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writers-block-is-now-a-person · 3 years ago

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Even Truth Lies in the Thicket

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

The following days were a blur. I played countless melodies on countless instruments, just to please the countless guests Lady Elowyn entertained. All sorts of Ladies and Lords came to congratulate Elm, all asked questions of the shy Astria and how he managed to get her hand.

I ignored their conversations as much as I could. I was shivering through each performance, not from fear, but something colder in me, trying to tell me something. I ignored it, my music quality was more important than silly fear.

I think it had been a week since the announcement. I had played almost every hour of every day, my fingers and arms and lungs hurt. I had never realised how much pain plucking strings and blowing flutes could cause. I had been dressed in fine silk dresses and velvet suits for each performance. It was Lady Elowyn’s way of showing me off, as well as her newly high status.

It was just after dusk, the sun had turned the sky a deep purple, stars dotted the sky. The windows were open, allowing the cool breeze in and billowing the curtains. I was curled up on my bed, the pillows creating a small nest. Lady Elowyn let me rest properly for the night, after noticing the blisters on my fingers and the darkness under my eyes.

“I forgot you were mortal, your music seems so much more ethereal for such a weak creature,” she had said, guiding me to my rooms.

“Why should we take care of such a weak creature then?” Dale sneered from his perch by the window. “Wouldn’t it be less of a hassle to enchant the instruments?”

Lady Elowyn ignored her son, he continued to glare at me as we passed.

I had used the rest of Elm’s balm on my fingers, the pain made me hiss but the bumps had started to ease. I cradled my hands as I tried to get some rest. The fire in the grate burned slowly, the logs charred ash.

A rock bounced off the side of the bed, flying in from the window. I was too tired to investigate, fae threw rocks at mortals all the time.

Another rock, round and red. I knew who was throwing these stones. These red pebbles came from Locklan’s family estate, scattering the paths that wound through their maze and gardens. Locklan wanted something from me.

I could hear him climbing the vines and bricks of the house, he was not a very good climber. His red hair and wide smile popped into the window frame. His amber eyes glowing.

“Heard the songbird was given a rest, how’s the preening?” He shimmied himself onto the sill and propped his feet up on the frame. If this was a different story, he would be prince charming coming to save the princess locked away in the tower.

I tried to smile. “My hands hurt too much to brush my hair, and I have no need for vanity.”

“So I’ve heard, songbird,” Locklan gazed around the room. He never minded the mess, his family thrived in mess and chaos. His family’s mansion was always littered with drunk fae from revels and all the ruined extravagance that came with them.

I still felt embarrassed, Lady Elowyn would faint if she knew another fae had seen the state of my rooms. I pulled my feet under me and cleared my dry throat. “Why are you here?”

Locklan rolled his head to face me, his eyes narrowed, he smiled smugly. “You know, dear songbird, so why chirp and question?”

I did know, but I also hoped tonight would be different.

Locklan stepped into my room, swinging his legs over the seats under the window. He offered his hand to me, the fire made his silhouette glow. “Come along, little song bird, time to take flight.”

The sinking feel in my gut had left, now replaced with hatred and need. I took his hand gently, he was careful with my blisters. Locklan helped me into a long coat and tall riding boots, I didn’t realise how sensitive my hands would be after playing for a week.

We stuffed pillows under the embroidered quilts, creating the illusion that I was sleeping. Locklan climbed out first, using the thick wisteria vines as foot holds. I took my time, I was not taught to climb out windows, I was raised to perform.

The grass was soft under the boots, silencing my mortal steps. Locklan moved like wind, silent and flowing. He held the cuff of my coat and led me through the immaculate gardens of my own home. I never had time to admire the flowering gardens of Lord Bryn’s estate, the large and colourful flowers blurred around me as Locklan hurried through.

He pushed through the surrounding wall, thick rows of aspen trees and twisting ivy, holding my cuff tightly as he dragged me through.

We emerged into a clearing, where Opal and Evora waited patiently. Opal was fluttering, her moth wings, stirring up the leaves under her. She squealed with joy and took me in her arms.

“I’m so happy to see you! It has been ages since we last talked,” Opal smiled brightly, holding my face in her hands. She was wearing a black dress with fluffy skirts and thick slippers with ribbons that wound around her calves.

“Hush Opal, we don’t want to alert anyone!” Evora whispered, her dark green cloak matched her dark skin and eyes and covered her entirely, masking her ethereal beauty.

Opal pouted and took my hand, careful of the blisters. “Of course you wouldn’t worry about not seeing her, how many times as Harper played in the palace halls?”

Evora looked guilty. “Just because she’s played in my home doesn’t mean I could talk to her, I was crowded with suitors and questions at every turn!”

Opal wanted to retaliate, Locklan made a show of ruffling his coat to get our attention. “As much I love to reunite with our dear songbird, if we keep this up we won’t be back before dawn. And Lady Elowyn will have her head if she finds out that her songbird has left their cage.”

He was right, but he didn’t have to say it like that. We all followed him out of the aspen forest and into the thicket that surrounded Folkshire. Opal fluttered next me, then seemed to blink out of existence. The first time she did this, I almost screamed, I never expected her to turn into a real moth. Her family were luna moths, able to change their appearance from fae to moth instantly. Opals teal and green wings fluttered silently around my head, she seemed happy. I could faintly hear her voice giggling.

I watched Locklan closely, his transformation was always fascinating. His pace quickened into longer strides, he seemed to shrink in on himself as he leaned forward. His snout grew from his face, ears from his head, and soon he was a red fox trotting through the fallen leaves beside me.

“I wish I could morph, all the fae who morph get up to far more fun than me,” Evora huffed next to me, she seemed far to close.

“It is rather fun, until you get caught in a fox trap,” Locklan said, voice clear from fox jaws.

The fae who could morph themselves could still talk, that’s how you got stories of talking deer and foxes in the darkest parts of the woods. It was the fae, happy to create some stories to weary travellers.

Evora couldn’t morph, she didn’t have the power to. Only very few fae could, that’s why Locklan and Opal’s families were so well regarded.

We walked silently for a while, the forest was cold and silent, I pulled my coat tighter. To other travellers, we would be seen as two young girls following a fox and being pestered by a large moth. No doubt that would create stories of a clever fox guiding lost girls to the town.

The thicket grew denser, the trunks of the trees were thicker, their branches lower. I didn’t know what type of trees they were, I guess they were magic of some sort. They had dark green leaves and even darker wood. I’ve heard stories of the woods eating people, making them turn in circles, or making them walk for days on end only to emerge with having no time pass at all.

I never liked the thicket. I don’t like these trees.

Evora held tightly onto my coat. She wasn’t touching me exactly, and my arm kept trying to pull away from her. But I knew that if she let go, I would be lost. The magic of the thicket was far stronger and older than Lady Elowyn’s, only the fae born in Folkshire can navigate it. We climbed over fallen trees and through paths I would never have been able to see. Locklan led the way, Opal’s wings gave off a soft glow.

I knew Evora could see. That’s another thing the fae have over humans. With their senses being almost double mine, they have no trouble walking around in the dark.

We climbed over one last log. Months ago, Locklan had wedged one of his red pebbles into the wood, the pebble acting as a marker for us. We had broken through into a clearing of sorts, the magic trees had thinned out and I could see the cobbled road a few metres ahead.

Locklan sniffed the air, his whiskers twitching in the wind. “This way, not far now.”

Evora and I followed, Opal fluttered higher, desperate to see the lights of the little mortal town. We weren’t going into the town, not tonight. We traveled along the cobbled road, I could see tire tracks and hoof prints. I remembered the old horse ranch that was just on the outskirts of the town. My heart ached, it ached for something I never had.

With the thicket on one side, and the mortal forest on the other, I could see the difference in trees. The enchanted thicket seemed darker, impenetrable and untouchable. The thicket looked haunted. The oaks and pines on the mortal side looked harmless, leaves rustling in the wind, branches swaying slowly.

We kept walking, following Locklan as he guided us through the outer parklands of the town. I heard the sound of laughter, the smell of a campfire and melted chocolate. The sickening need in my heart hammered away, the greed ugly.

Locklan circled the camp first, then beckoned Evora and I forward. Evora whispered under her breath and blew, the air shimmered around us. She had used some sort of glamor, some spell to keep us hidden from human eyes. We huddled behind a fallen oak tree, it’s trunk thick with moss. Evora and I watched the group of mortals with wonder.

They sat on weathered stumps and chattered around the fire. Two sat close, one holding a spool of wool while the other knitted a blanket that was draped over both of them. One was leaning forward and gazing at the flames, they seemed distracted by the flickering heat. There were two others, one held a bright red ukulele and was laughing through jokes.

I knew who the one holding the ukulele was. It was me. It was the fae child they switched me with.

They had the same hair, face shape, eyes and even skin tone. But they looked nothing like me. They had clear skin and eyes that glowed in the light. Their hair flowed like silk and they held themselves with such confidence it made me feel fake. They looked like my reflection, but maybe they were the better version of me.

The mortals around them might not have seen it, but Evora and I could. I could see their pointed ears and teeth, the black slits replacing round pupils. They were fae, but they disguised themselves to look like me.

