mammon enough to breathe. “We’re almost through.”

A pulling sensation. A vacuum created on the upper end of the chamber. The mob got pulled away, thinning. In the distance, there were twisted screams of anguish. Diavolo felt his breath torn from him. The space around him grew sweltering, buzzing, that same scent of sulfur so strong, his nose felt like bleeding. He suddenly had the sense that something far above him knew exactly where he was…

“Diavolo!”

The air stopped churning just a moment before the world went silent. Then a deafening thrum droned through the prison, sounding as if the depths of the universe had just been torn open just to bellow. Heat. Light. Experiencing every sensation at once so much so that it felt like white nothingness. There was no pain. Just this immense pressure, the faint observation that he was being crushed. Then as soon as the world began to rebuild itself around him, he blinked away the spots in his vision. Sound trickled back in slowly, giving way to a ringing in his ears. After far too long, his body jump-started, gasping for air and coughing out the ash and blood in his lungs. The stench of sulfur faded, the only scent remaining the nauseating and overwhelming aroma of death and decay.

He had fallen all the way to the bottom of the pit, where the corpses of all the enemies rested. A few still twitched, desperate to not let their light die out. But it seemed to be the end to all of them. No more rained down from above. And yet, Diavolo had the sensation that the fight was far from over.

Rolling over onto his stomach, it took him a second to find the strength to push himself onto his feet. This feeling of weakness… of disorientation, it was foreign. Perhaps he’d become complacent in his strength. He’d only felt something similar once. A long time ago, right after he’d made Lucifer and his brothers the new council. An icy-hot pain that had left faint branching scars over his chest. When he’d almost been killed by the old council. The markings of Revenge.

But there was no pain this time.

This world, this pocket dimension- whatever it was- contained many surprises inside. Most of them, as you had experienced thus far, were surprises better left hidden. Clearly this place had been abandoned. Better to leave sleeping dogs lie as the saying goes. Or in this case, terrifying biological and magical weapons of warfare. However, perhaps the biggest shocker of all was how eager and quick you were to strip yourself nearly bare in this frigid hidden bunker in this worse-than-hellscape. Holding the clothes you’d peeled off the mannequin in front of you, you had to wonder if it would fit properly. Although, it didn’t matter to you much if it was too snug or too loose. All that mattered was if it was warm. Warm enough to keep you from freezing out there. Warm enough to be able to not feel like a burden to the twins. Warm enough to get out of here.

Settling the dagger and worn-and torn-clothes on the desk, you began to tug the pants over your legs. The specific outfit you had picked out of the array of armor seemed the comfiest of the bunch or at least the easiest to get into. Too many of these sets contained metal plates or chain-mail or far too many fastenings and leather straps. This arrangement was as simple as you could get. Black pants created with a heavy, denim-like fabric. A single strap attached to an empty sheath tightened around your thigh with a simple silver buckle. A new home for your dagger. A deep green tunic was tugged over your head, a small ivy pattern embroidered around the collar. Dark brown boots laced up to your knees. The leather they were made of was almost splotchy, stained around the toes. You ignored that detail. Better for your sanity that way. There was also a matching leather chest-plate, one that wrapped your torso, stopping just above your midriff. It would be difficult to put it on yourself. The others could help with that later. A simple pouch rested against your hip with a new belt around your waist. But best of all- the article that stood out the most to you- was a charcoal-colored cloak. Tight woolen threads were woven together, created to be draped over the head and arms, pinned together by your left shoulder by a large circular brooch.

Thank the realms. It was sturdy. Insulating. Mobile. In addition to all that, there seemed to be some sort of magic knitted and stitched into every inch of fabric. For, as you slowly discovered, the outfit shifted to fit your body perfectly. It was as if Singrid knew someone would be by eventually. Perhaps she had expected someone to pick up the mantle someday. Another scorned human pushed too far, stumbling down here to find anything to keep them and their vendetta alive. A pretty apt description for you right now. Although, as much as you wanted Iktio dead, you wanted your precious Sins alive more. Hopefully such an attachment to the damned wouldn’t have the famous demon-hunter cursing you from whatever plot of dirt served as her grave.

With another passing glance at the weapons around you, you nodded your head. You’d be back. If miracles still existed, the weapons themselves wouldn’t be hexed. If you, Beel, and Belphie could get geared up… But, speaking of those two, you should return with food. Until you all were ready to leave the house, there was no sense arming yourself up to the teeth just yet.

Grabbing the dagger off the table and putting it into it’s new sheath by your leg, you walked out of the hidden room. It was easy work pulling the matching blade from the wall. With the ‘key’ removed, the stones glowed one more, shuddering as it swung shut, seemingly sealing. Looking down at your palm, you wondered what you should do with the second dagger. Take it with you, or leave it here in the unfortunate event that someone else gets trapped here? Squeezing the hilt tightly, you made your decision. Take it with you. Make it so no one else would need it. You also didn’t want to leave the opportunity for Ikito to find this place. Sure he was a demon, but who knew what he was capable of?

It tucked away nicely for now between your body and the belt around your waist. Then you quickly got to work grabbing whatever food would fit into your arms. Racing up the steps- careful to avoid the one you’d slipped on before- you fled from the cellar. As your head poked out from the entrance, you spotted Beel pacing nervously just a few feet away from the doors. His head perked up as he caught you in the corner of his eyes. In just three long strides, he was right in front of you, carefully helping you out with his arms at your sides. You could tell from the way his mouth moved, that he was about to express his worry. But then, as he took in your new attire and your armfuls of food, he simply smiled.

“This is great!” He exclaimed, looking almost normal with the way his eyes shined and his stomach growled. For once, though, he ignored his own hunger, sharing some of the load as he took various ingredients from you.

“More than great! We’re going to be okay!” Although as you said that, something in the back of your mind psychically slapped you. Don’t jinx it. Shaking your head a little, you returned Beel’s grin. “There’s more down there!” In a rather rushed and excited tone, you explained everything you had seen past the steps. Although, the more you went on to explain the weapons room, the more the smile on your companion’s face fell.

Taking the last of the food from you, he stared past your shoulder, back at the doorway. “Are you sure it’s safe to be wearing that?”

No. Was anything completely safe in this place? You weren’t even sure that this home was as safe as you were considering it to be. However, standing out here in the snow, you didn’t feel that deathly chill nipping at your fingertips. Your steps felt stronger, more assured. “Like I said, Beel. I think this place is meant as a trap for demons, not humans. The clothes are fine.” A doubtful moan left the base of Beel’s throat, but aside from that there was no protest. It’s not like you could blame him. These were threads of a demon-hunter. “Go take those inside the house. I’ll bring up more!” Without waiting for his go-ahead, you sprinted back down to the cellar, repeating the motions from before and frantically plucking anything you could, balancing some extra jars under your chin.

