#did you know i caught an arrow with my own hand. it’s the truth i swear! (jaskier interacts)

[coreofgold]

@mischiefxmuses: ♫ + 73 - Jaskier x Yennefer

Song: I'll Call You Mine by Girl in Red

"You know, I'm really liking how calm this place has been recently." Will it last? Dandelion has no clue. "I mean, we're not somewhere on a green hill, laughing so loud that people glare, but it's still somewhat peaceful."

[coreofgold]

Dandelion groans. It's inevitable that he would get hexed. Technically, he does it to himself with how he speaks, but the bard is certain that he just has bad luck. "Please don't do anything that messes up my voice. I need that."

"And it wouldn't be me if I didn't give you a little hex." A little chuckle left her. The magic still dancing around her fingers. "Ill timed is one term for it, love." She teased him lightly.

[coreofgold]

@i-trust-in-love continued from here

"Wouldn't want anything to happen to that head of yours." Jaskier joked. "Though. . .I don't think this height would really kill you. Might be embarrassing and scratched up, but unless you had the worst luck in the world, you wouldn't die."

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 16 | chapter 17

"The wedding will start in an hour, Your Grace," Cersei's handmaiden announced when she knocked on her chamber's door. The Queen Mother was at the balcony overlooking the fields of Sunspear and the neighboring ocean, gaze fixed ahead on the ship that will bring them home after the wedding.

"I'll be out in a minute," Cersei replied, making the girl bow and left in a hurry. She drank a mouthful from her cup of wine, staring blankly ahead.

She knew she shouldn't be intoxicated during her daughter's wedding, but it was the only way she knew how to remain approachable around the Martells during the event, especially around you.

Her nails dug into the wooden rail as she tried to control her fury. Why did you have to keep the truth from her? Why did you have to betray her this way?

When another servant entered the room saying, "A raven came from your brother, Your Grace."

She motioned for the servant to come forward and hand her the scroll.

The Lannister woman's lips ticked upward into a smug smile the moment she unrolled and read the contents, knowing she could only trust her family and no one more. She knew Jaime would do everything to ensure the throne's safety. Their son's safety.

"I would like to be escorted now to the garden," Cersei said to the servant, as she placed the empty cup on the nearby table.

~~~

It was total torture to look at the woman you loved and couldn't do anything about it. You hadn't talked to Cersei since that very night, and you terribly missed her. Failed attempts to talk to the Queen Mother had been your task since then, but Cersei had always found ways to escape you.

Haunted by nightmares causing sleepless nights, you were so close to give up on Daenerys and surrender to Cersei alone. But you wanted to give your sister a chance. She was your own blood.

The wedding was held in the Water Gardens, where Trystane and Myrcella first met. And there Cersei sat at the royal seats, looking so elegant and beautiful in her shiny red and gold flowing dress, looking everywhere but you.

It was cruel to see how she completely ignored you as if you were one of the Dornish servants. Even others could tell the unspeakable tension between the two of you, it even caused an issue when you tried to explain the situation to Oberyn.

It's easier this way, Y/n, was what he said to you.

Maybe you and Cersei weren't just for each other. Just like two parallel lines, close but never meant to be together.

~~~

“Let it be known that Prince Trystane of House Martell and Princess Myrcella of House Baratheon, are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

As you watched the couple go through their lines, the corner of your eyes caught a sliver of unusual movement. One of the Dornish guards was acting out of the ordinary, even its uniform was poorly worn. You decided to ignore it, you had no time to think about decency at a time like this.

“I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days,” Trystane said as Myrcella spoke her line, “I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

There was a burning sensation in your gut telling you something was wrong. So when you looked back at that guard, he was no longer where you had seen him last, and had seem to neglect his position.

Your eyes began to search around. Until one corner, you finally saw him at one of the palace's balconies. Adrenaline filled you the moment you saw him nock an arrow that was pointed down towards Myrcella.

You made a run for it and jumped in front of the girl, pushing her to the ground as your arm took the hit. You let out a pained yelp, but you knew you need to act fast.

The attack brought a commotion amongst the guests, sending them scurrying towards the exits. Fighting then ensued.

With an injured arm, you unsheathed your sword as you yelled at Trystane to protect Myrcella, before heading towards where Cersei was seated.

As expected, the enemies had cornered Cersei, as if it was their plan all along when they managed to execute the poor Lannister guards protecting the woman. You fought your way through as you defended the Queen Mother, metals clashing against metals, blood splattering everywhere.

And when the last one fell down, you grabbed Cersei's arm as you led her to safety.

Another guard, who you knew was one of the Sand Snakes, blocked the exit. You let go of the Lannister woman as you fought against him valiantly, avoiding his attacks with mere luck.

"Cersei! Get back to the palace!" you shouted, pointing towards another hidden exit as you swung at the enemy. "Trystane's guards will protect you."

You couldn't paint Cersei's face. She looked so helpless as she was when you fought against the Mountain. She hesitated to leave your side. But the Queen's safety was the only thing in your mind at that moment.

Another pair of Sand Snakes came running from the exit, making you yell at Cersei again. "Leave now!"

This made the woman move and run towards the door you pointed. Thankfully, the Dornish guards had managed to eliminate the enemies in the garden and came to help you.

But the help you thought would be provided to you after defeating the Sand Snakes was the opposite, as the Dornish guards only pointed their spears at your throat, making you drop your weapon to the ground as surrender, confusion filling your head.

