#man... i just managed to craft all high rank armor and then this :(

[darkdragon768]

Ok so my pc is running again but my game isn't working as smoothly as it did before. Nice job dad. Thanks for nothing.

My dad fucked up my pc while trying to optimize it and now it's broken! No more hunting for me today!

[jengajives]

Alright so Finrod tho

Finrod squinted beyond his line to the mass of dark, tarnished metal boiling on the horizon.

There were so many. Too many.

They couldn’t hold. They were going to lose the pass.

He raised his spear, the silver banner flapping loudly from its haft, and roared a rallying cry. It was answered by the guard around him, and the rest of the army behind.

They could not lose the pass.

On the other side of the river, Orodreth’s infantry were holding, but Finrod’s own forces were taking the brunt of the assault and being crushed beneath it. A wedge of orcs was starting to plunge between the ranks, forcing himself and his company against the river and the others to the hills. Soon the goblins would have the two forces separated and come down on them like a hammer against an anvil.

Finrod didn’t fancy the idea of drowning in all this armor, nor of being cut down and hewn in the shallows of Sirion, so he shouted for horns to blow, for the company to push back toward the hills with all their might.

He took the forefront of the assault with his guard around him. The soldiers needed someone to follow.

He wasn’t nearly as fearsome in battle as some of his cousins, but he was no terrified youth, either. He was a foe the orcs knew to fear. And he would lead his people to triumph or fall in the attempt.

There was so little left. They couldn’t lose the pass.

Rising to meet them was a shield-wall of steel and wood, bristling with spear tips, weeping arrows. The Elves fell on it like waves against a cliff.

Finrod batted shields aside, shattered wooden hafts of spears against his mithril-coated arms, and plunged his own ringing weapon in wherever armor looked soft. Black blood spattered the banner his spear bore until it hung heavy and dripping. His fingers struggled to grip a handle so slick with gore. On every side, his people fell.

The orcs crushed them back. No matter how many they killed, more would swarm forth and rally, clashing against the Elves with more ferocity each time, like the sight of their fallen brothers heightened the natural goblin bloodlust and drove them mad. Soon Finrod’s host was losing land. Slowing being pushed back to the edge of the water until even the King’s heels were damp and they were fighting in the shallowest flow of the river.

Screams faded into the sound of a heartbeat. A shield crashed into Finrod’s chest so hard his breastplate buckled, and he went wheeling to the ground in a breathless flash of red and white. When he landed on all fours, before he could scramble back or reach for his fallen spear or even think about catching his breath, a jagged blade took him in the side and screeched against his armor until it caught the weak part beneath the arm and pushed right through.

White-hot pain erupted in Finrod’s side. He screamed, twisted to grab the blade and yank it free, shooting sparks from the metal-clad palm of his hand when the sword jerked back on its own, slicing him even through the protection.

He managed to turn and look into the yellow eyes of the goblin that was going to kill him before the stroke fell, just so he’d know what was own death had looked like.

The orc grinned with metal teeth, and a hatchet took it suddenly in the throat.

With a scream that turned rapidly to a gurgle, the creature feel, and from the midst of shrieking orcs came a new shape in a spray of black blood.

The newcomer had no heavy armor, just a leather breastplate with thick layers of chainmail beneath, and wore no helm on his head. Instead, his dark auburn hair flowed free about his shoulders, and his dark eyes gleamed as he held aloft a dripping sword in one hand and another small throwing axe in the other. The orcs fled him like he was a specter, and soon others emerged from the ranks like him, hardy and wielding stout weapons of iron and steel. Men, come to fight alongside their immortal brothers. Finrod felt lightheaded.

The first Man offered a large hand that was certainly plenty calloused beneath leather gloves.

“Your Highness. Can you stand?”

Finrod could only stare, entranced, as this new company of Men hacked a perimeter around them. His throat felt dry.

“Who are you?”

“Barahir, my Lord. Son of Bregor of Bëor’s house. My people are here to help in whatever way we can, sir.”

From somewhere in the direction of the mountains, horns sounded, but they weren’t Finrod’s. He recognized the orcs’ screams of terror.

Barahir moved his outstretched hand closer to remind Finrod it was there.

“Your Majesty, can you stand?”

It was then Finrod realized he was bleeding, heavily enough to see it drip from his silver armor. He spoke unsteadily with this new knowledge very, very close to the forefront of his mind, but tried to smile.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Good. We must move quickly to get you and your people to safety.”

When Finrod accepted the hand, he was shocked by how warm and firm its grip was. Immediately his trust was given to this Man in its entirety.

“I can manage,” Finrod said when Barahir offered him an arm to lean on, despite how much he wanted to take it. He could walk on his own and it was best not to further hinder a soldier so obviously capable as Barahir. Finrod watched him draw back and fling his second hatchet into a break in his line with exceptional speed and accuracy. Men closed in to fill the gap as soon as the hatchet passed them by.

“We can cut a path back to your main force,” Barahir said with alarming calmness. “Stay close to me. I’ll protect you.”

If Finrod had been any prouder, he would have insisted he did not need protection, but he was a practical creature and an honest one, and he knew he was too weak to stand his own now against even the smallest orc. And Barahir to him seemed mighty and sure; deep in his heart Finrod knew he would come to no harm in this Man’s care.

“Lead on,” he said with a solemn nod.

Remarkably, Barahir grinned at him. There was a gap between his front teeth. Somehow Finrod’s knees grew weaker.

Barahir raised his sword. “Protect the King!”

Around him, the lightly-clad soldiers gave an answering shout. Like a fluid machine they closed ranks, putting shields on the outside of the ring with pikemen behind them, keeping Finrod and the last remnant of his guard in the middle. Barahir stayed close, too. Every once in a while he’d venture to the edge of the guarded circle to shout orders and provide support for the wounded, but as the ring around them tightened and the soldiers providing protection thinned, he began to spend more time in the center at Finrod’s side.

When Felagund stumbled and his mouth began to taste of iron, Barahir was there to catch him.

“Nearly there now,” he said in a low, steady voice. “Hold on, your Highness. I’ve got you.”

Finrod wanted to say something back but his head was spinning, so he let himself lean on Barahir as the sounds of battle dimmed around him and each shuffling step brought an ache to his head.

“Take it easy,” Barahir said. There was an edge of nervousness to his voice; blades hacking to get in on every side.

The few remaining Men formed up tight, a thin line around Finrod and Barahir. The Elvish guards with any strength left to bear weapon joined them and together they cut at the incoming enemy with horrible ferocity.

Just as the ring began to be battered apart, the main part of Finrod’s host fell on them like a silver tide, and Elvish swordsman washed around them with blades white and fell.

Several glittering soldiers rushed to retrieve Finrod from Barahir’s arms, though he wasn’t happy to go. He spit a mouthful of blood and stood unsteadily, forearm braced against a soldier, to face the Man.

“You must retreat south down the river.” Barahir pointed as if he worried Finrod had forgotten where the river actually was. “We can cover your retreat.”

“I won’t stand by while others give their lives fighting our battles,” Finrod said weakly. His attempt to stand up straight didn’t work out all too well; soon he was nearly staggering into the other guards, though he did manage to keep his footing. “We’ll stand with you, Barahir.”

“No.” The remainder of the Men gathered around, the horns of their host blew loud just to the east. “Many of your soldiers have fallen. You don’t have the strength to hold the pass.”

“I won’t-“

“King Felagund,” Barahir said almost pleadingly, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You need medicine. Your people need respite. Leave this to us, and return to safety while you still can.”

The look in his muddy eyes was so steadfast that Finrod cracked almost immediately. His voice warbled.

“When will I see you again?”

“If I have been blessed with any luck,” Barahir said fervently, “then it will be soon.”

He smiled again, but this time it was remarkably sad.

Finrod looked on him and loved what he saw, and at once he was stricken by the need to do something to thank this Man, this valiant hero who had paid much to save his life. He fumbled to unbuckle his gauntlet.

“Here-“ Beneath the silver armor upon his slim finger he wore the ring crafted for him back in Valinor- the one set with green emeralds that sparkled like the deepest pools. He pressed it firmly to Barahir’s hand, and folded his fingers around it.

“If ever you find yourself in need,” Finrod said, “Nargothrond is open to you. I owe you a life debt, Barahir son of Bregor, and I will not quickly forget it.”

Barahir looked at the ring with the astonishment of one who had never beheld great riches. After a moment, he managed to shake his head, slack-jawed.

“I cannot take this!”

“It is a gift.” Finrod nodded to himself. “A poor symbol of my gratitude, but all that I have to give.”

He hesitated.

“Save one thing...”

Then with shocking nervousness, he leaned down and placed a light kiss on the lips of Barahir the captain of Men, before the two of them went their separate ways.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Her Dove, His Falcon, Their Shield Part One

Fandom: Game Of Thrones

Pairing: Eventual Oberyn/Reader/Ellaria

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Disclaimer for Game Of Thrones writing here! This installment contains a reader that is a ruff tuff cheeto puff, a damn juggernaut. STRONK. I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to culturalrebel and hulia for recommending me compilation videos, as well as to @zeldasayer for inspiring me to write a hella buff reader. This is peak indulgence, pauldronsexual hours bois. I wax poetic about Ellaria, it’s a great time. I'll see you all with part two on Monday. Enjoy!

Tag List: @culturalrebel @huliabitch @absurdthirst @helplessly-nonstop

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains depictions of canon-typical violence, allusions to canon-typical abuse, depictions of sexual activities with a pregnant party and vague allusions to breeding kink. Stay safe!] 

You were sure your fingers were broken.

The pain flickered sunlight-bright behind your eyes every time you had tried to move your pinky or your index, your entire right hand so gristly you didn't dare to look at it after you had bound it up as best as you could.

You clutched your hand to your chest, forcing yourself to focus. The wharf. You had to reach the docks. That had been your plan this morning, before everything had gone so terribly wrong. 

You crept through the shadows, dashing away your tears with your threadbare shawl. Your weeping would only be a sign of weakness, urging the vultures to circle on your corpse before it was even cold.

The creak of timbers heralded your arrival to the waterfront and a soft sigh of relief left your mouth when you spotted who you were looking for. The sailor that had promised you passage was there, leaned against the wall of the nearby harbormaster's quarters. He glanced up at the sound of your voice when you hailed him, tipping his head.

"Well well, look what the cat dragged in." He chuckled, wandering hands already tugging at your shawl. "Have you brought the payment, my dear?"

You pulled forth a small purse of coins. "I know it is less than what we promised, but I was unable to-" The man clicked his tongue, obviously disappointed. "I-I am certain we can come to an agreement, please." You begged desperately. You were so close to your escape!

"Darling, we had a deal." The sailor chided, sounding like he was scolding a child. "You bring me the payment, and I convince my captain that having a woman on board our vessel isn't bad luck. Now, at the eleventh hour, you decide you want to bargain?" The man crowded you back against the wall, his face inches from yours when he muttered, "I don't barter with whores." The blow caught you unawares, the back of his hand connecting with your cheek. You shut your eyes when he raised his hand again, gritting your teeth in anticipation of stifling your noise. 

Gods, you were so tired of this.

"What are you doing to that girl?" A man's voice demanded, his distinctive Dornish accent thick with either drink or weariness. "Get away from her or I will cut you down where you stand, you cur." 

"She is hurt, lover." That voice was lilting, intrigued, a woman's voice. "Look at her hand, and the way her face is turned. She has been struck."

You abruptly felt the sailor's weight removed from your body, the sudden action making you cringe back against the wall. Large, trembling fingers eased your wounded hand away from where you had it protectively curled into your chest. "What has happened to you, sweetling?" You didn't dare to open your eyes and the man tsked after a moment, relinquishing your hand. 

"Lover, we must get you onboard, your wounds-" 

"A moment, Ellaria. This…" A hand touched your cheek, making you start and open your eyes. Dark, textured leather armor met your gaze, the surface spattered rusty with blood. Your breathing stuttered. You didn't dare to look up at the man who wore the armor, staring at his chest as hard as you could manage.

The hand slid beneath your chin, tugging your eyes reluctantly upwards as your shawl slid off of your head. You gasped when you caught sight of his face. The man appeared battered, the sides of his head badly bruised at the temples and cheeks. There were livid contusions that looked suspiciously like large handprints, as if someone had attempted to crush his skull with their bare hands. His left eye was bloodied, laced with spiderwebbed veins and swollen half-shut. The fingers that touched your face were still shaking, his other hand pressed to a dressing that wrapped around his left elbow.

"Not a girl, I see. A woman." The Dornishman said quietly after enduring a moment of your impolite gawking. "And as such, I cannot make this choice for you."

You swallowed hard. You had heard stories about the people of Dorne, about Sunspear and the supposed depravity that took place there. True, you had been hoping to get aboard a ship and go somewhere, anywhere, as far away as you could manage. And with that sailor denying you passage...

The man's deep brown eyes saddened at your silence. "Would you stay here and endure this mistreatment from men like him, simply because it is familiar?"

You shook your head, fleetingly meeting his gaze and opening your mouth. "I have never been on a ship before, m-my lord." You attempted a belated curtsey. You had no idea who this man was, but it was best to err on the side of caution that he was of a higher social ranking than you. Most people were.

He seemed amused if anything, a pained smile crossing his haggard features. "You will soon grow to love it, little dove."

"If it pleases you, my lord." You demurred in a whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. Were you trading one cruel man for another? They often hid their true intentions until their audience was gone. But the woman at his side...she didn't seem fearful. "I have naught to offer for my passage but this, my lord." The small purse of coins jingled softly as you extended it to the man in front of you. "I am uncertain how much distance it will buy me, but I am not afraid of hard work."

The man waved it off, cupping your hand around the purse. "Do not trouble yourself with such things, my dove. Our time grows short." 

…

You had been warned of the sea illness, but you appeared to be able to ward off the heaves if you stayed above decks. The fresh salt air stung your cheeks, yet you refused to move from your spot by the railing. You made yourself scarce beside a pile of coiled rope, staying out of the way of the sailors bustling about and watching everything with wide eyes. Your injured hand was still cradled to your chest, but you had no attention for it as you hungrily devoured your surroundings.

King's Landing had been an area tinged gray, dour with gilded suffering. The golden sunsets that would pour through the high windows of your barren room paled in comparison to the sunset you were witnessing now. It was as if the horizon itself was ablaze, a cacophony of reds and oranges that turned the ocean brilliant. You had never seen such a sunset in all your years, and you prayed that it was a good omen. 

The sailors sang as they worked, all of them settling into a rhythm in order to keep everything running smoothly. It was fascinating to watch men pulling lines taut and tacking the mighty vessel into the wind, the ship nimble enough to respond to such rapid adjustments.

"There you are, little dove." Ellaria swayed easily with the motion of the craft, one hand resting on the shrouds to keep her balance. You started in surprise, having not noticed her approach. "You enjoy watching the sailors?"

"They are incredible, my lady." You replied honestly, cocking your head to the side. "I know very little about sailing, but surely their skill is unmatched? You must be immensely proud."

Her laughter was a beautiful noise, just as beautiful as she was. "My lover will be pleased to hear such flattery from your lips! He takes great delight in sailing. Now come with me, flattering dove. We must have the healer tend to your hand." 

You shakily climbed upright, gripping the bannister with your good hand as if your life depended on it. The journey back to the elaborate cabin was fraught with peril for you, and you envied Ellaria's gauzy, simplistic garb every time your heavy skirts got caught on the various cleats and belaying pins. 

Ellaria opened the cabin door and ushered you into the darker environment, tutting between her teeth. "Lover, you should not be upright." She scolded.

The wounded man (now heavily bandaged), shot her a lazy smile from his place at a desk, quill resting on a half-used sheet of vellum. "I know, Ellaria. She tried her best to tell me so as well."

An older woman (the healer, judging from her no-nonsense expression) rolled her eyes and dusted off her hands, approaching you rapidly. You flinched back and she slowed, her gaze flicking to Ellaria in question.

"We encountered this sweet dove on the docks. It is her hand, Ael." Ellaria said quietly, taking your arm. "Come, sit. Ael will not harm you."

You were settled onto a soft cushion and the healer slid your hand into her own, her touch light and careful while she unwrapped your bruised fingers. "How?" She asked, her voice just as quiet as Ellaria's.

You squeezed your eyes shut against the memory, biting your lip. "It was an accident, I didn't mean...I upset him."

"Him?" The man asked, leaning forward and then grimacing in pain. "That man on the docks?"

"N-No, my master. I am...well, I suppose I was, a-a helpmate of sorts. Shield-maiden. I...helped him to don and doff his armor, and I," you hesitated, "well, did whatever was asked of me."

Ellaria made a noise in her throat. "So what crime did you commit, to earn such punishment that would render you useless for your primary task?"

"I...I broke two of his fingers." You extended your uninjured hand in a gesture to allay concern. "I did not mean to! It was an a-accident, he had a trial to prepare for today with a fearsome opponent. His mind was elsewhere, and when I went to slide his gauntlet on-"

"What was your master's name, little dove?" The man interrupted you, his expression thoughtful. 

"His name is Ser Gregor Clegane, my lord. An enormous man who has been dubbed The Mountain." 

"You mentioned a fearsome opponent. But with a master such as that, who was this fearsome opponent?" 

"A prince of Dorne, my lord, one of your own! Can you even imagine?" You sighed dreamily, vaguely aware that Ael was giving you an odd look. She probably thought you childish, still swooning over faceless royalty. "I was told that he was an immensely fierce and clever man, though not in such forgiving language." Then, forgetting your place, you muttered, "I hope that he roundly trounced Ser Clegane."

The man burst out laughing, but winced and held his jaw as Ael fixed him a stern glare. You were certain your confusion was quite bare on your face. "Apologies, I do not laugh at your misfortune, little dove. Rather, at the providence of it all." He explained, still chuckling. "You are to thank for his terrible temper and sloppy work at the trial, then?"

"Oh, you witnessed the duel? What happened?" You asked excitedly, rocking on your seat in anticipation. 

"Oberyn, stop teasing." Ellaria murmured, sounding almost like she was chiding him. 

Oberyn. 

Your heart leaped into your throat as the man tossed you a pained smirk, moving to the pile of cushions and blankets on the floor. "Y...You? You are-?" Your voice failed you.

"Prince Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper, a fierce and clever man among many other virtues?" He drawled, looking like the cat that ate the canary as he gingerly reclined on his soft throne. "None other than, sweet dove."

"They are so deliciously genuine, lover." Ellaria crooned to him while you felt your skin flush hot with embarrassment. "They had nothing but lovely things to say about your crew, and now this? Such courtesy."

"Truly?" Oberyn (Prince Oberyn! your mind shrieked in horror) asked, his tone bordering on surprised. "And all of that, without even knowing who you spoke to? Rare courtesy indeed." 

"I...I am so sorry if I've offended you, your highness." You whispered, "I know there is no excuse for my ignorance."

"Nonsense! I owe you a debt, it seems!" Oberyn replied cheerily. You dared to look up, finding him with a hand pressed to the side of his well-bandaged jaw. "Ser Gregor sought to crush my skull after I had run him through. Clearly, it is thanks to you that he could not maintain his grip and I escaped with this colorful bruising."

"So you killed him?" You asked, knowing full-well that the hope in your voice was unbecoming.

"If he is not dead yet, he will be soon." Oberyn seemed outrageously pleased with himself, though his eyes were strangely melancholy. "Justice has been served. I only wish that I could have stayed to witness him breathe his filthy last, but it seemed that the royal family had other plans regarding the outcome of the trial. I thought it better to take my leave before they decided to finish what Ser Gregor began."

You ducked your face into your elbow, trying to quickly hide your tears. Ellaria caught your chin though, her confusion evident. "Why do you weep, little dove?"

"P-Please forgive my loss of composure! I w-weep for myself, my lady." You hiccupped, the words spilling out of you. "I suffered much by the hand of that man. To know that Ser Clegane is in agony or already perished…it feels like a precious gift, yet I should take no joy in the knowledge. To luxuriate in his demise makes me no better than him."

"You are alive and he is not. Luxuriate in that, if you will not give yourself the satisfaction of indulging in vicarious revenge." Oberyn murmured, his tone troubled. "Did he shame you, little dove?" 

You raised your eyes to his and he must have seen the truth there, even though you said softly that you had heard of him doing far worse than what had ever been done to you. "I believe I was one of the luckier ones, your highness."

The prince cursed under his breath, rubbing his temples. "I will be overjoyed to be back in Dorne once again. King's Landing is fraught with madness. A wonder that it still fills me with fury! I am half-dead." He muttered. 

"Indeed you are, lover. You ought to be resting." Ellaria chastised him, her tone fondly concerned.

"Yes, my love. I am immensely weary. But council me before I slumber. What shall I do with this unforeseen ally?" The prince asked, waving a hand in your direction. "They spake so sweetly to me, and I could have been the lowest man in all of Dorne. Such honesty deserves reward."

"Not to mention that without their aid, your head would have been crushed." Ellaria pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "And I would not be able to do this."

"You graciously offered me passage, your highness. That is more than enough-" You began to protest, wincing when Ael tightly bound your fingers together once again. 

Oberyn dismissed your reasoning with naught but a slow flick of his wrist, yawning widely. "Ellaria, the weariness has ensnared me. Do with them what you wish, my love." He mumbled, sinking down into the nest of blankets. Ellaria studied you for a time as you sat silently, letting Ael tend to your hand. You didn't dare to meet her eyes, so frightened that she might view you as defiant. 

"I know you must be used to making yourself small, little dove." She finally spoke softly. "Take heart, the people of Dorne are not so cruel as those you have encountered." Ael had finished wrapping your fingers and Ellaria encircled your wrists, the other woman searching your eyes. "Men use such pretty terms to describe the anguish their counterparts inflict upon us. Shamed, as if you were a naughty child." She shook her head unhappily. "I would promise you your heart's desire, for it is because of you that my beloved still breathes. Anything you wish, you need only ask."

You stared at her dumbly, trying in vain to blink back the fresh tears that rose at her practical words. 

Ellaria tutted, her hand rising to smooth over your tangled hair in a maternal fashion while the tears spilled down your cheeks. "You are exhausted, little dove." She soothed, a gossamer sleeve catching your tears and patting your face dry. "Sleep now. I will ask you in the morning."

...

You woke to someone gently brushing your hair, the groan of timber and faint sounds of water all around you. Certain that you were dreaming, you hummed and shifted your weight, snuggling a little closer to the lap your head rested in.

"Dove, are you awake?" Ellaria. You nodded sleepily, trying to remember who that name belonged to. "I had hoped to be done before you woke." She sighed. "Try to stay still for me, sweet. I will be finished in a few moments." 

As you felt her begin to plait your hair, your mind slowly seemed to shake off the warm haze of sleep. The Mountain. Your hand. Prince Oberyn--

Gods, Prince Oberyn! You flinched, wide awake now. Ellaria patted the top of your head, obviously satisfied with her handiwork. "There! Beautiful." She said decisively. "You slept so soundly, my little dove! You needed the rest, I imagine."

"My lady…" Right back to where you had started, you nearly wept all over again. Your life had been devoid of tenderness for so long, cut off from any warmth or care. Now here was a small smattering, a ray of sunlight through the clouds, and you were utterly in a shambles. "I apologize for my turbulent emotions." You breathed. "I am at a loss."

"Hush, little dove." The woman murmured, a finger tucking beneath your chin to tilt your face up. "You are so pensive! I would see you smile. Breakfast, perhaps?"

You hesitated, your stomach knotting uncertainly. "I do not know if I will be able to, my lady. The ship...I am unused to its motion." 

Ellaria smiled at you, a genuine, soft smile that wrapped around your soul like a secret. "We shall eat above decks, my dove. Something light, to baby that green belly of yours."

Gods, was she teasing you? You had no idea what to think as she got to her feet and extended a hand to you. The light played across her golden skin when she helped you rise, even more of her body on display in today's garb. You felt like a drab sparrow beside a brilliant goldfinch, trying vainly to smooth the wrinkles out of your skirts as you followed behind her.

The sky was blue overhead, the sun just slightly above the horizon. It was still early, though normally you would be going to sleep at this hour.

Your shudder had nothing to do with the brisk sea wind.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Ellaria said gladly, tilting her head at you. Her brown eyes fairly danced with good humor, like she was sharing a joke. 

Your heart clenched in your chest and you swallowed roughly. When you agreed with her, you were unsure of whether you spoke of the sky or the woman beside you. 

After a light breakfast, Ellaria left you to your own devices. You continued to watch the sailors with awe, thankful that they all seemed perfectly content to ignore you.

It did not take long for the prince to grow bored in his confinement, his complaints growing louder and louder until he emerged onto the deck. Half-dressed, Ellaria following after him bearing a light golden wrapper, Oberyn stalked to the railing and stared moodily across the water at the other ship that had departed alongside his at King's Landing. 

"Had I not promised Cersei that I would bring that miserable pile of driftwood to her child, I would scuttle the whole affair." He muttered, stroking his facial hair. Ellaria attempted to drape the dressing gown around him, beckoning for you to come assist her. "Even after all the harm she's done, I will not cause undue grief to...ah, my dove!" The sight of you seemed to shake him from his doleful contemplation, and you couldn't help your flush when the prince idly brushed his fingers over your cheek after you had succeeded in helping Ellaria. "Have you decided what you might ask of me, little dove?" Inhaling a bracing gulp of air, you nodded. The prince inclined his head, tucking Ellaria into his side and then raising his eyebrows at you in silent query. 

"I ask...I-I ask two things of you, your highness." You winced when your voice squeaked nervously. "First, I humbly request that you hear me until the end. What I will ask...I know that it is laughable." The prince frowned, but nodded. "I was trained for much of my years in the manner of a soldier, as my mother bore my father no sons. That is how Gregor found me." You steeled yourself. "I would like to continue my tutelage and, once I have become a full-fledged warrior, I would ask to join your soldiers and fight under the flag of Martell."

"Why...Why would you ask for that?" Oberyn queried, his tone one of immense confusion. Ellaria looked bewildered as well.

"After everything that has...happened, to me, everything that has been done to me, I am no longer fit to marry." You explained, doing your best to be ginger with your speech. "Yet, I would serve the man who slew Gregor with my very life. All I can ask for is the chance."

The prince lifted his hand, laying it across the back of your neck and tugging you to lean close. He pressed his forehead to your own, his eyes searching yours. "Not a dove at all." He murmured finally. "A falcon. You will have your wish and one better, my falcon. I will not see you amongst the rank and file of soldiers in my brother's army. You shall train as a knight." His hand clapped your shoulder warmly. "A knight of House Martell. It will be difficult! But I know you would not expect ease after the life you have endured." He glanced at Ellaria. "What say you, my love?"

Ellaria's smile was soft and a bit sad. She cupped your face, touching her forehead to your own as well. "Elia would have loved the spirit of this one."

Elia Martell. You had heard the stories, of course, but the depth of the anguish you saw in Oberyn's gaze took your breath away. 

The prince nodded sorrowfully after a moment, kissing Ellaria's knuckles. "Aye, she would have. But she can rest easy now, my love, and that is all that matters."

…

"Again!" The battlemaster shouted, his hand extended to direct. "First form!"

You had flourished under the watchful eye of the head warriors of House Martell, training alongside several of Oberyn's own daughters. The strength you had built through your prior training with heavy plate and shield made you unexpectedly hardy, especially when clad in the much lighter leather and chain mail that the Dornish warriors wore. 

You were able to wield a pike on foot with relative ease, and Oberyn saw to it personally that you were granted a larger shield. "If you are to be drawing the enemy's attention, I would rather you are shielded…"

You assumed the first stance, your form wavering ever so slightly when Oberyn and Ellaria emerged from a nearby hallway to observe the training. 

The prince was well on the mend from his grisly ordeal with Gregor, only bearing a slight tenderness in his left elbow during poor weather. He was a truly lucky man. Ellaria was in good spirits this afternoon, her smile radiant as she waved to you. You bowed, panting a little from the exertion of your training. The battlemaster dismissed you with a grin, overused to such royal interruptions. 

Oberyn's younger daughters flung themselves at you in their typical fashion the second they were permitted, all of them piling onto you in an effort to take you to the ground. You struggled valiantly against the assault as Oberyn laughed, the man wading into the mass of bodies after a moment to pluck Loreza from your back. "Such violence from my beautiful children! You are your mother's daughters." He teased with a broad smile, rubbing his nose against Loreza's. 

Dorea danced around her mother, tugging at her hands. "May we go to the water gardens, mama?" She asked, pausing to meticulously straighten her petite bracers. Dorea took the training very seriously. 

Ellaria nodded, patting her on the head. "Alright my little snakes, rise from the sand and go play." She urged, "You have all done so well in your training today! I am very proud." Elia rolled her eyes, shaking her head when Obella and Dorea shrieked their delight. She was, of course, too old to let such maternal praise cloud her impressions of how her training had actually gone. 

You wished you didn't light up as bright as the children whenever the prince and his paramour praised them. You knew that it was foolish. 

"We are both impressed with your progress. It has only been five months and yet, you fight as if you were of Dorne yourself." Oberyn observed after his children had departed, his hand resting at the small of Ellaria's back. 

You went hot at the praise, bowing and stammering, "a-all due to your faith in me, your highness!"

"How many times must I insist that you simply call me Oberyn?" He asked, the grin he shot you making your knees weak. "After all, unwittingly or not, we conspired together as equals!"

"Do not tease her so, lover!" Ellaria chided him. "We had something to tell her, remember?"

"Apologies, my love." Oberyn cleared his throat, and his face grew incredibly serious. "My falcon, we come bearing wonderful news. My paramour is pregnant once again." He announced, "A new Sand Snake will be born in but six months time."

You gaped at him, then at Ellaria, who was beaming. "Oh, that is...good?" You half-questioned. True, the people of Dorne had radically different viewpoints from the rest of the world when it came to bastards, carnal acts and indeed, their sexuality in general. You were still adjusting to such broad views.

Ellaria nodded, thankfully not visibly offended by your hesitation. "In Dorne, children are a treasured blessing, not the death knell that so many seem to see them as." She rested her hands on the nearly imperceptible swell of her belly. "Oberyn wished to ask you to become my sworn knight, to defend me from such trials that pregnancy brings." Her eyes were dancing again; she was joking with you. 

You chuckled nervously, dusting the knees of your breeches off. "I fear I would do more harm than good in that department, my lady." Despite her insistence that she was but a bastard, you always referred to her as 'my lady', just as you always referred to Oberyn by archaic honorifics. 

"Are you greatly concerned with the skirmish I am sending you to, my falcon?" Oberyn asked bluntly. 

You shook your head. "Not at all, your highness. I have faith in my skill, as well as the competence of Prince Doran's military."

"I will be there as well, though only advising in my elder brother's stead." Oberyn sighed wistfully. "You must be twice as fierce on the battlefield, my falcon! Fill my place in the ranks."

"I must be at least six times as fierce if I were to try and match you, your highness!" You protested.

"The genuine nature of your flattery never ceases to raise my spirits, my falcon! Dorne will need your strength." The prince grinned sharply, "And your ferocity. I assume we can expect great things from you?" He extended his forearm and you clasped it, feeling the coil of muscle that lurked beneath the sleeve of his brocade robe.

"You may depend on me, Prince Oberyn." You replied firmly.

...

It was to be a simple pincer attack, your small battalion held in reserve to strike at the most opportune moment. Everything always seemed so straightforward when in the map room.

Now, in the muddy chaos of the battlefield, you planted your massive tower shield as a rallying point for the foot soldiers and warded off the attacks that poured around it like river water. Cavalry thundered past you into the fray, lances up and proud Martell trappings flapping in the breeze. You struck down Dorne's foes without mercy, attempting to do the absent Oberyn justice.

Until you caught sight of Elia, torn from her horse by a greatsword-wielding warrior. She hit the mud hard, barely rolling out of the way of the man's full swing. He landed a glancing blow on her shoulder and you heard her cry out.

You jerked your shield up out of the ground, terrified beyond measure that she would not hear your voice. You gathered your legs beneath you to brace for her weight and shouted, "Lady Elia!" Her eyes met yours for a split-second. "Ninth form!" With your shoulder and knee set into the back of your shield, you tilted the metal.

The smaller woman bolted up and onto your slanted shield, then wheeled and sprang off with her arm outstretched to grapple the warrior's neck. The man was floored by the blow, he and Elia tumbling to the ground. You thrust your spear through the offending wrist that still gripped his sword, your razor-sharp weapon piercing the weak point in his armor and pinning his hand to the ground as he screamed. 

"If any man dares to touch a Sand Snake, he shall lose his hand and his life." You seethed, raising and then crushing the edge of your shield down on his throat. Elia stared up at you, hurriedly accepting your hand when you offered it. "Are you badly injured, my lady?" You asked worriedly.

"Just winded." She jibed but winced afterwards, touching the blood blotting her armor at the shoulder. "Damn it, and perhaps my shoulder could use tending."

"Shall I escort you back to the stratagem, my lady?"

"So courteous! A true knight." She teased, laughing. "Of course, deliver me to the hands of my hen of a father, that he might chatter and squawk about how careless I was." She tossed her head haughtily. "Wonderful."

"I meant no disrespect, my lady." Elia had a rebellious streak that may have very well been the entirety of her body. Fiercely capable and cunning beyond measure, this would be a blow to her pride. But you could not very well permit her to venture on wounded and get herself killed in the bargain, so you herded her gently back towards the stratagem tents.

You were both soaked head to toe with the blood and sweat of battle, so Oberyn's gut-wrenching expression of terror upon catching sight of his daughter was to be expected. "Elia!" He cried, striding out of the tent. "Where is the wound? You would not retreat willingly, you are too stubborn."

"Hush, I am well. Your falcon saw to that." Elia retorted, gesturing at your massive shield. "She clove a man's head off with that simply for touching me."

"He did a sight more than touch you, my lady." You replied stiffly, "I merely retaliated."

Oberyn enfolded his daughter in his arms, squeezing her tightly as you stripped your helmet off. "Straight to Ael with you. You have done well." He praised her, "but this shoulder will need to be tended lest you lose feeling in your hand."

After Elia had departed, you dropped to one knee. "Forgive me, your highness. I was not fast enough to keep her from harm."

