#destrier revel

[agentrouka-blog]

"He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna had pleaded once."- Ned(AGOT).

Sansa pleading for Lady reminds Ned of Lyanna please to Ned to save her son's life from Robert's wrath.

"Bending, Ned pulled back the cloak, dreading the words he would have to find for Arya, but it was not Nymeria after all. It was the butcher's boy, Mycah, his body covered in dried blood."-Ned.

Sandor Clegane brutally killed Mycah an innocent child on orders of Lannisters. This is similar to Gregor and Amory killing Rhaenys and Aegon on Tywin's order.

It seems like history repeating itself in front of Ned at Trident. That Robert and Lannisters are not changed. That innocents are still murdered. That his daughters are in great danger as were Elia and Lyanna.

Indeed. And Ned placed them into that danger.

It's very telling that GRRM places the revelation of Mycah's fate just as Ned has murdered Lady. GRRM is absolutely eviscerating the idea that he did the right thing:

“Lady,” he said, tasting the name. He had never paid much attention to the names the children had picked, but looking at her now, he knew that Sansa had chosen well. She was the smallest of the litter, the prettiest, the most gentle and trusting. She looked at him with bright golden eyes, and he ruffled her thick grey fur. Shortly, Jory brought him Ice. When it was over, he said, “Choose four men and have them take the body north. Bury her at Winterfell.” “All that way?” Jory said, astonished. “All that way,” Ned affirmed. “The Lannister woman shall never have this skin.” He was walking back to the tower to give himself up to sleep at last when Sandor Clegane and his riders came pounding through the castle gate, back from their hunt. There was something slung over the back of his destrier, a heavy shape wrapped in a bloody cloak. “No sign of your daughter, Hand,” the Hound rasped down, “but the day was not wholly wasted. We got her little pet.” He reached back and shoved the burden off, and it fell with a thump in front of Ned.

Her little pet. An innocent bystander.

A heavy shape, wrapped in a bloody cloak. They got that skin. Ned just killed who Sansa pleaded for, Sandor killed who Arya fought for. Is Ned better for sending the body away? Or is he looking into a mirror? A useful idiot serving people who would kill children?

[hollers-and-holmes]

Enter the Players

At the mouth of the Valley they stood arrayed in splendor, the armament of Imladris, liveried in the blue of final dusk and emblazoned upon the breast with the mithril and white gems of the House of the Mariner. Their spear-tips burned beneath the eye of the sun like the high white spire of Caradhras. Their great grey destriers stood black in the mane and bold in the eye; they steamed and blew smoking breaths and packed the snow beneath their dark, feathered feet and waited, trembling, as if for war.

Princely at the vanguard rode the Master's radiant, mirrored sons. No helms they wore, but diadems of sapphire, and their armor was bright and burnished, and one in heraldry bore the standard of the Guard stood in his stirrup, and one carried slung beneath his arm an ivory horn set round with bands of silver.

Between them was Glorfindel, Glorfindel wreathed in gold, Glorfindel with the sunlight springing from his mail and warm upon the white drape of his cloak, West-illumined Glorfindel, Glorfindel with his eyes alit and jewel-fired as the snow, Glorfindel all but thrumming like a plucked string in the clear midwinter slant of Anor's rays.

Glorfindel with his head back, laughing.

It was this sound ringing down the river and not the clarion call of the horns that welcomed the High King of Arnor as he came across the Ford.

Valandil he was, Isildur's son, and long had he ruled in wisdom and in peace, and at last the hand of Time had come to thread his hair with silver, though it had not begun to stoop his back. Ever kind to his fathers, so it had been to him, and once again he rode in strength on the eve of Mettarë to feast in the house of his friend, and the friend of his father, Elrond Halfelven.

But as the King shipped into view up the bank of the Bruinen on his own high-headed steed, Glorfindel's laugh faded. He traded a quick look with the knight at his right hand, for the one upon the left was too pleased with his own jesting and with Glorfindel's answering merriment to have kept watch for whom they waited upon. Yet even he read quickly the change in bearing and when Glorfindel with a bare brush of his spur sent his stallion leaping for the river, his tandem consorts were a mere beat behind.

The Elves drove to a halt before the High King of Arnor, the feet of their horses spitting snow.

"Hail Valandil, Lord of the North!" rang out the clear voice of Glorfindel in the high tongue of the Elves and of the faithful men of Númenor. "With joy we have awaited your coming, but if you have met with trouble let us ride with you to allay it. Where now are your courtesans?"

With a wry twist of his brow Valandil glanced over his shoulder, not at all the princes and retainers of Annúminas, not at ladies splendid in their trimmings and furs, not at the burgeoning breadth of his entire joyous household spread out behind him beneath the banners of the King, come together as they did each year to join the Elves of Imladris in their Midwinter revelry.

Instead, as if he were no higher than a hamlet lord, the King of the North led only loyal Ronyondur his guard and footman, and a squire with a line of coursers at one hand and a string of hounds at the other, and at his near flank a stripling boy astride a neat bay palfrey, the King's own goshawk jessed and hooded upon his arm.

Valandil turned back to the Elves and smiled in the eyes and answered, "Peace, lord. No trouble with our party. Forgive me that I sent no word beforehand; I have indulged an old man's whims and wrecked a long tradition. We shall not flood the House with revelers this year. But still, I would that you would have us, if only for the hunt."

"More feasting to go round," laughed Glorfindel, now in unceremonious Sindarin, and swung down as the King did and met him and embraced him like a brother.

"Hail, my lords," the King said then to the sons of Elrond. A grin broke over his grave and noble face. "You look all kitted up for a good scrap."

"Always a merrier scrap alongside the Men of the West," returned the younger with a grin of his own. The elder gripped the proffered arm and smiled and said nothing, but his eyes were narrow with laughter unloosed.

"Ronyondur you know," the King said next, as the Man behind him dipped his head in stately greeting, "who would not let an old fool wander on his own in the woods. Tiuco is his good squire."

"And this one," said Glorfindel, from where he had crossed to stand at the shoulder of the bay mare. He lay his gauntleted hand upon her black mane at the withers, the youngster astride her somewhat wide in the eye. "A wild man you found in the woods somewhere?"

"Arantar's boy," the King said, and his voice had warmed and lowered with love. "At last we have him again, up from Osgiliath. Tarcil, my lad. Here is Glorfindel, General of Imladris, and the lords Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond's sons. Greet them: they are my friends and stoutest allies, and may the One be kind, they shall be yours as well."

"Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo," murmured the boy, and then beamed like a lighthouse when the lord of grander ages reached up to clasp his forearm as if he were a man grown.

Several years ago I wrote a midwintery/Christmas gift story for my dear Hollers, and posted it over on ff.net, may it rest in peace. Because it’s looking like I’m going to get approximately zilchteen Christmas gift fics written this year, I’m gonna throw that thing up here for festivity’s/posterity’s sake as I repost it to the Archive. It’s about boar hunting, because Sword in the Stone is my favorite book, doncha know. When it’s not Peace Like a River.

[pauldron-pieces]

Destrier Revel: The Most Important Part

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: Destrier Revel/Illeria Stennas (F!NPC)

Rating: Holy shit tame.

AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets.

Applicable trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Edgar Meyer, Mike Marshall and Béla Fleck: Sliding Down

Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked

For Leofore

Light And Home

So Little Time

A Choice

Worth The Wait

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains emotional turmoil and ruminations on infant developmental milestones. Stay safe!]

Destrier's head jerked up and he stared at the child. "W-What?" He stammered after a moment.

His little boy, hardly able to walk on his own, blinked wide brown eyes.

"Did you just…?" The former Knight-Captain trailed off, shaking his head. "No, I must have imagined it." He heaved a sigh, shifting his weight to and fro. Destrier hoped to soothe his son back to sleep via the motion, praying the child was just fussy instead of hungry. Illeria needed her rest!

The day had been long and Destrier knew that he was still, at best, a minute help in the kitchen. Greeting customers was out of the question; it drew too many old soldiers and rough types to his wife's inn and he didn't want Illeria or little Leo inundated in the folk he had once commanded. Too many wounds were still fresh and he was more than content to leave them be, let time do its work.

The military had taught him how to feed many with little. How to water down and spread, offer the illusion of a feast to hungry troops. What the military hadn't taught was how to make things look appealing to the average traveler. Not everyone would be dead on their feet when they arrived, nor would they be on the brink of starvation. Destrier could no longer rely on hardship or gratitude to make his attempts at cooking visually enticing, and he was humbled by his wife's willingness to teach him even the smallest of tasks.

To think, Illeria had no magics to speak of! No pact with dark forces, no souls surrendered in forgotten temples, and yet the dough rose like clockwork and the common room was always free of cobwebs. In a way it was as if she had her own magic, the ebb and flow of the crowds in Maplecrest her domain. She knew from the scent of the previous evening's petrichor that they would have more bedraggled folk seeking hot breakfast, and she could plan a menu up to a month in advance with nothing but the MidPort almanac and a schedule of trading shipments.

Clever child, Garuda's voice crackled in Destrier's mind. Odd name. Strong, sad. A heavy name.

"He is named after my commander. A man who saved my life in my youth, only for me to repay his kindness many years later." The paladin replied aloud, smiling down at the child in his arms. Leo mouthed over the toggle of his nightshirt, drooling on the fabric. "It is a good name. Did you know Illeria chose it?"

We were there, faithless paladin. Amused now. We were always there.

Revel didn't deign to respond this time, still swaying gently. Leo's eyelids drooped, the baby yawning wide. "I thought he spoke a moment ago." The paladin whispered. "I thought he said...I suppose it was just my fancy. Maybe I dozed off standing up again. He hasn't said a true word yet." He frowned thoughtfully. "Though the midwife did say it might be any time now. I should be more patient! It is difficult when they are so young."

Leo's tiny fists dug into his nightshirt, the child raising his head yet again. He started babbling quietly and Destrier's frown faded into something softer.

"It's alright, little one. You will speak when you're ready, and not a moment before!" He chuckled, tousling the baby's still-sparse hair. "No parent has ever predicted their child's speech, after all."

In the bed across the room, Illeria stirred and murmured his name. Destrier held his breath, but she seemed to still be asleep. He released the breath after a moment, gusting out over his son's downy curls.

"Little Leo, already causing mischief!" The whisper was laden with fondness, and Destrier moved to place the child back in his bassinet. "I love you dearly all the same. I'm afraid I shall be no good at this." The paladin confessed, "I have never had a strong hand with the ones I love."

"Wuv."

Destrier stilled, confused. The baby gripped tighter at the front of his nightshirt, sleepily repeating that word. "What is it, Leo?" Destrier felt a bit foolish for asking, of course the little boy couldn't respond!

Leo reached up, one hand on either side of Destrier's face, and bumped his head into the paladin's nose. "Wuv." He stated sternly. "Wuv."

Tiny fingers pawed at the day's worth of stubble on Revel's jaw, but he couldn't bring himself to dissuade the child. "Love?" The large man breathed. Leo bounced in his arms, a drowsy grin breaking out on his face as he repeated the word again and again.

Destrier was unashamed to admit that he made no effort to stop his tears, cradling the little boy to his chest and heaving a deep, shuddering sigh. Love.

Expected. Aetros' crackle mellowed to embers. Sentimental, faithless paladin. But...We understand. We have known this joy, this grief.

"Destrier?" Illeria mumbled his name, this time louder. The former captain whirled, knowing he must look like a lunatic. Reduced to tears over his son speaking! Foolish. "Is everything alright, my love?"

"Wuv!" Leo continued to bounce and Illeria sat bolt upright in bed. The woman's eyes had gone wide and Destrier failed to stifle a sob. Their son had her eyes. True, he had made the observation many times before, but everything felt so weighty and wondrous at this moment that he feared his heart would burst.

"He speaks." The former Knight-Captain managed to say to his wife, offering no protest when she extended her arms to take the child from him.

Illeria cradled Leo to her chest for several moments, the child babbling softly. "It is too late for you to be awake, my little Leo." She said finally, her own voice suspiciously tremulous. "Rest, sweetheart." Her fingers stroked over her son's face, lulling him into his dreams with enviable ease.

Destrier climbed back onto the bed, wrapping his arms around his wife and child. He kissed Illeria's forehead after several moments, smiling down at the woman. "It is fitting that love would be his first word."

"I suppose it is." Illeria agreed, her own teary smile threatening to blind him. "I love you, Destrier."

"And I love you, Illeria." Destrier tried and failed to stifle a wide yawn, making Illeria giggle.

"Beloved, you must rest. Tomorrow will come faster than you think." She remarked pragmatically, giving him a peck on the lips. "And then we shall need to scour the pots, change the curtains in the main hall, pick up the napkins from the washerwoman…" Her list continued on as Revel drifted back to sleep, his body wrapped around his wife and child.

Oh certainly, the morning would bring hard work, as ever! But they would face it together and, with that knowledge, the former Knight-Captain could rest easy.

[kindliest-of-doodles]

-Destrier Revel; Nebulous

[suguwu]

minors and ageless blogs dni

gn!reader, royalty/knight au, canon-typical violence, blood knight childe

blood knight childe—drawn to you by the whispers of a curse that brings you nothing but endless battle, by the whispers of strong, strange creatures attracted to you like moths to flame—who bullies his way into your retinue.

he clings to you like a cobweb. he always rides with you, his destrier nudged too close to your mare. he finds you even when you try to slip away with your usual guards, weary of the sharp blade cloaked beneath his charming smile.

he always finds you, because he can't give it up. can't bear to miss the thrill of a fight, and if there's one thing you can always promise—it's that battle dogs your footsteps like a hound.

and he loves it.

a savage delight curls across his lips as another beast surges to you in the middle of the meadow path, wildflowers ground to nothing under massive claws as they sink into the dirt.

he fights with a fluid ease, slips like water between defense and offense. it would be terrifying, you think, if you hadn't been born to violence. as it is, you simply watch. watch that affable grin slip into something sharp-edged. something hungry.

he revels in your curse.

you'd be angry, you think, that he takes such delight in what has caused you so much suffering, but you aren't. because you know when something is abyss-touched. whatever darkness swallowed him, it left its mark.

you grow used to him. find the moments of softness in him—in the way he catches you before you can stumble, in the way he shines so brightly talking about his siblings.

you find his tender underbelly, but you never forget the edge of him.

a blade is a blade is a blade, your mother always said. even a sheathed sword is a threat.

and childe, with his affable smiles and the way he twirls his blades to flick off the blood—he is a threat.

(but, you think, as he tucks a daisy behind your ear—a ragged little thing, half-crushed by his armor—maybe not to you.)

he kisses you for the first time on a crisp fall day. there's blood hot on your cheek, sprinkled across your skin like a spray of freckles. he wipes it from you with his thumb, and then he's kissing you, his mouth hot and hard and hungry.

it had been close.

you'd felt the whirling breath of the beast against your nape. its fur against your back.

you'd forgotten how to scream a long, long time ago, but you hadn't needed to.

because childe was there, a volley of arrows singing through the air, the fletching of one slicing across your cheek.

it had been close.

he kisses you, and drags you from your mount with that inhuman strength of his until you're in his lap. you yelp, scrambling to balance, your hands slipping on the blood-slick sheen of his armor. he laughs against your lips, and there's something half-mad in it.

"you're mine," he says roughly. "and i will always be there."

the metallic stink of blood is heavy on the air around you, an old companion.

his arm is tight around your waist. protective.

"i know," you say.

and you kiss him back.

[esther-dot]

I have a confession to make (we really need confession boxes again but like, secular). I can't ship show!Jonsa because Jon looks like my actual real-life brother. I'm okay with book!Jonsa just because he's like a completely different character and I don't imagine the show-version in my head. So idfk know how Sansa's going to deal with it but it's going to be juicy. Lol!!!!