The mortal holding the spool of wool chuckled slightly. “Come on Harper, there’s no way Caroline’s jokes are that funny.”

The girl next to the fake Harper scrunched her nose. “And what would you know about humour?”

The spool holder smiled. “More than you, morgue girl.”

Caroline stood up, Spool Holder did as well. The knitter beside them made a startled sound and pulled the Spool Holder back down. The Spool Holder mumbled apologies and sat back down, smoothing out the blanket their friend was knitting.

Fake Harper stood up and smiled. “Come on guys, no need to be mean. We’re here to have fun. Let’s enjoy the time we have before school starts again and we are all flogged with homework.”

“Says you, Straight A’s,” the boy staring at the fire said, he seemed unimpressed. “You hand up your work the day after and it’s bloody perfect. You have no idea how long I’ve spent on essays.”

Fake Harper looked uncomfortable, they swung the ukulele under their arm and smiled. “Well, I have no control over you, but I have control over the mood.”

They plucked the strings, I cringed at their melody. The ukulele was in dire need of tuning but Fake Harper sang a crude song anyway. The group laughed and smiled and sang with him. Evora frowned next to me.

“They are nothing like you,” Evora said.

Locklan had prodded my side and pulled at my sleeve. He wanted us to leave. I tried to pull Evora along with me, but I couldn’t touch her. She seemed frozen in place, hands still placed on the mossy log.

I followed her gaze, she had locked eyes with the boy who had been staring at the fire. He seemed angry, or scared, or entranced by Evora’s beauty. Locklan had latched onto Evora’s sleeve with his jaws and pulled her away, dragging her out of her trance and through the oak and pine.

We ran quickly over the leaves and cobblestones. Locklan didn’t slow down as he leapt over the log we crawled over before. He didn’t slow his pace through the thicket either, not even stopping to check if we were following. I couldn’t see Opal, I hoped she was behind us.

Locklan stopped when we were on the fringes of the aspen forest that surrounded Lord Bryn’s property. Evora and I struggled to catch our breaths while Locklan shifted to his human form. His brow was knotted.

Opal appeared, she stretched her arms and wings. “Why the hurry? What went wrong?”

“He saw Evora, or Harper,” Locklan said. “I don’t who he saw, but he saw us.”

“Who did?” Opal questioned.

“The boy watching the fire,” Evora said, she sounded startled. “I don’t if he really saw us, or if he just heard Locklan in the leaves.”

“Do you think he could have seen you?” Opal asked, eyes wide with fear.

“Surely not, my glamor cannot be seen through by mortal eyes,” Evora said, still, her voice shook.

We had ventured out at night countless times in the past few months. These only started when I was bought by Lady Elowyn, before I was her property, I belonged to a market worker who used my music to attract customers. All of his woodcarvings were horrible, so he used my music instead. My melodies attracted Lady Elowyn and she bought me from him.

It didn’t take long for Locklan to notice me at revels, he pestered me with questions and jokes in an attempt to befriend me. Then he introduced me to Opal, who then brought Evora into our ring.

When Locklan learned of my Switching, he spent days trying to find my Fae Switch. Then we started sneaking out to see them. I have seen Fake Harper laugh riotously with their friends down a dark street, ride their bike over a large rock and go tumbling into a stream, throw stones over a frozen lake and then step onto the ice themselves, unafraid of the frozen waters. I’ve watched them and the friends I should have march down the street in coloured flags.

Every action they did, they looked exactly like me, but their wide smile and glowing eyes and pointed ears meant I could never be like them. I felt guilty for the humans my Switch had befriended, and knowing that they would never like the real me made me feel worse. I would never have that human life, of eating bright coloured ice cream that stained your tongue and singing loudly around a campfire. I could never have that, I never will.

Tonights adventure had shaken us, that human boy looked straight at us. None of us knew if he actually saw us, but the prospect of his knowing there were other people in the woods would create suspicion. From what I could remember, the boy watching the fire was called Flynn, he never talked much but followed Fake Harper even if he hated them.

“There’s no way he could have seen us!” Opal said. “Evora’s magic is too strong to be seen through by mortal eyes. There is nothing to worry about.”

Evora nodded, most likely to reassure herself. “Opal is right, he must have been looking at the shadows the fire created. My magic is not weak.”

Locklan crossed his arms, he didn’t seem convinced. “Well, if your so convinced that we were not caught, how about we all retire for the night. I heard there is a tournament tomorrow so Elm can prove his strength for Astria.”

Locklan was right. I have been watching Elm practise his sword skills in the garden today, I could tell he was anxious. Elm was not a knight, but he was skilled with a sword. I hoped he had enough skill and strength to win tomorrow.

Opal took my hands again, her wings kept her above me slightly. “We can’t follow you home, Harper, but we will see you tomorrow if you’re there.” She wrapped her arms around me, fluffy hair smothering me. “Sleep well, the stars will watch you rest.”

Opal often said that. With her mother being the Royal Astrologer, Opal often said whimsical things about the stars and planets. Opal would sometimes predict the future with the stars, sometimes she got it wrong, but she tried anyway.

She fluttered back, letting Evora say goodnight. She couldn’t touch me, but she tried anyway. Her dark eyes kind as she said goodnight. She left with Opal, heading towards the palace in silence.

“You shouldn't look at her like that, songbird,” Locklan said, his gaze careful. “Princesses don’t fall for mortals.”

“It’s not that Locklan, it never was,” I lied, thankful my mortal tongue could. “She seemed to be startled by that boy, he seemed to have shaken her.”

Locklan sighed. “Sometimes magic is weak when we don’t focus, something could have shimmered through.”

“Did you do anything?” I said, walking towards the ivy and aspen wall.

“I was under the log, watching the Fae Switch sing their horrid tune. I only noticed the boy look over when he didn’t look back to the fire,” Locklan admitted.

He couldn’t lie, not even slightly, so I knew he was telling me the truth. Locklan helped me through the ivy barricade and through the gardens. He didn’t have too, but he did. He followed me back up the wisteria wall and into my bedroom, helping me out of boots and coat.

“Can you manage the rest?” He said softly, gesturing to my clothes and the bed. The fire had died out, only warm coals left, my room was cold.

“I’ll be fine Locklan, I’m not as weak as you think I am,” I didn’t mean to be harsh, but I hated being insulted by fae.

“I never meant it like that, you know I would never insult you,” he couldn’t lie, I knew he was honest. “I just wanted to make sure you’re all right. I know that sometimes our adventures leave you desperate for reassurance.”

He was trying to be kind, but his words still stung. I swallowed the hurt and smiled. “I’m fine Locklan, truly.” I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tightly, his coat smelled of woodsmoke and cinnamon. “Thank you Locklan.”

He hugged me tightly back. He let go slowly and creeped back out the window. “Goodnight, little songbird.”

He was gone, and all was left was silence. I closed the window and flipped the latch, keeping them locked for a while. I changed into something less tight and buried myself under the heavy quilts. I only had a few hours until sunrise, then a few sparse hours before I was needed.

I tried to sleep, but the face of the Fae Switch flashed in my head. Their perfect face taunting me. I could never be them, I could never be that perfect.

All I saw was the gaze of the boy by the fire. Flynn. His eyes were cold grey, he had startled Evora. He had seen something.

I couldn’t sleep, I tossed and turned in the blankets. My fingers ached, my head pounded. And my gut kept trying to tell me something. Something was wrong, or something bad was about to happen. And I know I would see it coming, only if I knew what it was.

The sun had peaked over the horizon, turning the sky pink and my room gold. I rolled over again, burring myself under the covers. Desperate the get some sleep, desperate for some rest.

#fae #story #new writing #chapter 2 #faeries #fox #moth #royal #forest #magic #flowers #garden #thicket #mystery #harper #music #writing #secrets #old forest

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creampuffqueen · 4 years ago

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With your heart in your hand (and your sword at your side)

