#dragon age woke guard

[dragonagedreamer]

Well...What can you say really?

[venusbyline]

Omg, imagine you're twin to either Jacaerys or Lucerys (your choice) and, obviously, they adore you.

you're their sister. The apple of their eyes. The main actress of ever single wet dream they have since they reached age and your body started to change.

Maybe you're used to sleeping sandwiched between them. Maybe it's summer. Maybe you took off your nightgown because it's hot. Maybe Luke and Jace take it as their opportunity to explore you, maybe they chicken out after just touching your tits. Maybe you woke up because Luke and Jace are hard against you.

⚠️: SMUT & DARK CONTENT. female!reader, dark!Jacaerys Velaryon, dark!Lucerys Velaryon, Targcest (older brother/younger sister & twin brother/twin sister), non-con somnophilia, non-con touching, underage dubcon (no specific mention of reader's, Jacaerys' or Lucerys' ages tho), sexual tension, dry humping, naked cuddling, spooning position, body worship, tits playing, reader is Lucerys' twin sister. no use of y/n.

The night was hot at Dragonstone, especially for you who had flown with your dragon just a few hours before try to sleep. Even after a fresh bath and with the windows open enough to let the breeze in, nothing seemed to help.

You shifted yourself a little impatiently, that long, loose hair adding more discomfort when it touched the pillow.

On each side of the bed lay your brothers. Jacaerys, the older one, slept like an angel with his face turned to the corner of the chambers, since you were moving so much that he ended up having to let go of your waist. Lucerys, your twin brother, was turned towards you, one hand under his own face and watching your obvious annoyance the whole time.

"I will not be able to sleep if you keep tossing and turning, sister..." Lucerys murmured softly, not wanting to be an idiot, but recognizing that he will not concentrate on falling asleep if things continued the way they were. "It is unbearably hot tonight." Seeing the drop of sweat running down your neck to the neckline of the nightgown, Lucerys felt his cheeks begin to heat up. "Jace and I can go back to our own chambers if you rather."

Your twin brother's suggestion made you sigh and shake your head. "No, Luke. I like sleeping next to you and Jace." You grumbled, shifting once again before feeling the older boy beside shifting to look at you and Lucerys, his brown eyes barely open due to the drowsiness.

"You should take off that nightgown then."

Jacaerys' words caught both you and Lucerys off guard. The two of you widened the eyes, confused about what had just been heard there.

"What? None of you have never slept naked in the summer?" Jace mumbled, sleep starting to dissipate as well as your resistance and embarrassment.

"Well... I did, but never with someone else around like this." You defended yourself, though, receiving a confused look from Lucerys, his face flushed with the image you put into his mind.

Ever since the years had passed and your body started to change, Luke felt that his love for you was no longer something pure and was almost turning into an obsession. You invaded all his dreams, they are always about the taste of your lips on his, what it would be like to be able to run hands between your tits, squeeze them together and suck both of them...

He even daydreamed about what color your nipples and cunt were.

Seven Hells, he would do anything to be more than just your twin brother.

Incestuous relationships were not unusual among House Targaryen at all. Marriage between family members was so common that everyone was already sure that you would marry one of your brothers. Perhaps it would be Jacaerys, since he was the eldest son and you were the only daughter. Or perhaps it would even be Lucerys, since you were twins. Either way, uncertainty ran through him for now, and the three of you were still quite young for Rhaenyra to even consider thinking about which would be the most suitable betrothal.

Both of the Velaryon boys shared an obsession towards you. A muse in the eyes of your brothers, being loved and adored in different ways by the two of them. Jace was more clear about what was going on inside his mind, not even trying to hide how much he had been attracted to you since the years have passed. He was the one who suggested that all the three of you should start sleeping together in the same bed, he was the one who made slightly obscene jokes to make you laugh, he was the one who always hugged you from behind while you slept, caressing the softness of your hips.

Meanwhile, Lucerys was your sweet and gentle twin brother, so shy that any look from you was a reason for him to run away back to his chambers, needing to use his own fist to pleasure himself, jerking off and picturing that it was your tight little hole around his cock.

He was the one who had to settle for lying in front of you, watching his older brother delight in the spoon position during the nights. A sight that often made him feel jealous and aroused at the same time. The way your lips parted to sigh when Jace breathed very close to your ear in his sleep...

It was no news to the brothers how many times they woke up from wet dreams, their white linen pants stained with the consequences of their desires.

And yet... Neither Jacaerys nor Lucerys ever imagined that they would really be in that situation, with you actually considering starting to take off the nightgown, fingers playing with its ties as the seconds passed.

"You do not need to worry. It is just so you can rest more comfortably between us." Jace said with calm voice, although Luke could tell he was controlling himself from simply pulling the fabric himself against your will.

"Will not it be weird for you, brothers? Having a naked girl in the middle of the bed?"

The boys almost had to hold back their laughter after that silly question. Weird would literally be the last word they used to describe the possibility of seeing their sister exposed like that in front of them. They had those dark desires for so long that everything now seemed like a dream come true. "Of course it will not be weird. You are my baby sister." Jace managed to keep his voice steady, licking his lower lip and then lifting his neck enough to get a better look at his younger brother. "And Luke does not mind either. Do you, brother?"

With his heart pounding in the chest, Lucerys shook his head. "I do not. It will be fine, sister."

Lucerys and Jacaerys had remained awake, wide eyes and dilated pupils ever since their sister agreed to take off the nightgown. They did not even move, as if in a silent agreement not to disturb the girl's sleep, not to wake you up before they had enjoyed every minute of the beautiful sight in front of them.

Neither of the princes were devotees of the Faith, but they mentally thanked the Seven for making this possible to happen after so much waiting.

You were lying on your back, looking like the personification of The Maiden. Your dark hair covered the view of your nipples, leaving only the skin of your mounds exposed.

However, what made the boys' mouths salivate the most was the fact that you had your half legs open during the sleep, revealing your intimate part. Your pretty cunt had a thin layer of hair, a slightly musky but also sweet scent emanating from your core and making Jacaerys' and Lucerys' cocks harden further.

"It is the hour of the wolf..." Jace whispered to the younger boy, finally breaking the silence between them. "So she will not wake up for a while."

Lucerys swallowed hard, not knowing if he should follow his older brother's line of reasoning at that moment, even though his arousal was overtaking any rational and noble thought.

He should stop his brother, tell him that what they were about to do was wrong and disgusting, that he would never touch his twin sister without her true consent. He wanted to tell him that he would never do something like that.

But the only thing Prince Velaryon could say was: "What if she wakes up?"

"She will not." Jacaerys assured, moving closer and wrapping his hands around your hips, turning you carefully so he could stay glued to you like he always did. The feeling of having a naked female form against his pants was hot that he had to bite the lip to keep from moaning loudly or grabbing your ass. He needed to control himself so he could do what he wanted.

Although Jacaerys was in a battle with his self-control, he raised the head to get the younger prince's attention. "What are you waiting for? Put your hands on her."

Put your hands on her... Lucerys had to hold himself back from uttering a reprimand or flicking his brother's knee. His heart rate increased at such crude words, imagining how his twin would react to all of that — you were resting innocently, oblivious to the dark desires present inside both of their problematic minds.

The absence of sounds in the chambers was broken once again, as Lucerys lay on your side and ran his hand around your waist, the two brothers holding you like a prize and receiving a sleepy and confused moan in response. A sweet little noise, which would easily be difficult to hear if they were not completely silent at that moment.

They had you in different ways, Jace focused on holding you by the hip and Luke focused on holding you by the waist. As much as the physical proximity was kinda familiar, neither of them had ever shared such a intense level of intimacy with you until then. The heat from three bodies together and intertwined tightened their boners even more inside those linen pants, so desperate to feel every part of you, every inch.

While Jacaerys was aroused by the sensation of your backside so close to his groin, Lucerys felt his mind go into a frenzy at the feeling of your perky nipples brushing against his chest when he pressed it closer to your body. "O-Oh, shit..." He almost cursed himself at that boyish whimper. It would not be surprising if Jace made a joke about it tomorrow.

Each of the boys brought a hand to your breasts, letting their minds run wild as they enjoyed the softness of those mounds that fit well their palms, as if they had been made to please both of them.

It all seemed too perfect, exploring that female chest right there next to them and biting their lips to stifle any sounds of appreciation they might accidentally let out. They worked hard to keep themselves quiet, to keep secret the disgusting act they were about to commit — a dirty stain on the princes' false noble personalities.

What kind of brothers take advantage of their sister's unconscious body?

That was what snapped the boys out of their haze of pleasure, their previous perverse thoughts causing brief simultaneous headaches when they realized the gravity of what they had done. The line they had allowed themselves to cross.

Even if they took their hands off your breasts, the damage was already done, your eyelids fluttering open in confusion at the feel of two thick and hard things. Neither of them had realized until then that they had been grinding against their sweet sister all this time while letting their dark instincts speak louder. Jacaerys had not noticed the hard, clothed cock against your ass and Lucerys had not noticed the hard, clothed cock against your warm folds. At least not until you gasped for answers.

"W-What are you two doing?"

Answers that would not be easy to explain.

[belovaballerina]

Joy Found in Sorrow

House of the Dragon: Gwayne Hightower x Targ!reader 

Rating: Mature (Minors DNI)

WC: 3.0 k 

Prompt: First and Last Heartbreak for @sweetspicybingo (Beginnings Bingo Masterlist)

Tags/Warnings: Canon divergence, there is no dance, romance, a smidge of angst, age gap (older man/younger woman), reader is Laenor and Rhaenyra’s trueborn daughter, kissing, pining, oral, way more plot than porn

A/n: I'm team neutral, so please don't harass me

Summary: You were sent to foster at Oldtown, where you fell in love with Gwayne Hightower

The wind whipped through your loose silver hair as you urged the black mare between your legs to gallop faster. She was sleek with long legs and met your command obediently as she gained speed. It was a rare time when you were allowed to escape the confines of the city of Oldtown, enjoying the respite of lush greenery and open spaces, greeted by the howls of the Whispering Sound. Your pale yellow dragon flew overhead, and she was the only reason you were permitted to go alone, though you suspected a few Hightower guards lingered through the hills.

When your mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, took the Iron Throne after King Viserys I's death, you were sent to foster at the Reach with the Hightowers as a broker of peace, as a sign that your mother did not intend to plunge the realm into war. Your twin brother, Jacaerys, remained behind as he was her heir and should be trained appropriately as her successor. It had broken your heart to leave your family behind at the age of six and ten, but you put on a brave facade and accepted your role despite the first heartbreak you ever felt.. Lord Ormund had high hopes of marrying you to his eldest son, Lyonel, who was two years your younger, but you had no interest in the silly boy.

Your Uncle Daeron had also been sent to ward at Oldtown when he was much younger, and there were hopes you might marry him as well, but again, he held no interest in you. You much preferred his dazzling blue dragon, Tessarion. Your heart belonged to another, a match you were certain neither side would approve of, but your affections belonged to Ser Gwayne Hightower, a man closer in age to your mother than you.

He had been the one to welcome you first to the Reach, ever the proper gentleman as his lips grazed your knuckles and his warm, dark eyes locked onto yours.

“It is a pleasure to welcome you to Oldtown, princess,” he murmured, a soft smile spreading over his face. Even though his cousin, Lord Ormund, was head of House Hightower, Gwayne had accepted the position of making sure you settled well in Oldtown.

You found yourself charmed by his pleasant nature and oddly endeared to his trepidation around your dragon, despite Daeron having his own, and should have gotten the man used to them by now.

“You needn’t be fearful, Ser,” you smiled, stroking Sunburst’s butter yellow head, “Come, let her grow used to you.”

You motioned him closer, and Gwayne took measured steps, straightening his spine before allowing you to guide his hand to your dragon’s massive head. She huffed softly, but made no move to pull away as your hand stroked her side.

“She won’t burn you unless I command it,” you said cheekily, and it made Gwayne emit a stifled laugh.

“That leaves me most reassured, princess,” he teased, his dark eyes sparkling.

The next morning, you woke to a gift of a shimmering ruby necklace that shimmered like fire in the sunlight, and a seamstress to construct a new gown for you at Ser Gwayne’s expense and behest.

Two years had passed since you first arrived in the Reach, and you had grown comfortable in your new home, though you still yearned for your family. You could not put off the prospect of marriage much longer, either. A decision would have to be made, and it plagued your mind, sending you into the wide open to clear your mind. Sunburst swooped down, her pale yellow body blooming a richer, dazzling gold as the sun struck her, illuminating her orange membranes and making her appear as her namesake.

She landed on the lush, green ground with a loud thud as you dismounted your horse, letting her graze as you unpacked a blanket from the saddle bag after tugging your riding gloves off with your teeth. You removed a pomegranate from the bag as well, using the dagger strapped to your calf to split it open before scooping up the bloody red seeds from the fruit and popping them beneath your teeth. Sunburst stretched you her long, slender body, soaking in the warmth as a soft huff escaped her. You gently nudged her massive maw with your boot, making her peel open a green eye before she returned to her slumber.

After consuming the pomegranate, you wiped your ruby-stained fingers and hands clean with a cloth before settling on the blanket and pondering what future you wished to take shape for you. You wondered if writing your mother a letter to plead your case in marrying Gwayne Hightower would soften her resolve and ultimately receive her permission. It couldn’t hurt. You twisted the slender Valyrian steel ring around your finger and sighed.

Sunburst rumbled in her sleep, soothing you as you closed your eyes and let the pleasant weather carry you off into a light slumber. The thunderous sound of hooves, followed by Sunburst’s loud roar, startled you awake.

“Lykiri,” you soothed, reaching out to touch her, and recognized the Hightower Sigil on the green tabard and the spark of red of the rider’s hair as the sunlight hit it. Gwayne.

He slowed his chestnut horse down to a steady gait as he approached.

“Couldn’t let me enjoy my solitude for long?” you teased, patting the horse’s hindquarters.

“A missive arrived from Queen Rhaenyra. She is calling for the noble houses to come swear their obsience to Prince Jacaerys as her heir,” Gwayne explained.

“News that could wait until I returned,” you sighed, giving a playful roll of your eyes because you were pleased to see him.

“I suppose, yet she sent a missive for your eyes only, and I thought to deliver it personally,” Gwayne said, procuring the sealed parchment from the saddle bag and pressing it into your hands.

“That is most kind,” you smiled, turning the letter over in your hand before breaking the seal.

My dearest daughter,

I am glad Oldtown is treating you well as the years pass, and that the Hightowers have been the most gracious hosts. You are missed dearly at court, your presence leaves a hole that none could replace. I hope you have understood why I made the decision to send you away. I only mean to keep peace in the realm, and you played a key role.

I have called Lord Ormund to court and have insisted that he bring you as well, for I long to hold you in my embrace again, dear girl. There is another pressing matter at hand involving your betrothal. A matter that I dearly hope we can figure out together.

I shall see you soon, my sweetling.

Your fingers traced over her signature, and you smiled. It would be good to be with your family again, and an opportunity had presented itself.

“Good news?” Gwayne asked, resting his hand on your shoulder.

“Yes, and I’m delighted you delivered this, for I have a matter to discuss with you,” you smiled, turning to face him.

“Now I am most curious,” he chuckled, his cheeks tinging pink.

“My mother wishes to discuss bethrothal opportunities, and I would like to present you as the optimal choice,” you stated.

“I would love nothing more than to be your husband, yet…”

“Yet?” You raised an eyebrow.

“You wish to remain forever tied to an old man like me.” A smirk twitched in the corner of his mouth.

“You are still in the prime of life, and I cannot begin to imagine my life with anyone else. My heart is yours, Gwayne Hightower, and it has been since the day we met,” you whispered.

“And mine is yours, princess,” he replied, tracing his thumb over the curve of your cheek.

“I very much look forward to the day you call me wife instead of princess,” you teased, furling your fingers around his tabard and drawing him close for a passionate kiss.

His arms looped around your waist as his warm mouth claimed yours.

~~

You could hardly believe how big Senya had gotten as you scooped your two year old half sister into your arms, nuzzling her scaled cheek. Her silver curls brushed her shoulders, one eye of green and one eye of violet sparkling. She instinctively knew who you were, and you suspected your brothers had informed her well.

“It is just you and I, dear sister, just the two of us amongst this sea of strapping boys,” you whispered into her ear, making her giggle, though you doubted if she truly understood you.

You balanced the smell girl on your hip, taking turns hugging your brothers. You were amazed at how fast the younger four had grown while Jacaerys looked the same. Baela was glowing, in the mid-stages of her pregnancy, and everyone bustled with excitement about the babe’s arrival.

“Pregnancy suits you, sweet sister,” you smiled, kissing her cheek.

“I will be glad once it’s over,” she chuckled softly.

You spent the afternoon with your siblings, Aunt Helaena, and her children. Jaehaerys seemed quite taken with little Visenya. Rhaenyra had permitted Prince Aegon to explore the free cities on the back of Sunfyre. Prince Aemond now donned a snowy cloak and served as a trusted member of the Queensguard, serving as Jacaerys’s shield. It was humiliating at first, but Prince Aemond took to his role with honor. Gwayne had visited with his sister, Dowager Queen Alicent, and his father, Ser Otto Hightower, no longer Hand, but Rhaenyra allowed him a place on her small council as Master of Laws. Rhaenyra had insisted that her father would not want bloodshed, her half-siblings, or Alicent, to be spat out and disgraced, so she allowed them to reside in the Red Keep.

Later that evening, your mother held a feast for the family, Daemon loyally by her side. You had been taken by surprise when she had married him so quickly after your father’s, Laenor, death, but when you saw the love they held for each other in their eyes, you knew it was meant to be. All you desired from that day was to find the one who looked at you in such a way, and now you had in Gwayne. He gazed over the roasted duck and leeks, smiling as he locked eyes with you from his place by Alicent’s side. Your heart thrummed in your chest.

When the feast was over, your mother whisked you away to her chambers to have a private moment with you.

“Finally, I may hold you in my arms,” she smiled, drawing you close.

You melted in her warm embrace, letting your cheek press against her shoulder.

“I have missed you,” she sighed, stroking your silver hair, “I was hoping we might broach the topic on the morrow before gathering the great council.”

You lifted your head, gently stepping back out of her embrace. “There is no need. My heart has belonged to one for two years now, and I hope you will approve.”

Rhaenyra looked rather surprised. “Whom?”

“Gwayne Hightower,” you stated evenly.

Your mother paced silently for a bit, twisting her rings around her fingers and lost in her thoughts, before stepping over to hold your face in her hands.

“Would that be your true desire? He is much older than you,” she stated.

“As Daemon is older than you,” you quipped, making her laugh abruptly and shake her head.

“Well, I can broker no argument there, I simply want to be sure that Gwayne is not forcing your hand in this matter,” she clarified.

“No one can force me to do anything, apart from you,” you teased.

“And I will always be grateful for the sacrifice you made, and if your heart lies with Gwayne Hightower, then I shall agree to the match. I will not deny you true love,” she replied before kissing your forehead.

Tears of happiness dribbled down your cheeks. “Thank you, mother.”

You felt giddy as you rushed down the corridors, skirts billowing behind you as you navigated through the secret tunnels toward the hidden door that led to Gwayne’s chambers. You dissolved into laughter at his terrified shriek when you emerged.

“Seven Hells!” he yelped, stumbling back with a dagger drawn in his hand.

“It is only me,” you shrugged.

“You nearly frightened me to death, and it is most improper for you to be in here,” he scolded, his cheeks flushed crimson.

“I assure you, I have a very good reason!”

“I am waiting to hear it.” He placed the dagger down and folded his arms across his chest.

“My mother has agreed to our betrothal,” you beamed.

His expression softened, and he stepped wordlessly over to you, scooping you into his arms and kissing you fiercely, with more passion and fire than previously experienced. It drew all the air out of your lungs and made your head spin.

“That is most wondrous news,” he whispered against your flushed mouth.

An invisible spark cracked through the room as passions were brought to a head.

“Take me,” you begged, your voice shaking as heat pooled in your belly.

You expected another scolding and for him to send you away with a smack to the backside, but he did not. Instead, he carried you over to his bed and placed you down.

“I will not spill in you, I shall save that for our wedding night,” he whispered before undressing.

You could not sit still, rolling to your feet to help him as your hands explored his pale skin dotted with a few pink, mottled scars. You kissed each one, very fond of the one on the curve of his hip where a lance had pierced through the weak point of his armor. He spun you around, taking care to unlace your gown and lay you bare before him. His large hands cupped your breasts, stroking your velvety, tawny nipples until they drew stiff. You whimpered as the heat in your belly pooled lower.

Your hand slipped down his stomach to stroke his cock, clumisly at first before growing more confident. You turned, letting your hair brush against his nose and the swell of your bottom press against his stiff cock before bending across the bed.

“No, I want to see you,” Gwayne insisted, using his strong arms to flip you onto your back.

You gasped, thighs parting for him as wetness gathered between your legs.

He climbed between your splayed thighs, the tip of his cock teasing your opening. There was an intense pressure, uncomfortable at first as Gwayne slowly entered you, but once you grew accustomed to it, it felt rather good to be filled by your love. Gwayne’s forehead pressed against yours.

“How do you feel?” he asked, one hand stroking your hip.

“Full, but rather nice,” you smiled, reaching up to cup his face.

He gave a slow roll of his hips, thrusting deeper inside and making you whimper. He continued the slow, steady movements, making you gasp and moan. You shook with pleasure, mouth agape as the heat coiled into a tight band, threatening to snap. His hand found its way between your legs, finding a delicious sweet spot to tenderly rub that made the band snap in your body as an intense wave of pleasure crashed over you.

“Beautiful,” Gwanye whispered in your ear, rutting against you before slipping out and allowing his seed to coat your belly.

You felt warm and hazy, toes curling and mewling happily as you remained spread naked on the bed. Now you understood why people enjoyed this act so much.

~~

You were married to Gwayne in the Starry Sept of Oldtown in a grand affair attended by nobles and smallfolk alike. Sunburst flew overhead, blazing the sky with hot golden flames to mark the occasion. True to his word, Gwayne spilled his seed inside you on the wedding night, and nine moons later, your first daughter was born. Your union proved most fruitful as the Gods blessed you with ten children in all. Gwayne, being unable to keep his hands off you, certainly assisted in the matter.

You woke one morning, the pads of your fingers tracing over the lines and indentations of his face, a map of the passage of time. Yet it hadn’t robbed him of his handsomeness. His lashes fluttered, chest rising and falling with each gentle breath he took. Your thumb traced over his plush lips before gently brushing a lock of hair from out of his eyes. The once rich copper color had faded to an almost rosy gold, and soon the snowy white would set in.

“I can feel you staring at me,” Gwayne murmured, his eyes still closed.

“Simply admiring my handsome husband,” you smiled, nuzzling the curve of his neck.

“I’m glad to meet your approval after all this time, wife.” Oh, you loved how he called you such, even after all these years. He drew you close, his hand settling on your lower back.

“I fear you shall never fall out of it,” you giggled.

“Then I am truly the luckiest man alive,” he grinned, rolling on top of you to kiss you passionately.

You did not protest as his mouth moved lower, as he slipped your cotton sheath up under your arms. His warm mouth suckled each of your stiff nipples tenderly before kissing down your stomach, a bit softer and rounder from the birth of ten children, though your thighs remained strong from all your riding. His tongue delved between your folds, stroking your wet flesh and drawing soft mewls from your lips. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he brought you to pleasure with his tongue.

“My favorite way to break my fast,” he said wickedly as his head emerged from between your thighs, letting his cheek rest against your stomach.

You chuckled softly, basking in the warm sunlight that streamed through the room.

Your first heartbreak had been from the separation of your family, which led to the birth of a new one. The last heartbreak you suffered was when the Stranger claimed Gwayne’s life, but in a peaceful way, in bed with his wife and children surrounding him.

“I shall see you soon, my love,” you whispered, placing a final kiss onto his cold lips.

[swizzlemynizzle]

Underneath the Noise - George Clarke

———————————————

Masterlist

Chapter twelve: The Morning After

———————————————

Y/N woke slowly, her body aching in that satisfied, delicious way. The room was still dark, the curtains pulled shut, but there was a soft morning hum outside—birds, faint traffic, the gentle creak of the old pipes in her flat.

And George.

He was sprawled beside her, one arm still tucked under her shoulders, the other across her stomach like he’d fallen asleep trying to make sure she didn’t float away.

