#muse | she is both war and a woman and you cannot stop her

[charmingbrute]

the sound of the saw

must be known by the tree.

small drabble about azem finding out the truth surrounding his sister's death and confronting lahabrea about it

It wasn't always that Azem used his own fist for combat. It's ungraceful, required a lot of useless effort and tiresome. But when he does, it's always bloody. So bloody he could paint the ground without trying. It always led to carnage, the sort of bloodletting that was only possible for a man with war in his eyes.

He was swift and harsh, unleashing all of his pent-up anger and fury onto his unsuspecting colleague. His eyes were wild and his breathing was ragged as he suddenly lunged forward, grabbing Lahabrea by the collar of his robe. Azem was fueled by an intense, irrational rage that had been building inside of him for days, and he was now taking it out on the person he blamed for his own problems. He waited for this moment. A moment wherein they could be alone.

With a strength born of pure malice, Azem raised Lahabrea off the ground and started slamming his fist against the Chief Keyward's jaw with relentless force. He landed blow after blow, not caring if he was causing permanent damage or not. He was completely consumed by his rage, and all he wanted to do was hurt this man who had wronged him. Who had betrayed him.

"You deceitful wretch!" Azem spoke, each word filled with a fiery bite. It's true he had never liked the man and he could even admit to it being unfounded, but such dislike could never compare to the wrath which became him. "Was it for power, for control? Did you take pleasure in her suffering? Did you relish in the thought of snuffing out her life? Was it fun lying to me and everyone? Was it fun lying to your son?"

He knew well Lahabrea could fight back, but the man behaved as though he was no match for the relentless attack. Lahabrea was soon upon the ground, and Azem continued his onslaught until Lahabrea was lying on the floor, gasping for air. The Chief Keyward was covered in sweat and breathing heavily, but Azem was far from finished. He stood over Lahabrea, ready to continue the beating if necessary. Was it guilt preventing Lahabrea from displaying the ever man of strength Azem knew him as? It didn't matter. It'd not save the both of them.

The anger refused to rest. Frustration, bitterness and the drought in his throat helped the situation not. The answers were clear to him. Athena most definitely brought it upon herself and that Lahabrea made the right decision. However, it wasn't the decision that hurt. It cannot be denied that him and Lahabrea were hardly friends, merely tied to each other because of their stations and The Speaker's relationship with his sister. They have naught in common, no matching ideals and convictions. Even so, did he not deserve such honesty? That in spite of their stark differences, of standing on the opposite sides of one another, of never seeing eye to eye... as the brother of the woman he had claimed to love, did he not deserve an explanation?

"You fooled me into thinking you were simply incompetent! That you failed to keep her safe!" He knew Athena his whole life, knew well what hardships she could endure and what struggles she could come out of unscathed. "My sister would never have died in such circumstances, you spineless sack of shite! She wouldn't have any need for your protection to begin with!" A facility she had lorded over, know its every nook and cranny, and how sturdy its very foundation ending up being the cause of her end? A child could come up with a better story than the crap Lahabrea forcefed him and everyone. The lie had given no one comfort.

"I should've never let you in her life!" It's desperate and deranged musings of a brother in agony. It made no sense. It's irrational and betrays the person he is. "You have become the bane of her. Your entire being have put a stop in her breath. Were it not for you and your—" He couldn't finish it. He loved Erichthonios no matter what. The child's circumstance was the cause of it all, but he couldn't find it in him to pin the blame on his sister's son. So someone else must be at fault. Someone else must have been the reason. It just happened to be Lahabrea.

Dying would be too easy. Lahabrea didn't deserve such a respite. He needed to live and endure the agony he brought upon himself, to go about his daily life while carrying the weight of such a decision that he couldn't speak of. To know what it is to live by its difficulty and never find a way out of it. To shoulder the burden of it without end. Just like him. Exactly just like him.

To peak beyond the veil of the future was no gift like the scholars spoke of. The things that the man named Ares have seen have never been a source of joy. Every vision crippled him for it did not provide him answers, only images he couldn't control, tragedies he could not prevent. What would he see on the morrow? What would be the final straw? What loss will he and the Star must endure once more?

I... I saw her die in your arms, Lahabrea.

I saw her... I know what I saw...

I... I saw her...

It was only when he heard someone shouting for him to stop that he finally snapped out of his rage-fueled trance. He looked down at the other man, who was lying on the floor, bleeding and bruised, and suddenly felt a wave of remorse wash over him at the sight of his clueless nephew. He had never felt so ashamed of himself, so afraid of the person he could become.

He slowly backed away from Lahabrea, realizing that he had almost beaten the man to death and yet, the blood on his knuckles felt like it belonged to him.

[zmairinarurik]

♗ tag drop !!

[doctorturnbull]

tag drop

[ragingbookdragon]

Behind A Warrior's Heart

Kotallo x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: This train is getting longer and longer and none of you can stop me. Enjoy! -Thorne

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

“When we get inside, let me do the talking,” he muttered as they walked past the guards at the entrance of the Memorial Grove.

She rolled her eyes and adjusted the cloak at her neck, so part of her body was showing. “You do recall I’m the right hand of the Sun-King, yes? I know how to be diplomatic in front of foreign leaders.”

Kotallo glared over at her. “I’m not worried that you won’t be diplomatic. I’m worried that you will put your foot in your mouth and end up with a bloodied face or worse, dead.”

“Perhaps I may,” she agreed with a firm nod. “But it won’t be my blood and I won’t be the one dying.” Passing him, she walked up the steps, coming to a stop when the man sitting on the throne rose and took a single step towards them.

The Tenakth beside her gave a sharp salute. “Chief Hekarro, I bring you the Sun-King’s—”

She stepped in front of the Chief, holding out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chief Hekarro. I work closely with His Majesty, Sun-King Avad.” She smiled. “I came of my own accord to offer Carjan assistance to your war effort.”

Hekarro took her hand, heartily shaking it. “King Avad hadn’t sent word of your coming. The last we heard was a message from the Sundom after the massacre of the Embassy.”

“A tragedy,” she answered. “We lost good soldiers on both sides.” Shifting her gaze to the other Tenakth around, she added, “Fashav seems to be missed amongst the Marshals here just as much as he is in Meridian.”

“He was a good Marshal,” he said, pulling his hand away. “One that cannot be replaced.”

She met his eyes. “Agreed. But his death shouldn’t be in vain. We should be doing all we can to maintain good relations with the Carja and Tenakth.”

“And that’s where you come in?”

“It is. I go where King Avad and his soldiers cannot. I do what they cannot.”

Hekarro regarded her with a vaguely suspicious look. “What exactly does that all entail? From what I’ve heard of you, you are a spy.”

She tipped her head side to side, not exactly the nature of denying it. “The correct term is infiltrator. My job is quite simple. Get into places that are crawling with enemies and escape with whatever it is I need unscathed and unseen. Word is being sent back to His Majesty that I’ll be here fostering relations amongst Tenakth and Carja. I’ve no doubt that when his response comes to me, it will not only be given permission but highly encouraged.” Giving him a firm nod, she said, “I’m here to offer my services to you, Chief Hekarro. In whatever form you need them to come in. Spying, fighting, diplomatic association. I’m a woman of many talents.”

“I sense that you hide a warrior’s heart behind subterfuge,” he noted and glanced at Kotallo who was watching her with stoicism. “You won’t find many Tenakth willing to trust a woman of the Carja.”

At that, a devious smirk came across her lips. “Then I guess it’s a good thing that I’m not a Carjan, Chief Hekarro. I just work for one.” She turned, looking to Kotallo. “Your Marshal here has said he’d put in a good word with you, Chief.”

“Has he now?” Hekarro mused and Kotallo looked ready to murder her where she stood.

He growled silently and met his Chief’s gaze. “Aloy’s faith deeply resides in this woman. I’ve seen her abilities in battle myself. She fights honorably and speaks truthfully—when the moment calls for it,” he finished under his breath. “It would be wise to have her foster relations between the Carja and our people.”

“Kotallo rarely speaks such praise,” the man noted. “I do think it would be valuable to have you here.”

“Excellent choice, Chief Hekarro,” she agreed. “What shall I do first?”

Hekarro nodded to them. “There are rebel camps in the area. Helping the clans secure them from the rebels will be the first step in arming ourselves from Regalla.”

She tapped at her Focus bringing up the camps. “It seems Aloy’s taken out most of them in the eastern region but there are still quite a few in this area and west of here.” She swiped along the holograms. “I can take out these two within the next few hours and start on the rest in the week.”

“I admire your tenacity to get started, but you won’t be doing this alone.”

“Beg your pardon?” she replied, glancing at Hekarro. “Who are you going to send with me? A Marshal?”

“My thoughts exactly,” he said and gestured to Kotallo. “Since he’s already in Aloy’s service, I see no harm in him helping you.”

“Chief Hekarro—” Kotallo started but the man held up his hand.

“Our relations of peace are rocky as they are, Kotallo. We cannot allow ourselves to be beggars in moments like these. We must take what we are given and use it to the best of our abilities.” Hekarro looked between them. “Fashav was the best bridge we had. Now, it falls to you two.”

They looked between each other, and she leaned over into Kotallo’s space with a grin and chirped, “You and I are going to be the best of friends, Kotallo, just you wait.”

The Tenakth warrior glowered at her and through gritted teeth, hissed, “I cannot contain my joy.”

Hekarro smiled. “You two had best be off. Night will fall soon, and those two camps will be ready for you.”

She was already turning on her heel, marching down the steps. “I bet I can beat you to the first camp, Kotallo! Tell you what, I’ll even give you a ten-minute head start!”

Kotallo was still glaring at her back and then he glanced at Chief Hekarro. “This is a terrible idea.”

“So you’ve expressed,” the Chief said calmly, knowingly. “I beg to differ. Go on.”

He wanted to argue but the Chief’s expression booked no room for argument, and he sighed. “As you command.” Kotallo turned and hurried after her.

When he caught up to her, he griped, “You did not have to cut me off in the introduction.”

She barked a laugh. “Trust me, big guy, the day I let a man introduce me, is the day you scatter my ashes to the four winds.”

Kotallo glared at her back as she walked. “Let us hope it will be tonight.”

***

By the time they made it back to Memorial Grove, they were both ready to collapse in exhaustion. While they were successful in their mission, the two camps they hit turned out to be larger machine holds. Two fire-bellowbacks in one camp and a set of grimhorns in the other. The armor had held on her back but she knew there were burns somewhere along her shoulder and left arm along with various cuts to her right leg and thigh, probably a deeper cut somewhere else but she was too concerned with getting to a bedroll that she didn’t care. Kotallo didn’t fair much better and was sporting a few new scrapes and bruises, but they did note that he wasn’t missing anymore limbs, so there was an upside to the struggle.

She could barely see straight she was so tired and at one point stumbled and went down on one knee, bracing her hands on the floor. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Just give me a moment to catch my breath.”

Expecting a sharp word, she waited, but Kotallo merely bent down and curled his arm around her waist, picking her up and forcing her to put most of her weight onto him. “I will help you.”

“Thank you,” she said, ignoring the snickers and comments from the Tenakth they passed by.

Kotallo brought them to a secluded area near a fire where there were already bedrolls set up and he set her down. “Sit there and remove the top of your armor.” Before she could even ask, he added, “You’re bleeding all along your back.”

She saw the smear of crimson along his chest and armor. “Shit, I am, aren’t I?” Already pulling the cloak away, she undid the clasps of her top armor and let it fall, nudging it to the side with her foot. She pulled the tunic off and laid on her stomach, watching with careful eyes as Kotallo disappeared behind a curtain and reappeared moments later with what looked like a small jar. “What’s that?”

“A salve made by our medics. It will help with the burns and cuts.” He sat down and twisted the top off the jar, and she leaned over and looked into it with a grimace. “Lay still,” he commanded lowly, and she felt the cool salve touch her wounds. She bit out a grunt and put her face in her arms, muscles in her back and shoulders flexing underneath the pain. “It will subside in a few minutes. Bear with it.”

“Working on it,” she griped into her arms. “Shit burns worse than the cuts do.”

“You took the cut, you can take the healing.”

“You’re a right ass about things, you know that, right?” she retorted, turning to glare at him. “I know I took the cut. But it still hurts, and the medicine isn’t stopping the pain immediately so maybe cut out the mocking?”

Kotallo paused and met her gaze, something unsure in them as he said, “I…apologize. I am trying to be kind.”

“I—you are?” she doubted, brows furrowed, but she shook her head then laid her cheek on her forearms. “Then…keep going, please.”

His hand was rough against her skin, calloused fingers and palm swiping sticky, green salve over her back and shoulders, but she didn’t make anymore noise, simply watching him. His eyes were focused on the task at hand, ensuring that he didn’t leave any wound uncovered. “You fought well today,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” she replied softly. “You did as well.”

His gaze found hers for a moment. “May I ask you something?”

“My answer will depend on how invasive your question is,” she joked, and the corners of his lips curled upwards for a second then fell.

“Throughout our fights today, you kept looking back for me. Why?” She blinked and shifted her gaze; Kotallo thought she was looking at his arm, well, the lack of it and he scowled. “Did you think I wasn’t going to be able to fight?”

“Quite the opposite,” she said. “I wasn’t worried that you wouldn’t be able to fight. I was just keeping my eye on my ally.” She looked down. “I understand why Aloy prefers to fight her missions alone. It’s easier to focus on the mission if you do not have an ally with you. You are preoccupied with the worry of them falling in battle if you do.” She looked back at him. “I kept looking back to check on you that you were okay. If you took it as doubt in your abilities, you’re sorely mistaken. I know full-well that you can handle yourself in combat, Kotallo. Better than most men who have both arms.”

Kotallo snorted low in his throat and wiped his hand on his thigh, screwing the top back on the jar. “I appreciate your vote of confidence.” He started to move, and she reached out, placing her hand on the top of his thigh, causing him to jolt, startled at her touch.

“Kotallo, thank you.”

The calmness and true thankfulness of the words caught him off guard and he felt heat rise to his cheeks; he looked away with a cough. “You’re welcome.” Gently, he pulled her shirt down over her back. “You should rest,” he murmured. “I’ll be back in a few moments with something to eat and drink.”

“Take your time,” she replied and nodded at him as he rose from her and disappeared behind the curtain.

By the time he returned, she had already fallen asleep. The heads of the bedrolls were near one another around the edge of the fire, and he couldn’t help but smile as he saw her hand outstretched over her head, resting on the edge of his bedroll. Kotallo set the food and drink beside her, and he laid on his bedroll, freezing when her hand shifted, fingers brushing against his forehead and he turned his eyes up, gazing at the peaceful look on her face before he shut his eyes and let sleep overcome him.

[the-sycophant]

22.  QUEST :  for one muse to help the other with a task in exchange for compensation. (Arcuris Rilanox)

[Comprehensive List of Scenarios Prompt]

Those in Val Saule craved coin to a despicable amount, no doubt the core reason the trading town continued its downward spiral into over indulgence, petty crime and heartache. Primarily relying on bartering during the War, material goods and services were much more valuable to exchange when gil lost all meaning. Logging, furs, even hunting the odd night creatures that stalked the surrounding woods sustained them for a time...but when the sky port opened again — when the traders, merchants and undeniably sinister visitors returned through the very good and not at all corrupt port authority — it brought coin. And with the coin came the booze, and the drugs, and the crime. The desire for more, for what their neighbor had, for what they saw when the elite stopped to rest. It made people suffer, made her suffer.

Marlowe needed gil just as much as everyone else. She couldn't sustain on the kindness of others, on the meager donations provided to the dilapidated Temple she worked in. Lived in. It made opportunities like this so very hard to reject. The distant echoing thought of suspiciously convenient urged her to stay put for once—

But she needed it. Just as Etoile needed her daily nightcap, as Mr. Harper needed his whores. Though the longer he spoke, it seemed the job itself was not quite so terrible compared to other things she had done. To her pleasant surprise she had been to where he was asking to go many times, and he not only looked like an incredible deterrent to any sort of trouble, he knew how to defend himself. 

What luck! 

If she didn't have to purchase an additional sellsword, she could attempt to perform another job at the same time. Surely she could cajole him to accompany her further than his destination? Would he abandon her once they were so far out? She'd be sure to force the issue later...that always went well. 

Marlowe stared at him, brow knitted in contemplation as she pressed a gloved thumb to her bottom lip, leaning forward over her desk as he continued, distracted.

The size of him! Ridiculous! 

She knew many of the return visitors to Val Saule, and he was certainly not one of them. Marlowe already regretted offering him a place to stay in the Temple, to eat in the Temple...the appetite on him was outrageously curious, and she had to literally bite her knuckle to stop herself from saying anything as he ate through what supplies she had. 

Her tongue flicked out against her cracked lips, and drooping, tired eyes lifted from the offer laid out before her, "Very well. I can escort you through the ravine." She tapped on the arm of her chair, already feeling giddy with restlessness, eager to get out again. Could he even use a chocobo? He was not as tall as the tallest Elezen, but the musculature was so great, dense. Even through his layers of clothes and peeking armor she knew that much from the way he moved. It wasn't her problem, she supposed.

The young woman cleared her throat, absently rubbing under an eye as she stood, glancing out the frosted window as the rarity of sun peeked through. Puh. "I can leave as soon as you are ready. I cannot, however, supply you with...additional rations." An almost drawling mumble to try and hide the tone of condemnation for something he likely couldn't control. "But I can bring you, and aid you if needed. You are correct in that the storms have brought down many a ship, both pre-calamity and after. You'll be free to dig and salvage to your heart's content." A thin smile, eyes narrowing as she wondered how he planned on retrieving the technology he sought when few others had managed before. She was also interested in seeing what it was exactly he was searching for. "In any case, I look forward to working with you, and the Temple is appreciative of your generous offer."

@voidtekarc - Arcuris Rilanox

[agentrouka-blog]

what do you think about obara?

Hi there!

Obara would be my third favorite Sand Snake after Sarella and Elia.

Obara Sand always walked too fast. She is chasing after something she can never catch, the prince had told his daughter once, in the captain's hearing. (AFFC, The Captain of Guards)

My goodness, what could it be?

Oh, right. Her mother. Her identity. Her sense of self.

She is the reason I can never ever truly like Oberyn.

“I am the whore's whelp, or had you forgotten?" (AFFC, The Captain of Guards)

No matter how heartbreaking Oberyn’s determination to get justice for Elia’s murder, I can never forgive him for this.

"The day my father came to claim me, my mother did not wish for me to go. 'She is a girl,' she said, 'and I do not think that she is yours. I had a thousand other men.' He tossed his spear at my feet and gave my mother the back of his hand across the face, so she began to weep. 'Girl or boy, we fight our battles,' he said, 'but the gods let us choose our weapons.' He pointed to the spear, then to my mother's tears, and I picked up the spear. 'I told you she was mine,' my father said, and took me. My mother drank herself to death within the year. They say that she was weeping as she died." Obara edged closer to the prince in his chair. "Let me use the spear; I ask no more."

(AFFC, The Captain of Guards)

Oberyn not only suddenly came to take her away from her mother. He did not come to offer her a “better life”, or do his duty to her as her father.

He made her choose.

He demonstrated an absolutely despicable abuse of power. He shows up out of the blue after presumably no contact and no support, assaults and humiliates her mother, a woman already on the very edge of society, and then makes Obara choose between this distorted image of victimized weakness, and his own power. Female tears vs. his phallic symbol. It’s a false dichotomy, the birth place of “not like other girls”, of internalized misogyny, of self-hatred.

She cannot have both. She cannot love both. She must disdain one to reap any benefit from the other. It is a horrifying violation. He erases half of her identity by dragging it through the dirt and creating a clear distinction between himself and his offer, and the woman who has been Obara’s caretaker all her life up to then. Her own mother. Her own sex.

We know that the young red-haired prostitute died trying to save her daughter, little Barra, while Robert had not lifted a finger to support them, and only had scorn for the girl’s choice of name. Was she weak?

Even her mother’s grief and desperate end is turned into a weapon against Obara, instead of proof of her mother’s love, it is proof of her mother’s supposed worthlessness. She must hate her mother because to stop would be to recognize that her father, her sole source of security in the world, was a monster to do this. She must cling to this phallic symbol of a weapon because Oberyn tainted all alternatives. The whore’s whelp she calls herself, spitting on her mother every time.

When she arrives at Sunspear to confront Doran about Oberyn’s death, she asks for troops and permission to sack Oldtown. Her hometown. For the wealth of the Hightowers, supposedly, but somehow her first instinct upon the news of her father’s demise is to attack the place she herself came from, her mother’s city. Begging to use the spear.

Perhaps it is the only way she knows how to express her pain, as Oberyn stole her tears. Self-destruction.

Even Nymeria understands there is a personal motive outside of Oberyn’s death.

“Obara would have me go to war.”

Nym laughed. “Yes, she wants to set the torch to Oldtown. She hates that city as much as our little sister loves it.” (AFFC, The Captain of Guards)

Obara is the only one of the elder Sand Snakes for whom GRRM constructs this kind of look back at her "acquisition" into the royal family, and I sincerely doubt that it is accidental. It is the one that matters, the one that is the most illustrative.

Nymeria has her noble Volantene mother’s beauty and bearing.

Tyene is said to carry her mother’s innocent appearance, and received a religious education at least thorough enough to enable her to “ingratiate herself” with the new high septon. It is, of course, a cynical facade.

Sarella proudly practices the marksmanship of the Summer Islanders of her mother’s heritage.

But Elia and Obara both show the real cracks that counter this hazy facade of the fierce Eight Sand Snakes, liberal Oberyn‘s loyal and independent daughters. They are all an extravagant self-indulgence on Oberyn’s part, created wherever he went and then picked up like a shiny tourist trinket. They all must revolve around him, the reflections of Oberyn in the looking glass of their mothers.

No," Elia broke in. "You're the one they'll want to ransom. You're the heir to Dorne, I'm just a bastard girl. Your father would give a chest of gold for you. My father's dead." (TWOW, Arianne II)

Elia, bless her, has her mother to lean on and still she keenly feels the legal reality of her position. Obara does not even have that. 

Sarella out of all the elder Sand Snakes, seems to be the most emotionally independent. She is the only one NOT around all the others in Dorne, and while she follows her father’s footsteps in Oldtown, she practices her mother‘s traditional archery and emphasizes her.

Alleras smiled back at him. "I only buy for friends. And I am no lord's son, I've told you that. My mother was a trader." (AFFC, Prologue)

This healthier balance, this valuing regard for her mother’s heritage (unlike Tyene's pretense) is what makes Sarella truly remarkable to me. She is not hot-headed nor does she seem to be boiling with a thinly veiled fury. She does not seem to advocate for murder, but we see her muse about feeding the people. She is serene, like the black swans on the Godseye, like the swanships, with a steady hand and a sure intention. Whatever exactly that intention may be. Ironically, sexism forces Sarella into a masculine role, as well. But it is a deliberate mask, elegantly worn. Freely worn. Unlike Obara's struggle.

The character in whom I see most parallels with Obara Sand is Jon Snow in his current iteration.

Ned, well-meaning though he may have been, robbed Jon of half of his identity and left him with an image that is considered tainted by the world around him. His mother is as inaccassible as Obara’s mother, emotionally, though for different reasons. Their father’s choices left both of them emotionally crippled to a degree. One mother was erased by silence, rendered invisible. The other, worse, was erased by violent and verbal degradation.