Struggling to get back into the house, you managed to twist the knob with two fingers, swinging the door open with the tip of your foot. Frantic footsteps could be heard coming in your direction. Gluttony snatched everything he could out of your grasp, shutting the door behind you. “MC…” Your name was muttered softly, dripping with concern. “Don’t take on so much.” Hypocrisy aside, you nodded, lowering the hood to the cloak as you practically pranced into the kitchen.

God might’ve abandoned this place, but Manna came graced to you under the guise of potatoes. Hunger overcame you like a savage plague, gnawing at your innards. You hardly remembered stepping closer to the table, a random vegetable in your hand that you were seconds away from sinking your teeth into. But Beel was faster, grabbing your wrist and prying the food from your hands. “What—“

“I’m sorry… I know… I know how hungry you are,” Beel apologized, looking truly torn up about this. “But I need to check it first. Please… to make sure you’re safe, let me check this all first.”

Jaw still slightly open, you actually looked at him with a bit of frustration before it fizzled out of you. Malnourishment pounded in the back of your head, but despite the pain, you agreed. How silly would it be for you to suddenly choke on poison? A tragic and ungraceful end, much like Snow White, except for instead of an apple, it was a dirty tuber. Beel pulled back one of the kitchen chairs for you to sit in. After you’d settled down, he began to use his culinary and olfactory demonic superpowers to good use. Although even among demons, his talent was rather extraordinary. Smelling for rot or mold or toxins. He’d pick something up, spend a few minutes being completely thorough in his findings, and then set it back down. Eventually he came across an orange, peeling off the wax shell meant to serve as extra preservation. Citrus flooded your nose. Your mouth actually watered at the scent, watching Beel strip the fruit before peeling it apart. A sniff, and then it was actually handed to you.

“I think it should be fine, but still—“ His words wavered as you began to shove the sweet slices between your lips, the nectar glistening as it threatened to slip down your chin. A swift flick of the tongue prevented that. It was magnificent, like you’d never eaten anything else like it in your lifetime. Is this what Beel felt at all times? Is it why he enjoyed food so much? Even now, as satisfying as it was, you felt your body screaming for more. As you ate, a bit more color returned to his face, as if your sustenance was sustaining him by proxy. He began to peel another orange for you. This time, despite the survival instincts telling you to devour it whole, you split it in half for him, holding it out in an almost pleading manner. Seeing Gluttony go without eating was all too painful to bear. He hesitated for a moment, but then gladly took it, grabbing another chair and bringing it closer to you. “Thank you,” he whispered, taking a seat, his knees touching yours. Slowly, he ate a slice. Success. You had eaten, Beel had eaten, and there was still plenty to go. “I think all this would make a nice stew. Or maybe a stir fry.”

“I don’t care what we do, just throw everything into a pot and I’ll eat it at this point.”

At that, the demon even chuckled a bit, a deep bubbly one that remained contained behind his lips as he chewed. “I’ll chop the vegetables?”

“I’ll boil some water I guess,” you said with half a shrug. “Plenty of snow outside to take from. I could probably use some to clean Belphie’s wounds too.” Silence filled the air. “He’ll be okay.” Although you knew you were trying to convince yourself just as much as him. Finishing your orange, you stood, a hand on his shoulder. “He just needs to sleep a little, and he’ll be just fine.” Please be fine, Belphie, you thought to yourself. With a knowing glance between the two of you, you broke off to accomplish your own tasks.

Old house meant old cookware. Cast iron pans and pots, Dutch ovens. Sturdy. Heavy. Very quickly you realized you had picked the wrong job. You lugged a pot outside, sighing a bit as you nestled it into a little mound of snow. A wooden ladle clinked inside. You squatted down a bit, beginning to use the spoon to shovel the frozen powdered-water into the pot. It was mindless work, but you were pretty glad to be doing something. Focus helped keep the thoughts away. Labor worked away the jittery anxiousness. Soon the pot was full. With a grunt, you lifted the whole thing, heading back towards the door.

A faint screech sounded off in the distance. An inhumane one that had steadily become more familiar to you the longer you stayed here. It echoed through the trees, making it all the way to your ears. When it did, the sound twisted, rasping, calling out your name. Beel had said they were little more than weapons. They should not have had any other goal aside from destroying demons. That being said, the cry that disturbed your ears and the fallen snow had a note of desperation in it.

It was alive. And it was angry.

But for now, it sounded distant. Hopefully it would stay that way. For now, you’d push it aside. Food and water were more important. Beel and Belphie were more important. You rushed inside the house a little quicker this time. Passing by Beel to head to the fireplace, you caught a glimpse of his face. He had heard it too.

Pain. There was no pain. A good thing. Yet a bad thing. There should be pain. Which meant—

“Oi!” A crack of a shout echoed through the chamber. Diavolo looked up and then over to see Mammon scrambling over a pile of bodies like it was simply rubble, tripping over crooked fingers and stubbed horns. Greed found solid ground, his shoes making crisp sloshing noises as he marched over the lake of blood. The prince had hoped a massacre like this wouldn’t occur, but… Mammon grabbed the thin golden chains that draped over Diavolo’s waist, tugging them, angry and desperate. “What happened?”

Despite the last several minutes being a complete blur, Diavolo had an inkling as to the event that had just taken place. A blast, a shadow, a familiar frame wrapped around his own, no pain. And the longer he thought about it, the easier it was to connect the dots between the blank spaces. Please, fates, tell him he was wrong. “I…” Hesitation is ill begotten of royalty, but in this moment, Diavolo couldn’t find the words. New plans, the next steps, things he normally knew how to think up in a heartbeat, they were gone. The only thing that flooded his addled brain was panic. If he was right—

“Diavolo!” Mammon screamed, the tail-end of his cry cutting out, his voice on his last legs. “Where’s…Lucifer?…”

The glow of the Morningstar was nowhere to be seen.

They needed to find him. Now. “He has to be around here somewhere,” he answered, a breathless pant to his words. Although, as he dashed off for the search, his eyes worked on scanning for not just one, but two people in particular.