I'm just thinking of the moodboards, gifsets, and fics that we show Jonsa shippers have posted that must have made you close the app in horror. 😂 Kudos to you for surviving the fandom despite us!

The thing about book Jonsa is that Sansa romanticizes a brother/sister love early on in the books:

"Who cares about your stupid dancing master?" Sansa flared. "Father, I only just now remembered, I can't go away, I'm to marry Prince Joffrey." She tried to smile bravely for him. "I love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his queen and have his babies." (AGOT, Sansa III)

So the revulsion we feel isn't quite the same feelings she has or even Westeros more broadly which, as much as they disapprove of incest as a practice, still had a soft spot for/celebrated specific instances of it. There's additional commentary/spec on the impact of this on Jonsa by agentrouka-blog (link).

And, if you combine the fact that Sansa perceived that relationship as something beautiful with the revelation that Sansa had a crush on a guy that everyone recognizes as a Jon stand-in...well, it feels like a set-up for odd, pre-parentage reveal, feelings:

"Bronze Yohn knows me," she reminded him. "He was a guest at Winterfell when his son rode north to take the black." She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl. "And that was not the only time. Lord Royce saw . . . he saw Sansa Stark again at King's Landing, during the Hand's tourney." (AFFC, Alayne I)

Notice that the descriptions of Waymar and Jon feature some of the same key words:

Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife. Mounted on his huge black destrier, the knight towered above Will and Gared on their smaller garrons. He wore black leather boots, black woolen pants, black moleskin gloves, and a fine supple coat of gleaming black ringmail over layers of black wool and boiled leather. Ser Waymar had been a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch for less than half a year, but no one could say he had not prepared for his vocation. At least insofar as his wardrobe was concerned. (AGOT, Prologue)

"No," Jon Snow said quietly. "It was not courage. This one was dead of fear. You could see it in his eyes, Stark." Jon's eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast. (AGOT, Bran I)

There's a post by the usurpersdog about similarities between Waymar and Jon (link) and another by princess-in-a-tower more focused on the Jonsa implications (link), and I know there are more that I'm just not finding at the moment. But, basically, I'd agree with everyone else who has pointed it out before that it all reads like Martin has intentionally prepped Sansa to a) romanticize Jon, b) romanticize loving him even before parentage reveal.

I assume Martin will go for it and make Jonsa struggle with knowing their feelings aren’t quite right, but if the focus is on the heartache of an impossible situation, I think that can pretty easily lure people into Sansa’s way of thinking about it which would undoubtedly invoke her stories/songs, assuring herself, and the audience, of a certain context for the development of what is unacceptable to us/their world. The way she compares herself to a lady in the song and we have so many in-world stories/songs Martin could/will weave into this…I think he’s done a lot of work to create a pathway for it. Sympathy is a very powerful thing, and this wouldn’t only be a forbidden love but an impossible one, only, it isn’t, not really, so the audience’s relief would echo Sansa’s post parentage reveal. So much potential there!

Happy to be your Jonsa confessional, anon! <3

[throughthemanorwindow]

13. Oneirophrenia

I know better. I know better. I know better. It rang in her head like a warning. But what was better? What her father told her? Her vision swam again, a lurching unsteadiness that wouldn’t quite let her focus on the two men walking alongside her. Their shapes were ever-moving, smiles easy to fit their faces. In the moment she thought she saw kindness in those teeth.

“Lady Evilie?”

His voice cleared the spin of the lane they strode down, if only for a moment, her lopsided smile and lidded eyes so glaringly obvious that he almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

“Evilie’s fine.”

Why did you say that?

Her words came out a jumble of syllables between lips that felt too lazy to work properly.

“Do you need assistance?”

Fuck off.

“No. I want to introduce you to Olivier.”

They looked puzzled.

“My chocobo.”

She licked her lips, not particularly proud of how that had enunciated, coming out more like ‘my cocodo’.

“My chocobo.”

She repeated it, working the sounds in her mouth in an exaggerated way that sounded like a child speaking.

“He’s mean. My father bought him for me.”

They still looked puzzled.

“Lady Evilie, why don’t we see Olivier another evening. It’s late. We can have another drink at Lord Frederic’s manor.”

She could cry. She might still before the night was through.

“I am not stepping one foot in that manor before we see Olivier.”

So she’d gotten her way. She often did with men like this.

The stables loomed out of the dark, lantern-lit, the guard at the gate letting them pass after recognizing who she was though her state did earn a raised brow.

“Sit on him.”

The stable’s walls sagged and swelled, shifting like a storm-brewed ocean wave in the dead of night.

“He’s bloody huge, Lady Evilie. Why in Halone’s piss did your father get you a chocobo bred for war?”

Her laughter rang out, feet stumbling through the hay bedding that lined the bird’s stable, her back thudding against the wood slats of the pen before she could fall.

“What’s the matter Lord Reinoud? Are you afraid?”

Her tone took on a cruel, challenging note that she clearly reveled in as Frederic stepped to her side, his arm looping around her waist to steady her before she spilled forward.

“I’m not afraid of a damned chocobo.”

Yes you are.

His pride carried him closer, just out of reach of the tethered destrier, the lantern hanging overhead casting eerie shadows on the monstrosity's beak and talons.

“Get on him then, coward.”

Frederic’s taunt added to hers as he leaned in, mouth brushing against her neck in a haphazard and messy array of kisses that she shrugged out of casually.

Fuck off.

“He’s bloody huge...”

Despite Reinoud’s obvious hesitation he took another step forward, hand reaching upward to brush through the ink-black feathers that lined the bird’s flank as the wooden slats heaved, breathing like they were alive. The seesawing twirl in her head made her feel sick and unsteady. A hellish heap of chocobo shit.

“Lady Evilie?”

“...What?”

“If I sit on him will you kiss me?”

Fuck off.

“...Sure.”

Olivier warbled. It was an innocent tune, but his eyes were fucking murder.

[dragons-bones]

OK two things if you don't mind. The first being what was (if it's happened) Aymeric's reaction to Synnove animal thing when it happened with him present? The second being why is Tyr so big exactly?

To answer the first question: if you will, consider our beloved Warriors of Light, accompanying the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights of Ishgard to petition Hraesvelgr of the First Brood for his assistance in fighting the shade of Nidhogg and ending the Dragonsong War.

The place: the Dravanian Forelands, somewhere near Tailfeather.

The weather: Royal Levin.

“Who’s a pretty girl?” Synnove cooed. “Who’s a pretty giiiiiiiirl? It’s you! Yes, it’s you! This beautiful, spotted white coat! These gorgeous green antlers! You’re the prettiest kitty, yes you are!”

The Coeurlregina’s purr was as loud as the thunder rolling across the green skies of the Forelands. The enormous cat had her chin resting in Synnove’s lap, her eyes closed to bare slits in pleasure. Synnove scratched between the great queen’s eyes with one hand, the other smoothing along the soft velvet covering new antler growth.

The rest of the traveling party were a respectful distance away. Heron, Alakhai, Tyr, and Ivar were in a staring contest with four of the coeurls from the royal clowder who had left their queen’s entourage to inch closer; Heron and Alakhai’s chocobos were glaring over the shoulder of their respective mistress, beaks clacking every few moments in warning. Rereha’s sky blue jennet had decided standing behind the destrier and rouncey was her safest option, as her lalafell mistress rummaged in her saddlebags. And Aymeric-

Aymeric stood a little away from the stare-off, gaze affixed on Synnove, the hand covering his mouth doing absolutely nothing to hide the wide, besotted grin.

His black chocobo heaved a deep, unamused sigh. Chantilly warked in commiseration. Galette loafed harder on Chantilly’s saddle pillion, flat as a pancake in her irritation.

Rereha came to stand next to Aymeric, a flask in hand. She looked up at him, rolled her eyes as she took in his expression, and took a deep pull from the flask. “You are so totally gone on her it isn’t funny.”

“Of course I am.” Aymeric grinned at the bard. “How did you manage to keep the knowledge out of the stories of how she can tame any beast she desires with naught but sweet words and a gentle touch?”

“The fact that absolutely no one would believe a person would willing run up to a king behemoth and pet him because she thought he was genuinely cute.”

Aymeric hummed thoughtfully and tipped his head to her in acknowledgement; it was rather far-fetched. Another ground-shaking purr rattled the area, and he returned his attention to Synnove and the Coeurlregina. Synnove had spread her arms around the giant cat’s head and was scritching her whiskers. The Coeurlregina heartily approved, if the thumping of one hind leg and her continuous purrs were anything to go by. Aymeric’s grin went from besotted to utterly soppy.

Rereha made a noise of disgust and took another swig of brandy.

TL;DR: Unsurprised and utterly enthralled.

As for the second question:

The topaz that is the foci for Tyr’s summoning array wasn’t standard Gate stock. Synnove found it on a trip home to Ul’dah, accompanying Rereha to the Gem Market on Sapphire Avenue; to Synnove’s senses, the huge raw stone–the size of her closed fist!–positively reeked of earth aether, so much so that she was surprised it wasn’t affecting the immediate area. The revelation of a flaw deep in the stone’s heart explained why it was still sitting on the merchant’s stall. After a solid twenty minutes of haggling, Synnove handed over her gil and slipped the stone into her bag.

Back in Limsa Lominsa, she spent painstaking hours cutting the stone to something usable, carefully removing the flawed portions without damaging the rest. As the chips of topaz fell away, however, the earth aether didn’t lessen as expected, siphoned off with the removed portions of gem; instead, it curled tighter and tighter into the emerging foci. By the time Synnove (and her instructors) was satisfied with her work, the aether inside the stone was so dense it began to affect the physical density.

And so, when Synnove finalized the arrays and linked them to the stone, the aether had to go somewhere to ensure a stable carbuncle. The result: a topaz carbuncle the size of an Abalathian sheepdog (a breed that guarded karakal from bears and small dragons), his head coming to Synnove’s hip. When Tyr materialized and landed with a triumphant “boof!”, the tower shook.

[justicewinged]

Quinn, as she was apt to do, acted on instinct. Before her, Garen was as crumbling as the walls of the fortresses that once supported their nation, his voice low and breaking. And all she can think to do was to cup his scarred-up cheeks between her hands, holding his gaze. She could see the bags hanging below his eyes, the weary manner about him.

“You don’t have to lead, here. I’ll take care of it.” A soft smile held on her features, her voice was scarce above a whisper, herself. “You can lay down your sword for a while. It’s nothing I can’t bear.”

The ranger-knight pressed her forehead against his, reveling in that touch, drinking in the scent of wilderness and his very particular musk. She was quiet, for she missed him with her whole heart. While he was out enduring, she was here leading. And leading and enduring, while two separate things, she knew they’ve both struggled, and he’d been alone while she’d been taking people – civilians – out to safety. In any case, lonely work. But now Garen was here with her, and a horrible, selfish part of her wanted to keep him here. And her logic said that maybe he needs to stay, take a load off his tired feet, and allow himself to just be for once in his life.

Not to say that was easy.

Still, instinct called her, and still she acted on it, pressing tentative lips against his, then backing away nervously, eyes apologetic, a frown burrowing into her features. She was thankful the light was dim and red of candlelight, for her cheeks burned through to her ears. She looked away, motions slow, motions calculated. Maybe she was getting a bit ahead of herself. They hadn’t had relations of the nature for some time, and to jump straight back into it seemed too aggressive... But she loved him. He still loved her. Her heart begged for him. Longed for him. And living the lie that she’d established for herself that she never wanted him to begin with was for the worst.

She drank in a breath, recalling at the back of her mind their first kiss, near his massive destrier, one hand enough to slot perfectly in the small of her back, the way he pulled her close and the way the night ended. All the things she’d tried to forget for her professionality came rushing back all at once and it constricted in her, tightened through her chest.

And she decided she wanted more of this, even if they were to die tomorrow. Even if this night was the last of his touch she’d feel. But, of course... she didn’t want to say she wanted it. That would be against her nature. She’d feel as though she was forcing him.

“I’m... sorry.”

broken light [burden-and-truth]

Garen kept his eyes on Quinn’s for a long moment before he softly shook his head, almost barely visible. “I never deserved you, Quinn.” The reply was a solemn whisper. “You may claim to have no faith in yourself, but you’ve an instinct that keeps enduring.”

The silence that then permeated between the two threatened Garen to simply contain his emotion– to wall it back up and never let it spill out, again. He had failed this woman on so many levels. How could he ever deserve such a strong individual… or anyone?

Heavy eyelids blinked at the scout’s question. He hadn’t heard such a sentiment of concern in almost year… it was almost foreign to him. Her revelation was true. The sigh that passed through his lips gave that thought away.

“I am attempting to endure as best as I can,” he replied honestly. “I’ve been accustomed to leading almost all my life– and I’ve put it in my mind that leading means being the one who carries the heaviest yoke. Some days…” Another shake of his head. This one was much more visible.

“…I do not know if I can carry on.”

[vaalkyrja-blog]

// meta-a-day : Youth culture in Zofia, and whether or not Mathilda fit in with it.

ooc.

i can’t speak for the rest of zofian society, but at least among the nobility, youth culture is extra. it’s hard to explain, but everything about noble youth culture is highkey and requires a lot of effort. there is no chill. because zofian culture is strong on small-community bonding ( in nobility, this often manifests as alliances between houses that are friendly with each other ), there’s a lot of emphasis on getting together in groups to do things. noblewomen in particular ( but also the young men ) are often visiting each other’s houses en masse with their entire clique of friends ( the particular house in question typically varies ) to hang out. 

but these hang-outs are never lowkey and casual. they almost always involve doing something. there’s hardly any such thing as sitting around and shooting the breeze. young men usually go hunting with their friends for long hours at a time, or will frequent the nearby towns, populating winehouses, brothels, and other leisure establishments. 

noblewomen will sometimes gather in one house’s parlor to talk, but it’s almost always some form of gossip. ( i keep imagining the salon scene in moliere’s le misanthrope where suitors and ladies sit around the room and keep encouraging celimene to roast various members of the court for entertainment and that’s absolutely what it’s like. ) sometimes, though, they will also sortie en masse to the towns, dressed in their finest to show off, and frequent the shops and markets and most chic parts of town.

for both sexes, going out to the towns means presentation, and no expense is spared. you always have to try the latest food trends, purchase the clothing that’s in fashion, check out the available bachelor/ettes, strike a bargain on a new destrier, buy that entire set of makeup because you’re running low on only one item. it’s not only to show off how much money you have, but the more money you spend ( and the key is to spend it without care or consideration ) shows how much fun you’re having, reveling in bounty and leisure without a care for frugality. those who are too thrifty or reserved are often ridiculed for being miserly, or a buzzkill.

in both cases, gatherings among noble youth are almost always subconsciously intended to strengthen and otherwise navigate the socio-political bonds of the noble court, creating and shaping alliances and animosities between houses. it’s always involved, and almost always loud, as these groups of youth rarely number less than four and usually don’t have a care for how noisy they’re being. they are required to be proper and composed in their households and at court, so these excursions with friends are their chances to let loose and have fun. 

it’s very often a cutthroat environment, where you can hang out with one group one day, only to overhear one of them throwing dirt on your name at the next ball a week later. this is true among both men and women, but tends to be more prevalent among women because they’re socially pressured to compete with each other, especially for the hand of the finest husband. given that in zofian culture, a noblewoman’s worth is most heavily dependent on her marriage potential, these girls often unfortunately find most of their lives revolving around men. as such, they’re always aware of who’s interested in who, who is a threat, and how to eliminate one’s threats. this doesn’t mean that true friendships aren’t formed in the nobility, even amongst women, but it is a fraught concept that is heavily influenced by social surroundings.

as you can imagine, mathilda was not about that life. luckily, her involvement in it was minimal, as she devoted herself to training as her father’s page starting at age 7, but was learning basic combat skills well before even that. she couldn’t wholly escape court life, however, and ( this is canon ) detested every ball and social gathering she had to attend. watching her sisters grow up in that environment exhausts her — she has no idea how they have the energy and patience for such intensive get-togethers and outings, and counts herself lucky for having gone down a different path in life. mathilda doesn’t have a problem with some aspects of traditional femininity, but zofian high nobility youth culture is not one she’s ever taken well to.

