#mayhaps it is high time that the lords had their turn~

[elenscaie]

Title: thus, he spake (and left devastation in his wake)

Anarjan Ahsiyaan: Part Two

Lord Avenasht Ahsiyaan knows very well how dearly and deeply Ahsiyaans can dig their claws and fangs into someone and let go for utterly nothing. Obsession and adoration and love are, for all intents and purposes, the exact same thing when seen through their eyes. Even for demons, they are horribly, horrifically persistent.

But he cannot allow for his daughter to gift her name, her true name, to a Necromancer who may very well not know what it is that she is being gifted with. Truly, to gift it to one outside of their kind is to risk one's very safety, self, and sanity. So, even if it breaks his daughter's heart and sends her into rage and violence and hate like never before seen, he will do his duty and keep her safe.

Even if it ends with her turning all that violence and rage and hate upon Avenasht himself.

[editorandchief]

Hell Hath No Fury | Aemond Targaryen | Two

Requested: yes

Summary: Aemond learns things have changed since he’s been away. (Part One)

Warning: emotional affair, BAD WRITING!

When Aemond made it to the dining room you and Beth had already entered.

"This is Armon," You smiled while handing the babe to Luce before taking the other babe from Beth. "And this is Aemon." The two of you held the babies side by side smiling down at them.

"Well we certainly didn't plan for two." Lucerys says looking between you and the babies. "I wish I could have been there for you."

"you have been there Luce, we never could have predicted the exact time when the babies would come or the fact that there would be two." You assured him as he walked you towards the table. Pulling our a chair for Luce didn't hesitate to take the one next to you.

Aemond looked on as you two talked animatedly about the babies with the rest of the family.

"Hmm." looking away and walking to the opposite side of the table to the seat he assumed Luce once occupied.

***

The next morning Aemond woke in the library, he had fled there after the meal in order to take is mind off what you had said before. There was no way that you knew about Alys, how could you? if not then what did you mean by that? Maybe he misheard you, yes. he had misheard you.

"Though it seems you have grown quite fond of strong bastards as of late."

"Though it seems I have grown quite fond of strong bastards as of late."

Of course! of course that has to be it, you did seem overly fond of the 'Velarian' boy."

Walking through the halls Aemond comes across the Godswood, where he hears the familiar sound of your laughter.

A blanket laid out on the grass he sees you and Lucerys once again, with each of you cradling one of his children.

"Wife, here you are." He announced as he approached the small group. "You must have begun the day quite early, I could not find you in our chambers."

"Yes, Lucerys was just too excited for the boys to meet Arrax, so we all took a little trip to the dragon pits before we came to have our picnic."

"We spent quite some time here before the twins were born, it always seemed to calm them whenever they decided to kick up a storm." Luce informed his uncle.

'Hmm, Well mayhaps you would not mind another trip the the dragon pits so that my sons would meet Vhagar while we choose two eggs from the clutch that was just laid." Aemond suggests with a small smile.

It had always been important to you for the your children to be dragon riders or swordsmen or scholars, because Aemond could spend time with them as these were all things that he enjoyed. You two had talked endlessly about these things, choosing eggs for your children, Aemond being the one that would teach them to handle a sword, reading to them every night about the history of their great house.

"Actually Lucerys has done us the honor of choosing two eggs for the twins, they were placed in their cradles last night." You informed your husband smiling to Lucerys before looking to Aemond once again. "Besides I think the boys are too young to be introduced to Vhagar just yet, she is quite large. What if she hurt the boys?"

"I'm sure they will enjoy the experience much more when they are older." You added as Luce nodded in agreement.

"Hmm." Turning around and walking away, Aemond hears as Lucerys begins to talk about the boys learning to sail with him and Lord Corlys. 

***

"Emagon gevie se dōna dreams se skori ao wake va se ñāqatubis, muña kessa jorrāelagon ao sesīr tolī bona tubī. Kostilus skori ao sīmonagon kesā rhaenagon aōha olvie own zaldrīzes" You soflty whispered rubbing your finger along Armon's cheek before moving to his brother. 

"Are you speaking High Valarian?" Aemond asked as he entered your chambers while coo to Aemon laying him into his cot.

"Lucerys has been teaching me, he thinks speaking valarian to the boys as they grow older will help them when they begin their lessons." You replied walking over you the vanity talking a seat in front of the mirror.

"Yes it seems that my nephew has a great many opinion on what would be best for my sons" Aemond says coming to stand behind you looking at you're reflection through the mirror.

"Yes Luce cares very much for the boys," You confirmed picking up your brush. "I think he was the only person that was as excited as me for the baby."

"He seems to care very much for the boys." Aemond pointed out.

"Of course her cares, they are his cousins." You pointed out narrowing you eyes at him.

"Hmm, but his care seem to be that of someone closer such as a brother or perhaps a fath-." Aemond words are cut of as you quickly stand, turn around and strike him across the face.

"Don't. You. Dare." You seethed glaring up at your husband. "It would seem you learned more from Ser Criston than just combat." Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath you look back up at him before you started to let out a chuckle.

"I honestly don't understand why you are so upset." You spoke sitting back down in front of the mirror and continued to brush your hair. "Why you would accuse me of something like that, You should be thankful to Lucerys for taking over your duty as husband and father so that you might have more time to comfort your mistress."

Any delusional thought that Aemond had misheard you yesterday. "I mean I couldn't imagine loosing a child that close to birth, Lucerys provided me with such comfort during my pregnancy I doubt he would leave my side if I had gone through such a thing. Oh how Alys must feel to not have the comfort of my husband during this trying time."

"You know." Aemond stated keeping his eyes glued to the ground.

"Ironic isn't it. How you accuse me of treasons that would not only lead to my death but the death of our children, how you're the one who has been unfaithful yet I am willing to forgive you, I am willing to put this all in the past...as long as you keep it in the past."You assured him placing your hand on the cheek you had struck. "Or you might find the next thing lucerys takes from you is your wife and children."

Pulling a piece of paper from the table you hold it out to him. "This arrived today, from harrenhal." He slowly reaches out and grabs the letter. "Make your choice Aemond, her or us." You say letting go of the paper as you make your way to the twins resting in there cots.

Aemond watched as you made your way across the room before you turn and lock eyes with him. Making his way towards the fireplace his eyes never leave yours as he drops the letter into the flames.

With a small smile you hold out your hand towards your husband. Walking over Aemond takes your hand before placing a soft kiss on the back.

"You have no idea what I've done for this family." You say placing your head on his chest, wrapping you arms around his waist. "And it would be in your best interest, to not give me a reason to show you.

Part Three

Taglist 🏷: @watercolorskyy

[nagdabbit]

so mayhap have a teeny tiny little bit of a tale warcrime

like 850 words that i really like a lot little bit of a war crime

there's probably spoilers for we collide with shoulder and steel but lorde knows i will spoil my own fic if someone asks nicely so don't be surprised. anyway. a smidge of tale

.

When he was fifteen, afraid and shivering in the autumn wind, Danny tucked behind him, Yuta finally understood the danger in the fire.

Houses had burned before, that was nothing new. They needed to make space in the town, just as they needed to make space in the fields. Houses died, just as people did. Cracked and crumbled, turned bitter and brittle, emptied out like the bodies that had grown old inside them. It was nothing new.

But as he stood on that hill, clutching Danny close, he watched the fire take a home. He watched people running for the wells, buckets in hand. Heard the screams echoing out across the night, barely loud enough to hear over the roar of flames. Saw bodies leap from windows, crashing to the charred earth as the head of the blaze began to eat away at the next house behind. 

It was the first time he'd seen the fire take what wasn't given

In all, five homes were reduced to ash before anyone noticed the eastern flank beginning to head toward the hills—toward them. 

Fire was meant to clear away the debris of past harvests, making way for the next. It was wine on a wound, meant to wash away infection—though it would burn and sting to high heaven. But not all wounds healed. Some were no longer fresh, but already starting to rot and wither. Some were too deep, too wide, too plentiful, and all he saw in every direction was dry grass and dead trees. There was nowhere for them to hide, fire eating away at all sides of them, and he'd seen well enough that fire ran faster than he could. 

It had been Danny who saved them, in the end. He'd always been a little reckless, always had more faith than common sense—and more dumb luck than anything else. He'd grabbed Yuta's hand and ran toward the fire.

He'd always been practical, but he trusted Danny more than his own fear. When he felt the heat on his skin, singeing his cheeks and scorching his lungs, he feared they were running toward their deaths. But he still blindly lept when Danny yelled for him to.

He thought about that moment, passing through the flames for what felt like hours, before they crashed to the razed pasture. The ground was hot beneath their feet, still smoking, but the fire had passed.

He didn't know how the fire was eventually stopped, far too busy clutching Danny close as they both shook, but it had been put out before it took the mountain. When dawn finally came, he'd looked to see the line of blackened earth where it brushed right up to the treeline, a hair's breadth away from catching the whole world alight. It was the first time he'd truly known the cold emptiness of hopeless fear.

It was the first time he'd realized how close they were to disaster. The first time he realized that fires only ever got bigger, got closer, got hungrier. It was the first time he'd realized that something needed done, beyond the triage they'd been surviving on for so long.

It was the first time he thought of climbing the mountain, of looking for answers to questions no one wanted to ask. First time he'd considered that, just maybe, tradition might be the death of them. It was the first time he'd realized how well and truly fucked they were. 

But he hadn't found answers waiting at the top of that rocky trail, not the ones he'd wanted. He found silence and cruelty, stoked by years of solitude. A garden littered with the remains of those that had come before him, with room enough for those that would come after. Earth scorched, not by fire, but by inaction. A household torn by tragedies and traumas.

He found what he'd thought a beast with the heart of a man, lonely atop his cliffside prison. 

He found a graveyard, one he feared he'd one day join.

But he'd hauled cool, clear water up from the mountain's depths. He'd tilled the dry, gray earth with his bare hands. Planted seeds he'd spent years collecting out of some distant hope, and grew something more than just another tragedy atop that quiet cliff. 

And with one swift, tender act of unwitting cruelty, he found himself filled with an even greater swell of hope. 

His garden outlived him.

With each year he remained, his garden grew on without him. Birds nested and bees, heavy with pollen, lumbered their way between blossoms. There was fruit enough to feed the curious few deer and soft, curious rabbits that had found their way back. Life enough that it spread, and grew without a gardener to guide it, overflowing from the beds that he had made.

By his own hands, he had healed a tiny scrap of a broken land. Left a mark so deep and profound that it wouldn't be washed away by unthinking anger and misplaced fear. Proof enough, even for him, that they could all one day be saved.

[theobjectofyourire]

it's been a year and I cannot stop thinking about this frame:

The hall had fallen silent, an absence of sound so severe, so terribly sharp and equal only to the blade that mere moments ago rested uncertainly on the King's belt, yet to be crimsoned by the righteous wrath of an anguished mother.

"Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?" The aching plea in her voice seemed to grow with every word, her voice trembling not with fear but with a fervency, a fury she had never before allowed herself to possess.

"And now you take my son's eye," she near wept, "and to even that, you feel entitled." It was with a grief she spoke. A mourning for herself, the girl she once was and the woman she might have become had the gods forged a kinder world. A mourning for her children, who were but pawns in a greater game, as she had been, and so fearfully neglected by their father.

A mourning for her son.

Her gentle boy.

Her dearest Aemond, who had clutched her hand and worried at the blood staining the wrists of her dress even as his skin was being threaded back together. As he was told, in no uncertain terms, that his eye was forever lost, and instead of finding comfort in his sire as any boy ought to, he was met with cold commands, alone.

*******

When the princess had stepped back, a slow stream of scarlet flowing from her arm, and the blade frightfully abandoned on the stone, all eyes remained steadfast on the Queen, surrounded and yet entirely isolated. All awaited the word of Viserys, who stood in outraged shock behind her, but not a sound came. 'Twas silence that ruled the night, and mayhaps would have known a longer reign if not for the soft-spoken words of her son, still painted in his own blood.

"Do not mourn me mother." He stepped forward without a measure of hesitancy, and all the great lords and ladies could not hope to remove their gaze from the boy. His voice, despite all, was steadier than any who had come before. "It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

Most had looked on with some degree of astonishment, others with the slight flicker of fear, an apprehension of what was undoubtedly to follow in the years to come. Most surprising, mayhaps, was the high regard of an uncle and grandsire. Never had Daemon and Otto so shared, unbeknownst to each other, a look of such pride. Their reasons differed, to be sure, though both could not but admire the boy who had proved himself the true blood of the dragon.

'Twas only one person of note in that hall of many faces who dared not look upon the countenance of the young prince. 'Twas only one who kept his eyes planted firmly at his feet, his head bowed low as though he were not but a servant who feared he was undeserving of such a sight.

In his bones, he knew the fear to be well founded.

Viserys would not look at his son. He could not look at his son, who spoke with a courage and certainty that reminded him so dearly of his brother. He had taken, in no small measure, after his uncle, and it wounded him to see so much of the Rogue Prince, a darkened sort of valiancy in the remaining eye of his child.

It was his fault.

He knew. In his heart of hearts, he knew he had no one but himself to blame. What might the smallest show of care prevented, had he but taken the time to bestow it? How many years had he so desperately prayed for sons, only to treat them with a distanced interest, at best, when the Gods finally saw fit to answer?

At the very least, mightn't he have asked, nay, insisted upon a formal apology from his admittedly beloved grandson, on behalf of his own flesh and blood? For if the injuries had been reversed, had it been Lucerys half-blinded by Aemond...he could not fathom the thought. The truth was far too vile to admit, even unto himself.

"This proceeding is at an end." His voice was firm, unyielding, leaving no room for argument. As he turned, unsteadily limping back to his chambers, he did not spare a glance to his injured son. He could not bare the guilt. He could not shoulder the truth.

The words were those of a King. The actions? Those were of a father, failing, forever unworthy of the title.

*******

[two-white-butterflies]

As Lovers Often Do - c.3

Description: Alyssa Strong was born to be Aemond's wife. As the dance occurs, certain consequences are levied upon her.

"An eye for an eye. A son for a son."

series masterlist | part two

"A mother's conscience." - Saera to Viserra and Daelon.

Saera takes a step forward, completely engrossed in the beauty of her daughter's painting. "How was your trip to Driftmark?" she asked while pressing a soft kiss to Alyssa's temple. "Perfect, as usual." she responded with a hum while mixing the paint in her canvas.

"You should've been born a Velaryon, my child." her mother breathed, content with watching her daughter paint. "Mayhaps my soul was switched at birth," she decided to follow along her mother's trail of thought. "When you grow older - I'll wed you to a lord with a castle near the shore." her mother promised, Alyssa couldn't help but smile.

In a world filled with mothers and fathers only wishing for political advancement - Saera was different. She wanted to give something that her children would be content with - if not happy. "Those days seem to be nearing us," she breathed, placing her paintbrush down.

She turns to look at her mother - a face that once held the youth of a maiden, now filled with the complexities of a mother. "Will you stay?" she inquired, not wanting to be alone in the den of vipers. "Kingslanding was never my home - and it is not yours." Saera responded, pressing a soft hand to her daughter's cheek.

"You can leave and return home - to Harrenhal or Dragonstone. It is your choice, Alyssa." she added, her hand settling on the swell of her stomach. "I'll have to return soon, your uncle insists that this babe is born under the roof of Dragonstone." Saera informed.

"This is my home. Kingslanding is my home." Alyssa corrected, inhaling her mother's scent of roses and white tea. "Then you must stay," her mother mused, her other hand holding into Alyssa's forearm. "- but if you ever change your mind, there is no place in the Seven Kingdoms that is not welcome to you." Saera smiled.

Alyssa carefully placed her earrings on. Mayhaps spending more time preparing would postpone her family's inevitable departure.

"Alys, can you please move faster?" her older brother groaned, opening the door slightly for Alyssa to hear his complaints. "Daegon, open that door again and I'll slam it on your toes." she threatened.