They tied your wrists behind your back then pulled you back inside the palace. Fear continued to grow inside you, knowing the inevitable.

~~~

"I can't believe you'd betray me like this," Doran began. "My very own blood."

Oberyn was kneeling before him, his hands tied up behind his back the same as yours. Ellaria, your guardian father and some of the Martells and Sands accomplices were kneeling next to Oberyn and you.

The outdoor courts were seldom used in trials. Today would be the exception, knowing what the Prince had on his mind.

Your eyes searched for the Lannisters women and found them safely beside the Prince's guards, Myrcella beside Trystane, and Cersei behind Myrcella.

"The Lannisters are the true enemy, brother," Oberyn replied. "You knew that from the start, yet you're the one who betrayed us."

Cersei's cold face as she avoided your eyes made you lose any hope to what was happening at the moment.

"I expected better from all of you, but to harm a young girl in my land, is treason enough," Doran said. "We don't harm young girls in Dorne."

"Girls are always harmed everywhere," Ellaria interjected, her voice cold as she glared at the Lannister. "Tell them, Cersei! Tell them how you have one of our daughters in your cells, captured against her will!"

It made you glance back at the woman. Surely Cersei had her own reasons for doing that. But knowing Cersei, she could just be a hateful woman.

The woman only maintained a cold facade, unaffected by the accusations. Doran went on as if nothing happened.

"You knew what this means, right?" Doran stood, motioning towards his trusted guard who immediately headed to the weaponry to retrieve his sword. "Any act of treason is punishable by death."

Everyone who witnessed expelled murmurs of disbelief and wonder. Shedding blood in Dorne was unknown for ages. But Doran had gone mad.

You swallowed nervously as you stared at the ground. This is it. Your death.

"How could you?!" Oberyn protested as he was the one being pulled forward by one of the Dornish guards, then Ellaria, then you.

You saw a movement from the corner of your eye, Cersei walking towards Doran as she whispered to his ear things you couldn't hear. Doran only waved her away, dismissing her. Cersei's stature changed as she went hectic.

"Any act of treason," Doran reiterated, ignoring the Queen Mother. "Is punishable by death. I have told Y/n about it—"

"She protected me!" Myrcella countered, stepping beside her mother. "She took the shot!"

"A shot she knew was happening!" Doran said.

"She had no idea! She's not involved with our plans!" Your guardian father stood, making everyone silent. "Have mercy on her. If not us, just her. . . Your very own daughter!"

Shocks filled the entire court. Cersei's eyes went back to yours then back at Doran, disbelief displayed on her face.

Doran only froze, his eyes finally meeting yours.

"Have you never wondered? What with the multiple times you spent with Rhaella in the Capital as she was being punished by the Mad King, comforting her, and protecting her?" your guardian father continued.

"Rhae- . . . Rhaella said," Doran stuttered now avoiding your eyes. He almost staggered back without the help of his cane. "Rhaella said she lost her child. Our child."

"And why do you think she did that?" Oberyn butted in. "It's because you had gone mad, brother. She was planning to tell you before before she left for Dragonstone. But she said you had changed. You supported the Baratheon's assassination plans to execute all Targaryens just to secure your land in Dorne. You were involved in the slaughter of Targaryen blood, if I do so recall. She only protected your own daughter from . . . you."

"She . . . is no daughter of mine," Doran hissed. "Our child was unborn."

Your eyes shutted on their own, fighting back tears. You had been rejected before but never like this, causing tremendous hurt not yet encountered. By your real father. By Cersei. By the entire Martells.

Cersei could see you avoiding everyone's gaze and somehow she felt the urge to go to your side and comfort you. She was mad at you for lying to her, but not to cause your own demise. She couldn't live to the thought of losing you like this.

You didn't deserve it. She knew deep down inside you weren't involved in the attack. She wished she could convey this message to you, if you could only lift your head and look back at her. But you didn't meet her gaze anymore.

Oberyn then moved forward. "Then let us leave in peace. If not us, just let Y/n leave. She doesn't deserve your wrath. She's innocent. Just because she's partly Targaryen doesn't mean she's like the Mad King."

"No!" Doran was fuming. "I will not stand to false gossips! You're only prolonging the execution, distracting me." He looked at his trusted guard. "Proceed!"

Cersei immediately stepped forward, holding Doran's arm."Stop this nonsense! King Tommen would not agree to this! They should be given trial in King's Landing!"

"I do what is pleased in my own land, Lady Cersei," Doran insisted, brushing her hand off him.

"If this is still your land after King Tommen finds out what you did," Cersei threatened coldly. "He could have you beheaded for acting on your own without consulting his counsel."

Trystane came forward with Myrcella. "Father, Y/n saved my betrothed. At least, she deserves a fair trial."

The commotion were getting loud as you all that were acquitted guilty were being dragged into the pits waiting for execution. You were pushed to the ground by one of the guards, making you close your eyes as you waited for cold steel against your neck, as you waited for the end.

It didn't come. There was a beastly growl coming from a distance that made everyone freeze and look at the sky.

"Nymeros," you whispered, opening your eyes as you lifted your head to look up.

Nymeros appeared at the courts, flapping its wings against the ground before it landed right in front of you. When it roared in anger, the Dornish guards stood back, the weapons of some even slipping from their hold.

The guests were frozen for another second before they all scattered to run away from the pits.

Doran then ordered, "Attack!"

But the attacks were only extinguished by flames when Nymeros blew towards them, Dornish soldiers running ablaze screaming in pain.