Consequently, it is Obara we see the most seemingly “unhinged”, when she is introduced, the most overtly violent, the most “unfeminine”. This is not an expression of personal taste, nor a handy mask. It is a grim adherence to the choice she was offered.

She is almost thirty, and came to Dorne almost two decades earlier, well before Elia’s murder.

"It has been twenty years, or near enough to make no matter.” (AFFC, The Captain of Guards)

She was somewhere between Sansa’s and Arya’s current age when Elia was killed. Does she perceive the contradiction in Oberyn living for vengeance for Elia, when he treated her own mother not so very very differently? He did not kill her truly, but he erased her just the same, with a violent contempt. A "weak woman", with only tears for weapons, her child ripped from her.

If Obara sees it, she is not letting on. She craves violence. She craves an expression of power to put something where tears might have their place. The way she was taught.

Of course, it would be boring if that is where it was truly headed. Much like Aegon and Jon, much also like Asha Greyjoy who adapted to an extremely male-dominated society, Obara would probably benefit from turning away from her father's looming shadow to a certain degree. I have some hope that GRRM will make room to explore it.

Obara is given a quest of justice and distraction: Darkstar. "Beard him in his den", as Arianne travels to "beard the dragon".

Your Speculation here (by @sayruq) is extremely interesting, placing Obara in the line of defense of peaceful children at the watergardens. The same children she had dismissed earlier, like the child she was not allowed to be. Wielding that spear not for vengeance or self-glorification but in the way it should be wielded: to defend those soft weak things that are precious.

I really hope this is where it's headed, and I really hope she will find her peace in that role.

[more-than-a-princess]

I was rewatching UBW and I was wondering: how HPA-time Sonia and post-despair Sonia would react to Archer? A fancy “supernatural being” who is both a ghost and a familiar. (I know that Archer was already harsh on poor young Sonia, but still). And how she would react to any Servant/Heroic Spirit?

Because of the length of this ask and the fact it's not going to turn into an RP thread, I'm going to answer this from the askbox.

That being said, this is probably going to be most relevant to muses who have Fate muses and/or verses who want to interact with Sonia!

Post-Despair Sonia is an easy one to answer here: "Are you for or against Enoshima's new group of fanatic followers, because we've got a world we're trying to put back in some attempt of order and frankly, I'm barely staying alive as it is. But as the Future Foundation isn't equipped to deal with magecraft, ghosts, or whatever it is you are, I should probably send word to that organization in London where the often-grumpy professor teaches. He'll help sort you out."

tl;dr - She's endured so much shit by now, having someone who starts going on about grails, swords that come out of his hands, and how much he hates That Red-haired Kid...she's not really equipped, emotionally or physically, to deal with it.

That's pretty much how she'd react to any Servant in Post-Despair: this woman is pretty much a shell of her former self. She has a hard enough time getting out of bed in the morning and facing her mistakes and the fact her people are both depending on her and want her dead, at the same time.

Non-Despair is significantly less depressing, but I should make clear, first and foremost:

Sonia Never.mind cannot and will not be able to wield magecraft. She is not a magecraft user, and therefore she cannot summon your servant/heroic spirit muse herself. Mostly because of the following:

She is already physically beautiful, kind, compassionate, booksmart, rich, and powerful/will inherit a country one day. She does not need to be able to use magecraft on top of this: girl has enough power and positive attributes as it is!

There's too many series and characters in Fate for me to possibly learn enough/master them all to write it competently. Especially for Grand Order: That's the mobile game where there's as many servants as Pokemon, right? Yeah. That.

That being said, her meeting a spirit would likely result in the following questions:

Are you a ghost?

Are you a demon?

Are you absolutely sure because you materialized out of nowhere-oh wait, you're 'insert magecraft user here''s friend!

As she isn't a magecraft user and not involved in the Grail Wars, I doubt most servants would be that interested in her company to begin with? Unless a friend who is a magecraft user left them in her care. Then, she'd probably treat them like any other friend: carry on conversation, offer them refreshments, etc. However, she'd be confused if a servant, Archer being a great example for this, did actually try to act like her servant: cleaning and cooking and the like (or even acting as security). She has paid staff for that, and would insist on compensating them.

Except...do servants actually need to be compensated? Sonia would certainly try: a living wage? a home? health insurance? She's very much interested, as her father is, in workers' rights and would find it vastly inappropriate to basically bind someone to your orders by use of command seals.

To the point that she'd probably talk to the magecraft users in her life and ensure that they, at the very least, offer adequate time off for their servants and other necessary rights. She sees it as an injustice, a problem, in the world that she could lend her voice to and try to solve: so she will try to do so.

Don't try to stop her: she's the Ultimate Princess, eventually becoming Queen of one of the world's last absolute monarchies. She can't not try to help, govern, and lead others when the opportunities present themselves. Even if she isn't asked to. Especially when she's not asked to.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Blood in the Rivers: X

A/N: okay! we have reached the end, my loves. I’m so sorry for taking so long, but I truly appreciate your patience. This is v v self-indulgent but hey! happy endings are important to me. 

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

Rating: NC-17 for penetrative sex, oral sex (f-receiving), everyone has a breeding kink, mention of child birth, pregnancy, ...babies

Word Count: 13.7k ( ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Read Chapters I-IX here! or on Ao3!

Chapter Ten: Adventure Awaits

Y/N had always suspected that she would feel nervous on her wedding day. Either from dread or giddiness, she could never be sure—but she still expected some trepidation. But there was nothing except a gentle eagerness blooming in her heart as Daisy finished helping her ready for the ceremony. Her dress was a soft white silk and gossamer frock with little embellishment. But it swayed with each of her movements like the sea and made her feel beautiful.

“You look every bit a princess,” Daisy said, tears in her eyes, as she finished fastening Y/N’s maiden’s cloak to her shoulders. ���I cannot believe we have finally reached this day.”

“It did take a few battles, did it not?” Y/N mused, happiness coloring her tone. “And you shall have your own happy day next moon. Finally. Daemon is the most patient of men.”

Daisy laughed. “We have found ourselves some bit of happiness here in Dorne. Have we not, my lady?”

**

Y/N could barely keep the smile from hurting her face as she heard the soft music coming from inside the sept. Two servants were smiling broadly at her, waiting to pull open the doors. With one last adjustment to the maiden cloak on her shoulders, Y/N nodded and they opened the great doors with a flourish.

The Sept was filled with Martells and the Sand Snakes and the Ullers, and a handful of other lords and ladies, all of them smiling, all of them happy. Y/N stepped forward, one foot in front of the other, and had to bite back a giddy laugh when she spotted Oberyn at the end of the aisle. He was dressed in his finery; cream-colored silk and brocade with silver and gold thread, emblazoned with spear-pierced suns that glittered in the candlelight. A wash of yellow and red fabric was carefully placed over his arm. Ellaria was standing closest to him, even closer than the Septon, dressed in a daffodil dress with golden chains draped over her shoulders and chest. They were beautiful.

Y/N continued forward and spotted Loreza frantically waving as she held onto Gryves’ collar, his tail wagging furiously and rucking up the hem of Loreza’s pretty dress. But Y/N waved back, earning a happy bark from Gryves.

Ellaria stepped forward before Y/N reached the end and wrapped an arm around Y/N’s, leading her the last few feet to Oberyn’s side before gently taking Y/N’s hand and placing it in Oberyn’s outstretched palm. She pressed a kiss to Y/N’s cheek before letting Oberyn turn them toward the Septon.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” the Septon said with a soft smile.

Oberyn’s warm hands slipped up Y/N’s arms to undo the fastenings of her maiden’s cloak and handed it over to a smiling Trystane as he finished before he unfurled the cloak in his arms and he cloaked her in his family’s colors, two golden suns now sitting on her shoulders. He smiled at her and Y/N once again had to will herself into quietude, wanting to shout her joy for all to hear.

“My lords, my ladies,” the septon started, “we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Oberyn grasped her right hand and kissed her fingers before holding their joined hands out to the septon to tie a red silk ribbon around their wrists.

“Let it be known that Y/N of House Tully, and Prince Oberyn of House Nymeros Martell are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” The septon thrust out his hands. “In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” He then carefully undid the simple knot he had tied with a smile and told them to face each other and Oberyn greedily grasped her other hand in his and squeezed her fingers affectionately. “Repeat these words; Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger...”

Y/N and Oberyn did, saying the words almost a bit too quickly if the Septon’s quiet tutting was any indication.

But they could not be stopped. Oberyn pushed forward, “I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

“I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days,” Y/N said her part and felt her heart flutter like humming bird’s wings within the confines of her ribs.

Pleased, the septon nodded.

That was all the permission Oberyn needed before he grasped at Y/N’s face. Softly, and just for her to hear, he whispered, “with this kiss, I pledge my love.”

And then he kissed her, smiling against her mouth as the crowd clapped and cheered. He gently grasped her hand in his again as they walked out of the sept and into the sunlight.

**

The feast was held in Sunspear’s great hall, and it was filled with raucous conversation, beautiful music, and her favorite company. Oberyn had convinced Doran to let the rest of the servants partake in the festivities so the hall was alive with some beautiful revelry.

Gifts were stacked high on the back wall and Y/N was sure they were all lovely but all she could do was revel in how Oberyn was quick to move her around the floor with all the grace of prowling panther and he nearly devoured her with hungry kisses that left her gasping and uncaring of the audience. “My wife, my moonlight.”

“My husband,” Y/N replied, smile wide. But then her gaze was caught by Ellaria’s approaching form and they both held out a hand for her.

Ellaria matched their smile and readily put her hands in theirs, letting herself be pulled close and the three of them swayed to the music—together. As it should be, as it always should have been. The next song came and went before Loreza and Dorea were begging their father for a dance which he quickly obliged after excusing himself from Y/N and Ellaria’s side with a kiss to each of their mouths. Y/N and Ellaria continued to dance and Y/N reveled in Ellaria’s soft hands as they held her close.

“You are finally ours, my love,” Ellaria whispered in her ear.

“I have always been yours,” Y/N responded, breathing in Ellaria’s expensive citrus and floral perfume in a heady breath.

Ellaria hummed and pulled her a little closer as the song started to reach its crescendo. “Yes, you have. But now the whole of the Seven Kingdoms will know.”

Y/N laughed and pressed her lips to hers, to absolutely no one’s surprise.

She could finally be free here—to love who she loved, to be who she was always meant to be.

**

The gifts had been opened and carefully put away by a tittering Daisy who then all but skipped out of the room just in time for Oberyn and Ellaria to drag Y/N into the softly lit room, candles casting deep shadows on the walls.

Cheers and music were still filtering into the room.

The three had foregone the calls for a traditional bedding—being carried away by a group of men and stripped of her clothing was not something she wanted and everyone knew better than to ever touch Oberyn’s wife or paramour. The fact that Y/N now had a bloody reputation might have stayed their hand, too.

But none of that mattered now. Ellaria was pressing kisses to her neck and tugging at the lacings of her soft dress as Oberyn was bodily dragging them both toward the bed. And just as he heaved them onto the silken blankets—there was a knock at the door.

“Papa!” Came the little voice on the other side.

Oberyn pulled back, lips leaving from their place just above Y/N’s chest, to look at the door.

And the knock came again. “Papa!” It was Loreza, sniffling and huffing with tears—Y/N could hear them through the door.

Oberyn sighed and righted his tunic before winking. “I shall be back soon, my loves.” He then quickly left, the sound of Oberyn’s calming voice trailing and fading as they walked down the hall.

“Nightmares again?” Y/N asked, pushing herself further into the pillows as Ellaria shifted on the bed to swing a leg over Y/N’s hips and settle over her stomach.

Ellaria nodded and then bent to press a kiss against Y/N’s lips, letting her tongue curl around hers and taste the tart Dornish wine they had all imbibed throughout the feast—probably to excess. “But you will soon have to chase away nightmares, too.” Her warm hands started to grab at the loosened bodice of Y/N’s dress and dragged it down her arms, exposing her breasts to the cooled night air.

“Oh?” Y/N asked, hazing mind trying to keep up with Ellaria’s words and her hands.

Ellaria nodded against her mouth, slipping her hand beneath the bundled fabric of Y/N’s wedding dress to trail her fingers against her stomach as the younger woman heaved with each breath. “Oh yes. Oberyn and I are going to make sure you are round with child. Another babe to fill these halls with love and laughter.”

Y/N gasped, body heating for more than just one reason. Oh, she wanted. She wanted. She wanted.

Ellaria somehow shucked Y/N’s gown past her hips and onto the stone floor as she kissed her again and had slipped her beautifully devious fingers into Y/N’s lacy smallclothes, finding her clit with a happy laugh as Y/N all but choked against her lips.

Y/N fumbled with Ellaria’s dress, trying to push and pull it—she just needed it off. She needed to feel Ellaria’s warm skin under her hands. But Ellaria was, as always, a force to be reckoned with. She pushed Y/N down onto the bed after taking pity on the poor woman and sitting straight just long enough to rid herself of her pretty gown. And Y/N warred with herself, happy to have Ellaria bare in front of her but longing for Ellaria’s fingers to once again touch her.

“All ours for the night—and every night after that,” Ellaria hummed as leaned down against to press an open-mouthed kiss against Y/N’s shining lips.

Y/N let her greedy hands slide across Ellaria’s warm skin to grab handfuls of her beautiful breasts, plucking at her hardened peaks in the way Ellaria liked and smiling when Ellaria whined. “Just as you are mine.”

Ellaria hummed, pausing to gently cradle Y/N’s face with a soft, hungry look in her dark eyes that had Y/N’s heart fluttering even more. “Tonight is about you, my love. It may not be always pleasant but we will try our best to bring you pleasure.”

Y/N could only nod—but she whined when Ellaria slipped off to the side and reclined beside Y/N, inching her fingers down Y/N’s heaving chest and swirling her fingertips around one nipple and then the next before tapping at the pile of pillows a little further up the bed.

“Come, my love.”

Y/N scurried to do as she was bid and pressed herself into the pillows. She held out her hands for Ellaria to take but was only rewarded with Ellaria shaking her head with a smile and a lick to her lips as she pushed herself up onto one arm to lean over Y/N, boxing her in. Ellaria’s perfect lips dragged down her neck to her bare shoulder and the simple touch had Y/N gasping, wine continuing to fog her mind in a wonderful haze.

“We have to get you ready. Get you wet enough that your body will take him deep.” Deft fingers plucked at the small bows at the sides of Y/N’s underclothes and Ellaria slowly pulled them away, making Y/N jump and shiver as the lace slid over her skin before Ellaria tossed them over her shoulder to join the growing pile of clothes on the stone floor. “You’re so pretty, so good. My good girl.”

Y/N couldn’t stop herself then, tangling her fingers in Ellaria’s glorious hair and dragging her lips to hers and licking into her mouth, tasting more Dornish wine. But Y/N suddenly keened when Ellaria’s fingers found her slit again—circling, circling, circling and drawing a whine from the new bride.

And it was so easy for Ellaria to coax Y/N to a breathless orgasm, her fingers tugging at Ellaria’s wrist as her hand continued to move, fingers continuing to plunder despite the slick soaking up to her wrist.

“Good girl,” Ellaria purred.

The coil that had just snapped continued to tighten again, now with a delicious bite. Ellaria’s movements were steady and continuous, again and again finding that place inside Y/N that had her gasping and whining—for more, for less—for everything. And just as she was sure the coil was going to bite and snap…Ellaria stopped. Y/N watched her head tilt toward the door.

Oberyn was standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest and a wide smile on his face. “A wonderful sight to greet me, to be sure.”

Ellaria turned just enough to lean on her elbow beside Y/N with a laugh of her own. “I am surprised you stopped to admire the view, my love.” She crooked a shining finger at Oberyn. “Come.” And then, Ellaria’s fingers slipped down Y/N’s stomach and cupped her mound for just a moment before using just two to spread Y/N’s lips to the cooled night air and Oberyn’s hungry gaze. “Isn’t she just so pretty, my love? Look how wet she is for us.” And then Ellaria pressed inside and curled her fingers, letting Y/N’s slick coat her skin as she twisted her wrist just so and had the younger woman writhing beside her again. But Ellaria quickly withdrew and held out her glistening fingers to Oberyn who greedily pulled them between his smiling lips to lick them clean, moaning at her taste.

Y/N watched it all in a daze, wanting more of that pleasure—more of what only Oberyn and Ellaria could give her even if there was just a slight sting to it, her body still overstimulated. “Oh please,” she whined, hips lifting from the bed as she watched Oberyn’s wicked tongue drag across his bottom lip in search of just a bit more of her taste.

“She is magnificent, as always. Even more so when I have you with us: my pair of perfect loves.”

Y/N’s entire body warmed at the words. Her and Ellaria. Ellaria and Oberyn. This is how it was supposed to be—all of them together. But her thoughts quickly faded into syrup as Ellaria’s dexterous fingers once again curled inside and had her struggling against the arm Ellaria had suddenly slung across her stomach. And Y/N could feel Ellaria’s smirk as she pressed her mouth against the side of Y/N’s sweat-slick throat. “You’re almost there, my love. Almost ready to finally take your prince.” The wet sound of Ellaria’s fingers quickly grew louder and louder as Y/N felt the pleasurable coil start to tighten and tighten and tighten until Ellaria used her other hand to pet at her clit, fingers brushing against it over and over again until the coil snapped and Y/N wailed.

She barely heard Ellaria’s praises and coos as she came back to herself, shaking in the other woman’s soft grip.

“You’re doing so well, my love. So well. I will never tire of seeing you take your pleasure from me. You sing so sweetly.” Ellaria’s lips caught hers in a brief kiss, tongue curling around hers before she sat straight. “Are you ready?” She asked.

Y/N nodded before her next breath pushed out of her lungs. She wanted this. She wanted all of it.

Oberyn was quickly to divest himself of his robes and breeches as Ellaria continued to trail her fingers up and down, up and down across Y/N’s stomach. Y/N felt her heart catch in her throat again, watching as Oberyn’s heavy cock was revealed. She had seen it before, of course, but just as she still grew excited at the sight of Ellaria’s perfect breasts, he was something to wonder at, too.

Oberyn slid onto the bed, long and strong legs bracketing Y/N’s knees as he smiled and leaned down just enough to kiss her, stealing her breath as his tongue plundered into her mouth.

His fingers briefly touched her folds, spreading her own wetness around and she watched as Oberyn’s smile widened and pride bloomed in her already warmed chest at the look in his honey-colored eyes. He shuffled closer, hands dragging up her thighs and pressing his thumbs into her hips to tease a squeal from her lips before he stole another kiss.

Ellaria’s fingers once again spread her wide, pushing her apart to reveal all of her, and Oberyn took his cock and let it drag against her folds and Y/N let out a choked moan, feeling him nearly catch once and then twice.

This was it. This was what she needed, the want burning in her bones like wildfire. “O-Oberyn, please…”

“She begs so prettily, my love,” Ellaria mused, nipping at Y/N’s ear. “End her torment.”

“Eager thing,” Oberyn chuckled, dark eyes burning into hers before dragging back down to her pussy and his ministrations finally stopped as the head of his cock, now shining with her, stilled, bracketed by Ellaria’s fingers. “Ready, my moonlight?”

Y/N could only nod as Ellaria’s fingers, slick and warm, curled to circle her clit, sending pleasurable jolts up and down her spine. And then Oberyn was pushing, parting her velvety walls slowly and with a determined sort of care that had her eyes watering and a smile pressing at her gasping mouth despite the small pinch and burn of the stretch that grew the deeper he sank inside. They loved her. They loved her so much and it was all so overwhelming with how much they cared about her and her pleasure. Ellaria’s fingers on her clit were steady and unwavering as Oberyn gave small thrusts, sinking a little deeper each time, making Y/N’s walls flutter around his cock.

Y/N closed her eyes as she felt the coil grow tighter and tighter, finally feeling her body clench around something thicker than her lovers’ fingers and a broken moan ripped its way out of her throat.

She felt so full and beautiful and loved and she only opened her eyes when she felt Oberyn’s lips brush against her panting mouth. His eyes were sparkling despite his labored breathing and his warm hand slid across her stomach as he gave a final thrust and was finally, finally, finally fully seated inside.

“Do you feel me, my moonlight? Right here?”

Her hand pressed over his as she felt, rather than heard, Ellaria’s laugh as her quickly unraveling mind made her tongue lead in her mouth. “I do. I feel all of you.”

Oberyn smiled and stole another kiss. “And you are well?”

And with a final curl of Ellaria’s fingers, the coil snapped and Y/N came, thighs shaking as a heady moan slipped through her spit-slick lips. She barely heard Oberyn’s answering groan as he felt her clamp down and her walls trembled.

“You are going to unmake me,” Oberyn huffed as her mind started to clear.

Her body continued to shake as he started to pull back, letting her feel each ridge and vein before slowly sliding back in. Her breath punched out of her each time he pushed deep and it always left her gasping, lungs burning.

“Her cunt feels like heaven, doesn’t it, my love?” Ellaria asked before sucking her shining fingers between her lips.

“It does,” Oberyn said with another slow drag in and out. “But I will not spend myself until she cums again.”

“I-I can’t,” Y/N said, her hand curling around Ellaria’s beautiful thigh.

“You will,” Ellaria said, tone commanding. “With your prince’s cock in your cunt, you will cum.”

But then her hands grasped at Y/N’s breasts and squeezed, rolling her hardened peaks between her fingers with an effortless ruthlessness that had Y/N arching her back, trying to give more to Ellaria to hold and grab. “I-I-” The words halted in her throat as she felt his lips find hers again, warm breath sliding against her face.

Everything was just Oberyn and Ellaria—and everything was beautiful.

Shaking hands reached up to grasp at his shoulders, trying clumsily to drag him closer—she needed him closer for some reason she couldn’t explain.

Oberyn and Ellaria showered her in praises as his thrusts continued to grow stronger; Y/N was their good girl, their love, their Moonlight, and she was taking him so well. And all of the lovely words were effecting her just as much as the delicious movement of Oberyn as he continued his deep and slow drag.

And that familiar coil started to pull tight again, slower than the previous two but much, much more intense—something she could feel in her marrow.

“O-Oh, please,” she begged, hands still scrambling for purchase against his slick back, against Ellaria’s wrists as her hand continued to move between her legs, darting from one to the other as her hips start to buck and press against Oberyn’s pistoning hips.

And Oberyn let out a guttural moan at that, feeling how he would sink deeper each time she would meet his thrusts. Ellaria leaned over to lick into his open mouth and coach another moan from his throat. His hands grasped at her hips as his paced quickened, the drag and thrust lighting each of her nerves aflame as she continued to hurdle towards another orgasm.

As the coil grew tighter, Y/N kept lifting and moving her hips, trying to match Oberyn’s movements, wanting to hear that sound again and knowing it was her who made him. And she was rewarded with his beautiful noises again and again and felt his grip tighten on her hips even as he never went too hard or too quick; still endlessly careful with her.

“Touch her again,” Oberyn said, looking at Ellaria. “Help get her there.”

Ellaria huffed a laugh at that but finally released her hold on Y/N’s chest to slide her fingers back down to simply press against Y/N’s hardened clit and making the other woman keen and wail. Y/N’s vision went white and all she could feel was a sharp pleasure spreading through her body. She collapsed, boneless, beside Ellaria who cooed her approval in sweet tones as she brushed a kiss against her temple.