Oh, how she wanted to leave with her family - to enjoy the shores of Dragonstone or to meditate in the vast halls of Harrenhal; but someone had to guard the Red Keep. To advice her grandfather against the whispers of Otto Hightower.

"Dinner should've began an hour ago - the Queen is about to arrive and kepa says that he's not dealing with her bullshit." Daegon whispered in a hush-tone. Alyssa rolls her eyes.

How many times must she have dinner with her extended family?

"I'm ready!" she exited the door and he breathed a sigh of relief. "It only took a thousand years." he commented, prompting for her to flick the back of his neck.

"I was raised in Dragonstone - away from my parents and sister. I was surrounded by servants who listened to everything I commanded. One day, my Septa told me that my father sat on an iron-throne made with thousands of broken swords from Aegon's defeated enemies. I imagined what it would look like; I imagined a mighty throne - too high that I could only see my father's knees. A thousand was a big number for a girl that couldn't count past a hundred..." Saera whispered in her little brother's ears. Alyssa couldn't help but listen in to their conversation - her mother always had a way with her words.

"You told me that the Queen was already here." she stared accusingly at her brother and he answers with a shrug while shoving his face with pudding. "It seems like they wish for a dramatic entrance," he commented - half-angry that the others thought to let them wait. "- wait, are you anticipating the arrival of the Queen or her son?" Daegon's eyes narrowed and her face turned crimson red.

Why would she anticipate the arrival of Alicent's sons?

"I see them everyday, brother. I merely wish to start eating." she gritted her teeth - annoyed that Daegon sought to threaten her with a simple liking. The King clears his throat; "You may begin eating, if you wish - my child." he smiled at her and she sank in her seat.

Saera stops her story midway - earning a pout from Daeron. "It would be polite to wait for the Queen, father." Saera smiled and the King nodded - signalling for a servant to call Alicent. "I hope that you speak to your wife about punctuality, brother. Tis' not kind to keep her guests waiting." Daemon complained.

"- more so, now that your daughter is pregnant with our first child." The Rogue Prince added, offended that he was kept waiting. "Ziry gīmigon se gerpa hen zirȳla gaomon. (She knows the consequences of her actions.)" Daegon voices out and Daemon looks at him.

"Skoros gaomas bona nūmāzma? (What does that mean?)" Daemon raised an eyebrow - intrigued with his son's hypothesis. "Ziry daor māzis. (She's not coming.)" he scoffed - Viserys pretended to not listen into their conversation.

Alyssa pinches her brother's forearm.

"Is that why you're already eating?" her eyes narrowed and he hummed. Prince Daemon's posture shifts, coming into a realization. "If the good Queen Alicent is not coming, then we should begin our meal." he pieced the happenings together.

A scowl paints Alyssa's face.

"Bisa iksis ribazmoqitta. Are you going to let her do that, kepazma? (This is crazy)" Alyssa turned to look at her grandfather. All her life, she's been stepped upon by the Hightowers - treated like a second-class Targaryen for being sired by House Strong. It had to end.

"I will speak with Alicent, riña. I-I apologize for this." he spoke in a sickly tone. Saera took a deep breath; "It is alright, father. It would be best to enjoy our meal, now." she clasped her hands together.

"Jaes sagon sȳz. (Gods be good.)" Alyssa mumbled to herself.

After bidding her farewells - Alyssa decided to march into Aemond's chambers; she needed an explaination. Her hand grazes the wood - slowly beginning to knock. "Who is it?" she could hear his voice inquire. "Alyssa," she responds in an angry tone.

The door opens wide - and he stares her with that incredulous stare. He's been anticipating her arrival - that much, she can say. "You missed dinner." was the first thing that she said. He crosses his arms. "I did." he says matter of factly.

"Daegon tells me that you and your mother missed it on purpose." she accused and he chuckles. "And you are angry, because?" he waited until she expanded upon her feelings. "I am angry and offended. My mother who is heavy with a child was kept waiting for her arrival - only to understand that she'd never come." she frowned.

Aemond shakes his head, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I apologize - but it was merely politics. The Queen was greatly offended with her dismissal of you and Aegon's engagement." he explained in a strangely neutral tone. "It was a wrong thing to do," Alyssa insists and he smiles bitterly.

"There are no right and wrong things in politics - things must be done to have a goal - whatever that may be." he bit his lower lip. Why was he explaining? "Goodnight, zaldrītsos." he took a step backward, closing the door firmly on her face.

Zaldrītsos, another nickname?

.

.

.

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[sephirothsplaything]

DNA| Sec.80 high power-chapter 11

A/N: The last parts of this chapter will be split up due to it being long as hell! Please keep in mind that it was originally one long chapter. But I will upload them all at the same time. Special thank you to @damn-stark my mutal whose writing definitely helped me continue my motivation. And also thank you to @livinginafantasysposts they have consistently reposted many of my chapters and other things they are such a real one. I doubt anyone would read my shit without them

anyways<3

 The harrowing screams of the Princess Rhaenyra permeated throughout the Dragonstone halls. She had been laboring on hours end, to no avail.  Rhaella’s eyes flinched harshly at the sound. The wails easily overpowered the council her father was attempting to hold. 

She could not understand it—how a man could ignore his wife’s pleas.   Each knight and lord sat in their discomfort, however, none spoke to oppose Daemon.

 Rhaella glanced at her cousins, both fighting back an outpour of emotions. She thought of her own mother. Oh, how similar the screams were. It was a terror that she hoped to never endure.   

The memory caused Rhaella’s voice to lift, with no mind for control.

 “Perhaps we should wait for the Princess,” Rhaella said. 

All eyes turned to her, some in shock, others in slight agreement. Daemon stared at his daughter for a moment, eyes piercing as if to say, ‘Do not dare’.  

But she dared. This simply could not go on. Mayhaps her voice held no weight, but she would be heard.  Rhaella’s hands slammed down onto the painted table, fire flickering at the action.  She had interrupted her father once again. 

No further words were uttered by her.  Rhaella stomped to Rhaenyra’s chambers. Whimpers and curses could be heard. 

She stood outside the door, unable to move.  “Get out!” Rhaenyra screamed. “Monster!Get out!”   

Her mother had said the same. Endless pleas to a child that could not understand the harm it was inflicting onto its mother.  

Rhaella’s body slid itself onto the side wall. She could not go in. All Rhaella could hear was her mother begging for her suffering to end.  

“Mother?” Lucerys called. The smell of blood had wafted to Rhaella’s nose.  Princess Rhaenyra was forced to fight a women’s battle—among men. The thought was infuriating..  

“Know that my claim passes to you, Jacaerys,” Rhaenyra speaks weakly. The line of succession had been made clear. Rhaella could only think how her sister would manage the position of queen.  

Much better than her anyhow. 

 “Where is Daemon?” Jace asks with an unlike sternness. 

  “Gone to madness,off to plan his war,” Rhaenyra mumbled.  

Jace’s eyes harden with fury. His jaw clenched tightly, and Rhaella wondered if she had ever seen him like this.

  “Leave Daemon with me,” Jace said. He marched off with such conviction that Rhaella found herself following him, nearly tripping over herself to match his strides. 

 “He will not listen,” Rhaella said.   Jace glanced at her. “He will.” 

 The two cousins venture to the table once more. Rhaella stood further away, doubt evident.  

“Let us stop this meeting,” Jace demanded.

  “Ah, the young prince,” Daemon spoke nonchalantly. It did not go unnoticed to Rhaella that she was being ignored—punished.      

 “You are needed to patrol the skies of Vermax.”   It was a commanding tone, one that Rhaella was all too familiar with. But Jace refused to waiver.  

“Did you hear what I said?” Jace spoke once more. Daemon scoffed but Rhaella could tell that he was somehow impressed by Jacaerys’s efforts.  

More so than her.  

“You’ve lost the ability to speak for yourself?” Daemon’s words were for Rhaella.  If not for the constant screams mixed with flashes of her mother that filled her mind, perhaps she could have formulated a response.  

 “Leave her be,” Jace said, only growing more angry. The two men engaged in a brief stare-down before Daemon grabbed dark sister and walked off. 

 “Come, and I shall show you the meaning of loyalty.”  

Jace gave Rhaella an assuring glance before walking out as well.  

 “Princess, please let us help you!” Rhaella could hear the maids beg. 

But in truth, there was nothing they could do.   She needed to remove herself from here, her stomach was beginning to turn.  

Rhaella found solace inside her room. The silk sheets had been done up neatly—not like how she'd left them last.

She tried to focus on the details familiar to her. The imposing brass bookcase was on display in the corner.All the books and maps she could ever want resided there.

Something stuck out from one of the shelves. Reaching to grab it,Rhaella recognized it as a letter.

Aemond’s letter.

Her fist shook as she clutched it,as if it would run away from her if she eased her grip. Aemond had not indulged in what was written.

Rhaella’s fingers traced over her delicately written name. She could recall how horrid his penmanship was in their younger years,he certainly had worked hard at it.

The thought nearly made her smile,but it quickly faded. Smiling at a time such as this? Perhaps she was mad.

Rhaella did not wish to read it. Not until she could speak to Aemond again. 

Hastily,Rhaella shoved the letter underneath her pillow,hoping that her conflictions would disappear with it.

“Rhaella?”

Baela and Rhaena stood in the doorway,faces sullen. Rhaella recognized the expression.It was one that was etched onto her sisters faces when their mother was dropped into the sea.

Pure sorrow.

“What of the babe?” Rhaella asked,although she was already sure of the answer.

Rhaena’s gaze fell,hands clutched at her side. It was especially hard for her,Rhaella was sure. She was the one that saw the blood of their mother pour from her dress.

“She did not survive,Rhaenyra is wrapping her body now.” Baela said.

“I see.” Rhaella said.

“The funeral is about to take place.” Rhaena choked out. She left the room and Baela followed after.Rhaella glanced at her pillow one last time. She would bury Aemond for the time being. He only served as a distraction from more pressing matters.

Walking out from the castle,Rhaella was met with the devastating sight. Her family gathered round stone fixtures that held up the tiny body of the babe. She noticed that her father looked especially withdrawn. Was that his grief making itself known? He hadn’t looked that way at her mother’s funeral.

A bitter feeling danced around her. Rhaella elected to stand by Lucerys who grabbed her arm for support. Her father had yet again lost an attempted babe. She felt sorry for him in earnest,the princess more so.

Fire was set to the babes frail body and Luke squeezed Rhaella harder. A painful silence rang out in the air.

Tears fell from Luke’s face as he mourned his sister. Rhaella was unable to find words of comfort for him. 

Booted footsteps crunched onto the ground,catching the attention of Rhaella. Ser Erryk Cargyll approached the front,in his hand was a satchel.

Daemon placed a hand over dark sister cautiously as the guards drew their own swords.

“I mean you no harm,brothers.” Ser Erryk spoke. He took the liberty of taking a few steps more before bending a knee.Reaching into the bag,he pulled out the gold crown of the old king Viserys Targaryen.

“I swear to the queen.” Ser Erryk vowed. Rhaella thought the timing was..peculiar at best. Her father did not share the same opinion it seemed. Daemon took the crown and placed it atop Rhaenyra’s head.

Queen of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm.  Daemon bent the knee for Rhaenyra and soon everyone followed suit.

Rhaella remained standing for a moment. Her stepmother had been crowned. She could not deny the surge of pride that rushed into her veins.

A woman would sit the iron throne through fire and blood. A war in Rhaenyra’s name,the concept made Rhaella slightly envious.

Nevertheless, she too took a knee to the soil. Her grandmother remained standing, hardly a surprise to Rhaella–she was the queen who never was.

[storytellers-and-co]

Tansui's Adventures - #16, After Golem

Beat the golem. Check. Save a man who wanted to change the world for the better? Check. See the white-haired lad who Tansui had come to consider an ally? Check. Get another vision and promptly pass out upon seeing him? Also check. 

In all fairness it might’ve also been the injuries he had sustained during that fight - partially dislocated shoulder hurt, even when one was accustomed to pain and injuries and high on adrenaline.

So, the moment of not feeling anything but emotions as moments from the white haired man’s past was being delivered - not much, just enough to show he was determined to prove himself to… someone. Louisox? With how many problems Ul’dah had, surely he’d have chances to do so. A clear flirt, too - at least in a tasteful way. Or maybe it had more to do with his looks, with how the ladies swooned. 

Ah. Thaumaturges guild was visited too, with that mask on - if only briefly. Tansui really should head back there after all this and-

A groan escaped from the little Au’ra, as the rays of sun got into his eyes. Covering them with the dirtied sleeve, the tiny thaumaturge let out a whine - only to realize they had been laid against a stone to sit against. 

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” the familiar voice of the rogue chuckled, close - sounded like he had walked over and bent down. Tansui opened one of their eyes to take a look - only to see the man offering his staff back. Tansui must’ve dropped it… “People will start to talk. Then again, you seem to always be in the middle of the situations I am investigating, so mayhap I should start following you about?”

Tansui took their staff back, letting out a disgruntled sound. Please no.

“Oh? Is my company that unpleasant?”

Tansui narrowed their eyes… and then gently bonked the man on his head with the staff. Ignoring the laughter from the rogue, Tansui took a look around - the workers were banged up, but otherwise alive, and Wystan… Wystan was gone. 

“Ah, if you’re wondering about your friend, he had to flee. Unfortunately, Lord Lolorito is not one to leave loose ends… Which means your involvement in dismantling his trap must go unmentioned, just for your own safety,” rogue mentioned, getting up from the crouch - and offering his hand for Tansui to help the mage back up. 

“But where are my manners - Thancred Waters, at your service… is what I’d like to say, but I have business elsewhere, so I cannot linger long.”

Tansui patted the dirt off of his shirt while listening, wincing as hand touched on the injured shoulder - something that caught the mans… Thancreds, attention. “Oh, you’re hurt? Here let me-”

Before Thancred could touch Tansui however, the Au’ra caught his hand. Not hard, just to get his attention briefly - before turning it a bit, and wrote with their finger against Thancreds wrist, spelling their name. T-A-N-S-U-I.

“Tansui… your name?”

Tansui nodded in response, giving a bit of a grin. It wasn’t always easy, trying to communicate with people when you couldn’t talk.

“Well, it is a pleasure to formally make your acquaintance. Still, that shoulder needs to be looked at, so if you would hold still just a moment…”

Within the next ten minutes, Tansui’s shoulder was reset, an order to take it easy was placed on him, and a suggestion to go visit Momodi was given.

You know what… it had been far too long since Tansui had left the safety of the city. Maybe it was time to head back in for a bit, just so he could heal from this ordeal….

[lunardragon00]

The Heir (Choi San x OC)

Masterlist

Genre: Fantasy , Lord!San x Princess!OC

Words: 4317

Authors Note: This one is one of the few time jumps this story will have, just keep that in mind.

Warning: Talks of war and battle // not very gruesome // Violence

Chapter Two --> Chapter Three --> Chapter Five

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔉𝔬𝔲𝔯 - ℜ𝔢𝔲𝔫𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰

Three Years Later.....

The war had been long and tough, many sleepless nights made the fighting men tired and weak. A group of men gathered around a long table, battle strategies thrown to one another. 

"We have sixteen, perhaps eighteen seaworthy ships. 700 foot, some 60 knights. Our food will quickly dwindle, save for what we can fish from the sea. I would say we have a fortnight, mayhaps longer with strict rationing. I've made call for Coralrift to send more ships, but it will takes weeks before they arrive. We are faltering and the triarchy knows it. We must press the attack, continue sending the dragons." The group watched as Lord Jungchul's brother, Lord Jaehyun, spoke. His son, Choi Jongho spoke. 

"It's pointless father, the crab feeders created a chokepoint here beyond these dunes. " Jongho moves a piece on the table, displaying points located in the battlefield. 

