#people sending me things that remind them of my fics - my eternal beloved

[scarlett-ink]

Hi!! This remined me of your Dead in the Water fanfic.

Could work for the others, maybe? asdsfd

(past 4am drawing of the adopted fish) Life sure isn't shrimple, isn't it?

AAAAAAAH OMFG ITS SO CUTE I LOVE IT SO MUCH THANK YOU SO MUCH AAAAAAAH

This is y/n to a tee (pun intended) they just want life to be shrimple fr fr😭

Thank you so so much for this again it’s made my entire day 💙🩵💙🩵

[bri-sonat]

Kisses Of Fire

Follow-up to Life Eternal

Pairing: Brienne of Tarth x Fem!Knight!Reader

Warnings: NSFW!! Major GoT spoilers, descriptions of violence & blood, angst, SMUTTY SMUT, oral sex, praise kink, semi-public sex, a tiny bit of angst again, fluff.

A/N: so as i was writing this i realized i totally made up my own timeline, oopsie, so i should clarify. the first two fics (enjoy the silence & life eternal) took place post the long night and pre the end. this fic catches up to that. this is (by my own opinion and admission) not my best work, but i've been working on it for so long and it's been approved for public reading, so, here it is. the finale. the end of our two beloved knights' love story. blah blah blah english is not my first language (obligatory warning). i hope the ending is satisfactory to all, enjoy!

big thanks to my dear bestie aron (@queerofalltrades) for reading through it and giving it the stamp of approval, and for helping me with the idea for this fic, without them, this fic wouldn't exist. and spouse heather (@pastanest) for helping me compact complicated GoT plot and for explaining more GoT customs to me.

It had been five months since that fateful night by the stables when your love had screamed after you with all her might with tears in her eyes. 

That had also been the last time she had communicated with you at all. 

You had sent her ravens, every Sunday for the past months, concluding your week, talking about your father's passing, and your mother. No message was ever sent back but your own, unopened and unread. Despite this you kept sending them, to keep your oath and to let her know you thought about her, every single day. 

In your messages to her, you often mentioned things you saw during your day that reminded you of her. Like the bright blue sky, equally as bright as her eyes and smile. The setting sun, just as beautiful and breathtaking as her. Any time you saw something dark blue, much reminding you of the unique armor she always donned. 

These small details were added for her to know that you hadn’t forgotten her and that she was always on your mind; had she read them, she would’ve been made aware of this fact. 

You couldn’t blame her for ignoring your messages. She was upset that you left, that you didn’t listen to her cries. That you had made her fall in love, and that you ripped her heart out of her chest. 

What you couldn’t understand, however, was her stubbornness, she knew you had no choice. In fact, she would’ve done the same had her father gotten ill, considering she’s his only heir. The only difference was she would’ve let you come with her; she would’ve begged you to. 

She would have hired you as her main bodyguard, as her master-at-arms, as Commander of her troops, she would have hired you as anything if it meant always having you at her side. Even as she ruled over Tarth. 

That was the difference between her and you, she had obligations and could not join you, even when she desperately wanted to, you, however, could join her. You weren’t sworn to anyone but your family, Brienne, and the Gods, there was work for knights everywhere, you could go wherever you wished. 

She went where her loyalties led her, and her loyalties always led her to the daughters of Lady Catelyn Stark. Despite the Lady’s murder at the red wedding years prior, the honorable blonde kept serving the daughters, because death did not release her from her vows. You admired her extreme loyalty and virtue, there weren’t many people like her left in the world you lived in, everyone was either greedy, monsters, liars, or all three. 

Your unopened scrolls started to pile up on your desk and you wondered how long she would keep this up. Your patience only lasted for so long and you couldn’t deny the pang of hurt that surged through you and your heart when yet another message was returned, unread. After a while, you started to wonder if she had even received your ravens at all. 

About one month after you had arrived at your family’s residence in Lemonwood, your father passed due to his illness, leaving you and your mother as the attendees of the family business. 

The four months that passed after that were spent keeping up the trade, meeting shipments at Planky Town as they came in from the Westerosi coast and the Free Cities of Essos, comforting your mother, and sending unrequited ravens to Brienne. 

To honor your duties as a knight, you offered your help to the Martell family, having history with them that went all the way back to your grandfather's childhood. The only living one of them called for you every now and then for advice, or just to help patrol around Sunspear. 

You were a familiar face for most, having spent a lot of time in the city growing up, and you recognized some people as well, stopping to have a chat with some; and others, you just gave a polite nod to considering where you knew them from. 

Brienne was a constant on your mind, even when you received the news one week after your arrival of Kings Landing crumbling, the deaths of Jaime and Cersei Lannister, and Jon Snow assassinating Daenerys Targaryen. 

A few weeks after the fall of the capital and the deaths, Prince Martell had to leave for unstated business in Kings Landing. He had asked you to look over things while he was away and you accepted, not inquiring what said business was about. 

He had returned about a week later and stated that Bran the Broken had taken the now melted Iron Throne and that The North had been established as an independent kingdom with Sansa as its ruler. The mention of her name brought forth memories of the last time you had spoken to her, recollections of Brienne, and eventually evocations of her by the stables. 

You had no news of your knight; you did not even know if she was alive. 

You desperately wanted to ask Prince Martell about Brienne. Just a simple, ‘My Lord, was there a tall blonde by Sansa Starks’ side?’ would have been adequate, but you hadn’t dared to verbalize the query in case the answer was no. If the answer was no, it meant that she was no longer alive, because your knight was always by the redhead's side as her sworn sword. 

Part of you hoped that if she had met her untimely death, you’d be notified; but had to come to terms with that there would be no reason for anyone to think of doing so. 

Around the same time of Prince Martell's return from Kings Landing, your raven returned, however, something was different this time. The bird carried both your scroll and another. You had hoped it was from Brienne, disappointment settled in when you saw that it wasn’t. 

The words on the Stark stationary were very few, only there to convey the brief piece of information necessary. Despite the lack of long and many sentences, the small amount was exactly what you needed to hear. 

“Brienne no longer resides in Winterfell. She has relocated to the White Sword Tower in Kings Landing. – Sansa Stark.”

She was alive. A flood of relief washed over you but was quickly replaced by sadness and confusion. She was alive but ignored your messages; and she was in the King's Guard, of course. 

You read the message again and detected that Brienne's and Sansa’s titles were missing in the message, meaning she had forsaken professionalism. This led you to the conclusion that she somehow knew about you and your knight's infatuation with each other. It gave you a sense of calmness, knowing that you would have been notified had she perished. 

It then broke your heart, realizing that the blonde couldn’t let go of her pride for one second to personally let you know of her relocating, she had to have someone else do it for her. You would have expected her to tell you so herself but apparently, that was too highly anticipated of you, so silly of you to think that she could be bothered to tell you personally, how unreasonable, how idiotic. 

There were whispers of a new Lord Commander, but no one knew who they were, only that the King's Guard now only consisted of two knights. You knew that Brienne was one of the members, considering her new residency but still had no idea who the Commander could be considering they had no distinguishing marks to tell them apart from the rest of the guard. 

So, until it was confirmed who had filled the position, it was unknown information and you made it a habit to spike your ears whenever you heard people mention ‘Lord Commander’ in conversation, hoping to learn what everyone was curious to know. 

——— 

Brienne’s life had been quite non-identical. She had spent the entire week after your departure mourning you. She noticed your absence in everything: her bed, her heart, breakfast, training, dinner, and the void was particularly draining after her patrols when your usual midnight meetings would occur. She had gotten used to your touch, now the only thing she felt was the cold hand of complete loneliness. 

During your stay, Brienne's squire, Podrick, had noticed the taller knight's infatuation with you and stayed away, giving you the space to speak uninhibitedly. You had not met him but had heard such wonderful stories of their adventures together. He instead lurked in the background, training with your love when you had split off during the day. 

With you gone, he had proven to be a comforting presence for Brienne, but the hole left inside of her was still gaping, a void that only you could seal. She trained him whenever she had free time, which was more often with you not there, and he grew stronger and stronger for each day that passed. 

Sometime after the Battle of Kings Landing, Brienne traveled to the Dragonpit to represent Tarth in the trial of Tyrion Lannister. From what she had been told by Sansa whose opinion she valued most amongst those present at the trial, Daenerys had gone against his advice, he had then denounced himself as her Hand, resulting in imprisonment for his defiance. 

Jon Snow, who Brienne had come to conclude was a good man after the time spent with him at Sansa's side, had then had a conversation with Tyrion within the cell he was held in, before murdering Daenerys.  

During the trial, Brienne sat and listened to Tyrion as he advised the gathered council to elect a new King to decide his fate. Expressing his reasoning, he suggested Brandon Stark. At this, the blonde knight assented, as did everyone else. 

Brandon Stark then met Sansa’s demand for the North to once again become its own sovereign kingdom, as it was for thousands of years.  

Tyrion’s punishment, as decided by King Bran, was to reclaim his position as Hand to the monarch and amend his previous mistakes in the same position, under previous rulers, for the rest of his life. Though the Lannister strongly opposed this idea, that only made the punishment more just, as, to him, it was not the reward that many would take the position to be. 

However, the minute Brienne had assented by saying ‘aye,’ she was ashamed to admit how little of her attention she devoted to the trial due to her mind being occupied by thoughts of you, but alas, that was her fate. She was well aware of the people around her and what decisions were made but she couldn’t have cared less. 

She had acknowledged your ravens, she just didn’t have the strength to open them, to read about your life without her. She knew she was being unreasonable, and she chastised herself for it. Despite how well aware she was of her unwarranted and irrational behavior, she ignored them, but you just kept sending them and it got harder and harder for Brienne to just leave the inviting scrolls; however, she knew it would only hurt her more to read about your Dorne adventures. 

In hindsight, however, those messages would’ve been something much more joy-inducing to have of yours, compared to the only thing she had in her possession. 

After the trial, Bran had approached Brienne, and offered her the position of Lord Commander in his Kings Guard, he was a very blunt man, the King, and she had been a bit surprised with just how candid he was. She had managed to hide her initial reaction and had humbly accepted his offer. Sworn the oath at the Stark’s request and stated that her squire is yet to be knighted and that she would do so with haste. 

Podrick was ready and had been for a while, but she was called to Kings Landing for the trial before she had the opportunity to knight him. This worked out in his favor however, considering being knighted by someone from the King's Guard and the Lord Commander of it, was seen as prestigious; and would earn him substantially more respect than if she would’ve knighted him when she was still a knight herself. 

The King had nodded at her declaration, “I will ask Sansa to have someone pack up and send your belongings here. Tell your squire to come see me as soon as he is a knight. In the meantime, I believe we have some measurements to get for your new armor.” 

“Your Grace, there is no need for that. I have no belongings in Winterfell I’d like to keep. I brought everything important with me.”  

“Are you sure, Lord Brienne?” 

“Yes, Sire.” 

“Very well. Now, come with me.” 

Podrick, who had followed Brienne from Winterfell to Kings Landing, had been approached by the taller knight the day after the trial. 

He had a puzzled expression on his face as he watched her and she knew he had a question to ask, she would have preferred if he had kept his mouth shut about it but had allowed him to ask it anyways; regretting it as soon as he spoke. 

“Lord Commander?” Hesitant in his tone, he had looked up apologetically at Brienne with the hope that she wouldn’t scold him for granting his inquisitiveness to take over. 

“Yes, Podrick?” She stared down at him and she could almost see the gears that had been turning in his head; looking for the most well-mannered way to phrase the words that followed. 

“I apologize for what I am about to ask but I am afraid curiosity has gotten the best of me. Whatever happened with the knight from Dorne?” She released a sigh, there it was. 

“I do not wish to speak of them, not because there is anger but because there’s too much pain.” Brienne had remained stoic in her answer and in her facial expressions, but her insides had been bleeding, almost like she had been impaled by a sword and left to die, bathing in a pool of her own blood. 

That was the first and only time she and Podrick ever spoke about your departure. The shorter man had opened his mouth to say something else but was quickly interjected by Brienne. “Come along Podrick. There’s something we need to do.” 

“Yes, My Lord.” 

As they walked through the ruins of Kings Landing, Brienne wondered if she should’ve been the one to send a raven to inform you of her move to another kingdom, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do so. 

She had instead asked Sansa if she would send one, to which she agreed. The redhead had seen the affection you held for each other and knew that there was more to your seemingly professional relationship. Brienne hadn’t known the reason for the Stark’s compliance but was grateful for it either way. 

All the memories that had been created in Winterfell were painful for Brienne and she found it almost relieving that she didn’t have to return, there was too much sadness there. She did not know when you would return to her, even if it had only been around one month since you had left, so leaving all the woeful memories behind was easier than she had thought. 

The happier ones were harder though, the memories in the courtyard, her room, the mess hall, the bathhouse, your room. The room where she had found the letter that changed everything. 

She had kept the note. It was now stained with dried tears, the paper damaged by the salty drops; ink smudged in various places. She kept it somewhere safe, out of sight from wandering eyes but close by. 

It was read every single night with tears in her eyes before she went to sleep, desperately trying to remember what your voice sounded like, to no avail. 

She had brought it with her to Kings Landing for the trial, not wanting to leave without it. Reading through your words had become routine, and it had gotten to the point where she could not sleep if she did not read your letter before bed. It was one of the first personal items to take its home in her new living quarters.  

Brienne and Podrick had walked in silence as he took in the crumbled kingdom. The fire had stopped but the damage was still apparent. Blackened remains of destroyed buildings and dried blood on the ground. 

The charred corpses had been moved the day before, given a proper burial in unmarked graves, at Tyrion’s request. To have it done within a day, the blue-eyed knight had assisted; her strong arms able to carry double the weight. 

It had been a grisly sight, and even Brienne, who had seen plenty of violence in her days, had felt a hint of nausea and sorrow go through her at the sight of the destruction. The smell hadn’t made it any better. 

The two had turned a corner and Brienne entered a large building that surprisingly hadn’t been affected by the attack, far enough away from the dragon's path of destruction. The room had been dimmed, rays of sun coming in from the small windows lining the walls; standing along it was Tyrion, his small form lurking in the darkness. 

The tall knight stopped abruptly in the middle of the room, Podrick had done the same a couple of feet behind her to avoid crashing into Brienne’s back. 

“Tyrion is here to bear witness. I told him that there was no need, but he insisted.” Her voice had been flat, stern. She had turned on her heels, faced him, and pulled out her sword from its sheath, the metal scraping against metal had echoed, the sound bouncing between the bare walls. 

“Kneel, Podrick Payne.” He had gotten down on one knee in front of Brienne, gazing up at her, and she had proceeded to lay her sword on his left shoulder, her eyes boring into his. “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.” 

She had shifted the metal of her blade to his right shoulder, carefully placing it down, mindful of the sharpness of the sword's edge. “In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.” 

She had switched shoulders again, the metal of the sword gliding in the air. “In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.” She placed her sword back into her scabbard before she had stated her last words, “Arise, Podrick Payne, a knight of the Six Kingdoms.” 

One month after your departure, Brienne had knighted Podrick. After this, she and Tyrion took him to see Bran, just as he had requested one day prior. The King had asked him to prove his fighting skills, suggesting he spar against his teacher, “Lord Brienne has trained you and I have no doubts in her skill, I am sure you are more than qualified. It is just a formality. I’m sure you understand, Ser Podrick.” 

“Of course, your Grace.” 

They had stepped out into a large somewhat empty clearing to give the two knights the space they required, and Podrick had proved his swordsmanship by fighting the blonde, King Bran being more than satisfied after seeing him hold his own against Brienne’s powerful blows. 

“That’s quite enough. I can tell Lord Brienne would floor you if we kept going and I need you both in prime health. Approach and kneel.” 

Podrick, who had read every book the word ‘knight’ was mentioned in and who had Brienne teach him everything she knew, had gotten down on one knee, and sworn the oath of the King's Guard, just like the tall woman had the day before. 

“I swear to ward the King with all my strength, and give my blood for his. I shall take no wife, hold on lands, father no children. I shall guard his secrets, obey his commands, ride at his side, and defend his name and honor.” 

“Arise.” 

With this, Podrick had been integrated into the King's Guard and Tyrion had taken him away for measurements. Brienne had asked Bran what she was to do until the resources for reparations arrived, and he had in turn told her to assess the damage done to the armory, and see if anything needed to be replaced. And to update the Book of Brothers: to complete Jaime’s entry, and add her own. She had done so with haste. 

