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tragedybunny · 9 months ago

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The Song Divine - Chapter 1

༺Summary༻

Astrid was an opera singer with a glowing future ahead of her when fate crosses her path with that of Prince Folwin, youngest son of the Emperor. The two begin what feels like a romance from tales of old. The closer the two become though, the more Astrid is pulled into the deepening conflict tearing the Imperial Family apart from within. One fateful night will shatter it entirely, leaving Astrid alone in the world and a fugitive. Just as she begins to find solace among the companions who took her in, her and Folwin are thrust back together for a grim mission that will have them pardoned if they can see it through. While the dangers they face are great, the biggest struggle might be having one another close through it all.

༺Warnings༻ Setting appropriate violence, sexual content

༺Word Count༻ 3011

༺A/N༻ Hi Lovelies. This is my first original work. It's been a labor of love for a year to get started on this. I hope you fall in love with these characters as much as I have. I will still be writing fanfic of course, I have so many plans for Astarion. The biggest thank you to @icybluepenguin for editing and being my support! I love you Icy, you're my partner in crime. And thank you for reading.

Also on AO3

The night air was cool on Astrid's skin as she gazed at the sky and wondered if Volant had put a star there to guide her specifically. Perhaps she should pray on it, but religion was never close to her heart. A sentiment many in the Empire shared these days, some even replacing old gods with the Imperial family. It was whispered the Emperor had secretly begun to encourage the practice.

Astrid shook her head to clear away those thoughts. Politics and state religions weren't her concern. The stage was. And she'd come to this deserted, neglected part of the Imperial Garden to practice. The great opera house, the Helentine, named after the Empress Helentia, was open to her, but there she might be observed and even heard, a mortifying idea.

Pulling her shawl tight over the plain dress she wore, she began singing scales to warm up her voice. She kept glancing around at the paths through hedges around her, waiting to be interrupted. It seemed that this corner of the Imperial Garden was truly an untouched haven. Softly, she sung the first notes of an aria. In moments, she was lost in the song, transported to that place she could only get to when she sang - that wondrous, sacred place where there was only her and music. To Astrid, singing was divine bliss.

Her voice remained softer than the projection she’d use on stage. Even though she was reasonably sure she wouldn’t be found, no reason for extra risk. Eyes closed, she raised her arms, hands moving along with the melody, keeping time. Every note was effortless, and when the last one came, her heart surged with joy. As her voice died away, Astrid felt herself coming down from the high in a soft, joyous haze, the most relaxed she’d felt since she came to the Imperial complex. For a moment, it felt like things were going to be alright.

Until she heard the sound of soft applause behind her.

Blood turned to ice water in her veins as she turned to look behind her. A young man sat on one of the worn stone benches scattered amongst the neglected hedges and flowers. Though his silver eyes were friendly and a smile played about his full lips, she dread was building in her stomach. He was tall, taller than most men. Elven lineage, she surmised, noting the pointed ears almost lost in waves of platinum white hair, and the handsome yet fine features he bore.

"Bravo, that was delightful, my dear," he said in a cultured and mellifluous tone.

"T-thank you," Astrid stammered and he didn't seem to notice her struggle.

"And what's your name? I haven't seen you at the Imperial Opera before and I'm sure I'd remember a voice like that." The smile never left him but it didn't do anything for her unease.

"Astrid, Astrid Lucerne. I just arrived at the Opera company. And you, sir?" This time her voice sounded blessedly normal… She'd just been caught singing alone in an abandoned garden, she didn't need to embarrass herself further in front of this striking stranger.

On his feet in an instant, he bowed with a dramatic flourish. "Prince Folwin, pleasure to meet you, Madame Astrid."

"Oh-" the air rushed from her lungs and she felt unsteady on her feet. She had just looked foolish and eccentric in front the most important audience she could ever have, an Imperial Royal.

"Now I've gone and overwhelmed you, it would seem." Taking her hand with all gentleness, he guided her to sit on the bench next to him while her mind tried to catch up to the situation. “My sincerest apologies.”

Shaking her head, she collected her scattered thoughts, black hair that had escaped its pins swirling around her. “No need, I had just thought I was alone…”

“And then some nosy Prince shows up and spoils the evening,” he continued on, in the same lighthearted manner as before.

Astrid had never had a stranger moment in her life than sitting on a cold bench next to her unexpected royal audience, hearing him poke fun at himself. Her panic was slowly succumbing to a fascination with him and why he was there. “I wouldn’t phrase it quite that way, Prince Folwin.”

“Just Folwin will do, given these rather informal circumstances. But I must beg you, indulge my curiosity,” he leaned in a conspiratorial manner, the two of them now far too close for any sense of propriety, “why are you out here, singing for the hedges?”

The heady smell of something floral combined with a musky incense clouded her senses. The momentary reprieve from her panic vanished as she scrambled for a way to explain herself that didn’t make her look pathetic. “To be honest…” Her words fell away as she hesitated once again. Folwin rested a cheek in one of his perfect pale hands, eyeing her expectantly. No good excuses came to mind and, admitting defeat, she let the truth out, “I rather hate singing where people can hear me.”

Folwin balked for a moment, as though he was unsure if she was joking. “Interesting, given your assignment to the Opera.”

Astrid found a rather interesting spot on the ground to stare at. “My father's idea, he believes my voice is too good to hide from the world. He plays for the grand orchestra and he insisted I come here and begin my career.”

“Ah, my sympathies. I can understand being subject to the whims of a parent.”

Astrid chanced a glance back up to find those silver eyes studying her.

“Although, if you don't mind me saying, I'm inclined to agree with him, your voice is very lovely, and it would be a shame to keep it hidden.”

The compliment caused her heart to skip a beat and she worried her cheeks would begin to flush. “That's because you only heard me sing while I thought I was alone.”

A hand of sculpted marble reached out and tilted up her chin, holding her eyes to his. “And what have you to be scared of, sounding as perfect as you do?” All the mirth had vanished from his words and he was suddenly quite serious.

There was no answer that would come to her, try as she might to think of it; she could only stare into those hypnotic eyes of his. It was madness, being overwhelmed by the beauty of him, the intoxicating scent, the lilting sound of his voice. Astrid scolded herself - he was a Prince, this must just be some game to him. "Like many emotions, fear is not always rational. But I suppose I fear to fail, and to be on display while doing so. Sounds silly, doesn't it?"

Shaking his head, his hand slipped away and Astrid felt its departure keenly. "We all have that which we must overcome. How about a deal?" He didn't leave space for her to answer. "You face your fears and I'll make a point to attend your debut. It will be a glorious triumph then."

Astrid pictured herself waiting in the wings, watching the Royal Box for any glimpse of Folwin. An absurd fancy; he would most certainly forget his promise as soon as he walked away.

"And how shall I hold you to this?" she asked.

A musical laugh escaped him and the world was light and jovial all over again. "If I fail to keep my word, you must come straight to court and tell my father about how feckless and irresponsible I am. You won't have a hard time convincing him." The bitterness of his last words didn't escape her.

The great clock tower began to chime the hour and Folwin sighed. "Speaking of, I'm afraid I must bid you goodnight, Madame Astrid." He rose, now towering over her. "I do expect to hear word of your success soon."

"Goodnight, Pr-" she stopped at his sharp look, "Folwin. I'll hold you to your word."

Sweeping her hand up, his lips brushed her knuckles before he vanished with an almost preternatural grace.

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

"There's just the two guards, that's all, once his Clerk is out of the way," Lyza nodded at Astrid from across the plans laid out in chalk on the floor.

She sighed. This job was shaping up like so many others. What an odd thought, that criminality had become mundane.

Two other faces turned her way. The room was crowded with the four of them crammed inside, the last one available at the inn last night. The tang of sea air drifting in through the windows and the crying of the gulls had awakened them this morning. They were as far north as one could get and still be in the Empire of Elyssia.

“I'll handle him,” Astrid said.

Tallus nodded. “After Lyza and Brecken take the guards, I'll have the locks open and we'll be out before even the rats in this shithole know what we're about.”

"You had better be quick this time. We almost got caught in Gretz." Even as close as their little band had become, Lyza’s words carried a threat, if they faltered, she would save herself first.

"Relax," soothed Brecken, the half-elf among three humans.

Where Tallus was nervous ambition cloaked in charisma, and Lyza was staunch pragmatism, Brecken was the calm center of their group. Astrid wasn't sure yet what she was, other than a blind will to survive.

"Tonight is the Sending Ceremony, and then tomorrow, the whole village will be at the docks, practically. No one will notice anything." Though Brecken didn't have the elven silver eyes - they were green flecked with gold - sometimes his fair features reminded her too much of Folwin and Astrid couldn’t stand to look at him. Even his hair was such a light gold it looked white in the dark.

“I will relax when we’re out of here with our purses full.” Lyza had been more terse than usual since their near capture in Gertz and the wealthy merchant who’d sworn revenge on them.

That failed job had brought them here, to Abyssus. Spring had come and with it, the Ebony Sea had calmed, meaning the residents could ply their trade, the hunting of the great beasts that stalked it. Tonight would be a ceremony and festival celebrating the start of the season, and tomorrow almost everyone in town would head to the docks to farewell the ships, including the local Lord. Brecken was right, they would be done before anyone was the wiser.

"Then you’ll take it all and retire to a big house in those fertile valleys to the south,” Tallus teased but got another sharp look from Lyza’s black eyes.

“I’ll never stop taking from them,” Lyza said bitterly and Tallus let it rest…

"And what about you, Astrid, didn't you say you had a cousin in Faemare? You've got enough from these last couple of jobs to make your way there." Tallus asked and the other two paused to watch her reaction.

While he was right, she did have distant kin and no compulsion to hold her to this life, the thought of being on her own again made her insides quake. Astrid had spent her whole life either with her father guiding her or studying at the Grand Academy. Those few weeks after the terrible events, running aimless and alone, had nearly ended her. It was the three of them who had seen her weak and starving on the road and offered her a place with them.

"Maybe someday," Astrid answered lightly, "for now I'll stick around if you don't mind."

"Oh, you know I don't mind," Tallus's warm brown eyes danced, empty flirting as easy for him as breathing.

Lyza loudly cleared her throat. "Is everyone clear? Any misgivings? Remember, we can't afford to fail."

They all nodded in unison and began to rise from the unforgiving wooden floor with various laments about their aches.

"Astrid, would you?" Lyza gestured to their chalk plans.

"Almost forgot." She hummed a few notes to set the tone and then, singing directly to the dust of the chalk, she wove a song commanding it to depart as though it had never been there. As she sang, she could feel the eyes of her companions on her, staring with wonder, almost as much as the first time they'd seen it. Songweaving was a rare art, only a few left in the whole world knew it. At least Folwin had given her one thing that lasted.

"Let's get out and mingle, make ourselves too likable to be suspicious. Remember, we're here to invest in one of the companies if we like what we see." Lyza said.

Moments later, Lyza was tugging Astrid after her toward the docks, dismissing Brecken and Tallus. Most of the locals were headed toward the market or they were at home making final preparations for the festival. The two of them traveled against the flow, out toward the ancient harbor that Abyssus was founded on. The whole town seemed to be made of wood weathered into full gray by the sea winds and battered by the storms that drifted in from it, all of it looking rundown and tired.

The people though were like day to its night, cheerful, welcoming, and excited for the event. Endless friendly waves and morning greetings followed them as they walked. Mist still hung lightly to the ground as the spring sunshine struggled to burn it away. The gray woolen dress Astrid had favored for the last few weeks of dismal weather kept the chill at bay, while Lyza wrapped herself in a fur lined cloak over her dark tunic and trousers.

The preparations for the Sending left the docks empty of all but the those working to ready the ships for the coming hunting season. A strange atmosphere hung about the place, sound but not the din of populace, noise but silence in a way. Around thirty ships moored at the docks, ready to begin their bloody work. Sailors from not just the Empire but all over the world went about their labor in a synchronized harmony.

Lyza had been strangely quiet as they walked but as they stopped at the edge of the harbor, Astrid could tell she was readying her thoughts. Lyza was quick to command, or become snappish when irritated, but when there was something important to say, she took her time with it. Breathing in the stinging sea air, Astrid gave her friend space to think, watching the great assembly before them work.

Finally, Lyza drew in a breath. “You know, with what we have stashed away, you do have enough to get out of the Imperial borders. Doesn’t matter if that cousin in Faemare was a lie or not, you could get to any of the three southern Kingdoms, or even Greenhold, if the Wild Elves don’t overrun it first. If that’s what you want. You’re under no obligation to stay with us.”

Lyza cut right to the heart of the matter, instead of dancing and teasing as Tallus had. The thought of Astrid leaving must have been on her mind to bring it up again. Their little group had sworn no oaths to one another nor made any promises to the length of their arrangement, but with a few successful heists now stashed in a cave to the south, it meant there were opportunities to move on. And not just for Astrid. She wouldn’t be surprised if Lyza was going to have this talk with Brecken and Tallus as well.

“I’m hurt you’d think my cousin is a lie,” she joked, trying to lighten up the dark expression on Lyza’s face. It worked for half a second. “But to be serious, I can’t think of what else I’d do with my life, even if I got there. I was dead. You all brought me back to life, this is where I belong. I’ll stay, as I told Tallus.” There was nothing else for her to do.

“Astrid, that can’t be the whole basis for your decision. I know that man you were with did something terrible to you, but you still have your whole life ahead of you.”

Guilt snaked its way around her chest, constricting her breathing. She had never quite gotten around to the truth of how she ended up on that roadside, at first being too terrified they would turn her over, and now worried they would never forgive her. For the hundredth time she resolved to tell them, after this job.

“Promise me you’ll think about it,” Lyza said.

"I'll promise if you tell me one thing."

In the space between their words, Astrid watched one ship in particular, the crew seeming a step more lively than those adjacent to it. They were supposed to be creating a cover, after all. With a gesture for Lyza to follow, she wandered a bit closer, trying to appear as though she knew what she was looking at.

"Fine, what is it?" Lyza had stopped a short bit behind her, now out onto the planks of the docks themselves, playing along with the act.

"Do you intend to chase us all out and keep going alone?"

"What?" Lyza's voice elevated for a moment, just enough to draw a couple of looks which she returned with a deep glare. The sailors went quickly back to their work and Lyza leaned in closer. "I just need to be sure where everyone's loyalty lies. I don't want anyone with us that's going to be dreaming of being somewhere else while we've got our lives on the line."

"Or maybe deep down, you do care about us and want what's best for us," Astrid teased, something she did less often with their serious leader than with the boys.

"Hush, you know what you three mean to me. Now let's go make some more cover." Tugging Astrid by the sleeve, she headed towards the ship's foreman stationed at the gangplank, overseeing the loading of supplies.

#original fiction #original fantasy #my writing #mutual pining #romance #fantasy romance #magic #court intrique #the song divine #story: the song divine

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lovehotelreservation · 2 years ago

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Thrust System - Pray Return to the Throbbing Man [4/6]

Summary: While delving into the depths of a dungeon, you wanted to be sure that your companions were people that you could trust and who would have your back.

In this case, they’d also have your ass too.

Rating: R

Pairing: Thancred/G’raha/F!Reader/Urianger/Estinien

[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter]

thank you 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ for your 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ patience 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ i hope 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ you vibe 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ to this 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

---------

How many Scions did it take to find one Warrior of Light?

The makings of a future exam question in Old Sharlayan came about as an amusing thought to Urianger.

It was needed given the perplexing and worrying context of everything that had since transpired upon arriving at the Lunar Palace.

Attempts to communicate with outside a failure, the threat of the temple’s viciously devout zealots looming ever so closely, and above all, separated from you and the rest of your dear friends.

But composure was key in light of everything.

To give into worry–as concerning as it was–felt like a failure of faith in the capabilities of you and the other Scions, and he surely did not wish to lose hope so soon.

Still, as he continued to cautiously tread through the labyrinth of hedges, marble, and flowers that served as the temple’s outdoor garden, more than anything did he wish to reunite with you soon.

While he was relieved to have seen you earlier, his intuition still held caution that his chase of you thus far may be more of trickery than reality.

However, the sudden sound of weapons being brandished and the all too familiar noise of your battle cry had him immediately drawing out his cards and globe as he dashed on ahead.

Perhaps you may have been possessed, perhaps he was being misled.

But what he could not stand around to do was simply wait while you were potentially in danger.

Rounding corner after corner, straining his ears to seek out the source of the conflict to make the correct turn, he kept onward and onward until he was finally about to see the battle that was unfolding.

Up until the floor gave way, an illusion of a path disappearing into aetherial wisps upon his heel touching the floor.

And it was then that Urianger was alarmed to suddenly find himself plunged into a pool of cool water, a seemingly endless abyss awaiting him as he found himself immediately flailing to remain afloat, his cards and globe lost in the process.

Again, composure was key in light of everything.

However, for him, breathing exercises immediately turned to prayers as his mind raced to keep his flailing limbs steady, of which was only for naught as his initial panic lead to him beginning to sink into the water.

Try and try as he did, he did all he could to keep his head out of the water.

Thankfully, his prayers were answered with the muffled call of his name and a sudden presence latching onto him soon afterwards, offering blessed support as he was guided back up to the surface.

While a stone pathway was no ideal place to lay down upon, to be on a steady surface was a godsend.

However, with the shock of nearly drowning in such chilled water, his robes only served to encase him in chills as he struggled to catch his breath.

But once again, he was given support, comfort.

And it was by the sensation of your warm lips onto his.

What blessed relief.

You drew away, your hands against his chest for some timed pushes before your lips returned to his again and again until he was finally coughing out water with a sputter and a gasp.

At last, he could catch his breath.

But not before gasping out “Thank you” in utter gratitude.

While he expected for his head to flop down onto the concrete, he instead found himself resting his head on your lap.

Such warmth, such softness.

His eyelids slowly shut over his honeyed irises. Formality and chivalry taking a step back as he did not bother to protest out of concern of burdening you, rather he accepted this gladly.

“Are you well, Uri?” You remarked softly, your hands reaching forward to stroke his grey hair soothingly.

“Better…” he heaved at first, all while he did his best to catch his breath. His eyes opened to gaze up into yours.

Beneath the gleam of the moonlight showering from above, the ethereal glow of the garden’s lunar blossoms, and the surrounding lanterns, ethereal was an absolute understatement to describe your current appearance.

With reverence, he continued with a rasp, “Thine rescue was a blessing in and of itself.”

“Try not to speak,” you mused gently with a smile and the shake of your head, all while your finger rested over his mouth, a slight twitch on your fingertips.

And then your hands reached for his cheeks.

“Just focus on catching your breath, alright?”

Urianger barely caught the lowered tone of your voice or the sight of the all too delighted grin on your lips just before your mouth was on his again.

So eager, so firm, so--

Sweet?

A swipe of your tongue onto his had him tasting a sugariness that he was unable to do anything else but savor.

Far from Urianger to deny a kiss from you, especially given the feelings he held for your heart for so long. However, your actions, your words, how the chill that was sending shivers up his spine had begun to subsid–

Astonished, he drew back, his features hot and warm as he gasped out your name, “What hath possessed you--?!”

A precious tilt of your head with a mischievous grin on your lips. “Shouldn’t you ask yourself that question?”

It was then that Urianger became all too aware.

The constricting feel of his wet robes.

The heat that was beginning to spread from deep within him.

Aghast and agitated, Urianger sat up as quickly as he could, his instincts having him seek out his cards, only to realize that they were still floating around the pool alongside his globe. Eyes narrowing in a glare, he near hissed out,

“Such trickery--not even the faes of Il Mheg could delve to such lows--!”

Urianger stopped short with a shudder as he felt your fingertips ghost over his chest just moments before your palm trailed down to brush ever so lightly over his crotch.

“Now now Uri, is that any way to treat a friend?”

The heat of your palm in contrast to the cool dampness of his robes.

“Or to be more exact, someone you admire all too fondly?”

And it was then, much to his shame, that the heat that had spread throughout his body had completely pooled to the pit of his loins, his cock having stiffened into an achingly hard and throbbing erection, his bulge protruding prominently through the skirt of his robes.

Face beginning to flush hot with scarlet, he attempted to shift away from you, a strained effort given that he still needed to recover from his mishap at the pool. Still, in face of it all, he had to maintain a strong front.

After all, composure was key to everything.

“You--! Whether by possession or masquerade, I will not stand by and watch you wear the visage of my dear fri--!”

He moved to seize your wrist, only to to be stopped by your other hand snatching onto his, pinning them right against his chest with ease as you smirked, palming his cock as you gloated,

“Uri, you always were such a sensitive soul~ I guess it’s to be expected that you’d be so easily riled up too!”

As angry as he wanted to be, to feel you–or rather, your copy–stroke and massage his cock felt divine, especially with how many fantasies he had of you doing just this.

And though this was a copy, to witness you act so boldly and assertively was much too delectable for him to deny, as signified by his hips pushing up against your hand in desire.

Only to have your hand drawn right away from him, his wrists being released soon after.

“That thee would cease so suddenly…?”

The moment he posed his question, his desire was overwhelmed by shame.

To which your cackling only furthered his disgust with himself all the more.

“You did say I ought to stop masquerading~ If you really want me to cease–or rather, for the real Warrior of Light to continue where I left off–then you’d better catch me!”

And before you took off, you leaned forward, your tongue dragging along the side of his ear before you nipped at it playfully.

“After you catch your breath of course~”

You were gone before he knew it and he was suddenly flopped onto the ground, his face in his hands in shame, his weapons still floating around the pool, his cock still throbbing uncontrollably with need, and the gem on his wrist shining at its most intense.

Composure was key to everything, and gods did he lose it so badly.

That copy of yours will surely face a wrath unlike anything he had ever imposed.

Though, as shameful as this display was, he was at least at peace knowing the real you did not witness his stumbles into selfish desire.

To his immediate knowledge at least.

After all, your true self bore witness to everything that transpired, with sympathy brimming within your heart.

However, you soon gasped sharply as the shackle of your ankle tightened with an intensity felt unlike anything else before with Thancred and G’raha. While you trembled and pressed your thighs close together to ease the increasing burden of desire that anchored further onto your body, you were just barely able to catch sight of one dragoon clearing his way to the worship room.

With you tucked in his arm?

#Urianger Augurelt #urianger x reader #urianger x wol #Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #reader insert #Thrust System #Fic #super freaknasty writing

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marauderundercover · 3 years ago

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Taking Chances Chapter 4: Unexpected (Bonding)

AO3

Bruce Wayne felt lost. This wasn’t an unusual feeling for him, but he wasn’t particularly fond of the events that led to him feeling lost. First, he found out he had a daughter. Yet another child that he hadn’t known of their existence. Then, he acted as Batman. He researched the girl and found that her school situation was...less than ideal. As was the supervillain situation in Paris. The girl- his daughter- had been targeted several times. Sometimes the Akuma went after her from the start. Other times, she was unfortunate enough to be in its line of sight when it was on a rampage. Any way you looked at it, she was in danger. No, the biggest mistake in researching her came with the phone number for the bakery run by her parents. Two lovely people who had raised her and taught her right from wrong. Something he hadn’t done. Their phone call was what left him feeling lost. They hadn’t demanded that he stay away from his daughter- from Marinette. No, on the contrary, they thought it was a great idea for the two to bond. Especially once Bruce had mentioned his other children.

“Marinette was distraught when the only information we could give her about her birth father was his name.” Sabine had said, adding to Bruce’s confusion.

“You had my name but didn’t reach out?” Bruce asked, trying (and failing) to figure out the situation.

“We didn’t have much to go on. Just your name and that you were American and worked in business. Bridgette didn’t give any specifics, and back then it didn’t really matter. I assumed Bruce Wayne was a common enough name, especially in the US.” Sabine replied simply. The rest of their conversation had gone similarly, with Bruce growing more and more lost until the end. They hadn’t even suggested a DNA test (though he was planning on asking Marinette, just so that they could be completely certain). They just wanted Marinette happy. Even if it meant meeting and bonding with the man who hadn’t known about her existence.

---

Marinette Dupain Cheng was not having an easy week. No, her week was sucky. In fact it was beyond sucky, it was shitty. So many things were happening at the same time, and she was just grateful that she wasn’t currently in Paris, since she was certain she’d be akumatized. From being attacked by the Joker for simply looking like a Wayne, to meeting Batman who was just as angry in person, and then figuring out Bruce Wayne really was her dad and accidentally calling him Batman, to fighting an Akuma by herself (one that she could barely handle) and then to top it all off, Adrien is Chat Noir. And Adrien has a crush on her, as Marinette. And apparently has for at least a month. Oh and now he knows that she’s Ladybug and so last night was filled with her Chat Blanc nightmares all over again. The cherry on the top of this mess was the fact that the class was practically ignoring her. She was sure they weren’t doing it intentionally and that they were just kinda distracted by Lila’s tall tales of Gotham. Tales that include her dating one of Bruce Wayne’s sons. She wouldn’t clarify which one, which was probably for the best. They two closest to their age were 12 and 19. Neither a great option for the 15 year old Italian. A shrill ringing tugs Marinette out of her thoughts. Glancing down at the unknown number attempting to call her, Marinette silently prayed that this would turn her shitty week around.

“Hello?” She answers, wincing slightly at the way her voice sounds after a night filled with screaming and crying from nightmares.

“Is this Marinette Dupain Cheng?” A deep voice asks. Marinette frowns.

“Um, yes?”

“Good. This is Bruce Wayne and well, I’m not sure how to-”

“You’re my dad.” She blurts out, face instantly heating up. “Oh crap, I mean, um-”

“Well yes. I do believe I may be your father. I was in contact with your parents earlier, to ask about boundaries and such. Your mother says that you had shown interest in meeting me and seeing how we’re similar?” He says, the question clear in his voice. Marinette opens her mouth to respond, then frowns.

“Just like that? We’re gonna meet, just like that?” She asks, hoping that her distrustful tone doesn’t push the man away.

“I’ll admit that I was going to ask if you would mind a paternity test. After speaking with your mother, I have no doubts, but I thought it might make you feel better. And of course, if you would prefer to just act as though I didn’t speak to your parents and go on with your trip, we can do that as well. I just- I was caught off guard, if I’m being honest.” Bruce Wayne- her father- says.

“I’ll do it. I- I would like to get to know you. I can’t have a relationship with Bridgette, but if my parents are okay with it, I do want a relationship with you.” Marinette admits, holding her breath as she waits for an answer. There’s silence on the other end for a long moment, but just as Marinette’s about to apologize and tell him he can go and pretend she doesn’t exist, he answers. His voice a little softer this time.

“I would like that.”

---

The paternity test came out positive, to no one’s surprise. Bruce had given Marinette the option of meeting somewhere more public (like a restaurant or museum) to bond, or coming over to the manor. Not quite ready to deal with the possibility of paparazzi and the rumors (no matter how true they may be) that would stem from a public visit, Marinette agreed to going to the manor for dinner. Which is how she ended up sitting in silence in a town car with a man who seemed like he knew more than he was letting on.

“So, you’re the one who raised Mr. Wayne?” Marinette asks, not quite ready to call the man “Dad” or any variation of the word. The man nods and she meets his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Indeed, Miss. I am Alfred Pennyworth.” The man, Monsieur Pennyworth, says calmly. She tries not to let the frustration that she feels building show on her face. She feels like she should know this man, like there’s something important that she’s just barely missing.

“Have we met before?” Marinette finally asks, racking her brain as she tries to figure out why this man is so familiar to her.

“I don’t believe so, Miss Dupain Cheng.” He says, and for the first time since meeting him, it doesn’t feel like he’s all knowing. Instead, it feels like he’s just as confused as she is. Drat. She opens her mouth to question him more, when the huge manor becomes visible in the distance. Eyes widening, Marinette forgets everything else and turns her attention to the beautiful architecture. The giant fence and metal gates do little to hide the massive house. Sections of the house rise above others, almost as if there are towers. Dozens of windows are visible, as is the giant fountain at the front of the house. Ripping her sketchbook out of her bag, Marinette immediately starts sketching out the ideas that attack her mind. Dresses and suits and skirts, all using the architecture in front of her for the basic shapes of the outfits. As the car goes past the gate and the gardens come into view, Marinette can’t hold back her shocked gasp. Shaped hedges and flowers, hundreds of different colored flowers, and trees and- it was beautiful. Almost too perfect. Like something that belonged in a movie. She jumps slightly as the car door is opened, Alfred standing on the other side with an eyebrow quirked up. Right. She was actually getting out of the car. And going into this massive house. And spending time with her biological- nope. She can’t do this. She can’t-

“Miss Dupain Cheng, if it makes you feel any better, Master Bruce seems to have run into some traffic on his way back from the office. You’ll have a few minutes to gather your bearings inside before he arrives.” Alfred says softly. Relief washes over her and she nods, finally moving to get out of the car.

“Thank you, Alfred.” She says, smiling at the man. He nods back at her before leading her up the steps to the door. He opens it and then steps back, allowing her to take a tentative step into the house. Her previous panic is pushed aside as she realizes the inside is just as gorgeous as the outside. Immediately turning back to her sketchbook, she tunes out the world around her and just stands in the foyer, scribbling furiously into her sketchbook.

“Um, hi?” A voice says, making Marinette yelp and jump, eyes scanning her surroundings until they fall on a guy. A pretty tall guy.

“Hi.” She says softly, also confused as to who this guy was. Not her- dad-biological father-other part of her DNA-father-Mr. Wayne- not anyone she had ever met, that’s for sure.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Dick Grayson.” The man says, extending his hand, a smile on his face. Anyone else probably would have thought the smile was sincere, but Marinette had always been good at reading emotions. And she could tell that he was wary of her. Why would he- oh. Grayson. As in, Richard Grayson, as in this man was her brother. Or, well, maybe he wouldn’t want to be. Maybe he would think that she’s ridiculous or that she’s just here to get money or here to try and pull apart Mr. Wayne’s family or maybe he would think that she was trying to take his place and she would never but maybe he would hate her and- She takes in a deep breath, trying desperately to ground herself and wishing she’d taken up Adrien’s earlier offer of him coming with.

“I’m Marinette. Marinette Dupain Cheng.” She finally says, reaching out and shaking his hand. He nods, obviously still confused. So Mr. Wayne hadn’t mentioned her. Did he hate her? Did he ask her here to have her sign a NDA? Did he not want anything to do with her? Of course he wouldn’t, he obviously already had a family. A family that he chose, not one that he had by accident. His name was on her birth certificate, surely he would have found her sooner if he actually wanted anything to do with her? He chose Dick Grayson to be his son. He wanted him. He didn’t want Marinette. He-

“Ah, Marinette. I see you’ve met Dick.” The last voice she needed to hear says calmly as he walks through the door. Marinette swallows back the thickness in her throat, the one that tells her the tears will be starting soon.

“Uh, yes. Mr. Wayne. Um, hi.” She says, flinching slightly when he winces. What did she do wrong this time? Was he really going to tell her to take a hike? If he didn’t hate her before, he surely did now.

“Bruce, what’s going-” Dick starts to ask but is cut off by screaming voices getting closer to them.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Demon Spawn?”

“Not my fault your blocking skills are subpar, Todd.”

“Sub- you almost stabbed me, you little shit!”

“Almost, yes. But I didn’t. I’m sure Father will be pleased with my restraint.”

“You little fu-” “Boys!” Mr. Wayne finally yells as the two screaming walk into view. Both freeze and the younger one’s eyes instantly fall on Marinette, narrowing as he takes a defensive position.

“Another one, Bruce, really?” The older one asks, making Marinette flinch back. Of course. Two more of his sons-her brothers- who he chose. Another two that he wanted. Not like her, someone he was going to be forced to know. Unless he told her tonight that he never wanted to speak to her again and made her sign a paper saying that she would never contact him again and then they would never have to worry about seeing her again and- oh this is a lot.