[kindliest-of-doodles]

Illeria Stennas and Destrier Revel

Look at them. They're beautiful.

[pauldron-pieces]

Destrier Revel: Worth The Wait

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: Destrier Revel/Illeria Stennas (F!NPC)

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets.

Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Josh Groban: When You Say You Love Me and Michael Shynes: The Slowdown

Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked

For Leofore

Light And Home

So Little Time

A Choice

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains body dysmorphia, pregnancy, emotional duress, triggering terminology and sexual acts between two consenting adults. Stay safe!]

It had been two months. 

  Technically, sixty-four days. 

  Sixty-four days since Destrier and the rest of the King's Elite had departed on what the king claimed was, ' the last hurrah .'

  Sixty-four days since Knight-Captain Destrier Revel had promised her with an easy, confident grin that he would be back.

  Sixty-four days since Illeria had desperately tried to convince Leofore to let Destrier stay behind. She had gone before the stern senior paladin, refusing to be cowed or to resort to an emotional outburst even as her hands trembled. 

  Knight-Commander Leofore had set his jaw, the lines in his face deepening while she explained her current situation. " I understand that you are his wife, Illeria, but I cannot show favoritism among my men. The amount of spouses and partners that have thrown themselves at my feet to beg for leniency over the course of this war… " he had trailed off, turning Illeria's fragile hope to dust that clogged her throat.

  " He does not know, Knight-Commander. I did not believe it would be fair to tell him and distract him further ." She managed to say. 

  Leofore had looked surprised, then grateful. " You are a strong woman, Illeria. You have made my former charge the happiest man alive, and I thank you for that. Should anything occur to Destrier, I will personally see to it that you are well taken care of. "

  " With all due respect, Knight-Commander, " Illeria had replied, perhaps a bit more tartly than was proper, " that is my husband's responsibility ."

  It had been simpler then, like putting on a performance. But her life had become so deathly quiet in the absence of the bright beacon that was Destrier. It was as if winter had descended over the land early, sapping the color from everything and leaving it lifeless and dull.

  More than once she succumbed to weeping, cupping her abdomen as if to shelter the innocent life that currently grew within her. The midwife had told her that her emotions would run high, that she would be sick and changeable. Destrier hadn't seemed to notice before he left, his easygoing nature more than able to adapt when she snapped at him. 

  Illeria smiled sadly down at the shirt she was mending. Truly, the man could be so incredibly oblivious when he was off the battlefield. 

  The ring he had given her caught the light of the fire in the hearth, the recessed stone seeming to glow in the amber illumination. Illeria hadn't removed the ring since Destrier had presented it to her, and often found herself absently toying with it during quiet evenings as her mind wandered. This was apparently one such evening. 

  "All I can do," the woman sighed aloud, "is simply continue to hope and pray for his safe return."

  /x\

  Destrier was wracked with impatience to the highest degree. He knew that it was not prudent to urge their remaining troops to march home any quicker, but his mind was ablaze with concern for his wife. 

  His pregnant wife.

  "I still cannot believe she didn't tell me." He huffed at Leofore for possibly the hundredth time. 

  And for the hundredth time Leofore replied, "she did not wish to seem as though she was using the child to barter, Revel. Indeed, had you not been so reckless, you would still be unawares!" The older paladin knocked a gauntlet into Destrier's right elbow teasingly, making the younger man wince. 

  Destrier's right arm was bandaged to the shoulder and rested in a ramshackle sling against his chest. A Kull laying in wait to ambush them had nearly ripped the limb from his body when it had hurled him through the air; even their most skilled healers had their hands full with repairing such a wound. Mainly due to the young man staunchly decrying the aid, claiming that he was fine , there was work to be done! 

  It wasn't until Leofore had shouted at him, upbraiding the knight for being foolhardy, do you wish for your child to grow up fatherless, Knight Revel?! , that Destrier stopped in his tracks and permitted his wounds to be tended to. Partially out of shock, of course, but also because he knew that Leofore would not lie to him.

  Now, every second that they were away was another second he didn't have Illeria in his arms. To say he was 'startled' by his body's reaction to her absence would be a lie. He could barely contain the desire to spur his warhorse to a gallop.

  As the first scattered outlying farms of Mid Port came into view, Leofore finally took pity on the other paladin. "Go already! I'm about to crawl out of my skin just watching you!" He urged, giving Destrier a wink. "Go to her, lad. She's waited long enough to tell you."

  /x\

  As the seasons were waxing into fall, travelers were few and far between. Far better to travel during the warm summer months than to endure the raw, rainy atmosphere of the current times. 

  Illeria had decided that Maplecrest would be closed for the week to offer her the ability to properly scour the establishment clean and swap the bedding to thicker articles. Between cycling the linens, sweeping the floors, cleaning the chimney, washing the curtains, dusting the rafters...the young woman had been so busy she didn't even have time to think, which had done wonders for her emotional state. It was so much easier to cope with the uncertainty when she wasn't actively thinking about it, when she could just collapse exhausted into bed at night and sleep undisturbed.

  She was in the middle of hemming some old linens to use as cleaning rags when the sharp sound of the front door hitting the wall caught her attention.

  The awkwardly mumbled apology also caught her attention. 

  Illeria jolted, her eyes flying to the doorway where her husband stood. 

  Her husband. "Destrier!" She cried gladly. "You're back!" Heedless of the linens, she bolted from her chair by the fireplace and pitched herself into his arms.

  The large man cradled her to his chest, pressing his face into the kerchief covering her hair. She heard him inhale deeply and then Destrier gave a long, heavy sigh. " Illeria , I've...I am so…it's good to be home, my love." He suddenly sneezed violently. "I see you have been busy! You are coated with grime." The blond laughed, running a finger down the bridge of her nose and across her cheekbones as if to dust her off.

  Illeria floundered, her face going hot at his teasing and at the realization of the state she must be in. The woman took a step back to observe him and she realized suddenly that his right arm was bound to his chest in a sling. "Oh, what happened? You…" 

  "It's nothing, my love. Nothing at all." Destrier tipped her chin up and gave her a soft, tender kiss. "I'll be fine once I can get you alone once more." His words were bold, so bold, brown eyes alight with mirth as he watched her try to regain her composure. "Don't let me keep you from your work, my love."

  Illeria, still overcome with relief at his safe return, returned his kiss in a manner that was incredibly improper. Her tongue stroked his own in a lascivious echo of what she would love to do to him, right here if he wished. 

  "Iller-Illeria, please, mercy." The knight murmured against her lips, his gaze heated when he reluctantly pulled away. "Mercy, for a time. There are a few matters I must tend to, but I will return in the evening." 

  "You're leaving? Again?" Illeria's emotions roiled uncertainly, tipping between sadness and joy. 

  Destrier seemed to notice, his hand gliding over her cheek and cupping the heated skin. "Aye, only for a few hours. What is a few more hours for us, my love?" He reasoned. "I am certain we will have much to discuss!"

  Oh, if only you knew! Illeria thought mournfully, wondering if this was the last time she would be on the receiving end of his affection. Many men said they craved children, a family, but when confronted with the reality…

  Destrier had given her no reason to doubt his intent, she scolded herself. Now who was the fatalistic one? Illeria forced a melancholy little smile for him. 

  " 'What is a few more hours' , indeed. Hurry back, love." Her panic set in once the door closed after him. "Oh Goddess ," Illeria swore, "I need to bathe! " She scrambled for the door of her quarters, nervous nausea bubbling in her throat while she stripped nude.

  Her stomach was becoming more obvious by the day. Soon enough she wouldn't be able to hide it, even with her heavier homespun skirts. Illeria sighed unhappily, running a hand over the still-small bump. Perhaps...perhaps Destrier would want a family. Perhaps now, they could be simply husband and wife.

  But did she have it in her to tether him so blatantly? Despite the burden it would put on her, Illeria was loath to clip his wings. Would he grow to resent her? Hate her even, for coming between himself and his pursuit of martial superiority? 

  The young woman set her jaw firmly after a moment, willing her lower lip to cease trembling. Surely he would not have married her if he intended to flee at the first sign of their activities bearing fruit, she tried to reason with herself. The memory of their nights spent together before his most recent departure was tinged with a bittersweet melancholy, the echo of his touch haunting her in his absence. 

  The realization that she may still have such a lonely life ahead of her left Illeria clinging to the washstand for support. 

  It was a long time before she could rouse herself to continue to prepare for her husband's return.

  /x\

  "She does not know that you know? Why did you not tell her you knew?!" 

  Destrier blinked, absently nodding his thanks to the young cleric who had tended to his arm. The appendage still ached, but at least he could move his fingers once more. "I...If it is her news to give me, Knight-Commander Leof-"

  " Lad , you vex me endlessly!" The older paladin cut him off in exasperation, whirling on Destrier so sharply that his mantle cracked! in the still air of the throne room. "I love you like you are my own brother but gods , you are dense! This woman, your wife , has the patience to rival any saint. 'Tis bad enough that you came here instead of staying with her to allay her fears."

  "I did not wish to stand on ceremony with our monarch, Leofore. King Jonathan deserved to hear my resignation as soon as possible, that he may find a suitable replacement." Revel replied stiffly. "Illeria understands that I have a responsibility to His Majesty and His subjects."

  "She is your wife , Revel! She cannot, should not be second to your responsibilities!" Leofore retorted. 

  King Jonathan, observing the two men with more than a fair share of bemusement, nodded his head in agreement. "The knight-commander is right, Destrier. I appreciate your care in this matter and we will attempt to expedite the process as much as possible, but the eve of your return is not the time to discuss such weighty matters." The king took his wife's hand, his eyes growing distant. "You must cherish what you have, Destrier. Life is an immeasurably precious thing." With a wave of his free hand, the monarch dismissed the two paladins.

  Leofore appeared ready to seize Destrier by his gorget and haul him bodily along, the older man escorting his blond subordinate to the nearest washroom. Forty minutes later, scrubbed pink and unruly hair plastered down, Destrier Revel emerged sans armor. His ascot was untied but Leofore assured the other knight it would not be improper for him to return to his wife in such a state of undress.

  And if she was waiting for him…

  Destrier couldn't help the impatience that took hold of him, his stride lengthening to devour even more ground. Across the courtyard to the stables where his mount rested serenely, anticipating his return. "Aye, you know where we're headed." Destrier murmured to the beast once he settled into the saddle, gathering the reins in his good hand. 

  The white horse tossed its head as if to agree, taking off at a brisk trot. Truly, Destrier knew he could have simply walked; the distance was reasonably short. But this would be even quicker still.

  Illeria's belligerent plow horse didn't even look up when Destrier rode into the barn, the swaybacked animal too absorbed with its nightly feed. The knight rushed through the motions of stabling his horse clumsily, the weakness of his dominant hand making the task more challenging than it needed to be. But finally, finally , it was done.

  Destrier's boots felt impossibly light as he strode across the sodden courtyard. Gods , being apart from her was torturous. "Illeria?" He called as he opened the door, raising his hand out of habit to graze the wood carving overhead. 

  "The bedroom, love!" Her voice met him and he struggled out of his boots, certain that tracking mud across her floors would be grounds for expulsion.

  Her bedroom. Their bedroom. His heart ached. How long had Illeria known that she was with child? Keeping the secret so that he could fulfill his duties without distraction…

  He didn't deserve her selflessness.

  Destrier closed his eyes momentarily, attempting to regain his composure. Deep breath in, slow exhale out. The blow always hurts more if you're bracing into it. Relax , Revel!

  It was now or never. The blond man squared his shoulders. 

  "Illeria, we must discuss-" he began to say as he pushed open the door to their bedroom, but the words left his mind the moment he saw her. No matter how many damned times he had been graced by the sight of her nudity, Destrier still found himself a bit awed. "Ah." He finally managed to say.

  He was not so far gone that he didn't notice how pensive she seemed, the young man taking in the way her teeth worried idly at her lower lip. "You don't wish to touch your wife, Knight Revel?" Illeria teased after a moment, but an odd tension was in the air. "I have been remarkably patient, wouldn't you say?"

  "Beloved," Destrier murmured, "you are the most patient woman alive. However, be patient for a moment longer. There is an important matter we must discuss."

  "It cannot wait?"

  "Absolutely not." Destrier took her hand in his own and he was discomfited to find that she was trembling wildly. "My love, you are shaking."

  "Anticipation, that's all." Illeria attempted to brush off his concern, the young woman propping herself up on her elbows and then wrapping her arms around her knees protectively. "Well, let's hear it."

  "I...I know why you did not tell me before I departed, of course. I understand somewhat." Destrier started cautiously. "But it grieves me all the same that you had to endure such a burden of knowledge alone, to say nothing of the physical strain!" He wrapped her in a one-armed embrace, resting his cheek on her head. "You are my wife , Illeria. My partner, my equal."

  She was still for a moment, and then Destrier felt her shoulders shudder. Her hands dug into the fabric covering his back, gripping it so tightly. "I was afraid." Illeria hiccupped, her voice small.

  "Afraid? Of what?" Destrier asked, genuinely puzzled.

  "How you would react. Whether you would even wish to have a child at all. Your duties-"

  " Illeria ," Destrier interrupted her gently. "My love, I have resigned."

  "You…what?" Illeria blinked up at him, her face wet with tears. Revel used his ascot to tenderly blot them away. "B-But the kingdom-!"

  "His Majesty has already approved my request. There is the paperwork, of course. I'm certain there will be stacks, yet I feel nothing but elation." Destrier told her, sure that his smile was insufferable to behold.

  Her own smile in response was slower, tentative, until it bloomed fully and he was blinded by the radiance of it. Her laughter was like the first drops of rain that heralded the end of a drought, the build to incredulous jubilation that had her throwing herself headlong into his chest and covering his face with excited kisses.

  Gods , he had to be the luckiest man in the entire world. Destrier simply listened to the praises Illeria murmured against his skin as if she was offering prayers to some ancient, sensual deity, and he felt more alive than he ever had on the battlefield.  

  Abruptly Illeria leaned her weight on his injured arm and despite his best efforts, Destrier couldn't conceal his wince. She pulled back, her brow furrowed and mouth opening to say something. No doubt she was attempting to apologize. Destrier shifted his body, his lips meeting her own hungrily once more before he settled onto his back. "I'm afraid I am too weary to fully solve this problem myself tonight." He said with a contrite grimace, gesturing at his arm. "If you would be kind enough to help me disrobe, I will pay you back in the morn."

  /x\

  "Are you certain? If you are not... able , I would not ask anything from you." Illeria protested, heat surging in her face from the implication behind his verbiage.

  Destrier caught her hand, bringing it to his lips so he could kiss her knuckles softly. "I need you tonight, beloved. I am a greedy man, craving the warmth of your body." He murmured, his honest words sending a frisson of delight down her back. "My life has been fraught with sharp edges and the weight of hundreds of lives on my shoulders, please , let me find peace with you." 

  His eyes had gone distant, dark even in the orange glow of the fire, and Illeria watched silently as he pressed a final kiss to her palm and then rested their joined fingers over the curve of her stomach.

  "What we have created...what you have nurtured faithfully in my absence…" the knight whispered, words trailing off as his voice broke. 