Two weeks later, the supplies arrived in Kings Landing which was still in ruins. She, together with Tyrion, had met them at the Gate of the Gods, which was a large hole in a wall after the dragon attack, clad in her new shiny gold armor with extensive white enameling and a white cloak draped over her tall form. 

She had come to stand by Tyrion’s side to discuss something, but he had asked her to stay when she moved to leave his side, it was mostly so she could act as a waypoint, of sorts, for the convoy. It was also so he could analyze her up close. 

The small council had held a meeting and discussed what would come next, the reparations of the kingdom had been a unanimous agreement. They had wanted to rebuild the brothels first, but Brienne had quickly expressed her disapproval at the thought of prioritizing them over the rebuilds of the royal fleet, which clearly took precedence due to the lack of ships following the war. 

The four months that followed after the arrival of the supplies were filled with Brienne overlooking some of the construction whenever she didn’t have anything else to do and performing her Lord Commander duties; whatever they ended up being, they varied from larger decisions to smaller ones. 

Some days she just spent her hours in the armory, polishing and sharpening every sword; and some she spent in the White Sword Tower, either re-reading previous entries in the Book of Brothers or residing in her quarters. 

She was so busy with her new duties that she did not have the time to respond to your ravens, even if she could gather the emotional strength to do so. 

Five months after your separation, Bran had requested her attention, sending Tyrion to collect her. 

He had found her in the armory taking inventory of the same gear she had checked the day before. When asked, she told everyone it was to ‘make sure no one stole anything’ but it was really to keep her mind occupied with something other than you who plagued her mind day in and day out, even in her slumber. 

“The King wishes to speak with you, Lord Brienne.” Tyrion interrupted her almost obsessive counting, arriving when she had finished sharpening the last sword. He stood in the doorway as he watched her get up from the stool she was sitting on, put away the sword she was holding, and walk towards him. 

“Of course, Lord Hand. Lead the way.” 

The walk was quiet, for the most part. Brienne was content with the silence, Tyrion; not so much. 

“Forgive me for being informal, Lord Commander, but; what is the matter with you?” The question staggered Brienne, her entire being stalling for one second, too stunned to move, before she continued her prior movements, resuming her stroll by the shorter man's side. 

“Pardon?” She knew exactly what he was referring to. Her behavior had been strange, to say the least. Erratically counting and whetting, staring off into space, and getting lost in her own thoughts. Brienne had always been a bit unusual and turned in towards herself, but it had been even more so these last couple of months. 

“Brienne. I can promise you that no one is stealing weapons from the armory during the night in peacetime. The armory which, need I remind you, is locked up with you as the key holder. So, what the hell is your issue?” Tyrion had stopped right outside the building Bran was currently in, glaring up at Brienne with furrowed brows and caring eyes. 

“I-” she released an elongated sigh, “I do not wish to talk about it. What does the King need to speak to me about?” Switching the subject to the reason she was standing there with him in the first place, hoping to remove herself from the theme she wasn’t entirely comfortable conversing with Tyrion about. 

The shorter man let out a sigh, admitting defeat, knowing he wasn’t getting anything out of her. “I do not know. He did not tell me.”  

“Very well.” With this, Brienne pushed past the shorter man who was left standing in place, annoyed at the taller woman’s stubbornness, which seemed to be an ongoing theme nowadays. 

Her white cloak flowed behind her as she navigated her way through the corridors, her steps echoing in the empty hallways. 

“Lord Brienne!” Bran called her name as she entered the room he was residing in, stopping what he had been doing before she arrived, “I’m glad you’re here. I have something to ask of you.”  

The blonde knight quickly kneeled before him and he just as quickly ushered her up to her feet, claiming there was no need for such formalities. Brienne didn’t quite understand why but complied either way. “Sire, what can I do for you?” 

“I need you and Ser Podrick to escort a shipment from Planky Town. You will travel there by ship, collect the shipment, and bring it back. I’ve already spoken to Davos, and he has given you temporary command of one of his ships. It’s an incredibly rare material and I need my best men on it. I know it’s different from your usual duties but treat this mission the way you would any other.” 

The thought process that went through Brienne's head after Bran had started speaking was: Planky Town – Dorne – you. There was a hurricane of emotions whirling around inside of her that destroyed anything in its path, and as in every hurricane, the eye was quiet, which allowed her to process the whirlwind. 

She was ecstatic at the opportunity to finally visit Dorne, and maybe, if the Gods were good, cross paths with you. She was also guilty and terrified at the thought of meeting you again. Running into you after ignoring your messages for months would surely prove to be an unpleasant experience. You’d surely be angry, disappointed, and upset; all at her. But at least she would get to see you, even if it was with you staring daggers her way. 

Her mind was racing, running faster than it ever had and Brienne couldn’t keep up. Until a noise ripped her out of her thoughts, permitting her to catch up to her sprinting brain. The door behind her opened and closed, signaling that someone else had entered the room. This was when she realized she had been standing still and in silence for far too long, Bran looking at her with an unreadable expression as he waited for her response. 

“Yes. Of course, Your Grace. When do we depart?” Brienne remained as professional and stoic as usual, even when her mind was anything but. She had zoned out again, become lost in her own thoughts like a scared little girl getting lost in the woods with no way out. 

“Tomorrow at sunrise. Be at the docks by then.” 

“Yes. Anything else?” 

“No. You are dismissed, Lord Brienne.” After vocalizing the command, Bran looked away from the Lord Commander and went back to his previous activity. Whatever that was hadn’t been observed by the blue-eyed knight, and she simply couldn’t be bothered to find out. 

She bowed before taking her exit, passing Tyrion as she left the room. He looked at her warm-heartedly, giving her the smallest of smiles and a small nod which she didn’t reciprocate, a scowl painted on her lips. 

If she wasn’t so focused on keeping the hurricane inside of her in check, and on preventing any tells to leak out of her hardened exterior onto her face, she would have given him the same back. Instead, she just kept her mind set on maintaining a straight face. 

The second the heavy door closed behind her, she let the stone face fall, and an intrigued smile replaced her former frown. Her booted footsteps echoed in the barren hallways as she went back the way she came, her long white cloak floating behind her. 

“Dorne, huh?”  

——— 

You rolled up what must have been the twentieth message for Brienne, before strapping the scroll to your raven. It was a warm day in Lemonwood, as it was every day in Dorne, the Summer Sea waves hitting against the cliff side breaking the pleasant silence of the early Sunday morning. 

Your raven, Bartholomew (actually named Branoc by your parents, but you thought that was a little bit boring), was sent on its way and you sat at your desk, watching the bird as it flapped its coal-black wings, carrying yet another message for your love. 

The usual distant bustling noise of Planky Town had yet to begin, it was still too early but you and your mother had a shipment to meet. No rest for the traders. 

Your family had since your great-great-great grandfather been a part of a large trading company, landing you as one of the wealthier families in Westeros.  

The business had been passed through generations and now it had landed on your mother's lap. You were delighted to assist her for however long she needed you but the longing and yearning for Brienne’s touch was getting to be too much. You needed to get back to her. 

Sighing, you put your stationary, ink, and quill away, before rising from your seated position at your desk. The armor you had worn in Winterfell had been swapped out for a more heat friendly one. Specially crafted to allow breathing and protection, the Dornish colors decorate the leather gear. 

It rested on the stand in your room, the fur coat and cold-resistant steel armor gathering dust in one of your closets. You hadn’t laid eyes on either of the items since you disregarded them five months ago. 

The trip here had been a long one, riding along Kings Road before turning onto Rivers Road; before finally arriving in Lannisport just west of Riverrun. Once there, you were able to hop on one of your family’s trading ships, taking you back to Planky Town. 

The only comfortable way to Dorne when traveling from another kingdom, was by ship. The terrain and road through the Red Mountains were unforgiving and extremely hard to traverse and there was no way you were putting yourself through that. The ride through the barren desert after the mountains wasn’t all that inviting either. 

The difference in climate had hit you right away, the searing sun of Dorne not quite the same as the biting chill of The North. Your fur coat had been discarded soon after passing The Trident and turning onto the road that led you to your destination. It rained moderately in the Riverlands, therefore, you had to take it off to insure its dryness.  

When it started raining, like you had expected it to do, you had to take a break, seeking shelter under the protecting crowns of the trees. The fur coat proved quite useful as an extra blanket during the cool nights, and you pretended that it was the warm embrace of Brienne enveloping you instead of the cloak. 

After you had boarded the ship in Lannisport, you were able to take off your armor for the first time in days, letting the cool breeze of the sea wash over you. The familiar salty smell of the ocean reminding you of your childhood. 

The sound of knocking on your door pulled you out of your reminiscent state. Quickly pulling yourself to the present, you took large strides toward your door and opened it in a swift and controlled motion. 

You were met with the weary and tired eyes of your mother, she hadn’t slept well since the passing of your father, and you couldn’t blame her, neither had you. 

The sleeplessness was a combination of the grief from losing your father and the loss of Brienne's warmth. You had slept in her arms only once, but that singular time was enough to have your body aching for more affection from the tall blonde woman. 

Most of this you wrote about in your messages. The messages she couldn’t even be bothered to open because if she did, she would realize you missed her so. That you would leave as soon as you weren’t needed, and that you would return to her arms as fast as humanly possible. 

“Good morning, Mother.” Your voice was softer than usual, it always was around your mother nowadays, scared that any other tone would disrupt the mourning process she had begun. 

Her voice was weak, frail. Throat hoarse from crying, “Good morning. Just wanted to see if you were awake.” She did this every morning. Checking up on you. She did it when you were growing up and continued doing so when you returned. It was an even more comforting action this time around, serving as a reminder that you had each other to lean on. 

“I am, have you eaten?” Your mother's eating habits had been on the rocks lately, too busy with the business that she simply forgot to eat, sometimes she didn’t want to, her appetite gone. So, you asked her, every day, if she had eaten. Sometimes she said yes, sometimes she said no. 

“Yes. Have you?”  

You hummed in response to her question, “I ate when I woke up, I’m ready to go when you are. I’ll just need to gear up.” 

Your mother nodded, “I will wait for you in the carriage.” With this, she turned around and left. Making her descent down the carpet-clad stone stairs. 

After closing the door, you walked to your armor stand by your window that overlooked the Summer Sea and began removing each piece, attaching them to your form. 

As you put on your leather armor, you watched as ships of many different sizes sailed past your window, floating on the sea in the searing hot Dorne sun. The sun's rays invaded your room, casting it a beautiful golden glow, and warming your skin; the pleasant smell of the sea like a comforting blanket over you. 

Some of the sailing ships came from the west and some from the east. Some were sailing for trading companies, and some were sailing for travel. Their flags and sails fluttered in the warm air, hulls breaking through the water. 

Eventually, all the leather gear had been secured to your form, the last part had been your sword, and with everything in place, you abandoned your room; briskly walked down the same stairs your mother had, and stepped out into the warmth of the morning. 

Your mother stood by the carriage, conversing with the coachman. The sight of you approaching interrupted their conversation, the coachman opening the door to the roofed wheelhouse. Allowing your mother to enter and closing it once she had sat down inside. 

The carriage did not have any windows except for some small springs, meaning you didn’t have a good view of the scenery and environment around you. So, to make sure you were able to keep a look out for potential dangers, you sat up front with the coachman. 

You did not mind doing so however, he was a very interesting man with many stories to tell and you often enjoyed the chats you had with him. 

The ride to Planky Town wasn’t long, your ancestors chose to settle in Lemonwood for the short travel distance, taking into account that the port was a regular visit. 

On the way there you passed several travelers, and you recognized most of them as inhibitors of the other nearby settlements. You didn’t know any of them particularly well, only having met them a few times during formal events. Still being familiar with them and wanting to show civility; short pleasantries were exchanged before continuing your journey. 

It didn’t take long for the lively sound of the now awake port town to reach you, the familiar sight of the Greenblood river opening its mouth in front of you, running out into the vast sea. 

As every Sunday, it was reserved for shipment collection, meaning it wouldn’t be as busy as it usually was the rest of the weekdays. Despite this, there was still a large number of people going about their business of resupplying or trading. 

The coachman stopped your carriage a distance away from the docks as he usually did to prevent blocking the road. He stepped off to open the door for your mother, who had stayed silent during the ride as she usually did. 

You stepped off after him, watching your mother exit the wheelhouse, and walked up to her side, hand on the hilt of your sword and back straight. You were here as a traders’ child, yes, but you were also a knight. 

It wasn’t often that you were asked to make your rounds down here, yet on rare occasions you were. Even when you weren’t here on such business you still wanted to keep up appearances, you knew Brienne would. 

Shooting your coachman a nod and a smile, you linked your mothers' arm with your own and started trekking toward the docked ships. “Is it the usual today?” Wanting to make conversation, you asked your mother something that would pull her out of the damaging mindset she had surely found herself in. 

“Yes. Meet the shipment, and see that everything is as it should, some is unloaded here to be sold, rest is shipped to other port towns to be distributed by our partners.” It was like clockwork by now, and you knew it by heart, your mother knew that you did and found it kind of you to ask. She knew why you did and appreciated the distraction from her thoughts. 

A quick hum was all you gave in response, your steps taking you closer to the harbor until you reached the docked trader ship. Letting go of your mother's arm you turned to look at her, “I will stay on land and take a look around. Wait here until I come back.” 

She gave a quick nod before she stepped onto the wooden vessel, you saw your mother meet the captain and he in turn gave her the inventory list for her to check off. You began turning on your heel to walk away but before you could, something caught your eye. A ship from the royal fleet. 

It hadn’t been the ship in itself that stopped you, it had been the person you saw on board it. You had seen her faster than you cared to admit, almost like your eyes had been searching for her. 

She was standing as robust as she had done the first time you saw her when you first arrived in Winterfell. Her hands behind her back, the wind blowing through her short blonde curls; the white fabric that draped down her figure danced in the Summer Sea wind. 

She stood on the quarter deck, donned in her gold-white armor that reflected the sunlight, she looked so handsome in it, so at home. She was a White Sword, this you were aware of, but you were still nonplussed to see it, to have it verified. 

You were so used to seeing her in her dark armor. The dark armor that she had worn during the duration of your stay, the armor that you had begun to associate with her. Seeing her in anything else but, was an abnormal sight. 

As the ship inched closer and closer to the docks, you saw that there was detailing on her chest piece, a raven. Fitting for the three-eyed ravens' Kings Guard. 

From what you could percept, Oathkeeper still sat loyally at her side, and you wondered how she had taken the news of Ser Jaime's death. You knew that they had been... relatively close, she had described their relationship as ‘an unexpected companionship,’ which was really her fancy (and courteous) way of saying ‘it was a war, he was an extra sword, we spent time together because we had to.’ 

Truth was, Brienne didn’t take the announcement of his passing that hard. Still too focused on the loss of you. In her mind, she had tolerated Jaime, not seeing him as a close friend, and therefore did not feel the need to mourn him. 

The grief from your departure was still a fresh wound in her heart and even if she did feel the need to shed tears for him, it would be too overwhelming to do so for two people at the same time, and she refused to put you aside to lament Jaime Lannister who meant so little to her. So, it was an easy choice for her. You took precedence over everything else. 

You were frozen in place, watching her as she stood tall and proud. Anger bubbled up inside of your chest, along with sadness and betrayal. Yet at the same time, you were so gleeful to see her again after such a long time, and even though you wanted nothing more than to run into her embrace; the fact that she hadn’t responded to your ravens in months stood true. 

You didn’t want to see her, and you did not want to speak with her. With the feelings running amuck inside of you, you feared that if put face to face with her you’d say some things that you couldn’t take back. Hurting her even more than you had already done; ruining any chances of ever reconciliating and returning to each other's arms. For now, the best choice was to leave and blend in with the crowd before she could spot you, but it was too late. 

The second her ship had docked, and she had stepped onto land, she had seen you. Her intense blue eyes locked on to yours and the moment they did, they flashed with what looked like regret and guilt. 

It was too much to handle, the same blue irises that kept you up at night, that haunted your dreams, were now staring at you in such a way that made your heart twist inside of your chest. 

Her mouth was hanging open the tiniest bit, eyebrows furrowed. She was surprised to see you. If there weren’t so many thoughts swirling around in your head, you were sure that you would match her expression, shocked to see her down here. Shocked to see her at all. 

Your head was a battle arena, your thoughts fighting, trying to bring you back to your senses, to help you make a decision, and fast. The one who ended up coming on top was the one for before, the one telling you to leave; the one telling you to run to her getting left in the mud. 

You started to walk towards the crowd, planning to disappear in the swirl of people but Brienne was taller than most people there and was able to periscope over everyone, meaning you and your Dornish leather armor stood out like a beacon on a dark night. 