a/n: here it is! the first request from my 300 follower celebration! this was requested by the lovely @morganofthewildfire, with the prompt “They’ve grown so much, it’s hard to believe how little they used to be”, with Rowaelin! enjoy!

~~~~

Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, queen of Terrasen, stood in the courtyard of her palace, fire flickering at her fingertips, watching as the two small children before her copied her stance and produced puffs of smoke that billowed from their hands.

“Good, Thallan,” She praised her son, smiling as a spark flew from his open palm and onto the stone ground. The boy grinned back at her, stretching his arms out further to focus the heat more.

“Aerith, that’s so good!” Aelin turned to the other child, her youngest daughter, feeling the heat at her side. The tiniest of flames fluttered from Aerith’s hand, and the girl’s blue-gold eyes lit up with delight.

“Mama! I’m doing it!”

The flame sputtered out a moment later, and Aelin couldn’t resist scooping up her daughter into a hug. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart!”

“Mama, look!” Thallan demanded her attention as a matching flame, twin to his sister’s, appeared in his palm.

Just like Aerith’s, Thallan’s flame didn’t last for more than a few seconds, but Aelin couldn’t care less. She pulled her littlest child toward her, relishing his squeal of delight.

“Both of you are doing so well!”

“Can we show Daddy?” Aerith begged, pointing to the sky. Aelin’s gaze followed the little finger, her grin widening as she saw the white-tailed hawk that was circling the courtyard.

“Of course you can. I know he’ll be impressed.”

Rowan dove to the ground, shifting in a flash of light and landing on his feet. The two five-year-olds escaped their mother’s grip to run to him, clinging to his legs.

“Daddy!” Thallan shouted excitedly, “Watch us! Me and Aerith can make fire like Mommy can!”

Rowan locked eyes with his mate across the yard, and she leaned against one of the walls with a smirk. Watch them, she said with her eyes, They both can do it.

“I’m gonna be the best fire wielder in the world!” Aerith laughed, focusing hard on the tips of her fingers. Fire danced at the tip of each one, for barely half a second, before going up in puffs of smoke. “Did you see that, Daddy?”

“That’s so good, sweetheart.” Rowan praised, his smile so wide that his pointed canines could be seen. “And you learned that so quickly.”

Beaming at his compliment, Aerith repeated her actions over again, producing small flames that went up in smoke.

Thallan tugged at his father’s hand, demanding his attention. “Daddy, I’m gonna be even better than Aerith.”

“Well, nobody can be better than Lyria,” his twin sniped back, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “So there.”

“Don’t start fighting, you two.” Rowan sighed. “Thallan, show me your fire. I’m sure both of you are incredible.”

He always knew just what to say. Aelin watched happily as her children both produced small bursts of flame. At five years old, they had already achieved a lot power-wise. Both of them were creating snowstorms in their cribs when they were toddlers, and their powers had only grown.

Recently, the two children had gotten overexcited during a game of hide and seek and set a curtain on fire, leading to their current situation; Aelin training both of them with her power of fire.

After showing off to his father, Thallan distracted his twin’s attempts at creating more fire by starting a game of tag. The high pitched squeals of the two children running around the courtyard were music to Aelin’s ears.

With Aerith and Thallan distracted, Rowan made his way over to his wife and mate. He wrapped a strong arm over her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her hair.

“Remember when they were so little?” Aelin sighed. Thallan nearly tagged his sister, but she shifted into her animal form at the last second, causing him to miss. The hawk she’d transformed into gave an indignant squawk, and flew up to the tallest tree.

“They’ve both grown so much.” Rowan agreed. “It’s hard to believe that they used to be that little.”

“Wasn’t it just yesterday they were just babies?” Aelin could feel herself starting to get emotional, and she wiped futilely at her eyes. “Wasn’t it just yesterday all of them were babies?”

“They grow up too fast.” Her mate murmured gently in her ear. “Remember how Lyria and Sam would crawl into our bed at dawn to snuggle?”

“Or how Aspen never liked to crawl, he was just sitting one day and walking the next?” Aelin sighed, reliving fond memories of her children.

“Or how Evalin would run around the palace with just her diaper and a tiara?” His hand rubbed gentle circles on her back as Aelin sniffed softly.

“And now they’re so big, Rowan.”

Before he could respond, Rowan’s attention caught on something in the sky. Aelin followed his gaze, a wet laugh escaping her throat as she saw her youngest children, both in their animal forms, chasing each other through the sky.

An ear-piercing shriek came from over the horizon, another bird flying over the high wall of the courtyard. Another white-tailed hawk, the same form as his father. Aspen shifted, landing on top of the wall, and waved to his parents.

“Hey Aspen, done with your schoolwork?” Aelin called, quickly drying her eyes.

“Uile air a dhèanamh*, Mama.” Her son replied proudly.

“Obair mhath, a mhic**.” Rowan replied in the Old Language. As part of their royal studies, Aelin and Rowan required all their children to study another language. Aspen, ever his father’s twin, chose to study the old language of the Fae.

“Are Aerith and Thallan practicing fighting?” Aspen asked, in common.

“Kids, do you want to show your brother what you can do?” Rowan called to the hawks in the sky. Both birds squawked back, and dove fast for the courtyard.

“Aspen we can make fire!” Aerith squealed, mouth already moving a thousand miles per hour straight from her animal form. “Watch watch watch!”

The twins proceeded to show off their new skills proudly, while their older brother looked on happily from his perch on the wall. Aelin glanced up at the sky, watching as the sun began to dip low.

“I think it’s almost time for dinner, yeah?” Rowan asked, interrupting Aspen showing the twins a move to control wind, “Let’s head in.”

“Rachamaid ithe!” Aspen cried happily, clearly trying to show off. When Aerith gave him a confused look, he translated, “Let’s go eat!”

Inside the palace, Aelin and Rowan sat at the dinner table, taking in the scenery of all their children gathered in one place.

Lyria, ever the princess, eating prim and proper. Sam, sunk low in his seat, arms crossed sullenly as he and his older sister quipped back and forth. Aspen, speaking rapidly in the Old Language to whoever would listen. Evalin, trying to get her little sister to hold still long enough to braid her silver hair. Aerith and Thallan, subtly flicking bits of dinner at each other.

Their family was messy and chaotic, and growing up far too quickly for her liking, but sitting there, eating dinner with all of them, Aelin wouldn’t trade them for the world.

~~~~

a/n: i used Scottish Gaelic for the Old Language, with just google translate, so it’s likely to not be correct. if anyone speaks that language, feel free to correct me!

Uile air a dhèanamh: All done

Obair mhath, a mhic: Well done, son

#mal's 300 follower celebration #mal writes stuff #fanfiction #throne of glass #tog #sarah j maas #tog gen 2 #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius

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halloweenismyfav · 4 years ago

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《 Here's Mallory's relationship list! Up next is Thorn's. I included my other OCs here too, along with RSA! (You can clearly see which ones I've thought of more) This is a long one, so buckle up. 》

Mallory Robinett's Relationships

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts: Mallory has a strange fascination with Riddle. She was a Disney gal when on Earth, Alice in Wonderland being her favorite movie they made. She kinda hated the Queen of Hearts since she was all high and mighty, but when she saw Riddle...all she thought was "omg smol tsun tsun". After his overblot, she held him close and allowed him to hide his tears. Riddle finds her obsession fascination with him a bit odd, but he's seen weirder in his own dorm, so he just lets her do her thing and is her friend nonetheless.

Trey Clover: "Big brother Trey". That's pretty much it. One time, Mallory told Trey about chocolate-hazelnut wafers and how she loved them back on Earth, so he made them for her after. She was delighted and it's become tradition for them since. He's basically her big bro. It's pretty wholesome.

Cater Diamond: Mallory finds Cater a bit annoying, she won't lie. She just finds the whole "influencer" thing a bit odd. Other than that, she doesn't entirely mind Cater. They don't talk all too often however, so they don't know each other too well. Mallory hopes to have that change before they graduate or before she goes home.

Ace Trappola: If these two are seen together, you may wanna run. Mallory and Ace are pretty much inseparable after finally getting along during Heartslabyul's episode. Mallory will admit, she finds Ace attractive, and she's said it to him before on a couple occasions. She may feel more than just that, but she doesn't like love and stuff like that, so she tries to ignore her rapidly beating heart whenever she's with Ace...

Deuce Spade: Deuce is one of the few people who sees Mallory's sweet side. She always makes sure he stays in line and if he starts to go all delinquent-mode, she pulls a "pull it together major". Of course, that's only if he starts to go overboard. Mallory knows what it's like to feel like a disappointment to a parent, so she reassures Deuce that it'll get better if he's truly wanting to be better.

Thorn Valley: Oh, these two despise each other. The only thing they can agree on is that they dislike Leona and that's pretty much it. Some people at NRC like to say they're like an old married couple(mainly Cater) and they always have to clarify that they hate each other. They can tolerate each other during events like Fairy Gala and such, but even then, they'll still bicker.

Savanaclaw

Leona Kingscholar: Another person Mallory hates! She finds Leona's laziness a menace, while he gets a kick out of annoying her. Their relationship is similar to how Vil and Leona act to put it bluntly. They do have similar humor though, so it's strange whenever someone else sees them laughing together.

Ruggie Bucchi: One time Ruggie stole her sandwich and she makes sure he'll never live it down. Knowing he had a rough time back in the Afterglow Savana however, she tones it down by a lot. She knows he's a gremlin, but she also knows that he's a human like anyone else and tries to treat him with some kind of kindness and respect. They don't talk all too often, but they've talked enough to be considered a bit more than acquaintances.

Jack Howl: He gives her piggyback rides more often than you would think, but it's always cause she asks if he can. He can't say no to her face, he doesn't know why, so he goes along with it. He finds her more as his sister than anything, Mallory finding the feeling mutual. She loves to hang out with him and Epel, but the one time that Jack offered her to come with him and Vil to jog, she backed up ten feet and said no.

Octavinelle

Azul Ashengrotto: Mallory was infuriated when Azul took Ramshackle away from her and Grim for those couple days. She was doing that thing where she was telling Adeuce and Jack to "hold her (nonexistent) earrings" or to "hold her back". After finding out his backstory however, she softened, even if only by a bit. Her relationship with him got better after Scarabia's incident.

Jade Leech: Mallory doesn't like Jade, but she doesn't hate him either. He's probably the most tolerable person in Octavinelle to her. She was also close to slapping Jade once. She doesn't interact with him too often, so she can only go off of how he was during Octavinelle and Scarabia's episode.