"Lightning itself is not fast enough to keep that one from being wherever she wants." Oberyn replied dryly, clapping your shoulder and urging you to stand. "You brought her to me, a task which I'm certain she did not make simple. You are…" he trailed off, staring at you. Since you had removed your helmet, you assumed you must have some mud on your face. Why else would he look at you as though he had never seen you before? Perhaps the sun was in his eyes, or maybe your hair was much more hopeless than usual.

You quickly scrubbed at your cheeks, but Oberyn remained silent. "Prince Oberyn?" You queried tentatively.

"You are capable." He managed to finish his thought after several more moments. His voice was strangely faint. "Thank you for returning her hale and whole to me."

"Are you well, your highness?"

"Quite well. Astonishingly so, given the circumstances."

...

You were knighted formally as Ser Shieldove of House Martell on the following new moon. Oberyn winked at you in playful insinuation when you and several other new knights knelt before his brother to be anointed with seven oils, nearly causing you to embarrass yourself by laughing. The younger prince had become markedly more flirtatious towards you after the skirmish, his teasing bold even for his standards. You had dismissed it though, certain that he was merely expressing his gratitude with some flattering attention directed your way.

At the feast that followed, Oberyn and Ellaria flanked you instead of taking up their usual position at the head of the table with Prince Doran. Ellaria in particular was nearly hanging off your arm as the both of them fed you from their own trenchers. His tender touch while he plied you with fruits and the brush of the pads of her fingers against your lips made your throat burn with an odd emotion that you dared not examine. The flavorful dolmas hit your tongue and turned to ash in the wake of Ellaria's beautiful smile and Oberyn's jests.

The prince was regaling anyone who would listen with the thrilling (and greatly exaggerated) tale of you and Elia in the skirmish. "-my daughter, Elia Sand, though wounded, fought valiantly against a warrior seven times her size. Ser Shieldove, thinking quickly as she always does-"

"That is a falsehood, your highness." You protested, making Oberyn and his audience laugh. "I was in a panic. I was so fearful I would not reach her in time."

"What is a skirmish if not an opportunity to embellish?" The prince teased. "As I was saying, Ser Shieldove utilized one of the many tactics she learned in her knightly training…" While Oberyn prattled on, you felt his hand rest idly on your leg. You barely kept from leaping out of your skin when he gripped down a little tighter, his fingers rubbing circles through the gossamer of your gown and the fabric of your hosiery.

"More wine?" Ellaria asked sweetly, refilling your goblet before you even had the chance to nod. 

"Thank you, my lady." You cocked your head to the side. "Are you well? I hope the babe does not grieve you."

Her lovely laughter, combined with the hypnotic press and drag of Oberyn's fingers, made you wish that you could stay where you were forever. "I have done this four times before, my falcon. Or should I say, Ser Shieldove?" She chuckled. "I am prepared for whatever discomfort this little one sees fit to inflict upon me."

You smiled at her, stating sincerely, "I am in awe of you, Lady Ellaria." 

"Of me? Whatever for?" She asked in surprise. 

"Your willingness to bear children. It is...I do not know if I would ever have the strength for such an endeavor." You admitted softly, leaning in a little. "Your joy is pure and rare, unlike anything I have ever witnessed. You are practically aglow. It makes my heart ache and sing all at once, to see you so happy."

Ellaria took your hands in her own, clasping them to her heart. "Ser Shieldove, your flattery has not lost its edge." She murmured, her eyes bright. "Though I know your duties may take you elsewhere, when you have a moment of respite, I...would be more than willing to have one of my midwives explain certain things to you. I understand that fear of the unknown keeps many in the darkness."

Your heart buckled in your chest, hope and terror at war with one another. "I know not whether I...that is, I am uncertain if I am able, Lady Ellaria." You replied in a hushed tone. 

Ellaria nodded, her expression saddened. "I know, sweet dove." After a moment, she rose to her feet. "Oberyn, lover, will you accompany Ser Shieldove and myself to the water gardens?" 

The prince immediately rose and you floundered to do the same, caught off-guard by the sudden request. "Of course, my love." Oberyn's tone was light, but you couldn't shake the notion that he had been waiting for her to say something.

His hand stayed on the small of her back the entire stroll to the gardens, and you found yourself envious of those fingers, envious of her skin. To know such gentle touch, to be able to touch so gently…

During the day the pools were alive with the sound of children of all ages, laughing and splashing about in the refreshing waters. But here and now, the only sounds were the wind stirring the water's surface and the low, inquisitive calls of the bullfrogs. Ellaria settled onto a bench, patting the stone beside her after a moment. You sank down in an unwieldy mass of delicate fabrics, longing for your armor. The dress was beautiful, but it drew so much attention.

"Speak to us, sweet dove." Ellaria implored, taking your hands in her own again. "We would know what troubles you in regards to these delicate matters, without fear of judgement or embarrassment." 

Oberyn cleared his throat, large hands framing Ellaria's shoulders. "The merrymaking of the evening cannot erase the furrow of contemplation from your brow, my falcon." 

You hesitated, staring down at Ellaria's hands wrapped around your own. Her fingers were slender, delicate. "I see the two of you, how tender you are with one another and I wonder if...I wonder whether I might ever find such companionship." You shrugged helplessly. "I am unskilled in these matters. Gregor was...the only one. I do not know if I could ever subject myself to...if I could ever…" You trailed off, biting your lip.

Oberyn muttered an oath under his breath and then quickly apologized, continuing on to say, "Brave, fierce falcon. You were dealt a terrible wound the day that monster stole you away. I had wondered why you did not accept the propositions offered to you by many of the other knights, but I merely assumed it was a difference of our cultures." 

You shook your head shyly. "No, your highness. I find their attentions flattering, yet frightening for this very reason." You were dealt a terrible wound. Oberyn regarding it as such, instead of simply as a normal occurrence for a woman to overcome, was strangely heartening. "Perhaps the wound lingers, festers beneath my skin. Perhaps I shall never be gentle again, and never know myself what such gentleness feels like." You thought aloud, voicing your worst fears. "Perhaps my life will be nothing but roughness and the whirling tumult of battle, my only chance thieved away from me."

"Oh, my sweet dove." Ellaria sounded distraught and you turned your attention to her, surprised when you saw her weeping. Her hands cupped your jaw, tugging you close enough to rest your forehead against her own. "You have such an immense capacity for love, daughter-defender. My heart breaks at the thought of you locking yourself away out of fear." 

"My lady…" Tears welled up in your own eyes and you tried to wipe them away hastily.

Oberyn shifted to the side, his arms wrapped loosely around both you and his paramour. "Do you watch us often, my dove?" He asked quietly. "Does it bring you peace to see how we exist together and with others, as easily as rising in the morning?"

Your throat ached with your tears. "The way that you touch her, your highness-"

"My body was designed solely for the pleasure of my lovers, sweet dove." Oberyn informed you, his deep brown eyes unbearably soft in the dim light of the lanterns. "It is a weapon on the battlefield, but never in the bedroom. Even if I come at my lovers with passion, there is not and should not be fear."

"I am a knight of House Martell, and yet I cringe at something so mundane!" You tried to jest, tried to smile.

"Many a warrior is thrown from a horse once and refuses to ever ride again." Oberyn pointed out, his hand absently stroking over your hair in a calming motion. "If an action has only ever caused you agony, you learn to avoid it." Ellaria tugged at Oberyn's sleeve, whispering in his ear when he bent lower. The prince smiled after a moment, nodding. "Of course. Whatever you like, my love." He agreed.

"Sweet dove, at some point in the future I would like to invite you to witness us in our bed chamber," said Ellaria, the words from her mouth damning and sweet as honey. "We are comfortable with an audience and multiple partners, as you are well aware. We would be more than happy to display the way certain acts ought to be performed." She laughed after a moment. "Truly, if I get much larger I may have no recourse but to ask for assistance when my cravings grow too raw!"

You swallowed, then inhaled raggedly. How long were you planning on languishing in this manner? Ignoring your desires out of fear and anxiety over what had transpired? Though Oberyn had assuaged your feelings of inadequacy, you no longer wanted to be the warrior thrown from your horse. You were a knight of House Martell, in soul and now in title. "I would be honored to witness such a thing, my lady." You croaked out, wincing and clearing your throat awkwardly. 

Oberyn's smile was a fond one, the man placing a kiss on his paramour's forehead. "Never fear, falcon. We shall not push you further than you can go."

…

Some weeks later, the battlemaster woke you out of a sound sleep, his tone one of long suffering. "Prince Oberyn seeks your council, Ser Shieldove. He bade you wear your armor, but bring no weapons."

Your mind whirled. Had something happened? Gods, Ellaria-

You weren't certain if you had ever donned your armor faster. It was scarcely ten minutes before you were striding through the airy halls, your tunic rustling beneath your light armor and mail. No weapons, he had said. What manner of exercise could this possibly be?

The prince flung open the doors of his chambers when you approached, his expression tight yet grateful. "I apologize for rousing you at such a late hour, my falcon." 

You dropped to a knee in typical salute. "What has transpired, Prince Oberyn?"

"Ellaria believed that tonight would be a good night for you to...witness. That being said, she wished for your assistance." The man said delicately. "My love is--ah, how to say this without being crass. She is swollen with child, and yet she craves a certain position." Oberyn raised his eyes to your own. "She reasoned that your strength would be sufficient to keep her balance while she indulges."

Your mouth went dry. "M-My strength?" You stammered. He nodded, studying you intently. His heavy gaze alone had you smoldering, had you nodding without thinking twice. He gestured you onwards into their private chambers, closing the doors after you.

Ellaria, her form barely concealed by the thin curtains of their bed, called your name so sweetly. Like a sinner to judgement you crept close, eyes averted from her nudity. "My dove, there is no shame here." She crooned, one finger beneath your chin urging your attentions to her body. Her kiss to your forehead was gentle, her heavy breasts pressed against your armor with her closeness. 

"Lady Ellaria." you breathed, wanting more than anything to greedily embrace her in your arms, shield her from the world. No one deserved to even look at her, no one--

Except Oberyn, of course. The prince was leaning easily against one of the banisters, one ankle tucked over the other while he observed his paramour with a blissful expression. Only Oberyn. Your heart ached, full enough to burst with your unspoken affection for the prince and his beloved. 

"The prince said you requested my presence, my lady?"

"I want you to see us, my dove." Ellaria said simply. "I may require your assistance, but until then…" She beckoned Oberyn closer and did not finish her sentence. 

The prince cupped her face and kissed her passionately, his smile curved against her lips. Once he was done, however, he turned to you. The bristle of his mustache met your forehead, grazing the skin teasingly before he kissed it. "A kiss from a prince. Let us hope you do not turn into a frog!" He said with a grin.

Ellaria's fingers kneaded at his light dressing gown, spurring him to peel and discard the garment. "Come, Ser Shieldove. Sit on the side of the bed and watch us." She implored.

"Are you certain, my lady?" You asked, hesitation plain in your voice even as your fingers twined greedily into their rich bedspread. "It is not...distracting that I am here?"

"Far from it." Oberyn grunted, chucking you under the chin. "It is a rare treat, to have my devastating falcon in the same bed as my lovely paramour. I will not involve you beyond function, of course, not without your consent. You are the audience tonight, and Ellaria wishes to show you the tender acts I inflict upon her."

You did not trust your voice to reply. You knew logically that there was no possibility of Oberyn causing her harm. You watched his hands, the shift of the candlelight shadows playing across the olive skin. Oberyn was languid in nearly every aspect of his life aside from training and battle, so it was no great shock that he was slow in his approach as well. 

He trailed a single finger down between Ellaria's bare breasts, over the swell of her stomach. Your hands fisted tight enough to ache in the bedspread when Ellaria crooned to him, the sunset-hued fabric wrinkling in your grasp. You were entranced, enthralled as surely as if you had been under some spell. 

"Lover, please…" Ellaria begged, and oh! Her voice was the sweetest music, a wine heady and luxuriant. How did Oberyn resist her? How did he temper his longing, when all you wanted to do upon hearing her ask once was fall to pieces?

"She knows I will satisfy her." Oberyn said softly, as though he had read your thoughts. He lowered his mouth to her breast and her fingers found his hair, cradling him close. His hand wandered lower and lower, seeking out the wetness that had built between her thighs. 

Your gorget threatened to choke you when you swallowed convulsively at Ellaria's trembling sob of pleasure, the prince shooting you a smirk from his prime seating.

"I think our falcon has taken a shine to your mewling, my love." He informed Ellaria quietly. His hand spread her wide, fingers lewdly displaying her plush entrance slick and pink, delicious--you caught yourself leaning in and quickly jerked upright. 

Ellaria noticed your interest, if her moan was any indicator. One hand left Oberyn's hair and reached out over the blankets to you, fingers extended as far as they could go. She fell just shy inches from your arm, blindly fumbling. 

Oberyn carefully scooped her hand back up, kissing her knuckles. "We do not touch her, my love." He reminded her. "Until you need her help to take me, and even then. Our falcon, our dove, she is a warrior, not a plaything." He glanced over at you, his expression mischievous. "It is enough that she wishes to touch you already, my love." His fingers plunged into her cunt and gods, she was wet enough to hear. 

Your thighs clenched and you felt shameful, like an intruder, but Oberyn hummed as if to draw your averted gaze to where his fingers plundered her slick folds. 

"She is much more sensitive when she is bearing." He sounded a little breathless, his dark eyes nearly black in the dimmed lighting. "I can wring two or three from her with ease, just my fingers. No pain."

"Two or three?" You echoed him in doubt, your voice rasping in your throat when Ellaria's back arched off the bed. She cried out and Oberyn moaned with her, his own enthusiasm evident in the way he claimed her mouth with his. She was beautiful, skin flushed and damp with sweat, and he was so gentle with her.

"I need you now, lover. I cannot wait, please, please-" Ellaria implored against his lips, and the tender way he soothed her hair back from her forehead made your chest ache. "I have missed you beneath me, my sweet Oberyn."

"And I have missed you, my divine Ellaria." Oberyn helped her kneel, then gestured you closer. "If you wrap your arms around her midsection--"

"Is that safe?" You interrupted warily, concern destroying your propriety. Oberyn just chuckled, rolling off of the bed to divest himself of his pants. You fought the urge to bury your face in Ellaria's neck out of embarrassment.

"Sweet dove," Ellaria's hand cupped your burning cheek. "If this is not to your liking…"

"Of course it--I mean, if-if I...what if I do something wrong? What if I hurt you?" You mumbled. "Men act as though we are unreasonably delicate for expecting an ounce of caution, yet we endure so much at their whim."

Ellaria interlaced her fingers with your own, bringing your palms to her defined hips. "I will not break, my gentle dove." She stated, a defiant toss of her head serving to drive her words home. She was the devoted paramour of Prince Oberyn, after all! Already mother to four of his children, soon to be five. 

Oberyn knelt on the bed and you couldn't help the way your eyes devoured him. His hair tousled, mouth still red from hungry kisses, lean body on full display. The member that hung between his legs had your breath hitching with a mixture of vague apprehension and arousal, how-

You tore your eyes away, tucking your nose in the thick waves of Ellaria's hair as your thighs flexed yet again. She smelled of comfort, of citrus and the spiced strongwine from their evening meal. Ellaria sighed, relaxing her weight back into your arms. "You are so warm, sweet dove."

Oberyn's hand stroked your cheek and you were unable to conceal your flinch. "Do not fear me, gentle dove. I would never harm in the bedroom; here, I am no longer the Red Viper." His tone was grave, and you saw sorrow in his eyes when you dared to look up. "I am simply a man hopelessly in love." His hands covered your own, tightening your grip on Ellaria's hips. "Now, help my paramour to rend me as she sees fit."

You did as you were asked, feeling the anticipatory tremor that ran through Ellaria's body. She wanted him. She yearned for him, canting her hips as far as she could to draw him close. But Oberyn was thorough, coaxing her thighs apart inch by inch and laving her hot skin with thousands upon thousands of adoring kisses. She was on the verge of collapse before he even deigned to lay down beneath her, and now you understood your place in their endeavor. 

She sank down onto his cock without hesitation, a breathless whine of delight leaving her lips while her head lolled back against your shoulder. Oberyn's cry in response was low, wanting, the prince's chest heaving as he thrust up into her. "Ellaria, you beautiful fucking woman." He seethed through his teeth, "Help her take me, my falcon, hold her steady while she tears me apart."

"Oberyn!" Ellaria sobbed, clinging to your arms while he urged her hips forward and back to ride his cock.

"If she wishes for another child, she entices me by laying on her stomach and beckoning me near." Oberyn informed you lazily between arching his hips up to meet his paramour. "When she does I am but her willing stud horse, lost to breed. Her hips fit perfectly in my hands and she begs me so sweetly for another babe, another little one to bring to her breast and nourish. My Ellaria, my beautiful, precious Ellaria." 

Oberyn reached up, his eyes so warm and fond as he cradled Ellaria's face in his large palms. You buried your face in Ellaria's hair again, not wanting either of them to notice the tears threatening to spill over. 

Ellaria nuzzled against his fingers, coaxing a ragged groan out of Oberyn. "Lover, you always know what to do to make my body sing for you." She breathed, planting her hands on his chest and circling her hips. Oberyn swore and gritted his teeth, his head falling back against the pillows. "But I would much rather you sing for me instead."

The prince's voice broke wordlessly in his throat, the noise sharp with longing. Your eyes widened and your whole body tensed at the sound, warmth coating the worn trews between your legs. What…? You had never experienced such a rapid reaction, and all it had been was a simple groan! Your grip on Ellaria tightened unconsciously and she moaned your name, her body pushing back against your armored chest as she rose up onto her knees. 

Oberyn fairly growled at her, one hand clutching at her thigh while the other delved between her legs. She cried out and you could feel her body spasm when he found her center, hips undulating hard to grind herself against his palm. "Come for me, my love, drench me." Oberyn encouraged softly. "Tear my seed from my body, milk me with that divine cunt of yours."

His heated words made you feel like your heart would beat out of your chest. Ellaria tilted her face into your neck, her panting, breathy cries whispering over your skin and making you wish more than anything that you were the one causing them-

She went taut in your hold and you watched Oberyn watch her come with the same blissful expression on his face that he had sported earlier. It was as if his own release was an afterthought, the prince humming to echo Ellaria's incoherent whimpering while he shifted his hips restlessly beneath her. "Keep gripping me, my love, keep-" Oberyn bucked up hard, hands covering your own on her hips to keep her still when he buried himself in her again. His shoulders tensed, thighs trembling as he came with a shuddering gasp of her name. 

Gods, you wished it was your name he spoke with such passion!

Ellaria nearly collapsed, your arms around her the only thing keeping her upright. "I have you." You breathed, cradling her back against your chest. "I have you."

The other woman blinked up at you sleepily, one shaking hand raising to stroke over your hair. "Thank you, Ser Shieldove." She whispered. Oberyn clapped her thigh, carefully tilting her hips and closing her legs once he slipped out from beneath her. 

"Steady, I need to fetch a cloth." He instructed you, nearly staggering when he rose from the bed. "Gods, Ellaria, you will make me swoon one of these days." Oberyn continued, half-laughing and shaking his head. He wrapped his light robe back around his body, looping the belt once and then abandoning it.

You hid your face at the sight of him stretching languidly, his lithe and golden form barely covered by the haphazardly-tied dressing gown. "You can look at him, you know." Ellaria sighed in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "He loves being observed. He preens." She confided, chuckling softly. 

"What are you telling her, my love?" Oberyn called from the washbasin, shooting her a suspicious glance.

"Nothing, lover." Ellaria winked up at you, relaxing into your arms a bit more. "Nothing at all."

"Now, my falcon. Is it your turn?" Oberyn asked conversationally while he tenderly bathed Ellaria's intimate area. The other woman hadn't stopped squirming, trembling beneath his careful ministrations even as she clung to you. 

Panic seized your body at the idea of being naked, being vulnerable, exposed, and despite the hard work the both of them had done, you found yourself shaking your head violently. 

Oberyn simply laughed, dismissing his own words as a jest and easily soothing your terror. 

...

When you returned to your quarters later that evening, you could not remove your armor fast enough. Clad in only your underthings, you slumped into the chair beside your bed and put your head in your hands. 

I can wring two or three from her with ease, just my fingers. No pain.

Ellaria's wanton cries rang softly in your ears. The way she had sought him out with her body, sought to be cherished, claimed-

You are so warm, sweet dove.

You flushed hot, rubbing frantically at your eyes. Gods, the way the two of them praised each other, praised you...it hurt, it made your body throb. You bit back a sound of pain, your eyes watering. To be loved by someone, to have their love in return...well, that is what all the songs and stories of man were about! 

Yet here you sat on the outskirts of a camp you dared not approach, gazing at the raging bonfire of someone else's affection. 

And you envied, with a ferocity that made your jaw ache from how tight you clenched it.

Envied Oberyn, for being a prince, being free to do as he wished, being able to trace secret patterns over Ellaria's skin as often as he pleased. Envied Ellaria, for being brave, being so effortlessly sensual, being able to bring Oberyn to heights of ecstasy that you could not even dream of.

You felt like a child that had been happily playing pretend, only to have a bucket of cold water thrown on you.

Your fingers dug into your thighs, rubbing over the scarring there. No, you would never know, would you? You would never know the true depth of another's love. You were not destined for such things, and you had been foolish to grasp for them in the first place.

You had been greedy, overeager to voyeur on the prince and his paramour due to your deep admiration of and attraction to the couple. This was hardly behavior befitting a knight of House Martell! You would have to do better in the future, instead of taking advantage of the generosity extended to you in good faith. All Ellaria and Oberyn had wanted to do was help you, and you had turned it into some lewd fantasy. 

You shook your head at your own thoughts, thoroughly disgusted. You would tear down everything good that you ever had, just to delude yourself into believing you could be bedded by a prince of Dorne and his beautiful lady.

Part Two

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 80: Pulled From Orbit

As two empires threaten to fall, Lance and Keith part ways

Hot Take: the paladin armor actually kinda sucks and my children deserve better

First  Previous  Next

Despite his insistence that Keith act like, well, like someone who is pregnant, Lance is not at all surprised when the Galra pulls a Marmoran suit of armor out of the bottom of his old chest from Daibazaal. He doesn’t even protest. He’ll take anything at this point.

“Listen to me.” Lance comes up behind him as he finishes dressing, gently draws the gold and amber comb from Keith’s hair, replacing it with a set of black pins. BleepBloop watches from the ladder to the loft. “Whatever happens next, I love you, and I love your people, too.”

“What happens if we must choose between your people and mine?”

Lance inhales sharply, gripping Keith’s shoulders tight. “Raze the current rule to the ground and start our own allied regime?”

Keith works up a smile. “Yes, let’s. You can rule by my side. I’ll allow it.”

Lance doesn't manage a smile, but his eyes soften for a moment, that warrior's gaze faltering in a surge of fondness.

Keith eyes their profile in the mirror, watches Lance’s hands travel down to his fingertips, up to his waist as he lays his scaled cheek on his shoulder. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other in armor, the first time their sharpest edges are in bold.

Lance’s armor is as fine as anything, white metal inlaid with his token deep, bright blue. A breastplate, greaves and boots, bracers, all made of metal plates. Instead of a plackart, cuisses, and other minor plates, Lance has scale and fine mail, and Keith notices that the pauldrons are made of many small, reinforced plates to allow more flexibility in the shoulders. More than suitable for someone with a mixed fighting style. And, of course, beneath all that is a flight suit, air tight and climate controlled the moment Lance’ helmet locks into place.

The contrast, the incongruity between them has never been more apparent, Keith’s dark, minimalist armor casting a shadow over his mate's starbright form. Lance is armed like a hero, and Keith looks like a thief in the night. He’s okay with that, happy to be underestimated. A small man with a knife and a secret skillset is far more dangerous than a big man with a large sword. The growing wolf at his side only adds to their disparity.

He is Lance’s thorn, his last resort.

“Your Majesties.” Adam steps into the room, face grim. “King Alfor has summoned you to the Situation Room.”

Keith nods, clasps Lance’s hand, laces their fingers together. He will have to let go far too soon for his liking. The Altean prince snatches up his helmet, rushing after Adam, wolf at their heels.

The situation room is dark, lit only by a large, round holotable and the pale blue accent lights on peoples' armor. There are screens hovering over the table, lit up with interfaces, statistics, and control panels. Alfor is waiting for them. All of the lines in his face are chasms, his eyes glowing a dim, pale blue. It strikes Keith suddenly how washed out Alfor’s quintessence is, how little person is in the man. He wonders who the king might have been, had he been allowed.

“Boys. I know you expect to be sent away, lives preserved. But I offer you the option to stay, and act as leaders in my stead. Of all the things I have prepared for, I am not prepared for this.”

“Neither are we,” Lance confesses. Keith grips his hand tighter, trying to regulate himself. He can’t afford to lose it now. “But I will stay, and do what I can.”

Silence, only for a moment, before Keith realizes that they’re waiting for him. “My place is here, with our peoples. It always has been.”

Alfor nods. “Tell us what you know.”

Keith’s eyes finally register other faces, Iverson, glaring at him. Griffin, surprisingly not glaring at him. “We received a message from my mother. She says that the Imperial Compound is under attack, and that rebel forces are heading for Altea.”

“You don’t seem very surprised.” Iverson’s tone is more than a little accusing. Some of the other high-ranking military members seem to share his disposition. Keith ignored them. He's used to the prejudice by now, and there are more pressing concerns.

“We’ve been aware of unrest on Daibazaal for some time. Weight discrepancies in shipping containers, people going missing, a sudden increase in deserters. Emperor Zarkon dismissed said deserters, saying that it was to be expected following the unwelcome alliance with Altea. It’s unclear if he knows anything about the shipping containers.”

“So the emperor’s allegiances are unclear?” Griffin asks.

“Yes,” Lance sighs. “As are Honerva’s.”

Pidge’s face appears on screen. “Hey, I have something to contribute to that. Not that I’ve been eavesdropping or anything.”

“What do you have for us, Pidge?” Alfor leans on the holotable, gaze severe.

“So remember how Lotor helped me hack into his medical records for reasons?”

“Yeeees?” Lance frowns, not sure he wants to have this conversation with everyone else in the room. But it’s hardly the time for tiptoeing. “Why? What did you find?”

“Turns out Honerva’s been experimenting on Lotor his entire life. See, as a result of his hybrid status -at least, that’s what I’m assuming- Lotor can only absorb quintessence, not redistribute it. It looks like Honerva was trying to artificially recreate that power. She keeps referencing this… thing. The Komar Experiment-”

“Oh, that’s not good,” Keith mutters. Under everyone’s gaze, Keith takes a steadying breath. He’s starting to feel queasy, like adrenaline or simply time has cut through the antinausea medication. He strokes Wolf's head with his free hand. “The word ‘Komar’ doesn’t directly translate into Common or Altean, but it means, ‘large breath that takes’. It um, it’s like the first breath a baby takes, or like after you break the surface of water after near drowning. It’s Galran folklore that-” He swallows saliva, skin feeling hot. “-that when someone takes a lifegiving breath, another life ends.”

Adam slips something into his palm: a small pill. He dry swallows quickly, in the wake of what he’s just suggested.

“Are you implying,” Iverson growls. “That Honerva experimented on her son in order to invent some device that absorbs quintessence?”

Alfor falls into a chair, eyes glassy. “Honerva is perhaps the greatest inventor I have ever known. Lotor is thirty-two years old. She’s had more than enough time if this is what she’s been up to.”

"Her notes are... specific. Lotor has been surprisingly unattached to his parents, despite his Galra blood," Pidge murmurs. "I would not be surprised if it's a result of the invasive procedures he was subjected to in infancy. Trauma he doesn't even remember. Honerva would put him in situations with the intention to cause distress in order to activate him limited alchemical abilities so she could study him. She would neglect, frighten, and even harm him in order to get the desired reaction."

“And that's horrible. Truly. But we don’t know that’s what she’s up to right now,” Lance cuts in. “What we do know, is that the Imperial Compound is under attack, meaning that these attackers staging a coup. If they succeed, they’ll come for us next. According to our sources, ships are already on their way here.”

“So we have a planet to defend, a coup to stop, a prince, princess, and consort to rescue, and possibly a horrifying weapon of unknown size to find and destroy. One that could, for all we know, be capable of draining our entire planet and others,” Griffin summarized. “How the quiznak do we do this?”

Silence. Keith takes in a deep, slightly-less-nauseous breath. “We split up. Lance will go to Daibazaal, rally the citizens, and take Daibazaal back from the rebels. I will stay here, and lead the defense.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” Griffin mutters.

“No, he’s right. Lance will go to Daibazaal, and I will go with him. We will determine who is in the right, and join their side. He and I will rally the civilians, form a small team, and find a way to infiltrate the Compound.” Alfor gets to his feet. “Keith, rally your men. Defend this planet, and its people. But if we should fall, you are to escape by any means necessary. Do you understand?”

Keith can feel the eyes of everyone in the room, soldiers, analysts, Adam, Lance. Waiting for his answer, putting two and two together, realizing exactly what’s at stake.

“I understand. My life, by any means necessary.”

“I will stay with him, and watch his back,” Adam declares.

Keith nods, turns to Griffin. “The battalion will meet in the courtyard. They have three dobashes to form up.”

“They already are,” the aubergine-scaled Altean says, dark blue eyes hard. “We are ready, and await your orders.”

Keith nods. “Have someone ready a ship. We’re putting King Alfor and Crown Prince Lancel on the ground in Daibazaal, just outside the Compound. Lance, rally the people, follow their lead. Trust them to know which side to be on. They want peace, just as we do.”

“I know, beloved.” Lance squeezes his hand. Keith hadn’t realized he was still holding it. The Altean heaves in a great breath, forces a smile. “Will you come see me off?”

“Nothing short of death would stop me,” Keith promises.

The royals and their entourage sprint through the halls toward the courtyard where a small craft shaped like an arrowhead is already waiting. Alfor climbs right in, datapad in hand. Lance lets go of Keith’s hand, ready to board. He pulls Adam into a brief, strong hug. “Take care of yourself, and him.”

“Always, your Majesty.”

Keith notices a dangerous shine in the attendant’s eye, a kind of terror he himself is feeling. He says nothing, not even as he watches Adam’s body tremble. Adam is fearful, but ready. No matter what lies ahead.

Keith is not ready. He snatches at Lance’s arm, fingers pressing into the armor of his suit. Those blue and pink eyes he loves so much find his immediately, strangely open, ready to see anything and everything all at once.

Lance’s face is not without fear, body humming with quintessence, red and blue hovering over his form, shimmering in his eyes. The prince smiles, paper-thin. He removes his circlet, hands it to Keith. “I won’t need this where I’m going.”

Keith tosses the circlet aside, where it skitters over the ground. He pulls Lance to him, kisses him soundly, fingers in white hair, sliding over the scale at Lance’s waist. A single twist of their tongues, all they have time for, and he pulls away, noses touching.

“No matter what, I am so, so proud of you. I am proud to be your mate… Please-” He gulps. “Please come home to me, if you can.”

“Beloved…” Lance presses their foreheads together, brushes thumbs over Keith’s cheekbones. “Not even death could keep me away.”

Keith takes in one last deep breath, rubs his cheek into the gloved palm of Lance’s hand, a very subtle way of letting the other Galra know this man is his. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Lance pulls away, eyes not leaving Keith’s face for a long moment. Then he leans up, whispers in Keith’s ear, “You, and little one. With all my heart.”

And maybe Keith knows that’s not true, that if it came down to him or Atlea, Lance would choose Altea. But Keith would make him, agree with him, even though he knows it would break Lance to do it.

The prince puts on a crooked smile, kisses Keith’s cheek one last time before he puts on his helmet and turns away, following his father into the craft.

Keith watches as they lift off, just until they’re out of sight, before he turns to Griffin. “You’re going to follow my orders, and you’re going to like it, or you’re going to get the fuck out of my way, understood?”

Griffin nods, letting his visor drop down over his face. Iverson just sighs. “What’s our move then?”

“Order the civilians to go into lockdown. Any former or current soldiers who have a weapon should stand by in case of attack. Send a runner into the lowlands. Then we assign pilots to the MFE crafts. I want a squadron, broken into four flights of six. Initiate land defense and mobilize drones-”

A screeching flare of light, and a tower at the corner of the courtyard explodes.

“Brace yourselves.” Keith’s eyes find a pinprick in the swath of blue sky. He pulls his hood up, mask sliding down to cover his face, sealing his suit. “This will not be an easy fight.”

“We stand with you,” Adam murmurs, taking a polearm from a passing soldier. Each end is armed with a wicked, barbed glaive.

Keith draws his knife, feeling the blade shift in his hand. He doesn’t know who these people are -hopefully- but he will rip apart every last one of them.

Whatever it takes.

Lance stares out the front window, despairing at the sight before him. An armada of Galra ships, painted with strange symbols.

“Can you read that?” Alfor murmurs, clearly putting a lot of faith in their cloaking technology.

“It says, ‘The Fire of Purification’.”

“Oh, wonderful. We’re dealing with elitist thugs. My absolute favorite,” the king growls. Lance licks his lips, apprehensive. “Here, I want you to have this.”

Lance stares at the strange weapon his father is offering him. White, black, and his own special shade of blue, the weapon seems like two halves of a hand guard with a handle in between. “What is it?”

“I call it a bayard. It will shift into whatever you need it to, whenever you need it, and is absorbed and stored in your armor just like your shield.” Alfor inhales, holds his breath until they’ve slipped past the armada. “It will serve you well. You won’t waste time juggling weapons.”

A stretch of silence, and Alfor murmurs, "I wanted to wish you happy birthday earlier. I have an actual gift for you, if we ever get the chance."

Lance nods, drops his sword, bow and quiver, knowing he might never see any of them again. “Did you- Have you called Dad?”

“I sent him a message… He sends his love.”

“Just a message?” Lance asks. “That’s- That’s all you need? That’s all you’re giving him?”

The king takes a deep breath. “Your dad… He’s been prepared for anything for a very long time. Whatever happens this quintant, he is ready for it.”

Lance finds himself a bit envious of that, that his parents have had centaphoebs together to reconcile with what it means to be part of a colonialist empire. Of what it means to be a warring planet. Even if they’d started the day they met, he and Keith would not have been prepared. They haven't even been married haven't known each other a full decaphoeb.