She started to follow you, Podrick trailing behind her trying to keep up with her broad strides. The continuous stream of people helped with keeping a distance between the three of you, but there were only so many traders and merchants, and you eventually reached a clearing, close to where your carriage was parked. 

There was no hiding from her now. 

The familiar voice of Brienne called your name, shivers running down your spine at hearing it for the first time in five months. You had forgotten what she sounded like, just how beautiful and deep her voice was, how the accent compliments it in the most fantastic way, working in harmony to make everything she said sound like poetry. 

“Stop!” you didn’t obey her command, instead, you kept moving forward. Her steps picked up, her long legs faster than yours, and before you could process her closing in on you, her hand grabbed your wrist, pulling at it slightly causing you to abruptly stop, and turn around. 

Suddenly, the only thing in your vision was her piercing eyes as they searched your face for any sign of forgiveness, love, or adoration; only finding the same stone-cold expression you had worn when your eyes met minutes ago. 

She had hoped that her proximity and touch would bring back the soft expression you used to have for her. It did not. Instead, you rejected her touch. Ripping your wrist away from her grasp, almost aggressively so, almost like her touch was hot coal burning you through your protective leather gear. 

She gazed down at you, a silent plea behind them for you to speak to her, to say anything. Just wanting to hear your voice. You in return stared up defiantly at her, displaying your anger by taking a step back, distancing yourself from her. She took this as a confirmation that you had become repulsed by her, just like everyone else; her weakness and pure selfishness had caused you to despise her. 

In truth, the moment she had gotten close, the all too addicting scent of her had invaded your senses, making it so much harder to stay focused. The step back was to display anger, yes, but also to step away from the inebriation that was the smell of Brienne. 

“Ser Brienne.” You spoke stiffly, your face full of indifference. She remained neutral, but to you, she was an open book. The way you said her name hadn’t gone unnoticed by the blonde, and you saw the flash of hurt in her eyes when you said her name. The usual affection you held for her wasn’t there anymore, and she completely understood why. 

She opened her mouth to say something, getting interrupted by Podrick before she could, “It’s actually Lord Commander-” Brienne held up a hand, successfully interrupting him back, but not before you heard her new title. Lord Commander, huh? 

“Ser Podrick! Do you not recognize them?” So, this was the Podrick you had heard so much about. He was shorter than you expected him to be, but maybe that was because he stood next to one of the tallest people in Westeros; she made anyone look short. 

She had broken your eye contact to stare at the younger knight with her usual glare. He looked at you once again, observing you. The second it clicked; his mouth fell open in a silent ‘oh.’ He cleared his throat before mumbling a silent apology to both you and Brienne. 

“Go and wait for the shipment. Leave us.” The Lord Commanders' voice was harsh, leaving no room for objections. 

“Yes, My Lord.” He rushed off, leaving you and Brienne alone. She turned her head back to yours the instant Podrick disappeared out of sight into the flow of people. 

“Lord Commander?” The voice that exited your mouth was incredulous. You couldn’t believe your ears. She had been appointed the highest position in the King's Guard and secured a spot on the King's Council, and you hadn’t been informed. The love of your life hadn’t told you of a major update in her life. 

“Yes.”  

“You were appointed Lord Commander of the King's Guard and I find out today. How long?” You almost did not want to ask. Not wanting to know how long she had been keeping this from you. 

You hoped she would say 'a couple of weeks’ or ‘about a month’ because then you would understand the lack of communication. You were understanding of the task of taking on a new title and the job that came with it. If she was in the beginning phases, you would have understood. Instead, you were greeted with the opposite. 

“About four months...” 

“Four months-! You are unbelievable, Lord Commander.” You spat her title back at her, there was such wretchedness in your voice, such wrath. What you had feared was just a couple words ahead, the fear that you would say something that would be irreversible. There was no closing the gates of Hell now. 

“Please just call me Brienne, like you used to.” Her voice had shifted into a gentler one, attempting to diffuse the situation. You scoffed at her. Was she really trying to ‘go back to the way it used to be’ after making no effort in communicating with you at all? 

“I don’t know if I want to refer to you as anything anymore.” There it was. The gates had been opened, and anything coming out after this was meant to hurt. Meant to drive a knife into her stomach and twist it. Disbelief spread through your being, so irritated at her for just assuming you’d forget everything that had happened. Both of which were perceivable in your tone. 

“Please, if you would just let me explain-” Desperation was evident in her voice, her entire face softening, her eyes imploring for you to please listen, to please forgive her. But you didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want to hear her excuses; not before you had said your piece. 

“Explain what, huh? Explain how you couldn’t let go of your pride to send me something back? A simple ‘hello, it is I, Brienne of Tarth,’” you tried your best to copy her speaking voice, it falling short, “once a month would have sufficed because then I would have known that you were alive!”  

You took a breath before continuing, keeping your voice steady, tears threatening to well up. 

“Instead, I had to get that sign of life from Sansa! Do you understand how much that pained me? That you could not let go of your stubbornness for two seconds to let me know of your damn relocation to Kings Landing by yourself! Why?” Glaring up at her, you panted, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. 

“I couldn’t bring myself to read about your life without me…” Her voice was quiet, almost like she was ashamed to admit her reasons for not responding. At her admission, your wrath eased up. You weren’t furious at her anymore, but there was still the agonizing pain of being ignored by someone who you love so much, and whom you care for so. “I know, it was unreasonable, irrational, intolerant of me. I am aware.” 

She continued her explanation, “I really wanted to, read your messages, that is. Because I missed you terribly, and love you so, but it would have hurt too much. Then after I was appointed my new position and title I had so much to do, and I was so stressed, and I didn’t have the time to reply.” She was trying her best to stay strong, or at least for it to look like she was but she was moments away from a breakdown. 

You kept eye contact the entire time, seeing when tears were starting to form in her eyes, and you were suddenly extremely aware of how exposed you two were. “I’m sorry.” Her last words were a whisper, barely audible, voice breaking. 

She then broke eye contact, tilting her head down, fixing her gaze on the sandy ground. You glanced around you, seeing that your carriage was only a couple of feet away. It gave you the perfect escape plan. 

You took her by the hand, dragging her towards your carriage with a quick ‘come with me.’ The sudden, unexpected contact made Brienne’s head snap up, meeting the back of your head with her blurry vision. She needed privacy, you couldn’t let everyone see the Lord Commander break down in public, so you had to shelter her. It also provided you with a quieter place to speak. 

You asked the coachman to go make himself busy before ushering Brienne into the wheelhouse, you following suit, closing and locking the door behind you. Quickly covering all the springs in your immediate vision with its individual curtain. 

The second you sat down across from her, the dam broke. She buried her face in her hands as loud sobs wrecked through her, much like the ones you had heard by the stables as you rode away. 

Your anger and pain had quickly subsided when you had heard her entire reasoning, and when you saw how guilty she felt. There was no need to be mad at her, you didn’t think you could be anymore. 

Relieving yourself from your sword sheathe, you pondered, unsure if you should remain seated across from her, or if you should move to sit by her side. You couldn’t comfort her all those months ago, but you’d be damned if you didn’t do it now. 

Quickly maneuvering across the carriage, you took a seat next to Brienne, taking off her scabbard before throwing an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close to you, her becoming flush against your side. She hadn’t expected the abrupt intimacy, it was a welcome one, especially after feeling nothing for so many days. 

Her arms flew around your waist, her face burying itself into your leather-covered chest. Your free hand came up to Brienne’s head, softly stroking her hair as the other gently caressed her upper arm. Her armor made it a little lumpy, but you did not care. Having her back in your arms after so long was an incredible feeling, and you couldn’t believe how you had made it this long without her warmth. 

Her sobbing was relentless, tears flowing down her face and dropping onto your legs. Your leather tasset had gradually shifted down the side of your upper thighs in your seated position, revealing your tunic trousers underneath. 

Brienne repeated the same phrase, over and over again through wails. Saying how sorry she was, how she hoped you could forgive her. You in turn answered with reassurance. Telling her that you accepted her apology, that she was forgiven. 

You didn’t know how much time had passed when Brienne’s cries eventually died down, rendering the small space silent except for the occasional sniffles coming from the blonde beside you. Her head had been removed from your chest and she now sat upright. You still had your arm around her, hand resting on her armored bicep. 

The hand that had been stroking her hair was now holding hers, entwined hands resting in between yours and Brienne’s thighs. Your thumb lazily drawing lines on the scarred skin. 

“Are you alright?” The softness had returned to your voice, the love and tenderness had as well, and the Commander noticed. She was soothed by your question because it meant you still cared enough to check in on her. That lit a light in Brienne’s tunnel of misery; there was still something left to save, to rebuild. 

“Yes. Especially now that I’m back in your arms.” She turned her head to look at you, you doing the same and offering her a soft smile which she returned. As you took in her tear-stained face and red puffy eyes, you were smacked with the remembrance of your earlier words, words that shouldn’t have been uttered. 

  “I’m really sorry for what I said back there. I was filled with fury, and I didn’t mean it. I always want to refer to you, dear Brienne.” Voice low to avoid disrupting the peace, your voice was gentler. A strong contrast to the cutting tone you had used outside. You brought her held hand up to your face to place a peck on the back of it, relishing in the feeling of her skin against your lips once again. 

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it. I forgive you either way.” You dropped yours and Brienne’s hands into your lap and released a sigh of relief hearing her words. Silence settled in again as you gazed into each other's eyes. The blonde's sapphire blues darted down to your lips and back up to your eyes, just like they had that night in the courtyard almost one year ago. She wanted to kiss you, and you needed her to. “You know, I really did miss you. A lot.” It was nothing more than a whisper, a breath of desire. 

“Yeah, yeah. I missed you, too. Now shut up and kiss me, please.” Brienne giggled at your eagerness and avidity and was quick to oblige to your wish. She turned her body towards you, legs shifting to be able to face you as comfortably as possible, hand coming up to cup your cheek, head diving in fast to capture your lips, eyes falling shut before colliding. 

The second her lips connected with yours, a contented and allayed moan escaped Brienne’s throat. She had longed for, craved, and missed you for so many months, all the tension and sorrow built up inside of her melting away the moment your lips touched. It was even more heavenly than she had recalled. One of your hands flew up to the side of her neck, your body shifting to copy the way she sat. 

It was like you never left, lips moving together in familiarity. Brienne’s tongue swiped over your bottom lip, begging for entrance, and you granted it. Her wet, strong muscle started exploring your mouth the second you parted your lips. The feeling of her tongue wrestling with yours along with the familiar taste of her, made you release a low moan; she tasted even better than you had remembered. 

The taste of you, the feeling of your tongue sliding against hers, your soft whimpers as she expertly moved her lips with yours like a dance, elegant and controlled like a waltz, but passionate and heated like a tango. A dance of the love and yearning you contained for the other. All of it took over her senses, her brain going into overdrive, her mewling against your lips. 

The hand that was holding on to Brienne’s broke away from the grasp, moving to find purchase in the blonde's hair. It was already disheveled from the salty ocean wind, hair slightly curled from the humidity in the air; your hand running through it wouldn’t make it worse. It wouldn’t be odd for her hair to be out of place considering the strong coast gust. 

Your fingers started at the nape of her neck, slowly moving upwards until they stopped at the back, curling them in her tresses, gathering a fistful of her hair in your hand. Brienne hummed against your mouth at the feeling of your digits in her hair once again, and the hand that had been abandoned by yours grabbed onto your waist, palm gently resting on your side. 

Your lips pulled apart, but you still kept the contact, foreheads leaning against the others, eyes shut as you regained your breath. “I really did miss you. I was hoping to show you just how much...” Brienne spoke between heavy breaths. 

You did not miss the glint of seduction in her voice or the innuendo. During the make-out session the all too familiar heat grew between your legs and your body craved her touch, as it had for months. But right here, in a carriage in a port town when you both had responsibilities? 

“Brienne...” Breathing out her name and meaning to remind her of your current area; you weren’t able to complete the rest of your sentence before she interrupted you. 

“Look at me,” you removed your head from hers and opened your eyes, meeting Brienne’s that were already staring back at you, her blue irises as deep and breathtaking as the galaxy, filled with stars and planets of her own. They were truly remarkable and gorgeous; fitting for someone like her. “I have craved you for so long. I don’t know how long it will be until we meet again. Let me make it up to you. Let me erase the past five months of misery. Let me do this so we can have something to last us until we can guarantee proximity to each other. Please.” 

The hand in her blonde curls transferred to her cheek, gently holding and stroking her flushed skin with your thumb. Her eyes were pleading as was her voice, wanting to remove the memories of pain and replace them with ones of pleasure; and you wanted that too. 

You placed a soft kiss on her lips before nodding, “that sounds perfect. I’d love nothing more.” At your confirmation, Brienne’s lips turned up into the biggest grin much like the one she wore after your first kiss, and she was on her knees on the wooden floor shortly after; her hands resting on your legs. 

“I’ve never done this before. All I know is that I want to make you feel good.” She gazed up at you as she spoke. She was insecure, as was obvious in her voice and her eyes, but also determined, not letting uncertainty scare her away. “Tell me if it feels good and what I can do to bring you maximum pleasure.” 

“I will.” 

The woman on her knees before you started undressing you. Starting with your boots, before wedging her hands under your leather chest cover to unstrap your tasset that was hindering access to the buckle of your trousers. 

Throwing a look at the door to the carriage to make sure it was locked, you noticed that one of the springs hadn’t been covered by the sheer curtain. As you stood up to close it, Brienne’s fingers undid the metal of your pants, pulling them down at the same time as you pulled the curtain down. 

You were now completely out of sight; the problem was, so was the outside world, and if your mother decided to forego your escort to make the trek back herself; she’d find you in one hell of a position. 

You prayed to the old Gods and the new that your mother would stay put, or that inventory would take longer than usual so that she didn’t hear you reconnecting with your love. Sure, she knew about Brienne and the relationship you had, it was one of the first things you had talked about when you got home, but you didn’t want your mothers' first impression of the much taller knight to be her in between your legs. 

Brienne’s hands grabbed onto your hips and pulled down, causing you to meet the seat with an unexpected speed, she was impatient, and you understood why. She had already spent too much time away from her mission and Podrick, and sooner or later, he would come looking for her, and would no doubt find her considering her last known position and your family’s carriage being mere feet away. Time was of the essence, and you couldn’t afford to waste any of it. 

Heavy breathing came from the woman in front of you as she placed her hands back onto your knees and gently spread them, being faced with your soaked underwear. She had never seen your sex before, felt it, sure, but never seen. She hadn’t tasted you either and she was practically drooling at the thought of finally doing so. 

Tentative and curious hands slowly traveled up your legs, stopping at the hem of your undergarments. Hooking her fingers inside and motions for you to elevate your hips slightly. Lifting your hips for easy discarding, she pulled them down in one motion, revealing your needy cunt to her hungry, dilated eyes. 

She was if in a trance, watching with such intensity you feared her eyes would pop out of her skull. You nudged her shoulder with your knee, causing her to snap her gaze to yours. Her pupils were blown-out, darkened from lust and desire. The air was thick inside of the small space and you could practically sense her ferocity as it emanated from her person.  

She looked so pretty like this on her knees for you, looking up at you with virtuous eyes. So ready and willing to serve; to satisfy your needs. Reaching out a hand, you took hold of her chin, guiding her face closer to your core, she needed a little helping hand. “You look so good right now, pretty girl. On your knees for me. So ready to do whatever I wish, hmm.” 

Brienne could only offer a nod in response, your words and low, vibrating voice combined with your dominating tone. If she were standing, she was sure her knees would give out and she’d fall to the floor. But since she already was kneeling on the wooden boards, she gave out a tiny whine instead, forgetting just how much power your words had over her. 

The scent of your arousal was overwhelming, your pussy radiating such heat, Brienne being able to sense it all when you had brought her face close enough to the apex of your inner thighs, and she wanted nothing more than to taste you, something she had wanted for such a long time; completely missing out on her chance before you left. She thought she had all the time in the world with you, how was she supposed to know you were leaving the same night she had intended to feast on you. 

So, the fact remained: you had tasted her; she hadn’t tasted you and she was so desperate to finally know how your wet flesh would feel against her tongue. Desperate to gain familiarity with the sensation she thought she would have experienced months ago when she had planned it. 

After you had eaten her out and gotten into bed together, her mind had started wondering what you’d taste like and that she’d propose to perform oral on you the next day during your midnight meeting, but then you left, and she never did find out what you tasted like. 