"Archers hold their high positions, foot soldiers hold the ground. We strike them on dragonback again and again, but they just retreat within the caves." Men looked at the placements on the makeshift map, agreeing with the young lords words. Jaehyun, not pleased, stared down his son. 

"Dragons can circle Bloodstone until fall out of the sky." He now looked to his brother, who had been supporting him in this fight. "The crab feeder and his men have no reason to leave those caves." Jongho cuts him off.

"Then we must give them one. An offering of flesh to bait the crab." Silence rested over them. 

"Who?" As Lord Jungchul posed the question, the air was filled with an uneasy silence. The men of House Choi exchanged wary glances, uncertain about the ominous proposition of offering someone to the crab forces. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and the weight of the impending decision hung in the air. Suddenly, a high-pitched screech pierced through the quietude. All eyes turned skyward, and the soldiers were met with a breathtaking sight – a red-scaled dragon soaring majestically above them. The creature's wings cut through the air with power, casting an imposing shadow over the camp. The men, caught between awe and fear, watched as the dragon circled above them. The vivid red scales shimmered in the sunlight, giving an otherworldly aura to the majestic beast. The dragon's presence added an unexpected layer of complexity to the already charged situation. As the dragon descended, the camp was bathed in a surreal glow. Its fiery eyes scanned the gathering below, adding an unsettling intensity to the unfolding scene.

"Yes, who? Which man here will happily be put to their death. Show me the knight who will march into that camp and I will call him a mad man." Jaehyun stepped closer to his son, who only stood taller,  ready for whatever was to come. 

"San" His father scoffed. "San is why we are losing." He spat at his son. Jongho was not going to relent. 

"At least he is fighting this war. What role have you played in his council Father, other then the master of complaints." Jaehyun didn't know how to reply.

"Enough Jongho...." Jungchul exclaimed, but a pathway was starting to form as the dragon rider walked to the group. The man had full armor on, his house sigil imprinted on his chest plate. Jaehyun turns to leave but his brother held him back by his arm. 

"Family or not Jaehyun, I will not you stoke mutiny." Jaehyun yanked his arm out of the mans grasp. Men moved to the side to let the soldier pass, who glared at the rider approaching the table. The man removed his helmet, hair matted from sweat and face covered in ash. As he took off his gloves, another man spoke. 

"if we do not seize control of this war my Lord, the crabs will soon dine on all of us."  Silence overcame the group, as they had a guest. Horses steps could be heard, the house Kim banner raised above soldiers heads. Each man watched as they approached, a young man walked forward. 

"Lord Jungchul, I bring words from his grace Kang-Dae, first of his name. King of the Andals, the Roynar, and the first men. Lord of the seven kingdoms, and protector of the realm." He reached for the inside of his cloak, pulling out a rolled parchment and handing it to the Lord. Jungchul took it from him and opened the scroll. His face unreadable as he examined it's contents. Once finished, he looked to his own son. He looked back to the messenger and handed the parchment back. A grim smile spread on his face and he leaned his hands upon the table. Looking out to the land, he saw smoke fill the sky, his ships burned down to their very foundation. A sinister laugh came out of him before he took hold of the placed helmet and striked the messenger with it. Men of the group rushed to separate the two, pulling the lord off of the innocent man. 

With the man now fallen, the dragon rider took hold of the parchment. His eyes scanned the contents of the parchment, and with each passing word, a storm of emotions brewed within him. The anger that built was palpable, and his grip on the parchment tightened. The message, a poor attempt of heroism. Twenty thousand ships he was to send, hundreds of soldiers aboard them. After all these years, the King has just now decided to provide aid when they had asked for it long ago.  

"What strategy was discussed?" He demanded. 

Jongho had appeared to be correct, but as was Lord Jaehyun, for San had turned into a mad man. Smoke had cleared the area, bodies revealed to be cut in half, skin burnt to char. Arrows stuck out of the ground everywhere soldiers walked as they searched for any fallen brothers. Lord Jungchul looked around the field, looking for his son's face, but finding it no where. The last time he caught sight of him was when he first approached the crab feeders cave, sword pulled out and placed in front of him, feigning surrender. It had happened quickly, when the crab people were close enough, San had swiftly grabbed his sword and began slicing through them. Aeshara, sensing her rider is danger, came flying down, then all he could see was fire encircling the area. 

He was about to shout his name, when movement was seen from inside the cave. Jungchul pulled his sword out, approaching with men following closely behind. Once the body came out to the sunlight, Jungchul relaxed, puting his sword back in it's sleeve. Armor and face covered in blood, his son emerged from the cave, dragging the crab feeders body behind him. 

-----------

The rough water rocked the ship, making the princess start to feel sick. She stood on the deck, overlooking the vast sea. She watched as birds flew overhead, their wings catching the breeze. The salty air filled her nostrils, and the rhythmic sounds of the waves crashing against the ship provided a soothing backdrop. Despite the seasickness creeping in, Hana found solace in the vastness of the ocean. Prince Wooyoung joined her on the deck. He too gazed out at the horizon, his expression thoughtful. The two friends shared a moment of quiet contemplation, surrounded by the boundless expanse of water.

"Seems like the sea has a mind of its own today," Wooyoung remarked, his eyes narrowing against the sun's reflection on the water. Hana nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips. 

"It's unpredictable, much like life itself." As the ship sailed further into uncharted waters, the anticipation of heading home made her heart fill with excitement. The dornish prince nudged her shoulder. 

"Since when did you become so wise princess? Have all those philosophy books finally get to you?" Hana laughed, shaking her head at his joke. 

"Perhaps they have," she replied, her eyes still fixed on the distant horizon. "Or maybe I've just learned to appreciate the lessons life teaches us, even the unpredictable ones." The crew on the ship bustled around, their tasks keeping the vessel on course. The sea breeze carried with it a sense of freedom and adventure, and Hana couldn't help but feel a renewed spirit within her.Wooyoung looked at her, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. 

"You've changed, Hana. The girl who used to sneak into the city for secret adventures seems more... composed now." She sighed, a mix of nostalgia and maturity in her voice. 

"We all grow up eventually, Woo. And sometimes, life forces us to face things we never expected." The ship sailed on, leaving behind the vast sea as it carried the friends closer to Drake's Landing. Hana couldn't shake the feeling that the journey ahead held more surprises and challenges.

"I'm surprised you stayed in Sunsphinx for so long, I was expecting you to leave the moment you got there." Wooyoung said. "I'll admit, the weather was something I had to adjust to, but truthfully I enjoyed myself." Hana responded. 

"I suppose the warmth of Sunsphinx has its own charm," Wooyoung remarked, a playful glint in his eyes. "And who knows, maybe I found something that made your presence enjoyable." Hana raised an eyebrow, catching the subtle implication in his words. 

"Oh, is there a particular reason you enjoyed my presence so much?" she teased, curious to know if there was more to his statement. Wooyoung chuckled. "Perhaps I will share it with you another time." As the ship sailed steadily, the banter between the two continued, creating a lighthearted atmosphere amidst the vast expanse of the sea. As they sailed, a sudden shout cut through the air, warning of an impending threat

"DRAGON" The unexpected turbulence tossed the ship from side to side, and Hana, standing on the deck, struggled to maintain her balance. In the chaos, she collided with the side of the ship, the impact causing her to wince in pain. Wooyoung, quick to react, rushed to her side. 

"Princess, are you alright?" he asked, concern etched on his face. Hana held her head, feeling the aftermath of the collision.

"I'm alright," she reassured him, attempting a small smile despite the throbbing ache. Wooyoung gently helped her stand and examined her head for any signs of injury. Fortunately, there was no blood. As they stood together, Hana and Wooyoung watched the red dragon fly east. The uncertainty of the situation hung in the air, and Hana's thoughts swirled with questions. She knew the dragons of her house, but this one remained a mystery.

"Who is that?" Wooyoung inquired, seeking guidance from the princess.

"I'm not sure," Hana admitted, her gaze fixed on the majestic creature. The distinct color of its scales indicated that it was neither her brother's dragon nor any she was familiar with. The dragon's roars reverberated through the air, stirring a mixture of awe and trepidation among the crew. The ship sailed on, leaving the enigmatic dragon behind, but the encounter left an unsettling feeling in Hana's heart. 

-----------

As Hana and Wooyoung stepped off the ship, the bustle of activity around the dock greeted them. The crew worked diligently to unload their belongings, preparing for the journey to the Red Keep. A knight, standing at the end of the dock in resplendent armor, caught Hana's attention.

"Sir Jaime," she exclaimed, her smile brightening at the sight of her old friend. Jaime turned towards her, his armor gleaming in the sunlight, a white cape flowing elegantly in the gentle breeze.

"Princess, welcome home," he greeted with a bow, his short golden blonde hair framing his face. His gaze shifted to Wooyoung at Hana's side.

"Ah, Prince Wooyoung, a pleasure to see you again," Jaime acknowledged, offering a courteous nod. Wooyoung reciprocated the greeting, expressing his gratitude. The trio began to make their way toward the Red Keep, the iconic structure towering in the distance. As they walked, Hana felt a mix of emotions—excitement at being back, curiosity about what awaited her, and the lingering sense of uncertainty after the encounter with the red dragon.

"I would like to stop by the training yard." She exclaimed, Sir Jaime acknowledged her wish with a nod of his head. 

"Will Yeosang be coming to Drake's Landing soon?" Hana asked. "I'm sure he'll want to. Depending on what happens." Wooyoung responded. She hummed in agreement. 

As Hana and Wooyoung strolled through the courtyard, the distant sounds of clashing swords grew louder, drawing their attention. A crowd had gathered at the center, indicating that Hongjoong was indeed putting on a display of his swordsmanship. The princess couldn't help but smile, knowing her brother's penchant for showcasing his skills. Approaching the gathering, they found a space at the edge of the crowd to watch. Hongjoong moved with grace, his sword a blur in the air as he parried and struck with precision. The onlookers were captivated by the spectacle, cheering and applauding with each impressive move. 

Sir Jaime, who had followed them, leaned in and whispered to Hana, "Your brother's skills with a sword are truly remarkable. It's a sight to behold." Hana nodded, her eyes fixed on Hongjoong's performance. Despite the troubles and challenges that had befallen their family, this display of skill and strength brought a sense of pride. The courtyard echoed with the clashing of swords, creating a symphony of martial prowess that filled the air. She watched as blocked and ducked every blow his opponent gave him. Sword fighting was a beautiful dance, a dance of steel and skill. Hongjoong's movements were fluid, and his opponent struggled to match his finesse. The crowd's cheers intensified as the spectacle continued. Hana couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for her brother's prowess.

The sun bathed the courtyard in a warm glow, casting long shadows as the combatants circled each other. Each strike was calculated, and every parry showcased Hongjoong's mastery of the sword. The princess found herself lost in the rhythmic flow of the fight, the clashing of steel creating a captivating melody. As the duel reached its climax, Hongjoong executed a series of swift maneuvers, disarming his opponent with a flourish. The crowd erupted into cheers, and Hana clapped along with them. She exchanged a proud glance with Wooyoung, both appreciating the artistry of the sword fight.

Sir Jaime, standing beside them, nodded in approval. "Your brother truly has the heart of a warrior. It's good to see the strength of House Kim on display." With the duel concluded, Hongjoong bowed to his opponent and acknowledged the cheering crowd. Looking in the groups direction, his eyes widened. Onlookers tried to grab his attention, but he paid them no mind. He dropped his sword and rushed towards them. Hongjoong's genuine excitement filled the air as he lifted Hana in a tight embrace. The princess, caught off guard by her brother's exuberance, couldn't help but laugh at his enthusiastic greeting.

"Get off of me," she teased, playfully pushing him back to get a better look at his face. Despite the sweat and grime on his training gear, the joy in Hongjoong's eyes shone brightly. His longer hair and sharper features since their last meeting spoke of the time that had passed.

"You've grown, little sister," Hongjoong remarked, holding her at arm's length and studying her face. "I can't believe how much time has passed since I last saw you." Hana grinned, a mix of amusement and affection in her eyes. 

"It has only been a year brother." Hongjoong chuckled. "It's good to be back, though. I missed this place, missed you." He ruffled her hair, earning a mock glare from Hana.

"I missed you too, you oaf," she replied, a warmth in her voice. The reunion brought a sense of familiarity and comfort.

"Do you have more training to do?" Hana asked. Hongjoong shook his head. "That was the last of it, I need to start getting ready for the feast tonight." Hongjoong greeted Wooyoung with a shake of his hand. 

"A feast? For what?" Hana asked, curious. Her and Hongjoong walked towards a shed, in it were hooks and tables to place weaponry and discarded clothing.  He began to remove his gloves and put away his sword. 

"For your arrival of course, father wants to celebrate his daughters return."  Hongjoong continued to stow away his training gear, glancing at Hana with a smile. "The whole court is abuzz with your return. It's been too quiet without you, little sister." Hana joined him in securing her weapons, her mind processing the idea of a celebration. 

"A feast in my honor? I thought we save those for significant victories or weddings." Hongjoong chuckled, "Well, your return is a significant victory for the court, and who knows, maybe it'll turn into a celebration for something more in the future." As they exited the shed, Wooyoung followed them, curious about the upcoming festivities. 

"A feast sounds like a splendid idea. I haven't had a proper celebration in a while." Hongjoong threw an arm around Hana's shoulders, guiding her towards the castle. "It's settled then. We'll have a feast, and you, little sister, will be the guest of honor."

Hana grinned, appreciating the warmth of her brother's presence. "As long as there's good food and lively music, I'm in." 

Curious of her fathers location, she asked her brother "Where is father now?" Hongjoong replied, "In the throne room, apparently there's news on the stepstones." This peaked Hana's interest. 

 "Any idea what it is?" Hongjoong shook his head. Hana nodded, "You go ahead, I would like to pay him a visit. Sir Jaime, please show Prince Wooyoung where his chambers will be." 

"As you wish." He replied. Hongjoong left a kiss to his sister cheek and walked off with the other two men, their conversation she could hear in the distance. As Hana made her way towards the throne room, her footsteps echoed through the grand halls of the Red Keep. The castle had an air of familiarity, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed in her absence. The throne room doors were large and imposing, guarded by members of the Kingsguard. They nodded respectfully as she approached, recognizing the princess. Pushing the heavy doors open, she entered the room.

Inside, her father sat on the Iron Throne, a place of power and authority. It towered over the courtiers present, valryian steel blades spread to the steps of the seat. The room was spacious, with high ceilings and the banners of House Kim adorning the walls. She hid behind the courtiers, not wanting to cause a scene. She heard them whisper amongst themselves, as she walked, one of the comments made her heart stop momentarily. 

"I think it has to do with Choi San." San? A slight smirk played her lips as she continued walking. Once she found a spot, loud footsteps could be heard walking towards the room. There he was, it was truly him. He walked past the crowd, hair parted to the side, features sharp, and a crown made of shells adorned his head. He had a dark blue tunic on, a shield of armor covered his back and chest, his belt held a piece of weaponry that one of his hands rested on. 

As he walked with confidence, so did she in secrecy, matching his steps approaching her father. As a warning he was close enough, a guard pointed his sword out towards him, but San kept moving until the blade touched his armor. San looked at the guard, plucked out the weapon, and dropped it at his feet. The guard sheathed his blade and picked up the piece. 

"You wear a crown?" The King asked. "Do you also call yourself King?" Whispers filled the room. San adjusted his stance. 

"Once we smashed the Triarchy, they named me King of the Narrow Sea." More whispers rose from the crowd as they watched the event play out. 

"But I know that there is only one true king your grace." San moved to kneel down on one knee, head bowed as he did. "My crown, and stepstones, are yours." He removed the crown from his head and held it out as an offering. The King shared a small smile and looked past him before looking at him again. 

"Well, where is your father, Lord Jungchul?" San tilted his head back up. "He sailed home, to Coralrift." King Kang-Dae clicked his tongue. 

"Who holds the stepstones?" San was quick to respond. "The tides, the crabs, and two thousand dead triarchy members staked to the sand to warn those who might follow." Small gasps could be heard, shocked at the gruesome telling. The King stepped down, approaching the man. He reached down to take the crown from San's hand and examined it before passing it to one of his guards. San watched him with careful eyes, cautious of his every move. 

"Rise." Kang-Dae commanded. He helped San to stand, and once he did, he clasped a hand on his shoulder. Claps resounded as a sign of approval and respect for San's actions. The courtiers, nobles, and members of the court recognized the significance of this moment. The King's gesture was not only an acknowledgment of San's accomplishments but also a show of trust and favor.

"Your bravery has served the realm well," King Kang-Dae declared, his voice carrying across the throne room. "The Stepstones are a crucial region, and your efforts have ensured the safety and security of our interests there." San bowed respectfully, humbled by the recognition. The courtiers continued to applaud, and some even offered approving nods. 

"Your loyalty to House Kim and your commitment to protecting the realm do not go unnoticed," the King continued. San looked up at the King, his eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and determination. "Thank you, Your Grace. I am honored by your trust."

"May you continue to serve House Kim with the same dedication and valor," the King replied, patting San's shoulder once more. The King, overlooking the room, spots his daughter, a smile plastered on her face and clapping diligently. 

"Yes, Yes. We thank the god's for this young man's brave actions. I would also like to thank them for bringing my daughter back home safely from her travels." As the King expressed his gratitude and acknowledged his daughter's return, the courtiers joined in the applause. The court was filled with a mix of formal acknowledgment and genuine joy at the reunion of father and daughter.

Hana, standing among the courtiers, smiled at her father. The bond between them had been strained in recent times, but the acknowledgment in front of the court served as a moment of connection. She felt a sense of reassurance that her presence was valued and recognized by her father, even amidst the complexities that surrounded their relationship. The King's words echoed through the throne room, and Hana curtsied in acknowledgment of the court's applause. The people of the court dispersed, until only a few remained. As she approached her father, she felt knots form in her stomach. San came closer into view, even from behind he was still captivating to her. 

"Ah, my daughter, a lovely surprise to see you in court." She smiled at him and accepted the hand he reached out to her before placing a kiss upon it. 

"it has been too long my dear," Hana let out a small laugh. "Yes, I suppose it has been." She finally turns to greet San. From far away, she could tell her had changed, but now, standing so close, she felt like she couldn't breath. His eyes were as striking as ever, sharp and feline like. His build had grown exponentially too, shoulder much broader and muscle prominent. San, turning to face Hana, met her gaze with a mixture of surprise and warmth. The courtly setting seemed to fade away for a moment as their eyes locked, the unspoken connection between them rekindled. He was dressed in armor, a testament to his newfound responsibilities and achievements.

"Princess Hana," San greeted her with a respectful bow, his voice carrying a deep, soothing resonance. "It is an honor to see you again after such a long time." The formalities of the court were still present, but beneath them, there lingered a familiarity that transcended titles and decorum. Hana nodded in acknowledgment, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"Lord San," she replied, her tone carrying a warmth that went beyond mere courtesy. "I hear tales of your valor and accomplishments. The stepstones must be thankful to have such a dedicated defender." San's gaze held a depth of emotions, and for a moment, it seemed as if they existed in their own world within the bustling court. The King, observing the interaction, offered a subtle nod. Sir Jaime, standing discreetly in the background, maintained a watchful eye on the proceedings.

"I appreciate your kind words, Princess," San replied, a genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Much has transpired since we last met."

"Princess, you should start preparing yourself for tonight." As Sir Jaime redirected Hana's attention to the impending preparations for the evening feast, she couldn't help but feel a tinge of reluctance to part ways with the captivating gaze of Lord San. The exchange had been brief, yet it held layers of unspoken sentiments.

"Until tonight then, Lord San," Hana said with a gracious nod, masking the undercurrent of emotion that resonated in her voice. She turned gracefully, her gown swaying with each step, and followed Sir Jaime out of the throne room. San watched her departure, a mixture of admiration and longing in his eyes. The courtly affairs continued around him, but his thoughts lingered on the unexpected reunion with the princess. The echoes of their shared past and the uncharted future hung in the air, a subtle tension that promised more encounters to come.

[roguelioness]

(i'll follow-) follow you down

Fandom: FFXIV Pairing: Alyzen Kaide/Estinien Varlineau, Alyzen Kaide/Aymeric de Borel Rating: T (mild violence) Words: 1784

(read on ao3)

The woman in his arms looks so fucking fragile.

She’s so silent, so alarmingly unmoving as he strides rapidly across the battlefield. There’s fighting all around him, soldiers of the Alliance clashing with the Garleans, the loud rotors and motors of their grotesque ceruleum-fuelled warmachina vibrating the air. Smoke and dust and blood is a near-tangible thing on his tongue, sour and acrid and bitter, and there’s a piercingly high scream coming from the right, but all of Estinien’s attention is on the pale-faced, bruised and bleeding Warrior of Light.

Savior of Ishgard.

Eorzea’s Champion.

He's only ever seen her vital and vibrant, whether in joy or grief or rage or sorrow. But now she wears a new look and he finds he does not care much for the sight of it.

In his arms, she looks so… human. So mortal. 

So frangible.

He should have acted sooner. He should have fought by her side, instead of watching as she parried blow after blow, as her skin turned from golden to purple-blue.

He thought she’d had it under control. And Halone’s breath, but she’d been magnificent as she danced around the battlefield, Zenos’ attacks barely touching her.

And she’d killed him. He’d seen it. He’d watched Zenos’ body slump to the ground, little better than a soggy sack of flour. He didn’t have to be a Sharlayan scholar to know that the dead weren’t meant to glow ominous red before climbing back to their feet.

Alyzen always had the worst luck.

Whatever that thing was, whatever manner of creature lived in that body, it had not startled Aly, or surprised her. No, she'd been so fucking resigned, like she'd expected it, a grim sort of desperation on her thinned mouth. Fool woman, he clenches his jaw as he carefully climbs over a twisted chunk of metal that had once been a craft, why would you attempt to fight a creature that could not be killed?

But he knows the answer, even as he rages against it. What other choice did she have? All too often, the fate of half a dozen countries rested on her shoulders, and he cannot even judge them for it, for had he not required her assistance to protect and defend the country he loves?

Why had she been alone on the battlefield? Where were the rest of her Scions, her friends? Why had they abandoned her in her time of need?

The kind of magicks it had employed… to see her in such distress, to know she was in pain and that he could do nothing– He should have intervened the moment he saw the body rise. Perhaps if he had… his gaze drops to her blood-soaked armor.

Mayhap it was his imagination, but had she stopped breathing?

Estinien dips his head closer to her face, his cheek near her nose, and a flood of relief washes over him as the warmth of her exhale fans over his skin. “Do not even think of dying,” he murmurs to her, ducking behind a rockface so that the soldiers passing overhead do not catch a glimpse of their hero so wounded. “I would be most vexed with you should you make the slightest attempt.”

The Alliance camp was easy enough to slip into without being noticed. Estinien cast his glance this way, then that, attempting to gauge the safest place to take her to. Alyzen has dire need of a chirurgeon, but were she to be seen it would cause a massive drop in morale. Search as he might, he cannot find the slightest trace of the Scions. A strange thing indeed, even more so that none of the leaders seemed unaffected by their absence.

In the midst of all this chaos, there’s only one person Estinien trusts.

He knows Aymeric well enough to instantly pick him out of the crowd. Weaving his way through a throng of bodies dashing about, his own hood pulled over his head, he makes his way towards Ishgard’s Lord Commander. Aymeric is ensconced within the tent that serves as his personal accommodations, fully busy giving out orders to Lucia, but Estinien cannot wait for him to finish– he barges into the tent, ignoring Lucia’s outraged exclamation, and pulls down his hood to reveal his face.

“She needs help,” is all he says.

Aymeric draws in a sharp, shocked breath when his gaze lands on Alyzen’s form, his features contorting with heartbreak, before he quickly gathers himself and barks out an order to Lucia to fetch a chirurgeon. Estinien ignores the woman’s departure in favor of settling Aly onto Aymeric’s bed, his fingers suddenly and unexpectedly shaky as he brushes away a blood-crusted strand of hair away from her face.

“What happened?” Aymeric asks, concern making his voice tremble.

“Zenos,” he says, then goes into the details of the fight he’d witnessed.

Aymeric’s breath catches in his throat. “That was not the Crown Prince that raised his blade against her,” he states quietly as he kneels by the bed, carefully undoing the straps and buckles that keep her armor together. “Zenos is dead. It is an Ascian that now wears his body.”

“She fought an ascian? What would possess you to send her out to face him alone?” Estinien’s voice vibrates with his outrage. “If the alliance does not care for her wellbeing, surely the scions would–”

“The Scions are not here, Estinien.”

“So I gather. I overheard a group of men say they were on a secret mission elsewhere. Why would they leave her to fend for herself?”

“They cannot be here,” Estinien’s never seen Aymeric look more troubled. 

A short explanation later, and a fresh horror has embedded itself into his chest; he stares down at Alyzen, quiescent and motionless. “You believe there is a chance the same fate has befallen her? You think her soul has…” he cannot bring himself to say it.

“It has occurred several times,” Aymeric is grim-faced now, “and my understanding is that it affected only the Scions. Each time it has taken place, a Scion has fallen prey. Alisaie fell but a week ago.” He exhales heavily, his shoulders slumping with the motion. “Would that I could have kept her from the same fate. Halone grant me strength, the sight of her like this is once I cannot bear."

Before Estinien can respond, Lucis bursts in, a chirurgeon close at her heels. He watches silently as the medic examines Alyzen, as they tug at her eyelids and measure her pulse and clean and suture her wounds, but even he knows that her injuries, numerous as they are, could not be responsible for her insensate condition.

The chirurgeon completes his examination. “She– she appears to be asleep, my lord,” he says, a frown creasing his brow. “Her breathing is steady, and her pulse is strong. Yet–” he hesitates.

“Yet?” Aymeric crosses his arms.

“I could be mistaken, of course, but her aether– it is considerably thinned.”

Estinien narrows his eyes. “What do you mean? Speak plainly.”

He clears his throat. “It is as though her soul is barely present. It clings to her body in the barest of threads.”

There’s a clog in his throat, a rusted dagger in his chest. Estinien’s fingers twitch, as though they’re seeking out the comfort of hers; he curls them into his palm, hiding his fist behind his back. 

“You are certain of this?” Aymeric asks. 

“Aye.”

“It bodes well that it yet lingers,” Lucia places a hand on Aymeric’s shoulder. “The Warrior of Light is strong. She will return to us; of this I am certain.”

Aymeric exhales. “Aye,” he murmurs. “I must have faith.” His gaze meets Estinien’s, and he can see the fear lurking in those depths – not the fear of a leader on the verge of losing his best soldier, but the fear of a man who cares deeply.

Loves, even.

Estinien clenches his jaw so tight his teeth hurt. He recognizes that fear for it sits within his own ribs. The recognition of that emotion brings with it panic. Surely it cannot be. He cannot possibly– Dimly, he registers Aymeric giving orders for Alyzen to be flown to Ishgard– “immediately. Ensure that none but the Alliance leaders are aware of her condition–” but all his attention is on her.

She does look like she’s merely asleep. If it were not for the bandages and the bruises he could fool himself into believing it. But she’s not asleep. Someone, somewhere, is trying to pull her soul out of her body. Someone, somewhere is trying to turn her body into a husk. Someone, somewhere, is hurting her, and he cannot do anything about it–

“Will you accompany us?” Aymeric’s soft-spoken question rouses him out of his thoughts. 

“What?”

“Will you accompany us?” Lowering his voice further, he adds, “Even if she is unaware of it now, I am certain that when she wakes she would be pleased to know you kept her company.”

Estinien hesitates. He looks at Aly, a belligerent blue bloom on her now-pale cheek, short copper hair – when had she cut it? – matted and plastered to her scalp. Of what help would he be, hovering by her bedside like an overzealous mother hen? Her foes are numerous and linger in the shadows, and his time would be better served in hunting them.

It is not, as that traitorous little voice in the back of his head whispers, because he cannot bear to see her like this.

“Nay,” he shrugs, a pang of guilt pricking him at the split-second expression of disappointment that flickers over Aymeric’s face. “I would be of little help in an infirmary, Aymeric.”

“I suppose I should not be surprised,” Aymeric sighs. “Though you can be assured that she would be most disappointed at your absence.”

“Aymeric.” His tone, subdued as it is, gets the Lord Commander’s attention. Whatever Aymeric sees on his face is enough to have his own expression soften. 

“I will see to her care, Estinien. Have no doubt that she will be tended to by Ishgard’s finest chirurgeons.” He reaches out and grips his shoulder. The weight of his palm is welcome; it steadies that shaky, wobbly part of him that worries and fears for Alyzen. “Do you have any message you wish for me to disclose once she regains consciousness?”

“Tell her–” he pauses. His throat is clogged with an emotion he refuses to acknowledge. “Tell her she is not alone.” With that, he turns on his heel and walks away, forcing himself to ignore the part of him that yearns to return to her side.

He cannot remain, not while there are still those who desire her demise. 

[tallbluelady]

X'rhun Tia's Fencing Club for Ladies

Woops, I forgot to post this even though it was done... 2.8k

Chapter Three: The Circle of Knowing

Rowan found herself getting into a very comfortable rhythm in Sharlyan, despite her meeting with the Garlean dignitary. According to Alisaie, it was all Lord Forchenault could do was to keep him occupied and out of sniffing their more prized secrets. A lot of that included taking him to see rather obvious secrets. It was all a huge game of cat and mouse that for the moment, everyone seemed rather keen on keeping Rowan out of. So much so that Rowan had yet to see hide or hair of Lord Solus, even when she did visit the Leveilleur estate.

And she visited the Leveilleur estate often! There was always some sort of refreshment at the estate after each session of the Fencing Club. Alisaie had secured invitations to each of the ladies who attended, including some of the newer members. To Alisaie's chagrin her mother had asked that her brother Alphinaud be allowed to attend these little get togethers. But Rowan had found the young man rather charming, if a little more erudite than her sister. It likely helped that after realizing that Alisaie was on a first name basis with the entirety of the Fencing Club, he offered the use of his first name as well.

It also likely helped that Mr. Arugelt was often there at the brunches or luncheons as well. Despite her knowing all of the ladies of the Fencing Club, she rarely felt comfortable in large sprawling conversations. And on top of that, she never felt that she was welcome to take anyone out of their conversations or to interject into others. The last time she had done so in Gridania had always ended badly, so she kept mostly to herself. But when Mr. Arugelt attended the meal, she had a very willing partner to trade her recent discoveries she found in her books with. She had just been discussing such a discovery when the day turned far more exciting than she would have imagined.

"...though, I daresay thou art on the cusp of learning to manipulate aether in that manner thyself. Mayhap if thou consultest with Mr. X'rhun about it - he seemeth to be the type of fellow who shareth such knowledge liberally," Mr. Arugelt said after Rowan described her findings on the Gyr Abanian art of Red Magic.

"Do you really think so?" Rowan asked.

He nodded. "Verily. I know that Lord Leveilleur seeketh those with open minds on all matters aetherial. I doubt my teacher took the time to even consider a less apt instructor."

"Then mayhap I shall approach him after our next instruction. Though I know not how I would pay him for the private instruction if he was actually willing..."

"I shall confer with Lord Leveilleur on the subject for thee. Alisaie, too, hath shown great ability with fencing and it may very well be her preferred choice to channeling aether."

Rowan averted her eyes shyly. "If it would help Alisaie's aetherical instruction as well..."

"Ms. Argentas, I would have thee remember that Sharlyan places the highest priority of the education of our people. As thou art now residing here, thou art included in that number," Mr. Arugelt said.

"A high tide raises all ships, does it not?" Alphinaud added, leaning in. "I know my grandfather would be more than willing to cover any extra cost, Ms. Argentas. And who knows, mayhap Mr. X'rhun took the original offer of teaching fencing to find more students for the aetherial art."

"It still feels awfully kind... but thank you, both of you," Rowan said.

The two of them gave her rather satisfied smiles at that and the tea continued at a leisurely rate. Lord Solus was being shown some other corner of Sharlyan that day, so they were free to take their time in the Manor. So it was to almost everyone's surprise when a new face popped into the study.

"Am I interrupting something? No one wants to tell me where Lord Leveilleur is..." the man said.

"Thancred! Thou hast joined us at last! What news from the mainland?" Mr. Arugelt rose from the table and clapped the Hyurian man on the shoulder.

Rowan studied the man as he and Mr. Arugelt had their little reunion. He was about average height for a Midlander, with tanned skin and white hair. He too had the Archon's Mark, though his was on his neck much like Mr. Totolymo's was. He had a dashing sort of air about him and a dazzling smile to match.

"And who are all of these fine ladies? If I didn't know any better -"

"- and thou dost -

"- then I would say that you have quite the collection of eligible women. Come now, I wouldn't say anything crass in present company..."

A few of the ladies rolled their eyes. Obviously, they knew Thancred - Mr. Waters as he was introduced - from before he left for the mainland. He bowed deeply at Rowan when she was finally her turn.

"So you're the one everyone's talking about. I can't say that you leave anything left wanting visually," Mr. Waters said.

Rowan merely nodded, noting the scowl on Mr. Arugelt's face. Was he...? There wasn't much time to wonder as Rowan was tucked into a conversation with Khaliun and another of their acquaintance, a Ms. A'quexta Rhini, as Alisaie and Alphinaud asked Thancred for news of the mainland.

"I heard that Mr. Waters is one of Lord Levielleur's most trusted spies," the red haired Miqo'te woman said in hushed tones.

"Spy?" Rowan and Khaliun chorused.

"Keep your voices down," A'quexta hissed. "Despite Sharlyan's appeal for neutrality, it doesn't do to leave your nation clueless."

Rowan and Khaliun both nodded at that in a conceding fashion.

"It does seem prudent to have a first hand account on all things..." Khaliun mused.

"But you said he was specifically Lord Leveilleur's spy," Rowan said. "Does he have them against the will of the Forum?"

"Like the Forum's opinion would have sway over a man such as Louisoix Leveilleur," A'quexta rolled her eyes. "Lord Forchenault himself doesn't hold any sway against his father. I've heard tell that only Lady Matoya in Dravania could turn Lord Levielleur's ear. And they tend to agree with each other on political matters. If she would ever get involved in such matters herself..." 

While Rowan would not have so quickly made friends with the Miqo'te woman naturally, seeing as she was a more out-going and talkative person than she, A'quexta seemed to readily take Rowan under her wing in all the gossip of Sharlyan. Like her, A'quexta had lived in Gridania for a time before moving to the island and taking advantage of the knowledge that was so freely given. The main difference between them was that A'quexta was also seeking knowledge that was not so freely given. Where Rowan found a road block, A'quexta found it a challenge to overcome and she readily engaged with it.

It seemed that she was successful in her acquisitions, and Rowan and Khaliun spent a large amount of the tea time listening in to what A'quexta had to say about the Leveilleurs, the forum, and the entire nation of Sharlyan. By the time they were ousted from the study by a beleaguered butler, Rowan felt as though she knew almost everything there was to know about Sharlyan's political situation.

Well, mayhap knew was too strong a word. She wouldn't paint A'quexta as a liar, but seeing as her first friends on Sharlyan soil were those so closely linked to the Leveilleur family she wasn't wont to think ill of them. Although A'quexta herself seemed more fond of the family rather than the Forum...

"Is aught amiss, Ms. Argentas?" Mr. Arugelt asked when they were walking to her cottage after the lunch party was over.

"Oh. Ah... well, I heard something that you may be able to elucidate for me..." Rowan said. "I... how do I put this... What... you and Mr. Waters. And mayhap I should include Mr. Totolymo in this... what is your relationship with the Leveilleurs? My understanding is that Lord Leveilleur was very active in the Studium before Sharlyan's exodus from Dravania. And that you were all his students, or at least recognized by him in a scholarly fashion. Is there more to it than that?"

Mr. Arugelt tried starting a phrase a few times before he could answer. "What thou hast surmised is true. And I shall endeavor to answer thy frankness in turn, but in more secluded surrounds."

"Oh?" That piqued Rowan's interest.

He nodded and they continued to the cottage. "I hath oft admired the glade in thy mother's garden and I feel that shalt serve our purposes well."

Rowan opened the gate when they arrived and remembered the fact that their cottage here was so well situated. With all the kindness she had been shown so far, she wondered if even their living situation had been subsidized by a member of the Leveilleur party. A dark part of her whispered of a time when the shoe would fall and she and her mother would be expected to pay back the debt. But the gentle manner that Mr. Arugelt and the rest of them treated her swept those odious thoughts aside, like how he swept the bench for her to sit on.

"Ms. Argentas, I believe that we hath been trying to give thee a shield of ignorance by not including thee in these matters. But as Alisaie hath so rightfully put it, thou art one of the keenest minds we hath encountered in a long time," he said.

Rowan started to blush. That was high praise from most, and higher still from Alisaie.

"So it standeth to reason that we should include thee in the goings on of our party. Lord Leveilleur, along with the Students of Baldesion, representeth the more active approach to Sharlyan's policies. 'To ignore the plight of those one might conceivably save is not wisdom—it is indolence.' Tis a stance I hath taken to heart as I follow in his footsteps. How familiar art thou in the battle of Charteneau?"

"Fairly. My father and brother were both lost to us in that battle."

Mr. Arugelt's face softened at that. "My condolences. Tis no small thing to lose a loved one, much less two at once."

Rowan nodded. "Thank you, sir. Lately, I find myself more spurred on to help in any way I can... even if it's in a small way. If I can prevent more bloodshed so others don't have to suffer the same way Mama and I have, then I'll gladly take action."

"Tis that selfsame spirit that spureth Lord Leveilleur. Twas through his guidance that the city-states of Eorzea were able to rally against the Garlean threat. And though many were lost, many more could have died that day." He looked at the two moons in the twilight above them. "Our organization - the Circle of Knowing - seeketh to keep the Star spinning on its course."

Mr. Arugelt continued to explain how the Circle of Knowing were able to do so, and what role he personally took before the Battle of Charteneau. All of which left Rowan dumbstruck.

"That was you? All of you seem so capable, so wise! And you think I can prove useful to your organization?" Rowan asked.

"Aye, I believe that thou mayest. If for naught but for thy fresh perspective. From Alisaie's tellings of the Fencing Club, thou art quick-witted and able to devise thy way to victory in seconds."

"That, I feel is an exaggeration, sir..."

"She doth have an effusive tongue for those she findeth worthy, but I have yet to find her judgement wanting," Mr. Arugelt said.

There was something in those gold eyes of his that caught on Rowan's heart. What ever precise emotion it was, she couldn't tell, but he was earnest and honest and true. She found she couldn't handle it and had to change the subject.

"W-would you like to come in for dinner? It won't be anywhere near as elegant of a meal as at the Leveilleur's, of course, but I'm sure Mama would love to entertain you," Rowan offered.

Mr. Arugelt paused for a moment, looked up at the darkened sky and gave a short chuckle. "I hadn't realized how long we hath been speaking. I feel a change in environs for a meal shalt serve me some good."

Mrs. Argentas was more than happy to see Mr. Arugelt walk in with Rowan and offered him to dine with them as well. It wasn't a large meal, but it was one of Rowan's favorites: cold meats, cheeses, and dried fruit. Mr. Arugelt was effusive in the conversation as Mama was, and the three of them settled into a comfortable conversation about food preservation across the various cultures of Eorzea.

Before Rowan could stop her, Mrs. Argentas brought out some of the old Gelmorran wine she brought with them to Sharlyan.

"Oh, Mama, no one likes the Gelmorran wine..." she said as she took the plates off the table.

"I do. You do. Tis a delicacy amongst our kind and I do believe that Mr. Arugelt has a defined enough palate to appreciate it," Mrs. Argentas said.

"I hath not the honor of trying the Gelmorran variety before," Mr. Arugelt said politely. "From what fruit doth the spirit draw from?"

"Mun-tuy beans." Rowan said with a grimace. "Tis a very unique flavor, Mr. Arugelt. I've grown to like it in my adulthood, but I shall pour you a glass of water to chase it."

He let out a high pitched oh as Mrs. Argentas poured him a glass. "Twould not be my first choice for an alcohol, but I am not one to turn away a new experience."

"Oh, that shall make for a good toast. To new experiences!" Mrs. Argentas raised her glass.

Rowan raised hers and saw Mr. Arugelt swallow as he raised his. Rowan took the initiative and took a large swig. She could appreciate the earthy tones because it was part of her heritage. That and it was the first alcohol Mama would let her drink.

"Tis sweeter than I had anticipated," Mr. Arugelt said, reaching for the glass of water.

"Well, the wine makers are wont to add more sugar to ensure fermentation, Mr. Arugelt," Mrs. Argentas said. "Would you care for another glass?"

His face blanched, and Rowan could see that twinkle in her mother's eye she got when she was playing with young men.

"Ahh, n-nay. I must return to the Leveilleur estate. My friend Mr. Waters but recently rejoined us and there is much to discuss, and I would prefer to do so with a clear mind."

"Oh, very well. Mayhap next time."

Mr. Arugelt nodded and rose from the table.

"Oh, I'll see you out, Mr. Arugelt." Rowan almost ran so she could apologize to him.

The pair made it outside before she felt safe enough to tell off her mother's behavior without offending her. Mr. Arugelt took it all very evenly.

"Tis no matter Ro - Ms. Argentas," Mr. Arugelt said, shaking his head. "Pray excuse me, the wine must have been more potent than I thought."

"Ah, ah, tis true that it is fairly potent.  Uh..." Rowan felt her eyes fluttering like she was some sort of novel heroine. "You... you are far more than welcome to call me 'Rowan'."

He smiled in a fashion that caught on her heart again. "I thank thee. If I may, I shall also extend the invitation of the use of my forename, Rowan."

"Thank you, Urianger." Rowan liked how the syllables flowed out of her mouth.

That heart catching smile of his continued for a bit until something pulled him out of his reverie. "Oh, I had all but forgotten..." He dug into an interior coat pocket. "Aether and Anatomy. I did recall that thou wert looking for a text on atherial manipulation, and this tome doth contain some of the more concise words on the subject."

He handed her the book, and their fingers brushed for the merest of moments. Rowan felt a bit of a spark nevertheless as she took the book. She tried to focus on the contents of the book rather than their brief touch.

"Tis more than I imagined... Oh, Urianger, you're my hero!" she said. She caught herself before she wrapped her arms around him.She gripped the book instead.

He didn't seem to notice. "Tis no matter at all Ms. - Rowan."

"I do believe we're talking in circles now, Urianger." She started to laugh.

"Aye, that we are. I do believe it is time to bid thee good night, though I am loathe to do so."

She nodded. It may have been the wine that wanted her to become the tiniest bit improper and kiss him, but it was the thought of her mother's heart that stayed the action.

"Good night, Urianger."

"Good night, Rowan."

[trehontin]

« don’t say it » - shinji @nekurooma 💕 [ Meme ]

Whatever he had wanted to say, it dies at the back of his throat the moment Shinji had only uttered this simple set. Explanations and thoughts. That string of an idea pondered upon and made available for the right moment in time, the one that hadn't been there for a century spent together in secrecy, this pretty little concept now decided upon to be perfect and yet? It had been stopped just like this. Of course, why would he expect anything else? This time spent together [ could it not nearly feel wasted? ], inside their own little world created with whatever luck they had forcefully torn from a brutal fate's grasp was something to be cherished and not taken for granted. With this war drawing closer. Ever nearer. The tension in the air just as high as the temptation between each other was never faltering, never fleeting. So he's quiet. Nearly too pliant beneath the other man now watching him simply exist, simply breathe underneath him.

A delicious little treat the Vizard had allowed himself to come to enjoy over countless encounters. Had it initially been once, it had dragged him back once more. Had it only been a singular incident every few new moons, it had returned him ever on waning or waxing crescent. After that? Staying not only a day, staying for multiple. Not leaving for a week sometimes---

--- hidden within a power only he was allowed to touch.

And over all that time, a thought had grown. A wish to speak out, aloud, to find to be heard while whatever the Lord would want to say, could turn their little engagement inside out. Ruin what they had and leave nothing behind, even though, in a sense; were not both of them aware that those few words, those simple syllables, would waver a conviction and shake a foundation to its core? Perhaps that was why he had waited for so long. Mayhap that was, why he desired to announce it at all [ would want to see the truth? ] " Don't be completely silent on me now. " Perchance this was why he played this game to the fullest, was just that littlest bit more unwilling to pull his moves like they had been expected, they had been known and read for decades and decades behind them in the past. Not offering more than they already had - it was good like this. It was good like this? [ was it? ]

" Maybe I want to be. " Truly, that was the reason why he smiled the way he did. With the broken-off knowledge of something he had wanted to explain to his partner, his lover. Ordered and hushed to not continue in that onslaught of small bits and pieces of information so willingly provided in tandem the more and more hands would explore. Would grasp and reach, would drag themselves along exposed skin, curves and dips, as if to memorize with hands what eyes were to never behold again. Was it all of that? " Petty. " It was a word to use for it all. For their mischievous engagement, born from wrath and hunger, desire and longing; nothing but this back and forth between sworn enemies, having wound themselves down to all but skin and shared breaths. He feels him now, after Shinji has sat on his hips for a moment just, watching, waiting, that lithe form shifts to lay on top of him, lounging nearly, like he's done so often before and yet words would echo in the back of Sōsuke's mind. ' Don't say it. '

Words discardable, prattled on about nothing and everything, every single announcement scrutinised with the raise of an eyebrow, but knowing well enough that all that he would say, was just painfully going to be the truth. Why ever offer his partner all that knowledge, and keep that last bit between one another now that all dams had broken down, whittled away over hours, passing by like the blink of an eye? Why keep it to himself? Because he was told to do so. " Far too petty, Sōsuke. " Touches. Desires. Wishes. Thoughts. It all boiled down to the man in his grasp, contentedly [ surprisingly? ] curled up in his arms, for he had moved just enough to be more limber beneath him, had succumbed to ministrations for however long they had been ongoing - so, it was enough? With an arm laced around the other man's waist.

' Don't say it. ' In that beseeching murmur. Knowing well enough that whatever he could have said, would have broken the last bit of sanity they had.

[tarnishedxknight]

Since Larsa said he didn't mind, Ashelia took her hands away and left Sunny where she was. The lizard seemed about as happy with herself as a lizard could be, having won herself a new perch. When spoken to, Sunny turned her head to look at Larsa, responding purely to the sound of his voice so close to her, rather than to the words he spoke.

"Here... She likes this..." Ashelia said as she lifted a hand to scratch Sunny under her chin with a single finger. Sunny immediately lifted her head high and closed her eyes, enjoying the affection. When Ashe took her hand away, the dragon's eyes opened and her head returned to its normal position.

Basch's heart broke to hear the pain in Ashe's voice. He knew she grieved for Dalmasca, as did he, and not having the power or means to make any of it better for her was slowly eating away at him inside. All he could do was provide friendship and support, and perhaps some antiquated loyalty of a knight to his princess, despite both titles no longer bearing their former weight or meaning.

"She reminds me of home," Ashe replied to Larsa's observances of Sunny. "We had little lizards like that in Rabanastre. They would run and climb everywhere. I would fall asleep each night to the sounds of their feet skittering across the sandstone walls..." She turned her attention to making everyone tea, lest her emotions get the better of her. "She is fun, though. I only wish she would mind me more often and not always seek to escape."

