#i would sacrifice my place on the throne for her to see another sunrise

[groundbreakingdot872]

thinking hard about Arthur’s ‘I would sacrifice my place on throne for her to see another sunrise’ because that’s exactly how it happened, actually, the once and future king choking on sunlight, empty promises on his tongue, while Morgana’s body lay cooling behind him, just a few feet away-

they were like melting wax to the coming sunrise, a new dawn neither of them would live to see, and Arthur died with well-wishes and deep grievances conjoined, having given up his place on the throne long ago, to dig up the skeletal frames of ‘friendship’ ‘love’ and ‘blood relation’

-delusions he would martyr himself for, ultimately, a final pittance, long before his last breaths were swallowed up by the sun

[the-king-and-the-druidess]

Lady Morgana, lovely princess of Camelot, "all that power, all that beauty", and yet the only courting gestures and affectionate words Morgana received were from her brother and father. "I would sacrifice my place on the throne for her to see another sunrise", «I would have searched the entire world, the seas, the skies, the stars, for that smile. To have it stolen from me was like a blade to my heart». Ironically, they were the people she hated the most. No, she wasn't a queen of hearts, she was a queen of spades.

[camelotsheart]

arthur having deep emotional attachments to almost every person he befriends is something that can be so personal

[lucif5er]

AssassinKatsuki x PrinceIzuku

Katsuki doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting in this cell. Was it weeks? Months? He can’t tell anymore. Days and nights have merged together to turn into one big blur. Finally, a guard arrives and tells him he’s been bought, by the prince of course. The prince he’s meant to kill.

He was hired to kill the prince, soon to be crowned king of Musutafu. They offered him a hefty sum, enough for his family to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. It was an offer Katsuki couldn’t refuse.

Izuku Midoriya was rumored to purchase prisoners and turn them into his slaves. Apparently, the bastard went through a new slave every month then they disappeared. Everyone around the kingdom has heard the rumors of the prince who kills his slaves once they were no longer useful to him. He was nicknamed Deku, fitting for a useless prince.

Getting imprisoned was the perfect way to infiltrate. The guard, a tall man with duo-colored hair and a scar on his eye walked him to a small room. “You must shower before meeting the prince. Everything you might need is in there.”

Katsuki could only scoff at the smug bastard. Once he was finished and changed the guard was already waiting for him at the door. He escorted him to what must have been the prince's room but stopped before the doors.

“Your majesty is waiting for you.” the guard says.

Katsuki pushes the door open and he spots a small man sitting on the bed. If this is the prince he’s definitely not what he was expecting.

Wild green curls sprout from his head which is filled with freckles that seem to be never-ending. When he turns to look at him, Katsukis breath catches in his throat. Big green eyes stare at him and he smiles so brightly at him Katsuki has to keep himself from looking away.

“H-hi um I’m Izuku but you probably already knew that uum so you��ll be working as my attendant so um well” the man starts mumbling while his cheeks and ears slowly turn pink “and well please take care of me,” he says as he bows.

“Are /you/ the prince they call Deku?” Katsuki asks and he can’t help the distaste in his voice.

The smaller man looks down as if ashamed and nods. “That's just a nickname b-but if that’s what you’d like to call me it’s no problem.” He says as he scratches his arm.

“Okay, Deku what is it that you would have me do? Will I get some type of training?”

Deku looks up and he's smiling again. “Oh well, you sort of j-just need to keep me company.”

“Tch so what am I like your fucking call boy or something?” and Katsuki feels disgusted at the words. Never would he have thought the prince stooped so low as to taking advantage of his servants before killing them.

Deku flinches at the words but takes a few steps closer to Katsuki anyways. “N-no of course not. I-I would never. Y-you will just be like a friend.”

Katsuki barks out a laugh that echoes through the room and when he turns to look at Deku he’s red all over and looks like a strawberry.

After a week of being Dekus “friend”, he learns that the prince is a nerd. He reads countless books and talks Katsuki’s ear off every day, from sunrise to sundown.

On the 7th day, one of the other servants disappears and Katsuki remembers he can’t be swayed by this monster in disguise, he has a job to do after all.

But on his way back to his servant quarters he hears one of the other servants talking about the one who disappeared.

“Prince Izuku took her back home last night. She was so happy. I’m going to miss her so much.” the servant girl says.

“I know Ochako but soon you’ll get to go too. You know we have to give the prince some time or we’ll get caught.” Katsuki recognizes Iida's voice right away. He’s the servant who helps Deku with his studies.

“I know I know Tenya. The prince is too kind for his own good.” Ochako says.

Katsuki didn’t mean to eavesdrop but he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Deku took the servant girl home? He freed her? There's no fucking way. So Katsuki stalks his way to Deku's room and doesn’t even bother knocking.

When he swings the doors open he sees Deku standing in front of his mirror, shirtless. His torso and back are covered in bruises but his arms...Katsuki is shocked at the scars on Deku's arms, they looked old but his skin looked mangled as if his skin was chewed up until the point of no repair.

Katsuki sucks in a breath and Deku turns holding a blanket to his body.

“Waacchan. Y-you scared me. I thought you were going to bed” Deku says with a look of mortification.

“The fuck happened to you Deku?” Katsuki asks as he moves to grab Dekus' blouse, holding it up for him to put his arms through it.

“O-oh it’s nothing I was just training with my father,” he says as he hisses at Katsuki’s light touch

“This seems like a little extreme don’t you think nerd?”

“Father says it’s character building for the future king”

Katsuki simply humms at his response.

As days turn into weeks Katsuki learns of Deku's garden which he tends to every day. Of his secret spot in the library that holds his favorite books. He learns of the constant abuse that is inflicted on him by his father.

But the kindness in his voice when he speaks to his servants or ‘friends’ as he calls them never leaves. He learns that in secret Deku sends provisions to the villages whom his father steals from. He learns that he is far too kind and gentle for his own good and Katsuki can’t help but grow angrier because how will he fulfill his job like this?

And every 7th day of the week Katsuki waits for him in his chambers with healing tools for his never ending cuts and bruises and burns. And he waits for Deku to break down because he can’t fathom a life like his but it never comes.

Deku only sits with his head held high and a shy look on his face as Katsuki tends to his wounds with the lightest of touches.

“Kacchan do you miss your family?” Deku asks him one night. This night Deku's wounds are the worst he’s ever seen them and Katsuki can’t help the rage that fills him.

“Why do you care?”

“H-huh oh I was jus-“

“I know that you free your servants” Katsuki doesn’t mean to sound so angry but he can’t help it. “I know you fake their death and send them away. Are you going to send me away too?” and it comes out as a whisper.

Deku just sighs. A look of indignation on his face. “My father is a cruel man, Kacchan” and Deku looks so sad, so fucking sad that Katsuki wishes he could kill every fucker that put this look on his face.

“Soon Kacchan will be home. I promise” and for the first time, Katsuki sees tears. They stream down freckled cheeks.

“Oi nerd whats with the tears”

“It's because it hurts Kacchan” Deku says with a small smile on his face

“Hah?! You get beatings on the daily and this is what hurts? The beatings getting to your head now?” Katsuki says with a grin.

“Ah, I really just wanted to see Kacchans smile.”

As Katsuki wipes a stray tear away and rests his forehead on Deku's he realizes that he may love this man, because the scent of bell orchids that he can smell when he’s near him, he very selfishly hopes that he’s the only one who ever smells his scent. Only him.

Katsuki’s love is slow, but even hearts of stone can long for something more. So it is, that Deku and he gradually move closer to one another as the days wore on, tiny fractions of an inch at the time, so slowly that even someone who was paying attention wouldn’t notice.

And when Katsuki starts feeling impatient, sometimes when the waiting is unbearable he finds himself moving entire inches at a time and he takes and takes and takes. Takes from Deku because he is always willing to give. He gives everything to Katsuki, bending to his touch.

—————————

“Lets leave this place Deku”

Deku pauses his watering and turns to look at Katsuki. “Leave?”

“Yes. Somewhere far away. Where no one can find us”

They stood there for a long time under the light blue sky until Deku finally spoke.

“We can’t leave my mother and-and our friends”

“They’re not your friends they’re your servants Deku”

“Maybe” Deku says with a sad smile “but Kacchan is my friend right?”

Katsuki sighs and takes Dekus hand and presses a soft kiss to it. “Yeah Deku but only me okay?”

“Of course. I love Kacchan the most.” Deku beams at him and in this moment Katsuki exists for a while in a state of blissful glow but the pressure of all this light is crushing his bones into powder. It’s too much.

Katsuki always believed that there was no such thing as too much love that it’s warmth was a comfort from which we never tire but when love turns to obsession it consumes itself. The flame that nourished becomes angry, merciless, an all consuming blaze that now leaves him confused by the chill in the air and the hate left behind.

——————

“The king has requested your presence” the guard whom he now knows is named Todoroki says.

Katsuki rises from his cot and walks out the door. “I can get there myself half’n’half” he says without turning.

When he arrives to the throne room /he/ is sitting there. But Katsuki does not see a king, no. He sees a tyrant, a murderer, an abuser. Hisashi Midoriya, the devil incarnate.

“It has been nearly 4 months and you have yet to complete your job Bakugou” the king says.

“I changed my mind. Keep your gold” Katsuki spits out.

“Oh? Then maybe you need a better incentive” he says nonchalantly.

Katsuki sneers at him. “I won’t do it you bastard. I’m leaving.”

“Tell me, do you think you can get there before your village burns to the ground?”

Katsuki’s eyes widen and he grits his teeth “You wouldn’t!”

“Are you willing to sacrifice hundreds for one person?”

“You fucking bastard I’ll kill you”

“Maybe one village isn’t enough. Well. There are always more villages.” And he laughs. The bastard has the audacity to fucking laugh. “You may go now but make sure you think about it. The coronation is coming soon.”

Katsuki leaves the throne room unbeknownst to the man standing just outside the door.

Please, God, Katsuki thinks, and then realizes that he had no idea what he was asking for. Please what? Please don’t let what happened happen? Please don’t let him take Deku away? Please don’t let me feel this way anymore?

Please take away this awful thing inside me.

——————

“You asked me if I missed my family” Katsuki says as he wraps yet another cut on Dekus arm.

Deku looks up at him with wide eyes then they turn sad but filled with understanding and already shiny with unshed tears but his soft smile doesn’t leave his face “Is Kacchan ready to go home now?”

He looks away, willing his own tears to go away but Deku sweeps him out of his chair and dances him around the room while Deku laughs in his arms, his movements smooth and graceful as ever.

Katsuki hugs him tight and the pressure on Dekus cuts must be hurting him because he whimpers but yet he doesn’t pull away.

“I can’t take you with me Deku”

“I know you can’t love”

“I’m sorry”

“Me too Kacchan” Deku says at his shoulder, but Katsuki hardly hears him. With one sudden movement he reaches out and thrusts the blade in his back.

“I will always love Kacchan the most” Deku breaths.

He just holds him there as Dekus body grows limp. When Katsuki dares to look at his eyes again they are no longer green, and he realizes that he didn't have a word for the color they were anymore. The color was bleeding and leaking out of his world in mere seconds.

And suddenly he hears it, in the heavy stillness of that wretched palace, the heavy pounding of boots through the corridors and the echoes of the shrieks, all running towards the direction of the training room.

“THE KING HAS BEEN MURDERED”

Katsuki wails.

He weeps until he can only lay next to him, motionless, with his lips almost touching Dekus, he closes his eyes and breaths. Wishes he could’ve told him that he was the closest thing to true love he had ever known.

But maybe he just wasn’t close enough, not this time, not this way. Maybe next time around, the universe will be kinder to them and Katsuki won’t be a monster and Deku won’t fall in love with him.

[gayeddie-saved-me]

“i’d sacrifice my place on the throne for her to see another sunrise”

i wonder what arthur would think if he knew the truth

[pendraigon-moved]

 thinking   about   when   arthur   said:   “   i   would   sacrifice   my   place   on   the   throne   for   her   [morgana]   to   see   another   sunrise.   ”

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [21/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N: Nothin’ to report Cap’n

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Odin

The Allfather conjured old memory and returned himself to it; the last moment he ever conversed with his old counsel, Mímir.

“The boy must know of his lineage. He is the only one who can end this war. Bridge the sides. This rift was formed by lies, and lies will only pry it further.”

“Silence!” the younger Odin shouted, his stave burrowing into the floor from his surge of emotion. He was always quicker to temper before. Thor and Loki were still babies, Odin had yet to taste what truly came with fatherhood. Fatherhood would give him the burden of a different kind of love, of temperance, but in this moment, he was still ignorant to it.

"I know why you do this. You think by keeping this a secret, by refusing him his past, you will stop the inevitable, but not even you, old friend, can stop the Fate of the Gods.”

“I said silence!” Odin’s shout shattered the glass in the throne room. Mímir’s detached head simply blinked his outburst away. "You think yourself clever because you can see fate's web? Tell me, Mímir, can you see with only on eye?"

Odin loathed that condescending stare. It made him feel obsolete, limited. Without thought, rage bubbled to the surface, filling his vision with red. Then there was blood on his thumb, and  Mímir screamed. The fluid of an eye coating his thumb.

“You truly are your father’s son,” Mímir spat.

“Twilight will never be!”

“I know what you will do. I have seen it. This will be my final gift to you: the truth will crumble at the price of your father’s belt.”

Odin returned to his older form, now realising that the last words Mímir spoke had been misconstrued. He had sworn never to wear it, never to use his father’s belt even if he was to face a formidable foe. But Mímir had tricked him, manipulated him into locking it away. Locking it in the one place is was meant to be taken from, ironically.

A knock interrupted his thought.

“Who is it?”

“You sent for me, My Liege. It’s the Captain of the Guard.”

He sighed. As much as he yearned to see his son conscious again, to find where he’d hidden Frigga, he dreaded the outcome of such a success even more. No matter what, he had to get his father’s belt back, and stop Y/N at all costs. “Enter.”

  ~Heimdall

He watched Y/N get drawn into the light. The mirror screamed, but Y/N did not react to its piercing shriek.

Sif folded hunkered low from the pain, hands pressed to her ears. A mangled scream poured into the room, but her mouth never opened. The sounds, the shrieks, they were a thousand disembodied voices, all coming from inside the mirror. He felt unease, a desire to pull Y/N away from the harrowing sounds in the light. Then she was gone, and everything turned as silent as a graveyard, the mirror shattering into dust.

“We should have stopped her,” Sif wiped the blood from her ears onto her trousers. “That was Jotun magic. Forbidden magic!”

“I know,” he stood upright.

“Fascinating,” The Collector clapped his hands as if he’d seen the most impressive performance yet. “I’ve never seen anyone survive entering the Mirror of Fate.”

“You’ve never what?” Heimdall’s actions were quick, his large hand finding the uncollared space of The Collector’s neck.

The Collector laughed, a streak of lunacy to the twitch of his lips, bearing his teeth as though it’d been aeons since he had found something amusing. “I’ll be honest, it was never the belt that I was interested in.” He turned to look at Y/N’s eye in the crystal skull.

Heimdall lifted The Collector off his feet, “Explain yourself!”

“Have you ever seen an empire built on the bones of lies crumble?”

“I will not ask you again!” Heimdall struck The Collector into a wall.

Sif grabbed his arm to try and calm him, “You won’t get anything from him if he’s unconscious.”

“Someone’s coming,” Hogun whispered before disappearing behind a column.

A shadow grew larger by the entrance. Sif followed after Hogun to try and counter manoeuvre whoever was closing in. Heimdall didn’t care, he wanted answers, his grip on The Collector’s neck growing stronger.

“Why is it, as of late, we’re always getting tangled in one misadventure or another?” Fandral asked, arms on his hips, a devilish smirk pulling his hideous moustache closer to his nose.

“Fandral,” Sif let out a sigh of relief, closing in for a hug. “Am I glad to see you.”

“Don’t be too happy just yet,” he straightened out, his tone turning for the graver. “Odin said you stole something from his vault?”

“It’s a long story,” Sif said.

“As I’m sure. You’re lucky I managed to convince him to let Volstagg and I get the lead, but we don’t have time. His guard will not be far behind. We must leave, get you back to Asgard before you are apprehended as prisoners, so you can plead your case to the Allfather.”

Hogun side-eyed Heimdall, “It’s not that simple.”

 “Speak,” Heimdall demanded, ignoring the commotion around him.

“All I did was keep a promise to an old friend,” The Collector revealed.