Finally, five months later. She would finally know just how wonderful you’d taste. 

“Use your tongue, my sweet girl. Don’t be afraid to use your instincts.” You stroked Brienne’s skin softly before sliding your hand to the back of her head, leg coming up to lay on her shoulder, foot resting on her back. Your other hand was placed beside you, using the seat as support. 

She licked her lips, mumbling ‘what a pretty little pussy’ before finally diving in, shutting her eyes, and allowing her intuition to take over. She licked a careful stripe up from your entrance to your clit, circling it slowly before closing her mouth around it, lightly sucking. Her tongue was a godsend, so strong and oh was she good at using it. 

You released a soft whimper, mindful to keep quiet considering your whereabouts but still wanting to let her know just how good she was making you feel. Your head leaned against the wall behind you, but your eyes were locked on Brienne’s between your legs, moving slightly as she used her skillful mouth on you. 

Your fingers grabbed at her hair, wanting to hold her in place as her tongue flicked over your clit and you refrained from pushing her closer; wanting her to do it on her own terms. You were sure that if she made you come with minimal help from you, her confidence would boost and that would exponentially heighten the chances of her giving head more often in the future, maybe even initiate it. 

Even though you wanted her to learn by doing, she had requested you to tell her how to make you feel good, and that was what you intended to do. 

Her arms were snaked around your thighs, hands resting where hip and leg met. She switched between sucking and licking, sometimes doing both, drawing out all kinds of noises from you. “Yeah. Just like that, baby. Just like that. You’re doing so good.” Even when she was pleasuring you, she was still submissive and in need of praise and assurance, and you were more than happy to provide all of those things for her. “Try- Try adding more pressure with your tongue.” 

A vibrating sensation exited Brienne’s mouth as she moaned against your clit at hearing your praise, causing your body to jerk and you to hold back a loud groan. She wanted to be validated, to be told she was doing a good job. This only applied to the sex part of her life, however, as she couldn’t care less about what other people thought of her, well, not anymore at least; her childhood self would disagree. 

The only person’s opinion she cared about besides maybe the professional opinions of her King, were yours. She wanted you to think highly and goodly of her, in all aspects of her life, be it professional, personal, or intimate, and you did. This she knew, it still felt good to hear you say it though. 

Brienne’s eyes which had been screwed shut the entire time suddenly opened, looking up at you with curious eyes. She wanted to see how you’d react to all of her following ministrations, fascination, and wonder glinting in her beautiful eyes. 

She took your advice and adjusted accordingly, placing her tongue flat on your clit with the pressure to go with and dragged her tongue up, making you drawl out a throaty moan. “Oh, Gods! Feels so fucking good, so fucking good.” Your words were slurred, your voice low to avoid it being heard by anyone else than Brienne, your heavy breaths and hums only growing more and more ragged as the woman betwixt your legs worked her wet muscle against you. 

You’d had your share of love affairs before but that was nothing compared to this. The feeling of getting eaten out by the love of your life was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. Not even the meetings you used to have as a young adult in the local bathhouses felt as good as this did. 

Brienne was a beginner but a very quick learner, and she knew exactly how to pleasure you because she knew you and your body, playing it masterfully, playing it like an instrument; like she hadn’t done anything else. 

She was devoted to your pleasure, devoted to worshipping you and your pussy with her tongue. Nothing else mattered in this specific moment, only the feeling of your legs shuttering, your moany whimpers, and your fingers twisting in her hair did. 

The sounds inside the wheelhouse were right out of a brothel, moans mixed with the wet noises coming from Brienne as she used her mouth on you. She murmured against your clit, a whisper mostly to herself, but you had heard it too, “You taste so fucking good...” Her words combined with the intense eye contact made your head spin, your insides turning in the most pleasant way. 

Every stroke, lick, kiss, and suck from the blonde brought you closer to the edge of climax, the familiar warmth pooling in your stomach, legs twitching and hips bucking with every ripple of pure bliss that went through your body. The release was barreling towards you like a wild buck and you were so ready for the collision, ready to get sent into an endless vortex of pleasure. 

During the five months that you and Brienne had been apart, more and more tension began to build up inside of you, a knot forming in your stomach. You often found yourself thinking of that morning in the baths or the night before, and it never failed to make you a throbbing mess. You never found the time to rid yourself of it, so it just continued to grow, the knot only getting tighter. 

Months' worth of pent-up tension releasing would equal in an orgasm the size of a tsunami washing over you and you were made aware of this fact as the band inside of you tightened, and tightened, until it eventually snapped, untying the knot at the same time. 

Waves upon waves of ecstasy poured over you as your body convulsed with pleasure. Your back was arching, hips thrashing as you rode Brienne’s face to drag out your orgasm. Her hands that had been resting in the space between thigh and hip pushed down to keep you steadier, but still allowing you to grind against her mouth. 

The hand in the blonde hair loosened as you came down from your peak, stroking her messy curls instead, hoping to smooth down the mess you had surely made of her locks. Brienne had removed her head from your sex, drawing languid circles with her fingers on your skin. Gorgeous blue eyes gazing up at you with awe as they watched your breathing grow steady. 

The Lord Commander leaned back on her heels, your hand sliding off her head as she moved out of your reach, removing herself from your legs, sloping to grab your clothes. Her chin was covered in your juices, and you made a mental note to get that cleaned up before you left the carriage. 

She grabbed your ruined undergarments and reached out a hand to give them to you where you sat, the hand that had been placed flat on the wood beside you the entire session was brought up to push her hand away, “they’re already soaked, you might as well use them to wipe your chin.” A breathless chuckle passed your lips as you spoke, Brienne looking at you comically. 

She muttered a quick ‘sorry’ before using a dry part of the cloth to dry her chin, removing any trace of your activities. She reached out a hand with them again and this time you accepted them, putting them on and wincing at the uncomfortable feeling of your wet and cold underwear, luckily you were heading home as soon as your mother was finished, and you could change. 

Your trousers were handed to you shortly after to be put on and buckled, as well as your tasset, and finally your boots. 

“Come here.” Brienne did as she was told and shuffled close to you, kneeling down at your side so you were at eye level. “My beautiful girl,” bringing a hand up to her cheek, you traced her skin with your fingers, inching closer to her face to give her a kiss. 

It was a gentle one, soft and tender, and you could sense the taste of you on her lips. “I love you.” It was a whisper against her lips, a promise for now and the future until you could tell her every day. 

“I love you, too. I do not like the idea that we must leave each other once again,” Brienne let out a sad sigh and turned her head away from you to stare at the carriage door. You were not entirely happy with the situation either but there was nothing to be done until you were no longer needed. “Come with me.” 

Your eyes widened at her words. Had you heard her correctly? “W- What?” Shock was painted across your features, your voice trying to remain steady, but you were too taken aback to bother with that, slightly shaking with perplexity seeping through. 

She turned her head to look at you once again, her expression deadly serious. She wasn’t jesting or posing any what-ifs. “Come with me to Kings Landing. I will ask for King Bran’s attention and request for him to recruit you into the King's Guard. We need more knights, and I know you would be the perfect fit.” This was wishful thinking. The Kings Guard?  

Quickly exhaling and inhaling, your face furrowed together in empathy, you too shared her want to travel to Kings Landing and spend all eternity by her side until death released you from your vows, but your mother needed you. “Brienne, I-” 

“Yes. I know. Your mother. But, please, just. Just consider it.” Her eyes and words were begging, her eyebrows raised in hope, wishing that you’d say yes; that you’d consider it. 

“I will consider it.” The smile that spread on your Commander's lips was infectious, causing you to do the same. Her eyes lit up like stars in the night sky, twinkling just the same. They really were as deep and vast as the galaxy, holding just as many uncharted and unexplored areas. 

A knocking on the door caused you and Brienne to snap out of your staring competition, instinctively putting distance between each other, you shooting over to the other side and retrieving your scabbard, the woman across from you doing the same with hers. 

The muffled voice of the coachman came from the outside, signaling that you had been in there for far too long, “Ser! I think your mother is all finished and ready to leave. Is everything alright in there?” You took a quick look at Brienne, her curls strewn across her forehead, and you motioned for her to comb her fingers through her locks to tidy it up a little. 

“Yes, everything is quite alright. We are finished and are coming out. Thank you!” You and Brienne snorted at you using ‘finished’ considering you did just that, you were acting a little immature, laughing at such a thing; but you felt like young adults sneaking around and that earned a tiny bit of immaturity. 

The woman sharing your space looked at you questionably, a silent query asking ‘does my hair look okay?’ you nodding as an answer. 

Quickly pulling aside all the curtains inside the wheelhouse to let the light in, you gave Brienne one last long kiss before opening the door and stepping out into the hot Dorne sun. Your coachman stood outside, eyeing you both, obviously wondering what had taken so long but decided not to ask. 

“Walk with me?” Turning your head to look up at her, Brienne only nodded, letting you take the first step and her following you with steps to match your stride. She often did this when you walked together, coordinating her pace with yours so she wouldn’t race ahead and you not being able to keep up. It was a slight adjustment, but a very thoughtful one. 

When you approached the water-bound vessel your mother was on, she wore the biggest grin as she looked from you to Brienne, her expression a drastic change from the melancholic mood she had adopted as her default since your father passed. 

It was unnerving seeing such a display of teeth after only seeing a frown for so long, but you assumed she recognized the taller woman beside you based on your very detailed explanations of her appearance.  

Your mother stepped off the ship, the captain she had spoken to earlier barking orders to his men to ready the ship so they could transport the rest of the wares as she reached land. 

Brienne had stopped her walk, the same as you, still by your side a couple of feet away from your mother. Close enough that you could hear each other over the cacophony of people, but far enough that your mother wouldn’t be able to tell what you had been doing. 

“Brienne, this is my mother. Mother, this is Lord Commander Brienne.” Your mother had her head slightly cocked to the side, a caring and loving look on her face as you introduced them to each other.  

The situation in which you had told your parents about Brienne had been completely unplanned. It had been on a hot night shortly after your arrival by your father's bedside as he asked you about Winterfell. 

It had only really been a simple question of what your obligations had been, however, the second you had mentioned Brienne’s name, your mother grew intrigued, wanting to probe and prod after hearing the tone and manner of words you used when speaking about the then Ser. 

Her clever questions and your oblivious answers caused you to reveal more than you had intended to, and suddenly your parents knew all about the nature of your relationship.  

“M’Lady.” Your knightly blonde stayed as formal as always to leave a good first impression. Giving your mother a more drawn-out nod, she left her head tilted down longer than she usually did, deciding to be more casual in her greeting considering the fact that it was your parent. 

“So, you’re Lord Commander Brienne of Tarth. I’ve heard so much about you.” Brienne took a panicked glance at you, hoping you hadn’t spoken about the five months of errors on her end that would surely not be appreciated by your mother. You only gave her a reassuring smile back. 

“Just Brienne is fine, and only good things, I hope.” The worry in her voice was obvious to you, it goes unnoticed by your mother. Brienne was good at hiding her true reactions to things when the situation called for it, and this was definitively one of those situations. 

“Brienne it is. Positive things only, my dear. The joy you have brought my child is unmeasurable, and I am so grateful.” A goofy smile spread on the blonde woman's lips, a combination of relief and glee at learning that you had abstained from telling your mother about her shortcomings, if she did know; Brienne was sure your mother wouldn’t be as friendly as she currently was towards her. 

“They have brought me the same amount, M’Lady. Your child is truly exceptional, never met anyone quite like them.” Brienne’s smile changed into a sincere one as she spoke, her voice filled with warmth. Seeing them interact so effortlessly made you all giddy, staring at the tall Commander beside you with a lovestruck expression. 

“Why don’t you come back to Lemonwood with us, Brienne. Have supper with us, maybe spend a few nights at our residence, we’d love to host you.” This was really an excuse for your mother to spend time with your knight, to get to know the person her child had fallen madly in love with. 

If your father were still alive, you were sure he would sit right beside your mother as they asked Brienne question after question. The image in your mind made you smile fondly. Your father really would have loved to meet her, they would find that their opinions matched on many different matters. 

“That sounds very pleasant, and I would love to accept but I am afraid I am unable to. I need to get back to Kings Landing.” The twinge of sadness in her words did not stay hidden from either you or your mother. The reminder that time was not on your side bared itself once again, and no number of prayers could change the fact that you and Brienne had to part. 

“Yes, of course. How unfortunate. Perhaps another time?” Your mother did not back down, she laid out a long-standing offer, meaning that sooner or later, Brienne would sit at her dinner table, and she’d be able to learn all about the mysterious woman before her. 

“I’d love to take you up on that offer. Perhaps if I am dispatched to Dorne for a longer period of time.” You could tell that Brienne was being polite, yet she seemed genuine in her words. The moment she’d set foot inside the walls of your home, you were sure she would come to regret taking your mother up on the offer. She liked her privacy, and your mother liked prodding. Them together was not a feasible pairing. 

“Of course, just send a raven ahead of time so we can prepare, other than that you are always welcome to our home. It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Brienne.” She liked the pretty knight, you could tell. You could also tell that she was itching to get on the road, ready to talk your ear off and tease you about your behavior around the blonde. 

It was all with good intentions, something she did when you were young and had an infatuation with someone. 

“You too, M’Lady.” 

“Safe travels.” She spoke her final words to Brienne before shifting her attention to you, “I will give you two a moment, come find me when you’re done.” With this, she walked back to the still-docked ship she had previously been on, spectating as the crewmen scattered around on deck to get everything ready for departure. 

You turned to look at Brienne, her doing the same, a crestfallen expression gracing her features. Your face matching hers, “I sent Bartholomew off with another message this morning. Reply this time, please.” 

“Bartholomew?” Even though she was incredibly disheartened, an amused and quizzical look took over her face. 

“Yes. One of our message ravens. His real name is Branoc, but I named him Bartholomew the Raven the First. It was whimsical to me.” You lovingly smiled at Brienne, and she reciprocated, smiling with just as much adoration back. 

She chuckled slightly, “I see. I will read yours and send one back with Bartholomew the Raven the First. I swear, no more miscommunication.” Her words were true, no more silence from her end, no more misery. 

“Good. Well, off you go.” Tears were starting to well up in your eyes, you didn’t want to let her go, did not want to watch her leave but you were afraid there was no other choice. You could see Podrick in the distance behind Brienne, waiting for her to board the ship so they could return back. 

“I will be looking forward to hearing your decision when you have given thought to my offer. I love you. Please come back to me soon.” She was dragging this out, wanting your goodbye to last as long as possible so your time wouldn’t be cut short so soon. 

“I will try. I love you.” Gazing up into her eyes, you took her hands in yours, an action overlooked by the mass amount of people around you. “Now go. Ser Podrick is waiting for you.” 

“Farewell, for now, Ser.” Squeezing your hands, Brienne let go of them and straightened her back, hand resting on its usual place on the hilt of her sword; looking down at you with an over-enthusiastically assertive face, making you giggle a tiny bit. 

“Farewell for now, Lord Commander.” One long glance was exchanged before Brienne turned on her heels and started marching over to where Podrick was standing. The last you saw of her tall figure was her boarding the ship and her disappearing below deck. 

Walking up to your mother, you grabbed her attention by tapping her gently on the shoulder, her turning around to face you. “I will allow two questions on the ride back, and that is it.” Setting these boundaries with your mother rarely worked, but this time you were serious, dead set on maintaining some seclusion. 

“Two questions are all I’ll need.” 

——— 

Two weeks had passed since the events in Planky Town, and you had let it slip to your mother that Brienne had proposed to speak to the King on your behalf. A couple days after she had learned this, she miraculously didn’t need your services anymore, leaving you free to do whatever you wished. 

The first thing you did was send a raven to Brienne, telling her that you reflected on her proposal, that you accept, and to expect you the following week. 

Directly after this, you had traveled to Sunspear. Letting Prince Martell know that you would no longer be able to assist in whatever he needed. Considering you never swore your services to him and that it was purely a means to keep the ‘protect the innocents’ part of your knightly oath going; the only thing he could do was to thank you for your help and to let you leave. 

Packing whatever you needed for your trip, you said your goodbyes to your mother and later that day, you were on a ship heading for Kings Landing. It was another one of your family’s ones, and considering they were already heading up north, they allowed you to ride along in exchange for your assistance in carrying the goods, which you gladly assisted with. 

That all led to you standing at the dock of Kings Landing where the tall woman stood and awaited you. Walking up to her, you took a glance around before looking up at her with feigned confusion. “Excuse me, I’m supposed to meet Lord Commander Brienne of Tarth. Do you know where I could find her?” 

