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an-abyss-of-stars · 4 months ago

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𖤓 Don't You Dare Do This Without Me 𖤓

Pairing: Rhaena x Aemond

Warnings: Smutty hints...mainly consensual

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Rhaena THOUGHT she was merely dismissing her husband's call for affection after an argument. Little did she know, her rebuffing had instead sent her petulant husband off on a tirade to burn an enitre village to ash.

Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ao3

Note: (THIS fic is intended to be a little mini-series. It's a piece of a plot I've been toying around with for a month or two. A Dark King Aemond story with Queen Rhaena grappling with her horrid situation. I do have an entire long form story/idea for this premise, that would start immediately after the war and span over several years. It would be much darker than this smutty snippet, like practically 'dead dove' really! But this little fun fic here entered my brain and I just figured I'd throw it out here as a mini 5-6 part thingy.)

So hopefully it's an enjoyable little something something!!

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"I can't believe him, I can't fuc-" Rhaena's anger induced muttering died upon her tongue as she stepped into her shared royal chambers, her feet halting almost immediately as her legs stiffly stood right in front her three-year-old son. Little Aemon had run up to her as soon as the doors flew open, rushing to hug her skirts as he stared up at her expectantly.

What was he doing here?

It was early, still the middle of the afternoon, she was certain that by all accounts her toddler should only be nearing the end of lessons now. Not dawdling around in her chambers to play-

"Darling! Sweetling, you are early," Rhaena schooled her previously set scowl into a bright affectionate smile, lilting her voice as her eyes took in the visage of her charming little boy. It was beginning to feel like such an effort, schooling her emotions from her son these days, seeing as he seemed to be so perceptive already. Any slight twinge upon her face, and his sweet little face would scrunch into a look of instant concern for his mother's wellbeing. Followed by the little hand he'd place upon her leg before he asked 'are you well, mama?'.

It was a wonder where he'd managed to inherit such sweetness, surely not from his father.

With a gentle sigh, Rhaena began to crouch herself down to Aemon's level, careful to keep her balance as her swollen belly carried a true weight to it now. Her back felt it, her thighs and her knees worked to compensate for it. Offset the weight she'd put on for the health of this third babe. Though she was eight moons along, so she was nearly to term. It was a motion she navigated with skill now, for she knew her body well and so she knew her limits when it came to this stage of her pregnancies. Soon enough she'd seat herself down or lay abed for an hour or two before the ache creeping along her calves worked down to her swollen feet.

In the meantime, however, she placed a soft hand upon her eldest son's check and smiled warmly at him. Eliciting an equally dazzling giggle from her little boy, the adorable sound almost immediately soothed her heart. Allowing her to push aside the stresses of the day, the endless aggravation only her husband could muster within her, just long enough to focus in on her child. Meeting his gaze, she sought to pry just a tad, "what of your lessons in the library, sweet one? Have they truly concluded or have you managed to escape from your maester yet again?"

At that, Aemon teetered on his toes for a moment. His hand absentmindedly holding onto Rhaena's shoulder for balance as he happily gurgled at the playful accusation. Gently biting his thumb with his free hand, a near bashful blush spread upon the apples of his cheeks as his attention was just as quickly drawn away. Distracted already, the mop of curly platinum blonde hair that reached the nape of his neck swished with the motion he'd made. His pale cinnamon brown skin glowing in the rays of the afternoon sun.

Ah, dear...she did love her son dearly, but his mind did tend to wander off all too easily at times. If he was not obsessively focused on something of his interest, his mind was liable to dawdle. It was Rhaena who had to work to lure his attention back to her, nudging his chubby cheek with the caress of her thumb. Adding an accompanying prodding hum for him to both listen and follow the sound.

Thankfully it was enough, her toddler was quick to turn back to her. His distraction, the glittering rays of beaming sunlight, had poured in through the paneled windows of the room. Illuminating everything within sight of the spacious solar, the various deep crimson red furniture, the large round oak table that was just off center. It was still covered with stacked books and rolled scrolls that Aemond had left out to continue analyzing later in the day. Toys still remained scattered by the fire upon the maroon fur carpet, Rhaena supposed Aemon had been sat there waiting for her return. Most likely playing there with his young wet-nurse, Elaya.

The nineteen-year old maid from the Riverlands was currently sat by the fire in one of the cozier armchairs, rocking Rhaena's second born son, Daemion, in her arms. Now, Daemion shared many features with his elder brother, the same almond eye-shape and rounded bow-shaped lips…both a blend of their parentage. They held the same curly hair texture, although, Daemion’s little tuft of curls shone more silver than Aemon’s blonde in the sunlight. And Aemon’s skin was slightly paler than Daemion’s. His eyes were a shade of bright lilac as opposed to Aemon’s pale indigo. Daemion’s little button nose reminded Rhaena more of her own than Aemond’s, although the point at the end of it still spoke of the boy’s inheritance from his father.