  "I should have been honest with you." Illeria blurted out. "I just didn't wish to pin you down. I see now that it was foolish of me to fear your reaction."

  "I love you, Illeria." Destrier assured her while she began to unbutton the placket on his breeches. "You don't ever need to fear me, beloved. I would never willfully cause you harm, but I beg you to be plain with me from this point onward. Do not suffer in silence. Will you promise me that?"

  Illeria rested her forehead against his, smiling at him. "Of course, my love."

  Through her efforts, she managed to successfully unbutton his shirt and wrestle his breeches down over his knees, his smallclothes soon following suit. Destrier groaned low in his throat, his good arm slung over his eyes as if he was attempting to hide his reaction to her touch. But the flush that no doubt reddened his face also extended down his chest, his unbuttoned shirt exposing him thoroughly. Nevermind his cock, already hard and weeping on his stomach. 

  It jumped when Illeria stroked her index over the tip and Destrier exhaled a ragged gasp. "So eager, my love! Surely it is enough that you already have me with child?" Illeria teased. 

  "Illeria, if it is you, it is never enough." He answered her bluntly. "Rend my completion from me a thousand times and it will never be enough, beloved."

  The low timbre of his voice burrowed beneath her skin, setting her body alight. Illeria straddled his thighs, her hand gripping the base of his cock to steady him. She tapped his hip bone sharply, and Destrier's eyes flew up to meet her own. "Please don't move until I permit you to. Give me a moment to adjust." The woman requested, relieved when her husband nodded rapidly. Destrier could be overeager and, while he did his best, he still was a bit hazy on the intersection of his own strength and her bodily limitations.

  Illeria rose up on her knees and sank slowly down onto his cock, a whine escaping her at the slide of his length into her body. Destrier's weakened hand was fisted so tightly that his knuckles had gone as white as the bedding, his other hand tangled desperately in the blankets. "Ille-" He tried to speak, but she settled down on his hips and he made a strangled noise instead. 

  Illeria widened her stance slightly, doing her best to take him as deep as she could. He filled her so well, stretching her nearly to her limits as she rutted her mound against his pelvis. The woman took a selfish moment to minister to her own needs, her hands cupping her breasts to stimulate herself as she rocked back and forth on her husband's cock. Destrier bore it all while echoing her own moans, his teeth gritted.

  "You're so good to me, Desty." Illeria managed to say, her hips moving of their own accord in the age-old rhythm of copulation. "So good, so patient-"

  "You're killing me, you're killing me, gods let me move ," Destrier pleaded. "Let me love you, let me touch you-"

  "You may move, love." No sooner had she given his permission than Illeria found his hand grappling at the small of her back, the knight urging her down to lay nearly prone on his chest. He then began thrusting upwards into her fiercely, punching the breath out of her with the depth of his motion. Illeria whimpered, the sound seeming to drive him into a frenzy as his movements became erratic.

  " Gods , I-" Destrier choked out, " cannot last, damn it --"

  "Come inside me, love." Illeria commanded him breathlessly, loving the way his entire body shuddered at the order. 

  "Gods yes, gods yes, as many times as you want, fuck -" The blond swore, his hand splayed on the small of her back pressing her firmly down on his length as he came inside her. 

  Illeria laid on top of him for several long moments while the two of them tried to catch their breath, her ear pressed to his chest so she could hear his heart's wild tempo. "I've missed you, love." She whispered, surprised when he dropped a clumsy kiss on the top of her head. 

  "Did you come?" Destrier asked bluntly, grimacing when she shook her head. "I apologize, I'm afraid my eagerness overwhelmed my consideration. I will not send you to sleep without your release." He promised, his smile a bit crooked. "I just need a moment to regain my composure."

  Illeria put her palms on his chest, leveraging herself upright. Destrier groaned when his cock slipped free of her body, a muttered oath issuing into the heated air between them. Illeria, for her part, smiled down at him and then sat back on his hips. Her husband's still half-hard cock slotted smoothly between the folds of her cunt, and she shivered when the blunt head of it pushed hot and slick against her clit.

  "Illeria?" Destrier called her name, his tone bordering on curiosity. "Does it...is that satisfactory to you?" 

  "Very much so, love." Illeria assured him, and his hand found her left breast. Large, calloused fingers cupped her, his touch almost reverent in its delicacy. 

  "I doubt you will wish for me to touch you in this manner once you are truly heavy with child." Destrier remarked, his expression distant once more. "But it is already more than I deserve to witness you like this."

  Illeria bent down to press her forehead to his own, the woman forcing him to look at her, really look at her as she stroked herself over his member like some wanton, feral thing. "Destrier," she whimpered, feeling the way his cock leapt at her voice alone. "I never wish for you to stop touching me. I love you so much."

  "And I you, beloved." Destrier kissed her eagerly, only breaking away to tilt his head back and gasp for air. " Gods Illeria, you urge me to expedite my recovery!" He huffed, chuckling ruefully. "Soon enough I will be able to give you what you crave. Forgive my momentary incapacitation."

  "Don't rush yourself, my love. I rather enjoy having you at my mercy." Illeria replied playfully, loving the way his eyes lit up at her words.

  "You would!" He retorted, sounding absolutely delighted. "But you know you need only ask. The very breath in my chest is already yours, beloved." Destrier reached up again, taking her chin and kissing her sweetly. "Anything you desire, anything in my power to give." He murmured into her mouth.

  "All I ask for is your love, Destrier." Illeria answered, tenderly sweeping the hair stuck to his forehead out of his eyes. 

  "All that she asks for is all that I have to give." Destrier sighed, "it is all my heart beats for, beloved. For you, and…" he paused, laying his hand on her stomach while he gazed up at her lovingly. "For the little one."

  Illeria bit her lip, warding off the tears that threatened to spill over. "Show me, my love."

  /x\

  When she woke in the gray light of dawn, it was to the hot, wet sensation of her husband's hard cock sliding back into her cunt from behind. Barely awake, all Illeria could do was keen and whimper while he sank deep. Destrier's mouth pressed against her ear, his long, low growl of satisfaction sending a searing wave through her body.

  "How are you always so tight for me?" He muttered, filthy words that had the woman burying her face in the pillow even as she arched her hips up to greet him. Destrier grunted, shifting his weight slightly and reaching around to brush over her clit. 

  Illeria sobbed out a breath, too spent from their night of debauchery to do much of anything aside from angle her pelvis downwards against his fingers. Destrier let her struggle for a moment before he tapped the top of her shoulder, easing her back down until she was prone yet again. He didn't appear to care overmuch that he had trapped his good hand beneath her, the fingers of his other hand twining through her own as he lowered himself down with her. 

  Illeria's cunt throbbed with want around his length, the peaks of her breasts teased by the rough homespun blanket beneath her. She could have come just from that little stimuli alone, already so sensitive and alight from prolonged desire. But Destrier was thorough and patient, soothing her halfway back to sleep as he slowly rocked her between the searing embrace of his body and the warm, calloused touch of his fingers. 

  "Shh, it's only a dream, my wife." He teased her breathlessly as she cried out his name into the pillow. "I know, I know, I am a cruel and pitiless man to deprive you of the rest you need so dearly. Permit me a moment of selfishness." Destrier whispered, his pelvis seated firmly against her rear. "Just a moment, and then we shall sleep until noon."

  "Fill me up, Destrier, make me come-!" Illeria begged, her voice cracking with desperation. 

  Destrier made a strange noise behind her, half-pained, his fingers spreading her folds so she could grind herself into the heel of his hand. It was barely a breath before she was coming, every inch of bare skin tingling in the frenzied glow of her aftermath. 

  Destrier's skin slapped against her own as he lost the fight with his patience, the young man grabbing her hips and thrusting into her as deeply as he could. "Gods, I love it when you come for me." He muttered through his teeth, almost as if he was speaking to himself. "So wet , warm, need you, gods what have you done to me--"

  "P-- lease ," Illeria moaned, her breath hitching from the vigor of his motions. "Oh, please Destrier…"

  " Yes ." Destrier's voice lowered to a strange, rich register as he found his completion, the man effectively pinning her down to the bed with the weight of his body while he came. Illeria felt his grip on her hand twitch with every throb, unconsciously echoing his release. " Gods , there. There. Now we can go back to sleep." He gasped after a moment, dragging himself up onto his elbows and rolling to his side.

  Illeria, too tired to even think about moving, vaguely felt his weight leave the bed. After a moment, a warmed washcloth grazed her quivering cunt and she couldn't help the whine she let out, her hands clutching at the bedspread. 

  Destrier urged her legs apart and his fingers plunged into her, the man mercilessly stroking down against the sweet spot on the inner wall of her stomach. Illeria, though exhausted, felt yet another orgasm begin to curl in anticipatory preparation as her husband worked her over with practised, circular strokes. "One more for me? I am so greedy for you, beloved, please." He implored sweetly, like he wasn't the devil incarnate who had already kept her up half the night with his lovemaking. 

  Tears pricked at the edges of her eyes and, thoroughly overwhelmed, Illeria had no choice but to surrender to the burgeoning arousal that Destrier had coaxed to the surface. The way he moved, the expertise of his touch...she had never had a chance in the first place. Her husband, Destrier Revel, always brought her to such lofty heights and took his blessed time returning from them. He savored every moment with her after their first coupling, drawing the pleasure out until it lingered bright and sharp, wavering on pain. 

  Such was his love for her, and such was her love for him. Brilliant as starfire, soft as moonlight, endless as the very cosmos.

  /x\

  "What shall we name them?" Illeria mumbled sleepily to Destrier after he had cleaned her off. He was not quite as comfortable with his prestidigitation as he would like to be and besides, there was something achingly intimate about tending to her in a practical fashion. "The baby," she clarified needlessly.

  Destrier froze midway through the motion of tugging the blanket up to shield them from the (comparatively) chillier air in the room. The baby . Gods, they were having a baby. He would be a father . Overtaken by emotion, he kissed her forehead softly. "It can wait, beloved. We shall have months for you to decide."

  "No," his wife slurred in protest, clinging to his hand and blinking blearily up at him. "You decide. Pick a name."

  "I...Illeria, you cannot expect me to name them. We know not whether they shall be a boy or a girl!" Destrier reasoned. 

  Truthfully, he was fearful to name a child as he had named himself . Gods only knew what his birth name actually was. Leofore had never questioned the validity of his identity, the dark-haired paladin unaware that the orphan had simply blurted out the first thing he could think of after Leofore had dragged him out of the muck of the barracks stable. It was truly a miracle that Destrier had managed to get so far in life with a moniker that reduced him to nothing but a warhorse.

  The blond man's brow furrowed and he rotated his previously-injured arm, wincing a bit when it twinged slightly. He was on the mend, if only just. Perhaps he was aggressively foolhardy for being so active , but with a wife that was as eager and affectionate as Illeria…

  Well, any man would be hard-pressed to consider their wounds under such pleasurable duress.

  Illeria grumbled and grudgingly let him sink down onto the bed beside her. Soon enough she pressed against his ribs, her cheek resting on his chest as she hummed wearily and he stroked her hair. "It will be a boy." She murmured, sounding nearly asleep. 

  "Oh aye? You are sure of that?" Destrier teased. 

  "I am." His wife insisted, rubbing her nose against his chest. "I can tell."

  "Very well. I shall not poke fun at your maternal intuition." Destrier promised solemnly, earning himself a one-eyed glare. "However I will reiterate my previous counsel, beloved. Rest . When you wake, then we may discuss further." He gestured out the window at the grey twilight, "the weather promises to be rainy, and if there is no reason for us to leave this bed…" the blond man trailed off pointedly.

  Illeria still put up an admirable fight, lasting an entire seven seconds before she was sound asleep on his chest. 

  The former Knight-Captain Destrier Revel smiled, his finger delicately tracing the bridge of Illeria's nose. "I am so glad to have you by my side," he whispered to her, blinking away the grateful tears misting his eyes when she snuggled a bit closer to him, " my wife ."

Part Seven: The Most Important Part

[pauldron-pieces]

Destrier Revel: So Little Time

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: Destrier Revel/Illeria Stennas (F!NPC)

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Switchfoot: On Fire and I-Human: Give All Of Yourself

Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked

For Leofore

Light And Home

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains semi-graphic depictions of sexual acts between two consenting adults, and emotional duress. Stay safe!]

Illeria always looked beautiful to him. 

  It was never a question of finding the right angle, or seeing the good through the mediocre. To Destrier, she just... was . It was as if it radiated from her, permeated her entire being. 

  She was, is, would always be lovely. 

  Were he not already serving his masters, both earthly and cosmic, she would be his divinity. Her hands, her smiles, her body...she was so tender with him, so strong when she had to be; an intoxicating duality that would not cease to awe him in its ever-present splendor. 

  Illeria, always waiting for him at the door as he left in the early hours for yet another forum with the King's Chosen, and he still couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe she would willingly spend her time with someone who could offer her so very little.

  When the choice was finally made that they must deal with the other fiendish abomination, the other lich that had encroached and sought to bring such destruction to the kingdom, both King Jonathan and Leofore counseled for expedience. The King's Chosen were to depart on the day after the 'morrow.

  There was always so little time to spend with his beloved, but Destrier bore that burden gladly. It was a small price to pay to keep her, to keep the kingdom safe. 

  Their kisses had grown steadily hungrier as of late, the two of them lingering longer and longer in the mornings. Destrier, for all of Illeria's prompting, had yet to join her in her bed in the evenings, the knight choosing instead to sprawl out across the warm hearth. 

  Not for lack of interest did he avoid her, gods no! But instead, out of an odd fear. He was a man so used to destruction, able to summon fire with a mere thought, able to strike down foes four times his size. 

  He was a man raised rough. War was all he knew, was all he had ever known. This...

  Gods, he ached to hold her, to truly touch her and know her, but he feared that his clumsy, indelicate hands would leave some mark , some grotesque stain. If he harmed her, he would never forgive himself.

  So he battled his urges, reasoning that it was far more than he deserved to even just kiss her. If that was all she wanted from him, he would be content with that.

  /x\

  His sigh sounded like it came from the earth itself and Illeria looked up to see her beloved Destrier standing in the doorway, his fingers grazing the crest above the lintel. His eyes were fixed on the fire that crackled in the common room's hearth, their brown depths equal amounts thoughtful and wistful. For being a man who wasn't particularly renowned for his intelligence, Destrier Revel certainly seemed to do a lot of thinking .

  "I come bearing news that is good, for all that it makes my heart heavy." The knight stated after a moment, his eyes flicking to her own and warming almost immediately.

  A blind man could have picked up on the knight's shyness around her years ago, Destrier's stammering the most endearing part of the whole debacle. That he had finally managed to overcome such a hurdle was a true indicator of how devastating the struggle with Leofore must have been. 

  In spite of that progress though, Destrier still seemed hesitant to go any further than his tender, drawn-out kisses. Illeria could posit easily enough that some of his hesitation was due to his military mileage, the trials he endured enough to break a lesser man. While the woman wished he would talk to her more openly about such things, she could only assume that he was doing the best that he could.

  Illeria Stennas was not some frail creature to swoon after a turn about the drawing room, however. 

  She wiped her hands off on her apron, then crossed her arms on the counter, leaning forward a bit. "What new trouble is our great king sending you and your friends to sort out this time?" Illeria asked, her tone one of playful resignation. She had learned long before their involvement that Destrier's loyalty to his master and comrades was second to none.

  "We are to do battle with a lich." Destrier looked haunted for a moment and Illeria was reminded anew of how hard the King's Chosen had to fight to reclaim Leofore from the clutches of such evil previously. "Illeria, I…" The blond man paused to close and lock the door behind him against the chill of the night air, then turned to face her again. "My love, I am to leave shortly."