She blinked up at the ceiling, lips curling into a dazed smile.

She didn’t need to look to know he was awake. His breathing had shifted, the lazy drag of it now tinged with awareness.

“You’re staring,” she whispered.

He shifted just enough to kiss her shoulder, voice muffled against her skin. “You’re warm.”

She laughed softly, turning to face him. His hair was a mess, pillow-creased, and his eyes were heavy with sleep, but still—still—he looked at her like she was something rare.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he echoed, grinning. “I was gonna sneak out before anyone woke up, but you looked too peaceful to leave.”

“Charming. You were gonna ghost me after giving me the best night of my life?”

He smirked. “I was gonna make you breakfast.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “That’s acceptable.”

She leaned in for a kiss, slow and lazy, like they had all the time in the world. And for a moment, it felt like they did.

—-

It was supposed to be just another low-key night.

The kind where someone ordered way too much Chinese, Chris was halfway through his second pint before the bags even hit the coffee table, and the group settled into their usual spots in the boys’ flat: George curled into the corner of the couch, Chris stretched out dramatically with chopsticks he didn’t know how to use, and Arthur Hill already working through the prawn crackers like they were oxygen.

Y/N arrived late, hair still damp from a shower, oversized hoodie swallowing her frame. George perked up immediately—not that he said anything—but Chris noticed. He always noticed.

“Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence,” Chris called, tossing her a spring roll.

She caught it with a triumphant little noise, and George smiled like she’d just saved the world.

Arthur Hill squinted over his beer. “Why is he smiling like that?”

“Like what?” George asked too quickly.

“Like he’s the main character in a coming-of-age romcom,” Hilly replied, pointing at him with his bottle. “Did you two snog behind a Tesco or something?”

Y/N snorted and took the empty spot beside George—which was weird, because there was another cushion free, and yet she plopped right there, shoulder pressed to his, thighs brushing.

George didn’t move.

Neither did she.

Chris clocked it instantly. The tiny glance George gave her as she leaned forward to grab a dumpling. The way she nudged his knee with hers under the coffee table. The quiet look they shared when she laughed at one of Arthur’s dumb jokes.

“Something’s going on,” Chris muttered under his breath.

Arthur leaned in. “Yeah. She just stole a dumpling and he didn’t say a word. That man guards his takeaway like a dragon guards gold.”

They watched as George whispered something to her under his breath. She laughed, turning into his shoulder, eyes crinkling.

Then—too casually—her hand dropped to his thigh for balance as she reached for her drink.

Arthur Hill blinked. “Nope. I’m sorry. That’s not nothing.”

“It’s definitely not nothing,” Chris said, louder this time. “When exactly were you planning on telling us you’re dating?”

George looked up, eyes wide. “We’re not—”

Y/N coughed. “It’s not—”

Arthur raised a brow. “You shagged.”

George opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Chris let out a low whistle. “Knew it. I knew it. I’ve seen less chemistry in test tubes.”

George ran a hand through his hair, cheeks flushed. Y/N hid her face behind a can of Coke.

Arthur Hill leaned back with a satisfied smirk.

“One gig. I do one gig and suddenly everyone’s shagging. What is this? The end of a teen drama?”

“You’re very smug for someone who once tripped over his guitar cable mid-set,” George said dryly.

“Still got a standing ovation,” Arthur grinned.

Chris pointed between them. “So… what now? Are we gonna pretend you’re not one more lingering look away from dry humping on the sofa?”

“Chris,” Y/N groaned, face in her hands.

George chuckled, then reached out and gently tugged her hand away from her face. “Alright, fine. We’re… figuring it out.”

Arthur Hill raised his bottle. “To figuring it out.”

Chris grabbed his pint. “And to finally getting a front row seat to this slow burn.”

Y/N laughed into her hoodie, cheeks still pink. But she didn’t move away from George—not even a little.

And George? He just smiled like he’d waited months for her to be this close, and now that she was, he wasn’t about to let go.

—-

Tag list:

@madforgeorge

@wherethezoes-at

@sundarksposts

@clarkey4life

@edgyficuselastica

@whistlef0rthechoir

@kneelforloki

@yeahnahalrightfairenough

@rubyskies

@theresglitteronthefloor

——

Next part incoming��..

[syndrossi]

Reverberate AU Concept #1

Aka "what if Resonant!Daemon woke up in the Stepstones shortly after the twins' conception, resolved the first Stepstones conflict in record time, and flew back to Runestone to convince Rhea to announce the pregnancy as her own?"

I may eventually throw these up on AO3, but for now, enjoy them on Tumblr in their roughly hewn form. (There's a second part/scene in progress but it's not directly related to this one.)

x~x~x

“No,” his son said, his first word and his favorite since.

His grey eyes were fixed on the spoon and its cargo of cooked peas in Daemon’s right hand. With his left, Daemon brought the other spoon to Rhaegar’s mouth, and his other son opened his mouth dutifully for a bite.

Daemon moved the full spoon back and forth, mimicking a roaring dragon descending, and brought it right up to Jon’s closed lips. His son’s stare found Daemon’s, deeply unimpressed.

“There are foods other than carrot,” Daemon informed him with a sigh.

He moved to feed the rejected peas to Rhaegar, but now his other son was in rebellion. Daemon tried another dragon maneuver, and his other son’s purple eyes sparked with delight, allowing access. Two more fiery whooshes of the dragon finished off the peas, and Daemon moved on to the finely-diced carrot, which Jon immediately demanded.

If Rhea were in the room, she would scold him for caving to Jon’s demands, but Daemon had never been able to deny them anything. She could be the villain instead, if she so desired. Jon made short work of the carrot, which Rhaegar ate more sparingly, his eyes drawn to the final bowl, which Daemon uncovered with a flourish.

“This,” Daemon said, dipping the spoons next into the gooey mass of blueberries cooked down to a thick, nearly jam-like consistency, “is blueberry.”

Blueberry was a new, messy favorite for both of them, Jon’s indignation over the insult of peas entirely forgotten as they finished the small bowl in record time. Rhaegar got fussy when he was left sticky, so Daemon was quick to wipe their faces with a damp cloth after.

With the completion of their meal came Rhaegar’s daily demand. “Zaldis!”

Zaldrīzes, the very first word his other son had decided to attempt. Far more ambitious than “no,” but certainly less intelligible.

“If we are to ride Caraxes, we will have to sneak past your mother,” he informed his sons.

She fretted about him taking them out in the waning last days of winter, which was a far bitterer cold here than they would have been in King’s Landing, but he had wanted his first year with them to be as safe as he could arrange. His brother had no reason to assign special guards for them at Daemon’s behest, though perhaps he would have.

At Runestone, he did not need to ask. Daemon had informed Rhea that the enemies he had made in the decisive victory over the Triarchy in the Stepstones might seek to target the twins, and they were promptly assigned their own knight to protect them, her cousin Willam.

It was not the Triarchy he feared, of course, but Volantis. The Free City seeking to steal his children as infants or toddlers now that they were known to the world from a young age was a possibility he would not risk ignoring.

“You must be at your most quiet,” he instructed, to solemn blinks from either. They were bright, even so young, at times seeming to understand him perfectly.

Daemon bundled them into thick furs, taking care to make sure their heads and ears were covered, until only small wisps of black and silver escaped along the sides of their round little faces. He grinned at the sight of them swallowed by the furs, nearly spherical in either arm, and crept out with his bounty, both utterly silent for the entirety of the walk to Caraxes’s enclosure.

There was a trace of warmth in the light breeze, a promise of spring, and the air lacked the bite of months before. When spring came, Daemon guessed, it would come quickly to melt the snow that remained on the ground.

Caraxes snuffed at his sons, and they both happily babbled at the dragon for the few minutes Daemon left them on the ground beside him to fetch his own personal saddle, as he’d taken to calling it. He secured them to it first before fastening the straps around his own chest, and when he was finished, he had one on either side of his back, peering over his shoulders.

Mindful of the maester’s many lectures on how much fresh air was acceptable for infants, he kept the flight short, guiding Caraxes along the northern shoreline before completing a wide circle around the outer perimeter of Runestone, landing back at the enclosure to a welcoming party of Ser Willam and his lady wife herself, her lips pursed in disapproval.

Daemon approached her unapologetically after dismounting, his two passengers giggling their glee at the ride, until her frown began to waver.

“I promised Jon he could have a dragon ride if he ate his peas,” Daemon said.

Rhea’s eyebrows crept up, her gaze shifting to his right shoulder. “And did you, Jon?”

“No!” Jon exclaimed, expressing far too much merriment in his betrayal for Daemon to do anything but smile.

“Rhaegar ate his peas,” Daemon said. “I could hardly leave one of them behind.”

Rhea walked up to him, her intention plain, and Daemon crouched so that she could reach each of their cheeks for a kiss. “You must not encourage your father. He is more than capable of doing so of his own accord.”

Daemon begrudgingly surrendered them to her for the walk back to the castle, their destination his wife’s solar with its large hearth, already radiating heat into the chamber. Tea, piping hot, was brought up from the kitchens, and once Daemon had finished unwrapping his sons from their layers of fur, and set them upon it with their beloved dragon dolls within reach, he poured himself a cup and settled on the floor beside them.

“Did you seek me out for a particular reason?” Daemon asked, knowing that as much as Rhea might fret about the dragon excursions, she no longer believed he would endanger them in any way.

“A raven arrived from King’s Landing.” She grabbed her own cup and sat in one of the chairs by the hearth, tossing him a rolled up slip of parchment. “From the king himself.”

Ignoring the twist of apprehension in his stomach, Daemon broke the seal and unfurled the parchment, scanning it quickly for any unwelcome surprises. The contents, however, though not particularly welcome, were not a surprise. “My brother has a new son. We are invited to King’s Landing.” He handed the letter to her. “He is still set on throwing a tourney for the twins, and plans to tie it with celebrations of his son’s birth.”

If there was one lesson his brother had learned at long last, it was not to celebrate births before they happened.

Rhaegar had crawled to Rhea’s chair to tug insistently at the laces of her boots. She scooped him onto her lap, holding him there as she read the letter herself. “Six moons. Spring will surely be upon us by then. The seas should be calmer.”

“Choppy water is little concern to a dragon,” Daemon said.

“It is to those of us who must travel by ship,” she retorted.

It would be at least two weeks by sea, and even in spring, not a pleasant voyage. Daemon hesitated, then said, “Come with us on Caraxes. The saddle seats two.”

The offer caught her off guard, her eyes narrowing briefly in suspicion as though she thought he was not being earnest. “You have not let me ride with you before.”

You have not asked, Daemon almost said, before remembering his very first arrival at Runestone—less than a decade ago to Rhea, but nearly two for him. He had been bitterly furious about the marriage, escorted there by his own father on Vhagar, as though he might try to flee otherwise. His new wife had borne the brunt of Daemon’s resentment, his interactions with her curt. When she had asked him if they might ride on Caraxes together, he had coldly informed her that such privileges were for Targaryens alone.

“Jon and Rhaegar will want you there,” Daemon said, by way of excuse.

“Zaldis,” Rhaegar said solemnly to her.

“Very well,” Rhea said, her expression now one she often wore in his company—as though she were not quite sure what to make of him. “It would be an honor.”

It was a matter of pragmatism as well. Rhea’s confession to treason on her deathbed had settled any doubts about her truly being his sons’ mother. Here, it was still possible that a whisper or two in King’s Landing about Lady Elys also being present at the family’s summer home at the time of birth could raise suspicion. The more amicable his relationship with Rhea in the eyes of the realm, the less likely anyone would be to question—or question successfully, at least.

Daemon retreated to the desk to write a response to his brother’s letter, a frown finding him midway through. His sons’ sworn shield, Ser Willam, would have to travel by ship, which meant they would be without protection for a time in King’s Landing. Viserys should be able to spare at least one of his Kingsguard until he’s arrived, he decided finally, including a request for such in his letter. He can have his damned tourney in return.

By the time he had finished, both of his sons had started fussing for their linens to be changed, which was one of the few tasks he happily let their nurse handle, taking a small meal of his own before rejoining them in the nursery. They were sleepy with milk when he arrived, fresh from the wetnurse’s breast, and he eagerly reclaimed them, kissing each soft cheek as he carried them back to the solar, where their cradle was kept.

It was an elaborate piece, with an intricate relief of two dragons perched vigilantly at the head of the cradle, sized for two babes, rather than one. He’d commissioned it the very day he had arrived back in Runestone to confront Rhea about Elys’s pregnancy, and if the woodworker had wondered about his confidence about having twins, he had kept his curiosity to himself.

It only saw use during the day, when his sons napped. At night, they slept with him. He had lain awake for most of the first few nights, terrified that he might somehow crush them in his sleep, but that fear had eventually subsided. The fear of someone taking them from him, however—that had not.

He watched them sleep from his chair by the hearth. They stalked you from the shadows before, and struck in broad daylight. Has it begun yet? Do they watch us even now?

One of the posts on his brother’s small council that he had not yet held—and subsequently been dismissed from—was that of master of whisperers. With the Stepstones claimed for now and its crown bestowed upon his brother, he had been promised a favor. A position on his small council would certainly be within reason.

But it would require moving his family to King’s Landing. Once, he would have wanted nothing more than to escape Runestone and return home. But even just the past year he had spent in the Vale, first anticipating his sons’ arrival and then raising them since, had shifted the castle from a hated prison to something almost like a sanctuary.

How do I protect you? He reached into the cradle, stroking the back of Jon’s small hand, which immediately curled around his forefinger in response, his grip strong. Daemon smiled. When will you first demand a dagger to wield?

He repeated the motion with his other hand on Rhaegar, who also instinctively grabbed for his finger. Daemon recalled the first few weeks after their birth, when his younger son would wail whenever he tried to hold him or even approach. That phase had fortunately passed. These days, Rhaegar happily demanded dragon rides and cuddles.

“You have trapped me,” he murmured, keeping his voice quiet so as not to wake them.

He could feel Rhea’s eyes on him from where she worked at her desk. All their marriage, she had built him up as a monster in her head: selfish, cruel, ambitious. When he had hurried on Caraxes to Runestone to find both Rhea and her sister in the midst of drafting their proposal to Corwyn Redfort, he had nearly flown into a rage. Instead, he had confronted her about all that she sought to steal from him, every moment he had mourned since rescuing them from the Vale the first time, equal parts fury and grief.

She had not looked at him the same since. Daemon wondered if she struggled as he did when he tried to reconcile his own hatred for what she had done to him before with her newfound tolerance. That first exchange had been—heated. Daemon’s infidelity, after all, had been the very reason for the pregnancy. Yet she had been willing to hear his proposal and forgo her own honor to offer the twins a life free of the stain of bastardry.

“Do you regret your choice?” he asked, turning to her.

Rhea regarded him with a raised brow. “Have I given you cause to believe so?” She rose from her desk to approach the cradle, gazing down at the twins with a smile that did not fully reach her eyes. “I feel guilty that I may have them, and my sister may not. It is—difficult on her.”

Elys had been forced to stay behind at the summer estate after their departure with the twins, though they had remained there for the first week. Daemon’s jaw clenched, and he shifted his gaze back to the cradle. He did not regret taking them for his own, but the pain and loss in their true mother’s eyes as they had been plucked from her arms for the final time reminded him uncomfortably of his own grief at their childhood having been stolen from him.

“When enough time has passed, I do not see why they should not know the company of their aunt.”

But enough time could very well be another year or two. First she would need to be safely wed, perhaps with another child on the way that would be trueborn and hers to keep.

By the shake of her head, he guessed that Rhea was thinking the same. She reached out her hand toward Jon, only to pull back at the last moment. “I cannot help but feel that I have stolen them.”

And yet you felt no such guilt in taking them from me. He swallowed that old anger, then wondered if it had been her reason for only seeking them out twice a year. Whether they would always feel stolen to her.

“Do not let that stop you from loving them,” Daemon said, earning another of those uncertain looks. He fought back a frown, misliking the sense of being constantly evaluated and reevaluated. “They deserve a mother’s love.”

“Though you would rather it not be mine,” she said with a hint of challenge.

“It does not matter what I want,” Daemon replied, feeling himself grow heated. “It is a matter of what they need.”

Their raised voices had woken Rhaegar, who was peering upward at them now, his purple eyes fixed on Daemon. They had darkened some since birth, from a lilac that had immediately recalled his uncle Aemon, to something closer to the darker violet he remembered. Rhaegar’s brow furrowed, the beginning of a whimper forming in his throat, and Daemon quickly began humming a lullaby as he rocked the cradle back and forth.

Rhaegar settled eventually, snuggling into Jon’s side, and they sat in silence for several minutes as Daemon continued to rock and hum.

“I do love them,” Rhea said eventually, voice lowered to a whisper so as not to disturb the sleeping infants again. “I had grown resigned that I would never have children of my own. To have them, but in a manner so steeped in dishonor, both yours and mine own—”

“They live,” Daemon interrupted. “They breathe.” He leaned in to kiss their tiny foreheads. “How can there be dishonor in that?”

Rhea fell silent, watching them for a time, before leaning in to do the same. As she pulled back, Jon’s eyes opened to fix upon her. The hint of purple in them at birth had since faded, almost lost now within the pensive grey. Rhea stared at Jon, as though trapped by his gaze, then leaned in to kiss his cheek as well.

Daemon overcame his reluctance and rose to give her space. “It is your turn to sing.”

[herearedragons]

Far From Home (Chapter 1: The Breach Ablaze)

13,893 words, gen, Pillars Of Eternity/Dragon Age: Inquisition crossover, Edér as the Herald of Andraste

cowritten with @curiouslavellan!!

read on AO3

spoiler warning: spoilers for the opening of Pillars Of Eternity: Deadfire.

Cassandra strode through Haven with a purpose she had lacked since the Divine was lost. She had not been idle; there was fighting to be done, endless horrible fighting against the demons constantly spilling from the Breach. But one of Leliana’s runners had come to pull her from the front with urgent news — their prisoner was stirring.

They knew little of the man, the only survivor of the explosion. No other lives could be saved from the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Even remains could not be recovered intact; those bodies that could still be recognized as such crumbled to more ashes as soon as they were touched. The prisoner had been carried from the scene with little more than scratches and bruises, apart from the mark on his hand.

It made his guilt obvious when little else was. They guessed he was Fereldan. He had the look for it, straw-blond and broadly built, though that was no guarantee. Human, male, estimated to be in his thirties, wearing an unfamiliar style of scale armor and with the sort of calluses on his hands that suggested he could use the sword they’d found beside him well enough.

She hurried through the gates. The people of Haven stared, as they had done since the disaster, as though any moment she might bring them some answer as to why the sky had been torn apart and their Most Holy torn from their sides. No one wanted her to have those answers more than she did, for her own sake as much as to placate their hopeless, haunted eyes.

The apostate who had volunteered his help stood outside his own cabin, and gave her a nod as she passed. Perhaps he had helped rouse the prisoner.

It mattered little how he woke, only that he had, and now Cassandra would drag the truth from him.

Leliana met her at the Chantry doors and fell into place beside and just slightly behind her. They exchanged no words — what else was there to say? — and made for the dungeons.

When she threw open the door, the sight that greeted her — four armed guards with their weapons drawn and aimed unerringly at their chained and kneeling charge — seemed inappropriate only in that it was too small a response.

The man on the floor could only be a monster. He had destroyed the final resting place of Andraste herself. He had broken any chance of peace in this war. He had killed her Divine.

He was grimacing at the mark on his hand like it was a particularly uncomfortable rash, and his eyes held no real fear when he looked up to see her and Leliana approach.

It only made Cassandra angrier.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” she bit out, circling his position. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

“Well, that sounds awful,” he said, his frown deepening at her words, but still more confused than frightened or angry. “And I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His dialect was unfamiliar. Not Fereldan, but also nothing else she’d heard, and Cassandra had traveled a great deal in her life. Nowhere had she met people who spoke like this, dragging out the vowels and letting consonants drop off the end of half his words. She was almost concerned that the drawl that made his words run together was symptomatic of a head wound. She shot a glance at Leliana, who gave the slightest twitch of her own head to indicate she’d never heard the like.

Which did nothing to make him more believable.

“Explain this,” she demanded, grabbing for his marked hand. The magic there sputtered to life a moment later, and he grunted, clearly in pain. She dropped the limb to avoid the shocks herself.

The prisoner shook his hand out as well as he could in chains, like flexing a muscle would rid him of the ache.

“I can’t,” he admitted a moment later, sounding almost as frustrated as she felt.

Almost.

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“I mean I haven’t got a damned clue what this thing is. ”

“You’re lying!”

False sympathies, impertinent irreverence, bald-faced lies —

Leliana pushed Cassandra back by the shoulders when she lunged for him. “We need him, Cassandra.”

It was true, and stung all the worse for it.

Cassandra wouldn’t have killed him. She wasn’t stupid. But there was much a man could survive, and a few good hits would have put him in his place, made him realize his position.

Leliana knew that too, of course. She might have known it better than Cassandra did. A Right Hand could make a fist, but the Left Hand often worked in the dark, hidden places where no one would hear any screaming. Leliana was more than familiar with pain as a tool, and if she held Cassandra back from it, she had her reasons.

Cassandra would demand an explanation later, but for now she would accept that.

The prisoner watched their exchange with narrowed eyes. Thinking, perhaps, that he could outsmart them; Cassandra was looking forward to watching that hope crumble.

“I've got to admit, I'm kinda lost here,” he said slowly, as his gaze drifted from her to Leliana. “I'm sorry about your Conclave, whatever that is, but… can any of you ladies tell me where we are?”

He was toying with them, clearly. No one in their right mind could be this ignorant.

“Do you remember what happened?” Leliana asked, turning to him and taking over the interrogation. An old tactic, supplanting the aggressor with a more understanding voice, but one that often worked. “How this began?”

“Look, last I remember I was in Nekataka, in the Sacred Stair, with my crew. My captain volunteered us to help out some of the animancers with their tests. They flipped some switches, it got pretty bright, and next thing I know I’m being chased around some green Helscape without my friends.”

“Chased?” Leliana prompted.

“By…” He huffed. “I don’t know what. Knew I didn’t want them to catch me, so I ran and then… there was a woman. She reached out to me. Don’t remember anything after that.”

Something about the man's testimony gave her pause.

Putting aside from the nonsense words (animancers? Some new designation mages had taken on, she assumed), his account seemed… honest. He struggled for words in the way one did when turning inward, not casting about for ideas but trying to force a memory through. He spoke of a crew and captain with genuine worry in his tone, closer to fear at the thought of that separation than he had been at swordpoint.

If he was not lying, then, somehow, he was as clueless as he claimed to be.

As for his account of a woman helping him in the Fade…

Cassandra made a decision.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift.”

Her partner gave her a final nod and was swiftly on her way. When Cassandra knelt to unchain him from the floor, the prisoner met her eyes steadily, that grimace still present on his rugged face.

“If you know what’s going on, do you mind telling me?”

“It will be easier to show you,” Cassandra said, because she had no more answers than she had before the interrogation, and quite a few more questions.

𖤓

Edér was still putting the pieces together.

He had told his interrogators the truth: the most recent memory in his mind before waking up in a dungeon was running for his life from a swarm of things with too many eyes and too many legs, too many of then to fight off alone.

Then, somehow, there was a woman. He couldn't really explain where she came from, or who she was. Only that she reached out for him, and then there was light — not Helaine's firelight, not Selene's soft glow or the radiant gold of Xoti's spells; something sharper and brighter that erupted either from the woman or around her — and then he was on solid ground somewhere else. Then, he passed out.

And then he woke up here. Wherever "here" was.

Cassandra led him out of the dungeon, up the stone stairs and into brighter firelight. Upstairs, there was a big, almost empty hall; they walked through it quickly and he didn't have that much time to look around, but Edér's been in enough temples to know one when he saw it.

There were statues of some goddess; the lit braziers at her feet said Magran, and he'd almost relaxed, finally finding some familiarity, but then he saw the candles.

The candles, and the golden suns. Right by the statues and braziers, like some kind of joke.

What kind of people worshipped Magran and Eothas in the same temple?

He had half a mind to ask Cassandra about that, but it didn't seem like she was in a talking mood.

It was just a gut feeling so far, but something told him he wasn't in Neketaka anymore. He hadn't heard a single word that wasn't Aedyran since he woke up; not one ac or ekera murmured in the background. There were no aumaua anywhere, either. Everyone they passed by was folk, meadow folk most of them, although at one point he'd caught the eye of a savannah folk lady in a strange red-and-white garb embroidered with suns.