"Perhaps 'tis not escape she seeks, but mere adventure. Have you tried Miss Romanoff's suggestion?"

"I've not had the time," Ashe said, before realizing Larsa had no idea what they were speaking of. "I've been given a harness and leash for Sunny, to walk her around the grounds so that she can expend some of her endless energy. But I've been training and all that, so I... I haven't the time..."

Basch watched Ashe as she fussed over the teapot and the mugs. He knew she was trying not to become too emotional, and although he hated to see her denying herself, he knew that breaking down in front of Larsa wouldn't be good for the boy either. At the boy's question, Basch took the lead so that Ashelia did not have to answer just yet. "For myself, at least, I feel 'tis best, aye. They've medical services here, as well as food and security services. Until I better learn to navigate this world, I am happy to have such support. As far as being an Avenger, were I not to remain one as I am now, I've no doubt I would seek some other form of similar service to the public. Therefore, I may as well see what being an Avenger entails."

"Ever the selfless protector, our dear Basch," Ashe said with an affectionate albeit pensive smile as she poured hot water into the mugs and unwrapped the tea bags.

"Have you given any thought to what you might wish to do, my lord?" Basch asked, still employing old honorifics. "Mayhap an apprenticeship with one of the Avengers would suit you? To learn their trade or skills?" he suggested, trying his best to protect Ashelia's emotions by steering the conversation away from her.

Larsa did not expect to be unfrozen at all, let alone in the future. When he had snuck upon Gabranth's ship set for Pharos he did it to ensure the peace would be possible. The last thing he remembered was running towards fallen Gabranth and then... Light. (Marvel AU) - tarnishedxjudgement

@tarnishedxjudgement

Noah didn't have the same abilities and resources in this time period with which to inform himself of anything and everything that was going on around him. He was in the dark, most of the time, unless directly informed of things, a condition he hated. Being at the mercy of others he neither knew nor trusted for information was not a position he usually found himself in.

It was the reason he hadn't known about Drace being found after him until she was brought one day to the training compound. Inexplicably, after executing her in his own timeline, here she was again, seemingly from another. The entire experience was wholly jarring, but not nearly as jarring as losing his only son.

So often had Noah thought of Larsa in the months following his revival in this strange time. Thoughts invaded his peace, his sleep, his ability to function, until he found himself so erratic and unhinged that he did not recognize himself anymore. Even Drace found it difficult to comfort him, and she had always been a master of that feat. There was no closure to be had, no second chances, no going back... and that knowledge was eating Noah alive from the inside out.

But once again, information had been kept from him, and yet another arrival from Ivalice to the Avengers compound was neither expected nor necessarily wanted. Would it be another Dalmascan? Gods forbid a Rozarrian. And the way the people of this time seemed to think that all Ivalicians got along and would be happy to see each other was beyond irritating to him. Nevertheless, when he was specifically summoned to greet this newcomer, Noah begrudgingly left his quarters to do so.

What he saw... stopped him dead in his tracks. Within seconds, his expression betrayed him, and within a few more, he was on his knees, his legs giving way in disbelief of the sight that lay before him. It was little Lord Larsa, looking just as he did when last Noah laid eyes on him, perfect as can be.

He knew he should say something, but words betrayed him as well as his own legs had. Instead, he merely stared, the absence of his helm serving to display to the boy all the shock, confusion, and relief at seeing him standing there. Finally, he forced out the only two words he felt he could say without falling apart.

"My lord..."

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

A STORM OF SWORDS

Summary & Foreshadowing Smorgasbord (Part I)

It's that time of year again!

ASOS Part I: UNDER THE CUT

Sansa Stark, Queen in the North

Jon Snow, King in the North

Jon (Aemon?) Snow

Jon the Builder & His Gift

Ahoy Matey! Arya Stark Sails the Ocean Blue

Bran the Broken, King of Westeros

High Septon Rickon?

Pick Your Poison: The Twins Meet Their End in the Mines of Casterly Rock . . . or King's Landing

Tyrion Lannister, (Prisoner?) Hand of the King

In Remembrance: A Look Back at Sandor Clegane's & Ygritte's Greatest Moments

ASOS Part II: CLICK

Dark Daenerys Highlights & Laughs

Let's Dance: Stark vs. Targ

Showdown at the Trident

A Rat in a Maze 🐀🔪

The Usurper's Knife

Bran the Dragonslayer?

Storm x Storm 🦑🖤🐉

ASOS PART III: CLICK

JONSA 🐺❤️❄️

ASOS: PART IV: CLICK

Chapter Transitions

Previous books:

AGOT Summary & Foreshadowing: CLICK

ACOK Summary & Foreshadowing: PART I & PART II

Stumpy note:

If I didn't give you credit for discovering something or if I missed any foreshadowing, please contact me and I'll rectify that.

Once again, I'd like to thank everyone that participated in the reread project. All of you have great observations and comments, I wish I could highlight them all. 🙂

SANSA STARK, QUEEN IN THE NORTH

Sansa's feeling like a crowned fish.

My son ought to take the puff fish for his sigil, if truth be told. He could put a crown on it, the way the Baratheons do their stag, mayhap that would make him happy.

[...]

Sansa's mouth opened and closed. She felt very like a puff fish herself. - Sansa I, ASOS

+.+.+

Queens don't kneel.

His uncle's part went less well. The bride's cloak he held was huge and heavy, crimson velvet richly worked with lions and bordered with gold satin and rubies. No one had thought to bring a stool, however, and Tyrion stood a foot and a half shorter than his bride. As he moved behind her, Sansa felt a sharp tug on her skirt. He wants me to kneel, she realized, blushing. She was mortified. It was not supposed to be this way. She had dreamed of her wedding a thousand times, and always she had pictured how her betrothed would stand behind her tall and strong, sweep the cloak of his protection over her shoulders, and tenderly kiss her cheek as he leaned forward to fasten the clasp.

She felt another tug at her skirt, more insistent. I won't. - Sansa III, ASOS

+.+.+

She would make a good queen.

Tyrion led Sansa around the yard, to perform the necessary courtesies.

She is good at this, he thought, as he watched her tell Lord Gyles that his cough was sounding better, compliment Elinor Tyrell on her gown, and question Jalabhar Xho about wedding customs in the Summer Isles. His cousin Ser Lancel had been brought down by Ser Kevan, the first time he'd left his sickbed since the battle. He looks ghastly. Lancel's hair had turned white and brittle, and he was thin as a stick. Without his father beside him holding him up, he would surely have collapsed. Yet when Sansa praised his valor and said how good it was to see him getting strong again, both Lancel and Ser Kevan beamed. She would have made Joffrey a good queen and a better wife if he'd had the sense to love her. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

+.+.+

Not kings, monarchs. The first chapter after Sansa escapes King's Landing, Jaime has a question.

"What duties?" said Meryn Trant defensively.

"Keeping the king alive. How many monarchs have you lost since I left the city? Two, is it?" - Jaime VII, ASOS

+.+.+

JON SNOW, KING IN THE NORTH

Chett (or is that Ramsay Bolton?) has his crown stolen by Snow.

There'd be no lord's life for the leechman's son, no keep to call his own, no wives nor crowns. Only a wildling's sword in his belly, and then an unmarked grave. The snow's taken it all from me . . . the bloody snow . . .

Snow had ruined him once before. Snow and his pet pig. - Prologue, ASOS

+.+.+

Does history repeat itself in this story?

"Torrhen had brought his power south after the fall of the two kings on the Field of Fire," said Jaime, "but when he saw Aegon's dragon and the size of his host, he chose the path of wisdom and bent his frozen knees." - Jaime II, ASOS

x

It would not do to make him feel as if his mother were usurping his place. Did you teach him wisdom as well as valor, Ned? she wondered. Did you teach him how to kneel? The graveyards of the Seven Kingdoms were full of brave men who had never learned that lesson. - Catelyn IX, AGOT

+.+.+

A mummer's dragon . . . or a king.

Thank you, @dontbipanicjonsa!

Follies done for love? He has bagged me neat as a hare in a snare. I seem to have already forgiven him. Mixed with her annoyance was a rueful admiration; the scene had been staged with the cunning worthy of a master mummer . . . or a king. - Catelyn II, ASOS

+.+.+

The oldest, dressed in grey and white. His companion larger than the rest.

One of the giants coming up on them looked older than the rest. His pelt was grey and streaked with white, and the mammoth he rode, larger than any of the others, was grey and white as well. 

[...]

"Was that their king?" asked Jon. - Jon II, ASOS

+.+.+

Mance or Jon? Middling height, slender, with long brown hair. A dressed down king.

The King-beyond-the-Wall looked nothing like a king, nor even much a wildling. He was of middling height, slender, sharp-faced, with shrewd brown eyes and long brown hair that had gone mostly to grey. There was no crown on his head, no gold rings on his arms, no jewels at his throat, not even a gleam of silver. He wore wool and leather, and his only garment of note was his ragged black wool cloak, its long tears patched with faded red silk. - Jon I, ASOS

+.+.+

Mance or Jon? A king who unites the land.

Mance had spent years assembling this vast plodding host, talking to this clan mother and that magnar, winning one village with sweet words and another with a song and a third with the edge of his sword, making peace between Harma Dogshead and the Lord o' Bones, between the Hornfoots and the Nightrunners, between the walrus men of the Frozen Shore and the cannibal clans of the great ice rivers, hammering a hundred different daggers into one great spear, aimed at the heart of the Seven Kingdoms. He had no crown nor scepter, no robes of silk and velvet, but it was plain to Jon that Mance Rayder was a king in more than name. - Jon II, ASOS

+.+.+

Mance or Jon? The king and his oddly coloured cloak.

The King-beyond-the-Wall was waiting outside, his ragged red-and-black cloak blowing in the wind. - Jon X, ASOS

+.+.+

Mance or Jon? Some say a crown, others say a woman, but the truth is the king deserted for a cloak.

"You will have heard stories of my desertion, I have no doubt." "Some say it was for a crown. Some say for a woman. Others that you had the wildling blood."

[...]

Mance Rayder rose, unfastened the clasp that held his cloak, and swept it over the bench. "It was for this."

"A cloak?" - Jon I, ASOS

x

+.+.+

One day it might be the highest honour.

"Walder Frey should be flayed and quartered!" he'd shouted. "He sends a cripple and a bastard to treat with us, tell me there is no insult meant by that." - Catelyn IV, ASOS

+.+.+

Are you sure?

The dream was sweet . . . but Winterfell would never be his to show. It belonged to his brother, the King in the North. He was a Snow, not a Stark. - Jon V, ASOS

+.+.+

Bran and Jon travel to Queenscrown for a quick visit.

"We call them merlons. They were painted gold a long time ago. This is Queenscrown."

Across the lake, the tower was black again, a dim shape dimly seen. "A queen lived there?" asked Ygritte.

"A queen stayed there for a night." - Jon V, ASOS

+.+.+

From snow to crown.

"Good Queen Alysanne, they called her later. One of the castles on the Wall was named for her as well. Queensgate. Before her visit they called it Snowgate." - Jon V, ASOS

+.+.+

The first domino.

". . . and dead. No one has seen or heard of Arya since they cut Father's head off. Why do you lie to yourself? Arya's gone, the same as Bran and Rickon, and they'll kill Sansa too once the dwarf gets a child from her. Jon is the only brother that remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North. I had hoped you would support my choice." - Catelyn V, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon laughs like a king.

Thank you, @agentrouka-blog!

Jon laughed, laughed like a drunk or a madman, and his men laughed with him. - Jon VIII, ASOS

x

Barristan Selmy could not dispute the truth of that. He had spent the best part of his own life obeying the commands of drunkards and madmen. - The Queen's Hand, ADWD

x

He laughed . . . and when the king laughs, the court laughs with him. - Sansa IV, ASOS

+.+.+

Not all Aemon Targaryens have the same fate.

Aemon Targaryen, Jon thought, a king's son and a king's brother and a king who might have been. But he said nothing. - Jon X, ASOS

+.+.+

Tall enough, strong enough, and well placed beside the Wall.

Thank you, @aegor-bamfsteel and @decadelongsummer!

The King's Tower was not the castle's tallest—the high, slim, crumbling Lance held that honor, though Othell Yarwyck had been heard to say it might topple any day. Nor was the King's Tower strongest—the Tower of Guards beside the kingsroad would be a tougher nut to crack. But it was tall enough, strong enough, and well placed beside the Wall, overlooking the gate and the foot of the wooden stair. - Jon VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon sleeps inside the King's Tower.

There was a king in the King's Tower for the first time in living memory, and banners flew from the Lance, Hardin's Tower, the Grey Keep, the Shieldhall, and other buildings that had stood empty and abandoned for long years. - Samwell IV, ASOS

x

Jon could not remember the last time he had slept. When he closed his eyes he dreamed of fighting; when he woke he fought. Even in the King's Tower he could hear the ceaseless thunk of bronze and flint and stolen steel biting into wood - Jon IX, ASOS

+.+.+

The shield that guards the realms of men.

What good is a king who will not defend his realm? - Samwell IV, ASOS

x

"Our honor means no more than our lives, so long as the realm is safe. Are you a man of the Night's Watch?" - Jon VIII, ACOK

+.+.+

Kings, and their priorities.

I had the cart before the horse, Davos said. I was trying to win the throne to save the kingdom, when I should have been trying to save the kingdom to win the throne. - Jon XI, ASOS

+.+.+

Sounds real alright.

Thank you, @astraphysical!

Lord Snow. Ser Alliser Thorne had named him that, to mock his bastard birth. Many of his brothers had taken to using it as well, some with affection, others to wound. But suddenly it had a different sound to it in Jon's ears. It sounded . . . real.

[...]

Stannis put a thin, fleshless hand on Jon's shoulder. "Say nothing of what we've discussed here today. To anyone. But when you return, you need only bend your knee, lay your sword at my feet, and pledge yourself to my service, and you shall rise again as Jon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell." - Jon XI, ASOS

x

Even before the coming of the Andals, the Wolf's Den had been raised by King Jon Stark, built to defend the mouth of the White Knife against raiders and slavers from across the narrow sea (some scholars suggest these were early Andal incursions, whilst others argue they were the forebears of the men from Ib, or even slavers out of Valyria and Volantis). - TWoIaF

+.+.+

JON (AEMON?) SNOW

Sounds like someone else we know.

Aemon Targaryen, Jon thought, a king's son and a king's brother and a king who might have been. But he said nothing. - Jon X, ASOS

+.+.+

I don't doubt it.

"I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." - Jon XII

+.+.+

JON THE BUILDER & HIS GIFT

A younger son of Winterfell puts down a rebel lord, and is granted new land.

Lord Rickard had spoken truly, Catelyn knew. The Karstarks traced their descent to Karlon Stark, a younger son of Winterfell who had put down a rebel lord a thousand years ago, and been granted lands for his valor. The castle he built had been named Karl's Hold, but that soon became Karhold, and over the centuries the Karhold Starks had become Karstarks. - Catelyn III, ASOS

+.+.+

A northern lord who swears fealty, but is no true lord.

"That's their sigil," said Bran. "Three brown buckets on a blue field, with a border of white and grey checks. Lord Wull came to Winterfell once, to do his fealty and talk with Father, and he had the buckets on his shield. He's no true lord, though. Well, he is, but they call him just the Wull, and there's the Knott and the Norrey and the Liddle too. At Winterfell we called them lords, but their own folk don't." - Bran II, ASOS

x

"Your Grace?" The king smiled. "That's not a style one often hears from the lips of free folk. I'm Mance to most, The Mance to some. Will you take a horn of mead?" - Jon I, ASOS

+.+.+

It was some other Brandon's gift.