  "How shortly?" Illeria queried, cursing inwardly at the sharpness of her tone. 

  "Two days, Illeria." 

  She wanted to protest, to voice her disapproval of the rapid decision, so soon? . But Destrier already appeared miserable, the large man cupping her face in his hands over the counter. "I know you have no choice." She said instead. The young woman wasn't sure if the kiss on her forehead was gratitude or apology. Maybe both. A boon for her understanding heart.

  "Illeria…" Goddess, when he breathed her name like that it was as if her knees were designed to tremble. 

  Destrier was all softness with her, but the occasional sharp edge to him was what she loved so dearly. The barest crack in his armor of propriety, painstakingly crafted over the years of knightly training. Leofore had taught him well, guarded his mind against corruptions or temptations that may have struck out in the field. His occasional slip-ups around her served as a reminder of his comfort in her, as well as a bit of an ego-stroke. 

  "Yes, Destrier?" She replied, her voice just as soft while he leaned in.

  "Forgive me for this." Destrier murmured, and then slotted their mouths together. His tongue sought hers out hungrily and Illeria found herself at a loss, her hands fumbling for purchase on his broad shoulders. He rested his forehead against hers, those eyes nearly golden in the light from the lantern. "Forgive me." He begged again, stroking over the kerchief that she had covered her hair with.

  "What terrible thing have you done, my love?" Illeria murmured.

  "Not for what I have done, beloved. For what I may do." Destrier seemed legitimately distressed and Illeria caught his hands as he struggled to articulate himself. "I have this... hunger I cannot seem to reconcile. These urges, these… base cravings I feel to see more of you. Yet I cannot call anything associated with you truly base, for you are all that I fight for." Destrier kissed her knuckles. "My beautiful Illeria, my shelter, my light, I come to you not as one of the King's Chosen, not even as a knight of the crown. I come to you simply as Destrier Revel, a man rendered insensate by his need for you."

  "What is worse," Illeria began, her head swimming pleasantly at his luxurious words, "than a man who takes what is not his to take?"

  " Nothing ." Destrier answered firmly, and if it was possible the woman fell even more in love with him even as she shook her head. 

  "Destrier, it is a man who keeps his eager lover waiting!" She teased, seizing his ascot to reel him in. A bit more serious, she added, "I feared that you did not want me." Her fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt. "I feared that perhaps you did not have the same depth of feeling towards me that I foster for you."

  "Illeria, I might die from wanting you." Destrier replied, the bluntness of his words settling in her stomach like an ember. "The years have been brutal to me. I am not the man you deserve." 

  "You are the man that I want. I believe that is enough." Illeria twined her fingers through his, leading him around the bar. "Take me to bed, Revel."

  "Are you certain? Illeria-"

  " Desty ." The woman said the nickname in exasperation, making him chuckle. "I am much more certain than you seem willing to give me credit for!"

  "Very well, my love." Destrier acquiesced, his smile faint but still there. "Forgive my constant need for reassurance."

  She rolled her eyes, tugging him into her bedchamber. Their bedchamber. Goddess, she was really about to take this plunge with Destrier . The incorruptible paladin of the King's Chosen, Knight-Captain Revel. All the lofty titles he had accumulated and yet he was still so uncertain , so humble, that he came to her as nothing more than a man.

  They had entered this room many times before, hand in hand like they were now. Occasionally even clumsily fumbling at one another for a time before he would inevitably soothe her back against the counterpane, his expression troubled as he departed the cozy warmth of her bed and curled up in front of the fireplace. 

  He had oft left her wet and aching with his passionate, tender kisses, but she did not chide him for it. Destrier was not a hasty man, and he was also not a man lacking in emotion. Turmoil ran deep in him, the caution he displayed only fanning the flames of her ardent curiosity. What would he be like if he was truly unleashed? 

  She thought she got her answer as the door clicked shut. 

  Destrier pinned her against the wall, his hand cupping the back of her head to shield it from the impact. " Illeria ," he whispered, his voice grating slightly. "There is never enough time, my love, and yet if I do not ask now, I fear that I will be unable to again." He half-laughed sadly, resting his forehead on her own. "Every time I have ever had to leave the kingdom, every maneuver against the enemy...all I could think about was whether this would be the final time. Whether it would be the end, and I would never be able to see you again. Even if you didn't know how I felt, it seemed like it was enough just to see you, happy and safe. I told myself I could live with that, why muddy everything so?"

  Illeria dug her fingers into his hair, freeing it from the haphazard braid he had constructed at the nape of his neck. Destrier hummed at the gesture, his eyes half-lidding as he leaned into her touch.

  "After what transpired with...with the Knight-Commander, believing that we had truly lost him…I was in such a disgraceful state. It was an immense blow, one that I am aggrieved to say nearly ended me." He confessed. "I could not bear the thought of making you feel even a tenth of the pain I felt at losing Leofore, should something happen to me." His large hand tucked beneath her chin to lift her gaze to meet his own. "Should we continue down this path, my love, I fear I will cause you grief. If we need to cease our interactions here, I will understand."

  Illeria remembered well the way that he had been following Leofore's supposed death. Distant, painfully so, and no victory seemed to be enough to blunt the edge of that specific defeat. "Did you believe you would die? When you departed with the others to rescue the queen and prince?" She asked instead.

  "I do not fear death, Illeria."

  "That is not what I asked." Illeria pushed him back a step, enough to give her some room so that she didn't lose her senses. His proximity could be... overwhelming . "I asked whether you believed you would perish. Did you believe, in some corner of your heart, that your death would serve as penance for the loss of his life?"

  "I..." the guilty look Destrier sported told her all she needed to know. "You must understand, he taught me all that I ever had to offer. Unshakeable where I am brittle, strong where I am feeble, Leofore...is everything I could aspire to be. I told you before that I did not think I would survive the war, and losing someone so important--"

  "And what of your own importance, Destrier?" Illeria interrupted him fiercely. "What of the people that might grieve you, as you grieved Leofore?" What of me , she wanted to ask, what of my heart that broke every time you left? But no, she could not take that out on him. It had been her own fault for remaining silent about her affections for so long, trapped by the inadequacy she felt. He was a brave, noble knight, and she was nothing but an ordinary woman who had carved out an existence for herself. Free, and so, so lonely.

  "Every life in this kingdom, from the youngest babe to the oldest counselor, is worth my own many times over, Illeria. That is the reality of my knighthood, and a burden that I gladly accept." Destrier's tone was resigned. "My life so that others may live on in peace."

  "Do not pretend as if there is no heart in your chest, Revel." Illeria snapped. "You do yourself no great service."

  "Naero said much the same to me once." He smiled fondly at her and despite her best efforts, the woman felt her irritation wane. "When I am with you, it feels as though it is fit to leap free of my chest."

  "You leave the day after tomorrow?" Illeria waited for his nod of confirmation before drawing a shaky breath. "I suppose we must make the most of that time, then."

  "It would be wise." Destrier agreed, sounding a bit confused. "Are there any repairs to be completed? Or-"

  She caught him by the pockets of his waistcoat, pulling herself into him and kissing him hard. Destrier's startled exhale made her want to laugh for a moment, but then he was kissing her back and suddenly laughter was the furthest thing from her mind. "Destrier," Illeria sighed, pleasantly surprised by the way that he groaned in response. "I would appreciate you laying with me before you depart."

  Destrier buried his face in the junction of her neck and shoulder with another groan, this one louder. "Illeria, have mercy ." He pleaded, "I want that so badly it hurts, my love, but-"

  "What is stopping you?" Illeria pressed kisses to his throat, his ear. "Undress me, love."

  " Gods ." Destrier said through gritted teeth. "You want me? Truly?"

  " Yes , Destrier. I want all of you." Illeria hesitated, unsure if what she was about to say would be too weighty for their current situation. "I want you to know exactly why you're fighting so hard to return to me."

  Destrier's fingers dug into her back and the man held her tightly for several long moments. "I don't deserve you." He muttered, finally tugging at the laces of her corset. "I have never deserved you, and I doubt I ever will. If you will accept me as I am, who am I to question such providence?"

  Illeria covered his hands with her own, feeling him trembling as she guided him through unlacing the supportive garment. The corset slid down her body, taking her skirts with it and leaving her there in her chemise. The woman raised her hands to his shirt collar, deft fingers untying his ascot. "Are you alright, my love?" She asked gently. Destrier's eyes snapped back to her own, the man nodding hard enough to make her giggle. 

  "I am uncertain of where to look." He admitted, his expression gone sheepish. A flush had crept up his neck to dust the bridge of his aquiline nose with a sweet rosy tint. The image was utterly precious and so very Destrier that Illeria couldn't have helped her smile even if she had wanted to.

  He seemed content to just stand there and let her undo the buttons on his waistcoat, the knight shrugging out of the garment absently. "Surely you have enjoyed the company of other women?" Illeria teased. "You must have looked at them, Destrier."

  The large man fidgeted guiltily. "Well, yes."

  "And I have enjoyed the company of other men, Destrier." Illeria smiled at him. "Do not appear so pensive, my love! We are neither of us blushing virgins. There is no shame in enjoying the touch of another person."

  Destrier swore under his breath, meeting her gaze once more. "I just feel inadequate, Illeria. I bandy with the notion that you may not enjoy me, and to know that you could be trapped with me...many folk love each other without enjoying their coupling. I do not wish for you to warm my proverbial bed merely out of a sense of duty or normalcy."

  "Fatalistic! We will be fine , my love." Illeria stated firmly. "You must stop thinking of the worst possible thing, lest your forehead become hopelessly wrinkled."

  "Truly, what a terrible fate that might be." Destrier smiled reluctantly, his fingers undoing the kerchief that kept her curls in check. "Gods, I love you. I love everything about you." He said, the plainness of his words doing nothing to take the sincerity from them. "Did you know that your eyes light up when you smile?"

  Illeria blinked at him. "They do?" Being the sole caretaker of Maplecrest, she had little time to practice smiling at herself in the mirror. 

  Destrier nodded. "They take on this warm hue, I am unsure of how to describe it. I've never been of a poetic bent. Regardless, the effect is absolutely enchanting." He cradled her face, brushing their lips together but not fully kissing her. She could feel the strange burn scars that spanned both of his palms pressing into her skin, the touch familiar and grounding. "Illeria, if I do something that makes you feel uneasy or...or if I cause you pain…" he trailed off, searching her eyes. 

  "We won't ever find out if we keep going at this pace." Illeria half-scolded, half-teased, taking matters into her own hands as she grasped the hem of her chemise and stripped it off over her head. 

  She understood his concern, of course. She had wrestled with such notions herself on more than one occasion. But there was no need nor room for doubt anymore. With the same certainty that she knew she loved him, Illeria knew that Destrier would never intentionally cause her discomfort. 

  She stepped out of her underthings and stood before him, hands on her hips, naked as the day she was born. Illeria tilted her chin up to give him a playful wink. "Well, Knight Revel? Is one simple woman too great a foe for you to conquer?" 

  Destrier's reply came in the form of his eyes trailing down over her body, the paladin taking in every inch of her on display. Then, he shifted his weight, advancing on her until the backs of her knees hit the edge of her bed. 

  "I have yet to meet a foe that can best me." He sounded almost contemplative, his hand reaching out to press against her collarbone and continue to urge her back until she had no choice but to lay down. Destrier shed his shirt and unlaced his breeches while she got comfortable, and Illeria decided that she had waited long enough.

  Her own fingers began to move down her body, the woman teasing herself. "If you don't hurry, Destrier, I will certainly best you." 

  "Hmm, doubtful." Destrier murmured, his large form abruptly caging her in. "Though your confidence is not unfounded, I must insist that you yield." His fingers twined through her own, pinning them to the blankets on either side of her head. "You are wholly at my mercy, woman. However, should you request my supplication, I may be swayed to grant it."

  Had any other man said such a thing while looming over her in bed, Illeria would have made them regret being born. But Destrier saying those things, brown eyes scorching in their intensity even as a fond smile tugged at the corner of his mouth…

  She had never thought that a man teasing her could elicit such a heated reaction. Illeria felt her entire body flush. " Please , Destrier." She begged, and he smiled at her so warmly. Her thighs fell open as he tried her with his fingers, the man's breath leaving his chest in a harsh gasp when he found her slick and ready for him.

  " Gods , you want me." Destrier sounded awestruck by the confirmation of her arousal. Illeria whimpered, nodding and arching her hips up in invitation. An invitation which Destrier proceeded to accept, the blond man finally gifting her the last piece of what she had been craving for so long. 

  His hand still holding hers squeezed once when she moaned his name, her own breathing so quick to stutter when Destrier plunged deep. His pelvis ground against her, providing such delicious stimulation that she couldn't help her cry. 

  Destrier rumbled wordlessly in response, ducking his head to flick and tease at her nipples with his awful, terrible tongue. The tongue that said such sweet and pleasing things now menaced her mercilessly, feeling like a trail of fire on her sensitive skin. Illeria gripped his back after he released her hand to support his weight more fully, the large man shuddering all over when she dug her nails in. "Good?" He queried breathlessly.

  "Gods, Destrier , more-" Illeria couldn't even get the full plea out, the muscles in his back shifting before snapping taut beneath her touch as he moved to obey.

  His voice was gravelly when next he spoke, his hand stroking over her hair with such tenderness. "I never believed I would get to do this with you, my love." He looked dazed. "I feel as though I'll wake up at any moment, aching and alone, still in my tent out in the field."

  "You dreamed of me?" Illeria meant to joke with him, but his expression was so soft as he looked down at her and nodded she couldn't bring herself to. 

  "Nearly every night, it seemed." Destrier confessed, making the pit of her stomach throb sweetly with the depth of his next thrust. "I would start awake, your name on my lips, wishing more than anything that I could-" he paused for breath, glancing downwards at where their bodies were currently joined and then back up at her. His grin was pure mischief when he continued, "well, I'm certain your own imagination can fill in the blanks."

  "I have been so fearful that you saw me as a trinket, something nice to look at and do nothing with." Illeria gave him her own confession, laughing a little when he accidentally bumped his nose against hers. "I did not want to rush you, Destrier."

  "Patience is a virtue, my love, but there are worse things in life than being less virtuous." Destrier kissed her forehead. "You have waited so very long for me, and I for you, Illeria Stennas." 

  His hand slipped between their bodies, delving into the apex of her thighs to give her what she dared not ask for. Illeria clung to his shoulders, her legs framing his hips as he rutted into her until she was panting his name, over and over in time with his motions. Destrier's fingers stroked her firmly, coaxing her towards her inevitable climax in a way that no other man had ever bothered to do. 

  "Illeria..." he moaned for her and the effect was instantaneous. Every muscle in her body tensed, Illeria threw her head back and canted her hips to meet his next thrust. 

  Stars erupted across her field of vision, the lure of completion beckoning her onwards. 

  Destrier dropped his forehead against her sternum while she trembled and sobbed out his name, her entire being ablaze with aroused heat as she fell apart for him. In the haze of her post-moment, Illeria vaguely realized that Destrier had gone stock-still, quivering a little.

  "Where do you want me?" He asked through clenched teeth. "I fear I am close."

  Where do you want me?

  She bit her lip unintentionally as she thought and Destrier groaned, a tremor running through him. "Illeria," he began to protest, then grunted as she pressed her heels into the backs of his thighs, theoretically keeping him right where he was. In truth, she knew full well that he could easily remove himself from her embrace if he did not feel comfortable with such an act. 

  "Inside me, my love?" She requested softly. Illeria could have sworn the fire in the hearth behind him flared a little brighter, Destrier's brown eyes flickering like molten gold as he stared down at her. "Our first time together should be special, shouldn't it?" She reasoned, combing his hair back out of his face. 