Suns everywhere…

Was he in Readceras?

That would be just his luck, wouldn't it? That the Vailians' damn teleporter would spit him out in the one place he really shouldn't be.

But Cassandra didn't sound Readceran, and neither did the other one; Leliana, Cassandra had called her. Their Aedyran sounded like it wasn't their first language.

Besides, if this was Readceras, he probably would've been dead already. He was wearing his Saint's War armor, for gods' sake, and he knew damn well that he had "Dyrwoodan farmer" written all over his face. He might as well have been wearing a sign saying "I helped kill your saint" around his neck.

But there was no mention of Eothas or Waidwen when they interrogated him, only this "Conclave".

A set of heavy double doors swung open before them, letting in a biting cold wind and a small flurry of snow, and blinding daylight spilled into the temple as he and Cassandra stepped outside.

Once he'd blinked the tears from his eyes and adjusted to the much brighter lights, he saw wooden cabins and tents; burning fires, and people either rushing to get somewhere or lingering in one spot, staring.

Some of them were staring at the opening temple doors.

Most of them were staring up.

There, high up in the cloudy sky, swirled an enormous whirlpool of green light. It took him a second to identify the dark shapes floating around it, and then he realized those were rocks. Chunks of mountain being ripped out and pulled up into the glow by some kind of force.

A new feeling wriggled into his mind, pushing aside the apprehension and confusion for a second.

Fear. The same kind he'd felt when he saw the adra statue walking away from Caed Nua, even before he saw the blazing stars on its brow.

It was the kind of fear that froze you in place, overwhelming you with the realization that here was something that could kill you so easily that no one would even notice. Something that didn't seem like it could be fought against, but you'd have to anyway.

It was a real shame that his hands were bound; the thing in the sky would've been an easier sight with a lit pipe in his hand. He could feel it in his pocket, along with his whiteleaf pouch; his captors didn't take it away.

As things were, all Edér could do was take a deep breath of cold mountain air, as if it could have the calming effect of whiteleaf smoke if he wished it hard enough.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra said. “It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It's not the only such rift; just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Rift. Right. She mentioned that, back in the dungeon.

“…That what you wanted to show me?”

“In part.” She looked away from the Breach, and back at him. “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

So it was that kind of bad.

He probably should’ve felt stronger about that statement than he actually did; the feeling that did surface was more exhaustion than fear. Maybe a mind could take only so much fear of the world ending, and he’d used up all of his supply on a god returned from the dead.

Selene would know. But Selene wasn’t there.

Wherever she was — wherever both Watchers were, along with the rest of their crew — he hoped it was safer than here. He hoped that —

The pain in his hand, which he'd almost started getting used to, spiked so strongly and so suddenly that for a second he couldn’t think, hear or see anything around him. It was almost like being burned; he didn’t feel it in the cut on his hand anymore, instead it was crawling up his arm and towards his heart, and somehow it was also in his teeth and in his knees and behind the backs of his eyes.

Edér had never felt pain like that before, and he’d gotten hurt a lot.

Then the pain fell back, retreating into his palm again, and he found himself on his knees, in the snow, staring up at Cassandra and the Breach in the sky just over her shoulder.

There were green flashes in the clouds, almost like lightning. Maybe it was his imagination — he was still pulling himself together after whatever the Hel just happened — but he could feel the mark on his hand pulse in time with those flashes.

He met Cassandra’s eyes; grey, with deep shadows painted around them. She had a few scars on her face, showing that she'd had a fair share of scraps.

Her expression had changed. If she hadn’t tried to beat a confession out of him just a couple minutes ago, Edér might've said she was worried about him.

"Each time the Breach explands, your mark spreads, and it is killing you," she told him. "It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time."

Killing him… That wasn’t too hard to believe, after what he’d just felt. If his hand kept exploding like that, something would give out eventually; his heart, most likely.

She said it so matter-of-factly, too; she wasn’t trying to scare him, just sharing what she knew.

“…Now’s the part where you say there’s a fix for this, right?” he ventured.

Cassandra shook her head somberly, then stood up and helped him to his feet.

“I am not the one who studied your mark,” she said. “The man who did told us that it may help us seal the Breach. Perhaps doing so will save you, as well.”

Well. Not exactly what he hoped for, but it was something.

“It better,” Edér said. “I’ve got people to get back to.”

“Yes. Your crew and captain.” Cassandra gave him a sharp, probing look. “You are a sailor, then?”

“I’ve been sailing, but no. I’m a farmer.”

“And yet you arm and carry yourself like a soldier.”

“Well, I’m that, too. Was that. These days I’m fighting for my family, not for a country. Name’s Edér, by the way.”

Cassandra blinked, as if the fact that he had a name was a truth that needed to be reckoned with.

“I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast,” she said finally. “If you are as innocent as you claim to be, you should do as I say. But know that I will be watching you — closely.”

“Don’t worry,” Edér said, and added with a wink, “I’m used to being Watched.”

He knew the joke would be lost on her, but he made himself laugh, at least.

𖤓

Cassandra walked him through a place that looked like a small mountain village, overrun with way more people than it was built to house. Many of them wore armor and carried weapons; many wore the same red-and-white vestments he saw in the temple, and assumed to be some kind of priest garb.

The last time he’s had this many unfriendly eyes on him must’ve been all the way back in Gilded Vale. Traveling with the Watchers had really spoiled him; when he was standing next to them, folks were usually too busy staring at the two shiny women to pay him any mind.

Now, he was the shiny one. Edér couldn’t say he was enjoying it much.

“The people mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry,” Cassandra said as they walked, as if answering a question he didn’t ask. “The Conclave was hers.”

The names and titles were unfamiliar, but he was familiar enough with the overall language. That “Most Holy” Justinia was some kind of high priestess, and, from Cassandra’s earlier words, she had died in the explosion that caused the Breach. From the way Cassandra’s voice trembled when she spoke of her, Justinia meant something to her, personally.

“Did you know her?” he asked.

There was a pause before Cassandra answered:

“I was her Right Hand.”

Edér couldn’t see her face, but he didn’t need to. The way she said it was enough.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s always hard to lose a friend. Harder to lose someone worth following.”

“She was more than either of those things,” Cassandra replied fiercely, her grip tightening on the back of his neck; for a moment he thought she’d hit him after all, but then her grip relaxed again, and he heard her exhale.

“We lash out, like the sky,” she said, as if to herself. “But we must think beyond ourselves. As she did. Until the Breach is sealed.”

They’d left the village behind, by then; they had gone past the houses and the tents pitched outside, past more soldiers and priests. They were on a stone bridge now, facing a gate Edér supposed would lead them even closer to the Breach.

There were bodies laid out on the ground on one side of the bridge, hastily wrapped in fabric. Priests, and some soldiers, were standing over them, giving some kind of last rites; the wind whipped their hair and clothes around, carrying their words away along with the smoke of their torches.

As they passed by, Edér managed to make out a bit of the prayer: my Creator, judge me whole. No telling which god that would be.

That whole scene sent a chill creeping down his spine. Seeing the dead stacked like that brought back memories — not the kind he enjoyed lingering on.

Cassandra stopped him, then released her grip and circled around to face him, unsheathing a small knife. She didn’t hold it like she was going to use it on him, but then, Edér didn’t really know this woman, so he kept an eye on it anyway.

“There will be a trial,“ she said. “I can promise no more.“

Then, she stepped closer and cut the rope around his wrists. While he was working the stiffness out of his joints — treating his marked hand with care, in case an awkward movement could cause it to flare up again — she turned around and called out to the people further down the bridge:

“Open the gate! We are heading into the valley.“

She began to walk forward, and Edér followed. Now, this was starting to feel familiar.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what’s out there?“ he asked.

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach,“ Cassandra said. “I am taking you to such a rift. They will be waiting for us there.”

So she wasn’t going to just shove him towards the Breach and hope for the best. That was a relief, at least.

“Who’s waiting?“

“You’ll see soon enough.“

Beyond the gates, there was more of the landscape he was already starting to get used to. More hastily built fortifications, more folks running in the opposite direction to where they were going. Fires burning, the distant rumble of explosions somewhere far off. Bodies lying on the side of the road, abandoned in a retreat.

From where they were standing, it was impossible to tell what all those people were retreating from, or who was making the explosions happen; if this was a battle, the enemy forces were far out of sight.

It wasn’t the Saint’s War; it wasn’t even Yenwood. But the crawling feeling in his spine didn’t know that, or it didn’t care; his heart was beating faster, his eyes scanning for danger while also making sure he wasn’t losing track of Cassandra. The mark burned hotter in his palm, like it could feel his unrest, until about halfway down the path it flashed again, dropping him to his knees mid-stride.

Once it passed, Cassandra helped him back to his feet, wasting no words this time.

“The pulses are coming faster now,” was all she said, and then they were moving again.

Even that felt like something that had happened to him before: being knocked down as an enemy spell made the ground shake and jot out in sharp spikes; being pulled back to his feet and pushed forward before he could get skewered; then running as more spells scorched the earth where he had just stood.

His armor was a comforting weight, but his hands felt horribly empty.

“Hey, Cassandra — uh, Seeker — there some kind of battle happening here?“

“A constant one,“ she replied grimly. “The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.“

She’d mentioned “demons“ once before; said that the Breach was a gate to their world. Was that what they called the Beyond and its dwellers around here? That was the only thing he could think of, but something in the way she spoke about it was really strange.

“Demons, huh? What’d they look like?”

“They take many shapes. Rage, Hunger, Despair — we have battled all of those, and more.“

She was saying those words like they were names; names he was supposed to recognize.

“I… don’t think we have those where I’m from.“

“Blissful ignorance.“ Cassandra sounded almost amused, for a moment. “The templars in your home must be diligent. Where are you from, Edér the farmer?“

“Dyrwood. Dyrford, most recently.“

“Dyrwood… I’ve never heard of it. Is that in Ferelden?”

He’d never heard of Ferelden, either. And maybe it was the Dyrwoodan pride in him speaking, but it was weird that a woman who spoke Aedyran — so she must have known of Aedyr — had never heard of Dyrwood; with all the wars and the god-killing, they’d been kind of a big deal, even if not in the best way. Maybe they called it something different here?

“It’s, uh, it’s in the Eastern Reach. Used to be an Aedyran colony ‘til we got our independence. Broken Stone, Black Trees, Saint. That’s us.“

He never got to hear Cassandra’s response, because at that point the path they were walking on had turned into another stone bridge, and, as if Magran or Eothas or the ghost of Waidwen himself had decided to have the last laugh, suddenly the stone under their feet erupted with light.

Edér had a split second to understand what was happening, and it that split second all he could do was think: naw, there’s no way.

Would’ve been a dumb last thought, if that explosion did kill him.

As it was, whatever blew a hole in the bridge did it just far enough out that he and Cassandra got caught on the outskirts of the blast, rather than in the middle of it. The force of it threw them back, but the bridge crumbled underneath them, sending them tumbling down in a small landslide of rubble.

It wasn’t a long fall, but Edér hit enough rocks on the way down to know he’d feel it in his ribs later, and it was a wonder that neither of them cracked their head open. The ice they landed on took the blow without as much as cracking; for once, the aurochs’ breath had done them a favor.

Once the world stopped spinning, he found himself prone on rock-solid ice, staring up at a point of green light coming closer, closer, closer —

He knew a fireball when he saw one. That must have been what took out the bridge, too; when you didn’t see the spell coming beforehand, it could feel like the explosion just came out of nowhere.

Edér rolled over and pushed himself to his feet; he could take inventory of his injuries later, but the last thing you wanted to be doing with a fireball incoming was lounge on the ground.

By the time he was upright, so was Cassandra, and, to his relief, he could already see that the spell was going to miss them. It crashed down some distance away — green flames, not orange; Edér was no wizard, and couldn’t tell if that mattered — flashed, and sputtered out of existence.

And, where it fell, a creature had appeared.

It was a bulky, sinewy thing, half flesh and half shadow; sounded weird, but that was the best way he could describe it. It had a black withered torso like a kith’s and was draped in rags that hid the rest of it from view, including whatever it had for a face. From the way it shrieked, it probably wasn’t very kithlike under all those coverings.

Cassandra stepped forward, her sword unsheathed, her shield at the ready.

“That is a demon,“ she said to him. “Stay behind me!“

And, before Edér could say or do anything, she charged forward to meet the thing headfirst.

He was really missing his weapons now. If there was a fight happening, he couldn’t stay idle and wait for it to resolve itself; he had to do something, help somehow.

Keeping half an eye on the fight — the demon was trying to grab Cassandra, who had her shield wedged between it and herself, not letting it find purchase but also making it harder for her to do anything other than hack away at its limbs — Edér looked around, seeing if there was anything that would do him for a weapon; Hel, he’d even take a rock or a stick.

Then he saw something better — or, well, worse, but better for him. The upper half of a body sticking out from under the rubble. The same kind of helmet and armor the soldiers they’d seen on their way here wore.

The rubble wasn’t what killed her, he didn’t think. Her face was all blue, and not the godlike kind; more like the faces of kith who’d died to one of Aloth’s or Hiravias’ ice spells. A different fight happened there a while ago; she fell, and the body stayed there. Maybe they meant to come back for her, give her the rites like those other soldiers; it would be harder to dig her out now.

Her weapons were still there: a sword glinting under the rocks, and, a little further away, a shield. It was way easier to get them out than it would be the body.

“Thanks for that,“ he told the dead soldier, and turned back towards the fight — only to find himself face to face with the demon.

Or, well, a demon. That was a different one; Cassandra’s had one arm chopped off at the elbow, and this one had two arms. Unless it could regrow them. Edér supposed he was about to find out.

The sword was a lot like the one Cassandra was using, if simpler in make: straight blade, cross guard. That was more Helaine’s and Pallegina’s preference, but he’d practiced with something like it before and knew how it was different from a sabre. The shield was a round wooden one, almost exactly like the one he’d used before the sisters found that weird adra one in the ruins where they picked up Aloth, and decided that he should have it.

Point was, he had a good chance of not dying now, and that made him feel a lot better.

The demon made to grab for him, but he’d seen that move done on Cassandra and was ready to get out of the way. He was able to circle the thing quickly; it didn’t seem like it was very fast, or bright. From there, a strong blow to the back was enough to knock it down on its face, and then he stabbed at whatever parts looked like it really needed them to live until the shrieking stopped.

The moment the demon stopped moving, it melted away into glowing green fog and thick black sludge Edér figured he probably shouldn’t be touching.

That… didn’t look like it came from the Beyond. If anything, it was closer to the kind of thing you could find down in the Endless Paths, before Eothas turned them into an ash pit.

Another screech nearby; his head snapped towards it, and he saw Cassandra finish off the first demon. His was a different one, then.

There was a familiar subtle glow coming off her and the weapon she was holding; a similar kind of light would play on Pallegina’s armor when she charged into the fray, and Helaine, though with the latter it was more like her hair got a little brighter for a while.

It wasn’t surprising that she was a paladin. He kind of figured; she had that same presence. Could’ve been just her character, but character woudn’t have you casting auras.

“Got ‘em good,“ Edér called out towards her, half raising his shield arm in a friendly salute.

Cassandra did not return it. Instead, she turned her blade towards him, her eyes hard.

“Drop your weapon. Now.“

Right. She might have started to like him, but he was still a prisoner to her, and still a potential threat.

He didn’t have a sheath for the sword — the soldier probably had it; he’d have to look — but he did what he could to look friendly without outright dropping it, putting both arms down and to his sides, leaving himself exposed.

“Hey, hold on a second. Let’s talk about it.“

“There is nothing to talk about,“ Cassandra snapped.

“You sure about that? The sky’s raining monsters. You’re gonna run yourself ragged protecting both you and me, and that’s if one of them doesn’t snap my neck when you’re not looking.“

Edér saw the slightest grimace come across her face, and took that as encouragement.

“Listen, I don’t wanna fight you,“ he said. “I just want to get home, and for my hand to stop exploding. Doesn't have to happen in that order exactly.“

Cassandra held his gaze for a moment longer, then sighed and sheathed her sword.

“You are right,“ she said. “I cannot protect you. And I should remember you agreed to come willingly.“

She reached for a pouch on her belt, hanging opposite her sword sheath, and pulled out something small, glassy and red; potion bottles, Edér realized. Four of them, small enough to be all held together in her hand.

“Take these potions,“ she said, stepping closer and holding the bottles out to him. “Maker knows what we will face.“

“Thanks.”

Three of them he shoved into his pocket immediately, right alongside his whiteleaf; the fourth he held in his hand for a second, examining it. The liquid within had a subtle glow, and bits of something darker floating in it.

“What does it do?“ he asked.

“It will heal your wounds. Drink one if you are injured.“

“Just… regular healing?“

Cassandra raised an eyebrow:

“What did you think I would give you?“

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, where I’m from they make ‘em blue or purple.”

“This Dyrwood of yours,“ she said with a tinge of irritation. “Is the sky there green instead of blue, too?“

Edér gestured vaguely towards the Breach:

“I sure hope it isn’t.“

That seemed to pacify her; Cassandra nodded shortly, her expression settling back into that steely look he was learning, by now, to recognize as benevolent.

“Let us hope it never comes to that,“ she said. “Come. It is not far, now.“

From there, the path took them through rocks and snow and stretches of frozen river with ice so thick that the combined weight of two armored soldiers was nothing to it.

More demons showed up, some of them shades — that’s what Cassandra called the dark sinewy kind that first attacked them near the bridge — and some wisps; the latter Edér thought looked more like phantoms, what with being vaguely kith-shaped, but either way those were closer to the kind of thing he was used to fighting. Working in tandem with Cassandra, they had no problem dispatching them, with Cassandra baiting the spirit’s attack, leaving it open for Edér to slash open and scatter its essence on the wind.

He knew that they were getting close to their destination even before Cassandra told him; there was a sharp tug in his marked hand that felt like it was pulling him in a direction, and when he tried to see where it was coming from, his gaze drifted over to a hill with — yup, something green shining on top of it.

And there was fighting.

Once the two of them had scaled the steep incline, knee-deep in snow, the view fully opened before them: the edges of some kind of ruined building framed a skirmish between soldiers in the same kind of armor Edér expected to see by now — not knowing any better way to identify them, he’d dubbed them “Conclave soldiers” in his mind — and demons, all centered around a glowing green thing hanging a few feet in the air.

He didn’t need Cassandra to tell him that was the rift, or that they needed to help the others; before she could say anything, he was already in there, getting a shade’s attention with a slash across its back and backhanding it with his shield as it turned towards him. It was already wounded before Edér got there, and it didn’t take a lot to finish it off.

He turned, searching for a new target, and found one in a wisp aiming an attack at — huh, it wasn’t just soldiers fighting there.

A lanky-looking bald elf was holding his own against a shade with ice spells and a quarterstaff he was slinging around with impressive ease for a guy of his stature. Weirdly, he wasn’t using it to hit his enemies, but — using it like a wand, rod, or scepter, almost.

The caster briefly made eye contact with him as the wisp dissipated into a cloud, nodded his thanks, and froze the demon harassing him solid. Another shade came towards him, but Edér was already there, drawing its attention away, and then the thing collapsed right in front of him with a long, thick crossbow bolt sticking out of its skull. Its form fell apart and burned away into green sparks that got pulled right past Edér and into — black bones, he was standing right next to the rift and didn’t even realize it. His hand was burning like crazy, but he’d tuned the pain out for the duration of the fight.

Suddenly the elven caster was next to him, grabbing his marked hand and pulling it up towards the rift:

“Quickly, before more come through! — “

There was a flash of light, a jolt of pain from the palm of his hand that went all the way into his jaw, everything was green for a second, and then everyone went quiet and the elf let go of his hand.

The rift was gone.

Well, that was… easy? Not really, his shoulders were really starting to hurt from hacking shades apart — those things were dense — but, hey, nothing blew up. As far as he could tell.

And his hand hurt a little less than it did before.

“Nice work with the… uh, whatever you just did.” He really meant to say something friendly and thankful, but the ringing wasn’t quite gone from his ears yet and that was the best he could manage. “…Think I’m hearing some of those noises that only dogs hear. Hope that’s not permanent.”

“I should hope so,” the caster replied with half a smirk. “That being said, I did nothing; the credit is yours.”

Edér looked down at the mark; still glowing, but somehow less… angry than it was before. Or it was exactly the same, and he'd taken one too many blows to the head.

“Guess this thing can do some good after all,” he said. “You’re the researcher, right? The one that said we can use the mark.”

The elf nodded.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake — and it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra said quietly.

“Possibly,” the elf agreed, and, turning to Edér, remarked:

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

That was… good news, he was pretty sure. The “salvation” part rang a little hollow, maybe, but Edér was as much in favor of the sky having no holes in it as the next guy.

“Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

A dwarf in an open coat showcasing his bare chest — how the guy wasn’t freezing, Edér had no idea, but then again, he’d traveled with Zahua and Maneha — lowered an enormous crossbow that looked like it weighed maybe a quarter of what he himself did, pulled a couple of handles, and slung it over his shoulder.

“Varric Tethras,” the dwarf introduced himself, sauntering forward until they were standing face to face. “Rogue, storyteller — and, occasionally, unwelcome tagalong.” Here he glanced over at Cassandra and quickly winked, eliciting an annoyed noise from her; Edér got the sense there was some kind of grudge or inside joke he wasn’t privy to between the two.

Varric’s Aedyran was different. It sounded… Dyrwoodan. Not rural like Edér himself, but like someone had snatched the dwarf right off the street in Copperlane. Had he actually run into his countryman in — wherever they were?

“Edér Teylecg,” Edér said, matching Varric’s energy. “Farmer. Soldier. Sailor, kinda. I’m just trying to get back to my crew.”

The dwarf responded with a sympathetic grunt.

“Far from home, huh? Guess that makes two of us. Where are you from?”

“Gilded Vale. Ever heard of it?”

“Can’t say I have.” Varric narrowed his eyes, studying him for a moment. “Are you a Marcher, Farmer? I don’t think I’ve met anyone who sounds like you before.”

Well, that answered his question. Varric wasn’t Dyrwoodan, and whatever “Marcher” meant to him, he clearly wasn’t implying that Edér was from Stalwart.

“I’m from Dyrwood,” Edér said. “Thought you were too, for a second.”

“Nah, I’m from Kirkwall. And I’d still be there, if it wasn’t for our brave Seeker.” His gaze flicked over to Cassandra again. “Technically I’m a prisoner, just like you.“

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine,“ Cassandra said flatly. “Clearly, that is no longer necessary.“

“Yet, here I am,“ Varric shrugged. “Lucky for you, considering current events.“

There was definitely something happening between the two; Edér couldn’t for the life of him tell whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but, well, if Varric really was a prisoner like him… It seemed like he was doing alright. Hopefully that meant good things for Edér’s future, too.

“Well, if we’re fighting demons, I’m happy to have a guy with a huge crossbow on my side,“ Edér said. Judging by the smirk that crept onto Varric’s face, it must have been the right thing to say.

“Bianca’s one of a kind,“ the dwarf said. “And she’ll be great company in the valley.“

At that, Cassandra interrupted:

“Absolutely not. Your help is appreciated, Varric, but — “

Varric didn’t as much as flinch as she stepped towards him.

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.“

For a moment, it seemed as if Cassandra was going to blow up at him — but in the end, she just shook her head and, muttering an annoyed “ugh“ under her breath, turned away.

So she was more bark than bite. Right now, at least; Edér still remembered the way she was in the dungeons. There, her and that Leliana woman were in control, but out here… Well, like Varric said, it was a free-for-all. Cassandra might have had some kind of authority the others didn’t, but it wasn’t doing much good against the demons falling from the sky, and she seemed to realize that.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,“ the elven caster spoke up suddenly, startling him just a little; Edér had forgotten that the guy was still there. “I am pleased to see you still live.“

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,’“ Varric piped up.

Huh. So he’d done more than just study it.

“Thanks,“ Edér said. “Now would be a real bad time to go back on the Wheel.“

Solas inclined his head slightly, as if to say that his gratitude was noted and accepted. Before he could say anything, however, Cassandra spoke again:

“Solas is an apostate, well-versed in such matters.”

The word didn’t mean anything to Edér, but it clearly meant something to her — and to Solas, judging from the look on his face.

