#dances and daggers chapter 4

[ashblooddragons]

The Red Queen (Chapter 4/?)

110 ac

Your pov

I sit on the floor of my room clutching my stuffed Caraxes, tears rolling down my face as I listen to my Papa and Kepus fight. They do this every time Nyra and I have a spat, or in truth when Nyra yells at me for one reason or another. This time it was because I was dancing in the halls with Laena and I tripped and bumped into her which made her almost trip and fall into a puddle. The only difference this time is Nyra grabbed my arm hard as she yelled at me, the Maester said I’ll heal perfectly fine but it still stings. What concerned him the most was the cuts on my arms from her nails stating “to grab the princess this tightly–it makes one wonder how cruel Princess Rhaenyra can be.”    

“Why Viserys? Why can’t you just be a fucking father for once in your life and take care of this? Why has it had to come to her being bruised so badly a maester is called for you to finally realize there is a problem?” Kepus yells furiously. 

“Do not tell me how to raise my girls, Daemon!” Papa yells back. “Up until this Rhaenyra hasn’t been violent, we need to find out if there is more to the story. This truly couldn’t have happened over something so miniscule.” Papa says trying to calm him and Kepus down but from what Kepus says next it doesn’t seem like it did. 

“Are you jesting right now? Viserys, tell me this is a jest! Have you not seen what me and Aemma, Seven hells the whole court has seen?” Kepus’s yelling isn’t scaring me as much as what he says next, for his voice sounds calm and yet it still sends chills down my spine. “If you won’t do something about this Viserys, I will. And let it be known you won’t like what happens.”  I hear Papa stuttering as Kepus opens my door and slams it behind him as he walks over to me.

“Don’t be mad at Nyra, she said she was sorry.” 

He chuckles but there is no joy behind it, he pinches the bridge of his nose, a habit I’ve noticed he does when frustrated. “Only because your mother made her, Sweetling. She didn’t want to, she was forced to. She must be punished for this, something like this can’t go unanswered.” He says as he picks me up and holds me close.

“Laena bit her so she’d let me go, is Laena going to be in trouble? I don’t want her to be in trouble, Kepus.” I say as I think about how she tried to save me.

Tears roll down my eyes as I feel her nails dig into my arm, it stings, it burns, it hurts. I look around for any help but find none as it’s only me, Laena, and Nyra in this hall. 

“Could you be any more stupid! You almost ruined my dress you brat!” 

 I try to get free of her grip but Nyra is stronger than me, her grip feels like a vice on my arm. I cry out when she twists my arm harshly, that’s when I hear Laena make what sounds like a battle cry as she runs over trying to free me from my sister’s grasp. 

“Let her go! Let her go this instant! I’ll hit you! I’ll do it you Bitch!” Laena screams 

“Oh shut up, you couldn’t hurt me even if you tried! I could have your head on a spike if I wished!” Nyra says as she goes to push Laena. Thankfully  Laena saw it coming, she grabbed Nyra’s hand and bit down hard making Nyra cry out. 

“What is the meaning of this!” I hear Kepus yell. Nyra goes wide eyed and lets me go staring at our uncle terrified. She backs away as he storms over to us. “You best get going, I find you’ll want your father's punishment more than mine.” he says as he grips the dagger that lays at his hip

I watch as he smiles proudly. “No, I’ll make sure of it. You have made a wonderful friend in Lady Laena, hold onto that friendship with everything you have. Can you do that for me, Sweetling?” At this request I nod which makes him smile fondly down at me. 

“You protect me too. You kill the scary spiders, and scare the monsters away from under my bed.” I say which seems to have amused him as he throws his head back laughing. 

“Those are very important things to protect you from, my girl.” he says smiling his first real smile since Nyra hurt me. 

That’s when we hear a knock at my door. “Are you in there?” I smile big and wiggle in his arms to get free, once he sets me down I rush to open the door. When I do I see Laena standing there smiling mischievously. “Guess what! My Mama told the King I got in trouble, but really she gave me a candy.” she says smiling as I hug her.  “Do you want to play? I’m so bored without you.” She asks. I nod vigorously as she takes my hand as we run off towards the gardens.

As we play in the royal gardens, Laena and I talk about our dragons. “The dragon keepers said Moonfyre is probably one of Sliverings babies. That’s why she’s so big.” Laena says proudly. And she’s not wrong, Moonfyre is as big as Dreamfyre which is considered a very large dragon, at least thats what Kepus told me. 

“Stromchaser is almost as big as Meleys, which means she’s a little bit smaller than Caraxes. I even heard that she may have babies in her tummy. Kepus told me, he said that they’re hers and Caraxes. Well at least that’s what the dragon keepers told him.”

“Wait, do you know where babies come from? Everytime I ask my Mama or Papa they change the subject or tell me, I'll know when I’m older.” 

I stop and think about it and shake my head. “I thought Mama's bellies get big because of the baby and then they show up.”

“But how do the babies get in the belly?” Laena whispers like we’re talking about something that will get us in trouble

“I never thought about that.” I whisper back. 

“We’ll ask at supper, they can’t lie if we both ask.” Laena says confidently.

Daemons pov

I’m talking to Viserys and Lord Corlys when you and your friend’s nursemaids walk you two into the dining hall for supper. You two seem to be bickering about something, which is odd as I can’t recall a moment you two were at odds with one another. 

When you two finally sit, you turn and stare at each other; it's as if you're having a conversation through eye contact alone. Finally you sigh and nod. “In a moment.” you whisper to which the little Velaryon nods.

I take your plate and fill it with all your favorites watching as you fidget nervously. When I set it down you start eating quickly, almost too quickly. Same goes for your friend, which strikes me as odd as you two are usually very dignified when you eat. Well as dignified as a four and five year old can be.

We all laugh about memories or talk about politics if you are my brother and Lord Corlys. It's no shock that Lord Corlys is trying to sweet talk my brother into agreeing to a trading deal with him and the crown. 

“And that, Your Grace, is why I think we can both benefit from this tra-” He continues to drone on until you interrupt him blurting out. 

“How are babies made?”

I choke on my wine, Viserys spits his out. Aemma blushes so profusely I think she’ll permanently be a shade of red. Corlys sits there with his gaping like a fish. The only one who seems composed after that question is my ravened haired cousin who only sighs and shakes her head seemingly trying not to laugh.

“Um wh-why do you ask, Darling?” Viserys asks as he clears his throat and squirms in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with where this evening's conversion has turned too. 

It’s not you that answers though, it’s the little Velaryon. “Well we were talking about our dragons, and then she told me Stormchaser is gonna have a clutch and that Caraxes is the Papa. Which made me wonder about how babies are made, which made her wonder, which led to this question.” She says matter of factly and waits for all of thirty seconds before huffing and asking. “Well, how do they get in the belly?” 

Everyone looks at each other trying to figure out who will answer and with what. That is until you pull on the sleeve of my doublet. “Do you know, Kepus?” you ask with a look that pulls at my heartstrings. 

Always so trusting of me, always believing the best in me, always making me feel loved. You're the only one in this gods forsaken keep that makes me feel appreciated, makes me wanted, the only one that misses me. So how can I not at least give you a half truth, for I most definitely won’t tell the full of it to you. 

I clear my throat before answering . “Of course I know, my girl. The way babes are made is…a lot of kissing.” I answer. 

You and the Velaryon girl gasp and look at each other, you two start whispering excitedly to each other. That is until you stop and look up at me confused. “But Nyra has kissed boys before, why doesn’t she have a baby?” You ask curiously

Viserys' eyes go wide when he hears this. “Who? Who has your sister kissed?” He asks trying to keep his anger at bay

You look at him and shrug. “One time I saw her kiss a knight with a flower on his chest, and Lanea said she saw her kiss a stable boy.” 

“A cute stable boy.” Laena corrects.

I watch as Aemma bites her lips and looks at my brother, a clear sign she’s furious but holding back for the children. “It seems our eldest needs a longer punishment, my love.” she says.

You flinch and reach for me when your father slams his fist on the table. “I swear that girl will be the death of me. Why must she always put herself in a position that can ruin her? Have we not warned her enough?” Viserys says furiously. 

Laena leans closer to the table and looks at Viserys. “Does it not help that the stable boy was cute?” She asks innocently, which seems to break the tension as we all chuckle and you girls join even though you have no idea why it’s funny. 

“I’m afraid not, Lady Laena. But thank you for pointing that out nonetheless.” Aemma responds, smiling softly.

After that eventful dinner I carry you to your room, you play a bit more as I can tell you're not even remotely tired yet. I had asked your nursemaid to get you changed into a nightgown and leave us. Once she has left you turn to look at me curiously. 

“Why don’t I have a baby?” You ask as you brush out your dolls hair, the one I gave you for your fourth nameday. It is supposed to take after your likeness, and I must say the craftsmanship is quite remarkable for it looks almost exactly like you.

“What do you mean, Sweetling?” I asked confused.

“You kiss me, but I don’t have a baby.” You say as if it’s obvious. I can’t help but burst out laughing, only stopping when you hang your head pouting. 

“Sweetling, where do I kiss you?” I ask, trying not to laugh. You point to your forehead and then touch your cheeks, I nod and pull you close. “Yes, but to have a babe you need someone to kiss your lips. Do you understand?” 

You think about it for a bit before nodding. “So when I want a babe I’ll need to kiss a boy's lips?” you confirm.

I nod, smiling trying to push down that beast that rears its head up at the thought of you needing anyone but me for anything you’d desire in this world. I never understood why this violent creature had shown once you were born, I remember holding you for the first time. It was like a religious experience. It felt like for the first time in my gods forsaken life I had my purpose for being here. As if you were sent to me by the gods of old Valyria, as if they knew you would be the one thing to keep me sane. 

Finally when I’ve calmed down I say. “Yes, but there is more to it, but you will learn of those things when you're older.” I can’t help but chuckle when you groan and turn around, turning your back to me. Annoyed that you must wait to learn what you believe should be taught to you now. I can not blame you, for even though everyone says you have time, you wish to know now and yet no one will teach you. Ah, to be a child with infinite wonder and curiosity, and yet told to not be and to be patient with the information of the world. Must be a frustrating thing indeed.

Viserys pov

I lean over the railing looking down at you and Daemon as you play and he chases you, I can’t help but smile when you run away giggling, trying to out run him so he can’t catch you, or should I say run away from the scary monster so he doesn’t eat you. My brother is a violent man, but yet with you he’s only ever gentle, kind, and loving ever devoted to you and your happiness. Though there is a dark side to this devotion, my mind can’t help but go to what he said the other day, If you won’t do something about this Viserys, I will. And let it be known, you won’t like what happens.

I’m taken out of my thoughts when the Lord Hand walks over to me, he looks down at you two as well. I can see him frown when you squeal happily when my brother picks you up and pretends to eat your fingers. Your fits of giggles could be heard by all in Kingslanding, I am sure of it. 

“Does this not worry you, Your Grace?” Otto asks, gesturing to you and Daemon.

“What do you mean?” I ask confused as I look down at the scene before me. There is nothing of note happening, besides an uncle playing with his niece.

“I mean no offense when I say this Your Grace, but does the prince’s attachment to the young princess not worry you? Many at court whisper of it, it’s quite concerning as the girl is only the age of four” He says critically.

He does this often, speaks of yours and Daemon’s closeness. It has begun to get tiresome for I know of the whispers and gossip, as I’ve told Otto many times. But does he listen? No. There are days I wonder what my brother had done to anger the Lord Hand again to make him bring this subject up yet again.

“Otto, we have been over this, there is nothing to concern ourselves with. My brother is only being a good and kind uncle to my daughter.” I answer sternly, making it clear there is no room for discussion. 

“Of course Your Grace.” He says, but I know this will not be the last time he brings up this subject.

“Have you made sure the dragon keepers know to not let Rhaenyra see her dragon for the moon?” I ask, smiling as you laugh joyously as Daemon carries you on his shoulders. 

You grip his hair pulling it every which way as if he were a horse. I can’t help chuckling every time he grimaces when you pull the strands roughly, yet each time he smiles when he hears a new fit of laughter come forth from you. 

“Yes, they have had to turn her away four times now, she is not pleased.” He answers 

“The punishment is not to please her, surely you understand what a punishment is supposed to do?” I say with a scoff

“Of course, Your Grace, I just know how you hate your daughters being at odds with you.” he says. 

I nod and turn back watching you and Daemon. You cling to him as if he is your lifeline, and there are some days I catch him doing the same to you. There is nothing to worry about with your relationship, at least not for now there isn’t.

Sorry for the late update! I got a head cold which wiped me out for some reason, I hope you enjoyed!

@baybaybear1 @ilikefelines @sugutoad

Special thanks to @sugutoad for making the header!

[silverdragonfly]

Beyond the Gods' Eyes

Chapter 4 - Save Him, Save Him Not (Masterlist)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Seer Reader

Summary: Aemond's past floods you with visions, leaving you to wonder what is right and what is wrong.

Warnings: !MDNI! Mature content, including themes of death and sex. English isn't my first language.

Word Count: 6.3 K

A/N: can’t believe we’re halfway through the series already! if you haven’t buckled up yet, now’s the time! because the upcoming chapters are gonna be a wild roller coaster :) Enjoy the ride!

divider credit @cafekitsune

The curving point of the dagger would have already pierced her violet eye if not for her strong grip. Her gaze was fixed upon the symbols, thoughtfully hidden on the blade. They were illuminated by the flickering torchlight, yet invisible to most in the room. There could be no mistake—she was burdened with knowing the meaning behind the inscription.

“What have I done but what was expected of me?” a crying voice rang out, sending a shudder down you. The room wept with her pain, making you tighten your fists.

Passing through the circle of white-cloaked guards, whose armour flickered with red and yellow, you were encircled along with the two women. Their gowns swept the floor as if in a dance. One reminded you of a grown-up Aemond, the lines of her chin just as sharp, her silver braids intertwined at the back of her head like snakes. Another woman, with her fiery curls, felt dearer to you. Her hand pushed the dagger further, to no avail. A powerful urge to place your hand over hers and help guide the blade’s sharp edge forward surged within you, though you were nothing more than a breeze, unnoticed in their presence. Their lips moved quickly, but the words were muted by the burning symbols' whispers. The blade sparkled like a firefly, hypnotising, drawing you closer.

“I don’t understand,” you muttered, knitting your eyebrows.

The voices grew louder, their unknown meanings clinging to you, moulding into your skin. The ruby stone, embedded in the hilt, reminded you of the dead rose. You froze as if your body was no longer yours. Not only your limbs but parts of your soul felt numb, bringing a lethal calm to your mind. Snowflakes swirled in the air, reminding you of ashes.

“Do you see them?” Everyone, including the Queen and the Princess, was oblivious to your question.

Just before the ancient symbols consumed your mind, the sharp hiss of metal slicing through flesh cut through the air, silencing their whispers. The dagger fell with a sharp ring. The blood droplets dripped onto the floor, echoing in your ears. With that, everything around you dissolved.

Everyone was gone except for a silver-haired boy. He sat in the royal, wing-backed chair, his back turned to you. You took a few steps toward him, keeping a safe distance. His right profile was familiar, with neatly brushed hair, the first strands gathered behind. The logs in the hearth had almost died out, leaving only glowing embers. You wished to call to him, meet his gaze, reassure him. You were unnerved by the feeling of emptiness, thick and suffocating, even though it wasn't yours.

The floor creaked beneath someone’s step, causing him to lift his gaze in your direction. You pressed your hands to your mouth, though the sound you made was barely more than a slight sway in the air. Before you knew it, you tripped and fell toward the floor.

Aemond’s violet eye had a dull twin of pale pink flesh, sinking deeper into the hollow socket—an abyss of loneliness, fatality, and sorrow for all the hopes and dreams that would never come true. 

A woman passed you, her green dress almost brushing against your hand. Her red hair swayed in unison with each step. She knelt before the boy, her hand resting on his cheek. An apology. For not protecting him. For not achieving justice. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Was she mourning his eye? Or the void on a deeper level that would never be filled? 

As if reading her mind, his remaining eye turned a deeper shade of violet, becoming teary. 

“I don’t wish for it to remain empty,” he said quietly to her. 

The pressure against the bridge of your nose and forehead grew stronger, causing the room to blur into black and white. The picture crashed into pieces, like raindrops shattering against the ground.

Your eyes remained closed when the breeze caressed your face. Its touch was perhaps as gentle as hers had been against his cheek.

You were back in the garden, slowly regaining your senses. Inhaling the air greedily, you smelled the sweet scent of flowers. Your fists remained clenched tight, just like her grip around the dagger. A strange sensation ran through you as you realized your right hand wasn’t empty. Something soft yet solid rested in your palm—slippery, round, and notoriously cool, as if, for a long time, it had been removed from the warmth of flesh. Thick wetness oozed between your fingers despite your tight grip.

Your breath hitched. It couldn’t be another vision. This felt far too tangible. Therefore, there was more reason to fear what you might discover.

You forced yourself to release your grip, and a liquid lump fell, barely audible, onto the grass. Your fingers were slick with its remains, and your palm prickled, almost burning.

The world around you seemed far too bright for your eyes, as if they had been blind to sunlight for decades. Raising your trembling hand, you saw trails of transparent slickness clinging between your fingers, with tiny white specks stuck to your palm and small dents etched into the skin by your nails.

“There’s a debt to be paid,” echoed from far away.

A nauseous wave crept up your throat as you swallowed your nervousness. Your gaze slowly dropped to the ground. There, lying among the grass, was a crushed egg, its fragile shell shattered around it. But no relief came. Another crushed egg lay beside it. And another. And another. Each one was shattered in a futile attempt to restore justice that had never been served.

There was no shade in the sky hinting at the approaching storm, as if it were trying to convince you that none was coming. Yet the chill was palpable in the way the wind rattled the petals and leaves. Drops of water shimmered on the marigolds and chrysanthemums, their colours deepening in gratitude as you cared for them. A few apples landed with a thud against the ground.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a slim figure hesitating near the wicket gate. It was just the right time. He was thinner than in your vision, his dark hair contrasting sharply with his pale skin. Perhaps his wife’s disease had affected him as much as if they were one living organism.

“Enter,” your ringing voice made him shudder. He must not have seen you in the garden from afar.

Pushing the gate open, he closed it behind him carefully, as if trying not to make extra noise. His stride was slow, his shoulders slouching, like a man walking to his doom. Rising to your feet, you moved the water tank farther from the path and walked toward him.

His gaze was lowered to the ground as he remembered his carefully planned speech. “I’m Elliot, Mr. Waterwing is my fa—”

“I know who you are,” you interrupted him softly. His hazel eyes, a mixture of hope and despair, met yours. You resisted the urge to bite your inner cheek.

“Did you bring them?”

With shaking hands, he retrieved from his satchel an ivory napkin, folded so neatly it might have carried rubies. Inside were three small acorns; one still had its cap.

“They were under her pillow all night, just as you said,” he murmured, his dry, cracked lips moving quickly, reminding you of parched soil before you'd watered it.

“Good. I’ll need a little time to hold the ritual. Can you wait?”

“As long as needed.” There was no hesitation in his voice.

The tea had already been brewed; the pot and two cups were set on the wooden table beneath the apple tree. You led the way, and he followed obediently. You cast a glance at the windows of the main room; the curtains were drawn tightly, just as you’d expected.

The mugs sat on opposite sides of the table, no steam rising from the tea. Yet you knew it couldn’t cool off completely under the merciless sun.

“Put them here.” You pointed to the small grey mortar.

The acorns fell quietly into the mortar's depths. He tucked the napkin back into his satchel, his distress palpable as he lingered near the table. You could almost feel it pressing against your skin.

“You can enjoy the tea in the meantime. It’s with peppermint.” To calm his nerves. He’d suffered enough.

Sitting down, he hesitantly took the mug, his hands wrapped tightly around it as if trying to steady himself. He took a few sips, wetting his lips. His hazel eyes remained fixed on the wooden table. One could say he was uneasy in your presence, but you recognized the deeper fear hidden in his gaze—the horror that nothing could be done to save his wife, that his worst nightmare was about to become his reality.

Taking the pestle, you began grinding the acorns. You winced at the ache in your dominant hand, the pain still fresh. The echoes of the vision hovered around you; it must have been one of the strongest holds ever placed upon your mind. Yet you understood why. It was often the most painful moments that clung desperately to seers—the mind’s dire attempt to free itself of suffering by passing it on.

Once the acorns were ground into tiny pieces, you added them to your tea. Elliot’s eyes widened as you lifted the mug to your mouth. Blowing lightly onto the liquid, you took a sip. Then another.

As the taste bloomed on your tongue, you grimaced at the tingling sensation, bitter like wormwood.

“She shall live,” you said, setting the mug down with a thud.

"Merciful Gods," he sighed, a heavy breath escaping him as he lifted his gaze to the sky. 

“But without the right aid,” you continued, wiping your lips with the back of your hand, “she will never regain her full strength. She must drink blackberry nightshade for three nights, and her limbs must be wrapped in woollen cloth.”

He nodded eagerly, his dark curls moving in unison. “And that is all?”

“That is all.” With a curt nod, you promptly poured the rest of the drink into the grass. You would wash the mug carefully later. 

“What of the disease?” He rose quickly to his feet. “I mean, what is it?”

“An infection,” you shrugged. “Most likely consumed with some fruit. Her body suffers from intoxication. But she shall recover.”

“I… I don’t know how to thank you…” His long limbs hung awkwardly by his sides as he spoke, and you wondered what his wife had found special about him.

“Your father already did,” you assured. Eritaiol candles had banished the evil spirits, along with the vile maggots and stench, from the house. Yet Aemond and you instinctively continued to scrutinise each mouthful before eating.

Elliot let out a ringing chuckle, colour slowly returning to his face. “What are three candles compared to her life?” There was something utterly true and sincere in the way he asked the question, causing your chest to tighten. That’s what.

“The exchange was satisfactory for me,” you said humbly, bowing your head slightly.

Elliot gave you a tight-lipped smile before leaving. As he walked toward the wicket gate, his posture straightened and he somehow became taller. But, in your view, it was the hope sparkling in his eyes that made him appear much fairer.

“He left.”

“I know.”

Standing on the threshold under the roof overhang, Aemond’s gaze was fixed on the garden with such intensity that it wouldn’t surprise you if he could see through it.

“Not yet,” you murmured, taking another porcelain cup out of the water and placing it on the cloth. The remaining drops evaporated quickly before your eyes.

Leaning against the doorjamb, he remarked, “The sun has risen seven times.”

“And set six.”

“Why don’t I feel hopeful about it?” His voice wasn’t simmering with anger, but it seemed only a matter of time. You had no idea what you’d tell him if the bluebell didn’t bloom soon. The stem hadn’t even appeared through the ground yet. It had taken five suns for your mother’s peony to bloom, which left you utterly at a loss about the plan. You knew exactly what to do once the flower bloomed, but if it didn’t...

Drying your hands with a cloth, you decided to voice the question that occupied most of your thoughts. “Have you decided on your course?”

His eye shifted to you in silent question, causing you to press your lips tightly together. You knew he was perfectly aware of your inquiry. Holding his gaze steady, you had no intention of letting the conversation shift in his favour.

His jaw clenched as he asked, “Do you truly wish to know?”

“Yes,” your voice came out surprisingly steady.

He looked at you with a chilling, calculating gaze, as though weighing your worthiness for the truth.

“I will kill my uncle.” His tone was so casual that you might have thought you misheard him.

You swallowed hard. “I thought you sought reconciliation.”

“I need to ensure their safety first.”

“By killing your uncle?”

“He’s Rhaenyra’s chief pawn.”

You wondered if his disdain were lessened if her son had paid the debt with his eye. The image of his uncle was vivid in your vision; his demeanour was just as chilling as Aemond’s could be. Perhaps, under different circumstances, they could’ve found common ground. Although the possibility scared you. 

“Do you plan to kill someone else?” Your voice lowered, suddenly tinged with tiredness.

“Only those who pose a threat to my family.”

Countless souls could be on this list. Your mind, trapped between visions of him, wavered, yet the reality remained unchanged. Aemond Targaryen was seeking fire and blood. He was a natural disaster, a real storm that you should fear. Your knees buckled. Sensing the change in your demeanour, he moved closer, as if closing the physical distance might bridge the gap between you.

“You may ask me this question again and again, but the answer won't change.”

You puffed out a short breath, not knowing if his honesty was a good sign. You still felt bitterness on your tongue, unsure if the acorns were to blame.

“It will be easier if you set aside your moral compass,” he reasoned calmly, almost pleading.

“I might do so now, but when I see you burning people,” your breath hitched in your throat, “it will certainly be difficult.”

“You will not see that,” he took another step toward you. “Your home, the hills, the garden, and your village... I guarantee not a single flame will touch them.” There was neither a hint of causticity nor mockery in his voice. But your mother’s words echoed loudly against his: “He’ll be ruthless in his despair.” You could trust his word today, yet once he learned of his death, the picture could be different.

“You know what I fear?” you asked, averting your gaze toward the hills as if they could somehow make you braver. “That it will be too late when you understand that cruelty and gore won’t bring their loyalty and love back.”

“Don’t—”

“If that’s what you truly want—”

“It is sufficient,” he hissed. When you looked at him, his violet eye brimmed with cold rage. But the faint tremor in his clenched fist revealed that deep down he knew the truth—that his cruelty and murders had irrevocably driven him away from what he truly yearned for, from what could save him.

Without another word, you walked past him, unable to continue this conversation. Perhaps there was only blinding darkness in his soul. Perhaps the boy you’d seen in the vision was gone. Perhaps he’d died together with Lucerys Velaryon. As you approached the wicket gate, you turned your head slightly toward him.

“How many more must fall before you see it won’t fill the void?”

Your quiet question dissolved into the melody of the wind, vanishing as if it had never been spoken.

As you hummed a song, your hands skillfully intertwined daisies and forget-me-nots, as if braiding maiden’s hair. The delicate floral crown was nearly finished, meant for someone innocent and pure. Among the wildflowers, the turmoil in your soul subsided to a barely audible whisper, yet they couldn’t answer the burdensome questions tormenting you.

In her youth, your mother would pluck a daisy and pull off each petal one by one, posing a question with each. Each petal determined a "yes" or "no," and the final petal held the answer. Sometimes, she’d ask whether you should have porridge for dinner, if the next morning would be cold, or if she should take you into town the following day. You loved porridge more than potatoes and always wanted to visit the town with her, so you kept a close watch on the number of petals remaining. When the outcome favoured you, you were overjoyed, rarely surprised by how often things turned out just as you wished.

Once, she asked if she would ever see him—your father—again. You never learned what the flower had foretold, but from that moment on, she never resorted to that method again. And you never heard about him again.

Placing the wildflower wreath on the grass, you plucked a delicate daisy. You brushed over its petals with your fingers as if they could count petals for you, to learn the answer in advance. The question trembled on your lips. No matter what the outcome, the decision was for you to make. Yet you felt at risk of learning where you truly stood.

The petal came off without resistance, and you whispered, “Save him.” Another one yielded even easier. “Save him not.”

Perhaps the right answer had been in your mind all along. Your mother had passed it to you hours before her death. All those times in childhood when you’d dared to disobey her ended in pain and sorrow. You were quick to learn she had known better.

“Save him. Save him not.” Two petals landed on the grass. 

His past tugged at your heartstrings. You’d hoped to learn his weakness to manipulate him, to know where to strike at, but after all you’d seen… you could understand why. You could grasp Aemond’s actions, even though you condemned them. After seeing the first vision, you knew you’d be seeking justice for those who might fall victim to him. Yet... had anyone ever done him justice?

“Save him. Save him not.” 

Perhaps the storm had already begun. It was born in your soul amidst wildflowers, uncertainty and pain. His pain had intertwined with your own. You wished it could evaporate from your soul like dew under the sun, but it seemed the visions had become an indelible imprint on your very being. 