Oberyn thrust twice more before sinking completely and let out guttural moan and Y/N felt warmth pool inside and she shivered, letting herself finally just feel—and come down from the high her loves had constantly maintained.

She winced, only slightly, as Oberyn slowly pulled out. He leaned down to kiss her lips, each of her breasts, and then her stomach before he stood, sliding off the side of the rumpled bed. Y/N watched him walk over to the small table and dunk a bit of cloth into the waiting bowl of water.

But Ellaria was soon sitting up with a click up her tongue. “Don’t waste it,” she said, fingers sliding through Y/N’s folds once more to gather Oberyn’s cum and press it back into Y/N’s pussy. “It belongs inside.”

Y/N could only nod at Ellaria’s command and did not have the energy to jump when Oberyn took a dampened cloth to gently clean between her thighs, pressing a kiss to each of her legs as he did so. “You were perfect, my moonlight. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you and Ellaria in my bed.”

Ellaria whispered her agreement against Y/N’s sweat-slicked temple before pressing a gentle kiss there, too, and Y/N could only smile in return—still boneless. But her mind turned as she looked at her husband and paramour.

“I know that you both cannot be sated by simply one.” Y/N crooked a finger at Oberyn as he stood straight. “While I am indisposed for the moment, please do not stifle your urges. Our love,” she said, reaching out to Ellaria, “has been too much of a giver with me, I am ashamed to admit,” Y/N said, still trying to catch her breath as she smiled.

Ellaria chuckled. “I think our Princess wants a show.”

Y/N watched Ellaria push herself to her knees and tug Oberyn into a kiss and the pair fell back onto the mussed blankets and pillows with a laugh.

Oh yes, Y/N thought as she watched them—slow hands and unhurried kisses of familiar lovers, there would be time when they could all three truly find pleasure together, but this was heaven for now.

**

“Raise your elbow—just a little higher,” Y/N said, standing behind Dorea at the training grounds.

Dorea huffed and but did as she was told. “Better?”

“Yes—now loose.”

The arrow flew through the air and managed to hit the target—a little more than off center.

“You grow better every day, Dorea,” Y/N said as she clapped the young girl on the shoulder. “Soon you may best me!”

Dorea squealed happily, the bow sliding from her grip before she turned and launched herself at Y/N, wrapping her surprisingly strong little arms around Y/N’s stomach in a tight squeeze. But soon the girl’s Septa appeared, the familiar look of resigned disappointment on her aged features for once again finding Dorea at the training grounds instead of at her lessons. Y/N quietly nudged her back toward the Septa as she fought a smile. She would not tell the disappointed woman that Loreza was currently running around with Gryves—they were still fond of splashing into the Sunset Sea despite the water growing colder with each passing day.

Winter had been slow to reach Dorne. The heat remained throughout the day but the nights grew colder and colder. While Ellaria and Oberyn had taken to wrapping themselves in furs from the time the sun set and until it rose again, Y/N was content with just her blankets and Gryves would occasionally manage to wriggle his massive body between her and Oberyn during the night to keep her warm. Oberyn would always grumble in the morning—mentioning how the blankets were full of Gryves’ black fur or complaining about how Gryves would always manage to kick in his sleep and push his enormous paws into Oberyn’s stomach or back. Ellaria was always happy to find the large dog in the bed, ignoring Oberyn’s mutterings to scratch behind Gryves’ ears.

Doran and Trystane had taken to the large dog, too. The two princes found Oberyn’s inability to truly befriend Gryves’ amusing and would “sneak” bits of food to him whenever they visited and Gryves had managed to hold Y/N and Ellaria’s attention for longer than a few heartbeats when Oberyn was telling a story of his adventures.

Y/N found the strange power plays between her husband and faithful dog endlessly entertaining.

It was all so…idyllic.

Ravens came and went from Dorne, even with Winter raging in the other six kingdoms. Sansa was seeing to the final stages of reconstruction to her ancestral home and was proving herself to be a very capable and shrewd Lady Stark according to the whispers that made their way down to Dorne.

Doran always smiled when he heard them and Y/N knew there was a constant stream of ravens between the Water Gardens and Winterfell, the two keeping in contact like a doting father and favored daughter.

A short letter came a few moons after her wedding in Arya’s tilted handwriting. Found Gendry. Going West.

“There you are, my moonlight!”

She turned to see Oberyn bounding across the training grounds, still only dressed in his linen sleeping trousers and an open robe, rumpled from being hastily discarded the night before. The small group of guards also using the grounds glanced at Y/N with barely contained humor before they turned back to their swords and shields.

It had only been a handful of months since the wedding and it seemed like everything and everyone had settled into a new sort of peace the Seven Kingdoms had not seen in centuries. Everything had been worth it.

She would gladly do it all again if it meant she had this.

Oberyn swept her into his arms and lazily pressed his mouth to hers as she laughed. “It is too cold and too early to have you slip away from our bed.” He dragged his lips down her throat to nip at her skin. “I thought I had thoroughly exhausted you last night—Ellaria still slumbers.”

Y/N chuckled and let him pull her a little closer before all but starting to drag her back into the fortress. In truth, she had been thoroughly exhausted last night—and many nights before that, too. The three had finally found the perfect way to touch and fuck and kiss without one needing to sidle themselves with simply watching (although, Y/N was always happy to do that).

But the mornings always came too soon and for the past fortnight, she would wake just after dawn feel strange. Not ill. But unpleasantly warm and almost itchy within her skin. The only remedy she could find was a light breakfast and fresh air. She would walk with Gryves along the shore and happily let him splash and soak her skirts, or she would take him through the orange groves and let him chase the last few birds that had not yet left. He was a good and faithful hound. No matter how free she—or Dorea or Loreza—let him roam, he would always turn back every few paces to make sure they were still there. His cold nose would greet her every morning. Gryves was either snuggled up into her side or sneaking out of Loreza’s room when the sun rose each morning. Oberyn once grumbled that the dog seemed to always find a way to separate him and Y/N or him and Ellaria during the night with his giant, furry body and Oberyn would, more often than not, find himself with a mouth full of black fur or a giant paw pushing into his stomach.

But Gryves had been acting strange. For the last handful of mornings, he did not barge ahead during their quiet walks but rather stuck to her side, his large head swiveling from side to side as if he were searching for something, guarding her.

Y/N brushed it off as the pup still finding his footing in Winter. Some blossomed, others wilted. She knew he would blossom—first winters were always a bit tenuous.

This was not the first Winter the Seven Kingdoms had weathered and it would not be the last. But it could be prosperous. Far more prosperous than the handful of years prior that had only seen war and death.

Young Shireen Baratheon—the last Baratheon—had stabilized the Stormlands and held her family’s seat of Storm’s End with a firm grasp but was still beloved by the smallfolk of her kingdom. Robb had been glad to grant clemency to Shireen and name her heir of Storm’s End after she appeared before the Iron Throne with Ser Davos Seaworth at her back to swear fealty.

The little lady who had survived Greyscale, the War of the Five Kings, and then fleeing into the wilderness of the North, had risen to become one of the most beloved and adored women of the Realm.

And even more missives came from the capital. Robb had asked for Sarella to take the Dornish Seat on the Small Council, and asked Olenna to be the Master of Coin. The Realm was finding its footing under King Robb and Queen Margaery’s careful guidance.

The Lords of the Vale had sworn fealty to Robb after the Battle of King’s Landing and there might have been a raven or two arriving at the Red Keep before the envoy from the Vale arrived. The Vale, as Y/N remembered, still knew how to play the Game. Robb had quickly lopped Petyr Baelish’s head from his shoulders when he arrived at the Red Keep to offer his ‘services’ to the new King.

Baelish’s betrayal of Eddard Stark had been, Y/N discovered, what Tyrion offered to Robb in exchange for his life. Tyrion learned of Baelish’s schemes and told Robb that his family still had an enemy high in the Mountains of the Vale.

The Lords of the Vale had also been quick to tell the new king that Baelish was suspect of Lysa’s ‘unnatural’ death and Sweetrobin was now under the guidance of Royce, the regent Petyr had begrudgingly named before setting off toward King’s Landing. It was all very quick and messy and continued to solidify Robb’s reputation as a benevolent king with a savage streak.

Y/N couldn’t be more proud of her cousin.

But sometimes he still had the uncanny ability to still bother her like a brother.

Robb had sent a raven only yesterday to ask if Oberyn, Ellaria, and Y/N would be his envoy to Essos, to treat with the Dragon Queen to solidify trade routes and the like. It would be a large undertaking and immensely important as Robb wanted to be sure his new subjects were fed during the Winter that could potentially last years and to send a Dornish envoy was a sign of respect and gratitude—at in least Doran’s eyes who told Oberyn to accept the summons.

Oberyn said he would sleep on it but Y/N knew he wanted to ask Ellaria her opinion before making a decision. Y/N had already told him it was his choice. She had made enough decisions that had impacted their family.

Gryves nosed at her hip and she only then noticed that she had slowed to a stop with her toes just within the cold reach of the Summer Sea’s seafoam, soaking the edges of her dressing gown. The large dog whined.

“I’m okay,” Y/N said, scratching him behind his ears but he whined again and then gently bit at her dressing gown, tugging her back toward the fortress. Y/N scowled as she felt her stomach clench but tried to press a smile to her face as she walked by the small group of guards she, admittedly, didn’t remember passing earlier. Gryves also greeted them with a happy yip and received a few scritches behind his ears before quickly moving back to Y/N’s side as they moved closer to the fortress’ familiar shadows.

“Y/N! Y/N!”

She had only a moment to brace before Loreza’s tiny yet surprisingly solid body ran straight at her legs, wrapping her arms around her hips with a giggle. “You are up early, little one,” Y/N said, letting her hands curl around the girl’s shoulders as Gryves happily sniffed at the girl’s shoes in greeting.

“Papa said we’re going on an adventure!” She exclaimed as she jumped back, hopping in place in excitement.

“An adventure?” Y/N repeated with a smile, knowing exactly what Loreza was announcing—he made his decision, apparently. Oberyn had decided to take Robb’s assignment—and take along his daughters, too. Not that his decision was a surprise in any regard. There was no way he would leave his daughters behind again.

“Across the Narrow Sea!” As Loreza continued to excitedly explain all the details of the ‘adventure,’ Y/N caught sight of Oberyn leaning against one of the marble pillars, smiling as his youngest looked up at her, nearly vibrating with joy. “Obella says the Dragon Queen is pretty—but she lets her dragons eat people!”

Y/N bit her tongue for a moment before making a mental note to speak with Obella and maybe let her know that exaggerating the truth with Loreza might be entertaining, it was not a pastime to be encouraged when the little one had a wild imagination and was prone to nightmares already. “Her dragons are fond of goats, Loreza, and I know she keeps them well-fed. Obella is simply teasing you,” Y/N said, repeating the information she had managed to gather from a certain little lion who had managed to build a new life in Essos. Tyrion, it seemed, still had a soft spot for Y/N—and maybe learning that Jaime was alive, and at his side, because Y/N and Arya had King Robb’s ear might have given him a little more incentive to help her.

Loreza’s bottom lip jutted out, as if a little upset that she was no longer in danger of being eaten, but then giggled as Gryves licked at her fingers, quietly demanding to be pet. “Do you think I’ll be able to see one?”

“I am sure we will be able to see one if Her Grace wants to meet with us, little one,” Y/N said.

Loreza nodded, already too engrossed in Gryves’ affections to truly listen to Y/N’s words. “I should like to see a dragon, you know.”

Y/N was not sure if Loreza’s words were meant for her or Gryves but she hummed in acknowledgement and then settled into Oberyn’s warm embrace as his arms wrapped around her waist from the back and Loreza finally noticed her father and giggled up at him, still happily letting Gryves take most of her attention and affections.

“You’re up early,” Y/N hummed, turning her head just enough to press a kiss to his sharp jaw.

“Not as early as you, my moonlight,” he murmured, squeezing her around the middle. “And it seems my daughter has beat me to my grand reveal.”

“Sorry, papa,” Loreza said, still focused on Gryves, not sorry at all.

Oberyn hummed and kissed Y/N’s neck. “What say you, wife? One more adventure?”

Y/N watched Loreza scurry away with Gryves and let herself sink a little more into her husband’s hold. “I’ve always wanted to go to Essos.”

Oberyn’s lips skirted across her pulse. “I want to take you to Pentos when we are finished with our business with the Dragon Queen. I want you to know where your mother came from, to know her as she knew you.”

Tears Y/N didn’t know she had suddenly burned at the back of her eyes and she turned to press her forehead against his shoulder, grabbing fistfuls of his loose robes and breathing in the scent of him and blinked back the strange show of emotion. “You are a good man, Oberyn.”

His hold tightened. “Only for the ladies of my life.”

**

The sea did not agree with Y/N.

The constant swaying of the boat had her stomach rolling from the time she woke until lunch and Ellaria was always quick to press a cooled cloth to her cheeks and force a bit of juice into her stomach along with dry bread in an attempt to help while Oberyn was adamant she try to sleep as much as she could. Elia and Obara did tease Y/N at their nightly dinners on the polished deck—“you’re the sea-sick serpent,” was their favorite jape and never failed to make her smile. Tyene offered some sparkling, pink drink with a small smile and a quiet murmur that she wasn’t fond of traveling by sea either. The concoction tasted like honey and citrus and rolled her stomach for only a moment before granting Y/N a few hours reprieve each day they were aboard the large ship. Oberyn and Ellaria quickly made use of those few hours to sequester themselves in the dark cabin and let themselves indulge in carnal desires that Y/N was more than happy to partake in. Oberyn and Ellaria always left her panting and sated—and with a pillow under her hips and laughter on their lips. It was…wonderful in a beautifully chaotic way. They would talk in hushed whispers and quiet laughs until one of them—usually Y/N—fell asleep.

While the company was good, Y/N was thankful that Queen Daenerys had been willing to meet them in Myr instead of her usual seat of power of Mereen in Dragon’s Bay. It took several weeks off their travel time and Y/N was much too pleased to step out onto the wooden boards of the gangplank and she felt something solid under her feet for the first time since they had departed from Sunspear.

A large group was waiting at the docks, bedecked in white and purple silks with black leathers and a three-headed dragon pin over their hearts.

“Welcome to the Stormborn Empire,” a man said with a tip of his head. “Queen Daenerys has asked that you follow us to the palace.”

Ellaria stepped to her side and linked their arms together with a smile as Oberyn dealt with the emissaries with his usual bravado with Sallera at his side and Obara at his back. “Another adventure, hm?” Ellaria murmured.

“Yes,” Y/N said, feeling a touch of excitement in her stomach instead of sea sickness. “Let’s make the most of it.”

Myr was a city of science and art and the markets they moved through glittered with finery and Y/N tried to make a note of the stalls she wanted to peruse if they ever had a chance to leave the palace between meetings with the Queen. Nymeria was already haggling with a merchant over a filigreed dagger with a pearl-encrusted hilt. The air was crisp with the scent of the sea, foreign spices, and expensive perfumes and Y/N breathed it in, tilting her head back to feel the sun’s warmth on her face for the first time in this strange land.

But a shadow passed across the sun and had Y/N blinking in confusion toward the sky. She was dreaming—she was sure of it. A large black dragon nearly blotted out the sun with its massive wingspan, only needing to flap its wings once to stay airborne as it continued toward the gleaming white-stone palace a few paces north.

A dragon. A real dragon.

Y/N listened to Loreza nearly screech with excitement as Dorea and Obella gasped.

“She has three, does she not?” Ellaria said, also looking up. “I wonder what other marvels this land will hold for us.”

**

Daisy was still glowing; the smile she had at her wedding ceremony seemed now to be a permanent fixture on her face. Daemon seemed to be a bit lighter on his feet, too. He and Daisy were now Lord and Lady Sandstar, having been given the title and prestige of a House of Landed Knights and ‘legitimized’ name as a wedding gift from a grateful House Martell and the reigning king and queen of Westeros. A small keep outside the Shadow City was also given but the newlyweds still spent most of their time within Sunspear’s walls but both had accompanied the Martells to Myr.

“I have never been further east than Sunspear, Princess,” she said as she helped Y/N unpack their trunks despite Y/N her (repeatedly) it was not her duty any longer. “This is quite the adventure.”

A stern-looking older man had welcomed them into the “small” palace made entirely of white marble and sand-colored stone and said Queen Daenerys offered them grand apartments as they discussed trade agreements the following day. The man apologized on behalf of his queen, stating that Daenerys and her consort were away settling a small dispute within their large khalasar outside the city walls but would return by morning.

No one seemed to mind, happy to explore Myr and all its treasures for the rest of the day instead of having to collect themselves for hours-long discussions about trade and alliances.

The rooms they had been given were filled with velvet-lined pillows and cushions and fine silks and linens in an array of muted greens and soft tans. A sapphire blue pool was on the terrace and it sparkled in the sunlight while a looming persimmon tree provided a small bit of shade.

“I daresay I enjoy this sort of adventure much more than the ones we are accustomed to back in King’s Landing, no?” Y/N said with a small laugh.

Most everyone else had absconded to the city to find their own escapades before supper. Y/N promised Ellaria she would meet her and the little ones at the bazaar as soon as she was finished unpacking. Obara and Elia had tried to get Y/N to come to the training grounds to watch the famed Unsullied spar but had managed to agree to accompany them in the morning as a happy medium. Oberyn promised to show his older daughters where he spent his time in Myr when he was with the Second Sons but would meet everyone in the bazaar before sundown.

Daisy laughed and finished with the last trunk before linking her arm with Y/N’s, and leading her out of the pleasantly quiet castle and into the Myrish sunlight. And the day was pleasant. Ellaria and the girls were easily spotted and had filled their arms with fresh breads and fine linens—and even a few small dragon sculptures Dorea was particularly fond of.

“It is good to see you well again,” Daisy said as they looked over a stall of tapestries while they waited for Ellaria to help Obella haggle for a bracelet of hammered copper. “For a moment, I thought you were…” her eyes flittered around, as if trying to find some hidden threat until Y/N reached out and gently squeezed her hand. “I thought you might be truly ill. Your Prince was fretting the entire time, you know. Nearly scolded the captain every time a wave jostled the boat too much for his liking. He is still very much the Viper.”

Y/N simply smiled and shook her head. “He and Ellaria are too good to me.”

“They treat you as you deserve, Princess. Just as you treat them. They will sing songs of your love in the years to come, I know it.”

Ellaria turned and held up a bolt of yellow lace with a smile and a wink in Y/N’s direction and Y/N had to laugh, remembering the yellow dress that had essentially started it all.

Something hit her nose—something acrid and curdled and Y/N had to hurriedly press a hand over her mouth to keep herself from spewing the contents of her stomach across the stone walkway.

“Princess?”

Y/N waved away Daisy’s concern and tried to pull in a steadying breath as she screwed her eyes shut as if that would stop the rolling of her stomach. And then as soon as it came, it passed. “I am fine, Daisy. My stomach is still acclimating to solid ground, it seems.” Daisy seemed unconvinced but nodded as Y/N tried to smile again. She spotted Oberyn with his older daughters, slowly making their way toward Ellaria and the little ones. All of them were cast in the dying, golden light of the day, making them look like some beautiful, moving painting that should be hung in the halls of a palace or sept for all to see.

This was her family.

Y/N pulled in a breath and waved as Dorea proudly held another tiny Morningstar above her head, victorious. While she had forgotten her beloved weapon at home (and had pouted about it for nearly the entire first day aboard the ship), it seemed Dorea had found a suitable replacement.

Hopefully she wouldn’t break anything in Queen Daenerys’ palace before the trade agreements were completed.

Oberyn’s beautiful brown eyes tracked across the crowded walkway before landing on her. A familiar smile pushed up his plush lips and Y/N found herself mirroring his grin even as an odd sensation started to pull at the back of her mind. Oberyn’s smile died and he was shoving his way through the crowd as the world suddenly went dark.

**

Y/N woke with a start, barely registering the unfamiliar bed before she emptied her stomach into a brass pot on the floor. Ellaria was at her side in a moment, rubbing soothing circle into her back as her stomach continued to roll.

Oberyn stepped into her line of vision with a glass of deep purple juice that smelled of something sweet. Y/N took the glass and drank it without preamble to rid her mouth of the taste of bile.

“I thought we were done surprising each other, my moonlight,” he said softly, his hand joining Ellaria’s on her back.

“What happened?”

“You fainted,” Ellaria said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N’s temple. “Nearly opened your skull on the stone if not for Daisy’s quick hands to steady you.”

“I thought sea-sickness would have stopped after we docked.” Her poor attempt at a joke only made Oberyn sigh, a small smile now starting to pull at the corners of his mouth.

“You are not sick,” he said.

“Oh?” Confusion washed over her as Oberyn took the empty glass from her hands as a servant dealt with the brass pot. Ellaria moved to sit beside her on the bed as Oberyn mirrored her action, boxing Y/N in with their familiar warmth.

“You are with child, my love.” Her hands settled against Y/N’s stomach with a smile. “A prince or princess of Dorne grows just here.”

Oberyn nuzzled into Y/N’s neck and the smile she felt against her pulse had her laughing.

“A baby? Are you certain?”

Ellaria nodded with tears glistening in her eyes and Y/N placed her hands over hers and squeezed. “Queen Daenerys’ own healer saw to you after we brought you here. He confirmed it. You will be due in a handful of moons.”

Tears filled her eyes and she let out a watery laugh, her hands continuing to squeeze Ellaria’s. “A baby. We certainly wasted no time.”

Oberyn and Ellaria laughed at that, earning her a pair of kisses to her cheeks before Ellaria gently brushed her tears away. “No tears, my love. Only joy. And you must promise to tell us if you are feeling ill. We cannot have you fainting again.”

“I promise.”

The three spoke for a little longer, in soft tones about the future and how she will look “wondrous, ethereal, when you start to show, my moonlight” and how loved the babe already was by all of them.

But then a silly, almost childish thought crossed her mind. “Will you still take me to Pentos?”

Oberyn leaned in to press his smiling mouth against her forehead. “I will take you anywhere you desire, my moonlight. You are giving us a most precious gift; I will give you anything you desire.”

**

The Dragon Queen was a petite woman with the same look as her ancestors—silver hair and purple eyes. At her back stood Gaelor, a tall man with the same Valyrian characteristics and his mouth set in a firm line. Her consort, some nobleman of the Blood of Old Valyria and a man of few words except to make his wife smile if the whispers she’d heard were true.

Y/N was almost giddy to be able to speak in her mother’s tongue and to speak with Daenerys in hers. Bastard and High Valyrian were much easier for her mouth anyway, and she loved that she could finally find a way to tease Oberyn and Ellaria in her own way. Both of them knew enough High Valyrian to understand most of what she was saying—and paid back in kind with heated kisses in shadowed corners between meetings with Daenerys and her advisors—which seemed to go swimmingly, if Y/N had anything to say about it. Oberyn and Sarella were master negotiators and Ellaria was always quick to offer a kind smile and differing opinion when tensions ran a bit too high with a handful of the Dragon Queen’s advisors and kept the conversation flowing.