“Technically all mages are now apostates, Cassandra,“ the elf said; he kept his voice calm, but it felt like he'd taken the remark as an insult. “My travels have allowed me to see much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage.“

Alright, now he was completely lost. Edér did his best to take inventory of the unfamiliar terms: Circle, Fade, apostate, mage… Mage as in archmage?

“I’ll be honest, I don’t understand this magic talk all that well,“ he said. “If you’re our wizard, I’m just gonna leave it to you. Seems you know what you’re doing — just tell me to duck when you go throwing fireballs.“

Solas met his words with a raised eyebrow and a… weird look, like Edér had said something funny without understanding it himself.

“I suppose my wisdom might be called into question, walking into a templar encampment as I did. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.“

Templars. That was another one; Cassandra had mentioned them earlier, something to do with demons. Edér considered finding out what those templars were about, why Solas was talking about them like they were dangerous — but on a second thought, questions like this would probably go better over drinks, once they’d dealt with the big hole in the sky.

So for now, he just shrugged and said:

“Sounds like someone should take care of that.”

That got a laugh from Varric; Solas simply nodded, unfazed, and replied:

“Hopefully, with your help this will be possible.“

Then he turned to Cassandra, continuing:

“Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen. Your prisoner is no mage; indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

“Understood.” She nodded shortly. “We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

And then she just turned and started walking. Solas followed in her footsteps without as much as glancing back; as Edér took off after them, Varric fell into step by his side, giving him a sympathetic look when their eyes met.

“Well,” the dwarf said, as if sharing a joke, “Bianca’s excited.”

𖤓

Demons were much less of a problem now that there were four of them, with more than just two swords and two shields to their name.

Solas, for all his strange casting habits, had a mean ice spell that hit with a precision Aloth never quite seemed to manage — and, hey, Edér had learned to deal with having to blink frost out of his eyes every now and then, but it was nice to not have to do that. Varric and Bianca were great, too; the bolts hit like an ogre’s club, sending shades staggering and vaporizing wisps out of existence.

With these two in tow, Edér’s and Cassandra’s role shifted from chasing after demons to playing sentry, holding a line in front of their less-armored ranged fighters to keep the demons from getting through to them. It was the same setup they had with the sisters and Aloth: Edér and Helaine up front, the wizard and cipher taking shots from the back.

Now with more people to manage, Cassandra was barking orders left and right; warning of incoming attacks, pointing out enemy weaknesses. Solas did his part too, often seeing the demon before Cassandra did; Varric, meanwhile, seemed to have made it his job to keep the mood light — from poking fun at the Seeker to bantering with Edér as they were catching their breath between skirmishes.

“So, are all Dyrwood farmers good fighters?” the dwarf asked him at some point, pulling a bolt out of a crack it had made in the ice.

“Those of ‘em who are still alive, yeah. Real passionate for arguing and setting fire to things, too. Are all Kirkwall storytellers this nosy?”

He’d meant it in good fun, and it seemed like Varric picked up on that; when he replied, it was with a chuckle:

“Well, there’s just one who’s really good at it.”

“Damn. Think you can introduce us?”

“Ha! I like you, Farmer.”

“You should be careful about befriending that dwarf,” Cassandra said, stepping closer to them. “He has a tendency to turn the exploits of his friends into novels.”

“Hey, that was just one time. And it was a bestseller! Either way, I’d need to know whether I’m writing about the killer of the Divine or an innocent victim.” Varric shot him a look. “So… Are you innocent?”

“Think so. I mean, I don’t really remember, but — I wouldn’t kill a priest. Trust me, I knew one that really made you think about it, and he walked away just fine.”

“Tevinters,” Varric grumbled; another word that meant nothing to him, but Edér didn’t manage to ask him about it; just then Cassandra called out to them, reminding that they should keep moving.

They fought their way to the forward camp. Leliana, the hooded ginger woman from before, was there too, and so were more soldiers and red-and-white-clad clergy; one man in particular was very unhappy to see them, and even more unhappy to find Edér walking around unbound and armed. He made some demands that Cassandra immediately shut down, and, since it seemed like she outranked him by a wide margin, the man — resentfully — complied.

The talk then turned to getting Edér to the Breach. Further ahead, the battle was still going; men and women holding back demons, dying in a fight that wouldn’t be over until that first rift was sealed. They could join the charge, try to get through with the safety of numbers — or take a side path, where a scouting party went missing, which couldn’t meant anything good.

Given the choice between a battlefield and something more like what he was used to with the Watchers, Edér was always going to choose the second option.

He’d had enough of battlefields in this lifetime. He’d go there again if the sisters needed him, but not one moment sooner. Besides, they had a strong party, and maybe those scouts were still alive; the soldiers in the valley would be dying whether Edér was there or not, but for those folks on the mountain path, maybe they could still make a difference.

It wasn’t until they were standing at the foot of a rickety ladder leading up to the beginning of the mountain path that it occurred to him how weird it was that Cassandra left the choice up to him in the first place, and that everyone seemed to just accept his decision.

Maybe it was the exploding hand. Then again, he had a feeling that if he waved a glowing hand at the folks back in Dyrford, getting them to agree on grain prices wouldn’t have been any easier.

The mountain path wasn’t as bad as the others made it out to be, at least in Edér’s eyes. More demons, tighter quarters to fight in, but that was about it; the place couldn’t hold a candle to the Endless Paths, or to the hallways of Durgan’s Battery.

They made it through. Closed one more rift, found the few scouts that were still standing and sent them back to camp; Edér was glad that some of them had made it, at least. Made taking the mountain path seem like the right call.

And then, there was the temple where the explosion had gone off.

When Edér saw the bodies from afar, he remembered the Engwithan machines and Caed Nua; the ashen husks left behind when a soul is pulled out of its body. Then, they got closer, and he realized that he was wrong.

Those people were not de-souled. They were burned alive by a heat so intense that it left them as nothing but bones and charred muscle, fused with the rock under their feet. Some of the corpses were, inexplicably, still smoldering.

After all he’d been through with the Watchers, Edér was now discovering yet another way to feel sick.

Part of him wondered if that is what the aftermath of the Godhammer looked like.

Durance would have had something to say about all this, he was sure. Something about being too weak to withstand the flames.

“That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you,“ Cassandra said quietly. “They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.“

“Wish I could tell you,“ Edér muttered. No matter how hard he tried to reach deeper into his own memory, that figure never became any clearer; just a shape made of light.

Couldn’t have been anything to do with Eothas, could it? As far as he knew, Eothas was a man, or at least liked to be seen as one. There were the three Dawnstars, but he figured if they were around, the sisters would’ve mentioned seeing them in their visions.

They made their way through the rubble, trying their best not to step on any bones along the way. The wind blew smoke and ashes across the ruined temple; Edér covered his nose and mouth, and tried not to think too much about just what was getting blown into his eyes.

And then it was just… there. The Breach, huge and green and horrifying, up in the sky, with strands of light trailing down and weaving together into a knot in the middle of what once might have been a hall or a courtyard.

His hand was hurting again.

“The Breach is a long way up,“ Varric murmured to his right.

Edér kept staring up, vaguely aware that behind them, Cassandra and Leliana were discussing securing the perimeter, sending soldiers to take up positions around the temple. He wasn’t really sure what kept his eyes glued to that thing even though the sharp glow was kind of painful to look at; something about the Breach itself was like a question he couldn’t find an answer for.

Then, suddenly, Cassandra was in front of him, saying:

“This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?“

The sight of her snapped him out; Edér shook his head and ran a hand over his face, feeling the ash caught in his beard. Once they were done here, he was going to find a bucket of warm water to dunk his head into. He probably had people ash in his ears.

Alright, it was probably best to stop thinking about that and start thinking about how he was going to close this thing.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Anyone bring a ladder?“

“No,“ Solas chimed in, gesturing towards the glowing knot in the middle of the ruin. “This rift was the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.“

“See, when the wizard’s saying perhaps, that’s how you know it’s really going to work.“

“I suppose you have a better idea, then?“ the elf retaliated.

“Wish I did,” Edér said. “I’m just hoping my hand’s not going to fall off, or explode and take me with it.“

“It is our best chance,“ Cassandra said sternly. “Let’s find a way down. And be careful.“

They were currently on what seemed like an upper level of… whatever this space was before the Breach leveled it. There were probably stairs, and, with any luck, they would be intact enough for the four of them to climb down.

As they turned right, beginning to follow a path that didn’t seem too badly damaged, a voice rang through the air, deep and seemingly sourceless.

“Now is the hour of our victory.“

Dragon, was Edér’s first thought. That’s how their voices sounded, resonant, coming out of a body many times larger than a kith’s. This one sounded like it was coming from everywhere, but that could be the echo tricking him, or they had a cipher dragon on their hands again.

“Bring forth the sacrifice.“

“What are we hearing?“ Cassandra whispered, and now Edér could be sure that he wasn’t the only one hearing the voice.

Which was good. None of his friends who were hearing voices on the regular spoke about it like it was fun; he wasn’t at all eager to try it out for himself.

“At a guess: the person who created the Breach,“ Solas replied.

“Definitely not me then,“ Edér said. “Been told I’ve got a nice voice before, but I know it’s not that impressive.“

Just then, they passed by a large red crystal; he’d seen some of them lining the walls of the temple, jutting out of the ground like adra, except it definitely wasn’t. Adra wasn’t red, and it didn’t make noise.

These ones did: a constant high-pitched hum, only audible once you got close.

“You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker,“ Varric murmured; from the tone of his voice, that wasn’t a good thing.

“I see it, Varric,“ Cassandra said flatly.

“But what’s it doing here?“

“Magic could have drawn on the lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it,“ Solas suggested.

“Guessing I shouldn’t be touching that,“ Edér said.

“Don’t,“ Varric replied sharply. “It’s evil.“

“Don’t touch the evil singing rocks. Got it.“

He was going to say something else, maybe ask the others what that lyrium thing was and what was it supposed to be like when not red and evil, but in the next moment it all went out of his head, because the voices started again.

The same one as before.

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

A different one; a woman’s.

“Someone, help me! — “

At that, Cassandra gasped.

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!“

They’d made it most of the way down, at this point; all that was separating them from the temple floor was a small drop. Cassandra hurried forward without even stopping to check that the rest of them were following, but she didn’t really need to worry; Edér was right behind her.

The moment his feet hit the ground, the mark on his hand flared up again, and he could see the knot of light that was the rift brighten in turn, as if responding to the mark — or was the mark responding to it? He didn’t know.

Again, the Divine’s voice sounded:

“Someone, help me!“

And then there was a noise, the same kind of crackling that came from the rifts and the humming that came from animancy machines and the sound of tearing, loud enough to shake the ground beneath their feet.

And then Edér heard his own voice. Just a grunt, at first, and the jangle of armor; sounded like he’d hit the ground pretty hard.

Then he heard himself call out.

“Selene? Selene! — “

There was fear in his voice; so much that it was kind of hard to recognize himself for a second.

“Helaine?… The Hel is this? Who are you people? And wha - hey, lady, are you alright up there?”

Now it sounded like he was pulling himself together, but there was still a frantic sound to it.

He couldn’t really blame himself, but it was kinda embarrassing to have this moment played out in front of an audience.

There was also the fact that he didn’t remember any of that happening, at all.

Meanwhile, Cassandra stepped closer to him, saying:

“That was your voice! Most Holy called out to you. But…“

Whatever she was going to say next was cut short by another flash of light from the rift, and this time it spread, forming images in the air above them.

Once it stopped being too bright to look at directly, Edér could make out the figure of a woman, dressed in red-and-white priest robes with significantly more gold on them than he’d seen elsewhere, being held up in the air by some kind of spell. A tall, shadowy figure with red burning eyes towered before her, the spell holding her far off the ground putting her at eye level with the creature.

“Run while you can! Warn them!“ she called out, addressing — oh.

There he was, in his Saint’s War armor, weapons still on him, picking himself up from the ground in a long-practiced motion; Edér can feel it in his arms and his spine and his knees just by looking at it.

And he was turning to the shadow now, squaring his shoulders the way he’d do whenever someone was trying to get rowdy with him, saying:

“Hey, get her down from there. This ain’t the way to treat an old lady.”

Even with the weirdness of the vision, Edér felt a spark of embarrassment flare within; had he known she was a woman of the cloth, he’d have been more respectful, addressed her correctly.

“We have an intruder,“ the tall creature rumbled in response to his words. That was the one that sounded like a dragon, though it clearly didn’t have wings or a tail, so it must have been something else. “Kill him. Now! —“

And then it just ended; another flash of light, and the rift was back to the way they found it. The mark on his hand, though, was buzzing restlessly, and the inside of his skull felt much the same.

“You were there!“ Cassandra cried out. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she?… Was that vision true? What are we seeing?“

With each question, she stepped closer to him, her hand hovering closer to the hilt of her sword. Edér took a step back, feeling that if he didn’t, she would have rammed him.

“Cassandra, I don’t remember!“

The response came out harsher than he wanted it too, tinged with the same panic he was feeling in the vision. Part of him was still caught up in it, trying to dig deeper down, to remember why he was calling out for Selene. Had something happened to her? Was she hurt?

Cassandra must have been feeling something similar, if Justinia was family to her. Wasn’t any reason for them to fight over it.

“Listen, I told you the truth,” Edér said, trying to get a hold of himself best as he could. “I don’t remember seeing, or saying, any of that. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, but I can’t know for sure. I’m sorry.“

“Echoes of what happened here,“ Solas said, approaching in the silence that followed. “The Fade bleeds into this place.“

“So it did happen?“ Edér asked.

“Likely so. Perhaps there are fragments that are missing, but the memory is recent, and strong.“

Well, that was just great.

It really was, in a way, because it proved that he wasn’t trying to kill that woman, and the teleporter didn’t do it either, but then… what did? The tall creature? Seemed likely.

Black bones, he hoped Selene and the others were alright.

Meanwhile, the wizard continued:

“This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.“

“Let me guess: more demons,“ Edér said.

“Yes,“ Cassandra said; when he turned to look at her, her face was set in a mask of grim determination.

She turned to face the archers positioned all over the upper level of the temple, where they first came in.

“Stand ready!“ Cassandra called out, and all of them nocked their arrows, pointing them towards the rift — which was also where Edér happened to be standing.

Ho thought to himself briefly how easy it would be for them to take him down; not even the enchantment on his armor would save him from this many arrows. Not that they had any reason to turn against him, but it was a good thing to remember.

He looked at Cassandra again. She nodded. He nodded back, stepped closer to the rift, and held his hand up.

Closing rifts, he’d learned by now, was painful. Now he learned that opening one wasn’t; the action almost carried a feeling of relief with it, the restless magic in his hand finding a way out.

There was a flash of light, and something shot out of the rift, coalescing into a creature as tall as three of him stacked on top of each other, armored and many-eyes and roaring, with a weird electric whip thing in one of its claw hands.

He couldn’t hold back a sigh. Whatever was responsible for deciding which demons to throw their way clearly didn’t intend for him to have it easy.

But if that thing was standing between him and getting back home, it had to go.

The four of them, backed by Leliana’s soldiers, got to work wearing the demon down, looking for an opening to do some damage. There was a quiet, grim determination to the fight now; gone were Varric’s quips, Solas’ warning calls more urgent than before.

Shades spilled out of the open rift, joining the fray. When Edér cut down one, another took its place, and it wasn’t until an unfamiliar soldier shoved a shade out of his way, taking over his position in the fight, and yelled at him to not waste his time, that he realized that was the right call.

Cursing himself for being that thick-skulled, he rushed to the rift, and raised his hand up again. Nobody said he had to wait until the demons were gone, right?

The moment his mark connected with the rift, he felt it: every single demon’s position on the battlefield like a burning pinprick, somehow distant and held in the palm of his hand at the same time. He wasn’t really thinking about what was happening, acting out of instinct, driven by the same force that made him plant his feet in the ground and hold the line against whatever was trying to kill him as his allies picked them off one by one.

He clutched the tether to the rift in his burning, aching hand, and pulled.

The battlefield erupted in howls; he coudn’t see what was happening behind his back or even to the side, paralyzed by a feeling like his skeleton was about to vibrate apart, but he knew he was hurting them.

So he pulled again, and again, and again, and then there was the sound of heavy thumps rushing towards him and he knew the big guy was coming, and it took all of his willpower to drop the tether and dive behind a pile of rubble just as the armored demon collided with the place where he was just standing, arrows sticking out of the gaps in its plates.

Edér pulled himself up just in time to see Cassandra rush forward, run over the demon’s spine while it was still sprawled on the ground, and drive her sword into the back of its neck again and again and again until an eruption of lightning threw her back, and the demon went still.

The soldiers were finishing off the last of the shades. All that he had to do was step forward and hold his hand up again.

He knew this was going to hurt a lot, but he was ready this time.

He squeezed his eyes shut, thought about Selene, and let it happen as the world went white behind his eyelids.

𖤓

There was nothing innately magical about the Herald, but he was easy to find in the Fade.

He stood out from the low haze of other dreamers in Haven. Most, Solas could read at a glance. He dipped in and out of those small corners of the Fade with ease, finding only the dull and mundane minds of the little village’s tired survivors. Edér’s was brighter, and took up more space; as much a beacon here as the Anchor made him in the physical world. Its boundaries were stronger, too. There would be little to learn from a distance. 

When Solas slid into the edges of the man’s dream, the sensation hit him first. The way the air seemed to cling to him, warm and heavy with salt; the sounds of sea birds and overlapping voices; the colors of the sky nearing sunset, deep blue bleeding into gold and orange and pink; the thrum of some great power source itching under his skin. 

That was what drew him deeper in. It was not the Anchor, nor any other magic he was familiar with, but it pulled in a way that was difficult to resist. As Solas had come with the intention to learn more, he did not bother trying. 

He found himself observing Edér atop a stone tower. The cobbles felt solid underfoot, the texture of them scraping his bare feet. It was tangible in a way he hadn’t expected. He realized then that those sensations he had taken for granted were just as real. Too real for a mortal mind to shape; this had to be a spirit’s work. 

The view from every side of the tower revealed the wider setting to be a large island settlement. He was most interested to see the mechanism built at the center of the roof, a series of iron instruments and copper wires constructed around a great, green crystal. It glowed with an inner light, electricity running through it at intervals with a crackling hum.

Some new form of lyrium? Not the natural blue or tainted red, but a third option…

Solas couldn’t commit to the idea. There was magic in it, that much was clear, but it didn’t sing to him the way lyrium always did, even in dreams. It was also unlikely to find such a large vein of lyrium exposed to the sky like that, as it naturally flourished underground. 

People bustled around it, checking the machines, and Solas shifted his attention to examine them. Humans, mostly. None of them seemed more distinct than the others, and none tried to interact with the dreamer.

Just more memory then, not spirits embodying roles.  

He found Edér again, this time with a dark-haired elven man at his side. They stood close besides each other, and as Solas watched, Edér leaned down to mutter something under his breath to the man. He looked up from the heavy tome he carried long enough to shoot a smirk back at the farmer. A friend, clearly, and more detailed in the memory for it, but the elf still lacked the presence Solas looked for to find a spirit in a scene. One had to be there.

Spirits of many different kinds sought out dreamers to observe and learn from. When they touched mortal minds, they took on familiar forms. The deception provided safety, and allowed them to exercise their core traits. Desire might find the face of some unrealized infatuation. Wisdom often imitated an elder, a natural font of advice. Hope was usually, though not always, a child, but spirits of Hope seldom spoke to mortals anyway. 

That was why the sight of the women beyond Edér shocked him to stillness.

They were nearly a study in opposites. The first woman had skin as blue as proper lyrium, shining just as the crystal did but only from the glowing imprints of crescents that littered her face and arms. White hair in a smooth braid, and white horns curling back to the crown of her head, only made the pitch black of her eyes stand out from her face all the more. 

The second was all fire. Cracks of molten heat spread across orange-tinted skin, blazing gold eyes, and a literal mane of flame pulled up in a high tail. Like the other, she had horns, but these were short and dark, growing vertically from her temples. The first woman wore leather and a deep green cloak, but the second was armored in full plate, her own light reflecting in the steel. 

Solas knew no spirits that appeared like this, and, more pressingly, they were just as lifeless as any of the other people on the roof. Behind them, looking on as they spoke to one of the humans, were more unfamiliar beings. A woman easily surpassing his own height with olive green scales on her skin, dark markings, and a tropical bird on her shoulder. Beside her, a male not quite as large as a dwarf, sporting blue-green fur. All simple reflections. 

There were no spirits in this dream. Somehow, even apparently unaware he was sleeping, Edér shaped the Fade as naturally and completely as those who called it home. Somehow he truly did know such a strange menagerie of people.

Solas finally approached, carefully posting himself just behind Edér. There was no need to draw the man’s attention yet, and more might be learned about this impossible place he knew. 

The blue woman seemed the natural leader of the group. She led the conversation, the flaming warrior at her side occasionally chiming in while the rest simply watched and nodded along. He caught the intent of the exchange rather than any true words — language could be tricky in the Fade, where meaning was impressed through intent, but he understood enough. They were there for the crystal, or if they had not come for that reason, then they were being asked to use it now. 

It was Edér’s emotional state that colored the exchange, being his dream and his memory. The feelings matched his easy demeanor in waking well enough, the stress of the situation they had faced the day before notwithstanding. He felt fondness for his companions, the elf at his side and the flaming woman and the glowing leader most of all. A good natured but dry humor presided when attention shifted to the crystal, something that might have been resignation but held no resentment. He seemed unsurprised when an agreement was made and the machines activated. He didn’t hesitate to join the rest of his fellows where they grouped together, bracing for something. He had only a healthy wariness, not fear, when the latent energy of the crystal spiked, and then —

Pain. Light. Darkness. Pain. 

A flash of white. A flash of green. 

Solas could not process it any more than Edér had, and to call his memory fragmented would have been generous. Something had gone wrong with that machine, something that broke him away from the others, broke him into the Fade — and here the memory picked up with Edér on the ground, groaning, a tantalizingly familiar power embedded in his hand and a horde of minor demons swarming towards him. 

Solas pulled away. There was nothing useful left there. 

He had what proof he had wanted, for all the good it had done. Edér was not from Ferelden, as the Seeker had assumed. The man was not from anywhere in Thedas, nor, Solas now suspected, anywhere beyond it that could be reached. 

Some intersection of that spire on the island tower and the use of his orb by the magister had broken not just into the Fade, but through it. Beyond it. In the process, it had stolen a man from that plane into their own. 

The man people were already calling Andraste’s Herald had been born on another world entirely.

Working subtly, Solas pulled the focus of the dream back to where it had begun, then let his presence be felt. It was something like walking down a hall with purposefully heavy steps, so that the person in the room at the end would hear your approach. Less grand than announcing oneself, but no less effective. 

Edér turned from his friends to greet the intrusion.

“Solas? How’d you get all the way out here?” 

“I merely followed you,” he replied, nodding slightly towards the man’s hand as he did. Edér frowned at it, realizing for the first time that the Anchor remained in place. Before Edér could get too distracted and possibly wake himself, Solas changed the subject again. “Your friends seem hard at work.”

“Some of ‘em, at least.” He shot a look over his shoulder at where the leader stood. He smiled so easily, Solas didn’t know whether to pity him or feel jealous about it. There was something beautifully simple about that kind of regard for another person. “The blue one over there, that’s Selene. She’s our captain, so she does the talking more often than not. Helaine when we need a friendlier touch.”

The setting shifted at his words, so smoothly even Solas found himself thrown off for a moment as the stone below him reformed into wooden planks and their high view from the tower was brought down to sea level. He and Edér stood side by side on the deck of a ship, looking up towards Selene where she stood at the helm. 

Solas wondered if the woman was always as solemn as she appeared to be these memories. It said something about Edér, if that was the kind of person he admired. It said something else if she were not, and that side of her was what he clung to now. 

The rest of those strange people were about the ship, even the flaming knight, which he thought was an odd risk on a wooden vessel. Beside her now was another new sight; a bare-chested, blue-skinned man, scaled also, who towered over her, laughing and preening, running his hands over the watery tentacles that seemed to comprise his own hair. They stood out so boldly among the normal mortals that filled the decks beside them, and yet no one stared. 

“You have a… colorful crew,” Solas remarked. 

The corner of Edér’s mouth curled up into a smirk.

“What gave it away, the fishman or the fire woman?”