“Save him. Save him not.” 

Did saving his life mean saving him? Would allowing him to escape death save his soul from further torment? Deeper nightmares? Greater loneliness? 

“Save him. Save him not." 

Perhaps to save Aemond was to release him from his blind, misguided beliefs and vain hopes. Perhaps to save Aemond was to grant him freedom in death.

“Save him. Save him—”

“I did not wish for us to fight.” His voice came out like a melody.

Your fingers froze tightly around the petal, its delicate life hanging in the balance.

“Neither did I,” you admitted, slowly gazing at him. His black leather coat was gone, leaving him in a white tunic that fell to his hips. He seemed so young. If his eyepatch were gone too…

Lowering himself onto the grass beside you, he nodded toward the light blue flower, intertwined with daisies. “What is this flower?”

“Forget-me-nots.”

He hummed softly, his hand hovering over the wildflower wreath for a moment before he withdrew it. “I was thinking about picking it.”

Immortal love we have for those who go before us.

Just as you were about to comment on its meaning, he added, “It reminded me of Helaena... my sister.”

Shifting your gaze from the flower to him, your lips parted. His face and shoulders were relaxed, his violet eye staring into the distance. When he spoke cold truths or threats, he never blinked, like a snake. But when his words carried something more vulnerable, his gaze seemed to thaw and, for some reason, always strayed from yours.

A breeze blew, lifting the white petals into a dance with the air, resembling ash or snow. You hadn’t noticed that your grip had loosened, and the daisy now lay helpless on your cherry-coloured dress.

“Peonies,” you whispered, “remind me of my mother.” A confession for a confession.

“Then you must understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why I have no choice but to protect them.” His gaze met yours. “Just as you had to protect your mother.”

Inhaling sharply, your voice betrayed the feeling. “That’s not the same.”

“We all must make sacrifices.”

“I didn’t cause anyone pain.”

“Can you be certain?” His eye searched your face with intensity.

“You and I,” you said, scowling and shaking your head, “are not alike.”

At least, you had to believe it.

Silence fell between you. Twirling the daisy in your hands, you tried to subdue the rising distress within. Again, you found yourself caught in the battle, where neither side would yield.

“Can’t there be another way?” you blurted out, furrowing your brow.

“Tis the only way I know.”

A distant thud echoed, punctuating his words. Dark, white-tipped clouds were rolling in. There was no denying the storm was coming after all. Gazing at the flower, with half its petals gone, it felt like you were looking at your own helplessness. A drop landed on it. Then another one on you dress. Yet your eyes were dry.

“We should go inside,” you mumbled, clearing your throat as you rose to your feet. “Before the storm begins.”

Looking up at you, his expression unreadable, he asked, “Was there another way for your mother?”

Raindrops began hitting the grass, creating a rhythm that grew louder with each passing second like a musician striking the drum harder and harder. Your chest tightened as you replied, “No.”

With that, the daisy slipped from your hand for good.

She was younger, yet seemed far older than him. You couldn’t tell if she was beautiful, but the way her eyes sparkled as she gazed at the young prince revealed her assertiveness and knowledge. She moved gracefully toward him, her maroon silk robe swaying mesmerisingly around her curves. The back of her hand brushed his cheek with a feather-light touch. He flinched slightly away—or perhaps it was you who wished him to do so. As she circled him, her hand traced his shoulders and back deliberately slowly, but his expression remained unreadable. Pausing before him, she skillfully unclasped his tunic, button by button. Her gaze never left his face, as if watching for any sign of protest, but there was none. He held his head high, his violet eye piercing the distance. In this fragment of his memory, he was more a witness than a participant.

You felt no resistance, though you prayed for it. Despite his sculpted abdominal muscles, his shoulders indicated his body was still developing and had yet to fully strengthen. His height matched hers, but he was far thinner. You wished it were your hand guiding him away from her, from this place. But it was hers leading him toward the bed. As she sat down, the silk fabric slid off with incredible ease, revealing her full breasts. He swallowed hard as she pressed his hand to her left breast, making him squeeze the soft flesh under her command. A slight crease appeared between his eyebrows, but he didn’t move. Offering him an encouraging smile, she moved his hand to the other breast, but he continued to look through her. His chest rose and fell more quickly, while yours tightened with despair. 

Shifting her gaze downward, a knowing smile appeared on her lips as she noticed the bulge visible through his pants.

“May I?” she asked, her hands settling on his belt.

He gave a short nod, causing your legs to tremble, almost giving way.

You turned away. Pressing your eyelids shut, you heard his belt being unbuckled, the rustling of clothes, and the bed squeaking as another body settled onto it. The torture was brutal. Her cloying murmurs were shameful and disgusting. Instantly, you pressed your palms against your ears, wishing you could mute the panting, whimpering, and wet sounds filling the space. Your own breathing was just as loud, filled with anger and shame.  The bed groaned in unison with their movements, the sound growing in your ears—or perhaps it was your heartbeat? Your hands gripped your skull with all the strength you could muster. If it shattered, the vision might end, and you'd be grateful. 

Suddenly, the room fell silent. The bed squeaked a few more times, but you didn’t dare turn back. Your hands remained pressed against your ears, but more loosely.

“Did my prince like everything?” Her question was followed by the sound of liquid being poured and the clink of porcelain. It was then you realised the smell of warm milk wafted through the air.

Biting your lip, you could hear his breathing, still unsteady. His voice came out hoarse as he said, “Yes.”

The sheer curtains parted wide before you, forcing your eyes open and your hands to fall at your sides. You recognised his older brother. His violet eyes looked dull and his long silver hair hung thin and greasy. The smug smile stretching across his lips made your hands itch to slap him—perhaps more than once. His gaze was fixed on a single point, and you knew exactly who had his attention. You could practically feel Aemond shrinking under his brother’s scrutiny, yet you could tell he would maintain his composure.

“Brother!” Aegon grinned, “You’ve finally made me proud!”

His words were like a biting wind against your skin, making you shiver. Before you knew it, the candles flickered out, plunging the room into impenetrable darkness. You peered into the blackness, searching for any trace of objects or people, but there was nothing. As if the world had disappeared in the thin trails of smoke, and now with each inhale of yours, everything was buried deeper into your lungs. In this utter silence, there was not a single voice, not a sound, and what was worse, not a single rustle of nature, as if you had been plunged into a vacuum. All alone. Perhaps this was the afterlife. Soothing, endless, complete nothingness. Perhaps you had managed to squash your head like a mosquito. Your mind and soul felt at peace at once, until a small, distant cry broke the void, making you flinch.

“Aemond,” you called, pacing in place, trying to look around. Another cry ensued. 

“Where are you?” Your voice stretched into a prolonged echo.

Bracing yourself, you took small steps forward, hands outstretched. Step. Step. Step. The voice within was silent, not guiding you with a single help. Perhaps, it was gone too. You and the void – and nothing else was there. Pausing, you exhaled sharply. Then, you heard another cry, just a few steps away from you. You heard their breath trembling—whether in fear or...

“Aemond?” you whispered, your hand stretching out further into the void, as if in an attempt to catch someone you weren’t sure existed here. 

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the room, making you pull your hand away, pressing it against your chest, as Aegon’s face loomed before you, his crooked grin made you flinch.  Darkness swallowed him in the instant. Your heart was beating loudly in your ears, fear paralysed your movement. Another flash and you caught glimpses of him again, his shoulders shaking with quiet laughter, slow and unnatural as if he were no human at all. The flashes of lightning continued flickering at an abnormal pace, hypnotising you further with his movements. No matter how many steps back you took, he still appeared just at a hand’s length away from you. You wished to make him disappear, you wished you could scream, but your voice died in your throat. Then, in a sharp burst of light, he straightened, standing a head taller than you. His laughter stopped, yet something twisted was present in the way he smiled. Darkness fell once more. And when the lightning flashed again, he exhaled into your face, his breath a foul mix of alcohol and vomit.

“Time to get it wet.”

Stumbling back in horror, you tripped and fell. Down. Down. And down—into what seemed like an endless abyss. Your hands grasped desperately at nothing, searching for something to hold onto. In the weightlessness, your body felt like a massive mountain rock about to shatter into countless tiny pieces upon hitting the bottom. Turning into nothing, too. The fall might have lasted forever if not for another cry. Anguished and desperate, like an animal’s groan, it yanked you out of the unknown darkness and into the familiar one.

A flash of lightning illuminated your corner. Sitting on your bed, you were frantically counting your fingers with one hand, then the other. Ten. Real. It was real. Your body shook, either from the lingering terror of the vision or from the cold sweat soaking your nightgown. As you licked your lips, you tasted the dried blood. A dull thud of thunder sliced through the silence, followed by a moan of pain.

Aemond.

Your vision sharpened in an instant.

The wooden floor felt cold under your feet. Not bothering with a robe, you rushed to wake him from what must have been a nightmare. But you froze in place when you saw him sitting on the bed, his feet on the floor, his hair dishevelled, cascading over his bare chest and back. The sapphire gleamed with every flash of the storm, yet Aemond’s hand was pressed firmly against his remaining eye.

“Aemond,” you called softly, but he didn’t move.

Each step forward was paired with your words, “Aemond, are you well?” Your heart pounded wildly in your chest. He was oblivious to your voice, and suddenly, you felt like an intruder in one of his visions.

Then he muttered something.

“What is it?”

“Gone,” his voice came out hoarse.

“I don’t understand.” You shook your head, stopping a few steps away from him. Instinct urged you to stay back, but the voice inside you—the seer’s power—remained silent. “Who is gone?”

“My eye. Another eye.”

“No,” you breathed, sinking to your knees before him. “It’s not.”

“It was taken, too.” 

Despite the tremble in his hand, it remained pressed against his eye. He must be plagued by the deathly visions seeping through it, just as your mother had been. You’d feared leaving her alone, knowing death’s grasp could inflict horrendous suffering before taking someone. A chilling thought crept into your mind. Could he have taken his own eye?

You swallowed hard. “Aemond, look at me.”

He shook his head. “I shall never see you again.”

Shifting closer, you gently wrapped your hand around his wrist, your touch light as though handling fragile porcelain. His skin was ice-cold.

“Do you trust me?” you asked, peering into the sapphire as if it were a real eye capable of seeing. Unblinking, it stared back at you, reminding you of Aemond’s distant, ruthless side. Beautiful, yet deadly. But you needed the other side of him now—the side that brimmed with feeling, rare though it was.

“Aemond, do you trust me?” you asked again, louder this time.

He remained still, his breaths coming in short gasps. Then he gave a curt nod, and that was all you needed. Gently, you tugged on his hand, pulling it away from his face. In the next flash of lightning, you saw his right eye tightly shut.

“Look at me,” you urged. Hesitantly, your free hand reached up to his cheek, caressing it, trying to soothe him. Just as you had done for your mother. Just as his mother had done for him. He leaned into your touch, whether seeking comfort from you or lost in the memory of her, you couldn’t tell.

“Look at me,” you repeated, your voice pleading now. Please.

When he finally did, his eye was a deep, saturated violet like a flower blooming after rain—beautiful and unique in its essence. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the darkness until his gaze settled on you. A sigh of relief escaped your lips. He was well. His ragged breathing slowed, and with it, the rapid rise and fall of his chest slowed too.

“They disappeared,” he said quietly. “Voices.”

You exhaled sharply, a small smile forming despite the lump in your throat.

“I’m glad,” you whispered. “I’m so glad to hear it. Perhaps it was the storm that summoned them.” He flinched when you slowly withdrew your hand from his face, but your other hand remained on his. Giving him some reassurance, giving him some of your warmth.  

His lips parted as if he wanted to speak, then pressed together again. You saw the struggle in the way his forehead furrowed, his eye intense at you.  

When he finally asked his question, you froze in confusion.

“Do you know what happened to Luke?”

Not a bastard. Not a nephew. Not Lucerys Velaryon. Luke.

You gave a small nod. There was no point in pretending. For now, you realised fully that Aemond had constructed such high walls around his soul that to truly know him, to see the humanity in him, one had to be a seer.

“The storm,” he said quietly, “was just like this that night.”

And with that sentence alone, he said more than thousands of words could ever do.

He exhaled deeply as if some of the burden had been lifted from his shoulders. His eye fluttered closed.

A tendril of his horror tugged at your heart as if you were connected to his memory by an invisible string. You saw the torn red cloak and the glint of silver dragon scales dissolving into the mist under the gloomy clouds—a stark contrast to the clear sky above where Aemond had soared on Vhagar. A sign that his crime had not escaped the gods' eyes. Since that day, they had turned away from him. And when the bluebell bloomed... you knew you would do the same.

“Will I bear it after everything I’ve witnessed? After your soul has grown so much on mine?” The question was clear in your mind, but no words came. You bit the inside of your cheek so hard, that the metallic taste of blood spread upon your tongue.

His violet eye opened again, and his brow furrowed. “Why?” he asked softly. “Why do you cry?”

You blinked, only then realising that tears were streaming down your cheeks.

“Because I’m sorry,” you whispered, squeezing his hand like a child seeking comfort. A silent tear landed on your forearm. “I’m sorry it happened to you.” Another tear followed.

He shook his head, and you noticed the faintest flicker of a smile on his lips.

“It was my fault,” he said. “I sought justice for so long that what I found was revenge. And that…” He held your gaze as if needing you to truly hear him. “I never wished for.”

“I know,” you breathed. You felt his hand shift beneath yours, his fingers interlacing with your fingers. You were holding him, and he was holding you. And that was the greatest comfort to your aching souls amidst the storm.

The sky was as blue as if the storm had washed it clean of all its grime. Branches littered the yard, and some stems of flowers lay broken. The harsh weather seemed always to find the weakest, breaking them forever. Apples were scattered all around—ripe and raw. It would take time and effort to restore everything to order. Normally, you would get straight to work, but not today. Today, your feet felt anchored to the ground, your body frozen in numbness. Feeling everything and nothing at once, you stared at the delicate blue flower that had impossibly bloomed amidst the ominous storm.

The bluebell.

Time to tell the truth or to lie. To fulfil a promise given to Aemond or your mother. Save his life or the lives of unknown people. What did it really mean to save him? To let him escape death? Or to grant him freedom from burdens and desires never meant to come true?

A black raven flew past, perching on a low fence. Its croak echoed like an evil laugh. Perhaps death itself was mocking you. There was little you could do unless… Your eyes widened as if struck by a revelation.

There’s always a way out, whispered the voice within. Pick the flower. Discard it. He won’t know. You can devise something later.  Change his mind. Win some time. He trusts you. You won’t let his mother down. And you’ll save him.

With careful steps, you moved toward the bluebell, each one deliberate, like a spider approaching its prey, fearing it might find the strength to escape its web. Your heart pounded wildly as you dropped to your knees, which slowly sank into the mud. Despite its delicate size, the colour of the flower was so bright and vivid against the dark soil. Your hand reached out for the fragile bloom. Now, everything would be resolved. Everything would be fine. You wouldn't have to choose.

“It’s bloomed.”

His voice made you freeze, your hand hovering inches away from the petals, as your heart sank.

No. It can't be true.

Turning back, you saw Aemond standing meters away, ignorant of your intentions. His gaze was solemnly fixed on the bluebell, oblivious to the hints of bitterness and betrayal shadowing your eyes. An oddly detached thought struck you—how strange it was to see his eyepatch back in place.

“Yes," you managed to reply, pulling your hand back and pressing it into a fist against your chest, like a thief concealing an empty hand in a pocket.

He stepped forward, and you flinched at the sound of a crack. Was it a dried branch under his feet, or your heart?

[inexplicifics]

I’m listening to the podfic of With Tenderness and Nobleness and just got to the part in Chapter 4 when Aiden and Lambert are discussing who could better wear a dress. It got me thinking about if there might be an occasion when Sasha goes somewhere outside of Kaer Morhen and Aiden wants to go with him and keep him safe without drawing attention to the fact that he has a male lover. Maybe Sasha goes to his brother’s wedding along with a contingent of witchers, and he knows that having a man on his arm would drum up trouble for his little brother, so he’s resigned to being courtly and unobtrusive. But THEN everyone has gotten ready and Aiden is in a dress and Lambert’s braided his hair and he’s learned the lady’s part of the court dances, and as far as the Redanians know he’s a lady witcher. They go to the wedding and the feast and they have a good time (and Aiden’s extra excited because NOW HE KNOWS HOW MILENA CARRIES HER DAGGERS).

Why would Aiden go dressed as a woman? He doesn’t care what the Redanians think of him and he respects women, and he wants his Sasha to have the full experience of attending his brother’s wedding with the person he loves, and he respects that Sasha does not want to draw attention or cause a scandal for his brother.

I don’t know if you were actually foreshadowing putting Aiden in a dress or if he and Lambert were just following their discussion through to it’s logical end, but that’s what I’m thinking about. Cheers!

I wasn't actually foreshadowing Aiden wearing a dress, but I think he'd enjoy the experience if he did. Skirts go swish! All the hidden knives! Sasha looks pleasingly Gobsmacked and Lustful!

I think the sticking point would be the beard. Aiden's quite proud of his beard.

[macbethsymphony]

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 20

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 4.5k

Chapter rating: NSFW-ish

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, Eventual smut, vague mentions of past abuse

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19]

Masterlist

Slowly crossposting from AO3 Feel like binging the rest of it? it's all there!

Chapter 20: Scars

Roronoa Zoro's patience was wearing thin. For days now, he had been locked in a relentless struggle, battling against the stubborn resistance of the black steel that had been entrusted to him. With a furrowed brow, he scrutinized the swirling patterns of the cursed blade in his hands, attempting to summon the same techniques you had demonstrated to him.

As his haki surged forth, seeking to assert its dominance over the rebellious metal, Zoro felt a twinge of irritation building within him. He had to remind himself—kindness, reassurance. But the steel seemed to mock his efforts, its resistance growing stronger with each passing moment.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, the frustration evident in his voice. His haki faltered, its once steady advance now stalling in the face of the sword's defiance.

He was close, he could feel it.

He let the blade clatter to the deck, the metallic sound echoing loudly. Seating himself in front of it, he released an exasperated sigh, his annoyance palpable in the morning air. Running a hand through his unruly hair, he couldn't help but glance towards the door of the forge, subconsciously searching for your form.

Shiawase had been so much like you—stubborn, abrasive, though with a certain resilience that was hard to ignore. But this sword was different. It exuded a strange mixture of longing and fear, almost as if it yearned to be wielded yet recoiled at any hint of command.

You’d told him it was an echo of who you’d been. It made him wonder what happened to you to change so much.

His fingers wrapped against the silk of the handle, his haki extending in as slow an advance he could muster.

Kindness.

The term resounded in his mind like a distant memory, a notion he struggled to grasp. He had always been more familiar with the language of steel and battle, where actions spoke louder than words.

Reassurance.

Even worse than kindness, it seemed foreign to him, a concept reserved for those who understood the nuances of empathy and compassion.

He saw you move in the periphery of his vision. His head snapped towards you instinctively, drawn by the unmistakable storm of your haki swirling in the air like an electric charge.

The sight of you, wreathed in the crackling lightning of your power, was mesmerizing to him. He couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of it, a spectacle that never failed to captivate his attention. It was a force of nature, raw and untamed, a technique that eluded his grasp despite his best efforts to understand it.

As your hammer echoed loudly against the blackened steel of the dagger that consumed your psyche, Zoro's gaze lingered on you, a mixture of admiration and frustration flickering in his mind.

His eye traced the contours of your form, hovering on the gentle curves that drew his attention like a magnet. His fingers twitched involuntarily, all thoughts of Uragiri fading into insignificance.

The memory of your touch flooded his mind, igniting a fire inside him that he struggled to contain. The sensation of soft flesh yielding beneath the inquisitive exploration of his hands danced at the edge of his consciousness, a vivid recollection that stirred something primal deep within his being.

His eye drifted to the delicate expanse of your nape, where a few stray curls peeked out from under the linen cloth, clinging to the perspiration-dampened skin beneath. The sight ignited a whirlwind of memories within him, each flashback vibrant and intoxicating.

He recalled the taste of you, a heady blend of alcohol and desire that lingered on his tongue long after you had parted. The souvenir of your compliance, your willingness to yield to his every command, the sound of your soft moans as his fingers had tangled roughly in your hair. It sent a shiver down his spine, a scorching heat of lust.

He groaned.

Fuck.

He pried his gaze away, struggled to come back to reality. His eye traced the sharp edge of Uragiri.

Kind. Reassuring. He could do that.

Your brows furrowed. You were close. Oh, so very close to destroying that dagger. You’d taken a note from the swordsman’s approach. Fuck subtlety, you could overpower it to the point of destruction.

You allowed your haki to roar as forcefully as it could. The power felt intoxicating, on the verge of swallowing your mind. You hadn’t let out this much haki since you’d forged Yokubari, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of giving away your own life force. But, in this moment, you didn’t care.

You watched with keen eyes as your hammer clanged on the cursed blade. Black filaments scaled away slowly, revealing the vulnerability beneath the surface.

Good.

It was starting to break down.

With each strike, exhaustion threatened your muscles. You’d been at this for days now, the toil of the endeavor was beginning to take a toll on you. Yet, you continued to rain blow upon blow on the steel, determination to set it free unwavering.

With a loud clang, the blade broke.

It wasn’t entirely unbound of its torment yet, but it still brought a smile to your face.

You grabbed at the small broken piece with heavy tongs, throwing it in the burning coals in a practiced movement. Your eyes widened as you watched the steel melt.

A thunderous ‘yes’ escaped your lips in victory as you observed the black tendrils of haki dissipate in the hungry flames.

A triumphant grin spread on your features as you reveled in the moment of success. A surge of adrenaline passed through your veins, deceptively washing away the tiredness in your limbs. With renewed vigor you went back to your work, ready to be done with the ordeal once and for all.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting the deck of the Thousand Sunny into darkness, when you finished melting the dagger. You wished you weren’t so tired, wished the exhaustion in your muscles would dissipate for a moment, wished you could revel on your accomplishment with more fervor. The gentle sway of the ship and the sound of the waves against its hull provided a soothing rhythm as you made your way to the bathing area with a satisfied smile on your lips. With each step, you left a black cloud of dust on the floor. Nami would effectively throw you overboard if you tried to enter the women’s quarters this covered up in soot.

You walked in the small room in a daze, lazily turning the handle for hot water. With a tired sigh, you began to undress, folding your clothes neatly in the nearby cubbies. You snorted to yourself as you eyed the blackened fabric, wondering why you bothered. It was a habit you guessed. 

The hazy glow of the lanterns cast soft shadows across the walls, creating an atmosphere of cozy intimacy as you sat on a wooden bench. You washed your hair, the water turning dark and murky as it descended down the drain. The warm stream cascaded your body getting clearer and clearer as you diligently scrubbed at your ash ladened skin. It didn’t matter how many layers of clothing you wore, the dirt always found a way to cling to the stickiness of sweat covered flesh. 

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice the sound of footsteps approaching nor the loud clang of swords in the changing area. Just as you stepped into the bubbly water of the bath, the door swung open, pulling you out of your reverie. 

You tensed in surprise as you realized you weren't alone. Zoro paused in the doorway, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of shock before quickly averting his eye. 

"Sorry, I didn't realize anyone was here," he muttered, his voice low and gruff, turning away to make his exit.

"It's fine," you replied, uncaring in your exhaustion. You let yourself sink deeper in the water, your lids closing heavily as you leaned back on the ceramic edge. The warmth felt heavenly on the soreness of your muscles. "If you don’t mind a little bit of ashes in the water, there’s plenty of space." 

He stopped in his tracks as he considered your offer.

“If you don’t mind, then-“ he didn’t finish the sentence on his tongue as he sat down near the small shower head. You hummed in answer, too tired for anything concrete to cross your lips.

The silence enveloped you both in a comfortable embrace, punctuated only by the rhythmic sound of scrubbing, a soothing backdrop to the moment. Through the veil of your lashes, you studied him quietly, the soft glow of the lights accentuated his features. Clad only in a towel, his back was turned to you, offering a glimpse of the strength and grace that lay beneath the surface. Your gaze traced the contours of his muscles, following the path of droplets as they cascaded down his skin in a mesmerizing dance. 

You spotted his eye observing at you through the mirror on the wall. He snorted. You closed your eyes again, giving him privacy. You felt the water ripple around you and rise as he stepped in far from you, at the other side of the bath. 

“You did it, didn’t you?” he let out a satisfied sigh once he was sitting down fully. 

You looked at him with lidded eyes. You couldn’t help the proud smile forming on your lips as you answered. “I did.” 

The water stilled, the only sound the distant crash of waves on the hull. “You figured it out too, didn’t you?” You allowed your hand to rise to the surface, fingers playing aimlessly with the bubbles, sending soft ripples.

“I did,” there was a hint of satisfaction in his voice at the admission.

You chuckled. “I knew you’d get it, you mastered Uragiri this morning, right? I was surprised when you didn’t come get Yokubari. I thought you were itching to get your hands on that troublemaker.”

“You looked busy,” he stated, body relaxing further in the warmth of the water.

A smile plastered itself on your lips. “I didn’t know you were so considerate,” you teased glancing at him through heavy lashes.

He huffed. You had half a mind to continue to taunt him but you were just so tired.

“So which of your babies am I going to be allowed to study next?” You couldn’t help but ask, your voice sluggish.

He hummed, considering. “Shusui,” he decided.

Your brows furrowed as your brain struggled to process what he’d just said.

“Shusui?!” You suddenly perked up, your impulsive reaction putting you at the edge of decency, the bubbles barely covering your nakedness. “Why not Wado Ichimonji?” All marks of tiredness left your body at the thought of the legendary Shusui in your hands.

Zoro's gaze flicked to you, a hint of amusement dancing in his eye as he took in your instantaneous burst of enthusiasm. "Wado Ichimonji is special," he explained, his tone was slightly strained as he spoke his next words. "It belonged to Kuina."

Kuina… that wasn’t a name you’d ever heard. You didn’t press in your curiosity, the way he’d said it had been filled with sorrow. It shouldn’t surprise you, you guessed, everyone had ghosts from their past.

You inched closer, threading the edge of the bath. The water rippled at your slow movement. You settled in front of him, bringing your knees to your chest so you didn’t touch. 

“Say,” you mused, the sound echoing softly against the walls. “How did you even come by Shusui?”

 Zoro's eye met yours, his gaze lingering on your face. The space between you seemed to shrink under the weight of his stare. You shifted, he looked away. 

"Shusui... It's a long story," he replied after a while.

There was a sparkle in your eyes as you wondered what the tale behind the legendary sword was. "I have time.” 

Zoro's attention returned to you, the hint of amusement resurfacing at your enthusiasm. 

"Shusui found me," he answered cryptically, his voice carrying memories. "It really is a long story."

You gave his foot a small kick under the water. "I told you, I've got time," you insisted with a touch of petulance.

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering away before backtracking to meet yours. 

"It was when we fought Gecko Moria," he entertained your interest, his tone almost nostalgic. 

Your eyes widened in awe as he recounted the adventure. You leaned back, letting your feet tangle with his as he spoke.

"Ryuma..." you whispered when he stopped, the name rolling off your tongue like a sacred chant.

Zoro nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I fought against his zombie, and in the end, I claimed Shusui as my own."

The image of Zoro facing off against a legendary swordsman was strangely alluring in your mind. Your eyes traced his features, traveled down his neck. The bubbles were starting to fade, the scar on his torso slightly visible. You saw his muscles twitch, flex a little, an indication that you’d been caught in your observations, yet you couldn't tear your gaze away from him. 

Your attention flickered back to his face, taking in the smug smirk on his lips. 

“You’re staring, witch,” he remarked, the gravel in his voice more present than usual. 

“Just curious about the scars,” you tried to justify as you fought the heat in your cheeks. “Look,” you started playfully, letting one of your legs rise to the surface. “We even have a matching one,” you gestured at the scar slightly above your ankle.