Floyd Leech: Floyd is the vain of Mallory's existence. During the Octavinelle episode, she almost slapped him into oblivion. She honestly can't tell who she hates more, Thorn, Leona, or Floyd. He's constantly trying to "squeeze" her like he does with everyone else and she can't stand it. She doesn't like to talk to him and tries to avoid him when she can.

Marius Seymour: Mallory doesn't entirely mind Marius. She kinda finds his sadistic-ish personality a bit annoying, but she's learned that it's a reoccuring thing in Octavinelle. Marius' sadism isn't as bad as the other three. She lowkey ships him with Ashe and isn't shy about it. She finds him kinda fun to be around and likes to eat with him at lunch from time to time.

Scarabia

Kalim Al-Asim: The first time she talked to him, she knew that he was so precious and was wondering if he belonged at RSA. He's also one of the few people to see Mallory's sweet side. She can't bring herself to be sarcastic with him, so she acts almost entirely different with him. It basically goes as such...

----

Mallory: *being all sweet it Kalim*

Everyone else: Wow...

Mallory: What?

Everyone else: You're just so nice to him...

Mallory: Oh, I'm sorry, do you want me to yell?!

Everyone else: No-!

----

Jamil Viper: Mallory's...indifferent to Jamil. She almost slapped him after his overblot, yes, but she doesn't entirely hate him. She knows he was in Kalim's shadow for so long, so she doesn't have too much against him. She still isn't happy with how he treated and hypnotized Kalim, but she tries to let it go as much as her heart and brain will let her. She doesn't talk to him much after his overblot, but if she needs to talk to him, she won't throw a tantrum.

Pomefiore

Vil Schoenheit: At first, Mallory thought that she'd hate Pomefiore, especially Vil. But...she saw and heard how much effort it took for Vil to get to where he is now, so she has a lot of respect for him. For Ghost Marriage, he chose an outfit for her so that she fit the theme of the event and she actually liked his outfit choices. It was a dress, which she tends to hate, but she genuinely enjoyed wearing it. She may not talk to him a whole lot, but she respects him greatly. After his overblot, that respect and empathy went up even more.

Rook Hunt: Mallory, like many others at NRC, finds Rook weird and creepy. She already found the fact that he has photos on his walls creepy, but then he lists off her, ADeuce and Grim's height, class, and seat number. She tries to avoid him at all costs, similar to Floyd. She hates how he randomly pops up behind her and the others too.

Epel Felmier: Mallory loves Epel! She likes to hang out with him, Jack, and Deuce. She's trying to learn how to carve apples, though she's gained many cuts on her fingers because of it, the cuts always bandaged up by Epel. Since she's taller than him, she likes to use him as an arm-rest from time to time, much to Epel's demise. All in all, she adores him and wishes the best for him.

Ashe Aspen: Mallory finds Ashe fun, but they don't talk as often as she'd like. He's really tall, so she likes when he gives her piggyback rides too. She's witnessed his truly scary side, and she's sworn to never make him mad since. Similar to Ruggie, they may not talk much, but they've talked enough to be considered a bit more than acquaintances.

Ignihyde

Idia Shroud: Best of friends. Specifically BGFFs, "Best Gamer Friends Forever". Idia introduced Mallory to a bunch of games in Twisted Wonderland and she couldn't put them down. They talk whenever they can and everyone is shocked when Mallory says she's Idia's friend. She likes his hair a lot too.

Ortho Shroud: Mallory finds Ortho like the younger sibling she never had but always wanted. She always makes sure he's ok, telling him that he can come to her if he ever needs to talk. She also thought that he did amazing during the VCD Auditions.

Diasomnia

Malleus Draconia: She knows for a fact that if she was still her same seven year old self, she'd want him to give her a piggyback ride so she could hold his horns. Mallory finds his innocent outlook on some things adorable, but more in a sense of "wow he's pure" rather than romantically. For the most part though, their relationship is the same as it's portrayed in the game.

Lilia Vanrouge: They have a relationship like Mallory does with Riddle, just flip it around. Lilia seems to be fascinated by her, seeing as she's a human from another world while he's a fae who's lived for hundreds of years. She may be taller than him, but he always floats above the ground so he's at least her height. She finds him fun to hang with, so she's fine with his strange fascination.

Sebek Zigvolt: She finds him too loud, but she appreciates his devotion to Malleus. Sometimes it concerns her, but other than that, she respects it. They don't talk often, but she kinda wants that to change soon. Other than that, he's the member she's the least close to.

Silver: They're cuddling buddies and don't even know it. Mallory spends a lot of time in Diasomnia, so naturally she is close with the dorm's members. She likes to crash in Silver's room at times, so that's how they became secret cuddle buddies.

Other

Dire Crowley: Mallory finds it kinda fun to toy with Crowley, but found it incredibly annoying when he left to go on vacation during Scarabia's episode. Although it's something she'd never admit, Mallory sees Crowley as that fun and strange father she never got to have.

Divius Crewel: She hates him with a lot of her being. She hates how he treats them all like dogs. However, when there are those few times he's nice to her and makes sure she doesn't make an explosion in Alchemy, she's thankful.

Mozus Trein: She finds his class pretty boring, but she loves playing with his cat. She does appreciate when Trein gives her extra help if she doesn't understand something revolving around Twisted Wonderland's history.

Ashton Vargas: Mallory is a bit indifferent to Vargas. While he can be nice to her, she finds him a bit odd. She does however appreciate how Vargas makes sure she takes care of her physical and mental health.

Libi Koko: Libi and Mallory are pretty much the best of friends. Since Libi is one of the few females in NRC with Mallory, it feels nice that she can talk to someone who understands some issues they may have that the guys don't. They have a lot of inside jokes and, again, Libi is one of the few poeple who have seen Mallory's sweet side.

Che'nya: Prank duo, right here. If they're together, it's like an Ace and Mallory situation, but worse. Since they go to different schools, they can't talk often, but they managed to exchange numbers who knows when just a bit after the Heartslabyul incident. Sometimes, Che'nya likes to give Mallory hugs, but he's always invisible and know one except Mallory can tell he's there. He likes to tease Mallory a bit, much to her slight demise, so she's started to do the same. It's an endless cycle now.

Neige LeBlanche: Mallory already adored Neige the first time she met him. Her first thought was "he's baby. I must protect". They may not talk often, due to being in different schools, but they exchanged numbers to ensure that they still had the ability to talk. Neige is in a situation similar to Kalim in terms of how sweet Mallory is.

#twisted wonderland #twst #oc #twst oc #hallow's ocs #mallory robinett #heartslabyul #savanaclaw #octavinelle #scarabia #pomefiore #ignihyde #diasomnia #relationships #night raven college #royal sword academy #nrc #rsa

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flowerflamestars · 5 years ago

Text

Destined and Dreamt

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE PART SIX PART SEVEN

Nesta Archeron wasn’t sleeping. Wrapped in a quilted silk robe, she paced the length of her bedroom, once, twice, before giving into the urge to throw back the curtains from her windows. It was the darkest part of the night. Thick clouds had long shrouded the stars, the only light the reflection back from the fire burning in the grate across the room.

But still, it felt a little easier to breathe.

Her life had felt like cage for a long, long time. Like any other creature of clipped wings, when Nesta slept, she dreamt of the sky.

There were so many places she hadn’t seen and longed for: the impossible high mountain gardens in the Sky kingdom, the sharp gold eyed fairies of Hesperia;, that Blooming Country, under their lavender sky. The horrible beauty over the Wall, wilder and more dangerous than the fae of the continent she worked with. Fifteen thousand year old trade routes that crossed between the sacred spaces of the Great Desert, books written by the hands of gods in the Weeping City.

The mountain peaks in her dreams, so vast their summits turned the very wind to song.

Tonight, however, it was the nightmares that kept her awake.

Some were nearly as old as she was: Feyre devoured by magic, Elain with cold metallic eyes, Nesta alone- Nesta a monster, without her sisters.

Newer, were what was haunting her now: humans turning on them. Elain in chains, Nesta made ready for a pyre, the horror Lucien would unleash trying to get to Elain before the sheer number of mortals brought him down.

It should have been a comfort- if everything went to hell, they were going to burn too.

But hell was coming for them in worse, different ways. It wouldn’t be their neighbors condemning them- if Feyre got her wish, took that gamble on all their lives, it might be the Queens to whom their tiny human world was personal property who ordered all their deaths for consorting with faeries.

Or Hybern, bringing their brutality to bleed all of Prythian dry.

In the very back of her mind, Nesta heard again, soft and fathoms deep, the voice that had responded to Elain’s charm. We’re called Illyrians, born hearing the song of the wind.

Behind her eyes, the mountains sang the icy air to shape. Not words, but feelings that bubbled up beneath her breastbone and completed a longing so desperate tears ached in Nesta’s throat.

She had nightmares, and then nightmares.

Nesta had bargained and cheated, lied and bought her freedom. She might not have been able to save her baby sister- a failure she could never, ever take back- but Nesta would be damned if she failed their vassals too. Failed Elain or Lucien, besides.

