#loyal knight with wandering eyes for the lady of his kingdom

[biffhofosho]

Who's ready to talk about the 7th brother I won't let anyone forget? Gotta start my Wonho thread simply before I get completely untethered.

[anika-ann]

Pomiluj me (Love Me Tender) - S.R.

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; standalone (NOT a part of this medieval AU)

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 10k 😁 best possible division if needed is at the first divider

Summary: Knight Steven Rogers and his brothers in arms are returning home after having tackled an unruly creature terrorizing the people of Starkerbürg. Upon encountering an injured woman, Steven offers to bring her – carry her, truly – back to her home. How could he deserve a knighthood if he left a woman in distress to her fate, after all? 

But not everything it as it seems. And love blooms in the most unlikely of places. 

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex (shocking in medieval times huh), bit of angst, tons of fluff, himbo knights in BBC Merlin style (long live the legends), knight Steve ‘cause he’s a warning, Slovak language ‘cause I can

A/N: Title from the song which inspired the story, Pomiluj mě (Love on Me/Love Me Tender)...tumblr cannot handle an “ě “in their title 🙃 Lyrics, translation and link here, you’ll find a few lines in the fic as well - truly recommend. DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics

A/N/2: AO3 says this is my 100th work (as posted here anyway) and I’m brushing 1,680k of words written according to the counter. Which… whoa. And it’s almost six years since I first posted a marvel fic 🥺 Enjoy!

Alone, you only wander in the dark Chased by the cold I shall light up the torch you’re guarding

Should I be worried about you That all you do is take When are you coming back to me?

The cavalry moved rather slowly.

The noble men appeared a far cry from the polished image known from books, even as they had attempted to wash in a river. They reeked of battle, smoke and blood still; and the drying blood in their wounds was just as red as that of ordinary men, the scent of sweat and fear having seeped into their clothes and armour. And yet, their vests carried the sigil of Starkerbürg with pride, signaling the knights’ dedication to the protection of their kingdom.

With only horse left, they truly might make a pitiful sight, certain weariness to their step; but an air of victory and camaraderie made for a picture of life instead. Laughter sounded between the group, a joke thrown around here and there, a tease about a wound each of them suffered, particularly the youngest one. Despite those, true concern for their new friend, Sir Parker, could be read in their eyes. He was the youngest to ever been dubbed in the history of Starkerbürg; it was no wonder the good men assigned him the role he would have played had the bond they shared been one of a blood family. The youngest of brothers was as much made fun of as protected, since he was eager to prove he deserved the honour to ride with the knights of Starkerbürg just like any other. Now he sat on the horse in front of Sir Barton, the eldest, as they made their way back after successfully ridding the kingdom of a horrific creature: the chimera had been believed to only exist in old tales until it brought terrible and painfully real suffering to the people of the west of the kingdom and so the king’s loyal servants were tasked to ride at dawn five days ago.

“Alright, alright, let us leave the poor lad,” Sir Barton said, patting the young Sir Parker on his shoulder a little too hard. “He shall do better next time.”

Peter smiled over his shoulder gratefully, having started to feel not humbled, but humiliated.

“Yes, yes, we should let him be,” Sir Maximoff agreed, side-eyeing the two riders mischievously. “We should talk about how you moved like an old lady.”

The collective ooooooh and chuckles might have as well come from a group of children, rather than grown men, causing Sir Barton to glare at the cheeky lad he called a friend.

“Old ladies are wise and worth of respect, Maximoff. You could learn a thing or two from them, as you had learned from me,” he scoffed, feigning offence. “Do not forget who taught you how to swing a sword, kiddo.”

“There is a point in what Clint is saying,” Sir Wilson hummed good-naturedly, raising his eyebrow at Pietro in challenge.

“Maybe. Does not change the fact he’s grown seven years older since then, while I have grown seven years more mature.”

The explosion of laughter following his statement was louder this time.

“In your dreams, maybe,” Sir Barnes snorted, elbowing his best of friends, Sir Rogers. “About as mature as this one was when he used to pick his battles with guys twice his size, eh?”

Sir Rogers, Steven to most, only smirked, speaking up for the first time in a while, since his thoughts were far far away. “Should we get technical, we all took up on an enemy twice our size only yesterday morning.”

“Oh?” Sir Barton feigned surprise. “Listen to the guy. He might tell you what brought the monster to its knees next – an arrow straight to its eye. Remind me, Maximoff, whose crossbow it was that fired it?” he asked pointedly, grinning down at the man walking by their horse, earning an eyeroll.

“Did it even have knees?” Sir Lang questioned, “All I know is that it was a nasty, nasty thing.”

“Nastier than Hydra? Cut off one had, two shall takes its place? I truly believed that was only a legend…” Sir Wilson said, a visible shiver of disgust shaking him.

“Not sure we can compare the two… maybe Barnes or Rogers could, huh?” Sir Maximoff suggested.

Steven’s face darkened; he did indeed remember the hydra creature very well for it nearly cost his best friend his arm. The scars still littered Bucky’s skin, from the back of his hand all the way up to his shoulder; Gods had blessed him enough that his ability to use his arm remained intact, even as its appearance did not.

As for the strange chimera they had slayed yesterday… it was true that Steven had gotten more familiar with it then he would have liked. He could recall it with uncomfortable clarity: its foul breath smelling of death on his face, feeling as if it had seeped deep into his very bones when he had finally thrusted his sword through its heart. He could still hear the clang of teeth near his neck, a near death sentence.

No, he would rather not compare the two. He would rather not think of either of the creatures at all.

“Why us, Maximoff? Because I nearly lost my arm to the former and my best friend to latter? No thanks,” Sir Barnes hissed, face turning ashen as well.

Steven instinctively reached for his friend, squeezing his arm, casting a concerned glance as he was torn away from his own dark memories.

“Buck…”

“Are you jesting? Sir Rogers was incredible,” Sir Parker cried out excitedly, having four of the knights groan, for Steven’s bravery – or idiocy, should anyone ask Sir Barnes, truly – was all the youngest knight had been talking about for the majority of their journey, causing Steven’s cheeks redden under his beard, sense of pride and satisfaction battling the terror of the memory. As for the remaining knights, well; while they did not diminish Steven’s important contribution of delivering the fatal blow, they had grown annoyed at the constant babble.

“Sure he was, kiddo.”

“Oh yes. They should probably knight him. Oh wait-“ Sir Wilson said, causing the men to laugh.

“Yeah, a set of deadly teeth perhaps three inches from his throat? Let him have all the glory and Princess Morgana’s hand too,” Sir Barnes grumbled, sending his friend both a proud and irked glance.

A sudden rustle of leaves and a woman’s yelp followed by a thud caused them all fall silent and turnbattle-ready in a split second, snapping in the direction of noise.

However, there was little need for caution. Their intruder barely appeared dangerous: the peasant woman observed them with wide eyes and forehead scrunched in pain, blossoms of common elder, spilled all around her like precious silks of a gown instead of the worn fabric of the simple shirt, shawl and ankle-length skirt, speaking thousand words of what she had been doing until she had fallen. Her fingers were clutching at her left foot, a clear sign of her ungraceful landing. The tree was by no means tall, but that should not mean the fall was what they could call comfortable.

For a moment, the group of knights stood frozen, rendered speechless as much as the poor woman who found herself face to face with not one but seven of the crown’s most loyal servants.

Steven, perhaps the kindest of them all, was the first to snap from the shock of an unexpected disturbance of their journey, releasing the grip on his sword, never having drawn it from its sheath. He took several long strides to the young woman, instantly capturing her attention.

“My lady, are you quite alright?” Steven inquired, gently as he realized his large frame, accentuated by his armour, might intimidate the poor sweetling.

And yet. Just as the question left his lips and his gaze met hers, he was the one rendered mute all of sudden.

Steven had never seen anyone more clearly, he was certain; and just as sure he was of the fact that no woman could ever hope to encompass sincerity and beauty in her eyes only as the one he was facing at the moment.

Her smile was but a shy little thing, pain masked by gratitude for the knight’s care. He was a handsome one, of robust built but with delicate lines to his face, bright blue irises with a speckle of green, plush lips framed by a short beard; distantly, she imagined his wide shoulders would barely fit the doorframe of her cabin – of her hut, truly. She found the imagery enticing, almost as much as the gentle tone he had spoken with despite his giant frame.

“’Quite aright’ seems accurate, sir. I am not hurting much beyond my left ankle,” she admitted, even as her source of discomfort was evident from her hand still covering the affected area.

Steven’s brows furrowed slightly in worry, yet he made no move, spoke no words, even as his lips parted. Instead, his eyes roamed the woman’s face, searching and fascinated. It was the silence which prompted his comrades to enter the interaction.

“Do you think you can walk?” Sir Wilson asked as he stepped forward – a movement barely acknowledged as the woman did not shift her gaze from Steven still.

“Wobble, perhaps,” she said, the corners of her lips briefly turning downwards. “Could perhaps one of you assist me? I should be most grateful for your chivalry.”

Sir Barnes could scoff at the absurdity of her wording; even as she suggested she would welcome anyone’s aid, her fixation on Steven was ridiculously evident. It almost scared him, how steadily she watched him; even as ladies’ interest in his best friend’s company had increased significantly along with how Steven’s muscles had grown, the way this woman observed him… unsettling him for some reason.

“Oh! We should borrow you the horse for a while-“ Sir Parker – bless him, the youngest and the purest of heart of them all – cried out, soon silenced by a more sombre voice of reason of Sir Barnes.

“Kid, you lose your leg should you put your weight on it now. Believe me, I have almost lost my arm to the same foolishness.”

“…oh.”

“Well, I suppose one of us should support you and walk you to your home,” Sir Barton suggested nonchalantly, preparing to dismount the horse. “The most experienced one of us, perhaps?”

“Truly? Is that so, Clinton?” Sir Wilson questioned as he eyed him, his tone carrying wryness of a man who would not care for nonsense – unless it was one that could earn him a great deal of fun. “Why you?”

“I have a pair of very well-working eyes for one,” the older man uttered, causing sir Maximoff to snicker silently.

“So do I and yet I would never offer!” Sir Lang opposed as soon as he understood the meanings behind Sir Barton’s words. “Must we remind you how inappropriate that would be, since you have a lovely wife and three kids at home?”

“And a knee that knows a rain is coming at least two sunsets ahead?” Sir Barnes added for honestly, the foolishness of Sir Barton’s idea battled the one of the youngling’s.

“Ugh, alright then. Spoilsports.”

Sir Maximoff, unsurprisingly, grinned and shrugged as he stepped forward. “Ah, well, fellas, it seems-“

“I can do it. I can even carry her.”

Sir Barnes sighed, an involuntary reaction to best of comrades choosing this moment to snap from his reverie. Speaking of foolishness.

Not once had Steven’s gaze left the beautiful woman since the very moment he had laid his eyes on her, almost as if he was drawn by ancient power whose pull not even his virtuous heart could resist. The pull had been literal too; while the movements had been subtle, step by step Steven inched closer to the woman, now standing barely three feet from her, way too close even as he had been the first to spring forward.

Sir Barnes would be amazed and certainly more than amused at his friend’s antics, had it not been for the fact the scene was as fascinating as disconcerting. For a myriad of reasons. Beginning with-

“You are injured as well,” Sir Wilson noted pointedly.

Sir Wilson appeared to be the only of the men aside from Sir Barnes who had not lost all reason in the midst of all of them having acquired an expression of awe and smugness. In all fairness, the reaction of the knights was nothing short of understandable, for Steven, Sir Rogers, who had kept from many women who had been rather literally battling for his attention, seemed enamoured all of sudden. And of all creatures, enamoured by a beautiful, yet the most ordinary of women. He appeared if not utterly lost to the fabled love at first sight, then certainly lost enough to abandon all reason.

“Oh no, if you are severely injured, I could not possibly-“ the woman resisted, gathering her skirt in attempt to stand up as if to prove she was considerably less inconvenienced by absence of aid than it had originally appeared.

Naturally, her efforts were doomed to failure – and just as naturally, Steve had been there to catch her, promptly supporting her weight. She had barely caught herself, one palm flat against his chest, the other on his bicep, lips parted in silent surprise; and much to the amusement of all knights, in awe of his strength.

Sir Rogers was certainly not the only one of the pair who appeared smitten.

“Thank you, good Sir.”

“Sir Steven Rogers, my lady. I should be happy to aid you,” he pronounced, the words ‘with anything’ unsaid but clearly implied as he helped her straighten up as much as her own injury allowed. “I have not been injured severely. Worry not.”

Needless to say, Sir Barnes would argue; bruised ribs, several cuts, more so when one of them sat right above his brow, should be considered severe enough not to carry a woman in his arms… particularly when these injuries were coupled with a heavy blow to the head. Before, Sir Barnes had not been sure how strong of a hit Steven had taken, but now, seeing how absent of any common sense Steven was-

Ah. His best friend was being quite himself, now that Sir Barnes thought of it.  

“…so we are to ignore there are at least three better candidates whose ribs are not bruised or-“ Peter muttered in low voice to his companions, all but earning a warning slap to his healthy leg as Sir Lang gently shushed him, himself charmed by the romantic ballad-worthy scene in front of them.

“Seeing as she does, I suppose we do too,” Sir Maximoff scoffed lowly, tilting his head to side as he observed his comrade, suddenly frowning, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And so does he. Is he alright? He looks… strange. Has any of you put something in his water?”

“You are saying this as if you were not as miffed about him being chosen by her as I am,” Sir Barton huffed, sourness turning into humour at the other man’s misery.

Pietro’s gaze torn away from the pair, their downright love-sick gazes suddenly difficult to watch; it almost felt as if by looking at them, they were prying on an intimate moment. Pietro thought it curious, for he had never had any issues of laughing loud at the displays of affection his fellow knights had offered in the Tower tavern for everyone to see, but he did not want to examine it too hard. He could find joy elsewhere once they had made it to the city, with no shortage of ladies no doubt willing to offer comfort to the heroes of Starkerbürg.

“He is one lucky bastard,” he sighed, patting the horse’s neck, preparing to take off.

“And lucky he might get…” Sir Wilson sing-sang quietly, causing the group to laugh as their gazes once again appreciated the almost palpable spark between the unlikely couple, exchanging knowing glances as the woman gasped when Steven sneaked his arms under her knees and back, lifting her into his arms with ease despite his gear weighting him down.

“Alright, it is settled. We are certain you are safe with Sir Rogers…” Sir Barton called out, entirely ignored by the pair who instead kept observing one another without as much as a blink, as if they could not bear losing even a fraction of the precious time they were given. “For he is-- they are not even listening to me, are they? No one cares about me anymore, I truly must be getting old-”

Sir Barnes sighed again, realization dawning to him; one he should never share with his companions, but one he would for certain inquire about later when Steven returned to the castle.

“We shall move then,” he muttered, beckoning others towards the road, not before sparing the couple a last slightly disapproving glance.

He feared not for his most precious friend’s safety; he only feared for his heart, too big even for the impressive size his body had grown into since his early days as a weakling. At the moment, it was his mind Bucky feared for, since it almost seemed feeble under a spell of a beautiful woman. A spell no one dared to break.

As the group walked away, each of their steps was uncharacteristically silent; until they believed to reach enough of a distance to have a boisterous laugh about Sir Rogers no doubt to be rewarded for his chivalry. The sound bothered not the pair as they smiled at each other softly, the woman’s thumb brushing over Steven’s sternum, covered by worn chainmail.

The simple touch seemed to reach his soul; his breathing, having already eased since he had first caught her, cleared completely, the ache in his bones gone. The woman’s smile widened, silently prompting Steven to start walking. He was not one to hesitate, his feet moving almost of their own volition.

“You are not obliged to carry me,” she said, a teasing note lacing her gentle voice. “I slowed the landing enough. It is nothing but a bruise.”

Steven shook his head, appearing as if he was barely holding back a grin. “But I must, my lady. It is my duty as a knight of Starkerbürg.”

She pursed her lips, one corner lifting in a smirk.

“Oh? Is it so, my good sir? Hm... speaking of knights of Starkerbürg, Sir Rogers,” she emphasized, a playful spark appearing in her eye, “your friends act like children.”

Undignified for a knight for certain – yet who was he to diminish the already scraped reputation of men who truly unsubtly jested about him taking advantage of the very woman in distress he was to help – Steven snorted.

“Don’t I know it.”

“But Samuel might not be wrong…“ she said, voice equally full of amusement and promise. “Set me down, Steven. You must be tired.”

Tired he was not. Not ever since he had met the woman’s eyes moments ago and recognized their beauty and depth as familiar. But who was he to deny a lady?

And a lady she was, for all she was and was not. They might have jested about it together, but in Steven’s mind, she was precisely that and nothing less, no matter what any half-wit of this kingdom would think. Slowly, he lowered her back to her feet, his heart thundering in his ribcage in anticipation as he focused on the sounds surrounding them.

Content with only gentle whisper of the wind and songs of robins for a company, his worn hands cradled the woman’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, heart trembling when she leaned into his touch, her lips brushing his palm.

In return, the tips of her fingers ghosted over his brow, the nasty cut closing at once, without a single sting of pain. She focused on that aspect often, even as she knew he would try and not as much as flinch for her benefit, much like he had not when she healed his ribs earlier.

“Thank you. They must be far enough now, I am sure,” he whispered, stepping closer so their bodies aligned and nearly merged in one. “Do not hide from me, bosorka moja. Let me see you, beautiful.”

Her smile turned a little coy, even as her soul sang at his sweet words. Steven was quite a master of compliments; but not a shameless flirt or a rake. What he said always came from heart; that beautiful, beautiful heart he had sworn belonged to her and never made her question it despite their situation.

“As you wish, good sir,” she whispered, fingertips sliding down his cheekbone, repairing the darkening bruising in their wake, before she turned focus on her own transformation. “Close your eyes, love, release me for just a moment.”

With a sigh of disappointment – but eager to oblige – Steven lifted his hands an inch, missing the lovely heat under his touch at once, and let his eyes slide close. Soft light caressed his skin, flickering behind his closed eyelids as her features shifted, her cloaking spell dispersing.

Steven did not fight the smile tugging at his lips as he allowed himself to open his eyes again just as the glow was dying out, welcomed by the sight of his beloved in her true face. The spell she had casted changed her features but a bit, only enough to protect her from those who would still hunt her upon mere suspicion of her being a magical creature. She appeared just as human as before; but should a half-wit still nursing grudges against magic even century and half since its dark side caused people to suffer ever recognize her as anything else… Steven did not wish to imagine what hell would have been raised; even as it would have been one he would fight to death against.

Indeed, she appeared human even in her true form to most, Steven assumed. Yet, to him, she appeared almost ethereal; she always had. From the very moment she had walked into his life and took his world by gentle storm, slowly nursing him back to health day by day from multiple wounds which would have been his doom. She had risked her own life in process, revealing her talents to anyone, let alone a knight of Starkerbürg, but for a good deed, she had barely even hesitated.

Beautiful, powerful, brave and endlessly kind; and now, by the blessing of gods, even as Steven failed to be a proper gentleman, his.

He let his fingers slide into her hair, tilting her face up to feast his eyes on her features, heart humming pleasantly as only a person who owned it could make it hum.

It was clearer than the skies that she felt just the same. Drawing him close, not waiting for his prompting, she rose to her tiptoes and brushed his lips with hers, sweet and healing. No cut was there for her to fix, but it appeared that whenever she kissed him, even with no magic involved as she had claimed, Steven’s often weary soul was lifted.

He followed her lips, earning a hearty chuckle but no protest, a hand on his nape as her fingers curled in his hair as well.

“Bosorka moja,” he said softly against her lips before tasting them again, greedy for every stolen moment, every stolen kiss she was willing to give him.

And she would give him a lifetime, much like he would give his own to her.

But there was not a single reason to do it right where they stood. One more peck to his lips and she escaped his arms sneakily, only to grab at his hand with both of hers, tugging him down the now familiar path.

“Come, rytier moj.”

And so he followed her, without a word of protest. He would follow his heart anywhere.

Their destination was by no means far, they were in no rush. Unbeknownst to Sir Barnes, his thoughts had been precisely on point – the pair of lovers cherished every moment spent together, may it be walking with purpose or wandering.

This day, they chose the former, the hut soon appearing in a barely-there clearing among the trees. Steve’s lips curled in a smile on instinct as despite the humble outside state of the tiny house, he knew what he would find upon entering with his love and lover by his side. A home. Not only hers; theirs. A safe space for their love.

As soon as they entered, the air smelling of herbs and dried meadow flowers, ones he had picked and gifted her the last time he had escaped his knight-bound duties, hit his nostrils and widened his smile. It was met with her own, soft and welcoming, heartbreakingly beautiful; ache echoed in his heart, its emptiness present for the past few days without her suddenly dissolving into nothing.

He brought her hand to his lips, a gentle kiss to her knuckles before releasing her, so they could begin their routine.

From the mountains Wind, dust and defiance is rising I lay your armour to your feet Don’t let my skin get cold at night

Wind from the mountains

Wind, dust and defiance is rising I lay my armour to your feet Don’t let my skin get cold at night

You made your way to the pot, a simple curl of your wrist lighting up a fire to heat the water for tea. Steven’s gaze followed you as he stood by the door, blindly unclasping his belt, putting away his sword and chainmail. He had no need for weapons nor armour in his home; vulnerability in this house was no sign of weakness, but one of strength. It was a privilege he took upon proudly as you were blissfully aware.

Then, you ruminated through your dried herbs in search of chamomile and lavender, even as you knew the exact placement of every single item; once you heard Steven lose his armour and step forward, you looked over your shoulder, offering an unassuming smile – despite assuming quite a lot from the many encounters you had shared before.

“Tea, my love?”

Like clockwork, like the most beautiful habit, you barely got the chance to speak the question before he stood behind you, fingers cradling your chin, angling your head further to meet your lips again, an indulgent smile tasting indulgent smile as neither of you ever believed a tea was to be served. Not yet at least.

Where your first shared kiss after days of being apart tasted of longing, relief and soft smiles, this one tasted of feelings much more primal. Your breath hitched in the briefest surprise at the intensity, yet you responded in earnest, shifting to accommodate his large body, your hands finding purchase of his broad shoulders as soon as you spun around. He rewarded your cooperation with enthusiasm; you yielded to his force with a breathy laugh once he allowed you to retrieve the air he so lovingly stole from your lungs.

“No tea then?”

A hand previously grasping at your hips wrapped around your back to pull you to his chest, three steps leading you to walk backwards until your back brushed the makeshift table, Steven’s lips as urgent as sweet, his beard scratching at your sensitive skin, each breath tickling your lips.

“Would rather drink from your lips, love,” he whispered to your mouth, the only chance for both of you to breathe in before his lips returned. His hold tightened to ground you against his advances, trapping you in a cage of love you could have easily escaped should you wish; yet, you only withdrew for a moment, a cheeky retort on your tongue as your need for him grew with every touch.

“That could be arranged, I believe.”

Glancing up, you were met with his darkened eyes, his hand firm as he held onto your jaw; and yet, his thumb caressed your skin gently, the desire blending into softness and amusement at your bold demeanour. You lifted one corner of your lips in a smirk, gasping when his mouth possessed yours again, teeth tugging at your lower lip, his arm still holding onto your waist – the only thing keeping you from practically laying on the table, his hips pining yours against the hard surface, fingers squeezing your flesh.

Now there was a thought; Steve’s weight rendering you weightless as he’d coax peak after peak from your body laid on the dark wood as an offering to Gods at an altar…

The very thought, however, was fast to dissolve as Steven’s hips rocked into yours, allowing you to feel the outline of his burning need, having you clutch at his shirt as friction teased your throbbing core. He swallowed the needy noise he elicited from your lips, fingers slipping under your shirt, thumb pressing into your skin just above your hipbone as to guide your movements.

You shuddered upon his lips travelling down the column of your throat, teeth grazing skin alongside the hem of your shirt above your collarbone; your hands began their own quest over the hard planes of his body, appreciative of his truly impressive physique. Steven’s fingers roamed as well, caressing and squeezing, your given name but a breathy whisper when his fingertips stroked the underside of your breasts.

You nearly missed his words due to the blissful sensation, but you had heard the silent plea spoken so many times before there was no mistaking it.

“Dance for me, my love?”

Your swollen lips curled in a playful smile as his fingers carded through your hair, kiss brushing your cheek and jaw and finally your mouth again.

“Oh? Is that what you wish for, lover mine?”

His gaze followed the patterns his fingertips whispered over your face as if they were brushes painting the most precious canvas, a curious contradiction to his eager kisses and hardness.

“Would you hold it against me?” he inquired in a hushed voice, stealing yet another kiss from your waiting lips, his nose gently caressing yours before his gaze bore into yours with intensity again, “that I wish to see something so beautiful and so alive after a battle?”

The amusement slipped from your face, features softening as your heart sored at the subtle confession. The knights of Starkerbürg were full of jest and gestures so great they might border on insanity when situation allowed it. Their bravery was a thing of legends, as much of a legend as the thing you knew they had gone to fight days ago and were only now returning, having bested a mythical creature much more vicious and deadly than yourself, crushing life with not more than one bite to a man’s flesh.

Yet, for all their heroism, even knights, even the most precious of them all – even your Steven – felt the disarming fear of death itself, cruel and all too powerful. You would be always be more than willing to remind him of the power of life for a change, until you’d release yours with your last breath.

Ad so the answer was no – no, you would not hold it against him, whatever he would ask. Never him.

Standing on your tiptoes, framing his face with your hands, his whiskers and already messy hair ticking your palms, you told him as much, sealing your deal with a kiss.

Easing his grip, he allowed you to push against chest, easily giving in as you lead him to walk backwards until his calves hit the frame of your bed. He sat down obediently and you leaned into him, stealing another brief peck.

“Please, bosorka moja,” he pleaded once more as your forehead touched his, taking a moment to breathe him in, reminding yourself that both you indeed were still alive; and thus, such victory should be celebrated with joys life itself provided. “Dance for me, my love.”

Smiling, you placed a finger over his lips to shush him at last, gliding several steps back, mischief appearing in your eyes as his own followed your every movement hungrily, more so when you slipped out of your shawl, the shirt far from brushing the waist of the skirt suddenly hanging low on your hips, providing Steve with a silver of skin of your stomach.

There was no music but the howl of the wind carrying the occasional note by chaffinches and dunnocks and rustles of leaves. Yet, an old old melody echoed in your heart, guiding your movements and filling you with power and confidence of all witches that came before you and enchanted men into giving away their kingdom without as much as a fleeting thought, surrendering their strength and their hearts, all that only to be blessed with a single sinful glance, a single touch of magic as old as humanity itself. For a single drop of passion.

You could feel it fill the air, the longing and thirst for life and body, your lover’s eyes turning dark, hypnotized by the simple swirls of your wrists above your head, at your sides, following every slide of the back of your hands over your ribs, over your bare skin, his visceral need to replace your touch with his own. Drinking in but the smallest motions of your hips, breath hitching at the briefest tilt of your head back or to side, his lips tingling to attach themselves to the exposed skin of your throat, to taste, to suck a bruise. The force with which his fists curled into themselves seemed to ignite sparkles in the air, bringing a sensual smile to your lips as you let your eyes slip shut, feeling the energy hum louder when you moved closer; a sweet thunder within you, within Steve, all around you.

The thud of Steve’s knees on the floor came with his hands grasping your hips; needy but not firm, only to feel the slow movements of your hips and allow you to continue swinging freely. You released a breath, head tipping backwards as Steve’s hot lips found the now burning skin of your stomach, nosing his way up an inch at a time, beard tickling, an open-mouthed kiss following and causing you to shudder – with pleasure, with overwhelming power.

“Steven-“

“Keep dancing, bosorka moja,” he hummed into your skin with a pleased smile, teeth grazing over your belly button as if to distract you from his rough but deft fingers slipping under the waist on your skirt, inching it lower and lower until it hit the floor. Cold air brushed over your bare core, Steven’s lips trailing to the junction of your thigh, his smile growing wicked. “I shall help you dance.”

The very first flicker of his tongue over your pearl had you stutter in your movements, a whimper leaving your lips as Steven’s fingers dug deep into your flesh of your sides and thighs, a wordless warning not to cease the dance he had pleaded for. With a shudder of a breath, you willed yourself to continue, naturally rocking onto his hot tongue as it swept over your weeping core with indulgence, stars flashing behind your closed eyelids at the contrast of the slick muscle to the scrapes his beard left behind.

“Steven-“

“Shhh,” your lover whispered, the sound gentle and teasing at once, the pleasant vibration against your sensitive flesh causing your fingers to find way into his hair and grip, only earning another appreciative hum. “Keep dancing, love.”

And so you did. Leaning into the affection so willingly offered, you succumbed to a different kind of dance. Fingers flexing in Steven’s hair upon a particularly smart swirl of his tongue, breathless praise, calls to Gods and desperate pleas for more more more spilling from your lips. Meeting his ministrations without shame; guiding him, opening up for him as the liquid fire of pleasure spread through your veins, turning into an inferno when you found your thigh on his shoulder, completely out of your doing, an instinct to chase relief – but thoroughly appreciated as Steven’s arm circled your bottom, pulling you impossibly close and loving you deep enough to set you on fire entirely.

You let the primal hunger consume you as you climbed to your peak, crying out when you reached it, head spinning from the intensity; waves of bliss washed over you, body pliant and relaxed. You shrieked when you suddenly found yourself losing your footing, for a brief moment frustratingly empty and cold; and then you were spread on the table, your lover’s lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves, burning blue gaze swallowed by lust firmly set on your face as two thick fingers entered you, latching onto the last aftershocks of your peak. You reached a second high with dizzying speed, unable to tear your gaze away from your giving – and so, so wicked – lover. Gods could possess you at that moment and you would have not felt as if you ascended to such heights as you had while indulging on Earthly pleasures with him.

A soft trail of kisses and pets soothed you as you came down, a breathless chuckle bleeding into a sob when you noticed few of your possessions floating in the air, your magic quite literally having exploded outside of you.

Steven’s lips curled into a smile against your jaw and then you were tasting your essence – as well his much-satisfied grin – on your tongue, revelling in the warm weight of his body covering yours. It seemed your Steven had a few magic tricks up his sleeve too, mind-reading being one of them. You smiled into the kiss, using your grip on his hair to pull him even closer. He could never be close enough; and as he stood between your spread legs, his hard bulge brushing against your bare core, his lips and hands eager, you were certain he felt just the same.

“So beautiful for me,” he whispered to your mouth before retreating, darkened eyes sparkling with lust and pride as well as affection.

“And yours,” you hummed, fingers raking through his beard appreciatively, chuckling when fresh hunger flashed in his pupils. Oh how possessive your knight could be… how much joy it brought you to tease him. “Should I show you?”

A breathy yes was your only answer and so you gripped his shirt, using the fabric for leverage to you sit up. You kissed him again, hands sliding under his garments, gliding over his stomach, your magic flowing freely and healing whichever injuries you had missed earlier.

