#oc: delethil aismere

[soartfullydone]

You and big fat papa Argenti, then. Delethil and Cobalt. And I want to hear about the new pirate ot3 you've joined unwillingly, if possible

grumble grumble grumble

(I've been batting around creating a more Sharte-sounding name, so let's test run an idea.)

Bastion is the one that introduces Arsynic to William Argenti, Sr. The meeting was more happenstance than planned, a touchpoint about any potentially interesting rumors in Durlyne. It wasn't supposed to mean anything or become anything. Bastion wanted to get this Sharte-disguised-as-a-Jet away from intent scrutiny as quickly as possible.

But Arsynic likes the look of this distinguished lord, with his brown skin, long silver hair, and striking blue eyes. She likes how he holds himself with a cane, refusing to bow even with age and gravity itself exerting their forces onto him. Most of all, she likes how rich he looks, like he's a man who still has plenty to lose.

Since Bastion prefers to travel via Offsetting, he leaves Syn behind more often than not, and it's not like she's going to stay put. After probing Bastion for information and poking around, Syn finds the Argenti manor. She scopes it out, learns the routine of the staff, notes Argenti’s comings and goings, notices the unhappy blond soldier who visits every now and then. She sees the gentleman Argenti’s wife entertains in his absence.

So she thinks she’s armed with plenty of blackmail by the time she steals inside. Bastion believes she’s been chasing down leads on Beadman’s shipment of first silver the pair of them lost, and sure, she’ll get to that. But this country moves so slow compared to Sharteshane. What’s a little detour?

It’s likely only her pymary knowledge and new face that saves her. Argenti, Sr. is a career soldier and politician. He knows the limitations posed by his aging body and doesn’t hesitate to take her down. He won’t be blackmailed (and nothing she has on him is unknown to him or a threat).

As an assassin, Syn is competent in Sharteshane but abysmal compared to those trained in Alderode. Her pymaric signature isn’t even masked, as it’s a process she hasn’t been able to afford. Argenti knew she wasn’t a Jet when they met, but whether she was a Gold or something else, he wasn’t certain until he heard her speak.

Which means she’s utterly expendable. The only protection she had was being at Bastion’s side. Without it, she spills why Bastion is traveling with a Sharte to begin with, and Argenti sees opportunity.

He wants a reason to remain politically relevant in Alderode. He wants to rage at how much is left for him to accomplish and how little time he has left. Bastion would no doubt use Beadman’s silver for frivolous ends, but Argenti could use it to topple his enemies, to be the savior the Ssaelit need.

Argenti blackmails Syn. Every lead she has on the silver in exchange for her life. Misleading Bastion on any new findings in exchange for not torturing her in the town square. He could call the Lions down on her at any time. He could make it impossible for her to survive in Alderode, which was already a tall order. There’s no choice but to accept.

But Argenti doesn’t miss the way Syn looks at him. The appreciative interest, which only grows sharper as he bests her. It disgusts him, at first. Shartes are filthy creatures, and women who can lethally cast and stab others are worse than shameful. But Syn looks fetching as a Jet. She is young and supple and near hanging on his every word with fascinated intent. Argenti craves regard, craves relevance, craves the due respect he deserves. So what if his wife defiles their marriage and spreads her legs for a parade of men? He takes a Sharte murderess to his bed even once, and it proves what he’s known all along, that his whore wife is worth less than salt air and sea brine.

After all, there’s nothing more alluring than the forbidden.

———

Delethil and Cobalt, oh boy.

Two men approaching their immortal lives very differently. Aside from the use of tools and thralls, Cobalt works alone, without camaraderie or confidant. He's seeking to end the world and enjoy himself thoroughly along the way.

Delethil, meanwhile, forges relationships with enough of his fellow wood elves that last decades, commiserating often with them over a bottle of ale. He has to, to get this revolution to truly work. Even if his men only know him on the surface level, he's learned much of their private lives. He knows what drives them and what will motivate them to act when the time comes. Throughout it all, he still has Eravin.

Cobalt has seen would-be revolutionaries before. He's seen idealists before. He's seen endless self-serving politicians. But it's kind of funny, to see all of those traits tangled up inside a fellow smirking, conniving immortal. He knows the bargain the Minister of Engineering extended to the moon elves (after all, it was his idea) and is delighted when Delethil secures the weapons for his side instead. Cobalt wanted to distract Aeranth with oppression, with keeping a tight grip on itself. Now, he gets a potential civil war and an untested new government? My, my, you shouldn't have~

The vampire lord was already going to interfere. Delethil's takeover shouldn't be too easy (and it won't matter in the end, anyway). But Cobalt is impressed, learning Delethil manipulated a member of his favorite adventuring party to see it done. The rose-haired elf can't quite disguise the turmoil of her thoughts, how much Delethil's lies have shaken her faith in him and broken her heart, how worried she is for her home. Cobalt still sends Zaresh to assassinate the remaining Circle members, but he starts making thralls of Del's people, too. A web of betrayal to make Delethil increasingly paranoid and unable to trust those he thought he could.

Of course, Cobalt appears in Lunhaven to congratulate Delethil for his success. He's a man who enjoys seeing what his investment has secured, after all, and he respects the appetites of a hungry man. Del wasn't born yesterday, however; he knows a snake when he sees one and Cobalt doesn't do much to hide what he is. Fortunately, Cobalt makes the right play to put a chink in Del's armor. He mentions how Riven took the truth behind the trade for Aya's Touch.

And Del's expression turns starved. Because he knows from her letter how she reacted and has heard nothing since. She hasn't come home. She's seemed to have forgotten him entirely. And it pisses him off. He's plagued with thoughts about Riven and Eravin conspiring against him. He wants to see her. He wants all of this to work the way it was supposed to.

So, wondering if he can drive Del mad with it, Cobalt offers a temporary panacea: all the memories and insights he has on that cheeky rosé elf. All Delethil has to do to see what Cobalt has is to let Cobalt drink from him.

And let me tell you, that's the only way outside of a fight that a lvl 6 Delethil willingly allows a ??? lvl vampire lord to bite him.

Also something something Circle members start being murdered something something one of Del's own tries to assassinate him something something Del pushes Eravin away despite how worried the latter is because Del's suspicion is growing worse by the day something something Cobalt offering the only reprieve Del wants with visions of Riven that are increasingly fabricated

———

Unless I can come up with some plausible AU that is pre-Treasure Island, then we're assuming that all that happened, plus Mel being delivered back to her father, plus the wedding that Silver crashed, stealing the bride-to-be.

For a time, Mel is content sailing with Silver aboard his ship. Silver doesn't give her the position of first mate, and she doesn't ask for it. She learns the difference between manning a ship like a navy sailor and manning it as a pirate, much of it a difference of social etiquette.

But eventually, despite all she learns about sailing and herself at his side, despite their mutual attraction, it's not enough. Mel's ambition is to be her own captain, commanding her own crew, sailing where she wishes at the whim of no one else. One day, they dock at the Republic of Pirates, and she never comes back.

Silver waits, but only as a courtesy before setting sail without her. It cuts, but he knows her restless heart, knows she won't truly be satisfied until she tests her ambitions, and even then, satisfaction will be fleeting. In that way, they are far too similar.

It's in her absence that Silver meets Izzy, that he actively seduces him away from Blackbeard to serve as his first mate. It's a hard-won fight because Izzy is so singularly loyal. Silver basks in the victory, as confident in it as he is that Izzy's newfound loyalty in him is genuine. Amazing, what genuine praise can do for a man. A shame it hadn't been enough to keep Mel; together, the three of them could've been unstoppable.

Izzy, of course, isn't blind to the ambition in Silver. He knows he sails with a shark out of water. But Silver leads his crew with the confidence, discipline, and sense of adventure that had slowly leeched away from Blackbeard's ship. Silver is a man to follow, with a vision that instills belief in the crew and a genuine love for pirating. If he should sell any of them out, well, Izzy can deal with that, so long as he remains invaluable to the wily cook.

So Izzy understandably hates it when Silver commands their ship to interfere with a British man-of-war attacking another pirate vessel, but he follows orders. He doesn't question Silver in front of the crew when they fish a raging, spitting, injured hellcat out of the water, not when they need to make their own escape.

But he does ask, later and point-blank, what they're doing with a navy brat on board the ship if not to ransom her. Is consternated when Silver only laughs and admits he's tried that already and paid for it. Is confused when the woman hops to the schedule of the ship like she's familiar with it and is every inch the biting bastard when she ignores his orders as first mate and only seems to answer to Silver.

Mel, much the same way, is wondering who the hell Izzy is and what he's doing here. How is a man so short getting by with so much authority?

It becomes a game of competency. Who can anticipate Silver's, I mean, the ship's needs the most? Who can complete their tasks better and quicker than the other? Who can garner the most favor with the crew? Who does Silver appreciate more?

Meanwhile, Silver attempts to woo Mel back permanently. She's just lost her ship and her crew. She has nothing left but disgrace. And maybe it's partly a trap. Maybe he's bitter and jealous that she found something seemingly better than what he had offered her and wants to demonstrate how wrong she was. If he found what could tempt Izzy Hands to his side, he could do the same here.

Izzy could bite through a plank when Silver tempts her with co-captainship. This little strumpet isn't his captain, and doesn't get to strut around pretending anymore than she already does. And sure, Mel considers it, but she wisely asks, "And if we should give contradicting orders? Won't the ones Mr. Hand's and the crew follow prove who the real captain is?"

As amused as Silver is by the whole thing, there's clear distrust and tension between Mel and Izzy for a long time. Neither of them appreciates Silver's "bonding" methods with the pair of them. They both dislike yet begrudgingly respect how competent the other is, but Mel often feels disadvantaged compared to Izzy's experience. It's both grating and alluring how commanding he is, so of course, she tests his patience whenever she can. Meanwhile, Izzy is aware that he is a surly ball of piss shaped like a man and Mel might as well be a bloody siren, the way Silver fawns over her. What are they?

It's Silver who learns that Mel's father is the one who obliterated her ship and her crew. Her father, who Mel managed to get right where she wanted yet couldn't find the will to kill him, despite her hatred, despite her anger. All she had was a moment, and she lost it to hesitation, a weakness her father didn't have when he stabbed her. All she can take solace in is what he lost due to Silver's attack. She tells him she hopes he left a mark on her father the way Blackbeard once did, the scar still so prominent it had almost been a deathblow. She hopes she runs into Blackbeard again, to thank him, to perhaps learn something from another pirate legend she admires.

Silver casually asks Izzy later about Blackbeard's encounter with a certain English admiral. "Where the fook did ya hear that?" Izzy says. "Ed was doin' fuck-all belowdeck. That was me."

[soartfullydone]

Adding onto this because hehehehehe

I can’t fully speak to how Eravin would react to Vaela’s history and such. What I can speak to is how Confused Riven would be at hearing Vaela disparage her own looks. Riven thinks Vaela is so gorgeous!! Zaresh is lucky she gave him the time of day!! To Riven, Vaela is the Gold Standard of what a fine wood elf lass should be. The hair, the eyes, she’s got the perfect color palette. Sure, she doesn’t have the accent, but that’s so transferrable. Just stick around a while. She’ll get it. Vaela can also drink for days apparently and be as loud as a wood elf should! Vaela’s not backing down!! (That’s also why she thinks Vaela may have better luck addressing her issues with Zaresh if she’s around a bunch of wood elves. Eravin hasn’t occurred to Riven as a possibility because of everything going on, but eventually, Vaela’s gonna realize that she can tell a lad to fuck off and he will! And nothing bad will happen to her!) 

If Riven and Del weren’t a thing and she’d gotten even the slightest hint that Vaela wasn’t straight, Riven would want to take her out on a date. Especially in Aeranth. There are so many beautiful nature spots, both out in the open and hidden away. And sure, Vaela would have to pop a squat in the woods, but!! She could be wooed by someone whose only agenda is showing her a good time. And by someone who thinks her own looks are wasted on her because she’s goofy as hell.

In regards to rangers and rogues working well together, you’re absolutely right. In fact, Del is used to working with a ranger due to Eravin, so he’d adjust to Vaela no problem and have someone prettier to look at besides. But Eravin and Vaela both being rangers is so intriguing because they can talk about their craft together. Vaela is a higher level than Eravin is now, so he’d appreciate her form and wouldn’t shy away from learning from her if it ever came up. He’d also try to impress her without ever telling her that’s what he was doing because he’d die if she knew, see? For new bows he makes, he might start letting Vaela test them first and offer feedback before he goes to Del and Riv for it. She’ll understand what he’s after on a deeper level than his two rogue friends, who just want to shoot good.

And no worries, friend! Vaela’s snobbery and vanity wouldn’t turn Del off at all! In fact, he’d be well used to it, has experienced worse, and would just enjoy using it to rile her up. It certainly didn’t stop him from trying to flirt with Zaresh, did it? “Oh, a wood elf snob! They’re mixing it up on me! Ah, but damn my eyes, he’s a gorgeous sight.”

You see, Del is also vain, so he gets that part. As for snobbishness, well, Del has always had a particular weakness for moon elves even before Riven. Imagine, these refined folk deigning to “sink” to his level after a few rounds of flirtations. A pretty noble falling for a lowly guard and choosing to risk it all, think of the passion! It’s the stuff of bodice rippers. He likely wound up working at Erosen’s estate because there was already a trail behind him of heartbroken moon elves in other households. And y’know, blackmail. Trifles. 