  "You are certain? " He rasped, and there was a desperate edge to his voice that made her want to shiver. "It is not too late to change your mind, Illeria. I will not unless you truly wish for it."

  "I love you as I have never loved another, Destrier Revel." Illeria assured him. "I trust you."

  That seemed to do him in, the paladin gripping her hips nearly tight enough to bruise. "I will return to you, I swear it." He promised fervently, "Not even death itself has a chance of tearing me from you, Illeria."

  Such lofty words, spoken so sincerely. She could not help but almost believe him. The woman embraced him as he too reached his climax, cradling him against her body while he shuddered and spilled himself into her. 

  /x\

  Destrier's heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. Illeria, Illeria , his mind chanted, and she had never looked so beautiful as when she had lost herself under the caress of his fingers. 

  A thousand nights that he had awoken alone, all washed away by this one instance of lovemaking. He felt like a complete idiot, smiling at her like the lovestruck fool that he was. He was always so careful with her thick hair, knowing that one wrong move could tug it to the point of pain, but he managed to successfully lace his fingers through it so he could tilt her head. His nose being... prodigious , certain precautions had to be taken when he kissed her.

  "You are incredible." Illeria whispered against his lips, giving the man pause. He pulled back, a bit startled and confused by the strength of the affectionate look she was giving him.

  "I am?" He asked after a moment. 

  Illeria laughed, the noise carefree as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. " Yes , Destrier!"

  "I love you, you know that, right?" He hated how pitiful he sounded. "I have never felt this way before, Illeria. I have never…"

  Her hands framed his jaw, tipping his face down to gently peck his slack mouth. "Destrier, I feel the same way. It's all so…"

  "Raw." Destrier finished for her, shaking his head.

  " New ," she corrected him, "raw makes it sound as though it is painful. Are you pained, my love?"

  " Gods , no. Oh! I should move, I must be crushing you." Destrier floundered back, nearly falling over in his hasty effort to take his weight off of her. "I did not hurt you, did I?" He asked after righting himself, relieved when she shook her head.

  Her fingers traced the scarring that intersected his left eyebrow. Unbeknownst to her, those and a few more marks that his hair thankfully hid were the only indication of his abrupt departure from (and subsequent return to) the land of the living. 

  Destrier leaned into her touch, taking her hand after a moment and pressing a kiss to the still-thundering pulse in her wrist. "My beloved." He murmured, sure that he looked absolutely smitten. He certainly felt as much!

  "I know you have to leave, but…" Illeria trailed off, her brow creased with worry. 

  Destrier cleared his throat. "Not for two days." He reminded her, trying to smile. "The day after tomorrow." 

  Illeria nodded. "We won't be open tomorrow." She said decisively, her tone downright flippant . 

  "No?" Destrier cocked his head, thoroughly confused. "But...the inn?"

  " Destrier , you leave in two days ." Illeria reiterated with a wave of her hand. "If I can still walk at that point, I may consider it a personal failing on your part."

  " Illeria! " The knight sputtered, torn between laughter and embarrassment. "You are...gods, I love you." He smiled, much more fondly than their ribald conversation would call for. "I shall do my best, if you are willing." He was sure he was red from the tips of his ears to the center of his chest.

  "That is all I can ask of you, Destrier." The young woman slung her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. "If you are mine, I am willing." She sighed when they parted once more.

  " Always , beloved. Until the stars burn to ash."

  /x\

  "You had better be safe. It will be cold without you." He could recognize now that the terse tone she had taken was due to her concern for him, and his heart ached in his chest.

  Destrier took her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "I promised, did I not?" He tried to assure her. "I will return as fast as I can, my love."

  The soft gray fabric wound around his neck, and Illeria used it to pull him back down for another kiss. "Wear your helmet." She insisted.

  "Of course, Illeria."

  "If something happens-" Her voice choked off, the woman blinking rapidly and then looking away.

  "Illeria, you must be strong enough for the both of us." Destrier murmured, his thumb catching the tear that managed to escape. "I will not ask you to force a smile or even put on a brave face, for it would be foolish to expect such a taxing thing. All I can ask is that you do not lose hope. I will return, and when I do, I…" Destrier hesitated, then smiled thinly. "I shall put in a better effort to ensure your lack of motion."

  Illeria gave a watery snicker at that, and Knight Revel rushed to kiss her again before she could potentially say something that would send Thranrok into an absolute spasm .

Part Five: A Choice

[pauldron-pieces]

Destrier Revel: For Leofore

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: N/A, Leofore-Centric

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical narrative boss battle scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Fire Emblem: Three Houses OST: The Apex of the World (Rain) and Written By Wolves: To Tell You The Truth

Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked

[Leofore is a human Oathbreaker/fallen paladin, and his appearance can be found here.]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes including vivid descriptions of gore, emotional/physical duress and character death. Stay safe!]

When we last left our party, Knight-Commander Leofore was believed to be dead, a casualty of the war. To the shock and dismay of the party, Leofore returned on the eve of their most ambitious push against the Urgals, their former friend and mentor twisted nearly beyond recognition and wearing a strange mask. Leofore proceeded to berate the King's Elite for their inaction before kidnapping both the prince and the queen and escaping into the night. The party has tracked him down in an effort to rescue the queen and prince, and possibly, Destrier's mentor as well ...

  He knew they had arrived before they even entered the portal. Thranrok was always so loud .

  The sound of their voices filled him with melancholy he did not entirely understand. Leofore's mind seemed to be in a fog, a daze that stole the strength from his very spirit. Was this what being undead was truly like? 

  The queen was still secured beside the throne, her regal poise maintained throughout the ordeal. Frail hands trembled ever so slightly as his gauntlet wrapped around her bound wrists, but other than that she gave no indication of her fear while she was pulled upright. King Jonathan's wife had always been the picture of composure, whether dealing with unruly nobility or Urgal hordes. 

  Leofore offered her a smile devoid of warmth. "It would seem your salvation is at hand, your Majesty. Better late than never. Unfortunately though, you will not live long enough to be rescued."

  "I pray that your friends will be able to rescue you from the inky depths you've sunk to." The queen replied softly. "The Leofore I knew would never surrender so easily, would never stoop so low as to condone murder and kidnapping."

  The torches lining the room suddenly flared bright, no doubt in reply to Thranrok's talents. A forlorn fondness swept the paladin when his old friends were revealed in the rising torchlight, his dagger moving without his input to slit the queen's throat. 

  Leofore couldn't remember why that caused him such distress, his thoughts clouded and confused while her hands weakly pawed at his blackened breastplate. He shoved her body away gracelessly, opening his arms in greeting instead. "My friends!" The paladin said gladly.

  "Why the hell would you do that?!" Thranrok squawked, the sorcerer already bristling. 

  Naero advanced cautiously, his attention obviously split between concern for the queen and wariness for Leofore. " Easy big guy, we did what you asked for. We're here. Your negotiating skills could use a little polish, but whatever gets the job done." 

  Leofore could hear the judgement in his quiet words. Naero had always been good at reading him.

  Knight Revel silently gathered the queen in his arms and Leofore's gaze was drawn to the large shield strapped on his back, identical to the one he himself had carried. The knight passed the rapidly fading woman off to Ganymethios, who looked as grim as a dragonborn could while he began to softly murmur a spell that would no doubt steal her back from death.

  Pity they never afforded you such courtesies.

  Leofore paid the queen's removal no further mind, predatory focus shifting to the two who now stood at the foot of the dais. The elf at least had the wherewithal to keep his expression neutral, but Destrier… "It is good to see you again." Leofore announced, his smile all bared teeth and false pleasantries. "How I wish that I had been able to see you all one last time before I died. Alone on the battlefield, eyes fixed to the horizon where I expected my aid to come from."

  Died rang hollow in his head. He knew it was wrong , but he was unsure why. Why would that be wrong? He had perished. 

  Right?  

  The spectral grip at the nape of his neck tightened, phantom fingers digging in like iron talons. Right . "Would that we could meet under happier circumstances," The paladin mused. 

  "The feeling's mutual, trust me." Thranrok muttered. 

  Argon already looked ready to tear Leofore limb from limb, the werebear sampling the air briefly before affixing those beady little eyes on the paladin atop the dais. 

  He will be a problem. Get rid of him. That cold voice in his head again, the claws digging deeper. Leofore shook off the sensation, straightening his shoulders. "After you all so callously abandoned me to die , really, what was I to do?" He asked no one in particular, clasping his hands behind his back as he surveyed the room. 

  Destrier's voice cracked when he spoke up, "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, Knight-Commander. I had never seen King Jonathan weep so openly before that day, the day that he gave us the order to march on the main encampment instead of dividing his senior officers." 

  Leofore glanced at the young man he had trained and he was perturbed by the expression Destrier wore. The blond looked like someone had ripped the soul from his chest. And the idea of his dear friend King Yokam ordering the battalions forward with tears streaming down his face...it was-

  Exactly what you wanted! He abandoned you, let him suffer!

  Bitterness soured his mouth.

  "We grieved for you, we mourned your loss!" Destrier continued when he did not comment, his fists clenched at his sides. "And when Gany told us that he may be able to return you to your former state-"

  "I needed some time to work on the spell and gather resources, but yeah. We weren't letting you go without a fight." Gany inserted himself into the one-sided conversation, placing a hand on Destrier's shoulder to quiet him. "Thranrok and I aren't one hundred percent sure on what's going on, but for you?"

  "Of course we would try!" The hairless dwarf chimed in. Leofore's throat tightened. "Leaving you behind-- none of us agreed with it! They called us heroes, honored your memory, but without you there…"

  "An inescapable void in our team where our compatriot used to be." Naero paused, sharp eyes meeting Leofore's own steadily. "All the poetic words in the world won't cure the horror your lost soul must feel, therefore I won't bother with them."

  Despite their relative proximity, Leofore suddenly felt as though there was a bottomless pit between himself and his stalwart brothers in arms.

  Destrier raised his lance in a knightly salute. "You will never die alone again, my friend. We will lay you to rest as many times as it takes. I swear it." He promised fervently. "Whatever power dragged you from your grave, we will dismantle it and grant you the peace you deserve."

  "I think all this is pointless." Argon rumbled bluntly. "He's not just gonna' lie down no matter how much you idiots talk at him. Even if he wasn't all screwed up, this is Leofore ."

  "Too true, my ursine friend!" Leofore agreed with another smile, genuine this time. It was good to see them all again-

  The angry mask of his helm slammed down without warning, the ability to control his own motions entirely removed. 

  What am I doing?  

  A terrible oath in Urgal left the mouth he did not own and then a pinpoint of black flame tossed itself lazily into the center of his former allies. Fick was the only one quick enough to sidestep the attack, the elf having the audacity to look bored. 

  What am I doing? Stop!  

  Knight Revel and Ganymethios were unable to avoid the hellfire explosion and were thrown back from the throne dais, the knight striking a pillar sickeningly hard and the wizard tumbling across the floor with a loud clatter of scaled limbs. 

  Stop!

  His lance felt unwieldy and clumsy in his hand. Leofore advanced on the individuals he had fought beside so many times, his attention fixed on Argon. Argon, First General, was the largest and strongest of the group, the werebear towering head and shoulders over even Knight-Commander Leofore himself. 

  Get rid of him or he will cause trouble.

  Thranrok struggled to help Gany rise, the sorcerer hurling angry verbiage in Dwarvish at Leofore. With those two preoccupied, Leofore was free to attack Argon uninterrupted. The werebear stared him down, then opened his mouth and let out a fierce roar of challenge. 

  An arrow sang through the air, Leofore dodging the shot to the face with a speed he did not possess. Fick grunted something that sounded like a swear under his breath and Leofore knew he was supposed to hear it, simply because the Spymaster didn't speak for his own benefit even when he was frustrated. 

  The familiarity was ice cold down his spine. He would have to kill them. Argon would feint left, then strike right. Destrier would use the haft of his lance to knock him off balance before going in for the kill. Ganymethios was the wild card, but even he had predictable routes. Thranrok would attack from the air, and Naero-

  Gods help me. I will end up killing them.

  But then, Argon bolted right . Leofore was caught off guard, unable to get his lance up in time to fend him off and the werebear grappled him with massive paws. Claws raked through his armor and Leofore snarled, words foreign to his tongue imbuing his lance with a terrible power. He pulled his arm back as best as he could to strike, to stagger, to kill -

  He had forgotten about Destrier, more was the pity. "Garuda denies it!" the blond man barked sharply, his hand outstretched to render Leofore's spell null. The Knight-Commander was not even allowed the time to be irritated as Argon proceeded to maul him. Or try to, anyway. The blood hunter was certainly making quick work of his armor! Leofore was strangely lighthearted about this turn of events. Argon had factored in that he knew their methods inside and out. To change such tried and true strategies mere moments before battle-!

  Revel was abruptly inches from his face and Leofore blinked, unsure if he had hallucinated the curled onyx horns he had seen briefly on either side of Destrier's pale visage. The younger man's lance roared like a bonfire when he struck Leofore, pinpricks of strange light arcing around his form.

  The dark-haired paladin was then subjected to an ethereal weapon colliding with the side of his mask, catching the barest glimpse of a glassy obsidian battleaxe--no! A double-bladed spear, laced through with stars and flanked by those horns. It vanished as quickly as it appeared. Since when could Revel do that?! That was also a variable. It seemed Argon was not the only one who had adapted his strategies! Bittersweet pride surged in Leofore, seeing the determined look in those familiar brown eyes.

  Please, my friends, stop me. I am lost to you, please stop me.

  Kill them all, you insolent fool!

  The decaying bodies of his men rose from the shadows beside the pillars, shambling corpses heading for the recovering wizard and unconscious queen. Thranrok flew into the air, fire whirling to life and immolating their would-be attackers. The stars that began shimmering around his bald pate warned Leofore that he was about to have much more than the angry First General werebear, his fierce Knight-Captain and their potshot-taking Spymaster to endure. 

  Get rid of Argon, before it's too late! He is the largest threat!

  Leofore struggled wildly against Argon's grip, his lance puncturing the blood hunter over and over in a frenzy. Argon held on doggedly while the necrotic energy seared his flesh, one enormous paw swiping at the mask. 

  Destrier had entirely abandoned any pretense of composure, his attacks little more than frantic swings until Argon yelled at him to focus on the damn mask, Revel! Instead of stabbing his deadly lance through Leofore's head like a sane man would have, Destrier spun the weapon around and rammed the blunt end of it up into the underside of Leofore's chin. 

  Colors exploded across his limited field of vision and Leofore feared for a moment that Revel had shattered his jaw. The older paladin tasted blood in his mouth, viscous liquid spattering down his breastplate when he gasped for air. Argon's hold on him tightened even further, grim blackened pauldrons creaking in warning; another arrow glanced off the mask, chipping the bridge of the nose. 

  "Keep him still , will you?" Naero complained.

  " Look Fick, he's hellbent on making me into a damn pincushion-- will you knock it off?! " Argon interrupted himself to pound a furry fist into the side of Leofore's head, the blood hunter sounding more like he was berating a child than fighting for his life.

  Destrier abandoned his lance in favor of fumbling with the smooth edges of the mask, the knight swearing a blue streak when Leofore jerked his face up out of reach. "We are here to help you, Leofore!" He cried, clearly distraught. " Stop! "

  Leofore silently bent his legs at the knee and planted his black sabatons in the center of Revel's chest, using the solid wall of Argon to his advantage so he could knock Destrier flat on his back. A mote of pure starlight struck Leofore squarely in the temple and he heard a loud crack as the mask lost a small piece from the forehead. 

  "Ha!" Thranrok sounded pleased, which boded poorly-

  You stupid fool, kill him now!  