When it moved forward towards Prince Doran, Doran only cowered in fear.

Then Nymeros looked at the Lannisters, at Cersei, snorting breaths of smoke her way. Cersei had never been terrified and amazed at the same time. She couldn't find herself to move. Dragons, the witch had said.

But Nymeros didn't attack her as the dragon continued to smell the Queen Mother, who only stood her ground.

"Nymeros!" you called, making the dragon look back and turn towards you. "Leave them be!"

Cersei then realized it was you, the reason the dragon didn't attack her. It was your dragon.

"Leave us, Y/n," Oberyn said beside you. "Leave for Dragonstone. Queen Daenerys, your sister, will be waiting for you."

"I can't just leave you all here," you answered.

When Doran had ordered another attack, Oberyn then insisted. "You're our only chance! I will convince my brother, don't worry about us!"

"Just go, Y/n!" your guardian father yelled and you could see he was holding back his tears.

You immediately climbed unto Nymeros' back when you saw a long huge spear being readied by the Dornish guards, preparing for the attack.

Your eyes met Cersei's one last time, and you knew then she was sorry as you also were. Sorry that love wasn't enough for the two of you who were not meant to be together. A lion and a dragon were not a good pair.

"Sōvēs!"

Nymeros then jumped and flew to the sky, away from Sunspear castle, away from Dorne. Away from Cersei.

Author's note: I truly appreciate your continued support in reading my stories. You can help me create more stories by supporting my writing thru this link. Thank you so much. ❤

[coreofgold]

@devilsmenu for Alison

Dandelion was strumming his lute, enjoying the day. "The day is beautiful, isn't it?" Makes the bard feel wistful

[coreofgold]

"To fall in love with someone romantically is. . .well it's hard to describe." Dandelion admits. "It's a feeling, so shiny and new." He couldn't help with the reference. "You feel compelled to want to be with them all the time, you feel your heart quicken and you see things that remind you of them. It's all complex like but you feel. . .warm. Warm and content." He nods, thinking about someone when speaking. "Yeah, daunting is definitely normal. You don't have to start right away. I suggest. . .just talking a walk. Get in the sights, sit and take it all in. Things will happen when they happen"

Johanna nods silently and remains silent for a moment. "What is it like? To fall in love? I mean, what does it feel like?" She was curious as to what it felt like, but it also seemed scary. She did need family of some kind. It was something she had been far too young to remember what it was like when she had one. "I don't know where to start. It all seems so daunting."

[coreofgold]

@mischiefxmuses for Yennefer

Roll 07 The area exists as a zone of truth, making characters incapable of lying. Characters are aware of this when they enter the space.

"I don't know if not lying here is a good thing," Jaskier said, arms crossed. "I mean, it's better than being chased by killers, isn't it?"

[coreofgold]

@hiddenpxpercuts for anyone

"Do you think making a YouTube channel would be beneficial?" Jaskier asked. "It's been on my mind recently."

[coreofgold]

@irresistiibles for anyone

"Do you ever think we'll be brought back home, just for a little while?" Dandelion is conflicted on the question he proposed. He wants to go back home, but he likes his life here, minus the chaos.

[coreofgold]

"I think you and me are going to get along really well." There's something about 80s music that sits really well with Jaskier. He probably would've been an 80s killed if Dandelion didn't grow up around the 1200s.

"Yeah, of course! It's a total bop. I love the 80s songs, they never get old" Ali said with a wide grin on her lips.

[coreofgold]

@mischiefxmuses for Yennefer.

"Wow. . .you are positively radiant Yenn." Geralt is truly a lucky man. "Having fun?" Jaskier asks, holding out a champagne glass for her as he sips his own.

[newtonsheffield]

Okay, I can’t get this little snippet out of my head so this is for @plishprincess927 who I know is an Inheritance Cycle girlie from way back

The heat was sweltering in the tent and angry voices buzzed in Anthony’s ears but he drowned them all out. He could still feel the heat of the battle hours ago. He could feel the sweat soaked into his leather shirt under the armour and his ears rung with the clang of swords.

His arm had ached from the shock as he whirled through the field and men fell in front of him, the blood and sweat and grime had felt as though it were caked against his skin. A sword had clattered against his side and he’d pushed his sword through the soldier’s mail shirt with a feral snarl and it had all happened so quickly. He pulled his sword back and as he turned he realised the next soldier was upon him, too quickly. His heart started to pound in his chest as he took a deep breath, almost sure it would be his last when he felt an enormous beat of wind and an almighty roar as fire spread across his vision and the golden dragon’s scale glittered in the sunshine as it landed and soldier’s fell all around it.

“Anthony, I thought you were supposed to be guarding me, Princeling.”

His heart fluttered in his chest as the woman sat astride the dragon laughed, her dark curls tossed back and her golden sword seemed to glitter as it moved swiftly through the air. She leapt from the dragon driving soldiers back from Anthony in a wide circle, and he could see the terror in the men’s eyes as they saw her.

“I thought you looked a little bored in truth, Kate.” Anthony grunted, swallowing the panic in his chest, “Where’s your helm?’

She laughed again as her Dragon leapt forward and she caught his saddle, pulling herself up seemingly effortlessly. “I must have misplaced it! Don’t die, princeling.”

The dragon took to the sky, lighting the field with fire as it did, arrows bouncing off his own armour and Anthony bit back a curse as he forged forward.

