#it took me too long to realise that the knight was deaf

[boughkeeperdain]

This episode was just pure art I loved it

[ficforce]

Read My Lips

Charon x Female Deaf Reader SFW No established timeline Established relationship

Scorching air passed her at an alarming speed but Y/N didn’t worry as the large man stood in front of her, guarding her against harm whilst he took the attack without complaint. He had taken quite the beating already and the upper part of his clothing had long burnt away from trying to absorb the fiery attacks and send them right back; he was covered in cuts and there was a puddle of blood forming by his left foot that Y/N noted. Their opponent was throwing some heavy firepower their way and even though her protector was taking damage, the man was absorbing the kinetic energy until even she felt like he might combust with how much he had. His foot suddenly stamping on the ground caused the concrete to shatter beneath it and Y/N lost her balance enough to have to grab the back on his belt to stop herself from falling. She didn’t need to look to know his counterattack was devastating and all that was left when she peeked around his side was their target’s charred boot.

“Did you get what we needed?” Charon asked her as he tightened his belt and pulled off the remains of his top, “You have it, right? Y/N?” He turned his head to look back and down at the shorter woman, the aftershock of the explosion had rattled her and she was struggling to understand him, “Y/N, did you get it… did you?” He watched as she squinted up at him, likely able to see that he was getting impatient at her lack of response, and he knew she needed a moment but he wanted to know. With a tut, Y/N reached for his shoulder and tried to pull him around to face her fully, then she reached for the sides of the cloth over his eyes and tugged to bring him closer to her height. Once more he asked, trying not to get annoyed, “Did, you, get, it?” Each word was pronounced clearly, enough to be understood but not patronising.

Y/N finally nodded and Charon grinned wide. Despite his pleased countenance Y/N couldn’t help but notice the gash along the left side of his ribs and she reached out to touch it, eager to help him; Charon caught her hand to stop her, “Not here.” He picked her up with ease, his hand under her backside as her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms went around his neck. The Guardian often complained that she was too slow but she knew that he not so secretly liked carrying her on his hip, he found their height difference amusing, taking off at a run they escaped the building just as the alarm started to wail.

— -

Y/N had been with the White Clads since childhood; they had taken her in after she had gotten lost in the tunnels of The Nether. They had noticed how easily she navigated the tunnels and how she could easily avoid the wandering Infernals. She had been picked up by one of the Knights and they realised she was deaf, she had been thrown away and left to die in The Nether but her Second Generation ability saved her. Her ability had allowed her to see and feel the thermal energy in the air; with training, she discovered how to control the pressure of the energy. Y/N could pick up invisible heat signatures or voids in the air, it made her exceptionally good at finding things or anticipating an attack. It was almost useless as an offensive weapon and that’s why Charon often accompanied her when he wasn’t Guarding Haumea, it didn’t have to be him but he was overly fond of Y/N and wanted to keep her safe.

They were an odd couple.

Charon was a giant compared to most of his peers, he was tall and broad, he was loud and he asked too many questions too. The Guardian was looked up to as one of the strongest Guardians and his dedication to Haumea was almost fatherly; even if he was impatient and hated waiting for anything, even though Haumea kicked him too often. He was a devoted and serious member of the White Clad with unwavering loyalty to the Evangelist. Y/N had always liked his confidence and despite what people thought - That he was big and dumb - he was cunning… even if he was a little sadistic at times.

Though, not with her.

Charon had always been sweet to her. He would often bring her little presents and was always gentle. She was his opposite in nearly every way. Y/N had almost infinite patience with everything and was kind to her comrades - particularly towards the children. Y/N barely reached the middle of Charon’s chest in height, her hand to hand combat skills were weak and she was underestimated; that gave her opportunity to ruin her enemies and secure her place as a Knight. She wasn’t loud, she hardly ever spoke and read lips, very few people understood sign language and she relied on those few people to help her with the others. Sometimes, Charon didn’t pay attention and would turn his face away from her when speaking or he would speak too fast which caused Y/N some trouble. One of the most common sights of the two was when Charon would turn away and she would grab his face to turn it back toward her, he wasn’t good at sign language so he had to learn to be patient with her… not his strongest skill.

Charon hadn’t put her down once, even as they descended into the darkness of The Nether, they were used to the dark and knew the winding tunnels well.

This was part of their home.

He felt her shift a little against his side and slowed his steps as she took a moment to carefully adjust the cloth over his eyes to make sure the red cross sat correctly. Her hands covered his ears and she pressed her cheek to his pale hair, “Hm? What is it?” Charon asked as he stopped walking altogether, his answer cam a second later as a loud crash came from the tunnels up ahead. Ash was kicked up from the tunnels and washed over them along with the stale air, Y/N had made sure their eyes had been protected and then, anticipating a loud noise, had tried to protect his ears; Charon knew her ability allowed her to feel pressure changes in the air and shifts in thermal activity.

She’d known about the collapse before it had even happened.

“Can we still get home?” She nodded and pointed down another tunnel that was pitch black, “That’ll take ages, we’ll have to stop on the way. Do you think there’s a place to rest? Do you want to go above ground? Or should we keep going?” Even as he asked he walked toward where she had pointed, fully aware it was too dark for her to read his lips but still speaking; he trusted her judgement. Neither could create their own flames, their eyes were well adjusted to dark places and Y/N could use her ability to check for voids and weak areas that might cause them difficulty. After a few minutes of walking, she felt a vibration in the air and her fingers found Charon’s lips, her touch feather-light she felt his lips move against her fingertips as he asked her more questions. He wanted to stop somewhere to tend to his bleeding side and Y/N concentrated on the air around them, reading the thermal energy lingering there until she found an anomaly that signified a room that hadn’t been disturbed for a long time.

Not even wandering Infernals had been near it - it felt cold and dead.

Charon put her down when she instructed him to and he followed close until they came to a massive metal door, it was floor to ceiling and just as wide, dips in the ground told them that vehicles may have been stored there at some point in the past and they assumed it was an old storage warehouse. Charon pulled open the industrial-sized door, the hinges squealed and more stale air assaulted their noses, Y/N pulled the front of her clothing up a little until the worst of it passed. “People before the Cataclysm really liked underground storage, right?” Turning his head to grin down at her, Charon let out a small sigh, she wasn’t looking at him and that meant she hadn’t heard him - but if not at him, what was she staring at deep in the darkness? She grabbed his hand all of a sudden and indicated that he should shut the door. The noise of opening it the first time had caught the attention of something out there and she needed to patch him up first. They used her last emergency light stick to illuminate the room, rows and rows of metal shelves lined the back of the large square room, there were old stains from oils and an ancient car that looked like someone had been halfway through fixing.

Forcing the large man to sit on what looked like a workbench, Y/N placed her hand against the centre of his chest - somehow she was able to ignore how warm he was, how she could feel his heartbeat thumping lightly into her palm and just how beautiful all of his strong, dark skin looked in his half-naked state.

Now wasn’t the time.

She left his side after examining the wound and started exploring along the shelves; tools, cans of oil and lubricants, rubbish and mouldy cups lined most of them but she was looking for something to help clean his wound. There was nothing suitable. Y/N would have to patch him up as best she could without a disinfectant. From beneath her White Clad robes, she pulled out a small medi-pack from her belt and went back to Charon.

His left pant leg was dyed red and her hand slipped on his bloody skin by the cut as she tried to clean him up with what was left in her water flask, “Let me,” Charon’s large hand covered hers with a small squeeze just before he took the cloth from her and made short work of mopping himself up. His wound had stopped bleeding now but it was hurting him, darkening around the edges and swelling a little, “Is it bad?” Y/N looked up at him with a tilt to her head, missing what was said, “Bad. Am I gonna die?” She grinned up at him fondly and shook her head, Y/N had been threading a surgical needle as he had cleaned up and Charon felt heat blooming over the wound as invisible pressure pushed against and forced the torn edges of the skin together, “That hurts… do you care? You’re hurting your cute, little boyfriend and you don’t care, right?” Trying to hold in a giggle the woman began stitching him up. Charon’s fingers pinched at her clothing at her waist and gave a playful tug, “Y/N,” he called, knowing she would feel the vibration in the air rather than his words. He also knew that she would be aware he had said her name from the specific pattern of the vibration.

There wasn’t much difference in their ages and she had been a White Clad almost as long as he had, they’d as much as grown up together and he noticed that sometimes she would react to her name without having to see the person who had called it. She could even tell who was speaking sometimes and would ignore certain people on purpose. Charon liked that she found his voice unique to other voices, that not all the vibrations she felt were the same; and he loved when she would become bashful at the feel of his voice. “Hey, Y/N? You ignoring me? Not gonna look up? Don’t you think that’s cold? Y/N… Y/N?” The guardian could feel her twitch every time he said her name and his grin got bigger and bigger until she jabbed him lightly with the needle.

“Charon!” Her eyes looked up with an almost pleading expression, he knew what saying her name did to her, the way that his voice floated on the air and caressed her all over - it was only ever his unheard voice that made her react like that and in the small room with limited pressure and air it had been amplified. Y/N’s lips closed firmly together and she turned her gaze from him. It was rare she ever spoke out loud other than to finish prayer and she always felt anxiety about people hearing her.

What did her voice sound like?

How did she pronounce her words?

The man cradled her cheek in his hand and moved in to give her gentle kiss on the lips. Sometimes he liked to push her until she spoke his name out loud, every syllable perfect to his ears, the shape of her mouth when she spoke, the tone and quality always musical to him. He pulled back just enough for her to read his lips, “I love you,” Charon watched as she smiled and then he returned his own with a devilish twist, “Y/N.” He saw the shiver that ran up along her spine and laughed as she punched him in the chest.

[shebeafancyflapjack]

King Takes Knight

A quick Michael whump drabble mini-fic, written for catharsis sake. I’ve had a rough week.

TW: Captivity, torture, impaling.

His wrists are bound together behind his back, chains clamping tight around his skin, looped to a stake on the stage. He’s constantly hanging forward, feet impaled into the wood by rusty nails. The laughter had rippled around him when those had been hammered in, slow as fork, half a minute between each pound to give Michael a chance to appreciate the pain. Enough time for everyone to enjoy his groans.

At first he’d done his best not to give them the satisfaction. Demons fed off the sounds of misery. No, seriously, it’s like a vampire feeding off blood. It’s like their own crack cocaine. Michael had grown tired of the ‘kick’ many centuries ago. Why him? Why none of the others? Oh, right, of course. That’s the whole reason he’s here. It’s why he’s now the main, impromptu, attraction at this DemonCon.

He’s a freak.

That was always a fact, as much as he had tried to hide from it. Demons don’t collect human objects for a hobby unless its teeth or kidneys. Demons don’t binge watch human TV shows to help them fantasise about what it would be like to live the way they do, up above on Earth in the fresh air, with dating and parties and their own laugh track. Demons don’t get tired of what they were designed for; torture, maiming, eviscerating. For so long he told himself, It’s just a phase, a hyperfix, it will be pass, I just need something new....

The psychological experiment had worked. Until it hadn’t.

Now here he was. Still a freak, to them, more so than ever. He has no intention of running from it anymore. Not that he’ll be able to run or walk for a while now.

Sometimes they loosen the chain and one of them will yank it, making him crawl. Typically after they’ve smashed a broken bottle on the floor, open palms falling onto the scattered shards, trousers tearing at the knee as they cut in deep.

He’d barely felt anything the first time he’d noticed the crimson pooling beneath him. He had already worked out that they’d done something to heighten the pain receptors in his skin suit. But how could he have blood?

“Just an illusion, you tuft of pubic hair.” Shawn had snarled at him, disgusted at the curios look on his prisoner’s face; “You don’t get to have blue goo like a true demon. You’re an abomination. A holy spawn of Nothing.”

He’d have tried to give a snappy comeback, had they not threaded a steel wire through his lips. Michael almost took it with pride; as if Shawn was afraid to hear him talk after he’d given his speech before. Clearly it had him worried that he was losing control, that there may have been demons listening who agreed with him, who were believed it was time to change. Maybe Michael wasn’t the only freak. A small, foolish part of him held out hope it would be one of them who would try to free him.

Nothing yet. Maybe all his words fell on deaf, wicked ears. Maybe they had considered it, for a moment, before distracted by the new attraction of a Michael piñata to play with.

The remainders of his suit stick to burned, bruised and bloodied skin. His jacket is gone, one of the Trolls borrowed his bow-tie to use as a handkerchief so he doesn’t expect to see that again given their snot is acidic. He knows they’re working their way up to the penis flattener. Just his luck, he was just starting to get used to the weird hanging bits, even having the odd fantasy of how he might be able to use them...and now it seems the first bit of action they’re going to get is being slammed with a mallet. If given a choice, he might prefer to try the butthole spiders.

His vision fades in and out after taking several punches to the head from one of the Rock Giants. He’s sure his eye nearly popped out of its socket and his jaw is broken, barely held together by the metal in his lips. They all chant their names at him. Not just freak. Traitor. Weakling. Disgrace. Failure. Hopeless. Loser.

They want tears. They want him to break.

But he’s never felt more strong in his life...at least, for now.

He closes his eyes, swaying in his bonds, head rolling as the pain thumps through his skull. He can still hear Janet screaming his name. Her magnet-bound hands reaching out for him. Jason’s hands on her arms, his distraught face looking past his not-a-girlfriend as Michael shoved the handcart away as soon as the guards caught up with them.

“GO! NOW! DON’T COME BACK! DON’T RESET! JUST GET OUT!”

It was one of them or all of them. It had to be him.

This was all his fault, after all. Janet had been taken because he’d been foolish enough to underestimate his former colleagues. They’d failed to notice the imposter among them because Michael was too busy keeping all his anxieties over his own potential double to himself. Had he just told Eleanor and the others the truth about Shawn’s call from before the experiment, the reason for his ‘breakdown’ from the start, they might have known something was up. They might have known better than to let Janet get on that train alone. 

He might not have let everyone down.

Her hand grabs his wrist as they leave Mindy’s. He says nothing as Tahani and Jason continue to walk on ahead.

He turns around.

“Listen...about last night.” Eleanor looks up at him, taking a deep breath. He can see that she’s slept very little between the few hours they took to rest up and prepare for this journey, “The whole....trust issue dealy. I just wanted to say-.”

“It’s okay.” He raises his hand; “You don’t have to apologise.”

She blinks at him.

“Uhmm...Good, because I wasn’t gonna.”

Michael’s mouth forms a silent ‘Oh’. Why had he been expecting that? 

“I meant what I said, dude. I don’t know if I can ever trust you.” She tells him, straight; “I believe that you’re Michael and not Vicky, you proved that much. But, like I told Tahani, even if it is you, I don’t fully trust you. You know why right?”

He swallows, looking down at his shoes; “The lying...I know.”

He doesn’t try to excuse himself anymore. It was bad. That’s all there is.

“Not just the lying but the lying about the lying!” She berates him; “It has to stop! And don’t get me wrong, the whole offering to sacrifice yourself thing, that’s done you credit. I need you to keep that shirt up. I need to be sure that you understand how important this whole show we got going on is. Whole of humanity is riding on us beating Shawn and those goons. It’s more important for us to win this than worrying about just any one of us. Got it?”

He nods. Of course he’s got it. Does she still consider him a liability? Would she have preferred it if Jason hadn’t interrupted his attempt earlier?

No, he tries to reassure himself. She’s not being mean. She’s being a leader.

And she’s right.

“Got it, Boss.” He tells her, quietly, the shame still burrowing deep in his chest.

She gives him a small smile and bumps his arm with her first; “There! Glad we got that settled. Look, I just want my partner in running-fake-Heaven back at my side is all. Not hiding things from me or putting me through crab like you did last night.”

“I understand. I’m sorry.” Was he unreasonable to hope for an apology back?

He’ll never understand what it means to be human, he realises sadly.

“Apology accepted. Now go bring back our favorite not-a-robot or I’ll be demoting you to my personal shrimp-serving butler.” She teases with a twinkle in her eye as they continue their walk to the train station.

Michael laughs to himself, spluttering droplets of blood from his encased tongue, as her words ring in his ears. He hopes they win. He hopes he gets to see his friends one last time before they go to the Good Place, the real one, and he’s sent to...wherever. Hopefully somewhere nicer than here.

The more time passes, the more he’s beaten and scalded and whipped, the more he knows Janet has obeyed his request. They haven’t gone to the Judge. They’re carrying on the experiment, best as they can, with Chidi as their best chance to succeed as one of the subjects. He hears Shawn muttering one time about the train tunnel having mysteriously caved in.

Well done, Janet, old friend. Or was it Jason with his last molotov?

He knows they can do it without him. He believes in nothing else in this world except his incredible friends and their ability to save the forking world. 

They don’t need him...They have each other. And Eleanor.

His girl from Arizona. The only one who can take charge of this. The one who knows what is at stake and what needs to be done. There’s an odd tightness in his chest, which may be from where his fake ribs were crushed earlier, but may be something else. He can’t deny it...He misses being at her side, he misses watching her take charge, of being on her ‘team’, her...partner. Fork it, he doesn’t want to be sad about it. He doesn’t want to...

It’s his own fault that’s over. You ruined everything, y’know that?

“You’re thinking of her, aren’t you? Your favorite yellow cockroach.” Shawn whispers, appearing as a blur in the corner of his distorted eyesight; “Funny how they haven’t come for you. You and that idiot came for your Good Janet. But their own pet demon? So much for human friendship, huh.”

He closes his eyes tight. He doesn’t...want them to come.

His hair is grabbed, head pulled back, a small block of freezing ice pressed against his stomach. He moans into the wires. His natural fire-element essence is violently reacting to the cold. It’s worse than a thousand volts of electricity. 

“They left you, Mikey. They abandoned you to us.”

N-no...He chose to stay....He made them g-g-go...

“And don’t get me wrong, the whole offering to sacrifice yourself thing, that’s done you credit. I need you to keep that shirt up...”

And he did.

“It’s more important for us to win this than having to worry about just any one of us. Got it?”

Got it.

That’s why they haven’t come. They can’t throw away the progress they’ve made just to save him. They need to see it through till the end now. That’s all it is. Eleanor understands, he’s sure of it...It’s not because they don’t care...

The chill seeps into him. He feels parts of his goo crystalize sharply.

“I don’t think I can ever trust you.”

“Why don’t we just lock you up in Janet’s void?”

“Get out of here. You don’t get to be part of this.”

As the agony shoots through him, he blinks and he sees her. Staring at him. Uncertain, afraid, but silent. Complicit in his fate, if it’s for the greater good. No longer hers to worry about. No longer a distraction from what’s truly important - would she react the same if it was Chi-? No, stop it! Don’t! 

Shawn moves away with the ice block and Michael sags against the stake.

“Ahh...Would you look at that.”

A finger reaches out to graze Michael’s cheek, picking off a tiny frozen droplet on his cheek. Fork. How long had he been crying? He didn’t want to give them that satisfaction!

Shawn puts it between his lips and smiles; “Mmmm, not bad. Not as salty as human tears. Let’s see if I can get you to fill my glass.”

Michael glares at him now, shaking roughly. Shame quickly simmers into a flash of rage before his old boss slams the ice block against him again. He screams.

Fork, fork, fork. This has to be worth it.

If it’s the only way he can prove, without a doubt, he’s on their side...That he wants nothing but to be worthy to be her ‘partner’ again...To be wanted...Forgiven?

Win, you guys. If he can ask for nothing else, do this for him. Please, damn it...Win.

[animetrashlord-007]

AHS ~ Haunted

Word Count;; 1.7k

Genre;; Suggestive, Humour 

Pairing;; Obito x Reader

Published;; 2017-10-22

My Masterlist

Akatsuki Halloween Special Masterlist

   “Damn this old house!”

   You flipped over onto your back, your eyes burning a hole into the ceiling while you tried to focus on anything else besides the moans echoing throughout the halls. The wind picked up and began to howl, branches slammed against the windows and the entire house began to tremble. According to the landlord who had been generous enough to loan it to you and your companion for a night, it was an old home with a long history, though you’d soon figured out that translated to ‘creepy and possibly possessed’.

   Leaning forward while scrunching the smooth bedding between your shaking fingers, you squinted at the dark corners of the room. As the minutes passed, your mind began to play tricks on you and your imagination offered up its most grotesque creations. You considered yourself to be tough, but it was an unfamiliar environment and you never could manage to calm your nerves when this late at night. With demons and wraiths materializing in the shadows before your very eyes, taunting you with their sadistic grins, your resolve weakened. Desperate times called for desperate measures after all, and you knew that falling asleep without his help would be no easy task.

   Turning to the sleeping figure next to you, you gave his arm a light squeeze before whispering his name in an attempt to wake him. Your words fell on deaf ears, but you weren't the type to give up without a fight. Using your other hand as well, you squeezed a little harder. Speaking a little loud, you called out his name two more times, yet he still didn’t stir. With an angry huff, you held his arm in a vice grip and shook it with a little too much fervor. His only response could be felt beneath your fingertips as his muscles tensed for a brief moment.

   Shock flooded your senses upon feeling just how hard and toned his arm felt. A small blush tinted your cheeks as you continued to hold his large, muscular bicep. You weren't expecting him to feel so buff; you hadn’t realised he took such great care of his physique. With your original concerns of ghouls and monsters all but erased, your mind wandered to places far worse. Images that no friends, let alone mere co-workers, should have invaded your thoughts. You could picture his skin glistening with sweat and his tight muscles rippling beneath his form-fitting tank top as he worked out, his body enticing you with its every movement. Every dip and curve of his body was visible as he stripped down, ready for a steamy shower after such an intense session. It was a sight straight from one of your best dreams and you wondered if you had fallen asleep at some point. A loud gasp slipped past your lips when you realised your hands were caressing his shoulders and, as if with a mind of their own, began to trail down to his lower back. It took just a second for your brain to process what you had done and for your hands to retreat from their conquest and return to your side, but the damage had already been done.

   “A surprise massage? Did I win the lotto?” The man beside you snickered. His eyes held a playful glint and no signs of fatigue as he gazed up at you. “How’s a man to sleep when all he can hear is the soft moans and pleas of his beautiful partner?”

   “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn't say anything, and there was definitely no moaning. Keep your weird fantasies to yourself,” you snapped, your embarrassment evident in your shaky voice and the scarlet warmth spreading across your stern face.

   “Really? Was it a ghost that was calling my name then, begging and pleading for me just moments ago? ‘Ohh, Obito. You're so handsome and strong, please protect me with your powerful body. I'll reward you in any way your heart desires!’”

   “What?! You're delusional! Just go back to sleep!” The room fell back into silence after your outburst, but it was uncomfortable and tense. You spoke up once more once it became too much to bear, your voice a low whisper as your eyes met his dark ones, “How long have you been awake? How much did you hear?”

   He chuckled, leaning forward until you could feel his breath on your skin, oblivious to your pounding heart as he replied, “‘Damn this old house! If only my prince was awake to protect me! Obito, my handsome, dark knight, please wake up and comfort me. I'm so scared and lonely! Oh… ooh, my... Your body feels so amazing, I just cannot resist the urge to touch you. Oooh, Obito, mmm-’”

   “That didn't happen! You were obviously dreaming.”

   “Maybe. Either way, lucky me,” he teased, flashing you a small smile before resting his head back down on his pillow. “Get some rest, we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

   “I can't sleep.”

   “Well, I can. Good night.”

   Muttering a few swears under your breath, you flopped onto your side and stared at the wall. He didn't respond and soon his light breathing became snores. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes to hours, but sleep evaded you. Weariness drained the last of your energy and the overwhelming weight of lethargy smothered you but still you couldn’t sleep. On the brink of both dreamland and madness, you tried counting sheep and reciting a lullaby but it was futile. It wasn't until the sun peeked up over the horizon that you felt the sweet embrace of rest.

   The next morning, or rather, the next afternoon, you awoke with a start. Obito was nowhere in sight but at least the house no longer looked like something pulled straight from a horror film. Sunlight drizzled in through the small gap between the curtains. The attic had settled, no longer creaking, groaning and inducing childish fears. It would have been peaceful had you not been staying at this forsaken hell house for work. Instead, anxiety gnawed and clawed at your stomach. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple as you glanced at the clock.

   “Fucking dammit all to hell!” Your enraged shout could be heard clear down in the kitchen where your co-worker was awaiting you with a coffee in hand and a large grin on his face.

   It was a mere five minutes before you stormed down the stairs, hair brushed but not styled and clothes clean but unkempt. You glared at Obito and his giddy expression which, for some reason, incited undeniable anger within the very depths of your soul. Each footstep was a miniature tremor as you stomped into the room and stood before him.

   “Oi, bastard, why didn't you wake me up? We're gonna be late!”

   “So?”

   “So? So?! I didn't spend the night in this weird ass house with your lame jokes and pathetic attempts at flirting just to be late to this meeting! I didn't spend the night sleeping in the same damn bed as you just to lose my job!”

   “It's too late for us to arrive on time. Might as well not go. Besides, I never said you had to sleep in that bed. You didn't want to sleep on the couch. That's all on you.”

   “That's a shit attitude, but I guess it suits you perfectly,” you huffed in resignation as you yanked the coffee cup from his hands.

   “Cheer up. Things could be worse… though, they definitely could be better.”

   “I hate you.”

   “That's not what you said last night when you were feeling me up. Have you no shame? Assaulting me while I was sleeping?”

   He snorted as you choked on the warm beverage, spurts of coffee dribbling down your chin. With flushed cheeks and a ton of regret, you staggered to your feet and reached for the napkins on the counter beside your asshole of a partner. A smirk played on his lips as he eyed your movements. You knew that look and nothing good ever came from it. Your suspicion was confirmed when he grasped your wrist within his large hand and dragged you down onto his lap.

   “Obito! What are you doing?!”

   “It isn't fair if you get to have all the fun. Besides, that's my coffee you wasted. Consider it retribution,” his voice was deep and husky as he purred into your ear, his tongue lashing out to trace along the curve of your sensitive earlobe. You clamped your mouth shut to hold back your startled yelp. Any sounds would only provoke him further and you didn't plan to give him the satisfaction.

   His lips grazed down the length of your jawline, stopping on occasion to focus on spots that earned even the slightest reaction, nibbling and sucking on the sensitive areas. Soon he found his destination and his tongue lapped up the droplets of coffee as they inched down your neck. Once he was decided that your jaw was clean, he moved down to the crevice between your breasts. Your cheeks burned a deeper shade of red as you watched him lick up the few drops that managed to fall so low. His eyes flickered with lust and a touch of danger and the sight sent a jolt throughout your body.

   Discontent with your lack of response, his teeth sunk down into the soft flesh below your collarbone. His obsidian eyes held no mercy and his smirk deepened, excitement written all over his face upon hearing your pained whimper. Without hesitation, his hands cupped your ass and after giving it a light squeeze, he pinned you down onto the table. Your eyes widened as his body hovered above you, his warmth clouding your judgement. All you could smell was his scent, thick and overbearing as he gripped your jaw hard enough to leave a mark, his mouth inches from your own. To your surprise, he didn't make another move, instead choosing to caress a lock of your hair and peer into your eyes with tender adoration.

   “What's wrong?” You asked, the words breathless and bordering inaudible, “Lost your confidence?”

   “Just admiring the view.”

   “Shut- shut up,” your light stammering earned a chuckle from him and you were quick to furrow your brows, “It's not funny!”

   “I can't help but laugh. You're just so cute. However, I've held back long enough.” The mirth disappeared from his piercing eyes, replaced with such an intense focus that you found yourself at a loss of words. His tone concealed none of his desire as he spoke, his voice low and seductive, “You’re mine, and I'll be having you here and now.”

[1-1snailxd-art]

The Shield to your Sword

Masterlist 

Overview

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Type: Alternate Universe - Fantasy and Magic 

Rating: Mature (just to be safe - there will be injuries and death throughout the general story) 

Warnings: injury, blood, physical abuse, emotional abuse, character death, curses, swearing (please message me if more need to be added)  

Relationships: Prinxiety (Roman & Virgil) 

Fandom Characters: Prince Roman Aelin, Virgil Fidencio, Logan Rae Lason, Deceit (Snake Eyes), Patton *spoiler*, Remus *spoiler* 

Summary: Roman is the arrogant, but naïve, Prince of Azmar; a kingdom in the land of Sanderz. Virgil is an orphan the Queen took in as a companion for Roman, and they have been a pair ever since. Though he thinks the world of his closest friend, Roman will discover there is much Virgil has kept from him over the years. The truth is a tough pill to swallow, but Roman is going to have to swallow it if he is to save those he holds dear and protect his people from an invading kingdom.

Ao3 link (just in case mobile is being unfair and messing up my paragraphs) 

Tag Support Team

Thank you so much to these individuals who took an interest in my fantasy concept. The sample you read will be in a later chapter. I decided to build Roman and the realm up a bit more prior to presenting that scene, rather than flashing back. 

@small-reptile-cake @daflangstlairde @quoth-the-sparrow @it-me-the-phi @soul-of-a-vixen @the-real-wholesome-bitch @phe-purple-parade-ts

________________________________________

Chapter 1 - Prince’s Paradise

The morning light slipped between the parts in Prince Roman’s curtains as the winds changed direction. Sunlight reflected off Roman’s mirror; shining directly onto his eyelids and blinding him as he blinked at the disruption to his rest. With a groan, Roman sat up; running his fingers through his naturally auburn hair and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Peering around his room, he noted that fresh clothes had already been laid out for him, along with a glass of water and an apple.

Smiling to himself, Roman grabbed the apple and moved to open his curtains, revealing his view of his mother’s  garden, and the edge of the training area. Taking a seat on the sill, he looked out at what he believed to be paradise. Happy citizens, healthy stock, plenty of crops and a strong, armed force; what more could a Prince ask for?

Setting the apple core on his side table, Roman headed to his bathroom. Stripping down, the prince ran his hands over the heat and water runes, feeling his soul magic run from his fingertips and activate the magic to start his shower. He bathed briefly, simply to warm his muscles and freshen his hair for the day ahead; waving his hand across the runes again, the water flow ceased immediately.  