“What were you two doing?” Mr. Wayne finally asks, and that’s when Marinette sees the weapons in their hands. And the blood on the older man’s shirt. The man turns slightly so that that part of his shirt is hidden when he notices her staring.

“Uh, bonding?” He says, not at all convincing.

“Who is that, Father?” The younger boy asks, the utter distaste clear on both his face and in his tone. And this is it. This is where he’s going to say that she’s no one, she’s nothing, and then he’s going to make her sign that stupid piece of paper and the last chance she has at knowing one of her biological parents is going to fly out the window. Poof. And then she’ll be so embarrassed, she won’t be able to go back on the trip and then she’ll have to change her name but she can’t completely run away yet because of stupid Hawkmoth and-

“This is Marinette, my daughter.” Well that was unexpected.

Tag List: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo

#maribat bruce wayne #maribat #maribat marinette dupain cheng #maribat adrien agreste #maribat adrienette #maribat bio dad bruce #maribat bio dad au #maribat bio dad! bruce wayne month 2021 #maribat batfam #mbdbwm2021 #day four bonding #ao3fic

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highladydawn · 3 years ago

Text

No Shortage of Sordid (1/3)

Summary: When Feyre Archeron crosses into faerie lands to steal roses for her sister's birthday, she gets swept up into the rivalry between two ruthless high lords. [A Hades & Persephone retelling with hints of Beauty and the Beast, Rated E].

Read on ao3. // Next Part

This is un-beta’d, so mistakes are made unintentionally, but with love.

Lastly, this story is my @acotargiftexchange present for @feyrearcherons. I hope you like it, friend! Happy holidays.

Feyre.

Prythian was hell on the human senses. I felt the sickening effect of it behind my eyes, forcing myself to take deep breaths to lessen the dull throbbing. Ever since I’d crossed into the land of the faeries, it had been one assault after another��colors that were too bright and sounds that were too crisp. Even the fragrance of the Spring Court roses lost what should’ve been a tepid perfume in favor of a scent that bit my nose like wildfire smoke. But I pursued them anyway.

Halfway up the trodden path, I paused and turned my nose up to the wind to catch a trace of the meadow honey and fruit musk the roses were known for. The scent was stronger here than it was when I’d first crossed the border. I had to be getting closer—maybe only half a mile left to go. If I continued traveling against the wind, I’d happen upon them before dawn, leaving me enough time to slip in through my family’s back door. Then Nesta would never have to know where I’d found the rose for Elain.

Or at least, she’d never know for certain. Never have proof if she wanted to scold me.

“I want to get Elain nice things just as much as you do,” Nesta had chided me in the privacy of our shared bedroom. “ But Elain wouldn’t want you risking your life just to find her things that take up space we don’t have and end up wasting away. Besides, the faeries are vengeful. If they find you where you don’t belong, you’ll find just how quickly they forget the word mercy.”

Admitting Nesta was right would just be admitting defeat. Every year, Elain had wanted one thing and one thing only for her birthday: a bouquet of roses. Even when our father hoarded away a surplus of riches and we spent our days in the lap of luxury, it was all she ever asked for—not trinkets, not dressed, not jewels. Now, those storehouses of gold had run dry and Elain asked for even less. If I couldn’t find a single rose for her birthday, then that was the biggest failure of our poverty.

Chasing down the decade’s repeated wish of my sister was dangerous, but not impossible. Roses were scarce in the village this late into the autumn, but they grew year round in the faerie territories. I bet the immortals didn’t even appreciate them as much as my sister. What did they care if a few went missing? I didn’t fear the faeries, either. If they wanted to shower their retribution down on me, they’d have to catch me first.

Just then, something caught on the long sleeve of my cotton shirt, tearing me out of my thoughts. I unsnagged the fabric, my eyes lighting at the sight of a sharp thorn. It was just one of many protruding from a wild rose, and though the petals were wilted and brown, it promised more roses nearby.

Adjusting my pack closer to my side and away from the brambles, I stepped into the thorny brush. My socks and boots did little to protect against the hundreds of thorns that bit and clawed at my ankles, but I urged on, eyeing every flower I could find to see if it was bright enough for Elain. I crept on until the roses surrounded me on all sides, but no matter how far in I pressed, each rose I plucked up was blemished and dying.

I broke through the thicket empty handed, the stinging at my legs nearly unbearable. With a hiss, I tugged one of my pant legs up, only to find that thick beads of blood were dripping onto the marbled ground—marble that matched the smooth statues amidst manicured hedges and sectioned gardens of luminous spring flowers. My heart sank as I took in the rest of my surroundings. Healthy, bright flowers filled the yard all the way up a leaning hill, on top of which a manor was situated to surveil the expanse of the valley.

Well, shit. This was a garden of the gods and I was standing right in the middle of it.

Coming to my senses, I dropped to the ground behind one of the hedges, a hand still pressed against my bleeding leg. My other cuts and scrapes twinged at the movement, dropping more splatters of crimson onto the elaborate path—a stark contrast of human against a place so deathly immortal. My heart pounded against my ribs as I scanned the grounds around me once more.

If I was careful, I could sneak back into the forest without being detected, likely shrouded by the thicket of wild, decaying roses. I might get scraped some more, but it was a small price to—

My eyes locked on a polished plot of flowers further up the hill. But not just any flowers. Roses. Thousands upon thousands of silky, rouge blossoms. Each grown to perfection. Not a single imperfection in sight. There might still be time to trim Elain her bouquet, yet.

Slowly, I rose to a crouch and crossed the yard, keeping my back and shoulders to the hedgerows and out of sight of the manor. In my filthy clothes and splitting shoes, I imagined I looked the same way a rat does crawling across a mansion’s dining room floor hoping for a scrap. But this was for Elain—sweet, selfless Elain who never complained when my hunting failed us and left us hungry. Elain, whose determined heart was set on counting the days of daylight instead of the nights of storms and chill. Elain, who only ever asked for this one thing.

My fingers wrapped around the first rose I could get my hands on, nicking the pad of my thumb on another sharp spike in the process. But I had retrieved my hunting knife from my pack and severed the rose from the garden with impressive quickness, easily making up for the soreness. As if unleashed by my own greedy soul, I began to gather even more—as many as could fit in my pack.

“Who goes there?” a sonorous voice called out.

I froze, nearly dropping my blade in my surprise. I ducked out of the way, disappearing behind a particularly tall shrub to avoid the wandering gaze of a broad shouldered High Fae prowling through the gardens— his gardens, if his silken finery and golden coronet were any indication. I remained hidden as he passed, catching only a glimpse of his long, sun-bleached hair and straight nose.

One of the roses in my pack, weighted at a strange angle by its own striking petals, tumbled out and rolled into the open path—right at the High Lord’s feet. If I wasn’t stunned into silence, I might’ve cursed as he looked at me.

He didn’t seem to believe I was really there. I wasn’t sure I believed it either. What human was foolish enough to trespass in a god’s garden? Worse yet, steal his flowers? He bent at the waist to pick up the rose that had been crudely sawed at its stem, frowning as he appraised the damage. Startling green eyes slipped over to my pack, sharpening like deadly knives when he beheld that I hadn’t taken just one rose, but several. As many as I could fit in my pack.

“These were my mother’s,” he growled.

I expected him to raise his hand, unleash the furious wrath of his power and magic upon my human form. But he merely watched me with slow boiling hatred, curious to see what this foolish mortal would do next.

“My mother grew roses too,” I heard myself say, though the voice was not entirely my own. Fury still simmered underneath his skin, palpable in the chilly spring scented air, but there was something else too. Interest , I realized. It sparked his expression with a strange, enticed curiosity, as if he saw something of value underneath the battered, torn rags of my clothes. Whatever he read in my humble, terrified appearance made him forget that he was angry. It budded into something else entirely—something that put every muscle in my body on edge.

Just as he opened his mouth to utter the question lingering on his tongue, the ground began to quake and rumble. My hand shot out to clutch the hedge before I could topple over as little cracks spread like lightning under my feet. They coursed through the ground, fracturing the sturdy marble of the pathways from all sides until they finally met in the middle and burst open. Wind poured from the crater in the garden, roaring in my ears and sending the high fae stumbling back.

And then, through the opening came a winged man. He shot through the mouth of the earth, unfurling the expanse of his midnight wings. They blocked the sunlight as they kept him afloat, a rhythmic beating that sounded like thunder. Silhouetted by the daylight, I couldn’t make out the details of his face. Yet somehow, my instincts told me he was smirking.

“Why, you’re alive after all, Tamlin!” the winged fae taunted in a sickly sweet voice. His voice swung on its hinges, crazed and deep. It made me tremble. “I’m so relieved I could die.”

“I wish you would, Rhysand,” Tamlin sneered, fists balling together.

“A pretty sentiment—to die and take you with me.” My heart roared in my ears as Rhysand lowered himself from the clear sky to the top of one of the garden statues, the one directly beside me. He still hadn’t noticed me yet. “You see, when I hadn’t heard from you, I thought someone ran you through and stained your pretty marble with your blood. Which would’ve been so disappointing, since I’ve been pining for the honor myself.”

“Get out of my court.”

Rhysand clicked his tongue.

“You know what I want, Tam.”

“Do I?”

I could’ve sworn the daylight flickered, like a candlelight yielding to nighttime darkness. Rage and fury swirled around me, but I wasn’t sure whose was whose, or why I could even sense it in the first place. Rhysand curled his wings behind him so he wore the talons like a crown.

“Give them back,” he demanded.

“Or what? ” Tamlin shot back quickly. The gale of power swept his hair back, revealing every tense line of his face. To my human eyes, it seemed as though there was something laying in wait underneath his skin. Like some sort of beast who would bare fangs with a single wrong word.

Rhysand met the seething danger of Tamlin’s power, multiplying it so that it felt like needles in the air. When his voice rumbled from deep in his lungs, it turned my insides to tree sap.

“Give them back to me, Lord of Spring, or your court will be the first place I go when I’m free from my shackles. When I burn every blade of grass, every screaming mouth , to the ground, you will only have yourself to blame. And then, you will know what it is to really have something taken from you.”

The image threatened to shatter my composure, but I steeled myself against the temptation to let my fear show, lest they smell it. Down my knee, I felt another bead of blood trailing along my skin. I kept still, hoping it would simply drop into my socks. But I was not so lucky. I felt the very moment it landed on the ground beside me.

Rhysand’s nostrils flared, his fae senses telling him something I didn’t know—maybe he smelled the iron or heard the splatter as it hit the marble. But he spun to me, once more blocking the sun from my kneeling form and showering me in shadow.

“Perhaps you will learn so much sooner than I thought,” he snarled with delight.

He surged for me, too fast for me to dodge away. The last thing I felt was his hand of black swirls close around my neck before everything went black.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

I woke to a sticky, burning pain against my wrists. I cracked my eyes open to find the cause, only to bite back a groan at the blurry dizziness that clouded my mind. But as my vision shifted into focus, I found that my hands were bound by invisible wrappings to the arm of a chair. My feet were fixed to the ground, almost as if they’d been nailed there. I tried to kick them up, testing the movement I still had at my disposal, but hissed in pain.

It was magic. It had to be. And if it was magic holding me in place, then that meant I was very, very far from home. If my memories hadn’t altered, Rhysand was captor.

I scanned the room around me. Empty, dark, and well furnished, the space reminded me of a halfway point between the old extravagant manor of my childhood and the hovel I now called home. In the dark, I couldn’t quite make out the artwork hung on the walls or the design of the plush rug on the floor. By simply turning off the lights, Rhysand had lowered my chances of escape by leagues. It’d be much harder to plot a way out if I couldn’t see anything.

Just as a groan of frustration nearly escaped my lips, I heard a voice through the thin walls.

“I just can’t wrap my head around Tamlin taking on a human woman.” The speaker was female and clearly displeased with the entire situation—whatever it was.

“I can,” another voice replied with a scoff. This one I recognized as Rhysand’s. “He loves going through pretty, new toys like a child on Solstice. And the girl is certainly not hard to look at...in a filthy, mortal sort of way.” I frowned.

“You seem really confident that she’s good enough leverage to hang over his head.”

“It’s a smart enough wager. She may not be his favorite possession, but in my experience, Tamlin throws a tantrum anytime someone plunders his precious court. It’s his pride he cares most about.” He paused, long enough for a cork to pop. My dry mouth tasted of sand as he poured himself a glass. How long had I been out? Long enough that I’d likely been days without anything to drink.

My empty stomach sank. If he hadn’t fed me yet, maybe he wasn’t planning on ever giving me something to eat. I had to escape and I had to do it fast.

“Besides,” Rhysand continued. “The girl might be valuable for other reasons.”

“It’s not like you to find value in a human.”

“I bet she knows his secrets. I bet he tells them to her in a clumsy form of courting, lavishing her with faerie secrets to keep her satisfied and make her think she’s something special. If Tamlin is keeping two Illyrians under his roof, no doubt she’s seen them.”

“And just how do you intend to get her to betray that information?” the woman wondered.

“Why, by any means necessary.”

My blood ran cold. I had no clue of what the hell he was talking about. I didn’t know Tamlin, had heard none of his secrets. My only tie to the High Lord of Spring was that I had some of his roses in my bag. If Rhysand had come any later, he might’ve seen my torn limbs thrown haphazardly about the garden. There’d be no use in trying to tell him the truth now. Not when he was so certain that I knew something he needed—something he’d kill to know.

I struggled against the magical binds holding my wrists, biting my lip to keep from yelling out as they burned and tore my skin. For a split second, it seemed as if they were loosening. I pushed forward again, mind reeling at the intense pain. Yet through the unfamiliar magical ache, I could feel the bindings yielding.

Then I was free. Blisters of blood and oozing skin circled around my wrists like a twisted bracelet and the soles of my feet felt like they’d been dipped into an open fire, but I was free. If I wanted to stay that way, I needed to come up with a plan of escape and fast. I skimmed the darkness for any sign of my bag and few things inside that might help me—the hunting knife, the heel of a loaf of bread, some spare rope for climbing. But if Rhysand had taken my belongings, he was smart enough not to leave them in the room with me.

I could just sit and pretend that I was still lost in unconsciousness. What would I do, then, if Rhys was able to sense that the enchanted bindings were shredded? My best bet was to make it toward the open door and hope there was a hallway on the other side that could lead me back to familiar territory. Back home.

Holding my breath, I carefully rose to my feet. I thanked the Mother when the wooden floorboards remained soundless until each of my steps as I snuck across the room. My hand was inches from the handle when a swirl of shadow hurtled into my stomach, throwing me backwards and into an ornate tea table. Both me and the ceramic contents went tumbling to the floor with a loud CRASH.

When I looked up, he was already above me.

And I couldn’t breathe.

Whatever words I had left were lost. Rhysand’s beauty fell on me like moonlight, draping over every bit of my senses until there was nothing left. Nothing but the feathers of his midnight hair and starlight laden eyes. The violet color of them was vivid even in the dark as they roved over me, and though I should’ve been terrified, I found myself wanting just a few more seconds of that silence so I could look at him just a little longer.

Rhysand smirked, as if he knew.

I snapped to my senses with a start. How stupid could I be? Faeries were beautiful like this as a weapon and I would not die under the hands of a depraved fiend just because he blinked his long lashes at me.

Channeling as much strength as I could, I rammed my knee up between his legs. He growled in pain, doubling over right into my arms, lending me the opportunity to shove him off. I sprinted away as quickly as I could, only to be snatched back up into his arms. They circled my waist, lifting me off the ground.

“Let go of me!” I shrieked, legs flailing. “Let go, you bastard!”

My hands dug into the fabric of his shirt, clawing at whatever I could get my hands on. It was to no avail, though. Rhysand swept his arm across the wooden dresser, sending a tray of wine glasses and china plates shattering on the floor. A second later, I was placed on top of it, shoulders heaving as they pressed against the wall. His hand pressed down above my breasts, holding me in place, and black-lacquered nails clawed gently along my throat.

To my own horror, I stopped fighting. I searched for that familiar metallic scent of magic, but found only a sweet fragrance of rain and citrus.

And then he was looking at me again— really looking at me. I felt bare beneath his gaze as his eyes scoured across my torn pants, the swell of my chest, and the bow of my full lips. I expected his face to twist in disgust, but the judgement never came.

The intensity in those violet eyes, though...If I hadn’t been sitting, it would’ve brought me to my knees.

“I see Tamlin has been keeping the real prize of his treasures hidden away,” he appraised. I futilely fought a blush as it crept up my neck. “For a woman so beautiful, you’re either brave or stupid to try to escape here.”

“I’m not stupid,” I answered through the roughness in my voice, though I had trouble believing it. Intelligent girls didn’t trespass onto faerie land and steal a high lord’s flowers. They didn’t get themselves caught or try to escape without a plan, either.

Rhysand’s hand began to slide away from its position below my throat and down the side of my trembling frame. I shivered as his fingers grazed lightly against the underside of my breast, eliciting a strange shock from my core. His eyes followed the path of his fingers, drowning in some type of hunger, as if he wanted to see what lay beneath his touch.

“If that’s the case, then no doubt you will be very wise and answer my questions,” he purred.

I swallowed, gritting my teeth. Seduction was his game, but I couldn’t tell what was real and what was merely a mask worn to get what he wanted. At least I had some idea of what that was, though little good it did me if I couldn’t make sense of it.

If I could fake it, though, maybe he’d let me go. If I pretended to give him every last drop of my knowledge, he’d have no use for me once he’d learned it. And then I could go home.

“If you want honest answers, then back away and get your hands off of me,” I ground out.

Interest flickered in his eyes once more, but he did as I asked.

“Brave, indeed,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and taking a step back. I didn’t dare move a muscle, much less attempt to lower myself off of the dresser. Instead, I allowed a handful of cool breaths to quiet my mind. Then, I began to lie as though it was my life’s work.

“Ask your questions, Lord Rhysand, and I will do my best to answer them.”

Rhysand smiled.

“There you go answering my first one already. If you know who I am, then Tamlin must’ve mentioned me at least once. Good.” I lied my confirmation with my silence. “Then I suppose you already know who I am. Lord Rhysand of the…”

He trailed off like a teacher waiting for a student to supply the right answer. I wondered what would happen if I answered incorrectly. My mind drifted back to the darkness of his magic, the way it swallowed the day and glistened with starlight.

I hoped my guess wouldn’t destroy my ruse when I answered, “The Night Court.”

“Indeed,” he confirmed. Freezing dread dripped through me like a cold sweat. The Night Court was a nightmare tactic used by humans to scare children into compliance. Petty, childish crimes were met with threats to ship a misbehaving child to a place where death lurks at every corner and torture is the norm. It’s the Underworld, my father had crooned one day. Ruled by the cruelest of kings, The Lord of Death.

It was too late to hope it wasn’t true.

“What has Tamlin told you about me?” he continued.

“Nothing good,” I murmured.

“Rightfully so. Tell me.”

“He told me that...you have complete authority over who lives and dies,” I began, hoping my answer didn’t sound too much like childish ramblings. “That your wrath is matchless and to never incite your fury.”

“In your voice, it sounds so alluring. Go on.”

I bit my lip, searching my memory for anything I could remember for our legends about The Lord of Death. As my pursuit came up flat, I considered that maybe relying on myths would only make my explanations sound more forged.

“He said he had something of yours in his possession,” I said slowly, praying it was the right thing to say.

“Do you know what that is?” Rhysand’s tone was tipped with poison and I knew I had told him what he wanted to hear.

“The Illyrians,” I guessed, recalling the word he used earlier.

The indifference at the corner of his mouth dipped into an angry frown, but he remained perfectly still. I didn’t dare move either. If he asked me anything more about the Illyrians, as I expected he would, then I’d have to be very, very careful not to give myself away. If I couldn’t be any more useful to him, I’d have to paint myself as so innocent that even the Lord of Death would be moved toward mercy.

“What’s your name?” he asked lowly. There was no point in lying.

“Feyre.”

“How old are you, Feyre?”

“Nineteen.”

“That’s younger than Tamlin usually likes them,” he noted, but I failed to find any distrust in his tone.

“Something about me interests him, I think. Though I think he’s too prideful to tell me what it is.”

Rhysand scoffed.

“Well, that adds up.”

Just when I thought I was in the clear, that I could venture forward to ask for my release, he turned his chin to me.

“Where is he keeping them?”

“If I could tell you, I would,” I pleaded. That was honest enough. “But I really, really don’t know. I’ve never seen your Illyrians. Please, I...I just want to go home.”

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed into slits. He clicked his tongue three times in disapproval.

“You were doing so well, Feyre darling.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, desperate not to look into his eyes when he unleashed his rage. When I slowly risked peeking my eyes open, I gasped—but no breath came out.

There he was, face inches from mine, the citrus scent of his skin drowned out by some magical spell that closed the air out of my lungs. I was suffocating.

“Let’s try this again,” he hissed, the air from his voice taunting my desperate, choking lips. “Where is he keeping my brothers?”

“I don’t know,” I wheezed, vision blurring with tears.

“Two strikes, Feyre darling. You get one more. ”

My hand felt around beside me, searching for anything that could save me. I gagged, trying to gulp in the air that I knew was around me, only to strain my ribs in the effort.

Then, my fingers found a long taper candle.

“Tell me,” Rhysand growled, eyes wide and pouring into mine as if it were the contact point of his power inside me.

I wrapped my fingers firmly around the candle and jabbed it into his face with all of my strength. The attack took the high lord by surprise, nearly missing his eye. The magic strangling me released, allowing one huge breath of air to fill my desperate lungs. I didn’t have time to wonder if his hiss of pain was from the impact or the burn as I threw myself off the dresser and dashed toward the door. I yanked the chair I’d woken in and threw it in my wake, tripping Rhysand as he surged for me. He tumbled forward, using the momentum of his fall to throw his hands at my ankles.

His tight hold sent me crashing into the floor, and just as I opened my mouth to scream, he pinned me to the ground.

One second we were heaving in each other’s angry breath and the next the world flickered black. The hardwood beneath me had been replaced by a damp, freezing ground. The dark walls of artwork and fine drapes were now iron bars. I pushed myself onto my elbows, ignoring the reeling of my vision, only to meet eyes with the high lord.

“What have you done to me?”

“Besides winnow you into my dungeon? Nothing. I could’ve done much worse,” he sneered.

I lurched for the bars, shaking them in desperation. They didn’t budge, though. Not even a little.

“I’m not worth it!” I hurried. “Keeping me here...it won’t hurt Tamlin. I’ll just be a hindrance, a waste of your effort to take care of me.”

Rhysand scowled, my words somehow a disappointment to him, and turned to make his way up the hallway.

“Who said anything about taking care of you?” he called behind him. But something gave him pause as he glanced over his shoulder. “I should’ve known you were like every other human I’ve met,” he said indifferently. “Brave and stupid.”

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

I put every ounce of my strength into not rotting away in that cell. It was all I could do to keep my back rested against the wall and my eyes closed, thoughts focused on every damned reason to live—to see the day my father would be well again, to be the person to find Elain her roses, to reconcile my differences with Nesta. To cross the border of Prythian and never set eyes on another High Fae for as long as I lived. I couldn’t do those things if I was wallowing in my own self pity.

Rhysand didn’t keep his promise of not taking care of mine—if it even was a promise. A female fae visited me a day into my imprisonment, and maybe it was the cold or my own hunger, but I momentarily mistook her for the goddess of beauty. Her golden hair was silken and bright against the blackness of the dungeon, and her crimson dress dipped into the dirt as she knelt at the front of the bars.

With a flick of her hand, a tray of steaming food appeared beside a cushioned cot of silk blankets.

“I hate having prisoners,” she said. “Rhys makes callous decisions when he’s angry, but I figured you’ve been starving down here long enough. I give it a few more hours before he comes down here and frees you himself. Until then, eat.”

They could’ve been lies, but in that moment, I couldn’t find it in myself to care. I spooned a heaping serving of some spicy stew into my mouth, savoring that first, delicious bite, only to look up and find her gone. It wasn’t until after my belly was full that I felt I could lay back onto the soft cot and pass the hours with sleep.

When I woke, Rhysand was sitting on a stool. I don’t know how long he’d been there watching me sleep, but it was long enough that he was lost in thought as I stirred awake. I sat up and wrapped the blanket around myself, as if it might shield me from whatever horrible things he might try next. I was almost thankful for the bars separating us—choosing to ignore that he could evaporate them in a second, or maybe even walk through them.

Rhysand blinked, frowning when I finally captured his attention. I wish I had just pretended to stay asleep.

“I just can’t figure you out,” he admitted, crossing his hands beneath his chin. “First I find you filthy and dressed in mortal clothing with him in his garden. I thought maybe you were just some lovestruck mortal crossing the wall under some false notion that you’d stolen the heart of the High Lord of Spring.” I fought against the urge to swallow. “But you know about me and about what Tamlin has stolen from me. He wouldn’t have shared that with just anyone. Especially not with a human he considered disposable. No...he must care about you a great deal.”

My fingers gripped my blanket so tightly, they shook. My lie had been good enough that he believed it, but I wouldn’t be able to cling to that fabricated story forever.

“You have to know something ,” Rhys continued. “Tamlin probably has wards to contain my brothers wherever he’s keeping them, but they only restrict and smother magic. As a human, you should’ve been able to cross them without being noticed or blocked.”

“He’s probably keeping them somewhere a human wouldn’t dare to walk,” I said, annoyed to be so useless. Annoyed that I didn’t have the answers that could free me.

“But even then, you’ve heard nothing from the servants? Nothing from the courtiers?”

“No,” I spat. Another truthful answer. “Don’t you think I’d tell you if I did? Do you think it does me any good to keep information from you? Fuck what Tamlin says—I’d hate it if someone was keeping my sisters from me. I’m not interested in doing that to anyone else.”

If someone had stolen my sisters away, I’d do more than lock the suspects up in a dungeon and question them. I’d burn the whole world to find them. Tear apart anyone who got in my way, anyone who I suspected refused to help me find them. It didn’t make what Rhys had done to me right, but I had a strange respect for the man who could’ve torn me apart and instead let me live.

“What about the layout of the manor? Is there anywhere Tamlin forbade you from crossing into? Anywhere he might hide two incredibly powerful fighters?”

It would do no good to fall deeper into a lie I couldn’t keep up. Even worse to refuse to offer any answers. That left only one option left—one deadly, risky option. I had to tell him the truth.

I dropped the blanket and scooted to the edge of the bed. My whole body shook from some strange mix of anger and fear.

“Rhysand, I don’t know Tamlin.”

He scoffed, the sound echoing down the long corridors of this prison.

“How stupid do you think I am, Feyre? You were with him when I found you.”

“Yes, but—”

“You smelled of his court.”

“Because I was standing in it—”

“You knew his name. You knew mine. ”

“Because I’m not fucking deaf. It’s not my fault you underestimated me because I’m human !” I snapped, rising to my feet. I crossed the cell in three big strides. “You want the goddamn truth? Then why don’t you fucking listen to it?!”

“Watch yourself ,” Rhysand warned dangerously, but I had sat too long in his cold, dingy dungeon cell to care.

“I’m not Tamlin’s mistress or his human pet.”

“Then what are you?”

“Just a girl from a nearby village. I didn’t want any tie to Prythian, I wanted Tamlin’s flowers. For my sister, for her birthday . I intended to cross into the Spring Court for long enough to get a dozen roses and then leave and not come back. But that high lord you hate so much caught me in the act. He might’ve killed me for it, but he had more important things to worry about because that’s when you showed up.”

I grabbed the bars in front of his face, clutching so tightly my knuckles turned white. It was a demanding effort to keep my voice steady as I continued.

“Everything I do know, I only know because I overheard you say it yourself. Your name, Tamlin’s...even about your Illyrian brothers. I don’t even know what an Illyrian is. But you didn’t leave me a choice. You kidnapped me and choked me and held me against my will until I told you what you wanted to hear. I said what I had to say to survive. But I can’t tell you what you want to hear anymore, my lord, because I don’t know what that is. So if you’re going to kill me, just do it already and spare me the questions. Tear my skin from my bones, boil my brain inside my skull, I don’t care—just shut the fuck up!”

My chest was heaving by the time I was finished. It felt as if I had said each damning word in a single breath. As the silence stretched between us, horror grew in the pit of my stomach.

Oh no. Oh no no no no.

What had I done? I’d basically told the most evil being in all of Prythian go to fuck himself. What if he really did torture me? What if he didn’t stop there? What if he went after my village? After my sisters ? He could stamp out the entire human race and—

“I’m not going to skin you alive, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Rhys said, hiding his smile with his fist. “It’d be far too messy and my housekeepers hate the smell of human blood.”

I blinked, brow furrowing together.

“Aren’t you mad?” I asked carefully.

“Why? Were you hoping for a demonstration of my ability to boil your brain inside your skull?” This time a sputtered chuckle did escape his lips, much to my indignation. “I’m far too impressed to be angry. No one has ever stood up to me quite so ferociously before, human or fae.”

He stood, letting his fingers fall through the iron bars to caress the side of my cheek. I shuddered from a feeling much more pleasant than fear and found I couldn’t— wouldn’t— back away. Rhysand didn’t mind the dirt smudged along the apples of my cheeks, letting his fingers remain there.

“You tell me that I have done you very dirty, Feyre darling,” he said lowly. “And I see that you’re right. No human would be able to lie so passionately.��

“So you believe me, then?”

“I believe that you truly don’t know anything about my brothers’ whereabouts.”

“Then let me go.”

The light in his eyes drained, as if he wished I had asked anything else.

“I can’t do that.”

I swatted his hand from my face, though something deep inside me hissed at the loss of his touch. I smothered it back, putting a few steps of distance between me and the high lord.

“Why not?” I demanded.

“Because I think you’re under a spell that you aren’t aware of. It’s hard for you to understand, but humans are susceptible to these things. I think Tamlin played a trick over your mind to keep you from exposing his secrets and despite your best efforts to betray him, you can’t. The magic won’t let you. You won’t be able to remember anything about him, his house, or what he’s doing with my brothers until the spell is lifted. ”

“You bastard,” I swore underneath my breath, already sensing where this was going.

“There’s a chance you might know something. What if I let you go and your memories come back to you? You wouldn’t be able to get back here. Tamlin would keep you from me and I need that information.”

I clenched my teeth together to keep from spitting at his feet.

“So…what? You’re going to keep me in his jail cell until the spell miraculously breaks? What if I starve first?”

“You won’t,” Rhys insisted. “For one, Mor wouldn’t allow it.” I remembered the elegant fae that had fed me and urged me to be strong. After a sound sleep, the memory of her seemed too good to be true—almost as if I had been visited by an angel in the night.

“You’re also no longer my prisoner,” he continued.

Could’ve had me fooled, I wanted to remark, but before I could, he reached through the bars. His hand stretched just enough to wrap around my wrist, and before I could draw in a breath to gasp, we whisked away into the darkness.

When I peeled my squeezed eyes open, we were back in the same room I’d been tied up in. This time, though, the lights were lit, golden and warm. The chair that I’d been magically restrained to was placed back in its proper place next to the tea table, upon which fresh sandwiches were waiting with hot soup. In the daylight, I could make out the details of the space. Portraits, which had seemed ominous and looming in the dark, were revealed as simple depictions of a smiling family, a mountainside landscape, and a few pieces that were too abstract to be described.

“You’re now my guest,” Rhys announced.

“Your guest who can’t leave of my own free will?” I replied snidely.

“That’s a pessimistic way of looking at it.” He began to make it his way to the door, a subtle implication that the meal left on the table was mine. “Look at it this way. You’re my guest who has free reign over this entire house. Raid the kitchens, tear apart all my books in the library, do whatever you wish. I think you’ll find this place is much more agreeable than you expect. After all, it is my personal home and as high lord, I’m afforded certain luxuries.”

My eyes drifted to the steaming soup. It smelled of cream and potatoes, causing my stomach to lurch in yearning. When was the last time I had tasted anything so rich? Been in a place so lavish and elegant? I turned back to Rhys who examined me from the doorframe. The hall light haloed his sturdy frame, tugging something strange in the depth of my chest. If he was waiting for a thank you, he’d be waiting for a long time. But he wouldn’t hear further arguments from me. Not for now. Not until I figured out if this display of kindness was genuine or just another ploy to get what he wanted.

As if reading my mind, he sighed.

“I hope you believe me when I say this—I don’t want you to be unhappy here, Feyre, I really don’t.” Then he disappeared into the hallway on soundless footsteps. His presence dissipated like a shadow under candlelight until I couldn’t feel it at all.

I collapsed into the chair in front of the tray of food, exhausted all over again. I could figure out the strange desires of my captor another time. For now, I needed food, a bath, and a bed to burrow into.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

The next three weeks might’ve been three days for all I could tell. I learned so many things with such astounding speed that sometimes I wondered if I had simply imagined some of it. I discovered that the dizzying method of travel that threw me from one side of the world to another was called winnowing. I explored every room of the house, combing through every drawer I could find for anything I ought to know about. The high lord’s belongings were much more ordinary than I expected—which he teased me about relentlessly.

“Is my comb spattered with gore like you thought, Feyre? Any ghouls hiding behind my bookshelves? Any human bones hiding in the sugar jar?”

That was maybe the most important thing I learned about Rhys. He was not the demon of my bedside stories. He was insufferable, yes, and often vague explaining things I had every right to know. But his disposition could—almost—be described as kind. If it weren’t for the fact that he wouldn’t let me past the front door, I might’ve liked him.

That a fucking lie that was. I did already like him and I hated myself for wanting to see him. He had kidnapped me, thrown me up against a wall, choked me, and jailed me…and I wanted to see him. Because underneath that unpredictable exterior was someone no one knew and I had a feeling that if I searched long enough, I’d find him. And worse, I’d like what I saw.

Maybe humans really were as foolish as they said.

Rhys wasn’t home often. High lord business, he’d said, not that I knew much of what that entailed. But he left his cousin Morrigan, the golden haired angel, with me often enough. Her presence in the house was a comfort. Where I felt unsettled about trusting Rhys, I didn’t mind trusting Mor at all. She made sure I was well-dressed, warm and comfortable, and offered me many fine things from her own collection. Her kindness spoke for itself—that, I was sure of.

In the early days, I allowed myself to consider the possibility that Rhys was right. What if I did have some strange history with Tamlin that magic made me forget about? In some ways, I hoped for it. If I could tell Rhys everything he needed to know, every piece of knowledge he wanted to claw out of my head, then he’d let me go immediately.

But as time slipped on, I felt no different than I did when I first arrived. Even my wounds, which Rhys had healed my first day as his guest , were little more than phantoms in my memory now. If some sort of magical bonds were unraveling under my skin, then not even Rhys could sense it.

Eventually, Rhys sensed my boredom and gave me paints. I wasn’t sure just how he’d known—I didn’t tell him of my hobby. But the wooden case of oil pigments and canvases appeared in the parlor just the same, complete with fine horsehair brushes and angled scrapers. From the smell of them alone, I could tell they were expensive and refined. Certainly beyond the skill level of an impoverished human trapped in a high lord’s house.

One night, Rhysand found me leaning back, peering thoughtfully at a half-completed painting. He gave a small smile he thought I didn’t notice, likely amused that I was painting in the same chair that had once restrained me. The high lord greeted me with a nod, before settling on the chaise along the wall. I tried to keep my eyes fixed to the small details of my work instead of the finer points of the male in front of me.

He reclined back against the cushioned arm with a stretch and a sigh, before glancing back at me.

“Do you mind if I make myself comfortable?” he asked.

I blinked, unsure exactly what he meant. Would he…unbutton his pants? Slip off his socks?

“Not at all,” I replied evenly.

And whoosh, like a sail unfurling over wide masts, Rhys spread out a pair of giant, raven black wings. Even with his back turned to me, I could sense he was smirking as I gawked. But I could not force myself to turn away from his wings—not as they shimmered with opalescence all the way up to the sharp claws curving at the top. It took great effort to finally look away and turn my focus back to my painting. But there was an image I couldn’t shake from my mind—Rhys, tan skin completely bare, dark wings rigid and raised to match the tattoos that I knew lay underneath his shirt.

“How have you been enjoying your time here?” he asked casually, yanking me out of my thoughts like a bucket of cold water.

“As much as I can, all things considered.”

It was a quiet dig at my confinement. Rhys only turned the page.

“Good. I noticed you’ve been enjoying the paints. Please let me know if you need more or if there’s something else you’d like me to acquire for you.”

“The key to the front door?”

“Ha ha. As soon as you can cleave through containment spells, then we’ll talk.”

I rolled my eyes, removing my current painting off of its easel and switching it out with a fresh new canvas.

“I do have a question, actually,” I began, spreading thick white paint over the textured material. “If you’re not too busy reading, that is?”

“The world must be ending if you’re using manners with me!”

I plucked a rubbery piece of dried paint off my palette and flicked it at him. He laughed as he swept it out of his hair, shaking the feather-like strands this way and that.

“Just ask your question, Feyre! Spare me your wrath,” he chuckled.

I dipped my brush into my water cup, biting my lip.

“How did you know I liked to paint?” I asked after a pause of silence.

“Your pack didn’t have very much in it when you first came here. Your hunting supplies, all those damned roses…and one single paint brush. It was clearly used and loved, I knew it was more than just an occupational tool. I tried to order you the same kind of brushes, but yours was so covered in paint, I couldn’t even tell what wood it was made out of.”

I didn’t know whether to be frustrated that he’d gone through my things or flattered that he’d gone out of his way to find something I’d enjoy. In the spirit of crippling his ego, I went with the former.

“Normal people would’ve just asked me what I liked without going through my things.”

“How terribly dull,” he said with a yawn, flipping another page. Was he even reading ? Or was he just pretending so he could pester me while I was trying to work?

I chose silence over another snarky remark that might tempt the high lord into rescinding his generosity. Unsure of what more to say to him, I began laying the first lines of dark paint onto the primed canvas. I started with a sparse outline, letting my hands move entirely on their own to decide the fate of this piece. It wasn’t until the completed sketch of a strong back and folded pair of wings stared back at me that I realized just who I was painting. But the beginning was so much stronger than anything I’d completed before that I decided to continue, not letting Rhys know he was my new model.

We sat in silence together, warming and thinking under the light of the fire. I’d just begun stippling shimmers of metallic paint into the expanse of his wings when he spoke again, barely louder than the crackle of the fireplace.

“Have you had any discoveries from your memories in the last few days?” There was something in the way that he said it that told me I couldn’t lie to him. That if I gave him false hope, his heart would crack where it was weakest.

“I would’ve told you if there was,” I said honestly. I didn’t want to admit I doubted I’d ever find new memories to satisfy his questions. My paint brush hovered over my canvas for a long second before I asked, “Rhys, if you’re so powerful to be known as the King of Death all throughout the human lands, then why can you not go to the Spring Court and take back your brother’s on your own?”

“Tamlin is a high lord too, you know,” Rhys answered, not taking his eyes away from his texts.

“But Mor says you’re the stronger one.”

“Is that all Mor told you?”

“Is there…is there more?”

Rhys sighed, finally turning to me fully. My heart tugged at the sight of his face, honest and bare before me. Whatever mask he wore in the weeks past, it was gone now. In its place was a grieving male, a powerless one. But why?

He licked his lips, then folded his hands over his knees, wings still relaxed behind him.

“For some time, Prythian was under siege by a very powerful war general. If I am the thing of your human nightmares, she was the subject of mine. You can only imagine what horrors she wreaked upon this land. She drained us all of our power, siphoning it into herself for her own corrupt use. Many of the high lords that spoke out against her suffered dire consequences, though their people were the ones that suffered. Because of my power, many of them looked to me to bring an end to her. But I had to calculate every move and take a risky tactic.”

“What did you do?”

“I went into her bed,” he admitted quietly. “She’d had her sights on Tamlin first. But he wouldn’t do it. I wrote out everything he should do to seduce her and hand delivered it to him. I even offered myself as his personal defense. He just…wouldn’t do it. He sent his emissary instead, but Lucien didn’t want to do it any more than Tamlin did. Lucien went, I suppose out of some twisted sense of duty, but that damn bastard can’t keep his own mouth. Before he could even flutter those pretty autumn court eyes at her, he called her a depraved cunt. She took his eye.

“Luckily, he didn’t give away the plan entirely. I went instead. I spent years …” He shuddered so hard I felt it in the pit of my own stomach like a sharp stab of pain. “I fucked Tamlin right out of her memory. I made her forget he existed, made her want me instead.”

It was unbearable to listen to, but I couldn’t just hear these things looking at his wings. I placed my brush aside and crossed the room to the chaise. Kneeling on the floor, I gently placed my fingers over his.

“One night,” he continued, “she was so…lost in her own pleasure. I could’ve gotten up and left and she wouldn’t have noticed. So I utilized that chance, took my knife, and buried it deep in her heart. Then in every single rib I could reach. She screamed so loud, no one every forgot the sound.”

“And you never got your power back?” I asked quietly.

“No, I did. With every blow, I could feel my magic filling all the holes inside me where it’d been missing.” His eyes were wild as they bore into mine. “But she didn’t lose hers all at once? It trickled out of her with her blood. So with the last dredges of her magic, she placed a curse over me. A curse that she said would make me loveless. She chained my power to that curse and said it would only return when someone loved me. Genuinely loved me.”

It would be so easy to love him, I realized. How could such a thing seem so impossible to him?

“Anyways, that’s why I can’t go get my brothers. Because I’m cursed.”

My fingers had somehow ended up crushed inside his, but the touch was so pleasant, I only closed my other hand over top of them. He released a breathy sigh.

“Then why does Tamlin have them?”

Rhys chuckled mirthlessly.

“That’s a whole other story for a different time. The important thing is that he knew I was weakened and wanted revenge for a very old wrong. He came to kill me, but Azriel and Cassian stopped him before he could. He winnowed them somewhere and refuses to release them.”

“Even though you saved Prythian?”

He nodded.

“So now I’m cursed and he has my brothers. They could be dead for all I know.”

“They’re not,” I promised resolutely. I knew it, somehow, deep within my chest. Those Illyrian males were still out there alive. Still fighting. Still clinging to their strength like a lifeline. “You’ll free them. And if I can help you, I will.”

It crossed my mind that I’d probably regret offering my help later—especially to the man who’d made me a prisoner in his house. Judging from the sad smile on his face, Rhys seemed to be thinking the same thing. I couldn’t bear the mournful dullness in those beautiful, violet eyes, so I shook our joined hands.

“Who knew the King of Death was such a softie?”

“Oh, I’m the biggest softie you’ve met,” he admitted, laughing. He nodded down to the book he’d neglected, laying face down on the cushion. “This book I’m reading? A romance. A tragic, devastating tale about a soldier who travels across the entire world to find his lover, only to discover she died before he even set off. I plan to weep very soundly once I reach the end. If that makes me a softie, then so be it. Why? Did you want to read it next?”

“Why would I, you prick! You spoiled the whole thing!” I gasped, tearing my hand out of his, falling backwards onto my bottom in a fit of laughter.

“Are you sure? Because I can just leave it on your bedside table when I’m done. I don’t mind making such sacrifices for my guests.”

“Guest!” I scoffed. “What am I going to do with it when you already spoiled the ending? Pretend I don’t already know it?”

“Now there’s a half-decent solution! In that case, you’ll have the whole thing read in a day!”

I figured I’d spare him the sad knowledge that I was illiterate and instead said, “Oh please, I won’t be here long enough to get through a book that big. What are the chances they sell it in human bookstores so I can read it later?”

Rhys’ laughter fizzled out. And, damn it , that unreadable mask was back on his face.

“You won’t be here long enough?” he murmured. I froze.

“Of course not,” I said, trying my best to sound convincing. “My memories will come back before then.”

“Certainly,” Rhys agreed solemnly, as if he believed it as much as I did—not at all. “But...if they don’t?”

I wished he hadn’t asked.

“I’m not in a position to make that decision, am I?” I answered quietly. “I am your guest, after all.”

Rhys’ back straightened, his wings pulling in closer to his body in a strange protective movement. He was hurt, caught off guard somehow by what I’d said, even though it was entirely true. If he didn’t like the reminder that I wasn’t in his home willingly, then perhaps he shouldn’t have made me his prisoner.

“If it were up to you, what would you do if we found out the spell over your memories won’t break after all?” he asked, more evenly than I expected.

“Go home,” I answered honestly. Then seeing his brows furrow, I clarified, “To my home in the human lands. My family must be worried sick and I’ve already missed my sister’s birthday.”

It wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for. I could see that on his face. But it was the only honest answer I could give him. Even with all the luxuries of this house—the paints, the food, the comfort of my bed—I still preferred my own home where I was free. Where I could rely on the certainties of my humanity and forget I’d ever been involved with the faeries.

“ But what about Rhysand?” my soul keened quietly in my chest.

I…didn’t know. There wasn’t an answer that made sense just as surely as there wasn’t an answer that would satisfy both my heart and mind. In the end, I would have to decide which would win.

“I see,” Rhys said darkly.

The room was suddenly freezing, despite the well-tended fireplace beside me. The high lord rose to his feet, wings almost knocking into me as they unfurled and situated themselves against his back.

“Goodnight Feyre,” he said from the door.

“Rhys, it’s not that I don’t like it here,” I said uneasily. “You’re keeping me here because you want to see your family more than anything. You want them back. It’s the same for me.”

He didn’t answer, only hovered in the doorframe like that golden haloed angel of death I’d seen him as when I first arrived. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to say something, but he never got the chance to.

“Night Rhys,” I said.

Then he was gone. As his footsteps traveled up the stairs, I had a strange feeling that Rhysand would let me go if I asked. Maybe not right this second, maybe not tomorrow, but if I waited for the time to be right, he would let me go.

And strangely, that made me want to stay.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

I woke from a nap the next afternoon to the sound of a thousand meteors crashing into Rhys’ study on the floor above me. As strings of his obscene curses shook the house, I realized it was not a meteor shower after all, but Rhysand having some sort of temper tantrum.

I crept up the stairs, careful not to step on the creaky boards, and poked my head around the corner. Just as I assessed that the coast was clear, a vase came flying out of an open door and into the hallway. I whirled out of the way just in time to avoid taking the pot straight to my nose, and it shattered into a thousand chipped pieces beside me. When it was clear no more projectiles were going to bombard me, I took one brave step into the room. The high lord was too lost in his fury to notice me.

“Cauldron fucking damn it!” Rhys seethed, clearing all the contents of his desk onto the floor with a single swipe of his arms. “Damn that piss-sucking bastard !”

“That’s a new one,” I called from the door. Rhys spun around, a cup of writing utensils in his grasp that he seemed ready to hurl across the study. “I’ll have to remember it for whenever you piss me off.”

Rhysand didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile. He just slammed the container of ink pens back on his desk and tried to catch his breath. I wanted to saddle up beside him, run my hands down the sinews of his back until he was calm enough to tell me what was wrong. I wanted to press my lips to the furrow between his sharp brows until it smoothed away with his worries. But I was smart enough to stay in place and quirk a brow.

“Well?” I asked quietly.

Rhys scowled at the mess on the ground, kicking his foot through one of the piles until he found what he was looking for—a slip of light green parchment. He stepped over another heap of paper and handed it to me, silently inviting me to read it.

The day I give your brothers back is the day you give me back my parents. Good thing your brothers are immortals. They’ll be waiting a long time, won’t they?

I didn’t even have to ask who it had come from.

“He killed my mother and sister first, you know,” Rhys growled out. “He took their wings, Feyre. He was my friend! He killed them in cold blood and—” He clamped his teeth down over a trembling, choked sound. “My father killed his parents as payment. That’s why he hates me. Now he has my brothers and I’m completely powerless. If he kills them, it’ll be all my fault. But if he doesn’t, that’s worse , and it’ll still be my fault.”

My eyes fell to the shambles on the floor, then at the unkempt male before me.

“What are you going to do?” My voice was barely above a whisper. He couldn’t wait for the made-up spell around my memories to release forever.

Rhys staggered to his window, dropping his hands onto the cold marble ledge and bending his head down low.

“I don’t know,” he admitted brokenly. “What can I do?”

I waited for some stroke of genius to find him, for him to shoot around and with some epiphany and magical answer that would free all of us—me, his brothers, and even himself.

But Rhys was out of options. All except one.

When he did turn to face me, terrifying dread stole my breath away. I stumbled back a step.

“You wouldn’t,” I pleaded, trembling.

Rhys opened his palms to me.

“Feyre…I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t my absolute last resort,” he tried to reason. Tears filled his eyes first, then mine, as I took another step back, this time tripping on something he’d thrown. I stumbled into his bookcase, causing thin hardcovers to rain around my shoulders. “You have to believe me, I did everything to avoid this. But it’s my only option. You know it is. If I give you back to him, he might trade you for my brothers.”

Just when the thought crossed my mind that I should run away, the first magical binding slipped around my wrist. I cried out as it sealed me to the bookcase. My weeks being cozy and fed here had made me forget the sting of it, a mistake I cursed myself for making. Putting all my strength into my right arm, I pulled as hard as I could, but the bindings refused to budge.

“I told you, Rhys! I don’t know, Tamlin. I was just in his garden for a few minutes. I—I’m nothing to him! He won’t give you anything for me.”

“You don’t know that for sure!” he insisted desperately, a tear leaking out of his eyes. “He might…He might trade with me and break the spell he has over you.Then you’ll remember how much you loved him. Don’t you feel it inside you even a little bit?”

I ignored him, fighting through the burning and blood to yank myself free of the magical binding. Just as I spent the last of my strength, the other binding pulled my left hand back like a magnet and sealed it to the case.

“You won’t be able to break free. Don’t hurt yourself trying,” he said brokenly.

“I broke free the first time,” I spat. The back of my throat burned with unshed tears.

“You broke free because I let you,” he admitted gently. “I wanted to see what you would do.”

I groaned out a sob of frustration. He began to draw closer and I kicked my legs up at him to drive him away.

“You horrible, hideous, beastly assblight!” I screamed through grinding teeth.

“See, you’re more creative than I am,” Rhys said lightly, eyes pained and red. “Feyre, it’s going to be okay. This is what you wanted all along, right? For me to take you back to where I found you?”

“I wanted you to let me go! Not put me in the hands of someone who could kill me for stealing from him.”

My words fell on ears that refused to listen to me—and I knew why. Rhys knew that I was right. Or at least, he knew there was a good chance that there was truth in what I said. He wanted to drown out my words so that only his faulty logic remained. It would come at my expense.

Rhys came before me, magic now sealing my feet to the ground to keep me from kicking him where it would hurt. His hands cupped the underside of my jaw, turning my human face to look at his fae beauty. It spoke to me in a language I didn’t know I understood, a silent turn of phrase that buried deep into my soul and told me everything he’d been trying to say with a single gaze.

He didn’t want to do this. Somehow, I had planted myself deep into his heart and he had taken root in mine. Now he had to make the impossible choice between the brothers that he had spent centuries with and the human girl he’d temporarily taken into his care. There were promises—promises to protect his family, promises to never make the same mistake twice. Promises he hadn’t made me. Not yet.

But that didn’t mean this didn’t cost him. If it were anyone else other than his family trapped in the Spring Court, he would’ve chosen me.

I knew this—I even respected it—but I wouldn’t agree with it. Not if it meant denying me my freedom.

“If you’re truly unhappy there, I’ll come for you,” he promised. But even I knew what an empty promise that was. He might’ve intended to keep it, but how could he save me before Tamlin did the unspeakable to me if he couldn’t even save his own warrior brothers?

I fixed my eyes to the ground, refusing to look at him.

“Try to understand,” he begged, thumb caressing my jaw.

“I understand,” I said quietly. He didn’t tear his eyes away, but let out a slow breath of relief. I jerked my jaw away. “But understand this, Rhysand. If you hand me to Tamlin...If you use my life as your selfish gambling token, I’ll never forgive you. One human may not matter to you—”

“You do ,” Rhys insisted.

“—But it’ll be my blood on your hands.”

One last tear trickled down the hard planes of Rhys’ face.

“I’m sorry, Feyre. So, so sorry.”

I squeezed my eyes shut against my own tears.

When I opened them again, I was alone in my room. And the door was locked.

I sat on the cold floor, unmoving and numb, for hours. There was no point in wasting my time trying to escape. Not when magic was what barred me in like a jailbird. I could only wait for the high lord to make his move.

When it finally came, shadowy restraints reformed around my wrists, a leash that Rhysand held the other end of. They cuffed my skin much gentler than they had the first few times, almost as soft as a caress from Rhys himself.

It made my stomach churn, though not because I resented Rhys’ twisted kindness like I thought. But because I craved it.

I had looked at the Lord of Death in his devastating eyes and made the choice not to look away. I ignored every warning begging me not to trust him and had instead let him slip his shadows through the open cracks of my heart. I had foolishly believed that I had rooted into his heart too. Maybe I had—but it wouldn’t be enough.

And now I would leave him. He’d hand me over to Tamlin and forget about every tender word we’d exchanged, every charged moment of touch and closeness.

A knock came from the other side of my door. I stared at it from the floor across the room, arms resting on my knees and head leaning against the wall. Rhys cracked it open for a second, as if plagued by second thoughts, only to. My face was numb and expressionless when he peered down at me, and I held up my wrists to show him the shadowy manacles.

“It’s time,” he said. Not, Are you ready to go? Not, I’ve changed my mind, let’s talk it over.

I must’ve hesitated for a second too long because he held out his hand and murmured, “Please don’t put up a fight, Feyre.”

I wouldn’t. But I wouldn’t go willingly either. I wouldn’t take that hand, no matter how much I craved his touch, nor would I pretend he hadn’t broken the trust between us. Maybe forever.

Rhys waited a few seconds, probably hoping I’d come to my senses. When I didn’t rise to my feet and present myself like a lamb to the slaughter, he crossed the room and crouched at my side. My eyes were resolutely fixed to the gentle grain of the wooden floors, but I still felt Rhys wrap his fingers around my wrist, thumb caressing over the swollen skin.

Then we winnowed away.

#feysand #feyre x rhysand #feysand fic #acotar gift exchange 2021

63 notes · View notes

lailoken · 4 years ago

Text

“Elder (Sambucus nigra), also known as boor or bour tree.

Elder is one of the most enigmatic plants in British folk tradition. On one hand it is feared and associated with WITCHES and on the other it is valued for its protective qualities, as a fly repellent, and for its use in many herbal remedies.

The whole plant hath a narcotic smell; it is not well to sleep under its shade. [Withering, 1776: 186]

[In Leitrim, Waterford and the south of Ireland] the elder or 'bore' tree is believed to have been the tree from which Judas Iscariot hanged himself. The proof of which is the fact that its leaves have an 'ugly smell', and, moreover, that its fruit has since degenerated from its original size and excellent flavour, and become worthless both as to size and taste. [Anon., 1916: 425]

It was said at Beckley that if you burn elder wood you will become bewitched. You never cut it down. In Wootton they say that the elder is a witch tree. You should not mend a wattle hedge with it, as it will give the witches power. If you cut it, it will bleed. [Oxfordshire Women's In- stitute groups, 1950s]

Unlucky to burn Tramman [elder], it is the FAIRIES’ tree. [Lezayre, Isle of Man, c.1975; Manx Folklife Survey]

Normally in the Isle of Man elder is the fairies' tree which is unlucky to cut down, or burn when fallen. I was told in 1992 by a forestry worker of his pleasure that a large elder had blown over into the field adjoining his garden and thus relieved him of the need to find someone willing to remove it. [Union Mills, Isle of Man, October 1993]

Elder flowers—it is alright to pick the flowers for wine or culinary use, but the tree is a friend of witches and the wood should never come into the house. [Ashreigney, Devon, July 1983]

Elder—unlucky to bring either flowers or wood into a house: (a) because it is the witches' tree, (b) because it was believed that Judas Iscariot hanged himself from an elder tree, (c) because if you fall asleep under elder flowers the scent will poison you or you will never wake up. [Driffield, Humber- side, March 1985]

Collecting firewood from the hedges surrounding the cottage and returning happily laden, but being accused of bringing bits of elder into the house—it was considered unlucky to use these to light a fire. [Bow Street, Dyfed, October 1984]

The only unlucky plant which I have heard of is the elder tree, which the old people looked upon as unlucky. As I have heard the old people say, it was unhealthy to have an elder tree growing near the house as it was often noted the inhabitants seemed more prone to TUBERCULOSIS or 'Consumption' as it was known in Ireland in the old days. However, as TB was rampant all over the country at that time, I don't know if the belief would have any significance. My own people however would not cut down an elder bush or burn it no matter how old or rotten it was. Nor allow an elder stick in the house, and it would be an unforgivable act to strike a child or even an animal with one. [Kill Village, Co. Kildare, October 1984]

The family name dies out on the property where the elder grows in the kitchen garden. [Skibbereen, Co. Cork, January 1993]

Do you know the Rollright Stones in Oxfordshire? You can't count them; you never get the same number twice. In the next field there is a big stone called King Arthur, and there are various stones called after his Knights around. There are some elder bushes nearby. We used to go there as children on our bicycles and try to count the stones. We were told that if we picked a flower or a berry from these elderberry bushes we would be turned into stone. We used to dare each other to pick a berry or a flower, but no one ever did. [Mitcham, Surrey, May 1986]

However, in the early part of the nineteenth century:

On Midsummer Eve, when the 'eldern' tree was in blossom, it was a custom for people to come up to the King Stone and stand in a circle. Then the 'eldern' was cut, as it bled 'the King moved his head.' [Evans, 1895: 20]

Sometimes it was thought that wood, berries, or flowers could be safely taken from an elder only if the tree's permission had been sought first.

Hearing one day that a baby in a cottage close to my own was ill, I went across to see what was the matter. Baby appeared right enough, and I said so; but its mother promptly explained. 'It were all along of my maister's thick 'ed; it were in this how: t'rocker cummed off t'cradle, an' he hedn't no more gumption than to mak' a new ’un out on illerwood without axing the Old Lady's leave, an' in coorse she didn't like that, and she came and pinched t'wean that outrageous he were a'most black i' t' face; but I bashed 'un off, an putten an' esh 'un on, an' t'wean is as gallus as owt agin.' This was something quite new to me, and the clue seemed worth following up. So going home I went straight down to my backyard, where old Johnny Holmes was cutting up firewood—‘chopping kindling,' as he would have said. Watching the opportunity, I put a knot of elder-wood in the way and said, 'You are not feared of chopping that are you ?' 'Nay, he replied at once, 'I bain't feared of choppin' him, he bain't wick (alive); but if her were wick I dussn't, not without axin’ the Old Gal's leave, not if it were ever so'.. . (The words to be used are): 'Oh, them's slape enuff.' You just says, 'Owd Gal, give me of thy wood, and Oi will give some of moine, when I graws inter a tree.' [Heanley, 190I: 55]

If you chop an elder tre e or fell it, you should bow three times and say:

Old Woman, Old Woman, Give me some of your wood And when I am dead I'll give you some of mine. [Whitwick, Leicestershire, August 1983]

[Staffordshire, 1930s:] my mother said it was the thing if one wanted blossoms or fruit from an elder tree to say 'Please Mother Elder may I have .. .' [Ponsanooth, Cornwall, November 1993]

In addition to records of elder being inauspicious, there are many rec- ords of it being a beneficial, protective tree.

[In Northumberland] an old man told me that his aunt used to keep a piece of bour tree, or elder, constantly in her kist (chest) to prevent her clothes from malign influence. [Hardy, 1895: 325]

In south Wales it was deemed very dangerous to build any premises on or near the spot where an eldertree stood. In the past an elder planted before the door of a cow-shed or stable protected the cows and horses from witchcraft and sorcery. [Trevelyan, 1909: 103]

[In Scotland elder was] often planted near old crofts and cottages as protection from witches. [Webster, 1978: 342]

[In Guernsey elder] had to be planted as near as possible to the back door, the most used entrance, since it was a sacred tree and a good protection against witchcraft. [McClintock, 1987: 33]

[In Ireland] it is considered lucky to have an elderberry bush grow near your house, especially if it is "self-set'. [Bracknell, Berkshire, August 1984]

Mother used elder leaves to make a pattern on the floor-bricks. Painting around them with red paint. Making the cross with elder leaves. This was an old custom, going back to her grandmother's time, so the custom had to be continued despite the time-consuming nature of the work. [Bow Street, Dyfed, March 1984]

Elder: this was called Boortree... The leaves were boiled and the water used to dose pigs. For this purpose, and because it was supposed to be a protection against LIGHTNING, there was a tree of it at every house. It can still be seen growing in places where there are no houses now, but where houses were years ago. [Lenamore, Co. Longford, April 1991]

Family folklore passed on to me includes . . . one should plant a ROWAN and elder tree and never cut them down, in order to keep witches away. [Parkstone, Dorset, June 1991]

I can remember as a child elder growing around the wooden bottom-of-the-garden 'lavvy' at my uncle's farm near Brentwood, Essex, and many other similar loos with elder adjacent. I was told that the elder would live 'almost for ever', as if one root died off another would spring from a fallen branch or twig. They were treated with 'respect' as they kept away bad magic—no one used the word 'witches'—but the inference was there. [Yafforth, North Yorkshire, January 1990]

More usually elder trees were planted around toilets and other build ings to deter FLIES.

Elder bushes are invariably to be seen outside the dairy windows on the north side of old-fashioned farmhouses in the Midlands. This was done because elder-leaves are supposed to be very objectionable to flies, wasps and other insects, the tree thus provided both shade and protection. For the same reason a switch of elder with leaves on is used when taking or driving a swarm of bees. [N &Q, 11 ser. 12: 489, 1915]

When inspecting a slaughter house [in Cornwall] a summer or two ago, I commented on the absence of flies, and was told that this was due to a large elder bush growing some feet away and that branches of elder in any building would keep flies away. [Peter, 1915: 123]

An elderberry tree was always grown near the house—I think it was to keep flies away. [Didcot, Oxfordshire, February 1991]

According to some friends of mine elderberry bushes were planted by water butts and outside privies so that the smell would keep the flies away. [Horseheath, Cambridgeshire, April 1991]

As a youth my late father worked on the land...Often handling horses it was common practice to tie bunches of elder leaves to the harness to ward off flies. [St Osyth, Essex, February 1989]

My wife, who comes from Northumberland, tells me that her mother used to make up a concoction with elder flower when she was a child. All the family washed their faces in it to keep virulent Northumbrian midges at bay. She remembers it smelling not too pleasant, and tended to keep other children away as well, so she would take the first opportunity to wash it off! [Hexham, Northumberland, June 1988]

About twelve years ago in Girton, Cambridge, a small swarm of bees (apparently known as a 'cast') settled on a plum tree in our garden, about six feet up. A neighbour, Mr C. G. Puck (now 84 years old), a retired shepherd and lifelong beekeeper, came to collect the bees. He removed the queen bee from the swarm and placed her under a small open wooden box inverted on the ground under the tree. He then asked for a sprig of elder and laid this about nine inches above the swarm, saying that the smell of it was disliked by bees, and by the early evening all the bees had moved into the box . . . He had learned of the use of elder in this fashion from his beekeeper father, in his native village of Thriplow, south Cambridgeshire. [Girton, Cambridge, May 1988]

On the Isle of Man:

Each old cottage has a 'trammon', or elderberry tree, outside the door. This is used by the 'Phynodderree' to swing in. He is a kind of faun who can bring much luck, and even helps materially in outside work. [Daily News, 27 January 1926]

[Fairies] liked most of all to swing and play in the elder trees, and these were always thought of as fairy trees in the Isle of Man. There wasn't a house or farm that didn't have its 'tramman' tree planted by the door or in the garden 'for the fairies'. Many of them are still to be seen; the single tree will soon have grown into a thicket, hiding the old ruined house, but a sure sign that a house once stood there . . . When the wind was blowing the branches, it was then that the fairies were believed to be riding the tramman trees, but it was said that they would desert a house or a farm where the trees had been cut down. This must have happened only very rarely: no-one would cut a branch of the tramman, let alone the tree itself, but if it was done the fairies grieved. [Killip, 1975: 35]

Regardless of whether elder is considered to be malevolent or protec- tive, most of the folk beliefs associated with the tree appear to be con- cerned with its protection and preservation. Two quotations from herbalists writing in the 1940s demonstrate the value of the elder tree.