In either case, little Daemion’s eyes were levelled low as he relaxed in the arms of his wet-nurse. It was to be expected, Rhaena had only nursed the babe but an hour ago, so it was more than likely that her one-year old was simply feeling the drowsy calls of his milk-filled stomach. She'd left her younger son in the safe arms of her trusted wet-nurse perhaps a half hour ago when she'd initially left her chambers to visit her twin sister, Baela.

In the case of her eldest, however, Rhaena knew well that the bright afternoon sun was an enticing thing to a young Targaryen. It promised games in the garden, playful training in the training yard...but most of all, it promised the possibility for dragon riding. Aemon was newly minted in the activity, having gone for his first flight with his father just a few days ago. It was all he would talk of, on and on he happily talked the ears off of anyone who'd listen. From Maesters to maids, to his aunt, Baela, to his uncle Aegon, and especially to his equally young cousins Maegelle and Laena. The two daughters Baela had birthed for her husband under Aemond's reign as King. All of a part of rebuilding their family's line, restoring the Targaryen bloodline.

A bloodline Aemond more than single handedly destroyed himself...but Rhaena had gone down that road before. It never led anywhere, it never returned what she'd lost.

It was easier to focus on what she did have. The title of Queen may have been thrusted upon her, as well as her first born son...but she'd found her stride. Settled herself into motherhood, her new station, her new title, her seat next to the throne. She'd even willingly taken to her main duty as Queen, found her own pleasure in conceiving her second and soon to be third child. She'd found her way to loving and at times controlling the psychopathic irate dragon she'd been made to call 'husband'.

Besides, he had his moments, she supposed, he was always good to their sons and their nieces. He quite frankly adored all of the young children they’d brought into the world for House Targaryen. He was prideful over their very existence, especially that of their own two sons. He spent every moment in their presence showing them love and acceptance. Their young princes were dotted on ever since their births, they wanted for nothing. They were always made to feel wanted. A sense of innate yet nurturing compensation on Aemond's part, Rhaena was sure. He went wordlessly about it, but she could surmise that he wished to give his sons everything he did not have in his youth.

Everything his own father failed to deliver.

As seen by the flight he'd taken Aemon on, their little boy had loved flying upon Vhagar so much. The experience improved greatly by the fact that Aemond had eagerly taken the time to indulge their son of his own accord. Vhagar was the most magnificent dragon to her young son, his favourite of all that he'd seen in his little life.

And that was why he'd loved that day more than any other.

Though it was unfortunate, Rhaena always thought.

For while she agreed, Vhagar was a magnificent dragon, a relic of times long gone...a living piece of history. But she couldn't help but think that her young Aemon had missed a truly glorious age of dragons, he'd never be able to meet his true Targaryen grandparents or two of his other aunts…the rest of his uncles. He'd never be able to see any of their dragons...Caraxes, Syrax, Vermax, Arrax, Tyraxes, Meleys...so many lost. So many gone...and sometimes four years seemed just long enough to put the darkness behind her, to call it all history so that she might distance herself from the pain of it all.

But other times, it was just too blatant...just too obvious.

So many members of her family were missing from this current family portrait. The chasms were there, Rhaena’s current life would always lack because of their absence. The vacant holes they'd made upon her person, upon her heart, forever cutting slivers away from her there. No amount of new Targaryen babes could replace them.

They were all dead and gone...and she was made Queen of the rubble in the aftermath, wed to a kinslayer...the second usurper King.

What a fate.

And her little son knew none of it truly.

"No, mama! I finished, my lessons are all done! Maestwer...um...maestwer Alfa...Alfadwer-" Aemon blurted out his little rambled response, finally recalling that he'd been asked a question nearly ten minutes prior. He'd taken so long, Rhaena's mind had drifted to far darker memories. Though as she'd learned through her experience with motherhood, it didn't do to dwell on such things with children around. They always noticed it...they weren't naive enough to miss it entirely.

"Maester Alfador, you mean," Rhaena gently corrected, smoothing a couple of his curls back behind his ear.

Aemon was quick to nod eagerly, pointing towards Elaya to add, "yes and...and he told Elaya how papa went out!"

