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multimilfs · 2 months ago

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Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader: The Reigning Game, Chapter (7/?)

Chapter 7 - Stone's Embrace

Summary: Traveling into the Eastern Pass brings old friends and with them, new fears.

AO3

Words: 11.8k

A/N: This chapter was the hardest for me to get written, but it is hands down my favorite so far. It also contains my favorite scene I've ever written for this story.

I have a LOT more to say but I threw it into the end-note on AO3! So if you'd like to read that, you'll find it all there. Enjoy :)

Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @imtrashinflames @thatmacrameisnotgonnahitchitself @thoroughly--confused @white--lillies @h-doodles @vii-v @anxiousgoldengirl @shinkomiii @danvers97

Warning(s): Blood, Mild body-horror, Self-harming behavior, Knives

Previous Chapters

“How can I begin anything new with all of yesterday in me?” L. Cohen

Stones warmed by the sun wait, but for what is undivined. The citadel paths are absent of any traffic save for the movements of one witch. As she wanders the length of the eastern wall, she closes her eyes, savoring the light and heat sinking into her skin.

Her feet traverse the distance, the divots and grooves in the path like silent beacons guiding her forward. Then, she feels it—the missing stone, the one that tries her right ankle.

Beside a window-like gap in the wall, she opens her eyes.

No crowds fill the streets of The Cradle today. Below, there are a few stragglers—wanderers, like her—but they don’t tarry long, not when there is warmth to be found indoors. All is quiet.

The only bit of noise is visual; the proud, gray castle on the horizon, standing with its tattered banner still just hanging on. Most have fallen by now, the once-blue fabric collected and dropped on the citadel steps to be burned. Yet the last still remains clinging to the lowermost spire.

“Maiden Calderu.”

It is not the title that prompts her flinch—though it will always sting—but the voice, belonging to one such witch that Lilia had prayed to never again see. Yet, Chaos has a funny sense of humor.

She turns, ever the picture of poise, “Mother Elara.”

The witch has not changed a day. Still with her wide, sharp jaw and gray eyes, mouth pinched in a scowl so fierce Lilia’s not sure she has ever smiled. Her navy robes, near black even in the sun, cast a sickly look over her skin.

She could have been identical to her sister, had she possessed even half of her grace.

“Fair meeting. I did not expect any to linger today.”

The words are even, monotone.

“Fair meeting. There is work that requires my eye, I’m afraid.” Lilia says.

A mean upturn of her lips, “Greater than the joy of Light’s day, Maiden Calderu?”

Lilia cannot help it, but she sticks out her chin, unwilling to stoop an inch. She folds her hands behind herself to hide the flares of yellow.

“I work so others may know peace on such days.”

“Ever the nimble servant of the people.”

“Such is my duty.”

“Duty.” Elara chuckles.

The weight of the castle looms at Lilia’s back, casting an impossible shadow. Elara eyes her like she can see how it stains Lilia’s soul.

A shift in stance sees the light catching on the pendant around Elara’s neck; that damning silver sword. Sighting it alone turns her stomach. Its weight has always pressed against her neck, but now she feels how it threatens to pierce through the heart of her.

That would no doubt please Elara to see.

“Might I be of any service to you?” Lilia offers.

Any trace of amusement is wiped from the witch’s face. Her eyes are hard as stone—harder.

“No. You’ve done enough.”

Lilia does not tremble, but it is a near thing, “Good day, then, Mother Elara.”

“Good day, Maiden Calderu.”

Retracing her steps away from the spot and back to the citadel center, she holds her shoulders taught, head high. Yet she deflates the second she reaches the winding staircase taking her down. Once safely inside her lonely office, she slumps against the door.

There’s an ache in her chest she can never fully forget. A deep, gnawing wound that won’t heal. Her legs tremble.

A beating of wings and the click of talons on stone draw her from the feeling. Tight, greying curls are pushed back and away from her face. She pales.

“No.”

Yet Aquila flutters into the room regardless. She settles on the edge of Lilia’s desk, leg baring her letter held out. Lilia flinches. She pushes off from the door, but doesn’t approach the desk, choosing to walk around it.

“Beat it.”

No movement beyond the tilt of the raven’s head. Then, a warble.

Lilia’s hands are fists at her side, “Tell her I could not be found. Tell her anything. There are some things time cannot erase.”

The response that earns her is scolding. Aquila shakes her leg until the ribbon unravels, the letter sliding over the desk to rest atop the papers there.

Lilia stares, eyes missing nothing. Magic clings to the letter and she tilts her head; Agatha’s magic, yet unlike what she remembers.

Aquila ruffles her wings, impatient.

Throwing her hands up, a muttered complaint is issued to the Divine Mother. She searches for anything to offer the raven that will satisfy and send her on her way.

She comes to an abrupt stop, eyes closing. Aquila waits. Lilia’s hand snaps toward a drawer she’s sure hasn’t been touched in ages. It opens to reveal no small amount of dust and old parchment, among it all a large beetle scuttling for cover—the second Aquila sights it, she pounces. The exoskeleton cracks in her beak.

As the raven enjoys the fruits of her nagging, Lilia is frozen, stuck and staring at the hand that moved. The old wisp of magic that’s eluded her for centuries is… real, tangible. She grasped it as if it had always been so clear.

She shakes her head. Curls bob around her face, the movement grounding, yet her mind still wanders. Light help her, she cannot be considering this.

Eyes follow every movement.

Lilia shoves down the wayward desires of her past and schools her features, “I will not see her.”

Aquila bows her head. A beat, a flash, and she is gone.

“We await your order on when to march, Your Majesty.”

For all the snarking and teasing she does, Agatha does pay attention. Her gaze is sharp. So when your eyes glaze over at Captain Thena’s words, she notices; just as she had noticed you could barely stomach part of breakfast, and the sallow pallor of your skin.

“On the hour.” Agatha answers in your stead.

She senses the flare of suspicion in the Captain’s mind. True to her training, she only nods and bows, walking off to relay the order.

You sigh and relax back into your seat.

“I’ve been told I’m excellent in bed,” Agatha drawls, eyes alight with mischief, “but rendering a woman speechless even days later is new. I’m flattered.”

She braces for the snap of your eyes to hers, that delicious fury that she can taste in the air. She welcomes the twist of your beautiful face into something like a sneer.

Will you rattle off some small insult for her to twist, or level her with your wit, forcing her onto the back foot? Her magic itches in her skin at the anticipation.

When your eyes snap to her’s, her magic crows with delight. But your emotion is muted. You look at her as if looking through.

You wave a hand, “Is there anywhere you don’t find flattery?”

Agatha’s magic quails at the lack of fight.

“Of course not. I possess the advantage of being superior in all aspects of life, I’ve grown used to it.”

No change. No challenge. Something like fear grips her heart.

She reaches out with her magic, skimming your mind. It’s the same makeup of indecipherable color and shape that she’s unable to grasp. Though, it’s muted. Pulses of what should be emotion bring only waves of numbness.

If anger isn’t working, she has to pivot. The usual choice would be to prod your never-ending well of grief, but it seems that something already has. That leaves… care.

Agatha slips into the role. It’s a relief to find that it’s easier this time around.

“Dear,” she waits until you look at her, “talk to me.”

An opening, a lifeline. She doesn’t really want to hear a woe-is-me monologue, but if that’s what she has to endure to fix whatever this is then fine. Never let it be said she is incapable of doing the hard work.

Something shifts—a flicker, really. It’s enough to soothe her.

“I’m going to die.” You say, hollow.

She raises a brow, “Everyone dies eventually.”

You shake your head.

“After these fourteen days, She’s going to kill me.”

The words settle over Agatha like something comfortable; too comfortable, like an inescapable truth, and it chafes. It awakens something primal. She feels like an animal being backed into a corner.

She wracks her brain for the proper, wifely thing to say. Empty words displaying affection should do the trick—if she can pinpoint the right ones. Not without going through me would be the closest to the truth of the matter. I won’t allow it would also be truthful, even appeal to whatever skittish part of you is seeking reassurance of safety.

Instead, what comes out is;

“No one gets to kill you but me.”

Agatha’s statement cracks like a whip. Upon impact, she freezes. You’re going to fall to pieces in her hands and then she’s going to have more of a mess to deal with.

You freeze. Your eyes snap back to Agatha, full of fire.

Oh, good girl.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t play coy, dear, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Coy?” You echo, lip curling deliciously, “We’ll see how coy I am when I bury a knife in your chest.”

“Promise?”

The first thing you can close your fist around, you grab, and aim. Agatha sidesteps the too-wide swing. Her magic purrs in her veins. God, you’re glowing with rage; it’s almost enough to make her eyes roll back in her head.

A dagger is eased from beneath your pillow and stops her up short. That hadn’t been there when she checked.

You advance on her in a few quick steps. Agatha’s eyes don’t leave the dagger, which is why she misses the kick until it lands against her knee, straightening her leg with a crack that reverberates and unsettles her footing. She snaps her fingers before she can fall and feels the weightlessness of travel.

Smugness of being poised for the kill settles in her as she reforms at your back. But it withers when your smoldering eyes are already there, locked on hers, with the tip of your dagger at her throat.

She should really stop underestimating you.

“Impressive,” her voice comes out more husky than she intends, “but you can’t kill me.”

“Not yet.”

“Not ever. Unless, you meet me at my level.”

Agatha leans into the tip of your dagger until she feels the warmth of her own blood. A small moan escapes.

She waits for realization to strike. Your eyes are so bright this close, thoughts passing behind them, searching her own. Agatha grins. You’re so close. Your brows furrow.

Come on.

Your eyes widen. She blinks, and the expression is gone; the knowing gone with it. You’re just as wary and confused as you’ve always been.

“I’m afraid I like being above you too much.”

The dagger is hidden in your skirts as you pull away and move to exit the tent, though not before snapping at her to pack everything away so you can leave on time. Agatha watches you go without a word.

Her purple rears its head. It itches inside her, begging to be free and aimed at your retreating back, to poke and prod until it brings forth and consumes what she knows you’re hiding. Just one little fight couldn’t hurt… could it?

Agatha muzzles it.

She snarls and packs up the royal tent with a wave of her blackened hands as her mind works. Something is plaguing you enough to make you numb, near-negligent; a dangerous thing to be in these circumstances. And negligence is one thing Agatha can’t allow. Not when it comes to you.

The barrier ripples. The surface twists.

James grabs Darcy’s arm, pulling her back, though they already stand a fair distance away. The ravens shriek in their cage. He lunges forward and grabs that, too.

There is an odd, distorted cracking as the barrier ripples again, and a figure pushes through. Feminine in form. Short, though not disarmingly so.

Her face almost looks like Agatha’s, but it’s off. Wrong. There is a gaping, raw wound in the center of her throat. The features of her face are warped—stretched, pulled, as if trying to melt off.

She tilts her head and grins with a mouth full of too-white teeth. Her voice is raspy and distorted, changing volume rapidly as her vocal chords strain and snap.

“I need you to relay a message for me.”

The Eastern Pass is a long, winding path cut directly through the center of the mountains. And it is the coldest place you’ve ever known.

As far as the eye can fathom brings nothing but the same gray rock. In the warmer hours, there’s the shine of water running down the walls, but it has gradually hardened over the day as sunlight fades; the warmth fading with it.

Past the base of Nethys’ Peak there is said to be a large cut-out from the Pass, large and with space enough to hold nearly your entire host. If you push through in the night you should make it halfway to sunrise. Yet there is already a distinct bite to the wind in the fading hours of daylight—what damage will it do in the dark?

A flash of purple above your head draws your eye upward. In a cloud of black smoke, a raven appears. They play and twist in the wind before arcing down to Agatha at your side.

She intercepts the raven on her shoulder without flinching, “And?”

There’s a lengthy stream of song and sound. Agatha nods along like she understands every bit, face neutral.

“Well, we expected as much. Where?”

A low, hesitant reply.

Agatha laughs. It’s not her usual wild cackle, but something muted; bitter. You take in the angry set of her jaw with wary interest.

“Of course.” She says, resigned, “Well done.”

The raven cuddles into the offered hand. Agatha’s expression melts into one so tender you have to look away; the reminder that she does possess a heart twists unpleasantly in your chest.

How is it that she can be unapologetically wicked, yet still trick pure-hearted creatures into loving her?

Weight unsettles your balance, causing one shoulder to droop. Dark eyes look back from said shoulder. You know in an instant who the raven is and a small bolt of joy cracks through the numbness.

“Hello, Aquila.”

Aquila trills. She nuzzles the side of your face with her head, all soft feathers and warmth. Your Grandfather had been fond of dogs in your youth, bringing his around on his rare visits; they would show affection similarly. How lovely it’d be if humans also relied on action, rather than the emptiness of words.

Your shoulders straighten as you adjust to her presence. She continues to nuzzle at you, occasionally stopping to pick through pieces of your hair.

She pulls out one of your silver clips with a practiced yank. The piece of hair it’d been holding back falls forward into your eyes.

“Aquila.” Agatha scolds.

The raven only preens, prize held in her beak.

“You can have this one.” You say, meeting her eyes, pointedly ignoring Agatha, “The rest are mine.”

A tilt of her head. Then, she bows, as if nodding. You scratch at the soft plumage of her skull and carefully avoid knocking the clip from her hold.

“You shouldn’t encourage her.”

“Oh, so rewarding poor behavior is frowned upon, is it?”

Agatha’s eyes narrow, “Something you’d like to say, dear?”

“It’d fall on deaf ears if I did, I’m sure.”

Aquila’s head swivels between the two of you.

“Pot, kettle.”

You bark out a humorless laugh, “You love to hear yourself talk. It’s only natural I’d block you out after a time, dear.”

“Is it my fault I’m the only one worth listening to?” She snarls.

“Most fools think themselves philosophers in one form or another.”

“And you think yourself a God.”

“I do not—”

“Oh yes you do—”

The bickering is stopped as you both jolt in your saddles, coming to an abrupt stop. Aquila lets out a little noise of surprise and readjusts her footing.

Captain Thena has brought your host to a halt.

You twist to see the front line, but can’t see beyond the heads of those in front. The lines of your host are locked tight.

Between those before you, the barest hint of Thena’s white-blonde hair finds its way to your eyes. Her head is turned, relaying something to the Knight on her left, before someone shifts and blocks you again. You go so far as to stand in the saddle but find yourself glued to it. Blinking, you spy the tell-tale wisps of black and violet curling around you.

With Aquila on your right shoulder, you have to turn your entire body to glare at Agatha, but she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are focused straight ahead.

“Aquila.” Her voice is sharp, commanding, “Bring me answers.”

Your right shoulder is much lighter as she takes off and aims for the front line. Faint though she may be, you can see her circling. You don’t have time for this.

Being stuck in the saddle may keep you from leaving it, but it doesn’t stop your mount from going anywhere.

“Are you incapable of doing anything yourself?” You throw at Agatha. Digging your heels into your mount’s sides, you call, “Let me through!”

A ripple goes through the interlocked forces. Like a wave, they part, allowing you to pass at a trot to where Thena leads. You’re intercepted by a Knight a few paces from the very front; the same you’d seen your Captain speak to.

It takes a moment before recognition dawns on you. She’s different than when you last saw her—no longer covered in a layer of soot, hair grown back in.

“Sir Maria, why have we stopped?”

The Knight glances behind you for a brief moment before focusing back on you, sitting taught in the saddle. Her armor gleams in the dying light of the day.

“The Captain is handling a complication, Your Majesty.”

“What kind of complication?”

“There are riders in the path. Captain Thena is attempting to speak with them, Your Majesty.”

“Attempting?”

“Their common is poor, it is taking some time.”

You nod, accepting and putting the information away when you see it; the Knight fidgets in the saddle. Suspicion takes root.

“What aren’t you telling me, Sir?”

She looks over your shoulder again. You don’t have to turn to know Agatha is coming up behind you, you feel it; the way her presence sucks out the air.

Agatha comes to reside on your right once again, face fixed in a scowl. Aquila no longer circles the skies, nor is she anywhere on Agatha’s person.

“Spit it out.” She demands.

Every rider around you shifts in their saddles.

“They’re demanding to speak with you, Your Majesty. They won’t speak with the Captain.”

“They’ve asked for me by name?” Your brows shoot up.

“Not quite.”

You resist the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose—only just. When did speaking plainly become so difficult?

“You’re trying my patience, Maria.”

The Knight has the decency to look chastised. Her eyes dart behind you and widen for a second before they return to you. You file the action away for later.

“They won’t speak to her because she isn’t the true commander. Without speaking to you, they won’t allow us to pass.”

That brings you pause. True as it may be that you’re the genuine source of power among the host, you’re unsure how anyone else would know. Your journey here wasn’t planned. There has been no word sent ahead of your impending arrival; a misstep on your part, but helpful from a tactical standpoint.

Daylight is fading and fast. Annoying as it may be, you need to handle this yourself, lest you lose anymore time.

“Let me pass, Sir.”

She looks to Agatha, as if searching for permission. Your lip curls. In your lap, you white-knuckle the reins.

You are not a child to be minded.

“It was not a request.” You strain to keep your voice civil.

At your side, Agatha nods. Maria steps back and out of your way. You offer your own terse nod, moving to the front. Those standing at the front line aren’t so open with their shifting at Agatha’s arrival but you can taste the unease.

Beyond the Captain, three riders stand in the Pass.

Sitting high on bone-white horses without saddles, they sit side-by-side in perfect rank. Pigment clings to different parts of their mounts, illustrating pictures you can’t quite grasp. Long, grey manes trail over the shoulder of each horse, of which the ends have been dyed green.

The riders themselves are tall and wide. Long, dark hair is tied above their heads in intricate styles, showing off the rich furs draped across each set of shoulders. Each wears a similar marking of paint; a stark yellow line horizontal across the bottom lip, with a vertical counterpart traveling from the cupids bow down the neck and out of view.

One on the right, whose additional paint boasts powerful blue lines and grey dots, leans over to the man in the center. The language you hear is familiar. You startle.

You’ve never met them, but you’ve heard enough of the Netueht to feel as if you have.

Russet-colored skin glowing with life and strong noses make them more enchanting than any story could tell. You find yourself compelled to stare at the proud image they make. But you’re keenly aware of the chill biting at your ears.

Long has it been since you’ve spoken their tongue, but you pull on your hours of study to call out as you step forward, “I am Queen of Lucia, daughter of Nethys and Daris. How might I be of service?”

Every head on your side of the path turns to regard you. Some wear shock, others interest. Even the Captain blinks before remembering herself. You pay them all no mind.

The man in the middle steps forward. He is by far the most painted; bearing a proud swatch of green on his forehead and filling in his bottom lip. A collection of blue dots align with the edges of the green on his forehead. But the most striking is the blue over one eye.

If he is impressed by your knowledge, he does not show it, “Chieftain Aly’Liwen bids you welcome, daughter of Nethys. What is your purpose in The Pass?”