When they adjourned the meeting for the third day and she did not have any other set plans, Y/N found herself mostly drawn to Queen Daenerys’ Hand, a woman with delicate features and beautiful eyes named Missandei. Y/N asked her to share a bit of time and tea with her if she was amiable—and she was, much to Y/N’s relief. Within only a handful of hours, Y/N found Missandei to be perhaps the most intelligent and compassionate person she had ever met. Listening to her speak of Daenerys’ campaign across Essos, building her empire from the Bone Mountains to the shores of the Narrow Sea (leaving on Braavos out from under her rule, knowing the Braavosi had had their fair share of Valyrian overlords), had taken most of the day and into the night and the discussion turned from political machinations to how they both found homes in foreign lands—there was something so beautifully enrapturing about her and Y/N did not miss how Missandei’s gentle eyes would sparkle whenever Grey Worm, Daenerys’ most trusted sword (aside from the former Kingsguard Knight Ser Barristan), would step into the room to whisper something or other into a different guard’s ear as the rotation continued.

“I have kept you from each other in my selfish desire to hear your stories, Lady Missandei. I apologize. Please, take your leave. I did not mean to keep you so long.”

Missandei shook her head. “It was a welcome reprieve from court, Princess. I truly did not mind.”

The door opened again and Y/N let her smile break across her face as Grey Worm once again entered the room. “You may not have minded, but I would be so bold to assume that there is someone who might require your presence more than I do.” Y/N gestured toward Grey Worm who was whispering into the out-going guard but his kind, dark eyes would ever so briefly flitter to Missandei.

The royal adviser smiled and shook her head but she did not deny it.

“Our conversation has been a joy but I will never keep you from someone who makes you smile like that,” Y/N said as she reached out to gently squeeze her hands. “I will see you in the morn.”

Missandei nodded and they whispered their goodnights before Grey Worm stepped to their side and held out a hand for Missandei to take, gently helping her up from her seat.

Y/N eventually found her way back to her rooms and undressed before sliding under the blankets to press against Oberyn’s warm back and kiss his shoulder as he reached back to grab one of her hands and kiss her fingers before holding her hand over his heart. “Goodnight, my moonlight.”

**

On the last day of their Myrish political adventure, Y/N found herself once again waking before her pair of loves and quietly snuck out of her rooms to wander the palace’s halls as her stomach rolled lightly but the fresh air settled it for the most part. She smiled at a few of the quietly moving servants who were preparing for the day in the inky blue light of dawn and managed to find the kitchens and was readily given a small bowl of berries and a cup of juice by an older cook with a gentle smile who spoke softly to Y/N in Valyrian as she kneaded dough for the day. Y/N eventually excused herself as the kitchens grew more and more crowded with people arriving for their duties and she wandered out toward one of the balconies that looked out over the heart of the city.

There was a thunderous roar overhead just as she settled into a lacquered chair and Y/N watched Drogon soar over the city, in awe of the beautiful creature.

Daenerys had been kind enough to indulge Y/N the day before and walked with her out to where her three sons were nesting and gently coaxed Drogon out before letting Y/N feel the strangely warm and shining black scales beneath her palm. The large dragon huffed and pressed his large snout against her belly.

“They can tell when you are with child,” Daenerys said with a smile, letting her dainty hand run up and down her favorite dragon’s neck. “They become very protective. If you had stayed any longer, I would have to worry that he would not let you leave.”

And, as strange as it seemed, it reminded Y/N of Gryves. He must have sensed the change before even she did—and that is why he had been so careful around her before they had left Sunspear. She knew he was in good company at the Water Gardens with Doran and Trystane, probably getting fed fine steak every night.

“Hello,” a soft voice said, gaining Y/N’s attention.

Y/N turned and spotted a young girl, no older than three and a mirror image of her mother with silver-gold hair—mussed and tangled with sleep—and amethyst-colored eyes. “Hello, princess.” While Daenerys had kept her daughter mostly away from the meetings, the little girl had been known to flit in and out of the room to sit on her parents’ laps and nap whenever she felt like it.

“May I have a berry?” Her little hand was already raised to pluck one from the bowl.

“Of course,” Y/N said, letting her take a juicy red berry from the pile. “You are up early.”

The girl nodded and happily popped the berry between her lips and chewed. “I heard mother’s dragons. They wake me up almost every day.” She sighed loudly and then invited herself onto Y/N’s lap before taking another berry. “Mother said I will be able to fly one, one day.”

“I’m sure you will, Princess,” Y/N said with a smile.

The pair spoke for a little longer—mostly about how the little princess hoped Rhaegal would be her dragon as the sun continued to rise and make Myr start to glitter—before there was a soft sound of sandaled feet on stone met her ears. Y/N turned to see the Dragon Queen walking in, a soft smile on her face as she spotted her daughter in Y/N’s arms.

“Rhaella,” Daenerys sang out the name, stretching out her arms and letting the small child run into her hold after she wiggled off Y/N’s lap. “She was not bothering you, I hope.”

Y/N stood and shook her head. “Of course not. We were simply enjoying some berries together and watching the sun rise.” Y/N held out the bowl of berries and let Rhaella take another, a bit of purple juice running down her chin before her mother wiped it away and kissed her cheek.

Y/N briefly wondered if her child would look more like her or Oberyn; would she have quiet mornings like this once they were born? Watching the sun rise over the Summer Sea and eating berries in the quiet morning air?

“Will you join us for breakfast? If you have not had your fill of berries?”

**

The final discussion about the trade agreements was supposed to simply formalities and signing of the written treaties but had devolved into another argument between Daenerys’ advisors and Oberyn who differed on how each side would keep to their agreements.

“There must be some sort of tie, a true bond, make sure they keep their side of the agreement when Winter comes to Essos. If Prince Oberyn had any sons, they might make a suitable consort to Princess Rhaella. Or if he had thought to consult his king, we might have avoided this diatribe entirely—how can they be a true envoy for Westeros if they are not even sure if King Robb and Queen Margaery have heirs to be used as-”

Daenerys waved her hand and effectively halted any other words her advisor might have said on the subject. “Children will not be used as pawns.”

And Y/N let out a breath she did not know she was holding and Oberyn curled his fingers over her thigh for comfort. “A welcome reprieve from the usual trappings, Your Grace. Thank you.”

But Y/N’s gaze flittered over to the advisor whose pasty white skin was growing redder with each passing moment. And perhaps Y/N would blame her sudden anger on her constantly rolling emotions, but she simply had never liked the pale-faced advisor and his constant sneering at Oberyn, Ellaria, and their daughters and she had reached a breaking point. “Forgive me, but it seems not all present share your sentiment. Do you have more to say? It would seem you think you are the one we are to be negotiating with, instead of Her Grace.”

Sarella nudged her foot under the table, trying to fight a smile.

Daenerys, for the first time since they had arrived on Essos, looked like the battle-hardened conqueror the world knew her to be as she dragged her violet-colored gaze to her advisor, tiny hand nearly snapping the quill in her grasp. “You have embarrassed me and yourself enough,” she hissed in Valyrian. “You are only here as an act of goodwill toward Qarth who has overstepped time and time again. I want you out of my sight and out of the city.”

The advisor gaped as he stared at the queen—unmoving.

“Now.”

When he continued to not move, two Unsullied marched to the back of his chair and yanked him to his feet as he sputtered over his next breath and panicked apologies soon followed—even after he was dragged out of the hall.

Daenerys took a quiet but deep breath before letting another small smile push at her lips. “I apologize for the interruption. Now, I do not see why the Seven Kingdoms would not hold up their end of the agreement when Winter comes to Essos. I know House Martell honors their promises, even if previous generations of House Targaryen was not worthy of them.”

And then Oberyn’s fingers tightened on Y/N’s thigh for his own comfort. But Daenerys’ sentiment was genuine.

“We will provide for each other—as friends and allies across the Narrow Sea.”

Oberyn, Ellaria, and Y/N each grabbed their chalices—filled with wine or juice—and raised them toward Daenerys. “To the Dragon Queen!”

**

The great hall of the Myrish palace was alive with music and dancing and the air smelled sweet with wine. Dorea and Loreza were currently each holding one of Y/N’s hands and they simply swayed to the music, almost on beat as Tyene teased them for lack of coordination as she spun around them on the arm of some nobleman who was already besotted. Obara and Elia were speaking with a handful of Unsullied near a table filled with honey cakes and persimmons while Obella and Oberyn danced—much more gracefully a few couples away. Sarella and Nymeria had, unsurprisingly, found their way to Daenerys’ side and the three were speaking as if they were old friends.

Y/N spotted Grey Worm gently take Missandei’s hand and lead her in a dance. It was good to see almost everyone enjoying the bit of festivities Daenerys had insisted upon. It was an oddly docile end to a slightly chaotic trip but she was happy to not have any other stressors—Ellaria had threatened to put her on bedrest until the baby was born if she fainted again.

The song finished with a muted flourish and Y/N’s two partners darted away toward the honey cakes. Y/N was quickly offered a cup of juice—a blend Daenerys had been fond of when she was with child—and thanked the servant as she looked over the small crowd. Tomorrow they would sail for Pentos for a handful of days before making their way back to Dorne. Ships filled with food were already on the way to Westeros, bearing the seals of the Stormborn Empire.

It was a triumph, to be sure.

But she simply wanted to be back in Dorne, wrapped up in her familiar blankets and her husband and paramour’s arms, listening to the girls laugh in the halls as the waves crashed against the shore and her beloved hound napped near her feet.

And it was a solace to know that it would be happening soon. She would not cut their trip short—seeing Pentos and bringing the girls to see it too was an adventure she knew needed to happen.

“You look pensive, my moonlight,” Oberyn said, slinking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “It is a joyous night.”

“It is,” she agreed, leaning into his grasp. Both of them noticed Ellaria, draped in a fiery red gossamer gown—a gift from Daenerys—was dancing with Gaelor.

Gaelor smiled—just for a moment—at something Ellaria whispered in his ear.

“She can rend smiles from stone,” Oberyn mused with a smile of his own.

“You know, Robb could have simply sent Ellaria and Sarella for this—they are the true negotiators.”

Oberyn’s chest rumbled with a poorly contained laugh. “True, my moonlight. But I am happy to have this adventure with you and Ellaria, with my girls.” He pulled her a little closer then made her sway to the music, a laugh bubbling from her throat. “Now, tell me. What has you brooding?”

Y/N continued to sway with him and let her hands rest over his arms as they held her tight. “I miss Dorne. I miss home.” She paused and grimaced. “It sounds silly when I say it aloud.”

Oberyn turned his face just enough to press his lips against her throat. “It is not silly. Wanting to return home is natural. Do you want to set sail-”

“No, no, my love. I want to see Pentos—as do the girls. I will not take that opportunity away. I doubt we will have a Stormborn escort if we return later. It is better to do it now—before we have another little one.”

“If you are sure,” he said, face still tucked against her throat.

“I am sure,” Y/N said with another squeeze to his arms as the music continued to play. “One more adventure before we welcome the newest little snake to our brood. It will be good. I know it.”

**

Pentos was beautiful—as Y/N knew it would be. Her mother and grandparents’ stories had filled her head with pictures of how it would look, what it would be like—what she would encounter. And she spent a few melancholy moments wondering if her mother walked the same streets as she did. She wondered if her grandparents would recognize the city as it was now, under Daenerys’ new rule.

But, yes, Pentos was beautiful. Fragrant with flowers and clean water and a bite of some spice Y/N could not name but recognized as it had clung to her grandmother’s dresses. The Magisters welcomed them into the city and made sure to house them in a palatial manse and were quick to get them anything they even glanced at while accompanying them throughout the bazaars.

Oberyn found it both hilarious and irksome to be so coddled.

“How am I supposed to ravish you in a dark city corner if we are being followed like disobedient children?”

“I think they would like the show, my love,” Ellaria said with a laugh.

Y/N snorted and shook her head. “You two are insatiable.”

“You were the reason our breakfast was served cold this morning, my moonlight.” His fingers danced down Y/N’s spine before pinching her butt with a smirk. “But you will never hear me complain about feeling Ellaria’s warmth around me and your tongue on my-”

Y/N smacked at his chest and shushed him as a group of children rushed by. “You seemed to enjoy it, my prince. But I will not do it again if you tell everyone.”

Ellaria laughed as Oberyn grinned wolfishly. “Every person in this Realm should know that I aim to please my lover and wife—no matter the hour.”

“You can commission a song when we are back in Dorne—but let us have some air of mystery while we are here, hm?” Y/N patted his stomach with a grin of her own.

“We could have a song for you here, Princess!” One of the Magisters said, nearly begging in his tone. “Our bards are legendary!”

Ellaria did little to conceal her laugh which soon had Y/N in stitches, too.

Yes, Pentos had changed. And perhaps she would want to visit again. But her mother had found a home in the Vale with her father. And Y/N had found a home in Dorne with Ellaria and Oberyn and their daughters.

And it was time to go home.

**

“There are two.”

“Two?” Y/N repeated, pitch rising in tone. “Two babies?” Her hands pressed against her stomach—quickly followed by Gryves’ cold snout, as if he could help soothe something. “Are you certain?”

The midwife nodded, a smile on her face. “You have been blessed.”

Y/N had wondered why her babe was constantly moving and kicking at her bladder and ribs at the same time—but it seemed they had conspired to move together.

“No wonder you are so irritable!” Obara dodged the slap Y/N aimed at her shoulder with a laugh. “Father is going to be pleased. An even ten.”

“Why are you even here?” Y/N asked, fighting a smile. “You are supposed to be helping Dorea with her Morningstar!”

“With Father and Ellaria away with Uncle Doran and Lady Daisy confined to her home with a cold, you know I wasn’t going to let you go to this alone.”

Tears filled Y/N’s eyes so swiftly it caught her off-guard and all she could say was a meager, “thank you,” in response to Obara’s gruff kindness.

“Don’t start crying—I’ll have to call Elia and you know she will only start crying, too. You know how excited she is for another little one—or two now, it seems.”

Y/N sniffled and nodded, “Yes, I know.” Gryves, sensing more duress, placed his head in Y/N’s lap and his big, black eyes looked up at her in worry.

As the midwife quietly excused herself, Obara awkwardly but sincerely tried to console the whimpering pregnant woman at her side with a few soft pats to her shoulder. “They will be good children—little hellions with father’s eyes and your penchant for trouble.”

“My penchant for trouble?” Y/N snorted through tears. “I am almost offended.”

It had been a quick pregnancy, if Y/N was honest. The months had flown by in a whirlwind of well-wishes, gifts from the other kingdoms, and a myriad of emotions that seemed to fling from one extreme to the other within in moments on some days. All that could truly calm her—or the babes down—was Oberyn and Ellaria and they were off with Doran, planning to host Robb and Margaery to celebrate the coming of Spring after a blessedly short Winter. Y/N had wanted to travel to the Water Gardens, too, but had found riding on Qēlos to be uncomfortable and the poor mare seemed to sense her duress and would stop every few paces and look back at Y/N in the saddle before they both deemed it impossible to ride until the baby had been delivered.

“They will be home soon,” Obara said gently with a squeeze to her shoulder. “Before nightfall—but with how anxious they were to leave you, I would not be surprised if they arrived earlier.”

One of the babies suddenly kicked and Y/N winced. “I do hope you’re right.”

And, of course, Obara was correct. Ellaria and Oberyn were all but sprinting into their chambers, arms laden with more gifts from Doran and more Dornish lords and ladies who wanted to lathe their well-wishes on the soon-to-be-born Martell. But all of them were dropped unceremoniously on the ground near the door as soon as they entered.

“My moonlight!” Oberyn nearly shouted before he dove onto their massive featherbed and pressed a quick kiss to her stomach before taking his time when his mouth reached hers, sighing against her lips. “We refuse to leave you again until the baby is born.”

“We could not concentrate on anything poor Doran needed for this silly little party,” Ellaria said, also sliding into the bed and stealing a kiss from Y/N’s lips. “I thought we would come back to Sunspear to see you with a babe on your breast.”

“You were gone for two days, my loves,” Y/N said with a small laugh, letting the pair continue to curl around her in the mess of blankets and pillows. “I would have sent someone if the midwife had said it was time.”

Oberyn hummed and kissed at her shoulder. “Even so, we are not leaving your side again.”

“But I do have news-”

“Is the baby healthy? What did the midwife say?” Ellaria asked in quick succession, hand splaying against Y/N’s stomach.

Y/N huffed out another laugh and placed one hand over Ellaria’s before reaching out to grasp Oberyn’s hand, too. “The midwife seems to think that we have been blessed.” The matching looks of confusion on Ellaria and Oberyn’s faces had another laugh bubbling in her throat. “They are healthy—no need to worry. But, she did give me some news.” And because she loved teasing the pair just a bit, she paused and watched a flurry of emotions pass over both their faces before ending their torment. “There are two babies.”

“Two?!” “TWINS?!” Oberyn and Ellaria’s voices reverberated in the room and had Y/N laughing like a drunkard until tears started to roll down her cheeks.

“Yes! Two!”

There was another shout that Y/N couldn’t quite understand but then two pairs of hands were pressing all over her stomach, followed by excited kisses and then her dressing gown was being pulled up to show her stomach and even more kisses were lathed against her warm skin.

Between happy sighs, almost-chaste kisses, and words of wonderment, clothes were shed and discarded across the bed and floor and lingering touches became more ardent. Lips lingered. Tasted. And they once again found ecstasy in each other’s arms. Oberyn kissed between Y/N’s heaving breasts as he finished, and then kissed her lips, still tasting of Ellaria who was panting beside them, surrounded by the feathers that had been ripped from the pillows only a few moments prior.

“You are a force of nature, my moonlight.”

“A storm to behold,” Ellaria whispered, sliding closer to also steal a kiss between their lips.

Y/N smiled against his mouth and tugged at the mussed ends of his hair at the nape of his neck. “And you two helped unleash me unto the world. And now there will be two more.”

Ellaria and Oberyn’s matching smiles took her breath away again for the umpteenth time that day as they gazed down at her. “And the world is theirs for the taking.”

**

Y/N knew the birth would be painful. She knew it could last days. Maesters and septas and midwives had all tried to tell her what this would entail—but nothing had prepared her for the frantic pacing of Oberyn or the gentle guidance of Ellaria as she sat at her side.

“You are nearly there, my love, I know it,” Ellaria cooed, pushing the sweat-soaked hair away from her forehead. “You can do it.”

She screamed with the last few pushes, hearing her blood roar in her ears and then…

“A girl!” Daisy said—it was quickly followed by, “and a boy!”

“A boy?” Y/N asked, head swimming. She has not thought of the possibility of a boy. Oberyn always seemed to have girls—girls is what she had been expecting. Not a boy. A son.

For a moment, Y/N panicked.

But she looked at Oberyn as Daisy handed him his son and his face split into a smile, she knew she should have never doubted his love for his children—even for a second. “A boy. How you keep surprising me, my moonlight.”

Her eyes drifted to Ellaria to see her cradling her baby girl with the same sweet smile even as the babe screamed and squirmed. “They are beautiful, my love,” Ellaria said softly. “Healthy.”

“That’s all I wanted,” Y/N said, feeling the midwife finish her duties before gently taking the twins from Oberyn and Ellaria and handing them to Y/N, propping her up against a mound of pillows and then quietly excusing herself for a moment. Y/N cradled both babes to her chest, letting them press their round little cheeks to her skin as they opened their little mouths in matching yawns, tried from their journey into the world.

“They need names, my moonlight.”

“And they shall have them—but let me just look at them for a little longer.”

**

“Lewyn! Rohanne!”

“Coming mama!” Came the answering chorus from the orange groves.

Nearly five years had passed since she had brought the smallest Martells into the world. Five wondrous, exhausting years filled with tears, laughter, and change.

The children called both Y/N and Ellaria ‘mama’ and Oberyn ‘papa.” Harmen Uller was their grandfather who spoiled them rotten, just as he did with Elia, Obella, Dorea, and Loreza. The twins’ older sisters were also fond of making sure they had everything and anything their little hearts desired while Doran and Trystane doted on them as well. Gryves had taken to sleeping between their beds, a quiet sentinel who would often wake them up with licks to their tiny feet as the sun started to rise if he was not tucked away in Dorea or Loreza's rooms.

Patrek had come to Dorne to formally court Obara, much to her amused chagrin. They were married in a small ceremony and spent their time at Sunspear until the last vestiges of Winter had thoroughly melted—and promised they would return if there was even a brisk wind.

Tyene and Nymeria found themselves invited to be part of Daenerys’ court in Essos, as part of the growing alliance between Westeros and her Empire. They wrote often and both seemed to have cultivated their own little kingdom there too, filled with beautiful men and women who loved to keep their ladies happy and who helped them rule over Qarth in Daenerys’ name.

Sarella quickly became a powerful advisor at court in King’s Landing and had been named Mistress of Whispers on the Small Council for Robb and Margaery’s rule. Elia continued to train alongside her family’s guards and had even started competing in tourneys and unseating seasoned knights with her trusted lance. Oberyn and Ellaria always cheered the loudest when she was victorious. Obella took advantage of Robb allowing women to attend the Citadel and forged four links before, like her father, grew bored and then took the Dornish seat on the Small Council which Sarella had vacated. Dorea and Loreza were still managing to evade their septa and maesters during their lessons but mostly behaved themselves, maturing more each day.

Daisy and Daemon had welcomed a little boy just a few moons ago and the happy, little family had taken to resting in their manse for a few weeks to enjoy the new babe. Sansa had recently married to a Northern lord and had welcomed Arya and Gendry back to Winterfell--along with their daughter. Robb and Margaery had recently celebrated their daughter's second birthday and announced that another heir was on the way to the delight of the realm.

Two little bodies slammed into Y/N’s legs and nearly leveled her, four tiny arms wrapping around her thighs and tangling with the ruby red fabric of her dress. Matching dark brown eyes stared up at her, sparkling in the sunlight—just like their father’s did. Both of them had streaks of blood orange juices across their cherubic cheeks and were probably staining her skirts, too.

“I thought we promised to not sneak more oranges before meals, hm?” Y/N asked, wiping away a little bit from their skin.

Gryves trotted up behind them, looking proud with a large stick between his teeth.

“Well, Gryves went into the orchards, mama!” Rohanne said, plump bottom lip jutting out—a face she knew would allow her to get away with murder with her father. “We had to follow him to make sure he was safe.”

“Last time, he almost fell in the pool,” Lewyn said, trying to bolster his sister’s argument.

“He knows how to swim, my love. Better than you.”

The twins looked at each other for a moment and then back up at their mother. “Do you want an orange?” Rohanne stuck her little hand into the folds of her dress and produced a blood orange nearly as big as her head like a peace offering. “We saved this one for you.”

Y/N took it with a smile and bent to give each of them a kiss on a sticky cheek. “No lemon cakes tonight after supper.”

“But mama!” They cried.

“You two already had something sweet. You know the rules.” Y/N saw Rohanne starting to plot an argument but Lewyn nudged her and shook his head. He was the quieter of the two, happy to follow his sister’s lead in most situations but also knew when to play the long game, knowing how to pick his imaginary battles when Rohanne wanted to pick all of them. They were quite the pair—and Y/N would not change them for all the gold in the world.

“My little vipers!” Oberyn suddenly swooped in and hauled the twins into his hold kissing all over their cheeks as they squealed and giggled before pausing. “You taste of blood oranges.”

“Sneaking sweets again?” Ellaria laughed as she stepped to Y/N’s side and kissing her softly.

“They taste good, mama!” Rohanne said with another pout, turning in her father’s grip to look at Ellaria.

“I know they do, my love. But you eat too many and turn your stomach. There are rules for a reason.”

“I told you they would notice,” Lewyn murmured, dark eyes cutting to his twin.