Magic was a common thing in the lands of Sanderz. The natural magic of the land had been harnessed generations prior, as individuals became aware of their own soul magic and used ancient runes to control both magic types. As the years progressed, more and more developed an awareness of magic and the art of using runes evolved. In modern times, runes were in common use by those with and without an awareness of magic.

Some saw their magical abilities as a blessing, but for Roman it was just his birthright. Nothing to be thankful for, just a power to flaunt as he pleased. Walking the castle halls, he summoned his sword from the tattoo on his wrist; swinging and twirling the blade to a beat only he could hear. His white uniform a clear contrast against the brick walls and his black pants. Many had said that his style choice was foolish, but Roman loved the idea of parading in the crimson blood of his enemies after a battle.

 His footsteps echoed loudly in the private dining room as he danced his way inside.

“Good morning, Prince Roman.”

Roman spun, sword vanishing from his hand as he faced the young maid standing in the corner.

“Good morning, Iris!” He gave the girl a pleasant smile, but she quickly bowed her head as she did every time Roman spoke.

“Shall I fetch you your breakfast?”

“That would be wonderful. Oh, Iris, have you seen Virgil this morning?”

“Apologies, I have not. I shall send for him at once.” Iris quickly headed for the door.

“Uh, no-no.” Roman’s words fell on deaf ears as Iris left the room with her mission in mind. “I do hope Virgil doesn’t mind me calling for him.”

 **********************

 Virgil had finally achieved a deep sleep after completing a late night on guard duty. Though he was technically a ward of the Queen, Virgil still took on work so he could share his earnings with those less fortunate than him. Not to mention, he liked the added security of being self-sufficient should he suddenly be cast out of the castle.

He would have happily slept until lessons that afternoon, but Iris roughly shook him awake.

“Virgil… Virgil, please wake up.”

“Wha-what is -oing on?” He grumbled through a yawn; slowly sitting up.

“Prince Roman has requested your presence for breakfast.”

“Oh, has he now. Tell him I’m busy.” With that, Virgil pulled the blankets over his head and laid back down.

“No, Virgil, please.” Iris begged, shaking Virgil with more force now. “I can’t defy the Prince, I can’t.”

The fear in Iris’s voice woke Virgil up as he realised what he had just asked the young maid to do. If word got to the King that they had defied the Prince, they would both be punished. Sitting up, Virgil looked into Iris’s tearful and terrified eyes; apologising as he pulled her into a secure hug.

“I know. I’m sorry, Iris. I’m coming. It’s okay. I’m coming.”

 While Iris left to fetch breakfast, Virgil was quick to change into fresh clothes; a loose long-sleeved purple shirt, black vest and pants. Grabbing a leather bag containing his training gear, Virgil left his chambers and headed up to the dining room to meet Roman.

  **********************

 Virgil’s footsteps were silent in the halls as he approached the dining room to find Roman admiring himself in a mirror. Leaning against the doorframe, Virgil watched as the Prince picked at a loose gold thread on his uniforms decorative design.

“Oh, you wish to challenge me, do you?” Roman asked his reflection, and Virgil stifled a laugh. “I am afraid you are out of luck, for this shall not be a challenge for me!”

Roman summoned his sword, slashing at the mirror as he pretended to fight his ‘foe’; before turning and catching Virgil’s smiling form in the doorway.

Straightening immediately, Roman retracted his sword and tried to hide his embarrassment. “Virgil! Good to see you. Ho-how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to make the wakeup call worth it, Princey.” The prince’s face reddened as Virgil walked over to the table, unable to remove the grin that lit up his face.

“Um, yes, well…” Roman was at a loss for words and Virgil revelled in every second of it.

“You know, if you use all your magic playing games with yourself, you’ll have nothing left for actual practice later.”

“Me? Run out of magic? Ha! That is impossible.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, “you’ve got skill, Roman, but even you have limits.”

“Says you.”

“Says facts.”

“Facts shm-acts, I know what I’m capable of and I-“

 Virgil was thankful that Roman’s rambling was cut short as Iris returned with a plate and bowl in hand.

“Your breakfast, Prince Roman.” Iris placed the loaded plate before Roman, and the bowl of porridge in front of Virgil. “Is there anything else you require?”

“No thank you, Iris. That is all.”

With a quick bow of her head, Iris scurried out of the room. Roman eyed his plate of sausages, bacon, eggs, tomato, mushroom and a fresh bread roll. Once Virgil was sure the room was clear, he reached over and grabbed the bacon from Roman’s plate.

“Hey!” Roman pouted as the other smirked and licked the smoked meat. “That was my breakfast.”

“And this is my payment.” Virgil glanced sideways at his friend, “you did wake me after a night shift on guard duty.”

Mouth full of tomato, Roman paused mid bite as he suddenly remembered Virgil asking not to be woken that morning. Forcing himself to swallow, he gave his friend an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry. I completely forgot.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Again, Virgil checked the room was clear, before reaching for the honey on the table and sweetening his meal. “Just please, Ro, no wake-up calls tomorrow. I need a little more than 3hours sleep if I’m going to protect your arse.”

“My ‘arse’ does not need protecting, but I will keep that in mind. I don’t want to be seen hanging around with Sir Racoon Eyes.”

“Nice. Very original. Now eat your breakfast.”

 The pair continued to eat in silence; Virgil easily cleaning his bowl before Roman. Cautious eyes scanned the room before Virgil snuck any more of Roman’s leftovers. This banter was common between the pair, though he was always careful. Roman may have accepted and appreciated Virgil’s antics, but that didn’t make them appropriate in the eyes of the King or his knights.

 With full bellies, the pair leaned back in their chairs and shared a bemused grin, which quickly soured as a question came to Virgil’s mind.

“Has there been any word on your Mother’s condition?”

Roman looked down at his lap, fidgeting with the gold band on his middle finger.

 The Queen had been unwell for the past 5 years. Plagued by frequent chest infections from an old war wound. Virgil hadn’t seen her in months, thanks to the King’s increasing distrust towards him. Unless the Queen herself called on him, Virgil was not permitted to access to her chambers. Even when Roman had asked him to accompany them, he was quick to find an excuse to avoid the possibility of crossing paths with the King. Despite everything, Virgil still worried for his surrogate mother and it hurt that he couldn’t see her more often.

 “She is as can be expected for the spring.” Roman admitted, “I try not to go to her room too much. All the pollen, you know.”

Virgil nodded, quietly wishing he hadn’t brought it up as he watched the sadness take over Roman’s usually happy features.

“We should probably get out of here,” Virgil finally offered, “I’m sure Iris is just itching to return and clean the room up.”

As if hearing her cue, Iris entered the room.

“I hope everything was to your liking, Prince Roman.” Eyes never rising higher than the table, she quickly collected the dishes.

Sadness dissipating, Roman was back to his usual self. “It was indeed. Bacon was a little light,” he gave Virgil a sideways grin, “but I enjoyed it none the less.”

“Oh. Um. I’m sorry.” Iris quickly left the room faster than a mouse that had run across a heat rune.

As soon as Iris was gone, Virgil punched Roman’s shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for?” Rubbing his shoulder, Roman looked at Virgil in confusion.

“You can’t say shit like that to her.”

“Chill out, Virge.” he mused, rising from the table, “It just means more bacon tomorrow and I can willingly share it with you.”

 Virgil internally fumed as he followed Roman out of the room. The Prince truly was blind to the power he held over those around him and how that one little statement could force a cook to be banished from the castle, or even incarcerated for not ‘meeting the needs of the royal family’. Walking through the halls, Virgil just hoped Roman’s comment wasn’t blown out of proportion or fell onto the wrong ears. Iris may have been timid and useless in Roman’s presence, but she was far from foolish; that’s what Virgil believed to be true anyway. He had to believe. The last thing he wanted was to have a family’s misfortune on his conscience.

  **********************

 The sun had reached its midpoint, as Virgil lent against a tree with his eyes shut and did his best to tune out Roman’s grunts as he continued to lift weights. The pair had spent a few hours completing solo weapons training and strength development. Normally, Virgil was more than happy to put his endurance to the test, but his early morning call meant he wasn’t in the mood for Roman’s antics.

 "Come spar with me, Virgil," Roman called, throwing a weighted stone aside and causing the ground to vibrate slightly.

"I'm not in the mood, Princey." Virgil called back, not even acknowledging Roman with a glance.

"Oh, come on." Whined Roman, sauntering over to cast a shadow over his friend. "You've been laying there forever."

"Don't be so dramatic, and if you hadn't of woken me I wouldn't be so tired right now."

"And I'm being dramatic," Roman playfully kicked Virgil's boot. " Come on. One quick spar."

"Roman, no."

"Come ooooooon."

"Let it go, Princ-"

 "I believe your Prince gave you a request."

 Virgil's eyes shot open at the sound of the King's commanding voice, and he wished he had a giant camouflage rune so he could disappear into the tree behind him. He knew instantly that he was in trouble, the tone alone was terrifying, but the fire in his eyes communicated his anger tenfold.

"Father!" Roman was beaming, oblivious to the tension in the air. "It is good to see you outside. Would you like to spar with me?"

"No thank you, Roman." The King’s gaze barely shifted from Virgil as he spoke. "But I would be interested to observe a duel between yourself and young Virgil."

"Wonderful, come on Virgil." Roman extended a hand to help the other up and they had enough sense to not refuse this time. "That's more like it. I'll just get my practice runes on."

"No, Roman." The King held up a hand and shook his head. "I could watch a spar any time I chose. I wish to see a duel of the Furnder style."

Virgil's blood chilled in his veins at the mention of the term. He had hoped, as had Roman, that the King only wished to watch them spar with blunted weapons. Instead he wanted a duel. Bloodshed. At least Furnder style meant first to bleed loses, but the activity was not something Virgil wished to partake in with Roman.

 "Oh, a, ah, Furnder duel." Roman sounded surprisingly nervous. "I don't want- I mean, I’m sure - um…”

“Grab your straps, Prince Roman.” Virgil kept his voice level and void of emotion. “The King has made a request and we should honour it.”

“Oh, well, okay then.” All concern was gone from his voice after hearing Virgil accept the duel.

 Virgil reached into his pack, retrieving leather guards that covered the tops of his hands and wrapped around his forearms. The leather was embossed with runes Virgil had crafted; he could summon various arrow tips and shafts in an instant by allowing his soul magic to activate different runes. He slipped a leather vest on, before setting to tighten his straps and activating metal runes to strengthen his leather protections and clothes.

Roman retrieved a red sash of royal emblems and runes, equipping the seemingly loose fabric across his shoulder and lopping a thick belt around his middle. He too pulled on guards for his forearms and activated protections; the sash stiffening along with his usual uniform. 

 Fully equipped, the pair strode to the face each other in the centre of the training grounds; the King keeping a trained eye on them as they moved. The wind seemed to die out, allowing an eerie feeling to settle over the usually lively field. Virgil’s stomach twisted as he processed his situation - On one hand, he would have to fight Roman as wholeheartedly as possible, so as to not offend Roman and the King. On the other hand, should he actually cause Roman harm, the King would be sure to punish him greatly. There was no way out of the situation, only careful fighting and a hope that he could avoid both of those evils.

 “Virgil Fidencio. Prince Roman Aelin of Azmar. You have agreed to partake in a Furnder duel.” The King’s voice seemed distant to Virgil; though there was no wind to disrupt it from reaching his ear. “You shall honour the laws of Lord Furnder. The duel is over once blood is drawn from either participant; fatal blows are unnecessary but not dishonourable. Your actions are your own. All advances will cease when blood is drawn; are you both in agreeance?”

“Aye, sire.” The young men called in unison, eyes meeting; one fearful but determined, the other excited to demonstrate his skill.

“Arms at the ready!”

Virgil and Roman summoned their weapons simultaneously; the sun instantly reflecting off Roman’s sword and meeting Virgil’s eyes. Bow firmly gripped in his right-hand, Virgil felt the tips of his fingers on his left-hand tingle as he primed his soul magic to craft arrows.

“Have honour!”

Roman widened his stance, keeping his sword low and eyes fixed on his opponent. They had sparred many times with blunt weapons and were just beginning to receive missions outside of the castle walls. The young Prince was ready to prove that he was worthy, not just in age, but in skill.

“Begin!”

 Reflexes lightning fast, Virgil summoned an arrow and sent it at Roman.

“Shield up” Virgil mentally commanded.

A red shield appeared as Roman raised his right arm, knocking the arrow aside as he advanced. With a slide of his right index finger, a semi-translucent shield formed in front of Virgil’s bow. The sword met the shield with a jarring force, but Virgil held strong and pushed the sword aside.

“Guard your centre,” Virgil begged as he kicked forward.

His foot hit shield as Roman summoned it again; preparing to swing his sword back. A smile quirked Virgil’s lips as Roman instinctively braced to push him back. Using the added momentum, Virgil pushed off the shield to flip backwards and away from Roman’s sword; pulling an arrow into position the moment he was grounded.

“Be prepared for anything,” Virgil felt his wrist warm as he released one arrow and summoned another with a burning tip; taking backwards steps on the diagonal to keep his distance from Roman.

The arrows struck Roman’s shield, the fire arrow making an explosion on impact that caused his vision to blur. Regardless, Roman exchanged his sword for a throwing knife and charged forward. Even with his sight impeded, Virgil still had to summon his shield to protect himself as Roman hurled the knife towards him. As the prince re-summoned his sword, Virgil thought he saw his out.

 Dropping his shield, Virgil pulled another arrow as Roman quickly closed the gap between them.

“Shield up.”

His fingers moved naturally to release the arrow just as Virgil’s keen eyes noted Roman’s relaxed guard arm. In a split-second reaction, he formed and released additional arrows in an attempt to divert or destroy the first.

Roman’s mind was tunnel focused as his sword crossed his body in preparation to swing at Virgil. By the time his eyes focused, two arrows collided in front of his face in a cloud of smoke and he swung blindly into the space before him. The smoke concealed them from the King’s watchful eye, and the boys were trapped in grey darkness.

A feeling of smooth resistance was enough for Roman to recognise that his blade had struck true. Activating a whirlwind rune, he quickly cleared the smoke to find Virgil crouching while aiming a freshly strung arrow at him; blood oozing from a deep gash on his left arm.

 Clapping had Roman’s chest exploding with pride.

“What a brilliant display, Roman.”

Roman beamed down at Virgil at the King’s words; retracting his sword and deactivating his runes. Virgil did the same before lowering his head in shame, unable to reciprocate Roman’s euphoria as his eyes caught the fine trail of blood that ran down his right cheek.

“There is no shame in losing, Virgil.” Roman assured, still oblivious to his injury from sheer adrenaline. “It was a fine duel, wasn’t it, Father?”

Any evidence of a smile was immediately removed from the King’s face as Roman turned towards him.

“Your face was scathed.” Virgil felt the King’s presence, despite never raising his head.

Roman reached up with cautious fingers, suddenly aware of the sting as his fingers traced the cut up his cheek and to his ear.

“Huh, you managed to strike me, Virgil,” the sound of Roman’s laugh only had Virgil feeling twice as terrified for his future. “I’m impressed. Though this makes it difficult to determine the true champion. Would it be fair to call us even, Father?”

“Go see the physician, Roman,” was the King’s blunt reply, and Virgil felt the bile rising in the back of his throat as royal boots stepped into his peripheral vision.

“Father, it is just a scratch and Virgil-“

“The physician, Roman. I wish to speak with Virgil in private.”

“But he’s -“

“I’m fine,” Roman looked down to meet Virgil’s deep brown eyes. “Prince Roman. Go see to your health.”

 Virgil hated having to speak so formally to his friend, but it was required in the King’s presence. Even as children, Virgil was always expected to treat Roman in a more formal manner, despite the Queen’s kind words that the boys were equals. Watching Roman walk away now, more than anything in the world, Virgil wished the Queen’s words were true. As soon as Roman was out of view, Virgil again lowered his head and kneeled before the unkind King.

**********************

End Note:

Thank you for reading and I really hoped you enjoyed it. Please don’t hesitate to pass on any feedback or questions you have about the story. Thanks again to my lovely Tag Support Team. You are the reason I decided to writing this story.

Side Note: updates will come as I am able. I work full time and have one other WIP. I will try and balance my updates between both...unless there is more interest in one over the other. 

💜🐌 Snail

**********************

Chapter 2   — Masterlist 

What else have I done:

The Perfect Ring (oneshot - analogical proposal)

You Promised (oneshot - prinxiety angst/injury/near death)

Sides of a Hero (Completed Fic - sides are fusions of impulses and aspects of Thomas. Virgil has a depressing past that he is forced to face thanks to Deceit and Rage. Was canon compliant at the time of completion)

Libraries are for Meetings (ongoing WIP - Human/University au with Royality and developing Analogical. Slow burn and heavily focused on a grieving group of friends that Virgil slowly becomes a part of to better himself.) 

Check out my other blog for random fandom reblogs and stuff @snail-giggles​

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose ch. 24 - The Falcon, the Rose, and the Witch

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

CW: canon-typical violence; battle scene; animal butchery

Twenty-sixth day of Bloomingtide, 9:32 Dragon

They were losing the battle. In a brief respite, with the shattered remains of Gwaren’s outmatched cavalry around her, Rosslyn noted all the cracks in their defensive line with an expert eye. The centre square was folding, drawing inwards like a bow under tension, and on the left flank, the sheer weight of Cauthrien’s numbers beat back against Highever’s infantry. Their enemy’s banners fluttered over their ranks, feinting like real dragons at the scarlet War Dogs still snarling on the hill. Yet there were weaknesses there as well: Cauthrien’s tactics, while sound, were uninspired and stolid, and Rosslyn ground her teeth fighting back the urge to take advantage of openings where magefire or a well-placed cavalry charge might turn the tide of battle.

It was too dangerous. They had committed to this, and to change the plan now would risk not only the lives of everyone under her command but also their only chance of victory. Gwaren’s troops had to reach Lothering swollen with their win, unsuspecting; this fight was nothing more than bait to a trap, a way to break up the advantage of numbers and direct their own hubris back on them, so no matter how galling she found it to try and lose on purpose, Rosslyn kept her seat, her mind fixed on victory and not on the men dying in their hundreds to see it through.

Alistair was commanding the infantry, dressed in Cailan’s armour to draw Cauthrien’s eye. With Loghain’s expectations and her own hunger for glory weighing on her, it hardly mattered whether or not she saw through the ruse, but it made him a target, a prize just waiting for any skilled archer or infantryman with a lucky sword. Forcing down the churn in her stomach, Rosslyn dragged her gaze away from where he stood behind a bristling wall of royal guard and swept it along the lines to where the templars stood defending the mages. She had put them in an exposed position, trusting to Irminric’s sense to keep them safe, but as she watched, Cauthrien pulled back reserves from the buckling Highever flank and sent them to surround the low rise where he and the other templars waited with ready blades.

Rosslyn raised her shield hand to signal the cavalry behind her, noting the lather on the horses’ necks as the last of the runners scurried away with emptied waterskins. Under the blaze of the summer sun, the brief respite had been necessary, but did little to assuage the thirst clinging to the back of her throat, or the last spiteful squeeze of her courses roiling low in her gut. Sweat trickled down the hollow of her back, and with nowhere to go, it soaked into the fabric layers beneath her armour, with the blood of the men she had killed, and stayed there, congealing and itchy. With a roll of her shoulders, she dismissed the feeling and reached up for the visor of the Falcon helm. The snap as it closed shut in darkness and the heat of her breath – a familiar claustrophobia, but better than getting an arrow in the eye.

Lifting her sword over her head, she nudged Lasan’s flanks with her heels and led off the line at a brisk canter, sweeping down behind the pickets to a cheer from the back rows of the infantry. She didn’t turn to see if Alistair raised a salute with the others who cheered them on but instead raised the pace, directing Morrence to take her flank and swing out wide. Together both spears of the cavalry spilled over the rise behind the mages, a wave of noise and muscle that pushed back the wall of Gwaren soldiers trying to surround them. Immolations and freezing spells lashed overhead – horses whinnied as the first saddles emptied, but their momentum carried them forward, biting deep into the ranks of the enemy until one field commander had the presence of mind to call for pikes. An arrow took him in the shoulder before he could finish the order, but it was already being followed.

“Knight-Captain – get them out!” Morrence bellowed as she reined her charger to a halt.

Gwaren pikemen pushed forward, closing ranks to break the charge. A second row behind them formed up with swords drawn to defend them against the mabari snaking through gaps in the defence, but the dogs were savage, protected at neck and chest by thick plates of boiled leather, and more than one black-clad soldier fell under their tearing jaws.

Deaf to the screams that welled around her, Rosslyn used the distraction and grimly hacked at any who pressed too close. One man reached up and tried to drag her from her saddle. She butted him with the edge of her shield, sending him off balance under the strike of Lasan’s hooves. Out of the corner of her eye, she measured the mages’ retreat and allowed the melee to push her troopers back, just enough that they covered the escape to safer ground, but even as they withdrew, soldiers crowded in on every side, and almost too late Rosslyn spotted the way Gwaren’s line was bending, curving round to try and cut off the cavalry from any reinforcements.

Or to stop them going to the aid of anyone else. From her vantage point she saw the central line of the infantry finally give way, the spearpoint of Gwaren soldiers that set straight for Alistair’s position on the hill. Cauthrien, it seemed, was not so unoriginal after all.

She had no time to think about it. Her standard-bearer fell. The Laurels fluttered to the blood-churned earth and a ripple of despair sighed through the ranks of horse at her back.

“Not today!” she roared in defiance, her sword a flash across the jugular of the man who took the banner. “Morrence! To me! Tell Irminric we’re going through them!”

She saw a gap, a break where the crush was not so deep. Lasan bugled a challenge as she kicked him forward and she answered, screaming a wordless battle cry that rattled in the hollow space behind her helmet. The dogs raked deep, baying, and the troopers followed. The hole they punched in the enemy line opened slowly, saddles emptying and horses stumbling, but the edge of the melee was in sight and determination drove them forward. For a moment it seemed the line was reforming, grouping to halt them again, until a shadow boiled over the ground before the horses, a living thing, seething and seeking out the soldiers directly ahead. The enemy ranks drew back, wailing, scrambling to get away from unseen monsters – a Terror hex, Rosslyn realised – and the troopers cut them down as they cowered.

She had to get to Alistair.

After what seemed like an age, they burst out onto clear ground, breaking into a canter as she propped right and made for the flank of Highever’s forces to regroup and swing back to defend the centre. A man flagged her down as she approached, and when she lifted her visor she recognised the face of the Amaranthine deserter, Riley, though the sergeant’s band on his arm and the Laurels on his surcoat were all but lost under a wash of blood.

“We canna hold them back, Y’ Ladyship,” he panted. “They’re gan’a break through. It’s now or neva.”

“Keep them occupied as long as you can,” she ordered. “My troopers will help. I’ll get His Highness out and then you fall back – our quitting the field will be your signal.”

“Aye, Ma’am.”

Cauthrien’s position was pressing now. With the mages in retreat and the king’s infantry drawing in to guard their flanks, Loghain’s young protégée had more soldiers to commit to the assault on their lines, and every step taken only increased her advantage. Though the plan from the start had been to lose, the defeat was starting to look a little too convincing for Rosslyn’s liking. They were running out of time.

Morrence halted beside her, her hand pressed over a wound at her side. “Nothing but a scratch,” she ground out when she noticed the direction of Rosslyn’s gaze.

“A scratch?”

“I’ve had worse – it’s just a flesh wound. Orders?”

“I leave the cavalry to you,” Rosslyn replied. “Harry the advance and break away when you can. I’ll take the prince and meet you at the rendezvous.”

“Best hurry, he’s got company.”

Rosslyn spared a glance as her captain wheeled and spurred away, for an instant lost for how she might get Alistair out of the battle – there was no time to find him a spare horse, and the infantry would be upon him too fast to get him out on foot.

“You’re not going to like this,” she muttered to Lasan as she sheathed her sword and whistled for Cuno. He broke away from the pack, easily keeping pace with the large stallion as she once more pushed him into a canter.

The first of Gwaren’s banners already hovered over the royal guard, the sound of fighting closing on all sides. Alistair, shining in the king’s aurum plate, gave a rallying cry to those around him and struck out with the pommel of his sword, a blow that sent his opponent staggering back into the path of Lieutenant Mhairi’s blade, but more soldiers rose to fill the man’s fall.

“Alistair!”

He turned. Mhairi saw before he did what Rosslyn intended to do, and yelled for the guard around her to form up and block any advance that tried to reach them. Four strides out, Rosslyn leaned down from the saddle, her right arm out, hand poised to reach for his, hoping her momentum would be enough. Time slowed in the space between breaths. His weapons dropped, too cumbersome in his hands, too much weight when there was no room for miscalculation.

He caught her hand – his weight pulled at her shoulder as she swung him up behind her. Lasan bucked, squealing, but Alistair’s arms wound around her waist, anchoring him to the horse’s back.

“Hold on!” Rosslyn called over her shoulder as she turned to make for the safety of the trees. “Rach, Lasan! Rach gu lath!”

A cry of frustration swelled from Gwaren’s ranks as Lasan jolted forward, desperation breaking them through Highever’s flank in one last frenzied attempt to capture prince and teyrna both. Rosslyn’s sword sprang into her hand once more, ready to cut down any who came within reach, while Cuno snarled at her side, using his bulk and the snap of his teeth to throw men out of the way.

And then they were out of the final knot of soldiers, the press of bodies falling away on all sides with a last kick of Lasan’s hooves as they galloped for the hill and the dense cover that would hide them from any archers left in Cauthrien’s ranks. Once they crested the hill with no sign of pursuit, Rosslyn eased off and the horse slowed to a halt, tossing his head. she fumbled with the chinstrap of her helmet, eager to have it off, to breathe fresh air again.

“Are you alright?” Alistair panted behind her. He still held tightly to her waist, but had lifted the visor of his own helmet to watch her as she looked back at the tattered detritus of the battle.

“This seemed like a much better plan a few hours ago,” she said.

He tucked away a matted lock of her hair that was catching in his mouth. “It’ll work. Astillo and Gideon know what they’re doing. And if they fail, this would be a good opportunity for your spy to prove herself.”

“My spy?” She sighed. “We’re putting a lot of faith in Cauthrien’s sense of honour.”

“We know she has one,” he answered. “And exchanging food and shelter in return for leaving civilians alone is a better deal than making her soldiers fight twice in one day, especially if she wants to prove to Ferelden that Loghain would make a better king than Cailan.”

“Gideon told you he was going to paint us all as tyrants, did he?” she chuckled, clucking at Lasan to walk on again. “He’ll sell it – the man should have been an actor. But still…” She sighed, passing a last look back over her shoulder. “It stings to think whatever happens now is out of our hands.”

“I know,” Alistair agreed.

It was cooler under the trees. Without any way to take it off, the layers of plate and mail still chafed, but the discomfort numbed as the battle-blood faded and fatigue stirred in its place. Over the jingle of harness and Cuno’s heavy panting, birdsong wove through the branches, twining with the distraction of soft, filtered sunlight and mossy banks starred with fragrant woodland flowers, so that the harsh memories of the battle started to warp into something distant, unreal.

“Thank you, by the way, for saving my life back there,” Alistair said into the silence, as if no time had passed. “They’ll write songs about it, just wait and see.”

Rosslyn shifted in the saddle, startled out of a doze. “I doubt it – but you’re welcome.”

“What do you mean? You pulled off a dashing, daring rescue and whisked the Prince of Ferelden away beyond the reach of certain doom! I imagine Ser Cauthrien wasn’t pleased, but I for one was very impressed.”

“I think you’re just trying to flatter me so I won’t make you walk,” she answered airily, smirking over her shoulder.

“Teyrna Rosslyn, I am shocked. It hurts my feelings that you think I would use base flattery on a valiant, generous, capable woman such as yourself just to save my poor feet from a few hours of tramping through the mud.” He leaned forward, still keeping his hands discreetly at her waist, and laid his chin on her shoulder like a puppy looking for treats. “Is it working?”

She stifled a giggle. “You’d be better off trying to charm the horse, since he’s the one carrying you.”

“That’s much less fun than charming you, dear lady,” he purred, delighted by the slight shiver he noticed as his breath stirred the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

“What makes you think you’re charming me?”

“Well you haven’t kicked me off yet.”

“I suppose I’ll have to concede that,” she hummed as she allowed herself to lean back into his shoulder. “You can stay – for now.”

The pleasant mood didn’t last long. As the afternoon wore on it became clear they were lost, in a completely different part of the forest to the rendezvous they should have reached at least an hour before. They had seen nobody since the battle, not even stragglers looking for somewhere safe to rest.

“I don’t understand it,” Alistair grumbled as he washed the back of his neck in a stream running alongside the path. “We’re following the trail, and it’s not like the country around Lothering is that wild. Even if we were lost, we should have run into a farmstead or something by now. And I could certainly do without the midges,” he added, swatting his cheek.

“The shadows are in the wrong place – we’re heading southeast, not west.” Rosslyn’s eyes scanned the open woodland around them. At her side, Lasan snorted and swished his tail. “Perhaps we took a wrong turn somewhere.”

He looked up. “I have a feeling if we turn around we’ll only have the same problem.”

“I think you’re right.”

The trees above crowded over them, larger than most that made up the forests in the hinterlands around Lothering and Redcliffe, and somehow more twisted. The birdsong had stopped. Reaching a decision, Rosslyn unbuckled her sword from Lasan’s saddle and strapped it to her waist instead. She whistled for Cuno, who raised his head from the gnarled set of roots he had been studying and trotted over to her side.

“Something wants us to go this way,” she told Alistair, “So let’s go. We’ll get to the end of the trail, find whatever is doing this, kill it if necessary, and then be on our way. What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, grinning fondly. “I’m just trying to imagine what you must be like at court.”

“Bored out of my mind, usually,” she admitted, answering his expression with a smile of her own.

“Should we mount up?”

She shook her head. “Whatever this is, we’re not going to run from it, and we’ll have an easier time on the ground fighting off anything that wants a piece of us. Besides, I’d rather not tax Lasan more than I have to.”