Solas hesitated. It was against his nature to be blunt with his own ignorance, and he was wary of waking the man, but he would likely not get a better opening than the one Edér’s question offered.

“I have never seen such folk as your captain, or the others,” he admitted.

Edér’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Selene’s an elf. Or, she’s a godlike, but she’s from elves, not folk. So’s Helaine,” and there he gestured to the flaming knight, and then the beside her, “and Tekēhu’s Huana. You’ve never met a godlike?” 

Solas shook his head. Godlike. A heady description — and a dangerous one.

“...I know they’re rare,” Edér said uncertainly, hands gone still on the ropes. Then he shook his head. “Not that rare, though. You must not get out much?”

“I confess, I have not even heard of them. What gods are they meant to resemble?” 

Edér fully dropped the ropes then, facing him with a look of complete disbelief. “How have you… Ondra, for both the blue ones. Selene’s a moon type, Tekēhu’s sea. Helaine’s nearly the spittin’ image of Magran, according to all the statues, and you… you haven’t got a damned clue what I’m saying, do you?” 

As he spoke, the edges of the dream roiled as Edér's thoughts lingered on his gods. Not enough to change the scene, not yet, but Solas could feel the shape of what he couldn't fully see. Divinity formed as sunlight, as storm, as murmurations of birds. He felt what it was to stand in their presence, surrounded, small. A single, distinct image - a titan of carved green stone marching over the world, crowned by pure light.

These gods were not like the Evanuris, Solas gathered, at least in form. As for the truth of their divinity, and their temperament… he could not say without knowing more, and the bulk of Edér's focus remained on their conversation.

The man’s emotions filled the space of his dream. Confusion, upset, some distant level of fear. Worry, overpowering worry, and a cold undercurrent of isolation that Solas knew well. When it settled, they stood in the snow, on the mountain overlooking Haven where they had first met. 

Edér sighed, rubbing a hand over his brow with downcast eyes. “I’m not supposed to be the one getting into messes like this. That’s a Watcher’s job. ”

And what, Solas wanted to know, was a Watcher? He heard the importance in the title, but held back from asking — too much more stress, and the man would wake, and Solas would lose the opportunity for a graceful exit.

Resolving to visit Edér in the Fade again in the future, he began to pull back, drawing the Fade in close to obscure as much of his part in the dream as he could. With a little luck, the Anchor wouldn’t interfere, and Edér would think him no more than another product of his tired mind.

As the landscape of the dream began to fall away, the dreamer himself was the last to leave Solas’ sight, still talking, to himself more than anything now.

“They run headlong into it, and I follow,” he heard Edér say, and then sigh as he added, “She’d better catch up soon.” 

𖤓

 The sky was still mostly dark as Solas woke in his cabin, the hints of early dawn on the horizon overpowered by the Breach still hanging above them all. It was early enough that the guard rotation had not switched over yet; most of the settlement would still be asleep. The Herald, as Solas needed to get in the habit of calling the man, would doubtless sleep through most of the morning, if not the rest of the day. Just partially sealing the Breach had nearly drained him, and only time would restore his strength. 

The Seeker would either be in the Chantry or on the training fields. He chanced the Chantry first and found his instincts correct. Finding her kneeling before a statue of her god’s wife, he stepped back and folded his arms behind himself to wait. The prayers were pointless, but they brought her comfort. More to the point, she would not easily forgive the insult of interrupting them. 

“Draw your last breath, my friends. Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, and be forgiven,” she finished, then finally raised her head and stood. “Solas. What news of the Herald?”

“I was able to see some of his dream. He is… unusually bright, in the Fade.” There was a fine line to walk between a useful display of skill and a threatening display of power. He had already told both her and the Nightingale that he was a dreamer mage, but there was no need for either of them, mundane as they were, to understand how such a thing worked. Especially for him. “I saw his homeland, and the crew he spoke of before. Seeker, I must tell you - this looked like no place I have ever heard of in Thedas, and its people were beyond strange.”

“How so?” Cassandra asked, frowning. 

“Tropical islands, to begin with.” 

“Par Vollen?” 

“I do not believe so. There were no qunari,” he began. He let himself pause, let the words fall hesitantly and unsure. “But there were others. Furred people smaller than dwarves, scaled people larger than men. Others… one woman was made of flame. They seemed like any other member of the crew. Certainly the Herald did not treat them any differently. It was all entirely normal to him, so far as I could discern.”

Cassandra scoffed, a sound already familiar in less than a week of knowing the woman. Yet it did not escape his notice that she had glanced back at Andraste’s altar at his description of the so-called godlike. “These could simply be dreams.”

“The mind shapes the Fade in dreams,” he admitted. “But only using what it knows. Every face you have seen in a dream, you have seen before in life, if only in passing. I believe these were real memories.” He paused to let her absorb the words and begin to form her own thoughts before delivering the final statement. “The Herald is not of Thedas.”

She remained quiet for a long moment, working it over in her head. “A far continent, then. North, or across the sea.”

“Perhaps…” Solas replied. It would not change much, he thought, to let that be the story. It depended on what Edér said when he woke. 

Edér seemed a talkative man.

“What other option is there?” 

“He came from the Fade. Who is to say what is beyond it?” Solas knew the Chant stated there was nothing but the Maker’s realm there, and saw her jaw tick as she undoubtedly prepared to say so. Before she could, he added, “Or what power allowed him to pass through it.”

Green crystal. Unfamiliar magic. Some unorthodox method of experimentation, machinery mixed with the arcane, and all of it so obviously gone wrong. That, Solas knew, was what had sent the man to them. 

But to the rest - to Cassandra - word of a woman’s silhouette behind him in the first Rift he’d fallen from and the partially healed sky were proof enough of divine intervention. 

“It is enough to know he is foreign,” she stated. “For now. Thank you, Solas.” 

He bowed his head to acknowledge her ending the conversation, and left the Chantry behind him. There was little to do now but wait for the man to wake.

[who-let-me-out]

Suddenly got very into House of the Dragon and now I have an idea to share.

Platonic Yandere targaryens with Aegon.

Viserys and alicent become obsessed with him when he was born. He has dozens of knights to protect him, never alone unless with his family. He’s so precious he must be protected. He can do no wrong.

Viserys wants to move him into a tower so he is safe from everyone and everything that could hurt him. Still brings it up, trying to convince Aegon that the tower would be so good and fun for him! His own space (locked away, only for his families eyes. No one else can see him, they could hurt his precious boy.) Aegon is often called to his fathers side, enjoying the loving attention and affection from his father.

Rhaenyra is very protective of her baby brother. Considers taking him to Dragonstone many times. Precious baby boy loves his big sister too. Always excited to see her. She rubs it in alicents face that Aegon gets more excited to see her then his own mother.

Uncle Daemon will commit several war crimes for this small boy. Makes sure to rest every single one of his guards to ensure he is safe. The safest boy.

Grandsire Otto will use every connection he has to keep the boy safe and secluded. No one outside the castle will see him, anyone who could be a threat is arrested and put to death for crimes against the crown.

Helaena and Aemond keep him company as they grow older. They are selfish and want to keep him to themselves, not even they’re parents can see him if they are there. Aemond trains to ensure he can protect his big brother, he’s so fragile. He and Vhagar can protect him, who would go against the largest Dragon in the world. He claimed Vhagar and lost an eye to protect him. He remembers his dear sweet brother crying for him, for his injuries. Helaena will keep watch through her dreams. Though criptic they can help her keep her brother safe with them. Only with them. No one else. They can’t touch him!

His nephews follow they’re mother. So protective. He can do no wrong. They try to convince Aegon to go with them to Dragonstone, they can protect him there. They have more dragons there, they will make sure no one can hurt him.

Baela and Rheana follow too. They were taught from a very young age to watch over they’re cousin, he is fragile and to be protected. He needs them. They will run to Daemon for the slightest thing regarding his safety. He was found in the gardens with only 12 guards? They will get Daemon to punish them for slacking off on they’re duty. One of his servants looked at him for 0.2 seconds longer then they should? Clearly they are stalkers and seek to harm the Prince! They should be punished

Even Sunfyre is obsessed with him. However unlike the humans of the family, Aegon will go willingly where every the dragon flies. Aegon can be seen sneaking away to the dragon pit to fly with his beloved dragon. They’ve lost many men because the fools tried to seperate the dragon from his rider. If he could, sunfyre would follow him around the castle.

Suprise twist is that Aegon remembers being king. He remembers the dance of the dragons. He remembers dying. He woke up in this strange world where his whole family is begging for his attention and will kill in his name. Viserys tried to name him Heir to the throne but Aegon refused, it is Rhaenyras birthright and he would not take that from her.

[jynxeddraca]

So I have this idea about eluvians in the game. Basically they're supposed to be this pretty rare ancient elven thing but there are several that you use in Dragon Age the Veilguard. Which easily handwaved because it's a game and you have to get places somehow.

But I like the idea that I saw in another post (which I can't find) that a bunch of eluvians woke up after Solas's failed ritual. I have just been imagining that Teia had bought the eluvian that's in the Cantori Dimond because she thought it was an art piece. Just some slab that had some neat arches around the edges - maybe to eventually turn into a fresco or something for where she put it - but didn't think much of it.

Then all of a sudden it's a magic mirror and she has no fucking clue why that happened and no idea if it's dangerous or not. Then my little Veil Jumper comes by and and confirms 'oh yeah, that's an eluvian - you can use it to travel and you just saved us travel time showing us this'.

You know Teia would have that thing under armed guard after she realizes it's a mirror that allows anyone with access from the other side to just waltz into her base of operations.

[the-fiction-witch]

Baby Tully P2

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Oscar Tully (Age Up I suppose) Couple - Oscar X Reader Reader - Y/n (wife) Rating - 15 (Childbirth) Word Count - 1607

The storm soon came and began to batter Riverrun with rain, wind and thunder. The waters of the Trident River lapped at the walls in the wind. Y/n woke uncharacteristically early often Oscar woke her for some kisses when he left for his duties and she'd sleep a few more hours till finally getting up around midday. But she was awake before Oscar, She sat up finding her body so uncomfortable and painful but she couldn't figure out why. But the pain only got worse and worse until she had no choice. "Oscar? Oscar?" She spoke up trying to wake but not panic him,

Oscar woke up to the sound of Y/n's voice calling his name. He was immediately alert, sensing that something was wrong. He sat up in bed and looked over at her, his eyes filled with concern. "Yes, my love? What is it? Are you alright?"

"Could you... Call for the maester.".

Oscar's heart skipped a beat at her words. He could see the pain in her eyes and realized something was seriously wrong. Without hesitation, he climbed out of bed and rushed to the door. "I'll get the maester right away. Just hold on a minute, my love." He quickly opened the door and summoned a nearby guard to fetch the maester. As the guard left to find the maester, Oscar returned to the bed and sat down beside Y/n. He took her hand in his, gently stroking it with his thumb. He was struggling to keep his own anxiety at bay, but tried to stay calm for her sake. "The maester is coming. Just hang on a little longer, my love. Everything is going to be alright."

she squeezed his hand as she struggled through the ever-building pain

Oscar held her hand tight, his heart clenching with each squeeze of her hand. He could see the pain etched across her face, and it was all he could do to not panic. "It's going to be alright. The maester is on his way. Just try to stay calm, my love."

the maester soon arrived his chain clinking as he arrives,

Oscar quickly stood up, relief washing over him. He stepped aside to let the maester approach Y/n. "Maester, thank the gods you're here. Something is wrong. She's in a great deal of pain."

"Yes of course my lord Tully." He nodded as he approached the bed he gave Y/n a few checks and hummed contemporary for a moment before he spoke, "yes... Yes... I see the trouble,"

Oscar stayed by Y/n's side, his hand still tightly grasping hers. He listened intently as the maester spoke, his heart pounding in his chest. He was desperate for answers, for reassurance that everything would be alright. "What is it, maester? Please, tell me what's going on."

"There is no need for concern my lord. The lady Tully has merely begun her labours"

A wave of relief washed over Oscar as the maester's words sank in. Labour. Their child was finally on the way. He squeezed Y/n's hand, his expression one of both concern and excitement. "Labour? The baby is coming?"

"Yes early labour for a few hours now I suspect. A few more hours to go but with any luck the lady will deliver before dinner."

Oscar nodded, a mix of excitement and worry warring inside him. A few more hours? The wait would be agonizing, but he knew they had no choice. He looked down at Y/n, his hand still holding hers. "Do you hear that love? Our child is coming. Just a few more hours and we'll get to meet him."

Y/n nodded excited but also terrified. The maester called for maids to fetch water, hot towels and help to arrange and prepare the bed for her labours.

"Now I must ask do you recall the night of conception my lord?" The maester asks,

Oscar was taken back a bit by the unexpected question, but he quickly composed himself, his mind going back to the night their child was conceived. "Yes, I recall the night well. Why do you ask, maester?"

"Well, children even this young are rather creatures of habit. They want to come out... As they went in one may say." He chuckled, "So do you happen to recall the uhh position the lady Tully was in?"

Oscar felt his face turn red at the bluntness of the question, but he understood the need for it. He remembered back to that night, his mind going over the details of their lovemaking. He looked down at Y/n, then back at the maester and responded a little sheepishly. "Yes, I do recall. She was on the edge of the bed, on her back."

the maester Nodded, "Perfect." He then ordered the maids to arrange pillows and supports to keep Y/n comfortable on her back regularly checking on her progress, "Excellent my lady. The baby is coming along smoothly”

Oscar stayed beside her, his hand still holding hers. He was feeling a mix of anticipation and anxiety as he watched the maester check on her progress. "Everything is going well, then? The baby is coming along as they should be?"

"yes almost fully dilated now. Almost time to get working my lady." The maester explained

Y/n was now weeping and choking back her pained whimpers

Oscar squeezed Y/n's hand, his heart clenching at seeing her in so much pain. He wanted so badly to take that pain away, but he knew he could do nothing but watch and support her. "You're doing so well, my love. Just a little longer, and we'll get to meet our little baby Tully."

Y/n nodded squeezing Oscar's hard tightly "...our baby tully..." She muttered as if trying to use it as a crutch for her pain before letting out a scream

Oscar winced at the sound of her scream, hating that there was nothing he could do to take away her pain. He felt his hand being crushed by hers, but he didn't dare withdraw from her grip. "That's right, our little one. Think of it, my love. Soon we'll get to hold our Baby Tully in our arms."

The maester spoke up, starting to give y/n orders. Ordering her to breathe, to push, and all manner of other things, time seemed endless and sickening the longer this all went on. "Push, my lady. The baby is almost here. Push."

Oscar's heart was racing, but he tried to remain calm for Y/n's sake. He looked down at her, encouraging her. "You can do this, my love. You're so strong. Push."

Y/n screamed and cried through every push, crushing Oscar's hand and clawing at their sheets crying and throwing back her head

With each push, Oscar's hand felt as if it was being crushed, but he held fast, not wanting to let go and give Y/n the impression that he was backing away at all. He ached to see her in so much pain, feeling helpless to do anything but offer support and words of encouragement. "That's it, my love. You're almost there, just a little more. You're doing so well."

"ah... Yes... I see..." The maester spoke up, as blood coated his hands, "My lady you must push."

"No... No... I can't do anymore." Y/n cried,

Fear and anxiety clutched at Oscar's heart as he listened to the maester's voice, his hands stained with blood. "You can do it, my love. I know you're tired, I know you're in pain, but our little one is almost here. You have to push just a little more. You must."

"I can't" Y/n cried tears flooding down her face, "it hurts ... So much" she wept, “Please… Please Oscar I can’t do any more…”

Oscar's heart broke at the sight of her tears, the sound of her pained cries. "I know it hurts, my love. But our Baby Tully is right there. You're so close. You're so close. Just a little bit more. You can do this."

“Please no more…”

The Maester met eyes with Oscar a dark look in his eyes. And Oscar knew without a single word what the maester was asking. Whether or not to force Y/n through this unwillingly, or to cut her open and take the baby which would without doubt kill her but perhaps save the baby. Fear and desperation coursed through him. For a moment, Oscar was paralyzed. He could not fathom losing his wife, and being forced to choose between the love of his life or his precious child. He looked back at Y/n, his heart breaking at the sight of her in so much pain and distress. He gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his voice soft but firm. "You have to push, my love. I know you're tired, I know you're scared, but I also know how strong you are. You have to be strong for just a little longer, for Baby Tully. Can you do that, for me? Can you push, one more time?"

Y/n wept and screamed out throwing her head back as she pushed as hard as she could, that one push enough to force her body into working on its own. Her body senses what it has to do and acts on its own to get the baby out.

Oscar watched helplessly as Y/n pushed, every muscle in her body working hard to deliver their child. Her tears streamed down her face and her screams filled the air, but she pushed even harder. He could see the pain etched on her features, but he also caught a glimpse of determination in her eyes. "That's it, my love. You're doing it. Just a little more. Our Baby Tully is almost here."

Y/n screamed out once more and suddenly the screams and sound of the storm seemed to silence as a gentle cry began,

[screamlet]

fic authors self rec

thank you for the tag @rcmclachlan!

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

i've also been writing a long fucking time, so check out that fandom spread, lol

---

what are your intentions? (9-1-1, bucktommy, 143k)

It's Tommy and Buck—the family they find and the family they make.

Tommy's too old and been in this world too long to be this nervous about a first… third… fifth? Date with this guy. He's twisting the bottle of red wine in the palm of his hand as he takes all of six steps to Evan's front door, where he'd been standing not even a week ago. He had no idea what was behind the door when he showed up that night and now that he kind of knows what to expect, it feels worse. It might feel worse. Whatever. He's a gay firefighter. He's a pilot. He flew into a hurricane once and got a medal for it. He owns a lot of cool jackets. He can handle a date.

-

the arrival of 290287 backstrom 🔒 (hockey rpf [washington capitals rpf], nicklas backstrom/alex ovechkin, 18k)

Nicky has an asteroid named after him; that's just the beginning.

He never held himself back around Nicky, but he was holding back now. “What?” Nicky asked. He could hear his own voice, choked and rasping. Every word was hard to spit out; every breath was hard to swallow. “I’m sorry,” Alex said. “This is all we get.” “What? This fucking room in this nothing city?” “This. Living. This is all we get. That’s it. No big narrative, no hundred banners hanging in the arena. This is it and it’s okay.”

-

the providence falconers are happy to select (check please!, kent parson/alexei mashkov, 5k)

In 2009, Alexei spent his first week in America with his parents.

In 2009, Alexei spent his first week in America with his parents. From Montreal and the draft, the three of them and Lisa from the Falconers flew to Providence and immediately looked at ten apartments downtown before his parents bought him the seventh one on the list. “Seven is a good number,” his father assured him. “Three bedrooms for this price? You can stay here forever,” his mother said. “We get you a new washer/dryer for Christmas. These are just okay.” She looked at Lisa from the Falconers and Nancy the broker, and made sure to raise her eyebrows at them. “Just okay for this price.”

-

Dwarf-Elf Relations at the Close of the Third Age (the hobbit movies, kíli/tauriel [background bagginshield], 7k)

Tauriel had entered his life barely a season ago. She captained the guard that imprisoned them in the last days of autumn as they raced towards Durin’s Day and the beginning of winter. Killing the dragon, readying their armies and allies, the battle itself—a lifetime of action fit into such a short time.  He woke from the longest sleep of his life to her stockinged feet resting on his bed. Her chair was pulled close to his bed, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes lightly closed. If he was dead, he reasoned, this would have been much more transcendent with much more choral singing. He remembers very little of the third or fourth time she saved his life, but he remembers her incantation, that glow, the bag of walnuts someone used to pillow his head.  This was so ordinary. He had to be alive.

-

the five year mission (star trek AOS, kirk/spock, 11k)

15% — the percentage of the original crew roster that will be reported as dead or MIA within the first three years of a deep space mission. * The crew of the Enterprise tries to survive their first five-year mission.

“Seriously,” Jim sighed. “How did we end up the most ethical people in Starfleet? Do I look like a paragon of virtue here?” “Not at the moment, no,” Spock said. “Dr. McCoy did upgrade your status to the crew from processed lunchmeat to fresh death, but even figuratively speaking, you are not the north that anyone should calibrate their moral compasses to follow.” “I thought people were supposed to be nice to you in the hospital,” Jim said.

tagging anyone and everyone!!! come play!!! i wanna see what you got!!! where have you BEEN

[visenyav]

Long Shall She Reign

A Muhtesem Yuzyil (Magnifcent Century) inspired HOTD fanfic

Warnings: This fic includes dubcon, pregnancy, childbirth, child loss, miscarriage, stillborn birth, character death, violence and inc3st(Targcest. Uncle/Niece), Underage Sex(mentioned), Brothels/Sex Workers Tags might be added as the fic goes on. Don't like, don't read.

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon Strong!Reader (Aemond x Niece OC)

Face claim: Merve Boluğur

Nurisa Sultan(AFAB OC Strong! ) Also known as Princess Visenya Velaryon, Visenya Waters, Nurisa Hatun. Eventully known as: Her Grace the King's Mother, Valide Nurisa Sultan

**Info on Character and slight, minor(but essential) spoilers ahead

Backstory:

Born as Princess Visenya Velaryon, daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon, twin to Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. Her dragon egg never hatched, nor did she ever have the opportunity to claim a dragon. As a result, she grew close to her half-uncle, Prince Aemond Targaryen, as they both shared the same predicament. Princess Visenya was a cherished part of King’s Landing during her early years, known to bring smiles to even the sternest members of the King’s Guard (except Ser Criston Cole, but his opinion was one that no one cared for, given he was a right c*nt. Despite the rumors surrounding her parentage, coupled with her lack of a dragon, she remained a carefree and intelligent child. It was said she mastered both Old Valyrian and Zarahani. That was, until the Driftmark Incident.

After leaving King’s Landing with her parents and siblings, she lived at Dragonstone until the funeral of her aunt, Lady Laena Velaryon. She attended the funeral as expected and retired that night to the chambers assigned to her. When her brothers and cousins woke her from her sleep to find her late mother’s dragon, she reluctantly joined them, slipping her dagger into her sleeve.

After the fateful encounter between her uncle, brothers, and cousins, her life was changed forever. Stripped of her title and name, she became Visenya Waters, disowned, and promptly sent to live in King’s Landing, all by Otto Hightower’s decree. But that was not the end of Visenya... not by a long shot.

At the age of eight, she was sent to a brothel. When she came of age, she entertained the advances of strangers and known men alike. Due to mysterious circumstances, she was captured, enslaved, and sold to the Sultanate of Zarahan. Entering the harem while pregnant and scarred, she was taken in by the Valide Sah Sultan. After giving birth to her son, Aethan, and later to Ayse Sultan and Şehzade Murad, while raising her stepson, Şehzade Bayezid, Nurisa climbed the ranks, eventually becoming the Haseki and Legal Wife of Sultan Ahmed. Through multiple trials and losses, the most significant being the death of her son, Aethan, and the deaths of her other children in the cradle or womb, along with the passing of the Valide and, eventually, Sultan Ahmed, Nurisa became Valide Sultan to her stepson, Bayezid, and amassed power and the love of the people. Now, with her children, Ayse and Murad, halfway across the world—in Westeros of all places—Nurisa is forced to return and confront the family who abandoned her.

She left Westeros a slave and a bastard, and returned as Valide-Kabir Naib-Sultanate Nurisa Sultan, Queen Mother and (former) Regent of Zarahan. Westeros, beware, for hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, especially not Nurisa.

For what is Nurisa to do when she discovers her son is alive? What is she to do when she finds herself in Westeros once more? What is she to do when she encounters a certain One-Eyed Prince?

What any sensible woman would do.

Revenge.

[random-fandom1984]

PREDACON! READER IN TFA (Platonic)

●You existed long before Cybertronians gained vehicle modes and organics were things to be afraid of. ●You were the heir to the throne; it was only a few Deca-Cycles until your coronation to become the new King of the Predacons was when the Quintessons attacked the planet, and you were put in a stasis pod and sent off planet. ●You woke up to find five strange looking Predacons above you, smaller than average, no features of mighty creatures, nothing that looks like, or anywhere near, a basic Predacon. ●Their medic, named Ratchet, explained everything that happened, that was called the Great Cataclysm, and you were devastated. ●You stayed with them "To show that you were grateful for them awakening you," you say. ●You proved to be useful. Hell, you might as well be second-in-command (parent-figure) because you made sure that everyone has gotten their daily three Energon Cubes, their responsibilities/chores, gotten sleep, took care of members who were sick, scold them (*Cough, cough* Bumblebee pulling pranks, Prowl doing things on his own, Optimus neglecting his own personal needs such as eating sleeping, breaks, etc *Cough, cough*). You basically, unintentionally but not refusing the fact, that you adopted them. You don't care about how old Ratchet is, you're the oldest, and what you say goes!