Easily ridding him of his shirt and pants in between sweet encounters of lips and shedding your clothes as well, you wrapped your legs around his waist, a faint whisper of ‘bed’ enough to have him pick you up without protest; on contrary, with quite the enthusiasm since his hardness throbbed when you led him to sit down with you in his lap.

“Missed you… love you… need you,” you confessed, his breathy voice echoing your sentiments as your lips brushed over every patch of his skin in reach, fingers wrapping around him and guiding him inside you, bliss surrounding you both when you finally sank yourself down his length in one fluid movement.

You rested your forehead against his and simply breathed, living in the moment of utter bliss; a different kind, not the almost primitive one, no, not the wild one. This moment belonged to serenity. Sharing air and warmth with your lover, tender hands appreciating the wide planes of his muscles, strength radiating from flesh and soul alike. And love. Always love.

As if he was able to read your mind once more, his lips sought out yours, a declaration of love indeed, simple, honest and unyielding. His thumb gently traced the pattern of your tattoo, its ink reaching from behind your ear over the side on your neck, a swirl over your left collarbone and spreading over your shoulder. I love you as you are, for all you are, his touch whispered even as no sound left his lips. And even if you felt no shame for your nature, your Steven’s acceptance caressed your soul as did his diligence; not once he had forgotten his ritual of reminding you that with him, your existence was not merely tolerated – but adored and celebrated. When you first understood the significance of this habit of his, tears had stung your eyes, kissed away before they could roll down your cheeks.

“Ľúbim ťa,” you had breathed out then, a love confession in the old language, and ever since, you had not failed to say it once in response to his gesture.

Then, rough fingertips carefully followed the line of a fine silver chain carrying a tear-shaped indigo sapphire, a token of affection usually hidden from plain sight, protected; a promise of faithfulness even as you remained unwed. You had no need for gemstones, but you understood its importance, the significance of the gesture; it made for your heart warm and safe upon its possession and for Steven’s heart lighter a pound of the burden of your circumstance.

Your circumstance was not one of the simple ones, a forbidden love one might say; in which you were the only forbidden thing. Forbidden to even live, let alone love or be loved; an abomination to some. A magic wielder, no doubt seducing the most honourable with her dark powers, for what other reason could be there for him to take liking in you? It mattered not that there was less than a little true to it, that your bond was of much purer nature, as common and as human as the blood you drew from your own veins to cast protection spells over your beloved. True did not matter. Should you reveal your relationship now, Steven would have been painted a victim; and you would have lived no more.

An easy circumstance yours was not at all; but your dedication to each other was to conquer all troubles. And in the meantime, you shall have moments of serenity and of passion, of you and him.

The smallest shift of Steven’s hand pulled from your thoughts, breath hitching when his fingers slid an inch lower, brushing over your nipple. Your hips buckled on instinct, drawing a groan from your lover’s lips, a grip on your bottom encouraging you to move.

Who were you to deny pleasure to you both?

Smiling, you withdrew, index finger covering Steve’s lips as he tried to follow, a discontent furrow to his brow. You tilted your head, thumb brushing over his swollen lips.

“Would you like me to dance still, lover mine?” you inquired teasingly, his disapproval at your actions wiped away in an instant, replaced by fire in his eyes.

Gentle flames of affection battled those of desire, his warm palm caressing over your lower cheeks, before he snapped you impossibly close, causing you to gasp – and to question who it was who had the upper hand here. Your hand fell to his chest, his heart beating wildly under your palm, an answer of its own.

Both then. It seemed you were both on top and simultaneously under the other’s thumb. Such a beautiful thing.  

“Would you, bosorka moja?”

Your smile grew, lips attaching to his once more and planning to remain for as long as possible, first careful rock of your hips the first step to reach for the stars – together this time.

“Oh Steven… for my honourable knight? For you, my love? With pleasure…”

An absent smile played on Steve’s lips, his fingers running up and down your arm, appreciating the softness and warmth of your skin. An air of comfort and contentedness hovered around you as he held you close, fast asleep in his arms, cheek pressed to his chest as if the very sound of his heart against your ear lulled you to peaceful slumber.

Despite the sweetness of the idea, Steve felt his brows furrow in concern. While as he was perfectly happy to serve as a pillow for his beautiful lover, aware there was barely any greater expression of trust than a shared sleep, worry seized him for this occurrence was beyond rare. He once asked whether your incredible magic was an effortless as you made it seem, met with a weary chuckle and a kind, if a little condescending smile and a confession that if seen weak, your kind would have been an easy prey. Having understood he had taken your answer as a testimony to the lack of trust you had laid in him, you had also admitted that while the teachings of your ancestors had been deeply ingrained in your instincts, part of your reluctance to show your weakness to him was precisely what weighted his conscience just now. You simply could not be bothered to make him fret too much.

The fact you had let sleep take you alone was truly worrisome and Steve pondered just how exhausted you must have been. Even as the fresh memory of your breathless pleas for more and the cries of pleasure as you rode him till you both tasted heaven were nothing short of precious to him, he could not but wonder whether he was taking too much; your magic healing his wounds, your body a sanctuary to his love and fears.

Perhaps he had. But who could ever blame him?

Steven had never known a woman like this – unafraid to give, just as unshy to take; one or the other, but never like this. He had fallen for you and had fallen hard, body and soul. Yes, should anyone call him selfish, they would not be wrong, because Gods, did he take what he craved and lusted – and yet. Yet, every moment with you felt ethereally right as your still unconscious form drifted closer, almost as if you sensed his thoughts and wished for them to evaporate. And so far, they always had, dissolved in your easy smile when you refused his offer and plea to come with him; to bring you to the castle with him so he could give as well, give more, provide and protect and worship you in his home, your new home, true home where you would not have to hide in the middle of the woods like some sort of an abomination.

It is not the time yet, my love. It will come, you would always say, washing away his guilt with a sweet kiss and a promise. One day. One day I shall come with you and we should be unabashedly happy with no fear, free to be you and me.

He had let your words and touch sooth him, always; but not today. Your body having melted into his had his protective instinct flare up, determination set in his very heart. He should convince you today, to make you his and him yours as two people in love deserved. He shall make an honest woman of you in the eyes of the whole kingdom at last. It was what you were worthy of, for you were worthy of anything and everything. And with you… he believed he deserved the same. He could not stand it anymore. Parting ways with you, only to hope for your next stolen moment to come the very minute after he had left. He could no longer bear you existing so close and yet so far out of his reach.

No, he shall convince you today, insist more than ever. He wanted this, he wished for nothing more than to lay to sleep like this every night, with you. You deserved it. You deserved the world and he shall lay it to your feet, for his honour and his benefit at once.

Any other day, you would have berated yourself for having fallen asleep; but knowing the changes your body was going through, weariness settling in sooner than it used to, it only brought a smile to your face when you found yourself waking to Steven’s tender fingers carding through your hair.

The night was slowly falling. Wandering the woods in darkness would have been an unnecessary risk for anyone, even for a skilled knight with your protective spell over him;  your lover was more than aware of it and still, you could tell it pained him to bring you out of your slumber nevertheless. It was no feat to kiss his guilt away, smiles adorning your faces, noses caressing, hands wandering, nearly leading you back into the clutches of lust.

He sat patiently on your bed now, half dressed as you took your blade, his eyes following your every move with more attention than ever as he absently sipped chamomile tea; he found himself deep in thought, such was obvious. It was not difficult to guess where his mind had trailed off to, for it had always been the same.

His voice was soft when he spoke the words, a soft wrinkle on his forehead as your cut your finger and stood between his spread legs.

“Come with me.”

A sad smile played in the corner of your lips as your heart fluttered at his plea, one he never failed to deliver, even as your sigh must have sounded weary every time.

“I cannot. Not yet.”

Steven was no half-wit, which was more than could said about many of the people of Starkerbürg. He knew precisely why you could not come; why you never could, at least not yet. Magic was still forbidden – as if it was a choice, as if one could choose to stop breathing and still live – hated for the pain and destruction the dark twisted witches and sorcerers had once left in their wake, misusing magic to spread fear and suffering. It was not just that all magic wielders were still paying the price for what their ancestors had done. It was even less just that you, not having done any harm unless you needed to escape imminent danger to your life, should live a hermit life, too far from your love and lover. Yet it was how times were, still.

But you were no fool either. You could feel Steven’s uneasiness growing heavier every time he left without you, for it went against his very nature, against the need to keep you close, to hold you, to love – to protect you from harm. You had no doubt he would lay his life for you. You could not allow him to do that, not when the time was finally growing near for your love to be cherished as any other, time for your kind to be free. You must not lose him to rushed foolishness. He was no longer only yours to lose.

“I would protect you,” he promised, steely conviction in his husky voice.

As sweet as the sentiment was, you could not but smirk, a knowing gaze reminding him that should the situation require it, you could very well protect yourself, even as your true gift – the one special talent every magic wielder had, naturally developed with barely any practice – was of the healing kind. Should you truly wished, you could burn villages with terrifying ease; gods knew sorcerers and sorceresses had done this and more with a single snap of their fingers.

Steve took no offence in your teasing gaze; but the determination in his own remained unshaken as you begun to draw the protective symbol over his sternum.

“The time is yet come for people to understand the blessings of magic again, for its light to outshine the darkness it had sowed,” you reasoned, as much as it pained you. “The time shall come soon, I promise. It is simply not today, my love.”

Long fingers circled your wrist, gentle but firm, having you cease your movement, your gaze meeting the brilliant blue roaming over your face.

“I miss you. All days, all nights. I-“ he paused, licking his lips, a shadow of hurt passing over his face. “Don’t you?”

Your heart soared, a sigh leaving your lips. Steven was not easy on you today; but your conviction and determination was just as strong as his. You had to be brave and so did he. A few days longer, that would be all you needed. The right time would come. You were certain of it, even as it was nothing but a whisper of intuition in the back of your mind. Wait, the voice said, the time grows near, but you must wait.

“Do not do this, rytier moj,” you scolded Steven, letting gentleness seep into your voice. “It does not suit you. You must know I love you. I miss you too. And I worry. All days. All nights. Therefore…”

You wiggled your fingers, Steven’s shoulders sagging as he released you, an exasperated pout to his lips – unjustly adorable – as you resumed your work. You smiled widely despite your unnerving circumstance; he would give you anything and everything. The knowledge of this, having been reminded by every little gesture, every word he spoke, made for the warmest feeling in your soul.

Content with your handiwork as you drew the last spiral, you had to swallow a chuckle when Steven’s brows furrowed in confusion, head bowing, eyes flickering over the unfamiliar pattern. A triskele instead of a simple two-headed spiral. A symbol speaking more words than your knight could ever imagine in his wildest dreams, you supposed.  

“It’s different.”

Shrugging, you withdrew your hand, calling to your magic to finish the ritual.

“You always draw two spirals connected…” Steve continued, eyes growing large and curious.

“I do”, you agreed softly.

He observed you, intrigued. He had once said he might not understand your power, but he swore he would always try. He would not dare to question your rituals, but you could almost feel how fast his thoughts whirled in a frantic search for an answer. The ritual had remained the same, always, countless times, over and over… why would you steer from it today of all days? What was its significance? What had changed?

Oh Steven. Your sweet, sweet Steven… if he only knew.

“You always say it is about love. The unity of us. You and me,” he said slowly and you nodded, unable to contain your joy any longer, eyes surely glimmering.

“Yes. Our love, you and me. Unity of two.”

His eyes, roaming your face in silent question still, suddenly widened, flickering down and snapping back up as the realization dawned on him, leaving his lips slightly parted.

You simply shrugged, a chuckle shaking your chest, while guilt already began to gnaw at your conscience. You should have not told him, not yet. But how could you have kept it for yourself? How could you have denied yourself a little indulgence, even when knowing nothing could change just yet? You simply wished to see him learn your sweet secret, yours and his, even if for a moment, see he was equally elated.

Your knight did not disappoint you, not that you believed he ever could. His face was a perfect blend of shock and delight, radiating joy and hope and shame and sadness in equal amount as he stammered, shaky hand reaching out to carefully brush his fingers over your belly showing no signs of the treasure growing inside yet.

“You- are you—are we? Oh gods-“ And then, as you predicted, his expression shifted in an instant, determination taking deep root. “Then you must come with me. Allow me to take care of you, to-“

Satisfied and aching at once, you promptly shushed him with your still bloody finger to his lips. A single tear rolled down your cheek; a testimony to happiness, reassured anew of your lover’s goodness and dedication to you. To your family. The wonder, the glimmer of hope and the conviction in Steven’s expression would stay with you till you could grant him his wish.

“The time has not yet come, my love. I share your joy. And your worry,” you whispered through the tightness of your throat, even as a smile adorned your lips. Your finger drew a small cross over his mouth despite the pain it caused you. You had had your moment – and that had to be enough for now. “I am sorry, rytier moj. But you shall not remember this, not yet.”  

Before he could as much as take a breath, you withdrew your hand, the symbols on his chest and lips disappearing with a soft glow. Disoriented, your knight blinked, steadying himself by the hand on your hip even as he remained seated.

With a shaky inhale you composed yourself before he could, leaning forward and planting a tender kiss on his lips, fingers raking through his hair. His hand cradled your jaw, adoring.

“Be careful,” you spoke against his lips, earning another small peck.

“Always.”

You retreated with a huff, shaking your head as you went to find an ointment you knew his friend would soon need.

“You speak as if I did not know you, Steven. A basilisk chimera’s teeth three inches from your throat, I heard? Careful indeed.”

His smile was sheepish as he rose to his full height, tying the top of his shirt before reaching for the garments you had so hastily rid him of earlier.

“I always try. The idea that should I fail, I shall never see you again… it can be quite a motivation,” he sweet-talked, succeeding just a bit in softening your exasperation.

Perhaps the vision of him dutifully putting on his armour, making his frame appear even larger – and protected – calmed you further.

“Well, Steven, try harder,” you snipped, pressing a tiny pot into his hand, earning a raised brow. “And take this to Peter, the wound on his leg was already turning foul. And this…”

You reached for a salve you had prepared for when a wave of nausea had taken you by surprise, dipped your finger in the dark substance and carefully patted it over Steven’s brow where his cut had been. You did not expect Steven to feel nauseous – after all he was not the one carrying a new life under his heart – but the colour was convenient. A cut healing so rapidly would have casted a dangerous suspicion on whoever he had interacted with – or worse, on Steven himself. You could not have that.

He observed you softly as you tended to him, adding a small tap where a bruise had begun to form earlier on his cheekbone. He did not utter a word until you were satisfied with your work. Once your hands fell to your sides, his own framed your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your nose and finally your mouth again, a bittersweet goodbye.

“Always so meticulous and careful… always so good. Taking care of me, of my friends…” he mused, breathing you in one last time, hovering, hesitating more than usual. Almost, almost as if your spell had not worked and he still knew. As if he still knew precisely what he was leaving behind this time. “Take care of the person most precious to me too? Until I come back again?”

There might be two of those for you now, you thought, the memory of his delight flashing in your mind, bringing a smile to your lips as you nuzzled into his touch and kissed his palm.

Looking up at his face, you echoed his own reassurance. “Always.”

With one last kiss and hearts as heavy as light, you declared your love to each other. You walked him out quietly, watching him disappear between the trees, his gaze turning to you several times, always finding you standing at the doorstep of his true home, a tender smile on your lips.

Once he was out of sight, you released a sigh, hand settling over your belly, a tear stinging in your eye despite the corners of your lips having been turn upwards.

Yes. The time was yet to come for the people to see again the blessings of magic. For now… the blessing of love already bloomed and it was enough.

Očaruj mě - Bewitch Me (a fic with the same pairing in the same universe)

Ochraňuj mě - Protect Me (a fic with the same pairing in the same universe)

S.R. masterlist - contains other knight!Steve fics, independent of this one

Complete masterlist

Yes, I’m mixing symbols, I know… do I care? Nope.

Terms of endearment/addressing used from Slovak language: bosorka moja = witch mine rytier môj = knight mine ľubim ťa = I love you

Thank you for reading!��� I wrote it in between really difficult exams in the ocourse of two months and it needed a LOT of editing afterwards too, so... feedback is, as always, appreciated 🥰

[hetalia-club]

Alright I'm ready to start showing off my Hetalia GOT CK3 mod set up.

Going to start off with: The Tyrell Family

Their goal: Take the seven Kingdoms with fire and blood, but with style. The Tyrell family have the best dragons in the game, they jut got really lucky. and as to not cheat I didn't nuke their stats any I felt it wasn't fair to nerf them, they just got the luck of the roll. Like if they die no one is re-taming these dragons they will just have to go wild no way they will be caught again. All Dragons were given garden inspired names.

First off for our dynasty head/ playing character we have France, AKA King Francis Tyrell, first of his name, King of the Mander & High Lord of High Garden.

King Francis is a: Diligent, Trusting, Lustful, Diplomat. Who is Chivalrous, fashionable, Loyal, Beautiful and of course a dragon rider. He is married to Queen Lady Teora Hightower. He is a Reachman and follows teh Faith of teh Seven, has with the father as his Patron cosuing on Law and Order.

His Dragon is a red and black dragon named Roseheart. Roseheart is an Imperious, voracious, calculating and feral dragon. It does not like taking commands and is very mean. Will kill people who wander too close to it and is happy to go into war. But he/she get along very well with Francis.

Next up: Ser Prince Lovino II Tyrell (Romano) Ser Lovino is: Stubborn and Gregarious. He is gallant, a rough terrain expert, a Knight, a twin (with Itay), Handsome, a trained fighter, a tourney knight and of course a Dragon rider. He is a Reachman and follows the Faith of the Seven and is heir to High Garden and the Kingdom. He is best friends with Alfred Lannister and is currently living at Casterly Rock as the ward to Ludwig Lannister.

His Dragon is name Orchidshadow and is a pitch black dragon with bright purple wings and blue eyes. Orchidshadow is a magnificent dragon known for its beauty, aggressive, defiant, Imperious. Orchidshadow is bad tempered but a trained dragon none the less it will take a command but not without some push back. Because his dragon is so beautiful and feared Lovino receives a monthly bonus to his renown. (This is a male dragon)

Next up: Prince Feliciano Tyrell (Italy) Prince Feliciano is a : Gregarious, Cowardly, Trusting and Forgiving. He is a Scholar, an Open Terrain expert, fashioned, a twin, handsome, a fighter, a squire, a tourney knight and a Dragon rider. Feliciano is a Reachman and follows teh Faith of the Seven.

The largest and most vicious dragon house Tyrell is a light pink dragonwith white wings and pale blue eyes ridden by Feliciano named Thornbloom. Thronbloom is a Titanic Lavithian, Impulsive, Accepting, Aggressive and is a Wild Dragon. This Dragon does not like anyone but Feliciano, if it goes wild it WILL stay that way. He will not go in the dragon pits but spends a lot of time with Feliciano who he is very protective over. He will eat you if you upset Feliciano. He goes into battle with Feliciano happily keeping him safe in the air while he burns everyone on the ground. On my three start ups I've done I was killed by this dragon twice once on the ground and the second time it bit my dragon in half in a sky battel. A great secret weapon for house Tyrell. (This is a male dragon) on my third go I have decided to just not fuck with house Tyrell yet… idk what I’ll do about them but they are the biggest challenge and it’s these two right here. The reason I say it can’t go in the pit is because in the first play thought it killed France when he went in there and the second it killed all of Romanos kids who were in there for other reasons.

Next up: Prince Romeo Tyrell (Seborga) Prince Romeo is Trusting and Forgiving. He is a Fashionable, Handsome, a trained fighter and a dragon rider. Romeno is a Reachman and follows The Faith of the Seven.

Ashbloom; a Dusky Purple and pale green dragon is the dragon ridden by Romeno Tyrell. Ashbloom is a younger dragon but is an asset in battle. Cooperative, Supporting, Friendly and Voracious yet is feral. Though only ten Romeo is not afraid to fly along side his brothers into war on teh back of his small yet fearsome dragon. (This is a male dragon)

Next: Prince Ser Roderich Tyrell (Austria) Prince Roderich: An Arrogant and Temperate Diplomat. He is Chivalrous, Fashionable, beautiful, a Trained fighter, a Knight, A war Logician and a Dragon Rider. He is married to Lady Tesha Tarly, is a Reachman and follows the Faith of the Seven.

Breaking the tradition of naming Dragons after Garden themes Prince Roderich rides Requiem: A Pale purple and white dragon. Requiem is Accepting, Voracious and socialized. He likes being ridden and he likes being around other people and Dragons. (I don't know the gender of this dragon)

Lastly: Lady Laura Tyrell (Belgium) Lady Laura is: Charming, Honest, Gregarious and a Dragon Rider. She's a Reachman and follows the Faith of the Seven.

Laura is too young to have a dragon but is set to train Ivy dancer: a Green and lime dragon located in the pits of High Garden. Being Born in the pits Ivydancer is the most well behaved and socialized dragon owned by the Tyrells. She is young yet she is Friendly, Accepting and is a Nobel dragon meaning She will take any command even fly straight into certain death if her rider commands it. (This is a female dragon and laid eggs in one of my play throughs)

The three claimable dragons placed into the pits: Petalwing (Dusty Pink and Black): Blood Thirsty, Cooperative, Supporting and Trained. Lilacfyre (Lilac and Gold): Reserved, Aggressive, Imperious, Trained and Spindly Vineclaw (Olive Green and Orange): Friendly, Supporting, Defiant and Fearl

[mzannthropy]

Rewatched Cinderella 1950,and now I'm imagining a Camibilly Cinderella au. Instead of two evil stepsisters, Nicky's an evil stepbrother.

That's the Disney old animated one, right? @jesstasticvoyage omg this reminds of that article last year that suggested Sam for a prince in a potential live action Disney (sometimes you find some good articles on Sam, even when they're not written by me). He did play a prince charming character, William in Snow White and the Huntsman (my beloved. If William has one fan it's me, if he has zero fans, I'm dead), which is a darker take on the fairytale and he's not there as much as he should be, imo, bc, I suspect, they had Chris Hemsworth in his early Thor days so ofc they focused on him (tbf, he is the titular huntsman). Then, and I'm the only person who will tell you this: if you close one eye and squint with the other, Philip in Pirates of the Caribbean On Stranger Tides is a near thing to a prince, though he's a priest/missionary. If you just take out his story with the mermaid, it has something in common with the little mermaid tale. (This long introduction serves no purpose other than satisfying my urge to ramble about Sam Claflin, but you enter the blog of a Sam Claflin fan at your own risk). Okay, grab a snack bc I'm really into this idea!

I’ve always liked Cinderella, my mum used to read me a lot of fairytales when I was a child. I��ve not seen the Disney version until I was about 9 (I grew up in communism so we didn’t have Disney, it all arrived after the revolution.) Personally I prefer the 2015 live action one. But the Cinderella film that is really my Cinderella is Three Wishes for Cinderella (1973), a Czech/East German production. It’s considered a Christmas film bc it features a lot of snow and it’s always shown on TV during Christmas time. Norwegians did a remake in 2021 but it didn’t seem to meet with much love. (And rightly so, it’s like remaking Princess Bride. It just should not be done.) A actress named Camila has played a Cinderella—Camila Cabello. There was a lot to like about her version, but I felt it was kinda too self aware and besides, they should have just made it gay. Ever After, otoh, is outstandingly good. (This paragraph serves no purpose other than letting me go on about Cinderella, but you enter a blog of a person who rambles a lot on your own risk.)

I think Cinderella having an evil stepbrother instead of evil stepmother and stepsisters is a good choice, it’s something new. So we imagine Camila in the Cinderella role, all the parents/step-parents dead and Nicky as the stepbrother who lords over the manor and mistreats everyone. Camila can hold her own against Nicky, but she is cautious about setting him off too much bc she is worried he will hurt people she cares about, like all the tenants that live on their grounds. Camila has always been caring towards all of them, when their children got ill, for example, she would go to this herbalist and buy herbs and made them tea, etc. Karen is the steward’s daughter and Camila’s bestie.

Daisy is a young bard who wanders the kingdoms with her lute and sings songs of princesses and knights and dragons and all that kinda stuff. She is very popular wherever she turns up.

Billy is the king, who has just ascended to the throne after the death of his father. He had a strained relationship with his father, bc he used to cheat on his mum, whom Billy was very close to. She has died too and Billy has been a somewhat bitter young man. Teddy Price is the loyal king’s advisor and a better father figure to Billy than his own dad ever was. Rod Reyes is the captain of the guards. Graham is a young knight who lives at the court and is Billy’s bestie. They go riding and hunting together. One day in the woods they meet a young lady rider, who is totally not impressed by Billy, king or no king, she is like, I should think someone in your position should have better manners, YOUR MAJESTY. Billy can’t believe the impertinence but Graham is ROFL-ing at it. The young lady rider is ofc our Camila, but Billy doesn’t know who she is. (Going with the Three Wishes and 2015 versions of Cinderella, also Kate and Anthony of Bridgerton meet cute.)

As with any Cinderella adaptation, a ball is organised where the prince king is to meet his future wife. Billy wants it done and over with, bc he supposes he needs a queen and heirs, but Teddy has a talk with him about how marriage needs to be a mutual respect and understanding, even when it comes to kings, but Billy retorts that it wasn’t like that with his parents. Teddy tells him it doesn’t have to be like that with him.

The young king’s mood is not improved by a conflict with a neighbouring kingdom. Their princess has gone missing, right under the nose of the regent, Eddie. The two kingdoms were always at loggerheads (over a piece of land or resources, pick whatever you like) and it’s only gone worse. There’s even a threat of war, but luckily their foreign affairs minister, Warren, manages to calm the matters down with his amazing diplomacy skills. He and Billy’s kingdom foreign affairs minister, Lisa, find an understanding—in more ways than one, lololol.

Billy meets Camila again in the woods, this time they’re friendlier to each other. She apologises to him for her previous behaviour, bc she really shouldn’t be like that with her king, but he says he deserved it. He asks her who she is but she rides away without telling him. Billy can’t stop thinking about her.

The day of the ball approaches. Nicky won’t hear of Camila going to the ball and locks her in her quarters. This is when the Fairy Godmother Simone enters the scene. You know the drill. Karen is coming to the ball too, bc the palace also has another ballroom for the middle classes, and that’s where Karen goes. Karen’s dad, the steward, is driving them to the palace in a carriage (not pumpkin-shaped, that’s a Disney invention. It’s normal carriage.)

The ball takes place, Camila and Billy meet there so he finally knows who she is and they dance together, yadda yadda. Midnight strikes, but they keep dancing, bc we’re adults here. Also, it turns out Simone is actually the lady who organised the ball, she was friends with the late queen, she just side hustles as a Fairy Godmother. Also that herbalist that Camila has been buying from is her gf Bernie. That’s how Simone knew Camila was good and deserved her help.

Graham takes a peak into the other ballroom, likes it better, dances with Karen and falls for her. Now, you know how much it matters to me that Karen ended up single on DJATS, but I don’t object to her and Graham together in an AU, so here you have it.

Camila explains the situation with Nicky and tells Billy she doesn’t want to abandon her people bc they need her, so she can’t marry him. Billy is determined to sort the situation out. He comes to their manor the next day and has it out with Nicky, who ends up falling head first into a horse manure and everyone sees it and laughs at him. Nicky has no choice but to leave the kingdom in disgrace. The manor then can be managed by the steward and Camila and Billy can get married.

The problems with the neighbouring kingdom don’t just go away, Lisa and Warren only managed a temporary peace. But this, too, gets solved one day when their princess returns. Sure enough, this is Daisy, who has been LARPing as a bard by way of running away from her responsibilities. But seeing king Billy mature in such a way (bc she was in his kingdom just when all of the above was happening) inspired her to get her own shit together. She says sorry to Eddie for tricking him like that, but he is just relieved that she’s home and safe. The two kingdoms sign a treaty and all is well.

Oh and also Rod came with Billy that day Billy went to Camila’s place to confront Nicky and he met Karen’s dad the steward, who is a widower, and they fell in love. Everybody’s coupled up and happy, and isn’t that what fairytales are all about?

Bonus: Actually. Not that anyone asked but. I do have an OC whose faceclaim is Sam and who is a prince. I never found a faceclaim for his love interest, but she is someone who is the type like Camila Morrone. So I just decided it's her. These character have lived in my head for a long time, though I've so far written only one short piece with them which is posted on my writing blog. Link. Maybe this ask is not the place to talk about my OC, but you enter the blog of a writer on your own risk. (Feel free to ignore!)

[cbsxreader]

Fantasy au? BUT cbs as the king with a renowned knight s/o: who was a guard of an enemy king that fired her, so she became cbs' knight and murderous wife with promise of the king's head before the wedding

Do whatever you want with this!

King!CBS x Fem!Knight!S/o (Fantasy AU)

Notes: Forbidden love (kinda), I replaced "S/o" with ''knight'', S/o is Fem!, CBS is sometimes referred to as "King Christian"

Cw: Mention of cannibalism, Gore (handling of a decapitated head), mention of murder, mention of assassination

The rejected and confused knight wandered the lands endlessly, hoping to get someone to guard with her life. Through sun and rain, through cottages and taverns, she eventually found the dark king's castle.

Tales of his dungeons being the darkest and most merciless in all the lands made her stomach swirl. Threats from his guards about him eating unwanted visitors' livers for dinner as she was escorted to meet the king himself. She kneeled before King Christian with her heart almost jumping out of her throat.

"You're one of King Charles' knights..." He slightly snarled at seeing one of his enemy's knights in his castle.

"Not anymore. Apparently, I wasn't loyal enough." The knight replied, trying to sound collected.

It was subtle, but King Christian noticed how the stray knight slightly clenched her fist in frustration. It made him curious of what she could do when she's fueled by wanting to take revenge on King Charles, who just so happened to be an enemy of Christian's. But he wasn't yet convinced of letting her in his army.

Convinced that she wouldn't last, King Christian sent the knight for dangerous tasks, such as slaying a bear for a rug, fetching a bag of goblin teeth for a mantle and a sacred flower protected by the fiercest elves. Though, he was surprised when the knight returned with everything he asked for.

Impressed, Christian let her join his group of personal guards, but that didn't stop her from exceeding more than the other knights. This went on for a while, she kept up a good performance and eventually she became a sort of right-hand to him.

Not only did he want to have a brave knight by his side to seem like he was important or just for show, it came in handy quite a few times too. Like stopping assassination attempts, or murder plots, or attempts to poison him.

Though, having his knight by his side so often, made King Christian realize he didn't have a queen. Well, alright, he knew that, but he realized that he wanted someone to rule his kingdom together with. He felt insuperior to other kings, for once. Other kings had queens, while he just had a loyal knight.

Christian may have considered a few ladies from neighboring kingdoms but his eyes soon drifted over to his knight. What would she think of ruling a kingdom with him? He doesn't know, but might as well find out. What would the kingdom think? Wait- who cares? He's the king and he can do whatever he pleases!

He hadn't noticed it, but the knight already had a soft spot for the king. It seemed silly, she was just a knight yet she was in love with royalty, with her own king. It seemed like they could never be.