Oberyn laughed and kissed them both on the cheek again before bending to let them down. “Go wash up before supper.”

“Yes, papa!” They chimed before dashing away.

The three watched them go, unknowing matching smiles on their faces. “They are going to be such a handful when they’re older.”

“I have no doubt they’ll follow in our footsteps.”

Ellaria chuckled and kissed Oberyn and Y/N’s cheeks. “We have a great many adventures ahead of us still, my loves. But first we have to get them to eat dinner.”

And the three slowly walked back toward the palace, listening to their children's laughter ring in the air.

A/N: And that’s all she wrote, folks! Please let me know what you think!

[larrythefloridaman]

Y'all like your deities with or without the shell?

Under the readmore is aaaaaaaaall color god observations and musings based on them, because I am studying to become the world's Premiere Chromatheologian and RGB Understander so under the cut is pretty much Oops! All Spoilers! up to the most recent episode of season 3.

Apparently Universal Color God Attributes:

Damage to their domain hurts them, but fixing the issue, or lashing out by using their powers destructively, can help them to repair the damage.

If they sustain enough damage, it can temporarily paralyze them and send them into a strengthened but 'exposed' state (chartreuse's spirit activation in the last fight of 19) and further damage after that will activate a failsafe, which is unique by domain but seemingly designed to give them the chance to balance things, but can get… very out of hand or backfire depending on circumstances. (see: cobalt’s failsafe sending mark's universe into a never-ending apocalyptic war because word of the cure for death became too widespread for the killing urge failsafe to affectively balance anything because every side could simply revive their fallen.)

Chartreuse's failsafe is something of a stopped time bubble quarantine where processes that require the passing of time cannot complete, allowing her the time to wear down the offending party to beat them to death or plan around finishing them.

Cobalt's is inciting war, the casualties serving to balance the scale. I'm not sure we know Crimson's yet- he's never taken enough direct damage without doing damage to compensate in order to trigger it, although i dont remember season one well enough to recall if any of the universe stuff in it tracks with the pattern bc season one is a bit fucky

Connected in a fashion that allows them to simply Sense the overall status of the others to some extent, although they don't know Why theyre in the state theyre in without asking (chartreuse [and by extension, folk, presumably on her information] confronting crimson via crimsonaut for pretending to be dead, Cobalt confronting both his siblings about how they are handling their duties improperly but not knowing about Folk. He knew about the constants deaths because hes a death god, duh, but he didnt use their names like crimson did, possibly implying they're erased upon death so thoroughly that only crimson and the constants can really recall a shattered constants' existence, not even the other guardians.)

Abilities of the guardians can be replicated by mortals through three apparent methods- through machines (dimensional bus, the time machine, presumably J0hn's part in Sephiroth's resurrection,) simply through advanced enough individual skill (Home MD curing death, potentially Dantoinette's universe portal travel, maybe Genwun's sped up time bubble that evolved them into Genfour? although that could very well have just been an illusion and theyre just like, a fuckin theater kid that was doing pretend character development for the Bit or something given GenFive turned out to be a zoroark) or through stealing some of the power of the relevant god (Dr. Order stealing Chartreuse's power, Dani maybe having stolen some of Crimson's when she beat his ass. Dani's one woman universal travel is like, wicked ambiguous)

Cobalt:

Can seemingly perceive or act through any living material. (The Tree. Cobalt instructed Larry to slap his hand on that tree, that shit glowed and he had a new deal tattoo without Cobalt ever having been physically present)

Can influence the resurrected by giving them a killing urge. Represented by an aberrant brainwave and a ringing in the undead's heads. This doesnt appear to be direct control- as the Grunk could clearly restrain himself from killing people that genuinely didn't deserve it (like nightly and cha cha, who WERE grunk event targets but not fatally so. Nagito was a crimson thing so it really doesn't count here. God poor grunk his life really is just a constant plaything in the hands of the gods huh) and Sephiroth very much had personal motivation to want to kill Folk. failsafe activates this ability on the scale of war.

Deals. The extent of what Cobalt can do with these is unclear but Iggy's god powers were taken from him as his part in the deal so what he can take isn't limited to physical things or things obviously related to his domain.

Weaknesses:

Deals. While this ability is impressive his preference for making deals for those that offend against his domain is potentially very exploitable- Larry's knowledge of the cure for death is, if word of it were to ever get out beyond Larry, wildly dangerous for this dimension, so technically the safest thing for the iron-fisted cobalt to do would be to nip the problem in the bud and get rid of him. But, fascinatingly, that wasn't even put on the table, the first thing Cobalt does is threaten J0hn, prompting Larry to make a deal. While Cobalt enforces death, he also doesn't like unnecessary death, and Larry demonstrably knows how to keep a secret for the good of the world even at great cost to himself and Cobalt is aware of this- easily clarifying to Larry the aberrant thing endangering the universe wasn't his timeloop business. So while he's clearly not letting his resurrection fuckery go unpunished, he's being pretty merciful when he doesn't have to be and from a strictly, brutally pragmatic perspective probably shouldn't be.

His control over the undead manifests as a ringing and an aberrant brainwave trackable by J0hn's equipment, and could probably therefore be accounted for and circumvented? J0hn has, wisely, largely sworn off fucking with people's brains after the sephiroth fiasco went So Wrong, So Very Wrong, Oh God Oh Fuck Someone Cool Almost Died, but if he hadn't, and if J0hn let his dislike for authority and keeping Larry safe outweigh reason like he let safety, spite and comedic value outweigh good ethical sense when reprogramming sephiroth, in theory Mr. 'hacked a time machine for breakfast?' could. y'know. probably do it. what is a god's authority to an anarchist, what better to challenge life and death than the cold and eternal machine, you get the point its a fun scenario

Olive Garden Breadsticks and Small Cute Dogs, apparently

Chartreuse's:

Time Clones: taps into parallel timelines to retrieve alternate versions of herself to utilize.

Time Travel: what it says on the tin. Travel to the past creates painful splits in the prime timeline, but through careful action and traveling back into the past, these can be weaved into a time loop. A split from the timeline is a wound, and a successful timeloop is the surgical scar it can become with attentive care, to use a medical metaphor. Carefully closed and healing. Keeping Folk here is essentially akin to chartreuse pulling out her stitches on the initial incision.

Time Stopping: creates a space wherein things that take time to complete cannot complete, where things can move, but everything within is in a perfect unchanging stasis until the bubble drops. This is the form her failsafe takes.

Timeline Creation: can create timelines from scratch.

Can fuse alternate timeline versions of the same individual to allow them to coexist. (Ryan's confirmed in the discord that Dantoinette experienced both failures in 20, because Chartreuse fused the two instances of her to save the post-raid instance from fading. Could... theoretically do this to Folk and save herself the pain, but while Folk and Therapuppy are the same person, there's seven years and untold amounts of difference deriving from the time and circumstance between them and the inherent cognitive dissonances that would result from attempting that would be wicked fucked up to inflict, and that's assuming there isn't some reason that it wouldn't be possible anyway. while the two Danis had like. A day or so's difference between them, so she could be safely fused with the only dissonant thing being that she remembers both being too slow to prevent order's time escape and beginning to dissipate post-raid, AND losing that fight to her pre-raid. RIP Dani, that perfectionism must be kicking her ass)

Weaknesses:

Unwilling to use her powers destructively in her pursuit of domain repair and thereby much easier to damage to the point of paralyzing her, making her particularly vulnerable to Power Theft

Morally Optimistic. At one point in 19, she briefly justifies Crimson's shitty evil actions to herself after experiencing for herself how Wack the kerfuffleverse is firsthand, ("and all he did was kill a couple people!" Chartreuse. Honey.) and when she fights Crimsonaut she seems to actually believe for a second that he's actually worried about her when Crimson asks if she's okay after he beats her. Additionally, as D+, she concerns herself with trying to understand doctor order's motive, and after Larry defeats Order, he makes a point of confirming she feels no remorse before making his request for what Chartreuse does with her, and appeals to the idea of letting Order fulfill her desire to be a god in a way which isn't a problem for anyone and Chartreuse is more than happy to oblige under these conditions after what Larry's done for everybody. Then immediately threatens to evaporate him for playfully teasing her about having a crush on folk. Fucked up a little bit

Crimson's:

Universe Shifting: Travel between universes.

Universe Correction: appears to replace an aberrant individual with the 'correct' version of themselves for that universe, presumably sending them back to their own. (Mario from super mario was universe corrected, but still seemingly exists in wario form as evidenced by smashup kerfuffle, and was simply temporarily replaced with his corrected universe counterpart. But like. The dimensional bus system is still active crimbo doing the Put That Thing Back Where It Came From Or So Help Me routine aint gonna work if they can come back with a shrug and bus fare. you're fighting the symptoms without treating the problem)

Universal Constants:

Three individuals per universe that serve as the pillars which stabilize said universe, created by absorbing red orbs Crimson creates. Becoming a constant grants power, but also makes the constant fragile, and death wipes them from the face of the multiverse, only crimson, those he's possessed and the other constants seemingly able to recall they ever existed, although some physical evidence is still left behind (Larry's record of Nagito's death, which is just as redacted as everything else relating to him but still is very much something Larry has. Kind of a Voidfish adventurezone type beat ironically enough? Taako really has seen all this shit before no wonder he peaced tf out)

To counterbalance the weaknesses the constants have, they have a sort of spidey-sense to alert them to danger, and an intrinsic bonded connection to their fellow constants, and additionally, Crimson apparently doesn't suffer any pain from the death of constants or the structural instability of a universe.

Possession: what it says on the tin! Seemingly can only be done with permission to living things- none of crimson's direct hosts seem to have entered that agreement unwillingly, Valentine lost a bet, Hamburger and Crimsonaut have been by all evidence intentional allies to Crimson- but electronics are fair game, as seen with The Guy's suit. Kinda curious how that rule applies to bitches that are half and half, like J0hn or the clonebot gang, as its unclear whether The Guy's suit was yoinkable without permission because it was mechanical or because its not sentient. could go either way but if it's the former that's potentially very frightening

Fusion: Two individuals from alternate universes can be fused into one shared body which can take on aspects of either depending on which is currently in control. (possibly allows someone who traveled into a given universe to become a fixed resident there without it being an issue for Crimson, whose job is to prevent interdimensional travel?) Monday Mark and possibly T.O.M. are our main examples.

Corruption:

Unpleasant As Hell and can even kill you instead of changing you if you cant handle it.

turns the corrupted individual into a twisted exaggeration of themself, allows them supernatural control over their shape, and makes them very difficult- if not impossible by traditional means- to kill, based on Garfield.

Subjects them to control by Crimson, but can be exorcised of this influence just like crimson's direct hosts can, although the supernatural changes to their physiology are seemingly permanent, judging from Shantae.

Notable Weaknesses:

Exorcism can be performed to free a possessed or corrupted individual of Crimson's influence. Its unclear how exorcism works/is learned in CPUK, but confirmed exorcists: dantoinette and yung papaya's snake dad, confirmed non-exorcists: folk

The universal constant orbs are physical objects so they are Very Stealable and they grant a power boost so theres literally an Incentive to beat his ass for anybody who wants to be strong and either doesnt know or doesn't care about the whole 'getting erased when you die' part

Crimson has lots of tools to create pawns, but all of them have drawbacks. Corruption could kill a potential pawn, possession generally seems to require permission, and he has no control over the constants' choices and actions

Manipulative bitch's highest stat is charisma and it shows. This motherfucker is selling snake oil. If he was mortal rather than a Whole Entire God he'd make an excellent ineffectual saturday morning cartoon supervillain and i think everyone, including him, would be happier for it, ngl

Something interesting ive realized that likely wasnt fully intentional, is that a lot of Dr. Order's creations, considering her motive, can kind of be sorted by a color god it appears to be a crude attempt at mimicking the abilities of. My Grunk is a poorly executed resurrection, the clonebot gang vs chartreuse's timeclones (this one deserves special mention because Chartreuse used this shitty attempted mimicry to her advantage with D+, very smart and ironic play, excellent job Treusy,) spirits are somewhat similar to universal constant orbs (orbs which can be absorbed to grant power, but which have physical repercussions- key differences being that spirits require activation and grow stronger while attuning to a user without being used, and having far less severe drawbacks, taking a heavy toll on the body, but only once they've worn off and without the risk of wiping yourself from the face of existence,) and she also augmented Perfect Spriteman and Larry, which kind of track as crude imitations of Crimson's corruption!

Garfield was an acerbic cat who loved food and hated mondays, now its an actively malicious ever-hungry amorphous entity whose only weakness is monday and whose only consistency in form is 'cat-like.'

Shantae was (to my extremely limited understanding of shantae,) a friendly heroic type who had to introduce herself often, and she became something akin to a biblically accurate angel that can *only* introduce herself.

The Grunks a tough but sweet and supportive single dad with stage presence and a tendency to fly off the handle when he or his family are slighted, and now he gets so hype in the audience when his son does well that he bursts into flames and ascends and we get random grunk events along with the associated murder charges when he gets mad and the target sucks enough that he doesn't hold himself back from killing them.

Perfect Spriteman and Larry fit the trend of exaggeration of already present traits- Spriteman fucking loves sprite and became something that only thinks about sprite, and Larry the Florida Man, characterized from minute one by unpredictability and who spent his first matches in the series pre-shapeshifter transformation staying alive keeping stocks for Shockingly Long even despite getting seventh, became literally physically random as well as developing the ability to regenerate, albeit with the ability to feel pain normally very much intact, unlike Garfield just... Soaking up damage like its nothing in his pursuit of Jon. The fact that Arbuckle legit defeated Garfield, even temporarily, is terrifyingly impressive honestly that dude is fucking built different for being so chronically bland

i dont think they're actually corrupted in any meaningful way we have to worry about, to be fully clear, Spriteman was cured with fucking antacids, i simply think they could be a fucked up attempt at making something that kind of seems like it from a functional standpoint, from the wannabe god doctor that brought us green clones whose only fundamental association with time was accelerated aging and who thought an actively rotting corpse thats just reanimated enough that it can throw hands was as good as curing death

[thedevilsmemes]

      PINTEREST QUOTES I USE IN MY MUSINGS BOARDS                         ~ A SENTENCE MEME - PART 2

                         Change pronouns as / when needed to preferred pronoun.

“I do not do justice, I do damage. I do not do empathy, I do damage. I do not do forgiveness, I do damage. I do not do mercy, I do damage.”

“Like, you can boss me around in sexual situations but you better not try to tell me what to do in regular life.”

“I’m fine, I’ve had worse.”

“I’m meaner than my demons.”

“If I cannot bend Heaven, I will raise Hell.”

“Well, aren’t you a little ray of pitch black?”

“He was like a storm.”

“You want to play dirty? Fine, let’s play dirty!”

{ feels an emotion. } “Who the fuck authorised this?!”

“What the fuck? What the fuck is this? What the fuck?”

“Judge if you want. We are all going to die. I intend to deserve it.”

“Goddamn right you should be scared of me.”

“They wanted a monster; I decided to give them one.”

“Seduce and destroy.”

“What the fuck is intimacy? How does that work? Letting… people be close to you? What the fuck?”

“You couldn’t kill me if you tried for one hundred years.”

“I’ll do this my way.”

“I am severely emotionally unstable.”

“What, from the bottom of the heart, the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t take any orders. I barely take suggestions.”

“I send my best regards from Hell.”

“I like my coffee how I like myself: Dark, bitter and too hot for you.”

“Me and God, we don’t get along.”

“Be brave, Angel.”

“Self care is drinking three pots of coffee and getting into a knife fight with God.”

{ takes gulp of vodka straight from the bottle } “My day was fine.”

“Have I stabbed you? No. Then I am being nice.”

“Holy Shit! I’M the demon living in my house.”

“Sir, that’s my emotional support knife collection.”

“I want an ancient elaborate dagger with my name engraved into the blade as a gift. The only romantic gesture.”

“ ‘Are you a top or a bottom?’ I'm a threat!”

“Stop being so defensive! I’m just trying to hit you with weapons.”

“The more knives you have the more valid you are.”

“She’s strong but she’s exhausted.”

“She loves moonlight and rainstorms and so many other things that have soul.”

“My darling, you can’t see it can you? How like the moon you are. Both of you so timid in yourselves; hiding pieces from the world. Then, there are those rare moments when you are both full, and it becomes hard to look away. You are beautiful.”

“Calm her chaos but never silence her storm.”

“She wears strength and darkness equally well. That girl has always been half Goddess, half Hell.”

“She has been through Hell, so believe me when I say, fear her when she looks into the fire and smiles.”

“She’s proof that you can walk through Hell and still be an angel.”

“She is both hellfire and holy water. And the flavour you taste depends on how you treat her.”

“Even the mountains can not hold all you have been carrying.”

“Storm with skin.”

“She’s thunderstorms”

“Kindness is a language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”

“Sometimes it takes only one act of kindness and caring to change a person’s life.”

“You have a heart of gold.”

“Butterflies are the Heaven-sent kisses of an angel.”

“She who is brave is free.”

“Clever as the Devil and twice as pretty.”

“Shut up. I wear heels bigger than your dick.”

“Girls who run in heels should be feared.”

“Family is everything to me.”

“She’s an old soul that believes in chivalry, romance, and love.”

“I hate getting flashbacks from things I don’t want to remember.”

“I run on coffee and grace.”

“I’m glad I’ve got boobs… the last thing I need is people making eye contact with me.”

“Tell me to put on my big girl panties one more time… and I’ll take off my thong and strangle you with it!”

“Please read all my posts in a sarcastic tone. You know, for full effect.”

“I have one nerve left and you’re dry-humping it, go away.”

“If I offend you, cry me a river. I’ll bring snacks and a raft. I will literally float down your tears, eating chips and working on my tan.”

“When she is happy, she can’t stop talking. When she is sad, she doesn’t say a word.”

“Music becomes my best friend when nobody else understands me.”

“Act like a lady, think like a boss.”

“I know I have friends but I feel I have no one to talk to about the shit that goes on in my head.”

“She was special. She combined a mean angel and a kind devil.”

“So much pain for someone so young.”

“She’s one of a kind.”

“Red lips and wine sips.”

“Brave girl, it’s time to love again.”

“She is intelligent.”

“Sometimes, when I say ‘I’m okay.’ I want someone to look me in the eyes, hug me tight, and say, ‘I know you’re not.’ ”

“Because I’m not the kind of girl guys fall in love with.”

“I fear I will spend my life, waiting for a love story that doesn’t exist.”

“You’re a woman, use it; bring every man you meet to his motherfucking knees.”

“She denies it but, the truth is, she’s falling in love with him.”

“Hearing your heels click on the floor sounds like power.”

“She loves deeply, regardless of the love she gets back in return and it’s both her biggest strength and biggest weakness…”

“Experience raised her. Hurt taught her. Neither defined her.”

“She was not fragile like a flower was, she was fragile like a bomb.”

“Life is short; make every hair flip count.”

“I’ve always been someone who looks ‘too deep’ into something or someone. That’s because I realised from a young age that there’s always more than what meets the eye.”

“If I say ‘first of all’ Run away because I have prepared research, data, charts, and will destroy you.”

“Underestimate me, that’ll be fun.”

“You think I’m sarcastic? You should hear what I don’t say!”

“She’s a combination of sensitive and savage.”

“Stay classy, sassy and a bit bad assy.”

“She’s battling things her smile will never tell you about.”

 “Ain't you ever seen a princess be a bad bitch?”

“I was told I was dangerous… I asked why? They said ‘because you don’t need anyone.’ That’s when I smiled.”

“She’s been through hell and came out an angel. You didn’t break her darling, you don’t own that kind of power.”

“Watch me. I will go to my own sun and, if I am burned by the flames, I will fly on scorched wings.”

“Her messy hair is a visible attribute to her stubborn spirit. As she shakes it free, she smiles, knowing wild is her favourite colour.”

“She’s strong. But in the back of her mind she doesn’t think that she was meant to be this strong for this long. And she wonders if there is a man out there, somewhere, who understands this.”

“She’s not for everyone and she knows it. People find her different and strange. She dances in the rain, she laughs when she cries and loves through her pain. People fear the unknown and they never knew a girl like her.”

“Don’t tell a girl with fire in her veins and hurricane bones what she should and shouldn’t do. In the blink of an eye, she will shatter that ridiculous cage you attempt to build around her beautiful bohemian spirit.”

“You provoke her until she roars and then get upset at her for becoming the monster you created.”

“Rip out his ego with your fresh nails.”

“She isn’t the sunrise; she’s the fucking sun.”

“You can’t touch a woman who can wear pain like the grandest of diamonds around her neck.”

“Watch your tongue around her. She will bear her fangs and tear you apart with all the grace of a Queen.” 

“If you won’t embrace her madness, then you’ll never taste her magic.”

“Beauty may be dangerous but intelligence is lethal.”

“She is water. Powerful enough to drown you, soft enough to cleanse you, deep enough to save you.”

“Heavy is the crown and yet she wears it as if it were a feather. There is strength in her heart, determination in her eyes and the will to survive resides within her soul.”

“I wish that I could say that I am a light that never goes out, but I flicker from time to time.”

“Spoil me with loyalty. I can finance myself.”

“Shoutout to all the people with brown hair and brown eyes! We basic as fuck but we cute!”

“I feel a nap coming on.”

“Is horny an emotion?”

“I just really like thigh-highs.”

“Even though she looks innocent, she is really a perverted demon.”

“She didn’t sob or wail. Her pain was horribly discreet but as persistent and almost as silent as bleeding from an unstitched wound.”

“I don’t rise from the ashes, I make them. I’m the whole fucking fire.”

“Beautiful but destructive.”

“I’m aiming for the ‘she’s a badass and cute as hell but I wouldn’t touch her without asking’ look.”

“Loving me must be so fucking hard and I’m so sorry.”

“Some women are lost in the fire. Some women are built from it.”

“You glow differently when you’re actually happy.”

“She’s magic, that one.”

“Kicked out of Hell.”

“Red hair: the crown you never take off.”

“You’ve got a fire inside.”

“She doesn’t need a warrior, she is one. What she needs is a devout heart, and strong arms to hold her after her battles are won.”

“You are the love that came without warning: You had my heart before I could say no.”

“You want battle? I’ll give you war.”

“True evil is, above all things, seductive.”

“The Devil’s got nothing on me, my friend.”

“Haven’t I fallen far enough?”

“I’m not like them, but I can pretend.”

“I don’t like being told what to do.”

“Now I grow wings and rage, and learn how to kill.”

“Life is tough, my darling, but so are you.”

“Though she be little, she be fierce.”

“I know what this is; It’s just myself, talking to myself, about myself.”

“You underestimate my power.”

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 30)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: Like eleven things happen in the course of one chapter. I’m sorry lol

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​ @toe-vind-ek-jou​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @pieces-by-me​ @angelofthorr​ @samsationalwilson​  @peachyboneless​ @1950schick​ @punkrocknpearls​ @ietss​   @itsmysticalmystery​ @revolution-starter​​ @chibisgotovalhalla​

Ivar crawls over you, cages you against the cold ground, his lips a breath away from yours, “Half a kingdom for a promise...”

When you wake up the next morning, luckily free of any dreams you can remember, you are rather surprised by how not even Ivar getting out of bed, getting dressed, or the thralls that are walking around the room were able to wake you up.

And, of course, Ivar notices.

“Are you well?”