With one last look along the way they had come, she lifted the reins over her horse’s head and set off, stretching out her stride to combat the cramp in her legs, and to steady her nerves. At her side, Alistair raked his eyes along the treeline, determined to be vigilant for anything that might leap out from the shadows despite lacking any weapon that would be useful in a fight.

He was the one who spotted the first totem as mist started to creep over the path behind them.

“Is it Chasind?” he wondered, watching Cuno prowl over to sniff the grisly thing. It was a hart skull, still with a few scraps of rotting flesh clinging to the bone, hung on the top of a frame lashed together in a rough human shape decorated with mouldy furs and loops of beads made from red stone. Feathers and bleached vertebrae were tied to the hart’s antlers on long strings of sinew that caught the wind and clinked together with a hollow sound like dry sticks.

“Don’t touch it,” Rosslyn advised. “We must be getting close.”

The mist closed in around them. Alistair drew in closer to Rosslyn’s side until he was near enough that their hands brushed with every stride, a paltry touch through two layers of gauntlets, but still a welcome reassurance as the path narrowed and ever more empty-eyed sentinels peered at them through the trees.

When at last the forest opened into a clearing, what they found was no less disconcerting. An old woman sat on a flat rock on the gravel shore of the stream that ran through the glade, humming a tune as she pulled the guts from the carcass of a rabbit, her hands bathed scarlet to the wrist. Around her, ravens perched and watched her movements with careful eyes, rustling their wings in anticipation of the moment she would fling the animal’s innards out for them to squabble over. She watched them for a moment, as if they were a mildly entertaining circus act, and then turned her eyes back to her fire and the task of peeling the rabbit from its skin.

Squaring his shoulders, Alistair stepped forward, but Rosslyn’s hand on his arm made him pause.

“Be careful,” she said. She was looking at Cuno, whose ears were pressed back flat against his head with every hair along his spine standing to attention.

“Whaaat?” he checked. “You mean you don’t think this old lady is completely harmless and wouldn’t say ‘boo’ to a goose?”

She offered him a wry quirk of her mouth. “I grew up with stories like this. I think that’s Flemeth.”

“Flemeth? The Witch of the Wilds Flemeth who steals babies and turns unsuspecting travellers into frogs?”

“You can’t turn people into frogs.”

“Maybe you can’t.”

Rosslyn rolled her eyes at the teasing. “Well we can’t turn back. She brought us here for a reason.”

“Or,” Alistair countered, “we just happened to get caught in some nefarious, witchy trap and we’ll go the same way as every other unfortunate who came before us.”

“Are you going to hover over there all day?” a gravelly voice called as Rosslyn opened her mouth to respond. “You must be tired after your travels.”

The ground beneath them shifted. Lasan skittered sideways – Cuno yelped at the air – Alistair read panic in Rosslyn’s eyes as she searched for an explanation. They stood in the middle of the meadow over twenty paces from the treeline that had sheltered them, exposed and wrong-footed without even a flash of light or a clap of thunder to mark the change. Sharing a guarded look, she eased the grip on her sword and eased out a steadying breath.

“Great,” Alistair muttered. “Frog time.” He laid a hand on Rosslyn’s arm, and at her nod, he led the way across to where the old woman still sat cleaning her rabbit, ignoring them.

“Good day to you, madam!” he called, with his most winning smile. “Could you help us? It appears we’ve lost our way.”

The old woman canted her head to regard him with unnerving yellow eyes. “Did you?” she asked, in a voice rich with amusement. “Perhaps it was the way that lost you!” She cackled. “Oh, but manners are refreshing. And what of you, girl – are your words as pretty as your companion?”

“We’re sorry for the intrusion, An-dìoghaltas,” Rosslyn answered warily. “But we would welcome your help.”

For a moment, the old woman only stared, searching for something in the cautious defiance of Rosslyn’s expression. “An-dìoghaltas,” she murmured eventually. “Lady of Vengeance. That’s a name I have not heard in a long time. Do you know me, girl?”

“I… don’t know,” came the answer, halting. “Nan told me stories about Flemeth when I was a child. There was a tower room we were forbidden to enter.”

“But enter it you did, as children feel they must do, always looking for knowledge, until they find more than they bargained for.” The amusement solidified into something sharper. “And tell me, what did you find?”

Rosslyn blanched away, a muscle ticking in her jaw, and the old woman’s mouth curled up at one corner.

“So much about you is uncertain, and the wheels have only just started turning,” she said. “But… yes. There might be hope for you yet, if you have the stomach to let it in.” She cackled again, at some private joke.

Alistair stepped forward, almost so he was blocking Rosslyn from further teasing, though the action seemed unconscious. “Are you Flemeth, then?”

“As much as I am anyone,” came the silky reply. “Please, join me.”

They had little choice in the end but to stay in Flemeth’s clearing. She made a passable hostess, for a swamp witch, though as he sat by the fire watching her ladle stew into three bowls that had appeared just as unfathomably as everything other utensil she had used, Alistair could feel the lingering ache in his shoulders from all the wood he had been made to chop for her that afternoon.

On the other side of the fire, Lasan’s saddle pad and both his and Rosslyn’s gambesons hung on makeshift racks of hazel saplings, drying after she had tried to scrub the worst of the battle grime out into the stream. It had been distracting, watching her curse and grumble as she lathered soapwort into the cloth with no idea what she was doing; when she had come to him, dressed down to a sleeveless tunic and breeches, with the clean-ish laundry thrown over one arm and a full waterskin in the other, the axe had very nearly slipped out of his hands. The whole afternoon had seemed so ordinary, so removed from the glitter of court and the political barbs that now made up his days, that part of him wished he didn’t have to go back at all. He could be happy with a simple life. As he watched Rosslyn take her bowl of stew and tear off a hunk of flatbread for her dog, however, he knew it would never suit her. Winters were harsh; peasants spent their energy on surviving, not on bringing about change, and she could never accept such an existence when she was instead given the power to defend others who needed it.

“How long will we be staying here?” he asked.

Flemeth chewed a slow mouthful, head tilted to listen to the animals creeping through the forest around them. “That is a question my daughter would ask me incessantly – though without the same polite restraint you show, of course.” She shook her head. “Morrigan was always so eager for the wide world, and she chafed and chafed until she could stand the Wilds no more and left. She thinks she knows what’s what better than I, or anyone, but we shall see. My question to you is the same I posed to her. Why must you go?”

“We’re fighting a war,” Rosslyn answered with a frown. “Our friends are looking for us. If we don’t return people will die.”

“And people will die if you do.” Flemeth shrugged. “After all, you send them to their deaths, do you not? And what of the loyal Fereldans whose blood you were so diligently cleaning off your sword but an hour ago? Wars happened long before you were born, girl, and people will die long after your bones turn to dust, and most of them will never matter in the grand scheme of things.”

The younger woman bristled. “Yes, surely it’s better to sit in the woods mocking those who would seek justice for those who have been wronged.”

“Justice, you say?” Flemeth shot a piercing glare over the fire, that dark amusement once more dancing in her eyes. “And when does justice become vengeance?”

“We didn’t start this conflict,” Alistair interrupted quickly. “Loghain did. We’re only trying to stop him.”

“Ah yes, now we come to it…” With a tired sigh and a creak of old joints, Flemeth set her half-eaten bowl of stew aside and picked up a stick to stoke the fire. “Are you so sure you fight for such a noble cause?” She chuckled, a sound like the dry bones of the totem they had come across earlier. “Loghain no doubt thinks his cause is noble, too, and you the hindrance. So angry, so spurred by injustice, that lad, but it’s not his rage you’re battling now. Your enemy is fear.”

“His fear of Orlais,” Rosslyn guessed.

Flemeth glanced to her, with eyes as alien as a cat’s. “Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature, child, and some grow slowly, and by then they have infected others and spread, until even a whole country might succumb. And it cannot be defeated merely by shaking swords at it.”

The poked fire threw up a shower of sparks as one of the logs cracked and collapsed into the embers. The night around them closed in, distant starlight, the bark of a fox, cold tendrils of air that oozed against exposed inches of flesh not tightly hidden within a blanket.

“How do we stop him?” Alistair asked when the silence stretched.

Flemeth hummed and took up her stew again. “Fear is a very healthy thing most of the time – it warns us of danger, reminds us of our limits, protects us from carelessness – and yet, when holds you hostage, it can be hard to make it let go.” The words, spoken so carefully, held a weight that pinned the two warriors to their seats. “The question to ask yourselves is, when does a person let go of fear?”

Alistair gulped and glanced to Rosslyn, but she was frowning down at the heart of the fire. Neither of them had an answer.

[alastoring-blog]

TASK #003 - THE FUTURE

i. alastor moody survived the war at a cost greater than what anyone should pay.

ii. one by one, bits of him were cut off. it started with souls, all those he held so tightly, protecting with far more than his life. first was gideon prewett, and with him died the grins, the laughter, the expectations. when the tale of the other’s heroic death reached him, it filled him with a deep bitter sadness - all he wanted to do was to tell him how proud he was ( he’d fought like a hero ). he would have expected no less, and the world was bleaker for it. then it was benjy fenwick, dead with ire, dead with passion. alastor had been lucky before, someone finding the prewett boys’ bodies in advance and telling him the news - nothing in the war could have prepared him for that moment. the group of aurors awaited not too far away for an order to come nearer, collect evidence and move along. perhaps even a body. moody would never describe THAT as a body ( he only ever found bits of him ). it made him sick, shock dripping off of him as no hero such as benjy deserved that - where was all the glory knights had been promised? james potter followed, along with the ray of light that was lily. it came at a moment of exthasy, people dancing in the streets, fireworks in the sky - and all he could think was that no victory deserved such a heavy price.

he carried each of their caskets during the funerals, as if he was just another heartbroken relative.

iii. frank and alice longbottom had no funerals and oh, how he’d trade their pain for his anyday. poor devils. better dead than what happened to them. he’d rushed to the hospital as soon as he knew, yelling desperately at the healers - there must be SOMETHING you can do. they have a child. they have lives. his heartache couldn’t heal what had been broken and  alastor visited them monthly until his dying day.

iv. the final year took away many others. it also took away much of him. his leg was the first. one moment he was in a mission, hexing his way through a collapsing building, the next he was in a hospital bed, something missing. the war had come to collect its spoils. something dead and cold had been fitted in the place of his leg and charmed to come as close as a prosthetic could - and he carried on like the good soldier he was, mouth shut, rage contained. ask me how i’m doing again and i’ll get rid of yours too. then it was his eye, and he felt every excruciating second of it, from the blast hitting his face to the way he kept on choking in his own blood, face covered in layers of it, blind, blind, blind. they cleaned it up at the hospital and he was certain then that, as vision recovered from one side, the other was forever lost. he took it the hardest, using the same pleading look he’d one day use for the longbottoms - there must be something. they replaced it with another dead and cold thing, which he later got charmed to become all he was famous for after the war - and one by one, chunks of him kept being replaced.

this is the ship of theseus. if you replace all the timber from the ship, is it still the same object it once was?

deep scars formed on his skin over the years, some with clearly missing bits of flesh. evan rosier met him for that final time, the grand finale they’d both been itching to get to, and took with him to the grave screams of pain and a portion of alastor’s face, now irremediably deformed. at least he’d gotten the bitter reward of the other’s unrepentant life and his wand, a dark souvenir.

v. it had begun before the end - the sleepless nights, the horrifying nightmares, the PARANOIA ( check that door again, put in another protection spell, never safe, never safe ) but it became overwhelming once the dust settled and the screams ended. others moved on, the lucky survivors, all scarred as well but LIVING, clawing their way through new days. meanwhile, in him there was a itching to bleed again. he’d stand solemnly in the middle of a crowded street and felt deaf - the noises of blissful ignorant living would never match those of duels and panic. the nightmares started happening during the day as well, breathtaking flashbacks. ‘do you ever feel like you’re back in ‘80?’ the few he still held close to his chest seemed aloof to it all, immune to whatever evil he’d caught. closed fists, scared heart, ready wand - the aurors muffled the first incident. ‘you could have killed the man’ they’d told him, concerned, as they hid it as well as hey could. alastor could have swore he’d seen a dark mark on his bare forearm. it couldn’t just be in his head.

vi. orders of merlin, medals of honour, civilian, auror, fighter. alastor spend the years after the war relentlessly campaigning for the glory his fallen friends had never gotten. some with success even - seeing their names on those symbols of recognition eased the gushing bleeding from some of the wounds.

vii. he disappeared, cutting most ties in his life - wouldn’t want his war-infected soul to contaminate others. his isolation came with the realisation that the hopeful plans he’d made for his future would never come true. at first, he’d swore to only remain for another year after the war ( gathering dark wizards, appearing in all the trials - some forgotten newspaper had coined the nickname ‘mad-eye moody’ ), but then there was work to be done. a year became two, three, four. too proud to admit that he couldn’t live with his wand down, accepting that there was no more war to fight. he left the auror office in late 1989, officially being forcefully retired in respect for his long years in the job. secretly, because the ministry had no way of dealing with the consequences of the carnage - they had no use for a broken man, suspicious of his own shadow.

viii. arthur weasley came to his rescue a few times. amos diggory. amelia bones. a long string of dutiful secretive aurors. the job was a hollow purpose those days, but it was a way to shake up the silence; his house was ghostly. he fell deeply into that well, walking around for hours trying to still trembling hands, closing the curtains, charming the door lock once more - someone was outside. all the threats, however, were only in his head, but the commotion he caused never was.

ix. dumbledore came with PURPOSE once. not only was he offering him a job, he was offering him salvation from the grueling days embedded in darkness. he took it gladly, and sent out a few letters with the most hopeful words he’d written in over a decade - it was like waking up. alastor felt alive, driven, excited; but there was a noise in his backyard.

x. this should have been the start of a new era. he’d have gone to hogwarts, be inspired, begin a slow but rewarding healing process - dumbledore offered him a hand just as he was about to drown. that night he send his last letter of the year, the one he’d poured the most time into. ‘i think i’ve moved on, mellie’, amelia bones deserved to know that he was finally stepping away from those old days of fighting, even if just in his head, with his walls. he never got her reply, or any others. barty crouch jr. abducted him that night and, for ten months, kept him in a box, defenseless against the imperio curse and eventually the tear and wear of time. when alastor was found, he was starving, freezing cold, humiliated - and traumatized. his face had walked around for nearly a year out of his control- but like most of his body, it wasn’t really his anymore. he carelessly threw himself at another war, little to lose anyway, and remained devoted to the cause until the moment mundungus fletcher betrayed him and left alastor alone and ready for voldemort’s spell. at least he got the honour of a quick death. at least he died at the hands of the leader.

his body was never found, transfigured into a rock and thrown into a forgotten field. it hadn’t been his for far too long anyway. he was buried in an empty casket, just like benjy ( he did always claim the two were one in the same ) .

dolores umbridge kept his prosthetic eye, a final bit of him that wasn’t his to start, showing it off like a hunting trophy. at the end, he got a hint of the respect his life’s work warranted, when harry potter, alone in the woods, solemnly buried the eye. a funeral.

alastor e. moody was awarded an order of merlin, first class posthumously in 1998.

[rason-rodd]

Red Hood And The Outlaws: Loyalty (Chapter 9)

[Read the Chapter on AO3] [ Chapter 8 ]

Chapter 9: The Bat, The Bird And The Wolf

[Y/N] hadn’t always been bold. In fact, as a child, before becoming a fighter, she was more of the shy introvert kind that would rather let people tread on her feet instead of fighting back. And everyday she thinks that perhaps if she had never been so weak then she would have made different choices and she would have never become the one she was now. But the past is the past. It cannot be change, no matter what. And God knows how much she had wished to do so. But now, here she was, a hand on a bomb, her eyes on the broad silhouette of the Batman, thinking how worse it could be.

“ I’d shake your hand but …”

He didn’t reply. Instead he glared at her with an uncomfortable silence.

“Freeze!” A voice nearby yelled “Guys it’s the bat! The bat’s he…” The vigilante immediately threw a batarang at the thug who fell unconscious on the ground.                 “ Don’t move. I’ll come back for you”   “Are you all bats dumb or what?”

With an annoyed sigh, she looked at the brake she was still holding tight searching for a way to get away from this mess before someone spots her. “This wasn’t part of the plan”

Not far away, Jason had already entered in action with his two guns loaded with its non-lethal yet quite damaging rubber bullets. Fighting aside Batman, hidden behind some wooden crates, the Red Hood was remembering with certain melancholy the years they used to do that when he was still Robin.

“ This is your way of going places I can’t go?”   “ Everything was fine until you alerted them.”                 “ Doubt it. Considering that your partner in crime is stuck in a van with a bomb.”       “ Partner in crime? I know I’m not the most law-abiding citizen, but a criminal …”     “ Don’t tell me you didn’t take part in the three recent terrible slaughters in crime-infested places owned by Black Mask with her”             “ I did not. Low profile. Your city, your rules. I got the message. Can’t believe you doubt me again” “ I know you have the tendencies to …”               “ … cross the line bla-bla-bla. But hey let’s have this awfully annoying redundant conversation later okay?”            

Red Hood threw some flash-bang grenades at the thugs now all gathered and used the gas released to take them down one by one as they were all coughing, blinded and rendered temporarily deaf by the detonation.   Batman looked at him, feeling some kind of relief and pride as his old Robin was taking care of those criminals with some old moves he had taught him long ago. He eventually entered the smoke to help him.

“Okay [Y/N]. You’ve already defused a bomb once. You can do it again” She whispered to herself following the three colourful wires with her eyes, looking for the device they were connected to. She finally found it hidden behind a seat. 1:54. “Holy shit.”                 She took a deep breath but immediately stopped breathing when she heard some faint cries coming from the back of the van. Slowly and carefully, minding not to take her hand of the brake, she glanced by the tiny window behind her and noticed three young women tied up with gags in their mouth. They were terrified. Tears were streaming down their faces and their almost-naked bodies were shivering with fear and cold.

“Red Hood? Do you copy?”         “Wait.” She heard a punch in her earpiece “Now I’m all yours [Y/N].”                 “ You have 1:25 to come here and open that fucking van.”       “ You want me to free the henchmen now? If I do that before defusing the bomb, you’re screwed!” “ I’m not asking you to free the henchmen. I’m asking you to free the three poor women stuck in that van”

Jason’s eyes widened and he started running towards the van followed closely by Batman. “ I take care of the prisoners. You help your friend” Jason nodded and slammed the door open. “ What are you doing here? Help them first.” “ Batman’s on it. Where’s the bomb?”                 “ Below the seat. Hurry! ”

Using the sharp tip of a batarang, Red Hood ripped the seat open to have a larger view on the mechanism. He started to sweat behind his mask as he saw the countdown running 0:42. 0:41. 0:40. Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock, “Hahahaha heeheehah hoho”. Jason closed briefly his eyes. He was here. He was back in his head. “This is what happens when a little bird flies out of his nest too soon hahaha”. No, not again, not now, not here. “Consider this a life lesson from your uncle Joker” Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock Jason focus damn it! “Not that you’ll be able to apply it in the minute you have left” Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock         “ Red Hood! Red Hood, are you alright?” The voice echoed in his head bringing him back to reality. “ Yeah, yeah, I’m fine” He said a bit out of breath         “ Then diffuse the damn bomb”               He unplugged the green wire carefully but it didn’t stop the clock. On the contrary, it skipped 20 seconds. 0:12 “What?”   “Move!” Jason felt Batman catching him by the shoulder and send him away from the van.                 “ What the fuck? You’re not going to let me here to die, right? Right?” The Dark Knight didn’t respond and instead he took a cryo-capsule from his belt and threw it on the device which froze immediately. 0:02. The bomb was defused.         “ Thank God” [Y/N] sighed relieved that this was finally over though she still took her time to release the brake.

She eventually got out of the van only to be closely followed by Batman, himself followed by Jason.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Batman asked her grabbing her arm with a strength that made her grit her teeth         “None of you god damn business!”       “ You realise that you screwed everything up?” Jason growled at him               “ I screwed things up? Clearly, you were both lucky that I was here otherwise you’ll both be dead by now. And you are going to jail.” He pointed at her threateningly but it was not enough to scare her. “ Oh hell no! I’m not going anywhere with you.”             “ You left a trail of bodies in the entire city and you expect me to let you run free.”   “ You have no proof”     “ I’ll soon have some” He glared at her “But in the meantime you’re still coming with me.” “ I’d like to see you try” Her eyes suddenly turned yellow and a growl escaped her mouth. But the vigilante remained unimpressed. He had seen and faced shapeshifter before. He tried to grab her arm again but this time Jason got between them, standing on Batman’s way with a defying look. “ She’s trying to take down Black Mask, just like I am. She may have killed his henchmen but …” “ My city, my rules Red Hood. Whether they were vigilantes or criminals, no one cross that line without facing justice. You know that.”     “ Yeah, so that explain why Gotham is the city of crime” The girl tried to push Jason aside clearly not appreciating him shielding her from the bat but he didn’t move an inch. Instead he tried to grab her, groping for her as he was still staring at his mentor. “Don’t touch me!” She slapped slightly his hand. “ I’ll handle her, Batman”           “ Not if the analysis reveal who I think she is and they will. And when it’ll happen I’ll come for her and send her straight back to where she should have stayed. I just hope that this day you will return to your senses and won’t stand on my way Red Hood, for your own sake”

[inkognito97]

Bond

Qui-Gon sighed mentally while he sat down, far away from the activity in the temple gardens. Silently he wished he was not here, but on a mission somewhere far away in the galaxy instead. Sadly, his Grandmaster Yoda and the Council had decided he was to be in the temple for the annual choosing ritual. Once again Qui-Gon sighed mentally.

It was the time of the year again, when all the Initiates, who were deemed ready to become a Padawan, would choose a Master. It was always a torture and humiliation for Qui-Gon. He was a well known and even quite respected Jedi Master without a Padawan and it didn't lack on interested young Jedi, but the interested would soon turn away once they realised that he was deaf. It had been a stupid accident during one mission, an explosion that caused permanent damage and only with technical aid was he able to actually talk and communicate with the people around him. Normally not a problem, but no Initiate wanted a damaged Master and as soon as they knew, they politely excused themselves. A training bond would make technical devices unnecessary, but he was still damaged in the eyes of the younger generation. That was the exact reason why Qui-Gon had chosen to leave his aid back in his quarters, this way he would not develop any hope.

He looked up, just in time to see a group of laughing Initiates walk through the garden. The group was made of two females and four boys. One of the boys, one with rather long hair, dark skin and a strange yellow stripe over his nose, suddenly dashed forward and engulfed one of the present Master's into a conversation. The blonde female also left the group, but way more civilised than her companion before her.

Qui-Gon shook his head in amusement, before turning back to watch the now smaller group, just in time to catch the gaze of a young ginger haired boy. The boy was mustering him curiously and obviously came to a decision. He turned towards his friends said something to them and then came walking right towards the long haired Jedi Master. Out of instinct, Qui-Gon straightened and put on his calm facade.

The boy gave him a bright smile and Qui-Gon couldn’t help himself but slightly smiled back. His smile didn’t last long however when they boy began talking, introducing himself no doubt. Not for the first time since he had become deaf, Qui-Gon wished he would be able to read lips. The boy slightly tilted his head in confusion, clearly wondering why he didn’t receive an answer. Qui-Gon helplessly motioned to his ear and shook his head. Understanding dawned on young features and he thought for a moment, before setting his bag on the ground. He made some slow movements with his hands and Qui-Gon recognised it as sign languages. He had not learned that either, the Council had deemed it unnecessarily because of the hearing aid he normally had. Right now, Qui-Gon regretted not having it with him, because something strange was radiating from the boy that immediately caught the older Jedi’s attention. Instead he just shook his head, causing his new companion to frown.

The boy crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the Jedi Master with a mixture of uncertainty and thoughtfulness. Qui-Gon already expected him to just grab his bag and leave again, but the ginger haired boy only kneeled on the ground and pulled out a datapad from his bag. He tipped something on it and then showed it to the long haired Jedi.

“You can read, right?”

Qui-Gon gave a pointed glare towards the young Jedi, who laughed at the sight and shook his head in clear amusement. The older Jedi was not sure it he was laughed at or if the boy was laughing about him.

“I take that as a yes.” The boy grinned mischievously, with a spark in his blue-green eyes. “Wait a moment, ok?” Qui-Gon nodded and watched how the boy got up, but left his belonging standing there on the grass. He was running to his male friend with the yellow stripe. The Jedi Master immediately turned to greet him and the boy bowed, but turned to his friend, who did not look happy at all. But his expression turned to one of understanding and he looked at Qui-Gon for a moment before nodding and pulling another datapad out of his own bag. The ginger haired boy excused himself and came running back to Qui-Gon, who had watched the whole exchange with mixed feelings. The boy was definitely putting much effort in this and Qui-Gon wondered why. He just hoped that Yoda and Mace had no doing in this, he didn’t want to force any Initiate to become his Padawan, just because two Council members had said so. It wouldn’t be right, not even if it was for his ego.

A moment later Qui-Gon was handed one of the devices and the boy had the other one.

“Now let’s try this again... my name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.” When Qui-Gon looked up, the boy bowed his head. He had seated himself to the Jedi Master’s feet.

“Qui-Gon Jinn. At your service, Initiate Kenobi.” Of course Qui-Gon knew exactly with whom he was dealing here. Initiate Kenobi was the talk of the Masters and Knights. He apparently was the star pupil and one of the best Initiates the Order had in eons. Every Master was eager to be chosen by the boy, which explained the Master’s behaviour when Obi-Wan had gone to speak with his friend. Still, it left Qui-Gon wondering why the Initiate was trying to communicate with him instead of searching for another, a better Master. As far as he knew, the boy could even ask Yoda or Mace and the Master’s would immediately agree.

Qui-Gon also tilted his head when his young companion had read his message.

“Do you have a Padawan Master Jinn?” Qui-Gon shook his head. “Do you want one?”

That question was way more complicated than the first and Qui-Gon chose his next words very carefully, “What I want, does not matter. If it is the will of the Force, then it will provide me with a Padawan.” The boy nodded in thoughts.

“What have you chosen as your main fighting style?”

Of course the boy would ask that. Qui-Gon had heard from his fellow Masters that Obi-Wan’s greatest talent was with the lightsaber. It just made sense for him to ask such a question, but it didn’t make sense that he was asking Qui-Gon. The boy could not believe him to be a suitable Master, could he?

“I have chosen Ataru,” he hesitated, but then added, “much to my Master’s dismay.”

Obi-Wan looked confused at him, “Who was your Master?”

“Master Dooku. I don’t know if you know him,” the boy grimaced and Qui-Gon took that as a yes, “Dooku wanted to train me in Makashi, but I found it unsuitable for me.”

Obi-Wan nodded, “Ataru is an aggressive and aerobic style... Forgive me for my boldness Master Jinn, but I hadn’t picked you for the type who enjoys the aerobic parts. Then again, Soresu and Makashi, like Master Dooku teaches them... they are very defensive and have their focus on mistakes the enemy make.” Qui-Gon was silently impressed at the knowledge of the boy, especially about Soresu that was not taught anymore, except by a few Masters.

“You sound as if you know quite much about it, yet you don’t seem to have a particularly liking to this form.” Obi-Wan stole a quick glance at him.

“Don’t get me wrong Master. I had been educated by Master Dooku and I do appreciate both forms. Yet I think you need to be offensive sometimes. A good defensive can save lives, but what if your opponent does not use an offensive fighting style, or simply does not make mistakes, neither Soresu nor Makashi will be of much help then.”

Qui-Gon nodded. He was impressed at the boy’s knowledge and that Dooku has actually taught him. So his old Master wanted young Kenobi too it would seem. It was just good that the boy did not seem to consider him as a permanent Master.

“What form have you chosen then?”

“I am not quite sure of it. I have looked into all of them, even Shii-Cho, but I am uncertain. Every Master swears that the fighting style he or she has chosen is the best and I disagree with all of them. For them it might be the best suited, but for others...”He paused and Qui-Gon looked up to see that he was worrying his lip between his teeth. “May I inquire why you have chosen Ataru, Master?”

“You have already given yourself the answer young one.”

The Initiate looked up at him confused and Qui-Gon watched with a smirk when he reread their conversation. He eventually settled on a certain part and a wide grin appeared on the young features, “Because no one expects this of you. They would expect you to be slower than and not as agile as them. Therefore Form V, Shien, would be expected. A counter based form for a tall man.” Qui-Gon gave him an approving smile. The boy was quite perceptive. “Niman could have been an option too, considering that it a balanced form of all the others.”

“It certainly is deadly in skilled hands,” Qui-Gon agreed. There was still a question burning on his tongue, “Is there a possibility that you also studied Vaapad?”

“Master Windu was very... persuasive when he told me all the reasons why I should study Form VII too...”

“Let me guess, ‘I created Vaapad to answer my weakness; it channels my own darkness into a weapon of the light’.” Qui-Gon recited the words his old friend would always preach when he was talking about his favourite form.

“Something like this, yes... but I might have stopped listening after an hour of the same content repeated over and over again.” Obi-Wan’s sported an open mouthed grin, with his tongue sticking out between his teeth. It was the picture of mischief Qui-Gon couldn’t help himself but silently chuckle at the sight. He knew Mace loved to talk about Vaapad, he had experienced it first hand, sadly BEFORE he had a hearing aid that could be turned off. He felt pity for the young boy sitting in front of him. “I was wondering... would you like to spar with me? I’d like to see you fight.” He saw the uncertainty in the younger male’s blue-green eyes and Qui-Gon decided that he didn’t like it one bit.

“Let me get my hearing aid and we can do just that,” immediately the youngsters eyes shone with happiness and excitement. They both stood up and Obi-Wan carefully packed the datapads back in his bag. He had looked over the gardens, but from his expression he had apparently decided not to go to his friend again.