"The Night's Watch," he answered. "This is the Gift. The New Gift, and north of that Brandon's Gift." Maester Luwin had taught him the history. "Brandon the Builder gave all the land south of the Wall to the black brothers, to a distance of twenty-five leagues. For their . . . for their sustenance and support." He was proud that he still remembered that part. "Some maesters say it was some other Brandon, not the Builder, but it's still Brandon's Gift. Thousands of years later, Good Queen Alysanne visited the Wall on her dragon Silverwing, and she thought the Night's Watch was so brave that she had the Old King double the size of their lands, to fifty leagues. So that was the New Gift." He waved a hand. "Here. All this." - Bran III, ASOS

+.+.+

It is a DREAM FOR SPRING.

Brandon's Gift had been farmed for thousands of years, but as the Watch dwindled there were fewer hands to plow the fields, tend the bees, and plant the orchards, so the wild had reclaimed many a field and hall. In the New Gift there had been villages and holdfasts whose taxes, rendered in goods and labor, helped feed and clothe the black brothers. But those were largely gone as well.

[...]

"Might be after we could come back here, and live in that tower," she said. "Would you want that, Jon Snow? After?"

After. The word was a spear thrust. After the war. After the conquest. After the wildlings break the Wall . . .

His lord father had once talked about raising new lords and settling them in the abandoned holdfasts as a shield against wildlings. The plan would have required the Watch to yield back a large part of the Gift, but his uncle Benjen believed the Lord Commander could be won around, so long as the new lordlings paid taxes to Castle Black rather than Winterfell. "It is a dream for spring, though," Lord Eddard had said. "Even the promise of land will not lure men north with a winter coming on."

If winter had come and gone more quickly and spring had followed in its turn, I might have been chosen to hold one of these towers in my father's name. Lord Eddard was dead, however, his brother Benjen lost; the shield they dreamt together would never be forged. "This land belongs to the Watch," Jon said. - Jon V, ASOS

+.+.+

Wrong king, wrong gods, and not his land.

"Whilst your brothers have been struggling to decide who shall lead them, I have been speaking with this Mance Rayder." He ground his teeth. "A stubborn man, that one, and prideful. He will leave me no choice but to give him to the flames. But we took other captives as well, other leaders. The one who calls himself the Lord of Bones, some of their clan chiefs, the new Magnar of Thenn. Your brothers will not like it, no more than your father's lords, but I mean to allow the wildlings through the Wall . . . those who will swear me their fealty, pledge to keep the king's peace and the king's laws, and take the Lord of Light as their god. Even the giants, if those great knees of theirs can bend. I will settle them on the Gift, once I have wrested it away from your new Lord Commander. When the cold winds rise, we shall live or die together. It is time we made alliance against our common foe." He looked at Jon. "Would you agree?"

"My father dreamed of resettling the Gift," Jon admitted. "He and my uncle Benjen used to talk of it." He never thought of settling it with wildlings, though . . . but he never rode with wildlings, either. He did not fool himself; the free folk would make for unruly subjects and dangerous neighbors. - Jon XI, ASOS

+.+.+

AHOY MATEY! ARYA STARK SAILS THE OCEAN BLUE

It takes stumpy a whole book to finally notice an amusing ship.

They had sailed up the Blackwater Rush flying the fiery heart of the Lord of Light. Davos and Black Betha had been in the second line of battle, between Dale's Wraith and Allard on Lady Marya. - Davos I, ASOS

x

I mean to use your second son as well. He will take Lady Marya across the narrow sea, to Braavos and the other Free Cities, to deliver other letters to the men who rule there. - Davos I, ACOK

+.+.+

Fast learner.

He looked dubious. "Did you ever sail a boat?"

"You put up the sail," she said, "and the wind pushes it."

"What if the wind is blowing the wrong way?"

"Then there's oars to row." - Arya II, ASOS

+.+.+

To reach the west, you must go east.

Now, quick as a snake, she thought, as she slammed her heels into the courser's flank. Right between Greenbeard and Jack-Be-Lucky she flew, and caught one glimpse of Gendry's startled face as his mare moved out of her way. And then she was in the open field, and running.

North or south, east or west, that made no matter now. - Arya III, ASOS

+.+.+

Could have, would have, should have.

I could have stayed with Hot Pie. We could have taken the little boat and sailed it up to Riverrun. She had been better off as Squab. No one would take Squab captive, or Nan, or Weasel, or Arry the orphan boy. I was a wolf, she thought, but now I'm just some stupid little lady again. - Arya III, ASOS

+.+.+

The mysterious Stark who sailed off beyond the Sunset Sea returns to the story.

It was Bran's turn to tell a story, so he told them about another Brandon Stark, the one called Brandon the Shipwright, who had sailed off beyond the Sunset Sea. - Bran III, ASOS

+.+.+

There's an Ice Dragon in the north, and a Galley sailing west.

A half moon was sliding in and out amongst thin high clouds, and Davos could see familiar stars. There was the Galley, sailing west; there the Crone's Lantern, four bright stars that enclosed a golden haze. The clouds hid most of the Ice Dragon, all but the bright blue eye that marked due north. - Davos VI, ASOS

+.+.+

No one cares who you are at the port.

And there were ships.

Three, thought Arya, there are three. Two were only river galleys, shallow draft boats made to ply the waters of the Trident. The third was bigger, a salt sea trader with two banks of oars, a gilded prow, and three tall masts with furled purple sails. Her hull was painted purple too. Arya rode Craven down to the docks to get a better look. Strangers are not so strange in a port as they are in little villages, and no one seemed to care who she was or why she was here. - Arya XIII, ASOS

+.+.+

Arya trades a horse for a ship.

She couldn't go back, no more than she could beg for help. Begging for help never gets you any. She would have to sell Craven, and hope she brought enough. - Arya XIII, ASOS

+.+.+

BRAN THE BROKEN, KING OF WESTEROS

A prince may be addressed similarly, but this still makes you pause.

It wasn't as good as deer, but it wasn't bad either, Bran decided as he ate. "Thank you, Meera," he said. "My lady."

"You are most welcome, Your Grace." - Bran I, ASOS

+.+.+

One day it might be the highest honour.

"Walder Frey should be flayed and quartered!" he'd shouted. "He sends a cripple and a bastard to treat with us, tell me there is no insult meant by that." - Catelyn IV, ASOS

+.+.+

From Tumbledown Tower to Queenscrown, Bran visits some cleverly named places on his journey.

Thank you, @agentrouka-blog!

Even the tumbled stones were so overgrown with moss and ivy that you could hardly see them until you were right on top of them. "Tumbledown Tower," Bran had named the place; it was Meera who found the way down into the vault, however. - Bran I, ASOS

x

"No. Old Nan told me. The holdfast has a golden crown, see?" He pointed across the lake. You could see patches of flaking gold paint up around the crenellations. "Queen Alysanne slept there, so they painted the merlons gold in her honor." - Bran III, ASOS

+.+.+

Bran stays the night at Queenscrown.

"We call them merlons. They were painted gold a long time ago. This is Queenscrown."

Across the lake, the tower was black again, a dim shape dimly seen. "A queen lived there?" asked Ygritte.

"A queen stayed there for a night." - Jon V, ASOS

+.+.+

Some kings might have wings.

Well, ravens might have wings, but lords and kings do not. - Jon VIII, ASOS

+.+.+

For the realm.

What good is a king who will not defend his realm? - Samwell IV, ASOS

x

"Most of him has gone into the tree," explained the singer Meera called Leaf. "He has lived beyond his mortal span, and yet he lingers. For us, for you, for the realms of men. Only a little strength remains in his flesh. He has a thousand eyes and one, but there is much to watch. One day you will know." - Bran III, ADWD

+.+.+

HIGH SEPTON RICKON?

In a chapter that establishes the Starks and Freys as foils, a son with no chance of inheriting has an interesting thought.

The gods gave me no gift but birth, and they stinted me there. What good was it to be the son of a rich and powerful House if you were the ninth son? When you took grandsons and great-grandsons into account, Merrett stood a better chance of being chosen High Septon than he did of inheriting the Twins. - Epilogue, ASOS

+.+.+

PICK YOUR POISON: THE TWINS MEET THEIR END IN THE MINES OF CASTERLY ROCK . . . OR KING'S LANDING

Jaime and his green dreams.

Thank you, @magiclovingdragon!

In his dreams the dead came burning, gowned in swirling green flames. Jaime danced around them with a golden sword, but for every one he struck down two more arose to take his place. - Jaime II, ASOS

x

Jaime saw green flames reaching up into the sky higher than the tallest towers, as burning men screamed in the streets. I have dreamed this dream before. It was almost funny, but there was no one to share the joke. - Jaime IV, ASOS

+.+.+

Cersei's all fire and ash.

Thank you, @magiclovingdragon!

Her eyes burned, green fire in the dusk, like the lioness that was her sigil. - Eddard XIII, ASOS

x

"The Hand speaks with the king's voice." Candlelight gleamed green as wildfire in Cersei's eyes. - Tyrion VIII, ACOK

x

The queen was drinking heavily, but the wine only seemed to make her more beautiful; her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes had a bright, feverish heat to them as she looked down over the hall. Eyes of wildfire, Sansa thought. - Sansa VI, ACOK

x

His sister liked to think of herself as Lord Tywin with teats, but she was wrong. Their father had been as relentless and implacable as a glacier, where Cersei was all wildfire, especially when thwarted. - Jaime II, AFFC

x

"I have never liked you, Cersei, but you were my own sister, so I never did you harm. You've ended that. I will hurt you for this. I don't know how yet, but give me time. A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid." - Tyrion XII, ACOK

+.+.+

A shared destiny.

Thank you, @kadarakey and @agentrouka-blog!

I cannot die while Cersei lives, he told himself. We will die together as we were born together. - Jaime IV, ASOS

x

We will leave this world together, as we once came into it. "He will not lose. Not Jaime. Not with my life at stake." - Cersei X, AFFC

x

Cersei lifted her chin, her green eyes shining in the candlelight. "Jaime? Have you had word?"

"None. Cersei, you may need to prepare yourself for—"

"If he were dead, I would know it. We came into this world together, Uncle. He would not go without me." - Epilogue, ADWD

x

And Jaime and I are more than brother and sister. We are one person in two bodies. We shared a womb together. He came into this world holding my foot, our old maester said. When he is in me, I feel … whole." The ghost of a smile flitted over her lips. - Eddard XII, AGOT

+.+.+

With his head on a weirwood stump, Jaime has prophetic dreams featuring the bowels of Casterly Rock.

Naked and alone he stood, surrounded by enemies, with stone walls all around him pressing close. The Rock, he knew. He could feel the immense weight of it above his head. 

[...]

He had no choice but to descend. Down a twisting passageway he went, narrow steps carved from the living rock, down and down. I must go up, he told himself. Up, not down. Why am I going down? Below the earth his doom awaited, he knew with the certainty of dream; something dark and terrible lurked there, something that wanted him. Jaime tried to halt, but their spears prodded him on.

[...] There were watery caverns deep below Casterly Rock, but this one was strange to him. "What place is this?"

"Your place." The voice echoed; it was a hundred voices, a thousand, the voices of all the Lannisters since Lann the Clever, who'd lived at the dawn of days. But most of all it was his father's voice, and beside Lord Tywin stood his sister, pale and beautiful, a torch burning in her hand. Joffrey was there as well, the son they'd made together, and behind them a dozen more dark shapes with golden hair.

[...] Her torch was the only light in the cavern. Her torch was the only light in the world. She turned to go.

[...]

"The flames will burn so long as you live," he heard Cersei call. "When they die, so must you."

[...]

"We could go back the way they brought us. If you climbed on my shoulders you'd have no trouble reaching that tunnel mouth."

Then I could follow Cersei. 

[...]

Jaime moved in a circle, ready for anything that might come out of the darkness. The water flowed into his boots, ankle deep and bitterly cold. Beware the water, he told himself. There may be creatures living in it, hidden deeps …

[...]

The fires that ran along the blade were guttering out, and Jaime remembered what Cersei had said. No. Terror closed a hand about his throat. Then his sword went dark, and only Brienne's burned, as the ghosts came rushing in. "No," he said, "no, no, no. Nooooooooo!"- Jaime VI, ASOS

+.+.+

The crypts aren't Jon's place. Jaime's place is under Casterly Rock.

Thank you, @dontbipanicjonsa!

There were watery caverns deep below Casterly Rock, but this one was strange to him. "What place is this?"

"Your place." - Jaime VI, ASOS

x

And the stone kings were growling at him with granite tongues. You do not belong here. This is not your place. - Jon XII, ASOS

+.+.+

The immense weight could crush you.

The Rock, he knew. He could feel the immense weight of it above his head. - Jaime VI, ASOS

x

The ice pressed close around them, and he could feel the cold seeping into his bones, the weight of the Wall above his head.

[...]

He looked up at where they'd come from. When you stand here it seems immense, as if it were about to crush you. - Jon VIII, ASOS

+.+.+

A clever twist to the mystery? Poison.

Thank you @eonweheraldodemanwe, for pointing out Mark Antony x Cleopatra + Romeo x Juliet might be the parallels George is aiming for.

The fires that ran along the blade were guttering out, and Jaime remembered what Cersei had said. No. Terror closed a hand about his throat. Then his sword went dark, and only Brienne's burned, as the ghosts came rushing in. - Jaime VI, ASOS

x

The old woman was not done with her, however. "Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds," she said. "And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you." - Cersei VIII, AFFC

x

"I don't care why," Cersei said. "He can take his reasons down to hell with him. If you had seen how Joff died . . . he fought, Jaime, he fought for every breath, but it was as if some malign spirit had its hands about his throat. He had such terror in his eyes . . . - Jaime IX, ASOS

x

In the Citadel, it was simply called the strangler. Dissolved in wine, it would make the muscles of a man's throat clench tighter than any fist, shutting off his windpipe. - Prologue, ACOK

+.+.+

She refuses to be taken alive.

Ser Ilyn opened his mouth and emitted a choking rattle. His pox-scarred face had no expression. "He's here for us, he says," the queen said. "Stannis may take the city and he may take the throne, but I will not suffer him to judge me. I do not mean for him to have us alive." - Sansa VI, ACOK

+.+.+

George R. R. Martin deviates from the story.

[S 02 : EP 09 - BLACKWATER - Written by George R. R. Martin]

+.+.+

But will it be Casterly Rock?

She had dreamed of it the night before last, a magnificent white castle surrounded by woods and gardens, long leagues from the stinks and noise of King's Landing. "This city is a cesspit. For half a groat I would move the court to Lannisport and rule the realm from Casterly Rock." - Cersei III, AFFC

. . . or King's Landing?

"I am aware of that," the queen said sharply. "I said that I wanted to move the court to Lannisport, not that I would. Were you always this slow, or did losing a hand make you stupid?"

Jaime ignored that. "If these flames spread beyond the tower, you may end up burning down the castle whether you mean to or not. Wildfire is treacherous." - Cersei III, AFFC

Tune in next time to find out!

+.+.+

TYRION LANNISTER, (PRISONER?) HAND OF THE KING

Tyrion's tasked with rebuilding King's Landing.

"I have seen enough for now. We'll return on the morrow with the guild masters to go over their plans." He sighed. Well, I burned most of this, I suppose it's only just that I rebuild it. - Tyrion IV, ASOS

+.+.+

Wrong title.

The man inclined his head. He was bald on top. "My lord Hand," he said.

"You mistake me. My father is the King's Hand. I am no longer even a finger, I fear."

[...]

"The last thing my wife needs is more songs," said Tyrion. "As for Shae, we both know she is no lady, and I would thank you never to speak her name aloud."

"As the Hand commands," Symon said. - Tyrion IV, ASOS

+.+.+

Big if.

"If I am ever Hand again, the first thing I'll do is hang all the singers," said Tyrion, too loudly. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

+.+.+

IN REMEMBRANCE: A LOOK BACK AT SANDOR CLEGANE'S & YGRITTE'S GREATEST MOMENTS

+.+.+

ASOS: PART II

Touch me.