“Of course I am,” You reply easily, going through the motions of your day and slipping into the warm blue dress. When you pick the earrings and trinkets to wear today and walk back to your husband, you are greeted with a murmur of your name. After a deep breath, you amend, “Dreams, nothing more. I promise.”

“Don’t hide things from me.” Ivar reminds you, and you accept his words, feeling strangely reprimanded.

You start putting on the blue earrings you like to believe are the ones Ubbe gifted you shortly after your wedding, you muse, “‘Half a kingdom for a promise, half a soul for a ring’. That’s what they say about my Goddess, and her…”

“Marriage?”

“Abduction,” You correct, turning your back to him and trying and failing to suppress a shiver as he moves your hair out of the way with ease, fingers skimming over the bare skin of your back. “She had only to vow to be Lord Hades’ wife to earn half a kingdom, yet she had to give up half of her soul to bear his ring.

You toy with your own wedding ring absently, a nervous gesture you have found yourself doing more than once ever since Ivar first put it on your finger.

“You think that’s a bad deal?” Ivar insists, voice low by your ear, “She was made Queen.”

“Not fully, she…she is not fully anything. Not fully his, because he gives her up each spring, not fully her mother’s, who still mourns her every winter. Not dead, not alive. Nothing.”

“Or everything,” Ivar whispers, and he tugs a little harder on the laces of your dress, a playful reminder you ought to straighten your back. “I’d think you more than anyone would understand the privilege of being fully bound to nothing.”

“It wouldn’t be a privilege. I don’t know who I’d be, if…” If Fate weren’t tearing me in two.

“You could have been happy.” Ivar offers, voice low. You have a feeling he not only speaks of you and the circumstances of your life and what they made out of you.

You close your eyes, and let silence reign, because there’s no answer you can give that doesn’t lie.

Before you take your leave, you gather your strength, what your mother called your Athenian nobility, and call out Ivar’s name.

“You said I have your trust,” You start, certain steps taking you to the dresser where the golden snake a very skilled craftsman made into a bracelet lays. Without hesitation, you grab it, and put it on, on the same wrist Ivar did when he gifted it to you. “I want to talk with some men that arrived a few days ago. They come from Greece.”

He stops by the door, turning to you with a frown, “Your home?”

“Macedonia, further North from my-...from Eleusis. I want to know what…what the Gods have made of my land, of Greece. They surely have information.”

Ivar considers you for a few moments, before sighing, and limping towards a chair, where he sits.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he narrows his eyes, “I trust you, but I am far from an idiot.”

“If I were intending to fool you, I wouldn’t be telling you this.”

His head tilts to the side as he regards you. After a few moments, Ivar frowns and turns to you, “Am I the one being tested now?”

You offer him the same words he did once, “Can you blame me for my curiosity?”

Ivar considers your words, before accepting them with a movement of his head.

“Fine. But I want to be there.”

____

“The world you left behind isn’t the one it is now, Eleusinian.” The man tells you, offering a shrug. Your eyebrows lift, and you wonder if you ought to be offended, if there’s truly an edge of accusation behind the man’s words.

“Then tell her about it, hm?” Ivar presses, eyes set on the man that spoke, making something quite close to fear cross his features.

“I-I don’t know much.” The man stammers, but you step closer.

“It’s alright, I-…just tell me what you know.”

He shrugs, “There was an invasion by the Byzantine Empire on Laconia. It was all done on the orders of the Patriarch of Constantinople. To convert the…pagans of Laconia.”

The same crusade was sent to Attica, and they razed it all. They killed, and defiled, and burned. They won.

You grit your teeth, but force yourself to keep your voice steady as you press,

“And?”

“Sparta was well aware of the army they sent, they…prepared, and they fought. Anax Lysander was victorious. They burnt the Christians alive, left their bodies high up in the walls, for everyone to see.”

You smile slightly, brokenly. Leave it to Lysander to remind the Christians of their sins, burning their defeated warriors like they once burnt you. Who would have thought the mighty Anax of Laconia was capable of sentimentality?

“Those Athenians will not let you fight,” The Anax stands, arms crossed over his broad chest. “They will never follow a woman into battle.”

“I will not fight, Lysander,” You argue, “I do not need to.”

“Ah, I’ve heard that tone before,” Lysander’s mother chuckles, weathered skin wrinkling with her smile. Even her smile, you notice, is coated in iron and blood, backed by the mettle that makes Spartan women famous as they are. “You have your mother’s ambitions, child.”

“And my father’s drive. I do not come here empty handed, expecting Sparta to accept me without giving something in exchange.”

“And what is it you offer, sweet one?”

“An army,” You turn to your cousin, “Narses, the Strategus of Attica, he has put his men at my disposal.”

“For us to…what? Retake Greece from the Empire and their God?”

You smile. You know it is madness, you know it is a lost cause, but you still smile. And Lysander returns the smile, hungry and mad.

The man nods, slightly comforted, or reassured, it seems, by your smile.

“If I may,” One of the men says, stepping forward. He bows his head in greeting when he comes to stand before you, before speaking, “The Empire retreats from Spartan land. Your cousin has bought our lands and your Gods a few decades, with this display. The caliph recognizes Laconian independence from the Empire, if only because they have a common enemy. So do the Kievan Rus, and the Rashidun.”

You simplify his words with a phrase, and yet you know as you utter the words that you are standing there, begging for them to confirm it as true, to reassure you there’s no lie, no twist, in this.

“Laconia is free of the Empire. O-Of their God.”

The Macedonian man smiles, and nods his head, “It is free.”

You over your mouth as a sob threatens to leave your lips. Free.

The man bows his head again in a sign of respect.

“We honor your fight, even if we do not share your drive. May your Gods keep you, and our home.”

You nod your head, but you can’t say anything. Free.

“You can leave.” Ivar says somewhere behind you, but it sounds like you’re underwater.

The men leave, and you cannot move. Not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t think you can control your own body right now. Free.

Ivar stands before you, eyes searching yours. You cannot stop shaking.

You think you say his name, your voice small and broken.

His hand finds the back of your head, you think he is trying to soothe you with the soft caress of his rough hand on your hair.

A murmur of your name, and you can only look at him with wide eyes, begging him to have an answer to the chaos that brews inside you.

Ivar brings you to him, quickly and roughly, and you think dazedly that you wouldn’t have been able to thaw if he hadn’t made you move. Your face is pressed against his chest and you feel you can finally breathe since you’ve heard the word free.

Your hands scramble for purchase against him, and your breaths are quick and out of your control, and you…you…

The jarring movement of Ivar’s left arm as he thrusts his crutch deep into the ground, as if to find a way to keep you both upright, makes something break within you.

The panicked breaths become sobs, and you shut your eyes tight. You cry, you cry for the grief you carried for so long, you cry for the nostalgia that chokes you, you cry for the relief of being finally free of the flames.

Ivar doesn’t say anything, or if he does, you don’t hear it.

His free hand is warm and certain at the back of your head, keeping you safe and whole as you hold on desperately to him, trying to find any semblance of certainty in the world that has turned upside down.

Or maybe it is upright, for once, for the first time since they dragged your mother out of that temple and set her alight in front of you.

Free. Laconia is free of the Empire, of the Christians and their God.

You started a war you knew was doomed from the start, a war for the freedom you deserved, for the freedom your Gods had promised you. You hoped, you dreamt, you prayed, you died for that freedom; but deep down you always knew that it wasn’t a war you could win.

You believed for a while, when the pain of the burns was not so fresh on your body but still fresh on your mind, that maybe you weren’t meant to survive this war, that maybe you wouldn’t live to see the day the Gods were rightfully honored again. That maybe you’d die defeated and afraid in some realm that belonged to no one but the Christian God.

Each soul you lost on the way…their ghosts have haunted you with the memory of your failure, taunting you that for your arrogance and your pride you started a doomed war that only brought death and chaos to your home.

And there aren’t words to speak of the weight you feel lifted of your shoulders, and you can only grasp with shaking hands at whatever you can reach of Ivar, hoping he can somehow keep you from disappearing.

For so long, to so many people, you were nothing but the symbol of their hopeless fight, nothing but the rallying call of an already-lost war. And now, the fight proves not hopeless at all, the war isn’t lost yet.

And you feel like you’ll unravel at the seams, you feel like all the hopes and expectations and titles they put over your head, around your wrists and ankles, will disappear and prove you are nothing without them.

You know Laconia isn’t Attica, you know the war against the Christians will not end for many years, if ever; but…it is a victory.

You realize as your breaths slow, that when you once would have resented not being a part of a victory in this war, now all you can feel is relief.

Because as you loosen your hold on the Viking that seems to be trying more than anything to keep you standing and realize he might as well be the reason Fate hasn’t torn you in two yet; as past the mist of panic and chaos and emotion you find the peace that comes with knowing they don’t need you to fight or to win; you cannot help but take a breath and send the Gods you’ve given everything for a single plea.

To let another be the symbol of the fight, let another be the rallying call of the free Greeks. Let another fight and die, you have done so already.

To let you live. Let you choose, let you be free, too.

“Thank you.” You whisper when all that reigns between you and Ivar is silence.

Ivar’s hand moves down from the back of your head, settles somewhere at your back. His chin rests at the top of your head, and you feel him sigh.

“Don’t. I’m not here for gratitude.” He tells you gruffly, stubbornly, giving you back the same words you told him mere days ago.

____

You watch the men train, so differently from the orderly soldiers you would ogle as a teen back in your homeland. They go after one another brutally, grunts and shoves and yells and if blood is drawn then so be it.

You try it deny the part of you that is intrigued by it all, but apparently it cannot be hidden even from the Prince that stands at your side overlooking the training as well, judging from the chuckle he lets out.

“Different from you peace-loving Greeks, isn’t it?” He boasts, looking at the warriors with something akin to pride.

You offer a smile and a nod, “Quite.”

After a few moments of silence, he turns his head towards you, eyeing you for a few moments. You turn to him as well, the question written in your eyes going unanswered. The man instead walks ahead, reaching for a shield and an axe.

“Women in your homeland aren’t allowed to fight, are they?” He questions, turning to you.

Excitement that you try to bring down courses through you as you answer with a shake of your head. He tosses you the shield. It is heavier than you thought.

“We ought to care for the home.” You offer as explanation, but he laughs.

“Can’t you do both?” The Prince taunts, testing the weight of the axe in his hand. Nodding to the shield you hold, he instructs, “Defend yourself.”

“What?” You ask, panicked, but he has already lounged. The axe swings with a lot of strength but is stopped by the shield you raise just in time. “Gods!”

Even your leg suffers the strain of holding your stance when his weapon lodges in the wood. You hear Hvitserk chuckle.

“Now, push back,” He orders, and you are about to follow his command, putting all your strength in your torso to push him back, but his foot finds your leg and brings you to the ground. You let out a groan of pain as your back collides with the hard earth, and he chuckles, again, “That was for telling them about Thora, sister.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He offers you a hand to help you up, but you refuse it. This turns his smile a little proud, you dare say, as he readies his stance again and regards you with interest in his dark eyes.

You raise the shield the way he instructed you to you offer him a smile of your own. Hvitserk goes through axes and swords, gives you a smaller and a bigger shield. His short phrases telling you how to stand, where to put your strength help you, but after a while your body, unused to this, begs for retrieve.

When the Viking knocks you off your feet for the fourth time in a short while, he puts the axe back in the rack where he took it from, and offers you a hand to stand up.

“Turns out that fighting is as hard as it looks. Thrilling.” You dead pan, licking your lips and wondering why you taste blood.

The Prince smiles your way and tugs on a lock of your hair that by now has fallen in complete disarray and no longer resembles the traditional updo you worked on this morning.

“This won’t work if you want to learn to fight,” He laughs, “Don’t you know how to braid your hair?”

“Sit.” The Varangian asks, motioning behind her.

“No.” You state back, arms crossed. Her green eyes flash with fury for a moment before she sighs, running an inked hand over her face and attempting again.

“Sit, child.”

“I do not need to learn because I will not wear war braids, Sie-…”

Her expression when she lifts her eyes again to yours silences you quickly.

“Sit.” She orders.

You do. It never hurts to learn, after all, right?

She teaches your fingers to move with voice alone, and when you tug a little too hard, when you catch a knot and end up with a tuft of hair in your brush, she says nothing. She just grunts and tells you to start from the beginning.

You learn to make war braids, learn family is what we make it. Learn the Varangian is a mother to you, by Fate if not by blood.

“I do,” You reply, trying to ignore the pang in your heart at the reminder of the gently brutish woman that spared your life and raised you. “But we wear them differently in my homeland.”

He raises his eyebrows in question, and in a moment of confidence you do not have you motion for the wooden steps at the entrance of the longhouse, offering to show him.

Hvitserk laughs, but nods his head, “Alright, show me your magic, witch.”

You sit behind him and work meticulously on disarming the braids at the sides of his head, before moving upwards and separating the last one.

“You’re fast at that.” He notes.

You hum in response, focused on your task. Your fingers make quick work of his soft hair, finding it incredibly easier to disentangle than Sieghild’s. 

You start with the small braids by the sides of his head that would fall loose like a woman’s curls to frame his face, trying to recall the hair you saw actors of Leonidas wear when you were young.

You lose track of time as you work on his hair, but judging by the way he asks for an apple to one of the passing merchants and starts eating quietly, you do not think he is in a hurry.

While you are working on the braid that makes the hair move back and away from his face, you feel a tap on one of your knees where they rest one on each side of Hvitserk’s body.

“About Ivar’s decision to give me time to avoid losses in Strepshire,” The Prince starts swiftly, “Thank you.”

“I did nothing, Hvitserk.” You mutter back, but find your work interrupted when Hvitserk tilts his head back to look you in the eyes, skepticism written all over his face.

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” He sentences dryly, almost resting the top of his head against your stomach and messing up the braids, so you roll your eyes and push him so that his head is upright again.

“Because in my experience you sons of Ragnar are incredibly odd in your relations with one another.”

He laughs at your words, and you think it is an acceptance of them. “You don’t know half of it.”

From an errant thread of your own sleeve you manage to close the loose knot of braids at the back of his head. Although these people’s hairs are straighter and thicker than the ones you worked on back home, Hvitserk still could look like one of the depictions of young King Leonidas you saw when you visited Athens.

When you release his hair and lean back, he immediately reaches up to touch the braids, scrunching up his face.

“It’s strange.”

“It’s what we peace-loving Greeks wear.” You smile, correcting your work with a few light touches.

The Prince stands up and you do the same, but he still wears that uncomfortable expression on his face.

“I hate this.” He mumbles, looking indignantly at a minuscule braid that falls to frame his face.

“I don’t blame you,” You reply, shrugging. “I can disarm it, if you like.”

His eyes stray from yours and his eyebrows lift.

“I think you do not have any more time.” Hvitserk offers with the beginning of a knowing smile on his lips.

When you look over your shoulder you catch the King’s angry gaze set on you. Ivar stands unmoving by the entrance to the training grounds, making you question how long has he been watching you interact with his brother.

“Oh.”

“You see, I have dealt with…that my whole life. It’s your turn, witch.”

You watch him take his leave, and don’t miss the way the King’s eyes follow his brother as he walks past him. You are almost certain words are said, but you cannot hear them. Even then, this only seems to make Ivar even more angry, nostrils flaring and lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes quickly return to you, silently berating you for breaking a rule he didn’t set.

Still, you take a deep breath and walk towards the King. Before you have a chance to speak, his growled words reach your ears.

“What did he tell you?”

“Huh?” You ask, dumbfounded. He takes another step closer, the movement of his shoulders as he moves his crutch only helping remind you of that injured Lynx you stumbled into as a young girl. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

“I don’t want you spending time with my brother.”

“Well, I don’t recall asking for your permission.”

He holds your gaze for a few moments, nostrils flared and eyes cold and yet furious; but eventually just grunts for you to come with him. You do, and you bite your tongue and keep silent as you do so, even if you itch to talk.

“You and Hvitserk seemed…content,” He starts, a muffled grunt leaving his chest when he moves his braced legs. If you weren’t so weirded out by his choice of words you would ask him if he’s in pain. Either way, the King soon continues, “Must be that he’s not a monster keeping you captive, right?”

“What?” You frown, stopping when he does. Ivar turns to look at you with fury in his eyes, however held by the mask of cold and distance of the King of Kattegat.

“Is that not what you think, hm?” He asks through a smile as false as it is cruel, “You have no interest in being at a monster’s side, isn’t that right?” It feels strangely like having your own words spit back at you, but you cannot dwell on it, for Ivar steals your focus and breath as he moves. None of the usual grace in his movements and another muffled grunt leaving his lips, he crosses the distance between you. You hold your ground, even as he towers over you with the eyes of a man that would kill for less offenses than yours, “You have been wishing and praying for a way out, but you won’t get one.”

You feel your heart beating wildly in your chest, and your temper begs to rise to meet his, to argue back with just as much fire and return as much as you get.

But, you force yourself to keep your calm, looking into his eyes and trying to see what is making him say these things. Surely it was not seeing you and Hvitserk together? No, this is something else, something else entirely.

“What…what brought this on?”

“You’ve blinded me, and you know it. Did the same to that poor bastard you promised to marry. I won’t let you-…” He snarls back at you, eyes blazing and mouth curled too alike an animal baring its teeth. Even though he stops himself, you hear the words he doesn’t say: I won’t let you tell me one day that it was all a lie. With an even lower voice, he reminds you, “Give me reason to believe you’ve betrayed me, and I won’t keep any promises I made to you.”

“Don’t threaten me. That’s not-…this is not what I want, for us to fight.” You try, your hands tightening to fists to keep your anger at bay. When you look into his eyes, you know he also hears the words you don’t say, it isn’t what you want either.

A clench in his jaw, his eyes hardening, his voice low as he speaks, “What do you want, then? What will you ask for now, hm?”

“Honesty.” You reply without hesitation, voice low.

To your surprise, Ivar tilts his head to the side, and accepts your words with a gesture of his mouth. It all looks awfully performative, false, an act, and you stand your ground, ready for whatever it is that he has driven himself mad with.

“Alright, let’s be honest, wife,” His gaze pierces into yours, and his mouth curls into a snarl, “How long did you wait for someone to come save you before you lost hope?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You have kept your eyes on the people coming and going, on the ones close enough to your homeland. You have been waiting patiently for a chance to have them take you to your home, have them save you from me. But it never happened, did it?”

The edge in his voice, the bite, the tone, it all reminds you of that first dinner you had with him here in Kattegat. It reminds you of manic words, of deluded convictions.

“You sound…”

Ivar smile manages to make you feel cold and small. And you realize that is exactly what he wants, that was the game he was playing, the part he was playing. To corner you into defeat.

“Like a mad man?” His smile trembles, and for a moment you see the mask slip, for a moment you see him, and you see the fear, you see the pain, you see the desperation. But Ivar pushes, “That’s what happened, isn’t it? You waited and waited for someone to come save you, and when they didn’t you…” He gestures with his hand, the nonchalance in the gesture completely lost at the rage written in his eyes, “Caved.”

“Caved?”

He shrugs, but you see past the façade, “Agreed to play pretend, to…to keep the monster happy, to keep yourself safe.”

“I don’t cave, Ivar.”

His smile is mocking, “Oh, but you do. You like to pretend you don’t, your insufferable pride likes to pretend you don’t. But you do, and you have,” Ivar nods to himself, the cruel smile on his lips earning a manic edge you haven’t seen in a while. He presses, “Will you deny that’s what you saw in me? I thought you wouldn’t lie to me, wife.”

“I thought those things when everything was different!” You insist, gesturing with your powerless arms and not caring if someone is to hear.

Ivar moves closer again, and this time you meet his stride, also stepping the distance between you and looking into his eyes. Your Gods and his both know you may lose a battle of power with him, of strength, of courage. But not one of wills.

He will have to kill you to have you relent.

Still, he insists, and if the mask slips, if the so tightly held control vanishes through his fingers, if the armor cracks, if his questions are true and not cruel tricks, who can truly know?

“How are things different? How is any different how you see me now than before? To you I still am the monster that imprisoned you, nothing changed since the first time you saw me.”

“No. Ivar, if you’re a monster…what does that make me? I stand by your side, I trust you, I-…”

It makes you a monster too.

But the woman that lured Narses to the cliff the Varangians pushed him off of, the woman that accepted the thrill of war knowing she would lose and die, that woman was a monster already, and didn’t have anything to do with Ivar.

Maybe you both are monsters, maybe you’ve just been playing at being human.

The thought doesn’t unsettle you as much as it should.

Ivar holds your gaze, before he takes his eyes from yours with a breath that seems to shudder past parted lips. You keep your attention on his expression, on the tremble of his brows, on the conflict between vulnerability and anger.

After a few breaths you hold, Ivar lowers his head, leans closer, quietens his voice,

“Tell me things have changed. Tell me I’m not...seeing things.”

You cannot help the foolish and hopeless beating of your heart, that both soars and breaks at his despairing request. The words that that same foolish heart wants you to say back are at the tip of your tongue, held back by sheer will even as Ivar’s uncertain and unmoored blue eyes look into yours looking for…anything.

But you can’t give in. If you give words to it, if you name things you make them real, and if the flutter in your heart, if the emotion tight in your chest, if the truth even your mind accepts are real, then you are nothing, you’ve failed your legacy, your homeland, your people.

But you cannot return to fighting, to this mad chase for a freedom that never was and never could be.

Because you know the bindings keeping you tethered to Greece are as punishing and as suffocating as those Ivar first set on your wrists. Learning of Laconia’s victory wouldn’t have felt the way it did, you wouldn’t have threatened to break when the chains loosened, if you weren’t a prisoner to them as much as you are to Ivar.

And you’ve realized you are also nothing of without Sieghild, without her guidance and her Gods, without Kattegat and all the freedoms it has granted you, without…without Ivar.

So you look into his eyes, and you can’t do what your heart tells you to, but you can’t do nothing. So you step closer, you lay a hand on his chest, let your palm rest over his heart.

Your voice is hushed, “Everything changed. O-Or maybe nothing did, and I just don’t lie to myself anymore,” You take a breath, and after a moment you offer a helpless shrug, “Maybe we changed. You aren’t the man that put chains on me and forced my hand, I’m not the woman that would have ran from you at the first opportunity.”

Ivar’s eyes search yours, but it seems the fight leaves him for once, and he bites back the anger. Still, he grits his teeth, his head moves with a gesture of annoyance -that you dare think is at himself- and he huffs an angry breath.

Ivar stops leaning so close to you, and with a stab of his crutch on the wooden floor that looks more forceful than need be, he turns his back to you, and leaves you behind.

____

Two things: one, yes I probably broke the poor reader, I didn’t plan it but hey, these characters do what they want at this point, and two, I think somewhere in between I also broke Ivar, also didn’t plan it but hey, fuck it. These two wanna rush like three chapters ahead? Fine, go ahead, I suppose.

Bright side is, look at them argue and giving in/being honest instead of screaming their heads off! :P

Oh, and the Laconia stuff is just me playing loose with history, but Laconia was able to withstand the Slavic invasions of the 9th century and remained pagan till the 10th. I’d have to check, cause I decided on this plot point a long time ago and I can’t remember, but I think there was a failed attempt at christianization in the 9th.

Thank you so much for reading, I love you!!

[autumnslance]

🔥 😒 (Hope your day has been going well Lyn!)

It's been an OK day!

🔥 What is your hottest take on your fandom?

People need to chill and not react to everything as a personal insult or assault. It's online media and ours is focused on a fiction. People can disagree. It costs nothing to eyeroll and scroll on. Screenshotting, quote retweeting, block evading to make fun of/harass/bully someone is exhausting and doesn't get you the kind of clout you want. Eventually others will turn it around on you. You can think you're "helping" and "pointing out toxic behavior" but a lot of times? It's hyperbole, it's empty words, it's random comments out of context, it's something about fiction that doesn't actually affect you. Actually "toxic" people are a lot rarer than people act like in their haste to be protective--or simply judgmental and acting like their own opinions are better. Those little clown face emojis go both ways.

Curate your feeds. Limit your following counts (I promise you do not have to follow/follow back everyone "in the community" it's impossible anyway) and be selective, mute and block and filter, know how the social media you use works to see only your actual following in chronological order to defy the algorithms--which tries to push contentious topics most btw--and stop rising to every bait there is. Show some restraint; you don't have to post everything you type. Save stuff in drafts if you must, come back to it later when you've chilled (I tend to delete mine).

Trust me. Your life will be a lot less stressful if you eyeroll at the trolls, the jerks, the creeps, the weirdos, the whatevers, and give them no platform or attention at all, than if you engage in pointless multi-platform wars over ships and plot discourse. This isn't high school and you're gonna have to learn to deal with different opinions in your lives. Crap over a video game isn't one of the deal breaking important ones.

😒 Have you disliked a person/muse that everyone else loved?

Sure. Sometimes cuz of a vibe reminding me of someone else jerkish that proved too similar. Sometimes cuz they've got a popular creator presence so folks trip on themselves to be "friends", but I dislike something in their presentation and/or attitude so avoid them.

And sometimes for utterly irrational nonsense reasons that make no sense but one's brain is like that at times. Just something irks me and I cannot explain it and they've done nothing to warrant said reaction; we may never even interact!

Heck back in my 20s there was an actress in some popular films, and while paparazzi were prevalent it wasn't like today's social media inundation; so far as I knew then she had done nothing to warrant the instant instinctual anger and desire to punch her whenever I saw her face. To this day, I cannot explain it. The feeling has long gone, but for awhile there I just couldn't stand that particular woman's face. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

There have also been characters I believed were poorly thought out with characterization and plot, or who seemed cool but after a bit you realize there's nothing below the pretty surface. Or their player says one thing adamantly about the muse/their presentation...and then consistently does the exact opposite--especially if it gets them/their character attention, followers, etc.

[100hearteyes]

First chapter of a fic I will likely never continue. Canon divergent. Unedited and riddled with typos. ~5k words.

Lexa straightens her posture as her horse halts just after the forest and at the first sign of civilization ahead. It huffs and hits the soil with one of its hoofs, expressing its disquiet. She shares the sentiment; Skaikru are very much an odd and unpredictable body in the grand scheme of things still.

The Sky clan had been at war with Trikru for over a decade since falling to earth, seeing as they had occupied Lexa's people's land,whrnh the Ice Nation offered them an alliance. Trikru yielded, aware that fighting both clans at once would be foolish. At the time, the Commander was from the Blue Cliff clan and no more than a religious figure, indifferent to the quells between clans. Lexa has changed that over the past few years — and is intent on continuing to do so.

"Heda." She turns her head only slightly to her right, just enough to be able to look at Gustus from the corner of her eye. "I do not have a good feeling about this."

"We both know that if it were up to you I would be locked up in the tower and never come out." She softens, regards her bodyguard fully. "You worry too much, Gustus. The Sky People will be a valuable asset for the Coalition."

"They think themselves superior just because they have guns and tech," he counters with distrust. "They are dishonourable in combat and gloat about it."

"The Coalition needs them," Lexa snaps, and that is the end of it. "And, hopefully, they need the Coalition, too."

Arkadia, capital of the Sky clan, is by all means an impressive sight, very different to anything Lexa has ever seen. Everything is metal and a heavy grey; from the wall protecting it to the pair of guard lookout towers, to the massive gates with the 'Arkadia' lettering on top. From her elevated position, Lexa can see a main building that rises slightly above the wall and takes up about a quarter of the whole area, and other smaller buildings sprinkled about the space left vacant by it. It is evident that while the Arkadians had no say on the positioning of the main building, they planned the city around it, since everything else is so geometrically placed, including the grey dirt roads that trace an intricate cobweb that winds through the empty spaces and gives the city an air of concrete orderliness. However, everything pales in comparison to the giant wheel propped just to the side of the main building, presumably what was once meant to surround the ship that Sky People lived in up in space before they fell to earth. It is clearly one of the few things that have resisted the decades unadulterated, even if it has been repurposed, as Lexa assumes from the sillhouettes of people climbing up and down its inner arms. It is a formidable sight, even for those more averse to the marvels of the world that Skaikru left back in space and have ever since tried to recreate on Earth. Nonetheless, Arkadia as a whole is an obtrusive presence in the midst of the greenery and unwavering power of nature. It makes Lexa almost squirm on her saddle, uncomfortable with such a demonstration of stubborn inadaptation — no village, town, or city should be so violently at odds with its surroundings.

They approach the city slowly and with only half the warriors she brought along, so as to indicate that they mean no harm — and make sure no one will frame it otherwise. Lexa's retinue is mostly made up of warriors, amongst them her personal guards, but she was also careful to include two of her most trusted diplomats; people who will negotiate in her stead when need be and will work to make sure that those on her side remain there. They are people who work the complicated web of politics and favor better even than her.

As they come closer to Arkadia, its inhabitants crowd close to the walls, looking at Lexa and her crew as though they are wild, fascinating animals. Such is the consequence of isolation. Lexa watches as a small group gathers just outside the walls and recognises Marcus Kane, chancellor of the Sky People, at the head of the greeting party.

Finally her group come to a stop just a few feet from the Arkadians and Markus of the Sky People steps up to greet Lexa with a genuine, welcoming smile. "Commander," he says in greeting and extends his hand. "It's such a great honor to have your visit."

She nods and grips his forearm. Marcus of the Sky People is a pleasant man, both in appearance and personality. His luscious hair and thick beard frame kind eyes and a jovial smile that make him extremely likable. Soft-spoken and invested in every conversation he takes part in regardless of its actual importance, Marcus of the Sky People is a dependable fatherly figure. He is also fierce and wise, however, and Lexa likes him even more for that.

"Chancellor Marcus Kane," she greets back, careful to use his full name, as Sky People do. "Thank you for receiving us on such short notice."

She lets go of his arm and lets her hand rest on the pommel of her sword. "We're just lucky you're here at all," he replies honestly, then turns to the rest of his group. "Please give your warmest welcome to the Commander, Lexa kom Trikru." She appreciates the effort to use her mother tongue — details like that can make the difference between a successful deal and a failed one, for it builds bridges where there are none. Marcus is a proficient builder of diplomatic bridges.

The first person to step forward is a woman in her forties like Marcus, though the lines of her face are more tired and severe. She looks like a woman who looks death in the face every day and when she extends her calloused hand for a greeting, Lexa realises that is exactly the case. "I'm Abby Griffin." Lexa clasps Abby's forearm and she spies a special brand of kindness in brown eyes that tells her that this woman is not only a caretaker, but also a mother. "I'm a council member and Chief Doctor of Arkadia and Skaikru in general."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Lexa says as Abby takes a step back and a new member of the greeting party comes forward. "Raven, I assume," Lexa nods, clued in by the girl's oil-splattered cheek. "Your fame precedes you, tech master."

The girl beams, dark eyes shining brightly, and salutes. Her ponytail swings with the movement. "At your service, Commander. I hope your visit proves fruitful."

"That makes two of us, Raven of the Sky People."

"I'm Bellamy Blake." Lexa turns to the man that has stepped forward and clasps his outstretched hand instead of his forearm. She can tell that this is a man who likes things done his way; insecure enough to need to underline his status. "I'm in charge of all things military and security."

"A general, then," Lexa recognises. "Are you Octavia Blake's fabled brother?" She is careful to use her Sky People surname and not her Trikru suffix lest he become even less friendly.

His nose crinkles and his freckles dance angrily beneath dark eyes and unruly, short curls of hair. "Haven't seen her in almost a year since she got it in her head that she wants to be a barbarian."

Lexa lets the comment slide. "She is a fine warrior. My people are very lucky to have her."

He grunts and gives way to the next council member, a middle-aged woman with a gentle smile but a fear of the unknown in the way she clasps Lexa's forearm. "Hannah Green. Farming, hunting, and other resources," the woman greets. "Council member, too."

Lexa nods her acknowledgement and watches as Hannah kom Skaikru steps backward. Her replacements are two tall, robust men, their dark skin, eyes, and mannerisms nearly identical, though the younger one is more genuine while the older one has an air of arrogance about him.

"I'm Wells Jaha and this is my father, Thelonious," the young man says pleasantly, and Lexa likes him right away. She clasps Wells's forearm, then Thelonious's, and even their grips are different. How can two men look so alike and yet behave so differently?

Just from the introductions, Lexa is slightly worried. Bellamy, Abby, Hannah, and Thelonious will vote against entering the Coalition; a number that exceeds that of Marcus, Raven, and Wells. The chancellor has the deciding vote, but it will be for naught if the numbers do not even out.

The final person steps forward at last. A girl around Lexa's age, with blonde hair and determined blue eyes. "My name is Clarke," the girl greets, her voice husky and only moderately welcoming. Lexa studies the girl, looks for twitches and tells, but cannot read her at all. It is worrying; the last thing she needs at this point is a wildcard. She can tell, however, that her own first impression is lacking. "I'm in charge of urban and regional planning, and foreign affairs." Lexa extends her arm for greeting, but Clarke leaves her hanging. A golden, sceptical eyebrow is quirked and Clarke's eyes are narrowed, and it is all Lexa can do not to growl at such insolence. "Let me decide first if you're worth shaking hands with."

Lexa takes a deep breath and tells herself that punishing Clarke kom Skaikru's impertinence is not worth wasting the chance to draw the Sky People into her Coalition. So she purses her lips and clasps her hands behind her back, letting her posture straighten and her chin rise with defiant authority. Her eyes burn into Clarke's. "Very well." She turns to Marcus, who seems to have blanched considerably. "Please lead me to my quarters, Marcus of the Sky People. The day has been long and we have much to discuss tomorrow. I would like to rest."

~~~~

Arkadia isn't home. But it also is, because she has never known another place. Nevertheless, she has never felt at home inside its dull grays, angry lights, and obstinate refusal to fully mesh with its surroundings.

Clarke isn't one to fantasise about what could be; she locks her dreams inside drawings of another life and lives what is instead. There is no space, no time to wonder on the ground.

Still she can't help musing about a world where she would be able to travel between clans freely and adopt another as her own. She can't help musing about a world where they wouldn't have to fend off attacks from the other clans, even if the Ice Nation has helped them through the more difficult times. That is exactly why she finds the idea of a coalition so appealing — it's eating away at her, however, to entertain the idea of it being led by a tyrant like Commander Lexa.

She's heard all the stories and she knows which ones are true. She knows of the Commander's thirst for glory and power. She knows of her ruthlessness and disregard for human life. She knows of the Commander's penchant for spilling blood and autocratic style. She knows and she saw it all in the Commander's conceited bearing, in the cold press of full lips, in the raised chin of a despot; she saw it in the way the Commander's eyes flashed with anger, the only display of emotion during an otherwise frigid interaction.

Yet the cry for change reverberates through the halls of Arkadia, which thrums with the need to be more. And Clarke... Clarke wants the best for her people. Always. So if she deems joining the Coalition the right step to take, she will vote for it no matter how tough a pillow it will be to swallow.

Another tough pill to swallow? Kane's reproach for the way she talked to the Commander.

"It was unacceptable, Clarke. You embarrassed the Commander and risked being beheaded on the spot." It means something when Zen Kane gives you such a talking-to. "You shamed us all."

"Stop right there, Marcus." Oh, yes. Your mother defending you does make the situation a hundred times better. It's not at all ignored for being biased. "I think you're being unfair. Yes, Clarke should've minced her words, but she didn't same us."

Kane's eye roll is exactly the reaction Clarke's expected. "Look, Abby. I know you're her mother—"

Abby's affronted look is even more predictable. "This has nothing to do with—"

"Enough!" Kane and Abby as well as the rest of the council look at her. Clarke looks at each of the six other faces sitting around the semicircle-shaped table and then at Kane, who stands alone at the straight side of it. She sighs. "I made a mistake. I put us in a difficult position. I'm sorry."

Kane nods his approval. The small, dark room lends him a more solemn, even poetic appearance, and the way he cups his bearded chin while he thinks makes him look like a philosopher. "Thank you for acknowledging your mistake, Clarke," he says kindly as he lays a companionable hand on her shoulder. "There will have to be consequences, however."

She expected nothing less. Despite the little show she put on before the Commander, Clarke knows her place. "I understand, Chancellor," she nods, and feels more insecure the moment his fatherly hand leaves her shoulder. Her dad died years ago and no one will ever replace him, but the way Kane behaves towards her reminds her a little bit of what it was like to have a father. She's grateful for it; she misses the comfort of her dad's hugs and the pride in his smile.

The moments before he finally doles out her punishment remind her why she doesn't like this room — it's cold and dark and has an ominous feeling to it that makes her feel trapped. Like everything discussed in her is always too serious. It often is. She much prefers the strategy meeting room with its rectangular, waist-high table that causes them to stay standing and its glass-like boards with maps and notes written into them with colorful pens. It's also larger — so much larger. It's better illuminated, too.

Finally Kane stops thinking and meets her eyes. "You will be the Commander's shadow. An ambassador. You will show Arkadia and whatever else necessary to her and you will be her guide around here. You will make sure she has everything she needs and you will handle everything relating to her presence here."

Clarke can't help but scoff. "You mean I'll be her damn babysitter," she challenges.

"Yes," Kane acquiesces, not giving in an inch. "That's exactly what you will be."

"You can't be serious," she presses, because this is too heavy a punishment for her offence.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, then scratches at the side of his beard. "Look at it this way: you will be able to get to know her and her culture better and it might help shape your vote. I know you're the only one of us who hasn't made up her mind yet," he notes with a meaningful look. And yes, he's right. Actually, her vote is pretty damn important because with the way things are it will decide the Sky People's fate altogether. "It might help you decide that being a part of the Coalition is nothing but trouble for us, or it might actually change your mind and show you that the Commander's intentions are not so bad after all. Whatever the outcome, it will have been a good experience."

Clarke knows he's right, but she can't imagine spending two weeks with the Commander and not confirming that she is indeed a bloodthirsty savage. Alas, she owes it to her people to at least try.

"Fine."

~~~~

Lexa is not unused to the bustle of early morning, the sounds of the city rousing to life outside, the doors that open and close and the voices that speak in hushed tones so as not to wake those sleeping. They often wake her anyway. What she is unused to are the boots that clank on metal, that fans that whir along the halls, and the flickering, buzzing light provided not by candles but by a hollow opening in the ceiling.

She left Anya outside of Arkadia to set up camp with the rest of her retinue. Gustus came with her, along with a handful of warriors and diplomats. Despite reason, she does not think they will be at risk inside the walls of the ally of their enemy. Besides, having Gustus by her side — or in this case, in the next room — is like having an army of twenty. Lexa trusts him with her life and that of those she loves most. There was only one time when she trusted him and he could not keep someone she loved safe. It wasn't his fault, despite the tears of guilt and regret that ran down his face when he came back, battered and bloody and without Lexa's lover. It took weeks for his wounds to heal enough for him to leave his bed. Months later, he would finally admit that it had not been ten warriors he had had to fight off, but thirty. Lexa never blamed him, never even imagined blaming him for what happened. There are only two people she has ever blamed for it — one of them is herself.

Lexa gets ready for the day in motions automated by the years. She resents Skaikru for not having proper bathtubs; she doesn't dare touch what the server girl from last night called a shower, so she foregoes washing altogether. There is a river nearby she can bathe in anyway. Once her pauldron is resting on her shoulder, its weight and looping red sash a permanent reminder of her station, Lexa leaves her bedroom, only to register with disapproval that the Sky Council did not assign anyone to guard her door. Instead she finds Gustus waiting for her, no doubt already having sent whoever he assigned to her door away. "Heda," he greets with a bow. "How was your night?"

"As would be expected," she replies, keeping her face neutral as she notices Marcus's approach. He sends her a warm smile.

"Commander." They clasp forearms with comfortable formality. "I hope you had a good night's sleep."

"The mattress was stiff. But I have spent much worse nights in foreign clans." It is both criticism and a compliment, and she knows it leaves Marcus slightly disconcerted albeit resolute to make sure her next night is better. It keeps him on his toes without outright insulting his hospitality.

"We'll look into the matter." A pause, then another smile. "In the meantime, I'm sure you would like to eat, Commander?" He waits for Lexa to nod before leading her and Gustus through numerous halls, walking by doors left and right. Lexa peers curiously as they pass by a by room lined with tables and people eating. "That's the mess hall, where almost everyone eats, but I'm sure you'd like to have a more... discreet meal, if you will. I've arranged for breakfast in my office."

"I wouldn't mind eating with your people, Marcus," she says truly as they come to a stop at a door, two staircases later. He fishes a key from his pocket and inserts it in the hole.

"Of course, Commander. But just for today, for your very first meal here, I thought you would appreciate something not as overwhelming."

"I do," she nods.

He opens the door for her and she stops into a room with a wooden desk and a mismatched chair next to the far wall. A battered couch sits against one of the walls to one side and on the other are several maps and eerily realistic paintings nailed to it. A lamp hanging from the ceiling provides light to the entire office and an open door near the couch leads them to a more open, free space. Marcus motions for Lexa to enter it and she is pleased to find a small, semicircular room with large, tall windows on the round wall that oversee Arkadia from two stories above. There is a round table in the middle with three chairs around it and several dishes waiting for Lexa's hungry stomach. Looking out the windows again, she wonders if this is a room they had up in space before the Sky People fell to the ground and if they could see the stars and the Earth from there.

"Did you live there? In space?"

Kane is now standing next to her and looking out the windows with his arms being his back, a pose that very much mirrors her own. It takes him almost a minute to reply; when he does, it is not without a sigh she cannot decipher. It sounds like nostalgia laced with relief.

"The Ark fell down about thirty years ago. I was just a kid then, twenty years old and sure that I would become someone important one day. Which I did," he acquiesces with a rueful smile, "but not for the reasons I wanted it then. The ground shaped me. I've spent more years on the ground than I did in space already. I have... changed a lot since then. I was eager, too ambitious, and too overzealous in following the rules. The ground taught me that rules need to be interpreted. I'm still eager," he chuckles, and Lexa almost lets a small smile escape her lips, "but what drives me now is love for my people. I want what's best for them, not for myself. And that," he turns his torso to her with a raised eyebrow and a kind smile, "is why I want the Sky clan to be a part of the Coalition."

"What do I have to do to make sure our common goal is achieved?" Lexa asks with caution as he turns back to the windows. She needs to tread carefully.

"Convince Clarke," Marcus says easily. It is as she thought. "Everyone else has their mind set. I have the deciding vote, but right now we are at a disadvantage. We need her yes to tie with the no's and activate the deciding quality of my vote. Otherwise, it's just a vote. Anyway." He turns to her again and extends an arm towards the table. "Shall we eat? Food's getting cold."

Lexa eats mostly in silence while Marcus tells her stories of the Ark, the stars, and their planet seen from space. She keeps her expression neutral, but is secretly fascinated and hangs on to his every word. She barely notices when she has finished eating and Marcus leads her out of the room. She is shocked out of her awe when he opens the door to his office to reveal none other than Clarke kom Skaikru.

"Commander, I'm sure you remember Clarke Griffin," Marcus says pleasantly. Lexa's eyes do not leave their new company's.

"Yes, our first meeting was... quite memorable."

Clarke has the decency to lower her gaze to the floor in a clear sign of shame. When her eyes return to Lexa's, she sees honesty in them.

"I wanted to apologize for that, Commander. I was unnecessarily rude," Clarke admits, and Lexa has to fight off a triumphant smirk. Instead, she dips her head in wordless assent. An uncomfortable silence spans for several long seconds, before Marcus clears his throat.

"So. Clarke will be your guide here, Commander. She will be at your disposal for anything you need and will help you acclimate to Arkadia. I genuinely hope that all your future interactions will be better than the first." He finishes with a warning glare at Clarke, who once again ducks her head in embarrassment. His attention shifts back to Lexa. "Commander," he nods. She nods back wordlessly and then he's off to somewhere else, leaving her alone with Clarke.

Lexa is not a fan of employing clichés, but the silence is deafening. Neither she nor Clarke know what to say or do now that Marcus is not there to act as a buffer. Eventually, Clarke clears her throat, thus ending their torture.

"I hope you enjoy your stay in Arkadia, Commander. Today, I would like to show you what each sector does around here."

~~~~

First, Clarke takes her to see the farms. Lexa is impressed with the technology they employ, some of it simple enough that the other clans can replicate. They lack the knowledge earned through years of experience, however, and Lexa can visualize how the other clans can help the Sky People complement their scientific expertise with conventional wisdom. The same would be true for hunting if her people were keen on using fire guns. Instead, it is a foregone conclusion that the Sky People have much to learn before they can hunt in an effective way that will truly allow them to live fairly comfortably through the harsher seasons.

During the day, Lexa realises that Clarke is bright and ingenious, though judgemental and opinionated. Lexa can see that the Sky Council member is making an effort, however, so she does not make her job too hard. Clarke talks her through her clan's decision-making process, some general laws and traditions, the way religion evolved on the Ark, and how the ground contributed to diminish the gap between classes.

"We all need to work to survive," Clarke explains. "Some people will always be lazy, some will work more than others, but opportunities are never amiss. If you work hard enough, life will be merciful. Or as merciful as it can be on the ground," she adds as an afterthought. Lexa takes the chance to point out that life can be easier for the Sky People if they ally with her. Clarke counters with a smirking 'maybe' and moves on.

Lexa feels a quiet sense of wonder, muted also byba slight prickle of fear and discomfort, when she first enters the medical aisle. Everything is white and pristine, and there are machines as big as Lexa that both sit the patients down in comfortable seats and lloom over them with big, mechanical arms. There are beds everywhere, an organised chaos of machines, healers, and patients. Lexa feels miserably out of place, but she can't help but marvel at how advanced the Sky People seem to be in terms of medicine. This her people can learn from.

"Raven has managed to build more equipment and make our medical aisle as effective as it can be." Clarke's husky voice provides pleasant commentary on all the technological wonders around them. "A lot of the doctors are still in training, but soon we'll have a hospital ready to answer everyone's needs."

Lexa turns to Clarke, dips her chin in a slight nod. "Our methods are more traditional. We answer many needs, but often find ourselves lacking the means to further our expertise. Our healers could learn a lot from yours," she says. Clarke turns to her with a pensive crease between her eyebrows. "And maybe they could teach your healers how to draw from nature to cure many ailments."

"That's... not such a bad idea," Clarke concedes, and a smile ghosts over pink lips, making the beauty mark above them tip upwards. "But we would have to think things through very thoroughly. That is, if we joined the Coalition."

"Of course."

Their day draws to an end when the sun has already hidden behind the walls of Arkadia and the sky is the same purple that colours its flags. Clarke explains to her that each of their cities is represented by a colour and together they form a rainbow. "I may have had a hand in that," Clarke confides, although the meaning of her sly smirk is lost on Lexa.

Clarke takes her to the door of her quarters and it is not until Lexa is about to nod her goodbye that the Sky leader clears her throat and extends her arm. Lexa's eyes take in the proffered arm, then find Clarke's gaze with a raised eyebrow. Clarke purses her lips and takes a deep breath.

"Look, I am— genuinely sorry for... for what happened yesterday. My behaviour was unacceptable."

Lexa is tempted to punish Clarke a bit further, but decides to offer an olive branch instead. She clasps Clarke's forearm and feels soft fingers wrap around her own. "You are unwaveringly protective of your people, Clarke. I can appreciate that."

Clarke's small, grateful smile is worth the concession.

