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secret-engima · 5 years ago

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Daywan has spent her whole life knowing she was going to be a Second. It was rare, but they happened sometimes, a Second soulmate after the first died, or if something fundamental changed about a person. (The Glaive had a lot of Second Words.) What else could her Words indicate? "Thank you for taking care of my son, but why didn't you say he was here?" She'd fought against those Words for years, they'd been the center of her teen angst. Daywan had avoided children and childcare like the plague.1

Anonymous said: 2 And then came the Nifs came. They'd been in a little town, straddling the border of Lucis and Tenebrae, neutral for centuries, but the Empire hadn't cared. She'd snatched a baby out of a dying woman's arms and never looked back. As she'd begun the terrifying march that would ultimately take her to Insomnia, she'd collected children and dragged them with her. She'd bitterly regretted her adamant ignorance of childcare, but she could no more leave them to die than she could stop walking.

Anonymous said: 3 "Thank you" was waiting for her. Somehow, arguing with the guards at the gates of Insomnia with her gaggle of children clinging to her legs, climbing her back to tug on her hair, (trying to put braids in with stubborn tenacity) it didn't seem so bad now, to be Second. Not after what she'd seen. She had someone who was waiting for her, maybe he'd be the father of one of her kids. It just made sense when she found a job as a childcare worker, a little less when it turned out to be in the Citadel

Anonymous said: 4 And then there was the sweetest little boy in the daycare, probably a smuggled in relative. She got more then most, given her willingness to look the other way. And then the King came into her room, as the last straggler of the day, the new boy helping her wipe the table down as she talked about some fun foods she'd eaten (trekking cross country with demons and Nifs hunting you cut down on your food prejudices) and then, "Thank you for looking after my son, but what is he doing here?”

Anonymous said: 5 Daywan isn't even sure what she stutters in response. The warmth in her Words let her know exactly who the King was to her. Hopefully something suitably innocuous, she needed to get home and have a breakdown as she dealt with this revelation.

Anonymous said: Actually, let me change my suggested name for the daycare worker to Daywren. It flows better I think, Daywren Silverblade.

Me: This is SO stupidly adorable I love it. Gonna expand on this backstory but I really like this idea (especially of her being non-Galahdian but totally adopted because of all the kiddos she kept rescuing). Ummmm, don’t think that name will work? FFXV has it’s Naming Theme and all. Think I’m gonna call her .... Lucina. The kiddos just call her Nina because it’s easier to say.

And just-

Lucina has always been an odd child, avoiding childcare and kids like the plague after learning what the swooping scrawl on her forearm MEANT, always more willing to learn to fight and hunt and fish than most little girls her age. Always more stealthy than she should be, always more precise in action than she needed to be. The other townsfolk nod sagely to themselves and say that she’ll be sent off to the city academy once she’s old enough, become a career woman for sure. Possibly even a military woman. Lucina doesn’t mind the thought of it. Can’t get much farther from childcare than being a soldier.

But then Niflheim comes. Niflheim comes and there is a child screaming in the arms of the woman who just got shot at least a dozen times and there is no saving the woman, but she holds out her child with crazed eyes as Lucina runs by and she takes without thinking. And then she is alone in the wilderness. With a baby.

Oh no.

She picks up more of them as she goes on, other children of various ages, some small, some less small, all of them lost and scared and in need of someone to care. She steals or trades for milk to feed the littlest ones, thanks the one bit of forethought she had in taking her bow and arrows with her when she ran as she hunts down food for the ones that are too old for milk.

She isn’t quite sure HOW she makes it to Lucis without losing any of the five children she picked up, just that she did.

And then she learns of Galahd’s sudden, dramatic fall. Finds out when she stumbles on a tight-knit trio of children with ratty braids in their hair and wild eyes and she can’t help but take them too.

She picks up a Galahdian pre-teen somewhere in between the toddlers and adolescents she keeps stumbling on and she could cry from relief in having help minding, caring, and feeding.

By the time she makes it to the gates of Insomnia at age 25, exhausted and underweight and triumphant, she has fifty whole kids and three pre-teens straggling along behind her. She is NOT in the mood for the gate guard’s pomp and circumstance, and the gate guard is not prepared for Lucina’s near feral protective instincts of the kids clinging to her legs and crawling on her back adding braids to her hair (she has so many Clan braids without knowing what they are it isn’t even funny). She gets let in and Little Galahd hears about her somehow so by the time she’s finally in the gates, there’s a hoard of excited, tearful Galahdians ready to reclaim their kiddos and then claim the new kiddos AND their keeper because this woman just returned like- 40+ of their missing kids. There are literal brawls (later and in private) to determine who gets to formally adopt her into their Clan.

Lucina is too tired for the first two weeks to care. Barely bats an eye when a man approaches and introduces himself as Sonitus and asks if he can take out all but one of the braids in her hair. She tells him that if he’s willing to face the screaming hoard of kiddos that will descend upon his soul, then by all means.

It’s only later someone thinks to sit her down and explain Galahdian adoption, but she has no family now so ... being the adopted sister of a Bellum is alright she guesses. Better than being alone and homeless.

Lucina ends up getting a job in childcare. Despite never having wanted to do things with children before and not having any professional schooling in the caring of kids, apparently everyone has heard of her fifty kid entourage and assumed she was some kind of childcare person who lost her papers. Since nothing is as terrifying as keeping fifty kids (several of whom are infants) alive in the wilderness, when she is offered a daycare job by one of the Galahdians who Knows Somebody With An Opening, she takes it.

She did not expect the Knows Somebody would actually be “the guy who hires Citadel people owes me a major favor” and the Opening to be the CITADEL DAYCARE.

Okay fine whatever. Better than being jobless and at least the kids in there are healthy, well fed little scamps and food is just a microwave or oven away rather than a mile into the wilderness and ready to run if it catches her scent.

For all Lucina claims to not have a way with kids, she is Good With Kids. She had no idea why kids seem magnetically attracted to her but they are and the other workers quickly learn to yeet the problem children her way.

Which is why when she finds a newcomer smuggled in on the day she is alone in her shift (the other worker meant to work the shift with her called in sick) she doesn’t bat an eyelash and is just grateful he’s such a sweetheart. He calls her Nina without hesitation (the nickname the other daycare kiddos gave her, apparently Lucina is hard to pronounce for tiny tongues) and trundles after her in all his five year old glory, trying dutifully to help her with things so she doesn’t force him to go interact with the other kids (she does not force him, what’s the point of forcing a shy child into a situation where they don’t feel safe? It will only end in tears, let him get used to watching the others before encouraging interaction).

She doesn’t notice the Citadel’s slow descent into madness or the way two of the five Crownsguard that lurk on the outskirts of the daycare are repurposed for some other task. Well. She does notice. It’s just that she doesn’t care. As long as nothing tries to enter the daycare unauthorized it’s not her problem (and if something DOES, well, she’s got about five freshly sharpened knives hidden on her person where kiddos can’t reach and adults can’t see and the long looped cord holding back her ponytail has a steel center just GREAT for strangling someone who tries something. These kids are in her care, she’s not going to just leave it up to Crownsguard to protect them if someone so much as lays a finger on them with ill intent).

The servants and the spouses of the Crownsguard, who are apparently all working overtime today for some reason, come to pick up their kids and Lucina herds everyone into neat lines for retrieval while keeping an eye out for imposter adults or strangers (it’s happened before, she ruined her favorite top putting a stop to it before a Crownsguard managed to take care of the issue). One of the maids who works on the royal levels spots Lucina’s tiny shadow (he calls himself Noct, it’s clearly short for something but Lucina thinks it’s cute) and her eyes grow to the size of plates, “That’s-!”

Lucina blinks and idly pets the boy’s hair when he hides behind her leg, “Oh, you know him? He says his dad works upstairs. I know something is going on today but can you call his dad down here? The daycare is closing in an hour.”

The woman nods dumbly, looking shocked for reasons Lucina doesn’t get and wanders off with her own child, who is the last one other than Noct to be picked up. Lucina and Noct hang out for the next ten minutes or so as the father steadily does not come by, and Lucina is hiding her worry well over what to do with Noct as the boy busily helps her clean off the table and put away the last of the toys when the doors to the daycare slam open.

Lucina puts herself in front of Noct on instinct, hands dropping to the knife sheathed in the small of her back and ready to fight before she registers.

The Shield of the King is standing in the daycare.

The King of Lucis is standing in the daycare.

“Dad!” Chirps Noct as he buzzes past her and flings himself into the arms of the monarchy who has that distinctly crazed, frazzled look that only comes from being worried sick over one’s child.

Oh.

Oh dear.

Noct’s dad “works upstairs”.

Noct. Noctis

Oh dear.

Lucina tries to discreetly lower her hands away from the (still sheathed thank goodness) knife but is pretty sure the Shield knows exactly what she was doing. The king is still busy fussing over his son, half-lecturing until Noct starts going on about “Nina” and how much fun he had with her down here.

The King looks up, “Thank you,” he rumbles, “for looking after my son. But why did you not tell anyone he was here?”

The words on her forearm, hidden under a soulmate sleeve, burn like liquid fire and her heart stops.

She thinks- she thinks she says something in return, but her mind is screaming because-

This is her soulmate.

28 years old and she has finally met her soulmate.

And it’s REGIS LUCIS CAELUM. KING OF LUCIS.

From the shocked expression on the king’s face and the way one hand suddenly clamps on his right ribcage, she’s pretty sure he just realized it too.

#SE asks #anon asks #Secret Engima Rambles #Didn't Know He Was the Prince verse #soulmate au

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thanksjro · 5 years ago

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More Than Meets the Eye #8- I’m Sorry, the Domain Name thebomb.com is Already in Use

It’s been a hot minute since we last got to focus on the Scavengers- ah, the chaotic nature of comic print schedules! Luckily, we’ve got a Story So Far to remind us where we left off.

Our issue starts 10,000 years in the past, where Fulcrum is riding in a plane and preparing to drop with his fellow K-Cons. It’s crowded, there’s a guy crying in the corner, everyone’s wearing the same outfit, and no one’s got time to go home and change. How embarrassing!

Torque’s never heard of personal space, as is made apparent by his power-stance pelvic thrusting here. Fulcrum is less than impressed by this show of bravado, but there’s no time to dwell on it because it’s time to jump the glory of Megatron.

At least one of them is having a good time.

In the present day, the Scavengers are freaking the hell out, because as it turns out, it’s THEM who’re afraid of the DJD.

Krok keeps trying to reach his old squad, as if anything short of Megatron himself would be able to save them from the horrible death coming their way, while Flywheels grapples with his faith and inferiority complex at the same time.

Spinister brings up a decent point, despite Misfire’s earlier claim that he’s the stupidest creature in the universe- Misfire is kind of an asshole, so anything he says involving just about anything should be taken with a grain of salt- but the problem is, nobody in their right mind would incriminate themselves to the DJD if they could help it. Also, everyone knows that Tarn’s got his head way too far up his own ass to have any sort of rhyme or reason for anything he does beyond the 𝕒𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕔.

Krok leans on his career as a military strategist to come up with a few ideas, and the boys decide to fight the DJD, after so much bitching and moaning.

But the DJD… the Decepticon Justice Division… are also Decepticons. Crankcase, are you gatekeeping here, my dude? Because I don’t think this is an internet debate you’re going to win.

The fellas decide that they’ll do what they do best, and use what’s been laying around in the dust and blood for thousands of years to fight off some of the scariest folks in the galaxy. What could possibly go wrong?

Over on the Lost Light, Chromedome and Skids are having a secret rendezvous at the oil reservoir, in secret and behind Rewind’s back, as Chromedome proceeds to call Skids handsome. No, they aren’t having a secret love affair, but are instead going to mnemosurgery the shit out of Skids. Rewind doesn’t like that Chromedome is still doing this, but what Rewind doesn’t know won’t hurt him, surely. We’ll find out just why exactly Rewind isn’t a fan of Chromedome’s line of work later on, but for now it’s time to dig around in a hot guy’s brain.

Just kidding, it’s Scavenger time.

The Scavengers have set up a trap for the DJD, and that trap is Grimlock; still locked in his stasis pod, they’re pulling a “rigged box and stick with a piece of cheese inside” maneuver. Let’s see how this plays out.

Hmm. That’s not a great start.

The Peaceful Tyranny lands, Tarn transforms, comes down the gangplank, transforms, waxes poetic about the brilliance of the Decepticon copy writers, transforms, drives 15 feet, transforms, then, after clearly stating that the big stasis pod in the middle of nowhere is a trap, opens it anyway.

Never has a nut-punch been more deserved than in this exact moment.

Grimlock has a strong start, but almost immediately begins to flag, as he’s put down by Tesaurus. This is why we do warmups prior to rigorous exercise, people!

Misfire tries to sneak off while Tarn’s distracted whispering into Grimlock’s ear like one would a lover, but that doesn’t really work out.

Back over on the Lost Light, Chromedome’s having a time and a half trying to parse just what the hell’s going on with Skid’s head. All his memories from the last year aren’t lost, but rather destroyed, which is concerning to say the least, only leaving a need to escape. There’s also some nasty beast in Skid’s more distant past that Chromedome can see. However, it would seem that Skid’s brain took the out when it saw one and buried that nightmare so deep it’ll take multiple sticks of dynamite to wiggle it loose, so Chromedome’s leaving it where it is.

What this tells me is that Rung has no business referring patients to Chromedome for treatment, if this is how we’re meant to handle repressed memories. Remember back in issue #6, when Fort Max claimed he didn’t remember what happened in Garrus 9, and Rung was all “oh let me just call my guy Chromedome and have him stir your brain around like a martini”? Turns out, either that’s a terrible idea and Rung hasn’t paid attention to the work that half his coworkers on Kimia were involved with, or he was making an empty threat, which doesn’t seem like great practice for a therapist.

Pretty fucked up of you, Rung.

Anyways, Skids is less than thrilled by this, and demands Chromedome do it anyway, which Chromedome promptly refuses. He’ll play around with his own life, but not his friends’. Skids walks off in a huff, because I guess no one’s ever refused his pretty ass anything before, but asks a question before he leaves.

Well, I’m sure that won’t be a major plot point later on.

Let’s check back in with the Scavengers.

Between Tesaurus’ line here, Tarn harassing Grimlock, and Skids’ asking Chromedome why he pulled out during their secret meeting, this is probably the most sexually-charged issue of MTMTE so far.

Flywheels’ only purpose as a character was so that Roberts had a stand-in for the word “fuck” last issue. Sorry, dude, you’ve done your job. Off to the shredder with you!

No time to worry about him, Krok, because it’s time for your face mask treatment at the universe’s shittiest spa.

The worst part about this is the fact that he’s being held a full nelson by the DJD’s record-keeper, who turns into a fucking chair and doesn’t even have eyes. Oh, the indignity of it all.

Misfire tries to save Krok, but all he manages to do is prove that his nickname isn’t ironic in the slightest. Then he’s attacked by a dog.

That shadow being tossed towards the horizon in the background is Crankcase, who lands right about where Fulcrum’s been hiding this entire time, like the giant coward he is, as he watches these guys who tried to steal his organs get murdered to death. He runs off, and Crankcase plays to stereotype and gripes about the whole situation, until he notices something above him.

Then he immediately drops dead, because as it turns out Misfire wasn’t exaggerating when he said Crankcase would die if he ever even thought about smiling.

Over in Tarn’s soliloquy corner, he’s managed to stab his thumb so hard into Grimlock’s throat it’s literally bleeding, as he trash talks the Scavengers, calling them the “six biggest failures of all”. Harsh. Grimlock’s not contributing to the diatribe, probably because there’s a hole in his throat that’s about where a trach would go.

Then Tarn has a bit of a problem, as he’s stepped on by a robot that’s roughly twenty times bigger than him.

I guess Crankcase must be the sixth worst Decepticon, because he’s gotten himself hooked up with this massive Jaeger Cybernought, one of the many that are strapped to the back of the Worldsweeper they found last issue. It’s a big friggin’ ship, we can forgive the oversight.

The DJD aren’t impressed by this new toy, and almost immediately take it down. Tarn, really starting to get peeved off about not getting to what they actually came here to do, yells for Fulcrum to show himself. Fulcrum, as it turns out, has managed to climb on top of the Worldsweeper, and is at least a few hundred feet above them. Because none of the DJD can fly, they have no choice but to listen to Fulcrum’s little speech.

Fulcrum was forged at the height of the Decepticon Empire, when the rhetoric was more “space eugenics sucks” and less “murder everything while Megatron has weird sexual tension with Optimus in the background”. Of course, they were still hunting organic species to flex, so maybe things weren’t perfect… though it isn’t like Fulcrum minded that aspect. Dude’s a little space racist.

Spacist.

The way Fulcrum sees it, folks like Tarn went and fucked up a good thing by being all murderous and violent just because they could, unlike his good pals the Scavengers, who are only murderous and violent when it’s necessary. “Necessary” is a word that’s played with kind of fast and loose with them, mind you, but they seem like pretty swell guys to Fulcrum. They’re definitely better than the DJD.

With one last “fuck you” to Tarn, Fulcrum takes a running leap off the top of this astonishingly huge ship and finally reveals just why exactly K-Cons aren’t known for doing fear.

Because who the fuck has ever asked a bomb how it’s feeling?

Everyone clears the area, as he hits the ground… and nothing happens. Fulcrum is marked off the List, the Scavengers are added, and the DJD fuck off without checking that their target is actually dead so they can go find Overlord and kick his ass.

Fulcrum’s fine, by the way.

This is why we check our work, Tarn.

Fulcrum, who is, again, a bomb, is a bit curious as to what’s happened here. Turns out, prior to the boys riffling through his torso for spare parts, Spinister- master surgeon Spinister- removed the explosive charge tucked up against his robot liver. Fulcrum is amazed by this news, because it’s apparently a super hard thing to do.

Are we sure that Spinister isn’t just super nearsighted? The world’s been described as a series of vaguely hostile shapes, is he playing it safe and attacking the things he can’t figure out within a few seconds? Maybe all that hand-staring he does is to gauge how shitty his vision is on a day to day basis, and everyone just assigned him Stupid At Birth because trying to understand our friends is for losers.

Then again, we should also remember that everyone in the Scavengers is so incredibly stupid, they couldn’t figure out between the five of them that Fulcrum had been alive while it was happening. Spinister probably wasn’t gentle with that procedure since he thought he was working with a corpse; for all we know, Fulcrum’s got his sparkcase inside-out now.

Crankcase carries poor, faceless Krok over, and Fulcrum laments on the fact that Krok’s squad never turned up. Crankcase implies something ominous about Krok’s method of communication with his old squadron, then we get the skinny on Fulcrum’s whole deal.

Yes, yes, I know B’lahr 39 is a reference to Wizard of Oz actor Bert Lahr, who played the Cowardly Lion. I caught that one before I’d even checked TFWiki for interesting notes on this issue. I was a film major in college, I’m legally required to know every single bit of trivia about the Wizard of Oz. It’s the second thing they beat into you, right after watching Citizen Kane for the 87th time.

Also, how many nerds are going to be in this series? Fulcrum’s a technician, Krok’s a strategist, Spinister and 3/4 of the Lost Light are doctors in some form or fashion, Tarn’s a friggin drama kid, the list goes on.

When Fulcrum was caught, the original plan was to have him tortured and killed at Styx, a Decepticon penal colony, when plans changed and he got reformatted along with everyone else in the joint to be a suicide bomber.

If Fulcrum seems like a bit of a generic name for a giant space robot, it’s probably because it is. Fulcrum’s original alt-mode wasn’t a bomb- in fact, I have no idea what it’s meant to be. Word of God makes the claim that he turned into a leg prior to getting K-classed, but since Combiner teams have to be made in this continuity, that’s not what he came into being as. He’s got a tiddy window like Rung- something that will be more apparent when Josh Burcham is replaced by Joana Lafluente as the primary colorist for the comic run- but that seems more indicative of having minimal armor than any sort of alt.

Anyway, there’s something in the reformat to K-Con that compels one to switch to bomb mode when you jump ship- but it didn’t happen for Fulcrum, because he was so unbelievably terrified that he might have actually defied biology.

The others have stopped listening by this point, and have joined Spinister in poking the still-prone Grimlock with a stick. Misfire, in the first show of something like empathy we’ve really gotten from him, asks the fellas to help the poor guy up.

Sure, make the guy who’s a stiff breeze away from cracking in half lift the biggest motherfucker on this planet. Sounds like a plan.

Misfire does his damnedest to communicate to Grimlock that they come in peace.

Behold, the price of nostalgia!

This isn’t exactly where we left Grimlock last time he was in an IDW publishing. The last guy to have his hands on everyone’s favorite dinobot was Simon Furman, and he was a lot more well-spoken there. It would seem that no one got out of Garrus 9 unscathed.

This development is a bit of a problem for the Scavengers, who now aren’t quite sure what to do with a infamous warrior-bastard who’s mentally regressed to the point that he’s got to think about what his own name is. To be fair, most people wouldn’t know what to do in that sort of situation. Doesn’t help that the guy who usually has the braincell is currently passed out from face-based puncture trauma.

Misfire decides that they’ll take Grimlock along with them for collateral, and everyone is so impressed by him actually planning something out, they forget to think about the logistics of housing a whole entire T-Rex.

The guys, I guess just leaving Grimlock and the unconscious Krok in the dirt, go to find what’s left of Flywheels- basically the hips down is still intact. After a few kind words, the final rites are performed.

You will be missed, Flywheels, clearly.

You never see the Autobots resorting to cannibalism like this. Maybe they’re just better at making it not look like a vulture swarm.

Many, many months later, long after the Scavengers have left the planet of Clemency, a lone figure visits what’s left of dear Flywheels- it’s the Necrobot. That’s right, the Robo-Reaper is real, and it looks like he’s been busy.

…Spoilers, Necrobot! Come on!

After the story proper, we get a Meet the ‘Cons page. Let’s take a gander, shall we?

No.

NO.

NO!

I draw the line at this motherfucking sniper rifle having a college degree. What possible scientific field of study could he possibly-

It’s ballistics. He studied ballistics, didn’t he?

You know what? Fuck this, actually. See y’all later.

…Fuck you, Vos.

#transformers #jro #mtmte #issue 8 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

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moonseagloomkitty · 4 years ago

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The First Sighting.