The cold wind in her mind was a wilder thing than the chill of this snowy night, she could almost feel it if she tried. Ice and power and freedom, the air twisting around her like an embrace.

There had to be a way to keep them safe.

Beauty would not distract her. It was the oldest human story, wasn’t it? The innocent maiden and the wicked faery. The lost kingdom and it’s chosen heir, a quest, a sacrifice. Destiny. The trick at the end- the pure of heart is worthy, but faeries always lie.

This wasn’t a tale and Nesta couldn’t freefall through the very sky into the arms of her true love.

She’d find those mountains someday, climb them until Nesta touched the clouds herself. Cross the dangerous, fathomless enchantment of an ocean to follow the path of her families old compacts in blood. Her mothers homeland, the faery smith who’d bound gold on steel for the first Archeron Lord, maybe even Lucien’s lost and savage Autumn.

She would live, and she would see it all.

Nesta just had to find a safe route through a war first, and nothing- no one- was going to stop her.

— Lucien was a liar. It was possible it was in his blood- learned over the cradle, crooned by his mother the deceptions that would keep him safe. He’d let himself believe the lie he could survive Beron intact in youthful fury. Shed his colors and lied through centuries of brittle, false Spring Court charm. He would lie now- lie and burn and bleed if it meant he could protect the Acheron sisters from what was coming. Sleep had never arrived.

When Elain finally gave into the overwhelming exhaustion of magic and conflict a few hours before dawn, he’s stayed still. Felt the soft sigh against his shoulder as her eyes tipped shut, halfway through the litany of what he knew of the Day Court, the exchange for a cheekily retold explanation of the ties between the Archerons and the north’s fell High Lord. “We’re not his subjects,” Elain had all but growled, face pressed to his arm. That several hours into that tangled space between them, curled together on her floor, she’d cajoled him out of his coat and most of the asinine human layers Lucien wore these days, was not something Lucien would let himself dwell on. How infinitely pale she was in comparison, the smooth curve of a freckled cheek pillowed on his bicep. “The original oath ensures it,” Elain went on, “Prythian’s courts don’t allow humans to belong to them in legal truth, but for us it’s a protection. Not under Rhysand’s rule, but we can enter the protected city- carry things from it on our ships to countries who don’t know it exists.” Adamant to his gold, but that wasn’t right either- aspen, ash to his birch bark maple, the trees that cut paths through Autumns heart. “Velaris,” Lucien crooned back at her glee, the syllables smoke in his throat. “The City of Starlight,” Elain’s laugh had no sound, the amusement a twist in her voice as it swept over his bare skin. In an urge he’d been turning over and ignoring for the better part of an hour, Lucien risked reaching out to brush the curls from her face where they’d fallen into bright, half-lidded eyes. “Wherever a High Lord is,” Lucien found himself saying, as the silence stretched a beat too long, as he looked into those dark, dark eyes, “is their court. Rhysand has more power than any of them- wherever he is, Night lives.” His hand was still in her hair when sleep took Elain. The trust of it- asleep against him, like Lucien wasn’t High Fae, magical and monstrous as they came- froze him in place. It was a longer while than he’d ever admit before he carried Elain the scant step to her bed, left her wrapped in warm down- the temptation to stay so huge- and insane- that Lucien started walking and hadn’t stopped until he was here; deep in the snowy woods. Dawn was only now cresting through the clouds, the light silvered pink and slow to reach him. It was too damned much. His mother- not just alive, or miraculously unhurt as he only hoped and dreamt of- but apparently seizing her own fate with a surety Lucien hadn’t known existed in his entire lifetime. His mother’s freedom. They’d both be safe, at least as much as was possible, from Beron and Lucien’s brother’s wrath. For the first time in his life. How had she broken a bond of blood? Stolen a High Lords crown?And why, after untold centuries of it’s wildness trapped in Beron’s hands, would it accept being wielded by one human girl? And what- he was truly afraid of the answer- what waited in the Day Court for them? Lucien had only one guess, and it made it hard to breathe. While he was already damned and ceding oxygen, Lucien let himself think of Elain. A Court’s crown should have had an effect- magic, in it’s truest, oldest aspect, shone on the skin of mortals- but Elain remained herself. An utterly human, utterly feminine beauty. Bottomless clever eyes and a vicious, brilliant mind only countered by that kind unforgetting heart- everything in the world Lucien wished to hold. It wasn’t fair, but he blamed Feyre. He’d had it locked away. Bound in so much red ribbon behind his ribs to call enchantment down- and then Feyre in her pointed frustration had spent an entire day making asides about how ridiculous it was, how unnecessary it was, for Lucien to marry her sister. While he’d been braced for the condemnation, for Nesta to brush away Feyre’s fears in that cool way of hers, that wasn’t his first impulse. Like a madness- like the High fae that he was- Lucien wanted to get in a fight. This was where he belonged. In pace with Nesta, forever at Elain’s side. He wanted to tear apart anyone who’d try to take that away. His home, his family, his- Love was not a word Lucien allowed himself to think. It hadn’t lived in his vocabulary for enough centuries it had been easy to bury. Passing fondness of course existed, friendship- though his last lover had in fact been killed by Feyre’s hand, in these very snowy woods. Andras hadn’t even been allowed to die wearing his own face. There was nothing Lucien wouldn’t do to keep the eldest Archeron sisters alive. He’d forgiven Feyre- been as close to her as he had anyone in decades, a friend- but Feyre had protectors too powerful and numerous to name now. Before the sunlight reached the forest shadows Lucien’s body had melted through the snowdrift, burned so hot he was settled in summer warm soil instead of mud. A few red plumes of leaves had tried to unfurled out of their time on the oak behind him, scattered down at his displeasure between racing thoughts. He’d never burned Elain. Lucien wasn’t actually sure it was physically possible for him- and that thought, at least, was a balm. Lucien needed to bury it all. Needed the lying diplomats face he’d perfected, the utter and complete act he, Elain, and Nesta pulled off in concert- Lucien needed the lie. Not to escape what he was feeling- it wasn’t possible, and he didn’t want to lose all the insane hope and fear he carried- but to face this day as the clever fox he’d been and find a path through.

If Rhysand planned on endangering them, he had another thing coming, Nightmare Lord or no. — Elain woke up alone. It shouldn’t have been a surprise- much less an imposition that filled her with the sort of blinding frustration a less keen observer associated only with her elder sister- Elain was the maiden daughter of Lord. Not just a Lord, so far as the gentry were concerned, but Flatha, scion of a distant crown across the ocean, given their noble lands in totality from the personal property of the Council of Queens, their dangerous wayward relations contained within their own tiny kingdoms. Six centuries ago, Elain would have been gormflaith; a princess named for the blue of her blood, just for being born Archeron. For her purity. The reality was, of course, that her father was an absent, worthless wastrel at best and Elain very clearly remembered falling asleep in Lucien’s arms. Brown skin warm on her face, the air around them sparking- with Lucien’s laugh it ignited, a hundred little shining flecks to mix with the deep sound. In the darkest part of the night, it had seemed like a whole other world. Effortless magic everywhere, that she looked on with such enormous fondness it was impossible to hide, a wreath of flower and bone- where exactly in the Autumn Court had the bone of a dragon come from?- tucked in her hair and humming with a power that lit along Elain’s muscles like adrenaline, easy as breathing. Tumbling into Lucien’s embrace to bask in the predator-intent, faery savage way he watched her face. His hand in her hair. Gentle, so impossibly gentle as curls rasped over knife callouses, the gesture completely separate from the wickedness in his molten eyes. Waking up alone, under no less than three layers. Elain bit the inside of her cheek and rolled over, kicking off suffocating blankets two and three as she went. The one left tucked around her with the precision of rolled pastry was rabbit fur- warm, soft, and usually housed across the room on a divan near exclusively used by Nesta. The perfect repose of a noble heiress- but most women of Elain’s outsize standing were not hiding a house full of dangerous faeries. Did not turn every bit of glittering charm and very real companionship on their fake- but not quite- fiancé to get them out of their eminently fashionable great coat, all the way down to a silken tunic that left perfect, near obscenely sculpted arms bare, only for fire to paint the air with happiness. The average daughter of Flatha weren't able to summon the crown of Court of Prythian out of thin air, or possess a High Fae sister, and a triplicate strand of pearls that lived on her wrist to hide a scar whose sensitivity felt like- felt like- Elain rolled back over and groaned. There were a thousand things to do. Nesta needed to know that Sorcha had passed them off impossible power, offered refuge that could reshape their plans. Lucien needed to sign off their shipping manifests, go to port and glamour smuggled faerie cargo. Their farms needed the roads cleared, the staff accounted for in the blizzard, extra supplies taken to the orphanage to begin the winter holiday celebrations. A ball to finish planning, ash wood to burn and hide, Feyre’s arrival to stage so that she could move freely at home. Elain was busy. But instead of moving she was staring out the diamond paned window that showed her pink sky and blinding white snow; thinking about Lucien’s hands. She wanted to hold those hands and let their matching rings clank together. Let him feel the pulse in her wrist and see how pleasure arced over her skin from that silvered mark. She wanted Lucien at her side for everything. — Back in fighting form, at least on the surface, Lucien was more intrigued than alarmed when halfway back home he ran into Feyre, coming out of the woods. It was that old friendship- Feyre the huntress, Feyre the human unafraid of magic tempered spring green groves, Feyre newly changed and desperate to be outside- that kept him from the immediate warning sign. She was alone, for one thing. Smiled that cocky, antagonistic smile he hadn’t seen since she was a human. “Vanserra,” She called, and Lucien heard cauldron damned Rhysand in the syllables. It was not like when Nesta called him by his surname. Because being pricks to each other was the friendly foundation for them, Lucien squashed his shoulder into hers in reply, the snow liberally sprinkled in her hair sliding over his still bare arms. “Where’s your crown, little Fey? Thought Night Court fashion had rubbed off on you.” With a half smiling snarl, Feyre used both hands to send him careening, before hiding them away in the deep pockets of a gigantic leather coat he could smell Illyrian blood on. Hair in a simple braid, she was leagues closer to the woman he’d known. “Rhys is dramatic,” She said, unbearably fondly. Rhysand was setting her up as an equal, and the ruler of the most populous court in Prythian, but Lucien was not going to be the person to tell her that. “Dramatic,” Lucien repeated with a grimace, melting the snow in his path. He didn’t miss that Feyre watched impossibly fast motion- ice to slush to water, soaking deep into the soil at his behest- with rapt attention. “What are you doing out here?” He was going to make a joke about her hunting pheasant with unfair fey advantage, perhaps extol the virtues of the terrifying, wonderful woman Nesta had employed as a cook and really grind in the fact of his life here, when Feyre blinked.