What would be interesting is how much of this Vaela would know in the Drow!AU. Is she privy to his revolutionary plans? Would she know how much of a slut he is and would’ve sworn off him? Or did they have a pleasant one-night stand, no strings attached, and somehow came off of it as friends? Is Vaela friends with Eravin, and is Delethil simultaneously jealous of that fact going both ways? Such multitudes we can play with!

Vaela and Eravin~ And for my own personal amusement and to hurt my feelings, Vaela and Delethil 3:)

Oh, how I hate you.

This one ALSO got long. Goddamnit.

Keep reading

[soartfullydone]

we are so back baby

[soartfullydone]

because this would be funny: Delethil and Zaresh

Sure, Zaresh presents as a pretty wood elf with an exotic tattoo, but Delethil only flirts with Zaresh to make Eravin jealous.

Delethil flirting with other people has been almost the entirety of Eravin's adult life, so he doesn't notice.

Zaresh, of course, is affronted and disgusted that this uncouth elf thinks he would stoop so low. Clearly, this is a relationship that will persevere.

Delethil honestly thinks it's funny that Zaresh reacts so aversely to him. Even if he tries to hide it, Del can read people. He knows what that jaw clench means; what those flared nostrils indicate; what those narrowed, murderous eyes represent. Either Zaresh doesn't like him, or he suffers from fantasy homophobia—so sad for him! Naturally, Del makes it a point to flirt with him whenever appropriate, if just to make him uncomfortable.

The problem is that Del flirts with other people, too, or they wind up taking his natural charm as flirting. This happens in between bouts of him missing Riven and Eravin, and being pissed at them both. He's feeling petty over their seeming divide, but he's determined to win them both over, so he can't let himself get rusty.

And it burns Zaresh that this arrogant wretch can flirt with him and then just... pass him over for the next bint or wastrel who wanders into the room. Zaresh is easily the most attractive person here! What isn't wrong with Delethil?

Well, I'll tell ya what's right and what Zaresh can't help but notice and hate. Delethil is a cunning enough man to not only have won a country but also to have a host of people following his orders to the letter. Zaresh may be a loner, but to have that kind of power, to command people like servants and slaves, well, he wouldn't say no to it.

Unfortunately, victory has made Delethil complacent and swaggering. The hard part is over; all he has left to do is to convince the moon elf lass he loves and desires to be his queen. Zaresh knows and cares about none of this. If he can't be in Del's position, he would much prefer to rip him from his pedestal, salt and burn his fields, and dance over the ashes.

So the next time Delethil flirts with him, Zaresh flirts back, his finest performance yet. Delethil doesn't magically forget how cold Zaresh was to him in the past, but he is sharply intrigued. Now what changed his mind? Did he finally pull the stick out his arse and discover he liked the sensation? Well, it wouldn't hurt to see where this goes...

I don't think it ever gets sexually physical between them, though. Delethil has too much to do in propping up his castle of sand, and Zaresh is supposed to be murdering people, which he gets to presently. But if Zaresh flirted back, I think that would make Delethil note his comings and goings more. Put him on the radar, so to speak.

Zaresh's plan was to lure Delethil to his newly-acquired home/dungeon on the pretense of sex but with the reality of prolonged torture. He doesn't get the chance, though. Delethil catches him in the act of murdering one of the few remaining Circle members, laments that the murderer was "the pretty one" as he did in the campaign, and attacks. He expects for a few of his people to come running and that they'll make short work of this. He doesn't know that Zaresh already drugged them and they won't be waking up anytime soon, no matter how loud the screams are.

So Zaresh does get some of the torture he was after. It's still in a cell, but he only has until first light, and the rest of the Circle members still need killing. Or not. Maybe putting this crude wood elf in his place, destroying him, is the final pleasure Aeranth can give him. He can find Vaela another way.

Strung up to the ceiling in chains, Delethil proves entertaining and irritating in equal measure. He struggles not to cry out when Zaresh skins parts of him, but cutting him only elicits amused laughter and insults. "Aw, lad, is this your first time?" Delethil screams appropriately when Zaresh sinks his dagger in to the hilt.

He's determined to break this man. He's driven to reducing him to pleading and tears and piss. Zaresh would cut out his tongue to spare himself Delethil's voice, but he wants to hear the proof of it.

So focused is he that it's no wonder he doesn't hear Eravin coming. He's never taken much notice of the ranger, that ugly, scowling affront to one's sight. Zaresh won't ever have to suffer him or Delethil again, particularly not after Eravin shoots an arrow straight through his eye, knocking that pretty circlet askew and revealing everything at last.

[soartfullydone]

Thank you, @zacksfairest, for enabling our incredibly niche interests. I am fully expecting maybe three votes lol

challenge: make a poll with five of your favorite OCs, and then tag five people to do the same. see which one is everyone's favorite

let's tag @nipuni @duperderedere @captainmazzic @mattythemassmurderer and anyone who wants to do it. Share your OCs!

[soartfullydone]

Putting this under the cut because it’s a lot as always:

I feel that Ranna is very much in a "notice me, sempai" situation. Erosen simply hasn't allowed himself to focus on anything that's not Riven, Krelyss, and Vaela by association. Unfortunately, if he ever got in a place where he could slow down and not worry so much, I feel like romance still wouldn't be top of mind. (Riven will be privately tormented by this because, in the throes of her own passionate, fairytale romance come true, she'll also want him to experience having a Great Love™, not realizing how much he played around in his youth.)

As far as him needing another stressor, I also wonder what his tolerance will be for that RE: Ranna. But it’s also true for anyone he would consider dating. Whether Riven wants him to do this or not, he would be extremely conscious of someone who doesn’t understand Riven or who would earnestly try to change, pressure, or police her. She’s past the point where she needs a mother, and he’s already so regretful of how much he made her feel like she was never good enough. The casual way she was willing to sacrifice her own life for someone she considered more “deserving” really drove that point home. No one else is going to contribute to that problem if he can help it. At the same time, Riven will never be that honor-bound hero that makes Ranna starry-eyed, so I don’t know how much of a point of contention that would be for our good, good bard.

And there’s also Krelyss to consider. If you don’t accept the drow in this family, you won’t be a part of it. It’s as simple as that. Ranna at least has a leg up on that because she knows about Riven’s heritage and didn’t reject her for it, and I haven’t picked up on any negative feelings towards Krelyss. Correct me if I’m wrong, but she likely considers him in a similarly heroic light as Erosen. 

Vaela and Eravin would also take a mortal age to get off the ground, and I’m not saying that’s a bad thing or that it’s impossible. I’m just saying, Vaela’s vanity and automatic distrust vs. Eravin holding in all his feelings until he dies, fight. 

It would be so fun to watch, tho. While Vaela’s having to contend with everything Zaresh did to her, Eravin is going to have to get over his romantic love of Riven and Delethil. Not to mention how wary Catriona made him of pretty elven lasses. At least Vaela is never going to pretend to be sugary sweet with him, so his dumbass will not get confused.

On the oooother hand, Vaela does not like Delethil and is so far not hiding her disdain, and that’s gonna cause a row, wood elf-style, between her, Eravin, and Riven. There’s no avoiding that. All these idiots are too loyal and too passionate and too assured of their own opinions to do otherwise. 

The still TBD ships: Erosen/Ranna and Vaela/Eravin

I do know that I'm very attached to Ranna's crush. Unfortunately for her, Ranna is simply a person who feels deeply, so when Erosen did something stupidly noble, when he was visibly heartbroken but stood his ground on an unlikely cause, it was an arrow right to the heart. She sees the paladin in him, which is funny because I don't think she would have liked young paladin Erosen very much.

But I haven't put much thought into how Erosen feels about Ranna. He's ocupado at the moment. There's no reason he wouldn't like Ranna; she's just good, you know? But she has Riven's tendency to go too far unsolicited for the people she loves, and does he need another stressor like that? I'm open to discussion. His mind is really not on romance right now.

On the one hand, Vaela deserves a hot man who can help her work though her feelings, and Eravin is a butterface who communicates in grunts. On the other hand, I'm in love with the fact that he's Zaresh's absolute inverse. Despite being the new right hand man of the government, he works for a living and lives in his stupid little apartment. He has no verbal charm whatsoever. When he cares about someone, he's devoted. He pays attention to what they need and does things for them, just all the time, and then he gets embarrassed if they bring it up. And as we can tell with Del, he doesn't mind not calling the shots, even though he might complain. Also? Zaresh's sensual delight in cruelty vs Eravin's heady tendency toward body worship, fight.

[soartfullydone]

No. 5 - I’VE GOT RED IN MY LEDGER betrayal | misunderstanding | broken nose Riven/Delethil

A super late Whumptober prompt, but I couldn’t not write this AU.

*

With a few quick words from Riven, it was over. 

Eravin felt the weight on his shoulders lift for a moment even as the knot in his stomach grew ever tighter. Riven’s clap on his back had not been warm. Like her speech, it was clipped, for she was unable to conceal the suspicions which had been brewing for days after leaving Aeranth. But it was done. Delethil—and by extension the wood elves—would be supplied the weapons and armor Thanescourt had promised. They would have their glorious revolution.

Now all Eravin and Saoirse had to do was haul their arses back to Lunhaven before the shipment arrived and all hell broke loose. He turned to Riven, surrounded as she was by the Minister’s associates and her traveling party: a badger shifter, a moon elf sorceress, and two dragonborns that were like night and day from each other. Eravin wanted to say something to her before he left, but she wanted explanations and there were none he could offer. He followed Saoirse as she slipped out the door, all the words clogged like a lump in his throat.

Back on the city streets, Eravin and Saoirse prepared their horses for more travel and hard riding in silence, thoughts of the future churning in their heads. Eravin’s hopes were tinged with dread at the necessary measures that were to come. It was too much to hope that Luntower and his ilk would take their coup peacefully. But greater still was the regret.

The form of that regret appeared with her arms crossed and teal eyes narrowed on him as Eravin rounded his horse.

“Riven!” Eravin exclaimed, surprised to see her. His tone turned sour, suspicious. “What’re ye doin’ here?”

“Ya didn’t even stick around to say goodbye,” she replied, accusatory. “Why the rush?”

“Because I want to go home.”

“Right. Back to yer tree.” If possible, she sounded even more dry and skeptical than yesterday when she’d cornered him in the noodle shop, trying to convince him to tell her what was going on. Eravin had almost broken his silence, seeing how upset she was getting, but he’d remembered his promise to Del, and that was something he wouldn’t break. She continued, leaning an arm on his horse’s flank. “Has nothing to do with whatever I just agreed to, does it?”

Eravin looked stonily back at her then addressed the horse. “Go back to yer friends, lass. And… And remember what I said. Keep traveling, like ye always wanted. Don’t come home for a while.”

He swung himself up into the saddle. A beat later, he was nearly dropping the reins as Riven responded, “No,” and climbed up behind him. The horse danced and whinnied in protest at the sudden weight of her in the saddle, and Eravin was delivering his own verbal protests, his face blazing.

“No,” Riven repeated over him, “I’m going back to Aeranth. I’ve decided. I let the others know, and they understand. They’re fine adventurin’ without me, and I wanna see about these weapons I won for ya and Del.”

Eravin’s stomach dropped out from the bottom. Shite. One quick glance at Saoirse’s unimpressed expression told Eravin he wasn’t getting any help with this. In fact, she was kicking her horse forward and riding through the crowd, heading for the gate. 

Get a move on, Saoirse’s deliberate body language seemed to say. Before the lass gets any clever ideas. 

Twisting his head behind him, Eravin said, “Lass, please. Stay here at least. Ye donnae want to see—”

Riven’s arms looped loosely around his waist. Too much of their bodies were already touching, but something about this action felt incredibly sterile in comparison. Eravin nearly bit his tongue anyway. 

“Hurry up,” Riven said without any emotion. “Or they’re gonna beat us home.”

Having no choice except to knock Riven off the horse and wind up with a knife in his back in the process, Eravin urged the horse forward. Riven’s body rocked against his in time with the horse’s gait, but her arms around him stayed loose, and she made no further attempts at conversation. Eravin didn’t either. He focused on keeping the horse moving, on putting Thanescourt behind him, and nothing else.

But soon, even attempts to keep his mind empty couldn’t work. The dread and regret he felt was tenfold now that Riven was here, returning to Aeranth with him when she should’ve stayed behind in Thanescourt where it was safe. Del won’t hurt her, he told himself as the horse broke into a steady canter. He won’t he won’t he won’t.

But he could. And he might if she chose to roughen a smoothed course. Eravin didn’t want to know the full scope of what Delethil was capable of, but he had a terrible suspicion that he was mere days away from finding out. 

*

Aeranth’s trees swallowed them with no fanfare. Riven had twisted herself into knots, imagining a million and one different things happening as soon as they’d left orc lands. Instead, nothing happened at all.

It didn’t make the nerves vanish. Eravin and Saoirse drove their tired horses on with grim determination rather than bolstered confidence. They had to. Before entering the forest, they had spotted the first team of horses—fresh and strong—on the distant horizon, pulling a large metal supply wagon behind them. Thanescourt had caught up, and nothing Riven had tried to delay her wood elf escorts further had worked.

She spotted the first scout a few leagues farther out of Lunhaven than she had expected to find, high up in a pine. No identifiers of what moon elf family she reported to. When Saoirse delivered a sharp, two-fingered salute, the scout whooped, stood, and leapt to another tree, then another until she was out of sight.

“Who was that?” Riven shouted over the galloping hooves into Saoirse’s ear. Her riding buddy for today was even more stiff than Eravin, but her glares seemed to come easier. 

Completely ignoring her question, Saoirse responded, “Won’t be long now.” To Eravin, she called, “I reckon he’ll meet us.”

Eravin jerked his head, glancing at Riven behind Saoirse. “Aye. He will.”

Riven gritted her teeth, fresh annoyance cutting through the awful bubbling in her gut. It simply didn’t matter how she phrased a question. With these two, it would go unanswered. But as morning crept into afternoon, Lunhaven got closer and closer. She would find out soon enough.

When Saoirse turned the horse off the path into wild, untamed woods, something told Riven, This is it. Though they were damp with sweat, the horses, Aeranth-bred and elven-trained, did not falter as they stepped through tangled underbrush, over roots, and around trees great and small. 

Soon, the first wisteria tree came into view, its purple flowers in bold, full bloom amongst the green, seeming to hover dreamily in the air. It was like parting a curtain. All at once, they were in a new environ, surrounded by wisteria trees, their drapes of purple nearing Riven’s shade of pink hair as the afternoon sun filtered through the petals. The horses’ hooves were muted as they crushed fallen petals underfoot, but that wasn’t the only sense that was lessened. With so many trees with such large canopies, Riven hadn’t realized until it was too late that their trio was no longer alone.

Wood elves were everywhere, perched in the trees, leaned against trunks, crouched on the ground. They ranged in age from those just breaching adolescence to those just showing the first signs of age, though the vast majority were those whose ages were infuriatingly indiscernible to non-elves.

In the center of it all and talking to a group of them was Delethil. He was out of uniform, Riven noticed, and he turned toward them as soon as their horses breached through the trees, his expression brightening. 

Riven knocked a dangling vine of wisteria out of her face and rushed to get off the horse. Saoirse stopped her with a mean clamp on her arm and a warning look. Riven responded with a sneer and dug into Saoirse’s ribs. Fed up, the elder wood elf woman let go, but Riven immediately noticed there was no way she could get her feet in the stirrups or be able to kick her leg over Saoirse without her getting off the horse first. That left one option: sliding gracelessly off the horse’s rear end, and that’s exactly what Riven did. 

She landed flat-footed, needles shooting up her legs. Her thighs screamed their own painful protests as did her abs and buttocks, and Riven found herself taking a knee. 

A strong, long-fingered hand appeared in front of her face. One she’d recognize anywhere. Surrounded by so much purple, Delethil’s eyes appeared all the greener and were dancing with mirth. It almost hid the tension in the rest of his face. “Rough ride home?” he joked.

Riven took his hand and let him pull her back to standing. “I don’t think I like horses.”

“Ye just have to get used to ‘em.”

“I don’t think I want to.” She let him go quickly. Too quickly. His eyes were no longer dancing. They narrowed.

“Well?” said Delethil, but he was no longer speaking to her. “What news?”

“Scouts with shite-eatin’ grins not a big enough clue for ye?” Eravin responded as he dismounted. Saoirse did the same and led both horses away.

“Aye, sure they are.” Delethil clapped Eravin on that tender part between neck and shoulder, bringing his head conspiratorially close. “But I want to hear it from my best mate first.”

Eravin stiffly nodded. “It’s done.” A pause, and then he added in an odd tone, “Riven’s the one who gave the word.”

“My lass did?” Delethil spun toward her, that smile returning to beam on his face. “But of course ye did. Always were one of us! Knew it from the first, I did.”

To Riven’s ears, there was a hollow ring to Delethil’s words. In truth, Riven felt less wood elf in this moment than she had in a long, long time. By the knowing, energized looks on the faces surrounding her, she was acutely aware that she was the only one here who didn’t understand the full scope of what was happening. 

She crossed her arms against her chest, attempting to appear assertive instead of afraid or embarrassed. “Aya’s Touch bought ya a favor with Thanescourt. Weapons and armor. Except, ya already have those,” she said, eyeing the dagger sheathed on Delethil’s belt. “So why do ya need more?”

Eravin raised his hands in a defensive gesture the second Delethil threw him a glance. “I dinnae tell her shite, so donnae look at me.”

“And Saoirse never so much as told me g’mornin’,” replied Riven, taking a step forward. “The Minister said what the favor was when I asked. Just had ta throw yer name around and a bit of authority.”

Delethil’s expression was a cross between impressed and irritated. It smoothed out into acceptance. “Well, should’ve known a clever lass would be able to figure it out. And now that you’re back, I can tell ye the rest. Like I always planned.”

“It’s the only reason I came home.”

“Really? The only reason, is it?”

Riven ignored that question. “What did ya plan on telling me that ya couldn’t ever tell me before now?”

Whatever Delethil was about to say was interrupted by a sudden commotion at the front of the wisteria tree garden. The draft horses pulling the supply wagon had arrived. The human driver called for Delethil as wood elves swarmed both wagon and horses.

“I’ll handle it,” Eravin responded gruffly, stepping away.

“Get the archers armed first,” Delethil ordered—and it shocked Riven again to hear that tone coming from him. What was unmistakably an order as opposed to a sly suggestion or an easy acquiescence. She couldn’t deny it any longer. Whatever was happening, Delethil was the leader of it all, if not the cause.

“What’d’ya need archers for?” asked Riven in a small voice. “Have there been more drow on the border? Is that it?”

She was giving him every opportunity to lie to her. She knew that, and she didn’t want lies, but at the same time, she didn’t know if she was ready for the truth either.

“Riv, darling.” That term of endearment threw her more than his arm around her shoulders as he brought her into his confidence. He’d never called her that, but before she could determine if she was being condescended to or not, Delethil said, “What you’re seeing here is the result of years of patience and hard work. My kith and kin, still disenfranchised but now armed with courage and—more importantly—the will ta take back what’s theirs. And I couldn’t have done it without ye.”

“What?”

Delethil waved a hand before them, encompassing the amount of weapons being distributed, the high-quality armor being donned. As he did, a second supply wagon appeared, this time with a gnomish driver, and the wood elves cheered her, galvanized. “Look at them! Like wee babes whose Candlenights came early. Bet Luntower will wish he’d made a friend of ye after all is said and done.”

Riven narrowed her eyes. “Like you did?”

His arm around her tightened into an embrace. “Best gamble of my life, lass!”

He was talking about the favor with Aya’s Touch, but Riven’s head was whirling, remembering the span of their friendship. Not only how much freedom he’d given her over her other guards but also how freely her words to him had always been. How many times had she shared Circle knowledge with him that she shouldn’t have, just because they were friends and she trusted him? Had all that been part of his gamble, too?

Riven stepped out of his side-hug. “How long? How long have ya been planning for this?”

“Oh, a few decades now? I’ve lost count.”

“That’s a convenient answer.”

“And what other answer were ye expectin’, love?”

Her eyes flew to his, shocked, but Delethil didn’t appear remotely playful like his speech implied. Riven let that rabbit hole pass her by, even though her heart begged her desperately to fall down into it. Cooly, she asked, “So what’s the plan, then? You and yours are going after Luntower?”

“Luntower’s just one head. If this is gonna work, we need all of ‘em.” 

She stared at him for a beat too long. “The Circle? Ya want ta attack the whole Circle?” Riven covered her mouth, stifling a hysterical laugh. “I never knew ya were this mad!”

“Ye sound like Eravin, stop it,” Delethil dryly replied. He began to circle her, coming around to her right side. “We have the advantage here, thanks to ye. Luntower’s waitin’ for a promise from Thanescourt that we collected on instead. We have the numbers, and we have the means to surprise them before they can regroup. If all goes well, we’ll be able to overthrow the Circle overnight and still have time to break our fast in the morning.”

“And if it doesn’t go well?”

“Then I expect we’ll be preparin’ for a few funerals.”

Riven’s stomach was having its own riot. A pre-show for the one ahead that Delethil was describing in such loving detail. Questions crowded in her head. How had he gotten involved with this? What was the endgame? How far was he willing to go to achieve it? What came out was, “But, Del, without the Circle, Aeranth won’t have any leaders.”

“Sure it will, lass! Once the moon elves are gone, we’ll take over.”

“We? You mean…” She scanned the crowd dubiously, wondering which among them had a clue about governing. Certainly not the group whose archers were currently busy throwing apples into the air and performing wild trick shots amidst raucous cheers and jeers.

Delethil’s grand sigh brought her attention back to him. “Aye, I know it’ll be a tall order—and I’ll lose much of my coveted free time.” He brought a hand graciously to his chest. “But if Aeranth needs ruling, then I shall rule her. Until such a time as we find a more suitable replacement, of course.”

Riven shook her head, trying to knock some sense into what she was hearing. It didn’t work. “Why… Why didn’t ya tell me any of this? Why did ya wait until now?”

“Well, I wanted to tell ye. Of course I did! But in the end, I figured it’d be such an unfair burden to put upon ye.” His sympathy was like syrup, thick and rich. She’d never liked the taste or stickiness of the real stuff, and something bothered her about Delethil’s delivery. It sounded too practiced, yet… His eyes were so sincere, imploring her to understand. 

“Ye were so young when we first met, so that time wasn’t right,” he noted, and even the hand he extended to her was sympathetic. A helping hand. “And as I was around ye as ye got older, I saw all the expectations bein’ placed on ye—which, yet another reason for moon elf supremacy to end, eh? In the end, there just wasn’t a right time besides now, which I vowed to myself to do as soon as ye returned home. And I kept my word, didn’t I?”

“Oh, so sparing my feelings? That was your primary concern? Do ya think it worked?”

“Well, I supposed ye could be takin’ it better, but ye could also be takin’ it a lot worse.” His sly annoyance was there and gone in a blink, replaced by businesslike practicality. “But no, yer feelings weren’t my only reason, darling. Maybe they would’ve been if ye weren’t still livin’ under yer da’s roof—”

The reminder was a punch to the gut. “Da! Oh, I need to get home! I gotta—!”

Riven started running, but she didn’t make it two steps before Delethil’s hand clamped around her arm, forcing her to a stop. “Not so fast, lass.” 

“Not so—? Del, yer talkin’ about taking over, and my da’s there, defenseless. I need to protect him, so let me go!”

“The head on you! Erosen holds no office. He’s no threat to us, lass, so quit your worrying.”

“You quit being thick! Anything could happen if it comes to fightin’. Da might do something stupid or one of yours might, thinking vengeance against an elf who can’t rightly fight back is a good time.” The heat and retribution in her glare was just as sincere as his. “I’m not gonna sit here and let that happen, so let—go.”

“Riven,” Delethil replied, impatience rising. “I cannae risk ye tipping the moon elves off, even unintentionally. You’ll stay with us, where I can look after ye; I’m still yer guard, aye? Your da will be safe as houses, I give ye my word.”

Maybe a few short weeks ago, Riven would take Delethil at his word, utterly doubtless and believing. But the reality unfolding around her had shown her what his word was worth, full of evasions, omissions, and covered-up truths, and her pure faith in him was no more. Maybe that’s why no matter how genuine he sounded, it sounded wrong to her. He’d proven to her he could act a certain way and not mean it. Hell, he’d done so in front of her da so many times, pretending to be the gracious wood elf who knew his place but free with his criticisms whenever Riven complained about her da in private.

Aye, Riven and her da did not get along, had so many differences they made her dizzy to think of some days. But they’d never fix them if she let anything happen to him, and he was the only da—the only family—she had. Riven wouldn’t forsake him now or let him face a hostile takeover alone. Delethil had all these people, didn’t he? All these friends she’d never known about. He would be fine. He… didn’t need her. 

“—make ye feel better,” Delethil was drawling, “I’ll even send someone ta—“

“Del,” she interrupted with a hand on his chest. Unbelievably, he stopped talking, the grip around her wrist loosening as he took in her face so close to his. His gaze melted, his smile came easy and indulgent, and Riven felt the rush of it all in her stomach. She wanted to howl at the injustice of discovering this truth between them right as both of their lies were about to break it into pieces. “You’re not listenin’. I already volunteered.”

She cut him. A line of red burst open across his bicep, not especially deep. The real insult was that she’d used his own dagger to do it, drawing the blade and attacking in a blink. His grip fell away in instinctual surprise as his feet carried him back and hers away. Then Riven was running as fast as she could through the veils of wisteria, shoving past wood elves before they realized what had happened. That the dagger still clutched in her hand belonged to their leader and not to her. 

Mid-run, she started at hearing Delethil’s clear, angered roar for someone to capture her. 

“Do not harm her!” he finished. 

Another voice shouted, “And ‘ow the ‘ell are we supposed ta do tha’?”

Riven didn’t pause to find out. Desperation and new fear spurred her on. He wasn’t letting her go. She thought he would let her go, would decide she wasn’t worth it. 

She willed her legs to pump harder, to no avail. Riven was at a disadvantage, her usual speed compromised. Her muscles were stiff and sore from days of hard riding she wasn’t used to, and her body felt sluggish and less willing to do as she commanded as a result. Several sets of footsteps already dogged hers, their desperation in a direct war with hers. 

Da, was her last thought before she was tackled to the ground, rough hands pinning her there, a rock cutting into her stomach. 

Delethil’s dagger glinted in the grass a few feet away. Riven knew it for a lost cause, so she raced to draw one of her own.

“No, ya don’t!” a stranger’s voice growled over her, half-frustration, half-fear. He wrenched her arms behind her back and held her down, all but ignoring her thrashing. 

Riven caught a glimpse of him: olive skin and brown hair and wide, wide blue eyes. A face she’d seen before but had never taken the time to commit to memory. “Lass, quit havin’ a lark, or I’ll—“

She didn’t wait for him to carry out whatever threat he could think of. Spotting Delethil closing in, Riven decided to enact the threat herself, remembering his words. Do not harm her. 

Like a wounded animal, Riven screamed. It was the kind of scream you heard when someone’s arm was wrenched out of its socket or if a rib was kicked in. The elf’s hands flew from her like she’d scalded him. He stammered, “I-I swear I didn’t—!”

His weight immediately left her. Uninjured, Riven clawed herself to her feet and fell into a full-tilt sprint. She dodged the grasping hands of other elves. Hurtled away from the sight of Delethil “disciplining” the elf he’d believed had disobeyed his orders and hurt her. She would’ve felt sorry for him, would’ve paused in shock at seeing Delethil display such base violence toward one of his own, but her brain wouldn’t let her. It only asked her, What will he do to you if he catches you? Riven needed no more inspiration to push everything away that didn’t involve escaping. 

When she felt the first burst of pain in her left leg, she deliriously believed it was a muscle cramp. Now? Of all times? On the next step, however, she crumpled, her leg refusing to support her as hot, stabbing pain threatened to rip her apart. Her cry of pain was absolutely real then. 

Inspecting her leg with a shaking hand proved what her brain had been too slow to accept. It wasn’t a cramp. She’d been shot, an arrow protruding from her calf, the head buried deep. The slightest graze seared her vision with white, and she fell into a fetal position in the grass and dirt. 

Delethil slowly spun a bow between his hands as he walked unhurriedly toward her. Her vision blurring, Riven watched him hand it to another elf without looking at them. 

He tsked at her. “Oh, lass, look at ye. I dinnae want it to come to this.” He crouched down next to her, placidly looking at the spot where the arrow was embedded into her flesh. “But ye had to go and force my hand.”

“You—you shot me!” Maybe if Riven said it enough times, she would believe it. “You shot me.”

“Aye, and ye tried ta stab me, dinnae ye? Reckon that makes us even.”

Through a clenched jaw and tears, she asserted, “You. Shot. Me.”

His answering grin was more teeth than smile. “It should teach ye not to miss next time.” 

With a vicious jerk, Delethil pulled the arrow free. Riven screamed, unprepared for the violence of it, and her body reflexively curled farther in on itself.

“Delethil!”

Eravin sounded out of breath as he ran up to them, though that was impossible. There was no sweat beading on his brow—in fact, he looked uncharacteristically pale—and if Riven raised her head further, she would still see splashes of purple from the wisteria trees peeking through the green. She had not run far.

“What?” said Delethil, sounding bored and unhurried. Yet he kept a keen gaze on Riven as Eravin talked, pinning her there more effectively than any arrow.

“A few—” Eravin cleared his throat, attention passing anxiously from the arrow Delethil toyed with between his hands and the blood blooming into a dark, wet stain on Riven’s tights. “A few of the lads wanna know if it’s time ta start staggerin’ back. They’re, er, they’re ready.”

“Aye, I reckon they should get back to their posts and relieve a few others. They know where to stash the stuff that’ll raise hairs. Although”—here, Delethil sent Riven a too-sharp smirk—“our moon elf betters are notorious for not noticin’ what’s going on right in front of them.”

He may as well have brought the arrow down somewhere else. Yet the pain and mortification that stabbed through the heart of her didn’t keep her paralyzed; they galvanized her. Riven struggled to brace her weight on her forearms. She’d crawl home if she had to, or somehow convince herself she didn’t have an injured leg and just run, or—

Her planning came to an abrupt end as a new agony erupted against her temple. Riven was unconscious before her arms gave out under her and her head hit the ground.

*

Delethil had drawn a new dagger and slammed the hilt against Riven’s skull so fast, Eravin had no time at all to react. Numbly, he watched as she went limp, a red, angry knot already swelling near her hairline. Eravin stood frozen, caught between cold shock and fear, and the blood surging through his veins, screaming at him to act, to do something. 

Caught between his loyalty to Delethil and his feelings for Riven yet again. He would wonder at how they always seemed to cancel each other out, yet that wasn’t the real truth of it. Eravin chose Del every time, and this time was no different. 

Still, Eravin spoke up. His attempts to sound gruff, forceful, opposing, normal came out strained and weak. “Ya dinnae have to do tha’.”

Del laughed under his breath, humorless. “Have ya ever tried to get her to stay put when she doesn’t want to?”

“Have you?” Eravin shot back before he could stop himself, accusing.

“Haven’t needed to, ‘til now.” Delethil’s head suddenly snapped up. He fixed a glare to the other elves still milling about, who weren’t making eye contact but hadn’t been sure if they were still needed to restrain a rogue moon elf. “Don’t you lot have better things ta do?”

They scattered, but Eravin remained. “Why did she run, anyway? What’d ya tell her?”

“The plan, or the bare bones of it.” Delethil ran a hand through the unbound strands of his hair, sighing. “She got it into her head that she needed to protect her da.”

“From who?”

“Us,” Delethil deadpanned.

The answer took Eravin aback, but a second later, it clicked. 

“Now, I like the lass,” Delethil continued, “but sometimes her logic takes less of a leap and more of a merry jaunt in seven-league boots.”

“She wasn’t wrong, though,” Eravin argued.

“Ach, Erry, not now.” Delethil reached and gathered Riven, unconscious and hurting, into his arms.

The reminder was a strike of flint, igniting Eravin’s anger. “And ye dinnae have ta do this to her, either.”

“I’ll not risk everything we’ve worked toward,” responded Delethil coldly, “on her panicked whims or your soft heart. Not now, at five minutes past the eleventh hour.” When Eravin’s scowl didn’t abate, Delethil’s own leash on his temper slipped. If Delethil weren’t standing with his arms full of Riven, Eravin was convinced he would’ve received a good shoving. “We’ve had training accidents that’ve been worse than this, she and I, so stop looking at me like—”

“Aye, accidents! Hurting her on purpose is gonna leave more of a mark. And what if—what if ye had killed her?”

“It never once crossed my mind!”

“Accidents never—”

“If I wanted her dead, she would be. Instead, she’s safe, mostly sound, and out of the way, with no risk of letting anything slip to her da and his Circle friends before nightfall.”

And since Eravin did not want to arrive at Lunhaven’s estate, blindsided by nasty magical shite from over-prepared nobles and their wizard friends, he was forced to concede the point. Once the sun started to set, they would all have their places to be and their roles to fill. By that time, it would be fine—better, probably—for Riven to be at home, away from the fighting. Except…

“We—ya cannae send ‘er back to Erosen like this.” Eravin masked a wince upon noticing Riven’s head injury was darkening with bruising.

“She’s not going back to Erosen.” Delethil walked past Eravin, either not noticing his stunned expression or not caring. “Where is your horse? I’m borrowing it.”

“Where are ye takin’ her, then?” Eravin asked when he’d brought the horse around. The brown mare appeared as exhausted as Eravin felt.

“So many questions today!” Delethil exclaimed once he’d lifted Riven onto the saddle. Strapping her down, he said, “Couldn’t be more like the sods who just follow my orders?”

“Aye, I’ll do that once your orders don’t sound mad as a wood sprite.”

“As far as Erosen is concerned, his lovely, headstrong daughter is out of the country, adventurin’ with her new friends.” Satisfied with his work, Delethil stepped into the stirrup and swung onto the horse behind Riven, his arms bracing her as he took the reins. Eravin ignored how peaceful Riven looked as her head rolled to rest against Del’s chest, her bruise hidden from him. “I’d prefer he keep believing it. Not that he would be capable of it, but he’s less likely to do something stupid if he doesn’t know she’s here.”

“Right.” Eravin worried his jaw for a moment, deciding. “I’ll guard ‘im then. Make sure he stays in line.”

Delethil’s expression turned calculating. Eravin didn’t realize how much he would hate seeing that look directed solely at him until now. Delethil kicked the horse forward a few steps until he was looking straight down at Eravin from a long way up. “Spent a fair bit of time on the road together, the two of ye. Did ye get a little fond of her, Erry?”

“What? No! I—” Eravin flushed red as an autumn sunset. “Ye just… Ye wanted her uninvolved to protect her. If her da is all she’s worried about, then I’ll look after ‘im ‘til it’s over, so neither of ye has to.”  

“So long as you’re there when I need ye,” said Delethil, shrugging a shoulder. “Do as ye like.”

Eravin knew what he was expected to do then. Continue getting the wood elves prepared, keep groups coming and going until Delethil did what he intended with Riven and returned. He gave a semblance of a nod, and Delethil spurred the horse on. Eravin’s upper back was a line of knots, but none of them could compete with the one in his stomach.

Somehow, it hadn’t lessened at all since arriving. Aye, in such a short time, it had only gotten worse.

*

Riven didn’t wake until she sensed a presence hovering over her and something cold snapping around her wrist. She reacted as sensibly as anyone else in that moment, pulling back sharply from the cold and striking out.

One of her feet connected with something fleshy, and air blew across Riven’s face. “Ach, fuck me,” a familar voice squeezed out. 

Riven’s eyes opened to behold Delethil, grimacing and holding a hand over his stomach, still half-suspended over her. It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing, what was happening. Her head felt like it was full of rocks, gritty and dense, as pain flared over her left eye with every frantic beat of her heart. Her calf muscle was also tense and aching. Standing out against her black tights was a white bandage wrapped tightly around her leg. Instinctively, she inspected her head to find a nice, tender bump, but before she could puzzle that out, she moved her other arm and discovered she hadn’t escaped the cold after all.

An iron cuff held her wrist captive and a matching chain extended from it, dangling over the side of the bed.

Hang on, bed?

This wasn’t how Riven had ever imagined a scene like this going.  

She sprang off the bed like it had burned her. Her injured leg made her clumsy—or maybe it was her head. She stumbled halfway across the room before catching herself against the wall beside a cluttered desk, the chain clinking after her but not yet pulling taut.  

Delethil, of course, followed after her. “Easy there, lass. You’re a wee bit worse for wear.”

“Oh, I wonder why!” With her free hand, she grabbed the chain and gave it a mighty jerk. It extended between them in mid-air, and Riven found it was attached to the bedpost. “Ya can’t be fucking serious.”

“Deadly.” He exhaled. “Riv, I can’t have ye doing anything stupid—”

“Protectin’ my da isn’t stupid!”

“—right as all hell’s about to break loose. Ye mad thing, listen.” He, too, grabbed the chain and yanked it toward him. “This isn’t permanent.”

“Damn right it’s not! I’ll be out of this in five minutes!”

“Five whole minutes, that’s how long it’s gonna take ye?” Delethil snidely responded, unimpressed. He nodded at her wrist. “Look again. Not your normal cuff, that.”

It wasn’t. Now Riven could see the cuff all the way around, she noticed two vital things. There was no keyhole to pick or seam to break. The entire surface of the cuff was smooth. 

“Not a bad thing, havin’ a mage-type owe ye a favor, hm?”

Bracing her back against the wall, Riven stood tall and declared, “I’ll break my thumb then.”

“Ach, don’t do that. Your lovely hands don’t deserve the abuse.”

“No, just the rest of me, it seems.”

Delethil’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Would ye have stopped otherwise? I would’ve liked to have ye with me, guardin’ my back. But ye’ve turned out to be a wild card, and I can’t afford that in the hand I’m playing.”

“It’s startin’ soon, isn’t it?” It had to be. The view out the window of the bedroom was a darkening evening, the tops of the trees slowly being swallowed by shadow. “Da won’t be near the Circle. He’ll be home. Ya can let me go now,” Riven reasoned, “and I’ll keep us both out of the way.”

Delethil met her entreatment with silence, his gaze on her half-lidded in suspicion. He released a rueful sigh. “I want to trust ye, Riv, I do.” Like a judge ruling a verdict, he pronounced, “But deep down, I know that’s a noble heart ye got. Whatever the stories claim, revolution’s no place for nobility. People are going to be hurt; it’s required. And ye’ll not be one of ‘em by being a bloody hero for the wrong person.”

Riven lunged forward a step, outraged. “You hurt me. What I don’t understand is, if I’m such a fucking inconvenience, why ye don’t just kill me and be done with it!”

“Do ye really not know, darlin’?” Delethil asked the question like he was warding her off, yet he advanced all the same. “Ye want answers? Fine. Here’s one.”

Riven’s hand found the hilt of a dagger still strapped to her belt, but Delethil was too quick. He took her face in his hands, and Riven braced for more pain, but it never came. Instead of talking in circles or telling her more lies, his mouth pressed against hers, hard, incessant, and a little desperate. Riven gasped, and it was enough for his tongue to slip between the seam of her lips, the expert touch of a thief who had finally gained access to the most forbidden of places. Delethil kissed her repeatedly, holding her fast, and Riven’s eyes fluttered shut in bliss. She was helpless against the heat of his hands and mouth, against the silkin feel of his lips, against the idea of him wanting her after she had been pining after him for so long. Between them was a storm she could not outrun, and she didn’t want to. She wanted to live in the eye of it.

Delethil tilted her head back to deepen the kiss, and when she effortlessly obeyed, he hummed his approval into her mouth.

