#ignore the ghost of loveless in the first image

[mariagreenwoodart]

Ladies and gentlemen, I got him.

[come-on-shitty-boys]

// the king of roses. oikawa tooru //

Request: is it to late to ask for a part 2 of The King oikawa fic 👉👈

Warnings: none?

Word Count: 1.9K

Notes: yes i’m bringing back throne room thursday for one day, what about it also who was going to tell me that my irls were toxic as shit or was i just supposed to find that out on my own?

PART I. II.

“Are you sure about this?  It’s not going to be a ball or anything grand, you know.  There won’t be any gourmet food or world-class champagne or-”

Oikawa laughs, smoothing out the silken fabric of his shirt as he turns to look at you.  “I know that, Y/N.  It’s a town festival, trust me, I don’t have the highest expectations when it comes to this outing.  I just want to experience at least one of them.  You made it sound so fun and going would make you happy, wouldn’t it?”

You stood to the side of the grand foyer, awkwardly adjusting your gaze as you shifted in your spot.  You hadn’t been to a festival in many years, since you were a young girl, actually.  You had grown to miss the atmosphere of the cobblestones glowing under the light of candles and the cool touch of the moon, the way that the band could barely be heard over the laughter and conversations of people packed tightly onto the square, the smells of food wafting into your nose that could make your mouth water at the mere thought of a single bite.  You can only bring yourself to nod.  Yes.  It would.

After months of living by his side, trapped in a loveless marriage with the enemy of your now-fallen kingdom, you can’t remember the last time that you had felt that wave of sun that came with being happy.  Everything that had made you happy had been ripped from your clutches and you weren’t even able to say goodbye to the life that you had known.  You had been brought here and forced to marry a man that you didn’t love, that you could never even see yourself loving, things that he knew and had known for a while.  You didn’t love him.  You didn’t want a single thing to do with him, yet he persisted.  Oikawa Tooru had chef’s cook you dishes that were known to your region, he had gardeners import the roses that your home was known for and they now grew happily alongside the beautiful carnations of the Riveria Kingdom.  

It was like he was asking for the impossible, really.  He could’ve lived with you never being in love with him, hating him until your last dying breath, yes, he had faced much worse in his short time as a king.  He just wanted one smile, a real one, one that didn’t just ghost your lips at a memory, one that stretched all the way to your eyes and lit up your face better than any light ever could.

Oikawa offered his arm to you, an invitation to hold onto him to at least maintain the front of a happy royal family while you both made the walk to the town center.  But, it was only ignored, leaving both to trail along in silence and a sense of discomfort that hung in the air heavier than the humidity of a summer’s day.  Each question he asked was only answered with short words, brief and curt.  Your hatred for him still burned in your chest, but even he noticed that your sharp tongue had dulled.  Maybe it had just become exhausting or maybe you just didn’t even care to let him know that you wanted nothing to do with him anymore, instead choosing to lock yourself away during the day, only appearing before him for meals when you would offer the same short responses as you did now.  

It was only when the lights were flickering clearly in front of you and the sounds of music could be heard did you take up his arm.  The whole of the kingdom had a hard enough time finding something to like about their young king, they didn’t need to know about his failure of a marriage behind the castle doors as well, something that both of you agreed on.  It was just better for the public image to put on fake smiles when the two of you needed to appear in public together, but yours was wiped from your perfectly painted lips faster than he could comprehend the minute you were secure in the privacy of the palace walls once more. 

Quiet whispers echoed through the crowd at the first sighting of the two young royals emerging from the evening, arm and arm.  Tooru raised in hand in greeting, his polite smile on his lips as his subjects fell to their knees in his presence.  “Now, that’s not necessary.  We’re here to have a good time, just like the rest of you.  There’s no need to be formal with us,” Tooru says, his clear voice carrying easily over the crowd, but his smile falters as he sniffs the air.  “Do you smell that?  Pork buns?”

“Yes, your highness.  My wife makes them fresh just for these festivals.”