Ratchet: C/n! Put me down! C/n: No, you are going to take the day off. Ratchet: But I'm *Sneezes* fine! C/n: Ratchet, you are sick. You are going to take a sick day, take a break from your duties, and that's final! And you don't get to pull the age card; I'm far older than you by a millennia's worth of time, maybe more. ●When discovering the Allspark, you were guarding it like it was the only thing holding the universe together. Hell, not even Megatron could get pass you. You were just that good, even when you didn't go all out, or it was because that he didn't know that there was a goddamn ancient Predacon on board and was caught off guard by that. ●When awakening from 50 years' worth of time in stasis, you were the only one who refused to pick a vehicle mode. One of the reasons why is because you're a Predacon, not Cybertronian; the second reason was because you didn't want to physically change your linage just to blend in, especially since you're the last of your kind. ●When they returned to the ship, Prowl was severely damaged that everyone thought he wasn't going to make it. That was until everyone found out that Bumblebee brought in a little stowaway, emphasis on little; it was a tiny human girl named Sari and her keycard got shot at by the Allspark and radiated with Allspark energy. With the newly transformed key, she used it to fix Prowl, which was a huge shocker to everyone. ●Before Starscream attacked Detroit, no person knew what you transformed into, not even Sari; not even when she gave you "puppy eyes", you didn't even crack, just saying a Predacon, like she would know that. But when he did attack, everyone, minus Optimus Prime in his crew, found out what you transformed into.

C/n: STARSCREAM! Starscream: *Turns his helm* Oh? And who are you supposed to be? Surrendering to the almighty Starscream, Leader of the Decepticons? C/n: No. I am C/n, last of the Predacons of the Great Cataclysm, heir to the throne, and I am the one who will help you MEET YOUR END! *Jumps off a roof and transforms, letting out a screech as you flew towards him in rapid speed and start beating and burning the scrap out of him*

Meanwhile

Sari: A dragon?! C/n's been a transforming dragon this whole time?! When did you guys get a dragon?! Autobots: ...What's a dragon? Sari: A giant, flying, fire-breathing lizard!

●After the battle, you had to deal with Sari being angry at you for not telling her that you were a dragon, to which you were also confused about; What the frag is a dragon?

Part 2? (There can be slice of life, getting transported to another Transformers dimension, interactions with other characters, etc.)

[girlwithadragonheart]

Chapter 14 - The Butcher

This story contains major spoilers for Dragon Age the Veilguard. Read at your own discretion!!

Kalais x Lucanis

Summary: Kalais meets with the Crows' mystery contact and things get uncomfortable for her. Spite is having new feelings he doesn't understand.

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: Swearing, the butcher makes me uncomfy, protective Lucanis, protective(possessive) Spite

A/N: This is longer than I thought it would be 0_0

Chapter 13 DATV Masterlist Chapter 15(wip)

When I woke, Lucanis was sitting on the floor in front of the chaise, his head leaned back against my thigh. I smiled softly, taking a moment to simply look at him---more relaxed than ever. Since my trip through his personal Ossuary---in his mind---he had been sleeping better, and Spite had let him. The bags under his eyes weren’t quite so heavy and the tension between his brows had eased.

I smiled softly, my hand drifting to Lucanis’s hair, fingers threading through the tousled locks. He didn’t stir at first, his breathing deep and even as I worked out a stray knot with a gentle tug. His hair was surprisingly soft, and I found myself lingering, letting the quiet of the morning settle around us like a fragile peace.

A low hum escaped him, a sound of pure contentment that caught me off guard. His brows twitched, and he shifted slightly, his head leaning into my touch like a cat seeking warmth. The corners of my mouth twitched upward as I kept up the rhythm of my fingers, brushing through his hair in soft, deliberate strokes.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” I murmured, half to myself.

Lucanis stirred, his eyes fluttering open, still heavy with sleep. He blinked up at me, disoriented for only a moment before his lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice rough but warm, a tone that made my chest ache in ways I didn’t care to examine.

“You didn’t have to stay here all night, you know,” I said, brushing his hair back out of his face.

He tilted his head, brow furrowing slightly as he sat up a little. “I told you I would,” he replied simply, as if it were more natural than breath in his lungs.

I rolled my eyes, though the warmth in my chest spread a little further. “You could’ve at least rolled me over and taken the chaise for yourself,” I teased, smirking. “Sleeping on the floor can’t be good for the body of an assassin.”

I leaned over him slightly, threading my fingers once more through his hair, though more firmly this time, and gave a tug. He looked up at me with wide eyes, a light blush dancing across his cheeks. 

“Someone had to keep an eye on you.” His smile widened just enough to show the hint of dimples hidden by his beard, though he tried to keep his tone serious. “You’re trouble, Kalais.”

I hummed, pressing my lips to his gently, sighing as his lips molded to mine eagerly. I pulled back after a moment. “You’ve been saying that since we met. If I’m so much trouble, why stick around?”

He nipped my lower lip with his teeth. “Maybe I’ve found I like trouble.”

I couldn’t help my lips turning up in a sincere smile. For a moment, the air between us stilled, the teasing slipping away as the weight of his admittance settled in. I loosened my grip from his hair, fringers carding through the locks and scratching his scalp lightly with my nails. Lucanis’s eyes fluttered, and he hummed. I moved my hand to cradle his jaw, thumb stroking over his cheek.

The air was heavy with all the things I wanted to say. I could see in his eyes Lucanis was having the same battle with himself. I leaned in slowly, breathing his breath before kissing him. It was small at first, just a peck, but then his tongue traced my lips, and I was opening hungrily for him. 

He sat up on his knees, leaning over me, a hand falling to my waist, the other braced on the edge of the chaise. My stomach fluttered, hands falling over his chest. After a moment we pulled back, panting. 

“Next time, I’ll take the chaise,” he said with a wink, his tone lighter now.

I couldn’t help my startled laugh, and I swatted his chest with the back of my hand. “Next time, I’ll push you off it,” I retorted, though my grin gave me away.

His laughter echoed softly through the room as he offered me his hand. It was light and free like he had never been allowed to be. I was glad that I was allowed to see it.

-------------------------

“I can’t believe you’re defending them!” Jacobus shouted as we approached.

“I am not defending anyone, Jacobus,” Viago said calmly.

“You’re letting them be a part of this? My cousin died because the governor didn’t stop the Antaam from—”

“Jacobus—” Teia began.

“No,” he said. “I’m not going to stand around and listen to this. I’ll see you later.” 

He walked away as we came up to the group, facing Teia, Viago, and Governor Ivenci. “Well,” Ivenci said. “Now that that unpleasantness is dealt with… about your mysterious informant.”

“Whoever they are, they know the Antaam. And Treviso,” Viago said.

“Your message made it sound like this informant also knows where the gods are staging their ritual,” I said, propping a fist on my hip.

“Treviso does not need this troublemaker. This should be left to proper officials,” Ivenci spat as they faced me.

“It very much concerns Rook. We have a contact who offers access to the Butcher and ‘privileged information’ on the gods,” Viago replied.

“A chance to find your gods and to free the city. A prize for both our causes,” Teia added.

“Both are important,” I said. “Strong with the Crows, strong against the gods.”

“Someone else seems to think so,” Viago said carefully. “The contact knows the city and the Antaam.”

“How do you know it’s for real?” Ivenci asked him.

“They gave us patrol patterns. Dreadnought arrivals. Their information is real,” Viago responded, on hand on his hip.

“And you didn’t share this with me?” Ivenci questioned. I fought to not roll my eyes.

“The bookkeepers can bookkeep when the meeting is done,” Teia said.

“When and where do we meet?” I asked.

“They’ll be in the market,” Teia told me.

“And they asked for me? Not you or Viago.” I looked between them.

“You helped this city, and you’re helping all of Thedas,” Teria said simply. “You’ve earned respect.”

Oh. I hadn’t even thought about that. I was used to being turned away at the slightest interference. Namely the wardens before Weisshaupt. Most in authority didn’t want some inexperienced girl messing in their affairs. No matter how dire things were getting.

“We just… don’t know from whom,” Viago clarified.

“I’ll talk with this mystery contact,” I told them.

“And the rest of us will hope to not get caught in your crossfire. Again,” Ivenci said snidely. Yep, there it was. That was the attitude I was used to dealing with.

“We fight for everyone. And a chance to strike at the gods and the Antaam? It’s worth the risk,” Teia said to them before turning to me. “Good luck, Rook. See what this mysterious informant can give us.

I nodded to them before making my way out of the Cantori Diamond and to the zipline leading to the market square. Taash and Lucanis flanked me.

“So we’re supposed to meet this unknown contact? Feels like a trap,” Taash said.

“We’re fighting gods with the Crows. I’m curious who would try to trap us,” I said. “If our informant actually knows where Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are performing their ritual, it’s worth the risk,” I told them.

“Agreed,” Lucanis answered.

We made our way through the market to the Cafe Pietra where the meeting would happen. Fingers crossed that it wasn’t a trap and nothing bad would happen. Though at this point in time, that really felt more like wishful thinking.

When I first stepped through, I was greeted with the scent of Antivan coffee and the memory of when I first came here with Lucanis. It felt like a lifetime ago. Though as I made my way down the steps, two Antaam blocked my passage.

A deep, gravelly voice greeted me. “Rook, I presume?” I felt Lucanis and Taash shift closer to me. “I thought I specified to come alone?” The voice purred.

I caught a glimpse of him past the Antaam blocking me, and my eyes widened. “The Butcher! You can’t blame a girl for a little extra security. Half of Thedas would kill to have their hand at capturing me.”

He scoffed. “There’s no need for that. Treviso is the trap, not this meeting,” he said to me and the Antaam to signal them to stand down. I carefully stepped through, examining the man. “Please,” he said, gesturing across the table from him.

I don’t care who you are, if you were faced with a mountain of a qunari man, you would do what he asked. I carefully pulled my chair out, Lucanis and Taash remained standing behind me on either side—Lucanis closer than my Rivaini companion.

“So tense,” The Butcher crooned with a grin. “I promise, I’ll signal when it’s time to fight.”

“Strange way to ambush someone,” I said carefully, folding my hands in my lap. Even sitting he was three heads taller than me.

The Butcher breathed in slowly and chuckled low and deep. “I don’t have to ‘ambush’ anyone. You think I couldn’t just march on the Crows? Scattered Antaam flock to me. I have the soldiers to raze your casino and every inch of this city.”

Lucanis was tense beside me, and I shifted carefully, leaning slightly toward him, and I sensed him relaxing only slightly. “I’ll bet there’s no profit in actually winning,” I said.

He hummed. “There’s money being made my the occupation, but not by me,” he said. “I said Treviso was the trap, and I meant it. The jewel of Antiva… she sings even while caged. Such purity in every stone. It’s trapped my heart. I love this city.”

I fought the curl of my lip in disgust. The way he was speaking made my skin crawl. Like loving it gave him the right to own it completely. That wasn’t love. I knew that better than most. “Everyone loves Treviso. Doesn’t mean you get to conquer it,” I said carefully.

“That explains why the streets crawl with undeserving cattle,” he said disgusted. “You know there are traitors here. They ransom their own city. Literal gods stalk the land, but these filth worship their own purses! But you… you’re different,” he purred. “You and the Crows stay true to your roles. It means something when you die, and even more when you kill. You’re as much a work of art as this city,” he crooned. “And you want a secret from me,” he said.

A shiver ran down my spine. I’m sure the right person would’ve been flattered, flustered even, but I was not that person. I was not something to be owned, or someone to put on a pedestal. I was just trying to survive and help others do the same.

I took a breath before speaking. “If you really do love this city, you’ll tell me where the gods are holding their ritual,” I said.

He breathed deep, his voice rumbling in his chest as he put his fists up. “The gods!” he laughed lowly. “They give strength. But all they ask in return is everything. I can feel their corruption. I can hear their whispers,” he said through gritted teeth. “They’re calling for ritual. If I give in, I’ll know where you’ll need to go. But I will lose my jewel. My city.” He stood, slamming his hands down on the table, and I flinched, feeling like a small child holding a dead cat. “So!” He grunted, short and pained. “You live in a casino! Let us make a game of this!” He growled. “I will become what the gods want, welcome their whispers!”

His hands gripped the table’s edge, throwing it to the side, knocking me and my chair aside in the process. Lucanis ran to me and pulled me up as the Butcher started rampaging.

“Meet me, and show me if the Crows deserve my city!”

Taash pulled her axes and charged the two guard Antaam. I summoned flames beneath them as Taash melted their shields. Lucanis took them out from behind, and we ran after the Butcher.

I heard his taunting calls across the city. “Come, Rook! I wait among the Drowned!” We sprinted through the market toward the Drowned District. “The gods gnaw at my mind! I see what you need! Prove you deserve it!”

“Hear the shift in his voice? He’s changing!” I warned my companions.

“My city, my Treviso! I will not abandon you to the traitors who gave you to me!”

We sprinted to the worst part of the drowned district, getting there just in time to see the Butcher transforming. He became a reaver, and he was fighting his own Antaam. 

“That thing cannot answer questions,” Lucanis said behind me.

“We have to hope he’s still in there somewhere,” I said.

On top of having to fight the Butcher himself—now even bigger and harder to kill—there were also about twenty Antaam swarming the area who were trying to take us out also. Suffice to say there was a lot of dodging happening and only getting hits in where I could—when I was sure I wasn’t about to be cut or ripped in half. 

I couldn’t tell you how long we were in the battle, but it had to have been a long time with how my body cried for rest. If I couldn’t even take down the Butcher as a godsdamned reaver, how was I supposed to face the gods?

Doubts swarmed my mind, and I missed a blow with my dagger. The glaive the Antaam across from me wielded sliced through the gap in my armor just below my ribs, and I cried out, tears filling my eyes immediately.

“Rook!” I heard Lucanis yell. 

“I’m fine, just take the bastards down!” I yelled, holding my hand over the wound. It came away warm and wet with blood. I yelled in outrage, holding up a fist and pulling down a meteor on the Antaam in front of me. “Fucking cunt, that hurt!”

All the Antaam around us were finally dead, leaving only the Butcher. I saw Taash running and dodging as he targeted her. Good, I thought. Let me get him while his back is turned.

“I’m tired of this game, Butcher!” I yelled, a ball of fire growing between my palms as I poured my energy into it. Everything that was left in my reserves was going into this shot. If I missed, I would be left to either pass out or resort to melee range. Neither seemed like a good idea at the moment.

I sprinted, climbing atop one of the broken buildings as I chased him. “Spite!” I yelled out. A piece of brick from the Fade appeared in front of me, and I leaped, landing and running. More appeared in front of me as I went, the flaming monstrosity in my hands continuing to grow.

I was probably twenty feet above the battlefield now, and I continued to run after him, the flames in my hands flickering. 

“Taash!” I yelled, and they dodged behind cover as I loosed my magic at him.

The Butcher screamed as the flames consumed him, eating through his blight-flesh. “Tearstone Island!” He yelled. “That’s… where the gods are…” He struggled out.

The platform beneath me rumbled, Spite struggling to hold onto it. My stomach flipped as I fell, the world beneath me disappearing as I plummeted. I closed my eyes and braced for impact, though it came sooner than I expected.

I opened my eyes, and I was soaring parallel to the ground, Lucanis’s arms around me. “I’ve got you,” he said. I laughed, the motion bringing sharp pain to my midsection, and I winced. He frowned. “Tesoro…”

“I’m okay,” I reassured him. “We’ll worry about it at the Lighthouse.” I put my hand over the wound, healing it enough to keep me from bleeding out. If I expended too much magic now I wouldn’t be of any use to them for days. The price of power, I supposed. Not that I wanted it.

We landed safely on the ground, and Lucanis helped me on my feet, keeping a steadying hand on my hip.

“He’s gone,” I said as Taash came over to us. “And he named the ritual site. Tearstone Island.”

“Huh,” Taash said. “An Antaam who kept his word. Guess Treviso really rubbed off on him.”

“He got the death he wanted. Good trade, I guess.” I shrugged. “And he gave us the information we came for.”

“Yes. Truly, the Butcher was a paragon of honor and virtue, and we are all devastated to see him go.” A voice rang out over the battlefield, and I looked up, seeing a familiar pissed off face.

“Ivenci.” My lip curled in disgust. They stood with two Antaam flanking them.

“And now you have a location for your final, pointless confrontation. The gods are at Tearstone Island. Isn’t that what you wanted? A chance to die a hero’s death? So go. Leave Treviso to those who deserve it,” they spat.

Oh, fuck off. “The Butcher did warn us about a traitor. Didn’t get a chance to name them, though. Thanks for confirming that for us, Ivenci.”

“Given how much that man talked, I’m shocked he actually kept his mouth shut,” they said.

“You sold Treviso out to the Antaam,” I put my hands on my hips.

“I did what was best for Treviso,” they argued. “Who else would have done what was necessary? That troupe of fools in the casino? They would have provoked the Antaam to slaughter. The kind they carried out in every other Antivan city they crossed! I gave them the Crows, so they would not take the rest of the city. I gave them an inch, so they would not take a mile.”

“How’re the Antaam holding up their end of the bargain, Governor?” I questioned. “Not too well, from what I’ve seen. And now they’re working with the gods. You didn’t prevent slaughter. You just postponed it,” I spat back at them.

“If you hadn’t killed the Butcher—”

“Someone else would have. He decided he wasn’t their pawn anymore. The gods would have killed him. And then you would be ruled by someone much, much worse.” I put my hands on my hips.

“You should have been a politician, Rook,” they gave a disbelieving chuckle. “Instead of… well. Whatever it is you are, besides an annoyance. But this city is mine. We need a real leader. You know who else wants a leader? The Antaam. And if someone plays the role they want, they are very accepting. They also understand that bringing order to Treviso requires the purging of disruptive elements that cause nothing but chaos. So go to Tearstone Island. Have your little showdown with the gods. Fight your pointless battle. And leave this city to me.”

I flipped him the bird, shouting up to the rooftop. “For how much you despise the Butcher talking, you sure like to listen to yourself. Suck a cock, Ivenci. Though maybe that’s how the Antaam got here in the first place.”

“You little—”

“Let’s go, guys,” I said, turning away from him and walking back through Treviso to the Diamond.

Every movement pained the wound in my gut, but I ignored it. Lucanis was watching me, I could feel his gaze. We would talk later. Right now, I just needed to get to Teia and Viago so I could go home and pass out for a few days.

“Why would you— I said to make poison not this… slime,” Viago said, irritated. “Idiot, have you learned nothing?”

I saw a younger crow standing in front of Viago and Teia. “Oh hush, you’re too hard on her,” Teia said.

“She needs to learn,” Viago replied.

The girl with maroon hair and blue eyes looked between them. “I think poison might not be my strong suit,” she said.

He cut her off, clicking his tongue. “It will be. Go practice until it’s perfect. You wouldn’t be able to poison anyone with… this,” he said with disgust.

“Sorry, Viago.”

Teia put a hand on her shoulder as she spotted us. “Ah, good. You’ll get it, dear. Come see me later, I’ll give you some pointers.”

Viago scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You’re too soft.”

I smiled at the girl as I passed her, and her eyes went slightly wide. “You’re Rook, right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I didn’t know my name was so popular.”

“Of course it is, you saved the city!” She exclaimed.

I tilted my head. “What’s your name?”

“Niamh. Niamh de Riva,” she told me.

“Viago’s protegee?” Lucanis asked, running a hand over his beard. “I’d heard he took you in, I didn’t realize… So much time.” Lucanis sighed.

I frowned, putting a comforting hand on his arm. Niamh looked between us before glancing down at her failed science experiment. “You’re bleeding!” She said quickly. 

I put a hand over my wound. “Not anymore, I’m fine.” I glanced up and saw Viago scowling at Niamh, and I chuckled. “You better go before Viago has my head for keeping you.”

“Oh, right,” she rolled her eyes. “He’s more likely to have mine, don’t worry.”

“It was nice to meet you, Niamh. I look forward to seeing your perfected poison,” I winked as she scampered off, laughing a bit.

“You’re amazing,” Lucanis said quietly, squeezing my hip. I felt my cheeks warm, and I walked over to the two Talons.

“Ivenci is the traitor. He sold Treviso out to the Antaam,” I told them.

“It makes sense now. Every decision they made shows it,” Teia said.

“The other officials of course know nothing,” Viago replied.

“Of course. I’m surprised they even remember the governor’s name.”

“The Butcher’s dead,” I said.

“And in his place is the traitor we knew was lurking. And the Antaam fell in line?” Teia questioned.

“Ivenci is apparently playing the role they want,” I told her.

“The Governor has given them a clear purpose. They were more cunning than I thought,” Viago said.

“Something always bothered me about Ivenci,” I said, crossing my arms carefully over my chest.

“Many things bothered me about Ivenci. Yet I did not spot the most important one,” Teia said with hands on her hips.

“This wasn’t a failure,” Viago told me. “You gave us the name we needed.”

“The hand that leashed Treviso. The Butcher was the mouth, but the hand was Ivenci all along,” Teia said. “They think they have power in the Antaam, and a network doing their will.”

“But we have the face of our enemy.”

“Ivenci will be in hiding, so we will hound their Antaam and make them desperate.”

“When the governor shows themselves again… we end this,” Viago finished.

“We’ll stop Ivenci,” I affirmed.

“The gods. Did you learn where they will be?” He asked.

“Tearstone Island. Ivenci confirmed it before they left,” I said.

“We know the time to face Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain approaches, but it will not take us long to find Ivenci,” Teia told me.

“You have been our ally through all this. It would be an honor to have your help against the Governor again,” Viago said. It was high praise coming from him. Especially after seeing how he interacted with his protegee.

“We’ll let you know when we’ll make our move,” Teia told me. “And after that? Treviso will be free.”

—------------------

The trek back to the Lighthouse was slower than I’d have liked. My ribs throbbed with every step, a constant reminder of the glaive that had sliced through my armor. Taash had given me a once-over when I healed myself just enough to stop the bleeding, but we both knew I needed proper bandaging before the night was through.

The debrief felt like a blue. Viago and Taash went back and forth, strategizing the next steps while Teia murmured her agreement from the corner. Lucanis stayed uncharacteristically quiet, his hand brushing mine once when I swayed slightly on my feet. I glanced at him, but his face was unreadable, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the room.

By the time conversation wound down, exhaustion had sunk into my bones. I excused myself with a weak smile, heading to the room I’d claimed for myself in the Lighthouse. It wasn’t much, but it was quiet, and for the moment, that was enough.

I eased the door shut behind me and leaned heavily against it, letting out a shaky breath. My hand drifted to my side, fingers brushing against the sticky remnants of blood where the wound had reopened slightly during the walk back. I grimaced and began unbuckling my armor, wincing as each piece came free.

The soft sound of a knock startled me. I straightened as best I could, clutching my side. “Come in,” I called.

Lucanis pushed the door open, stepping inside with a healer’s kit in hand. His brow furrowed as his gaze swept over me, taking in the discarded armor and the bloodstain seeping through my undershirt. “You should’ve told me it got worse,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

“I was going to take care of it,” I said defensively, though the sting in my middle begged to differ.

He shook his head and stepped closer, setting the kit down on the small table. “Sit,” he ordered, his voice gentle but firm.

I sighed and obeyed, perching on the edge of the bed. Lucanis knelt in front of me, his hands deft as he opened the kit. 

“You’ll need to take off your shirt,” he said without looking at me.

Heat crept up my neck, but I nodded, tugging the hem of my shirt over my head as carefully as I could. The motion sent a fresh wave of pain through my ribs, and I hissed softly, biting back a curse.

Lucanis’s jaw tightened as he took in the wound. “This should’ve been wrapped hours ago,” he muttered, pulling out a roll of bandages and a small vial of salve.

“It wasn’t exactly convenient at the time,” I said dryly, though the sharp edge of sarcasm fell flat when his fingers brushed my skin. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he cleaned the wound, the cool salve soothing the sting.