Brienne smiled playfully, lightly shoving your shoulder, causing you to grin up at her. “You’re not funny, you know?” 

“That smile on your face would suggest otherwise.” You were teasing her; she knew you were. You wanted to engage in small banter before diving right into serious King’s Guard business, but Brienne was eager for you to get integrated and fitted so she could take you to her private quarters and cuddle you. 

“We can continue this later. Let’s go see the King. He’s looking forward to meeting you.” Brienne began leisurely trekking, you following after her. The sun reflected so perfectly in her gold plates as she journeyed towards the large gate, eventually traveling under it.

You found yourself in shadows for a brief period of time before the light hit your face as you emerged from the dark, stepping out into Fishmonger’s Square. 

From there you walked straight until you took a right, walking down The Hook and you couldn’t do much but gape at the Red Keep where it stood, large and marvelous, fit for a King of the Six Kingdoms. As you passed through the curved street, you and Brienne kept up a mindless conversation, not talking about anything important, really, just chatting, enjoying each other’s company. 

After finally, reaching the end of The Hook, you were greeted with a set of stairs, going up Aegon’s High Hill. You looked to Brienne with annoyed exhaustion, and she laughed, stating that ‘the leg muscles you get from this makes it worth it, I promise.’ She was being goofy, trying to change your expression into one less irritated, and it worked; she always knew how to make you smile like a fool. 

She motioned for you to go first, and you did, knowing that if you lost balance or fell, Brienne would be there to catch you. She, on the other hand, wanted you to go first so she could be bestowed the privilege of having your ass as her view; she would never admit that though. 

About halfway up, the knight behind you asked if you wanted to take a break, but you declined, knowing that you were almost there. Give or take a few dozen steps. Brienne shrugged, staying close to your back in case your legs gave out. Even her thighs were burning. 

Even though you walked a few steps above her, you still only reached Brienne’s forehead and she found it amusing that someone so short could have so much love, well, you were short to her; everyone was short to her. 

You ascended the very last stairstep, the Red Keep towering and looming above you. It was even more intimidating and glorious up close, and you had to crane your neck to even get remotely close to the peak of it. You had to stop yourself from releasing a ‘whoa’ but settled with subtle gawking instead; subtle being eyes and mouth wide open. 

Brienne passed your still-standing person, giggling at your amazement, “come on, you silly girl. You can revel in the spectacularism later.” You shook yourself out of your current state when hearing her fond tone, coming to join your blonde Commander by the large doors. 

Brienne entered the large building, making sure you were behind her, allowing you to step up to her side. The insides of the building were equally as grand as the outside, a home fit for a King, you thought. You refrained from commenting on the vision that was the Red Keep, but you were fairly certain your knight already knew what you were thinking by the awestruck countenance you had. 

When you entered the Throne Room, your former face had been switched to a solemn one, showing that you were a very serious knight who hadn’t been staring at the building you were currently in open-mouthed. 

There were two other people in the large space besides you and Brienne. A much shorter man with curly hair, and the King, who sat on his throne which had been moved down from its previous placement so that Bran could lift himself into it. 

Brienne leaned down to your ear, talking to you in a hushed tone, “That’s King Brandon Stark, which I assume you know. And the bloke next to him is Lord Hand Tyrion Lannister.” You only hummed in response as she rose to her full height once again. 

Tyrion had noticed the blonde's change in mood the second she had returned from Dorne. No longer staring off into nothingness and getting lost in her thoughts. No longer hiding away and sharpening every sword known to man or obsessively counting in the armory. 

He had been wondering what the cause for this sudden change in her behavior was, but now that he saw the way she looked at you, the way her eyes lit up as she spoke, and how you acted the same towards her; he drew his own conclusions. He was sure to tease her about this at a later date. 

Brienne and you stopped before the King, kneeling in front of him. He called you both up to stand straight, the Lord Commander marching up to stand by her King's side, you standing firmly in place. 

“Your Grace.” You kept your eyes fixated on Bran, very aware of Brienne’s eyes on you. You could see her in the corner of your eye, she looked so exalted and heroic standing next to the King in her gold armor and white cloak. 

“Lord Brienne speaks very highly of you. She has stated very clearly that she would fight by your side and that she trusts you with her life.” You had to hold back a grin at his words, she spoke just as highly of you as you did of her, “I have heard of your accomplishments on the battlefield, and I must say that I am impressed.” 

“Thank you, Sire.”  

You had spent the journey here memorizing the oath you had to swear. It was a mighty long one, but it had eventually stuck, and you were sure it would never unstick. You didn’t quite know when you were supposed to swear it, hoping Brienne would give you some sort of signal for when it was time. 

Luckily, there was no need for that, King Bran gave you his own very clear instructions with his words, “I would be a fool to not have you in my Kings Guard, especially when my own Lord Commander was essentially bragging about your skills.” At this, Brienne’s head slumped down to hide a smile that crept up on her lush lips, she was a little bit embarrassed at him exposing her. Yet at the same time she was grateful for it because now you knew just how much she wanted you here with her unless any of her other words hadn’t been enough. “Kneel.” 

Brienne looked at you with enthusiasm, her pride for you shining brightly in the dimly lit room. She observed as you got down onto your knee once again, barely able to contain her large grin. The corners of her lips twitched, and she was sure that if either of the men beside her were to see it; they would question the reason why she actually wanted you here. She could want you here for two reasons, no? One selfish, one for the good of the kingdom. 

Your sword skills matched hers, and to have you next to her would put her so much more at ease. She was well aware that she was an exceptional sword fighter, but to have two with the same skill was calming, knowing that you would both go through hell and high water to get back to the other alive.  

Having such a drive force can be lifesaving in dire and lethal situations, especially when your job is to protect the King; riots hadn’t been uncommon in the past, but hopefully, there would be none now that there was new and better leadership. 

“I swear to ward the King with all my strength, and to give my blood for his. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, mother no children. I shall guard his secrets, obey his commands, ride at his side, and defend his name and honor.” 

What you didn’t seem to notice even though you kept your eyes fixed on Bran, was his slight eyebrow quirk at the fact that you chose to replace father with mother, but wife remained, just as it had with Brienne’s oath. 

“Arise.” 

Brienne practically beamed at you as you got up from your knee, almost overzealously volunteering to take you to your fitting when Bran and Tyrion started discussing it. The shorter one of the two stared at her with an astute look, mouthing ‘real smooth, Lord Brienne,’ a teasing smile on his face. 

The tall blonde shot him one of her signature glares in return, staring at him pointedly and he knew he was going to have fun messing with her about this. Maybe he’ll ask her if she’s still a virgin, maybe her answer had changed since the last time he asked. He was sure it had, but he wanted to hear her say it. 

“Your Grace. I will take our newest recruit for measurements, then show them their quarters. Leave it to me.” Bran didn’t think much of Brienne’s willingness, he thought her to be a strange character sometimes and this was one of those times. He just simply nodded to show that she was sanctioned to do just that. 

“Lord Commander. Ser. You are both dismissed.” Brienne trotted over to your side, ready to lead you away from the large room. 

“Yes. Your Grace.” Speaking unanimously, you and the tall blonde bowed before taking your exit. Side by side, you roamed the regal halls of the Red Keep, and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring in wonderment again, nearing the exit of said building. 

Brienne found your extreme fascination and wonder endearing, her heart fluttering at your childlike enthusiasm and admiration, her insides all warm, her stomach filling with butterflies as she watched your wonderstruck face. 

The descent of the stairs was much more forgiving than the ascent and you had found yourself walking down The Kings Road that winded through Kings Landing, and as you walked, Brienne explained to you that you had two stops to make, one at the armorer for measurements for your new plates and gambeson, and a second at the tailor, for new tunics and trousers, but also for your long white cloak. 

She spoke to you the entire time about what she had been up to the five months you were apart, stating that it was too much to be written on paper, as you navigated the streets of Kings Landing to make your errands. 

It all went smoothly and eventually, Brienne had taken you to the White Sword Tower, where your chambers were located. “I managed to get your room next to mine, so we can easily sneak in between if we wish.” Her voice was hushed and her tone mischievous as she showed you her quarters, and then yours. You smiled at her words; she hadn’t changed one bit. 

“Come into mine. I wish to show you something.” Suddenly her voice and face turned candid, opening the door to her room and allowing you to walk in before her, closing it after entering the quarters herself. 

She immediately walked up to her hearth, starting a warming and crackling fire, and then moved to the armor stand in her room, beginning the removal process of each piece of her golden plates. 

You couldn’t help but look at the back of her head with a puzzled expression. It was getting close to sunset, but not close enough to warrant Brienne unstrapping her armor. She usually kept it on until bedtime, and it was still light outside. 

Continuing her process, she spoke to you, voice soft and tender, “Go look in that book over there.” She twitched her head quickly, motioning you in the direction she wanted you to go. 

Walking over to her bed table, your eyes landed on a book. Brienne didn’t seem like the type of person who would be interested in dramatic literature. “The book isn’t of importance; I just picked a random one. Look inside.” 

You looked back at Brienne, only having her gambeson left to remove, but had stopped for a second to turn her head to look at you, offering an encouraging smile. Shifting your gaze back to the book, you picked it up and opened the worn-out leather cover. The paper inside seemed to stare back at you with accusing eyes. 

It was tear-stained, obvious marks on the spots the Lord Commander’s tears had landed. You were almost certain about what the parchment was, your speculations were only confirmed when you removed it from the pages and unfolded it; your handwriting from five months ago glaring at you. 

“You kept it?” This was surely a painful memory for Brienne, why she opted to keep it you did not know. The evidence of her evening cries was clear on the slightly ripped note; she must’ve read this every single day. 

“Yes.” She was finally finished with her armor and gambeson and moved to join you by her bed. “I needed to have something of yours, and this was all I had.” She stopped in front of you, gently taking the book and letter from your hands, placing them back on the bed table before grabbing hold of your hands. “I read it every single night, desperately trying to remember your voice. But I- I couldn’t.” 

Her gaze shifted from yours to the floor, and you were hit with a surge of woe seeing her evade your eyes. You did not know why she felt the need to do so. Was she ashamed that she had forgotten your voice? Or maybe embarrassed admitting that she read your letter every night even if it reminded her of the dark winter evening by the stables? You did not know, and you didn’t want to ask, not now at least. 

“Darling,” one of your hands tangled itself out of Brienne’s to softly lift her chin up, so you could look into her magnificent irises. “I forgot your voice too. No matter, though. We’ll be able to hear each other's voice every day from now on.” She smiled down at you with sad eyes, an unasked question in the air that you both wanted to ask, the taller woman being the actual one to ask it. 

“Will you let me hold you, please? I wish to hold you.” It was almost like she was shy, acting like it was the beginning stage of your relationship once again, and in a way it kind of was. You were in need of her warmth, her closeness, and the strong enveloping of her large and long arms. For her to hold you tight and never let go, desperate to be back in her embrace once again. 

You responded by kissing her tenderly on her lips, removing your hand from her chin, and using the one still in her hand to drag her down onto the bed with you. Both you and Brienne were still fully clothed, an error that needed to be resolved; you wanted to feel her hot skin against yours once again like you had done so many moons ago. “I want to feel your bare flesh against mine, please.” 

Brienne watched you lovingly and fondly, nodded, and started to remove her clothing, stripping down to her undergarments. It was nothing sexual, just the need to feel the entirety of her against you; an animalistic urge to feel a sense of security. You followed suit, undressing with haste, folding up your clothes, and placing them next to hers at the foot of the bed. 

Your blonde knight in shining armor crawled under the covers and laid down on her side, holding the fur up for you so you could do the same. Lifting up the same arm that had been holding the cover as you did. 

She wasted no time in slinging the same limb around you when you had laid down next to her, pulling you close to her, your back against her front. Her face nuzzling into your neck, breathing in your scent. 

Her strong musk and arms encompassed you, the faint and familiar smell of fresh grass and light sweat overwhelming your senses once again. You were completely intoxicated by her proximity, you couldn’t think, your mind was scrambled, heart racing. 

She started pressing soft kisses to your skin, supple lips ghosting over your neck and shoulder, making you release a sigh. Brienne whispered against your skin, her breath slightly tickling you. “Tell me what you did in Dorne during the five months we were apart. Catch me up, please.” You were more than happy to. 

As you started to recount the events that had occurred over the past five months, Brienne’s hold around you tightened, attempting to have you even closer to her which at this point was impossible. There was barely any space left between you, not even a small air pocket. 

Your legs were tangled with her incredibly long ones, fingers drawing mindless circles on her arm as you told her about your journey to Dorne, your father’s passing, and your family’s trader business. 

Brienne hummed every once in a while, to let you know that she was listening, her arm around you strong like cement. As she pressed a barely felt but burning kiss to the skin behind your ear, you realized that you were finally back where you were always meant to be. 

In Brienne’s arms.

–––

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[rexlapi]

i know no one who follows me is into genshin bUT im so proud of this au so i’ll post it anyways

moongod!zhonglixmotal!childe, chang’e/hou’yi au (no previous knowledge of the mid autumn festival is needed, hopefully i explained it well enough in the fic)

am i yours?

rating: teen for inexplicit self harm  wc: 2k

ao3

- -

It had only been a century since the god of the moon, known to the people as Morax, had first come to the barren rock he would soon have to call home. He had no emotional attachment to the place, however he had no other place to call home. Too many years since the man who had once been Zhongli had last seen his love, too long since he had known happiness. 

The earth was rising into view from his palace on the moon, the blue waters always reminding him of his lover’s bright eyes. Zhongli stood on the cold stone floor, staring out into the distance. It was the anniversary of the day when Zhongli had first ascended to yue, a day many mortals celebrated, offering him yuebing, or mooncakes, in hopes that he would bless their families. Every year, he found it in himself to smile upon those who still remembered his story, hoping that one day, his good would come back to him in the form of the one he loved. But of course, the world was a cruel place, leaving the immortal nothing but a barren rock to live his sad eternity on. 

Despite the people’s celebratory gifts, this day was always one of sorrow for Morax. He had only experienced a few decades of imprisonment on this rock, yet somehow Zhongli felt so, so very old. This day only ever reminded him of what he’s lost, of what he will never have again. To be fair, almost everything reminded him of his Tartaglia, from the waters of earth to the orange of the sun. More than anything, these things reminded him of his biggest mistake.

There was nothing in this that the moon god regretted more than his reckless action that got him stuck on this barren rock, never to see the face of the one he loved again. 

The day that ruined Zhongli’s life had been a beautiful day, one of the most beautiful days he had ever seen. The skies were a vibrant blue, streaks of puffy white clouds dotted throughout the sea of blue, the sunlight warm and bright. He had planned on proposing to Tartaglia that day He had everything prepared, an elaborate basket of luxurious gifts for the other man’s family, as well as a lovingly self-crafted pair of matching dangly earrings, for each of them. Zhongli unconsciously brushed his hand over his ear, toying with the rare orange jade bead at the end of his. 

He had been waiting for Tartaglia to return home from an assignment when one of his own students had broken into his house, looking for the small potion of immortality Tartaglia had received for shooting the excess suns out of the sky. His Tartaglia had always been an adept warrior, being proficient in nearly every weapon. Zhongli smiled to himself, wishing he could see the way Tartaglia bounced on his toes before every right, his face stretched into a broad grin, ready for the rush of adrenaline that every fight gave him. 

Zhongli had always loved teaching, wanting to impart his knowledge and wisdom on the next generation of bright minds. He would never forget the look of horror his student wore when Zhongli angrily shoved a spear through their stomach, snatching the elixir out of weakening hands and downing it in one gulp. It wasn’t until Tartaglia returned home shortly after the incident when Zhongli realized what he had done. He remembered how Tartaglia’s eyes had widened, his voice calling out for him, but Zhongli could already feel himself floating away, becoming weightless, as if he had become a spirit. The distraught cries from his love that morphed into sobs, calling his name, begging him to stay, telling him he loved him These cries would forever ingrain themselves into his memory. The elixir would have let them be happy and together forever. Instead, it separated the two of them for the rest of time.

Every year on this day, he would talk into the sky, hoping that maybe, one day, Tartaglia would hear him. Hoping that maybe one day he could see him smile, hear him laugh again. This year was no different. Zhongli busied himself in the kitchen, preparing some of Tartaglia’s favorite foods. He would eat a bite of each dish before leaving the rest as offerings to whatever greater powers lay above him, asking them for mercy, for freedom for this barren rock. Though, behind all of these, he would always ask to see his love, one last time. 

Please, Celestia. This is all I can offer for you. Please, I’d like a way off this rock, freedom from my past mistakes. He looked off into the distance, at the painting he had done of Tartaglia. Please, I’d like to see Tartaglia again. Please.

Years like this one passed. Years became decades, and decades became centuries. Time passed quickly for the immortal, and though it may pass fast, it had no end. Every year, Morax asked the same things of Celestia. Every year, he received no response. He had grown so very tired. 

On his 8880th mid-autumn festival, he awoke to see a sharp periwinkle dagger wrapped in silver silks sitting on the edge of his bed. He carefully unwrapped the fabric to reveal a beautifully carved glaze lily embedded on the handle. A small piece of paper fell out of the wraps, peaking Zhongli’s interest. He carefully set the dagger down onto his bed, picking up the small slip. 

A note, written in elegant, looping, traditional Liyuen. It read: Morax, your prayers have been heard. Celestia sends its regards as well as apologies for taking so long to process your request. Take this dagger as the key to the next journey in your life, where the one you love is waiting. It has been enchanted so there will be no pain. However, if you decide to take this chance, do know that it is irreversible. Do as you wish with it, take the chance or do not. 

I hope you find your peace, Zhongli.

The note was not signed, but somehow Zhongli felt as though he knew the person who had written the note. “Thank you.” he croaked out, his voice rough from lack of use. His hands shaking, he picked up the dagger once more. It was the perfect weight, a perfect balance of light yet solid. It had been, well, ever since he had come onto this rock since he had held a weapon. Not a weapon, a key. A chance. Hope. 

He took a walk around the empty palace where he had lived in solitude for thousands of years, as if saying goodbye. It was a goodbye he was happy to say. He retrieved the hand carved wooden box containing his most prized possession from it’s secret location, securing it in his pocket. He carefully rolled up the scroll containing the image of a smiling Tartaglia and slipping that into another pocket, scared that if he did see Tartaglia again, that Zhongli wouldn’t be able to recognize him. 

He stared down at the dagger in his hands, his fingers curling around the elegant glaze lily. He felt his grip grow tighter, then he felt his hands start to shake. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. He was ready to leave this barren place behind. I will see you again, Tartaglia.

As promised, the blade brought him no pain. 

... 

Zhongli opened his eyes to see an ethereal forest, the trees not quite opaque, as if they weren’t quite there. He looked down to see the beautiful blade that had been gifted to him stained with golden blood. He wasn’t bothered by the golden blood, for it was the blood of immortals after all. He was however, awed by the trees he saw. He hadn’t seen vegetation in what felt like years, not having to eat food in order to sustain himself after ascending to godhood, saving human food for very special occasions. 

He looked around, though he didn’t see anyone. Where the one you love is waiting, the note had said. Zhongli wandered around the forest for what felt like days, looking for a head of bright orange hair or a pair of deep ocean eyes. He saw neither. Had the sender lied? He couldn’t help but lose a little bit of hope, though wherever he was now was still certainly better than the hellhole of a rock he had resided on for millennia. He took a deep breath of the fresh air, feeling more and more energetic by the moment. 

Say something. His brain told him. He was running out of options, so he did as his inner monologue asked. Clearing his throat, he recalled the song he would sing to his Tartaglia. Humming the first few lines to get warmed up, his hope growing with every beat. 

“Xu ni sheng shi shi, wu jue qu de ai,” His voice shook as he switched from his native Liyuen to lover’s Snezhnayan. “Always and forever, in this heart of mine…” The forest was silent. Zhongli felt his heart shatter, not wanting to accept that he really would never see his Tartaglia again. He knelt on the ground, his hand clutching the blade of the dagger, a cascade of golden blood dripping onto his spotless black-gold hanfu. He wished he could feel the sharp pain of the cold blade biting into his skin. 

“Xu ni sheng sheng shi shi, wu jue qu de ai,” 

Zhongli had never stood faster in his entire life, the dagger falling to the ground, forgotten. His eyes widened as the familiar face of his beloved appeared from behind a tree. He stood stunned. The sender didn’t lie.

The sun seemed to illuminate the younger boy, his orange hair glowing golden, his typical gray ensemble billowing in the breeze. Zhongli had never seen such a beautiful sight in his thousands of years of existence. “Always and forever, in this heart of mine… longer than the heavens, and the stars that shine…”

Zhongli and Tartaglia both rushed forward at the same time, the orange haired boy taking the other’s bleeding hand in his, while Zhongli gently placed his uninjured hand on his lover’s face. “Xiang si qing nan nai, yuan yu ni tong zai,”

They both broke out into smiles filled with grief and disbelief, their voices shaking as they finished the verse together. “I am yours, I am yours, forever”

Collapsing into the other man, Zhongli let himself cry. “Tartaglia I-”

He felt strong arms hug him tighter, only making Zhongli sob harder. “Shh it’s okay, I’m here now. You’re here now.” Tartaglia had begun to cry too, having fallen to the ground with Zhongli, the two a tangle of limbs and tears. 

“I love you so much.” Zhongli choked out, letting more and more of his years and years of pain and loneliness fade away with every moment in the other boy’s arms. 

Tartaglia kissed Zhongli through teary eyes, trying to convey the words he couldn’t say in the action. “I’ve never stopped loving you, even after all these years. I love you, Zhongli. So much. Please, don’t be an idiot again and cause us another eight-thousand years of separation. I don’t think I can go through that again.”

Zhongli laughed through a sob, placing a kiss on Tartaglia’s cheek. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” He pulled out the box he had carried around with him since he had been banished to the moon. Carefully, he pulled out the other earring he had crafted all those years ago, the same shape and pattern as the singular one Zhongli himself wore. “Tartaglia, would you be mine forever?”

“Only if you’re mine forever" He responded, the biggest shit-eatting grin on his face. 

Zhongli nodded solemnly, completely serious in his consideration of the agreement. “That is a fair contract.”

Tartaglia laughed before kissing Zhongli again. “It was a joke, of course I’ll be yours.”

He dipped his head down, allowing Zhongli to attach the earring to his ear. Perfect. Zhongli couldn’t help but think. The blue jade matched his eyes perfectly, just as Zhongli’s earring matched his own amber eyes. “Forever?”

“Forever."

~~~~~~~~~~

Xu ni sheng shi shi, wu jue qu de ai -> Let your love live forever,

Xiang si qing nan nai, yuan yu ni tong zai -> Love-sickness is unbearable, I wish I were with you

[whatzaoverwatch]

The Reaper of The Opera Chapter 13: Love Never Dies (FINAL)

The ending come forth! I hope everyone enjoyed the journey of this au fic as I have. It’s great to return to writing again, having put the lengthy fics to the side for awhile after the traction fell short. If you have any interest on my other fics please check out my masterlist in my bio. Thank you for all the love and support and thank you once again for @stormcallart design of Phantom!Gabriel that really inspired me. I wanted to split this into an epilogue but hell I’ll just combined them both.

First Prev

Cruel fate had rested upon your shoulders. Your mentor now turned monster was now forcing you decide your future. Threatening the life of your childhood friend now fiancé for your love. To lose your last bit of light or be succumbed to the darkness once and for all. A choice that made you lose in either situation. Reapers sinister glare showing no mercy for the struggling Genji. Seeing your beloved being pressed further into the rocky wall. Rising from your place, that face of fear no longer cascading your form.

“Why do you give me this choice? No matter what I choose it will be in your favour.” You questioned, watching Genji try to shake free of Reapers hold.

“For the dramatics I suppose,” Reaper hummed, pressing the gun against Genjis temple as a warning, “He is the barrier between the love we could have. I give you a choice that I was never given upon my accident. I know what you will desire, but I also know who you truly are. You could never let your beloved die, I will spare him only if you become mine.”

“Why make her lie to you to save me?” He gasped out, looking over to you with a face of guilt, “[Name], forgive me. I tried to do everything I could for you. No matter what you decide, I just want you to know that I love you. I always have and I always will. I only want you to have the freedom he took from you. Deny him, don’t let him win. If it is my time to die, so be it. I already escaped death once, I’m afraid it may not favour me this time again. Don’t throw your life away for my sake.”

“Genji…” You mumbled. Seeing how much he sacrificed to you on several occasions. Giving his second life to you without a second thought. Unable to let him die from all he has been through. Reapers arm pressed against Genjis throat, cutting him from speaking any further.

“Don’t sway her emotions you little brat! I am willing to spare your life, don’t make me change my mind,” Threatening Genji, he leered over at you with a growl, “There is no turning back now. No use looking for pity or cries for help. What shall it be my dear? Do you end your days with me, or do you send him to his grave?”

“You were my teacher, my guardian and my hope. To think that at one point I would feel sorry for what happened to you, Gabriel. But now I can only spare nothing to you but hatred,” You told him, your stance firm and your eyes growing cold. Watching his stature tense at the sound of his old name. Shaking your head at what he had done to you after all of these years, “I gave you my heart and mind blindly. You used me, and you deceived me.”

The smoke of Reapers form fading. His demeanour not shifted by your words. Those thoughts of hatred and anger meaning nothing to him anymore. Clicking his shotgun at the ready, his darkened gaze grew weary of your speech.

“You are trying my patience [Name]. Make, your, choice.” Warning you one final time. Knowing if you continued hesitating, he would make the choice for you. To blast Genjis head onto the stone wall and taking you as his forever. Noticing that his opponent also waited for your response.

Looking at the men who had taken your heart, you knew your decision was set. Slowly approaching Reaper, he took no sign of letting his guard down. Reaching carefully over to him, you carefully rested your hand onto his burnt mark. Feeling his skin was cold as ice, his body trembling as if contact had never been experienced. Brushing your thumb gently under his jagged teeth, you could feel his shuddering breath from your touch. Guiding him closer to you and away from Genjis form.

Genji collapsed onto the ground, the pressure from Reapers hold taking the wind out of him. Catching his breath as he watched you gently caressed Reapers face into your hands. Keeping your attention upon the black irises before pulling him into a passionate kiss. Startling the wraith by the choice, he is left to be taken into the desired kiss of his dreams. Genji was left disheartened by the decision, turning away from your sacrifice. Dropping his weapon, Reapers guard was dropped entirely. Never minding the idea on if this was a trick or that you truly had chosen him. Feeling him slowly ease into the kiss with his own sense of desperation. Hands delicately cradling you like a porcelain doll.

After so long, he felt like he was human again. Shedding a single tear down his cheek from the love. But the feeling didn’t last, pulling away from you in a state of shock. Catching his breath to look upon your beauty. Gently placing a hand over your cheek. Finding himself breathless when you leaned into his touch. The faint smoke from his touch quickly reminded him of his own curse.

As much as he cherished you, he wondered how long you would last in his solitude. Would you still remained preserved for all eternity like him? Or would you eventually find your own death overtime? Unable to bare the thought of you losing your smile and song. He couldn’t go through with it, to take away the one thing that mattered most to him. Halting you from going for another kiss, stumbling back at the overwhelming fit of emotions. Wiping away the tear, trembling in his form to compose himself. Heading on over to his organ to hide himself away.

“I can’t...I cannot do this to you,” He confessed, his voice drained and powerless. Unable to look at the two of you in his state, “Forget about me, leave this place. Leave me now!”

Reaper had spotted the ring he had taken from you. The glimmering dragon gazing upon him in judgement. Tossing the mockery towards Genji, a token of his victory on his behalf. The metal bouncing against the stone and onto his side. The younger man was speechless of Reapers decision. He was certain that he would’ve been forever heartbroken. Taking the opportunity to grab the ring and his blade that rested just against the rocky shore.

You kept your focus on the trembling Reaper. Knowing he had given up on his life with you in an instant. The kiss revealing what he longed for and what he could never have. He was letting you go. All because he loved you. Denying Genji your hand before he could reach it, knowing you had to make your final goodbye to your angel of music. Placing a delicate hand upon his back, he froze in his place to look over at you. A silent gaze upon you both was enough to share your final moments. The look of grief building inside, finally pulling away from your touch.

“Go!” He commanded one last time. His voice echoing the darkened cave once more.

Taking your leave, turning to Genji who still held his hand towards you. Quickly going to his side for a reunited embrace, taking in the moment with your love in silence. Taking your hand, he guided you towards the gate, heading towards your freedom. Remaining by each others sides by returning to back where you came from.

Reaper kept his back towards you both as you left him once and for all. Unable to look back knowing his mind would be changed when he saw you again. The withheld tears of torment finally coming forth when he could no longer hear your voice. Only greeted to the sounds of the music box that slowly began to play its familiar tune. Approaching the aged box, he looked upon the monkey that had gently tapped its cymbals to the music.

A box gifted to him long ago by his friends the moment the theatre had opened. The memories burned away by the scattered photos beneath his feet. Kneeling himself against the ground, he listened to his faint lullaby. Accepting his fate that was before him. A hand closing the box once it played its final tune.

“It’s over, the Music of the Night.” He croaked, letting his final burst of shadows consume him into the darkness. The final roar escaping him in his agony. The candles slowly flickering out one by one. Black roses scattered across the water, floating against the surface and away.

-

The flames had long destroyed the theatre. Empty and hollow from the destruction. The lair soon discovered by McCree and the rest of the group. Having searched for it long after to seek out the spirit that once haunted their home. Jesse lead them to where Ana had directed him thereafter to discover the hiding place for himself. He searched around the dimly lit area, spotting the scattered paper and broken mirrors.

Kneeling with a torch in his hand to see torn and burnt pictures of the original stage group altogether before the theatre. The memory of it grew heavy in the stage-handlers heart. Continuing his investigation around the place for any sign of life aside from his own. His journey leading him before a bed, where only two things of interest were presented before his very eyes.

A withered music box that he had once seen before, and an infamous mask resting on its side. Picking up the mask, he gazed upon its features. Knowing deep down that his search had finally ended. Looking to the group, mask in hand as he could no longer feel the presence of the spirit around him.

-

Present Day

Maximilian had made his final collections before making his way to the exit doors. Counting over the profit he had received with great disappointment. Overestimating peoples desires for some aged theatre antiques to turn in a decent pay. Knowing that this would be the last time he decided to take in this sort of auction in his future. Just as he was about to lock up, he felt a presence behind him.

“I’m sorry, but I am afraid that the auction is closed.” He informed whoever was behind him. Not wanting to be bothered by an already disappointing day. The person behind him spoke up in a gruff voice.

“I am not here for any profit; I just want to take a look.” Maximilian simply rolled his eyes, turning himself around to the gruff man before him.

“This isn’t a tourist attraction. If you want to stand around and gaze upon memorials I highly suggest-” In his hopes that he could shoo the blue eyed man away, his words were cut by a roll of cash that was presented before him. Twice the amount of money that had been raised from the auction before his very eyes. Taking one look at the older man, noticing his two scars upon his face, he carefully took the cash with a clear of the throat, “You’ve got twenty minutes. I am a terribly busy man you know.”

“It’s more than I need.” The man grunted, stepping inside while Max opened the way for him.

Allowing the man to have his time alone inside, he waited patiently by the doorway. Double checking the money that he had received. Not prying any questions on the man’s reasons. After all, he could never turn away from cash.

The mystery man walked into the theatre in complete silence. His black and red gloves ghosting over the rust and dusty surfaces around him. Approaching the stage to be greeted by a set on untouched auction items.

A flood of memories greeted upon the older man while he approached each piece one by one. Old costumes torn and props that were half broken. Desks and chairs that had been destroyed from the fire. A salvaged chandelier that still contained its beauty after so many years. Taking in the musty air with a sigh.

“Lot of memories of this place…they weren’t all bad.” He muttered to himself. Drifting himself to memory lane by everything he looked upon.

Reminded of the glamour and glory the theatre once held. Cherishing the applause and songs that once filled the opera house. The friends he had met in his time throughout the years. All the laughter and hard work put into make the Overwatch Opera Company come alive.

When the first fire had happened, almost everything was lost. Finding it difficult to take in the consequences and suffering in the blame. Searching for his own peace, he wasn’t at all shocked to hear of the Opera Houses final fall. Receiving messages from his beloved friend Ana on the aftermath on what had occurred.

She had taken Fareeha back home to mend their relationship. The managers had finally retired and wish to simply watch over other shows instead of taking charge. McCree had set out to do his own work, trying to reflect from the actions taken place. The infamous Hana Song announced her tour with Lucio and his partner Baptiste. The other dancers had returned to their countries living out their lives with their loved ones. He was especially surprised to hear that you had left to Hanamura with Genji and Hanzo. Last she heard, you and Genji were expecting your first child together.

He was unaware of the full extent of what had occurred to you. Finding himself taken back on what his old friend had been up to. But he knew of the madness Gabriel succumbed to. Unable to break the guilt of being partly responsible of his fate. It took him awhile to convince himself to make his way back to look over the condition of his old Opera Company. But with the Opera House doors finally closed and the Reaper no longer heard from, he decided to take the risk.

Taking it all in one last time before finally turning away from his past once and for all. Looking out to the theatre, he could picture the audience that once took place in the broken seats. Taking in his words as he presented the show. Memories faded to ash not once but twice.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he turned to take one final walk out of the building. Before taking his steps, the lights flickered from the once broken chandelier. Pausing his reminiscing to hear a faint organ playing beneath his feet. Filling the silence with melody once more. Heart stopping at the familiar music in his ears.

Rotating him his place to hear the music once again. What once was lost, remained within its walls. He knew he could not escape that song. To remind him that The Reaper of The Opera could never be forgotten.

The End

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter five – last chapter

Story summary: Through all the struggles and triumphs of the Noldor, Angrod and Edhellos hold on to their love and their faith in each other.

Despite the title, there is more than romance in this fic.

Chapter length: ~1,900 words; Rating: Teenage audiences

Some keywords for the whole fic: romance, family, some fluff and angst, mild sexual content, the Noldor and their fall and their triumphs, canon compliant

A/N: A gentle reminder that there's that Major Character Death at the end of this chapter.

AO3 link (first chapter here)

*

Chapter V //  The long defeat

He has dwelt in the West since the days of dawn, and I have dwelt with him years uncounted; [---] and together through ages of the world we have fought the long defeat. – The Lord of the Rings, Mirror of Galadriel; said by Galadriel about Celeborn, but Edhellos might have said the same about Angrod

The first time that Edhellos visits Doriath's king and queen with her husband, she is made to feel fairly welcome despite her being one of the Noldor. Artanis, Galadriel as she now wishes to be called, is glad to see her and at once introduces to Edhellos the man who gave her her beautiful new name. Edhellos is happy that her sister-in-law has finally found a man she deems worth loving. He does appear to be worthy of Galadriel's fierce-wise spirit; if not otherwise, then by his adoration of her.

The second time Edhellos accompanies Angrod and his brothers to Doriath, hidden, bitter truths spill free from her husband's lips after provocation by Thingol, and they receive confirmation from Melian the Maia's lips just how much of the Prophecy of North applies to them too.

The prophecy lies heavy on them, dark and inescapable, as Edhellos with Angrod and Aegnor rides home in silence and in shame that angers them all for it is mostly for the deeds of others. Yet they rebelled too and they must pay the price, whatever it will be.

It takes many peaceful years in the cool sunlight of Dorthonion for some of that weight to fade from their hearts.

*

With Thingol's ban on Quenya, Edhellos grieves the loss of her name in her first language. It is the name that her mother gave her, and she always treasured being Eldalótë, flower of Eldar. She only ever hears it from her husband's lips now, whispered or cried out at private moments.

'You have followed me through every danger, my Eldalótë', Angrod says at one of those cherished moments in the quiet and warmth of their bed where they lie side by side. The roaring flames in the fireplace do well at banishing the cold and dampness that plagues Dorthonion for much of the year.

He traces his hand down her side, leaving it to rest on her hip. There is a small scar there from a poisoned orc-spear that tore through her armour. Angrod bears a larger one on the side of his neck. Strangely, after two great battles, the strike that caused that wound was dealt by a small scouting party of orcs with foul weapons, forcing Edhellos to face the possibility of life without him.

But the wound healed, and Angrod is no less fair for the scar, and he is stronger than ever.

Edhellos blinks and returns to this moment. 'I would follow you through more', she murmurs.

'You may have to.' The set of his jaw is serious. Edhellos knows his worry and feels it too: they believe that apart from the high king, the other rulers of Beleriand don't take the threat of Morgoth seriously enough, rejoicing and trusting too much in the time of peace.

'Then I shall.' Edhellos tips her head up to kiss him softly. 'Do not worry at moments like this, my beloved. We can do that in our council room.'

'Mm. I shall follow your wise advice.' Angrod kisses her back, less gentle, and tips her on her back and settles above her. 'And I find I am not yet weary, my faithful wife with soft lips and silken hair.'

Edhellos raises her hand to gently touch that twisting scar on his neck, and then to his short hair that frames his face as a gleaming curtain. 'How fortunate that I am not tired either', she tells him.

Angrod's smile is the sunrise. 'Let us tire each other out, then.'

*

Time passes, and things keep changing though the peace lasts. Orodreth marries a lovely Sindarin girl with serious eyes and a silver-bell voice. Soon after their first child is born, Finrod completes his great project in the south and moves there, handing control of his watchtower on Sirion to Orodreth.

Edhellos has not cried since the Ice but she cries when she says farewell to her son and his wife and their child with grey eyes and golden curls, dear and sweet. It is not a dreadful farewell – she intends to visit often, though the ride down from the highlands down to Sirion is arduous – but it tears at her heart like few things could.

Dear Aegnor stays, at least, the last one left of Edhellos and Angrod' family which once felt so large gathered in the high halls of Tirion or the white-sand beaches in the Bay of Eldamar.

*

Finrod, the eternal wanderer, discovers the Secondborn whose coming was one of the reasons for Fëanor's rebellion. They do not seem like much of a threat, fleeing the threat and shadow of Morgoth and his followers. Finrod in agreement with Angrod and Aegnor gives one group of Men, faithful to Finrod, a corner of Dorthonion to reside in. Their lord Boromir sends several young, keen ones of his folk to Minas Avras to learn new skills under the tutelage of Angrod, Aegnor and Edhellos' people.

Edhellos gets to know those who stay to serve them. How strange they seem at first with their unfamiliar speech, how fleeting their lives.

Yet how much joy and grief they contain in those short lives – how many births to match the swiftly arriving merciless deaths.

Once Edhellos gets to hold a young baby that is the ninth child of its mother. She marvels at the tiny fingers and toes, as perfect as those of any child of the Eldar, and at the mother, who seems tired but not utterly drained in spirit.

There are none among the Eldar who have fathered or mothered nine or even eight children. Edhellos cannot but regard the Secondborn, and especially their women, with respect. She is glad that her people's skills can help them live longer and healthier lives. How many more dangers there are to them in the world!

*

And how dangerous one of the Edain's strong-hearted, wise-hearted women can turn out to be to a man of the Eldar.

One day Aegnor leaves with a few of his men to ride a long patrol around Dorthonion, as he often does. Two weeks later he returns, changed.

Edhellos comes to welcome him home when she is told that he is back. She finds him stabling his horse.

'Welcome back, Aegnor. Is all well in our land?' Aegnor turns to him, and Edhellos blanches. 'What is wrong, brother?' She rushes to his side. 'Have you been hurt?'

'I have been dealt a strike from which I will never recover', he answers.

'Where?' She can see no blood or bandages, no breach in his armour.

'In the eastern highlands, at sunrise.' Aegnor busies himself with his horse's tack and doesn't look her in the eyes. 'And again at night on the shore of Tarn Aeluin.'

He will not speak more until the evening when he and she and Angrod are gathered for dinner in a private room, servants sent away.

Aegnor tells Edhellos and Angrod that he met a mortal woman who at once touched his spirit. A few short days they had spent together before Aegnor continued on his patrol.

'She would have come with me but I told her that I cannot bind her to me. Not at this time of untrue peace which may end my life at any moment, and should it spare me, we would be torn apart by age.' Aegnor stares into his wine. 'Yet I will never be free of her. I touched her hand and she…'

'What did she do?' Edhellos begs. Beside her, Angrod sits frozen.

'Nothing but be beautiful in the light of the sun and the scent of heather, and bright like the stars in the dark of a moonless night. The night, the night I said goodbye there was a star caught in her hair', is all that Aegnor can speak before staring, silent, into the fire for a long time. Eventually he says, 'I have turned away from her and I shall never see her again in life – not by intention, not by chance; that much is given to me to see. But the memory of her –' His bitter-sweet words fade away.

'The memory of her you shall always have', Edhellos says quietly. She embraces Aegnor's still, stiff form and takes Angrod's hand, and they leave Aegnor to his memory and silence.

*

Her heart chilled and heavy for Aegnor, that night Edhellos burrows as deep into Angrod's arms as she can before they fall to rest together.

'We were so fortunate, my love', she speaks into his chest. 'We found each other young, and there happened to be no obstacle in our way. Our boring love story, as Maglor and Fingon called it long ago, is the best thing I could imagine happening.'

'I know.' He sighs into her hair. 'Even if Morgoth should break the siege tomorrow and slay us, we have had centuries to love each other. Aegnor didn't get a single moment of love unsullied by heartbreak.'

Edhellos almost cries at that, and Angrod holds her so tight within his arms that it is as clear a demonstration of grief as tears from him would be.

The brightness of Aegnor's eyes is ever dimmed since that day apart from in the heat of battle when it is more fearsome than ever, as if he were avenging the loss of even more than before.

*

'We must flee now, my lady, if we ever will! The enemy is drawing near', one of the guards calls to her, coughing from Morgoth's foul smoke that for the first time reaches even their highlands.

Angrod and Aegnor rode to battle earlier, leaving Edhellos to lead the defence of their home in case the enemy overruns Dorthonion. She looks wildly around her, a painful band constricting around her heart at the sight of her beloved home and her brave people.

She is no great fighter but she is a princess of the Noldor and she has forged herself a heart of a warrior over the centuries nonetheless. She can see the tops of distant pines red with fire. There is no safe route to flee to the lands of their allies, and Edhellos will not lead her people to hide in dark caverns and wait to be hounded out of them.

'We will stay and fight to defend our home', she tells what remains here of her people, and her heart rises to a battle-song at the sight of a fierce will rising into their eyes.

They stay to fight a battle that appears hopeless, as is the wont of their people. As she draws her bow at the sight of the enemy approaching, she prays that at least her son and his family will be spared this onslaught of fire and fell creatures, or that he can fight it off. Orodreth was only a child when they fell under the Doom; children should be spared such judgement.

Her prayer will most likely go unanswered, but pray for her child she must even if she can expect little aid from the Valar she turned her back on.

She wonders how Angrod fares in the battle he rode to.

When only hours later Edhellos' armour is pierced by a foul black sword, and all the world is red with fire and pain, she doesn't know if all the pain is hers or if she has been given the strange mercy of drawing her last rasping breath at the same time as her ever-beloved.

*

A/N: I want to warmly thank everyone who has followed (or read in one go) this fic about some less-known, less popular Silmarillion characters.

I enjoyed writing Edhellos' story in spite of its sad ending. I might write one or more side stories or sequels, though I'll write and post some more Lothíriel/Éomer fics first, as well as one little sequel to Your spirit calling out to mine.

Special thanks to all who have reblogged or commented. I appreciate fic reblogs greatly because they are so rare, and I love hearing what readers think of my fics.

[artistic-writer]

Between Now and Nether :: Epilogue :: A CS AU [complete]

Title: Between Now and Nether by @artistic-writer [full res fanart]

Summary: On their way to a Nolan Charity Gala, tragedy befalls Emma and Killian who is given just seven days to set things right.  Can he make Emma believe and escape the Nether before he is lost forever?

Rating: T+/M