That was, until King Christian admitted his feelings towards his knight and started to give her luxurious gifts to show her that she's really special. Though this all needed to be kept a secret to not let any rumors spread to other kingdoms.

It may have been suspicious to other castle staff on why the king and his closest knight spend so much time in private, but he just threatened them to not ask questions. It was forbidden love, yes, but the two really felt passion for one another.

After some going back and fourth, Christian finally asked his kingdom's finest jeweler to make him and his love rings with only the best stones, he felt ready to make a knight into a queen. His queen. Though, when he proposed, he noticed something weird in her eyes.

"I'm just a simple knight, I don't deserve to be your queen." She looked at the ground, wanting to accept the proposal but something stopped her.

"Love, don't say that. I'd move mountains for you." The king, once again, showed his secret. more sympathetic side and placed a peck on his lover's forehead before looking at her again "Are you alright?"

"If I'm going to be your queen, I don't want King Charles getting in the midst of it all. What if he finds out I'm marrying you?" She looked at him again, though her eyes were unreadable.

"Are you saying-''

"I want to kill him, he wronged me. And I want to show how grateful I am that you gave me a chance." The knight now had a determined look in her eyes, giving meaning to her words.

"Go on then. Get back at him. For us." With a smile, King Christian put his hands on her shoulders and sent her off.

It takes a lot of scheming and plotting to execute King Charles' downfall but when she's ready, she leaves with a promise to come back in time for their wedding. The king is left with all the preparations, though the franticness of it all and his love being who knows where gets to him at times.

It's a few days before the wedding when the king stands alone looking through his window, anxious about his love's return. Just about when he thinks about trying to look for her, she comes through the door, slightly panting, covered in some bruises and blood, dragging her sword behind her and gripping King Charles' head by it's hair.

King Christian rushes over to his beloved knight, cupping her face softly. He makes sure she's alright before taking the head from her, looking at it from all sides, and praising her. "Look at that, he's still got rosy cheeks."

He takes one last look at the head in his hands and uses his thumbs to push up it's lips, trying to make it smile. "Cheer up, mate! You're going to a wedding!" The slight messed up line makes the knight chuckle.

He then hands the head back to his knight with a rather soft look "As my last order to you while you're ''just a knight'', get this to the doctor, he'll get his skull for us."

The wedding is huge, a lot of flowers, furs, decorations, music, drinks, traveling the kingdom, and everyone knows about it from how grand it is.

If his wife wants to, she can still be murderous and fight. Christian doesn't complain though, he loves to see her by his side and covered in blood, guts and anything else that comes from slaying.

Ok I think I might get out of writer's block with this one (forgot to post anything original for like, a week)

[ushiwakatrash]

On your knees, King!

Bakugou x reader, Todoroki x reader

Fantasy AU

!Warnings!: Swearing, betrayal, lil dash of angst, shitty writing

Synopsis:

Bakugou is the esteemed King of the Kingdom of Barbarians and because he succeeded in ruling the lands that were once governed by the Yuuei Kingdom, an offering must be made for the peace of the people. As the so-called ‘black sheep’ of the royal family, the King of Yuuei a.k.a. your father, offered you--naming you the most precious thing he could give; but you know the truth behind his words.

PART I

Part 2 →

“All hail the Barbarian king!”

Chants roared throughout the fallen kingdom as the last palace on the hunt list fell to the hands of the barbarians. The leader of their army, along with his trusted dragon, stood tall as they basked in their hard-earned victory. 

The dragon who could shapeshift into human form kneeled at the foot of his master. “At long last my king, Yuuei is ours. This glory is because of you.” 

“There, you are wrong, Kirishima. This victory is ours. TO THE BARBARIANS!” the king cheered. His soldiers followed suit with their own cheers of victory but in the castle of Yuuei, a family shuddered in fear.

Since the king couldn’t govern all of the kingdoms he had conquered all at once, he usually appointed the royal family to do it for him but one wrong move may cost their heads.

That fear was enough for the other kingdoms to pledge loyalty, knowing how the Barbarian king would definitely hang their heads on the palace gates if they ever displeased him.

The same feeling emanated in the walls of Yuuei. They knew of the new King’s ways and now they were the newest set of prisoners of the Barbarians. The king however needs a token, one of the most worth in the former king’s possession.

Other nations brought forth their best quality gold, finest jewels, the smoothest cloths of silk, but only this kingdom had a princess--and that was worth more than any of those other gifts combined.  

(Y/n) was called a weight on the family name by her own kin. She was far from what you would call an elegant lady. During the daytime you would see her sparring with the knights. Other times she would go hunting with her commoner friends.

She knew her way with swords and weapons. She is also very skilled with the bow. One of their best knights, Iida Tenya, taught her to wield these things even if it was against his will at first.

She was the princess of the people and all the commoners adored her. Her family on the other hand frowned upon her actions calling it ‘unfit for a lady and a princess’ but she could care less. 

Raw strength was not a problem for this princess and accompanied by her smarts, everyone looked up to her. The royal family could careless for their people but the heart of (Y/n) was just like that of a commoner.

She knew of their struggles and accepted criticism they had which earned her the respect of almost all of the people. She sometimes would sneak out of the castle to give food to those who have nothing on their plates or give medicine to the sick.

The only person who knew this was her childhood friend, Prince Shouto. They were introduced to each other when they were young as political marriages often happened between royal families; they were engaged.

And because their kingdom had also fallen in the hands of the great King Bakugou, their engagement had been called of because even if they remained in their respective palaces and continued to govern their own land, they were royals no more.

She lacked finesse and grace but she never lacked in heart and compassion. She was the only princess born in a royal family and because of her attitude and crass behavior, the King found her useless and an embarrassment.

 What other way to get rid of her than to give her as an offering? Surely she would refuse the offer so the king had to plan on how to break the news on his only daughter.

The queen refused to give her daughter away but if they did not comply, all three of their heads will be chopped off from their body. It was the only way to survive in their lost kingdom.

The only lucky thing that they could happen to have right now is that their daughter would be at the age to marry. She was.

-- 

The sun was out and the weather was nice--the perfect time to catch a wild boar. The town folks will surely enjoy the meals that could be made with it. She reached for the red tooth that was attached to a slim piece of rope wrapped around her neck and touched it for good luck before hunting.

When she was only starting to get into hunting as a young girl, she wandered off to the woods by herself. That’s when she met a blonde with piercing red eyes. At fist he was hostile towards her but after a few more visits, they became friends.

He taught her how to skillfully shoot a pigeon with a bow, and they would have that bird for lunch. He taught her how to climb trees and distinguish poisonous berries from edible ones. 

One time, after they had finish catching fishes in the river to roast, he shyly handed her the necklace, telling the princess that it was a price from defeating a beast of the forest. In her state of happiness, she tackled the young boy into the hug and unknown to her, it was the first time he had felt affection.

She had no idea what was going on in the palace. She was busy finding food for the poor families she had recently talked to. A knight from the castle rushed to her, scaring the animals away.

“Why would you make so much racket in the middle of our hunt?! This better new you have better be worthwhile or I’ll have you running laps around the town!” the princess complained. 

“I am truly sorry, your highness but his majesty has summoned you in the throne room right this instant so we better get a move on and not let the king wait.” the knight swiftly said.

-- 

“My daughter, I have some important news for you. For all of our sakes and for our people’s sake, you are to be given as the token of our loyalty to the Barbarians.” the king stated with no emotions.

You scoffed at this. “Why me? You have tons of gold and brilliant stones! I do not get why it must be me that is given. How about what I want?! How about my say in all of this?!” 

“You will obey your father whether you like it or not! For once be useful to this family you ungrateful child! You will be given to King Bakugou and you will be taken as his wife. Resistance is futile because I have already sent the signed papers” the king stated, more aggressively this time.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Is my freedom and happiness too much to ask from you? A loveless marriage for the sake of who, yourselves?! I doubt this is for the sake of the people. I’d rather die!” her voice started to shake.

“You will do no such thing as to kill yourself. Your wedding to King Bakugou is absolute and I will hear no further complains. Please my loyal men, escort the princess out of here.” 

“You fucking old man! Mark my words I will come back for you, not in joy, but to have you punished!” She screeched. 

--

The night was quiet for the sulking princess and no other thing could lift her spirits up other than to visit Prince Shouto. She snuk out of the castle once more and was warmly greeted by the guards in the Endeavor Palace. 

The ruler there, Enji, took care of business outside the town so only the princes and princess Fuyumi were in the castle. 

She was quickly escorted to Prince Shouto’s headquarters and she flung the door open and hugged the prince, finally letting the tears fall. “Shouto I am getting married to a man I don’t love! My father is the worst I fucking hate him. He is always against me!” 

Shouto understood the feeling of resent towards their father. That was the thing they both strongly had in common, dealing with the fathers they wish weren’t theirs. 

“It cant be that bad (Y/n)” Shouto said while trying to wipe her tears away. He cupped her face and asked “To whom are you to be wed anyway?”

The prince’s world stopped when he heard her answer. 

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Blood in the Rivers: IX

A/N: Apparently I cannot write short chapters. Thank you for your patience and for all the likes and reblogs and kind comments on the last chapter. I love you all so much. Special shout-out to @starlight-starwrites​ for listening to me whine about this chapter.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: NC-17, for acts of warfare (blood, guts, and gore--our Tully is a little mean), Face-sitting, fingering, using sex to go to sleep, a few kisses

Word Count: 14.2k ( ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Read Chapters I-VIII here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Nine: The Monster, The Maiden

King’s Landing still smelled of piss and soured bread.

Robb’s missive had come just after they had set the Lannister fleet alight at Lannisport. Yara and her fleet would be left to sack Casterly Rock with a majority of Y/N’s small band of men while Obara and Arya and a handful of Riverlanders set off toward the capital with Y/N.

Cersei had grown desperate and crazed. Growing only more bold and paranoid after she was crowned Queen.

King Tommen was dead. Margaery had been thrown into the Black Cells under suspicion of his murder and the new queen had pulled nearly all of her loyal bannermen to protect the city. Obara surmised that it was a Faceless Man, sent after the king after the Iron Throne refused to pay their debts to the Iron Bank of Braavos.

So much had changed since she had left the safety of Sunspear’s shadows. And yet not enough. The Lannisters still called themselves the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms and the Realm still suffered.

Obella’s tactics had kept all but a handful of the men under Y/N’s command alive. The Westerlands had been put to the torch and their gold and silver mines plundered in the dark of the night. The small band of Riverlanders hid in the dense forests and picked off the Lions’ bannermen when the roads forced them to march two-by-two. She, Arya, and Obara had been welcomed as guests at Pinkmaiden and settled there as their first command stronghold. When asked why she did not think to travel to Riverrun, Y/N’s answer was simple. “I have asked men to leave their homes to fight. I do not go home until they do.” They had never stayed in a location for longer than two days, moving from target to target with brutal efficiency.

But now she was back in the gods-forsaken capital that she had narrowly escaped.

“Has it always smelled like this?” Obara asked, nose crinkling as the wind carried the putrid stench up to the high hill above the city.

“Yes,” both Arya and Y/N answered.

The men at their backs looked grim and anxious in their cloaks, trying to hide their armor. While the Northmen and Dornish were still marching toward the capital, the Reach knights and cavalry had been the first to arrive at the gates of the city, demanding the release of Margaery—the rightful queen. It provided a well-enough distraction.

Y/N slipped off Qēlos’ back and patted the mare’s side in thanks. The beautiful horse had earned her weight in apples a thousand times over in this terrible war. She handed the reins to Lord Blackwood who promised to keep her safe until she returned.

“But are you certain-”

“Lord Blackwood, my answer has not changed since the last time you asked. I thank you for your concern but it is unwarranted.”

The older lord’s face colored with an embarrassed blush and he dipped his head. “Of course, my lady.”

Arya barely concealed a laugh as she, too, dismounted but Obara was stone-faced as her feet hit the damp grass. Patrek Mallister was quick to offer his hand to take her horse’s reins. (In truth, he’d been quick to do anything Obara needed. When they were still setting the Westerlands ablaze and picking off their infantrymen from the cover of forest, Y/N noticed that the majority of men under Obara’s command were either half in love or half terrified of the eldest Sand Snake. Patrek was decidedly the former. His time as a captive of the Freys after the Red Wedding had stripped him of the wandering eye he was known for.)

Obara and Arya stepped to Y/N’s side and they each took a deep breath.

“May the Warrior protect you,” one of the men whispered at their backs.

But Y/N could scarcely hear it over the thudding of her heart. No matter how many times she had readied for battle and shadowed warfare, her heart always leapt into her throat. And maybe that kept her alive, the slight-panic keeping her senses heightened.

“This way,” Arya said, leading them down, down, down. While Tyrion’s crude drawing of the placement of the wildfire around the Red Keep and King’s Landing was safely tucked into Y/N’s small pack, Arya was the one leading them into the mouth of the passages beneath the city. She had warned them about the smell.

It did not help.

Once pleasant and cool water gave way to stink and muck that had Y/N retching. Arya shushed her above the lapping brown water as one of Euron Greyjoy’s longboats neared where they had been treading against the waves. And then, much to her horror, it became clear that they would have to submerge themselves in the muck to avoid detection as the boat sailed by. Through the brown water and with burning lungs, Y/N watched the boat sail across the surface and she nearly vomited when they quietly crested, feeling the disgusting water line her mouth as she clutched her pack to her chest.

“Nearly there,” Arya whispered, starting a slow swim toward a dark corner of the wall.

They were quiet as they hoisted themselves up into the stone hole, gurgling with more sludge. But Y/N could not hold back her retch any longer as they finally curled around a jagged corner. It echoed in the dark and she winced when she heard it.

“Come, Little Fish, do not let your stomach fail us now.” Obara’s words of encouragement were stilted as she tried to keep her own rolling stomach contained.

“The worst is behind us,” Arya whispered with a small smile, murky water on her lips.

Both Obara and Y/N sighed at the girl’s unflinching (if not dark) optimism they quickly set off after the young Stark, following her steps in the dark, twisting tunnels and up the tight steps of uneven stone stairs which led to more tunnels and more stairs. They walked in silence for a long stretch of time, the squish of their soaked boots the only sound they heard. But dim light soon trickled down from some unseen room above to light the path Arya led them on. With the light came the realization that they were surrounded by dragon skulls, damp and dusty with the passing of time.

“I once thought they were monsters,” Arya whispered, a far-off look on her face.

“Is this what you found when you disappeared for half a day?” Y/N asked, skirting around a skull with teeth as long as her arm. It all seemed like a lifetime ago that she had been worried about where Arya had hidden away and Ned had sent Y/N and half his guard out into the city to look for her. When Arya arrived back at the Tower of the Hand, reeking and dirty, near dark, Ned had been both relieved and furious with his youngest daughter.

“It was,” was all Arya said, voice sad. It had been a lifetime for her, too.

And now they were here, in the bowels of the castle that had tried to rip their lives asunder and had very nearly succeeded. But now it was their turn.

The dim light only grew a fraction brighter as Arya finally slowed to a stop—but the noise grew, too.

The first voice was unmistakably Cersei; “the Red Keep has never fallen.”

“Our own father helped it fall. Have you forgotten everything?” Jaime near-snarled in return.

Y/N crept closer to light on quiet feet and followed it so she could more properly hear the conversation. Any bit of information was valuable, even if she was soaked in muck down to her skin. She pivoted so she could look up into the room above, a tiny sliver of stone crooked in its place. She recognized the carved pillars and marble lions of one of the interior courtyards even through the small field of vision the stone allowed.

“Father is here—he will never allow-”

“Our father is not a god despite your best efforts to make him one in your heart of hearts. And neither are you.”

“He will keep us safe. I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! Let them try to take my crown.”

“They will try!” Jaime pressed. “The Tyrells are at the gates and the wolves and Martells are coming. What will you do when they arrive and Father’s plans fail you? Yara Greyjoy’s fleet have taken Casterly Rock. There are whispers of Riverlanders picking our bannermen off from the trees after torching most of our bannermen’s lands. What will you do?”

There was a pregnant pause and Y/N felt Obara tug on the back of her jerkin, trying to get her to move.

“Let them have ashes.”

Obara tugged again and Y/N let herself be pulled away this time as she fumbled to grab the wax-coated map of Tyrion’s wildfire storehouses from its hiding place in her pack, unhearing of Jaime’s reply. “We must be quick.”

Arya huffed. “You were dawdling.”

But the three of them set off in search of the glowing jars of fire and found them almost exactly where Tyrion had said they would be and quickly—and carefully—started to move them, hoping that Tyrion’s map proved accurate again. It took hours of cautiously shuffling in the dark to move the cracked glass jars and half-filled barrels they found to where they needed them for this plan to work. They did not have the time to completely empty the city of its wildfire caches and knew there were still piles of them in secret coves and shadowed corners of the city’s underbelly.

Through more thin walls and cutaway stones, they heard whispers. Whispers of the forces outside the walls. Whispers of movement of the gold cloaks and Kingsguard around the city. Whispers of doom with the arrival of the Northmen at the gates.

Whispers whispers whispers.

When her arms ached and her clothes had dried, they moved the last little jar into their pile. But the tiny jar refused to settle and tried to topple from its perch. Y/N thrust her hands out and caught it before it shattered on the floor. A single drop leapt from the jar’s depths and missed her hand before it spattered on the ground, hissing and smoking against the stone.

“We have to go,” Obara said. Even through the thick walls, they could hear the din of movement along the balustrades, readying for battle. Obara had a small barrel in her arms, too. The second-to-last piece in their plan.

Y/N froze for only a moment before she tore off the sleeve of her tunic and shoved it into the top of the jar in as a makeshift stopper. She could use it later, she reasoned to herself, as she stuffed it into the small bag at her back.

Arya was pressing her ear up to the slab of stone at the end of a squat, dead end tunnel. She only needed to stand on her tiptoes to reach it, face tight with concentration. “We’re good,” she whispered before reaching up to move the stone. A whoosh of cooled night air came with it.

Obara started to slowly pour out the contents of her barrel, leaving a sickly green trail from the pile of jars up to Arya’s side. “You first, Pup,” she said, crouching to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling.

Arya then leapt and scrambled up into the dark. Her little hands reached down for the barrel Obara was holding and Obara followed her path up once the barrel was out of her grasp.

“Little Fish,” Obara whispered, “come. We’re nearly finished.”

Y/N glanced back at the pile of wildfire. It looked so much smaller from a distance. She hoped it was enough. Obara held out a hand for her and Y/N took it, needing the help to get out of the tunnel. They were just outside the city now, right at the edge of one of the Old Gate. The grass was damp beneath their feet with early-morning dew as Obara took the barrel from Arya and quickly emptied its contents down into the hole and then trailed it away to leave a smoking green puddle. She discarded the barrel as they crept toward the sparse forest, hoping the growing sun would provide enough cover so the guards on the walls would not see them. The murmur of a city ill-at-ease crept over the high walls and gave a beat to their retreating steps.

Tytos and Patrek were hidden behind the first handful of trees, looking more worried than Y/N expected.

“The Tyrells have retreated for the moment. The archers on the walls have kept them from battering down the Lion Gate,” Tytos said as he handed over the reins to her horse. “And the Northmen have arrived.”

“Have they seen you or our men?” Y/N asked as she rifled through one of the saddlebags for a canteen and a scrap of cloth and quickly wet it, wiping it across her face.

“I do not believe so, my lady.”

Y/N nodded and then tossed a fresh and damp cloth to Arya and Obara, letting them clean their faces, too. She then grabbed a small canteen of ale and swished it around her mouth before spitting it out. “Raise your banners. It is time we made our presence known.”

Tytos nodded once again and signaled toward the men lining the dark of the trees.

Y/N hurried to pull on her armor and huffed out a thanks when she felt Obara’s rough fingers tightening laces or adjusting the pauldron over her shoulder that she had skewed in her haste. Arya’s armor was impeccably placed even without help and Obara slapped at Patrek’s hand when he tried to assist her.

The banners of the Riverlands started to rise as they stepped out of the tree line. Shouts came from the wall when they were spotted.

Y/N patted Qēlos’ flank as she pulled her bow and quiver from the horse’s tack, sending the mare further into the woods to wait.

“Archers!” Some gold cloak yelled from his perch. “Archers!”

Y/N nocked her arrow and Arya lit the end. Dirty fingers pulled the string tight for just a moment as she angled it up into the sky and then let it loose. It sailed through the air and hit the small puddle of green at the base of the wall.

A terrible crack and boom filled the sticky dawn air and Y/N nearly lost her footing as some invisible force shoved her back. Green flames filled the air and the city wall erupted into a storm of broken brick and black dust.

“The wall!” someone cried, muffled against the ringing in her ears. “They’ve breached the wall!”

Y/N righted herself and watched as her small band of Riverlanders and Obara and Arya surged forward in a wave, quickly followed by men in copper armor, pressing into the city’s wound as the green flames of the wildfire continued to eat at the wall and screaming soldiers.

The Dornish had come.

She nocked another arrow and let it fly, tearing into the neck of a distracted solider at the top of the crumbling wall. Another pushed an archer taking aim from his perch. Again and again she picked off the remaining soldiers on the balustrade above the hole in the wall until her quiver was empty. But then, even over the din of the battle, she heard a distinctive crack. Metal breaking and smacking against stone and brick.

“The gate! Defend the gate!”

And now there were two.

Y/N slung her bow across her shoulders and drew the pair of small blades from her belt and pushed forward, trailing behind the press of Dornish and Riverlands.

The city was in chaos. Gold Cloaks and Kingsguard and Westerland bannermen were scrambling over the rubble and wreckage, swords clashing against the invaders. But the Reach and North had pushed their way through the Lion Gate.

There would be no escape.

A man in red and gold armor screamed as he ran at her, spear thrust out in front. Y/N was able to dodge it but his feet could not be stopped and she sank the end of one of her blades through the eye slot of his helmet. She knew she needed to keep moving. Her armor was not meant for full-scale combat like this. But she would not leave her men, Riverlander or Dornish, to fight alone.

But the battle raged. Her small blades were coated in crimson and her arms ached as they pushed forward toward the Red Keep. Toward Cersei.

She caught sight of Arya in the skirmish ahead. The little wolf was holding her own for the most part against some City Watch brute but a well-timed kick to her stomach had Arya falling to the ground, her little sword slipping from her grasp.

“Arya!” Y/N screamed as her heart leapt into her throat to strangle the air from her lungs. “ARYA!” She pushed through the pulsing group, watching the Gold Cloak sneer and stalk toward Arya who struggled to get to her feet. Y/N fought against the crowd, dodging an ax at her throat and a sword at her stomach with a desperation and savage grace a person could only conjure for someone they loved. But she knew… She wouldn’t get to her in time. She wouldn’t make it. The man raised his sword, sweaty face pulled tight with glee and ready to strike the life from Arya Stark and then-

A golden hand caught the sword just as its reached its crest and Jaime Lannister shoved the man back before driving his sword through his belly.

Y/N slid to a stop on her knees as she reached Arya’s side, pressing Needle into Arya’s grasp again and urging her to her feet and back into the near-safety of the advancing crowd. Jaime gave them both a look as they stumbled back, unreadable and…sad. But then he was gone between the swarm of swords and shields.

The Bells did not ring. There would be no surrender. She expected nothing less from the queen.

But perhaps she should have remembered Cersei’s cruelty, her need for control, and Cersei’s own words. All Y/N could think about was finishing this—finishing this war, this stupid war that had taken too much from everyone she cared about.

As the sun started to settle high in the sky, she heard a rumble. Even over the roar of the growing battle, she heard it. Felt it shake the stones beneath her feet. And then the city burst. Green flames and thick smoke filled the air as brick and wood rained down like a terrible storm, ripping through Westerland armies and invaders alike. Dirt clouded her mouth and she tasted fire as her ears started to ring with an intensity she had never experienced, pushing her back and on unsteady feet. With dazed eyes, she watched a man in a gold cloak stumble forward, mouth open in a silent scream as the emerald flames blazed across his armor.

Someone’s hands grasped at her arm and tugged her to the side, finding a bit of refuge behind the fallen remains of an inn. Arya was looking up at her, covered in soot and blood and Y/N watched her mouth move for a few moments, unable to hear anything but then it came back in a wave.

“-taking the Red Keep.”

“What?” Y/N asked, tongue heavy in her mouth.

Arya frowned. “Did you hit your head? Robb is about to take the Red Keep. Cersei must have sent someone to light the rest of the wildfire.” Arya turned to look at something over her shoulder and stiffened. “Come on. We haven’t finished this yet.” The younger girl pressed Y/N’s blades back into her hands. She hadn’t even realized she had lost them. And then Arya was striding away through the rubble, disappearing into a haze of smoke as green flames continued to lick at the wreckage.

Y/N shook herself, trying to free her mind of the buzzing and sluggishness and opened her pack, making sure that her own stash of wildfire had not started to crack or bubble. It was intact, thankfully, and it gave her enough momentum to push forward. Another gold cloak ran into her path a few steps later. His armor was blackened and charred, and buckled when she kicked at his chest to knock him toward the ground before driving one of her blades into the small gap between his cuirass and helmet.

It was easy when they staggered and stumbled or looked too long at the green flames. It was easy. When had it become so easy?

But it didn’t matter when she kept Obara from falling to some red cloak’s sword through her back or when Tytos was knocked from his horse by a City Watch soldier. It didn’t matter that it had become easy when she was keeping her people alive. The ground continued to rumble as more small pockets of wildfire roared to life and burned everything it could. But she kept moving forward, her steps trailing behind Obara’s as they pushed up the steps toward the Barbican of the Keep. It had been reduced to chunks of splintered wood and twisted metal, trampled over by the advancing armies. Y/N turned as she reached the top—just for a moment—to see the destruction the war and wildfire had brought upon the city. Almost a quarter of King’s Landing was gone, swallowed into the maw of black smoke and broken stone. The Red Keep was still burning. More green flames had reduced most of its outer walls to piles of smoking rock and ash. Only the Holdfast still stood tall. If Cersei’s plan had been to burn the advancing armies in the streets—she failed. But a sizeable group of Kingsguard and Gold Cloaks still stood between them and the crown that sat on Cersei’s head.

And they pushed and swung their swords and battered their shields, driving the loyalists back or into the ground.

But then something caught Y/N’s eye. Drew her attention like the Stranger had placed their hand upon her head and turned it.

Tywin Lannister was standing outside the smoking Tower of the Hand. His sword was bent and his helmet fell from his fingers with a clatter. His guards had abandoned him; his grand army reduced to only a handful of men. But his face still hardened when his cold eyes raked over her. Even as the battle had clearly been lost, he held his head high and pointed his sword toward Y/N with a sneer. “Come along, girl. Let us finish this.”

Equal parts dread and joy stoked her soul then. And her heart thundered in her chest even as she knew that the time was short. As Tywin took a step toward her, she threw one of her blades, aiming for his throat—and he deflected it easily, as she knew he would. But her hand dove into her pack and her fingers found the warm glass. Y/N threw the jar at him, uncaring of how her shoulder popped and ached with the sudden movement. All she could do was smile when she watched it smash across his chest plate, dripping green. His eyes grew wide as recognition flickered across his face. She bent to pick up a piece of burning wood and threw it at him, watching the green flames erupt.

Fire makes people dance. And Tywin was no exception. He screamed through the green.

The scrape of a sword against a sheath gained her attention.

It was Oberyn. Dark eyes alight with want and fury and, with a single stroke, took Tywin’s head from his shoulders. It still burned as it rolled across the stone, spitting green embers in its wake. The body slumped to the ash-covered ground, plate armor smacking against broken stone. And then Oberyn was marching toward her, sliding his bloodied sword back into its sheath. With his usual brutal grace, he wrapped his arm around her waist and slanted his mouth against hers, uncaring of the grime or dirt. Y/N quickly reciprocated, pressing her lips firmly against his. Months of separation, months of wondering if she would see him again despite her promise, months of yearning poured out of her as she grasped at the back of his neck to pull him closer, uncaring for the moment of the surrounding destruction. All there was, was Oberyn Oberyn Oberyn and his beautiful mouth that she had missed too much.

He only pulled back to breathe before he took another kiss, smiling against her mouth. “Blood suits you, my moonlight.”

And it suited him, too.

**

Tywin’s head looked large as it sat next to Cersei’s. Most of it had escaped the wildfire because of Oberyn’s quick removal but half of it was still charred.

The man and woman who had destroyed her family had been reduced to silent heads on a soot-covered floor.

Robb was sitting on the Iron Throne, Widow’s Wail across his lap and a hammered bronze and iron crown settled over his dark auburn curls. The grime and blood of battle still streaked his armor but he looked every bit the portrait of a king with Grey Wind sitting near his feet, gnawing on something that looked suspiciously like someone’s arm. The remains of the Throne Room were filled with dirt-smudged commanders and lords who had sacked the City. Oberyn found all of it tedious and had slipped away with a kiss to her temple to help his men settle into camp for the night.

The sun was setting, casting the entire room in the warm glows of pink and orange over its broken walls and melted windows, like the gods were presenting them all with a bit of beautiful quietness for their victory. Their dead would be tended to later, before the city would be looked over to see what could be salvaged. The story that Cersei had set the stashes of wildfire alight as a final effort to kill the advancing armies was already being whispered throughout the smoking city. No one needed to know that the only reason why more destruction had not been reaped was because of Y/N, Obara, and Arya’s actions in the winding tunnels. It was their secret to keep and hold.

As Robb started to hold court, presiding over the captured Lannister forces and learning Euron’s fleet had turned and run when the wildfire had started, fleeing East toward Essos, Y/N excused herself, trying to fill her lungs with something more than soot. She walked through the winding halls, some half broken and others still filled with groups of injured needing a healing touch. And perhaps it was muscle memory, but Y/N found herself standing outside the door of her old room before she could remember turning that corner or walking down this hall. Her fingers brushed against the wood. The wound from Gregor’s sword had not been patched and it splintered under her touch when she pressed against it. For a moment, she thought of opening the door and walking in and seeing what else had changed or stayed the same. But her hand retreated. Her life was not here anymore. There was no need to step into a place of terrible memory just for memory’s sake.

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and Y/N’s heart leapt into her mouth at the sight. “Jon?”

His face morphed from anger to surprise to joy and then he was running toward her with outstretched arms.

She met him halfway and threw her arms around him, uncaring of the blood or dirt and grime. He still smelt of fresh snow and pine even over the stench of battle. His gloved hand found the back of her head and he held her close—like he was afraid she would disappear from his grasp if he let go too soon. “Your hair is so long now,” she murmured into his shoulder.

And his answering laugh sounded choked in his throat. “I have so much to tell you.”

“We have all the time in the world.”

But then Mace Tyrell cam huffing and puffing into the hall, still clad in his gaudy golden armor and red in the face. “My lady, Lord Snow, His Grace is requesting your presence.” He then turned and half-ran back toward the throne room without an ounce of grace and his tarnished golden armor untightened and slapping against his extremities with each step. Y/N hid her laugh behind her hand until Jon nudged at her shoulder.

“You have not changed at all, Y/N,” Jon quietly mused.

“Oh, I have changed quite drastically, dear cousin. But not the parts that matter.”

Jon shook his head with a small smile. “I will hear your stories one day.”

“As I shall hear yours,” she promised just as they walked through the broken threshold. But the respite was torn away the moment she noticed who had been lead in chains in front of Robb’s new throne. A handful of Freys were on their knees and snarled at her as she walked past when Robb waved her forward to stand at his side. They were surrounded by the small band of men she had brought to King’s Landing—every one of them looked hungry for blood. And if there had not been an audience, Y/N would have let them slake that need.

“House Frey has refused to bend the knee,” Robb said, his light eyes cold and hard as his gaze moved to the men at his feet.

“Usurper-!”

Whatever insult the Frey had wanted to spout was silenced when Tytos cracked him across the face with a closed fist, his dented gauntlet still covering his hand. “Silence!”

He turned and spat blood. A tooth clinked against the floor. “Bitch.”

Tytos raised his hand again to claim the rest of his brown teeth but Robb stood from the throne and strode down to the man and grabbed the Frey’s greasy hair and yanked his head back to expose his throat. The edge of Widow’s Wail pulled a thin line of crimson from his throat as he gulped. “Tell her what you confessed. Tell her, braggart,” Robb seethed, making sure to angle his face to look at Y/N. But every other person was staring at her, too.

And Y/N wished she had Oberyn to stand with—to feel his steadying warmth at her side when the man’s hard stare ripped across her face. But Arya was a comfort too, moving to stand at her side with a snarl of her own. “We found your father outside Pinkmaiden. He tried to bargain, said the Red Wedding did not have to stain all of our hands.”

Y/N could feel her heart stutter in her chest but fought to keep her face neutral. “But you did not care to treat with my father.”

“We dragged him to Harrenhal,” another man said with a laugh. “Took his head and gave the rest to the bear.”

Y/N felt her stomach roll. Bile was rising in the back of her throat in a terrible wave as she curled her into fists behind her back. Grey Wind rose from and licked his bloody chops, baring his sharp teeth and the man cowered and shriveled. “You boast of your own damnation. Have they never taught you of what becomes of men who do not heed the gods’ warnings? Or have the gods never touched The Twins?”

The Freys bellowed, screaming and hollering this and that but all she could hear was a dull roar in her ears, watching their dirty faces contort with their own simple rage.

She dragged her gaze to Robb. “I have heard what they had to say, Your Grace. What else would you have of me?”

Robb stood straight, ignoring how the prisoners still fumed. “I would have nothing of you, my lady. You and your house have paid a high price for your loyalty.”

Robb’s words pushed something both cold and soft against her fragile heart. She nodded once, knowing his words meant more than their simple meaning. “House Frey has wronged more than just me and mine, Your Grace. You know that better than anyone. Do with them what you will. I do not care for their mortal coils and the gods will not care for their souls.” And she watched, a little entranced as they were dragged away, one by one, and slowly the Freys’ screaming was snuffed out. Y/N noticed a bit of tension leech from Robb’s posture as the quiet settled over the crowded room and he retook his seat.

But it was quickly washed away as the next prisoner was brought in, chains singing with each step. A quick kick to the back of his legs brought Jaime Lannister to his knees in front of Robb. And the last living lion in the city actually smiled. “Stark, we must stop meeting like this.”

Maege Mormont started to draw her sword when Robb held up a hand. “You once made my mother a promise. An oath. To return her daughters to her care.”

“I did.” His green eyes flickered to Arya at Y/N’s side.

“You failed.”

Jaime clenched his jaw. “I did.”

“And then we find you fighting alongside your sister.”

“To be fair, it seemed your sisters were already in the care of your cousin so my oath-”

“My sister is the only reason your head is not on a spike,” Robb seethed. “She told me of how you saved her life.”

“Is this true, Lady Arya?” Some lord from the Reach asked. He was quickly met with looks of derision from the surrounding Northmen for questioning her or Robb. (“Of course it is true! She’s no reason to lie!”)

“It is true,” Y/N said, stepping in front of Arya who looked ready for the ground to swallow her whole. Her pride was a fearsome thing. “I saw it with my own eyes. Against his own bannerman, he raised his sword to keep Arya safe.��� Murmurs started to slide through the assembled crowd and Robb’s jaw ticked to the side but all Y/N could see was Jaime’s soft, sad smile when he looked at her, like he was remembering how she cried and asked him not to tell anyone. A quiet kindness repaid.

“Your brother has been granted exile.”

And Y/N watched Jaime’s eyes widen, almost hopeful, as Robb continued to speak.

“You will have until sunrise to find a way out of my kingdom. If I see you again, your head will be thrown into Blackwater Bay.” Robb waved his hand and the chains encircling Jaime’s wrists and ankles were released. “A life for a life, Lannister. I suggest you make the most of it.”

**

“Perhaps they’ll have a song about my father when this war is truly over and the city is rebuilt. They can call it the Fish and the Bear.”

“I would hope the bards would grant him a more fitting song. He had more tales to tell than the way he left this plane, my moonlight.” Oberyn wrapped his arms around her as they stood on the balcony of her room, watching the city settle in for the night and she pressed her ear over his heart, listening to its beautiful beat and letting it steady her own.

It had been nearly a week since they had taken the Red Keep and Robb had been proclaimed king. Everything was slowly being rebuilt. Northmen and cavalry from the Reach were staying to help the city’s smallfolk resettle and survive, creating a sense that all would be well. The gold taken from the Westerland mines settled the Iron Throne’s debt with Braavos. Margaery had been surrounded by the maesters and healers the Tyrells had ferried with them in the war, making sure her time in the Black Cells had not permanently injured her, but had been presented to Robb just this morning and he had gladly accepted her as his queen. It was all a show, of course. The alliance between Robb and the Reach had been forged in the shadows long before he ever set foot in the city. The plan that Oberyn and Ellaria carefully crafted had unfolded beautifully. There were a handful of pieces left to move but Oberyn and Dorne were thankful for a bit of respite and Y/N was grateful for his arms to fall into when she felt that insidious ache once again grow in her chest. Oberyn made it easier to bear. He had kept her close when the other lords and ladies started to learn of her campaign in the Westerlands and what she had done—looks of horror and morbidly curious whispers disappeared when Y/N was in his arms. She only wished that Ellaria was there, too. It had been far too long since she had them in her arms. She needed them both.

“You are being called back to Sunspear, are you not, my prince?” A raven had arrived from Dorne just after they had broken their fast.

“We are being called back to Sunspear,” he mused before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But you are not coming with me.”

Y/N had not said anything to give him that inclination. But Oberyn always knew. She felt him breathe in the scent of her skin as she sighed, burrowing a little closer to his warm chest. “I have to finish it.”

“I know, my moonlight, I know. And I will never keep you from your wrath.” He leaned back to gently cradle her face in his warm hands. “But I will have you promise me, again. Promise me that you will not forget us. Come home. When you are finished, come home.”

**

“Tell me something, Arya. Something good.”

“I met a boy. Named Gendry.”

A dense fog had settled over the damp grass, curling its ghostly fingers around the trunks of the trees that sheltered Y/N and the armed men from any eyes that might be scanning the land from the safety of their chambers.

Arya spoke, unhurried but succinctly, about her time disguised as ‘Arry’ with Yoren and then the Brotherhood without Banners, as Y/N waited for her men to finish a perimeter check. Most she knew, having gleaned it from conversations with Arya back in Dorne when they took breaks at the training grounds with Obara. But it seemed she placed the secret of Gendry a little closer to her heart. “I thought I saw him in King’s Landing before we left. Working as a blacksmith again.” Arya almost sounded wistful. “I didn’t ask or get too close. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t know what to do if it was him.”

“I think we have both learned that fear gets us nowhere, Arya,” Y/N said softly. “If he makes you happy, makes you laugh, try. Seven know you deserve some joy.”

Arya’s mouth tilted up in a small smile and she looked out toward the formidable fortress of The Twins, seat of House Frey. A strange location for such sentimental talk but it seemed the pair both needed a bit of respite. The handful of Riverlands men who had gone with her to King’s Landing were accompanying her for one last mission. And a small band of Northmen who were heading home were given leave by their king to help Y/N if they chose—and they did.

Ghost, Jon’s white direwolf, trotted to her side on silent feet and Qelōs whinnied in greeting. Y/N had met Ghost after taking King’s Landing when she found Jon wandering the ruins of the holdfast, trying to find a kitchen so he could feed Ghost. The direwolf was decidedly quieter than Grey Wind but no less protective of his chosen Stark or anyone Jon seemed fond of.

And where Ghost was, Jon always appeared. She watched Jon slide through the trees to stand at her side.

“Twelve guards on the perimeter. Five archers in the Water Tower.”

“Inside?”

“No more than forty.”

Y/N nodded and tightened her grip on the reins. She knew most of the Freys and their allies had been in King’s Landing and had been disposed of in battle or by the ax.

But she wanted all of them.

“They seem to be gathering who they can. Must’ve heard whispers of us marching North.”

But the Freys had few allies left. They were the only house in the Riverlands who had not sent forth supplications and oaths of fealty to the new king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And the simple bit of parchment in Y/N’s saddlebag was all the protection and fodder she needed to fan the flames already consuming the dark part of her heart that had led her here. It read simply; House Tully was once again Lord Protector of the Trident and the liege lord of the Riverlands. Any and all actions House Tully made on behalf of the Crown to secure allegiance and peace were sanctioned and accepted.

Perhaps Robb did not know what Y/N meant to do. But maybe he did, letting her loose on the House that had caused both her and her sweet cousins so much pain. She had kept her wrath contained while at war. It burned and raged under her skin but she had pulled it back like a tiger on a chain, knowing that if she had let herself be blinded by her need for vengeance, she would have only caused herself and others more heartache as her men would fall to the sword and ax because her plans would have left them vulnerable instead of safe. But now they were safe. This was the final piece. And she could let it finally burn.

A window pushed open and caught Y/N’s eye. A glint of metal, a cage, was revealed in low candlelight. The rookery, it would seem. Y/N watched a raven fly and pulled an arrow from her quiver. She nocked it and pulled her bow taut, listening to the string sing under her fingers. The arrow flew and took the bird from its flight. They would have no support.

Y/N drew another arrow and turned to Jon. “Give the signal.”

**

“Your father would be proud, my lady. You are a force, just as he.” Tytos was still filled with compliments even as he let a maester stitch up a gash on his arm.

Y/N managed to smile and dipped her rag into a bowl of fresh water and dragged it across her blood and dirt caked face and neck as she glanced out the window. For a moment, she doubted Brynden Tully would be proud of her. Letting loose a band of men still raging from victory and anger from the betrayal of the Red Wedding onto enemy territory and giving them permission to do whatever they wanted and needed to take the fortress was not honorable or something he would have ordered. But he was gone and she still breathed. She was a survivor—and she knew he would be proud of that.

Portcullises crumpled and arrows flew. Swords ran red and the fortress burned. The siege had lasted all of a handful of hours—just long enough for her to spend her quiver of arrows as she picked off fleeing Freys as they ran across the bridges. But it was finished. Almost.

Y/N grasped Tytos’ uninjured shoulder and squeezed, telling him to rest as Patrek ran into the room and told her they had finished gathering the Freys as she requested. He led her out of the damp, dark castle and onto the grass just on the edge of the Green Fork. A band of about twenty men were on their knees as the Northmen and Riverlanders created a circle around them with dirtied swords kept them from wavering.

The last of the Freys. All of them were guilty. Every single one of them knew of the plot and drew their blades when the time came. Each one had benefitted in some way from the slaughter of the Red Wedding and murder of her father.

Patrek continued on as Jon separated himself from the group and touched her arm just before they reached the group. “This will not bring them back,” he whispered, dark eyes pleading. He had seen enough bloodshed.

Y/N pushed his hand from her arm and stepped forward. “No, it will not. But blood begets blood. And I shall bathe in it. There shall be no root or stem left.”

Patrek had dragged a large stump from the tree line and set it at her feet. She watched a few of the men nervously glance between the stump and Y/N, knowing what was coming.

“Your men have refused to swear fealty to King Robb, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. Your House has refused to bend the knee. Guest Right was violated for greed.” Y/N held her hand out for the ax Lord Cerwyn had across his back and he gave it readily. “I have learned that if you pass the sentence, you should swing the sword. I gave the order.” The weapon was heavy in her grip as she remembered Ned’s words. She’d just been a girl when he had said them and his eyes were sad. But she knew the words to be true and just. “Bring me Lord Walder Frey.”

Two Northmen darted into the group of Freys and pulled a snarling man, still in his sleeping clothes, up and then dropped him to his knees at Y/N’s feet.

“Little Lady Tully,” Walder sneered with rotted teeth. “If your cousin had been half the bitch you are, she might still be breathin’.”

“The gods gave you a chance to be true when they sent Lady Catelyn to your door. They gave you another when your men found my father. You and your wretched family betrayed mine. Now you must reckon with me.”

Walder’s face contorted and splotches of red dotted his grey cheeks. “You-”

Y/N swung the ax and buried it into his neck but it caught on this spine. His eyes grew wide as blood spurted and oozed from the wound. Walder’s mouth opened and closed with silent curses and stained his brown teeth red. She yanked the ax back and watched the Frey crumple down onto the stump before finally cleaving the man’s head from his shoulders. “Bring me the next,” she called out over her shoulder. “I should like to finish this before nightfall.”

She needed a new ax after the third Frey. And a damp cloth to wipe the blood from her face and hands.

“Bring me the next!”

A tall man was then shoved to his knees in front of her, brown hair thin and greasy as it stuck to his sweaty face. He snarled up at her, as a handful of others did before.

“Name?”

“Raymund Frey.”

And that gave Y/N pause. “Arya!” Arya came running, a stranger’s blood streaked across her cheek but still bright-eyed. Y/N handed over the ax. She took it with a frown and glanced at the Frey. “This is Raymund Frey.”

Realization dawned on the young Stark’s face and her grip tightened. If the Freys had not been so fond of bragging, perhaps they would not have known he had been the one to slit Catelyn’s throat at the Red Wedding. But they knew. And so, Y/N watched Arya bury the ax into the man’s neck.

And when all of them were gone, bodies left out to be pecked by hungry carrions, Y/N walked out into the river and washed the blood from her hands. It was finished. The blood in the rivers had washed her clean.

**

Riverrun had managed to survive a handful of sieges and a brief Frey occupation without losing its integrity. Jon and Arya accompanied her to her family’s seat and she invited the Northmen to rest in its halls for a fortnight before continuing North.

Houses from the Riverlands descended upon Riverrun when they heard of her return and Edmure’s release from the bowels of Casterly Rock. And Y/N was not sure if they had heard of her campaign at the Twins or in the Westerlands but a handful of them stuttered and avoided eye contact when they once again swore fealty to House Tully and bumbled through lathing compliments for King Robb as if he were standing beside her. It amused Arya endlessly who poorly concealed her giggles behind her hand until Jon nudged at her shoulder.

But Edmure had been much changed since his time in Casterly Rock’s dungeons. He walked with a limp and was in need of a cane. The fingers on his left hand were crooked, healed broken and at strange angles. And his vigor had left, his pride, too. Whenever anyone asked for an edict or command, his blue eyes flickered to Y/N and she found herself answering.

Settling feuds, giving instruction on how to rebuild, granting clemency, and doling out justice when needed. Through all of it he seemed to look to Y/N for guidance, to answer for him. She had only planned to stay long enough to make sure the Riverlands were at peace but Edmure gave her pause.

It was exhausting and confusing and Y/N, more often than not, found herself in the familiar kitchens late at night in search of wine. While she had anticipated that being within Riverrun’s familiar halls would finally grant her some peace, all she found was longing for the warmth of the Dornish sun and the gentle touch of Ellaria and Oberyn. The sound of the little ones laughing in the Water Gardens while Obara hollered out formations at the training field. Riverrun was so…quiet. Had it always been so quiet and cold? A small comfort was taking her father’s childhood rooms as her home. It was a way to feel close to him but the ache that had settled in her heart grew a little easier to bear with each passing day. And receiving a raven from Winterfell made her smile, too. It was from Sansa, stating that she had sailed North from Sunspear and had settled back into Winterfell without issue, a small band of loyal Northmen at her call. She had been named Warden of the North by her brother Robb and Y/N remembered how the broken throne room had been filled with cheers at the news, even if Sansa had not been present to hear it. But her own troubles persisted.

Jon found her the night before he, Arya, and the Northmen were to depart for their homes. She poured him a large glass of wine and ushered him into a seat in the dark room and finally pried his story from him. He spoke of betrayal and death and love and loyalty until the sun rose with the next morning.

“Out of all the Starks, you were the most prone to finding trouble.” She reached out to grasp his hand and squeezed, matching tired smiles on their faces. “But you survived. That is all that matters to me.”

He laughed and rubbed at his eyes as she smiled. “If you ever tire of the snow, come to Dorne. I will always have a place for you.”

And then she led him out into the sun to join the rest of the Northmen and bid him goodbye with a tight hug and a kiss against his head and she turned to Arya who begrudgingly gave back the Sand Steed she had stolen before hugging Y/N with a ferocity only she was capable of.

“Find your joy, little wolf,” Y/N whispered into her hair as she held Arya tight. “You deserve it. Now, stay safe.”

Arya nodded and sniffled once before clearing her throat as she pulled back. They both whispered soft goodbyes to each other as the morning light continued to grow. And then Y/N watched them disappear on the horizon with a heavy heart, knowing she was strangely alone now in the place she had called home. As she stepped inside, she nearly bowled over Roslin. Apologies tumbled from Roslin’s mouth as she cradled her son to her chest, almost shaking.

Y/N bit back a sigh and plastered a smile on her face. In truth, Roslin was a genial and gentle woman. Pretty. Loyal. So unlike the rest of her family. Y/N saw how she constantly looked to Edmure with love in her eyes and was met with a broken smile in return. And when the news had come of what had been become of her family, Roslin almost seemed relieved. It made Y/N wonder what she had endured while under her father’s thumb. “It is nothing, my lady. My fault. You are Lady Tully now. Apologize for only what is necessary.”

Roslin froze for a moment, as she always seemed to do whenever Y/N spoke with her, but then nodded with a small smile of her own. “Of course, my lady. Thank you.”

The pair spoke for a little longer, Y/N asking after the health of her babe, a boy nearing his first nameday and named after Edmure’s childhood idol and pride of their house, Kermit Tully, who had led House Tully to the height of their power during the Dance of Dragons. Yes, Y/N supposed, Roslin would grow to be a fine Lady Tully.

If only she could ensure Edmure would become the man she needed him to be.

Y/N eventually found herself slipping away after bidding Roslin a good day and walking up toward the rookery, she wanted to send a raven to Sansa to ask how she was faring. The ravens cawed in greeting as she stepped inside. They always recognized her, the intelligent little beasts. But it was the open window that drew her attention. A white raven cawed as it turned to watch her approach. The noise came again as she brushed a finger against the bird’s back and it fluttered its wings, showing the slip of parchment tied to its leg.

Y/N already knew what the missive would say – white ravens only appeared with the changing of the seasons.

The raven cawed against and nuzzled against her finger as she untied the parchment before flying away. And she was right – “winter has come” was all the Citadel had written, probably in haste to finish the hundreds more needing to be sent.

When she asked Edmure what should be done, finding him sequestered away in Hoster’s old rooms, he gave her another tired smile and asked her to make sure the other Riverlands houses were informed and cared for. Yet another obstacle. Dorne had never seemed so far away.

Y/N ordered the overfilled storehouses of the Twins be emptied to make sure the houses beleaguered by the long war would not starve and wrote to Willas and Olenna in Highgarden to secure a few hundred bushels of grain and barley as well. Even with the war, the Reach had enough to spare. And so, more weeks slipped through her hands. Lords and ladies from across the Riverlands came to Riverrun to receive what House Tully could give them and continue to ask for guidance from their liege lords.

An envoy from House Vance was the latest to arrive and it was then that Edmure seemed to finally show some of his former self. He smiled and greeted them, welcomed them, and helped them settle for the handful of nights they would be housed at Riverrun. And a breath Y/N did not realize she was holding finally pushed its way out of her tired lungs. He would be fine, she told herself. He just needed time.

Even Roslin seemed to settle more into her role at Edmure’s side. It was comforting to know that House Tully was secure once again. She sent a raven to Dorne, telling Oberyn and Ellaria she hoped to leave within a fortnight and arrive before the first snow of the new season. It put a certain spring in her step to think that soon she would be back in Dorne. She would be married and-

“Y/N!” Edmure called her name and snapped her from her pleasant reverie before the evening meal. She walked to his side in the hall and offered a small smile. “I have a gift for you, cousin.”

Before she could ask what the gift was, they were ushered into the hall for the meal. Edmure then pointed out Lord Vance’s third son and prattled on for a majority of the meal. Kirth Vance was handsome, she supposed, and he spoke kindly to servants and squires alike and tended to his horses and hunting dogs with care and doted on his nieces and nephews—if Edmure could be trusted. But every word nearly turned her stomach and she resorted to pushing her food around her place in a poor attempt to look like she was eating.

Ser Kirth was almost bashful as he met her gaze and quickly ducked his head with pink cheeks. “He thinks you are the most beautiful woman he has ever seen,” Edmure continued to whisper. “Kirth is not one to overstep—he would listen to your commands and see them through as a faithful consort to you here at Riverrun.”

And then she saw what this was.

“I would have the room,” Y/N said, rising from her seat. While most everyone quickly scurried away, including Roslin and her babe, Edmure signaled for Kirth to come closer. “No, no, Ser Kirth. My dear cousin has misread my intentions. I would speak to him alone.” Another ruddy blush took over his cheeks and he tipped his head before all but running from the hall. When the door firmly shut, she rounded on Edmure. “How dare you.”

Edmure stood, cane clacking against the floor. “Y/N-”

“If you think for a moment that you have the ability to coerce me into staying by offering me a man like that, you do not know me at all.”

“You led the Riverlands to victory. Not me. Not little Robb. You, dear cousin. You raised the banners and called on their loyalty and oaths. You bled alongside them.” Edmure pulled in a shaking breath and pressed harder onto his cane. “Riverrun should be yours.”

“I do not want it.” Y/N turned away from him, trying to hide her disgust. “Is this why you have shunned your duties? You believe you cannot serve your people.”

“I know I cannot.” And he sounded so defeated that she almost turned to comfort him. But rage kept her still.

“Then the Lannisters have won. They sought to strip you of your will and pride and make you a soulless creature of their making.” And Edmure was quiet and that was what had her turning. Her once near-boastful and handsome cousin had all but curled in on himself, face warped and scrunched like he was near tears. “Don’t let them win, Edmure. They are gone. You are still here. You are the man who led men into battle without flinching. You are the man who sheltered smallfolk here, in your home, because you knew they were scared.” Her voice cracked, broken in her throat. “You are the man who read me stories when I was a child. You are a good man. True, brave, and honest.”

Edmure shook his head and a single tear escaped his eye. “I cannot be that man again. I am tied to the family that imprisoned me, killed my sister-”

Y/N reached out to place her hand over Edmure’s on the head of his cane. “The Freys are dead and at my hand. I would gladly do it again. But that woman loves you—loves your son—despite your best attempts to spurn them. The gods have given you a fine wife, Edmure. Do not squander it.”

“She-”

“Is your wife. The mother to your heir. You were once a man of honor. Be so again. No one shall claim the Twins. Let it rot if you wish. Roslin loves you, chose you over her family. There is no ill will in that woman’s soul toward anyone. Just love.” Y/N sighed. “We know love in any form is rare, Edmure. You have found it in Roslin. I have found it-”

“In Dorne,” Edmure grumbled. “Yes, I have heard of your betrothal to Prince Oberyn and your dalliances with his paramour.”

Y/N pulled back her hand and crossed her arms over her chest, a sad shield against the wound he had cut. “I am happy. They love me. I love them. Why can you not see-”

“He has daughters older than you, Y/N. All of them bastards. Do you not believe you could find someone more suitable to call husband?”

“And you think Kirth Vance would be suitable?” She bit out, anger replacing the hurt. “I would give Oberyn eight more bastards if the gods allowed!” She bellowed as something protective struck at her stomach, even if the targets of her cousin’s ire were thousands of leagues away. “He loves me and I love him and Ellaria. He fought beside me, for me—for the gods-forsaken pile of brick and mortar because he knew I once called it home.”

“It is your home!” Edmure yelled in return. “You are a Tully-”

“I am Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell’s wife in all but name and I am going home!” Her chest heaved and she wiped a hand across her face, trying to calm herself before said anything else. “You are the Lord of Riverrun. Lord Paramount of the Trident. You are not a child. Your life has led to this moment. Do not forsake Hoster’s teachings for your learned meekness. He named you as his heir—be the man he knew you to be. Because I cannot and will not be.” And then she left, leaving Edmure alone.

**

Y/N pulled her fur-lined cloak a little tighter about her shoulders as she strode out to the stables. Qelōs was being tended to by the stable hand and her tack was waiting to be placed on her gleaming back. Full saddlebags were ready for one last journey South. Y/N had spent the last night in Riverrun’s Sept, praying for guidance and for her father’s soul one more time—another quiet goodbye. She thought it would be fitting to do it here, in his former home. And as the sun rose the following morning, it was the most at ease she had felt in almost a year.

“I am never coming this far North again,” Obara said, moving closer to her to try to get a bit of body heat. The large fur cloak and gloves were not enough, it seemed. Obara and Oberyn had led an envoy to the Riverlands to collect Y/N and ensure she was safely delivered back to Sunspear. Frost had started to stick to the grass around Riverrun, thin sheets of ice collected over patches of the rivers and Obara had been distraught about the temperature since she arrived with her father two days ago. Ellaria and the rest of the Sand Snakes had stayed in Dorne. Loreza and Dorea had apparently caught a bit of a fever with their first Winter and Oberyn and Ellaria both wanted to keep the rest of their daughters healthy. The little ones would be fine, but Ellaria and Oberyn always wanted to be sure.

Y/N chuckled at Obara’s plight and pulled a thick wool stole from one of her bags and wrapped it around Obara’s shoulders, making sure to tuck it high around her neck. “What of your plans to see Seagard? Hm? Lord Patrek will be devastated.”

Obara sniffed and looked away. “He must wait for Winter to end if he wishes to have me at his home. I am of Dorne. He-”

“Is in love with you, Obara. And Lord Mallister is amiable to the match if you wish it.” Y/N assumed tales of Obara saving his heir’s life and fighting beside the Riverlanders may have something to with Lord Mallister easing his views on who could be a possible match for his son. That, and Oberyn Martell being her father, a Prince of Dorne and the man who took Tywin Lannister’s head from his shoulders was a definite bargaining point. Y/N finished tucking the stole around her frigid companion. “But I am happy to simply see your face again.”

“Sap,” Obara said with a small smirk. “If I have to hear Father wax poetic about your eyes the entire ride to Dorne, I will be forced to murder you both.”

“Oh, I expect nothing less.”

They spoke a little longer, watching their horses be readied for the ride before one of the stable hands said, “Oh, Lord Tully! Good morrow!”

Y/N turned to see Edmure at the mouth of the stables. Roslin was at his side, a small smile on her delicate lips. Something was bundled in his left arm, his right still holding his cane. It had been a tumultuous two weeks within Riverrun’s halls. Edmure had stumbled when regaining his duties but fulfilled them with more confidence with each day. He had kept his conversations with Y/N at a minimum and had steadfastly refused to speak to Oberyn more than necessary when he first arrived. But Edmure softened. At almost an alarming rate. But perhaps that was simply Oberyn’s charm. His pervasive magnetism that could draw nearly everyone to his side if he wanted them. Edmure was no exception. And that gave Y/N a little comfort, to know that Edmure did not hate her betrothed as he had tried. Knowing her two families, no matter how different, were coming together was a solace. Riverrun would survive under Edmure’s lordship.

The pair stepped closer and Roslin helped Edmure press the bundle into Y/N’s arms. “It is a gift for you. A reminder of… of Riverrun.” Not of home. Not anymore.

Y/N looked down at the bundle and watched it move, the tip of the fabric peeling away to reveal a fluffy snout. Y/N quickly unwrapped the dog with a huff of a laugh as it wiggled in her hold. The pup fit comfortably in her arms and had the most beautiful black fur with a tuft of white on his chest.

“He is of the Riverlands, hearty and loyal. Even if Riverrun is no longer your home, I’d like… I’d like if you still had a piece of us with you.”

The pup squirmed in her grasp and raised up on unsteady legs to lick at her chin with a happy yip. A fortuitous distraction for both Edmure and Y/N as they tried to clear the tears from their eyes. Y/N nodded and pressed a kiss to the dog’s head before leaning up to kiss Edmure’s cheek. “He’s wonderful. Thank you, Edmure. A treasure to be sure.”

It was not an apology, not an outright one anyway. But Y/N accepted it just the same. It was a soft ending to a hard chapter.

But she was ready to start a new one.

And as Oberyn walked into the stables, a soft smile on his face, she knew it would be a good one.

**

The distance between Riverrun and Sunspear seemed so long and so short at the same time. Each night was spent in Oberyn’s arms, trying to reclaim the time she had lost. They would whisper about their plans for the future, of how they both wished Ellaria in their arms when the nights grew colder and colder.

But it was good. It was soft and gentle and eased the ache she had held against her heart like a shield since she had left his arms. It was good.

The pup had grown astonishingly fast. He often squirmed out of her grasp in the saddle to trot alongside their horses. If there were ever a body of water near the road, he quickly jumped into it to wet his fur and then happily scampered back into line, proud of himself.

“He is a little bear,” Oberyn once griped as the pup’s sharp teeth nipped at his leg when Oberyn had moved to help Y/N down from her horse. The pup seemed a little insistent on having Y/N’s attention at all hours and he only grew bolder as the distance from Sunspear grew shorter. Obara found her father’s frustration with the pup endlessly entertaining and would also lathe attention on the pup at any moment. She followed her father’s lead in calling him a little bear, much more affectionate in tone. And Y/N supposed the name just stuck. She called him her little river bear in High Valyrian, but settled on just calling him Gryves for short.

As they crossed under the stone arches of Sunspear and the crowds cheered, little Gryves happily pranced next to Qelōs and snapped his jaws, catching the flower petals the people of Sunspear had thrown into the air in celebration of their return. Ellaria and the Sand Snakes were waiting on the steps of the fortress and Y/N dismounted before Qelōs even stopped and raced up the stairs. Tears were in Ellaria’s eyes as Y/N wrapped her in her arms and she could taste them as she pressed her lips to hers again in again in a fevered frenzy as an incandescent warmth bloomed in her chest at just the simple touch of Ellaria’s skin. And it took Ellaria holding her still, gentle hands on the side of her face, to realize she was crying, too. “No more tears, my Tully,” Ellaria whispered. “You are home.”

A happy shriek had them pulling apart to see Dorea and Loreza bowled over on the steps being licked by Gryves whose entire fluffy body was shaking with how quickly he was wagging his tail.

Oberyn stepped to their side and kissed Ellaria soft and slow before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s smiling mouth.

Yes. She was home.

**

Gryves huffed for the third time, disturbing her attempt at sleep. Or maybe the dog knew she couldn’t sleep and was sharing in her plight. Y/N gave up after she heard him huff again and slipped out from under her blankets and padded over to her balcony, letting the cool breeze wash over her as she pulled the doors open. Gryves’ nails tapped against the stone beside her and they both walked to the railing, looking out over the still-bustling fortress.

Her wedding was tomorrow. Her dress was carefully hung and her maiden’s cloak alongside it. Daisy had been bouncing in each step in the last week, happy to have her friend back safely and to “finally see you married to your prince, my lady!” Daisy and Daemon’s own ceremony would be held the following day. People were buzzing about down below, readying for the festivities. While the ceremony would be small, Doran insisted on letting them have every finery they wanted. Y/N did not care if she had to marry in a threadbare sack and in bare feet and they only had blood oranges for their wedding dinner—she simply wanted to be married.

Gryves placed his front paws on the railing and looked out over the small crowd, too. He let out a soft ‘boof’ as he watched. He was still growing, his head now coming to her waist but he was still as playful as ever—and patient. Loreza had fashioned him a hat that looked peculiarly like an otter and he let the girl set it on his head and sat still long enough for the girls to coo over him before getting distracted by a gull he promptly chased into the sea. He was doted on by almost everyone who resided in or worked around Sunspear. (Oberyn was still trying to find a way to get the dog to like him and stop nipping at his leg whenever he tried to kiss Y/N.) Sarella was home (“For only a moment!” she insisted.) from the Citadel and the Sand Snakes were all together again and Y/N found them all to be wondrous company. Daisy and Daemon were still steadfastly in love, perhaps even more so that Daemon had returned unharmed. All of it was so idyllic. So perfect. And for a moment, Y/N once again wondered if the world was about to crash around her—but she quickly dismissed the thought and she thought of Ellaria telling her that happiness does not have limits and that she had the ability to choose every joy and happiness that was placed at her feet. And Y/N wanted to seize every last opportunity.

A knock at her door had her turning and Gryves kept to her side as she walked back into her rooms to open the door. Ellaria was on the other side with a soft smile and Gryves darted around her and into the darkened halls, probably in search of Loreza or Dorea. Y/N stepped back to let Ellaria in and softly shut the door behind her. Before Y/N could ask what she was doing, Ellaria had grasped at her face and pushed her lips to hers, easily delving into Y/N’s surprised mouth to lick and explore. Y/N faltered for a moment before letting her hands slide around Ellaria’s waist, bunching the silky fabric of her dressing robe between her fingers. Ellaria pulled away for a moment to press soft, wet kisses against Y/N’s cheek and down her neck, humming as she felt the thrumming pulse beneath the skin.

“I knew you would not be sleeping, my Tully.” Another kiss to Y/N’s panting mouth. “And I will have to call you something else after tomorrow, won’t I?” Ellaria’s laugh was light and her fingers started to trail up and down Y/N’s arms, raising goosebumps in their wake.

“You can call me whatever you desire,” Y/N said, tone breathy.

“And if I simply wanted to call you mine?”

“I am already yours.” Y/N leaned forward to press her forehead against Ellaria’s as her hands gently grasped Ellaria’s hands in hers, wrapping her fingers around her wrist. “I am yours and you are mine,” she whispered the vow against Ellaria’s lips. It was no Sept. There was not a Septon in sight nor any other trappings of the ceremony. But Y/N meant the vow as seriously as she would tomorrow with Oberyn.

And then Ellaria was kissing her again, tightening her grip on her wrists like she wanted to brand her touch to Y/N’s skin. “I am yours and you are mine.” Ellaria then dragged Y/N forward and spun her around before pressing a hand to her chest and pushing. Y/N didn’t even realize they had come so close to the bed until she fell onto it with a laugh, greedily grabbing at Ellaria’s legs as she climbed over her and stole another kiss against her smiling mouth. “You need to sleep, yes? I have two options for you.”

“Oh?”

Ellaria nodded and trailed her lips across Y/N’s chin, nipping at her jaw, before sliding down her neck again and letting her tongue dip into the notch between Y/N’s collarbones. “I can have you brought tea. Or…”

“Or…” Y/N played along, letting her hands slide up from Ellaria’s legs to her hips but her grip stuttered when Ellaria’s mouth suddenly pressed over her chest, tongue finding her nipple even through the cloth and teasing it to a hardened peak. When she was satisfied with one, she quickly did the same to the other.

“Or I can tire you out myself,” Ellaria said, situating herself with ease so she could lay her cheek against Y/N’s chest, undoubtedly listening to her fluttering heart. “Which would you prefer, my Tully?”

“You. Always you.”

Ellaria’s smile was bright even in the dark of the room as she sat straight and shuffled down the bed while signaling for Y/N to center herself in the blankets. She gracefully stretched out beside her slowly pushed the edge of Y/N’s chemise up, up, up until it exposed her lace-edged small clothes. “You’re always so pretty for me,” Ellaria mused before her fingers trailed over the front of them, already coaxing a moan from Y/N’s lips. “It has been too long since I’ve been able to touch you like this. You are never to leave us like that again.” She leaned down to kiss Y/N’s lips again, licking into her mouth. “Swear to me.”

“I swear it,” Y/N said, last word a breathless gasp as Ellaria’s talented fingers slipped beneath her small clothes and found her heat, ready and wet for her. Y/N had not even realized she had become so wet, only able to focus on Ellaria.

“Good.” Ellaria dragged the damp small clothes and dropped them to the floor. “So pretty,” Ellaria whispered as her fingers started to push through Y/N’s folds, gathering her slick before trailing up to her clit and circling it with just the right amount of pressure to have Y/N’s hips lifting from the featherbed. Again and again, Ellaria would push through Y/N’s folds, barely dipping into where she needed her most, as she pressed lazy, open-mouthed kisses against Y/N’s panting lips.

“Please,” Y/N near-pleaded. “Please.”

“And always so polite.” And then finally—finally—Ellaria curled her fingers into Y/N’s pussy in one single motion and delighted in Y/N’s high pitched whine and how the younger woman fisted her hands in the silk sheets at her sides. Ellaria leaned up just enough to seal her mouth over Y/N’s, all teeth and tongue and heavy, warm breaths as her fingers started to move, dragging in and out even as Y/N’s fluttering walls tried to pull them tight.

The familiar coil was starting to grow and unravel at an embarrassing rate and Y/N heard herself nearly wailing as it snapped and that delicious wave of pleasure washed over her. But Ellaria did not stop. Her fingers continued to curl inside her, Ellaria’s other hand pressed down against Y/N’s belly and pinned her to the bed. Y/N cried out at the burst of pressure she felt bloom and the coil started to wind itself again, now with an unfamiliar bite and sting that sang with each movement of Ellaria’s fingers.

“Oh please,” she said, words choked in her throat. She reached out to grasp at Ellaria’s wrist, pushing her further, letting her fingers brush against the spot only she and Oberyn could reach.

“That’s my good girl. Take what you need.”

Even through her hazed mind, Y/N keened at the praise. She wanted to be a good girl.

Ellaria licked across her panting mouth and bit at Y/N’s spit-slicked lips, smirking the entire time. Y/N’s walls fluttered around her fingers and she pressed her thumb against her clit with enough pressure to have Y/N cry against her mouth. Slick soaked her hand but she did not cease her movements, pushing her fingers into her until her hips pressed up against her grip and Y/N’s fingers clawed at her shoulders.

“El-Ellaria I-”

But she pressed her down to the dampened blankets and smiled. “So beautiful,” she said. “Give me another. My good girl.”

Her thighs shook, nearly clamping down over Ellaria’s arm as wave after wave of terrible pleasure wracked her body. The room blurred as her arms slid down Ellaria’s back to pull her close as if she were not the one inflicting this delicious torture. The sounds that came from Y/N as her fingers continued to move could only be described as lewd. Wet and frenzied.

“Give it to me,” Ellaria said, steady and low against her heated skin.

Y/N cried out as another jolt of blinding pleasure shot through her, hips finally lifting from the featherbed as her vision went white. Her heart continued to roar in her ears. Ellaria’s fingers slowed their assault before pulling out, leaving Y/N feeling empty and spent even as her body shivered with residual tremors. Ellaria’s glistening fingers dipped between her kiss-bitten lips and her tongue twisted and slid to gather everything she could. When she was finished, she shuffled down Y/N’s body to press a kiss against her wet cunt and Y/N let out a broken moan. Her dark eyes sparkled when she looked up at her. “One more.” She licked a broad stripe up from her hole to her clit and Y/N keened, nerves alight and near painful. But the long strokes of Ellaria’s tongue continued, broken up by little kitten licks against her clit or dipping inside. Every flick of Ellaria’s glorious tongue brought Y/N closer to the precipice but it came sooner than either of them anticipated, dribbling out of her with a broken sort of cry and a new puddle between her thighs. With a final kiss, Ellaria rose and walked to the vanity near the open balcony and pulled a golden cloth from its pile before dipping it into the small basin of water Daisy had left for Y/N to wash her face earlier. She slid onto the bed again and wiped between Y/N’s still shaking thighs with a gentle touch, delighting when she shivered. “Are you all right?” Ellaria asked as her tongue peeked from between her lips out to clean the shining mess from around mouth.

Y/N sighed with a tired smile. “I am perfect.” She reached out toward Ellaria’s soft skirts and felt the silk slide between her fingers. “But I would like to please you, too.”

Ellaria smiled and dropped the damp fabric to the floor. “Are you sure?”

“I am. But I hope you do not mind guiding me.”

Ellaria slipped back onto the bed and her knees bracketed Y/N’s thighs as the younger woman gently pulled the skirt up to reveal Ellaria’s uncovered mound, shining in the candlelight. Y/N’s hands slid from her waist to the backs of her thighs, urging Ellaria up toward her face. Ellaria had taught her many things, one of them being how to give her pleasure with just her fingers and Y/N had delighted in the taste of her love. But, in truth, Y/N had been fascinated by watching Oberyn make Ellaria cum with his wicked tongue. She wanted a taste from the source, too.

“By the gods, you are perfect,” Ellaria murmured holding her skirts higher so she could look to see Y/N’s face between her legs. She reached down to curl her hand around the back of Y/N’s head, pulling her up to meet the crux of her thighs.

Y/N quickly licked a short but firm stripe from Ellaria’s hole to her clit, earning a soft sigh in return. The bitterly sweet taste of Ellaria was heavenly and Y/N quickly, selfishly, licked again and then wiggled her tongue against Ellaria’s hole, trying to collect as much as she could.

“That’s it.” Ellaria’s grip tightened on her head and Y/N licked again and again before taking a chance and pulling her clit into her mouth and sucking. They both sunk into the pillows.

Y/N reached up and around to grasp at Ellaria’s hips as her licks grew bolder, encouraged by Ellaria’s moans. They grew louder as her tongue started to delve and lick and press. Ellaria would sometimes murmur instructions, “to the left” “right there” “a little harder, my darling” and Y/N followed each with wild abandon and squealed when Ellaria pressed down onto her mouth and moved her hips, grinding against her tongue.

“So good,” She panted. “So good.”

Y/N ate her out in earnest, sloppy and spit sliding out of the corner of her lips between covetous licks. Ellaria could suffocate her like this easily—and Y/N would die happy.

Exploring fingers slid down and Y/N simply pressed against the bundle of nerves and smiled when Ellaria wailed in response, head tilted back to press the sound into the sticky night air. Her hips moved faster. Y/N did all she could to keep up, to give Ellaria as much as she had given her. The hold on her head tightened and Ellaria suddenly stilled above her with a groan. The thighs on either side of Y/N’s head shook and the taste of Ellaria flooded her mouth. Y/N pulled her fingers away from her clit but gave a few final licks before Ellaria pushed off and then sat beside her on the pillows.

Ellaria caught her breath with a laugh and then leaned down to press a kiss to Y/N’s lips. “I cannot wait to teach you everything I know.”

Ellaria kissed her again before Y/N rose and wet her own bit of cloth to wipe between Ellaria’s thighs. She lathed a kiss against each of Ellaria’s legs before pulling her skirts down again as she lounged on the featherbed. “I will be a dutiful student.”

The laugh Ellaria let out was tired but joyful. And they spoke for a few more stolen moments, Ellaria constantly checking to make sure Y/N was not overworked or feeling strange as they shared slow kisses in the moonlight. “Will you be able to rest now?” Ellaria asked as Y/N yawned.

“You have thoroughly exhausted me.”

Ellaria’s smile grew and she kissed Y/N one more time before she slipped off the bed again. “Then I shall see you in the morning, Princess.”

Y/N smiled at the sound of the title. “In the morning, my love.”

A/N: Please let me know what you guys think! I really appreciate it. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut​ @lostinwonderland314​ @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills​ @nyrnerosmartell​ @5hundreddaysofsummer​ @honestlystop @huliabitch​ @youhavemyfantasticbeasts​ @karmezii​ @thesadvampire​ @sarcasmisakindofmagic @alexa4040​ @paintballkid711 @huliabitch​ @stitchers-in-stitches​ @iellaren-uodo-rian​

[itsmoonphobic]

👑Royal Buisness👑 (SBI+Tommy AU)

Hello!My name is Moonbow and I am a huge sbi+more fan! And so I decided to do my bois some justice and create a au based off of dnd and skyrim!They all reside in the land of "Bladestrom" a legendary kingdom build out of mysterious ruins and on the ground where dragons once rested.I will let you in on some headcanons and insights about each character!I hope you guys enjoy it🥺👑💓

Dave(Techno) Blade:

The 12th heir of the throne King Technoblade,or simply King Blade.A strong and fearless warrior known for his determination,power and strength.

He has a serious and egoistic facade.Though in reality the king is anything but egoistic and serious.Quiet the opposite actually:He tends to be very polite and respectful.Sure his ego is the size of a full grown dragon but he is a big hearted man.

Techno mostly stays in his castle walls and prefers to read or write in peace.The only time he will actually step foot in the outside world was during night,when his people need him or his favorite hobby ;)

He has a pretty unbalanced and unhealthy sleeping schedule which he constantly gets reminded of.

The only person Techno actually lets into his private life is his best friend Phil.Phil is Techno's personal knight and right hand man.Techno trusts Phil with his eyes closed,his loyalty is very appreciated.

A huge downside for Techno's reputation is that he is really shy and socially awkward.The poor guy can't find the right words or say anything normal without feeling like he said something fully absurd.

Apart from reading and fighting,Techno loves to farm potatoes in his free time.He loves the fresh taste once they are harvested and prepared properly!!His potatoes are known to be from the best quality in the whole land!Which earns Techno some extra money.

Techno won't admit it infront of Phil or anyone else but he has a soft spot for children,especially orphans. He knows the feeling of growing up without parents and he feels connected to them.That's why Techno stops by the local orphanage to donate some money he earned from his potato farming.

Techno loves to train and upgrade his swordsmanship abilities to their fullest potential.Always coming up with new strategies and techniques to use whenever the time for war would fall upon them once again.

And speaking of war,the thing that terrified the neighboring kingdoms and enemies even more about King Blade is the fact that he never manages to lose. Everyone stupid enough to challenge the king of Bladestrom would go down in shame and regret.

Though Techno isn't really in control of himself in those types of situations.His lust for blood overcomes his senses and he can't but see red with every step he takes on the battlefield.

Phil is usually the one who manages to calm him down and get him back to his normal self.Techno would feel awful and expose the side he hates the most about him to Phil: Vulnerability

Techno doesn't take things very seriously.He is very sarcastic and relaxed all the time,and that's what makes him even scarier.

He competes in the yearly bladestrom championships which is a battle arena with different challenges and obstacles you have to beat.And suprise,suprise Techno wins em' all!

Techno suffers from adhd and anxiety.Something that only Phil is aware of is Techno's ptsd.He didn't exactly have the luxurious and perfect life growing up,so when he ends up getting nightmares or panic attacks Phil's dad instincts take over and do their thing.

Long story short,Techno doesn't necessarily know his limits,but he is hundred percent aware of his strengths and weaknesses.He protects and takes care of the people he deeply cares about and welcomes them as family.His power is what makes him a fearless and violent king.But his heart is what makes him a kind and understanding human.And if he ever forgets about that side of him he simply has to listen to the repeated beating in his chest.

Phil Watson:

The royal guard with a five year long achievement on staying at the top of his game and ranking as the number one royal knight.

Earning himself the trust and life long,brother like friendship with the king himself was a big plus!

Phil is a very loyal and hardworking man.He seeks justice and always wants to take things the slow and pacifistic way before instantly turning to violence and bloodshed,much unlike his best friend.

Phil is very kind,and gentle when he needs to be. Everyone loves seeing Phil in the local town tavern or in a city bar.He always seems to read poeple like an open book and find the right topics to talk about.

Techno and Phil have a very close and important relationship.They are like a brothers,though Techno secretly looks up to Phil like a father he never had. Phil would risk his life for Techno,not only becouse of his duty as his personal guard,but becouse family comes first.

Phil is a very wholesome and strong willed guy.

Whenever Techno is feeling down or something like a panick attack or nightmare is happening,Phil immediately notices it.Techno doesn't have to say a word for Phil to hug him and take care of the vulnerable king in his hands.

He will find Techno on his balcony while patrolling the castle halls or garden in the middle of the night just staring at the moonlit sky.He always seems so lost in thought and carefree that Phil simply smiles and continues his work.

He does scold him for not resting enough the next day though-so he's never really off the hook :D

Phil is also the only person who really knows Techno.He knows his deepest fears,biggest insecurities and darkest secrets.He sees him in moments where the world would turn his back on him but Phil doesn't and he never will.That's what he promised him all those years ago.

Long story short,Phil is very kind and hardworking.He takes problems into his own hands and solves them the best way he possibly can.He can and will tease the living daylight out of Techno and that infront of other residents of the castle who don't know if they should laugh or simply stare in shock.Phil deeply loves and cares of Techno like his son and always makes sure ro put his well being infront of his own.

(I WOULD DIE FOR PHIL-HE IS SO WHOLESOME AHHH-)

Wilbur Soot:

A lonesome musician on the lookout for money and success-

Wilbur is a guitarist living on the streets of Bladestrom He goes from bar to bar and performs his musical talent there.Though the majority of the time Wil plays and sings on the streets.

Earning money is hard so affording an apartment,even a room for a few nights is almost impossible for Wilbur since he only earns a few silver coins per night,that is if he gets lucky and poeple actually listen to him.

He is very charming and suave,also add the fact that he is pretty handsome to the list and you have yourself the perfect boyfriend.May I inform you that his voice is a perfect balance between velvety and rough-

Wilbur isn't from Bladestrom.He grew up in another kingdom which he can't remember the name from since he arrived here during a war 19 years ago.

He never really heard from his parents,they just sort of disappeared.But that was something Wilbur didn't question,he didn't care about them.He learned how to survive and keep himself company.He doesn't need a family ro accomplish his goals.

Wilbur is a huge gentleman and he is also tends to be extremely flirtatious,which he is really good at btw!So yeah he earns himself some extra points with the ladies ;)

His biggest dream that he is trying to achieve is to become a famous musician in the whole entire land. Opening his own theater and doing what he loves the most.Sing and perform.

But living on the streets has it's ups and down's.Most nights Wilbur has to deal with drunk people wandering the alleyways or annoying little children who constantly pickpocket you-

Wilbur will sometimes nonchalantly sneak into a hotel and sleep in one of their cozy beds,since he doesn't experience that feeling often.Or the places he performs at reward him with shelter instead of money.

Long story short,Wilbur can keep apart dreams and reality.He is a smart and sly person who knows how to accomplish his goals.Even though Wilbur has his one Night stands more than often he would never betray a woman if he got into a serious relationship,which he plans on not having any time soon.He keeps to himself and sternly focuses on the things that matter in life,everything else is irrelevant.

Tommy Simons:

An energetic orphan with no manners and the mouth of a sailor.

Tommy grew up on the streets,any memory of his past life or family only appear as a missing puzzle piece or a black canvas.

Tommy is a very outgoing and optimistic person,his emotions are practically worn out on his sleeves.

Spending his days in the local town orphanage Tommy met a few poeple who he spends his time with.You could say that he has formed a wierd alliance with his more questionable friends.

Tommy learned how to defend himself and make sure that his "gang" stas safe aswell.He is quite the expert at pickpocketing which comes in handy.

Being quick and light on his feet,if Tommy does get caught by the royal guards he manages to escape and get away with the stuff he stole.

On the other hand though,Tommy is extremely clumsy and seeks huge amount of admiration in any way.He constantly wants people to refer to him as the best.

And to repeatedly prove himself worthy of that title he picks fights with multiple poeple and always manages to make poeple hate him.He won't say it out loud but he sees the bloody noses and bruises as badges of honor,he's proud of them.

This little troublemaker has only one person he dreams to meet one day,but for now he can only hear stories about him and admire him from afar.And that person is none other than King Blade himself.

Oh what he would give to train with him and show off his badass moves and fighting skills.

Long story short,Tommy doesn't think before he acts and he surprisingly manages to pull off any stupid stunt he plans to do.For Tommy it's kill or be killed.Either you face your fears head on and establish dominance or you act like a coward and run away.And there was no way Tommy ever does the second option even if it gets him into dangerous situations.Tommy is very overprotective over poeple he cares about,his guild is his brotherhood,his family,and he would do anything for them,even going sofar as risking his life.

THIS IS ALL I HAVE FOR NOW-I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS AU BECOUSE I AM ABSOLUTELY IN LOVE AND I CAN'T GET OVER THE FACT THAT MY BRAIN ACTUALLY MANAGED TO WORK PROPERLY AND CREATE SOMETHING USEFUL-Sorry I ramble alot,anyway I am definitely planing on making this a whole ass fanfiction on AO3 so yeah KWKDJWKIS I AM HYPED!!Love u all <3

[dany-is-my-queen]

Born To Be Yours | Part VI

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader eventually)

Season 1-8

Word count: 1,993

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9

The Hound was fighting an unarmed opponent atop the Walls of the Red Keep during a tourney to celebrate your brother’s nameday. He knocked his shield away and the man fell hard into the courtyard below.

You were seated next to Myrcella, Sansa was on the opposite edge, faking smiles to keep the King pleased. You grew closer and closer with each day that passes, so as your feelings.

“Well struck, Dog!” He said out loud.

“Did you like that?” He turned to Sansa. You rolled your eyes.

“It was a well struck, your grace.” She replied.

“I already said it was a well struck.”

She waited a few seconds to confirm. “Yes, your grace.”

“Who’s next?”

“Lothor Brune, freerider in the service of Lord Baelish. Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard.” The announcer exclaimed. The last one didn’t appear to be in his five senses. Joffrey gestured him to have more wine, Ser Meryn Trant and another Kingsguard began to pour the liquid down the funnel and the poor knight gurgled and struggled to continue drinking.

“You can’t!” Sansa suddenly shouted before the man collapsed.

“What did you say? Did you say I can’t?”

“I only meant... it would be bad luck to kill a man on your name day.”

“What kind of stupid peasant’s superstition...”

“The girl is right.” Sandor tossed.

“Yes, she is. You’ll reap what you sow on your nameday.” You added.

“He’ll make such a better fool than a knight. He doesn’t deserve the mercy of a quick death.” How kind of the northerner to save the life of someone she doesn’t even know. Those small actions make you admire her.

“Did you hear my lady, Ser Dontos? From now on you’ll be my new fool!”

“Thank you, your grace. And you, my lady, thank you.” They took him away.

“Beloved nephew.” Your uncle’s voice made you instantly smile. He was accompanied by multiple men.

“We’ve looked for you on the battlefield. Joffrey sat down. “You where nowhere to be found.”

“I was here, ruling the Kingdoms.” You almost sneer.

“What a fine job you’ve done.” He jokingly said.

“My dear niece! You look older and prettier.” He kissed your forehead. You grinned.

“You look younger and more handsome” He winked.

“Look at you!” He smiled at your sister. “More beautiful than ever.”

“And you! You are going to be bigger than the Hound, but much better looking.” The three of you laughed.

“We’ve heard you were dead.” Joffrey unconcernedly said.

“I’m glad you are not dead.” The little princess assured.

“We’ve missed you. We have to catch up.” He nodded towards you.

“And we will. Death is so boring, especially now with so much excitement in the world.” He looked at Sansa. “My lady, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Her loss? Her father was a confessed traitor!” The blond angrily screamed.

“But still her father. Surely having recently lost your own you can sympathize.” Not his, but yours. You closed your eyes before the grief took over you.

“My father was a traitor. My mother and brother are traitors too. I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey.” All she can do is pretend and say the right words. The loathe she had for him was only getting bigger.

“Of course you are.” Tyrion smirked sympathetically. The redhead looked your way and you gave her a sweet smile.

He left the tent with his group of people ignoring the King’s questions. It’s so good to have your favorite uncle back. You were still concerned about Jaime. Will the Starks trade him for Sansa? It was sure that Robb was not going to come to the capital. Arya was still missing.

You wanted her to be reunited with her family. The other part of you was shattering at the thought of her leaving. If there was an opportunity you would definitely support her, after all, what mattered to you was her safety and happiness, you tried to provide both but nothing can really fill that hole. Not with Joffrey tormenting her. You would be sad but relieved if she left, you couldn’t be selfish.

“Walk with me, my lady.” You offered your arm to Sansa what she gladly accepted.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m going to steal you.” You quipped and saw she blushed a little. “Would you fancy visiting the streets of the city?”

“Yes, I’d love to.” Two soldiers were accompanying you keeping their distance.

“I remember when I used to wander around the castle in Winterfell. They were all warm to each other.” She seemed to recalled.

“The people who live here... some are happy and some are not. They don’t have enough resources to subsist. They manage to survive.” You gave silver and gold coins to the elder and children who roamed.

“My mother used to tell me... humility makes people great. Envy and selfishness makes them small.”

“And she’s right.” You halted in the market. Spotting the tent you usually go to. They make beautiful things. Such as purses, necklaces, bracelets, etc. They are not made of the finest materials but they are nice and these merchants work really hard.

“Princess Y/N! You honor me with your presence.” The black-haired woman said, a friend of yours.

“Hello, Addy. What did you bring today?

“I have these pins. And the two lions you have it made.” She showed you the wood pieces with flawless details.

“Do you like them, Sansa? Choose the ones you want”

“For my siblings and my mother.” She picked five wolf brooches.

“Thank you very much. Say hello to little Cass. And remember, anything she or the other kids on the orphanage need, tell me.” Addy nodded with gratitude and bowed.

“It’s very generous what you do for them. You are truly an angel.” The lady smiled warmly.

“I know being in the Red Keep can be suffocating. I’ll get you out of there anytime I get the chance.”

“You are my hero.” You part ways once you entered the big castle. You headed to your uncle’s new room.

“The Hand of the King... I didn’t see that coming.” He waved at you.

“Me neither, sweet niece. It’s so good to see you! How is everything in here? I just had a meeting with the council. The summer is over. Your mother was quite angry with the fact I’m the Hand in my father’s stead. She brought this on herself. The North has risen up against us when your moron brother called for Ned Stark’s head.”

“I tried to stop him. It was useless. He thinks he owns the world now, he is not ruling cautiously, I fear for my siblings life, for everyone’s life.”

“Luckily I’m here to supervise his moves. Advise him. Save the city. Not as easy as it sounds I’m afraid.”

“Did you stayed out of trouble?” You asked him well knowing the answer.

“Well... I pissed out in the edge of the Wall. I slept in a sky cell. Lady Arryn almost sentenced me to die. I fought with the hill tributes. So many adventures.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh I see, that must have been a lot of fun.” Both of you laughed.

“You can’t imagine.”

It has been an unsteady week. Being with little Tommen and Myrcella has been a distraction from the incoming war you’re dealing with. Renly and Stannis proclaimed themselves Kings. You like to be up to date, so you talk with your mother about these matters.

“My uncles... they’re going to get here anytime soon. We have to be prepared.”

“They have no claim. Let them try. We’ll kick them off the moment they set foot on the shores.” Cersei declared dryly.

“I’ve heard some... disturbing rumors about-“

“You believe them?”

“Absolutely not. I’m just curious.” You shrugged.

“Everyone’s intention is to tear our family apart. Destroy us from within. This gossip is just feeding those who don’t want your brother on the throne.” And you said nothing more.

“You’re losing the people, do you hear me?” Tyrion tried to make her listen.

“The people, you think I care?”

“You should.” You told her, annoyed by her apathy.

“Yes. You might find it difficult to rule over millions who want you dead. Half the city will starve when winter comes. The other half will plot to overthrow you. And your gold-plated thugs just gave them the rallying cry, “The Queen Slaughter babies.” She remained silent. “You don’t even have the decency to deny it.” You scowled. “It wasn’t you who gave the order, was it? Joffrey didn’t even tell you. Or did he? I imagine that would be even worse.” Your uncle growled.

“He did what needed to be done!”

“No. They were innocent. What’s wrong with you? What kind of King is he becoming? You objected.

“You don’t even know who they were, Y/N. This is what ruling is! Lying on a bed of weeds, ripping them out by the root one by one before they strangle you in your sleep.”

“I’m no king, but I think there’s more ruling than that.”

“You’ve never taken it seriously. It’s all fallen on me.”

“As has Jaime repeatedly. According to Stannis Baratheon.” You averted your eyes.

“How dare you say that kind of filthy lies in front of my daughter!” The Queen Regent gave him a withering look. “You’ve always been funny. But none of your jokes will ever match the first one, will they? You remember... when you ripped my mother, open your way out of her and she bled to death.” It hurt to see the look of your uncle’s face.

“She was my mother too.”

“Now she’s gone, for the sake of you. There’s no bigger joke in the world than that.” She stormed out, you followed her.

“You shouldn’t be so cruel with my uncle. If I had lost you when either Myr or Tom were born I would never blame them. I know it must have been pretty hard growing up without your mom, but don’t take it out on him.”

“She died so he could live. A little freak. An abomination.” She spat poison.

“Don’t speak of him that way.”

“Why you defend him so much?”

“Cause he is my family. He is a good person.”

“Joffrey is also your family. And yet you detest him.”

“He has a serious problem. You don’t want to see it or maybe you’re okay with it. Remember when we were kids? I was four and he was five. He used to find pleasure on pushing me, you just stared at us and said it was a normal thing. I grew up and I was able to defend myself, one time I did it and you freaked out, you yelled at me, made me feel so small... you held him while I was sobbing, just because I moved when he tried to hit me making him fell to the ground. Of course, it was my fault according to both of you. How many times did Joffrey hurt me? Said I was ugly cause I wasn’t blonde like him? That I didn’t deserve to be a princess, he was so mean to me and you never lectured him. I recall how many nights I spent crying alone in my room wondering why my mother didn’t care enough to stand up for me when my big brother treated me like I was worthless. You broke my heart a very long time ago. I learned how to pick up the pieces. I’m not that helpless little girl anymore.” You could feel your eyes starting to get teary. You didn’t expect her to say something soothing. Cersei apparently ran out of words, you thanked for her silence instead of lying to you, deep down you hoped she’d embrace you. It was too much to ask for. You lingered a bit more before turning and leaving. Heartbroken once more.

[trassellynn]

The Black Pieces

Hi everyone!  This is my story for @grishaversebigbang 2020!  I am so excited!  First of all, I want to thank the wonderful people who worked with me at this story: Corporalki (Beta): @forthegenuine  Materialki (Artists): @bubble--berry  (work here ) @clearlynotclaire  (work here ) 

@saatanan-sorsasesonki (work here )

@saintprivateer  Sensitivity Reader: @zemenipearls 

Synopsis:   Twenty-one years after Crooked Kingdom events, people start to disappear in Ketterdam. Kaz understands the fault is in Igor Valaky, a mad scientist escaped from Ravka, and he contacts Nikolai. The Ravkan king persuades Dirtyhands and King Steffen of Fjerda to form a team of eight skilled teenagers to help them with Valaky’s capture. The young team is called “The Black Pieces” and each of the members represents one of the main chess pieces: a king, a queen, two bishops, two knights and two rooks. You can find my fiction on Ao3 here

Under the cut, you’ll find the Prologue! 

ANIKA  A single, dull, bell toll echoed throughout the sleeping city. Anika walked along the poorly illuminated streets of the Barrel, with a black jacket that shielded her tiny body from the fresh, night air, a couple of guns fastened to her leather belt and a sharp knife hidden in the right boot. It had been a good day, at the Crows Club, that had kept her busy from early morning, but also gave her great satisfaction. That was her world, a harsh, sometimes cruel, but always homely kingdom and she was born to be the Hand of the king, his loyal and capable second in command. Not the queen, she thought.   The queen, the one who had kept the king’s heart in her hands for over two decades, fought her battles elsewhere, for the majority of the year. And when she came back to the city, she was always torn between the calls of two kings: the beloved criminal and the sea. The latter always won. Sometimes, Anika wondered how it was, how they felt. She could barely imagine living parted from Fannie, her lovely Fannie, who always waited for her awake, in their apartment near Fifth Harbour.   She left the Barrel behind, taking a quiet, almost deserted road. There was a single human being there, apart from her, a pretty girl around twenty, with long, wavy, chestnut brown hair which almost reached her waist. She was closing the door of a small pub. Anika gave her a small, polite nod, when she walked by her: she had already met that girl before, more than once. She was a young immigrant from the Wandering Island, who worked in a floral shop and, sometimes, earned extra money serving as a waitress in the pub. I should buy some flowers for Fannie, tomorrow, Anika thought, her low heels ticking on the pebbles of the small street. White and blue flowers. Her favourites.

She had almost reached the end of the street, when a loud shriek broke the silence of the night, making her turn around, a hand on her right gun: the girl was struggling against two persons, a man and a woman, both wearing the typical kefta from two different Grisha orders. The woman was a Squaller, the man a Fabrikator. What’s happening?, Anika thought, catching her gun and aiming at them. Why are they trying to kidnap that girl? She knew she had no chance against two Grisha, but she could count on the element of surprise, since they hadn’t seen her. “Let me go, please!” the girl screamed. “What do you want from me?” The Squaller said something to her companion, in Ravkan, then, she covered the girl’s mouth with a hand, while the Fabrikator used his powers to animate a thick rope, that wrapped her body like the coils of a snake. Anika narrowed her eyes, then, she pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot was immediately followed by a male scream: the Fabrikator collapsed to the ground, clenching his left leg, while the Squaller turned her head to their attacker, giving her a killer glance. “Let her go!” Anika ordered, aiming at the woman’s arm and shooting again. Even though he was injured, the Fabrikator moved his hand so quickly she didn’t even notice it. A sudden, piercing pain exploded into Anika’s right shoulder, making her scream and lose the grip on her gun.   The woman knelt to the ground, almost breathless, her left hand clutching the wounded shoulder, where her own bullet, sent back by the man’s magic, had sunk .Her eyes went wet, while she raised her glance to check the situation, and thanks to the male Grisha’s distraction, the girl had been able to free herself from the rope and, led by desperation and survival instinct, she hit the Squaller’s cheekbone with her elbow. With the left hand, Anika grabbed the gun she had let fall and tried to stand up.“Help me!” the girl cried, running towards her. “Please, help me!” The Dregs’ deputy chief trudged ahead, stretching her trembling right arm. The pain was almost unbearable, but she needed her left hand ready to shoot again. “Qu-quicker…” she panted. “T-take my hand…” They almost did it. They went so close that Anika felt the warmth of the girl’s fingertips on hers. Then, the snake-like rope flew towards its young victim, catching her right leg. The flower girl was suddenly thrown up into the air, hanged upside down, screaming and fidgeting, her long, soft hair fell down to her face, like a reddish-brown curtain. “No!” Anika yelled, aiming at the kidnappers again. The Squaller raised her hands and a strong, howling wind travelled along the street, reaching the Dreg lady and hurling her behind, making her crash against the shop window of a furniture store. The glass broke and Anika hit a huge, exposed wardrobe with the injured shoulder. The intense pain almost took her breath away, then, everything went black. She woke up some minutes after, when someone tapped her forehead and cheeks with a wet, cold handkerchief. Pim’s worried face was bending over her. “Anika!” he whispered. “Anika, can you hear me?” The woman moaned, grabbing his wrist with the left hand. She could taste a bloody flavour into her mouth. “Pim…” she murmured, coughing. “Wh-where’s the girl?” Her comrade frowned, making her heart sink. “What girl?”

[justfandomwritings]

United In Fear (Part One - Soulmate!Robb)

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader; Soulmates AU (because Game of Thrones just didn’t have enough fantasy drama for me)

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: Angsty fluff, someone get’s punched but it’s not super dramatic

Summary: The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.

Notes: so the thing is right... I didn’t really mean to write this. It just sort of came out. Long story short. It’s an idea I had. If people like it, I’ll finish it. It will probably take 3-4 Parts to complete the story arc I have in mind. Each part about this long.

It wasn’t her banner or her looks that tipped Robb Stark off that she was (Y/n) Lannister. It was her being. The way she dismounted her horse while all of Winterfell still knelt before Robert Baratheon, as though everyone, even the King, was beneath her. The way she took her brother’s helping hand as if Lannister blood was the only thing worthy of touching her skin. The way her chin never dipped, always keeping her head up and her gaze held high. The way her feet glided over the ground with quick, sure steps that spoke of how little she wished to touch Northern soil. The way she never met the gaze of anyone, save her siblings, Robb’s father, and the King. (Y/n) Lannister could not have hidden her identity even if she tried, and she most certainly did not try.

She kept beside her brother as the King motioned for them to rise and greeted Robb’s father. Her eyes took the time to wander over the keep, and she kept her expression unreadably passive wherever they went. She made no acknowledgment that anything important was happening around her until her sister exited the carriage. (Y/n) released her brother’s arm and stepped forward to stand at the queen’s right hand.

“My queen,” Ned Stark said as he bent to kiss Cersei’s offered hand.

“My queen,” Catelyn echoed with a curtsy.

Cersei greeted both with a weary, but polite nod. “My sister,” Cersei stepped aside, positioning herself in front of Robb, and held out her hand for introductions, “(Y/n) Lannister, Lady of the Rock.”

(Y/n) offered no hand, so Ned simply bowed before her. “My lady.”

She curtsied with the air of someone who would have preferred not to move at all. “A pleasure, Lord Stark.”

“The pleasure is ours, Lady Lannister,” Catelyn greeted, repeating her curtsy.

(Y/n) returned Catelyn’s pleasantries only to be interrupted by the King. “Take me to your crypt. I want to pay my respects.”

(Y/n) and Cersei averted their gaze to Robert with matching expressions of distaste. “We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.” Cersei’s tone was dismissive, but her expression as Robert called for Ned to step around her was nothing short of wounded.

Robb watched the sneer on (Y/n)’s face as she eyed Robert Baratheon’s retreating back. He wondered, to himself, if it was agitation at being spoken over, agitation on her sister’s behalf, or simply agitation with the state of the King. Robb wasn’t sure he would blame her with any of the three. He couldn’t recall his father ever speaking over a noblewoman of any standing, and Ned was certainly never so dismissive to Robb’s mother.

And the King. Well, the King was not at all what Robb expected from his father’s stories. He knew the man had aged some since his father had last seen him, but Robb thought he’d have aged with more dignity. He didn’t expect a belly fat with food, breath stale with wine, or a horse’s dismount that require a servant to bring the King a stool. Robert Baratheon was what Robb Stark expected of a wealthy village drunkard, not his supposedly heroic, noble namesake.

The Lannisters, for all the harsh words his father had to say about them, did not at all disappoint. The family measured up entirely to even their most fantastical tales. The Queen had aged some since the songs had named her the Light of the West, but she had aged with grace. Her beauty had changed, but Robb could say with some certainty that it hadn’t faded.

Jaime Lannister was ever the Golden Lion. A ballad of his bravery during the Greyjoy Rebellion had once been sung at a feast in Winterfell, and Ned Stark had grudgingly admitted the words to be true. The Queen’s twin was a formidable man who’s self confidence was only matched by the skill he used to justify it. All the poets had something to say or sing about Jaime Lannister. Some painted him a hero, some a villain. But all painted him the perfect image of a knight, and the man before Robb now proved them all to be right.

(Y/n) was not the subject of songs, but whispers. Tywin’s youngest child was no older than Robb himself, the product of a second marriage Tywin did not wish to make. She was rumored to be her father reincarnate. With her mother dead in the birthing bed and her siblings in King’s Landing, (Y/n) had been raised by Tywin and Tywin alone, entirely in his own image. Watching her stand in the grounds of Winterfell, Robb would say that Tywin’s quest had been a complete success. She was only a young woman, yet her presence demanded respect, and everyone gave it.

“Where’s the Imp?” Arya asked her older sister, with no attempts at hiding her words.

The words drew (Y/n)’s gaze, and for the first time, Robb watched his youngest sister cower back, afraid.

The Queen turned her head to her sister. “The little beast wandered off again.”

“I’ll find him,” (Y/n) didn’t bother to look at her sister as she addressed her. Her eyes stayed on Arya for a moment longer before she whipped around, marching back to her horse.

“My lady,” Catelyn took a step out of line after the youngest Lannister. “Perhaps, we can offer some assistance.”

Jaime Lannister responded with a chuckle as he offered (Y/n) a hand back on her horse. “Only in finding your nearest brothels.”

Catelyn Stark was thoroughly scandalized as Lady (Y/n) rode away, Ser Jaime following at her heels.

Robb sighed to himself and turned away. She hadn’t been introduced to him. He still couldn’t be sure.

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The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.

In the North, they maintained the names were a mystery of the Old Gods, a force that no man could influence or pretend to understand. The descendants of the First Men claimed the names long predated the Faith of the Seven and dated all the way back to the Children of the Forest. No proof could be found of this, but given the Andals hostile takeover of the other kingdoms, much of the First Men’s culture and history had been lost. It fell to the Starks alone to remember, and they did their job well. The North remembered.

The Reach claimed they came from the Father. They argued that if the names were given by the gods, surely they came from the Father who was Above All. They weaved a tale of a man, loyal to no god but the Seven, who came to Westeros with the invasion of the Andals. He preached and pleaded with the First Men to convert to the one true religion, and everywhere he went they rebuked him. Everywhere but Oldtown. Everyone but House Hightower. As a gift, for the conversion of Damon Hightower to the Faith of the Seven, the Father gave the names to the Reach, and thus as the faith spread so did the names across all of Westeros.

The Stormlands claimed that, in fact, the Smith, mender of broken things, was responsible for the gift. Men, whether they were Andals or First Men or Rhoynar, were harsh, imperfect creatures, and nowhere was that more true than the Stormlands. The Smith had long made it his responsibility to put their world right, and that began with fixing the men themselves. He began with Hugor of the Hill, the first King of the Andals. The Smith touched Hugor’s arm to give him the name of his wife, so she might heal the scars the world left on him and his sons might find maidens of their own to do the same.

The Warrior was, in fact, the source of the The Vale’s legends. It made sense in that The Vale was the first place invaded by the Andals. They claimed the reason the names existed in Westeros but not Essos was because the Andals had never conquered the eastern continent. Where the Andals seized land in honor of the Warrior, the Seven would bless the soldiers out of gratitude for their service. Of course, this blessing started with the Vale.

In the Crownlands, the names were said to be given by the Mother. It was said that one day she looked down on a small, forgotten sept in the Crownlands and saw one of her devout, a young married woman, crying at her altar. The young woman had been married for two years and had yet to fall pregnant with her husband. He was an angry, cruel man, threatening to disavow her and name her barren if she did not give him a child within the year. The woman called out for the Mother’s mercy, for a child she could not have, and the Mother heard her cries. She wanted happiness for her good and faithful servant and knew she would not attain it with such a man. Reaching down, the Mother touched the woman’s arm, and a man’s name appeared, a name that was not her husband’s. Many years later, Baelor the Blessed would visit every sept in the Crownlands, looking for the place where the Mother gave the names, and when he sensed he had found it, he built up around that sept the Great Sept of Baelor, a sept worthy of the gift the Mother had given to man that day.

The Westerlands cited scripture. It was written in the Seven Pointed Star that Hugor of the Hill received a blessing from each of the Gods, and when it came to the Maid, she gave Hugor a maiden of his own, a wife of great beauty and innocence. The Westerlands maintained this must mean she gave the names; it was the Maiden’s way of giving the gift of love to every true believer in the Seven.

The Crone belonged to the Riverlands, in more ways than one. To the Lords and Ladies of the Riverlands, the Crone was held in the highest esteem. The names were without fault or failure. How could anyone think the wisdom of age, that only came from the old woman, was not involved? They told a lovely story of the Crone looking on the youth of the Maiden with sympathy for her ignorance. Longing to spare her from making the same mistakes the Crone had learned from in her youth, the Crone spared her the search for a man who truly loved her by pointing her in the right direction.

Dorne had the simplest explanation, and they did not bother trying to justify it with tall tales or kingdom history. They said the names were a gift from the Stranger. So that no man need face Death alone. Robb liked that explanation best.

Still, he did not believe in the Stranger. He kept faith with the Old Gods. His mother had made a point that all her children at least understood the Seven and understood that, while they were the same gods everywhere, each kingdom saw them differently. Catelyn knew that Ned would have to raise them to worship at the weirwood tree, but she didn’t want her children to feel out of place if they ever joined her in the sept or journeyed in the rest of Westeros.

Robb knew all the lore, and he remembered it well. Not so well as Sansa, who longed to go South, but better than Arya who never listened no matter how many times she was told.

He would often lie awake at night staring at the name inked into his arm, wondering to himself what she thought of this. If she, like him, believed his name on her arm to be a gift from the Old Gods, beyond the understanding of man. If she thought his name was a gift from any one of the Seven for any number of reasons. Or if she was on the other side of Westeros, simply looking for a companion to her grave.

Her name was never far from his thoughts. He wondered where she was. He wondered her station. He wondered how she felt. He wondered if she wondered about him. How could she not? They were destined for each other, destined to be together, if not in this life than the next.

When he was younger, Robb had longed for her. His nurse had met her mate, a butcher from one of the smaller towns outside of Winterfell; and he longed for the love he saw in her eyes. He longed for frivolous things: someone to suffer through his lessons with, someone to ride the Wolfswood beside, someone to take some of the weight of Winterfell off his shoulders.

As he got older, he learned better than to dream of such things.

Not everyone met their match, and the odds were not in Robb’s favor. Most of Westeros lived and died without knowing whose name had mared their skin for life. There were too many people, spread out over too great a distance, over Seven Kingdoms and the Vale, and all anyone ever had to search for was their first name, their given name on their arm. Those who did find the one were usually those who were able to devote their lives to the scowering the Seven Kingdoms in their search.

Heir to Winterfell, Robb did not have the time to search for his mate. She would have to wait. He would see her in the next life. Robb would never be able to marry the girl whose name was on his arm. Even if he found her, he could not have her. There were millions of women in Westeros, and his mate would not be among the nobility.

It was an incredibly rare occurrence for nobility to be destined for each other, but it had been known to happen on occasion. Yet only once, in the millions of Westerosi, in the thousands of mates that found one another, in the hundreds of nobility that went searching, in the dozens of nobility that found their mate, and the few who found their mate to be someone of equal standing. Only once in history had two nobles found each other’s names and actually managed to be married. Two Lannisters, of all the undeserving families in the Kingdoms. As if anyone could have denied Tywin Lannister anything.

Tywin’s love for his wife, Joanna, was as legendary as his victories in battle. The Lannisters sang the Rains of Castamere at their tournaments, and the Lion and the Lady at their feasts. Every man, woman, and child in Westeros knew the words to both.

Tywin loved Joanna deeply, unconditionally, and once they touched, no one could keep him from taking her as his own. They shared a bond deeper than their lives and deeper than her death.

No one knew a greater love than Tywin, and no one knew a greater loss.

Aerys Targaryen could have gotten away with all his burnings, all his cruelties, all his madness; bare one. Bare the day of the Tourney at Harrenhal when he declared the end of Tywin’s mourning, when he stole Tywin’s son and declared before all the Seven Kingdoms the Hand of the King would remarry.

The stories said that was the day the Targaryens lost the war: long before it even started. Of course, Rhaegar snubbed his wife, Elia, in front of Prince Oberyn. Yes, he kidnapped Lyanna Stark from under Robert Baratheon’s nose. Sure, Aerys did give away the woman Ned Stark was pursuing. But more than all of that, it was the day the Targaryens crossed Tywin Lannister, and there was one certainty about Tywin Lannister. Those who crossed him only got to do so once.

Any other man in the Seven would have been thrilled, relieved even, to marry Ashara Dayne. Tywin Lannister simply looked on the girl and walked away.

It was common knowledge that Tywin only ever touched his second wife twice: once to hold her hand to complete the wedding ceremony and once during the bedding. The maids who came to collect the sheets the next morning swore they heard Tywin cry, but that could have just been a rumor. Neither maid was seen or heard from in any noble house in Westeros again to confirm or deny.

It was likely for the best that Ashara died giving birth to her only child. It spared her a lifetime of living in the shadow of a ghost. It spared her the pain of watching her daughter, (Y/n), twisted into the spitting image of her father.

Robb had heard her name once, (Y/n) Lannister, and asked his mother hopefully if that was the (Y/n) on his arm. He didn’t know her, but he hoped it was her, hoped it was someone he might actually be able to marry one day.

Catelyn had been aghast. She swore no son of hers could ever be bound to a Lannister.

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“My lady,” A knock came on the chamber door. “The feast is prepared, and the guests are assembling downstairs.”

(Y/n) threw the door open and leaned against the thick wood frame as she crossed her arms over her chest with a mischievous smirk. “My lady? Since when did you use such formalities?”

Jaime stood on the other side of the door, looking as golden and perfect in his armor as always. His lips were pulled wide in a smirk matching  his little sister;s, the one he’d spent years teaching her on their father’s occasional trips with her to King’s Landing. “Well, when you are in the presence of the acting Lady of the Rock, one must always keep one’s guard up.” He extended his arm to her, “Shall I escort you?”

“I suppose that wouldn’t be entirely disagreeable,” She mused, lifting her golden skirts with one hand and accepting her brother’s help with the other. “Tell me, do you think Tyrion will grace us with his presence this evening?”

Jaime snorted as he pulled the door to (Y/n)’s room shut and led her down the hall. “Doubtful, though I could be persuaded to hunt him down if you or Cersei wished.”

“Cersei never wishes,” (Y/n) rolled her eyes.

She and Cersei had a mutual understanding that was heavily dependent on both sisters keeping their distance. Of her siblings, (Y/n) was closest to Tyrion, but she wasn’t about to get in a fight with Cersei over forcing his attendance at a meager Northern feast.

“But you always do.” Jaime said it like he was reminding her of something profound rather than her own opinion.

Jaime let go of her hand and descended the narrow, winding steps to the ground floor, staying one step ahead of her so he might catch her if she slipped. He knew it was an unnecessary precaution. (Y/n) never slipped, in actions or in words. It still made him feel better to know he could catch her if he needed.

“Because I love our brother dearly, Jaime, as do you.”

“Cersei loves him in her own way.” Jaime tried to placate.

(Y/n) only scoffed. “You always were a terrible liar.”

With a chuckle, he took her hand and helped her off the final step back onto the solid stone of one of Winterfell’s many long, dark halls. “You and I both know that’s not true. I can get away with lying to anyone I’m not related to. It’s only you three and father who ever really caught me in a lie.”

“Yes, but I believe I deserve greater credit than the others. They have far more experience; I missed all of your childhood antics. All I have are Tyrion’s stories and father’s criticisms to keep me company at the Rock.”

Jaime nodded in agreement. “The Rock can be quite lonely. Cersei and I only had each other for a long while.”

(Y/n) looked around for a quick moment before she dragged her brother back by his arm. Her eyes searched the stone in both directions to ensure no one was watching before she pulled him into a narrow walk off the main passage.

“Jaime,” her tone was a quiet, harsh warning.

Not for the first time since they’d started the journey North, Jaime heard his father in her voice. It always amazed him. He wondered if she knew she was doing, or if it came to her naturally.

“Do not do this here.” (Y/n) pressed.

“Do not do what, sister?”  

Her head cocked to the side, eyes judging his every word. It was the way Tywin looked at advisors who spoke out of turn. “You know what. You and Cersei hide nothing from me. I remain silent out of respect for you, but don’t mistake my silence as approval of your behavior.”

The muscles in Jaime’s jaw tightened. A tell that he was about to lie. “I don’t know what you’re…”

She cut him off before he could finish. “Do not play games with me, Jaime. I am not Tyrion, too drunk to care; and I am not father who does not see what he does not want to see. I see you Jaime.”

“Sister, what exactly is the point of this conversation?” He wouldn’t bother denying it again. If the first denial didn’t put (Y/n) off, it meant she would not be dissuaded.

“My point?” She went on her toes and looked over his shoulder. Her voice was quiet enough not to bounce off the stone, and the walls shielded them from most prying eyes. Yet that did nothing to quiet her concern. “My point is that I will not have you risking this family, Jaime.”

“You think so little of me, sister?”

“Yes.” It was a blunt answer. An honest answer. “Jaime, unlike our siblings, I do not think you foolish, but I do think you arrogant. You know the consequences of being caught. You’re just far too confident that you won’t be.”

Jaime sighed and ran a hand through his hair. (Y/n) was impossible to argue with. Part of it was her mind. Jaime always joked she had inherited the portion meant for him. A greater part was their father. (Y/n) had a way of saying the things he knew Tywin would, but with a touch more caring that made him actually want to listen.

(Y/n) took the pause as opportunity. “Listen to me, Jaime. I know what you’re thinking, brother. You think, even if caught, there will be no consequences for your actions, because there never have been before. You know what the consequences should be, but you don’t think they apply to you. If you got caught in Casterly Rock, the servants would die with your secret, whether they kept it till old age or were hung from the gallows by father. If you got caught in King’s Landing, there would be whispers. Yet, no one would be foolhardy enough to question you of them, or Maester Pycelle would poison them by dinner.”

She growled, dragging his face down to her level by the collar of his breastplate. (Y/n) needed him to listen to her. “This is not Casterly Rock, Jaime, nor is it King’s Landing. This is the North. You are in the enemy’s camp, and your name will not protect you.”

Jaime measured his sister’s words carefully. “If it would make you happy, sister, then nothing will happen while we are under Ned Stark’s roof.”

“I would be utterly relieved, if I actually believed you.” Her tone was short, but Jaime could tell she was hopeful.

“All will be above reproach,” he offered her his arm again. “You have my word.”

(Y/n) accepted with a wary expression but allowed him to pull her back into the hall and west towards the feast. She could hear it now. There was raucous laughter and loud music filling the air.

“Lady Lannister,” Three more long hallways, and Jaime presented his sister to the Lady of Winterfell, Catelyn Stark.

“Lady Stark,” (Y/n) curtsied with an elegant twist of her hand. “Judging by the sounds, this will be quite the feast.”

“Indeed,” Catelyn’s smile was warm but not at all inviting. There was a distance to the woman as she stood awkwardly in front of her.

(Y/n) bit back a smirk. Catelyn Stark was smart. Distrusting a Lannister was usually the right idea. “It’s not every day the King makes the long journey north. I’m sure they are excited to be part of such a grand occasion.”

“Made grander by your presence, dear sister.” Jaime had gone to retrieve Cersei.

“My queen, I doubt you need me to accomplish such a task.” (Y/n) gave Cersei a friendly smile. “You are, after all, the Queen of Westeros. What could I possibly add?”

The formality of the conversation between the siblings visibly disconcerted Catelyn. She couldn’t tell what was heartfelt and what was show. Catelyn was caught in a conversation with three Lannister, unable to speak but unable to leave.

“Too gracious of you, sister.” Cersei deferred away. “Jaime retrieved me from my conversation with our host because I hoped to ask you a favor.”

(Y/n) shot her gaze after Ned Stark at the other end of the hall. She would ask about the discussion later; they both knew that. “Do share, my queen. If it is within my power, I will happily oblige.”

Cersei touched a gentle hand to Catelyn’s shoulder, dragging her, unwanted, back into the fold. “Robb Stark, your dear boy,” the Queen smiled to Catelyn, “is the male heir of greatest standing and is duty bound to escort my sweet Myrcella to the feast this evening.”

“That he is,” Catelyn wasn’t sure the explanation was meant for her. It would be far greater offense to ignore than to interrupt.

“It,” the Queen paused as though looking for the right word, but (Y/n) knew whatever was to come Cersei had practiced down to the last pause, “unsettles me.” She seemed to finally choose the word. “He’s an honorable man. I’m certain of that. Still, he’s a man nonetheless, and Myrcella is so young. As a mother of daughters, I am sure you can understand my hesitation.”

Catelyn didn’t, but she acquised. “Of course, my queen. What would you propose?”

“If my sister and your son will agree,” Cersei turned to (Y/n), as if she had a choice in the matter, “I would ask that Myrcella walk with your lovely boy Bran, while Robb escorts (Y/n).”

(Y/n) nodded, “Of course, my queen. If it would ease your mind.”

Catelyn stepped back from Cersei, removing the Lannister’s hand from her shoulder. “I will speak with my son for you, my queen,” She curtsied as she backed away towards the other end of the entryway, where her sons congregated with their father, Robert, and the Baratheon boys.

“Well that went well,” Jaime snorted as he watched Catelyn’s hasty retreat.

“She’s scared,” Cersei rolled her eyes after the older woman.

“She hides it well, though,” (Y/n) offered a subtle agreement. “Do you actually wish me and Myrcella to switch? Or were you just looking to unnerve her?”

When her face turned back to the safety of her siblings, Cersei’s lip curled into a sneer. “I have no intention of that Northmen touching my Myrcella. Robert already means to give my Joff to that wench, Sansa, but at least he’ll be able to stay with me. I won’t have Robert abandoning my sweet girl all alone up here in this waste. That man and this so-called castle aren’t worthy of her.”

“Voices down, sister,” (Y/n) warned with little concern actually seeping through to her tone. “I’ll walk with the Stark. No one will leave Myrcella in the cold.”

“Woman!” Robert’s voice boomed.

(Y/n) caught only a glimpse of Cersei as she turned. The twins truly did share everything. Cersei’s jaw clenched before she lied, as well. “Yes, my love?” It wasn’t a terribly good lie either.

“It’s time to feast. Walk with Ned.”

(Y/n) watched her sister’s hung head approach Ned Stark. If she was a fool, as Robert Baratheon most assuredly was, she would think Cersei humbled, but (Y/n) was no fool.

“My lady.”

(Y/n)’s hair whipped at her cheek, turning her head far too quickly for her to hide that she was anything but surprised by the voice. She hadn’t heard Robb Stark approach, nor had she expected to hear his voice. It wasn’t often that anyone caught her by surprise.

“Yes, my lord.”

“I was told by my mother that I am to escort you.” Robb offered her his hand with a bow. “Unless, of course, you would prefer the company of Rickon.” His smile was teasing but genuine. It was a refreshing change of pace.

“Do not tempt me,” She smiled politely in return. “He is a charmingly adorable child.”

Her hand reached out to accept his, only for his whole body to jerk back the second their fingers brushed.

She couldn’t deny she felt it to.

(Y/n) had long forgotten about the writing on her arm. It was an irritation she had to conceal behind her sleeves, nothing more.

Peasants had a habit of naming their children after their liege lords and other powerful men in Westeros. After Robert became King, Robb proved to be an incredibly common name throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Not that that would have stopped her. If she truly wanted, she could have offered a gold dragon as reward for every ‘Robb’ in Westeros that came to the Rock to touch her hand. She could have sent the Mountain through the lands to find every man with (Y/n) still written on his arm. She could have snuck away in the dead of night with some knights who preferred her to her father and traveled the Seven Kingdoms in her search. She could have walked the twenty paces from her chambers to the sept and prayed to any of the Seven to put Robb in her path.

Instead, she did nothing. Because, in truth, she had never considered searching for him. (Y/n) didn’t want to meet Robb.

Whatever god was responsible for the names was clearly not listening to her wants.

A burning sensation raced across her arm where she knew Robb’s name to be. She knew what was happening. She’d seen the scars on her father’s skin.

At the first touch, the ink in the skin burned away. It left a mark like the brand of an iron. The scars left behind once it healed would form a mate’s family name.

In a few day’s time, Robb’s arm would read ‘Lannister’, and (Y/n) would forever be signed with the name ‘Stark’.

She always knew finding her mate would be a very bad thing, but this was worse than she’d imagined.

(Y/n)’s aloof mask remained in place, completely ignoring the pain in her arm and Robb’s reaction. “Shall we, Lord Stark?”

Robb was frozen for several long moments in utter confusion. This was obviously not what he’d expected. Taking her hand, utterly baffled by her response, Robb led (Y/n) into the feast as though nothing had transpired.

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A knock to her door woke (Y/n) early the next morning.

“Jaime, if that’s you again, I swear I’ll tell father about accidentally dumping his prized chest in the ocean.” (Y/n) groaned loud enough for whoever was on the other side to hear.

“Now, now, sister,” Jaime didn’t wait for any further invitation and slipped her door only just wide enough to step inside before he slammed it shut. “I’m here by orders of our King.”

(Y/n) rolled out from beneath the furs. “Oh, what could that oaf ever want with me?” She quickly slipped behind her changing screen to put on the dress her maid had left hung over the top of the divider.

“The King asked for you, but I don’t think it was by his own design.”

“Of course it wasn’t. Why would he ever wish to talk to any woman who could think?” (Y/n) quelled her laugh to a soft chuckle. “Help me with these laces,” she came to stand braced against her bed.

Jaime groaned but approached without hesitation, “Sister, you have handmaidens for this. Do you not? Has father so deprived you in my absence?”

(Y/n) commented snidely over her shoulder. “You’re telling me you’ve not helped our sister in more precarious positions than this?”

Jaime gripped the laces and jerked them tight around her body, knocking the wind out of her. “That,” He began to lace her corset back the rest of the way up, “was cheap, even from you.”

She hummed in agreement. “Perhaps it was, but we’re all allowed our days. Yours come once a moon. Tyrion’s come on any day you refuse to let him drink. Cersei’s on any day she has to pretend to enjoy Robert’s company.” (Y/n) twisted to face Jaime with a grin, “Father’s on any day the sun dares to rise.”

Jaime chuckled at that. “And what, dear sister,” he asks as he opens her door, “has you so downtrodden?”

She simply shook her head. “Not for your ears, Jaime. At least, not till I figure out what to say.”

Jaime frowned. “You know, I’m not half as smart as you or Tyrion, but I’m a far better listener. You can always come to me, even if you don’t know what to say.”

“Of course, Jaime.” (Y/n) doubted many things, but she never doubted that.

Their walk to Robert’s chambers passed in comfortable silence. (Y/n) had far too much to contemplate to maintain a conversation, and Jaime knew his sister well enough not to disturb her.

His knock on Robert’s door seemed to be the only thing to wake her from her own mind.

“Enter,” came the King’s voice from inside.

Jaime opened the door for his sister and froze when he saw the contents of the room. The King sat at the desk in the corner with Ned Stark leaned against the wall nearby. Catelyn Stark occupied the chair in the corner, and her eldest son stood at her side.

“My King, the Lady (Y/n) Lannister.” Jaime announced his sister as she stepped through after him.

As usual, (Y/n)’s expression gave nothing away. It was as if she was entirely unsurprised by this gathering. “My King, my lords, my lady,” (Y/n) dipped in acknowledgment of those in the room.

“Leave us, Kingslayer.” Robert spat to Jaime, ignoring (Y/n) as though she hadn’t spoke.

Jaime hesitated. For the first time in a long time, he considered disobeying his king. Jaime didn’t know where this was going, but he didn’t want to leave his sister to face them alone.

“Thank you, Ser Jaime,” (Y/n) only said the words as reason to turn to her brother. Her eyes flicked towards the door, a warning for Jaime to leave.

“Your Grace,” Jaime bowed and took the exit. It was Boros Blount’s turn to stand guard at the King’s door, but a glare at the man and a wave of Jaime’s wrist were all it took to send the knight off down the hall. Jaime trusted his sister in these situations, but he did not trust the rest of the room.

“How may I be of service?” (Y/n) asked as the door clanged shut behind her.

Without getting up, Robert managed to turn his chair with a loud scrape against the floor. “You know damn well how. Show us your arm, girl.”

Every eye in the room was on her, and she could read them all. Robert’s impatient agitation; Robb’s deep confusion; Ned’s sanctimonious disappointment; Catelyn’s misplaced rage. She was a lioness alone, and she was surrounded by the wolf pack.

“I see you’ve spoken to your son,” Her eyes rested on Catelyn’s as she jerked her sleeve, unceremoniously, up her arm. “He was not wrong,” (Y/n) showed the room the fresh burn on her arm that was already healing to form the word ‘Stark’.

“Damnit Ned.” That seemed to be a common saying of the King’s when he was in the presence of Starks.

“Well,” Catelyn huffed, turning on her husband and Robert, “What do we plan to do about this?”

(Y/n) honestly wondered how the woman managed to get a word out. If (Y/n) crossed her arms so tightly over her chest, she would hardly be able to breath, let alone form a coherent thought.

Robert forced himself from his chair with a sigh. It was before midday, and there had been a feast the previous night. This was far too early for the King to be awake, much less officiating important discussion. “What can we do? It’s a sign from the gods. We can’t ignore it.”

Catelyn was utterly fuming. Her son, her Robb, joined forever to a Lannister. She would not stand for such a thing.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” (Y/n) cut in before Catelyn could burst, “But it sounds to me as though you’re implying I wed Robb Stark.”

Robert snorted out a laugh. “Gods, and here I thought you were one of the smart ones. Turns out you’re as slow as Lancel.” Robert crossed the room and clapped his namesake on the shoulder, pulling the Stark boy into the conversation. “Of course that’s what I mean. Ned raised his sons well. Robb’s a good, strong man, and the heir to Winterfell. You’d be lucky to have him at your side.”

“I’m sure you are correct, my King, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have no intention of marrying Robb Stark.”

Silence.

(Y/n) thought, if she listened carefully, she would be able to hear the breaths of the Kingsguard stationed outside.

Of the rare occasions that nobility were found to be mates and did not marry, there had always been something keeping them apart. Never had it been because one openly refused the other. Why would anyone, noble or otherwise, refuse their perfect match put on this earth by the gods themselves?

“Forgive me,” (Y/n) spoke slowly. She was alone on shaky ground, and she desperately needed to keep the King’s anger in check, “but my hand is my father’s to give away as he sees fit. No one else’s.”

“You would stand against the wishes of your king.”

(Y/n) immediately refuted Robert’s words. “I would stand with the wishes of my family. Wherever that may lead me.”

“You will do as your king commands.” Robert’s hand slipped from Robb’s shoulder, and he took a step towards (Y/n) Lannister.

(Y/n) didn’t bat an eye. “After my father agrees,” was the most she would concede, knowing full well it would take more than a miracle from the Seven to get Tywin Lannister to send her to Winterfell.

“You think your father would refute a match to the future Warden of the North? You Lannisters think yourselves that much better than the rest of us. Don’t you?” Robert stood close enough that flecks of his spit landed on her cheek.

(Y/n) wiped them away with her sleeve and a completely blank expression. “I think nothing, my King. I think I should wait for my father’s approval before I agree to things such as this.”

“Robert, the girl is right,” Ned took a step toward his old friend, but Robert raised his hand in warning, causing the Stark to freeze.

He left his hand in the air in case anyone else dared to interrupt them. “I have had it with you Lannisters. I rule Westeros. I am your King, not Tywin Lannister.”

(Y/n)’s eyes narrowed. She had had it with the King as much as he’d had it with her. Her father didn’t hold the title King of Westeros, but he held all the power of one, more than one if that one was Robert Baratheon. She was more than capable of playing the game, of placating men like Robert. But she was every bit her father’s daughter. She did not stand insults in silence.

Robert saw (Y/n) open her mouth, but all he heard was Tywin Lannister as she said, “Any man who must say, I am the King, is no true King.”

A loud snap echoed through the room, followed by a crack.

Robert Baratheon stood, looking down on his handiwork.

(Y/n) Lannister laid sprawled out on the floor with the force of a hard punch to her jaw that no one had seen coming. For a man well past his prime, Robert Baratheon could still manage all the force in his fists that his hammer had made famous during the Rebellion. The blow had knocked the girl down before anyone could think to stop him, before Ned could pull him back, before she could raise a hand in defense, before she could take a step back to brace.

For years, Robert had dreamed of doing exactly that to Tywin Lannister. Dreamed of knocking the old man back down where he belonged. Dreamed of standing with the Lord of Casterly Rock at his feet. Dreamed of watching the arrogant man bleed the same red as his banners.

This girl, (Y/n), she wasn’t Tywin Lannister. She sounded like her father. She acted like her father. But when Robert looked down at her, he only saw a girl. He had punched a young girl for nothing more than speaking to him.

If he had punched the real Tywin Lannister, he would have lost the offending hand by now. Instead, in his fury, he’d punched the Lannister’s young daughter. He still might lose his hand. The girl was a lion, through and through. She had claws, and one of them was standing right outside.

Another was, apparently, behind him.

Robb Stark pushed the King’s shoulder in his hurry to check the girl. “(Y/n), are you hurt?” The Stark boy took both of her hands in his, helping her as gently as he could, to her feet.

“I will be fine,” (Y/n) slowly brushed down her skirts and gave a smile clearly only meant for Robb. “Thank you.”

“I should take you to the Maester.” Robb clearly meant it to be an offer, but it came out more as an order.

(Y/n)’s shoulder had caught her as she fell, keeping her head from the floor; but the crack as she hit the stone was still a sickening sound. It would echo in the room for years.

Every time Robb saw his mate, he would see the King throwing her to the floor, and remember that he didn’t stop Robert in time. Ned would never be able to speak of Robert as an honorable man again; down in the crypts, he would thank the gods Lyanna hadn’t lived to be his. Catelyn would pause every time she made to speak ill of a Lannister; she would remember Robb helping (Y/n) to her feet. She would remember (Y/n)’s response.

“Thank you, Robb, but I think I’d like my brother.” (Y/n) turned to the door and called out, loud enough to be heard on the other side, “Jaime!”

The door swung open in a second. Jaime had been waiting, ear close to the door, for any word that he could enter the room. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes darted around the room for what had made the earlier noise.

A bruise was already flowering on (Y/n)’s face, and her dress was pulled askew off her shoulder.

“Would you be so kind as to escort me to the Maester’s?”

Jaime marched forward and caught his sister’s chin, tilting it up and away that he might examine the mark. “Is your maester a good healer, Lord Stark?” Rage dripped from Jaime’s every word, but he did not dare to ask how his sister was hurt. He already knew the answer, and it was one he could not stand to think on for long.

“That won’t be necessary, Jaime.” (Y/n) brushed his hand away and met his gaze. “I’m quite fine. I only need to send a raven.”

“For what purpose?”

How Robert Baratheon had worked up the nerve to question the woman he’d just injured was a mystery to even his oldest friend, but (Y/n) seemed unphased.

She turned to the King, smirking through her pain, “The North truly is beautiful, and I really do think father would appreciate seeing it before winter comes.”

“You-You will do no such thing.” It wasn’t fear in Robert’s voice. Ned was sure of that, but he thought it might have been defeat.

“Oh, I assure you I will.” (Y/n) grabbed her brother’s free hand, leaving the other in a death grip on his sword. The Kingslayer followed her without complaint, walking backwards to keep his eye on the King until they reached the door. “It’s high time Tywin Lannister sees Winterfell. Or do I need to remind you what truly unites the Seven Kingdoms, Robert Baratheon? Because we both know, it’s not your throne.”

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

Next Time On... Part Two

GoT Taglist:

@everythngiwant / @maybe-a-fangurl / 

[talesofealdancynedom]

Feon Seabryd in fairy robes, with storm staph.

Tale 19: Meriam Craweleoth: Mage Queen of The Grand West (chapter 4.1 -  Time Stands Still: Feon 4/10) part 4. Stories of Old

Maps

none

In spring, Meriam received a letter from the Northlands. The lord of Isfisceard, caught word of Meriam and her men wandering in and out of Celticia, to speak with Helrem in Algonquia. With Francia being hostile towards all three lands, Meriam had trespassed into Celticia to avoid death. However, The Northlands of Celticia had tightened its boarders, and was sending rangers and setting up outposts; The land was strained from battles from both Algonquia and Francia. The lord requested Meriam’s presence, to deal with a specific matter, in exchange for alliance with Anglia. Meriam was eager to accept, and make another ally at Francia’s boarders; and not get punished for trespassing. The courts would not let her leave however. They had a matter of special importance for her as well. Meriam was carrying their only heir to the throne, after Eatheltwein, making her even more valuable. They had forgotten Meriam didn’t take kindly to being treated like a fragile tool. She was being a royal brood mare for them against her wishes, and they still weren’t satisfied. Meriam left with her five loyal men, a doctor, and the Celtician lord’s letter on her pillow for the king to find.

           Celticia was temperate and wet. It smelled of rain, and upon its odd rock formation and cliffs, was the hum of the soothing low pressure. The scent of the sea embraced them, as Meriam and her party approached the docks. Crossing up the north isles was the last leg of the journey. Meriam was pampered by everyone; to her appreciation and disgust. It almost tarnished the wondrous experience of the Northland kingdom. The island of Isfisceard, was radiant. It was strewn with storm wildings, rain nymphs, ridge back drakes, hydra, and more. The most intriguing and enchanting things, aside from the beaches, sea walls, ferns and sequoia, was the voices that welled up from the depths; Fish children. There are no mermaids, sirens or selkies in Anglia, but there are many in Celticia. For there are many mariners and fishers, of whom a sixth would gladly wed a questionable, thirsty, hungry, and irresistible, maidens of the sea. While Meriam’s men were bewitched by lust, Meriam was overcome with awe and wonder. As a seer, her heart was a flutter with all fey before her. Meriam, as a mage, was drawn to magic. Thus, it was more fascination than lust, that seduced her to get a closer look. Not that the Fish King’s children weren’t to Meriam’s liking as well. As they docked at their destination village, the captain said they were lucky Anglian folk don’t sing. Cheerful tunes tend to attract less lovely daughters from the deep.

           Eager for a proper sleep, Meriam went directly to the lord’s house. But he would not let her rest; he held both her hands and bowed.

“Greeting Mage Queen Meriam. I am honoured you have accepted my invitation. I can tell you are weary, but a lady as precious and fine as you, needs to be kept safe; your men will remain with me, while you retire with Lady Feon Seabryd.” The lord smiled. His accent was both chipper and confusing. Like a thick Irish dialect. Meriam stepped back; what threat would be anticipated that would require her to sleep in a lighthouse, while her trusted knights became drunk lustful decoys.

“I am here to settle my debt, and forge alliances. Tell me your bargain; I am most short these days.” Meriam snapped. Then the lord, still bowing, noticed she was with child, and looked up at her grimace. The lord shivered in fear. Her khol, drawn like a hawk’s face, emphasizing her yellow eyes.

“My apologies your majesty. Let us make haste in signing the papers. You and your men must hear why I am so desperate to protect you, and improve our lands relations.” He said, leading them into a circular hall decorated in tapestries of fish fey and knots. The greens, teal, blues and bronzes complimenting the elaborately carved wooden stools and table.

“Sit, sit.” The lord prompted. Meriam’s men looked calmer then usual; they could handle a court room, after riding dragons. Magic, and their queen’s missions to make peace, was no longer confusing or dramatic.

“Alright, were all settled down now. So, what I need from this alliance, is an army to help this town. A messenger came from the east with a warning: In one season’s time, we will have the army of the Far North at our wall. Meanwhile, Francia is stalled by our land’s rangers and fey. Algonquia is slowly advancing, and occupying Celticia; We are weak. They come to finish their take over, by coming to Isfisceard for our lands only mage; the aforementioned Lady Feon. She sing’s storms and spells, and keeps balance between us and the magic of the sea. Each kingdom has a mage these days, and killing each other’s mages seems to be a common political strategy.” The lord explained.

“You want an army to protect your nations mage?” a knight asked.

“Aye. She is a kind charmer, with four beautiful children. Isfisceard would not be the same without her. But more then her death, I fear the mages of Algonquia. For the reason they are immune to our soldiers and fey, is because their prince and princess, the nephew and niece of the king, are both mages. Edmond Monabellen: The Wolf Prince of The North. He has walked through arrows, and cut cities in half. Him and his siter can control fey in battle, and their men and women are fearless in war. He is a paladin clad in violet and gold, with the eyes of a wolf, and riding his bear familiar. His sister, Luthid Geagwulf, is a witch that works from the camps, to manipulate the battle field. Their army has yet to lose a warrior. If they come for Feon, they will kill all of Celticia’s remaining armies, and take us before Francia does.” The Lord rambled. “I hear your power over time is great Meriam Craweleoth; between you and your kingdoms cavalry, I believe prince Edmond can be stopped. The Northland’s may be in your favour against Francia, if their wolf prince is defeated.” He concluded.

Meriam absorbed the information. Helrem had said nothing about the paladin prince in the Algonquian courts. Wolf kingdom mages, who could be advocating for magic, were being used like pawns in war. This is not how magic is supposed to be used. Their king is a coward for sending his only heir into battle, and a disappointment for abusing magic. Or worse, Edmond and Luthid were skirting their natures out of familial or patriotic obligation, and were in so deep, they can not escape war, despite their better judgment. If Meriam could resolve this, everyone would win.

“I agree to your terms. We will see who is willing to come to your aid by mid harvest. Hopefully my magic will prevent us from being tardy. May I rest now? Lord of Isfisceard?” Meriam said, signing the papers.

“Yes, you may; Feon will be waiting by the beach. There is a white stone of quartz she likes to sing from. Can’t miss it.”

           Merriam approached the fogged bay, that echoed of song, along with a closer voice. Upon a random tall stone of white quarts, was a freckled woman in teal fish kingdom fairy robes, holding a wooden staff set with a large emerald. Her long hair was red as blood, and her eyes like blue pine. She sang sweetly into the water, and its flat surface sang back. Her colours were unnatural; as if changed by magic from her going dark from tragedy. She looked like she was having so much fun, that she didn’t notice Merriam watching.

“Are you Feon Seabryd? I am Queen Meriam of Anglia; your lord said I was to stay with you and your family for safety.” Meriam said.

“Aye. Wait till you meet my family-” Feon said, gazing at Meriam. She looked like a ghost dressed in her black feather and crushed velvet fairy robes. “You’re going to have a baby! That’s so exciting! I know just the way to treat you; as a mother myself!” Feon chimed. She took Meriam’s hand and gently led her to a house at the bottom of a light tower, that was carved into the sea wall of the bay.

“I hate children. I don’t want to have a baby; that could kill a woman.”

“I love my children! All four of them! They were a pain, but they are like precious jewels. I smile everyday when I see them. Speaking of children, I have a son who is also a mage, though he don’t know it yet. Lyra is his name; a charmer just like me. Possibly even a storm breaker like me too! I have many notes about mages, and magic workings. You are a seer, right? Maybe reading or copying them would be restful for you?” Feon suggested. With magic on the table, Merriam was warming up to the idea of being in a peasant’s bungalow, surrounded by wild children. The only child she ever liked was Eatheltwein; and she was not responsible for his care.

           In the cabin, Feon had her children bring her and Meriam food to study. Feon was excited to pick the brain of a seer, and Meriam was happy to finally be sitting. Feon had many books and journals in her room; it was crowded in a hurricane of organized chaos, around the two beds she shared with her husband and children. Meriam was brought back to her childhood in Francia, sharing a bed with her friend Felin.

“What type of mage are you?” Feon asked, placing a teal leather journal on the table. “For example, I am a Storm breaker; we summon and control weather when magic moves through us, from being really happy. But if we don’t have a storm staph, we will lose control and go gray dark; causing natural disasters. I got my storm staph sent to me from a warlock in Sinonia, of the Grand East, who is also a storm breaker. In fact, the lad sent me many, requesting I place them in the Fish Kingdom in the shadow veil, because The Fish Gate is down the cliff of the lighthouse…” Feon said, handing the journal to Meriam and showing off her wood and emerald staph. Meriam examined it carefully, it was wonderfully crafted. She wondered how the parcel arrived through Francia, and then recalled that they took postage seriously there; you could mail one hundred mice to a foreign land and no one would stop you. A good package, is a delivered package. Feon knocked on the table Infront of Meriam to get her attention.

“Oh sorry, you reminded me of something… I guess I’m a Memoirium de Morte; a mage who can manipulate time. I didn’t realize we had types.” Meriam laughed, melting into the reclined chair covered in plaids.

“Do share! I want to complete that teal compodium, with details about all the mages for our ancestors!”

“Why do you write texts instead of poetry? I thought you were a charmer?”

“I am. But I am also a mother and avid hobbyist. Oh, thank you Lyra” Feon said, taking the kettle and pouring tea. An older boy with ginger hair and green eyes brought it. His long-curled hair was twisted in various strands and weaved into a knot; and he seemed to almost glow with joy while he hummed.

“Ah, one of your children. The Lyra of which you mentioned…” Meriam said.

“Aye, your majesty. I hope you enjoy the tea!” Lyra bowed before dashing off. Meriam gave a cough and returned her attention to Feon.

“You hate children? Why?”

“Hate is a strong word. I prefer the phrase: ‘I am opposed to.’ As too why, maybe it’s I don’t want a dependant human to keep me away from my adventures, or worry me. Or perhaps I don’t wish to put my life at risk to appease a court of men. The reason is irrelevant, and it is no one’s business what I choose to do with my life and body.” Meriam snarled, tossing back the staph. “Give me some of your journals to copy for my records, and tell me what you want to know about my abilities; or more why I don’t just use them to resurrect people or manipulate their memories.”

“I’m sorry. Just don’t understand is all. But as for your special magic, the question in these times isn’t why you don’t use your powers, but why Anglia doesn’t make you.” Feon said.

NEXT--->

<---PREVIOUS

[fly-sky-high-bug-games]

Zeeke of Highgrove

Species: beetle

Design based of (but might be adjusted): Atlas beetle

Growing up in Highgrove and part of the rich family, he had everything served to him on a silver plate. Even if his family was small, making of his older grandmother and younger sister Lotus only, they held the transport business in all of Highgrove. Being a kingdom with a lot of levels, platforms and climbs depending on traffic of flying bugs to carry the public and nobles where ever necessary, it is a very profitable business.

His family was also one of the few rich ones that supported and witnessed the overthrowing of king and queen, making a deal with rising Magnolia family to secure their position and offer full loyalty to the new rule of Lady Magnolia. While not officially part of their faction but stayed as their own strong and influencing family, Zeeke’s grandmother still kept good connections with Magnolia until her passing. With Zeeke taking over, he knew how to benefit from the fact that their business was crucial for functionality of Highgrove and managed to secure even more money for him and his sister but the connection with Magnolia family was lightly shaken. Now they are only keeping things mutual on business level and no other.

Zeeke now has his own unit of guards and people to lead his business. Lolo is constantly left on the side to live the life of luxury and hidden loneliness. While Zeeke cares about her well being, he always failed to learn about her and get too close to his own sister, always being more focused on finances, benefits, business, money... He is certain he is giving her the best life he can.

Years ago, sometime when members of Magnolia and other nobles from Highgrove visited Hallownest, he stumbled upon a small, wandering vessel. Through their stay in the kingdom, learning about the Hollow Knight and digging out more information, he learned what vessels were originally meant for. Zeeke hid them and taken them back to Highgrove, knowing that the discarded treasure of a king was rare and precious and that he could use it himself. If the vessels were built to serve with no will, mind or voice, then he would give this one a purpose to serve him...

Eventually named Trail by Lolo, Zeeke payed and provided for what ever was necessary for the vessel to grow strong and skilled while also making sure it stayed loyal, perfectly obedient and reactive to any of his commands. He thought Trail that, as a vessel discarded by their father and king for being impure, they should still have a use and serve those who still find themselves bellow the kings and queens like them. While seeming with good intentions to Trail at first, they cling onto this purpose, later learning fear that they might be discarded once again. This put pressure on Trail to never act out of line or fail at tasks given by their master Zeeke.

With Trail, Zeeke happily spent earnings on travels to other kingdoms, finding what could be different treasures, items and alike to put in good use. It helped Trail grow into a very skillful fighter as well, spending time training with different masters but also fighting in rings and such, which Zeeke found amusing and productive. He could do anything with money.

Returning to Hallownest for the Trial of Fools where Trail lost to God Tamer, he learned that there are more vessels seen around the kingdom. Not liking the idea of someone else potentially having something as strong as Trail, he set himself a new mission to either take in small ones he finds to train if cooperative and if not to just have them killed.

An encounter with Yonna and Pilgrim the vessel at the Colosseum ended up in a dispute, causing a problem that alarmed even God Tamer who chased Zeeke and his guards away from the place. Zeeke lost an eye to Yonna while Trail, for the first time ever, disobeyed their master by refusing to kill Pim, playing it off as too busy saving their bleeding master before fleeing the scene...

After locating the troublesome group at the crystal mines, Zeeke ordered an assassination on them while using Trail to draw out Pim and Trav. While others barely escaped death and dying in flames after the place was set on fire, Trav suffered injury from both Zeeke and Trail and Pim was kidnapped. Zeeke’s plan was to train and introduce Pim to Lolo, who visited Hallownest shortly after. He planned them as a gift, a pet or a useful companion for Lolo so she would leave Trail be when training, not considering the friendship the two built.

Soon, they were located within the city by Yonna, Silva, Trav and Mugo and Lolo was held hostage by the moth. Zeeke was furious but also terrified for his beloved sister. Trail could only surrender and beg to follow along as the group used Lolo as a way to escape with Pim. Lolo was reunited with Zeeke later, but not before learning the truth about her brother... she confronted him, demanding he stopped the nonsense with the vessels and hurting people. While frustrated, Zeeke loves Lolo too much to lose her. He is afraid of loneliness. He complied, and the two returned to Highgrove without Trail...

Zeeke as also arranged a meeting with the leader of White Magnolia, having an information to spare about a certain moth the dragontail butterfly might be interested in...

---

Characteristics:

Zeeke: +: Smart, strong, organized, leadership skills -: Obsessive, vulnerable, emotionally detached, arrogant n: Stubborn, wealthy, influencing

Inventory:

Zeeke:

A lot of money: either from his home currency or the local one

A weapon: (TBA, due to current events, possibly the pictured charged lumafly nail)

The Training Whistle (currently to be replaced as the original is in Pim’s possession atm): Certain blows mean different commands that only Trail knows and responds to with amazing speed and accuracy.

Whispering Dread Charm (installed on left eye): Awakes fear and doubt within enemies if looked at, intimidating the enemies.

“They are just tools!”

Zeeke uses ‘it’ instead of “they/them” to refer to vessels. It’s rude and it objectifies them, discarding their capability to hold personality or emotion.  

A BIT MORE ON ZEEKE

[glassworkspiderlilies]

oh traveler, take heed

Kimetsu no Yaiba | @giyushinoweek Day 8 Bonus | N*SFW or Halloween Summary: Prince Sabito survives an assassination attempt by poison but does not wake. His loyal knight Giyu goes in search of the Butterfly Witch, who is said to cure nearly anything, for the right price. Notes: I managed to squeeze in the bonus round!? this was gonna be like, a witch au and more in line with halloween stuff, but it turned out to be more like...a general fantasy au?? i should...probably make extra notes for this one, a lot got left unincorporated lol.

> additional post reading notes!

.

.

.

One.

Prince Sabito survives the assassination attempt by poison, but he does not wake. His knight, the “Grim Reaper” Tomioka Giyu, is fraught with worry while his assistant and companion, the Lady Makomo, is calm.

“Get a hold of yourself,” Lady Makomo says in her usual serene tone, diluting the sharpness of the words. “Once you do, pay a visit to the Kochou princesses and ask them where to find Butterfly Witch. She can cure just about anything, if you can locate her.”

Giyu does not hesitate, nor asks any further questions as he turns on his heel. Lady Makomo sighs as his impatience, but returns to the Prince’s side to guard him. With the Grim Reaper gone, it’s up to her, the Fox Witch, to protect their prince.

“I hope you’re at least having a nice dream,” she murmurs to Sabito, laying a hand on his forehead. “You fool.”

 Two.

Giyu is brusque to the two Kochou princesses, but neither seem to mind. Princess Kanae seats him at a small table, and Princess Kanao watches his every move with an unnervingly blank gaze.

“Lady Makomo sent you to us?” Kanae says, as she shuffles cards in her hands. “I must write to her soon. Oh—my sister is away from the castle.”

“Your sister?” Giyu asks, surprised. “The Butterfly Witch is your sister?”

“It is more that my sister is the Butterfly Witch, but indeed,” Kanae says, not batting an eyelash. She knows the fame—or infamy, whichever you prefer—of her sister. The Butterfly Witch can cure almost any ailment, any curse, for a price befitting of the request. They also say she is hunting for something or someone, and so can be as cruel as she is kind to those who try and lead her astray. “I’d help you if I could, but...Shinobu’s skills are her own, and I dare not give you something from her storeroom without the proper knowledge.”

The eldest princess lays out the cards in a pyramid shape, and now Giyu understands what is happening—she is reading his fortune.

Kanae smiles as Kanao peeks over her shoulder, and Giyu watches the two sisters carefully. Little is known of the small Kochou Kingdom; they keep to themselves, with their lush gardens and rare insects, sustaining their economy on tea and perfumes and accessories. They make both very few friends and no longstanding enemies. Giyu doesn’t know how Sabito and Makomo became their friend and ally, and supposes it’s a story he should ask about when he returns.

“Oh, my,” Kanae exclaims softly, as she turns over the cards. “Very few people can find Shinobu, once she’s traveling. But it looks like the fates will align for you, Giyu-san, for you will cross paths with her soon. Still, you must chart your own path and keep searching.”

He stares at the cards, certain he is missing something, for surely the princess wouldn’t need a whole array in order to tell that?

But Kanae merely smiles in silence until Giyu thanks her for her time and rises from his seat.

“Ah, before you go,” Kanae says with a bit of a laugh, “Beware her temper.”

Giyu blinks, bows his head, and departs the Kochou princess’ castle.

 Three.

“You’re lost.”

He whirls at the voice, sword in hand. His eyes widen in surprise when he sees a young girl staring at him curiously from under her hooded cloak. Giyu doesn’t lower his sword despite her seemingly harmless appearance, and her violet eyes glimmer with respect.

“At ease,” she says, with amusement. “I’m camped nearby, and I’ve seen you walk past at least four times. You’re lost.”

He frowns, and lowers his weapon by just a margin.

“Perhaps I am. I did not see any signs of camp nearby, however.”

The stranger shrugs.

“It wouldn’t be a very good hideout if it wasn’t hidden, now would it? I have to protect myself, after all. Now, where are you trying to go?”

Giyu narrows his eyes at her. She does have to protect herself—but who is she, so young and wandering alone?

“Who are you?” he asks, cautiously.

She snorts.

“Does it matter, if it gets you out of the forest?”

“It does, when it’s strange for a child such as you to be wandering alone.”

Giyu doesn’t know what happens after that—one moment he’s standing, and the next he is hanging upside-down from a tree by some white threads.

“I will only forgive that comment because I did not properly introduce myself,” the stranger says, throwing back her hood. “However, do refrain from calling me that again, thank you.”

Now that he sees her in full light, she is certainly not the child he thought she was. She’s young, but probably not more than a few years younger than he is.

“Apologies,” he says, as the blood rushes to his head from hanging. “Can you…let me down, please.”

She does, and when he lands, back to the ground, she leans over him.

“And so? Where are you going?”

“I’m not sure,” he huffs. “I’m looking for the Butterfly Witch. I heard rumors she was sighted in the nearby village.”

The girl’s eyes glaze over.

“I advise against going to the village,” she says, her voice low. “They’re dealing with…problems of their own making, right now.”

Giyu stares at her. She stares back.

“Why do you need the Butterfly Witch?” she asks, and he debates on whether or not to tell her the truth. He’s not sure he can trust her, and if word gets out about Sabito’s condition…Makomo is strong, but she cannot defend against everything.

“Someone important to me…he was poisoned. He is alive, but won’t wake.”

She hums.

“And are you prepared to pay the price?”

He turns over his answer, even though the answer is yes.

“I’ll have to know the price first. But if it…does not do more harm than good, then yes, I will pay it.”

She seems pleased with his answer, and something about this conversation strikes Giyu as particular.

“I’m Tomioka Giyu,” he says slowly. “May I ask your name?”

She smiles.

“Shinobu,” she says. “Kochou Shinobu. Ah—you’ve met my sisters, have you, if you recognize that name? Then there’s no need to linger. Come, take me to your friend.”

 Four.

Only the briefest of greetings are exchanged when Shinobu arrives at the castle; Sabito takes precedence, and her lips thin as she examines him.

“It’s a curse,” she says, “If he does not wake soon, he will be eaten from the inside out. First the mind, then the body. Tomioka Giyu, it was you who made the request of me, and so it is you who shall pay the price.”

Makomo makes a noise, but Shinobu shakes her head.

Giyu steps forward.

“Name your price.”

When she looks at him, her gaze is solemn.

“In order to counter this, I must take one thing of yours in relation to your prince, one thing that you value deeply, perhaps above all others. Will you give it to me?”

Giyu stares, trying to think of what the price is—it cannot be Sabito’s life, for that would be counterproductive. It cannot be his memories of Sabito, for though he treasures them, there’s no reason for him to cling to them if he does not fear the lack of ability to make more.

Then—what?

Makomo gazes at him.

It takes a few more minutes, but slowly, Giyu understands.

“Yes,” he says. “I will give it to you. I will relinquish my place by his side if you save his life. Such a thing is a small price to pay.”

“Then kneel,” Shinobu says, a little sadly, “For I will take you with me.”

Giyu kneels, and pays the price.

 Five.

“It’s not as if you can never see him again,” Shinobu says as she throws her cloak around her. “It is not as restrictive as other prices have been.”

Giyu nods, looking at the castle in the distance. Sabito had been furious after he had awoken and recovered, but out of sorrow. He, Giyu, and Makomo had nearly always been together, so losing part of that trio was…difficult. They’d stayed in the castle for three days, getting their affairs in order and making their farewells.

“I said if the price did not do more harm than good, I would pay it,” he says.

“That you did,” Shinobu murmurs, and sighs.

“So? Where are you—we—going?” GIyu asks.

“I’m not sure,” she says, chewing on her lip. “I’m looking for a certain demon.”

Giyu raises an eyebrow.

“Kanae is marked,” Shinobu says bitterly, and Giyu’s eyes widen at her tone. “She will die by her twenty-fifth birthday, if I do not become the rainbow-eyed demon’s bride.”

He raises both eyebrows.

“The second prince of demons?” he says, his mind whirling.

She snorts.

“Indeed. It is my goal to kill him before Kanae’s twenty-fifth birthday, but the sooner the better, naturally.”

The side of Giyu’s mouth quirks up slightly. This is a job he could get behind.

She glances at him sidelong.

“Yes, they don’t call you the Grim Reaper for nothing, do they?” she says curiously, but he merely shrugs. “Well, we might as well try the rumors we’ve got.”

Shinobu’s cloak snaps in the wind behind her, and after one last look at the castle that’s been his home, Giyu follows the Butterfly Witch into the darkness.

[emilyschoi]

Falling

From First to Last Series Included:  Eunha (Emily), Jupiter (Lucas), Serenity (Jane), Venus (Minah) Daehyung (Daniel)  Mentioned : Endymion (M), Sungjae 

⁺˚*･༓☾ kitchen ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Jupiter stood by Princess Serenity as the Elysian’s elite gathered around her, gawking like she was some sort of exhibition. Prince Endymion had held a ball in their, well Princess Serenity’s honour. The night had been tense, to say the least, half of the earthlings thought they had the right to ask whatever they wanted not showing any of them an ounce of respect while the other half were more forthcoming about the disdain for them. The other Senshi were spread out across the room, Mars was leaning against a scowl permanently scarring around most people away from him as he eyed the exit. Mercury was a bit more civil but Jupiter could tell she was forcing a smile while dealing with them. Venus was nearby but surrounded by Elysian men who were making passes at her, he half expected her to pull her sword out and slice them up. The prince’s royal guard were also around each of them watching over their Prince and Princess Serenity.

“Are you okay?” Jupiter asked as the latest hoard left Serenity to no doubt go gossip with their friends about the princess from The Moon Kingdom. Serenity turned to him a small smile on her face as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I am fine,” she assured him but Jupiter knew better, there was sadness in her eyes. “I am just-” she said eyeing Prince Endymion who was stuck talking to bureaucrats and court officials. “I know the Prince means well, I can see it in his eyes. He truly believes that we can have peace but -’ she frowned as more people walked past her hushed whispers escaping their lips. “I have to wonder if it is worth it for him?” she said.

“Of Course it is, these people are probably stuck in the old ways and don’t want to change it because they might lose their power,” Jupiter said. “Plus they are jealous that I have managed to nab the prettiest girl in the room,” he said nudging her lightly. Princess Serenity smiled a real smile at him.

Venus finally made her way over to the pair muttering about how she needs a drink. Princess Serenity giggled turning to Jupiter with her eyes wide. “Lu-Jupiter, sorry i keep forgetting i meant to use your codenames, but could you get Venus and I something to drink, oh and maybe one of those delicious cakes we had at lunch?” she asked. Jupiter looked to Venus waiting for her permission, Serenity was their Princess of course but Venus was their leader. Venus nodded, her hand casually grazing over her waist where her whip was wound around unnoticeable to the untrained eye.

Jupiter walked away not trusting any of the already filled glass of champagne, Venus was still wary of the royal staff and until she was sure they would take no liberties. He made his way out of the ballroom heading in what he had hoped was the right way to the kitchens. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed he had a shadow following him.

Once he was far enough away from the party, in a dimly lit empty corridor he turned catching his new shadow and pinning it against the wall. His eyes widened as he recognized one of the royal guard, Eunha, the only female Knight. “What are you doing?” he asked softening his grip but not letting her escape.

“Getting my arm broken by you apparently,” she said through gritted teeth. “What are you doing sneaking around in the hallways?” she asked, pushing him off. Jupiter blinked, surprised that someone so small could push him away. “Well?” she asked her hand moving to reach for her sword.

“Stop,” Jupiter said holding his hands up. “Look i am trying to get the princess a bottle of champagne or actually she prefers wine, i don’t suppose you have any Plutonian red?” he asked.

“No sorry the ship hasn’t come in yet,” Eunha responded sarcastically. “And why do you need to get her a bottle there is more than enough in the ballroom,” she pointed out.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but your people have been a little hostile,” Jupiter said. He knew he shouldn’t explain anymore, Venus was still not sure about the royal guard, she believed that Sungjae was loyal to the Prince so, for now, they could trust him but the other three not so much.

“Oh so you want to make sure it’s safe,” Eunha said nodding, “Makes sense,” she said. Jupiter let out a relieved sigh at least she understood. “But can you explain why you are headed towards the Astronomy tower?” she asked raising an eyebrow

“I may be a little lost,” he admitted scratching the back of his neck. Eunha giggled and it might have been the sweetest thing he had ever heard. “Can you show me to the kitchen, the princess also wants cake,” he said.

“Well i can but first we are going to make a pit stop to the wine cellars, I know it’s not Plutonian red but we have a lovely Sauvignon from Komo,” she said. “I think Princess Serenity will like it,” she said with a grin. “Come on,” she said turning around and walking in the opposite direction that he had been headed. “Are you coming or should i let you just wander around on your own?” she asked tilting her head to the side as she looked back at him.

“Huh, no I,” he started to say before Eunha raced back grabbing his hands and pulling him along.

“Just come on,” Eunha said pulling him along. Jupiter smiled to himself that he would follow this girl anywhere, at least for the rest of the night.

☾

“Are you sure you can reach it?” Jupiter asked as Eunha climbed the least sturdy ladder he’d ever seen.

“Give me some credit,” Eunha laughed, “I got it,” she said, she turned to show him the bottle proudly. Jupiter gave her thumbs up, wishing she would just get down. As she moved to climb the room shook, the wine bottle fell to the ground with a crash as Eunha clutched onto the ladder for dear life. A second wave hit the room and the ladder lunged backwards, Eunha falling off with it. Without a moment hesitation Jupiter raced forward catching her in his arms.

“Uhm,” Eunha said, her cheeks heating up. “Guess Princess Serenity is going have to drink something else,” she muttered, tapping Jupiter’s arm to be put down. “What the hell was that?” she said as he placed her firmly on the ground. “We should have known if there was an earthquake,” she mumbled a frown on her face.

“I am glad you are okay, we are lucky we didn’t get hurt,” He said, a wine cellar full of glass bottles, they could have been covered in glass shards. Eunha turned to him a small smile on her face.

“Thank you for before,” she said. “That would have been a real pain in the -” she trailed off with the laugh. “Anyway should we just grab something and get out of here, i think they might need our help up there,” she said going to the door trying to open it but nothing happened. “Ah i hate to say it but do you think you could -” she said gesturing the door.

Jupiter nodded trying to open it himself but frowning it seemed the Earthquake seemed to have lodged into place. He tried to put his whole body into it but it still didn’t budge.

“Okay change of plans then,” Eunha frowned, walking over to a nearby barrel. “Come sit,” she said tapping the leftover space.

“Shouldn’t we send for help?” Jupiter said siting down. “I can try and get one of the guys to come down,” he said, pulling his communicator out, frowning as he looked over the screen, it was glitching, he couldn’t even get it to turn on.

‘I take it, it didn’t work,' Eunha said looking over his shoulder. “I guess there are worse places we could be stuck, at least we won’t dehydrate,” she joked. Jupiter continued to frown as hit the side of his communicator. “Hey, I’m sorry you are stuck down here, I should have just shown you to the kitchen like you asked,” she said softly.

“No you were just trying to help,” He said. “I am sure the will come to find us eventually, they are probably just helping everyone else get to safety,” he said. “So…. you look nice,” he said. “I mean you look good in a uniform, no that's still not right,” he said, shaking his head ignoring the giggles that were coming from beside him.

“Thank you, your suit looks very nice as well,” Eunha said, “It must be nice to be able to wear whatever you like,” she pouted. “But i guess since you are royalty you can -” she said, frowning. “Though the four heavenly kings title, though it would have to be changed to a queen - sorry i should stop talking,” she said closing her eyes.

“While i am sure you would have looked beautiful in a dress you look great in what you are wearing now,” He said. “Plus it’s pretty cool that you are the only female knight, your family must be proud,” he said, eyes widening as Eunha frowned. Did he say something wrong? “I’m sorry-” he started to apologize.

“No you did nothing wrong,” Eunha said softly. “It's just my family should be proud but apart from my cousin who is also part of the royal guard but they aren’t,” she frowned. “Infact, I am pretty much disowned until I give up on this foolish escapade and accept Lord Gideon’s proposal, be a proper lady of society, live the aristocratic life,” she said fiddling around with her bracelet.

“Well they are stupid,” Jupiter said, grabbing her hand and threading his fingers through hers. “On my planet, you’d be praised for your bravery and hard work,” he said. “And what are you talking about, you are a queen aren’t you,” he said causing Eunha to laugh. “A queen should not be slumming it with a lord,” he pointed out.

“Do you happen to know any single princes?” she joked.

“Just one, I think you’d like him, he wouldn’t care that you are a royal guard he’d think it’s pretty cool,” he said. “Plus he is very handsome,” he said.

“Oh really, well you will have to introduce me to him one day,” Eunha giggled.

“Hi I’m Lucas, Prince of Jupiter, “ He said squeezing her hand lightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said letting go of her hand to stand up and bow.

“Oh,” Eunha said purposely avoiding eye contact, her falling to frame her face trying to her pink cheeks. “Is Lucas really your name?” she asked not looking at him. “It doesn’t sound very Jupitery.’ she said as Jupiter snorted. Jupitery.

“It’s the Elysian version,” he shrugged. “You wouldn’t be able to pronounce my name,” he said.

“Well that somehow sounds you like are insulting me,” Eunha said as Jupiter spluttered ready to apologise to tell that he didn’t mean it like that. “But I’ll allow it since your very handsome”“ she laughed.

‘I have been told i look good in a suit,” Jupiter laughed.

They both stopped as the door opened, one of the royal staff, Eunmi, a friend of Eunha’s stood there a look of confusion gracing her features as she took in the scene in front of her. They weren’t in a compromising position by any standard but still, the look on Eunmi's face was one of disapproval.

“Eunmi,” Eunha called, “You are okay? Is everyone else okay? How bad was the Earthquake?” Eunha rushed over as her friend’s brows furrowed.

“What are you talking about? There was no Earthquake?” she said looking from Eunha to Jupiter barely hidden her very obvious distrust.

Eunha frowned, “Yes there was, I almost fell off a ladder, if it wasn’t Jupiter i would have broken my neck,” she said. Eunmi shrugged pushing past them and grabbing two bottles of champagne

“I think you should go back to guarding Prince Endymion,” she said as she walked past them. “Maybe he’ll know about this earthquake,” she said with an eye-roll. Eunha scowled at her friend, wondering what her problem was.

“Sorry about her,” Eunha apologized to Jupiter. “She just really hates most people actually,” she said frowning. “It’s not as good as the Komo but that Antares is pretty good, very sweet though,” Eunha said nodding to a bottle a lot closer to a reachable level.” Jupiter nodded, grabbing it. “Do you still want to go to the kitchen?” she asked.

“Hmm I am feeling a little peckish how about you?” he asked.

“I could eat,” Eunha said with a grin.

“Ladies first,” Jupiter said holding the door open for her.

“Age before beauty,” Eunha said with a giggle as Jupiter rolled his eyes walking out of the wine cellar. Eunha followed, looking down the hall to see Beryl, one of the workers sneaking out of a room. She frowned.

“Are you coming?” Jupiter called out with an eye roll Eunha followed after him thinking nothing more of Beryl or the weird not quiet Earthquake.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“Daehyung you can’t let them to this me,” Eunha cried as she was thrown into to the cell, soldiers ordered by her so-called leader, locked her way with a harsh glare. “Dae please,” she whispered looking at her cousin desperately hoping some remnant of her cousin was left.

“Oh Eunha,” Daehyung spoke, his normally vibrant brown eyes were cold and maniac. “This is only temporary just till we defeat those bastards and get you free from his control,” he said, stepping forward and trying to reach out to her, she stepped back a cold glare of her own thrown his way.

“Right,” Eunha said. “I am the brainwashed one,” she said rolling her eyes. “You are so stupid Daehyung,” she said mockingly.

“I am going to forgive you for saying that because i know it’s not you,” Daehyung said eyes narrowing. “But i would suggest thinking very hard about what you say next, actions have consequences,” he warned.

“Threatening me now Dae?” Eunha laughed darkly. “So when exactly did my cousin die? Was when you decided to betray our prince or -” she trailed off. “Just go, i never thought i would have something in common with your father but just seeing your face right now is making me sick,” she spat. For the briefest second her Daehyung came through, her harsh words managed to get through if the hurt look on his face was anything to go by.

‘And your mum is right you should never become a member of the royal guard, you are too emotive, too easy, one guy gives you a little attention and you’re ready to betray your entire planet,” he spat and like the Beryl controlled Daehyung was back. “I’ll make sure to bring back lover boys corpse, maybe that will snap you out of this,” he said.

Eunha said nothing, turning away from him instead of looking at the wall. Was it to make a statement? Sure, but it was mostly to hide her tears. She waited until she heard his footsteps disappear to turn around. She couldn’t stay here, she had to get out of here and warn Endymion and Serenity.

She was about to enact her escape plan when she heard footsteps coming down to her. She frowned, who was left. Daehyung had surely gone.

  “You should have just agreed to marry me,” Gideon said, stepping out of the shadows. Eunha bit back an annoyed groan, seriously. She looked over at him dressed in the new Elysian uniform. “If you did you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Gideon?” she said softly, “My head hurts,” she lied as he stepped forward. She felt bad for playing on his emotions, sure he was arrogant normally but deep down he was a good guy, well normally, now he had been corrupted Beryl who knows. “What is happening?” she groaned grabbing at her stomach. “Make it stop,” she whined. Gideon stepped forward putting his hands throw the bars only for Eunha to grab the back of his head and slam it against the bar, knocking him out.

The idiots, in a rush to get out of the way, didn’t check for weapons, well they thought they did but they didn’t look at her jewellery, an anklet from the Mercurian Royal Family, one Lucas had given to her on their last visit, just incase something happened to her. Well, this definitely counted as something happening to her. She stood as far away as from the bars as she could before breaking the chain off her anklet and throwing it at the bars blowing them straight out of the way. The blast wasn’t as large as she expected but it did the job and thankfully left Gideon and his uniform completely unscared.

“I am sorry Gideon,” she whispered as she stripped him of his uniform, smiling as she found his credentials. She threw his uniform in a rush racing out the garden where ships we being filled with Elysian soldiers. She couldn’t go with them she would be found out in instant but the transporter pods, those would be useful. She saw Parker one of Sungjae’s right-hand men about to take forward, she ran forward pushing him out of the way stepping on the pod and instantly being transported to the moon.

She looked around seeing wave after wave Elysian soldiers storming through the moon kingdom. To her left, she saw a Lunarian family quivering in fear staring at her wide-eyed and shaking. She shook her head removing the dagger Gideon had on his uniform and passing it to the mother who looked at her unsure. “Use it protect your family,” she said. The woman said nothing grabbing the dagger and looking at once more before nodding.

Eunha nodded racing forward pushing past Elysian soldiers as she got into the castle. It seemed the Elysian army had already managed to make it’s way into the castle because all she saw was ruins and bodies. She shook her head looking around for anyone she knew, ideally finding Prince Endymion would be the best option but she would take anyone right now. She saw sparks coming from further inside, Jupiter, she ran forward spotting him.

“Jupiter,” she called out running forward. “Look it’s not them, they are being controlled by Beryl,” she said as she got to him. She didn’t notice the look Jupiter and Mercury shared, “We have to find Endymion and Serenity, Beryl wants them -” she said, Jupiter grabbed her holding her still. “What are you doing? They are coming? They are going to-” she spoke as realization hit her like a punch to the gut. He didn’t believe her or he thought she was part of it.

“Lucas, you have to believe me, I am still me,” she said. Jupiter whispered that he was so sorry. She looked up at him, a frown on her face as she felt the dagger pierce her skin, her eyes widened as her hand went to her chest, she felt the warmth of her blood being spilled.. Stumbling forward Jupiter’s arm wrapped around her, she choked trying to speak but her mouth was full of blood. She tried to push away from him, desperately trying to breathe but her body had stopped working.

[mrslittletall]

Title: Off Balance (Chapter 2) Fandom: Hollow Knight Characters: The Pale King/The White Lady, The Pure Vessel Word Count: 2.810 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21805333/chapters/52965505 Previous chapter:https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/189683129734/title-off-balance-chapter-1-fandom-hollow

Summary: The Pale King has to deal with his feelings after his decision to ditch the plan with the Pure Vessel.

(Author's note: It's still hard for me to get in the head of these characters because they are still new for me. And don't ask me how hard it is to write for a being who can't speak and is has a completely expressionless face! 

But I did my best and I hope that the characters will talk to me soon ^^)

He had tossed and turned in his bed for hours now.

And he had to admit, he doubted he would fall asleep anytime soon. He couldn't stop thinking about them.

No cost to great., that was what he had told himself when he started the void experiments. He had been fully aware of the impact of his doing, what he had put the Vessel through, what he had put his Root through, the things he had done to negotiate with the ones who were supposed to be the dreamers.

And worst of all... the things he had locked in the Abyss...

And it all was because he had make a mistake. He had tried to let one being shoulder the fate of the entire kingdom. And he could consider himself lucky that he noticed how it broke them before it was too late.

But that didn't erase the fact that the infection was still a very real threat and even though he had reassured the Pure Vessel that they would find a way, he had no clue where he should even start.

With a tired sigh, the Pale King got out of bed and walked to his door and when he opened it, he was surprised to see that the Pure Vessel was keeping watch.

They shifted once they saw him and stared at him with this deep dark eye sockets.

“Are you worried about me?”, he asked and received a tiny small nod.

“Don't be... this isn't your burden anymore...”, he said and walked further, not aware that the gaze of the Pure Vessel followed him until he was out of sight.

He only stopped when he was in front of the White Lady's room. The kingsmoulds appointed to it lowered their weapons once they saw him approaching. It was a good thing that Dryya needed to sleep once in a while or he would have some explaining to do.

The Pale King opened the door and closed it as quiet as possible behind him as he saw his Root peacefully sleeping. He shuffled over to her and snuggled against her stem, closing his eyes.

It didn't take long for her to sense his presence. “Did something happen?”, her soothing voice sounded as some of her roots curled around his form.

“Had trouble sleeping...”, he answered.

“Do you want to talk about it?”, she asked, one of her roots softly stroking his horns.

“I don't know.”, he answered, truthfully. “There happened so much in such a short time...”

“You don't have to find the answers right away.”, she said as her root lowered down to stroke his shoulders. “You should rest first. Tomorrow will be a new day.”

“I just fear that we are running out of time...”, he said, feeling himself dozing off. He could always count on his Root to help him falling asleep.

“Don't forget, you are not alone.”, the White Lady whispered. “For now, take some time. Reflect about your decisions. I, for one, am very happy that you have let go of this plan.”

She very much had hissed that second to last word. He knew that his wife never had been happy with how he had planned to contain the infection, but... trading the life of hundreds for the life of one? He couldn't help but feel incredibly selfish at this decision.

“I guess you are right.”, he murmured. “I should try and get some sleep first...”

And before the Pale King fell into a deep slumber, his mind wandered over the events of the day.

The moment he had tossed out the plan to use the Hollow Knight as their container for the infection, it was obvious for the Pale King that he had to tell the others. And his Root was the first one he told.

As he was walking to the White Lady's chambers, the Pure Vessel stumbled behind him. They were either still shaken from nearly being impaled (he shuddered at that memory) or they had forgotten all their training how to keep balance. Or both. Whatever it was, the Pale King felt them stumble and nearly made him fall too when they clutched to his robes.

As he turned around to check on them, their head lung low and he had the feeling they wanted to apologize to him, impossible for them because of their missing voice.

“Do you require some assistance?”, he asked and offered his hand to them, them standing there in their usual silence for around ten seconds before they raised their own arm and placed it in his grip, making him able to feel the icy sensation of their void body.

As soon as the Pale King had entered the Room of the White Lady, after he had gotten a surprised stare from Dryya who still was guarding her chambers during the daytime, she had turned her head to greet him and once she saw how he was holding the Pure Vessel's hand, her branches wandered over her mouth and he could see tears glistening in her eyes. Happy tears.

“My Root.”, he said and the apologetic tone in his voice was unmissable. “I came to inform you that I have made a terrible mistake.”

“I know.”, she said, slowly lowering the branches from her mouth, “I am glad that you changed your mind.” Her gaze wandered over the Pure Vessel. “Come here, my child.”, she said, the Pale King wincing at her openly affection right away. “Let me give you a hug.”

The Pure Vessel's blank expression stared at the Pale King for a while before he let go off their hand and just said: “Go to her.” They half stumbled half walked and he had to admit, the image of his wife's root curling around them made him feel warm inside.

“My wyrm.”, she said, still hugging the Vessel, “While I am more than happy about this turn of events, you have to tell the dreamers about this.”

“I suppose so, yes...”, he said, still standing near the door, watching the both of them. The dreamers, like they had started to call them, were Herrah, the Beast, Monomon, the Teacher and Lurien, the Watcher.

“I wonder how they will react?,” he continued after his train of thoughts had ended. “We have planned this all for this long now... they may be upset that we have to start from zero.”

“Lurien and Monomon are loyal members of the kingdom. I am sure they may offer their wisdom to find another way.”, the White Lady said, finally letting go of the Vessel. The Pale King noticed that they had reciprocated her hug and their limbs were still holding one of her roots.

“I better write them some letters right away.”, the Pale King said and turned around to the door. As the Pure Vessel attempted to follow him, the White Lady stopped them.

“Would you stay with me for a while so we can make up for the lost time?”, she asked and as the Pure Vessel looked at him and he nodded at them for it to be alright, he left, thinking about how the Pure Vessel had to learn to not need his permission for anything they wanted to do.

...It was his own fault that they were like this. With him having that far too high expectations of them and them having to hide their emotions to meet them. He should get used to his new role, not only as a king, but also as a father.

The Pale King retreated to his chambers and started to work on the letters right away. In them he basically described that he had made a mistake, that the Pure Vessel wasn't up for the task and instead was accepted as a member of the royal family. Thinking about this, that meant they could be his successor someday? He decided to discuss this with them once they had getting used to their new life.

The last line of the letters comprised that he was truly sorry for his bad judgement and that he would find another way to deal with the infection.

Once the letters were written and sealed, it must have gotten late. As the Pale King left his chambers to give the letters to one of the servants, instructing them to send them out right away, he saw the Pure Vessel among the other five knights (minus Ogrim who wasn't allowed to eat with the others because of the smell) taking in their dinner.

The other knights were casually talking, sometimes dropping a question at the Pure Vessel, not really expecting any kind of response. After all, they called them the Hollow Knight because they usually never showed a reaction.

So the knights were quite stoked when they reacted to a simple question with a nod of their head, nearly falling in their food because they misjudged the weight of their horns.

The Pale King stayed a while as the knights bombarded the Vessel with questions, apparently eager to know more about them. Then he remembered the letters he wanted to send away and left the scene to find a servant to take them.

After the letters had switched possession, he went back to his chambers to take in his own dinner, though he lacked appetite. After he had eaten and a servant got the dishes, giving him a concerned look, probably because of all the leftovers, he paced up and down his chambers, unsure about what he should do.

His pacing got interrupted by a knock on his door and as he went to look who came to visit him this late in the night, he saw the Pure Vessel standing in front of his door, looking at him, as if they wanted to ask if they could come in.

“Um, sure, come in.”, the Pale King said. “Anything you want to talk about?”, right after he had said that, he wanted to slap himself in the face. Who exactly again had thought that they shouldn't have a voice? “My apologies.”, he said as he got a piece of paper and a quill for them.

He sat them on the table, sat down opposite of them and then waited for the scratching of their quill to cease. As they slid the paper over to him he picked it up to read: “Mother asked me how I want to be called. But I don't know my name.”

These tiny little words felt like a stab into the heart of the Pale King. The one thing he always had refused to do... giving them a proper name.

“Um, well...”, he started. “Why don't you choose your own name? That was what I did when I transformed.”

He slid the paper back to them and when they finished writing, he read: “Father, you have a name?”

“Well, I only told it to a few selected ones. Like my Root.”, he said. “Most people know me simply as the Wyrm or the Pale King. It is... easier to rule a kingdom when your subordinates don't know your true name.”

“Can I know your name?”, the next sentence was, written in large, crooked letters, he could practically feel their excitement in their writing.

“Alright, but only if you promise to not tell anyone.”, he said and once they nodded, he leaned down to them to whisper his true name to them. He knew that their face couldn't make an expression, them wearing a mask over their true body, made of void, but he could see them shake lightly with excitement.

“But... how do you choose your own name?”, was the next thing they wrote.

“You use a word that you like or a syllable that feels right or name yourself after an important figure in your life.”, he said. “You don't have to rush it. As long as you don't know, we can keep using the title the other knights have given to you.”

“The Hollow Knight?”, they wrote.

“Yes, if you are fine with this.”, the Pale King said.

They nodded and the rest of the evening was spent with the Pale King showing the Pure Vessel how to improve their writing. He wondered how they should communicate in the future, there wouldn't always be paper and a quill easily available.

When he awoke it became clear for the Pale King, that yesterday hadn't been a dream. He was leaned against his Root and felt her embrace. “Finally awake, my beloved?”, she asked and he could see a smile on her face. She hadn't looked this happy in ages.

He himself couldn't share her happiness as the fate of his kingdom came crushing down on him.

“Yes, but I wish I wouldn't have.”, he said, slowly getting up. “I will have a lot of explaining to do today...”

“I am with you in your mind.”, his root said as she snuggled him one last time. “I plan to unroot myself soon again so that I can stay at your side.”

“Thank you, my love.”, he said, sighing. He needed to get up and freshen himself up to be presentable and take in some breakfast, but he felt like he wanted to lie in his wife's embrace a little while longer.

“Say, my wyrm.”, she suddenly said. “Have you already thought talking about this whole deal with Grimm?”

The Pale King winced at her suggestion. He knew, she was right. The thing they were dealing with was a being that infected others because of dreams and the Nightmare King himself would be the best person to ask for advice, but...

“I don't want to talk to him.”, he said, his robed hand rubbing over his face, “He will never let me hear the end of it...”

“I know the two of you had a breakup, but maybe you should think about burying your past and just try, my dear?”, she asked and he knew every word of her was meant honestly.

“I think about it after I dealt with the dreamers.”, he tiredly said and finally got up to retreat to his chambers so that he could do his morning toilet and get some breakfast.

Before he even managed to get there though a servant approached him.

“Your majesty, you got a letter from deep nest.”, they said.

“That was quick...”, he murmured and added as he noticed the servant looking him over. “Please bring it to our chamber. We will take care of it there.”

The letter left his mind as he spent time freshening himself up and taking in his breakfast but once he was finished and had to start with his royal duties anyway, he noticed the envelope on his desk and took it. He sat down and broke the seal only to be greeted by one single sentence.

“You are not taking Hornet away from me.”

“Really, Herrah, that is your only concern?!”, the Pale King frowned as he read the line again.

That was when he realized something.

Hornet was the daughter of Herrah. She had gained her as part of the bargain of her becoming a dreamer.

And her request had been more than clear, she wanted to have a child from him.

Which made Hornet his daughter.

And therefore, it made her the Pure Vessel's half sister.

He had the feeling he couldn't deny them their right to meet their little sister. But first, he needed to calm Herrah down and spend a good portion of the morning trying to formulate a letter that sounded like she was in no danger of loosing her child but still would allow the Pure Vessel to meet their sibling.

But... he didn't even knew if the Pure Vessel would want to meet their sister. He simply had assumed it. He should ask them first. And certainly before he send off the letter, it would only give Herrah ammunition against him when he asked her if the Hollow Knight could meet Hornet and then they would deny the offer.

The Pale King left his chambers in search of the Pure Vessel and found them watching the training of the knights, them not allowed yet to partake in it. They still held on that tiny nail that they had used in their child form.

“Say...”, he started, prompting them to stop, turning their head around and almost falling over, “Would you like to meet your sister?”

They stared at him for a little while, probably processing what he had said to them before they nodded their head in excitement, falling over and hitting the ground. (Author's note: I completely overlooked that PK speaks canonically in the royal we, but it makes more sense for me when he uses it in his role as the king and not when he is talking with his wife or child, so he drops the royal speech in a more domestic environment. I headcanon that the White Lady sometimes has to stay rooted to one place to get nutrients and stuff and that is why she is locked to her chambers at the moment. After she has been rooted for a while she can decided to unroot herself to be mobile until she has to root herself again. I am still struggling with how the Hollow Knight shall communicate in the future. I was thinking either sign language but I don't know if that would be a bug thing, with lots of them not having hands or if they use like a tiny portable table board and some chalk. What? You want to know PK's true name? Maybe if you ask really really nicely ^^) Next chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/190573594499/title-off-balance-chapter-3-fandom-hollow