  Another Urgal spell left his lips and paralysis rippled across the battlefield. Thranrok tumbled helplessly to the ground, the dwarf landing hard beside Ganymethios and the queen.

  Leofore wordlessly flipped his lance around and thrust it into his own stomach. His plate and chainmail shrieked in protest before giving way and the pain from his wounds (which had been a far-off, dreamy sort of thing), rushed to clarity. Radiant energy cut him to the quick and he choked down his yell, shoving the lance through himself and into Argon. 

  The werebear roared at the explosion of power and loosened his grip, finally allowing Leofore to tear free. 

  The man dropped heavily to the stone floor, another mote of starlight crashing into the mask and knocking him onto his hands and knees. Leofore was dimly aware that he was slavering as he clawed at the mask, beating a fist into the ground in frustration when it would not budge. 

  He scrabbled frantically at his belt for his dagger, drawing it and feeling bile surge up his throat when he realized the blade was still stained with the queen's blood. 

  Leofore then jammed it under the edge of the mask, trying desperately to pry it off. Fight it, Leofore! That was Thranrok's voice in his head, concerned, loudbright , grounding him in reality. Knight-Commander Leofore, leader of the King's Elite, reduced to this?

  The dagger cut into his cheek while he struggled, the paladin digging and scraping like a rabid animal until the blade suddenly snapped with a sharp pang!

  I warned you, thrall. Now, kill Argon.

  " No! " Leofore screamed, slamming his face into the floor one last time and then staggering upright against his will. The chainmail covering his stomach was slick with blood; Leofore could feel it trickling into his greaves. He pressed a hand to the wound and gripped his lance even tighter, his breathing coming in harsh, liquid gasps. 

  The werebear lay still on the flagstones several feet away, badly bloodied. First one foot, then the other, Leofore slowly advanced the prone blood hunter.

  "Don't make me do this." The paladin whispered, fighting for control with every step. "Gods, don't make me do this." The icy fingers dug deep into the nape of his neck, making him grimace.

  You have no choice.

  Destrier grabbed his lance arm, the knight digging in his heels when Leofore tried to shake him off. " I won't let you! " Destrier raged, his voice hoarse from yelling as he roughly dragged the larger man back a step. 

  On the opposite side, Thranrok wrapped his entire body around the paladin's other arm, the stocky sorcerer slowing him down even further. "Gany, get it off him!" Thranrok exclaimed urgently. " Hurry! "

  The dragonborn's talons sank into Leofore's face before he could even think about dodging, Gany not even attempting to remove the mask so much as he was skinning it off of him. A crack formed down the center, the mask giving out under the strain.

  No!

  Thank you, my friends .

  Pain shot through his veins, fever-hot and furious. Leofore couldn't help but cry out, a weak shudder of agony rocking his battered body. Ganymethios carried on with his grisly task and Leofore finally felt something at the nape of his neck snap off with a dull crunch.  

  /x\

  Leofore collapsed face first, mere inches from his intended target. 

  Destrier couldn't keep from dry heaving at the sight of the bloody mask Gany now held, the dragonborn shooting him an apologetic grimace before stating, "Nasty stuff, but it had to be done."

  Naero sauntered forward, already putting on his gloves. Destrier gripped his lance tightly while the elf reached down, two fingers tapping on the side of Leofore's neck in habitual search of a pulse. He wasn't sure what on earth Naero hoped to find, Leofore was-

  Fick's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "He's still circulating, boys." 

  "What? But I thought that he was undead!" Thranrok voiced what they were all thinking, scratching where his sideburns would be. 

  Destrier hardly cared, digging his gauntlets in at Leofore's sides so he could roll him over onto his back. He glanced to Gany, opening his mouth to ask for help, but the dragonborn was already muttering theories to Thranrok. The two of them were scrutinizing the inside of the mask pieces in the torchlight, holding the objects gingerly between them. Better not to interrupt if I can do it myself.

  Destrier gave his healing freely, the hole in Leofore's stomach and his mangled face knitting themselves back together at a glacial pace. Revel's abilities may be able to keep himself alive in battle, but Ganymethios would forever be the better healer. Destrier's help had always been more akin to filling a pond by flooding it.

  The Knight-Commander was breathing, the blond realized in stunned silence, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Destrier leaned forward, resting his forehead on Leofore's breastplate so he could feel the steady motion of his breath. " Please ." He implored softly, not sure of entirely who or what he was even asking for. He felt Naero's hand on his shoulder, the elf giving it a brief squeeze between pauldron and gorget.

  Argon groaned, sounding more annoyed than pained. "Excuse me, senior officer over here? Guy who did all the work? Anyone want to give me a hand?"

  Gany chuckled, absently tracing a well-worn sigil in the air. "Relax, Argon. We wouldn't leave you out in the cold."

  The werebear grumbled at the quip, slowly moving to sit up after a moment or two. "So is he alive or what?" He asked. Destrier was uncertain who he had addressed, the Knight-Captain still slumped with his head bowed against Leofore's chest. Gany's healing spell washed over them all, but even after that Leofore did not stir. 

  "He breathes, anyway." Naero answered. "We should also make certain her Majesty is safe, and sweep the room for any further threats."

  A gauntlet fumbled to grasp the back of Destrier's neck heavily. "Are you alright?" Leofore rasped, his voice barely audible. The younger knight was not particularly proud of how loud his sob of relief was, turning his face against his own shoulder in a futile attempt to muffle the pitiful noise with his tattered mantle. 

  "And lo, our sleeping beauty awakens." Fick said dryly. "The real question is, do we have to have Argon knock some sense into you again or will you behave this time?"

  "I offer no promises." Leofore's laugh was a shadow of its former glory, the sound ragged. "I feel like death warmed over. Help me sit up, boys." Gany assisted Destrier with shifting their Knight-Commander into a sitting position on the stairs to the dais, Leofore nodding his thanks to the pair before glancing around the room. "What has happened?" He asked worriedly.

  "We were hoping you could tell us." Fick replied. "This is lich business, after all. And someone didn't do their required reading the last time we dealt with one!"

  "Hey! I can only apologize for not knowing about phylacteries so many times!" Thranrok protested. "Lich books are always so damn dry ."

  "Well the one who reigned here was so damnable proud of his phylactery, he practically put the thing in my hands." Leofore shook his head. "That may have been the worst part of this whole endeavor, removing the reign of this lich while languishing under the tyranny of the previous one! That blasted mask-" 

  "Won't be able to do anything ever again." Thranrok interjected. "Gany and I will see to that."

  "I thank you, my friends." Leofore sighed. "Near as I can recall, the prince is secured beneath the throne. The queen..."

  "Already acquired. She lies over there, unconscious but alive." Ganymethios assured as Naero bolted for the throne. 

  "We must convene with Jonathan, discuss how to approach dealing with that other lich." Leofore rose slowly, clearly still weary from their pitched battle. He extended a hand to help Argon up from the floor, and was nearly toppled for his trouble. 

  The blood hunter grinned toothily, slapping the man on the shoulder. "We'll save you coming to my rescue for some other time, eh troublemaker?"

  "Aye, I suppose we shall." Leofore paused for a moment, then turned to Thranrok. " Please tell me you can teleport us out of here, something . I am ready to be rid of this nightmare."

  Thranrok looked offended. "Ex- cuse me, Leofore? Do my ears deceive me, or do I detect a hint of doubt in your tone?" A scroll was drawn from one of his many pockets. "The nerve of you, thinking that I wouldn't be prepared!" The sorcerer blustered. 

  "Wait, wait, we definitely shouldn't go directly to the castle." Naero called, hauling the prince's unconscious body out of a small cell beneath the elaborate throne. "King Jonathan is likely to slaughter us first and ask questions later if we just appear with his unconscious family and Dread Knight Leofore in tow."

  "Too true!" Thranrok tapped his chin in thought, then snapped his fingers. "I've got it! Grab her Majesty, Gany."

  "Wait, perhaps we should-" 

  Whatever Leofore was about to suggest was cut off as Thranrok enthusiastically rattled off the power words written on the parchment in his hands and the party was unceremoniously teleported away.

  The familiar storage room of Maplecrest solidified around them and Destrier realized a split-second later that a wicked-looking cudgel was being swung at his head. His shield came up on instinct, deflecting the blow and making the metal ring loudly. "Illeria!" He said gladly, not really caring that she had come remarkably close to taking his head off.

  The diminutive innkeeper dropped her weapon, her eyes wide in the dim light of morning. "Destrier! And--oh. And...Prince Timothy. Is that the queen? " She hissed, starting to hastily smooth out her skirts and apron. 

  She halted when she noticed Leofore and Revel reached out a steadying hand, certain that the young woman was preparing to grab her cudgel again. "It's alright, Illeria." He soothed.

  Thranrok sidled to the main door of the inn, quickly scrawling a sign on a spare piece of vellum and then tacking it to the outside of the door. "We're buying you out for the day, Illeria. Y'know, for the trouble." The dwarf explained, the tips of his ears tinged slightly pink.

  Illeria nodded dumbly, yanking on Destrier's arm. The knight allowed himself to be dragged into her living quarters, caught between laughing and crying when she whirled on him. "What the hell is going on, Revel?! You all-"

  "I know. I can't even tell if I'm dreaming or not." Destrier confessed. "We had thought Leofore was lost to us, but he was working under the influence of a threat we believed we had destroyed."

  "What, more Urgals?" She asked incredulously. 

  "Something akin to that, yes." Whatever Illeria muttered was decidedly uncharitable, the young woman holding her head in her hands. Destrier hesitated, then opened his arms. "Would you-?"

  She tucked herself into his embrace without another word. The knight rested his chin on the top of her head, feeling a peace he had not known since Leofore had vanished.

  "It is good to be home again." Destrier whispered.

  "Home?"

  "Aye. Home ."

  /x\

  Leofore stood in front of King Jonathan, his body language pensive. He still wore the blackened armor, stating that he felt unworthy of his gold and white plate, so he made quite the bedraggled sight. Once the king was done squeezing the breath out of his wife and son, he turned a stern look to the Knight-Commander. 

  "Fallen Knight Leofore." 

  Destrier grimaced at Leofore's wince. They had known this would come, but it still hurt. Leofore dropped to a knee, his shoulders rigid. "Your Majesty." He replied evenly.

  King Jonathan meandered off the throne dais. Naero elbowed Destrier in the ribs, pointing surreptitiously at Jonathan's hands. More specifically, at the gauntlets he now wore. Destrier's brow furrowed in confusion, since when did his Majesty…?

  Jonathan bade Leofore to rise, placing his right hand on the taller man's shoulder. Before anyone could react (though Destrier suspected Leofore knew the punishment was coming), he balled his left gauntlet into a fist and slammed it squarely into Leofore's nose. 

  Argon huffed out a breath that sounded suspiciously close to a snicker. Ganymethios was taken by a sudden coughing fit, Thranrok slapping him as high up on the back as he could reach.

  Leofore staggered back with a grunt, cupping his face. Jonathan looked a fair bit pained himself, shaking off the impact of the blow. "Return to your duties, Knight-Commander Leofore. There is much work to be done." Despite his fierce expression, the king's eyes fairly danced with good humor. "It brings me great joy to have you back, my friend."

  "Aye, the feeling is mutual." Leofore replied with a rueful smile, wiping the blood from his nose off his upper lip. "We bring news of enemy plots, my liege."

  "Naero has informed me. We will tackle this topic ere the morn. Tonight, we feast." The king clapped Leofore's shoulder once again. "The queen and prince have returned, as well as the brave Knight-Commander we thought had been slain and the rest of the King's Elite. I would say that is cause for celebration!" He gestured a manservant forward, distributing tankards of fine ale amongst the adventurers before raising his own goblet. "A toast, my friends, for the new era! An age of peace shall finally dawn."

  "For Leofore!" Prince Timothy exclaimed, saluting the Knight-Commander who waved it off with a quiet chuckle. 

  " For Leofore! " The King's Elite echoed, and there was the sudden snap of leather straps giving way as Destrier's shield flung itself off his back to hover at his side.

  "You...gods, really? " Argon sighed.

  Destrier rubbed the back of his neck, clearing his throat awkwardly. "It had to be a phrase I would remember." He tried to explain, feeling thoroughly embarrassed. "I wanted it to serve as a reminder of what we fought so hard for and why we fought as hard as we did."

  "Well spake, my flushed friend!" Timothy teased, knuckling the other man's shoulder. "But come, we have a feast to prepare and drinks to indulge in!" Leofore's expression was unreadable when Destrier dared to glance over, and the younger knight feared that he had offended him. 

  Leofore approached him once the festivities were truly under way, asking for Destrier's presence while he circled the grounds. "It is very loud here, but I do not wish to be alone." He said by way of explanation, blue eyes strangely mournful.

  Destrier agreed and the two of them made their way to the ramparts, walking at an easy pace and making inconsequential conversation. 

  Once there, Leofore ran a hand along the rich buntings that bore the kingdom's colors and insignia, his gaze far away. " Wars are not won or lost, merely ended ." He mused. "I know not who coined that phrase, but I have always found it to ring true." The dark-haired man leaned against a parapet and fixed Destrier with a calculating look. "Have we won this war, Revel? Or are we simply ending it?"

  "Does it matter overmuch?" Destrier replied pragmatically with a question of his own, fixated on the bonfire in the courtyard far below crackling merrily away. "History will remember us as the victors and the people will recover with our help. Our work will not be over when the fighting is, you know that."

  "Aye," Leofore nodded. "About the shield, Destrier…"

  "I can change it." Revel rushed to assure him but Leofore waved him off.

  "It brings me comfort to know that you would hold me in such high esteem." Then, "do you think Argon will forgive me for trying to turn him into a kitchen sieve?" Destrier tried to stifle his laugh to no avail. Leofore grinned at him, the older knight mussing his hair teasingly before returning to staring out toward the horizon. "Many things have changed, and yet even more stay the same. I will not be so foolhardy this time." He promised solemnly. 

  "I do not think we would be able to carry on with this new era if you were absent, my friend."

  "Surely you jest. The strength I witnessed from all of you, the tenacity? I feared I would burst with pride. I understand your sentiment, though. I shall not go looking for my death, nor rush headlong into danger."

  "Not alone, anyway." Destrier amended. "That is all I can ask for, Knight-Commander." He extended his hand and they clasped forearms in the typical knightly fashion. Leofore searched his eyes for a long moment and then nodded, seeming to have found whatever he was looking for.

  "You have changed as well, Knight-Captain Revel. For the better, I would wager."

Part Three: Light And Home

[pauldron-pieces]

Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: N/A, Destrier-Centric

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Fire Emblem: Three Houses OST: Awakening and Ivan Torrent: Facing Fears

[Urgals are a monstrous race that seem to be a cross between ogres and orcs.]

[Destrier Revel is a level ten human Conquest paladin with six levels of Phoenix sorcerer, and his appearance can be found here.]

[And lastly, this is how I pictured Aetros Ad Astra.]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes, including vivid descriptions of gore, extreme duress and character death. Stay safe!]

He entered the temple warily, but not before removing his helmet. Destrier knew better than to assume whatever god this temple represented was dormant, and entering any place of worship with one's head covered was a nearly certain way of getting it separated from your shoulders.

  This ancient stone structure was different from the clapboard Urgal constructs that dotted the hillside beneath it. Clearly, it was a relic of some bygone time or civilization. 

  Knowledge is power, Knight Revel. Seek it out, and we may yet win this war. With his late mentor's words ringing in his ears, Destrier proceeded with caution. 

  Brittle, charred remains crisscrossed the stones beneath his feet, crumbling to dust at his advance. The knight wondered at the thin layer of ashen debris that coated everything despite the lofty height of the temple. The winds that had whipped outside appeared to have gone still.