Flipped, now at the top of the prison once more, Diavolo traversed through the dips of the vaulted ceiling that now served as the floor. Mammon searched the various bodies that lay clustered across the expanse, making sure not to stray too far from the prince. As they turned over corpses and dug out demons, they both shared the same bittersweet hope that one of them would be Lucifer. Just as long as he was alright… The space wasn’t too large, about the size of one of the castle’s grand ballrooms. However, in this manner, in the aftermath of a battlefield, it seemed endlessly vast. Not to mention, the prison was still working on breaking down his mind, attacking the weakest parts of his psyche and hoping he would turn as mad as the rest of these prisoners. He felt as if he was going in circles… You’re nothing without the people around you. But you could have everything, be the most respected ruler in the Devildom. You could have everything you wanted… if you would just…

“Lucifer!” The name bounced off the walls and snapped Diavolo out of his daze. Mammon grunted as he pushed a few deceased away, taking a set of ankles in his hands and pulling his brother free. “I found him!” Heart filled with sudden relief, Diavolo took a step forward.

A flash in the corner of his eye. A few seconds. A swirl of wind behind him as he scooped Mammon and Lucifer into his arms and managed to drag them a stone’s toss away. That same booming rumble shook them to their core as a line of light scored across where they had just been. Whatever had been caught up in the magic was dissolved. Diavolo raised himself from the ground, tensing his jaw to get rid of the ringing in his ears. Another flash, faster this time. Diavolo cursed as he dove forward once more. A searing pain. The prince gasped a little as the light flashed just above them, grazing the back of his leg. His skin burned, but was still intact. The blast had been weaker this time.

Before another attack, Diavolo wrapped each of his arms around the Sin’s waists, flying up quickly before diving down back to the floor, running, throwing random up random flames and unused bodies in the air with a gust from his wings. After several methods of distraction, Diavolo forced everyone behind the cover of an arch, hunkering down amongst some of the remains of the dead. Hopefully that would buy them some time. “Are you—“ He whispered, turning his head towards Lucifer. A jolt of panic suddenly ran down his spine.

Lucifer looked the worse for wear. It was hard to tell if he was even conscious. Eyelids hardly opened before they twitched shut again. Blood ran from somewhere under his matted black hair and from his nose. Breathing was shallow, little more than a gentle wheeze. One of his beautiful wings was crooked, feathers singed, falling off in bloody clusters. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The front of his body, from his neck down to his waist was… disfigured…defiled…devastated. Clothes that were burned away completely only clung to the back of him from weakened tatters around his shoulders. Skin had fried away, showing lower tissue and filaments of muscle. Although, even now, Lucifer’s body was hard at work trying to put itself right. Flashes of pale magical light sparked under the nerves and through the veins. He was patching himself up as best as he could, even if he was unresponsive. It was a terrible sight, but as much as Diavolo felt like crying, he knew Lucifer would be okay. Pride couldn’t be killed so easily. But this meant he was in a state of vulnerability… He could scarcely move now, much less fight.

They had to get him out of here.

Mammon’s eyes wavered, glistening with tears he refused to spill as he held onto his brother’s shoulders. “Hey… get up, won’t ya?” His voice cracked a little too loudly.

The air was sucked from the room again, a hum building up quickly. “Move!” Diavolo demanded, giving Greed a push as he held Lucifer up off the ground with both his arms. They both jolted forward as fast as they could. Once more, magic blazed behind them, a single heartbeat away from sweeping them up into it’s destructive force. A few rapid vibrations rippled through the air. “Keep running!” Four shots in succession. One hit the wall behind them. One nearly hit Mammon’s wings, but missed. One struck Diavolo’s foot. One struck Lucifer’s leg as it jutted out from Diavolo’s hold. It burnt a hole in Lucifer’s clothes and left a mark, but not one nearly as bad as the first time.

They weren’t desperate shots either. Diavolo could tell. They were deliberate, each and every one. Not full misses by any means. They told Diavolo that Mammon could hardly escape the shots and with Lucifer in this state…he was dead weight. Something told the prince that the next blasts wouldn’t be so generous. They had to get out of here.

Running for their next cover, Diavolo tried peering through the darkness. Through the shadows, one particular patch seemed darker than the rest. The hallway. If they got up there, it was a straight shot to the doorway. A straight shot. The fact settled into Diavolo’s stomach with a biting coldness. There would be no cover in that hallway. There wouldn’t be enough time to fly down there and open the door without getting engulfed in the spell of destruction. Not unless Diavolo took it head on. They knew that. The guilt in Diavolo’s soul nearly consumed him. This whole thing…was a clever trap. And he led everyone straight to it.

Humming. Charging. The next blow was building up. This next one would be deadly. Catching Mammon by the back of his jacket, he tugged him into a seating position behind a mound of ash and bone. He handed Lucifer over to his brother.

“What?…” Mammon wondered, a familiar flicker of realization in his eyes. Always cleverer than he let on.

“I’m heading to the door. It’ll take some time to open, so I need you to wait till it’s ready before you and Lucifer escape.” His head craned around the barrier, trying to see if he could tell exactly where the attacker was.

“Just me and Luci?” He gritted his teeth a bit, adjusting his hold on the limp Pride. “No way! He’ll kill me if he finds out I left you alone! You’re the prince!”

“I know.” Diavolo looked up at the swirling darkness of the prison, watching blood drip down the curved inner walls. “If I try to leave on my own, Beleth will kill you two without a second thought. If I let you two leave…” Well, he wasn’t quite sure what the end result would be. Would he die? Would his plans and his kingdom fall to ruin? Would there be outrage? Joy? Who would run the kingdom without royal blood? You’re making a mistake, the temptations of a demon seeped into his brain. Let them die for you and survive. Or, would he win this fight and escape? Was this a test? To see if he was strong enough to be prince? Beleth had always been the paragon of pure strength. Always believed that the powerful were the only ones worthy to rule. And once Diavolo took over, they believed him weak. That the humans were weak. That the angels were weak. And so trying to befriend them was a sign of fragility. If Diavolo could defeat Calamity itself… “I’ll lead this next blast and run to the door. If I’m right, Beleth will charge up another one for me. After that second shot, the door should be open, so take Lucifer and get out of here.”

“But—“

“That’s an order.” Diavolo’s authoritative voice stunned Mammon into silence. There were more words he wanted to say. Things he wanted to share should they be his last message… but he couldn’t think like that. There was always hope to be had, that’s what he always talked about. Countless times had people called him too positive, too naïve. But he had to be optimistic. He had to believe he was strong enough for this. He had to trust he was meant to rule. Time was running out. And so, giving the two brothers one last look, he smiled. “Take care of Lucifer for me,” he uttered, before dashing out from behind the barrier, his eyebrows furrowing, anger filling the base of his throat with fire as he screamed, “Beleth!”

The burst fired, heat instantly evaporating the sweat off his skin just by being close to it. Luckily, Diavolo had adjusted himself enough to the pattern of the signs by now. He dodged it completely, lifting himself up into the air as soon as the magic shot off. The light was blinding, the sound drowning out everything with it's resounding pulse, but the prince soared over everything, his wings tucking in closer to his sides as he shot straight through to the hallway. The magical flames tried to ignite themselves in his presence, but the sheer force of his body wheeling past them snuffed them out.