[According to my [g*psy] friend] the healingest tree that on earth do grow be the elder, them sez, and take it all round I should say 'twas. [Quelch, 1941: 78]

[Elder has] the unusual distinction of being useful in every part. [Ransom, 1949: 55]

Thus it is possible that the various folk beliefs associated with elder were due, at least in part, to efforts to protect a valuable resource.

The period when elder flowered was sometimes considered to be a time when the weather was poor. In the Basingstoke area of Hampshire this time was known as the elderbloom winter [Maida Hill, Lon- don, December 1982], while in Cheshire:

Weather prophets say that if the weather breaks while the elder-flowers are coming out, it will be soaking wet (in Cheshire parlance, drabbly) until they fade. [Hole, 1937: 49]

Francis Bacon (1561–1626) recorded: 'They say' WARTS can be removed by rubbing them 'with a Green Elder Sticke and then bury- ing the Sticke to rot in Mucke' [Bacon, 1631: 258]. Similarly:

A 15-year-old girl, writing in 1954, says that her grandfather told her to pick a small twig of elderberry, touch her warts with it, chant the words, “Wart, wart, on my knee, Please go, one, two, three” and put it 'down the toilet'. [Opie, 1959: 315]

Elder is, perhaps, the wild plant most widely used in folk medicine.

Queen of all Forest [of Dean] remedies was 'ellum blow tea'...The flowers were gathered in the spring and hung up to dry in closed paper bags ... in the kitchen ... You dared not sneeze in the winter or down came the bag, a good handful was put in a jug, covered with boiling water, covered with a tea towel, and left to infuse. One had to force this evil-smelling brew down one's throat willy-nilly. I loathed it, and to this day can recall that smell of cats which emanated from it. Poultices of the mixture were used for SPRAINS, aches, etc., in joints, also for boils and 'gathered' fingers—whitlows and so on. It seemed to be a universal panacea; the only use it didn't have was for constipation . . . Elder berries were favoured too; they were boiled up with sugar, the resulting syrup strained, bottled, and used in winter for coughs and colds . . .There is not a Forester alive over the age of 70 who does not know ellum blow tea. [Cinder- ford, Gloucestershire, November 1993]

Elder berries when fried with mutton fat are used for BOILS and ULCERS. [IFCSS MSS 414: 43, Co. Clare]

Elder root when boiled and the water drank supposed to cure RHEUMAT- ISM. [IFCSS MSS 700: 35, Co. Meath]

An infusion of elder flowers in boiling water will alleviate PILES. [Horsted Keynes, West Sussex, February 1991]

A green ointment could be made from the leaves, based on mutton fat, and the creamy white flowers made Elderflower Water for the complexion. The flowers, dried in the sun and stored in a paper bag make a good remedy to break a hard COUGH and bring up phlegm. I always pick and dry some when they are in bloom, put the full of your fingers (one hand) in a mug, pour boiling water over and let it infuse for ten minutes. A little milk or fruit juice can be added. [Lenamore, Co. Longford, April 1991]

For flus and FEVERS

40 oz whiskey bottle. Pick, clean, weigh, one pound ripe elder berries. Delete the strings (most strings anyway) using a fork, and put berries into empty bottle. Add 4 lb sugar. Top up with a bottle (or most of a bottle) of whiskey. Seal well. Store for 3 months and strain. Use strongest spirit. Dose—Strong glass of this 'Elderfire'—add hot water (as hot as possible) and drink. Take 2 or 3 spoons of honey with drink. Repeat each night (or more frequently)–usually two nights is sufficient to clear the flu/fever results guaranteed. [Killarney, Co. Kerry, September 1991]

[My mother, who was 94 when she died in 1987] used to collect elder-flower in the spring, and dried it. In the winter if we had colds or flu, the elderflower was put in a jug covered with boiling water and put on the hob to stew. At night we were given this (strained) with sugar and a few drops of peppermint oil added. We were given a teacup full of this at night, and in the morning we had to drink half a cupful of this cold mixture. It was supposed to sweat out the fever. She used to tell me how she pulled me through PNEUMONIA by poulticing with hot flannel and sips of elderflower tea, day and night. [Hill, Worcestershire, October 1991]

When my three children were small and we had wintery weather (and it can be very cold up here at the foot of the Cairngorms), I made elder-flower wine, and when it was time for them coming from school I had three cups, bowl of sugar, bottle of elderflower wine and the kettle boiling, and I gave them a tody; they never had colds or flu. [Boat-of-Garten, Inverness-shire, November 1991]

Elder flowers and berries are widely collected by makers of homemade wines. The flowers can also be used in cooking [Ó’Ceirin, 1980: o1), and the fruits have been recommended as a substitute for currants [Ransom, 1949: 55]. Elder leaves have been used as a TOBACCO substitute.

Myself, my brother and a friend always smoked elder leaves when money was not available for tailor-made cigarettes. We spent much time in the woodland of Thetford Chase, where on our regular walks we would break down, but not completely snap off, small sprigs of the elder. We found that if we severed the supply of sap completely the leaves on the sprig would dry out resulting in a hot strong smoke. We found that if the leaves remained just slightly damp they were a quite pleasant smoke. It was obviously trial and error, sometimes they remained too wet to burn properly. We would stuff the leaves very lightly into the stems of various umbellifers...We actually prefered these cigarettes to the tailor-made, but they were not available during winter. [West Stow, Suffolk, November 1992]

Elder wood is characterized by its pith, which can be easily removed.

[On Colonsay] boys aspiring to be pipers made chanters of the young branches [of elder], which are full of pith and easily bored. [McNeill, 1910: 130].

Haw-blowers are made by scooping the pith out of an elder branch. Haws are blown through these. [IFCSS MSS 700: 338, Co. Meath]

The people of the parish were able to make toy guns. They got an elder stick about one and a half feet long and scraped out the inside. Then they got a stick about the same length and made it fit into the hole and then the gun was made. [IFCSS MSS 867: 132, Co. Kilkenny]

At the the beginning of the century children in parts of Devon used to make pop-guns' out of elder: they would force a hole through the pith, and then fashion a ram-rod out of HAZEL WOOD. Chewed paper would be rammed down the hollowed elder sticks, and pressed out with considerable force. Great sport ensued. [Lafonte, 1984: 35]

There was another use for the Boor tree in olden times. A suitable length was cut and seasoned, then the white pith in the centre was scraped out, lead was then melted and poured in. When set, this made a good weapon for protection on a journey or out walking at night...My aunt who was born in 1894 remembered one man who had such a stick. [Lenamore, Co. Longford, April 1991]

[In Horsefield, Cambridgeshire] for winter feeding one beekeeper used to make little troughs out of elder wood; he cut pieces about the thickness of a finger and five or six inches long, tapered off one end and removed the pith, and used them for replenishing the bees' honey by inserting this end in the exit hole. [Parsons MSS, 1952]”

—

Oxford Dictionary of Plant-Lore

by Roy Vickery

#elder #elder tree #elderberry #elder mother #plant lore #herbcraft #folklore #Roy Vickery #Oxford Dictionary of Plant-Lore

106 notes · View notes

marauders-venting · 4 years ago

Text

Our Last Summer (Part 1)

pairing: wolfstar (sirius x remus)

genre: fluff & angst

warnings: none

words: 2267

note: based on the song ‘Our Last Summer’ by ABBA

a/n: this isn’t the whole thing but I haven’t finished it yet and it’s getting really long anyway so I decided to just post it in parts (i know it says fluff & angst and there’s no angst here but be patient it will come)

I can still recall our last summer, I still see it all. Walks along the Seine laughing in the rain, our last summer, memories that remain… I can still recall our last summer, I still see it all. In the tourist jam round the Notre Dame our last summer walking hand in hand

Sirius woke up smiling. Remus’ arm was still draped over him. He turned around and kissed him on the nose.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Are you awake?”

“I am now,” Remus groans.

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” Remus says, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “I like waking up next to you.” Sirius’ smile widened.

“I like waking up next to you too,” he said. He kisses Remus softly before turning to grab his wand off his bedside table and Summoning two cups of tea. He hands one to Remus and then opens the drawer of his bedside table and pulls out a large packet of dark chocolate.

“Happy anniversary,” Sirius says, giving Remus the chocolate.

“Best present ever,” Remus says, taking a bite; Sirius can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not.

“The day is just beginning,” he says, sipping his tea.

“Really? So what do you have planned?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Sirius says mysteriously.

---------

“No way,” Remus said, shaking his head. “There is no fucking way I’m getting on that death trap.”

“Yes you are,” Sirius said, taking his hand and pulling him closer to the motorcycle. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“No,” Remus said. “Why can’t we just Apparate? Or take a taxi?”

“What’s a taxi?” Sirius asked.

“I swear to god, I’ve already told you at least five times,” Remus says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, it doesn’t matter because we’re riding my motorcycle,” Sirius said.

“Nope,” Remus said. “Not fucking happening.”

“Please,” Sirius pouted. “It’s not illegal, I have a license. And I promise I won’t fly. I’ll stay on the ground the whole time.” Remus still looked hesitant. “I even customised your helmet myself.” He pulled out a black helmet with ‘Moony’ written on the side in flaming block letters. It brought a little smile to Remus’ face.

“Ugh fine,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. “But this is a one-time thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, if you say so,” Sirius said. “Now come.” They climbed on the motorcycle and Remus wrapped his hands around Sirius’ waist. “Normally I would say hold on tight,” Sirius said, “but if you hold any tighter you might just squeeze me to death.”

“And if I don’t hold this tight I might just fall to my death,” Remus replied. “Now shut up and drive; I want to get this over with.”

And suddenly, they’re on the road and holy fuck Remus is terrified. He’s resting his head on Sirius’ shoulder watching the cars around them. He squints his eyes, trying to make everything appear blurry (hoping it’ll make this a little less terrifying) and yes, he’s afraid but he has to admit that the blur of lights from all the cars is actually quite beautiful. That is, until they climb on the highway and Sirius picks up the speed. Now it’s just terrifying. Remus closes his eyes and buries his head in the crook of Sirius’ neck. The smell of Sirius and the feel of his beating pulse calms Remus down a little. He knows Sirius wouldn’t suggest this if it was that dangerous; Sirius would never let anything bad happen to him.

Remus doesn’t open his eyes until he feels them slowing to a stop. When he does finally look around, he finds himself in the parking lot of what looks like a small park.

“Hey,” Sirius says, reaching a hand back and stroking Remus’ thigh. “Are you ok?”

“I’m alive, if that’s what you mean,” Remus says, letting go of Sirius so he can climb off the motorcycle. Sirius helps Remus down and takes his helmet.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Yes, it was that fucking bad,” Remus says. “I’m never riding that thing again.”

“Hey, ‘that thing’ has a name, you know,” Sirius said, arms crossed.

“Right, sorry,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. “I’m never riding Elvendork again.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you actually remembered their name,” Sirius said, laughing.

“I can’t believe you actually named your motorcycle,” Remus said. “Now tell me what we’re doing here.”

“Come with me,” Sirius said, pulling him by the hand into the park.

“Where are we?” Remus asks, looking around.

“You’ll see,” Sirius said. He led Remus to the far end of the park where several bushes and trees made a hedge that seemed to show the end of the park. Sirius got on his hands and knees and pushed the plants out of his way as he crawled into the hedge.

“Are you serious right now?” Remus asked. As soon as the word was out of his mouth he regretted it.

“I’m always Sirius,” came the reply. “Now come on.” Remus sighed and crawled through the hedge. When he came out on the other side he saw Sirius sitting on the grass.

“What is this place?” Remus asked, looking around. If he was being honest, it looked like a little heaven. Everything was so green. The grass, the trees, the hedge they came through. It looked like something out of a painting. The colourful flowers from the trees littered the floor; Remus picked one up, walked over to Sirius and put it in his hair.

“I used to come here when I was a kid,” Sirius said, effectively surprising Remus. “I know hardly any of my stories start like that but when I was… 9, I think, my cousin Andromeda was 15. And one summer she came over to our house and she asked my parents if she could take me somewhere. I don’t know what lie she told them but whatever it was they bought it. She brought me here. She told me that a friend of hers at school had shown her this place. His dad was a park ranger and he used to come here all the time as a kid. It was just close enough to my house that we could walk here and we’d spend all day playing here. She even learnt how to use muggle money so she could buy us food.”

“The last time we did it was the year before I started Hogwarts. She was seventeen then. She showed me magic. It was incredible. She did all kinds of spells to make plants grow and stuff. It was awesome. I’d never seen magic so… raw before. It was beautiful. But then she ran away with Ted Tonks and got burnt off the tapestry so there was no way my parents would let me see her. But she wrote to me a few times to tell me to meet her here. That was how I met Ted for the first time. Turns out he was actually the one who showed Andie this place. And I met Nymphadora here as well. I used to come here alone sometimes too. I tried to bring Regulus with me once but he was scared we’d get caught. The only good memories from my childhood… they’re all from this place. I just wanted to show it to you. I mean, you took me to your childhood home but… I mean you’ve seen the Potters’ house a million times. But I guess I wasn’t really a child by the time I moved there. So I guess… I don’t know, I just wanted to share this with you.”

“Thank you,” Remus said, taking Sirius’ hand and pressing his lips to the back of his hand, “for bringing me here, I mean. This place is beautiful. Are you the only one who knows about it?”

“Oh, I doubt it,” Sirius said. “I mean, it’s not very visible but there’s no way that nobody else has ever found this place. But it was always empty whenever I came here. Which wasn’t that often I suppose.” Sirius flopped back onto the grass, dragging Remus with him. They lay on their backs looking at the sky, hands still clasped together.

“It looks like it’s going to rain,” Remus said. Sirius shrugged. It was true; the clouds had been dark all day and the smell of approaching downpour lingered in the air. But Sirius had been keeping his fingers crossed that the rain would wait until later tonight so that he could carry out his plans without any disruption.

“You hungry? We could go get some food if you want. There are muggle shops nearby. But you’ll have to handle the money cause I still have no clue how to do that.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, if Andromeda could learn I’m sure you can too,” Remus said, as they left their little garden of Eden. “Come on, I’ll teach you.” They walked down the street looking for a coffee shop or a food vendor nearby. They found a bakery selling sandwiches so they bought two, Remus bought tea, Sirius bought coffee, and they returned to the hidden corner of the park.

“Do you get how to use the money now?” Remus asked as they walked back.

“You’ve taught me a million times, Moony, it never sticks,” Sirius said. “You just have to resign yourself to the fact that your boyfriend is a dumb bitch, no matter how hot he is.”

“Oh don’t worry, I accepted your lack of intelligence and general common sense a long time ago, Pads,” Remus said, putting an arm around Sirius as they sat back down on the grass, pulling the sandwiches out of the paper bag and laying everything out on the floor in front of them.

“No, no, you’ve got it wrong,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “I am intelligent but I’m still a dumb bitch too.”

“You’re saying you’re an oxymoron?”

“Wait, I never say I was a moron—”

“No, not a moron, an oxymoron.”

“What does that mean?” Sirius asked.

“It’s like something that juxtaposes itself,” Remus said.

“Juxta-what now?” Sirius said. Remus rolled his eyes.

“You need to read more. It’s something that contradicts itself. Phrases like awfully nice or saying that someone was found missing.”

“Oh,” Sirius said. “So yeah, that’s what I’m saying. You’re so smart, Moony. You know so many big words.”

“Literally just pick up a book,” Remus said, laughing and kissing him softly. “I promise, it’ll do you wonders.”

“Why do I doubt that?”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

“Oh we’ve circled back to that now, have we?”

---------

That was how they spent most of the day. Talking, laughing, joking, kissing, lying on the grass. It seemed like the day really was going to be perfect. Until it started raining. At first, the drops were light and they weren’t bothered by it, but soon the rain became heavy and loud and they were both getting soaked. Remus didn’t mind getting wet; he had bigger worries on his mind.

“We’re not riding a motorcycle in the rain, are we?” Remus asked, his concern leaking through his voice.

“We can wait for the rain to stop if you like,” Sirius said. “Hey, you know, it’s actually good that we came here on Elvendork because we can cut through the traffic on our way home.”

“What? No, no, no, no, no,” Remus said, shaking his head. “There’s no way that’s safe.”

“It’s perfectly safe, Moony, I’ve done it a million times,” Sirius insisted. “Just keep your eyes closed like you did before. It was cuter like that anyway.” Remus felt himself blush.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said out of the blue. “I didn’t know it would rain.” He looked genuinely upset; Remus wasn’t sure why.

“Of course you didn’t know, Pads,” Remus laughed. “You can’t control the weather. Everything will be fine. We’ll just wait out the rain before riding home.”

“That’s not what I—” Sirius started, “never mind.”

“What is it?” Remus asked, covering Sirius’ hand with his own.

“I just… I wanted everything to be perfect today. I’m sorry I ruined our anniversary.”

“Ruin it? Sirius, what are you talking about? You didn’t ruin anything.”

“But… it’s raining,” Sirius said confused.

“Yes and? Rain is, like, the most romantic thing ever.”

“It is?”

“Once again,” Remus sighed, “I would like to reiterate how desperately you need to read a book.”

“Well, I’m sorry we can’t all be addicted to romance novels.”

“Oh shut up and kiss me.” Sirius laughs and lets his lips meet Remus’. They’re both drenched to the bone but neither one of them could care any less. Sirius’ hand brushes Remus’ cheek as he wraps his arms around Remus’ neck pulling him closer. Remus’ hands are on Sirius’ waist, and they slide down to his hips. Sirius’ shirt had ridden up a bit from lifting his hands to reach Remus’ neck and Remus’ fingertips brush Sirius’ bare skin — which is wet and slippery from the rain — making Sirius shiver and sigh. When they break apart, Sirius brings his lips to Remus’ ear.

“Besides,” he whispers, as Remus runs a hand through Sirius’ wet hair, “who needs romance novels when I’ve got the best romance story in the world.” Remus felt a flutter of pure happiness and smiled. He kissed Sirius’ jaw, right beneath his ear.

“Happy anniversary,” he whispered. Sirius sighed in response. They stand there in the rain, wrapped in each other’s arms, dancing slowly to the sound of the rain splashing and pattering on the leaves of the trees around them.

#remus lupin #remus lupin fluff #sirius black #sirius black fluff #moony #padfoot #wolfstar #wolfstar fluff #wolfstar fanfic #Wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar oneshot #remus x sirius #sirius x remus #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders oneshot

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shreddedparchment · 5 years ago

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.34

A Little Spell

07/20/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 6,799

Warnings: smut, language, FLUFF, cute babies, slight angst

A/N: Enjoy! I’ve had fun with this one. As always if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work.

Tags are CLOSED!

Please do not REPOST my work on any other sites or blogs. REBLOGS are welcome!

Spring has awoken in Broklin. The sky is blue once more. Small tufts of cotton clouds fly by overhead as you walk with Maggie in your arms. She’s little, only three months, and aging with the peony blossoms in your gardens.

She wears one in her soft hay colored hair, carefully pinned by her Godmother Natasha this morning.

As she gawks at a flying bird, her chubby baby arms stretched out as if to touch it, your mind has a fleeting thought as you think about Nat, as it does every time you think of her.

What is he not telling me?

You remember it like it were only last night, Steve and Sam racing from your bedroom with a scroll crushed in Steve’s right hand.

He’d come back hours later looking tired and worried for only a moment as he walked into the room and then he’d smiled at you as you sat up, your little girl pressed to your breast as she fed.

He’d laid down beside you and kissed Maggie’s little feet just to hear her fuss a little and then laid with his eyes shut. Thinking things that you wanted but couldn’t know. Wouldn’t know. Still don’t know.

You’d known better at the time than to ask him what all of his rushing around had been about and instead settled Maggie between the two of you after she’d fed and only after he was asleep had you moved her into her cradle.

Steve had wrapped his arms around you in his sleep as you’d moved closer to him and it had chased away any fretting you’d had at the prospect of more trouble.

Despite the fear that had begun to grow in your mind, your worries seem to be unfounded as nothing has happened to alarm you or, really, anyone in the Kingdom.

“Sister!”

The call shatters your thoughts back to this blissful spring day and you turn to see Morgana moving quickly towards you, one hand holding up her pale green dress. The little vines etched along her collar and sleeves stand out in dark green and earthy brown.

“Morgana, your Majesty.” Peter states, moving towards Morgana and give her a quick bow while she too stops to greet him.

“Hello, Peter!” She smiles, then hurries back to you while Peter leaves you two to wait by the garden entrance.

You inspect your work—her dress—worried about the state of the stitching as she flounces about, but it’s holding up very well.

“Morgana, I thought you were in your lessons until the afternoon?” You chastise, eyes narrowed suspiciously as Maggie gasps in excitement, coos, and kicks her legs so quickly that you have to adjust her dress around her little feet. She’s a vision in pale blue to compliment the rosy pink peony in her hair.

Your own dress a stunning yellow, and a ribbon around your waist to match the color of Maggie’s dress.

With a little one, you have had to learn to keep your hair up or tied back. Grandmother had insisted on a braid this morning. Long with peonies also wound through to match your daughter.

For the most part, you don’t understand the fuss everyone has been making over the two of you looking so coordinated but apparently it is a tradition of the kingdom for a Queen and her child to set an example of “unity” . How exactly clothes show this, you have no idea.

“Hello little Maggie.” Morgana gushes then opens her arms to take her.

Handing your daughter over, you adjust her dress as Morgana gets her comfortable.

“Don’t ignore me, Morgana.” You warn her, with love of course.

“I’m not ignoring you.” She huffs. “I’m merely using my beautiful niece to avoid answering the question.”

You laugh. A confession you had not been expecting.

“What are you doing here?” You demand, still chuckling as the two of you resume your walk through the winding hedges of your now wild garden.

All these flowers once grouped with their own species and rigorously kept apart before were now in a truly wild blend of organized chaos.

“I finished early and the Master asked if I would like to proceed to the next lesson or spend the day on my own…” She begins.

“And naturally you decide that the day is better spent with Maggie and I?”

“Of course!” Morgana smiles, tickling Maggie’s little tummy. “Isn’t that right, Princess?”

“You should have gotten a head start on your lessons.” You reason.

“And miss out on this beautiful day? I don’t think so. Besides, my brother-in-law would like to see you. It looks like a meeting.” Morgana says, knowing that you will know what she means. “He sent me down to fetch you, and to take little Maggie back upstairs for her nap.”

“Has something happened?” You panic, stopping to look at her with wide eyes.

Maybe you were getting too comfortable too soon?

“I don’t know.” She laughs. “Father tells me nothing and mother insists that I stay out of all Avenging business.”

“They’re right, Morgana…I’m so glad that you weren’t anywhere near during the battle.” You worry. “Or Shuri. I’m glad she and her brother had to go back home before anything could happen.”

“They could have helped. The Black Panther is very skilled. And powerful.” Morgana reasons.

“He is.” You nod. “But I would have everyone be safe rather than risk the dangers of the castle that night.”

“You make it sound so terrifying.” She tells you, not realizing that you’d left out a chunk of compelling story when you’d recounted the events of the night.

“It was.” You assure her.

“Sister, even if it was scary, don’t you think that all of the Avengers fought for a reason? They all want to protect you. And my brother-in-law fights for more than just you and Maggie. He fights for the freedom of his kingdom.”

She thinks a moment, and smiles. “But mostly for you. You should see the way he watches you and Maggie. There’s a fear in his expression that I don’t understand. Almost a yearning. Even Nat says that she does not remember him ever looking at anyone so.”

“I don’t want anyone fighting for me, Morgana. I want everyone to be safe.”

There must be something in your eyes as you insist because she nods, understanding.

“Where were they?” You move on, eager to forget the night of Maggie’s birth.

“It’s only Steve, Sam, Bucky, and Natasha.” She informs you, making sure you know it isn’t the entire team. “They’re waiting for you in Steve’s den.”

“Can you manage Margaret?” You wonder, waiting to see what she’ll say.

Morgana rolls her eyes, “Of course, I can! Now go.”

With a bite to your bottom lip you quickly lean in and press a kiss to Maggie’s cheek.

She turns towards you as you pull away. Eyes wide and hands and feet flailing and kicking in excitement.

“I’ll see you shortly my pretty girl.” You coo at her then head towards the castle at a hastened pace.

As you pass the gate you move to Peter’s side with a pleading look.

“Will you stay and watch over her?” You fuss, worried about leaving Morgana alone with Maggie. Not that you don’t trust her, but you’re a little more wary now after so many close calls.

“I-” Peter begins, ready to defy you in favor of protecting you. He’s your personal guard!

“Please, Peter. I need to know that I can trust you to protect her if I cannot be around.” You plead.

Peter watches your expression then glances behind you towards Maggie and Morgana.

“Of course, your Majesty. I will protect them both with my life.” He promises, easing the worries in your heart.

You hurry on, but just as you reach the door you look back at your daughter once more and find Morgana helping her wave her tiny clenched fist as she mouths Bye-bye momma! Peter joining them with a small jog.

As he stops beside them, Morgana’s gaze is diverted, and her cheeks fill with a rosy tint.

You return their small wave and allow your feet to carry you faster through the castle towards Steve’s den.

On the second floor you pass Sharon nestled into a small library with her nose in a book.

You stop, warring with your two halves. The one side of you is eager to greet her and ask her to accompany you to this new meeting that you’ve suddenly been summoned for when you’re so often left in the dark about Avengers matters. You’re grateful to her for saving your life and the life of your little girl.

Then there’s the second half. The wife half. The woman within you that remembers the sight of her nestled in against Steve’s chest. The stern set of her jaw when you staked your claim for him and then the feeble attempt at an apology that so clearly had meant nothing at the time.

Your jealousy is moderate now. It doesn’t rear its head like a starving monster anymore, but it’s still there. You are Steve’s and he belongs to you. You’ve rarely felt the need to make it clear that you belong to each other. When you see Sharon being one of those occasions.

With a quick breath, cut short by a determined huff from your gnawed-on lips, you stifle the urge to claim and instead allow the friendlier side to move you into the room.

“Sharon?”

Sharon blinks, searching for you with wide eyes still dazed by her book.

“Oh,” She smiles, rising as she sets her books aside.

She curtsies as you stop before her, hands placed gently at your front as you try to stand the way Nat has taught you. Regal. Or as close to it as you can manage. You’re still unconvinced that you can pull this royalty business off.

You know you’re Queen and you make no arguments about it, but you’re fairly certain that Sharon—and other women like her, Nat included—will always look more the part of nobility than you do.

“Your Majesty, good morning.” Sharon greets, rising and matching your pose but clearly more relaxed.

“Good morning. I hope you’re well?” You begin, hoping the pleasantries aren’t unwelcomed.

“I’m very well, my lady. Thank you for asking.” She smiles again, a bit softer.

“I was wondering, why aren’t you with the others in Steve’s office?”

“I, my lady?” Sharon asks, genuinely confused as she presses her hand to her chest. The pale silk orange dress is elegant but fitting of the weather. The dark purple roses that flow upwards into a cluster in the pattern draw the eye to her bust, just as her hand does.

“I was sent for by Steve just now.” You explain.

“I-I’ve been in here all morning. All night even. It might be possible that they sent for me, but no one knows where I am. This has always been a good place to hide.” She confesses and her smile widens.

“Well, why don’t you accompany me? Whatever schemes they have you will no doubt be an asset. Indeed, I don’t know why they’ve sent for me. I’m…I couldn’t possibly be of much help.” You shake your head, relaxing a little more with every word you speak.

“I think it likely that his Majesty wants to keep you apprised of the events in the Kingdom.” Sharon ponders. “After what happened at King Anthony’s castle, he’d be a fool to keep you in the dark.”

You hadn’t though of that. Steve is summoning you to keep you informed? He never has before.

Once again, your mind is dragged back to the day of Thor’s visit and Sam’s urgent scroll.

You must have gone into a daze while your mind ran with thoughts because Sharon clears her throat, pulling you from your own ponderings.

“Your Majesty?” She checks, wary.

“Sorry.” You smile again. “I’m sorry. Will you come?”

Gesturing towards the door you take a tentative step as you await her choice.

“Of course!” She exclaims, rushing to open the door fully for you.

“You don’t have to-”

“Please.” She states simply, and you don’t refuse her.

The two of you walk together, Sharon a half step behind you—as she should be with you as Queen—in surprisingly comfortable silence.

When you reach the wing that you and Steve live in, you clear your throat, walking a little slower with his den visible at the end of the hall.

“I’m glad you decided to stay a little longer with us.” You tell her quietly.

“As am I, your Majesty.” She smiles. “Seeing you run the castle and the introductions with the court and the people…I hope Maggie won’t turn in her grave, but you do this job better than she ever did.”

“Oh?” You’re not exactly surprised by her statement. Steve has often told you this himself, but to hear it come from two people who loved Margaret the most and knew her the best really speaks volumes.

“Maggie was always focused on the world. It’s good to see someone care about just this Kingdom. It wasn’t in ruins or anything when she was in rule, but it has truly prospered under your care. And your attentions to its people force Steve to also consider those closer to home.

“There will always be an evil out there for us to fight. I think he used to forget those that depend on him waiting right here.” Sharon ponders, not really asking any questions just making observations.

“You’re too kind.” You smile. “It has truly been my honor to serve. To help.”

“Serve?” She asks, confused.

“Isn’t that what we do? Steve and I?” You think aloud. “We are here to provide a service. That service is indispensable. We provide stability and structure to the lives of everyone in Broklin. We were placed here to not only rule, but to help and to take care of those who need us. We are called to serve our people in the best ways we are able.

“There can be no service more important to perform in all the world.” You shrug, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world.

Sharon huffs a small laugh, not in sarcasm, but surprise.

“What?” You stop, turning to look at her with your hands carefully placed at your front. “What have I said?”

“You truly put us all to shame, your Majesty.” She states, looking into your eyes with a sparkle of sincerity. “There are sovereigns that would say the exact opposite. That it is the duty of the people to serve their King and Queen.”

“And it is.” You agree. “We are a carriage wheel, the people and us. In order for us to carry forward, we all must do our parts. It’s why I chose to marry Steve despite never having known him.

“I love him now, but when I agreed to marry him, I had no idea who he was. My father needed me to be dutiful and I was.” You smile. “We serve the people and they serve us in turn. We cannot have one without the other. Kingdoms fall every day to famine, disease, discontent among the people…one cannot expect to take and take without giving something in return.”

“Yes.” Sharon nods, “I see that now. And I’m sure Steve has seen it too. You’re teaching him well.”

You laugh, finding it silly that you could teach Steve anything that he doesn’t already know.

“Come on, before they grow impatient.”

As the two of you approach the door, you spot Grandmother leaning against the wall just outside the door, her hand on her chest and her eyes shut tight as if she’s struggling with a pain of some kind.

“Your Majesty?” Sharon probes as you slow just outside the door.

“Go on in.” You tell her, “I’ll be right in.”

Sharon nods and joins the others while you approach grandmother, a sudden realization fills you with dread.