“Well, I’m quite hungry, aren’t you?”  He turns to you and you’re nearly taken aback.  Handsome.  It was a word that you have long used to describe Oikawa Tooru.  Even if he carried the painful weight of his predecessor’s crimes and the stress of dealing with a massive kingdom’s daily upkeep, he had always been handsome with a strong physique and perfectly sculpted features.  But, cast in the warm glow of candlelight bouncing off of cobblestone, his kind eyes only appeared to be swimming in pools of caramel and honey as he stared at you, waiting patiently for your answer.  

“Yes.  I would love to try them.  They smell fantastic,” you stumble out only to leave him laughing at the way you shrank against him in embarrassment at your delayed response.  

“I can get those for you, your highness!  You enjoy the festival with the queen and I can find you when they’re ready!”

Tooru nodded towards the townsperson.  “Thank you.  That’s very kind of you.  Come, darling, we have plenty to see before the night is over.”

He tugged you along the outskirts of the festival, taking his time to fully examine what each of the vendors had set up.  There was a man selling mead by the pint.  Tooru offered him two gold pieces, asking if that would cover everyone’s drinks for the rest of the evening.  The woman selling the most wonderful smelling tarts couldn’t stop laughing at how absolutely amazed Oikawa was that she could make lemon taste so good, asking for her recipe so he could pass it along to his own chef at the palace, because he “wanted to eat this every night” for the rest of his life.  An elderly couple had hand-woven shawls, explaining that they used scraps of the fabrics that were used to craft the clothes they sold in their shop.  Tooru couldn’t keep his hands away from the beautiful red one that had touches of silver thread woven in.  It was just so soft and he was more than sure that it would be perfect for the chilly nights when he liked to sit out on his balcony.  He let you pick one out for yourself, laying two more gold pieces in the man’s hand before wishing him a pleasant night. 

But it was the kind man selling flowers that caught your attention.  Like you were in a dream, you drifted away from Tooru who had found himself pre-occupied by a group of young gentlemen, laughing as they told him stories of their travels and their lives.

“They’re lovely, aren’t they, your highness?”

“They’re stunning.  I didn’t know that you could grow Aster daisies here.” He smiled at you, offering one of the blue flowers out to you.  “It’s not easy, but with enough tender care, anything can grow.  Those roses that your husband grows around the castle?  Difficult beauties.  They’re more suited for the mountainous regions.  I’ve tried countless times to get those pesky roses to grow here, but they just don’t like the moisture we have here, but our king has paid special attention to get those to thrive.  It’s brilliant, really, how much care he put into getting those flowers to bloom.  My wife and I used to be able to see him out in the mornings, down by those rose bushes, constantly checking and preening away.  I don’t think he trusted a damn soul anywhere near those things- can’t remember a time that I saw anyone else but him near them.  I’d like to cross them with our carnations.  They could make something beautiful, I’m sure.”

But you didn’t hear him, your gaze had been swept up towards the gates of the palace where in the daylight you would’ve been able to see the bright blossoms of the roses that were everywhere in your youth, the flowers that reminded you of home and how every room in the castle would smell like fresh roses and how someone would ask at the end of each week, what color roses you would like for your room.  You always chose the white ones that someone smelled sweeter than the others, the same white roses that now grew in front of your new home.  You were lost in the thought of all the times where you would sit across from your husband at breakfast and there would be just the trace present of dirt underneath his fingernails and yet, you never bothered to ask what from, simply choosing to ignore his questions and push any attempts of conversation away.  Oikawa Tooru had done what seemed impossible all for you to have the barest sense of home that he could provide.  Arrangements of white roses and pink carnations adorned the table every day and yet, you could never look past the anger in your heart to see the way that his eyes only looked at you with every ounce of adoration he could muster, wanting nothing more than for you to be happy here, to be happy with him.  