Down on the ground, Lance can see fire, people running, rubble in the streets. Whoever the aggressor is, it’s clear that they are his enemy. He gives his bayard blade a good swing, flips the blade in his hand, only for it to morph into a bow in his hand, and arrow made of light already knocked.

“Father? Are you ready for this?”

“I’m about to go to Daibazaal to rescue them from an apparently elitist regime and possibly kill my only surviving friend. I am not at all ready for this.” The ship enters the atmosphere in a blaze of heat, effectively giving them away as they look for a place to land. “Are you ready?”

Lance gulps. “No. I know these people. I broke bread with these people. I defended them from a monster, I’ve watched their children, cooked them food. And now, I might be about to kill them.”

“And somewhere down there,” Alfor murmurs, searching for a place to land, “is a Galra thinking the same thing about their kin, and possibly about you.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“It wasn’t meant to.” Their craft begins losing altitude. “It doesn’t matter what happens next, son. We all lose today.”

That much, Lance thinks as the craft settles just outside of town, is very true.

[rogue-hammer]

ENTRY #2: ELDAR (PART 1)

“I watched the Forging of the Widow Makers, the 12 swords of Kaine, I watched as one was stolen and hidden far away.”

Eldar. The ancient Race, one time masters of the Galaxy and Seers without equal.

ELVES IN SPACE! SPACE….Space….space…

Believe it or not there is quite the history to this race outside of the typical hum drum of being the most powerful psykers, or, dumbasses who gave birth to Slaanesh. The history of the Eldar and their varied kin goes all the way back to Rogue Trader, and their lore has seen many an interesting tale told. The question is, do you have what it takes to make something out of it all?

Will you follow the Path of Asuryani?

Become a Exodite?

Mayhap an Outcast?

Or have you followed the path of Damnation?

#1 Study the history and model scope of the Eldar

As much as I love poking fun at any Knife ear, and their fans, I admit to a love of how otherworldly GW have made the Eldar over the years.

Going all the way back to the RT era, when the eldar where mostly but Corsairs and Enigmatic Xenos who seemed to materialize from the ether and sow discord for some unknowable reason, to the Golden Era of GW where these space elves where given a giant and truly inspiring background of triumph, a fall, loss, and desperate measures taken to keep their now dying race alive in the face of a hostile Galaxy.

For this reason I suggest to anyone interested in Eldar as a faction, to go back in time and visit some old books and codexes, as well as the classical ranges of minis.

Eldar once looked the part of eerie and almost frightening Alien creatures from a time before man crawled forth from his birthworld.

#2 Throw out the meta

First things first. Many of us probably grew up knowing the Eldar in their Post 2nd ed form. From 3rd ed’s chopped down Codex, to the easily abused expansion, and finally culminating in the 4th/5th ed incarnation of what has basically been the Eldar mold in modern times.

Hordes of Aspect warriors, spam grav tanks, spam Wraith-units, Spam Psykers and yes now a days, Spam Wraith Knights.

Or if you lean to the dark side, ummm Spam Raiders. Yeah just, Spam Raiders.

To put it blunt, Eldar meta is probably the most boring of all git-tastic play styles in the game of 40k, challenged perhaps only by Tau.

Throw it out. Read the lore. Apply it.

Eldar don’t have Hordes of ravening Aspect warriors to send in waves at their opponents.

Raiders are cool, if you can afford to have them and risk losing them in a raid. And your not likely to toss your most veteran Kalabite warriors into an attritional grind against Mon’kei gaurdsmen.

Wraith constructs are a nigh unthinkable resource to ever waste, and oh yeah did we mention not every fucking Eldar Force takes an Avatar of Khaine as it requires a heavy cost in order to even summon one of those things?

The Aldaeri have an interesting and sophisticated way of waging war, and they have highly advanced tech and powers in order to over come their foes, even if your actually trying to put some theme into it.

Lets discuss some interesting ways to look at your Eldar, seperating them into the 2 official factions, as well as ways to whip up an Exodite army or Corsair force.

#3 Craftworld Eldar.

Craftworld eldar are the main stay of the Aldaeri race, and the one lots of people tend to flock to when it comes time to game. And why not? Aspect warriors? Wraith Constructs? Tons of psykers and Autarchs? Whats not to like?

So how does one go about making a CW Eldar army worthy of a true hobbiest?

First things first, find a theme that digs deep into the lore. Are you;

-A Craftworld Defense force, using the might of your titanic space fairing world’s militia forces to fight off attackers. Squads of Guardians/Storm Guardians, backed by mobile weapons platforms and War Walkers. Your troops sailing into combat aboard Wave serpents and Viper Attack craft, all under the covering fire of punishing Heavy weapons platforms? Remember that all Eldar serve in the defense of their CW, and guardian and basic military based tech in an Eldar army is still some of the best around ( The best in certain editions).

-A Specialized Craftworld force, highly trained in a certain area of combat? Crack open the old 3rd ed Codex Craftworlds sup. And find some excellent ways to theme an army based off the major worlds, or perhaps mix and match certain styles in order to create your own world, with a unique color scheme, heraldry and history streching back to the fall, or even farther. House rule in the various advantages and limits of the old CW sup. And enjoy playing with the different styles of balance. (Just do your friends a solid, don’t abuse it.)

-A Doomed host heading into the Eye of Terror? Many CW Eldar have made the perilous if not downright suicidal journey into the Eye. Within that hellish realm, the Crone Worlds lay, the ancient now consumed home worlds of the eldar. Within them are many secrets, Spirit stones and other relics the Eldar greatly desire to have returned to them. Is your army such a quest? A brave Warrior Autarch, or Visionary Farseer having gathered those warriors of the Aspect temples to fight through the horrors of Chaos and retrieve something of unimaginable value?

-The Fist of Asuryani mayhap? The biggest and most powerful weapons the Eldar can bring to bear, hammering their opponents into submission by sheer might of their advanced fire power? Fire Dragons and Dark Reapers scorching the earth and slagging enemy armor, while Prism tanks and War Walkers streak and sprint ahead unleashing salvos of lance and Shuriken firepower into the enemy ranks. Batteries of Heavy Platforms annihilating units from a distance all the while the ground infantry providing cover support to your valuable aspect squads.

-Perhaps the Quick Death is all you need. After all what is more fast and fleet than the Eldar? Eldar on fast moving grav vehicles of course! Jetbikes and Vipers, Falcon tanks combined with the Shining Spear Cavalry and swift Swooping Hawk and Shadow Specter Aspect warriors to run circles about your slower more primitive opponents, cutting and blasting them to pieces before they have a chance to react.

-Maybe you watched Predator one too many times and have a thing for Stalking and killing your enemy from the Shadows or from unexpected angles. The hidden strike is a component suited to the crafty Eldar race, able to hit opponents with Striking Scorpions and teleporting Warp Spiders. Speedy hard to hit Harlequins and deep striking Autarchs and Hawks can be used to to tie down valuable enemy units while Rangers pick off targets of value from the safety of range and cover.

However you manage it, always remember that the eldar war machine is a finely crafted tool, with all units having a value within the force, not just the big OP units that so many others enjoy spamming.

Choosing a backdrop for your army is an easy way to find what units to select for thematic purposes, from Militia, to Seer guardians, Maiden World security forces to simple insertion armies meant to retrieve something stolen by lesser races or eliminate a target of future threat seen by the visions of the seer councils or Lost Wraith Engines on a distant barren world, awakened by a roaming warlock and his followers. Any unit in your army can become a core idea for your force’s history and reason for fighting. Thats the beauty of an army whose whole design is one of unique characteristics and fighting styles.

#4 DARK ELDAR

The Dark Kin, The Damned Path, The Drukari.

Dark Eldar are certainly a far cry from their CW kin, yet they have lost none of the potency and ancient power of their race, and indeed are far more arrogant and vicious.

However, different as though they may be, finding a unique concept in the Dark Eldar may come with a bit of a challenge.

In the earliest days of 40k, the Eldar where a unified faction, and in so much where a bit of a melting pot of all of what we see today across their various sub armies. The Dark Eldar seem to have been born out of GW’s need to mirror the High/Dark Elf style of WHF, and so sliced away the more destructive and often times treacherous and debased acts of the RT-2nd ed Eldar and formed a faction that, while having its own unique character is a bit on the smaller and often mashed together side. But there is unpicked fruit in the thorn covered garden of ideas for Dark Eldar. Lets have a look at ways you can theme and structure your own Kabal, Coven or Cult, or an unholy alliance of the three.

-A new Kabal rises: An excellent theme often over looked by most players is the concept of a new and young Kabal, lead by an aspiring Archon, only just starting to take his/her place in the dark city. This lends an interesting way to re-model an army and veer away from the typical spam of Elite warrior units and raider craft and focus more on the unique character of each unit. Basic Warriors making up the core of your force, backed up by the toughened meat shields of Wracks, sent into battle by a Haemonculus that has attached himself to this rising star. Meanwhile your Archon sits secure in his own personal Raider the only one at first in the army, directing the flow of battle as he sends in payed off Street gangs of Hellion riders and Scourges to do the work he himself would not dare put himself at risk for, waiting until the enemy is bruised and bloody before descending down from his craft to feast on the pain, guarded by alien mercenaries kept for ease of their greed and less ambitious minds.

-Mayhap you enjoy the idea of just going full gang? An entire force of wild eyed crazed Reavers, Hellions and Scourges mounting up on wings and craft, screeching across real space in thuggish raids to secure flesh and power to rise about the lower scum of the city streets. The various elements banding together for mutual greater gain before fighting over their spoils giving rise to powerful Leaders that take the street alliance higher and higher into the spires of the Dark City.

-If lowly gangs and young archons don’t suit, then perhaps Highborn power and elite warrior code is more the poison of choice. Few can match the ferocity and skill with a blade that the dark kin possess. An army that worships the blade, made of Incubi, Veteran Wyches, Succubus’ and maybe even a powerful Archon, much a Swordsmen in their own right as any proud member of the Incubi Temple. Holding to a code of seeking out the greatest challenge to sharpen their blades against, engaging enemies head on with raider and Venom craft to quickly close and slaughter their way to infamy and higher praise in the ranks, shunning the pathetic court intrigue and power plays of the  other Kabals and cults, seeking only gain and perfection through bloody handed combat and death. A good alternative to the often typical Wych cult raid.

-Or the More Esoteric route? Haemonculus covens are all well and good, but do even these twisted flesh shapers come close to delving into the darkness that lies within the heart of the dark city? From the depths may rise an even more infernal and mysterious force for you to command. Born of the Beast masters who bend the creatures of the warp to their will, and the dreaded Mandrakes, sinister daemonic dark eldar who creep from the shadows and snatch their victims away. Truly an army lead by a Coven leader, so immersed in the dark arts of arcane science and flesh would be a terrible enemy to all sane life. Unleashing webway portals in the hearts of peaceful worlds, or worse, the middle of crowded hive cities for the vile things of the dark kin to reap bloody carnage on, dragging victims back to the benighted realm for sacrifice and experimentation too horrible to consider.  

-Take to the air perhaps and rule the skies above worlds who fear the dread shadow of your lightening speed craft as it passes over. An army made of Raider, Ravager and Fighter/bomber craft, even it’s troops never setting foot on the ground except to reek carnage in it’s aftermath, once all has been pulverized by shockwaves of horrifying munitions and bombing runs, the enemy position reduced to smoking craters of gore and blinded wreck. Their ears ringing with the echoing screech of your craft’s engines as they sore across the grim skies.

-Or maybe the final and most deadly of all weapons. Fear. Does your army not even dine to soil its hands in the proud defenses of your enemies? Do they instead send forth the most hideous and perverse works of the dark kin to shatter the mind, and break the soul before the body is even touched? Floating Talos and Chronos pain engines, their sanity blasting bodies shrouded by the dark wings of Shrikes and raider craft filled with wracks and beastial creatures ready to be unleashed once the damage is done. Medusae and other strange contraptions born of the Dark Eldar’s crazed intellect striding alongside Archons wielding the most horrifying weapons to inflict the worst possible trauma on a foe.

To quote the 3rd ed. Dark Eldar Book. The Dark Eldar are not nice. Not nice at all.

When considering the theme and characteristic of your army, not unlike your CW Eldar, ask yourself, what is the history of each unit on the table? Then consider what perversity and malign goals have brought them forth. Then, multiply that by something ten times worse. Are even a thousand Imperial souls merely an appetizer for your Archon who has fallen to such depths of need he must draw out even the most simple act of pain infliction to its most perfected measure?

Does your haemonculous make it a private goal to break and torture Astartes? His ambition to see the very limits the super enhanced minds and psychologies that a Space marine have can endure? Do they prefer the sweet meat of psykers, or the flesh of their more noble kin? Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, is bellow a Dark Eldar and their arrogant quest for self sustaining torture and arrogant aggrandizement.

To be continued in PART 2 (Exodites and Corsairs)

[triscribe]

The Difference Between Scavenging and Stealing

The ship came down in a hail of smoke and burning parts.

All motion in Niima Outpost froze, scavengers and dealers alike staring at the Star Destroyer falling to pieces through Jakku’s atmosphere. The massive vessel finally landed with a distant WHOOM, creating a mushrooming cloud from the impact point. It took a few moments, after the sand began to settle, before someone moved and set off a frenzy. Every scavenger raced for their vehicles, grabbing extra ropes and nets as they went.

Having already finished her business for the day and been walking back to her rusty old speeder, ten year old Rey was one of the first to roar out of the outpost. The girl didn’t even stop to think - if she could get to the new wreck before anyone else, she’d be able to gather up the kinds of parts and materials that went for big money, the kinds other ships had already been picked clean of.

Unfortunately, better-maintained speeders managed to over-take her little craft, and the girl grit her teeth as they barreled onwards. Adjusting her course, she aimed to pull in alongside the Destroyer’s stern, rather than heading for the undercarriage docking bays where entry would be easiest.

As soon as she arrived, the kid powered down and hid her speeder, then ran to start climbing the crunched and distorted bulwarks. Sure enough, about halfway up, Rey found a tear in the ship’s plating, just big enough for her to squeeze through.

The inside... was a mess.

Flames still burned up and down certain corridors, and the girl readjusted her face mask, glad that the thick cloth could block more debris than just sand. Working her way inward, she paused occasionally to snatch bits of wiring and electronic components to stuff in her belt pouches, the sorts of things she could use to fix up the big red dune-skimmer half-buried next to her house.

Finally, Rey found a vertical shaft clear of smoke, and started heading downwards, towards the engines. She had to keep pausing to listen to distant taps and pings, checking for the inevitable arrival of other scavengers. Being the first to the most valuable pieces of equipment wouldn’t matter if she couldn’t get out with them before someone bigger got there, looking for the same items.

(Most scavengers didn’t share.)

Rey carried a pipe-staff for the exclusive reason of beating off bullies who thought they could take her stuff, but then she’d be distracted, and someone else could grab the parts and take off.

(It wouldn’t be the first time.)

Eventually, she reached a spot where the shaft wall was warped, blocking it off, and the girl had to climb back up to an exit in order to go find another route to the engines. The corridor she emerged into, though, looked like nothing she’d ever seen in another Star Destroyer.

Piles of tools and welding materials were stacked up alongside one wall, a collection of old stormtrooper armor against the other. A whole bunch of cloth and padding material formed a sleep pallet in one corner, next to a box of parts and a half-assembled holotable. Opposite of those were crates nearly as tall as Rey herself, and she drifted closer to peek inside one.

Ration packs. Old, stamped with the insignia of the Empire, but still sealed - and there were dozens of them.

Breath caught in her throat, it took distant shouting to startle Rey into moving. She dropped her biggest bag to the floor, clambered up to perch on the edge of the crate, and started grabbing up armfuls of ration packs to drop into the canvas. So distracted with the need to gather as much food as possible, it took the girl a minute to notice the shouts were getting closer... and to realize they’d turned into screams.

Gulping, she threw the last pack into her bag before jumping down, tying it closed, and dragging the lot back to the shaft entrance.

Climbing back up was a lot harder with the extra weight, but Rey grit her teeth and kept at it, determined to get her prize out safely before returning to look for more. Screams and cries of pain or anger kept reverberating around the cracked decks of the ship, echoing to the point that she couldn’t tell where they were originating from. But one thing was absolutely clear to the girl: someone had still been living on the Destroyer when it crashed.

And that someone didn’t like scavengers coming for their stuff.

-Star Wars-

When he felt the last of the intruders retreat, the blue-haired man deactivated his weapon with a sigh. “Fantastic way to make a first impression, Bridger, really stupendous.” After a moment, he clapped a hand across his face. “Force, now I’m even starting to sound like that bastard.”

Continuing to grumble complaints, the man strode through the once-again empty corridors, absent gestures here and there dropping loose panels on top of fires to smother them. Soon enough he arrived at the particular stretch he’d turned into his own private hideaway, only to pause. Something felt... off. Like a lingering presence in the air, but even less tangible.

Fingers tightening around his lightsaber, the man moved more cautiously, all senses extended to search for any intruders he might have missed. No one sprung out at him from the shadows, and the turbolift shaft at the far end was empty when he poked his head through the opening to check. It wasn’t until he began to inspect his supplies that the man found definite proof someone had been there.

The bare bottom of one of his ration crates seemed to echo with derisive laughter. He stared for a long while, before finally shutting his eyes... and reaching out through the Force.

In one direction, the intruders he’d scared away gathered nearby, fear and resentment and greed marking their faint signatures. Off to the other side, though, towards the ship’s stern, was a single lifeform, burning so brightly in the Force it was astounding he hadn’t sensed them earlier. It was this lifeform, filled by a hesitant joy overshadowed by the steady need to get to safety, that he’d bet had stolen a quarter of his food supply.

Well. If he’d managed to swipe that many meals in one go as a kid, his emotions would likely be much the same.

Warning whispers prickled at the edge of his mind. The intruders were absorbing reinforcements into their ranks.

He sighed.

Chasing them all off again would, theoretically, be doable, but the same cycle was bound to repeat again and again. There was the option of killing them all instead, as a dark little voice in the back of his mind pointed out, but...

But.

This wasn’t war. This was people trying to scavenge enough to survive.

Another sigh. And then he started to pack up his supplies, still keeping tabs on the brightly shining Force signature in the back of his mind.

Maybe they wouldn’t mind trading some more ration packs in exchange for local intel, and possibly a new place to sleep.

-Star Wars-

For the first time that she could remember, Rey had enough food to feast.

Each pack came with a square of protein and carbohydrate blend, a few sticks of vegetable nutrient, and a water bulb. She scarfed her first meal down to quiet the grumbles of her belly, and then ate a second, more slowly, in order to savor the new tastes and textures.

It was while she sat on top of her hut, gradually draining the second water bulb, that Rey felt one of her warning tickles - like someone not really there had tapped on her shoulder. The girl turned, squinting in the sunset light, to look in the direction of Niima Outpost, and beyond it the new wreck.

A figure approaching her home lifted a hand to wave.

Instantly, Rey rolled off the top of her hut and in through the opening, sliding shut the meager door she’d made out of scrap metal. Then she grabbed up her staff, slammed her back against the barrier, and waited, heart pounding.

Two... five... ten minutes went by, and she didn’t hear anything.

Biting her lip, Rey pushed up onto her toes, straining to peek over the top of her makeshift door, which didn’t quite reach the top of the hut’s opening. A glimpse of dark blue hair made her duck right back down again, but apparently the stranger still managed to spot her.

“You know,” a voice called out, “If you wanted some of my rations, all you had to do was ask.”

Oh. Oh no. Oh no, oh no oh no.

The person who lived on the new wreck had followed her.

Shoving down her sudden terror, Rey responded in the only way she knew how: “Go away!”

“Not until I have a chance to talk to you,” the stranger replied.

“I’m not giving them back!”

Chuckling. “‘Course not, you’ve probably already split them between at least three different hiding places. Or at least, that’s what I would’ve done, if I’d ever managed to steal that much food when I was your age.”

Scowling, Rey got up on tip-toe again, high enough her brown eyes could meet an amused blue gaze. “I didn’t steal ‘em! I’m a scavenger, not a thief!”

“Uhh, hate to break it to you kid, but the only difference between scavenging and stealing is whether the previous owner of the stuff you take is still alive.” The man gestured to himself. “And since I’m not dead yet, well...”

Rey dropped back down with a huff. “I’m still not giving any of them back! If you didn’t want your stuff taken, you should’ve protected it better!”

“Yeah, I know. I was a little more worried about those friends of yours at the time, though.”

The girl snorted. “I don’t have friends.”

A thoughtful hum reached her ears. “What about family, then?”

Unexpected tears suddenly welled up in her eyes, and Rey held them back by sheer willpower. “They’re coming back for me. Someday. They will.”

The stranger stayed quiet for a while. “I dunno if my family will come for me,” he finally said. “I’ve been lost for so long, I don’t even know if any of them are still alive.”

Something in his voice made Rey pause. Tentatively, she shoved her scrap door over a bit, to be better able to peer outside at the guy sitting in front of her home. His hair was kind of long, with roughly cut bangs, and the longer bits pulled back into a ponytail. Two narrow scars marked one side of his face, and his clothes were grease- and soot-stained and covered in patches. A bunch of work pouches hung from his belt with different odds and ends sticking out, including a weird looking rod that held Rey’s attention for a long moment.

When she glanced back up, the man’s head was tilted to one side, as he stared back. Something nudged her. Like the warnings that tickled at the edge of her mind, but more insistent, encouraging. Taking a deep breath, Rey pushed the door over enough for her to step outside.

One side of the man’s mouth quirked up. “You’re not one to stay scared for long, huh?”

“‘M not scared,” she sniffed. “I’m careful.”

“Hi Careful, I’m Ezra.”

Rey blinked. “What?”

“Heh, sorry, I’ve always wanted to use that joke,” the man apologized with a grin. “But my name is Ezra, Ezra Bridger. What’s yours?”

“...Rey.”

“It’s nice to meet you Rey,” Ezra said, not commenting on her lack of a last name. “So, if we want to move on from the whole scavenging/stealing debate, how about this: you keep all of the rations you swiped and I won’t try to take them back, in exchange for you letting me camp here and sharing some information.”

Face scrunching up, Rey thought about it for a minute. She liked her house because it was hers, far enough away from Niima and the other campsites that no one bothered her. On the other hand, she did feel kinda bad about swiping so much of Ezra’s food when he didn’t even act a little mad about it.

“...what sort of information?”

“Well, for starters, how about telling me what planet this is?”

Rey’s eyebrows shot up. “Jakku - you didn’t know that?”

“Nope.” Moving slowly, Ezra reached into one of his belt pouches, and pulled out a pretty gold and blue cube. “Like I said, I’ve been lost for a long time.”

The girl didn’t have much time to think about that, because her attention focused completely on the cube when Ezra let go of it mid-air - and it didn’t fall down. She watched, stunned, as the cube’s components shifted, opened, and started to project a holographic star map. “Whoa.”

Again, one corner of the man’s mouth lifted into a half-grin. “Cool trick, right?”

“How are you doing that?”

“With the Force, all things are possible,” Ezra murmured. He focused on the map as it slowly spun, before pausing on a certain sector. “There we are, Jakku - middle of nowhere and clear across the galaxy from Lothal, greaaat.” Scrubbing a hand across his face, the man sighed.

“Is that where you’re from? Lothal?”

“Mm-hm. Born there, survived there, fought there.” He glanced up at the darkening sky, suddenly looking a lot older and more tired than before. “Fields of grass as far as you can see, lakes as big as oceans, smooth mountains scattered around...”

Rey tried to picture it, despite only vaguely knowing what the words meant. For a moment, something hummed at the forefront of her mind, and she thought she saw some blurs of bright colors, green and blue and brown. But then the moment passed. Rey blinked her eyes clear, and saw Ezra staring at her, one side of his mouth partially turned up in a thoughtful expression. “Have you ever heard of the Force, Rey?”

She frowned. “No. What’s that?”

“It’s- well, it’s a force,” Ezra chuckled, “Something that binds everything in the galaxy together, connecting, flowing, transferring energy. And some people are more deeply connected to it than others, which lets them do things like, well, like this.” He gestured to the cube, still floating in place. “If I’m right, you’ve got a really strong connection.”

Rey blinked at him, then at the cube, then back at Ezra. “I can’t do that.”

“It takes practice, and someone teaching you the basics. But once you take even just one step in learning out how to open yourself up to the Force, a lot of it works on the same principles, the same patterns.”

Her gaze dropped back to the cube, and felt another nudge on her mind. “...can you show me?”

“Sure. Come sit like this - you don’t have to get too close if you don’t want to, but less distance helps.” Chewing at her lower lip, Rey took a few hesitant steps forward, before dropping down to sit on her knees like Ezra, just out of arm’s reach. He grinned. “Okay. Close your eyes, and listen to the sound of my breathing... in, hold, and out, hold... match it with me, alright?”

Rey hummed, eyes shut, focusing on the steady inhales and exhales and copying them.

“That’s good. Now feel, not with your body, but with your mind.”

And Rey... felt.

The same brief warmth she got from the nudges that warned her, guided her, completely surrounded the floating cube. Opposite it, Ezra felt hotter, sharper, with bits of cold around the edges that just made his center seem even brighter. And beyond him, Jakku was lukewarm, with faint light and cold spots and currents of something that moved between it all-

“Not bad, not bad at all.”

Ezra’s sudden words brought Rey back to herself, and she sucked in a startled breath, eyes snapping open. Around them, full night reigned, although there’d still been a bit of light from the sunset left when she had sat down. The man across from her smiled.

“What- was that the Force?” Rey asked.

“Yep. The connection that binds everything together,” he said. “And what makes it possible to be a Jedi.”

Surprised, Rey sat up a little straighter, because that was a word she knew. “Like Luke Skywalker?”

“Uh, who?”

“The last Jedi! The Hero of the Rebellion - he was the one who beat Darth Vader and the Emperor and helped bring back the Republic!”

Ezra stared at her, completely stunned. The hologram cube dropped to the ground. “He- what?”

She nodded rapidly. “Mo’junga tells stories about Skywalker and the Rebellion whenever he’s drunk, which is a lot - the Battle of Yavin, the Battle of Endor, Han Solo and Princess Leia and- and-” Rey trailed off. “...and you don’t know any of those names.”

Ezra’s jaw worked silently for a moment, and he tried to smooth his expression out, but Rey could still feel him, could feel how shaken he was. “I- no. I know Yavin, that was our base, but- I don’t recognize the others. The- the Empire’s really gone? We beat them?”

“Mm-hm. Years ago. Before I was born, anyway.”

After a long minute, something twitched. “Wait,” Ezra mumbled. “Skywalker.” He lifted a hand, and the cube floated back up, lights flashing until a new projection emerged. “-asked me to record some helpful tips for those of you going into battle against the Separatists, or any group of well-armed opponents. Now, keeping your saber moving is key to deflecting the fire of multiple adversaries. Flowing motion, one into the next, into the next and so on. I’ve, made some adjustments to the Form Four techniques that work well against droids and other ranged attackers. Here, I’ll show you-”

“That’s a Jedi,” Rey breathed in awe, as the little blue-tinted figure pulled out an actual lightsaber and started using it to swipe blaster bolts away from his body.

“Anakin Skywalker,” Ezra said, gaze narrowed. “He was a Jedi General in the Clone Wars, before the old Republic became the Empire. He taught a friend of mine - do you know the name Ahsoka Tano?”

Rey shook her head, and Ezra’s frown deepened. “Well. She was a Jedi too. My Master may have died and I might have disappeared, but this ‘Luke’ Skywalker was definitely not the last Jedi with the Rebellion-”

“Wait!” Rey shot to her feet. “You’re a Jedi?!”

The man blinked at her, before grinning. “Well, yeah. Wasn’t that obvious by now?”

“Prove it!” She demanded, pointing at the paused hologram recording. “If you’re really a Jedi, then you’ll have a lightsaber like him, right?”

Ezra’s grin widened. His hand went to the odd cylinder Rey had noticed earlier on his belt, held it up, and pressed a button. A blade of bright green plasma leapt out, humming and sizzling in the night air. Rey stared at it, eyes wide with awe.

“Yes, Rey. I’m a Jedi. And you can be one too.”

---

(Posted to my AO3 account, also under the username Triscribe, but of course my internet’s acting wonky and won’t connect so I can copy the link. Bah.)

[daedriclorde]

A Thief In Wolf’s Clothing, Part I:Chapter 3, “Well Done, Footpad”

Full chapter here on Ao3!

Training went on, and Aerisif did find her strength to be increasing. She never dropped the greatsword anymore, and she blocked more blows than she took. Farkas, Aela, and Vilkas regularly came to The Bannered Mare to drink with Aerisif after training was done. Sometimes they’d wander outside of the tavern and through the streets of Whiterun. It seemed the Companions enjoyed drunken debauchery as much as thieves did. 

Aerisif enjoyed their company. It was easy to be around them, and they were never without mead or ale. Aerisif could so easily just hide her thoughts behind the bottle and listen to them share stories of their victories, and there were many to be shared. They would orate magnificent tales of glory, and Aerisif just had to sit and listen. Never had to open her mouth. 

One night after training, Aerisif and Farkas sat perched on the roof of the Drunken Huntsman. It was easily closer to dawn than dusk, and several empty bottles lay strewn about them. Aerisif had bet Farkas that she could climb to the rooftop faster than he could. Even with her newly developed muscles, her nimble frame easily won the bet. 

Hours later, the pair had lost steam but were not yet ready to call it a night.

“The moon is bright tonight,” Aerisif commented lazily. She took a sip from her ale. 

Farkas looked up at the moon with reverence. “It is.”

A peaceful silence sat between them.

“Kjolti?” Farkas broke the calm.

“Yeah?” Aerisif slurred.

“What did you do before you came here?”

She felt a dull thumping in her chest. She knew she should be more worried than she was. “What do you mean?”

Farkas turned to look at her, the moonlight reflected in his eyes. “Before you came here to join the Companions, what did you do?”

Aerisif blinked slowly.“I lived in Markarth.”

Farkas considered that. “I like Markarth. But what did you do there?”

Aerisif looked down at her boots. She didn’t like the idea of lying to Farkas anymore. He was so pure, it felt wrong. He didn’t mean any harm by asking about her, she could tell. 

She took a deep breath in, but continued to fix her gaze on her boots. Aerisif felt panic thump behind a screen of mead, unable to break through to stop her. “I was a thief.”

Farkas snapped his head toward her, his wild hair swinging around him. “A thief?” His voice was dark.

Aerisif met his eyes. They were angry, and his brow was furrowed. “A thief. What of it?” She had found some anger left herself.

“Your new armor. You stole it.” She could see the anger brewing in his eyes.

Uncaring, she matched his gaze. “Yes.”

“That isn’t honorable, Kjolti.”

“Yeah, well, life isn’t always full of honor, Farkas.” She didn’t mean to spit the words out but they fired like arrows over her lips anyways. “Sometimes, life is shit and you just gotta make the best of it. So I did.”

Farkas glared at her and stood. He jumped off the roof, landed with a heavy thud, and walked away.

Fuck, what have I done?

***

In her anxiety, Aerisif arrived at Jorrvaskr before dawn. She didn’t sleep at all. The possible consequences of her admission to Farkas were running in circles in her head. 

If Farkas had told Kodlak, or any of the other Companions for that matter, she was done for. While the occupants of Jorrvaskr may be wild and belligerent warriors, the one moral they held to was honor. 

She turned the corner to the back side of Jorrvaskr, unsure of what to see there.  The yard was empty. The pre-dawn blue glow filled the grounds.

Better get going anyways, she thought as she walked over to the weapon rack. She picked up her dulled training blade. Gripping it with both hands, Aerisif practiced the stances and movements Farkas had taught her.

Soon she began moving through the training grounds, blocking and swiping at invisible opponents. Her feet never faltered, the blade slicing exactly where she wanted it to strike.

In her focus, Aerisif did not notice the passing of time. It wasn’t until a sound from behind her disturbed her intensity that she realized the sun was high overhead.

She whirled around, panting, blade poised to strike. It was Farkas. 

Aerisif lowered her greatsword, embarrassed. She was unsure what to say. Her eyes searched Farkas’s face and body language for some indication of his mood, but the man was stoic as always. 

“Your form has improved a lot.” He finally said. 

Aerisif relaxed a little. “You’ve taught me well.” 

“Kjolti, I—“

“Have you told anyone?” She interrupted. Her nerves couldn’t handle it.

He shook his head. “No. I haven’t.”

She released the breath she had been holding. “Will you?”

“No.”

Relief flooded over her. 

“I want to show you something.” Farkas sounded so grave.

Aerisif was intrigued. “What is it?”

Farkas looked around. “Not here. Follow me.”

“Farkas, what—“ But he had already taken off in a light jog away from Jorrvaskr.

What the hell? Aerisif dropped the blade and ran to catch up.

She followed him through the Cloud District, as he wound through the houses. Farkas abruptly slowed to a walk and tried his hardest to look inconspicuous. He was unsuccessful. It almost made Aerisif laugh, watching this beast of man try to sneak.

Farkas finally stopped between an empty house and the city wall. He glanced around again, suspicious of even the bushes.

“Divines, Farkas, what has gotten into you?” Aerisif was a little winded, still unused to running in full armor. 

“Here.” Farkas shoved a small burlap sack into her hands.

Now she was worried. “Farkas, what is in here?”

He looked excited. “Open it!”

Aerisif held the bag out at arms length, half expecting something to jump out at her. When nothing did, she peered inside. She pulled out the object inside.

A tankard…?

She examined the tankard, totally bewildered. 

Aerisif raised an eyebrow. “Farkas, have you been touched by Sheogorath?”

“Look at it closer.”

The tankard was finely crafted. It had intricate engravings around the base and on the handle. 

“This isn’t from Jorrvaskr.”

“It isn’t.” Farkas looked…proud?

Aerisif eyed him suspiciously. “Farkas, where did you get this?”

“From Dragonsreach.”

She blinked in surprise. “From Dragonsreach?”

“I stole it.”

Aerisif was dumbstruck. “You stole it?”

He nodded, beaming.

She considered the tankard again. He stole this. Aerisif smiled, a real smile this time.

Aerisif looked up at Farkas and grinned. “Well done, footpad.”