She was sitting across from him now, her feet lazily on the table, her bracers and greaves still on but the rest of her armour abandoned as soon as she possibly could and Anthony could feel the hot breath of her dragon on his neck where his head was poking through the flap of the tent. The dragon he had sworn to protect when he was only an egg. Long before a farm girl from nowhere had found it. A trick of fate. A trick that had started every moment of turmoil Anthony had felt since.

“Anthony.” He snapped to attention, ignoring the smirk that turned Kate’s lips at the corner and turned slowly towards his mother’s voice. “What say you?”

He swallowed, “The way forward seems well set. We were glad to see your army on the horizon today.”

The murmur had rippled through the battle and he’d recognise the horns anywhere, The elves were here. Finally coming to fulfil the promise they’d made over a stolen egg and a treaty.

His mother’s eyes burned into him as the meeting broke and she turned slowly towards Kate who snatched a chicken off the table and winked as she tossed it towards Newrius, the dragon huffing happily as he caught it. Kate bowed her head, greeting his mother.

“Well met, Rider.” His mother had honoured her, by speaking first and everyone in the room knew it.

“Well met, Majesty. A Welcome sight.”

Newrius tugged on the back of Anthony’s shirt with a wheezy growl that sounded almost like a chuckle as Anthony stumbled and his spine prickled as his mother’s eyes burned into him again as the Dragon teased him.

Without a word Anthony ducked out of the tent, glad of the breeze fluttering through the camp and took off running, desperately hoping to clear his head. The wind whipped past him and the camp disappeared behind him and his lungs burned in his chest. He came to a stop on a grassy hill, trampled flat as the army had retreated and Anthony ran his hands through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut against the pounding in his chest.

This has to stop. This must stop now. You cannot feel this way about-

“You seem very fond of her.”

Anthony sighed at the sound of his mother’s voice, neutral as it always was since the death of his father. “Kate and I have become good friends, these last years. I pledged myself to ensure the survival of her dragon.” He leaned against the tree, “Surely you remember, Mother. You were so against my taking this position.”

His Mother sighed, “I became the queen of our people because you were not ready, Anthony. You were too young, you are still young amongst our kind but… You will take your place one day. I had already lost so much, I couldn’t… Well. You never did listen anyway.”

He could feel the weight of her expectations weighing down on him, just as he had then. When she had raged against his choice. “I believe in the cause we fight for. I have a duty to our people, to fight for that cause.”

“And is that all it is now? Duty?”

He should have been expecting the question. He had faced it with so much dread when what he had feared was stirring in Kate’s chest, in the smiles she tossed him across the fire as they travelled to his homeland together was laid at his feet with Kate’s hands gripping his tunic lightly.

His voice had shaken, even then. “Kate, please. You are young, you…”

“I will live as long as you will, Anthony.” Her lips had nearly been brushing his and his chest had ached to lean in and close the distance between them. “You know that as well as I.”

“You will… What you feel… you will not feel forever.”

“Do not do that, Anthony. Do not minimise what I feel for you. What I feel is real and I will love you, as long as I live.”

“This can never be.” He’d whispered it and felt the tears sting his eyes as he turned as walked away, ignoring the sob that broke the night and the growl that rumbled over his head as her dragon caught sight of him.

Anthony swallowed, tilting his chin to look his mother in the eyes. “It is a duty. We all have our duties.”

His mother nodded slowly before she sighed, “She has a destiny, Anthony.”

His stomach churned, “We all have a destiny, Mother.”

A wry smiled crossed her face, “Yes. That is true. But not every destiny involves the fate of every person in this land. I do not think I need to remind you how very disastrous it would be were she to be distracted from this task.”

“No, Mother.” Anthony said quickly, his heart pounding in his chest. “You do not. I’m sorry, I’m very tired and there is much to do for tomorrow.”

He bowed respectfully and strode past her, his boots crunching against the grass as he did. His head was still spinning as the sun set over the camp and the smell of campfires filled the air. He felt exhausted, tired in the very bones of him as he tugged at the laces of his leather bracers approaching his tent. He let them fall to the floor as he swept aside the flap of his tent, stepping inside.

“I don’t think your mother likes me very much.”

He relaxed at the sight of her, lounging in his bathtub, her dark hair damp with the water and she was so beautiful in the candlelight his chest ached. He crouched beside her, pressing his lips to hers gently, “No, she’s disappointed in me. I’m a distraction for you.”

Kate sighed, chasing his lips for a moment, “I would very much like it if you were distracting me. Don’t worry. No one saw me come in here.”

Anthony chuckled, leaning into her touch, “Very well then. I do still have to thank you for saving me today. And Newrius as well I suppose.”

“Oh I wouldn’t thank him,” Kate hummed, “He was very torn about it.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

[coreofgold]

@devilsmenu for Tony

"The stage is open and free if you need a mic check." Jaskier said, polishing up the counter. There were a few people already here but it's mostly dancers and other performers.

[coreofgold]

"Kind of you, but no, it's fine. I can live. Unfortunately." The bard chuckled. "Kidding, I'm kidding. I'll fortunately live." Dandelion said. "The name's Dandelion by the way. Well, I also go by Jaskier but Dandelion is hitting quite nice."

Scarlett nods, trying her best to help him pick them up. "Is there anything I can do? I can try my best to help you recreate them if you need?"

[schrijverr]

What Happens in Hong Kong…

What if the fight in 1x19: Unfinished Business had gone a little differently and Tommy learned about Oliver kidnapping him in Hong Kong?

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: mentions of canonical violence and canonical character death