Someone once told her the only way to overcome a fear was to face it. Sizha wasn’t sure she believed that, but she did know that she had children now, and more would come, and she had a Clan to look out for now. She couldn’t just hide every time a storm moved through the Shroud. She’d traveled out late in the morning. Muro was gone – she assumed he had gone to Limsa, and she would not see him at least for a sun if that was the case. She’d intended just to go to Gridania, perhaps do a little shopping – she wanted to get something for Haruka – and then return home to watch the storm from the safety of their home. But the city was abuzz today, and she couldn’t help but to listen to the voices speaking of things she didn’t understand – especially when one of the words was all too familiar: Garlemald. What she had discovered was the existence of the strange towers all across Hydaelyn. The rumors she heard said that the towers apparently served to summon Primals, and there were other rumors that those that got too close appeared to be Tempered in the same manner than a summoned Primal could do. There were other things, but none of them seemed terribly important to her life – something about the Amalj’aa in the desert, but that wasn’t really important to her. She didn’t truly care about that particular Tribe – her only interaction with them hadn’t been good, but they lived so far from where she lived that it wasn’t really an issue. And so now, she trekked through the South Shroud, not far from where she and Muro had built their first home. As she passed the location of that former home she paused, jumping when a sudden rumble of thunder excited the air around her, and she looked up. She could see and feel, the charged aether in the air, and she clenched her hands tightly. She closed her eyes, and breathed in slowly through her nose, exhaling that breath through her gently closed lips with a quiet sigh. Rain fell over her and she flicked her ears to shed some of it. She could go home. She could tuck herself away in their tree-sheltered home. But she was curious. It’d been a long time since the Garleans had been spoken of so much. She’d let herself believe they were no longer a threat. She’d started to believe that she could finally forget about them, about the part of her life that involved them. If they were at all connected to these strange towers, she wanted to know. The people in her life, especially Muro and Haruka but also including Eriana, and the people she knew her Seeker husband and her Highlander associate assigned to keeping her safe, often tried to protect her from the threats (perceived and real). But that meant she was ignorant of a large part of the world. They would do the same with this one, certainly, especially if the Empire was behind it. The Keeper walked into Camp Tranquil, smiling faintly at the men and women standing guard. There were a few more guards patrolling the area, she noticed, tucking that information away for the moment. Lightning flashed in the sky, and she clenched her hands again. Her gaze shifted to the Aetheryte, once more considering going home to her cousin and her children. It was at that moment that she glimpsed something beyond the encampment, and she steeled herself. This was no longer about facing the storm for Sizha. This was about curiosity, about the strange towers that seemed to be surrounding at least Eorzea. She moved through Camp Tranquil and climbed to the top of one of the watchtowers – the guards standing beneath them in the rain tried to stop the Keeper but she ignored them, and stood on the roof staring out at the tall tower. She stared at the crimson glow, her eyes narrowing. “What are they up to ..” she wondered aloud, hands clenching by her side. Every time lightning flashed of thunder rumbled or boomed around her Sizha’s tail fluffed and lashed, but she was so intensely focused on that tower. She growled at the loudness of the storm, because she was trying to train her hearing on the tower. Eventually the rain stopped, and still Sizha stood atop that watchtower on the edge of the Camp in the South of the Shroud. It was nearing midafternoon when she realized she was hungry, and she moved to climb down. The guards immediately moved to help her. “Are you alright miss?” one asked, and for a moment her gaze fell on him, causing him to drew back uneasily. But then she smiled, and nodded. “I’m .. fine. Just .. curious. I should get something to eat, and head home.” She was escorted to a small tent where she could get a bite to eat and a bit of juice to drink, and she made her way home. If anyone who knew her came across her on the way they might notice she seemed a little distracted. It took her much of the afternoon to make her way back to Gridania, and from there she took a chocobo taxi out to where Muro had built their new home in the East Shroud. “Mamamama!” She could hear the girls even before she could see them, their little feet thundering on the floor as they raced to her. She wrapped the twins up in her arms as she crouched to their level, and her smile warmed, her distraction clearing. Sizha kissed the tops of their heads and she giggled happily. “Mama’s home darlings. And it’s almost supper time. We should go figure out what we’re having, hmm?” she said, not expecting Muro to be home. But then her ears lifted, and she looked up at the Seeker, who’d let the girls have their moment with their mother before coming to see his wife. “Don’t you worry about supper, suda’na. I will cook for us. Go rest, play with the girls, and I’ll come get you when dinner is ready.” Muro said with an easy smile. “And then I’ll greet you properly.” He added with a knowing smile. Sizha’s cheeks darkened and she giggled softly, ears fluttering. “You know just how to make me feel like a teenaged girl again.” Said his wife, taking the twins’ hands and letting them draw her off to show their mama the new things Dada had brought for their dollhouse.

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ofgoodmenarchive · 4 years ago

Text

Blighted Empire: Ch. 3

A Light in the Dark

A hand was absent from his grip when Dorian awoke but he didn't panic- Evallan rose early at the best of times. Out on the field, he was likely on his feet as soon as possible and the reasoning behind this was no longer a complete mystery.

Rolling over, he absently touched the bedding left in a crumple next to him. Still warm. No other sign of the Keeper, but he'd left recently. Dorian supposed it was fine to doze- it wasn't morning, not really- and Evallan would not allow him to oversleep.

Sun crowning the sky and the innards of the tent baking, he was miserable for more reason than one when he truly regained consciousness. His skull felt it had been trampled on and his throat sore from a lack of hydration. No carefree lounging this time, his body cried out for water and air- and food, if there was any to be had.

Outside the tent were the remnants of a campfire- and Evallan still absent. He couldn't recall either of them building it, so he supposed the elf had, then allowed it to extinguish while he was gone. Below the peak the Keeper situated them on, Dorian could see figures beginning to mill about- preparing food, strapping armour to themselves or seeking out specific supplies from carts and tents.

If he watched for long enough he'd probably spy Evallan- but the pressure in his brain increased the more he squinted. Looking away, he caught sight of a flask seemingly left for him by the tree. He snatched it and gulped water almost violently, not stopping until it was drained and the container discarded in the grass.

After last nights events and suffering a torturous headache, he needed to get his bearings. His weapon was still at his belt but his cloak had slipped- he retrieved it from the tent, hood cautiously adorned. Prepared to escape from the noise, he strolled further up the slope, wondering what he might see from higher up. The scenery didn't honestly concern him- he was attempting to fathom the events of last night.

He hadn't imagined them, he was certain- Evallan talking in his slumber, his eyes aglow, visibly channelling something. Lightbringer, it had to be. Though it was foolish for the elf not to prepare for the eventuality of sharing a space with someone else- then again, maybe he had tried?

This was what he pondered as he made his way back to the tent, head still complaining and mouth screaming for fluids. This time as he approached Evallan was visible, sitting comfortably against the tree. A small wooden tray of food balanced on his lap- mostly apple slices, preserved meat and some bread. He pointed lightly towards a similar tray near the dead fire, a new flask accompanying it.

“Andraste bless you, Evallan.” Dorian puffed wearily as he brought the container to his mouth. A second later he was spluttering- it tasted like he'd just bitten spindleweed!

“This isn't water!” He choked, teary-eyed.

“Hangover remedy.” Evallan didn't look from his food. “I am surprised last night did not teach you to smell a bottle before drinking.”

“Duly noted,” Coughing a few times, he sipped more gingerly, face puckering. “But you said it yourself- Fletch was playing a joke on me.”

“You must learn from it, nonetheless.” The Keeper popped another finely-cut piece of fruit into his mouth, response tepid. Dorian scoffed, though not seriously.

“Well then! I'll be sure to!”

Gathering the flask and tray he settled next to Evallan, back against tree, almost shoulder-to-shoulder as they'd been the previous night. This caused the elf to halt, hand still poised half-way to his lips with an apple slice, eyes questioning though his face was lax.

“You think I'm going to sit where you're casting cold, now I know where it stops?” Dorian chuckled openly, pressing his shoulder to Evallan's. “Does it bother you, Keeper?”

After a moment of eyeing Dorian with an expression that was peculiar but calm, he shook his head.

Unable to prevent the triumphant smile, he lowered his face to his tray and spoke to distract from it.

“I don't know why I thought we'd be fed better on the road.”

“I brought you an apple.” The elf pointed. Dorian couldn't remember anyone packing apples- and they wouldn't be so efficiently portioned. Evallan had to have found and cut them himself. He wasn't sure why but it gratified him to think about.

“Thank you, Evallan!” His smile deepened “That's very kind.”

The Keeper bowed his head in acknowledgement, then busied himself with picking at food. Dorian was content to enjoy this peace for some time but eventually asked, tone non-threatening;

“Do you know you talk in your sleep?”

Evallan unleashed a long but quiet sigh, straightening his shoulders- but not in avoidance. He confessed, tone sombre.

“I am afraid I do more than that.”

“Oh?” Dorian sensed much was to be conveyed. Though it was a slow process- the elf studied him, a vague and rare aura of helplessness tainting his usual solemnity. But he came to a decision.

"I write, I speak to spirits, I even practise spells.”

“Is this....a recent phenomenon?”

The Keeper's head bent in something akin to embarrassment.

“It happened for some time when I was first bound to Lightbringer. Since I summoned her during the Harrowing, it has begun again.”

Dorian considered this, remembering what he could of their encounter.

“So she's...stretching, I'd say.”

“Yes.” He breathed out his next words almost harshly. “I must ask for your assistance....and your discretion.”

“You can't have anyone seeing you like that, I assume?” That part at least was not something Dorian needed to be told.

“They are already concerned. At the least, I would be subject to experimentation. I do not wish Lightbringer to suffer that indignity again.” He said it with conviction- desperate. Dorian knew he had to assist- however was required. He didn't hesitate to state as much.

"What do you need of me?”

He was examined for a time in that typical stillness he'd oddly begun to feel comforted by- almost forgetting what they were speaking of until Evallan's lips began to move, their corners grim.

“Lightbringer has no wish to be seen or cause disruption, but her awareness of the physical world and her actions within it are limited.” His features twitched, unexpected colour spotting the whiteness of his face. His hand angled up, opening and closing as if to grasp words that when they came, were forced out near inaudibly.

“She only realised it was not safe because...you...”

Dorian's heart stuttered beneath his ribs and his own cheeks flushed- a reaction that made him feel utterly childish. Struggling to deal with the information and his ridiculous emotion towards it, he blurted in typical, sly fashion.

“Are you asking me to hold your hand, Evallan?”

The elf's features blazed, brow furrowing- he made to pull himself up and away from Dorian and in response he clasped both hands over one of Evallan's and squeezed. As he did, he consoled warmly, rumbling with the occasional spike of mirth.

“I'm sorry- I'm sorry!- Look!” He tugged the captured fingers so Evallan was forced to relax against the tree, pressing digits firmly against knuckles and palms, smiling. “It's fine- neither of us will burst into flame. You don't even have to be unconscious.”

The limb usurped by his own was thin and greatly calloused- an intriguing contrast. He inspected one rough patch with a fingertip, then dipped to feel at a nick of scar tissue, unconscious to his own actions. Not assisted by the fact Evallan did not stop him, seeming to ignore it as he stared resolutely at Dorian- though crimson-faced.

For the second time in twenty-four hours he found himself urged to kiss that stern mouth- and he wasn't even drunk! Thankfully, Evallan's voice distracted from the impulse.

“I can entrust this to you, then? And you will keep it hidden?”

“You can trust me, don't worry-” He lured Evallan's hands close to his chest and held them there, winking. “I'll protect you.”

This was finally too humiliating for the Keeper, ripping away and curling as he muttered in disdain- features no less overheated.

“You do not have to phrase it in such a way.”

Now he admittedly underwent a flash of guilt- a flash, anyway. Evallan didn't seem to know what to do with Dorian's attention and Dorian for his part, was unsure what he even expected it would result in. People were often free with their affections in the tower- even if it had to be secretive, but this was clearly a part of Circle culture Evallan hadn't adapted to. He deigned to change the subject, dismissing the rest as a joke with his lazy manner.

“You want this secret, and you're asking me, not Villyen, so I assume...”

“I do not want him to know.” His head perked up from behind his knees. “Correct.”

“Wouldn't it be better if he did?” He frowned. “He'd be more acquainted with the...nuance, of the situation.”

“I do not want him to be afraid for me.”

“Or to see you afraid?” He didn't mean to ask so sharply- but it was difficult not to point out the elf's choice of phrasing.

Evallan hesitated, but still answered.

“Yes.”

Dorian couldn't fault him for that, really- and he appeared so meek in the cautious huddle he'd drawn himself into, he wanted to inspire confidence.

“Well, he won't hear anything from me, nor will anyone else. And I'll ensure you don't go wandering about in your sleep. You can trust me.”

“Thank you, Dorian.” He did seem encouraged- straightening somewhat, manner less strained.

Thinking to preoccupy with more talk, he inclined his head towards the Dwarven statue in the centre of camp.

“So we're really going into The Deep Roads?”

“You do not relish the idea?” Composure restored, Evallan finished his meal while they chatted. Dorian did the same though struggled to chew through the dried meat.

“This is probably a terrible time to mention it,” Partially untrue- he hoped it might soothe the elf's nerves if he shared a humiliating personal fact. “But I'm actually quite claustrophobic.”

Evallan considered that a moment.

“You are afraid of enclosed spaces, or spiders?”

“Spiders is arachnophobia,” He couldn't help smirking, though without cruelty. “I'm afraid of small spaces, yes. Specifically of being crushed.”

“That is very specific.” There was a curious note to this statement and though- probably out of politeness- he did not really question, Dorian still explained.

“Other refugees came out of the Blight afraid of fire, or having nightmares of Darkspawn and Archdemons,” He chuckled ruefully. “Me? A roof fell on my head and I never quite recovered from the shock.”

“It is not that strange,” He sounded near-sympathetic. “You associate the event with a greater loss.”

“Well, either way!” He shrugged dramatically. “It might be a problem, so you know.”

There was an odd pause from the elf, not responding to Dorian but with a calculating gaze. Eventually the corner of his mouth gave off a spasm that Dorian knew signalled a restrained smile. Before he could wonder what the Keeper might be laughing at his voice broke the silence, battling to keep tone dry, hand extending.

“Would you like to hold my hand?”

A sincere joke not dripping in ice was rare from Evallan- Dorian was immediately tickled. It was lucky he didn't have food in his mouth, he'd have choked as he slouched back against the tree and laughed without restraint.

“Would you, Keeper? It seems only fair!” He blathered as he fought to contain himself.

“It may raise some suspicion if I am seen holding the hand of a Templar,” The corners of his mouth were really struggling to stay flat, Dorian noted. “However, The Deep Roads are for the most part quite spacious. If we explore the smaller side tunnels, you should trail behind so as not to be too enclosed.”

“Well I'll keep that in mind, if it becomes an issue.” Dorian tried his utmost to tear into another bit of meat.

They polished off their breakfast with sparse conversation and afterwards Dorian assisted Evallan in deconstructing their camp. Or to be more accurate, Evallan taught him how to dismantle the structure and attempted to inform him on how it would fit back together. Dorian did his best to process the information, out of depth as he was.

Though he had to admit, he didn't mind roughing it so far- but had no doubt that comfort would end where the Deep Roads began.

Everything packed, they descended to mesh with the other recruits once more. It was not so lazy now, there was a commotion as the last stragglers awoke. He trailed dutifully behind Evallan, mindful to not speak and with significant space between them. It appeared less that they walked together and more that the Keeper was supervised- Dorian imagined that wasn't unheard of since no one seemed intruded upon by his presence.

They were only in the camp long enough to stash their gear into a cart, then Evallan motioned for the wider slope the Dwarven sentinel indicated. Still keeping a slight distance, he shadowed the elf and only stopped upon spying two familiar faces.

“Waiting for us, were you?” Dorian greeted- he saw no one but Elias and Fletch, so he thought it safe. Evallan didn't scold him, hovering near the trio in silent confirmation.

“What, you think this joker gets anything done without me?” Fletch snorted, chin pointing out the tall elf who merely angled a brow in return.

“And you'll need another mage still,” Elias straightened from the rock he leant upon. grinning. “Thought I'd wait for you here instead of being grabbed!”

“Thank you, Elias- you are indeed my most considerate friend!”

The newly assembled party climbed together but soon the elf and dwarf were ahead of the Tevinter pair, muttering between themselves. It didn't look entirely serious- Fletch still burst into jeers every few sentences, but Dorian had the impression the dialogue wasn't for him. Likely they had not seen each other for some time. Besides, he could spot others at the summit, so it was less conspicuous of him to keep in stride with Elias.

“Marcus thinks you've gone AWOL, you know.” Elias informed, clearly entertained by this. “Either that you've run off for a life of mediocre apostasy or that you high-tailed it back to the tower.”

“Does he? Ha!” A broad grin spread over his features. “Let him think it!”

“Meanwhile, let you not think at all.” His tone was still friendly but the criticism wasn't lost on Dorian.

“Oh what trouble am I causing, really?” He rolled his shoulders. “I'm meant to be here, anyway! I'm still helping, just not precisely in the way that was implied.”

“Let's just hope the Circle sees it that way if it turns into a mess,” Elias sounded more serious now. “I know you're bored, Dorian, but we have a good streak of not annoying anyone. Maybe don't end it?”

“Why so concerned all of a sudden?” He was mystified, twisting his face as he interrogated. “You're the last person I'd think to complain at having a little adventure!”

His friend hesitated then, lines of apprehension ageing him by a few years. For once he didn't entirely resemble a clueless nug with straw stuck on its head.

“Well...It's just...” Mouth warping, he settled on words with a small motion towards Evallan's rigid back. “He's a little strange, isn't he?”

He couldn't squash the urge- Dorian had to laugh- a raucous sound that bounced between the mountain walls. It was loud and abrupt enough the subject of their conversation craned his head around and sought them out. He didn't look angry- startled, perhaps. Dorian restrained himself while dismissing Elias with a wave of his hand.

“I happen to like that about him, you know.”

“Andraste have mercy!” Elias shook his head. “Of course you would!”

But Elias yielded for now. They regrouped without another mention of Evallan.

READ MORE ON AO3

#dragon age #dai #dorian pavus #apocalypse au #m!lavellan #pavellan #da fic #dragon age fic #blighted empire #my writing #I FORGOT THE LINK...

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startrekandwars · 5 years ago

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Appearances are Deceiving

Word Count: 1919

Summary: Baves Urety finally reveals who he is to Din while also trying to avoid being killed by Bossk, a bounty hunter who is after the former Jedi.

Tags: None

AN: Written for @celebrate-the-clone-wars prompt Always A Bigger Fish

Din Djaren has been traveling with Baves for some time now. His new partner wasn't the most talkative person, but he was far from quiet. The thing that Din noticed was that Baves was mostly observant. Maybe too observant. The child seemed to like Baves, and it was hard to fault the poor kid. Baves has this... aura that puts you at ease and makes you want to like him. He's so optimistic even if he doesn't voice it. It's written all over his face.

The few times Baves has talked about his past, he just mentions his father taught him just about everything he knows. If it wasn't his father, it was one of his brothers. He also mentions that before the fall of the Empire, he worked as a bodyguard, and then decided to become a Bodyguard for hire. People used to pay this man to protect them. They used to pay him a lot.

Now is a good time for Din to observe Baves. He was an inch, maybe two taller. He could only be a couple years older than him too, though it's hard to tell because Baves keeps his face clean shaven. Baves says that he doesn't remember how old he is, and judging by how familiar the miralian is with a blaster, the mandalorian believes him. Baves isn't the strongest person. He looks like he should struggle to hold the child, all long limbs, and not a lot of muscle. He's also flexible. Din has watched Baves twist in ways he didn't realize a humanoid could twist their body. Baves looks like he couldn't hurt a fly, and he often tends to talk his way out of problems. It often works too. His royal blue eyes help soften his face, and the fact that there's a permanent smile on his face helps a lot. Even with out that, there are the beginnings of smile lines around the corner of his eyes. Din has never seen Baves's hair, and he had a feeling he never would. He could guess that his hair is jet black, if he were to judge it based off of the man's eyebrows.

Din just can't place his finger on it, but he can tell Baves is holding back. He's too aware of things to not be holding back. It's like he knows what people expect him to be able to do, and he tries to embody those ideas.

Even now, as they were walking through the market and Baves looks like he doesn't have a care in the world, Din has also learned that he is drinking in as much information as he can. "Oooooooh, Din look at this scarf!" Baves picked up a dark green head scarf with teal embroidery in miralian styles. "It's stunning!"

"You have seven scarves on the ship, Baves." Din countered, watching the man. None the less, the look in his eyes was hard to say no to. "When would you even wear it?"

"I don't know, around. I wear all seven of those scarves by the way." Baves countered, looking back at the scarf. "It's very pretty... But I suppose I don't need another one until something unthinkable happens to a scarf, like a grease stain." He put the scarf back, bowed politely, and kept walking. "I'm going to see if I can find any jogan fruit."

Din simply nodded and watched Baves walk away. Oh yes, that man could wrap just about anyone around his finger. Not because he was trying to be malicious, but because he was just so... kind. He was the sort of person you would want to protect.

"Is that young man with you? Because if so, good for you. I don't know what a Mandalorian such as yourself would see in a man as kind as him, but if you want to win his heart, you should probably buy that scarf." The shop keeper said, sounding amused. She was a Miralian, but unlike Baves, she didn't cover her hair all the time, it was jet black and feel to her shoulders.

"I'm not-" How does he explain that he's not romantically with that man? "He's an associate of mine. We're not involved."

"A pity, you don't find men like him everywhere in the galaxy. He's really one of a kind." She answered, looking back at Din before going to help a different customer.

Din simply nodded. "That he is." The bounty hunter started to walk in the direction Baves had walked off in until he heard blaster fire and screams from that direction. Then he started to sprint.

In the middle of the commotion was Baves, standing light on his feet, but looking relaxed. "Well that was rude!"

"Baves Urety- I am here to collect the bounty on your head. You can come quietly or loudly, but you will be coming with me." Bossk, a Trandoshan. And a member of the guild. Apparently there was a puck on Baves, and if Bossk was here to collect, then it was some bounty.

Baves sighed. He looked... bored. This happens to him a lot. "You know, a wise man once told me that there are always bigger fish out there. So you think you're the bigger fish in the ocean?" His question was really more of a statement. "Listen, Bossk. I just want to buy some jogan fruit and then I'll get out of your way- I'm not really looking for a fig-" When Bossk shot at Baves again, he side stepped, like he knew it was coming without even taking a breath from his sentence, "-ht today. We could leave in peace."

"No way, that bounty on your head can buy me a small planet!" Bossk countered. "Now come quietly. I would hate to make a mess of you."

The Miralian just shrugged. That was it. Bossk has two inches on Baves and several pounds of muscle on him. Anyone else should be very afraid of staring down Bossk, but the fact that there has been noise so far means that Baves Urety had managed to avoid Bossk for this long. "Fine, we'll do it your way. I can't give you a real fight to remember, but I can at least give you a run for your credits." That was when Baves chose to make his first move. He moved fast, faster than anyone can just run. He avoided Bossk's follow up shots with ease, a practiced ease, before jumping high over the Trandoshan, flipping and landing quietly on top of the roof of a shop. "But first you'll have to catch me!"

Din could have sworn Baves glanced in his direction. He was acting as a distraction, buying Din time to get back to the ship and make sure that the child was still safe. He was doing this intentionally. Din didn't even have time to consider shouting Baves's name. The miralian was already running in the exact opposite direction. So Din was running towards the ship.

~*~*~

Bossk isn't an easy bounty hunter to avoid, Baves just had to hope Din understood what he was doing, that he was buying them time. Besides, he was a bit of a romantic who had trusted Din with his lightsaber, even if Din didn't know he had it. So the name of the game was evade Bossk long enough to get him out of civilization. Or at least innocent bystanders. "Wow- they call you a bounty hunter? I wonder what the Score Keeper thinks of you? I've fought clankers that have better aim than you do!" That being said, Bossk was getting familiar with how Baves was evading him.

Once Baves could see the end of the market, he grinned and used the force to leap even further than he normally tries, turning around in the air and firing two rounds at Bossk. They were both close but neither of them hit the bounty hunter. "Kriff I miss my lightsaber."

"Running isn't like you- Urety, but it makes for a good hunt!" Bossk kept shooting at him, and Baves was all out of cover. He's good, he can evade people shooting at him for a while, but without his lightsaber, he was going to get shot eventually.

"Well, I've really needed the exercise and it's been a while since people have tried to kill me, so I'm just drawing this out for as long as I can!" He countered, trying to find anything he could use to his advantage.

Bossk shot at him again, and this time, Baves decided to get up close and personal. If he was too close for Bossk to use his gun effectively, then the former jedi could last a little bit longer. Again, Baves sprinted, using the force to move even faster and decided to disarm the Trandoshan with the force, flinging the weapon out of his hands, "Now this is what I expect when I made you my prey!"

"You talk too much," Baves countered, blocking the flurry of punches and opting to try to knock Bossk onto the ground. Sure he could use the force but he tries not to.