***

“Come closer,” Aela ordered. “But move silently.”

Bow still drawn, Aerisif did as she had been commanded. The tall grass of the Whiterun plains swished around her legs. 

“Remember, focus on the target, not the arrow,” the huntress instructed. “Breathe in, and release.”

On the final word, Aerisif released the arrow into the crisp morning air. It struck the elk in the neck. The elk staggered. It regained its balance, and wide eyed it tried to run away from the predators. Before it had gone two paces, Aela’s arrow struck it in the eye and the elk crumpled. 

“Well done!” Aela praised. 

“You brought it down,” Aerisif pointed out. 

“Your shot was excellent and your aim true. This kill is ours. It does not belong to either of us alone.” 

Aerisif pondered on that as they approached the felled elk. Aela knelt before it. She pulled a hide roll from her pack, and unrolled it to display the various knives and skinning tools within. 

Aela skillfully cut open the carcass and withdrew the heart. Aerisif watched with curiosity. Aela pulled the most ornate of her knives out. The steel was clearly Eorland’s handiwork, but the handle was intricately carved antler, carefully polished to display the inlaid carvings. 

Placing the heart gently in front of her, Aela took the ceremonial knife with both hands and raised it above her head. “To Hircine!” she cried, bringing the knife down into the elk’s heart. 

She worships Daedra, Aerisif noted with surprise. Thoughts of the enigmatic mistress Aerisif served crossed her mind briefly before fluttering out again. Noctural didn’t much care for this kind of thing. 

Aerisif knelt and helped Aela clean the kill. 

“It’s always best to clean it right away, before you get to the city,” Aela instructed. “The sooner you can wrap it, the easier it will be. If you leave the offal out in the plains, the wolves and sabre cats go for that instead of your meat.”

Aerisif nodded silently as she wrapped meat in burlap.

“My mother was a Companion, before me.” Aela made conversation while they worked. She looked over to Aerisif, who was working with more focus that what was required. “My father trained me to hunt early on, so as to begin my preparations to follow in her footsteps.” Still, the recruit said nothing. “Unfortunately, my mother died before she could see me inducted into the ranks.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Aerisif managed stiffly. 

Aela perked up, pleased to get a response. “She died with honor, and that is all a true Nord can hope for. I am very proud to be her daughter.”

Aerisif skinned the animal with more force, and resumed her silence.

“I often go hunting with Skjor,” Aela continued to chatter. “I find that hunting with your partner builds trust and strengthens a relationship.” She was carefully watching Aerisif’s face. The raven haired woman was working hard to show no emotion. “The patience required, the communication, they are all boons to a couple.” 

Aerisif swallowed. “Quite the romantic date,” she jested, but there was some underlying edge to the joke.

Aela smiled anyways. “In our age, I find we have less need of grand romantic gestures. We would rather build a solid structure than go out and paint the town.”

Aerisif only nodded, but her face was struggling to maintain composure. 

Aela sighed. Clearly, she was not going to coax an answer out of her. She would need to be direct. “Kjolti, what troubles you? What past are you running away from?”

Aerisif stopped working. She looked up at High Hrothgar with sad eyes. “Why are you so sure it is my past I am running from?”

“You arrive on our doorstep, untrained in combat. Your race to become a warrior is like a deer fleeing from a sabre cat. You are running from something, or from someone.” 

Aerisif turned to look at her. “I’m running from nothing. Everything I had has been destroyed.”

“Everything? No family?” Aela raised an eyebrow.

“All gone. Everything, and everyone. Gone.” Aerisif was staring her fiercely in the eye, despite a renegade tear or two trickling down her face.

Aela nodded with understanding. She placed a gentle hand on Aerisif’s shoulder. “Then all there is to do is run toward, now.”

When they had finished, the woman had two equal piles between them. Aela had insisted Aerisif take half the kill before they had gone hunting.

“And this too, Shield-Sister,” Aela thrust the hide into Aerisif’s arms. 

“Aela, I’m not a—“

The fire haired huntress cut her off. “I don’t care. You will be.”

“I can’t take this, you earned it. Not me.”

“Kjolti. Just take it.”

“No.”

Aela sighed. “You are already stubborn as any Companion I know. Take the pelt, Kjolti. You need it more than I do.”

Aerisif’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Aela stared back, unafraid of her show of intimidation. “I sleep comfortably in Jorrvaskr every night. My meals are made for me, the mead flows freely, and the fire burns constantly. My needs are met.” Aela was respectful enough to not point out directly that Aerisif had none of these things. 

Aerisif looked at the bloodied grass in front of her. “Right.” She looked up. “Well, thank you.”

Aela smiled. “You are welcome, Kjolti. I’m sure you can sell the meat to Anoriath, or even to Hulda, and I know Adrianne pays well for pelts. You could use the coin to buy some new boots to go with that new armor of yours.”

Aerisif glanced down at her boots. She had pulled them off some Imperial in the aftermath of Helgen. “I suppose I could,” she said. 

“You’ll want the best equipment possible for your Testing on Sundas,” Aela called. She was already a few paces ahead of Aerisif. “I know Vilkas is probably polishing his armor as we speak.”

Aerisif caught up. “He may be, but while Vilkas is shining his armor, I am out here honing my skills. Who is the true warrior among us?”

Aela laughed, tilting her head back. The huntress’s hearty laugh always lifted spirits. “Well said, kinsman!”

[yeskama]

Prologue Draft: A Tale of Sorcery II: Dance of the Dark Dragon

The following is an unfinished draft of the prologue chapter for my next fanfic. Some pieces might make it to the final draft but I’m pretty sure most of it’s gonna end up nuked. Figured I’d share it before that happens...

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In the southwestern regions of Augustus, 25 miles from the Solidere border, the Fortress City of Delacroix stands vigil. Considered a feat of human ingenuity, she was constructed during the peak of the Agustian Empire, encompassing over 40,000 square meters of the Great Southern Lake. The steel walls surrounding her reach up to 200 feet, while her tallest towers peak at 400. Built on a solitary island, four great bridges provide entry to the mainland, each located at a cardinal point and underneath her foundations, a vast underground mining complex extracts the valued minerals of the earth. Surrounding the city are ten great spires that defend her from any act of war, be they magic, artillery or otherwise. This resilience has always been the city’s greatest boon. Indeed, the Dark Kingdom only succeeded in conquering the city by starving her citizens out. Even then, it took 2 and half years to accomplish Her accolades however don’t end there...    

Behind her walls reside the finest tradesmen, crafters and scholars known worldwide. Delacroix’s Shining Star Academy has produced many great magi throughout the centuries, notably Archmage Noah. Her citizens are not only a proud and hardy people but also hospitable. The city boasts the largest demi-human and elf populations in Augustus. The Great Cathedral of Aime not only administers the Ten’s watchful eyes, but even permits other faiths to provide for their pilgrims. All these feats however will never wash away the city’s greatest shame. For it was here, six centuries ago, Lilith was sired. The very woman whose son brought the entire continent to its knees, was at a time, one of her beloved citizens...

Since it’s liberation, the governing body of Delacroix has served her Augustian masters for the past 406 years. The road between her and the capital has long been dubbed “The Golden Road” for its consistently safe conditions. For years, the gates of Delacroix stood open for all...

Now?

Her drawbridges are raised, her waters play host to dangerous beasts, and her citizens have boarded themselves within, sword and staff ready. Cannons line her walls while wyverns dominate her skies. Amongst the rolling hills of the mainland, Legion tents dot the landscape with artillery directed at the city. Bending to the banners of golden flame, the north and west bleed red, whilst across the lake, banners of the white horse stand firm as the lands bleed blue. The time is 11 at dawn and here, situated among the hills of red, two men ready their charges for afternoon drills...  

“Recruit-man Lyon!” “Captain Lagnus, sir!” “You are holding your weapon incorrectly, recruit-man...” Unsheathing his own blade, he proceeds to explain. “You want your main hand resting near the guard and your off hand near the pommel. That way you have proper balance. Clutching with the hands together lessens your control...” “Thank you, sir! I will keep that in mind from now on!”  

Sheathing his blade, he just gave the lad a reassuring smile and went on his way. T’was a common mistake, especially amongst enlisted civilians. After examining a few more fresh faces, Lagnus found himself staring into the clear blue sky as sweat tricked down his face.

Though the humidity had lessened since yesterday, the summer's heat was still strong. Truth be told. Lagnus himself wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion. A man of 23 years with jet black hair and brown eyes, he had served in the Legion for six years now. A commissioned officer, he wore a standard Legion armor set but with a slight personal touch. He had it gilded to reflect his proficiency with light magic (a rather difficult element to master amongst magi) with a blue bodysuit, brown gloves and a gold circlet. Finishing the ensemble was a red cape, bearing the sigil of a gold flame on its back, reflecting the House he served under. While he looked regal in it, truthfully, it was like a mini torture cell! He wanted nothing more but to remove it but doing so would undermine his authority, or so he believed. Wiping his head, he made his way toward one of the nearby canopies wherein he took to the comfort of water, chugging away without abandon. With his thirst quenched, he sighed in delight and took a seat. T’was then another man took to the canopy, the one instructing the magi...

“Hot, Captain?” He greeted him. Lagnus just shook his head. “I can manage, my lord...” The man merely smirked as he went for a bottle of water. “I somehow doubt that...” He answered dryly

Albus Vanthe Amherst was his name and at just 17 years, his reputation preceded him. Captain of the Legion Magi Corps and heir to one of the five great noble families of Augustus. Lagnus was familiar with the stories...a generational prodigy they call him. He graduated the Augustus Magi Academy at 12, enrolled in the Severin Legion Academy at 13 before graduating a year later and quickly soaring through the ranks. It took Lagnus six years to claw his way up to Captain, a feat which Albus accomplished in four. An impressive accomplishment indeed and Lagnus was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt...

...if not for that last name.

He had seen it before, hayseeds elevated through the ranks all on the merits of their family names. Being an orphan, Lagnus did not possess the luxury of a last name, though he was well on his way toward earning one.  Regardless, it just left a sour taste in his mouth. His appearance did nothing to dissuade this notion. A face so immaculately crafted, you’d mistake it for a king’s, with piercing emerald eyes and long flowing scarlet hair. His current attire consisted of a black unbuttoned long coat with matching pants and boots, all of which had some manner of gold trimmings. Only the shirt he wore broke the trend, being a plain red in color. Clearly ill-dressed himself for the season, not that it mattered to Lagnus. He was more preoccupied with warding off the heat than anything...

“Done with your charges?” The noble asked. Lagnus nodded. “Indeed. Yourself my lord?” Albus just nodded before reaching into one of his pockets. Pulling out a bag of peanuts, he offered. “Snack?”

Eh, why not?

Rising from his seat, Lagnus stood next to the mage as the two of them picked at the bag. He hadn’t had salted peanuts since he was a boy and had long forgotten the taste. Rough and tangy but still tastey! Unfortunately, they prompted more water down the throat (the wonders of salt). As the two ate, they both looked ominously on the city. Five months have passed since Delacroix declared for independence and so far...nothing. Just what was going on in there?

“May if I inquire about something, Captain?” Albus asked “Go ahead.” “Why are you here?” Lagnus looked at the mage confused. What prompted him to ask such a thing? “What else? To do my duty. The city has rebelled against the crown. Such actions cannot be abided...” “If memory serves me correctly, did you not once call this city home?” He matched eyes with the knight. “When those drawbridges come down, rest assured, things will turn ugly. If that comes to pass...can you bring it upon yourself to draw your sword on your own neighbors?” Lagnus returned his gaze toward the city, “When we joined the Legion, we made a pledge to his majesty. A knight who cannot stay true to his word cannot be called a knight...” Albus let out a soft chuckle upon hearing this...   “My friend...you are not a knight...” Lagnus just flashed a brief smile as he went for some more peanuts. “Give it time, my lord.”

It was around this time a figure ascended the hill on horseback.  His face concealed by , he was on horseback and had three prisoners in tow, bound by rope and their faces concealed by sacks. One was an adult woman wearing a red maid outfit. Lagnus was well aware of its significance, only those serving one of Delacroix’s governing families wore red. The other two were just children, a boy and a girl. Arriving before the canopy, the shrouded figure dismounted and knelt before them...

“Sir Lagnus, Lord Albus...I have fulfilled my task...” Albus applauded the man as he rose to his feet. “So I see! Well done good sir! Let us meet with uncle, I'm sure he’ll find these arrivals most pleasing...”

Amherst command took up residence in a quaint tent near the lakeside. Inside, sigils of the golden flame stood proud whilst men and women of scarlet (or blonde) hair and green eyes seated themselves before a long table. Food and wine took residence upon its fine surface while its masters discussed strategy, charted maps and schemed against their political enemies. Situated in the back and installed on the most decorated seat was the Lord Victor Penton Amherst, current head of House Amherst, chief advisor to his royal highness and, both figurative and literally, the most powerful man in camp.  

Of course, upon first impressions, one would hardly come to such a conclusion. A man of 55 years, Victor had already gone through three wives and sired six children, only one of which, survived to this day. At a mere 5 feet, he looked like an ant seated amongst giants, though none dared to make such a jest. His scarlet hair, now lessening and brushed backward, had dulled to the that of light ginger. This extended to the thick goatee he grew to mask his weathering features. The parts of his face visible were suitably worn, highlighting his high cheekbones and the creases under his eyes, which like the rest of his family, were a deep emerald in color. Whilst his present company were outfitted in decorative raiment, Victor settled on a simple black leather doublet, with matching pants and boot. Situated on his lap and was the Amherst family heirloom, a great tome bearing the family’s ancestral sigil, a golden flame over a red field. The tome itself bore the family’s greatest creation; a magic spell forged from over 200 years of generational knowledge...

Hellfire

Whilst the others squabbled amongst themselves, Lord Victor kept silent, his attention focused on a letter addressed from his majesty. A solemn man, he was not one for small talk, only speaking when he deemed it necessary. Only Albus’s arrival would pry him away from the whims of his king...  

“Lord Uncle!” He shouted over the ruckus. Upon the declaration, the whole tent immediately went quiet. Raising his head up, he watched as his nephew hurried to his side.  

“What is it Albus?” he asked. Contrary to Lord Victor’s size, his voice was deep and strong. “Have there been any new developments from the city?”  Albus just smiled and shook his head. “Afraid not, my lord. But we have procured some...bargaining chips.” Signaling to the entrance of the tent, he shouted...

“Bring them in!”

Lagnus escorted the bound maid while the cloaked figure gently prompted the children in. All eyes were on the pair as they unmasked the captives. The maid was a young woman with short blonde hair and blue eyes, probably in her early to mid 20’s. Her eyes bore a tremendous fury toward the tent’s occupants though she stayed her tongue. Lagnus maintained his composure but was quite dismayed by her unveiling...

For he knew this woman...

Thankfully t’was not the maid the Amhersts were interested In. Rather, their attention was focused on the children. A delicate looking pair for sure, certainly no older than 8. Both bore eyes of red, hair of orange and were outfitted in sleepwear typically reserved for the upper-class. These factors lead little doubt concerning their identities. Like the maid, their mouths remained silent but instead of fury in their eyes, terror took front stage. This fear intensified as the short man in black approached them, his great red tome tucked under his left arm. Kneeling down to the boy, he gently grabbed the lad’s chin and studied. The boy, whose eyes were tightly shut, began to cry...

“Open your eyes boy!” The man asked sternly.

He did as asked and was instantly met by the man’s emerald gaze. He stared intently before breaking his gaze and looking up to the Shrouded Man, who’s head bowed in respect.  

“There is no mistaking it. This is indeed Lord Ville’s son...”

Raising to his feet, he ordered all present save his nephew, Lagnus and the shrouded man to leave. Once the tent was emptied, he gave the order to a nearby sentry to escort the children to one of the prisoner’s tents and double camp security. He was taking no chances. As the children left the tent, the shrouded figure snapped his fingers and suddenly, their tears and sniffles were now audible. The display brought a rare smirk to Lord Victor. A silence incantation? Very clever indeed...

“Remove those rags and rest yourself. You’ve more than earned it...”  

The figure did as commanded and discarded his concealments, revealing a young man with short chestnut brown hair and piercing brown eyes.  Seating himself at the table, he proceeded picking at the ham as Lord Victor wandered over to the maid, eyeing her curiously...

“Who is this?”

The brown-haired youth looked upward and responded, “A servant who got a bit too nosy for her own good...” The cup now full, he took a quick swig and continued, “Give her credit, she was the only one in the Ville household that didn’t buy my story...” Breaking eye contact, he looked downward, “When the opportunity to abduct the kids arose, she was waiting for me in the girl’s bedroom...” He paused briefly before finishing “Not wanting to take any risks, I brought her along...”  

The maid glared furiously at the man, struggling to free herself while her mouth silently flapped like mad. Lagnus tightened his grip, garnering him an ugly look from the young woman before she returned her gaze to the brown-haired man. Without warning, she suddenly felt a vicious strike against her left cheek. The blow was strong, so much so, her head swung as she fell to her knees. A red bruise burned brightly on her face and as she struggled to open her left eye, she felt someone grip her cheeks. Orbs of green gazed into her sole opened eye, a horrifying fire having awakened within them...

“If you value your life wench, you will compose yourself...” The Lord Amherst growled. “The Golden Flame has no time for fools. I suggest you prepare yourself for questioning...less you want something unpleasant to befall those children...”

As the maid was escorted out, Lord Victor returned to his seat. Albus took a seat next to his uncle whilst Lagnus sat across from the Brown Haired Man. Lord Victor eyed him inquisitively before asking...

“Have you charted the city’s entire sewer system?” Nodding, the man pulled out three folded papers from his pocket and set them on the table. A brief smirk crossed Victor’s lips upon seeing them. It had been three months since he departed for the city. An insider them tipped off that the city intended to declare for independence. Only the royal family was privy to the city’s one weakness, and even then, their knowledge of it was lacking. Victor sent his newest acquisition into the city before the drawbridges were rose, complete with fake identifications to clear him as a Ville servant. Needless to say, the lad passed with flying colors. Passing the pitcher of wine around, all four pour their goblets and the Lord Amherst raised a glass...

“To you Canne, let us celebrate this moment as one!”   “Here, Here!” Albus chimed. “Aye...” Lagnus agreed quietly. Canne kept his silence, his eyes closed as he sipped his wine. Once everyone had their fill, he asked...

“Will the children be harmed?” The question surprised Albus who softly chuckled. “Well, that all depends on Lady Ville! As we are all privy, every woman’s sole weakness is their children...Why else would we assign you to her?” Albus smirked as he raised to goblet to his mouth for another sip before continuing. “I’m rather shocked Canne! Even after three months as a servant you still possess that small-town naiveté? I would think it quashed by now...” Though he did not see it, Canne shot Albus an ugly glance as the noble returned to his cup...

“Is it not strange though?”  Lagnus interjected. “What is?” Albus eyed him. “How many of the council seats have changed in the past 6 months? Lord Ville’s sudden death notwithstanding, both the Rochester and Hanniver heads passed away two weeks apart! The Cushings being replaced by the Lees? The disappearance of Lord Dolle and his daughter? And the Monevs being given a seat?! So much has happened amongst the city’s top brass that it’s near impossible to ignore!” Looking at Canne, Lagnus asked “Did you hear anything notable during the past three months?” Canne simply shook his head...

“Nothing significant save rumors and gossip. Amongst the staff, the prevailing belief was that Lady Ville poisoned her husband, though just as many say otherwise. Though the daly atmosphere amongst the household was fairly dismal...”

“Our mission is quell the uprising, not speculate on it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The chapter would have ended with Victor sending Canne eastward to acquire some “important desirables” his majesty requested in the letter (though what they were would not be revealed). 

The only noteworthy thing about this was that in earlier stages, Lemres was present. Originally, Lemres was the one training the mages and would pose the question if Lagnus was comfortable with the situation. These interactions were repurposed for Albus with minor adjustments (Albus was always intended to appear, instead he would have been introduced in the Amherst tent). 

Why was this changed?

1.) I have reservations about Sega characters appearing in the story so early. Maybe further down the road but not so soon.

2.) Lemres serving in the Legion is just too out of character of him. Also, the implication that he would have no problem blasting rebels on the grounds of treason was just pushing it.

[ryder-s-block]

Jaig Eyes (Ch 14)

Jaig Eyes (14/?)

Always available here. 

---------------------------------------------

Chapter Fourteen: Bane

“Dropping out of hyperspace,” Apex announced in the cockpit, my feet up on the dash. I was cleaning my blasters methodically, knowing them inside and out. As the stars stopped speeding by and my ship slowed, I was shocked at the scene before me. My blasters flew to the ground as I gripped my joysticks and yanked them upwards to avoid fire.

A single Republic Star Destroyer was engaging with a small fleet of Separatist ships, my own vessel having emerged right between them.

“Kriff!” I yelled to the empty cockpit as I maneuvered between the blaster fire, my wings practically scraping the edge of the Separatist frigate I dodged. With a fast slap of my hand, my communications opened to the Republic ship. “Opening up the doors would be mighty polite,” I called into the open channel.

“Securing the link now,” Apex spoke smoothly as he worked his magic.

“Kida.” I recognized Skywalker’s voice through the comm. “Nice of you to drop in.”

I grinned, despite having to dodge another stream of blasts. “Well, you know,” I grunted as I yanked the joysticks again. “My invitation got delayed on the HoloNet.” The jedi chuckled, which I found rather fascinating. I’d heard about Skywalker’s skill in battle, but never actually seen it. I’d lie if I said that the performance of his ship was anything less than impressive. Not to mention that he managed to joke easily--clearly free of any stress--as he faced down a fleet.

“General,” another voice chimed in, sounding further from the comm. “We’re receiving an urgent transmission from the planet.”

“I’ll be right there. Kida,” Skywalker spoke to me now. “The doors will be open. Come to the bridge when you get in.”

“Aye aye,” I said, cutting of the comms and focusing on getting out of the firing line and onto the ship. As I raised above the Destroyer, I saw the bay doors opening, as Skywalker had promised. Behind me, another Separatist ship broke apart under fire.

Dozens of clone eyes were cast my way as I landed my dark green shuttle and sauntered out. “Apex,” I said under my breath to the comm in my ear. “Shut it down.”

“Yes miss.” The access ramp lifted immediately as I stepped off it, my shuttle locking down entirely. It wasn’t that I thought anyone would take anything. It was more that I knew both Jango and Boba. They were curious souls. And so were the clones.

“Miss Kida,” a clone in 501st blue greeted, giving me a salute.

“Kida’s fine,” I responded. “I’m assuming you’re bringing me to the bridge?” He nodded in return, leading me through the varying hallways until I entered through a large door.

“Kida,” Skywalker greeted.

“Skywalker. So what’s your news on Bane?”

“He’s captured Master Ropal already. We’re just trying to figure out which ship he’s on.”

I hummed at his response, the glances from the room not going unnoticed. Ahsoka entered, but she did her best to keep her gaze from mine. I didn't really blame her. I wounded her when I left. For a moment, as my own heart panged, I remembered why I’d left. Still, money was money.

And I wasn’t doing this for her or Padme or anyone...I was doing it to protect innocent kids.

I walked to stand behind where Skywalker looked out of the viewports, my eyes scanning the equipment in the room. I cleared my throat as I stepped to a particular monitor to my right, tapping the screen to draw attention to one of the dots that was turning away from the battle zone.

“General,” a voice said beside me. “A Separatist command ship is fleeing the battle.” The man had a gray uniform, perfectly combed hair, and a brown mustache. An admiral.

“That’s Bane,” I announced, watching the trooper bring up a visual of the fleeing ship.

“Do you think they have Master Ropal on board as a prisoner?” Ahsoka asked, standing beside me and the approaching Skywalker.

“I’m sure of it,” her master said gently to her before turning to the mustached man. “Admiral, intercept them before they can jump to hyperspace. I’ll ready the troops for boarding.”

The admiral looked shocked. “Boarding? We have no boarding craft.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Why not?” I asked the room, but the admiral seemed intent on ignoring me.

“We were prepared to land on the planet. Not to board another ship.” Huh. Maybe he didn’t mean to answer my question, but he did anyways. “You can’t be serious.”

My arms crossed immediately at the admiral’s sass. Sure, he was high-ranking. But surely Skywalker had proven his worth enough times in the war by then.

“I am, Admiral,” the jedi said smugly, seeming more amused than irked at the man’s comments. “Thank you for your opinion. Now target their hyperdrive. We don’t want them getting away.”

The admiral immediately set about organizing the bridge to obey Skywalker’s order, the jedi turning and exiting the bridge.

“Glad I came up only to walk back down,” I grumbled.

To my surprise, Skywalker chuckled. “Don’t worry about Admiral Yularen, by the way.”

I lifted my eyebrow as I fell into step with the two jedi. “Why would I?”

He shrugged. “You seemed miffed at him ignoring you.”

“I guess it wasn’t polite. But it’s not the first time I’ve been treated that way.” Skywalker cast me a questioning look, but I just gesturing to myself. “Tis a symptom of the trade.”

We walked in silence for a while, but I could feel their minds reeling. Skywalker’s with a plan to board Bane’s ship. And Ahsoka’s with a confusion on how to act towards me. My own mind turned with my own nagging curiosity. I wanted to ask...but I needed to avoid further attachment. Better to leave the question in my mind than to-

“How’s Padme?” Dammit.

Skywalker smiled slightly and I felt the small brush of his affection in the force. How in the force did they hide their romance? “Senator Amidala is doing well.”

“No thanks to you,” Ahsoka grumbled to herself, but she knew full well we could hear. Skywalker glanced at his padawan with a disapproving look, but I sighed.

“She has a point,” I admitted. “Still, I thought as jedi that you would understand a need to not make attachments.” Of course, I was talking to two jedi who I openly knew had a lot of attachments.

“I know,” Anakin responded. “Besides, I think she was keeping you around for your company more than anything else, by the end.”

I allowed myself to chuckle. “Why waste Republic credits, right?” It was silent again for a second before Skywalker spoke again.

“She does miss you, though. Even if she doesn’t need you anymore. We all do, actually.” The jedi smiled at me. “It’s nice to have you around again.”

I surprised myself with my own natural smile. “Yeah, well...I missed you guys too. And I won’t lie, I’m excited to finally actually see you fight, rather than send in your padawan to do all your work.”

Finally, Ahsoka laughed. I grinned at her as she finally met my gaze, giving me a little nod.

“Alright alright,” Skywalker calmed us as we reached the hangar. Clones filled the area, but the presence of one in particular made my senses peak.

I fell into step with Ahsoka behind Anakin, giving her a nudge with my shoulder. “I heard you took down Cato Parasitti. That’s pretty badass.”

Despite herself, she grinned, her montrals darkening slightly as she blushed at my praise. “Well, it wasn’t enough to stop Bane.”

“Maybe not. But it sent us in the right direction.”

She didn’t say anything as we approached a group of clones, but I could feel that she appreciated my words. Standing at the front of the group, clad in his blue-painted armor, was Rex. I wanted to keep my gaze away, but I could feel his stare from behind his visor. I looked up, fighting away my own blossoming of emotions as I regarded his tall stance. I wasn’t sure what terms we’d parted on. Was he like Padme and sad that I’d left? Did he miss me like she did? Or was he like Ahsoka and frustrated that I’d left when he’d only just started to get to know me? Or was he something else entirely? Was he angry with me for not serving the Republic as he did? For not assessing the apparent feelings that floated between us?

I shook away my thoughts as we approached, the clone captain addressing the jedi.

“I’ve rounded up three brigades, sir,” he said formally, his hands clasped behind his back. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to board a Separatist frigate,” Skywalker announced, his lips curling in a smile. “Rescue Master Ropal and recover an archive holocron.”

“We have no assault craft, sir,” Rex hesitantly responded. “Only a couple of fighters and the Twilight.” I cast my eyes to Rex’s side quickly, seeing another clone I recognized. Denal. His eyes were on me. I gave him a small nod in greeting, which he returned rather discreetly.

Looking back to Skywalker, I saw him cross his arms and glare at Rex. “Waiting for orders, sir,” the captain said quickly, straightening up. My eyebrow lifted. I’d rarely seen Rex like that.

“And the plan is?” Ahsoka asked finally, unafraid to defy her master. Anakin gave her the same look, but it didn’t work on her. “Just curious,” she followed defensively.

I watched as Skywalker looked around the hangar, the wheels in his mind turning. So the answer was that he was still working on a plan. I followed his line of sight, spying walkers. Hmmm…

“I came down to see if I could be of any help, General Skywalker,” Admiral Yularen spoke as he walked towards our group.

“Actually, you can,” Anakin grinned. “Activate those walkers, Admiral.” I let out an audible huff of laughter, shaking my head. It was crazy...but pretty damned smart, too.

“You are not thinking of using those to transport the clones to that frigate,” Yularen said, his voice almost tired.

“Well they are pressurized,” Ahsoka mused.

“And,” Rex jumped in. “They’re equipped with magnetic feet.” He hummed in approval. “Good call.”

“Master,” Ahsoka smiled. “You’re a genius.”

“Those walkers are designed for terrain, not space,” the admiral argued.

“Well,” I breathed, activating my mask and goggles, my voice becoming automated through the filters. “Now they’re for space.”

“Rex, load ‘em up.” Anakin took off towards the walkers, calling over his shoulder to his padawan. “Let’s go, Snips.” Ahsoka chased after her master immediately, while Rex turned to his men and shouted orders.

“Execute Battalion, take AT-AT 300. Carnivore Battalion, walker 773. Let’s go!” The clones took off after their captain, a nudge hitting my elbow.

I turned to see Denal. “Nice to see you again, Kida,” he voiced. “Are you joining for the mission?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I ran beside him, watching as he made his way into one of the walkers.

“You coming?” he asked, looking at me over his shoulder as the walkers activated.

“I don’t like being in machines I’m not driving,” I grinned at him, climbing my way to the top beside a few other clones. To my right, the jedi were also on top of their walker. On my left, Rex and a few of his men mirrored them.

The walkers were moved into place above the hatch, a mechanical arm latching to the top next to where I stood. The jedi donned space walk gear, steadying themselves on their walkers.

“You sure you want to be out for this part?” Skywalker called, partially concerned and partially teasing.

“And let you show off without me?” I called back, hands resting on my blasters. “Dream on.”

Ray shields rose around us to protect the hangar as the hatch opened, depressurizing the room.

“Depressurization detected,” Apex sounded.

“I noticed,” I returned. “Activate temporary oxygen supply.”

“Alright men,” Skywalker called to the brigades. “Your helmets won’t hold for long out here so let’s make this a quick one.” He received a wave of approving yells before the latches disengaged, the three walkers falling slowly through space towards the disabled Separatist ship.

I braced myself as the magnetic feet pulled us down, the walkers jostling slightly as they made contact. Immediately, they were firing with their cannons, the droids taking only moments to respond. I opened fire with my pistols, picking off smaller droids while the cannons handled the coming vulture droids.

Beside me, the jedi leapt from their walker, soaring through the air before taking out a series of vulture droids. Their sabers sliced through the metal like Nabooian pears.

“I need to get one of those,” I mumbled, earning an unexpected chuckle from the clones beside me. I gave them all a nod before leading them off the walker and into a closer fight. It didn’t take long for our forces to overwhelm the droids. For a moment, I wondered why the Republic was losing the war, considering how easy this was.

But then, one had to consider that while the droids were certainly stupid...there was an outrageous number of them.

“R2,” Skywalker called, the astromech immediately drifting over to an access port. It took him only a few turns before the hatch opened easily.

Smart droid. I understood Skywalker’s apparent attachment to him now. A chuckled lowly to myself as I followed the jedi into the ship. Skywalker was one hell of a jedi...but he certainly broke their rules a lot.

The hatch closed behind me, the jedi removing their space-walk suits. “This way,” Skywalker voiced as his men gathered. “To the bridge.”

“Bane won’t be on the bridge,” I called, but no one listened. I rolled my eyes, following them anyways as we wreaked havoc through the ship, drawing a beeline to the bridge. They burst through the doors as I sighed, holstering my pistols and walking in easily.

“Don’t shoot!” a frightened battle droid called. “I’m not the commander! He-He’s the commander.” It pointed to a droid beside him, which a clone quickly took out, to my amusement. I leaned casually against the railing as the clones and jedi cleared the room, regarding the last droid with mirth. “Guess I’m the commander now,” it said sadly before being shot by a clone.

I grinned, letting out a low chuckle.

“You were helpful,” Anakin grumbled, seeing my stance at the side of the bridge.

I shrugged at him. “Hey, I tried to be helpful when I told you he wouldn’t be here, but no one listened. You had the destruction part handled,” I joked darkly. “I was just trying to be the thinker here.”

Anakin scowled at me. “R2, see if you can find Master Ropal.” The droid worked on an access port, but I sighed lowly, my eyes downcast.

“Your friend is dead,” I said gently. Ahsoka cast me a look, her brow furrowed.

A hologram appeared above R2 as he accessed the memory banks. “One authentic jedi holocron,” Bane’s recording voiced. “And the memory crystal I was after.”

“Oh no,” Ahsoka said. “He has both pieces now.”

“Rex, send a squad,” Anakin ordered. “Lock down the hangar bay and destroy all the escape pods. No one gets off this ship.”

“Yes sir.”

“R2,” Ahsoka said, her worry rippling off her in waves. “You have to find Master Ropal. Hurry!”

I glanced around the room, eyeing the control panels. “I already told you, Ahsoka,” I started, the entire ship rumbling suddenly as an explosion sounded.

“What was that?” Rex asked openly as he and his men stopped at the doorway. The ship continued to rumble, all of us floundering for a foothold.

“General Skywalker,” Yularen’s voice came through the comms. “One of the engines on that frigate has exploded. I caution you to avoid the aft section.”

“How much damage is there?” Anakin asked, glancing around the room, eyeing me as I scanned over all the displays.

“I suggest immediate evacuation,” the admiral advised

Skywalker sighed. “Not until we get what we came for.”

R2 beeped, Ahsoka smiling as he pulled up a map of the cell block, a red dot blinking where the jedi master was being held.

The group moved to run off, but I called after them. “We need to be careful. Bane isn’t someone to underestimate. Everything he’s done is on purpose.”

“What do you mean?” Skywalker asked, his voice hard. Behind him, I could sense the grim feelings of both Rex and Ahsoka.

“I know Bane. He triggered the self destruct,” I said, gesturing to a panel behind me. “But no escape pods have gone off. He’s not running for a reason.”

“Well at least he’s not a coward,” Rex growled.

“He is a coward,” I argued, his frustration with me clearly rippling through the force. So he wasn’t happy with my leaving. Wonderful. “He’s not running because he needs something. And I’m willing to bet it’s one of you.” I pointed to Anakin and Ahsoka.

“He has Master Ropal,” Ahsoka responded quickly. “And we need to find him.”

“Right,” Skywalker said, nodding his head at me. “Walk and talk, kid, let’s go.” I sighed deeply, but followed the group as we raced to the cell blocks.

“Anakin,” I said gently as we stopped, the group searching the area for droids. “Your friend is likely gone. I’m sorry. But Bane is setting a trap for you. He needs you to open the holocron for him, I know it.”

“How do you-”

“Master!” Ahsoka’s despaired call turned our heads to where she stood down the hall. She had opened a cell door, her face horrified. “I found him.”

Skywalker cast me a shocked glance before racing to his padawan’s side. He looked sad. “Rex,” he said softly. “Have some men take Master Ropal back to the Resolute.”

“We might not be able to find the holocron in time, Master,” Ahsoka said sadly. “But if it’s destroyed with the ship, Nute Gunray won’t get it either.”

“Maybe,” her master breathed. “But I’d rather return it to the library personally.”

“Besides,” I chimed in as a few clones entered the cell. “Bane won’t die on this ship. He’s slimy like that.” The group seemed skeptical. “Trust me,” I pushed. “I’ve tried to kill him myself before and it’s pretty hard to keep me from killing someone.”

The ship shook again, the lights going out. I glanced up, my mind racing. What was he planning?

“Come on, R2,” Ahsoka said lowly. The droid turned on his flashlight, leading the group. I followed in the darkness, my night vision activating in my goggles.

“How did you know?” Anakin asked softly as we walked. While the conversation was between us, all ears were turned our way.

“It’s like I said,” I explained tiredly. “I know Bane. He’s ruthless.”

He hummed gently. “So what else should I know?”

“He needs you to open read the crystal. He’s setting a trap.” R2 let out a series of beeps as we rounded a corner.

“R2 says we’re close,” Anakin translated for the group. “Stay sharp.”

“Bane is a bit of a control freak and he thinks of everything,” I chimed in. “He likely has full control of this ship via his wrist gauntlet.”

“Then we’ll be careful,” Ahsoka mumbled, her teeth teasing her lip nervously.

Behind us, I heard a sharp thunk, followed by a sound I’d only rarely heard. A clone...yelling ‘yow.’ I turned, my eyebrow raised as I saw Rex turn to his men, standing suspiciously close to a low-hanging pipe.

“Switch to night vision,” he ordered. They all obeyed while I let out a small, amused chuckle, despite myself.

R2 was letting out low beeps of nerves. I liked the droid. He reminded me of Apex, in a less aggressive way, of course.

A figure raced across our path, flashing in and out of the droid’s flashlight.

“There!” Anakin exclaimed, leading the group racing down the hall. We chased after Bane as he opened a door.

“Careful, Skywalker,” I warned as I ran beside him. “He’s corralling us to his trap.” The jedi understood, but what were we supposed to do other than spring it?

The door opened to a large hangar, cloaked in darkness. The lights flickered back to life, revealing a small army of droids, Bane standing before them. He looked rather smug.

“Welcome, jedi,” he announced. “We’ve been expecting you.” His tone was rather business-like. Always to the point… “Kida,” he added, glancing at me below his wide-brimmed hat. “You’re a welcome surprise.”

“I can’t say it’s mutual,” I growled back, aiming my pistols at him as our group stood silently.

Bane cast me a dark grin before drawing his own blaster. “Kill them!” he ordered, the droids immediately opening fire. We returned it, the jedi racing forward as the sharp sounds of Bane’s guns echoed off the walls. “Let’s make this a bit more interesting,” the bounty hunter said with a chuckle, turning to his gauntlet.

I watched him closely from behind the jedi, seeing his heels turn slightly before he said, “Lock down!”

“No gravity!” I yelled in warning a split second before Bane deactivated it. We lifted into the air, the separatist forces still advancing as easily as before.

“Magnetics,” Denal said in the air beside me. “You were trained for this!” His words seemed to inspire his men, but it didn’t apply to me. Around me, whatever clone could reach a surface was attaching his boots to it.

I shot off a few blasts before aiming my own wrist gauntlet at the ground, a grapple firing from it to attach to the ground. I pulled myself down, hooking the cord to my belt to keep me hovering a few inches off the ground. I wouldn’t have much mobility, but I could dodge side to side at least.

“R2,” Ahsoka yelled to the astromech as she blocked blaster fire in the air. “Turn the gravity back on!” The little droid rocketed off it try and help.

I kept firing in the fight, my eyes switching between Bane’s confident stance and the massive cannon shells that lined the hangar walls. As I thought about the danger of them, a clone magnetized to the ceiling blasted a droid into one of the holding pins, releasing a shell. It floated through the battlefield, Rex spying it, too.

“Check your fire!” he warned to his men. “Hit one of those shells and this fight is over for all of us!”

Denal grappled to the ground beside me, joining as we worked to whittle down the onslaught of droids. Anakin and Ahsoka were behind Bane, taking out his forces. I watched as the Duros dodged my fire and repeatedly shot down clones.

“Skywalker!” I yelled, not wanting to let Bane pick off more troops. “Focus on Bane, not the droids!”

The jedi turned and gave me a look, but proceeded to pursue Bane nonetheless. In moments, he was behind the bounty hunter, blocking one of his shots and dealing him a hard kick to the chin.

Finally. He deserved that and more.

The holocron floated from Bane’s grasp, Anakin reaching for it, when the gravity reengaged. Everyone fell hard to the floor. I ripped the cable from my belt, seeing the clones, jedi, and bounty hunter all sprawled on the ground. Racing forward, Bane snatched up the holocron, moving to draw his pistol again.

I swept down, kicking out the back of his knees. Of course, he was far from an inexperienced fighter, easily rounding to punch at my face. I blocked him, dealing one back that I’d been longing to do for a long time. Behind him, as I grappled with Bane for the holocron, Anakin found his feet. My eyes flicked to see the jedi rise, Bane taking the moment to pistol whip my cheek.

Thankfully, the mask I still wore took most of the hit, flying off my face under the impact in order to try and brush the strike off. Still...my brain was pretty rattled as I stumbled sideways.

While I struggled to refocus my vision, Bane fired at Skywalker, who easily blocked it, before racing through the clones and back through the door we entered from. On his way, he fired up at the clone still magnetically locked to the ceiling, cracking the metal and sending him pungling down. Anakin caught him with the force as Bane raced out.

“I’ll get him, Master,” Ahsoka yelled as she rushed past us to pursue the Duros.

I opened my mouth to warn her as I wiped the blood from my split cheek and ran after her, but Anakin beat me to it. “Ahsoka, wait!” he cried, still preoccupied with bringing the clone to the ground safely. “It’s a trap!”

He followed me, Bane casting a sly smile over his shoulder to me before pressing a button on his gauntlet.

“Ahsoka wait!” Anakin cried as he gained on me, using the force to push him. The door began to close in front of me. “We’ll take him together!”

It was too small of an opening when I reached it, watching the young Togruta round the corner after Bane. Skywalker appeared beside me as it closed, immediately shoving his lightsaber into the door. I turned and watched our backs, taking out droids with the clones.

A battle droid fell, shooting the fallen cannon shell directly. It erupted, sending the clones closest to it hurtling backwards. The ceiling began to cave, crushing the droids.

“Skywalker!” I yelled, making him turn to see the danger. I backed towards the door to be beside him as he raised his hands above his head. The ceiling turned to debris as it fell towards us swiftly, and while the jedi was able to slow it slightly so it didn’t crush me immediately, he couldn’t stop how much it damned hurt.

We both fell to the ground, debris pushing on our backs as my head took yet another hard hit. As my vision grew fuzzy yet again, I reached out in the force to find both Skywalker and Rex alive. Good.

It was my last thought before I succumbed to the darkness.

[writingsomestupidshitlovelies]

FMA AU; The Small Difference

I have this FMA AU where Ed saves a town from this whole big conspiracy that involved the town’s local church-- think the whole “Leto” situation except escalated times 100 and with a mini-civil war breaking out across this no-name area that the military has been neglecting. The whole area is kind of barren: food shortages, unreliable water source, crackpot doctors giving incorrect prescriptions, the whole shebang.

Anywhoot, when he’s done Saving Lives he gets up on this stone-pedestal type thing and stands before the crowd of people waiting for answers, and tells them what was happening and things he did/could do to help. Like he has a very basic knowledge of medicine/medical alchemy (he has automail and knows how to do basic maintenance on that, he and his brother had to do some pretty serious research on the human body to do the transmutation, and Ed healed himself after being impaled-- no matter how poorly or enhanced, he still had that basic knowledge.) and changed the acidity of the soil so things could grow better/ grew some of the crops faster, fixed the water filter, etc.

But while he’s giving this speech and telling people what he did and now what they should do, he inadvertently positioned himself so that the statue of their Goddess/messenger of their Goddess is directly behind him, so it looks like he has these huge stone wings. Their Goddess is one of truth and healing, and what has this boy done? He has healed their people from greed and illness and starvation, and he has unveiled the lies that were being fed to them. It helps that their religion has this well-known story of the Sword and his Shield, believed to be two parts of their Godess’ whole: Edward is more abrasive and blunt and honest but also caring and passionate (just like the truth should be); meanwhile, Alphonse is sweet and hopeful and determined (his mere presence can be healing at times). They see Al’s armor and it reminds them of this story: the person made of armor and the person that was completely made of metal/gold aside from his piercing eyes (Fullmetal, anybody?) and how the two were borne from man’s transgressions but the Goddess whispered to them and they became the most human of all. (Sorry for going into a bit of a rant here I am super interested in my made up religion lol)

So it doesn’t change anything. At first.

When Ed is on the run with Greedling they don’t do nothing. Greed does primarily want friends, and he knows Ed has to stay under the radar, but he is still Greed: he still wants power and fuck does he want to thrive after he beats down Father and his so-called siblings. So first they get disguised: Greed just wears his tacky clothes and, when not in their more animal forms, Heinkel and Darius just look like very confused and gruff dads. Ed needs to change: he gets some sort of haircut but Ed is Ed so he gets it in a bob or pixie cut or something super edgy. He disguises his automail by adding unnecessary flourishes to it: snakes or vines with flowers and skulls-- people associate him with the sleekest, newest models, now it looks like his arms are art pieces. Without the cloak and the hair and the different automail, most people don’t recognize him. Greedling’s group ends up saving a few towns and recruiting some more people: Ishvallans from slums, human chimera that are in hiding, hungry children without a home. As much as the entirety of the group try to pretend otherwise, the four and-a-half (does Greed-Ling count as two people??) original members are huge softies. 

And while they’re doing that? The town that Ed saved have been whispering. They see the wanted posters and frown. Because this boy saves lives. Because they’ve been following his misadventures and he’s helped so many people. Word of mouth lets them know that Ed and Al frequently help homeless people, pay off others’ debts, sit down and talk to someone on the knife’s edge, give thieves money and a stern talking to, help rebuild and feed and protect (without alchemy) in the Ishvallan districts. Edward is good, and they won’t believe this bullshit. They don’t believe that Ed is their Goddess, or even that he’s an angel of some sort, but there is this quiet belief that the Goddess crafted the Elric brothers herself, that she made them to save lives and bring goodness. They start rumbles of discontent. Contact people in towns the brothers had saved. It’s a quiet rebellion, but a rebellion none-the-less. People recognize Edward as the Fullmetal Alchemist and turn a blind eye, don’t call the authorities. They protest against more laws and officers than ever before. Something is stirring.

Ed and co. start a smear campaign against military officials they know are in on the whole “immortality” thing. With alchemy, the right lighting, and a camera, there isn’t a lot Ed can’t do. Scandals about officers sighted being at brothels or hitting a child are reported, mostly in gossip magazines, but the talk has started. Ed pays two little thief girls to cry and make say that this officer pushed them or threw their ice-cream money in the sewer or slapped their mother. He starts rumors about Lab Five and greedy old men that would take the lives of a whole country just for power and about a ruthless dictator who only acts innocent.  He encourages haunted ex-soldiers to talk to newspapers about the atrocities they were forced to commit. Anonymous women speak about how often the old men come to “see” them. Ed is thankful that Ling is part of their group because he never could have done this himself. Mustang is thankful because people in positions of power are weakening and he manages to pass a few laws and get a few people fired and get himself lined up for a promotion.

It all builds up when Greed remembers a base of operations full of fake philosopher's stones and chimeras and weapons. In order to take it out, Greedling needs a distraction. Ed, who has been hiding in slums and hanging out with the outcasts of Amestrian society, knows exactly what to do. He makes a monument. It takes a few days to set it up, but then he’s got it. It’s almost in the center of the city he’s in and it is covered in names. Designs of foreign desert plants line the oddly-rounded building. Ed has been speaking to survivor’s for months. He’s asked them if he could do this. It is the names of all the Ishvallan victims he has read and heard about. A statue of the Rockbells fitting a tired man with a new arm, of a now-dead Ishvallan with his arms and mouth open and beseeching eyes, of the real heroes of Ishval are scattered about. There’s a statue of Wrath, pleasant expression on his face and one hand on his sheathed sword and the other holding a leash. Collared to the leash is Kimblee, sadistic elation on his face and one armed stretched, crackling with alchemic energy. In front of him is an Ishvallan priest, face firm and determined, arms linked with Ishvallans that are faceless aside from piercing red eyes. Signs are in front of names and statues, giving estimated death tolls and heroic acts and anti-military sentiment. Of course the place is stormed. But people are already gathered around and inside. Ishvallans link arms just like in the statue around the monument because this is theirs, because they’ve given up so much but to finally see an acknowledgment? To see real stories and real names and the blunt, harsh truth? They won’t give in. They didn’t before and they won’t now. Guns are pointed at them, and the hesitation to shoot isn’t even there. Hate crimes done by the military are a constant, no one will even look twice at this. But then, a woman runs in front of them, eyes hard and mouth thin. She’s Amestrian. “My mother,” she begins, “died for something she didn’t believe in. She died in your dumb war so that my little brother wouldn’t be drafted. I won’t let you kill anyone else. Not again.” And she’s crying, but her arms are spread and she means it.  “Move.” One Amestrian woman could be a scandal, but swept under the rug. The soldiers stand firm. “No.” says one of her friends, standing besides her and linking arms like the Ishvallans behind them. “We let this happen once. We will not let history repeat.” And her friends join. The crowd thins as Amestrians stand in front of Ishvallans, arms linked, a silent but loud promise: You have to go through us to get to them. They use their privilege to protect, this once. They are all scared, terrified, but seeing the names and reading the stories somehow makes it all real: genocide. Not a war, genocide.  One soldier points his gun, finger on the trigger, and Ed decides he’s done hiding. “Instead of killing innocent civilians, why not pick on someone who can fight back? ‘Course, you’ll need a hundred more of you canon fodder to beat me.” He leads them on a wild goose chase throughout the city. He gets hurt, of course he does; they’re going for the kill and, just like with Kimblee, Ed is still going for the mercy blows. People see this. Officers notice. Something, again, stirs.  Greedling gets the stones, recruits the chimeras, and blows that base to kingdom come.  They’ve been destabilizing the military for awhile now, and Wrath has been unable to help in the preparations for the Promised Day because his main job is keeping the military afloat; without the military, the whole plan crumbles.  People rally, calling for officers to be discharged. For Bradley to resign or explain himself. There are riots in the streets and abuse against high ranking military officers by civilians. Ed becomes the face of a revolution. With all this focus on him, Mustang and his team can act a bit more freely, despite being separated. Laws are almost absently passed or remade or taken down entirely. Winry is giving poor people automail those people turn around and help others; they all realize that the military should not have abandoned them, that they have to help each other, and they are all angry and begin planning attacks of their own. Greedling makes several bases of their own, full of “minions” (hungry children and lab experiments and amputees and those with disfigurements. A home for the homeless. A war base and safe place for the oppressed.) and with the focus on Ed, manages to launch attacks of his own. Greed has been alive for centuries, although he has forgotten much of it, and Ling grew up in politics with assassins and war, they fight the government like they were born to do it. 

It’s a civil war; unlike in Liore, it is no longer one sided. The civilians fight their dictator, military officials fight from within the system. 

This is all I have for it, so far. It’s very ramble-y but vgadhbjnfk I refuse to believe that for about 6 months Greedling and co. sat around and goofed off like Ed has a saving people thing and Greed is antsy and wants (to know) things and Ling wants power and he wants it now. Ed is like pure chaos in a five-foot bundle like you can’t tell me he sat around and didn’t even try to do what he could from the outside?? He is a literal genius smh

Also, you might have noticed that I mentioned the Ishvallans a lot and that’s because there needs to be more about and with them. The manga/anime does handle it pretty well but there is so much potential that isn’t used. Also I am a culture-nerd and love learning about different religions and cultures and architecture so I need this ok???

[tomerasange]

Chapter 2: The Goblin Hideout

As we advanced forward through the tunnels, we stumbled upon two goblins on the lookout. To my surprise, they were cavorting with a card game and drunk on no doubt a strong spirit fermented in haste with vile, noxious fumes. I took a stealthy position, only to see Urnig and Starr take a bold stance and advance toward the watchtower. In an instant and with marked precision, they were upon the goblins. The goblins, rightly so terrified, gave away that nearly a dozen more goblins were in position further down the tunnel. In a scene that preluded my eventual shock and fear to come, Urnig and Starr cut down both goblins with ruthless brutality, Urnig using his lightning lure to sear at the flesh. I made quick towards them.

“Urnig, was that quite necessary?” “What? They were in the way.” “Yes, but clearly, they were paying no harm. They were drunk until you came and killed them.” “Sure. But, it did look great, didn’t it?” I must admit, as one who could only commit a simple parlor trick of magic, in seeing his magic, he knew how to use it with such a righteous vibrance so as to rival the Paladins of a holy militia. “I suppose, but that doesn’t excuse...”

I tailed off our conversation as we made our way through. The deep forest gave way to light, and we happened upon an open-air clearing, right and perfect for a strategic posting. A small river ran throughout the scene of an open field, almost picturesque in it’s simplicity. The stark feature given to this idyllic vision was a cave, larger in scope than the previous one, and feeding the river running through.

We agreed upon a split in the group. Noah and Snafu would return to the wagon and tend to the animals, Starr would keep lookout at the cave entrance on the off-chance there were further goblin reinforcements, and Aurora, Urnig, and I would take point in exploring the cavern. It became suddenly clear that my two companions had a sense of Darkvision, with the ability to see well and truly into the pitch that was the cavern. I sorely lacked this trait, and requested a torch be lit. Aurora, for her part, was willing to use her Light to not require the actual burning and loss of the torch. As the cavern began to open, the river split the floor of rock in twain. Walking towards the right of the cavern, we could hear a slight noise in front of our position. We began to stealth through the area, and came across a room of three wolves chained up and asleep. As we plotted our course, Urnig shuffled on and from his armor arose a sharp metal clatter. We were unaware how loose the shackles of these wolves were, but were aware they had spotted us. Aurora and I took to crafting a strategy, but too late was our decision making as the wolves came loose from their bonds.

I went for my rapier as the Bard and Sorcerer loosed their magic, and we dove into the river, only as deep as our thighs. One of the animals went for me immediately and in a sudden shock, I was hurt by one of the wolves striking me. I was well put off by the matter, and chose a more aggressive stance, using the sword more as a dagger. During the fight, I managed to fell my attacker, stabbing as to mortally wound. Cutting the wolf, I retracted the blade from its body and stabbed into the skull, killing it instantly. So forceful was the cut that I nearly caught the blade on the riverbed.

As the fight continued, Aurora witnessed a goblin from afar in the dim light of the torch, rushing away from the melee in a frantic nature. In a flash, the torrential sound of water could be heard echoing from the cave beyond my line of sight. I knew to hug the lining of the wall before incident. Aurora pulled close in turn and Urnig was our sole companion who remained in the water as a roaring wave crashed into him and the two remaining wolves.

By this measure, I went for another wolf who had been knocked to the ground, only to find the riverside slick with water from the deluge. My life, though short, flashed before my eyes as I was hurled into the air by momentum and carried into the river, away from the melee. I turned about in haste, sword at the ready, when I witnessed something that may haunt me to this very day.

Urnig, in his eternal wild-man wisdom, stabbed the wolf he and was fighting and proceeded to consume the face of the living beast. Raw and wild was his technique as he bit away at the maw, blood soaking his mouth, the dog did not have time to cry! Upon further reflection, this should have informed to the type of company I has chosen, and in my mind, I screamed oaths and swears at the very sight. Born of gods, yet a holy man this incarnation of violence was not. This is the fury of a unearthed demigod.

Aurora concluded the brawl with a swish of the rapier, refined and nimble as a sewing needle (I should, in measure, also implore Aurora into a discussion regarding proper rapier etiquette), and I, still terrified of what had transpired and soaked through with river water, trudged out of the drink into the room where the wolves had been held. In desperation, I scrounged at a pile of rocks, searching for any measure of respite. Food, a scroll, anything! Just rocks.

In a act of fear and injury, I called a short rest before entering the cave further. As we perched ourselves in silence, I could not help but wonder what further peril exuded from the hollow dark. It was truly unbecoming of my post, and I do not look upon this with great aptitude. In the quiet, Urnig approached me, blood wiped from the mouth, and laid his hands upon me. I could see the glow of his Aasimar magic, making me lighter and more well than prior. I nodded in acknowledgement, and returned to silence.

As the hour passed, we stood to pursue further, and found the path that the goblin retreated from earlier. He was posted on a bridge suspended above the river, and upon seeing our forms likely fled and sprung the river trap. As a measure, we located another entrance to surreptitiously maneuver around our aggressors. A loose crevasse covered in rocks led upwards into another chamber, and I took it upon myself to navigate the position.

As I climbed upward, I recalled my diligent training in climbing and found my footing neatly. As I approached the apex, I could hear a light clatter of pots and grunts. Having already taken the horror of Urnig’s cannibalistic attitude, I again felt physically ill reaching the top of the climb, as I was assailed by an odorous cloud of burning meat and raw rot. This was a kitchen area in only the lowest of sense. I only have previously smelled the stench of wet and warm food from my time perusing the animal holding cells in the arena to compare, and yet this defied all ghastly definition. The smog choked into my pores like an acid, and I took sacred moments to locate six goblins and a hostage, before hurling myself from my post, scratching and cutting my legs.

In a stupor, I relayed the information to my comrades in tow, and plotted the next move. Aurora agreed to take a length of hempen rope to the summit and tie it off to aid in our ascent. When the task was done, Urnig and I climbed and took scope of the situation. From our position, we had a good view to the left, where the goblins were, and the right, which led to the bridge. Aurora took charge and called forth a bout of Prestidigitation. To the right, the sounds of rocks echoed of the cavern walls, drawing the attention of three of the goblins. As we avoided their sight, the three of us made quick work to enter the chamber undetected. We sat and plotted, with Aurora again leading. She called upon the element of fire, and stoked the flames of the kitchen, burning the goblins. Surprise was our element! and we, with great pace, attacked. I witnessed one of their high ranking fellows, adorned in baubles, holding the hostage on a floor above connected by stairs. and took great aim with my longbow. A direct hit square in the head. Realizing the three goblins would return, I kicked over a bed to give me and my companions cover. Urnig, for his role, dragged the lead goblin off the cliff with his lure to his doom. Aurora held true with her rapier, and bought time with a wall of fire, trapping the three distracted goblins. We dispatched of the initial threat, and I made my way to the hostage, as well as a vantage point, keeping watch over the unconscious Human. Shortly thereafter, Aurora and Urnig disposed of the remaining creatures, and turned to my quarry. We confirmed the man to be Sildar Hallwinter, one of our chief employs, ragged and stripped of all finery. I arose him from the subconscious with a shake.

“Wh-wha... Hands off! I’ll not be taken alive!” “Sildar! We mean you no harm! It is Tomera. We’re here to rescue you.” “Oh, oh? Where is the wagon? Is it safe?” “Noah and Snafu, our fellow workers, have secured the inventory.” Aurora supported this, stating, “We hid the wagon in a cover of leaves, effectively camouflaging it.” “Ah, good, good.”

We gave Sildar water to slake his thirst, and continued in our questions. “Where is our other employ, Gundren?” “Oh, him? We were... separated. He was dragged away me... don’t know.” “It’s all right. Could he be further in the cave?” “Perhaps.” “We’ll be back for him if he is to be found. For know, we must travel to Phandilan, to secure your safety.” “Of course.”

As we lifted Sildar to his feet, Urnig, ever the beastie, pointed to the slop and rot of the meat that the goblins were cooking when we had entered.

“Thought for you. Perhaps you could coat your arrows in the rotten meat? Might damage them in the future with poison.”

I stared him square into his eyes. No; he was, in fact, completely sincere in his suggestion. I drew five arrow from my quiver, as a gesture of goodwill, and walked towards the sluice. Yet somehow there was a moment. Perhaps the meat could provide an effect of harm if coating the arrow tips. It would give us quite the advantage. I stood above the meat, fully prepared to derive the arrows into an ammo of desolation, when I realized this would never work. The rot of flesh could not adequately poison, and to sully my person in such a manner was unbecoming, grotesque, and vile. I immediately backed off into Urnig.

“Good hustle, certainly, Urnig. Not my type of combat. But... certainly a good idea in practice.”

We found our way out of the cave, where Starr agreed to keep watch in the event more goblins or reinforcements arrived (in hindsight, he had found a pasture of green to hunt and live among the wilderness, as men of his temper are want to do). My ego bruised and beaten from a state of seeming failure, I came to the conclusion this task we had agreed upon would surely find us in a position stranger still. For now, with Noah at the helm of the wagon, the town of Phandilan came into view. The sun hung low in the afternoon sky.

[osmw1]

Poison-Wielding Fugitive   Chapter 58

“Is something coming?”

I have a really bad feeling about this…

“Rumors say that something big lives in this mine. If all goes well, not only will we be able to upgrade your weapons, but mine as well.” “That’s if we win, right?” “If it is a monster that man cannot win against, then we shall retreat. It is not like I wish to die here either.”

Oh, is it an infamous boss monster then? Something even bigger and badder than Elbatoxin. Like, if it’s something on Veno’s level, then we should evacuate at one, right?

‘That is a given. And there are monsters that are rarely defeated by humans, no matter how strong they may be… like wyverns. Manticores, too, are only challenged and beaten by the bravest heroes.’

Veno begins to speak in a hushed tone. Us humans are weaker than I thought. That’s why they came up with magic like Forced Possession Summoning, I guess.

‘But if one were to wield a sacred sword, such as the Karma Blaze, it would be a different story. Even I would be no match against it. And, if wielding weapons made from dragon parts or other high-rank monsters, thou standest a considerable chance too. These “boss monsters” are not undefeatable after all.’

Man, that’s an inconvenient truth. I guess that’s why they targeted you too, huh?

‘Aye, that is likely.’

It might sting a little, but… can’t you pluck off a few scales for us? We can give them to Wayne to make us some new equipment. It’s the ultimate crafting material, right?

‘’Tis a shame, but due to the effects of Forced Possession Summoning, no parts of my body can pass through this dimension.’

What, despite your number one and number two being able to pass through?

‘Even I am unsure of the details of how it works. If thou truly desirest, I could force through the spell and potentially alert our pursuers.’

Ugh… you really like to put me in my place, don’tcha?

‘It would not be such a bad idea if the situation calls for it. However, I cannot ascertain how near they are as of now.’

While Veno speaks, the source of the thumping footsteps widens the shaft and it finally shows itself. It’s a giant, about five and a half meters tall, fully clad in armor. Its proportions aren’t like a human’s, but rather much wider and heavier. Oh? I thought it was armor, but it looks more like a mineral. A very pure mineral perhaps?

Safkrym

Its name pops up in my field of vision. Safkrym then grabs the hammer it has strapped to its back to have it at the ready. Behind their boss are his minions wielding bows and arrows. Following its lead, we ready our weapons too. Celes looks at me and shoots me a look with her eyes saying, “We should be fine.”

Is that right? But… are you including me in the fight too? I know that you’re super strong, Celes, and Arleaf isn’t far behind you either. But will I be fine with me and just my Poison Cooking buff? I’m worried for Muu, too.

‘… I came to check out this unusual presence and who do I find? Lil’ Veno Yveval, the Defiant, trapped in this vessel. Perhaps this is a good opportunity to make myself better known.’ “Hmpf… if you knew your place, thou wouldst turn tail and run. To overestimate yourself is… rather foolish. So, this is the den of an upstart? A place where humans roam freely and a hideout for thee when stronger monsters come along. Absolutely repulsive.’

Just like with Elbatoxin, Veno gets into a quarrel this time around too. In the middle of it, Veno explains how Safkrym gained fame. Originally, its name was Pure Orichalcum Magic Armor King. But over time, it gained Mana and strength, becoming the Safkrym today.

‘You don’t need to act brave. The weak human you call your vessel cannot possibly be as strong as I am.’ ‘What can I say? Thou hast yet to understand thine own self. Monsters who live alongside with humans tend to be overweening. How distasteful.’ ‘Dragons like you are all talk. I can never understand why you lot are so full of yourselves.’ ‘Proud, I may be, but because I know full well of my standing, I still breathe. Dost thou not understand, fool?’ ‘Have you forgotten that you’re branded as a backstabber?!’ ‘He wanted to create a world for no one but himself. There was no way I could accept that cold-blooded tyrant. I consider the title a badge of honor than a mark of shame!’ ‘Enough! I will shut you up then use your parts to build myself even stronger!’ ‘Thou shouldst have said so from the beginning! I shall have thee understand thou art smaller and weaker than any human!’

And, as always, Veno struts like he’s better than everyone. You know, that’s just gonna come to bite us in the ass, right?

“Umm…”

Arleaf looks over, confused as to how she should make of the situation. Yep, he was like this with Elbatoxin too.

“—!”

Safkrym bellows with a mighty noise and swings his hammer. Pretty quick for a heavyweight. But Arleaf easily dodges it and, it goes without saying, Celes does too.

“Muu?!”

Muu couldn’t react in time. It holds on to its cap tightly while being sent flying and I sidestep out of its trajectory. Muu tries its best to stay away from Safkrym while gunning for the minions who were trying to snipe us.

“Take care of them!” “Muuuuu!”

Muu rushes over with his axe held high. Them minions are nothing that Muu can’t handle.

“It may have seemed sluggish, but it is agile… we may be in for a tough battle.”

With a single hammer blow, Safkrym created a crater in the ground and shakes the mineshaft. It’s hard to keep my balance in this earthquake.

‘You may have avoided my feint, but you’re in a world of hurt if you think that’s all I have.’

It raises its hammer and begins to close the distance between us. That’s just nasty how it can move so quickly with that lumbering body. Safkrym has raw strength; it doesn’t need to rely on dirty tricks like Elbatoxin did. But Celes remains calm even while we have a lot on our plates.

“Aqua… Shot!”

Instead of casting out a single ball of water with Aqua Bullet, Arleaf shoots out many at once, much like buckshot from a shotgun.

‘It is the advanced version of Aqua Bullet. Though it requires about the same amount of time to cast, it is weaker if the user is inaccurate with it. Of course, if all shots do connect, it is quite powerful although not easily accomplished.’

As Veno finishes his sentence, all of Arleaf’s Aqua Shot manages to find its target.

‘The more Mana invested, the more accurate the homing is. Well done, Arleaf.’

The shots strike with a satisfying clunk, causing Safkrym to glare at her. Though, Safkrym is still charging forward targeting me.

“Let me handle it! Haaaah!”

Celes lets out a powerful shout and brandishes her sword… whoa! She’s lightning fast! Never have I seen someone move that quickly before.

‘Wha—?! How cocky of you!’

Safkrym sweeps with his hammer in a full circle, sending out a strong gust and shockwave. But, not only is Celes unaffected, she seemingly rides the wind and waves to cut the monster.

“Haaaaah! Luminous Blade!”

The blade glows as Celes holds it aloft. It comes down with such strength that it sunk into Safkrym’s armor.

“Tch… harder than I thought.” ‘What?! A lowly human managed to cut me?!’

Hurting the monster seemed to anger it and, in its fury, Safkrym swings its hammer at Celes again. But Celes avoids the strike by the skin of her teeth, using the centrifugal of her movement to strike back at Safkrym. Awesome… I’ve never seen such graceful combat before.

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[curiouslich]

Aftermath: The Weak Die

The front being held by the Phoenix Guard was a bloody mess to be put lightly. A felscape hell of retreat and terror. The Legion crashed in with their demons before proper defenses could be established. Cleaving through the ranks all they could do was fall back with each demonic advance.

Zanarian’s Green eyes darted over the field. As their front line crumbled the Crushers moved on clearing room for their war machines. Praetorians and Faithbreakers took command of the assault shouting out orders and delighting in the havoc.

“Those shields won’t last much longer, they are going to charge up this hill, and if they don’t that cannon fire will” Running his hand over his face he shook his head. Against his better judgement he had stayed back to defend the healers. Two of his favored among the cabal and a contingent of Light users.

“Enough of this, If someone doesn’t help they’ll be over run. I am not waiting for them to upon us. I think it’s time for a snack.” Sliding off the rock he was perched on he walked over to Mara. A warm smile on his face. “The price is paid my Seer, so long as your heart beats I will keep going.” Leaning down he slid his thumb over her ear before giving her a kiss. First her lips then her forehead. Moving on he marched over the other illidari.

Claws wrapping around the back of Vilesun’s neck Zanarian knit his fingers into his friends hair. Holding his forehead against the ink binder he nodded. Felseared eyes boring into the other man. “Whatever happens, you know my orders.”

“I won’t disappoint Overseer.”

Releasing the man Zanarain nodded a second time. “See that you don’t, when this over gather who you can, we’ll have a party like we’ve never seen.” The joke never seemed to let him down and he smiled at his humour.

Turning to the field he charged down the hill his foot fall became heavy. Each step wider, each landing with more force. Blackened scales spread across his arms as spikes began to reach out from under his armor. By the time he slammed into the first demon he had finished the transformation.

Biting into his first target his draconic jaw clamped down hard on the fel lord. Closing on its neck he wrenched the flesh from the demon and with a spray of blood they hit the ground. Where one now struggled to breath the other was looking for his next meal.

In a battle he never had to wait long. The infernal let out a shriek as the construct greeted him. The lumbering machines were slow. Zanarian had more than enough time to dodge its ‘arm’ and capitalize on the strike. Claws aimed forward he pierced its vulnerable spot. The armor was weak below the chest. It was all too easy to grab onto its core. Pulling back he dislodged the molten center of the beast. With a second shriek it came undone and fell to pieces on the ground. He always liked the taste of Infernal, and with a delightful crunch he devoured the treat.

With the way open his real target was in sight. The Fel Cannons. Each war machine was pointed at a different location. Some near the healers, some at the front, and another at the casters.

The battalion of magi rained spells of all schools on the demons. This of course gathered their ire and as the cannons all changed to put an end to that threat.

With the force of the freshly consumed infernal Zanarian crashed into one of the cannons shattering it in his wrath. Tail flinging out he choked the operator before throwing him like a rag doll at the second cannon. He lived for this, and lept at the next one. In the midst of his wholesale slaughter he barely noticed the darkening of the sky, but the searing smell of fel-ionized air was a give away.

In a battle against the forces of the Legion the unexpected had to be prepared for, and when Baal’s forces marched on the Dawnspire there would be no difference. What was the point of a stable front line when facing aerial superiority.

The cry to look above rang out almost too late. In a rain of fire the green meteors shattered the clouds  With a cataclysmic slam the sphere of stone and fel crashed into the ground. The final moments were here and Baal’s elite guard had arrived. Just as soon as the craft had obliterated the earth beneath it the behemoth inside surged outwards. Double edged spear swinging in wild arcs melting away the lines of casters.

Runes on the monster’s glave shimmered as he sent frost, flames, and lightning back at their casters. Sweeping the spells from the sky he advanced further into their back line.

Giving off a deeply satisfied roar the demon pierced another magi. Hefting their body up on the tip of his halberd he smiled as the weakened mage squirmed. “Your magic won't save you now wurm.” Plated hands clamping down on his target he dragged him forward on the spear until the reddened spike erupted from his back. “Pathetic”

Tossing the corpse aside the Praetorian was only able to react just quick enough. Slicing through a bolt of frozen fel flame he turned on his next targets. A pair of Suncasters one with hair like flowing honey, the other a raven’s quill. “Is that the best the Dawnspire can muster!” To end the sentence he sliced the second volley. Clearly the Dawnwards weren’t keen on talking. Eager to meet the Felravens the demon lept at them.

Glave held high in the air he was on them in an instant. With a cackling howl the Praetorian slashed at the pair. His spear stopped short and he was furious that instead of a clean cut and tattered cloth his blow was halted.

It wasn’t in Zanarian’s nature to protect people. There were only two types of people, the strong and the weak. If you couldn’t protect yourself you were weak, if you were weak you died…

At least that's what he always told himself, but he broke that rule often. Curling his arm he did the best he could to met the slash with his shoulder. Metal met demonic armor with a loud ring.

Dirt ground up over his feet as Zanarian was punished back with the blow. The sound of cracking scales filled the air followed by a wet thud the Praetorian was stopped in his tracks.

Blood flooding his mouth Zanarian coughed up the red fluid. His trio if eyes fell down on the fel steal of the spear.

It was strange to see a weapon sticking out of your stomach. The blazing hot sensation of split skin, the piercing ache of cracked bones, and the sense of what felt like frozen metal drinking in your blood. Though, to his surprise it didn’t hurt. Stumbling in shock Zanarian struggled to keep standing.

The Praetorian recovered far more quickly and went to free his blade from the lizard that clung to it. With a grunt he yanked his hand back, but to his dismay the Illidari insect refused to let go.

Biting down on his inner jaw Zanarian dug his feet further into the dirt. Wrapping his tail around the Praetorian’s arm his white knuckles held fast to the blade. Blood flowing from his mouth he gave a toothy smile. “The~ fuck you think your going~”

Dragging the spear deeper into his gut he knew the plan already. The taste of frozen air was one he had become well acquainted with, even missed it. As the ice began to race along the blade's edge it froze his tail in place around the Praetorian’s arm. The thought that neither would escape what came next was his only solace.

The worst of the ice didn’t touch him. Lovete’s magic merely helped to cement them in place. She was always kind to him, but for the praetorian there was a more sinister result of the freezing. His armor, his flesh, and no doubt his blood all ran cold.

From his dealings with her Zanarian knew that Melanei wasn’t exactly one for mercy… or restraint. With a score to settle with them both the heat of fel was only inevitable.  

Sure enough the air began to crack as it was suddenly sparked ablaze.The bright green was a welcome sign, maybe she would calm down after venting this out.

An Inferno that could probably rival the core of Argus met the iced surface of an instant glacier. The result was a shattering blast that shredded the pair caught in the attack. Thrown to the ground in the violent reaction Zanarian had no idea what happened to his rival demon. No doubt he was in worse shape. As his armor was replaced with burnt skin he would have laughed at the situation if he could manage anything but ragged breaths. Darkness creeping into the edges of his vision his charred head slid to his left. Where he expected to see his arm he found the singed look of what appeared to be his legs.

Before the black took him he pursed his dry lips. “Fffff….”

….if you were weak you died…

@stormandozone @captainswingbeard @sakialyn @jessipalooza

[mostthingskenobi]

WOUNDED JEDI

SUMMARY: (So this is a totally contrived Obitine pile of trash that was a complete guilty pleasure to write. If you're looking for a little Obi-Wan/Duchess interaction with eventual smut, then read on!)

When Obi-Wan is gravely injured during a botched rescue operation, he turns to Mandalore for sanctuary. Reunited with Satine after months of separation, the Jedi and his Duchess find it difficult to resist their desires.

A bit of blood and violence, some merciless flirting, and some classy smut.

He knew full well that Satine enjoyed teasing him, that she liked to needle away at his self-control and elicit a response that gratified her. What she did not know was that he took equal pleasure in doing the same to her. He had grown to love slowly working her into a frenzy until she was nearly delirious with desire.

——————–

HELPFUL NOTES BEFORE YOU BEGIN: 

Ever notice those delightful scrapes, scratches, and bruises Obi-Wan occasionally has in The Clone Wars? Think Landing at Point Rain or Revenge. Some of us find that particularly appealing on Master Kenobi, so that's been included here.

And if you're like me, you've always kind of wondered what that base-layer/black undershirt is like that Obi-Wan wears under his tunic... Click Here or Here for a reminder of what this looks like. We explore that a tiny bit.

This guilty pleasure trash heap was completely inspired by this delightful piece of fan art. May the gods bless this artist!

I also use some Mando'a words/phrases. Please see the end notes for translations.

I dedicate this story to my friend and favorite snowflake!

RATED MATURE, AND NSFW NEAR THE END.

——————–

WOUNDED JEDI

Obi-Wan was running as fast as he could while herding a large group of younglings. The going was painfully slow and he knew their chances of escape dwindled with every child’s slip and stumble, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave them behind while he saved his own skin. Their captors were gaining on them with every minute, but if he could just get the children to the landing strip a ship would be waiting to help them get away.

As one of the smaller younglings tripped over her own feet and tumbled forward, Obi-Wan barely slowed as he scooped the little girl up and ran with her tucked against his chest. He could see Hondo Ohnaka’s flying saucer awaiting them down the last incline. Thank goodness, thought Kenobi.

Several days ago, after crash-landing his ship on this desert planet, Obi-Wan happened upon a band of Karazak Slavers encamped near an oasis. He discovered they had kidnapped twenty children, intending to sell them to the Sith for a large profit. Obi-Wan was able to infiltrate the slaver’s ranks by pretending to be a Separatist representative who had been sent to inspect the ‘products.’ He could not leave these children to such an awful fate, and he had no time to wait for Republic assistance, so Obi-Wan reached out to Ohnaka whom he knew to be nearby. For the right price, the pirate agreed to let Kenobi use his ship to ferry the children to safety.

Things had gone sideways the afternoon before the escape when a Karazak leader returned to the camp and recognized Obi-Wan. The Jedi was taken prisoner but managed to break himself and all the younglings out in the middle of the night. They only had a small head start when the Karazaks sounded the alarm and began hunting them down.

Obi-Wan and his band of scrappy children had been on the run most of the night, evading the slavers and trying to make it to the landing strip in time for Ohnaka’s arrival. Luckily, the pirate had kept his word and was ready when Kenobi and the younglings appeared. The group slid down the steep cliff face and ran across the last tract of open ground as their pursuers began catching up. Obi-Wan saw a group of Weequays jump to attention and run up their ship’s gangplank as blaster bolts started raining down on them.

“Kenobi,” Hondo shouted, waving his arms wildly. “What have you gotten me into?”

“Things didn’t quite go according to plan,” Obi-Wan said as he pulled up in front of the wily pirate.

Ohnaka shrugged. “When do your plans ever work?”

Kenobi frowned, pointedly ignoring the remark. “Did you receive your payment?”

Hondo couldn’t help but smile. “Indeed I did.”

“Then our agreement holds?”

The Weequay was about to respond when a blaster shot grazed his shoulder, singeing his armor. “This is no time for pleasantries.”

Obi-Wan pushed the youngling he was holding into Ohnaka’s arms as he turned and began deflecting laser shots that ricocheted all around them. He quickly scanned the landing strip and noticed several other crafts that would suit his purposes. “Get the children away,” he shouted as the blaster fire increased. “You know what to do.” Hondo nodded and began corralling the children as Kenobi moved forward toward their pursuers, providing cover by deflecting the blaster onslaught.

The Weequays had about half the children on board when Obi-Wan saw a Karazak load and aim a rocket launcher directly at him. He barely had enough time to shout a warning to Hondo before the slavers fired. Kenobi’s response was instinctual; using the Force he turned and pushed all the children and nearby Weequays as far away from him as possible.

Everyone but the Jedi was thrown clear of the RPG.

The explosion erupted only a few feet away from Obi-Wan, propelling his body back several yards. He landed hard on his right side, sliding through the dust as debris and rocks pummeled down around him. He lay senseless on the ground, his ears deaf and ringing after the concussion ripped through him. Several long minutes passed before he began to regain his bearings. His left eye dragged open; his vision was blurry but he could just make out Ohnaka’s ship as it spun up into the sky and shot out of the atmosphere. At least the children were safe.

Obi-Wan tried to push himself up but winced and gasped with pain; he slowly realized that he was badly injured. Blood poured down the right side of his face and neck, staining his tunic and dripping into the dirt beneath him. His right eye was cut and already swollen shut. His right arm was thrust out to his side; he could see his fingers twitching, his muscles involuntarily shaking. Taking a deep breath was difficult; his chest ached and felt heavy. Obi-Wan comprehended that the missile must have contained a scatter bomb. Shrapnel had ripped through his entire right side from head to toe.

The Karazaks were making their way toward him, he could hear their angry shouts getting louder and louder. Gingerly, he hauled himself up, ignoring the pain that bloomed across his muscles. If he wanted to live, he had to get to one of the ships. By pure will, and some assistance from the Force, Obi-Wan stumbled across the landing strip toward the nearest shuttle. He could feel blood dripping down his leg, soaking through his tunic along his side, and pooling in the fingers of his glove. He had to find help fast or he would bleed to death.

When he reached the shuttle the Karazaks were only a few yards behind him. As he lowered the ramp and limped into the spacecraft, he heard a sharp ping followed by searing pain in his left ear. He instantly felt strange, as though everything were moving at half speed. Steeling his mind, he closed all the air hatches and staggered into the cockpit. He made short work taking off but when he hit the thrusters, something exploded in the ship’s rear fuselage. As alarm bells started blaring in the pilot consul, Obi-Wan ran a quick diagnostic and discovered his hyperdrive was completely destroyed. The Karazaks must have hit him with another rocket. His primary engine was still mostly functioning, but he would not be making a quick getaway. Always the strategist, he used the onboard lateral cannons to destroy the remaining ships on the landing strip, and strafed the slavers just for good measure.

When he finally made it out of the atmosphere and into outer space Obi-Wan slumped against the bulkhead. His strength was fading quickly and he was starting to feel confused. He reached up and touched his ear; a tiny, pronged metal dart was stuck through the cartilage. Before he could reason out what the device was his vision began to blur. He shook his head, fighting to stay alert. He had to set his navigation coordinates before he lost consciousness or he would die in this sad little shuttle and no one would ever know what happened to him. Without a hyperdrive he would never make it all the way back to Coruscant. He looked down at his com link, hoping to send a message to Anakin, but the device had been smashed when the scatter bomb hit him. He turned to the navicomputer and entered the only coordinates his reeling mind could think of.

As he hit ‘enter,’ loading the destination and letting the computer take over, Obi-Wan slid to the floor and collapsed, his body sprawling across the cambered durasteel flight deck.

——————–

It was a cool breezy afternoon when an unmarked shuttle fell into orbit over Mandalore. The ship slowly appeared, venting coolant and oxygen, drifting into the planet’s upper atmosphere but never attempting to land. The vessel had clearly been badly damaged, the aft exterior panels were crushed in several spots and the hyperdrive was decimated, blown to bits by what looked like an external explosion.

Mandalorian security forces had been on high alert ever since the rise of Death Watch, therefore several star fighters were scrambled to intercept the mysterious shuttle. Though they attempted to hale the ship multiple times, they received no response. Finally, they attached tow cables and hauled the shuttle into port. A team of highly trained operatives met the spacecraft in the docking bay and prepared to board. Armed to the teeth, they lowered the ramp and made their way into the still-smoking ship.

Scanners indicated there was only one life form on board in the cockpit. The search team quickly made their way through the ship and discovered a young man with auburn hair lying facedown on the floor in a pool of blood. He was unresponsive so they carefully turned him over onto his back. Despite the fact that half the man’s face was covered in bloody cuts and bruises, the boarding team’s captain was surprised when he recognized the wounded verd.

“He’s a Jedi,” the captain said, his eyes wide with shock. He turned to his second in command. “Contact the Duchess. This man is a soldier of the Republic and we need to know how she wants us to proceed.”

——————–

Satine Kryze was communing with her retinue when her primary attendant handed her a holoprojector. “The captain of the guard says it’s urgent, my lady.”

The regent arched a brow as she turned and addressed the man in the hologram. “What seems to be the problem, Captain?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Duchess, but we’ve intercepted a ship that contains a wounded Jedi. According to the Articles of Neutrality we are required to appeal to your highness before we grant sanctuary to a non-neutral party.”

“Quite right, Captain.” Satine tried to keep her face impassive. “We’ve had no communication from the Jedi Temple. No Republic officiate is expected. But you say the Jedi is wounded?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The captain turned the holoprojector and revealed a flickering image of a prostrate man, blood smeared across his face and neck. Satine’s eyes grew wide but she did not speak. “I believe this is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Isn’t he a friend of yours, my lady?”

Satine swallowed thickly. “He is indeed.”

“He’s badly wounded. Looks like he’s lost a lot of blood,” the captain said, turning the hologram back on himself.

“Have him brought to the palace immediately. I’ll have surgeons meet you on the east platform.”

The soldier bowed respectfully. “Yes, Duchess.”

——————–

Satine battled her fear as she stood on the landing pad with her private medical team. She had not seen Obi-Wan for quite some time and had only heard from him erratically, usually whenever he had a private moment between missions. Occasionally she received very small parcels, little boxes about the size of her palm that only contained a rock or geode along with a hand-written tag with the name of the planet that it originated from. It was Kenobi’s way of telling her where he was stationed. The most recent box contained nothing but sand; it had been delivered months ago. She tried not to despair when long periods went by before he sent word; she knew his Jedi duties often prevented him from making contact. Satine was never bitter, but she did worry for his wellbeing.

The security forces’ shuttle appeared on the horizon and sped toward the palace. Satine took a deep breath to steady herself as the ship landed and the airlock opened. A squad of six men carried Kenobi’s limp body down the gangplank to the waiting stretcher. When she saw him her heart dropped, her emotions quickly rising to the surface. His handsome face was streaked with blood, large gashes stretching across his brow and cheek. Her poor Obi-Wan; what had he gotten himself into this time?

She clenched her teeth against the gasp that caught in her throat, forcing herself to remain composed as she hurried to his side along with the surgeons. Placing a hand on Kenobi’s left cheek, Satine leaned in close to him. “Obi,” she whispered. His eyes remained closed but his head nearly imperceptibly lolled toward her as he pressed his cheek into her palm. “Obi-Wan, can you hear me?” she asked, gently rubbing her thumb across his skin.

His left eye barely opened as he reached his hand for her. “Satine?”

She wrapped his gloved fist in her fingers and squeezed. “We’re going to take care of you, my dear.” She caressed his sharp brow. “Should I contact the Jedi? Do you need a Force healer?”

Obi-Wan managed a slight nod. “Anakin,” he mumbled.

Satine squeezed his hand again. “Of course we’ll contact him as well.” She nodded to the medical team and they proceeded inside.

——————–

Droids administered an IV and began a blood transfusion while the surgeons inspected Kenobi’s wounds. They shined bright lights in his eyes and began a full body scan to check for internal injuries. They peeled his tunic away from his neck, revealing a ragged gash intersecting older scars. Satine could not bring herself to avert her eyes when they pulled off his tabard and began cutting through his bloody tunic. As they removed the shredded fabric from his body she saw how his chest and right shoulder where peppered with fine cuts. She praised the gods that Obi-Wan was not conscious when they wrenched his glove off his swollen fist. His arm had taken the brunt of the blast; there was shrapnel sticking out of his wrist and hand, and several of his fingers were broken.

The Duchess had finally seen enough. She turned away and held up the holoprojector, entering Skywalker’s serial number. He did not take long to answer.

The young man looked surprised to see Satine but he quickly concealed his shock and bowed to her.

“Duchess, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked kindly, his voice light and friendly.

“Thank you for speaking with me, General Skywalker. I’m afraid I have grave news.”

Anakin’s face immediately became stern. “What’s wrong, my lady? Are you in danger?”

She shook her head, “No, dear boy. I am well. It is on Master Kenobi’s behalf that I contact you.” She saw panic flash across the young man’s face. “Obi-Wan has been badly injured. He is here on Mandalore.”

Skywalker’s eyes grew round and concerned. “Mandalore? I wasn’t aware he was visiting your system.”

“He wasn’t. He simply appeared on our doorstep, as it were. He is not conscious and has been unable to explain how he came to be in this condition, but I contact you now in hopes that you and a Force healer will come to our aid.”

“Of course. We’ll come immediately.” His panic had not yet subsided and he used considerable effort to control his voice. “Please, can I see him?”

His boyish tone melted Satine’s heart. No wonder Obi was so fond of the young man. “I think perhaps now is not the best time…”

“Please, Duchess,” Anakin interrupted. “I need to see him.”

She sighed resignedly. Stubborn Jedi. “Very well, but I warn you, it is an unpleasant sight. You must prepare yourself.”

He took a moment to steady his nerves before he gave her a slight nod and she turned the holoprojector toward Kenobi. Skywalker’s face barely registered any emotion but Satine noticed his quick intake of breath.

Anakin stared at his master for a long time before he spoke again to the Duchess. His eyes were intense and determined. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

——————–

Obi-Wan moaned but did not open his eyes.

“It’s the soporific,” one of the surgeons explained to Anakin. “Sometimes it makes people emotional.”

The young Jedi furrowed his brow. He was not sure he agreed with the doctor. Something about Obi-Wan seemed off, like his Force signature felt dull; it made Anakin uneasy. When he had first arrived in the room he had been horrified by his friends appearance, but as the healers cleaned Obi-Wan and treated his wounds, Kenobi began to look more like himself. Skywalker had faith that his friend would be back on his feet in no time, but the energy radiating from Obi-Wan concerned him.

Anakin hovered near his master’s bedside, trying to stay out of the medical staff’s way but refusing to leave the room. He watched as Kenobi’s right hand was strapped down and his fingers were splayed and splinted; the Force healer and the surgeons worked together to remove the shrapnel and mend the wounds.

Obi-Wan’s left hand suddenly clenched into a fist as his head rolled toward Skywalker. Kenobi’s eyes opened, their piercing blue burning with intensity, and he looked directly at Anakin. The younger man immediately sensed that something was wrong. Skywalker grasped his friend’s uninjured hand and leaned toward him. “Master, can you hear me?” Kenobi’s fist tightened, crushing Anakin’s fingers in an iron grip. “What is it, Obi-Wan?”

The Jedi master groaned again as his head fell back, his jaw tightening as he squeezed his eyes shut. Anakin turned to the surgeons and Force healer, holding up a hand as he spoke. “Please stop for a moment. Something isn’t right. He’s in too much pain.” He gently touched Obi-Wan’s brow. “Calm down, Master. Try to tell me what’s happening.”

When Kenobi finally spoke his voice sounded tight and pained. “Is that thing still in my ear?”

Anakin’s gaze immediately became focused as he pushed his friend’s hair aside revealing the small metal dart piercing Kenobi’s upper helix. “What the hell is this?” he said taking the projectile in his fingers.

Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin’s wrist. “Cut it out,” he pleaded.

One of the Mandalorian surgeons leaned over to have a look. “We did try to remove it but none of our shears could cut through the metal.”

Skywalker moved even closer and inspected the dart. It was pronged on the backend, and each prong was piercing Kenobi’s skin. Anakin had heard of such devices but he had never experienced it himself. He suddenly understood his friend’s desperation.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan interrupted his thoughts, “rip it out.”

The younger Jedi nodded.

The surgeons all protested. “Wait just a moment, young man,” one interjected. “This is not proper procedure…”

Anakin ignored them all. He took firm hold of the dart and ripped it from his master’s ear in one swift motion. Kenobi’s entire body immediately contracted and he took a sharp breath. He inadvertently clutched a fist into Skywalker’s tunic and held on for dear life as wave after wave of pain flooded him.

Satine had been watching from the observation room and she burst in. “What do you think you are doing?” she shouted.

Skywalker patted his friend on the chest, holding him down firmly. “Is that better?” he asked catching Obi-Wan’s eye. Kenobi only managed to nod. Anakin turned to Satine and the medical staff. “You’ll need to give him a moment. He’ll settle down once his Force levels out again.” He handed the dart to the Jedi healer. “It’s a Force suppressor. The prongs release a chemical at timed intervals. Makes it nearly impossible to handle pain.”

“Why is he seizing like that?” Satine asked, her voice tinged with concern.

“When you’ve been cut off from the Force, it’s very uncomfortable to suddenly reconnect with it. The sensations can be a bit intense.” He smiled at Satine. “Don’t worry, my lady, it’s nothing he can’t handle.”

The Duchess looked archly at the young man but did not retort. She knew full well what Obi-Wan could endure.

——————–

Obi-Wan slept for nearly two days. On the third day he finally felt strong enough to stand and was approved by the Force healer to return to active duty. Anakin had been good enough to bring him a spare change of clothes that they kept stored aboard the Twilight. He only had on his black base layer – a tight, smooth compression fabric that provided insulation under his tunic and tabard – when his door suddenly opened and Satine swept in.

She stopped abruptly when she saw he was not fully dressed.

“Forgive me,” she said, momentarily lowering her eyes. “I should have knocked.” She knew Kenobi would not be embarrassed, but she also knew that a Jedi’s clothes were not just practical, they were symbolic. It was hardly appropriate to see a knight without his tunic and tabard. Even so, she could not help but smile wantonly at his narrow waist and broad shoulders. Obi-Wan’s body was lean and strong, and Satine always felt that the many layers of his clothes hid too much of his fine lines. The sleek, black undershirt left little to the imagination, hugging each muscle and contour, causing the Duchess’s pulse to rise.

“My lady,” he said, bowing deferentially.

Satine waved her hand flippantly. “Oh please, none of that, Obi,” she said stepping toward him quickly.

As he watched her approach, time seemed to slow while his heartbeat quickened. Months had passed since he had last seen her, and now she was suddenly in his arms, her body pressing against him as his hands slid around her hips drawing her closer. She wrapped herself around him, lifting up on her tiptoes as her face tucked into the crook of his neck. “Satine,” he breathed her name as the floral smell of her hair intoxicated him. He spread his hands across her back and pulled her tighter against him.

“I was so worried,” she said, her voice brittle with fear. “Months with no word and then suddenly you appear without warning, looking at though someone tried to rip you to pieces.” She squeezed her eyes shut and wound her fingers into his hair. “Don’t ever do that to me again, cyar'ika.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Thank the gods you found me.”

She pushed back and looked into his eyes. “When they carried you off that ship you looked dead.” She traced the bruise encircling the corner of his right eye. “You were a bloody mess.”

“I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am,” he said cupping her face in his warm dry hand. His fingers were bruised and each knuckle was bandaged to prevent him from over extending his tendons, but his bones were mended and his mobility would return in just a few weeks. He ran his thumb back and forth over her cheek. “You saved my life.”

“You saved your own life,” she said archly. “We simply put you back together.” She took his chin firmly between her thumb and forefinger and lifted his jaw, turning his face to the left then to the right. He was still covered in cuts and bruises, his bottom lip was split near the corner of his mouth, and he even had several stitches in his eyebrow. “You’ve made a right mess of yourself,” she said disapprovingly. “I’m sure whatever you were doing, it was worth sacrificing your good looks.”

He rewarded her tease with a halfhearted smile. “It was.”

She tapped his tender eyebrow and he winced. “These bruises are rather becoming,” she said roguishly. “There’s something ruggedly handsome about them.” She let her palms slide down his shoulders to his chest, running over his taut muscles. She slipped her hands under his arms and slowly drew them down his sides, wrapping her fingers around his tapered waist and pulling his hips against hers.

He did not speak but he lifted his chin and gave her a warning look.

Satine was usually a woman who valued propriety and decorum, but when she was around Obi-Wan Kenobi she often found herself feeling wolfish and libidinous. She nearly always wanted to elicit a response from him, to prove that she had as much command over him as he had over her. Causing him to shiver or swallow nervously or catch his breath was highly gratifying and she could not help but count it as a small victory every time he reacted to her touch. Today was no different. She slid her knee between his legs and moved forward until she was fully pressed against him.

He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. “Don’t play this game,” he said quietly.

“Game?” she countered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She let her hands drop further until they were pressed against the tops of his thighs.

Obi-Wan suddenly took hold of her wrists in an iron grip. “Someone could walk in at any moment,” he warned in a harsh whisper, his eyes sharp.

“Is a woman not allowed to touch her paramour?”

He gave her a crooked half smile. “Is that what you call me?”

She squirmed her wrists free from his hands and pushed her fingers into his thick auburn hair. “Obi, aren’t you happy to see me?” She kissed the corner of his mouth, right next to his split lip.

“Of course I am,” he said, barely keeping control of himself.

She felt him harden against her thigh and she smiled at her victory.

“Your Duchess has need of you,” she smirked.

He took her firmly by the hips and gently pushed her back a step. “Unfortunately, I’ve already been recalled to Coruscant to be debriefed by the Council.”

Satine’s expression immediately fell, her eyes became wide and sad. “What?” She brushed her fingertips across his bruised brow. “But you’ve hardly had a chance to rest.” She wrapped his bandaged and aching hand in her own. “You’re still injured.”

“Not according to the Jedi healer. I’m to report to the Temple immediately.”

Her expression was quickly becoming angry. “And you can’t even spare one single day? You can’t grant a few paltry hours of your time?” She pulled back out of his grip and clenched her fists in frustration.

Obi-Wan wanted to stay. He wanted to wrap his arms around Satine and never leave her side. But his duty demanded he be elsewhere.

“Please, my dear,” he said reaching for her hand. “Let’s not part in anger.”

Her brow pulled together and her nose scrunched up. “Don’t you ever miss me?” she suddenly whispered, her voice a mixture of ire and rejection.

Obi-Wan immediately stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. “Of course I do.” He stooped slightly to face her. “I miss you so much sometimes I feel sick.”

She instantly looked skeptical. “I don’t believe you,” she said sternly, like a regent addressing her court.

Kenobi rolled his eyes. “Haven’t I made it perfectly clear how I feel about you? And can’t you see the dangerous line I’m walking? I’m going to have to face the Council and explain why in a moment of dire need I sought you out rather than the Jedi. If they discover our relationship, my life in the Order will be over.”

Satine quirked an eyebrow and hazarded a potentially incendiary comment. “Would that be so terrible?”

Obi-Wan frowned. “It’s the only life I’ve ever know.”

“You could have a new life,” she said softly. His expression suddenly looked lost, so before he could reproach her she continued. “I know that is not what we agreed. I know you will stay in the Order and I will love you as I always have – fleetingly.” She would never ask him to give up something that defined him so completely, though she recognized that the very act of loving her defied his Jedi oath.

Over the past months, Kenobi had finally come to terms with his own duplicity. He loved Satine as much as he loved being a Jedi. He could no sooner turn his back on one truth than he could the other. Therefore, he had decided to honor them both as wholeheartedly as he could. Constantly pulled in two directions, he kept two sets of vows and tried his best to be a good man.

“I never get to have you for as long as I want you,” Satine said sadly.

He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek before pushing his fingers up into her soft hair, pulling her closer. She nuzzled his neck and he kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I know,” she said resting her forehead against him, shaking her head resignedly.

Placing a finger under her chin he lifted her lips to his. He barely brushed against her when he suddenly felt Anakin’s Force signature approaching.

Obi-Wan and Satine jumped apart just before the door slid open and Anakin burst in like a frenetic ball of energy.

“Ah, Duchess,” the young man said looking pleased. “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted a chance to thank you again for helping my careless friend,” he clapped Obi-Wan forcefully on the back, “cheat death one more time.”

Satine greeted him warmly, her regal aura in place once again, masking the true pain beneath her smile. “I’m glad Mandalore was able to be of service. The Jedi have always been friends to the Kryze family. I’m gratefully for any opportunity to repay the kindness they have shown me in the past.”

Anakin turned to Obi-Wan. “Well, Master, barring any more run-ins with pirates or slavers, we’re ready to return to Coruscant. The ship’s fueled and prepared for takeoff.”

“Very well,” Kenobi said pulling his tunic over his head. “I’ll be ready in just a moment.”

Skywalker looked between his half-dressed master and the Duchess. His brow pulled together for an instant before immediately returning to his eager smile. “Uh…” he could not repress his smirk. “…take your time, Obi-Wan. We’ll leave whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now, Anakin,” Kenobi said as he straitened his tabard and wrapped his belt around his waist. “Let’s go.” Obi-Wan secretly brushed his hand against Satine’s as he walked past her and headed to the landing platform.

——————–

As Obi-Wan and Anakin approached the ship, Kenobi’s heart was battling his head. It had been more than six months since he had even spoken to Satine in person much less felt the warmth of her skin. If only the blasted Council had not recalled him so quickly.

He could not repress little details that flitted across his mind – the way the Duchess’s mouth turned down when she became indignant, the way her eyebrows lifted when she felt hopeful, and the dejected way she averted her eyes when he had walked out the door yet again.

He frowned. A few paltry hours. Satine was right; it was never enough…

Obi-Wan was so lost in thought that he plowed right into Anakin’s chest. The younger man had turned around to find his distracted friend lagging far behind. He stood watching Kenobi, watching the struggle that was plain on his face, and did not offer a word of warning, intentionally allowing Obi-Wan to walk clean into him.

“Oh!” Kenobi said jumping back. “Pardon me.”

“Got something on your mind?” Anakin teased.

“Actually yes,” Obi-Wan stammered. “I uh…” He squared his shoulders and tried to look dignified. “I want you to return to Coruscant without me.”

“Without you?”

“Yes. I have some loose ends I need to address before I return to the Temple. Inform the Council that I will arrive most likely late tomorrow.”

Anakin crossed his arms over his chest. “What loose ends?” he asked lightly. “I’ve already confirmed that Hondo delivered the younglings to the location you specified. All their families have been notified and are en route to retrieve them, just as you asked.”

“It’s… I… I simply want to make sure things here are settled properly. I’m worried that leaving Mandalore so quickly appears…” Kenobi searched for the right term. “…ungrateful.”

Skywalker could tell his friend was hedging and finally took pity on him. “You want to spend some time with Satine, don’t you?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes sharpened for a moment while he searched his Padawan’s face. Anakin knew Kenobi and Satine had a history, but Obi-Wan had never divulged his current entanglement. He realized Skywalker wasn’t looking for an explanation. Gods bless you, Anakin. “Just one more day,” Obi-Wan quietly admitted.

Anakin smiled. “Take two.”

As tempting as the suggestion was, Obi-Wan did not want to push his luck. “I can’t. The Council expects me to return today. I’m already flouting their orders by being one day late. If I am two, I will arouse considerable suspicion.”

“Whatever you think is best,” Anakin said knowingly.

——————–

Satine had temporarily retired to her private quarters in an attempt to wrangle her emotions under control before her afternoon meeting with a diplomatic special council. She hated that Obi-Wan had so much power over her fluttering heart. He had the ability to shake the bedrock under her feet, to reduce her to a dewy-eyed schoolgirl. She was a Duchess for Force sake!

Above all, she hated the angry tears that burned down her cheeks. She knew Obi-Wan had a duty to the Republic and she loved his honor that kept him true to his cause. But a natural part of her wished he had chosen her over his duty, just this once.

The massive glass doors leading to her private balcony suddenly opened from the outside, interrupting her solitude. Satine nearly jumped out of her skin with shock; she ran to the far side of the room and backed against the wall, fear clutching her heart. Assassination attempts were not unheard of, especially since Death Watch’s rise. She was just about to scream for her guards when Obi-Wan parted the long, gauzy curtains and walked off the terrace into the room.

Satine’s mouth fell open. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she hissed. “I could have had you killed.”

“Hardly likely,” Obi-Wan said, brushing dirt from his shoulder. “Your guards are no match for me,” he swept his arm toward the balcony door, “clearly.”

“How did you get up here?”

“Through the garden,” he said matter-of-factly.

“But it’s more than a hundred feet down.”

Obi-Wan arched a brow. “I’m a Jedi, Satine.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. When she finally recovered from her initial shock she spoke again. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d left Mandalore.”

He took a few steps toward her. “You asked me to stay.”

Satine could not believe her ears. She glared at him. “I did, yes.”

Obi-Wan continued moving closer. “You seem displeased,” he said knavishly, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not displeased, I’m confused.”

He was only a few feet away now. “Why?”

“You never do what I ask…”

She had barely gotten the words out before Obi-Wan quickly closed the distance between them, one hand smoothly sliding around her hip while the other cupped her cheek, guiding her mouth to his. He pulled her body against him as his kiss deepened. His lips were full and warm, moving deliciously against hers as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. She felt him bristle at first – she always forgot how shocking intimacy could be for a Jedi – but after a moment he yielded to her desire and they fell back against the wall, his hands exploring every inch of her curves.

Satine had heard many rumors and assumptions over the years, conjectures that Jedi were like monks and could not possibly be proper lovers. She smiled to herself whenever she heard such talk. Obi-Wan was an exceptional lover; his connection to the Force made their intimacy even more powerful, especially when he seemed to know exactly what she wanted. But what she loved most was when Obi-Wan demanded her attentions, when she could sense his needs and when he satiated them with confidence. He was no longer a timid boy, and his ability to render her speechless was one of the most private pleasures she had ever known.

Obi-Wan pushed his knee between her legs, forcing them apart as he simultaneously pulled open her dress’s high collar. He slowly kissed his way down to her clavicle as he pulled her hips closer to him, dragging her tender body up his thigh. She twined her fingers through his thick auburn hair as a shiver ran down her spine. Obi-Wan placed a warm, lingering kiss to the pulse point on her neck before whispering, “How I’ve missed you, ner riduur.”

Hearing her own language spoken by his beautiful voice was enough to undo her.

He knew full well that Satine enjoyed teasing him, that she liked to needle away at his self-control and elicit a response that gratified her. What she did not know was that he took equal pleasure in doing the same to her. He had grown to love slowly working her into a frenzy until she was nearly delirious with desire. Hearing her whimper his name did things to him that he had never imagined possible.

Pressing her against the wall, leaving her body nowhere to retreat, he slipped his hand beneath her long, petal-like skirts. “Why does a Duchess need so many layers?” he teased as he slid his palm up her thigh and between her legs.

“Political armor,” she said laughing breathlessly. He scooped her up, holding her effortlessly with one hand, the other still lost beneath the folds of her dress. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clutching him against her as he slowly drove her mad with his skilled fingers.

“Obi,” she moaned, tightening her fists into his tunic. She let her head fall back and would gladly have allowed him to do anything he wanted to her, but she suddenly remembered her meeting with the diplomatic council. “Damn,” she nearly shouted. Satine took hold of Obi-Wan’s shoulders and pressed him back. “Though I truly adore everything you are doing, my love, I am late for a particularly important state meeting.”

Kenobi’s mouth fell open and his eyes became round with shocked. “What?”

Satine pushed him further away and shimmied out from between him and the wall. “I’m sorry, Obi. I simply cannot avoid my duties.” She stepped in front of her looking glass to fix her hair and straighten her headdress.

“Can’t it wait?” he asked, still looking flabbergasted.

“I’m afraid not.” When she was satisfied with her appearance she turned back to him. “It’s only for a few hours.” She took him by the hand and guided him across the room toward an interior set of massive doors. “You can hide yourself in here,” she said pulling open the portal, revealing her bedchamber. “Sleep and rest your still-healing body. No one will disturb you, I promise.”

He looked completely at a loss and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“When was the last time you relaxed, Obi-Wan? For fun?”

He arched a brow at her. “Never?” he sounded confused.

She pushed him playfully through the door. “Try it,” she said smiling. “You might like it.”

——————–

More time had passed than Satine had intended; the diplomats droned on and on for hours but all she could think about was the Jedi waiting in her bedchamber. When the meeting finally adjourned she had to forcibly restrain herself from running back to her rooms. She quietly pushed open the door, fully expecting to find Obi-Wan asleep in bed, but she was shocked when she discovered he wasn’t there. For a cursory moment she thought the room was completely empty, but then she spotted him off to the side, in the sitting area located near a massive set of bay windows. He was sound asleep, sitting up on a settee, facing the beautiful view of Sundari, the sun setting blood orange on the distant horizon.

Satine laughed to herself as she observed his posture. His head had fallen back against the high-backed couch; his right leg extended out in front of him while his left was bent, falling open at the knee; his arms were crossed over his chest, his vambraces and gloves piled next to him. This was as close to relaxing as Obi-Wan Kenobi was capable of. The war had made it nearly impossible for him to let go of his tension, constantly remaining alert and vigilant, ready to spring into action.

She slipped off her shoes and padded toward him on silent feet. As she got closer she saw his chest slowly rise and fall and she realized he was even snoring quietly. “Suum ca'nara,” she whispered to herself with a smile. Satine eased onto the settee next to Obi-Wan, careful not to wake him. She studied his face in the warm evening light, trying to commit every detail to memory, every sharp angle, every line and every curve. She had never met a man to rival Kenobi’s looks. When she had first met him he was fresh-faced and boyish, always smirking and ready to laugh. Now that he was a man he had grown mature and contemplative, and he tried to hide his still-youthful good looks with a trimmed beard, but he never lost his droll wit and earnest sense of justice. Obi-Wan was as handsome as he was kind.

As her memories flitted back to their youth, Satine could not resist reaching out and touching his cheek, still black and blue and peppered with fierce scratches. A cut stretched from the bridge of his nose to just under his eye; his split lip had begun to bruise; his right eye was no longer swollen but was speckled with contusions. She could not deny that he looked even more irresistible, his injuries a testament to his physical strength and endurance. She leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his scraped cheek.

He did not stir even a little.

A mischievous thought suddenly took hold of her and she moved even closer to him. Carefully, she slowly undid his belt and let it fall to the side, then she gently straddled him, tossing her skirts out so that they draped over both their hips. She reached out and slowly pulled his tabard back, then she loosened his tunic and pulled his stiff, high collar open. She let her fingers run down the fabric’s edge, tracing his warm flesh as far down as his sternum. Satine pushed her hands inside his shirt and ran her palms over his chest, tracing the taught muscles. Desire flared in her and she nuzzled into his neck and began kissing him. As her tongue played over his pulse point he woke with a start.

He blinked up at her, his soft eyelashes fluttering. It took him several moments to regain his bearings, but he quickly succumbed to her attention without a word, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

Satine wanted to pleasure her Jedi in a way he would never dare ask for. He nearly always pleased her exactly as she desired, using the Force to read her aura, but tonight she knew exactly what he wanted and she was determined to leave him satisfied. Her fingers trailed down his chest and slid beneath his waistband. As she took him firmly in her hands, Obi-Wan moaned and let his head fall back. She leaned forward and placed her lips on his, drinking up the heady smell of his skin and enjoying the sound of his elevated breathing. She could not bear waiting any longer. Satine guided him slowly, mercilessly sliding him all the way inside her until he filled her completely.

“Fucking hell…” the Jedi who never cursed suddenly gasped out. His grip tightened around her as they found their rhythm together. She gently kissed each cut and bruise before running her fingers through his perfect, thick hair. She gave Obi-Wan every attention he deserved, allowed him pleasures he never thought he was entitled to. Hours passed and by the time night had fallen and Sundari lights glittered outside the window, Satine and Kenobi collapsed exhausted onto the floor, never having made it to her bed.

——————–

Mando’a Translations

verd = soldier/warrior

cyar'ika = darling/sweetheart

ner riduur = my wife/spouse

suum ca'nara = the state of blissful rest and peace

——————–

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CHECK OUT SOME OF MY OTHER WORK

A Jedi’s Resolve Summary: Obi-Wan and Satine finally have a moment alone. Will he stand by his Jedi Code, or will she force his resolve to crack? Takes place during Season 2 of The Clone Wars after episode 14, “Duchess of Mandalore.”

The Secret Duke of Mandalore Summary: Obi-Wan is struggling to put the horrors of the Kadavo slave facility behind him. Desperately needing sanctuary, he makes his way to Mandalore. He and the Duchess Satine wander through the palace gardens, but Obi-Wan is not able to hide his anxieties from her. Will Satine be able to help Obi-Wan or will his emotions get the better of him?

Jedi Nightmares Summary: It’s been about 3 months since Qui-Gon was killed. Obi-Wan is struggling with nightmares, desperately missing his Master, while Anakin is trying to conquer his own fear. An emotional, fluffy piece where Kenobi wakes in the middle of the night and hears his Padawan having a bad dream in the other room. Obi-Wan battles his emotions while helping Anakin navigate his own. Lots of fluff, angst, and love.

The Dark Side of Obi-Wan Kenobi - Part 1 Summary: What would it take for Obi-Wan Kenobi to lose faith in the Jedi Code? Darth Maul and some other baddies are eager to find out. An AU where Obi-Wan does not escape Mandalore after Satine’s death. Darth Maul makes good on his threat and imprisons Kenobi in the Sundari prison. Will our handsome ginger-bearded Jedi Master survive or will Maul exact perfect revenge?

[berfometalpha]

Legacy of Eternity: Side story I Am No Hero - The Demon King Awakens.

Betrayal descends upon team Zeta as Eunice Striker, as she made dealings with team Alpha's Knight Candidate Kane Glenwing for Credit points to advance her teams ranking.

In exchange she had pushed Kent to the point of near exhaustion after receiving back to back punishment from Judicator Kaivon who discovered the young knight's relationship with the twin destroyer viruses. 

Now the team could only wait for the return of Eunice to deal with another matter as she pulled up to the bunker in her speeder. Rex, Lily, Winter and Clayton were waiting for her as soon as she got off Clayton grabbed her by the neck and slammed her to the ground.

"You dare to fucking show up here after what you did to the Boss man!" Clayton said.

"Clay, Let her go... She did betray us but remember Eunice is still a Knight Archaena candidate."Winter pleaded.

"Who Fucking cares! She betrayed us when the boss man... Who need I remind you all that gave everything to make sure we all stuck together... Even Marky trusts the man who saved his ass from becoming the next chew toy of the high ranker." Clayton said as he slowly tried to crush her neck.

"Clayton! I am giving an order release your grip so we can question Eunice... Please I know you are angry I am too but now I want to know why Eunice betrayed my cousin!" Winter ordered.

Clayton scoffed as he lifted Eunice up and released his grip as she coughed heavily she couldn't look at any of them in the eyes for what she had done. Winter approached her with rage in her heart with only one question in mind Why...

"I did it because I wanted to save Kent..." Eunice said.

"SAVE HIM FROM WHAT! THE JUDICATORS OH I HAVE SOMETHING IN MIND FOR THEM ONCE WE LEAVE THE ACADEMY... But YOu tried to save Kent without even asking us and you did it all on your own... and not only that you decided to take actions on your own.. You not only put Kent's life in danger you also put everyone else in this team in danger... I will speak with the Judicators that support Kent to deal with you... Be warned... Once we leave this academy... Know this... You will not be welcomed..." Winter said.

"Wait please..." Eunice said as everyone walked away from her. "Kent... Tell me... What should I do..." Eunice cried.

Meanwhile at Ring 0 the very center of the academy where Hell's gate rests here is the one place no Knight Candidate or Archaena wishes to go. 

The Hell's gate is considered as the training ground built by the First founder Blazer Shadowfire to be the perfect training ground for a knight candidate to reach the title of Archaena. 

Each wave is designed in the hellish nightmare of the mind during the 1st war for creation and the 1st and 2nd Great Creation wars. This place replicates the same demons, Strength, and other attributes to give the Knight in question to push himself to the point of breaking his own limits. 

The first wave will determine the strength factor and the number of enemies that needed to be produced to face the Knight. Each victory the Hell's gate will produce a larger number of beasts or demons equivalent to the assessed data. As the gates of hell closed behind Kent he looked to a massive dome like arena where the center holds a small bunker that holds a bed, replenished food, and a level 6 forge to craft weapons. 

Just like the stores in Ring 2 the currency exchange depends on the number of kills after each wave. 

"Knight Redridge, prepare for battle wave 1: Kill count required 1,000... Reward... 32,000 points..." The Facility AI reported.

Kent didn't utter a single word the black queen tried to communicate with Kent as best as possible but he didn't respond. 

"Rip... and... tear... them apart!"Kent said with clenched fists. "Kent we need a strategy!" The Black Queen pleaded.

The fell beasts massive bipedal beasts with the bodies of a humanoid type species but can run like a 4 legged animal. These beasts have razor sharp claws that can shred through reinforced titanium and poisonous bile that they can shoot out as acidic projectiles. 

As soon as the gates around the arena opened waves upon waves of Fell beasts rushed towards the young knight. He grabbed on of the fell beasts by the throat and crushed it's neck as if he was peeling a grape fruit. 

He then rushed a group of Fell beasts with one slam of his fist a massive crater formed around him. Kent reached out to one of the fell beasts and buried his claws into it's skull and tore it's forehead off it's face. 

Kent looked to the other fell beasts as he created a small cut in his palm when the Vestroyer Virus flowed to the ground it created a blade of pure Xennomite-steel with a high frequency engine built into the sword guard. 

The blade stretched out to 1.5 meters long with a single endge with a slight curve near the sword guard that served as a slot for the Weapon heart.

 The handle itself extended to nearly half a meter in length with a ring for it's pommel.

He pulled the sword from the ground and named it Excalliburst a weapon made that shall grow with him and like the Trail Blazer a weapon that shall be his living extension.

Kent charged at the hoard of Fell beasts and began cutting and slicing the fell beasts apart without relent. He moved like the whispering of the wind like a skilled juggler he was able to move his grip from one hand to another from the normal grip to a reverse grip. 

The young knight fought the Fell beasts as if they were nothing one by one each fell before his blade and with each death the Excalliburst grew and grew with each swing and kill in battle.

After 2 hours the battlefield was drowned with the dead he bathed in their blood  while standing atop the mountain of corpses with his blade in one hand and the skull of the Fell beast in the other. 

The drones cleaned up corpses giving Kent a small time of repreave to repair his weapon and gain armor. 

The Black queen tried to communicate with her son but she simply gave him the space he needed to clear his head. 

Several minutes later Kent faced off against over 3200 ranked 2 Fell beasts these Fell beasts are similar to what he faced earlier but are ranked 51 in all statistics the only thing that is different between their first variant is they fight in pacts and not as individuals.

these fell beasts have tongues that can reached up to 5 feet in length two of the beasts fired it's tongues latched onto his arms pinning him to the ground. He struggled to break their grip as he grabbed one of the tongues and swung the fell beasts and crushed the other beasts that binded him.

  He then rushed towards the fell beasts and threw a dozen Knives at the beasts killing about 3 dozen of them upon contact.  One of the beasts tried to fire their tongues again but he sliced it in half and dashed towards the beasts and swung his blade wildly killing every beast around him.

Every two hours he managed to kill more and more of these beasts without rest or relent his body showed no signs of exhaustion as he fought and killed more and more beasts that can haunt any knight and they are trained to know no fear. As his kill count sky rocketed on the outside his team's kill score sky rocketed as well it was an early morning when Marky checked the team's ranking roster.

"My Faith's beautiful lips... Is this for real... Guys... and Lady Winter head to the briefing room NOW!" Marky shotued.

The entire team rushed towards the Briefing room that early morning as everyone rushed into the briefing room.

"Fucking hell Marky... Why the ever living fuck did you wake us up... We are suspended remember? Damn can't you take a fucking break for once." Clayton said as he scratched his head.

"Fuck you Clay but now isn't the time to fuck each other!" Marky stated. "Language please..." Winter stated as she sat down next to Marky. "Sorry Ma'am but listen I was checking on the team's roster and our previous position was just over 23000+ right?" Marky asked.

"Yeah... And your point is... we are already the laughing stalk of the entire Academy." Genji added.

"Look you ass... Our rank bumped up from 23976 to 9000!" Marky said as he showed the team's current kill roster.

"Holy fucking shit is this for real... You didn't hack the system right?"Clayton asked.

"Nope... I saw this the first thing when I logged in! I think Kent is doing some miracle work in Hell's gate!" Marky suggested.

"We don't exactly have any means to call him since Hell's gate is like a seperate dimension on its own... But this means only that Kent is still alive down there... i shall offer a prayer to the great Maker and Faith for his safe return... Thank you Marky for reporting this to us... If you shall excuse me I shall be at the prayer room." Winter said.

As Winter left the briefing room Rex and the others talked about their next big plan when Kent comes back from Hell's gate.

"Guys not to sound like a sore thumb but what should we do when Kent gets back?" Marky asked.

"Good question... Rex we need options?" Clayton asked. "Okay so you guys just deligated this to me again huh... Well we can always greet him and act like we don't know about miss Striker's betrayal..." Rex suggested.

"Speaking of where is Eunice anyway." Marky asked.

"Brother Markus for once... I don't know and I don't give a damn..." Genji replied. "So guys after we officially become marines where do you plan to go next?" Marky asked.

"I plan to stick with the boss... Genji also plans to do so... How about you Rex I know you wont stick around because of the money?" Clayton asked. "Kent is a good person... I think he will make it far... I am curious how he will fare out... So yeah I think I'll stick around for as long as it takes and see how it goes." Rex said.

"How about you Marky?" Rex asked as he handed a cup of coffee to him. "Yeah, Kent's family had dedicated themselves to helping others and saved my girlfriend and I from an entire planet's worth of angry mobs... I won't leave him hanging and besides... If I leave him with Clayton the entire fleet would be turned into a massive tissue paper for ass wiping!" Marky stated.

"Hey Fuck you Marky! I am not that bad of a leader? right Lily come on back me up here?" Clayton asked.

"I am going to say you are a pretty decent leader street wise but your sense of direction is worse than that of a 2 month old baby." Lily said as she took a sip of tea.

"Okay now that is harsh even for you Lil." Clayton added.

"By the way... I have been looking into a few things... And check this..." Marky said.

The Night Hawk's security feed caught this a couple of months ago... This proves Eunice has been consorting with Kayne as the audio logs were erased yes but the AI of the ship somehow keeps an additional copy in a seperate data pad... We can use this as evidence to push the council of the Academy to deny her from graduating... Take that you sorry bitch!

"I would like to know how did you get into the Night Hawk's data base without the right access codes... only, Kent, Lady Winter and I have a direct access to the Night Hawk's data core?" Lily asked.

"Oh... yeah... Did I forget ot mention that I... Borrowed your ID card and also took a sample of your finger print several months ago... While you were in the bath..." Marky said.

"Oh damn... Marky got some nible fingers here Woot woot!" Clayton shouted.

“Okay... Now where is my shock baton!” Lily said as she pulled out her shock baton.

“Wait I did it because I was curious why Eunice kept sneaking out at night and into the Night Hawk’s hyper radio.... I didn’t do anything else I swear!” Marky explained as the shock baton was nearly at his face. 

Lily hesitated for a moment and shocked Marky still though their regular antics is heart warming but without Kent it seemed a little different. 

She took a deep breath and told everyone that when Kent returned to them they will leave for the Frontier where the rest of the Dragon-wolf fleet waited for them. Though 7 months was long the team took their time to train working on their team work, tactics, strategy, communication, coordination, and trust between each other. 

They all promised that when Kent got back they will welcome him as a stronger team as he protected and cared for them. They will return the favor in kind and in ample amounts though they were suspended from partaking in any military exercise with the other teams and knight companies. 

Team Zeta made due with what they had in the Forest of misery as they fought ranked 42 to 51 creatures their and tested their new weaponry like the Plasma burst pistols that Rex is using. 

Marky rebuilt his m8282 Anti material rifle with a plasma conductor and a coil gun barrel allowing him to snipe from a much longer distance. On the other hand Clayton’s Chain gun was heavily modified through the Night Hawk’s Weapon Fabricator. It now has an extended barrel and a built in compensator units on each barrel with a 360 horse power belt feeder for faster deliver of bullets.

This chain gun as dubbed Trencher has the ability to fire over 9000 rounds per minute it is more than enough to make a trench since the heavy gunners use a 14mm high explosive armor piercing shells called Ripple rounds. 

Lily also made used the fabricator and modified her gauntlets to have a shock knuckle attachment along with a laser incision and health kit and her boots with a small boost kit for fast response on the battle field. 

As weeks passed the ranking of the team was already at 3,192 because of the young knight’s relentless training in Hell’s gate. 

Lily re-checked the Kill count as it already reached over 823,200 confirmed Kills in the span of 4 weeks alone. She could not help but worry about him for Hell’s gate not only challenges the physical limits of the Knight in question.

But it has a subliminal effect on the mind of the knight the longer he/she remains in Hell’s gate. The more terrible the living nightmare shall be shown into the knight which leads to mental degradation, insanity, multiple personality syndrome, unquenchable blood lust, and lack of general awareness of time around said person.

She sighed and saw the altar on the side of Kent’s private room where a small statue of Faith the goddess deity of the Dragon-wolf. She walked towards it and cleared the altar gently as it is an important memento for the young knight. 

After cleaning it she took two scented candles and lit it right beside the statue and offered a prayer to the Goddess herself. Lily prayed for the safety and protection of her brother’s very soul as hell’s gate burns the very soul of the knight to the point that they will be a shriveled shell of their former self.

Day after day Kent’s kill count rapidly increasing at an alarming rate the Judicators and Vindicators became alarmed as no knight except for the First Eternal Knight. 

Currently the record holder of the First Eternal Knight was at 8.92 million while Kent already reached the kill count for any ordinary knight of 0.921 million. 

The current Judicators are worried of the effects of the Hell’s gate on the young knight and wanted to pull him out early. As they tried to override the gate controls as it requires at least 10 of the 12 Judicators to over-ride the hell’s gate. 

Each Judicator presented their Blade Keystones as the over-ride initiated the gate won’t open. It was as if the Hell itself doesn’t want to release Kent from it’s grasp until the time is done. 

Judicator Voraiha believed in Kent’s strength not because of the Virulent plagues inside his blood but from his own skills and determination to be a hero. As he told the circle of who instigated it all according to his investigation Judicator Kaivon wanted Kent to die for his blood containing the Viruses that nearly destroyed all of creation. 

But the Virus inside him had only enhanced his body and had not gone on a rampage since his birth. Kaivon only shrugged his protest and stated that he used his family’s connections to enter the academy which was supposed to be stopped by the Vindicators before boarding. The Vindicators in charge proved and provided video evidence of his trials and none of them had provided any discrepancy or even bribery during his initiation.

“Kaivon you fool... If Kent dies... The Dragon-wolf has enough power to level the Entire academy into dust... not even the other legions can stop them... even if they tried.” Voraiha said.

“You mean... IF he...dies.... Besides the demonic blood inside his veins will keep him alive... So no need to worry Voraiha.” Kaivon said as he got off his seat.

“You are an arrogant fool Kaivon... you were never worthy of becoming a Judicator... Brothers and sisters... I wish to cast a vote... To denounce Judicator Voraiha from his seat with the circle... He has proven his worth and had tried to kill the candidates not just Kent but others as well... I have video evidence of his atrocious dealings with the other teams...” Voraiha said as the video started to play.

Undisclosed location in Ring 2:

Kaivon: Do you have everything you need? Team Beta: Yes lord Kaivon... But this Tuning fork... Was it not used to make the Viruses go on a rampage long ago. Kaivon: You are here to listen and not ask questions child... Use this fork against Kent... You need not know anything else but follow my orders... Team Beta: Yes Lord... Kavion:  This way I shall have a reason to send him to hell’s gate... This is what you get for defiling these sacred grounds...

End of Video

The Judicators were outraged knowing that the Judicators duty is to nurture the growth of each candidate and marine applicant to the best that they can be before they are endorsed to an individual legion. 

They casted down one of their own knowing they sent an innocent into the Jaw’s of death himself. All they could do now was wait and pray that he returns safely 2 months had already passed. 

The young knight’s kill count continued to sky rocket currently it was over 2.81 million and shows no signs of stopping. The Judicators then revealed team Zeta that the rank of the beasts he was facing was over 72 and they are already close enough to a lesser Demon Champion of the 7 herald gods to the 4 core gods of the void.

Judicator Voraiha asked them what ever it takes they must be prepared to face him should anything go wrong.

Though Rex and the others trust that Kent would return just fine Lily could not help but worry for her brother. 

As time went on the team made several modifications to the Night Hawk while Kent was gone though Lily emphasized that the ship belongs to Kent. Clayton took the liberty of modifying the pressure pistons of the Scorgon tank to increase their ability to effectively increase the weight distribution and its engines received a massive overhaul increasing Energy distribution, Energy usage and performance.

After 7 long months in the Hell’s gate the young knight’s total kill count reached over 7 million word spread across the academy of a demon born from the Hero of zeta team. 

The rumors tell of a knight candidate falsely accused of abusing his power and acting high and mighty was sent to Hell’s gate to die it was later found out that the accusations against him were false and a demon has been born from the Judicator’s mistake.

The count down began as the Hell’s gate will open as Knight Elites and Champions were requested across the 7 legions of the empire to come and help save the young knight or end him.

A total of 3 companies worth of Elites and a dozen champions from the 7 legions were sent as they fear the Judicators had made a demon from an innocent soul. 

Each Elite and Champion were equipped with level 5 anti-demon weapon such as the Ark-aegis light blade, Vanguard fire-frost hell claws, Shields of the ark-angel, and much more.

The judicators informed each knight to be prepared for they fear that the young knight they sent due to the mistakes of their own might turn against them. Each Knight knows that anyone who survives the Hell’s gate trial is no ordinary knight and to remain sane for as long as 2 days is already an impressive feat on it’s own. 

As the knights got into formation the Gate slowly opened as the locks clanked and its gears spun. Bloody mist began to spew out of the gate it as warm as if fresh blood was just spilt.

Judicator Voraiha lead the rescue inside the hell’s gate to find a blood bath as mountains upon mountains of bodies greeted them from the Fell beasts quilok, and the centurian like creatures called torsque, and the titan like creatures called Diometius. Millions upon millions of corpses as far as their eyes can see the Judicator ordered to spread out to find Kent from the sea of corpses.

After many hours of searching they found the young knight who sat upon a throne made of the dead with a feather like blade beside him. The knights slowly approached him as he suddenly opened his eyes and disappeared in a flash of smoke. 

The young knight engaged one of the Elites as he punched through his shields and threw him across the battlefield. One of the Champions grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to pin him. Kent countered by stabbing the Excaliburst blade into the knight’s foot as it unleashed a high frequency vibration that nearly caused the champion’s veins to explode.

The champion released his grip at the same time Kent delivered a three direct thrust towards the knight’s exo-skeletal frame which helps his movement.

Each Knight and Elite fought to their best as time went on they were slowly overpowered by the young knight as one of the Champions tried to contest him in a power struggle but had his hands crushed by the young knight.

Eventually he was subdued, restrained and brought back to Ring 2 for psychiatric evaluation. 

The Templars from the 3rd legion did their very best to restore his mind it was chaotic as if his temple were driven to ruins. The templars questioned how long was the time compression as Hell’s gate did more damage than they originally imagined.

According to the Xer-razh scientists found the time compression data was removed by Judicator Kaivon before he was dethroned as a Judicator. 

“How could 1 man turn such a boy with much potential into a monster...”Judicator Voraiha thought.

“Sir... We have a problem.” Marine 1 reported.

“Damn it all... it wont end... What is it trooper?” Voraiha asked.

“Sir... Master Anthony’s chains broke... He broke through the class 6 Gravity breaker rings...” The Marine reported.

“I am authorizing the use of rank 7 restraints... We have to fix him before we give him back to his family...” Voraiha ordered.

Rank 7 breaker rings are only used to restrain rank 89 demon god champions and only so few of these breaker rings were made that they were dubbed near extinct as their technology to make them had disappeared.

Though the casualties Kent caused were over 230 Elites severely injured and 51 Champions in near critical condition. The Knights understood clearly that a child left to die in one of the worse places on creation to be put into for no clear reason all they could do was pray for the safe return of his soul and his broken mind be returned to its former.

Days after the rescue mission roars could be heard from ring 2 the young knight tried to break out of his chains like a rabid animal.

Lily and Winter were allowed to see Kent but not talk to him for his mental condition was still unstable. After 3 more months of intensive psychiatric correction and repairs the Templars were able to at least restore his thoughts to some degree to communicate.

In an undisclosed room inside the Academy their Kent was placed in a debriefing room with Judicator Voraiha and 3 other champions poised to protect the judicator incase the young knight goes berserk.

Their Judicator Voraiha offered some refreshments to him but no responsed could be seen from him.

“Kent... Do you hear me... Respond with a nod if you do understand me.” Voraiha asked.

He nodded slowly as he slowly raised his head as his eyes and aura were surging with murderous intent. 

The knights were poised to defend the Judicator when he asked them to stand down.

“Kent we are not here to hurt you anymore... but do you remember who you are?” Voraiha asked.

“Name: Kent Redridge, Designation: Knight Candidate...” Kent reported like a machine.

“Do you know how long had you been inside the Hell’s gate.” Voraiha asked.

“TIme displacement: Unconfirmed, Time in Level 7: 17 ,885 days, 921 hours, 25 minutes, 30 seconds.” Kent reported.

“By the Maker’s will you were stuck inside Hell’s gate for 49 years... Kaivon... YOU bastard...?” Voraiha asked.

The room began to shake intensly as the young knight’s telekinetic ability was awakened by sheer rage and desire for vengeance. The young Knight’s restrains were slowly crushed until his arms and legs were freed from confinement. 

“You forgot... me... I... was told... 7 months... Inside that place... AND NONE OF YOU CAME TO GET ME... DAY AFTER DAY I WAITED... DAY AFTER DAY I FOUGHT... I ATE... I KILLED... I BATHED IN BLOOD... I HONORED MY FAMILY���S WISH OF BECOMING A HERO... I REALIZED ONE THING... A KNIGHT OF THE EMPIRE NEVER DESERVES TO BE CALLED AS ONE... YOU ARE ALL BETRAYERS... LIARS... THIEVES... I BELIEVED IN ALL OF YOU... MY TEACHERS... MY COMRADES... AND I EVEN CARED FOR ONE OF YOU... AND WHAT DID YOU DO... YOU BETRAY ME...” Kent said as his rage was slowly consuming him.

“Kent please calm yourself... We did come to save you... we tried to open the gate early but...” Voraiha said as the walls cracked from the telekinetic tremor. 

“TRIED... YOU TRIED... YOU ALL LEFT ME TO DIE... I BELIEVED THAT YOU ALL WOULD SAVE ME ON THE FIRST 11 MONTHS AFTER THE SUPPOSED AGREEMENT... I STILL BELIEVE THAT MY TEACHERS WOULD COME TO SAVE ME FROM HELL’S GATE... I HELD ON TO A SHRED OF HOPE IN THE NEXT 21 YEARS... YOU ALL DID TEACH ME ONE THING... HEROES ARE BUT A FOOLISH DREAM... AND THEY DON’T DESERVE TO BE VENERATED... BUT THEY DESERVE TO DIE... FOR THEIR FOOLISH BELIEF...” Kent said as he reached out his hand.

The Champions immediately tried to restrain Kent when something burst throug the reinforced Xher-romite steel wall. His blade the Excaliburst stood by his side and cleaved through the weapons and shields of the champions he nearly crossed the line when he tried to kill Voraiha.

Before his blade could pierce his three hearts Clayton tackled Kent as Genji and Marky injected him with a powerful sleeping serum developed only to counter the young knight should his blood go on a rampage.

“I am sorry Voraiha, but Lady Charlotte has ordered the arrest and head of Former Judicator Kaivon for what had transpired here...” Winter said as she deployed a stretcher.

“Very well, I shall send you his location... But my lady...” Voraiha said.

“Enough... you call this helping... after saving him you had him restrained and be subjected to many tortures... We are done here... If you want to help give him the title of Knight Archaena Champion... at least that way you shall be able to compensate for what had happened to him... This way he shall be able to have his freedom...” Winter said as they left the interrogation room.

Voraiha cursed Kaivon for what had happened to such a good candidate and now turned into the Demon King of Hell’s gate.

The Zerrohnian marines from the 15th Legion along with 2 Iron-wolve champions the Primera fangs guarded the exterior perimeter of the bunker to allow Kent some time to recover.

He slept for over 5 days straight and on the 6th day he woke up but his desire for vengeance was still strong but his desire for freedom was even stronger. he noticed that he was back at the medical facility in Zeta bunker with a dextrose attached to his arm. 

Kent tried to get up to see Lily was sleeping next to him as he gave her a gentle head pat he whispered.

“Thank you... Sister... ” Kent said.

Just a few minutes after he woke up Charlotte and Victor called Kent through the bunker’s intercom as communication rights were restored.

“My son... What happened to you... What is with all those scars?” Charlotte said.

“Mother... May I... Request...” Kent said as he tried to speak.

“Yes, you can ask anything my son...” Charlotte asked.

“May... I... go... home...” Kent asked.

“Yes of course you can... you will always have a home with us... My son... everyone had been worried for  you... Lily over their had not slept easily because you were missing for 7 months... and I was informed about a Judicator who absued his power against you... Do not worry I will take care of everything... I asked the Judicators as well to send everyone on your team to New Dawn... here you shall be safe... until you are ready to march again... As a Hero...” Charlotte said.

It seemed like the word Hero trigger Kent’s PTSD as he remembered the trauma, and torture he received from Kaivon and the betrayal from Eunice caused him to go berserk. Lily immediately tried to sedate Kent as his friends came in to restrain him. 

Kent was far from the person he once was no longer did he desire to protect but his desire to kill was stronger. Just before they left the Academy Eunice the girl who caused all his pain came to the bunker to see Kent but the Marines stopped her from getting near the Night Hawk. 

As the ship left the Academy with Kent’s promotion to Knight Archaena champion secured his hatred for the other legions grew. 

His team, cousin and family never abandoned him and aided in his recovery and vowed to never let a single knight candidate or marine to ever suffer as he did. 

Though his return from the academy was celebrated many hear of his accomplishments as he gained the infamous title of the Demon king of Hell’s gate was exaggerated. He terrified many marines and knights alike for his kill count was in total 7,391,512 and this is no small feat for an Knight lord to achieve yet the young knight achieved this in 7 months real time.

Upon his return to New Dawn his armada or the Knight faction New Hope was eagerly waiting for his return. On the Day of December 12, 4117 Kent’s Fleet named itself the Strike Fleet Zero Dawn in memory of their fallen brothers and sisters. 

On that day he vowed to never be a hero for others or for himself but he will be a shield that his people needs and a feathered blade that shall pave the way for the future of not just his people but for those who chose to ask for his help.

End of Flash back...

[shrubbyscribe]

When The Sun Chases The Moon From The Sky (ch3)

I started this chapter. And then it kept going… and going… and going.

Thank you all for the likes, reblogs, and follows! I appreciate all of your support! Please enjoy!

Day and Night AU is by @beanpots

AO3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2

“I want to know more about Selene and I want to learn everything about you.”

Those had been Viktor’s parting words to Yuuri less than twenty four hours ago.

Yuuri could feel his heart race each time he remembered them. Their time spent together the previous night had kept Yuuri awake through the day hours as he mentally went over everything that had happened. Viktor had confirmed the roses were sent by him, they had casually spent the night together enjoying the festival, and they had even exchanged charms as gifts.

Did that qualify as a date?

Phichit seemed to think so when Yuuri had been cornered by his best friend to spill every detail when he had returned to the palace at dawn.

Yuuri could feel the weight of the sun charm tucked safely in his sleeve pocket. He didn’t know why he was still carrying it around but every time he went to put  it down, he couldn’t. It was a reminder that his time with Viktor was real.

And maybe, it would happen again.

Viktor had said Yuuri would be hearing from him soon, though he never specified what that meant. Would it be a few days? A week? An entire lunar cycle? Maybe longer?

The idea that he could hear from Viktor at any moment was eating away at him…

“Yuuri,” Mari drawled, and the sound of his name to bring him back to the present.

He gave his older sister an apologetic smile before focusing on the task at hand. She liked to accompany Yuuri during some of his kingly duties, mostly the ones where he used the magical abilities she hadn’t inherited from their parents. And the task at hand was to do something of a maintenance check on the night sky.

They were in the Star Atrium, the most sacred area of Selene’s palace grounds, where every ruler of Selene was crowned and managed the sky above. Small sconces were scattered around the circular room and each held a small blue flame to provide a soft light to the area. The walls were decorated with the patterns of constellations, star clusters, and galaxies previous rulers had shaped into the sky, serving to remind the current king of their notable accomplishments.

Yuuri’s eyes drifted over the glowing pattern of Lyra on a nearby wall; five small points glowing bright white where each star made up the constellation and soft yellow lines were drawn around to make the shape of a lyre. Etched beside that, a glowing orange spot with blue tendrils swirled around it to represent a spiral galaxy a previous king had placed deep in the sky.

Even their father Toshiya had a few star clusters decorating the walls.

Yuuri would one day add something as well to the sky above and have it appear on the walls surrounding them. But on this night, he was only checking everything to be where they should.

With a deep breath, he turned his eyes upward to the glass ceiling. The beams were arranged in a grid-like pattern which allowed an easy assessment of where each star was located in the sky. Yuuri raised his arms, feeling the sensation of magic drifting to his fingertips and with a small flick of his wrist, he gently nudged Vega back into proper place for Lyra, seeing it had started to drift away. He gathered the star cluster Pleiades back together neatly next to Taurus and corrected the curve of Ursa Minor.

He could close his eyes and easily envision the night sky around him, his body easily gliding between the stars and moon with confidence at the familiarity. His feet moved him across the open floor gracefully, the weight of the star cloak swung out behind him and from it, the night sky from above spilled out of it to fill the entire room.

It was easy to clear his mind and only focus on the magic surrounding him. To lose himself among the familiar constellation patterns he had known and memorized since he was a child. To feel the warmth of the brighter stars in his palms and the silky tendrils of swirling galaxies slipping between his fingers.

Yuuri could almost hear a song in his head, guiding his movements in a natural sway around the room.

His worries about Viktor’s parting words melted away, dissolving into metaphorical stardust as Yuuri’s feet moved in time to the silent melody.

He could think about that later.

For now it was just him and dark universe he could immerse himself in…

A loud bang and a shout of his name startled Yuuri out of his trance. He barely managed to keep from tripping over himself as he came to a halt and looked to the entrance while the magic filling the room dissipated immediately.

Minako was standing in the doorway, slightly out of breath and clearly frazzled as she marched toward the royal siblings. The commandant of the Night Guard ignored any sort of proper greeting which already alerted Yuuri to something being out of place.

“You need to come to the front gates right away,” she stated while moving to grab Yuuri’s wrist. A quick swivel on her heel had the woman marching back out the door with her king in tow.

“W-what happened?” Yuuri questioned as he allowed himself to be lead at a quick pace. A glance back confirmed Mari was following after them, easily keeping pace with Minako’s long stride.

It didn’t seem there was much room for conversation when Minako responded with a quick “You’ll see when we get there.”

The trip across the grounds to the palace entryway was rushed with no interruptions from anyone they passed by; Yuuri partially chalked that up to the commandant looking ready for war as she blazed the way. The badges on her lightweight armor glinted in the different colorful lights lining the palace walls, serving a quiet reminder of her high rank of the Night Guard; which she had ascended to quickly after being relieved of her personal guard status of Yuuri when he had come of age.

Otabek was waiting for them at the entrance with his stern expression as he guarded the door with purpose. Seeing his superior officer and king, he raised his right fist to rest over the crescent moon emblem on his uniform in greeting when they approached. Minako returned the gesture while Yuuri stared down at the dog sitting at the man’s feet.

“Is that…” Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to finish the question.

The dog in question, however, immediately perked up upon noticing the king and bounded over to Yuuri without hesitation, knocking him over in one swift movement to lick at his face. The king made a startled sound but waved off Otabek with one hand as he attempted to push the creature away with the other; its fur was as soft as the cumulus clouds Viktor had supposedly crafted it from the day he had been crowned King of Theia.

Yuuri wiped a wet cheek with his sleeve when he finally managed to get the dog to sit back and properly look at him.

“It’s Makkachin,” Minako stated seriously as she gazed down at the pair on the ground.

Minako had been right to be concerned. Makkachin was well known between Theia and Selene not only for its origin but also for the common knowledge that the dog was rarely separated from Viktor. If it was here then that meant…

“Yuuri, why didn’t you tell us His Grace would be stopping by today?” Hiroko called to get her son’s attention.

Time seemed to slow down as Yuuri turned his head in the direction of her voice and his dark eyes met blue. His mother was escorting Theia’s king up the palace steps and Yuuri could feel the eyes of his subjects on him but Viktor’s presence drew his attention. He could only focus on Viktor.

Viktor, who was now standing in front of him.

Who was holding out a hand to him.

Who was pulling him up.

Who was smiling down at him with that brilliant radiance before turning it on their captivated audience.

Who was addressing Yuuri’s family and royal guard with an ease of a longtime friend rather than a foreign ruler.

“I’ve come to realize how little I know about Selene and have decided to learn everything to better understand the shared bond of our kingdoms.”

Oh.

Viktor really had arrived for a visit.

Yuuri could understand the intention as well. His own lessons prior to ascending the throne had enforced keeping good relations with Theia. It was important the kingdoms maintained proper balance in power given their shared space in the sky and the physical closeness of the kingdoms themselves.

But even so, it was uncommon for the rulers to arrive unannounced. And without any sort of company at all…

At the very least he should have brought Yurio along. “The dawn always ushers in the day” was the common phrase of Theia and Selene. For even the Prime Minister of Dawn to be missing, there must have been another reason for Viktor to have arrived without warning.

“And so, that is why I decided to stay here.”

A questioning sound escaped Yuuri’s throat as he finally focused on Viktor. He had been so lost in his thoughts he had really only been staring at the glow surrounding the other man rather than actually looking at him. Or behind him. Lower ranking officers of the Night Guard were carrying a large amount of luggage up the staircase leading to the castle.

Viktor was staying.

“So where is my room?” Viktor beamed.

In Selene.

Yuuri was at a loss for words as the other king’s gaze fell to him once again.

His family had moved to a private residence on the castle grounds once Yuuri had ascended the throne. Minako and Otabek stayed in the garrisons of the Night Guard and Phichit had been assigned the designed house of the Prime Minister of Dusk. None of those would be up to standard of housing a king.

“There’s still an unused room in the palace,” Hiroko offered, seeming to be the only one of the group who was pleased with the development. “We’ll bring Your Grace’s belongings there.”

Yuuri glanced over at his mother in gratitude, she was always able to handle surprising situations with elegance when she ruled as queen and she hadn’t lost her touch.

“Wonderful!” Viktor seemed to glow even brighter, squeezing the hand Yuuri realized he had never let go of while they were standing in front of his family and guard. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”

Yuuri had a feeling things were about to become a lot livelier in the kingdom of Selene…

*

Yuuri took the first opportunity to slip away from Viktor’s brilliant gaze.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Viktor being there, he was just needed to wrap his mind around the fact that he would be seeing the other king a lot more frequently now.

Not to mention Minako looked ready to sit Yuuri down for a very long interrogation session about why Theia’s king just showed up on their doorstep and what he knew about it.

So when Mari volunteered to clear out the vacant room in the palace, he had seen the lifeline she had thrown him and grasped it firmly by offering to help.

It wasn’t unusual for the royal family to do some manual labor around the palace, most of Yuuri’s duties maintaining Selene were physically demanding at times and part of the reason his father had stepped down from the throne.

Hiroko had stepped in to lead Viktor away to the kitchens, wanting to welcome him properly with a meal after his travels as she was prone to do for all guests to Selene.

As it was, the royal siblings were in Yuuri’s childhood room, down the hall from his current one. Mari fitted a fresh set of sheets on the bed while Yuuri tidied up the provided guest furniture. As the Night Guard filed in Viktor’s belongings. Yuuri started wonder if there would ever be an end to it.

Just how long was Viktor planning on staying?

Mari made a curious noise from across the room and fished a stack of papers out from under the bed.

“Do you know what these are, Yuuri?”

The king felt his face immediately flush a deep blue as he watched his sister flip through the stack. He rushed over, trying to take the papers from her but what Mari lacked in magical abilities, she made up for in being an experienced older sibling. Which meant that despite Yuuri’s few inches of height on her, the woman was still the best at playing keep-away.

“Hiding some declarations of love in here?” She teased, quickly sidestepping his grabbing attempts as she held out the stack as far as her arm would reach even though it kept her from being able to look through it.

“N-no!” Yuuri stammered out unconvincingly. “They’re nothing. Just… give them here.”

One of the papers came loose and fluttered down to the floor between them. The page was covered in designs for a sun constellation a younger Yuuri had drafted long ago.

The two siblings stared down at it, unmoving.

Yuuri was the first to break the silence as he buried his face in his hands and groaned. Waited for the laughter and teasing while Mari reached down to pick it up.

It wasn’t uncommon for the rulers of Selene to add to the night sky something they were passionate about. Or someone…

Yuuri’s interest in Viktor was no secret to any member of Selene’s royal court but never had it been so blatantly obvious it was more than admiration…

Mari’s hand ruffle his hair, easily passing through the crown of constellations without any magic of her own to interfere with its placement.

“Here.” Her voice was soft, her smile was understanding as she finally relinquished the papers to Yuuri. “Go hide those away before Phichit finds them and paints them into his next masterpiece.”

*

When the Prime Minister of Dusk arrived for the evening, he was in a tizzy and had instantly tracked Yuuri down to relay the latest gossip of the kingdoms in the sanctity of his study in the castle.

Apparently the royals of Theia were in a panic at the sudden disappearance of their king. Viktor had been missing since dusk and his room had been found cleared out. Yakov was trying to keep quiet about the situation but it could mean disaster for Theia to be without a king! Plus, with the sun crown being taken with him, the disappearance could be an act to seize control of Theia by kidnapping the king.

Yuuri groaned as he sunk his head down to the banister of Phichit’s balcony. He was tempted to not reveal the actual whereabouts of the missing king. While Theia and Selene were on good terms with one another, he’d rather not have the Sun Guard marching up his palace steps under the assumption Viktor had been kidnapped in an attempt to shift the balance of power.

But Phichit needed to know. Because soon everyone in Theia and Selene would know.

“He’s here?” the younger man exclaimed when Yuuri broke the news to him.

A charming laugh had carried up from the palace grounds as if in reply and Phichit moved to join Yuuri on the balcony to spy Viktor, ruler of the day, strolling through Selene’s palace grounds as though they were his own.

He was easy to spot with the golden glow about him and the pale yellow shade of his robes. Makkachin bounced alongside its owner, a faint but still present glow around its frame as well. Yuuri’s father, Toshiya, seemed to have decided give Viktor some company as he walked the grounds. Thankfully, with the newly waxing moon, the grounds were bathed in pale moonlight, allowing easy visibility for one not accustom to the full darkness of night.

“He really is here…” Phichit murmured beside him and Yuuri could only nod in response.

His eyes followed Viktor’s every move without meaning to; he seemed to draw in the gaze of all those around him much like the fireflies that would take up residence in Selene during the summer nights.

But unlike the summer visitors, Viktor seemed aware of his surroundings enough to notice he was being watched.

Yuuri considered ducking down behind the banister when Viktor looked around the area but he was spotted too soon.

“Yuuri!” Viktor called out cheerfully with a wave. They were only a story up from the ground, it was easy enough to hold a conversation.

“Yuuri, if you’re finished with the evening report, come down and show our guest the grounds,” Toshiya said with a smile.

Yuuri couldn’t outright refuse his father but to be alone with Viktor…

I want to learn everything about you…

Yuuri could feel his face flush as those words echoed in his head and he seriously considered curling up behind the banister to hide his embarrassment.

Phichit, noticing the hesitance, answered for Yuuri as he smiled down at Viktor and placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders. “He’ll be down in just a moment, Your Grace.”

Yuuri didn’t realize how tense he’d become until Phichit guided him back into his study.

Though “study” wasn’t quite the appropriate term. It was more or less a room full of painting supplies and canvases scattered everywhere.

As Prime Minister of Dusk, Phichit’s main job was to paint the sky at the end of every day to allow the transition to night and as such, the walls were lined with canvases of countless versions of the setting sun fading into the night sky. Not one to waste his creativity, Phichit liked to keep a stock pile of every sunset he could imagine, even asking Yuuri to add in some stars here and there to add dramatic flair.

Phichit gently squeezed Yuuri’s shoulders in a show of support, “Don’t worry, you already survived one night completely alone with His Grace at the New Moon Festival. You must have done something right the charm him into wanting a second date so soon.”

Yuuri blushed and hid his face in his hands but he couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto his face. Viktor had told his family he was staying to learn more about Selene but they didn’t know the other reason. Yuuri had asked Phichit to stay quiet about the lunar cycle of roses, the returned bouquet, and the evening spent with Theia’s king.

He still hadn’t told his best friend everything about that night. He wanted to keep the charm exchange and Viktor’s parting words to himself for just a while longer; things only meant to exist between the two of them.

Viktor’s words that caused his heart to skip and stomach to flutter were still there but Yuuri felt a bit calmer. He took a few deep breaths and forced his shoulders to relax under Phichit’s hold before smiling at his best friend in gratitude.

“Now,” Phichit started, giving Yuuri a gentle push towards the door with a teasing smile, “it seems I suddenly have a lot of work to do and little time to do it with my king here distracting me.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s theatrics. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

“You’re right, I hear there is an important guest in the courtyard and it would leave a bad impression to keep him waiting much longer.”

*

His father had taken his leave by the time Yuuri made his way into the courtyard, leaving Viktor to study one of the statues decorating the area as he waited and Makkachin explored the other half of the grounds.

“What is this piece?” Viktor asked as Yuuri came to stand beside him.

“This was a gift from Hypnos, the City of Dreams,” Yuuri answered, giving the artwork a look over.

The sculpture was taller than the two of them; a large jar carved from marble with intricate patterns etched into the rim was tipped on its side and stars made of every type of crystal spilled out of it into a marble pool with a pitch black basin.

Viktor hummed curiously as he tilted his head to the side. “I’ve never heard of Hypnos.”

“Most kingdoms haven’t. They only have an alliance with Selene.”

“What? Really? Why is that?” Viktor was looking at him with wonder and Yuuri recalled the history he was taught as a child.

“Hypnos is a dangerous kingdom but it also serves to revitalize every person and creature of our world when we sleep,” he began. “Their king is eternal and must not be disturbed from his deep slumber but the city is so dark, dreamers visiting Hypnos, and even the residents themselves, would become lost and never wake again.

“Selene, being the Kingdom of Night, was the only one capable of forging an alliance; we can pass through the darkness without trouble and we offered a way to guide the dreamers through the city without waking the king. ”

Yuuri waved a hand at the statue and Viktor gasped in excitement as the subtle magic inscribed in the stars activated, lighting them up and giving the illusion they were tumbling down into the awaiting pool.

“Starlight is gentle enough not to disrupt the darkness of the city so Selene made a bargain with Hypnos; while Selene couldn’t give them the stars from the sky, if they collected our fallen stars, Selene would recharge them to hold their brightness again.” Yuuri glanced up at the night sky twinkling above as he continued, “Since they can’t be placed back in the sky, Selene had no real purpose for them.

Viktor hummed in thought and Yuuri nervously glanced over at him, afraid he had rambled on too long but the other king was now looking upward at the sky with a new form of fascination. That was a good sign.

“Unknown kingdoms, a secret history, stars falling…” Viktor listed off, lifting a finger to tap at his lips before giving Yuuri a sideways glance and a knowing smile that made the younger king’s stomach do a flip. “It seems I have a lot to learn.”

Yuuri blushed under the gaze but he could feel a small wave of confidence growing.

“Then let me show you,” he said.

A quick glance at the sky was all Yuuri needed to locate the weak pulse of a star ready to fall any moment.

Back when he was younger, Yuuri would do this with Mari when a star shower wasn’t expected for a while. It had been one of the first things he had learned to control with his magic and they would spend hours knocking the weaker stars out of the sky much like how the Lunar Garden staff would prune the plants to allow healthy growth.

Yuuri reached out into the sky with his magic, prodding the chosen star. It held little resistance in its spot, wobbling like a precariously placed glass on the edge of a table.

It was easy enough to wedge it free with a quick twist of the wrist and the star came loose, descending from above.

He heard Viktor gasp and looked over to see his blue eyes widen in amazement, following the star as it fell towards the ground and landed with a small clink a few feet away.

Yuuri moved to collect the small item and brought it over to Viktor. The star was cold as ice; a sign it wasn’t meant to last much longer and the light flickered weakly inside its crystal shell.

He deposited the small object into Viktor’s gloved hands and watched him poke and prod at it. He turned the star this way and that, holding it up to the light of the moon to get a better look and watching the last bit of light finally snuff itself out.

“Amazing!” Viktor chimed in delight and Yuuri couldn’t help but smile. It was something so normal to him and the residents of Selene but seeing Viktor’s reaction was endearing.

“And now we can recharge it,” Yuuri instructed, moving closer to stand in front of the other king.

He almost lost his nerve when those azure eyes met his dark brown. But the intrigued smile encouraged Yuuri to continue as Viktor nodded and held up the crystal shell between them.

Before he could hesitate any further, Yuuri lifted his hands to cradle Viktor’s. The fabric was soft to the touch and Yuuri had to fight back the urge to run his fingers over it. Instead, he focused on the crystal, imagining energy flowing back into it.

Yuuri would do this with Mari back when they were children. Even though she did not possess the ability to use magic, it was still a part of her through lineage. All Yuuri had to do was manipulate it with his own to make it work.

It was one of the most basic forms of magic that anyone adept was taught but every ruler needed to know them before they could do anything more advanced such as altering the alignment of stars or learning to fix the swirl of a  galaxy.

As Yuuri focused his energy into his palms to reach through to Viktor’s own, he felt something of a shock go through his hands.

He really shouldn’t have been surprised given that the king of Theia should have a similar amount of magic. Everything about their two kingdoms was about balance. But it was the first time Yuuri had felt something equal to the magic coursing through him after being crowned.

It was dangerous and alluring.

Yuuri forced himself to remain in contact with Viktor as the crystal began to flicker again with new life. He heard Viktor make a soft sound of excitement but didn’t dare look up. His heart was already racing in his chest, he didn’t want to chance it getting worse seeing the expression the other man was making.

The star soon came to a steady light and in the quiet moments following, Yuuri felt like something else was stirring around them. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and he realized just how close he was to Viktor. The fringe of the other man’s hair was tickling his cheek and he felt a strange pull between them that Yuuri wasn’t sure he wanted to resist.

He wanted to be closer.

He needed to be closer.

Before he could act, the star between them rose up from their joined hands, pushing its way between them to force some distance, and some sanity, between them. It floated between their faces for a few moments before darting off across the palace grounds and over the walls as the two kings watched it go.

“Where is it going?” Viktor asked, though there was a distracted tone to his voice.

“Hypnos called to it, like all recharged stars,” Yuuri heard himself explain though his mind was elsewhere.

The warmth of the gloves were still under his hands and Yuuri was definitely moving his thumbs over the fabric now. When had he started that? Viktor didn’t seem to care either way. Or maybe he didn’t notice.

The entangling of their magic had stopped once the star had taken off but there was still a static sensation surrounding them.

Yuuri mentally steeled himself before he turned his head back to look directly at Viktor, jolting a bit when he was met with an intense azure stare.

It wasn’t anger but Viktor’s expression was that of a man trying to solve a complicated riddle with a simple answer. It soften quickly enough, though Yuuri wasn’t sure if that was a good thing because now it was something he couldn’t recognize. The gaze was still intense but there was a new meaning to it.

“Your Grace…?” Yuuri’s voice was barely above a whisper but it was heard clearly in the little space between them.

Viktor stopped any further words as he raised a finger to lightly rest against Yuuri’s lips. He moved impossibly closer and Yuuri was forced to tilt his head back partially to maintain eye contact, his newly freed hand hesitantly moving to rest against the other man’s chest while the other was held gently by Viktor’s.

“Yuuri,” Viktor’s tone was stern but something else lurked under it. Combined with the half-lidded gaze and the growing tension of something between them, it was enough to send a noticeable shiver down Yuuri’s spine. “We’re both rulers of our kingdoms, there’s no need for formalities or titles. Call me by my name.”

If Yuuri wasn’t blushing before, he certainly was now.

He could feel his breath caught in his throat and his head was swimming at the command.

Viktor was all he could see, all he could feel. As the sun overtook the sky and covered the light of the stars during the day, Viktor was overtaking all of Yuuri’s senses and drowning him.

I want to learn everything about you…

“Viktor…” Yuuri breathed out against the gloved finger and there was no mistaking the tremble he felt under his hands.

The vibrations of a hum traveled through Viktor’s chest and Yuuri was certain he was going to crumble under the intensity when those blue eyes came closer. The finger on Yuuri’s lips trailed down to his chin to rest under it.

Yuuri felt a warm breath ghost across his lips…

“Viktor! I knew you were hiding here!”

Startled by Yurio’s shout, Yuuri quickly pulled away from Viktor. The spell of whatever was going to happen had been broken.

Yuuri held one hand over his chest trying to get his heart rate back to a normal pace while the other rested against his blazing hot cheek in an attempt to will away the blush. He couldn’t even look at Viktor.

“Ah, Yurio!” Viktor was back to his easygoing tone. “What brings you here?”

“You know why. You disappeared without a word when the day ended, your room was cleared out, and you took your mutt with you,” Yurio spoke harshly to his king, stalking toward the pair. “Everyone at the castle is searching for you or convinced you were stolen away by some other kingdom.”

Yuuri stopped in front of them, giving the night king a full critical look up and down before crossing his arms, “Looks like Yakov wasn’t fully off the mark.”

Viktor, ignoring the last comment, wagged a finger at the Prime Minister of Dawn.” If I had said where I was going, you and Yakov would have definitely tried to stop me.”

“You’re damn right we would have! You can’t just leave on your own, you have a kingdom to rule. You’re lucky I was the one to figure out you were here before anyone else. Before I left, I heard Georgi talking about sending out the Sun Guard to bust down every kingdom’s door until you were found.”

So it was as bad as Phichit had relayed earlier and getting worse…

“You’ve had your fun, now let’s go,” Yurio stated, leaving no room for argument.

“I don’t want to,” Viktor stated in petulance and pouted as he moved to hide behind Yuuri’s smaller frame. Clearly there was room for argument. “Yuuri was teaching me about Selene so I can have a better understanding of our kingdoms’ shared bond.”

Yurio was unconvinced. “We have a library at the palace for that. If you actually went there to study instead of playing with clouds all the time, you would know all you need to about this dismal kingdom and we would have all been spared this whole ordeal.”

“Actually, Selene omitted a lot of crucial points of its history from textbooks that would be kept in libraries other than its own. It would do Viktor well to learn directly from the source.” Yuuri recognized the voice as his own but it was hard to imagine he was the one talking. He just couldn’t stop himself, hearing that Viktor was to leave after… whatever it was that transpired between them. He couldn’t let it happen.

“Sounds like a ploy to hold him hostage in your kingdom,” Yurio snapped. He was not backing down easily.

And neither was Yuuri.

If the young Prime Minister of Dawn had come to seriously take back Theia’s king, he would have brought the Day Guard. It was easy to assume Otabek had allowed him to enter Selene’s palace based on Yurio’s position but the captain wouldn’t have let him stray too far out of his sight.

Yuuri set his jaw and looked down at Yurio; severely lacking the discipline required for speaking to those in positions above him. Yuuri folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe, a technique he often used while holding court in response to unruly visitors as it held an unspoken message that he would not be intimidated.

Yuuri felt his fingertips brush over the sun charm still hidden away in his sleeve.

He couldn’t let Yurio take Viktor away…

No.

He wouldn’t let Yurio take Viktor away.

“Theia and Selene have held an equal share of power since the kingdoms were created,” Yuuri stated firmly. “To understand that balance, your king has chosen to stay here and learn what is required in order to maintain that balance. I have accepted him into my home, given him the proper accommodations, and have granted him access to all of my kingdom as a token of my trust. While you may have come here alone to avoid any attention from Theia’s council, I shouldn’t have to remind you that you’re still on foreign soil and what you have been alluding to is grounds enough for me to take you hostage in the event Theia does decide to use armed forces against Selene. You may be associates with Captain Altin and assume you are safe to make whatever claims you like but allow me to remind you, the captain’s loyalties are to my safety and Selene’s protection.

“Now, I will grant you safe passage back to Theia and you will tell His Former Grace Yakov that Viktor is free to come and go as he wishes but if the Sun Guard becomes involved, I will have no choice but to take that as a threat to Selene’s well being and I will respond in kind which, I’m not sure you’re aware, would be detrimental to the relations of our kingdoms. Even more so with your king behind my walls.”

The teenager was clearly flustered under the onslaught of words. Minako had taught Yuuri the tactic for situations that could turn hostile; put out all your argument points all at once without letting the other party respond, finish with a subtle threat, and watch as it buys you time while they struggle with what to answer first while under pressure of open hostilities arising.

Yuuri nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Viktor’s hand rest heavily on his shoulder, forcing him into a more relaxed posture while the taller man laughed in a lighthearted manner.

“You’ve been out-maneuvered, Yurio,” Theia’s king said with a smile. “There’s no need to call in the Day Guard. I left Theia of my own volition and I will return when my business is finished here.”

“Then who will hold court?” Yurio was quick to snap.

Viktor hummed before tilting his head and giving a brighter smile, “Why not you?”

Both younger men made a sound of surprise as they gawked at Viktor.

“Yurio, you need to learn better etiquette when speaking to other nobles and especially ones in a high position than you,” Theia’s king explained. “I’ll grant you the temporary allowance to hold court in my absence and address any problems as you see fit while I learn what I must over here in Selene. I’m sure Yakov and Lila will be more than happy to provide council.”

For a second time, Yurio was left speechless. He was looking at Viktor like he had grown a second head and was trying to figure out which one to look at.

Viktor, paying the baffled expression no mind, turned his attention Yuuri next. “I think that settles this dispute,” he said with his charming smile and a gentle squeeze of Yuuri’s shoulder.

Yuuri could only nod in agreement, clearing his throat before addressing the Prime Minister of Dawn.

“Your king has given his answer, please report it to Theia’s council immediately and know our kingdoms remain in good standing for the time being,” Yuuri stated. “Otabek will see you to the palace entrance.”

On cue, the captain of the Moon Guard moved to stand in the doorway, clearly having been present the entirety of the conversation. Yurio glanced back at the guard before throwing once last glare at the pair of kings.

“I’ll rule Theia in your absence, Viktor,” he spat out. “Hide away in this decrepit castle as long as you want. When you get back, Yakov will take that crown off your head and name me ruler of Theia.”

The teenager spun on his heel in defiance, storming out of the courtyard with Otabek following after him dutifully.

Viktor’s sigh was the first thing to break the silence once the tension had left the area with Yurio. “Spouting such ideas of grandeur, he’ll get himself in trouble like that,” Viktor said in exasperation.

Yuuri nodded silently, still trying to process all that had happened. He had been so caught up in the moment when Yurio threatened to take Viktor back, Yuuri hadn’t thought before he spoke. All he knew was that he wanted Viktor to stay with him.

Yuuri could feel heat rising to his face as the realization dawned on him and he quickly turned his head away to hide it. Viktor still hadn’t let go of his shoulder.

“I want to apologize for what I said earlier… about calling the Night Guard on Theia,” Yuuri stammered out. “I didn’t mean to use a threat like that. I would never actually…”

Yuuri’s words trailed off as he felt Viktor’s hand slide down the full length of his arm and loosely grasp his hand with those gloved fingers.

Yuuri bit his lower lip to keep a gasp from escaping when Viktor’s voice was in his ear, lower than he’d ever heard it before. “I’ve had plenty of suitors approach me with gifts and promises beyond your wildest imagination,” Viktor’s warm breath whispered against the shell of his ear, “but none have ever been so bold as to threaten my kingdom and risk losing everything themselves for my attention.”

Yuuri couldn’t stop the shiver than ran through him. He couldn’t look at Viktor like this.

“You really are full of surprises, Yuuri.”

The night king slowly turned his head to look directly at the day king, eyebrow arched in disbelief.

“I’m full of surprises?” Yuuri questioned, trying to ignore the lack of distance between them or the blush that was still very much present especially when he became aware of that fact. “You left Theia without a word to your council, stole away to a foreign kingdom in the middle of the night, and just appointed Yurio as the stand-in ruler during your absence. I believe you have bested me in surprises tonight.”

Azure blinked at dark brown.

A tension filled what little space was left between them as the two held each others own incredulous stare.

Yuuri hadn’t thought in all his life he would be in such a situation. He would have laughed at even the thought of maintaining composure in a one-on-one situation with Viktor. Now here he was; capable of forming proper sentences into playful banter with their noses almost touching from how much Viktor had invaded his personal space.

It was ridiculous.

And Yuuri couldn’t stop the laughter erupting from his chest.

He pulled away as he covered his mouth in an attempt to stifle the laugh but was surprised when he heard the other man laughing as well. The two chortled and giggled for a few minutes, Yuuri wasn’t quite sure at what exactly, but the mood between them lightened and left a calm familiarity.

Wiping a tear from his eye once his laughter had calmed, Yuuri glanced up at the sky, noticing the darkness starting to give way to a lighter shade of blue. It was nearing dawn.

“Let me show you to your room,” Yuuri said with a gentle smile a gesture towards the entryway to the palace.

Yuuri enjoyed their companionable walk as they ascended the staircase to the living quarters of the palace. Viktor was still in awe over the different paintings and portraits of past rulers adorning the walls and Makkachin bounced through the hallways in a similar excitement as its creator.

As they paused in front of Viktor’s door, Yuuri turned to face the other king as Makkachin trotted into the room.

“I would suggest trying to get some rest,” Yuuri said with a small smile. “Selene is a harsh environment and it’s especially most unkind to inhabitants of light.”

Yuuri knew neither of them truly required sleep in a normal way. Once they had been crowned, their energy had been linked to the sky itself. Yuuri had found himself capable of going upwards to a week without actually laying down in a bed and sleeping. It would have been similar for Viktor.

Viktor nodded in acknowledgment and for a fourth time that night, Yuuri felt those gloved hands taking his own. He even prided himself on not jumping at the contact.

“You are a caring person, Yuuri,” Viktor rolled his name off his tongue like it was meant to be there.

Yuuri curled his fingers around Viktor’s to return the hold on his hands and his thumbs slid over the soft fabric of the gloves without hesitation. He felt the warmth radiating off of Viktor’s body like the glow that surrounded him, both mimicking the sunlight that shown upon the world.

“My kingdom may seem unwelcoming to outsiders but you are an honored guest,” Yuuri spoke with sincerity. “And I hope you find the answers that you seek here.”

“I believe I will.”

A silence hung between them as they gazed at one another.

Yuuri could feel a slight chill run down his spine as he felt a sense of anticipation. A sense that something was going to happen.

And Yuuri wasn’t going to be caught off guard again.

Giving Viktor’s hands a slight squeeze, Yuuri used them as a balance between them as he lifted himself onto his toes and leaned forward.

His lips brushed against Viktor’s cheek as he spoke softly next to his ear.

“May the morningtide be kind to you, Viktor.”

A common phrase of Selene residents when the night ended and dawn began.

Yuuri lowered himself down and pulled away from Viktor. He noticed how the other king let Yuuri’s fingers slide out of his grip but only released him at the last moment as if he was debating if he should pull Yuuri back. Yuuri also made sure to take a look at Viktor’s face before he turned away. He enjoyed the surprise and what was definitely a blush on that face which was always calm and collected, so good at hiding what Viktor was really feeling.

Yuuri forced himself to walk down the hall at a steady, calm pace even though his heart racing and a blush was rising once again to his face.

He could feel eyes those azure eyes burrowing into his back until he retreated into his room and was able to finally let go of the breath he was holding.

Yuuri closed his eyes and sunk his weight back against his door. He took deep breathes to try to calm himself and could see his hands were shaking but his face was hurting from how much he was smiling. Tears were stinging at the corner of his eyes from the happiness welling up in his chest.

Viktor was staying.