The door. Just up ahead, the stone slightly outlined through the fog. The magic of whatever twisted the prison didn’t affect it apparently. The walls around him seemed distorted, a twirling tunnel, spinning around his body until the world felt right-side up again. Diavolo landed before the stone door, the click of his feet summoning the pillar from the ground. Slow. It was so slow. Raising dramatically from the floor, each passing second felt like agony. Footsteps echoed far off behind him. His palm on the slab of stone as it reached his waist. The smell of sulfur, the hum and heat so overwhelming, his vision swayed. His wrist restrained like before. No getting out of it now. With a sharp pain, his blood was drained from him. The prison was satisfied with his sacrifice, but Beleth was not. The doors creaked. Escape just mere feet from him. A single ray of moonlight touched his face.

Then that’s when he felt the pain.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me beel #obey me diavolo #tw blood #tw violence #tw burning #tw gore #tainted reflections

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daenysthedreamer101 · 2 months ago

Text

Daughter of Steel and Bronze ~ HOTD

Ch 15 - To Mend a Broken Heart

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

Warnings: slight make-out session? They get a bit horny lol. Daena and Harwin being sappy, love-sick fools, fluffy overall

A/N - I'm obsessed with this painting of the knight and the lady. It's so beautiful and represents Harwin and Daena so well

HOTD masterlist

"Not much can be said for the couple following years - Queen Alicent gave birth to another son, Prince Aemond in 116 AC. Once again, Princess Rhaenyra's status as heir was questioned, but the King ignored all the whispers at court.

On Driftmark, Prince Daemon wed Lady Laena Velaryon. Many took notice of this, as the wedding followed quickly after the death of his first wife, Rhea Royce. Not even a year has passed and the Rogue Prince found himself a second wife.

His daughter, Princess Daena, stayed shrouded in black for an entire year, following the death of her mother. The once vivacious princess was now a shell of her former self, refusing to eat or drink, barely sleeping, and confining herself to her chambers. Some believe she never truly recovered."

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

116 AC

During the first two months after her mother's passing (before Rhaenyra's wedding), Daena visited the Eyrie, intending to speak to its ruling Lady, Jeyne Arryn. They discussed her inheritance and her new role as Lady of Runestone.

Daena knew that as Rhea's only child, she was the heir to Runestone and upon her mother's death, she became its new ruler. But there was just one problem. She was Daena Targaryen, not Daena Royce.

She had Royce blood. She was raised at Runestone and knew the castle better than any living soul and the Vale had a special place in her heart. But, she was a dragon. She was fire and blood. She loved her mother's side of the family dearly but, she could never part ways with her last name. She could never imagine herself as anything other than a Targaryen.

That is why she flew to the Eyrie and spent three whole days there, talking with Lady Jeyne for hours. She also reconnected with her distant cousin, Jessamyn Redfort, a 'dear companion' of Lady Jeyne.

Following Rhaenyra and Laenor's less-than-perfect wedding, Daena (with the King's permission) relocated to Dragonstone, where she spent most of her time, mourning. There was no way in the Seven Hells she would spend any unnecessary time at King's Landing, for she loathed the city. She also had no desire to go back to Runestone, even though it was her birth-given right and duty.

Ultimately, she settled for Dragonstone, the ancestral home of House Targaryen. Both she and her dragon loved the smoky air and gloomy atmosphere of the island. There, she could sulk in peace, without worrying about what the lords and ladies of the Red Keep would say.

With her, Daena brought Harwin and Hanna. Joy, the older and more outgoing of the two sisters, was married off to Ser Elmo Tully, the heir to Riverrun and the future Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. Initially, Daena was quite sad; she would miss Joy's lively spirit. But on further thought, she realized it would be a good thing to have one of her most trusted friends become the future Lady of Riverrun.

The months she spent on Dragonstone were quiet, peaceful, and healing. On the nearby island of Driftmark, her father and Lady Laena were wedded; not even half a year has passed and her father has already found himself a new wife. It stung Daena, the fact her father was so quickly able to move on from her mother's death as if she never existed. She did not attend their wedding.

But, Lady Laena was kind, beautiful, of pure Valyrian blood, and as of late, a dragon rider. Months before Rhaenyra's wedding, Laena claimed Vhagar, the largest dragon in the world. Vhagar was almost two hundred years old and was one of the three dragons Aegon I used to conquer Westeros. Only a bold spirit could claim such a beast and Laena proved she was worthy of riding the Queen of all dragons.

Harwin didn't know what to make of Dragonstone. The first time he laid his eyes on the island it was hidden by fog and mist, the smell of salt and smoke hitting his nose. The castle itself was a wonder to see; built by the last Valyrians, it was an homage to their once-powerful Empire. It was wholly non-Westerosi. Everything about it was made to honor and glorify dragons.

It was unnerving to live in, to say the least. A grim place, Dragonstone was built with arcane arts, fire, and sorcery. Draconic architecture could be found in every nook and cranny of the castle. Door handles, murals, candles, goblets, chairs, tables, mirrors, wall carvings, statues; the entire castle was shaped like one giant dragon. Harwin did not like the idea of living inside a dragon's belly.

But who was he to disobey his darling Princess?

Speaking of said Princess, she was leaning on one of the many balconies that were perched up on the walls of the castle. She seemed in deep thought, her gaze focused on the roaring sea. She looked so hauntingly beautiful, Harwin thought; her long silver hair was pulled up, and she was shrouded in black as she always was these days. Around her neck, she wore the Valyrian steel necklace her father gifted her.

He stood behind her, slightly to her right, watching, observing her. Her face was expressionless, but he could see so much pain and grief inside her lilac eyes. She drummed her fingers against the stone balcony.

"I wish to walk on the beach." She said quietly.

Harwin looked up at the sky - large, grey clouds were covering up the sun and it looked like it would rain any minute.

"Are you certain, Princess? What if it rains?"

"Then we'll be wet." She stated, turning to face him.

Her once lively face was blank, and Harwin couldn't help but notice how her new way of dressing made her look significantly older than she was. Before he could respond, she walked past him, quickly descending the long flight of stairs.

The bottom of her black gown dragged across the wet sand but she paid it no mind. The wind carried a scent of smoke and salt, something she enjoyed immensely. There was a certain coolness to the air which indicated to her it would rain soon. As someone who spent a lot of time high up in the air, she knew the telltale signs of an incoming storm.

"I received a letter from Joy this morning," Harwin said, breaking the silence.

She looked up at him. "You did? What does it say?"