His dark satisfaction was like nicking herself with her own knife. The blood rushing through her veins brought her throbbing head and injured leg back to her attention, and with it, all the things the elf before her had said and done. Riven shoved Delethil off of her with a snarl, the force of her push strong enough to cause her to stumble back into the wall. The chain attached to the iron cuff around her wrist rattled as it ran against the wooden floor, and Riven felt so stupid.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this now. I—” She cut off her yell, fisting a hand in her hair as she tried to hold back tears. Delethil loving her back… She’d wanted it so badly for years, and this? This was too good to be true. He’d lied to her, he’d used her, he’d shot her, and now he was keeping her captive! 

She shook her head fervently, ignoring the flash of hurt and surprise that cut through his normally confident expression. Rejection was not something he’d anticipated. Good. With a glare, she declared, “I don’t believe you. You’re just trying to get in good with me so ya can use me again, aren’t you?”  

“And what use would I have for ye once the fighting’s done and the country’s mine, lass?” Delethil asked with razor-sharp logic, though there was no missing the testy bite in his tone. “I’d love to know yer thoughts on the matter.”

“I don’t know! But it’s not like ya’d tell me about it, would you?”

At that, Delethil tore himself away from her, half-pacing the room as he cursed under his breath, his accent thickening with his ire. When he was done, he settled her with his own glare, and Riven bristled at the amount of distrust in that gaze. 

“Eravin has elected to guard yer da for ye,” he began, and the change in topic threw her for a moment. “Mind telling me what that’s about between the two of ye?”

“What d’ya mean? How am I supposed to know? It’s not like Eravin talks to me.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye, that’s so. He’s your best fucking mate, innit he? So go ask him.” Riven held herself at the ready. To fight or attempt to flee, she didn’t know. She was like a cobra making itself smaller so it could strike faster. “I donnae know ‘im. And I donnae know you.”

She didn’t know anything.

Delethil’s jaw worked. Riven even spied a tendon in his neck flexing and unflexing. He stood there like a man who was utterly at war with himself and was dissatisfied with how the fight was going.

“...I’ll be back,” he said at last before marching toward the door. “May we both find ourselves in better moods.”

Riven waited until she’d heard his steps advance down the hallway before peeling herself off the wall. She called after his back, “Aismere! I swear, if a single hair on my da gets hurt, I’ll never forgive ya.”

The vow stopped Delethil in his tracks. “Never, hm?” His long, auburn hair shifted as he looked at her over his shoulder. “There’s a lot of people I’m proving wrong tonight, darlin’. Ya sure ya want to be one of them?”

[soartfullydone]

No. 29 - ALL WORK AND NO PLAY “You’re still not dead?” | too weak to move | overworked Riven/Delethil requested by @zacksfairest

Including a special guest star~

*

Even coughing hurt, but how else was Delethil going to shake loose the blood in his mouth? He spat, the coppery glob landing a few inches away from his prone form on the floor of the cell, yet the metallic taste remained. This time, his drow captives had left him with no water, no bandages, no food, and even if he had them, he was too weak to reach for them. 

His back was bleeding with five open lashes, at least one rib was broken, and bruises were blooming on his face, torso, arms—

“You’re still not dead?” a sharp, surprised voice said in heavily-accented elven from outside his cell. There was a quality of sweetness to the voice that only Delethil heard. Maybe even he was imagining it simply because he liked the sound of this drowess.

Delethil cracked his eyes open.

It was the daughter of his torturer. Delethil felt a hint of surprise himself that she’d returned again, even as he gave her a barely-there smile. She was not lording over him, giving him a view of polished boots and nothing else, but rather was crouched down so their eyes could meet.

Avenzi would not like that if she saw, which meant Riven had dismissed or distracted the guards. They were alone.

“Come to check on me, lass?” Delethil spoke a bit slower than normal, his voice gravelly, but he could manage.

“No,” Riven denied too quickly, too vehemently. “Just… If you were dead, we’d have an open cell, is all.”

“Ah!” Delethil said with a sprightliness he didn’t feel. “So she’s efficient along with being kind and beautiful.”

Even though the effort of speaking pained him, it was worth it to see a drowess blush. This drowess in particular. Despite her white hair and red eyes, she was paler than her mother and her other countrymen, her skin a unique shade of lavender with gray undertones. When she blushed, it turned her cheeks and pointed ears an interesting shade of mauve. 

She also looked at him like his flattery was equivalent to spewed acid. “Maybe you are broken, if you think that about her after what she’s done to you.”

Merciful Forest Father, she thought he was talking about Avenzi. He would laugh if the sensation didn’t make him feel like he was dying. His expression turned flinty. “No, lass, I’d never believe her capable of benevolence. You, on the other hand, I think more highly of.”

Riven rocked back on her heels, a full retreat as her entire face turned mauve. Her fingers clung around the iron bars, which she peered past to glare at him. “Making fun of me won’t win you any favors.”

“Did I sound insincere? Forgive a poor, injured man, milady.” His green eyes held hers as he smiled a rueful smile to blunt his sarcasm. “I’d do more, darling, but I can’t rightly move.” 

He didn’t have to add why. Riven had been there when Avenzi had ordered the beating, then the lashing, Delethil’s limbs restrained the whole time so he couldn’t flee or fight back. Riven hadn’t spoken up in his favor, which Delethil had learned earlier was a form of kindness on the young drowess’ part. 

Riven bared her teeth and stuck her face between the bars. “I told you to stop it with the names. Do you want your tongue cut out?”

Even now, Delethil wasn’t sure if Riven was warning him against what she was capable of or of what Avenzi would do if she ever overheard how he was talking to her daughter. 

“So much culture shock between us, aye? If we were in Aeranth, I’d trip over my own nimble feet to tell ya what a gorgeous lass ya are. While here, your mother has me whipped just for lookin’ too long at ya, and then ya threaten me with more bodily harm besides.” He clicked his still-working tongue. “None of the great romances covered the two of us, did they?”

“There is no us,” she hissed. “I’m only here because—” She stopped, clenching her jaw shut. 

Delethil waited, hoping she would finally reveal her hand. He knew she hadn’t started to covertly visit him, to sneak him items to keep him alive for his own sake. Riven wanted something from him, just like he wanted something from her and was working hard to stay in her good graces. Regardless of the fact that most of the flattery he paid her was true, it was all aimed at one goal: his freedom out of Cicecta. If she happened to fall for him in the process, well, he’d gladly have her before he left.

But whatever Riven’s end goal was, it continued to elude Delethil to his immense frustration. All she said was, “Pour this down your back, so those don’t get infected.” The drowess passed a glass bottle of clear liquid through the bars.

He couldn’t lift it, but it was in eyesight. The liquid was so clear that, when it stopped moving, the bottle appeared to be empty. “I take it this isn’t alcohol.”

“No,” Riven gravely responded. “And it’ll hurt worse.”

Naturally. Everything hurt in this place.

“I’m sure I’ll regret saying it, but thank ya.” Their conversation was reaching a clear end, but Delethil sought to delay her departure, asking, “So when is Avenzi going to begin interrogating me properly?”

Her eyes flickered over him, taking in the state of his injuries. His dirty, tangled auburn hair. Lingering on his tattered, bloody shirt. “When you do finally break.”

“She’s wasting her time. There really isn’t much I can tell her about Luntower’s plans.”

“Don’t let her know that,” Riven advised him, then her eyes narrowed. “But… If that were really true, you wouldn’t still be alive.”

“Not one for wasting time, she.” Darkly, Delethil wondered how long he had been watched, and how many drow operatives were still in Lunhaven.

“You should have a few days to recover at least,” Riven said, rising to her full height. “Mother has business with the empress, and I… might be able to stretch it out longer.”

“What are ya planning, lass?”

Riven didn’t answer. Her boots left his line of sight.

He raised his voice to call after her. It was scratchy after all the screaming he’d done. “Ya have a look of moon elf about ya, y’know.”      

Her footsteps came to an abrupt stop. When she replied, her voice was strained. “What makes you say such stupid things?”

“Not as they are now,” Delethil clarified, “but as they once were. A long, long time ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not entirely sure, lass. All we have are stories, but… Us elves were all once fae, just spawned from different kinds. Moon elves in particular were described as being celestial.” He paused for effect, counting five bricks on the far wall of his cell before continuing. “Once, they all had hair either black as night or pale as starlight. Skin in shades of pale blue or purple, glowing with the reflected light of the moon. I thought it when I first saw ya, that ya look just like how they used to. Their goddess Sehanine, reborn.” 

Shocked silence met his bold claim, then Riven snorted. “Bet none of them had red eyes, though. Especially not some fancy moon goddess.”

“Aye, maybe not, if the Circle has any say in their history.” Delethil closed his eyes, fatigue setting in at last. “But maybe they’re wrong about that, too.”

As Riven left, Delethil told himself that that particular come-on hadn’t been too much too soon, that he hadn’t scared her off. But days passed with no word from her. He regained the strength to move and nearly passed out again when he treated his back with the mystery concoction Riven had left him, his back experiencing renewed agony for an entire day as it healed. He survived on the meager once-a-day rations the guards threw at him, which didn’t seem to be on any schedule. Mentally, he prepared himself for Avenzi’s next summons, for her next round of torture.

Yet more days passed, and he was not summoned.

Riven had planned something, and she must have carried it out. Instead of being relieved at the extra time to rest, Delethil found he was growing restless with increasing anxiety.

When a male drow with dark skin, long white hair, and shocking blue eyes appeared at his cell, Delethil’s stomach flipped with foreboding and nerves both. Riven’s descriptions of her stepbrother had not done him justice. Zaresh was as attractive as Szez was cold, and he leveled Delethil a look of disgust that so far only Avenzi could match. But whereas Avenzi’s disgust had been pure, Zaresh’s was laced with anger.

“If I discover this has all been your influence,” Zaresh threatened with clipped precision, “there will be nothing left of you for Riven or my bitch of a stepmother to find.”

Delethil wasn’t in the mood for such pleasantries. He approached the bars. “Enough riddling. You lot are worse than sphinxes. What’s happening?” 

Maddeningly, Zaresh remained reticent, giving him a cool, cruel smile. “Why don’t you come and see for yourself?”

Then, in a move that rendered Delethil speechless, Zaresh produced a set of keys and deftly unlocked his cell. Delethil understood then that this was some sort of trap, and he didn’t want to know what was beyond these four, tight walls. Zaresh didn’t give him the choice. The drow drew a hidden dagger and introduced the sharp blade to Delethil’s back, threatening to cut open the scabs there or create new wounds from which to bleed.

At this moment, the two of them were breaking so many stringent Cicectan laws that if they were caught, everything would be over. At the same time, Delethil recognized the quiet step and clever hand of a fellow rogue, if not by profession then by necessity. Stealth would not be an issue between them. The problem would be how perceptive the remaining drow in Avenzi’s estate were. Either Zaresh earnestly cared about Riven to do all this, or there was some other play at work; likely, it was the latter.

Not seeing a way out, Delethil walked where Zaresh bade, death only ever a shadow away.

[soartfullydone]

My DnD OC crew, Riven Arnor, Delethil Aismere, and Erosen the Steadfast Thank you, artbreeder. I owe you my life.

[soartfullydone]

No. 2 - TALKING IS OVERRATED garotte | choking | gagged Delethil/Riven/Eravin requested by @editoress

DnD prompts are for me and my five closest friends.

*

Delethil knew claiming Aeranth for his own would mean inheriting her enemies. He also knew he would make new ones, some of which would already be inside the walls.

“You’re mad for doing this,” Eravin had told Delethil years ago when he’d trusted him enough to share his plans for revolution. He said the same thing a few days ago, too, when Delethil told him how he was going to lure the remaining dissident moon rabbits from their dens.

The difference between then and now was that Riven had been in the Circle tower with them. She’d sat perched on the edge of his desk, worry furrowing her brow, unusually silent. Always a sign that she wasn’t sure or happy about what she was hearing.

To Eravin, reasonable: “The sooner we deal with the problem…” To Riven, wheedling: “The less we’ll have to watch our backs in our own home.”

He would follow through with the plan regardless of their feelings, but he wanted them both on his side. Survival, if nothing else, would be more likely.

Eravin had sighed roughly and stormed halfway across the room before the fight gave out. There wasn’t time to waste arguing but to start making contingencies. As for Riven, she didn’t uncross her arms, didn’t move from the desk. But she said, “If you die, I won’t forgive you, Del.”

He smiled, satisfied. “I can’t have that! So I won’t, love.”

In the present, Delethil worked at loosening the ropes binding his hands behind his back, willing them both to get here, now. A masked elf walked purposefully toward him, a length of damp linen in his hands. The cloth wouldn’t break once it was wrapped around his throat. Delethil knew because all the attempts to chew through the cloth in his mouth hadn’t made the slightest difference. He could barely make any noise without the gag choking him.

So many times, he’d seen the shadows in the room move just so. So many times, he’d thought it was Riven, his wild lass coming to his rescue. It never was. Just the shift of the leaves through the high window or the slow, slow arc of the moon in the sky. He would need to assume everything had gone wrong, that he was on his own.

His wrists were chaffed, but he kept moving them. A bit of blood and stinging pain barely balanced against the value of his own life. Then, he’d kill this would-be avenger who thought his wood elf blood wasn’t good enough for Aeranth’s seat of power. He wouldn’t make the mistake of ignoring rebellion festering right in front of him as Lunhaven had.

The eyes that glared down at Delethil were full of hatred and sorrow. They were black in the dark, the slightest glint of light the only feature Delethil could make out from the elf’s masked face. But Delethil didn’t have to question the man’s allegiance. The cultured, haughty accent bared all.

“This is for Cetan Lunmina, you bastard,” the elf half-snarled, half-sobbed, and they were not the words of vengeance Delethil had expected to hear. He stalled, and in the next second, he couldn’t breathe.

Delethil’s lungs seized uselessly. His throat burned as he thrashed in the chair he was tied against, welts forming where the garrote rubbed his skin raw. A slight creaking noise, and the elf before him was pulling the cloth tighter, tighter. His attacker’s body was shaking with effort, his eyes taking on a glassy sheen. He was so close, yet Delethil couldn’t do anything to him. Only struggle fruitlessly as the moon elf strangled him to death. Or perhaps, he would break Delethil’s neck first.

Stars scattered across Delethil’s vision, and his head felt like it had been removed from the rest of him already. Floating, floating…

I think I’m floating, actually, Riven had said to him once he’d finally, finally kissed her, those teal eyes of hers he loved so much dazed yet overjoyed.

You’re far too pleased with yourself. What d’ye need me for? Eravin. His plain, provincial, perfect Eravin.

He wouldn’t see them again if he didn’t…

“You’re just a thug, a killer,” another voice was saying. “I can’t let forest muck ruin this country any—ack!”   

The garrote fell away, and the gag in his mouth was ripped out. Delethil coughed violently, his head falling forward. Strands of auburn hair clung to his face as he inhaled desperate gulps of air. He thought he felt a light pressure touch his chest, but then it was gone.

“You…” That voice from before was speaking again, but this time his words sounded wet. “You traitor!”

Delethil raised his head.

Riven stood between him and the moon elf. She was winded as if she’d just sprinted a mile. Enough of her face was turned toward him that he caught the wideness of her eyes, the indignant curl of her mouth. Her favorite dagger was in her hand, and the blade was slick with blood from its pointed tip to its opalescent hilt. In her other hand was the linen that had been in his mouth. It dropped from numb fingers. 

Sprawled on the floor, the moon elf clutched near his ribs, his robes and hand becoming stained with red.

“How dare you hurt him,” snarled Riven, taking a threatening step forward.

“How dare I?” Blood flecked the moon elf’s trembling lips. Trembling not with fear, but rage. “I’m not the one who threw my country away and spread my legs for a Forest Father worshipper.”

“He’s agnostic, ya fuckin’ loon!” She brandished the dagger irritably. “And I slept with him after the hostile takeover, so get your facts straight.”

“Ye don’t need to tell him that, Riv,” Delethil rasped, but he couldn’t stop the rush of affection for her.

“Shut up. Don’t talk.” Ah, she was furious. Erry would be worse.

“I can’t imagine,” the moon elf continued as if they hadn’t spoken, “how ashamed Erosen is of you.”

Riven went completely still. “Don’t,” she warned, “act like ye give a shite about me da.”

Delethil found he’d had enough as well. “Kill him, and let’s be done with this act.”

She gripped the dagger harder but otherwise didn’t move. Just watched blandly as the moon elf labored to his feet. He threw one last look of purest loathing at both of them before stumbling out of the door.

“Riven, what are ye doing? Dammit, lass, he’s runnin’ free!”

“He won’t get far,” she told him, and then she cut him loose. 

It was still dark once they emerged from the small storehouse. Delethil didn’t need support to walk, but Riven refused to leave his side, fussing over the bruises forming around his neck and the blood crusting his wrists.

But Delethil’s temper was flaring. He swore he could still hear the moon elf bastard fleeing through the brush. “Enough!” He pulled his hands from hers and bore down on her. “If he makes it back to the city, this will all have—”

She shoved him back. “I didn’t find ya alone!”

That was when he heard the release of an arrow. The woods, seeming so loud before, abruptly went silent.

When Eravin emerged from the trees, he had to drop down several limbs before he found ground level. A longbow was slung across his back along with a quiver missing quite a few arrows. He took in Riven’s eyes, shiny with unshed tears, and Delethil’s damaged body, and glowered. 

“Did I say ye were mad before? What I meant was right barmy, even for you!” He poked Delethil hard in the chest, expression turning thunderous. “This wasn’t the plan!”

“The plan,” Delethil said smoothly—or would have if almost being choked to death hadn’t roughened his speech, “was to get rid of anyone bold enough to contest my rule.” He continued with a sly grin, “And we did.”

“We did.” Eravin gestured between himself and Riven. “You decided to get captured and tortured like ye don’t know your arse from your elbow.”

“The burdens of leadership!” Delethil explained with a grand air, which was ruined by his scowl. His damned throat hurt. “Sometimes peace talks don’t go according to plan.”

“Not much talkin’, though, was there?” At Eravin’s incredulous look, Riven supplied, “They had him gagged.”

That part hadn’t left a mark, but Eravin’s gaze flew to Delethil’s face all the same. He knew what it meant, Delethil robbed of his greatest and final weapon. His hand came up to run a finger, feather-light, across Delethil’s tender neck. Just as quickly as it started, Eravin jerked his hand back and turned away.

“Ack, well, gag him again, Riv. I dinnae want to hear any more shite spew from his gob tonight.”

[soartfullydone]

No. 3 - STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT… taunting | insults | “Who did this to you?” Delethil/Riven/Eravin requested by @editoress

More of the OT3, we cannot be stopped

*

The saw cut through the wood with too much jagged force. If Eravin didn’t stop to take a second and breathe, he was more likely to lose a finger than trim the branches off this fallen tree. But pausing might mean he’d start to examine why he was so angry, and Eravin didn’t do introspection. Better for the feelings to boil and seethe like a pot of water over a fire and then fade away like steam as they always do.

One of the branches cracked under his hands. Eravin lowered the saw and brought up his leg, snapping the branch the rest of the way off with a swift kick of his booted heel. That felt good. He definitely hadn’t pictured anyone’s face he was stomping in instead. The leaves rattled and sighed as he dragged the limb away from the trunk.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” said a bright voice through his tetchy mood. “Are wood elf tempers more behavioral or cultural at this point?”

The briefest chuckle huffed out of him. “Shouldn’t ye know?”

He tossed the limb, watching it land at the foot of a rough tangle of trees behind his property. It would be able to rot there peacefully. Eravin brushed his hands off on his pants and returned to the tree. Riven was there, a foot against the trunk and inspecting his saw between her hands.

“My temper’s better than yours,” she answered lightly.

“Your temperament, maybe.” He tugged the saw away from her and crouched down to get back to work. “When you’re angry, though, up in arms doesn’t cover it.”

“You’re supposed to say it makes me fiery and exciting.”

The tips of his ears were hot. “Del might say that because he manages to be worse than ye. And he’s a fool. Me, I know a threat when I see one.” 

Arms straining, Eravin pulled the saw back and forth through a thicker branch. For a moment, that was all the sound that was between them. Finally, Riven asked, “What’s made ye all fiery today, then?”

Eravin’s neck was warm, or maybe that was the afternoon sun beating down on it. He paused to wipe the sweat off his brow. “Nothing,” he said gruffly. “Tree fell, is all.”

“Aye, trees fall,” Riven agreed, “but it didn’t fall on your shop or anything. No wasps around to sting ya or owls to bother ya. So what’s wrong?”

He sighed, contemplating leaving the saw stuck in the limb and retreating to his workshop. But that would just confirm Riven’s suspicions, and she would follow him anyway. Instead, he sat back on his haunches and insisted, “It doesn’t matter, so—”

“It matters to me. Who did it, then? Did Del say something to piss ya off?”

“Wasn’t Del.”

“Tell me who I’m beating up then! We can get Del in on it, too. It’s important for new, uh, triples to have bonding activities.”

Right, and have Del disappear his own men the way he used to terrorize Riven’s suitors. Absolutely not, not for something as idiotic as this.

Aye, Eravin thought the whole thing was idiotic. His hurt feelings, Riven’s concern, all of it. But she wasn’t going to drop it. Eravin resumed sawing with abandon. Maybe she wouldn’t hear him over the noise, his words directed at the wood chippings falling to his feet. “Just a few of the lads acting the maggot.”

Silence fell again. Eravin didn’t continue. Riven didn’t ask. The beats stretched on and on.

A rough, impatient sigh. “And?” Riven sounded frustrated, probably with the both of them. She hadn’t quite learned how to force him to say more than he wanted to. “What did the worms say? I’m hoping it’s good. I haven’t gotten to throw as many punches as I thought I would comin’ home.”

“It’s really not important, Riven.”

“Oh. So it was about me then.”

She’s pretty, all right, Cashal had said, but Delethil’s had plenty of pretty. He’ll get bored with her soon enough, and me arms will be right here, wide open.

The saw snagged on something. Eravin was distracted. “No! No, it wasn’t that. They were just…” He left the saw stuck in place and rose to his full height. Swiped a hand over his face and dampened his hair with even more sweat. “They were just being arses, and it got on my nerves. Tha’s all.”

“Was it about Del?”

“If it were, he wouldn’t give two shites.” He leaned over the tree, looked deep in her eyes, and said, “And if you’re not gonna help with this, ye can go, lass. I’m busy.”

Riven glared right back at him and slowly drew a dagger from behind her back. Rather than plunging it into his chest, she crouched down and started carving something on the other side of the tree.

Eravin cursed under his breath. Well, he hadn’t specified how she could help, had he? He yanked the saw free and stepped closer to where the break had occurred at the base of the trunk. He cut away the thin strips that still tethered the tree to its stump, keeping time with the steady thunk, thunk of Riven’s blade on the wood.

“Well, whatever they said,” Riven continued nonchalantly, “it’s not true. Or it’s not worth gettin’ into a twist over. Or maybe they are right, but fuck ‘em. Who cares?” She shrugged at him from the other side. “Hard to know which sympathies to give when I don’t know the details, but… I had to hit one of them, aye?”

She looked at him so hopefully, it made him embarrassed, ashamed. Not for the first time, he wished he had Del’s eloquence, only without the bullshit. He wished he had Riven’s warmth, her willingness to be vulnerable over and over no matter how many times she got hurt for it. He wished he could see himself the way these two people so clearly could.

He wished he could tell them everything he thought and felt easily, without any embellishing, or self-deprecation, or stumbling. But he couldn’t bare himself like that, not yet. Eravin didn’t want to make trouble, especially not to the two people who, beyond all reasoning, had chosen him over everyone else.

The words he’d overheard came back so loudly, he nearly flinched.

But what about Eravin?

You’re taking the piss. Boss got his throne. What’s he gonna need with Glenmere after this? I’m not even sure why he bothered with ‘im in the first place. We’ve better archers—and better looking.

He doesn’t even want to be here, does he? Wants to just live and die in that little shop of his. I say, let him. No fun to be around, and the drink makes him worse!

Eravin picked a few young leaves off a scraggly vine growing up the trunk, flicking them to the ground one by one. “Del’s gonna stay true to ye, y’know? He’s wanted ye so bad for so long, he’d never think about another lass.”

Riven’s jaw slackened, surprised. Her response was wry. “I should hope so, or else his reign’ll be the shortest in Aeranth’s history, it will.”

Too late, Eravin realized how the sudden topic change had come across. Too late, he realized that he should’ve added that he’d be the one to kill Del before Riven could. “No, I—What I meant was, ye don’t have anything to worry about. That includes Del. And that includes me.”

“That’s good. For a minute there, it was nothing but worryin’.” Riven cocked her head thoughtfully, focusing on her carving. “It’s the same the other way around, y’know. Del’s not gonna let you go, either. And ya won’t scare me away.” Her teeth flashed in a grin. “So I guess we better keep making sure we all really, really like each other, aye, Erry?”

His entire face turned beet red. Ducking his head, Eravin answered, his mouth quirking up despite himself, “Aye, Riv. That we will.”

[soartfullydone]

No. 13 - THAT’S GONNA LEAVE A MARK “This is gonna suck” | burns | cauterization Delethil/Riven/Eravin requested by @editoress

C-c-c-combo breaker!

*

This is gonna suck, Riven thought just before the knife was buried into her stomach nearly to the hilt. 

The scream that escaped her was inhuman, tearing her throat as pain overloaded every one of her senses. Her legs gave out from under her, and she fell, body arced protectively over the knife like it was the beginning and end of her, and maybe it was. She kept falling, twisting to land on her side as she kept a hand around the point where iron met flesh. Blood trickled out and coated her fingers. Dully, she was grateful she didn’t have the strength to pull out the knife, that she could resist the temptation. Doing so would be a terrible mistake. 

But maybe the mistake had been taking the killing blow meant for Delethil in the first place, if the surrounding pandemonium was anything to go by. 

“You’re dead!” Riven heard Delethil roaring, and it wasn’t at her. “You’re fucking dead, Niall! And if she dies, your brother is next, you worthless—piece—of—shite!” Ugly sounds accompanied each emphasized word. Dull impacts on flesh. Bones cracking. Animal cries of pain.

She wanted to call out to Del, but her mouth tasted like copper. Large hands covered hers, and a shadow fell over her face.

“Riven—Riven, listen. You’re going to be alright, lass.” Eravin. He was trying to sound firm, but his voice shook, fragile as eggshells that had already cracked. “Just hold on.”

His hand accidentally brushed against the knife handle, and the slightest movement sent untold horrors of pain shooting through her. Riven sobbed, tried to curl in on herself, but that made it worse. She was a shattered mirror still in its frame. Eravin held her in place with a hand pressed against her shoulder. He was crying. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Riven. Please, hold still.”

She pried open her eyes and rasped, “Okay?”

Eravin’s mouth stuttered in silence for a moment. “I’m fine, lass. Don’t—don’t talk.”

“Del?”

Her gaze swept up in time to see it. Delethil, enraged, with a wood elf forced to his knees, Delethil’s hand clenching his hair close to the scalp. The wood elf’s eyes met Riven’s—widened with fear and regret but glinting with anger—as Delethil swiped a dagger across his throat. Blood spurted in an arc as Delethil dropped the elf, who landed next to another lifeless body. The one who had stabbed Riven. The one who Delethil had beaten to death. 

Delethil stepped over the bodies, revealing the blood splattered on his clothes and the flush of wrath on his face. The way the evening light hit his auburn hair, brightening the red strands and turning the rest to golden fire, made him appear less like an amused trickster and more like a vengeful spirit. 

“Get a bloody healer here now,” Delethil threatened with the amplification and force of a gale. “Or the rest of ya will join them!”

Delethil’s people—both the ones who hadn’t mutinied on him and the ones who had but were thinking twice—bolted from the clearing in various directions. Most would follow his order, but some were undoubtedly fleeing Lunhaven as quickly as possible. 

“Is she alive?” Delethil demanded. 

“Yes, but Del, the knife—“

“Take it out.”

“No. It’s buried too deep. In her stomach. If we remove it, she’ll die.”

“She’s dying now, godsdammit. Where is that fucking healer? An entire city full of—!“

“Del?”

Her small, broken voice hushed Delethil’s livid invectives. He dropped to his knees on the other side of her from Eravin. “I’m here, love.”

Slowly, slowly, Riven rolled to lay prone on her back, whimpers escaping past her clenched teeth. Hands steadied her, but she wasn’t sure who they belonged to. All she saw was Delethil arched over her when she managed to open her eyes. “You’re… bleeding.”

“It’s not mine, Riv. I’m alright. You…” His fingertips brushed aside the hair sticking to her forehead. They were trembling. “You saved me, you wonderful, mad thing.”

“I… warned…”

“Aye. Ya did. I should have listened. But you can never let me hear the end of it later, eh? …Riv?” She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Hands suddenly gripped her hard by the shoulders, barely holding back from shaking her. “Answer me, dammit! Riven!?”

Maybe one of them lightly slapped her face, trying to elicit a response from her. Maybe neither did. She embraced the black regardless.

*

When she fell limp, Eravin thought his life was over. Delethil was shouting, but Eravin couldn’t make out the words. His ears were muffled, his mind in freefall as he watched blood continuing to pour out of Riven despite the knife being in the way.

Despite what he’d said. She was dying, she was—

His head snapped to the side as Delethil punched him, but he didn’t feel that, either. Didn’t react when Delethil fisted the front of his tunic and jerked him closer. Eravin stared at his oldest friend with desolation, the two of them suspended over Riven’s barely-breathing form. “Do something,” Delethil begged him. “Don’t just—”

More than Delethil’s words, it was the sight of tears glossing in Delethil’s eyes that woke Eravin up. He tore Delethil’s hand from his shirt and shot to his feet, searching. 

At that moment, Cashal burst into the clearing at a full-tilt sprint and skidded to a stop. “Healer’s on his way,” he panted, blond hair falling over his shoulders as he braced himself on his knees to catch his breath. “Just heard.”

With that, Eravin made a decision, praying it was the right one.

“Then get him the fuck over here!” Delethil was snarling. “I don’t care if ya have to drag him by—”

“Dagger, flask,” Eravin interrupted him. “Now.”

Without protest, Delethil drew both objects from behind his back and offered them to Eravin, who promptly doused the dagger blade with alcohol from the flask. Cashal wisely used the distraction to make himself scarce.

Eravin snatched up a torch one of the men had dropped to the ground. It continued to burn with a low flame, enough to scorch the grass. Eravin stuck the dagger’s blade in the heart of the flame, watching for the steel to temper. Just as the blade was beginning to turn red, he removed it and tossed the torch into the dirt.

“Ya want to take it out,” Delethil confirmed with a grim edge to his voice. 

“I need ye to hold her down.”

This was going to kill him, Eravin thought. If Riven didn’t die first, being the one to do this to her was going to destroy him. But as long as she survived until the healer arrived, that was all that mattered.

As Eravin knelt down and mentally prepared himself, Delethil tore off a belt from around his narrow hips. He forced Riven’s mouth open, placing the belt in between her teeth. He extended a hand for the flask and said, “I’ll get the knife.”

Eravin passed it back. With a bracing breath, Delethil wrapped a hand around the hilt and swiftly pulled the knife from her stomach. Riven’s eyes shot open, her scream muffled around the belt. Blood spurted and didn’t stop. Her eyes rolled, as she fell back into a half-state of unconsciousness, barely aware of what was going on. She whimpered in protest when Delethil poured the rest of the alcohol on her gaping wound and then held the top half of her down. Eravin trapped her legs underneath him, catching sight of Delethil’s ashen face and the cold, determined glint of his emerald eyes.

This would kill both of them, but it had to be done.

Eravin lowered the knife. The second the blade touched Riven and started cauterizing the wound, she struggled violently, screams tearing from her. Eravin applied every bit of his strength to force her to stay still, to force himself to hold the blade steady and not take it away a second too soon. He willed himself not to be sick as her flesh burned, scorching the air with its stench.

At last, it was done. Riven lay unmoving, her head turned to the side, her face wet with tears and sweat. Her stomach looked… It looked…

Eravin got off of her, dropped the knife, and vomited at the base of one of the trees surrounding them. Vaguely, he heard Delethil murmuring to Riven, his voice having the cadence of a reassuring lover. When Eravin looked over his shoulder, though, Delethil wasn’t smiling, didn’t look pleased at all. He held Riven’s head in his lap and kept searching between the trees. He caught Eravin’s questioning look and affirmed, “The bleeding’s stopped. She’s breathing steady.”

But for how much longer? They’d bought her time only for the healer. There was nothing they could do about her internal damage.

Footsteps rushed closer, the heavy gait of a man crashing through the leaves and brush of the forest. Eravin wiped his mouth and stood, but the second he caught sight of the healer running for them, his entire body turned cold, his face bloodless.

Silver hair flying behind him, Erosen breached the clearing, his teal eyes honed on the unconscious, pink-haired elf in Delethil’s lap. His attention caught on the bloody knife next to Delethil in the grass, but he drew up short at the horrible burn on Riven’s stomach. His magic flared in bright, unforgiving condemnation.

“My little girl,” Erosen said with damning fury and horror. He marched forward, every bit of his parental contempt and unbridled hostility falling like swords on Eravin and Delethil’s heads. “What have you done to her?”

[soartfullydone]

No. 6 - TOUCH AND GO bruises | touch starved | hunger Delethil/Riven/Eravin requested by @editoress

this is too long, i’m sorry

*

“Delethil,” Eravin snapped by his left ear. “Either use your bloody feet or don’t.”

“The whole name!” exclaimed Delethil with a wide, wide grin. “Have I made you cross with me?”

“I’m going to drop you.”

“Do that,” Delethil slurred sagely, as if his vision wasn’t swimming and his entire body wasn’t feeling three whiskeys too many. “And we’ll drop together.”

“Just—” Eravin adjusted the arm Delethil had slung around his shoulders, his own arm bracing Delethil across the back. “Walk, dammit.”

“I’m trying!” Delethil ignored all the warning signs and laughed. “Isn’t it working?”

Before Eravin could snipe back at him or Delethil could make another unhelpful comment, Delethil heard a voice that was music to his ears. “Aah, do ya need some help?”

“Lass!” Delethil cried, flinging his free arm out to Riven, which threw him and Eravin momentarily off-balance, setting off a chain of heavily-accented cursing to his left. “Come here and join us!”

“It’s late,” Eravin reminded them both once everything resettled. “Erosen will lose it if ye don’t get home.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Aw, did ya hear that?” Delethil cooed into Eravin’s ear. He even gave Eravin a victory pat on his chest as if Eravin were the one needing congratulating. “She doesn’t mind getting in trouble for me.”

“Most drunks can’t string sentences together when they get to your state. I wish ye were one of them.”

“If ya were already out,” Delethil continued as if Eravin hadn’t spoken, “why didn’t ya come see me, lass?”

“Oh, well, I—“ It was dark save for the streetlamps, but even so, Delethil was enraptured by the blush spreading across Riven’s cheeks. “I would have, but I was practicing. Lost track of time.”

“Ah, that’s lovely,” Delethil remarked, and it wasn’t about anything she’d just said. 

Eravin made an impatient noise. “Look, can we walk and talk? Streets are packed, and if he passes out, I’m leaving him here.”

Delethil swiveled around to fully expose Eravin to the brunt of his offense. “Ya would not!”

“Try me.” But despite Eravin’s tense jaw and unkind words, there was worry resting between his brows. It gave him away every time.

“Let’s move then!” Riven rushed forward, mirroring Eravin’s position on Delethil’s right side. Her arm across Delethil’s lower back, his arm slung around her shoulders. Except she was shorter than Delethil and Eravin both and narrower besides, making their first few steps awkward.

Delethil hardly cared. His senses were dimmed but not enough to prevent him from feeling Riven pressed against his side. He found himself holding her closer and leaning further into her, if just to assure himself this was real. Too soon, Eravin grunted and hoisted him back level. 

“I didn’t mean ye had to help, Riven,” Eravin said, an odd inflection to his voice. “Ye should really be getting home.”

“It’s alright! Besides…” Riven peered at Delethil’s flushed face, eyes flickering down to his staggering gait. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this bad before.”

“With good reason,” Eravin grumbled. 

Delethil interjected, “My ears work fine as ever.”

“Good, then hear me well. You’re an idiot. Don’t ye have work tomorrow?”

“Aye, with my favorite lass!” Even having to endure Erosen’s scrutiny didn’t make Delethil feel any less chipper about it. His head lolled, coming to rest against Riven’s. There was an intimacy to it, the way his cheek brushed against the braid wrapped around the top of her head. How his breath ghosted past the tip of her ear as he suggested lowly, “Ya can distract your da if I’m late, aye?”

“A-aye! I’ll, um… sleep in? Aye! That’s what I’ll do. I’ll sleep in and be, uh, difficult. I’ve a harp lesson in the morning, so.”

Delethil grinned into her hair, and that’s when Eravin dug his fingers into Delethil’s side. A warning. You’re being too obvious.

He was, but Riven still couldn’t figure it. How much he liked her. Yet he couldn’t seem to stop.

In truth, he’d never gotten this drunk around her before for a number of reasons. The first and most obvious was because it was sloppy. What self-respecting lad wanted to be a right mess around the lass he liked? 

The second was because Delethil’s mood could swing with the drink. One moment, he could be everyone’s friend, and the next he could punch someone clean over the tavern bar for the slightest offense. Whether the alcohol fired up his blood or soured his stomach, Delethil had taken great pains to keep Riven unaware that he could be less than ideal for her.

But the real reason might be because drinking made his silver tongue incredibly loose. Even now he wanted to tell her so many things. How beautiful she’d looked at the last moon elf gathering. How close he came to inviting her home with him. How whenever she crossed his mind during the day, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. How the ghost of her followed him to his bed, even if he was busy entertaining someone else.

Perhaps the only thing that stopped him tonight from saying all these things and more was Eravin. If Delethil ever got his chance to tell Riven how he felt, the last thing he wanted was an audience. It had to be perfect.

He couldn’t lose her, not if it could be helped. That fear cut through the fog in his head, preventing him from being too truthful.

As the trio continued their staggered, three-legged walk down the street, Riven asked, “Where are we taking him?”

“My place,” responded Eravin, and Delethil felt so much gratitude to him that he could kiss him. “It’s closer.”

“Aye, good thinking. Lead the way.”

“I have,” Delethil declared, practically crowing, “the two finest mates in all the lands! Point me to a man who’s luckier.”

Eravin rolled his eyes. To Riven, he groused, “And that’ll be the line he won’t remember come morning.”

“You wound me. I will so.”

“Ye won’t, and ye’ll be a holy terror when you’re hungover.”

Once, Delethil had cursed Eravin’s very existence—among other things—after waking up from an all-night bender, and now, he never let Delethil forget the mistreatment.

Riven observed with amusement, and perhaps a tinge of envy,” The both of ya must do this a lot.”

“Less than ya think,” Delethil said defensively.

“But more than I’d like,” Eravin concluded.

Riven laughed. Delethil wished he could bottle the sound and store it with the rest of the treasures she’d given him.

The walk to Eravin’s home was mostly uneventful beyond their light-hearted bickering. Delethil even took to singing an old wood elf folk song, which soon became something new as he improvised the lyrics. They’d almost made it when Delethil felt his stomach take an inevitable turn.

He cut himself off, mid-warble, trying to fight the nausea back. At last, he barked, “Bushes.”

“Shite. Riven—”

Delethil prised himself from their grasp, rushing forward on unsteady legs to kneel behind some shrubs. There, he promptly vomited. Ah, misery. He must have resembled an Ankheg, the way he was spewing acid.

Footsteps crunched against leaves and twigs behind him. Hands gathered the strands of his long hair that weren’t already tied back and pulled them free from his face. With a shock, Delethil noted they weren’t the hands he expected, large and callused from carving wood and knocking arrows. They were Riven’s, petite and delicate yet resolute with purpose.

“It’s all right,” she murmured, freeing a hand to rub against his back. “You’re all right. Eravin’s is just up these stairs here, if ya feel up to it?”

Delethil should’ve felt embarrassed. Here he was, being a complete, messy arse in front of her. Instead, he wanted her with a sudden hunger that nearly robbed him of the rest of his senses. If he weren’t on his knees in the dirt, filth on his face and feeling like utter shit, he might’ve acted on it. All he could do, though, was marvel as Riven doted on him.

He had pondered it, of course. What it would be like if their roles were reversed, if she had to wait on him hand and foot. The concept alone was pleasurable to think about. Now he realized that, in practice, it could become addicting.

Who knows when it would happen again? Delethil was going to milk this shamelessly for all he was worth.

“Ah, Riven.” He leaned against her leg, the side of his face braced against her thigh. “You’re too good to me, ya are.”

She tensed at the sudden contact, managing to relax only the slightest bit. “You’re so dramatic.” A tentative hand came to rest on the crown of his head. Delethil’s eyes slid closed as Riven’s fingers carded through his hair. “Feeling better?”

Delethil hummed a moment and concluded, “No.” With great reluctance, he parted from her to empty his stomach again.

A heavy sigh cut through the commotion. Eravin’s footsteps sounded heavier, more aggrieved, his boots kicking aside a rock. Delethil saw it roll past him in his periphery. 

“As soon as he stops,” Eravin was telling Riven, “we’ll hoist him up and get him upstairs fast, aye?”

Riven confidently assented, and the two did as agreed. His eyes squeezed shut, Delethil kept his head down as they carried him up, up, up and across the threshold of Eravin’s home. He knew every turn of the place, so Delethil focused on keeping the rest of his stomach down, counting the steps left before Eravin would drop him in his bed, an empty chamber pot nearby on the floor.

He and Eravin had done this song and dance before, but Riven being here was new, for all of them. Having a third made it all much easier, Delethil noted as his friends deposited him in the bed. He stayed on his side and just took large breaths, in and out.

“Do ya have any mint leaves?” Riven sounded concerned. Delethil smiled against Eravin’s pillow.

“Aye, look in the pantry.” Eravin was about to sit down at the foot of the bed, but he suddenly shot up. “Actually. Let me show ye.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I got it.”

“Sure? I can—”

“Aye, aye, stay with him.”

“...All right.” Eravin grudgingly sat down. His brown hair was pulled back in its usual, short ponytail, so Delethil saw clearly how red the back of his neck was. “Tell me if ye need something. I’m—sorry. About the mess.”

Riven’s chuckle drifted to them from down the hall. “What mess?”

Eravin rubbed a hand across his face. Then, he twisted around and nearly shoved Delethil’s booted feet off the bed. “And you,” he half-whispered. “Quit fakin’ it.”

“How dare you. I never fake it.”

“Except for right now.” 

“I,” Delethil replied in a fragile voice, “am ill.”

“Oh, like hell ye are.” Eravin scooted closer until he could examine Delethil plainly. By the sharp tilt of Eravin’s mouth, Delethil hadn’t cut off eye contact soon enough. The man knew him too well; one glimpse at Delethil’s pupils told Eravin that he was sobering up. “You’ve thrown up, twice. You’re fine. She needs to go home before—”

True, his stomach nausea was settling down since he wasn’t walking anymore, but that was beside the point. “She can get out of trouble with her da well enough, Erry. Why the concern?”

Eravin’s mouth snapped closed. He glared at the far wall. “Didn’t expect her to go out of her way and help. Shame for her to catch hell for it, is all.”

“Her stealth’s grand. I doubt she’ll get caught.” Delethil shifted onto his back, frowning as the room briefly started spinning again. His stomach gave a twinge of protest, and he retreated behind the blackness of his eyelids for a moment, gathering his bearings. 

Eravin exhaled loudly, resigned. “Well, ye look a right mess for company.” He drew a clean cloth from a pocket and wiped Delethil’s face clean, flushing as he noticed Delethil was watching him intently the whole time. Eravin tossed the cloth to the corner of the room and stood. “Ach, why am I even helpin’ ye? Ye should be humbled in front of her for once.”

“How’s my hair?” Delethil couldn’t help asking.

“Looks like shite. Ye look like shite.”

“Ya could’ve just said the joke didn’t amuse.” Delethil looked past him through the open doorway to the dark hallway beyond. “She did come, didn’t she. Are ye really surprised, after all I’ve told ya about her?”

“A bit, but. No. I mean—” Eravin’s brown eyes glanced at Delethil before he threw up a hand in surrender. “Ach, forget it.”  

Delethil didn’t intend to, but Riven returned before he could follow through with a new line of questioning. He focused instead on looking as pitiful as possible. Eyes shadowed and heavy-lidded. A hand brought to rest against his stomach, as if it actively pained him. Voice kept low and soft as he said her name. All and all, it wasn’t hard. Soberness aside, the night’s activities had made him sluggish.

Shyly, Riven stepped around Eravin and offered Delethil the mint leaves. “Chew these. They’ll help clean your mouth and, uh, other stuff.”

“A world of gratitude to ya, lass.” But when Delethil reached for them, he couldn’t quite grasp them.

“Oh, um, I can…” Riven settled beside him on the bed and extended the two bright green leaves toward Delethil’s mouth. Disbelieving it but never once dreaming of rejecting it, Delethil allowed Riven to hand feed him.

Bliss, this. If this were Riven’s typical bedside manner, he’d need to fake being an invalid more often. 

Leaning against the wall, Eravin coughed loudly, reminding them both that, yes, he was still here, and no, he wasn’t going anywhere. As if Delethil meant to truly try anything tonight of all nights. It was enough that he was abed, the overpowering taste of mint filling his mouth with his best mate keeping watch and the lass he loved sitting beside him.

It surprised Delethil, sometimes, how desperately he wanted Riven to love him back, and he felt that yearning hit him now with a dull yet persistent ache. It was just bearable to live with, and knowing that Riven had feelings for him helped keep it so. Yet knowing was also a shallow victory, one battle won versus the entire war. Delethil wanted it settled, done with. He wanted to know if Riven’s feelings would withstand his blackest moods, his sharpest tongue, his most unflattering forms. He wanted to know if his own love for her was evergreen, as the bards would say, or if it would wither along with his charming veneer. 

Not yet. Not yet.

It was better that they both had to wait for those answers. Delethil knew the price he often paid for being difficult was steep, and he wasn’t ready to learn if the next cost was Riven’s goodwill.

“Oh,” Riven remarked with a hint of regret as Delethil chewed the leaves. “Ya beat me to his face.”

“Well.” Eravin’s voice was gruff. “He reeked, so.”

Snickering, Riven placed a cool palm against Delethil’s forehead. The soft touch felt wonderful. Delethil’s eyes drifted closed again.

“That’s good. No fever.”

“Why would the bastard have a fever?”

“No idea. But ya never know.” 

She withdrew her hand, and a small groan of disappointment escaped Delethil’s throat. Put it back, he wanted to say. You can touch. A fever, he may not have, but Eravin’s house was hot as hell tonight.

“You’re not going to like this at first, but it’ll feel nice, I promise.” 

Before Delethil could question any of that, he felt Riven lift his tunic past his stomach—which was shocking enough until a block of ice was pressed there instead. He jumped, eyes shooting open, but Riven was fluttering her hands, waving him back down to rest. “It’s alright, it’s alright! Just a cold rag. Give it a sec, and your stomach will feel better.”

Past the initial shock of the cold, Delethil had to admit she was right. There was something surprisingly soothing about it. “A bit more warning next time, lass.”

“That wouldn’t be as fun.”

“It was funny from where I’m standing.” Eravin dryly inquired, “Where’d ya learn to take care of drunks so well?” 

“Oh, nowhere.” Riven smiled sheepishly. “This is more what I wanted someone to do for me when I got all messed up once.” At Delethil’s questioning look, she added, “It was before I met ya. Da and I, er, had a row. Our first really big one. About the guards, I think. I was so upset afterwards I stole a pretty bottle of bourbon from his stash out of some sense of petty revenge. Maybe I’d like it now, but it tasted like corroded shite at the time. Didn’t matter, though. I was mad, and I drank the whole thing in my room until I got sick.”

She drummed her fingers together in her lap, her face taking on a faraway look as she recounted what happened. “I stayed curled up around the chamber pot all night. No mint leaves, no cool water, or friends nearby. I couldn’t call for anyone. Didn’t have anyone to call. I didn’t want Da to know or… for him to worry. I remember thinking—well,” Riven interrupted herself with a rueful chuckle. “I was very young at the time.”

“How young?” Delethil said. He reached, and his fingers brushed against one of her hands.

“Aah... I think, fifteen.”

He interlaced his fingers with hers. “And what did ya think, back then when ya were so young?” 

“It’s embarrassing,” Riven admitted, “but I remember wishing I had someone to take care of me. Someone like a mum or…” Her eyes dropped to their joined hands before flitting away. She quickly added, “And not all the time or anything! Just sometimes. When I… When I needed it.” 

Slowly, Delethil brought her hand toward him, rearranging their hands so he could hold her palm against his cheek. “Next time, come get me, Riven. I’ll return the favor.”

Her teal eyes widened. Was she really surprised that he would offer? Or… no. It wasn’t that. She was transfixed on their hands. It was dim, but he could imagine her face was almost as pink as her pretty rose-gold hair.

Experimentally, he brushed his thumb against the back of her hand. Riven’s breath caught, too slight to hear, but Delethil was so close. He could see the war in her eyes, her need to pull away and her longing for more of his touch. There had been no romances in her youth, great or small. She was so starved for even the most basic shows of affection, it showed plainly on her face before she could hide it.

“That’s ma fault, it is,” Delethil murmured, “but I don’ take it back.”

His mutterings snapped Riven out of her daze. “Eh? Del? Are ya okay? You’re not makin’ any sense.”

Delethil felt like he was drunk again, only instead of from whiskey, he’d become intoxicated by the faint moonlight filtering into the night-clad room, by the lilt of Riven’s voice, by the woodsy scent of Eravin on the pillow. Drowsiness tugged at the edges of his mind, beckoning him toward sleep, but he wasn’t willing to succumb just yet.

He didn’t want to let go of this moment.

Turning his head, Delethil vowed against her palm, “I’ll take care of ya, love.”

He’d made a mistake, closing his eyes as he said that. Sleep tugged him down. As if from a great distance, he felt the bed shift as Riven rose, felt her hand slip from his and part from his lips.

“He… must think I’m one of his girlfriends.”

Eravin’s tone was wooden as he replied, “Aye. He must.”

“Will he be alright, d’ya think?”

Eravin grunted in the affirmative. “Come on. I can walk ye home.”

“Oh! Thank ya, but—”

“It’s fine. It won’t take long.”

Their voices were getting fainter. “But—”

“It’s fine. Enough frettin’ over—”

The next thing Delethil knew, it was morning. The sky was cloudy and gray, hinting at rain, and the birdsong was quiet. Riven was gone. Eravin slept beside Delethil on his side, his back facing Delethil. The sheets were mussed, and the chamber pot remained unused on the floor.

Had the whole thing been a dream? Had Riven ever been here? Had he promised her something? Or had he and Eravin stumbled back here alone in their usual drunken stupor?

Delethil pushed the sheets and bedspread from him. As soon as he sat up, he felt something fall from his stomach and out of the bottom of his shirt. Fishing around under the covers, Delethil found it. A slightly damp, folded rag, made warm from his body heat.

She had been here.

Delethil fell back into bed and held the back of his hand to his forehead, fingers clasped around the rag like a cage.

“Ah, Erry,” Delethil lamented to Eravin’s sleeping back, to the quiet room. “This bloody revolution cannot come soon enough.”

[soartfullydone]

I forgot to post my actual DnD OCs I made in Hero Forge. My character Riven, an elf rogue; her Da, Erosen the Steadfast; and one garbageman stinkboi, Delethil

[soartfullydone]

I really don’t play with dollmakers and such enough. Anyway, here are some more approximations of my DnD idiots, Riven Arnor and Delethil Aismere. This particular picrew was fun, and even if I found it limiting for Riven, I think I conveyed her brand of jackassery successfully.

You can’t see it, but she’s making almost the exact same face as Del under the mask.

[soartfullydone]

Delethil, what ARE you? Career-wise, I mean, sir, your title. How would you describe your position? Your work? How about Eravin's, what does he do? Just trying to find out what you would put on a resume besides, "Oh, a fast friend, I hope" with a winky face.

Not too fast, to be certain. I have a strict policy of highlighting my many benefits, and allowing others to share in them. Word of mouth still reigns, you know, and I’m quite generous with mine.

But how to answer when you’ve got me all figured out? Clever you. I imagine some might praise me as a jack-of-all-trades sort while others may vilify me as an opportunist. Flatterers, all, but I simply can’t turn aside an intriguing---what was the word you used---position? Oh, the coin matters, naturally, but not as much as what I can learn, you understand? You learn enough, and any work can open up to you. Can be yours to master. Other doors open, and the cycle begins again.

That’s my title, I suppose. A door-opener.  As for Eravin, well... [laughs] I shouldn’t assume on his behalf. For one, he’ll think to throttle me. For two, I’m struck by the idea the master bowman doesn’t fully know what he does. Whatever it is, I can assure you he’s good with his hands. Marvelous, in fact. [winks] See? Word of mouth.