His eye traced along your skin before observing the white line that spanned the circumference of your leg. You suddenly felt self-conscious and with a quick movement you brought it back under the water. Before you could retreat fully, his hand grasped your ankle, settling your foot to his knee. 

Your heart skipped a beat, the touch searing hot in the now tepid water.

“S-so, how’d you get yours?” You asked, giving a small tug, trying to pry your foot from his clutch unsuccessfully. “I’m afraid my story isn’t so interesting.”

The swordsman’s hold on your ankle tightened slightly, his eye lingering on the scar through the thin curtain of bubbles remaining before he met your gaze. “How’d you get it?” He ignored your question. 

“I told you it wasn’t interesting, swordsman,” you furrowed your brows, frustration coloring your voice at the memories.

His grip softened, fingers tracing the white line on your flesh in almost delicate circles.

You hesitated. “I tried to cut off my leg,” you admitted reluctantly. Your face scrunched up in a bitter expression, you bit at the fragile skin of your inner lips in an anxious pattern. “Happy? Swordsman?”

His eyebrow quirked at the stiffness of your tone. He leaned back, his eye not leaving yours, his fingers not stopping their mindless exploration.

The silence dragged on.

“It was when I was forging Yokubari,” you confessed when it started to feel uncomfortable. “My mentor wasn’t kind to say the least. He was strict before I made him Uragiri, but when he turned mad under its influence, he began finding pleasure in other people’s pain,” your hand trembled at the memories, you closed your fist in an attempt to rein the torment inside, to calm yourself. “He got scared at some point that I’d disappear. My sister and I had tried to escape but he always found a way to drag us back. So, he decided to chain me to the anvil,” there was a silence before you continued. “You know, not all swords take the same amount of work. Some take a day, others take months to make. Yokubari took about a year of labor. I’d been forging for weeks, pouring my life force into steel when I got desperate enough to try and cut off my own leg.”

He listened to your words, you couldn’t make out any shift in his expression, his features not betraying his thoughts. But his touch on your scar was gentle, almost soothing.

“I see,” he said, when you stopped talking. There was no pity in his voice, you were grateful to him for that. 

“I was too much of a coward to follow through though, it turns out that trying to cut your leg off is both harder than it seems and far more painful than you’d expect,” you added with levity, attempting to lighten the mood. “See? Pretty boring, right? So, how’d you get yours?”

He ignored you again.

“Hey,” you snapped. “I told you the story behind mine, now you tell me yours, swordsman. It can’t be that bad.”

He smirked. 

“Maybe another day, witch,” he answered with a hint of evasion. 

You narrowed your eyes, curious at the mystery he was clearly hoping to preserve. “Fine, swordsman,” you conceded with a pout as you realized he wasn’t going to budge. “But I won’t let this go until you’ve told me.”

Zoro chuckled at your expression, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his stare. “Stubborn as ever,” he remarked, his tone teasing.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you’re not the most obstinate idiot on this ship, moss head,” you retorted, adding the nickname in an imitation of the cook. You flicked water in his direction.

He snorted. Mischief passed in his gaze at your action. His grip tightened on your ankle. Your eyes widened. You barely had the time to take a breath as you realized what he was about to do.

He pulled you under. You bubbled for a moment before coming back up for a big gulp of air. You pried your foot out of his hand in an angry motion.

“Oi,” you yelled at him, swiping the curtains of wet hair out from your eyes as you inched closer to him.  “What was that for, you bastard?” You said, your index hitting him in the chest forcefully as though to make your point.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping the painful poking. “That mouth of yours is infuriating, witch,” he drew you nearer, his voice low and intense. “Always thinking you can get away with anything." 

His hand went to your face in an almost gentle movement. His thumb swiped at your lips in a fleeting touch. You glared at him through your lashes, trying to ignore the building heat in your veins.

He tugged softly at your wrist, closing the distance ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise, your other hand settling on his chest for support. He pressed a little stronger on your lips in a familiar movement.

“You drive me mad,” he admitted, his words made something stir in your stomach. All resolve you had held crumbling in the face of the searing warmth that ignited within you.

You opened your mouth, granting him access. Your tongue met the rough pad of his thumb. You felt the rumble in his chest under your fingertips more than you heard it.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the pupil of his eye blowing up.

His hand snaked from your lips to the back of your neck. He leaned in, his lips finding yours tentatively at first, then with the hunger of a starving man.

He growled low in his throat, a primal sound that made you moan as you crashed into him, the bare skin of your chest melting into his. The water sloshed loudly, escaping the bath, and puddling on the floor as he switched your positions, trapping you underneath him.

The world around you spun, disoriented by the waves of desire coursing through your veins. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you breathless. Your hands tightened on the muscles of his arms in an attempt to orient yourself before they traveled up to the back of his neck and tangled in the dampness of his hair.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue demanding, almost forceful. Your nails dug in, leaving tiny red marks on his nape. He moaned into your mouth, the sound muffled. You smirked against his lips at his reaction.

His fingers gripped your locks as he backed away. Your lidded eyes met his hungry gaze. He tightened his hold pulling your head back, your back arched against the ceramic edge of the bath. Your hands fell from his hair, fingertips digging for purchase in his chest for support. You felt his hand trail your outer thigh, under your knee, opening your leg. You whined as you sensed his knee slot itself between your thighs, so close to your core, yet so far. 

His touch was featherlight as his fingers shifted back up your leg, fleeting as he traveled your abdomen, almost imperceptible as the rough pad of his thumb traced the curve of your breast.

“Look at you, witch,” he whispered as he leaned forward, his breath hot against yours, satisfaction dripping out of his words.

A low moan crossed your lips, barely noticeable, even in the closeness of your bodies.

A small knock reverberated from the door, Nami’s voice cutting through.

You both halted.

“Oi, (Y/n)” the voice echoed against the walls. “You’re not asleep in there again, are you?” She asked.

Your heart stopped, the grip in your hair loosened, you slumped back slowly in the water without the intense hold he’d had on you. 

“I-I’m awake!” You shouted, panicky. 

The swordsman snorted, your eyes widened, your hand going to cover his mouth. ‘Don’t you dare’ you mouthed at him, gaze wild.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” You shouted again. “I just need to finish cleaning out the ashes around here.”

The handle of the door rattled. Your breath stopped. 

“Hey, I told you not to lock the door when you’re bathing alone!” Nami admonished, her words muffled. “It’s dangerous if you fall down or something.”

“Sorry! I must have done it without thinking!” You apologized.

Your eyes met the swordsman’s, brows furrowing in confusion. “You locked the door?” You hissed in a quiet whisper.

You felt his grin widen against your fingers, you hit his chest hard. Zoro’s chuckles vibrated against your palm as he leaned back slightly.

Your attention went back to the door when you heard Nami’s sigh. 

“Fine!” She relented, the handle clicking back in place. “Just don’t take too long.”

“I’ll be right out,” you reassured her.

You stayed frozen as you listened to the navigator’s retreating steps. 

“You locked the door?” You asked again, incredulity in your voice.

His hand left your hair, lingering for a moment on your nape before going to the hand covering his mouth. 

“I might have,” he admitted with a smirk, his lips brushing against your fingers with each word.

You tried to pry your hand from his grip, he didn’t relent.

“Get off me, you idiot,” you snapped at him. 

He let go, leaning back against the edge of the bath, amusement in his gaze.

“I’m getting out, close that eye of yours,” you announced.

“Why?” He cocked his head. “You’re acting like you weren’t just writhing under me.”

“I wasn’t writhing, don’t flatter yourself so much,” you argued back. “Just close that eye of yours while I fetch my fucking towel.”

“What’s the point? The water’s been clear for the past half hour, it’s nothing I haven’t already seen,” still he closed his eye, expression lulling back in relaxation.

You felt your cheeks heat at the comment. With an exasperated huff, you quickly scrambled out of the bath. Your eyes met his half-lidded one in the mirror as you grabbed the towel. 

“Seriously?” You muttered, shaking your head as you wrapped yourself in the fuzzy fabric. Your movements were fast and practiced as you tried your best to ignore the lingering warmth of his gaze. “You’re impossible.” 

You watched his reflection as he lazily shifted around, reaching for the hot water handle. The sound of water cascading into the bath punctuated the silence between you. 

“Bring me Shusui tomorrow,” you demanded, turning to face him. “You can take Yokubari while you’re at it too.”

He quirked an eyebrow at that. “That’s not our deal.” He stated after much consideration.

“It isn’t,” you agreed. “But I have a condition I’d like to add for Yokubari, it’s only fair that you get it sooner.”

“What is it?” He couldn’t help but ask.

You started to make your way towards the door, snatching your dirty clothes quickly. “You’ll see,” you said. “Try not to fall asleep and drown in there.”

Exhaustion weighed heavily on you, the night having offered no respite from the memory of his touch and the intensity of his lips. Leaning forward, your elbows found refuge on the worn wooden table as you took a bite of a croissant, the flaky pastry acting as a brief distraction from your restless thoughts.

"Hey, swordsman," you called out, swallowing before continuing. "So, what's the story behind those scars around your legs?" You tried your luck again, your question drew the attention of the scattered crew, their curiosity piqued.

Nami couldn't contain her amusement, a loud snort escaping her lips, while Zoro's expression darkened into a scowl.

"What's so funny?" you asked innocently, the prospect of uncovering the tale now even more intriguing.

"It's none of your business, witch" Zoro replied tersely, his tone clipped.

A shiver went down your spine, the nickname feeling different after the happenings of the night before.

Nami was not to be deterred by the swordsman’s warning, a mischievous glint dancing in her gaze as she took back your attention and launched into a saga of events.

Tears of laughter pricked at your eyes as Nami recounted the embarrassing incident, and once your mirth subsided, you couldn't resist teasing Zoro further.

"So, you were just embarrassed, swordsman?" you snorted, unable to contain your amusement.

Zoro's scowl deepened, a faint pink hue tinting his ears as he grumbled, "Like I said, it's none of your business."

Your chuckling bubbled up once more, the images in your imagination vivid thanks to the navigator’s amazing retelling of the story. "But seriously," you continued, teasingly, "what were you planning to do after cutting your legs? You can't exactly fight like that."

The table erupted into laughter, the camaraderie between the crew members palpable as they shared in the light-hearted moment.

Zoro turned his head, clearly embarrassed through the cracking mask of indifference he usually wore.

“Oh!” Chopper exclaimed, hopping onto Zoro’s shoulder as he looked at the back of his neck. Red marks plagued his nape in lines and crescents. “Did you hurt yourself, Zoro?” the reindeer asked innocently, a small hoof probing at the scrapes.

The swordsman’s gaze met yours, a brazen smirk gracing his lips. You felt heat rising in your cheeks. “Must have scratched myself by accident,” he answered, his voice smug.  

← Previous chapter | Next chapter →

Masterlist

[yona049]

𝕻𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖒 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕺𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

Part 4

°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○

(Phantom finally returns!)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○

Disclaimer!

>Many time skips

>Rushed chapter! (pls let me know if you spot a mistake)

>This has evolved into its own story, if its not something you're interested in, feel free to skip this one and check out some other fics on my page! °v°

°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○

A horrible taste sat in Y/n's mouth as she stared out the window at the setting sun while sitting on the bed. She'd been in thought all day, trying to figure out what to do. She'd loved Aloïs, but this Aloïs was new to her, new personality, new possessions, new life.

She's pulled from her thoughts when a gentle hand rubs her head.

"You haven't touched your dinner, mon chéri."

Erik's adorable nickname flew right over her head.

"Oh! Yes of course."

She takes the plate and spoon from Erik only to fall back into thought after the first bite. Tapping on the plate slowly with the spoon.

Erik chuckles a little before taking her hand holding the spoon.

"Shall I feed you?" he pushes the spoon onto her lip.

Y/n takes the bite delicately with butterflies dancing in her stomach. Finally her thoughts were concentrated on Erik again and she starts eating.

Erik walks back to his bed and sat facing her. With a small wetstone he rhythmically scraped the edges of his dagger.

"I think, I should give Aloïs a chance."

Erik glances up at Y/n with a pause before resuming his sharpening.

"Oh? You didn't look so compliant this morning."

"I know, but if there's any chance My Aloïs is still there, perhaps I should take it. The riches that come after, is simply insurance for us."

"Us?"

Erik questions. Y/n realizes her words and suddenly their situation becomes clearer.

"Of course, I could never dream of abandoning you. You've saved me so many times-.."

"Then why not stay with me!" his interruption seems almost threatening this time. Eyes drilling into Y/n's.

Y/n sets down the plate and walks to Erik. She kneels down infront of him and takes his hands in hers, watching the words in his eyes.

"Erik, If I were to marry Aloïs. We'd be upper class. You could finally have a chance to see her again."

Erik quickly looks away and shakes his head.

"Who are you enquiring about?"

She delicately squeezes his hands, then also looks away, down at his hands.

"You don't have to deny it. I've seen you sing with her. Even if she is far from here, you always look out the windows as if you could see her. The sparkling in your eyes Erik. I... Could never hope to compete."

Erik didn't look back but his heart ached knowing Y/n's words were true to some extent. He still loved Christine even just a little. How could he not? He'd taught her how to find her voice, listened to her prayers night after night.

Y/n stood up and planted a kiss on Erik's head, then pulling him into a hug. His arms curled around her upper legs with his head on her stomach.

Patting his head delicately she smiled at his genuine, loving hug.

"Tomorrow, when Aloïs returns, I'll give him a chance. After that, we will decide what lays ahead."

She walks out of his grasp without another word and pulls the curtains shut. Once she couldn't see Erik anymore, he looked back at her.

A thin curtain keeping their bodies and souls apart, but so did a man and a woman who they both once loved.

Y/n lifts the ring that Aloïs gave her off the bed side table to look at it, quite coincidentally, so too did Erik lift Christine's ring.

○○○○

No sooner did morning come and Y/n found herself face to face with Aloïs outside the tavern.

Him dressed in a new fancy coat while she stood in the same dress she wore yesterday. Erik up in their room but with a keen ear listening to each word.

Y/n lifts her index finger up to Aloïs and stands confidently, chest out and feet steadfast in the ground.

"One outing. One chance to show me you're still the Aloïs I knew and loved."

Aloïs's eyes light up and he is quick to take Y/n's hand and kiss it catching her off gaurd. Not a good start.

"Thank you, chéri! We could go anywhere! Anywhere you'd like!"

Y/n shakes her head and pulls her hand back rubbing it.

"I think it's best if you decide."

"Alright then! Tonight we make for the new Opera house!"

The new Opera house! Where Christine sings? It wouldn't be right towards Erik. In many ways she'd feel like she was betraying him.

Y/n shakes her head trying to quickly object but once again Aloïs's excitement gets the best of him.

"Aloïs! Hold on, we can't! Um... Because, I-I have nothing to wear! "

Aloïs grabs onto the carriage as it starts moving.

"Don't worry! I shall have a dress and other essentials sent here! I will arrive shortly before 6 to pick you up."

Using his feathered hat he waves goodbye to Y/n who is already chewing on her nail with a stiff body.

Erik peaks out the window and watches Y/n rush up the stairs.

○○○

"For the 100th time, Y/n. It's fine!"

Erik stated once again watching Y/n pull the biggest fancy blue dress out of the box it was delivered in.

"Still it doesn't feel right! After what we talked about last night. I should've stopped him sooner!"

With his hands on his hips he watches Y/n struggle with all the fancy things Aloïs sent to her for their date.

"Even if I did object, darling. We can't change it now."

Y/n, trying to pull the large frilly dress off the floor and into her arms, sighs heavily. She peaks through the bundle of a dress in her arms at Erik.

"I am sorry you have to be here alone tonight. Boris was nice enough to give us the night off. Will you be ok?"

She almost stumbles into the closed curtains to get dressed. Small sparkling bits of jewelry were spread out on the bed aswell as make up and fresh shoes.

"I'll be quite fine. I'm no stranger to one night alone. Besides, you should try to enjoy tonight."

Once again Erik watches Y/n's silhouette. She drops the dress she wore onto the floor before crawling her way in though the bottom of the hooped skirt and pushing herself through the arm and head holes.

"I won't be too long hopefully. Still, it will be nice to be back in an Opera house, all be it a completely different one."

She pulls a little and straightens out the dress and puts the shoes on the ground slipping them on. She takes the corset off the bed and pulls it around her torso then pulling the strings as much she could.

"Erik! I might need some help with the corset."

She steps out of the curtains looking down while trying to clip a necklace around the back of her neck.

"Of course I'll-..."

His words drift off once Y/n comes into full view. Her dress a beautiful dark blue with small decorated flakes of gold. A beautiful off shoulder medium length sleeve top with little white frills.

"... Help."

Finishing his sentence with a paced heart and eyes glued to Y/n. She looked so beautiful, it reminded him of all the gowns he'd seen rich woman wear going to see the Opera. A warming nostalgic feeling, mixed with astonished glances to Y/n's clean completion.

He takes a few steps to behind Y/n where he took the strings of the corset and pulled them tight.

Y/n gasped softly once the corset pushed her torso into shape. Erik's hand guide itself over her aside and onto her stomach.

A roaming hand on her stomach going up, Y/n felt the same longing for Erik's touch she'd felt many times before.

"How does it feel? Can you breath?"

Erik whispered to her sending shivers up the back of her neck.

Although she really couldn't breath because of how close Erik was, she nodded.

"Let me help with your hair."

Y/n didn't know how, but Erik seemed to know exactly how to put hair up neat and tidy. This once again brought Erik's past into question. What did he do in the Opera?

Even tho he'd answered the question before, Y/n doubted he helped only moving things around and doing maintenance.

Y/n's hair was freshly washed and dried. She hasn't worn her hair up in a while, she'd always danced with loose hair and gone her days without putting it up.

This means it was the first Erik had seen her like this. Open shoulders and beautiful neckline. He was very unsure why he felt this way for someone other than Christine.

He places a delicate kiss on Y/n's neck, again causing Y/n to gasp at the unexpected moment.

She looks back at Erik connecting with his gaze. A powerful moment from both of them. Y/n wanted to kiss Erik, he wanted exactly the same.

"You're beautiful, Y/n."

He whispers to her.

She smiles a little hearing his little praise and delicately she places her hand on the side of his head.

Nervous but entranced by her, not because she wore a fancy dress or makeup, but because of her smile, because of her lasting laughs and love to all things.

Now more than ever, he needed to decide. Loose one Dimond, or continue chasing another he'd lost sight of long ago.

Within an instant Erik's lips meet hers. Suddenly fireworks spark and all moments they've shared before mix into one. Erik's hand on her stomach push her closer towards him and Y/n grips the back of his hair lightly.

Y/n felt the warmth in his lips, soft hands holding her like he'd never let go. Body language threatening to keep her captured and protected. His forever. She'd felt his embrace so many times before, but this felt warmer than sunshine on her face.

A lasting kiss mixed with uncertainty when the sound of horses come down the street.

Y/n Quickly pulls away putting her hand over her mouth and Erik grits his teeth at the interrupted kiss.

"Erik, I'm sorry, I had no right." Y/n felt the need to apologize.

"Nonsense! This was my decision."

His hands were now shaking, his decision now greatly turned to one side. To Y/n. He wanted to tell her not to go. He wanted to hold her and run to where Aloïs couldn't touch her or even look at her again.

"Y/n-..."

"Stop!" Y/n demanded pulling Erik's hand off her stomach.

"Please don't make this harder than it is! I've tried to ignore it. I'm trying not to be selfish."

She takes a deep shaky breath and rubs her eyes keeping the tears from rushing out.

"I'm trying not to love you, because I know you love her."

With a crumpled bit of her dress squeezed in her fists she clears her throat.

"I'll be back soon, then we can talk!"

She looks up at Erik with glossed eyes then lifts her dress off the ground and running out of the room.

Erik stood frozen, his thoughts rushing with uncertain desire. A longing for another.

Y/n ran downstairs with heavy breathing and tears falling onto the floor but she shook her head and plastered on a smile.

She waved goodbye to Boris who called her pretty girl before she left, giving her a little more reason to smile.

Finally coming out of the tavern. Aloïs is stunned and offers his hand.

"My lady, beautiful as always." Aloïs complimented and placed a small kiss on her hand.

A bouquet of flowers is pulled out of the carriage and given to Y/n. She looked down at the brightly colored flowers and smelled them.

"Their beautiful, Aloïs. Thank you."

Aloïs smiled but stopped for a moment.

"You're not wearing the ring?"

Y/n shakes her head and looks back at the tavern to their room.

"I must have forgotten it."

"Well then! Let's be off, mon amour. The Opera awaits! And perhaps more good news! Christine is preforming tonight. One of the Opera performances you danced for, I think."

Helping Y/n into the carriage, their off into the night air and to the Opera. The Opera house was shining bright in the dimly lit Paris night and was visible even from the tavern.

Erik was still caught in the room, his fists clenched and his jaw locked.

A sudden swing into the wall breaking the wooden plank instantly. Heavy breathing and hair hanging over his eye.

"She is not your mon amour."

His body fuming with anger, feeling once again he was too late! Once again he'd lost to a pretty rich boy. The sunshine when he was the darkness.

He pulled his bloody splintered hand out of the wooden wall still not satisfied. He wanted to bash Aloïs's skull in. He wanted to take Y/n and tell her he loved her, how it took him this long to realize was his own wrong doing.

Her teary and frightened eyes popping into his head. How could someone so beautiful look so sad. Erik felt all the signs flood back from hidden memories.

Y/n's gentle voice helping him stay awake while she carried him after the fire. Her soft hand washing his wound. Her smile not fearing his face. Never once did she shutter away from his touch. All he wanted was to see her smile so happily after a long night's dance.

He made a decision. He wasn't going to let the fool take her, he would take her first.

He once again pushed out the false bottom out of the closet floor to reveal a white mask and black cape along with clothing he wore once before.

He chuckles deeply and pulls the mask onto his face.

"I'll need you once again, old friend. Beware, the Phantom of the Opera."

With a maniacal laughter he swings his cloak on and dissappears into darkness.

○○○

The Opera house burned bright with people and chatter! Golden statues of beautiful men and woman, and a miraculous staircase upon entering.

Y/n felt so out of place when walking on the red carpet. Not even a speck of dust on the polished floors.

Her eyes dazzled with excitement and she'd never felt so far from home.

"Erik! Look at the chandelier!" she pointed with a gloved hand.

Aloïs turns away from his conversation with another older looking noble couple and runs up to her.

"Darling! It's quite beautiful isn't it!"

He quickly puts his arm around her waist and pulls her to his side.

"Don't mind her silly little mind. She gets confused who she's with sometimes."

He explains to the couple. Y/n's mind quickly corrects itself remembering Erik isn't here and her cheeks flush.

Aloïs takes her hand and kisses it before pulling it to his heart.

"My darling Y/n and I are celebrating our engagement! Aren't we?"

Y/n looks at Aloïs confused for a second before the nobel woman claps her hands together happily.

"That's wonderful! I'm happy that the daughter of the famous dancer, will marry my nephew, soon."

Aloïs smiles proudly.

"Yes! Quite a spectacle! Now if you'll excuse us. We have many people to meet."

Aloïs bows his head gently and pulls Y/n towards another couple giving Y/n a chance to plant her feet in the ground and stop.

Her eyes move to Aloïs's with a stern glare.

"Aloïs. We didn't agree to this! We agreed that after I'd make my decision."

Aloïs sighs then nods with a guilty sigh.

"I know, mon amor. But I'm very confident in your answer. As I've said. This is a better life. Besides, I don't want you to rot in that tavern any longer."

His fingertips delicately brush over her cheek and he smiles.

"You're my darling, Y/n. I will keep you safe, till the end of your days until you die comfortably in a silk bed with as many fur children you'd like."

Y/n looks away for a second before thinking of Erik's face, the expression he made every night listening to Christine sing in their cramped little room. She could help him as much as she could help herself.

She looks back up at Aloïs with his glittering outfit and fine polished shoes. Her hand reaches for his bicep and she smiles.

"W-who else do we need to meet? Um.. Darling?"

Aloïs once again smiles with joy and pulls her off to another noble man where she smiles carefully and nods politely.

By the time they arrived in box 5 high above the stage, Y/n was exhausted. She sunk into her seat like a tierd dad after work. She took a breath and quickly straightens herself out to sit straight.

She looks around the box because she'd always wondered why rich nobles found these seats so desirable. She could see the entire stage, tho it was a little far to make out the details.

Aloïs still with heaps of energy flips though the thin paper pamphlet and leans over to Y/n.

"Ah! This opera is the same one that Christine debuted in. I remember her white dress, it took incredibly long to sew all those little white pearls into the dress!"

Y/n smiles and nods.

"I remember, your hands had so many bandaids on for weeks, I was worried about you."

Aloïs puts the pamphlet onto his lap and lifts Y/n's hand to place a small kiss on her knuckles.

"I remember the small cuts, but I remember how you kissed each finger and held me so gently when we fell asleep. "

His thumb traces over her fingers as he stares at them thinking.

"One day, I will create a white dress for you too, mi amor."

For a very small moment, Y/n felt her heart spark. Her Aloïs was starting to shine though again.

Aloïs pulls his hand back and the light dims.

Suddenly a spotlight on stage and the play begins. Dancers fill the stage and Y/n couldn't help her excitement. She clapped watching a dance she knew off by heart. Her feet started bouncing with her urge to dance.

Aloïs smiled and placed a small kiss on her cheek then whispered into her ear.

"Your passion burns bright and beautiful, Y/n."

Another spark made Y/n giggle genuinely before she looks back at the stage.

The orchestra starts with a sudden blast of music filling the large Opera house. Up close and personal she could hear a voice start off with a strong note.

The spotlight shifts, and there she was. The famous and beautiful, Christine Daaé. Y/n's friend and inspiration to dance.

Her toes point on instinct in the very uncomfortable shoes which reminded her not to act like a child.

She presses her lips together and dims down her excitement to a gentle foot tap.

She watches the opening Opera sequence and soon the play has begun. Actors singing out their lines and an occasional cheers from the crowd.

Y/n took full advantage of moments of cheers to yell her support, knowing all the effort that goes into each play. The preparation and weeks of rehearsals.

Nearing the end of the play Y/n is fully distracted by the singing beauty, she didn't notice the quietly approaching figure behind her. A hand slowly reaching for her shoulder and suddenly grabbing it.

Y/n jumps suddenly and turns to look. An old noblmen with wine in his hand and quite drunk.

The noblmen slurs as he asks.

"Has the play started yet, Aloïs?"

Aloïs takes the mans hand off her shoulder quickly and pulls him towards him.

"Monsieur Du Beu, you're in the wrong box I'm afraid."

Y/n shakes her head and tries to focus on the Opera. After some time, Aloïs and the noblmen were still talking about business? Or something. Y/n tried to ignore it, but the chatter was too loud.

She bit her lip before deciding to slip out and closer to the stage.

"I'm going to get some fresh air." she whispers and Aloïs nods back acknowledging.

She lifts her big dress and hurries down the corridor towards the stage. The rooms were dark and very dimly lit until she saw a bright little room, calling her towards it.

She smiles once entering seeing a dressing room with many little bits of dresses and costumes.

She spots one in particular hung over a chair in the middle of the room, from the play being performed right now and smiles to herself.

She lifts the dancing dress and presses it against her body measuring.

"Perhaps they wouldn't mind if I borrowed this? Only for this dance number. No one will see me! "

She convinced herself in her excitement to dance formally again.

She quickly dresses in the dress and pulls on some dancing shoes she found with the dress. Wierd how it fit so perfectly?

She taps her toes on the ground to nuzzle her feet into each cranny comfortably.

Sneaking back out into the corridor she looks for an open space where she could preform the next dance number coming up.

It was a dance that required a partner and usually, it was only one duo dancing on center stage. No background dancers. Only the singer in the front corner.