His speaking is far smoother than your own. The syllables rumble forth from his throat as a deep, simmering note that swings up and back again. You could listen to him speak for ages.

“Passage. We’ve come from the West to return to Greymont.”

A swift incline from all three as they accept the information.

“We were not informed of your coming.”

“This was not our original path. I beg your pardon and that of your Chieftain.”

The two others murmur to the leader, swift and low enough that you cannot follow. His expression does not change as they speak.

“Should you and your people respect The Pass, we will trouble you no further. We bid you safe passage.”

His tone brims with finality. The three turn to return the way they came and something grips you—knowledge from lessons hammered in by your Mother, courtesy so be remembered, but above all the feeling of rightness in their presence. They alone have soothed the simmering anxiety that has chased you since the barrier.

That cannot be a coincidence.

You call at their retreating backs, “Should Chieftain Aly’Liwen have room, it would be my honor to fill the table.”

They turn. The leader does not show any visible surprise, but one of the others does, if only for a moment.

The Netueht do not observe Queens and Kings; to them, all but a few are sons and daughters of the grand scheme; and all children know hunger. Breaking bread, providing, assuaging that hunger—there is no greater act of respect.

A common man could have allowed them to leave, but for a leader—a Mother of the people—to do so would have been a slight. And while said slight would not have been punished, it also would not have been forgotten.

“Are you friend or foe, daughter of Nethys?”

You can’t help your grin, “Do foes often name themselves so easily?”

Then you see it; a crack, the beginnings of a smile on the man’s face.

“Only the foolish ones.”

A laugh leaves you, swallowed up and carried across the space on a cold wind. Despite it, you feel warmed.

“I am a friend.”

“Then you and your closest may follow. Friends are always welcome at the table.”

You turn to Captain Thena, whose gaze flickers between you and the Netueht with interest. Her expression is not quite wary, but on the brink of it.

“Captain, you’re to take the host and continue through the Pass. Half-way to sunrise you’ll reach a settlement large enough for all of you to rest.”

“Your Majesty—”

You hold up a hand, “Agatha, myself, and the Guard will remain to break bread with the Netueht. Continue on and make camp near the village at the base of the mountains. We will follow a day behind.”

Thena opens her mouth to speak, but pauses.

The world has frozen.

Behind you, Agatha snaps, “Are you out of your mind?”

You turn your destrier around to face her, “I think you’ll find I’m perfectly in control of my mind. Now put the world back, I wasn’t done.”

“You have less than fourteen days to see your kingdom protected and you’re running off with the locals.”

“The Netueht are an ally hard won.”

“You need witches to beat a witch.” Agatha explains like one would to a child, “The Netueht are not an ally that you can afford to waste time on.”

“They have to know something. They’ve been around since the First Men.”

“So have cockroaches.”

“You can commune with them while I speak with the Netueht, then. I’m sure you’ll enjoy seeing your family.” You respond, voice sickly sweet.

“Cute.” She rolls her eyes, “We’re continuing with the host.”

You can’t. There is something in these mountains, something connected to the Netueht that you need; you know it as intimately as you know breathing.

“There is something here, I can feel it.” You say in a tone just shy of begging.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like… like standing outside a library and knowing the answer you seek is inside.”

Agatha’s mouth twitches into her signature smirk. Her head tilts as she thinks, eyes roaming, fingers tapping idly at the horn of her saddle.

“I don’t trust them.”

“You don’t trust anyone.” You reply immediately, “But will you follow them?”

“No, but I will follow you.”

You blink, “You mean it?”

“Don’t get soft on me. Whether I like it or not, I’m your magically-bound shadow.”

“Fitting since you’re always in the way.”

Agatha waves off the comment, “We’ll delay no longer than a day. That’s all we can afford.”

“Alright.” You nod.

“Should we seal the deal with a kiss?”

Rolling your eyes, you offer a look the comment deserves. She laughs. You turn to face the Captain. Then, with a snap of her fingers and a wisp of violet, time resumes.

In however long you and Agatha existed outside of time, you’ve been distracted enough to forget you’re mid-conversation with Captain Thena.

“I do not think that would benefit, Your Majesty.”

You blink, fighting to recall what exactly the conversation had been and where it’d been going. Agatha snickers behind you. You want to throw something at her.

“It was not a suggestion, Captain. You’re to continue on as instructed.”

The Captain looks past you and you know she’s looking to Agatha for confirmation. This is the second person within the hour to do so. You fight to keep your face neutral.

“As you wish, Your Majesty. I bid you safe passage.”

“And you, Captain.”

The wind whips your cheeks as you advance, following a few paces behind the leading Netueht. Agatha settles into the space at your side comfortably while your Guard follows at your back.

The Netueht are swift riders. The Pass is a winding, singular road blurring around you in the fading light until it isn’t—until a second, slimmer carving through the rock appears, and they race inside without fear. It is only wide enough to ride two-wide, but the Netueht traverse it single-file, and you mimic them.

Agatha grumbles something behind you.

Were one to travel any slower through this new path, a normal individual might find themselves struck by the fear of the rock walls closing in; but you’re not normal, and you find yourself struck by said fear even as you ride fast enough to rival the wind.

All it would take is one misstep to send you careening into one of the walls, one step to deepen an unseen crack until it splinters and brings a mountain of rock down on you. You white-knuckle the reins in your grip.

If you make a mistake, even a small one, it could lead to an end, and you can’t die here—you don’t want to die here. Would anyone find you beneath the rock? Would anyone know if you were beneath it, clawing for freedom, desperate—

A path wider than The Pass is where the Netueht guide, and you feel the panic in your chest loosen.

Arched openings line the new passage. The walls are shorter, boasting tufts of grasses and plants atop them, the roots curling down on either side. Color clings to the walls in pictures you can’t decipher as you race by.

Cutting off the path ahead is a wall of stone.

Like traversing a long hallway, you gradually come to a stop at the end. You’re surrounded on three sides; and on each side, an identical arched doorway cut into the stone.

All three Netueht slide from their mounts and land on sure feet. The leader turns to you.

“We will return for you.”

He vanishes through the doorway ahead. His companions split, one going right, the other going left. Only their mounts remain as evidence of their presence.

With the heavy hoofbeats on stone silenced, quiet descends over your party. There’s little wind to be found in this tucked-away corner. It’s nice, even if the air does still possess a bite.

Agatha and her mount shift, restless, eyes darting across the landscape, “I don’t like this.”

“We’re not in any danger.”

“Dreykov, Belova, Romanov.” Agatha barks, ignoring you, barely turning to regard them lest she put her back to any of the doorways, “Moving Her Majesty to safety is to be your only priority.”

You don’t have to turn to know they all nod.

“That’s not necessary.”

“Your new friends tell you that?”

“We’re safer here than we were in The Pass.”

Agatha scowls, clearly skeptical. But something like joy has settled over your shoulders. There’s a tug in your abdomen as you run your fingers over the rock wall, not unlike what you felt in the river. For a moment you swear the stone hums beneath your touch.

Can you hear it, like you could the river? Does it, too, have a voice?

The Netueht leader steps from the same doorway he vanished through. Warmth dances in his eyes like that of the torch in his hand, “Come.”

He remains on foot, leading his mount by the bridle through the doorway. You’re the first to step down from the saddle and mimic his actions. The members of your Guard follow suit.

Agatha remains in the saddle.

You roll your eyes, “I hope you hit your head.”

“Though a kiss is capable of fixing many things, I don’t think that will extend to brain damage. You’re welcome to try.” She teases.

“With the brain damage you already possess, I’m of the hope that something will be knocked back into place.”

“What more could you desire from my personality, darling?”

“We don’t have nearly enough time for that.”

She presses a hand to her chest in faux-hurt. A grin pulls at the edges of her mouth. You shake your head at her antics.

Through the arch reveals a tunnel of stone.

You cannot see ahead; the tunnel winds, snake-like through the mountain. Your guide is sure of every step. He walks with a swiftness that he has to rein in every now and again, as if remembering that he’s leading guests.

The air is still. No movement can make it past the initial curves of the path, and it feels stifling. You grip the bridle of your horse in a shaking hand. Even as the path widens and grows taller you cannot raise your eyes from the floor.

It’s as if the stone is compressing, moving in toward you on all sides. Your breath comes in short bursts that you try fruitlessly to even out. They can’t see your weakness, any of them—they can’t see you fall to pieces over something so trivial.

They can’t see. Please, you beg, though unsure of who you’re begging, don’t let them see.

If it all comes crashing down there is no escape, no way out. You’ll be extinguished beneath the weight—

You dig your nails into your palm until you draw blood. It releases some of the tension in your chest, opening your lungs as breathlessness abates.

Darkness settles on your left side and your eyes dart to find the source. Agatha has settled into step at your side, her destrier walking to the left of her. They’re a striking pair. Agatha, all blue eyes and fair skin but with an aura of darkness clinging to her; her mount, deep black across every inch, as if he has siphoned the darkness licking at her fingertips.

Weight settles back on your chest. You focus on the ground before your feet, nails digging in deeper, but it doesn’t offer the same release as before.

You’re safe, you tell yourself. The Netueht walk these paths often and they’ve remained standing.

But what if this is the time—

You focus on Agatha again, blurting, “Have you named him?”

“Who?”

“Your horse.”

She frowns, “Is that a requirement of riding one?”

Her brows are pinched. She looks between you and her mount.

“Of course not. But he’s going to be with you for a long time, it seems silly to call him ‘horse.’”

Silly and disrespectful, though you keep the second thought firmly to yourself.

A long stretch of silence settles between you. Agatha regards her four-legged companion with the calculated gaze you’ve come to expect. Gently, she scratches at the side of his face with her free hand, pleased when he leans into the contact.

“Inanis.”

The purr of her voice sends a shiver down your spine. You ignore the warmth in your cheeks.

“What does it mean?”

Agatha grins, “Inanis was the horse Darkness rode into battle, a void given shape.”

You don’t have time to unpack that. You’re not even sure what it means. She mentioned Darkness during your time near the river, didn’t she? The reverence in her voice feels similar.

“He does look void-like.” You settle on.

A sidelong glance, “And yours?”

“Oh, I didn’t name her. She was my Mother’s.”

You run a fond hand down her face. She huffs against your palm, leaning into the contact. Her nose presses, searching, just like she did when you were a child, but you hold no treats in hand.

“I see.”

Something in her voice makes you stiffen.

“Do you?” You ask, defensive.

“Your Father’s throne. Your Mother’s horse. Their legacy. Is anything in Lucia yours?”

You balk. You have your home, the love of your people, your friends. You’ve earned it all on your own merit.

Right?

You recognize the lies as soon as you think them.

All the time you’ve spent nitpicking Agatha about her own lack, when in reality, you’re no better; at least the power she wields is her own, rather than that which you borrow under your title. Cold settles into your bones.

“What is her name?”

You blink, drawn from the maw of emptiness threatening to consume you. Agatha watches you expectantly.

“Pardon?”

“The horse, what is her name?”

“Sundrop.”

You run your hand over her nose again, admiring the buttery yellow of her color, though its flecked with patches of gray.

Agatha’s lips twitch.

Noise, bouncing off the tunnel walls and to your ears, beckons both of you to look forward. You round a final corner to find there is no tunnel left.

You’re led into a grand, cavernous space. Before you sits an expansive rock ledge teeming with people. Beyond that, two winding stone staircases lead down and out of sight. Walls curve around you in a great circle and boast countless doorways; though unlike those outside, they’re decorated—personal.

Curling overhead is an impressive overhang of rock that draws every sound into an echo. Amongst the cacophony of people you hear water and birdsong—life hidden away in this great cave.

Children race past, screaming with joy, not sparing you a glance. Some of the older Netueht regard the group of you with curiosity. None of them appear surprised to have company.

“These are our visitors?” A smooth, feminine voice asks.

Your eye is drawn to a tall woman with a diamond-shaped jaw and an elegant hooked nose. Long, dark hair flows around her, inlaid with tiny braids. The ends of her braids are dappled with green.

She examines you with keen chocolate eyes. Her lips are downturned at the edges.

“She certainly looks like a Queen.” She adds, seeming unimpressed.

You’re surprised, only just able to hide your grin.

“Pleased to meet your expectations.” You say.

Her eyes widen a fraction, darting to the man who led you. His shoulders shake with silent laughter. Cheeks flushed with a bit of pink, she hits him on the shoulder, hard, but he doesn’t seem phased.

“You could have told me they spoke our tongue!”

“And miss you making a fool of yourself?”

“Awful man!”

A third voice cuts in, “What an example you set, Mallinali.”

Coming up behind her is a tall, lithe man. He bears no paint besides that they all seem to share; the yellow marks across the mouth. His hair lays behind him in an undisturbed curtain, displaying the same hooked nose, but a sharper jaw.

It is not the set of said jaw that gives away who he is, nor the way he holds himself—but his eyes, kind yet ever-so detached; a look you’ve seen gazing back from the mirror often.

“I hope my sister has not offended you.” He says.

“Not at all.” You smile.

Holding out your arm palm up, you offer your name. He clasps your wrist, your arms rotating in unison, both of your hands feeling the pulse of the other through your veins before releasing.

“Pleased to welcome you. I am Aly’Liwen.” His gaze flickers over your shoulder, “And the sharp beauty at your back?”

“My wife, Agatha. And our Guards Yelena, Natalia, and Antonia. We are at your disposal.”

His gaze settles back on you, amusement lingering at the edges of his mouth, “Waman said you were formal, but I didn’t expect the old formalities.”

“Much of the new hasn’t reached our people in some time. If you’d like me to observe different courtesies, I would be pleased to do so.”

“I didn’t expect it, but it is not unpleasant. I haven’t heard them since my Mother was Chieftain.”

“She is likely the reason I know them.”

Aly’Liwen is thoughtful, before nodding, “She would have taught them to your Mother.”

“Yes. Aly’Ajei was held very dear to my Mother’s heart.”

Something softens in his eyes at that. The detached look lessens. You notice Mallinali perk up at the mention of their Mother’s name where moments before she’d been hissing at the other man—Waman.

Waman does not watch you, though—he watches Aly’Liwen with a knowing gaze and something else; a careful fondness. Ah.

They make a striking pair.

A small smile comes to your mouth. When you look back to Aly’Liwen, an unexpected fondness lingers in the way he regards you.

“You are Little Sun.”

The name slams into you like a battering ram, but you nod. You try to hide the flinch that has Agatha’s hand pressing to your lower back.

“I am.”

His face splits into the most wonderful smile. Were you not otherwise inclined, you could find yourself falling at the mere sight of it, and the deep sound of his laugh.

“My Mother used to read the letters to me. You were more of a handful than my sister.”

“This I must hear.” Waman grins.

You flush, “Oh Gods.”

“I was not that difficult.” Mallinali defends, “Even if I was, I’m far better now.”

“Barely.”

“Waman, on my Mother I will see you silenced.”

“He is Hawk, Malli, his tongue is spoken for.” Aly’Liwen pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head, “But forgive our manners, you and yours must be tired. There is time to rest before we eat.”

The additional doorways along the walls, as it turns out, are rooms. Chambers. Your Guard are led to one just to the right of the one you and Agatha are offered. Agatha inclines her head politely before strutting inside as if she owns it.

Even the thought of entering the chamber makes you tremble. Despite how tired you may be, you’ll handle that problem later.

“Would you mind terribly if I shadowed you?”

Aly’Liwen looks surprised, but shakes his head, “Of course not. I want to know the full story behind the worm sandwiches you served to Lady Valentina.”

You groan. He laughs, the sound echoing beautifully in the cavern.

An arm is held out and you accept it with a smile. Belova falls into step behind you.

“Waman expressed my intent to hunt for your people?” You ask.

“It’s why you were allowed here.” He leads you across the main space and toward the downward-sloping staircases you noted earlier, “We will have to wait out the darkness. Tonight, you and yours are at our hospitality, and at first light we will be at yours.”

Nearing the edge, the scene below draws a gasp. At the bottom of the stone staircases sits the true mouth of the cave, teeming with life on all sides; flowers and herbs and even trees. The Netueht have cut all the way through the mountain to the forest on the other side.

Inside the cave mouth, the life is more uniform—cultivated in rows and warmed by the few careful fires some of the Netueht sit around.

Birds linger on rock ledges clinging to the ceiling. Most are nestled down in their nests, silent. A few are trilling their final song of the evening. They’re common birds, sparrows and crows and larks… except one; a large, solitary hawk.

He notices you just as you notice him. He blinks, his head tilting.

Aly’Liwen guides you toward the staircase and down. You focus on every step, careful not to stumble, but find yourself distracted by the warmth of his arm in your own.

Upon reaching the bottom step, the space rumbles, and you tense. Panic flares. You were right, this place is unstable, its going to collapse inward and what will come of you then—

Two massive stone wheels are rolled from the edges of the cave, pushed by a few men each. They roll until they meet and close off the cave mouth from the forest lying just outside. The rumbling ceases.

You offer Aly’Liwen a questioning glance.

“The predators in these mountains would ravage us in the night.”

“There are many?” You ask, racking your brain for what wildlife they have.

“Bears and large cats and wolves. Not overwhelming to us, but we do not tempt them.”

“Greymont only has wolves.”

“Direwolves, so I hear.”

You’re not sure how valuable a distinction it is, but nod.

“They’re more scarce than they once were, but yes.”

He shivers, “I cannot imagine sharing a home with direwolves.”

“You have bears!” You say, unable to help your laugh.

“Bears are more reasonable and easier fought.” He defends.

Waman appears, a sly grin on his lips as he passes, “For you, maybe, but only because I’m the one doing the fighting.”

The noise the Chieftain lets out can only be described as indignant. It comes out in a squawk that has you covering your smile to preserve politeness. Waman only throws a smug look over his shoulder as he moves along.

“Do not listen to a word he says.”

You’re guided to the small fires in this space, introduced to all the people lingering and working. Aly’Liwen is a courteous host. What startles you is that he doesn’t introduce you by name, but as Daughter of Nethys. Hearing her name said so casually is blow and balm both.

Something of her lingers here; perhaps it is the fondness she had for these people, maybe it is the ease with which you find yourself falling into joy with them like you once did with her.

Each person greets you with the same clasping of hands. You don’t know the last time you’ve been touched by so many. It’s overwhelming.

Awareness prods your senses. You’re being watched.

You glance around in a quiet moment and spot it; the only solitary bird besides the hawk is a raven. Aquila.

The Netueht gather on the upper rock ledge, surrounding a great fire on benches. You hand a stack of woven bowls off to Isi—Mallinali’s daughter—who darts off to pass them out.

Mallinali comes from the fire carrying roasted meats. She sets them on the table where you’ve come to stand, arranging them to the side of all the roasted roots and greens.

“You’ll never be rid of her now.” She comments.

“Who would ever want to be?”

The corner of her mouth turns up in a sly smile, “You may not feel that way after she’s had sweetleaf.”

You shake your head. Isi, while precocious, is a delight. She’s eager and sweet and has no shortage of interests; many of which she has regaled you with details of.

Like moths to a flame, Waman appears over Mallinali’s shoulder with Quidel, her husband. Both make sly attempts for pieces of the meat near her hands while she’s focused on you. She doesn’t bat an eyelash as she slaps the hands viciously.

Quidel says nothing, seeming unfazed. Waman cradles his hand dramatically.

The latter exaggerates, “You’ve broken it.”

She shakes her head and turns to regard them, arms crossed over her chest. You stifle a laugh.

“Would serve you right.”

“Is this anyway to treat your Hawk?”

“No, but it is how I treat my brother’s bonded.”

“No mercy for your family. You see how we are treated, Little Sun?”

The nickname seems to have been well known to most you’ve come into contact with; and they’ve taken to using it like your true name. You’ve become used to it enough that you don’t flinch, but it does still hurt to hear.

“The consequences of your own actions.” You shrug.

“Another ally lost to Mallinali. I’m beginning to wonder if I should change sides.” Quidel muses, face unchanging from its stoic look.

Mallinali pats his cheek, “If you know what is best for you.”

A tug on your skirts draws your attention from the interaction. Isi has returned and is holding out her arms with a grin.

“More bowls, please!”

“Coming right up, your greatness.” You tease.

She giggles, showing off a great big grin. The offered bowls are near-snatched from your hands as she bounds away again.

When you look away from where Isi has gone, you see her.

Agatha has appeared on the other side of the fire, closest to the chambers you were given. She’s changed out of the ornate dress she traveled in to one that is more understated. It softens her edges.

Romanov stands at her back, taking in the scene. Agatha’s eyes are searching, darting over the faces of those in the space. When they land on you, they do not stray. The dress hasn’t softened the electric blue of her eyes.

She weaves through benches and bodies to come stand before you.

“You have kept busy.”

You blush as you remember the state of your appearance.

Somewhere in the midst of pulling roots for dinner, you shed your outer jacket, haphazardly rolling up your dress sleeves. Dirt still lingers under your nails despite scrubbing at your hands. You unpinned your hair, too, opting to tie it up with a braid of sweet grass someone had offered. A far cry from your usual look.

“Many hands make light work.” You offer.

Agatha smirks, “That’s not the only thing they do.”

You roll your eyes, swatting at her lightly.

“Behave.”

“I always behave. Just not for you.”

Ignoring the comment and the infuriating amusement paired with it, you hold some of the bowls between you, “Make yourself useful.”

She purrs, looking you up and down, “Where do you want me, darling?”

Despite doing everything you can to keep it from happening, you feel the hot flush in your face.

“Go.” You grit out.

Agatha throws her head back in a laugh. She wanders off to hand out the bowls, a rare mercy, and you relax against the table. You hate the things she is capable of doing to you.

The purr in her voice has gone straight between your thighs. The rasp, the barely-restrained desire hidden under the teasing… it feels all too similar to a few nights past, when she’d taunted you to your breaking point. Now that you’ve gotten a taste, your body aches for it, but you can’t have it; the moment in the river had been a one-time indulgence you won’t risk again.

You’re drawn from your thoughts by more meat, fresh from the fire. Waman and Quidel have since given up on their crusade for taste-tests, leaving you behind with Aly’Liwen and Mallinali. The three of you make quick work of any lingering preparations.

Silence descends over the three of you as you work. It’s so unlike the stifling silences in Greymont, where it brings the feeling of a million eyes. This silence is freeing, comfortable. You find yourself lost in the work until the two push you to go sit.

You spy the familiar, unruly head of hair around the fire. She’s chosen a bench that is back away from the flames; not quite secluded, but not front and center, either. None of the Guard linger near her.

Agatha watches the room as she watches everything else; with intense, unwavering focus. It allows you to slide in next to her almost unnoticed.

“Where are the Guard?” You ask without thinking.

“I don’t need them, dear.” She drawls, then her demeanor takes on something more pointed, teasing, “After all, someone was rather adamant that we were in no danger.”

Your opinion on that hasn’t changed; you feel safe here, but powerful as Agatha may be, you don’t like the thought of anyone being without extra protection.

“The Guard is here for a reason.”

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about little old me?”

“I like having the extra layer of defense between my hands and your neck. It helps to curb the urges.”

Agatha leans closer to you, voice dropping to a heated murmur, “Tell me more about these urges of yours.”

You’ve pivoted in the past, made threats, attacked her, even. Anything other than acknowledging her more risque taunts. Now you want to see her surprised. You lean closer, mind conjuring all the filthy things you could whisper to catch her off guard, when movement catches your eye.

Aly’Liwen has come around with a grin, bowl in hand, “For all your assistance, you forgot one for yourself.”

You blush and back out of Agatha’s space. With a grateful nod, you accept the offering. He wanders away.

The charged feeling has dropped, leaving you uncomfortable with her proximity. But you don’t move out of her space, unwilling to give even a hint that you’re backing down. Her interest lingers in the air, in the way she regards you from the corner of her vision.

Whether it is the emotion of the moment or the still-present draft, you shiver.

Agatha sighs, long-suffering, and snaps. A flash of violet brings a weight that settles over your shoulders. You sit up straighter, looking down at yourself; Agatha has summoned a warm fur and draped it over you.

A gasp sounds from your right.

Isi stands steps away, cradling a food-laden bowl. Her eyes are wide, mouth dropped open, looking between you and Agatha. You bristle and stand to do damage control. She drops her food onto the bench and turns, running off.

But it isn’t fear that colors her voice, it’s delight, “She’s magic! She’s magic!”

A gaggle of children follow behind Isi as she comes racing back. They surround Agatha—and you by extension—staring up at her in awe. Only Isi is brave enough to venture into her personal space and grab her hands, jostling them for emphasis.

“Make magic!”

You laugh, hiding it behind your hand. You sit forward to translate when she poises her hands before her. A crackling beam of power extends between her palms, held like rope. Little sparks fly from the display before she pulls it back.

Netueht rolls from her tongue like honey from the comb, “What is the magic word?”

That earns her half a dozen voices crying out ‘please!’ and her smirk deepens. You’re staring at her in astonishment.

Her hands twist and the rope of magic unravels into a hundred bolts of lightning, dancing and lashing. When they sneak from between her palms they erupt into puffs of smoke. Said smoke curls at the faces of the children, making them erupt into giggles.

Agatha’s just as smug as ever, but the set of her posture is softer; she’s taut with awareness, holding her power steady, yet she grins as she leans forward to acknowledge every child who shows interest.

The children have opted to make Isi their spokeswoman, whispering questions for her to ask. Agatha answers every one as if she were holding court in Greymont. For some of the more complicated questions, she’ll conjure items or images with magic.

The rest of the Netueht watch. A few crowd around, displaying the same interest as their children.

She is totally in her element with an audience. And when she turns and catches your eye in the midst of it all, she winks.

Something in you stops. You’re seized by an emotion you can’t name. You need to move—anything to work out this feeling in your veins making it hard to breathe.

You go to offer her a smile and find you’ve been smiling.

Rising gracefully, you pick Isi up and plop her in your seat. She squeals with delight.

“Keep her out of trouble for me.” You whisper conspiratorially.

Isi glances at Agatha briefly and says with utter seriousness, “I will.”

It takes longer than you expect to weave through the gathered crowd, and it feels even longer before you reach the table laden with food. You feel you can breathe the second you reach it.

What was that?

You’re not alone at the table; Quidel standing near, focused on you. His expression is just as stony as always but his eyes hold an interest.

“Not fond of crowds, Little Sun?”

Understanding dawns. The odd feeling in your chest, the need to move—it was fear. You’d felt the Netueht pressing in like stone walls and your body had registered what your brain couldn’t; too distracted you were by Agatha’s display.

“Not especially.” You say.

“Your bonded handles them well for the both of you.”

“Yes, she does.”

A glance finds her still entertaining the group, lips moving to explain something you can’t hear to one of the children. Your eyes fall on the empty bowl in her lap.

Has she eaten?

She had breakfast with you, but you were too caught in your own mind to notice her behavior. She touched nothing on the journey here. And when you wandered with Aly’Liwen she likely took the time to rest.

You load your own with double the food. You eye the roseberries with desire, but ultimately avoid them; Agatha’s face always twists at their flavor.

Every step back toward her makes that feeling inside you grow. You can veer off course and leave her to handle herself, she hasn’t noticed you yet; but the idea of how ravenous she must be drives you forward. Is it not your place to assuage the hunger of those here?

Agatha catches your eye. Concern softens her features and you quickly school your own.

Mallinali clears away the crowd of onlookers and admirers. Your place on the bench is once again wide open as you slide next to her, careful to maintain a healthy distance. You set the bowl between you.

Agatha hesitates, then begins to pick at it. You avoid her eyes.

You groan, “I was a child.”

“That only makes it all the more damning, darling.” Agatha grins, “Children are the truest form of being.”

“Oh, please. And what were you like as a child, then?”

“A delight, naturally.”

“Delightful terror is probably closer to the truth.” You muse.

“Says you, young overlord. You know what they say about casting stones, dear.”

Aly’Liwen and his people are natural storytellers; and there is no better excuse for storytelling than to entertain visitors. Over the course of the evening you’d even been prompted to share a few of your own. A mistake, it seems—at least in relation to Agatha.

Your bickering with the witch has brought you to your chamber door. Agatha waltzes right in, utterly unafraid. You stop in the opening.

Amusement is quashed beneath the weight settling on your chest. Drawing breath feels impossible. Your hands come to clutch the arch of the doorway. If you can just take one step inside, you’ll be fine. The fear will fall away.

You put one foot through the door and can’t move any further. The step has made it worse. Oh Gods.

The opening inside is snake-like to protect from any wind, but it only makes it worse. You can’t assess the room from here. Though it’s a positive that Agatha can’t see you fall apart.

Briefly you consider not entering at all and finding a place within the cavern to sleep; but you’re not a commoner. Finding a way to enter the chamber is inevitable.

You pull one hand from the doorway and sink your nails into your flesh, hoping for the sweet reprieve the pain can bring. Nothing. The fear doesn’t ebb—if anything, it grows worse. Gods, you just need to step into the chamber.

You have no choice.

“H-Harkness.” You call into the chamber, cursing the break in your voice.

Shuffling, feet on stone. The wild, dark mane of her hair comes around the curve, blue eyes curious. The sight of her is a comfort.

She raises a brow.

“I…I can’t…” You whisper.

You don’t know how to put it into words—the lack of breath, the impossible weight on your chest, how you tremble like a child. Every fear in your mind is alive and whispering terrible things in your ear. You don’t know how to tell her that you can’t silence them.

Your eyes are glassy, casting a blurry haze, but you still see the cruel smile that forms. It feels like a twisting knife in your chest.

Agatha coos, mocking, “Something wrong, dear?”

The knife pierces deeper. You can’t do this. This isn’t a fight you can rise to—you can’t even breathe.

You flinch back. One of your hands leaves the doorway as you prepare to retreat, to find anywhere to bide your time until the morning, logic be damned.

Humor drops from Agatha’s expression. Worry stains her proud features and she crosses the distance in a blink. She comes to stand before you, hands held between your persons.

You hardly see them through your blurred vision.

“Give me your hands.” Agatha orders.

The order drums up annoyance. It’s comforting—the heat of your defiance, low as the temperature may be.

If only you had more of it, perhaps you wouldn’t need her.

Finger by clenched finger, you peel your grip from the doorway. They ache from the force at which you held on. Blood rushes back to the appendages, but you still feel cold.

You’re forced to take a step forward to grab her hands. They’re warm and dry. You’d flush at the sweat on your palms if you weren’t otherwise distracted.

Her blackened hands grasp your own tight.

She takes several steps back into the pathway until you’re forced to take more to follow. It’s a slow, terrifying dance. One step for you, several for Agatha, and so on. You stare at your joined hands.

In your periphery, you can see the walls on either side, and you can see exactly when they widen into what is the dedicated chamber.

You’re rooted to the spot.

There is a great woven rug over the floor, tapestries and painted scenes covering the walls, a modest bed in the center of the room. It’s beautiful, but the walls are too close, the ceiling is too low—

Agatha has stepped away far enough that continuing to clutch her makes you lean forward at an odd angle. You need to move forward, but you can’t. You won’t.

You can’t stay in this room.

She leverages your uneven footing and yanks, hard. You stumble a few steps forward and feel a shriek clawing up your throat. It’d escape—if you could catch enough air to make it so.

You only manage to whimper.

She pauses, then steps close. Too close. You can’t push her back; the overwhelm of having all of her so near blocks out the vision of the room—the too small room with all the shadows with all the weight—

One hand is extracted from your own. You cry out, clawing at it, trying to catch it with your own. She can’t let you go. She can’t.

The words leave you without your consent, “Agatha, please.”

Her hand settles in the center of your chest, over where your heart beats. Agatha’s gaze traces your features; over the pleading look for safety, for her to fix this one thing you can’t face. Carefully, she pulls her other hand from yours, and instinctively you latch onto fistfuls of her dress, desperate to anchor yourself.

“Close your eyes.” Her breath is warm over your skin.

You’re helpless to do anything but obey.

It helps when your eyes fall closed; you can’t see the shadows crawling over every corner of the room. All you feel is the heat of Agatha so close, the firm press of her hand over your heart.

Then, frisson. A bolt of electricity.

“Feel her.” Agatha says.

Her voice echoes, carrying a depth just like it did in the center of the river.

And then, you do.

Your senses expand outward. The gentle hum you felt through the stone is alive and real, something closer to a steady breath. You feel the tug of every root clinging to the stone, the reverberations of every step taken upon it. Despite so much weight and movement there is no yield. No give. She does not budge even an inch.

“She won’t hurt you.”

Caught up her instruction, in the feel of the mountain coursing through you, the whispering fears in your mind go silent. You’re safe.

Tension melts from your limbs. You slump forward, a shaking breath escaping. Your front is pressed fully against Agatha’s. The warmth exuding from her helps calm the shaking in your limbs. You’re grounded by the pressure of her. It’s nice to be held.

A hesitant hand comes to hold your waist. Two of her fingers trace careful patterns.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

Agatha hums.

“This isn’t what I expected from you.” She admits.

“It’s my place to keep you on your toes, isn’t it?” You laugh, a bit of bitterness creeping in.

You shouldn’t be showing her this weakness. Of all the people to see you at your lowest, she should be the very last. This weakness shouldn’t exist, let alone have seized you enough to override your faculties.

His words echo in your mind; a Queen never loses control.

The weight of the dagger under your skirts is a promise; control is just within reach. You release a fistful of Agatha’s dress and reach for it.

You press the tip of the blade into her side.

Her hand releases your waist and two fingers crook under your chin. You meet her eyes, defiant.

“You’re getting predictable.” Agatha murmurs.

You smile, but you don’t feel any joy. You need to regain what you’ve lost.

You need control.

“If I’m predictable, why let me so close?” You whisper.

Agatha leans in, barely a breath between the two of you, “Because it’s your place, angel.”

The dagger is extracted from your hold faster than you can blink. She doesn’t turn it on you. Rather, with a grand flourish, she sinks to one knee, and pushes up your skirts.

You watch, frozen. Her flesh is warm against your own. The length of the blade is cold where she slides it back into your garter.

She chuckles low. As she stands in a fluid motion, she winks. One of her hands pats your thigh.

“Sleep well, darling.”

Your prior fear feels miles away, now. As you tuck in for the evening you burn with the lingering feeling of her flesh on your own.

The slant of light tells you you’re dreaming. You sit beneath a tree, back pressed against it. Above you the branches sway in the wind. Yet, the sunlight doesn’t change; unmoved despite the jostled branches.

You hold a book in your hands and a heavy weight in your lap. The weight is familiar—comforting, even, like you’ve always carried it with you.

“Mother?” The weight asks, voice high and youthful.

The book is lowered to reveal wild hair and blue eyes one could drown in. Her face is serene, but she’s aware; eyes a whirlpool of thought. You smooth a hand over her cheek.

Since when do I have a child?

“Yes, my beloved?” You murmur.

“Where are my sisters?”

She leans into your touch like a starved animal, even as she delivers the question. For some reason it feels like a blow to the chest.

Sisters? No, there is only her… my baby. My only baby. Right?

“You don’t have sisters.”

“Yes, I do. You’ve just forgotten. You always forget.” She sits up, “Remember. You have to.”

“My beloved, there are no sisters to remember.”

The words settle something incorrect in your chest. You claw at it absentmindedly.

“Yes there are! She’ll help you find them again.”

Your thumb had been stroking little circles on her cheek. It freezes. Tilting your head, you regard her closely.

“Who?”

Her weight vanishes. She’s gone from beneath your hand, round youthful cheeks and all. The slant of light dims, the shadows lengthen, and the sky is painted from golden to crimson. Beneath you the earth is charred, dead—just like…

“Turning the water against me was clever.”

You turn and stop. She stands a few feet away, hands folded in front of herself, waiting. The skin of her face is as if someone grabbed and pulled. No bone is revealed in the wake of it, but void; endless nothingness.

The light, golden and sweet, drips from the branches overhead like rain. It sizzles upon meeting the blackened earth.

Her voice… like pulling a thread too thin, an auditory example of pure anticipation and fear. It bobs up and down but always too tight. The sound is almost impossible to bear.

“It wasn’t my idea.” You say.

She looks as if she means to smile, but the melting flesh on her features doesn’t move to accommodate the action.

“But it was your intent.” She says, slowly advancing on you. You resist the urge to back away, “Do you think Agatha could do this?”

You see it, then. The carnage wrought upon her throat. A gaping wound through, the edges black and festering. Snapped chords hang limp through the opening, but a few remain; you watch them tighten as she speaks, itching with the knowledge that it could snap before your eyes.

Gripping your middle, you feel light-headed. You’re going to be sick.

“How are you even here?” You ask, eyes averted to the ground.

Agatha had told you that your mind was guarded after everything at the barrier; she’d handled it herself, meticulously weaving magic and latin around you. And you had felt Her fall away from your mind. You know you had.

“We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I—woven of the same thread. Agatha cannot fathom us so she cannot keep us apart.”

“We are nothing alike.”

She shakes her head, sighs. The sound is strangely human; out of place coming from the horror of this witch.

“I don’t want to be your villain.”

You feel a pull to believe her. You shove it down.

“You have an odd way of showing it.”

“I’ve been kind, haven’t I? Haven’t I been merciful? I didn’t touch your people when you came to me. I offered you a way to free yourself and your kingdom.” She surges forward, hands outstretched as if to grab your own and make you see. She stops when you flinch back, “I even tried to give you what you wanted.”

Your prize under the deal you could have made; freedom from Agatha. Despite you spitting in the face of her deal, she’d gone ahead and given it to you anyway—or attempted to.

Something in you is pulled toward her beyond logic and reason. A part of you—the part you share—wants to believe her. It begs you to just trust.

You stare at the golden-stained spots on the charred ground.

“Why?”

Why do any of it? Why appear now? Why does she want Agatha gone?

“I loved something. Someone.” The grief staining her is palpable, overriding the tension created by her vocal horror, “I…I want him back.”

Love of the romantic sort is not a privilege you’ve ever known. Still, you feel the lack she experiences. It threatens to drown you. How has she been carrying this so long?

“Why not tell me this to start?”

She sighs again. Her eyes close, like she herself is fighting to stay above the grief washing over her. When she opens them, she’s steady again.

“Please… please, will you help me?” She whispers.

One of her hands reaches out, palm up. The edges of her hands match the earth. Her eyes, empty and dark as they may be, hold a pleading glint.

You reach back.

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha all along #agatha all along x reader #agatha all along fanfiction #agatha harkness fanfiction #wlw #wlw fanfiction #dec2024 #multimilfswritings

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kellyvela · 9 months ago

Note

Do you notice many Sansa fans are POC girls/women? My girls and I are POC from a Muslim country. We are Sansa's fans. We understand Sansa because our lives are similar to Sansa.

It is easy for White people in Western developed countries to claim Sansa should rebel like Arya.

They do not understand the deadly harsh consequences of not following the rules in a real life. For girls/women in religious, traditional, and conservative societies/countries. Similar to Sansa's medievel society/country.

If, my girls and I rebel like Arya. Then, we will get "Honour" murdered.

Sansa, my girls, and I are not dumb, weak, and useless for trying to survive. For trying to protect ourselves. For trying to make the best out of our circumstances that we are born into.

Hello anon!

Thanks for sharing your story with me ❤️

What you said reminds me of what GRRM has said about Sansa's mother, Catelyn Stark:

Interviewer: One of the strongest female characters is Catelyn Stark, in my point of view.

GRRM: Well, I wanted to make a strong mother character. The portrayal women in epic fantasy have been problematical for a long time. These books are largely written by men but women also read them in great, great numbers. And the women in fantasy tend to be very atypical women… They tend to be the woman warrior or the spunky princess who wouldn’t accept what her father lays down, and I have those archetypes in my books as well.

However, with Catelyn there is something reset for the Eleanor of Aquitaine, the figure of the woman who accepted her role and functions with a narrow society and, nonetheless, achieves considerable influence and power and authority despite accepting the risks and limitations of this society. She is also a mother… Then, a tendency you can see in a lot of other fantasies is to kill the mother or to get her off the stage. She’s usually dead before the story opens… Nobody wants to hear about King Arthur’s mother and what she thought or what she was doing, so they get her off the stage and I wanted it too. And that’s Catelyn.

—Adrias News - 2012

So Catelyn Stark is “the figure of the woman who accepted her role and functions with a narrow society and, nonetheless, achieves considerable influence and power and authority despite accepting the risks and limitations of this society”.

Catelyn Stark, Sansa’s lady mother and role model, the symbol of strength she turned to when she pleaded for her father's life:

Sansa quailed. Now, she told herself, I must do it now. Gods give me courage. She took one step, then another. Lords and knights stepped aside silently to let her pass, and she felt the weight of their eyes on her. I must be as strong as my lady mother. "Your Grace," she called out in a soft, tremulous voice.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

Catelyn Stark, the woman whose name Sansa wanted to take as her new identity:

What should you be called?" "I . . . I could call myself after my mother . . ." "Catelyn? A bit too obvious . . . but after my mother, that would serve. Alayne. Do you like it?" "Alayne is pretty." Sansa hoped she would remember.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

Catelyn Stark, the mother that Sansa didn’t forget and that reminds inside her to preserve her true identity:

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

That Catelyn Stark is the kind of woman that Sansa Stark will become and surpass in the future.

Thanks for your message 😊

#anon asks #sansa stark #catelyn stark #catelyn tully

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asoiafcanonjonsnow · 2 years ago

Text

JONSNOWFORTNIGHTEVENT2023

DAY 12: HOUSE TARGARYEN 🐉🏰: Jon Snow // Aegon V Targaryen

Hidden Identity

For the rest of his life—however long that might be—he would be condemned to be an outsider, the silent man standing in the shadows who dares not speak his true name. Jon IX, AGOT "To keep my hair shaved or dyed, and tell no man my true name," the boy said, with obvious reluctance. The Sworn Sword

Perceptive

"Father took the king down to the crypts this afternoon. The queen didn't want him to go." Benjen gave Jon a careful, measuring look. "You don't miss much, do you, Jon? Jon I, AGOT He flicked the gold coin back to Ser Uthor. Traitor's gold. Blackfyre gold. Egg said this was a traitor's tourney, but I would not listen. He owed the boy an apology. The Mystery Knight

Celibate Orders

"I want to serve in the Night's Watch, Uncle." "You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up." "I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly. Jon I, AGOT "It would have," said Egg, "but I spit it out. I don't want a wife, I want to be a knight of the Kingsguard, and live only to serve and defend the king. The Kingsguard are sworn not to wed." "That's a noble thing, but when you're older you may find you'd sooner have a girl than a white cloak." The Sworn Sword

Immaturity

"There is no shame in being a steward," Sam said. "Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life washing an old man's smallclothes?" Jon VI, AGOT So had Dunk. "We'll see how many men turn up at the tower . . . but whether it's five or fifty, you'll need to do for them as well." Egg looked indignant. "I have to serve smallfolk?" The Sworn Sword

Learning

"No. They hate you because you act like you're better than they are. They look at you and see a castle-bred bastard who thinks he's a lordling." Jon III, AGOT You are a squire born of noble blood, but you are still a boy. Most of them will be men grown. A man has his pride, no matter how lowborn he may be. The Sworn Sword

Growth

Jon smiled at him. "I'm sorry about your wrist. Robb used the same move on me once, only with a wooden blade. It hurt like seven hells, but yours must be worse. Look, if you want, I can show you how to defend that." Jon III, AGOT The boy considered for a moment. “I could teach them the arms of the great Houses, and how Queen Alysanne convinced King Jaehaerys to abolish the first night. And they could teach me which weeds are best for making poisons, and whether those green berries are safe to eat.” – The Sworn Sword

Stableboy

She might mistake him for a stableboy and hand him the reins of her horse. Jon ADWD. Your stableboy can stay with the horses.” "I’m a squire, not a stableboy,” Egg insisted. “Are you blind, or only stupid?” The Sworn Sword.

Sharp Tongue

"I'd have an easier time teaching a wolf to juggle than you will training this aurochs." "I'll take that wager, Ser Alliser," Jon said. "I'd love to see Ghost juggle." Jon III, AGOT

"I have my faith to warm me." The red woman walked beside Jon down the steps. "His Grace is growing fond of you." - Jon I, ADWD "I can tell. He only threatened to behead me twice." Jon IX, ASOS

Slynt slammed a fist on the table. "I heard you! Ser Alliser had your measure true enough, it seems. You lie through your bastard's teeth. Well, I will not suffer it. I will not! You might have fooled this crippled blacksmith, but not Janos Slynt! Oh, no. Janos Slynt does not swallow lies so easily. Did you think my skull was stuffed with cabbage?" "I don't know what your skull is stuffed with. My lord."

"Wild boar," said Dunk in a glum tone, "but who wants boar when we have good salt beef?" Egg made a face. "Can I please eat my boots instead, ser? I'll make a new pair out of the salt beef. It's tougher." The Mystery Knight

Unlikely Choices

"I am lord commander because my brothers chose me." There were mornings when Jon Snow did not quite believe it himself, when he woke up thinking surely this was some mad dream. Jon I, ADWD Soon thereafter, the "Prince Who Was An Egg" was chosen by a majority of the Great Council. The fourth son of a fourth son, Aegon V would become widely known as Aegon the Unlikely for having stood so far out of the succession in his youth. Maeker I, The World of Ice and Fire

Maester Aemon

"Allow me to give my lord one last piece of counsel," the old man had said, "the same counsel that I once gave my brother when we parted for the last time. He was three-and-thirty when the Great Council chose him to mount the Iron Throne…Egg had an innocence to him, a sweetness we all loved. Kill the boy within you, I told him the day I took ship for the Wall. It takes a man to rule. An Aegon, not an Egg. Kill the boy and let the man be born." The old man felt Jon’s face. "You are half the age that Egg was, and your own burden is a crueler one, I fear.You will have little joy of your command, but I think you have the strength in you to do the things that must be done. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born. Jon ADWD.

Empathy

Jon had to bite his tongue. He didn't want to know about Del's girl or Bodger's mother, the place by the sea that Henk the Helm came from, how Grigg yearned to visit the green men on the Isle of Faces, or the time a moose had chased Toefinger up a tree. He didn't want to hear about the boil on Big Boil's arse, how much ale Stone Thumbs could drink, or how Quort's little brother had begged him not to go with Jarl. Jon V, ASOS "They might be killed, ser. Wet Wat is still half a boy. Will Barleycorn is to be married the next time the septon comes. And Big Rob doesn't even know his left foot from his right."

Half

"—that I am half a wildling myself, a turncloak who means to sell the realm to our raiders, cannibals, and giants." Jon did not need to stare into a fire to know what was being said of him. Jon VIII, A Dance With Dragons Prince Aegon was the obvious choice, but some lords distrusted him as well, for his wanderings with his hedge knight had left him "half a peasant," according to many. The World of Ice and Fire Maekar I

Reformers

"The wildlings will remain upon the Wall," Jon assured them. "Most will be housed in one of our abandoned castles." The Watch now had garrisons at Icemark, Long Barrow, Sable Hall, Greyguard, and Deep Lake, all badly undermanned, but ten castles still stood empty and abandoned. "Men with wives and children, all orphan girls and any orphan boys below the age of ten, old women, widowed mothers, any woman who does not care to fight. The spearwives we'll send to Long Barrow to join their sisters, single men to the other forts we've reopened. Those who take the black will remain here, or be posted to Eastwatch or the Shadow Tower. Tormund will take Oakenshield as his seat, to keep him close at hand." He enacted numerous reforms and granted rights and protections to the commons that they had never known before. – The World of Ice and Fire

Face Opposition

Marsh flushed a deeper shade of red. "The lord commander must pardon my bluntness, but I have no softer way to say this. What you propose is nothing less than treason. For eight thousand years the men of the Night's Watch have stood upon the Wall and fought these wildlings. Now you mean to let them pass, to shelter them in our castles, to feed them and clothe them and teach them how to fight. Lord Snow, must I remind you? You swore an oath." ...but each of these measures provoked fierce opposition and sometimes open defiance amongst the lords. The most outspoken of his foes went so far as to denounce Aegon V as a "bloodyhanded tyrant intent on depriving us of our gods-given rights and liberties." – The World of Ice and Fire

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onlyshirou08 · 24 days ago

Text

C!Shirou Character Sheet V.2

Fuck off.

Basic Info:

Name: Shirou M. Andrews

Age: 16

Birthday: June 17, 2008. (my actual birthday)

Species: Archangel

Race: Filipino

Nicknames: Shoutout / Shayrow / The Wanderer / Rat / Runa / The Soul Harvester

Interests: music, guitars, jewelry, coffee jelly, coffee.

Dislikes: chaos. violence. The Abyss. The Guardian?

Sexuality: Bisexual

Gender: "What is my gender..?"

Scent: Vanilla and dried blood.

Disorder and Addiction: PTSD and Self Harm

Extra Information:

Appearance:

Shirou is seen with a black shirt, brown baggy cargos and bandages around his wrists. along with midnight blue hair, glasses and a healed scar on his left eye (your right) With him is 1 set of wings and a moon necklace Lenora had given him. (excluded the Metallica hat and bisexual pin because it looks better ingame)

Abilities:

Shirou has a healing ability, which uses "Life Essence" from all the 10k lives he had to take. Reminder that this is not OP and abusable, everytime he heals or revives a person, his body aches, stomach pains and his breath shortens. Worse case is he starts coughing blood when reviving someone. He cannot heal himself or anyone above his angelic ranking.

Weapons

Shirou has 2 weapons given by The Guardian which is The Eviscerator (Axe) and Eternal Vow (Knife/Sword)

The Eviscerator

The axe that reaped souls. this axe has been with Shirou throughout his life starting at the age of 10. This axe appears to be 45 inches long and the axe heads make it a total of 17 inches wide. along with very simple carvings on both axe heads.

Eternal Vow

This knife was originally a sword, but due to so many uses, it got chipped and broken, so it was reformed as a knife. it is 10 inches long (4.5 on the handle, 5.5 on the blade) Like the axe heads on The Eviscerator. the blade also has similar designs. Azura currently holds the knife for self defence reasons.

Drawings

Relations:

The Guardian: his adoptive parent (reason why him and mira got separated, also ordered him to take people's souls)

Zander: Shirou's found mother.

Mira: biological sibling

Ell: best friend

Aspen: Girlfriend but not usually involved in lore

Azura: Formerly Lenora and Jaws, non-biological sister

Artemis: Childhood friend

Zephyros, Max Godspeed, Luci, Elizabeth, Sara.. ect.

Lore:

Once there was an adopted angel taken by "The Guardian", trained to kill innocent lives at the age of 10 , that angel is Shirou. Alongside his sibling Mira, who he was separated with because of a birth defect on Mira.

"I wont be taking this child, it has a horn!" - The Guardian to Mira.

Although his intentions was never to kill, he had no choice since his Guardians decide that was his destiny, to take souls of innocent lives.

A day where he had a little boy as his target, he decides to spares his target, not knowing the punishment he is about to face when he is back from heaven. The Guardian find out he had spared a boy and to punish him, his wings are ripped out of his back, lost his lightning / thunder and blue fire magic and almost lost an eye.

He then quickly escaped from Heaven then went to Artemis' Garden of Eden. There he hid with Artemis. his childhood friend. there he was comforted by Artemis then decided to leave to not bother anyone, (punishment happened at the age of 12)

"Where do we go now?" Said the young wanderer. so the young fallen angel wandered through everywhere, then found home. "Zander's Home?" There the boy was taken in because he had nowhere to go, along with Elizabeth and Lucifer. They lived in that house for almost 2 years until he leaves out of nowhere.

The young boy now at 14 is wandering for a purpose, with another identity, "Runa" through everywhere he's been. Yet there wasn't a purpose.

At 16, he finds a train then boards it unknowingly finding a world with a pink house with joyful music. "Daisy's House?" and there he is reunited with Artemis. Meets new friends like Max, Star, Asteral Lenora Sara, Cinyu.. i cannot name them all..

He is invited to "The Other World" where he sometimes stays in Ultra's or Azura's house depending on him. However, something there bothers him.. something corrupted

hehe :3

More Information:

Playlist:

Voice Claim:

Kazehaya Shouta in English Dub (Video for reference)

youtube

Weapon Enchants + Minecraft Appearance:

side note: this isnt about the author Shirou but the character Shirou!! but some kinda info like race sexuality and birthday does apply to the author :333

CREDITS TO ZEPHYROS AND ARTEMIS' CHARACTER SHEETS FOR THE INSPIRATION

#shirou posting #shirou #original character #oc #daisydaisyanswer #Spotify #Youtube #roblox #minecraft

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valaenatargaryensdragon · 1 year ago

Text

Legacy of Fire (I)

Chapter One: Awakening

Summery: Rhaenys Targaryen learns of the truth

Warnings: Cursing, death by sword, death by fire, death by hanging, war, humiliation, betrayal, violence, use of the word bastard, incest, angst, fluff, burning, threatening, future smut, P in V, fingering, cunnilingus, scissoring, blowjob, handjob, anal sex, girl x girl, boy x girl, boy x boy, dragons

Word Count: 1,5K

Rhaenys Targaryen knelt beside the small cot where her elderly wet nurse lay, frail and gasping for breath. The chamber was dimly lit, the sunlight struggling to penetrate the heavy curtains that shielded them from the harsh Dornish sun. Rhaenys dipped a cloth in cool water and gently dabbed it against the wet nurse’s fevered forehead.

“Please, you must get better,” Rhaenys implored, her voice trembling with worry. “I cannot bear to lose you, especially now.”

The old woman’s eyes, once bright with life, gazed up at Rhaenys with a mixture of sadness and determination. “My lady,” she rasped, her voice barely audible, “there is something I must confess before I depart from this world.”

Rhaenys leaned closer, her heart heavy with anticipation and dread. “What is it? What troubles you, dear friend?”

The wet nurse’s chest heaved with a labored breath, and she clutched Rhaenys’ hand weakly. “You are not who you think you are.” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You are not Rhaenys Targaryen. You are…”

Rhaenys felt her pulse quicken as she waited for the revelation, her world hanging on the precipice of truth.

The wet nurse continued, her words a fragile thread of disclosure. “You are Jon Snow’s twin. Your true name…is Vaeloria”

Rhaenys’s heart seemed to stop as the weight of those words settled upon her. She couldn’t comprehend the magnitude of the secret her wet nurse had carried, a secret that had been buried in deceit for all her life.

“But why?” Rhaenys choked out, tears filling her violet eyes. “Why was this kept from me?”

The wet nurse’s grip on Rhaenys’ hand tightened, and she summoned the last of her strength to respond. “Your father, Rhaegar Targaryen, believed it was the only way to keep you safe. And your uncle, Eddard Stark, swore an oath to protect you both.”

The sands of Dorne whispered secrets, their shifting grains echoing tales of forgotten bloodlines and concealed destinies. Underneath the scorching sun, the coastal breeze carried the faint scent of salt and the distant promise of adventure. It was here, in this land of fierce beauty, that a young woman known as Rhaenys Targaryen began her journey.

As dawn painted the horizon in hues of pink and gold, Rhaenys stood atop the battlements of Sunspear, the ancient seat of House Martell. Her silver-gold hair cascaded like liquid fire down her back, and her violet eyes glistened with determination. She had awakened to a world forever changed, a world where her true identity as a Targaryen had been unveiled.

The revelation had been both a curse and a blessing. It had set her on a path she could not deny, a path fraught with secrets and treacherous ambitions. She knew that the road ahead would be perilous, but she was resolute in her purpose—to find her twin brother, Jon Snow, and to seek out the last living heir of House Targaryen, Daenerys, whose vision she believed in with unwavering conviction.

In her heart, a burning desire smoldered, a desire to fulfill the promise of fire and blood, and to continue the legacy of the Dragon. Her journey had begun, and it would take her across the Seven Kingdoms, through the treacherous landscapes of power and betrayal.

The world of Westeros awaited her, with its intrigues, rivalries, and hidden dangers. But Rhaenys Targaryen would not falter. She had awakened to her true self, and she was determined to shape her own destiny.

As Rhaenys gazed out over the shimmering waters of the Summer Sea, a sense of both excitement and foreboding coursed through her veins. The sprawling palace of Sunspear, with its sandstone towers and hidden courtyards, had been her home for as long as she could remember. But now, it felt like a gilded cage, its walls closing in on her.

She had learned much from her kind “uncle” Doran Martell, the ruler of Dorne, and her time in Sunspear had been one of safety and tutelage. Yet, the secrets that had been kept from her had become a weight too heavy to bear.

Rhaenys Targaryen stood in the lush gardens of Sunspear, wondering what her beloved uncle Oberyn would have thought of her if he were still alive this day after the revelation, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the salt-tinged breeze from the nearby sea. The sun painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the palace grounds. She was no longer the young girl known as Rhaenys, but the memory of her childhood with Oberyn Martell remained etched in her heart. Oberyn despised the Lannisters for what they did to his sister, he raised her to hate them as well but would he have hated her more if he knew she was one of the fruits of his sister’s husband’s betrayal? A result of what had caused the rebellion and eventually his sister’s death. The woman he raised her to love and care for even when she did not know thinking she was her true mother.

As she strolled along a cobblestone path, her mind wandered back to a simpler time. She had been a spirited child, her silver-gold hair flowing like a river of fire as she ran through the gardens. Her uncle Oberyn, the Red Viper, had been her playmate, his sharp wit and fierce determination a constant source of fascination.

One particular memory stood out—a day when Oberyn had taken her to the Water Gardens, a sanctuary of cascading fountains and crystal-clear pools. They had laughed together as they splashed in the water, carefree and oblivious to the weight of their names.

“Rhaenys,” Oberyn had called her, unaware of the secret that hid beneath the false name. “You have the spirit of a true Dornish woman. Fearless and untamed.”

She had grinned up at him, the innocence of childhood in her violet eyes. “Like you, Uncle.”

Oberyn had chuckled, ruffling her hair affectionately. “Yes, perhaps you take after your old uncle more than you know.”

In that moment, as they had shared their laughter and the warmth of the Dornish sun, the world had felt like a place of endless possibilities. The looming shadows of politics and secrets had been distant, and Rhaenys had reveled in the love and companionship of her family.

Now, as she walked those same paths, her uncle’s words echoed in her mind, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he would have reacted when he learned the truth of her identity. The thought weighed heavily on her, but she was determined to face the inevitable revelation with the same courage and spirit that had defined her as a child.

The memory of Oberyn, blissfully ignorant of her true heritage, remained a bittersweet reminder of the innocence she had lost. She would carry it with her as she embarked on her journey to reunite with Jon Snow, seek out Daenerys Targaryen, and rewrite her destiny in the ever-complicated world of Westeros.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Rhaenys descended from the battlements, her mind racing with plans and questions. How would she find Jon Snow, a brother she had never known? And what of Daenerys Targaryen, the last living ember of House Targaryen’s once-mighty flame? Could she convince the world that the Dragon must rise again?

Her first step led her to the chambers of her loyal confidante, the servant who had revealed the truth. There, she found the older woman with eyes red from weeping.

“Are you certain about this?” Rhaenys asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

The servant nodded. “I have no doubt, my lady. The blood of House Targaryen flows in your veins.”

Rhaenys’ resolve hardened. “Then it is time. I will begin my journey.”

With a heavy heart, the servant handed her a small, ornate chest. Inside lay a dragon pendant, a symbol of her true lineage. It was a reminder of the legacy she carried, a legacy she intended to honour. The other side of the had pendent a dire wolf was engraved, a dragon and wolf she was, a rare gem she was.

As she fastened the pendant around her neck, Rhaenys knew that the path she had chosen would be fraught with danger. She would be hunted by those who sought to extinguish her family’s name, and she would be tested in ways she could scarcely imagine.

But she was ready. With each step she took, the sands of Dorne whispered secrets of power and destiny, and she would follow their call.

The Dragon had awakened, and its fire would burn brighter than ever before.

As her wet nurse’s breathing grew shallower, Rhaenys felt a torrent of emotions—anger, confusion, and a burning desire for the truth. The revelations that had come to light had set her on an unexpected path, one that would lead her to confront her true identity and reshape her destiny.

As the wet nurse’s eyes closed for the final time, Rhaenys held her close, vowing to honour her memory and fulfil the legacy she had unknowingly carried all her life.

The Dragon had awakened, and with the weight of her true name, Vaeloria, Rhaenys would forge her own path in the world of Westeros.

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zarvasace · 6 months ago

Text

VAMPIRES

Red’s explanation is here

I did a cursory job of making the Four Swords boys in VtM5. Had fun with it. :)

I enjoy the base d10 pool system of this game, and I think there are some clever mechanics in both this and earlier versions, but the book is NOT easy to use. (Not to mention the trove is dead...) :P overexplanations below the cut!

Blue

He's a bit different from Red—

- his clan is Brujah, so essentially "the angry punchy ones with social justice ideals or something"

- finds blood by directly mugging people on the street

- good at punching

- vampire powers include seeing in the dark/glowy eyes (he stole this power), being very strong, and scaring people

- he has criminal contacts, crashes at Red's house, has some responsibilities in vampire society, and has a rather high-status vampire mentor (some like, guard captain equivalent I guess)

- he also has some vampire hunter mortal enemy and won't feed from anyone that looks like they're under like 20 years old

- I gave him a main belief of "protect all children" and named some random kid who's meant to be an Erune parallel or something like that

- he wants to kill Vaati! Surprise!

- he also wants to get R/G/V/S up to competency with a melee weapon or two

Vio

Details:

- oldest so far, born 1911 and died 1931 (I'm assuming American so Great Depression era). That puts him at 11th generation vs Red and Blue's 13th, which means he's slightly more powerful

- clan is Tremere, the sorcerers and scholars

- works at a museum repairing old books, knows a LOT about medieval occultism, and finds his blood among museum staff and visitors

- smart, bad at punching or literally anything physical. He can drive though. And good at noticing things.

- vampire powers include seeing in the dark, erasing a few minutes of a human's memory, making his own blood acidic, making another vampire hungrier, and briefly making himself more powerful

- he also has a few rituals: one to walk on walls, one to learn about someone if he has a cup of their blood, one to find someone he knows, and one to know if someone is telling the truth or not

- he knows French and Japanese, is mildly famous among museum folk, can find some good money, and can sniff out good blood.

- but a group of other historians really don't like him because of some paper he published. He gets hurt if he touches silver or garlic. He won't drink from students. Other vampires in their secret society are somewhat suspicious of him due to past activity.

- Red's house? You mean Vio's office

- he has two main beliefs to tether him to humanity: (1) be independent (2) encourage people to learn

- he also wants to kill Vaati. For science. Also he wants to learn more magic.

Green

Details:

- rather young, about Red's true age, but of a slightly higher generation

- clan is Ventrue, the leaders and rich people

- he's masquerading (well, he has a good false identity) as his own son, which lets him keep using his influence. He lives with the others because this is a Story but he is very popular among the rich kids at the exclusive university nearby, which is where he gets his blood

- He's pretty smart, but focuses on manipulation and pulling social strings. something something investments and trusts

- Despite all that, he doesn't particularly *like* the rich culture. He's here because he feels like it's more moral to feed from those uber-rich than anyone else. In fact, his preferred victims are the young rich, and feeding from anyone else is difficult for Reasons

- His special powers include Magic Suggestion, Magic Resistance to Persuasion, Magical Toughness, and Magical Intimidation

- Oh and also Magic Shouting Voice

- He's rich too. Or at least can get to a lot of money.

- There are a couple vampire hunters after him though

Shadow

Details:

- A couple years older than Vio, they died about the same time, to different causes but they did very much know each other back in like 1920 (I'm imagining an infuriatingly slow burn romance)

- Since I don't have a book with the Lasombra shadowy clan in it, I chose Nosferatu for Shadow. They can't hide among humans because they very obviously look like vampires (the lore talks about them looking very ugly and then describes some real disabilities which is *ugh* but I bet I could come up with something better. like dark tendrils or metallic skin.) The Nosferatu are interesting because they're kind of considered one of the most internally human of the clans, which I thought was a cool nod to Shadow's belated and cracked moral compass

- He's pretty smart and good at technology, and also art. I imagine he makes some money doing like digital art or something. he has a hobby, which is more than some of these guys can say

- He actually exclusively drinks blood from animals, and not humans at all. One of his magic powers allows him to do it more easily, and he takes some penalties if he tries to drink from a human.

- His special powers involve turning invisible in darkness, turning an animal into a familiar, summoning small animals and talking to them, and being stupid strong

- His humanity connections involve valuing human life and art

- He has a fantastic setup in Red's basement, computers and security and all, and probably never goes outside

- He speaks French like Vio does. it's their thing I guess.

- He has a dark secret, idk what it is yet. It's easy to bond him to another vampire's will. Vampire society is wary of him. He has an enemy of some kind. this boy is just loaded up with flaws, man.

#four swords #vtm5 #maybe ill draw them sometime #and maybe the system would feel different in play #im not much of a listener or id find an ap

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slyvieselkie · 1 year ago

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Regret V

"Vhagar no!", his horrified voice echoed in the skies and his single eyes watched as the smaller dragon was ripped to shreds.

The bastard boy's body was nowhere to be found, but Aemond guessed that it had been gulped down by his dragon. And as he flew back to King's Landing, the Targaryen prince wondered what would happen now...with you. Now that he has killed your younger brother, the one you constantly coddled. And regret bubbled in his stomach, because he knew that the next time you two met...it would end in someone's death.

....

The story began long before that. You appeared in Aemond's life in the year 114, as the twin sister of Jacaerys Targaryen. At first, you were nothing of interest, just the daughter of the woman his mother seemed to despise due to their long history with each other. He saw you around, being carried in Rhaenyra's arms and munching on her silvery white hair. Hair that neither you nor Jacaerys seemed to inherit from either parent. And upon hearing the rumours that the two of you were bastards of Ser Harwin Strong, your identity became lower than the ground he walked on.

Yet for some reason, you seemed to have an interest in him. From the moment you could walk, Aemond had an invisible leash on you that he desperately wanted to get rid. So did his mother and Princess Rhaenyra, but the king merely laughed reminiscing about how his mother, Alyssa Targaryen, had also followed his father around like bees to pollen. You were everywhere around him, following him to the library, sticking to him at meal time even though you had already eaten with your family, watching his train with swords despite your mother's warning to stay away, Aemond grew fearful of the little pitta pat-ta of your footsteps. While everyone found it lovable wondering if you two were to be engaged to each other, the prince only grew more hateful because of his brother's mocking.

Currently hidden in the depths of library, the young prince was practising his High Valyrian when he noticed a presence close by. Glancing up, he found you a few steps away opening a book that was definitely too complicated. You clearly had just took it because there were pretty flowers on it. Aemond discreetly watched as you picked the book up and staggered over, huffing as you plopped down next to him. Purples eyes then turned back to his pages. Why? Don't ask him.

The two of you just sat there reading, well him reading and you looking at the pretty pictures, when there was a teasing voice, "Oh dear brother, you play too well with the Strong bastard~!", he glared up at his older brother, "What are you doing here, are you not illiterate?", he snapped back.

Aegon only snorted, "Well I was merely offering my kindness to see you would join me for some dragon training when I realised...you have no dragon!", the older boy howled as Aemond gripped his book before his twinkling eyes trailed over to your confused face, "Aww, look at this sweetheart~ The adorable half blood with no dragon, a suitable friend for you-", "Shut up!"

His fuming voice echoed in the silent hall and the older prince smirked, "Oh Aemond, no need to-", "That is not my friend but a dirty bastard", Aemond glared down at you resulting in him receiving a frown, "Brother, you are cruel as one could be!", his older brother cackled before the two of them were leaving.

All alone in the library, you stared blankly at the book he had left open and picked it up. Small hands slowly turning the page and trying to make sense of whatever was there, every now and then reaching up to scratch your itching eye before wiping the wetness onto your dress. That was definitely only because your eye was irritated, not because of Aemond. Not because Aemond had been so mean and did what everyone else did, question the validity of your Targaryen blood. Not because you had lost a close friend, maybe your only friend, someone who tolerated your presence.

After that, you were like a ghost. Nowhere to be found, not be Aemond at least. He spent his days in the library all alone still suffering from his brother's taunts, eating silently and glancing at the empty chair beside him, cutting his hand on the blade and imaging a worried gasp from a non-existent you. He couldn't hear your footsteps anymore, where were you. It was like...you had disappeared out of his life, like you were never a part of it.

"You seem quite lonely without her", Helaena commented and the boy's hand froze causing the ink to drip onto the parchment, "...You speak fiction, I hated having her around. She only knows how to cause trouble for me", his sister frowned looking up from her embroidery homework, "Aemond-"

He turned to her confused why Helaena would suddenly cut off like that, and the young prince blinked wondering why she looked so shock when there was no one at the door. Aemond continued to watch as his sister approached the door and crouched down to receive a letter. Curious he stood beside her as she opened the letter, his purple eyes widening to see its content. Inside was a poorly written 'sorry' in High Valyrian. And Aemond gulped realising why his sister had been so shocked, because there was only one person who would send this.

That night he overheard his parents' conversation, "I believe Rhaenyra and her family should have landed at Dragonstone by now", "Yes, she was hoping to have her daughter possibly bond with a dragon there", and everyone ignored the snort that left Aegon but the king did give him a hard stare, "I hope they will be successful."

In his bed, Aemond couldn't sleep and kept imaging you standing there at the door. He spent the next of the day feeling bitter as a heaviness grew inside him. But why though? What about that letter had him feeling this way? The feeling wouldn't leave him, no matter how much he tried to tell himself to forget it. The young prince was more gloomier than ever, even Aegon didn't want to tease of course after getting an earful from their mother about the last time he did. Somehow, Aemond found himself back in that library reading the books that you two had chosen that day. And he got an itch in his eye. Large droplets, definitely from the irriation, fell onto your letter sinking into the material and causing the ink to bleed.

"Why do you cry, my boy?", there was a warm voice next to him and Aemond sniffled drying his eyes, "I...I...", he wanted to lie and be strong, to not look weak in front of his father who doesn't really love him, "I don't know."

Sighing the man leaned back onto the bookshelf, "I think you do, if not why would you sit here going over that memory", so he knew everything and hates Aemond's guts for making his granddaughter cry, "I don't hate your guts", the king chuckled and stared down at the tear soaked letter, "But what you did was wrong, and we both know that. And she was very kind to have been understanding of your situation."

King Viserys carefully wrapped an arm around the boy, "Word of advice, stop wasting time regretting. You know where you were wrong, and you have mourned...now what will you do about it? Because no one else will solve your problems for you", then he groaned staggering up and ruffled Aemond's hair, "You are my smart child, I believe you know what to do."

And Aemond caressed the paper softly before running off to his chambers.

It was a few days later that your arrival had been signalled, with a giant dragon roar, "Princess Rhaenyra is back! And...there's Elpys!", he heard a servant cry and with wide eyes Aemond ran to the closest window to see that it was true.

The brunette princess supposedly of Ser Harwin Strong returned to King's Landing on Elyps' back. Elyps was an ancient dragon already existing in the Varlyian Freehold, and had escaped the demise under another dragonlord who flew to Essos. However, that house would would be terminated as the cities rebelled and Elyps was captured by Aegon I as it fled to Westeros. The dragon had emerald iridescent scales and golden accents, it was named 'The Virgin' since Elyps had rejected every rider it met gobbling them whole. The Cruel was enormous, recorded being as large and powerful as Balerion at his prime, making you just a dot on its back. But you were the happiest dot, giggling as he glided through the air and squealed as Elyps flew into its own streams of crimson and indigo.

Princess Rhaenyra and her consort Laenor watched with laughter, the two of them had been worried with how you were acting lately. Sulking in your chambers and not skipping about the castle like you used to, every now and then crying over something that you refused to tell them. Even your brothers couldn't even get the answer from you. But you were back, brighter than ever.

Landing on the ground and sliding off of Elyps, you ran into the king's arms and the man laughed, "Welcome back my dear!"

Your sparkling eyes moved from him to Aemond, who just realised that his legs had carried him down all the way to you, and boy froze when you beamed running towards him. The Targaryen prince was ready to meet you in the middle when your smile faltered and you stopped. Suddenly everything came back to him and he gritted his teeth before crying out your name.

"I'm sorry too!", time stopped for the two of you and his heart was about to jump out with the way it was thumping harshly, "I...I missed you, my moon."

A small smile returned to your face and the young boy finally relaxed, after what he felt like was centuries, as you fitted into his arms perfectly.

....

He returned to his chambers without speaking to anyone, hands slightly shaking after what had occurred.

But of course what the two of you had was in the past. With the bad blood between your mothers, there was no hope for your relationship to grow into something deeper and precious. You left with your family for Dragonstone after Princess Rhaenyra grew too tired to handle the conflict, and Aemond was left alone again. The young prince took it out on his mother, sulking and speaking curtly to her. He found himself alone again, despite having done everything right. Aemond's only comfort was when a maid had snuck over to him and showed him a small chest.

"The princess told me to hand this to you", confused the young prince opened it in secret and beamed seeing the stack of letters you had written before leaving, all of it ending with 'My sun, you are forever in my heart'.

The next you two met would be filled with more hostility, because Aemond had lost his eye but gained Vhagar.

Sitting down at his table, the exhausted prince opened the chest containing the letters over the years you had sent him, "My moon", he whispered as his face distorted.

You weren't at the scene of the crime, because you weren't like the rest of those foul things. No, you were his bride to be and the mother of his future children. Aegon had barfed hearing this. You were a bastard, he had tried to say before Aemond was pouncing on his brother and practising all the new moves Ser Cole had taught him. His eye throbbing in pain, Aemond watched as you rushed inside after your mother, mouth dropping at the row of stitches he had received. The prince was sure that after this, you would see the filth of your brothers and join him. But that wouldn't happen, you merely sobbed and clung to Princess Rhaenys as your mothers fought.

He never regrets gaining Vhagar, but sitting here Aemond does wonder if this could have happened differently. That you could be here, helping him strip down and soothing his sore muscles. And he would still have Vhagar, have his two eyes, and no blood on his hands.

When he left Dragonstone on Vhagar's back, Aemond would never tell anyone but he had shed a tear. Because the ties holding you two together had been severed, torn apart with no chance of being rejoined. Despite knowing this, he couldn't and wouldn't forget you. That's why Aemond felt his heart flutter when he saw you again six years later, grown into the most gorgeous lady in this world and Helaena giggled knowing the way young boys' minds worked.

While your mothers fought in the court about the inheritance of the throne, Aemond was busy chasing you around reminiscing about the days where it was the other way around. And he saw it in your wide eyes as well when he pinned you to the wall of a secluded walkway, that you also wanted him. So he swooped in easily taking control of the aggressive kiss, pressing up against you and chuckling at the way you squeaked. Then he ducked down towards your exposed neck and placed a soft kiss, before suckling on the skin and reveled in your gasp, and finished it with a bite.

You cried and covered the mark as he stepped away, glaring weakly as Aemond licked his shining lips, "This is just the start, my moon. You better prepare yourself~", he sung walking off and you scowled calling out, "Not if you are too slow to catch me!", and his eye sparkled hearing your sweet voice.

You would soon regret that statement because Aemond was a bloodhound, knowing where to find you at all times. In the depths of the library, hidden in the gardens, somewhere in the shadows of a tower, running through one of King Maegor's secret passageways, Aemond was relentless in your game of chase. Some days where you felt too fearful to step out of the room, you would peak out of the keyhole and scream meeting a sapphire gem. From outside, the prince would howl and sing for you to come out.

The worst was when he would catch you around your family, hidden just barely from their eyes as Aemond made your brain melt. He was a lewd man with a dirty mouth, a self proclaimed pervert only for you, especially in the way he shamelessly groped your body beneath your clothing and whispered fantasies in your ear. You hated it, or at least that was what you told him, but nothing got past Aemond. They only got more creative every time he caught you.

But your secret game came to an end the night your families shared a dinner. Everything was going great, everyone was having fun and no one minded that you and Aemond seemed closer than ever. Nobody but the king who made a comment about how gorgeous you two looked together and started talking about the old days. You whined embarrassed hiding your face in the goblet while Aemond turned to the side hiding his bright smile.

Everything changed after the king left due to his illness acting up, and the pig arrived. And your filthy brother, Lucerys, dared to stare at him and snicker. Immediately you were glaring at him and holding Aemond's hand, but he ripped himself away. Memories of being shamed caused Aemond's anger to spark, and without much thought he began a toast that would end everything. 'Strong' he spat and your eyes closed in anguish as a fight broke out.

And you couldn't stop the tears from falling as you rushed back to your chambers, arms curling around yourself ashamed of the way you allowed him to play you. It was clear that Aemond would never accept your blood, would always look down on your blood and use it in anyway to insult you. So you ignored him as he ran after you, sense settling in and realising the consequences of his actions. He had pulled away again and you were walking out again.

"Please listen to me!", he panted grabbing your wrist and you sniffled not daring to turn back, "I have listened enough, or do you wish to insult me more?", "I don't mean that-", "But you said it anyways!", Aemond heard your brokenness and watched your shoulders slump, "At every stage of my life, I have been considered a bastard. I had gotten used to it and the way people recoiled."

Turning you tearfully glared him, "But I cannot accept it from you, because if I allow it this time, how many more times will you hold it against me?", he faltered before whispering, "I won't, I would never. Please don't...don't leave again, when I've just gotten you back", Aemond pulled you against him and pecked your forehead, "I promise, never. You can cut my tongue if I do."

"...I'll leave that to my father", and Aemond chuckled remembering how Daemon had sliced Veamond in half for the same comment, "And I will accept his sword."

Staring up at Aemond your eyebrows furrowed, "...I can't be hurt anymore", and he pressed your foreheads together, "And no one will, my moon."

....

But of course the king died and Aegon was being crowned, even though last night his mother had accepted Princess Rhaenyra as queen. She said it had been his last wish, whispering Aegon's name.

He then brightened hearing how the king had pleaded for her to marry you two and laughed when she agreed. Unlike the rest of your family, you decided to remain at King's Landing so Aemond ran to your chambers imagining the joy on your face. That was until he saw your chambers were empty, only a letter on the table he dreamed to sit at with you.

You wrote that with Aegon's coronation, a civil war would begin. One of too much bloodshed and tears, something that you and Elyps were not going to accept and participate in. If Aemond wanted to be with you, he was to step away from it and continue your game of chase in the Free Cities, the first being Tyrosh. But you weren't going to join this sick power struggle and have blood stained on your hands for the rest of your life. And you ended it with 'If you choose to remain, then I am in no shock. But if you join me, then I can give all of myself to you. You are forever in my heart, my sun.'

Sinking back into the steaming water, Aemond wonders if it is too late now. Whether if he rides to Myr now and stands before you, that you would hid him in your embrace. His head drops below the water and he imagines you riding Elyps above the temples and shrines along the waterfront, bathing in the golden sunlight and fresh breeze. Just how much have you grown and flourish without the weight of this bleak war. He sees you in awe, examining at the beauty of Myrish lace and lenses. Aemond could be there with you, drinking nectar wine with each other.

And he hears his father. "Word of advice, stop wasting time regretting. You know where you were wrong, and you have mourned...now what will you do about it?" So he stands up splashing water everywhere and smiles. It's almost stupid because there's no way you would accept him after this, but his father was right. He can't just sit here moping, if there's even the slightest chance, Aemond doesn't want to spend the rest of his life regretting it.

So he flies to Myr, leaving everything behind, prepared to fall victim to your blade because at least he would get to see you one last time.

Hi lovelies, hoped you enjoyed this one!

This version is actually a revised and shortened one because the original idea was too intricate and I had stop when I realised I had already created like five chapters. The original one had Aemond and reader as more tragic star-crossed lovers due to their family's power struggle. However Aemond and King Viserys, who saw this as the solution to end their blood, kept pressuring for an engagement. Towards the end just before the whole Vaemond thing, reader's health would deteriorate super fast and Aemond grieves wondering what happened. Otto would send a maester and pay him to diagnose reader with getting a disease from their time at Dragonstone. Surprise surprise, man had been slowly poisoning her. Furious and blaming it on Rhaenyra for her poor parenting, Aemond would finally join the Green's side regretting that he hadn't taken you 'home' earlier.

Anyways, as always, feedback and criticism is welcomed and I shall see you another day! Mwah 💖

#reader insert #long reads #romance #fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond x reader

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the-down-upside-finch · 1 year ago

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WIP List (Tag Game!)

Thank you for the tag, @anyablackwood!

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

...I don't think you understand what you are asking me to do.

*drags out my folder labeled "WIPs," where each of my stories have their own folders because I have to be organized* So, we have, in an order that descends into the "unnamed" docs: (The * means that this is a big folder with even more stuff inside of it)

Potentially Kinetic (webcomic)* - PK S1 by Chapter - PK S2 by Chapter - Idea Blurbs - Timeline

Stained Integrity (webcomic)* - (1) Stained Integrity (Revision Doc 2) - (2) Stained Integrity - [insert title]

Pentad of Un (novel)

Minding Q's (novel)

Secrets of a Gon (novel series)* - (1) Secrets of a Gon - (2) Secrets of a Gon: Fairling - (3) Secrets of a Gon: Witchery - (4) Secrets of a Gon: Krow

The New Magicians (novel series)* - (1) The Lucky Ring That Brought Bad Luck (The New Magicians) - (2) The Wooden Stick From the Wizard's Castle (The New Magicians) - (3) The Jeweled Heart From the Mage’s Dungeon (The New Magicians) - (4) The Ruby Crown That Shapeshifted When Worn (The New Magicians) - (5) The Glass Box Which Held an Unseen Curse (The New Magicians) - (6) The Feathered Mask That Could See Darkness (The New Magicians) - (7) The Hiltless Sword That Was Held By Shadows (The New Magicians) - (8) The Blue Cloak Worn to Cover a Curse (The New Magicians) - (9) The Spotted Egg From the Dragon Caverns - (10) The Bottle of Dust Stolen From Thieves' Bazaar - (11) The Ghostly Ship That Sank With the Sun - (12) The Arcane Ingredients Needed to Brew a Potion (The New Magicians) - (13) The Shell-Made Throne at the Bottom of the Sea - (14) The Gon Blood of the Last Descendants

Parallel Shadows (novel series)* - (1) Parallel Shadows (Revision Ver.) - (2) Light of the Railing (Parallel Shadows) - (3) Burning in Degrees (Parallel Shadows) - (4) Perpendicular Grid (Parallel Shadows) - (5) Crossed Between Axes (Parallel Shadows) - (6) Divisual of Angles (Parallel Shadows)

Wager and Cursed (novel trilogy)* - (1) Betting on Mushrooms - (2) Flying for High Stakes (Wager and Cursed) - (3) Always Bet on Blackmail (Wager and Cursed)

Shakedown (stream-of-consciousness experiment)

When It Showers

Link & Pin* - (1) Link & Pin — (The Quill & The Feather) - (2) Link & Pin — (Murder of Crows) - (3) Link & Pin — (Blue Overcast)

The Final Straw

A Stanger Comes to Town

Navigating Peril With a Compass and a God

150 Million Tonnes

Lies Von Iash

Shards of Midnight

Something in Retaw

The Neitherling & Champion

Beachcombers

Deck Them All

The Hotel With the Glass Elevator (previously titled "GGD Crew")

Half-Hour Identity

Head Space

Twisted, Entwined

Out Phazed

Non-Stop ∞

My Life is a Comedy (and I am a Side Character)

Two-Faced Flip

(post-apocalyptical world where you can kill someone for like a house)

(the necromancer/holy knight thing)

(Where the knight gets stuck protecting the practitioner)

(Attempt to write mystery)

(that one story idea)

(Untitled WIP, Walled-In Town)

A prince that can turn into a dragon visits a kingdom where he is supposed to marry the princess and he turns into a dragon to share his secret but someone sees him so they have to make up a whole situation where the princess is captured by the dragon and

Like 82957 short stories that I'm not going to list here because. there are literally so many of them.

Y'all. That's like 35 WIPs in my stupid WIP folder, not counting the individual stories within each series. THERE'S NO WAY I FOLLOW KNOW MANY WRITEBLRS BUT I'M NOT ABOUT TO BACK DOWN FROM A CHALLENGE So I'm (gently) tagging: @my-cursed-prince, @athenswrites, @amaiguri, @k-v-briarwood, @the-grim-and-sanguine, @planets-and-prose, @owlsandwich, @card-queen, @zestymimblo, @lordcatwich, @wordswrittenbynight, @worldsfromhoney, @ahordeofwasps, @autumnalwalker, @nettleandthorne, @bassguitarinablackt-shirt, @gwenthekween, @harleyacoincidence, @dancinginsepia, @fire-but-ashes-too, @aziz-reads, @serendipminiewrites, @maskedemerald, @da-na-hae, and literally whoever else wants to do this because. Yeah. Open tag.

(I realize after typing all of that that the game is probably just supposed to refer to only one specific WIP but you know what. I already typed all of that so I'm just going to live with it. Have fun y'all.)

#Zeta Rambles #HONESTLY? HOW DARE YOU EXPOSE ME LIKE THIS #I'm either about to get ROASTED or everyone's going to be scared of me #Yes every single one of those docs has at least several coherent paragraphs and a story outline. Yes I am insane #Okay I'm gonna go hide in a corner now hopefully I don't get flagged for spam tagging ahahaha #Writeblr #Tag Game #WIP List Tag Game #Long Post #ZootaWrites #Oh by the way my main account was tagged but I'm just doing this on my sideblog

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devout-of-the-elder-scrolls · 2 months ago

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Talos Quick Start

A guide for beginning with Talos, intended to help you begin your practice, but not to serve as the only information you use.

Keep in mind most of this post is UPG versus just based on the fictional canon, based on my personal experiences with this entity. It may directly contrast fictional canon and the experiences of others.

TALOS

tahl-ohs aka. Ysmir ◦ Tiber Septim prns. he / vae ( vae / vaem / vaer / vaers / vaemself ) domain. Warrior’s Comfort date. December 03rd

Talos, God of Governance and Strength, a strong and capable God who will gladly fight for any followers for however long one must fight.

He is a kind and caring God, but stern and strict. Vae act much like a regal king, who treats followers as loyal subjects that He exists to protect and also serve in His own ways, standing high above them. He sees Vaer work to support mortals as completely and utterly necessary, something that cannot be avoided or ran from, so can be pretty pushy until someone decides to let Him.

Working with Talos is more about gaining personal power, and be protected. He expects you to welcome Him in in whatever ways make you happy, but you must accept Vaem regardless.

Talos is more debated within the source about His claim to the Pantheon. However, Talos and all other members of the Nine Divines say Vae is part of them. He was born a mortal as Tiber Septim, and after unifying Tamriel, was ascended to godhood by the Nine Divines to bless Him and Vaer greatness.

Within Nordic myth, He is Ysmir, Dragon of the North, called as such for being able to withstand the Greybeard’s voices long enough to hear their prophecy. Many Nords see Him as a literal dragon shifted into human form.

🜚 terms of respect . . . Term – God • masculine terms Prefix – Jarl • Lord • Great • Wonderful • Powerful • King Titles – Dragon of the North

🜲 rulerships . . . governance • strength • war • defense • family • power • growth and improvement • leadership • rights *¹ and birth-right *² • culture • identity • protest • overthrow of tyrants *¹ things like the right to food and shelter, but also the right to be your gender without judgement and similar *² normal stuff, I dunno how to describe it really . . . HELPS WITH . . . dealing with government • dealing with family • protection

🝰 commandments . . .

Be strong for war. Talos isn’t pro-war, and instead wants you to be strong for any hardships.

Be bold against enemies and evil, and defend the people of Tamriel. Stand up for the innocent, and do not be complacent to injustice.

⛯ main tarot cards & other signs and associations . . .

Tarot Cards —

IV the Emperor • VII the Chariot • VIII Strength • XI Justice • XIV Temperance • XVII the Star

IV of Cups • King of Cups

Ace of Swords • II of Swords • V of Swords • VI of Swords • King of Swords

III of Pentacles • VI of Pentacles • VIII of Pentacles

III of Wands • V of Wands • VII of Wands • IX of Wands

Other Signs & Associations —

gold coins • dragons alongside humans in art

❂ devotional acts . . .

know your rights and stand up for them

indulge in your birth-rights

indulge in your culture

learn well about other cultures respectfully. respect that not everything is for you, too.

learn other languages out of respect

attend protests

attend pride events

vote whenever there is an election

know about your governmental leaders

wear dragon iconography

work out and build your strength

work hard to improve yourself

invite Him to your dinners

invite Vaem to cultural-related events with you

spend time with and care for your family, blood or chosen.

denounce terrible family members or ancestors

take up leadership roles

use magic to curse/otherwise harm corrupt officials

use magic to protect yourself and your loved ones

let Talos guide you

focus on your growth and recovery

self-care

protect yourself strongly

invite Him to protect you

honor dragons

learn dovahzul

. . . offerings ❦

↘ natural ;

ruby

purple flowers, esp orchids and tulips

red and yellow flowers

snapdragon

bistort

gold

↘ foodstuff ;

fancy dinners

cooked meat

cultural meals

sage

dragonfruit

↘ items ;

self defense weapons

what you've learned about your governmental figures, written on paper

a list of your rights

dragon figurines

coins

↘ music ;

Dragonborn Theme – Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

brass instruments

↘ etc ;

red candles

dragon’s blood incense

anything named after a dragon, really!

things associated with your culture

🜾 altar building . . .

This is all suggestions. Please build it however you can, if a physical altar is even possible.

As always, you can use offering items to build an altar.

near the front door

dragon-themed altar cloth

a replica of the Septim coin from Elder Scrolls

🝊 identity . . .

Talos is a stern person, though not harsh or cruel, or even that terribly strict. He is simply serious, and is calloused after a long life of hardship as a mortal. But Vae is still kind to followers, acting fairly fatherly or kingly to them. He doesn’t joke very often, being more serious than Vae is silly. This isn’t to say that He’s always so serious, as sometimes He lightens up and opens up, but most of the time, Vae’s serious.

Talos typically presents as a humanoid man, with short cut black hair with white streaks, a beard, and bright blue eyes. He typically wears armor or robes.

His voice is deep, and somewhat scratchy.

☉ domain . . .

Talos’ domain is the Warrior’s Comfort. It’s a peaceful realm, with a large town at the “center” of it to comfort all visitors. It has an arena for battle as well, which doubles as for entertainment.

⛮ working with . . .

Talos prefers a “lord” type relationship, and doesn’t care much for being pampered.

Working with Talos is a fairly easy affair, as He doesn't ask or demand too terribly much. Vae expects to be worshiped and revered, but you needn't include Him in every single aspect of your life unless you desire. Just be of faith, and all will be fine.

He provides many benefits, as Vae looks out for and protects followers on a daily basis.

Talos is actually quite easy to slight and earn the ire of, as He can be of a short temper at times. Though, He is very much in control of Vaemself, and will often not lash out at followers. A good apology and offering appeases Him well enough.

Things that slight xyz:

disobeying His commandments

refusing to continue growing and improving

endorsing senseless war or battles or fights

⚜ holidays & festivals . . . Talos’ Day is December 03rd.

♡ prayers . . .

⛤ 01 . . . O Talos! Ysmir! Tiber Septim! Dragon of the North! I worship You, I revere You! I welcome You into my life and my home, for I love You and appreciate You in my life!

⛤ 02 . . . Great Jarl Talos, I offer upon you [xyz]. Please accept this offering, with all of my humble love.

⛤ 03 . . . Talos above, Ysmir above, I call upon You now. I require of You, I have need of You, so please, heed my call, heed my voice.

⛤ 04 . . . Talos, Ysmir, one and the same, Dragon of the North and Time Septim is another name. I call upon Your great, ancient power for I am in need upon this hour.

⛤ 05 . . . O Talos, Ysmir, Tiber Septim. Great Dragon of the North, use your thu’um, your Thunder Voice, to protect me now, to guide me now.

⚿ evoking, invoking, summoning . . .

EVOKATION &&°

wear dragon themed things

— ☆ —

Things in [] are for making it a summoning.

WHY AND WHEN &&°

when you need protection

INGREDIENTS AND OTHER TOOLS &&°

red candle(s)

dragon iconography

[purple flowers]

IDEALS &&°

Time – anytime

Location – at His shrine

STEPS &&°

Set up your red candle(s).

Place down your dragon iconography [and purple flowers].

Light the candles, and recite: Talos, Ysmir, Tiber Septim, Dragon of the North, I call upon You here and now. Come to me, at my plea, and help me so humbly.

Do your business.

Blow out the candles / snuff them.

NOTES &&°

Talos will easily come if just called.

⛼ history . . .

This is mostly a copypaste from the UESP page because trimming it down is very difficult. Please support UESP.

. . . mythos ]

Tiber Septim was born 2E 828, but little is known of His earliest life except for theories.

( TIBER WAR )

The aftermath of Cuhlecain’s assassination set the stage for the rise of Septim and the end of the Interregnum. Immediately after Cuhlecain’s death, Septim was crowned Emperor of Tamriel by Zurin Arctus, a figure who would be instrumental in the building of Tiber’s empire as his Imperial Battlemage.

With this, Septim took to pursuing his ultimate goal: The whole of Tamriel being ruled under one banner.

CYRODIIL Now that Tiber Septim possessed the Amulet of Kings and could don it as a true Dragonborn ruler, he held undisputed claim over the Ruby Throne.

SKYRIM During the Battle of Sancre Tor, an alliance of Bretons and Nords intended to stand against General Talos. The Nords, who were suspicious of High Rock’s aristocracy, heard the general’s thu’um and recognized him as the Son of Skyrim and the Heir to the Empires of Men, and thus joined his armies. After short-lived skirmishes, the Jarls of Skyrim quickly bowed to Talos and came into his Empire.

HIGH ROCK Following the battle of Sancre Tor, the Empire rounded up the soldiers from High Rock. The battlemage command was executed, and the Breton captives imprisoned or sold into slavery. With the help of a self appointed Provisional Governor, Septim subsequently solidified the witch-kings of High Rock and consolidated their borders as much as possible.

HAMMERFELL The best-understood episode of the Tiber War was the conquest of the Redguard kingdom of Hammerfell. Despite observing the might of the quickly expanding Empire, the already aged and ailing High King of Hammerfell, Thassad II, resisted all forms of Imperial invasion. It was only after his death in 2E 862 that Hammerfell began to weaken; not from an external invasion, but rather from an internal revolution. It was a civil war between the two most prominent factions: the rebellious Forebears and the loyalist Crowns, the latter of which supported Thassad's heir, A'Tor.

After initial defeats, the Forebears signed a pact with the Emperor, granting him minor territory concessions in exchange for aiding them in the civil war. The already weakened Crowns still provided heavy resistance to invading Imperial forces, until at last they were cornered at Stros M'Kai in 2E 864. The Battle of Stros M'Kai was won thanks to Admiral Richton's shrewd tactics and the aid of Septim's dragon vassal, Nafaalilargus. The Empire swiftly took control of Hammerfell, imposing several Provisional Governors to rule different regions.

Later that same year, an uprising led by siblings Cyrus and Iszara saw the Restless League come out of hiding, storming the palace and killing Provisional Governor Amiel Richton and Imperial Emissary Dram. Thereafter, Tiber Septim came to Stros M'Kai personally to sign a treaty that held more favorable terms for the Redguards. Iszara represented Hammerfell, and was guided by the wisdom of Prince A'Tor via the Soul Sword.

ELSWEYR Tiber Septim and his armies did a great number on the cat folk of Elsweyr. Years before incorporating them into the Empire, General Pottreid, accompanied by the young war prodigy Attrebus, led an attack on Senchal. The siege was so devastating to the Khajiit people, it was stricken from official Imperial records. Ultimately, Elsweyr became yet another province to fall to the ever growing Empire. Much like during the time period of Reman, the Khajiit were rebellious against the Empire.

BLACK MARSH Before it became a province of the Empire, a skirmish in Black Marsh over a captive named Reekee saw an important member of Tiber's legion nearly lose a leg to an Argonian feather-serpent. Ultimately, Black Marsh was never successfully invaded in full like the majority of the other provinces; this was largely because the savage, dangerous inner swamps of the province dissuaded Tiber. It was deemed best to avoid invading central Black Marsh, as the land was strategically unimportant. The outer borders, however, quickly fell to Tiber Septim's armies.

MORROWIND Morrowind was the only province to never be incorporated into the two prior Empires of Cyrodiil, therefore little was known of the province by official Imperial records. Tiber Septim, possibly under the guidance of Ysmir Wulfharth, was advised to incorporate the province of Morrowind into the Empire, but was very hesitant as he was aware of the divine power of the Tribunal, the living trio of Dunmer gods. However, he coveted the rich source of Ebony located in the province as he needed a source of capital to rebuild Cyrodiil which had been ravaged by 400 years of war during the Interregnum. Ultimately, the need for the Ebony and the dream of a fully united Tamriel won out, and Tiber set his sights on the land of the Dark Elves.

The rulers of the Dunmer and the Empire could not reach initial agreements and Tiber's armies laid waste to the capital of Morrowind, Mournhold. Amidst all the skirmishes between the Empire and the Dunmer, mutual reservations were growing for both parties. Unbeknownst to the populace, the Tribunal's power was waning with the return of the sharmat, Dagoth Ur, who had cut them off from their source of divine power. Because of this, Vivec saw fit to reach an agreement with Tiber. On the Empire's side, Tiber Septim felt similarly compelled to reach a truce instead of dealing with the might of three living gods and the lingering threat of the returning Dagoth Ur.

Thus Vivec and Tiber Septim signed the Armistice: a treaty that gave Morrowind near full autonomy, a right no other province possessed, in exchange for provincial status in the Empire. Additionally, Vivec gifted Tiber Septim the all-powerful brass golem, Numidium, per terms of the treaty. Tiber also personally approached the leaders of the Morag Tong and reached an agreement that no non-Dunmer citizen could use their services, or have a mark placed on them; likely so he did not have to worry about facing the same threat that eliminated the majority of the Second Empire.

VALENWOOD The elven provinces of Valenwood and Summerset Isle had formed an alliance, the second Aldmeri Dominion. The government of Valenwood under this alliance was known as the Thalmor, which consisted of Bosmeri chieftains and Altmeri diplomats. This governing body was annihilated by Tiber Septim and his armies; however, Tiber allowed them to retain certain traditions, such as a tribal council. A Camoran king was permitted the throne of Valenwood, though he was reduced to ruling as a figurehead.

SUMMERSET ISLES The Altmer of Summerset were incorporated into the Second Empire of Reman Cyrodiil under extremely loose circumstances. They were very resistant to the taint of humanity on their sacred island of Alinor, and merely accommodated Reman per their own account. They expressed that Tiber Septim would receive no such luxury. Tiber Septim knew that acquiring the province in totality would be next to impossible, and early on in his conquest he sent Zurin Arctus to make peace with the King of Alinor. Some were curious why Tiber Septim did not use the crusade against the Aldmeri Dominion as an opportunity to revitalize the worship of Shezarr the anti Aldmer warlord aspect of the Missing God. One theologist theorized that being tied to the dark legacy of the Alessian Order would hurt his campaign for the Imperial Crown.

Another telling reminder of their might came at Black Rocks, where the Aldmeri Dominion nearly destroyed the entire Third Legion with a strategic trap. On a ground to ground level Tiber's legions felt very unthreatened by the Aldmeri Dominion forces. However at sea they were simply outmatched and the Dominion allegedly allied with Maormeri, Reachman, and even Khajiiti forces to oppose the expanding Empire. This all changed after Tiber acquired the Numidium from Vivec per terms of the Armistice. Septim had it rebuilt in either the Halls of Colossus or in Cyrodiil, at the headquarters of the Imperial Battlemages. Then, he had his battlemage, Zurin Arctus, look into the Numidium's potential and purpose. After learning of Numidium's true power, Tiber realized it was the key to his completing the conquest of Tamriel; the only issue he faced was the lack of a power source, as its original power supply, the Heart of Lorkhan was being carefully guarded by Dagoth Ur.

What follows is a point of much dispute; some sources claim that an artifact known as the Mantella sprouted from the heart of either Zurin Arctus or Ysmir Wulfharth. While not as adequate as the Heart of Lorkhan, it was able to power the brass golem. Additionally, another artifact known as the Totem of Tiber Septim was crafted by Zurin Arctus to allow one to control the Numidium. What is agreed upon is that both Ysmir and Zurin were vanquished by this point, and Tiber moved on to the Summerset Isles.

After activating the Numidium near Rimmen Tiber Septim wrought trauma on the Khajiit populace before marching towards Alinor. Numidium besieged the capital of the Summerset Isles, its fall occurring within an hour. Many great Altmer were slain such as the legendary battlemage Areldur. Alinor's fall marked the end of the Tiber War, finally unifying Tamriel.

( AFTERMATH OF WAR )

After having finally unified the whole of Tamriel, Tiber Septim used the Numidium to further fortify his Empire and rule over the land by crushing neutral ruling families all throughout the continent, enthroning rulers who were loyal to him in their place. Suddenly, a new foe appeared: the Underking, a rotting undead wizard who controlled the skies. Disgusted by Septim's actions, the Underking engaged the Numidium in an epic battle. The Underking destroyed the golem, but was killed by the construct's final flailings. He lived in a state of half-life thereafter, as he no longer possessed his life force. Despite all this, Tiber Septim crowned himself as the first ever ruler of a fully unified Tamriel, and the Third Empire was truly born. He declared the end of the Age of Chaos (the Second Era), and the beginning of the Third Era.

While order would follow his coronation, the years of bitter war and bloodshed caused by the Talosian conquest deeply affected the populace of the Empire. The proper name for the continent, "Tamriel", fell out of favor during this time, as the people instead saw fit to describe the land they dwelt on as "the Arena". The task of conquering the entire continent of Tamriel had some laud Tiber Septim as the greatest warrior to ever live, while others argued that he accomplished this mostly as a non-combative ruler.

( GOLDEN AGE )

With this, Year Zero (also referred to as Year Aught) of the Third Era was commenced. Certain writings claim that at the onset of his fully unified reign, Tiber acknowledged that the dense jungles that encompassed Cyrodiil were hated by his people, thus he proclaimed to have breathed in royalty to reshape the very land that his Red Legions dwelt upon.

Around this time period Tiber used the massive supply of funds he had received from Imperial tithes, the rich source of Ebony in Morrowind, and steep tolls along patrolled highways to completely rebuild and fortify Cyrodiil and the Imperial City. While still standing, the city was badly ravaged by the war-torn years of the Interregnum.

Towards the very end of his reign in 3E 36, the holy site of Sancre Tor was corrupted by an unknown evil. Tiber sent the four greatest Blade agents of his day, Alain, Valdemar, Rielus, and Casnar to investigate what had befallen the sacred place. It turned out to be the work of Zurin Arctus, the Underking, who in an act of vengeance cursed the Blades with undeath to guard the ruin for all time. The Grandmaster of the Blades subsequently sealed the ruins to prevent any other from falling to the Underking's powerful magic.

Overall, the near four decades that Tiber Septim ruled over a united Tamriel was said to be a just, pious, and peaceful time for everyone from serf to sovereign, known as the Golden Age.

( DIVINITY )

In the year 3E 38, despite rumors that his court mages had developed spells to extend his vitality or that he had been granted immortality by the One, Tiber Septim perished at 108 years of age. Some sources suggest this was due to old age, while others claim he was fatally wounded in the Battle of Sancre Tor. On his deathbed, he yielded the Imperial throne to his heir Pelagius. He ascended to Aetherius as a Divine upon his death, making the Eight become Nine. It was said to have rained for a fortnight after he died, as if the very land itself wept over the Emperor's loss. His mortal death was merely a catalyst for his prominent worship in the pantheons of man. Some erroneous rumors circulated that Tiber Septim never actually died, but instead became the Underking. Certain somewhat dubious sources claimed that upon his ascension, Talos absorbed the essence of many of the dragons. He died the richest man in history.

( PERSONAL LIFE )

Tiber Septim's race is something that many sources differ on. Official Imperial records claim he was Atmoran, born on the icy continent from where he would eventually sail to Skyrim, where he spent his youth. Some claim Talos was a Nord. The Bretons of Alcaire see Tiber Septim as Hjalti Early-Beard, native to the island kingdom of High Rock. They believe Tiber Septim was a Breton. General consensus holds that not only was Tiber Septim not a descendant of Reman (the previous Empire's progenitor), but that he wasn't even of Cyrodiilic stock. However, official Empire documents claimed Tiber was the Scion of Emperors and that he was the True Emperor of Cyrodiil and heir to all of its prior holdings. Some sources even suggest the Emperor had mixed ancestry.

Tiber Septim worshiped a single god known as the One. The One was the supreme deity of singularity of the Alessian Order, and Tiber Septim revived his worship during his reign as Emperor.

Tiber Septim was born in a disputed birthplace to unknown parents. However, he did have one known sibling: his brother Agnorith. Tiber had multiple children with his Empress, and the honor of succeeding his throne went to Pelagius, who was referred to in some sources as his eldest son, while other accounts claim him to be Tiber's grandson. Regardless, after the death of Pelagius (who was believed to have no living children), the throne passed on to Agnorith's daughter Kintyra, the former queen of Silvenar.

𝌁 other vettable information . . .

When meditating on His presence and name, Talos brings:

visions of: dragons • golden coins

smells of: golden coins

sounds of: dragon roars • loud, powerful voices

feelings of: being shaken

#talos #nine divines worship #tes paganism #tes worship #tes polytheism #elder scrolls paganism #elder scrolls worship #elder scrolls polytheism #the elder scrolls paganism #the elder scrolls worship #the elder scrolls polytheism #pop culture paganism

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alovesongtheywrote · 1 year ago

Text

Killer Queen | Eddie Munson x Reader

♥ Summary: Life sucks, have sex with your would-be assassin- whose face is more familiar than you'd like it to be. [Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader]

♥ Warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni. violence, fighting, implied murder, arranged marriage to someone other than eddie, pwp, unprotected sex, p in v sex, fantasy assassins au, enemies to lovers that went by stupid fast

♥ Word count: 5609

Part 1, Part 2,

The first time death came for you, you were only a child.

You didn’t understand it at the time. There was no way you could have. You just knew that a group of terrifying men had come to your home, broken all your things, and drawn blood from your parents. Someone took you away before you had to see them die.

You were supposed to be next. As you were dragged away, you could hear the other assassins laughing. You screamed, thrashing in the grip of your captor, shrieking as your parents tried to fight to save their child. The second they were out of your sight, you fell silent. You didn’t understand the concept of death yet, but you knew in your tiny soul that something had just gone very wrong.

You didn’t stop fighting. You clawed and bit at your attacker, desperate to return to your parents. For a child of your age, you did a respectable job. You tore scratches into the man’s skin, into his face, and across his cheeks. You were aiming for his eyes. You missed. It didn’t take long for the man to pry you off and sit you down in front of him.

Then, he just stared.

You stared too- less so at the man himself, and more at his knife. It was massive and terrifying, and you were sure he was going to use it against you. Tears rolled down your tiny cheeks, but you refused to give in quietly. When he moved towards you, you hissed at him like some sort of creature and bared your teeth to bite him.

The man simply let out a tired sigh, like he was somehow used to children hissing at him. As he knelt down before you, you took note of a certain look in his eyes- a familiarity, as if he already knew you. You were entirely sure that you did not know him. The stranger said something under his breath- a curse, as you would later realize- and then he stood, offering a hand to you.

“I won’t hurt you, little princess- but I need you to come with me.”

“Wh-where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe, I promise.”

You hesitated, “Will my parents be there?”

He shut his eyes, “Just come with me, princess. We can find your parents later.”

You believed him. So, you took his hand and let him scoop you up into his arms. You fled your home in the dead of night. You never saw your parents again.

–

So, here’s the thing about sneaking out of a castle. It is way the fuck easier to do when you’re a royal assassin than when you’re the woman engaged to the king. Assassins are supposed to be shifty little shits. They’re supposed to come and go as they please. The king’s betrothed, on the other hand, is supposed to sit still, look pretty, have babies, and smile as the king subjugates his people, including her.

You were not having any of that fuckery.

During the day, you played nice- you were the quiet, graceful, virginal lady that everyone in the court expected you to be. At night, you plotted their goddamned downfall. Or you snuck out to the village to get wasted. Or both.

It was a little bit difficult to come up with ways to assassinate the king while you were tipsy, but lord almighty did you try.

Despite the added difficulties brought on by your new status, sneaking out wasn’t a supremely difficult task. All you really needed was some gold, and a mask to hide your identity. And also a sword. For safety. Other than that, you just needed a modicum of stealth- something you had in metric tones.

It helped that you had bribed the guard in charge of your protection long ago- pretty much as soon as the whole engagement thing had gone down. Sir Harrington was a sweet guy, a strong knight, and a damn good guard. You weren’t sure what he was doing serving the king when you first met- then you made the connection. The man’s parents were rich, high up in the king’s favour, and they had most likely pressured their son into this line of work. Fuckers.

Harrington almost hadn’t accepted the bribe at first. It made sense, he didn’t exactly need it. Then you reminded him that a source of income that his parents couldn’t trace could go a long way. He’d accepted the bribe after that- and after making you promise to call him Steve. You agreed, and in exchange allowed him to call you by your name.

And so, Steve it was- and so you could get out and into the village from time to time. And you did! Frequently!

And that is precisely how you ended up on your back, in the woods, halfway to the village, with a masked assassin looming over you, and no way to grab the blade strapped to your thigh. Funny how life works, right?

You probably should have seen it coming. Most of the king’s previous wives had met their end by way of assassination, you just kind of assumed that you would be married before the attempts on your life started.

Apparently, you assumed wrong.

As the assassin above you monologued away about your imminent demise (completely unaware that the mask muffled his voice) you prepared yourself for a fight. The second he paused for air, you kicked him right in the dick. Immediately, his monologue fell away to pained gasps and groans. It was fantastic, and you would. You might have laughed if you had the time for it- but you didn’t. With your life on the line, you grabbed the assassin’s blade and you fucking ran.

You just didn’t notice how familiar the knife in your hand actually was.

As promised, the strange man- your would-be assassin- took you somewhere safe. You had fallen asleep in his arms on the way there, and when you woke, you were in a small cottage, curled up next to a roaring fire. A soft, wool blanket covered your body. Despite the horror you had just survived, you felt oddly protected.

You sat up cautiously, taking in your new surroundings with wide, slow-blinking eyes. Wooden beams and wooden walls held up a low ceiling. On a few of the walls and above the fireplace, bundles of herbs hung drying. Almost every flat surface you could see was decorated with a mug. Beneath you, an itchy dark patterned rug stretched out across the floor. It wasn’t exactly what you were used to, but it was cozy. You let yourself lie back down across it.

There were four doors in the house. Beside one of them, there was a stack of hats. Behind another, you could hear two voices.

“I don’t know, I just couldn’t do it,” that was the stranger’s voice, “She’s just a little girl, she reminds me of my boy-”

“A boy that you haven’t seen in months,” another man was speaking. He sounded disappointed.

“I know. I’m not- I wasn’t meant to be a father. But that boy has his mother, and this girl has no one. That’s why I brought her to you.”

“And you want me to raise this girl?”

“No, no, just- find somewhere for her. Make sure she gets some training. Make sure she’s safe-”

The voices stopped for a moment. You heard a sigh, “You never should have joined them. It was a mistake from the start. The man you work for-”

“That man promised me enough to support my son and his mother for years. I did what I had to do.”

“But you still won’t go and see that son.”

“His mother doesn’t want me around.”

Another pause, then, “Fine. I’ll watch her. But at least write to him. The boy needs his father.”

Without another word, the door swung open. You shut your eyes, pretending to be asleep as the sound of footsteps drew nearer.

You were faster than the assassin thought you would be. The long string of expletives he let out as you pulled ahead of him told you that. You were actually pretty sure he tripped, though you couldn’t revel in the joy that that brought you. An even longer string of expletives crossed your mind as you dodged branches and leapt over roots. This guy just had to make you run, didn’t he?

Just as your lungs began to burn, the warm lights of the town came into view. The soft orange glow spilled through the trees. You let your guard down. That was a mistake.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, dragging you to the ground. Panic swirled through your mind, but in a moment of clarity, you managed to bury the knife in the dirt a safe distance from your body so that its blade wouldn’t graze you in the struggle. Your hand slipped from the hilt as your pursuer twisted your body, pinning your back to the ground.