Bossk had a wicked smile on his face, and the Force warned Baves of what was about to happen before he could process it. He ducked low, barely avoiding a flurry of blasts from an assassin droid. "Kriff!" He was standing too close.

Overhead, he could hear a ship. Din's ship. Din didn't say anything on the ramp, he just tossed Baves his lightsaber. Din trusts him enough not to just disappear with this apparently.

Baves caught it and ignited it, the green blade humming into life, just in time to deflect the shots back at the assassin droid, taking it out. "That's better."

Bossk hissed right before Baves hit him over the head with his lightsaber hilt, "Oh shut up please! I've had enough of you for one life time."

Instead of waiting for Din to land, he just leapt up onto the ramp, turning his lightsaber back off and handing the hilt back over, "Here."

"No- I'm a Mandalorian, weapons are a part of my religion, and I know just what you're doing when you're handing that over to me." Din countered, closing the ramp once Baves was back inside. "You're a jedi."

"Well that's one thing to take away from today- you got the jogan fruit?" Baves had been focused on trying to do what he felt was right until he saw the real prize of today. "How?"

"The shopkeeper was grateful since you managed to not destroy any of his property. I also got you that scarf." Baves didn't need to force to know that Din was watching him as he set the lightsaber down on the seat, picking up a jogan fruit. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The miralian turned and shrugged, "Mandalorians hate the jedi, for good reason, but you need someone to teach the child how to use the force. And I am a Jedi."

Din looked at Baves, his expression unreadable with his helmet on. Perhaps that's for the best. "So you trusted me with your life... You were right about one thing though, Bossk wasn't the bigger fish."

"True, but there will always be another. Thank you for coming back for me." Baves's signature smile was back on his face, but it was sincere.

"Least I can do. Besides, you're handy in a fight." With that, Din climbed the ladder back into the cockpit.

#oc: Baves Urety #Din Djaren #The Mandalorian #Bossk #star wars #writing wednesday drabbles

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rashenditrash · 6 years ago

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An Expert On Just About Everything

Inspired by and liberally stolen from Chapter 45 of Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson.

Also posted here, maybe easier to read: https://www.17thshard.com/forum/topic/83149-an-expert-in-just-about-everything/

“I need to talk to you, Sazed,” Mare said.

“I can spare a few moments, I think,” Sazed said. “But, I must warn you that my studies are very pressing, and my next assignment is coming up soon.”

Mare grinned, her gleaming smile lighting up her dark features. “When are they not? What is it this time, the lost religion of people who worshipped anthills?”

“Close. These people diefied nature itself--everything, from the fiery ashmount to, yes, even the smallest of ants, was seen as part of the divine. I…” Sazed trailed, off, catching a curious look in Mare’s eye. She seemed tense, distracted. Usually she paid rapt attention to anything to do with pre-ascension times, but today something was off. “Mare… what’s wrong?

Mare hesitated, biting her lip slightly. Then, she moved over to the table, sitting down across from Sazed and pulling her legs up before her on the wooden seat.

“Sazed,” she asked, “how do you know if you’re in love?” Normally so confident and brave, it was strange to see Mare shrink back into herself, looking almost like the girl who had saved Sazed’s life years ago.

Sazed blinked. “I…I do not think I am one to speak on this topic, Mare. I know very little about it.”

“You always say things like that,” Mare said. “But really, you’re an expert on just about everything.”

Sazed chuckled. “In this case, I assure you that my insecurity is heartfelt. You certainly seem to have a better understanding than I.”

“Humour me. You’ve got to know something.”

“A bit, perhaps,” Sazed said, moistening his lips nervously. “You know, when we first met I think part of me thought I had a… an infatuation with you, to be honest, not that that would have ever worked out.”

“Oh Sazed,” the sound of Mare’s laughter was somehow enchanting and heartbreaking at the same time. “You didn’t really, did you?”

Of course I didn’t. It’s not a Eunuch’s place to love, after all. “Only a little, when I thought we might be kindred scholastic spirits. That was before I realized you have far too volatile a temperament for true scholarship.”

Mare swatted Sazed playfully. “I’m serious Sazed. Please, I need to talk this out.”

“Very well then. I’ll bite. You seem to be getting quite close to that conman who won’t stop bothering you. What, you thought I missed all those notes and gifts he’s been leaving at your window? You know, back before the Final Empire, a gentleman would leave a lady a whole bundle of flowers as a show of affection. They called it a bouquet.”

“A whole bundle, really Sazed? I can’t even imagine. Kelsier will need to up his game then. He hasn’t even managed to find me a single flower, let alone an entire bouquet.”

“You might be holding him to slightly too high a standard, Mare. So how do you feel when you are with him?”

“I want him to consume me,” Mare said, softly. Her hushed tone almost sent a chill down Sazed's spine. “He’s like fire Sazed, and sometimes I think just being near him will be enough to destroy me entirely. He’s like the sun, blotting out all the stars in the sky with his radiance. When I’m with him I feel exhilarated, and alive. It’s like all my emotions are being rioted while I’m flaring tin. He makes me feel like being a part of something greater.”

Sazed blushed, unused to hearing Mare talk in this way. “That… uh… seems to be a good sign, Mare.”

“But… he scares me too, Sazed.”

“Scares you?”

“Sometimes, when I look in his eyes I see something. A darkness.” Mare held up her hand before her, as if she were reaching for something intangible. “His light makes me feel like he might turn me into something far greater than I imagined, but there is darkness in him too, beneath all that charm, and it is equally seductive. Dangerously so. What if I give in to him, and he changes me Sazed? Makes me forget about everything I care about. Destroys my hopes and dreams, leaving those flowers to wither in my imagination, subsumed to his wishes.”

“That's… very poetic, but perhaps a little melodramatic as well? I understand the concern. Master Kelsier is… well, he’s certainly not someone I’d have chosen for you. But I also trust you to know yourself, and I doubt even the blackest darkness could blot out your dreams. Like the stars, hidden by mist, I think you could find a way to bring light to even the darkest night.”

Mare smirked. “Now who’s being a poet?”

“I learned from the best. But since we are playing Deepness’s advocate, I’ll try a different line. If Kelsier is so frightening, let’s turn to our more obvious choice, hmmm? What about Master Marsh? He’s been fond of you for far longer than you’ve even known his dangerous thieving brother.”

“Ah yes, Marsh.” Mare’s lips quirked slightly, forming a hint of a smile before flattening into a thoughtful line as she glanced back out the window. “I don’t want him to love me. Marsh needs… he needs a woman who can stand by his side as he leads the rebellion to victory. A woman who can live up to the ideals and standards of perfection he holds so dear. Someone who can sink back into his arms and be glad of their protective embrace.” Mare turned back, meeting Sazed’s gaze. “That’s not me, Sazed. Marsh wants to protect me, but sometimes I think I’m already lost. I’m not the person he thinks I am, and it would be cruel of me to pretend otherwise.”

“Master Marsh, though, is in love with you, yes? You trust him. Those iron eyes, as people call them, see a great deal, I think. How do you know he doesn’t love all of who you are, because you are exciting and different? That man could use a lot of things, but a little laughter and spontaneity certainly could not hurt.”

Mare cocked her head to the side. “Careful Sazed, flatter me too much more and I might believe you do still fancy me.”

She means no harm, she’s your friend. “My point stands. You are who you are. Despite Master Kelsier’s interference, despite your different approaches to life, Marsh fell in love with you, and I have to say your dreams, though ambitious, are rather compatible.”

“I shouldn’t have let him fall in love with me. He deserves to be with someone who… deserves him, not someone like me.”

Sazed frowned, feeling like he was missing something. “And why do you, of all people, not deserve to be loved?”

Mare shook her head. “It’s not that simple, Saze.”

“Few things are. Yet, I tell you this. Love must be allowed to flow both ways—if it is not, then it is not truly love, I think. It is something else. Infatuation, perhaps? Either way, there are some of us who are far too quick to make martyrs of ourselves. We stand at the side, watching, thinking that we do the right thing by inaction. We fear pain—our own, or that of another.”

He reached forward, taking Mare’s hand in his own. “But…is that love? Is it love to assume for Marsh that he has no place with you? Or, is it love to let him make his own decision in the matter?”

“And if I’m wrong for him?” Mare asked.

“You must love him enough to trust his wishes, even if you disagree with them. You must respect him—no matter how wrong you think he may be, no matter how poor you think his decisions, you must respect his desire to make them. Even if one of them includes loving you.”

Mare smiled slightly, but she still seemed troubled. “And…” she said very slowly, “if it doesn’t flow both ways? If I’ve already betrayed his feelings?

Ah….

Mare tensed immediately. “This must stay between us.”

“Of course, as always.” Sazed hesitated. “It is Master Kelsier then?

Mare shrugged. “Let’s say it is. You heard me before Sazed. He makes me feel so many things. Marsh makes me feel loved, but nothing else.”

“Do you love him?”

“Who?”

Sazed shrugged.

“You’re infuriating. Fine. I don’t know. I respect Marsh, and I think I’m infatuated with Kelsier, or maybe, the idea of him. There might be something more there, but I honestly can’t be sure.”

Sazed hesitated. In this matter, he knew he should remain unbiased. He didn’t know enough about Kelsier, or his intentions, to compare him to Marsh—and Keepers were supposed to give information, but avoid specific advice.

“And does he love you?”

“Marsh certainly does. I mean, it’s obvious isn’t it? Kelsier… I… I think he does. I know he wants me. It’s just hard to tell with him. For all I know he’s just doing this to spite his brother. With Marsh, it’s an open book. I know exactly where I stand with him. With Kelsier, there’s... always another secret. Shouldn’t I pay more attention to the man who is more exciting for me? Or should I play it safe and choose the more dependable one?”

“I don’t know, Mare. I honestly don’t know. I warned you of my ignorance in this area. I think you’ve already made up your mind though, and maybe just needed to talk yourself into it?”

She sighed. “It’s all so frustrating. I should be worrying about the city and about overthrowing that Lord Tyrant, and making flowers bloom again, not which man to spend my evenings with!”

“It is hard to defend others when our own lives are in turmoil,” Sazed said.

Mare stood. “Thank-you Sazed. You’re a good friend. Thank-you for listening. I don’t know what I’ll do without you. Please say you’ll stay?”

“I’m afraid the Synod has another assignment for me elsewhere. I’m sorry Mare but, we can’t all be as brave and daring as your Kelsier. Give Master Marsh my regards.”

Mare nodded in understanding. “Yes. I will. Good luck Sazed. Stay safe.”

Sazed smiled, and wished her the same, though in his heart he knew she wouldn’t be.

#mistborn #well of ascension #mare #kelsier #marsh #sazed

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valloryr · 7 years ago

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One Page Lost

Author: Vallory Russups

Rating: T

Pairing: Byakuran/Sawada Tsunayoshi, Bluebell/Yuni, Bluebell & Byakuran, Sawada Tsunayoshi & Arcobaleno

Prompt: Sky Day (Dragon AU / Royalty AU) for @khrrarepairweek

Tags/Warnings: N/A

Summary: Byakuran saw Tsuna at the library and fell in love.

AO3

For Byakuran, the world was a book. A well-read one, but not a book you open again and again to discover new sides and angles, new perspectives and old secrets. Rather, the type you pick up because it's comforting, familiar, and there is nothing better anyway.

Lounging on a cushioned sofa as white as everything else in the room, Byakuran frowned at the marshmallow between his fingers. Kikyo would be annoyed with him if he went through all their stocks of marshmallows in a single day yet again. which was the perfect reason to cheerfully finish off the last packet.

"Bya-nii!" Bluebell's sweet voice signalled her presence before the girl burst through the doors, leaving wet footprints on the plush white carpet. She latched onto him and pouted into his stomach.

"You should come when you don't smell like sea-weed, dear." Byakuran patted the head of his 'little sister'. "Went out for a bath in the sea?"

"She dumped me."

"Well, I've been telling you it won't work out between the two of you. You're the sister of the man who murdered everyone she loved, after all."

Byakuran rubbed Bluebell's shoulder consolingly. Honestly, he didn't understand why Yuni had to be so difficult about some things.

Bluebell shook her wet hair and glowered.

"Not like this, dummy. She dumped me into the water, nyu. We quarrelled, and she pushed me. This hasn't ever happened before!" Bluebell intertwined her cold, slightly scaly fingers with Byakuran's warm ones and looked down. Mumbling, she added, "What if there is something wrong with her? Are you sure that tea you're feeding Yu-chan is... safe?"

Byakuran sighed.

Everything would have been so much easier if people had less morals. Even his closest and dearest ones fell prey to this fate.

Touching Bluebell's cheek gently, Byakuran said, "Safe or not, without that tea you wouldn't have Yuni-chan at all."

Bluebell bit her lip to stop it from trembling.

"But this way, I have to wonder whether it's really Yu-chan I'm with or someone I've made up myself."

Smiling, Byakuran told her a joke to keep her mind off such useless things, and then chattered a mile a minute, switching to more interesting topics. Scruples were so boring, and he was already bored by so many things he wondered how he functioned. Probably out of pure spite. People would be much happier with him gone.

Yuni was a disappointment.

After Byakuran's country of Gesso crushed the Vongola Empire and created the Millefiore Empire, his first action was to secure the family of the Giglio Nero prophets. The mother was too strong to be contained by his magic, which was the reason Byakuran killed her along with everyone who protected the prophetess. He drugged her daughter Yuni, keeping her at hand just in case, but she didn't See what he needed her to, so Byakuran easily discarded the girl.

She was lucky Bluebell took interest in her.

In a world where everything was a book, there was just one page torn out. A single page Byakuran didn't know the contents of.

That 'page' was an old story, almost a myth. It told about a group of mystical ancient dragons controlling the keystones of the world.

The Arcobaleno.

Byakuran desired that page more than he had ever desired life.

"And what are you doing here?" Byakuran purred into the ear of an unfamiliar figure in the royal library.

"HIEEE!"

The figure - it was a young man, almost a boy, no matter how high-pitched his scream - shuddered and stumbled away from the White Emperor. He managed to bump into two oak desks and almost bash his head into a bookshelf.

Quite a bemusing reaction. Usually people just bowed, threw their money at him, and fled the country.

The boy rubbed his head. He was a cute little thing, all scrawny knees and brown doe eyes and fluffy hair Byakuran longed to brush. The oversized robe hanging off his frame only emphasised his small stature. It had seen better days. Several necklaces of golden beads festooned his neck, so thin Byakuran could snap it with one hand, and they rattled every time the boy moved. Very bad for stealth.

He might have even been interested in romancing the boy, had Byakuran not known how those things unfold. Boring, like everything else.

"Scared of me?" he asked with his usual smile. The boy looked to the side before taking a deep breath and looking right into Byakuran's eyes, a feat unheard of even among Byakuran's most loyal servants.

His heart skipped a beat.

"I know the things you've done, Your Highness," the boy - who looked too young to be there - said in an endearingly direct way even though his shoulders trembled. "But I'm not scared."

"How delightfully suicidal."

Byakuran swept past the boy to drop into a chair, furrowing his eyebrows at the fact that it was gilded with gold. Why gold? He had told them he only welcomed silver.

"Now, who are you? I haven't seen you here before. And where is Mammon. It's not like them to eschew their duties."

Mammon was the Keeper of the Books and the one in charge of the special archive that contained precious information on such things as the world before Byakuran's reign as well as the legends of the old - The Seven Arcobaleno Dragons.

"I'm Tsuna," the boy told him. When he wasn't shrieking, he had a soft, soothing voice. Byakuran wouldn't mind listening to this boy lecturing him in Kikyo's stead. "Master Mammon took me in and told me to help clean everything up." Tsuna scratched his cheek. "They... aren't fond of that."

"Well, they weren't hired for their cleaning skills."

Byakuran took a nearby book in hand. Indeed, it wasn't dusty - a rare event in Mammon's library. They were lucky they were incredibly knowledgeable about languages as well as had a gift of repairing frail pages and charred tomes. Then again, Byakuran might still get rid of them in the future. To spice things up.

"Th-this is my first day," Tsuna spoke up nervously, unable to bear the silence. He fiddled with the beads on his chest. "Everything is fine, right? I haven't done anything wrong, right? Master Mammon is... very easily irritated." He added under his breath, "At least they don't shoot me with a musket."

Byakuran let Tsuna's ramblings wash over him.

He didn't remember hearing about Mammon taking anyone in - they were not the charitable kind - but to be fair he generally skipped reading reports because he could guess everything written in them, both complaints and praise. He left such mundane things to Kikyo and Zakuro.

This was a minor surprise, but even small surprises were the reason Byakuran made it that far.

He returned the next day.

He returned yet again, with Mammon nowhere to be found all the while.

Byakuran would have liked to torture them a bit for lazing about in their work hours, but when Tsuna greeted him with a shy grin and a wave of his feather duster before falling off a step-ladder, he laughed and found himself actually grateful.

"Ouch." Tsuna jumped to his feet, wincing when his movement pushed the step-ladder to the ground with a loud clatter. He ignored it and braved on, "P-please don't punish Master Mammon for not being here. I tried to rope them into helping. They escaped."

"Probably drinking fairy-dust essence with that meditation master from the Oriental District."

"Actually, no. Really, no. Master Mammon hates Fon-san. I think they teamed up with Skull to go bother Master Magician Verde."

"Skull? Ah, the messenger from Carcassa."

Tsuna hummed, leaning down to right the step-ladder. Byakuran appreciated the view of the round behind. Such a shame the boy insisted on those horrid clothes. Honestly, even if you have no money, just go and steal it!

He should send some underlings out for a present. Even Byakuran hardly ever managed to shove Torikabuto out of his tower, but Daisy would appreciate a work-out. He should send him somewhere remote though - Daisy had interesting hobbies like carrying around a bunch of torture tools and trying them out on citizens to see if he met anyone as immortal as him, and people were oddly judgemental of that pastime.

"Your neck is very lovely," Byakuran whispered in Tsuna's ear, enjoying the poor boy's blush. He trailed his finger down the his Adam's apple before wrapping his hands around it.

"Thank you, but, um." Tsuna pushed Byakuran's hand down firmly. He righted his jiggling necklaces, this time with charms on them - a present from Byakuran. "I'd like to keep it."

"Tsu-chan, don't be a meanie. Of course I'll let you keep your neck, I don't want to snap it or cut it off. Just... strangle it a little."

"Hiee!" Blushing to the roots, Tsuna coughed into his fist. "That's... No. Not my fetish. But..." His voice lowered. Byakuran leaned in even deeper to hear it, inhaling the scent of dust, honey, and musket powder. "But I may not be opposed to trying out something else."

With that he used a burst of magic to blast Byakuran out of the library.

Rubbing the back of his head, the Emperor laughed. He hadn't expected little sweet Tsuna to have magic.

Byakuran found out that Tsuna was bullied by some of the other servants in the castle.

He was pleased.

After all, how else would he find an opportunity to show his Tsu-chan just how much he treasured him?

He gathered the bullies and their families and executed them in the most brutal ways possible, aided by the imagination of the torture masters Lal Mirch and Colonello. By the end of it, even Bluebell trembled, clutching Yuni's hand and shielding Yuni's eyes from the gruesome sight - sparing her lover in the only ways she could afford to.

Tsu-chan watched the proceedings solemnly. Unlike Byakuran or Daisy, he didn't laugh a single time. His eyes glowed strangely orange, and Byakuran didn't hold himself back from kissing his sweetheart on the eyelids once the show was regrettably over.

"You didn't find it cruel? Their death?"

Byakuran caressed Tsuna's lower lip with a curious thumb. It was soft, like a petal of a toxic flower.

His Tsuna grasped Byakuran's hand, the one adorned with the rings both his own and those of fallen enemies'. The boy's fingers lingered on the Vongola ring.

"Perhaps I did. But it was also necessary."

In Tsu-chan's eyes Byakuran read mourning but not regret.

It was then that Byakuran decided that he loved him.

"So, you didn't change your mind, kora?" Colonello asked him. His eyes showed he would respect any decision Tsuna made, but the spherical Dragon Amulet on his chest shone bright blue, anticipating blood-bath.

Tsuna glanced down at his hands. Noticing their trembling, he curled them into fists - even though Reborn pretended to just sun himself on the stones, he was watching, and his teacher would release a stream of scorching fire any second to 'help Tsuna deal with stress'.

"No, I didn't. Why would you think so?"

"That's pretty obvious, Tsu," Skull chimed in. Unlike half of them, who took on their dragon forms since their secret meeting place allowed them to let loose, he remained a human. He was the biggest dragon, after all. Besides, he would get an opportunity to fly freely soon. "You've been getting quite chummy with that albino bastard."

Viper, a beautiful indigo dragon happy to shed their Master Mammon disguise, huffed out fumes of black mist. Their equivalent of pursing lips.

"Mou, I didn't lose so much money by playing translator just for it to end up useless."

"There are things more important than money," Fon preached, still sounding calm and peaceful even as a long red dragon twining around trees. "Self-discovery, for one."

"Thank you, Fon, but I think I've discovered enough about myself to want to bring down the man who has made my people suffer for so long," Tsuna said.

On his neck, his amulet glowed, the orange gold of his eyes not concealed by the magic of the beaded necklaces he wore in the human form. The power inside the little sphere was ancient and beautiful, reminding Tsuna of times long past, when he founded the Vongola Empire with Giotto. Giotto then became the First Emperor, while Tsuna kept his identity concealed - he was the leader of the immortal Arcobaleno dragons and what would he do if he broadcasted who he was to everyone he met?

Lal Mirch wrapped the end of her navy blue spiked tail around Tsuna, while Verde abandoned his heap of research papers to make the tea he awkwardly presented to his boss.

Tsuna smiled at all of them.

A pity that the human whose company brought him so much enjoyment had been twisted before they even met, but Tsuna would never be alone.

Tomorrow they would be sieging the castle, freeing Yuni (who told him she wanted to bring a tagalong, and Tsuna didn't mind - he always listened to his friends' requests), and Tsuna would see Byakuran one last time. He wondered what expression the man would make.

Tsuna's heart ached briefly, but he had seen a lot of death, some caused by Byakuran himself.

Some things were cruel but so necessary.

#khrrarepairweek #khrrarepairweek2018 #KHR #sawada tsunayoshi #byakuran #10027 #arcobaleno tsuna #dragon au #royalty au #Sky Day #oneshot #complete #mine #fanfiction

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alia-turin · 7 years ago

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That’s a lot of self indulging cuteness and some arguing. Hope ya’all enjoy!

Fic Title: Not Strong Enough Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 Rating [Warnings]: M [mention of body injury, SFW] all chapters will have different warnings Pairing: Luche x OC, Nyx x Luna Summary: 3 years have passed since Noctis disappeared and Luche finds himself on the side of unfamiliar road with no recollection how he got there Note: I was listening to Apocalyptica’s Not Strong Enough while writing that hence the title. It’s VERY suitable sing for the fic.

If you feel like supporting this writer consider buying me a coffee: Ko-Fi or Patreon

Tagging: @birdsandivory @jojopitcher @lazarustrashpit @yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy

She woke up few times during the night, for no apparent reason. It wasn’t a nightmare or even a sound that made her opened her eyes she just did. Every time he woke up he was there, his arms wrapped around her, his hot breath touching her skin. It was familiar and foreign at the same time.

Eventually she woke up in the morning in an empty bed, all the covers wrapped around her. She had been so tired she didn’t even hear Luche waking up and leaving. While the sleep was still wearing off her mind she just enjoyed the pleasant feeling of finally sleeping in bed but then it hit her. He was gone. They were in Nyx’s house. She jumped quick off the bed finding her clothes all over the floor from last night. Dressed as fast as she could and rushed out of the room. The princess was in the kitchen, her daughter on the ground playing with toys.

“Have you seen…” she started the princess interrupted her with a friendly smile.

“They went out early. Nyx needed help with something around the wall.” Luna explained and then added as she saw the worry in Ada’s eyes. “Don’t worry. Nyx won’t do anything unless provoked.”

“How did you manage to convince him to do that…” Ada went closer to her and saw that she was actually making potions. She recognized some of the ingredients, it was healing potions.

“You were right yesterday, we have bigger things to worry than killing each other and Nyx thinks you are a good person.” The princess gave her another friendly smile and Ada just couldn’t help but feel guilty. “In all fairness I did tempt Luche with the ring, so I guess there is some small justice.”

“Princess…” Ada started but was interrupted again.

“Call me Luna please.”

“Luna. I’m sorry I brought that to your home and I’m sorry for everything he did…before.” Ada said calmly. “If I knew Nyx was here in Galahd and even had family, Luche is the last person I would have brought.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that.” She pushed the potions aside and cleaned her hands. “You want coffee?”

“You have coffee?” Ada asked surprised and the princess nodded. “Yes, please!” Luna turned around and poured the black liquid in a mug. Ada realized last time she had coffee was years ago. “It’s almost gone in Lestallum. Whatever we find it’s not to go around. It’s usually finds keepers.” Ada enjoyed the coffee for a moment then continued. “I have been apologizing for him for three years, that it has become a habit.”

“He doesn’t strike me as the man who needs an advocate.” Luna said but was interrupted by the cries of the little girl.

“It wasn’t because he needed it. I needed it.” She admitted a bit sheepishly. “Nyx was my friend many of the others were friends as well. I wish I could have stopped him. I guess I apologize for not stopping him not that much for what he did or didn’t do.”

“How did you hurt yourself?” the princess spoke to her daughter that was still crying. Just now Ada saw a small cut on one of her fingers. “Can I ask you to hold her while I grab something to cover it.” Ada got up and grabbed the child from Luna, but before the princess could even turn around se used spell to heal the small cut. “That’s more effective I guess.”

“I’d rather use magic for that than for…well anything else.” The little girl had stopped smiling and was curiously looking at her finger.

“Nyx always does these things with fire that attract her attention. Sometimes I’m worried he would set the house on fire.” Luna said jokingly.

“I have something safer. Can I have a glass?” Lune gave her a questioning look but passed her an empty glass, Ada placed it on the counter and cast the spell. A small snowstorm appeared within the glass. “Way safer.” In her arms Sylva made a happy sound and just observed the snowflakes dancing.

“She has never seen snow.” Luna smiled.

“I figured. First time I saw snow was when I left Galahd, I was already fourteen at that time. She could show off later that she had seen snow.” Ada watched the girl and smiled to herself. “There aren’t many children in Lestallum. At least not her age. People are scared. Most of them can barely protect themselves, I guess they are afraid they cannot protect another life.”

“Is it that bad?” Luna made cup of coffee for herself and they both sat around the table, Sylva still in Ada’s arms.

“Yes and no. It is mostly safe, but we are losing a lot of what we have gained. Lestallum is safe, but there are close calls now and then.” Ada winced at the thought. They did fight hard to grow the safety zones and now they were all losing. “It is why we wanted to check Galahd. Islands are easier to defend.”

“I’m not sure you will find much luck here.” Luna said calmly. “Everyone fought with tooth and nail to build all that here and we are barely keeping it. There is life on the other islands, people manage, but the lack of electricity is killing them. Hard to keep the demons away with no light and Nix is the only person that can use magic.”

“Why you can’t bring power?” Ada knew they had water plant, surely it could work for more than this small settlement.

“There is some issue with the plant. When we first arrived, people had just managed to make it up and running, but only at about twenty percent. Nobody here had enough knowledge to fix it.” The princess sighed. “Nyx tried to boost it with magic, and it did for a bit, but he can’t do it all the time.”

“Perhaps there is a way.” Ada smiled. “I just need a cell tower that works.”

“Taking me far away to blow my brains.” Luche smiled mostly to himself as he followed Nyx out of town.

“Don’t tempt me. It’s Ada and Luna that are stopping me from leaving you here half dead, not your amazing personality.” Nyx groaned from ahead.

“How do you plan to pull that off.” Luche eventually asked as they walked maybe another fifty meters.

“Pull what off?” Nyx stopped and turned around obviously not pleased at the whole conversation.

“You and the princess. Last thing she was engaged to the then prince, now king.” Luche leaned against a tree. “Didn’t occur to you he might object?”

“I will cross that bridge when I come to it.” Nyx said a bit annoyed. “If you managed to convince Ada you are better man than you are, I’m sure I have fair chances.”

“Ada is a good person, it wasn’t a question of if but when.” Luche added. “Lots of things can go wrong in your case.”

“Well then I will just offer the king your head and I will solve my problems.” Nyx grinned all teeth, Luche laughed.

“Okay cease fire. Truce.” Luche finally offered after they just looked at each other for a bit. “I doubt we can be friends again, but at least we can avoid being enemies. For the greater good.”

Nyx just stared at him as if Luche was talking in foreign language. Fixing things did go through at least not ending up in a fight with Nyx so he had to at least try.

“Fine.” Nyx finally said, but his body language was saying that nothing was actually fine. “Why did you do it? I mean did you really expect the Empire was going to give you what you wanted? And what did you want? Fame? Money?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Luche sighed but didn’t end it there. Fixing things. He promised he will fix things and he had to do it. “Nyx be honest with yourself. Distance yourself from kings and all that bullshit. You know where that war was going. Sooner or later they were going to reach Insomnia and one way or another they were going to destroy the city. Maybe it was going to take months maybe years, maybe we were going to die somewhere in the battlefield before that happened. I saw a chance, I used it. I didn’t want to be someone’s toy soldier anymore.”

“That’s what you subscribed for!” Nyx said a bit annoyed. “You knew what you got into and then what? Got tired of it?”

“No, I got enlisted to protect the people, my home so one day I can have home as well. See Galahd again. Have a life.” Luche exhaled loudly trying not to work himself over it. It was pointless, they had to reach some common ground, not just blame each other’s ways. “The more we were stuck in that the less likely it was for any of that to happen. You were there. That battle before the treaty was brought up. We were all going to die that day, you know it. The Empire stopped attacking, if they didn’t maybe handful of us would have lived.”

“How about the Captain? How did he get to you?” Nyx just shook his head as soon as Luche finished, obviously not getting that explanation but at least accepting it.

“We talked one day. Some thoughts might have slipped my mind, we agreed on certain things. That we are just puppets in the King’s hands and all that. That was probably a year before all that happened. We started planning thinking wo might join us and who wouldn’t. I don’t think it’s necessary to explain in which category you fell.” Luche shrugged. It all sounded so simple now, so pointless. Things ended the way they would have ended even without him joining Drautos. The irony of life.

“You could have stopped him!” Nyx argued.

“Excuse me have you seen the man? I’m a lot of things but stupid isn’t one of them. You used the ring’s power to beat him, imagine doing it without the ring.” Luche fought back and realized it was all going back to hell.

“Maybe I would have had better chance if someone didn’t shoot me.” Nyx responded but Luche just laughed. That was going nowhere.

“Look we can either put that in the past or argue all day.” He pushed himself from the tree and offered Nyx his hand. “We had our differences, we are standing on the same ground right now trying to achieve the same thing. We can either jump each other and see who comes on top or just accept things as they are.”

Nyx looked at the extended hand then looked in Luche’s eyes. The man made a face as if having some internal struggle what is the right choice here. Eventually he extened his hand and shook Luche’s, but it all seemed as if someone was making him do it. Didn’t really matter as long as he knew he doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open it was all good.

“Now why did you take me here?” Luche asked after their small peace ceremony was done.

“That thing there is old transmission tower.” Nyx pointed behind himself. It was a transmission tower but was all covered in weeds and jungle plants. No wonder he didn’t see it until now. “When we started building the settlement we gut all towers from the power plant, they were using too much electricity. Ada said her phone is working, something I cannot say for myself, so we need to get that up and running.”

Luche just made a sign for him to lead the way and so he did. Getting to the tower wasn’t that hard, connecting it back to the system was different matter. Neither of them knew really what they were doing, but with some trial and error, magic and lots of swearing they were doing some progress.

“So what are you going to do now?” Nyx eventually asked him which was unexpected, they have been all business so far.

“Stay here, now that you don’t want to kill him. That’s my home.” Luche explained as he reached for a cable that was tangled with some roots.

“There is an empty house.” Nyx said after probably ten minutes of silence and work.

“Are you offering me…a home?” Luche had to try not to smile. Nyx will always be the same man. A good man.

“I assume Ada wants to stay as well and as much as I want to see your ass dealing with demons she is punished enough in life by having to tolerate you.” Nyx passed him a cable and started looking for a control panel. “You are both good fighters, we have few of these.”

“Don’t get her into that.” Luche said serious. “I will pull my weight in defense or whatever else, she has done enough.” Nyx gave him a questioning look and he continued. “She took it upon herself to fix my mistakes. She needs a break.”

Nyx didn’t say anything but nodded. Of course he understood from what Luche can make out of the whole situation he was himself protecting the princess more than she needed. Nobody in Galahd knew she was the princess and the fact she had dyed her hair pointed to the fact they wanted to keep it like that at least for now. He didn’t blame him.

“And it’s working.” Nyx said eventually as a light on the control panel blinked.

#my writing

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sleepykalena · 7 years ago

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“A Place to Go” (rebelcaptain fic)

Y’all I did a fic because Jyn’s life story gave me more feels than i could handle. The canon Rogue One universe is not kind. Jyn needs a massive hug.

This story is long. It’s angsty. And I’d post it on ao3 but I don’t have an account yet so sorry :( I’d honestly rather post it there because dashboards are brutal.

CW: Some language, allusions to sex (in case this matters to anyone)

Summary:

Cassian learns more about Jyn, and about grief.

“Just because you can��t turn off the spy switch in your head doesn’t mean you can take away what little I have left and give it up to everyone else in the Alliance.”

Word count: 8,215 (christ why)

Someone, long ago, had once told Cassian that grief was just love with no place to go. He didn't understand it at the time- all the grief he ever had had dried up when his family was stolen from him by the Empire. Later, the sound of every blaster shot he took merely bounced around in his heart, turned hollow because whatever love he had left was emptied out of him and given to the Alliance.

Now, as an adult, he could sympathize for those who grieved. That was easy. But even after Scarif and the Battle of Yavin, empathy continued to elude him.

The realization distracted Cassian one day as he conducted his usual mid-morning walk across the cargo bay of Echo Base, an ideal location because the area was at its emptiest. It was the best way for him to clear his mind after debriefings, but it left him vulnerable to self-assessment. Would he ever grieve if his love was always poured into efforts for the greater good? Is he any less human if he died never having felt grief again? If he gave his love to Jyn and she rejected it, would he feel it then?

He was so deep in thought that he failed to notice the hushed voices of Bodhi and Jyn, who were huddled together between stacks of crates a few hundred feet away.

"You got the goods?"

"Yeah, I got 'em."

"This is a huge favor," Jyn says softly, more to herself than to Bodhi, as he places a paper-wrapped parcel into her hands. Bodhi doesn't recall ever having seen this side of Jyn, if he was honest with himself, even as they worked side by side for the last two years. If her face wasn't working to maintain a sense of neutrality, she was either grinning like a dire-cat ready to pounce or giving Draven and the other superiors her classic scowl. This time, her face had softened, as if a fond memory was rising to the surface, and Bodhi realized for the first time that Jyn had spent all this time wearing a face that aged her far more than she actually was.

"You owe me big time for these though- they weren't cheap when I went to the outpost," Bodhi responded, holding his hand out for payment while darting his eyes around to see if anyone had noticed them. But with stacks of crates dotted throughout the cargo bay, he hadn’t noticed Cassian walking towards their general direction. "I was only supposed to pick up supplies and come straight back, and this detour set me back a few hours. They're not gonna be happy with a former Imp like me returning late from deliveries."

"You'll be fine, stop sweating over that, Bodhi," Jyn teased, her attention snapping back from the parcel to her fellow teammate. She pulled a credit chip out of her pocket and placed it in his expectant hand and closed his fingers around it. "Just don't tell anyone about this exchange," she pleaded, "not even Cassian."

Bodhi eyed her curiously. "Jyn, it's not like these items are contraband, why are we trying to be secretive about all this?"

Jyn looked up at him, and for a brief moment Bodhi swore he saw a hint of sadness in her eyes before she sank back into her neutral silence. The lines on her face returned. "That's my business. But I promise it isn't anything bad." She started to turn away from him so that he could be on his way, but she turned back around in a small smile. "I'll see you at dinner?"

Bodhi nodded and watched her tuck the parcel under her vest as she turned the corner from the crates they hid behind. Curiosity and confusion lingered on his face as he glanced down at the credits Jyn had compensated.

Honestly, what was so important about paint sticks that Jyn needed to keep it a secret from literally everyone else?

As Jyn rounded the corner from the crates, she kept her head low and tried her hardest to keep her left arm tucked in slightly more than usual to keep the hidden parcel safe inside her vest. But in all her concentration, she hadn’t noticed Cassian, and her head collided with his chest. She stumbled back a bit, and looked up to see the captain, eyebrows raised in surprise and arms out to try and catch her if she fell back too far.

“Sorry,” was all Jyn could get out, her eyes rounded in mutual surprise. They looked blue today in the backdrop of the cold lamps overhead, and Cassian could see the flecks of gold in them.

When Cassian realized he was staring too intently at her eyes, he regained his composure and stood up a little straighter. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you usually in combat training?”

Jyn froze. Just play it off, don’t give him a reason to notice anything else, she thought.

She raised an eyebrow in playful suspicion. “Stalking me, are you, Captain?”

He ducked his head in a wry smile, then huffed out a bit of air before leaning in close, pushing the boundaries of personal space in a way only he was allowed to. “There’s a difference between a stalker and an intelligence agent, Sergeant.”

Cassian’s emphasis on “sergeant” was low, and the breathiness of it brushed Jyn’s ear. She tensed up even more and her lips parted just enough to suck in a small gasp. Stay calm, she kept telling herself, willing herself to maintain focus and not lose it from staring back at the captain’s eyes.

Her tongue dart out to lick her lips, and Cassian felt his ears turn a little red. He loved the teasing game of tug-of-war that they played with each other, but he’d rather not admit that her reactions at his teasing were far more rewarding than the times she'd actually try to get a rise out of him.

“Well,” Jyn started, backing up a little so that she could circumvent him, “guess that means I have to do my due diligence and get dressed for training.” She took a few steps in the direction of her quarters, still tucking her left arm in.

Cassian cocked his head to one side. “Jyn, what are you hiding under your vest?”

Jyn’s arm tucked in a little more, as if she weren't any more conspicuous to Cassian. “My blaster.”

A lie. And a bad one at that. “Don't you mean, ‘my blaster’?”

“Hey, I found it.”

“In my bag.”

“Finders keepers,” Jyn grinned.

Cassian sighed. “Jyn, are you in possession of contraband?”

Jyn shook her head and tried to take a few steps further away from Cassian. “I’m not. I’m really not.”

There was a moment of silence between them. Cassian found himself unable to tear himself away from her eyes. What was she trying to hide, exactly?

Jyn found herself with the same problem. Maintain eye contact, don’t try to look any more suspicious than you do already, she told herself. She needed to head back, and this silence was as good a time as any for her to retreat back to her quarters. “I uh...I’m almost done with the scandocs you need from me. I’ll bring them over once I’m finished?” she offered.

Cassian merely nodded as she walked off, his mind already sinking back within itself, trying to digest what just happened.

The door to Jyn's quarters hissed open, and she rushed inside. Once the doors shut, she sighed a breath of relief and pulled the parcel back out from under her vest. It was time. She needed this.

Her quarters, luckily, were private- a luxury given to the surviving members of Rogue One. In fact, Chirrut and Baze were the only ones to opt for shared quarters. Most people would take the opportunity to fill their private quarters with personal effects or an abundance of clothes, but Jyn's personal possessions were a grand total of three things: the code replicator handed to her from Saw, her truncheons, and Cassian's blaster. The items lay neatly in the lone drawer of her desk, leaving the room to appear completely unoccupied to the untrained eye.

Gingerly, Jyn unwrapped the parcel to reveal a variety of paint sticks and folded canvas. She took a deep breath. She was going to do this right. She was going to do right by him and honor him properly.

Kneeling down, she took the canvas and unfolded it slowly, almost ritualistically, and laid it flat on the cold ground of her quarters. She sat back on her heels as she contemplated her color choices. Would she start with purple? Yellow? Or perhaps green?

No, that wasn't how he would've done it. That's not how it was supposed to be done.

She took another deep breath, closed her eyes, and let herself remember.

The thrill he felt as she placed her hands firmly on his to push the throttle forward on his mother's ship.

The stars that had surrounded them as they flew higher and higher, and the wonder in his eyes when he finally got his wish to fly amongst the stars.

The large steamer in the kitchen, his undamaged hands scooping bunn for breakfast every morning.

The way he felt under her slender fingers, a bit scrawny, but firm and secure.

The distinct smell of the grass they were laying on as the day wore on.

The look in his eyes, hooded with desire as he offered himself completely to her.

The feel of him inside her, her first time, and hungry body taking it all that it could.

The way he made her realize that, at some point, she had called his place “home”.

Jyn's eyes opened, and she found her cheeks wet with tears.

Shakily, she grabbed the black paint stick and started making marks on the canvas.

Back in his own private quarters, Cassian was at his desk, compiling the resources necessary for tomorrow’s reconnaissance mission onto his datapad. K2SO sat next to him, installed on a charging station, backing up his data. It was part of the routine- always make a backup copy before a mission in case anything went awry. The soft hum of the whirring disks inside Kay created a comfortable kind of silence for him, but he couldn’t help but let his mind wander again. His eyes shifted slightly to look at his droid friend, re-installed from a backup copy and completely unaware of the experiences he had on Scarif. Surely he couldn’t find grief in a broken droid if there were regular backups designed for resurrection if anything went wrong, right?

He shook the thought away before he let himself wander too far down that path again.

There was a small “bong” noise indicating that the data backup was complete, and he could hear the shifting of Kay’s joints as the droid turned to look at him. “Backup of my data is complete, Cassian. What would you like me to do next?”

“Access the database for updated intel packets of all members involved with tomorrow's mission, and download the extra mission details from my datapad. Jyn will be coming by later with forged scandocs, and you can upload that information once I get it.”

“Understood,” replied Kay, and he sat back against the wall. The halo lights of his eyes blinked frantically as his CPU was processing this information, but it hadn’t been long when he suddenly stopped and his eyes became a solid blue-white.

“...Cassian?”

“Done already?” Cassian asked absentmindedly, tapping around his datapad.

There was a contemplative silence from Kay. Then, finally, “It has finally occurred to me that Jyn Erso has many aliases.”

Cassian paused. “We know. That’s why it took us longer than usual to find her two years ago. This isn’t news, Kay.” He continued to tap and scroll around his datapad.

“But unlike her other aliases, ‘Tanith Ponta’ had only ever been used once.”

Cassian shrugged. “It probably was a failed identity.”

There was a moment of silence and the hum of Kay’s CPU whirred again. Then, “I have obtained more information on Tanith Ponta.”

“Good, add it to Jyn’s intel sheet.”

“I cannot. The intel conflicts with previous versions of intel.”

Exasperated by Kay’s linguistic runarounds, he put the datapad on his desk and turned towards his friend-droid. “Conflicts, how?”

“Based on my scans, Tanith Ponta had died 17 standard years ago due to a drug overdose.”

Overdose? But-

“But Jyn is alive and healthy,” Kay continued. “She certainly did not contract bloodburn and overdose from the haidera serum at the age of 6.” Kay’s eyes flickered again before continuing his observation. “The last time the name Tanith Ponta shows up in known databases was about 6 standard years ago, at the Five Points Station. According to security footage, Jyn had used the alias, but, later discarded it in favor of Liana Hallik and other aliases since then. No instances of ‘Tanith Ponta’ have occurred since.”

Granted, that was a bit strange, but… “So she got caught with a dead person’s identity. That’s not unusual for people on the run.”

“The probability of someone co-opting a deceased person’s identity is about 7% when the deceased in question was known for having an illness and a drug addiction. Jyn Erso in particular is a highly-skilled document forger. Why would she bother to steal an identity when she had created successful fake ones before and after the use of the ‘Tanith Ponta’ alias?”

Cassian chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. Kay was right- this behavior goes against her MO.

Moments passed in more silence before Kay leaned in a little closer. “Have your thoughts been completely preoccupied with Jyn again? You could at least tell me what to do with the information I found before you go back to what sentients call ‘daydreaming’.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “Create a new intel file for the real Tanith Ponta, and keep it separate from Jyn’s file. Put a copy of the intel on my datapad, and I’ll look over them later.”

“Understood, Cassian.”

The faint sound of beeping could be heard on the other side of Cassian’s door. Soon enough, the door to Cassian’s quarters hissed open. It was Jyn.

“Jyn Erso, entering Cassian’s quarters on her own even after the quarterly passcode change,” Kay noted.

Jyn smirked as she approached Cassian at his desk. “I’ve got tricks up my sleeve.”

“You approximated the code based on my finger movements when I changed it in the first place,” Cassian corrected.

“Which means you’re a bit rusty in making sure your intelligence is never swiped,” she retorted. “I got the scandocs for you. One for you, one for me, and the other for the pilot. They should be absolutely perfect with updated codes, thanks to the legitimate ones you swiped for me as a template.” She placed the forged scandocs onto the desk.

Cassian trailed down to the docs and noticed a black smudge on one of them. He then noticed black streaks stuck in the swirls of her fingerprints. “Helping Bodhi out with machinery?”

Jyn paused. She cursed herself for not washing her hands well enough. “Yeah, I owe him a favor.” Another lie, Cassian determined by the slight lilt in her voice.

Confirming his suspicions, Kay decided to chime in. “Your fingers do not contain traces of ship grease.” He tilted his head and focused even more on Jyn’s fingers. His eyes flickered for a split-second. “Jyn, there are traces of blue and purple dyes on your fingers; your lie is terribly unconvincing.”

“Kay!” Cassian hissed. He hadn’t bothered to modify his programming to include an understanding of sentient social cues because it wasn't really so much of a fault as it was a feature. Now, however, it was biting him in the ass.

“I see you’re still just as adorable as the day we met,” Jyn responded sarcastically.

Kay turned to Cassian, “Cassian, why don’t you ask her about Tanith Ponta?”

Jyn flinched. “What?”

“I have attempted to update the intel dossier for all members of tomorrow’s reconnaissance mission, under Cassian’s orders, and have come across an outlier of information in your file, specifically with regards to your alias ‘Tanith Ponta’.”

She braced herself to hear the rest of it. “What of it?”

“Cassian has tasked himself with investigating her, how she relates to you, and why you’ve opted to steal her identity when you were in the Five Points Station 6 standard years ago before tossing the alias in favor of ‘Liana Hallik’.”

Cassian hid his face into his hand and turned slightly away. If Cassian could melt away through the floor of his quarters, he’d be doing so right about now.

Except they’re on Hoth. So, much like the weather outside Echo Base, he stayed frozen to his seat.

“Cassian…” Jyn started, her voice steady and slow. Cassian looked up and saw that her nostrils were flared. He remembered this tell-tale sign. She wasn’t just upset; she was dangerously close to exploding on the spot if his next words weren’t carefully chosen.

He tried to keep his face neutral. “We only just found out. I was going to ask you about it personally during our mission tomorrow,” he answered calmly.

Jyn scoffed. She knew that look. He was never going to ask her personally, not when her own testimony could be tainted and biased. “That’s a lie, Captain, and you know it.”

He took a steady breath through his nostrils before letting himself speak. “You already know that it’s part of my line of work to make sure that all dossiers within the Alliance are regularly updated with complete information. It’s like that with every asset.”

“Asset...” she breathed out quietly in disbelief. Jyn felt her fingers flexing, trying hard to stop herself from balling them up into a fist.

She was a asset. Not a lover, not a friend, not even an ally. Just a asset.

The air around her felt so thick she could choke at any moment. She turned to Kay. “Delete the intel on Tanith Ponta. It’s not necessary for my dossier. And do not look any further into it.”

He stood up from his chair, eyes darkened, towering over her to drive the point home. “The fact that I’ve missed information for two years is even more reason for me to investigate why this has escaped my notice.”

She knew what that meant: Yes, I am spying on you. This is my job, you are an asset, my target, and I’m making up for my mistakes by addressing this now, with or without you.

Jyn pursed her lips. “There’s no reason to look into Tanith Ponta. It was an alias I’ve used once, and that’s it. There’s nothing else to it, no crimes tied to the alias, nothing.”

“That’s precisely the point, Jyn,” Cassian countered. “You’ve manufactured all of your aliases but this one. You’ve stolen the identity of a deceased teenager when you could have created one out of thin air. I need to follow the trail and figure out if this information compromises any of us in any way.”

“Again with making blind concessions for the Alliance,” Jyn spat back. “What, just because we survived Scarif, you think you can continue to act like you’re by-the-book?”

His eyes went cold, and his face came down even closer to hers. Memories of their fight after Eadu started to resurface. “You’ve made it clear that you have no intention of talking to me about this. But it’s also clear that this information is extremely important to you, which means it could be important to us. Surely you can understand the position this puts me in as an intelligence agent. How much of your compartmentalism can put the cause at risk?”

You and the cause, Jyn thought, that’s the “us”, isn’t it? It’s never been you and me. But she bit her tongue to stop herself from saying it out loud; she didn’t think she could handle the answer if she let them escape from her lips.

Instead, she said nothing and let the silence between them stretch on for what seemed like hours as they stared each other down.

Finally, Jyn’s lip quivered slightly as she took a deep breath. “I’ve heard some of the things the other rebels have said about me- that I’m so ‘good at my job’ because I had nothing to lose when I left for Scarif.” She flung up the air quotes viciously, bitterly, like viper fangs ready to strike.

“They say that I can’t get hurt or used because there’s nothing to use against me. I lost everything when the Death Star was taken down; the traces of me that my father put in his research all blew up into space dust.

“You and the rest of the rebellion have all the intel about me and my personal history that you could ever need. But this memory…” She bit her lip this time, fighting back tears.

Cassian’s eyes squinted imperceptibly, his head tilted and swayed to one side slightly. Memory? So it’s personal, Cassian thought, staring back at her glossy eyes, and he started to curse himself for being so analytical in the middle of an argument.

“...this memory is one of the few things that’s mine, and mine only. Just because you can’t turn off the spy switch in your head doesn’t mean you can take away what little I have left and give it up to everyone else in the Alliance.”

Her words hit Cassian like a sack of bantha shit. Hell, it made him feel like a sack of bantha shit. Probably because he was being a sack of bantha shit to Jyn.

All he could do was stare, speechless. In the dim lights of his own quarters, her eyes had become green, but the gold flecks dulled slightly into brown. The colors of a raging sea. But in spite of how sublime it was, he’d drown in her fury if he lingered any longer.

Jyn lowered her head. Maintain your composure, Erso! “You said you believed me. Two years ago. At Yavin 4. Believe me now: Tanith Ponta should be left alone. The information is not important to the Alliance, but it’s personal, and important, to me.” She looked up again, straight into Cassian’s eyes, and all at once the sorrow in Jyn’s eyes punched him in the gut and left him breathless. He felt something in him trying to reach out to her, anything to quell the pain she seemed to be feeling, but found that neither pity nor sympathy could describe it. He had no idea what to do.

His face lowered and he nodded soberly. “Trust goes both ways,” he whispered, more of a reminder to himself of their first real interaction.

Jyn nodded once, her eyes still trained on Cassian. She wasn’t going to let her walls fall just yet, not in here. “Thank you,” she whispered before turning her heel and walking out.

Kay somehow had the sense to stay quiet up until now. “Should I respect Jyn’s desire to delete the Tanith Ponta file?”

Cassian tried to shake the thoughts out of his mind, but it didn’t make his spirits any less heavy than they were by the confrontation. He refocused just enough to turn to Kay and say, “Yeah, delete the information, and do not update her intel sheet.”

“Understood. I’ve deleted all information on the deceased Tanith Ponta. I now must update my personal data on you, Cassian.”

“Why is that?”

“Your attitude towards Jyn is constantly shifting; currently, your respect for Jyn Erso’s autonomy and privacy is far higher than I have initially perceived it to be.”

Cassian’s shoulders slumped as he sat back on his chair. I’m starting to wonder if I respected them enough in the first place.

Cassian had hoped to see Jyn at dinner, so that he could apologize for his lack of trust in her. They’d worked so well together heading into Scarif, and had worked well in the two years since then, but never once did he hit a nerve with her in such a personal way. He looked down at his tray- eggs and veggies rested on a spoonful of bunn tonight. Cassian brought the food to his mouth and chewed slowly to buy time. Maybe Jyn would show up later tonight.

The longer he stayed in the mess hall, however, the less likely it seemed she was going to swing by. He could barely pay attention to Bodhi talking with the Guardians about his day, or even Chirrut tricking Bodhi with his own series of “actual events that for sure happened so don’t listen to Baze when he says it’s all a lie”. The voices drifted in and out of his attention as Cassian continued to search for Jyn through his peripheral vision.

Halfway into his meal, a flash of red hair moved out of the corner of his eye and approached him from across the table. The redhead was a young man with blue eyes and freckles across his face. He was tall, much like Cassian himself, but with broader shoulders and more muscles to boot. Cassian guessed the man to be about Luke’s age. If he remembered correctly, it was the pilot who would be accompanying him and Jyn on their mission tomorrow.

“May I sit here, Captain?” the young man asked.

Cassian nodded and gestured for the young man to sit. “Please do. This is our first time meeting, isn’t it, Sergeant Kyrell?”

The sergeant blushed as he sat down. Cassian noticed that their eyes were level with each other at the table. “Um, please, just call me Thane. I’d like to avoid military formalities as much as possible. I just wanted to get acquainted since I’ll be co-piloting with you tomorrow.”

“That’s quite a request coming from a subordinate,” Cassian observed, but immediately regretted saying it. There you go again with your switch on, Andor, he chided himself.

Thane made a panicked face for a moment before settling into a neutral face. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter, making him just a little taller than Cassian himself. “My apologies, Captain. I merely wanted to distance myself from Imperial practices of adhering to a strict hierarchy since I joined the Alliance.”

Chirrut placed a hand on Thane’s shoulder. “The captain is always like this. Please do not mind him,” he said, smiling. “Do not hesitate to be yourself at this table. All are welcome, as the Force wills it, including Imperial defectors.”

Thane smiled back at the monk and placed a hand on Chirrut’s. “Thank you, sir.”

Chirrut’s milky blue eyes beamed in realization. “Ah, Cassian! This one is like you! He does not believe in the Force!”

Cassian found himself hiding his face in his hands for the second time today from second-hand embarrassment.

Thane’s eyes widened in surprise- how did the monk know this much about him? Immediately, he tried to defend himself. “With all due respect, sir, most second-wavers on Jelucan did not believe in the Force. I do know a bit about it, though! I know a first-waver who believes in the Force, and tries to trust in it as often as possible.”

Jelucan, an Outer Rim world, Imperial-controlled, Cassian recalled. If he’s a second-waver there, he must have been born into decent money. What was he doing befriending a first-wave villager, and why did he give up all this comfort to join us in the Alliance?

He was doing it again. Cassian chewed slowly, nodding his head in acknowledgement at Thane’s words.

The corners of Chirrut’s eyes crinkled a little as he smiled softly. “She is not here though, is she?”

Thane looked at his new table companions and judged by the looks on their faces that this was normal behavior for the monk. The larger, grislier monk sitting next to the blind one gave a small cough, as if to confirm Thane’s suspicions. He looked back down at Chirrut and answered, “She isn’t. She and I...let’s just say that we have different priorities. In fact, Jyn-” He remembered Cassian out of the corner of his eye and immediately corrected himself, “I mean, Sergeant Erso reminds me a little of my friend. It makes me miss her, just a bit.”

Bodhi noticed the sad smile on Thane’s face and it dawned on him that Jyn had the same look on her face earlier today. “What do you mean, ‘different priorities’?” he prodded.

Thane ran his tongue over his teeth as he tried to find the words. “She’s the love of my life. And I’d like to think I’m hers. But she’s honor-bound to one cause, while I made the decision to serve the Alliance. We haven’t seen each other for more than a year now. I may never see her again.”

Silence befell the table. Bodhi thought back to Jyn. Chirrut and Baze nodded at Thane in quiet sympathy. Cassian continued to think on the weight of Thane’s words.

It was Cassian’s turn to speak up. “How is your lover similar to Jyn?”

Thane wanted to point out the lack of formality used at Jyn’s name, but thought better than to contradict a superior. Instead, he answered thoughtfully, “They’re both committed to their cause. There’s a fire that drives them, you can see it in their eyes. You can tell that they are great at what they do- Ciena is a damn good pilot, and Jyn is an incredible forger...even I couldn’t tell the scandocs were fake without knowing what to look for. But…” Thane trailed off, and he could feel his own personal frustration sink in.

Without revealing too much about his lover, he bowed his head and chose his next words carefully. “Ciena strongly believes in honor. She makes herself so honor-bound that I feel like it holds her back sometimes. It held her back from me. When I first tried to talk to Jyn, I sensed that she felt held back by something.”

Thane looked up and saw Cassian and Bodhi staring blankly at him. He got nervous again. “That’s not to say I know much about Jyn, though! It’s all just based on first impressions. I’ve heard so many things about her, and I respect it all- even if Rogue One’s actions led to the deaths of my Academy friends aboard the Death Star.”

His head tilted slightly and eyes became distant as he recalled more memories. “For some reason the people around me seem to think that Jyn lives as if she owns nothing, and therefore moves around like she has nothing to lose. But when I talked to her a few days ago, she just sort of got quiet and a little listless. It was like something preoccupied her thoughts completely. She didn’t say much to me after that, but I suppose that’s alright, right? Can’t expect someone to open up to you at the first meeting.” Thane shrugged at that last part.

Cassian arched an eyebrow. Jyn wasn’t one to to be listless and withdrawn, especially not towards any new recruits. She tried hard to not show any vulnerabilities to them- it taught them never to underestimate her. “What exactly did you tell her that made her act that way?”

“She asked me why I joined the Alliance. I told her that I deserted the Empire and joined a small group that delivered medical supplies to communities in need. I came across Wedge during one of those deliveries, who tried to recruit me as a pilot for the rebellion. I was so disillusioned with the Empire and their abuses, but I put so much of myself into them that I didn’t want to join the Alliance and eventually kill the friends I left behind. But the captain of that group told me to go off and fight for the cause.

“I told Jyn- Sergeant Erso- that if it weren’t for the captain’s encouragement, I probably wouldn’t be here. I told her that I decided that if I was going to die, I’d be better off fighting for a cause than be a neutral party that dies in the middle of crossfire.” He looked around the Rogue One crew.

No one had said anything but their eyes were still trained on them. He was starting to understand what the others meant when they said Rogue One is extremely close-knit- the laughing and conversation he walked up to had been silenced by his presence, and it was starting to make him feel nervous. They practically flashed a spotlight onto him now with their gazes. He took a bite of food, hoping to signal for a change of subject.

It didn’t happen. “That’s quite the life story,” Chirrut said. “Did she respond to any of that?”

“Um...she told me to never let that determination go, and that I did the right thing by joining the Alliance. And then she turned around and just walked away.” Thane looked down at his meal tray and took a couple more bites. When the silence fell again, he swallowed and spoke again. “Did any of that sound like something to be upset over? I think she’s been trying to avoid me until the mission tomorrow. I tried to talk to her just now in the mess hall, but then she looked me, then my tray, turned around, and left.”

Cassian shook his head. “I’m afraid that your guess is as good as ours right now.” She isn’t coming anyway.

Thane tried to crack a joke in the silence. “Why my tray though? I mean, bunn doesn’t taste that bad,” he chuckled awkwardly before taking a bite.

Cassian poked at his food. Bunn, a staple food item on the planet Skuhl, located in the Outer Rim...

...in the Five Points system.

He cleared his section of the table and grabbed his meal tray. “It was good to meet you outside of your intel sheet before the mission, Serg-...Thane,” Cassian corrected himself.

Thane smiled. “I’ll see you at 0700 standard time, Captain.”

Cassian nodded. “Very well, then,” he said and headed towards the kitchen to drop off his dirty tray.

Bodhi trailed behind him, and when he felt that they were out of Thane’s and the Guardians’ earshot, he caught up to Cassian and asked in a low voice, “Just out of curiosity, does Jyn have any former lovers?”

Cassian shot him a look. “What kind of question is that?”

“Er, well, it’s just that I saw her this morning and she had the same look on her face that Thane had when he first brought up that Ciena girl. I’m just wondering if there is- or maybe was- someone in Jyn’s life. You know, romantically speaking.”

“Bodhi, I don’t know every tiny detail of her life; I have no idea if she’s had any past lovers-”

“You’re in intelligence, Cassian. You really don’t know if she has any past or current lovers?”

Cassian rolled his eyes, “Bodhi, that’s her business, not mine.” He paused. “Wait. Bodhi, were you the one who gave her whatever she was hiding under her vest?”

Bodhi looked away, feigning innocence. “No, what are you talking about?”

“You’re such a load of bantha fodder, you know that?”

“Okay, okay, it was me!” He threw his hands up in surrender. “But it wasn’t anything major. Jyn made me promise not to talk to you about it though, so I can’t say anything more than that.”

Cassian towered over the pilot and his eyes darkened. “Bodhi, what exactly is going on with Jyn?”

Bodhi could only blink. “You mean...you haven’t bothered to ask her?”

“You haven’t?”

“Well, yeah, because it seemed like she needed the space. Why haven’t you asked her if she’s alright? Seems like you’ve been really hung up over this, but you look like you’ve been fishing for information from every source but her.” The tone in Bodhi’s voice wasn’t malicious, but instead inquisitive. It sounded almost naive, like a Core child who wondered why her lothal cat had left the house to live on a farm in an Outer Rim planet. But Bodhi’s face seemed to ask the real question: Why aren’t you and your partner opening up to each other?

Cassian withdrew slightly when he realized why Jyn was left speechless earlier.

They were partners.

He called her an asset.

Cassian’s eyes wandered to the side, scanning his mind for the next best course of action.

This is all you know, Andor. You live, sleep, and breathe being a spy. Everyone’s an asset to you and you don’t even realize it. What kind of partner are you?

He squeezed his eyes shut at all these thoughts. They wouldn’t leave him alone. His mind was starting to race. He needed air.

Cassian turned without answering Bodhi and walked towards his quarters.

It was still light out on Hoth, but somehow the chill in the cargo bay was even more bitter than earlier in the day. He didn’t mind it though- it gave him something else to think about than his own interpersonal failures. He pulled the fur hood of his parka over his head and took a deep breath, letting the stinging cold fill his lungs. His fingers absentmindedly searched for the inner pocket of his parka as he walked. He could use some Corellian whiskey right about now. Or Festian mezcal.

As he found himself wandering through the cargo bay and towards the launchpad, he heard a high-pitched gasp from one of the open ships.

Was that sound coming from his ship?

He snuck up quietly towards the ramp and peeked in.

There was a woman on the cold metal floor, hovered above a piece of art on all fours. He saw paint sticks scattered around her. He heard her gasp again and realized from the shaking in her shoulders that she was crying.

“Jyn?” Cassian said cautiously so as to not startle her. He took one tentative step towards her.

Jyn whipped around, and her red eyes widened in surprise. She tried to wipe the tears off her cheeks, but it only added paint smears to her face. She smiled bitterly. “I guess I got caught. Good job, Captain Andor. I guess your intelligence tactics are up to par after all.”

He approached her, looking at the floor and the scattered paint sticks. Yellow, blue, black, pink, red...and he saw the artwork he found her hovering over. Colors swished and swirled in a circle of colorful patterns, in a backdrop of black. It reminded him of the stars, though he knew stars did not exist in such colors. The colors in the cosmos wrapped around them, and he found his eyes moving through the motions around the artwork.

A mandala. Jyn made this?

Jyn understood the look on his face, but refused to say anything more.

“Are you going to be okay?” Cassian asked slowly.

She sniffed back tears and nodded. She wiped her cheeks again, smearing the paint on her face even more.

“I used to make mandalas to take my mind off things, long ago.”

Cassian waited for more, but it seemed like that was the only explanation she was going to get.

He was going to do this. He was going to try. No spy tricks, no intel extraction. Just be honest. “I had Kay delete the Tanith Ponta entries. Your dossier remains as they were before the mission debrief. It wasn’t right to have that information when I could have asked you.” Worst apology ever, Cassian thought to himself, and his adam’s apple bobbed once, twice, before he finally squeezed the words out: “I’m sorry.”

It hurt to get the words out- for once they were honest and raw. “You’re my partner, not my asset. Those days were long behind us, but I let myself slip back into my old habits.”

Jyn’s eyes were rounded at his sincerity and the rawness in his voice. She glanced down at the mandala and moments passed before she sat back on her heels and looked up at him.

She couldn’t stare into those eyes. She just couldn’t. They dug into her soul, begging her to open up and release the last thing in her mind that she can call hers.

“Jyn…” Cassian whispered. “Who was Tanith Ponta?”

She didn’t want to tell him. She wanted to keep this memory her secret, shared with no one. But as she looked at his face, she was reminded of the day she was broken out of Wobani, and how his face appeared genuine, like she could trust him.

Trust…

Jyn looked down again, thinking of how to go on without breaking down in tears.

“His name was Hadder,” she started, by way of explanation. “His sister-” she shook her head to remind herself to give context, “-Tanith, she had bloodburn because she spent too much time flying at such a young age. The hadeira serum helped, it’s the only known cure to keep it at bay, but...she kept taking more, and she died from an overdose when Hadder was 10.”

There was a silence between them, and Jyn took solace in it as she tried to regain her emotional footing.

“His mother taught me to make mandalas. They soothed me, and it took my mind off of Saw when he abandoned me. Hadder and Akshaya...they were all I had then. They were my family. My home. Hadder offered me everything, his heart, his home, his body, and I took it. I took it all. He and I...he was the first man I ever loved.”

Cassian swallowed. Not once did he ever stop to think if she stopped once to love someone like that. He doesn’t remember recalling a woman with that much longing and affection.

Jyn’s head turned towards the cockpit. “Thane tried to introduce himself to me a few days ago. Have you heard his story?”

The question was rhetorical. She didn’t wait for him to answer, but it’s not as though Cassian would’ve answered anyway. “He was beat down by the Empire, but someone pushed him to join the Alliance when he hesitated.” She looked down at her hands and they balled into fists. “Akshaya never let Hadder fly because of Tanith’s disease. She was afraid he’d contract it too. But it was always his dream to fly. I secretly taught him. He was so happy.

“One day, he was invited to join a rebel group. He wanted to go, he wanted to fly amongst the stars, and he wanted me to come with him. but I...I didn’t want to fight. I just wanted to lay low and live in peace, away from the fighting. I thought that if he joined the rebellion, I’d lose another person I loved to a war we’re still fighting. I begged him to stay. So he did.”

The tears were getting harder to fight back. A few streamed down her cheeks, and she fought to continue her story.

“But the Empire...they found me. I let my guard down and didn’t bother to identify myself under a new alias. They raided our home because they found out I was the same Jyn that escaped capture in the Tamsye Prime incident. I took the family’s planet hopper, while Akshaya and Hadder tried to escape on their freighter ship, the Ponta One.”

Jyn had to gasp for air to keep from going dizzy. She hadn’t realized she was choking in her own misery.

She couldn’t hold back anymore. The next words spilled out without any control. “We hit atmo and left Skuhl but found ourselves in the middle of a dogfight between the Alliance and the Empire, and...Hadder steered to bump my ship and avoid heavy blaster fire.”

Jyn lowered her head even more. Her jaw dropped and she wanted to scream at how much her body was racked with tears all over again. But only choked whimpers came out.

Cassian felt his heart breaking at the sight.

Grief is love with no place to-

He finally understood. “He sacrificed himself to save you,” he finished quietly.

“Their ship exploded in the crossfire and the force of their debris pushed me to safety in the Five Points Station. When I got out, I saw that parts of their ship had embedded into the side of the planet hopper. The words Ponta One stuck to the side, burnt to a crisp. The planet hopper was ruined and I had to leave it behind. I took on the Tanith Ponta alias to appear like a concerned family member. Part of me hoped that maybe they lived, by some stupid miracle, and that I’d be notified of it, but that was one of the biggest lies I’ve ever told myself.” The walls of the ship were spinning around her, and the colors of the mandala became blurry. Her eyes squeezed shut and more tears pressed out. Her throat was closing up and she was fighting for breath.

She let out one more gasp before she finally cried, “If I hadn’t begged Hadder to stay, If only he joined those rebels when he had the chance, he might’ve lived to see today! He could’ve been fighting alongside us. I’m the reason why he died, I’m the reason why he couldn’t live a longer life!”

Jyn’s cries filled the ship for a while, and Cassian continued watched in silence to give her the space to mourn. Each gasp and cry tore at him, and his body felt the weight of her emotions. How was she able to keep herself up at all?

After a while, when she ran out of tears and her throat rasped, Jyn whispered, “I only had one chance to mourn his death. I cried in a miserable heap on an old bed. I picked myself up the next day and spent it avoiding capture, until you guys extracted me from Wobani.

“I thought I was done mourning. But after meeting Thane, I realized it wasn’t enough for the Pontas. Thane is what Hadder could’ve been if I hadn’t gotten in the way. After all these years, I don’t think I could ever forgive myself for robbing Hadder of a future.” She’d been staring at the floor the whole time. She reached for the nearest paint stick and squeezed it so tightly in her hand that it almost snapped in pieces.

“I asked Bodhi to buy me paint sticks and canvas on his last delivery run so that I could make this mandala to grieve properly, to honor them. It’s all I can do now to respect their memory. It’s hard to think about them, but I have to do this if I want to move on. I just can’t keep going like this.”

Jyn let the paint stick drop from her hand and she finally looked up at Cassian, the raw pain etched all over her face. “I finally found that I could love again, but I was selfish for just one moment, and that was all it took for the Empire and Alliance to snatch it all away from me.”

Logic couldn’t explain what caused Cassian to fall to his knees in front of her and grab her by the shoulders in an embrace.

Jyn’s hands shook by the unexpected gesture affection, and his warmth sent her back into tears. She brought her hands around his waist, squeezed back, then buried her face into his parka, letting the coat muffle her screams of agony.

For a while, Jyn thought she’d have to sail alone to navigate out of her sea of mourning and grief. But as Cassian planted a kiss on the side of her head and hugged just a little harder, she realized that perhaps, maybe, under the warmth and security of his arms, she had a sailing partner to help her get back to shore.

Maybe he could lead her back to his shore.

She balled up fistfuls of parka in her hands.

She would very much like that.

Someone, long ago, told Cassian that grief was just love with no place to go. And, just as he made peace with the thought that he had no love left to give to anyone or anything, he found that perhaps, maybe, he had more left to give, just for Jyn.

Maybe, perhaps, he could give Jyn a place for her love to go.

As he hugged her tighter, so close that he could smell the Alliance-issue soap in her hair, he felt a sense of contentment, like a single candle in a cold, dark room.

That light was quickly blown out, however, when he realized that there would come a time where Jyn would be gone, and, with it, the only other place his love could go.

How much would he grieve then? Would he have the strength to carry on as Jyn had?

Turn that switch off, Andor, he told himself. The thoughts would have to wait another day. He squeezed Jyn even tighter, her cries finally dying down to whimpers, and hoped that day would come much, much later.

#sleepy fics #fanfic #rebelcaptain #i had feels #they made me feel the feels #sorry for length #this is riduclously long #but i needed to get it out of my system

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selenelavellan · 7 years ago

Text

A Golden Chain

Reverse Evanuris AU

Elgar’nan, Mythal, Dirthamen, June, and all the Evanuris based on @feynites

Ana is @lycheemilkart‘s

TW for mentioned abuse

Things were simpler when it was just the two of them.

Desire argues it was never just the two of them. They were formed of Mythal and Elgar'nan, after all. They have always been tied to their energies, destined for greater things, beyond the limitations of the dreaming.

Devotion had never felt 'limited' in the Dreaming, but her other half had yearned for a body for so long she could not deny him, when the opportunity presented itself.

Bones twisted and crackled, cages of muscle and sinew wrapped around her spirit as nerve endings lit up. Pain, aches, warmth and power.

A bright blaze of purple flames surrounding the pair of them, magic surging through the air, desperately seeking a release.

Elgar'nan is delighted with his children.

They are loved, and they are cared for, and they are a family. And for a while, things are not so bad.

And then there is war.

With the war comes Andruil, a crying screaming babe who is bathed in too much blood far too early as it stains her well past adolescence.

Then the empire is formed, a tentative peace for the people. She and her family watch over them, because they must. The people cannot wander without their Keepers, and the Keepers have fallen. To disease, to madness, to time.

It is her responsibility to care for her people. To devote herself to them, to keep them strong and well and safe.

Their names change, if only slightly. Desire becomes Des'din, who helps the fallen find peace in what they leave behind, and ensures fortune falls on those who have earned it. Devotion becomes Da'Selene, the Little Moon. Known for her loyalty to her family, for whom she has bled and killed and protected with her knowledge throughout her existence.

For whom she remains in her position, even now. Marks scrawled over the faces of those she seeks to protect.

“You're drifting again, Lady Da'Selene” hums her closest advisor from beside her.

Selene blinks, back straightening in her throne as she is pulled back to the current matter at hand. June is looking to build yet another tower in Arlathan, and is hoping to barter for one of her more closely guarded enchanted marbles to use on the interior.

“What makes this tower so different from the abundance of them you have already successfully built without my marble?” Selene asks.

“Ah, well,” June grins, proudly spinning the model in the air in front of him. “None of the floors will be stationary, you see. A hundred floors, none of which stand still for any considerable amount of time. A giant puzzle, shifting to reflect the rays of the sun and moon in aesthetically pleasing ways. A place for the truly clever to convene and discuss the matters of the day.”

Or the year, she thinks idly. If the floors are shifting, it's more likely people will be sent inside only to get lost for several times longer than they should be. Undoubtedly, June plans on keeping his own secrets in the harder to access levels. The gatekeeper of knowledge that he is.

Still, perhaps...

“I think that is very clever of you,” Selene coos. “Designing a tower so large that is capable of moving people across it so efficiently without the use of the crossroads. Being able to shift entire floors to allow people access to what they need so quickly. And such a large tower could easily be used to house necessities and knowledge for multiple professions and councils within Arlathan. That seems like a wonderful use of my materials.”

Junes face pales slightly before he regains his usual vigor. “Of course! The floors are absolutely shifting to allow people...easier access to what it will house. Why else would they do something like that? It'd be ridiculous. Needlessly showy.”

“Wasteful, even.” Selene nods.

“Yes,” June agrees, looking longingly at his model before dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “I will go over the final designs with my people, and contact you again when I have a more exact idea of how much marble I will need.”

“We can discuss pricing then,” Selene smiles, standing to escort him out of her throne room. “I look forward to your return.”

The two of them shake hands, and Selene closes the door as June finally takes his leave. She lets out a heavy breath, head leaning against the frame while some of the tension eases out of her.

“You seem distracted today, Da'Selene,” her advisor remarks, leaning casually against her throne.

“Please don't call me that,” She shoots back. “I am too old to be called 'little' anything. Just Selene is fine.”

“It's improper!” Gasps her red headed friend in an exaggerated manner, lounging entirely on the arm of the throne now.

“I can decide what is proper or not within my own lands,” Selene shoots back.

“So the next time your father visits and calls you Da'Selene, you're going to correct him?”

Selene pauses, and considers. “Well...no. I don't think he would take well to that at all.”

“That's true,” interjects her other half as he strides into the room, golden ornaments gleaming across his bared chest. “Father still thinks you're all his little girls. If his oldest daughter grows up, it means his other daughters will grow up one day. He'd be crushed”

“And it's almost worth putting up with for the frustration it causes Andruil,” Selene grins, moving to give Des a hug. The jewelry is hard and cold as it presses against her cloak, but his body is warm and soft as he returns the embrace. “I've missed you.”

“Nothing is stopping you from coming by my lands you know,” Des tsks. “You don't have to be a shut in here with all your dusty books and spells and weird...'things'. Look at your clothes! There's not even an enchantment on this clasp-Are you wearing a sleeping dress underneath your cloak?!”

Selene shifts awkwardly. “I only had the one meeting today.”

“And she overslept,” Ana chimes in.

“Either I could wear nice clothes, or I could make my hair presentable,” Selene argues as Des's jaw drops in shock “I thought the cloak would be less suspicious than a large hat.”

Des lets out a sigh, taking off a few of his necklaces and slipping them over Selenes head. “I am going to send over a few of my best tailors, and they are going to make a slew of gowns suitable for you.”

“I don't need gowns-”

“You are a leader of the people. Your appearance matters, babe. Who's going to listen to someone who sits on the throne in her pajamas?”

“So far, all of my subjects.” Selene points out.

Ana giggles from where she still sits.

Des shoots her a dirty look. “I suppose I should have known better than to leave my other half in the hands of a Bear.”

“It's not like I've decked her out in furs,” Ana says. “And she wears her armor when it matters.”

“A little decadence! That's all I'm asking for,” Des says as he waves exasperatingly at the (comparatively to his) plain walls of her throne room . “Honestly. Sylaise and I are the only ones in this family with any taste.”

“Says the god of the dead.”

“And fortune!” Des says, gesturing to his various golds and gems. He turns to face Selene “No one ever talks about the fortune bit when I'm not around, do they.”

“Not really, no,” Selene agrees, patting his shoulder. “Although for what it's worth, I think you do a wonderful job making the effort to put that particular aspect of yourself on display.”

“Your tongue still flatters as easily as ever,” He grins. “Although, now that you've mentioned 'aspects', I did come here to ask for a favor.”

Selene blinks. Des is usually more than capable of dealing with things on his own, and has rarely ever asked for a favor from someone other than Mythal or Elgar'nan.

“What do you need?”

“...Clarity.”

–

It doesn't take long to cross from Selenes castle into Des's, their private paths to one another long since forged. Ana has stayed behind, to ensure order in case any other matters might come up in Selene's absence.

“There was an...incident.” Des explains as they travel through his halls. Tall and golden, silken sashes of magenta hanging from the ceiling and over the various art works displayed throughout. “As you know, I tend to take a special shine to other twin souls in my territories. See if I can see a bit of 'us' in them, you know.”

Selene nods; Des's tastes aren't unknown to her, and he often likes to see himself reflected in his closest attendants. He's found it easier to achieve his own desires if they are shared in the people around him.

“Well, I've been working with one of them for a few centuries now, but his brother was late to attend his own duties today. It's not the first time, his brother has a reputation for being strange and reclusive after all, but I was notified by one of my healers that this particular incident has had...'unique' repercussions. I was going to take him to mother, but given your ongoing fight for spirit rights, I thought it would be best to let you try and figure out what, precisely, is going on first.”

Des pushes open the door to his infirmary, and Selene sees instantly who he must be talking about.

An elf, curled in on himself atop a cot, is attempting to push away healers with limbs he shouldn't have. His magic is pulled in tightly to his core, Selene is barely able to get a read on him as she approaches. She dismisses the healers, moving instead to stand beside the elf. He has wings sprouting from his back, and several different energies can be seen swirling around him now that she is close.

“It's ok,” She murmurs, recognizing strong notes of Fear. “No one here is going to hurt you.”

Two bright blue eyes blink up, head tilting from where it had been buried in his arms and chest a moment before. Tears are streaming out of them, the skin around the right side of his face is badly bruised and there is a line of dried blood sitting at the base of his nose.

It pulls at her heartstrings in a way she has not felt in a very long time.

“Who hurt him?” She asks Des quietly, using an old healing spell. Softer and more gradual than most, as she hopes to not overwhelm him.

“Falon'din,” Des sighs, scratching at the back of his head. “I'd heard they got into fights before but I thought it was like...the normal kind, you know? Like when we used to spar, or fight over the last piece of a pastry. Nothing like this.”

Selene nods. The elves knuckles are clean, no scratches or blood other than the claw marks on his arms; clearly a defensive wound.

“He didn't fight back,” Selene murmurs.

“Not physically,” Des agrees.

“Not in any way that wasn't self defense,” Selene says, familiar notes of devotion rising out of the man in front of her at the mention of his brother. “He loves his brother. Very much. He would never purposefully hurt him if there were another option.”

The man leans forward with a quiet sigh, towards the healing spell as it flows out of her, eyes closing shut as some of the notes of bliss pour into him. As the pain finally leaves, the energies around him begin to calm, and she can see the same issue her brother did.

“He's merged,” She notes quietly.

She can feel Des nod behind her. “Not well. Certainly not legally.”

“There were extenuating circumstances.”

“Which is why I brought you, rather than mother.”

The bruise begins to lighten and vanish, along with his other lingering injuries. His wings remain, but otherwise his limbs return to a more acceptable number.

“Where is his brother?”

“In a cell, until we can determine what to do about the situation as a whole.” Des says.

Leave him there to rot, Selene thinks bitterly. She doesn't understand how something like this is even possible. To hurt the other half of yourself so severely? She can't even imagine. She would give anything for Des, has given up nearly everything to give him what he wanted. Even her family members that are not tied to her in such a way. Despite her frequent arguments with Andruil, she can't imagine intentionally hurting her sister so cruelly.

Selene takes a deep breath to calm and center herself.

First things first; help the injured.

“Ok,” She tells the elf in front of her. “You're all tangled up in each other right now. I'm going to try to help you. It's likely going to feel very strange, but I need you to try and stay relaxed, alright?”

His eyes snap open, blue eyes tinged red with Fear beneath long dark locks of hair. Selene presses a warm hand to their cheek. “I promise to be careful. If you want me to stop, just say the word. Alright?”

The elf (Dirthamen, Des finally calls from over her shoulder) hesitates. Then nods, slowly.

He's scared, she knows.

But it helps. Fears strings rise to the surface, allowing Selene to carefully untangle them from the other two. Bright red and gleaming, new and powerful, as she weaves them into themselves, carefully pulling away a deep green and steel blue as the spirit bursts into the room. Out of the corner of her eye, Selene sees feathers fluffing up into the air, but she can't stop now or she risks losing them all. The green is next, shining in the light as it tries to shift itself to match the blues. Deceit, she realizes with a shake of her head; always making trouble. It is more difficult to ensure she has found all of it, carefully tugging on string by string and checking for markers of a change, but when a second spirit forms on the other side of Dirthamen, she feels confident she has managed it. The steel blue, the only one left frayed weaves itself back together, ends tethered to Fear and Deceit determinedly.

Not a bond to be undone, then.

Selene takes a step back when it is done, watching as the two ravens wander cautiously around Dirthamen, whose aura has now calmed considerably.

Unfortunately, there is another problem staring at them now.

Des has noticed too, leaning forward to whisper into Selenes ear. “Their power is great. Greater than mother is likely to permit.”

Selene frowns. Her other half is right, of course. Spirits this strong, especially those who have merged, risk corruption. Like the Keepers did. Mother will advise them to send Dirthamen to Uthenera, or use him to power some festival or monument, if she discovers what he has become.

It would be wrong to lie to mother.

She has loved them and cared for them and helped them to achieve their potential.

...But it would also be wrong to allow Dirthamen to face death for an incident that was not his fault.

“I might have something that could help,” Selene whispers back to Des.

“Dirthamen,” She says, kneeling down beside the cot. “I think after everything that's happened, it would be best if you spent a bit of time away from Falon'din. You haven't done anything wrong. But I know your body is under a lot of stress right now, and I want to make sure you get the rest you need.”

She pulls off one of the necklaces Des had given her earlier, casting a subtle but powerful enchantment over it. Not one her mother has seen through yet, and she hopes that pattern will continue to hold as she places it over Dirthamens head, watching as it settles over his own chest. “This token will help keep you safe. Please don't take it off, under any means.”

Dirthamen fiddles slightly with the golden chain, blinking curiously up at Selene. She gives him a small smile back. “I'm going to take you back to my home for a little while. Until Des'din and I can come to an agreement about everything that is going on. Alright?”

He nods, swallowing as Fear and Deceit each perch on his shoulders. “...Alright,” he agrees quietly.

Selene thanks him, and moves farther away with Des, calling for Silence around them to keep their words hidden.

“You're just taking him?” Des frowns. “That's unlike you.”

“I'm worried about him,” Selene admits. “He needs help.”

“Help like necklaces? That was a courting gift from an admirer you know. I was hoping to get it back.”

“As though you don't have whole chests filled with similar gifts,” Selene scoffs. “I added a small enchantment to it. To help keep him hidden from mother.”

Des's eyebrows raise. “You're going to hide him?”

“Just while he gets himself under control,” Selene says dismissively. “This situation isn't his fault. He shouldn't be punished for it.”

“His magic-”

“Will appear average to anyone else.”

Des blinks, looking quickly over Selenes shoulder at Dirthamen and then back to her.

“Is that why so many of your spirits mysteriously cap out at 'acceptable' levels?”

“Well, it's not as though my feelings on spirit sacrifice are a secret-”

“The fact that you are forging spirits magical potencies is!”

“Then it is a good thing I can trust you,” Selene says solemnly.

Des groans.

“And he is, technically, your subject.” she points out.

“Great, so I get pulled down with you for allowing this to happen to my people if we're caught.”

“So let me keep us from getting caught,” Selene says simply.

“...fine,” Des finally agrees. “But only because you seem to want this so much. And this is only temporary!”

“Thank you,” She says, pressing a kiss to her other halfs forehead. “I will be careful.”

“That's not what I'm afraid of,” Des mutters as Silence drifts away from them.

Selene strides over to Dirthamen, and gestures for him to follow her back out. The trip back is longer, Des and Selene taking a more public path back to her lands, passing through Eluvians and into the crossroads. They finally emerge on the other side, sun beginning to set over the mountains on the far side of her territory.

Ana is grateful for their return, handing Selene several scrolls with questions from people in her workshops that handle matters she does not. Selene tucks them carefully back into her cloak, and briefly introduces Ana and Dirthamen to each other.

“He will need a room,” Selene instructs. “As well as food and clothing. Some place with a private bath would be preferable.”

Ana gives a polite bow, and Selene sends Dirthamen off with her to find someplace to allow him more rest. Selene is feeling rather drained herself; she has used more magic today than she had planned on, and separating spirits is always strenuous.

“A private bath, hm?” Des teases, nudging Selene lightly. “Have some special plans for him then?”

Selene blinks. “He was covered in blood earlier. I thought he'd like a bath where he wouldn't be surrounded by strangers after the encounter with his brother. Do you think he'd be more comfortable in a public bath?”

“I think he'd be more comfortable sharing a bath with someone in particular,” Des hums.

“Well, you can send them over tomorrow then, provided they are not his brother.”

Des shakes his head. “I really did get all the sense between us you know.”

Selene looks at him quizzically, and he sighs.

“You gave him a gift- a gift you upgraded from what was already a courting gift I may add- and now you're letting him live in your home with a private bath, and you're willing to lie to mother to protect him. Do you really not see it?”

Selenes head tilts, trying to figure out what Des could possibly be talking about. “I...no?”

Des shakes his hand dismissively. “Fine. You should send him some books on poetry later. He quite likes reading from what I understand. Maybe spend some extra time with him to help him 'acclimate' while you're at it.”

“Oh,” Selene says, shoulders and head relaxing. “Ok. I will, thank you.”

“Ok,” Des grins, patting her shoulders twice. “I'm gonna go home now. Let me know how all that goes. I'll come check in soon.”

Selene gives her other half a hug, and watches as he vanishes back into their path.

Poetry, huh?

Surely there must be some in one of the libraries...

#Reverse Evanuris AU #Dirthalene #Devotion #Selene lavellan #Des #This is all Loekas's fault blame them

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scurvgirl · 7 years ago

Text

Rethsaam

Qunlat - We All Protect

More Seeker of Rebellion! (I said I wasn’t going to write much but I spent the day whacked out on meds so formal writing didn’t happen, wooo)

Sylmae, Nimronyn, Daern’thal, and Henne’thel belong to @justanartsysideblog

Glory belongs to @feynites

Nimronyn takes them even farther away, but she is at least now going at a pace that doesn’t absolutely exhaust her. The travel is like what it was - up in the clouds and dreaming. Like before, it clears Ash’s head and lifts her spirits. Up here, it feels like nothing can touch her. It’s not the kind of rush her adoptive mothers want her to feel, but it helps to reorient herself.

She shifts and flies beside Nim for a little while, dipping into the spaces around her antlers. She needs more practice shifting anyways, why not practice now? She billows back to the aravel eventually, tired but a good tired, the kind of tired that lets her sleep without fuss. Her memories are always happier up here. Instead of remembering death and destruction, Ash remembers Nanae’s preferred perfume when they were in Val Rayoux, or how Mama loved to collect books. She remembers a trip to Val Rayoux where she got to wear the prettiest dress she had ever seen, silk spun so fine it draped like water over her.

When she wakes, she finds they have landed in a nice glen, surrounded by tall, old growth trees. The area strikes her as oddly familiar, she thinks…there are wyverns around here? But in the future, and the trees…they were bigger. But still, wyverns are creatures of habit and if they were there in the future, it is very possible they could be around now. She informs the scouts and more than a few of them seem a little too excited by the idea.

“Don’t go purposefully looking for them now,” she warns playfully.

“Would we do that?” Etiras asks, feigning innocence. Ash rolls her eyes and wishes them to be safe while scouting. She isn’t exactly one to stop someone from bending the rules, so if they happen upon a wyvern, at least they’ll be prepared.

The rest of the day is comprised of the typical work needed to secure the clan after travel. Wards need to be put up, aravels need to be properly secured, food needs to be cooked, and specialty workshops need to be set up. Children also need to be corralled and watched, though more…responsible types are trusted with that task than Ash. And since Daern’thal has worked himself into sickness, she becomes the main person responsible for setting up the wards.

It is cooler in this region, farther south and east than where they had been, and the coldness presses particularly uncomfortably against Ash. She shrouds herself in warm magic and furs. Her hair is loose today, partially for warmth, and it spills out from the hood she’s wearing.

Setting up wards is always an odd thing. It makes her think of her Nanae and Uthvir a lot, and in the past it’s graced her with a lingering melancholy. But today is different. She thinks of them and their memories seem to twine in with the wards, lighting in particularly bright displays of activity. They are all connected to her, ready to alert and to deter depending on the nature of the intruder. Animals are tricky creatures sometimes, particularly since they can be in the service of rival clans or the empire, but for the most part, the wards are set up to warn of specific elf-like energy intruders.

She is careful in how she spills her blood, creating a web of blood magic wards. She layers the wards – the outer layer is to simply inform of those wandering closer, while the second is to start discouraging, and the third are more akin to magical traps than just wards.

Ash walks the perimeter of the camp multiple times, checking to make sure that all wards and safety precautions are in place. By the time she is done, the sun is beginning to set, creating soft yet beautiful shadows through the trees. She returns to camp, heading straight to the fire. Blood magic always leaves her feeling cold, combine that with the chill in the air and Ash is too cold for comfort.

Ram soup is for dinner and helps, heating her from the inside out. She leans against Nimronyn while she eats, curling up and basking in her memae’s warmth. By the end of dinner, Ash is warm again, and her magic feels replenished, even after being so utilized during the day.

The hunters return from their hunting activities, a wyvern unabashedly being carried by three of them. Etiras shrugs at her while grabbing a bowl of soup. Well, at least now they have some valuable scales and bone for crafting.

While the camp is winding down for the night, she can’t help but notice Daern’thal’s continued absence. She frowns, he should have been with the rest of them for dinner, but he’s remained in his aravel for the entire day.

Ashokara rises and grabs another bowl of soup before heading into her friend’s aravel. It is dark, and the warming runes need more energy to be activated again. She waves a hand and they all ignite, slowly warming the aravel. She lights the candles and enchanted stones as well, bathing the aravel is soft light. Daern’thal’s prone figure wriggles in his hammock and he pokes his head out from the cocoon of his blankets.

“I brought you soup,” she says, stepping towards him.

Reverie pops its head out from underneath the covers, in its bird form.

“Thank you.”

Daern’thal slowly sits up, his hair clearly trying to free itself in a frizzy array from his braids. He keeps the blankets wrapped around him even as he shifts to the upright position. Two hand peek out from the blankets and take the bowl and spoon. She climbs up behind him and takes his hair gently in hand, slowly untangling it with a comb.

He eats and she helps him in silence. Their words after the battle…had not been nice, nor easy. He has seen her memories, she has let him…know, to understand, and as much as he understands, he has not lived what she has lived. The pain….

All he sees are her actions, and how the clan is affected by them. She knows that she has acted recklessly. And he knows that she couldn’t just stand there and let things happen, but he also feels wronged by her somehow.

“The man who destroyed my world did not think the people of my world were people. He called my people brutes, and only changed his mind when my mother showed him just how compassionate and good we are. He…was incapable of seeing people as people until it was too late, until he was too set in his ways to stop himself from destroying anything,” she says softly. Daern’thal stills and Reverie hops up onto his shoulder.

“I tell you this because I am not like him. I have always seen you as people, just as bright, just as important as the people from my world. My loss…it can never be fully repaired, but that does not mean I am unable to love you or the clan. But it does make me protective. I am sorry to have hurt you, but please do not ever insinuate that I do any of this because I do not love you,” she tells him, letting his hair fall softly down his back.

Reverie stares at her and she wonders if she said more than she should have. She doesn’t want to fight with him, but she doesn’t want to leave this…whatever it is open.

“I’m sorry,” Reverie says, so softly she almost doesn’t hear. A tense breath leaves her and she leans her forehead against the back of his head.

“Thank you.”

They don’t say anything for the rest of the evening. She helps keep him warm after the soup, curling up with him on a pile of blankets and pillows, lending her natural heat to help his recovery. Reverie sneaks into the pile, vibrating happily.

She falls asleep with him, curled up and warm.

After that night, the tension of the battle seems to lessen. And soon, days turn into weeks, which then turn into months. She trains with Sylmae almost daily, honing her abilities, becoming deadlier and stronger.

Sometimes she’ll catch herself in a mirror and hardly recognize herself. She…looks like her mama. She has her nose, and her cheeks. Mama was not a thin woman, she was made of soft curves and strong muscle, and while Ash is smaller, leaner, her body follows very similar lines to her mother, she thinks. Her shoulders are stronger now, able to carry more, not just her sorrow and memories. Ash can see her mama when she looks at herself, but it doesn’t make her sad. Her curls are looser but just as white, a mane of hair that floats around her face and horns, down her back. She is strong like her mama, she is beautiful, and compassionate. Or she at least tries to be.

She lets her memories linger closer to her. It hurts at first, everything seems to remind her of loss, but slowly it begins to shift. She sees things her loved ones would have loved, and she loves those things more for it. She sees wrong as spirits drift into the camps, whispering of the empire’s expansions, and she feels impassioned to right them. Her memories make her strong and she feels closer to herself than she has in the entire time she’s been here.

The months stretch into a year, and Nimronyn takes them deep into a mountain range. Winter holds the region in a cold, dead grip, blanketing the region in a thick blanket of snow. Ash melts snow wherever she goes, blazing trails forward…but also making them rather conspicuous.

The clan remains bundled up and close together, particularly around Nimronyn’s reptilian-like body. Ash sends friendly flames over her memae’s body every now and then, keeping her warm. Sylmae is less delicate and throws several large blankets over the dragon. But it helps. Ash knows that these far reaching places are safer, but they tax Nimronyn too much.

But she also knows not to press the issue.

We need allies. We need safe harbor. We can’t run forever. Every day the empire expands, taking more clans, killing more keepers. Daern’thal tells her of more whispers of the madness growing making Ash grow increasingly worried. There were no tales of this in the future, something so old, people forgot.

There is nothing concrete to blame the madness on, but if Ash had to bet, she’d bet it is the Empire. It the type of sinister thing she could see Mythal doing – the bitch.

What is most troubling, however, is that every now and then there are whispers in the clan that maybe the empire isn’t so bad. Their vision is an attractive one, and it beats constantly running. Ash reminds them that the empire destroys themselves eventually, enslaves definitely, and anyways, after what happened in the valley – any of them will be killed on sight…or worse. They are welcome to leave, but they should know the truth of the empire, to not believe its beguiling lies.

Despite the several feet of snow and freezing conditions, Sylmae takes Ash to the side and sets to train her.

“Conditions will not always favor you!” Sylmae says as they begin.

“Certainly not if we keep running to the mountains,” Ash snipes back, parrying her mother’s strike.

“It is futile to curb your tongue.”

“It is!” She lunges and Sylmae bats her away easily. As strong as Ash has gotten, as good as she has become with combat, she still can’t quite beat Sylmae. Always one step behind.

But then again, Ash does not use her fire in this training.

Nim trains her fire, and Daern’thal improves her defensive magicks.

“Your opinions are no always correct,” Sylmae continues.

“No one’s opinions are always correct – not even yours or Memae’s,” Ash counters, rolling away, only to drop into a particularly deep snow drift. The word is not called though, spar is still in session. Sylmae is dashing after her and in a spur of the moment decision, Ash takes a deep breath and lets a wave of heat seep from her, quickly melting all the snow around her and Sylmae.

Her mamae wobbles on the suddenly new muddy ground. Well, she used to not use her fire in these sessions. The ground is still unstable but at least it’s not snow, and Ash takes advantage of Sylmae’s very slight wobble to dash forward. Their training sticks clash as Ash angles herself low. Sylmae is still significantly taller than Ash, and she’s beginning to think she’s taller than even Mama, but that just means she has a longer way to fall.

Ash is not the quickest, nor the strongest, but she strives to be clever. She does not relent, further destabilizing Sylmae’s base. She could maybe win this won, she could –

A ward goes off in her head and she gasps, suddenly seeing the intruders on the outer ring of wards traipsing through the snow.

When her vision clears, she is on her back with Sylmae standing above her.

“What was that?”

“Intruders,” Ash hisses, rolling to her feet quickly. Seriousness settles over Sylmae as she follows Ash back into the camp, peppering her with questions.

“How many? What were their armaments? Describe them –

“I don’t think they’re part of the empire, they looked more like a clan – but I didn’t see a Keeper.” She tries to hold the image in her head, seeing…an aravel, harts, and young elves that could very well be teenagers.

Sylmae’s face hardens. They’ve run into hostile clans before, though normally they have Keepers. A Keeper-less clan is woefully at risk, that is…if the Keeper isn’t disguised somehow.

Still, they alert the clan, rearranging the aravels into a defensive position and gathering warriors and hunters. Daern’thal taps into the wards and Dreaming, scouting where he can to see if he can learn anything about these elves.

Ash armors and arms herself, slowly working on her breathing exercises to let her magic begin to circulate freely inside of her. Fire requires a spark and a steady supply of fuel, magical fire requires the same, with slight variation. Her will is the spark, her breath and the magical pathways in her body are the fuel. She grabs her spear, two daggers, and several knives. She doesn’t think this clan will pose that much of a threat, but…safer than sorry.

Armed and ready, she joins her mothers at the forefront.

Another ward breaks and Ash is given another glimpse. The clan she sees is not advancing like an army, and she does not know if they can sense they are breaking wards. Exhaustion is written across their faces.

We need to know our enemies, yes, but we also need to know how to spot an ally, Mama’s voice drifts through her mind, a lingering memory. She was speaking to Cullen, something about how he was suspicious of some new mage enclave Mama wanted to bring into the fold. There was concern that they were Venatori agents – they had in fact been young mages who had run from the Circle before the rebellion. Mama had been right.

“I think…this is not a fight,” she says tentatively.

“I agree,” Reverie chirps up. It sits on Daern’thal’s shoulder, his eyes still closed as he searches through the Dreaming.

“They carry weariness with them, not malice,” it continues. Mamae and Memae share looks, Memae’s large eyes blinking slowly as she returns her gaze to the forest around them.

“They can still pose a threat,” Mamae says.

“Yes, but maybe…a friendly initial approach is best?” Ash suggests.

Another ward breaks. The sounds of a moving clan reach them, growing from soft whispers and whirring to actual speech and the plodding of harts, the various plunks and wheezing from moving aravels.

“Mamae? Memae?” Ash asks, wanting to see if they will at least consider her idea.

“Yes, little light, we’ll try. We do not fight if it’s not necessary,” Nim finally answers and Ash relaxes. If she is wrong, they can chew her out – but something tells her she’s not.

The other clan’s scouts are the first to pass through the trees. They are nearly hidden, but the wards chitter with activity.

“Stay there,” Nimronyn commands. The scouts freeze against the trees and soon the rest of the clan follows them.

They halt immediately as soon as they spy Ash’s clan. They watch each other, eyes flitting from one person to the next, gaging the strength of who they’re up against. The people of the other clan’s faces fall as they realize their disadvantage.

The stillness is broken by a small woman striding quickly to the front of the stopped clan. There is a fierceness to her that Ash recognizes, as is the sorrow that seems to fill the space around her. This is a grieving woman, her eyes are hard and she is ready to fight if need be. She has lost much, but she has not lost everything.

A warrior next to Ash grips his axe tighter and Ash reaches out, placing her hand on the haft. Nimronyn puffs up and a taste of her magic suffuses the area.

“There is already a clan here, you have broken many of our wards…what brings you so close?” She asks, her tone as strong as it is questioning. The woman in question raises her chin in defiance, her own magic expanding in the space and Ash suddenly realizes that this must be their Keeper.

“You are Nimronyn, yes?”

Memae lets out a low growl but nods.

“I am Henne’thel. My father spoke of you, he said you were a good Keeper. You are not like the Keeper that attacked my clan and killed him and my mother.”

Her clan does not gasp as much as the emotions in the clearing suddenly turn to shock then to pity then to sorrow. The death of a Keeper…once a rare event has become entirely too common, with the rise of the empire and the increasing boldness in warring clans that have tyrannical Keepers more bent on fighting and death than they are on leading.

“I am sorry for your loss, Henne’thel. I knew of your father as well, he was a good Keeper.”

“I am our Keeper now – I slew the last Keeper that threatened us.”

“As is your right. We do not wish any unnecessary antagonism if you do not,” Nimronyn says diplomatically.

The tension in the grove eases considerably. Ash watches as the other clan’s members relax, tension rolling off of their shoulders and their faces.

“No, we do not wish any unnecessary fighting. We will be on our way if it eases you,” Henne’thel says. Before Ash can think better of it, she steps forward and bends her head towards her memae.

“Perhaps, Keeper, we could invite them to break bread with us. Winters are coldest weathered alone,” she says, hoping the double meaning of her words come across. Memae huffs at her briefly, pausing before turning back to Henne’thel.

“My daughter speaks the truth, you are welcome to share our fire if you promise to keep your clan on their best behavior.”

Henne’thel inclines her head in gratitude, first towards Nimronyn, then towards Ash.

“Your generosity and hospitality is greatly appreciated. I will confer with my clan and give you an answer.”

“Very well. Ashokara, since you seem so invested in this, you may wait for their answer. You as well Daern’thal, keep her safe.”

Ah, she will be reprimanded lightly later then. Fine, she can handle that, because dammit she was right. Daern’thal looks slightly put out as the rest of their clan files back to their camp. Reverie scuttles up to the top of her friend’s head, staring at Henne’thel.

“I agree with you,” it chirps and she smiles at her friend.

“Thank you, Nimronyn and Sylmae may…not be so understanding of it later, though.”

“They’ll see reason, they always do. It’s not like you barreled head first into an army this time.”

“It was a raiding party, excuse you, and everything turned out fine. And this is better than fine. Friends are always good,” Ash says.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Henne’thel says from behind her. Ash turns in surprise, looking down, very far down, at the woman before her.

“I do. I am glad we could avoid any fighting; you and your clan have been through enough.”

Henne’thel frowns at that but she does not press the issue as she returns to her people. She can guess what she seems like to Henne’thel, unknowing of the pain she is going through right now. But maybe…and it’s a big maybe, she will get the chance to understand.

When Ash turns back to Daern’thal he is flushed, and it’s not just from the weather. Ash leans back, raising a knowing brow at him. He shrugs, opting to remain silent. Well, then, perhaps it’s not as big of a ‘maybe’ after all.

Henne’thel confers with her people for at least an hour. In that hour, Ash and Daern’thal communicate mostly in sign, keeping quiet for privacy, for themselves and for the clan heatedly discussing whether or not to accept their offer. She can understand why they wouldn’t – unknown, could be a trap, inviting misfortune. She doubts saying it’s not a trap will assuage any concerns, so she lets them have their debate in peace.

Daern’thal seems preoccupied with how apparently pretty Henne’thel is. She is indeed lovely, Ash can see that, but Daern’thal seems very quickly taken with her.

I should have let you invite her to our fire. Ash teases.

I do not court the ire of the Keeper as easily as you do, He retorts, sufficiently not denying anything. She chuckles.

Everyone seems to forget what my name means.

How exactly did your mother know you would be so annoyingly defiant? He teases and she chuckles.

Lucky guess.

And so it goes for an hour, quip after quip until Henne’thel reappears, looking pleased with herself.

“We accept your invitation, as long as you sit with us.”

Oooh, she’s to be insurance, interesting.

“As long as Daern’thal can sit with us too, then, he’s delightful company.” She grins and Daern’thal almost blushes.

Henne’thel seems unfazed by it however as she nods and returns to her people. After she gathers them, they all head towards the camp. Ash manipulates the wards accordingly, allowing them safe passage. The aravels are still positioned defensively when they arrive and a truce must be reached – weapons are to be confined to specific aravels to help prevent fighting. Both clans consent to it and slowly but surely, Henne’thel’s clan settles down around the large fire Ash’s clan has going.

Ash and Daern’thal are kept as the insurance, but she doesn’t mind. She knows that her clan will not attack, and she is happy to foster diplomacy. Henne’thel’s people do not talk to her much at all however, they keep to themselves and while they are all sharing the fire, the clans remain largely separated into their groups. The only exception to this are the children.

As soon as the situation is deemed safe enough, the children are allowed out of the aravels and allowed to romp. They have no issues with making new friends from a different clan, they see a fellow child and see a potential friend, not a potential threat.

Henne’thel and Nimronyn sit together, discussing Keeper things, Ash imagines. This awkward situation remains until supper, where the hunters from both clans convene and begin to cook the game they had caught during the day. Henne’thel takes a seat next to Nimronyn, while Ash and Daern’thal sit with the hunters from Henne’thel’s clan.

The fire begins to die when a wind billows through the trees. Reflexively, Ash takes control of the fire, turning it a brilliant blue as it waves in place while the wind poses a threat. When the wind shifts, she relinquishes it and settles back in. Henne’thel’s clan is watching her closely.

“I heard a very interesting rumor,” Henne’thel says carefully.

“And what is this rumor?” Nimronyn asks.

“There was a battle in a valley far from here, between the rising empire elves and a clan.”

Ash tenses but Nimronyn seems calm.

“Not such an uncommon occurrence in such times.”

“Hm, true, but it is uncommon when the clan wins.” Henne’thel’s gaze shifts to Ash.

“The rumors spoke of a great blue fire engulfing even the mightiest of the warriors. They call the woman responsible for the slaughter Asha’thylgar.”

“The woman of blue fire? What a descriptive name,” Nimronyn ventures, “and potentially misleading – blue fire is not as uncommon as some think.”

“True…but the rumor spoke of the woman who as the daughter of a Keeper,” Henne’thel says and finally Nimronyn shifts her tone.

“I do not appreciate where you are going with this.”

“I mean no disrespect or harm. I am…impressed, very few who tangle with this so-called empire come out of it alive – and you did more than just survive.”

Ash resists smiling and instead continues to eat her food. Ash’s clan seems unnerved from the conversation, they’re shifting in their seats, looking to one another. Sylmae levels her gaze at Ash while Henne’thel and Nymronyn remain locked into whatever stand-off they’re in.

“The empire is hunting you, Asha’thylgar has a sizeable bounty on her head for what she did to Falon’din, it seems reasonable to warn you.”

“How exactly did you come across this information?” Nimronyn demands. They already know about the bounty and the hunting parties, it’s partly why they’re still on the move.

“How everyone does, gossip-y spirits, including an actual Gossip spirit. We have no interest in collecting that bounty, they’d probably just steal us into their empire anyways.”

“Then why bring it up?” Nimronyn asks.

Henne’thel pauses and her eyes go over Ash, “I wanted to know if it was true. I know what the empire can do, I doubted such rumors that a clan escaped. The tale made it sound…fantastical.”

“Feats that are not believed are often thought of that way,” Ash says softly. It’s how folktales and legends get started, there’s almost always a grain of truth, but time distorts everything – especially stories.

“And do you have the truth of this feat?” Henne’thel asks.

“The truth is subject to perspective,” Nimronyn says, “perhaps that is why your gossiping spirits create such a fantastical story – it’s their truth.”

“Then I ask for your truth,” Henne’thel says, not backing down from this. Eyes flit to Ash, expecting her to tell the tale. She nibbles on her lip and shrugs.

“A raiding party entered the valley where we were camped. I was tasked with leading the clan away from the fighting while my Keeper and the clan’s warriors engaged with the raiding party. I couldn’t bear to watch my mothers die so I entered the fighting myself – I have always had a talent for fire, I used it.”

Dark emotion falls over Henne’thel and she nods, “I know that feeling, you are lucky that you did not lose them.” A bitter smile crosses Ash’s face – she doesn’t know, she tells herself. But she nods her head in thanks.

“Lucky indeed.” It feels like a lie. It wasn’t luck, it was determination and action, to prevent from history repeating itself. Or beginning so to speak. She knows what Henne’thel is feeling right now – anger, grief, jealousy. Ash’s adoptive mothers are alive while Henne’thel’s parents are dead – through no fault of her own.

“I am heartened to hear that the tale is true, it is good to know that not all clans are doomed to suffer Keeper-less fates.”

“And we heartened to know that your clan survived a rival’s attack. How did you manage that?” Ash asks.

“I took the form of a Keeper and assumed my role.”

She is more powerful than she seems, then, good. Allies should be strong. The rest of the dinner is filled with polite, if tense, conversation. But over time, and as the wines and spirits are passed around the fire, the tension lessens and the two clans ease into a more companionable existence.

The next few days are a flurry of activity. Food is a little thin, Ash’s clan was not expecting to be hosting with another clan. But Henne’thel’s hunters are more than happy to assist Nim’s hunters in acquiring food. Children play together, Nim and Henne’thel are engaged in talks the entire week, friendships are made, and by the end of the week, an alliance has formed.

Ash resists the urge to gloat but she does settle for a small, “I was right,” directed at Sylmae who humbles her in training again for it. Worth it, though. One of the best, and unexpected, results is that Daern’thal seems absolutely taken with Henne’thel. Reverie once whispers to Ash that Daern’thal finds Henne’thel pretty, beautiful even.

While there seems to be a lead up into a courtship between Henne’thel and Daern’thal, and the alliance is strong, the two clan go their separate ways in traveling. They set up the routes for communication in the Dreaming, giving Daern’thal even more power to contact his lady love. It’s cute, and it’s a good reminder than even in dark times there are always these little bits of brightness that shine through.

Spring arrives in the mountains in a soggy manner, drenching the area in rain – as if the melting snow wasn’t enough. Aravels get stuck and travel becomes slow as they avoid flying due to the near constant inclement weather.

They are camped out on a small mountain, when a ward goes off. Like it’s supposed to work, Ash catches a glimpse of what broke the ward – but she doesn’t see anything other than the surrounding foliage, maybe a few animals, but nothing that would break a ward. She frowns. Wards do not just spontaneously break.

She waits several minutes but no other wards break. She alerts the clan to the ward breaking and they agree it should be examined. Several groups are sent out to examine the perimeter while Ash and Etiras leave to examine the ward, armed just in case. They travel quietly through the woods to the broken ward. Ash’s magic lingers in the area, not just activated but blown apart. This was no accident.

She draws her spear and slowly turns, scanning the area. Etiras draws his bow, looking for anything, anyone, who could have blown the enchantment.

Ash looks up too late. A heavy person drops down from the trees, landing firmly on top of her. She falls to the ground with a harrumph, but rolls away quickly. More drop down from the trees and she hears the snaps of a bow as Etiras begins to fight back. Her spear was thrown when the elf landed on her, so she grabs the dagger in her belt and lashes out with that.

The assassin evades her easily and advances quickly. She rolls back to her feet just as the assassin lunges. She moves just as Sylmae taught her, and she lashes out with her fire – but it is raining, and the ground is sopping. Her fire only does so much, only burns so much before it is turned to steam. More steam fills the air as her fire collides with it, thickening the air, making it difficult to breathe.

But the assassins were just warming up it seems. A cloud of magic seeps into the air, sending what feels like knives and shards of glass into her skin. Her arms are soon covered in lacerations, her face, legs. She hears Etiras scream and she realizes that they’ve been outmatched.

It’s a quick decision, but it should work. It’s called a detonation glyph, she normally doesn’t use them because their devastation is too dangerous – too much margin of error. But they are far from camp and the sound of the blast will alert the rest of the clan. She blasts her fire into the nearest assassin. Their barrier takes the majority of the blast but they are left at least stunned enough to grant her the three seconds to whisper the spell into the ground.

The time starts now.

She manipulates the heat of the air to allow her to see Etiras. Wasting no time, Ash grabs him and runs. Then jumps down a ledge. She sends them both into a tucked in roll, doing the best to protect themselves even as they roll down the scraggly side of the ledge and into the brush.

The ward goes off in a brilliant blue explosion, rocking the earth and air. Debris flies down and Ash curls in on herself, protecting her head and neck.

When the air grows calm, she gathers the will to peak out from her position.

“E-Etiras?” She calls softly. A low groan answers her and she pulls herself to her feet. Damn assassins, probably looking to get a bounty on her like Henne’thel had said. Her body is bleeding and hurt, but she can move, keep moving, keep going.

Ash moves to Etiras, who is in a much worse shape. His foot is bent at an unnatural angle and he is already covered in purple and blue marks, bleeding internally as well as from the cuts up and down his arms, his face…

She has never been one for healing. It is not a skill that comes naturally to her, but she knows a thing or two.

“Etiras.”

“Ow.” He can’t move, the pain is too much, it infuses all of the emotion around him. But he’s alive, and that’s all that matters as far she’s concerned. With the utmost care, she reaches down and gently lifts him. He cries out in pain, but this has to happen. It gets worse before it gets better, she remembers that is part of healing.

The foot needs to be set, there’s no way around it, and then she can begin healing. There is a spell for numbing pain, she just need to remember it.

She attempts a spell then checks for numbness, but it doesn’t work. She tries again, but it is on the third try that she manages the right incantation. Etiras goes numb, all pain and some emotion fading from him.

Alright, step one done. She can do this, she may not have taken to healing, but she did train. She did her time with the healers, and she recalls some from her first life, even without magic, it’s possible. She thinks of the surgeon in Skyhold’s infirmary, working to heal the soldiers, and she didn’t even have magic.

If she can do it, so can Ashokara.

She takes gentle hold of his foot and leg and recalls seeing the Surgeon set a bone like this. Know the body and how it connects and you can take it apart…and put it together again.

She jerks. The bones crunch sickening but the foot is in the position it is supposed to be in. She tears off her shirt and wraps the torn pieces around the foot, then wraps two sturdy sticks to his leg, stabilizing it. Then she casts the few healing spells she knows.

The cuts on his arms mend, and some of the bruising eases off. His breathing evens out and she runs a hand over his hair.

“I’m going to get us back.”

“That was some fucked up shit, Ash.”

“I know, I’m going to pick you up now.” She takes one of his arms and helps him into a sitting position, then moves the arm to fall over her shoulders. She adjusts herself so that when she stands, he is slung over both shoulders, foot and ankle untouched. He grunts but makes no protest as she begins to walk towards what she hopes will let her back up to the clan.

She needs to keep moving, there’s no telling if there are more assassins, waiting to strike. Sylmae and the rest are good at tracking so if they need to find her, they will. Etiras is heavy, but not so much that she will let him attempt walking.

Ash wanders down to the river the scouts had found before. Hypothetically she should be able to wander up-stream and to a crossing point where she can then get to the desired elevation where the clan is. And water sounds very nice right about now.

The going is slow, but she eventually makes it to where the trees end and the riverbed beings, dipping in low. She stops immediately, frozen to the spot as she sees it. She has many experiences with spirits, small and large alike, some bright some clinging to shadows, but none have ever shone so brightly, floated so exquisitely as the one before. It large and golden, but not like the ore but as if it were a second sun on earth, light spilling so easily from it as it dangles in the air above the river.

It turns towards her and her heart stutters. She falls to her knees and Etiras grunts, but falls silent of any protests as he looks up from her shoulder and sees the spirit.

It blinks curiously at her as it floats towards her. An arm extends down to her, silent but overwhelming as it touches her cheek. It is warm and comforting despite everything and she leans into it, wanting it to remain just for longer. It is almost familiar, this closeness, and it fills with unfathomable sorrow to have it be gone.

“You are lost,” it whispers, but it is an echoing thing, as if it were a thousand whispers coming from multiple beings rather than just one. She nods in confirmation.

“We are separated from our clan, have you seen them?” Etiras asks. The spirit turns to him and nods.

“Up on the ridge, to the east. But that is not what I meant.”

Ash blinks in surprise and struggles to find a response.

“I am where I can only be,” she finally says and the spirit nods.

“As we all are.”

Etiras lifts his head slowly and takes a breath, “You are Glory.”

“I am.”

Glory. A very suiting aspect for this spirit, overwhelming and humbling and incredible all at once. Grand and shining, something everyone wants, and so few get, fewer that deserve it.

“Thank you for helping us,” he whispers. Several of its wings beat, light shines from them in varying lengths.

“I will accompany you to the path, you should find your way back from there,” Glory says and begins to…float up the river. She follows it, moving as quickly as she can. As Glory moves, the world seems to stretch towards them, as if nothing can get enough of them. Even Etiras seems to lean as much as he can towards them.

But a coldness lingers in Ash that she can’t explain. It is beautiful and great and incredible, but it also brings a heaviness to her memories that she has not felt in a long time.

Glory leads them to the path. Ash was right, it wasn’t far from the river at all, and she can hear Sylmae and the others in the distance calling for her. Before she heads towards them, she turns to Glory and bows her head in thanks.

“Thank you. And if you will accept advice – stay far away from the Empire, all they do is destroy and corrupt things.”

“Your concern is kind. I will remember it,” it tells her. She nods and Etiras gives his own thanks as Glory recedes back into the Dreaming.

Etiras is heavy upon her shoulders, as are her memories, pressing incessantly against her skull. But she sojourns forth towards the sound of her clan, her people. The past weighs her down, but her legs are strong.

She takes a deep breath and calls for Sylmae, directing them all to her. They are there in a flash, taking Etiras from her and whisking him away to the clan’s healers. Sylmae pulls Ash in for a tight hug, only to release her quickly once she realizes how cut up Ash is.

Their time of running from the Empire is coming to an end, and much sooner than she had expected.

#my writing #seeker of rebellion #ashokara #daern'thal #sylmae #nimronyn #henne'thel #glory #fic #i know that daern'thal is keeping them safe from assassins but i figured that it was reasonable that at least a few get lucky #and get through #no lasting damage though #but look! henne'thel #i hope i wrote her right #same goes for glory #they give me a strong ancient/old school angel vibe #absolutely stunning but also terrifying in their own way #completely overwhelming

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depizan · 7 years ago

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I’m not sure this doesn’t have some wild tone swing issues, but, eh, I’m tired of poking at it. Have another ficlet post Kyrian’s rescue. Though this one ended up kind of long.

(Oh, yes, and note for mentions of healed hand injury.)

Kyrian nearly cleared the targets before letting Corso into the hold, but the prospect of explaining – or trying to explain – why had stopped him and the results of the afternoon’s practice remained. His accuracy wasn’t that great by Imperial Intelligence standards, but it was passable. Even good, at least for the bit of time between when he adjusted to the unfamiliar blaster and his hand had started to hurt.

He couldn’t decide if he should have been relieved or disappointed.

“Feels good, don’t it!” Corso clapped him cheerfully on the shoulder. “Hey, next time we’re planetside, we gotta get you a blaster. Don’t mind lending you Sparky, but a man should have his own, you know. Somethin’ right for you.”

Kyrian nodded. He would have to figure out how to fight with his damaged hand as well. He’d put both off for too long already. It wasn’t fair to Jezari, or to the rest of the crew.

“Thought about what you want?” Corso bent to unclamp the nearest target. “A pistol? A rifle? What was that you had? Imperial model? Man, you shoot like this now, you must’ve been amazing.” His face froze. “You’ll be again soon! Just gotta have practice, and the right blaster. Back to normal in no time. Be nice to have somebody to practice with. Nothin’ like a little friendly competition.” His smile looked like it hurt.

“You don’t practice with Risha?”

“Uh, well, yeah. But, uh… more competition and…stuff.”

Kyrian released the magnetic clamp on the next target. The effort did nothing for his aching hand. “Where do you store these?”

“Crate in the corner.” Corso waved at a large crate shoved up against the back wall of the hold. “The Captain thinks people might get the wrong idea if they saw ‘em.”

“I can imagine.” The target was just heavy and awkward enough he had to use both hands to carry it. I should have quit after the first twinge. Continuing had proven nothing, except his own foolishness.

“I bet Risha could get ahold of a rifle like you had. She’s got all kinds of connections. Course if you want a pistol, the ALT-25 is about the best there is. Like Torchy. Has a stiffer trigger, though. Something like Sparky there might be better. Or the SoroSuub line for diplomats. But you probably want somethin’ bigger.”

Kyrian leaned on the crate. The target seemed heavier than when he’d first picked it up, as if his strength had drained away while he was carrying it across the hold. It was the stale air, probably. Or his recent lack of exercise.

“Captain’s got a pair of M-300s. I know she’d let you try ‘em. Bet even Risha’d let you give her rifle a try. Custom made job she picked up somewhere, but that don’t mean you can’t get one. The Galactic Arms Annual has some great reviews and rankings. Bet we could find just what you- ”

“I’ll think about it.” The words came out sharper than he’d intended. “I’m sorry, Corso. My hand hurts and…” He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about any of it.

“Oh, hey, I can clean this up. You leave that.” Corso waved at the target. “Go take something. ‘N don’t worry. It’ll get better.”

“Right.” Kyrian forced a smile. “Thank you.” He escaped into the corridor.

The air seemed clearer, less stifling than in the cargo bay. That was impossible, of course; the entire ship used the same air circulating system. He longed irrationally for a meadow, a park, sunlight, fresh air. Even with Kaliyo’s constant need for attention, he didn’t remember feeling so confined on the X-70.

Then again, he hadn’t spent most of his time in his cabin then. Much less a cabin little larger than that ship’s ‘fresher.

What am I doing? Corso was right. He could shoot just fine, be an active member of the crew. Nothing had really changed.

I expect too much. There were no miracles, no easy answers. It was long past time he accepted that.

He found himself in the auxiliary cargo bay more by process of elimination than design. He hadn’t wanted to face his tiny cabin, or more of Corso’s enthusiasm for assorted weaponry. Or perhaps he’d hoped to find Bowdaar there. The Wookiee was good company, even if Kyrian still didn’t understand enough Shyriiwook to properly talk with him.

The small exercise area was unoccupied, the room quiet except for the distant hum of the Luck’s hyperdrive. He’d meant to ask where they were going at lunch – or was it breakfast? – but he’d forgotten. Another job, he supposed. Some illicit good to be transported from one neutral planet to another. They’d been avoiding the Republic nearly as thoroughly as the Empire, for much the same reason.

Fine addition to the crew I am.

Empty shelving ran along three of the irregularly shaped room’s walls. A stack of assorted shipping crates and pallets stood in the corner opposite the exercise area, reaching roughly halfway to the ceiling. The pile was strapped securely to the wall, preventing it from shifting if the gravity emulators failed. The top was perhaps half a meter above Kyrian’s head.

He scrambled awkwardly up the pile, using his right elbow instead of his hand for leverage. There was more than enough room on top to lie down. It was dusty, but peaceful. He was being ridiculous, of course. His own bunk was more comfortable, and just as quiet. He had no more privacy there than he would have had in his own cabin.

The ceiling was a dull gray, faint darker outlines indicating where something had once been attached to it, and where he suspected a wall had been removed. A smear of rust or dried grease stained the ceiling at one corner of the vanished object.

He closed his eyes and imagined a sky above him, deep blue purpling to evening, or dark with roiling clouds, stained a sickly yellow with pollution, a clear and deceptively pretty blue above endless sands. None had held any more truth than the ceiling above him now. He’d made so many mistakes, so many poor choices, all because he was too stubborn, too arrogant to listen to anyone.

He missed the soft whiff of the door opening, but not the approaching footsteps. He sat up. His perch wasn’t tall enough for him to pass unnoticed.

Jezari looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Can I come up?” She asked.

“I… Yes?”

She grabbed the taut retaining strap and climbed up beside him. “Yik.” She wiped her hands on her knees, leaving dusty smears. “So,” she looked at him, “I guess it didn’t go so good.”

“It? Oh. No, no, it went fine. Quite well, really.” He held up his hand, hoping the stiffness didn’t show. “I should even be of some use to you.”

“Is that what’s bothering you? Your hand? Being useful?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been… I don’t know what I’ve been doing. I owe you so much, and all I’ve done is take advantage of-”

“Kyrian.” She gripped his shoulder. “Hey. You don’t owe me anything. Okay? Don’t worry about that.”

“I do owe you.”

“No, you don’t.” She shook him gently. “Seriously. You’re my friend. Nothing owed. Ever.”

He looked down at his hands. He’d folded them left over right, unconsciously protective. A bad habit he’d have to unlearn. Funny he still remembered the lessons of his training, when he’d practiced them so rarely. He laced his fingers together.

“You really don’t owe me. Kyrian? Hey.” She brushed his hair back from his face. “Talk to me.”

“I never seem to learn.” He absently rubbed the scar near the base of his thumb. “You saved my life. More than that. I should… I… I’m still not very good at facing reality.”

“What reality?”

He looked away. “Did I ever tell you I wanted to be an Imperial Intelligence agent? I thought it would be exciting – travel the galaxy, help people, stop evil plots.” He sighed. “I’d seen too many holothrillers. Dashing secret agent saves the galaxy. Even when I knew better, I still tried… wanted…” He shook his head. “I thought if I just kept trying, I could make everything right.”

She put an arm around him, her hand warm on his shoulder.

“I never learned to focus on the mission. On what mattered. I still haven’t. I still find myself wanting to ask the wrong questions. I’m not sure I’ll be of any more use to you than I was to Keeper.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry. I… I know I’d make the same decisions. I’m not defending the Empire. Or Intelligence. I just…” …haven’t learned.

“What are the wrong questions?”

“Ah. Who are we working for? What are we transporting? What happens if customs discovers it?”

“Yeah, those aren’t really…” She scratched at the dust on one knee. “Well… Hutts are lousy, but it’s hard to avoid them. The rest of the crime syndicates aren’t any better. I won’t haul slaves. Or anything alive. I mostly don’t haul spice. I’ve outflown customs ships. Left a few inspectors stuffed in closets. Not recently. We probably won’t run into them.”

He looked at her.

“I mean, it’s different when I’m running blockades and stuff. But we’ve been sticking to the safe jobs. Nobody’s going to get that excited about some Corellian brandy or ‘rancor’ ribs.”

“And when we take unsafe jobs?”

“I’m hoping you’ll help pick them.”

“My judgement is somewhat questionable,” he reminded her. “I don’t know that much about smuggling.”

“You know what you want to do.”

“Yes.” He wasn’t sure how much overlap there was. Blockade running, perhaps. Planets unwillingly under Imperial control. He swallowed. Perhaps not yet.

“You okay?”

“Yes.” He tried to will the tension away. “I would prefer to avoid the Empire.”

“Nobody’s gonna argue that.” Jezari bit her lip. “You know, the SIS does some internal stuff. It’s not all tangling with the Empire. I don’t know how you feel about the Republic…”

He’d never asked exactly what her relationship with the SIS was. They trusted her with missions, paid her for her efforts – reasonably well, as far as he could tell. But she wasn’t an SIS agent. He wasn’t sure she was even a Republic citizen; there was more than a little of Hutt Space in her speech.

Yet they hired her – and her crew – as if she were an agent.

It was a terrible idea. Even considering it was absurd. He’d never spent time in the Republic, never been briefed on the sort of specifics he would have needed for a mission there. The SIS surely had a file on him. Likely with nearly as much detail as Imperial Intelligence’s.

“Wouldn’t I make that a risk?” He asked at last.

“I wasn’t planning on telling them. They’ve never asked about my crew. They’ve never really asked about me.” She shrugged. “I mean, it’d be riskier than what we’ve been doing. The gangs and syndicates can get nasty. And some of ‘em are probably supplied by the Empire. But Risha keeps muttering about credits, and it wouldn’t be worse than taking better smuggling jobs. It’s up to you.”

His hand still ached. It would take months – at least – to relearn how to fight, especially if he wanted to avoid revealing that weakness. Assuming that was possible. Any lengthy firefight, piloting certain types of speeders, even something as simple as climbing would hurt. It was sensible to make the safest choices, to avoid anything that might rely on him for some time to come.

“I haven’t learned a thing.”

“Pff,” Jezari said. “You’re doing fine. Come on, let’s see what they’ve got for us.”

#i write #Kyrian Nessar #Jezari Solarin #hand injury or mention there of #still #probably forever #good going Mac

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mstigergun · 8 years ago

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OC Kiss Week, “the hope which cannot part”

OC Kiss Week, Day Seven (a goodbye kiss). I’m going to keep my commentary minimal, save to say this is set in Letters-verse and is a variation on a 5 times/1 time structure. [~2300]

the hope which cannot part

Farewell to thee! but not farewell To all my fondest thoughts of thee: Within my heart they still shall dwell; And they shall cheer and comfort me.

Adieu, but let me cherish, still, The hope with which I cannot part. Contempt may wound, and coldness chill, But still it lingers in my heart.

(from Anne Bronte’s “Farewell”)

“Be careful,” Asharil says, her fingers digging indents into his arms. She presses a hard kiss to his cheek, drawing back to look him straight in the eye. Her stare is golden, molten, unflinching. A demand, one that permits with no room for half-measure. “Stay with the others. Don’t go wandering off. There are wolves in these woods, and too many shems keen on seeing us harmed.”

“I know,” Talen says, throat tight. He blinks up at his sister, whose skin is washed pale and whose lips are a tight line of worry.

He hadn’t been scared of going on this hunt, before. Not really. But now –

Darkness whispers at the edge of his thoughts. They’ve lost others. He’s heard a hundred tales, stories the children tell each other, or things the adults murmur when they think none of the young ones are listening.

He hears. He knows.

Talen swallows. He presses up on his toes, planting a kiss against his sister’s cheek – an echo of the one he can still feel against his own skin. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Ar lath ma, Asharil. When I come home, I’ll be a better help to the Clan.”

And when he does come back, blood grimy beneath his fingernails and his heart still hammering with that strange tangle of joy and horror, nothing is ever quite the same. But Asharil’s delighted exclamation – one he hears from across the camp the moment he steps past the ring of aravels – is enough to soothe any darkness hiding in his mind.

He kisses her forehead, right there by the fire.

Asharil’s stare flashes up, her hands stilling, though still the threads are tangled around her fingers. “What’s that for?”

For saying goodbye without words, he thinks. For you waking up tomorrow to an empty aravel. For how your heart will hurt.

Instead, Talens shrugs. “You look tired,” he offers, dropping onto the ground next to her.

She snorts. “And since when have you cared about that?”

She is, of course, right. A less selfish boy wouldn’t have his bags packed already. A less selfish boy would think of his sister.

But instead he tilts his head against her shoulder, drinking in this small, final comfort. Trying to allow himself to feel this – the guilt – and not that bright, beckoning excitement at the road before him. He should not be giddy with anticipation. He should be sick with regret already. “Of course I care,” he murmurs.

Asharil’s fingers again begin working the threads. Her chin tilts, her mouth grazing his temple, the line of his hair. A brief and fleeting touch, barely a kiss. “If you care,” she intones, leaning away again, “then you can help me with this weaving, da’len.”

iii

“You’re not terribly clever, little shadow, are you?”

Talen’s hunched over, his body a broken line arcing downward, knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping the table beneath him. It’s a miracle he wriggled out of his shirt without passing out, when he can hardly draw breath for the flare of pain in his ribs. When tears prickle, sharp and hot, in his eyes whenever Shira prods his skin, indelicate.

“They jumped me,” Talen hisses, breath hitching. “I couldn’t – There’s nothing –”

The words close off, his throat a vise that cannot be opened.

“Any one of the kids could’ve told you to stay away from Black Boot territory. They’re nasty bastards, always thinking we’re edging in on their shit territory. As if,” with a firm tug as she pulls the bandage into place.

Talen sucks in a startled gasp, dark patches blossoming before his eyes. He squeezes his eyelids shut, clamps his mouth into a line he hopes will firmly in place. Nostrils flaring, fingers squeezing at the table so hard, he’s surprised it doesn’t splinter.

“As if,” Shira continues, standing and brushing dust from her knees, “we’d want their blighted streets. You ever seen a mark worth snaring in West Stave? Of course not.”

But he can’t respond, too dizzy with the furious pain, the memory of the interaction – fists to his ribs, cutting words sharp in the air – too present behind his eyelids.

The warm and steadying weight of Shira’s hand on his shoulder. Patting him, meant to be reassuring. “You’ll be fine,” Shira says. “Just… be sensible. No crawling up gutters or skittering across rooftops this week, alright? Anyway.” The weight disappears. “I’ve got a thief lord to have a word or two with. That fucker doesn’t beat up one of my kids and saunter away without at a least a broken nose.”

His eyes flash open. “You don’t have to –”

Shira snorts. Her narrow body is a blade in the dim space between them. Primed for violence, hungry for it.. “Of course I do,” she drawls. “Can’t seem soft now, can I? You just stay here and stay safe, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

His ribs ache with the next breath, and it has nothing, this time, to do with the bruises pressed hard into his skin. “Ma serannas,” Talen murmurs, and he edges off the table and – before she can squirm away, or glare at him, or be more cross than she already is – he pushes himself up and kisses her cheek. A bare touch.

“Don’t you start with that,” she says. But still Shira drops a firm kiss right to the top of his head, her nose wrinkling even as she leans away. “And go have a bath. You still smell like blood, and this place is bad enough already.”

He watches her go, slouching her way from their warehouse, her shoulders tense with a barely reigned-in anger that will see Talen’s injuries avenged in some way. And though his body is one long, vicious ache –

Well. He sleeps very easily that night indeed.

“I have to go,” he says.

Shira’s arms are all elbows, folded that hard across her chest. Sharp as blades. Ready to cut. “Right,” she says, curt. “Sure.”

His fingers curl against his palms, cut crescents into his palm. Still, he tries to breathe as evenly as he might. As steady as she taught him, even though he can feel Asharil’s distant gaze on him, like coals against his skin. “Thank you,” Talen says, his voice distant to even his own ears. “For everything. I’ll come visit when I can.”

And, because he’s saying goodbye, he steps in to kiss her cheek. The moment his lips touch her dark skin, Shira jerks back, as if she’s been burned. Her eyes blaze with a furious light, like forest fires in the distance, like pyres on the water. “Is she making you go? We can protect you, little shadow. You don’t need to do a blighted thing you don’t want to. Fuck the Dalish – if you want to stay –”

“I want to go.”

They’re quiet words, but they find their mark. Shira falls to an unfamiliar silence. He can see her chewing on the inside of her cheek, teeth sawing it to blood. Then, “Alright, whatever.” She sniffs, shrugging, her stare as tightly shuttered as their warehouse in the winter months. “If it’s what you want. We’ll see you when we see you.”

She leans down, places a dry, papery kiss on his forehead, and then turns and disappears into the crowd beyond. It’s not until they’re well outside of Ansburg, and his sister has been asleep for hours, that he finally allows the carefully contained tears to fall, to strike soft notes against the blankets pooled around him.

“I’m going,” he says, ducking beneath the low tent where his friend is secreted away. Evelyn looks up from the book she’s got unfolded in her lap, something one of their traders picked up for her when last passing through a village. And while Talen and Evelyn had amused themselves for hours reading the most offensive passages aloud – about the savage ways of the Dalish, their obscure blood rites and wild, ritualistic bacchanals – its the later passages on lost temples and artefacts that have caught Evelyn’s unfaltering attention.

Talen doesn’t see much point to trying to uncover pieces of an empire long since fallen to dust. But if Evelyn’s enamoured, he’ll bite his tongue.

“Do you know for how long?” she asks, placing a dried leaf between the pages and closing her tome. She unfolds her legs, standing and stretching. He’s still not used to seeing her with her vallaslin, but its suits her, he thinks distantly. More than it’s ever suited him.

He shrugs, leaning over to press a thoughtless kiss to her forehead. “I can’t say. The Keeper wants me to make contact with an Antivan clan with some obscure connection to a few of our hunters. We haven’t heard from them in years, so it may take me some time.”

Evelyn tucks her arms around his ribs, squeezing him into a tight, quick embrace. “Well,” she says, her mouth brushing his cheek, “If you end up near Antiva City, could you visit a book merchant? There’s this one book – it keeps getting referenced –”

And her hands have plunged down and picked up her book again. Evelyn rifles through the pages, in pursuit of the title in question. Talen huffs out a little laugh and leans against a tentpole, waiting.

He’ll have many hours alone on the road between the Marches and Antiva. His friend’s company, her enthusiasm and warmth, are worth waiting for.

Virion’s mouth falls against his forehead, and Talen is certain he’ll be sick. “No,” he says, jerking away, and he’s not even sure how he manages to breathe the word out – not when his throat is this tight, when his hands shake so very badly, when his stomach has become a black knot of nausea. “I’m coming with you.”

Virion is as pale as dawn on a gray winter day. His hands, Talen knows, are just as cold, fingers stiff. At his side, Virion’s palm pulses a nauseating green as he steps backward. “We can’t know what’s on the other side,” he says, firm. “I won’t see you put in harm’s way, vhenan.” Another step, building an empty, frigid space between them. One meant to keep Talen safe, but –

“I’m not saying goodbye,” Talen insists, and even he can hear the wild edge to his voice. He can barely breathe, heart beating itself bloody against his chest, into a ragged, pulpy mess. “I’m not letting you do this alone, not when –”

He goes to step forward, to move closer, but Virion’s hand flashes forward, a flag in the air between them. “Don’t,” he grinds out. “Just – I have to do this, and I can’t if I’m worried about you. You must stay, Talen.”

Stay, he thinks. Stay, when this might be the end. There are no words.

Talen’s hands curl uselessly at his sides. He can’t fix this, he knows that, hasn’t been able to do a thing beyond look over Virion’s shoulder for him, beyond loving him desperately and beyond any possible measure, even as they fight their way toward darker and darker conclusions. Even as the Anchor roars to furious life, ready to devour Virion. Ready to devour all of them, to glut itself on the destruction of the entire world, all that they know and love.

“I’m going,” Virion says, and though he’s pale, he straights – impossibly noble, impossibly composed, when all Talen can feel is a razor-edged panic. He draws back further, pulling his hand close to his chest, cradling it. “And either I will die or I will live, and if it’s to be the former, vhenan, I will not take you with me. I refuse.”

There are tears, Talen knows, gathering in his eyes: as hot and furious as a brand. Marking him. Again, he shakes his head. “Virion,” he pleads, once more stepping forward. It can’t end like this, and if it is to end –

Say what Virion will, Talen refuses to live in a world in which this is their reality. In which Virion doesn’t step back through that mirror, and if his vhenan even thinks for a moment that he’ll face down the wolf alone, then he has made a mistake. It will not happen. Talen will not allow it.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan.” Virion’s stare is soft, pale. Another step backwards, his mouth tight with pain. “I must go now. Cassandra –”

And before Talen can leap forward as Virion turns and disappears into the mirror, hands – strong and familiar and traitorous – reach out and clasp him. He is all fury, all wild desperation, surging forward against the bounds that keep him here, his throat open in a savage scream as he throws himself after Virion despite Cassandra’s grip.

And then, then he is nothing at all – the cool hiss of magic, the sound of a potion being opened, the irresistible pull of unconsciousness. Darkness and emptiness, familiar friends.

I will not say goodbye, his last thought. Then nothing.

(vii)

You’re awake, he murmurs, shifting in bed. The pool of blankets, soft and sumptuous, rustle around them as he slides upwards, leaning nearer. Needing to be close.

Virion’s forehead creases, some distant echo of pain. So it would appear. Then, his eyes opening, his gray gaze stretching upwards, And alive! What a lovely surprise.

Talen huffs, brushing his hand against Virion’s soft hair. I told you I wouldn’t say goodbye, he says, words soft and fragile. Feathers in the air between them, against the dim light of dawn beyond. So hello, vhenan.

And the kiss that follows – tremulous and gentle and certain, all at once, Talen’s fingers tracing the lines of Virion’s face as he folds himself, delicate as a shadow, against his lover – makes all the world right again. As simple as that: as coming home, as breathing, as his heart beating.

Aneth ara, Virion breathes against him, reaching to thread his fingers through Talen’s hair.

Their place, together. A hello worth a thousand goodbyes.

#ockiss17 #oc kiss week #talen lavellan #virion lavellan #evelyn lavellan #oc otp #(thanks for playing through the end of trespasser with me hayley!)#(this is your fault)#tana writes #and has intense feelings about these two elves #letters-verse

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