And then again. High Fae tells were dangerous, subtle things. Control was a mark of age, and power, with the rush of instincts that ran thick in their blood with adulthood. High Lords were volatile, courtiers deadly. Feyre, for all her obvious immortal grace and power, still feigned like the nineteen year old mortal she was in many ways. And lied like one. “Practicing,” Feyre recited, face normal and eyelashes fluttering. Untruth changed the entire tone of her voice. For someone who looked so damn much like Nesta, sounded so much like Elain, the lack of ease felt bizarre. “Rhys is training me, but I can’t control all the courts power yet.” The woods led to both the main road out to the farms and the local village, in the other direction, apple orchards and the shattered Spring Court border. Lucien decided to play along. “No more accidental fires?” He teased. Feyre laughed, almost genuine. “Autumn is easy,” She insisted, which told Lucien enough to know that whatever drop of Beron she possessed, its depths had not been reached. “Darkness is obvious, but I’m still finding out what came from who.” Before he could reply, Feyre twisted, fluid as a Dawn Court assassin, to pose before Lucien. “Spar with me?” He’d fought her as a human. Fought Tamlin for the chance for her to learn to master her new body, retrain in old skills. Even if Feyre had been fighting with Illyrian’s every day for the last year, Lucien had three centuries and an impossibly savage upbringing on his side- there was no danger. But still, his pulse said look closer. “You should know,” Lucien teased, mirroring her wide stance, “I did already fight the ceremonial duel with Nesta for Elain’s hand.” Feyre stopped mid motion darting forward lightening fast to laugh. “Nesta held a sword?” Something utterly indignant, blood red and fey, twisted in Lucien’s chest. He caught the hand that had been about to slap into him and sent Feyre flying back, her knees hitting the snow bank his melted path had created. “Hand to hand? No weapons or magic?” Feyre grinned, shoulders aligning. “Just one round, fight me for real.” Lucien didn’t immediately realize what a mistake it was. — Elain’s first sign something was off was Nesta’s pale face, crashing through her bedroom door. It was early enough- the house empty enough- that much like much like Elain pulling Lucien into her bedroom the night before, Nesta looked like herself. Ink already visible on both hands, her wine colored dress without the sleeves laced on, carrying both books and letters balanced under one arm, the Archeron seal clutched golden in the other- this was the real Nesta. Who tossed herself down on a chaise, catlike, to glare at Elain. Not at Elain- not really, no true malice could live between the eldest Archerons- at the world. “Feyre didn’t sleep in her room last night.” The fur blanket tucked around Elain’s shoulders slid to the floor as she turned, taking the comforting smell of Lucien’s hair with it. “Did she stay with Rhysand?” She’d thought, not yet. Feyre might speak to him like a lover, invade the High Lords space in that half casual way Elain assumed faeries would take very seriously, but they didn’t seem there yet. There was a restraint, hunger in those ancient purple eyes. Starvation. Nesta sighed, began to shuffle the books she’d set down into a perfectly straight pile. “No, she took one of the guest rooms. It wasn’t even made up.” It wasn’t even- Feyre had come home, crossed the continent back to the land of their childhoods, and pointedly slept in a room without fresh linen? Or candles, or water brought in? Elain joined Nesta on the chaise, silk magic warm beneath her. Feyre’s rooms were exactly where they had been when they were children. The eastern wing, where she could see the sunrise over the gardens from her bedroom. Before the house had been plundered straight to the ground to pay debt- the very beams and rooftiles sold- the room next to it had been a tiny childrens library, just for her.

They’d rebuild it three times the size with more windows than walls. Elain had spent an obscene amount on fine glass, Nesta filled it with supplies from four countries- a studio, for their sister who’d always wanted to make beautiful things. Elain swallowed the hurt, shared a look with Nesta that said all that needed to be said. With it went the thoughts she kept thinking seeing Feyre’s face, both utterly young and preternaturally frozen, beautiful. Mortal freckles but no smile lines left. That same unrestrained laugh, but their mother’s blue eyes looked at Rhysand for answers. She was back, she was alive, she was- “Why do you think she came home?” Nesta handed her the largest envelope. It contained not one letter, or map, but more than a half dozen missives on blue paper, written by equally many hands. Elain dumped them on the cushions between them and began to read. Humans in business with faeries had unique tactics to stay ahead. For one thing, compacts bound to bloodline meant most of the immortals didn’t care to know their business partners, after all, by their standard, they’d be dead soon. But mortals stuck together. Many of their ancestors had been the same once, royal blooded and wild with nothing to loose. Explorers, who’d gone looking for whole new lands to gift their children, bereft of a crowns direct privilege. Their descendants learned care in the cradle, and the power of passing knowledge. Blue paper for the secret city’s Court, incendiary powder ink for High Fae information, moon silk ribbons, for Sangravah, the weaving capital of the world. Elain compared the words, reiterating the same thing again and again, before meeting Nesta’s blazing eyes. “The Night Court has been invaded?” Of course it had come from a dozen people; merchants made money in conflict. Human worlds changed, when those conflicts were fae. The danger was near suicidal for mortals in magical wars- but those rare survivors ended up rich beyond promise. “No one knows who it was.” Nesta said lowly, frustrated, “They infilitrated the civilian population, took something, and burnt half the city to the ground once it was found.” A valuable something, if they needed that much chaos to dissuade pursuit. What did Sangravah have? The best rugs and tapestries in the world. The only port where Dawn Court silk could be bought. Libraries and temples, pink light and poetry. “Isn’t Sangravah a stone city?” Nesta’s pale bitten lips said yes without the words. Elain swore. For something to do with her hands she tipped the book pile closer and read down the spines: Alchemic Fire: A Compendium, Mother’s Moon: The Priestess Orders, and White Stone, Silver Blood, The Complete History of Northern Conquest. That Nesta hadn’t slept wasn’t a question Elain needed to ask, anymore than she knew that she’d find colored coded annotations if she started reading along. Completely illegal tomes, of course, Nesta’s favourite import. She tried not to picture centuries old stone made molten, leveled to the ground. The heat, the chaos- the magic it would take for that kind of destruction. “Hybern?” Elain asked, her own doubt clear. The shake of Nesta’s head knocked loose her hasty updo, wooden pins catching in the freed waves of her dark hair. Recognizing the sheen and sharp points, Elain tried and failed to sympathize with the storm Rhysand had coming. Nesta was walking around with ash wood in her hair. “Hybern,” Nesta repeated with equal dubiousness, “Or Night Court rebels, or another Court or the Queen’s Council. Rhysand has more enemies than the thrice damned Plague Lord.” A High Lord who had specialized in bloodline curses- a single faery who’d brought the continent to it’s knees, a thousand years before. Elain wondered if they were of any relation. The male Feyre called Rhys and laughed with seemed to have an equal notoriety with his own people. And possibly worse power running in his veins. “Prythian,” Elain began carefully, “Might be even less stable than we know.” Whispering despite the warding, echoed adrenaline making her awake, awake, awake, Elain managed in a steady voice to tell Nesta about Sorcha. Crowns and the Autumn Lords crimes, asylum waiting in the most foreign of places. — Feyre cheated immediately. Lucien, who’d once had nightmares about that exact look of mischief on a human face, like a Suriel waiting in the dark, knew it was coming. So when the youngest Archeron sister rolled out of the snowbank he’d neatly tossed her into with a laugh, Lucien was able to smartly dodge the ice that came railing toward him. Not sharp, but a barrage like giant hail that cracked against tree trunks, sent snow flying. Feyre had never actually seen how fast Lucien could move. And he wasn’t trying terribly hard now. If she’d been training with Illyrians all along, she’d be used to superior ungodly strength, but not the speed of High Fae. Even if she hadn’t been given the opportunity, Lucien thought Feyre would have sought it- Nesta’s infuriated face that those were Illyrians, childhood legends made real was evidence enough. Rather than reengage, half a kind thought to the looming oak behind Feyre had the tree shaking every bit of wet snow off its drooping branches. The weight of the snow knocked her back down with a groan. “You talk to trees now?” Lucien straightened from the trunk he’d been leaning against and tried not to sound full of the vague insult he felt, “I always talked to trees.” Feyre didn’t bother to get back up, shaking the slush from the hugely oversized shoulders of her coat. Narrow eyed, she tilted her head in question. It was still bizarre to see Feyre so- the mix of her human mannerisms and the instincts of a faery body muddled, indistinct. It was even more confusing now that he knew her sisters. When Nesta had the same posture, with her utterly similar and painfully different face, it was all fae- aggression, focus, the shape of a hunt. Feyre looked baffled. And angry? “How’d you learn that from Spring?” He waited a beat too long for the quicksilver teasing smile, for the punchline. It was long enough for the temperature to drop several degrees, for her brow to furrow completely. Lucien swore. “You’re joking.” Incised, Feyre tossed an impressively articulate fireball at him, straight autumnal gold. “Of course I’m not joking. Spring controls plants.” Spring controlled plants. Gods and immortal honey. “What,” Lucien growled, pausing to dodge Feyre’s barrage of fire, “In the Crones darkest mercies is Rhysand teaching you?” It was an obvious mistake to snarl Rhysand’s name like that in her hearing. Like he hated the bastard- which in some ways he did. The High Lord, even if it had been Feyre’s idea as Lucien feared, had brought death and danger to the Archeron’s doorstep. Was, after a sole year of what was clearly painfully basic training, touting her as the greatest magical force in Prythian. Feyre’s eyes visibly flashed and Lucien braced himself. But what he was met with was a wall of fire. Not warding, not bloodmagic, not sunfire, but only Autumn’s burning grace. He could have parted it like a curtain. Eaten it up with hotter flames, pulled back until it belonged to him. It was exactly the sort of magical pageantry Beron insisted upon- no one raised in the Forest House wanted to be the weaker end of that pull. Disallowed, Lucien’s thoughts still managed to flicker to the crown that fit his head. Day’s gold and Autumn bone, a missing piece, a- Lucien stepped into the fire. He could tell she was angry just from its depth, roil. Like stepping into the titanic baths of a Winter chalet, like the Summer court sea; Lucien had forgotten how good it felt. Living heat coiled up his arms, caressed his face. Swore he could taste just a hint of bonfire on the back of his tongue. The ritual kind that burned and burned under a full moon, hawthorne and rowan, violets and rose. It was, he thought, painfully near the scent of Elain’s rage, protection that littered the air like embers. Lucien was only aware he’d closed his eyes when it all went away. The world was blinding white, and Feyre was talking so fast her words bled together. -“why the hell would you do that,” She was saying, “Do you think I actually want to hurt you? Shit, shit shit.” Lucien tried not to smirk, but the action was ruined by his recoil when Feyre grabbed his bare arm with both hands. Not that it stopped her- she kept swearing right up to the moment she actually managed to trace up his arm, staring at his unblemished skin with giant eyes. Friendly, afraid, and awed; but still Feyre’s touch crawled over his skin with wrongness. It had a name, a very specific reason, but Lucien wasn’t about to use the word, even in the privacy of his own mind. Finally he snarled, discomfiture actually real enough for Feyre to drop his arm in sheepish apology. Clearly, some fae things she had learned. “I don’t understand,” She said, “What just happened? Are you okay?” It had been easy, Under the Mountain, to forget the savior of Prythian was a teenage girl. “Of course I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me, Feyre.” Forcefully, Lucien made himself remember that he’d once wanted to be her teacher. Trapped under Tamlin’s rule, less than a shadow of himself, he’d wanted to make sure the world leveling power in her veins didn’t destroy her. Now, he wondered what in Cauldron’s name Feyre had been doing for the last year. And wished, wished, he’d thought to take a real shirt with him leaving Elain’s rooms. Feyre was still staring at him in that half hollowed out way that spoke of something like human shock. Lucien made himself smile through the grimace.

“Fey, you know who I am now? My history?” Feyre nodded, pulse visible in her throat. “Heir to the Autumn Court.” He didn’t let himself blink, but it was a near thing. The North still called him heir? How that must burn in Beron’s gut, infuriate Eris. It wasn’t the right time to explain his banishment, the price on his head. Much less grin over it. “Could you drown Rhysand in darkness?” Caught between the human impossibility of Lucien’s utter lack of injury and what she had been taught was a fearsome faery weapon, it was a long moment in the frozen morning before Feyre smiled again. “He’d like to see me try,” She drawled, giving much more information that Lucien really wanted but- “You’re flame retardant? “ Lucien laughed, but the warning bells hadn’t stopped. There was no one in their history who’d ever had the power Feyre did. Some things were universal to High Fae; instinct and strength, winnowing and healing, longevity and vengeance. But even a faery child born whose parents had mixed two court bloodlines, or grandparents, or great grandparents- it could happen for generations down, still the result would be the same. A favoring of one, maybe two Court’s vital skills. There were theories about how it worked. That the solar courts had more malleable, airy skill, but the elementals blood was more physically shaping. Lucien himself was not a good example. He’d taken the name Vanserra the second he could for a reason- he’d favored completely Sorcha’s skills from the cradle. There had always been talk along with it- Lucien who burned a little too bright, whose very name was light like his mothers. Remarks about his deeper skin, the shape of his mouth, and the height he grew into- so unlike his siblings. The last Vanserra heir. It was the savagery that saved him long enough to grow; had the Lady of Autumn’s whole family not been slaughtered? The male heirs had disappeared centuries before, the loss of all the rest to Hybern was a tragedy that bore the mark of Beron’s fingerprints. Of course Lucien would be unloved- hated. So different than Beron, than his brothers- yet still the most powerful son of all. A walking reminder of crimes and bloodshed, it made a very Autumn sort of sense. Lucien was a very Autumn-blessed faery. But that didn’t mean he didn’t receive a basic education on other courts before his banishment. He was not fire retardant- like calls to like. Too much an Autumn blaze to ever feel anything but it’s embrace; but sunfire would burn him. A ward twinged with Summer’s roaring heat could wound. He wasn’t the child of every Court like her- but he knew the difference. Lucien kept right on smiling, despite the peaked horror. How could she be ready for war? “Not inflammable,” He drawled right back, laid on an eye-roll whose familiarity brightened her smile, “Just Autumn born.” Liquid fast, Feyre reached out to tug on a long red tied braid in his hair, “I would have never guessed.” Could she smell Elain on the ribbon? Not letting the thought show, Lucien swatted at her playfully. He loved her- not like he loved Nesta, but affection all the same. Her youth scared him. “So fires so easy,” He asked, “Are you getting all the elements now?” Feyre started walking again, meandering toward the house as she talked. Fire and water, darkness and wind. Was it actually possible a drop of each court wasn’t enough to obtain their more esoteric skills? Or had she simply not learnt to access them? “-the hardened wind shielding is dead useful, not sure if it’s Day or Summer. The same with the light show, but I don’t know what it does”- “Light show?” Lucien interrupted. Feyre raised her eyebrows. “Sometimes when fire won’t come I get light instead, this kind of glow?” Summer Court light was weapon, she’d have known if she conjured it accidentally. But if it went along with flame- Lucien summoned a ball of flame. He didn’t need to hold it over his hand like a showman, but it would be better for his point. “Is all your fire red?” Feyre only made a face in response. He started slow, relying on the old adage that instinct would catch up once possibilities were realized. Red to orange, orange to gold, gold to peach and pink. Pink to the burning, seething white he carried around in his chest, the natural color of Lucien’s flames. Delight and determination shaped Feyre’s face, before she mimicked it perfectly. The white of the snowing, pristine world before had nothing, nothing, on the gleam and glow. It was identical. But, but- Lucien realized, flames gutting out, it wasn’t fire. Pure magic, the rise of the sun that fed the world. Feyre couldn’t tell what the light did, because she hadn’t let it loose on darkness. It was cleansing, hungry as his own flames. Daylight. Enchantment had always been Lucien’s specialty. Now that he let himself think it, the prospect that he’d never questioned was insane. His mother was a creature of blood and the Bone Forest- her spells were binding, clever. Had he ever seen her break one? Had her flames ever eaten magic, destruction tempering in a whole new shape? The fire of High Fae is not always, simply, fire.

@breath-of-sindragosa

@flxwer-petals

@ladyvanserra

@illyrianinterrasen

@missanniewhimsy

@tntwme

@ourbooksuniverse

@pitterpatterpot

@thestarwhowishes

@abillionlittlepieces

@my-fan-side

@the-eightofswords

@wonderland–memories

@ourbooksuniverse

@cohen-theeleven

@donnarosemary

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otherworldhq · 5 years ago

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LABEL: Hyacinth. NAME: Ailis. AGE: 900+ SPECIES: Seelie Fae. GENDER: Genderfluid. PRONOUNS: She/they FACECLAIM: Sophie Turner. STATUS: Hyacinth is currently CLOSED for applications.