~~~

Oliver is still off balance about today as he wanders back into the club. Seeing the Count like that, deciding not to kill him, it’s strange. There was a time where he wouldn’t have hesitated to put that arrow in his brain, but today he couldn’t do it.

He wonders how he’s changing. There is so much darkness inside of him that he ripped out and put into this persona, transmitting it from Kapyushon to the Hood. But now that darkness is leaving the Hood and he isn’t sure if it’s leaving him all together, or if Oliver Queen is reabsorbing that darkness.

A movement catches his eyes and he instinctively focuses on it, assessing it as a threat.

It’s Tommy and he immediately feels guilty about putting Tommy in the threat category, even though he knows his brain just works that way. He spots the folder in Tommy’s hand and sees an opportunity to make up, calling out a “Hey,” that stops Tommy in his tracks.

“How are we doing?” Oliver asks. He knows the other man is mad at him, but he doesn’t know how much. The question feels neutral enough to get a gauge on where they stand, before making his next move.

“In the black,” Tommy answers curtly, not meeting his eyes. Still mad then. It’s confirmed when Tommy coolly asks: “Did the Hood get his man?”

“Well,” Oliver lets out a breath, “we won’t have any problems with Vertigo anymore.” He isn’t sure if the question was genuine, but he’d rather not risk it. Plus, maybe showing he did some good will make Tommy less mad.

It doesn’t seem to work. Tommy keeps his back turned to him and is now counting money. If he wants to make it right, he’s going to have to do better than pretending it didn’t happen. It’s difficult for him, but Oliver manages to start: “Look, Tommy, I’m sorry-”

“I’ve caught up the bookkeeping and all my notes on the inventory are in there, along with the list of supplier that we use,” Tommy cuts him off.

An uncomfortable feeling crawls down Oliver’s throat and constricts his chest, but he doesn’t want to read into the situation. Doesn’t want to believe what his brain clicks together. Doesn’t want to assess all possibilities and plan. He doesn’t want to let Tommy go. So, he falls into an easy pattern that has always come to him and plays dumb, saying: “Okay? I don’t see why you’re telling me that.”

Tommy turns around, meeting his gaze with eyes he barely recognizes. He has never seen Tommy upset with him like this.

“This club is important to me,” Tommy tells him, then walks forward accusingly. “But for you it’s just a front. You want me to keep your secret, help you be this thing you’ve become, but you refuse to see me for what I’ve become. I’ve got just a bit more self-respect for that.”

Each and every word hits him in his chest and he watches helplessly as Tommy walks away. His brother in all but blood is leaving his club – their club – with nothing more than an, “I quit,” thrown over his shoulder.

Oliver can’t let that happen.

Tommy is his rock, always has been. Being able to work with him is one of the best thing that has happened to him. Tommy is such a joy, so innocent and untainted by all the darkness Oliver carries inside him. When he’s with him, he can almost forget his own darkness.

There is a truth to Tommy’s words. He doesn’t see Tommy for who he has become, not entirely at least, and that hurts. Because Tommy isn’t the same. He has gotten more mature. Oliver just saw that same happiness and mistook it for immaturity, because his own happiness has been beaten out of him so he could survive and he can’t fathom surviving while being happy, can’t fathom living instead of surviving.

“Wait,” he calls out, before Tommy can open the door, needing him to stay.

A relief washes over him when Tommy pauses, however, he doesn’t turn around, just stills as he waits to see what will come out of Oliver’s mouth next. It’s terrifying, because he has lost the way he would charm himself out of trouble, replaced it with beating the problem until it’s gone. But now he has to talk and hope it’s enough to keep his friend.

“It’s not-” he starts, then realizes that saying it’s not you, but me, probably isn’t the best idea. He bites his lips, then starts again: “When I was on the island, I- I wasn’t alone.”

Tommy makes a confused noise and turns just a bit, throwing a glance Oliver’s way. He knows everyone wants him to open up about what happened there, talk to them. Whether it’s concern or morbid curiosity. Tommy isn’t immune either.

He could talk about Slade, how he turned in a matter of minutes due to drugs in his system. How he’s had friends turn against him. But he doesn’t. It won’t work. Because it’s not Tommy, who is the problem; it’s him.

“There were these group of mercenaries, who were trying to set up a base of operation there. Off the grid,” Oliver twists the truth. He’s sure Amanda Waller won’t like him talking about her involvement there and he doesn’t fancy A.R.G.U.S. showing up on his doorstep any time soon.

“I ran into a special ops, who’d been trying to stop them, but got stranded on the island when his plane was shot down. He helped me survive and get away from these men, but he’d gotten shot. We had targets on our back,” Oliver says, watching as Tommy turns around fully now, listening intently, though with a confused frown on his face.

“There were these herbs in a previous hideout we’d used and we needed them to treat his wound, so I went to get them,” Oliver explains, glad he found a good way to present this, though a little sick for what he was about to admit next.

“When I got there, I found a man. He was tied up, beaten bloody,” Oliver says, swallowing thickly as he remembers him. “He told me he was on a school trip on a fishing boat and it went down, that he washed up here and was found by those mercs, who were about to kill them until they’d been called away for a scuffle. Me and my friend, probably.”

Tommy is now letting go of the handle. Oliver has successfully convinced him to stay and listen, interesting him enough to not want to leave. A part of him wishes he would have failed, so he doesn’t have to actually get to telling this part.

“He begged me to cut him free, terrified those men would come back and finish what they started,” he says, dragging it out, because he doesn’t want to say it, until he has to. He is quiet for a beat, taking a harsh breath, before he rips the band aid off: “I didn’t cut him free. I left him there.”

Oliver looks at the ground, determined not to see Tommy’s expression and glad for that determination when an outraged Tommy exclaims: “What the hell, man! Why not?”

He looks up, his eyes filled with emotions that are warring in his chest as he admits: “Because I didn’t know him, Tommy. I left him there to die, because I couldn’t confirm his story and we couldn’t use a liability.”

Tommy is quiet for a moment, then scoffs: “So what? Am I the liability? Is that what you’re saying?”

He had a whole point with the story, about how he doesn’t know anyone anymore. That he knows they’ve all changed, but he doesn’t know how and he can’t risk it. But having Tommy think that… it’s the worst. Tommy has always been too good. Oliver must rectify it immediately.

“No!” the word comes out quick and harsh, followed by a waterfall of words that had been trapped inside him and now come rushing out: “It’s me. Can’t you see that? For five years, I had to mistrust everyone, try to find their masks, before it got me. Because that guy? He wasn’t a student on a field trip at all. He was one of them. When we got captured, he was there, manning their equipment. It was a trap. I made the right call by leaving someone to die, Tommy.”

His breathing is harsh now and Tommy has recoiled from him when he started talking, his voice getting louder and louder.