 Qui-Gon lead them through the sheer endless feeling corridors towards his Master chambers. The silence was comfortable and Obi-Wan seemed to think so too. Qui-Gon was glad, for there certainly was some kind of connection between them. A lot of Jedi were giving them unbelieving stares, but that was to be expected. Obi-Wan was the temple’s little star pupil after all and Qui-Gon was simply the rebellious and deaf maverick. They were the most unusual sight in the history of Jedi no doubt, at least that is what Qui-Gon thought. Obi-Wan seemed oblivious to the stares, or he was just used to them and ignored them.

Qui-Gon exhaled slowly when they finally arrived at his quarters. With a mock bow he motioned for the young male to enter first. Obi-Wan shot him an amused look and made a courtsey, pretending to wear a dress instead of Jedi tunics. Qui-Gon shook his head in great amusement and ushered the little devil inside, closing the door behind them.

The first thing the Jedi Master did, was discarding his robe and hanging it near the door, before stretching his bones and muscles. He then made his way towards his nightstand in his bedroom, all the while making sure that the doors were open so that Obi-Wan could keep an eye on him. He was fumbling with his hearing aid while the boy was looking around in awe, but without touching anything. He seemed to take interest in one of the plants however the plant did as well. It stretched one of his tentacles like leaves and Obi-Wan jumped back instinctively with a small yelp.

Qui-Gon chuckled slightly at the sight of the twelve years old, who looked warily at the plant, before he turned around to look at the taller male.

“So... you can hear me now?” he asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk that would undoubtedly break thousand of poor hearts in the future. Qui-Gon immediately decided that he liked the ginger haired boy’s accented voice. It sounded cultivated and soothing. He had no doubt that he would have a beautiful singing voice too.

“Sorry, what was that?” Qui-Gon teased back.

“Funny,” the Initiate remarked sarcastically.

Qui-Gon chuckled, “It seems that you have made a new friend,” he motioned with his head towards the curious plant that was still reaching out for Obi-Wan, who was barely out of reach.

“I feared as much,” the Initiate sighed dramatically, but eventually succumbed to his fate and offered his hand. The plant latched onto it and examined the offered limp.

“Watch out, it might eat you, small as you are.”

“Not everybody can be a giant. Sometimes it needs a young and slightly smaller being to do the job and I am not as noticeable as you are,” Obi-Wan retorted. He turned his head to look over his shoulder at the Master who was leaning against the doorframe. “Besides, I don’t feel any bad intend coming from your plant, it is just curious... and apparently it had the desire to smarm on me.”

He pulled back his slime covered hand. “It likes you,” Qui-Gon offered while bringing the young boy a towel, who took it gratefully.

“And I like your voice.”

That took Qui-Gon by surprise and he struggled for a coherent reply, “Thank you... I like your voice as well, especially the accent.” “Garen and Quinlan find it hilarious... maybe you should talk to them about it.” Qui-Gon guessed he was talking about his friends.

“You can put your things down here, they’ll only be in the way when we spar.”

Obi-Wan nodded and did as he was told. Qui-Gon was pleased to see that he sat his things out of the way, so that they wouldn’t be lying in the middle of the room.

 They entered the training hall together, with earned them confused and curious stares. Yet no Jedi dared to approach them while warming up. Eventually Qui-Gon activated his lightsaber, set it on the lowest mode and waited for Obi-Wan to do the same. The Initiate still had a training saber and the effect would show, but the tall Jedi decided to just see what would happen. Obi-Wan too activated his lightsaber and swung it so that the blue blade swung inches away from his right side, then his left and then his right again. Upon the last swing, he held the lightsaber up, the handle next to his head. Two of his fingers were pointed forwards.

“Soresu,” mumbled Qui-Gon, “I thought you were not fond of this style.”

“Fond might not be the right term, Master Jinn. Besides, you would not expect me to use it...” he let the sentence trail off.

A warm feeling appeared in the tall Jedi’s chest, upon hearing his words being recited and used. Strangely the feeling did not disappear, but remained, even when the two Jedi began circling each other.

Obi-Wan had still a long way to go, before becoming a Master in one of the seven forms, but he certainly had the talent to do so. Qui-Gon had never seen somebody so fluidly change between the forms and tactics. One moment he was defensive, the next he was attacking and followed by a counter attack. If Obi-Wan was only half as good in other subjects like he was with a lightsaber, then it was no surprise that every Jedi in the Order wanted him.

The battle finally ended with Obi-Wan’s training saber flying out of the young male’s hand and landing on the ground a few inches away. Qui-Gon did not hesitate to deal the next blow, namely to hold his lightsaber at the young male’s throat, which had been a wise decision, for Obi-Wan had already been on his way to get his weapon back.

“I yield,” Obi-Wan said without any trace of anger or disappointment in his voice.

Satisfied, Qui-Gon stepped back and strapped his lightsaber back to his belt. “I am very impressed. You are very talented with the lightsaber and I have no doubt that you will one day surpass me, maybe even Master Windu.”

The ginger haired male bowed low, “Thank you for the compliment Master Jinn, as well as the lesson...” he hesitated, “I think I know now which form suits me best.”

Qui-Gon inclined his head, “Remember Initiate, a Jedi can strive to learn more than one form.” Obi-Wan nodded and called his training saber back to his hand, “I will keep that in mind, yet I would like to focus on one alone, at least in the beginning. It makes things easier for my future Master as well.”

“Come here,” Qui-Gon ordered and Obi-Wan did as he was told. “Here,” Qui-Gon held out his lightsaber for the younger male. Blue-green eyes looked up at him with disbelief and in awe. The tall Jedi urged him to take it and the ginger haired man carefully grabbed the deadly weapon in his hand, looking at it curiously.

Qui-Gon was not sure what moved him towards giving an Initiate his beloved lightsaber. Not even his former Padawans had been allowed to hold it, let alone wield and trained with it. “Hold it like this,” he stepped behind the Initiate and moved his smaller hands so that they had a secure grip on the handle. It should have been too big, but it worked somehow. He showed Obi-Wan how to activate it. “Alright?” he asked and only when Obi-Wan nodded, did the tall man step away. “Concentrate on the feeling and if you think you are ready, try it.”

Again the Initiate only nodded. Blue-green eyes closed and Obi-Wan took a deep breath. The Force reacted instantly and cocooned the ginger haired boy in its warmth. It was quite the spectacle if the long haired Jedi was honest with himself. Then Obi-Wan opened his eyes again. He slightly adjusted his grip and then activated the emerald blade. He looked at Qui-Gon, who nodded encouragingly and then Obi-Wan danced.

Between a training saber and a real lightsaber lay whole galaxy and it was palpable. Qui-Gon was not the only one, who watched in awe and bewilderment how Obi-Wan moved through different katas and different forms, as if he was made for it, as if he had never done something else. His movements were graceful and fluid and it was quite a joy and pleasure to look at.

Eventually Obi-Wan slowed down and came to a halt, before he deactivated the blade and offered it back to its rightful owner. He bowed deeply, “Thank you for allowing me this experience.”

Qui-Gon laid a hand on the smaller male’s shoulder. “Could you feel the difference?”

“Yes Master, the crystal sang. The training saber feels more like a simple tool in my hand, but your lightsaber felt like it were one with the Force, it felt alive, it felt... right.”

“I couldn’t have described it better,” they shared a small smile. Yet there was something bothering the long haired male. When a Jedi fought with another’s lightsaber, there usually was some kind of resistance. An experienced Jedi could push it away and continue as if there was nothing, but now Qui-Gon had felt not even the slightest disturbance in the Force. It was as if his lightsaber had accepted the boy. But it hadn’t rejected him, which was even odder. A crystal chooses its wielder and it was unusual for a crystal to choose more than one.

 They went to put the training saber back to the others and excited the training hall to take a quick shower. Qui-Gon had invited the Initiate to shower at his quarters, for the showers near the training halls were occupied and full without any doubt. Obi-Wan had agreed happily.

During their way out, the young Initiate had gotten countless compliments and more than one Jedi wanted to talk with him, but the boy politely refused them all. They looked disappointed, but eventually accepted their fate and would undoubtedly try it another time again. Qui-Gon secretly watched and listened to the interactions. Obi-Wan had a way with words and he would make his future Master very proud.

There was just one thing bothering the tall Jedi. Why did he get a strange and sick feeling in his stomach upon thinking about the boy’s future Master?

 “So Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan began during their walk towards the Jinn quarters, but he was cut off by the taller Jedi, who was currently walking beside him, “Please, don’t call me Master Jinn. I feel as old as Master Yoda when you do so.”

“Don’t let him hear that,” Obi-Wan said winking, “Alright Master Qui-Gon, I was thinking about it the whole time... was there a special reason for you to leave your hearing aid back in your quarters?”

“Maybe I simply forgot them,” he looked sideways at his companion.

“Of course you did,” the sarcasm was very palpable.

Qui-Gon stopped walking abruptly and crossed his arms over his chest. He suddenly wished he had his robe still with him, he would look more intimidating then, at least that is what Tahl once told him. “You shouldn’t question your superiors like this young Initiate.”

The boy’s eyebrows met his hairline, “Oh? I thought I already did...”

The word cheeky came to the older Jedi’s mind, when Obi-wan tilted his head and gave toothy grin. “I think you did indeed,” he circled the smaller male, who followed his every move with his eyes, “You are a naughty little Initiate, aren’t you?”

Obi-Wan huffed, “And what if I am?”

Qui-Gon stopped his circling right in front of the unimpressed ginger haired child. He settled his hands on his hips and leaned over the boy, “Naughty little Initiates usually get punished for their behaviour.”

“Oh really?” Obi-Wan asked cheekily. He leaned a little forward as well, holding the Master’s challenging gaze. Neither Jedi wanted to pull back now and let the other win.

The only warning Qui-Gon got, was the smile that would sooner or later break hearts, before he was being blown into the face. Instinctively the tall Jedi Master blinked and pulled back. The Initiate laughed heartily at the dumbstruck expression on the Jedi Master’s face.

Qui-Gon huffed and narrowed his eyes dangerously. Obi-Wan was trying his hardest to stop himself from laughing, but he was failing miserably.

“You should run now,” the long haired Jedi growled playfully. Blue-green eyes widened and in the next moment, the Initiate was running, Qui-Gon close behind him. The tall Jedi Master didn’t understand why he was acting this way, but it somehow felt right. He liked the way Obi-Wan laughed and smiled. He liked the way they treated it each other. It just felt right, so the Jedi Master decided to live in the moment and to be childish again.

 Obi-Wan was as slippery as an eel and as quick as a flash so that the tall Jed Master had a hard time catching the laughing child. They ignored the incredulous and sometimes scandalised stares they received and just kept on running through the crowded corridors. It was making the chase even more challenging and more fun, at least for Obi-Wan, for the Initiate could still dive between people’s legs while Qui-Gon had to run around them.

“What’s the matter Master Jinn? Tired already or why can’t you keep up?” Qui-Gon growled and fastened his steps even more. Obi-Wan did not seem bothered by it in fact Qui-Gon figured that their little game could have gone for hours, but Obi-Wan allowed him to draw closer until he dashed forward and had the smaller Initiate pinned under him.

Obi-Wan went down with a yelp, but not without struggling. Unfortunately for him, the tall Jedi was strong and heavy enough to pin his wrists with one hand so that he could tickle the Initiate with his other.

“No, stop!”

“I told you that naughty Initiates get punished,” he said loud enough so that the boy could hear him over his almost hysterical laughter.

Only when the sound of a walking stick could be heard, took Qui-Gon pity on the boy and released his wrists. He continued to pin the Initiate to the floor however with kneeling over him. Obi-Wan’s face was flushed and his breathing was heavy, but he was smiling and Qui-Gon took that as a good sign.

“Torturing Initiates you are Qui-Gon, mh?” the familiar voice of Yoda sounded.

“Only a little Master, as usual,” he answered. Force, he had not felt so young and alive in years.

“I like to... like to reprimand... that statement,” Obi-Wan managed to wheeze out between panting.

“Speak Initiate. Tell me what happened you will.”

“Yes Master,” his blue-green eyes betrayed the serious face he made, “This was a... a mean attack on a poor little and innocent Initiate. I feel assaulted and violated.”

Qui-Gon snorted at his captive’s words and tone. One day he might be a great diplomat.

“What you say to this accusation?” Yoda asked and when Qui-Gon looked up, he saw a gleam in the green Master’s eyes.

“Guilty as charged, my Master,” he decided to just play along for now.

Yoda closed his eyes and shook his head in disapproval. He hit his stick on the ground one time, before speaking up, “Serious this is. Violated the Code you have. Penalty will be spoken. Have an idea you do, Initiate Kenobi?”

Qui-Gon looked down at the boy, who was smiling earnestly up at him, “How about... how about Master Qui-Gon ponders on my question, if he wants to become my Master?”

“Acceptable that sounds,” Yoda said, but Qui-Gon was not really listening anymore and this time, it was not because of his hearing problem. His brain was simply... otherwise occupied. Had Obi-Wan, the Initiate who could have every Jedi in the Order as a Master, really asked HIM to become his Master?

“Master?” and didn’t this not just sound right, as if it was always supposed to be like this?

Qui-Gon blinked slowly and found himself gazing into worried blue-green eyes. He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, “I will think about it,” he promised, earning him another bright smile.

“Clear it is then. Go shower the two of you should. Smell like a horde of banthas, you do,” Yoda teased and shooed the strange pair away.

 Upon shoving Obi-Wan into the fresher so the boy could clean himself, Qui-Gon sat on his couch, thinking about the activities of the day. He had met the prodigy of the Order, who had really put an effort into communicating with him. They had philosophised about fighting forms and then spared. He had helped Obi-Wan in finding his form, even though that was not intended, and it had left a warm feeling in his chest. That and the thought of another Master teaching Obi-Wan left him feeling empty and sick.

“Oh Force,” Qui-Gon exclaimed and hid his head in his hands. He had unconsciously created a small fledgling bond with the first Initiate, who oversaw his deafness. What was he thinking? Surely that had influenced Obi-Wan’s way of thinking.

“The fresher is free,” exclaimed an accented voice upon entering the living room and to Qui-Gon it looked as if that was normal, as if the boy belonged here. “Is everything alright, Master Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan asked while rubbing his hair dry with a towel. He had put on some clean clothes which Qui-Gon had provided for him. In fact the tunics had once been his, but they fitted perfectly, even though Qui-Gon could not really remember ever being so small.

The tall Jedi did not reply, but motioned for the younger male to sit next to him, to which Obi-Wan immediately complied. “I have a question Obi-Wan,” the Initiate’s attention was solemnly trained on him, “Why do you want me to be your Master?”

“Why not?” countered Obi-Wan, and he looked as if he didn’t understand the question.

Qui-Gon sighed and ran with his hand through his long hair, “Why would you want me as your Master, if you could have anybody else? Why me of all the Jedi? Don’t you see that I am broken?”

“Well, yes,” Obi-Wan admitted and it hurt, “But I don’t see why a broken nose is such a big deal. I’m not perfect either, look at my birthmarks for example,” he shrugged.

In all honestly, Qui-Gon found the birthmarks quite endearing, not that he would mention that now however. “That was not what I meant...” he sighed again, this was harder than he had expected, “I am deaf Obi-Wan.”

“And?” Obi-Wan inquired bewildered, “You have hearing aid, have you not? Besides, a bond makes talking kind of superfluous. Furthermore, there are other methods of communicating, lip-reading and sign languages, what I could teach you, as two examples.” The boy’s arguments were good, yet the taller man couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. After all those years being rejected over and over again, by his own Padawan nonetheless, it was hard to grasp. Xanatos had left him for another Master after the accident and it had hurt.

“You are sure about this,” it was not a question but a statement. Obi-Wan answered nevertheless, “Of course I am...” he grew suddenly concerned, “Don’t tell me you haven’t felt the... the connection.”

Of course Qui-Gon did, but he was not quite ready to accept it yet, “I DID feel something akin to a connection, but you still haven’t answered my questions young man.”

Obi-Wan snorted, “That’s exactly what I am talking about,” at the older Jedi’s raised eyebrow, he continued, “You are questioning me and my decisions. What do you think would happen if I ask another Jedi, no matter if he or she already has a Padawan or not? They would agree without thinking about it,” he sighed, his mood suddenly dulled and so was Qui-Gon’s, “They don’t see Obi-Wan Kenobi the person, they only see Initiate Kenobi, possible Padawan candidate and apparently the most wanted Initiate in the whole temple. I feel like a wanted criminal sometimes.”

“But it is true, you COULD have any master you wanted, but-“ he was interrupted before he could finish the sentence.

Obi-Wan groaned in frustration and let himself fall on the couch, grabbing a pillow and pushing it over his face while doing so. It was an amusing sight to see a twelve years old teenager release his frustration into an innocent pillow, Qui-Gon’s favourite pillow to be exact. “Not you too,” his groan was muffled by the pillow. “I don’t want just any Master, I want a Master, who understands me, who is there for me when I need him and to whom I feel connected. I don’t care about his or her reputation, in fact I give a ... well, you know what I mean, about his or her reputation.” Qui-Gon was highly amused how the ginger haired boy refused to curse properly. The boy sighed and sat up again, clutching the pillow to his chest, “I could be the galaxy’s most evil person and they wouldn’t care because they would not know.”

“If it helps you, I don’t think you could be the galaxy’s most evil person, even if you wanted to,” Qui-Gon offered.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan replied sarcastically and pouted.

The older Jedi took a moment to gather his thoughts. Here on his couch, sat Obi-Wan, most wanted Initiate in the Jedi temple and he wanted HIM to be his Master, because he saw Obi-Wan as a human above all else. Now that he considered it, he was able to fill out all of the ginger haired boy’s wishes. He did understand Obi-Wan’s position as well as his wish to have the right Master. If he could understand the boy in the future, especially in his puberty years would remain to be seen. He definitely could and would offer the boy his shoulder to lean on, his ear – or rather his hearing aid – if he needed a word of advice or comfort, as well as his time. And there was definitely a connection between them. Carefully the Jedi Master reached out and touched their bond. It was actually stronger than he had anticipated at first. He gently tugged at it and immediately Obi-Wan’s eyes were on him again.

With a last prayer to the Force, Qui-Gon eventually accepted his fate. He cleared his throat, “I would be honoured to be called your Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Immediately blue-green eyes lit up and the pout formed into a wide smile, “And I would be more than honoured to be the student of the legendary Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“Legendary?” Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.

The boy blushed and he started rubbing the back of his neck as a sign of nervousness. “Well you ARE a legend, at least for me and my friends.” He was obviously embarrassed.

“And why is that?” the taller male’s curiosity was spiked.

“Because you are different,” Obi-Wan offered shrugging, “You don’t follow the Code blindly, you go against the Council and you are a great swordsman, maybe even the best... I guess you became our idol and hero.”

Qui-Gon was quite flattered about hearing this. Obi-Wan however looked everywhere but him, clearly embarrassed by his confession. It was endearing to see that his Padawan had a shy side too. He stumbled over his own thoughts. This was really his Padawan sitting in front of him. “I am flattered that you and your friend think so... you have to introduce us some time, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan’s bright smile was answer enough, “I will, Master.”

 “I wish to take Qui-Gon Jinn as my Master,” Obi-Wan announced before the Council. Some of the Master’s looked shocked, some of them as if they were about to cry any minute now.

“Master Jinn? Why?” Yaddle asked, but it was not out of spite, but out of pure interest.

“It is the will of the Force,” Obi-Wan answered and automatically Qui-Gon stepped forward and laid his hands on slim shoulders. Obi-Wan looked up at him.

“We are already bonded,” Qui-Gon said to keep the protests at bay, not that anybody would have made any protest, for Yoda and Yaddle looked content.

“About time you finally got a Padawan,” Mace Windu said, but then he turned towards the younstger of the pair, “If you still wish to deepen your knowledge on Vaapad, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you Master Windu, I will keep that in mind,” he bowed and the Korun Master bowed his head in respect as well.

“Approve I do as well,” Yoda added and the Grandmaster’s words were law. With that the new Master-Padawan-Team excited the Council chamber and left at least two crying Masters back and one who looked as if he wanted to protest despite everything.

They were heading back to their now shared chambers. Qui-Gon still could not believe his luck. Some of the Jedi they encountered apparently neither, for they looked twice and shocked when they spotted the Padawan braid behind Obi-Wan’s ear, who was trotting beside Qui-Gon.

“Padawan,” the taller Jedi suddenly remembered something, “what form DID you choose now?”

Obi-Wan grinned his trademark smirk, “Ataru, my Master...”

[robinhoodrevisited]

A New Regime (pt.6)

Sherwood Forest. Outlaws’ camp. Mid-morning. (The gang gather their weapons together.) Robin: “Come on, we don’t want to be late for Knight’s Glade.” (Allan walks past Robin.) Allan: “Yeah, Iz definitely doesn’t like to be kept waitin’. I remember one time Guy had kept me late at the castle and when I got home to Bonchurch she made a right stink about it. Nearly took my head off with a water jug!” Much: (Grumbles:) “Home to Bonchurch. Bonchurch was promised to me!” Allan: “Oh, yeah. sorry.” (Robin sighs as Marian, a troubled look on her face, follows Allan.) Robin: “Marian, are you all right?” Marian: (Brusquely:) “Fine. (Robin tilts his head, looking at her, knowing it’s not the truth.) Allan and I have to get in position at the castle. We have to be there to rescue Guy in case you’ve forgot.” Robin: “Hey... this is for the good of everyone. If we can get a sheriff working—” Marian: (Interrupts:) “Isabella has proven herself time after time. She will make a fantastic sheriff and will work with us but not if she refuses to execute her brother.  We should all be working on how to free Guy without compromising Isabella’s position with Prince John.” (Marian pushes past Robin but he grabs her arm.) Robin: “Will you listen to me? I know she’s your friend but she’s not always been straight with us. After we meet her today I’ll know for sure whether she can be trusted or not.” Marian: “Clearly my opinion is falling on deaf ears.” (Marian pulls away and heads for the castle. Little John comes up behind him.) Robin: (Annoyed:) “Where are Djaq & Will?” Little John: (With a knowing look:) “They’re making their own way there. Hey. (Glances meaningfully at Marian.) She’s worth more than any treasure. Don’t let her slip through your fingers.” Sherwood Forest. Between Nottingham and Knight’s Glade. (Will stands waiting for Djaq who is adjusting her clothing behind a tree when he hears horses behind him. He quickly slips behind with Djaq.) Djaq: “Will we can’t, Robin will be waiting for us.” Will: ”Shh.” (Isabella, two horsemen, a cart, and another lone horseman pass them. They step out to watch after they pass, then hear more men behind them in the trees. Will steps in front of the tree and watches fourteen footsoldiers trying to hurry quietly through the brush. Suspecting an ambush on the gang, Will and the Saracen pull their swords and follow.)

Sherwood Forest. Knight’s Glade. (Little John, Much & Robin walk out to the middle of the clearing. Isabella meets them.) Robin: (Pleasantly:) “You came, then? (Two guards set down a chest as Isabella strides towards Robin.) I am glad.” Isabella: (Sweetly:) “Of course. We had a deal, you and me, remember?” Robin: “I do remember.” (Robin and Isabella stand facing each other.) Isabella: “Working together.” Robin: “For the good of Nottingham.” Isabella: “Absolutely. That’s all that matters now, isn’t it?” Robin: (Nods once.) “Mm-hm.” Isabella: (Indicates chest.) “Please, take it. You earned it. (Robin looks at Little John behind him and jerks his head at the chest. He and Little John go to it. Isabella walks with Robin.) You were my knight in shining armour.” Robin: (Quietly:) “Yeah, that’s me.” (Isabella walks to the guards, smiling as Robin stops at the chest and opens it. It’s full of stones and horseshoes. The guards draw their swords.) Little John: (Admonishingly:) “Robin!” (Little John turns away and is surprised to see more guards coming at them. Robin, utterly disappointed in himself, leans with both hands on the chest as the gang gather in a circle round him.) Isabella: (Bitterly:) “Life’s full of disappointment, isn’t it? (Will & Djaq run, following the guards, and stop behind a tree to watch near the glade. They see a single guard with the cart and four more horses. Will gets a tighter grip on his sword, preparing to take the man out.) Now, I’ve decided to stand on my own two feet. Thought about what you said: obey your every command, do whatever you say.“ Robin: “I offered you friendship.” Isabella: “No, you threatened me. You seek to use me to enhance the legend of Robin Hood. Well I am sick of being used. Vaisey betrayed me, my brother before that. Even that peasant girl turned her back on me. Well I say no more. As sheriff of Nottingham I won’t be some frightened little woman.“ Robin: “No, you’ll just be Prince John’s puppet.” Much: “What about the princess? What about Clarke?” Isabella: “What about her? She’s gone, vanished. There is no princess. (to guards:) Go on, take them!” (Robin rips his sword from its scabbard. The gang, in the inner circle, face seventeen guards surrounding them. Much spins his dual swords once. The guards slowly advance, closing the circle.) Robin: “Oh, I hate it when I’m right.” (Robin thrusts and hits a guard’s sword, but the guards do not react. After a few moments, Djaq & Will, riding horses and leading others, gallop through the mêlée.) Djaq: “Yaah! Robin!” (Some guards and Isabella have to step back to avoid getting trampled, giving the gang a momentary advantage. They attack as Isabella watches in disbelief. Will stops at the far end of the clearing.) Will: (Looks back at the gang.) “Come on!” (The gang each fight off the guard in front of them and then run to the horses. Little John sits behind Will. Much is on another. Robin runs to the side of the fourth horse.) Isabella: “Get them!” (The guards chase after them. Robin jumps onto the back of his horse and they all get away.)

Sherwood Forest. Outlaws’ camp. (The gang hurry back into camp to regroup.) Djaq: “Robin, what do we do? Isabella knows about the camp.” Robin: “Well obviously we can’t stay here now. We’ll have to scatter until we can find somewhere new to set up camp.” Will: “Rebuild somewhere else.” (Robin nods. A disgruntled Much walks through to his kitchen.) Much: “I don’t believe this!” Little John: (To Will:) “Won’t your traps hold them off?” Will: (Shakes his head:) “Not for long. They’re meant to capture a single person or at the most a small group. They won’t stop the sheriff’s army.” Much: “It’s over.” Robin: “No, Much it’s not over. We’ll find somewhere else and rebuild. For now take everything you can carry and stash it in the forest. We can’t come back here again.” Little John: “Robin, what’s the plan?” Robin: “First we’re going to warn Marian and Allan that Isabella’s changed sides. Then we’re going to take that hoard back... today at noon.” Little John: “What about Gisborne’s execution?” Robin: (Considers:) “It’s a perfect distraction.” Powis Castle. Guest Chamber. Wales. (Queen Nia sits at the head of a long table eating as Clarke enters.) Queen Nia: (As Clarke reaches the table:) "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Clarke: "What if I changed my vote?" Queen Nia: (Sits up, her demeanor softens:) "Now you're thinking like a leader of your people." Clarke: (Walking the length of the table:) "I would need some assurances first." Queen Nia: "Your clan...Nottingham is it? Will be safe." Clarke: "And me?" Queen Nia: "My quarrel is with Lexa, not you." Clarke: "She was your Natblida before she was chosen as Commander, yes?" Queen Nia: (Smiles:) "You wish to know the reason for the animosity between myself and the Commander? (Clarke nods:) Very well. (Motions for Clarke to sit, which she does:) When your Uncle first came to Ireland under a banner of peace my people were not receptive. But I knew that if I could negotiate a treaty it would be the best thing for our two nations. Upon his arrival in Ireland, John and his retinue were greeted by numerous Irish leaders. Unfortunately things went downhill fast." Clarke: "It is said that upon seeing these strange long bearded Kings, John laughed and pulled them about by their beards." Queen Nia: (Nods:) "John was an ill-mannered child… from whom no good could be hoped. War broke out between us again and our Commander was killed." Clarke: "And Lexa ascended." Queen Nia: "The new Commander quickly drove the English back into retreat but not before the Prince left a grisly parting gift for Heda.” Clarke: "Costia's head." (The Queen stiffens visibly at this and is silent a long moment before continuing.) Queen Nia: "She blames me for welcoming the English in the first place. Now, ironically, the Commander has made the same mistake I once did." Clarke: "You feel the treaty with England is a mistake?" Queen Nia: "A treaty with that manchild John is a grave mistake, yes. Even now rumours abound that the Prince has financed men to come and replace me." Clarke: "I had heard those rumours too." Queen Nia: "Under Lexa's command, my position is tenuous at best. So, to answer your question: once she's gone I see no reason why we cannot find an accord between us." Clarke: "You realise that should anything happen to Richard, my clan will include not only Nottingham but all of England's people?" Queen Nia: "I am aware of who you are... princess." Clarke: "So you will recognise my legitimacy?" Queen Nia: (Takes a moment:) "If your vote changes, (Nia stabs her knife into the table before here somewhat threateningly:) how could I not at least consider it?" (Clarke regards the Queen. Going on her instinct, Clarke realises that the Queen as no intention of keeping her word. Rising from her seat, Clarke closes the distance between them and pulls the knife from the table.) Clarke: "We bind ourselves in blood." (Clarke takes the knife and makes a large incision into her palm drawing blood.) Queen Nia: (Impressed:) "I see you've learned our oath." (Clarke wipes the blade onto her sleeve on each side and then stabs the knife back into the table.) Clarke: "Do you accept?" (The Queen slowly gets to her feet and moves toward Clarke.) Queen Nia: (Pulling the blade from the table:) "We bind ourselves in blood." (Clarke watches as Nia raises the blade to her hand ready to make the cut.)