The silence between us stretched. I couldn’t help but notice how close he was, the faint scent of him---leather, smoke, and coffee---filling the small space. His hands moved with practiced ease, but his eyes flicked up to meet mine, and the intensity of his gaze stole whatever words I might’ve said.

“I didn’t like the way he looked at you,” Lucanis said suddenly, his voice low.

I blinked, startled by the shift in tone. “Who? The Butcher?”

His jaw clenched, and he nodded. “The way he spoke to you. Like you were something to possess.”

I exhaled slowly, dropping my gaze. “I’ve dealt with men like him before. It’s nothing new.”

“That doesn’t make it right.” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, like the simmering heat of a forge.

I glanced back at him, my breath catching slightly as I realized how close he was. His hand rested lightly on my hip, steadying me as he secured the bandage, but the warmth of his touch sent a shiver up my spine.

“I don’t like people thinking they can claim you,” he murmured, almost too softly to hear.

Something in his tone made my pulse quicken. I searched his face for some kind of answer, but all I found was the same intensity that had always been there, now burning hotter.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Lucanis,” I said quietly. “I can handle myself.”

His lips quirked in a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know you can. Doesn’t mean I won’t worry.”

He finished wrapping the bandage, his hand lingering as he traced lines on my exposed skin below, sending shivers over me. He caught my eyes and pulled back.

“There,” he said, clearing his throat and stepping back. “That should hold for now. Just… don’t push yourself too hard.”

I nodded, reaching for my clean rest shirt. “Thanks.”

He turned toward the door, hesitating for just a moment before looking back at me. “Get some rest, Kalais. We’ve got a long road ahead.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving me alone with the lingering warmth of his touch and the steady thrum of my racing heart.

------------------

The Fade crept in softly at first, moving like the tide---shadows stretching long and thin, shapes warping and curling in ways they shouldn’t. Then came the feeling. That familiar pull, a tug in my gut like I was a puppet on a string, or a dog on a leash being led forward.

And I don’t know how, but I knew.

“Rook,” his voice purred from somewhere behind me. Low and full of that mocking purr I’d grown fond of.

I turned slowly, meeting the glowing purple form of Lucanis, a familiar form in this unfamiliar place. Though he rippled as though there was chaos beneath, claws and jagged angles that flickered out of sight. He grinned upon seeing me.

“Hello, Mischief,” I smiled, taking a few steps forward. “You dragged me here, didn’t you?”

He tilted his head, the motion almost animalistic, and began circling me in that slow, deliberate way of his that he used to study me. “Dragged?” he echoed, feigning hurt. “No, no. Called, maybe. You---” He gestured toward me, his hand flexing idly. “You bring yourself here. To me.”

“I did?”

His grin widened as he stepped closer, the Fade around him bending and twisting like it couldn’t decide how to hold him. His gaze darted over me. “You let him touch you.” His eyes narrowed and his grin faltered. Spite’s voice was clearer in the Fade. His sentences more complete.

“Who?” I asked. “Lucanis?”

Spite scoffed, shaking his head as though the name itself annoyed him. “No. Him. The Butcher.” His voice dripped with venom, and his form flickered, growing darker, his fingers twitching. “He looked at you. Spoke to you like…” He growled low, sharp and guttural, as though words weren’t enough to express his anger.

I blinked, for once unsure of what to say. “Mischief, I didn’t have a choice. I had to meet him—”

“No! You always have a choice,” he snapped, cutting me off. His voice cracked with something I couldn’t place, something raw. “You let him think… he could own you. He doesn’t get to look at you like that. You’re—”

His voice broke off, and his hands twitched again. “You’re not… his.”

I stared at him, his anger filling the space between us, oppressive and suffocating. But beneath it, I saw the confusion, the flickers of something else he didn’t understand.

“Spite,” I said softly, stepping toward him. His form shifted, pulling back slightly, but I pressed on. “Why does it bother you so much? That he looked at me. Spoke to me.”

His hands flexed, the crease between his brows deepening as his face curled in discomfort. “Don’t ask me. Don’t… do that.” His voice wavered, though he forced a growl to cover it. “I don’t know. I don’t know!”

“You don’t know what you’re feeling?” I asked gently.

He sneered, though it lacked its usual sharpness. “Feelings. Stupid things. Useless. They don’t… they don’t fit.” His voice grew quieter, almost lost. “But I—”

He stopped, turning his head sharply as if looking away might stop the words from spilling out. “I don’t like it. When you hurt. When they… when they try to hurt you.” His voice cracked again, and his hands flexed uselessly at his sides.

The ache in my ribs seemed small compared to the heaviness of the space between us now. “Mischief,” I said stepping closer still. “That’s not useless. That’s… that’s care. You’re feeling care, maybe even love. It’s complicated, but it’s not bad.”

He scoffed, his grin returning, though it was forced. “Love? Ha. No. I don’t… No.”

“It’s okay to feel new things,” I told him quietly, taking his hand. “It’s part of you now. Part of who you’ve become.”

He tilted his head again, his grin faltering. “Care,” he repeated, like he was testing the word on his tongue. His fingers twitched in my grasp. “For you?”

I nodded. “For me.”

He didn’t speak for a long moment, the smoke of the Fade drifting off of him into the darkness. “Stupid thing,” he muttered finally. “Stupid you. Always making this… mess.”

I smiled faintly. “It’s not a mess. It’s just… new for you.”

He scoffed again, his hands flexing as he looked down at where I held them. “New. Stupid. But…” His voice dropped, quieter than I’d ever heard it. “You shouldn’t hurt. Not like this. Not… ever.”

The admission landed between us like a fragile thing, and for once, I saw something softer beneath the sharp edges of him. Something even he didn’t fully understand. 

“I’ll be careful,” I said quietly. “I promise.”

His grin returned, warmer this time, and I saw a flicker of something less harsh in his eyes. “You better,” he said. “Or I’ll… drag you here again. Teach you a lesson.”

I couldn’t help the faint laugh that escaped me, though it was more tired than amused. “I’ll hold you to that, Mischief.” My lips turned up in a small smirk at the implications he probably didn’t even understand or even think about.

He said nothing, but I planted a kiss on his cheek as the Fade began to shift and pull away. As I drifted into the darkness, I saw fondness in my Mischief’s grin.

A/N: Ft. @fshenkoescape 's Crow, Niamh De Riva!

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The White-Scaled Dragon Princess Part 2

Part 1

You have found yourself a home in the new land, far away from Westeros and those who would wish harm upon you and your dragon. But then you face new types of challenges when you befriend a Noldor prince. Can you trust him and find a long-lasting friend in him? Will you ever overcome your fear of the world around you? Will you ever share your painful past with him? And could you possibly even find yourself in love with the said prince?

Warnings: mentions of injuries, passing out, Meraxes frightening people, reader being socially awkward, fear of people, Fingon being a tease and charming, Meraxes trying to kill Fingon a couple of times, heavy angst, anxiety, self-hatred, self-harm, reader needs serious therapy, reader trying to overcome her fears, adventuring, comfort, Fingon being caring, mentions of depression, and a happy ending.

(Note: I tagged those, who wanted to be tagged in the previous part)

------------------------------------

- Three years had passed since you arrived in Middle Earth. 

- You had found a new home with an elderly woman named Ioreth, who had saved your life when your injuries from your fall became too much for you, and you lost consciousness. 

- Meraxes was the one to find her after you fell unconscious and possibly scared her into helping you. Luckily, Ioreth did not seem to mind treating you even though the dragon kept a careful guard and growled if she made sudden movements.  

- You were first scared of her when you woke up, thinking she saw you as a monster and prepared to leave as soon as possible, but Ioreth then fed you and asked for your story, showing no sign of hatred or fear toward you. 

- Feeling somewhat hopeful and trusting, you told her your story and how you got injured during a fall. To your surprise, she showed sympathy, and despite having been threatened to help you by your mountain-sized dragon, she offered a place in her home for you. 

- She had seen stranger creatures, so she was not much phased by your scales. And you were nearly the same age as her granddaughter, so she would only feel awful if she sent you away. 

- You nearly wanted to cry for her kindness. For your whole life, you believed no one would think twice before chasing you away and calling you a monster. And here was this elderly woman, who offered you a place in her home despite having been threatened by your dragon and knowing you only for a day. 

- And thus, you began to help her with the everyday chores, wanting to make yourself use for her. You would help her with the cleaning and the gathering of herbs as she was an experienced healer. 

- You might have shown over-eagerness to help her with everything as she snapped at you that she was not so old that she needed someone to gather her every need. 

- You felt ashamed, thinking you had overstepped and annoyed her, but then she comforted you and calmly explained that you could leave the house chores to her while you could deal with things that needed walking and traveling. You agreed to the arrangement, and you began to get comfortable with your new life. 

- You did find her home interesting since her house was built in the mountains, away from the nearby town. Ioreth explained she was not very fond of people and liked the peace of the mountains, which you partially understood, and it also worked for you since it meant you could stay near Meraxes. 

- When you recovered and decided to live with Ioreth, Meraxes found herself a cave in another part of the mountains, away from the town, but not too far that you wouldn’t be able to come visit her. 

- You incidentally made friends with Ioreth’s grandaughter, Freda, who was one of the only ones in their family eager to visit Ioreth whenever she liked. 

- You first tried to avoid her when she came to visit Ioreth. You did not want to cause Ioreth trouble by frightening her grandaughter and making the townspeople think she lived with a monster. But then you accidentally dumped on Freda without your cloak, and her reaction was not what you expected. 

- She reacted to you surprisingly well. She marveled the white scales that adorned your scales, touching them and tracing each line with her fingers. It was slightly overwhelming as you are not used to someone touching your scales like that. She stopped when Ioreth smacked her in the head and called her out for touching you without your permission. 

- She apologized and then started asking questions. You couldn't quite keep up with her questions but tried your best to answer all of them. 

- She then declared herself as your friend when you told her you did not have any friends in the mountain besides Ioreth. You were baffled by her because you had never met someone who just decided to be your friend after knowing you only for a day, but soon you became happy about it as she became one of your best friends. 

- You adored her eccentrics and how many things she had to say. She was so full of life, and you do not think you ever had a friend that was someone of your age. Even the new maids you were given did not talk so much to you. On the contrary, they never spoke more than three words whenever you tried to converse with them. 

- But despite your newfound friendship with Freda, you decided not to introduce her to Meraxes. She might have accepted you, but you did not want to risk her getting scared by your beloved dragon and have the whole town chase you away. Ioreth promised to keep it a secret, understanding your fear. 

- But you did agree to visit the town with Freda’s encouragement. 

- She wanted you to meet the rest of the family. You felt fearful of the idea of being seen by the townspeople, but you agreed as long as you got to keep your scales hidden by your cloak and the gloves she had gifted you. 

- It was unnerving to have so many eyes on you when you walked through the town with Freda. You followed her like a lost child, but you tried to push yourself and see things you never allowed yourself to see outside the walls of your home. 

- Freda’s family was kind to you and showed gratitude when they heard you decided to keep company to Ioreth, the stubborn woman refusing to live in the town with them after her husband's death. 

- Their welcoming presence felt comforting, and to your surprise, they did not get upset or pressure you to uncover yourself when you told them you felt more comfortable being covered by your cloak. They were respectful and assured you they would patiently wait until you felt comfortable showing yourself to them.

- You honestly did not know what to make of it, but their assurance made you eager to visit them more often. 

- After two years of getting to know Freda’s family, you decided to take the next step and show yourself to them. With your permission, Freda told them of your unique condition, and with enough prepping, you finally revealed your scales to them. 

- They were surprised when you showed them your white scales, and for a moment, you prepared to face rejection and run out of the house, but then you were surprised by their acceptance. They welcomed you wholeheartedly and praised the beauty they did not expect you to have. 

- Their constant praising left you flustered as you had never heard anyone call you beautiful— you were used to people staring at you and calling you unnatural. But, you rejoiced in their acceptance and now felt like you were part of the family. 

- They even offered you to stay with them. You felt touched by the offer but expressed your desire to remain with Ioreth, and they respected your decision. But you became comfortable showing yourself inside their home. 

- After three years had passed, you found yourself happy and having learned much about the world around you. 

- It was shocking to realize that no one knew about Westeros and that creatures such as orcs and gods called the Valar existed. The three imposing mountains you saw in the distance were called Thangorodrim, and the graceful beings you encountered were called the Elves. It was a lot to take in, but the only reasonable explanation you could muster was that you had somehow traveled to another world.

- You would have deemed yourself mad if you hadn't experienced your new life. Feeling a kind of happiness knowing it meant safety from Jaeherys and those who sought your demise, yet also a tinge of sadness, realizing you would never know the fate of your father. 

- You could only guess he had either been killed or executed.

- After three months into the new year, Meraxes suddenly fell ill. She exhibited reduced energy, ate less, and appeared noticeably grumpier than usual. Perplexed by the sudden change in behavior, you sought advice from Ioreth, who suggested that she might have ingested something that caused her illness, having seen similar symptoms in animals like pigs and cows.

- Ioreth had a medicine, but since Meraxes was bigger than any pig or cow, she would need to take a larger amount. 

- You were worried for Meraxes, and around the corner was a celebration held by the town.

-  Freda had urged you to join in. Despite your hesitation, you didn’t have the heart to deny her invitation, especially when Ioreth was joining the party too. It was somewhat exciting as you had never attended a party that wasn’t held in your home or by your father. 

- It was a type of celebration where the people would dress up and put paint on their faces to pay tribute to the Valars, so Freda suggested you would come to the party with your scales and additional paint. 

- You didn’t feel comfortable with the idea, but when her younger siblings asked if they could do your hair and put the pain on you, you couldn’t bring yourself to refuse them. 

- Freda and her mother seized the opportunity to pick out a dress for you, leaving you with no room to refuse as they were eager to dress you up for the occasion. It was a lovely dress that complemented well with your red cloak, which Freda insisted you wear instead of your usual green one. The combination popped out your scales, and Freda’s siblings did a wonderful job on your hair. 

- They had also painted your face with beautiful white lines and designs that perfectly complemented the scales on your skin.

- You nearly mistook yourself for a mystical being and even found yourself beautiful. Freda and her family did not waste the opportunity to dress you for the celebration. 

- You were still nervous when the night of the party arrived, but as Freda said, most of the town people had dressed up and painted their faces with colors. No one seemed to have suspected a thing when you walked outside with Freda, your scales showing and everything. On the contrary, you received many compliments and admiring looks when people realized you were Freda’s strange hooded friend. 

- For the time in your life, you had fun at a party, watching people dance, playing songs, and eating a large variety of foods. 

- You mostly stuck with Freda or any of her family members during the celebration as you didn’t possess strong social skills to talk with people. 

- You then noticed there were also elves in the party. It was a rare sight since elves did not often visit human towns. 

- Freda explained they were part of the Noldor. The age of peace had flourished since Morgoth had hidden himself away in his northern fortress, so the elves would always join a party whenever a chance occurred. 

- You curiously observed the partying elves. It was curious to see them, and for a moment, your attention was taken by an elf who had braids and what seemed to be golden ribbons in his hair. He was quite handsome. His raven locks were nearly as dark as the night sky above you, and it seemed he enjoyed the party the most out of his kin. 

- When it was time for a dance, you stood on the sidelines and watched. You liked it that way since you had never been lucky to be asked to dance before, so you never truly learned how to dance. Unknowns to you, you had caught the attention of the elf with the golden ribbons. 

- Fingon, the energetic Noldor prince, had joined the party upon change, wanting to escape the court and his duties for one night. He enjoyed parties, and the Edain always knew how to throw an interesting one. He felt pity he couldn’t celebrate it like he used to with his siblings and cousins, but as long as it took his mind away from the darker things of the world— it was enough. 

- He was in the midst of conversation and drinks with some friends till his gaze landed upon you. He nearly didn't believe his eyes. To him, you were drop-dead gorgeous. The red cloak made you stand out, but the white paint and the scale resembling stones that adorned your skin sparkled like diamonds. It was like Aule himself had dressed you in the earth’s finest jewels, and if it weren't for your rounded ears and your somewhat ordinary demeanor, Fingon might have mistaken you for a beautiful princess or even a Maia.

- Fingon was teased when his friends caught him staring at you and told him to go talk to you since he was clearly captivated by you. 

- He only laughed them off but decided to follow their advice and approach you. 

- You were startled when he suddenly came to you, and with his gentle yet teasing voice, he started talking. 

- “Now, what would a lovely maiden like yourself be doing here all alone while others have fun dancing? Is the party not to your liking?” Fingon questioned teasingly. 

“No… it's just,” you hesitated to answer. Fingon was captivated by your quiet yet soft voice and even more when he saw your violet eyes. 

“I’ve never been much of a dancer, and I enjoy watching others having fun,” you finally answered. 

- Enamored, Fingon continued conversing with you, complimenting your appearance. While you were somewhat charmed by his praise, you couldn't help but tease him. He was one head shorter than you, something you didn't expect when he approached you. He seemed a lot taller in the distance. 

- Fingon found your shyness and wit endearing, and he continued to keep you company. He introduced himself, mentioning that he was the first prince of the High King Fingolfin.

- “I’m (Name), the daughter of the ki—” you quickly stopped, realizing what you were about to say. Fingon introduced himself in a manner familiar to those in the court that the etiquette came back naturally to you.

Fingon looked at you curiously. 

“Just (Name), daughter of a simple man,” you fixed yourself with a fake smile. 

- Luckily, Fingon seemed to have bought it, and you two then spent a fun night together, talking and joining some games. It was perhaps one of the only times you did not wish for a party to end. 

- When the night came to an end, you two bid farewell to each other. Fingon felt shame that he had to leave so soon after meeting you. He would have enjoyed getting to know you more and then placed a kiss on the back of your hand as a goodnight. Your poor heart nearly exploded out of your chest by the act. You had never received such courtesy before, and you felt slightly ashamed that he was not kissing mere decorations on your hand but your actual scales. 

- Freda teased you endlessly when you told her what had happened and how much fun you had talking with Fingon. You tolerated her jests through the night until the morning arrived. 

- You considered going to the place where you had heard the elves spend the night in hopes of seeing Fingon again but decided to go to the mountains when Ioreth told you that she had prepared the medicine for Meraxes. 

- You took your red cloak as your green cloak was at Ioreth’s house, then made your way to the mountain with Meraxes’s medicine. You two decided you would try to give Meraxes her medicine through a piece of meat since food was one of the only ways to convince someone to take their medicine.  

- When you reached Meraxes’s cave, she was already waiting for you there. You greeted her, then handed her the meat you carried in your basket, letting her eat it from your hand and watching as the medicine seemed to have taken effect. She looked more lively and even asked for more.  

- Relief washed over you as you gave her pets, but unknown to you, someone had followed you to her den. 

- Fingon, who was preparing to leave with his kin, wanted to try to see you one last time before he had to return home. However, when he saw you leave your friend's home and make your way toward the mountains, he became worried since orcs and other creatures alike could be found hiding there. So, he followed you, only to be startled when he found you standing in front of a giant silver-scaled dragon. 

- It had been ages when he last saw the ferocious golden dragon, Glaurung, and the fact that this dragon was bigger and had wings was enough to make him call out to you and draw out his bow. 

- Meraxes was quick to go defensive and roar at the intruder. 

- You were momentarily stunned as you had no idea someone had followed you to the mountain. 

- Meraxes lunged at Fingon with her jaws open, but Fingon was quick to roll to the side, narrowly avoiding being bitten whole. Recovering swiftly, he drew his bow again, ready to aim for her one remaining eye.

- “No!” You yelled, pushing his bow away so that his arrow only struck Meraxes in the snout, aggravating her even further. 

- You then saw how Meraxes’s jaws began to glow with the familiar fiery glow. She was intending to burn Fingon alive. 

- Meraxes was protective and stubborn enough to ignore your orders, so the only thing you could come up with to save the elf was to grab him and run to the edge of the cliff. Meraxes released her flames, but luckily, you were quick enough to jump over the edge and slide down the hill before her flames could touch you. However, now you were sliding hard against the cliff wall with a far drop beneath you. 

- Your claws helped you keep a tight grip on Fingon and slow down your fall, but then you lost your hold, and you both rolled down the hill before you finally reached the bottom, surrounded by forest. 

- You both groaned in pain as you both suffered some cuts and bruises, but then you recovered when Fingon picked himself up and urged you to come with him before your dragon could find you again. 

- You were quick to explain that she was your friend and she only attacked because he was an intruder to her territory. Fingon was confused, and you had to go into details about how she was your steed and that you had her since childhood. 

- He only seemed more confused, questioning why you would want to harbor a creature of Morgoth. 

- You then explained that she was not one of Morgoth’s creatures and that you both were from somewhere where dragons were common and could be received as steeds. You then revealed that the scales on your skin were no decor but actual scales, things you had been born with. 

- Fingon seemed to believe you since he did saw how you used your claws to slow down the fall. 

- To your frustration, you found yourselves on the other side of the mountains, far from the town and other people. Fortunately, you were gifted with a keen sense of smell, so you began leading Fingon back to the other side by following the scent of people. Despite the long walk and climbing, you didn't deem it safe to summon Meraxes. She would most likely try to kill the elf again if you did. 

- Fingon started questioning about your origins and everything related to Meraxes and your scales.

- You tried to answer all his questions and assure him that you were not in league with Morgoth and that you came from a different place, a place he would most likely not find on maps.  

- It took you half a day to finally find your way back to the other side, but before Fingon could leave to join his kin, you stopped him and pleaded with him to remain quiet about you and Meraxes. 

- Fingon felt conflicted as it was one of his duties to tell what was happening on his father’s lands, but then you told him how you and your dragon had already lived three years without an incident and that you had nowhere else to go if you and Meraxes got chased away. 

- You begged and even told him you would do anything as long as you could stay in your new home. 

- Fingon felt a tug in his heart as you were sincere and looked like you were on the brink of tears. You saved him from the dragon but also loved the said dragon enough that you would choose to leave with it rather than abandon it. 

- It was a complicated situation, and all he could tell you was he would let you know what he would decide to do with the knowledge and then left. 

- Anxiety and troubled thoughts had haunted you ever since that day. 

- It had only been three days since the incident, and you were already considering packing your things and leaving with Meraxes while you still had the chance. Ioreth tried to comfort you after hearing about the incident, but nothing seemed to work to calm down the paranoia that cribbled you from within. 

- The thoughts became more terrible, and you started beating yourself for allowing such a mistake to happen. 

- It even got to the point where you ended up with a manic panic attack and started scratching the scales off your arm, trying to trim them away. 

- The lingering hatred you felt towards the scales resurfaced, driving you to scratch at them until the ground was covered in white, bloodied scales, and your arms were left bleeding from the numerous cuts and spots where the scales had once been.

- You would then silently cry and then clean up the mess before Ioreth could notice and get worried for you. 

- With Fingon, he struggled to decide what to do. On one hand, he knew he shouldn't keep something like this hidden from his father and people. However, upon further reflection, he realized he didn't want anything bad to happen to you. Dragons were primarily associated with Morgoth, and given your half-dragon nature, it was likely that you would be ostracized or even chased away if the people learned about you.

- Fingon could tell that you were not lying about the things you said, and he felt a little awful when he remembered the desperate look on your face. Would he only be damning your life if he told your secret? You had not done anything suspicious yet, so maybe…

- Shaking his head, he then came to a difficult decision.

- After the fourth day, as you were helping Ioreth do some stitching, Fingon came to visit you. You were surprised as he had come alone and not with a mob of people like you had first expected. 

- Fingon suggested a deal since you did save him from your dragon’s flames and helped him return to his kin. He would keep silent about you and your dragon, but to ensure nothing unexpected would happen, he would come to visit and monitor you. 

- You accepted the deal without a second thought. It felt reasonable to you and it meant you got to stay with Ioreth. 

- Fingon then began asking questions. He inquired about your homeland, your parents, and the reason for your stay in Hithlum. You answered honestly, sharing details about your background but omitting the parts about Westeros being in another world, your royal status as a former princess, as well as the circumstances involving your cousin and your need to escape.

- He also had strange questions, like if you could breathe fire and fly. They were the only questions that baffled you, but since Freda had asked similar questions on your first meeting— you were not bothered by them. 

- You could not breathe fire to your knowledge, neither were you born with wings. The only special features you had were that you could see very well in the dark, had a keen sense of smell, and were physically stronger than an average man. 