~~~~

The next morning, Lexa leaves her quarters to find Marcus and Clarke waiting for her. Once all pleasantries are exchanged, the Chancellor invites her, with an eager tilt to his voice, to have the first meal in the mess hall.

Lexa accepts the invitation with polite words and Marcus takes the front of their little group of four, Gustus included. Lexa and Clarke walk side by side just a few steps behind.

"I hope you are liking your stay here, Commander," Clarke says after several seconds of silence.

Lexa gathers her thoughts before she answers carefully: "It is in many ways an experience unlike what I am used to. The sounds are different, the clothes too. There is no shortage of metal."

Clarke hums in agreement. "Technology has its pros and cons. Against it is the fact that you find yourself turning your back on your surroundings." Lexa's eyes must hold a question in them, for Clarke answers it immediately: "When everything you need is inside a wall, you end up exploring the world outside less and less."

"Maybe I can help your people find their balance."

Clarke shrugs noncommittally, but Lexa spies indecision in her eyes. It is not until some seconds later that Clarke decides to voice her thoughts.

"The problem with alliances is that they only last for so long. Eventually one clan's needs trumps the alliance's and everyone falls back into their old, warring ways."

Lexa understands Clarke's doubt; it has plagued her sleepless one too many nights. However, it is not just a matter of conviction. Lexa knows that if she manages to find a balance between codependency and independency, she can keep the Coalition alive for many ages. She wants her legacy to be enjoyed by many commanders after her.

"Clarke, I am trying to build something that will last for many generations. An alliance that will stand the test of time, a brand of peace that will outlive all of us," she says, unable to keep a thread of passion from her voice. "Something much stronger than the Pauna's fist and far greater than a hero's glory. War breeds legends, peace feeds civilisations."

Clarke's smile is teasing, but Lexa recognises it for the deflection that it is. "Nice speech, Commander."

She shrugs and lets her eyes glint with mirth. "I am not above making rousing speeches to sway your vote, Clarke."

~~~~

(there was more but it was incomplete so I figured this would be the best place to cut)

[ladynightmare913]

Secrets of the Darkened Seas

Welcome to chapter 8! 

Just a small reminder that the next chapter will be posted on Olivia’s blog! I would like to say a special thank you to my best friend and co-author Olivia ( @asunshinepuff​​ ) for inviting me to work on this story with her. As you may have noticed, we have decided to change on how we release the chapters of our story. We will be alternating from my blog to @asunshinepuff​​‘s blog. 

As always, a reminder that there is some lore included within this, however, it will be explained over time so no worries. There are very subtle mentions of lore within the previous chapters so perhaps read back and see if you can catch it.

Under the guide of Fantastic Nautical Creatures by Newt Scamander, the included lore on different types of merfolk will as always, be taken from the book “The Secret World of Mermaids” by Francine Rose. We will not take credit for its writing. The different types of mermaids will be explained later so don’t worry. We have also taken the liberty of creating some of own original types of merfolk.

These chapters contain many original characters created by Olivia and myself. All credit for our creations goes to each other for our respective characters because we have both worked so hard to bring these character to life and I would never dare to take credit for any of Olivia’s characters. 

Now without further adieu!

Chapter 8: Captain Hua

“At least not completely human,” Brielle thought over. Remus bolted from his seat, rushing out the door. The children startled awake. 

“What happen?” A very sleepy Tadase asked softly. Rubbing his eyes awake, his hair flying in different directions. Brielle sighed as Regulus demanded another song. She shook her head slowly.

Remus marched up to the captain’s quarters, raising his hand to knock on the door but it opened before he could. 

“Stomp any louder I’d think you were a troll with a stone for a head.” The voice of Captain Hua stopped Remus in his tracks. 

All of the adrenaline seemed to have left Remus as he looked up to the captain who only had a raised brow. Remus cleared his throat, “I wish to speak to you.” 

Min-Jun back away from the door, leading Remus into his quarters. Walking to a large wooden desk that was littered with maps and charts. Min-Jun sifted through the papers quickly. “I was charting our course to the Asian Sea.” 

Remus nodded, “Yes, I know. Brielle spoke to me about it.” 

Min-Jun nodded slowly, “Though I take it that it was a brief conversation given your current state.” He looked over Remus’ frame in amusement. “I know what you want to ask, so ask it. I cannot give you an answer if you don’t ask.” 

Remus frowned lightly. Had Quinn gone behind his back and told Min-Jun what he had been doing? Was it Opal? Min-Jun didn’t look surprised for the most part. So perhaps Min-Jun was assuming Remus had another question all together. Remus took a breath before he decided to take a seat in front of  Min-Jun’s desk. The captain himself had taken a seat, he looked completely relaxed. 

“Brielle’s song didn’t affect you.” Remus started. 

“That is not a question, rather a fact Remus.” Min-Jun gave a hint of a smile. It unnerved Remus a bit.  

“Why, did her song not affect you?” Remus finally asked. 

Min-Jun huffed a silent laugh. His gaze only showed the familiar warmth that Remus had grown under. “Remus, it was never my intention to have a secret. One kept from you especially. You just never seemed to notice.”   

Remus relaxed, the Captain seemed sincere. And as blunt and cold Min-Jun was, he had never once doubted the sincerity in his words whenever he spoke. Min-Jun smiled once more, rising from his seat he walked over to the small library to his left. “Tell me Remus, what do you know about the Ballad of Mulan?” 

Remus thought over the name. “I have never heard of it. Why?”

Min-Jun simply pulled out a gold scroll that Remus had seen before over the years. It had the engraving of the dragon emblem on the gold metal. “Mulan was a fierce warrior, she stole her father’s armor, impersonated as a soldier, fought in a war,” Min-Jun turned to Remus, holding out the scroll, “and her name was Hua.” 

Accepting the scroll, Remus stared at the captain in slow comprehension. “Your name… is Hua.” The captain nodded. 

“She lived nearly 3,000 years ago. I am her descendant.” 

Remus gawked at him, leaning into his seat. Min-Jun continued. 

“Once Mulan returned from the war with the blessing of the Emperor of China, to her father. Later she bore three children, the first born was a male. All bearing her name, and her descendants later form the Hua Clan. I am from her bloodline.” 

Remus opened the scroll, inside were chinese characters, and the portrait of an asian on horseback weilding a sword. Remus traced the words gently. “But that doesn’t explain why the song had no affect on you.”  

Min-Jun nodded his head. “Within the Hua Clan, there is a legend.” 

“A legend?” 

“Yes, that Hua Mulan was the daughter of a great war hero, and of a Phoenix.”  

Remus’ jaw dropped. Min-Jun chuckled. 

“Newt had the same expression.” 

“She was the daughter of a phoenix?!” 

“Yes, raised alongside her father’s human wife and half sister. The legend also states that she married a man, who was secretly a dragon.” 

Remus fell off his chair. 

“Are you sure you have no correlation with Newt?” The captain’s brow raised in amusement. He carried on. “It was just thought to have been a legend, but when Mulan’s descendants took to the seas, they found themselves to be immune to many things, including the song of a mermaid. The dragon emblem on our flag is the emblem of the Hua Clan.” Min-Jun helped Remus up. “It’s probably why the kraken stayed away from our ship for so long.” He mused. “I haven’t been tempted to test that theory.”   

“That sounds wise.” Remus laughed awkwardly. 

“Yes I thought so.” 

Remus sat back down, looking down at the scroll, the symbol of what Remus now was the Hua Clan Emblem. “And your swords?” 

Min-Jun smirked. “Perhaps that story should be explained for a later time. I’m sure you have much to think over.”  

Remus nodded slowly, not really paying attention. Min-Jun helped Remus out of his quarters, who couldn’t seem to process Quinn grinning at him. Or Quinn slapping a hand to his back. 

“You alright there Remus?” Quinn smirked knowingly at Min-Jun. 

Remus slowly looked over to Quinn. “Why are you so calm about this?” 

Quinn shrugged. “We grew up together. I just grew up knowing that Min-Jun was from-” He paused, looking to the Captain, “Did you tell him the other part?” 

The captain shook his head. Quinn nodded in understanding. “Makes sense, the lad probably might burst with just how much he still has to learn about the world beyond the sea.” 

Min-Jun smiled before his eyes narrowed, turning his head slightly. He stared at the back of the cabin for a moment before he looked at Remus. “Sirius is awake. Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.” 

“ You’re not worried about him hurting anyone else?” 

Min-Jun smirked. “With you keeping watch? He’d sooner turn to ash before he even thought of pulling another stunt like earlier today.” 

Remus smirked in return, watching Min-Jun and Quinn depart. Min-Jun being the son of a dragon, actually made things make more sense. How he always seemed to know when a storm was coming and how he moved so silently. It was no wonder how the captain gained the name White Sea Serpent. Shaking his head, Remus walked into the infirmary, opening the door, he nearly groaned at the sight before him. 

There was Sirius, laying on the ground. Glaring at him. Remus only raised a brow. How bold of him to glare at him with murderous intent when he was bound. 

Tag List: Let me know if you wish to be added!

@spookypotato @whataboutmyfries @sunflowerfox87 @wonder-womans-ex @violetatapiamills 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

"Nee~ Leona-san~!" Ruggie peeked inside Leona's room, hoping to swipe some money for the groceries when instead he spied upon a small story. Flicking through it, he grinned with a mischevious glint in his eye before snickering. "A bedtime story huh? Seems someone really was bored here. I'm sure she won't mind me sharing it with the others, she left it out in the open after all~ Nishishishi" - 💀 anon (i hope that'll do for a prompt! I don't know how to send in character interaction asks well but I thought it'd be a fun idea if Ruggie got his hands on the Magus and Knight story)

If you know Granblue Fantasy, you’ll see the strong Gawain and Lennah parallels.

The Flower Magus and the Scorned Knight

{A tale by Raven Crowley}

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away...

There was a gifted young magus that ate a forbidden fruit. The fruit, born from a parasitic tree, cursed the girl to become a tree herself with time. Her skin would become bark, and her hair and the tips of her fingers would sprout leaves.

The only thing that slowed the acceleration of the curse was casting her own magic, which left trails of flowers wherever she went. And so, the ‘Flower Magus’ embarked on a journey to spread her gift throughout the land with what life she had remaining.

A few countries over, a young knight had also been inflicted with a curse. A hero of war, his cruelty and hubris earned him the resentment of many. He was punished for his sins—cursed to wear his blood-stained armor until he could atone through kind acts.

The cursed warrior had made many enemies that wished for his death—so the ‘Scorned Knight’ fled from his home country, seeking safety, shelter... and, most importantly, to find a means of lifting his curse.

Several years later, the Flower Magus and the Scorned Knight crossed paths in a humble little village.

A brawl had broken out on the street, and the Scorned Knight was in the center of it all.

“Give me your coin and your fancy armor,” a ruffian demanded, brandishing a dagger.

“I think not. A welp such as yourself should be thankful that I am even granting you a second of my time.”

“What’dya just call me?!”

“Ah, perhaps my vocabulary is too advanced for your understanding. Allow me to put it in layman’s terms then.”

“Wha--”

“You are ‘a scrub’--and if you wish to take my belongings, then you had best ‘come at me’ with all your might, weakling.”

“YOU--” The ruffian flew into a frenzy. “I’ll slice up your pretty face!!”

“Gentlemen.” The Flower Magus, who had been strolling down the street, interjected. “You are disturbing the peace of this quaint village. Please calm yourselves.”

“Never!” Both men declared stubbornly.

“Then maybe some flowers will soothe your souls,” the Flower Magus suggested, waving her staff.

Immediately, a sea of flowers erupted from the ground, swamping over both brawlers. Blossoms crept up their feet, cascaded across their skin, and reached for their mouths--

“S-STOP...!! S-STOP, I’LL CHOKE--” The ruffian begged, petals already pushing at his lips.

“You will stop fighting.” The Flower Magus stated--not suggested--with a smile.

“Y-Yes...!! I-I’m sorry!”

At once, the flowers fell away and vanished. The ruffian, relieved, bowed his head and scrambled away.

“I could have taken him,” the Scorned Knight insisted. “I did not need your assistance.”

“I think that you did,” the Flower Magus said sweetly. “I can sense that there is much turmoil in your heart.”

“I think you are mistaken.” The Scorned Knight scoffed and began to walk away--only to slam into a wall of flowers.

“Take a stroll with me,” the Flower Magus advised. “Let us speak, heart to heart. I want to hear your story, of what ails you and causes you to lash out.”

“Do not strangle me with your accursed flowers, and you have a deal.”

“You have your deal.”

And together, they made their way through the village, making several stops. The Flower Magus materialized her magical blooms, passing them out to whoever looked downtrodden. She left a path of flowers wherever she walked.

The Scorned Knight grimaced. “Why do you waste your magical abilities on such fruitless pursuits?”

“Bringing joy to others is never fruitless,” replied the Flower Magus.

“With talent like yours, you could fell entire armies, conquer whole kingdoms, like I have.”

“A veteran, are you?” She laughed lightly, not a hint of malice in her. “Then, Sir Knight, perhaps you will take pity on this poor, unfortunate soul.”

“You see, Sir Knight, I have been blighted with a curse. Soon, I shall be nothing more than bark and leaves--and when I am gone from this world, I ask of you, as a protector of the innocent, to see that this world continues to see nothing more than peace and prosperity, not bloodshed.”

The Flower Magus produced a daisy from thin air and, with a giggle, tucked it behind the Scorned Knight’s ear.

“Cursed woman, you have accepted your fate,” he realized. “What a fool you are. I, too, bear a curse, and I’d be damned if I let it consume me. I am in search of a means to rescue myself, for I have no allies, no friends to call my own.”

“So you fight against the world,” the Flower Magus mused. “That, too, is a valid feeling--but what a lonely existence you must have, Sir Knight.”

“I do only what is necessary.”

“Would you save a child if they were in danger?”

He scowled, but confessed, “I would, because it contributes to lifting my curse. ‘Be kind, and do good’ is the condition that must be fulfilled.”

“Small steps--you are taking small steps toward cultivating that kindness, and spreading happiness like I have.”

She looked to the sky.

“You and I are not so different when stripped down to our bare bones,” said the Flower Magus. “We cry the same tears and we shed the same blood.”

“You live in the light, and I stir in the shadows,” countered the Scorned Knight. “We are as different as night and day.”

“And yet one cannot exist without the other. That is a testament to the importance of both.”

“You lack sense. It is I that is able to be cured of the curse that burdens me—yet why am I more miserable than you, one who is doomed no matter how much she struggles against her fate?”

“What sense is there to have sense? Lacking sense is nonsensical, but that is the very essence of life itself.”

“You are a strange person.”

“You are as well, Sir Knight.”

They came to a stop at the end of the road.

“Still, I do not think that you are terribly bad. Misunderstood, perhaps--but not bad.” The Flower Magus reached into the air, forming a fist, and brought her hand to the knight’s. “Like a seedling, you remain dormant, waiting for the day when you may be able to be kissed by the sun and the sky. You are a bud yet to fully blossom.”

“You have a chance--to grow, and to nurture, that budding kindness of yours.” She pressed something into his hand--a seed, small but strong. “Never forget that, Sir Knight.”

A strong wind kicked up, bringing with it stray petals. In a flurry of flowers, the Flower Magus was no more. Where she once stood was a tree in full bloom.

The Scorned Knight gazed upon the flowering tree—upon the Flower Magus.

His heart trembled.

And he wept.

[mommymooze]

Post Timeskip Hugs from the Resident Hugmeister. Golden Deer Hugstravaganza

Comrades in arms. Friends til the end. Bestest best friends that ever friended. The Golden Deer are a strange bunch. They did not know each other before coming here. All from different backgrounds, different experiences leading them all to the same place, it is like destiny calls them together. At first it is a bumpy road, the bumps bringing them closer together as a team. They grow up together over the year having classes together. Learning to fight, learning to kill, figuring out how to survive and cope with the sadness that fighting and now war brings.

The reunion is fun except for the fighting. Cleanup keeps everyone’s hands and minds busy. Once things settle down a bit and everyone settles into a routine, that’s when reality hits everyone. Instead of learning and classes, it is now war council meetings and practicing to become stronger. No more pranks or kidding around. Everything is serious, the situation dire. When did the norm become walking past someone hiding in a corner crying to themselves? The only laughter one can recall is from the enemy attackers, laughing at you in your nightmares.

You find Hilda alone in the Golden Deer classroom, sitting in front of the low fire, her arms pulling her knees close to her chest.

“Hey Hils.” You greet her then sit down next to her. “You look like some company would do you good.”

“I never wanted any of this war. It is so scary and terrifying. I had to beg my brother to let me come and still had to sneak out when it was time. “

“I’m glad you came”, you begin. “We need you. The Deer would not be the same without you. Claude would be a wreck without you, you’re his right hand gal!”

“True, Claude can’t function without me.” Her lips turn up at the corner a bit.

“And who else can design battle armor that is also fashionably fantastic?”

“Only me.” Her smile gets a bit bigger

“And when you completely decimate the enemy, whose battle cry inspires us to go on toward the win?” You grin at her, rubbing her back.

“Hilda! Hilda!” she says giggling.

“That’s my gal!” you grin holding your arms wide open to give her a hearty strong hug.

You stroll along the monastery grounds and run in to Lorenz looking over the rose bushes.

“Sir Lorenz.” You call out as you bow towards him.

“Hmpf.” He sniffs.

“Come on, let’s have a cup of tea and a chat. There is nothing like a steaming hot cup of Bergamot to bring an air of calm to a stressful day.”

“Finally, someone understands the importance of tea!” Lorenz huffs.

You both head to the kitchens and work together to prepare the tea. Using a basic tea service, the presentation is quite lackluster, however the tea smells quite delicious.

“I understand your father gave you a difficult time before you joined us. Let me personally thank you for your strong beliefs and determination in joining us.” You nod, raising your teacup toward him as a salute.

Lorenz frowns. “My father is a competent leader and has managed the territory well, however when it comes to the support of the alliance and the war, that is where our opinions differ. “

“I am happy that you have become your own man.” You begin. “We do need your opinions. Claude may at times think of you as a thorn in his side, but he needs you. We must think of all ways to solve the many problems this war brings. You have great knowledge and don’t shy away from bringing up contrary points. Claude may not say it, but he does appreciate it.”

Lorenz visibly flusters. “I am taken aback. I thought you all felt I was purely a nuisance.”

“No. You may be prickly, or lets say as thorny as your favorite roses, but there is also much beauty and other things to be gained when you get past the thorns.”

You are both smiling warmly as you drain your teacups.

Standing before him, you request a hug and he is eager to accommodate you. You hold him until he gives a pleasant sigh.

As you walk past the training grounds you hear battle cries that definitely sound like Raphael. You walk in and wait for him to finish working out.

“Hi Raph. How are you doing.” You ask

“Pretty good. After being apart for five years you would think it would take longer to get used to it but I’m right back into the thick of fighting again. I did keep busy fighting bandits at home, so I kept my muscles growing.” He proudly displays a few muscles for your review.

“You sure have. Isn’t it hard leaving your little sister behind?” You ask.

“Funny you should say that but before I knew it, she grew up right before my eyes!” Raph muses. “She’s quite the young lady now. I think she nearly pushed me out the door when it was time to go. She said something about my being a good big brother but making it hard for her to date. I mean, I didn’t do anything. I just wanted to meet the guys and see if they were strong. Hah.”

You grin at the huge muscled man. “Raphael, you are so amazing! Never change.” You walk up to him and give him a bear hug, he hugs you back until you tap him on the shoulder, then he lets go so you can breathe again.

In the stables Marianne is tending to Dorte. You call out greetings before slowly entering the room. The woman is not nearly as shy as she had been in the past. Sitting on a pile of straw you watch her for a bit.

“Marianne, I am so happy that you are here with us again.” You smile.

The soft spoken woman returns the smile. “I am happy to be here. I cannot imagine abandoning my friends after all they have done for me.“

“I feel the same.” You nod “You worked so hard keeping us alive. Can I give you a hug to show how grateful I am that you’re here?”

“Of course.” She answers softly.

Her hug may be soft and gentle, but it is filled with a warmth that fills you with happiness.

Leonie is in the kitchen cooking up a big pot of stew. Just as she puts down the ladle, you have snuck up from behind her and grab her around the waist.

“Sneak hugs!!” You call out as she gasps then laughs.

“You’re lucky I didn’t smack you with the ladle.” The redhead grins.

“Why’d you think I waited til you put it down to attack? I know you are fierce in battle.” You chuckle.

Heading out through the dining hall you wander by the dorms. You notice a bit of light coming from Ignatz’ room.

“Knock Knock!” You say as you knock on his door.

“Oh, come in! I was just cleaning.” The talented young man is organizing his paints and brushes.

“May I interrupt you for a hug, perchance?” You grin peeking into his room.

“Of course! I always have time for those!” he chirps happily, holding his arms wide open. You dive into them, giving him a warm squishy hug that spins him half around, making you both chuckle. Waving goodbye, you head for your next recipient.

Claude is lying on his back on the porch, his feet towards the Professor’s door as he looks out into the stars twinkling in the sky. Byleth sits on the edge of the porch with her feet hanging off. As you walk up they both greet you.

“What’s up? It is starting to get late.” Byleth mentions.

“Does there have to be anything going on for me to hand out a few hugs to my favorite leaders?” You grin happily. “I must keep your comfort and reassurance levels as high as everyone else.”

Byleth already has her arms spread wide open for her hug which you gently weave yourself into giving her warm hugs and a gentle “mmmm” as you nuzzle your nose into her neck. Once you know for certain she has relaxed a bit you slowly loose your grip on her.

“Your turn, Claude.” You say to your fearless leader, yet he still lies on his back looking up at you.

“Too late, I’ve already turned into soup. I’m just a puddle on the walkway.” Claude grins.

You walk up to him, picking up his arm, as soon as you let go, it falls back onto his body then slides to the wooden planks.

“Did you hear the splash? I’m soup.” He smirks.

You put the back of your hand to your forehead in mock sorrow. “Whatever shall I do? My leader has withered away and is now soup. Ahh, I may have an idea…a good thing to go with soup is bread. I can dip it in the soup and not lose a drop!” You snicker as you sit on his stomach, holding him down while you first poke him like you are dipping bread in his chest, then you start tickling him.

Claude struggles to sit up and knock you off of him. “Hey! Wait! No fair. How am I to know that soup is ticklish. Get off!” He hollers and laughs as you two roll along the porch, only stopping when he nearly falls off. You both can hear Byleth giggling watching you two idiots roll around.

“I knew that the tickle spell would make Claude congeal back into himself. Now give me my hug you brat!” You laugh and pull him in for a mighty squishing hug as he laughs. It’s good to bring a smile or a laugh to your bestest friends.