Dark Daenerys Highlights & Laughs

Let's Dance: Stark vs. Targ

Showdown at the Trident

A Rat in a Maze

The Usurper's Knife

Bran the Dragonslayer?

Storm x Storm 🦑🖤🐉

+.+.+

[nhaamazu]

FFXIV Write Day 2 - Bolt

Aymeric de Borel, (unnamed) female black mage Warrior of Light, Artoirel de Fortemps, Ser Simeonard. Hinted unresolved WoLmeric.

As always, will also be posted to AO3 (Nhaamazu) :).

Aymeric knew that he had erred. Once again, ambition had proven his downfall. They had warned him, each and every one of them. But he had been too proud, too stubborn to listen.

Every blow he dealt sapped yet more energy from him, until even Naegling felt heavy in his grip. His wound had reopened long ago, and he could feel the river of blood now meandering down his thigh. Every twist, every turn, every jab and every parry, was like a bolt of agony through his very bones. This should have been an easy fight, it should have been over already.

Mayhap it was. For he had fallen to his knees and every attempt to stand only begat more pain. Ser Simeonard stood above him, grinning from ear to ear, his sword raised.

Had the Warrior of Light and Lord Artoirel at least succeeded? Were the hostages free? Was this all…worth it?

The sword bore down upon him. In the distance, someone cried out. There was a flash of blue, a rush of air, a clash of steel against…something.

Aymeric breathed deep, felt the presence of another at his side. No, not at his side. In front of him. They held their arms out, protected him with a shield of aether that Ser Simeonard’s sword could not seem to penetrate. The knight cursed, swore, wailed in fury. And then he was sliding across a sheet of ice, crashing into his men and scattering them like a flock of birds.

“Ser Aymeric,” gasped Artoirel as he fell to the Lord Commander’s side. He offered what healing magic he could, but Aymeric knew that his wound was beyond that now.

Yet he found it difficult to care. For before him stood a spectacle, one had he tried so very hard to not stare at in slack-jawed awe as they had fought their way up to this very spot.

The Warrior of Light spun her rod, raised it high, and from the end shot a bolt of lightning that ricocheted off Ser Simeonard’s armour, to the knight beside him, and the one beside him, on and on until every knight was on the floor, moving only to groan their complaint.

She paused to assess her performance, waited for the enemy to rise, and when they did not she let out a huff that was but an octave from disappointment. And then she turned to him, and he could do naught but cower before the fury in her eyes.

“Do you see now?” she demanded. She crouched beside him, lifted the edge of his coat to better see the soaked fabric beneath. “You're a bloody idiot…ser.”

Though her eyes screamed anger, her voice belied nothing as such. Fear. That was what powered her words, what brought her voice to quaver. It was a sound akin to nails on a chalkboard - something so utterly wrong he knew not quite how to describe it. When she offered him a hand, he took it and rose to his feet, albeit lacking the usual grace he preferred to exhibit in her company.

“Pray forgive me, my lady,” he offered. “I thank you for your timely aid.”

“Thank me by living to build the nation you have promised to your people. Then, I may call us even.”

Artoirel did not perceive the twist of her smile, but Aymeric did. The smallest of gestures, perhaps unintentional. In the hollow of his chest, his heart found its rhythm, like the bolt of levin she had wielded to save his life had done so in ways she had never intended.

[goldenclarice]

the day that lady sabitha’s labors began had set the household into a tremulous commotion. clarice had become filled with a sense of as it appeared to her, somehow, that the twins had been curtailed of its high walls and portcullis that allowed for a gale of wind to sweep from above to carry ill omens. as it were, lord forrest had unexpectedly died a moon prior, and his widow’s health was known to been a fine and delicate thing in pregnancy. the whispered tellings of servants did not portend joyous outcomes, and so clarice felt deeply divided at feeling both comfort and agony at the far off cries of her beloved. she had not been at sabitha’s bedside to hold her hand and wipe the sweat from her forehead but hearing her from the end of the hall told clarice she was strong and that the fight had not been lost. as the day carried on, it had been a long, piercing cry from his mother that had set off the new lord of the crossing into a fit of tears. panic stricken that he was, he thrashed fiercely against clarice’s arms when she did not let him pass the entryway of the birthing chamber. she soothed his fears and confusion alongside sabitha’s family long into the night and into the next day, as well. theo had been more calm on the morrow and yet unable to find relief in childrens games and running hither and thither alongside henley and lyonel. even the sun had become a pale shell behind the clouds, the birds flying wildly and hurriedly in the hedges as clarice strode with the three children into the forest, the spritely step of their brown palfrey’s hooves spanking the soft earth and spurring a chorus of laughter. still, even in the outdoors as the children occupied their hands by catching frogs or hunting for quail among the thickets, clarice only watched on with a timeless stillness as if she were listening for a trace of sabitha from a great distance. i must go back to her, she thought after they had taken their meal under the canopy a tree and she helped all three children onto the saddle, holding the palfrey by the reins while she led them on foot towards the forbidding castles of the freys. 

by then, the shadows of servants and nobility alike flared dark and wide against the high curtain walls of the castle. the children were asleep in their featherbeds by the time that clarice had arranged herself among lady lythene, lady jyzene and lady elinor in the sitting area, listened silently to the pleasant patter of their conversation. she had smiled contentedly into the rim of her glass as they lauded sabitha for her bravery amidst the trials of both birth and afterbirth and how she had delivered not one, but two twins girls. they regaled her daughters inky wisps of hair and the sweet newborn smell upon them as they carried them in their arms. “and their names?” clarice’s voice interrupted among the bevy of women. lady lythene’s breath hitched as soon as she was about to answer until lady elinor’s suppressed this detail when she placed her hand on her mother’s lap. “mayhaps you might ask lady frey on the morrow.” clarice did not know what she meant by this, but she found something placating in lady elinor’s conspiratorial smile, and so the tremors of the last two days worked themselves out of her shoulders and down her arms and free, finally, from her fingertips that she held together at her navel. now, she was able to turn in earnest to the correspondence awaiting her in her chambers. she wrote her reports for ser jon and her brother, the septon armond, both the weekly and fortnightly reconnaissance that assured the governance of the reach and the plans that she was devising and fine-tuning. her mind went clean and blank, then rattled with things of all shapes and sizes; the seven blessed oils cut three times through with the smoke of violet-spiked incense, cuts of wood and cloth, biting knots of embroidery, the slant of white marble, dyed feathers in colors of the rainbow and wrapped at the pinion with fine silk. she wandered among these things long into the night, valuing them with her mind’s eye and blank of any desire except for what had to play out. one had to be single minded to create. 

the next day, clarice had been awake long before the first squalls of the cockerel could be heard. she lingered anxiously at the door of sabitha’s chambers and watched for slits of shadows moving under the door, only to find none but the faint melody of lady elinor’s music. it did little to soothe her nerves until a household servant allowed her entry and she met lady elinor in passing, greeting one another with a dip of their heads. however, seeing sabitha didn’t strike her eyelids but the point in the middle of her body that opened up like a fan, filling her with restless and a great sense of eagerness – like wings beating on her chest. she surged toward her ladylove like a flock of white doves startled by a hound: parts of her everywhere and each one intangible in the race forward. “my love!” she warbled excitedly until her face folded over in embarrassment when the baby began to stir at the disruption. clarice took her place on  the edge of the bed and placed her hand above sabitha’s, watching on as the baby settled into her blankets. her gaze then lingered on sabitha for one long moment as she listened on their names. it was jonquil, especially, that stirred a deep love inside clarice, both feather-soft and pure that made her breath come in one dreamy exhale. “ryella and jonquil.” she repeated, feeling a surge of hope in their names, in these new beginnings and in their new lives where flowers could grow from the dead and cold things could become warm. when she leaned over and wrapped her arm around sabitha, it was not their first embrace, nor the most intimate. still, she was conscious of the soft place where her own elbow creased around her beloved’s shoulder in an effort to not hurt her and the newborn swaddled to her chest. clarice embraced her in a kiss that flared warm and golden inside her – it was one of those kisses that lasted and stretched out time. when she pulled away and opened her eyes, she felt as if she had stared into the red-hot burr of the sun and it’s brilliance had spangled the insides of her eyelids and all along the inside her chest. “i prayed for you, ryella and jonquil all morn, noon, and night. ” the breath coiling up now was calm, yoked into regularity with the same care and seriousness that she gave herself unto sabitha’s needs. “i know your heart and i know you are strong, and so i never doubted that you would prevail. but you must tell me the truth of your health and that of your daughters.” clarice’s hand smoothed the hair along sabitha’s temple in a gesture of affection. “there is no shame in it.” clarice stood up from the bed with a great zeal and walked over to the crib where the other child lay, humming with great fascination at the baby’s light twitching and the rise and fall of her chest with each breath. “if you will not tell me, then i am afraid i will have no choice but to stay here all day until your daughters and i are properly introduced.” clarice turned to look at sabitha with a tangible lightheartedness. “besides, the children and i have a standing wager on the color of your daughters eyes. they’ll send me back to you until i come back with an answer.”

16th day of the 2nd month, 130 AC

with.— @goldenclarice

Sabitha's body was shacking, even after the midwife said her girls were healthy and strong. She was safe, Sabitha repeated to herself over and over again. She survived the birth, Sabitha knew she wasn't being rational when she wanted to visit the maester and scream at him for daring to say she wouldn't live through a second pregnancy because he was clearly wrong. It took her mother a great deal of time to calm her down, but eventually Sabitha agree to rest in her chambers while her maids dress her new born girls. She showered and change into new clothes with shaking legs. Blood stopped dripping between her legs as the hours passed and Sabitha finally relaxed.

Thankfully, most guests from Forrest's funeral left. She didn't want to hear anyone's complains. Only her family and Lady Clarice stayed in the Crossing to help her adjust to her new life. She spent the first day mostly sleeping and she received visits until the second day.

Her sister keep her company, playing the harp and singing to smooth Sabitha's temper. Her words were sweet and lovely.

The Mother gives the gift of life,

and watches over every wife.

Her gentle smile ends all strife,

and she loves her little children.

The castle was mourning, but her babies didn't need to mourn a man they never met. Sabitha told her maids to allow the girls wear white. Standing out in the darkness like a pair of little lights. One was named Ryella, the other Jonquil. They both inherited her Vypern green eyes and black hair. « Forrest had black hair too, but it doesn't count. They look like me. » Sabitha smiled as she looked at them. The God's had finally granted her daughters.

Sabitha's singing voice would never match her sister's, but her little girls wouldn't notice until they grow up. For now, she was content having her twins near her body. Holding one of them in her arms. The other was sleeping on her cradle.

The Maiden dances through the sky,

she lives in every lover's sigh.

Her smiles teach the birds to fly,

and gives dreams to little children.

In the privacy of her chambers, Sabitha dressed in comfortable night gowns and kept her hair in a ponytail. There was no point in keeping her wedding ring, but Sabitha wore the silver ring on her hands anyways. Playing with the gemstones from time to time. Her maid Sarya announced the arrival of Lady Clarice and left the room. Sabitha looked at Eleanor and she gave her an understanding look. Her sister winked before she left, she was used to Sabitha's fondness for women after all.

—My lady... I wish to present to you, Ryella and Jonquil Frey. Although they are asleep, so they can greet you right now. —A soft chuckle left Sabitha's lips as she saw the woman in front of her with a loving smile.

[a-soul-full-of-stars]

"shielding the other one with their body" for the prompt list, please! (for whomsoever sparks interest)

...

A shinobi's job is to protect. Be it their master, their people, their village, whatever it is to which they are pledged- the shinobi is the last line of defense past which no blade will pass. Yugiri knows this. Better than any she has stood with she knows that her place is at her lord Hien's side, especially now, in the heat and chaos of the battle raging about them.

No; not a a battle. A war. Ala Mhigo is at war, with a thousand fights raging within the city walls. Down every street they rush past there is another victory in question, another coin-toss between life and death waiting to settle. She and Hien were among the first to enter the city after the great gates were breached, and now they have fought together ever onward toward the great citadel at the city's heart, where the tyrant Zenos himself is waiting for death. Kami willing, Yugiri will bring it to him swiftly, and with all the mercy he showed Doma and her people.

A shinobi fights with care, with focus. They are a surgical instrument, as finely honed as the chirugeon's scalpel. They do not get distracted, even in the midst of such chaos. And yet, as they race on towards the palace part of her mind is elsewhere. Her thoughts wander to that strange, exciting young m'iqote she had fought with in Doma. Match Munroe, the so-called Warrior of Light. She has known him a good number of years now, of course, but it was then in that last night before Doma Castle was won and lost, that they had first truly spoken.

He had been softer than she had expected. Behind the legends and the heroics, he had been kind and caring. Had asked questions and had listened to her answers, as intently as though she were a Hingan philosopher. In those too-brief hours before dawn he had told her a little of who he had been and the places he had seen on the journey thus far, and she had found herself staring into those eyes, as blue as the sky on a summer's day, her mind wandering to strange, unexplored places.

They are a long way from Doma. It has been many days since that night. Yugiri does not know if that night has stayed with Match as much as it has with her. But she thinks of it, all the same.

A flying magitek screams overhead, the rattle of its guns a jarring reminder that the day is far from won. She grits her teeth, redoubles her grip on the blades in her hands, and charges on at Lord Hien's side. They are climbing stairs now, the pair thundering up towards the palace gates. Then from the corner of her eye she spots a streak of white-blonde hair, glowing in the sun. Match.

He is fighting with his three companions, but has been separated from them, backed into a corner by the endless onslaught of those damned Imperial machines. His shield is raised, his sword flashing back and forth in great arcing strikes that send men and metal flying. He fights back as only he can, that legendary stamina and impossible endurance powering him on. But even he cannot see everything around him in the heat of battle. Behind him, a squad of Imperial soldiers take advantage of his focus on their armored allies to prepare to charge.

Yugiri can almost see it now; they'll flash forward, swords raised. Mayhap he turns his shield in time, but for all of them? The edge of those Imperial swords glint in the sunlight, hungry to be the first to spill the blood of Eorzea's champion. His allies are spread thin; he needs support.

A shinobi fights for that to which she is pledged. No more, no less. It would be wrong to leave Lord Hien's side in the middle of a battle. Even for Match. And yet.

With a cry of fury and gathered courage the Imperial soldiers charge Match. He turns to face it, and even here from this high up Yugiri can see his teeth grit, his jaw harden, his shoulders brace for the hard fight to come.

She does not consider, does not plan. No time allowed to think on what she intends. Instead, as the Imperials charge, she leaps, tumbles, her body a weapon as graceful as it is deadly. She lands in their path, blades raised...

None pass.

As the final body falls, she turns to Match, long dark hair tumbling in the hot wind still blowing through the city streets. "Are you alright," she asks.

"Y-yeah, I'm okay." Match stares back at her, his eyes wide with surprise and admiration. "Thanks, they coulda taken a chunk out of me there!"

"I am glad you are unharmed." A moment passes, all too brief and yet somehow infinite in length, as both reach for the feeling tugging at their hearts. It passes, and Yugiri looks skyward to the stairs where Hien fights on. "I must return to my lord's side. I look forward to hearing of your battles ere our victory is won." She bows, then with a single spring is aloft, racing along roof gardens to where she once fought.

"Hey, Yugiri!" The call comes from below her. Match again, waving furiously. "Stay safe, okay?"

In spite of the carnage around them and the battles yet to come, Match stands there like the beacon so many have made of him, white armour shining in the sun. She can't help but smile back at him. "You too, Warrior of Light!"

...

UGHHHH so this is like the very, very start of Match and Yugiri getting together so it's pretty light on the romance, but god these two are everything to me TT^TT

@yloiseconeillants thank you so much for the ask! I'm so sorry it took me so long to get to, I've been away from my laptop AND just found out I've been once more struck by the 'rona all thanks to the same mandatory trip home. This was a lot of fun to write and a great distraction, thank you!