  Further into the temple, far removed from the weak light that filtered in from the arched doorway, was an altar of some kind. Destrier squinted, trying to decipher the runes on the sides of the obsidian stone table with little success. 

  A soft crackling noise met his ears and for a moment he paid it no mind, too engrossed in the arcane markings. It was almost like a torch or a cooking fire was burning nearby.

  Destrier straightened up abruptly with a loud metallic clank! , certain that he had heard words in that strange sound. 

  He is not one who would normally come to a place like this. The shine of armor does not gleam so in Our temple , the crackling voice mused softly.

  "Where are you?" Destrier queried, turning in place and scanning the room. When he came full circle back to the altar, he was surprised to see a small flame flourishing atop the dark stone. "Show yourself!" He called, more than a bit perturbed. 

  We will not be commanded in Our own temple, foolish one . The voice sounded stronger now, a thick accent lilting through it as well as a touch of amusement. Grovel, and perhaps We will spare you .

  Destrier's grip on his lance tightened momentarily, and then he dropped to a knee. "Forgive my impudence. Had I known this truly was a place of worship, I would not have spoken so rashly." The blond apologized. "May I know the name of the master of this temple?"

  The flames sputtered and hissed, almost indignant in their noise. You may address Us as Garuda . First-Born of the Stars, Everflame, Light in the Darkness, Aetros Aegis, Ad Astra, et cetera, et cetera.  

  "Your titles are many and grand. How is it that I have not encountered any of your followers?" Destrier questioned, legitimately curious. 

  Somehow, he got the sense that the fire was preening. We have slumbered for many years, foolish one. The Urgals at the foot of this mountain have done wonders at keeping the outside world away.

  "I am afraid they have all been slain. My men fell upon them in the dawn."

  Such is your way. But why have you come here? The flame turned sly, what brings a warrior of your caliber to this place? Certainly an ordinary man would be pillaging the encampment .

  "I have been sent out for more than that," Destrier replied. "I search for true victory; the ability to deal a penultimate blow to the enemy. One that they cannot recover from, that we may rout them completely."

  Are you not a paladin? This is all you do . The flame said dismissively.

  " Hear me , Garuda." Destrier implored, raising his head to watch the flames dance and lick over the stone. "The common folk do not ask for war. They do not ask for heightened taxes, food shortages or midnight raids upon their peaceful settlements. All they ask for is safety , and I cannot even give them that much!" Destrier clenched his fist. "Women and children starve to death in the cities that were supposed to be havens. The Urgals have learned over six years that to destroy our trade routes is to slit the throat of the army, and their savagery is not held in check for innocent civilians."

  Knight Revel took a moment to get himself back under control while the fire in front of him flickered thoughtfully. When next he spoke, his voice trembled slightly.

  "I would fight to my last breath for my comrades, for any member of the populace. I serve wholly to uphold the king's ideals. King Jonathan is a man of great wisdom and strength, I gladly serve him." The blond man hesitated, tamping down the memories of his mentor grinning wide in triumph, "I was given this missive because they believed in me."

  You do not seek the power for yourself, then .

  "What good is power, used by one man for one man's benefit?" Destrier asked sharply. He had never been overly invested in advancement for the sake of advancement. Becoming a squire at the tender age of five had seen to that . "My king and my mentor have charged me with this task, and I will see it through in order to extend my king's territories." 

  Interesting. You believe that there is still power out there for you to find? The flames questioned sardonically. 

  "I have no other choice but to believe. Our losses are catastrophic in the face of the numbers of the enemy." He could not bring himself to mention Leofore's name. The shame was still too fresh, not yet blunted by drink or the passage of time. "I have been sent to find the knowledge to turn the tides."

  What faith are you of, paladin?

  "I have no true faith. I am not a follower of the chantry, nor the monastery. My strength comes from my belief in my mentor and, in turn, my king." Destrier answered the question readily, his hand over his heart in the common indicator of sincerity. "I am unbound to any divinity."

  This appeared to please Garuda greatly, satisfaction rolling off the small fire in waves of radiant heat. How very interesting . Faithless paladin, knight of a God king, We will grant you the power to try . Over and over if need be, until your war is won.  

  An enormous, spectral figure wavered into view behind the flame, their whole body somehow twinkling through and through with stars. Horns that curled like a proud ram's graced their head, and in their hands was a flaming weapon. This must be Garuda's true form , Destrier realized belatedly. The being gestured at him, urging him to rise.

  Come, faithless paladin. We shall see whether you are able to be reborn in Our starfire. Take hold of the haft.

  Knight Destrier Revel, loyal bondsman of King Jonathan, acting commander of a battalion he should not be leading, felt fear grip his soul. "What if I am unable? What if it is too much to bear?" He asked tentatively, leaving his lance on the floor when he stood.

  What is the loss of one man to a God king? His own words, turned back upon him mockingly. We will not wait forever. Either take the plunge or let Us return to rest. Garuda extended the hilt of their weapon toward Destrier. 

  Knowledge is power, Knight Revel. Seek it out, and we may yet win this war . Leofore's words echoed in his head over and over, giving him the resolve he needed to steel himself. Destrier swallowed hard. "I must. I have no recourse." He finally whispered. Two hands reached out and took hold of the haft of the amorphous weapon. One moment it was a mighty axe, the next a spear with two separate blades.

  Garuda chuckled, low and dark. Faithless paladin, you were drawn to Our power like a moth to Our flame. You are charged to burn the wicked and rule the ashes, rising again and again at the cost of your body and soul. Will you take Our power?

  " Yes ." Destrier responded fiercely, his brown eyes aglow in the light of Garuda's fiery stars. 

  …

  He awoke on ancient stone steps and for a moment, Destrier simply laid there. Overhead, the stars spun in their nightly dance. 

  His whole body was hot to the point where he was sweating in his armor. When he went to sit up, Destrier found himself unable to support any weight on his hands. He forced himself up with his elbows and levered onto the next step, finally achieving a semi-upright stance. 

  Something was very wrong with his hands. Destrier began the slow, clumsy process of unfastening the buckles on his left gauntlet, using his teeth instead of uncooperative fingers. But when he tried to remove the loosened armor, the pain was so great he nearly vomited. Gritting his teeth, the knight continued wriggling the armor until it finally released his hand.

  Patches of his skin were entirely burned away or grafted to the inside of his gauntlet. His palm was down to raw tissue. Destrier saw bone . Bile surged in his throat again and he choked, clutching his hand close and drawing on the wellspring of healing power that his mentor's training had granted him. 

  Gods, Leofore, what have I done . 

  There on the worn steps with no one but the stars to witness his grief, Destrier wept for the loss of his friend.

  /x\

  His hands healed well, aside from the brand of the flaming haft that stayed squarely in the center of his palms and the inside of his fingers. At least they did not pain him or impede his ability to wield his lance. 

  Burn the wicked, rule the ashes . We will grant you the power to try . 

  The first time he absently lit a small fire with nothing but a snap of his fingers, the knight waved it off as a fluke. Naero took it in stride, just asking Destrier for a light instead of relying on Thranrok or matches.

  Destrier found himself drawn to the battalion campfire at night, losing his train of thought for hours while he stared at the dancing flames or looked upwards through the smoke at the stars. If his compatriots noticed, they did not mention it. They were all still mourning the loss of Leofore; it mattered little where one of them found comfort or respite.

  The knight slowly adjusted his armor to accommodate his strange new talents, star-shaped cutouts finding their way to his gauntlets that he may better utilize his fire in battle.

  The first time Destrier fell in combat, that was a bit of a different story. 

  The Urgals had set upon yet another village, boldly doing it during the sleepy midafternoon. Destrier was sent out with his battalion, Thranrok and Naero alongside him. Gen and Argon had stayed behind this time, believing that their forces wouldn't be needed for this skirmish. The air was thick with the threat of an impending storm, dark clouds gathering in the distance even as the troops moved forward.

  The battle quickly dissolved into anarchy. Destrier was cut off from his men in a suspiciously short period of time, the knight fighting desperately against the hordes of Urgals that descended upon him. There was a strangeness in these creatures, a new frenzy. Something had changed in their ranks.

  The blond man whirled and thrust, his lance piercing the chest of one of the monsters that had been approaching from the flank. However, that left him wide open on the other side.

  An Urgal warhammer caught him in the ribs so hard he was knocked off his feet. Destrier crashed through the side of one of the houses that lined the street, his vision fading to gray momentarily at the impact. He gasped and choked for breath, feeling his shattered ribs grate against one another as he tried to stand. The young man pressed a palm to his side, mending the injury hastily. 

  Stifled sobbing echoed in the space and Destrier turned his head, spotting the form of a woman huddled in the corner of the room with a baby in her arms. A shadow suddenly darkened the hole he had made in the wall and the massive shape of an especially formidable Urgal forced its way through in pursuit of the knight. 

  "Back, beast!" Destrier shouted, slamming his bracers together and then using the haft of his lance to catch the Urgal in the chest, stopping it in its tracks. His gauntlets heated rapidly and the creature shrieked in pain, jerking back with glowing handprints branded onto its leather armor. Destrier snarled, moving forward to press his advantage. He could do this. He could keep them safe-

  The other Urgal's warhammer smashed into the side of his head. Destrier dimly heard a wet snap , and then everything went dark.

  In the breathless silence, a bonfire roared to life.

  Burn the wicked, rule the ashes. We have granted you the power to try. Over and over, over and over. Those who would lay hands on your body will not even be able to touch your shadow. Arise again, and again, and again.

  For Leofore.  

  The paladin reached out to the void of stars and something too immense to name reached back, pouring into him with single-minded intent.

  Destrier's eyes flew open. Stars and galaxies swirled hazily in his vision, the whole world tinged an odd, smokey gray. He knew, with a strangely clinical certainty, that he had been dead seconds before. He growled, sparks issuing from between clenched teeth as he grabbed the ankle of the nearest Urgal. His body was molten, his armor shimmering with the same heat that birthed constellations and warmed the very vacuum of space, but he did not feel it. 

  Destrier all but climbed the Urgal in order to stand again, searing marks into the tough skin as he went. The creature screamed and howled in pain, alerting his companion that the dead paladin appeared to still have some fight left in him. Knight Revel buried his lance in the creature's gut as thanks for being too slow to kill him again.

  The woman in the corner had gone silent. Destrier prayed she was alive, but he could not spare the attention to check. His helmet had given way under the assault, one more thing for him to focus on. Have to lead them away from here.  

  The remaining Urgal retreated through the destroyed wall and the knight followed swiftly, his form wrapped in roaring starfire the second the fresh air from outside the structure reached him. The cosmos burned at the corners of his eyes, stars wheeling just outside his field of vision. 

  Burn the wicked, rule the ashes . Over and over his mind chanted the phrase, over and over until Destrier found himself mouthing it like a mantra. The air around him boiled and sang as though it was a living being and he snapped his fingers, flames smoldering at the hems of Urgal undertunics.

  Destrier was more cautious now, even with this incredible power at his disposal. He wove and ducked around attacks, thrusting his heated lance into chests or stomachs wherever he was able. 

  "This is why you cannot let go of your weapon even for a moment." Leofore admonished as he helped the younger man back up. "One moment is all it takes for the enemy to gain the upper hand, Destrier. Never let your guard down, and do not be so quick to trust!" 

  Destrier nodded, accepting his practice lance back from the older man. "Thank you for your wise counsel as always, Knight-Commander Leofore." Leofore struck without warning, knocking Destrier's legs out from underneath him and toppling the blond once again. 

  The commander threw his head back and laughed, then crouched beside the fledgling knight currently flat on his back in the dust. "Do not even trust me , Knight Revel! It will only leave you with misfortune and more bruises." Leofore grinned.

  Destrier shook his head to dispel the echoes of his mentor's voice, baring his teeth and snarling. True, his helmet had been lost in the fight. But he still had his lance, the fire and his wits. Naero and Thranrok were somewhere out there on the battlefield as well. As long as his surviving companions drew breath, he would continue to fight.

  /x\

  The battle was over. 

  Piles of embers smoldered in the streets, the rainfall coaxing wraiths of smoke to billow skywards through the downpour. 

  Knight-Captain Destrier stood in the middle of the main thoroughfare, steaming shoulders bowed under the weight of some no doubt cosmic burden. Naero rolled his eyes, sauntering up alongside the larger man. 

  He went to place a hand on his shoulder and then paused, feeling the heat that still rolled off his armor in waves. "Revel?" Naero queried slowly.

  "Why do we bother with any of this?" The paladin responded with a question of his own, his words clipped. Naero circled around him to find that his arms were protectively cradling the body of a woman. "I could do nothing ." Destrier continued, voice thick with unshed tears. 

  He raised his eyes to Naero's and the elf was confused by the depth of emotion he saw there. This woman was a stranger, a civilian. Dime a dozen. But the way this buffoon was reacting, it was as if she had been his own mother. 

  A baby's sharp wail of distress interrupted the thoughtful stillness and Destrier flinched, clearly startled. "What?" He muttered in confusion, laying the woman's body on the ground and then clumsily pawing at the ragged shawl wrapped around her.

  Naero saw the child at the same time as Destrier, his ears twitching in annoyance at the impressive racket the tiny creature was making. 

  "It's alive." The knight breathed, sounding shattered by the whole thing. "Gods, it's alive. Naero, it's alive ."

  "Have you never seen a baby before, Revel?" Fick asked dryly. 

  "I couldn't find it, I thought the Urgals had eaten it while I was…" Destrier paused. "Gone," he finished awkwardly. 

  " 'Gone' ? Dare I ask where your flights of fancy took you in the middle of battle?" 

  "I died."

  "Oh, I'm certain of that." Naero huffed. "More likely you've taken more hits to the head than you can recall, you dimwit. Where is that damn helmet you're so proud of?"

  "Broken." Destrier gestured vaguely towards a house that was missing a wall. "I was killed, go see for yourself."

  "' Go see for yourself ', he says. Like I'm a fool to doubt such ludicrous claims." Naero grumbled, begrudgingly picking his way around the piles of ashen corpses. "What absolute hogwash." 

  He fell silent upon actually seeing the inside of the house, his brow furrowed. True to Destrier's word there was his monstrously gaudy helm, caved in on one side and entirely missing the cheek plates. Blood and hair were smeared on the inside of it, as well as bits of what Naero could only assume was human skin. He grimaced, mind racing. Was Destrier telling the truth? Had he really been killed? Gany was leagues away though, how on earth had that buffoon managed to return from the grave without assistance?

  "You listen here, Revel." Naero hissed, stomping back up to the knight and jabbing him in the chest with his index finger. "What are you playing at? What deals have you made, eh?"

  "Just one." Destrier's honesty was, as always, a bit of a shock. "I am to burn the wicked that my king may rule the ashes."

  Fick recoiled slightly. "Damn. It's been a while since I've heard those words." He muttered. He tilted his head back, narrowly studying the armored man who was carefully wrapping the squalling whelp in the remains of his cape. "Should I ask what you're planning on doing with that?"

  "Leofore's battalion had several midwives in their ranks. I have adopted the same tactics." Naero did not miss the pained expression that flitted across Destrier's face when he mentioned their deceased friend. "I will take the babe to them and ascertain whether it can be saved."

  "Pretending that you are as hardened as Leofore does you no favors, Revel." Naero said bluntly as his compatriot turned to depart.

  "Neither does feigning indifference to the plight of helpless innocents, Fick."

  Naero watched the other man start his long walk back to their encampment, the elf shaking his head ruefully after several moments. "Seems like this war just got a lot more interesting."

Part Two: For Leofore

[kindliest-of-doodles]

-Destrier: Reborn In Starfire⚠️

I really loved the idea of his powers manifesting as nebula-patterned ram horns. Whether I executed that idea well remains to be seen D: