#he is also beloved by his guardsmen

[taryn40k]

Today I bring you : more Lequin! :D

[whumperofworlds]

Whumptober 2024 Day 7: Necromancy

Now on AO3!

TAGS: @gala1981 @whumptober-archive @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @rebelxwriter @expressionless-fr

@fourwingedsnake @whumble-beeee @whumpninja @kingxlinkwrites

CWS: Major character death (he gets better), near death, necromancy, blood, minor character deaths, magic exhaustion, male whumpees, whumpee x whumpee.

A/N: This also coincides with @kabie-whump 's Magic Whump Week! Sorry I couldn't do the entire week as it was happening, BTW! Whumptober stuff 😅 Also, happy late birthday to Ventis!!!

ENJOY!

_____

Unconventional weapon / magic with a cost / "It's us or them."

Magic Whump Week Day 1 - 9/23: Magic with a price / "It's worth it."

Ash knew the routine: when Brennus' guardsmen showed up, don't let them leave alive. That way, none of them would tell the tyrannical king the whereabouts of The Fierce Forests. If Brennus knew where they were, it would be over for them.

And that was what the team was doing. Guardsmen appeared near the fort, and Ash, Spruce, and the rest of the team did battle with them. For what felt like hours, they killed guardsmen one by one, with injuries on The Fierce Forests' side. Thankfully, they had healers who used white magic to heal their wounds, while Brennus' guardsmen didn't. This would give the team enough experience when they would eventually fight the king himself.

Ash and Spruce looked out for each other during the fight. Whenever one of them had a blind spot and a guardsman tried to sneak up on one of them, the other protected them quickly before returning to the fray, Ash with his black magic and Spruce with his fists and feet. When one of them was injured, the other rushed to his aid and gave him an elixir to heal his wounds. They fought like they knew each other for a long time, and Alder was glad that he had good fighters like them.

Things were going well. Only ten guardsmen left, and The Fierce Forests were close to winning the fight without any serious injuries. While some were injured, the wounds weren't serious and could be fixed easily with an elixir or white magic. Ash smiled slightly as he used Lightning on another guardsman. Once the guardsman fell to the ground, dead from electrocution, he turned to face his beloved monk. Spruce was doing well, as the monk strangled another guardsman with his bare hands. The guardsman fell, dead, and that was when Ash saw it.

An arrow aiming straight for Spruce's back.

Ash gasped, realizing that Spruce was in danger. If the arrow hit him, then…

"Spruce!" He called, readying a Fire spell towards the guardsman aiming at the monk.

Spruce turned, but it was too late.

The arrow was released just as Ash sent out the Fire spell, and the arrow pierced Spruce's chest, hitting his heart in the process. Ash's heart stuttered in his chest, tears threatening to fall as he watched as Spruce crumbled to the ground.

"SPRUCE!" He screamed, rushing towards the other man. The guardsman with the bow and arrow was hit by Ash's Fire spell, and fell to the ground, unmoving.

Tears flew as Ash ran, his heart racing as the realization kicked in.

Oh Goddess Above, please don't be dead. I can't lose you like this!

He knelt down to Spruce, gently turning the man's unmoving body. The arrow was deeply embedded in his chest, and Spruce's eyes were wide and glazed over. Blood dripped down from the corner of his mouth, and Ash couldn't keep a sob from leaving his throat. Was Spruce…?

Holly and Aspen ran towards the two, kneeling down beside Spruce. Holly took Spruce's hand and placed a finger on his wrist, checking his pulse, as Aspen gently pulled the arrow out from his chest. Blood sputtered from the gaping wound, and Aspen cringed at the sight.

"He…" Holly whispered, frowning as tears began to fill in her eyes.

"Holly, can you use your white magic to help him?" Ash asked, noting the tears in her eyes. He had seen her cry before, and he knew that wasn't a good sign when she was crying while helping a patient.

"I…" Holly sniffled, "I can't. He… he doesn't have a pulse."

"The wound is too bad to heal," Aspen pointed out, "our magic can't heal it."

"But… but we…" Ash whimpered, the tears fogging his glasses. No. It couldn't be. Spruce was a strong man. He shouldn't die like this. Not like this. He had his whole life ahead of him. A mission to do.

"I'm so sorry, Ash," Holly apologized with a shake of her head, "Spruce is… gone. There's nothing we can do."

Ash wanted to scream in anguish then, as the tears flowed down his face like mini waterfalls. His glasses were so fogged up from the tears that he could barely see his boyfriend's dead figure on the ground. He hiccupped, removing his glasses to wipe away the tears that kept falling. He had to keep his cool. He knew that this would happen. But it still hurt him.

He glanced at his palms when he placed his glasses back on his face, thinking for a minute. If only Holly and Aspen's white magic can revive him. If only there was a way to—

…Revive the dead.

His eyes widened at the realization. Yes. That was it. He was a Necromancer. He has had these powers since he was born. But after an incident where he was ostracized for bringing back a dead relative, he wasn't sure if he could use his powers to bring his beloved back. What if Spruce came back wrong? What if there are adverse effects bringing him back to life? What if the other Fierce Forests ostracized him too, even though they knew he was a Necromancer? He hadn't used his powers since he was a young child; chances were good that he would get himself killed doing this.

…No. I can't lose Spruce like this. He's more important to the team than I am. I have to do this.

He breathed a long sigh, before he placed his hands on Spruce's bloodied chest. He closed his eyes, chanting words that Holly and Aspen didn't understand. In a few moments, his cloak began to fly, as if a strong wind had hit him, and green magic flew around him and Spruce. Green figures that looked like ghosts swirled around them, as Ash continued to chant his spell.

"Ash?!" Holly cried, "What are you—"

"Get back, Holly!" Aspen cried, taking her hand and pulling her away from the swirling green magic. Neither of them were sure what was going on, but whatever Ash was doing, they didn't want to interrupt.

Ash continued to chant, his body beginning to be drained of energy. As that happened, the swirling slowly dissipated, and eventually disappeared. Once Ash was done, his eyelids grew heavy and his mind swimming. His hands shook as he removed them from Spruce's chest.

In just a moment, Spruce quickly sat up, gasping, as if he was underwater for a few minutes. He blinked, as he glanced down at his chest. The wound was gone, albeit blood was still staining his clothes.

"Ugh…" Ash groaned, as he swayed side to side. He smiled slightly, knowing that Spruce was alive thanks to him.

Spruce glanced at his beloved, and when Ash fell to the ground, unconscious, Spruce gasped and knelt. He gently turned Ash over on his back, noting the peaceful smile on his face. Spruce shook him, saying nothing, but after a few shakes, tears began to form in his eyes.

He screamed, his scream so loud that the rest of the team turned their heads to see what was wrong. When they saw what was going on, their eyes widened in shock and concern.

"ASH!"

____

Ash wasn't sure how long he was out—he even thought he was dead. But his eyes began to flutter open, as he groaned in pain. His head was throbbing, and exhaustion took over despite the fact that he slept for however long. He could barely move, as he groaned again.

What happened? How did he pass out?

Despite his throbbing head, he began to put the pieces together. From the wooden ceiling, he was likely in the fort's infirmary, being cared for when he passed out from his magic.

Oh. Right.

Yes, he remembered now. How he used his necromancy to revive Spruce. How he then passed out, thinking that he traded his own life for his beloved.

How did he manage to live, though? Was he saved somehow?

He slowly turned his head, his body protesting from that move, and he spotted none other than Spruce, asleep on the hard chair beside Ash's bed. Seeing how wet his face was, Ash frowned and worry etched in his mind. Was Spruce… crying?

"Sp…" Ash attempted to speak, "Sp… ruce…"

As if he was awake the entire time, Spruce jolted awake upon hearing him. He turned his head to spot Ash, eyes wide and red. Without a moment's notice, he jumped from his seat and took Ash's hand with both of his.

Ash could hear how heavy Spruce's breathing was, and he couldn't help but feel guilty. Did he cause so much distress to his beloved when he did what he had to do?

"Ash…" Spruce whispered in a low voice.

Ash smiled slightly, despite the exhaustion. "It's… okay, Spruce. I'm alive."

Spruce sniffled, rubbing the back of Ash's hand. He frowned, averting his gaze from his boyfriend as he sighed.

Ash frowned, shaking his head slowly despite the headache coming on.

"Don't…" Ash tried to reassure, "this isn't your fault. I did what I had to do to save you. You're more important to the team than I am. That's why I did what I did."

Spruce glanced at him then, his eyes narrowed as he shook his head. His eyes grew more intense as he stared into Ash's, tears threatening to fall again.

Ash couldn't help but sigh. Spruce was right, as usual.

"I know… I'm sorry for saying that. It's just that… I don't know. After my use of my power, I think that the rest of the team doesn't want me around."

Spruce squeezed Ash's hand slightly, his frown intensified. With a sigh, he removed one of his hands from Ash's and with one arm, held him close.

Ash, blinking for a moment, returned the hug.

"You're right… they accepted me from the beginning. I shouldn't say things like that. Thanks Spruce…"

Spruce released his hug, his eyes intense again as they narrowed further.

Ash squeezed Spruce's hand, nodding in understanding with a small smile. "It won't happen again. I promise."

Spruce let out a sigh of relief, and Ash could see a hint of a smile on his face. His heart stuttered in his chest at the sight. Spruce never smiled, and seeing him smiling like that made Ash yearn to see it again.

But he would do it again. He would use his magic to help his Spruce, even if he died in the process.

[popatochisssp]

Hi!! If the Papyri are knights what are the Sanses? Also you should totally make an AU of this, you beautiful brain

You have no idea, none of you have any idea how absolutely insane I went about this goofy little one-off AU concept

...Some of you have an idea. And some of you maybe know me well enough to have just guessed I would go off the rails the way I have lol

Anyway, this is the first, but absolutely not the last of The Court AU:

Sans (Undertale): The court jester, in possession of a quick wit and a cutting sense of humor and with no desire to let either go to waste. He’s much beloved at court and prides himself on his ability to make even the stuffiest of courtiers chuckle with his jokes and pranks—and his jester’s privilege makes him nigh untouchable to those who somehow aren’t amused by him. It’s a good life…

Papyrus (Undertale): A proud knight of the kingdom and a member of the Royal Guard! Er…well…eventually, he will be. The Captain won’t make him a full member of the Guard until he’s proven his valor through a series of knightly quests…but she won’t tell him what the quests are, so he travels the kingdom as a knight-errant, helping those in need and solving problems that may or may not have needed solving! You’re welcome, good citizens!

Sky (Underswap Sans): A squire, or knight-in-training, attendant to the Captain of the Guard until he properly earns his own knighthood. …Frankly, he’s already capable and qualified to be a knight now, but he’s aware that the Captain has some reservations regarding his health and is hesitating to just give him the job because of it. He fully intends to prove himself to her in the line of active duty, and someday be recognized as a fully-fledged knight of the realm.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): The court archivist, most at home amidst shelves of tomes and records and far away from the social obligations of the court itself. He tracks and preserves all kind of documents, from agricultural reports to genealogies to romantic poetry, and is on call to locate specific texts for any nobles or otherwise literate folks seeking to reference them. It gets a bit musty sometimes but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): A mercenary, traveling the kingdom in search of people to sell his sword to for a bit of coin—and then traveling in search of satisfying ways to spend that coin. He does occasionally venture outside the kingdom for both of these things, but he has quite a few connections to well-paying opportunities within the borders, so as much as he avoids putting down roots, he tends not to stray too far from ‘home.’

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): A knight in the Royal Guard, touted as a black knight for the scorched and stained armor he wears—a marker of the many deadly, heroic feats he’s conquered. No quest is too dangerous, no enemy too great for him to overcome, and he bravely takes on what lesser knights fear to risk. He’s quite accomplished dealing with dragons, and wildfires, and even mages, who always seem to cast fireballs and…well, perhaps that’s the reason his armor is so blackened…

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Personal guard to the Empress herself, nominally part of the Royal Guard as well but far from the front-lines of battle as his duty to her highness’ safety comes first and foremost. He’s involved in a lot of the structuring and scheduling of patrols for the lower ranking guardsmen, and his opinion is often sought in matters of state and military, but his primary concern is accompanying the Empress wherever she goes, or standing post just outside the door. Only on rare occasions does anyone else fill his role, and that’s just the way he likes it.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): He’s a nobleman who used his wealth and free time to pursue a passion in painting. His passion paid off in the form of a bit of notoriety for his work and several offers of patronage from other nobility seeking portraits and frescoes and the like done in his hand. …Or as he sees it, rich people paying him to do what he loves instead of some sort of actual job. As long as he can comfortably afford his paints, he’s happy.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): He’s a stableman at the queen’s castle, looking after the horses and hunting dogs kept there. He isn’t as quick as he used to be, and his memory hasn’t been the same since his head injury, but he was graciously employed elsewhere rather than dismissed and it’s…fine. Well enough, at least. It’s dirty and often thankless work, but he is fond of the animals, and much prefers their company to anyone else.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): He’s a medic in service to the knights of the Royal Guard. He actually used to be among their number…sort of…but there were some changes, in his life, and his eye-sight isn’t really what it used to be anyway, and… Well! He spent some time learning from the court physician and got very interested in ways to treat illness and injury. He’s not as skilled and knowledgeable as a full-fledged healer but he’s happily on hand for minor training accidents and sicknesses or injuries in those coming back from patrols. He loves to be able to help!

Ash (Undergloom Sans): A musician who plays his trusty horn for the court during all the feasts and festivals. He’s only one player of many but enough of a talent to be selected for the job and pleased that his music should entertain the king and queen and all their noble guests. It’s not the most glorious of positions but he’s happy enough doing it and lives well for his station.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): Head cook in the castle kitchens, a station he worked up to from the bottom as a lowly kitchen boy. He has a lot of experience making meals for the royal couple and for all the nobles that regularly attend court gatherings and he knows how to give the people what they want. There are several other cooks and kitchen attendants that work with him but it’s his job to make decisions and keep everything running smoothly, which keeps him busy but happily so.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): He sticks exclusively to the royal court these days, not as a hired sword but as a wealthy and rakish duke of the kingdom. His brother gave him the title and it’d be stupid not to take advantage of the perks—though he does have to earn them. He’s less a hired sword now and more a hired axe, performing the duty of the royal executioner whenever he’s called upon to do so. No need to wear a hood, everyone knows who he is and what he does to enemies of the crown.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): The king of the castle, in a very literal sense. Some may call him a usurper or a traitor to the crown to have seized the throne for himself without proper claim… and for those people he arranges a meeting between their necks and his brother’s blade. He seized the throne because he’s loyal to the crown and the queen he deposed was wearing it quite poorly. If he could, he would’ve stepped down by now and given way to the true queen, but the people have been through enough upheaval—so he will remain as their king, as long as is necessary.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): A cursed king who lives an austere, lonely life in a desolate castle by the sea. He fled from his true realm in disgrace and now awaits an end to his curse or his shame—whichever comes first—in the ruins of a fallen kingdom as degraded as he is. He doesn’t expect to be found, or saved from the curse that his own choices wrought upon him, and just tries to bear his fate with the grace expected of him.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Prince-errant of his kingdom, meant to be ruling his people but instead gallivanting off across the countryside in search of his missing brother. He wants to find him and know he’s well about as much as he doesn’t want to go back and be the ruler of a kingdom, for which he was never properly trained and is wholly unprepared! Maybe in his search and his hardships, he can find the strength and maturity to do what the kingdom needs him to do…but he’s not there yet, and finding his brother is his priority.

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): Every knight in the Royal Guard is hand-picked and trained by him. He held a high office among the guardsmen once, but a severe injury put him out of commission and without his sight, he was no longer fighting fit, as they say. Still, his strength and his skill didn’t abandon him and while he could be a liability on the battlefield, he’s nothing less than a powerful asset when it comes to training the knights up to his own exacting standards. Only the best make it through his gauntlet.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He walks the wall of the castle at night, standing guard for any threats to the kingdom that might otherwise go unseen. He takes his duty very seriously and refuses to let any night pass without a watchman on duty, even in foul weather or nights of great feasts and festivals. His vigilance has protected the kingdom from many a threat and he feels certain that his job is of much higher importance than any frivolous pastimes he absorbed himself in before.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): A courtier of…mysterious origin. He’s often at court, making conversation and telling colorful stories to anyone whose ear he can snatch—and he manages to snatch quite a few—but no one can manage to figure out quite where he came from or what he ought to be doing. Mostly, he entertains himself and others with various leisurely pursuits, games, hunts, dances, songs, and as such he’s a well-liked person at court…wherever he came from.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): Another man of mystery who appeared at court on the heels of his brother, though far less flamboyantly. He’s obviously a learned man, well-educated and well-spoken, and though he wasn’t as warmly embraced by the courtiers at large, he was eventually welcomed into the king’s confidence as a royal advisor. The backing of the king being what it is, he’s accepted and respected as probably some sort of nobleman, regardless of his unclear origin, and continues to advise the king on matters of state.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): A wanderer, uprooted from his life and former kingdom and left to walk the land in search of meaning. Some say his kingdom was destroyed but for a small handful of survivors. Some say he turned to dark magic and sold his soul for the chance. to take revenge on the one who desolated his home. Some say he’s ageless, bones turned to cold iron and chest empty of breath to contain the power he now holds. …They’re all right. But his quest is long over, and all that’s left to do now is wander.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): He’s a proud knight of the kingdom! He may not have been in the Royal Guard when he was tragically cut down before his time, but he did come back from death as a ghostly semblance of himself at the same time everyone else did—and when your Captain is no longer worried that you might get yourself killed in battle because you already did, promotions are in order! So, he now serves his phantom kingdom as a phantom knight, valiantly and eagerly, but of course, taking time every now and then to visit his (mostly) living family member, to keep him from brooding too hard.

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): It’s…slightly unclear what he does. He’s seemed strange for a time, a bit touched, but the queen seems to hold him in high esteem and never fails to consult him (among others) before any major decisions are made. Sometimes he’ll appear in unusual places with cryptic messages, or look into peoples’ eyes and divine their intentions (should they be ill ones), and for all this, though he holds no specific title, he’s at least informally called the court mystic. There are rumors that his strangeness and that of those closest to him is because he made contact and some sort of bargain with the faefolk…but those are surely just rumors.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): The royal falconer, primary trainer, keeper, and handler of all the hawks and falcons owned by the queen. It wasn’t a job he was born into, but one he sought out of the blue one day, and he earned his way by demonstrating a remarkable affinity for the birds even prior to any training. By now he’s a figure of great respect for the command he has over the flighted beasts, and he happily demonstrates it during the queen’s feasts and king’s hunts.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): He’s earned his way at court with talent, performing dazzling displays of bullets and other magic for nobles and royals alike. He’s a standout from other such entertainers in that his well of magic never seems to run dry and he can keep showing off his juggling and his light shows and his dancing bullets from sun-up to sun-down without ever tiring. He doesn’t talk much about his life before coming to court, but he’s happy now so it’s just as well.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): He was trained from a very young age to be a soldier, a paladin meant to fight in a holy war and raised to believe his greatest purpose was to die on the battlefield and bring glory to the cause. That all…never happened. He was freed from the grip of the zealots and reunited with the brother he hadn’t seen in ages, but then left at odds for what to do now—a warrior with no war to fight. Eventually he becomes apprenticed to a carpenter in town in the hopes of learning a trade to live on, and…he’s starting to be content.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): Spymaster to the crown, head of a small network of covert informants, assassins, thieves and the rest of their ilk. It was a career he…inherited…but also one he carried out diligently, carefully, and above all, secretly. At least, until his brother married and he left to join him in his new kingdom, where he serves much the same function at court—with the added responsibility of wrangling and occasionally nominally filling in for the crown prince. All according to plan.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus): He was in the same family business as his brother, but when he caught the eye of a visiting monarch and won an invitation to their kingdom, to marry, well… how could he refuse? And when, after an unsuspicious amount of time, his spouse is found dead under mysterious—but not too mysterious—circumstances, and no one from the proper line of succession seems to be coming to take their place… He really has no choice but to go from the prince consort to the crown prince, for the sake of his late spouse’s people. He’s far from a proper or responsible prince, and certainly has some kind of reputation, but he’s pleased enough with how everything’s going.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): He minds the royal dungeons. It’s not what he started out doing, but somewhere along the way he lost the humor for anything else, and it’s as good a job as any. Not too many strangers make it into the kingdom these days, but plenty have foul intentions and it is something he takes some pride in, keeping watch over those ill-meaning outsiders and making sure they stay put, where they belong. He’s not the kindest of dungeon-keepers, but quite frankly, since when was ‘kindness’ part of that job description?

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): His brother keeps the dungeon and he keeps the grounds. While a groundskeeper isn’t anything close to what he thought he’d want to be, a lot has happened—to him personally and to the kingdom as a whole—and well, he’s providing a very valuable service with his work, humble though it may be. Anyone with skin would have a horrid time pruning back all the wicked, cursed thorns that keep trying to consume the realm, and unchecked, they could probably run wild in less than a fortnight, where would they all be if he let that happen?

[amalthea-felsblood]

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡Basics｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

Name ◦ Marian Varlineau

✦Nicknames✦

Mari ◦ Only people she's close with can call her this. *trust don't try it.

MarMar ◦ The orphan children of Ishgard call her this; she considers them all her own.

Roaring Wind ◦ Given to her by her father, Strong Wave *she was a force to be reckoned with as a child.

Age ◦ 35

Nameday ◦ 10th Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon

Race ◦ Hyur

Gender ◦ Female she/they

Orientation ◦ Pan

Profession ◦ Ishgardian Knight/The Blood Dragoon, Blacksmith/Goldsmith in training

✦Physical Aspects✦

Hair ∘ Raven black at birth but is now drained to grey and blue from plunging into the void far too often.

Eyes ∘ Blue at birth also drained to gray; her eyesight wasn't affected.

Skin ∘ Fair-skinned at birth, drained to more of that of a corpse.

Tattoos/Scars ∘ No tattoos, but her body holds many scars, cuts from blades to deep bites marks from fiends.

✦Family✦

Strong Wave Father, former Limsa guardsmen 

Currently ∘ Alive and enjoying retirement as a fisherman.

Ovort Drudaut Father, former Ishgardian chocobo trainer

Currently ∘ Alive and is also enjoying retirement with his beloved.

Siblings ∘ None to speak of.

Grandparents ∘ Her parents spoke of them but never had the urge to ever go see them.

✦In-laws and Others✦

Alberic Bale Estinien's adoptive father and mentor. When Marian is on patrol, she always takes the time to visit him. She keeps him informed about Estinien, so he'll never have to worry.

Gethwine Cherrier She was an elderly neighbor to her parents when they had a home in Ul'dah together. When Marian was a baby, she was left on her doorstep. Her parents stepped in, noticing Mrs.Cherrier struggling to care for Marian on her own, and they've loved her as their own ever since.

Pets ∘ None at the moment, but she has an affinity for birds.

✦Skills✦

Ground lancer ∘ Strong thrusts and stabs

Aerial lancer/Dragoon ∘ High jumps and piercing

Hunter ∘ Be it man or fiend, she will find it.

Hobbies ∘ Learning Ishgardian customs and cuisines, keeping gear and weapons maintained, growing flowers, and making toys for children.

✦Traits✦

Most Positive Trait ∘ Determination No matter how hopeless something may seem, she will go on, even if it means her end.

Most Negative Trait ∘ Self-righteousness She will sometimes put herself upon a pedestal, only to be humbled later. *she never learns.

✦Likes✦

Colors ∘ Dusty blue, blood red, black, royal blue

Smells ∘ Mountain air, seaside, patchouli, smoke, old steel, dried blood

Textures ∘ Flower petals, cold steel, rough leather, silk sheets

Drinks ∘ Hot chocolate and any strong ales or wines

✦Other Details✦

Smokes ∘ When stressed or traveling, she will use the kiseru.

Drinks ∘ Heavily *she doesn't want to talk about it.

Drugs ∘ She messed around with a few things in her youth, but nothing crazy.

Mount Issuance ∘ Lir is her faithful chocobo, and since her father was a skilled chocobo trainer, he became her mentor, sharing with her all the secrets for the perfect bond.

Been Arrested ∘ Yes, penalty of tavern fights. *she never starts it; she only finishes it.

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

Thank you for tagging me @ubejamjar@avampyone@idalenn ❤

@starrysnowdrop@notarchonzachlol@izayoiri@captainqster@damian-elero@madalyn-maeve

Please feel free to make one!

[istumpysk]

OPERATION ICEBERG: THE TIER LIST

THEORY:

Varys has Tyrek Lannister

TIER:

People's Choice!

Stumpy note: This is one of those times when I don't think you should pay close attention to my definitions. I don't want to influence your vote, but I just want to say that sometimes something can be extremely likely without there being mountains of evidence. For instance, consider a theory like the Hound being the gravedigger.

Strong Contender: These theories have a lot of textual support, but there are still some elements of uncertainty.

vs.

Possible: These theories could be true, but additional evidence is needed, as different interpretations or errors are possible.

vs.

Under Consideration: These theories haven't garnered strong or extensive evidence, but they're worthy of discussion.

[Tier list overview]

EVIDENCE:

First, who is Tyrek Lannister?

Son of Darlessa Marbrand and Tygett Lannister, Tywin Lannister's brother.

Handsome with long golden curls, roughly the same age as Sansa.

Served as Robert Baratheon's squire.

Married Lady Ermesande Hayford to secure her lands for House Lannister.

His bride, Ermesande, is an infant.

Moving on to the key points.

Stannis and Renly Baratheon block King's Landing's food supplies, causing widespread unrest. On the day Princess Myrcella leaves for Dorne, a mob attacks the royal party, sparking a riot.

Tyrek was in attendance and goes missing in the chaos.

"Ser Preston is not returned," Ser Boros Blount reported, "nor Aron Santagar." "Nor Wet Nurse," said Ser Horas Redwyne. That was the mocking name the other squires had hung on young Tyrek Lannister. - Tyrion IX, ACOK

And stays missing.

Tyrek was still missing, as was the High Septon's crystal crown. Nine gold cloaks had been slain, two score wounded. No one had troubled to count how many of the mob had died. "I want Tyrek found, alive or dead," Tyrion said curtly when Bywater was done. "He's no more than a boy. Son to my late uncle Tygett. His father was always kind to me." "We'll find him. The septon's crown as well." - Tyrion IX, ACOK

This mystery continues into the next book.

"Aye. I fear I did not leave him in the best of moods. Lord Tywin feels forty-four hundred guardsmen more than sufficient to find one lost squire, but your cousin Tyrek remains missing." Tyrek was the son of his late Uncle Tygett, a boy of thirteen. He had vanished in the riot, not long after wedding the Lady Ermesande, a suckling babe who happened to be the last surviving heir of House Hayford. And likely the first bride in the history of the Seven Kingdoms to be widowed before she was weaned. "I couldn't find him either," confessed Tyrion. - Tyrion I, ASOS

Suddenly, a throwaway detail: Varys, the master of whisperers and knower of all things, helped try to locate the young man.

"He's feeding worms," said Bronn with his usual tact. "Ironhand looked for him, and the eunuch rattled a nice fat purse. They had no more luck than we did. Give it up, ser." Ser Addam gazed at the sellsword with distaste. "Lord Tywin is stubborn where his blood is concerned. He will have the lad, alive or dead, and I mean to oblige him." He looked back to Tyrion. "You will find your father in his solar." - Tyrion I, ASOS

Then, another oddity: Varys the mummer puts on a bit of a performance.

"Alas, our beloved Tyrek has quite vanished, the poor brave lad." Varys sounded close to tears. - Tyrion III, ASOS

Not done yet, the author extends this mystery into A Feast for Crows. I can't give you an exact number of days, but at this point, Tyrek has been missing for a long time, and these people probably should have moved on.

Also, check out that ellipsis of truth.

The lady of the castle was a Lannister by marriage, a plump toddler who had been wed to his cousin Tyrek before she was a year old. Lady Ermesande was duly trotted out for their approval, all trussed up in a little gown of cloth-of-gold, with the green fretty and green pale wavy of House Hayford rendered in tiny beads of jade. But soon enough the girl began to squall, whereupon she was promptly whisked off to bed by her wet nurse. "Has there been no word of our Lord Tyrek?" her castellan asked as a course of trout was served. "None." Tyrek Lannister had vanished during the riots in King's Landing whilst Jaime himself was still captive at Riverrun. The boy would be fourteen by now, assuming he was still alive. "I led a search myself, at Lord Tywin's command," offered Addam Marbrand as he boned his fish, "but I found no more than Bywater had before me. The boy was last seen ahorse, when the press of the mob broke the line of gold cloaks. Afterward . . . well, his palfrey was found, but not the rider. Most like they pulled him down and slew him. But if that's so, where is his body? The mob let the other corpses lie, why not his?" "He would be of more value alive," suggested Strongboar. "Any Lannister would bring a hefty ransom." "No doubt," Marbrand agreed, "yet no ransom demand was ever made. The boy is simply gone." "The boy is dead." Jaime had drunk three cups of wine, and his golden hand seemed to be growing heavier and clumsier by the moment. A hook would serve me just as well. "If they realized whom they'd killed, no doubt they threw him in the river for fear of my father's wrath. They know the taste of that in King's Landing. Lord Tywin always paid his debts." "Always," Strongboar agreed, and that was the end of that. - Jaime III, AFFC

Finally, it happens: Jaime Lannister implicates Varys in the disappearance of Tyrek Lannister and openly questions why Varys wasn't present during the bread riots.

Also, another ellipsis of truth!

Yet afterward, alone in the tower room he had been offered for the night, Jaime found himself wondering. Tyrek had served King Robert as a squire, side by side with Lancel. Knowledge could be more valuable than gold, more deadly than a dagger. It was Varys he thought of then, smiling and smelling of lavender. The eunuch had agents and informers all over the city. It would have been a simple matter for him to arrange to have Tyrek snatched during the confusion . . . provided he knew beforehand that the mob was like to riot. And Varys knew all, or so he would have us believe. Yet he gave Cersei no warning of that riot. Nor did he ride down to the ships to see Myrcella off. - Jaime III, AFFC

You might remember that Varys also helped Gendry escape King's Landing and claims to have done the same for Aegon VI Targaryen.

Snatching young male nobles from King's Landing has become something of a hobby at this point. (Not to be outdone, Littlefinger has taken up the same pastime.)

"Here's something you don't know. It wasn't supposed to happen like it did. I was set to leave, wagons bought and loaded, and a man comes with a boy for me, and a purse of coin, and a message, never mind who it's from. Lord Eddard's to take the black, he says to me, wait, he'll be going with you. Why d'you think I was there? Only something went queer." - Arya I, ACOK

x

The lad flushed. "That was not me. I told you. That was some tanner's son from Pisswater Bend whose mother died birthing him. His father sold him to Lord Varys for a jug of Arbor gold. He had other sons but had never tasted Arbor gold. Varys gave the Pisswater boy to my lady mother and carried me away." - Tyrion VI, ADWD

Lastly, in 2001, George R. R. Martin pulled a George R. R. Martin.

Was "file Tyrek" closed in ASOS with the hint that he ended in a bowl of stew? Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. - George R. R. Martin

(To my knowledge, it has never been hinted that Tyrek ended up in a bowl of stew.)

COUNTER-EVIDENCE:

Maybe Littlefinger has him?

On a serious note, this is a totally realistic scenario:

"If they realized whom they'd killed, no doubt they threw him in the river for fear of my father's wrath. They know the taste of that in King's Landing. Lord Tywin always paid his debts." - Jaime III, AFFC

STUMPY'S THOUGHTS:

Two more and Varys gets his boyband.

Remember everyone, sometimes: quality > quantity.

VOTE:

NEXT THEORY:

Tysha is the Sailor's Wife

[Main menu]

[lightweaverelend]

WIP - AOT -Fiel an schwarzen Tagenell (Fell on black days) (Erannie, Too be jeankasa, Rivetra, ) - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A WALTZ WITH THE WOLF IN SHEEPS CLOTHING

The sun thinned in the distance as it gave a wide berth to darkness. Lamps were lit as people started culminating at the front gate to the Akerman estate. Lamps were lit along the gravel walkway leading inward to the main garden where candles were lit. The ground bore pedals of flowers, roses, lilacs, and others. The gate opened as the two guardsmen started asking and allowing guests in. They came in swathes of four. Eren watched from the rooftop. He wore a suit though loose and well-tailored if he needed to fight. His long hair had been trimmed and cut short to the nape of his neck. He carried a rifle, which was slung in his right arm. His boots were scuffed though alright. He scanned the top of the estate and watched. He spotted Mikasa, she was already outside she wore a gown simple red and beige. Her hair was done up in the newfound Paradi courtier way. She stood beside a man whom Eren seemed to forget. He had brown hair which was slicked back. He wore a well-tailored suit - brown with a red tie. Golden lapels down it to keep it from becoming undone. He held her by the waist, though appeared to be more of a charade than anything else. He found his focus on the current people that were entering, three strangers that he did not recognize, two men in suits that matched the usual style, and a woman. She had short blonde hair that was pulled into a tail though a bit of her hair hung off the right side of her face. She wore a fox mask - that Eren couldn't help but find quite flattering to her gown. It was white with golden tints. He found himself staring for a bit longer than he should for a gloved hand rested on his shoulder. 

“How goes it, Loyal protector?” Baron Akcerman asked. 

“Good sir. How is the wine?”  Eren asked peeling his attention back to his higher-up. 

“Wine is adequate. You want to join the merrymaking. Conny and Erwin should be good enough.” He said, the gentleman grinned which was rare. “It's an exquisite night it would be a shame for you to miss out on it. Also, I saw the way you were leering,” he smirked. “Cheers” He walked away. 

“I. I wasn't leering!” he cursed under his breath. Though he started behind Baron Akerman. The two made their way into the top floor's main hall walking down the stairs. Eren gave his gun to a nearby maid. Of whom took it deftly and started away.

The Two men found themselves in the antechamber that led the way into the main ballroom. Eren turned and looked behind him. Levi had been right. Twas a beautiful night the stars shone with hope. Hope for the isles of Paradis. And hope for the future. The rumbling. Eren remembered the rumbling that he had caused. Though he pretended he didn't. He killed those people. He sent titans to careen their fists into homes. Their feet are like grand hammers stomping on snails. And he. their architect. He winced at the recollections. He shook his head. 

“That's over,” he thought to himself. “It's been over. It's been over for five and half years.” he shook his head one more time. 

“Ready sir?”  The baron asked. 

“Yes.”

The door opened Into a grand room, laughter shattered his ears. As lights pierced his eyes. The Baroness stood waiting. 

“Petra.” The baron offered his hand to the newly appointed baroness. 

“Beloved.” The two started to the dance floor though Levi turned, “Enjoy yourself Yeager. You only live twice.” he chortled. 

Eren made his way down the steps into the sathe of people. He saw Sasha in the distance of whom wore a black bear mask. Next to her was Ymir and Historia who wore matching dove masks. He waded into the mass as he did so a figure caught his attention. She stood on the other side walking she wore a fox mask. He started towards her. She turned and in for a moment that seemed to be frozen in time they seemed to meet each other. Though only their eyes made contact, she swiftly turned to the man she walked with. Who stopped and turned around then he turned back to the woman. He nodded. as she said something then continued up the steps holding her gown as she walked. The man stayed behind. He looked and found Eren's eyes. He was a lank man. Black hair. Black suit. A mask of what would have been an elk. He motioned forward. Eren gingerly started forward. 

“Hello, Sire.” The man spoke, his accent riding upon his voice. Marleyan? he thought to himself. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand, and a chill gripped him. 

“Hello to you,” Eren said in turn and bowed. 

“My madame wanted me to tell you that, she wanted you to follow her. She would very much like to have a dance. Though in private.”

“Oh. well, im sorry but im the protector of the baron so im sorry but I would love to dance with her on the open floor. I'll save her a dance. You tell her that alright?” 

The man nodded.

“Of course.” Eren walked back into the masses. However, something nagged at the back of his mind. He found himself walking back to the strange man. 

“Where is your madam?” 

“She is down the hall.” He nodded. Eren followed opening the door. There was no one out there though he saw something move in the doorway to the farthest room. He heard a door hanging open. He started forward. 

“Excuse me but this promise is-” he felt a hand go over his mouth as soon as he entered. He also heard the door close with a click. 

“My friend, don't be so loud.” a soft voice spoke. He could hear her behind him. 

She turned him to face her. Her face was slender yet marred with scars. Her mask covered her upper face though icey eyes leered at him like a wolf. Her voice was soft though and she held him there. 

“I take it my friend sent you here?” the woman said. 

He nodded,

“Good.” 

here's my first go at chapter 1 of a fic in progress

[silver-dragonborn]

Draft #1: Prologue of Ascension

This is just a prologue of my upcoming multi-chaptered fanfic I call Ascension. It's a HOTD/Skyrim crossover in which Rhaenyra and Syrax find themselves in a strange land during a flight gone wrong. Rhaenyra finds herself embroiled in Skyrim's politics, Civil War, and a dragon invasion, but survives every challenge and becomes High Queen of Skyrim after she slew Alduin. This is an extremely rough draft in which Daemon finds her after years of searching.

He is currently going through a severe culture shock because he has never seen an orc or an elf before. Plus, he's finding out for the first time that his niece is already a Queen when she has an inheritance back in Westeros.

Some things to know before you read:

>Rhaenyra fought for the Imperials as she sympathized with Elisif and killed Ulfric, crushing his rebellion under her foot.

>Syrax is on High Hrothgar learning from Paathurnax. Rhaenyra is still her rider, but lately, Syrax has become bigger and more independent.

>Rhaenyra does not trust the Thalmor, but her household is diverse and she strives to undue certain harmful laws and permit Khajiit to be allowed within cities and towns. She also had a town built for the Argonians of Windhelm so that they might live in peace and ensured the Dunmer were treated far better than they were under Ulfric's rule.

>The four children are the orphans of Skyrim: Lucia, Alesan, Sofie, and Blaise. Rhaenyra took pity on these children and took them in as her wards. She gives them an education, food, and arcane lessons and prepares them to hold esteemed positions within her household once they reach age. The children are fiercely protective of their mentor.

>Rhaenyra wields a blade, but her gift lies in the arcane, and like Viseyna, she uses magic like a pro.

Please do not repost or reblog.

Prince Daemon's polished boots click-clicked against the highly polished floor. The chamberlain’s silken slippers squeak-squeaked along behind. The echoes of both snap-snapped from the glittering walls of the Blue Palace and around the great, hollow space, their hurry-setting lazy dust motes swirling through bars of soft light.

Daemon's travel boots, scuffed and supple from long use and dragon-riding, made no sound. This...this was the foreign land his niece had fled Westeros for. “Upon entering the presence of Her Excellency,” the chamberlain’s words droned out, “you advance towards her, without undue speed, looking neither right nor left, your eyes tilted down towards the ground and at no point meeting those of her Excellency. You stop at the red line on the carpet. Not before the line and under no circumstances beyond it but precisely at the line. You then kneel—”

“I will not kneel,” said Daemon not even bothering to grace the chamberlain as the man was queer in appearance with too-dark skin, ghastly glowing red eyes, and ears with sharp tips. A Dunmer. An elf. Grumps and Snarks come to life unsettling him in the worst possible way. But the elf was one of many of his niece's stranger subjects.

Lizardfolk, green people with tusks, furred cats that walked on legs, and golden-skinned elves with impossible beauty. Even the humans were exotic with their ability to use any weapon of their choosing and permit the women to fight alongside the men or defend their homestead.

The chamberlain’s dark head rotated towards him like an affronted bird's, a snarl upon his thin lips as he practically hissed at Daemon. “Only the heads of state of foreign powers are excepted! Everyone must—” “Rhaenyra Targaryen is my niece. I will not kneel.” The chamberlain's lips parted open in shock, his slight body quivered with outrage, but Daemon snapped over him, temper crackling. “By the Fourteen Flames! I have not seen my niece since she disappeared on her dragon! Her Excellency does not give a fuck whether a man kneels if he is her beloved kin. I am her uncle.” Two armor-clad guardsmen lifted their crossed halberds to let them pass, and before the chamberlain could announce him, Daemon shoved the double doors wide open. He was eager to greet his niece, eager to take her in his arms, eager to take her back home to claim her birthright and heal Visery's broken heart.

The hall beyond was cavernous, opulent, and grand with dragon banners and statues on either side like silent sentinels. Fit for the throne room of the most powerful woman in Skyrim. The throne room of the Red Keep was grand, but this rivaled that of the Red Keep. A thin black carpet stretched away down the mosaic floor, a red line at its lonely end. A high dais rose beyond it, a dozen men and shockingly women in full armor standing guard in front.

Upon the dais was a grand throne carved from raw ebony. Within the throne was his missing niece, Rhaenyra Targaryen High Queen of Skyrim...Slayer of Alduin...Dragonborn. She was dressed all in imposing black armor, but the severe look on her beautiful face was blacker and her hair was tied in a long braid with two loops on either side of her face. She has grown, Daemon thought, a curl of unease blooming in his stomach as she stared down at him as if he were a stranger and not the man who had spent years and gold to find her.

A peculiar and foreign selection of people, three scores or more, of all races, sizes, and shapes, knelt before Rhaenyra and her retinue in a wide arc. They carried no weapons now but Daemon guessed these fine men and women carried many. Despite their strange appearance, Daemon knew what they were. Killers. Soldiers. Hounds. All of them killers. Like him...and apparently, like his niece, too.

They say she kills dragons, that she devours their souls, and when she speaks, the ground trembles in awe of her Shout.

Daemon advanced towards the dais, without undue speed, looking neither right nor left. He passed through the half-circle of assorted couriers, noting four children almost close to adulthood, and stopped precisely at the line. He watched the still-annoyed Chamberlain stride past the guards and up the steps to the throne, leaning to whisper in Rhaenyra's ear, the four children watched Daemon with silent suspicion and Daemon noticed that each child had a weapon strapped to their waist.

Rhaenyra stared at Daemon for a long moment and Daemon stared back, the hall cloaked all the while in that oppressive silence that only great spaces can produce. “So it truly is him. Why are you not kneeling, Uncle?” “He does not kneel, apparently,” snapped the Chamberlain with heat. Rhaenyra waved his angry words away with a regal hand, each finger adorned with ruby and ebony rings that glistened in the light.

“Everyone else kneels. What makes you special, Uncle?”

“I am a Prince and your kin,” said Daemon.

“But you do not kneel.”

“Because we are family and I have spent years searching for my niece...for you.”

"Make him kneel!" snarled one of the children, a dark-skinned boy dressed in strange garb who made as if to grab the mace at his hip only for a girl, a brown-haired little thing, grab him gently by the wrist and shake her head, but her eyes were hard with fury on her Queen's behalf. "Peace, Alesan," Rhaenyra cooed, raising her hand to silence. "Daemon is my Uncle. He is stubborn but still blood of my blood and a dragon." The boy, Alesan, scowled and kept his peace, but still glared at him with a mutinous expression.

"Lucia, Alesan, Blaise, Sofie...return to your rooms and resume your lessons." The softness in Rhaenyra's eyes hardened and from a distance, dragons roared. "I will see to my Uncle...and inquire about the state of Westeros and its King...my father."

[prolestariwrites]

Fandom: Love Between Fairy and Devil

Tags: Romance, Comedy, Fate, Soul mates

Pairings: Dongfang Qingcang/Orchid (main), Shangque/Jieli

Characters: Dongfang Qingcang, Orchid/Xiyun, Shangque, Jieli, Changheng, Xunfeng

Rating: T: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: None

Summary: After Dongfang receives a warning for changing fate, he doesn't think much of it until he finds himself in a world where the Cangyan Sea and Shuiyutian are ruled by Xishan. Here, hellfire is just a long-forgotten legend, and as a royal Dongfang must submit to harsh treatment. His beloved Orchid is the goddess Xiyun, a ruler who is cold and unforgiving towards the Moon people.

Meanwhile, the Moon Supreme has changed into a Dongfang his family and friends do not recognize. Now timid and soft-spoken, Orchid and Shangque work together to find out what is behind the sudden change in his personality. It soon becomes clear he is Dongfang—but not their Dongfang.

As Orchid and Shangque attempt to find a way to bring their Dongfang back, they also need to keep the switch a secret: which also means passing off the gentle version as their bold and decisive king. At the same time, Dongfang wrestles with the drive to free his people and put Xishan in its place. But he also needs the goddess to get back home, something that may be impossible to get if he returns to his old self.

Note: Here is my submission for the LBFAD Mini-Bang! This story has gone through multiple versions and I must thank my partner @crisdrawsandcries for being so patient through the rewrites. Please go check out the amazing artwork that they did for this fic! I'm so grateful for all your hard work!

Below is the first chapter, and I'll be posting a new one every day through the mini-bang. You can also find the story over on AO3. Please enjoy!

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓞𝓷𝓮

Hundreds of people mill about on the palace grounds, the doors open to celebrate the Harvest Moon festival. It is a holiday in the autumn on the night the moon appears largest and brightest in the sky, a week full of parties and fun for the tribe. Children run around with sparklers and treats sold from carts that line the square, while the adults share a drink or several of warm spice wine and buy trinkets for their special someone. Flags hang in decoration while the orange glow from the lamps give a warm feeling to the atmosphere. It is one of the best times of the year, the festival having a resurgence now that the clan is whole and the Moon Supreme has returned to his throne. He has vowed to return the old traditions to the clan, and worked to make this year’s festival the largest in history.

The Moon Supreme walks through the first day of the festival with his queen, happily watching Orchid exclaim over the decorations and costumes as she pulls him from vendor to vendor to sample everything. People call out their greetings to the royal couple as they walk by, and Dongfang nods in response, keeping his expression cool to hide his own excitement.

“Look!” Orchid lets go of his arm to stand in front of a stall selling mooncakes, fresh from the oven and glistening with sweet butter. 

“Good evening, Your Grace,” the vendor says with a bow. “How many would you like?”

“I’ll take two. No, three. How many do you want?” she asks, turning to Dongfang.

His mouth curls into a half smile. “We’ll just take all of them.”

“Oh! Yes! Right away!” 

The vendor busies himself packing up the four dozen or so cakes that are ready, and Orchid takes his hand. “What will we do with so much?” she laughs.

Dongfang shrugs. “Give them away, I suppose.” He signals one of the four guardsmen that are with them and instructs him to pay. “Have these given to whoever is on duty tonight,” he says.

Orchid picks one for herself and the rest go into several boxes that are taken back to the palace. “Do you want to try?” she asks through the first bite.

“No,” he replies. “I'd rather watch you.”

Orchid makes a pout and he chuckles in response. They continue their walk through the square to look at more tables of goods. A short while later they stop so Orchid can play a ring toss game, and Dongfang looks on with a smile, his arms folded.

Contentment settles on him like a warm blanket. After all the trials they had been through, the danger of war and pain of losing each other not once but twice, it is times like these that he feels most at peace: simple moments in which Orchid is happy, when they can be just a couple and not one of their many roles.

She is pouting again when she rejoins his side. “That game is nearly impossible,” she complains. “It's a wonder that anyone has won a prize.”

“Is he cheating?” Dongfang frowns. “If so, he must meet justice.”

“No! Nothing like that,” she quickly says, grabbing his arm. “I'm just not very good at it, that's all.”

“Well what is the prize? I can just buy you one,” he huffs.

Orchid rolls her eyes. ”That's not the point, blockhead. Let's keep going.“

The next stall that makes them pause is selling jewelry of different kinds. ”I should get you a new chain,“ Orchid murmurs as she starts peering through the selection.

Dongfang presses two fingers to the pendant shaped like an orchid that hangs around his neck. It is imbued with the goddess' magic, and similar to the way the Bone Orchid protects her with his power, the pendant protects him in turn. ”Why?“ he asks. ”It's perfectly fine.“

”I think a thinner chain would look nice.“ She takes one and holds it up, modeling it against his chest. ”See?“

”But that means I'd have to take it off.“

”Just for a minute,“ she replies.

”Even that is too long,“ Dongfang frowns. ”In the years since you've given it to me, I've never taken it off, not once.“

Orchid grins up at him. ”Even more reason to make sure it has a proper chain.“ She turns back to the vendor and says, ”We'll take this one.“

Dongfang laughs to himself as the man exclaims over the queen's excellent taste, turning around to observe the crowd. Some are watching them curiously but most are busy enjoying the festivities, the atmosphere warm and merry. He suddenly feels eyes watching him, so he quickly scans until his gaze falls on an old woman off to the side, sitting at a small booth that has seen better days.

With a glance to confirm Orchid is still shopping, he walks over to the woman with some interest. There are no wares on her cart, and she sits on a cushion on the ground covered in several shawls. Her face lifts as he approaches and Dongfang realizes she is blind in one eye. “Were you watching me, madam?” he asks.

“My lord,” she replies. “You and the queen are so happy, I could not help myself.”

“Thank you.” Dongfang gives another glance towards Orchid before continuing, “Do you have anything for sale that I could give the queen as a gift?”

“Nothing like that. I sell fortunes.”

He raises a brow. “Fortunes?”

“I can read the fates. Shall I read yours, my lord?”

In truth, Dongfang has had enough of fate for one lifetime, but he pities the old woman so he takes a seat on an opposite cushion. “Go on,” he says. 

She tilts her head before pulling a small bag from her cloak. It makes a clattering sound when she shakes it, and he learns that it contains coins when she dumps it out on the blanket between them. “Fortune and long life,” she says.

He examines their strange markings before chuckling. “I wouldn’t expect any less.” He reaches into his own robes for his purse, shaking out a few of his own coins. “How much do I owe you?”

“No need,” she says. She puts her hand out, and he slips three gold into her palm; but the second they make contact she jerks back. “My lord!” she hisses. “What have you done?”

“Please, take the money—”

“Your life line. It’s been altered.” Her eyes narrow as she drags her fingers along his palm. “You have changed fate, haven’t you?”

Dongfang swallows thickly. “My business is my own.”

“Those who change fate must pay a price,” she warns. “You cannot know the ripple effect such acts will have on the universe. It will come for you in the end.”

Her words leave him unnerved, but he hides it with a harsh laugh. “Your fortunes may scare the young lovers, madam, but I think I will sleep easy tonight if it’s all the same to you.” He gives her another coin before standing and heading back to find Orchid at the stall.

“Are you alright?” she laughs when he returns to her side. She reaches up and presses her fingers to his chin. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“It’s nothing,” he assures her, and together they continue through the festival.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Dongfang has strange dreams that night, and when he wakes he reaches for Orchid, wanting her warm presence next to him to chase the last of it away. But when he reaches out, she is gone, and he opens his eyes blearily to see how far away she is on the bed.

Only the bed is not the bed—not his bed, anyway, and Dongfang bolts upright. He looks around in alarm: instead of the large four poster with rich fabrics and thick pillows, luxurious drapes, intricate carpet, and the window open for the sunrise, the room is dim and small, its simple decor more that of a poor villager. The bed is made of straw instead of down and the blanket is thin and threadbare. No lanterns hang from the ceiling and no light washes in from the balcony. It is a simple hut with one window and door, and it is that door that bursts open a moment later.

“Brother!” His younger brother Xunfeng hurries inside. “Quick. The queen has sent the black dragon.”

“What?”

“Hurry! We need to stop him.” Xunfeng flings open a chest and pulls out a crude-looking sword, one that Dongfang knows he would not be caught dead using. “They are here to steal more people to work at the palace, I know it. Together we can make a stand.”

Dongfang frowns as he watches Xunfeng slip on the scabbard. “What do you mean? Where is Orchid? Where am I?”

Xunfeng shoots him a withered look. “Don't talk nonsense. Shake off whatever dream you were having and hurry! The dragon will be here soon!”

“What dragon—?” But his question goes unanswered as Xunfeng hurries out of the hut again, the door banging against the wall.

Quickly Dongfang slides from the bed and heads outside. He winces at the sudden sunlight, and when he gets a chill he looks down. Instead of his royal robes he is wearing a simple tunic and trousers, not even a cloak to keep off the morning dampness. “What is happening?” he asks out loud.

“Brother! This way!”

More huts sit nearly on top of each other, and the villagers hurry to run inside and hide. Women clutch their children tight as the men grab pitchforks and knives to stand guard at the door. Several yards away, Xunfeng is organizing a small group into a defensive stance. Wanting answers, Dongfang pushes through the panicking crowd until he reaches his brother.

“You will answer me,” he growls, grabbing Xunfeng's shoulder. He turns him, ignoring his protest, but before he can answer there is a familiar roar above them that shakes the trees.

Dongfang looks up to see Shangque in his dragon form flying above them. The people around them scream in fright as they run, and Dongfang frowns in confusion. Shangque was never someone the Moon tribe feared, and they had all seen this form many times before. Unless that isn't Shangque, but who else would it be?

“Shangque!” Dongfang shouts. He waves an arm to get his attention, and sure enough the dragon rears back, its eyes focusing on him. “Enough! You're scaring them!”

“What are you doing?” Xunfeng hisses. He grabs his arm to yank it down and pull him away. “You'll be taken!”

“Taken where? Where is this? Why is everyone afraid?” Xunfeng isn't paying attention, so Dongfang does something very un-royal-like: he stomps his foot. “I demand answers!”

“What is wrong with you?“ Xunfeng snaps. ”You know the Black Dragon is dangerous. He's come to take away more of the Moon tribe.“

”Take them where?“

Just then the dragon lands, two huts going over with the force of the wind that escapes below him. There is more screaming as the last of the people run. Then a flash of light has Dongfang seeing spots for a moment as Shangque transitions back into human form.

”What is the meaning of this?“ he demands, stalking over to Shangque. ”You only take that form when commanded! Why would—”

Shangque grabs his arm and twists, forcing Dongfang to one knee with his wrist trapped against his back. “Unhand me!” he shouts. “You dare touch the Moon Supreme!”

“Moon Supreme?” Shangque asks curiously.

Xunfeng hurries forward. “Pardon my brother, he's not of sound mind. Please let me take him home—”

“Anyone who claims that title must be brought before the queen,” Shangque says. “No exceptions.”

The queen? “You mean Orchid? Where is she?” Dongfang demands.

“Keep quiet. You are under arrest.”

“Wait!” Dongfang strains to look at Xunfeng. “Where is Orchid?”

“Who's Orchid?” Xunfeng replies.

Something turns in his stomach as Shangque yanks him to hi feet. Anger suddenly boils and he reaches into his strength to find his Glazed Fire, deciding to teach his lieutenant a much-needed lesson. But there is no magic there, just the faintest trace, and as he flexes his fingers to make anything appear, even Hellfire, nothing happens.

“The goddess will decide your fate,” Shangque says.

“The goddess Xiyun?” Dongfang growls. “That is my wife, Orchid, the queen of the Moon Kingdom.”

Shangque gives a huff. “You speak very familiar about the goddess for a disgusting member of the Moon tribe. She'll want a word with you for sure.“

”Good,“ he says. ”I need a word with her as well.“ He turns to Xunfeng, who is watching with a panicked expression. ”I'll be back shortly once I get this sorted out. I think there is something wrong with Shangque. Make sure no one's been injured.“

”What?“ Xunfeng asks in a shaking voice. ”What's happened to you?“

”What do you mean?“

”Let's go, little Moon Supreme,“ Shangque says. He gives a laugh before there is another flash of light and the dragon returns. He picks up Dongfang to set him on his neck and takes off into the air, ignoring Dongfang's shouts as he tries not to fall off.

[crysdrawsthings]

So, @skyrim-forever and @akaviri-dovah \ @faiyamon have tagged me in a few things.

First of all in doing THIS PICREW, so here, have a girlie c:

And then i was also tagged in doing the Horror Trope Quiz for my OCs and I actually dropped screenshots of results for four of mine here, but then Tumblr borked and ruined everything, so I will just list what I got, I can't girlwork anymore.

Sanya from WH40k, my kindhearted ex-guardsmen with a warrant on his head by the Inquisition and, eventually, the weirdest wandering fleet at his command, he is the Sacrifice.

Oona the Eleventh, also from WH40k, got the Ghost. Which is pretty fitting for a tired, depressed and very much broken ghost of a destroyed world, eradicated Legion of whom no memory even remains.

Deer from ESO, my beloved dragon woman, she got to be both a Killer and a Lover based on me taking the quiz two times to account for some variation and some answer where two answers would fit. And like, we are talking about a killing machine, who is madly in love with a beautiful dream and a Particular Guy. So, yeah.

And Elanor from Skyrim, she is very on point was typed into a Monster and an Ancient Evil. Which is again, we are talking about a godling, would-be World-Eater and an overal rather unpleasant eldritch evil smushed into a mortal vessel.

[moonlight-rider25]

Boys will be boys

This is a collection I've started called Eadith's lady. (More to come) Also wrote it in a differnt form of nariation let me know whats prefered.

Eadith and yourself: two of the best known healers travel the woods and lands of Wessex going from town to town healing the sick. Accompanied by your very own guardsmen of course; Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric, and Osferth. These are your tales of life on the road with your band of beloved 'Last Kingdom' characters.

Warnings ⚠️

Pg 13+, angst, mentions of sex, body parts, nudity. Nothing too bad tho.

________________

You've been traveling nonstop for a day and a half breaking only to rest the horses and empty your bladders. Uhtred has informed you you’ll arrive in the next small town before midday tomorrow.  The group takes a vote and it's settled you’ll stop for the night and get a proper night's rest before heading on to serve the town of Tamworth in the morning.  

The towns set far apart allow you and the group to travel comfortably during the day and stop and rest each night, whereas the smaller towns sitting closer together require less attention and leave you more time to rest and enjoy your time while you stay. But it also means the short traveling distance between them is often breakless.  You often wonder why it is that Uhtred prefers to travel like this, well knowing its probably the availability of fresher ale, and the company of a different woman each night that drives this decision for all the men.  

Uhtred, Sihtric, Finan, and Osferth have left to gather wood for the fire and you and Eadith are concocting a stew of sorts for the meal this evening.  You sit across from each other peeling and snipping at the vegetables to be cooked when the men return. 

Soon enough the men have procured a fire and enough wood to begin cooking the evening's meal. Eadith and yourself sit by stirring and seasoning the bland liquid with whatever you manage to find in the bottoms of your provisions bags from previous towns.  

You: “Make sure we take as much dried goods as possible, I’m not sure lint makes a good seasoning for stew” 

You both roar softly in laughter 

Eadith: “Yes, we need to restock a lot of our supplies. Hopefully, this town is willing to part with more than ale this time.”

Behind you, Uhtred, Sihtric, and Osferth are gathered by the fire mumbling among each other quietly enough to not inertupt Eadith and yourself.  

Finan: “I cannot wait to drive my cock into a large titted woman tomorrow night!” 

He announces approaching the group of men.

You and Eadith swing your heads in his direction taken slightly aback.

Eadith: “How lovely…”

Eadith states between the two of you.  The men are chuckling as Finan joins them.

You: “..The true nature of men.”

You reply, both of you laughing softly now.

The group grows softer still speaking of women you’re sure, while you and Eadith finish up the cooking.   You collect the bowls in your arms and approach the group, handing out the bowls to the hungry men, unfortunate to overhear their conversation.

Uhtred: “..definitely perky tits .” 

Sihtric: “I prefer a large round ass over tits.”

Finan: “Frankly as long as they’re warm and willing, I’ll take what comes my way.”

You: “How charming!”

You interrupt the conversation, the men cackling among themselves.

You: “Do you talk of anything else besides rears and tits?”

You ask sarcastically.

Finan: “We have needs! You wouldn't understand.”

Sihtric: “Well Finan does at least, the rest of us have some composure around women.”

He elbows Finan slightly shooting him a devilish smirk.

Finan: “Fine….I have needs my lady”

He tells you with a wink.

You: “What you have, is a lack of manners”

You reply with a smirk, handing him his bowl taking your leave.

Finan: “And a massive cock, in case you were wondering”

He calls to you as you walk away.  Eadith shoots you a confused look and you roll your eyes in response.

Eadith: “Somethings will never change I’m afraid.”

The two of you grab your own bowls and join the group at the fire.  You do your best to block the vulgar language from the men that is more than not usually the topic of discussion between them all.  Osferth gets up from his place and makes his way over to Eadith and yourself.

You: “Come to join the civil natured beings of the group Osferth? Have you had your filling of discussing tits and rears for the evening?”

You ask him while Eadith laughs faintly beside you.  Osferth smiles while taking his spot next to you.

Osferth: “We shall rest well tonight and be in Tamworth by mid-morning.”

You and Eadith nod in agreement with him, still filling your mouths.  You’ve done your best to ignore the comments from the men all evening but their voices grow louder and louder over their laughter. 

Finan: “Tits the size of melons!”

You: “If I hear the mention of tits one more time this night, I will have something to say about it”

You declare to the men coming down from their obnoxious fits of laughter.

Uhtred: “We did not mean to offend you, ladies.”

Uhtred states with the most composure of all the men.

Sihtric: “We’ll stop, we’ll stop, were sorry” 

He states still cooing with laughter.  The men finally settle and you all continue eating in peace.

Finan: “Y/N?”

He asks you and you turn to him.

Finan: “Are you jealous”

You throw him a puzzled look while taking a sip of ale.

Finan: “Would you prefer us to talk of your tits? Is that it?”

The men can't help but roar up again at hearing his witty comment.  You almost spew the ale out of your mouth trying to choke it down at hearing it yourself.

Eadith: “Finan!  Watch your tongue!”

She blurts out while also trying to hide her smirk from you.  She sees you too cant help but laugh at the comment and begins to giggle softly while you shake your head.

You: “Oh by all means! Please speak of my tits you’ll never lay sight on!” 

Finan's eyes glimmer at you from across the fire.

Finan: “I bet they’re perky…bright pink little nipples standing on end.”

He states still holding his gaze on you.  You blush slightly and are met by Eadiths repulsed look.  Osferth is doing all he can to not make eye contact with you while Sihtric and Uhtred are hiding their faces and laughter spilling from their mouths.

Finan: “I bet they'd fit perfectly in my hand”

He states holding his hand up in admiration to you. You feel your chest growing tighter and do your best to remain still as he stares at you.

Finan: “Warm and soft little..”

Eadith: “Finan!  Could you not!?”

Eadith yells at him while growing red in the face.

You: “Well you’ll never know now will you Finan?” 

You say self-assured, swallowing hard while you place your bowl at your feet.  

You: “I’m going to wash before it gets dark.”

You tell the group quietly.

Finan: “Oh come now, I’ll stop.”

You: “No, please continue your conversation about such pressing matters.”

You say sarcastically as you turn to head to the brook.

Eadith: “Y/N, you haven't finished eating!”

You: “I’ll eat it later”

You call descending into the bushes away from the group. You pause for a moment, making sure to speak a little louder this time.

You: “And Finan, don’t you get any ideas either!”

You hear the men laugh and continue trekking on towards the rushing sound of water. You carefully step down the steep hillside over fallen trees and large exposed stones.  You know the group means no harm in teasing you so, but you do wish you were not the only center of attention worth teasing. Perhaps they could joke about Eadith’s tits and ass for once, you think to yourself.

The roaring of the water grows louder as you approach and you scan the body of water for the deepest area to fully submerge yourself into.  You recall the fear of having to expose your bare body to such cold rushing water before you were used to life; traveling the woods and grassy fields across lands.  Now you welcome the idea of cold water washing away the endless day's sweat and grime after assisting far too many people in just a few hours between each town.  You peek your head around the trees and bushes ensuring you’re alone and not to be easily interrupted.  You undress and quickly submerge your body into the deepest part of the water.  

The cool water relaxes your mind and you allow yourself a few peaceful breaths in silence, nothing but you, the constant cascade of running water, and the birds above. You scrub your scalp viciously and splash your face till it feels raw and frozen.  You begin to feel your limbs tingle from the cold and know it's time to get out before you spend the rest of the night trying to warm yourself by the fire.  You begin making your way back to the shallower part of the water when you hear a sudden rustle of the bushes nearby.  You gasp before Finan falls near the edge of the water down from the steep path of the ledge above.

You: “Goddamn it Finan!” 

You cry from the water, still covering most of you you're thankful.

Finan: “I’m sorry I swear I meant no harm!”

You splash furiously from the water at him as he laughs and groans from the edge. 

You: Go away! I need to get out before I freeze to death!

Finan looks around dramatically.

Finan: Well what are you waiting for?

You: For you to leave! 

You demand with a hint of laughter in your voice.

Finan: Oh come on I am a gentleman Y/N, its unsafe for you out here alone.

You: I agree, especially with you around.

You say cackling. 

You feel your toes begin to prickle with cold.

You: I'm serious, Finan, please.

You plead to him softly.

Finan: Either you come out, or I’m coming in.

He says with a wicked grin already beginning to undress himself. 

You: Don't you dare!

You state, staring at him teeth clenched together trying not to smile as you speak.

Finan: I would! 

He says sure of himself, before bending over and collecting your garments before holding them up in a taunting gesture.

Finan: That or I may run off and make you bare yourself to all of us back at the campsite.

He begins to turn to head back up the steep hillside, your dress clutched tightly in his hand. 

You: “FINAN!”

You yell, as you instinctively burst from the water.  Your naked body is completely exposed as you bound dripping wet towards him.  Ass and tits bouncing with every step.

He turns to watch you dash in a mad frenzy towards him with a brilliant smile painted across his face. You reach with your free hand and snatch your clothes from him and shield your bare body as best you can.

You: “You are a despicable!”

You spat at him panting from the cold water and breathlessness of fear he would run off with your clothes. He does nothing but laugh and smile trailing his eyes up and down your dripping wet body. 

You: “Are you satisfied?!”

You say seething while trying to dress your uncomfortably wet body in also now wet clothes.

You: “Proud of yourself?! You’re a child, you know that!”

Finan: “I may be..”

He says inching slightly towards you, still laughing.

Finan: “..But you are all women, aren't you?”

He says running his tongue across his lips, eyes filled with lust as he admires the thought of your bare body before him.

You grab a small stone from the ground and hurl it towards him, it smacks into his well-protected chest and bounces off him as the lustful gaze is torn from him.

Finan: “I’m sorry my lady.” 

He says laughing again.

Finan: “But that was…”

He tries to compose himself before he continues.

Finan: “Well worth it…. Better than I imagined.”

He growls with a sigh.

You flick your tongue with annoyance against your teeth and shake your head in disbelief as he makes no point to hide the stare he has on you.

You: “Go.”

You say sternly. 

He backs away slowly, licking his lips again taking in one more admiring view of you before him.

Finan: “My apologies, Y/N”

He says before turning and heading back up the hillside.  As he begins to climb awkwardly he shouts out a whistling and you watch him puzzled.

Finan: “Alright men! The show’s over, back to camp!”

He yells up over the cliff.

You look above him to find the three men roaring in laughter as they descend their hiding places in the bushes.  Your face begins to redden as you realize you did not just expose yourself to Just Finan, but to Osferth, Sihtric, and Uhtred as well. You crouch down in disbelief gasping to yourself.

You: “You’re rotten! All of you!”

You yell still trying to accept the entirety of what has just happened. You hear hoots and whistles being called above and sit in shock and embracement for a few more moments before the sounds of them leaving fade.  You quickly dress and begin making your way back to the campsite only now realizing how cold you became in the time. 

How am I supposed to face them after that? You wonder as you step lowly back towards the direction of the campsite. You begin to hear the soft words of the men speaking coming closer and closer before you step past a final bush face to face with them all.  You can't help but blush when they all sit around the fire staring at you with wicked grins and glimmering eyes as you approach them.  You hastily grab a fur and cover yourself in it before sitting down opposite them all at the fire, shivering as the cold has taken hold of your bone by now.  

Eadith descends from the tent opening and rushes to your side.  You extend a single finger to her without breaking your gaze on the warm fire before you.

You: “Not a word.”

Osferth: “Our actions were dishonorable Y/N, I pray in time.. We.. I can earn your forgiveness.”

You say coldly.  She steps back obeying your wish and shoots a dirty look at the men who are all snickering to themselves from across the fire. 

Osferth, the kind gentle soul he is hangs his head and begins to mutter apologies to you.

You shoot a deadly look at him, with a faint smirk on your face.

The other three men burst at their seams trying to conceal their laughter. 

Eadith approaches you again with a cup of ale and your cold plate of food from earlier before taking a seat next to you.  You take a long sip of ale and savor the heat from the fire warming your numbed limbs.  Your hair dripping periodically with water on the ground below you.

You: “Well men, did enjoy that show?”

You ask slowly and sure of yourself.  The men stare at you with wide grins painted across their faces, besides Osferth.  You shove a cold bite in your mouth watching them as you chew the food slowly.

You: “I just wish I had known there was a whole audience..” You tell them slyly, chewing slowly.

You: “..The show would have been much more memorable if I did.”

You smile widely at the men across you who are roaring in hoots and shouting now.  You shake your head looking to Eadith and you both have the same disapproving but knowing look on your faces as your eyes meet.  

Eadith: “Are they men ?... or boys?” She says taking a long sip of ale while the men till cry out amongst each other.

You: “One and the same.” You reply with a smirk.

[whumperofworlds]

Whumptober Day 3: Just Do It

Now on AO3!

A/N: *insert meme here*. Anyway, nothing to say here! Enjoy!!!

TAGS: @gala1981

Content: stabbed with arrows, blood, forced to hurt another, crying, tied up, blindfolded

ENJOY!

_____

@whumptober Day 3: | Solitary Confinement | "Make it stop." | ALTERNATIVE: Reluctant Whumper

Hawthorn glanced up, eyes wide, as the door to his cell was opened suddenly. About ten guardsmen—all in gold armor—approached him, smirks on their faces. Hawthorn couldn't see any rope in any of the men's hands; why do they want him now?

Hawthorn scooted away from them until he hit the wall, his eyes growing wider every second. His body shook not from the cold air that bit his skin, but also from the fear.

"Wh-what do you want with me?" He asked, trying to keep his stuttering to no avail.

The men laughed at his fear, as if it was a humorous thing to them, before rough hands grabbed Hawthorn by the tunic. They pulled him to his feet, with one forcing a bow and a few arrows in his hands. He looked at one of them with confusion etched on his face.

"You're going to do some target practice, little archer," one guardsman said with a sneer.

"Wh-what?" Hawthorn questioned, but decided to not ask as he was pushed towards and up the stairs. Up to the top of Brennus' castle.

_____

The moment the bright light hit his eyes, Hawthorn shut his eyes tightly. Once his eyes were adjusted to the light for a few seconds, he blinked to clear his vision. How long was he in that cell? It had been days now since he was captured by Brennus, most likely. He briefly wondered if Alder and the other Fierce Forests were looking for him.

When he looked around and saw what was in front of him, however, his heart stopped, and a gasp escaped him. His eyes widened at the shocking sight.

Alder. He was bound to a wooden post, his hands behind the post and his feet tied to the post with rope. He was also blindfolded, preventing him from seeing anything or anyone.

"Aldy!" Hawthorn gasped. When was Alder captured? Hawthorn hadn't even seen him in the dungeons under the castle! Unless…

Brennus was holding him in his throne room.

The mere idea of his Alder being that close to Brennus made him shiver. Seeing the bruises that mottled his skin and the blood splattered on his beloved didn't help with that idea at all.

Alder jumped upon hearing the familiar voice—despite being blindfolded, he recognized his beloved's voice right then and there.

"Hawy?!" He cried. "Are you unharmed?! Did Brennus—"

"That's enough, now."

Both men froze at the voice from the door where the stairs were, and Hawthorn turned to see Brennus appearing on the top of the stairs. The taller man grinned his famous vicious grin, as he studied the two men he had captured.

Hawthorn aimed the bow and arrow he was given towards Brennus, but stopped when he felt a sword poking his back. He froze, his hand on the arrows back. He knew that one false move meant death for him.

"Xylon, Xylon, Xylon…" Brennus tsked, shaking his head. "You should know better than to aim that at the king himself."

"You're no king!" Hawthorn growled, defiance in his voice. "You're a damn tyrant, and you know that!"

Brennus' smirk turned into an intense frown, and before Hawthorn knew it, a hand met his cheek. The smack echoed in the air that Hawthorn was sure the people of Willowdale heard it. He grunted, falling on his side from the blow. He rubbed his red cheek after a few moments of laying on the ground. The bow and arrow laid by his side, forgotten for a moment.

"Hawy!" Alder gasped. "What are you doing to him?!"

"Settle down, Maverick," Brennus said in a mocking tone. "The fun hasn't even begun!"

He knelt down to Hawthorn's level, before grabbing him by his green hair, pulling him back on his feet. Once Hawthorn was on his feet, Brennus bent down to pick up the bow and arrow and shoved it in Hawthorn's arms.

"What do you plan on doing to Aldy?!" Hawthorn demanded, his glare firmly on his face. "If you harm him in any way—"

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong, Xylon! I won't be the one to hurt him…" Brennus laughed, and before Hawthorn knew it, Brennus forced him to turn towards the bound Alder. His smirk grew wider as he pointed at the red-haired man. "You will!"

"What?!" Hawthorn gasped, his eyes wide and his mouth gaped open. Him? Hurting Alder? No. Hell no. He was not going to hurt his boyfriend. Especially by Brennus' order.

Hawthorn turned to glare at the king. "Like I would do that!" He shouted in defiance.

"Oh, but do you have a choice?" Brennus pointed out. "Or would you rather me hurt him and potentially kill him?"

Hawthorn froze, weighing his options at this point. If he hurt Alder, especially with his bow and arrow, chances were good that he would hurt his beloved seriously. But it wouldn't be fatal if Hawthorn was careful. But the mere idea of pointing his arrow at his boyfriend still didn't sit right with him. If Brennus did it…

"Hawy."

Hawthorn glanced at Alder upon hearing his voice. The other man smiled, looking in Hawthorn's direction despite the blindfold. "It is okay. Do it; or Brennus would kill both of us."

"B-but I can't, Aldy!" Hawthorn protested, tears filling his eyes. "I don't want to hurt you!"

"Hawy, please," Alder reasoned, "you have to do it. I will be fine, I promise."

Tears began to spill down his cheeks, as Hawthorn sniffled. He didn't want to hurt his beloved like this. Especially in such circumstances. But for Alder?

He had no choice. He had to do it.

Hawthorn gulped, trying to keep his tears in check. He raised his bow and arrow, pulling the string and the arrow back. He had to aim it somewhere that wasn't fatal—as an expert as an archer, he knew where.

Thwip

The arrow pierced Alder's knee, and to his credit, he only gritted his teeth in pain. He sucked in air through his teeth, as blood began to seep down his pant leg.

Hawthorn gritted his teeth too at the sight, as he tried to look away. However, Brennus grabbed his chin and forced him to glance back at his handiwork.

"See this?" Brennus chuckled. "This is what you get for trying to stand up against me! Your boyfriend gets hurt!"

He released Hawthorn's chin, before he took another arrow from a guardsman's hand before lending it to Hawthorn.

"Another," Brennus demanded.

Hawthorn didn't need to be told twice. He took the arrow as he readied his bow, before raising it and aiming it at Alder once more. Seeing Alder in pain broke his heart—if only he was stronger, if only he was—

He felt someone smack him on the back, and Hawthorn lost his focus. He released the arrow by accident, and it hit Alder's stomach. The red-haired man's screams echoed in the sky, and Hawthorn could see the tears falling from behind his blindfold.

"ALDER!" Hawthorn screamed, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Oh Goddess Above, I'm so sorry!"

"Another," Brennus demanded again, taking another arrow before shoving it in Hawthorn's hands.

Tears spilled then, as Hawthorn sobbed, his crying mixed with Alder's. He tried to aim the arrow again at Alder, but his shaking hands and his tears prevented him from shooting the arrow.

"Well?" Brennus asked with impatience, "Are you just going to stand there and cry? Or are you going to do what I asked?"

"G-go to the Dark World, you asshole," Hawthorn hiccupped.

Another slap, another fall on his side. Hawthorn curled up into a ball on the stone cold floor, sobbing his eyes out. Before he knew it, his hair was pulled and he was forced back onto his feet. Brennus then wasted no time to shove the bow and arrow in his arms again.

"H-Hawy," Alder gasped, trying to hold in a sob. "D-do it… you have to."

"B-but Aldy," Hawthorn protested. "I hurt you! I can't—"

"Just do it!"

Hawthorn wasted no time aiming his arrow at Alder again, before releasing it. The arrow pierced Alder's shoulder, and the other man cried out in pain. However, his sobbing died down, as the tears slowly stopped flowing.

"One more time," Brennus demanded once again, taking a final arrow and giving it to Hawthorn.

Hawthorn gulped, and with shaky hands, he took the arrow before he aimed it at Alder once more. Just one more. One more and it would be over.

He fought the urge to shut his eyes out of fear. If he did so, he would end up hurting Alder more than necessary. He took a deep breath, and he released the arrow.

Thwip.

The arrow pierced Alder's other knee, and he gulped back a cry of pain. Hawthorn could see the few tears falling from the blindfold, and he got on his knees. He dropped his bow, as tears leaked from his own eyes. Guilt hit him. Hard.

I shouldn't have been caught.

"Enough," Brennus said, holding a hand up. He then approached Alder, pulling out his large sword. Hawthorn gasped, fear gripping his heart, but sighed in relief as Brennus cut Alder loose. Alder fell to the ground on his side, blood pooling around him.

Hawthorn couldn't help himself. He rushed forward and gathered up his Aldy in his arms. Tears fell like small rivers as he held his unconscious boyfriend tightly. This entire thing was his fault, and now Alder was severely hurt because of that.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" He could only mutter to Alder.

He didn't hear Brennus ordering his men to take Hawthorn back to his cell, until the guardsmen took him by the arms and dragged him away from Alder. Hawthorn could only hold up one hand as his vision blurred from his tears.

"Aldy… I'm sorry…"

[pleniloon]

Kaeya, Royal Au, drabble request?: You anonymously leave love letters and your favorite flowers at his door. The guards catch on, but find it kind of cute. So they'll pretend to not notice, provided they can inspect it for the prince's safety. (It's become a game for them to guess what each letter says nefore opening it, each guess crazier than the last.) How does Prince Kaeya respond (Imagine if he anonymously sent one back oml)

Mon Amour, La Rose

gn version / part two

characters: kaeya

warnings: fem!reader (i’ll post a gn!reader version if it’s requested)

word count: ~2.6k

note: fluffy royal!kaeya? it’s the perfect first request!! i’m also SO sorry this took so long; not only did i get super sick shortly before the request, but i deleted and rewrote like half of it! please accept it being a full one shot instead of a drabble as my apology <3 i also apologize for any typos or weird pacing near the end,, i always write at night without my glasses on ;;;

Three of the Eclipse Dynasty’s elite royal guard had found a new form of entertainment as of late: reading their crown prince’s mail.

It was typical to inspect the royal family’s mail before handing it over - it was a matter of security, after all. The king’s mail was comprised of letters and requests related to the ongoing war. The queen’s mail was much of the same. The crown prince, ever-the-popular, had perfumed letters from maidens all across the nation mixed in with his official correspondence. The two guardsmen tasked with inspecting the dynasty’s mail felt their faces flush with each intimate note that passed them by.

It wasn’t until they set aside the final letter that yet another guard entered the room, a sealed envelope in her hand. “I found this in front of the prince’s chamber door,” she said, placing the letter in the nearest guard’s outstretched hand. “Did you see who left it?” He carefully unsealed the letter and pulled out the contents within. It was a folded piece of paper and a pressed red rose.

“I didn’t, it was on the ground when I arrived. The sender must have left it in between the shift change.” The third guard - Dagne was her name - looked disappointed in herself. “Prince Kaeya’s admirers are getting stealthier, it seems.” The guard sitting across the table, Hama, spoke up with an amused smirk. The two watched with interest as their comrade unfolded the letter and read the contents aloud.

“To Your Royal Highness, Our Beloved Prince,

I have never addressed a person such as yourself, so I apologize in advance for my lack of formality. I have tried to pen this letter at least half a dozen times, and yet I find my hands shaking still. What does one say to the man that symbolizes the hope of our people and valiantly defends our right to dream? I feel giddy, like a child awaiting praise from their teacher. My letter may very well be lost amongst the sea of letters that comes across your desk each day, but I fear suffering silently more than I fear your rebuff.

I have silently admired you from afar for a long time. Whenever you exit the castle walls and visit the common-folk, I cannot bring myself to approach you, even as I yearn to stand close to you. I sent this letter in the hope that it would give me the confidence to match your gaze the next time we meet.

Alongside this letter, I have enclosed a dried rose, cultivated in my personal garden. As you probably know, in the nation of Mondstadt, the rose is not a symbol of love, but the phrase “As wine bottles are corked, so too are my lips sealed.” The saying is a promise to keep one another’s secrets; I trust that this rose will protect my secret until it reaches you, my prince.

If this letter has somehow reached you, then I sincerely thank you for indulging in my infatuated ramblings. My only hope is that my words have brought a smile to your face. I will forever remain loyal to the Eclipse Dynasty. Forever loyal to you.

Your Royal Highness’s Humble Servant.”

The trio of guards take a pause, looking amongst themselves. “My, she sounds utterly smitten, doesn’t she?” Hama lifts the rose from the table and inspects it carefully. “She also seems to be well-acquainted with the prince. What should we do, Vragi?”

Vragi debated on taking the matter to their superior, the Twilight Sword. A civilian being able to reach the prince’s personal chambers and leave unseen was a security issue. However, the woman leaning over his shoulder suggested a different approach. “Maybe we should return the letter and pretend we didn’t see it. I wonder how the prince would react to a love letter with a rose instead of an address?” She looked at him expectantly, silently awaiting his approval. The guard debated for a few silent moments, before releasing a heavy sigh and placing the items back into the envelope.

“Reseal it and return it to the prince. We will not speak of this.”

Hours passed by, and the prince finally returned to his chambers. The envelope laying on the ground immediately caught his eye - the royal guard should have noticed it by now and taken it away to be inspected and returned alongside his other correspondence. Kaeya leaned down to pick it up, and brought it inside. He sat down at his desk, brushing aside the parchment that was pending his review, and tore open the envelope.

The first thing he felt was not the note, but the flower. The dried petals were still a vivid shade of red, and so delicate that Kaeya was worried his touch might rip one off. After a few moments of admiring it, he set it aside and unfolded the letter. What he had expected to be a lecherous confession of love instead had him reading every line with increasing curiosity. How could a woman of lower class know about Mondstadt - a nation within Teyvat - so intimately, that she was familiar with their traditions? Kaeya leaned back in his chair, trying to remember every civilian that might have access to that kind of information. The relative of a soldier, perhaps? He let out a long sigh and rubbed at his tired eyes, remembering the sender’s words.

“I sent this letter in the hope that it would give me the confidence to match your gaze the next time we meet.”

Three weeks passed by, with another letter arriving every few days. The trio of guards found the letter each time and took it to the mailroom for inspection. After the third one had arrived, Vragi convinced the other two to stop reading the letters, on account of them being written for the prince’s eyes alone. Begrudgingly, they agreed, and pretended not to notice the letters as they came in.

Needless to say, this didn’t stop the guardsmen from developing their own theories about the sender. Anything from lower-ranking knight to fae was suggested, with perhaps the wildest theory being that the sender is a seelie descendent. Hama had suggested placing a bet to see who was right, which Dagne readily accepted. Unfortunately, the only person who could declare the winner was prince Kaeya himself, and he would never agree to revealing his admirer’s identity, so the three found themselves at an impasse.

Kaeya had returned to his chambers for the night and was greeted by the familiar envelope at the door. When he noticed it, he was quick to pick it up and rip it open the moment the door was shut behind him. A fond smile came to his face when he pulled the dried rose out, and he gently traced its currant petals with his fingertips, before placing it with the ever-growing collection on the corner of his desk. He unfolded the letter and read:

“To Your Royal Highness, Our Beloved Prince,

It has been nearly a full moon since I penned my first letter to you. In this series of one-sided correspondence, I have, to my own surprise, come to realize that my feelings for you are much more than admiration or infatuation. What I feel can only be encapsulated in a single word. Love.

My love for you runs deeper than the roots of the mighty and ancient Irminsul, my prince. It reaches farther than the ley lines of the earth. However, I know that my dreams of romance will forever remain as such, because our statuses keep us apart. Well, I say that as if you return my affections - after all, why would an illustrious individual such as yourself return the affections of a lowly citizen with little to offer the kingdom?

Anyway, all this to say that my love for you is true, although an unattainable dream. I believe I once heard a knight describe the kingdom as “the land where people dream of dreaming,” so at least I can take a little comfort in having a dream. Instead of abandoning this dream beyond my reach, I will indulge in it just once more, if you will let me; at the bottom of this letter, there is an address. My address. If you wish to find me, you will need to look no further.

Perhaps if our eyes finally meet, I will be able to quell my beating heart. I might even learn to dream of the stars that illuminate the night sky in a faraway land instead of your eyes. Mayhap I will spend my evenings admiring the lights of the city and not the castle. Until then, I will remain forever loyal to the Eclipse Dynasty. Forever loyal to you.

Your Royal Highness’s Humble Servant.”

With hands shaking with incitement, Kaeya realized what he wanted to do. What he needed to do. He gathered the necessary items and refused to step away from his desk until he crafted the perfect response. It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning, when the first bird sang, that he realized his goal.

・・・・・・

“I’m confused - why have you insisted on visiting the city today, Your Royal Highness?”

Kaeya barely spared the Twilight Sword a moment’s glance as they weaved through the winding streets, politely greeting astonished denizens as they passed them by. He held the sealed envelope with extra care, checking it every so often for unsightly wrinkles or stains. It did not bear the royal seal attributed to the crown prince. In its place was a wax stamp in the shape of a rose’s corolla.

“If you were hoping to garner the people’s support, I could have worked out a banquet or royal tour. Coming out unexpectedly, without the proper security, could–”

“Silence, Dainsleif,” Kaeya finally acknowledged him with a hint of annoyance in his tone. “I haven’t made this decision because I want the support of the people. I just knew that if I were to tell you my true intent, you would consider it… naïve.”

“Naïve? My prince, what could your goal possibly be for me to consider it naïve?” Dainsleif furrowed his brows. The prince responded only with a chuckle, as he shook his head from side to side. His prior annoyance gave way to a pleased smile. “You will see, in due time. We’re nearly there, after all.”

As the fabled building came into sight, Kaeya found himself walking progressively faster, eventually moving towards it just shy of a jog. He ignored anyone and everyone who he passed by, and ignored his guard’s requests for him to slow down. The only thought running through his mind was the image he had conjured up of his admirer; he often daydreamed about how she looked, what her voice sounded like, if she smelled like the flowers that were enclosed in each letter delivered to his door… of course, he also wondered about how she would react to him returning her affections. Would her face flush as red as a rose? Would her eyes sparkle as his gaze fell upon her for the first time?

He was practically bouncing by the time he arrived, checking the address once more to confirm that he was at the right place. He was familiar with it, actually. It was a flower shop that utilized alchemy to cultivate their plants without true sunlight. The store was currently closed, and Kaeya could see nobody through the large windows. He bit the inside of his cheek - he had hoped to see his lovely admirer through the glass.

Right as the prince was considering returning another day, the sound of a window opening from above the store attracted his attention. He raised his head, and his breath stilled when he caught sight of a certain woman standing by the open window.

It had to be her.

Kaeya silently watched as she reached for something out of his line of sight. When she returned, it was with a familiar item in her hand, held close to her face to indulge in its sweet scent. She held a red rose, thornless and vibrantly colored, much alike the dried variants that currently sat in his chambers. She left the flower on the windowsill and vanished back into the room, away from his gaze.

“Your Royal Highness? Is something the matter?” Dainsleif followed his gaze up to the window, his face permanently morphed into an expression of confusion. Instead of answering his question, Kaeya stepped forward, towards the shop. With one final glance at the sealed envelope in his hands, he released it, using a spell to float it up and towards the open window. It landed next to the rose, the wax seal and flower’s corolla forming a perfect pair.

“I think it’s time to head back to the castle, Dainsleif.”

・・・・・・

A woman let out a sigh as she finished taking stock of the various flora in her garden. This batch is remarkable, she thought to herself. The noise of the town had died down considerably, and an uncomfortably cool breeze washed over the streets. It wasn’t until a shiver ran up her spine that she remembered the window she left open a few hours prior.

The rose-stamped envelope waiting for her came as a surprise, to say the least. She hesitantly picked up the mysterious item and inspected it. The stamp was unfamiliar, perhaps unique to the author of whatever was inside. The woman closed and latched the window before sitting down on the nearby couch and thumbing at the wax seal. She almost didn’t want to break it because of how lovely it was. Once the seal was broken and its contents - a single page of high-quality parchment - revealed, her mind began to wander to the identity of the sender. It couldn’t be him, could it? She unfolded the note and began to read:

“To My Dearest Rose,

I have achieved a great many feats and overcome many foe beyond the strength of a hundred men; and yet, I’ve swiftly come to understand that writing this letter would be my greatest challenge yet. I consider myself to be a verbose man, and words are often my weapon of choice. However, it seems that my words have failed me tonight. What am I to do?

You do not know me, and I do not know you, dear rose. Our gazes have never met, nor have we had the pleasure of engaging in any conversation together. Despite this, you have managed to wriggle your way into my affections, and you have made my every waking thought your home.

No, you have made my every thought - in day and night - your home. I’d say that is quite the remarkable achievement, albeit a frustrating one for me. How is a man supposed to get any work done when all that occupies his mind is daydreams of a day yet to pass? A meeting yet to be had? A love yet to be shared? It is a romantic problem, I’d say.

Anyway, I am penning this letter with the hope that it will allow me to focus on something other than you. As much as I adore the thought of dedicating my very existence to ensuring your eternal happiness and comfort, work must be done to make that reality a possibility. So, until the day we can stroll through the garden of roses hand-in-hand, I ask that you think of me. Think of us.

For I am eternally loyal to you, my dearest rose.

Your Humble Servant.”

[a-libra-writes]

Sand & Storms - Chapter 1

Ships: Stannis Baratheon x Martell!Reader

Summary: The youngest of the Martell children travels with her family to King's Landing, stopping at Storm's End on the way. Though the visit is meant to be short, she finds herself determined to befriend a certain quiet boy.

Use this chrome extension to replace Y/N with a name :)

When they crossed the river, it was like crossing into a new world.

The arid desert was gone, as if by magic. With Castle Yronwood far behind, their wheelhouse pushed toward the one of two major roads that brought the rest of Westeros into Dorne. The first was treacherous and hard, and crossed the mountains. This one was smaller, following along the Sea of Dorne, a coastline it shared with the Stormlands.

The scent and breeze of the sea hit her at once, and she delighted in being able to stick her head out of the wheelhouse and not feeling a ruthless sun. A ship would have been much faster, but the seas were ruthless this time of year. Her dear older brother, Doran, wanted no risks.

Y/N Martell was no longer complaining about the stuffy wheelhouse and sandy roads. She exclaimed as flocks of seagulls swooped close to their encourage.

Elia giggled at her baby sister’s enthusiasm. “Perhaps you should ride alongside Oberyn?”

Y/N whipped her head around so quick, her braided hair hit her in the face. She ignored it. “Can I? Can I truly?”

“You’ve been stuck in here long enough. I’m sick of looking at this needlework.” Elia was doing a beautiful piece, but even Y/N had noticed how much she was putting it aside. Personally, she was tired of the books and games and songs. The youngest Martell wanted nothing more than to stretch out and run along the seaside.

Well, she was somewhat doing that. Once they stopped to rest the horses, she was able to step out and gaze at the coast. They were steadily going up, she noticed. Dorne was flat, sandy, hot and wonderful — and while she adored it, never had she seen so much green nor so much sea this close. She spent her days at the Water Gardens and her beloved Sunspear, not on the road.

Y/N ran to Oberyn, who was japing with the guards. She caught their attention at once, standing at her full height and crossing her arms.

“What’s the report, little lady?” Oberyn smirked. He acted like a man grown now, though Doran had many years on all of them.

“I’m riding alongside you,” Y/N said. What she willed, she often got.

…Though not always. “You’ll ride with me, little sister.” He chuckled. “You can hold the reins.”

For once, Y/N didn’t protest about that. There was too much excitement, too much to see, to actually be bothered by Oberyn’s protectiveness. Once they returned to the road, he easily swung her up on his horse. Oberyn was only four and ten, but as tall as most men now, and he’d long been training with his spear. He had it with him now, though Mother and Elia disliked the thought of him using it.

With Oberyn focused on the horse, Y/N was free to look around as she wished. The wind blew across her face, making her smile in delight as she took in the seaside. In the far distance, ships dotted along the line where the sea and sky met. Behind her was their retinue of wheelhouses and guardsmen, but also the mountains they rode alongside.

“Oberyn, what does Storm’s End look like?”

“It’s a very large castle. It has one of the largest Towers in Westeros — not the tallest, though.”

That didn’t make much sense to Y/N, but she believed her brother. She pressed him for more information, and he sighed, but continued. “When we get closer, you’ll see the ‘Drum’. It’s a great, round wall, probably impossible to siege. That’s really what it looks like, a drum. The walls keep the whole ocean away. You’ll see.”

Now that sounded unbelievable. “How do you know? Did you visit Storm’s End after leaving Casterly Rock?"

“No, it’s just what I’ve read,” He said. “I’m surprised you remember that.”

“It was only just a year ago.” Y/N still had a lingering bitterness that she wasn’t allowed to go with Oberyn and Elia, though Doran made sure to keep her occupied with riding and dancing and playmates. Her siblings and Mother returned sooner than expected; Y/N thought Elia or Oberyn was meant to marry a Lion, but they were just as confused about the sudden depature. She later learned that Mother’s good friend, Lady Joanna, had passed. Perhaps that was why Mother’s face twisted into a grimace whenever the Lannisters were brought up.

Looking out into the distant sea, her mind quickly wandered away from the boring world of adults. Court was tedious, but the gowns and feasts and new people made the boring days worth it. This view was definitely worth the all the extra tutoring and lessons beforehand. Mother wanted her to impress.

Y/N looked ahead, as if she would be able to spy something other than rolling hills and endless trees. The seaside reminded her of King’s Landing, their promised destination. “Are we going to stay in Storm’s End for long? I wanted to see the Red Keep and all the knights and the Iron Throne. Oh! And the ships on the Bay!”

“Hush.” Oberyn pulled at her cheek, though not enough to hurt. She still stuck her tongue out at him and batted him away. “We’ll arrive when we arrive.”

It happened sooner than she anticipated, thanks to the chatter of her brother and the endless sights. In the distance, Y/N could see a tower, but it had such a peculiar shape. She realized it was absurdly wide, and the top was almost square. This was a far cry from Sunspear’s many slender, gold-topped towers.

When Oberyn said it looked like a fist jutting up from the earth, she couldn’t agree more, except it wasn’t surrounded by rocks and earth — there were heavy, imposing, perfectly circular walls surrounding the great tower. The walls were truly drums, arising from the sea itself, perfectly carved into the rocky mountainside. She couldn’t hear the waves, but she could see them savagely crash against the drum, not once coming close to touch the top of the walls.

Y/N felt herself shrink in the saddle. Something about the relentless waves, the cold stone and rocky path made her nervous. When she saw Sunspear, it was nothing but beauty and memories.

“You’re quiet. Feeling nervous, little sun?”

She hated to be thought of as cowardly. Y/N shook her head quickly. “Not at all! Are you?”

“Not at all.” Oberyn looked behind him, at the steady pace of their wheelhouse, carriages and knights. When he turned back to his sister, he was grinning like he thought of something clever. “Why don’t we get a closer look?”

Y/N didn’t understand until he put the reigns in her hands. She lit up. “I won’t stop if you fall in the dust!”

“I don’t plan to. Hyah!”

It was Oberyn’s call and kick that spurred their horse on, but Y/N didn’t care. She held the reigns tight, whooping as the horse sped along the road. When they came within the distance of a town — and the imposing walls and tower of Storm’s End shadowed over them — Oberyn and Y/N slowed their pace to observe the smallfolk. They were greeted with bright eyes and interest, especially when their mother’s entourage caught up.

Before she knew it, Y/N was smiling and waving at children gaping at her, and laughing at ladies tripped over themselves whenever Oberyn winked. Two guards rode ahead of them to keep the crowd at bay, and by the time they were halfway through town and dangerously close to blocking off the entire main street, several knights dressed in black and gold came to meet them.

Y/N had seen knights before, but these knights wore such heavy-looking armor. She watched her reflection in their chestplates, then watched how their armor turned dark as Storm’s End glowered even closer. Y/N tilted her head all the way up to take in the impossible tower. It was wider than most keeps, yet rested high above the stormy sees. That’s when she noticed the clouds were more plentiful than before, and looking grey.

They passed under the gates, and she almost fell back. Oberyn steadied her and snickered. “Your eyes are as big as saucers.”

She huffed and stopped gaping. Being inside the walls felt no less imposing; it was almost like being trapped. Oberyn pulled his horse off to the side, along with their escorts. He quickly dismounted and helped Y/N down. In her excitement of the town and the keep, Y/N forgot about Mother and Elia. She hurried to their wheelhouse, though it was Oberyn who helped Elia down. Long journeys never suited her.

Their radiant mother had already excited her own wheelhouse. She was covered in gold silks and her favorite shawl, not a hair out of place, as if she didn’t make the same long journey as her restless and tired children. The Princess of Dorne took Y/N gently by the arm, smoothed out her dress, and patted some of her hair. She wasn’t upset in the slightest, which Y/N was relieved by. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself, little sun.”

“I was!” She said. “I’ll be as good a rider as Oberyn, once I’m taller.”

“Yes, of course.” The Princess said, still smiling. She was in a good mood today, but Y/N had never known her to be troubled. Mother seemed effortless in everything, from dancing and riding to speaking and ruling. “Shall we meet our hosts?”

Y/N took her hand, feeling comfort in her mother’s warm grip, and walked alongside her with their knights and the Baratheon guards. Atop the stairs leading to the great keep, she saw a flash of gold and black, and a large boy ran down. Y/N thought he might fall, but he effortlessly jumped two and three steps at a time.

“They’re already here!” The boy announced loudly, though to no one in particular. It made Mother stop in her tracks, but then two more figures descended the stairs.

The first was a great beast of a man. The boy in front of him was unmistakably his, even if he towered above his son. They both had wild black hair that wasn’t like the neat, oiled style in Sunspear, and matching blue eyes. The massive man wore a practical tunic of mostly black, with a great gold cape following behind him. His laughter echoed off the yard, booming like thunder. “Easy, lad! We ought to greet our guests properly!”

Y/N had no doubt the man could’ve easily leaped past the stairs. But he had a protective arm around a woman, and his other hand was clasped in her’s as he helped her down. This woman was only shorter by a head, and she was large in her own way: A round face, round body that was heavy with child, and round chestnut ringlets that fell along her shoulders. Her deep forest green and snowy white gown trailed behind her, and Y/N immediately noticed a collection of turtles embroidered along the train. She decided she liked this woman very much.

The lady was all smiles as she raised her arms to embrace Mother. “You do us a great honor, Princess Amira.”

“Your lord husband honors me with his hospitality, Lady Cassana.” Mother easily replied, returning the embrace. Y/N was surprised. She’d always seen lords and ladies drop to their knees before her mother, but this lady was certainly too far along with child to try such a thing. Mother stepped aside so all three of her children were within view. “These are my dear children — my eldest daughter, Princess Elia Martell. My second son, Prince Oberyn Martell. And my dear youngest, Princess Y/N Martell.”

Y/N didn’t like being introduced as the youngest, but she loved hearing her title. She smiled and bowed regardless, matching her siblings.

“A fine family! This is my oldest lad, Robert.” The tall lord boomed. He seemed incapable of speaking quietly, even as they stood close. He slapped his hand down roughly on the boy’s shoulder, and though it looked like it may have hurt, Robert didn’t budge. He only grinned, and it was mostly directed at Elia. Y/N wondered how old he was — he was almost Oberyn’s height. “And my second, he’s right — … Hells, Cassana, where is he?”

Lady Cassana she sighed as she looked upward, already knowing the answer. That’s when Y/N noticed a boy was standing at the top of the stairs. Was he always up there?

“Come on down here, son!” Lord Steffon called. “Come meet our guests!”

“Please, sweetling? Just a short hello will suffice.” Lady Cassana said.

The boy looked down at them, the discomfort obvious on his face. Y/N wondered if he was afraid of going down the stairs, but he had to be about her age, and only babies were afraid of that. The boy looked back at the open doorway to the keep, then back at them, then at the stairs. He finally walked down to meet them, taking each step carefully. His clothes were more gold than black, with the same stags stitched along his tunic. His hair was far better kept too — in Y/N’s opinion, he looked like a proper lordling instead of a wild Northman.

Finally, he stood by his mother. Or rather, slightly behind her. Lord Steffon laughed and pushed him forward. The rough contact made the boy flinch and stared at his feet, his cheeks reddening.

A few moments of silence passed between them. Mother tilted her head toward the boy, but Lady Cassana quickly said, “This is my dear second, Stannis.”

“Well met,” Mother said, eyeing the youngest, and then the oldest Baratheon child. Before she could continue, Elia’s soft voice spoke up.

“Lady Cassana, Lord Steffon, I’m so grateful for your hospitality, but if I may…” She was still holding tight to Oberyn, and that’s when Y/N realized how pale her sister was looking. Quickly, Lady Cassana went to her.

“Goodness, yes, why don’t we all come inside? Come, dear, I have a beautiful parlor for you to rest in.”

“You’re very kind, my lady.” Elia’s cheeks heated as she was being fretted over, but Y/N knew her sister needed the rest. Traveling took more out of her than anyone. Lady Cassana called over two maidservants, who bowed to Elia and helped escort her. Robert eagerly trailed after his father, and Oberyn held his arm for Mother.

Y/N realized she was quickly left behind, and with the strange boy, at that. He opened and closed his fists, and still refused to look at her. She knew he must have been younger. She could see over his head, even if it wasn’t tilted down. Y/N was no stranger to playing with boys, even shy ones. She had all manner of playmates back at the Water Gardens, it would be nice for someone to explore this strange castle with her.

“We should be friends,” She said.

“No.” The boy called Stannis responded instantly.

The answer surprised her… mostly because she hadn’t expected a response at all. “Why not?” She asked.

The boy opened and closed his hands, making little fists, then flattening them against his sides. He looked at her and the ground a few times before answering, “Because I don’t know you.”

“Then you should get to know me! That’s easy to do. I’m a Princess of Dorne. I like to read, but I do lots of riding, and dancing. I’m the best dancer at the Water Gardens. Oh, I swim, too. And… I have another older brother, his name is Doran. He’s also a prince. We all are, because Mother is the Princess of Dorne, and she’s clever, and strong. When I’m grown, I’ll be just like her.” Y/N rattled off these things, listing them off on her fingers, and starting over when she ran out of digits. “There. Do you know me now?”

Stannis finally looked at her. He still opened and closed his palms, but it was slower than before. “Maybe.”

It was good enough. Y/N offered her hand, and when he refused to take it, she reached for his sleeve. Remembering how much he disliked his father’s roughness, she took it gently. Instantly, he froze up.

“We’re going to get left behind,” She said. She tried to speak softly, and nicely, like Elia did. “Can you show me the way?”

Stannis seemed to be deeply considering it. He lightly tugged against her grip, and Y/N got the message, letting go. Stannis pulled at the sleeve a few times, flexed his hand again, and said, “I’ll show you.”

Y/N smiled, and gladly following him along, even if he was a slow walker. She tried to ask questions about himself, and the castle, but he was stubbornly quiet. This Stannis reminded her very much of a maid’s boy in the Water Gardens. He was two years younger, and a Sand, and far smaller than most children. She often protected him from the other’s teasing. And so, Y/N Martell decided she was going to do the same for Stannis Baratheon. Their time would be short together, but she would be a great friend to him.

As it happened, being the friend and protector of someone who was doing their best to avoid you — and most company — was difficult.

Y/N worried that she was too eager. When she sat right beside Stannis at breakfast and dinner, he avoided her gaze and moved toward his mother. When she tried cornering him in the gardens to play, he ran off before she could get more than four words out. And finally, when she tried bursting into his bedroom, he was not there.

After that incident — which was on the third morning — Lady Cassana gently explained that Stannis was a shy sort, and he could very well disappear for the rest of the visit. Y/N couldn’t imagine not seeing her designated playmate again, so she readied herself to spend all day looking up and down Storm’s End.

The library was her first choice, but it was too obvious. She walked briskly though the tall shelves and looked under heavy oak tables, but no dice. The massive tower held the maester’s quarters, which she only peaked into when he was gone, and a grand feast hall that was empty. There were fanciful guest quarters that her family stayed in, and Lord Baratheon’s chambers — naturally, these two options were out. The armory was also present, but it was full of men moving equipment and shouting. She couldn’t imagine the quiet boy putting himself in that chaos.

Y/N sighed and led herself outside, where there was a vast system of little gardens, training yards, orchards and flower fields. They were all a sight to take in, laid out perfectly inside the castle’s suppressive walls. If she listened close, she could hear the waves break against them, but by and large they were too thick for any sound to get through.

This is what those little lizards feel like when I capture them in bowls, She thought. Looking up at the giant tower covered in heavy battlements made her dizzy.

The main training yard was empty, but that was expected. Only Robert frequented there, and Y/N was already annoyed with him. Like the previous afternoon, he was there, hitting a wooden post with a dull sword. She couldn’t believe he was allowed real steel already.

“Robert!” She called, walking over to him. “I have a question.”

The large boy hit the post a few times before answering her. “What?”

“I’m looking for your brother. Have you seen him?”

Robert scoffed. “Did you look in the library? He’s always reading.”

“I did, and he wasn’t there. Where else should I look?”

“How would I know?”

“Because you’re his brother! You ought to help me look. I’m your guest, and a princess, besides.”

Robert went back to the wooden post, which was littered with notches and splintered pieces. “You aren’t really a princess. The real ones are in the Red Keep, like my grandmother.”

Y/N blinked at him, taking in his ragged black hair and graceless swings. If his grandmother was a Targaryen, then her’s came from beyond the Wall. She stomped her foot. “Dorne never kneeled to dragons. So yes, we are princes and princesses.”

“I don’t play with girls, anyway,” Robert said, rolling his eyes at her little display. “You can’t fight.”

“I can take that sword and hit you with it!” Y/N threatened. To her great annoyance, the bigger boy just laughed at her.

“Sure you could,” He said, and waved the steel above her head, well out of her reach. Y/N kicked him in the shin, and he almost dropped it. It fumbled in his hand, but he caught the hilt.

“You ought to act more lordly!” She said, and turned on her heel out of the training yard. Robert shouted something after her — probably how she wasn’t a lady — but she was far gone.

She stopped fuming by the time she reached the orchards. The birds flying through the branches and the delicious fruit weighing them down took her attention, cooling her temper down. Back home, she climbed all sorts of lemon and orange trees, and knocked the fruit down so it splashed and floated in the water pools. The babies would shriek with delight, and she’d jump down and wade through the water to fetch it for them.

There were no oranges here, but apples and cherries were delicious, too. She found a branch low enough that she could jump for it, and a bounty of apples fell when she yanked the branch down. She pulled out her skirt like an apron and piled them in. A bright green one had rolled away, and it was when she followed it out of the neat rows of apples that she noticed an old dirt path. It was nearly overgrown with grass, but it was clearly leading to an older, less cared for part of the orchards.

Naturally, Y/N had to follow. She was mindful of the apples, but not so mindful that a few didn’t roll out of her skirt and had to be picked up again. To her delight, the path led into a run-down sitting area. There was some sort of shed that was now in shambles, and a row of old benches placed next to stone statues being overtaken by ivy.

Even better, a boy was sitting upon one of the benches, his legs pulled up to his chest. He idly flexed his hands against the wood as he read the book in front of him.

“Stannis!” Y/N bounded up to him, again dropping apples that had already been bruised several times. “I found you!”

The boy flinched like she physically hurt him. She felt guilty for that, he must’ve been thinking very hard, and now she scared him. Y/N sat down, letting her apples spill out around her. She spoke softer as she said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. You have a lovely home. I really enjoy it.”

Stannis frowned at her. He had been doing that since she arrived. He turned back toward his book.

Y/N wasn’t deterred. “We ought to explore together. I bet you know everything there is to see here, so you can show me some secret spots. You know a secret spot, don’t you? All the castles have them. If we were in Dorne, I could show you the ones in Sunspear.”

She waited for a response, and there was none. Stannis turned a page. She thought his blue eyes darted to her for a moment, but maybe it was wishful thinking. Y/N picked up an apple and offered it to him. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” He mumbled.

Her head tilted toward the book. An extravagant painting on the page took her attention, but it wasn’t a real picture. It was decoration for the border. She was surprised how old the book was, and how long some of the words are. “That looks difficult.” She said. “You must be well-read.”

She brushed some dirt and leaves off the opposite side of the bench, and sat next to the book. Stannis flexed his hands into fists, then pressed them against his legs. He was so still, it reminded Y/N of those scared dogs that would freeze before they ran.

But then he reached forward and turned the page. She looked at the pictures first, then looked at the words. They were upside down. She was wondering what kind of book this was, but the next page was a large painting of a dragon.

“Is this a history?” Y/N asked. “About dragons? Do you like them?”

Stannis shrugged. Y/N liked the picture, even if it was upside down. “I’m going to King’s Landing soon,” It felt like a last ditch attempt to get his attention, considering she knew nothing of the place except what she studied. “I hear there are dragon skulls under the Red Keep.”

The boy hesitated before he turned the next page. His hand fell on the dragon. “I didn’t get to see them.”

Y/N jumped up in interest. “You’ve been to the Red Keep?”

“I saw the Iron Throne. It was a long time ago,” Stannis looked toward the apples on the grass. He pressed his fingers against the paper. “I thought I saw the king.”

“You thought?”

“He was on the throne,” He said. "Robert and I thought it was him. He was far away, so I couldn't see him. Father said he wasn't the king, though."

“So who was he? Only the king can sit on the throne,” Y/N said.

“The Hand of the King can, too. That’s what father said.” Stannis then shrugged, and seemed to have lost all interest in the topic. His attention was back to the book, and another turned page.

Y/N couldn’t remember who the Hand was, and she didn’t much care, besides. But to have him talking this much after days of avoidance felt like a great victory. She reached down to the grass and picked up two apples. “Want one?”

“It’s been on the ground.”

“But it has a skin to protect it. It’s not that dirty.” She rubbed at it with her dress, as if that would help.

“But you’re going to eat it skin and all. Right?”

“It’s really not dirty.” Y/N sighed. She took a bite to prove her point, and Stannis frowned again, which made her giggle. “It’s good! Promise!” She said with a mouthful of fruit.

Stannis hesitated, then took one of the apples. She was about to warn him that the green ones were especially sour, but he bit into it and looked back at the book, chewing as if it tasted fine.

“Does that… taste good?”

Stannis looked at her like she asked if water was wet. She asked again, “Aren’t they sour?”

“No.”

“Let me try it.”

“No. This is mine.”

“Now you like it and don’t think it’s dirty?” Y/N giggled in spite of herself. Stannis just looked at her with more confusion. She hopped off the bench and found herself a green apple amongst the grass. She took a large bite … then immediately regretted it, spitting the food all over the grass.

She could have missed it, but the boy laughed. It was short and he snorted a little, but it was a laugh. The funny sound made her smile. She wanted to hear it again. “Let’s see your’s, then! Hand it over.”

Y/N held out her hand, and to her surprise, Stannis threw his apple at her. She caught it easily and took a bite. This time, Y/N made a disgusted noise and immediately spat it. “That’s even more sour!”

She heard the short, funny laugh again. It was longer this time. “You’re strange,” Stannis said bluntly. “Can I have it back now?”

Y/N handed it over. She realized, as their hands brushed, that he was finally looking at her. His eyes were blue, but deep blue. They were darker than his older brother’s, and darker than the ocean they passed on the way here. “You have pretty eyes.”

Stannis’ nose wrinkled. He rubbed at his eyes, as if that would make her attention go away. Y/N laughed and explained, “Mother says if you have something kind to say, and it’s truthful, you ought to say it.”

“Oh.” Stannis pressed his lips together. He couldn't think of much to say to that, so he turned back to his book. Y/N worried she had lost his interest entirely.

“Can you read that book out loud?” She asked quickly.

“Why?”

“I’m interested in it, and I like being read to.” She fell over in the grass, lied on her back and stretched out. “Please?”

“You’re still strange,” Stannis said, but he turned a page and began reading aloud anyway.

While the Baratheon boy read a history of Old Valyria, Y/N tumbled in the grass, threw apples so hard they smashed against the stone, and lifted herself up on her hands. Once in a while he'd stop to watch her, then go back to his book. Y/N would ask questions and Stannis would answer in spite of his obvious annoyance at being interrupted. She couldn't be sure how long they spent like that, but eventually, she ran out of fruit to toss or eat.

"I'm going to pick more apples. You should come with me, Stannis."

He turned to the wall that was splattered with them. "So you can waste more food?"

"I'll eat these ones, promise. Come with me?" It was a rare day in Dorne when her big eyes and pitiful voice didn’t give Y/N her way, but this boy seemed quite immune. He stayed put.

"Staaaannis!"

The shouting came from far off in the orchard. Y/N noted how Stannis' expression fell, and he closed his book. He stared out into the trees until Robert burst forward, pushing several branches out of the way. "There you are," he said, then noticed Y/N. "Oh, you're here too."

"What are you shouting about?" Y/N said.

The older boy huffed. "I always have to go looking for Stannis when he's being strange. Supper is ready soon, so we have to go back. This way.”

They walked back through the winding orchards. Robert had a long, wooden training spear with him, and he was enjoying knocking apples off the branches and hitting them before they touched the ground. Y/N wondered why he was allowed to have all these weapons, considering how Oberyn only ever took his spear to training or while traveling.

Robert hit one of the apples awkwardly, and it almost pelted Y/N in the shin. She jumped out of the way. “Watch where you’re swinging,” She said. “You’re waving it around like a stick, not a spear.”

“What would you know about spears?” The older boy retorted.

“I know Oberyn uses a real one, and he doesn't swing it like that."

Robert stuck his tongue out at her. “A stupid girl wouldn’t know what it’s supposed to look like. You aren’t meant to use spears.”

“Well, women in Dorne know how to use them.”

“No, they don’t.”

They stopped in the orchard, glaring at each other. Stannis almost ran into Y/N, but quickly backed away. He started, “You shouldn’t…”

“I bet I could learn that spear and use it better than you in half the time.” Y/N flared. To which Robert quickly responded, “A girl couldn’t learn to do it at all. They aren’t supposed to fight, the lords do that.”

“I could fight you right now!”

“You can try!”

Y/N and Robert moved even closer, and he didn’t think to swing the wooden spear at her until she tried to reach for it.

“You shouldn’t fight.” Stannis said again. His voice wasn’t being heard at all. He flexed his hands into fists, then flattened them out, pressing them against his tunic. “We need to —”

Y/N pointed toward one of the towering apple trees above them. “If we can't fight, then I bet I could beat you to the top of that tree!”

“Is that a joke?” Robert yelled back. “I climb them all the time! You’re too slow, you’re in a dress.”

“Afraid I’ll win?”

She was already running for a trunk, and Robert shouted after her, following at her footsteps. Y/N swung herself up onto one of the branches, propelling herself forward with sheer spite and determination, even if her dress was already getting caught.

Stannis ran to the tree, looking up at them. His book was forgotten on the grass as he shielded his eyes from the sun. “You need to get down!” He said. “You’ll fall! Mother said we shouldn’t —”

“Be quiet, Stannis!” Robert shouted from the trees.

“Don’t yell at him!” Y/N called back.

Stannis frowned and sat back in the grass. He narrowly avoided being hit by an apple, and watched them climb higher.

Princess Amira brought a teacup to her lips, taking in the delicious scent of a tea that wasn't horribly floral. Most Westerosi - especially those Reachmen - had a poor sense of good tea, but it seems Lord Baratheon was fond of the more unusual Essosi flavors. She took an approving drink and set it down. "Thank you for allowing my family to stay another evening, my lord."

"You needn't thank me, it's a delight to have them." Lord Steffon beamed. She knew he was speaking the truth, because the man so rarely hid his expressions. His lady wife was much the same. She touched her stomach as she said, "It's wonderful to have met your children. They are all so well-spoken and handsome to look upon."

"Oh, yes. Oberyn is my talker, Elia is my beauty, and Y/N is my little sun."

"Just so, she's an energetic girl. Reminds me of Robert." Lord Steffon said.

The Princess was glad for the conversation to turn toward that subject so quickly. Robert was much as she heard - just like his father in looks and vigor, though arguably more dull. They were both Baratheons in every sense of the word, for better or for worse. Amira sensed an interesting future for that boy.

"I understand Robert is ten now. It won't be long before he's a man grown. I'm sure you have all manner of valuable marriage prospects to consider."

"Oh," Lady Cassana's pretty lips parted. "No, not quite. He's still young."

"There will be plenty of that in a few years' time." Lord Steffon chuckled. "I'll have to keep the girls off him. Or perhaps it’ll be the other way around!"

He laughed, and Lady Cassana gently hit his shoulder as she tittered. Princess Amira kept her expression even, a slight smile and steady eyes. She reminded herself this man was cousin and friend to King Aerys, and surely that was the only reason he was on the small council. He was boyhood friends with Tywin, so they say. I wonder if that still holds true.

"One can never be too prepared for arrangements, my lord, as my late husband oft told me. It’s been on my mind as of late; Elia is exactly that age.”

Lady Cassana nodded in understanding. She asked, "Yes, sweet Elia must be courted night and day. If I might pry, is that why you're visiting King's Landing?"

Her husband added with a grimace, "That's the only reason I would think. That place is as tiresome and deceitful as they come."

"Very true, my lord, and your lady is most observant. Elia is excited for the balls, and I won't turn down a suitable lady who catches my eye. Prince Doran is still in need of a wife."

My Elia could've been at Casterly Rock by now. The Princess' bitter thoughts cut through. She kept them from showing on her face, but it was an effort. I tried, dear Joanna, but that arrogant man you married …

When the conversation drifted toward the balls and general merriment of the Red Keep, Lord Steffon stood, stretched out and said he ought to leave the ladies to their talks. Kissing Lady Cassana on the cheek meant he missed the way Princess Amira's expression stiffened at the comment. When he left, she had schooled herself back into amiable grace. Lady Cassana reached for the teapot, but Princess Amira insisted she ought to not strain herself.

As she refilled their cups, Lady Cassana said, "You know, we were considering sending Robert to the Eyrie to foster."

"The Eyrie?" Princess Amira feigned surprise. She heard a Stark boy was, as well. Lord Arryn was a capable man, at least. "Goodness, that is far from home."

"That's what I told Steffon. I don't like the idea of my son being so far, but Lord Arryn is such a good man. He's calm and Robert needs a… steady influence like that."

When Lady Cassana was unsure, she tilted her head just so, making a few brown ringlets fall around her shoulder. Princess Amira found it an endearing, if not girlish, trait. It was no surprise she found a husband, but it was a lucky match to have a Lord Paramount.

"Indeed. Boys that age need such guidance. When he's older, he'll need equal guidance in the form of a steady wife."

Lady Cassana nodded. "Oh yes, indeed. Perhaps one day.”

Seeing no sense in pushing the issue further, Princess Amira easily changed the subject. Perhaps these stubborn stags would change their mind when she returned from King's Landing in triumph. It would be a grand match, a great event... and as close as Lord Baratheon - Master of Ships - was to King Aerys, the festivities would rub off on him. Marriage beget marriages, or at least, planted ideas.

And who was there for him to choose? Hoster Tully’s girls, whom he’d never give up without something significant in return? That Stark girl, far in the North, whose father was a stranger to both him and King Aerys? Oh, perhaps his dear childhood friend and Hand of the King, Tywin Lannister, could spare his perfect golden girl… and Lord Steffon would receive a sharp, harsh reminder about the proud natures of Lions.

Yes, there was only one, obvious choice for their Robert. With time, and gentle influence, they would see that.

Another easy calm settled upon the two women as they decided between enjoying more tea or move to the gardens for a short walk. The decision was interrupted by a terrible, loud shriek that came from the open window. Lady Cassana gasped and dropped her cup, shattering it on the stone.

Princess Amira stood at once, running toward the window. Between the fruit trees, she saw two children standing over a girl on the ground. She was dressed in red and orange. “My little sun!”

[wegog]

Why Corvo didn’t kill Daud?

(my interpretation)

And you choose mercy. Extraordinary.

One of the most important moments in Dishonored is Corvo's decision not to kill Daud. Many, it seems to me, are interested in the question of why he does this. Having caught the murderer of his Empress, a woman he loves very much (even after her death). Shouldn't the main revenge have been accomplished? If we remember Corvo’s doings, we’ll understand many of his goals (people with whom he had to punished) suffered a lot. Corvo gave them a fate that is worse than death (the Pendleton twins work in the mine, being practically slaves) or is death itself, but more painful than death from the blade of the Lord Protector (Campbell dies of the plague in the Flooded District). Corvo takes revenge on everyone, everyone’ll receive their punishment. What about Daud? At first glance, he already got what he deserves. He regrets what he did, he feels guilty for what is happening in the city (he says: ‘Jessamine Kaldwin’s hands were all that was holding this city together. With her dead the city was the fast disintegration web of guardsmen, Overseers, nobles, weepers…’ and ‘When I killed your Empress and took her daughter, something broke inside me’). Perhaps Corvo decides that this is enough? Is it punishment to make Daud live with this burden?

In fact, I don't think it is. Previously, Corvo never relied on the moral principles of ‘the bad guys’. But Daud is not like Corvo's previous goals. He has no power. Of course, he has the Outsider’s gift, he had his own assassination team, etc. Some of the murders he did may have influenced the Empire’s politics. But Daud himself didn’t make any important decisions. It’s a product of a system where poor people, unfortunate enough to be born outside of Gristol, sometimes become criminals because they don't know any other way. This doesn’t excuse Daud, it only explains the degree of his influence. It was very important for Corvo to clear the Empire from all the gutter politicians, because they could seriously harm his daughter, prevent her from ruling the Empire, or even destroy everything for the sake of their ambitions. Daud is not important. His death won’t affect anything in a global sense. It doesn't matter if he continues to kill or not ... Aristocrats will always find a new assassin. That’s why, revenge against Daud is very personal for Corvo. Since it was Daud's blade that killed his beloved, the mother of his daughter. However, Corvo still chooses the mercy. It's ironic, but I think the reason Corvo decided to have mercy on Jessamine's killer is…Jessamine. From the conversation between the Empress and Hiram, as well as thanks to the comments of the inhabitants of the Empire, we understand Lady Kaldwin was very kind and didn’t accept violence, she was not interested in weapons, she really cared about her people. Before she died, she asked Corvo to take care of their daughter (‘You’re the only one. You’ll know what to do’). And, of course, during the game, Lord Protector in some sense acts on behalf of his Empress Jessamine and acts in accordance with her values. So, that’s why when a wounded, disarmed man asks Corvo for mercy, he cannot kill him... It’s true the Heart says: ‘Am I meant to forgive this man for what he did?’ And I'm sure Corvo doesn't forgive Daud. It's impossible. But he’s not capable of killing him under such circumstances.

But don’t think Corvo made this decision only because of the Empress. After all, Attano is a very good person, he sincerely cares about his family, he doesn’t accept cruelty (I mean the canon version of Corvo, not High Chaos). It’s also need to recalling that Corvo (like his lover) never abused his authority. He’s a very strong warrior (even without the Outsider's mark), he’s the closest person to the ruler of the Empire (even two rulers). He could do whatever he wanted and not bear any responsibility for it. But Corvo chose a different way... So, I’m sure Lord Attano was so loyal to the empress, not because they had romantic feelings (although this’s insanely important for Corvo), but because he sincerely believed in her values and wanted them to live after Jessamine left this world.

The Heart says about Daud: ‘The last thing the...Empress felt was his blade.’ But this isn't, the last thing the Empress felt was the embrace of Corvo

[arcadian-asgardian]

Rescue from Jerusalem

A very late gift from the Christmas Winter Whumperland exchange 2017 (😅) for the gracious and ever-patient @collapse-and-comfort​!

Also available on Ao3

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed I

Tags: Gen, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Altaïr/Maria, Malik, OC Villain, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Fever, + 1 x bonus fanart

Summary: After Altaïr mysteriously vanishes whilst on a mission in Jerusalem, Maria Thorpe sets out for the city, determined to find him and bring him home. But it seems the hand of an old enemy is still at play, and Maria is horrified by what has become of Altaïr when she finally discovers him.

Words: 5,997

___

It had been more than a week since Altaïr was last heard from.

Maria Thorpe crouched on the sandy rooftop, her blades ready at her wrists and fingers itching with worry and anticipation. Below her, a group of Crusader guardsmen were dragging several figures through the shaded alleyway towards the building she had come to infiltrate. It was too dark to see the victims’ properly, but Maria could hear frightened whimpers and sniffling from underneath the bags that covered their faces. As they reached the building, the doorway was unlocked from the inside by two more guards, and the prisoners were ushered roughly inside. Straining closer, Maria thought she heard a voice with an unusual accent - something European, but unfamiliar - but then the door was slammed shut. Even from the rooftop, the clank of the key in the lock and thump as the door was barred from the inside were clear to hear. She would not get in this way.

Cursing, Maria retreated from the edge of the rooftop. What now? Perhaps she should return to the Bureau and seek Malik’s advice. Two days had passed since they had arrived in Jerusalem from Masyaf, having ridden as quickly as their horses could manage, fear for Altaïr’s safety spurring them on. That made it a total of nine days since Altaïr had vanished. The first morning in the city, they hastened straight to the Bureau to question the new rafiq. He knew little of Altaïr’s mission - only that it was in some way connected with the Knights Hospitalier, and with one of Altaïr’s previous Templar targets - Garnier de Naplouse. Altaïr had rested at the Bureau when not out investigating, and then one day had not returned. That gave the rafiq little cause for alarm, but when several days had passed and Altaïr neither appeared nor was there any talk in the city of the hooded man or any suspicious deaths, he had become worried and sent word to Maria and Malik at Masyaf. The following two days were spent scouring the city for clues to Altaïr’s whereabouts.

Maria crept over to her bags and reached inside for the map Malik had found in the Bureau’s archives. Mingling with the people, she had soon learned that something - though it was not clear precisely what - was going on in this fairly innocuous-seeming compound. Disappearances, they had said. Those who went in never seen again. And occasionally, some swore, screams. She shuddered.

The map detailed the layout of the building and the surrounding streets. With frustration, she marked a cross against the entrance in the alleyway below her. Access from the ground would not be possible. She could enter via the roof, but archers patrolled it at all hours of the day - to take them out without alerting the guards inside would be difficult.

She frowned. There was no simple option. This would need cunning, resourcefulness, and all of her skills as an assassin. She placed the map back into her bag and shouldered it, and then began to quietly clamber back down the side of the building to the deserted city streets. As she climbed, a plan began to form in the back of her mind.

*             *             *

“Assassin! Heretic!”

Maria almost laughed as she sprinted ahead of the Saracen guards, dodging and weaving expertly through the crowds in the direction of the compound. These men were faster than many she’d encountered - not quite the typical middle-aged ex-soliders, invalided back from war and just looking for an easy living, that she was used to - but they weren’t as fast as her. Her feet pounded the dirt as she began to approach her target. The guards, a small group, were about twenty paces behind her, though she was widening the distance with every second. She had to be careful not to lose them until the exact correct moment.

She rounded the corner with the agility of a wild gazelle, and the main entrance to the compound suddenly loomed in front of her. There were four guards on the gate, wearing unmarked armour yet still unmistakably Crusaders. She hoped the men pursuing her would be an even match for them.

She dashed past the door guards before they properly had a chance to register her, though a faint cry of “Another assassin!” reached her ears as she darted off down a side alley. She heard the metallic slice of swords being drawn, but then- just as she’d hoped: cries of alarm and Saracen shouts, followed by the clashing of blades and the sound of a struggle. She didn’t stop, fearing that one or two of the group wouldn’t have taken the distraction and could still be chasing her. Instead, she sprung sideways, leaping nimbly up a pile of crates that had been left against the outer wall, grabbing the closest window ledge and beginning to haul herself rapidly upwards. She heard more yells coming from above as she ascended - the archers on the roof running to join the fight. This was her chance.

As she reached the rooftop, she paused, trying to figure out exactly where each man was from the sound alone. There were curses and the panicked sound of arrows being knocked to bows, all coming from her right side. Dangling from the roof edge, she carefully shimmied her way around a corner in the building, the ground far below her, and then peeked her head over the parapet. They were all distracted, facing away from her. Good.

Close to silently, she lifted herself up and then quickly slunk her way over to the centre of the roof where the access hatch was, watching the archers warily the whole way. They were too preoccupied with the fight - which seemed to be going badly for the poor Saracen soldiers - to notice as she lifted the hatch and dropped noiselessly inside.

Inside the building was considerably darker than the sunny streets had been, and far quieter too. Maria paused as her eyes adjusted, relying on her other senses to assess the situation. The air was heavy and smelt… well, frankly, foul, not unlike the scent from the slaughterhouses behind the butcher’s market, but mixed with all manner of strange herbal and spiced aromas. There was little detectable movement in the air, so the building had to be well and truly sealed off from the outside. As the darkness ebbed away, she realised she was standing in a storeroom, surrounded by shelves of bottles, jars and odd-looking equipment. Altaïr wasn’t here. In the distance, the sound of the fight she’d started seemed to be petering out. She couldn’t hear anyone in the rest of the building, but it was still best to be cautious.

As she crept through the maze of rooms, her heart began to pound and her stomach grew more and more anxious as the buildings’ secrets were revealed. The place wasn’t as unoccupied as she’d assumed. Everywhere there were beds and raised tables, and on these lay the sorriest forms of humanity she’d ever encountered. Most were drenched in filthy bandages, many stained with blood, and their skin as grey and loose as the tatters of cloth. A few looked up as she passed, their sunken eyes pleading, but Maria regretfully had to push on past them. Occasional cries of anguish echoed out from hidden corners.

She needed to find Altaïr. Her worry for him had tripled now that she saw what horrors had been occurring here.

She went to round another corner but stopped sharply as a tall figure passed immediately in front of her. Pressing herself flat against the wall, she held her breath as the man walked unknowingly past, and then stopped at the end of the corridor. He turned to inspect the contents of a cabinet, and Maria got a first decent look at his face.

She knew this man from her Templar days. His name was Baldwin de Carreo. He was an associate of Garnier de Naplouse, and also a member of the Knights Hospitalier, though not, she believed, a Templar himself. She had never personally interacted with the man, but from what she had overheard, he was devoted student of de Naplouse’s, and tended to the doctor’s work with a zeal and eagerness that was known to put even the other Templars on edge. The doctor’s death at the hands of the Assassin Order - at the hands of her beloved, in fact - probably only pushed him further in that evil, twisted fanaticism. She could well understand why Altaïr would have considered even rumours of the man’s presence in the Holy Land to be an urgent concern worth dealing with personally. Now, it seemed, it was up to her to deal with him.

De Carreo turned and continued along the corridor, still unaware of Maria’s presence. Slowly, Maria peeled away from the wall and began to stalk him through the space, crouching low, like a leopard fixed on its prey. Suddenly he stopped. She froze. He didn’t turn around, but his head cocked slightly to the side. Had he heard her? Should she attack now, while there was still perhaps a chance to catch him unawares? He outweighed her, and was taller, broader, and likely at least a decently skilled fighter. A scuffle between them might alert the other guards, or he could call for help. Maria had only seconds to make a decision.

She sensed de Carreo begin to turn towards her, and seized her chance. She leapt forward, swiftly grabbing his nearest arm and twisting it high against his back, then used the leverage to drag him closer, forcing him to bend his knees. He tried to struggle but her hidden blade flashed quickly to his throat. That stilled him. He seemed surprised at first but the shock on his face was quickly replaced with a sinister confidence.

“Where is the assassin?” Maria growled at his ear.

“Assassin?” he began to chuckle, but the noise became strangled as Maria squeezed her blade tighter against his throat. “I don’t know what you mean. None of my patients is a killer.”

“A man in a hood,” she pressed. “With a blade, just like this. Altaïr.”

“And if I tell you, you will let me live?” de Carreo asked.

“I don’t see that you deserve to.”

“How so?” he said.

Maria scoffed. “What you’re doing here is unholy. You are torturing innocents!”

“I am trying to help mankind!” responded de Carreo, his voice suddenly full of anger. “To advance the understanding of healing, to save countless lives in the future! That a few lives should be sacrificed for the good of the world is surely something you Assassins understand.”

Maria paused, her blade still held against his throat.

“Your ‘brother’ was equally ignorant,” de Carreo added, with a twisted smile.

Fury filled Maria. She tightened her grip on his arm. “Where. Is. He?” she repeated.

“If I may not bargain for my life, I do not see why I should help you,” he said casually.

“Very well,” replied Maria darkly, and then she dug her blade into the flesh of his throat and drew it sharply to the side, ripping through the tissue and sending a cascade of red hot blood spilling to the ground. De Carreo made a strangled cry and clutched at the wound, sinking to his knees as she let him go, but his hands could do nothing to stem the flow and he soon folded to the ground into the puddle of his own blood, the light quickly fading from his wide eyes. He twitched a few times, and then was still.

Maria regarded his body coldly, with nothing but stern conviction in her heart. Then she shook herself and returned to the search. She peered into every room as she passed, hoping, pleading, to find her beloved in one of them. Panic was beginning to set in. She had to find Altaïr soon, before the guards discovered either her or de Carreo’s body, or this would all have been for nothing. Where was he? She entered an alcove, and was suddenly greeted with a sight that both filled her with relief and horror.

Altaïr lay limply on top of the table. His wrists and ankles were bound with coarse strips of leather, so tight that she could see sharp cuts in the red, raw skin around each restraint. His eyes were closed but as she stepped closer she could make out the shaky rise and fall of his chest, and breathed a sigh of relief. Alive. She gently swept the hair from his sweaty forehead and cupped his face. “Altaïr? Can you hear me?” His eyelids fluttered in response but remained closed. At his side, however, his fist clenched and he began to pull against the restraints. Quickly, Maria cut each of the bonds with her hidden blade and laced her fingers in his, squeezing his hand tenderly. “I’m here. It’s me, it’s Maria. Oh, my love,” her voice cracked. “What have they done to you?”

From outside there came a muffled voice. Maria froze. One of the guards from the gate was walking towards the room, calling back to someone else in the building. She could hear each heavy footstep thudding closer and closer. Altaïr mumbled something faintly. She squeezed his hand again, silently begging him not to rouse now, not when they were at their most vulnerable. The guard was getting closer. If she killed him, the others would soon wonder where he had gone and she could not move Altaïr in time to avoid a confrontation. But suddenly there was a cry of pain from another part of the building, and then the sound of the guard’s footsteps fading away as he went to investigate that instead. Maria exhaled shakily. They needed to leave, now.

Turning back to Altaïr, she saw that his eyes were open, but clouded with pain and unfocused, gazing blankly at the ceiling. “Altaïr?” she whispered again, leaning close over him. His eyes moved hazily towards the sound of her voice, but his gaze was blank and soon drifted away. What was wrong with him? Looking round in confusion, Maria now noticed several bottles and jars of dried leaves next to his bedside. She didn’t recognise the concoctions but there was a strong smell, like hemp or maybe poppy. Combined with the general odour of death and blood, it was nearly enough to make her gag.

She shook her head to clear it and then leant over Altaïr’s body and slid her hands underneath his shoulders and heaved. He cried out in pain as she hauled him off the table and his legs buckled, dragging them both to their knees. Maria’s hands shot to his sides to steady him, but she was shocked to feel something hot and wet beneath her fingers. She pulled them away with a sickening feeling and glanced slowly down. Her fingers were stained with crimson blood. It was starting to seep from beneath Altaïr’s robes, from some wound in his side. She swore violently. Altaïr slumped forwards against her, his breath laboured at her ear. For a moment she just knelt there, holding him closely in her arms and trying to think what to do. There was no time to try to stop the bleeding; another guard was bound to come through at any minute. If they could make it back to the Bureau they could treat Altaïr’s wounds and everything would be alright.

Decided, she pushed Altaïr away and wrapped his arm around her neck, trying to ignore his wince as she gripped the band of damaged skin around his wrist. Taking his weight on her, she staggered to her feet. His blood had begun to trail down his leg and drip onto the floor. With her free hand she tried to clasp at the wound, causing him to groan in pain and flinch away from her. No time for comfort - she began to stumble towards the exit, half-dragging Altaïr whose head still hung limply. His breathing was ragged as he limped along beside her, but he seemed to be conscious enough now to understand the need for silence, each groan he made muffled through gritted teeth.

The other patients seemed to understand as well, many of them staring pleadingly at Maria as they passed their beds, but remaining silent. Maria only wished there was time to rescue them as well. But Altaïr could not wait - when he was healed they could return and liberate all of de Carreo’s prisoners, but not now as blood continued to drip from his side.

They reached the door, unlocked it, and awkwardly negotiated their way through. Outside, Altaïr recoiled at the blinding sunlight, almost trying to push Maria away in his attempt to shield his eyes. She gripped his arms tightly. “Come on,” she whispered, and firmly but gently guided him out into the street.

Navigating their way back to the Bureau was challenging. Where possible, Maria kept them to the back alleys, away from prying eyes. Altaïr soon struggled to stay on his feet, trailing his free hand along each wall as they passed to support himself. Between his moans of pain, he had begun to murmur something, but Maria couldn’t make out what. On several occasions, Maria had to carefully set him down in the shadows, hating herself for it as he grimaced with pain, and eliminate a number of guardsmen who were blocking their path. By the time they arrived at the Bureau they had garnered far too much attention and she was exhausted.

“Altaïr!” Malik shouted. He ran forward to help as Altaïr finally slipped from Maria’s grasp and sunk to his knees. “What has happened?” Malik said breathlessly, alarmed to see the red staining Altaïr’s robes. Altaïr looked up at him as he firmly clasped his shoulder. His eyes were brighter now but still hazy and uncomprehending.

“Inside,” was all Maria replied. Malik nodded. Together they lifted Altaïr back to his feet and carried him inside the Bureau’s sanctuary.

“Lay him on the counter,” Malik instructed as he swept the books and quills hastily to the floor. Altaïr grunted and clawed at his side as Maria did so. His forehead shone with sweat.

“Water,” Malik gestured to the rafiq, who darted off.

“Who did this to you, brother?” Malik asked softly, his hand back on Altaïr’s shoulder. Altaïr was too weak to reply.

“Later,” snapped Maria. She drew her hidden blade and used it to slice open the sodden, bloody fabric around Altaïr’s wound. Malik nodded and helped her as they peeled away the robes to reveal Altaïr’s chest.

“By God…” Malik whispered. Criss-crossing Altaïr’s torso were at least five deep cuts, all quite fresh and unbandaged. A few had crude stitches holding them shut, including that at his side, where the threads had been broken by the movement of the last few hours. Several looked badly inflamed. Each was at a different stage of healing, and there was an awful precision to the sharpness of their edges. This had been deliberate.

The rafiq returned with a large jug of water. As Maria stepped back, stroking her hand across Altaïr’s forehead, Malik carefully poured the water onto the wounds. Altaïr started at the sensation, and Maria had to press his shoulders firmly back to the table. Again he mumbled something, his head rolling from side to side, but she couldn’t make out what it was. As the blood caked around his side washed, away the worst injury became clear. Malik examined it closely.

“This will require stitches. But first we must stop the bleeding.”

He motioned Maria to pass him a clean section of fabric. Folding it, he placed it carefully over Altaïr’s side and then positioned his hand on top and leant down with all of his weight.

Altaïr’s reaction was immediate. He cried out - in fear as well as pain - and his bleary eyes shot open and darted around wildly. “No no no. Not again. Stop this. Not again!” he gasped. His hands were gripping the edges of the table, knuckles shining and muscles shaking. Startled, Malik and Maria leapt back. As the pressure relented, Altaïr relaxed and fell back, his chest heaving.

“Altaïr?” Maria said uncertainly, taking his hand. “It’s us. We’re trying to help you. You’re safe. It’s alright.”

Altaïr made no reply, once again turning towards the sound of her voice but not seeming to be able to focus on anything around him. She squeezed his hand but got no reply.

Dismayed, Malik picked up the material and hesitantly pressed it back against Altaïr’s side. Altaïr cried out again and his legs kicked out, knocking the jug of water off the edge of the table top.

“Hold him down!” instructed Malik. The rafiq scurried to Altaïr’s legs and gripped both of his ankles where the restraints had cut into them, pressing them down hard. Altaïr writhed and fought even harder. Maria gripped his shoulders and leant over him, forcing him flat. She could feel his whole body trembling under her palms. He continued to moan “No no no no…” over and over.

“It’s alright, my love,” she whispered soothingly down at him. He didn’t seem to hear her.

Malik pressed down on the cloth again and Altaïr let out a strangled cry. His breath was coming in short, panicky gasps, and his body jerked as he tried to fight off whatever foes he was seeing through his clouded eyes. His cries and murmurs grew gradually louder as the others stood around anxiously and waited for the pressure to stop the bleeding. It seemed that whatever potions de Carreo had inflicted on him were beginning to wear off.

The fabric slowly stained red as it soaked up Altaïr’s blood. Eventually, the bleeding appeared to slow enough for Malik to cease the pressure and remove the cloth. He began to prepare a needle and thread for the stitches. Altaïr quietened and relaxed a little, giving Maria a chance to stretch her arms. They were already aching with the exertion of holding him down. And the worst was yet to come.

Malik managed to thread the needle and turned apprehensively to Altaïr. He steadied himself, and then reached down towards the edge of the wound.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. Then he pierced the needle point into the flesh.

Altaïr screamed. A raw, guttural howl of agony and horror, tearing out of him as his body bucked and thrashed against their grip. Tears pricked in Maria’s eyes. This was awful. What had de Carreo done to him to make him so frantic to escape?  If it wasn’t taking all of her strength to hold him down against the table, she longed to cup his face, to do whatever it would take to make him realise that he was safe and with friends, and that - whatever horrible things had been done to him - it was all over now. They weren’t trying to hurt him. A teardrop dripped from her eye and fell down onto Altaïr’s chest.

Malik continued with the stitches, staring intently and grim-faced at his work and obviously trying to block out all the other distractions. Maria wondered how he could manage it. At least the quicker the wound was stitched, the sooner Altaïr’s pain would be over. A broken whimper escaped from Altaïr’s mouth amidst the roars and gasps of pain. His struggles were growing weaker, though it still needed both Maria and the rafiq to hold him still enough for Malik to work. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and every inch of his face was contorted with agony, his eyes screwed tight.

“Stop. Please stop,” he managed to plead, his voice beginning to break. Maria’s heart twisted at the desperation in his voice. She’d never seen him like this before. He was always so strong. Seeing him like this… it hurt more than she could bear.

“Nearly done,” Malik muttered. He pulled the last of the stitches through Altaïr’s blood-stained side - eliciting another gurgled cry - and snapped the thread off at the end. Altaïr’s body slowly slackened as the pain ceased, and he collapsed exhausted against the table, eyes still closed and panting heavily. Maria removed her shaking hands from his arms and went to stroke his face again. He flinched weakly away from her touch at first, but seemed too weary to keep fighting. His skin was as hot as ash underneath her hand.

“It’s finished, my love. Rest now,” she whispered.

“I will prepare somewhere for him to rest,” said the rafiq, and vanished into the courtyard.

Malik fetched clean bandages and began to carefully wrap them around Altaïr’s chest, concealing the horrible wounds. Maria breathed a small sigh of relief as she lifted Altaïr’s now-limp form up so that the cloth could be passed underneath. His head lolled weakly against her, eyelid fluttering, but he remained silent as they worked, and only let out a faint moan as she set him down again.

Once the bandages were done, Malik warily reached for Altaïr’s wrist and inspected the damage. The skin there had been rubbed raw to the point of bleeding, and cut into by the edges of the restraints. Altaïr flinched ever so slightly away. Saying nothing, but with a grave expression, Malik poured out two bowls of water, and clean pieces of cloth to go with them. He handed one to Maria, and then, taking a wrist each, they began to slowly wash away the blood from Altaïr’s skin. The depth of the cuts and bruised skin around them was gradually revealed, but it still looked better, cleaner, without days’ worth of crusted redness. Altaïr lay still, exhausted.

“How could we have allowed this to happen?” Malik murmured quietly, not looking up.

Maria shook her head. They could never have foreseen something like this.

“I take it the one responsible is-”

“-Dealt with,” Maria finished, her voice cold. Dead by her blade. As he goddamn deserved. “He will never lay hands on an innocent again,” she said.

Malik nodded, seeming satisfied.

They cleaned, dried and bandaged both of Altaïr’s wrists and then his ankles. Altaïr barely stirred as they worked, though Maria could tell by the heavy rhythm of his breaths that he was still conscious. Then the rafiq returned and together he and Maria lifted Altaïr’s listless form off of the table and carried him out to the courtyard, where the rafiq had arranged rugs and cushions for him to rest on. Bowing respectfully, the rafiq returned indoors, and after offering a consoling hand on her shoulder, Malik followed him, leaving Maria and Altaïr alone.

Maria sighed deeply and gazed at Altaïr with sorrow as she stroked his forehead. His brow furrowed slightly into a frown and she watched intently as his eyes slid blearily open. They were glazed with pain and confusion, but not as worryingly blank as they had been before.

“…Maria?” he whispered weakly.

“It’s me, my love. I’m here,” she squeezed his hand.

His gaze flickered around the empty courtyard. “…W-Where…?” he croaked.

“You’re safe, you’re back at the Bureau.” She ran a hand through his tangled hair and smiled softly. “It’s all over.”

Seeming relieved to hear it, Altaïr slumped back into the cushions and his eyes fluttered slowly closed again. She gazed down tenderly at him as his breathing settled and the last of the tension drained out of his body. His forehead was still very hot and clammy to the touch, which aroused a wave of concern in her, but seeing him almost peaceful and back with them, safe, was enough to dampen the worry for now. She leant over and placed a quiet kiss on his forehead, and then left him to his rest.