Nottingham Castle. Courtyard. Almost Noon. (The portcullis is raised as guards hold back the crowd with crossed halberds. Once it’s fully up, the guards let the people in. The gang, in cloaks and hoods, pass among them. Robin eyes the executioner’s axe as he enters. The crowd swarm around the platform in the centre; the gang meet up on the far side.) Robin: “Now, we’ll make our move as soon as everybody’s looking to the platform. When he comes out, we slip inside. Will, Djaq, go through the armoury. John, through the kitchens with Much. I’m going to find Marian and Allan. (Jerks his head to the side.) Go on.” (The gang slowly scatter. A fanfare sounds and Prince John emerges from the main doors. The crowd give a modest round of applause but the Prince beams nonetheless.) Prince John: “People of Nottingham, fear not, I have returned. And, on this most auspicious occasion, it gives me great pleasure to introduce to your new permanent sheriff!” (The fanfare sounds again as Isabella walks out from the cloister towards her chair set at the top of the steps. The crowd cheer much more loudly and enthusiastically this time which does not go unnoticed by the Prince. Isabella quiets them with a motion of her hand.) Isabella: (Sighs.) “Bring out the prisoners.“ (Two boys start a drum roll. A door opens in back. Gisborne is pushed out into the light. The crowd jeer. Meg is pushed out behind him. Robin, standing behind the tree, sees her.) Robin: “The girl.” (Meg and Gisborne are pushed towards the platform.) Meg: (to Gisborne:) “Now would be a great time for your friend to save us.” Gisborne: “When they come, it’ll be very quick so be ready.” (Marian stands in the crowd as Gisborne passes. Just as she’s about to put her plan into action she’s grabbed from behind.) Marian: “Robin, what-” Robin: “Shh. Come on, this way.” (Meg and Gisborne go up the steps and are positioned behind large stumps with wide notches cut out for their heads. The drum roll stops.) Isabella: “As you all know from bitter experience, Guy of Gisborne is an enemy of the people. (Robin peeks at Isabella from around the corner under the cloister.) He must pay the ultimate penalty. (Points at Meg.) This woman tried to help him escape justice. Therefore, she must share his fate. In future, if anyone challenges my authority, they shall suffer the same punishment.” Marian: “What is she doing?” Robin: “She’s changed sides. She’s with Prince John now.” Marian: (Shocked:) “No, I don’t believe it.”

(Gisborne looks at Meg, who is shaking with terror. Isabella sits and crosses her legs triumphantly.) Isabella: “Have the condemned any final words?” Gisborne: (Eyes ahead.) “Very well, Isabella. You win. Kill me if you must, but not her. (Looks up at Isabella.) I’ll do whatever you want, but don’t take her life.” (Isabella is silent. Robin and Marian watch her for a reaction, hoping she will change her mind. There is a commotion in the crowd as a hooded figure stumbles toward the platform.) Allan: “Oi, yer can’t kill someone wit’out givin’ em a last drink!” (The crowd laugh as the seemingly intoxicated man bumbles towards Gisborne. The executioner seeming disarmed by the drunken fool. Gisborne glances at Meg to make sure she’s ready when Isabella bellows from the steps.) Isabella: “Hold that man! (Allan looks back at Isabella as two guards grab him.) Proceed with the execution!” Gisborne: “She’s just an innocent girl!” (The guards push Gisborne and Meg onto the stumps. Meg whimpers and sobs. The guards part their hair away from their necks.) Allan: “Iz! What are you doing?” Isabella: (Impatiently:) “I said proceed!” Marian: “What do we do?” (The two executioners get a grip on their axes.) Robin: (Temper rising:) “For once... I agree with Gisborne.” (Robin draws his bow and shoots Meg’s executioner in the chest as he raises his axe. The axe flies straight up in the air as the man falls back into the crowd. Robin quickly nocks another arrow, Isabella notices the movement and its owner, and Robin shoots for the axe. The arrow hits the axe and sends it spinning into the stump next to Gisborne’s head, right where Robin wanted it so Gisborne can cut his ropes. Gisborne gasps and looks at the close call.)

Prince John: (In quiet rage:) “Hood. (Stands.) Get him!” Robin: (to Marian:) “Come on! Come on!” (Robin tries to pull Marian away as Gisborne unties Meg’s hands. He jumps down from the platform as Meg skips to its edge. He turns to help her down. A guard charges at Gisborne with a halberd. Meg sees him.) Meg: “Look out! (Meg jumps in front of the guard.) Guy, no!” (Gisborne grabs the halberd just as it stabs Meg. He yanks it away and punches the guard, then quickly turns to Meg.) Gisborne: “Are you all right? (Gisborne takes Meg’s arm and helps her to her feet.) Come on.” (Meg holds her stomach. Gisborne sweeps her up in his arms and takes her away. Robin and Marian each take out one of Allan’s guards.) Robin: “Right, you two get yourselves out of here and do not return to the camp. Isabella’s on Prince John’s side now and we cannot go back.” Allan: “Wait, where are you going?” Robin: “Don’t worry about me (Gives him a light shove:) just get Marian to safety.” (Robin heads into the castle as Marian & Allan glance back at Isabella her face contorted in anger, both unable to believe the turn of events.) Marian: “Come on, let’s go.” (Allan nods and the pair of them escape amidst the chaos.) Sheriff’s quarters. (The gang burst into the room with sacks and bags.) Robin: “We have to do this quickly. Come on! Hurry up!“ (They all start sweeping the treasure into the sacks.)

Sherwood Forest. By the river. Late afternoon. (Gisborne carries Meg down the path by the river.) Gisborne: “Let’s just rest here for a while. (Gisborne stops by a tree.) There we go.” (He sets Meg down gently against the tree trunk and holds her, cradling her shoulders, then starts to look at her wound.) Meg: (Weakly:) “Kiss me.” (He looks up into her eyes, helpless, sadly wanting to, but knowing he shouldn’t.) Gisborne: “Shhh.” (He strokes her hair lovingly, shaking his head no.) Meg: “Please? (Meg whimpers softly in pain. Gisborne stares into her eyes, then leans in and gives her a quick kiss. She smiles.) I always quite liked you, you know.” (She tries to smile again, but must gasp for air instead. She takes her last breath and dies. Her arm falls off his. Gisborne closes her eyes with his hand and starts to cry. He pulls her into him, unable to control his tears, and rocks her in his arms, grieving for her. His ears detect the sound of two figures approaching. No longer capable of defending himself, Gisborne resigns himself to whatever comes next.) Marian: (Softly:) “Guy. (Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, she glances at Meg’s still, pale face.) I’m so sorry.” Gisborne: (Holding his emotions in check:) “I want to bury her.” Marian: “Later. You need your rest.” Gisborne: "No, she deserves a proper burial." (Marian glances back at Allan who nods.) Allan: (Kneeling beside Gisborne:) "Here, I'll take her. I'll do it." Gisborne: (Grasping Meg tighter, shaking his head:) "It has to be me. It's my fault she's dead." (Gisborne buries his face in Meg's neck and rocks her once again.) Marian: "Shh. It's all right. Perhaps we can do it together? (Gisborne slowly raises his head to look at her and after a moment nods weakly.) OK, Allan and I will go find a quiet spot for her while you say your farewell." (Gisborne nods and lowers his head again as Marian stands and motions for Allan to follow her.) Nottingham Castle. Sheriff’s quarters. (Isabella stands in front of a mirror with her knife. Prince John stands behind her.) Isabella: “I will make sure all of Hood’s men are dealt with, Sire.” Prince John: “I have complete faith in you my dear, Sheriff. But for now I believe a celebration is in order. (Stepping close behind her to breathe into her ear:) Remove your clothes for me.” Isabella: “No. (Spins around, pointing her knife at the Prince and backing him up towards the bed. His legs reach the foot of the bed, forcing the Prince to sit upon it.) You remove your clothes, for me.” Prince John: (Raising an eyebrow and smiles:) “Oh yes, my adorable girl. Anything you say.” (Isabella drops the knife and lowers her hair as the Prince begins excitedly removing his clothing as we:) Fade to Black.

[haprilona]

Descendit Lunaticus, Chapter 4

Title: Descendit Lunaticus

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Genre: Hurt/comfort Rating: M Note: This is a ‘music fic’. Each musical note symbol ( ♫ ) links to a FFXV song that adds to the mood and reading experience. You’re not required to listen to the links while reading, but I highly recommend it! This story was written mostly for the sake of playing with the atmosphere and mood, not for the plot.

I recommend you read this in AO3 as it has drawings, correct formatting etc. to enhance the reading experience. Characters: Noctis Lucis Caelum, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, Prompto Argentum, Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amiticia, Aranea Highwind, Iris Amicitia Relationships: Noctis/Lunafreya, Ignis/Aranea, Prompto/Cindy Word count: 19049 Summary: When Ardyn makes Noctis choose between the Crystal and his friends, Noctis chooses his friends out of brotherly love and dooms the world. A decade later Noctis is no longer the Chosen King fighting to reclaim his throne, but a common hunter whose only purpose in life is his friends and protecting the remaining Lucian civilians from the horrors of the eternal night. One day he is reunited with someone he thought was forever out of his reach, but not in a manner he would’ve wanted.

Also at AO3 & FF.net

              ♫

Noctis sat back and watched Prompto set up his modified Drillbreaker on an elemental deposit. He covered his ears and watched as the drill sprung alive with the revving of its engine. It dug into the elemental-rich earth and drained it of its energy, similar to how his Engine Blade harvested said force from slain daemons and beasts. Next to the drill were several metal barrels meant for the harvested fuel.

The driller wore large yellow earmuffs that shielded his hearing from the loud buzzing. They were covered in doodles made with a thick tipped marker: a chocobo, a curvy monkey covered in grease – a reference to Cindy, he presumed – and the main cast from King’s Knight to name a few. Even his newly gifted garage overalls had been decorated with random inked phrases and doodles. Clearly his friend had taken the chance to vent his boredom during the long car drives on his clothes. He wondered what Cid thought of Prompto’s artistic habits.

Noctis buried his bearded chin in the collar of his coat. There were no trees near Dainse haven to cover them from the chill breeze that carried all the way from Callatein’s Plunge. The steam of his breath tickled his face. Figuring he wasn’t going to get any warmer by sitting on his backside, he removed one hand from his ear, tapped his friend’s shoulder and waited for the drilling to stop.

“Sup?” Prompto removed the tacky earmuffs and wiped his sweaty forehead.

“I’m freezing my ass off. I’m gonna take a walk.”

The freckled man looked apologetic. “Ahh. Sorry, buddy, I didn’t pack another drill with me.”

Noctis shoved his freezing hands in his pockets. “That’s ‘cause you don’t have another drill.”

Prompto grinned. “True.” He took out an empty crystal flask from his pocket, put a pipe in one of the barrels and with a turn of the tap filled the flask before casually tossing it to his friend. “Just don’t go too far. I don’t wanna get ambushed by daemons.”

Noctis caught the flask. “I’ll watch your back. Just need to get my blood flowing is all.”

With that Prompto put his earmuffs back on and switched on the drill. Noctis briskly walked further away from the ear-piercing racket.

Ignoring the phone vibrating against his thigh was becoming a habit as Noctis didn’t need to confirm the caller ID to know it was Iris. He had been avoiding her for the last two days and had yet to reveal his mistake to anyone, even Prompto. Not necessarily for the lack of wanting to – although that did play a part in his reluctance – but because he didn’t know how to bring it up.

‘Hey, Gladio. I screwed your sister.’ He wouldn’t have to worry about continuing the Lucis Caelum line after the fiercely overprotective brother was done sterilising him.

‘Ignis, do I smell like Iris? Your theory would be correct this time.’ He’d be lucky to escape with a firm lecture.

‘Prompto, you said you wanted to see me hook up with Iris…�� Definitely not what his friend had meant.

He couldn’t keep ignoring the issue forever. If he didn’t address Iris and talk this through, she would bring it up to ‘Gladdy’ and then the whole fort would know.

Bracing himself, Noctis brought the cell phone to his ear and pressed the ‘accept call’ -button. A long monotonous beep was his only reward. She must’ve hung up just as he answered. Figures. No way did he had the guts to call her himself.

With a frustrated sigh he shoved his phone back in his pocket. Guess he’d just have to talk to her once they returned to the fort. Noctis noticed Umbra hiding under the van. The dog was a pathetic sight as he covered the sensitive ears with his paws to muffle Prompto's drilling.

Noctis knelt down and peered under the car. “You okay there, boy?”

The canine gritted his fangs in an ugly grimace as if commenting on the noise. Chuckling, Noctis dragged the dog out.

“Some guard dog you are. C’mon, I need to write Luna a message.”

Reluctantly Umbra allowed himself to be pulled out from under the car. The notebook was removed from its casing and flipped to a blank page. Noctis hadn’t seen her since she brought him the Carbuncle figurine and healed his arm. He wanted their next meeting to be more casual and less about saving dying birds or his sorry hide. More than anything, he wanted to actually sit down and talk with her. To her. Whatever. He could start by asking why she never spoke.

It was slightly unnerving how easily he had gotten accustomed to the unnatural. To him it was perfectly normal that he could contact his dead fiancée through an old weathered notebook that was carried by an immortal dog. It was just another day in his life when he caught brief glimpses of a white dress from his peripheral vision or when the latest injury from a daemon encounter was mysteriously healed the next morning.

He tapped the end of the pen against his bearded chin as he tried to think of a good way to invite her over.

‘I’d like to spend time with you, if your undead schedule isn’t too full.’ Nah.

‘Poor little old me misses my friendly ghost. Throw this geezer a bone and come visit?’ Hell no.

When did he become such a loser? He scratched his cheek absently. Last time she came to visit, Noctis had thanked her for saving him and expressed his longing for her presence. Maybe a good ol’ ‘I miss you’ could do the trick?

He glanced at the miserable dog and the bushy tail tugged between quivering legs. Umbra really hated that drill. Somehow he could be brave and ferocious when dealing with daemons and not be bothered at all by the racket of turrets firing right beside him, but for some reason Prompto’s drill was making him miserable. Maybe it produced some sort of high-pitched whine along with the regular buzzing that only dogs could hear.

Noctis set his pen on paper. ‘Miss you. Come visit me soon?’ Much better. Simple yet effective. He wondered how she could receive the message when the messenger refused to do his job. In the end it hardly mattered as long as it worked. He closed the book and put it back in its casing before standing up and letting Umbra inside the van. The noise was much more bearable there. Making sure the Engine Blade was securely tied to his belt, Noctis made his way back to Prompto.

              ♫

As soon as he drove the van past the gatekeeper-MT, Noctis spotted the pale figure of Little Luna balancing on top of a fence that separated the airship landing zone from the rest of the fort. A slow grin crept to his lips. She had received his message.

“Is that who I think it is?” Prompto peered through the windshield.

Noctis couldn’t keep the excitement from his tone. “Yep.”

He parked the van and stepped out. Prompto jogged off to find a trolley to move the elemental energy-filled barrels to the garage. Despite civilians and hunters alike flocking the area, Noctis could clearly see Little Luna’s white dress gently swaying in the chill breeze above the crowds. She spotted him and waved. Incontinently he waved back. He doubted people would pay any attention to him or realise he was waving at thin air – from their perspective, anyway.

He didn’t notice someone else returning his wave.

“Noct!”

His eyes fell from Little Luna to the brunette in farmer’s overalls.

“There you are. I’ve been worried about you! You haven’t answered my calls.” A strong smell of hay floated up to his nose as she came closer. Her boots were covered in mud and chocobo manure. She must’ve just returned from the farm. He could make out Talcott’s familiar flannel shirt and Hammerhead cap peeking behind passing bodies.

“Must’ve had my phone on mute”, Noctis easily lied. He didn’t want to have ‘The Talk’ in public. “Doesn’t help I’m half-deaf after hearing Prompto’s drill for an hour.”

Iris let out a relieved sigh accompanied by a small giggle. “I’m so glad to see you’re okay now. You’ve been acting strange lately and I didn’t really know what to make of it.”

“Yeah.” Noctis shifted his weight uneasily and glanced to where Little Luna had been standing. Of course she was gone. Damn it.

“Say, Noct. With all the hustle and bustle of the Market day and the daemon attack, we haven’t really had the chance to spend time together. You should ask Ignis to grant you a day off.”

A day off? It’s not like he had assigned work days; he worked when it was required. Other times he passed time with mundane activities or helping Cid with what he could. Although he rarely had to worry about boredom as Aranea was more than eager to make sure he didn’t stay inactive for long.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and frowned. “What for?”

“So we could hang out, silly!”

This could be his chance to find privacy to dissuade her of any romantic notions. He doubted she wanted an audience. He sure didn’t. But he didn’t like misleading her and giving her false hope.

Noctis nearly jumped out of his skin when he noticed Little Luna appear from behind Iris’ back. She settled between them and looked up, her head turning back and forth between them as if assessing the situation. Seeming to come to a conclusion, she took a step back to stand next to Iris and frowned. She ruffled her blond hair and made a valiant effort to style it similarly to his before stuffing her hands in imaginary pockets and hunching forward. Was she imitating him?

Not able to help himself, he snorted.

Ha. Ha. Very funny, you cheeky little imp.

Iris’ smile faded as confusion weighing down her pink lips. “What?”

“That’s a good idea”, he managed to say even as his lips quivered from a suppressed grin. Little Luna beamed up at him and dropped her hands from the imaginary pockets. Reaper, he had missed her. He would do anything to see her smile.

“Really? I mean, great! I’ll ask if I could get Ignis to cook us something.”

Oh crap. She was taking their social outing as a date. Not only a date, but a dinner date. Way to ruin her day by ending it with a “sorry, it’s not you, it’s me”-talk.

“Maybe that’s too much”, he tentatively cut in. “I mean, Ignis is busy with work and can’t just come down from his tower to cook a meal for random denizens.”

Iris put her dirt-covered gloved hands on her hips and glowered. A storm brewed in her hazel eyes. This could end badly. Next to her Little Luna copied her expression and pose. It was hard to concentrate with her actively trying to make him laugh. “We’re not just random denizens; we’re his friends! I’m sure he’d like to have a break and do something he actually loves for a change!”

How did he always end up in these situations?

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea”, he mumbled in defeat.

Recognising his reluctant agreement, Iris grinned at him in delight. She always got her way when it came to him, Gladio, Ignis and later Prompto. After all, she was the group’s baby sister and they had adored pampering her ever since she was a little girl. But then she reached her thirteenth year and started casting doe-eyes his way whenever they happened to be in the same room. Those two years had been highly awkward times and he had made sure never to leave Gladio’s side whenever visiting the Amicitia household. When he had complained about the youngest Amicitia’s behaviour to Ignis, the advisor-in-training assured him that it would pass and she was just having a little crush on him.

“Not so different from the one you nurture on Lady Lunafreya, I should think.”

“I-I am not!” his seventeen-year-old self had heatedly claimed, but even back then he hadn’t fooled anybody.

Those were much simpler times.

“I’ll let you know when it’s ready. And be sure to wear something nice!” Offering a final wave in parting, she joined Talcott and strolled down to the underground levels with a spring in her step.

Defeated, Noctis ran a hand through his hair in frustration before glancing at his ghostly companion. Little Luna covered her mouth to silence her muffled giggles.

“I’m glad you find this funny”, he grumbled and went to help Prompto unload the barrels from the van.

Noctis sauntered to his dorm. Iris had asked him to wear ‘something nice’. A simple request, but not one he could fulfil. His idea of nice equalled a clean hunter’s uniform, since he didn’t exactly own outfits for casual social events. Figuring he could leave the vest, scarf and weapons behind, just this once, he pulled out a clean shirt from the wardrobe. He stripped out of his coat and skull-printed shirt and carelessly tossed them on the bed. When he didn’t hear the expected rustle of cloth hitting cloth, he turned around and saw Little Luna sitting on his bunk and peering at him through the collar of his shirt. Suddenly self-conscious about his topless state, he turned his back to her and hurriedly pulled the long-sleeved black shirt on.

Little Luna dropped the shirt and coat, stood up and held one hand behind her back as if she was hiding something. She beckoned him to come closer.

“What are you up to this time, you little minx?” His grin softened the bite of his words. Hands on his hips, he stood in front of her and quizzically raised a brow.

She motioned him to turn around. Noctis frowned in suspicion, but complied with a melodramatic sigh. “I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I.”

Something was wrapped tightly around his neck. For a brief moment he panicked as he imagined a noose strangling him, but the expected light-headedness resulting from running out of air never came. He looked down. It was the tie he had worn with his royal raiment back in Insomnia. He turned around to glare at the little girl.

“It’s not a date. I don’t need to dress up.” Ignoring her pout, he pulled the white striped black tie off. She lowered her glassy eyes to stare at her toes. Was she seriously sulking over a tie of all things? Why did she want him to wear it so badly? He sat down next to her and fingered the silken cloth. Was it because she had expected to see him wear it while waiting for him in Altissia? Was he denying her an innocent daydream?

He loosely tied the piece of cloth around her bare neck. “You know what? If you want to see me in the suit so badly, I promise I’ll put it on for your-“, he stopped himself. Curious, she looked up at him expectantly, but he didn’t have the heart to say it out loud.

              ♫

Funeral.

Her funeral was less than two weeks away.

It had been over a month since he found Little Luna in Caem and retrieved the corpse of his fiancée from the icy waters. She remained in the same condition as when he found her; one unfocused eye staring into space, pale slime-covered skin of a recently killed victim and lacking the foul stench one would associate with a corpse. Even if she was left unattended with her body bag open, the flies didn’t appear interested enough to bother her. She was frozen in time like the flowers Little Luna had given to him. Ignis suspected her body was biologically four to six hours old after death. When Noctis had asked how he knew that, especially without his vision, Ignis told him to try clenching her fingers into a fist. Thinking nothing of it, the hunter had done as asked only to realise it was impossible.

“Rigor mortis. Causes limbs to stiffen and lasts seventy-two hours. Can occur as early as four hours post-mortem”, Ignis had explained. “Truly curious how she hasn’t proceeded past the third stage of death. Do you suppose the ghost of Lady Lunafreya you mentioned earlier could have something to do with it?”

“Definitely. I think she has everything to do with Luna’s condition.”

It was then that he had noticed her left hand. The dominant hand had been clutched as if she was holding an invisible pen. He could’ve sworn both of her hands had been in a relaxed position when he last visited her. It had made him think; had he received the notebook messages from her instead of Little Luna? Or was she truly one and the same? The black blood he had found next to the last entry pointed towards her smaller counterpart. He highly doubted the Luna in the body bag would just unzip her bag from the inside, walk to his room while he slept and write to him as well as bleed over their notebook.

Noctis carefully studied Little Luna. She didn’t seem to have any visible wounds besides the faint bruises that peeked underneath his tie. However, the Luna in the morgue still had the blackened stab wound below her right breast. He had to admit to himself that the image of Luna’s animated corpse moving around was highly unsettling. As desperate as he was to be with his fiancée and enjoy every waking moment he could steal from her younger counterpart, he couldn’t say he wanted to add more to his ever lengthening list of nightmares.

Little Luna smiled sadly as she realised what he had left unsaid. He wondered if she knew what would happen after the funeral. Would she stay with him or disappear for good? From the bittersweet turn of her lips he could tell more than he wanted to know.

“Hey.” He gently lifted her chin. “I’ll join you soon enough. You just enjoy your well-deserved break from saving my sorry behind, okay?” He tried to imagine living another thirty to forty years without her. He doubted he’d ever live to be as old as Cid. Even reaching sixties seemed highly unlikely; something was bound to kill him long before then, whether it was daemons, his own recklessness or ever elusive sanity, an illness or something as mundane as extreme case of food poisoning.

Her small hands balled into fists in her lap. It was an unpleasant conversation, but he needed to get it out of his chest and make sure she fully understood what she meant to him. “I swear I’m not meant for anyone else. What happened with Iris was a mistake and I intend to tell her that.” He took her cool hands in his and opened the fists by interlacing their fingers together. “I admit I’ve been a coward and avoided her, but I know it’s unfair to keep her in the dark.” Her troubled eyes focused slightly past him in deep thought. He wished he could somehow read her thoughts from her layered face.

Noctis released her other hand and lifted his knuckles to caress her bare shoulder. She didn’t appear to notice. There were no shivers nor did she get goosebumps on her pale skin from his feather-light touch. He scolded himself internally for expecting her to react. Their last night together should’ve made it clear to him that she was unable to enjoy his proximity in the same way he enjoyed hers. It wasn’t a mutual relationship if one could even call it one. She was always giving while he was always taking. “And it’s equally unfair to you”, he quietly added.

To his surprise Little Luna pointed at his chest and cupped her hands. She presented her open palms to him as if offering his heart back.

Creases formed on his forehead from a frown as he attempted to decipher her hand signs. “You’re saying my heart is free to let you go and move on?”

He didn’t miss how she clenched her jaw and pursed her lips to keep them from trembling or the sadness that flashed in her downcast eyes before disappearing under the curtain of her fringe. Little Luna solemnly nodded. She was serious about this. It was obvious she didn’t want to lose him, but true to her nature she would rather leave this world knowing he would be happy after she was gone. Not only did she look after him and his health, she held his happiness in high priority – even if it meant sacrificing her own.

“Idiot.”

She sharply looked up, confusion and hurt dancing in her misty gaze.

“I can’t ignore how I feel about you. It’s you or no-one.” His lips curled into a teasing smirk. “Besides, my heart has a no-return policy.”

A faint, almost unnoticeable rosy hue dusted her pale cheeks and she shyly played with the hem of her dress. Overwhelmed with adoration, he wasn’t able to resist the sudden impulse to place a hand to the nape of her neck and guide her head closer to his. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of his stomach when he saw her blond-lashed eyelids closing instinctively. His lips delicately brushed the corner of her mouth in a chaste kiss. As much as he wanted physical proximity from her that had been denied from him when she died, he didn’t dare to cross the thin line between romantic and familial intimacy. She had the appearance of a child and he was old enough to be her father. He was scared what she might think of him if he were to indulge in more passionate displays of affection.

She didn’t resist when Noctis pulled her to a tender hug and rested his bearded chin against her blond crown. Gradually she relaxed and allowed her cheek to lean against his breast. He was certain she could hear and feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Not for the first time, Noctis wished he could give Little Luna more than these fleeting moments, that he could keep his promise to her and fulfil the prophecy that everybody close to him seemed to think he was a part of. But he wasn’t a virtuous warrior of legend like Cor or a noble king like his father. He was just a broken man who had little hope of redeeming himself before the time came to face his forefathers.

Little Luna’s skinny arms wrapped around his waist. He had nearly forgotten how good it felt to be held. His eyes closed involuntarily as he exhaled in content.

His walkie-talkie buzzed.

“Oh, come on”, he grumbled in irritation.

Little Luna pulled away and fetched the bothersome device for him.

“Thanks.” He rewarded her with a quick peck on the cheek before bringing the walkie-talkie to his mouth. “State your business.”

Prompto’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Hey, uh. Iris told me to let you know she’s waiting for you.”

“Gotcha.” He tossed the walkie-talkie next to his discarded clothes on the bed. “Guess that’s my cue. Wish me luck.”

She picked up his Carbuncle figurine from the nightstand and placed it in his palm. He turned the wooden ornament in his hand before pocketing it. “I’m not really into charms and such, but if you think this’ll help, I’ll definitely carry it around the clock.” Her encouraging smile made him feel like he was ready for anything, even to face the possibility of breaking a good friend’s heart. He really hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Halting at the door, he glanced at her over his shoulder. “Luna. When I come back, I wanna talk with you. Really sit down and talk. There’s so much I need to know.”

Glazed eyes stared past him, but she slowly nodded in acknowledgement.

“So no disappearing acts, eh?”

She pointed at the seam on her face and waved a finger in a refusal.

“All right, we’ve got a deal.” He walked back to her, lowered to his knees and offered a pinky. It reminded him of the day he had persuaded her to leave Caem behind. Her face serious, she wrapped her pinky around his and shook. “You won’t disappear on me as long as I don’t try ripping your face off. Sounds reasonable enough.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. He chuckled and left with a final parting pat on her blond head.

              ♫

He was pointed to the command tower. Aranea stood by the elevator, her heeled boot impatiently tapping against the asphalt.

“About time. I have actual work to do.” She ushered him inside the lift and placed her key card on the reader. Instead of the top floor, she pressed the third floor.

Noctis eyed the Niflheimian woman curiously. She was in full battle gear and carrying a satchel filled with potions and cooling gel patches. Her previously destroyed leg guard had been replaced. “What work?”

Her tone was taut from vexation. “A single red giant has been sighted heading our way by one of the scouts. I don’t want that thing anywhere near the fort. The walls get weaker every time we have to repair them and I’m not about to have greenhorn hunters losing their lives due to inexperience.”

“I could help”, he immediately offered.

“Thanks, but I can’t have Specs slaving over your fancy dinner date for nothing. Besides, I have Biggs and Wedge. We work better as a team than you and I. No offence.”

He internally cringed at the mention of a dinner date. “None taken.”

Aranea listened to the coordinate exchanging on the radio for a moment before briefly glimpsing at him. “Aren’t you a little under-dressed for the occasion?”

He glanced at his red-soled boots, black jeans and shirt before shrugging. “Not sure what you’re talking about. What’s so special about this event?”

The dragoon brought her gauntleted hand up as if to rub her temple, but her helmet’s visor blocked the subconscious motion. “Your date hasn’t even officially begun and already I see a red flag.”

Noctis huffed and crossed his arms. “Speak plainly, will you.”

“That Amicitia girl had Specs make you fancy food, redecorated our personal dining room for a candle-lit dinner and dolled herself up under strict guidelines of dress to impress. And then you show up in jeans. Either you’re as ignorant as Specs is blind or you’re not into her at all.”

Oh great. Now Aranea was pulling an Ignis on him. Deducing should be left for detectives only. Then again, he figured being the leaders of a settlement required some detective-skills.

“I see.”

The lift came to a stop.

“Right, I’m off. Play nice.” She pushed him out of the elevator. “Oh, and by the way, our bedroom is off-limits.”

A rather ungentleman-like retort threatened to come out of his mouth as he spun on his heel, but was cut off when the lift-door closed and blocked contact with the shameless dragoon.

With a roll of his eyes, Noctis entered the dining room. As he feared, the lights had been switched off in favour of using candles. At least they weren’t scented candles as those tended to give him headaches. He wasn’t sure if they were even a thing anymore in the post-apocalyptic world. Some people had hoarded luxury items from the old world and now made a living by selling them at ridiculous prices.

Their food waited on the table hidden beneath dome-shaped covers. He wondered where Ignis had gotten them. He was aware the blind brunet did some shady trading if the dozen boxes with dubious labels in his trailer were anything to go by.

“Noct, I thought I asked you to wear something nice.”

He turned towards the scolding voice and felt his mouth go dry.

Noctis had always been aware Iris was pretty, beautiful even as she grew older, but he wasn’t prepared to see her as she was now. Gone were the faded farmer’s overalls and dirty boots. In their place was an elegant black dress that hugged her figure in the right places. The hem of her dress barely reached her knees and exposed her toned legs. A tastefully cut neckline made it difficult for him to look at her without his gaze falling to inappropriate places. Swallowing heavily, he focused on the familiar choker and necklace that she had worn during their journey from Lestallum to Caem. Her hair had been tied up to a fancy bun that must’ve required a helping hand from a friend to achieve.

Everything about this situation felt so wrong; almost like he was intruding on a private moment that was never meant to be seen by him. It was nearly on the same level of wrong if he were to witness Prompto walking in on Luna wearing nothing but lingerie.

Awkwardly he cleared his throat. “Afraid I don’t own anything nice.”

Iris crossed her arms. Was he imagining it or was she subtly pushing her breasts up with her arms?

Reaper, kill me now.

“I know you still have your suit.”

“That’s meant for special occasions.”

              ♫

Wrong answer.

“And this isn’t?”

He scratched his head as he tried to think of something less offending to say without having to lie. “I’ll wear it only when I’m representing myself as Lucian royalty. Right now it’s just two friends spending time together. Hardly reason to put the royal raiment on.”

“Friends.” The way she said the word was as if she had taken a bite of a lemon, skin and all.

He’d have to be tactful. For one, they should eat first before bringing up the difficult subject and not waste Ignis’ efforts.

“Better not let the food get cold.” Remembering his manners, he pulled the chair for her.

They ate in silence. The mood was strained. Iris was clearly not impressed by his approach on their ‘date’. She was clever enough to realise the night wouldn’t end with a sequel to their last… session.

She daintily wiped her pink lips with a napkin and pushed her plate to signal she was done. “So, are we done beating around the bush, Noct? I can see we’re not on the same page and had totally different expectations for tonight.”

Noctis finished his meal. He made a mental note to praise Ignis’ cooking and thank him for his trouble, even if it was in vain. Setting the napkin aside, he leant forward with his hands clasped and elbows resting on the table. Time to address the catoblepas in the room. “Iris, I’ll be blunt. That night was a mistake.”

She visibly tensed, her slim fingers gripping the armrests of her chair. Her face was void of any expression as she tried to process what he had just said.

“Truth is, you found me at a very bad time and I was ready to do just about anything to forget about my problems. Had I been sober, I would’ve never agreed to sleep with you.”

Her grip tightened until her knuckles were white. “So you’re saying you used me?”

Noctis sighed and lowered his gaze. He felt terrible, but it was too late to back down. And even if he could, it would only get worse over time. Best make this as swift and painless as possible. “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

He could feel Iris’ gaze boring holes into his head, but couldn’t summon the will to look up and witness her heart breaking into million pieces. His guilty conscience suffered from too many nightmares already.

Iris’ nostrils flared as her breathing grew erratic. She clenched her hands to keep them from visibly shaking, her lips quivering and voice brittle as she spoke. “Why were you in that state in the first place? What happened to make you so desperate?” She was having hard time accepting his rejection.

He couldn’t tell her about Little Luna. She would never believe him and would think he was blaming Luna for his state of mind. “I’ve been suffering from night terrors and anxiety attacks. They got worse when I returned from the mines.”

“I heard from Gladdy that you were poisoned.”

“Yes.”

Despite having the opportunity to take the easy route and blame his condition on poison, Noctis wanted to be as honest with her as he was able. He had to take responsibility over his actions and make it crystal clear to Iris that he had no intention of pursuing a romantic relationship with her.

A loud sniffle forced his attention back to her. By some basic instinct coded in male DNA, his eyes shot up to see her hazel eyes well with tears. A tear fell, then another. Panicked, he hurried to her side and dabbed at her cheeks with a napkin. Oh crap. Gladio would kill him for making her cry.

“Am I not good enough for you? Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?”

Iris and Luna. Day and night. They couldn’t be more different. Whereas Luna bottled up her pain in favour of allowing him to pursue his own happiness, Iris openly expressed her unhappiness and attempted to bargain to change his mind. He’d have to be mindful of his words, yet not give in an inch or she’d wrap him around her pinky like she did with her brother. She was cunning as a coeurl when she wanted to be.

“Iris, never question your self-worth. You’re funny, smart, sweet and easy on the eyes. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

“But?”

Noctis sighed. Honest. He had to be honest. “But I can’t return your feelings.”

“Do you mean that, Noct? Am I really nothing more than just a temporary relief for you to use and forget about the next day?” She openly sobbed and wiped her eyes, but the tears just kept coming. There was no stopping the flood. A tight knot formed in his stomach as he helplessly watched her cry.

He took one of her hands and gently held it between his in an attempt to calm her down. “Of course not! Iris, you’re my friend. You’ve been my friend since I was fourteen and you will continue to be my friend for as long as you’ll have me. That’ll never change.”

Iris abruptly pulled her hand from his and stood up. “I need to go. Goodnight.” She nearly knocked the candles off the table as she made a run for the elevator. Noctis darted after her and blocked her escape at the last second. He grabbed her by the shoulders to keep her still. Cheeks burning from humiliation, she shut her eyes to block him out, but he knew she was listening. She always listened to him.

“Iris, I want you to know that this is in no way your fault or something you should feel ashamed of. I don’t want you to be stuck in an unhappy relationship with me. I know how much you’re willing to sacrifice for me, and trust me, it’s not worth it.”

Teary eyes lifted to his, followed by a dubious scoff. She still believed she could find her happily ever after with him like in the fairy tales. Somehow he had to make her understand, regardless of how bad he was at voicing his thoughts. He took a deep breath and wished he had at least a fraction of Ignis’ and Luna’s talent with speeches.

“I’m barely a shadow of the man I was ten years ago and incapable of giving you what you want from me.”  His grip on her subconsciously tightened as shame weighed his shoulders down. “I’m a walking disaster and there’s no living person on Eos that can fix me.” The only one he believed capable was dead.

“Obviously not, when you won’t let anybody close enough to try!” she cried. She was like a lovestruck teenager who refused to see him for what he was in favour of fawning over a warped, idolised version of him.

“I’m not a math problem that can be solved with time and patience”, he snapped. “Half of me died ten years ago in Altissia and the rest has rotted over time with each year I’ve failed to fulfil my supposed destiny!” His eyes blazed as anger and frustration leaked out beneath his calm and composed façade. He could barely hear his own voice past the rushing blood in his ears. “I’m not a prince from one of your romance novels.”

Painfully his fingers dug into Iris’ bare shoulders. She flinched and seemed to shrink away when for the first time she felt fear towards the man she had pined for since childhood.

As if a veil had been lifted from his eyes, Noctis froze when he realised what he was doing. Horrified, he released his hold on her. Bruises similar to the ones that permanently decorated Little Luna’s pale neck now marred Iris’ skin. Feeling light-headed, he lowered himself to the ground and covered his face in shame.

Iris sucked in a shuddering breath. He could detect sadness, disappointment, shame, fear and anger from the next three almost inaudible words. “No, you’re not.”

The elevator door opened and closed. She was gone.

He stayed on the floor and stared at his feet in a stupor. Their ‘date’ had been nothing short of a royal screw up.

              ♫

When he finally left the dining room, the candles had gone out and the floor was covered in darkness. In a daze, Noctis exited the lift and stumbled out of the tower into the cool autumn air. He could barely see in front of him or hear the clanking of patrolling MTs as they passed him.

Hey!

Not only had he ruined Iris’ night and stomped on her feelings, he had physically hurt her. He felt out of control and like he couldn’t trust himself anymore. It was one thing to ask her get over her crush on him, entirely another to expect forgiveness after physically assaulting her.

Is there anything you wanna tell me?

Could Luna even look him in the eye if she knew what he had done? How could she trust him to hold her without hurting her when he had harmed one of his dearest friends in a fit of anger? It was Balouve mines all over again. He took meagre solace in the fact that he hadn’t been armed. Reaper knows what might’ve happened.

Hey, I’m talking to you!

He bumped into something solid. Someone shoved him back. He lost his balance and fell on his backside on the hard asphalt. Large hands lifted him by the collar on his feet before he could even consider getting up on his own. His vision finally cleared enough to recognise the muscular tattooed arms and the furious scowl on his former bodyguard’s face.

“Care to tell me why my sister came back from your date in tears and with bruises?” His voice was dangerously low like a predator’s that was ready to jump on its prey.

Noctis gritted his teeth and shrugged off Gladiolus’s hold on him. “’cause I’m a fucking coward and a failure. I’m not fit for anyone, let alone your sister.” He raised his fists and settled to a fighting stance. “You here to fight? Let’s get this over with.” He was dying to let off some steam.

Gladiolus crossed his arms and stared him down, animosity twisting his mouth into a sneer. Just when Noctis thought the older man would give him a sound beating, Gladiolus slowly exhaled and forced the built up tension to dissolve. “I should knock some sense into that thick head of yours, but it ain’t worth it. Just because nobody hails you as king, doesn’t mean you can act like a brat.” Taken aback, Noctis lowered his fists.

“While you’ve been too busy moping and raiding the drug-dispensers, the rest of us have been doing the best we can to keep this fort safe.” Noctis clenched his jaw and lowered his gaze. Iris must’ve told Gladiolus while he had been brooding in the command tower. He was fairly certain she had kept his secret until he removed her last reason to defend him. “You’re now one of the few remaining combat-ready hunters in this fort after the raid. So I want you to get your head out of your ass and get your act together. First thing tomorrow you’re apologising to Iris.”

Noctis squared his shoulders and evenly glared back at the older man. What little remained of his wounded pride insisted he keep stubbornly resisting, but he knew better than to argue. Instead, he opted to silently stare and channel his anger into good old fashioned passive aggression.

“Before I got here, I received a word from Aranea that there’s been increased daemon activity in the southern part of the peninsula. She’s worried another assault is imminent. So you, me and Prompto are gonna go take care of it.”

He was tempted to point out he and Prompto did just fine without him, but Noctis had known the tattooed man long enough to recognise when he was making a roundabout effort to reconcile. “Fine.”

Of course Gladiolus couldn’t just drop the issue there. He always had to have the final word. “And if you ever pull crap like this again, don’t think I won’t bring it up to Aranea and Iggy. Stealing from the medical staff is a serious crime, especially in this time and age.”

“It won’t happen again.” He had silently vowed as much after waking up to the stench of sweat and sex. Even in his dreams he had faced away from Iris as if his unconscious mind couldn’t forgive himself for the act he had committed. He could barely understand how Luna could forgive him so easily. Did she believe she didn’t have the right to feel cheated or upset, because she wasn’t part of the living world anymore?

Noctis pushed past the bodyguard and tensely made his way back to the dorm.

“See to it”, he heard Gladiolus call after him.

Prompto lifted his gaze from his tinkering when Noctis entered and shut the door behind him. The freckled man appeared to be doing monthly maintenance on his Auto Crossbow. “How did it go?”

“Pretty badly.” Noctis kicked off his boots and flopped into his bunk.

“Why? What happened?” Prompto set the machine aside and settled down next to him.

Throwing his arm over his tired eyes, Noctis exhaled loudly. “Long story short, we had a misunderstanding and I had to turn her down. We both lost our cool and I got physical with her without meaning to.”

His friend’s light blue eyes softened in sympathy. Prompto might have had only fragmented pieces of what Noctis had been through lately, but he understood the former monarch’s psyche better than most. He was willing to give Noctis the benefit of doubt and not jump into conclusions. “Have you apologised to her?”

“I will first thing tomorrow.” Suddenly realising something was missing, Noctis sat up and looked around. “Where’s Luna? And Umbra?”

Prompto shrugged. “Umbra’s doing that thing he does sometimes. Patrolling or something. Luna went with him.” He lowered his voice and smiled thinly. “I think she misses him.”

Noctis could empathise. Even with Little Luna nearby, he still missed her and longed for their days together in Tenebrae. It was not the same when they couldn’t stand on equal ground or even communicate like regular people. It was too easy to ignore the painful truth of their situation and pretend that she was as real as the other children of the fort. Only when his eyes would fall from her sweet smile to the ugly bruises on her neck or notice the mysterious seams peeking beneath her blond locks would he snap back to reality and remember the two of them were worlds apart.

At least he didn’t have to worry about Little Luna pretending he didn’t exist. He wished he could do something to make Umbra stop ignoring her. He recalled the dog noticing Little Luna when she first appeared to them, but had proceeded to treat her like thin air once Noctis discovered Luna’s corpse. Did he consider Little Luna a fake? Or was she literally like air was to him; something he knew existed, but couldn’t see and therefore took for granted until it was gone?

“Hey, Noct.” The blond hunter’s voice snapped him out of his musings.

“Yeah?”

Prompto pulled his legs to his chest and peered at Noctis. “Cindy and I have been thinking that I should move to Hammerhead. She’s busy with work and can’t make it to Fort Highwind to come visit.” He bit his lip and glanced at the nightstand where Cindy’s cap sat. “And honestly the whole long distance relationship thing kinda sucks.”

Noctis smirked. “I know that from first-hand experience.”

It had its perks. It was nice to unload all of his troublesome feelings and thoughts on paper for Luna to read and give her thoughts on when he knew he would have difficulties doing the same face to face. But mostly it was cons. He couldn’t hold her to make her feel better when she felt crushed beneath Niflheim’s thumb or squeeze her hand reassuringly and then look on in pride and adoration as the newly ascended Oracle stepped forward to provide healing to the desperate masses afflicted with the scourge.

He ruffled Prompto’s blond mop of hair. “So when are you flying out of the nest?”

“In a few days when the traders head to Leide. But don’t worry! I’ll definitely come back for the funeral. I’ve got the ride sorted out and everything.” Prompto’s eyes gleamed with giddiness and he leant closer as if about to tell a secret. “Apparently some former member of Kingsglaive is gonna attend and he lives close to Hammerhead.”

“Think I know the guy. Met him in Meldacio Stronghold while I was there with Ignis. His name is Libertus Ostium.”

Noctis had heard from Ignis in passing that the mines were cleared and Cor had already put weapon manufacturing into full production. Thinking of the children in Meldacio Stronghold and how they had wielded small knives on their person made him wish Aranea wouldn’t have to adopt a similar protocol in Fort Highwind. It was hard to imagine the care-free children of the fort wearing brown vests and carrying weapons like the grim youth of the stronghold. His imagination involuntarily conjured up an image of Little Luna wearing faded hunter’s uniform, covered in dirt and blood, her left hand clutching a short sword like a lifeline. He would have to step up and make sure they wouldn’t lose anymore hunters and that way ensure the children wouldn’t have to touch a weapon before their 18th birthday.

“I was thinking of wearing the Kingsglaive uniform in Luna’s honour at the funeral, but was worried I’d look like a fraud next to someone like Libertus.” Prompto’s gaze subconsciously fell to his covered wrist with the imprinted barcode.

Noctis pulled Prompto to a side-hug and rested his cheek against his friend’s freckled one. “If I’m allowed to wear the royal raiment, you’re definitely allowed to represent yourself as what you truly are. I’m sure Luna would agree.”

“What I truly am?” He couldn’t see Prompto’s face, but he could definitely hear the disbelief in his voice.

“You’ve proved yourself every day since we set out of Insomnia. You’re part of my guard, even if I don’t have the title to promote you to a member of the Kingsguard.” He affectionately squeezed his friend’s freckled shoulder. The upcoming mission might be their last together. He wanted Prompto to know his worth and what he meant to him before setting out to Leide. “I couldn’t ask for a better partner or a friend.”

He felt something wet touch his cheek. Pulling away, he saw Prompto embarrassedly wipe his teary eyes. “You don’t know how much it means to hear that from you”, his friend confessed with an abashed chuckle.

“I might have a vague idea.” Noctis lightly teased before sobering. “In all honesty, though, I doubt Libertus will think much of it. Specs wore the uniform while we were in the mines and he didn’t even bat an eye.”

Prompto still appeared uncertain. “But he probably saw Ignis and Gladio a lot in the Citadel and knows their faces.”

“And soon he’ll know yours, too. I bet he’d like to increase his ranks and share some glaive-tricks.”

A slow grin lit up Prompto’s freckled features. “I’d like that.”

              ♫

The next morning when Noctis woke up to Prompto’s obnoxious chocobo alarm clock, he noted that Umbra hadn’t returned from his patrol. He didn’t have time to mull over it as he had to get a move on and find Iris before her assigned dorm group would go to the showers.

“Be a pal and reserve us a table. I’ll join as soon as I can.”

“Good luck”, Prompto called after him.

Iris’ dorm was at the other end of the corridor. Noctis’ and Prompto’s dorm was close to the stairs that led up to the surface level. As hunters they had to be close at hand for anything. Briskly Noctis walked past the civilians that made their way to the showers and the mess hall before continuing to their assigned work stations. Most of them ranged between ages twenty and forty. Families with children were located closer to the shelter further downstairs where civilians took refuge during daemon attacks. To Aranea the safety and defence of new generations was held paramount. She understood their importance.

Noctis approached the familiar wooden door with a tacky heart-shaped ‘welcome’-sign. Iris shared her room with Wiz’s granddaughter whom she had befriended when the Niflheim base had still been known as Fort Vaulleroy. Outside farm-related business, he hadn’t really talked with the girl much.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

“Just a second”, a half-hearted female voice slurred. The door cracked open and he was greeted by the sight of a barely awake Iris. He peered past her into her room and saw piles of used tissues scattered over the bunk, table and floor. She must’ve been crying all night and had barely caught any shuteye. Guilt twisted his insides.

Iris blinked several times and rubbed her face. Once she was certain her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her, she fixed her slouched posture and glared at him. “What do you want?”

Noctis tried to ignore the people passing Iris’ dorm. Most of them didn’t pay them any mind, but he could feel occasional pair of eyes glancing their way in curiosity. The last thing he wanted was to cause a scene.

“Can I come in?”

Her hazel eyes narrowed. “No.”

Noctis sighed and ran his hand through his messy black locks. “Look, I’m really sorry for last night. I know you were really looking forward to it-“

“Understatement of the century”, she scoffed and crossed her arms.

“-I just needed the privacy to tell you the truth. I never intended to lead you on or hurt you.”

“Well, you did.” He could see the dim light of the corridor lamps reflecting from her watery eyes. Fresh tears threatened to fall, but she choked them back. He reflexively lifted his hand to touch her arm to comfort her, but she flinched back defensively as if anticipating a strike. Clenching his jaw, he let his hand fall uselessly to his side.

“Iris, you have to understand-“

“All I understand is that you’re an asshole!” Her tone dripped from venom, her usually friendly and warm eyes flashing from hurt and anger as she pointed an accusing finger at him. “Do you have any idea how it is to feel this way about you? How much I hate myself for it?”

Noctis frowned, his eyes widening in surprise and confusion. What was she talking about?

“Fifteen years, Noctis.” Her lower lip quivered as she took in a shuddering breath. “Fifteen damn years I’ve held these feelings in. I’ve liked you since I was a kid. Even when I knew you were going to get married, I couldn’t just make my feelings go away no matter how hard I tried. And when she was gone, I thought I had been given a chance to be with you. But then you went off on your own and I heard from Gladdy that you were trying to find a way to fix everything. I admired and loved you all the more for it.”

Her long brown bangs hid her eyes as she lowered her chin and clenched her hands into fists, nails painfully digging into the skin of her palms. “But when you came back to us, you never so much as looked my way.”

Her voice cracked. “That night I thought you were opening up to me and I wanted to help you. I thought you could finally see me as a woman who loves you, not just your bodyguard’s little sister. I was a fool.”

Her shoulders slumped, the last remnants of her anger spent. Too tired to fight back, she let the tears freely stream down her cheeks. “All I ever wanted was for you to look at me the way you did when you saw Lady Lunafreya on broadcasts.”

Hesitantly Noctis took a step closer, hoping to comfort her somehow, but her shields were instantly up and she shoved him away from her. “Don’t touch me!”

He held his hands up in a peace-offer. Seeing no other way to fix this mess, he decided to tell her the truth. “Luna isn’t gone, Iris. When I retrieved her body from Caem, it wasn’t the only thing I brought with me. I’ve seen her ghost regularly. She’s the one who found the missing chocobo. Without Luna’s interference, Prompto and I would still be searching for her. She even saved me from getting ambushed during the daemon raid.”

“Is that the best you can come up with?” Iris laughed humourlessly, her timbre dripping from bitterness. “Do you think you can blame your behaviour on a dead person? You’re a bigger bastard than I thought. I’m sick and tired of your crap. Just leave me alone.” She slammed the door in his face.

              ♫

Noctis pulled the van to a stop and addressed his bodyguard without bothering to face him. “Hope you’re not thinking about keeping that leather jacket on. Gonna be a short stealth mission if you give our position away the second we’re in earshot.”

Gladiolus glared at the back of his liege’s head, but shrugged the attitude as well as the jacket off. “How far away is the territory?”

“Half a mile. We can’t alert them with the van, so we’ll have to walk the rest of the way”, Noctis explained as he checked his equipment. “We won’t be using torches, either, unless we’re forced into melee-combat.”

“Got it.”

Gladiolus reached for a pair of night vision goggles next to Prompto, but the freckled scout was quick to snatch them out of his hand.

“Woah there, big guy! This baby is off-limits.” He dropped an ordinary pair in the tattooed man’s open palm. “This one was specifically made for me. It’s far superior to the ones I lost during the raid.”

“Oh yeah? What’s so special about them?” Gladiolus humoured the younger man in hopes of dissolving some of the tension between himself and Noctis.

“Cindy made them”, Noctis stated matter-of-factly as he got out of the van. He let Umbra out and handed the potion satchel to Gladiolus.

They trekked in silence through the darkness. Umbra had taken point, his ears moving in every direction as he listened for any sounds of danger. Once they reached the forest edge, they slowed down and quietly crept past the tall pine trees. The air was crisp and slightly chilly. Noctis could hear faint chirping from high up and a persistent knocking as a woodpecker worked on a new home. As long as the birds weren’t alarmed, they could rest easy.

Umbra suddenly halted. Noctis signalled for Gladio and Prompto to stop and knelt down next to the dog. The canine’s posture remained relaxed even as his ears were pointed forward in alert. His mouth opened to pant. Noctis recognised the sign – no danger. Then why did he stop?

Prompto noticed a familiar landmark and patted Noctis’ shoulder to gain his attention. “We’ve reached the territory.”

Gladio peered into the darkness through the goggles, but couldn’t see any movement besides the flickering of the green hued image of his night vision. “I don’t see any daemons.”

Noctis ushered Umbra forward. They sidestepped fallen dry branches and walked deeper into the woods. Setting his nose on the forest ground, Umbra followed the scents to a previously discovered daemon nest.

“I think I see something”, Prompto whispered.

Noctis didn’t need the aid of the night vision to find what Prompto was referring to. The buzzing of flies and a foul smell led him to a pile of daemon manure. Next to it laid cleaned bones of a spiracorn. “They’ve been here recently.”

“Yeah.” Gladio swatted away a persistent fly that was eager to make a home in his ear. “Question is: where are they now?”

“Out hunting, maybe?” Prompto suggested.

“Not so sure.” Noctis moved the pile of bones with the tip of his boot. “The evidence suggests they’ve just eaten. There has to be some kind of den nearby.”

Gladio scanned his surroundings for any clues. “What kind of daemons did you find here before?”

“Mostly goblins and imps; the small ones that like thick vegetation”, Prompto replied. “They tend to be scattered, though. We should’ve seen at least one by now.”

Something was off. Had the daemons moved to find new hunting grounds or had they been chased away? The forest felt too empty. “Let’s move on.” Noctis rose and quietly ordered Umbra to resume the search. “We’re bound to run into them sooner or later.”

The ground softened as they continued further. The sponge-like moss silenced even Gladio’s heavy footsteps.

Umbra stiffened, his ears turning to every direction as he listened. He sniffed the air and turned to point towards their left.

“What is it?” Noctis asked. He peered into the darkness, but couldn’t distinguish anything out of ordinary.

Prompto sharply inhaled. His more advanced goggles must’ve picked on whatever had given Umbra a pause.

“What?” Gladio hissed impatiently.

Prompto licked his lips nervously and swallowed heavily, his Adam’s apple popping. “I think there’s a body hanging between those two trees.”

Deeming it safe enough to switch a torch on, Noctis alerted his companions to remove the goggles to shield their vision from the sudden light. Sure enough the shaft of his torchlight revealed a small humanoid figure hanging limply in the air. On closer inspection they realised it was a goblin corpse cocooned in gossamer that hung from a large thinly weaved web.

“What happened here?” Prompto breathed.

Gladio’s tone was gruff as he eyed the unfortunate victim. “Survival of the fittest.”

“An arachne moved in and claimed the territory”, Noctis guessed. “The daemon activity the MTs took notice of was the goblins and imps leaving to find a new place to stay.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” Prompto nervously fingered the straps of his Auto Crossbow. “I mean, now we have less daemons to worry about!”

Gladio grimaced and crossed his tattooed arms. “In the best case scenario we have only one arachne to worry about, but it’s highly likely that it has already laid its eggs. Soon we’ll have a whole brood of ugly spider-ladies crawling about. In the worst case scenario the goblins and imps will make a new home closer to the fort and we’ll end up having to deal with both daemon packs.”

Prompto’s optimism dimmed immediately. “Oh. That doesn’t sound good. So what do we do now?”

Noctis peered around. “We find the nest and burn it before the arachne spawns more of its kind. Aranea can deal with the small fry.”

The further they continued, the more they saw webbing covering trees and blocking the way forward. Noctis cut a path with his Engine Blade through the sticky-threaded patterns. Umbra’s nose caught a foul smell and led the trio to a dank cave. The putrid stench was even worse inside. Several half-eaten goblin corpses littered the entrance and covered the soft forest floor in fresh black blood. Flies buzzed and laid eggs on the carcasses. The decaying bodies bustled with activity as countless larvae made quick work of the daemons. Noctis wrinkled his nose in disgust. It would appear bugs made no distinction between man, beast or daemon.

He motioned his companions to stop. “Put your night vision on.” He purposely kept his torchlight on; the goggles distorted the images enough to spare Prompto from the gross sight. He was glad Little Luna had stayed behind. While she might’ve not minded – just as she had barely reacted when he had shot a chocobo right next to her – he still felt the need to protect her from life’s ugly truths, even if it may have been too late for her. She had most likely spent the past decade with nothing but her own adult self’s corpse for company. That ought to have messed with her head more than nature’s course ever could.

Noctis switched off the torchlight as they entered the surprisingly cramped cave. It could’ve easily been a lone coeurl’s den were it not for the thick webbing that covered the rocky surface. There were no signs of their target. No cocoons, no eggs-sacs, nothing.

“This can’t be right”, he muttered.

“Let’s do a thorough sweep. It might be hiding somewhere if it heard us coming”, Gladio proposed.

Umbra’s paws got stuck in the sticky gauze. With a revving of the sword’s engine, Noctis cut him free. “Wait outside and make sure we don’t get ambushed from the rear, okay?” The canine gladly made his way back, not appearing to be bothered by the stench of death and decay. As much as Noctis wanted to rely on Umbra’s superior senses, he didn’t like bringing him to places that were clearly not meant for his kind. Still, the dog remained loyal and refused to back down from challenges. The Belouve mines had proved as much.

Prompto slapped a hanging silken thread from his face. “We could just toss a firaga flask and call it a day.”

Gladio removed the greatsword from his back and tested the webbed cave-walls with it for any hidden passageways. “If the arachne isn’t here, it wouldn’t do us any good. It’d just find a new place to lay its eggs.”

“I guess.”

Noctis’ boot sank as he stepped on a thick patch of webbing, the ground seeming to stretch under his weight. He made to jump out of the unstable area, but his boots were as if glued, and he only ended up sinking further down.

“Guys-!”

“Noct!” Gladio rushed to his side.

              ♫

The net broke and he fell to a hidden room. His landing was softened by dozens of cocooned egg-sacs that were smashed under his weight with a wet squelch. He hurriedly sat up, his hands fumbling for the hilt of the Engine Blade. An unsettling thrumming coming from above made his skin crawl. He froze and held his breath.

He could hear the gaping mouths of its patellae chittering in anticipation. Very slowly, Noctis turned his head and saw the giant arachne glide down from its webbed nest with ease. It was close enough that he could see each thick spike-like hair on its curved spider-legs. Another mouth, that was located just beneath where the feminine humanoid torso began, gnashed hungrily. A bright red forked tongue slipped past its sharp fangs and tasted the air as if trying to pinpoint where its prey was hidden. The female torso attached to the spider-body turned around, its dark pink eyeballs scanning the nest for the intruder.

Another egg shattered under his weight. The arachne sharply turned towards the noise. More forked tongues stuck out from the patellae-mouths. It slowly crept towards him, clawed hands reaching blindly in front of it. Short high-pitched hiccup-like yips and squeals bubbled in the back of its throat.

Cold sweat trailed down his back as his clammy hands felt around for the Engine Blade. His shallow breathing was uncomfortably loud in his ears. The arachne picked its speed when it saw the faint movement and heard the rustling of his clothes against the broken egg-sacs. He briefly wondered if the daemon could smell fear as panic threatened to take hold of him and dull his rational thought.

Air rushed past Noctis as the clawed hand extended to grope at his face, twitching with inhuman motion and speed. It was like being stuck in a horror movie. More egg-sacs were smashed as he retreated away from the daemon. Only when his back hit the hard rock wall, did the panic subside enough to remind him of the sniper rifle that strapped to his back. Quickly he removed it and aimed.

The arachne was faster.

It swiped at his face and sent the night vision goggles flying from his head. The muzzle flash of his rifle illuminated the cave like a strobe light, momentarily displaying the arachne’s bloated body in all its disgusting glory. The bullet missed its mark. Something wet fell heavily to the cave floor and broke open. A chorus of chirping and clicking of chelicerae grew in volume. The arachne matron cackled gleefully as its thick, curved legs jabbed at the ground around him. He rolled out of harm’s way, sticky web clinging to his hunter’s uniform in the process. Too dizzy to get back on his feet unaided, he hurriedly crawled on all fours to get some distance to the daemon. Noctis nearly cut himself when his hand bumped the blade of his sword.

Using the Engine Blade as a crutch, he staggered on his feet and slashed blindly around him.

The daemon shrieked in displeasure. More wet squelches alarmed him to hatching eggs. Tiny arachnae that had yet to develop humanoid torsos swarmed his booted feet. Disgusted, he kicked away the spiders and hurriedly switched on his torchlight. The matron let out a guttural hiss and backed away from the blinding light.

For every wave of arachnelings he slashed, another egg-sac would hatch, renewing the threat. His sword-arm grew tired from the relentless exercise; he had to get out of here, but the only way was up. Gladio and Prompto hadn’t attempted to follow him down, thankfully, but they didn’t appear to be making efforts to help him out of the hell-hole, either. They must’ve been swarmed as well.

Noctis turned his attention to the matron and its angrily snapping patellae-mouths’ jaws. It was his only way out. He side-stepped and killed the arachnelings that attempted to overwhelm him. Hurriedly he sheathed his sword and took aim. The bullet flew right past the humanoid female face. The arachne matron reared back in surprise, its front spider-legs swiping at air in bewilderment. Not wasting his momentum, Noctis jumped on the daemon’s back and held on to its spiked hairpiece to avoid getting in range of its clawed hands.

The arachne thrashed around and rolled on the ground, but Noctis’ grip held. With an outraged screech, the daemon jumped out of the underground nest. Deeming it time to abandon ship, Noctis removed his other hand from the hairpiece and took hold of his sword to stab the disgusting creature’s spine. Finally the matron collapsed, its spider-legs twitching and patellae-mouths gnashing. Mustering what remaining strength he had left, Noctis beheaded the humanoid torso and impaled the arachnid lower body. Black blood splattered to his clothes and face as he removed his stained blade from the twitching corpse.

Stumbling off the daemon’s back, he paused to listen and assess the situation. A stampede of tiny insect-feet scraped the rocky wall as the arachnelings emerged from the hidden underground nest, their chelicerae clicking angrily in vengeance.

“Noct!” Prompto’s frantic cry forced his attention to his best friend.

The sight of Gladiolus lying motionless on the ground was enough to make his blood run cold. Prompto was firing his Auto Crossbow left and right, rapidly downing the overwhelming numbers of arachnelings. However he wouldn’t be able to last long – the machine was threatening to seize up if the shaking and sputtering was anything to go by. Vapor poured out of the welded joints and fogged Prompto's goggles.

“Prompto, take Gladio and get out of here. I’m burning this place down!” Noctis took out the magic flask Prompto had given him the day they had been harvesting elemental energy. It felt warm in his gloveless hand. He moved between the daemons and Prompto to cover his retreat.

When his friends were at a safe distance, Noctis backed away and threw the crystal flask. It exploded in brilliant magical flames. The shockwave sent him flying backwards, the intense heat threatening to scorch his beard and eyebrows. The flames caught the thin webbing that hung to his clothes. Panicked, he rolled violently among the larvae-infested goblin corpses in an attempt to put out the blaze, the bodies and dry lichen surrounding him inadvertently catching fire. Prompto hurried to his side and helped Noctis smother the flames.

Noctis shakily stood up with Prompto’s help and glanced down. His burnt vest was tattered beyond repair. The stench of burning corpses, manure, and vegetation hung heavily in the air.

“Here. Take this”, Prompto quietly said and offered him a potion bottle with shaking hands. Noctis quickly downed the medicine.

“What happened to Gladio?”

“I don’t know. One moment he was protecting me from the spiderlings, the next he collapsed and didn’t get up. I gave him a remedy and an elixir, but nothing’s helping.” Prompto wiped his sweaty brow and fidgeted, his body trembling from the adrenaline that insisted him to fight or flee. Noctis suspected it was thanks to the hormone that the svelte man had been able to carry their heavy-built friend to safety.

“We need to get him back to base. Help me carry him.” He took hold of the muscular man’s arms while Prompto lifted his legs. “Umbra, lead us back to the van, double time.”

              ♫

The gates had been left open for them. Noctis wasted no time driving past the MTs and parking in front of the entrance to the underground levels. Medical staff rushed to move Gladio’s still body from the backseat to a stretcher. The two scouts ran after the medics, worry lightening their steps to the point it felt like they were gliding across the long hallway to the emergency room. Startled civilians moved out of their way. Noctis didn’t even notice when Umbra skidded to a stop and ran off in the opposite direction.

Noctis and Prompto stopped in front of a large glass window. From behind it they witnessed the doctor examine Gladiolus’ unclothed body while nurses monitored his vitals through computer screens.

“How’s he doing?” They turned to see Aranea approach them, with Ignis and Iris not far behind.

Noctis ran his hand through damp bangs. “No word yet. We have no idea what caused him to collapse.”

Iris refused to acknowledge him and lifted a calloused hand to the glass, hazel eyes glued to her brother’s still form. She must be so mad at him for letting this happen to her only family. If he had been more careful, he wouldn’t have been separated from his companions and could’ve covered the bodyguard’s back. Or if he hadn’t asked Gladio to take off his jacket, he might’ve been protected. Noctis stopped when recalled Cor’s words; what ifs and buts would do him little good. This was the reality he had to deal with.

Ignis’ nostrils flared when the stench of burnt cloth carried from where Noctis was standing to his sensitive nose. “Are either of you hurt? We should have you examined, just in case.”

“I’m fine. We’re fine.” Noctis turned his back to the blind brunet and anxiously watched the medical staff inject something in Gladio’s veins.

Aranea wasn’t having any of that. “Specs is right. You could have a serious wound needing medical attention and you wouldn’t even notice it thanks to all that adrenaline pumping in your veins.” She gently put her hands on Prompto’s freckled shoulders and guided him away from the window. “C’mon. He’s not going anywhere. We’ll let you know the moment anything changes.”

Noctis clenched his jaw in defiance, his hands involuntarily clenching into tight fists. “I said I’m fine. I need to be at his side.”

“Noct, there’s nothing you can do for him right now. You can return as soon as you’ve been examined.”

He ignored his former advisor.

“You should go.” Iris’ quiet voice immediately grabbed his attention. She refused to face him and opted to keep her hard gaze firmly on the happenings of the emergency room. “You’ve caused enough problems.”

He felt like he had been punched in the gut. “Iris…”

Eyes burning with anger and resentment, she sharply turned to him and pointed to the exit. “Leave. Now!”

He held her gaze for a few seconds, but deemed it best to follow her wishes. “Fine.”

After the examinations, they were summoned to the infirmary. Gladio had been moved to a room the patients liked to refer to as ‘solitary confinement’ which was meant for cases with contagious diseases. Noctis noted Iris was absent, presumably to avoid him and disturbing the other patients. Ignis let the two hunters inside.

Several lamps with bright blue lights had been set around the bed to point towards the unconscious man. He was clothed in a faded hospital gown that appeared to be few sizes too small.

“So, what’s wrong with him? Why’s he held here?”

Ignis moved next to Gladio, his gloved hand fumbling as he searched for the edge of the covers. He lifted it enough for them to see. The bodyguard’s left breast, shoulder and armpit were covered in black substance. On closer inspection Noctis realised the pulsing liquid was faintly moving, almost as if attempting to hide from the burning hallowed light.

“Is that daemon blood?” Prompto hesitantly asked and instinctively backed away.

Ignis silently shook his head, the muscles around his neck tightening as he fought to keep his voice stable. “Starscourge. He is infected.”

Noctis’ breathing dwindled to shallow gasps to the point his lungs couldn’t get the oxygen they needed. He felt light-headed and stumbled backwards, hitting his shoulder against the white stone wall in the process. Prompto was at his side in an instant and helped him stay upright.

“Y-you’re joking, right? I didn’t get infected and I was there right next to him!” the blonde hunter babbled.

Denying the obvious was futile. Noctis had to know if there was anything he could do for his sworn shield. “How long-?” he managed between gasps.

“The lights are slowing the plague from entirely taking him over, but it is only a matter of time before he loses the fight and turns into a daemon.”

Noctis let out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. This was all his fault. “Does Iris know?”

“Yes. She said she needed some space.”

During their conversation the plague had spread further down his arm and up his neck. The light slowed its advance, but Noctis doubted Gladio had more than two hours before the transformation was complete.

He eyed the IV that pumped fluids into his friend’s bloodstream. “What did the medics inject him with earlier?”

“I’m presuming the daemons you encountered were poisonous. The wound that’s hidden under the plague was festering and needed treatment, while the intravenous therapy is merely to correct the dehydration caused by perspiration.” Ignis let go of the covers and headed towards the door. “It is all we could do for him. Now we can only make his last hours as comfortable as possible and prepare for the worst.”

Noctis found Iris skulking outside the medical staff’s office with her ear pressed against door.

“What are you doing?”

She lifted her finger to her lips to signal silence and continued to eavesdrop. He could hear Aranea talking.

“So what you’re saying is that there’s nothing we can do to prevent the transformation?”

“If we could, we would’ve never needed an Oracle.”

“Thank you for stating the obvious. Now let’s stop wasting time and cut to the chase. How do we deal with him?”

“He is an Amicitia, is he not? The King’s Shield deserves a clean death. We could give him a drug overdose. He would die in his sleep peacefully.”

Iris covered her mouth to muffle the gasp, her wide eyes welling with tears. She stood up and hurried off. Noctis followed.

“Iris, wait.”

Abruptly she turned on her heel to face him. Her face was red and blotchy from crying. Tears glimmered between her dark lashes and served to only further irritate her bloodshot eyes. She quickly wiped her clogged nose with a dirty sleeve. Her voice cracked as she attempted to talk through the lump in her throat. “They want to kill my brother like common cattle. He deserves better than that!”

Biting her swollen lower lip, she squeezed her teary eyes shut as a sob shook her slight frame. She didn’t resist when Noctis’ warm arms wrapped around her in a loose embrace and buried her runny nose in the crook of his neck while he stroked her back. She breathed through her mouth and sniffled in an attempt to spare the collar of his shirt.

He was at a loss of what to do. He couldn’t fix the situation, but he had to support Iris somehow just as she had been there for him in his darkest moments. Returning the favour was the least he could do. “Iris, tell me what you want me to do.”

She drew a shaky breath and slowly exhaled in an attempt to gain a measure of composure. “Help me say goodbye to him.”

They entered Gladio’s room. A machine hooked to his body beeped steadily to his calm heartbeat. A lone nurse was monitoring his vitals.

One glance at Iris’ puffy eyes was enough to make Noctis take the initiative. “Excuse me, could we have a moment alone with him?”

The nurse nodded her consent and left the pair alone.

“I hate anything remotely resembling a hospital. It’s so cold and sterile in here”, Iris mumbled and rubbed her gooseflesh covered arms.

Even with the covers hiding most of Gladio’s body, they could see the black substance had spread far enough to cover most of his tattooed torso and scarred face. His blanket and hospital gown weren’t spared from the plague’s influence, either; the cloth was wet and thin and looked like it was ready to fall apart from where the black substance had seeped into it.

“Gladdy”, she hoarsely whispered and sat down next to him on the bed. Without any regard to her own safety, she tossed the covers aside to expose rest of his infected torso to the hallowed lights and took hold of his large, rapidly cooling hand.

“Iris, be careful or you might get infected, too.”

She said nothing, but her silence spoke volumes: she didn’t care. Her only family was being taken from her and the love of her life had rejected her. In mere twenty-four hours her life had turned on its head. Absently she caressed the plague-ridden hand, not minding the cold, inky substance that latched onto her hand and squelched between her fingers.

The heart monitor’s beeping quickened pace as the older Amicitia slowly came to. The left eye was entirely hidden under thick, black, twitching matter, but the other one cracked open to reveal a warm hazel eye that struggled to focus on his surroundings.

“Gladdy?”

The large fingers interlaced with her delicate ones and squeezed reassuringly.

They could see the plague had clogged his mouth and throat, but Gladio was determined to respond to her. “Good… t’ see… you, baby… sis-” He violently coughed as more rotten substance forced its way down to his lungs.

She gave him a watery smile and sniffled. “I’m here for you, Gladdy.”

He managed a weak, lopsided grin, before the lack of oxygen forced him back to unconsciousness. The hand in Iris’ grasp slackened. With a raspy sob, she lowered herself to hug her brother’s still body and quietly wept. The plague didn’t waste any time latching onto her shaking figure and weakly binding the two Amicitias together.

Noctis felt like someone was tightly holding his heart in a persistent grip. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. He hadn’t had the chance to talk things through. He couldn’t allow his bodyguard leave this world without reconciling.

He shook the tattooed man’s uninfected side. “Gladio! No. No-no-no. You gotta wake up!”

The black webbing coated the rest of Gladio’s head and spread to his pillow and mattress. The pattern of the effervescent substance on the cushion reminded Noctis of the bloodstain and bits of brain matter that had splattered on the cave wall when he had shot the chocobo. Faint gurgling sound came from between the dying man’s parted lips as the plague fully clogged his trachea. He silently hoped his friend would be choked to death and that way sparing Iris from having to witness the people she trusted snuffing out her brother’s life.

Noctis let go of Gladio’s shoulder when the Starscourge threatened to reach his fingertips. Tears blurred his vision to the point he couldn’t distinguish his friend’s features anymore underneath the plague. He backed away to rest his back against the wall and covered his face to hide the tears. His legs gave out and he slowly fell to his knees.

              ♫

Noctis barely heard the door creak as someone entered the room. Umbra hurried to his side and pressed his wet snout against the hunter’s cheek. The dog pawed at his shirt to get his attention, but Noctis merely patted Umbra on the head and continued to stare apathetically in front of him without really seeing anything.

The quiet sound of dripping pulled his attention to Gladio’s bed. He sharply inhaled when he noticed that the plague was no longer spreading, but moving back towards its source. Over the wound rested a small pale hand. Little Luna stood next to the bed, her lips stretched to a thin line and her brows creased in concentration.

“Luna?”

Iris lifted her head from Gladio’s chest and gasped when she saw a faint flicker of movement in the still air. Slowly, as if witnessing the sunrise casting its first light over something previously hidden, she could make out a vague, ghostly figure of a small girl. She blinked and rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. The unfocused image sharpened and Iris could clearly see the girl in a white dress standing next to her, absorbing the plague.

Gradually the thick black webbing crawled away from Gladio’s tattooed skin and stained cotton. The substance made its way up the little girl’s arm and merged with her pale skin. Iris watched in mute fascination as the plague latched to her arm did the same. The wound on Gladio’s shoulder pushed out the remains of the black puss before closing and healing on its own.

Noctis’ eyes shone with gratitude and admiration as he watched the miracle unfold. Gladio would live!

Suddenly Little Luna stiffened and convulsed. Excess plague leaked out of her nostrils and mouth, staining her pale chin black. Panicked, Noctis hurried to her side and knelt down in front of her. More black blood spilled from the seams of her face and trickled down her neck. Her glassy eyes rolled to the back of her head and she collapsed to his waiting arms.

“Luna!” He shook her and caressed a bloodied cheek, but she remained motionless. Noctis carried her to his dorm and left Iris to welcome Gladio back to the world of living. They would talk things through later.

Prompto sat in his usual spot on the top bunk, cradling his camera as he went through pictures of their great journey together. He could hardly believe they would lose a vital member of their former Crownsguard. As much as he wanted to be there for the gruff yet warm man, he couldn’t bear to see his friend in such a state. He preferred remembering Gladiolus as he was in their photos: healthy and full of life.

He blew his nose on a tissue and grimaced. His nose was red and raw from constant contact with paper, but he couldn’t stop the snot or tears. Without warning the door burst open nearly causing Prompto to tumble from his perch. The blond man watched Noctis rush in, eyes wide in fear as he set Little Luna down on his bed.

“Noct-?” Words died in Prompto’s mouth when he saw the condition she was in. “Oh no. Has she been infected, too?” He couldn’t lose another friend to the Starscourge so soon.

“No. She purged the plague from Gladio and Iris… I don’t know what’s happening to her.”

“Hold on.” Prompto uncorked a potion bottle and set it between Little Luna’s parted lips. Noctis held her nose to make sure she would swallow the healing liquid.

Instead of the desired effect, she began to splutter and choke. Noctis let go of her nose and pushed the potion bottle aside. He saw the liquid sizzle in her mouth as it touched the corruption. Little Luna coughed violently, drops of black blood flying everywhere and staining his sheets. He was instantly reminded of their notebook and the black drops that marred her last entry. Was this the reason?

Laboriously she sat up and attempted to climb out of the bed, but ended up sprawled on the floor. Supporting herself on trembling arms, shuddering and heaving, she vomited more black substance. Noctis moved his hand on her back in soothing circles. Her arms gave out and she lost her balance, her slack body hitting the stained carpet. Gently Noctis turned her around and pulled her head to rest in his lap. He wiped her blackened chin with a sleeve and brushed the damp bangs from her listless eyes.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he quietly asked. Little Luna shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut as another violent cough wrecked her tiny frame. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep few black drops from spilling and staining his face and clothes. Noctis clasped her small hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly.

Just when he thought she wouldn’t be able to take much more, the inky substance began to move. As if pulled by an invisible force, it inched towards the seams of her face and disappeared between the barely noticeable cracks. Even the drops on his face fell and were sucked in.

Once all of the foul matter had disappeared, she opened her eyes and smiled weakly at him. He choked on a relieved laugh. She was fine. Gladio and Iris were fine.

He leant down to press his lips on her temple in a lingering, heartfelt kiss. “I don’t know how you did it, but you saved them. Thank you.”

He watched the focus dull from Little Luna’s eyes as exhaustion overwhelmed her. With utmost care, Noctis lifted her back in his bed and pulled the covers to her chin. A soft, warm smile tugged at his lips as he sat down next to her and stroked her golden head.

              ♫

A knock on the door alerted the men to a visitor. They exchanged glances. Noctis shrugged.

“It’s open!” Prompto called.

Iris stepped inside visibly disoriented as she struggled to process everything that had happened. Her gaze fell to the still figure of a pale girl resting in Noctis’ bunk.

“Is she okay?”

Prompto did a double take. “W-wait a minute. You can see her?”

Iris haltingly nodded and sat down next to Noctis.

“But how? You never saw her before even when she was right in front of you.” Noctis watched in disbelief as Iris reached out to tentatively touch the cool cardboard-like skin of Little Luna’s arm.

“I don’t know. She sort of appeared out of thin air. At first she was nothing more than a vague figure, but when I concentrated she seemed to turn solid.” Other than the nearly imperceptible twitch of her lips, Little Luna remained dead to the world even as Iris’ hand reached down to hold the girl’s small hand. “Thank you for saving my brother.” Noctis gazed at Little Luna in quiet satisfaction. Despite the blank, blue eyes staring unblinkingly into space, he had a feeling she was going to be all right.

Iris let go of the hand and turned to address the dark-haired hunter. “Noct, I’m so sorry. I didn’t understand why you couldn’t return my feelings”, she dropped her eyes to her fidgeting hands. “And honestly, I blamed you for using me and causing harm to Gladdy. There’s so much I still don’t understand, but now I realise you were telling me the truth.”

“You had the right to it. What happened to Gladio was entirely my fault.” He sighed and rubbed his face, fatigue from hours of relying on adrenaline to keep him going starting to weigh down on him. “If I had been less irresponsible and paid attention to the people around me, he wouldn’t have insisted on joining me and Prompto and none of this would’ve happened.”

A small smile curved Iris’ pink lips as she shook her head. “If he hadn’t joined you, neither you nor Prompto would have returned home. If there’s one thing my brother is good at, it’s keeping you out of harm’s way.” She grinned and poked his chest.

Noctis chuckled. “You might be onto something.”

The tension left Iris’ slim shoulders and she shifted to a more comfortable position. “The nurse told me Gladdy’s recovering well. No sign of Starscourge anywhere, even the blankets were spared! His vitals are good and they were considering moving him to the infirmary tomorrow. Would you mind if I took the radio to him?”

“Not at all. You bought it.”

“Great!” Iris reached for the handheld radio on the nightstand, but paused and gasped when something grabbed her attention. “Where did you get these? How long have you had them?” She delicately touched the vibrant blue petals of a sylleblossom.

Noctis had already forgotten about the flowers. “Luna brought them to me some time ago. I think they’re like her, only certain people seem to be able to see them.”

“What makes a person see her? Have you two always seen her?”

Prompto shrugged. “I saw her when she got out of the van with Noct and Umbra. Didn’t realise nobody else could until Aranea pretty much ignored and looked through her. I’ve tried to capture her on camera a few times, but that never worked.”

“We don’t know what caused her to become visible to you or us for that matter.”

Iris scratched her head in thought. “Have you ever asked her?”

A slight grimace soured Prompto’s freckled features. “She doesn’t really talk.”

“Why not?”

Noctis leant over Little Luna and carefully slid a finger between her chapped lips. “I’m planning on asking her, but I think I have an inkling to why she can’t.” He parted her lips open and peered into her mouth. As expected, he couldn’t see anything – not even teeth or a tongue – but thick, black oil-like substance. He wasn’t sure what to make out of this newfound information. “She’s mute”, he concluded.

“I see.” She took the handheld radio and stood up. “It’s been a rough day, huh.”

“You can say that again.”

“But I’m glad we can now put this behind us. Be sure to visit Gladdy when you’re able!” She was about to turn the handle of the door and leave, when Noctis’ voice cut her off.

“How are you going to tell Gladio about his miraculous recovery?”

Iris smiled faintly. “By telling the truth.”

              ♫

Noctis woke up to Little Luna stirring in his arms. Her glassy eyes were wide open as she took in her surroundings. He could tell she was about to do another disappearing stunt when she realised she couldn’t escape his hold.

“Do you always leave me hanging, little minx? I recall you promising not to disappear on me.”

Startled, she looked up to his kind blue eyes. Guiltily she shook her head.

“Relax. No need to be so jumpy.” He lightly stroked her bare shoulder with his thumb, but she didn’t appear any calmer. “If you’re worried about me finding about your little secret, you can rest easy.”

Confusion and worry altered on her expressive face.

“I didn’t rip your mask off or anything like that, if that’s what you’re fretting over. I promised not to, after all.” Some of the tension faded from her stiff shoulders and she allowed herself to lean into his tender embrace. “But I might have peeked inside your mouth.”

Instinctively she clenched her jaw and pursed her lips to a thin line. He now knew it was to keep the black blood – or whatever it was – from coming out of her mouth. Had her insides always been coated in it?

“I’m guessing it’s the Starscourge, since you seemed to be able to somehow absorb it from Gladio and Iris. One could come to the conclusion that you’re a daemon-” She shook her head vehemently in denial. “-But that wouldn’t make much sense considering you’re constantly in contact with the hallowed lights and don’t appear affected by them.” Rigidly she lay against him and waited for his judgement.

“So, the question is: what are you?”

He hadn’t expected an answer and was pleasantly surprised when she lifted her left hand to show him the scar on her ring-finger. I am Luna, she seemed to be saying. And he believed her.

But that didn’t answer his question. He had to think of something else that she could answer.

“Were you down in the mines with me a week ago?”

She glanced up at him, confusion written all over her face as she shook her head.

He might as well make sure he had the full picture while she was willing to indulge his curiosity. “Are there more Lunas other than you and the one in the morgue?”

The corners of her eyes crinkled in good humour from a suppressed smile. Again, she shook her head and relaxed in his arms. She must’ve thought him crazy.

He breathed out in relief. It had been just a vivid hallucination. Everything he had gone through in the mines had been created in his messed up head – or at least partially. He still couldn’t quite distinguish what had been real and what made up. She hadn’t pulled his heart out of his chest, that much was certain, and it appeared he hadn’t hurt her either. He felt like a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders and that his conscience was slightly less tainted.

Little Luna’s skinny arms wrapped around his neck. She rested her chin on his shoulder and held him tightly. The unexpected show of intimacy caught him off-guard, but he happily returned the gesture nonetheless. He had a feeling it was her way of thanking him. He wasn’t sure for what, though. For accepting her despite the lack of oral hygiene? His lips twitched with dry humour. He placed a soft kiss on her shoulder and allowed her close proximity to lull him back to a blissfully dreamless sleep.

              ♫

The line to the mess hall was moving unusually slowly – something about visitors from Leide disrupting the carefully planned schedules according to Prompto. Not that Noctis minded too much. He wasn’t exactly starving to death, but he had hoped to bring Gladio some proper food. Who was he kidding? Iris more than likely already had that covered. He merely wanted to do something nice for his bodyguard to lessen the inevitable awkwardness.

A loud stage-whisper caught his attention. Little Luna stood outside the hall next to Umbra whose notebook holster had been replaced with a package.

He nudged Prompto’s side. “Be right back.”

The way Little Luna covertly checked if the coast was clear before presenting the box made him think of a shady drug dealer. The silly mental image made his lips twitch from a suppressed grin.

“What’s this?”

Curious, he lifted the lid of the box and was greeted by the alluring scent of freshly baked goods. It was an ulwaat berry tart, the dish he had fallen in love with during his stay in Tenebrae. He could tell it wasn’t quite the same as the ones he had enjoyed as a child, which was most likely due to lack of required ingredients. The trade wasn’t what it used to be and fresh bread was unheard of outside Lestallum and Altissia. But its lack of authenticity hardly mattered when the tart was fresh and made his mouth water. Next to it was a note.

‘Give my regards to master Amicitia.

PS. I might have had to borrow your gil, for I believe supporting the local industries is essential.’

Noctis snorted. Nobody would’ve noticed if she stole a single pastry from a busy bakery, yet she couldn’t bring herself to steal even with the obvious advantages at her disposal.

“You should come with us and give it to him yourself. If nothing else, it’d be funny to see his reaction to a floating box. It’s not like he doesn’t know of your existence.”

Little Luna placed her hands on her hips and glared at him in disapproval. He held his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. No frightening recovering patients, I get it.” She nodded importantly in agreement. “But you can’t deny you’ve thought about it once or twice. I know you better than you think.”

Glassy eyes widened in surprise and embarrassment. A hearty laugh rumbled in his chest.

“I knew it. C’mon, let’s take this to Gladio.”

A passing hunter gave him a funny look before turning to nudge his friend’s side, but Noctis paid them no mind. He had less than a week before Luna’s funeral and wasn’t about to let anything ruin his final days with her.

“Well, look who decided to show up.”

“Hey, we came as fast as we could”, Prompto protested and set down the tray piled with food in the recovering man’s lap for emphasis. “Can’t have a comeback party without goodies.”

The IV had been removed from Gladio’s arm. Iris had sewn him a temporary hospital gown that looked far more comfortable than what he had previously worn. His long, brown hair looked like it had been recently washed. He must’ve been to the showers with some extra help, but couldn’t stay out of bed for extended periods of time. She had also brought him several spare pillows to make his stay as comfortable as possible. Other than the obvious fatigue from the recent trials, he appeared to be healthy as a spiracorn.

Noctis’ voice was quiet as he clasped the older man’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you.” He blinked away the tears that threatened to well in his eyes. He was determined not to make this into another emotionally draining ordeal. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

There was no hint of resentment in his warm hazel eyes as Gladio’s large hand reached up to clasp his liege’s. “Glad to see you’ve got your head sorted out. Iris told me everything.” He turned his attention to the little girl hiding behind the dark-haired scout. “Who’s this?”

“There’s someone I want to introduce to you.” Noctis grinned and gently ushered her forward, his arms warm and reassuring around her small frame. “Meet Luna.”

Gladio gaped at her in disbelief before embarrassedly admitting: “When Iris told me Lady Lunafreya’s mute ghost healed me, I kinda expected her to look older than that.”

Noctis awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to another while Little Luna’s gaze fell to stare at her toes. “Yeah, uh, I can’t really explain that. I don’t think it’s something she chose.”

Prompto shamelessly stole a biscuit from Gladio’s tray and munched on it thoughtfully as he voiced what all three of them had been thinking. “So, how come only we can see her?”

Gladio studied the pale girl, taking note of her unfocused, pupilless eyes and her slightly, well, dead appearance for lack of better word. It unnerved him to see Noctis so easily holding her like she was some prized porcelain doll. He suspected the former monarch had spent too much time with the dead to realise how abnormal and absurd the whole situation was. You don’t just casually hold your deceased lover’s animated corpse in your arms like that, no matter how alive it appeared to be. “Is it because we’ve all been healed by her?”

Prompto ignored the tattooed man’s disapproving glare as he spoke with his mouth full of food. “She never healed me. Besides Noct could see her before she healed him.”

“Actually”, Noctis cut in. “The first time she healed me was in Altissia before she died, but that’s beside the point.”

Gladio contemplatively stroked his beard. “What else do we have exclusively in common?”

Noctis thought of the black substance that coated the inside of Luna’s mouth and the bruises that marred her frail neck. He remembered how the imps hadn’t hesitated attacking her when they caught her in their sights. All of it had to be somehow connected. Then he remembered Iris. “All of us have been in contact with the plague. Iris could see Luna only after she had been infected.”

Prompto uncertainly wriggled his hands in his lap and bit his lip. “So you think I’ve been in contact with it, too? I mean, I’ve never been infected. Not even when I was right next to Gladio when he got infected.”

Noctis tapped his chin and frowned. “Do you think it’s possible you might’ve been in contact with it without getting infected? Weren’t you engineered to become an MT? You might’ve had a brief contact with it in the laboratories.”

Prompto tilted his head and pursed his lips in thought. “Yeah, but wouldn’t that mean I’d get infected more easily?”

The dark-haired scout hopelessly shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m just throwing out ideas. So far it makes the most sense to me.”

They sat and ate in silence. A cheery Lestallumian melody played from the radio sitting next to Gladio’s bed. While the three hunters had been debating, Little Luna had quietly withdrawn and huddled next to Umbra who obediently sat in the hallway as not to violate the ‘no animals allowed in the infirmary’-regulation. Her fingers combed through the happily panting dog’s shaggy fur. Noctis figured she might’ve felt a little unnerved by all the attention she was receiving lately. She was too used to being ignored and had spent too many years on her own.

Prompto broke the silence. “Y’know, it was kinda nice being back together for that mission. Would’ve been like in the good old days if Ignis had been with us.”

Gladio’s eyes glazed wistfully. “Wouldn’t that be something.”

Noctis noticed Little Luna was looking at him with a funny look on her face. He couldn’t quite decipher what was going inside that enigmatic mind of hers. It was times like these that he realised she really was older than what she appeared to be. It was almost like she was burdened by something he couldn’t understand. She broke the eye contact before he could come to any conclusion.

Returning to the conversation at hand, Noctis nudged his best friend’s side teasingly. “So, you heading to Hammerhead to get away from ‘paw-paw’?”

A faint blush dusted Prompto’s freckled cheeks, but he hid it with an easy grin. “Nah, I called Cindy and we agreed to meet up for the funeral. She got Takka’s kid to cover for her.”

Noctis didn’t miss how Little Luna tensed and tried her best not to appear to be eavesdropping. What a bummer. It must’ve been so strange for her to hear people casually talking about her funeral. He decided then and there that he’d spend the rest of the week making her forget about all the doom and gloom and just enjoy their time together.

Neither Gladio nor Prompto noticed the change in Little Luna’s body language. Then again, Noctis liked to think he had gotten pretty good at it. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but he could definitely read her emotions like an open book.

Prompto’s happy chatter brought him back from his musings. “Besides, we’re not in that much of a hurry. With Gladio here bedridden, it’s the perfect time to do some catching up and playing cards together like we used to. Might even get Ignis to join us if I practise my kicked puppy impression hard enough.”

Gladio licked the ulwaat berry jam from his fingers and chuckled. “You do realise that won’t work when he’s blind, right?”

“I think he meant he’s gonna try sucking up to Aranea.”

“Hey!” Prompto objected.

“What? That’s what you said.”

“I prefer the term ‘winning her over’.”

Noctis rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say.”

              ♫

He ran like he was late for his dorm-group’s assigned supper. Some people might have called him immature, while others might’ve thought him to be plain insane. Noctis hardly cared when he saw the wide smile lit up Little Luna’s pale features, her shoulder-length hair and white dress dancing in the breeze as they rushed past the denizens of the fort.

He had borrowed a trolley from the garage and used it to push Little Luna around at high speed. She clung to its rails and beamed at him through the curtain of tangled blond locks.

They had spent the last few days together doing silly activities such as this whenever his schedule permitted. Anything worked as long as it kept a smile plastered on her face and brought them memories of their time together in Tenebrae. Their current activity had been inspired by their memory of Luna pushing his wheelchair around the Fenestala manor. Noctis still remembered the shocked and appalled faces of the servants as their dignified princess had thrown her manners out of the window, just to make the sick Lucian boy laugh.

As promised, she hadn’t disappeared on him, not once. Every night she lay in his arms, not really sleeping – he suspected she never did – and kept him safe from the recurring nightmares. He would fall asleep to the comforting weight of her slight body draped over his, her cool hand absently caressing his coarse cheek. Prompto had jokingly asked if he could borrow her when he saw how positively her presence affected the former monarch’s mental well-being. Noctis knew his best friend was still shaken after what had happened to Gladio. To their surprise, the little girl hadn’t hesitated hugging Prompto. It became a habit of hers to hug him every night before retiring to Noctis’ bed. The sight of Little Luna holding Prompto’s middle was heart-warming and only served to remind him how much she cared about all of them, even the ones she had hardly known in her life.

Each morning she followed Umbra around the fort while the two hunters showered and ate. She would even join them in their reconnaissance scouting. While she was never in any real danger, thanks to her ability to disappear at will, Noctis still liked to keep a careful eye on her to make sure no daemons would harm her. Even though he hardly considered these missions something he wanted to share with her, he could tell she was happy to see his everyday life and be a part of it.

Gently he slowed their ride to a stop.

“Better head for the airship landing and make it look like I’m actually doing something with this.”

Little Luna covered her mouth and silently giggled. She always appeared so self-conscious about opening her mouth; he couldn’t help but wonder if she constantly worried about spilling the plague. If that was the case it was most likely just because she didn’t want to disgust him rather than actually fearing about infecting someone.

Something hit the asphalt with a muffled clatter. Little Luna hopped off the trolley and lifted the item for him. It was the wooden Carbuncle. He had forgotten he still carried it in his pocket.

“Y’know, I think this might’ve actually helped. Just a week ago everything was a wreck and look at us now.” He grinned and playfully tickled her cheek with the wooden figurine’s snout.

She half-heartedly swatted his hand away, her wide grin diminishing into a soft, almost bittersweet smile as she nodded in agreement.

His smile faded, a worried frown taking its place. “What’s that look for?”

Little Luna shook her head as if dismissing the matter. Now he was positive something was wrong. His frown deepened. With a faint, teasing grin, she attempted to diffuse the situation by imitated his expression just like she had back with Iris. No frowning. His lips twitched in good humour, but he wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily.

“You might wanna reconsider answering my question. Otherwise I might be inclined to demand you pay back the tart-gil you stole.”

Little Luna feigned shock and slumped her head and narrow shoulders in defeat. Her hand rose and beckoned him to come closer, even as the rest of her remained hunched over. Obediently he knelt in front of her and expectantly looked up to her downcast eyes. Noctis nearly lost his balance when the scrawny girl pounced on him, arms wrapping around his neck and chapped lips brushing against his bearded cheek.

“H-hey!”

She hid her face in the crook of his neck and held him tightly, almost as if expecting something to come and pull her away from him. He reassuringly stroked her back and hair, unsure what caused this sudden – yet very much welcome – display of affection.

When she pulled away, he noted her glassy eyes appeared to be more reflective than normally. It was then that he realised he had never seen her cry. He lifted his hand to her pale cheek and waited with baited breath for the first tear to fall, but nothing happened. Was he imagining things? She leant into his touch and briefly closed her eyes before shyly withdrawing.

Not quite ready to let the moment pass, he leant forward to caress the tip of her nose with his and kissed her cheek. Flustered, she grabbed his hand and pulled him on the trolley.

“What are you-“

He had forgotten how strong she could be.

Something was off.

He felt like something important was missing, something essential. Something that was part of him.

Drowsily he yawned and stretched the kinks from his stiff muscles. As he slowly came to, he realised his bunk felt more spacious than usual. His hand felt around for the familiar chilly body, but found nothing. Panic twisted his insides and his heart skipped a beat as he sat up, hoping she was still nearby. He scanned the room, peeked into Prompto’s bunk and checked under his own bed, but didn’t find even a hair from her golden head to indicate she had been there. Little Luna was gone.

Before he could start thinking about forming a one-man search party, something blue caught his eye and he turned around to find a single sylleblossom placed next to his pillow. He noticed the royal raiment had been placed over the bed’s headboard. Then he remembered.

Tomorrow was her funeral. Tomorrow the illusion would shatter and he would be forced back to bleak reality. He would spend the rest of his life apart from the person he longed to be with the most.

With a faint, bittersweet smile he inhaled the flower’s sweet scent.

All good things come to an end, huh.

[miles-leszczynski]

SELF PARA: a few good men

miles was not a complicated man. you threaten the people he cared about and you answered for it. and terry was going to answer for it. attacking someone in a dark alleyway was one thing, but to have the audacity to call his precinct and goad him as he did, that was just dickish. and miles never had much tolerance jerks.

he parked his impala about a few yards out from the warehouse. beyond that was empty flatlands. in the middle of winter with no hills, no trees, no trucks, there was nowhere to hide. he stepped into the warehouse, his badge weighing heavy in his pocket and his gun poised in hand. it was dark inside. no light in here except blinding sparkles from the chinks between the steel panels. they threw thin lines and spots of illuminations across the floor. the floor was mostly earth, soaked in old oil, matted with flakes of rust and patches of concrete. all around him was old machinery, uniformly brown and scaly with decay. he didn’t know what any of it was. there were tines and blades and wheels and metal all bent and welded into fantastical shapes. construction stuff. not his area of expertise. not even close. one thing was for sure, and it was that you wouldn’t want to get cut by one of those without a tetanus shot.

there was nothing at all. no wind, no night sounds, and he had been listening hard. it was like he had gone deaf.

then he heard something. footsteps. miles didn’t even get a chance to turn around before he felt the— whatever it was, clock him on the back of his head, throwing him forward. he fell face first into the ground, his limbs sprawled out. his gun fell from his hand and skittered off to some unknown shadow. if he thought he was deaf before, all he could hear now was ringing. terry said something, miles couldn’t quite catch it. however, it was difficult to miss the pain that shot up his leg when the heel of terry’s boot connected with his ankle. riddled with pain, miles’ entire body jerked in a spasm, his cry echoing through the concrete walls. no one could hear him. he could not see through the tears that pricked behind his eyes, though he imagined that terry was smirking. “detective…know…rude…not…face…” miles could decipher little else between the ringing and the pain but he was not offered any relief for terry’s boot was introduced to miles’ stomach before graduating to his face, the latter was done with enough force to  knock him to the side so that he was on his back. he could taste blood in his mouth.

“you know, you have been a real pain in my ass detective. interrupting me. putting me in jail. sending out a manhunt for me. really bad for my reputation.” terry hit him across the cheek, a big vicious blow, his fist drawing blood. this wasn’t a good sign. at least a hit to the nose indicated some finality, a hit to the cheek? he had every intention of drawing this out. terry knelt down transferring his weight onto his knee as he weighed down on miles’ chest. terry was big, easily miles’ height if not taller and with twice as much weight. he had big waist made tiny by huge chest, arms and shoulders. he was the type of guy who ate two dinners and was still hungry afterwards. and the longer his knee stayed on miles’ chest the harder it was for him to breathe. to think. “not so heroic now are you? reina’s little knight in leather.” he detected some malice at the end of his word. oh boy. this wasn’t just business anymore. this was personal.

“you like her, don’t you?”

he said nothing. confused, terry lifted his knee after so slightly.

“you do! man, I really hate to break this to you buddy, but I don’t think she’s really your type.”

terry considered this. temporarily distracted by the possible answer. “and why’s that exactly?”

he said very quietly so that the big guy leaned in fractionally to hear his answer. and a fraction was all miles needed. “she likes men.”

miles head-butted him hard in the face, a savage snapping movement, a solid bone-to-bone contact. terry’s entire frame fell from him with loud yelp and miles wiggled free from beneath his weight. but pain ensured that he would not get very far. like a puppet with its strings cut, miles crumbled to the floor a painful hiss whistled between his teeth. he would not get very far with his ankle in its current condition. terry knew this, which is why he went for the ankle first. apparently terry was not as much of an idiot as he first perceived him to be.

by some fortune the towering goliath decided not to move for him straight away. with miles still writhing on the floor, the man took his time delighting in some of the tools that were on display at one of the work tables. he returned with a pipe wrench. swinging it back and forth, the sheer weight of it making audible slashes through the air. blood was gushing down terry’s nose in a steady stream, rimming his teeth as he smiled. a deranged, sadistic smile. by the time he got close enough miles had found support on one of the nearby work tables and managed to clamber onto his feet, careful not to put too much weight on his bad leg. his eyes frantically searched the length of the tarp dressed table for some tools but his choice was limited. spanners and screw drivers and loose bits of nails. nothing against a fucking pipe wrench. shit. shit. shit.

“i’ve got a message for you, pal.”

“really?” miles spun around, pressing his back against the table. he wore an expression of feigned innocence.

“actually it’s more of a question.”

“any difficult words? you need more time?” miles never found out what the message was. with a feral growl, terry dumped his weight on his right foot and started a short, compact backswing with the heavy metal tool. even when wielded with minimal effort, if you were hit with that thing, you were definitely going to feel it in the morning. and terry was sparing no effort. the arch was aimed to break miles’ left arm between the shoulder and the elbow and he couldn’t let that happen. he needed that. the detective had his right foot move a split second after the wrench, and before the tool stopped moving backward and started moving forward miles had grabbed a handful of white tarp and threw it at terry’s face and with it, the various tools and trinkets that was collecting dust on the sheet. at this point, two things could happen. terry could spin on his forehand to try to avoid the tarp or he could flail on the backhand, a hail mary blind swing into the void, hoping for a surprise, hoping for a lucky contact. he opted for the latter. which miles was half expecting and wholly rooting for. the detective planted his feet and jerked from the waist and drove the heel of his hand  into the knob of the guy’s elbow, that force jabbing one way, the weight of the swinging wrench pulling the other, the elbow joint cracking, the wrist overextending, the wrench falling, and terry’s right arm incapacitated. confused by the tarp and overwhelmed by the sudden pain, miles crouched over, his leg swept in a wide arch across the floor, strong and firm, he took out both of terry’s feet and forced him onto his back. score two for miles.

as he scrambled away from terry’s assault, miles realised three fundamental facts:

one. fighting was not an option. not without a weapon. not when he could barely put any weight on his left leg without crying out in pain and definitely not when he was shuddering at every intake of breath. his only option was to flee.

two. he needed to get away, but he won’t get very far. it was clear that if he could not make it a metre on foot without collapsing in a heap he could not make it anywhere without his car.

three. he needed to hide. wait terry out until an opportune moment presented itself. then make a break for it. call for backup.

miles came to rest with his back against one of the pillars that held up the building. further concealed by a large scaffolding and a curtain of white tarp. he sucked in a breath and forced himself, with shaking arms, at least partially upright and gritted his teeth through the pain that followed. he willed himself to breathe properly, though every breath made him want to cry out. there was silence for ten long minutes, with miles’ hand clamped over his mouth to silence the whistles of his winded breath.

“you should have killed me when you had the chance detective.”

then came footsteps.

“but that really isn’t your style is it?”

slow drawn out footsteps that echoed through hollow building.

“the ever so righteous, detective leszczynski.”

then came the sound of tools clattering against concrete as terry resorted to ripping tarps off work tops.

“he would never think to kill a man when he was down, isn’t that right?” terry laughed a madman’s laugh. “but you fail to see one thing detective; we’re not so different, you and me. just because we have different interests, albeit yours is probably more noble than mine, doesn’t mean that we wouldn’t do anything to secure our interests, isn’t that right? doesn’t mean we wouldn’t kill for them.”

after five minutes of searching and no results, the footsteps came to a halt. there was only the echoes of terry’s voice ringing across the walls.

“do you like puzzles detective? i’ve got a good one for you. you spent four years learning how to hold a gun. correct?”

miles stood still.

“i spent thirteen years learning how to kill people. so how scared am i?”

miles stood still.

“flash forward to today, you still can’t even make sergeant. i was so good at my job, i earn more in one year than you could ever hope to make in ten. so how scared are you?”

miles stood still.

“found you.” miles saw the fist too late. he dodged left and it caught him on the shoulder. he was spun around by the sheer force of the blow and was quickly grabbed from behind by the neck. two huge hands seized around his throat, strangling him. if miles doesn’t start doing something and fast, he was going to die. his shoulders were hunched and he was pumping up his neck to resist the strangler. miles was wrenching hard. no air was getting in and he was losing it. in a last ditch effort, he reached up and broke terry’s fingers. miles heard the knuckles splinter over the screaming in his ears. but terry held on, so he graduated to his ring finger. more splintering— like pulling a chicken apart, until finally he let go. one would think that after all he’s been through terry would think twice about pursuing this endeavour but money was a vicious motivator and terry was a resilient man. he wadded back for seconds, his anger shaded his face purple. miles could barely breath and terry was back with a vengeance. he punched miles in the jaw. that hurt. and continued his assault with short jabs to the arm and chest forcing him to stumble back until he felt his back pressed against the cold bars of the scaffolding. with no way through there was only one way forward: up.

miles grappled at the metal bars, but his breath was short and his ankle refused to cooperate. he did not make it more than a metre before he felt a cry of pain tear through his lips as a hand seized his ankle. no one could hear him. just as the hold on his ankle tightened, the grip he had on the bar loosened. in a desperate grab, miles’ hand closed on the white tarp that clothed the scaffolding and pulled. it came loose beneath his fingers and in a cloud of dust and an orchestra of metal against concrete, a cascade of metal bars rained on them, knocking miles to the side. his back smashed against the concrete with a force that left him breathless. miles closed his eyes and scrunched up his face, arms sliding now around his stomach where he had been kicked. he rolled over into a fetal position, indulging himself in a second of luxurious pain. he sucked in a breath, and groaned. his hand reached out to try and brace himself as he tried to sit up. he felt it slip underneath him on something wet and sticky. he lifted his hand up for inspection. even in the darkness he could see it. the sickening colour of crimson. it was blood.

miles jerked away from it with a start. it did not take much. he just needed to change his position a little, which turned his head a little, which changed his eye line a little and-- dear god.

terry stared back at him. his sightless eyes were wide open. his olive skin was pale with death and yellow in the light. his limb was twisted and he carried a sort of quizzical look about him. as if unsure of what really to make of his situation. he was buried in a pile of silver metal bars with one in particular standing upright. beneath the bars was where the pool of blood was sourced. shit. shit. shit. his pain temporarily forgotten, miles hurled himself at the pile, heaving the bars off of terry in a desperate attempt to get to the body beneath. he could not help but wished that he hadn’t. the end of the erected metal bar disappeared into terry’s torso, among a shining inchoate mass of red, of glistening pearly surfaces of dark gleaming stuff all seething and steaming. not quite comprehending what just happened, miles reached out to grab the bar, as if to try and pull it out of him. his efforts were halted when a hand gripped miles’ collar bringing him down toward cold lips. “you see detective.” he could feel terry’s red hand smearing blood onto his cheek and the man’s cold breath as he spoke sent shivers down his spine. “we’re not so different after all.”

terry’s hand fell away and he said nothing else.

[nitacus]

1. Your First OC ever? Oh gosh, I'm fairly sure it was a robot/cyborg girl (I think because I really liked the Androids from Dragonball Z) I annot remember her name I do remember, she had some love interest who was blond, and didn't discover what she really was for a while. Her maker was evil, I think I wrote it when I was like 8-ish ugh how embarrassing.         2. Do you have a personal favourite among your OC's? Oh gee probably Riea just because she is the oldest long term one who I've written for, and recreated and built upon many times, but it's hard to pick favourites out of them all. 3. Have you ever adopted a character or gotten a character from somebody? I genuinely don't remember ever taking on another persons character, I have made suggestions on how a person could characterise their OC better so I used the, temporarily to demonstrate but never took one on long term to keep. I would though if I thought they were salvageable, or if I felt they possessed a story inside of them waiting to be told. 4. A character you rarely talk about? Does Cyborg girl count ^^' if not, I don't really discuss the Knight Commander with people, even though he's an antagonist. Other than him, there is a blonde female who my succubus character (also female) seduced who I haven't discuss much, mainly because I haven't determined how she's going to be reintroduced yet. I might make her a witch and thus aware of her soul having been stolen. 5. If you could only make only one of your OC's popular/known, who would it be? Viseran ( my deaf/mute character) a scouting party member, from a post apocalyptic future story. 6. Two OC's of yours that look alike despite not being related? That I made similar intentionally? Or I only realised were similar later on? None spring to mind who weren't related. 7. Are your OC's part of any story, or stories? Yes, that's what my entire list of OC's consist of. 8. Do you RP as any of your OC's? No I have never RP'd before. I sort of just work through everything in my head. 9.  Would you ever be willing to give any of your OC's to someone else? I have no idea, perhaps some old, or abandoned ones. It feels weird saying I'd give one to someone else though. 10. Introduce an OC with a complicated design? Complicated how? Like their character and personality, their story and purpose, or their actual design and appearance? A) Little Empress, B) Riea, C) God knows but probably Aymia Crewe. Little empress is a succubus, on the side of evil, she is a literal empress despite others having turned it into a sort of pet name, much to her distaste, and the story follows her and she sort of ends up working for the other side. 11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a 'sunshine'? Zeriste/Rabbit is the only one who springs immediately to mind. 12. Name an OC who isn't yours but you like a lot? Some of the Dragon Age OC's that people have made are super interesting. I saw a thunder god one on deviant art that was pretty cool too. 13. Do you have any troublemaker OC's? Oh yeah I've created a few. Else witch, Blade, Peydion, immediately come to mind 14. Introduce an OC with a tragic background? Aymia Crewe applies due to having become permanently stuck in a child's body of ten, even though she is like nineteen years old. A number of her childhood years were spent as a child soldier, of which she was only one, another character of mine is also a child of warfare, however refocusing on Aymia due to her being highly skilled, and being one of the longest surviving children, as well as children being more compatible than adults, with the experiments to enhance soldiers on the battlefield. Due to being one of the subjects experimented on, a side effect of that was her body ceasing to age, she also has successfully enhanced battle skills, but she kind of feels trapped in a never ending nightmare. 15. Do you like to talk about your OC's with others? I rarely talk about my writing projects unless they are finished and I am content to discuss them. 16. Which one of your OC's would be the best at Biology (school subject)? Uissade, he is driven to seek achievement and learning above all else.  17. Any OC OTP's? Of my own characters - Riea and Blade though they probably will not end up together given the significant trauma in her past, Novice Witch and the Main Character, Aleksis and Vio, Riel and Lief though sometimes it changes, in other words I have several 18. Any OC crackships? Mine or from other media because I have a lot that belong to others. Sometimes I enjoy one-shots of various interactions between my characters, even cross overs from different stories 19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why) - Riea purely because she was my first OC that I designed as an adult, with a complete story and background and she has morphed and gone through many changes over the time since I created her, so I feel that I know her best and where she is coming from during the story. 20. Do any of your OC's sing? None actually, I have yet to make a musical OC. 21. Your most artistic OC? Out the ones I've created thus far Acera fits this best of all, she's artistic, creative, addicted to bright colours, popular, and collects shiny knick-knacks. 22. Is there any OC of yours who people tend to mischaracterise? No, I don't really mind how people view or characterise my OC’s, as the only one who knows what I had in mind when I created them is myself. I am always intrigued to see how another person might view different characters.  23. Introduce OC who has changed from your first idea concerning what the character would be like? Riea, she's changed several times as mentioned above. 24. If you could meet one OC of yours, who would it be, and why? My former slave turned free traveller and fighter for justice, he's kind, sees the best in people and has never become bitter or angry over the hand life dealt him, I admire that. 25. The OC who resembles you the most? Auli, she has some differences from me namely her ethnicity, but she has dark hair and eyes like me, is kind but passionate and fiery whenever defending those she cares about. Also loves her family, culture, good food, and isn't afraid of expressing herself.  Therefore yeah definitely Auli. 26. Have you ever had to change your OC's design, or something else about them against your will? No, I am stubborn when it comes to who I perceive a character to be, or how they firm as a complete person in my head. I take constructive criticism, and allow others to suggest things whether a flaw or a positive trait, but I know who they are overall, and I know the story they are telling, so if they need to be rebuilt, I sift through trying to identify what I need to change for it to feel right. 27. Any OCs that were inspired by a certain song? None that I remember ever creating. 28. Your most dangerous OC? Gees, many are quite dangerous in truth, however the most dangerous character I have who isn't a straight up villain/antagonist is probably Aymia, she looks like a small child physically, but is an experienced, capable, killer, seeking a cure to her current condition, or punish those responsible, so definitely Aymia. 29. Which of your OCs would go investigate an abandoned house at night without telling anyone they're going? Serafien out of sheer stubbornness, Aymia, possibly Riea too seeing she can be very impulsive and isn't used to involving others in her plans or business. 30. Which of your OC's would most likely have a secret stuffed animal collection? Sayah because she's always acting tougher and more aloof than she really is. Possibly also Jarei. 31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their Tumblr blog would be like? Peydion would reblog the latest fashion trends, she would always be posting hair and makeup tips for others as naturally she has immaculate taste. She would post skincare products, the only other types of things she would reblog would be fundraisers, and anything for a good cause as Peydion despite being vain will always champion the causes of the underdog, she will defend the picked on, indifferent to status. Acera's Tumblr would be a crafty, artsy collage of style and colour, I feel like she would make her own fashion accessories, upload her paintings and drawings, and make eclectic music playlists and suggestions for people, I also feel like she would have sections of her page dedicated to black and white photographs to break up all of the colour every now and then, I feel she would be a sweets and caffine addict to. 32. Which of your OC's would be the most suitable horror game protagonist and why?  I feel like Jarei, would be a matter of fact and rational protagonist, however she might be far too sensible to end up there in the first place. Therefore...I'm going to say, Iris would be unique in that type of situation. She's extremely different, spends the majority of her time amongst nature, and her powers as an empath would make the entire journey extremely interesting. 33. Your shyest OC? I can't really think of a shy character that I've written, I have expressed pain and distant characters, cautious and uncertain, bold and fiery, I've written introverts and extroverts, good and bad, jealous and vindictive, cruel even but I haven't written shy oddly. I will make that my next OC goal. Out of my characters who exist right now, I guess I would have to pick Iris or Briayla, because they are more introverted, Riea is also. 34. Do you have any twin characters? Yes three sets. Paige and Kat, another set of girl twins who are thus far unnamed still, and then there's Alex and Cole 35. Do yo have any sibling characters? Apart from the sets of twins ^^, not that I can recall. 36. Do you have OC pairs where the other part belongs to someone else (siblings, lovers, friends, etc)? Belongs to someone else? Like another writer with their OC? Or who the character belongs to in the story? I wouldn't say any characters belong to, or with anyone in any of my stories, they are each, their own person. But if you mean as in another writer's OC, no. 37. Introduce an OC who is not quite human? Riel and Lief both count in this case, essentially both are members of a group of beings who possess roles and responsibilities on the earth, they manage a particular job in everyday like that makes society function. A civil war breaks out, Riel is attacked and almost killed, she manages to escape, but at the same time falls into the mortal realm with a tear in her spiritual essence. Each being has an emergency, corporeal body which they inhabit within the human realm, Riel ends up being trapped within hers, and they are only supposed to be used minutely therefore the reliance upon it weakens her, so she's stuck, and during the initial aftermath she doesn't remember until Lief shows up and restores her memories of this, as they were sealed along with her powers within her. They are a part of her spiritual essence, it's intended to both protect the mortal realm as well as ensure mortals never discover their existence. Other stuff happens, war is being waged by both sides, that's all I'll say. 38. Which of your OC's would be the best dancer? Serafien, Else Witch I assume given the time period both women are from. 39. Introduce any character you want. Nine has white-blonde hair in a styled ponytail, with a messy braid running through it, and red eyes due to being albino. She is scrawny, and badly scarred along her right side and hip. Nine has the ability to kill, but she needs to picture how your organs work, in order to cause your lungs to seize up, she has to know how the respiratory system works, and picture it's inner workings in her mind, only then can she disrupt or shit down how it functions. She also has the ability to increase or decrease the potency of medicinal plants, herbs poisons, and all alchemical draughts she makes, making her both a brilliant healer, or killer depending on the necessity. 40. Any fond memories linked to your characters? Other than writing for them, being complimented on one or two. One time I made my sisters laugh with one of my OC's. A ghost and secretary working for a organisation of guardians, and although she is incredibly good at her job, she's of course incorporeal. Which means she cannot answer the phone, get the door, sign for packages that sort of thing, so at times she gets frustrated over it and her ghostly abilities act up, so office supplies randomly end up scattered about the lobby and that sort of thing. Also her partner as a receptionist who does answer the phones etc is a male mummy, who roller blades to work because he really enjoys human inventions, of course concerns that he might unravel means that he often puts tape on his bandages to keep them together. That sort of thing tends to make people laugh. 41. Has anyone drawn fan art of your OC's? No. 42. Which one of your OC's would be the most interested in the Greek Gods? Gaia considering her name comes directly from them, I also think she would be interested in her namesake and others among them. 43. Do you have any certain type when you create OC's? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It's time to confess. I lean mostly toward fantasy settings, I confess to liking troubled OC's, and the only physical features that I can say I lean towards is dark hair colours and bronze or tan skin colours. I try to represent as many ethnicities in my writing as possible, therefore I've made, French, English, Greek and Italian, Middle eastern mixed, Asian mixed OC's, a Hawaiian and Samoan OC, Native American, African American, Jamaican, as many as I can because I think everybody deserves representation, in stories and adventures, so it really depends on the setting I'm building, if it's a future society then I use our world ethnicities and say countries and nations have mixed and shifted etc, if it's a fantasy setting then I create and build my OC's and their ethnicities or cultures from scratch, likewise if I make a sci fi story which deals with alien races. 44. Something you like about your OC's in general? I like that they are all uniquely different, I try to explore new personalities and mindsets. 45. A character you no longer use? Well I haven't thought about cyborg girl in well over a decade but I might recreate and build her anew in a future story because I'm feeling some real nostalgia right now. 46. Has anybody ever told you that you treat your OC's badly? I would readily confess to doing so, you have to push characters to their limits, to determine what they are made of, that's how you work out who they are deep down. So yes I do think I act quite sadistically, and I'll kick them when they are down at times. 47. Has anybody ever (friendly) claimed any of your OC's as their child? No, no one has. 48. OC who is a perfect cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure. Mayyyybe Zeriste, she's the only character I can think of who falls into the sees the best in everybody, innocent type. Every other character I've made, ever, has been more complicated and more flawed than that. Zeriste isn't an old creation though she's a relatively new OC. 49. Which one of your OC's would most likely enjoy memes? I feel like roller blading mummy would be down ^^ he likes human creations. 50. Give me the good ol' OC talk here, talk about anything you want. If you want tag your answers as #yetanotherOCmeme so I can check them out too. I don't really know what OC talk is being referred to here. All I shall say is make them as varied, flawed, and three dimensional as possible. Be brave when challenging them with a difficult situation, and never hand OC's an easy way out. They can only build character in the face of adversity.