EXPLORING always suited her. Hyacinth could best be described as a scout, as a ranger. Her silent steps carried her far away from home and far away from the Seelie Court. She climbed the tallest trees and relished in the silence of her surroundings. The world around her could always be trusted to spark ADMIRATION in her soul. She’d always longed to reach new heights and travel to new lands. Always dreamed to make acquaintances in far off places and forge alliances that, above all else, could STRENGTHEN her and her people. The Fair Folk stretch far and wide, and there are countless courts for her to make her introductions at as she proceeds on her journeys. After all, it pleased her own court for her to follow her heart, so why should she not swallow up every opportunity that is handed to her.

So she is a solitary thing, but it is not the SECLUSION that pleases her. Happiness and love does fill her chest when she returns to familiar lands, when she spots familiar faces among the trees. She is gone, travelling in distant lands when so many of their kind depart, and she is SADDENED by their absence upon her return. But the deep and dark places will not suit her for many years to come, and she is still overjoyed by those who remain. She has a certain way about her that her people hunger for in times of uncertainty, somehow possessing a worldliness that surpasses a great number of them. There is a STEADINESS in her, a strength that they require to move forward. And so, in uncertain times, she puts her wandering feet to rest, and lends a hand where it will be taken.

Hyacinth could still be best described as a SCOUT, though more for the mortal realm these days than for anywhere else. With an uncanny ability to blend where others may stick out like a sore thumb, she is uniquely qualified to explore the realm of men. In fact, a better term for her may be SPY. For decades upon decades upon decades she has walked among them, gathering as much information as she can. In time, much more of the fair folk ventured out and immersed themselves in the human world, but she will always have been one of the FIRST.

NARCISSUS: the epitome of a hard pill to swallow, she likes to trust her family, but narcissus makes it very difficult to do so. ASPEN: An interesting little thing, entertaining and bright. She finds herself drawn to his company like a moth to a flame. GALLIUM: Sweet Prince, sweet friend. She knew him before he became a leader, she’s loved him for longer than many others could say.

[ EXPLORE THE ROLEPLAY FURTHER ]

#new rp #skeleton rp #original rp #lsrpg #literate rp #c.all #c.taken #c.seelie #hyacinth

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ryes-up · 6 years ago

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Time to Rise Up || Writing Challenge

Rye Hawthorne Neutral Good

True Names were something of pride, or so Rye thought when he grew up. Some had True Names similar to those of their families, or their stations in life. Others’, he was told, made little sense to the fae until well into their lives.

For his part, Rye never knew his growing up. He didn’t learn it during his training as a knight, or during the war. What he had always thought would be the most defining event of his life—and in terms of his self, his True Name, it meant nothing. He still didn’t know his Name.

His father had told him that when he learned his True Name, he would know who he was.

His mother had told him that when he knew who he was, he would learn his True Name.

He should’ve known then that his mother would be the one who was right. Still, it had been years since Rye thought much about it. When he had been knighted, he asked the King to not ask it of him in front of the rest of the knights. He didn’t want to admit to them that he didn’t know it. It had still been a source of shame for him back then.

But that was many moons ago, and Rye hadn’t concerned himself with finding his True Name for some time. Now, he wonders if it had only bothered him so much back then, because he had hoped that his True Name would give him some kind of standing. Some sense of belonging in the Court that always held him to the outside, despite the King’s best efforts. But a Name couldn’t do that, and he knew that now.

It became even less important the further he distanced himself from his noble family. Or rather, the further distance he felt from them. He acted the part of the dutiful brother, but without the illusion of himself, of trying to convince himself that that was who he should be. He wasn’t, and he would never be. He never wanted to be. The day Oberon took it upon himself to slaughter dozens of people Rye held dear, was the day he lost his half-brother’s loyalty. The little of it that had remained, in any case. Keeping his head down and following orders hadn’t been an option since that day.

Now, as he stood facing Damira, ready to go out on assignment for his first mission with the Nighthawks, he felt at peace for the first time in as long as he could remember. Since before the war. He felt like he belonged somewhere, and it wasn’t even a definitive place; it was a place between places, and that worked for him just fine. There were times he felt like he belonged, just momentarily, with the Unseelie Court, or with the Wolf Clan, even in Wisteria on a rare occasion. But here, with the Nighthawks, or by Robin’s side, were the only places that he knew without any doubt that he belonged.

Even so, Rye had turned down Damira’s request to ask Robin to come along on this mission. He knew Robin would push, that he would join them eventually, but Rye wanted to put off the inevitability as long as possible. It wasn’t safe. Which was probably a useless argument because Robin could easily throw it back at him. Nevertheless, he cast an invisibility glamour as he made to follow Damira, only able to see glimpses of her cloak fluttering momentarily outside of her over invisible glamour as she led him to the Shambles.

“Why haven’t you begun training them sooner, if you thought it so important?” Rye asked quietly as they approached an old inn.

“The Nighthawks that are qualified to train an army haven’t earned the trust of those in the Shambles. And those that have earned their trust, aren’t qualified to train. We needed someone with both qualities,” Damira said, dropping her glamour as they reached a darkened alleyway just inside the Shambles.

“And that’s me,” Rye said, not a question, but more an understanding as he dropped his glamour as well.

“And that’s you,” Damira agreed. “Robin as well, if he’ll join you in training our recruits.” She paused a moment, as if considering her words before she spoke again. “They speak of him, you know. The fallen knight. The bird whose wings were clipped. The captive that humiliated the King with his escape. He’s practically a folk hero,” she added with an amused smile.

Rye smiled a bit. Robin a folk hero. Rye wanted to laugh at the idea if only because he knew Robin would. But it fit, didn’t it? He escaped the castle. He survived the King. He did what few ever had. He deserved the title of hero. He was one. Even if the title of knight had been stripped from him, that couldn’t be taken.

“I’ll speak with him about it,” Rye promised, already certain that Robin would jump at the opportunity. “We’re just meeting with them today, correct?”

“And assessing their abilities, if you’d like,” Damira added. “I told them you may want to pair them off to spar, or spar with a few yourself to judge their abilities. Of course, you don’t have to do any of that. I just wanted to weed out those that have the heart of a rebel, but not one of a fighter.”

“Fair enough,” Rye said. He gestured for her to go on ahead so they could find these future Nighthawks he was intended to train.

Damira nodded before stepping out of the alleyway, and leading the way towards the far end of the Shambles, furthest away from the roads that led back into town. “Please don’t tell me we’re meeting them by Oberon’s Oak,” Rye muttered under his breath.

She laughed and shook her head. “We do love poetry, but not foolish poetry. No, we’re meeting them on the far end of the Shambles, just before we reach the forest.”

Rye breathed a little easier, A less well known place would be safer, and he was glad she had taken that into account. When they arrived, there were more hob fae gathered than Rye had anticipated. The din of subdued chatter quieted a little when Damira cleared her throat, and was silenced entirely when the fae began to turn and see Rye standing beside her.

“Wonderful to see all of your faces again,” Damira said. Rye noticed that she paused, her eyes scanning to ensure she did recognize every face in the crowd before she continued. Rye didn’t hear a word she said after that though. He heard, what almost sounded like a gust of wind, but there was a whisper to it. A voice. Perhaps he imaged it, but the voice almost sounded like his mother’s.

Tugann Zalman Ashaant. Bringer of Peace in Turbulence.

The voice, the words, they sounded like comfort, and felt like home and belonging. What a strange feeling. Rye felt both like his breath was swept form him in a single breath, and like he could breathe for the first time since before the war.

“Pardon?” Damira’s voice broke through the softer one, and he turned to look at her, watching the concerned look on her face as she approached, close enough to speak quietly without any of the recruits overhearing. “Did you say something?”

Rye only just then realized he’d spoken the name aloud. The name. His True Name.

“No, sorry,” he muttered quickly.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Rye answered, and for the first time in a while, he meant it. A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he looked out over the new recruits, all standing tall and facing the pair as though waiting for either an execution or the answer to the universe. Probably both.

“You all know why you’re here. Let’s stop wasting time, and see what we’re working with,” he said, taking a few steps towards the gathered crowd. There was a confidence and sureness in his step that hadn’t been there a moment ago. He knew where he was, and that where was, he was meant to be. He knew who he was, and while it wasn’t a revelation, it was it’s own sort of confirmation. Forsaking a blind adherence to law and tradition, for something else, for something for the betterment of humans and fae alike, was worth it. It was what he was meant for.

His eyes found a young boy, a few years from the birthday that would name him an aspen. Rye had seen him when he attempted to join the ranks of the Unseelie Knights. He had been belittled and ridiculed by the saplings of noble and wealthy families, as well as even the knight assigned to train them pushed and bullied until they broke him. Until he resigned himself to the life his parents had; of starvation and struggle, of tireless work and endless days.

Rye beckoned the boy forward. “Colin, you’re up first. Let’s begin.”

#tffchallenge #//rye shifted from lawful neutral to neutral good #//also we finally know Rye's True Name YAAAAAY #Selfpara #timetoriseup #//yes the title is a play on Rye's url #nighthawk

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