“Who?”

“The one who placed that amulet in my care,” he wormed around Heimdall’s grip. “She told me someone would come for it, and when they did, I’d finally get to see the fruits of her labours.”

Suddenly, the skull began to glow. Runes appearing all over. Heimdall recognised some. Y/N’s eye acted as refraction material, displaying a doorway built into a mountain into the space of the emporium. The ground was the sky and the mountain had no base. The peak glistened with ice, a beautiful sunset presenting itself in the orientation of a sunrise.

“How do I get her back?” he slammed The Collector into the wall a second time.

“Gahhh! Never took you for a man able to relinquish control, anger suits you.”

“I won’t lose her,” he could feel his heart racing, thrumming in his ears. “Tell me!”

The Collector glanced at the skull, “To enter Verdenspeil, a spell is required. A two-part spell. The first half is the sacrifice of sight. The second was to recite the words of the Giants. The entry is one way. Every other person that’s ever sought out the mirror has never managed to recite the words. Until now.”

A torrent of light, heavy with every streak of colour, poured in the streets outside. Heimdall could feel the magic of the bridge, someone had opened the Bi-frost.

“That’s not good,” Fandral stated.

Sif and the others moved into position as several of the Allfather’s guard came wielding weapons with shields drawn.

“Heimdall!” Sif warned. “We’re running out of time.”

“Then buy me what little you can,” An agitated growl left Heimdall, “How do I get her back?”

“There—” Hogun shouted, “—pull that lever!”

A loud thud echoed into the room. A large, golden gate descended as a barricade. A red dot grew larger around the barricade, melting the metal.

“Did Odin send The Destroyer too?” Fandral’s jaw dropped. “What in all the Nine did you steal?”

“What madness have you gotten us into?” Volstagg demanded.  

Heimdall was close enough to The Collector’s face to see that there was no fear in his eyes, only the dilation from oxygen starvation.

“If she makes it passed the maze, the doorway will open, there,” The Collector pointed to the apparition coming from Y/N’s eye in the skull.

“I’ve seen this peak before,” Hogun closed in on the apparition. “Recently.”

“The runes,” Sif pointed out, “They’re the same as the ones that were drawn on Y/N. Wait… Heimdall, that’s Gjallarhorn!”

“Gjallarhorn?” Fandral backed away, terror in his eyes. “Then… that means… this is connected to the Twilight of the Gods.”

Heimdall set The Collector down, the eccentric man laughed between coughs. He ignored him and walked closer to the doorway that Sif, Hogun and Fandral stared at. One rune, in particular, made Heimdall’s veins turn to ice.

“Jotunheim,” he said. “That doorway is in Jotunheim.”

“But there's no snow, the sky isn't darkened. It doesn't resemble Jotunheim in the least."

"Jotunheim wasn't always the desolate place you know today. The Great War took more than just lives."

"How can you be sure?” Sif asked.

“Because, only one other has ever possessed Gjallarhorn, and Odin tasked me with his imprisonment. That is where I hid Mímir’s head.”

Sif pieced everything together, “Mímir? Of course! This all makes sense now. Then the Mirror of Fate—”

“Is his invention, yes.”

The Destroyer had made it through the door, its face covered the hole and a second burst burned a scorch mark across the floor. The Collector rushed to a display case and pushed it aside, there was a hidden lever there. He pulled it revealing a false wall.

“In here, there’s a dais in the level below. Take the skull, it is the key to opening the portal.” The Collector ushered them closer.

Heimdall frowned, “Why should we trust you?”

“I don’t think you have much of a choice. Whatever that girl is connected to, it has cause to make Odin worry. And, it seems, it was designed to happen exactly as it has. I have fulfilled my promise, now I get to watch chaos unfold. For someone as old as I am, there are few things as joyous as seeing order fall to chaos.”

Sif grabbed the skull and the apparition dissolved into the air like steam.  

Heimdall waited for Sif and the others to head for the lower level first, then he turned to The Collector to ask one final question: “This old friend of yours, was it Mímir’s sister?”

The Collector smiled, warm and affectionately, an odd emotion to see on his face. “It was.”

  ~Y/N

Birth. A child’s first steps on steps of stone. Runes drawn into the snow. Blood on ice. A village on fire. Pieces of a home, blackened by soot and ash. Wings in the light. An arrow whistling through the air. Clear. Sweet. The rush was more than images layered over one another, morphing into one another, it was sensation too. The feel of the cold on the stone steps. The muscle memory from tracing the rune. The drip, drip, drip of blood streaming down a frost sword and splattering on ice. Heat from flames. Smell of ash on the throat. These moments were yours, animated and swishing around in this viridian green atmosphere. You had made it into the Mirror World.

You spun around, searching for a path or a marker of some sort. There was nothing but thick, green fog all around you.

“Hello?” you asked the expanse. It didn’t echo. No one replied. “Oracle?” you called out for the whisper that you conversed with in the emporium.

You shouted out again and again until you heard a reply.

Child of the Sky, welcome to Verdenspeil. 

You spread your fingers over the fog, the memories were torn like seams, visions dissipating and then reappearing. “What is all this?”

The Nexus of Fate. Your fate. Once you step out, you will be subjected to all fates intertwined with yours. 

“How do I know what to look for?”

Desire. Search your mind for desire. It will light the path to the answer you seek. 

 “And my desire will lead me to the answer I seek?”

Yes… and No. Nothing in this realm is as it appears. This world is not meant for the living. It will try to coerce you. Lead you away from the root of its power. 

“Root of its power?” you were distracted by a glimmer, then the memory of you and Loki’s first meeting by the balconies came to life. Then you thought of the kiss on that very same balcony, and suddenly the world reshaped itself to project that memory. You realised then that the world wasn’t just showing you fate, it was feeding off your memories too. A give and take. “This world isn’t real is it?”

Real is a matter of perception. But yes, this world is ancient, a thread within the fabrics of all the universes, tapped deep into Yggdrasil. 

“What is its purpose?”

Cause of effect. This world is a maze. I am the effect, but I cannot see beyond my bindings, see to its cause. I do not know what lies in the centre. All I can do is mark a path. Follow it to the source. Free me, and I will make this world show you what you seek.

You focused on what you desired. Flashes of Loki came to life I the fog, but so did images of your mother.

“We will see each other again,” your mother’s voice spoke through the fog.

The rune on your palm burst with red light. Glowing, iridescent like eels, it lit the path ahead of you. The second rune on your forehead rippled, almost as if it were an appendage. Trembling fingers reached for it and were greeted by the aqueous of an eye—a third eye. You gasped, shocked at how real the runic eye felt. You closed your one human eye and tried to see through the third.

Runic vision was strange, the Mirror World was all reflections and memory, and the expansion and contraction of matter. The rune on your palm acted as a torch in darkness, revealing the world that was previously magically concealed. Branches, stretching endlessly, all intertwined and meandering, were revealed. Each branch glowed with a different colour, some colours you’d never seen before. To your immediate left, a branch absorbed the colour of your hand’s rune. 

“Follow the path,” you reiterated.

With your human eye closed, you walked as if a blind woman, letting the magic guide you, letting it see for you. The walk was long. It felt like the seconds had rushed to hours and hours faded to days, but your muscles didn’t give in, they didn’t even feel like they were moving. Air raised your chest, but your lungs seemed as heavy as rocks.  

Yes, you are close. I can hear it. The beginning of my name. I can hear it! A little further!

Over the edge of the path, to the right, there was a branch that looked to be severed. The only singular branch untouched or intertwined with others. A coldness prickled at your skin.

“What is that place?” you shuddered. 

There was a brief pause, a small voice in your head told you to turn towards the edge and look over it.

I… I do not remember. 

“It’s calling to me…”

Child of the Sky! Do not stray from the path!

But it was too late. That same pull you felt to the light was drawing you towards that severed branch that led to a drop.

“I have to…” you took your first step away from the red of the path. The colour of the world began to leech away, all turning to that viridian green. The fog of the world covered the tree slowly, returning everything as it had been.

“Be careful!” a stranger’s voice shouted, her dialect foreign to you, yet you understood it.

“By the Gods!” you gasped in shock. Except, it wasn’t you. You hadn’t opened your mouth to speak. It was your voice, in the same dialect as the stranger’s, coming from the edge.

“Look at the size of him!” the stranger continued.

Then there was an animalistic cry, creature-like and deep. And the whoosh of rushing water. And a rumble in the earth.

“Stop! Don’t hurt him!”

“Hurt him? He displaced half the ocean!”

“Trust me!”

“I hope you know what you’re doing!”

“So do I…”

Your foot reached the end of the path, a whirlpool sucking up the air where you stood. The voices stopped too.

“That was my voice. What was that?” the real you asked the Oracle.

I suspect, something yet to be, or something never to be. 

A trance came over you. A need to step over the edge. Deep in your bones, you knew that stepping off the path needed to happen, that it was fate leading you to the whirlpool at the bottom of this universe.

“Y/N?” Loki called your name from below, but he did so in a manner a stranger would. "Never heard of you..."

“What happens if I stray from the path?” you peered into the spiralling clouds sparked with thunder and lightning. Watched the whirlpool tear those clouds apart like dandelions in the wind.

I… I do not know. The maze is endless. Getting lost could be a life sentence.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m mortal,” you took a controlled breath and dove off the edge. 

Half mortal.

The whirlpool opened, the crack at its centre allowed darkness to slither through. A tendril touched your skin. Then another. The darkness spread like the drench of rain. Soon, you and the darkness were one.

[panharmonium]

i feel like such a fool.

for all that i spend most of season 4 ticked off at arthur, this scene in 4.12 is truly incredible.

when he says “i cared about these people, i - i don’t understand” - that is one of my all-time favorite arthur moments.  it’s heart-wrenching.  

i rag on arthur a lot, because sometimes it’s what he deserves, but this is not one of those times.  he really means what he says here.  his confusion and his pain are so real.  everybody who’s burned him has been somebody he loved.  everybody who’s turned on him has been somebody he would have gladly died protecting.  his father lied to him, morgana turned on him, agravaine deceived him, even gwen (he thinks) broke his trust - that’s his entire family!  his entire family turned out to be untrustworthy.  

you were deceived.  it could have happened to anyone.

yet it keeps happening to me.

i think back, to when morgana was dying from her fall in 3.05 and arthur said, “i would sacrifice my place on the throne for her to see another sunrise.”  and he meant it.  he would have given up anything to save her life.  but all the while, unbeknownst to him, his throne was exactly what morgana wanted, and she was ready to kill him to get it.  arthur was willing to sacrifice himself for her well-being, while she was planning to sacrifice him for her own self-advancement.

it hurts him.  he would have done anything for her.  for all of them.  

this is why i say that even though a lot of arthur’s behavior in season 4 is unacceptable, it’s understandable.  i understand why he does the things that he does.  i can see where he acts out of fear, and i can see why he clings to his last remaining family member so unquestioningly.  it doesn’t excuse some of his bs, but it explains his behavior.  he’s been burned too many times - now that he’s king, he’s started pushing people away, because he can’t have that happening again, but then of course it happens anyway, precipitating this painful (but ultimately necessary) crisis of faith.

what have i done wrong?  why do they hate me?

he’s really asking.  he means it.  he loved them.  he doesn’t understand why they couldn’t love him back.

i cared for these people.

that breaks my heart every time.

[legolaslovely]

Helios and Morpheus

A/N: Here is my part of our collaboration for the Durin’s Day Gift Exchange for @linane-art ! Thank you for brainstorming with me and being so supportive and patient. You made this even more exciting than I thought it would be, and let me tell YOU, I was thrilled about it all in the first place. I hope you enjoy it. I am so excited to share it! :)

This is somewhat loosely based on Greek Mythology, AKA it’s an Alternate Universe! Rated Gen. Get ready for some LONGING and some FLUFF.

LOOOOOKKKKKKKK AT @linane-art​ ‘s ARTTTT LOOOOOK AT THE PERFECT BOYSSS!!!! Thank you for giving us SUCH gorgeous works. 

The link for Fili is HERE!! And Kili is HERE!! Please go give @linane-art​ some love!!!!!!

Helios and Morpheus

Tell us of the impossible lovers, O Muse.  Those who defied Fates, Furies, and Almighty Zeus, Who found forever hidden in distance between, Paradise more perfect than Elysian serene.

Tell us of Helios, the God of Golden Sun Who rides in his chariot before night’s begun. His radiance shines as he watches and he waits For God of Dreams, Morpheus, to fly from his gates. 

Perfumed with his poppies and directives to spare, Roused only by his One with the rays in his hair, Morpheus stars in dreams prophetic and divine, Telling his love in sleep, “You are mine, you’re all mine.”

One alone rules the day as sky’s singular light. Another’s domain lies in the darkness of night. As stubborn as star-crossed, fierce as Cronus, they were, Bridging the cosmos for a love that was most sure.

Book I

To those below and above, he was known as Morpheus. To those around him, however- to his parents and his brothers, the Oneiroi- he was Kíli. To himself, he was a dreamer.

One could suppose that’s how it all began.

From very early on in his eternal life, he was known around the cosmos for his talent of deceit. But the true-hearted Kíli only deluded with his physical appearance. With a bit of concentration and a blink of time, he could shift from his godlike form into any other imaginable. Those below often said that no other was more skilled than he in representing the gait, the features and the speech of men, but little did they realize, Kíli could manifest as much more. Truthfully, he just thought the world of men had very tiny imaginations, even in their dreams. 

And so, his talents were put to use. Zeus commended him and dubbed him the leader of the dream makers, called the Oneiroi. He was to spend his nights flying through the world of men, delivering messages from the gods to their pupils through their dreams. Instead of using his skills for amusement, for playing pretend and hiding from his brothers, Kíli- Morpheus- would exhaust himself and his power by playing messenger boy for the King of the Gods.

Still, Kíli learned to have his fun. 

You see, though Kíli was explicitly told what message to send to whom, the how was entirely up to him. He could morph into a towering cyclops and poke the belly of his recipient until he listened. He could make a pit stop in the sweetest dream of the prettiest semi-divine woman and make her fall in love with him just before night’s end. He could even visit Hades to make ghost children into brave soldiers, or Hephestus to take a lesson in sword forging. As long as he delivered his messages on time, he had the power to do whatever he wanted.

But it all ended with the rosy-fingered dawn.

Every night had its end. For others, that was a hopeful thought, even a prophetic one, but for Kíli, it just meant he’s run out of time. His freedom was stripped away by the clouds painted orange. For a long while, some thousands of years, he stomped back through his gates like a tantrum struck child, furious at his forced time-out. He’d grunt at the guards and leap over the Rivers of Forgetfulness and Oblivion, and lock himself in his cave to sleep among the poppy seeds until he received the orders for his next outing.

In the recent millennia, however, he’d been risking everything to hide behind the lock of his ivory gate and watch the black night sky lift and glow indigo, then violet. He’d wait to see the golden chariot cross the cosmos, pulling aside the curtain of night to reveal the bright blue day behind it. He’d heard the stories all his life. He knew what happened in the universe that took his time away from him and turned it into day. But he only recently saw the phenomenon for himself and since then, he never wanted to miss the show.

It wasn’t the glittering coat or glistening mane of the thundering horse that he was interested in. It was the one inside the solid gold chariot that first caught his eye. It was Helios, God of Sun, he wanted to watch because, though he was almost blinded by the sunny halo every morning, Kíli was sure Helios was smiling at him.

Book II

Helios was happy. Though others often wondered how he could be.

Those above pitied him for his status. It was unjust for the God of Sun- the deity of something as important as creation, light, and life- to be considered a minor god. He would never see the world below from the peak of Mount Olympus. He couldn’t watch the measly humans through the silver, puffy clouds. Sure, he had his own clouds to peer through way up there on his own throne, but they weren’t as pretty as the ones that surrounded Mount Olympus. Not at all. Helios only had regular clouds. What a shame.

It may have been that those below pitied him even more than the Olympians. Helios was alone. Yes, he had power, eternal youth and breathtaking beauty, but he’d never share any of it with anyone. How sad! To spend the light of day watching the world below, only to be so distant from it. Poor, lonely Helios.

Solitary and depressed, but never forgotten. For who could forget the sun?