“They’re lovely flowers, really.  Thank you.  I will be sure that my husband knows of your excellent work.  I’m sure he would love to talk to you about his roses,” you say, giving a shallow curtsey before weaving through the crowd to find that mop of brown curls that were always tossed back in a hearty laugh.  As much as you wanted to take your grudge against his father out on him and as much as he just stood there and took each cold word, he had put so much work into trying to make everything as comfortable as possible for you.  He put himself on the back burner all for you and if he put so much care into making you sure that you could bloom in full beauty just like those roses that twined together with carnations, then maybe-

“Tooru.”  The sound of his name had his laughter halting as he turned to face you, concern scrunching his brows in a silent question, but they quickly raised in shock when you took his face between your hands, pulling his head down to place your forehead against his as he let his own hands sit on your waist.  “I want to be happy. I want to be happy with you. And- and I know that I’ve made it hard, but with enough care, anything can grow and I want to grow with you.”

[oscurolibelle]

A Princess and the Pea Story - Madatobi Fairytale #2

Elements: Young Men Seeking Refuge, Shinobi deceiving each other, Tobirama accidentally infiltrates the Uchiha Main House, oops Inspiration: The Messed Up Origins of Princess and the Pea | Fables Explained - Jon Solo https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OH9bmjpr-Nw

Music to listen to while reading: 月下情人(월하정인) (Two Lovers Under Moonlight) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Ah2K1Er0ik He was a good heir. He really was. Got up early every morning. Tended to his little brothers' needs, followed around his older brother as his partner to help him in his duties. That was until Kou fell in battle. Madara mourned him like any good Uchiha would, and watched darkly as his younger brothers cried themselves to sleep that night. The memory still haunted him to this day. He sighed, rising from his bed in the dead of the night, the winter chill seeping through the walls of the wooden house. A storm raged outside. He frowned, listening to the wind roar. At this rate, the storm would not pass for many days, delaying their missions and causing them more financial grief. He was sure to hear about this from Tajima. "You must marry soon." "You need to find new blood worthy of this clan." "Preferably with money.” 

He scoffed, throwing an extra blanket around himself and padding towards the main room for more warmth. He knew he needed to marry. The clan needed the morale boost, they needed the money. But he needed to feel loved and since news of Hashirama's engagement to the Uzumaki princess, Madara had to admit to himself that he felt a tad left out. Even if they were enemies. The problem was, Madara didn't want just any woman. He didn't want just any civilian with money or shinobi of class. He wanted love. And as any good Uchiha knew, love was the foundation for who they are. Even Tajima could not deny Madara the chance at the one thing that held the entire clan together. A loveless marriage was bound to tear everything apart from the inside out.

It was then in his thoughts that a knock on the door startled him. Madara cursed himself. He should have been more aware but with the storm raging- Again a polite yet timid knock on the door caught his curiosity. Surely Tajima would be awake by now. He rose to his feet and answered the door despite the wintry blizzard raging outside.

"I.. hate to bother y-you, but could y-you spare a few moments of y-your heat?" As white as the snow blasting around him, bright red eyes like Sharingan, and not at all dressed for the weather, the tall young man shivered where he stood. Madara, against all his shinobi training, stepped aside without a word and held an arm open for the man to enter the house. 

His sharingan whirled to life, taking in the frostbite nipping at the man's fingers, the ice stuck to his skin and frosted lashes, the brilliant red markings on his face stark like blood. If he hadn't been trembling so hard, hunched over in the winter storm, Madara might have mistook him for a ghost or a winter god. The man bowed further. "T-thank you, I apologize f-for any in-inconvenience." His teeth chattered, trying to be polite. It was Tajima's voice that startled Madara to close the door.

"Madara, who is this?" "A refugee, father." One look from Tajima and Madara remembered why taking in others was a bad thing. "A word, son." He turned on his heel padding back down the hallway. Madara motioned for the man to sit by the fire. The pale one nodded, solemnly and bowed again in silence before curling up next to the heat on the floor. Madara steeled himself for his father's annoyances.