"She says the Tullys are most hospitable and that they take great care of their future Lady."

Daena smiled at the news. She was glad the Tullys were taking good care of her friend.

"There's more," Harwin added and stopped suddenly.

Daena stopped as well, waiting for him to reveal more news.

"She is with child."

Daena was speechless. "That's wonderful! You're going to be an uncle!"

Harwin chuckled. "I suppose I will."

Daena's smile faded. "...I haven't received any letter from her since she moved to Riverrun. I think she's cross with me."

Harwin furrowed his brows. "Why do you think that?"

"Because...I didn't attend her wedding." She mumbled, nervously playing with her necklace.

Harwin chuckled once again. He took hold of her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist. Putting his other hand around her waist, he pulled her closer, their faces inches away. He placed his forehead against hers.

"It is not in my sister's nature to be resentful. It must have slipped her notice once she found out she was pregnant." Harwin said quietly, looking deeply into Daena's eyes. Her pupils were wide, making her eyes appear darker. She placed her other hand on his forearm.

"I- I suppose you are right." She whispered, her eyes falling to his lips.

He smiled at her, nudging his nose against hers, and kissed the side of her head. She sighed in contentment, placing her head onto his breastplate. The cool metal felt nice against her hot skin. He placed many small kisses on top of her head, holding her tightly against his body. He inhaled the scent of her hair - lemon and rose oil.

She felt her heart skipping a beat. Ever since her mother's death, she's been...distant and formal with Harwin, ignoring the way he looked at her, ignoring whenever he called her 'love.' In a way, she was punishing herself, abstaining from his touch, depriving herself of any joy.

Not anymore.

"Kiss me." She pleaded, looking up at him, her eyes full of desperation and desire.

Harwin was taken aback. They haven't had any intimate moments ever since Lady Rhea passed. Daena noticeably distanced herself, and he respected her wishes even though it broke his heart. And now here she was, begging for his love.

"Are you certain?"

Daena tsked and grabbed his head, pulling him down and connecting their lips. He stumbled a bit, not expecting her to react that way. He put his hands on her hips, squeezing her soft flesh. Her fingers were tangled in his dark curls, drawing him closer.

He grabbed the back of her head, deepening the kiss. He gently bit her lower lip, making her gasp in surprise, giving him further access to ravage her mouth. All the little noises she was making were spurring him on and he couldn't help but notice his pants tightening.

"Harwin..." She whined his name and it sent a shiver down his spine.

"The things you do to me, you pretty little thing...You don't even know." He groaned in her ear and the sound went straight to her core, making her clench around nothing. His hot breath made the hairs on her neck stand up.

"But I do...You have ignited a fire in my heart and it burns so sweetly I wish for it to burn forever. I wish for it to consume me whole."

His hold on her hips tightened and it ached slightly, but she didn't dare to move. A low growl left his throat as he inhaled her scent. "Those are dangerous words, little dove."

"I know you feel the same way." She whispered into his ear.

Before he could respond, the sky opened and rain started pouring from the clouds above. To her surprise, he picked her up and ran toward the castle. A gasp escaped her lips upon realizing her feet were off the ground.

For the first time in months, she laughed.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" Hanna screeched as she saw the Princess and her brother enter the castle, sopping wet.

"We were just taking a stroll on the beach," Daena answered innocently as Hanna dragged her toward her chambers.

"Quick, Princess! We must change your clothes or you'll get sick." Hanna rambled on as they reached the room's door.

Daena chuckled at her friend's worry. "No need to worry so much, my dear. I'll be fine."

Hanna clicked her tongue and shook her head in disapproval, catching sight of her brother. "You too, Harwin. Go and change."

"Why of course, my Lady," Harwin said with a smirk.

"I'm serious!" Hanna hissed angrily at her big brother.

"Alright Hanna, dear, I'm sure Ser Harwin can take care of himself. Now, come and help me get out of this dress. I'm positively soaked." Daena said, pulling Hanna by her sleeve.

"Congratulations on your sister's pregnancy," Daena muttered as Hanna massaged oils into her skin. The light of the now-waning sun trickled faintly into her bedchamber. The fireplace was lit, warming the room and adding additional light. Daena was ready to retire for the day.

"...You know?" Hanna asked, her voice coated with surprise.

"Harwin told me while we strolled on the beach," Daena said, leaning back in her bathtub.

Hanna stayed quiet.

"What's the matter?" Daena asked.

"Nothing, Princess."

"Hanna. I know you. You've been unusually snappy today. Something's bothering you. Won't you confide in me? I thought we were friends."

"It's just- Joy's pregnancy. It made me think of my own life."

"Yes?"

"I'm afraid Father will soon marry me off."

"Would that be a problem?"

"I-"

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Hanna wiped her hands, got up, and went to see who was knocking. Daena could hear the measter's hushed voice. Hanna was back with something in her hands.

"A letter for you Princess. From King's Landing."

A sigh escaped Daena's lips. She perched herself up, picked up a towel from the side of the tub, and wiped her hands. Hanna handed her the letter.

Her eyes went over the lines over and over again. A frown appeared on her face and an agitated groan left her lips. She crumbled the letter and threw it away.

The Princess was in a foul mood this morning, Harwin noticed. He could see it in her eyes, in the way her jaw was tense, in the way her brows were furrowed. Instead of talking, she sighed, clicked her tongue, and rolled her eyes at everyone. She was annoyed, dare he say angry.

Why? Harwin didn't know.

They were now in Aegon's Garden - it was filled with tall dark trees, wild roses, and cranberries. It had a pleasant piney smell. Daena sat down on a large bench made of black stone. She patted the seat next to her and Harwin sat down.

She took a deep breath, taking in the scent of all the wildflowers. "This was always my favorite part of the island. I like how quiet and peaceful it is here. I've never felt such tranquility anywhere else."

"... I'm sure you have noticed my less-than-pleasant behavior today. I'm sure you've wondered why that is."

She handed him a crumbled letter. "This is why."

Harwin's brows were furred as he read it. "So, what does this mean?"

Daena sighed, looking down at her feet. "It means that as soon as I finish my mourning, the Queen will try and marry me off to a lord of her choosing. She will whisper in my Uncle's ear, just like her father did. She'll try and convince him it's for my own good."

"I would sooner jump into Vermithor's mouth and let myself get eaten alive than let her control my life."

Harwin smirked. He knew she would do it.

"There is only one course of action I can take." She said, turning to face him.

"And that is?"

"I need to find a husband, by myself."

Harwin's heart skipped a beat at the mention of her marriage. It would be a lie to say he hasn't fantasized about marrying Daena, or at least offering himself as a candidate for her hand. He never verbalized those dreams because he never thought himself worthy of her hand, let alone her love.