In return for his service and out of their pity, the gods above gave him the most beautiful land to shine on and watch over. Artemis kept her trees tall and her meadows vast so long as Helios kept them green. Demeter graced the farmlands, encouraging crops to grow up to the light of his rays. Even Poseidon, grateful for the glimmer of warmth Helios left on his sea, returned the favor and controlled his waves whenever the halo of sun crossed the sky at day’s end.  And sometimes, Zeus would throw some thunderbolts and give Helios a day of rest when he especially deserved it after weeks and weeks of impeccable radiation.

Helios was the only being who couldn’t understand the world’s view of him. Between those generous gifts from the higher gods and the worship and prayers from the humans below, how could Helios ever be unhappy? In his opinion, he had it made. 

Because he was a minor god, he didn’t have to deal with the problems of Olympus. He was glad the fabricated kidnappings, adulterous adventures, and cannibal snacking rituals were kept way over there on that mountain and his warm, serene hours were spent way over here on his very own throne. He shined his brightest on his own. 

Still, that didn’t mean he disliked watching the humans from afar. On the contrary, he adored them.

He smiled down on them as they wept in his name. He peeked through the dreary, grey clouds and gave them warmth as they built his temples stone by stone. Attentively, he watched as they danced and sang for him, begged him for his blessings and thanked him for his creation. In their words, he was gracious. He brought joy to mortals. Again, their words, not his.

He was given all this simply for being beautiful. He was pure light. He ruled the sky for thousands of years and was grateful, never wanting any change.

Then, as randomly as an autumn leaf falls to the ground, his lands brought him something new. Or rather, someone. As Helios crossed the sky and brought the dawn, he looked down on his endless estate and spotted this someone watching him. It was not a farmer, nor a thief or human forced to wake before the day. 

Instead, it was clear this Dark One enjoyed the night. He stood unshrinking from the black sky and smiled at Helios, clearing any blame for his bringing the sun. This someone, this Dark One was happy to make his sacrifice to Helios- a ritual the Sun God had never enjoyed until now. Now, it was a gift.

Never in his eternal life had Helios pulled on his steed’s reins to slow the sunrise. It wouldn’t work. His chariot would plow on with its duty with time warping speed, never paying a hair’s attention to the Dark One in the shadows. There was no time. Dawn must come.

With that, Helios crossed the sky, eventually losing sight of his someone below. When he leapt from the gold to gold, from the chariot to his throne, he searched for the Dark One, but his own light stole the shadows and his someone was nowhere to be found. His passing eras slowed to hours. During the time of his reign, he watched the humans find Aphrodite, Hestia, and Hera and when the night came, he himself found his Dark One waiting for him every morning.

Book III

Morpheus had the ability to enter the dreams of any and all. He could punish the dastardly with nightmares so garish and haunting, his victims would change their ways in the morning. Or he could gift the selfless with visions of peace and profit, the lonely with companionship, or the sick with health. Over the span of his existence, he’d delivered messages and prophecies to billions- humans and gods alike.

Tartarus, he could even sneak into Zues’ dreams and feel the power of the King’s Thunder if he felt like it. But Kíli valued his immortality too much for such a thing.

Bottom line: Kíli could visit all who dreamed. Which was everyone. Or so he thought.

It was really just his luck that the one he so wanted to meet- and even eavesdrop on if Kíli was honest- was out of his reach. Contrary to popular belief, the sun never slept and neither did the god who powered it. 

He didn’t understand why. What did Helios have to do during the night? Where did the Sun God even go when darkness came? Wasn’t there time for the Golden One to rest?

Kíli was determined to find out.

When darkness came on the Winter Solstice, the longest night, Kíli flew as fast as he could to the dreamers through the lower lands. He delivered a curse here, and a revelation there. Then, dressed in his best disguises, he climbed up to Mount Olympus to greet the two gods he was meant to visit. His foretellings were clear and concise. There was no time for any mix ups or confusions which, despite Kíli’s best intentions, were a common occurrence with drowsy recipients. 

After all his duties were finished, he tumbled down to his gate with time to spare. There, hanging onto the delicately etched ivory pillars, he waited alone. The night hours he so treasured ticked slowly past- slower than ever before. More than once he leapt from the ground, wings waving and flapping when he was sure he saw a speck of light coming from the east. But he realized his eyes were only playing tricks on him in his anticipation, and eventual boredom.

Still, he didn’t leave his post.

The sky remained dark for so long, Kíli was sure he’d gone blind trying to make the smallest stars into the golden halo he longed to see. He wondered why nothing was happening, why the blanket above wasn’t lifting to indigo, then violet in preparation for Helios. Had something happened to the Golden One? 

He panicked. 

It was unbelievable. 

For ages, Kíli wished for eternal night and cursed the morning Sun, and now all he wished for was the scalding rays to burn his skin. He’d welcome such a painful end if he could see the Sun God one last time.

Then, there was light. 

Real light, nothing Kíli’s eyes or drowsy mind could create. This was it.

His waving wings let him hover just above the ground, his bare toes dipping into the tall grass. He had to be careful, he had to time it right if he wanted a chance to speak to Helios as he crossed the sky and brought the dawn. If his actions weren’t perfect, his flesh would sizzle and leave his bones unsheltered to melt in a matter of seconds. Helios’ light was his end. So he must stay in the shadows.

After such darkness, Kíli could only see a white blur crossing the sky, but after years and years of watching the sunrise, he knew well how Helios’ shining steed cut through the night like a rapier. He raced up to meet it, his every muscle jolting in tandem to flap his wings with enough speed and precision to shoot him to a height that took his breath from his body. There, on the level, he waited.

That was his mistake.

The chariot barreled toward him with such graceful speed, its very own wind left Kíli reeling through the air.

       “What are you doing?” He heard.

He found his balance and his rhythm and darted from the heat on his back. It singed the very tip of his wing, but with the breeze of his flight, the fire and pain didn’t travel upwards. So he flew on, grabbing hold of the chariot’s edge.

       “No!”

Kíli realized, but it was too late. Of course the gold of the chariot would be as blazing as an open flame. He hissed in pain, but flew on until he matched Helios in his flight.

He called the Sun God’s name, letting it grace his lips for the first time. “Helios!”

       “Are you daft?” Helios cried, yanking on his reins with a force that turned his knuckles white, but the horse didn’t slow.

       “I’m Morpheus!”

Helios laughed. His eyes sparkled, glittering like the brightest stars in the sky, like the loudest, most dazzling thunderbolt Zues ever threw had been captured inside the golden head of this god.

Kíli knew Helios was beautiful. He knew of the creamy skin, the aureate halo, and the smile as curved and irresistible as cumulus clouds. But he didn’t know of the blue eyes. They struck him and slowed him down.

Still, before he burned, before he circled back and raced to his gates, flying through without a look back, he heard Helios yell something to him. He saw Helios smile at him, as he’d seen every morning for hundreds of years. But this time, his Sun was close enough to touch.

Book IV

Helios’ days were all the same. It was clockwork and routine- the paths he took to and from the farthest corners of Poseidon's ocean, how long the trek took, when and where he’d begin and end. He knew what he’d see along the way. There were never any surprises because nothing was ever different. 

At least that was the case until Morpheus loomed by his gate for the first time. His first appearance had been unusual and indeed gave Helios pause at first, but even that had become something expected after thousands of years of his Dark One’s presence. 

Morpheus flying to his chariot before dawn, however, that was unexpected. A surprise. Even a fright to Helios that jarred him like nothing else he’d ever experienced. It left him with so many questions. Helios wasn’t used to having any such thing. He was the Sun. He had all the answers. He was the steadiest thing in the cosmos. He was arguably the most dependable god.

But now that Morpheus had flown to him, Helios was unsure. He sat in his throne and glowed dimly over the day, diverting most of his energy to all the questions now crowding his headspace.

Why, he asked. 

He’d spent his eternity thus far watching all beings under his light. They were predictable. He was never surprised by their actions. And yet, Morpheus, God of Dreams, left him flabbergasted without a single answer as to why he’d risk his life to speak to a god in the opposite domain. What was the point? What did he want to say? Wasn’t he terrified?

But Helios’ most important question was: Had Morpheus heard him?

He hoped so. For when he wasn’t wondering and pondering, Helios was dreaming. Well, he guessed he was dreaming. He’d heard his humans talk about it in his temples, running to his altar after a night of his blessing their sleep and revealing himself to them in a vision. It was as if they’d truly seen the god, Helios, and had even spoken to him, though it was obvious such a thing was impossible. Helios never strayed from his post.

But he dreamed on with his eyes open and his rays shining. Just before his mind’s eyes were wings twice the size of Morpheus’ body and black as the fur of Cerberus. He even went inside his fantasy and touched the wings with his fingertips, leaving them with what he hoped was a pleasant warmth. As his dream Morpheus leaned into his touch, even closed his eyes to it, Helios’ halo shone ever brighter to the lands below. 

Then, as if clouds filled the sky, more questions would clog Helios’ mind and his rays would dim as he asked himself why.

So the day went on, sunlight ebbing and flowing until his steed grew agitated. Sparkling hooves stomped into the ground, the glistening tail swished and the impatient head bobbed, strong neck arching tight in anticipation. Dusk was approaching, as was Helios’ long ride. But even after his exhausting day, he leapt into his chariot, ready to work through until dawn when he’d see his Dark One again.

       “Come to me tomorrow,” he’d said. 

He hoped it with every glittering speck of himself.

The reflection of his chariot shimmered in the ocean below as he passed through the sky. His steed took him past mount Olympus and over the thatched roofs of Corinth, then Larissa. He passed wide meadows and gentle creeks, waiting patiently for the chance to fly over Morpheus’ gates. Though the Dream World spanned much of the Underworld, Helios knew exactly where the horn entrance would appear at the break of dawn. He knew where Morpheus would be. 

Morpheus.

It left the great Sun God trembling, for he was aware of the danger his Dark One faced. If all didn’t unfold perfectly, Morpheus would be no more. And it would be Helios’ fault. Even in all his uncertainty, he was sure of that.

Leaning over the side of his chariot, Helios kept his eyes glued to the ground. He stayed low, remained as dim and cool as he could without giving himself a mortal chill. He waited. All things familiar glowed underneath him until the horn gates of Morpheus’ Dream World glittered in his rays. But Morpheus wasn’t leaning on the post. Instead, he was already flying through the air to meet the chariot. Helios’ gut sunk.  His Dark One was wasting his energy. He should have waited! 

It was too late now.

As Helios’ golden horse loped on, quickly surpassing Morpheus’ own swift speed, Helios reached out with a cool hand and dragged his Dark One safely into the seat of his chariot. Then he slid to the opposite side, pulling his limbs as far from Morpheus as the chariot allowed.

The two gods stared at each other. Morpheus was squinting at him, even in Helios’ dim light.

       “You told me to come back to you,” Morpheus said. “You told me to return at dawn.”

       “Yes,” Helios said.

Morpheus scooted closer to him, moving his hand to the back ledge of the chariot to pull himself along. “Why-”

       “Don’t!” Helios cried, dragging his Dark One’s hands into his own. “Don’t touch the chariot. It will burn you.”

Morpheus latched onto him. “But you’re not burning me. How is that?”

      “It’s only dawn. My rays aren’t as powerful now.”

Morpheus was watching him through narrowed eyes, taking in his every feature as if he’d never seen another being before. Like he’d only ever dreamed them, and never actually saw or touched. It took every bit of Helios’ power not to shrink from his gaze. No one had ever looked so closely at the sun.

Morpheus reached for him and ran his icy fingers around Helios’ ear, tucking his shining hair around it. “You’re so warm.”

       “Sorry.”

       “No,” Morpheus was quick to say. “It’s pleasant. You feel wonderful.”

Just below them was the shore of the western ocean. Dawn would soon pass into full morning. They didn’t have much time.

       “Why did you come? It was dangerous for you,” Helios said. He shifted in his seat to shelter Morpheus from the light creeping up to his back. They were close now, closer than any two opposing gods had ever been.

       “I’ve spent so long in the shadows,” Morpheus said. “I wanted to feel your light.”

Helios grinned. Everyone in the cosmos wanted to feel the light of the sun. But he’d keep himself from all the world, he’d let it all freeze over if it meant he could safely shine on his Dark One for the rest of his eternity. Just for a moment, he leaned closer to imagine what it would feel like.

       “I wanted to see you, but you don’t sleep!” Morpheus said, bumping the tip of his nose to Helios’ cheek. He jerked away and hissed, rubbing his sizzling face. “You heat up quick,” he laughed.

       “You must leave,” Helios said with a wince. “I can’t slow the dawn.”

       “I know. But here, take this.” Morpheus reached to the nape of his neck and untied the sticky stem of a single poppy from his hair. He placed it in Helios’ hand and folded his fingers around it. “Tomorrow when the moon rises, I want you to smell this. It’s one of mine. Bring it up to your nose and take a deep breath. Think of me and I will come to you in your dreams.”

       “I’ve never dreamt anything before. I’ve never even slept.”

Morpheus reached for him, but stopped himself before he could touch Helios’ scalding skin. He closed his eyes to the blinding shine. “Then I’ll fly to your chariot every day at dawn.”

       “No. It’s not safe for you.” The poppy was wilting in Helios’ hand without its maker. “I’ll do as you said. As long as you will come to me.”

       “I swear it. There’s no place else I’d rather be.” One eye creaked open and Morpheus smiled before it clamped shut again. “You sure are bright.”

       “You must go.”

His black wings rose above the chariot and opened like wide wooden doors before Morpheus blindly leapt from Helios’ side and dove to his gates. There, he disappeared before Helios’ own rays could burn his flesh.

As the Sun God was delivered to his throne, he held tight to his poppy and dreamed with his eyes open about what the night would bring.

Book V

It was rumored Morpheus’ wings had the strength of a thousand soldiers. Though the feathers were lush and silky, the arching bones crowning the tops- extensions of his own spine- were not to be trifled with. How else would he fly through the cosmos from city to city and even to Mount Olympus to deliver himself to the dreams of his recipients? The wings were so robust, so legendary, and yet his flight was as silent as an owl’s, for what good were they if they woke his dreamers? 

Tonight, however, his wings were still. He had his scroll, his list of messages to deliver and beings to visit, but instead of rushing out of his gates to tend to his duties, he stood just past the lock to his Dream World. For the first time in his endless existence, he didn’t know where to go. 

His most important dreamer didn’t have a regular resting place. As far as Kíli knew, Helios traveled in his chariot all through the night, distributing his light around the universe. It would be impossible to pinpoint his exact location, never mind catch up with the soaring chariot. The only thing Kíli could do was wait to be summoned.

Still, Kíli couldn’t even be sure Helios would be able to dream, or even sleep for that matter. His poppies worked wonders on ailing humans, but he’d never offered one to a god before. It was forbidden by Zues. As was his and Helios’ affair. He knew they were treading a very dangerous path.

Usually, Kíli would be terrified of Zues. He would hide in the shadows of his Dream World, only emerging from it to take orders from the King of the Gods. He’d take his notes with his head down and wings wilted, never quite looking the Maker of Thunder in the eye. Every interaction made him quiver down to his soles.

Now, however, with Helios in his sights, he wasn’t scared. It was as if he had a secret weapon that left him powerful and fearless against anyone who stood in the way of him finding his very own Sun. Nothing mattered beyond his One who glowed and lit up the sky, bringing hope to all in his domain. Kíli felt that now.

So he stood at his gates, daring Zues to threaten him or his love and hoping with every inch of himself that his poppy would work. He waited for Helios’ call.

He closed his eyes to listen.

The wind rustled in the grass and tickled his feet. A cat yowled in the dark. The warm stuffy silence of night muddled his mind. 

Then all was clear. When he opened his eyes, Helios was in his arms, asleep.

His plan had worked.

As expected, the Sun God was warm. Kíli had felt this kind of residual heat before when he entered the dreams of sleeping humans who were wrapped up in too many quilts during the night. However, this kind of warmth wasn’t so oppressive. Instead, it was a balmy comfort that washed over his lap and up his arms. Kíli, the God of Dreams who only came out at night, was feeling the Sun for the first time.

Meanwhile, Helios, who never slept and never left his post, conquered his fears and did so for Kíli. He was peaceful. The poppy had worked and it had given him rest. That knowledge only added to the rush Kíli was feeling in his chest as he pulled Helios closer, protecting him, lest he regret placing his trust in his Dark One. 

Though Helios was not shining, not even glowing, Kíli was still stunned by his beauty. It wasn’t dull or dimmed in the night, but magnified. This close and without his rays, Kíli could see his true beauty- the lines in his lips from his own heat and those around his eyes left by his gleaming grin. Even now, in sleep, Helios smiled and Kíli didn’t miss the dimples in his cheeks and how the left one was deep enough to cradle the tip of his forefinger. 

Kíli took this chance to touch the god, not to take advantage of him, but to appreciate him while there was time to be had, while he was unwatched. He ran his fingers through the silky golden hair, down the strong neck and over the proud, smooth shoulders. It electrified him like the night air never could. Then, after what felt like hours of staring and contemplation, Kíli even dared to kiss his Sun’s head. His lips lingered over the warm skin as he held Helios tight to his chest.

With that, Helios sighed. “Where am I?” he asked, working to focus his gaze on the one above him.

       “You are in the arms of Morpheus,” Kíli said, smiling down on him. “Which is to say, you are asleep.”

       “Morpheus.” Helios wriggled closer, wrapping his arms around any part of Kíli he could reach. “If this is a dream, then let it never end. There’s nowhere else I wish to be.”

Kíli hummed. “You’ve come over to the dark side then, hm?”

       “If that’s where you are, yes. I’ll follow you there.”

Like most things in the world of the gods, Kíli’s flowers affected all beings differently. He was happy enough that Helios had fallen asleep at all, so he couldn’t blame the virgin dreamer for his honeyed state. If Kíli was honest with himself, he didn’t at all mind his Sun’s sweet words, though he knew they were coaxed out by the power of his poppy.

Helios sighed again. “I’d follow you anywhere.”

       “You’re quite the romantic in your dreams,” Kíli said.

Helios grinned. It was bright enough to make Kíli’s heart soar, but not to blind him as it had when they shared the sky. 

       “Have I won you over, then?” Helios asked.

       “Do you think I’d risk my life just to speak with you if you hadn’t already?”

       “Twice!” Helios said with a wagging finger. “You did it twice.”

       “Yes, I did. And I’ll do it again every morning hence if it will allow me the privilege of holding you again.”

The Sun God let his head flop on Kíli’s arm. “Now who’s playing the romantic?”

Kíli would do anything to see those blue eyes more clearly, but as Helios talked on, his lids fluttered shut, lashes feathering against his cheeks.

       “I must have- had too much of the poppy. I did as you said, but the first… it didn’t do anything. I needed to see you, so I...” He laughed. “And now I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

Kíli caressed his cheek. “It’s all right. You can relax, I’ll be here.”

Immediately, the Sun turned to sand in Kíli’s arms, burying his forehead in his Dark One’s chest. Again, Kíli felt immeasurable pride. One of the most important beings in the cosmos allowed himself to be cradled and cared for by him. It made him return to his earlier wishes of wanting the night to last forever.

       “Morpheus-”

       “Call me Kíli.” He smoothed the line between Helios’ brows with his thumb as he explained, “It’s the name my mother gave me. Only when Zues gave me the Oneiroi, did he give me the name Morpheus as well.”

       “But that’s not who you are.”

       “No.”

Helios said his name. His real name. A lazy tongue flicked its way through the consonants and soft lips curled around the sounds with a smile. Then Helios said it again. “Kíli.” He leaned into Kíli’s night-cool touch that grazed the rounds of his golden cheeks and the cliffs of his thick brow. It rumpled as he said, “I don’t remember a time when I didn’t empower the sun. I’ve always been in the sky. Alone.”

       “Not anymore,” Kíli said.

Helios hummed and sighed and sank further into Kíli’s arms as if the disease of his loneliness- an ailment he never knew he had- was cured irrevocably. “Kíli. If you are Kíli, then I must be someone as well. Give me a name, Kíli.”

       “Your name is perfect just the way it is.”

He opened his eyes. “But it wasn’t given to me by anyone who matters.” For the first time, Helios reached up to Kíli and stroked his cheek. The touch was long overdue, but Kíli could forgive it because of the tenderness it evoked. He leaned into it, distantly listening as Helios continued. “Call me Fíli. Similar and yet opposite, just as we ourselves are. I’ll be your Fíli.”

Kíli snorted. “I should call you ‘Silly’ instead-”

He squeezed Kíli’s arm and chuckled. “Just give me this.”

Kíli wasn’t in a state to deny him anything. He’d fallen too far too quickly for such things. So he nodded.

       “Will you give me something else?”

       “Anything.”

Ever so gently, Helios- Fíli- led Kíli’s lips down to his own. Kíli gave him his kiss. In one moment everything between them changed. The cosmos parted and opened the way to a new universe of their own, one in which they could live in harmony and without fear, pain, or isolation. After millenia of giving- Fíli giving life and Kíli giving fantasy- they together stole it all for themselves. They gave each other the impossible. 

But Kíli felt himself begin to fade. 

Fíli held onto him like a stubborn serpent.

       “Don’t leave me,” Fíli said against his lips.

       “I won’t. It’s you who are leaving me.”

       “No.”

Kíli chuckled and his cool air blew over Fíli’s face, making him shiver. “It’s not your fault. You’re waking up.”

       “Stop me.”

       “I can’t. Not even you can slow the dawn. But we have forever now, Fíli.”

Fíli kissed him again. Even on the edge of his dream, the sun inside him was rising, leaving his flesh hot in Kíli’s arms. He would be untouchable in a matter of minutes.

       “Will you come to me again?”

       “Every night,” Kíli assured, risking his fingers to feel Fíli’s smoldering cheek once more. “And I will wait at my gates for you every morning.”

       “Not for too long, Kíli. I won’t have you scorching your wings again.”

       “You’re starting to sound more like yourself,” Kíli said with a scoff.

Fíli smiled. “I’m still your Fíli. And there’s still nowhere else I’d rather be than here in your arms. But you’re right, we both must go.” 

Yet Fíli’s only movement was to kiss his Dark One again. Then he watched until Kíli was a blur in the darkness.

Book VI

When Fíli opened his eyes, he was in his chariot. From the look of the waving blue mountains ahead, he could tell his nightly quest was about halfway through, meaning his trusted steed hadn’t even noticed his mind’s absence. After all, the horse knew the route as well as he did. It was an encouraging display that simultaneously left him bitter with disappointment. While it was made clear he’d be able to remain in Kíli’s Dream World for longer nights in the future, it only reminded him how short tonight’s visit had been.

He didn’t want to wait- not for the day to pass or even the night hours to fade before he could see his Dark One again from high above. But alas, even Zues himself suffered from such impatience for not even the King of the Gods could accelerate time. 

What did comfort Fíli, however, was Kíli’s love of the night. Though Fíli was bored by its boring darkness, his love- yes, his love- relished his freedom under the starry sky. It was his time to thrive. Fíli could imagine him, dream of him flying through the cosmos as he leaned back in the seat of his chariot. Maybe one night, the two would cross paths, he thought.

But when he wriggled down into his seat, something crunched. It set off a familiar smell. He reached up, startled to feel something in his own hair, and gently pulled at not one, but three poppies that were neatly tied and tangled together. Kíli must have left them in his golden waves just before he faded away from the dream. Rolling the stems in his fingers, Fíli smiled, bringing too high a dawn for the middle of the night. But he couldn’t help it. These were a promise from Kíli for more nights like this one in a universe of their own. 

They’d make a life for themselves in the short hours before dawn. Helios and Morpheus, known to only themselves as Fíli and Kíli, would love for eternity.

[queenjanai]

i got stuck after writing 4k of my fic where amaya, janai and her brother purify the sunforge together, and amaya and janai kiss for the first time there, and i haven’t published something for a while now so i decided to give you guys the first 3k words! i really hope you’ll like it, and i’ll really appreciate feedback or comments, it’s the first time i’m writing a really long one shot. enjoy!

Six weeks. Six weeks of darkness. Not complete darkness, thank the Sun, which still rose and fell each morning and each night. Still, the Sunforge was a constant reminder at the center of Lux Aurea, swirling with the hue of corruption, keeping the citizens sheltered inside their homes during the hours of light. 

Janai had a perfect view of her downfall from her chambers. Every evening, she sat at the center of her empty bed, gazing at the spot that used to shine during the darkest of nights, drifting children to sleep as their parents told them ancient stories and sang lullabies. Janai watched, clad in nothing but her nightgown, her armor hanged in her closet and her headpiece resting on top of her nightstand.

She refused every one of her advisors. She would not be crowned until the Sunforge was purified. She would not wear Khessa's crown, or move to her sleeping quarters. She had forbidden them all to call her Your Radiance. With a broken city and a throne she denied to sit upon, Janai regretted not listening more carefully during Khessa's meetings. Suddenly she was swarmed with paperwork and citizens requests and holding audiences and calculation of expenses. All of the things Kheesa knew how to handle by heart, while she was left wishing she could cut all of these problems with one swing of her sword.

Needless to say, she didn't get much sleep. Most of the nights, Janai stared at the canopy of her grand bed, wondering when the messages she had sent would arrive to the hands of Sunfire Mages, or pondering why the spells they had tried so far failed to work. Not pure enough, not the right time. Something was holding them back, and only the Sun knew what it was. She thought about her brother too, and her stomach clenched with guilt as the picture of him flooded her mind. She hadn't told him about the Sunforge yet. She hadn't told him about Khessa.

One night, after she dragged herself from her office once the candles began to die out, Janai came to the conclusion that maybe she was the problem. She threw the blanket away from herself, after hours of tossing back and forth, and stepped on the floor, her feet bare, to retrieve her sword. Torches flickered on the empty hallway, the castle so silent in this hour at night. Her destination was the balcony, the one closest to her room as well as the biggest. The coldness of the polished floor struck her in waves, but Janai didn't shiver. Instead, she continued her path forward, walking in isles she knew since the day she was born, and only stopped in front of one room. Not that far away from hers, but not on the outskirts of the castle either. A perfect place for her most cherished guest. Warmness spread across her cheeks at the sight of the closed door, much like any other door in the palace. Her hand clenched and loosened around the hilt of her sword, sparks flying at the tips of her fingers, but she turned away. She wouldn't wake Amaya to spar with her.

Amaya's first visit had been a surprise, despite the letter she had written her. Janai had sat in the room adjoined to her sleeping chamber, morning sunlight washing over her as she finished her cup of tea. It had been less than a week since the battle of the Storm Spire. She held the scroll with both of her hands, shifting it so the light would catch on the crimson wax seal, baring the uneven towers of Katolis. 

Golden Knight,

I am happy to announce that King Ezran's party has arrived safely back to Katolis. Thank you for escorting us to the border to avoid any further conflicts. We have taken the misformed soldiers and are working for a solution regarding their state. 

I've pulled most of my battalion from the Breach, as we agreed. A platoon awaits at the outpost and the new path into Xadia, to prevent infiltration from both sides. I've ordered my soldiers to interact with yours peacefully.

On a more personal note, if I may, I am sorry for the loss of your sister. The injustice Lord Viren had caused will not be left uncorrected, especially not after your aid and sacrifice. I would like to come to Lux Aurea and help - as a friend and not as a prisoner. I hope you are well.

I will be waiting for your response.

Warm regards,

General Amaya of the Standing Battalion.

Janai could not believe her eyes. Amaya certainly had her way with words. Prisoner had her smiling, and warm regards caused her to roll her eyes, despite her gloomy mood. She left her rooms feeling more cheerful than before, and Amaya's words echoed in her mind as she waited for a small window of time to write her back.

Amaya's second visit had been a miracle, as if Janai had been holding her breath until her arrival. She had waited for her at Lux Aurea's gates, along with two guards. Amaya was dressed in her usual General armor, silver and blue, with her shield at her back. Janai was so happy to see a familiar face.

Her third visit amazed her, and every time she arrived after. At first, she stayed only for half a day, rushing back to Katolis before the sun would set, but after the fifth visit or so Amaya stayed for the night, then the other. She had been in Janai's mind as she walked from one meeting to another, consulting with her advisors and asking for reports. She imagined Amaya didn't have much to do as Janai read papers and signed with her ink and quill. She came to her door each evening once her duties were done, and they shared a small supper or walked through the streets of Lux Aurea, but never too far from the castle. Janai didn't admit it out loud, though she was sure Amaya could spot it on her face, but she was wary of the city, and so were her soldiers, she told her in the first letter. Only a lucky portion of them won the prize of staying in the Breach instead of having to face the corrupted Sunforge. They paced through the courtyard between high trees and colorful bushes of flowers, and talked, and Janai's smile grew bigger with each step, and each sign she remembered correctly. Amaya would teach her between what spaces of the day she had, and even if she was mistaken it was even more pleasant when Amaya reached to correct the position of her fingers.

In her seventh visit, Amaya came riding her horse with a treasure Janai had almost forgotten about. The Sun staff. If Janai hadn't been so shocked she would have laughed at the irony. Six Primal Sources, the seventh one the humans discovered being dark magic, and Amaya came marching in holding the second thing that was stolen from Janai, not just her sister's life. The void of the Sun staff stood in contrast to every living thing, a dark spot among the bright light and shades of gold. Janai kept her eyes on Amaya as she dismounted, and Amaya gave her what was hers by right, wordlessly. Janai didn't ask. She locked the staff in her farthest closet, as if it was a caged animal. Every time she could sneak to her room, she'd open the wooden doors to find it still there. That day Amaya had introduced her to a pastry called jelly tarts, which the royal family of Katolis was very fond of. Janai took the little triangle-shaped cookie in her hand, the dough well baked and glazed at the corners, and the center was filled with a paste of poppy seeds. Amaya gazed at her with her best of behavior, which almost made Janai giggle, sitting with her hands held at her lap, waiting for Janai to be the first to eat. Janai bit at one of the corners, fearing to insult Amaya if the pastry wasn't to her taste, but trusting her judgment. It was delicious, she found out, and by the end of their talk they had finished a box that was meant for a week, well after Amaya would return to Katolis.

Janai woke up to the wind gently blowing on the lace curtains of her bed. The one at her feet tickled her whenever the breeze waned, and Janai pushed herself up to see the sunrise. Long strokes of yellow and soft pink brought Lux Aurea out of its sleep, coloring her room. She rubbed her sleep soaked eyes and moved the curtain aside, bracing herself for another day. Her hands were sore from the time she spent on the balcony last night- that wasn't so enjoyable. It did nothing to distract her, and fighting against an invisible enemy didn't sharpen her at the slightest. 

While she broke her fast with a first cup of herbal tea and a squeeze of lemon, Janai reached out to take one of the jelly tarts Amaya had brought. This time, they promised to ration themselves, and Janai had convinced Amaya to share the recipe with the cookers of the castle, if only as an excuse in case Amaya would forget to bring her own supply. The real reason was that Janai wanted to eat the cookies Amaya introduced her too even when she wasn't around, and to vary them with some of her liked flavors. Janai tilted her head back against the cushioned chair and savored the sweet flavor of the strawberry jam, taking in the serenity before her duties would catch up with her.

The morning council seemed to become duller with each passing day. Every morning she'd take her seat at the head of the table, and gaze at the faces of her advisors, tired of telling the same tales, and Janai knew they were tired of her stubbornness as well. 

"The final spells are being cast on the perimeter of Lux Aurea, as well as the main gate," one of her advisors said. She recognized him as Suri's deputy, though he was much younger than their late, royal Sunfire Mage. It was him she told, in a moment of frustration, to pick the less greedy Mage who would do their damn job.

All of her peacefulness left her body as soon as she arrived at the council hall. "How long will it take them? They've been casting spells for weeks now." It was the first sane decision Janai had commanded to be done. The citizens must have been getting weary of seeing Mages drawing protection runes so near their houses every day.

"Today is expected to be the last day," he said.

Janai settled in her chair. Her eyes burned from the lack of sleep, and there was nothing she desired more than to dismember this meeting and return to her chambers, to be alone. But no, not as long as the Sun still shined. 

"Golden Knight," spoke one of the ladies. She was only a few years younger than Janai, but smaller, with flowing brown hair and kind eyes. "I went to the city yesterday, and the citizens are worried because of the lack of reports."

There wasn't a lack of reports. Janai knew that an informer went from the castle into the center of the city, each day, to give status about the working being done and answer the people's requests. There was just nothing new to say. They might as well shout "Nothing is working yet."

"Tell them we're still searching for a solution. All of those with problems or needs are welcome to attend the weekly audience." It took all of her strength to keep her posture uptight. The lady nodded.

"Golden Knight, about the coronation-"

"No, I will not have it," Janai cut another one of them and stood up. All faces were drawn to her, frozen. "If there are no more pressing matters, you are dismissed."

All bowed to her, and Janai pushed herself from the seat in one swift move and passed her advisors by, the heels of her boots clicking against the polished floor. She had not changer her clothing, and still wore the same slit tunic with golden scales and pauldrons protecting her shoulders. A part of her longed to come back to the Breach, to sleep again among rivers of lava and smoke, on a hard ground instead of her room full of finery. 

Speaking of the Breach, she was headed to bid Amaya a good morning. A smile rose on her face without knowing as she walked by guards and maids and staff of the castle, all who crossed their arms together and greeted her, their smile more uncertain than hers. She couldn't blame them, a smile was a rare sight in Lux Aurea these days.

She arrived at Amaya's chamber, and raised her finger to the unlit torch beside the door. Fire engulfed her finger as her heat being seeped into her skin there, igniting her veins. The heat was enough, and within a second a small fire set the torch alight, as well as the torch inside the room. It was a little trick that was as old as the palace itself, and happened to serve Amaya just right.

The door opened, and with it came Amaya. "Good morning," she brought her hand down from her chin and laid the other as a horizontal line before bringing her left hand towards herself again. 

"Good morning," Amaya signed back, with a smile that indicated she woke up a short time ago. Janai followed her as Amaya stepped further into the room, her eyes drifting to her blue tunic with the uneven tower of Katolis sewn on the sleeves, and her black leather breeches. Two weeks ago Amaya had opened the door to her still dressed in her sleeping clothes, a set of soft pants and a tank top. The memory of Amaya's bare arms and the fading scars that decorated them hadn't left Janai yet. Amaya took a seat in one of the armchairs. "How was your morning meeting?"

Janai delayed on her hands, remembering the words for each sign. Perhaps to someone else, Amaya's slow movements would have been insulting, but Janai was grateful for her patience, and Amaya seemed to know exactly where to pick up her pace, with words Janai was already familiar with. "The same," she shrugged. "Did the scroll you received yesterday had good news?"

The corner of Amaya's lips tugged with a smile. "Just Opeli begging me to come back before Ezran brings the kingdom into dept with jelly tarts expenses," she made the letter O and pulled her hands over her head, as if donning a hood, for the name of their High Council Cleric.

Janai laughed, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, though her worries never strayed too far. There was still so much left to do, and the coronation... 

Amaya brought her back, but not to a kinder reality. "What about your brother?" She asked. Janai felt the color fading from her cheeks, then she reddened. "You've been avoiding him." She peeked just to see Amaya, her signs more careful than ever. 

"I-" Her voice trembled under Amaya's gaze. She took a deep breath, and straightened herself in the chair. "I don't know what to tell him. It has been too long." And it has. Once she had returned with the remains of Lux Aurea's forces from the Storm Spire, Janai marched to her room, dropped on her bed, buried her face in her hands, and stared at the floor. Ori hasn't left her thoughts since, every time she wrote with her ink and quill. Whenever she tried, she couldn't find the words to tell her brother Khessa was gone, and that their greatest pride had been corrupted. Every unfinished parchment was left crumbled on her desk.

"If there is no other way..." Amaya began, leaning over, the sunlight catching over her.

"I know," Janai cut her off. "I'll send him a message today."

Amaya nodded, a gentle and hopeful smile on her face, which Janai mirrored. She couldn't ignore the faint voice in her mind being so grateful that Amaya was there, as strong as an anchor. Janai knew she had grieved herself, for her sister, then for her brother-in-law. Janai refused to let it consume her, as difficult as it was. Not when her people needed guidance the most, not when Amaya was there.

Her brother deserved the truth too. Janai walked back to her office, and allowed every emotion to flood her, guilt and selfishness alike. She missed Ori more than she imagined, her little brother, so different from her and Khessa, with his kind eyes and everlasting grin. Hatred and suspicion had made Khessa hard, for Janai it was countless battles and pride, but Ori was left untouched. Their mother used to say that Ori was the most light-touched of them all.

She sat behind the desk, dark and made out of strong wood. Light washed the room, illuminating little practicals that floated through the air. Janai took a deep breath, the blank scroll laid before her, and dipped the quill in the vail of ink. 

Janai leaned back on her chair then, feeling as if a weight has been lifted from within her chest, and watched the ink dry. Her fingers traced the surface of the desk, thinking how much quicker she finished than expected. Searching for any missing words she might want to add, Janai's eyes drifted on the black against the soft yellow color of the page, but no. She pushed herself up and rolled the scroll, then sealed it with a patch of golden wax, the symbol of Lux Aurea pressed into it.

The message needed to get to her brother as soon as possible, fast than what an enchanted arrow could achieve. Janai reached and slid a drawer open, revealing a small red gem inside. Its facets glimmered in the light of the sun, and Janai closed her fist around it.

"Nuntius Ignis." Her words brought magic into life as the gemstone crushed under the force. She wasn't proficient in spells, but remembered some from lessons she took with Ori when they were younger. Khessa was excused from those lessons, while Janai half-listened to their tutor, wishing to practice with her sword, and Ori copied each word into his notebook with dripping enthusiasm. Shards of the gem dropped from her hand on top of the scroll, and ignited when they touched the paper. Soon enough, the entire scroll caught fire, the edges of the page turning black and crumbling. The fire went out, and her letter disappeared, leaving no trace but the faint smell of smoke in the room.

Janai got to her feet, let out a long-held breath, and went to continue her day.

[evabellasworld]

Death of Mandalore

Chapter 19

AO3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

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Summary:  After murdering Chancellor Palpatine of the Galactic Republic, Vanya Doyvesky joined leagues with both Death Watch and Darth Maul, hoping to reclaim her Mandalorian warrior heritage. But with broken promises and betrayal against Death Watch and Maul’s crime syndicate, the former Mandalorian Jedi had to choose the right path not only for her but for Clan Doyvesky as well.

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Peeking behind the door, Vanya noticed the corridors were all clear, turning to Katrina and Maria. Though there was nothing but furniture that stood there, along with paintings that were hanging on the walls, she sensed something was amiss.

“Looks like the coast is clear, for now,” she notified underneath her breath. “But we’ll have to proceed with caution, just in case.”

“Alright,” Katrina bobbed her head as they tiptoed in the hallways, without making a single sound. Her lips were shut as she peered left and right, praying that no one was watching every single movement. Maria did the same as well, her hands were placed on top of her utility belt.

Instead of the shorter route towards the hangar, Vanya had decided to take the long way, since there were no guards patrolling. She assumed that Maria was absent-minded to not assign anyone to police the same route they were taking, but now, she is thankful that they could escape from the tyranny of the two brothers.

In a few hours, she would be a free woman. Free from the Jedi Order, free from Death Watch, free from Maul, and free from the Force. All these while, she was bound to the rules, where she had to sacrifice parts of herself in order to please everyone around her. She misses Lira and Obi-Wan, who were her whole universe. With one dead and the other one walking away, she is all alone in her journey, except for her family, Mama, Papa, Katrina, Maria, Alejandro, Estella, Marsha, and Sergei.

“So Vanya,” Katrina whispered. “Where are we going? What are we going to do after we leave this planet?”

“Well, we’re picking up Mama and Papa from our house, and then we depart to Coruscant to pick up a friend of mine,” she put into words. “And after that, we head to the Outer Rim Territories, where the Empire nor Maul have any jurisdiction at all.”

“Oh, who is that friend of yours?” Katrina dimpled, covering her mouth.

“Her name is Sohee,” her cheeks turned pink. “She’s another close friend of mine, and I’m planning to take her with us since Coruscant isn’t a safe place to live anymore.”

“Are you sure she’s a close friend of yours?” Maria crossed her arms. “Judging by the way you mentioned her name, it seems that you both are more than just close friends.”

Vanya rolled her eyes. “Whatever, just don’t embarrass me in front of her.”

“Oh, we won’t embarrass you in front of your friend,” the youngest Doyvesky emphasised, chortling to herself. “Besides, I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to see you again.”

Shielding her face with her hands, Vanya ignored her sister’s tease when she heard footsteps from afar, widening her eyes. “Guys, someone’s coming,” she warned them, dragging them behind one of the pillars. All three of them were huddled together as they eyed the commando, who had a weapon in his grip.

“I thought you said that this area is clear,” Katrina narrowed her eyes at Vanya.

“It was, actually,” she replied, in a flat tone. “Until this guy showed up. I mean, shouldn’t he be guarding elsewhere, Maria?”

“Yeah, he was supposed to guard the other side of the palace,” Maria lifted her shoulders. “Then again, maybe the orders must have changed without notifying me or something.”

“So what do we do?” Katrina huffed. “We can’t just sit here forever. Maul and Almec will be suspicious if we’re gone for too long.”

Taking a deep breath, Vanya closed her eyes and reached out to the Force as the guard slowly approached their hiding spot. Then, a loud clank was heard from afar, prompting him to head towards the sound. Maria took a peek and breathed in relief as the coast was finally clear. “Thank goodness he’s gone,” she wiped the top of her helmet. “Now can we go? Mama and Papa must be worried sick at home.”

Vanya bobbed her head. “You’re right, we should go before sunrise,” she acknowledged, pacing hastily at the corridors. “We don’t have much time on our side.”

Katrina and Maria tailed behind her as their hearts were drumming, feeling as if a thousand eyes were staring at them, waiting for them to fall like a helpless prey. Once a place of peace, Mandalore is now a lion’s den for the three of them, where they could no longer thrive like they used to.

As they reached the door that leads to the hangar, they were both in glee as Vanya worked on the control panels while they watched her back. In a few seconds, they will no longer be associated with Death Watch or Maul, just Clan Doyvesky. None of them wish to leave their homes, but there were no other choices.

The hangar bay unlocked and there it was, an unused Kom'rk-class fighter/transport parked in front of them. Vanya’s eyes crinkled as she and her sisters ran towards the ship, without even looking back. As the three sisters were about to board the ship, the former Jedi felt an icy presence surrounding her, making her freeze on the spot.

“Vanya, why are you standing there?” Maria asked, noticing her strange behaviour. “Is everything alright?”

Her lips tremored. “I sense a disturbance in the Force,” she fumbled for words, as she turned around and saw Maul and Savage stood there, their yellowish eyes staring into her soul. “Leaving so soon, Master Jedi?”

Shielding both Katrina and Maria who was behind her, she gazed at them icily, her hands reaching for her lightsaber behind her dress. “We don't need you anymore,” spat Vanya. “After reaching our final decision, the alliance between Clan Doyvesky and Shadow Collective has expired, effective immediately.”

“After everything we have done for you?” he invoked a question. “And you're just going to leave us when we were this close into achieving greatness together? Clearly, you’ve lost your marbles, Master Doyvesky.”

“You've done nothing but manipulate me into fighting by your side. You've got my sister killed, you've broken my friendship with Obi-Wan, and you murdered the Duchess in cold blood. You don't deserve the throne, let alone rule Mandalore.”

“It seems that you’re forgetting what had actually happened earlier,” Maul stepped closer to her, prompting her to grab both her sister's hands. “From what I recalled, Vizsla not only murder Vasilia, but also thrown all of you in jail. If my brother and I didn't free you from your chains, you wouldn't be standing here today, Master Jedi.”

“Regardless of what you want me to think, I'm taking my sister's to a safer place, where we don't have to do your dirty work anymore,” asserted Vanya. “I will not tolerate whatever you’re bullshitting me and I don’t want anything to do with you or the Shadow Collective anymore.”

As she turned around and headed inside the ship, only to be dragged by the brothers from both Katrina and Maria's arms. “Ori'vod!” Maria cried as she was about to charge towards them, only to be stopped by Katrina, who was shaking her head.

Releasing herself from their clutches, she drew her lightsaber while the brothers did the same with their double-bladed swords. Noticing that her sister is outmatched, Maria tossed her beskar spear towards her. “Vanya, catch.”

Catching the spear with her left arm, she thanked her as she faced Maul and Savage in front of her, letting them squeal through their throats. “I have enough of your lies, and you will pay for your treachery against me.”

As she let them go, Maul and Savage panted as they held their ribs, growling at her. Readying their weapons, they bolted at her. Vanya grazed the floor with her right arm and blocked their attacks from both sides, before releasing them from her stronghold.

Savage was the first to break her grip and used the Force to push her, but she managed to thrust him back when Maul dashed towards her. Taking advantage of the situation, Savage struck her on the ground with his horns, leaving a small drop of blood on her dress.

Letting out a cackle, Vanya tugged the younger brother into her position, before shoving him towards the wall, leaving a tiny crack. Their weapons then collided as she deflected their blows,  grazing her left cheek. Feeling her wound with her fingertips, she smirked as she turned to Maul and pounded him at a nearby starfighter, decking him out.

With only her and Savage left standing, he got onto his knees as he swung his red blades towards her, prompting Vanya to avoid his assaults. Igniting her lightsaber and her spear, she blocked his strikes as he roared at her, attempting to exert her backwards. She propelled from his gripe and cornered him at a dead end, jabbing his eyes with her spear.

Rubbing his eyes, he was about to guard himself when Vanya quickly stabbed him on his chest, causing smokes of green to release from his body. “Brother!” Maul exclaimed, as he regained his consciousness and rushed to his side, holding his hands.

“Brother,” Savage croaked, looking at him for one last time. “I am an unworthy apprentice. I'm not like you. I never was.”

He bared his teeth as Vanya paced towards him, with a wide smile painted on her face. “Now you know how Obi-Wan felt when you impaled Satine in your own arms,” she sneered, pointing her lightsaber at his neck. “And now, you will feel his pain that you made him go through in the throne room.”

He yelled at the top of his lungs as he charged towards her, clashing his weapons with hers. Katrina and Maria's teeth chattered as they watched their older sister brawl viciously with the Sith Lord, hoping that she would make it out alive.

Ramming Maul towards the ground, Vanya raised her weapon in the air when the former sprung up and impaled her on the torso, much to her surprise. Both her lightsaber and spear slipped from her arms as she fell onto her knees, her mouth wide opened. Maul gleamed as he leaned closer to her ears. “History will always remember you as a traitor to Mandalore, and the Republic.”

Falling on the floor, she gasped as she saw Katrina and Maria from a distance, tears flowing from her eyes. Her dreams had shattered in front of her whimpering eyes. Her dreams to be free from the strings that controlled her were gone. Her dreams to start a family with Sohee were gone. Her dreams to reunite with Mama and Papa were gone. Everything she had was taken away from her, though Vanya knows that she deserved her shortcomings. I'm sorry, vod. I'm a failure to not only my clan, but to my best friend and my ad’ika.

“We have to go now,” Katrina sniffled as she closed the ship door, and soared in the air. Maria sat on the floor as she stared at the door, her arms wrapped around herself.

[gameofthrones-fam]

Trust.

Summary: As honored as Daenerys was to reign as the new queen, she would have appreciated it had someone warned her that it meant getting little to no rest. Thankfully, her loyal knight was always there - ready to stay by her side through the long, sleepless nights.

Pairing: Jorah Mormont & Daenerys Targaryen

Word Count: 3.4k

Disclaimer: I don’t own Game of Thrones!

Daenerys knew that being a queen demanded sacrifice.

It demanded a sacrifice of her entire self - her privacy, her ambitions, her personal desires - all to help the people that she swore to serve. It was a sacrifice she had anticipated, and one she was willing to make in the name of the greater good.

What she did not anticipate, however, was the fact that being a queen required a great sacrifice of time as well. More specifically, the time she had previously allotted for rest and recuperation.

The silver queen muffled a yawn.

She knew she had no one to blame but herself. She had not gotten a wink of sleep since her reign had begun - but then again, no other ruler in Westeros had instigated changes as drastic as hers.

The sleepless nights had begun when she decided to reveal the truth of Jon’s heritage to the public. Daenerys knew that such valuable information would spread whether she wished it to or not, and she refused to spend her days living in fear of its discovery. She knew full well that in doing so, her own claim would come into question, but she also knew that the law was not as clear cut as others made it to be. There were other people who could claim the throne as their birthright, and Daenerys had enough strength to know that her claim did not rest solely upon the blood in her veins. Her bloodline could possibly grant her the throne, but whether or not she would be able to keep it was another matter entirely.

To truly win the throne, she knew she had to win the hearts of the people who followed it.

And so she spent yet another sleepless night, preparing the words she wished to say to the lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms, that would ultimately determine the fate of her odyssey. When morning finally came, she walked into the Dragon Pit - tall, proud, and every bit the queen she knew she was - not as Daenerys Targaryen, but as Daenerys Stormborn.

With the fire of conviction burning bright in her eyes, her voice was strong and clear as she spoke the words that rang true in her heart.

She spoke of her story: of coming to Westeros with the intention to break the wheel - not to simply put it back in its place with her family on top. She echoed the words she'd spoken at Dragonstone: that she had come to save this country, not to conquer it; that she was not the same as the Targaryens before her. She spoke of her plan to destroy the Iron Throne, and to offer sovereignty to the kingdoms who wished for it - leaders no longer forced to submit to a tyrant's dominion. She spoke of rulers being chosen rather than born - of merit outweighing birth and bloodlines - and spoke of a realm that was ruled by the one deemed the most worthy.

She spoke of a new Westeros - a better Westeros - sovereign yet unified. Where kingdoms seeking independence could choose their own leaders and make their own laws, but were all checked and balanced to safeguard the peace.

And at the end of it all, she told them the age-old story - their age-old story - of death and bloodshed and war and conquest, before painting the picture of the peaceful world she knew they could create; they needed only follow her.

It was a radical decision; a risk, she knew - but it was also a necessary one.

And when her tale finished and the nomination was raised, the ayes of agreement to proclaim her as Queen of the Six Kingdoms rang loudly in the courtyard.

She had hoped, then, that it was finally finished, and that sleepless nights were things of the past. Alas, it was not to be; councils, concerns and urgent documents made sure of it. But to this, she would not complain. This was what she had fought for - the chance to leave this world better than she found it - and she was thankful for the opportunity to do so.

She was even more thankful that, though it all, she had not been alone. At the thought, a small smile graced the queen's lips, as she finally raised her eyes to the man in question.

There, sitting before her, was Ser Jorah Mormont.

His rugged features were bathed in the warm glow of her study's hearth, the firelight shining in his hair and dyeing the stands a russet gold. From where she sat, she could see the furrow in his brow as he scanned a piece of parchment - cerulean eyes focused intently on the trading contract in hand.

She saw him read the same line twice - thrice - before he blinked the drowsiness from his eyes, and tried his best to muffle a yawn.

Daenerys allowed herself an amused smile; this sight was certainly familiar to her. After all, it had been Jorah who had stayed with her on those long, sleepless nights, advising her on which course of action to take.

It had been Jorah who suggested that she reveal Jon's heritage, and had argued the proposition when she met it with incredulity. Through the night, he had explained the inevitability of the secret's discovery - of the consequences it would incur when it finally came to light. He told her of the complexities of the law she relied on - of varying claims, of dynasties, of Baratheons, and of Targaryens - before telling her that blood alone would not win the loyalty of the people she wished to rule.

Jorah had been the one to convince her that to bring about the change she sought - to well and truly break the wheel - she first had to earn the trust of her people. And he had been the one to convince her that she was capable of winning their hearts. It was his unwavering belief in her that had emboldened her to reveal Jon's heritage to the public - and days later - it was this same belief that gave her the strength to argue her own worthiness to rule.

It was important to note, however, that her council was not limited to the knight, alone. There were others who had advised her in the most crucial of times - a certain Lannister being the first to come to mind.

It was true that Tyrion aided her in many things - both he and Jorah had been instrumental in convincing her to offer the kingdoms their independence, despite her initial uncertainty. From sunset to sunrise, her knight and her Hand had argued that kingdoms seeking sovereignty - particularly, the North - would sooner fight to the last man than bend the knee, and that to go to war with them would do nothing to accomplish the change she wished for. Alternatively, it was Tyrion who had claimed that an offer of independence would be instrumental in forging a strong alliance, that would in turn help bring about her intended reforms.

They had debated over the matter back and forth, that evening - but while her Hand did join them in discussion until the wee hours of dawn, it was Jorah who had steadfastly refused to leave her side, regardless of his own need for rest.

And even now, Daenerys could see the same stubbornness in her knight’s eyes, as he set his jaw and studied the documents with a dogged sort of determination.

She shook her head almost fondly at his expression.

“Are you all right, Ser Jorah?” she asked, and immediately, the Lord Commander of her Queensguard snapped to attention. She continued with an amused twitch of her lips, "You may retire for the evening, should you wish to, Ser. I am more than capable of finishing these trade negotiations myself.”

The knight’s prompt response, however, was to shake his head and rub the sleep from his eyes, even as his eyelids drooped.

“I'm quite all right, Khaleesi, thank you,” he said - and while Daenerys supposed he meant to reassure her, it was difficult to be convinced when he spoke the words around a yawn. Ever the warrior, Jorah forged on, “I know you're perfectly capable of reviewing the contracts yourself, my Queen, but I should still like to help you if I can.”

It was the same reply he always gave her when she offered to dismiss him for the night, and at the familiar words, Daenerys smiled. There was no point in arguing with him - that much she knew. Her knight was as stubborn as they came, and he would undoubtedly think it a travesty that he should be able to rest, while his queen toiled through the night. He would forego sleep for a fortnight if he had to - Daenerys knew she needed only ask - battling his exhaustion and his fatigue through sheer force of will; ever determined to stay by her side.

‘Loyal and steadfast, no matter the circumstance.'

The observation was a simple one, but it made something warm and tender bloom in her heart, regardless. Daenerys allowed the warmth to color her tone as she began to speak once more,

"Very well,” she said, inclining her head in acquiesce. "Though I must insist we both retire at a more reasonable hour tomorrow evening, Ser. It wouldn’t do the kingdom well to have both its Queen and its Lord Commander swaying where they stand.”

Her purposeful allusion to his house words did not go unnoticed, and at the reference, Jorah huffed out a chuckle - a smile on his lips as he dipped his head in a bow.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

The words of agreement saw the matter resolved, and with nothing left for them to discuss, Daenerys decided it was time she returned to the papers that begged her attention. She gifted her knight with one final smile, before turning back to the contracts that awaited her approval. When she heard the sound of shuffling pages, she knew that her advisor had resumed his review as well.

And as a quiet hush settled on the room - easy and familiar to both the queen and her knight - the pair fell into a warm, comfortable silence.

A silence that the both of them had come to treasure, over the course of these long, sleepless nights.

It was almost ironic, Daenerys supposed, how this silence could speak volumes; how they could understand what the other wished to express in these moments, with nary a word between them. It was almost like a language, she would say - a language that they had created, and that only they could ever hope to understand. Their dialect was spoken - not in vowels or in consonants - but in the quiet crackle of the hearth, and in the soft rustle of their papers. She could hear the words in the warm glow of the firelight - in the calmness that washed over them, and in the assurance her knight's presence always seemed to provide. Their syntax was as clear to her as the scent of parchment in her nose, and its meaning just as audible as the gentle scratching of their quills. Theirs was a language that required neither the harshness of a brogue, nor the speed of rapid diction. It was much kinder - gentler - spoken at its own, unrushed pace, with a rhythm that fell in time to the cadence of their own breathing.

And it was in these quiet moments - so far removed from the hectic rush that characterized their days - that the queen and her knight found peace and contentment, simply by being in each other's presence.

And truly, everything was perfect.

...Or at least it had been, when suddenly-

*THUMP*

Daenerys jumped a foot in her seat, startled by the sudden noise that broke her from her reverie. Her eyes immediately snapped up to the source of the sound - half-expecting to see Jorah already up and alert - ready to defend his queen from the imminent danger. Perhaps she had expected to see a spy or an assassin - perhaps she had hoped it was merely a tome that had fallen to the floor.

Whatever it was that she had been expecting, it was nothing compared to the sight that finally met her eyes.

Because lying there - with his head on the table of his queen's private study - was Ser Jorah Mormont, already asleep and snoring softly.

Daenerys had to blink to make sure this was no illusion.

When the truth of the situation finally washed over her, she couldn’t help the smile that found its way to her lips - the expression equally fond and amused. It seemed that her knight - her loyal, steadfast, stubborn knight - had finally succumbed to his body’s need for rest and recuperation.

It was a foreign sight to the young woman. Ser Jorah had always been the one to stand guard and watch over her as she slept - always taking up the role of protector to his queen and her group. He had stood watch over their camp during their days in the Red Waste, and had patrolled the halls of Meereen and Dragonstone during the nights of her reign.

Thinking about it now, Daenerys noted with surprise that she had never seen her knight asleep before. Yes, she had stayed by his side as he recovered from near-fatal injuries - a memory she didn’t care to dwell on, for the grief it caused her heart - but his slumber then had been neither restful nor easy. He had been fighting off both blood loss and infection those awful nights - a fever perpetually raging under his skin as he fought to survive. His labored breaths, then, had been quick and shallow - his brow always furrowed and his face knotted in pain. Even in his unconscious state, she had seen his pain so, so clearly, and her heart had shattered at the sight of it.

But now... now her knight looked peaceful. He looked calmer - younger - the lines of worry on his face, smoothened over in the restfulness of sleep. Daenerys could hear his quiet breathing settle - evening out as it deepened in his slumber - his chest rising and falling with each gentle breath.

This was a side of him she had never been privy to - and for the first time in all the years she had known him, her bravest, most courageous knight looked vulnerable and unguarded.

And Daenerys' heart couldn’t help but warm tenderly at the sight.

A few moments passed as the silver queen pondered on which course of action to take - unsure of what to do with her now-slumbering advisor. She knew she could simply leave him be and allow him a few more hours of rest, but his current position did not look the least bit comfortable. He would never voice his discomfort come daybreak, Daenerys was certain, but she would prefer to spare her Lord Commander a sore neck and aching back if she could help it. A bed was undoubtedly the best option for her knight - but between his frame of six feet and the distance to his chambers - the queen doubted she would be able to get him there without requiring his awareness and assistance.

And that, of course, was out of the question.

Daenerys knew that Jorah would be mortified to be woken up by his queen - quickly realizing that he had fallen asleep in her presence, despite his most valiant efforts. Her suggestion that he rest would surely go unheeded, and he would then be even more determined to deny his body the sleep that it was yearning for. Daenerys knew her knight well - and she knew that he would fight to stay awake in a misguided attempt at penance - robbing him of rest once more.

And so, she could not wake him - she would not. Perhaps it was sentimentality speaking, but a part of her was unwilling to do so from the very beginning.

Wracking her mind for a solution, Daenerys almost missed the small movement in the corner of her eye. The motion was near-imperceptible - but as she took the time to properly observe her knight, she could now see the fine tremors that shook his body. It only took a moment for the queen to realize what the shivers meant - the conclusion clear and simple: Ser Jorah Mormont was cold.

He was sat farther away from the warm hearth in her study, and coupled with the fact that its flame was now dwindling, Daenerys began to notice the chill that hung in the air. She had always assumed that her advisor’s Northern blood made him immune to the frigid weather - but that, apparently, was not the case. She was sure his exhaustion did not help matters, either.

And so as quietly as she could manage, Daenerys made her way to her desk and rummaged through its many drawers, before finally finding the blanket she kept for her personal use. She had taken to stashing it in her study to use on cold winter nights, and now, she was thankful for the useful habit. She unfolded the fabric before gently draping it across her knight - perching it securely upon his shoulders to ensure it would stay in place.

She still didn't know how to fashion a cushion for his head, but luckily enough, the solution presented itself when she spied one of her cloaks hanging on the rack by the door. The queen folded the article into an amply-sized bundle - but then she paused in her movements, unsure of how to proceed. She knew that lifting Ser Jorah’s head ran the very high risk of rousing him, but she couldn’t simply leave him to sleep on the unforgiving wood. At a loss for what to do, Daenerys simply nudged the pillow towards the slumbering man’s head, and prayed that her knight understood her intent.

Astonishingly enough, it seemed that even Jorah’s subconscious was incapable of refusing his queen's command. Not a moment later, the Mormont instinctively shifted towards the makeshift cushion, before he settled his head on the plush surface with a quiet sigh.

To this, the young woman smiled - satisfied with her work. She took a few more moments to simply observe the man as he slumbered on - watching as her knight - her friend - sunk deeper into sleep’s calm embrace.

Because that was what he was to her, was it not? Jorah was her dearest friend - the person she trusted most in all the world.

She knew she rarely vocalized it - perhaps she had only mentioned it to him on one or two occasions - but that fact and its truth was not something she called into question. There was no one else she trusted quite as readily - no one else she allowed to witness her moments of weakness and vulnerability. Yes, he had betrayed her many years ago - but she had long-since learned to understand the circumstances surrounding his actions, and he had more than convinced her of his loyalty.

And beyond the shadow of a doubt, there was no one in this world who protected her quite as fiercely - so ready to give his life just to ensure that she would live.

So to have this opportunity - to see her knight so vulnerable and unguarded - to be the protector rather than the protected…

It would not be a stretch to say that she was grateful.

Allowing herself a rare gesture of affection, Daenerys gently swept the stray hairs from her dear friend’s forehead, before tucking the strands behind his ear. As if to reply, Jorah sleepily buried his face deeper into his pillow - a quiet sigh of contentment passing his lips.

Daenerys smiled, then - warm and sincere.

It was silly, she realized now - to believe that she had never told Ser Jorah how much she valued his presence. Yes, she was not in the habit of vocalizing it or saying it in so many words - but that fact did not matter now, did it? What use were words, really, when their language did not require it? When a mere glance or a touch communicated more?

Perhaps no one else would ever truly understand - but that was a matter she did not need to concern herself with.

No, not now. Not tonight.

Making her way back to her seat, Daenerys spared her dear friend one final glance, before she took a number of papers in hand - ready to continue the long, sleepless night.

At the thought, the young queen laughed quietly.

Well. Perhaps not so sleepless after all.

A/N: Hi everyone! So this fic is the official set-up for my new GoT AU! I tried to fit in the really important info for the AU in this fic, and I really hope it turned out okay! This series will be a set of interconnected oneshots, which will explore Dany's reign with Jorah by her side.

But before anything, I just wanna give a huge thanks to @exultedshores for helping me a whole lot with constructing my AU, and for inspiring a lot of its parts! I really couldn’t have done it without you! Another shoutout to @lord-turnip, whose fics inspired a lot of parts of this AU!

Also, for a fun fact: this fic is called "Trust." for two reasons! A) It's because I plan for this series to have quotes for titles, and I couldn't think of any quotes that fit well - but they did have a discussion on trust! and B) It's because the story revolves around the trust that they share! Dany trusted Jorah's advice at the start of her reign, and Jorah in turn trusted Dany to be unguarded in her presence!

I hope you all enjoyed it! As always, if you have any opinions or constructive criticism, I would be more than open to hear it, as all feedback is loved and treasured! Also, please feel free to drop and ask or message! I'd love to get to know all of you more!

I also posted this fanfic on AO3! Here’s the link!

Thank you all again and I hope you all have a wonderful day!

[sage-nebula]

The Dragon Prince - 1x02 “What Is Done”

Next up in my pre-s2 rewatch of The Dragon Prince is the second episode. Thoughts, observations, and analyses beneath the cut.

--- “We’ll be stronger as five.” A first-time viewing would lead someone to think that Runaan means it when he says this, that he honestly believes that Rayla would only get in the way, and therefore that she should stay behind. But knowing what we know about Runaan’s and Rayla’s relationship (that he raised her, sees her as a daughter to him, et cetera), I think it’s more accurate to say that he’s saying this as an excuse for her to remain in safety. In the first episode Runaan tells Rayla that since they have the element of surprise, they should be able to complete the mission with no sacrifices. Now they don’t have the element of surprise anymore, and Runaan knows that Rayla doesn’t have it in her to kill. He’s not leaving her behind because he thinks she’s a liability, but because he’s afraid the human soldiers would kill her, and honestly I don’t think he’s wrong.

--- This is made even more evident by how he puts Rayla in Time Out to make her stay out of the way. Runaan uses a variation of SuperNanny’s Naughty Spot Technique™ when he puts Rayla in Time Out, meaning that he explains to her why he’s putting her on the rock, tells her she’s not to move from it until sunrise (it’s supposed to be one minute for every year of age, but hey), and then walks away. This is such a parental thing to do, rather than a commanding officer thing to do. It’s more than evident that he wants to keep her out of danger. Unfortunately, Rayla has other plans . . .

--- This is the least organized library I have ever seen in my life. How does anyone find anything in it??

--- They wouldn’t show us this cover for this long unless it was important. And by “it,” I mean the author’s name. I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be D. GIEHL or D.GIF.HL, but either way, I have a feeling that we wouldn’t have a lingering shot on a book with an author’s name included if that name wasn’t going to be relevant later. We’ll want to keep it in mind moving forward.

--- “Adorable” isn’t really a word you use to describe someone you’re attracted to. Callum blushes because he has a crush on Claudia and that’s a compliment, but it’s . . . not really a compliment you use in a way meaning “attractive.” If Claudia had said “cute” that would be one thing, because you can call attractive people cute. But “adorable” is reserved for animals and kids. Claudia’s only about a year and a half older than Callum, I think, but I’ve got a feeling she feels that year and a half more than he does.

--- That first conversation Harrow and Viren have about dark magic . . .

Viren: “Harrow, don’t give up just yet. Claudia and I are still searching for a . . . creative solution.”

Harrow: “Call it what it is: dark magic.”

Viren: “. . . Yes.”

Harrow: “I’ve spent years going along with these ‘creative solutions,’ and where has it gotten me?”

Viren: “I don’t understand.”

Harrow: “I know you don’t. Leave me.”

Harrow sounds so sad when he says “I know you don’t.” He closes his eyes, as if he’s finally allowing himself to accept this. I wrote a short piece a few days ago about how Harrow never wanted to admit just how far down Viren was sliding with dark magic, that he knew it but never wanted to admit it because he valued and cherished Viren as his childhood friend. I feel like the sadness in Harrow’s “I know you don’t” validates that piece oh so much.

--- The guard who summons Callum for his talk with Harrow calls him “PRINCE Callum,” so it seems that at least the other guards have no problem addressing Callum as Harrow’s son, even if Soren has that hang-up. (Also, the fact that Callum seems to think he’d get in trouble for Ezran running off . . . you’re not your brother’s keeper to that extent, Callum.)

--- Rayla has insane upper body strength to climb the mountain and castle the way she does. And she just gets right up again afterward! Like she takes a minute to catch her breath, but otherwise she’s on her feet. I hope we get a scene where she carries Callum while running at some point, I truly do.

--- The entire goddamn scene between Harrow and Callum in the throne room breaks my heart.

For starters, we get Harrow calling Callum “Prince Callum,” and I think the reason why he did this is because he wanted to lead into the fact that he views Callum as his son, not his stepson. But this backfires; Callum in return addresses Harrow as “my king” and bows, and Harrow’s face when Callum does this: 

He starts out the “No, I . . .” while looking at Callum, and then he looks away, so downcast, because he knows he made a mistake without meaning to. What he was trying to do was reassure Callum from the jump that he sees Callum as just as much of a rightful Prince of Katolis as Ezran---that he sees Callum as his son. But it didn’t work, and now Harrow feels awkward and, I think, is kicking himself a bit, because he meant to reassure Callum, not make him slip into formalities. So he says “please” and gestures for Callum to stand up straight, probably because he feels like it’d be too awkward to explain what he meant, rather than just getting back on track via a different method.

And he tries. Oh, he tries. He says, “Callum, I know I’m not your birth father, but I want you to know that . . .” He’s trying to say that he loves Callum as his son regardless, that he loves him and cherishes him as his son despite that they’re not blood related, but he just can’t get the words out. He keeps breaking eye contact, and eventually he takes a deep breath, admits it isn’t easy, and gives Callum the letter. What really breaks my heart here is that we don’t see Harrow falter with saying how he feels in literally any other instance. He’s typically a very honest and upfront man. That he has such difficulty here makes me think that he’s afraid Callum will reject him, that he’s afraid that Callum’s awkwardness comes from some sort of resentment that Harrow isn’t his biological father. Of course that’s not true in the slightest, but Callum’s own fear of rejection means he hasn’t told Harrow how he feels, either. The entire thing is heartbreaking.

(Side note: A slow, emotional version of the main theme starts playing when Harrow says, “I want you to break the seal when . . . well. You’ll know when.”)

Callum admits that he knows what’s going on (“When you’ve been killed”), and Harrow puts his hands on Callum’s shoulders and leans in close to give him comfort. 

He’s not mincing words, he’s not going to hide the truth now that Callum knows (and that’s another display of how Harrow is very upfront with things), but he’s giving Callum that comfort of having hands on his shoulders. It’s not quite a hug, but it’s a bracing gesture. Harrow is an affectionate man and a loving father and though this is not an easy thing to discuss, he wants to comfort Callum in any way he can.

But . . .

Callum is upset (his voice sounds like he’s on the verge of tears), so he pushes Harrow away. And Harrow stands there for a moment, shocked and hurt, his hands still raised. It takes a moment for him to catch himself and lower his hands, and after that he does not initiate contact with Callum again throughout the scene. He respects Callum’s wish to not be touched. 

But that said, Harrow does walk over to stand behind Callum when Callum picks up his bag, and when Callum hugs him? Harrow hugs him back immediately, there’s no hesitation at all. He wants nothing more than to hug his son, but he won’t do it against Callum’s wishes. But the second Callum reveals that he wants that comfort from his father? Harrow gives it. And he cries. And Callum buries his face in Harrow’s shoulder. And my entire heart shatters.

One last thing---Harrow says this during the scene:

“There are centuries of history, generations of wrongs and crimes on both sides. I am responsible for some of those wrongs. I’ve done terrible things. I thought they were necessary; now I don’t know. But I do know I will pay the price for the choices I made.”

It baffles me that this keeps flying over the fandom’s head. This is not a show where only one side is the guilty party while the other side are heroes who can do no wrong. Both sides have committed atrocities. Harrow is a wonderful king and loving father and he has still done terrible things to the people of Xadia. This doesn’t make him a bad person; it makes him a person who has done bad things. The same goes for any elves and any other characters on this show. This fandom needs to realize what it is to have a show that operates on nuance rather than a protagonist-centered morality.

--- We don’t need Rayla refusing to kill Ezran later on to know that she couldn’t assassinate anyone. She goes to the castle to make things right and prove that she can assassinate others, but she could have tackled Callum from behind and slit his throat before he knew what was going on when she first found him in the corridor. She didn’t. She could have also killed the guards on the rooftop before they had the chance to tell anyone else she was there. She didn’t. Even at her most determined to prove herself Rayla couldn’t take a life and it was right there in her actions once she arrived. Rayla just doesn’t have it in her to take a life at the moment.

--- “I am Prince Ezran.” This was the moment I felt real and undying adoration for Callum. The moment he learns that Rayla is there to kill his little brother, he immediately volunteers himself up to take Ezran’s place. He doesn’t want to die, of course---he tries convincing Rayla not to kill him---but he’d rather die than ever let any harm come to Ezran. Nothing, not even his own life, is worth harm coming to his little brother. God, Callum. You’re not Ezran, but you are a hero and a wonderful big brother and I love you.

--- “Is it because you’re with a girl?” Honestly, the way Ezran asks this---particularly since the painting is still obscuring his view---makes it sound like he thinks that Callum is trying to have a romantic moment with Rayla kdjfkldsfd.

--- LOOK AT THE TWO GUARDS ON THE LEFT IN THE SCENE WHERE HARROW STARTS TEARING INTO VIREN:

THEY JUST LOOK AT EACH OTHER LIKE “oh shit” BECAUSE THEY’VE PROBABLY NEVER HEARD HARROW GO OFF LIKE THIS BEFORE AND NOW HE IS GOING OFF AND HE’S TEARING VIREN APART RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM BUT IT’S NOT LIKE THEY CAN LEAVE BECAUSE THEY HAVE TO BE THERE AS GUARDS AND SJFKLSJFDSLFDSFSD FRIGGIN HYSTERICAL

--- Given what we’ve learned possibly occurred between Viren and Sarai makes the ending to this scene have even more impact. Namely, that Sarai might have died either saving or protecting Viren from Thunder after Viren crossed the Xadian border for whatever reason. If that’s the case, then Viren’s hesitation when Harrow asks if Viren would give his life for him is even worse. Sarai potentially gave her life for Viren, but Viren wouldn’t give his life for Harrow, despite their years of history. No wonder Harrow tells him to get out with such venom in his voice. I would, too, tbh.

--- Nothing like slow panning shots of body parts and animal corpses to sell just how horrifying dark magic truly is. And for more detailed looks . . .

I could be mistaken, but the two horns to the right of the jarred scorpion look like they could be elf horns. To that end, the skull next to those horns has horns of it sown. Elf horns, mayhaps? It’d make sense if elf horns grew from the skull. If so, that means the very first thing Rayla takes notice of when she enters Viren’s secret lab (aside from Callum and Ezran) is a shelf with elven body parts on display. Charming. 

Dead or petrified animals. I don’t know if baby hammerheads are supposed to be that small, so if not, Viren shrunk a hammerhead shark and stuffed it in a jar. Again, charming.

Another rate, a frog, a millipede looking thing . . . and for extra bonus points:

How much do you want to bet that the winged fox / wolf creature in the background there was alive at some point? 

We’re given these slow, panning shots to show us how horrifying dark magic is. Dark magic is death, and despair, and torture. It’s not “clever, and brilliant, and practical” as Viren claims earlier in the episode when trying to pitch dark magic as a good thing to Harrow. This is meant to tell us that Viren wasn’t right, that Harrow was, and that the things Viren does are disturbing and wrong. 

And, well, it does a pretty damn good job of it.

Tune in tomorrow for episode three.

[snowbellewells]

A Fic-aversary and an Apology

Okay, folks, I really hate to do this (and have tried really hard not to up until now) but I am going to have to skip a week on my CSSNS MC “Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)”.  I’ve been really busy with my job, plus lots of crammed weekends running here and there where I didn’t have time to grade or write.  Then, I started feeling like where I was going in chapter ten and on from there needed to deviate from my initial plan, and it just wasn’t going to happen in two days’ time.  I’ve been a couple days late the last two weeks and then it’s even less time to get the next one written, and so on.  So, I really apologize and don’t mean to keep you waiting too long, but it will be next Friday before I have chapter ten for you. What I do have instead is a fic I wrote about a year and a half ago, before I was terribly good at posting on Tumblr that I’m bringing back for a bit of an anniversary. It’s near and dear to my heart, and I would love for more folks to see it.  

Most importantly: It has gorgeous cover art now, which I am just in love with, made for me by @hollyethecurious !!  She really made it more beautiful and eye-catching.  

Anyway, to tide you over until next week (and I hope to also FINALLY update my CSRomCom au again this weekend as well) enjoy “Looking for a Heart (that’s not Walking Away)”!!!

(Liam x Belle multichapter fic, canon divergent from about 5x15/5x16)

(This one was a completely new and different fic attempt for me.  Not only does it go AU from about the middle of 5b, but it changes a lot of what happened with Liam in 5x15, and while some of 5x16 and 5x17 happened, some of it didn’t.  Beyond all that, it’s putting a large focus on characters I haven’t written much before, and one that we really haven’t seen a lot of to characterize in the same way that I can work with say Emma and Killian.  Still, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and finally found that I had to give this a try.  It doesn’t explain how everything happened right away, but events will be filled in as the story progresses.  I feel like this is a bit of a mix between canon divergence and AU.  Slow burn friendship/relationship for Belle and Liam; sideline CS and others.  I definitely don’t own them, just having fun imagining.  I’d love to hear what you think!!)

*I will also attempt to add ff.net links to the rest of the chapters at the end...

“Looking for a Heart that’s Not Walking Away”

chapter one: like ships in the night

          In the wee, cold hours of the morning, anyone walking Storybrooke’s town square would have seen only peaceful, vacant storefronts and the dim stillness of a little hamlet still fast asleep; or they would until they reached the library and found one solitary light burning stubbornly in the back of the building.  Most residents and visitors knew the building and the sweet, brunette librarian who kept the place with pride, but even without the whole story, they also knew she had not been the same since her return from the Underworld with the rest of the heroes.  The light burning in the middle of the night, and the large, dark circles under the clearly sleepless woman’s eyes when one saw her in Granny’s Diner the next morning picking listlessly at her pancakes and syrup, were only outward signs of her inner turmoil and pain.  

          This particular night turned earliest bit of morning, Belle Gold sat at the circulation desk, a cup of lavender tea, which she had hoped would soothe her and induce sleep, long gone cold at her elbow, and a large, gilt-edged book open before her.  In her insomnolent state, she had returned to this once-favorite story for help, but instead she found herself wishing to violently rip the pages from its spine, more troubled than ever as she huddled on the high stool pulled up to the counter to perch on as she read and wrapped her dressing gown more tightly around herself against the now-familiar questions swirling in her mind: ‘What did I ever see in this story?’ ‘How stupid could I have been?’ ‘What ever made me think I could influence anyone or be a hero?’ ‘Every attempt I’ve ever made went wrong and only made things worse…’

          Shivering against the drafts of a still-chilly April night and the cold certainty that she was nothing but a fraud; so naively convinced of her pretty ideals but completely ineffectual at doing anything with them when the moment of truth had come, Belle knew rest and peace were far from coming.  A tear ran silently down her pale cheek as she thought of all that had happened – the tangled, progressively darker events which made up her own story – and she sucked in a ragged breath, trying to keep it from turning into the wrenching full-bodied sob she felt rising within her.  Though she had fought so valiantly hard, it would seem her tale could not possibly end in happily ever after now.  All her efforts at love and bravery – at goodness – had turned to dust in her hands, crumbling like the shriveled brown flower Hades had used to taunt her after Gaston’s fall into the River of Lost Souls.  

          The only thing keeping her from falling apart completely, she thought ruefully as one small, graceful hand lowered to rest protectively on her slightly protruding belly was the tiny being she had wished for so long.  This baby should have been a lovely, innocent symbol of her and Rumple’s love, a living hope and second chance – for her husband, and for herself – and now Rumple would never even know his second born child.  Though Belle was not sure what she had left to give this unborn babe, her hope and belief nearly dried up and vanished forever, its growth inside her was what kept her from lying down on the floor of her precious library and never rising again.  All of her gumption, her resolve, her joy, were gone, deserting her as completely as they had ever filled her before, and the fact that her child would need her was all to which she could truly cling.

          Eventually, just as the dark night turned early morning and lightened to grey, and the faintest traces of sunrise began to streak the sky, Belle’s head lowered, the side of her face coming to rest on the printed page of the book she had so loved once upon a time, her impossible, idealized version of a hero pressed to the soft, pale skin of her cheek as she slumped over the counter in a restless sleep…

          As she dreams, she is once more in the Underworld, brought by the man she has tried so hard to win back from the Beast within – the pressing roar in his ear of magic and power – the man who, despite it all, she has never ceased loving, to the very throne of the Lord of the Dead. Rumple’s hand clenches her forearm so tightly it hurts, and she realizes with stark clarity that even the Dark One is no match for a deity.  Rumple is sorely afraid, though he doesn’t let his outward appearance show it.

          From there, the moments progress like an inexorable nightmare.  So soon after her inadvertent actions against Gaston, things already seem hazy and unreal; she can barely comprehend the showdown forming between her husband and Hades. Fire and light shoot back and forth, crashing against one another in the middle and neither attack striking its intended target.

          Winded, panting, nearly falling to his knees with exhaustion, Rumple finally raises a hand in surrender, as she runs to support him and help him back up, seeing the drained former spinner without his precious might and the upper hand.  Putting a bracing hand beneath his elbow, she steadies Rumple as he stands once more and intends to do so as he moves forward, until he turns to her, bringing them to a halt.

          Meeting Belle’s eyes in that moment, Rumplestiltskin’s gaze shows pain and infinite regret; only somewhere beneath those emotions is the love lingering for her, love that she had always wanted to believe would triumph over the Dark One’s lies.  “I am so sorry, Belle.  For so many things…” he whispers brokenly, the back of his hand stroking her cheek as lightly as the mere brush of air in a breath, as if hesitant to hurt her more than he has already. “I have put you through more pain than any love should have to bear…only to have it all come to this in the end.”

          Pulling his gaze away from her face, Belle sees her husband’s eyes slide back to meet the god’s controlled, implacable stare and subtly shifts forward to stand in front of her, partially shielding her from Hades’ view.  Her heart is swept up in pride for him at this moment of real, selfless bravery, even as it then breaks when his next words sink in. “Very well, Hades,” Rumplestiltskin hisses, sounding as reptilian and menacing as Killian has always insisted, his sharp eyes flashing even as he concedes.  “You know that I cannot best you, but with the powers of the Dark One and its immortality, you cannot end me either.  Let Belle and our child go, and I will serve you by finding you a replacement soul, one that will prove much more satisfactory than a mere infant.”

          The silent air crackles around them, and Belle opens her mouth to cry out, “Rumple, no!” and pull him back, both terrified at what the Lord of the Underworld might do, and horrified anew that Rumple could once more offer up another person’s soul as if it were his to barter, even as she had thought for once he was making a heroic sacrifice.  But she feels his fingers curl around her even more firmly, and a tingle runs up her whole arm, holding her in place, words bottled in her throat no matter how she tries to force them out, until she realizes that Rumple is using his magic to hold her back and keep her silent.  Emotions rise in a confusing swirl, and Belle is not sure if she is moved by his desperate bid to protect her or impotently furious at his overriding her free will.

          Hades tilts his head to the side, coming closer as he studies his nemesis calculatingly.  “Let me see,” he mused, wearing a face that gives the sense of bored unconcern, even Belle with no magic or powers beyond human intuition knows the god is toying with his prey – if pressed, she has seen much the same look on Rumple’s face too many times as the Dark One.  “An intriguing proposition,” he drawls out the words slowly, as if tasting the flavor of some delicacy on his tongue, “…but do I believe you?”

          “You would do well to take me seriously,” Rumple vows, iron in his voice and threat on his tongue.  “I may not win, but you will be battling me until the judgment day, neither of us able either to triumph or to pass on.”  He steps forward as well, standing taller with a hint of the malice that shows at the heights of his power, limp nearly unnoticeable as he meets Hades and reaches out his hand.  “You want to take this deal, trust me,” Rumplestiltskin asserts, nearly baring his teeth as he does so.  “I will be your right hand, Hades – if you spare my wife and my unborn child, never to trouble them again.”

          Hades tilts his head, studying the Dark One with amused curiosity as if he is some new species the deity has never seen before. “I’d be a fool to trust you for even a moment,” he replies coolly, “and I know you will only serve me as long as it takes you to find an escape.  Yet…” he takes a moment to muse as if there is no trouble or threat at all, Belle resenting all the while that he can balance all their lives in his hands while appearing not to have a care in the world.  Finally, he gives a quick, decisive nod, his pondering resolved. “If I’ve already gotten what I need from you by then, why shouldn’t I be free of your tiresome, disloyal presence?”

          Belle is sure there is some horrible drawback, some hideous fine print somewhere which has been missed – added to the fact that Rumple is bartering someone else’s soul for their safety – and she hates being forced to stand idly by, no one paying her any mind.  Her husband moves to shake the god’s hand, and she begs silently, regardless of whether either of them can hear, “No, Rumple, please don’t do this!  There must be a better way!”

          Without deviating from his original intent, Rumplestiltskin leans even more toward the Lord of the Dead, not allowing himself so much as a glance at her, solely focusing on Hades, alert for any move or threat from his dangerous adversary.  Their hands meet in between, as if to shake on the arrangement, and a burst of magical power so ground shaking shoots out sparks, tossing both Hades and Rumple apart. It topples Belle to the ground, momentarily blinded by the white hot flash and breathless from the impact, her awareness shattered.  For a time, she knows no more, and when she comes back to herself, she is lying on the moving floor of the library elevator they had taken down to Hades’ inner sanctum, and the door is sliding open to reveal the Underworld’s version of her beloved haunt.  As the lift reaches the top and halts, Belle sees that she is also utterly alone…

          A few scratching sounds and a thump against the outer door of the Storybrooke Library, followed by the sound of something metal picking at the lock, the doorknob rattling, and an accented male voice calling her name hopefully, before the tell-tale sound of the lock clicking free, awakens her just a couple of hours later, still early morning, but light now.  She hears the sound of more than one pair of booted feet striding toward her as she blinks dazedly and surfaces from the flashback-dream and her tormented rest. Shooting upright quickly, hoping they haven’t seen her pathetically asleep where she fell, Belle nearly loses her balance and topples off the stool she’d been perched on.  Wincing at the pain in her lower back from sleeping in such an awkward position, Belle tiredly rubs her eyes and tries to focus on her early visitors.

          Only a second later, she registers Killian Jones’ voice jovially greeting her as he walks toward her across the open entryway and also hears the low, warm chuckle behind him from Liam, his revived older brother.  She had been introduced to him as they were all working together to leave the Underworld, but she has not had much occasion to be around him since, and so she is surprised by his seemingly easy good humor, and the sparkle in his eyes that much resembles the one she’s often seen in Killian as they’ve researched some Big Bad threatening the town or discussed favorite books over lunch.

          Startled, she lets hesitant brown eyes come to meet his friendly, open gaze and gives what she hopes is a welcoming smile as she teases Killian in hopes of keeping his usual perceptiveness from picking up on her disheveled, unhappy state.  “What brings the Jones brothers to my library at the crack of dawn?”

          Killian flashes her a devious wink, before nodding his head to her briefly in a playfully slight bow, “Ah, but wouldn’t you like to know, Lass?” he teases.  His voice is bright and jovial, and there is a happy twinkle in his ocean-blue gaze that has been absent in many instances where she has seen him appear dazed or haunted since his return to life and the world above.  She simply has to return the mischievous grin – happy for this former enemy who has become a true friend, proud of him (though it may not be her place) that he has found the strength Rumple never quite mustered to change for the better, make right the wrongs within his power to mend, and became the man he was always meant to be.

          Tilting her head to study both of the men before her with friendly curiosity, she begins checking in the small stack of books Killian has carried in with him to return.  Liam meets her eyes but doesn’t speak, his smile warm and friendly, but his general bearing more restrained than his younger brother’s.  They certainly resemble each other – well-formed, strong features, straight noses and piercing eyes – but Liam is a bit taller, slightly broader of shoulder, and with fairer hair beginning to grow out enough to show curls that Killian’s straight, dark, shaggy locks don’t possess.

          Deciding to get to know the intriguing man before her a bit better, Belle chooses to ignore Killian’s baiting and glances at his older brother from beneath lowered lashes.  “And what about you?” she asks softly, “Do you enjoy reading as much as Killian does?” For some reason she has to fight a tremor in her voice as the words leave her mouth, and a thrill of nervous awareness racing up her spine as Liam Jones’ lips angle up into a fuller smile.

          “Aye, Mrs. Gold, I do indeed,” he replies, with a succinct, definite nod of his head as he steps closer, right up to the counter of the circulation desk between them, while Killian wanders away into the stacks to look for new volumes.  “We share our love of the written word, ever since I first taught him to read when we were boys, though Killian has always tended more toward daring adventure tales, epic fantasy and the like.  I’m a bit of a history buff myself – love learning how kingdoms rise and fall and how leaders are formed.  There is much to garner from such real events that have come before.”

          Belle bobs her head in an excited nod, warming to the topic as she leans over the counter, absorbed by his words in spite of herself and forgetting the pain and confusion of the dream vision to a more pleasant topic.  “I know exactly what you mean!  There are so many good records, biographies, accounts of battles, journeys, and expeditions – it’s amazing to learn what that must have been like, to imagine traveling alongside such great adventurers when such momentous enterprises were being undertaken.”  She pauses to draw in a breath, having begun to speak quickly in her excitement. Amusement shines in the look Liam Jones levels at her across the desk, but understanding and a sort of relief that intrigues her glows from his expression to warm her as well.

          Belle makes an impulsive decision in that moment, wanting to share something she still loves and finds joy in with someone else who has weathered and survived much and clearly loves it too.  Moving to stand quickly, with the intent to take Killian’s brother to their nonfiction section and show him some of her favorite tomes, Belle forgets for a moment how much her subtly widening stomach throws her off balance and pitches forward as she slips off the stool, then cries out softly as overcorrecting to catch herself pulls at her back painfully.

          Liam is around the counter and at her side in an instant, one hand on her arm to steady her, the other coming to rest at her waist.  “Steady on, Lass.  Easy there,” he murmurs with soothing concern.

          Killian darts back out from where he’d ventured, good arm full of novels and brows pinched together with worry.  “What is it?  What’s wrong?” he asks.

          Belle shakes her head, offering Liam a grateful smile, even as she blushes in embarrassment and also feels warmth flood her at his contact with her body.  She tries to calm both of them – conscientious, old-fashioned, chivalrous gentleman through and through – and step away.  “N-nothing.  I’m fine. Just lost my balance is all. …Th-thank you though, Captain Jones,” she adds sincerely to Liam.  Unthinkingly, she raises her hand to her neck which feels cramped and stiff as well, wincing slightly before she even realizes.

          Killian, observant as ever and an especially intuitive friend when it comes to her, notices her moving gingerly and guesses at her sleeplessness, speaking gently as he touches his metal appendage to her shoulder and impels her to look back up at him simultaneously.  “Still not resting, Love?” he asks, already seeming assured of the answer.  “You’ve been sitting at that counter all night, haven’t you?”

          Sheepishly, the tiny brunette dips her chin to her chest in the slightest of nods, feeling even smaller under the concerned scrutiny of these two tall, strong former naval officers.  It isn’t worth denying the fact; Killian already knows the truth. She had confided in him long ago, even before their trip to Camelot, her sleeplessness from a broken heart.  He is certainly astute enough to realize that the organ is now only more broken.

          What startles her however, is his proper older brother’s reaction.  In interactions, Liam has always been friendly but reserved; now, he ushers her forward, an arm coming around her waist to guide her toward the reading lounge she has set up by the windows and into an overstuffed, comfortable chair. “Milady Belle, sit, please. You’re with child.  You must take care of yourself.”

          She doesn’t fight him, letting him lead her to the seat and settling into it with an actual sigh of relief.  And he surprises her again by kneeling before her and grasping her delicate hand in his much larger one, enveloping it completely. There is an open, earnest look on his face that both soothes and puzzles her as he gazes up into her face and asks her if there is aught else they can do or fetch for her.

          Liam himself doesn’t understand what has come over him as he looks up into the weary, hurting face of this lovely but lonely young woman.  All he is certain of – and he knows he will speak to Killian about why she isn’t sleeping, what she has been through – is the concern for her he feels.  He wants to find out why she is so sad, and to find a way to make it better.  His resolve is firm, even if not fully understood, and he senses the beginning of a new mission, a new adventure.

Link to Chapter Two: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/2/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Three:  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/3/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Four: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/4/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Five: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/5/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Six: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/6/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Seven: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/7/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Eight: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/8/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Nine: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/9/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Ten (Epilogue): https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/10/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Tagging a few who may enjoy (sorry if not, or if you’ve already read it, but thought even previous readers might want to see its new art! ;) : @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @winterbaby89 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @effulgentcolors @aloha-4-ever @winterbythesea @hollyethecurious @laschatzi @jennjenn615 @therooksshiningknight @ohmakemeahercules @shireness-says @resident-of-storybrooke @spartanguard @revanmeetra87 @teamhook @vvbooklady1256 @xemmaloveskillianx 

[ventrue-rosary]

The Price of Privilege - Part 2

Part 1 here: X

Raised voices overlapped one another, desperate to be heard but indiscernible from each other. But one thing was certain: the city was divided. Some saw the union of a man and elf as, though strange, a way forward for their nation that some felt was stagnating. Others saw it as a blasphemous and repugnant destruction of traditions. 

Neither side was willing to give an inch.

‘SILENCE!’ Courtier Estan’s voice rang out across the throne room, boosted by magic. It effectively silenced the rabbeling masses.

Narcissa removed the fingers steepled against her aching temples and stood, eyes scanning the displeased crowd.

‘Friends, I know there are talks of dissent among you, and others in support with regards to my illegitimate daughter. I love her with all my heart, but I share your worries. My duty, first and foremost is to my land and her people. So fret not, you will always be my priority. But…’ Her anger made her voice tremble. She clasped her hands into fists, willing to calm herself. She took a second to regain composure. ‘ Yesterday afternoon, my daughter was threatened in this very room by my own brother, Aloysius. I know he is popular among some of you as my choice of heir. However, after his shameful display, he is now blacklisted in this country, and any sympathizers will share the hangman's noose with him. Treason is not tolerated.’ 

‘My...my Lady!’ gasped Estan.

Ripples of whispers echoed across the crowd. Narcissa gathered her skirts, and left the throne room before shouts broke loose behind her.

*

It was far too early when Amaranthe was awoken. The sun wasn’t even visible on the horizon, and her head felt hazy. She stumbled down the corridor following Reginald, her father’s second-in-command. He said not a word after telling her she needed to follow him immediately, but she knew the destination he lead her to; her mother’s chamber.

She was up, dressed in her nightgown, in quiet talks with her father. When they entered, Jonathan pushed past Narcissa and gathered her up in his arms. She returned the hug silently and wearily.

He pulled back to look at her. ‘Gods, you look exhausted. Perhaps we should tell our poor daughter why we pulled her out of bed at this forsaken hour, Niss?’

Her mother sighed. Exhaustion was deep-set beneath her eyes. ‘I thought I made myself quite clear at court this morning. But it seems some people are hell-bent on testing my patience.’ She reached for Amaranthe, placing a gentle hand on her cheek. Her mother’s anger seemed to drain away. ‘I wish you no distress, but you are a woman grown, not a child. I shan’t sugar-coat this, not with the risk involved. People have demanded your...imminent removal. They want a permanent solution to guarantee my brother the throne.’

‘You mean they want my head?’

Narcissa winced. ‘Yes. And I fear it may come to civil war if we do not reason with these insurrectionists. I don’t think they would be above resorting to bloodshed to achieve their goals.’

Amaranthe felt dizzy and ill. The room around her seemed to shift and warp. All the blood rushed down from her head and she fell. Her vision cleared as her body hit the ground with paralyzing pain. Both her mother and father appeared at her side in an instant.

‘Amara!’

‘I’m fine…’

‘No, you fainted.’

‘Really, mother, I’m fine....’    

Narcissa sighed, perhaps for the fourth time since Amaranthe entered the room. ‘Let’s set her on my bed…’

Jonathan lifted her up to her feet and walked her over to the sprawling four-poster bed in the centre of the large room. Despite the urgings to lie back on the pile of plump pillows, Amara remained seated upright at the edge, intent to be conscious for the conversation that would follow. She had a few suggestions of her own to propose.

‘What do you plan to do, Niss?’

‘I needs talk with the insurrectionists first thing in the morning. There must be some way to make them see from our point of view.’

‘And if you can reason with them?’

‘We subdue them.’

Jon laughed. ‘Niss, that’s madness. There is several hundred of them, at least. We don’t have the manpower to round them all up...’

‘I will abdicate my claim to the throne...’ Amaranthe muttered. Neither seemed to hear her. 

‘Well, you have to try, Jon, Call on the loyalists if you must. We cannot allow this madness to continue.’

‘I will abdicate my claim to the throne!’

Dead silence fell over the room. Narcissa’s face was stuck somewhere between shock and anger. Johnathan appraised her curiously, as thoughurging her to continue.

‘You said it my come to civil war? I can’t let our country become divided because of me.’

‘You understand what you sacrifice, dear daughter? And you know what type of man you resign to?’

‘I understand all too well, mother. But at least this way, this is a country left standing to rule.’ 

‘Hold on,’ Jonathan interjected. ‘There are still people here that support your rule. We can count on their favour.’

‘What kind of favour, father? Put swords in their hands and ask them to kill to keep our line on the throne?’

‘It doesn’t have to come to that.’

‘But we all know it will.’

‘Amara--’

‘My decision stands. I’ll leave town before sunrise. I refuse to ask others to die on my behalf, or to be the one to lead this country to ruin’

Narcissa massaged her temple. ‘Amara, you do not have to make such rash decisions. We can have you legitimized and--’

‘You do that and they will stop at nothing to take my head. Or yours. I don’t want to be a threat to this family.’

A single tear fell from her mother’s eyes. ‘Reginald, ready two horses for my daughter and yourself. And take her far away from here.’ He bowed and took his leave. Narcissa took a deep, shuddery breath. ‘You will no longer be welcome in these lands. If you are spotted, it will be taken as a sign of treason, and we will react accordingly....’

‘Niss!’ Jonathan admonished.

Amaranthe wiped away her own tears. ‘I understand. You shan’t see me again.’

Her mother lunged forward, freely crying. She gathered Amaranthe up in her arms. ‘I love you. I will always love you.’

‘I know, mother.’

‘Write me, every week. I want to know your dealings in the world. I know you will leave your mark, and make me proud.’

‘I will, I promise.’

Reginald re-entered the room. ‘Ready when you are, my Lady.’