When he opens his mouth again, his voice is softer, almost a whisper and coated in shame: “I see that you’ve changed. I see it, Tommy, I do. But a part of my brain can’t help but wonder if it’s a mask, a ruse. When it’s gonna drop and how it’s going to screw me over. Mistrusting everyone comes so much easier to me now.”

He swallows and admits: “It’s not you, it’s everyone. I don’t trust my mom when she says that I’m home, that I’m safe and she loves me. Don’t trust Thea when she hugs me, afraid she’ll have a knife at my back. And that’s on me. Not them.”

He meets Tommy’s eyes, tears in his own, though he valiantly fights them down. He has turned off his emotions for years now, he can manage not crying, no matter how hard it is. Across from him, Tommy looks shocked and a little heartbroken. Oliver wishes he wasn’t used to getting that expression from people, confirming how fucked in the head he is.

“I am so sorry that I thought you dealt those drugs. I know you better than that- I should know you better than that. It’s not a mask with you, it couldn’t have been. Anyone who’d fly across the world to find me, wouldn’t be going behind my back,” Oliver says, needing Tommy to understand.

At first it looks like it’s going to work, like opening up is actually going to help. Which is great, because he’ll keep his friend, but horrible, because then he might have to do it more.

However, then Tommy frowns and suspicious he asks: “How did you know I’d flown across the world to try and find you?”

“Uhm, Laurel mentioned it,” Oliver says, kicking himself for bringing it up.

“No, she couldn’t have. No one knew, except my dad. I didn’t want to give anyone false hope,” Tommy shakes his head. “You couldn’t have known, unless- unless you were there.”

Oliver’s heart stops. He never should have let that slip, how could he have been so stupid. Now, he needs to do damage control as quickly as he can. Tommy can never – never – end up on Amanda’s radar.

“Tommy, look at me, look at me right now,” Oliver snaps, moving towards the other as fast as he can to grab his face to force him to meet his eyes, having to force himself to not care about how Tommy flinches back and struggles. “You cannot tell anyone, and I mean anyone, about Hong Kong.”

“So you were really there?” Tommy asks, his voice distorted by Oliver’s grip, which would have been funnier were it not for the betrayal that’s in there too.

“Promise me you won’t tell,” Oliver insists.

“Did you see me?” Tommy demands, not replying to Oliver.

Oliver lets go of his face to shake his shoulders, repeating: “Promise me you won’t tell.”

“Not until you tell me how you know,” Tommy says angrily.

After quickly running through all his options, Oliver admits: “I was the one that kidnapped you. Now promise me.”

“What the hell, man!”

“Promise me,” Oliver yells.

“You just said you kidnapped me! You were not on that island. Why the hell would you not come home? Why would you lie about that? Why would you hide that?”

“Just promise me you won’t tell, it’s important.”

“Why?”

“Because they might come for you,” Oliver explodes.

“Who?” Tommy explodes right back.

“The- the people that got me from the island,” Oliver says, quietly, looking around as if he expects Amanda to appear from the shadows.

“Oliver, tell me what happened,” Tommy asks. He isn’t angry anymore, but confused and obviously hurt, as well as concerned. He’s so Tommy. So like his mother. Oliver has never been good at saying no to Tommy, it’s how they got into so much trouble together.

He sighs, looks around, then drags Tommy down to the basement, making sure to close the door behind him and sweep the room.

“Uhm, you’re- you’re kind of scaring me, dude,” Tommy chuckles nervously.

“Good,” Oliver says, giving him a glare. Before taking a centering breath. He doesn’t want to be mad at Tommy. It’s not his fault.

“The wrong kind of people heard about what happened on the island. We stopped those mercs. Not because it was the right thing to do or some noble reason or whatever. They were a threat to me, so they had to go, and they had a possible way off the island, which was good. We took them down, because of selfish reasons,” Oliver says.

“We? Your friend, the spy dude?” Tommy asks.

“Yes,” Oliver says, seeing no reason in mentioning Shado… or Sara. “He- He didn’t make it. I did.” It still hurts to say that, no matter how many years have passed and how it ended between them. He still misses his friend, despite what he turned into.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“So, uhm, the wrong people heard? What does that mean?” Tommy says, an obvious prompt to get him to talk and get the uncomfortable silence to end. Oliver misses the time their silences were never uncomfortable.

“At first I actually thought they rescued me,” Oliver says bitterly. “But they just needed me to break in somewhere. As a dead man, no one would notice if I didn’t come back. And no one would suspect it was me. Perfect fall guy.”

“That’s seven kinds of fucked up.”

“Tell me about it,” Oliver grins, though it’s more a quirk of his lips these days. “I tried to escape, logged into my email, before I was recaptured.”

“It was really you,” Tommy breathes, still a little disbelieving.

“It was,” Oliver confirms. “A few days later, I find myself on a rooftop with a gun pointed at your head.”

“What?” Tommy chokes.

“They needed me inconspicuous. You can’t be that if there is someone going around town with your picture. They needed you off the board. I didn’t want to shoot you.”

“And you didn’t, because I would have known that.”

Oliver smiles at the reaction, a bit of his guilt alleviated by Tommy’s ability to make a joke about the whole situation. “No, I didn’t,” he agrees. “The kidnapping you was necessary to get you out, because if I didn’t take you off the board, someone else would have. And they wouldn’t have hesitated in pulling that trigger.”

Tommy pales and swallows heavily, retroactively scared for his life, which had been in danger without him even knowing. Oliver wishes he could take that fear, that Tommy would have never known that he had a gun pointed at him, that he tranquilized him and took him to a warehouse where he scared the shit out of him.

“So you saved my life?” Tommy squeaks after a second. And Oliver’s heart lets out a rush of warmth while breaking. Of course Tommy would see that as saving his life, not endangering it.