Grandmother is old. And as much as you’ve grown used to her care, she will not always be with you.

“Grandmother? Are you alright?” You check, easing closer before placing your hand on her back carefully.

She’s lost so much weight recently that her dresses have begun to fit her loose. You’ll have more made for her.

“Shall I send for a doctor?” You ask, ear growing.

“No.” She says, withered voice shaking with a trembling breath.

“What’s the matter?” You wonder, placing reassuring hands on the sides of her arms.

She looks up at you, her eyes boring into your own and you can see it all in the reflection.

She’s terrified. This old woman, fearless in the face of a full on battle, is scared.

“Will you not confide in me?” You fret.

“No.” She says, eyes narrowed as she considers you and her legs grow stronger. “Not until I see it all.”

You’re confused by her words but try not to dwell on them.

“Let me at least get you a glass of water.” You insist.

“I said no, girl. Get back to your duties and leave me be.” She grumbles and pushes around you, muttering something under her breath as she reaches into one of her hidden pockets and pulls from within it a small vial of glittering powder.

You watch her until she’s out of sight, your mind trying to make sense of what little she said, but you can’t. You never could with Grandmother. Why was she out here to begin with? Had she been part of the meeting up until now?

Inside Steve’s den, you find Natasha sitting on one of the plain seats by his desk, Bucky beside her, arms crossed as he stares at a map spread out across Steve’s desk.

Sam is leaning against the desk, one hand along the edge while he points at a cluster of black iron houses near the corner. Sharon, sits in the chair beside Nat giving the impression that Sam must have given the seat up for her when she entered.

Your husband sits in his large chair behind the desk, his elbow on the wooden arm. His right hand covers his mouth while he taps a finger on the other deep in thought.

All of them turn to look at you as you enter. Sam straightens up, Natasha and Sharon both rise to their feet, and Bucky drops his arms. Steve however is transfixed on the map, eyes blazing with storm clouds as his mind fixates on whatever problem has gathered them all into this room.

“No, please…” You tell the others and they relax, taking up their previous positions.

You edge your way over to Steve and almost on instinct he opens his left arm to greet you beside him, turning his chair before he pulls you into his lap without sparing you a glance.

Normally you might protest the open affection in front of your closest friends but as you sit and he wraps his arm around your waist, there’s a needy weight to his embrace that tells you in this moment he must feel you there with him.

You recognize it and it makes you nervous. Fearful of what is troubling him.

“Is it bad?” You ask, looking only at him.

He takes a deep breath and then releases it slowly but doesn’t utter a word.

“Bucky?” You turn to him and wait as he shakes his head then nods to Sam.

“They’re here.” Sam says, leaning over the map again to point at the same cluster of black iron houses. “In this village. Abandoned long ago. All of the structures are crumbling. Decayed. If they’re not overgrown with vegetation, they’re soggy with mold and moss. Thor says there are at least three dozen soldiers left.”

“Hydra?” You ask, surprised you could find the breath in your body to do so.

“We thought that Captain Danvers had killed Rumlow, but it appears that he escaped before she could finish the job. He’s taken what’s left of their numbers here to regroup and rebuild.” Sam explains.

“Then we go after them.” Sharon says passionately.

“Thor says that rushing in would be reckless.” Bucky says. “They have something there. A weapon unlike any he’s ever seen before. It turns men into mindless slaves with a single touch. It shoots out an energy that he has never seen.

“And there’s no way to guarantee that they would still be there, even if we went now.”

“Where is Thor?” You wonder, looking around as if he might appear form the shadows.

“Searching.” Nat says. “For information on the power they possess.”

“We have to do this carefully. I won’t risk open war. Not with these villages here surrounding them on all three sides and the border on their back. They could slip into the Kingdom to the south and start a war between our kingdoms.” Steve shakes his head. “We’ll take a day, come up with a few strategies. We must move but we must do so correctly.”

“I thought they were gone.” You lament, starting at the cluster of houses.

Your tone finally brings Steve’s gaze to you and he wraps his arm around you more tightly.

“And they are.” He assures you. “This is what’s left of them. They’re weakened and if we do this properly, we might finally be able to eradicate the world of Hydra.”

“Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.” Bucky says solemnly drawing everyone’s eye.

Steve is frowning, his hands gripping the fabrics of your dress above your thigh as he considers his childhood friend.

“Then we’ll rip out their hearts.” He declares before immediately stifling the rage that filled his chest. “We need to take that weapon away from them and then we can kill them once and for all. We can’t wait for Thor.”

Nat gets to her feet and Bucky drops his arms. “We should at least give him a week to return before we attack. We need to know what we’re facing.”

Steve considers this, “I’ll give him three days. It’s all we can afford. Any more time and we may as well send them the numbers to withstand us.

“You and Nat take the rest of the day for yourselves, enjoy each other and tomorrow begin recruiting amongst the guard. Anyone skilled in deceit. They should also be able to hold their own against either of you.”

Nat nods and heads for the door. Bucky hesitates but quickly follows his wife out, leaving the door open.

“Sam, ride for Malibia and see if Tony can come back and whether Lord and Lady Lang are still present at his castle.” Sam nods, then leaves too.

“Shall I reach out to Fury?” Sharon wonders, pushing herself to the edge of her seat.

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “They’re racing after a separate faction of Hydra supporters. We’ll let them do their work. I want you to go to the East tower.”

“Wanda?” She asks, curious but unsurprised. “You want me to train her?”

“I want you to question her.” Steve clarifies. “She and her brother were part of Hydra. They were created by Hydra. If anyone might know what this mystery weapon is, it will be them.”

Sharon rises and rushes out with a curtsy leaving you and Steve alone in his office.

Your eyes dance around the now empty room, stopping on the curtained off corner that had been Margaret’s reading nook.

The jealousy you feel is almost imperceptible. He’s had it sectioned off for so long that you’re certain he did it to either keep you out or shield it from view so that he might move on without being reminded of his first love.

“Are you worried?” He asks, drawing your gaze back down to meet his own.

“Only because I wish this were over.” You shake your head, reaching up to trace the shape of his cheek and then slide your hands into his soft and slightly unwashed golden head of hair. “But it will never be over, will it?”

Steve’s face is serious, pained in a way, but only because he can see your distress. “No.”

His agreement weighs your heart down and you settle into his arms a little sadly.

He wraps you up in them, pulling you so close that you might as well be fused with how he’s got you tucked in against his chest. You shut your eyes and rest your head on his shoulder, tucking it underneath his chin when he adjusts it to rest it against your head.

“Oh, my sweet flower.” He whispers. “I’m sorry that I cannot be normal for you.”

His lament gives you pause, making your heart ache for an entirely different reason.

“Steve…” You push yourself back up, searching for his storm blue eyes which you find full of sorrow. “…I would not want you to be anyone but who you are.”

He considers your words for a few moments while you renew the caress to his head.

“Wouldn’t you prefer it if I were a normal king? No Avengers? No strange enemies with strange abilities?” He wonders. “I know that even my own abilities might be a little troublesome. I know that I can be a little heavy handed.”

“Steve,” You stop him, taking his face in both your hands and turn him to face you. “I would not change one single thing about you. Not your strange addiction to salted pork with that cherry glaze Cook makes. Not the wrinkles around your eyes when you laugh. Not the strength in your body or the smiles that greet me in the morning. Not the love you will always hold for Margaret, despite your declarations to the opposite.”

You drop your voice so that it is low and only for his ears, even though you’re very much alone.

“And most definitely not those heavy hands that pin me to our bed.”

His cheeks flush pink and it makes you so proud to make him blush that you chuckle once.

“I love every inch of you. Yes, I worry but only because I’ve seen you beaten and bloody. I’ve tended your wounds and watched you flinch. I’ve waited at your bedside in fear that you would never wake. I’m afraid that someone will take you from me and I’m not sorry for that. I can’t pretend that this life is not without risk and that very risk might one day take you from me and Maggie. I would wipe the world of evil if I could, but I know that I cannot so, I will worry every day for the rest of my life because I love you.

“That’s not a bad thing.”

Steve sighs heavily, hating your words. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against your chest as his hands trace the shape of your back, rubbing it to give you comfort.

“I wish I could give you a life without strife.” He cries, voice muffled against your breast.

“Oh, my darling, there is no woman, no wife or mother in this world that lives without strife. Perhaps mine is a little more elevated with so much hanging in the balance, as Queen and also the wife of the Captain, but I do not regret my choices. I would gladly marry you and endure all of my hardships over and over again if it meant that I could have this moment. Our daughter safe with her Aunt and you with your arms around me.”

Steve smiles at you, sappy and pure.

“I’ll be careful.” He promises.

You throw your head back and laugh, your hands gripping his shoulders to keep from falling off his lap.

“What?” He asks in humored shock. “What’s humorous in my promise?”

“Just swear to me that you will return to me in a somewhat decent state. One which I can nurse you through and I will gladly wait forever for you.” You can’t expect him to make promises he can’t keep and for him to be careful…well, you know better.

“I love you.” He tells you, voice deep and low.

His sudden declaration sends massive butterflies into the pit of your belly and your heart does a dance. It robs you of breath and you lick your lips and swallow the lump forming.

“Even after seeing me as I gave birth to Maggie? You love me after that?” You wonder, knowing the sight it must have been.

“No woman on this world is stronger or more capable than you, my petal. I could not have done what you did to bring her into being and I will worship at your feet for sacrificing so much to bring her to us.” He gushes, genuine and intense in his expression despite the lovesick flow of his words.

How long will this last? How long will he really love you in this way?

You know it all fades eventually. You’re not a fool. You’ll be glad if you and Steve love each other half as well as Tony and Pepper when you two have been married as long.

He pulls you down to kiss him and you give him what he needs and what you so desperately want. You think back to every time he pulled away from you, despising you for touching him just after you were married. You remember the way he forced himself to consummate, the way he’d drowned out your cries for relief because he wanted to get it over with.

He wanted to be done with you and never could you have imagined that he would hold you so dearly. His lips wrapping themselves along yours, tongue softly probing for entry which you swiftly allow.

“Do you have to get back to work?” You whisper between a kiss, lips wet, eyes hazy with desire.

Steve pulls back to see your eyes and he shakes his head, leaning back in. He runs his tongue along your open mouth as he pushes you up onto your feet only to reach down and hike up the front of your skirt.

He pulls you towards him, hands hooking behind your thighs as he guides you back onto his lap but leaves you standing over him.

His hands disappear underneath the folds of your dress, but you can hear the swish of his pants as he braces himself on the arms of his chair and pushes his trousers down a bit.

His hands caress the length of your leg, from behind your knee to thigh before finding your hip. With one hand he leads you and with the other he lines himself up, the heat of his cock pressing against the soft wet folds of your cunt.

You shiver.

“Tell me you love me.” He begs, needy.

“I love you.” You answer, a breathy whisper as he impales you slowly.

“My sweet��” He groans, yanking you down to kiss him in a fevered passion that you hope he will never forget.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I need to go check on Grandmother.” Your eyes are fixated on the shielded corner of Steve’s den.

You’re not really looking at it, but it’s in your line of sight.

Steve groans, tracing the skin of your bum where you sit, still resting on his lap. Your head is on his chest, your body still wrapped around his. Still full of him though he’s spent after three rounds. You will both be sleeping soundly tonight, so long as Maggie will allow you to do so.

It’s not the custom for you to watch her at night but you insisted and as Queen no one will argue. Especially when Steve is so eager to support you in building a new way of life in the castle.

“She’s ill.” You reason with him, “I found her outside your door nearly fainted. With her age, I’d hate for us to be careless with her heath.”

“Shall I send for a doctor?” Steve asks, hands stopped on your bottom.

“Not yet. I’ll check with her first and then send for someone if needed.” You sit up and make to rise.

Steve’s hands suddenly grasp your bottom tight, fingers digging into your flesh. There’s a worry in it and it makes you look at him in search of what it might be.

“Do you want to see?” He asks you.

You’re at a loss as to what he means, and it must show on your face.

“Behind the curtains.” He explains, then gestures at the spot with a nod. “You were curious once before.”

You look at the spot and try not to feel too hurt or sound wounded by the memory of that day.

“And you were angry with me for it.” You remember.

“No.” Steve says, voice stern and certain. “No, my love, I-I was angry but not because you tried to look at her spot. I was angry because I thought you’d read my book.”

He sits up a bit more, arm wrapped around your waist to keep you in place as he reaches with the other one to grab the red book with the large A embossed on the cover.

“This book holds every account of every mission that we have ever run as a team. It holds details of enemies and their abilities or their motives. It has everything.

“When I walked in that day, I saw you with your hand on it. I saw you reading it.” Steve hurries to explain. “My heart dropped when I realized what it was you were looking at and I lashed out. It wasn’t right of me to do so, but the last thing that I wanted was to have you involved in that world.”

“Oh.” You realize, staring at the book in his hand. “I thought-”

“I will not lie and say that it didn’t have a little to do with Margaret and her space in my den, but mostly I-I was already in love with you and the thought of you and all your purity and goodness, all of your vulnerability exposed to the violence of the world I lived in filled me with a fear that I have never known.

“Even now, only the thought of our little Maggie in danger compares to the terror that fills me when I think of you at the mercy of Pierce’s sword.” He brings his hands up, one on your cheek and the other on the back of your neck. “I would have gone mad if he’d taken you both from me.”

You can’t blame him for the fear. You’d felt it too. Still feel it when you imagine your little one, protected only with your body and you with no way to fight Pierce off.

“We owe Sharon so much.” You tell Steve and he nods.

“I can never repay her for being there when I could not be.” Steve agrees.

Several moments pass in silence as the two of you reflect on what could have been and relish in each other’s presence, bodies pressed so close still, in gratitude for the reality of the outcome.

“So?” Steve continues. “Would you like to see?”

He tosses the red book back onto his desk and carefully helps you up. He pulls your skirts down, helping you fluff them out as they should be before tying the string of his trousers and adjusting his shirt.

With the soft hiss of skin on skin, he takes your hand and pulls you around his desk towards the corner.

He releases your hand and reaches up to unhook the heavy curtains.

As they fall away, it reveals not a reading corner but a remade space with a new seat by the window. A bench with a plush pink cushion, darker pink peonies in the fabric. The dark woods compliment the lighter colors. Around that seat is indeed a bookcase but it’s much smaller than the ones that surrounded it before.

There is also a spinning wheel, a basket of what you can only assume is everything you will need to make your own yarn. There are several small round containers that you recognize as sewing kits. In one sitting open you can see a pair of iron scissors, thick and heavy. A leather pouch, spools of already woven yarn, and a collection of cutting knives for leather should you decide to work with it. There’s a small table against the other wall where a large bookcase had sat before, piled with patches of fabrics for embroidery and a few samples of tapestry fabrics that excite you as you’ve never worked on a tapestry before.

Near that table along the floor is a plump yellow cushion. The design is also feminine but only just with silver and baby blue butterflies. A small pillow, a doll made of rags and another out of wood tells you that this spot is for your little one.

Steve offers his hand once more and you take it, in awe of his reveal.

“I know you like to read so I had some books brought for you, but I wanted this space to be yours and yours alone. Well, until three months ago when Maggie was born, and I had that small space added for her. Do you…like it?” He wonders, watching you as you let his hand go and move to trace the smooth lines of your spinning wheel.

“Like it?” You gasp. “Oh, Steve…”

You burst into tear and cover your face. Why must you be so emotional right now? You want to show him how happy you are!

“Oh, no. Please do not cry.” He pleads, moving to wipe your tears away.

“I c-can’t help it. I’m sorry.” You weep. “I’m just so-so happy.”

Steve laughs, an easy chuckle as he pulls you against his chest.

“Thank goodness.” He kisses your head and holds you until you stop crying.

The walk to grandmother’s is a happy one. You’re excited to spend time in Steve’s den. Not only because he’s given you so many new tools to really make some high-quality products but because this means that you’re officially part of his life. He wants you near him when he works. He’s opened his space up for you and is welcoming you so openly.

After so long spent wondering whether you belonged here at all, you finally have your place. Truly this is where you belong.

A keening cry pierces the cool spring air. The shade of the trees that surround Grandmother’s cottage suddenly seem looming with the clear sound of an animal crying out in protest is cut abruptly cut off.

You stop walking and wait a moment to see if you might hear anything else but when you don’t, you race towards the cottage, in fear for Grandmother’s life.

As you shove the door open, you expect to find the old woman clutching her heart again, on her knees in a heap on the floor.

What you do not expect to find is the old woman in the middle of a large circle drawn onto her floor.

Even now, a strange purple light fades from the circle leaving behind the sight of Grandmother on her knees, a slaughtered mess of black fur in front of her and her hands bathed in blood as she struggles to catch her breath.

“Grandmother?!” You race towards her, stepping into the circle as the light fades completely.

She turns towards you, watching you with pure white eyes. Although she looks at you, her eyes see beyond you. They watch something you cannot see, and you begin to realize that everything that everyone said about Grandmother being a witch had been completely correct and not at all because of her old age and her hermit behavior.

“Grandmother are you alright?” You ask in a panic, realizing her true self while trying to make sense of it with the old woman who just delivered your daughter.

When she speaks, she breathes inward. Her voice escapes as a gasp.

Breathing in. “The worst is yet to come.”

Breathing out. “There will be a power much darker than this world has ever seen.”

Breathing in. “Six are sought by the one who shall wield them. Half will die.”

Breathing out. “Already he makes his move.”

“Grandmother?”

With her eyes still bone white, she seems to finally see you and grasps the top of your arms with such strength that you’re sure her fingers will leave a bruise.

“He will fight harder than he has ever fought before. He will protect them all with his life.”

He? Steve?

“And he will fall.”

#steve x reader #king!steve x reader #pseudo princess #medieval fantasy au #royalty au #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #avengers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #steve x reader fanfiction #steve rogers x reader fanfiction #captain america x reader fanfiction #pseudo princess pt34

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mossghostt · 2 years ago

Text

Runaway

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This is a re-upload from my Wattpad and AO3 accounts. If you wanna check the out, you are more than welcome :) [you can find links to my accounts in my pinned post on my account]

Hopefully more posts soon:)

•Pairings; Dream and George

•Setting; 1900’s

•Words; 5786

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The dirty blonde quickly looked behind him for any servants, seeing the great white building in front of him. Vines grew around the great building but was neatly kept by the gardener; his favourite flower, roses, being also very neatly kept outside in almost perfect circular bushes. The house was old, or so his father had always told him, a house that had survived many generations. The walls held secrets of his ancestors, secrets that no one would never ever hear. He liked that hint of mystery about it.

After seeing that the coast is clear, the male squeezed through a little hole that he had found a couple days prior in the hedge that surrounded his old home. In all honesty, he had no clue how or why it was there, nor when it was cut out or first formed however he was definitely going to use it. He had seen the woods that were behind the house, curious as to what it was like to walk through one. All the poems and books he had read made it seem wonderful... peaceful. His father would never let him do something as ruthless as this, it was too dangerous apparently. Not to mention that no upper class would take part in such an activity.

But not today.

The blonde ran, a tight grin on his face as he passed multiple trees, their branches swaying in delight as they watched him run, eager to see more of the hidden world that he had just discovered, a young Icarus feeling his first scent of freedom, the fresh summer air brush through his dirty blonde waves.

He soon saw an opening in the distance, a great flower field soon coming into view as he halted.

He had never seen anything like it before...

Flowers of all sorts, wild of course, growing freely in a field of tall green grass, all different colours and sizes. Large poppies and huge Daisies, bigger than he had ever seen, dandelions and buttercups also being seen in the mix. He would have never been able to see anything like it in his garden, these flowers didn't have anyone looking after them; watering them daily and making sure that bugs weren't eating them. They simply swayed in the wind, dancing as the warm summer heat blessed their petals.

And then he saw him.

A brunette male in the distance holding a rather large basket. It looked rather worn out, parts of the plaited wood sticking out from the sides. He wore a beige shirt, worn from age, that was meant to be laced at the top, however the laces lay loose against his chest. They also wore some dulled blue trousers, they really looked more grey than blue though the colour was still visible. It was much different to him, a white shirt and dark pants. It definitely had a lot more colour in it than the other males which stood in front of him. The fabrics also looked very different to one another.

He walked up the the male, a smile on his face as he greeted him "Good evening, what a lovely day it is."

The male turned around, looking rather startled by the sudden male that had approached him. He looked Clay up and down before his eyes widened as he took a step back, his head slightly bowed down before he began to speak "Good evening, are you lost?"

"Of course not. I'm out exploring" Clay said confidently as the other straightened out a little, his brow raised at what the other said.

"Pardon? Your doing what?"

"Exploring. I'm exploring. I saw the woods out of my window so I decided to explore it."

The other looked at him with doubt, scanning him up and down once again to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating.

"Well it's not often you see a wealthy man explore some... woods... alone" with that the other turned around and began to walk off, leaving a slight trail in the long grass behind him "I recommend you head back from where you came from. Good day."

Clay turned his head to the side, confused for a moment before following the other like a new born puppy would. "Why should we part ways when I just got here?" He questioned, the other not turning to look at them, instead continuing to walk through the field, a small trail being left behind them in the grass.

"Because if someone finds me with you, I'll be in great trouble." He slowed down before looking at Clay, taking in every detail of the others face. "Your not from around here, aren't you?"

"I'm from America. Florida to be exact. My family moved to England not so long ago." Clay explained as he watched the other nod as he continued to walk, this time picking up his pace.

"American Hm?" They mumbled before stopping at the edge of the forest opening, turning around to look at the dirty blonde. He had beautiful brown eyes that seemed to glow when the sun hit them, melting into this golden brown colour that Clay could only compare to dark honey. His dark hair and eyes surprisingly complimented the others pale skin well. Were all British people so pale?

"Please leave, I'll forever be in dept if someone find me with you... especially if you claim to be an American" they begged as they put the basket on the ground for a moment in order to let their shoulder rest.

"Why would you be? Besides, no one knows I'm here so I doubt anyone would find out." That response clearly didn't make the other any calmer as they picked up the basket in a rush, beginning to walk fast on the small track in the forest, Clay being persistent and following closely behind. It was clear that the brunette had no interest in him, desperately trying to distance himself however Clay wasn't going to walk away from a newly made acquaintance.

"What are you thinking! If someone sees me with you they will think I'm kidnapping you. Do all Americans don't think like yourself?" Although the other had raised their voice, it was delicate, his thick accent present. It was different compared to the multiple people he had met throughout his life, having deep and heavy voices when raised. However the male seemed to have some sort of sweetness to his tone, even when angry.

"It's fineeee, father won't realise I'm gone. He will just think I'm wondering the gardens again" the blonde tried to explain but the shorter brunette clearly wasn't going to have any of it, remaining unconvinced.

"Please just go sir, it would be best for the both of us." However Clay did not leave, continuing to follow the shorter brunette through the forest, being amazed by how beautiful everything was. No garden could even compare to it, a variety of trees and bushes, all different sizes and colours. The woods were so alive yet so still, every movement being heard in the echo of the darkness. He couldn't hear the others footsteps much surprisingly, almost as if the other was gliding along the path, nature accepting its presence in its grasp.

His gaze soon diverted to the others basket, noticing that it was filled with brown mushrooms, a small light blue handkerchief covering them.

"Mushrooms?" He questioned.

"Yes, mushrooms. For stew." The other responded, Dream soon realising that the path underneath them had grown wider, some small stone details becoming visible. Soon enough they arrived at a small cottage, vines growing on all sides of it. It seemed mainly of wood though the colour itself looked far from it, a more dulled down grey. The based seemed to be made out of cobblestone, its cracks filled with soft green moss. It had a few windows and fences around it, nature also nestling itself onto it. It looked like out of a dream. It was beautiful.

The brunette continued to walk to what Clay figured was his home, turning around as he grabbed onto the rusted door handle. "You should really go. I'm completely fine by myself and don't want to be associated with the upper class. Now if you'll excuse me, good day."

He walked into the house, beginning to close the door as Clay put his foot in between the door, making the old wooden door bounce off his shoe. The other didn't continue to try closing it after that, seeing as he didn't want to damage Clays shoes, nor the old heavy door that was nicely carved, age making those carvings smooth and worn out. Instead, he stared at the taller male, practically begging for him to go.

"I promise father won't find out about this. I'll keep it a secret" he promised. The brunette sighed as he walked away from the door, allowing Clay to easily walk in and close it behind him, beaming at himself from the small achievement.

"It's really not a good idea to give you my trust..." the other mumbled as they walked over to a small wooden table to place the basket down, looking through the mushrooms to make sure that none were too bruised up.

The inside of the house was just as equally beautiful as the outside; canvases scattered around the room, many flowers and herbs being seen in the what he gathered was a kitchen. It was definitely a lot different to the one he had at home; he wasn't even allowed to go into the kitchen since he would disturb the staff. The bed was on the other side of the grey walls, a small stool with a small flower pot that held the large daisies that he had seen earlier however their stems were cut short. Clay also noticed the paints in a crate, neatly ordered. This whole house wasn't even the size of half of his room...

Wow...

He walked over to one of the paintings, soon noticing how they all seemed to show fields of grass and flowers, all different colours. However as realistic as it all looked, some of the colours or shadings seems rather... odd. The grass was a light yellow-green in some places while some poppies seemed to have black shading rather than a very dark red. It wasn't all like that, only certain areas he would notice this trend and as he looked at other paintings, they all seemed to be either the same or slightly less off coloured. It wasn't much noticeable overall though. Was the other painting some sort of abstracts?

"Your a painter?" He questioned, looking back in the direction of the brunette who had now pulled out a very old looking pan. He looked up at Clay, looking at the painting before going back to doing his own thing. "Yes, I do paint. Not as good as the stuff you see perhaps?"

"Oh no no no" Clay shook his head quickly as he spoke "it's really amazing! Really! It's so realistic and beautiful. It's just that..."

"Just that...?"

"The colours seem a little off sometimes... unique shading."

To that the other laughed, their laugh felt so warm, Clay just couldn't help but smile even though he wasn't sure what made the other laugh all of a sudden.

"Yeah, there is a reason for that. Lets just say I can't see the world the same way you do." He explained as he walked over to Clay, looking at the painting that the other was currently looking at. "I only see blue and yellow. Or so I've been told."

How could one only see two colours? What did the other colours look like to him then...?

He walked over to the crate where the paints were, picking up green and asking "what's this colour?"

The other looked at the crate and then at the paint that Clay was holding "well, I know it's green since that's the slot green is usually in. However, for me it does look like a dark yellow."

Clay gaped at the paint. It was obviously green to him. Did the other really not see the same as him?

The other smiled as he took the paint off him, placing it back onto its designated spot so that the other could know what colour it was. They walked back towards the kitchen, taking a bucket that was filled with water and pouring some of it into the old pan, taking the stems and top layer of skin off the mushrooms, cutting them into strips before putting them into the slowly heating up water. Clay had never seen anyone cook before but it did seem complicated. How the other had to remember all the steps to do in order for it to be just right.

Eventually they turned around to look at him, looking him up and down before asking "what's your name?"

"Clay. Clay Flores"

The brunette nodded as he turned back around to check up on the mushrooms, stirring them with a clearly aged wooden spoon.

"Are you going to tell me your name?" Clay questioned as the other simply smiled.

"No, for now you shall not know my name Clay from the house of Flores"

•

It had been a week since Clay had first met the mysterious brunette in the vast flower field. Since that day he had crawled through the same opening in his hedge and fled to the fields, impatiently waiting for the other to appear. On days where the other was no where to be seen, he would simply walk the small path that he had remembered the route off in order to arrive at the small over grown garden and cottage, finding the male inside.

At first the other didn't want to see him again, insisting that it was better if the two had nothing to do with each other yet Clay was persistent, going to the cottage every day and talking to the British male. After a while the Brit had actually warmed up to Clay, laughing along to his jokes and tales.

Today was like no other, Clay walking to the back side of the garden and crawling through the small opening that he had now learned to cover in order for him not to get caught, before running towards the now very familiar field. He knew his mother would love to go with him if she could, however he couldn't risk telling her about the magical place. Nor the brunette that he would meet every day. It really was a shame.

Soon he found himself outside the small cottage, knocking at the door before entering.

The smaller brunette was sitting on a stool next to his window with a canvas with paints laid out around him, clearly very focused as he looked out of the open window and into the forest ahead.

"Painting today?" Clay questioned as he walked over. The painting was no where to be finished but you could already see the rough outlines of the trees and grass that was seen outside of the window, the male now focusing on the overgrown fence that stood right outside of the window. The painting look amazing already and it wasn't even anywhere close to being finished...

It was rather satisfying watching him paint, delicate brush strokes with extreme precision. He looked so calm when he did it.

"Mhm..." the other hummed in response, painting a few strokes of a light brown in the spot of the fence before looking up at the watching Clay. "You alright?" He questioned as the other sat down on the floor.

He had learnt that the house conditions weren't like his own, meaning that his clothes could get rather messy at times however he didn't mind, wearing more older clothes that he didn't mind ruining. He had found them in one of the servant rooms, old worn out clothes that were neatly stacked up. The staff wouldn't realise that he had just taken it. hopefully. He remembered the brunette freaking out when he first got dirty, promising that he would buy a new outfit and cursing at letting an upper class man enter his house which he claimed 'was no place for such rich to be in', Clay had simply calmed the other down telling him it was nothing to worry about.

The other was cute when panicky.

"Yeah I'm alright, don't mind me" he said with a toothy grin to which the other rolled their eyes as they continued, mixing some paints together in order to try and get a darker tone. Clay hadn't helped him much with the colours since he didn't know a lot about paints, not to mention that the other didn't want much help either. He was stubborn enough to deny any help, claiming that his colours were accurate after all the years of practice. Though sometimes he did ask for a little hint now that he knew someone who could see the world in a different way to his own.

Clay sat there for a while before his eyes noticed a rather big scar that stretched over the brunettes left arm. He had never seen it before since the other usually didn't roll up both of their sleeves. He had pointed it out before but the other had shrugged it off saying it was just comfortable to have his sleeves like that.

"How did you get that scar across your arm?" he suddenly asked as the other turned to look at him, looking down at his own arm. "If you don't mind me asking of course-" he quickly added.

"When I was seven I climbed a tree, thought I saw a piece of heaven at the top... but then I fell and scratched myself badly on a cracked branch." He smiled as his cheeks slowly became a warm red colour "silly really."

"That's cute" Clay commented at the others memory, imagining a younger version of the male in front of him climbing a tall tree in hopes of seeing heaven.

He turned back to the painting quickly.

"Oh be quiet will you..."

•

The two lay on the grass in the field that they had met not so long ago, both of their heads next to each other as they looked up at the clouds that scattered the blue sky. It was quiet.

Peaceful.

It had been roughly two weeks now since Clay had began to visit the mysterious British painter. He would wake up early and set out, often finding the other still in his house when Clay arrived, a warm smile welcoming him in. He would often help him with every day tasks, soon learning the different types of mushrooms and berries; what ones to pick and what ones to not. He was much slower at some tasks, having no experience however the brunet never complained, simply giggling, commenting how it was no surprise that such soft and perfect hands would have never done any task that could even cause them a single scratch. Clay would also often help getting the water from the well outside, almost falling in a couple of time although he had been warned not to lean over the edge countless times by the brunette.

Overall, he loved spending time with him.

The mysterious British painter.

His mysterious British painter.

Clay had began feeling a certain way towards the other. He had asked his mother if she knew what the feeling was, obviously being very careful not to mention any details about the male. His mother had given him a soft smirk, saying that she knew all about the feeling. She said it was a normal thing, a thing everyone eventually got.

She said that everyone got it when they met a special someone that was able to warm their heart, making it beat a thousand miles per hour as butterflies spread in their stomach. A warm and comfortable feeling.

It was the feeling of love.

But how could he love this man he had just met.

How could he love a man...

That wasn't even possible was it? A man loving a man.

Maybe all he was feeling was a friendship that he had never had before.

But no,

Clay was almost certain that this wasn't just a random happy feeling.

Clay was certain that it was love.

He turned to look at the brunette, seeing how the sun hit his pasty skin. It was surprising for him that although they did spend quite some time in the sun, the Brit barley tanned meanwhile Clay remained with his sun kissed skin.

He truly looked beautiful when he lay like this, his hair falling back and the sun kissing his skin.

"Am I finally privileged enough to know of your name?" He questioned, noticing how the other smiled yet remaining in their position, head leaning more towards him.

They slowly turned their head and opened their eyes, brown eyes looking back at green.

"I suppose you are Clay." He hummed before closing his eyes again and returning to his previous position, his arms resting by his side.

"George. George Davidson."

It suited him. George. It really suited George.

"It sounds like a wealthy name. It suits you"

The other giggled out of confusion, looking at Clay as he questioned "what? How does a wealthy name suit me?"

"It just does George Davidson."

"Oh stop it." George said, hiding his face with his hands. The gesture made Clay smile to himself as he turned over to lay on his stomach, watching George as he peaked at him between his fingers, causing the two of them to burst into a fit of giggles.

"Did your mother name you?"

"She did. Said she loved the name, that it was lucky. She was always positive, even with our life. Taught me everything I knew."

Clay smiled as George spoke. He loved it when he opened up to him, telling him stories from his childhood. Like the ones where he had to run away from wild animals, tripping on several occasions yet still managing to escape scar free or when he would sneak out during rainy weather and just dance to his own melody as the rain soaked his fluffy hair and dull clothes.

He wished to see the other do that one day.

"I think my mother would have gotten along with yours well. She too always looks on the bright side" he smiled to himself as the other too turned to lay on his stomach " She always told me how if she ever got the chance to run away, she would become a pirate."

George smiled, one of his brows raised "A pirate?"

"Yes, a pirate. She would be called Captain Puffy. She would sail the seven seas with her beloved ship. She even said that she would take me if I wanted to go with her. We would explore the world together." Clay looked at George who listened carefully and eagerly to his story.

"Guess you got the explorer gene from her... no wonder you went out 'exploring the woods' that day. I guess your one lucky explorer"

"oh?" Dream couldn't help but smile, feeling the sun warm up his cheeks, the grass tickling the skin that was uncovered.

"Every explorer has a treasure they love; hers is the sea, yours is nature. Your lucky that you were able to discover it so soon" he said softly.

"I hope mother will be able to get her own ship in the future....she loves the Ocean, she really does."

"I can tell. I think my mother would have liked her a lot."

•

Clay looked out of his window as he lay in his silky bed.

It was raining.

Heavily pouring actually.

Weather that he had soon discovered to be very common in Britain.

The rain reminded him of George for some reason, he could imagine him smiling and twirling around in it. Soft steps, the only thing being heard being his small giggles as his soaked hair danced in each twirl.

Clay sighed as he lay back in bed, looking at the sky that was still visible from the position he was in. It was grey, a dull sad grey.

Yet all he could think about was a happy memory.

He slowly got up and walked over to his wardrobe, taking out an overcoat and putting on his shoes as quickly and quietly as he could.

Leaving his room, he walked down the empty corridor, making sure not to step onto the wooden planks that caused a loud creaking sound. Its interior was dead silent, the paintings of many assessors looking rather eerie in the glow of the moonlight. White walls looked a deep grey, every step he made causing him to turn around to make sure he was alone. He didn't want to wake up the house keepers, knowing fully well he would be in trouble if they found him sneaking out. His father wouldn't be too impressed.

Once outside, he dashed across the garden to the hole in the hedge, climbing through it, trying his hardest not to touch the muddy floor as he crawled through.

He darted across the field, rain pouring down on him, causing his fluffy blonde to fall down in thin strands against his forehead. The tall grass hit his body causing a wet stain to quickly appear where it had hit him. His clothes had become soaked almost immediately as he stepped outside, being far from saving.

He wondered how he would explain this to his mother.

He would think if an excuse.

He had never been in the woods at night, stopping at the entrance to the dark terrain. It was hard to see anything, both the darkness and rain causing his vision to be blurred. He felt like eyes were watching him, ready to jump out and swallow him in the darkness. All of the stories about wild animals were now racing through his head, dread and terror causing his heart to beat significantly faster.

'For George' he thought, stepping in slowly and looking rapidly around to make sure that no one was following him.

Once he noticed the path beneath his feet, his slow and observant walk turned into a fast pace jog before turning into a run, Clay pushing past some leaves as he soon got to see the shape of Georges little cottage in the middle of the woods. The cottage he had really quickly grown to love.

He didn't want to scare George, he would probably be asleep and think someone is breaking in. He knew how much outsiders scared him.

He would be carful.

As he approached the cottage, he noticed through the window that there was a few candles lit inside. Was George still awake at this hour?

He slowly opened the door, closing it behind him as he took off his muddy shoes, standing bare foot on the cracked wooden floor that he was now familiar with.

Looking around the room, he noticed the male in one of the corners, a giant canvas in front of him and paints in his hands as he stared at the forming image in front of him. Glasses of water also surrounded him, various paint brushes sitting inside, waiting to be used for the masterpiece that their owner was making.

As Clay quietly moved forwards, he began to recognise the image as his own face just that it wasn't exactly his face... it was in different colours than he was used to seeing. But it didn't look accidental, it looked like it had been done on purpose.

He creeped over to the brunette, slowly wrapping his arms around him as he felt the other jump, letting out a small squeal of surprise before realising that it was just Clay, allowing himself to calm down and melt into the touch.

"What are you doing here?" He whispered, the rain hitting heavily against the closed window as the two looked at each other in the candle lit room.

"I just missed you Georgie." Clay leaned forward, resting his head against the others shoulder as he looked at the painting in front of them "why are you painting so late? Is that me...?"

George looked down out of embarrassment before nodding, looking back up at the painting "I wanted to give you a little surprise... show you how I see you."

Clay smiled as he gently hummed in response, looking at the yellow eyes that the figure in front of him possessed. So this was how George saw him.

"Every day once you left, I could still feel as if you were here. But you weren't. When painting this, for a moment I thought you were here with me, even if you weren't." George explained himself as he leaned back into Clay's touch.

"I love it already" he admitted, softly smiling to himself "Come on, lets get you into bed. You can continue with this tomorrow."

To that the other shook his head, but didn't protest to Clays movements, standing up when the other pulled him up and began walking over to his bed.

He pulled on Clays arm for him to stop, the blonde stopping for a moment and looking back at George who just smiled as he brought him closer.

"Lets dance" he suddenly said.

"What?"

"Come on, one dance and I'll go to bed." He pleaded. How could Clay say no to him, to his precious face, his delicate touch and melted brown eyes that he could see in the flickering light. "I promise."

He agreed as he held George close, looking down at the smiling male as they began to spin to their own imaginary music, the only noise being heard being the water tapping against the window and the floor beneath them creaking as the two moved across it. The woods outside watched them as they began to dance to a rhythm, both of them in their own little world.

George rested his head against Clays chest as they continued to dance around the small and poorly lit room.

Time had stopped.

They were in their own little bubble where no one could tell them what was right and what was wrong.

Whether their love was allowed or not.

They were happy.

George looked up for a moment, Clay leaning in and kissing his lips.

He thought that the other would have pulled away, felt disgusted and told him to get out but the other did no such thing, leaning into the touch and returning the gesture, his soft lips pressing into Clays.

It was just them two, no one else.

Because Clay Flores loved George Davidson,

And George Davidson loved Clay Flores.

•

A few months had passed since Clay had visited George on that one rainy night, sharing a kiss as the rain danced with them outside.

The two shared many after that, promising to each other that no matter how the world disagrees with their relationship, they will stick together, the only thing being able to keep them apart being death.

It was just like any other warm day, the two walking down the field holding hands as they spoke about everything and nothing, sharing a few giggles here and there as they walked, the flowers swaying past them as they did so. It was the end of summer now, autumn already showing its face in the woods, many of the trees and flowers slowly showing signs of withering.

"You can't just leave your family like that Clay" George commented, responding to his idea of running away. Although he loved Clay, he couldn't put himself against the wealthy family which loved and cared for him. He didn't agree that he was on the same level as them; that he was worth the same.

"How else would I be with you? They would never accept us." It had worried the dirty blonde for a while now, knowing how his father always wanted him to get married to a wealthy woman and have a family of his own, continuing the bloodline. If his father found out about George... God knows what he would do. He couldn't risk it. "My older brother would be able to inherit everything, he would make my parents proud."

"That's a lot to put on Noah..."

Clay smiled softly as he looked at the field around them "He had always had expectations being put on him, being the older one. He fits in well with that life. He always wanted it. I on the other hand found it difficult. But I'm happier like this, I'm happier with you."

Georges worried expression turned into a more relaxed one as he sighed, leaning against Clay as they continued to walk in silence for a while. He knew how stubborn the blonde could be, going to great lengths just to prove his point.

"You would run away for me? With me? Leave all your wealth to be with someone like me?" He questioned as he felt Dreams shoulder rise and fall as the other began to laugh.

"Any day. Since it would be for you; with you."

"Where would we even go, could we even stay here? They would find you eventually..." George was clearly concerned, he had explained to Clay many time what would happen to him if he was seen with anyone of a high status, not to mention the fact that his love interest was in fact another man; something that wasn't welcome anywhere. The results would be far from pleasant, one of them even being hurt in the process. They both didn't want to risk that.

"We will run far away, we will continue to run until we cannot see the field, until the woods around us are unknown and until we will be safe. We will find a perfect place for us." He always knew how to calm George, rubbing small circles on his head.

George smiled as he suddenly let go of his arm, running ahead of him and laughing as he spun around to look at Dream who smiled back at him, following the dancing male as they ventured deeper into the open field, the autumn sun kissing their skin.

George smiled as he turned around once again, his brown wavy hair bouncing up and down as he did so.

"If I were to run far away, would I fall off the world some day?" He questioned, the wind dancing in the fields around the two.

Clay smiled as he stepped closer to George, pressing his lips to George "nobody knows..."

"Nobody knows..." the brunette responded with a soft smile.

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bonjour-rainycity · 4 years ago

Text

Double Heart | Chapter Eighteen ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 4719

Warnings: None

A/n Happy Monday! Oh, and if you like Bucky Barnes, I just posted a one-shot for him! You can find it here. Now, on to the story you came here for!

Late in August, three months after arriving in this new world, plans are made to travel to Lothlórien.

Lavandil’s tearful sniffles in the back of her shop clued me in before someone had officially told me, and my heart goes out to her.

“It gets harder every time,” she had muttered, staring at the ground. “Every time we are separated, a piece of me goes with him.”

Her words have not left my mind since.

They are not even bonded, yet the way not being with him pains her…it breaks my heart in a way that is almost too personal.

Our company is set to leave in five days. In my time here, I have amassed only a small number of belongings, so packing will be easy. I am prepared to go long before the others, who have somehow become busier in these last few days. Even Rumil, who has basically become my best friend these past few months, declines my offer to go riding, citing that he and his brothers have much to do in their remaining time here.

So, with no one to help me occupy my time, I end up in the gardens. I pass the afternoon away wandering through the endless labyrinth, discovering more blossoms that make me sneeze and some that don’t. I pick a few — Elrond said it was alright — to press in one of the journals I’ve acquired — a gift from Lavandil. The journal and the flowers will be keepsakes, tangible memories of my time here in Imladris.

A time I desperately do not want to forget.

In the back of my mind, lurking on the edge of my thoughts is a constant fear — the fear that, at any moment, the work with Elrond will prove fruitful and my memories will come rushing back — at the cost of my memories from my time here in Arda.

A bright, bluish-purple burst under the hedges distracts me from that anxious thought.

A cornflower, fallen to the ground and blown far from its bush by the wind.

I crouch, reaching under the green shrubbery.

“Lady Cosima?”

Flower in hand, I straighten, turning at the sound of the voice.

“Glorfindel!” I’m mildly shocked. Since his argument with Haldir, I’ve seen little of him. Seeming uncertain, he walks to meet me, bowing when he plants his feet.

I curtsey, though I can’t help but chuckle lightly at his formality. “You can just call me Cosima, you know. I’m not anyone important.”

Glorfindel shakes his head slowly, the edges of a smile playing at his lips. “I would be inclined to disagree with your statement, my dear Lady. It seems you have not only captured the attention of two worlds, but of my elven friends.” Before I can ask exactly what he means by that, Glorfindel furrows his eyebrows, gesturing to our surroundings. “I am surprised to find you here this evening. I would have thought you would be preparing for your departure.”

I twirl the cornflower between my fingers. “There’s nothing much for me to prepare. And it doesn’t seem I can be of much help to the others, either.”

A twinkle enters his eye, reminiscent of the playfulness he had the last time I interacted with him. “So you are trying to soak up all that Lord Elrond’s gardens have to offer?”

I smile, taking a look around. “It’s not a bad way to pass the time. I don’t know if Lothlórien will have all these flowers, so I’m taking a couple with me.” Unnecessarily, I hold up the growing bouquet in my hands. “But enough about me, why are you here at this time of day? Don’t you have a million things to do?”

Glorfindel grins, now fully the man I met upon first arriving here. “Ah, you’ve caught me. I am shirking my duties, but!” He holds up a hand to stop my nonexistent chiding. “I will pay for it tonight. Your Marchwarden and I have plans after dinner to surprise one of the border stations. We are going to creep through the area unannounced and see how long it takes for them to discover us. Surely we will be gone until morning.”

I gulp. My Marchwarden? I try to cover up how much that phrase affects me. “So, are you two back to being friends? Or are you still at odds?”

Thankfully, Glorfindel doesn’t get upset by the words I spoke without thought. “Yes, yes, we have been reconciled for weeks now. It is not uncommon for such strong personalities to disagree. All is well — I would have thought he told you.”

I shrug, trying to make the motion look natural even though I suddenly feel like every eye in Imladris is scrutinizing the movement. “We haven’t had the chance to talk much.”

Glorfindel smirks. “Ah, yes, I wondered why my friend had been even more stern than usual as of late.”

I freeze, and the question escapes my mouth before I can stop it. “What do you mean?”

No, Cosima, I chide. Do not engage!

But Glorfindel has already broadened his grin, evidently happy to indulge my pointless question. “He’s increased drills and border patrols, added requirements for promotions, re-worked the training schedule at least five times — he’s even taken his frustrations out on the guard — I worry more when they fight him than if they were facing a pack of orcs!” He laughs, but, after a moment, his expression softens into one of understanding. “Did something happen between the two of you?”

My eyes drop to the flowers in my hand. I twirl the cornflower again, scrutinizing its color.

It is the wrong shade of blue.

“No, nothing happened,” I respond, still not able to meet Glorfindel’s gaze. His questions and the lack of judgement in his voice lead me to share more than I should. “I…I think we both realized we were headed for something dangerous and it’s better to stop while we can.”

“I see,” he mutters, taking in a deep breath. “I am sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I force a smile, not wanting to dwell on something that already keeps me up at night. Time to change the subject. “I don’t know about you, but I’m quite hungry. Would you like to join me for dinner? Lavandil and Orophin will be there as well.”

His face breaks into an easy smile, though there’s something off in his eyes. He sweeps his hand forward, indicating his agreement. “Lead the way, my dear Lady.”

{***}

I stare at the clothes laid out on my bed, relying on the meager candlelight to tell me what each item of fabric is.

Lord Elrond said I was welcome to take home any of the pieces I wanted, but the space in my bag will only allow for a few of them. Turns out, the choice is harder than I thought it would be. I have no desire to wear the same outfit the whole time like I had to on the journey to Imladris. That means I should pack more tunic and legging sets. But there are so many pretty gowns I want to take — it doesn’t help that, as part of the payment for helping in her store, Lavandil took me shopping a couple of times. I look over my dresses, all equally loved.

I purse my lips. I know Rumil has three bags…perhaps he would be willing to donate one of them to a good cause. Lavandil hasn’t taken him shopping, so surely he has room to spare.

I creep out of my room, mindful to keep quiet at this late hour. Rumil’s likely to be awake — that ellon is a night owl if I’ve ever met one. I reach his door and knock softly.

But when the door opens, it’s not Rumil on the other side.

It’s Haldir.

I stop breathing. His eyebrows shoot to his hairline.

He steps back somewhat robotically, making space for me to enter the room. “Cosima.”

I freeze, unable to connect my brain to my feet to tell them to move. I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “You’re supposed to be gone.”

Haldir opens and closes his mouth, likely figuring out how to respond to something that sounded very much like an accusation. “I—ah, I apologize? Do you want me to—”

“No, I uh—” I look to the ground, trying to gather my hopelessly scattered thoughts. Being near him again takes me right back to the state I’ve tried desperately to avoid. “Sorry, no, I only meant that I ran into Glorfindel a few hours ago and he said the two of you would be gone tonight. I came looking for Rumil.”

“Oh.” Haldir furrows his eyebrows, though it looks like the initial shock has faded. “I am sorry — I sent him out tonight in my place. I planned on using this time to write out instructions for training after I am gone.”

I can’t keep myself from smiling. So dutiful. “That’s nice of you.”

Haldir shrugs, looking thrown by the compliment. “It’s my job.”

I blink, realizing that, both mercifully and sadly, I no longer have an excuse to stay here. I should go.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” I take a step back.

“Cosima, wait.”

I halt my exit, but remind myself of my resolve.

Haldir shifts on his feet before rolling back his shoulders, holding the door open with one hand. “I need a break from writing. Would you like to go for a walk?”

Your resolve, Cosima.

I search for any excuse, anything to give me a reason to say no when I so badly want to say yes. “I don’t have my cloak.”

The edges of Haldir’s lips twitch. “Now that, I may have a solution for. Wait here.”

I should go.

Just wait to see what this ‘solution’ is, I rationalize.

Haldir turns and nearly jogs to the wardrobe, burying his upper half inside until he emerges with a sage green bundle. He returns, presenting the neatly folded fabric to me. “This is for you.”

I blink in surprise, taking the bundle from his outstretched hand. Slowly, I unfurl it, and it falls into a sturdy, finely woven cloak. I look up at Haldir and then back to the garment, unsure of why he’s just handed me this, but nonetheless, pleased.

“You cannot wear your red one while we travel,” he explains. “This will blend in much better with our surroundings. Lavandil advised on the measurements, but if it’s too long, there’s still time to get it hemmed before we leave.”

I smile, running my fingers over the soft interior and the slicker outside. “What’s it made of?”

“Wool, but I asked the seamstress to assist in making it as waterproof as possible.” I look up at him sharply, surprised that he would think to include this. “I worry we will encounter rain again and I would hate to have you shivering like last time.”

I run my fingers over the fabric with a new fondness. I’m grateful and more touched than I would like to admit. “Thank you Haldir, really. This is so thoughtful. And practical.” I can’t help but laugh, looking up at him with a sudden onslaught of nerves. “Just like you.”

He smiles almost bashfully, dipping his head in acknowledgement of my words. “I’m glad you like it.”

I swing the cloak around my shoulders, pulling my hair through the back so it lays against the outside of the fabric. Haldir grabs the bag that rests on the hook by the door and retrieves another one of those beautiful leaf-shaped clips. He steps forward and slowly reaches his hands to where my cloak rests along my collarbones. He gathers the fabric and weaves it through the clip, securing the ends. He rests his hands there for just a moment and then steps back, nodding to himself.

“Perfect,” he breathes.

I blink. I have a cloak now. There’s no reason to say no. “Let’s go for that walk.”

Smiling in a soft, hesitant way, he grabs his own cloak and clip from their place near the door and we step outside of his room. In silence, mindful of the late hour, he leads me down a spiral staircase tucked into a corner I’ve never noticed before. As we descend, the sound of water crashing gets louder and the peace of the estate fades.

I halt and, a few stairs below me, Haldir stops too.

“Are we going below the city?”

He looks up at me — I can barely see his face in the dark. “It is perfectly safe — there are no heights to be conscious of.”

It feels wrong to make sound in the darkness, so when I speak, it’s barely more than a whisper. “Okay. I believe you.”

In the dim light, Haldir’s hand reaches up to me. I stare at it, feeling my jaw fall slightly.

“I think you will like where we’re going.” The darkness, the sound of his voice, just being with him after so much time apart — it’s too much.

I exhale a shallow breath.

I place my hand in his.

Tingles shoot up my arm.

We reach the bottom of the staircase, and he doesn’t let go.

It’s dark here, too, and I find myself drawing nearer to him. My arm brushes his and I suck in a breath, both of us laughing nervously. Haldir seems to know the way. His path is confident and sure as he leads us underneath the stone and earth of the city. Then, in a burst of clear blue light, we break from the darkness and arrive on soft grass.

I can see Haldir better now. Everything about him seems to almost glow in the moonlight. He smiles softly, tugging on my hand to encourage me to follow him closer to the water that lies ahead of us. I glance between us to where our hands meet, wrapped around each other.

It feels natural. It feels right.

I should let go.

I grip his hand tighter.

The stone holding up the city gives way to taller grass and trees whose low, swinging branches brush over us as we pass. Ahead lies a rippling lake — across it, waterfalls crash down, their thunderous roar diminished by the distance. Haldir takes us almost to the edge of the shore, then surprises me by pulling me to the left. We duck under a particularly low branch, Haldir almost having to double over completely. I laugh, bending down next to him, and he looks up at me with a carefree grin. We pass under the branch and emerge in a small clearing — an alcove, really. Behind us and to our left are tall, leafy trees, to our right is the stone of the mountain, and ahead, surely for miles and miles, lies the lake. Moonlight dances atop it, glinting in a way that makes it sparkle. And above it, in an endless stretch of sky—stars, a million of them, at least.

Haldir turns to face me.

I suck in a breath.

His eyes — I’ve always admired them, even when they held nothing more than indifference to me — seem to shine in a way I’ve never seen before. They gleam like living starlight, depthless and enchanting. The colors of the night drape him in a glow of soft blue, highlighting the strong edges of his jaw. He looks powerful, beautiful, otherworldly.

This is the first time I’ve truly understood the etherial beauty of an elf.

He smiles down at me expectantly. “Was I right?”

I exhale somewhat shakily, nodding my head. “Yes. Yes, you were right. This place is stunning.”

His smile broadens and he releases my hand to unclasp his cloak.

I miss the warmth of his hand encasing mine.

But I do get my wish from earlier today. Just as he did all those months ago, he lays his cloak on the ground, gesturing for me to sit. I do, folding my legs to the side to allow him room next to me. Before he can say anything, the nerves get the best of me, and I blurt out the first, most basic question that comes to mind. “How was your day?”

He smiles, stretching his legs out on the cloak. “My day went well, thank you. Glorfindel and I spent this morning debating the merits of extending Elrond’s borders by twenty or so miles — it would mean the guards have more land to protect, yes, but it would also provide a larger distance for any intruders to cross, should they break through the barrier. That could give the guard precious extra time to organize and combat the threat.”

I tilt my head. “So what did you decide?”

Haldir raises his shoulders then lets them fall, the action hinting at underlying stress. “It is not our decision, we were merely debating. The choice lies with Lord Elrond, and I cannot say what he will do.”

I chuckle, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “You’re always steps ahead of everyone else. Come on, what do you think he’ll do?”

He sighs. “I think he will not expand the borders. Elrond cares about the security of his people, yes, but he still believes there is potential to stop this evil before his people will have to confront it.”

Tension gathers in the small of my back. Are we really that close to a fight? “And you disagree?”

“I did not mean to scare you.” He avoids answering my question directly.

I shake my head slowly, thinking over his words. Wary, yes, but scared? “I have gotten tougher, you know.”

Haldir smiles and lets out a soft laugh. "Now, that, I would have to agree with." He rolls his sleeve up to his bicep and holds out his arm. I squint in the moonlight, trying to make out whatever he's attempting to show me. "See this?" I shake my head, and Haldir laughs more freely now. "It is almost a bruise from where you hit me two days ago."

Now, I join him in his laughter, remembering my attempt to break free from his grasp during training. “You better watch out," I joke. "Soon I'll be able to put you on the ground."

Haldir schools his laughter but the edges of his lips stay quirked. "I'm sure."

I snort. “No, I actually believe that someday soon I’ll be able to beat you. Or, at the very least, catch you off your guard.”

I don’t actually believe that, of course, but it’s worth the exaggeration to see Haldir’s terrible attempt at pretending to agree with me.

“Ah, perhaps, yes. I would not entirely rule the possibility out.”

“Liar.” I roll my eyes and grin good-naturedly.

He merely holds my gaze with a smile of his own and raises an eyebrow.

I shudder out a breath. I wish he wouldn’t look at me that way. It makes me want things I absolutely can’t act on.

I force my eyes to return to the water, searching for a way to expel the tension that has somehow gathered in the air. “What made you want to come here?”

He shrugs, leaning back on one hand in a way that is almost arrestingly casual, because I do not feel casual. “It’s peaceful, it’s away from the bustle of the city…and it reminds me of home.” He smiles, craning his head back to view the moon and the stars. My eyes follow the length of his neck before correcting themselves to also look at the stars. “In Caras Galadon we live in talans built high in the branches. Common spaces and guest lodgings take up entire trees, wrapping around trunks and connecting with bridges. But my home is smaller, and all the way at the top of one of the oldest and tallest trees in the city…I can look up and I see the stars. It’s like I walk among them, I am so close. And here, though we are quite low on the ground…” His eyes drop to mine. I listen intently, captivated by the love he feels for his home so clearly expressed in his voice. “This feels somehow similar, like it is just you, me, the forest, and the sky.”

The words, ill-thought and reckless, rush from my mouth. “I like it being just us.”

His head dips closer to mine. “Me too.”

Our noses brush against each other. We are so close, so close to losing ourselves in something we cannot control.

I will bring nothing but pain to him.

I pull back just enough to see his eyes, hating the spark of hurt that runs through them. But I ground myself in that, use it as a warning of what is to come if I don’t stop this now.

But stopping hurts me, too. Because I want him. I want to be with him, to be his forever, more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my entire life. Memories or not, this, I’m sure of.

And I can’t have it.

Tears prick at my eyes.

Haldir’s hurt turns to concern and he trails a finger tenderly over my cheek, soothing and catching a tear that has managed to fall. “What’s wrong?”

I swallow, trying to force away the painful lump that has grown there. I can manage little more than a whisper. “You don’t want to do this with me.”

He shakes his head and brings a hand to my lower back. He presses gently, keeping me in place as if he knows I’m trying to find a way out, to talk us both out of doing this. He lowers his head to look directly into my eyes. “Yes, I do.”

I turn my gaze to the waterfall, not able to bear looking him in the eye. “Haldir, I’m temporary. To your lifespan, I…I’m nothing. Don’t waste your love on me.” And something I can’t say, something I’m too weak to admit out loud — don’t waste your life on me.

He brings a hand to my chin, pulling me to meet his eyes. What I see there takes me aback — a fierceness akin to how he looked during the attack. “It’s not a waste, it’s a choice. And I’ve chosen, Cosima. I want this, I want you.”

I shake my head, the tears falling freely now. I bring a hand to grip his wrist, trying to break his hold of my face. He follows my request but immediately takes both of my hands in his, refusing to let me go completely.

He speaks in a low, urgent voice. “Cosima, believe me, I tried. I’ve stayed away from you, I’ve tried to convince myself that there are others, that there could ever be someone else for me. I’ve distracted myself with training and planning and patrols but nothing works. Every day, I wake up and I ache for you.”

I close my eyes, all at once elated to hear those words and grieving his choice. Because loving him is the most selfish thing I’ll ever do.

“I wish I didn’t want this,” he continues. “I know what it means for me. Every instinct for self-preservation is screaming at me to stop, to run away, to fight this—”

“Then do,” I beg, trying to convince both him and myself. “Save yourself while you still can.”

Slowly, deliberately, he pulls his hands from mine and rests them on either side of my neck, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. Despite my efforts, I suck in a breath, my heart beginning to race.

He’s so close, so honest, so…loving. He looks at me with the same reverence he reserves for the stars. He lets out a breath, eyes trailing down my face before meeting mine once more. “It is too late,” he murmurs, lips parting slightly. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

And my resolve breaks.

I push myself forward to close the minuscule space between us, pressing my lips against his. He responds immediately, kissing me with a passion that sends tingles down my spine. His hold on me feels like fire, starting where his hands caress my neck, where his lips meet mine, and running through my entire body. My hands gather in the fabric of his tunic, pulling him impossibly closer. My mind fights between short-circuiting due to the feel of his lips on mine and shouting for joy. Never in my life have I felt so right, so secure, so…electric. Gone are the days of holding myself back, of distancing myself, torturing myself, staying away from the one I truly want to be with.

The one I love.

My back makes contact with the cloak covering the ground. Did I fall and pull him along, or did he push me? All efforts of solving that mystery disappear the moment he takes my lower lip between his teeth, biting down gently. I gasp, my grip on his tunic tightening. The hand that rests on the ground near my side, supporting his weight, curls into a fist.

His kisses slow.

He presses his lips to mine again, this time, as gentle as a breeze. I sigh into the kiss, my hand trailing slowly down his chest. For the first time in all my memory, I know that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

And I am with who I am meant to be with.

Haldir’s lips leave mine. He balances his weight on one arm and his knees, bringing his free hand to my face to softly brush his fingers over my cheek. Slowly, I open my eyes.

Above me is perhaps the best and most beautiful sight I will ever see. A blanket of stars, brilliant and expansive, floats across the night sky. And in front of them, mere inches from my face, is Haldir, looking at me with a wide, adoring smile. I raise my head to bump my nose against his, earning myself a rumbling chuckle.

He shakes his head slowly. “The relief I feel, finally being able to tell you that I love you, to kiss you…”

I breathe out a weak laugh, knowing exactly what he’s describing. “I wouldn’t call what I feel relief.”

He grins and dips his head to mine, stopping just before our lips touch. “Yes, it is certainly not a peaceful relief. But I much prefer whatever this is to peace.”

“I agree,” I sigh into his mouth as his lips move against mine once more. But then I remember something, and push against his shoulders. He’s said his piece, now I get to say mine. “Hey, for the record, I love you too.”

He laughs indulgently, shaking his head, but I can see real joy lighting his eyes. “And yet you kept me in such suspense.”

I roll my eyes and grip his tunic, pulling him down again.

When we break apart, he falls onto his back next to me. I’m struck once again with the memory of us stargazing in Elrond’s gardens so many months ago. Then, I spent the whole night fighting the urge to cuddle against his side.

Now, it seems, that door is not closed to me.

Experimentally, I scoot closer to him. When he smiles rather than questions it, I pick up the arm nearest to me, moving it so I can lay against his side. He tenses, then sputters out a laugh, but doesn’t push me away. Instead, he cranes his head so he can see me and I grin up at him, happy to see that he wears a matching expression.

He raises an eyebrow. “Is this what the humans do?”

“Yes,” I smile up at him, pleased that being this close to him feels even better than I could have imagined. “It’s called cuddling.” I rest my head on his chest. In the silence of the night, I can hear the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.

After a moment, his hand comes to the back of my head, running his fingers gently over my hair and down my back. “Surprisingly, I like the human way.”

I smile, tucking my head further into his chest.

I stare at the sky.

And try not to think about what I’ve just done.

A/n YAYYYYYYYYY

|next chapter - to be posted|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist @that-cute-stranger

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff @sleepyamygdala @thranduilseyebrows

**Strikethroughs means Tumblr won’t let me tag you :(**

#haldir #haldir x ofc #haldir x oc #haldir fanfic #haldir fanfiction

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grantiskeith · 3 years ago

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The Garden Path to Hell (William x reader) Pt1

Words: 1.4k

"Here's a pipe for you sir Price is 5 and 2 sir Can you see the garden, It's just a lovely garden I'll take you there, I know the path so well. To hell" -Garden Path to Hell, Mystery of Edwin Drood I was one year in. I had my 25 acres of part woods, part hedge garden for one year now and it finally had started to take shape. French style hedges lined the paths, rose bushes and hydrangeas created a beautiful garden. Complete with one greenhouse. Only working on the weekends made this project take forever but by August, it looked great. I had saved for this property and had worked hard at work to finance it. However, it could look better. Someone had dropped $15,000 into the donation box, and I just couldn't take that money. I pulled a clover out from the center of the gravel path heading back to the greenhouse and my car. The sun had just disappeared from the horizon. My gravel paths were lined with lights creating a beautiful nighttime display of plants in the dark. A sight I thought I was enjoying alone. My heart started beating in my head, was that a person walking toward me or just a shadow? "Hello?" I asked, potentially to the figure in my imagination. "Good Evening" a soft voice spoke back to me. In this part of the country, you don't tress pass on someone's property unless you're prepared to get shot. Tonight, I was more scared of him. "Hi! Can I help you?" I replied in the costumer service voice you typically use when someone has a gun. "I apologize for intruding on your land at such a late hour" his voice was so smooth but jarringly German. He walked a bit closed and I took a few steps back. "Oh I appear to have frightened you, please forgive me." "Is there something you're here for?" I tried to sound firm but my voice was shaking. I took a deep breath. "I figured we should finally meet. This land, which you have purchased a year ago yes? Boarders my own land. There to the east." "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" I said, relaxing a bit more, "you're the neighbor I haven't met yet. The lot with 550 acres of wood land?" "Yes that is mine, a beautiful land which I share with my family, along with a few other properties in the area" "It's nice to meet you" I held out my hand for a shake. "William Solaire" he took my hand in his and gently kissed the top of it, "It's a pleasure and an honor to meet the creator of this beautiful garden." "Oh" I stuttered. I felt my face get red and all the blood in my body rushed. It was so flattering that I almost ignored how cold and heavy his hand felt. "Thank you, it's been a passion project of mind this summer." "I would be honored if an artist as skilled as yourself would allow me to walk the paths with you." He almost seemed to bow in his posture. "I would love to" He crooked his arm, offering me his elbow. Stranger danger, personal safety, and instinct all seemed to melt away in a second. My breath had caught up to me and I just couldn't think of a reason not to take his arm. My hand gently curled around his bicep in a very old fashioned style. "You clearly have an eye for hedge gardens, the precision in the landscaping rivals the traditional Gardens of Versailles" he said leading me down the path were the flower garden ends and the knee high hedge began. "You flatter me, Mr. Solaire please. I know full well the many flaws. I should ask you, are you the secret donor? Someone left a sizeable amount of money for my land, and I do believe it was you" I turned to look at him. "Ah, you have caught me. I wanted to see it invested in a worthy project such as this" "Mr. Solaire, I cannot in good faith accept that amount of money as a gift. And being in the poessaion of that money, I am unable to morally spend it on a private garden." I let go of his arm but I continued to walk next to him. "It is a gift for you, please use it as you please." his voice was so insistent but still calm. He gave me a smile. It looked so genuine but there was something missing from his eyes. "You and me are to be friends I hope, please call me William." "I think what I please, William, is to return

the money to you." "If you insist, I understand. But may I suggest one thought" he smiled and notioned around to the garden, "I would like to make an investment in you, consider it a downpayment for you to expand the grandiose of your land. Maybe even surpass the gardens of Versailles" he laughed. "Well, I did want to add a few statues and possibly a water feature." I thought to myself. He offered his elbow again. We walked a few more steps together in silence. He guided me around the labyrinth of landscaping I had dedicated my weekends to. "Tell me, how did you come to aquire your acres?" He broke the silence. "I'll speak honestly, as you likely know this land has been vacant for some time so it was quite cheap" I thought for a second. "Maybe you could tell me why, the agent almost begged me to buy it" "Really?" William nodded "I started receiving letters from people in the near by town warning me about this land. Some people even told me it was haunted and that's why no one ever bought it. I believe that is ridiculous, the only thing that goes bump in the night are the raccoons I catch in my compost" That earned a very German laugh from William. "I was told stories of people who bought this land and were never seen again. There's no house because entire construction crews would disappear overnight. Can you believe that?" "I have heard the rumors as well. These woods do hide dangers but none of the magnitue the towns people share with you" William's smirk was lit up by the light poles above him. "That being said, I came to meet you with a specific task in mind." My heart starting pounding again, suddenly remembering his position as a stranger. "I came to warn you and prevent any of those dreadful rumors from coming true. There are wild animals that cross my land onto yours occasionally, wolves, coyotes, even a few people. You should not be alone at night and you should not trust anyone you see on your land. I am grateful you trusted me long enough to share this with you." My face was red and flustered. Is this a threat? Is this an attempt to have me sell my land? Was the money a bribe? "I would like to give you my personal cellular number. If you ever see anyone on... I deeply apologize, I had no intention on scaring or upsetting you" he spoke very quietly, almost so I had to listen closely. "I have taken care of this property for a year, on my own for a year. Forgive my free speech, but I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I am not sure where you have been and why we have not met but I have not needed any protection this entire time." He stopped for a moment, clearly unsure of what to say. He turned around and admired a rose on a bush. A sign of vulnerability. He turned around again. "I do not for a moment doubt your capabilities, forgive my Faux Pas if I implied as such. I am simply offering a criminally belated hand in friendship." He reached into his breast pocket and handed me a simple black and white business card. "Please call me if you see anything on your land without your permission. I would like to see you last far longer on this land than the previous owner." I took it and slipped it in my pocket. I took a breath, "thank you" I told him. "I have enjoyed our walk but it is very late and I need to be returning to my car" "Let me walk you back down this lovely garden path. It's such a lovely garden." The crickets and cicadas sung loud into the night while I spent a few more minutes with a new friend.

#redacted asmr #redacted William #redacted Will #vampire fic #I am manifesting a garden rn

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baoshan-sanren · 5 years ago

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Chapter 27

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Lan QiRen’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week oh god it’s only gonna get worse

WangJi is not familiar with YiLing.

His first sight of the town had been marred by the stress of the six day travel, and all the unpleasantness that the trip had encompassed. Their inability to find any accommodations for the Lan Sect escort had also contributed to the unfavorable impression. Overall, YiLing is not much smaller than Gusu, but significantly older, its streets and canals having sprouted wherever they were needed.

There is symmetry and regularity to Gusu that has always appealed to WangJi’s need for clearly discernible orderliness; it had been designed with care, roads proportionally wide to the demand, the street market restricted to specific areas built to accommodate the resulting foot traffic.

In contrast, YiLing had formed itself around a popular trade route both by land and by water, and had grown as the fame of the Immortal Mountain had grown, without any order or forethought. Some alleys are wider than the main roads, some are cobblestones and the others dirt, and in some, stubborn weeds and vines have taken root, choking the nearby walls and hedges. Some canals have so many bridges, that one could cross half of YiLing just hopping across them; some only have single, narrow bridge, and those are perpetually clogged by carts and carriages. Handsome mansions sit next to houses of ill repute, next to tanneries and farriers, the stench mixing heavily in the day’s heat. The street markets have taken root wherever there is space, and in many places where they clearly should not have, their stands and awnings blocking the thoroughfare. The result is haphazard at best, an overwhelming chaos made worse by the seven-day festival in honor of the Emperor’s birthday.

Wei WuXian loves it.

WangJi can hardly keep up with him. It is a relief to know that Nie MingJue has stationed multiple members of the Nie Sect throughout the town, because Wei WuXian seems to have entirely forgotten to worry about his own safety. Everything is fascinating to him; everything is new, and exciting, and worthy of exclaiming over. Not a single piece of cloth, or an ornament, or a children’s toy has been overlooked. Wei WuXian has to touch everything, ask about everything, haggle over everything. His smile is so wide and bright that WangJi is finding it hard to focus on anything else. Multiple times, he has found Wei WuXian’s hand wrapped around his wrist, tugging on his sleeve, pressing on his shoulder. He is like a child who needs to see everything, but also needs WangJi to see it as well, even if Wangji hardly has time to offer an opinion, before being tugged to the next stand, the next alley, the next bridge.

Wei WuXian has dressed to blend in. His robes are dark gray, lined in red, sleeves tightly tied off at the wrists. It is a uniform more suited to a rogue cultivator, or perhaps a second or third young master of a middling clan. But WangJi is certain that no set of dark, unadorned robes would ever prevent Wei WuXian from standing out. His smile is infectious; people smile back without meaning to, as if compelled by some invisible force. Those that do not, are still left looking dazed, blinking into the space where his smile had been moments ago. The red ribbon in Wei WuXian’s hair is perhaps the most conspicuous part of his outfit, fluttering as he darts from one corner of the street to another, a bright splash of color WangJi can easily follow even when left behind.

“Did you know you look an awful lot like the Emperor?” an old lady says to him, and Wei WuXian laughs loudly, turning to WangJi.

“Did you hear that Lan Zhan? What do you think? Am I as handsome as the Emperor?”

WangJi feels his face heat, but Wei WuXian is already skipping away, exclaiming over a row of grass butterflies. He buys three of them for A-Yuan, then dashes to the next colorful thing, a row of bright scarves embroidered with lotus flowers.

They have long lost sight of Nie MingJue and XiChen; WangJi knows they had not intended to stick closely to one another throughout the evening, as the sight of two Lan Sect members together may raise suspicion. They do not know if the assassin or their accomplices have eyes and ears in YiLing; the rumors in the Immortal Mountain City have placed the Young Masters of the Lan Sect in the Imperial Gardens, along with the Emperor, and Jiang WanYin had been quite insistent that they do nothing to compromise the plans set in motion. Both WangJi and XiChen had dressed simply enough to be mistaken for the Lan Sect escort still residing outside the YiLing proper, but once they are standing side by side, their resemblance is difficult to ignore. Still, WangJi knows his brother will worry, and wishes he could at least catch a glimpse of him in the crowded streets.

“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan! Look at this!”

Wei WuXian had stumbled upon rows of paper lanterns, each one delicately painted with a different woodland creature in careful strokes. These are, by no means, the first paper lanterns they have seen on their trek across the market. Later in the evening, when the darkness fully sets, thousands of them will be released to the sky, as is tradition on every fifth day of the Emperor’s birthday festival. But these are the first lanterns WangJi has not found visually overwhelming, and he watches Wei WuXian haggle with the merchant for a little while, before simply stuffing the amount the man had wanted into his hands.

“Lan Zhan! He was going to sell it for less!”

The man shoots Wei WuXian a look that clearly says he was not going to do any such thing, but WangJi does not care either way.

“Which one?” he asks, and that is all it takes for Wei WuXian to become distracted again, exclaiming over hedgehogs and deer, until he settles on a lantern depicting a white rabbit.

“Do you like rabbits, Lan Zhan?”

WangJi nods. He has never before considered his feelings about rabbits in any detail, but now, he finds himself quite fond of them.

“Hm, I think we should eat. What do you think? After, we can find a peaceful spot to watch the lantern festival.”

Anything with a word peaceful in it is more than satisfactory to WangJi, and he nods again, letting Wei WuXian pull him to the nearest winehouse.

The common room is crowded and loud, the stench of alcohol mixing with the sharp scent of spices. Majority of the patrons seem to be merchants, but WangJi sees a few cultivator swords leaning against the table edges, despite the fact that their owners lack discernible sect uniforms. YiLing has always been a popular town for rogue cultivators. The Immortal Empress herself had belonged to no sect or clan, and each year, even the largest Sects see a number of disciples leave to strike out on their own, the idea of being anchorless and sectless doubtlessly more romantic in theory than it turns out being in truth. Still, WangJi is more focused on ascertaining if any of them are Sect members in disguise, than he is on Wei WuXian’s conversation with the serving girl.

Once the proprietor approaches however, he finally recognizes that there is an issue.

A single glance at the man’s face explains the situation fully, and WangJi steps closer to Wei WuXian, who is still visibly confused.

“We should leave,” WangJi says softly.

Wei WuXian does not listen. The common room is crowded, but there are clearly at least two unoccupied tables, and Wei WuXian does not understand why the serving girl would pretend otherwise.

The proprietor, unlike the serving girl, has no qualms about speaking plainly, “The Lan sect is not welcome here.”

WangJi had remained a few steps behind Wei WuXian, and cannot see the expression on his face, but he can perceive the telltale stiffening of his shoulders, the tightening of his grip on the sword. WangJi feels a moment of pity for XiChen, having to deal with his own eerily similar reaction in MoLing.

“Excuse me?” Wei WuXian says, his voice cold.

The exchange has drawn notice of the few nearby tables, most of them occupied by men who clearly know how to use their swords, and WangJi can see this situation escalating past the point where it can be managed peacefully.

He grabs Wei WuXian by the elbow and pulls him backwards, stepping in front of him.

“Forgive my friend,” he says, bowing to the proprietor, “he meant no offense. We are leaving.”

He has to physically push Wei WuXian outside. The line of his back is iron hard under WangJi’s hand, and his grip on the sword has not loosened.

“How dare he?” he bursts out, before they are even fully in the street, and WangJi pushes him harder, hoping to put some distance between them and the common room as quickly as possible.

“Do not be angry,” he says softly.

“Do not be angry?” Wei WuXian spits out, fury making his voice vibrate, “By the time I am done, he will be lucky to run a QiShan whorehouse!”

WangJi steers him down an empty alley, afraid that someone might decide to follow, “We are in disguise. The proprietor mistook you for a rogue cultivator. He did not know that he was insulting the Emperor.”

“He knew he was insulting you!” Wei WuXian whirls to face him, his expression outraged.

This is the second time WangJi has seen him angry in response to the mistreatment of the Lan Sect. It is just as overwhelming as the last time, and he is equally as incapable of formulating the correct response.

“This is YiLing,” he says, “the home of the Empress. The Lan Sect has never been welcome here.”

“Are you saying that they are all like this?” Wei WuXian’s voice is dangerous now, and WangJi does not know how to answer that question in a way that will deescalate the situation.

He should have known that this would happen. He should have steered Wei WuXian away from the places that he knows are likely to refuse to serve him.

It was stupid and thoughtless of him to forget. The evening had been going so well. Wei WuXian had been genuinely happy, and now he is furious, and WangJi does not know how to fix what he had broken.

Feeling agitated and unsure, he reaches for Wei WuXian’s hand, “Do not be angry. The street merchants will not care what sect I am from. We can buy food from them.”

He watches Wei WuXian’s anger bleed away in a rush, but it is replaced by frustration and grief, both nearly as crushing as the anger had been.

His fingers press into the back of WangJi’s hand, “Is it like that everywhere?”

“Sometimes,” WangJi says, “but it does not matter right now. You wanted to eat. We should do so before the festival starts, and the streets become crowded. Come on.”

He tugs Wei WuXian slightly, desperate that the subject be dropped, desperate for the return of the happy, smiling Wei WuXian, who seemed to not have a care in the world.

Wei WuXian lets himself be led, but it is a long time before he smiles again.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #wangxian #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #yes it's 4am #i have no idea what day it is #can't for the life of me remember if i ate yesterday #the next time my job switches my shift like this istg imma quit and go work full time in the detox #take this small offering #lord knows when i'll have time to write more #ily guys #thank you for all the sweet messages

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pocket-luv101 · 4 years ago

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Summary: Kuro is a powerful wizard and he has received countless marriage proposals. He doesn’t wish to marry so he decides to create an impossible challenge to make his suitors give up. He sets up a maze where the person who reaches the center will win his hand. One day, Mahiru enters his maze. (KuroMahi, Fantasy AU)

“There goes another one. Shouldn’t you reject these marriage proposals directly instead of making them go through an impossible test? As your royal advisor, I need to warn you this behaviour will create resentment from important families.” Gear said to Kuro. He didn’t respond to him but they had been friends long enough to know his answer. “You call politics troublesome but it is important. You completed your training to become a wizard so your father will require you to marry soon. This maze will make that more difficult to find a mate.”

“That’s the point. My father has been disappointed in me for twenty years so he shouldn’t be surprised. I already told him that I have no wish to marry anyone so he should focus on his other seven children.” Kuro sat on a tree branch that overlooked a sprawling maze of rose hedges. He was a powerful wizard and many people approached him to negotiate a potential marriage. “They only want my magic to enhance their family’s rank.”

Kuro wanted a simple and quiet life with people who cared for him as a person before what he had. Most only saw him as a powerful wizard or the son of a Count so he doubted he could fall in love. He found it tiring to constantly reject shallow marriage proposals so he created a maze around his home. He declared that the first person to make their way through the maze and reach the center would marry him.

The maze would constantly shift and change so it was almost impossible for someone to reach the center. He also enchanted the roses to stop people as they walked through the maze. Most of his suitors gave up after they learned of his challenge and the few who entered the maze would quit after a few minutes. “The sun is setting so I don’t believe anyone else will enter the maze. Let’s go hang out with Hyde.”

Next to Kuro, a rose swayed in the wind and the soft petals created the sound of a bell. He knew that it meant that someone had entered the maze and he groaned softly. Since the roses were connected to his magic, he couldn’t leave the maze or else it would disappear. He started to question if the maze was more troublesome than the suitors.

Kuro lowered himself to sit on the branch again and looked towards the maze’s entrance. He couldn’t see the person well with the distance between them. “He’s entering alone. Most people know that my maze is dangerous and they would have an army with them. Did he enter my maze without knowing that I made it as a challenge? Can’t deal. I should go to him and escort him out before he’s hurt.”

“He looks like a simple commoner so it’s likely that he can’t afford to hire help. You’re a Count so he might have entered to marry your wealth.” Gear said beside him. He didn’t want to see his friend be taken advantage of. Most would be jealous of Kuro’s power and title but Gear only felt pity for his friend. He saw how it made Kuro lonely. Kuro only had a handful of people he trusted.

Their attention was drawn back to the man in the maze. He folded his hands in front of him and he began to sing. At first, Kuro thought that the man intended to use a spell to find the center of the maze. He doubted a simple mage would be able to manipulate his maze though. Rain started to fall over the maze and Kuro could sense a warm magic within the water.

The man’s song changed and sunlight replaced the rain. As the lingering rain reflected the light, it created a spectrum of colours. The different colours mixed with the moonlight and washed over the red roses. Kuro didn’t understand why the man casted the two spells since it wouldn’t help him reach the center of the maze. He realized that wasn’t the man’s attention after he turned around to leave the maze.

The man only stopped in the entrance to pick a few roses before he disappeared out the gate.

“Your touch slipped away to become a memory. Do you remember my kiss as I miss yours?” Mahiru sang as he walked down the road. He could see the maze in the distance and he thought of how beautiful the roses were. The moon didn’t provide a lot of light to see yet it was enough for Mahiru. He would visit the maze every week and walk through the garden to clear his mind.

With the final note of his song, Mahiru stopped in front of the maze’s entrance. He heard stories of the wizard who created the challenge and most called him haughty or cold. Mahiru couldn’t believe the rumours though. He cupped his hand around a rose and its subtle scent calmed him. The magic he sensed within the rose was warm and welcoming. His mother had taught him that person’s magic reflected the type of person that they were.

Mahiru walked through the grand gate in front of the maze and he wandered through the roses without a destination in mind. He would usually stay near the entrance so he could find his way out easily. He looked towards the large that sat in the center. Sometimes, he would consider exploring the maze to find the center but he knew that it was impossible. He was a mage and he recognized the spells within the rose from simply picking one.

He folded his hands in front of him and sang, “I hope my memory will always be with you.”

“If you’re going to make it rain again, you should put on shoes or else your feet will become muddy.” The voice surprised Mahiru and he turned around sharply. He knew everyone in his small town but he didn’t recognize the man before him. His red eyes were unique. He was handsome and Mahiru wondered if he was a prince who wanted to marry the wizard.

“Are you here for the wizard’s hand in marriage? The maze is dangerous at night so it would be better if you come back in the morning.” Mahiru warned. Something the man said caught his attention and it caused his brows to furrow slightly. “How did you know that my song would summon rain? It’s not a common spell.”

Kuro didn’t know how the man would react if he told him that he was the wizard who created the maze. He had seen him enter the maze a few times yet he would only water the roses. He became curious and he finally decided to speak with him. Most people would treat him differently after they knew about his title and family so he lied. “My name is Kuro and I’m a gardener for this maze. Sleepy Ash hired me to help maintain the rose bushes.”

“I’m Mahiru.” He introduced himself and then held out his hand to shake Kuro’s. Mahiru blushed when he took his hand and kissed his fingertips. He thought that only noblemen would do something so formal. He took his hand back and said, “I hope the rain I created with my song didn’t cause you any trouble with your job. You probably got soaked the first time I made it rain.”

“As long as Sleepy Ash resides within the maze, the roses will stay alive. You didn’t need to go to the trouble of watering such a large maze.” Kuro became more intrigued by Mahiru and the reason he entered the maze. “Do you like roses?”

“I think roses are beautiful but I prefer simple flowers like daisies. I heard this maze was made by a strong wizard so I did assume that a wizard like Sleepy Ash would use magic to keep the roses alive. Flowers should be watered properly though.” Mahiru told him. “Honestly, the first time I entered the maze, it was on a whim. I had a long day and I needed a place I could be alone.”

He took a pair of shoes out of his bag and slipped them onto his feet. Mahiru doubted Kuro would want to hear about the problems of a stranger. He changed the subject and said, “My shoes got wet after I casted the rain spell the first time. I thought I could dry them with a song of sunlight but that didn’t work. Since then, I would bring an extra pair of shoes with me.”

“The maze is dangerous so you shouldn’t walk around here without shoes. The roses have thorns and you can be hurt by them.” He pointed to the vines that lightly lined the ground. Kuro was confused when the vines moved on their own to avoid Mahiru’s feet. He hadn’t controlled the maze with his magic and he wondered if Mahiru was the one who moved it.

“I’ve never been pricked before.” Mahiru didn’t seem to notice how the rose bushes moved around him so Kuro doubted he was using his magic to manipulate it. He looked up at him and tilted his head in confusion. “From what I hear, the maze would chase people out but it hasn’t attacked you or me. Maybe the maze likes us since we’ve spent so much time here.”

“That must be a strange thing to say since a maze isn’t alive and it doesn’t have thoughts like we do.” He had created the maze and enchanted it but he didn’t give it life. Mahiru shook his head and held out his hand towards the tall hedge next to them. A rose fell from the bush and landed in Mahiru’s palm.

“My uncle taught me that magic is a mysterious force that flows through all life. That’s why we need to be kind to things around us. You’ll never know who or what will put a curse on you.” Mahiru joked and laughed softly. His smile was full of warmth and Kuro found himself reflecting his expression. “I became an animal doctor because of that. May I ask why you chose to be a gardener?”

“Gardening isn’t a passion for me or anything like that. It’s a job that pays well.” Kuro shrugged. He couldn’t tell him that he was truly the heir to a powerful family and a large estate. Mahiru didn’t seem to question his evasive answer and they started to walk aimlessly through the winding halls. “You’re an animal doctor? It must be hard for you to find work. The witch doctor of Eve is rather famous.”

“I get by. You work here so you must know this rose maze well.” Mahiru’s comment made Kuro stiffen slightly. He assumed that he would ask him to take him to the center because he wanted to marry Sleepy Ash. Then, he said: “I visit the maze often but I haven’t explored it well. Most people want to find the center but this maze is so large that you must know secret places that are beautiful.”

“Other people would be more interested in reaching the center of the maze to win Sleepy Ash’s hand in marriage.” Kuro decided to voice the question he had since he first saw Mahiru enter the maze.

“Do you think I'll offend Sleepy Ash if I say that I hope he doesn’t find a fiancé through this maze? The rose bushes are stunning and I enjoy walking through the maze. Once someone reaches the middle, this maze will disappear. That would make me sad.” Mahiru’s confession shocked Kuro. Everyone who entered his maze only cared for his title. Yet, Mahiru appreciated the roses.

A loud clash above their heads caused them to look up at the sky. Dark clouds started to cover the moon and Mahiru smelled rain in the air. He rushed to take his umbrella out of his bag but the rain fell before he could. Mahiru opened the umbrella and moved closer to Kuro so they could share the umbrella. “My umbrella is only large enough for one person but it’s better than nothing.”

Kuro noticed how Mahiru held the umbrella over him more than himself. The simple act of kindness was foreign to him but he knew that Mahiru was an honest person. The rain soaked his shoulder and Kuro didn’t want him to become sick. He placed his hand over Mahiru’s on the umbrella and whispered a spell. “Votre gentillesse m’a changé.”

His magic wrapped around their joined hands before it travelled up the umbrella. The umbrella grew until it could protect both of them from the rain. With the larger umbrella, they didn’t need to stand close to avoid the rain. Neither of them moved away from the other though. “Did Sleepy Ash teach you magic so you could care for the maze?”

Mahiru was surprised that a gardener would know magic and he stared at Kuro. The magic he felt was oddly familiar as well. Kuro couldn’t tell him everything but Mahiru’s curious eyes compelled him to answer. “My father sent me to school for magic but I was a terrible student and they kicked me out before I could finish. Did you go to school for magic too?”

“My uncle taught me a few things but I mostly learned on my own. Since my father left before I was born and my mother was always working, my uncle would give me magic books. Magic was a fun distraction but…” His smile became bittersweet and the expression tugged on Kuro’s heart. He could see a quiet strength in Mahiru and he wondered about his past.

Rose petals fell among the rain and Mahiru held out his hand to catch one. He brought the petal closer to his nose so he could smell the flower. The dew on the petal made the scent of roses more powerful. “This maze is amazing, isn’t it? I’ll make a warm breeze to dry us before we can get sick. You remind me of that summer night long ago.”

He had heard him sing countless times yet his voice held Kuro spellbound once more. A warm wind circled them and it dried their clothes and Kuro couldn’t help but notice that it resembled Mahiru’s personality. The maze reacted to Mahiru’s song in a similar way it affected Kuro. A path opened before them and it led to an open garden with a gazebo.

“Oh, look, Kuro!” Mahiru patted his arm and then pointed to the gazebo where they would be safe from the rain. He hooked his arm around his and dragged him forward. The wooden gazebo had roses circling the pillars and framed the canopy. Even in the darkness of night and the falling rain, Mahiru thought the gazebo was stunning.

They stepped into the gazebo and Mahiru lowered the umbrella. “I hope this rain stops soon. This gazebo is gorgeous but we can’t sleep here. We’ll catch a cold or something. Worse, my cat will destroy the house if he doesn’t have food. Do you have anyone waiting for you at home?”

“I live alone.” Kuro told him and he saw relief pass over Mahiru’s face. A blush replaced the expression and he felt his face redden as well. He didn’t know how to react to the thought that Mahiru could be interested in him. “Will your cat be jealous that you’re spending so much time with me?”

“Maybe a little. I’ll give him a rose and he’ll forgive me for staying the night with someone else.” Mahiru giggled softly.

He sat on the bench and looked beyond the rain to the rose bushes in the distance. In the corner of his eyes, he watched Kuro pick a rose. He burned off the thorns before he held it out to Mahiru. He took the rose and their fingers brushed together. “That’s for your cat so he’ll forgive you.”

“Thank you, Kuro.” Mahiru brought the flower to his nose to hide his shy smile. He was certain that his cheeks matched the colour of the rose. Between the pleasant scent of roses and Kuro’s warm presence, he felt comfortable. He forgot the rain around them and they were in a world with only them. Kuro sat next to him on the bench. “Will picking flowers get you fired?”

“Sleepy Ash doesn’t mind.” Kuro reassured him. “I’ve seen you pick a rose from the gate each time you visit. You can take more if you want.”

“My mother loves roses… She loved roses.” His voice broke slightly. Mahiru didn’t want to cry in front of Kuro so he kept his gaze to the ground. “I picked a rose to put onto her memorial. Last month, we held her funeral but I still can’t believe she’s actually gone. This must sound childish, doesn’t it? One of my co-workers said I needed to be strong when he saw he cry. I’m an adult but I’m still clinging to her.”

“I don’t think it’s childish. She must’ve been important to you so it’s natural that you would be sad. Your co-worker was a jerk.” Kuro took out a napkin from his pocket and wiped his cheek. He didn’t know if the water was rain or tears but he gently wiped it away. Mahiru turned to face him and their eyes met. Looking into his brown eyes, he felt a mix of sympathy and protectiveness of him.

“It has been hard since my mother died but visiting this rose garden has helped me feel better. It’s quiet here and I can gather my thoughts.” Mahiru found it easy to talk to Kuro and he unconsciously leaned into his palm. The rain was cold but that wasn’t the reason Mahiru moved closer to his warmth. “Thank you for listening to me even though we’ve only met today.”

“I don’t mind.” He patted his head before he sat back. Kuro thought of something he could do to make him smile again. He waved his hand over the rose Mahiru held and the flower multiplied until he had a bouquet. A few of the roses had become daisies.

“These are beautiful.” Mahiru took a daisy from the bouquet and placed it behind his ear. The rain had stopped but they stayed in the gazebo. The water droplets that coated the flowers reflected the moonlight and they created the illusion of diamonds. “It looks like it’s time to return home but I would love to talk to you again. When you’re not working, do you want to meet in the town and get to know each other better? There’s a ramen shop we can go to.”

“How did you know that I love ramen? Are you a stalker?” Kuro joked and smiled. “You should know my full name though. It’s Sleepy Ash Kuro Servamp, the Count of Sloth.”

“Sleepy Ash?” He repeated his name as his eyes widened. Kuro knew he would be surprised but he hoped he wouldn’t treat him differently now. He hesitantly turned to face him. Mahiru slipped a rose from the bouquet and tucked it into Kuro’s jacket pocket. “My name is Mahiru Shirota, the witch doctor of Eve. We’re more similar than I thought. We both hid our titles to not be judged.”

Kuro was hopeful that he found someone who would see him for himself and he touched the rose over his heart.

#servamp #kuromahi #sloth pair #servamp kuro #mahiru shirota #fanfiction

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thecagedsong · 4 years ago

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Chapter 12: Home

Hello Friends,

It looks like you’re cleverer than the Sphinx said you were. Good for you. You’ve set back my timeline, and not many can claim that particular feat, congratulations. Now it’s time to focus on Kendra, how to make the best use of her? So many ideas, none of them involve negotiating with light-lovers.

Until we clash again.

The lemonade had been yummy with just the right amount of sour. It was a shame their ball had knocked the pitcher to the ground. Seth had fumbled Tess’s pass, thinking about Ronodin’s note in the barrel. It had been in the barrel when they finally set down after leaving Wyrmroost. Now Seth was letting it distract him from distracting his cousins. The distraction wasn’t even worth it, as he still hadn’t found anything in the note that he could use that they hadn’t already thought of before now.

“Should we clean that up?” Seth asked. Knox hopped out of the pool to grab the ball, set the pitcher right, and jumped back in.

“Nahh, I just dripped a bunch of water on it, and what else are we going to do?” he replied. “Come on, another round.”

Dale had been able to construct a small basketball hoop while they were gone, but it was too short for anyone but Tess on dry land. Seth had suggested putting it over the pool, and it was much more challenging. It was Tess and Seth v Knox, and Knox was winning 6-3.

“Last point,” Seth said, “Then I want to grab something to eat.”

Tess grinned at Seth as Knox checked him the ball. He sent it back.

“Super secret surprise attack!” Tess yelled, jumping on her brother’s shoulders. With a whole lot of squirming, Seth managed to steal the ball from Knox, who kept crying “foul!” and made the final point.

“You cheaters,” he said, holding Tess up by the arm. She grinned.

Seth dunked himself in the pool one last time to cool off, then got out. “You won the game, that last point didn’t matter anyway.”

They got out and dried off, Knox collecting his basketball. Just as they were about to leave the pool area, Knox turned around and made a longshot.

“Nothing but net,” he said, pumping a fist. It was pretty cool, but Seth wasn’t going to let Knox know that.

“You have to get it now,” he pointed out.

“Worth it.”

Grandma Larsen made sandwiches for lunch. With the secret out, they decided to just live together in the main house. There was enough rooms, especially with Tess and Knox sharing the attic. This was the first time Seth was at Fablehaven and not staying there, but three was kind of a crowd, and he was a little proud that his Grandparents knew he didn’t need the protections of the attic anymore.

Or maybe they just thought he’d ruin the protections with his spotty record. Anyway, he was fine with the arrangement.

Tess went immediately to the Journal of Secrets after drying off and brought it to the lunch table. Grandma Larsen whisked it off the table as she set lunch down, citing that Kendra wouldn’t want sticky fingers over her journal.

“Any news from Agad?” Seth asked as the Sorensons came down for lunch.

Grandma Sorenson shook her head, “Your possible teachers are very limited. The Sphinx would have been ideal if, surprise, he hadn’t turned on us once again. This is the hard part, but we’ve been here before.”

“What about rumors of a Nova Song?” Seth asked, “Maddox know anything?”

“Just that he’d give an arm and a leg for one,” Grandpa Sorenson said, shaking his head. “He’s looking too, Seth.”

“Dale, Hugo, Hank and I made a lot of progress on the stables for flying mounts. Tomorrow I was planning on going into town for some more literature and games to populate them with and keep our Luvian friends entertained,” Grandma Larsen offered. “Anyone interested in coming with me?”

“Will there be ice cream?” Tess asked.

Grandma Larsen pretended to think about it, “I suppose. It’s going to be a lot of stuff to carry, my helpers should be rewarded.”

“Can I invite one of my fairy friends?” Tess asked, getting excited.

Grandma Larsen shook her head, “I’m sorry sweetie, but the magical creatures can’t leave the preserve.” Tess opened her mouth to argue, “Even if they promise to come right back. It’s an important part of the treaty. We can also pick up some new seeds though, for your friends that like flowers.”

“Okay!” Tess said, “I’m going to go tell them right now!” Tess ran into the garden, passing Tanu as he entered.

“Sorry!” Tess called, racing past.

“Welcome Tanu, were you and Hugo able to find what you were looking for?” Grandma Sorenson asked.

“I found a good tract of land for an Oak grove,” Tanu said, “It’s a little hard to tell exactly what breed of oak tree the seeds are, or the requirements for living wood, but the more humid climate near the marsh should accommodate most varieties. With the help of some fairies, the grove will be set up in a couple of years. We have ten seeds, and to plant them all, we’ll need a bit wider space than currently available. I was hoping to take Seth this afternoon to negotiate with the Hag.”

“Sure,” Seth said. “Anything. Lowly Vatka was pretty cool. You’ll need to ask Tess about the fairies though.”

“Better take Hank with you,” Grandma Larsen said, “The caretaker has the right to visit once a year, and on demand. He’ll be back in half an hour or so.”

“I can come,” Knox said casually. “Help plant the trees.”

The grandparents exchanged a look, and Seth knew exactly what was coming. Weird that it wasn’t directed at him for once.

“Knox,” Gloria said, “The hag is most certainly one of the more dangerous creatures on the preserve. Her favorite pastime is lay false trails that send people drowning. And she’s old, she won’t take kindly to visitors, or our request to grow a forest on the edge of her land.”

“Anything Seth can do, so can I,” Knox said, puffing out his chest. “I was fine at Wyrmroost.” He turned to Seth, “Especially with Grandpa Larsen along, we’ll be fine. Tell them.”

Seth shifted uncomfortably. Grandpa Sorenson raised an eyebrow. “Well, its not up to me,” Seth said, looking down at his plate. “Grandpa and Grandma Larsen are caretakers here.”

He was hedging, and everyone knew it.

“I don’t believe this. Am I grounded or something?” Knox asked.

“Well, you did sneak into the dungeons and land yourself in one of the seven most dangerous preserves in the world on a whim.” Grandpa Stan said, “We aren’t going to reward that behavior, if that’s what you’re wondering. And then, if I recall correctly, you convinced two satyrs to take yourself and your 9-year-old sister across said preserve, using an untested magic item, again, without permission from either the caretakers or us, after the dragons had declared war on all mortal kind and your cousins especially.”

“But Seth did stuff like that when he was just starting out!” Knox protested.

The stares turned back to Seth, who groaned, “Yeah, and I was grounded to the yard tons of times for that. I left out those parts, but your actions have consequences. No, we don’t blame you for Kendra’s kidnapping, but they can totally blame you for breaking their trust and sneaking into the barrel.”

Knox looked around, and saw that no one was going to budge. Grandma Larsen looked a little like she wanted to offer to have him go shopping with her and Tess tomorrow, but decided against it.

“Fine,” Knox said, standing up, “I’ll be in my room then. No one will have to worry about me going anywhere. Let’s make the grounding real.”

He stomped up the stairs.

“That was rude,” Seth accused. “Why did you guys let him make me the bad guy?”

“Just a check to see how much you’ve grown, and as I saw it, Knox would only have listened to you,” Tanu said with a chuckle. “Make sure you have a pair of galoshes before we go.”

The fieldtrip in Hugo’s cart went much smoother than Seth had expected it to. Probably because it felt like years since Seth went off to do a single task that didn’t derail itself halfway through. He knew it was all Kendra’s fault when that happened. Seth led them through the marsh, not tricked by the false trails. They negotiated the boundaries with Gintra through Seth speaking her language, promising her two goats and a kid and a new cloak in exchange for the necessary land.

Seth nearly choked when Grandpa Larsen offered to give her a kid, but Tanu whispered that all parties involved knew that meant a baby goat, and they went forward.

Hugo stopped a ways away from the house.

“Hugo?” Seth asked, leaning over his shoulder, “What’s up buddy?”

“New people coming,” Hugo rumbled. “Dragon.”

Seth shared a startled look with the others.

“I have my dragon fear potions right here,” Tanu said, patting his bag.

“A dragon is too big a threat to the treaty to ignore,” Grandpa Hank said, “Fablehaven’s boundaries aren’t meant to deal with the magic of dragons. Hugo, take us to the dragon.”

Hugo turned and started in a new direction. Grandpa and Tanu downed their potions grimly.

“Could it be a wild dragon?” Seth asked, “I mean, Wyrmroost is the nearest dragon sanctuary, and Agad said it was fine this morning. I know there were some dragons who agreed to live in peace outside the preserves.”

“It’s certainly possible,” Grandpa Larsen said, rubbing the stubble on his face. “Unlikely. While the dragons are able to communicate with each other between sanctuaries, they are supposed to be completely cut off from their free kin, that was a stipulation. But it’s supposed to be impossible that there’s a dragon here at all.”

Seth remembered Celebrant’s victorious, swiping claw. He’d been hoping for a little break from dragons. To go back to dealing with demons and the undead for a bit, before coming face to face with another dragon, but he could handle it.

Hugo was cutting cross country in the way only he could. They didn’t talk anymore.

“Huh?” Grandpa Larsen asked, “The Naiad pond?”

Seth focused, and realized they were, in fact, approaching the pond around the hedge. Was it a shortcut or…

“Raxtus!” Seth said, climbing up to look over Hugo’s shoulder.

“Who’s there?” called the dragon.

“It’s Fablehaven! Who do you think it is?” Seth called. Tanu pulled him down when the archway nearly took his head, but he just grinned and popped up again. Sure enough, Raxtus was standing on the lawn. A silvery white dragon, he was about the size of Charlemagne, but much longer in the tail and neck.

“Hey Seth,” the dragon said, “I brought something for you guys. Oh, um, hi,” Raxtus said, bowing his head when he noticed Grandpa and Tanu get off Hugo as well.

“Raxtus, this is my Grandpa Larsen, and I can’t remember if you’ve met Tanu,” Seth introduced, “Guys, meet Raxtus, son of Celebrant and literally the best dragon ever.”

“An interesting recommendation,” Grandpa Larsen said, bowing, “Please call me Hank. I’ve heard much about you from my grandchildren.”

Raxtus turned to Seth, his eyes sad, “Mizelle filled me in on what happened to Kendra. Kidnapped by Ronodin and lost her memory? I’m really worried for her.”

“We’re working on it,” Seth said, “I promise.”

“May I ask why you brought us a canoe?” Tanu asked. Seth finally noticed the wooden canoe behind Raxtus. It was long and had swirly painted red designs decorated the sides.

“Is it a clever boat?” Seth asked, getting excited.

Raxtus tilted his head, “What’s a clever boat? No this is —” suddenly Warren appeared in the boat, lying down. Seth scrambled forward and touched him.

“Seth?” Warren asked. He blinked and looked around, “Right, Fablehaven. Good pick Raxtus.”

Warren climbed out and stretched. A few moments later Vanessa appeared and Warren helped her up.

“Home sweet home,” Vanessa said, doing the same stretching as Warren.

“I bet you’re honestly surprised by how much you mean that,” Warren teased, nudging her shoulder.

She lightly punched him back, “You’ll be waiting a long time Burgess, if you’re waiting for me to go soft.”

“It is good to see you two safe and well,” Tanu said. Vanessa and Tanu gripped forearms, while Warren went for the hug.

“We managed to get a small foothold back in the Cresent Lagoon,” Warren said, “We’re here to make our official report and recruit what help we can.”

“Better wait until we’re in Stan’s office then,” Grandpa Larsen said. “We can head back, and Hugo can carry the canoe. Raxtus, will you accompany us?”

The dragon shook his head, “I’m kind of running between sanctuaries and trying to keep tabs of everyone and my ears open for Kendra. I’m going to say hi to my adoptive mom and then head back out.”

The headed back, and Warren pulled Seth towards the back of the group.

“Kendra’s kidnapped again,” Warren said.

“At least we didn’t have to have a funeral this time,” Seth said. “And I have it on pretty good authority that Ronodin wants Kendra alive.”

“How good?”

“Bracken’s sister.”

“Pretty good.”

They walked in silence a few minutes.

“I hate not being able to help her,” Warren admitted, clenching a fist. “I had to be where I was, but I can’t help but feel like if I was there, I could have changed something. It always feels like this when it comes to Kendra, I’ve gotten sickeningly used to it. Honestly, are you doing okay?”

Seth really thought about the answer. Warren let him.

“I broke down pretty bad when she was taken,” Seth admitted, stopping so the others went on ahead. “And now, I don’t know, it feels more like when she was off artifact hunting and I was stuck trying to figure out how to crash her adventure. I don’t know if it’s because I know she’s being kept near Bracken, or everything is just too much for me to think of it like anything else.

“I’m kinda scared it’s all going to hit me again, and I’m going to fall apart. But if I keep busy enough, maybe I’ll be able to find her first.”

Warren put a hand on his shoulder, “Thank you for being honest. You’re tough Seth, possibly the toughest kid out there, but tough kids and tough adults need breaks, time to just feel. If you think you’re going to break, or you need to break, let me know and I’ll make space and handle things until you’re ready again.”

Seth’s throat was too thick to speak, so he just nodded. As they approached the yard his voice came back.

“And if there’s anyone tougher than me, it’s Kendra,” Seth said. “We fought over who would turn the Key of Forgetting, but she wouldn’t let me. She wanted everyone to know that she loved them, you and Vanessa especially. Thought I should share the message.”

It was Warren’s turn to nod.

They reached the yard and Tess ran up, “Look Seth! The fairies taught me how to make a flower crown! They did special stuff so there are no loose ends! Put it on!”

Warren stepped up beside him, looking amused, and Tess went silent.

“Oh, who’s this?” Warren asked, crouching. “You make a great flower crown.”

Tess looked at the crown in her hands, then at Warren. She squealed and thrust the crown at him, then ran away.

“That’s Tess, little cousin on Mom’s side,” Seth said. “She’s fairy struck, and probably just developed a crush on you.”

“Well, that’s a backstory I’m dying to hear,” Warren put on the flower crown, and posed for Seth, “Does the red make my eyes pop?” he asked fluttering his lashes.

Seth laughed, and Warren wore the crown into the house.

They were in Grandpa’s study, and Warren and Vanessa hadn’t been missing out on adventure. Rampaging Triclops, magic pearls, and dragons to spare, all dependent on island spirits to keep them in line. Island spirits shaped like those big nosed stone heads.

“But most important,” Warren said, “We have reason to believe Ronodin corrupted a pool there.”

“Why would he do that?” Seth asked.

“We don’t know,” Vanessa said with a smile, “And while it is possible there is some significance to the pool that the caretaker is unaware of, it is also likely that his work is not done.”

“Which means he might be back,” Seth said, getting excited, “Or we might find one of the caves to the Underking’s domain nearby.”

There was a sudden ringing sound, and Grandpa Sorenson fished out a cell phone. “Agad, yes, Warren and Vanessa just caught us up. We were about to start brainstorming solutions on our end. Tanu is ready to head out again, and we were trying to figure out who else to send.”

Grandpa froze, then nodded. “Why am I entirely unsurprised? Anything on Kendra?”

It was frustrating to sit there, and not be able to hear everything. He wasn’t the only one. Vanessa and Warren were gripping hands, his grandmothers both looked tense, and Grandpa Larsen was swirling his glass.

“Okay Agad, I’ll let them know.”

Grandpa Sorenson sighed, “I won’t hold you in suspense. Talizar’s den is at the Crescent Lagoon. Seth, you mentioned that this demon approached you in a dream scape. Do you think you could negotiate with him into learning more about your abilities without making things worse?”

He thought back to Talizar. Both himself and Kendra’s demon friend vouched that he hated dragons more than enough to want Seth to win the war against the dragons. He seemed fairly neutral on Seth’s demise, and hurting people in general. It would stink that Talizar was right, and Seth would seek him out in the real world, but that wasn’t enough of a reason not to do it.

He would need to be fully trained to use Lady Luck, or sneak into the Underking’s domain. Talizar had made some pretty big promises. With a plan and some help, and now that he wasn’t in a vulnerable place like the dreamscape, he might be able to walk away from this experience. He had four months by Mizelle’s deadline.

“I don’t want to make a mistake like I did with Granulas,” Seth said. “Talizar didn’t seem so bad, but neither did Granulas. I think I could work something out, but I’m also going to be missing something, or I’ll trust him and I’ll get someone else killed.”

“If it is a matter of trusting your judgement,” Vanessa said, “That needs to be dealt with now. I have seen second guessing kill too many allies. You need to learn that trust can be pieced apart. That is necessary in interacting with demons. You may trust that you have a similar goal. You do not trust them as you would another human. You do not trust them with things you care about. If you can’t piece apart the trust needed to learn from everything else, then you should not be attempting to negotiate with a demon at all, and we will find another way.”

Could he do it? Life had taught him the answer to that question.

“I can do anything if it means helping Kendra,” Seth said, resolved. “With some help to make sure I’m not leaving any loopholes, I can handle Talizar.”

“I believe that I will be an asset, in that case,” Grandma Larsen said, “Like Vanessa, I spent years working with the Society of the Evening Star, I second what she has said about coming out of a deal with a demon, and have much to add besides. While tracking Ronodin and attempting to retake the preserve, my goal will be to keep Seth safe. Is that satisfactory?”

Grandpa Sorenson eyed her suspiciously, “Why do I feel like this is how you claim full ownership of the Sombrosa Swords?”

Grandma Larsen shook her head, “Stan, we both know darn well I should have been their owner back in 83’. If it takes a mission protecting our grandson for your pride to finally hand them over, well, that’s on your conscious.”

“I had you pinned,” Grandpa Sorenson retorted, “the ref would have finished counting if the umbrakas hadn’t gotten loose!”

Grandma Sorenson put a hand to her head, “Stan, just give her the swords. They haven’t been much use hanging in our bedroom. We’ll be the nice, diplomatic grandparents.”

“With crossbows,” Warren added.

Grandma Sorenson smiled as his help, “Yes, with crossbows and broadswords and leadership positions. They can be the secret agent grandparents with butterfly dao, rapiers, and masks.”

“So…Seth, Vanessa, Tanu, Gloria, and I should be getting back to Crescent Lagoon?” Warren checked.

“Dress for warm weather,” Vanessa advised.

A/N: Shorter chapter for Seth, finally. I love the boy, but he has been hogging the action so far. Mostly set up, some comeuppance, some favs, lots of character. Chapter thirteen is the chapter I’ve been dying to post though, easily one of my favorites. Look for that one, cause Kendra gets to see someone besides Ronodin!

#Forgotten Light #Seth Sorenson #Fablehaven #Dragonwatch #I love my boy #All grown up and teaching others #Seth has yet to complete an assigned task without getting derailed by a potentially disasterous problem

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elliemarchetti · 4 years ago

Text

Clear As Silver Drops

It’s my birthday and I post what I want to! *sing this as Necessary Evil by Motionless in White*

To be totally honest, this is inspired by @my-darling-haldir who was asking for Haldir fic recs for her bday and I said myself why not? Why not indulge in your love for elves and mixed ocs? So here we are, with something in which Legolas isn’t with the Fellowship and in his place we have Elva, the only woman in a group otherwise made up of men only. Enjoy!

Words: 3132

"I'm afraid we can't stay here any longer," Aragorn said, turning his gaze to the mountains, raising his sword as if he wanted to curse Gandalf for his recklessness.

“What hope do we have without him, now?” asked Frodo under his breath, talking mainly to himself.

“We’ll have to do without hope,” replied Elva, talking to the whole Fellowship. “It may be that one day at least he’ll be avenged, but for now, let’s have courage and stop mourning: we have a long way to go and a lot of things to do.”

At her words they all stood up to look around, making her weigh for the umpteenth time what her role really was in their mission. She should’ve asked Gandalf when she still had time, but now he had taken that secret to the grave and she could do nothing but find it herself. A skilled archer and an excellent diplomat, Elva felt more like she was there to act as a glue between cultures, and thus prevent those men, all with different histories and upbringing, to go one to the North, dominated by three sparkling white peaks, Celebdil, Fanuidhol and Caradhras, one to the East, where the forward-projected arms of the mountains steepened abruptly, with distant lands extending beyond, and one to the South, where the Misty Mountains stretched endlessly.

Less than a mile away, slightly lower, as they were located at a high point on the eastern flank of the valley, they saw a lake: it was long and oval, looking like the tip of a spear stuck deep in the basin to the north, with the southern waters out of the shadows, bathed in sunlight but still dark, the deep blue of a clear night sky seen from a lighted room. The surface was calm, and all around the bare banks were covered in soft grass. The Fellowship walked the uneven and bumpy road that descended from the Gates of Moria, just a winding path among heather and twigs, sprouted between the broken stones; it still could be seen that it once meandered from the Dwarf Kingdom’s lowlands, but the broad paved street was now reduced to a ghost of itself, just like Durin’s stone.

“I can’t go on without deviating for a moment to see the wonder of the valley!” exclaimed Gimli.

“Be quick, then!” said Aragorn, checking the gates behind them. “The sun sets early, and even if the Orcs won’t come out, perhaps, sooner than dusk, we must already be very far away at sunset; it’s almost new moon, so the night will be dark.”

Elva almost cursed under her breath: if the lightless night was approaching, even her monthly blood was coming. Of all the advantages of being a half-elf, unfortunately she hadn't inherited the one of not suffering like mortal women.

“Come with me, Elva!” cried the dwarf, distracting her from her thoughts. “I don’t want you to go away without first seeing Kheled-zaram.”

For some strange reason, despite her elven half, the dwarf liked her company, and quite a lot too. Together they descended the long green slope swiftly, followed slowly by the hobbits. A brief glance into the dark waters, and back again to the road, now turning south, going down quite steep from two offshoots that embraced the basin. A little lower than the lake, they encountered a deep well of crystal clear water, from which a steam rose, flowing right after down a rocky groove.

“Thirsty as you may be, don’t drink this water,” Gimli warned. “It’s cold as ice.”

“Over there, are the woods of Lothlorien,” said Elva, pointing at a golden haze in the flat lands. “It’s the most beautiful among all the homes of my people. There are no trees like those of that land: in autumn, their leaves don’t fall but turn to gold, replaced only in spring by the new buds covering the branches with yellow flowers. Then, the soil is gold as the ceiling and the smooth and grey bark of the trees make them look like silver columns, as our songs in Mirkwood still tell. My heart would be so happy if I were among the branches of that wood and the spring smiled!”

“My heart will be happy even if it’s winter,” Aragorn said. “But many miles separate us, let’s hurry!”

For a time, Frodo and Sam managed to keep up, but the warriors advanced swiftly and soon they were left behind. When Elva noticed, she immediately told Aragorn, who, seeing them so far away, ran back on his own steps, calling Boromir to follow him. He apologized, full of disquiet.

“So many things happened today, and we’re such in a hurry that I forgot you were injured. You should’ve said something, because in silence nothing has been done to alleviate your pain. A little further on there’s a place where we can rest for a moment. Come, Boromir, let’s carry them!”

They soon encountered another stream flowing down the western slopes, confusing its gurgling waters with the swirling ones of the Silverlode, diving together from an overhand of green coloured stone and foaming down in a hollow surrounded by fir trees, low and curved, with steeps sides covered with rapeseed and blueberry bushes. They stopped at the bottom, where was a flat area crossed by the bed of shiny pebbles in which the creek flowed noisy. It was nearly three in the afternoon, and they had travelled just a few miles from the Gates. The sun was already turning to west, painting a grave expression on Aragorn’s face as he cared for Frodo and Sam’s injuries.

“Lucky you” he exclaimed, to lighten up the gardener’s mood. “Many have received a worse reward for killing their first Orc. The cut isn’t poisoned, as is unfortunately the case for most wounds inflicted by their blades, so it’ll heal well.”

He then opened his saddlebag and took out some withered athelas. While fresh were more effective, the leaves would still do their work in cleaning the wound. When Frodo’s turn came, he was quite reluctant, saying he was fine and just needed some food and rest, but Aragorn persisted, and took off his old tunic and worn shirt, giving an exclamation of astonishment, which soon turned into laughter: the hobbit wore a silver coat that sparkled before their eyes like light on a choppy sea, the gems bright like stars and the tinkling of the rings producing the same sound as the first raindrops falling into a pond. If word got out that a hobbit had such a wonder, all the hunters of Middle Earth would’ve galloped towards the Shire, but all their arrows would’ve been vain before a mithril armour. Still, there was a dark blackened bruise on Frodo’s right side and one of the rings had passed through his soft leather jacket, penetrating into the flesh. While the others prepared the meal, Aragorn made more athelas water, filling the basin with its acrid fragrance. After the late lunch, the Fellowship put out the fire, erasing all traces of it, and climbed out the hollow, resuming the road. They hadn’t come far when the sun disappeared behind the western heights and great shadows crept along the sides of the mountains. Twilight veiled their feet, and a light mist glided in the depression, while far to the east, the evening lit up with its pale glow lands, plains and distant forests. Sam and Frodo managed to walk briskly and Aragorn led the Fellowship for another three hours with a single, shot break, after which the late nigh imposed her dark reign. There were several stars, but the moon waning would appear much later.

“Lothlorien!” Elva cried. “We have reached the edge of the Golden Wood!”

The trees stood imposing, arching over the road and the river that swept suddenly under their leafy branches, trunks gray in the pale starlight and leaves quivered with a touch of fallow yellow.

“We’re still too little far from the Gates, but we can’t go further. Let’s hope that the Elves virtue will protect us from the danger pursuing,” said Aragorn.

“Assuming the Elves still live here, in this darkening world,” Gimli said, joining them.

“It’s been a long time since some of my folks came back to see the land we abandoned centuries ago,” replied Elva, “but we know that Lorien is still not deserted and a secret force repels evil far from this district. Nevertheless, its inhabitants rarely show up, and perhaps now they live deep in the woods and far from the northern borders.”

Aragorn confirmed with a sigh, as if some memory in him had been awakened. “We must suffice to ourselves, for tonight. We’ll still walk a short distance, until the trees are thick around us, then we’ll leave the path to look for a place to rest.”

“There’s no other way?” asked Boromir, irresolute.

“What better way would you want?” asked Aragorn.

“A simple path, albeit flanked by a hedge of swords,” Boromir replied. “Our Fellowship has been conducted in strange ways, and all of them so far with an inauspicious outcome. Against my will we passed under the shadows of Moria, towards our perdition, and now we have to go into the Golden Woods, even if we have heard of that perilous district in Gondor, where it’s said that few of those who set foot there come out, and of these, non has been released unharmed.”

“Don’t say unharmed, but unchanged, and then your words will be truthful,” Aragon retorted. “Wisdom has certainly diminished in the city of those who were once wise if now they speak ill of Lothlorien. You may not believe me, but there’s no other way for us, unless you want to go back to the Gates or climb the mountains or swim alone along the Great River.”

“Then guide us!” agreed Boromir. “But it’s dangerous.” “Very,” Aragorn confirmed. “Beautiful and dangerous, but only the evil has to fear here.”

They walked a little over a mile into the forest when they encountered a third stream flowing rapidly from the tree-lined slopes, climbing west towards the mountains. They could hear it roar in a cascade hidden by the shadows, before the dark water crossed the path ahead of them, joining the Silverlode in a whirlwind of ponds hidden by tree roots. It was the Nimrodel, the river on which a long time ago the Silvan elves composed many song. She grew up singing them in the North, mindful of the rainbow over the waterfalls and the golden flowers floating on its foam. Everything was dark, now, and the Bridge over it collapsed, but its waters were still able to wash away any sign of fatigue, so she proposed to wade it to find on the other side a place to rest.

“The sound of falling water will perhaps bring us sleep and forgetfulness from sorrows.”

One after another, the men followed her and when they were all on the other bank, they sat down, rested and refreshed. Elva told the stores of Lothlorien, the ones the Mirkwood elves still treasured in their hearts, stories of the sun and stars on meadows along the Great River, from a time before the world turned gray. When finally silence fell, they heard the music of the waterfall that flowed smoothly in the shadows.

“Do you hear Nimrodel’s voice?” she asked. “I’ll sing you the story of a girl who was called like the river next to which she lived a long time ago. It’s a lovely song in Sylvan, but I’ll sing it in Westron for you.”

Then, with a sweet voice so faint it almost disappeared in the rustle of the leaves, she intoned the ballad of the elf with a white mantle edged with gold; she had long hair and white skin, the free girl with a voice clear like silver drops. It was evident that some of her companions thought this creature lost in the dewy mountains could’ve been her, so she sang about her lover, an elven king of trees and clearings, went away on a ship swept by the north wind.

From helm to sea they saw him leap, As arrow from the string, And dive into the water deep, As mew upon the wing. The wind was in his flowing hair, The foam about him shone; Afar they saw him strong and fair Go riding like a swan. But from the West has come no word, And on the Hither Shore No tidings Elven-folk have heard Of Amroth evermore.

When Elva's voice trembled, the song ended. She said she couldn't continue because she didn't remember how it went on, but it was a lie: long and sad was the story about the doom befallen on Lothlorien when the dwarves roused evil in the mountains. She glances sideways at Gimli, who looked somewhat grateful, and quickly changed subject, proposing to camp on the trees for the night. The Fellowship left the path, entering the shadows of the forest further dense, headed west along the mountains steam and far away from the river, until they found a small group of trees with big trunks.

“I’m at home in roots and branches, but this species is unknown to me; I need to climb to see what their shape and way of growing is,” said Elva.

“Whatever they are,” replied Pippin, “they would really be wonderful if they offer a possible night’s rest to others than birds: I don’t know how to sleep perched on a hanger!”

“Then dig a ditch in the ground, if that’s more to the habits of you race,” Elva retorted, impatiently. “But you have to dig fast and in depth, if you wish to hide from the Orcs.”

Before she could do anything else, however, an authoritative voice spoke from the shadows. In amazement, she crouched frightened against the trunk.

“Stay still,” she whispered to the others. “Don’t move and don’t speak!”

A soft laugh was heard in the foliage, and another clear voice spoke in an elven language. Elva looked up and answered in the same idiom, different from the ones the western elves used.

"Who are they, and what do they say?" asked Merry.

"They're Elves," Sam replied. "Don't you hear their voices?"

"And they say you breathe so hard they could pierce your heart despite the darkness,” Elva hissed, silencing the hobbits. To be honest, there was no reason to be afraid: the elves said they’ve been long aware of their presence but they didn’t hinder the Fellowship in crossing the river since they heard her voice beyond the Nimrodel and recognized she belonged to their Nordic lineage.

“They’re begging me to go up with Frodo. It seems they’ve received news about our journey but they ask the others to be patient for a moment and guard the feet of the tree, waiting for them to decide what to do.”

At those words, a ladder was lowered from the shadows: it was made of a silver-gray sparkling cord and despite its frail appearance, it proved itself strong enough to withstand the weight of several people. Elva went up fast, while Frodo tried to persuade Sam to stay with the others. It would’ve been a wise choice, it was easy to offend her people, but the gardener was immovable and in the end they entered the flet, talan in elvish, through the circular hole open in the centre. The elf holding the ladder, the eldest, invited her to sit with his companions, two younger guards, both fully dressed in silver gray fabric, a valid help to hide among the stumps and then greeted the hobbits in a slow Common Tongue.

“It’s rare for us not to use our mother tongue, since now we live in the heart of the forest and don’t like to deal with other people. Even our own relatives in the North are divided from us, but some still go in foreign lands to gather news and watch over enemies, and therefore they speak different languages like me. My brothers Rumil and Orophin understand little of what you say, but we heard of your coming from Lord Elrond’s messengers when they passed by Lorien on their way home. From many years we no longer knew anything about your race and we didn’t think there were still any hobbit in Middle Earth. You don’t seem bad natured and since you come with an elf of our lineage, it’s with pleasure that we’ll help you, as Elrond asked us to, although is not out habit to lead strangers across our land, but you’ll have to spend the night here. How many are you?”

"Eight: me, four of them,” said Elva, alluding to the hobbits, “and two men, one being Aragorn, an elf-friend of the Westernesse folk.”

“The name of Aragorn son of Arathorn is known in Lorien, and he has the benevolence of the Lady. So, everything is fine,” said Haldir. “But you have so far only named seven.”

“The eight is a dwarf,” admitted the girl, never lowering her eyes, no trace of shame in her voice. She knew that Haldir must’ve understood by now that not only elven blood ran in her veins, but he didn’t seem to care.

“This is not good: we haven’t dealt with them since the Dark Days and they’re not allowed into our country. I cannot let him pass.”

“He’s of the Lonely Mountain, one of Dain’s trusted people and friend of Lord Elrond, who has personally chosen him to be part of our Fellowship,” she explained. At her words, the three elves exchanged a long, knowing look.

“Is he perhaps your companion, milady?” Haldir asked.

“Would it make any difference on his courage and loyalty?” she asked, heedless of what some strangers might think. If she had cared about the opinion of all the souls she had met in her long life, her heart would’ve already burst with pain.

"Very well," said Rumil at last, displeased. Ignoring the fact that the hobbits didn’t understand him, he told her in Sindarin that if she and Aragorn had watched and answered for Gimli, he could’ve passed, but only blindfolded.

“Now, we mustn’t waste any more time,” Haldir resumed. “Your companions have been on the ground too long and soon in the morning you’ll have to continue your march. The hobbits will stay here with us, while you’ll remain in the other talan with the rest of the Fellowship.”

“Call if something is wrong!” he added in the end, as a farewell. Elva was halfway down the ladder when she heard one of his brothers mutter something about such a beautiful voice wasted in a terribly vulgar way, but she couldn’t understand his reply.

#lotr #haldir #aragorn #gimli #boromir #gandalf #rumil #orophin #frodo baggins #sam gamgee #pippin took #haldir x oc #the fellowship of the ring

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