'Out' was putting it mildly, for while Rhaena knew not the extent of Maester Alfador's knowledge on the matter at hand. She did however know exactly what sent Aemond 'out' of the castle just a few hours ago. As she recalled it, Rhaena had received the order from the Kingsguard guarding her door earlier this morn.

See, earlier in the morning, before the sun had properly risen. Rhaena had awoken to a rather...regularly expected act, a warm delicious pleasure that crept up between her thighs in long wet languid swipes. The feeling seeped into her peaceful slumber until the aching arousal dragged her back into consciousness. Where she'd awoken to find her husband settled between her legs, his arms tangled around her thighs keeping them spread as he lapped at her quivering wanting cunt.

Eventful as it was... she'd awoken to many mornings with such activities to pull her from her sleep. Aemond was always eager, he had been ever since he’d stolen her from the Vale and made her his wife. Only now the urges seemed heightened, especially since she began to reciprocate his wantings. The conception of little Daemion was the birth of these feelings...and now the conception of another babe barely a year later had shown the realm and their present court that their union was—mending.

Into what, exactly?

Something feral and animalistic, surely. A complicated mess of attraction, love and loathing.

In either case, once Aemond had brought her to the brink of ecstasy itself...he pressed a kiss upon her rounded belly and readied himself for the training yard. From there, she hadn't seen him. Assumably he'd returned to bathe and dress himself again for the early morning council meeting, but she'd fallen back to sleep in-between that time. Only normally, he would have woken her. Normally, they'd have readied for the meeting with his council together...she'd negotiated that right of hers from her husband after the birth of Daemion. As his Queen, she wanted a spot upon his council, to be an active participant in his rule. Time after time, whether it was another one of their vicious volatile arguments between them or an instance of a sweet and tender domesticity as they lazed naked within their bed. Aemond had spent the last two years echoing the sentiment to her, that she was more than just his broodmare.

And then he did this.

He removed her from the council this morning. Without even the gall to tell her himself, he left for the meeting without her and then left the information for their guard to relay to her.

Of course, later upon his return, when Rhaena was properly woken. Bathed and dressed herself in a lovely velvety gown, a dark Targaryen red with intricate black lace linings. With added black lace and sewn jeweled dragons and floral embroidery woven along her bodice and the hem of her skirt. She'd been sat upon her favourite chaise, providing their second son with his early morning feeding.

That was when Aemond burst through the doors with a look of exhaustion and a need for attention.

A need she had no intention of abiding by as he sought to exclude her so soundly this morn with no warning once so ever. In all honesty it had tainted the way she'd sweetly awoken in bed with him, as clearly that was more than just his hungered need to taste her first thing in the morn. As it was just as equally his act of service to placate her for what he had planned on doing all along.

As it happened, Rhaena had burped their babe upon her shoulder, before she swiftly handed him off to Elaya to take to the nursery. It was only once the young wet-nurse had left the room that Aemond moved for Rhaena. Taking long strides to meet her upon the chaise, she'd scoffed at him then, knowing exactly what he wanted. His heated gaze lingered on her still exposed bosom, lustful and wanting...though she was too annoyed with him to indulge him.

Perky and engorged as they were, she knew he more than likely wished to lay with her. To rest his head upon her swollen breasts as she caressed his hair and allowed him to unwind from his otherwise stressful meeting. And perhaps, had she'd been present for said meeting...or at the very least privy to the information that had been shared or delved into there...she would have sympathized. She would have given him exactly what he wanted, she'd placate him, hold him as he sometimes wishes to be cuddled.

But no, not then.

Instead she pulled the buttons of her chemise closed, lifting herself up off of the chaise, she walked around him and made her way to the long ornamented wall-length mirror that stood on the northern side of their chambers. There she stared purposely at her reflection only, working to ignore the way his perplexed expression morphed into one of burning irritation. As Rhaena casually touched up the ends of a few of her long loosening twists, it would soon be time to undo them, free her curls and wash her hair. A task she'd take to later this evening before bed.

In the moment, however, Rhaena focused on herself. The vast majority of her maternity gowns had elegant buttons upon the front of the gown, made for easier access to nurse her babe at any given time of the day. A stipulation that had always been a part of her marriage, Aemond would have no one but her to nurse their children.

Though it was in that mirror's reflection that their argument had started. He'd made his way towards her, and she'd turned her dragon's fire directly upon him. Perhaps she'd been warranted in it, that inundated rage of feeling belittled and undermined felt all too consuming for her to ignore in the face of Aemond's condescending rebuttals. That she was apparently in no 'condition' to need to be present for council meetings, that she would be filled in on the most ‘pertinent information’ when needed.

Perhaps it was her body now, so late in her pregnancy, hormones ran amok fluttering dangerous levels of heightened emotions throughout her. Though even still, she was certain of it.

He was sidelining her...she could feel it.

And she didn't know why.

‘Confinement’ felt like such a half-assed answer.

He was hiding things from her and yet he still sought rewards for such blatant behaviour. Was it any wonder she denied him those rewards, she was in no mood to lay tangled in bed with him. She was in no mood to allow him to nuzzle his cheek upon her ample chest while he caressed her belly and teased her core with soft presses of his slender fingers. She knew him far too well for that. The progression of him starting off by claiming that he just wished for her to 'set him at ease'. Only, within the hour he'd seduce her to the point of having her gown torn off with his cock working her with rough deep wanting strokes.

It was something he could never resist, especially when she was this far along with one of her pregnancies. All he wanted was to be inside of her, to feel her heated walls clenched tightly around thick length. His ever constant need to sink into her warmth, soak himself in her wetness. All as he held her tightly against him, nestled between her thighs as he rocked into her with perfect rhythm. Set at a pace of his choosing, with his teeth grazing her neck marking her body. And that ironclad grip of his, enough to set bruises, enough to make her shudder with want…the sort of hold that prevented the mere idea of escape.

Letting her go...it was never an option, it always seemed a foreign concept to him.

This would have been no different and seeing as she was cross with him. She chose to stand her ground, to hold fast to her willpower against his handsome seductive charms. It was a hard thing sometimes these days, seeing as her body almost always wanted for him...a true traitor, really. Her body had always betrayed her when it came to him. Ever since her early days, even when she firmed her way through every bedding session. Even the nights she cried through the utter heartbreak of allowing the acts done upon her…in the name of her safety…in the name of her duty.

It’d been disgusting then, to think that her body had still enjoyed it even when her mind screamed the opposite. The thought of taking in the cock of the man who’d killed her first love, her second love…her grandmother…and then her father.

Perhaps some days still…she found herself disgusted with herself. Because she didn’t hate it as much as she should anymore…because she’d found her way to enjoying it all.

Surely the Gods’ frowned upon her.

Thankfully, though, in that moment, when she denied him she stood by it. And because she stood so harshly against his whims, he stormed out of their rooms. A dark thunderous slam of pent up aggression and building animosity, he needed a different outlet seeing as his preferred choice had repudiated him. And in that knowledge, Rhaena knew well that he'd only ever go to Vhagar next.

In this world Aemond Targaryen had two sanctuaries.

Vhagar…and Rhaena, herself.

And if one would not have him…then he’d storm his way over to the one that would.

That however, had been several hours ago now. Rhaena had spent the rest of her morning in peace, she'd bathed and dressed Aemon herself. It was a good distraction from her own frustrations. She broke her fast with her young son, watched on as he ate his oats and banana slices messily. Biting back small amused smiles as she corrected his loose hold of his spoon and dabbed a napkin to his grubby mouth. Nibbling on her own custard pastry, delicately sipping her spiced tea in between. Their meal had been nice, they'd spoken about the day's activities her son wished to partake in. The lessons he was most excited to learn about today, as well as his hope to go flying with his father again later in the afternoon.

Seeing as Morning was still growing, now a much larger beast over the last four years...she was still too small for Rhaena to fly upon herself. Let alone for her to take her son up with her. No, the choices were limited. Aemon could either fly with his father upon Vhagar, with his aunt upon Moondancer, or his uncle upon Sunfyre. As his own little golden hatchling, Golding...was his current name for his bonded beast, the he-dragon was still far too small for him to mount. Though Golding was surely a temporary name as Aemond intended on convincing their son to choose a more suited name for the dragon. But that was a conversation they'd have to shelf for now. Aemon was still a toddler and so he quite enjoyed the name he'd chosen.

In either case, as Aemon's choice for dragons to fly upon was scarce...he would always choose Vhagar first, he was painfully enamoured with every facet of his father. Even the less than savoury parts of him.

Once Maester Alfador came to fetch Aemon for his lessons to attend with his cousins, Rhaena turned her attention back to her younger son. Playing letter blocks with Daemion, reading to him and singing lullabies as he grew sleepy in her arms. She'd taken him and sat upon the balcony overlooking the courtyard so that her babe could take some sun and fresh air as he slept soundly, there she listened to sounds of the busy castle. The birds chirping in the wind and the distant roars of the dragons near the pits.

And there she'd thought of Vhagar and her husband. There was so much she still wished to say, so much he'd simply chosen to walk out on just because he could. With the full freedom that came with the title of King...he expressed that power either as intelligently as he wished or as childishly as a man of four and twenty could.

But now with Aemon in her company once again, she'd have to deal with the boy’s father, Aemond later...once he returned from his petulant flight upon Vhagar... she'd deal with him then.

Returning her focus to her son, she pressed a sweet kiss upon Aemon's forehead. Gazing down into his pale indigo eyes, a mirror of his father's own. In fact, in all honesty…Aemon's entire visage was simply a little mirror to Aemond's own. They shared the same face shape...or at least the pudgy round face Aemond once held in childhood. It was a good indicator for the features their son would one day mature into. The two of them also shared near identical noses and lip shapes. Although, Rhaena's own added genes had ensured that the tip of Aemon's nose was just a tad bit more rounded. His lips more rounded than Aemond's own plush sharp bow-shaped lips.

It was in the little things, Rhaena supposed. How their son had inherited her curly hair, a pinch of her tawny complexion. Her soft curved eyebrows and her almond shaped eyes.

Yet still, all in all, their son was the living embodiment of a namesake, one Aemond had purposely bestowed upon their first child. Either to flood his own ego or in a dubious if not blindingly obvious attempt to flaunt his supposed legitimate reign over the one he'd stolen. The one he’d slaughtered in order to usurp the throne.

Though surely the realm was privy to the fact that it was Rhaena's own blood that made their son and the rest of their children so pure, they'd made both a purebred Valyrian heir and a spare for the throne. A union that started with a form of forced coerced duty...now led by something far more complicated.

Something that existed between the bounds of love and hatred.

For the moment, Rhaena gave her son leave to return to his toys. He'd want to play with her, but she needed a moment to herself first. She'd only just returned from spending some time with her sister in the gardens, where she'd divulged a splintered version of the events of this morning. Not that it mattered really, Baela may have joined Rhaena in their unified ridiculing of their King. But at the end of the day Baela would remind Rhaena of the same fact she always had, that Aemond Targaryen was a fickle psychotic being…and that she should be careful to never push the bounds and risk her life in the process.

Because she’d already done so years ago…she’d already made such attempts in the past. And while she still had her life granted to her, she did not walk away the victor in those situations.

So in that way, her elder sister’s advice had always been sound…but it was hard to swallow at times. Seeing as Rhaena’s forced marriage barely compared to the near bliss Baela was lucky enough to experience with her own spouse. In their case, her union with Aegon was a long time coming, a match Baela had hoped for since she was six and ten. Though it was a shame that just as she'd gotten used to the idea of marrying their sweet and loyal Jace...he'd been plucked from their lives.

Although Rhaena always supposed that as devastating as his loss was, he was spared in a way. For while he’d come to love his betrothed, his daring Baela…she…she still secretly harboured feelings for the enemy. The night before Viserys had died, Baela had spent one final night with Aegon before he was set to wed Helaena. She'd left that passionate encounter with the settling seed of a man she was most likely to never see again. The Gods, though, they could be funny in that way. Tearing the realm apart, bathing a family in blood and tragedy only for the fates to align yet again. For Baela to finally have Aegon as she once wished, just in time to make her not-so hidden pregnancy legitimate before it was too late. Only now both their hands were tainted. War had taken both Jace and Helaena. War had taken everyone away from the dragon twins except their lone grandsire, Corlys Velaryon and his now legitimized heir Alyn Velaryon.

*KNOCK, KNOCK...KNOCK*

The pounding knock at the door drew Rhaena back out of her thoughts once again, she was losing it slowly but surely. She really did need her husband to return, she needed to clear her own mind...she needed to focus on something, anything else. The knock was hard, blunt and formulaic, it could have only belonged to a member of the Kingsguard. So when Rhaena swung the door open to see Ser Willis Fell, she was not surprised to come face to face with his hardened visage. Expressionless as he was, the redheaded man simply stepped aside for a young squire to hold out a silver platter in front of their Queen.

"For you, my Queen. A raven hath just arrived," the young lanky boy bowed his head, as a sign of sheepish reverence and respect.

A small scroll.

A missive.

How odd.

Tumultuous as this reign had been over the years, at this point in time, nothing beyond yet another rebellion could warrant the urgency of a missive like this.

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Part 2 coming soon...maybe Friday!

#aemond targaryen #rhaena targaryen #rhaena x aemond #aemond x rhaena #rhaemond #hotd fanfic #hotd #catch my ass posting Rhaemond now that s2 has effectively soured everyone's feelings for the show and these characters all together 🤣💀#ANYWAYS #instead of working on the series i already have on-going 😭😭😭#here's a mini-part fic I started!!#YES there will be smut #Don't You Dare Do This Without Me

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ol-razzle-dazazzle · 6 years ago

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Rattus Rattus- Chapter 2: Rats With Wings

Here we are again! Thank you all to my fellow Fyogol shippers, it’s nice getting awesome comments, and I really appreciate it- even if I haven’t had much time to respond to things! I’ve been a bit stressed, but here’s the next chapter.

The next one I’m going to be honest might take a while- as I have two exams in 3-4 days. It might take a week, it might take two. Probably just a week, since I’ve already written half of the other chapter- in which we will be introduced to Pushkin (and hopefully you’ll actually enjoy his character and not feel cheated)! After these initial chapters, things will start to pick up and become more interesting, so keep a watch out ;3c As for those wondering where Ivan will come into the story, he’ll come much later- after school and we will all suffer

Trigger warnings aren’t really needed for this chapter: just more catholic shenanigaggles, also Fyodor has misophonia (I personally hc him as autistic like myself)

Class went rather well, barring Fyodor accidentally picking up Myskin by the tail because he thought it was a pencil. There was a somewhat looming sense of dread, when the teacher glanced at him- and whether it was because he had heard about the rat fiasco or because he was a new student, the attention and requests to recite English was frustrating.

He hadn't even ended up going to his dormitory, let alone pack or unpack his stuff or look around the place (despite that being his own fault). Granted, Fyodor didn't bring too much- just a heap of books, school supplies, and food for Myskin that was disguised to his family as taking a strange craving for seeds and fruit. Irregardless, his family gave him some money that he could spoil through the weeks- and he hopes the nurse is nice and manipulable enough to get potential free lollies like he promised Nikolai.

The class bell rang again and Fyodor then decides to swear to memorise the timetable because he flinches every time the wretched alarm rings. He has no clue where the chapel is let alone how to get there, so he stands outside the classroom Nikolai entered.

"Ah! Fedya!" Nikolai calls, waving. "Lovely of you to join me." He looks around, peering into Fyodor's bag. "And the magnificent Myskin." He pats the rat.

As the two walk, Nikolai filled in as much information of the place as he knew. Curfew is at 9:30, but extends 15 minutes each year- older students also have privilege of leaving to explore the town more frequently, but for their current year, visits are once every three weeks. Saturdays are free days, with the addition of any services or clubs students wish to partake in- and Sundays have an 8AM chapel service, which continues for an hour, as well as one at 8PM.

"And dorms?"

"I'm not sure��I think they're mixed with years, two to four to a room." Nikolai thinks, "Well, generally speaking- I won't be in mine very often."

"How come?"

"Well, thing is…" Nikolai scrunches his face. "I'm here on a 'scholarship' of sorts. So, I'd mainly reside in my own room because 'asceticism'."

"That sounds rather stupid." Fyodor replies.

"…It is." Nikolai shrugs. "But I need to maintain the church as well."

"But we're going there to do just that." Fyodor frowns. "I'm not sure how I am supposed to sleep surrounded by people."

Nikolai sighs, "Well, we have to manage anyway. I'm as disgruntled about this as you are."

"Stop dragging your feet, you two." The teacher folds her arms, "For now you'll be cleaning the balcony with the bell tower." She hands them a broom, spray, mop and dustpan. "As for the rat, you're lucky it must've scuttled into the forest- as it hasn't been sighted."

Fyodor heaves a sigh.

"Also, while I do not have the time to oversee your detention, I will check the job is satisfactory in two hours."

Fyodor glances to the side, hoping for an incredulous 'Two hours?!'- but found none.

"Thank you." A smile instead.

However, the moment the doors closed and they clamoured up the stairs, a loud groan came from the other boy as he shut the door. "Two hours?! Seriously?"

A little late on schedule, but lovely nonetheless.

"It'll take us an hour to clean the thing!" Nikolai sighs, leaning against the wall, staring around him. While the tower was somewhat shabby and didn't have much room- due to the enormous bell and sets of pulleys, it was a nice view outside.

"Just…please don't ring it." Fyodor winces, finally he is face to face with his arch-nemesis- the bell that had tormented him thrice.

"Oh yeah- you don't like the noise." Nikolai peers over at the bell, "It's going to ring twice, automated- but there's a clock on the wall so I'll let you know…are you sensitive to loud noises all the time?"

Fyodor scrunches his face a little, not wanting to admit it. "…Maybe."

"Ah- I was just wondering because I know I can get a little loud."

"No!" Fyodor's surprised at his sudden response, "No, it's fine. I like your voice."