- The day went by quickly, with you answering his questions about you and Meraxes until it was time for him to depart. You thanked him continuously, trying to show gratefulness for his decision to keep your secret. 

- He seemed sincere and told you to expect him to come for another visit soon enough before sending him off. 

- The heavyweight from your mind was momentarily lifted. You were good at telling when people were lying, and Fingon was sincere through and through, so you did not have to worry if you could trust him. 

- He visited once a week. Fingon questioned a lot about Meraxes and then about you. It seemed like he was trying to monitor your every move, but he quickly softened up, and you two started talking about yourselves. Well, you mostly listened to him talk about his life and what his family was like. You had very few good things you wanted to share with him, and you did not want to ruin the good mood he often brought with your sad life. 

- You did fill out his curiosity when he asked about Meraxes and why she was so protective of you, and he seemed to have possessed some pity for the dragon when you told him how her previous rider died on her back. 

- However, you decided letting the two meet each other again wasn’t a good idea, especially after what happened last time. You did suggest that Fingon would leave you a glove or something with his scent on it so you could try to get Meraxes used to it and avoid further incidents. Reluctantly, he agreed to the plan for the greater good. Unfortunately, Meraxes proved to be difficult, only growling at the scent and huffing away when you tried to tell her not to harm the elf next time.

- An unusual friendship was born between you and Fingon. His warm and forward nature made you eager for his visits, and you started asking more about Middle Earth and news around the world. 

- One day, you dared to ask him if he could bring books and teach you his language. You held love toward languages and thought his people’s language sounded beautiful. 

- When he agreed, you were gleaming with joy. It was perhaps the first time Fingon saw you smile openly, and he thought your excitement was adorable. 

- You immediately started reading and learning when he brought you the books and took it as a little personal challenge to surprise him with your linguistic skills. You have always been a quick learner when it came to languages. 

- Then Freda suddenly came to visit when Fingon was there. She was quick to take a protective stance when she saw him and realized he knew about your scales and even threatened to beat him up if he dared to do anything foul to you. 

- You had to calm her down, though you felt touched that she came to your defense. She then gushed and teased you about your new friendship with the elf. She even teased if you had a growing crush on the elf. 

- You profoundly apologized to Fingon for the encounter, but he only smiled. He found it admirable and complimented you having a good friend. It made you somewhat happy because it proved Freda was one of the first true friends you ever had. 

- When you told him you had never seen much of the world around you except on Meraxes’s back, he suggested you two would go on an adventure together. 

- The idea made you fearful as you had never dared to venture the lands on foot. You also felt a bit embarrassed since you had flown for most of your life and didn't know how to ride a horse.

- Fingon did not tease you when you told him. He encouraged you and assured you that you would be fine with him around. No one will dare to harm you in his presence. 

- The voices in your head said no to the offer, but wanting to see the world at least once, you agreed. 

- Your body was shaking and nearly refusing to leave the house when the day arrived. Ioreth helped you pack necessities, but it was like your conscious and body wanted to stay in the safety zone, pushing all kinds of thoughts into your head. You nearly changed your mind until Fingon arrived on his horse, and you managed to compose yourself somehow.

- You felt excited when you climbed behind him on his horse, and he took you farther from the town. It became easy letting him ride you around, and you finally saw things beyond the borders of the town. 

- Fingon showed you all the beautiful sights of Hithlum. The fear and the blood rush calmed down as you were awed by the sights and things you never saw in the sky. 

- However, you would start shaking when Fingon would pass some other towns, and people would look at you. You were covered in your cloak, so they most likely looked at you because of the height difference between you and Fingon. You were one head taller than him. You might have also held a bit too hard on him during your shaking episode and felt embarrassed when he gently asked you to ease your grip around his waist. 

- You two then arrived at a good picnic spot and challenged each other in fishing. Fingon dared if you could catch a fish with your bare hands, and you accepted since you did have a quick reaction and keen senses. 

- However, when you pulled up your sleeve and focused on the small shadows in the water, Fingon noticed the state of your arm. He saw how it was covered in small cuts and appeared to have missing scales. The redness of your skin concerned him, as your arm looked like something had scratched it hatefully.

- You then tried to snatch the fish from the water. You got a hold of the fish and pulled it out, but it then slipped out of your hands and fell into the water. 

- You two laughed about it, and then Fingon tried to inquire about your arm. Your behavior changed as you explained you had a little incident and covered your arm. Nothing he needed to worry about. 

- Fingon felt suspicious of your words but pushed it back as you two then had a picnic and watched the stars when the night arrived, having planned to stay the night outside. 

- Fingon introduced you to most of the constellations and explained how Varda was the goddess who created the stars. You listened attentively, enjoying the stories and the sound of his voice. 

- When Fingon mentioned the life he still had with his family in Valinor, you felt a small rush of courage and decided to share more details about your past life. 

- You shared what kind of person your father was and how you were abandoned at birth by both your father and birth mother, and the only person who took you in and raised you was your father’s first wife. How most people treated you and how you were always known as your father’s half-monster daughter and the only surviving child out of all his other dead half-monster children. 

- Fingon was first surprised to learn you used to be a noble lady, but then he threw a few jokes and called you ‘my lady’ 

- You did not correct that you were actually a princess and found humor in his jokes. 

- You then revealed the true reason why you left your home, and Fingon felt sympathy for you, sorrowed how much hardship you had faced even though you were one of the most gentle-hearted people in his eyes. 

- He comforted you, and you found yourself surprisingly relieved for sharing. You two then spent the night sleeping against the tree till morning finally arrived. Unfortunately, trouble arrived right at the crack of dawn. 

- Fingon was still soundly sleeping till his ears picked up growling above him. He opened his eyes and looked up, seeing Meraxes snarling and glaring down at him with fury in her golden eye. 

- “Well, I hope you are here to apologize for the last time,” Fingon said before closing his eyes again. 

- You woke up to Fingon’s screams as your dragon dragged him by his foot. 

- You quickly acted, running up to him and grabbing his hands before Meraxes could pick him up and swallow him whole. 

- “Meraxes! Let go!” You yelled as you ended up playing tug war with your dragon, your elf friend being the rope. 

- Meraxes ignored your orders, even when you tried to yell in high valyrian, so you then took out your claws and smacked her hard enough in the snout that she finally let go of Fingon’s foot. 

- You both fell to the ground, but you quickly stood protectively in front of Fingon when your dragon tried to attack him again. You prevented her from getting past you and tried to tell her off. 

- She growled at you. You finally had enough and snarled back at her, revealing your teeth and warning her off. Meraxes finally took you seriously and backed away, releasing crumbles and glaring at Fingon. 

- You sighed in relief and started apologizing to Fingon for the mess. You were so eager to go on a trip with him that you had completely forgotten to tell Meraxes. She most likely thought he was trying to kidnap you or something. 

- Fingon tried to calm you down and assure you he was not angry, but you dismissed it, having been unable to keep Meraxes out of trouble and nearly getting him killed for the second time. 

- You then decided it was for the best that you two went home and flew back on Meraxes, feeling upset about the whole ordeal. 

- The next week felt excruciating, and you started dreading the next day when Fingon was supposed to visit. What if he hated you now? What if he deemed you were unsafe to keep around, and now he would bring people to chase you out? Why can’t you do anything right? 

- Those questions kept haunting you and nearly drove you mad. You did not dare to face Fingon again, but you also wanted to have some kind of answer to what he thought of you now. You did not want to lose the friendship you had with him. You liked being with him, and the thought of him hating you made the feeling worse. 

- You looked at your scales, and the looming sense of self-hatred returned. If only you had been born without them, perhaps you could have lived a normal life.

- Your heart began to pound painfully against your chest, and your breathing became frantic as you started scratching the scales again, desperate to remove them from your skin.  

- The scales dropped to the ground, and your arm began to bleed from the cuts you gave yourself from your claws. Your arm was burning with pain, but you ignored it and even started scratching your other arm out of its scales. You were too deep in your panic to notice someone approaching you. 

- Fingon tried to call out to you, but when you ignored him, he then grabbed both of your hands, forcing you to stop and look at him. 

- He gently calmed you down from the panic attack, but you looked away, pleading him not to look at you. 

- He comforted you and then begged you to tell him what drove you to hurt yourself. He continuously assured you he was there to help, but he wouldn’t be able to if you didn’t tell him. You couldn’t take it anymore and started sobbing, confessing to everything.

- You told him what kind of life you lived as the half-monster princess, how you lost your beloved mother when you were sixteen, how you killed the knight who killed her, how uncaring your father was of her, and how you were punished living in isolation, how your birth mother isolated you from your only friends, how your father committed more atrocities and how he was the reason you were born like this. And the last thing he did was to tell you to run away before your cousin could find you and kill you for being a monster. 

- You had no one else to turn to, and your half-monster side still prevents you from finding happiness. 

- Fingon listened to you while caring for your arms, cleaning them, and adding healing ointment given by Ioreth after telling her what had happened. He gently bandaged your arms. 

- He was nearly driven into tears by your story and how you possessed such self-hatred that you would even harm yourself. 

- He now understood why you were so scared of the world around you and why you always wanted to keep yourself hidden. 

- You then asked him not to hate you, as you genuinely liked him and wanted to keep him as a friend. He was one of your only friends besides Freda. 

- He comforted you that he never hated you in the first place and that what happened with Meraxes was an accident. Maybe the two were never fated to get along in the first place. 

- He then did something surprising and embraced you. He comforted you and assured you that he would never hate you just because your dragon doesn’t like him. He then kept telling you that being born unique did not make you a monster and that you were deserving of love and friends. 

- He also told you he knew people who looked normal yet were just as terrible as monsters. Compared to them, you were innocent as a dove. 

- You nearly couldn't understand his words, but the feeling of comfort in his arms was enough to make you hold on to him and cry. 

- Fingon then held you and did not allow you to leave till you had shed all the pain and tears you needed. 

- Fingon shared what happened with Freda, and the latter then forced you to live in the town with her family for the time being. The two believed you needed company and care so that you would not try to hurt yourself again. 

- It helped a little to improve your state of mind, and Freda’s family refused to let you go out, insisting you stayed inside until your arms were healed. 

- Fingon started visiting you more often, bringing elven remedies and helping you care for your arms. Even though you had the qualities of a dragon, you were still very human and thus vulnerable to infections. Fingon wanted to make sure you recovered without falling sick. 

- But since you opened up about your past and cried all the bottled emotions you had held back over the years, you became lethargic, thus making you smile became more challenging. 

- Fingon asked Ioreth and other healers what he could do to help you recover in mind and spirit, and one thing he learned was that music was a good remedy to heal someone from a depressive state of mind, so he decided to sing to you. 

- You became captivated by his singing voice and music, and it did help you become more lively. 

- Under his care, you started to look after yourself more, and to ensure you would not scratch yourself again, you trimmed your nails and claws. They would grow back, and that way, you assured Fingon you would not try hurting yourself again. 

- Although you still had the habit of picking scales off your skin, but not bad enough to cause injuries. 

- You even started going out again, mostly to visit Ioreth and Meraxes, though you were still upset with her for the incident. 

- You even started ignoring your beloved dragon, confusing her. She once came near the town to see you and was startled when you angrily told her to return to her cave. However, you soon felt awful for snapping at her and apologized to her. 

- You felt a little ashamed from the constant care by Freda and Fingon. In your home, such attention might have labeled you as short-tempered and overly emotional. Those were the traits you did not like sharing with your father. 

- But then you began to notice something within yourself when you continued listening to Fingon’s music or looked forward to his visits. 

- Your arms had gotten better thanks to him. The cuts had healed, and by the next month, your arms began to grow new scales. 

- Fingon was gentle with you and was always happy to play you a new song. His care and willingness to still come visit sparked something within your heart. 

- You two even got more things to talk about when you had told him your past, and the elven prince seemed not to have changed much, even throwing jokes and treating you like royalty. 

- It felt too weird to be regarded as a princess again, so you asked him to treat you normally, and he respected your wish. Although he did boast how he was right since you being a princess was his first impression of you. 

- Fingon somehow managed to keep you flustered, and it soon became obvious enough that you were falling for him. 

- You denied it at first. You did adore him as a friend, but falling in love with him was too far of a stretch. You were blessed enough not to have him hate you for his two near-death experiences, but having him fall for someone like you was simply an impossible fever dream. 

- Freda became excited when you shared with her about your feelings for Fingon and regretted it because now she was pestering you to go forward with them.

- You refused, and she said you were taking things too pessimistically. You should at least try to see if he had an ounce of interest in you. 

- Freda had a good way with words, so you became haunted by the thought and started observing Fingon when he visited you. 

- He seemed like always, and when you started taking walks outside the town, he was gentle with you and tried to keep up a good mood. You always listened because you enjoyed hearing him talk about random and mundane things, and he also started saying positive things about you. 

- He continued how you had many useful perks, such as a keen sense of smell, so you could always find misplaced things, could see in the dark so light was a never problem for you, and the scales being a natural armor for you, protecting you from small things like flies and mosquitoes who loved to bother everyone. That part made you laugh because you never really had a problem with mosquitoes. 

- His positive talking helped you to see yourself in a better light, though not fully removing the years of hatred you accumulated. 

- And to your startle, you noticed signs that he might be interested in you romantically. 

- You didn’t know how to handle that information. In a small part of your mind, it made you feel happy, but in others, it gave you new fears. 

- After being constantly pestered and advised by Ioreth that you should grasp happiness when it's offered to you, you decided to make a bold move and ask Fingon if he could take you on another adventure.

- You reasoned that revealing your past to him helped relieve the heavy weight from your chest, and you were also tired of living in fear all the time. You wanted to experience all that life had to offer before the end of your time.

- Fingon excitedly agreed, but he questioned if you were comfortable with the idea as he wanted to avoid pushing your limits. 

- You assured him that you wanted it. You did not want to keep hiding all the time. You just needed to assure Meraxes this time and ensure she would not jump to conclusions. 

- Fingon then insisted he would come with you to see her, to show her he was not a threat to you. You felt hesitant, but to your surprise, your dragon did not try to kill him in sight when you two came to visit her. 

- She did glare at him and crumbled while you told her of your plans, but she didn’t try anything and allowed you to leave without an issue. 

- It was a surprising change, but then you figured she must have changed her attitude so you wouldn’t get upset with her and ignore her like last time. 

- She was a stubborn old lady, but she always cared deeply for you. She was perhaps that overprotective, stubborn mother figure in your life– wanting to keep you safe from everything and making it hard for you to try new things. 

- You and Fingon then went on another adventure. You still became nervous at the sight of people, but now you felt less afraid at the thought of traveling. 

- Fingon showed you new places and even took you to see his home, which you thought was beautiful. 

- At the end of the day, when Fingon escorted you back home. You had contemplated about your feelings for him and finally decided to confess. You believed it was best to let him know than to hide them since you had done it for most of your life. 

- You stopped Fingon beneath a tree and told him of your feelings. How you had grown to adore his free yet gentle nature, how he had helped you see good in yourself, and how you had become less afraid of the world thanks to him. 

- You loved the sound of his voice, and his presence was like that of a warm sun. The world had become less dark to you when he arrived in your life. 

- You understood if he only saw you as a friend and then prepared to face rejection. 

- But instead of rejection, Fingon smiled and told you he accepted your feelings. He confessed that he had loved you since day one. 

- He then went far as to kiss the back of your hand like he did when you first met, making your poor heart pound with fluster before telling you he would be honored to court someone like you, a maiden with diamonds embedded on her skin. 

- You began crying, not out of sorrow or anger, but for the first time, in joy. You had found someone who loved you in return. 

- That night went like a breeze, but it was one of the happiest nights of your life.

Taglist: @foggyturtleknightangel @carlgrimessimp

[kivino]

FANTASY AU WITH VALERIA!

Word Counter - ~900 words.

Summary – self-indulgent thoughts with Rogue!Valeria in a fantasy setting!

Tags/Warnings – very much Dragon Age coded, reader is a mage/healer, mentions of blood and injury, this is very corny™, gn!reader.

A/n – wrote it almost in one go, very sorry if someone already did something like this! I originally planned for my first writing post to be Graves fanfiction that I’m working on right now, but I just couldn’t contain myself, lololol

Rogue!Valeria who stumbles into your clinic one moonlit night while running away from the city guard, hands clawing at her side, blood seeping through the delicate fabric of her shirt and vest, slipping in and out of consciousness, as she tries to hold onto the cold walls that smelled of medicine and herbs.

Rogue!Valeria who made so much noise and racket downstairs that it woke you up better than any of your assistants could. You fly out of your bed, covers and colorful duvets trailing behind you in a stream of fabric, long forgotten on the floor of your bedroom as you run down the stairs, in fear that somebody broke into your clinic, no patients of yours were staying overnight today. Any words that could’ve been said evaporate as you see a woman, bleeding out on the floor, back propped up against the counter, and…are those daggers she is carrying?

Rogue!Valeria who wakes up the next morning in someone else’s bed, her wound freshly bandaged, hot breakfast already prepared for her. And at that moment she thinks she must’ve died and gone to the Fade. Where else would she see a spirit as beautiful as you?

Rogue!Valeria who tried her best to leave this quiet haven, full of smells, colors, and so many things unknown to her (she’s no mage after all), but she just can’t, throbbing pain in her abdomen stopping her the moment she even tries to stand up among the quiet murmurs of your patients and their relatives. You throw her a stern look, and she is immediately pinned to the soft sheets like her body is not her own.

Rogue!Valeria who finally has a chance to talk to you once it’s time to change the bandages on her wound. You sit near her, your voice quiet, asking “May I?”, as you delicately remove the covers. Valeria asks if you can speed up the recovery, seeing what a miracle worker you were, treating the patients all day with the help of not only healing salves, herbs, and potions but also magic. And you decide to grant her request, hands gliding along the surface of her skin, Valeria’s stab wound slowly closing and a delicate, light scar forming. She doesn’t know how much that takes out of you until your assistant helps you walk back to your room to get much-needed rest. Her eyes lingered on your fatigued figure as her fingers keep poking and prodding at the thin skin of her new scar, feeling something warm spark inside her.

Rogue!Valeria whose gang starts protecting you. Thieves know better than to try picking any of the locks on your doors, signs carved on the worn wood by her informing them that this place is off-limits.

Rogue!Valeria who sneaks through your backdoor, knowing you always forget to lock it, seeing you sleeping on another book, laid out under your arms. She wraps you in a soft blanket, pressing her finger against her lips when she sees awake patients or assistants eyeing you two.

Rogue!Valeria who leaves the flowers she picked from the gardens of her rich targets on your windowsill, petals ruffled and worn, former beauty still recognizable. Instead of putting those flowers in the water you dry and preserve every single one of them, with time gathering small bouquets that greet you each morning around your clinic. When she visits “officially”, she asks about them and you just say that you have no idea who leaves the flowers, mischief tugging at the corners of your eyes. Valeria only grins in response. “Is that so? You must have a lot of suitors then.”

Rogue!Valeria who always leaves some of her things behind just to have an excuse to visit you again, to see you at work, to hear your laughter, and to feel your hand shake her own in a warm greeting. Each time she gets bolder, and instead of a small satchel or a dagger, you start finding her jewelry and accessories. When did she have the chance to take them off anyway?

 Rogue!Valeria who drags you to the market during fairs, insisting that you need to have some fun once in a while, as she leads you between a variety of stalls, her heart squeezing harshly against her ribs each time your fingers tighten around her hand.

Rogue!Valeria who ends up hiding with you in a narrow alleyway, hiding from the city guard that patrolled the festival grounds. She looks you in the eyes, trying to make sure you’re okay, and shoots you a sly wink, caging you between her body and the wall. She feels her breathing get quicker with each second spent like this, but you two are soon taken out of it when small sparks of fire shoot out of your fingers. Too agitated to control your magic, you get flustered, not sure why you were getting nervous in the first place. But when you hear Valeria let out a hearty laugh from your sudden supernatural outburst, everything starts to make sense.

Rogue!Valeria who never mutters a single word about her quickly developing feelings. It would complicate things. It would spoil your friendship. It would tie her down, it would cause her to become slow and eventually sink, taking you with her. Yet she couldn’t let you go. Not when her heart ached with such sweet foretaste each time she saw you running to her with your arms open. Not when her thoughts inevitably drifted to you each time she was preparing to raid another lazy lord’s manor. Not when her days already started to center around visits to your small clinic, during which you constantly looked at her with that contagious light in your eyes.

taglist - @mockerycrow @stridersdiner

check out my masterlist for more fics or send me a request!

[targayrenss]

A Dance With Dragons (I) -Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon Oc

pairing:Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon Oc

Content: Incest, Age-Gap,Angst

Jocelyn had never met her father's sister, but according to him, they were both very alike.

After her uncomfortable funeral, Jocelyn decided to go to the beach to soak her feet a bit, that was the excuse she gave her mother to get out of that uncomfortable place.

Looking at the sea she thought about how nice it would be to have a funeral like her aunt's, they were born from the sea and in her death they would return to hers, Jocelyn always thought of her as more Velaryon than Targaryen.

She loved her mother's house, she loved her dragon, star, she and her dragon shared a very special bond, Jocelyn loved everything about her dragon, from her star-like white eyes to her sea-blue scales.

She knew that one day it would be the dragon of one of her future children that would burn her body, she would rather become another fish in the sea than be reduced to ashes.

"I see your father didn't lie when he said you're the spitting image of him." Jocelyn tilted her head to see the owner of that voice.

Daemon Targaryen, Jocelyn had never met her uncle nor was she interested in doing so, and apparently her mother had no interest in her meeting him either.

—Uncle, I am very sorry for your loss, I would have loved to meet my aunt, my father always tells me the stories of his childhood shared with his sister

Daemon didn't answer but smiled at her, Jocelyn thought that was it so she turned her gaze back to the sea.

The prince took a seat on the sand next to her—It's beautiful, isn't it? I've never been so interested in the sea but now I can see how beautiful it is.

Jocelyn just nodded.

As she watched the sea, Daemon looked at her.

Jocelyn doubted if what she was going to ask was appropriate, she was comfortable and she was afraid that her question would ruin everything.

—Do you think I'll be a good queen?

-Who are they?

—Everyone! Everyone will hate me, they minimized my reign, the mother says that I will get married soon, the people will see my husband as their king, not as a king consort.

Smart girl, she was right in everything she said but at least she knows the truth, not like her mother who is completely blind to people's opinions.

—Whether they hate you or not, they will have to accept you as their queen, and if they don't, don't hesitate to burn them to ashes.

Jocelyn and Daemon looked at each other, both smiling at each other.

"My prince! Princess! His presence is requested in the throne room." The guard looked quite agitated.

Daemon took Jocelyn's shoulder and led them both into the living room.

The closer they got they could hear the screams coming from inside, Jocelyn hurried on until she flung open the door.

Everyone's attention fell on the young princess and the Daemon prince.

“Luke! Jace! What happened?” Jocelyn knelt down to her smallest brother's level, “Come on, show your sister.

“They attacked me!” Jocelyn looked from her to Aemond, the poor man mutilated.

Jocelyn shared a look with Daemon which did not go unnoticed by Rhaenyra.

She didn't know when or how, but the queen had thrown herself at her mother with a knife in her hand, managing to make a big cut on her arm.

"Enough, we can't go on like this! We're family!" Viserys yelled at everyone, "I'm not going to allow this family to separate anymore."

Jocelyn felt the king's gaze on her.

"My granddaughter, Jocelyn, and my son Aegon will marry, they will both inherit Dragonstone, and when their time comes, they will both reign together."

"Father." Rhaenyra tried to convince her father that this was a bad idea.

—It's an order! My granddaughter has already bled but she will be until she is sixteen days old when they should get married.

Jocelyn couldn't believe that she would have to marry Aegon, it was the compensation prize for a fight neither of them were involved in.

She went to sleep thinking that everything would improve but she did not, when she woke up she went directly to her father's funeral.

When her father's ashes were thrown into the sea, she Jocelyn headed to the beach hoping that if she went into the sea she would feel her father one last time.

Lost in her thoughts, she did not hear the footsteps that followed her.

"Sorry for your loss, niece."

Jocelyn was slow to answer, once again wondering if what was about to come out of her mouth was for the best, but she did.

I need you to do something for me, man.

Jocelyn turned back, seeing her uncle, he had more than thirty days of his name, he was taller than her, Jocelyn thought that even if she wasn't a girl he would still be taller than her, his eyes are the darkest violet she has ever seen.

"Take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife."