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istumpysk · 2 years ago

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Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: The King's Prize (Asha II) [Chapter 42]

Asha Greyjoy rode in the baggage train, in a covered wayn with two huge iron-rimmed wheels, fettered at wrist and ankle and watched over day and night by a She-Bear who snored worse than any man. His Grace King Stannis was taking no chances on his prize escaping captivity. He meant to carry her to Winterfell, to display her there in chains for the lords of the north to see, the kraken's daughter bound and broken, proof of his power.

Almighty tree, show me Stannis Baratheon's power.

+.+.+

Between Deepwood Motte and Winterfell lay one hundred leagues of forest. Three hundred miles as the raven flies. "Fifteen days," the knights told each other.

"Robert would have done it in ten," Asha heard Lord Fell boasting. His grandsire had been slain by Robert at Summerhall; somehow this had elevated his slayer to godlike prowess in the grandson's eyes. "Robert would have been inside Winterfell a fortnight ago, thumbing his nose at Bolton from the battlements."

[...]

This king lives in his brother's shadow, Asha thought.

I'm guessing the brother inferiority complex will be present when Jon becomes king.

In truth, the young lord commander and her king had more in common than either one would ever be willing to admit. Stannis had been a younger son living in the shadow of his elder brother, just as Jon Snow, bastard-born, had always been eclipsed by his trueborn sibling, the fallen hero men had called the Young Wolf. Both men were unbelievers by nature, mistrustful, suspicious. The only gods they truly worshiped were honor and duty. - Melisandre I, ADWD

+.+.+

"No man has ever died from bending his knee," her father had once told her. "He who kneels may rise again, blade in hand. He who will not kneel stays dead, stiff legs and all."

Does that count as another Asha / Arya similarity?

+.+.+

Qarl and Tris and the rest who had survived the wolfswood were all she had to care about. Only nine remained. We ragged nine, Cromm named them. He was the worst wounded.

Nine? She had two hundred men and now she has nine.

Damn, I was wrong at the time, maybe she should have stayed in the castle.

+.+.+

Stannis had given her their lives. Yet she sensed no true mercy in the man. He was determined, beyond a doubt. Nor did he lack for courage. Men said he was just … and if his was a harsh, hard-handed sort of justice, well, life on the Iron Islands had accustomed Asha Greyjoy to that. All the same, she could not like this king. Those deep-set blue eyes of his seemed always slitted in suspicion, cold fury boiling just below their surface. Her life meant little and less to him. She was only his hostage, a prize to show the north that he could vanquish the ironborn.

Stating the obvious. The man does not pass the vibe check.

+.+.+

Her very womanhood seemed to offend him. Men from the green lands liked their women soft and sweet in silk, she knew, not clad in mail and leather with a throwing axe in each hand. But her short acquaintance with the king at Deepwood Motte convinced her that he would have been no more fond of her in a gown. Even with Galbart Glover's wife, the pious Lady Sybelle, he had been correct and courteous but plainly uncomfortable. This southron king seemed to be one of those men to whom women are another race, as strange and unfathomable as giants and grumkins and the children of the forest. The She-Bear made him grind his teeth as well.

+.+.+

Even prisoners have ears, and she had heard all the talk at Deepwood Motte, when King Stannis and his captains were debating this march. Ser Justin had opposed it from the start, along with many of the knights and lords who had come with Stannis from the south. But the wolves insisted; Roose Bolton could not be suffered to hold Winterfell, and the Ned's girl must be rescued from the clutches of his bastard.

The mountain clans have doomed Stannis and I'm loving it.

+.+.+

The king cut him off. "We all know what my brother would do. Robert would gallop up to the gates of Winterfell alone, break them with his warhammer, and ride through the rubble to slay Roose Bolton with his left hand and the Bastard with his right." Stannis rose to his feet. "I am not Robert. But we will march, and we will free Winterfell … or die in the attempt."

I believe you, ellipsis of truth.

+.+.+

Whatever doubts his lords might nurse, the common men seemed to have faith in their king. Stannis had smashed Mance Rayder's wildlings at the Wall and cleaned Asha and her ironborn out of Deepwood Motte; he was Robert's brother, victor in a famous sea battle off Fair Isle, the man who had held Storm's End all through Robert's Rebellion.

Mance Rayder and his ragtag army were PARLEYING.

You had two hundred men, and ABANDONED THE CASTLE. He didn't even smash you, the mountain clans did!

Zero credit. None.

+.+.+

Stannis need only bloody Bolton, and the northmen will abandon him."

So you hope, thought Asha, but first the king must bloody him. Only a fool deserts the winning side.

Trying to think of who this could be hinting at.

+.+.+

It made no matter. Her father's lands would never be hers, no matter whom she married. The ironborn were not a forgiving people, and Asha had been defeated twice. Once at the kingsmoot by her uncle Euron, and again at Deepwood Motte by Stannis. More than enough to stamp her as unfit to rule.

It's true, that will be a problem. Asha needs a big victory for the ironborn.

+.+.+

"Do you have brothers?" Asha asked her keeper.

"Sisters," Alysane Mormont replied, gruff as ever. "Five, we were. All girls. Lyanna is back on Bear Island. Lyra and Jory are with our mother. Dacey was murdered."

"The Red Wedding."

With their mother where?

The last time we saw Maege Mormont she was supposed to be sailing up the Neck to Greywater Watch. I would love to know how Lyra and Jory got to her.

+.+.+

"Aye." Alysane stared at Asha for a moment. "I have a son. He's only two. My daughter's nine."

"You started young."

"Too young. But better that than wait too late."

A stab at me, Asha thought, but let it be.

The probability that Asha's pregnant is increasing.

+.+.+

"No. My children were fathered by a bear." Alysane smiled. Her teeth were crooked, but there was something ingratiating about that smile. "Mormont women are skinchangers. We turn into bears and find mates in the woods. Everyone knows."

I'm surprised the Mormonts aren't ostracized from the rest of the north.

+.+.+

The king stood outside his tent, staring into the nightfire. What does he see there? Victory? Doom? The face of his red and hungry god? His eyes were sunk in deep pits, his close-cropped beard no more than a shadow across his hollow cheeks and bony jawbone. Yet there was power in his stare, an iron ferocity that told Asha this man would never, ever turn back from his course.

We love a stupid stubborn man.

+.+.+

"Torrhen's Square is not worth the mud beneath my heels. It is Winterfell that matters."

"Strike off these irons and let me help you take it, Sire. Your Grace's royal brother was renowned for turning fallen foes into friends. Make me your man."

"The gods did not make you a man. How can I?" Stannis turned back to the nightfire and whatever he saw dancing there amongst the orange flames.

Ser Justin Massey grasped Asha by the arm and pulled her inside the royal tent. "That was ill judged, my lady," he told her. "Never speak to him of Robert."

I should have known better. Asha knew how it went with little brothers. She remembered Theon as a boy, a shy child who lived in awe, and fear, of Rodrik and Maron. They never grow out of it, she decided. A little brother may live to be a hundred, but he will always be a little brother.

Bran is also a little brother, are we going to see that play out too?

+.+.+

"Would that we were ravens," Justin Massey said on the fourth day of the march, the day the snow began to fall. Only a few small flurries at first. Cold and wet, but nothing they could not push through easily.

But it snowed again the next day, and the day after, and the day after that.

+.+.+

On the third day of snow, the king's host began to come apart. Whilst the southron knights and lordlings struggled, the men of the northern hills fared better. Their garrons were sure-footed beasts that ate less than palfreys, and much less than the big destriers, and the men who rode them were at home in the snow. Many of the wolves donned curious footwear. Bear-paws, they called them, queer elongated things made with bent wood and leather strips. Lashed onto the bottoms of their boots, the things somehow allowed them to walk on top of the snow without breaking through the crust and sinking down to their thighs.

Bwahahahaha.

+.+.+

Some had bear-paws for their horses too, and the shaggy little garrons wore them as easily as other mounts wore iron horseshoes … but the palfreys and destriers wanted no part of them.

Guys I'm starting to lose hope for a Dothraki Christmas.

We could have had it all! :(

+.+.+

On the fifth day of the storm, the baggage train crossed a rippling expanse of waist-high snowdrifts that concealed a frozen pond. When the hidden ice cracked beneath the weight of the wagons, three teamsters and four horses were swallowed up by the freezing water, along with two of the men who tried to rescue them.

Foreshadowing for the The Night Lamp theory.

Long story short, Stannis will use a beacon of light to trick the Frey army into travelling over a frozen lake.

We'll cover it all in Theon I TWOW.

+.+.+

That was the night that Asha first heard the queen's men muttering about a sacrifice—an offering to their red god, so he might end the storm. "The gods of the north have unleashed this storm on us," Ser Corliss Penny said.

[...]

The king said nothing. But he heard. Asha was certain of that. He sat at the high table as a dish of onion soup cooled before him, hardly tasted, staring at the flame of the nearest candle with those hooded eyes, ignoring the talk around him.

Speaking of foreshadowing, I think we all know what this is pointing to.

+.+.+

Asha thought she had known cold on Pyke, when the wind came howling off the sea, but that was nothing compared to this. This is a cold that drives men mad.

What are you saying about Canadians and Russians, George?

+.+.+

Later, when Ser Corliss Penny wondered aloud whether an entire army had ever frozen to death in a winter storm, the wolves laughed. "This is no winter," declared Big Bucket Wull. "Up in the hills we say that autumn kisses you, but winter fucks you hard. This is only autumn's kiss."

Peak asshole behaviour. Big fan of Big Bucket Wull.

+.+.+

"A sacrifice will prove our faith still burns true, Sire," Clayton Suggs had told the king. And Godry the Giantslayer said, "The old gods of the north have sent this storm upon us. Only R'hllor can end it. We must give him an unbeliever."

"Half my army is made up of unbelievers," Stannis had replied. "I will have no burnings. Pray harder."

No burnings today, and none tomorrow … but if the snows continue, how long before the king's resolve begins to weaken? Asha had never shared her uncle Aeron's faith in the Drowned God, but that night she prayed as fervently to He Who Dwells Beneath the Waves as ever the Damphair had.

... good question ...

+.+.+

The cold count, Asha heard it named. The baggage train suffered the worst: dead horses, lost men, wayns overturned and broken. "The horses founder in the snow," Justin Massey told the king. "Men wander off or just sit down to die."

"Let them," King Stannis snapped. "We press on."

The northmen fared much better, with their garrons and their bear-paws. Black Donnel Flint and his half-brother Artos only lost one man between them. The Liddles, the Wulls, and the Norreys lost none at all. One of Morgan Liddle's mules had gone astray, but he seemed to think the Flints had stolen him.

+.+.+

On the twenty-sixth day of the fifteen-day march, the last of the vegetables was consumed. On the thirty-second day, the last of the grain and fodder. Asha wondered how long a man could live on raw, half-frozen horse meat.

Go home, Stannis.

+.+.+

Finally, after a nightmarish day when the column advanced a bare mile and lost a dozen horses and four men, Lord Peasebury turned against the northmen. "This march was madness. More dying every day, and for what? Some girl?"

"Ned's girl," said Morgan Liddle. He was the second of three sons, so the other wolves called him Middle Liddle, though not often in his hearing.

[...]

"Ned's girl," echoed Big Bucket Wull. "And we should have had her and the castle both if you prancing southron jackanapes didn't piss your satin breeches at a little snow."

I'm stupid, is this where Middle Brittle comes from? Bwah!

The armorer considered that a moment. "Robert was the true steel. Stannis is pure iron, black and hard and strong, yes, but brittle, the way iron gets. He'll break before he bends. And Renly, that one, he's copper, bright and shiny, pretty to look at but not worth all that much at the end of the day." - Jon I, ACOK

+.+.+

"Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned's little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue."

How can I not stan Big Bucket Wull?

+.+.+

Even in his bulky fur cloak and heavy armor, Stannis looked like a man with one foot in the grave.

Every once in a while George abandons the art of subtlety.

+.+.+

The next day the king's scouts chanced upon an abandoned crofters' village between two lakes—a mean and meagre place, no more than a few huts, a longhall, and a watchtower.

[...]

Asha crawled out from under her sleeping furs and pushed her way out of the tent, knocking aside the wall of snow that had sealed them in during the night. Her irons clanked as she climbed to her feet and took a breath of the icy morning air. The snow was still falling, even more heavily than when she'd crawled inside the tent. The lakes had vanished, and the woods as well. She could see the shapes of other tents and lean-tos and the fuzzy orange glow of the beacon fire burning atop the watchtower, but not the tower itself. The storm had swallowed the rest.

Night Lamp things.

+.+.+

Somewhere ahead Roose Bolton awaited them behind the walls of Winterfell, but Stannis Baratheon's host sat snowbound and unmoving, walled in by ice and snow, starving.

Sounds like he's a wildling.

Final thoughts:

The Kraken's Daughter

The Wayward Bride

The King's Prize

Someone on Reddit made the great observation that despite her self-assurance, Asha is always defined by (male) others.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #the king's prize #asha ii

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ikamigami · 2 years ago

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So about today's episode!

Oh Lord! Showrunners don't have any mercy for Sun... like no at all...

That was so unfair to rub reminder of Lunar's death and their argument before Lunar left the Daycare straight into Sun's face... Like holy moly! Sun truly deserves better...

Just like @basilbots said Sun wouldn't end the same way this Lunar ended being. But I'm 100% sure that showrunners tries to set up the bigger plot point in Sun's overall character arc. At first I thought that it's just only me stretching what was happening in the show and I was just stating wild theories about Sun and what could possibly happen to him. But things that are happening in the show prove me more and more that what awaits Sun is a tragedy...

Because it isn't only that Sun has low self-esteem and depression and that he blames himself for most of things that happened to his family. It's also that others more or less, alongside things that are happening, constantly remind Sun of his mistakes to the point that Sun might start to take them completely out of proportions, to treat his mistakes as something so horrendous and bad that they're just unforgivable. He may start to view his actions as some great decisive factor with bigger impact on what's happening than they actually have. I mean he already expressed to Earth that he thinks that he had much more control over things that was happening despite the obvious fact that Sun didn't have any control over what was going on with Moon. He didn't knew that Moon went to his own head and that he needs his magic to get out safely. Heck, he didn't even know that the bunker where Eclipse was had magic circle with Moon's mana pool. Moon had never talked with Sun about his own things. Moon didn't even talk with Sun about things regarding Sun. He was basically deciding about most of the things for Sun.

And to better get my point across let me explain you what impact the situation with Evil Lunar might leave on Sun. Because I saw that some of you realised the parallels between this conversation that Sun had with E Lunar and the conversation he had with our Lunar. And Sun also realised that this conversation is basically what happened between him and Lunar. But we know that isn't exactly the same situation just like @basilbots said. But it's pretty much obvious that Sun doesn't view this the same way we fans do. But there is also something else that Sun could take out from this encounter which is something more... dangerous to Sun's mental state and which I think fans didn't realise yet. What I'm trying to say is that I think that Sun might "realise" that what happened to the E Lunar might as well have happened to their Lunar. Sun might look at his actions towards Lunar disproportonally to what they truly caused. Because E Lunar said that "why do you think Lunar left? maybe he felt left out (pushed away), unwanted (unneeded)" or something along those lines. I think that Sun could easily read that as a "I'm not only responsible for Lunar's death but if Lunar was alive I could've easily pushed him over the edge" and I mean that Sun could easily "realise" that he could've been a reason for Lunar's mental breakdown which could end up with Lunar losing it. I hope that you understand what I'm trying to say here. Because I think that Sun might really see that he's actions have much more impact than they actually have.

I really doubt that Lunar would be completely safe from Eclipse's clutches if he didn't run away from the Daycare or I definitely don't think that how Sun acted towards Lunar in their fight would make Lunar so bitter to the point that Lunar would start lashing out on others or would try to get revenge on those who wronged him.

But I'm really afraid that Sun might start to view his actions as something that leave such a heavy impact on others or have such a big influence over what's happening that the guilt will completely crush him.

And it really seems that I am right with my analysis about Sun and that he feels or will start to feel like he's the one who is evil. Because if he's the one at fault or if his actions caused all those horrible things that happened to his family then what does it make him? What does it make Sun, other then the villain, the bad guy?

I hope that you don't mind that I tagged you @basilbots because I thought that your post about Sun and latest episode was really spot on!

And about computer... I'll make stand alone post about it and its relation to Sun i.e. how it treats Sun.

#sun and moon show #sun and moon show sun #fnaf sb #fnaf sun #sams sun #sun and moon show lunar #sams lunar #sams evil lunar #sun and moon show spoilers #sams spoilers

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kii-nami · 2 years ago

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WC: 12k | AFCAT SERIES MASTERLIST | ISF GENERAL MASTERLIST | DISCORD FOR DEATH THREATS

You are his destiny.

High above the realm of gods and men a moon casts its sorrowful glow over the lands without warmth. One could say that she is crying for the fate of her sisters and wishes one day to reunite with them in the afterlife, despite eons of lifetimes separating them from one another. Yet how can a corpse mourn over something that is long gone? At this very moment, he doesn’t understand. But when he will, there will be nothing but the memory of inteyvat and the only light he has ever known, yet the one which pales in comparison to the glow of your presence.

For even if chalk pursues gold, gold will always seek out the diamond.

Jöfurr Alberich is not a man one should be questioning, yet as he stands here listening to the words that leave the mouth of his direct superior, Dainsleif cannot help but question everything. Every single thing that transpired today feels like nothing but a fever dream, brought upon him by one of the abyss mages, in hopes that maybe someday he will return home to them. It will never happen, his hatred for the Jötnar outweighs the confusion he is feeling right now, yet for a brief moment he actually considers the possibility of going back to his father and apologizing for telling him to go fuck himself.

“With all due respect, Captain Alberich, but can you repeat that?” Jöfurr is as stoic as ever, the unshakeable mountain that he is, the Captain of the Royal Guard does not let his emotions slip. Beside him, however, stands a woman who has no trouble laughing at the confusion woven into Dainsleif’s voice. Her laughter scratches his brain in the worst way imaginable and he wishes she would just stop. Something tells him she won’t.

“From today onwards, you will be stationed over the Wall. To guard the second princess.” Jöfurr says. And out of context Dainsleif would not have found anything wrong with what his captain said to him; all of it sounds very much reasonable. Yet put together and into perspective, he cannot help but wonder what in the world this old man is talking about.

“The dead princess?” Maybe asking this was a mistake, because it just makes Rhinedottir laugh again. It’s like a chalk against the blackboard. For someone so immensely famous and favored by the Crown, she seems to be the one to whom the saying ‘never meet your idols’ was referring to.

Jöfurr sighs, rubbing his forehead with his glove-clad hand. “I know how it sounds, Dainsleif. Trust me when I say this is not some sort of a government conspiracy.” Dainsleif nods, yet somehow he has a hard time believing it. If there is one thing he knows in this world, it is that his grandfather taught him to doubt everything, especially when it comes to the Eclipse Dynasty. “She was in grave danger. It was a hard decision that we had to make to keep that child safe.” Jöfurr stops, Dainsleif doesn’t believe that this is the whole extent of the story. Beside the captain, Rhinedottir is twirling her pipe in-between her fingers while it still releases smoke in the office with no windows opened. Jöfurr continues, “However–”

Gold inhales the smoke, then blows it out in one thick grey cloud. “What Lord Alberich is trying to say is, the girl has been studying under me for some time now and to make it easier for the both of us, it was decided that she can leave her house arrest with a supervisor.” Logical, reasonable, very much sensible, all in Gold’s nature. Yet it does not explain the dead princess part at all. Dainsleif knows better than to argue with the people of a higher status than him, however, so he keeps his peace for now. Silence seems to be the right answer in Rhinedottir’s opinion, anyway, as she continues with a tiniest of smiles on her red lips, “For her own good, of course.”

“I see.” It’s an obligatory sign of understanding. Dainsleif has little to no respect for royalty, yet a dire need of money and something to drag his family out of the slums of the Capital and to somewhere with a functioning heating system, constant access to food and clean water, and as far from the field tiller junkyard as possible. If it means being a lapdog of Captain Jöfurr Alberich while capitalizing on the damned powers his father left him with, just like the rest of Black Serpents unfortunately do, then so be it. If it means being a babysitter to a dead princess who is not actually dead, then so be it. As long as the Crown pays him, he will be whatever they want him to be.

“Is everything cleared now, Dainsleif?” Jöfurr asks, closing some folder that was lying open on his desk all this time. Nothing is clear, and nothing makes sense. But Dainsleif has no right to complain in a situation like this, despite having a very long list of things he eagerly could complain about for days on end. Starting from taxes and ending with the silently brewing war. But, as the saying goes, one thing at a time.

Instead he says, “Very much so, Captain.”

“Then?” Jöfurr is acting like Dainsleif actually has a choice in this matter. It’s laughable at best and dehumanizing at worst. Somehow even this situation he ended up with still leads back to his father and his deceitful nature. Dainsleif blames it all on him, as there is no other way around it. Anger is a vice, his mother says, yet despite knowing and understanding it, somehow he is still furious.

“Orders are orders.” Dainsleif says. It is the only truth he knows, yet his grandfather’s words are always floating in the back of his mind like dust over the Stone Forest. Just three generations ago life wasn’t like this at all. Just three generations ago the people of Khaenri’ah looked at their beloved queen as the heart and soul of the nation. Just three generations ago, the gates of the Wall were opened to all. So what happened? He doesn’t know, but cannot muse over it for too long, nothing will come out of his brooding anyway. “As Her Majesty wishes.”

“Splendid.” Gold claps her hands. The pipe is no longer smoking, and instead is hidden in the pocket of her long coat. “We should be taking our leave then, Lord Alberich.” She says we as if she actually considers him her equal. The people who run this nation right now are a laughing stock to those who stand here before them. Dainsleif doesn’t care. Soon the Queen will be replaced and the new cycle will begin again with Skadi Einherjar, as she is the only daughter the Crown has. Or had, considering the second princess seems to be alive and well. Despite the newly-obtained knowledge, Dainsleif doesn’t have much hope in the queen to suddenly change her opinion and bring the allegedly-dead princess out from her exile. So at the end of it all, people of Khaenri’ah can only hope something will change this time around. Judging by how similar the queen and crown princess are, there should be no hope in the first place.

Rhinedottir starts gathering her belongings. All the scrolls and trinkets with scratch-like handwriting all over them that Dainsleif could only hope to understand. He bows to his captain, hoping to leave as soon as possible to have as much of today free for his mother. Jöfurr clearly has other plans, as he clears his throat, “I have one more thing I wish to discuss if you don’t mind, Lady Gold.”

Rhinedottir nods, the striking golden of her hair shines in the moonlight like a flame. “But of course. I am all ears.” They share a look. Whatever Jöfurr wants to ask, Rhinedottir already knows. It’s evident in their behavior throughout this whole meeting, yet Dainsleif cannot pinpoint what is so off about all of this. Even disregarding the fact that the princess whom the nation mourns to this day is actually alive, this whole thing simply does not sit right with Dainsleif, no matter how much he tries to rationalize the mysticism of it all.

“Just between the three of us,” Jöfurr begins; Dainsleif already knows whatever is coming next he won’t like even one bit. “I want to know everything. Where she goes. What she does. Who she meets. Whom she is talking to. Every single detail of everything that is going on in that house, I must know.” The captain stops for a split second. Despite the stoicism of his voice and the impassiveness of his face, there is some sort of emotion behind his eyes that Dainsleif cannot put a name to. And although it is the case, it also betrays Jöfurr tremendously, because for Dainsleif it is crystal clear now that whatever excuse Jöfurr Alberich is going to say next is a straight-faced lie. “I do not trust the Æsir woman they left my niece with, you see. Pains me to admit, yet it was very irresponsible of Her Majesty to do so.” Dainsleif wants to laugh. This is ridiculous. Everything about this is just one red flag, and the captain is waving it around before Dainsleif’s nose hoping the young man is color-blind. Sadly, it does not work this way. “Are we clear?”

No, not in the slightest. The words that follow are nothing like what Dainsleif thinks, “Crystal, Captain.”

Jöfurr nods, “Dismissed.”

The two leave the office on the opposite ends of the satisfaction spectrum. Gold seems elated, as much as that calculating gaze of hers can allow her, at least. Dainsleif wishes his father had burned in the deepest parts of Abyss for all of eternity, yet he is well aware that cannot ever happen. For whatever came from Abyss will never be harmed by Abyss. How vexing.

When they leave the castle grounds, Rhinedottir puts her hand on his shoulder. It stays there for a bit too long for him to be comfortable. “I will come here in the evening to pick you up.” It is not a wish of goodwill but a thinly-veiled threat. Whatever her, and by association your uncle’s deal with you is, he will find out and then he will act accordingly. “And good luck, Dainsleif. I would say you need it.”

To Abyss with all of this. He needs a drink.

Chalk pursues gold.

The places the light of the moon cannot reach are cloaked in constant darkness and sentenced for eternal damnation. With no way in and no way out, the lands without light stand barren of the true meaning of life. For if even the moonlight cannot touch them, nothing would lift the veil and save them from an eternity in the state between life and death. So it is only natural that those who learned to be comfortable in the darkness will never look for a way out, and those who strive for light will inevitably break the barrier with their own two hands. Yet despite all the warmth this eclipse gives, the memory of her is nothing but wasted time. For he got too comfortable with dusk, while the moon was just one step ahead.

“Over the Wall?” Duneyrr asks, sipping her tea. Over at the sink Vana is washing the dishes. The sound of running water is a rare occurrence, but it’s always a welcome one.

“Yes. I will be coming back on the weekends.” Dainsleif nods, hands monotonously polishing the blade of his sword. He doesn’t look up from his own reflection in the steel, he really doesn’t want to know what his mother’s face is like right now. For all the right reasons.

“Seems unreasonable.” Of course it is, but it’s not like he has much of a choice. The woman sighs. The water stops running. Dainsleif keeps polishing the blade. “What for?”

A good question. Also a question he cannot answer truthfully or his head will be hanging off the aforementioned wall the next morning. “The Queen had a bastard.” The sound of a cup falling on the floor is way too loud even in a place like this, where the field tiller junkyard is just outside the window.

“I’m really sorry, Lady Duneyrr.” Vana mumbles, picking up the pieces of the broken cup. Even not looking at her, Dainsleif knows his mother has the same displeased scowl on her face that she puts on every time Vana does something she finds annoying. It’s a discouraging thing, but there is nothing he can do about it. It’s not like his mother hates the woman he’s seeing, it’s just that Duneyrr was always this difficult. His mother is a woman made of fragile glass that is broken all over and if you touch it the wrong way, you will inevitably cut yourself. It comes from both a place of hurt and from the upbringing. Duneyrr simply doesn’t like people. She especially doesn’t like the Valkyries. Even more so, she despises the Eclipse Dynasty. Sometimes it seems like she doesn’t like her own family as well, but Dainsleif knows this to be a lie. She raised him well and loved him enough to last a lifetime or two. “And this is not a good joke, Dainsleif.”

“I wish I was joking.” He says, lifting his eyes from the blade to his mother for a split second, only to see her give Vana another scowl. Dainsleif also wishes he didn’t have to lie, but not everyone can live the comfortable life of a royal. “Apparently she had a daughter with someone from the Council around a decade ago, and now they want me to babysit her.”

“Of course she did, that wench.” Duneyrr scoffs. The cup that was in her hands not so long ago loudly meets the surface of the table. “Be careful. I don’t want you getting mixed up in royal affairs, Dain.” His mother is not as strong as she likes to pretend she is. As intelligent and wise as Duneyrr may be, she is just one woman trying to support a family that took too much and gave nothing back. It is only natural for Dainsleif to hold a grudge against his father and brother for using his mother like they did. He is the only thing she has left and this won’t be changing any time soon for as long as Dainsleif has a say in it.

“At least we will be seeing each other more, right?” Sometimes Vana doesn’t know how to read the room. It’s one of her not-so-good qualities that she is constantly working on, and so far she has been doing a good job. If only his mother saw it as well.

It’s evident that Vana right now is a far cry from the girl he met when he first joined the Black Serpents at barely sixteen. At the time the young Valkyrie had little to no self-awareness or tact, or even something basic as human decency. It was evident by the blind adoration Vana had for the queen that she was born in one of the families who were always close to the crown and lived a life a bit too comfortable for Dainsleif to find relatable. It was not that surprising that they hated each other at first. A woman who neither knew anything of the struggles of common people nor had any sympathy for those over the Wall, and a man with too much pent up anger for people just like her. They were bound to clash. But Dainsleif is truly glad that Vana lost that unconditional devotion to the queen. And although it came at a price that nobody should be paying, the disillusionment helped her regain her humanity and learn to sympathize with those she never thought she would. That’s why it is so upsetting now to see his own mother disregard those changes like they were nothing.

“How daft are you, girl? This isn’t about you.” Duneyrr never missed an opportunity to remind Vana of her standing. Dainsleif cannot wait for the moment that she will have her fill. He’s just afraid that with how things started, it won’t be coming any time soon.

“Lady–” Maybe he should stop trying to force them to get along. Maybe he should try harder. If he didn’t care for Vana as much as he does now, he would have not tried at all.

“Save it.” Duneyrr shakes her head, getting up from the table and walking out of the kitchen. “For once Högni was right, Dain.” She says, opening the door. Dainsleif hates the mention of his father and how she, of all people, is using it as an example of something good. His only hope is that she will get over it one day and see that not everything is so cut and dry. That sometimes people actually change and not just promise to and then go back on their word like nothing happened. Only, Dainsleif also knows that only fools have hope, because his mother is as stubborn and unshakable as the Wall. Because what she says next is a picture perfect description of her character in one single sentence, “Once a dog, always a dog.” And then she’s gone. It’s not the goodbye he wished for, but it is the only one he will ever get.

Dainsleif hears Vana sigh, as she sits down beside him. “Why does she hate me so much?” It must be hard for her, he knows it has to be. He should be more sympathetic towards her right now, but he sadly finds himself justifying his mother’s actions.

“It has nothing to do with you, Vana.” It truly doesn’t. Dainsleif knows his mother is projecting her own hurt in a way that is not acceptable. And despite him stating his standing on it time and time again, there will be no change in the way Duneyrr treats Vana. “She despises Valkyries, you know that.”

“Yes, Dainsleif, I know.” Vana sounds so tired and Dainsleif cannot blame her for it. “But why?” She is desperate to know the reason her lover’s mother hates her this much. This, however, is not the information he is willing to give her. His grandfather said true love is worth any sacrifice and in some way, Dainsleif believes him although he doesn’t really want to. Questioning his standing in the only stable thing in his life is never a good thing.

“You know I can’t tell you.” Vana looks dejected at yet another refusal to explain things. Dainsleif is probably just as tired of all of this as Vana is. Maybe none of this is worth it. Maybe this should have ended before it began. Maybe he simply isn’t trying hard enough. Whatever the case, he feels like he has to stay even if simply because he started it all. At the very least because he cares for her. And for now, it’s enough to push forward. “Come on, we should head out.”

Vana doesn’t argue. The moonlight entering through the window falls down on her face in a bluish glow that looks a bit too sorrowful. For some reason it feels like the stars are laughing at him.

Chalk pursues gold.

The moon does not move as it shines light on the lands of the fallen. It stays there, forever unchanging and still in her tragedy, as her pale rays cut through the darkness of the world far beyond gods’ reach. And it is still, for it is dead. And what once died should never come back from the other side. Yet if someone dared to ask, he would tentatively say the first memory of you felt like a resurrection of what he never was yet what he always needed to be. For you are the only one who could bring him to life.

The manor on the outskirts of the City of Shadows sends shivers down his spine. It’s not the mansion he thought it would be, but then again, the princess was supposed to be dead, so it’s not surprising they don’t treat her like royalty to not attract any unwanted attention. Rhinedottir doesn’t knock on the door, just turns the handle and enters the house, taking off her shoes and not even checking if Dainsleif is following her or not. He does because he doesn’t have to be told things. He closes the door behind him and then puts his boots neatly on the rack on the left side of the entrance. There are not nearly enough pairs of shoes on it, considering Jöfurr told him there are two people living there, one of them being a literal princess. He keeps the thought in his head and lets it be, following after Gold like a good soldier should.

“Rhinedottir, you’re late again.” The woman who greets Gold is not the Æsir woman who was tasked with raising the supposedly dead princess. She looks more like a resident of the Capital at the very least, dressed in the colors of the House Einherjar and carrying herself with a poise of a royal, although she clearly isn’t one. If the story he so foolishly made up was true, he would have said she just might be the bastard daughter of the queen. But Dainsleif knows the truth even if he would rather he didn’t. So whoever she is, not only she is not of Khaenri’ah but she comes from somewhere where the moon cannot reach. And although it is the case, she knows she belongs here in this house and is not afraid to show this even to someone like Gold. It makes Dainsleif wonder if he even knows better than that.

Rhinedottir ignores her. The fleeting look the alchemist gives the nameless woman is that of indifference, although Dainsleif cannot help but look more into that tilt of her head than necessary. “Go wait in the kitchen.” She says to Dainsleif instead. Gold repositions the parchments in her hold and turns to the left, where the living room opens in an archway that leads to a hallway. The nameless young woman follows Gold with visible distaste all over her face, embers in her eyes burning with the heat of a campfire until Rhinedottir is hidden behind the wall and the flames die down completely.

Then she scoffs, hands crossing over her chest with a shake of her head. She turns her attention to Dainsleif then, sparing him one single questioning look with a quirk of her light brow. “What are you waiting for?” What is he waiting for, really? Dainsleif doesn’t really have an answer to that question, but following instructions of a woman who does not belong to this household feels wrong. And he has to live here from now on and he would rather not be shunned for stepping out of line.

“May I?” He asks instead.

“Knock yourself out.” She doesn’t say anything else and just leaves the room, following the path Rhinedottir took not so long ago and leaving Dainsleif to do as he was told.

Maybe he already hates it here. Maybe he should stop judging everything just by the looks alone. He can’t really help it, however. First impressions always made the most impact on him and going by his experience alone, they were more often than not the most accurate judge of character. Although given Vana and their circumstances, he knows better now.

Whatever it may be, however, he lets it all go because at the very end it’s just a job and nothing more. They don’t have to like him– he doesn’t get paid for that– but for taking the second princess from point A to point B safely. There is nothing more to this than that. And yet something about this estate just feels off. Dainsleif can’t explain it or put a name on it, blaming this unease on the heightened senses he got from his good-for-nothing father.

It’s in the drumming of his heart and the sense of foreboding coating every single square meter of this house. It’s too quiet. The light is on in every single room although there is no need for it. The vases full of different flowers on every single window stay in the state between life and death. The air does not move like it is supposed to. The moon seems closer than it actually is and the stars are all silent. So silent it almost looks like they all died. And maybe they did. It’s like even the time itself is still here, lying asleep till someone dares to wake it up. Dainsleif taps his foot against the floorboards. His hand reaches to put out the candle on the table before it dies out just like the stars did.

“Try to make it less high-maintenance this time.” Gold’s voice does not belong here in this slumbering abode. “What are you going to call it?”

“I am working on it, master.” But this one does. Dainsleif knows it because the time awakens from its slumber and picks up from where it left off, rushing to catch up with all the lost moments. “And I don’t know yet.”

“Fair enough.” From the corner of his eye, Dainsleif can see Rhinedottir putting her shoes back on. All the parchments she was carrying with her are missing now, as she left them with her student who, despite standing beside her, is still out of his sight. “Next time we will see each other in two weeks. 3 o’clock.”

“I will be done by then.” You say. There is something exhausted in your voice, although it is very easy to miss if you don’t listen carefully enough.

“Failure is not an option.” Rhinedottir, for the lack of better words, is a cunt. It is not anything new to Dainsleif, but it sure surprises him in regards to her behavior towards you. You are the princess, are you not? Should there not be some level of respect coming with your title, no matter the circumstances? Dainsleif cannot tell for sure, because he is kept in the dark about almost everything and truth be told, he doesn’t really want to know. He also loves to sometimes lie to himself.

The door closes. Not with a bang but with the quiet sound of a lock turning. On the other side of the house, far away from the kitchen, something falls. The sigh that escapes your lips is audible even from where Dainsleif sits at the kitchen table. The nameless woman who does not belong to Khaenri’ah screams something about not putting any more flowerpots on the windowsills because she will inevitably break one or two when opening the window. You say nothing back, the only noise coming from where you are is the sound of footsteps. Feet against the floorboards. One, two. One, two. It is strangely in sync with Dainsleif’s heart.

The door to the kitchen opens further. Not all the way but just barely enough for a person to pass through. The skirts of your grey dress move with your every step. You stop when you notice him. You are an Einherjar, he can see it clearly, for you carry yourself like one. The diamond of your pupil is focused on his face, unmoving like a stone. For what it is worth, you look like a statue. In all of your royal glory, you are a princess. Just not the one Dainsleif expected. He thought he would see the second daughter of Rindr Einherjar, the shadow of Crown Princess Skadi, the dead hope of Khaenri’ah hidden away behind the wall of war. What he sees instead is a ghost of the crypt that is now roaming the lands she once ruled freely and with no protest from the people she called her own.

The moon and the stars follow your lead, the time stills without your presence and the flowers wilt without your touch, for you are the princess of Khaenri’ah. You are the stories grandmothers tell their grandchildren. The tales of the destined one. The child of prophecy that was promised to come and free them all. The one from eons ago standing before him here and now, watching with unblinking gaze of a fallen star. And Jöfurr Alberich is a liar, for what is this if not a government conspiracy. The hope of the people is here before him, alive and embracing the chill of the life behind the Wall. Sentenced to death for a reason unknown to neither Dainsleif nor the rest of the nation, you are imprisoned by your own people in the realm that is rightfully yours.

You stare and Dainsleif stares back. He doesn’t mean to, but it’s hard not to when you are a ghost from the bedtime stories his mother used to tell him. You look a bit awkward and Dainsleif understands where it is coming from, because he too feels so out of place at this very moment. You shift your weight from one leg to another, and the unmoving diamonds in your eyes seem to burn a hole in his Royal Guard uniform. It’s just a silly and nonsensical fear, but it feels like one single wrong move coming from his direction and you will not hesitate to strike him dead. Dainsleif doesn’t know how true to the real extent of your abilities this fear of his is, but he dares not to tempt fate.

You keep staring. Whatever you see is beyond his understanding, but for a split second your brows furrow in confusion and then it’s all gone as if it never existed. Behind you the door to the estate opens. Not even once you turn around to check who it is, just keep watch over him like the statue that you are. Footsteps grow closer. You blink. The moon dies and then gets resurrected when your eyes open again.

“What’s going on? Who is this?” Only when the new voice speaks, do you finally break eye contact. This time Dainsleif knows who the woman is just by her ears alone. The brief introduction to Hlin Trygg was given although never asked for, but now it feels like he should have appreciated it more to be informed on anything at all.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” You respond. Your voice is just as unreadable as that of a statue. For that is what you are.

Dainsleif takes it as his cue to finally stop pondering over what is dead and beyond his comprehension and finally shed some light on this predicament. When he came here he thought of this as just his job. The one that he won’t be asking any questions about, for the matters of royal affairs are nothing that can ever concern him directly. Now that he sees things a bit clear, given a second glance and not just a first impression, his previous plan of approaching things is wrong and must be revised. For if the hope is not dead, there is still a chance. His mother will understand.

And so he speaks, “Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner,” He says, truly hoping he doesn’t sound as nervous as he is feeling right now, “I’m Dainsleif, member of the Royal Guard, appointed to protect the princess.”

You blink. The stars burn out and ignite back even brighter with that one simple action. Then you leave with nothing more coming neither his nor the Æsir woman’s way. Hlin Trygg looks furious, “Jöfurr. That son of a cunt.”

The message is received clearly. The stars keep laughing at his misery.

Chalk pursues gold.

The moon is dead. But its corpse is shining with all the dying hope of the people abandoned by those who swore to protect them. They look up at it with a prayer on their lips, the last resort for salvation. Yet nothing ever comes out of it, for she is long gone. Just lonely bones glowing in the light of artificial stars, created by the hand of he, who is destined to return just to suffer the same fate over and over again. And this memory of your words is etched in his brain as if it had always been there and he simply is reliving it once more in a different time and a different place. For you might be dead, yet you are the only one worth praying to.

Life is a pain. It’s not an opinion but a fact that Dainsleif has had to learn the hard way. Whatever substance Jöfurr was on when he thought of appointing Dainsleif as your personal guard must have been good and messed up his brain a bit too much, because all the man gathered from a week of living here can be summarized in a one single sentence: he is not needed here. It’s all plain and simple, and Dainsleif can clearly see it in the way the household is being run.

Hlin takes care of everything. Whether it matters or not, she will be doing it anyway, for it is her job to look after the princess. She cooks, she cleans, she does the laundry and even waters the flowers you create while studying. This manor is just as much Hlin’s property as it is yours, and Dainsleif doesn’t know what to do with all the free time he now has on his hands because there is absolutely nothing for him to do. On top of it all, the Æsir woman hates him. It’s not even an exaggeration created by his anxious imagination. She does not miss a single opportunity to throw him a nasty look and truly, he probably should be more sympathetic towards Vana now that he finally realized what it is like to be on the receiving end of his mother’s scrutiny. If only it ended there.

The nameless outlander – not an outlander; Lumine, she introduced herself with a harsh voice and arms folded over her chest – is not much better. She rarely leaves your bedroom and when she does, she joins Hlin in an absolutely childish game of baselessly throwing metaphorical stones his way. When Dainsleif tried asking about Lumine’s origins, all he got was a cold answer that went along the lines of it being none of his business. Outsiders aren’t welcome here in this queendom of Khemia and flowers, she made sure he understood his position clearly. He stopped trying to make amends for making Lumine uncomfortable with his question and let it be. It was a mistake on his part that he realizes well yet can do nothing to fix, for the damage is done. The women of the house do not favor him one bit and it’s not in Dainsleif’s power to change this. Yet the one who is capable of such a thing does nothing about it.

Dainsleif rarely sees you. The door to your bedroom at the end of the hallway is always shut and you almost never come out of it, unless it’s to eat or to get a book from the terrifyingly large library. You are studying Khemia under Rhinedottir. It’s not a simple feat to pull, especially for someone so young. And by the looks of it, you are excelling in it, despite not having much to go by being locked inside the mansion for so long. And even now, with a permission and Dainsleif here to guard you on your ventures outside, you not even once asked him to go out. If anything, you ignore him. It’s as if he is not even there sitting at the same dining table as you. After that night Gold left him here, not even once had you looked his way.

And maybe that’s where the issue is. For if the ghostly princess has no need for the knight, what is the point of him being here? And the only answer to his woeful question comes in the form of his mother’s snickering.

“How are you this bad with women, Dain?” Duneyrr chuckles, the gold of her hair falling down her shoulders as it moves to the beat of her laughter.

“You are not helping me, mother.” Dainsleif is a far cry from an angsty teenager, yet sometimes old habits are hard to kill. His mother knows it well, for she raised him to be this way.

“I’m just saying it as it is.” The cup in front of her is new, a replacement for the one Vana broke not so long ago. “Don’t you know what teenage girls like?”

“How would I know?” Duneyrr must have mistaken her own son for what he is not, because Dainsleif and the things that young girls like should not be used in the same sentence. “Do I look like a man interested in teenage girls, mother?” He knows it’s nothing but a jab, but Dainsleif cannot help but feel slightly offended. He also doesn’t even think you would enjoy something like that, considering your only pastimes are a crafting bench and a pile of dusty parchment; although he cannot really judge your interests, as he’d never actually spoken to you.

His mother laughs again. When it comes to it, her happiness is the only thing that matters to Dainsleif. “What is the girl like?” Duneyrr asks then, and it is the question he was afraid he would hear. For it is the only thing he could never lie about. And maybe she sees it all on his face because then she asks, “What is it, Dain?”

“I’m afraid I bit off more than I can chew.” Dainsleif admits with a heavy heart. The image of a moonlit statue is floating before his eyes like a ghost. He wonders what you think about being buried alive like that, but he also wishes he would just stop doing so. Duneyrr doesn’t ask him to elaborate on his words any further, just picks up the cup full of hot and bitter tea and takes a sip. Dainsleif watches his mother and she does the same to him. Whatever she sees he will never be able to replicate, lacking both age and experience. Duneyrr puts the cup down, then she sighs.

“Our hope died with that daughter, Dain.” She says then. The faraway look in her eyes is very similar to the one you had the day you two met. Dainsleif cannot help but make an unpleasant connection. “Make sure not to stomp that future we can have to the ground. They can make a thousand backup plans, but they all will fail because fate is unavoidable.” Dainsleif doesn’t know how she knows. Maybe it’s all her mother’s intuition, maybe he is just that easy to read. All he can tell for sure is the fact that he is glad Vana isn’t here to hear this. “It’s also her birthday tomorrow. Do with that what you will.” With this she gets up from her chair and walks out of the kitchen. And just like that Dainsleif is left alone with his fears and a ghost of a princess from a millennium ago that looks hauntingly similar to the one he is tasked to protect.

He returns to the estate in the early hours of the morning with a heavy heart and a star in the pocket of his jacket he was forced to wear, because the women of the manor hate the royals more than the whole of Khaenri’ah combined. Everyone is still asleep when he enters the house and makes a beeline for his bedroom. His bed is still the mess he left it two days ago and Dainsleif makes no efforts to fix it, just drops the jacket over the back of his chair and sits down, having no idea what to do with himself.

It was all supposed to be easy. Just a job to give his mother a better life that she deserved yet didn’t have. But now it feels like so much more than that. Way more than he, or his mother, or Jöfurr, of even the queen herself. The one that was promised to them is an impostor, the woman simply pretending to be something she is not. For the sake of what or forced by whom matters not, neither for Dainsleif nor for the rest of Khaenri’ah if they knew what he knows. They long stopped believing the child of those prophecies was even real despite Skadi being there for everyone to watch her every step; but now that he sees you here, it seems like the nation cannot ever break the chains it was shackled with by the crown. For if the crown can bury their hope alive like that, what can’t they do? Dainsleif isn’t sure he can give himself that answer, but whatever Captain Alberich wants from you, he will not get it, that Dainsleif can promise for a fact. There will be not a single lifetime where Dainsleif would betray Khaenri’ah for a royal. And you, in everything and then some, are Khaenri’ah. So he will always choose you.

And maybe the moon is able to hear his thoughts and whisper them back to you, because with two light knocks and an even lesser warning, you walk in with no tact or shame. After all this time of disregarding his existence as if he was nothing more than a fly on the wall, you are sure bold enough to do something like this despite it being against the court etiquette. You look at him and Dainsleif looks back at you. Your face is unreadable, but the slight angle of your mouth tells him a lot about just how hard it is for you to do this. Which begs the question why? And although Dainsleif never asks it out loud, the moon keeps sharing all of his secrets with you anyway.

“Do they not teach you to keep things tidy in the military, Royal Guard Dainsleif?” Your hands are folded over your chest, you have the same scrutinizing gaze both Hlin and Lumine have and his lucky guess is you learned it from them. Dainsleif wants to bite back with a remark of his own but he also knows he can’t.

“Why are you here, princess? It is not appropriate for a lady to–” You blink, the confusion in you evaporates with a heavy sigh.

“I decide what’s appropriate.” A very juvenile all-or-nothing statement, but somehow he feels like it is very in character for you. Going by gut feeling is not enough, however, if he wants to get you out from your imprisonment and sitting on the throne that is rightfully yours. He needs to know you better, get your clear standing on Khaenri’ah and your mother, and even the future you envision for yourself. Dainsleif has no intentions of raising you – he is not the brother figure you might be hoping for, if you even are looking for one in the first place – but he can be an unbiased confidant you won’t be able to find in neither Hlin nor Lumine.

“Princess, that is a–” You continue looking at him like you know everything that is going on inside his head. You cannot, but if the moon is truly talking to you, then anything is possible. It’s unnerving, the ghostly apparition that you are, dissecting his every breath like you do. One second on the face, one at the pins on his shirt, five at his hands as your eyes linger on the tips of his fingers. The diamond of your pupil is made of liquid silver as it expands and then solidifies back into precious metal. Dainsleif would like to believe he is good at keeping his powers under control, but his anxieties betray him at the worst of times. And he only can hope that whatever you see is not enough to scare you away, as he forces the dark blue mist back to the Abyss it came from.

With that you turn away, not bringing up any of your concerns if you have them. “Tidy up, Royal Guard Dainsleif. We’re going out today after breakfast.” It’s an order. The thing that should not be coming from your mouth so effortlessly yet it does, and Dainsleif has a very clear understanding as to why. You were born to be this way and there is no changing fate. So he doesn’t argue, just gets up from his spot and does what he’s told and as fast as humanly possible while the statue of long gone watches over his every move.

“Just Dainsleif is fine, princess.” You scoff. It’s an exasperated sound at the very least, at the very best it’s the most emotion he has seen coming from you in all the time he has lived here.

“Stars above, don’t let Hlin ever see this crime.” You mumble, snatching the pillow from his hold and putting it aside to fix the blanket first. “I’ll do it myself, Royal Guard Dainsleif.” You ignore his offer. Later Dainsleif will realize it is nothing but payback for continuously calling you a princess when you clearly showed signs of disliking the title, for now he cannot help but find this whole situation funny. You are not the princess he expected, yet you are the one he knows they all need.

Dainsleif forces himself to choke the strained laugh somewhere down his throat, stars forbid you’d think he’s laughing at you and not at the absurdity of this predicament. The commotion, however, attracts a lot of unwanted attention, “What are you doing?”

Dainsleif feels himself borderline jump at Hlin’s voice coming from the doorway. Yet you do not pay her any mind, still haphazardly beating the poor pillow into submission because it just won’t sit how you want it to. All of this is very much amusing yet Dainsleif cannot even laugh, for the look the Æsir woman throws his way is a thinly veiled death threat.

“I’m making his bed so we can leave after breakfast.” You respond so matter-of-factly, as if it was supposed to be obvious from the get-go.

“He’s a grown man. I’m sure he can do that himself.” The blonde woman crosses her arms in a very familiar fashion. The pillow in your hands continues to receive a beating the likes of which it has never seen before from anyone. When you realize Hlin won’t leave you alone, you drop the pillow in some special position that only you seem to understand and leave it be, walking away with one single glance sent Dainsleif’s way. It’s way more than being ignored, so he will take what he is given. You stop beside Hlin for a second, it’s enough for the woman to reach for the stray strand of your hair and tuck it behind your ear. “Happy birthday.” For a split second there is silence, then you sigh a bit too heavily for someone so young. “Go get ready for breakfast.” And just like his mother not so long ago, you leave. Only this time it’s not a ghost Dainsleif has to worry about, but a woman who probably wants him dead.

“I’m not sure what you’ve been assigned here to do, but I think we already have everything covered in regards to the princess.” It’s the most honest Hlin has been with him since Dainsleif arrived at the estate. He can’t even argue with the statement, because it’s the truth that is pretty much a universal fact.

The problem is, Jöfurr doesn’t see it this way. And as far as Dainsleif is aware, your uncle wants to monopolize every aspect of your life even more than the crown has already done. The woman has all the rights in being suspicious of him, Dainsleif cannot argue with this. But he also cannot leave now, not only because he knows a bit too much and has responsibilities he cannot abandon, or because he does not want to. But because, no matter how you look at it, he has no way out of this alive. And he would rather stay and play the role assigned for him, just in a way that benefits Khaenri’ah and Khaenri’ah only.

“I don’t mean to step on any toes. I’m just trying to do what I was assigned.” He steps back when Hlin moves closer to the bed. She’s doing the same thing you did in the exact same fashion, and it just reinforces the fact that you do not need anyone looking after you in the way Jöfurr wants Dainsleif to. Good thing Dainsleif has no issues with lying if it’s necessary.

“You were assigned to a spot that’s already been filled,” Hlin says bitterly. There is nothing Dainsleif can respond with to that. “I’m only telling you this so you don’t do any more than you have to.”

As far as Dainsleif is aware, he has been doing absolutely nothing all this time. Maybe the Æsir woman is way more similar to his mother than he originally thought, because her hatred towards him cannot be anything other than her projecting her own issues with the crown onto the only thing closest to the queen. And if you are just as much of a victim in all of this as she is, Dainsleif is a perfect scapegoat for her animosity; dressed in the uniform of the Royal Guard and taking up a space he does not belong in.

“I thought the only condition for the princess’s freedom is for it to be supervised.” Dainsleif has to play his part, however. Whether Hlin wants it or not, she needs to understand that you should have all the freedom you possibly can. And if she cannot give it to you, then he is a viable option. Dainsleif will deal with Jöfurr on his own without anyone knowing.

Hlin snorts. The pillow she was holding goes back on the bed in the exact same angle you put it there before. “Don’t let her hear you call her that.” Dainsleif thinks back on the interaction the two of you shared and all the scoffing along with the side glances thrown his way, that back then seemed like a part of your process of dealing with annoyance. Now he knows better, making a mental note to never call you a princess ever again. If you don’t wish to be one, you don’t have to. As long as one day in that very same possible future Khaenri’ah still dreams of and the one that Dainsleif will try his hardest to make a reality, you will take your rightful place as the queen, your origins or status will hold no importance. He is sure of that, and so is the moon as once again she snitches on him, because you call Hlin’s name from somewhere downstairs and the woman drops the subject altogether, “We’ll continue this discussion later. Breakfast is already done, so you can worry about that later.”

Even after following Hlin downstairs to the kitchen and having another awkward, albeit rushed encounter with Lumine at the dining table, Dainsleif is still preoccupied with the thought of a ghostly princess. You are not the person people described you to be before they collectively mourned your passing one starless afternoon. There is nothing that resembles a restless child with too much energy or love for life, if anything you are still a statue even now. Dainsleif knows that such a change of character is simply a part of growing up – it happened to him and he is sure it happened to a lot of other people just like the two of you – and yet there is still something off about it. Or maybe he simply is looking for something that was never there in the first place, filling the blanks of your unfamiliar presence with the you whom his imagination paints you to be yet what you are not.

Whatever the case, one of your hands is preoccupied with a fork while the other is turning page after page of a book that reeks of ancient dust and makes little to no sense to anyone other than you. Those are some awful table manners unbecoming of a princess, but Dainsleif has to remind himself that you don’t see yourself as one. And whatever you think yourself to be must be important enough to prioritize your studies of Khemia over something trivial as common courtesy. Hlin reminds you to eat. Instead you put your fork down on the plate that is almost completely untouched.

“I’m done.” You are not, but the book is closed and so is the discussion that Hlin clearly wants to have but cannot, for you are the person who dictates the rules. Dainsleif watches Lumine smile. It’s a rare thing to witness, but he guesses even someone born of darkness can experience moments of true happiness. “Are you sure you can’t come with us, Lumine?”

Lumine shakes her head, “Visitation day.” These two words make no sense to Dainsleif but they all you need to let go of the subject and don’t argue your case any further. “Enjoy yourself, okay?”

“I will bring it to you instead, then.” Whatever you two are talking about is not for Dainsleif to understand. He guesses it’s all fair, if even Hlin doesn’t seem bothered by the cryptic and nonsensical conversations you and Lumine seem to be having all the time. The blonde woman nods in approval. You get up from your chair in a hurry that is probably the only thing that betrays your stone-carved expression. Both Dainsleif and Hlin have no choice but to follow. It will become a reoccurring thing he will have to get used to.

And for what it’s worth, even for someone so caged like you are, you don’t ask for much. The tour through the town square is short and uneventful. Life behind the Wall became a lot better after Lady Syn took over the Resistance; and although the resources are not as scarce and thoroughly guarded by the Crown in fear of her taking that first and final step towards civil war, it is still not enough to give all the common folk a decent life. But looking at you now, it’s clear to Dainsleif that both you and Hlin have been deprived of things that even the people of the poverty stricken districts view as a commodity. It just shows the true extent of the misery Khaenri’ah is forced to endure. If the queen has no remorse for her own child, what sympathy can she hold for people of no relation to her?

You don’t ever complain about it, however. If anything, you are not that expressive in your likes and dislikes as Dainsleif is used for people to be. His mother wears her emotions on her sleeve, Vana is never afraid to state her opinions on things, both Hlin and Lumine are very transparent with their feelings. Even his father was easy to read, all those issues they have put aside. But Dainsleif really has to look for the most miniscule things when it comes to you to even notice a slight change of your expressions. So look he does.

The Valkyries seem to make you uneasy for some reason unknown to him; every time some random passerby catches your attention, there is something behind your eyes that Dainsleif cannot name just yet but if he had to, it would be grief. It looks like you don’t like the product of alchemic origins, despite yourself devoting your whole life to Khemia. And the only things you do enjoy seem to be coated in a layer of sugar so thick, it would rot his teeth to the core. Hlin still lets you eat the pastry, however, despite the unhealthy amount of honey you asked for. And because day cycles are short and nights are getting longer, she asks where you want to go next before you inevitably have to head back to your gilded cage and lock it behind you willingly.

You don’t explain where you want to go, just give a vague description in a tone that is strangely embarrassed and lead the way as if you actually know where you are going. It worries Hlin although she tries her best to seem unbothered, but even she disregards her distaste for Dainsleif just to ask if he knows the place you seem so eager to visit. Dainsleif gives the honest answer of having not a single clue, but believing they should just let it be and trust you. Because so far the moon gave him all the signs that she is talking to you, so maybe she told you this as well. And maybe you do know the way, because the inteyvat will always call for the one it blooms for. And when Dainsleif realized that fact, he lets his guard down and as if sensing his gradually lessening unease, so does Hlin.

The field of inteyvat is just one of many scattered all around Khaenri’ah, yet this one seems more lonesome than the rest. His mother used to tell him the legends of its creation as one of the bedtime stories. It went something along the lines of Lady [Name] planting each and every seed with her own two hands all over Khaenri’ah to unite the three main tribes of people under one single moon. The flowers bloomed in her presence and when she was away, they remembered the day of her birth and came to life for two weeks only to celebrate the memory of their mother. As a child Dainsleif thought it was nothing but a silly old wives' tale, now he has a suspicion there might actually be a lot more basis to it than just some children’s story.

You take a step into the field and the breeze moves the blossoms out of your way, as if making a path for you to walk on. It’s nothing but a figment of his imagination, but Dainsleif cannot be sure of anything now that he is aware of your existence. You and Hlin sit down on the rare grass amongst the flowers and Dainsleif has no choice but to follow. Not even a minute passes as you lie down next to Hlin. Buried in a meadow of flowers you once planted yourself, you are both dead and alive just like the queen wants you to be, but not as destiny intended it to be. No longer able to watch the corpse of a fleeting hope, Dainsleif follows suit and leans down on the cold ground until nothing but stars are flickering before his eyes.

“Beautiful…” You murmur under your breath, “If only they were real.” Dainsleif doesn’t know what you mean by that, but the torment in your tone is slipping through your words and poisoning everything it touches.

“Just enjoy it.” He mumbles back, but he also doesn’t think you even heard him in the first place.

It’s quiet after that. To your left Hlin seems to be dozing off, lulled by the whispers of the wind and the potent fragrance of the flowers. You tentatively get up from your spot in the blossoms, reaching to the woman to gingerly remove the stray petal clinging to her cheek. Then you turn away, hugging your knees close to your chest. From this short while of knowing you, the only thing Dainsleif can say for sure is that you are extremely prone to staring at things. People, inanimate objects, the void; nothing is safe from your gaze. Even now he can feel your eyes burning a hole in his hands. Maybe your nonexistent trust in him wavered even more after this morning. Maybe you pity him in some convoluted way only a princess of light is capable of. The stars bend to your will, after all, what is there for you to find in the darkness of Abyss if not a natural enemy.

Dainsleif sits up, resting his palms on his thighs. The shimmering blue smoke on his fingertips moves like the mist on the horizon. “Can I ask you a question, Your Highness?” You look up from the smoke and fixate on his face instead. Your pale eyebrow is arched in a mockery of an amused surprise. Dainsleif cannot help but give himself a metaphorical pet on the back for his choice of addressing you this time around.

“You can.” You say with your lips forming a caricature of a smile. “But should you, Royal Guard Dainsleif?” It cannot be anything but you making fun of him. It’s a payback for something Dainsleif has no idea he did, and thus has no way of apologizing for. Even if that is the case, he will be doing nothing about it.

“You keep staring.” It’s a bit too blunt of a thing to say even for someone like Dainsleif. Especially with no proper way of addressing your royal status. But you don’t mind his insubordination at all by the looks of it, if anything right now you seem to look the most entertained you have been throughout this whole outing.

“I’m jealous of you, Royal Guard Dainsleif.” You say this so honestly and suddenly, it almost takes his breath away. What is there to be jealous of? The fact that his whole existence was tainted by Abyss purely because of his ancestry is not something to be envious about, yet you seem to genuinely feel this way. “You are favored by the stars and the Seidhr is strong in you. Be proud of it.”

“It’s not Seidhr.” Dainsleif doesn’t owe you an explanation, but it still feels like some sort of clarification is needed anyway. Being in the Royal Guard is one thing, being under Black Serpents is another. “My father was one of the Abyss Lectors.” This trivia is not something Dainsleif gives out easily on such a short notice. If anything it is a shame he has to carry on his shoulders wherever he goes, just like the rest of Black Serpents do on a daily basis. A constant struggle just to find a place to belong in the lands that are theirs by right, yet those that are not made for them anymore.

At first you say nothing at the revelation, just search for something on his face that Dainsleif is not sure you can find. But when you do speak, your words prove him wrong, “The Light, the Void, the Penumbra. They all are just three different forms of Seidhr. The segregation Khaenri’ah has suffered divided a concept that should not be touched by those who do not understand it. By separating yourself from Seidhr, you are playing into their ploy, Black Serpent Dainsleif.” Then you look away, eyes following the misty wisps of murky starlight coating his hands.

Dainsleif knows he should be offended. You are talking about something you would never understand, for you are Khaenri’ah in its purest form and there is not a single place in your homeland that is not made for you. You have been chosen by the stars, granted something only the blessed ones can obtain. Touched by light, you are unreachable to someone like him. Dainsleif knows he should be angry, yet instead he finds himself strangely comforted by your words.

“Why are you here?” He asks instead. Dainsleif needs to know what Jöfurr wants from you, trapping you here and burying you alive amongst the flowers that can bloom only once a year as the nation celebrates both your birth and your death.

You don’t answer. Just pluck one of the inteyvat flowers blooming all over you and busy yourself with ripping out petal after petal and dusting them all over the skirts of your dress like falling stars. “Where did they bury me?” You wonder offhandedly, focused on the silky petal in-between your fingers.

“We don’t know.” Dainsleif admits, not sugarcoating anything behind the lies you most likely won’t appreciate. “Her Majesty–” Dainsleif stops himself before he can say something he will inevitably regret but the damage is already done. Mentioning the queen is a mistake on his part. It’s a hole that he digs for himself and then willingly takes a step right off the edge, falling into the endless abyss with no way out of it.

You blink. The stars flicker as you do so. “What do you think of my mother, Black Serpent Dainsleif?” your voice is strained with something Dainsleif can only describe as anguish. And although it is well-masked behind masterfully crafted indifference, Dainsleif is paying you every single bit of his attention. So he notices.

He cannot admit his distaste for the monarch, however. Even if he wants to. Buried or not, you are her daughter and the automatic, polished to perfection response is falling from his lips before Dainsleif can properly think about it. “The queen is a woman of her people and we cherish her just like–”

You laugh then, bitterly and way too cynical for someone your age. Then you stop abruptly, your eyes meeting his and locking him in place. Dainsleif too, is a statue, but only under your watchful eye does he become one. “If you love her so much, then why are you lying?” Dainsleif has no faintest clue how you are able to see right through him. Maybe he truly is as transparent as they go, or maybe the well-trained mantra they all learn in Black Serpents is actually a common public knowledge that can reach even inside someone’s grave. Whatever the case, the warmth of hope your question gives him tastes absolutely vile on his tongue.

Just like you not so long ago, Dainsleif ignores the question he was asked. Instead, he repeats himself, “Why did they send you away?”

You shrug then, “I died.” That is not the explanation Dainsleif thought he would get but it looks like it is the only one he will ever be able to coax out of you if he drops the subject right now. So he doesn’t.

“They buried you, but–” You are covered in petals like the sea of fallen stars. They will never wilt for as long as they remember your touch, or so Dainsleif thinks. In just a single moment he will be proven wrong in every single thing that he ever thought he knew.

“The stars have abandoned me, so I was discarded.” The inteyvat in your hands is alive even after death. You hold it so carefully despite ripping its sisters to shreds not so long ago, and the diamonds in your eyes is once more a liquid silver staying afloat of the murky waters. When Dainsleif realizes it’s not the inteyvat you are so focused on but your own hands, his heart breaks. “That is why I am jealous of you, Dainsleif.” You truly did die that day, didn’t you?

“Khaenri’ah despises your mother and everything she represents.” He says truthfully and you nod, swatting the petals away from the fabric of your dress.

“No night is eternal. And when it ends, the new dawn brings the light the likes of which nobody has seen before. I can promise you this much.” You reach for another flower. Then another. And then the third. You put them together and tie them up with a ribbon you had in your hair in a makeshift bouquet. “For as long as I breathe, there is no place she can hide from retribution.” Not even once do you mention yourself and the throne yet the message is clear. At least for Dainsleif it is. It’s a foolish promise to make, yet somehow he believes your every word. For how can he not, when you are Khaenri’ah’s will embodied.

His oath is just as unwise as it is naïve, but Dainsleif follows his mother’s advice in nourishing the hope for the nation that has long forgotten what it is like to dream of a bright future, “Then I shall be your sword, Your Highness.”

“If you wish so.” You chuckle.

“I do.” Whatever Dainsleif signed up for, remains unknown for the time being, yet it is the only thing that feels right at this very moment. And truth be told, it is the only decision he has ever made that he will never once regret till his dying breath.

Beside you Hlin stirs in her sleep and then her eyes slowly open to the sight of the light of your smile and the stars slowly dying in the mist of clouds. The bell chimes in the distance, calling everyone to end their day’s endeavors and head back for much needed rest. Dainsleif tentatively advises to head back to the estate before the Valkyries begin their evening watch. Hlin agrees and you do not protest as Dainsleif helps you up on your feet. You thank him briefly, dusting any stray leaves off your dress and looking over your shoulder in the direction where the moon is hanging low in the evening sky.

“If only the sun submitted to my will. We could stay here all day.” Your words make no sense, for Dainsleif knows not what the sun is. Yet it fills him with a strange sense of yearning for something that he never even had in the first place.

“Lumine would miss us.” Hlin laughs, not questioning you even once. She, too, is probably used to your out of this world statements, so if Dainsleif wishes to stay by your side he has to learn to take everything as it is. For there is no changing who you are.

“She can come along next time.” You say it like you mean it, yet the way you’re gripping the flowers tells Dainsleif you do not expect to return here ever again. And one of his greatest failures as both your sword and shield, will inevitably be the disappointing realization that he was correct in his suspicion.

When you return to the mansion Lumine is already waiting in the kitchen with four plates on the dining table and a never seen before dish prepared for you to feast on. Unfamiliar it may be, yet delicious nonetheless; and despite the unknown yet likely abyssal origins of the blonde woman born of darkness, she seems to care for you a lot more than Dainsleif gave her credit for.

You show her the inteyvat you brought back with you from the meadow, trim the stems and fix it in her hair to forever carry the memory of Khaenri’ah wherever she goes. Lumine wonders about your day and then throws another of her dirty looks Dainsleif’s way when you admit that you enjoyed yourself greatly. Hlin doesn’t have it in her to join in this time, so Dainsleif has one less person to throw stones at him today and it’s a win for him even if just for tonight. You open the book on where you left off and then turn the page immediately. The cover on the book says Creation of Life: From Chalk to Gold. It suddenly strikes Dainsleif that you need neither him nor the women of this house, for you have something way greater at your disposal than anything a mortal can offer you. And it’s okay, something tells him the three of them would be just what you need because you will make it such.

And even when you fall asleep with the book still open on the dining table, Dainsleif looks at you and sees the future that is not just simply a possibility but a rapidly approaching reality. And he will do anything he can to aid the ghost from eons ago, for what he is, if not a sword made of twilight for the queen to use as she sees fit. Because Dainsleif is a soldier of Khaenri’ah and you the nation's soul. For you are Khaenri’ah and he belongs to you. He is yours till the end of times.

The star in his pocket is laughing at his naiveté. He will give it to you next time.

hii niya here. things should be picking up from here on, but i really wanted the introduction of my best boy dainsleif to be the best it can possibly be and i hope i succeeded?? if no it's fine, in my head it is lmao.

jofurr is a cunt. gold is a cunt. dain's mom is a cunt and even mizz vana is a cunt. i don't think there is not a single person in this fic who isn't a cunt one way or another. so enjoy lmao

the next one will come out when i'm free bc my job hates me and i hate it back. we will meet gold again, and alice, and some other things happen idk we'll see. cyaa

#genshin scenarios #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #dainsleif x reader #dainsleif scenarios #dainsleif imagines #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham scenarios #alhaitham imagines #al haitham x reader #pantalone imagine #pantalone x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche scenarios #wanderer x reader #albedo x reader #albedo imagines #albedo scenarios

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zylian · 2 years ago

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Ash: Like u know the Mapicc, Subz, Vitalasy plan

Zam: what plan??

Ash: the Death Star?…….oh wait I don’t think that’s right

Zam, Planet, Leo: ?????????

—————

Ash: why’s it have to be Zams base? Just pick another one at spawn that’s public

Planet: Nah it has to be Zams

Zam: WTF??????

—————

Zam to chat: so apparently the ppl in like the four corners of the server are like talking up a plan and ashswag is in it but I doubt anyone in the eclipse federation is in it

—————

Zam: Yeah he fought a 2v1 so he’s exiled from spawn

Ash: ooooooh that’s dumb so he just did a righteous suicide

Zam: (I did that too)

—————

Ash: I find it funny how Parrot is snapping on everyone who hasn’t logged on in the past week

Leo: Parrot is so based for that

Ash: Poafa was like “yo zam send me a picture”

Zam: and Parrot was like “Ay maybe if you like log on”

—————

Ash: Spoke says he’s on like 4 teams but keeps saying he’s gonna betray them so I just consider him solo

Planet: Spoke just plays for himself

—————

Ash: Zam do u have a second layer on

Leo: it makes u bald bro, u look silly as f*ck

Zam: yeah but- Ur bald too I don’t know why ur talking

Leo: Yeah ur right

Ash: wth I have a full head of hair

—————

Ash: Aren’t u on a team w “them”

Planet: Nah nah nah zam don’t listen

Ash: this guy is suspicious- maybe u should tell that to ppl planet

Planet: no no no it’s secret and it’s funny

Zam: I am so lost

—————

Ash: I think I like Mapicc and Ro

Zam: oh ok!

Planet: HEY!! u can’t say that u can’t say that

Ash: I think I like Subz and vitalasy and Mapicc

Planet: what?

Zam: dudes adding to my trust issues smh

—————

Zam to chat: first there’s this Mapicc and Ro guy who can stop time, second they have 20 hearts and duped gear so if they die it means nothing- and than there’s this planet lord guy who wants to find my base and has a plan for when he finds my base AND FOR SOME REASON both Ashswag and Leowook know about it-

—————

Ash: exploits are boring when everyone uses it

Planet: but it’s just Mapicc and Ro

Ash: No it’s spoke and parrot all this mfs just exploit like I’ll just whip out the google doc

Leo: yah f*ck those mfs

Ash: yah f*ck em

—————

Zam: Ash I don’t trust u ur like a wild card

Ash: can I be draw 4 instead

Planet: if u join my team it can be draw 5

#zy summary #lifesteal smp #zy live thoughts #lssmp #zy’s brain won’t shut up #lssmp rants from watching twitch

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soulventure91 · 10 days ago

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Rook questionnaire asks: 1, 5, 6, 14, 17 and 29.

rook questionnaire! | gonna do these for Seht yesyes

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from? Seht was born in Par Vollen, and grew up in the Qun until the age of 16. Seht is short for her full 'nickname', Sataare (from qunlat 'sataareth', defender), which she started using after she escaped from being bound as saarebas. From Par Vollen, Seht managed to cross much of Seheron to eventually reach the Thedasian mainland, somewhere along the border between Tevinter and the Anderfels. A group of Grey Wardens (probably including Antoine and Evka) found her, starving and half-mad, and helped Seht recover from her long journey. Seht remained a recruiting candidate as she trained to use her magic, and underwent her Joining - perhaps the only known qunari to survive the ritual with her sanity intact. Prior to meeting Varric, Seht was probably a junior Warden of two to three years.

5: What emotion did they usually pick? Despite starting her off with my personal default of snarky, Seht's nature is really more diplomatic (DA2 Blue) with shock and regret/mourning. She might not follow the Qun anymore but Seht does believe in people being able to work together and find their place, and takes every loss suffered by the Veilguard as a personal failing on her part - imagine how badly Seht was doing after Ghilan'nain's assault on Weisshaupt, not only suffering the direct consequences but also managing Davrin and Lucanis's self-doubts! Of course this doesn't mean she doesn't get angry easily, or set aside her emotions when work needs doing; by the time Elgar'nan forces the eclipse, Seht is just about done with being kicked in the teeth and knuckles down to ensure the best comes out of her team and their allies.

6: What companion are you platonically close with? Davrin! (even if Seht picked him to lead the distraction on Tearstone Island... T_T) With the both of them as Wardens, they have a lot in common just in that alone, and also bonded in the notion that they're both outsiders (Davrin being Dalish, Seht qunari) that found a home, of sorts, with the Wardens. Seht wasn't expecting losing Davrin in the showdown with Ghilan'nain, and his presence in Solas's Fade-prison stung her deeply. Seht also built strong friendships with Bellara and Lace, thanks to Seht's ongoing curiosity (though paired with healthy qunari wariness) regards unfamiliar magics. Despite the Venatori takeover of Minrathous, Seht did her best to rebuild bridges with Neve - which paid off when Elgar'nan captured Neve and Neve ended up driving Elgar'nan's influence out of Minrathous for good.

14: What hobbies does your Rook have? Seht is actually still working that out! Her childhood under the Qun, her mad hike across Seheron, and eventual recruitment and Joining to the Wardens, all mean Seht has very little idea of what she, herself, enjoys outside of the things she's done to survive. She does enjoy exploring and traveling; her two favorite 'walkabout' missions were exploring Treviso and Minrathous with Lucanis and Neve, respectively. I think she's also intrigued by history and theology, esp since the latter is a field that would speak to her familiarity with the Qun and slow adoption of Andrastianism.

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? Since a lot of Seht's adult life has been on the move, I don't know if enjoy is the word she would use. Adventuring proved a necessity, especially since tal-vashoth are often mercenaries; being a tal-vashoth saarebas, even more so. I think the flavor of adventuring Seht is exposed to in traveling with Varric and Lace is definitely her speed; just maybe with a little less of it resulting in 'we're doing this to save the world!'

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why? OOOOOO good question. Of the ones offered in-game, probably the Lords of Fortune would make the most sense at least for Seht being qunari. There are probably a lot of tal-vashoth and runaway antaam that the Lords take in, so Seht would have that support community as she's recovering and finding her footing. For a faction not in the game? I would have loved an actual vashoth/tal-vashoth-centered group, kinda like the Valo-Kas mercs were suggested to be in DAI if you played as Adaar. Not only do you get a direct mirror of the antaam that way, but you could also get a direct view of how non-qunari would (or wouldn't!) be welcome - whether or not you're of the race or philosophy. Starting there as Seht would lead to a very different set of choices.

#thank u for asking!!!!#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #da: seht thorne #rook thorne #dav rook

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minty-marshmallow · 1 year ago

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Novoland: Pearl Eclipse [Ep 23-24]

[Ep 23]

Things are going to start getting rough for Jian Ming now that this lady publically accused him of murder. I feel bad for him because now being with Haishi will put her in even more danger. Anyway, he is quite an honest man. Even though the kid tried to kill him, he understood the child was just being used and was poisoned so he was innocent and didn't know any better.

Jian Ming is right a storm is definitely coming. He thinks Haishi will be safer at the border but I doubt it.

Also, I just want to mention how cute Zhou Ying and Zhe Liu are together. I really hope things work out for them in the end.

Jian Ming wants Haishi to leave so she'll be protected but honestly I don't think being away from the capital will protect her. I feel bad for her because she doesn't understand his situation though. She kissed him rashly and he rejected her because he kinda has to. I mean I guess he doesn't actually have to but he can't really be with her either. She's so embarrassed though. I feel for her.

[Ep 24]

Phew we are finally halfway through this series lol.

I love that Jian Ming is always careful to refer to Haishi as he in public. [or at least the translations show that..idk about in actual Chinese]

Bruh, I just don't know. Something just feels off. I mean maybe this lady is who she says she is but idk. I'm still feeling iffy about the Emperor's brother too.

The Emperor is jealous of Haishi but lol if only he knew he was actually a girl. Why does he keep testing her? Like he's just seeing how much she'll drink until he tells her stop or what?

Oh lord, another misunderstanding. I guess Haishi thought she was going to fall and caught her but then the Emperor showed up and misunderstood...ugh.

She was trying to die omg! I hope that Haishi's remedy saves her.

Ugh Zhou Ying and Zhe Liu are soooo adorable together. I know that this shows has a long road ahead of it but I hope by the end they are together.

Maybe Haishi's words will reach the Emperor and he will start to open up to Tilan.

#asian drama #asian drama recap #cdrama #chinese drama #chinese drama recap #cdrama recap #novoland pearl eclipse

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the-graves-family · 11 months ago

Note

Ace falters when the shadow fails to respond to his first question, and doubt starts seeping into his mind. Maybe this was a trick, ro something evil wanting to hurt him, drawn by the curse.

His second question is answered, but the answer isn't... what he'd been expecting. Gripping the rose in his hands gently, Ace frowns and looks down at the floor.

"I— I don't think my family would be very happy if I left right now," he mumbles, shifting on his feet. "They'd be very worried again, and this time Adrian will surely be angry with me. I really don't want that."

The young lord speaks as if he's apologizing for even taking up space in the room, like he's afraid the shadow is going to yell at him for merely not accepting its request immediately.

"Back to Oliver, right?" He does want to see the man again. It's such a strong yearning in his chest, it almost eclipses the other thing taking up space in there. "I'd... I'd really like that. But they'll get upset!"

Oh, what to do? Ace is an indecisive mess. He's not even properly clothed to go out. And the guards would surely see him, and there's no way he'd get to Oliver's land on foot and—

All of this is very upsetting.

But he does want Oliver so.

Friend?

Oliver wasn’t its friend, nor was it solely its slave, but a third elusive thing. They all served him because they’d allowed themselves to, because from the moment he’d picked up the weapon, they’d felt the need for vengeance and the swell of anger from betrayal as clearly as day.

They would continue to serve him until he is no longer feeding in to the violence in his heart.

At the first question, all Ace receives in return is a slow blink, once resembling a feline more than the creature it truly was. Although, the second one receives more of a reaction, shifting once again as it seems to tilt its head to the side. Wasn’t the answer obvious?

go back.

Go back to the palace, to the people who had barely bat an eye at Ace’s scar, to Oliver, who was waiting as patiently as he could bring himself to be. It could feel the restlessness in every pacing step forward and back its Master took, however. Even with all the distance between them.

come.

back.

#lost soul in time #thread.#(fantasy)#i froth over them #(fantasy: oliver and ace)

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theostrophywife · 2 years ago

Text

fuck about it.

masterlist (azriel x reader) request: @margssstuff hii ok I have an Az request where it’s like enemy to lover and they both get on each others nerves. They’re on a mission or in a highly intense situation where they are both yelling at each other and she slaps him (maybe people witness idk) & he reacts by fiercely kissing her and then they fuck HAHA author's note: happy halloween, please have this filthy enemies to lovers fic as a gift from yours truly. like the title suggests, this piece was inspired by fuck about it by waterparks. warning: dagger to the throat, knife play, exhibitionism, overstimulation, edging. over all smut galore.

The divine scent of roses and twilight fills the air while you stroll through the castle garden with your gloved hand tucked into the elbow of the Crown Prince of Rask. The cool breeze whistles through the handsome male’s long, silver hair as he offers you a scarlet rose, taking great care into making sure that its thorns don't snag on your satin glove.

It would’ve been a romantic moment had it not been for the shadowsinger glaring at the prince’s back. Even without his shadows, Azriel’s looming presence put a damper on the mood. You couldn’t for the life of you understand why Rhysand sent the broody, Illyrian warrior to be your escort during your visit to Rask, but the High Lord had been adamant on pairing you up for this mission.

When the Crown Prince extended his invitation to the Crystal Castle, you primed and primped yourself to be the most charming, irresistible female he’d ever lay his eyes on in order to secure the alliance between the Night Court and Rask, but you could only do so much with Azriel’s scowl constantly eclipsing every interaction.

The Illyrian male trails a few steps behind, dressed in his dark leathers with his wings high upon his back, looking every bit the part of the lethal warrior that he was. As your eyes meet, his lips twist into a sharp frown while his hazel gaze settles over you. You flash a glare of warning at Azriel before turning your attention back to your escort.

“Thank you for giving me a tour of the private gardens. Your home is truly lovely.”

“It is I who should thank you for granting me the pleasure of your company, my lady.” The Crown Prince smiles, patting your gloved hand while you continue your leisurely stroll. Emerald eyes twinkle with mischief as he briefly glances at the winged warrior hovering a few feet away. “Though I’m not sure I can say the same about your companion.”

A flash of doubt blooms on the male’s features as he examines the obvious tension in the shadowsinger’s stance. “Are you two…”

“No,” you answer at once.

Azriel stiffens, but says nothing as shadows twist menacingly over his broad shoulders. Despite the fact that you were both under Rhysand’s employ, you steered clear of the shadowsinger and vice versa. You two were polar opposites: you were loud and headstrong while Azriel was quiet and reserved. The few times that you were both assigned to the same mission, the two of you had clashed so badly that Rhys avoided putting you together at all cost.

Unfortunately, you had no choice but to tolerate Azriel’s company during this trip since you wouldn’t be able to successfully navigate Rask without him. He knew the intricacies of this Court and you relied on his knowledge to keep you afloat in this kingdom’s political climate.

Besides strategizing and advising, the shadowsinger makes himself scarce throughout the week long mission, but still adheres to his task of escorting you. It was entirely unnecessary since you were more than capable of protecting yourself should the need arise, but customs were different in this kingdom and it was highly unacceptable for a lady to be wandering through the night with a male who was not her betrothed. Even if it was the Crown Prince.

You smile sweetly. “Don’t mind Azriel. We’re simply adhering to the practices of your court. After all, I wouldn’t want to break any rules.” The wink you sent his way makes the male chuckle.

“Somehow I highly doubt that you’re the type to be chained down by archaic traditions.”

“I’ve been known to be…free-spirited and strong willed. Though I’m sure you’ll soon come to realize that for yourself, my prince.”

The Crown Prince chuckles. “So I’m learning.” Moonlight gleams against the silver locks draped over his shoulder, each twisting braid representing the number of battles he’s won. Another proud custom of Rask. “And please, call me Rhaegar.”

“Well then Rhaegar,” you say with a charming smile. “I do hope you’ve given more consideration to the High Lord’s proposition.”

“Ever the diplomat. I must admit, Rhysand’s proposal of peace grows more and more enticing with each passing second, though that may have more to do with his lovely ambassador.”

There was something mischievous in that smile of his. The royal was undoubtedly handsome. Rumor has it that nearly every powerful family in the Continent sought to secure his hand in marriage, but the male had yet to take a bride. While you weren’t here to find yourself a groom, you were intrigued by Rhaegar. You’ve never had a prince before. You wondered if the noble would fold just as easily as any other male once you sank your teeth into him.

“I’m glad to hear that you’re enjoying our time together. I’ve been told that I can be rather persuasive.”

The Crown Prince grins. “Excuse my assumptions, but you are nothing like the other diplomats I’ve met with in the past. They’ve always been old, haggard males more interested in me wedding and bedding their daughters rather than establishing peace amongst our kingdoms. I have a feeling that you have no intention of demanding marriage out of me.”

You raise a brow. “Like you said, I’m not the type to be chained down by archaic traditions. Perhaps when all is said and done, I can show you how…liberating our ideals are in the Night Court.”

Rhaegar chuckles. “You’re absolutely wicked, my lady.” He takes your gloved hand and kisses it. “Tell Rhysand that I look forward to seeing what he has in store for my kingdom, especially if your visit is any indication of our growing relations.”

“This is merely a taste, Rhaegar. The Night Court and I have much more to offer,” you say seductively.

The royal grins as his gaze dips down towards your wicked mouth. While this mission was important, Rhysand never said you weren’t allowed to have fun on top of securing this alliance. As Rhaegar closes the gap between you, your eyes flutter close in anticipation, but instead of the prince’s mouth on yours, the shadowsinger’s grating voice is what cuts through the tension.

“Perhaps it’s time to retire,” Azriel declares in a cold voice. He doesn’t even bother looking at you as he addresses Rhaegar. “I should escort my lady to her bedchambers. We have an early start tomorrow.”

For the most part, you tolerated Azriel’s presence because it was a required portion of your employment in the Night Court, but the shadowsinger meddling in your affairs like this with the Crown Prince of all people, it simply wouldn’t do.

“I can find my own way back, Azriel.”

The shadowsinger turns towards you, his handsome face bathed in moonlight and wrath. The inky smoke of his shadows swallow every trace of light as he levels his intense golden gaze at you.

“I insist, my lady. I wouldn’t want anything untoward to happen to you under my watch.”

The second your eyes meet, you could see something churning within the shadowsinger's hazel irises, but you refuse to balk. The spymaster might be used to everyone else backing down from that intimidating stare of his, but you were determined to show him that not even the Mother herself could get you to back down. The dark, brooding act may be working for him thus far, but tonight is the night that Azriel finally meets his match.

As you continue in your unflinching staring game with Azriel, the Crown Prince pats your gloved hand with an amused smile.

“The shadowsinger is right, my lady. We should all get some rest. There’s plenty of work to be done,” he gallantly bows, pressing a kiss to your gloved hand. With a devious twinkle in those emerald eyes, he shoots you a wink. “Perhaps we’ll play another time.”

You didn’t miss the eye roll that was Azriel’s response. Rhaegar bids you both farewell before striding to the opposite side of the castle where his private living quarters were located. Not bothering to spare the shadowsinger a glance, you stalk away to the east wing where your accommodations were. His footsteps are silent, but you knew that the male was following closely behind. Unfortunately for you, the Crown Prince had placed you and Azriel in adjoining rooms.

It was then that you decided that you’d have to have a serious discussion with Rhysand about never putting you and Azriel together again. It was bad enough to have to endure his broody mood, but getting in your way? That was absolutely unacceptable. You walk in silence as annoyance and indignation simmers through your veins, pushing through the ornate wooden doors and nearly taking it off its hinges as you slam it shut behind you. Azriel caught the fullness of your rage as you spin around to face him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The winged warrior doesn't appear the least bit bothered as you point an accusing finger at him. He crosses his arms and you narrow your eyes as his siphons cast a cobalt blue light around the dark room.

“Escorting you,” Azriel drawls lazily. “Though babysitting is the more accurate term.”

“You do realize that you could jeopardize this whole mission by acting like an insufferable prick towards the Crown Prince?”

“As opposed to what?” Azriel sneers, leveling a lethal gaze at you. “Throwing myself at him?”

Red spots blur your vision at his words. Rage - hot and burning pulsates through your entire body as you close the gap between you, prodding at the chest plate of his Illyrian armor.

“What is your fucking problem, Azriel?” The male blinks. “Ever since Rhysand brought me into the fold, you’ve been acting like an absolute ass. What is it about me that unnerves you so? Is your ego honestly so fragile that you cannot bear to have another spy to compete with?”

“The competition is not my concern,” Azriel bites back. “It’s you. You’re my fucking problem. I told Rhys that working together on this mission was a horrendous idea."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "And you think that I'm clambering at the chance to get sent halfway across the realm with only you as company? Get over yourself, Azriel."

"Me?" Azriel asks indignantly. "You're the one parading yourself in front of this entire court. I've had to endure an entire week of you practically drooling over Rhaegar without a hint of shame."

“I am only doing what Rhysand hired me to do. I don’t see you making any advances towards winning this kingdom over to our cause. The only thing you’ve accomplished during our stay here is being a gigantic pain in my ass.”

Azriel catches your wrist as you lift it up to his face, curling his scarred fingers around your hand with a firm grip. “Yet you need me to navigate your way through this court.”

“Don’t be so sure, shadowsinger. At this rate, I’d risk taking this court on by myself if only to be rid of your pestering.”

He sneers. “I’m sure you’d jump at the chance to be alone with the silver haired bastard.”

You snatch your wrist out of his hand, taking a deep breath before committing a serious act of violence against the Illyrian male. “I have tried to be civil, but I cannot take it any more. This bullshit may fly back home, but when we’re out here in the middle of an important mission, we’re supposed to be a team. That means that you either learn how to work with me or get the fuck out of my way.”

“Or what?” The shadowsinger asks quietly, the menacing tone of his voice matching the cold, calculated expression on his face. “What will you do, princess?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why?” Azriel says, standing taller still and overshadowing you. “You seem eager to earn the title by spreading your legs for Rhaegar.”

Against better judgment, you slap Azriel across the face with a forceful smack. The sound echoes in the room and you barely have time to process the fact that you just slapped the feared spymaster in the face before Azriel was pushing you up against the wall.

Both of his scarred hands slam down on either side of your head as he cages you in. Shadows thrum through his powerful form as his wings flare behind his back, spreading wide and cocooning you in its red and gold membrane.

Tension stretches taut between you as your chest heaves up and down with heavy breaths. A flash of anger graces that irritatingly handsome face of his and the sliver of light streaming through the window hugs every plane of Azriel’s sharp cheekbones, slashing through those nearly feral hazel irises. There was nothing but heat in his eyes - a dark and dangerous challenge that seems to beckon you forth.

“And if I were to spread my legs for the Prince, what is it to you?” you grit out, meeting his unyielding gaze.

“You won’t be doing that tonight, sweetheart.” Azriel declares as his fingers clutch your jaw, tilting your chin up.

Understanding floods you all at once when you behold the ravenous glint in his eyes. “Mother above, is this the reason why you’ve been an absolute prick to me all this time?” You curl your fingers through his wrist, smirking as Azriel’s breath hitches from the contact. “You want me. You want me badly that you loathe yourself for it.”

“I despise you,” Azriel says unconvincingly.

You press your body against his, pleased to find his erection protruding upon your midsection. The push and pull of this dangerous little game thrums through your body. “Your mouth says one thing, but your cock says another.”

Azriel hisses as you palm the front of his leathers. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, princess.”

“Since you robbed me of my only opportunity of finishing tonight, I think it’s only fair to tease. I enjoy making you squirm, shadowsinger.”

“You’re a cruel, sadistic little creature.”

“Then why don’t you punish me?”

The shadowsinger smacks the wall behind you, rattling the painting hanging beside your head. “Tell me that this is a horrible idea. That we should both walk away before we do something incredibly stupid.”

You twine your fingers behind his neck, bringing him down to your level. “Why should we try to fight it? Isn’t this what you wanted all along? To have me at your mercy?”

Azriel chuckles, his warm breath washing over you in a delicious embrace. “You are my dearest punishment.”

The crimson slash of your grin is nothing short of feral. “Good. I intend to make it hurt.”

“For the record, this is exactly why I told Rhys that putting us together was a terrible idea. I knew I couldn't fucking resist you,” he whispers against your ear. “That I couldn’t be this close to you without thinking about doing this all day, every day. But he didn’t listen, so neither will I.”

Every nerve in your body awakens at his touch and a jolt of electricity shoots up from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet while Azriel’s face dips down to yours. His scarred fingers twine through your thick hair as he positions you just where he wants you, with lips parted and lids heavy as your lower abdomen churns with need.

Without warning, Azriel snakes his arms around your waist and hoists you up onto the wall as his perfect pink lips come crashing down on yours. For a moment you felt like the entire realm has tilted off its axis because there was no plausible reason why the shadowsinger tastes this heavenly, like a mixture of dark desire and forbidden wishes, but it doesn’t take long for you to accommodate him as you eagerly wrap your legs around his waist and kiss him back with fervent passion.

You moan into his mouth as he grips your thighs, positioning you on top of a wooden dresser as you clamber to clear whatever was sitting on its surface. Azriel chuckles darkly, its sinful timbre sounding like absolute music to your ears.

“I fucking knew it,” he declares as you press open mouthed kisses along his jaw. “You want me just as much as I want you.”

The comment spurs you on as you slide your hands down the front of his leathers, kissing his neck as a distraction while you reach for the blade sheathed into his thigh. The shadowsinger groans at the feel of your velvet lips on his golden brown skin, but his pleasure is cut short when you raise Truth-teller against his throat.

“Don’t get cocky, shadowsinger. I could just as easily switch from kissing your throat to slitting it open.”

The dark laughter that emanates from the male makes you shiver. “I know, sweetheart. That’s what makes this so fun.”

Deft fingers snatch the dagger away from your hands as Azriel turns you over to face the mirror, dragging the sharp point of his weapon over your collarbones. The cold steel sweeps over your skin as he trails sloppy, wet kisses all over your neck. You tilt your head back in pleasure until the shadowsinger cuts the straps of your dress in one swift movement. The corset top falls to your lap and leaves you exposed to the elements as Azriel grins wickedly.

“This dress is one of my favorites,” you hiss.

Azriel cups your bare breasts and you involuntarily lean into his touch while he chuckles. “I’ll buy you another one. Hell, I’ll buy you the whole godsdamned shop. Just turn around and let me look at you.”

The shadowsinger twirls you around as you slink out of the ruined dress. You’ve done this routine with plenty of males before, walking with your chin held high as they took in your naked form, but something about Azriel’s stare makes you shy away. You had to actively fight the urge to cover yourself as his fingers swept from the tops of your shoulders to the sensuous curve of your hips.

“You’re a work of art. It’s no wonder that you have the Crown Prince eating out of the palm of your hand.”

You smirk. “Jealous much?”

“On the contrary, sweetheart. It’s him who should be jealous of me. Rhaegar will never get to touch you like this and once I’m done with you, no other male will dare to try again. Not unless they want to lose their heads.”

And fuck if Azriel threatening violence on your behalf didn’t absolutely turn you on.

“Don’t keep me waiting then.”

The smirk that graces the shadowsinger’s face makes your skin crawl with desire. He hoists you up from the dresser and places you directly in front of the four poster bed, guiding you towards the mattress until the backs of your knees hit the edge. You busy yourself with the buckles on the front of Azriel’s armor, tugging at them impatiently as he wriggles out of the dark leathers. He hoists his shirt over his head while twirling his beloved dagger in his hands. Azriel has every intention to set the weapon aside, but you catch his wrist at the last second.

“Did I say we were done with that?”

Something wicked dances in Azriel’s eyes as he pushes you onto the soft mattress. He brings his dagger up to your naked form, gently tracing every voluptuous curve with the flat end of his blade. The steel kisses your skin as he trails a path from your chest down to your navel. Azriel pauses, pressing Truth-teller’s hilt against your pubic bone.

“Is this what you want, sweetheart?” Azriel asks with a dark chuckle as he rubs the cold hilt against your clit. “You want me to fuck you with my dagger until you’re begging for my cock?”

You clench your thighs together in response to the filthy words. The thought alone makes you hot all over and the contrast of the blade against your skin feels heavenly.

“Yes,” you barely breathe.

When your eyes meet, there’s something purely predatory in Azriel’s hazel irises. The dagger sweeps over your entrance and its blunt end is covered in your arousal as the shadowsinger prods the weapon into your soaking core. You’re so wet that his treasured blade slips in and out of your pussy with ease.

“That’s right, baby. Take all of it.” You moan in pleasure as he drives the hilt deeper, hitting that sweet spot that has your back arching off the bed. “Filthy little girl.”

Through lust blown eyes, you blink back stars as Azriel flicks his thumb over your clit. The friction causes you to buck greedily against his hand as he drives you to the brink of collapse. Your skin felt like it was on fire and your lungs could barely take in air as your mewls echo off the walls.

You grasp at Azriel’s hand, tugging him towards the mattress as you flip positions with ease. The dagger feels light in your hands as you wield it up to his throat, outlining his sharp jaw with its flat edge. You take the opportunity to admire every feature. Tan skin, onyx hair, perfect teeth, and most of all, those powerful wings encompassing the span of his muscled back. Everything about the shadowsinger was delicious and you couldn’t wait to taste every inch.

You dip down to kiss him, enveloping the both of you in the dark curtain of your hair as Azriel attempts to take the lead. With a brush of the blade, you shake your head and smirk. His assumption that he’d be the one in charge tonight told you that the shadowsinger was accustomed to taking the lead in the bedroom, but you weren’t one to relinquish control. Not without making him beg for it first.

“I’m in charge tonight, Azriel.”

The dagger grazes the hollow of Azriel’s throat and he could barely restrain himself from devouring you. The fire in your eyes sent him into overdrive. In nearly five centuries of his immortal life, he’s never met anyone like you. Never played with a partner who preferred taking the reins rather than letting him do all the work. It was hot as fuck.

“Tell me what you want me to do, princess.”

“Touch yourself for me,” you breathe, settling on top of his thighs while Azriel’s eyes widen at your wicked request.

The winged warrior obliges the command and pumps himself, rubbing a large hand over his cock. His generous length twitches in his palm while his head tilts back in ecstasy and the sound of his moans reverberate through your entire being, awakening a primal need within you.

The glistening slickness of his precum coats the sensitive tip of his cock and you hold your breath in eager anticipation as Azriel thrusts his hand back and forth. There’s something utterly depraved about the act of watching himself get off, riding out the pleasure while he shamelessly moans your name.

“Don’t cum until you’re inside me,” you say with a devious grin.

Azriel inhales sharply, his parted lips and tousled hair embodying sex itself. “Then ride me, baby.”

Bracing your hands on his broad shoulders, you position your hips over his cock, grasping at the base while you guide him to your entrance. Azriel hisses at the sensation of your wet cunt on his already sensitive tip, fighting every urge to buck against you while you slowly sink down into him. His hands grip your waist while he sheathes himself into your pussy, loving the way your tight walls contract around him. Azriel was big, so much so that you’re struggling to take all of him while he groans underneath you.

“So fucking tight,” he grunts. “I love the way your pretty pussy feels.” The sheer size of him makes your eyes water as you adjust yourself to accommodate his length. “Now come on sweetheart, fuck me like you hate me.”

Cauldron boil and fry you, you’re barely hanging onto what little sanity you had left as you rock your hips into him. Azriel shifts his hips upwards, hitting your cervix with relentless ferocity while he drives his cock in and out of you. The growls coming out of his mouth were animalistic as he whispers the nastiest, dirtiest curses into your hair.

“You have such a filthy mouth, Azriel. I fucking love it.”

“Talking dirty is the least of what my mouth can do.”

Azriel crashes his lips down to yours, sucking on your bottom lip as you grind against him. The deep, guttural growl it elicits out of the shadowsinger tastes like sugar on your tongue. You ride him faster, picking up the pace while your moans echo through the room, the sounds tangling together like your limbs. The familiar spread of warmth in your lower abdomen indicates that your orgasm was close. As Azriel brings you to the precipice of release, a knock on the door brings you crashing down to reality.

Shadows envelope the both of you in a dark cocoon, swallowing light and sound as a tendril of darkness curls through Azriel’s ear.

“It’s Rhaegar,” he informs you through gritted teeth.

You groan softly as Azriel possessively presses you closer. “How unseemly would it be if I told the Crown Prince of Rask to fuck off?”

The shadowsinger smirks. “As pleasing as it would be, I have a better idea,” the mischievous tone of his voice peaks your interest. “Answer the door.”

Azriel retrieves your sleeping gown and matching silk robe, draping it over your shoulders as he helps you out of bed. His scarred hand clamps down onto your bare ass cheek, kneading the soft skin before turning you around and sheathing himself inside of your pussy again.

If it weren’t for the barrier that his shadows provided, the Crown Prince would’ve heard the filthy moan that the shadowsinger knocks out of you. Rhaegar raps against the wooden door once more as Azriel grips your hips.

“Answer the door,” the Illyrian warrior growls.

“But he’ll see,” you gasp as Azriel gathers the silky material of your nightgown in his hands, watching as he slides his cock in and out of your pussy slowly.

“My shadows will provide cover. Rhaegar won’t see a thing, but you and I will both know that I’m balls deep in your pretty little cunt while you turn the Crown Prince away.”

Your arousal coats his length, causing the male to chuckle darkly. The shadowsinger detects the shift in your scent and the fact that you were turned on by his indecent proposal turned him on even more. Azriel smirks as you nod wordlessly, guiding you to the door with his hands gripping your waist.

Swallowing thickly, you open the door a sliver and squint out into the dark night, barely making out Rhaegar’s form as Azriel pushes deeper inside you. As you grip the wooden handle, you fight the urge to moan as the Crown Prince smiles at you.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your rest,” Rheagar starts with an apologetic smile. This male, who you thought was handsome just hours before, couldn’t compare to the winged warrior behind you now, grazing your earlobe with his teeth as you try your best to focus on the task at hand.

“Forgive me for my appearance. Had I known you were paying me a visit, I would have better prepared myself.”

“It is I who should be apologizing, my lady. I only wish to bring you the news first. I accepted Rhysand’s offer and have sent a raven to the Night Court with my terms.”

Azriel kneads the soft tissue of your right ass cheek, pressing a kiss in the middle of your spine while he thrusts into you. You bite down on your bottom lip, nearly drawing blood.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

“I-I’m fine. Just feeling a bit exhausted from our rather eventful day.”

Rheagar nods, seemingly realizing the late hour and the intrusion his presence posed. If only he knew what Azriel was doing behind you. “Of course, I shall let you return to rest. I hope to see you on the morrow, my lady.”

“Good night,” you barely mutter before you’re shutting the door on the Crown Prince’s face.

Azriel wastes no time as he presses you up against the brick wall, bracing your hands onto the solid surface before placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Look at you. So greedy for my cock that you’d shut the door on Rhaegar’s face. I imagine the Crown Prince was hoping his night would end the way mine is right now, buried inside you while you try so hard not to moan my name. Too bad that I’m the only one who gets to feel this pretty little pussy of yours from now on.”

You moan as he claims you with a kiss, his tongue prodding past your parted lips while he clasps the hollow of your throat possessively. “Brace yourself, sweetheart. I intend to fuck the thought of any other male out of you.”

“That’s rather cocky of you, shadowsinger.”

The feline smile that curves through his handsome face was full of promise. “It’s not cocky if it’s true.” His shadows swirl through your ankles, pushing them further apart as Azriel smirks at the shock on your face. “Now be a good girl and bend over for me.”

Flush with need, you wordlessly oblige his command. Azriel links your fingers together as your palms spread out against the cool brick, his hips thrusting into you from behind while the sound of skin against skin echoes through the room. The death grip you had on his hands didn’t seem to bother the Illyrian as he muttered a string of curses that would put a sailor to shame.

His palm catches your cheek before it scrapes against the rough cement of the wall, turning your chin to kiss the breath right out of you. The shadowsinger’s other hand clamps down on the front of your sex, circling his fingers deliciously against your clit. Shadows swirl through your nipples, sweeping over your skin like a tiny million kisses and heightening the pleasure that much more. You could feel yourself chasing that familiar high, moans growing louder and louder with every flick of Azriel's digits.

Without warning, he withdraws his touch and slips out of you. You whine in desperation, needy to feel all of Azriel in you again.

“Why’d you stop?”

Azriel grins wickedly. “I want to see how long you can hold out before you’re begging for me.”

You snarl, capturing his bottom lip with your teeth and biting hard enough to draw blood. “Perhaps I’ll bring you to your knees first, Azriel.”

He chuckles darkly, licking up the crimson droplets from the corner of his mouth. “I don’t see why we can’t have both.”

Before you could ask him what that meant, he picks you up with ease and sits you atop the wooden dresser. Azriel knocks the perfume and other items scattered on the surface and grips the tops of your thighs, pulling you to the edge while he kneels down between your legs. Dark wings flare across his back as he smirks, not saying a single word before he plunges his tongue onto your soaking core.

Gods help you, Azriel knew exactly what he was doing. His greedy mouth works you into a writhing, whining mess while he expertly flicks his tongue against your clit. Every kitten lick sends a rush of euphoria straight to your brain, short circuiting what little logic you had left while you hang onto Azriel’s silky dark locks for dear life. His satisfied hum reverberates through your skin, making your clit throb with desire and desperation as he continues to worship you with his hands, lips, and tongue. The sensation of his warm and wet mouth against your sex had your eyes rolling back into your head. The moans Azriel was eliciting out of you was borderline obscene.

If this was a dream, you never wanted to wake up.

Not realizing that you’d vocalized that last thought, Azriel smirks up at you, his mouth and chin coated with your arousal. “It’s not a dream, sweetheart. I'm right here and I’m more than willing to make you cum. If you say the magic words.”

“Fuck you, Azriel,” you rasp teasingly, barely clinging onto what little pride you had left.

The shadowsinger smiles. “I’m afraid that’s not it, but perhaps this will remind you how to say please.”

Azriel yanks you to him, spreading you over the dresser as he slips inside of you once more. Your breath fogs up the glass as your features contort with pleasure. In the reflection, the shadowsinger’s smirk was nearly feral as he rams himself into your pussy, making you arch your back as you moan his name.

His eyes darken with lust as he gathers your hair in his right hand. “Say it again.”

“Azriel,” you chant as he hisses sharply, snapping his hips at a punishing pace.

“Ready to give up yet, princess?”

Rolling your eyes, you latch your lips onto his neck, grinning against his golden brown skin as you rake your nails along his back. Azriel moans and you continue your path, fingertips stilling over the apex of his wings. Your light touch makes the Illyrian male shiver, burying his face in the crook of your neck while he bites back the growl threatening to reveal just how good it feels to have you caress his sensitive wings.

“Nesta told me how sensitive you Illyrians are with your wings. She said that the right touch can even bring you to completion,” you state with an innocent smile. “Shall we test that theory, Az?”

“Fuck,” Azriel moans, his teeth grazing your shoulder as you run your pointer finger over the red and gold membrane behind his back. “You’re a vicious tease.”

You grin, sucking at his earlobe as his thrusts grew sloppier. “I’m just giving you a taste of your own medicine, baby.”

The curve of his wings feels leathery underneath your digits as you continue to tease Azriel, tracing little patterns upon his leathery wings. You’ve never heard a male make the sounds that the shadowsinger was making now - needy, desperate, and literal music to your ears.

“That feels so fucking good, sweetheart.” Azriel pants and the sight of his glistening skin and sex tousled hair makes you beam with satisfaction.

The ever stoic shadowsinger was a writhing mess above you, his warm breath fanning over your skin while he chants your name like a prayer. The teasing becomes a competition between you, both eager to make each other cave first. Unwilling to yield, Azriel fucks into you deeper but his resolve is barely hanging on by a thread while you lightly rake your nails over his wings.

“So close,” he grunts, rolling his hips into yours.

"Please, Az..." you plead. "Don't stop."

Azriel chuckles, pounding into you with a harsh snap of his hips. "You sound so pretty when you beg, baby." He smirks as you whimper.

"Nobody likes a tease, Azriel." You lightly rub the sharp talon at the apex of his wings as he releases a shuddering breath. "If you won't fuck me the way I want, maybe I should ask Rhaegar if he's willing."

The shadowsinger snarls, flipping you over and ramming his cock into you so deep that you could feel every ridge and curve within your walls. While you knew that it probably wasn't the best idea to push Azriel, awakening this dark side of him brought a different sort of thrill out of you.

"There will be no other male for you," Azriel grunts, holding your hips down while you buck against him. "Do you understand?"

"Just you," you confirm. "It's just you, Azriel."

He smirks proudly. "Good girl."

You could feel yourself on the brink of release as he releases his grip and fills all of you again, lifting your hips up to take Azriel deeper. His cock was perfect, fitting tight and snug into your pussy as you greedily squeeze his length with an ironclad grip.

“Can we call it a draw?”

Azriel’s eyes fill with relief, dipping his head down and capturing your lips with his. “Yes, sweetheart. Put me out of my godsdamned misery.”

He lifts you gently off the dresser, giving you the leverage to ride him until you reached that euphoric high. Azriel seems content on letting you use him, holding out on his own orgasm until he knows that you've ridden the wave of your pleasure to the very end. White noise rushes through your ears as Azriel thrusts into you one last time, whispering your name with quiet reverence while pleasure racks his entire body. His words are gentle and soft as he slowly pulls out of you, admiring the way his cum trickles down the side of your leg as you rest your head on his shoulder.

Azriel is slick with your own arousal and you blush at the sight of him soaked with your cum. He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. I love knowing that I can make you cum like this. Your taste, your scent, your moans. Gods, I’m going to be thinking about it every waking moment.”

He turns over to face you, smiling as you shy away from his gaze, running his fingers over your skin while he drinks in the sight of you blissed out and euphoric. The shadowsinger had only allowed himself to imagine you like this in the dead of night when he could no longer fight off his desire, but nothing could compare to the real thing. He traces the outline of your lips with a fond smile.

"You were right, you know. I do want you. So fucking badly that I acted like an absolute prick."

You giggle. "Of course I was right." Azriel rolls his eyes and kisses your knuckles. "Have you ever considered that maybe I wanted you too?"

"The thought did cross my mind. After that first failure of a mission that we ever went on, when you got in my face and started yelling. I knew I was done for." Azriel grins mischievously. "Why do you think I was constantly picking fights with you? I love getting you all riled up. Your cheeks get all red and flustered and your eyes...there's something wild about them and it turns me the fuck on."

"So you're telling me that all this fighting was just foreplay?" you tease. "A normal person would've just asked me out on a date."

He chuckles. “Where’s the fun in that? I enjoy the chase as much as the catch.”

You quirk a brow. “And now that you’ve caught me?”

In a surprisingly sweet gesture, Azriel cradles your face in his hands and kisses you deeply. “I’m never letting go.”

You don’t even realize that you’re smiling until he pulls away and mirrors your reaction. He presses gently on the marks on the side of your neck, admiring the work of his lips.

“Don’t cover these, sweetheart. I want the Prince and everyone else to know that you’re mine and mine alone.”

“Jealous, possessive male,” you say with feline amusement. “I thought the feared spymaster would insist on nothing but absolute discretion.”

“Fuck being discrete,” Azriel says fiercely. “Unless you intend to still vie for Rhaegar.”

The notion itself was laughable. How could you ever look at any other male after tonight?

“I shut the door on the Crown Prince of Rask for you, Azriel. If that doesn’t make my choice clear, then I don’t know what will.”

He grins, tucking a stray lock behind your ear. “Perhaps I could use a bit more convincing.”

“Asshole,” you tease playfully.

Azriel captures your lips between his, laughing as you groan into his mouth. “You can call me whatever you want, sweetheart. As long as you’re moaning it.”

The shadowsinger flips you on the bed, pinning you underneath his body while he grins deviously. Tendrils of darkness swirl through your limbs, chaining your wrists to the headboard and spreading your legs apart.

“Now come on, baby. I'm only getting started," he grazes his teeth over the hollow of your throat and you whimper in response. "We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

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