"Well, first time I've ever heard that!" Nikolai laughs, and it's a laugh that's far more superior to any bell. "Alright, let's get this done so we can spend the spare time lazing around."

"Hm, okay…" Fyodor examines the copious heavy tools. "I'll coat the bell with the spray, and you can sweep."

"Sure- but I wanna clean the balcony, and you can mop and polish."

"How come? The balcony would be the hardest part- she probably wants you to scrape the bird-"

"Eh, just a part of being a bird lover. I mean, you probably deal with it regarding Myskin."

"Myskin is very sophisticated and I am, in fact, training him to use a litter box or a disposable container." Fyodor frowns, "Also, I'm a bit worried he'll get nervous and jump from this height…" He zips open his bag, and inside it the mouse sleeps. "Well, either that or get awoken with the bells." He zips it back, "Poor thing has had enough trouble as it is."

Speaking of which…this would be a good chance to talk to Nikolai about…that.

"We'll sneak a snack for him and us when we go to nurse after this, your treat, right?" Nikolai smiles, getting the broom and dustpan, sweeping. "But after we get dismissed, come on now. Also don't talk while your head is inside the bell, back when I was in Ukraine I've hit my head wayyy too many times."

"Ukraine?" Fyodor raises an eyebrow.

"Also check the ropes to see if they're frayed or not." Nikolai interjects quickly, "Geez- there's so much dust here."

"Why did you come-"

"Come on Fedya! Ring ring ring! Sweep sweep sweep, clean clean clean!" He hums for a little while in this manner, and Fyodor resigns with a sigh, getting the spray and cloths.

The iron was surprisingly both hard and easy to clean- easy when there weren't blemishes or bird excrement, but difficult otherwise. Fyodor was not exactly known for 'elbow grease', and often resulted in 'ngh's and 'hah's and all matter of exerted effort.

"Is it really that hard?" Nikolai whistles, collecting the corners.

"Oh shush- you got the easy job." Fyodor rolls his eyes, moving to the corner to clean around the rim. "I'm sorry I'm not as tough as most people- but my strength lies in mental fortitu- AH!"

He fall backwards onto the floor, flinching at air and invisible strands. "…It seems that churches are also a haven for spiders."

"What were you saying?" Nikolai grins, "Also, I haven't swept that part yet- move over here."

"Oh shush. Besides, I'm working harder than you are- you've been humming along and I've already cleaned that part.

"Not really, there's a whole layer in the middle and top that needs to be done- as well as the underside." Nikolai points out.

"I know that- I'm working my way up." Fyodor looks away, and continues cleaning the other side, brushing away the cobwebs.

"Hmm…you don't need to be so defensive." Nikolai shrugs, "Besides, you'll have a growth spurt soon enough."

"Kolya, if you do not shut up I will make sure you drink this whole spray bottle."

And of course, as if the thunder of God himself decided to add more effect, the bell rang loudly.

Said effect was Fyodor once again fell as he was startled, bringing his hands to his ears and dropping the bottle.

"…I was right on the nose." Nikolai shudders for comedic effect, "You're scary, Fedyaaa."

He picks the bottle up and helps Fyodor. "…Thanks." At least he can clean the inside now.

"Just, please, don't fall now. I won't be able to catch you."

"You didn't catch me the first time." Fyodor murmurs, trying to make short work of the job- and by the time he was finished Nikolai had cleared the place of most dust and insects.

"Okay, now for the top part- you're going to need a ladder. I can hold it for you-"

"Nah, you can do it." Fyodor hands the spray and cloth over. "I'll hold the ladder."

"You aren't going to let me fall because I teased you a bit, are you?"

Fyodor just smiles, as he brings the ladder.

"…That's horrifying."

"It's fine right- you have the weird relocation thingy."

"…" Nikolai silently climbs up the bell tower, glancing to see if Fyodor was supporting it before he cleaned around it.

"You know I will have to inevitably ask or pry it out of you." Fyodor helps him down. "As I respect you, you will have the choice."

He's pretty serious when he needs to be, huh. "Well…okay- fine. We'll take a short break. It's fair enough." Nikolai takes off his blazer.

"So…?" Fyodor sits up on the wall, tapping next to him for Nikolai to sit.

"Well, okay- this is pretty weird but…some people have gifts. Like supernatural powers. I don't really know why, but one day- I was sleeping, and I must've put my hand in my other sleeve, because when I woke up- BAM!" He flutters his arms, "It's gone!"