“I made sure you weren’t killed, sure,” Oliver agrees, because he doesn’t feel like flaying himself open more than he already has. This is why he doesn’t open up to anyone, it just invites questions and feelings.

“Did you do the break in for them?” Tommy asks.

Oliver nods tightly. “Not much else I could do,” he says, trying to forget seeing everyone here, being home, as well as the devastation in Hong Kong. Akio dying, General Shrieve tortured. Both by his hands.

“And what then, this was years ago. Did they keep you captive?” Tommy demands to know, which is valid, since he did say he was on the island for five years when he obviously wasn’t.

The more Tommy knows, the more danger he’s in, he doesn’t need to know about the Bratva and he probably wouldn’t believe the magic bit. Yeah, if he tells him about the magic bit, he’ll probably end up right next to the Count.

So he tells another half truth, pretending to be sincere, because that’s his entire life at this point. At least he doesn’t have to fake the bitterness when he says: “When it was done, they drugged me and dropped me right back on that god forsaken island. Covering up their tracks. I suppose I should be grateful they kept their end of the bargain and didn’t kill me.”

Tommy has wide disbelieving eyes and he staggers to the chair Felicity usually sits in as he processes everything Oliver just told him.

Oliver gives him a minute or so, before he softly says: “You’re free to walk away, Tommy. You’re free to hate me for lying to you about it, or suspecting you for the drugs. I’m fine with that. But, please, promise me you won’t tell anyone I was off that island.”

“You think they’re still watching you?” Tommy hisses, looking around now too, much like Oliver did earlier.

“I don’t think they have someone trailing me, but they likely will show up if rumors about this start going around,” Oliver says honestly. Amanda likes her status quo, she won’t let Oliver risk her operation.

“Fuck, man,” Tommy says, letting out a deep breath. He leans back in the chair and rubs his face, while Oliver studies him nervously.

Tommy hasn’t retracted his quitting, nor has he reacted beyond telling Oliver how fucked it all was, which is nice and strange. Oliver does know what happened to him was kind of fucked up, but fucked up has become his normal that he didn’t even realize until he saw Tommy react to what he told him.

“Are you still going to quit?” Oliver asks after a bit, unable to take the silence that is interspersed with mutterings of that’s so fucked up from his friend.

“I’m still a bit mad at you,” Tommy says and Oliver feels his gut churn, so much for opening up to people. “However,” Tommy goes on, “I would also be a suspicious fuck if that shit happened to me, so when I- when I process all… this, uhm, I’ll- I’ll get back to you.”

“���So I shouldn’t look for your replacement?” Oliver inquires shyly, unable to stop the bit of hope that creeps into his chest.

“Nah, man, this is our club, right?” Tommy smiles. “Just gimme a few days and we’ll be cool.”

“Thank you,” Oliver says and he has never meant two words more.

Tommy is still kind, not hardened by the world the way Oliver is. He still forgives easily, forgets just as quick. It will get him killed some day, but Oliver doesn’t want him to stop. Learning that the world is unforgiving is not fun and he doesn’t want Tommy to have to learn it, doesn’t want him to loose that innocence.

His darkness is forever a part of him, no matter how much he puts it into the Hood, it still haunts his every interaction. Today has shown him that much. However, not everyone is like him and that’s good. That’s the best actually. He hates who he is, he wouldn’t want anyone to be like him.

Oliver vows to keep an eye on Tommy, make sure he’s not being too kind to the world that will never be kind back and will never deserve that kindness. Because Oliver is being given that kindness now, and he cherishes it. He’ll preserve it in Tommy, keep the darkness as far away from him as possible.

At that point, Oliver couldn’t have known how hard that promise would be to keep. How Tommy would hurt due to the sins of his father, much like Oliver does. How Oliver would wish, he hadn’t tried to preserve that kindness, because it’s the lack of kindness that has helped him survive regardless and it’s the excess Tommy has of it, that gets him killed.

But that’s the future. Right now, he’s happy that his friend is still there with him, that he didn’t royally screw up everything he touches. That despite the darkness of the Hood, Oliver Queen still has enough humanity to have people like Tommy in his life.

~~

A/N:

Do I think Oliver – especially season 1 Oliver – would ever open up like this? No. But I like him talking about Lian Yu, so he will here for my entertainment.

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Keep Watch in the Night Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous Rating: T Status: One-Shot Main Characters: Knight-Commander Lilith de Marc, Camellia Gwerm Additional Notes: Aeon Mythic Path, Frenemies Word Count: 1.4k Summary: The Aeon speaks to Lilith in a language of stars and arrows. It is a language which she has learned how to read, how to analyze, and- when necessary- how to manipulate.

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The Aeon speaks to Lilith in a language of stars and arrows.

It is a language no mortal can decipher- none, save for her. Lilith alone sees the writing, the scattered symbols and auras which whisper to her the secrets of those around her. The glowing signs are almost overwhelming at first, but Lilith is nothing if not diligent; she learns to read the constellations behind her eyes, and she learns the measure of her new followers.

They come before her for judgment- some arrogant, some shaking in their boots. It’s in her judgment hall that Lilith practices unraveling the shining ribbons of guilt which encircle those who have committed crimes against her Crusade. She pulls at the strings of their minds, and the truth comes tumbling out with barely a fight.

As her talent grows, rumors circulate the city. People begin to drop their eyes when she passes, as if they can guard themselves by avoiding her gaze.

Her companions are no exception to the Aeon’s sight; their minds unfurl before her power just like any other. Woljif is the easiest of them. He wears his sins without guile, and they dance around him as brightly as the amulet he keeps around his neck. Wenduag is much the same, proud of every deed she has carried out regardless of any blood spilled.