Finally in the darkness she sees a large open room, incredibly dark but she could dance the routine there.

She smiled taking her place in the middle of the room lifting her arms and waiting for the music to echo from the stage. Something felt too perfect about this. And it turns out, she was quite right.

Suddenly, the lights go on and the curtains whoosh open to reveal the entire audience infront of her. Somehow she'd wandered right onto stage, into some kind of trap? Now she needed to preform the dance for real.

Y/n stood frozen in place, both from shock and terror from how she'd gotten herself into this mess.

The dance partner walks behind bed and moves his hand around her waist ready to start the choreography. A dance partner she had no practice time with whatsoever.

She looked up at Aloïs who looked back. He was confused, he couldn't tell if Y/n stood on stage because it was too far. So he kept watching.

The music starts and Christine is stood in the front corner, singing her musical number. Each step Y/n takes is on fire, with fear that someone would realize she's not the right dancer.

As she and this stranger dances together, she hears a deep chuckle.

"So stiff? Wondering how you possibly wandered onto stage?"

Y/n's head turns to look at the partner she'd gotten and once again she's shot with another surprise.

A white mask she'd never seen up close. But everyone knows of after the fire. The man who kidnapped Christine and set the flames ablaze.

The Phantom of the Opera was now lifting her into the air and following each step of the dance precisely.

His mask was so well blended with the costumes actors wore. No audience member would feel the need to be alert.

White mask and black sleek back hair, a thick coat and formal wear only a nobleman would wear. Y/n couldn't be sure, but she knew to some extent, it must be the Phantom.

"Phantom.."

She questioned in a whisper.

"So you do recognize me."

He confirms her suspicious and spins her round.

She stops spinning and only takes small steps on her toes. Her shock turns to anger.

"You criminal! Monster! Murderer!"

She growls and felt the need to pull away and run! But the Phantom grabs her hands and pulls her back into his chest as the dance routine commanded.

"Now, now my dear. You wouldn't want to alert anyone that you're not where you're supposed to be."

She looks at the audience and then at Aloïs before pressing her lips together into a smile.

"Are you trying to get to Christine again! Well there she is! Go get her!"

Y/n taunts with an angry glare.

She steps back throwing her body back into a dip, trusting the Phantoms arm around her wist to catch and pull her back to her feet. Following each dance step to a T.

"I'm not here for Christine."

On beat he takes her chin and moves it to look at him.

"I'm here for you."

His words deep and mysterious, but somehow Y/n believed every part of it.

She felt her body shake in fear. Her mind spun back to the fire that burnt her lover. Almost killed her, and had killed so many others that she loved. Her home burnt to ashes, causing so much pain for her to start over.

She took this oppertunity to push herself out of phantoms arms and run to the front of the stage.

"Aloïs-.."

She screamed, but she's quickly pulled back into Phantom's arms. His black gloved hand covering her mouth and nose restricting her breathing. He pulled her to the back of the stage.

Aloïs finally caught on and jumped to his feet.

"It's the Phantom of the Opera!"

His voice loud enough to echo through the quiet opera house. The music brought to a sudden halt and Christine stopped singing. Everyone starts to panic and rush to the exit.

Y/n still kicking and trying to pull Phantom's hand off her mouth, felt her vision blur and her body slowly goes limp. Knowing Y/n couldn't run, Phantom pulls Y/n against him holding her securely.

He smirks suddenly wrapping Y/n in his cloak and grabbing hold of a roap that hung at the back of the stage. Precisely placed and planned.

With a zip of a mechanism, Y/n and Phantom are pulled through the air and out of sight.

"NO! Y/N!"

Aloïs yells and suddenly runs out of the box throwing off his coat.

He rushes towards the stage with some guards following closely behind. With a slide and a turn he enters the costume room where he spotted the, big puffy blue dress Y/n wore, on the ground.

Ontop of her dress was a note and a white rose with a black bow tied around the stem.

Aloïs takes the note that read 'I remembered her. Now she is here with me, I've decided.'

Aloïs growls and crumpled the note in his hand. He turns to the soldiers and yells.

"Search the Opera house basement! Search the tavern! FIND HER! Find Y/N!"

[badsongpetey]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The Water Guardian: Part 6

The question wasn’t would Lance come back, it was simply how soon. How soon turned out to be very not soon enough in Lance’s considerable estimation. School, work, and family obligations conspired upon him in a clearly targeted and evil scheme to keep him from gaining internet fame through an exclusive friendship with a reclusive cryptid. All of which led to Lance standing by Keith’s pool nearly two weeks after his last visit.

It’s just as beautiful and serene as the first time he saw it: water splashing gently down the rocks; birds and frogs chirping their songs; trees rustling in a gentle breeze. The kind of place that could instantly relax a person — that is if the person weren’t a Lance person currently standing around waiting on a very conspicuously absent dragon.

“Um, Keith?” Lance hesitantly asks the forest. He feels like an idiot. If there were any other people around he’d die of embarrassment, but fortunately or not, he seems to be completely alone.

Is Keith here? Is Keith even its name? Keith seemed like a pretty bland name for a cryptid, maybe he’d heard it wrong. Maybe it was really like “Kyitth” or something more magical, and now he was offending the dragon by mispronouncing it. Or maybe he really had been poisoned by contaminated pond water and had hallucinated the entire exchange. The longer he stands there, the more he worries. Dammit Hunk, why weren’t you faster getting out that test kit? Sure, yeah, maybe he could’ve waited to dive in…

“You’re late.”

Lance spins to see Keith up to his chest in the water, glaring daggers at him.

“Whoa, dude, maybe give a guy a head’s up or something before popping up outta nowhere?” Lance only half jokes, trying to cover for the near heart attack he just experienced.

“You’re late.”

Lance huffs, “Look, we didn’t exactly put this little get together in our calendars or anything. Things were crazy, I came back as soon as I could.”

In response Keith sinks up to his nose in the water, and squints with ferocity in Lance’s direction.

“I really tried.” Lance throws his hands up in the air in exasperation, how did he forget how annoying Keith is? “I TRIED. I was BUSY. But, look, I’m here. I came back. Isn’t that what matters?”

At this Keith disappears beneath the water completely, leaving behind only a few delicate bubbles which dance across the surface.

Lance sighs audibly. Like what does Keith expect him to do? Instantly give up his entire life to be at Keith’s beck and call? Figures he’s somehow managed to find the world’s most entitled cryptid.

Loud splashing draws his attention back to the water as Keith vaults effortlessly out of the pool and onto the surrounding rocks, and, yup, naked again. But this time Lance has come prepared. Looking away, because again, his mama raised a gentleman, he reaches into his backpack and tosses some clothes in Keith direction. He hears a satisfying thump as the bundle clearly hits its target — he always had impeccable aim.

“Lance?”

Lance figures that’s his signal that it’s safe to look. Keith stands before him wearing black sweatpants and an old grey t-shirt he was willing to part with. And it’s, fuck, it’s cute, okay?

“You’re really attached to the clothing huh?” Keith is smirking again.

“People wear clothing, Keith. It’s just polite. If you’re gonna look like people, you gotta cover up. It’s non-negotiable.” Lance is dying on this hill.

Keith shrugs, “If you say so.”

“I do. Say so. Yes.” This is gotta be the one of the more ridiculous demands Lance has ever made, telling a cute guy to cover up, but Keith isn’t a guy, even if he’s cute. What he needs is a subject change, immediately. “So, ah, what do you do around here for fun?”

Keith frowns, “Fun?”

“Yeah!” Lance smiles, “I mean, I know you’ve got the whole guard duty thing, but it’s pretty quiet around here, you must do something to pass the time.”

“This water is my sacred responsibility, and my life-force, it’s not just a job.” Keith growls.

Ok, open mouth insert foot, Lance didn’t usually have such a hard time starting up a conversation. “Hey, I didn’t mean that what you do isn’t important. I mean, this waterfall, it’s beautiful. You do a good job taking care of it, I’m sure it’s a lot of work.”

Keith softens a bit at the praise, “It is. But I do what I can.”

Lance decides to come at the question from a different angle. “Does watching over this leave you any time for anything else?”

Keith cocks his head, thoughtful. “I patrol, swim, take care of the animals, repair damage to the land, and sometimes…”

Lance thinks he can hear Keith end that sentence, but it’s so soft he can’t make it out. “Sometimes you?” He prompts.

Keith looks away. Embarrassed? “Sometimes, when there’s time, I, read.”

Lance’s eyebrows shoot all the way up past his hairline. The cryptid, READS?! “You read?? Like, books?”

“What else do you read?” Keith fires back.

“Hey no,” Lance backtracks, “I didn’t mean… I just, I didn’t expect you to have books out here?”

Keith scowls, “Why? Because I’m just some monster to you?”

“What? No!” Crap, were all dragons this touchy or did Lance just get extra lucky? “I didn’t mean that, it’s just that you live out here in the middle of absolute nowhere. It’s not like there’s a library. I didn’t figure you’d have, I dunno, human stuff.”

Keith looks away. “They… were my father’s.”

Oh shit. Did that mean there was some even bigger and grumpier dragon around? No, Keith said they were his father’s, that means… Keith has turned almost completely away from him. This is definitely not a bear he should poke.

“Uh, sorry.” It’s a lame response, but Lance isn’t sure what the protocol is on consolidating a cryptid on the loss of a family member.

Keith shrugs, “I didn’t know him.”

In the awkward silence that follows Lance becomes convinced that Keith can hear the sound of the gears grinding in his head trying to come up with a way to salvage the conversation, because he quietly adds, “Would you like to see them?”

“I’d LOVE to!” Lance practically shouts in relief before attempting to regain his cool. “I mean, sure, if you want to, it’d be cool.”

Keith glances back at him, and, yep, there’s the eye roll again. But also a tiny smile? Lance will take the win.

[separatist-apologist]

Love Is A Lie

Summary: After her mothers death, Arina goes from the well-loved daughter of a nobleman to a servant in his home. She dreams of escaping to the coast and making her own way, and when she learns of a ball the King of Avalon is hosting to pick a wife, Arina sees her chance. With a little help from a fairy godmother, Arina agrees to exchange a favor for one night with the King.

But Eris Vanserra has other plans when they meet, and Arina isn't sure she's ready for the consequences of one night dancing at a ball.

Part Two of OUAT series

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

The sound of heels against stone drew Arina from her reverie. Three days in the dungeons had made her numb to noise—to the moaning, the pleading, and the rattling chains. Unfortunately, it hadn’t numbed her to the smell—coming back to consciousness brought with it the smell of human filth and misery. Turning her head through the gloom, Arina saw the beautiful face of her fairy godmother.

Amarantha.

“Tsk, tsk,” she began, slipping through the bars as though she were made of water. “You were caught.”

Arina turned her head, staring dead-eyed at the wall in front of her. There was no point in pleading with the witch.

“I could free you,” Amarantha continued, snapping her fingers so the barred door that held Arina swung open of its own accord. “Let you try again, if you like?”

Arina didn’t respond. 

“Or maybe you failed on purpose. Love,” she spat as though the word tasted foul. “Look where it got you.”

“Just kill me,” she said tonelessly. 

“In time, perhaps. I’m not quite finished with you just yet. You did fail me—the prince lives and so, too, does little Elain Archeron. I can’t seem to stay ahead of the little wretch.”

That drew Arina’s attention. What did Elain have to do with all this? Amarantha wasn’t really talking to Arina, merely at her. 

“I’m merciful. You still have time to make this right,” Amarantha crooned, turning her attention back toward Arina. Arina shook her head.

“He won’t see me. He hates me.”

“Yes, I’ve heard the rumors. He loved you once, though,” Amarantha said in that syrupy voice of hers. It was as if she wanted to make things better having already destroyed so much. “Perhaps he’d see you if you got on your knees and begged.”

Arina swallowed her revulsion. “Got on my knees only to stab him in the back, you mean?”

“Why not whisper how much you love him right before you press the dagger into his ribs?” Amarantha suggested, revealing the same dagger Eris had taken from her. “Let it be the final words between you.”

“Why this dagger?” Arina questioned, reaching for the jeweled hilt sitting at her bare feet. “Poisoning him would be far easier.”

“Ah, there’s a trick to this blade,” Amrantha told her, delight burning in her beetle black eyes. “It keeps a soul trapped until I have use of them. A king is a useful toy to have in my possession. Now, I want you to take your pretty little self back to his bed and plead with him until he is close enough you can drive this into his body. But just in case you think to defy me…”

Amarantha snapped her fingers and in an instant, heavy, iron shoes were strapped to Arina’s once bare feet. She watched in horror as the metal began to warm, the metal brightening until the heat was overwhelming. Shrieking, she reached to pull them off only to scald her fingertips.

“You like to dance, don’t you? Consider this an incentive. Kill Eris Vanserra or dance for me until I’m no longer amused. Understand?”

Arina nodded, tears streaming down her face. All at once, the metal began to cool, though not quick enough for her liking. She couldn’t move her feet without touching skin to the contraption. “Take these off.”

“Oh, I think I’ll leave them. Just in case,” Amarantha said with a sharp-toothed smile. “I want you to think only of me and just how unpleasant my displeasure will be should you fail me a second time.”

With a snap of her fingers, Amarantha was gone. The door to her cell was still open—as if it mattered. And though Arina’s feet were burned, she was mostly intact. Arina counted her breaths, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her dress as she waited for night to fall.

Minutes felt like days, the hours stretching miserably. With no windows and only the dim torchlight just outside her cell, Arina had no way of telling time. While she waited, Arina picked at the metal shoes that held her feet. There had to be a way out of them, though it felt like the more she tugged, the tighter they adhered to her skin. 

Finally, she heard the clipped sound of boots against stone followed by the pale, lined face of the man she’d married. Eris took her in, eyes sweeping her curled form, the dagger balancing on her knees and the iron shoes now strapped against her feet.

“She came?” he whispered, standing in the doorframe. 

“Yes,” Arina agreed, biting her lower lip. “She brought me this.”

“Did she explain its importance?”

“It’s imbued with magic…it’ll trap you. This isn’t about you, Eris. It’s about Elain,” she whispered, waiting to see what would happen next. Eris had asked her to trust him and she had, though that had only resulted in her being thrown in the dungeons while he ordered the guards not to speak a word that she was there. He’d get to decide what happened to her and having spent three days alone in the dark, Arina was beginning to wonder if he wouldn’t just kill her after all.

Eris crossed the filthy cell, joining her gingerly on the bench. He was so wildly out of place in his fine clothes.

“Are you hurt?”

Arina wanted to cry. “I’m okay,” she lied, unwilling to tell him the truth. Just in case. Eris reached for her face, sweeping his thumb over her cheek. 

“You’re not. But you will be. Are you ready for what comes next?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on,” Eris said, offering Arina his hand. She hesitated before taking it, crying out softly when her injured feet touched the ground. Her knees buckled and the only thing that kept her from slamming to the stone was Eris’s arms. “You are hurt.”

“I’m fine,” she panted, though she pressed her cheek against his chest all the same. It felt good to be touched after days of utter deprivation. In her worst moments, Arina indulged in a fantasy in which Eris just never came back. Sometimes she imagined the speech he’d give in which he’d laugh at her, asking if she genuinely believed he could ever love her. 

“You’re not,” Eris whispered, kissing the top of her head. “And I won’t be either if I have to sleep another night alone. This is what she wants, isn’t it? For you to charm me?”

“And then kill you,” Arina reminded him. 

“I would gladly die at your hands.”

Arina had to choke back her laughter before it devolved into tears. Maybe Eris recognized it because he murmured, “It’s almost over now.”

Arina didn’t think that was true though there was no point in arguing. Eris led her out of the dungeon, hands tight around her body. If she’d thought there would be a reprieve once they were back in his bedroom, Elain was mistaken. Eris’s brothers were waiting with Elain Vanserra, all of whom looked equally furious. Not at Arina, whom Eris set gently on the bed.

“She means to trap me,” Eris told his brothers softly, taking out the blade to show them.”

“I knew it,” Elain murmured, wrapping her arms around her body. “She knows I’d bargain for your freedom.”

“You won’t,” Eris snarled, whirling on Elain as Connall picked up Arina’s damaged foot to examine the contraption binding her. “This is not the time for heroics.”

“Any soul, right?” Arina murmured as Tanwen sat on her other side. “Including hers?”

“It won’t work,” Eris began, but Lucien’s once serious gaze had brightened. 

“It will work,” Lucien breathed, looking at Elain. “She’s not clever—she’ll come to gloat and that’s when we’ll have her. We can trap her until we figure out a way to kill her.”

“What about my sisters?” Elain demanded, rounding on her husband. “They’re still out there and I need to know how to free them.”

“I promise we will,” Lucien said, taking his wife's hands within his own. “I swear it. But for right now, we have to do this.”

“She’ll know—”

“She won’t,” Eris interrupted, turning to look at Arina. “You can do this, can’t you?”

Arina agreed with Elain. Amarantha would suspect a trick, would be prepared to kill them all. What were the odds she and Eris survived? It seemed impossible. Still…maybe it was better to go down trying than it was to lay down and accept defeat. And if there was a chance they could be together, Arina had to take it. 

“Do you trust me?” Eris asked, turning the full weight of his amber eyes on her. She saw his hope, his determination. 

“Tell me what to do.”

ERIS: Eris felt Arina’s legs straddle his hips. In other circumstances it would have been a dream to know she wanted to be on top of him. Now it was all he could do to keep himself still and quiet and let her work. He could feel her trembling hands, could all but taste her fear. She didn’t think this would work.

 Neither did Eris, truthfully. Still, they had to try. The alternative was losing Arina and Eris wasn’t willing to accept that. They were so close. All she had to do was take that knife and cut exactly where he’d told her to. After that, everything was out of their hands. 

Eris felt the knife pierce his clothes, felt the warm gush of blood spill against the bed. Arina whispered, “I’m so sorry,” before dropping the knife loudly to the floor just as they’d agreed. 

“So sweet,” came a twisted, crooning voice from the dark. Eris didn’t dare move even as Arina scrambled back, her metal clad feet clanking against the marble floors. “If only love was enough to save you. It’s nothing personal.”

Arina cried out, knees buckling as the room illuminated in a sickening, orange glow. Her shoes had ignited in the moments after Amarantha’s arrival, forcing her to either hop foot to foot in some sick kind of dance or frantically try and get them off her feet. 

Eris rose from his place in bed, their plan already falling apart. 

“Tell me where little Elain Archeron is, and I’ll spare your pretty wife, princeling.” 

Eris didn’t dare look at his wife lest he ruin the entire thing. Her death wouldn’t be on his hands. He could play it cool just long enough to free them, if only temporarily. Gesturing absently, he said, “She’s around.”

“Call for her,” Amarantha ordered. Eris heard Arina whimper at his feet and dug his nails against his palms to keep himself from reaching for her. They were so close. Elain could fix this for them—Eris knew it. She’d see the pieces laid before her and she’d make it happen.

So Eris called for her, well aware Elain was merely in the next room surrounded by his brothers. Amarantha must have known it too, because her head turned toward the closet doors before Elain ever emerged. 

With one hand resting on her rounded stomach, Elain was the picture of serene grace. Like she hadn’t once survived an attempt on her life by the same witch now standing in front of her. Eris was in hell watching things play out, all the while having to see Arina writhe below, forgotten by everyone but him. How long could her feet remain in that contraption before they were no longer of any use to her? 

Grinding his teeth, Eris forced himself to remain where he was, still bloodied from the blade before. Of course the blood was fake—but it was only ever meant to lure Amarantha to him. She wanted Eris dead but not so badly she couldn’t resist trying to get Elain back, too. Her hubris would be her undoing, though Eris wasn’t fool enough to think they’d manage anything but containing the witch today.

“Look at you,” Amarantha breathed, ignoring the way the metal around Arina’s feet glowed orange. Eris and Elain met each others gaze in the dark, her resolve unmistakable even as she jutted out her bottom lip and held her stomach protectively.

Was Lucien losing his mind behind the door? Eris thought he understood how his brother must feel. If he had to wait another minute, someone was going to die.

Probably him. 

“You’ve been busy,” Armantha breathed, her focus wholly on Elain. “You look ready to burst.”

“What do you want?” Elain asked, adjusting her stance in an attempt to look threatening. She failed—miserably—but Amarantha wasn’t looking at Arina on the floor. The witch didn’t see how Arina’s fingers curled around that dagger, sliding it slowly across the floor where Eris was able to catch it beneath the toe of his boot. 

“What do I want?” Amarantha cackled, throwing her head back so her blood red hair cascaded like a river of blood down her back. With her attention on Elain, Eris crouched as slowly as he dared, eyes locked with his wife. If he failed, they’d all die here and his kingdom would crumble to ruins. His heart swam in his stomach as ice flooded up his spine, causing his fingers to tremble ever so slightly.

They would succeed, he told himself, if only because they had to. 

“If you leave them alone, I’ll give it to you,” Elain breathed, causing Lucien to finally emerge from behind the door, hand on his blade.

“No!” Lucien interrupted, causing just enough of a commotion that no one caught Eris rise to his feet, blade in hand. “No, Elain—”

“Let the girl speak!” Amarantha ordered, wholly focused on Elain in front of her. What did she imagine she could get? What kind of twisted bargain was she working in her mind? Elain inched closer to Eris and he knew right then what Elain wanted.

Retribution for the pain and suffering she’d experienced. For what they’d all been through. He reached for her, pulling her back to his chest so she could reach for the dagger concealed in his other hand. Elain’s fingers also trembled though no part of her expression waivered. 

“What about my child?” Elain suggested as Lucien surged forward again. This time Amarantha flicked her fingers, throwing his brother roughly against the far wall. 

“You’d give me your unborn baby in exchange for this man's life?”

“For everyone's life,” Elain whispered, her eyes on Amarntha. The witch stood facing Lucien, her back half-turned to Elain. All they needed was one more diversion from his brother and they could make their move. “I can have more children.”

“Your first two children,” Amarantha crooned. “There are twins in there.”

Lucien moaned, pushing himself to his feet. “Elain, this is madness. They’re our babies—”

“We can have more,” she said, her voice heavy with sorrow. Eris nearly believed Elain’s grief. “You want them both?”

Amarantha’s joy was obscene. “Yes. Both your babes, in exchange for the lives in this room.”

There was a trick to her words—some game they were all missing. Arina whimpered, dragging herself closer to Eris while trying desperately not to touch her skin against the scalding metal contraptions. 

“No!” Lucien roared, running forward to head butt Amarantha. It was the distraction they needed. The witch turned her attention toward Eris’s brother just as Elain stepped forward and buried her blade in Amarantha’s neck. The witch let out a blood curdling laugh, head thrown back even as blood began to pour from the wound. 

“Foolish girl,” she hissed, the words gurgled from her mouth. “Now you’ll never find the eldest.”

Still holding her dagger, Elain leaned forward. “I’ll find her and when we’re reunited, we’ll be back to kill you.”

“We shall see,” Amarantha replied, her edges fading into the room. It took another moment before the knife Elain held clattered to the floor, leaving only a pool of blood behind. 

“Get these off me,” Arina whispered, prompting the room into a flurry of movement. Lucien reached for Elain, pulling her into his body as she cried into his chest, swearing she would never have given up their unborn children.

The metal burned Eris’s fingertips badly, but in the end he managed to get them off Arina’s feet and haul her up into his arms before Elain ever finished apologizing.

“That dagger doesn’t leave my sight,” Eris ordered, nodding at Elain to put it on his side table while he set Arina gently to the bed. “Holy fucking gods.”

“Everyone is okay,” Elain murmured, but Eris wasn’t having it.

“Get out,” he added. It had been days since he’d last seen his wife.

And he wanted to talk to her.

[sav-not-tav]

Summary:

"Ah, little mouse, drowning your sorrows, are we?" His voice is smooth, dripping with mockery, each word a velvet dagger. Tav's eyes widen in shock, then narrow in panic. The room seems to close in around her, the flickering candlelight now casting Raphael's sharp features in harsh relief. "Raphael... what do you want?" she stammers, her mind racing. Her gaze settles on his lips as they curl into a devilish grin, and she feels her stomach twist and tighten. Gods above, she is too tipsy to be sat in front of him right now. —⥈— What begins as a tense, manipulative patronage soon evolves into something more complex. Tav finds herself drawn to Raphael, their interactions a dangerous dance of power and passion. As she navigates her new reality, the line between duty and desire blurs. This fic is a post-canon storytelling.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: F!Tav/Raphael or OFC/Raphael

Links to AO3:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

[yazthebookish]

I just reread the bonus chapter and I'm just, as always, struck by how fucking obvious Gwyn and Azriel's set up is.

✨ He found it already occupied. His shadows had not warned him. It was too late to bank without appearing like he was running, Azriel landed in the ring a few feet from where Gwyn practiced in the chill night, her sword glimmering like ice in the moonlight.

I'm telling you those shadows are going to play wingmen for Az.

✨ His shadows peered over his wings at her. The young priestess smiled--and Azriel thought it might have been directed at his curious shadows.

Does anyone ever really smile at his shadows except for Gwyn 😭

✨ "Happy Solstice," she said, as much a dismissal as it was a holiday blessing. -- He snorted. "Are you kicking me out?" -- Gwyn's teal eyes flashed with alarm. "No! I mean, I don't mind sharing the ring. I just...I know you like to be alone." Her mouth  quirked to the side, crinkling the freckles on her nose. "Is that why you came up here?"

Gwyn really indirectly said he was going to be a brooding ass so let's wish him a happy solstice and let him go and he still teased her back instead of taking the opening she gave him. Also, no one pays enough attention to this detail but SHE KNOWS he likes to be alone 👀 girl is paying close attention to him alright 👀

✨ Sort of. "I forgot something," he reminded her. -- "At two in the morning?" Pure amusement glittered in her stare. Better than the pain and grief he'd spied a moment before. So he offered her a crooked smile. "I can't sleep without my favorite dagger."-- "A comfort to every growing child." -- Azriel's lips twitched.

Gwyn has no filters on I love her 😂😂😂 she really indirectly called his lying ass out.

✨ "How was the party?" Her breath curled in front of her mouth, and one of his shadows darted out to dance with it before twirling back to him. Like it heard some silent music. -- "Fine," he said, and realized a heartbeat later that it wasn’t a socially acceptable answer. "It was nice."   Not much better. So he asked, "Did you and the priestesses have a celebration?"

For a 500+ year old immortal Az you should've been better at this game, but I'm proud of you for at least being self-aware and trying to have a normal conversation. 2/5 on the effort but still appreciated.

✨ She angled her head, hair shining like molten metal. "Do you sing?” -- He blinked. It wasn't every day that people took him by surprise, but..."Why do you ask?" -- "They call you shadowsinger. Is it because you sing?" -- “I am a shadowsinger--it's not a title that someone just made.” -- She shrugged again, irreverently. Az narrowed his eyes, studying her. "Do you, though?" she pressed. "Sing?" -- Azriel couldn't help his soft chuckle. "Yes."

1. Not many people take him by surprise but she did. -- 2. I wouldn't be surprised because it's funny as hell if she asked him because of shadowSINGER -- 3. Azriel taking offense and reaffirming he is, in fact, a SHADOWSINGER. -- 4. Sarah confirmed there will be a scene of him singing, as far as we know Gwyn is likely the only character who knows he does, also the fact that SJM created something common between the two of them and it's that they both sing? -- 5. It's sweet to think that Gwyn wanted to know something about him and asked him about something she herself loves to do, which is sing.

✨ "I blame Cassian for this. He's too busy making eyes at Nesta to notice such mistakes these days." Azriel laughed. "I’ll give you that."  

Gwyn complaining about Nessian and Az is like "I can relate " 😂

✨ Gwyn smiled broadly. "Thank you." -- Azriel dipped his head in a sketch of a bow, something restless settling in him. Even his shadows had calmed. As if content to lounge on his shoulders and watch.  

She smiled at him and both him and his shadows felt calm 🥹 like compare how aloof and depressed he was at the start of his scene with Gwyn to him feeling this just after one conversation with her 😭😭 it's so 😭😭 I love them so fucking much.

✨ Gwyn nodded her farewell, again facing the ribbon. A warrior sizing up an opponent, all traces of that charming irreverence gone. Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer.

"That charming irreverence" Gwyn is so unapologetic about that irreverence I love her for it -- also, that's a clear, in-your-face, clue about a mating bond. I stand by that and my opinion remains unchanged since I first read the bonus chapter in 2021.

✨ Clotho was smart enough to see through his deflection. She wrote, "I’ll give it to Gwyneth, Tell her a friend left it for her". -- He wouldn't go so far as to call Gwyn a friend, but... "Fine. Thank you."  

I don't really find this alarming when people try to push into my face. It's obvious they're not in love "yet" and Azriel doesn't have any friends outside the IC, he doesn't know how to label it. It's still early to even label it. That "but..." leaves an opening there.

✨ Clotho's pen moved once more. She deserves something as beautiful as this. I thank you for the joy it shall bring to her. -- Something sparked in Azriel's chest, but he only nodded his thanks and left. He could picture it, though, as he ascended the stairs back to the House proper. How Gwyn's teal eyes might light upon seeing the necklace. For whatever reason... he could see it.  -- But Azriel tucked away the thought, consciously erasing the slight smile it brought to his face. Buried the image down deep, where it glowed quietly. -- A thing of secret, lovely beauty.

When Clotho thanked him for the joy the gift wil bring to Gwyn that's when something sparked in him. That's when he started to picture that joy. "For whatever reason" she's likely your mate bro that's why but we'll save that for later. He was aware and conscious enough to erase his smile yet bury the image of Gwyn's joy in his chest. He had a DAMN SMILE on his face while thinking of Gwyn's joy, like, that's so precious 😭 and Clotho is 100% true, she deserves all the joy the world has to offer for her (I just wish it wasn't a necklace meant for someone else). I get the kindness behind the act but it can bite him in the ass if SJM brings it up in the main book.

That's only a teaser for what's to come and that's the purpose of the bonus chapter. I can see why Sarah was more excited for readers to read Azriel's chapter than Feysand's chapter. She knew what she was doing here and what she's setting up. I didn't want to post the earlier scenes since I don't want to deal with people showing up with pitchforks and I don't need to talk about other ships I'm happy and content to gush about my own.

Every time I reread this chapter it just reminds me of how obvious Gwyn and Azriel's set up is and you don't need a pairing to bang or make out to create a set up. We didn't even get much but they are going to be such a fun couple, I need more of funny and easy-going Azriel.

[cressthebest]

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 13

chapter 24:

1. sirius 🫱🏻‍🫲🏼 james being codependent af

2. ooo reg you’re so close babes. think about that just a little more. he realizes he cares about how james treats him and feels about him. reg just almost gets it

3. “He thinks the arena makes everyone a bad person while they're here. The only exception to the rule is James. He's the only person who could drag himself through all of this filth and cruelty and still hold onto his shine.”

4. ☺️ this “without hesitation” line is gonna bite us in the ass, isn’t it?

5. they’re talking about what their life without tragedy would have looked like. and damn. i’m not okay. their life would have been so beautiful

6. “"In that life, I do," Regulus whispers. "I let you do whatever you want, and when you want to dance, we dance."”

i’m NASTY sobbing over this line. like, snot coming out of my nose sobbing

7. “Regulus said James was his first love, didn't he? James would give anything to be his last.” 😀😀😀 holy shit that hurts

8. that nightmare was VILE

9. god, reg was practically sobbing to hold james’ hand. why is the world cruel to them??

10. 😐 i am unamused. another fucking spider

11. “"Have a go at me. Don't thank me or anything. It's always you're so stupid, James; it's never you looked so sexy and heroic while saving everyone from the murderous spider, James."” PFFFFFTTTT

12. it hurts to read it, but i also have always known that if reg wasn’t called into the hunger games, james would have died for someone else. like he said, either peter or vanity

13. god, peter’s story line and character fucking hurts. his family was mathias, irene, vanity, james, and even reg. this hurts like hell

14. NOOO PETER!!!!!

15. THEY MADE IT!!! THEY SURVIVED! THE GAMES ARE OVER!! THANK GOD!!

16. 😀😧 the rule change is REVOKED??? IM ABOUT TO LOSE MY FUCKING SHIT!! IF I WAS IN THIS UNIVERSE, ID PERSONALLY BE THROWING HANDS WITH SLUGHORN!! I BET SIRIUS HAS TO BE PHYSICALLY RESTRAINED!!

17. “"You're hesitating, love," James says softly.”

SCREEEEEEEEEEECHH

18. “"Axus got me on their way into the water. At least it was your dagger, I suppose," James says with a weary chuckle, his throat bobbing on a harsh swallow. His mouth quirks up a bit at the corner, gentle and lovely. "Maybe this makes me insane, but if I'm honest, I wish it had been you."”

oh no, make no mistake james. this very much does make you insane

19. and james is compared to the fucking sun going down again. i- i’m not okay

20. i need therapy for my trust issues. i trusted my ex best freind who outed me. i trusted my old roommate who i recently found out had a notes app list of everything she didn’t like about me this year. and most importantly, i trusted zar. i trusted that this fic wouldn’t do this to me.

[mangooes]

Chapter 3 - Ready for another dance, Shadow Monarch?

Chapter 1 - All will eventually fall upon the earth

Chapter 2 - I weep for the departed

Chapter 4 - Interwined for now, perhaps forever?

(TW!! Slight Yandere tendencies- i believe Jinwoo went insane)

As the black armored man stands keeping distance from the girl, the said girl turns around now facing her opponent with red eyes that seems to hold nothing. Within seconds, a gust of wind with a sword just inches away from the man aiming for the man’s neck was seen as the girl swung her sword without hesitation. 

The man blocks the sword with ease just as equal with his fast reaction, laughing in the process as a nostalgic look was seen across his face. “You haven’t changed, the acheron I know of would never hesitate on striking her sword.” As the man jumps back avoiding another attack that was sent by the girl. 

“Have we met before…. shadow monarch? I don't recall ever telling you my name.” Acheron said her eyes never moved from the armored figure as she sent another attack towards the person. 

“The last time we met, you told me I would forget about everything, about a mere dream where you were apart of it.” The man chuckled as he summoned his dagger. “Here I am to prove you wrong, perhaps you may have forgotten me, but I'll be glad to do introductions once again.” The man paused before dashing towards the girl with his dagger in hand, “It’s nice to meet you again Acheron, My name is Sung Jinwoo. I hope you won't ever forget that name again. “

Acheron hums in acknowledgement as she jumps, avoiding the attack sent by the man as red electricity sparks towards the man, “It seems our paths cross once more…ready for another dance, Monarch?” 

The man grins as he summons black tendrils towards the girl, eye glowing a terrifying purple. “The pleasure is mine, Eminator of Nihility.” 

As the man and the girl exchange what seems like attacks after another it all comes to a tie when the man and the girl stand facing each other with a distance. The now surrounding area is on the brink of destruction with everything falling apart as the result of their little “dance”.

In the midst of it, the man getting distracted from the view of the girl in front of him as he fails to notice the girl striking him forward, sending him to the ground as the man falls on his back with the girl holding her sword towards his neck pinning him to the ground.

”Distracted much?..” acheron said before noticing the thousands, no millions of shadow soldiers behind her standing pointing their weapons to defend their king as the ominous feeling grows stronger around her.  “Is this all of them..? Can’t fight me on your own?” The girl said as she looked down at the man that was below her.

The man laughs, a deep chuckle settled from his throat as nostalgic feelings surface up once more. 

”My liege your orders?” A certain knight of shadows asked like a loyal knight. Next to the knight is a giant ant that also awaits for his master’s response. 

“Stand down, she won't hurt me. You all know who she is, no?” The man said as he stared at the girl above him. The girl stared back, before removing her sword from the man’s neck, sheathing it back. “Death does not await you, Sung Jinwoo. For that I will not strike you down.” The girl said as she stood up offering a hand towards the man. 

The millions of shadow soldiers seem to react to her response as the tense atmosphere disappears little by little. The man laughs as he takes her hand, standing up now facing her from eye to eye as he says, “So you do remember me Acheron?” The girl turned away avoiding the look on his face as she said, “I tend to have a poor memory of myself, I remembered you but it’s vivid. It’s not clear…” the girl sighed as she looked down.. “If there is nothing else, then I will take my leave...” 

Before the girl could take another step away, the man tightly grips the girl’s arm as millions of soldiers stand in her way blocking her from escaping. “What is the meaning of this?” Acheron turned towards the man with a pointed look. 

“Do you think I'll let you go the second time? Just how hard it is to track your presence in this damn world…. after all you’ve always been good at hide and seek.” Jinwoo chuckles darkly as he holds the girl’s chin gently. “I’m not letting you leave me again, Acheron, Mei, never in a million years.” As the man kissed the girl’s knuckles with a possessive glint in his eyes.

Hey guys!! i'm not that satisfied with this chapter (?) so i'll rewrite this later aksdjajs anyways uh good news, other than the robin fic, i've come up with 6 other different ideas of a new fanfic so i'll be writing those later when i have the courage to do so :((

[cherrycola27]

false god

Series Warnings: Mythology!AU. Language, alcohol, drinking. Military inaccuracies. Mutual pining, unrequited love. Allusions to and eventual smut. Minors DNI. 18+. Individual chapter warnings will come as needed. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

Specific Chapter Warning: Mentions/ description of anxiety/ panic attacks

...........................................

Chapter 4: Ghost

Adjusting to life in California had been surprisingly easy. Teaching at Top Gun made you feel useful. And respected. Something you hadn't felt in a very long time. In the four months that you had been here, you'd grown close to the Dagger Squad. They considered you one of their own now.

You had let yourself form friendships with them, though you didn't tell them every aspect of your life. You needed a few secrets here and there.

You'd also found yourself spending more and more time with Bradley. He brought a light to your life that you had been missing for quite some time. Both of you were still dancing around the line between friends or something more. You yearned to let him in, to let him see some of the skeletons in your closet, but there would be too many questions. There are too many things you didn't have explanations for.

So, you settled for being wingmen, and dare you say it, best friends.

It was better than nothing

True to his word, you hadn't been able to get rid of Bradley. He came over a few times a week to watch TV, eat whatever you'd made, and play with Hydra and Cerberus. If he wasn't in your apartment, you would pop by his. The two of you spent so much time together, you'd exchanged keys to the other's place.

You weren't planning for it to happen, but Bradley had to go home one weekend to Virginia to see his cousin graduate from college and he gave you a key to water his plants and check his mail.

Phoenix and Halo had whisked you away the next weekend for a girl's trip, and you'd asked him to keep an eye on your Cerby and Hydra. Neither of you had returned the lent spare keys, but neither of you really minded. You enjoyed having that small piece of each other constantly with you.

You hadn't had someone you could count on in your life like this for a very long time. Sure, Minthe and Hecate were there to support you, but it was nice to have someone closer to you. It was nice to feel—wanted.

It was nice to be wanted

.............

The warm days of spring faded into the hot months of summer. One Monday afternoon, Hangman stopped you on the way to your card and handed you an envelope.

"What's this, Jake?" You asked him.

"It's an invite. I'm have a birthday BBQ and pool party at my house this weekend. I'll have food and drinks. You can bring your own beverages if there is something you really want, but not required, just pack a swimsuit and the SPF." Jake said before walking away to flag down more of the squad.

You tucked the invitation into your bag and got in your car to drive home. Later that night, you tossed and turned in your bed before drifting into a fitful sleep.

As you drifted off, the silk sheets suddenly became salt water. Your limbs felt like weights as you struggled against the drag of the water. Everything was cold and dark as you tried to keep your head up. You desperately gasped for air as you fought to keep from sinking, but the current was too strong. It was dragging you under. You couldn't breathe.

The water filled your lungs. You scream so loud, but no one heard a thing. Suddenly, you shot up out of bed and gasped for breath. A cold sweat had broken out across your body, and Cerberus and Hydra stood at the edge of your bed, looking at you.

You looked around and saw that you were still in your room on dry land.

You panted as you tried to calm yourself. You opened your nightstand and grabbed some of the lotus flower Dinoysus had given you. You broke off a small part of one and grabbed your water bottle.

Hydra and Cerberus gave you a judging look as you swallowed the herb. "Oh, don't look at me like that." You told them, as you laid back down and let the calming effects of the lotus wash over you and send you to a dreamless slumber.

You just wanted to be numb

Wednesday afternoon, Bradley came over. You'd unintentionally started a routine of pizza and reality TV. There were no expectations, no pressure, just the two of you, some food, and some mindless show. It was—nice.

During a commercial break, you got up to get some drinks for the two of you and take your plates to the kitchen. You were shuffling around when Bradley asked, "You're coming to Jake's party on Saturday, right, Angel?"

You paused as you stepped away from your fridge and closed it.

Why did he have to ask?

"Um—no, probably not." You replied quickly.

"What? What do you mean? Jake can be a massive dick, but he throws some great parties. Do you have other plans or something?" Bradley asks as he hops up from your couch and joins you.

"No, I don't. I was just planing in hanging out here." You shrug. "Then why aren't you going? You're a part of the team now. Everyone is going to be there. Jake is making a shit ton of food, and he had his own pool. We wouldn't have to share it with anyone like we do the one here." Bradley tries to convince you.

"C'mon, Angel, you'll have a good time." Bradley softens he holds your gaze for a moment and can see your jaw tick as you are trying to formulate an excuse.

You don't want to talk about this

"Why don't you want to go?" He asks you.

"I'm just not a party person. Can we talk about something else? Or go sit down before we miss the rest of the show?" You try to push past him and change the subject, but Bradley plants his feet and stays firmly in place.

"No, there is obviously something bothering you about this. I'm your friend, Hades. I just want to know why you're so against it." Bradley continues to pry.

"Bradley, can we not do this? You're going to think it's stupid or that I'm just overreacting." You try to convince him to drop the subject. But if you've leaned anything about him, you know that Bradley is just as stubborn as he is kind.

"Try me." Bradley says.

You sigh and finally give in and gesture towards your couch. You sit at one end, and Bradley takes a seat across from you. Hydra jumps up into your lap while Cerberus curls up at Bradley's feet.

"I don't want to go to Jake's party because I'm scared of drowning." You tell him. Bradley blinks slowly and looks at you with a strange expression.

"Drowning? Angel, correct me if I'm wrong, but you have to be able to swim pretty well to be in the Navy. And you have to go through tons of emergency water training. Why would you be scared of drowning in a pool?" Bradley asks you.

"Because of my last mission." You whisper. You drop your eyes to avoid Bradley's gaze.

"What happened on your last mission?" He asks you.

You sigh and take a deep breath. Were you really about to bear your heart to him?

What if Bradley thought you were weak after this?

What if he looked at you differently?

"I was stationed on a ship in the Indian Ocean. My squad, we went out and did a nighttime recon mission. It was supposed to be routine, nothing crazy. A monsoon was coming in, and the water was just crazy, we ended up moving the mission up because of the weather. Everything was fine at first, but on the way back, we had some faulty intel." We started taking fire." You explain to him.

"I was mission leader, I made sure my crew made it back safe, but I took a lot of hits. Lost both engines. I tried to gain altitude before I ejected, but I couldn't. I hit the water hard when I punched out." You continued.

I was all tangled up in my chute and couldn't detach from it. It was so dark, and the water was so choppy. I kept getting tossed around, and the waves kept pulling me under. It took hours for them to find me. I was unconscious when they did minutes away from drowning." You tell him.

"I spent weeks in recovery and therapy. I couldn't even look at water, let alone go in it. I can barely spend more than fifteen minutes in the shower without having a panic attack." You confess.

You don't tell Bradley, but you did drown on that mission. You just reincarnated before you were rescued. In your three thousand years of life, you'd died a lot of deaths, but drowning, that was the worst one. It was also the only one you had nightmares about.

"Hades—Angel—I—I'm so sorry that happened to you. I had no idea." Bradley says. He isn't totally sure how to respond.

"It's fine, no one knows." You say as you wipe a few stray tears from your cheeks. You can't believe you've let yourself be this vulnerable around him. Bradley is the first person besides the Navy mandated therapist your last post made you see that you've told all of this too.

Now he knows that you aren't as strong as he thought you were

Bradley lets out a heavy sigh. You know he is trying to process what you've told him and trying to come up with the best response to make the situation better because that's what Bradley does. He tries to fix everything. It's endearing really.

"Come to the party with me on Saturday. You don't have to swim, but you can still lounge around, have some good food, and day drink with us. And if anyone gives you shit, I'll take care of it." Bradley tells you.

"Bradley—"

"Angel, I wasn't asking. I'll pick you up at ten." Bradley tells you before turning his attention back to the TV with a smirk on his face. You shake your head.

What had you gotten yourself into?

True to his word, Bradley is knocking on your door just before ten on Saturday morning. Even though he has a key, he doesn't want to just barge into your apartment.

You're just about ready when you open the door for him. He does a double taken when he sees you.

"Wow." He says. "You look amazing."

You smile and thank him. He isn't wrong. You look pretty good. You're wearing a black one-piece suit. The top has a sweetheart neckline that makes your chest look amazing. There is a triangular shape cut out just under your breasts that offers a teasing peak of one of your tattoos. You have a long floral skirt tied around your waist as a cover-up. Your hair is in low messy bun, with a wide brimmed hat over it. Your aviator sunglasses are perched on your nose as you slide your feet into some sandals and grab your bag with your sunscreen, a towel, and a book.

You grab a case of wine coolers from your fridge, and Bradley promptly takes them from your hand as the two of you walk out of your apartment.

He insists on driving because you're both going to the same place, so there is no point in taking two cars. Bradley puts your things and his in back of his Bronco before opening your door and helping you in. He then jogs to the other side, his open Hawaiian print shirt flapping around as he does so before he climbs in. It gives you a wonderful view of the tonned skin under it.

It takes you a minute to realize it, but the two of you almost match. You chuckle to yourself.

The drive to Jake's is about twenty-five minutes. It's filled with fun conversations and throwback eighties rock, which is a personal favorite of Bradley's.

The last bars of an AC/DC song play, and Bradley is about to say something when you hear the almost tropical beginning of your favorite song play. You quickly hold your hand up to shush him.

Before he can even register what is happening, you're belting out the opening to Bon Jovi's "Miracle." Bradley slows down for a red light and watches you, awestruck as you sing every word to the song. He can't help but join in with you on the second verse, and the two of you are harmonizing as he drives down the road with the wind whipping through your hair and the windows down.

As the song finishes, he turns down the radio before turning to you. "You know that song?" Bradley asks with a surprised tone.

"It's only my most favorite song, ever." You tell him with a laugh.

"Really?" He acts like he doesn't believe you. "Yeah, there's just something about it." You shake your head.

"It was one of my mom's favorite songs, too. She said my dad learned how to play it for her on piano and surprise her with it. She used to sing it all the time, even after he passed." Bradley said.

"Well, she had great taste." You tell him.

A few minutes later, the two of you are pulling into Jake's driveway. Bradley throws the Bronco in park before saying, "Don't even think about touching that door handle." He hops out and jogs to the passengers side and opens the door and extends his hand to help you out.

You thank him and remind him you could have done it yourself, and he reminds you yet again, that he was raised better than that.

You grab your things from the backseat, and Bradley grabs the wine coolers you brought before the two of you make your way to the front door. Javy, let's the two of you in. He takes your drinks and puts them in a cooler before wrapping an arm around Natasha's middle and joining the conversation she was having with Bob and Halo.

You find Jake out by the pool in a pair of American flag swim trunks. He is grilling and drinking a beer. He greets you and Bradley warmly before telling you where the bathroom is, where some extra towels are, and that anything in his kitchen is fair game.

You spot a lounge chair under a massive umbrella and take your things to set up shop. The rest of the team meander outside. You apply some sunscreen as Phoenix sits down next to you. Coyote gives her a quick peck on the lips before jumping into the pool with Fanboy and Payback.

Once your arms and face are covered in SPF, you stand up and untie the floral skirt cover you have on and put it in your bag.

Jake lets out a long whistle as he saunters over to you. "Hades, didn't know you had so much ink." He remarks as he shamelessly looks over your thigh and the lettering peaking out from the cutout in your bathingsuit.

"Yeah, I have a thigh sleeve of everywhere I've been stationed." You tell him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to put on some sunscreen, and if you could not burn whatever you're cooking while you oogle me, that would be great." You tell him before plopping down. You're just about ready but can't reach your back. You would ask Phoenix or Halo, but they are on the other side of the pool talking now, and most of the boys are splashing around in the water. So, you politely call Bradley over and ask for his help.

He's more than willing to spread the coconut scented lotion over your back and shoulders. And you'd be lying if you said that his calloused hands on you didn't feel good. You wonder what they might feel like in other places.

He's your best friend and wingman. Stop

Once his finished, you thank him and slather a layer of sunscreen playfully on his face. You aren't sure how much it will help. It seems like no amount of SPF in the world keeps him from turning red.

The afternoon is actually going surprisingly well until sweet, stupid Bob makes the comment, "Hades, why haven't you gotten in the pool? It's like a hundred degrees today. Surely you're hot sitting up there?"

"Oh, I'm fine, Bob, really. I'm just enjoying getting my tan on and reading my book." You reply. That seems to satisfy him and the rest of the squad for now. Everyone except for Jake.

When Jake Seresin threw a pool party, everyone got in the pool. It was like the laws of nature.

After feasting on bugers and hot dogs and ice cream for lunch, everyone took a break to reapply sunscreen, refresh drinks, and chat for a bit. After about thirty minutes, Phoenix and Halo dove in the cool water and begged you to join them. You declined them.

A few of the boys got in and tossed a football around. You peered over the cover of your book. Using your sunglasses as a cover, you shamelessly checked out Bradley. The water glistened off his toned and slightly sunburnt body. You had to bite down on your lip to suppress a moan.

A few minutes later, Jake declared that everyone should play a few rounds of Chicken.

Nat quickly hopped up on Javys' shoulders while Paybacm hoisted Fanboy on his. Omaha helped Halo up, while Bradley scooped up Bob. The rest of the squad watched and laughed at the chaos.

You laughed at how ridiculous everyone looked. Everything was fine until Jake came up to you and grabbed you by the hand.

"C'mon, Hades, you're going to be my partner." He said as he tried to drag you to the water.

"No, Jake, I don't want to." You protested. "It will be fun. It's a pool party, you have to get in the pool." Jake said. You dug your heels in, but Jake didn't seem to care. He quickly scooped you up and ran towards the edge to jump in.

You flailed your arms and screamed at him to put you down, but it was no use. "Bradley heard the panic in your voice, but there was nothing he could do to stop Jake from tossing you into the deep end of the pool before he jumped in behind you.

The blue water enveloped you as you sank down. You struggled to orient yourself as you desperately sought the surface.

It seemed like it took an eternity for your head to break through the water. Once you did, you drew in a panicked breath, and the anxiety set it.

You were gasping for air as Jake and a few others laughed, but the moment they saw the wild look in your eyes, they knew something was wrong.

You were vaugly aware of Bradley and a few others calling your name, but you were blinded with the need to get out of the water.

You gripped the edge and hauled yourself out of the pool, not caring if your knees scraped on the concrete before grabbing your towel and running inside like a frightened animal.

A silence falls over the rest of the group as everyone gets out of the pool to process what just happened.

As soon as his feet hit the concrete, Bradley barrels toward Jake like a bull in a china shop.

"Bagman! What the fuck was that!" Bradley screams as he squares up with Jake. His hands land on his chest and push him back a few feet. Jake recovers and tries to remain composed.

"I was just messing around. I didn't know she was going to freak out like that." Jake defends himself.

"She said she didn't want to get in. You couldn't respect that, could you?" Bradley continues.

"Listen, I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. I was just playing around. It was supposed to be a joke! It's not like she gave a good reason for not wanting to get in!" Jake shouts as Bradley continues to invade his space.

"It doesn't matter if she gave one or not! She had a good reason for not wanting to get in. Hades doesn't owe you an explanation. You should have just let it go. But no! Now you've probably given her a fucking PTSD flashback!" Bradley shouts.

That catches everyone's attention. "Wha—what do you mean?" Jake asks, suddenly shrinking down and lowering his voice.

"I mean—ugh—she asked me not to say anything, but Hades wasn't going to come today because on her last mission, before she transferred here, she almost died. She got shot down over the ocean, and her parachute got caught in currents. It was a night mission, and the water was rough, and she almost drowned. She said water has freaked her out ever since." Bradley explains to everyone.

Jake swallowed thickly. "I—I didn't know." He states. "Yeah, neither did I until she told me. I hope you're happy with yourself, Jake." Bradley spits out before turning to grab his shirt and towel and heading into the house to look for you.

You had bolted into Jake's house. You made a beeline for the bathroom and slammed the door behind you before dropping to your knees in front of the toilet and dry heaving. You really thought you were going to puke your guts out, but nothing came. After a few minutes of coughing and sputtering, you sat back and leaned against the bathtub. And then the tears came.

They streamed down your face like a river. They were tears of anger, embarrassment, and shame. You were angry at Jake for throwing you in the pool, but you were angrier at yourself, and the reaction you had.

You were embarrassed and ashamed that everyone saw you freak out. They were probably all laughing and making jokes at your expense right now. I mean, you were in the fucking Navy and afraid of the water.

You could hear them laughing at you now.

The thought of made you cry even harder. You were cold and alone and ashamed of yourself as you sat on the floor of Jake's bathroom. Your shoulders started to shake because you were sobbing so hard.

You tried to take a few deep breaths to calm down, but the anxiety thrummed through your body, racking your brain.

A few minutes passed, and you heard a knock on the door.

"G—go away, Jake. I don't want to talk to you." You stammered out between sobs.

"It's not Jake." You heard Bradley's voice through the door. "Can I come in?" You hesitated before reaching up to unlock the door. Bradley slowly opened it, and his heart sank when he saw you.

You were propped up against the tub, knees to your chest, tear stained cheeks, and shaking.

Bradley dropped to the floor beside you. He pulled off his shirt and wrapped it around your shoulders before pulling you into his lap. Bradley immediately began rubbing soothing circles on your back and whispering calming words.

You melted into his chest as you continued to tremble. "I'm sorry." You sqeaked out.

"Don't be, Angel. I used to have panic attacks when I was a kid. I've been where you've been. My mom used to take care of me and talk me through them. Just take some deep breaths. Try to relax." Bradley told you calmly.

You tried to relax and breathe, but the overwhelming feeling of dread wouldn't go away. Bradley could feel how tense you were in his arms, so he tried something else that his mom did for him. He sang to you.

At first, you didn't register it, but Bradley's soft voice washed over you as the familiar tune of "You Are My Sunshine" filled the small space.

You pressed your head further into his chest and listened to his heartbeat. That, in combination with his voice, started to bring you back from the edge.

You steadied yourself enough to sit up and speak to him.

"Thank you." You told him as you wiped the tears from your face. "Don't worry about it. Like I said, I've been there. My mom used to sing that song to me when they were really bad." Bradley smiles at you.

"She sounds like she was a great lady." You tell him. "She was." Bradley replies.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Bradley asks you with genuine concern in his voice.

"I'm so embarrassed." You tell him. He looks at you confused. "Why? Do you think you're the first one on the team to have a breakdown in front of the group? When we were training for our last mission, Phoenix and Bob had to eject. The first time, they tried to get back in a jet after Bob froze on the tarmac and locked himself in the locker room, and Phoenix started shaking so bad she puked on Coyote when he went to comfort her." Bradley told you.

"Yeah, but you guys knew what happened. Nobody out there knew about my accident. All they know is the legend that follows me around. I'm supposed to be strong, unbreakable—not—not weak. And over something as menial as water?" You sigh and bury your head in your hands. Fresh tears threaten spill over.

"No one thinks you're weak, Hades. And don't be mad, but I kind of blew up on Jake and told everyone what happened. I probably shouldn't have, but I wanted him to know how much of an ass he was." Bradley admits to you.

"It's fine. It was going to come out sometime. You didn't hit him did you?" You ask him.

"No, but when I left to come in here, Nat was giving him down the road, and I wouldn't be surprised if she did." You both laugh.

"I'm sorry that I probably ruined everyone's day. Jake probably hates me for ruining his party. Good gods, that's all I ever do is ruin things." You sigh.

Bradley shakes his head and takes your face between his hands. "Listen to me, Angel, you didn't ruin anything. No one hates you, and no one thinks you're weak. You have been walking around with his burden alone when you didn't have to be. I've seen you fly. Hell, I've taken a peak at your file. You are an amazing person, and so fucking strong. You've got to be to put up with us all the time." Bradley laughs.

He looks deep in your eyes, and you can tell he's sincere. "I think you're amazing. You're the best pilot I've ever flown with. You're a great person in the air and on the ground." He assures you.

Your lip quivers as you fight the urge to cry again. Bradley rubs his thumbs across your cheeks, and before you can register what's happening, he leans forward and presses his lips to yours.

They're soft and warm and taste faintly of the salty margaritas all of you had at lunch. You're just getting used to the feeling of his plush mouth against yours when he suddenly pulls back and looks at you with wide eyes. You push yourself off of his lap and put some space between the two of you.

"Hades—I—I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I don't know what I was thinking. You're my superior officer, and my wingman and my best friend. I just—I'm sorry, can we pretend that never happened?" Bradley stammers out. Panic setting deep in his features

"Yeah." You say flatly. You've never felt more dejected in your life.

"Do you want to go home? Get some rest?" Bradley asks as he stands up and helps you to your feet.

"Yeah, that's fine." You sigh, willing yourself not to cry.

"Great. I'll go get our things and meet you out front." He tells you before bolting out of the bathroom. You're left standing there in a daze, the tingle of his lips still on yours.

Bradley quickly goes to grab your things and his. He's still mad at Jake, but more than that, he's mad at himself. He is still dizzy from the way your lips felt on his, how your body moulded with his, like it's where you were always meant to be.

The way you tasted, sweet, with a dash of salty, was exactly how he had imagined it—no it was better. He knew that he'd never get enough of it. But now he was kicking himself. He'd pushed you away so easily when he should have pulled you closer. But, he didn't want to take advantage of you. You were emotional and vulnerable, and it's not the way he wanted your first kiss to go.

He can't believe that he told you to forget it happened and that he gave you some bullshit excuse. You looked so hurt, and that's when he realized you'd wanted it just as much as he did.

"Fuck," Bradley cursed as he shoved your things into your bag, you probably think he is an ass now and he has probably ruined his chance with you.

"Is Hades okay?" Bob comes up to Bradley and asks him.

"Yeah, she's okay. But I'm going to take her home. She's still kinda shaken up." Bradley tells him.

"Understandable. You've gotta take care of your girl." Bob says. Bradley tenses at the comment. "She's not my girl, Bob, were just friends." Bradley tells him sharply.

"You sure about that?" Bob asks, as if he can read Bradley's mind. "Yeah, I'm sure." Bradley says before telling everyone else goodbye.

You're standing by the Bronco waiting for him when he makes it to the front of Jake's house. He unlocks your door, but you yank it open before he even has the chance to do it for you.

The drive back to your apartment complex is silent. There is no throwback playlist on, no playful conversation. Just the sound of the wind blowing around the two of you, and even that isn't loud enough to drown out the quiet for Bradley.

You don't look at him the whole drive back. Your beautiful smile, the one he's grown to love so much, is nowhere to be found.

He silently pulls into his designated parking space. You jump out of his car before he has even cut the engine. You grab all of your things before quietly heading to the elevator. It's a silent ride up to your floor.

You don't expect Bradley to get off when you reach your level, but he follows you down the hall to your door.

You unlock it without a word. "Angel, if you need anything, text me, I'll be right down." Bradley tells you as he stands in your doorway. He's hesitant to cross the threshold and come in. He's not as confident as he was before.

"Thanks." You say not meeting his eyes. "Angel, look—I—" Bradley doesn't know what to say, and quiet frankly, you don't want to hear it. So he settles for telling you that he hopes you have a good evening before turning on his heels to leave.

"Rooster, wait." You call to him. He pauses, you called him Rooster. You haven't used his call sign since the first week you moved here. Now he knows he's really messed things up.

"Yeah, Angel?" He asks as he turns to face you, still using the nickname he gave you.

"Here." You say to him as you had him the spare key to his apartment that you've had for well over a month that he hasn't bothered to ask for.

He's reluctant to take it from you. He liked the idea of you having a key to his place. He feels a piece of his heart break as you press the cool metal into his hand.

"Thanks." He breaths out before leaving.

You close the door behind him and lock it. You shake your head, trying to keep the tears that cloud your vision from falling. You were kicking yourself. This is why you didn't let yourself fall for someone because it always ended in heart break.

Who could love someone like you, anyway?

Taglist: @roosterscock @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @milestellerlover @katieshook02 @desert-fern @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @sometimesanalice @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @djs8891 @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @rosiahills22 @dempyrean @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @withahappyrefrain @lt-spork @multifandomlover4life @lewmagoo @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @roosterisdaddy36 @itsdesiree86 @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @asshlyyyy @inkandarsenic @lillyrosenight @tomanybandstolove @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted

[myfavouritefoodismilkbread]

Underworld Ties

Amidst the shadows of Seoul's underworld, Lee Know of Stray Kids Mafia finds himself entangled in a dangerous game of alliances and rivalries. When he crosses paths with a formidable adversary from the Kangs, tensions ignite, revealing a past fraught with unresolved tensions and undeniable attraction. As their worlds collide in a tumultuous dance of power and passion, they must navigate a treacherous path of loyalty, love, and betrayal.

Chapters:

Ch. 1: Blood Feud Ch. 2: Shadows of the Past Ch. 3: The Contract Ch. 4: Hostile Negotiations Ch. 5: Fractured Alliances Ch. 6: Veiled Threats Ch. 7: Dangerous Liaisons Ch. 8: Unlikely Allies Ch. 9: Undercover Ch. 10: Cloack and Dagger Ch. 11: Loyalty Tested Ch. 12: Betrayal Ch. 13: Heart of Darkness Ch. 14: Point of No Return Ch. 15: Revelations Ch. 16: Crossfire Ch. 17: Redemption Ch. 18: Breaking Point Ch. 19: Surrender Ch. 20: Epilogue - Beyond the Shadows

Warnings: enemies to lovers, Lee Know centric, smut at some point, angst, slow burn, violence, guns, (mafia world related stuff). I am not good at warnings sorry.

I'll update every Thursday. <3

[topguncortez]

What to Expect | Chapter 4

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: The dagger squad comes and visits your students at school. You and Jake share a steamy moment in your bedroom.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: pregnancy, vomiting, cursing, mentions of infidelity, fighting, spotting, cramping, fear of miscarriage.a filler before the DRAMA

Jake probably broke every single traffic law as he sped through the dark streets of California to get to the Kazansky house. He was still in his sleep shirt, boxers, socks and slides, not bothering to put on proper clothing as he got the text from you. You didn’t use the distress signal often, in fact there was only one time in the whole five years that Jake was with you that you had sent a ‘mayday’ text to him. It was when you got into a car accident and were being taken to the hospital. Jake felt like his heart stopped in his chest as he left work to get to you. And right now, he had that same feeling in his chest. 

He hardly put the car in park, as he ran to your front door. You opened it before he had the chance to knock. You didn’t say a word as you grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bathroom on the first floor of your parents house. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Jake said, looking you over. 

“I-I know Doctor Miller said it’s normal, but I’m still spotting a-and I feel like it’s not normal,” You cried and Jake’s heart broke, “It’s not enough to be concerned but I-I don’t like it.” 

“Oh, pretty girl,” Jake said and pulled you into his chest. You sobbed into his chest and he shushed you, running his hand down your back, “If you’re really that scared, we can go back to Doctor Miller.” 

“I just saw her last week,” You sniffled, “She said the same thing.” 

Last week was your twelve week scan, and you had told Doctor Miller that you were still experiencing some spotting. She did a full pelvic exam and ran more bloodwork, but she told you the same thing she had two weeks prior, that nothing was wrong. Jake wasn’t able to join you because he had work but Bradley had been there with you. 

“What can I do?” Jake asked, grabbing your face in his hands, and brushing a tear from your cheek. 

“My head hurts,” You whimpered, “I’ve been getting headaches every single day.” 

“Come on,” Jake grabbed your hand and opened the door. 

The Kazansky house was decorated beautifully for the Christmas season. Sarah took her time making sure every little decoration was done perfectly. A large Christmas tree was placed by the fireplace that twinkled with lights and ornate ornaments. Tinsel and garland were wrapped around the railing that illuminated the steps of the grand staircase. Jake walked to your room, which you had also decorated for Christmas. He led you to your bed, and pulled back your covers. It was still made, telling Jake that you hadn’t even been to bed yet. He wondered how long you stayed up worrying about your unborn child. 

“Lay down,” Jake instructed, and you wordlessly followed. You got into your warm king bed, and Jake walked around to the other side. 

He slid in under the covers, and pulled you into his chest. You closed your eyes, feeling the familiar heartbeat against your skin, and breathing in the scent of his body wash. Jake always smelled like the earth after it rained with a hint of jet fuel. He lazily ran his hand up and down your spin, trying to calm you down. His other hand danced slowly on your hip, until he reached down and pulled your leg over his hips. You used to sleep like this against him all the time. It was familiar, comfortable. You let yourself relax against him, until you felt his hand on the back of your neck. 

“It’s okay,” Jake said as you tensed up. His hand rubbed lightly at the skin, and you could feel the tension in your head cease, “I got you,” Jake leaned down and kissed your forehead as he lulled you into a dream filled sleep. 

— — — 

You weren’t sure why you were nervous. Maybe it was the fact that you are about to have eight aviators in your classroom. Five of them seemed to have the worst filter that you had ever witnessed in your life. Ever since Jake had met Owen a couple weeks ago, he had been asking when he could come back and visit the class. You had to get permission from your principal, but you decided to turn it into a science lesson and have them talk about what it’s like to fly. Your dad was always on board to come talk to children. He said it was how recruiting the next generation starts. 

Your kids were currently at recess as you waited in the front office for your father and the dagger squad to show up. Ice asked what uniform you wanted them in and you said to surprise them. Alyssa was making copies for her class, when she looked up and saw the group walking in. She smirked and let out a low whistle. 

“The hunk squad is here,” Alyssa said and you looked up at the front door. Jake was the first one you saw, donned in his summer dress whites. 

“Oh god,” You said, and Alyssa chuckled. 

“Ooo baby daddy looks good,” She nudged you and you rolled your eyes, “Who’s the one in the flight suit?” 

Your eyes landed on Phoenix, and you smirked at Alyssa, “Got a lil crush?” 

“Shush,” Alyssa blushed, “You can’t be the only one with a pilot. I gotta go get the kids. Get me her number,” You laughed and nodded as the dagger squad walked into the front office. 

You clapped your hands and smiled, “Ready to meet about twenty-five nine year olds?” 

“Oh hell yeah,” Fanboy said and Payback smacked his stomach, “Sorry. . .heck yeah.” 

“We had a briefing on language, they should be on their best behavior,” Your dad said as you led them down to your classroom. The kids were starting to come back and fill the halls of the Second Grade wing. Alyssa was going to bring your two classes in last so you could surprise the kids with the aviators. You had even gone and pulled out some of your fighter jet decorations, putting them up over the christmas decor. 

“Alright, you guys sit up here,” You pointed to the chairs at the front. You could hear the laughter of your kids and smiled, “I’m going to control the rugrats before they come in.” 

You looked at Jake and he smiled at you. You looked away quickly and Jake frowned. You hadn’t even said anything to him since the other night, and he was confused. He knew that your mood swings were rough at this point, but you were starting to give him whiplash. 

“Alright, aviators,” You said as you stepped out in the hallway, seeing your second graders lining up against the wall, “This is your teacher speaking, and we have some very special guests waiting inside our classroom. You all need to be on your best behavior and use your good manners. Alright?” 

“Alright!” You kids responded. 

You smiled, “Goodness, gracious-” 

“GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!” 

Bradley smiled at the door, hearing the voices of young children. He remembered the time at your old school when he came and played the piano for your class. He played ‘Great Balls of Fire’ and it quickly became the call and response for your class that year. It warmed his heart at the fact that you still used it. Jake looked over at Bradley and glared at him. Coyote could see the way Jake was throwing daggers with his eyes at Jake, and kicked his chair. Jake looked at his friend confused, but Coyote pointed to the door as a bunch of wide eyed second graders started filling in. Jake sat up a bit straighter and fixed the white cap that sat on his knee. 

“It’s Mister Jake!” Owen gasped and pointed to him. Jake smiled and lifted his hand in a wave towards the little boy, “I told you he’s real!” 

“Whatever,” Another boy said and shoved past Owen to get to his desk. 

“Lil dickhead,” Coyote whispered and Jake nodded. 

Once all the kids were seated, you walked to the front of your classroom, “Alright my little aviators, as you can see, I have brought some friends in to help with today’s science lesson. I present to you, the commander of the pacific fleet, Admiral Tom Kaznasky, callsign, Iceman.” 

“Is he your dad?!” An excited second grader shouted as Ice stood up. 

Ice chuckled, “I am her dad,” You nodded and sat down at your desk. Jake was the closest to you, and he looked at you, sending you a wink. You rolled your eyes and focused on what your dad was telling your class. Each member of the dagger squad introduced themselves and said their callsigns. 

“Why is your name Bob?” One of your kids, Eli asked. 

“It’s my callsign,” Bob answered. 

“Yeah. . .but why?” 

Bob opened his mouth but Jake answered instead, “It means Badass on Board.” 

You groaned, closing your eyes as you heard the gasps from your kids. 

“He said a bad word!” 

“That’s 500 hundred push-ups,” Hondo said, and patted Jake on the back. 

At the end of the presentation, the Dagger Squad taught the kids how to build paper airplanes. It was the sweetest sight as you looked at your classroom and saw the various members sitting next to your second graders. You held your tea mug in your heads as you sat on top of your desk, watching everything. 

“How are you feeling?” Jake asked, coming up and resting against the desk next to you. 

“Better today,” You said, taking a sip of the hot drink. 

“Ginger tea?” 

You nodded, “Mrs. Hernandez down the hall said it helped her during her first trimester.” 

“It gets better soon,” Jake said, “Rachel said that her favorite part was the second trimester. Things calm down with the morning sickness and nausea, she had a lot more energy, she wasn’t huge-” 

“Finish that statement, I dare you,” You pointed your index finger at him. Jake held his hands up in defense and walked away from you with a cheeky smile on his face. 

“Attention aviators!” Ice said, stepping in front of class, “Your TopGun training is over. It is time for your final hop! This is for the trophy, and the chance to get your name on the plaque.” 

“You heard the Admiral!” You said to your kids, “Line up at the door!” 

You took the kids down to the gym, where they were going to throw their paper airplanes to see who would go the farthest. It was meant to just be the kids, but you noticed some of the dagger squad had also made paper airplanes as well. You chuckled as Fanboy and Payback argued about whose design was better. The paper airplane TopGun challenge was something Ice did back when you were in grade school. You looked forward to it every single year growing up, and you continued the tradition when you became a teacher. 

“Aviators, line up on the line,” You said, and watched as the dagger squad members stepped up, “The little aviators, line up on the line.” Some of the dagger squad rolled their eyes and let the second graders step up to the painted lines on the gym floor. 

“Okay, in three. . . two. . . one. . . take off!” You yelled and twenty five paper airplanes went soaring through the air and landed at various spots in the gym. Jake and Bob were on the other side, looking for the top five farthest planes. 

“Aviators, form up, so we can give out awards!” Ice smiled. 

The daggers had to help the little ones to stand in a proper formation, which caused some protest because certain kids wanted to stand by their friends. Once Jake and Bob picked up the top five planes, they walked over to Ice and Maverick. The “trophy” was just a goodie bag with some candy and a first in line pass for lunch. You read the top four names and had the kids come stand up at the front of the formation. 

“The top Aviator, who will get the trophy and their name on the plaque  is. . . . Owen!” 

The little boy’s eyes lit up as he ran to the front of the formation. You handed him his airplane and the goodie bag. Once the formation was “dismissed” some of the kids asked the aviators to sign their airplane and play with them in the gym. It warmed your heart to see how good they were with kids. You couldn’t help but imagine what it’ll be like in just a short six months when you give birth to your child. You could see it now, barbeques and parties in your parents backyard, the Dagger Squad showing up with more gifts than you would know what to do with. Jake had a bright smile on his face as he jogged around the gym, trying to avoid the dodgeballs being thrown at him. 

“He’s good with them,” You said as Rooster walked over to you. 

“Yeah, I’ll give him that,” Rooster sighed and put his hands on his hips. You noticed he was wearing his khaki uniform today, something you knew he hated with a passion, but you loved how he looked in it. 

“You look good, Bradshaw.” 

A smirk rose on his lips as he looked at you, “I am good, Kazansky, very good.” 

You rolled your eyes and playfully shoved him, “I gotta get the rugrats rounded up.” 

“Can I do it?” Rooster asked and you nodded, “Goodness, gracious!” He yelled and all the second graders stopped in their spots. 

“GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!” They responded. 

“Okay, now that’s fucking cool,” Bradley said. 

“That’s five hundred!” Hondo pointed at him. 

You chuckled, “Line up, aviators! Time to return to the carrier.” All your kids quickly ran to line up by the wall like you have taught them to. You did a quick headcount making sure you got all of them, “My second graders, what do we tell the Dagger Squad, Captain Mitchell and Admiral Kazansky for coming in today?” 

“Thank you!” They all responded. Ice’s lit up with a smile. 

“You are very welcome,” Ice said, “Chief Hondo is going to hand you your wings as you leave. I hope to see you all very soon!” 

“Jessie, lead them to the class,” You said to your line leader. He nodded and walked towards the door of the gym. Some of the aviators waited by the door to give them high fives, as Hondo gave them stickers that looked identical to the gold wings pinned to some of their uniforms. You felt an arm drape around your shoulders and turned your head to see Jake standing next to you. 

“I’m glad Owen won,” Jake said. You narrowed your eyes at him and then gasped. 

“Jake, you didn’t. . .” You said and Jake sheepishly pulled out a paper airplane from his pocket and handed it to you. You read the name and shook your head. 

“I watched him push Owen into the door when they went to get more construction paper from Ally’s room.” 

“Thank you,” You said and held the paper airplane tightly in your hands. You looked Jake up and down again, really taking in the sight of him in his uniform. You bit your lip and took a step forward, whispering in his ear, 

“Come over tonight.” Jake opened his mouth to say something, but you kissed his cheek and headed to where your class was. 

— — — 

Jake came over that night like you told him too, but you gave him a specific time to be there. You had known your dad’s night time schedule since you were old enough to read a clock. Iceman was always in bed by 9:30 and asleep by 10. You had used that knowledge to your advantage, and became very good at sneaking around the house at a young age. So Jake arrived at your house at 11:30, and parked down the street like you told him too. You also had him come through the garage door because it was on the opposite side of the house from your parents bedroom. 

Once again, you didn’t say anything as you grabbed Jake’s hand and pulled him through the house. You made him take his shoes off and hide them in one of the storage closets in the garage. He stumbled a bit through the dark house and you shushed him. It felt like deja vu from that night twelve weeks ago, except this time you were pregnant and you both were sober. 

The second you got to your room, you closed the door and pushed Jake up against it and kissed him. Jake froze for a second, but kissed you back, placing his hands on your hips. Your hands tangled in his perfect blonde hair as you kissed against your door. 

“Wait,” Jake said, pulling away, “What are we doing?” 

“Fucking,” You said and leaned into kiss him again but he stopped you. 

“What?” 

“Ugh,” You groaned, “Doing the same thing we did to get me knocked up.” You leaned in again and this time Jake didn’t stop you. He gently walked you towards your bed, his lips never leaving yours. When the back of your knees hit your bed, he picked you up a bit to lay you down on the mattress. 

The past week you had been having vivid dreams of Jake and waking up every morning desperate. You knew that your hormones were raging, but you didn’t think they could get you like this. And seeing Jake in his dress uniform today was not helping you at all. Your hands roamed Jake’s body, going down to the hem of his shirt, and tugging it up his perfectly sculpted body. Jake only broke the kiss to take his shirt off, leaving him in the jeans that hugged his thighs and ass perfectly. 

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” You said, pushing his shoulder so he’d lay on his back. You climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. Your hands ran down the valley of his pecs, and Jake watched with hooded eyes as you kissed down his chest. He groaned as your tongue swirled over his nipple, your hips lazily grinding over his hard on. 

“Jesus, what has gotten into you?” Jake asked. You sat up quickly and Jake couldn’t believe his eyes as you started crying, “Whoa hey, what’s wrong?” 

“I hate you!” You cried and hit his chest with your fists, before crawling off of him. 

“What did I do!?” Jake asked, his eyes wide as you pulled your knees to your chest, “Y/N, love, what did I do? Did I hurt you?” 

“You asked me what has gotten into me! You got into me! You knocked me up! And now I just wanna rip your clothes off and smack you at the same time!” 

Jake tried to bite back a smile as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest. You didn’t fight against him as you cried into his neck. He knew that this would pass almost as quickly as it started, and you’d be laughing about it in no time. When the sniffles subsided, your fingers twirled around the dogtags on his neck. 

“Jake,” You asked softly. 

“Hm?” 

“Do you think we can go get ice cream?” You looked up at him with puppy dog eyes and Jake smiled down at you. 

He kissed your forehead and said, “Of Course.”

taglist: @materialgirl01 @cherrycola27 @love2write2626 @averyhotchner @maddievevo @xoxabs88xox @nagygreta @bioodforbiood @violyn20 @abaker74 @misshoneypaper @callsign-joyride @auroraboreallisfine @thedroneranger @rosewritesitout @nobody7102 @bradleybeachbabe @wildxwidow @cm27078 @caitsymichelle13 @whisperofsong @bonitanightmxres @maverooster @mizzzpink @khaylin27 @shawnsblue @shelbycillian @sexualparkour @thenewdaysalreadyhere @fandom-princess-forevermore @double-j @momc95 @buxkybarnez @paige-alexandra-may @coffeebooksandfandom @86laura11 @some-lovely-day @ohemgeewhat @itsmytimetoodream @emmaelix @springholland @atarmychick007 @okiegirl24 @i3k2ts @gassyandsassy1 @happierbelle @lemoonandlestars @captain-beskar @celestialeviereads @kandierteveilchen

THE TAGLIST IS FULL. DO NOT ASK TO BE TAGGED CAUSE YOU WON'T BE.

[shewolfofvilnius]

Wild Magic: Chapter 1

(oh my gods I actually WROTE SOMETHING)

Read on AO3 Part 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 Notes: Genre: Romantic Comedy, Magical Adventure, Self-discovery Words: 5100 Pairings: Gale x Lia (main, developing), Rolan x Tav (background, established) Tav is a secondary character, a female tiefling bard. Chapter 1 is mostly PG-13 (w some slight comedic nudity at the end) but will eventually become Mature

Synopsis:

"Rolan always said I put the 'can't' in 'cantrip."

Gale has time off before returning to Blackstaff Academy and has been tasked by Rolan to find the cause of a worsening series of magical oddities and maladies affecting Ramazith's Tower. Mishaps that have only increased by several orders of magnitude after Lia attempted to use a scroll to light a room only to have the scroll backfire (a rare occurrence all its' own).

In the process, it's discovered the cause of the tower's unstable and increasingly...wild...magic is far closer than it appears. In the process, Lia gains both a new dimension in the sibling rivalry with her brother Rolan, a new level of annoyance at puzzles, and yet another new wizard to both frustrate and fascinate her endlessly. She might even (gasp) learn a thing or two about magic along the way. Gale, Rolan, Cal, and Tav certainly hope she will, anyway, for all their sakes.

Full 1st chapter below the break:

A snowy breeze drifted across the Lower City district of Baldur’s Gate. A red-hued tiefling woman stood in contrast against the snowdrifts swirling about her. The cold hadn’t been a surprise, however, the snow had come on suddenly as she had been picking up some supplies she had had delivered to the Elfsong. Certain couriers were…apprehensive…about delivering to the tower, but the Elfsong? No worries.

“There wasn’t a cloud in the sky at sunset – I wasn’t in there that long. Where is all this coming from”.  Lia shivered under her cloak.  “Only a few more blocks to go.  The nerve of Rolan and Tav to just LEAVE for WEEKS like that.  What do Cal and I know about running an entire magical store? I can barely cast Dancing Lights even with a scroll AND that arsehole’s notes – damnable backfires - and Cal’s even worse.  I swear if it wasn’t for Tolna the tower would have burned to the ground two tendays ago.”  

Lia, rather cross but using her desire to enact revenge against her elder brother and his lover, the so called Hero of Baldur’s Gate, provided extra warmth against the snow and cold.  To an outside observer, the gusts of wind even appeared to be in sync to whatever the woman walking by was muttering to herself.

They said they’d be gone a tenday. Two tops. Why has it been a month?!  They were just going to visit that little lakeside near that stupid grove!

Finally arriving at the recently repaired Sorcerous Sundries – and the looming tower overhead that she and her family called home. She’d never admit it, even after a potion or under duress, but she was beginning to…ugh…miss Rolan and Tav.

Fortunately, no such admission would need to be made.  Nearing home, she noticed a flurry of lights and sound coming from the nearby emporium. Half of her suddenly became hopeful that Rolan and Tav had returned; the other half apprehensive at what the activity could be if it’s NOT them. The things they’d all been through since The Descent had made her permanently apprehensive.

Rounding the corner, she could start to feel heat against the presence of the cold and snow.  Further investigation, however, came to a half when Lia carefully rounded the corner, and came face to face…with a mind flayer.

Taking an instinctive step back and reaching for the dagger she’d just obtained from Dammon, Lia assumed a defensive posture.

“Lia.  I remember you.  Please, wait” projected the mind flayer, almost with a hint of…familiarity?!

“Prepare to die, Illithid scum!”

A hint of what could almost be called fear, if mind flayers felt fear, appeared to cross the creature’s face for a moment, before a shout rang across the shop foyer.”

“Lia! STOP! WAIT!”

Making their way through a small but raucous gathering were two all-too-familiar tieflings.  Her insufferable brother, Rolan – and Tav.

Lia’s concern was immediate.  “Do you MIND telling me what that thing is doing here, you two? Last time I saw a mind flayer, they were sweeping up corpses and using water scrolls across half the lower city! I can still occasionally see specks of silver in the cracks of tile.” Lia was NOT allowing THAT thing to harm any of her friends, her family.

“Bloody hells, Lia, that’s Karlach. Giant tiefling barbarian? One horn? Persistently on fire? Tav TOLD US the sacrifice she made to save the city. Put that weapon DOWN.”

Fear and the worst case momentarily crossed her mind. Could they have been enthralled?  She’d once heard Tav speak of the suggestive power mind flayers, of their ally known as “The Emperor”.   Tav HAD said that Karlach had become a mind flayer…”

Sheathing her dagger but keeping a defensive staff, Lia looked towards the mind flayer before her. Her gaze slowly softened, and she exhaled.  “It’s good to see you, soldier.  Sorry about the cold welcome.”

“It is fine, soldier. You are not the first person I have encountered who has had that reaction. It is not ideal, but eventually, you learn to adapt. I am so glad that Tav found you all after our fight against the Elder Brain.”

As Lia looked over the mind flayer before her, a voice boomed across the room. “Apologies for the confusion, dear sister” perked up Rolan.  Rolan, for a moment, considered teasing his sister about the weather, but decided that such levity could wait until tomorrow.

“Several of them all arrived together at the Emerald Grove, where I’ve been deep in consultation with the druids there for the past few days.  I must say they seemed far more amenable to my presence this time. The new Archdruid, Francesca, has made a stark difference towards climate of the grove.”

“Oh of course now that you’re the bleedin’ Archmage of Baldur’s Gate suddenly they have time for a tiefling” spat back a still embittered Lia, remembering many of those same druids had been all too keen to cast her, her family, and their friends and traveling companions out to face sudden death just months earlier.   Lia sighed; this was an argument for another time. 

“Speaking of climate, dear sister, I don’t recall there being any forecasts from the seers indicating snow. Curious, we didn’t even encounter any prior to arriving in the city.”

Glancing towards the window, Lia looked at intently at the flakes against the glass.  “Beats me. Went to go pick up some things I had shipped to the Elfsong, and the flurries started almost as soon as I walked out the door.”

The elder tiefling, seizing the opportunity to tease his sister, could not resist. A smug grin crept across his face. “Clearly, Baldur’s Gate is merely responding to your chilly disposition, sister.”

Letting out a glare and a low growl, Lia growled towards her brother, before snapping back. “If it was your personality out there, Baldur’s Gate would be a desert in a tenday.”

A chuckle escaped the tiefling wizard’s face.  “I missed you too, sister.”

The warm moment was broken up by a shout from a younger tiefling in a silvery flowing robe. “Tav!”

Lia ran towards her future sister-in-law with a warm embrace.  The tiefling bard had become family in recent months, though she still questioned Tav’s taste in gentlemen. Her brother? Seriously? Did she suffer head trauma while fighting The Absolute?”

“I still wish the three of you had been able to come to the party” shouted back Tav. The conversation crossed back to Lia - “From the looks of it, you brought the party back to us!”

The two women looked around the room. High Harper Jaheira!  The legendary ranger, Minsc! Grand Duke Wyll Ravengard!  She’d already come face to…face? with the now-Illithid Karlach.  She could swear she also saw a cat she didn’t recognize skulking off in the corner, although she would swear it had…wings? Did she have too much sherry earlier that evening?

“Lia? Lia? Anyone home?” Tav looked at Lia with concern.

“It’s good to see so many of these faces again.  Wouldn’t have anything we have without you and your friends.  I’m just a little overwhelmed, wasn’t expecting a party.  I’ll be back. Just gonna drop these off in the kitchen!  Missed you!”

Making a hasty exit towards the top of the storefront, she stepped into the rightmost portal at the top of the stairs. One of Rolan’s first actions had been to reconfigure the four portals in the storefront for tower access – and to ward against unauthorized entry by the use of small keystones attached to a pendant. To access the privacy of the tower, one would either need to be granted access, or be a skilled enough mage to essentially function as a magical locksmith. 

The tower’s magic had been…on edge? Lately?  The keystones had largely kept the portal system stable, but without Rolan present to maintain the magic, several weird issues had arrived. Randomly locked doors.  Rooms that would extinguish all their lights when she walked in.  Two days after Rolan and Tav had left, Lia recalled, she had tried to use a scroll to illuminate a room.  While she didn’t trust Rolan’s assessment of the ease of using it, even Cal had noted the simplicity by which the scrolls worked. 

Except instead she’d nearly been electrocuted by the damnable thing. The lights in the room lit up, sure, but so did she. She spent the better part of an hour physically illuminated, as though her own skin were a light source.  Glitches had been growing more and more common since then, although Cal SWORE that they only seemed to occur when Lia was there.  Except the locks, which seemed to have a mind of their own.

Rolan had also been quick to note that no, the ‘Knock’ spell she’d seen him use to unlock the storefront once shortly after they’d moved in – after they’d been locked out – would not open the portals.  Knowing that no one save her brothers and Tav held keystones, Lia figured she could retreat to the kitchen, regain her composure with a few moments of privacy.

As the warm glow of the kitchen portal enveloped her, a few minutes away to regroup would be perf—

Hopes of a moment or two of solitude were quickly dashed. A tall human man clad in the most ornate purple mage’s robes she ever seen sat seated at a table, glass of wine and some sort of book before him.  She remembered – this was another of Tav’s friends. Gale, that was his name. Ugh, not another wizard.

“Oh, a thousand pardons. I wasn’t aware anyone would be venturing up here. Hello! I’m Gale Dekarios, Professor of Illusory Magic at Blackstaff Academy”

The man stood to greet Lia, extending a hand outward.

“Friend of Tav’s, right? Considering this is my home, this is our kitchen, and my brother indicated that the portals were locked, I’d REALLY love an explanation as to why you’re in here.” She was clearly unimpressed at the wizard stood before her, annoyance and contempt gradually simmering warmer.

“A thousand pardons, my dear…Lia, I believe. Rolan’s sister!”

The sound of a clawed hand tapping the countertop impatiently echoed around the room.  “Yes, I know who I am.  Why are you up here? And don’t call me ‘my dear’”

“Apologies again, I meant no ill will or intent” hastily sputtered the wizard. “Your brother had indicated an issue with the tower’s lock mechanisms and asked if I might be so keen as to take a look. That’s primarily abjuration, however…. you don’t share your brother’s inclination towards the arcane, do you?” asked Gale.

“Can’t say I do.  Tried, a couple of times. Rolan said I put the ‘can’t’ in ‘cantrip’.”

Resisting the majority of a hearty laugh at the wordplay, Gale still couldn’t help a small chuckle.”

“I know we’ve been having issues with locks malfunctioning, traps going off, ever since we moved in.  It’s why the portals are tied to these things”, noted Lia, showing the pendant that normally allowed them access. 

“It’s a clever mechanism, but long term the root cause needs addressing.”

“Okay, but, why the wine and the book?”

“When I entered this room 20 minutes ago, that door -” Gale pointed towards the larder entry

“The larder locked itself AGAIN!?”

“A simple ‘Knock’ spell was easily dispelled, so right now I’m observing. And for me, I’ve found a good glass of wine and some quality literature helps pass the time. Say, now that you’ve entered the room, I wonder…” The wizard’s voice trailed off, as he raised his hand to begin manipulating the Weave, quietly muttering several things Lia couldn’t quite understand under her breath.

The door to the larder swung open. 

“Aha. You’re entering via the portal appears to have triggered the next sequence in which doors are locked.”

“But why would the portal from the shop to the kitchen – OH!” Lia’s face lit up. “I saw something like this once!  It was…”

“Please, do continue, anything could be of import or significance” responded Gale, with kindness.

Looking the wizard directly in the eyes – and after shaking loose a stray thought – Lia continued. “There was this game thing that I saw once in Elturel when we were kids. You’d push a button, but when you did all the buttons around it flipped over. You had to be real careful and try to set them off in a specific order, and flip them around a few times, but eventually if you did it right, you’d get them all pushed in!”

“The wards on the doors are tied to the same magic as the portals. The portals are forced open with the keystones, but whenever you use them, it’s flipping over other locks.” Lia’s face sunk.  She might not have been a magic user, but she’d spent hours playing that game in frustration. “It means we’re going to have to set off all the locks, we’re gonna have to see which ones cause other ones to change, and it’s going to be a long night.”

“Indeed, long month more like.  Fortunately, we’ve just hit a break period at Blackstaff and I’m CERTAIN that this magical lock system would be of great note to researchers, it truly IS a marvel.”

“If you say so.”.  Lia’s frustration was palpable. The locks had been malfunctioning for weeks, and now it turns out the only way to solve it was going to involve diligence, studious observation, and the services of another wizard. 

“Apologies if this is a sensitive topic, but as I’ve been tasked to help, there IS a matter I’d like to go back to.  Neither you nor your younger brother…. Cal, I believe…have any magical aptitude whatsoever? It’s quite unusual for a family to have a spellcaster as talented as your brother while…”

Lia exhaled. She knew where this was going, might as well get it out of the way.

“Rolan’s adopted. We do not EVER make a thing out of it in this house, Rolan is our brother, but he was adopted. Hence why he’s ‘Master’ of an entire wizard’s tower, and Cal and I…run the shop, and mostly try to not get ourselves blown up.”

“Ah.  I see.  Well…” The wizard’s voiced trailed off. The conversation had stretched on now for some time, and Lia had nearly resigned herself to wanting to rejoin the party (whatever the risk to the damnable locks) when Gale’s thought finally made its’ way to his mouth.  “Has Rolan ever, you know, shown any interest in teaching the two of you?”

“He’s managed to get Cal to a point where he can use a scroll without it backfiring or causing us to need to evacuate the shop.  Whenever he tries with me, it ends…explosively.  I tried to use a scroll for LIGHT and managed to set an entire bookshelf ON FIRE”.

It was an unpleasant memory. She’d found her brother an insufferably smug teacher.  It’d all always come so easily to Rolan. Lia’d rather just have her wits and a good sharp blade.”

“When I first met Tav, if she attempted to use her instrument as a focus, she could perform minor spells, but on her own had zero capacity to cast – in fact, it would frequently result in a backfire of wild magic not unlike what you’ve just described with the bookcases.  From what I recall, you generally prefer a bow or blade to magic, however, if you’d at least like to be able to use a scroll, I believe I can help. It may even make dealing with the locks simpler.”

“Learn magic? From you? Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t. Seriously, I have tried. Hells, I have actually, proper tried.  Rolan tries to be supportive, but…he looks so angry when I try, and it backfires like that.  It wastes scrolls, and knowing his sister is SO magically inept, I just…I don’t need more proof that I can’t do this stuff.”

Lia turned towards the portals

“Tell you what – I’m not above a friendly bit of wagering, and truly, I believe this will help all parties involve.  Tomorrow morning, I’ll be at the door of the shop an hour before you’re posted to open.  This is zero risk, all reward. You don’t even have to step out into the cold.  Since you’ve said that even scrolls cause backfires, let’s start there. If I can get you to cast one scroll – something relatively harmless like Dancing Lights – without a backfire, then you get rewarded.  I, uh, I know things. About Tav. And your brother. You could tease them both mercilessly. “

“Tempting, Wizard. But how do you know things I don’t about Rolan?”

“Wizards are notorious gossips, and your brother has rapidly developed quite the reputation.  Mostly positive, I hasten to add. But replete with a story or two that could certainly cause him minor embarrassment.”

“So, wait, I get to figure out this magic thing enough not to blow up the tower with a single scroll, I get juicy gossip about those two, and I don’t even have to leave the house…. really, wizard, what ARE you getting from this.”

Looking directly into the woman’s black and orange eyes, Gale simply grinned. “My dear, there is no greater joy than to be able to show someone who believed that they are incapable of something that they indeed possess the capability.  So many in this world would be capable of so much more if they were only of the belief that they could.  I believe you can do this.”

Lia let out a small, toothy grin.  He believed in her? Even over six months after that brain had nearly destroyed the city, Tav’s friends were continually a surprise.

“Also, I MUST admit…”

Oh, there’s always a ‘but’ or an ‘also’, Lia thought to herself.

“In all my years, I have only rarely known the use of scrolls to produce the kind of wild magic surges and backfires that you’ve described. If something IS impairing your ability to manipulate the weave in any manner, including a common scroll, that’s something worth investigating.”

Her defensiveness rose once more. She was no one’s laboratory experiment or object of pity.

“Look. I have a theory – and I RUSH to emphasize, it is only a theory – I think whatever is going on with the locks and the wards and your ”backfires” as it were are somehow related. Why and how? That is what I’d like to get to the bottom of.  If I can help a charming young lady gain some skill in the arcane arts along the way?  I would consider that a win-win situation.”

Sorry, charming? Was he?  Damnation, he was at least ten years older than her.  And a wizard.  No, no, work past it Lia. Okay, say something, this is getting awkward.

“Fine, one hour before opening. Wait – where are the rest of you staying tonight?  In the tower?”

“We were able to send ahead and rent out our old suite in the Elfsong.  There’s fewer of us now, and it’s only a few streets away.”.

Alfira and Lakrissa had mentioned this suite.  Absolutely palatial.  Alan Alyth had offered them the entire upper floor suite of the tavern during their battles against the brain.

“Snow’s piling up. If you don’t head back soon, you might be stuck the rest of the night.”

“Ah yes.  Still, I could certainly picture worse environs to be trapped in for a night.”. 

A slightly uncomfortable quiet began to hang over the room, broken only by occasional howls of wind and snow pelting the windows.

“Party’s downstairs. If you’re through ‘observing the locks’, let’s rejoin everyone else.  And you, I’ll see you promptly at six.”

Gale rose and began to head towards the portal with Lia. Once more, the warm glow began to envelop them, then, suddenly, a loud POP and a chilly breeze. 

Snow? Wait, they were outside? Why did she have a headache?

“Lia, I must admit, I did not anticipate this particular development.”

Looking around, the situation quickly became clear. 

“We’re on the bleedin’ balcony of the tower!?!” let out a shocked Lia. The pair had at least landed on firm ground, but near the uppermost floor of Ramazith’s tower, and most importantly, outdoors. 

“Right, let’s look for a door or window.”

The pair searched around, and eventually Lia found an opening to a window to the library inside.  Escaping the frigid gusts of the outdoors, Gale raised his hand, planning to illuminate the lighting inside the library.

“In for a penny, in for a pound.  Lia, do me a favor, watch me, carefully repeat every motion I make, and repeat every sound I make. Clear?”

Doing an imitation of Gale, the tiefling retorted back “Watch me, carefully repeat every motion I make, and repeat every sound I make. Clear?”

Letting loose a louder laugh this time, Gale began the process of casting Light.  Lia, relaxed in spite of their situation after the joke, following along closely. Word for word, motion for motion, she had proven a fantastic mimic for the wizard from Waterdeep.

At least in terms of her attempts to copy Gale.  The results…diverged.  Gale’s attempt effortlessly resulted in the illumination of a nearby brazier.  As did Lia’s.  “Gale! Oh, my gods, I….” Before she could complete the thought, an itch began to spread through every cell of her being. An itch that became a tickle.  Laughing, Lia suddenly found herself as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.”

“Uh, Lia…”

The levity of the moment was replaced by a different form of levity as Lia found herself nearly a meter off the ground – and rising.  Leaping, Gale managed to grab her by the hand and pull her towards him. 

Equally parts amused and concerned, Lia fleetingly found herself noting the wizard’s surprisingly firm grip.   For a bookworm, he has surprisingly strong hands here.

With her attention firmly focused on Gale, she noticed his casting once more. A glow rapidly enveloped them both – and she found herself beginning to return to the ground, slowly and gently.

Suddenly, a feeling of static and a pop of light. Gravity took hold once more, and the tiefling woman came crashing down upon the human wizard, landing atop him on the ground.

Realizing she had Gale pinned to the ground, she allowed her brain a moment, then rolled off, a sly grin mixed with intense confusion. 

“WHAT IN THE NINE HELLS WAS THAT?! Gale, not that I dont appreciate the soft landing but what happened? I did your little magic thing, it even looked like it worked, then suddenly I’m airborne.  What’s going on?”

Gale attempted to regain his composure, his mind lingering perhaps just a moment too long at having just had Lia atop him.

“Lia, excluding Rolan, does your family have ANY history of magic use whatsoever?”.

“Honestly, a lot of our folks died when we were young.  Why? I already told you, I’m not a mage. Rolan and I aren’t even related.”

“I’m aware that Rolan isn’t strictly your biological sibling. However, what I just witnessed is crystal clear, Lia.  Would you like the good news, the bad news, the worst news, or what’s behind door #4?”

“Out with it, wizard!” glared Lia, albeit slightly playfully. 

“What do you know of magic users known as ‘sorcerers’?”

“I’ve heard Rolan say things. Honestly, I think he was a little jealous. They’re the ones that are just born with magic, right? No studying or…. wait, what are you saying?”  Lia’s confused statement, however, was betrayed by a knowing look upon her face.

“There exists a category of sorcerers known as ‘Wild Magic’ sorcerers. The source of their magic tends to be the most unpredictable. Sometimes it’s by pure happenstance of birth.  Others it’s by unintentional magic exposure. Some have gained their talents by interactions with demons, or with the fey.  Still others went to their deaths believing that their powers had simply been a trick of the Gods.”

“Out with it.”

“Lia, what I’ve witnessed now twice in just the last half hour with you is indisputable. Those are the tell-tale wild magic surges of a sorcerer.  Why it started with scrolls, I’m not sure – perhaps it’s particularly volatile magic, perhaps there was some sort of ward on one of the scrolls that you tried to use that caused its’ magic to backflow into you. But ONLY a wild magic sorcerer could have caused what you just experienced when you attempted to light that brazier.   You’re a sorcerer, Lia.”

The intense emotion of the situation brought forth a familiar tingle. Her eyes shot open with alarm.

“Control it, Lia.  With study, you can learn to master these – “

Gale’s words were all too late. Another flash and crackle of electricity filled the room, along with a light layer of smoke. 

“Lia, answer me please, are you okay?”

As the smoke cleared, the first things visible were a pile of clothes of the ground.

Eyes opening wide, Gale could only let out a shocked “Uh oh.” as he prepared a sending spell and tried to think of what counterspell would be proper for this.

---

Downstairs, the magical lights of the shop flickered for a third time.  Grand Duke Wyll was the first person to notice “Look, everyone, the snow’s stopped.”

“Finally. The weather seers hadn’t said anything about snow” noted Rolan, interrupted by the large man (and mighty hamster) near him. “Clearly, they did not seer this coming” chuckled Minsc. 

“Hey, has anyone seen Lia? She took a bundle to the kitchen an hour ago, and she’s not back yet.  Kitchen portal’s not working either!” shouted Cal across the room. 

“The magic in this tower HAS been rather…eccentric, dating back to even before we’d left.  I had asked Gale to look at it.”  Rolan looked concerned towards Tav. 

Suddenly, Tav heard a familiar ping near the back of her head.  A sending spell?  From Gale.

“Tav. Come quickly to the library.  Bring Rolan. It’s Lia. Portals acting weird. Wild magic”

The hero of Baldur’s Gate wasted no time, grabbing her betrothed and heading towards the library portal. “It’s Gale, he’s with Lia.  They’re in the library, and it sounds like trouble.” 

“Why would my sister be in the library? Why would she be in the library with Gale? He’d only gone to the kit- “

Remembering that Lia had taken the now non-functional kitchen portal herself, they exchanged a confused glance.

“Gale said something else.  Said that the portals are weird and indicated “wild magic.”. 

“That is most certainly bizarre, my love.  How would the wild magic of a sorcerer affect the portal system?  What does it have to do with Gale and Lia?”

“No clue.  Wyll, Jaheira,“ Tav yelled across the room, “Rolan and I are going to the library. Something’s not right. If we’re not back or you don’t get a sending spell from me in fifteen minutes, get Cal’s keystone and come directly to the library. Portals are acting weird, though, so be prepared for anything. Keystone works for up to two people.”

Wyll nodded, almost eager at the chance for some semblance of actual adventure. Minsc appeared slightly saddened to not be invited to whatever was about to go to down town.  The others continued to focus amongst themselves?

“Ready, my love?” asked Rolan to Tav

“Ready”

The glow of the portal engulfed them quickly.  Aside from a slight draft, and a marginally smoky smell, moments later, they found themselves in the library. Gale’s hand was aglow and raised over his head.  In front of Gale stood a pile of clothes and a medium sized sheep, bleating in a vague panic.

“Gale what is-“

“QUIET. NOW.” shot back the wizard, grateful at their presence but annoyed at the interruption.

A curious pairing of scents, lilies and root vegetables, began to waft over the room. Rolan quickly found himself wondering Why in all the nine hells is Gale reversing a poly…OH. OH NO

A bright flash and more smoke engulfed the room.  Before Gale – and at a distance Tav and Rolan – once more stood Lia, now in the unfortunately compromised position of being “on all fours” and, embarrassingly, naked as the day she was born.

“Oh, oh thank the Gods, thank you Gale.  That was…I am getting rid of ALL of the wool in my wardrobe tomorrow.” Gale rapidly averted his gaze as a passing thought tried to remain in his mind. Rolan looked ready to fire a spell of Blight in his direction.

As Tav went over towards Lia in order to help her future sister-in-law with her outfit and to offer comfort, Rolan angrily grabbed Gale, pulling him towards an alcove on the site. 

“Gale Dekarios. Explain, now! WHY WAS MY SISTER A SHEEP? WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?”

“Rolan, I promise, you and Tav will get a full recap in the morning.  What we both need now is to find someplace to rest, and safely.  Lia is safe, Rolan, she – “ “SHEEP. GALE, WHY WAS MY SISTER A SHEEP. WHY WAS MY SISTER NUDE AND IN THE LIBRARY WITH YOU?”

“Brother I’m fine.” Yelled Lia across the room.

“I just don’t understand WHAT IS…”

What had been an anger and confusion filled stream of consciousness set of reactions slowly gave way to Rolan’s more analytical nature.

Sheep.  Magical backfires. The angry sending spell I got from Tolna.

Rolan’s jaw started to hang open as his pupils opened so wide his eyes began to form an eclipse.

“You can’t possibly…no…she’s nor.”

With an almost giggle, a now re-clothed Lia make her way over towards her brother and Gale.  “Looks like you’re not the only mage in the family now, brother”

“Oh gods, she’s not.”

“Rolan, as senior instructor of Illusion at Blackstaff Academy, it is my solemn duty to inform you that your sister, Lia, is in fact a sorcerer. Potentially one of some moderate degree of power, if albeit near-zero control without the proper tutelage”. 

“Rolan, this is great. ANOTHER mage in the family!” noted Tav, excitedly.  Her music had provided Tav herself with a conduit to the Weave, while Rolan’s skills as a wizard were known.  Now, here was Lia – and she was manifesting magic?!  The possibilities for taunting Rolan are delightful now.

Sharing a glance at each other then towards Rolan and Gale, Lia and Tav began to laugh.

“Damnation.” grimaced Rolan.  “Still, if you can learn some measure of control”, began Rolan with a mix of pride and hesitation, “If you can learn some manner of control, perhaps you may yet accomplish great things.”

“I had offered your sister a magic lesson in the morning. I would actually still like to follow through with that, if it’s alright with you Lia?”

“You know what?” Lia glanced at the two wizards with a mix of curiosity, playfulness, and perhaps just a pinch of spite?  “I’d like that. I think I could learn a lot from you, Gale Dekarios.”

This time the glances were shared between Rolan and Tav.  Uh oh.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep? [Chapter 4: Under The Heart Tree]

Aemond is a fearless, enigmatic prince and the most renowned dragonrider of the Greens. You are a daughter of House Mormont and a lady-in-waiting to Princess Helaena. You can’t ignore each other, even though you probably should. In fact, you might have found a love worth killing for.

A/N: I wanted to take a moment to give a heartfelt THANK YOU to everyone who has fallen in love with this series!!! I read (and go back to reread) every single comment, reblog, tag, and message I receive, and they mean the absolute world to me. I truly don’t have words to express how appreciative I am of you all. With the end of Chapter 4, this series is officially halfway over; there will be 8 chapters total. I hope you continue to enjoy it. 💜

Song inspiration: “Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys.

Chapter warnings: Language, witchcraft, a wild Aegon appears, drama, pregnancy, a tiny bit of sexual content, mentions of death and violence (per usual), cryptic Helaena prophesies, Sir Criston being a supportive stepdad, found family feels, one (1) still jealous boi, more drama, lots of shouting, this fic is for readers 18+!!!

Word count: 6.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @crispmarshmallow @tclegane @daddysfavoritesexkitten @poohxlove @imagine-all-the-imagines @nsainmoonchild @skythighs @bratfleck @thesadvampire @yor72 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @mochimommy2002 @loverandqueenofdragons @omgsuperstarg​ @endless-ineffabilities @devynsshitposts @vencuyot @ladylannisterxo @ariesbabycitlaly @itzwhatever123 @cranberryjulce @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @liathelioness @mirandastuckinthe80s @haezen @fairaardirascenarios @penteknati @darkened-writer @weepingfashionwritingplaid @signyvenetia @abrielleholland @crossingallmine @burningcoffeetimetravel @itzwhatever123 @yummycastiel @lol-im-done @lovemissyhoneybee @nomugglesallowed @witchmoon @yoshiplushie @404slayer404 @sunafterthethunder @torchbearerkyle​ @sweetashoneyhoney​ @quartzs-posts​ @lauraneedstochill​ @nctma15​ @queenofshinigamis​ @rapoficeandfire​ @hinata7346​ @curiouser-an-curiouser​ @eleganttravelercloud

💜 Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! (Also I’m sincerely sorry if Tumblr refuses to tag you!!!) 💜

“What do you need?” Aemond asks—his voice tender, the back of his hand testing the heat of your cheeks—and you tell him. He gathers everything: foxglove, sorrel, mint leaves, sticks of cinnamon, snakeskin, bloodstone, clear quartz, a blue candle, black tar rum, blood from a living bull. He does this swiftly and without any hesitation. He knows that only you have the power necessary for a cure.

In the dead of night, the prince half-carries you to the heart tree in the godswood of the Red Keep. You try to grind the dry ingredients into dust with the mortar and pestle, but your hands are weak and trembling. Aemond takes the tools from you and finishes himself. He sets the candle on a gnarled, ancient root and sparks it to life with the dagger and flint your mother gave you before you left Bear Island. Then he pours the dust into a pitcher and slowly mixes in the rum and the bull’s blood. The candlelight dances on his face: shadow, light, shadow again. All the while, here where the Old Gods can hear you, you chant this over and over: “Mend the bones, fill the veins, stitch the flesh until it’s whole again.”

Aemond grimaces as he stirs the contents of the pitcher with the dagger blade. “You don’t have to drink this or paint it on your bedroom walls or something, do you?”

You smirk wanly. “Not quite.” And that’s fortunate, because you haven’t been able to drink anything in days.

Back in the Red Keep, the servants to fill your bathtub with water so hot it clouds the room with steam. Once they’re gone, Aemond helps you into the tub and then adds the pitcher’s crimson brew. You steep in a shimmering, blood-red sea and feel the sickness sweat out of you: the nausea, the tremors, the pain, the repulsive bone-deep weakness. Aemond perches on the rim of the tub and braids your hair to keep it tucked neatly away, singing softly in High Valyrian, words you haven’t learned yet.

“I don’t deserve you,” you murmur in the dreamlike haze of blood and heat and relief, nearly asleep. Your cramped muscles have unraveled like loose threads. The anxious, scratching demons that live in your skull are blessedly chained at the moment.

“You do,” he replies. When he leans down to kiss the crown of your head, you can hear the smile in his voice. “You always will.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sleep recedes from you like a waning crescent moon. Sounds of the morning breathe in through the open windows: birdsong, faraway voices, clops of horse hooves, wind in the leaves. You stretch, tentatively measuring the strength of your body; there is no aching, no fragility, no absence of strength like smothered embers. Your spell worked. You are cured. The triumph swells through you, a dazzling sort of fever. And then when you open your eyes, you see him.

You yelp like a startled animal. “What—?!”

“Good morning,” Aegon says brightly. He’s cross-legged on top of your writing desk and brandishing a cup of wine in his right hand.

You sit upright with a groan. “You need to stop doing this.”

“I have things to say that you should hear.”

“What?” you reply crossly.

Aegon sips his wine. “My mother has formally invited Borros Baratheon and his daughters to court. She did it a while ago, actually, but she’s been keeping it quiet. She didn’t want to give Aemond too much time to brood, I think. They are arriving in one week. There is going to be a feast. Lots of dancing, lots of diplomacy, and—my personal favorite—lots of drinking.” He raises his cup in a mock toast.

“Fantastic,” you say flatly.

“The thing is, Jason Lannister heard about this little development all the way out in Casterly Rock, so now he’s sending his daughters to court too. And so are the Arryns, and the Starks, and the Tullys and Tyrells, and Greyjoys too, if they can find anyone who counts as a lady. Maybe even the Westerlings and Swyfts and Swanns, you know…just in case they can pull an upset.” He takes another swig of wine. “It’ll be just like a horse market, except that all the horses walk on two legs and wear dresses.”

“One week…” Everything in you sinks. I knew this was coming, of course I did…but does it have to happen so fucking soon? Then again, maybe any time would feel too soon, months or years or decades. Maybe eternity with Aemond wouldn’t be long enough.

“No matter which horse wins, the result will be the same,” Aegon continues. “An engagement will be announced and my brother will soon wed in the Great Hall and set about the glorious task of producing heirs.”

“Okay. What do you want me to do about it?”

“I thought you might benefit from having the opportunity to prepare yourself. To devise an exit strategy. To…” He considers this next word carefully. “Cope.”

“Oh,” you realize, staring at him. You’ve never been able to get a handle on Aegon Targaryen. He’s not attentive to Helaena—she gets companionship from Aemond, from Alicent, from Otto, from you, but not from her husband—yet to your knowledge he’s never been cruel to her either. He does not ridicule her many peculiarities. He does not criticize her. On the rare occasion that he shares her bed, you overhear no sounds of mistreatment, no weeping or shouting or coercion. Aegon never leaves marks of violence on his wife, which is more than you can say for your own father. He neglects his duties, but he does not rebel against them. He’s done horrible things, surely, blatantly; and yet somehow he does not strike you as a particularly horrible person. “You’re not here to torment me. You’re trying to be helpful.”

Aegon smiles, but there’s very little humor in it. “You can keep that to yourself. No one would believe you anyway.”

He hops down to the floor, guzzles the last of his wine, and leaves the empty cup on your dresser before vanishing through the doorway like a ghost.

~~~~~~~~~~

The gardens are buzzing with bees and gossip. You sit in the midst of a stiflingly mundane tea party and try to remain present enough to smile and nod at the correct moments. You wring your pendent—moonstone gem, silver chain—as Helaena eats lemon cakes beside you, humming contently. She is technically the host of this gathering. It’s meant as a welcome to the noblewomen who have already begun to arrive at court, an opportunity for them to mingle and sample the luxuries of King’s Landing and prove themselves as future wives and mothers. So far, all they’ve proven themselves as is vapid and shallow and frustrating; although perhaps you only feel that way because one of them might be destined to marry the man you love. Aemond hasn’t mentioned the feast to you yet. He never mentions anything related to his impending marriage to some other woman. You’re afraid to bring it up. You’re afraid to break the euphoria you’ve been living in with him like a spell.

As your attention wanders, you notice a spot of blood on the sleeve of your dress. Before the tea party, you and Helaena had been watching Aemond and Sir Criston spar in the courtyard. That particular exchange had been bloodless, but then Ivar Kellington had broken the nose of some hulking Arryn man deluded enough to challenge him. The droplets had sprayed into the crowd like burgundy rain. The match lasted about twelve seconds.

Look at me, having some illustrious gilded blood after all. Ha ha ha.

Across the table, several noblewomen have veered into a covert discussion of one of King’s Landing’s greatest scandals: the indiscretions of Prince Aegon. You can’t catch every word, but you can catch enough of them. Which means Helaena can too.

“A handmaiden…that’s what I heard…yes, I know…what an embarrassment…well you can’t give them all moon tea, now can you?”

You glare at them—a Tyrell girl, you observe now, and a Lannister and a Tully—but they continue their prattling. Helaena rises from her chair and hurries off into the foliage with tears sparkling in her eyes.

“Hey,” you begin, but still the ladies take no notice.

“Little blond children all over the city…more brothels than you could…and the fighting pits…”

“Hey,” you say again, leaning over the table. Now they look at you. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Excuse me?!” cries the Tyrell.

“How dare you!” says the Lannister.

The Tully blubbers: “It’s not like she understands anyway—”

“She does understand.” Your voice is fierce and black and low. “She understands everything. She is your future queen and you’ve upset her with your stupidity. She’s too kind to tell you that to your faces, to make you pay for it. Her kindness is chronic and all-consuming. But I suffer from no such affliction.”

“You seem to suddenly think very highly of your station,” the Tyrell notes. “I wonder what has instilled such confidence in you, Lady Mormont.”

“Yes,” says the Lannister. “Has your family recently acquired some new lands…or titles…or armies…or anything?’

“No.” The Tyrell grins viciously. “They still just have poor little Bear Island. I wouldn’t even be able to find it on a map.”

“Perhaps that isn’t something to brag about,” you say, and storm away from the tea party before she can puzzle out what you mean. You can feel their narrowed eyes following you, cold and conspiratorial.

You find Helaena by a towering butterfly bush. Winged insects in a hundred different colors swoop around her like snowflakes. Silent tears stream down her ruddy face.

“Helaena…” You move to comfort her, then think better of it. She can be very particular about being touched. “I’m so sorry,” you offer, not knowing what else to say. It’s not like the girls were lying. Their words were terrible, and they should not have been said in earshot of Helaena; but they were true.

“Dragons do not speak our language,” Helaena says haltingly, deliberately. A sapphire-blue butterfly lands on her outstretched hand. “But still, they understand. To think they don’t is a mistake.”

“Yes,” you agree.

“They are not stone. They feel as deeply as we do.”

“Yes,” you say again. She means herself, of course; woven in the womb to speak differently, to think differently, to be so irretrievably different. And yet you find every thread of her wonderous.

She opens her arms wide. For a moment, you don’t understand what she wants; and then you embrace her. She clutches you tightly, digging her fingernails into your shoulder blades, burying her face in your neck. You can feel her tears there, hot and flowing freely.

“It’s alright,” you soothe. “Everything’s okay. You are so loved. You are so blameless.”

“I want to help you,” she says softly between sobs.

“Help me…? Help me with what, Helaena…?”

“I want to help you,” she repeats; and then she plods off, swiping tears from her eyes with both hands, still surrounded by a blizzard of butterflies.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I have to talk to you about something,” Aemond says.

You are sitting together under a juniper tree on Bearstone with a picnic you’ve assembled: breads, cheeses, cherry and apricot jams, glossy red apples, honey cakes, wine for him, pomegranate juice for you. The kitchen staff had shot you sideways glances as you plucked each item from their cupboards. They know you’re Helaena’s lady-in-waiting, but they also know that you’ve been spotted socializing with the royal family with increasing frequency. There are whispers, and there are rumors, but if Alicent and Otto Hightower are aware of them they haven’t mentioned anything to you. Perhaps they feel it’s not even worth mentioning. Perhaps they expect the problem to be imminently remedied by one of those gorgeous, wealthy, well-connected women sauntering around the Red Keep.

“Okay.” You steel yourself for what comes next. You’ve known this was coming since the very beginning, since your arrival in King’s Landing, since before he ever touched you; Aemond Targaryen must marry, and he must marry well. Your hand settles protectively, instinctively over your belly, where your child lives unbeknownst to the rest of the world. You will be showing within a few months. What happens next will not only affect you. The prince’s affection for you is such that you now trust him not to leave you abandoned, adrift…but which path will he choose for you? He could give some lord a generous reward in exchange for marrying and providing for you…although given his territorial nature, this seems unlikely. He could send you back to Bear Island. He could send you to Dorne, where he counts the maesters among his few true friends. He could send you anywhere. He could set up a small household in the Crownlands somewhere, visit you a few times a year, know his child only as a passing thought. Regardless, you will lose him, whether in part or in whole; regardless, he will drain away from you like spilled blood.

Aemond says: “I think we should marry as soon as possible.”

Your mouth falls open. The apple you’ve been holding rolls out of your grasp. “You can’t marry me.”

“Why? You don’t consent?”

“No, I…” You shake your head, staring at him, stunned. You can’t find your words. “I…I’m a Mormont.”

He smiles. “I am aware of this, Moonstone.”

“Then surely you are also aware that there are currently about fifty highly-esteemed noblewomen in King’s Landing prepared to fight to the death for a chance to marry you. And that Otto Hightower and your mother are expecting a prompt betrothal to one of them.”

“I won’t do it,” he says calmly.

“You have to.” It pains you to say it, it flays you alive to say it, but it’s true. “I know that. I’ve always known it.”

“I have met my match in you. I will have no other. And my child must be legitimate.”

“They won’t allow it, they’ve planned this for years, they need this marriage—”

“Then Daeron can do it,” Aemond says. “There is one more son of King Viserys, is there not?” Daeron is younger than Aemond. He’s been serving Lord Ormund Hightower as a squire in Oldtown since he was twelve. You’ve heard that he’s a sweet boy, a compliant boy, more humble than either of his brothers. But he won’t be ready to marry for another few years. Aemond peers out over the ocean, meditative, melancholy. “I have already given enough to this family.” His eye, he means; his eye and his dragon and his swordsmanship and his fierce, efficient loyalty. “They will not take you from me too.”

You watch him, the wheels in your mind whirling. Is it possible? Is it really? When he turns back to you, he is at once himself again, or at least the way he is with you: kind, gentle, alight.

“What do you think, Moonstone?” Perhaps he’s nervous, but he’s hiding it well.

“I think that there is nothing I want more than to be bound to you in every way possible.”

“You must truly consider it,” he warns. “If you are my wife, you are inextricably linked to our side in what comes after. You must fully understand what you are entering into. Nothing can stop me from having you except your own will. If you have rethought your allegiances, or if you cannot bear to face the bloodshed…I can send you somewhere safe. I can make you disappear.”

What comes after. War, he means; the war of succession that will almost certainly follow the ailing King Viserys’ death, whether in a week or a month or a year. On one side will be Rhaenyra and Daemon. On the other will be Alicent’s children. You know exactly where you’ll be standing. “I understand, and I consent. I will shy away from no battles.”

Aemond closes the space between you. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you roughly, deeply, sending dragonfire heat spiraling down to every piece of you: nerves, arteries, bones, heart.

“So you aren’t bored of me yet,” you tease, climbing into his lap, your fingers tangling in his silver hair. Your freshly renewed body fits with his perfectly, effortlessly, like the black of night around the stars.

“Regrettably, I am not even the least bit bored of you.”

“I hope I don’t get you killed.”

“I’m sure you’d have a spell to fix that.”

You laugh, and he kisses you again, grinning, greedy. You respond eagerly, melding into his rhythm. Blood rushes to your cheeks. Your heartbeat races. The ocean wind is strong and tearing, the grass beneath your knees soft.

“Hm. I’m glad you’re feeling better,” your betrothed murmurs, his palms pressed into the small of your back, pulling you in closer.

“Me too.”

“And you’re hungry again.”

“Starving,” you amend, grinding your hips against his, turning his face away with your hand so you can bite the soft white skin of his throat.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps. His right eye is dazed, rapt, lost in you like a labyrinth; his sapphire glistens like sunbeams reflected off the crests of waves. You guide his hands beneath your dress so he can feel how wet you are. And he whispers slyly as he helps free you from all those cumbersome layers of fabric: “I told you you’d always be mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond has studied the marriage rituals of the North. He knows them almost as well as you do. And so what must happen next is clear.

He comes to collect you from your room when the moon is high and the rest of the Red Keep dreaming. He looks the same as he always does—dressed in black, hair long and flowing, stoic and unsmiling until he sees you—and there are no special ornaments for you either. Weddings witnessed by the Old Gods are not strewn with guests or festivities or music or gold. They are vestiges of long, dark, cold winters when survival itself was a triumph. They are bare; they require only the meeting of two honest souls. And a heart tree.

Aemond grazes a thumb across your cheekbone, marveling at you. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” And you are: completely, absolutely, with every drop of blood in your veins.

He takes your hand in his. He leads you from the room. And then, on the other side of the door, you discover Helaena. Both you and Aemond halt mid-step.

“Can I come too?” Helaena asks timidly. Moonlight glows on her angelic face. “I would like to be there. I would like to see you happy. Someone should be happy…if not me and Aegon, if not Mother and Sir Criston, if not the king…then at the very least you two should be.”

“Helaena…” Your words cut off, choked by emotion. You reach for her. She burrows into your arms with no reluctance at all. “Of course, my love,” you say, holding her. Aemond gazes at you, smiling faintly, immeasurably proud. “Of course. You are always, always welcome.”

In the godswood, under the cold fire of infinite constellations, the three of you arrive at the heart tree. You carry no torches to attract the attention of others. In the darkness, there is no discerning the color of the grass or the bark or the leaves. All the world is a murky, placid indigo; all the world is blind to arbitrary mortal designations of good and evil.

“There’s one thing I should mention,” Aemond says. “I have arranged for us to have a witness. I know they aren’t necessary in the North—the Old Gods themselves are the witnesses, seeing through the heart tree like a window—but I thought it would be wise for us to have someone of widely-regarded integrity to confirm that this marriage occurred. There can be no disputing it later.”

This is sensible. Your palm skates over your belly before you remember to stop yourself; you must get into the habit of giving away no clues of your pregnancy…until your marriage is public, at least. “But who…?”

Sir Criston Cole trudges into the godswood in full armor. “Alright Aemond, you better not be forcing me to help you catch and cut open a bull again, I’ve still got the bruises from last time, good gods…” He stops dead when he sees you. “Oh. So this has been the cause of your distraction.”

“Sir Criston, Lady Mormont and I are to marry.”

Sir Criston’s eyes are wide and blinking. “…Marry…?”

“Yes,” Aemond says. “Immediately.”

“What? Where…?”

“Here.” He turns to the heart tree in explanation.

Sir Criston stares blankly at the three of you, then shakes off his paralysis. “Oh no. No no no. Your mother would murder me.”

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

“Aemond…” Sir Criston begins, petrified.

“I am asking you to serve as a witness because of the love you bear for me and my family,” the prince says. “And I am asking you to keep this from my mother and grandfather. Not for long, mind you. Just until the feast has passed and the nobles have returned home to their own castles. Then I will inform my family in private, and they can soften the blow by offering Daeron’s hand in marriage to whichever house they decide they like best. This is not treason, Sir Criston. It is a mark of the profound trust I have in you.”

“Oh gods. Gods help me.” Sir Criston covers his face with his hands and stays that way for what feels like a very long time. Fireflies illuminate the cool night air like stars. Several land on the sleeves of Helaena’s gown and shine there like jewels. “Okay,” Sir Criston agrees at last. “I’ll do it, Aemond. I’ll do it for you.”

The prince embraces the lowborn knight, perhaps the best swordsman in the realm. “You’re the closest thing I have to a father.”

“I know.” Sir Criston’s mouth quivers. His dark eyes are slick. “Now let’s do this before I lose my nerve.”

You and Aemond join hands under the rustling leaves of the heart tree. Sir Criston stands beside the prince; Helaena stays near you. There is a distant rumbling of thunder. Sparce raindrops begin to fall. Aemond doesn’t know the vows used in a Northern wedding, you realize, and you can’t remember them well from the marriage ceremonies you attended as a child; from what you can recall, they are generic, plain, ‘who comes to take this woman?’ and that sort of thing.

“What should we say, wife?” the prince asks you, smiling, starlight in his eye. Suddenly, you are alone with him here in the godswood. You are the last people in Westeros, in the entire world. Winter has come and gone and left nothing but two ghosts doomed to dwell together here for eternity.

You speak without first thinking of what to say. The words flow through you like a river. “In the sight of gods and men, I bind myself to you. I will run from no battles, I will crave no flesh but yours, I will put no cause before your own. I pledge to you any strengths that I possess and I vow to slay my weaknesses. I am yours, body and soul. Use me as you will, but only out of love.”

Aemond repeats these words, and then he kisses you. Helaena claps; Sir Criston bows his head to hide a small, sincere smile. Rain falls as you all hurry back inside the Red Keep.

For the very first time, Aemond takes you to his own bed, to the room where you cast the spell of protection that saved him in the joust. There are still remnants of dust on the floor; he could not bring himself to erase you. As your clothes fall away, flashes of lightning reveal every line and birthmark and scar. There is no shyness. You know every stitch of each other already. You make love with gentle, exquisite slowness as the storm builds outside: his fingers woven through yours, his thrusts deep, his whispered promises heavy with truth.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I have something for you,” your husband says as you stand together by the fireplace in the privacy of Helaena’s chambers. In the flames, dry wood pops and crackles. “For the feast.”

“We are so well matched you will not believe it,” you reply. “I have something for you too.”

Helaena brings it over: a tunic that you have been embroidering together for days. It is black—Aemond’s preferred color—but decorated with a dragon of silver thread. The beast winds around the wearer’s back and waist and arms, breathing cool glistening fire.

“It’s supposed to look like Vhagar,” you explain. “But…well…I’m not quite as good at embroidery as Helaena is, so the face is a little…and the wings…”

“It’s perfect,” Aemond says, beaming. And then again: “It’s perfect!” He yanks off his plain black tunic and replaces it with the one you’ve gifted him. “Now I will appear especially dashing for all my prospective wives.”

Helaena giggles, blushing a cheerful pink. She is elated to be in on a joke, to have been trusted with information of such consequence. She points at the silver dragon. “Be cautious with her. She will not always listen.”

“Who, Vhagar?” Aemond asks. “She listens well enough. I’ve tamed her. I’m good at taming all manner of beasts…dragons…bulls…bears…” He grabs you by the waist and draws you to him, kissing the side of your face over and over until you squeal and push him away, laughing. “As for my gift…” He calls for the servants and they enter with a gown. They hand it to the prince, casting you a wary glance, and then disappear again. The gown is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. The color is subtle, shimmering, opalescent, almost…

“It’s…it’s…”

“Moonstone,” Aemond says. He gives it to you. The fabric flows like water. “I commissioned it the day after the joust. No one else will have anything like it. I’ll be able to spot you anywhere in the room.”

“I doubt you’ll have time to notice me. There will be a plethora of views to enjoy.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But you’ll be the best.”

He leaves to accompany Alicent as she enters the feast while you and Helaena finish getting ready. Helaena’s gown is a vivid greenish-blue, and the stones in her jewelry are turquoise. There are teardrop-shaped sapphires dangling from your ears and a string of them around your left wrist, gifts from the princess. As always, your moonstone pendant hangs from your neck. You are dressed ostentatiously for a mere lady-in-waiting, particularly one from as modest a house as your own. People may wonder about that. You smile to yourself. They won’t have to wonder long.

The Great Hall is radiant with music and conversation and candlelight. The most celebrated houses of Westeros mingle: the men boasting about their lands and their swords (which hang at their belts in scabbards of leather or metal), the women boasting about their wombs, the children boasting about their enviable betrothals. Those who don’t yet have betrothals to boast about are hoping to procure one tonight. No one pays much attention to you—the daughter of an important house, the widow of an unimportant man—unless it is to compliment your gown. You and Helaena dance together with flushed faces, giggling and twirling until you trip and fall into each other’s waiting arms. Meanwhile, Aemond—who, contrary to you, is having a great deal of attention paid to him—dutifully navigates the hall to pay his respects to the Baratheons, the Lannisters, the Tyrells, the Arryns, the Starks, on and on down the ladder. He speaks to each of the families, nodding politely to the clamoring, bejeweled daughters, before moving on to the next. He does this as quickly as he can so he can get it over with. He has never been at ease with strangers. He has never found it simple to trust them. A part of him will always be that overlooked, scorned second son, reserved by nature, suspicious by necessity; it’s just that he sometimes forgets this when he’s with you. No matter where he goes in the room, he keeps you on his good side. He watches you, he covets you.

There is one guest, and only one, who notices you and asks for a dance. Cregan Stark is young and handsome next to the other lords, nearly your same age, and you had met years before as children. He has a natural, kind charisma. He asks you about your family back on Bear Island as he carries you around the floor like a strong wind, tells you about Winterfell, offers his condolences for the loss of your mother. He doesn’t even think to mention your late husband. It is a commiseration between two Northerners in a distant land; it is a comfort to you both. As soon as Cregan Stark drops your hand and departs to awe some other lady, Aemond appears.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks good-naturedly as he circles you, gliding his palm nonchalantly over your waist, your wrists, the small of your back. Your skin responds to him, goosebumps rising, lust kicking up like embers in a stirred fire.

“Diplomacy,” you reply primly.

“Hm. Perhaps we should send you to negotiate treaties.”

“I am very persuasive.”

“Yes, I know.” And he takes your hand to spin you around just once before leaving to pretend to consider marrying some other woman.

When Helaena is whisked away to dance with Otto Hightower, you pour yourself a cup of pomegranate juice and nurse it as you stand by the wall, alone. The noblewomen from the tea party toss you venomous sneers. You ignore them. You have everything they could ever want and more. Your hand settles briefly, forgetfully on your belly, and then you snatch it away.

Aegon, very intoxicated, wobbles over to you and props his back against the wall so he can keep his balance. “Hello,” he slurs.

“Hello.”

“I thought you might like to disparage the candidates with me,” he says, then gestures with his wine cup. “Look at that Floris Baratheon. Ears like a fucking donkey.”

You chuckle, hiding your face guiltily behind your own cup. “Shh. She’s not so bad.”

“You seem to be handling this remarkably well. Perhaps my brother has bored you, perhaps you have had your fill of him. Or perhaps you aren’t so heartbroken because he’s planning to keep you around as his mistress. I wouldn’t have guessed that to be his style, but upon second thought, you have thoroughly corrupted him. In that case, he should choose the donkey for sure. Someone stupid and docile. You can have rooms on opposite ends of the Red Keep and there will be no need for you to claw each other’s eyes out.”

“I’m not an animal, Prince Aegon.”

“You’re a Mormont. That’s hardly better.”

You smile. He smiles back.

Aegon leans into you, unsteady but not purposefully intrusive. “You’re worth more than all of them put together. I’m sorry that’s not what matters.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“We are natural allies,” he says, and clinks his cup against yours in a toast. Fortunately, he is too drunk to notice that you’re avoiding wine this evening. That would certainly raise some suspicions. “I know your secret, and you know mine.”

“What…?” And then you understand. Your secret is your relationship with Aemond, that part is easy. Aegon’s secret is a bit more obscure. What perhaps no one else knows is that there is more to him than brash words and wicked deeds and flippant, lazy recklessness. That he loves his family. That—somewhere way down deep, unspoken but alive—he cares.

Aegon shoves himself away from the wall and gives you a parting bow, clumsy and lurching. “Enjoy your evening as best you can. I’m going to go piss on the floor.”

“Cheers,” you reply. He staggers away, leaving you alone again.

As the Great Hall whirls around you like a galaxy, you bask in the warm glow of this moment, this liminal space like a doorway. There will be grumbles, surely, but what you and Aemond have forged cannot be undone. No one can take away your marriage. No one can take away your child. You knew unconditional love once, long ago on Bear Island, safe in your mother’s arms; now you have it again. You belong somewhere again. You took one hell of a detour, but now you are home.

You don’t feel him enter the hall, because he’s not Aemond Targaryen. He doesn’t change the room at all. You only turn because you hear rising chatter, and then elated shouts, and then the thunder of men’s handshakes and pounds on the back. You wonder who is being congratulated, who is being cheered like a soldier returning from war. When you see him, your cup drops out of your hand. Pomegranate juice floods across the floor like blood. He sees you, rushes to you; and it's the strangest thing, because it all seems to be happening very slowly, but not slowly enough for you to flee. It’s like one of those dreams where you’re trying to run but you can’t. You can’t even speak. You can’t even scream.

He is battered and bruised and thinner—harsher—than you remember, but it’s him. His name rings through the hall in a hundred different voices.

“Axel Hightower, back from the dead!”

“He survived the shipwreck! Praise the gods!”

“And now he’s come to surprise his wife!”

You are powerless to stop his approach. You are chained in place by horror. All around you, the life you thought you’d have is crumbling into dust. It’s running out of your fingers like sand in an hourglass.

“Aww, look, the poor thing is in shock! She can’t believe it!” some idiot sighs romantically. There are applause and whistles. On the periphery of your vision, you see Aegon backing away as far as he can from the dance floor. His head whips around, searching for someone.

Axel grips your arm, pulls you into him, and kisses you. It feels like being invaded. It feels like that very first night with him when he—not cruelly, no, but with a dreadful, willing ignorance—forced his way inside you until it felt like you were being sawed in half. You flinch violently; every muscle, every nerve screams to be away from him. You try to push Axel off of you, but he doesn’t budge. Why would he? He owns you, like a castle or a horse. He can do whatever he likes to you. The notion of you having desires to the contrary would never even cross his mind. There are tears bleeding down your cheeks: for you, for your child, for the future whose throat has just been slit in this room. It feels like you’re dying. You wish you were.

There is the shrill whisper of a blade being torn from its scabbard. All the guests fall silent. Axel takes a step back from you, his fingers still clamped around your forearm. Aemond holds the point of his sword to Axel’s throat. Several crimson beads drip from where the steel has pierced the paper-thin surface layer of skin. Aemond’s voice is dark, like nightfall, like onyx. His eye is blazing blue, cold fire. “Remove your hands from her, or you will lose them.”

Axel is too mystified to be outraged. He releases you. You can breathe again. “She is my wife by law.”

“She carries my child!” Aemond’s words ricochet off the walls like shattered glass. The Great Hall boils over with gasps and scandalized jabbering. “And we married under the heart tree. She is mine.”

��You what?!” Aegon blurts out.

“You what?!” Otto Hightower roars.

“Sir Criston?” Aemond calls, summoning him.

Sir Criston Cole steps out of the rabble. “It’s true,” he says. He hides his reddening face from Queen Alicent. “I witnessed it. They are wed.”

“This is an outrage!” Axel bellows, then looks to the crowd for their verdict.

“Bigamy!” someone cries out. A chorus joins them, a sea of jilted noble families who can only benefit from Axel carting you back to Oldtown.

“Whore! Whore!”

“Poor Axel Hightower escapes from the jaws of death to find this?!”

“A mortal sin!”

“Go back to your true husband!”

“Take her to the dungeons!”

Aemond steps in front of you, twirling his sword once, twice, again. “And who would like to be the first to try?”

No one moves to detain you, but the crowd’s sentiment is unmistakable, rabid. The jeers continue to rain down on you: bigamist, sinner, whore. And you can’t even decry them as slander, because they’re true. Otto Hightower is clutching the back of a chair like he might fall over without it. Alicent’s eyes are pooling with stunned, furious tears. Helaena sinks to the floor, covering her ears with both hands. After taking a moment to consider it, Sir Criston moves to stand beside Aemond and draws his own sword.

Ideas flit through Aemond’s mind like arrows. He catches one of them. As Sir Criston watches the crowd, Aemond turns back to you and touches your face with his free hand. “Say you want a trial by combat.”

“Are you sure—?”

“I can beat any man here besides Sir Criston and he wouldn’t fight me, just say it.”

“I demand a trial by combat!” you announce for all the court to witness.

“No she doesn’t!” Otto shouts, trying to drown you out.

“She does,” Aemond insists, grinning madly. “And I will be her champion.”

“Then I shall name my own!” Axel says. Already the court is chattering that there is no great cowardice in this; he is still recovering from his ordeal, far from his physical peak, and Prince Aemond is one of the best swordsmen in King’s Landing. Axel scans the Great Hall for someone, anyone, who could challenge him. Sir Criston could probably best Aemond, but he would never agree to try. His allegiances to both Alicent and Aemond are too great. Who else could there be? Who else could there possibly be?

And then Axel’s gaze lands on him. When Aemond said he could beat any man here, he wasn’t wrong. The giant the court calls Killington hardly counts as a man at all. He’s not a man; he’s a monster. And he’s been thirsty for Aemond’s blood for years. He towers over anyone else in the room; he outweighs them by double. He steps forward, answering a question that has not yet been asked.

Axel’s face splits into a grin. His eyes glint like mirrors, like blades. “I choose Ivar Kellington.”