“You bastard, let me go-!” you shouted, struggling under the weight of his hold. As he leaned forward, dark curls spilled from his hood. Your fist met his face, knocking his mask to the ground. You looked up for a second- just a split second- and the world froze around you. His eyes were far too soft for an assassin, far too warm to be the eyes of a killer, and far too familiar for your heart to take.

And yet, he still reached for the knife.

You barely avoided the sting of his blade as he drove it towards your throat. Metal sunk deep into the earth. As your would-be assassin moved to strike again, you wrapped your hands around his arm, stopping him. The dark fabric of his sleeve slipped up beneath your touch revealing a pale patch of skin. You panicked. You didn’t think. The knife was in his grasp, your life was on the line, and you weren’t in the mood to die. You just turned your head, leaned in, and bit down as hard as you possibly could.

He yelped, throwing himself back enough for you to take advantage. You moved with his weight, pushing him to the ground and keeping him there with an arm across his shoulders. You opened your mouth to stop him, to say his name or something, but he cut you off.

“You’re stronger than I thought you’d be, your Highness.”

“You’re-” you choked on a breath, unsure of how to proceed, “You’re so sure of my identity?”

He shrugged, “I saw you leave the palace.”

Fuck. You must’ve been off your game if you hadn’t noticed him watching. You coughed, weakly trying to disguise your voice, “Still. I could have been a maid. I could have been anything-”

“But you aren’t just anything, are you? Your Highness?”

His words echoed in your head. Your Highness. You flinched internally at the knowledge that you may never be yourself again- not to him, not to anyone.

“Yeah, okay, fine. I’m the king’s new pet. Are you satisfied?” the words left a bad taste in your mouth.

“Not in the slightest,” He tried to push you off of him. He failed, “It takes more than that to satisfy me.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “I know.”

You kept a palm pressed against his chest, letting it move down to his stomach as you leaned back, reaching for the knife. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of deja vu about your position- though if memory served, your roles had been switched.

“You know, do you? Forgive me, Highness, but I doubt that a woman in your position would know anything about satisfaction.”

Your fingers closed around the hilt of the blade, “You’d be surprised.”

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he stared you down, “Aren’t you noble girls forbidden from knowing any of that shit?”

“Well, yeah,” you sat back up, “But I’m not a noble girl.”

As he opened his mouth to meet your words with a stupid quip, you sat back up and removed your mask. The man beneath you was stunned into silence. The colour drained from his face as he took in your now-familiar features.

“Hi, Eddie. How are things?”

He said your name, voice shaking slightly, as if the very sound of it terrified him.

“So, how are things? Any good jobs lately? Any good kills?”

“Holy shit, what-?”

“It’s good to see that Melissa’s getting some use. She needs her exercise, y'know?”

He sat up quickly, nearly knocking you off of him in the process, “Sweetheart, what the hell is going on? What is this?”

“It’s pretty simple, all things considered,” you looked away from him, instead choosing to stare down at your hands. You couldn’t take those sweet brown eyes. Not right now, “The king wanted a wife strong enough to keep herself safe. I’m strong enough to keep myself safe.”

“That- that doesn’t-”

“Well, think about it. The last few queens have all met some sort of horrible fate, usually at the hands of an assassin,” you gestured between the two of you.

“So he decided to marry an assassin?”

You nodded, still refusing to look him in the eye.

“And… you’re going through with it? Your life is at risk, y’know? I almost killed you. You’re putting yourself in danger, he is putting you in danger and for what? Wealth? Power?”

“Heirs, mostly,” you cringed at the thought, “And it’s not like I have a choice, so...”

Silence fell between you. He brushed his thumb over your skin, returning his other hand to your arm. Beyond that, he didn’t move. Neither did you, though you longed to squirm in the discomfort that the quiet brought.

In your lap, your fingers squeezed around Melissa’s handle. With anyone else, you’d be preparing to fight or to run again. With Eddie, you didn’t have to. The blade remained still between you, a meeting point, the no man’s land between equal forces.

Around you, the woods sang softly. The song of crickets overtook the night. In the warm, far-off light of the village, Eddie’s honey-brown eyes seemed to glow.

“I can’t believe I was ordered to kill you.”

“Did they at least pay well?”

“Oh, absolutely. It would’ve carried me for at least a year, if not more.”

You bit your lip, “Sorry I stole your kill.”

“Don’t mention it. I think I owed you one, anyway.”

“Don’t mention it?” you smiled, burying Melissa’s blade in the dirt next to Eddie’s hip, “I think I got the sweeter deal that day.”

“Are you sure? Because I got the kill, I got a knife, I got bragging rights-”

“And I got to cum. So-”

“You also got a very nice bottle of poison.”

You hummed, running your hands up his stomach, over his chest, “I told you, I got the better deal.”

His hands slipped up your arms, coming to rest behind your neck. Your muscles relaxed as he played with a few strands of your hair.

“I assume your future husband doesn’t know?” he whispered, “Of… everything you’ve done?”

You leaned closer to Eddie until your nose brushed his, “It’ll be a cold day in hell when I care what that monster thinks.”

“And the court?” his tone lowered to something more serious and more concerned with your safety. As far as royalty went, in this country and in others, kings were free to fuck around, but queens were often met with the harsh realities of finding out.

Despite this, you moved your hips against Eddie’s relishing in the soft moan he let out, “What the court doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

With that, your lips were on his. Your movements were slow, but not lacking in passion. You kissed him like there was a fire burning inside of you- an engulfing heat that you could not put out alone. His touch slipped down to your back, his palms pulling you closer as you moved to cradle his face in your hands. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, driven on by both desperate wanting and by fear.

As happy as you were in the moment- and you were, good lord, you were- beneath the surface, you were terrified. You had been forced into an engagement with a monster whose wives all ended up dead. It had only been a few days, and already, your life was in danger. If you survived long enough to get married- and that was a massive if- that marriage was guaranteed to be a torturous charade that ended with your death, the body horror of pregnancy, or both. In short, you were doomed. Your only solace was the thought of taking the king out with you- and this. Whatever this was with Eddie, you had solace in it. The way Eddie held you like you were something to be treasured, the way he kissed you like that was the only thing he’d ever wanted in his life- that gave you peace.

You found yourself speeding up as you melted into his hold, letting the world around you fade completely. Eddie was your only anchor- his fingertips pressed into your body, the warmth of his skin, and his lips on yours were the only things tethering you to the world. As dangerous as that was, you didn’t mind it in the slightest.

In fact, you wanted more.

You passed over Eddie’s bottom lip with your tongue, letting your teeth follow after. He moaned slightly as you bit him, thrusting his hips up to meet yours. As your tongue slipped into his mouth, his hands grasped onto your shirt. He needed something to cling to, something to hold as you had your way with him. You were both burning now, bodies going up in smoke as you let the flames spread, and it still wasn’t enough. You wanted him. You wanted him to touch you, to fuck you, to want you.

You pulled away slowly, panting as you did. Eddie let out a soft whine at the loss, digging his fingers into you as if to keep you with him. You didn’t go far. With all the speed you possessed, you removed your travelling cape and reached for the edges of your shirt. Eddie was quick to catch on, helping you tear the fabric from your body, leaving you bare before him.

The forest air was cold, lifting goosebumps on your skin. You pressed yourself closer to Eddie, desperate to cling to the warmth he provided. He stopped you, holding you in place a few inches away from him. Your eyes fell to his, confused at his intentions until you realized what exactly he was looking at.

“Fuck,” he hissed, “You’re beautiful.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your collarbone before he shifted downward slowly. Your heart raced in your chest as his hands came down to hold your ribs. His grip was firm, keeping you steady as his soft lips brushed over your skin. He was so close to your breasts, so close to where you needed him, but he didn’t quite move there until he asked, “Is this okay?”

You took his face in your grasp and brought his lips to yours, kissing him as hard as you possibly could. Heat burned at your core as your want for him made itself known between your thighs. Every part of you cried out for him- every cell, every nerve burning with desire. You pulled back, and let your forehead rest against his. Your fingers stroked nonsense patterns into his skin.

“It’s more than okay.”

A devious smile crossed his face. Almost immediately, his lips were on you again, though this time he was less gentle. His teeth bit at the soft flesh of your breast, clamping down hard enough to make you gasp and writhe, but not enough to leave incriminating marks.

One of his arms wrapped around your waist so he could pull you closer. His new vantage point let him bury his face in your skin, giving him more space to mark you in places that only the two of you would see. Small crescents dotted your skin as you let him turn your body into art. His other hand came up to your right breast, brushing his thumb over your nipple so he could watch you squirm in his lap.

The feeling of his long, calloused fingers was quickly growing familiar to you, but tonight there was something new. Big silver bands covered his fingers- rings that he hadn’t worn the first time you’d met. You liked them on an aesthetic level, but more than that, the feeling of the skin-warm metal against your chest left you moaning and shaking in place. You wondered what they would feel like pressed against your cunt, with his fingers deep inside of you.

“God,” when he spoke, you could feel his breath against your skin, “I can’t believe I almost killed you tonight. Holy shit.”

“You’re-” you let out a soft whine as Eddie bit you again, “Your face is buried in my boobs and that’s what you’re thinking about?”

He looked up at you, eyes wide, “I can hear your heartbeat down here. I don’t want it to stop.”

“Oh,” you whispered, “That’s really sweet, stop that.”

“No,” he pressed his mouth back to your skin. You could feel the smile on his lips as he spoke against you, “I’m glad you kicked my ass today. I’m glad I’m still bad at using your knife-”

“Melissa.”

“Melissa. I’m glad that I didn’t hurt you-”

“Could you have actually hurt me? I’m not so sure about that-”

“One of these days, we’ll spar it out, princess. For now, though, I’m just glad that you’re still breathing-”

“Oh my god,” blood burned beneath your face as you flushed with embarrassment. You’d had about as much of this sugar-sweet nonsense as you could take, “I need you to lie down and shut up now.”

“You’ll have to make me, fair lady-”

“Well, yeah,” you pushed him back, grabbing his jaw with one hand to make him look at you, “That’s kind of the plan.”

“Oh.”

It was his turn to blush. His cheeks took on a sweet, red hue as you adjusted yourself just enough to remove your pants. When you looked back at him, Eddie’s eyes were wide and wanting. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he watched you. He was practically drooling over you- and fuck, was that a boost to your ego.

“Oh god,” he whispered, “You’re so-”

“Yeah, I’m gorgeous, I’m aware.”

He smiled, running his hands past your hips to your waist, “You may be aware, but I still want to say it.”

“Aw, well, thank you,” you leaned down, pressing another kiss to his lips. You moved to pull away, but he placed a palm flat on the back of your neck, keeping you still.

“Hang on, sweetheart,” he said into the kiss, “Just let me savour this.”

“What, you don’t kiss naked women while they lie on top of you every other day?”

“Women and men, baby, but none of them are quite like you.”

You rolled your eyes and thrust your hips against his, “You’re ridiculous. Now come on, help me get your pants off.”

He obeyed, freeing his cock and removing his shirt with endearing enthusiasm. It almost made you wonder what else he would do if you asked- but you were far too distracted by the body beneath you.

Eddie was muscular but lean. His pale arms and chest were covered with various tattoos that you would’ve spent hours studying- if it weren’t for his cock. He was long, thick, and painfully hard. You could see the veins running up his length. You were desperate to know how they would feel beneath your fingers. He was beautiful- and you desperately wanted him inside of you.

“Like what you see, princess?” his voice brought your attention right back to his eyes. You’d gotten distracted, and he’d noticed.

“I- uh-” your brain hummed with a thousand things to say as your blood boiled beneath your skin. ‘I want you to fuck me.’ ‘I need your cock inside me right now or I’m going to scream.’ ‘Please, sir, will you fuck me?’ None of them felt right, so you just told him to shut up. That seemed to please him more than anything you could’ve come up with.

“Sounds like I took your breath away, sweetheart.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” you muttered, spitting into your palm. You didn’t go all the way, though. You only reached down far enough to let your touch hover near his hip- centimetres

from where he needed you.

“Are you- are you sure you want this?”

He looked at you as if you’d lost your mind, but when he spoke, his voice was sweet, “Yeah, I want this. I want you, sweetheart. Now can you touch me, please?”

“Please?” you repeated. Reassured and smiling, you rut your hips against him again, “Oh, you’re such a good boy.”

“Fuck-!” he hissed, “I didn’t think you’d be so cruel.”

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised, Munson,” you wrapped your fingers around his length, stroking him up and down so you could watch his eyes roll back, “I am an assassin.”

You sped up your movements, savouring his whimpers and moans. Pre-cum pooled at the tip of his cock, and you wordlessly wicked it away. He arched his back, driving himself into your hand as you leaned in close to him, “When I say I’m gonna kill you, it means I’m gonna kill you.”

“Kill me then,” his voice cracked as you traced one of his veins with your thumb, “Please, please kill me.”

You pressed your lips to his, kissing him quickly. With your free hand, you quickly prepared yourself, sliding two fingers inside as you got into position over him. He watched with wide eyes as you stretched open over him, lining his cock up with your dripping cunt.

Taking him was an achingly slow process. Your tight walls struggled to accommodate his size. You found yourself drowning in a mix of sharp pain and mind-numbing pleasure. Beneath you, Eddie tilted his head back with a loud moan, exposing the pale column of his neck to your waiting lips. You didn’t hesitate to cover his throat with small purple bruises, biting and kissing every inch of skin that you could reach.

“Fuck-” he breathed, voice straining as you sunk your teeth into a particularly sensitive spot, “You’re taking me so well, princess. You’re so fucking warm- so fucking tight-”

“I don’t know if that’s the case,” you panted, your breath hot against his neck, “I think it’s more that you’re fucking huge.”

You both moaned as your hips finally met his, his cock finding the deepest point inside of you. For a moment, you remained still on top of him, savouring the stretch of him against your walls.

Your nails scratched angry red lines down his chest as you sat up, catching your breath. Eddie’s fingers dug into your hips, kneading a comforting pattern into your skin. His eyes devoured the sight of you on top of him as you began to move.

The pace you set was brutal and entirely unforgiving. The sound of skin on skin echoed through the trees. Your fingers dug into the dirt beside his head as you drove yourself down. He let you take control of him, watching with those pretty eyes as he disappeared into your cunt.

Your thighs grew slick with your arousal. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge with every drag of Eddie’s cock inside of you. His fingers slipped down to your clit, rubbing tight circles around it. You clenched down around him, and when you moaned out his name, he smiled.

“Keep clenching down on me like that and I-” he cut himself off with the sweetest moan you had ever heard, “I won’t last long.”

“Neither will I- fuck- keep touching me, please.”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

He kept his word. His touch grew faster until you were a sweating, panting mess. Soft whimpers escaped your lips as you rode him. Your fingers clenched to fists in the dirt. For the first time in a while, thoughts of your impending doom were far from your mind. All you could think of was the man beneath you- of his pleasure, and of yours.

You could feel yourself spiralling towards the edge. Your walls tightened around him of their own accord as you got closer.

“Oh god,” you whimpered, “You’re- you’re gonna make me cum, fuck-”

Eddie’s other hand moved up your side, his eyes peering deep into your own. When he spoke, the sound was so soft that you almost missed it, “Do it. Cum for me, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

“You- you’ve got me. Fuck-”

“I’ve got you.”

You collapsed over his chest, falling onto him as you came. His heart raced beneath your ears as he kept thrusting his hips into yours. His grip returned to your sides, his palms pressed flush against your skin, his fingers digging in deep. A small whimper escaped you as he fucked up into your body, almost driving you to the point of overstimulation.

Eddie let out a soft pant. His fingers dug into your flesh as he whispered, “Fuck- fuck, you felt so good. ‘M gonna cum soon.”

“Shit,” you whispered, “Okay, okay, you can’t cum inside me, shit-”

You pulled yourself off of his cock just in time to watch as Eddie spilled his release over your thighs and his stomach. You bit your lip as the boy’s eyes rolled back in his head, as curse after curse slipped from him. As soon as he’d finished, his gaze returned to yours.

He reached up, running his thumb over your cheek. You leaned into his touch, so much so that you collapsed back onto the ground beside him. Eddie’s fingers slipped up, tangling in your hair as you let your head rest on his shoulder.

“God,” your voice was so quiet, Eddie had to strain to hear it, “I didn’t think you would look so pretty when you came. I should make you do that more often.”

You could feel his laughter vibrate in his chest. The smile on his face blinded you.

“You’ve found my only weakness!” he exclaimed, somehow keeping his voice quiet, “Flattery!”

You rolled your eyes, incapable of hiding the grin on your face, “Careful, now. I might have to use that against you.”

“Good.”

You and Eddie fell quiet, oddly comfortable for a couple lying on the forest floor. You could have fallen asleep then and there, safe in his arms, away from the nightmare that the world had become.

Slowly, he sat up and reached for the pile of discarded clothes. Before you could move to follow him, Eddie grabbed what he needed and returned to your side. A black handkerchief wove itself between his fingers, a dark void against his pale moonlit skin. You watched, nearly hypnotized, as he wrapped the fabric around his knuckles and reached out for your knee.

He looked at you, his eyes darting from yours to your cum covered thighs. When you nodded, the tips of his fingers traced down your soft skin. He cleaned you carefully, allowing you to lie back as he brushed the smooth material over your legs.

“Shit, Munson,” you whispered, “I think I like you.”

“That’s good, I’d be a little concerned if you didn’t.”

You scoffed, sitting up and threading your fingers into his hair, “Yeah, I like you. I like you a lot, Munson,” you paused for a second, pulling him closer to you and leaning in just as far.

“Hey,” you whispered, “Is there any chance that you want to help me kill the king?”

“Hey there, little princess,” a hand gave your shoulder a gentle shake, “I need you to wake up for a second.”

Your tiny eyes blinked open as you sat up off the carpet. The warmth of the fire and the stress of the day had sent you into a quick and uneasy sleep.

“Where’s my mom?” you whispered, words slurred with your exhaustion.

“I- I’m going to go find her, alright? But I need you to stay here for now. You can do that for me, yes?”

You nodded.

“Good,” he reached down, taking a knife from his belt. To you, the short blade was a sword, “Take this. It’ll keep you safe.”

Your hands shied away from the weapon. You shrunk back slightly, trying to appear uneasy but brave instead of scared. The stranger took note of it, regardless, softening the expression on his face in an attempt to appear softer- less threatening.

“Come on, kid. It’s just a knife. You’ll learn to use it, I promise.”

You continued to hesitate. The stranger clung to his patience, digging his fingers into his palms.

“She can be your friend,” he finally whispered, “She can look after you.”

Finally, you reached out, your tiny fingers curling around the heavy hilt of the knife.

“What’s her name?”

The stranger was at a bit of a loss. He froze, eyes wide as you took the blade from his hands, “Uh… Melissa?”

It was more of a question than an answer, but you accepted it. The little blade was yours. It did as the stranger said it would. Until you met Eddie Munson, she kept you safe.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem!reader #killer queen fic

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