"Sir?" "You just let anyone into our home?! He could be a shinobi!" "Father look at him. No one of his coloring would be shinobi. They are too pale. Too sensitive. Did you even see his eyes?" "His what?" "His eyes, father. They're red. Like the sharingan." That put an abrupt stop to Tajima's rant. "Now. Yes we're at war father, but I'm not going to let someone freeze to death outside." "I don't trust it." "Then don't. I'll stay up with him." "He's a shinobi, I know it." With a loud groan, Madara blew him off and brushed past, returning with his own futon and another. "What? I'm not putting him out." Madara frowned as Tajima huffed with indignation. He ignored the older Uchiha and flopped the two futons onto the floor by the fire. "Here you may sleep here until the storm subsides.

Wide red eyes looked up at him, the man now somewhat defrosted, looked rather pink in the firelight, his features somewhere between soft and sharp and Madara felt himself pulled in by the strangeness of it.  "I.." The man paused, listening to the roaring storm outside. "... would like to politely decline as I am not accustomed to help from strangers but it is-" "Are you shinobi?" Tajima ruined the explanation, voice like shattered glass, face pulled taut in a frown. The man blinked. "No. Just got separated from my band." Tajima didn't seem to buy it, but Madara rolled his eyes. Adjusting the futons and blankets, he rose to his feet and nearly pulled at the man. "Let's make tea. It should warm you." He followed Madara without resistance, face a soft reflection of partial innocence. Perhaps he was civilian. 

Tajima frowned. There was one way to find out. 

--

When Tobirama awoke the next morning, the storm still howling outside, he frowned. He'd intended to get warm, find shelter and then head out quickly back to the Senju compound. That was not what had happened. He slowly sat up, his back aching from trying to outrun a storm he knew he couldn't. Madara's voice brought him back to reality, the Uchiha stoking the fire. Tobirama had never seen Madara up close. That had always been his brother's privilege. But here, in the dead of winter storm, lit by firelight, Madara looked strangely domestic and enchanting. Not at all like the absolute beast of a brute he was on the battlefield. Tobirama cursed himself for stopping at the first compound he came across on his way back. 

"Slept well, friend?" "Ah..  as well as can be expected." He sensed Tajima in the hallway, still. No doubt listening. "You were snoring." Madara chuckled, a strangely homey sound and Tobirama flushed. "I apologize. I've been on the road so long, I haven't felt the fires of my home in a while. It was warm here." He stopped himself, wondering, feeling the small object under his futon. "My back hurts a bit. Perhaps I slept wrong." Madara looked up at the comment and frowned. "My apologies, I thought I swept the floor well enough."

"Ah I'm sure it's just my imagination." Tobirama lied his way through, ensuring his demeanor remained soft. His hand ran over the futon again. Yes. Of course. Tajima was testing him. No shinobi worth his salt would complain about something so trival after receiving such aid. But a civilian would. Especially a high valued one. "Although I miss my own." Quickly seeing Madara's face fall, more of a disappointed look than anything else, he regrouped. "I am extremely grateful for your hospitality...friend. I can ensure you are compensated when I return home." "Compensated?" "Yes.. we are a large family." Not entirely a lie. "We have funds and I'm sure my brother would be so happy to give you payment for assisting me." Also not really a lie. "We need no payment." Madara scoffed softly, his pride showing through. Slowly, Tobirama was starting to see why Hashirama liked Madara so much. He had to say, he couldn't blame him. "Then I would ask if you let me stay until the storm subsides completely... I am not accustomed to the weather like this."

--

Madara fought with Tajima for the next two nights. Pleading with him to stop his conspiracies and his tactics, noting every morning the pale man awoke, another mattress, another object until finally there were three mattresses atop a small object. Madara rolled his eyes. Surely this was overkill and somehow he had to make it seem like they weren't testing him. 

The man took it all with grace, a beautiful smile and pinked cheeks. Madara watched as his guest curled up for the third night atop three futons and smiled back at him. "I would think you are a charmer, if not for the dying of the storm, I might be tempted to stay, Madara-san." Red eyes glimmered at him and the Uchiha flushed. "I have made no attempt to charm you, Tobira-san." Madara shifted on his own futon. "We simply wish to ensure you're returned to your family without injury. Although I have swept this floor five times before laying your bed down." 

The two of them snickered in the firelight like young teens. Madara watched as his pale friend laid on his back and looked at the ceiling. "You miss your family." It was more of a statement than a question, although Tobira answered honestly, "Yes." He turned his head to look at Madara, and the Uchiha felt the air leave his lungs. "I will not forget your kindness, Madara-san." "I will not forget your companionship, Tobira."

The two stared at each other for a long moment, before red eyes slowly closed, and his breathing evened out. He fell asleep so easy in a strangers' house. There was no way he was shinobi. Madara sighed, sharingan whirling to life yet again, imprinting the image of the sleeping man into his mind. He was gorgeous and kind. Polite, a civilian, with money. Perhaps... Madara shook it from his head. No. That would be taking advantage of the situation.. he shouldn't.. One more look at his friend, and Madara wondered... should he?

--

Tobirama woke slowly, ensuring to keep his chakra under control, sleeping in Madara Uchiha's front room by the fire next to him for three days had been stressful enough, piled up with keeping the rouse that he was civilian with Tajima pressing him each day for intel, testing his every move.

Tobirama counted five times he'd purposefully hurt himself to show he was 'clumsy' like a civilian. Two times spilling tea on the man, carrying it and slipping on the floor. Six times he'd flirted openly with Madara in front of Tajima just to mess with the man. His ears picked up the sound of the wind calmer, snow fall on the house gentle and calm.

He rose, not really aching at all, but playing the part as Madara only laughed. "You sure are sensitive, Tobira-san." "I am. My disposition makes it even more so." "You refer to your condition or your status?" "Both I suppose." Tobirama offered a sly grin, pulling out his charm as best as he could, softening his edges. Madara flushed in the morning light and looked out the window. "It seems the storm is passed. We can send you safely on your way today." Tobirama nodded, and rose to get ready.

It didn't take the man long at all, a shower, some breakfast, hot tea and he was ready to continue his journey. Tobirama counted his blessings, he had successfully, albeit accidentally infiltrated the Uchiha main house and slept there for three whole days without being caught. Now if only he could- "Tobira-san." Turning, his gaze widened. "Madara-san." The Uchiha held out a large dark coat, Uchiha symbol on the back. "It is not much, but will provide you with more warmth on your journey." 

Tobirama's heart pounded. If he refused, the rouse would be blown. "Thank-" "It is not all." Madara helped him into the coat, then bent to wrap his feet in socks and cloth before sliding boots on that were a bit too small for him. At last Madara stood back and handed him a kunai. "We wish you safety on your journey home. The coat you wear may bring you bad fortune... we are.. not liked in many parts. I would not want you injured on account of my sake."

Three days with Madara Uchiha had changed Tobirama's perspective of everything he thought of Uchiha. What would his brother say when he arrived home, dressed in their symbol? "Tobira-san. If I may be forward." "Of course. I am grateful for your hospitality." He took the kunai gently, as if a civilian would but Madara did not let it go. Dark eyes looked up into his. "For repayment, I would.. I would like something special." Shifting uneasy, Tobirama waited. 

Madara looked away for a moment then took a deep breath before raising his eyes to meet the red crystals he'd grown attached to. "I would like to see you again." Tobirama's heart thumped. Oh. This.. this was unexpected. But not entirely a bad idea.. "I would like to see you again as well." This time, not on a battle field or from a storm. Tobirama wondered to himself. "Thank you, Madara." He bowed, letting his eyes linger too long on the Uchiha, causing him to flush yet again before departing. 

--

"MADARA!" The heir groaned inwardly as the frost melted under the spring sun and turned from his chore of feeding the falcons. "Father?" "The Senju are at the gates!" That spurred Madara's blood and immediately, the compound was on edge, those darting in different directions to bolster defenses. 

But when Madara touched down on the opposite side of the gate, none the Senju moved an inch. In fact, they didn't even look dressed for battle and Hashirama- "Madara, my brother!" "What the hell are you on about, you oaf?!" Madara hissed. "Be quiet!" "I will not! It's a glorious day! We have come seeking peace-" "We have gone over this, Hashirama. There will be no peace-" "Are you certain?" The familiar voice stunned Madara just as Tajima landed next to him in a fury of growls. Madara had been so so very wrong about Tobira.

"Tobira?" "Tobira?" Hashirama gave his brother a questioning look.The pale man pushed his way through the crowd of Senju, ignoring his brother, smiling at Madara. "Madara." The edge of his voice had dropped, softness creeping in and lacing every syllable with fondness. The said Uchiha instantly blushed. Before Tajima could object, the pale shinobi stepped forward. "I am only fulfilling your request. I am here to see you again." If he didn't think he could get any redder, Madara was also dead wrong about that.

The silence that followed from the Uchiha whole was stifling. Madara cleared his throat. In absence of what to say, Tobirama cut off Tajima again. "Do you not still feel the same? Perhaps, we can arrange an agreement?" His eyes wandering over the tattered clothing of the Uchiha, the patched roofs, the rotting gates. "I am from a well off family after all." "Absolutely not-" "Yes." Tajima choked on his own words as Madara spoke. "Yes an agreement would be.. preferable." With the charming smile he'd used so many times on Madara before, Tobirama softened his face and beamed. "Let us make haste, before our families decide death and war is better than coexisting in warmth and safety."

[carrera-ffxiv]

Memories of Home.

When did I start having these dreams? I’m sick of it. It’s always the same. A hint of nostalgia that lingers in my mouth like a bad aftertaste. Always teasing at what’s long gone and lost…

The woman beamed a smile at him. It was as if she were the sun itself, warmth emanating from her, too bright and dazzling for him to keep his eye on her. “I already told you, say hello to your daughter properly at least.” she held the small girl in her hands.

It was always the same dream, again and again, countless times. Now the darkness would come and take him away from them. He sighed and closed his eye. “This is just in my head...” Hadriel lamented. But as he waited, nothing happened. He perked a brow. “Huh?”

His eye opened and the beautiful woman regarded him strangely as she put the girl down who went to hug him and sit in his lap, snacking on a cookie her mother had given her. “Darling, are you okay? Did you get hit on the head?” her sweet voice threatened to melt his heart but his emotions were steeled against these dreams now.

A hand slowly moved to rest on the girl’s back who happily munched away and gave a similar smile to him as her mother. Bright. Happy. Albeit a little… clumsy, if one could describe a smile as such. Cutely awkward. Was this what they called lucid dreaming? This had never happened before. He could feel the warmth of the girl on his lap and in his hand.

“No… this isn’t real.” he grieved.

“Does it matter?” the woman responded with kindness in her voice.

“Yes. It matters to me.” a barely audible utterance.

“Still, isn’t this okay?” she urged.

“No… it’s not. None of this is real,” he rasped as his teeth grit. “A hollow… empty recreation of the people I love from memories I refuse to let go. I can’t.... I can’t… accept these ghosts. It’ll just be…” his voice broke a moment as he looked down at a confused little girl, her little cookie grew soggy with tears that fell from above. “...It’s like… I betrayed them.”

“My darling… the same as ever, always overthinking things. How’d you get this scar?” she touched his chest. In the blink of an eye she was next to him.

“I-I…”

“Cat got your tongue?” she teased innocently.

 “No… she uh… actually cut my chest…” he responded, almost a murmur while giving out a light chuckle.

“I’ll always be here for you.” she spouted randomly with the gentlest of smiles, a face of full grace and serenity, his mouth went agape a moment.

His eye opened when the boat rocked too hard from the swell that broadsided it. He instinctively went to sit up and his head hit the top of his wooden coffin-rack. “Fuckin’ gods dammit.” was uttered as he rolled out of the little alcove and tried to gain his footing. The curses continued as he continued griping about the third-mate who probably couldn’t figure out how to steer the rudder properly and actually avoid rocking the ship more than necessary.  He climbed to the upper decks and was blinded by light for a moment. Hadriel saw the land for the first time in several days.

Had it really been five long years? He pulled out a broken pocket-watch as he stood still against the breeze along the side of the ship. The time on the watch had frozen for him since that moment, the glass cracked throughout. ‘For my papa. I love you.’ etched on the inside. Of course it was more from his wife than his daughter, parents had a weird way of gifting things to their partners but crediting it to their small children. He paused, thinking about something that threatened to escape his mind should he focus any less on it… he had a dream. It was different. It was with his family. He shook his head and tried to focus but the boat rocked roughly again, forcing him to regain his footing. And just like that, the thought was lost into the wind.

The wind flowed against him. A smirk came as he lightly grasped at his eye-patch a moment. Hadriel pocketed the patch and his watch, revealing a bright blue eye typically hidden from sight that strongly contrasted his darker brown one. “Home, sweet home.”

He enjoyed walking through the port-town of Kugane, the sakura gently shedding their petals along the wind to give the image of a beautiful snowfall with a pleasant scent in the air. His crooked smile twitched as he tried to maintain an amiable demeanor. After enjoying some street-vendor food, a small boat ride, and a carriage, he arrived at his destination. He ignored the inhabitants of the small town and simply walked to its far reaches, next to a series of mounds protruding from the earth. He brought out some incense from his pouch before lighting it and placing it in front of two of the mounds. He carefully bowed on his knees, prostrating himself before them one after the next once planting the incense. His hand ran along the burial mound. “I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last visit, Castien. Daddy didn’t think he should visit you because… Daddy hasn’t been very good. Daddy’s sorry he didn’t visit earlier, Cas. He just… he couldn’t find it in him. Sorry. Daddy’s a bad daddy… Still… Daddy loves you kiddo...”

He unwrapped the bandages on his hands to reveal disgusting burns that marred every ilm of his skin. His fingers ran through the fresh grass on the mound. 

It won’t wash off his hands. The blood.

Hollowed out, filled with hate. After that hate is gone, what’s left?

He had a wife and kid once. They’re long dead now. He lived for vengeance. For years all Hadriel yearned for was vengeance. He lived, breathed and dreamed of killing everyone who had anything to do with the raids.

He moved over to his wife’s grave now, tears reluctantly escaping his will as he confessed his sins to her after five long years.

“After I killed again and again, countless fathers, sons, brothers, uncles, cousins, mothers, daughters, nephews… you get the point…” his voice shook, talking about Imperials, “You know what was left? How I felt? It all tasted like ash in my mouth. There was no retribution to be had. Revenge would never slake my thirst. Violence never quenched it. It would simply give me a small piece of my tattered soul a moment of solace before it died. Now, soulless, loveless, I wander, wondering what is next? I had promises to keep to the dead and I’ve kept them. I always told you that I’d open up a bar and that we’d have a little stage for you to perform… I still kept your instruments. I left your cello in my office. I have this… attachment to things I should throw away but I still have Castien’s toys near my bed.” his voice cracked and gave way to pathetic simpering.

“Now, I walk about a wandering corpse because I know in what’s left of my heart that you could not accept me for who I am now. Who I’ve become. If I walked into the afterlife to meet you, I couldn’t hold the you, the ones I love... with these stained hands and corrupted heart. No, every act of vengeance brought me further away from you. Now… it’s too late. I can’t end up in the same place you and Castien are. All I can do is try to be a man. Even if I’m pretending to be, and I end up only emulating what the shell of the man I once was looks like… at least I’m trying. Maybe, just maybe, eventually, you’ll be able to forgive me. I’ll be able to wash my hands of this blood. Until then, I walk this thin fine line. And I’ll continue to live, for your sake. My love. My sweet love.” he rested his hand on her mound before wiping at his face.

A dead wife, and a dead daughter. A cliche fit for a hero. But alas, there’s no hero to be found. Just a worn cynic limping with a tattered soul. 

He apologizes to them for not being able to end up in the same place as they are after he dies. His soul is already too stained to be with them.