(You shine with violence, Lilith tells her once when they are in bed together, and she practically purrs with pleasure at the description.)

Others in her company pose more of a challenge. Arueshalae’s aura is nothing but a headache, simply because there is so much of it; the transgressions of her past cling to her, like dazzling flies swarming over a corpse. Daeran, too, collects too many misdeeds to count, although he does so with much more cheer. Lilith wonders if he thinks piling on frivolous crimes will cover the darker ones hidden underneath.

Of them all, it is Camellia who proves most resistant to Lilith’s readings. Her aura is glaring, impossible to miss; there is certainly something about her which the Aeon recognizes as terribly wrong. The details of her transgressions, however, are so twisted in upon themselves that it takes Lilith ages to pick out the threads of truth.

She gets there eventually, of course, long before Anevia comes to her with a warning about missing and murdered soldiers.

Anevia’s expectations are easier to decipher. She watches Lilith, waiting for her reaction to the news, perhaps anticipating another one of the resounding judgments of which the Aeon is so fond. Lilith sends her away, promising to deal with the matter on her own.

The Aeon echoes in Lilith’s head; it aches to prove its power against those who break its order.

And the Aeon is powerful…but it is not clever. It does not understand that sometimes, its strict policy of eradication is simply wasteful.

Lilith prefers to act a bit more prudently.

When the time comes for confrontations, Camellia does not seem shocked to find herself caught red-handed. Even she must have known it was only a matter of time.

She does, however, appear surprised by Lilith’s restraint.

“I do appreciate your discretion regarding my little Mireya,” she says, tilting her head as she eyes Lilith with more interest than she’s ever given thus far. She sits perched on a dusty, splintered table in the cellar of her hideout. A bloody rapier lies in her lap, a bloody body at her feet. “I admit, your reception of her needs is…unforeseen.”

“Did you truly think I did not already know?” Lilith asks. She forgoes a seat and simply stands, hands folded, eyes on the bright beacon of a killer in front of her. “You know what my powers are capable of.”

A hint of distaste darkens Camellia’s practiced smile. “Yes…I suppose I hoped that my actions would not sound your alarms, so to speak, seeing as I only ever acted with the aim of empowering the good cause of the Crusades.”

“Of course you did. And I would prefer that it stay that way. Any power we can gain is a welcome advantage.” Lilith’s gaze drifts to the body on the ground. “That being said…the Crusade needs its soldiers, Camellia. We’ve lost enough to demons as it is. We’re not losing any more to you.”

Camellia frowns. One hand goes to her amulet; the other ghosts along the hilt of her rapier. “Are we at a disagreement, then, after all?”

“Not in the slightest. As I said, I value whatever power your Mireya offers.” Lilith hopes, faintly, that there is in fact power to be had from Camellia’s little trinket. But the lies sparkle as they leave Camellia’s lips, and she does not hope too fiercely.

Even with the lies, Camellia is an ally worth keeping around. She is proficient in battle; she has connections through her father to figures of wealth and power; and, importantly, she is not quite the delicate flower she pretends to be. She understands the value of ruthlessness. It is an underrated trait, and Lilith will not toss it aside so easily…however little she cares for the woman’s needling arguments and self-indulgent games.

“If I cannot feed Mireya…”

“Feed her if you must,” Lilith says plainly. “Just not with our soldiers. There are cultists plenty she may feast upon. And if that does not satisfy her, I’m certain I could come up with ideas of those whose disappearances would be rather more convenient than a common foot soldier.”

Wrong, the Aeon in her mind thunders. Lilith bites down hard on her tongue to keep from shivering under its admonition. Camellia is watching her like a hawk, but if she notices the disturbance, she does not comment upon it. She simply pulls a kerchief from her pocket and begins casually cleaning the blood from her blade.

“Very well. I suppose I can work with such an arrangement. And I am relieved to hear that you shan’t be visiting your infamous judgment upon me over this little matter.” A smirk plays at her lips, and she adds, “Not that I don’t admire your power. Indeed, it’s a delight, watching you unleash your deadly force upon our foes.”

Lilith waits patiently as Camellia puts on a show of carefully considering her following words.

“And yet…I am becoming concerned about the future of those around you. Myself included, naturally, but also your beloved people of the city. There’s a certain uneasiness we feel in your presence, as you go about judging all and sundry for their every discretion. Be careful, dear Lilith. Go any further with this power and your friends will begin to turn away from you.”

“You consider us friends, then?” Lilith asks drily, and Camellia flashes her a brilliant, shining smile.

“Of course! You are our hope in our darkest hour. It would be calamitous if anything happened to you.”

“Indeed it would.” Lilith watches for a moment as the stars around Camellia blink out their warning signs. She’s all flint and steel, this one, and again it is something Lilith can appreciate. A shame, then, that her pretty words glimmer with ill intent, all of it aimed directly at the Knight-Commander.

“Commit no crimes against me, Camellia,” Lilith says, meeting Camellia’s bright statement with a thin smile of her own, “and you will have nothing to fear.”

Camellia’s blade is clean now, and she tucks the bloody kerchief back into her pocket. “A fine point. I shall weigh upon your words…my friend.”

Lilith steps out from Camellia’s hideout into the night. As the stars blaze above, she knows the Aeon will be seething tonight. Even now, she feels a warning prickle under her skin, a precursor to the ice-cold shards the power wishes to sink into her nerves.

But just as Lilith has learned to read the Aeon’s language, she has learned to satisfy its whims. The mythic force craves the satisfaction of punishment, and tomorrow she will receive cases in her judgment hall until the craving is fulfilled. Its demand for justice is, at the end of the day, a hunger like any other.

A hunger not unlike Camellia’s, Lilith reflects with dark humor, even as her stars and arrows flare in distaste at the comparison.