"He will be one lucky man, whoever he is." He whispered, looking at a rose bush in the distance.

"Yes, yes he will be." She said pointedly while looking at him. She grabbed his hand once she realized he wouldn't look at her.

"...Princess?" Harwin uttered. He was overwhelmed by the feeling of her warm hands wrapped around his.

"Harwin..." She called teasingly. A wide smile was on her face, a glitter of determination in her eyes.

"You don't mean-"

"You, silly. I'm talking about you. Marry me, Harwin."

He felt like somebody punched him right in the gut, his lungs begging for air. His heart drummed wildly in his chest as he processed her words. Daena Targaryen, daughter of the Rogue Prince, rider of Vermithor, the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, was asking him for his hand in marriage.

"I'm not worthy of you."

Daena did not expect those words to come out of his mouth. Why would he think that?

"Why would you say such a thing?" She asked more harshly than she wanted.

He stayed silent.

"If not you, then who? Who is worthy of my love if not you, my brave knight?" She inquired, her voice softer.

"I-"

"Do you not feel the same way? You...you don't love me?" She finally asked, cutting to the heart of the problem. Her voice cracked, tears welling in her eyes. This was the first time they had a conversation about what they were to each other.

Harwin took note of the uncertainty in her voice and the fear in her eyes; fear that perhaps, she was wrong and he never truly loved her. He needed to put her mind at ease.

He got down on one knee and held her hands.

"There are no words in any language on this earth to describe how I feel about you, how much I adore you. You have...bewitched my heart, body, and soul. Even in my dreams, I could not escape you. Countless nights I have spent thinking about you, praying to every god imaginable, and thanking them that I get to spend my life serving you - my darling Princess, the one who holds my heart.

If you told me right now to fall on my sword, I would. If you told me to throw myself off the Wall, I would. I would kill for you. I would die for you. I would follow you to the ends of the earth. If you banished me and told me to leave your side, I would if it meant you were happy. Gods, I- I never thought this day would come but, will you marry me and be my lawful wife?"

She couldn't believe her ears. Or her eyes. She was beyond herself, to say the least.

"Daena?"

Her mouth was dry and her tongue twisted. His words struck a chord in her heart and she felt like it would burst out of her chest from how loudly it was beating. Tears blurred her vision and she could feel his calloused hand wiping them off her face.

"No tears, my love. This is a happy occasion, is it not?"

She only nodded, not trusting her voice. More tears ran down her face as realization of the situation set in her mind. Harwin loved her. He loved her. He asked her to be his wife.

"Come here, beautiful." He said as he pulled her onto his lap. She placed her head on his shoulder, the cold metal of his armor helped calm her down. He brushed his fingers through her silver tresses. He could hear her sniffing and her body shook slightly as she held onto his body tightly.

"Harwin?"

"Yes, Princess?" He asked, looking down at her.

"I love you." She whispered, a little pout on her pink lips.

"I love you too." He whispered back, kissing her softly.

They sat in silence for a while, holding each other and taking in the scent of wild roses. Little birds chirped high above them and the wind whistled. They stayed there until the sun went down and the moon showed its silver face.

Taglist: @ateliefloresdaprimavera

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greatideas-badwriter · 9 months ago

Text

SasuSaku: Sacrificed To The Banished Prince Ch. 12

The thick raindrops stung Sasuke's face as he sped through the trees on horseback in desperate search of signs of his fiance or her captors. An entire day had passed since her disappearance. Hopes of her survival became slim hours ago, but he couldn't give up without confirming with his own eyes that yet another woman's life had been stolen by his fault.

'If I'd simply turned her away like I originally planned, none of this would've happened.'

But he didn't turn her away. No, not after she'd given him the first taste of hope he'd had in years. Sakura was the first person to hold a proper conversation with The Curse. She was also the first person to look at the second prince like he was a human being deserving of fair treatment since his banishment.

The guilt of endangering someone so kind-hearted and selfless fought with the urge to protect his own life in a wild war for dominance. Sasuke felt like maybe he was developing another persona other than The Curse and his usual self, one that was self-serving and recklessly frenzied. He feared he was losing his humility. In the past, Sasuke never would've given Sakura's request to become his bride and likely die a second thought. He'd have refused to see her face to face and ensured she safely disappeared.

'It's all that damned demon's fault. If only he hadn't become interested in her.'

The Curse had never spared humans any attention other than the urge to do sick and twisted things until he laid eyes on Sakura. He obviously felt those things toward her, too, but for some reason, he hadn't acted on those urges yet. He'd even gone out of his way to threaten others not to harm her.

In the distance, Sasuke caught a glimpse of something pale in his peripheral. Tugging the reins of his horse firmly, he turned to hurry in that direction. The poor beast released a high-pitched neigh while struggling to keep up with his demands.

As soon as he picked up on the slightest hint of pink on the forest floor, the prince slowed the steed enough that he could demount without harming himself and rushed in that direction, "Sakura!" His heart was beating loudly in his ears, so much so that he couldn't even hear the rain hitting the ground anymore.

Sasuke's blood ran cold when he got close enough to Sakura to make out details of her appearance. Her green eyes were half-lidded and dull. Her usually soft and silky hair was wet, dirty, and tangled with leaves and mud. That wasn't what had the prince rushing to his knees by her side to check her pulse and shake her shoulders. No, that'd be the blood pooling on her abdomen and the blood dripping steadily down the side of her pale neck.

"Over here!" He called as loud as possible, knowing the rest of the search party would find his horse soon enough whether he yelled or not.

"Sakura! Sakura, look at me! Wake up!" The air in his lungs got caught when he moved her cold hand from her side to see a massive stab wound, the source of the more significant blood. Her pulse was alarmingly slow and weak.

Tears stung the corners of his eyes as he pushed Sakura's wet hair out of her face and cupped her cheeks, searching her dull gaze for any sign that she was comprehending the world around her, "...I'm so sorry."

Even if he force-fed her a dozen healing potions right now, it wouldn't be enough to keep her alive.

He was too late.

Taking a deep breath, Sasuke forced himself to regain his composure. The least he could do was return her body to her family for a proper burial and hope she wasn't feeling the pain as she neared death's door. She had minutes left, if that.

Clearing his throat, the man got to his feet and jogged off to find his horse, guiding it over so he could somehow get the woman on it. He put his grief under lock and key because now wasn't the time to let it flow.

When he knelt beside Sakura again, though, he froze. Her eyes were closed. 'Did she close them herself? She shouldn't have been able to in this state.'

A faint green light suddenly erupted from the bleeding injuries on the woman's body, causing Sasuke to fall to his knees in disbelief. She was healing. The fatal injury to her abdomen was slowly bleeding less and less. He was in awe. Never in his life had he heard of someone being able to heal like that. The only thing that came close was the healing potions her family manufactured.

The thought snapped the Uchiha man from his daze, and he hurried to the satchel hanging from the horse's saddle, quickly procuring one of the aforementioned potions. The faint sound of horse's approaching met his ears, and he rushed to Sakura's side again, taking her head gently in his lap and whispering, "Swallow it. The others can't see you like this or they'll tell the king."

Even though he knew she couldn't hear him, Sakura did indeed swallow the potion as he carefully poured it into her mouth so she wouldn't choke. Just in time for the others to arrive, the faint green glow faded, leaving barely bleeding wounds on her neck and ribcage. Pale white skin showed where her ruined dress was torn.

Tossing the empty bottle aside, Sasuke felt for his fiance's pulse again, only to let out a sigh of relief. He bent over to rest his forehead against hers, whispering in an unstable voice, "I'll get you back to the castle. Rest now."

The soldiers offered to carry the pinkette on their horses, being more used to dealing with injured and dead human cargo, but the prince refused. The woman sat between his arms, her legs over one side of the horse while her head rested against his chest. Even covered in mud and soaked with rain water, she smelled as sweet as a field of flowers. Honestly, feeling her breathing against him was comforting. That, plus the odd way she'd healed herself earlier, was why he didn't want a single other person touching his fiance.

He ordered a handful of the soldiers from the search party to tear the forest apart to locate the men who'd taken Sakura, the men who'd injured a helpless woman. 'They'll think The Curse had taken over by the time I'm finished with them,' he thought to himself while carefully dismounting his steed and taking Sakura into his arms to carry her inside the castle.

Itachi and Madara rushed to follow him up the stairs toward the bedrooms, the king speaking first, "Explain what happened, Nephew. Did you meet with the criminals responsible?"

"Is Lady Haruno alright? How severe are her injuries?" Itachi asked immediately after.

Sasuke ignored them both, kicking their room's door open and barking at the maids tidying up inside, "Prepare a bath for The Lady," he glanced back at his family members, "If you'll excuse me. I'd like to tend to my fiance."

The first prince's mouth opened as though he wanted to object, but the king cut him off with an understanding, serious expression, "I'll send for her family. They'll surely bring stronger healing potions for their daughter." The two royals excused themselves from the room.

Sasuke followed the maids into the massive bathing room when they requested it, carefully passing a still-unconscious Sakura off to them. He hesitated to leave, though. The two women shared a look before the blue-haired one bowed her head and spoke in a monotone voice, "We'll take care of things from here, My Lord."

Knowing it'd be unacceptable to be present while she was being bathed, Sasuke left the room. He sighed once the door was closed behind him, running a hand through his messy, damp hair. His dark eyes were tired as he turned to stare at the door with a frown.

'I should've known there was something special about her when she snuck into my room to beg for death and The Curse refused.'

Sasuke wasn't completely sure why, but he felt as though he had to hide what happened in the forest from anyone and everyone, especially his family. He had no proof that his uncle had bad intentions. All he had was his instincts, and they were screaming to take Sakura and get her out of the castle as soon as possible. Sasuke was sure, however, that danger of some form resided here.

Never before had the prince wished to be back at the manor in the Winterlands of Konoha, secluded from the rest of the world. At least there, he knew who he could trust. He knew which of the staff members were loyal to him and those who behaved solely out of fear or loyalty to the crown. Most of all, he knew it'd be easier to protect himself and Sakura in a familiar place. This castle, the one where his family has flourished for generations, did not feel welcoming. The place should feel like home, but it doesn't. All Sasuke could see were glimpses of his distant past, most coming from the night of his cursing.

An entire day passed.

Sakura didn't wake from her slumber the entire time, though her condition didn't worsen. Sasuke barely left her side. Something told him her kidnapping wasn't as cookie-cutter as it appeared. It felt as though someone in the castle knew something, and he wasn't confident in a single one of the castle's residents. So, even when Sakura's family arrived at the castle the evening after her rescue, Sasuke stayed in the room with her.

A knock came at the door. The prince nodded at Konan, the maid in charge of looking after his fiance, so she'd answer it. When she did, an anguished wail met his ears. The sheer volume of it startled the Uchiha man, and he rose from his seat, turned around, and stepped aside in awe as a redheaded young woman crossed the room to throw herself over the side of Sakura's bed in tears, "Big sister!"

'This must be Haruka,' he thought while staring at the sobbing girl, who was holding the pinkette's hand between both of hers, 'I thought their relationship wasn't good, but she truly seems distraught.'

Someone cleared their throat, and Sasuke snapped out of his stupor. He reached out to shake who could only be Kizashi Haruno's hand, "I'm Sasuke Uchiha. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir."

'One of the only benefits of my circumstances is that I've never had to meet any parents or families of my fiances. This is so very uncomfortable.'

The tan-skinned man with dull pink hair grinned, "It's an honor to meet our great country's prince."

"Hihara Haruno," A tall, muscular man with red hair and dark green eyes suddenly held out his hand, interrupting the greeting.

Instantly, Sasuke became irritated by this "Hihara" person's overwhelming confidence. He may have been banished from the castle at age twelve, but even he knew it was improper to interrupt one's father. Kizashi said nothing of it, so the prince shook his hand, squeezing it maybe a little too hard and narrowing his eyes, "I'd hoped our first meeting would be in a more positive environment."

"Yes," Kizashi sighed, turning his attention to his bedridden daughter with an odd facial expression, "Well, Sakura has always been resilient. I'm sure she'll recover in a timely fashion."

Sasuke's eyes darted to the doorway, where Itachi had been standing to observe the room in silence. He barely masked his disbelief, subtly lifting a brow at his brother and thinking, 'His daughter was nearly murdered and all he has to say is that she'll heal quickly?'

Itachi's eyes narrowed as he shook his head, signaling not to insult the guests no matter how inappropriate their reactions were.

Barely biting back a sigh, the second prince turned to the still-crying redheaded girl, "You must be Haruka."

She sniffled, finally looking away from Sakura's face and up at him. Her blue eyes widened as though she'd seen a ghost, her lips parting in disbelief. Sasuke awkwardly avoided her gaze, turning his onto his fiance because the younger woman's stare made him feel uncomfortable.

"You must've been worried. I apologize for allowing her to enter such a state," he robotically said, unsure of what a normal person would talk about with their future in-laws, especially in this type of situation.

"You're Prince Sasuke?" Haruka asked breathlessly.

Sasuke looked at her again, only to grit his teeth in surprise. It was like a lion staring down it's prey. 'I can't tell what she wants from me, but she definitely wants something. Is it money? Reputation?'

"Don't be rude, Dear. Introduce yourself properly," Kizashi instructed.

The young woman gasped before getting to her feet, eyes suddenly dry of the tears that'd been falling endlessly just moments ago. She bowed deeply, her manicured fingers gripping her dress as she curtsied, "My name is Haruka Haruno, My Lord. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance."

It became silent in the room as Sasuke struggled to figure out how to continue the conversation with the Haruno family. Moments later, he blurted out, "Did you bring potions?"

The two other men in the room shared a look before Hihara nodded, taking off his well-constructed satchel and pulling out an ornate box, handing it over, "These are extremely rare. Just one would bring a human from the brink of death." He offered the box to Sasuke, speaking as though reading from a script, "Please accept this as a symbol of respect from our family to yours."

If the words he spoke were true, they didn't sound it. In fact, Sasuke got the sense that his dislike of the only Haruno son was reciprocated if the look in his green eyes was anything to go by.

Regardless of the young man's personal feelings, Sasuke took the box and opened it to see three vials of bright green liquid, almost identical in shade to the odd light that'd shone from Sakura's wounds yesterday.

The memory put the prince's body in motion. He suddenly forgot about the others in the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Carefully so as to not unnecessarily jostle Sakura, he uncapped one of the vials and brought it to her lips with one hand, lifting her head enough that she wouldn't choke with the other. It was silent as she drank it and even quieter once the vial was empty, and they waited with bated breaths for her to respond to the concoction.

"How long does it take for this potion to work?" Sasuke asked, turning his head to fix the Haruno men with a stern look.

Kizashi appeared uneasy, eyes dancing between his eldest daughter and her fiance, "It should show instant results...."

'Does that mean she isn't affected by it? What about her wounds? Are they healing?' He reached for Sakura's shirt, intending to unbutton it enough to check the injury to her neck, only to freeze when he remembered he wasn't alone. Swallowing hard, he gestured for Haruka, "Will you verify if her neck has healed? The left side."

Wordlessly, the young woman walked around to the other side of the bed and did as asked. Her blue eyes widened moments later once she'd unwrapped the bandaging, "It's still bleeding, My Lord." She shared a look with her family members that Sasuke interpreted as her communicating that they wouldn't be able to save Sakura.

Desperation that the prince didn't recognize flooded his veins. With his dark eyes set into a strong glare and his brows furrowed with concentration, he uncapped the second vial of potion.

Behind him, Kizashi said while watching him feed it to the pinkette, "My Lord, if one doesn't work, then using the other won't-" "Silence," Sasuke hissed, staring intently at the pink-haired woman once she'd successfully swallowed the second potion and waiting for any change.

When it didn't happen, he uncapped the third.

Hihara spoke this time, stepping forward to place a hand atop his and stop him from using it, "Your Highness, these are precious potions! Save them for someone they have a chance of helping!"

The Uchiha man's blood boiled with rage he'd only sensed come from Akuma, but it wasn't the demon. No, it was all him. His glare burnt into the redheaded man's, his voice laced with poison, "Remove your hand from me."

Hihara obeyed with a paling face.

Sasuke proceeded to force the third potion into Sakura's mouth, positively burning with anger. 'How can they call themselves her family when they're trying to stop me from doing all I can to save her?' His grip around the now-empty last vial tightened as his gaze lifted to Haruka, who was staring at him again. 'That girl's hands....There's not a scratch on them. Her clothes are new and of expensive quality.' The prince compared the image before him to what he'd seen of Sakura when she first arrived at his manor.

A low sound rumbled through his chest, akin to a growl, and he opened his mouth to speak his mind, only to choke on the words when Sakura groaned, weak coughs leaving her pale lips. All the anger and discontent evaporated when her pretty emerald eyes crept open. With trembling hands, the young woman covered her mouth, looking around in exhausted shock. When she saw Haruka, she tried to sit up.

Sasuke gently prevented it, feeling awkward since her family was watching, "Don't move. You're still healing."

The coughs slowed to a stop, and Sakura asked in a raspy, quiet voice, "...Where is Hana?"

The prince felt something negative, then, that he couldn't describe or identify, "Hana?"

She nodded, looking past him at her brother and father expectantly. Kizashi answered in a different voice than he'd been speaking with thus far, "She's at home with a fever, so she couldn't come along."

Sasuke's eyes didn't leave his fiance's face, 'The first thing she does upon waking up from almost being murdered is ask about her little sister? What about the men who attacked her? What about how she'd healed? Does she not care about anything else?'

That was when a flash of agonizing pain shot up the prince's spine. With wide eyes, he looked at the window and saw the sun was setting. Sakura seemed disoriented by the sudden appearance of her family, her thin fingers gripping the blanket tightly as she tried to make sense of the situation. He wanted to take her hand and comfort her because almost dying had to be traumatic, but he couldn't. Not with so many curious eyes around.

Leaving her with those he suspected neglected and abused her was the last thing he wanted to do, but if he didn't get out of the room soon, they'd witness his transformation. It was a full moon, too, so he wouldn't be able to come back after the shift lest they see The Curse's true form. Even Sakura had yet to see it.

Barely masking his pain, Sasuke reluctantly stood from the bed, regarding the room, "I'll retire for the evening so you can visit with your daughter. Please excuse me."

By the time he made it to one of the guest rooms, Sasuke wasn't able to hold back the sounds of pain tearing from his chest. Full moon transformations were substantially more painful than the rest because his entire body was affected.

Gasping for air and exhausted, ten minutes later, Akuma lay sweaty on the bathroom floor, surrounded by the shreds of his freshly destroyed shirt. He didn't get up because he knew there was nowhere to go tonight.

'If I leave this room and someone sees this form, it'll cause an uproar.'

He thought about his sacrifice lying defenseless in that room, surrounded by pitiful redheaded creatures. He spoke aloud, knowing the prince could hear and understand from the tiny cage holding his soul, "You absolute fool. You should've beheaded those filthy humans while you had the chance."

It was impossible for the prince to respond, and the duo couldn't hear one another's thoughts, but they'd been sharing a body long enough for Akuma to guess what his response would be. Something along the lines of, 'If it wasn't for you, I could still be in there protecting her.'

And it was true. Despite that fact, Akuma didn't blame himself. Why would he? He was a demon, far superior to any human. Sure, he had a soft spot for that pink-haired woman, but if he went out of the room and was spotted, it'd put this vessel, and his chance of completely taking it over, at risk.

So, knowing the risks, Akuma remained on the bathroom floor, glaring at the ceiling with glowing red eyes and imagining the many ways he'd torture and kill those Haruno pigs.

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