"Because I had pretty bad vision in this eye-" He pokes the blurred one, "I didn't really know what was going on- because it was my left hand. And then I hear my family scream like nothing else before and…" He puts his hand in his jacket, as it materialised in front of them, waving. "There it was in the kitchen, shaking and wriggling around. You should've seen the face on my mom when she saw it- she almost had a heart attack!"

With that, he gets up. "And that's that."

"No it's not."

"If we waste too much time, we won't get to go bird-watching." Nikolai puts his finger to his lips. "It's only fitting such dramatic things are revealed on top of dramatic places."

"Must you be so extra?" Fyodor groans- just when he's getting somewhere.

"I must." He grabs the scraper and gets started on the balcony. The noise irks Fyodor, but nonetheless he grabs the mop and starts cleaning any leftover grime.

The bell rings again, and amidst the scraping he almost curses (he does, but in a Catholic school no one needs to know that.) "Alright, done. Balcony time." He chucks the supplies away. "We have half an hour."

Nikolai sighs, "Someone's eager. Fine, but you better tell some juicy backstory too."

"There's nothing juicy about it. I don't have magical tele-location abilities."

"Wow, Fedya- way to isolate me." He perches on the edge. "If you fall here, I'll catch you. Probably."

Fyodor perches next to Nikolai, holding the wall a little for support. Nikolai sighs longingly, "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Fyodor sneaks a glance at Nikolai, his eyes half lidded and a relaxed smile- no grandeur or theatrics. The way his messy ponytail flutters and his bangs getting even more messed up- it's a strange picture.

A beautiful one. Well, when Fyodor's hair isn't getting in the way.

"Yeah."

"You keep looking at me and the wall, trying not to look down." Nikolai stifles a laugh. "It's almost like a storybook, in the distance."

"…" Fyodor glances quickly for a moment, being encapsulated. A forest, lush and green. The clouds, surprisingly for Russian weather, not looming and gray. The town in the distance with colourful houses and stalls and buildings.

"It's what birds see. They can go anywhere they want- and they see the world like this- in constant motion and flight."

"Yet they still return to the same places, still tied."

"You think so?" Nikolai looks at Fyodor, "I find that even nicer. A being that can go anywhere in the world and yet still returns."

"Will you return to Ukraine?"

"No- for that's no longer my home."

"It's where your family is."

"And will you return to your family?"

"…I don't have any particular attachment to them."

"Neither do I." Nikolai sighs, "They thought I was possessed or had some strange interference with 'things not of this mortal realm'. So they took me to the priest."

"Usually things like 'gifts' are blessings and curses."

"For someone so quiet, you're rather perceptive, aren't you?” Nikolai glances at him, turning a little to see him with his better eye, “Yes, they are. And what happens when a human sees something they don't understand?"

"They purge it."

Nikolai exclaims, "My! That's morbid! Ah, so Fedya is a realist. Well, not quite- one can't exactly 'bless away' tele-location. But, I managed to find out that it's accessible via an outer garment. Maybe that's why magicians wear long sleeves."

The words struck Fyodor as odd, 'bless away'- 'not quite'. But for now he pushed them out of his mind.

"Nikolai? What if everyone has a special ability but they just never know it?" Fyodor hums in thought, "It could be something really stupid and bizarrely specific like being immune to bombs, but only when they're in a certain shape."

"Ahahaha! You come up with the most preposterous things, Fedya. But…I guess I probably wouldn't be the only one. Maybe it's like when you learn a word, and then you see it pop up everywhere… That would be interesting, to see what other people would have."

"Hm, I don't think people would use them very well- such things could spiral out of control."

"Well, that's mean."

"It certainly would give someone a predisposition to a strange fate."

"Fedya, did you really have nothing else better to do as a kid than flick through dictionaries?"

"You have your ability, I have mine."

There's the laugh again, like bells.

A sharp knock on the door interrupts them, as they open it.

"Hmm…fine- it's a satisfactory job. Go on, then- and I expect the two of you to have learnt your lesson. Gogol, you can stay back for introduction into your room- and Dostoevesky, go to the nurse's office and then you will be taken to your dorm."

Nikolai stretches, as they walk down the stairs. "Alright, see you soon- at dinner."

"You have an hour and a half- and I expect you two to be prompt."

And so Nikolai waves at Dostoevesky, and he manages to find the nurse's office- swiping some lemon drops- and gets given directions to his dorm.

The hallways are rather empty and wooden, everything echoes- and it makes him think of that saying 'the walls have ears, the doors have eyes'. Watchful eye of God, huh. He puts his ear to the door, and hears some chattering- thumps of pillows, and turns the door.

#fyogol #fyodor #nikolai #gogol #bsd #my writing #rattus rattus

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