*             *             *

Altaïr’s fever broke on the third day.

It had been a horrific ordeal for Maria to watch as he suffered and burnt up from the inside out, and there were dark moments in the dead of night when she honestly didn’t know if he was going to pull through. She had barely slept since they had brought him back. Though she and Malik took it in shifts to stay by Altaïr’s side, she found that not even the bone-deep exhaustion was enough to steal her away from fear for him when she tried to get some rest.

Malik, likewise, seemed grey with tiredness, bitten with worry, and constantly uneasy. When it had become apparent that the fever ravaging Altaïr’s body wasn’t abating, he’d sent the rafiq out to seemingly every apothecary in the city for any poultices and tinctures that might help calm the infection. Maria got the sense that he didn’t really know what to do for Altaïr much better than she did.

They applied fresh poultices to Altaïr’s wounds often. At first, it needed both of them, as Altaïr continued to try to fight them off, but as he grew weaker and more delirious in the grip of the fever, Maria found she could manage alone. She still couldn’t stand to look directly at the cruel incisions as she carefully peeled away the old bandages and replaced them with fresh cloth. Altaïr would still stir whenever anyone touched him. He was too feverish to be fully conscious - when his eyes were open, they were dull and distant, and never managed to stay open for long. During the worst of the waves, he began to writhe underneath his blankets. His head would toss from side to side, his face twisted with anguish, and his hands clutched emptily at the air or sometimes at his bandages. Maria had to gently pry his clawing hands away, and often sat for many hours holding them at the wrists and trying to soothe him back into sleep.

He also shied away when she tried to help him drink the potions they’d acquired. Whether that was because of the foul taste, or because of associations with whatever had happened to him during his captivity, she didn’t know. It broke her heart, but she still patiently cradled his head and poured each dose down his unwilling throat.

What distressed her the most, however, were the quiet cries that constantly slipped from his lips. He would call out through the delirium with muffled curses or pleas as he tried to fight against whatever invisible demons he was imagining around him, or sometimes mumble strange things she didn’t understand, about mankind or science or morality, apparently arguing with people who weren’t there.

On one occasion he seemed to ask after her, and for a moment her heart was lifted, thinking he had finally returned to them, but when she leant close over him and whispered “I’m here”, he just continued to repeat the same breathless murmurs - “Maria… w-where are… where are you…” - eyes unseeing. Eventually she tried to harden her heart to his cries, and just stayed for hours by his side, tending to his injuries and wiping gently at his clammy forehead with a damp cloth.

On the third day, she was almost dozing off with Altaïr’s head cradled in her lap, when suddenly she heard him speak. “Maria?” His voice was croaky, but sounded more his own than it had since he first descended into the haze of the fever. Hope leapt in her heart and she looked down at him. His eyes were fully open, bright and alive and gazing up at her. He moved to sit up, and though he grimaced and pressed a hand to his chest, with Maria’s help he managed to get upright. He looked around the courtyard and then turned back to her.

“How long have I been out?”

Her face broke into a smile as relief flooded her. “Three days, my love. I thought- …I worried you would not return to us.”

She rubbed at the back of his hand. He squeezed back hers back.

“I dreamt… ” - he frowned - “…strange things.” A dark look crossed his face like a cloud eclipsing the sun. Maria held his hand tighter.

“De Carreo is dead,” she announced. “And the rest of his patients have been liberated.”

Altaïr nodded, but Maria could see in his eyes that his mind was still elsewhere, doubtless dwelling on the last clear memories he had. He shuddered ever so slightly, but then he blinked and turned to smile at her, this time consciously.

“Did you come alone?” he asked, surprised.

Maria shook her head quickly, suddenly remembering. “Malik!” she called out loudly.

There was the sound of movement from inside the Bureau, followed by a loud thump and muffled cursing, and then Malik appeared in the doorway. His hair was dishevelled and he looked dazed, but his eyes shone as he noticed Altaïr.

“Brother, you’re awake!” he cried, smiling widely.

He rushed to kneel beside them, and grasped Altaïr’s shoulder firmly.

“It is good to have back with us,” he said. His voice was warm with sincerity and relief.

Altaïr bowed his head and lifted a hand weakly to his chest in acknowledgement. The shift in position made him wince and Maria felt his weight suddenly pressing back on her again as he faltered. “Easy, my love,” Maria calmed him. Malik quickly caught Altaïr by his other shoulder and they lowered him back against the cushions. A few beads of sweat had reappeared on his forehead and his eyes were outlined with frown-lines as his face twisted with pain.

Maria picked up the wet cloth and dabbed gently at his face. He leant subtly into the cool of the cloth as Malik unfastened his robes and began to unbandage his chest. “Just breathe,” Maria whispered. Removing the bandages, Malik examined the injuries underneath.

“Argh! Son of a jackal…” Altaïr flinched and cursed beneath his breath as Malik pressed carefully at the edges of the cuts.

“Apologies, brother,” Malik responded, but with a wry smile. He finished his examination and straightened up. “Your wounds are healing well,” he declared happily. “In a few days, we should be able to return to Masyaf. It will be better for you to finish healing there.”

*             *             *

Two days later, the three assassins sat aside their heavily-burdened horses, the road ahead winding into the parched mountains and Jerusalem slowly disappearing into the sand-haze behind them. Maria rode behind Altaïr, keeping a watchful eye on him. His injuries were not yet fully healed and she knew the jostling of riding had to be paining him, but he seemed to handle his steed confidently on the rocky path. The strength of this man she called her beloved never ceased to amaze her.

She paused and turned to look back at the city. She hoped it would be a long time before they ever had to return to Jerusalem. She felt no doubt that they would both be plagued by the memories of what had happened there for some time to come. But for now at least, they could put it behind them and focus on returning Altaïr to his full strength.

“What is it, my love?” Altaïr’s voice cut across her senses. She turned back around. He and Malik had halted their steeds, and were waiting for her. Altaïr’s face was lined with concern as he gazed at her. Another pang of love for him blossomed in her heart. She drew her horse alongside his, and leant over to him.

“Nothing, my love,” she smiled, and kissed him deeply, feeling his lips soften beneath hers as he ardently returned the kiss.

Malik sighed with feigned impatience ahead of them. Altaïr’s mouth rose into a smirk as he and Maria slowly parted and settled back into their saddles. Then, spurring their horses on, they continued together along the path towards home.

[alexhogh7137]

The Battle Between Love and Fire-

Ivar the Boneless × Reader

Chapter Thirty: The Hidden Door

Chapter Twenty-Nine pt Two

Word Count 3.2k

Warnings: Slight angst, some fluff

When you and Ivar got in bed, he stayed up for the longest time: playing with your hair, messaging your arm with his fingertips, kissing your forehead, fiddling with your fingers that rested on his chest. He lost you tonight, how long? He does not know, but it was long enough for his liking. He can't get over the fact that he could have lost you forever, which makes him feel sick to his stomach. You notice how he has not fallen asleep yet so you look up at your husband.

"Ivar?" You say, half asleep from dozing off.

Ivar smiles, "Yes sweetheart?"

"You haven't slept yet, have you?"

Ivar "No, not yet."

"Are you okay?"

Ivar "I am fine my sweet. I'm just admiring you, I-" you lean up slightly to connect your lips to his. He grabs your face and holds you for a moment before you both have to break away for air.

"I know when you are worried, Ivar."

Ivar sighs, "I have every right to be worried..you are my wife."

"Your wife who is alive and in your arms, hun.."

Ivar "And I cannot thank the gods enough for bringing you back to me. I don't know what I'd do if-"

"Don't."

Ivar "You are my entire world, Y/n. Without you, I'd have no one, nothing to live for."

"You have your brother's-"

Ivar "No I don't. Hvitserk and I have grown close only because of you. We bond over the love we share for you. And Ubbe just loves me because we are brother's.."

"You have your people.."

Ivar "My people do not love me princess. They went against me multiple times. Like I said..you are all I have. You are the only one that truthfully loves me."

"I do Ivar. I have loved you from the moment I met you and I will love you for as long as I live."

Ivar smiles, "I know that to be true, and I love you the same. That is why tonight is haunting me."

"I am right here, my beloved." He squeezes you, holding you tighter in his arms.

Ivar "And I'm not letting you go."

"I never want you to let me go. We have forever together.."

Ivar "Yes we do." He leans down and kisses you ever so gently. "I love you."

"And I love you. Now shut those beautiful eyes of yours and get some rest."

Ivar chuckles, "Yes my queen."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning comes and when everyone awakes, everyone is absolutely exhausted and look like they are ill. Hvitserk's eyes are almost swollen shut from all of the crying he did last night, and Ubbe and Torvi have been up since first light. 

Hvitserk "I'm relieved that you are still coming out of that bedroom door Y/n." You don't respond, only hugging him. He hugs you back, taking it all in.

Ivar "Ubbe is out there, yes?"

Hvitserk "Yes, him and Torvi. Everyone has been working since first light."

Ivar "Good."

Hvitserk looks down at you, "How are you feeling?"

"Sore.."

Hvitserk "Can I see?" You nod and show him your chest. It is reddened and looks very irritated. "gods.."

"I am fine."

Hvitserk "If you say so princess."

"I-" you attempt to speak but you get cut off by your carrier running towards you three.

"A letter, my king!" Ivar takes it immediately and opens it with great haste. You see his eyes scatter along the piece of parchment as he reads in a hurry. You study his face to see if his mood changes in any way, shape or form.

Hvitserk "Is it-"

"Thyra?"

Ivar smiles, "Yes, she is alright!" You breathe out in relief to hear that your friend was alive and well. "She has agreed to help us."

"That is great news!"

Ivar "It is-"

Hvitserk "But..?"

Ivar "She needs time."

"How much time?"

Ivar "Three days."

Hvitserk "We have to inform Rollo of this setback."

Ivar "Yes, you go do that." Hvitserk agrees and walks off.

"What are your thoughts?"

Ivar "We do not really have any other choice but to wait."

"Can I see the letter?" He hands it to you for you to read.

The letter reads as follows: Hello Y/n. I am sorry for the delay, your father has been monitoring my actions very closely. But I will of course help you and your husband in the retrieval of the weapons. I know that your dragons mean a great deal to you and I can not fathom seeing you lose any of them. With that being said, I ask for three days to make absolutely sure that everyone will keep you, king Ivar and his men safe. In some way, I must get a few guardsmen to help me and that will take time to negotiate. So I ask for this time, please. I hope you are okay, my friend. I hope to see you soon.

-Thyra

You look up at Ivar who still does not know what to think. You hand him the parchment back and rest into his side as he grabs your waist.

Ivar sighs, "At least your friend is alright, hmm?"

"Yeah, that puts my mind at ease."

Ivar "Rollo will not be happy with this set back-"

"Well we either wait three days or my dragons die." Ivar's eyes gloss with sadness. He has grown to love your three magnificent creatures and would be heartbroken if something happened to them. 

Ivar "We will wait, my dear. Do not worry, okay?"

"Yes...if we do wait the three days, that means only seven days left to prepare for the siege. And Rollo is coming in from-"

Ivar "I know..I know. Perhaps the gods knew something that we don't. Everything will work out in our favor, I promise."

"Don't promise me that. Just promise to never leave me.."

Ivar "Y/n."

"I can't lose you Ivar. Just like you can't lose me.." he leans down, cups your cheeks and kisses you.

Ivar "I'm not going anywhere. You give me every reason to keep fighting..to live."

"I love you."

Ivar "And I love you, my love."

The remainder of the day was rough to say the least. You helped Ubbe, Hvitserk and Torvi clean up the village as best as you could. Ubbe kept making you stop and take breaks because he knew the pain that you were in. Bless his heart. Your family is so loving and you feel blessed to have this life that you have now. But you know that your past is not over with, but it will be soon and you can move on completely. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three Days Later…

Yesterday, Thyra wrote to Kattegat once more: telling us to arrive in the back of the kingdom, rather than the front entrance. She stated that she has over ten guards in on this retrieval plan and that everything will go smoothly. 

You ride in the ship with Ivar and his brothers instead of traveling my dragon. They need to stay safe, they need to stay home. They of course were resistant to the idea of leaving you but you reassured them that you will return to them as soon as possible. All three of them watched you leave and whimpered until you were out of sight. 

Ivar "They really love you, princess."

"I know they do. I've raised them, they are like my children.."

Hvitserk "They are. You are a mother of dragon's."

Ubbe "What a title!"

You smirk, "I will hold that title proudly."

Ivar "A mother of dragons, married to a viking God.."

"And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Ubbe "You are not a God, Ivar."

Ivar "To you I am not. But that is not what my heart tells me." Hvitserk scoffs.

"Let's just get this job done and go home.."

Ivar "We will, my love. Your friend made it clear. We will be in and out, yes?"

Ivar held you from behind as you all looked at your horizon. So vast with so much potential. You breathe in the fresh, cool air and as it fills your lungs, you sigh from the peacefulness of this very moment. Ubbe looks at you with a smile on his face. He admires you, not only as a warrior, but also as a strong woman that you are. You have endured many battles, whether it being internal or physical, you have endured it all but you are still here. He is proud to call you his sister, much more than he was his last one, Freydis. He knew deep down that she was an issue but he of course kept that to himself. 

Hvitserk "We should be there soon." You take a deep breath and lean more into Ivar for comfort. He holds you and rubs your skin.

Ivar whispers, "You're going to be by my side the whole time..I'm not going to let anything happen to you." You slowly nod but think to yourself, 'Right..I've been taken while you slept by my side...and I got stabbed five days ago..' Hvitserk looks at Ivar with disgust. He heard his whisper and knew that he has said that in the past but look at everything that has happened. He wished that he could have been the one who was stabbed, not you. If he could take away your aches, he would. If anyone will keep you safe, it's him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the castle comes into your sight, like you expected, you felt the panic set in. So much so that you almost pass out from the fear of coming in contact with your father.

Ivar "Put your mask on, my love." You agree and place a black piece of cloth over your mouth and nose to hide your face besides your eyes. Ivar puts his hood over his head, same with Ubbe and Hvitserk. When you stand up, Hvitserk grabs your hand in reassurance. 

Hvitserk "You've got this kitten."

"Jus-just don't let him take me again..promise me."

Hvitserk "Y/n, I am not letting you out of my sight. No one is going to harm you, I swear it."

"I just want to get the weapons and leave immediately."

Hvitserk "And we will. I know that you are scared," you look up at him, "and you have a right to be. Your father has done barbaric things to you..if I could have stopped it back then, I would. I would save you from all that heartache but I am here now." He looks around the boat, "We are all here now. We can protect you now, princess. So look at me," your eyes lock with his, "I promise that you will be safe. I love you, I'm not going to lose you again." You lean into Hvitserk so that he can kiss your forehead, making your eyes close from the comfort that it brings you.

"I love you too, Hvitty."

He looks at you and bursts out laughing, "Hvitty? I love it. Is that going to be my nickname from now on?"

"If you would like."

Hvitserk "I would love that, I love anything that you call me."

Ubbe "We are here, come on brother's."

Ivar takes your hand and keeps you attached to his side while Ubbe and Hvitserk get out of the boat first.

…

As soon as you reach the back entrance, you see 5+ guardsmen guarding the back entrance with Thyra in front of them. You sigh and run to her. Ivar hisses for you to return to his side but you do not listen. When Thyra sees you, she runs and embraces you like she hasn't seen you in years. 

Thyra "Are you okay? Please tell me you've been okay!"

"I'm fine..are you-"

Thyra "I'm fine too-"

Ivar "Where are they?"

Thrya "They are inside."

Ubbe "We get that, where?"

Thyra "Follow me." Everyone, including you, hesitate to follow her. "There are guards inside..they know to keep the king away from that room.."

Ivar "What if they betray you-"

Thyra "Look, if you thought that I would betray you, then why did you come?"

Ivar "Watch how you talk to me.." he said very sternly.

Thyra "My apologies. But we cannot stand here and talk, the longer we wait, the less confident I am with this being successful. So please, follow me." Ubbe goes first, then you and Ivar, then Hvitserk. Being inside the castle is a struggle for you. But it brings you some security knowing that you have your husband and his brother's with you at all times. Ivar singles his men to surround you all. The warriors have their swords drawn and their shields up. 

She walks out into the hallway and you all pause. Ivar holds his finger up to his lips to signal everyone to stay absolutely quiet.

Ubbe draws his ax, "I don't like how we are in the open."

Hvitserk "If anything happens, she's going next." He gestures over to Thyra and Ubbe agrees. If Thyra is betraying you all, then she is the cause. 

Thyra "It's in here." She whispers, heading towards a door. You recognize the door and get flashbacks so strong that it makes your knees buckle. You can see your younger self, running towards this door and your mother holding it open for you. She always tried her hardest to keep you from your father's wrath. 

Ivar "My love.."

"Huh?"

Ivar "Look at me.." you stray your eyes from the door to meet your husband's eyes, "talk."

"It's...flashbacks."

Ivar "Can you go in? If not, I will stay out here with you."

"I have to see the weapons myself..I know where they are. I have to go in." Ivar nods and walks with you hand in hand. Going in, your eyes lock to the cupboards that you used to hide in. Once everyone is in, the door is shut and three guardsmen guard it from the king or his men. Hvitserk takes off his hood and looks down at you.

Hvitserk "Is it in here?" You don't answer, you just walk towards a part in the wall that looks 'off'. You kneel down and put your nails in the cracks, opening a hidden door, revealing a pile of weapons. 

Ivar "Son of a bitch.." he says as you pull out every last steel weapon from the hole in the wall.

Hvitserk "I have never seen such a weapon." You look at the tip and get furious.

"They were not made to kill men and women. He made these specifically to kill dragon's."

Ubbe "Why would he do that? Didn't he have dragons himself?"

"Yes he did. I don't know why he would wish to kill them."

Thyra "Y/n.." you look up at her and then it clicks in your mind. He had these weapons made when he decided on gifting you the three dragon eggs. Right after he made up his mind, your mother was killed, that is how she knew where he hid them from you. 

You stand up and hand them to your warriors, "Let's go home."

Ivar "Y/n," he grabs you because he can tell that your mood has shifted drastically, "my love?"

"Ivar I need to leave before I run out of this room, find him, and kill him where he stands." Hvitserk grabs your hips as a reminder to breathe.

Hvitserk "Remember the mission-"

Ubbe "Lets go." He looks at his brother and lets you go. 

Ivar "Ubbe is right, let's just go. You will feel better once you are out of these walls."

He grabs your arms and pulls you out of the room. You all rush out of the castle, staying close together. Thyra stops by the door once you all are out and safe. You look back at your friend and feel your emotions get the best of you.

Thyra "Hey, don't cry." She pulls you into her arms, "I will be safe, just get out of here."

"Thank you, I love you so much."

Thyra "I love you more, now go." She pushes you and you all walk back to the boats. Once you are all in, you take your mask off and sit down. Mission complete, time to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ivar sighs once he sits down on the side of the boat, resting his legs. You sit on the floor, next to the weapons. Hvitserk and Ubbe sit down on each side of you. 

Ubbe nudges you, "You good sis?"

"Just angry."

Ubbe "Talk to us, maybe we can help." You spend time telling them what you realized back in that room. They listened and felt the anger in your voice. 

Ubbe "I am sorry that he even made these in the first place. But he does not have them anymore, we do. They won't be used on your dragons..they won't be used at all if you wish."

"I just want him gone.."

Hvitserk "He will be soon, Y/n." You nod and rest your head on his shoulder. Ivar smiles and looks off into the distance, thanking the gods that you are all safe and have successfully retrieved the weapons.

You stayed by Hvitserk until you reached Kattegat. You rose when you heard your dragon's shout for you. They got so excited that all three of them flew over the boat and hovered above you all. You greet them and thank the gods for your safe return. 

Ivar "Let's hide these weapons. I don't want anyone to know where they are except for us four, got it?"

"Yes, my king." The man said. You all got off and headed for the house. Torvi and her daughter ran to Ubbe in a loving greeting. Seeing Ubbe with his children (including Ragnar) makes you so excited to become a mom. You look down and rub your belly with a smile on your face. 

"I can't wait to meet you, little one." You say to her.

Hvitserk "Neither can I." You didn't know that he was behind you. You figured that he went inside already so it took you for a surprise.

"It feels like time is going by so slowly."

Hvitserk "That is only because you are eager. And once the siege is over, you will have more time to relax and focus on her growing, rather than worrying."

"You are right."

Ubbe "Lets go inside and eat, yeah?"

Torvi "Our hunters caught big today."

Hvitserk "Oh yeah, how big?"

Torvi "Biggest we've caught in a while." Hvitserk giddily runs into the house to see what we will all be eating. You and Torvi laugh. 

Torvi walks over and hugs you, "I am glad that today went well."

"As am I. I am glad that we came back in one piece." You force a laugh.

Torvi "Thank gods..come on, let's go feed you and the baby."

"Good, we are starving." You all enjoy your day and feast with cups of ale and lots of laughter. Today was a success and hopefully the siege that is bound to happen in just a few days, will be as successful as today's retrieval.

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