AO3 Chapters: [1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5] - [6] - [7] - [8] - [9] - [10] - [11] - [12] -[13] - [14] - [15] - [16] - [17] - [Epilogue] Fanart Full Resolution: [1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5] - [6] - [7] - [8] - [9] - [10] - [11] - [12] - [13] - [14] - [15]- [16] - [17] - [Epilogue]

A/N: Here lies the final chapter of Between Now and Nether!  I am actually crying as i post this, but that might be the hair dye (bye bye blue hair!).  The journey with this fic as one of my only completed CS MC’s has been a fun one, with some many of you sending me comments of loveliness (and some not so much #sorrynotsorry).  Behold - daddy!killian feels!

I would like to AGAIN thank @kmomof4 for betaing this entire project like a boss - mama K, I love you so much and at points, I have been glad for the ocean between us.  Not that i feared for my life or anything ;)  If any of you want, Krystal has this ability to describe a chapter in a single gif, so go ask her opinion before you read it :)

@hollyethecurious my wonderful friend, fellow January baby and kindred spirit when it comes to angst, whump and generally putting our beloved OTP through the ringer before their HE, I thank you.  If it wasn’t for your muse and my muse sunning it up in far-off lands without us, this would have probably been finished before Christmas, but for all the time i faltered on details and needed a guiding opnion, you were there.  You are my person and i would not hesitate to hide the bodies for you ;)

@resident-of-storybrooke thankyou for letting me watch you read a chapter live over webcam, even if you did tell me to ‘fuck myself’.  I consider that kind of reaction a win win as an author, so yay!  Here’s to fucking myself! *raises drink*  And see, I told you, happy ending ;)

If you have requested a tag and have continued with this story, your name should be below - if it is not I am a terrible person and all i can do is apologise for losing you in the rabble, but know you are no less loved for seeing this through to the end!  I read a post not that long ago, about fandom stats regarding people who read fics vs people who leave kudos and comments according to the target audience of the market at the time.  In advertising, i believe the target is a 2% return in acknowledgment and you guys have made BNAN smash that, which a 4.8% return in views vs kudos!  So, thank you all so much, i love you all!

Taglist: @mariakov81 @rouhn @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke@hookedonapirate @galadriel26 @aye-captn @the-captains-ayebrows@yayimallamaagain @i-nvr-wrote-it @officerrogerss@kiwistreetswan@wellhellotragic@depechemode75 @distant-rose @yrellow-bugs-and-pirate-ships @courtorderedcake @wellhellotragic  @followbatb

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There was a time, when he had felt the warmth leave his body and had been trapped in the Nether, that Killian Jones had feared he might never see the moment Emma Swan had made him the happiest man in the world.  When she had agreed to marry him, none the wiser for his recent week long absence and struggle to get back to her, he was overcome with tears of joy that had burned lines so deep into his face that he thought he might still feel them.

Emma had looked beautiful.  Her dress, tailored by the famous seamstress Belle French, was a marvel, elegant enough to be refined by itself and not take a single glimpse of the bride’s beauty away from the awe inspired crowd.  The gathering was small, with just them, the Nolan’s and some other close family friends, and Killian will never forget the look of surprise on Graham Humbert’s face when he asked him to be his best man.  With a puzzled expression but a smile of pride Graham had accepted, none the wiser why Killian had even asked him.

How could he have not?  If it hadn’t been for him, Killian might never have made it back to his family and for that, he would be forever, albeit secretively, grateful.

“Don’t worry,” Graham laughed, watching Killian pace the hospital hallway.  The thick tread of his work boots squeaked against the polished tiled floor as he paced, his hand brushing some wayward strands of hair from his forehead.

“They said it would be soon,” Killian huffed, feeling himself halt when Graham laid his hand on his shoulder.

“These things take time,” Graham smiled, offering his friend a reassuring nod.

Killian's hands shook as he patted Graham’s with his own, mirroring his small, tight lipped smile with his weaker one.  Graham has been more of a friend than Killian could have ever imagined since the academy days.  Once Emma had taken her maternity leave, the rookie had been assigned to his charge, Graham’s gusto and resilience in the face of the Gold case not going unnoticed by the commissioner.

He trusted him with his life as a colleague, partner and more importantly a friend.  It meant a lot that he was the voice of reason right now as Kilian was slowly wearing a track into the floor of the off white, fluorescently lit corridor.  It had been his makeshift home for the last six hours, the steady buzz of overhead lighting and the mechanical beep of machines his only company when after thirty six hours of active labor, Emma had passed out and been rushed to surgery.

“It won’t be long, I promise,” Graham offered again.  Killian let his weight fall back against the wall, the paintwork scuffed across the white at waist height from the inevitable collision with hospital equipment.  

“It’s been over three hours since our last update,” Killian barked angrily.

“She’s strong,” Graham said firmly, his own voice quivering a little in his throat.

“She’s the strongest person we know,” Killian mumbled sadly, sliding down the wall until he was crumbled on the floor, head hanging between his knees.  Killian felt Graham’s hand on the back of his head but he did not look up.

“Mr. Jones?”  A small voice called from the nearby room he had recently been evicted from.  The woman was small and much older than him and he instantly recognised her as Emma’s midwife.

“Emma?” He scrambled to his feet, clawing at Graham’s arms as he pulled his friend up to his feet.

“Emma is fine,” The midwife smiled sweetly, stepping from the room and closing the door softly behind her.  Killian brushed his palms over his rumpled shirt, the clamminess seemingly stuck to his skin with the rush of adrenaline hearing the words had caused.  Emma, his Emma, was fine.

“And the baby?” Graham interjected from behind Killian who gulped hard, looking between the two of them and finally resting his expectant gaze on the midwife.  She paused, an eternal beat of time that Killian wished he could have sped up just like in the Om.

“A beautiful baby girl,” she grinned widely.  “Healthy and perfect in every way.”

Killian almost jumped into Graham’s arms when the man spun him around and pulled him into a crushing hug.  Hours of fatigue finally caught up with him and his defenses crumbled, the hot sting of tears pricking at the corner of Killian’s eyes and blurring his vision.  He buried his face into Graham’s shoulder, soaking his shirt with tears as two manly thumps of congratulations echoed through his back and chest.

“I told you,” Graham smirked with relief.  Killian pulled away from him and looked at his feet whilst he wiped at his tears, running his hand down his face and letting his stubble, that was edging on a full beard, absorb the salty droplets.

“Strongest person we know,” Killian smiled exuberantly and shook the hand Graham offered him.

Graham raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching sideways into a smirk.  “You haven’t met your daughter yet,” he reminded Killian.

As if a sudden realisation had hit him, Killian turned back to the midwife, his heart pounding in his chest and his face turning white.  He had known about his daughter for far longer than anyone else, but now he was suddenly terrified of the very notion of seeing her for the first time.  Since the wedding, which had happened so quickly after his return from the Nether, Killian had devoted so much of his time to make sure that Emma and the baby had everything they could ever need.  Emma was constantly telling him to stop fussing, but Killian had not, insisting on the very best for them.

Before Emma was too pregnant, they had decorated the nursery.  A splash of blue colour on the wall opposite the window turned purple in the sunlight as it spilled through the sheer, pink drapes they had hung.  The dark wood of the furniture contrasted with the plush, white carpet and was accented perfectly with the soft, pink linen that was tucked into the crib.  They had decided that since she would most likely be their little princess, that she should be treated like one, so Mary Margaret, who as it turned out was a great artist, had painted a fairytale castle and part of an enchanted forest on one of the walls.  David had insisted on as many Disney toys as possible, filling the nursery with a huge Dumbo plush, a smaller Sven (because she WOULD like Frozen) and a tiny mini set of plushies from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.

“Would you like to meet her?”  The midwife again shook Killian from his reverie and Graham nudged him in the back.  “And I know Emma would love to see you.”

Killian nodded and when the midwife pushed the door open, he stepped through it almost silently.  There was a soft yellow glow of light over Emma’s bed and she was sitting up with her arms crossed over her chest, the blankets tucked around her legs and a smile on her face.  She looked exhausted, her alabaster face a stark contrast to the pink of her cheeks and the green of her eyes as she gazed upon their daughter in her arms.

“Hey, love,” Killian whispered as he stepped closer and his hand crept up to scratch behind his ear.

Emma looked up at him with the love only a parent can hold for their child plastered on her face, lighting up her eyes to an even more vibrant shade of emerald than before.  She couldn’t hold back the tears as they fell, rolling over the apple of her cheeks silently and falling from her chin to the blanket below as she held out her hand for him.

They had no need for words as Killian gripped her fingers in his, letting her pull him towards her and immediately planting his lips to her brow.  His other hand smoothed over the back of her head, holding it to his lips as he inhaled the medical scent of hospital from her hair and fought with the shake of his lips against her skin.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Killian sobbed, his emotional state already well and truly compromised before he had even laid eyes of his daughter.  “Both of you.”  Emma nudged her head harder against his face, loving the way his fingers tickled behind her ear and his lips ghosted over her temple.

“No chance,” Emma laughed, her voice watery in the back of her throat.  She looked down at the tiny bundle in her arms and smiled harder.  “We are not going anywhere.”  Emma pulled her hand from Killian’s so that she could touch the tiny fingers of their daughter, the skin to skin contact something she had found so addictive already she thought she might never let her go.

“Oh, Emma, she’s so beautiful,” Killian grinned but was instantly taken by surprise when the boom of his voice made the tiny tot twitch in Emma’s arms.  “She has your nose,” he whispered softly, cupping the pink baby bonnet covered head of his daughter in his gigantic palm.

“She has your ears,” Emma purred sweetly, tracing the outline of the baby’s elvish ears with the tip of her finger.  The little girl scrunched up her face and balled her fist, grabbing the edge of the hospital issue blanket she was wrapped in before letting out a small, content sigh.

“Sorry about that, poppet,” Killian murmured at his daughter as he leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead.  She was so small Killian thought he might break her, his hands shaking as he brushed his lips over her soft, warm scalp.  “Daddy’s sorry.”

Emma caught his attention as he pulled away from the babe, clutching the side of his scruffy cheek and pulling his face to her mouth.  She pressed her lips to his cheek, tiny prickles of stubble poking her lips and making them itch across her smile as she hummed against Killian’s face.  “I like the sound of that.”

“Daddy?” Killian raised an eyebrow at her.

“It suits you,” Emma smiled at him, scooting sideways on the bed and inviting him to perch beside her with a pat on the starchy hospital blanket.

“Now it does, but what am I going to do when she is sixteen and hates me?  I’m sure she will have a more colourful moniker for me then,” Killian laughed nervously, gazing back at his sleeping daughter.  “She’s so perfect like this.  Can’t she just stay this small and call me Daddy forever?”  Killian reached out and touched the softness of the baby’s cheek, feeling his worries fade away when the side of her mouth curved up into a reflexive smile.

“I think she’ll always call you Daddy,” Emma told him softly, watching their daughter yawn in her arms.

“And what do we call this little mite?” Killian cooed at the baby.  “We should give you a name, shouldn’t we?”

Emma pulled the baby closer to her chest when she started to wriggle in her arms, feeling the warmth of the tot through the material of the blanket she was wrapped in.  “Something meaningful,” Emma beamed proudly.  “Something that speaks volumes about who she is and what she means to us.”

Killian lifted his leg and finally perched on the edge of the bed, wrapping a big, strong arm around both Emma and the baby.  His fingers traced lazy circles under the sleeve of Emma’s gown and goose bumps sprang up from her skin, begging for more of his touch.  Emma was right, and she didn’t even know it.  Killian was the only one with memories of his time in the Nether, even though things had adjusted somewhat in their favour since his return.  Leroy was in prison and the threat from Gold was non-existent now that he was on his way to a supermax somewhere in the deserts of New Mexico.

The whole time he was away, Killian knew there was only one thing he knew, he needed to have, more than anything.  One thing that he needed to make sure Emma felt, and continued to feel so that he could return home to them both.  Without it, they would have drifted apart, Killian stuck without his family, and Emma in a forever state of sorrow.  Hope is what kept them strong and what held them together.

“Hope,” Killian whispered lovingly, resting the side of his head of Emma’s.  “Hope Jones.”

The second they were home with their brand new bundle of joy, Emma and Killian were invaded by the Nolans.  David and Mary Margaret had children of their own, but it seemed that when somebody else had one, Mary Margaret was set into an instant state of brooding that gave David a worried look on his face.  Killian couldn’t help but chuckle as David had held Hope in his arms, the smile of pride quickly turning into one of panic the second Mary Margaret had mentioned another.

Emma was feeling a little better.  Sore, but better.  She had spent an extra week inside of the hospital because of some slight complications following her surgery, but the doctors were now confident she would be okay at home.  It probably had something to do with the incessant way Killian fussed over her whilst she was in the ward, but he didn’t care if they thought he was overbearing in the slightest.  If they had any idea what he had gone through to get back to them both, they might have understood.

Even Captain Lucas had visited them both, bringing with her a little stuffed wolf cub toy for Hope and a fruit basket from the entire precinct for Emma.  There was something about work that always lit up Emma’s face, and she was excited to see all of her colleagues, especially Graham who she had wanted to thank for being there with Killian at the hospital for so long.  Things had returned to how they used to be, all three of them spending more time together socially and getting on without the animosity there once was.  Killian felt like Emma had her old friend back, he had made a new one with someone he had no idea had so much in common with himself, and he was an invaluable crutch during the end of Emma’s pregnancy.

As he waved goodbye to another set of visitors and pushed the front door closed with a soft click, Killian breathed a hefty sigh.  If having a child wasn’t tiring enough, constantly catering to the whim of guest after guest would be the end of him.  Or so he thought, until he ascended the stairs on muffled footsteps, entered the nursery and saw the love of his life gently swaying with his daughter in her arms.

“Alright, love?” He called softly as he entered the recently decorated room.  The faintest smell of paint lingered in the air, but it would soon fade and be replaced by the sweetness of baby products.  “You look tired.”

“I’m exhausted,” Emma laughed a little, offering him Hope as a tiny, swaddled bundle of fleshy softness.  The tot was wrapped tightly in the hospital blankets she came home in (Mary Margaret had sworn by its swaddling ability) with a pink cotton cap covering her delicate head.  She was soundly asleep and didn’t even move as they transferred her between them.

“I still cannot believe we have a child,” Killian smiled, looking down at Hope in awe.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Emma fawned, watching her husband gently rock the baby in his powerful arms.  Sliding her phone out of her back pocket, Emma swiped the camera open and let the lens focus on the scene before her.  It was magical and maybe it was the hormones, but her eyes welled up with fat tears of pride as Emma clicked the button on the side of her phone, and the shutter sound signaled she had taken a photograph.

“She’s perfect,” Killian said softly, looking away from the babe for a second when Emma prompted him for a photo.  “Our little poppet.”

Having a baby was nothing like Killian had imagined.  The books could only prepare you for so much, and they most certainly did not take stock of the number of time you would wake up each night and deprived of sleep, inadvertently stick your finger into the side of a soiled diaper, or how utterly removed from society you would feel.  If Killian was honest with himself, having a baby was very similar to being in the Om;  Time moved so quickly it was gone before you even realised you had it to spare, and there was a constant urgency associated with being apart from Hope for too long.  

Killian felt like he needed to be close to her at all times, not miss a single second, and sometimes even that was not enough.  He wanted to watch her breathe, focus his entire energy on making sure that the tiny thumping of her heartbeat was normal and just as perfect as he had imagined.  Which was why, at three-thirty in the morning every night since she had come home, he had crept into her nursery in anticipation of the inevitable wails that followed, just so he could hold her and let Emma sleep uninterrupted.

“There, there, poppet,” Killian cooed almost silently.  He padded into the nursery barefoot, his pajama pants hanging low on his hips and his bare chest that was covered in a layer of almost black hairs on full display.  He kept the lights off except for a nearby plug in bulb that emitted a soft, pink hued glow around the nursery that was never too bright but just enough to chase away the shadows.

Reaching the dark wood of the crib that he and  David had painstakingly erected mere weeks before Hope’s arrival, Killian leaned over to rest his flattened palm to his daughter's chest.  The tiny beat of her super fast heart pounded against his fingertips and as if by magic, she ceased her fussing and sighed heavily, the screwed up expression she always wore before crying disappearing instantly.  Killian let his hand rest there for a full minute, just taking in the tiny creation before him.

Emma had been right.  Hope had his ears, a smaller, pinker variation, but still undoubtedly curved at the bottom and tapering into an Elfish point.  Along the outside of the shell was a fine dusting of black hair, something that the midwife had assured them she would grow out of, but Killian found endearing and unable to resist, often stroking them softly as she slept or nursed.  

Hope’s hair was as black as night against the paleness of her skin, her tiny transparent eyelids hiding the ocean blue-green eyes that were the perfect mixture of both of her parents.  They had been told they might change, but Killian felt confident that even with his dark hair, Hope had inherited everything else about her mother and her eyes would be just as beautiful as Emma’s and retain their emerald glow.  She had a flush to her chubby cheeks, another of Emma’s traits, and a button nose that squeaked and snuffled with her quickened breathing.  Even in the faint, cherise colouring that cast itself all around her, Hope was a vision of light, everything Killian had imagined she would be and more.  She was perfect.

Killian leaned over the crib and scooped his hand under her soft skull, letting her head flop back into his palm like a warm pillow.  At first, he had been worried about holding her, scared that he would somehow injure her with his strength, but he was starting to realise that babies were more robust than he had imagined and with his second hand under her diaper clad behind, Killian lifted her from the crib.

With a tiny whimper, Hope shifted in his hands.  Just like her mother, she hated to be disturbed a moment sooner than she needed to be, and it made Killian smile at the thought.  “Come now, my little poppet,” Killian soothed gently, holding her against his chest and slowly swaying a little from side to side.  “There’s no need for that now.”  Hope stiffened only slightly as Killian moved to a nearby rocking chair that faced out of the window, the square, padded cushion on the seat pink to match the rest of Hope’s room.  

When he sat down, lowering himself so slowly the muscles in his legs tensed to hold him up, Hope relaxed against his chest, her face turned sideways with the steady beat of his heart under her ear like the rhythmic beat of a lullaby.  Killian folded his arm over his chest, pining Hope’s tiny legs to his chest and supported her back with his other hand.  Hope settled instantly, pinching a bunch of his chest hair in her fingers.

“That’s better isn’t it, my love,” Killian whispered.  “Daddy’s got you.”

Hope let out a tiny wail, the sound catching in the back of her throat as she shifted her face against the coarse hair on Killian’s chest.  Killian began to hum a lullaby his mother used to sing to him when he was a young boy, the words long forgotten but the melody as clear as day in his mind.  He remembered it was an old sea shanty that his grandfather used to sing to her, the calming tune like the song of a siren to children.  With a squeak Hope relaxed again, Killian’s hand moving slowly over the curve of her back and his chest vibrating with a low hum that seemed to calm her agitation.  She would be due a feeding  soon, but until absolutely necessary, Killian would leave Emma as long as he could.

“I know you will not remember this,” he began, inhaling the sweet scent of her in his arms.  She smelled of baby powder and soap and Killian knew that once she aged a little he would miss it instantly.  “But Daddy fought very hard to come home to you.”  Hope let out another small squeal, her tongue clicking the roof of her mouth as she tried to suck an invisible teat.  “Yes, I did,” Killian cooed as if he was answering a question she had posed and before he knew it a single tiny tear of happiness had rolled from his eyelid.  “You made it so that your mother and I could talk between planes of existence, and even though you will never know what that means, you will always be the thing that gave me the tenacity to fight my way home.”  

The tot wailed louder in Killian’s arms and he clutched her to his chest as he stood to his feet.  “You are my light, poppet.  You guided me through the darkness and back to the two people that I love most in this world.”  Killian padded silently out of the room and down the hall towards their bedroom.  Pausing outside of the door, he shifted Hope in his arms until she was laying on her back in the crook of his elbow, her legs instinctively lifting towards her chest and her arms stiffening, outstretched for the comforting curve of her mother’s breasts that meant food.  

Killian wouldn’t mind the crying.  He wouldn’t mind the sleepless nights and he wouldn’t mind the inevitable troubled teens that were sure to follow with a child who was the product of two parents who would fight, with everything they had, for what they loved and believed in.  With a final, loving smile, Killian leaned forward and pressed his lips to Hope’s forehead. “You will never realise why I love you so dearly but it is because you gave me something, in name and in spirit, that kept me going.  You gave me hope.”

[whigmaleeriewriter]

girl i wanna send everything as a request from the prompt set but i finakly chose one! jimin+13 bc we all know how he draws so beautifully ;; thank you!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE JIMIN+12 NIT THIRTEEN AHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA IM SORRY 

A/N:  hahahahahaha, s’okay mate :D Sorry I took so So sO  so so SO long to complete this but it’s finally here! Also, I kind of made it a bigger art studio :P

#12: You’re a lesser known artist and I’m hanging out at a small art studio in the city and you catch me staring in awe at your work.

Staring is probably the most idioticthing to do right now. But hey. It’s okay if it’s exquisite art. But you can’tdecide which is the true art, the swirling paint on the canvas, or the one thatbrings it into the world.

The exhibition had ended about anhour ago, and you’d left an hour ago, and almost got back home, but came allthe way back because you’d only then remembered about your scarf- which youwere not forsaking at any cost. Once back, you immediately made your way to thereception desk, but alas, no one was to be found. Which meant, according toyou, that you were permitted to peruse.

You had a vague recollection oftaking the scarf off and leaving it on a spindly chair in the hall beforemoving to browse the aisles of artworks and installations, so you directed yourfootsteps to once again follow the arrows towards the audience hall.

That didn’t exactly go as perplanned. You found the hall easily enough, but a way in? Not that easy. Atleast without a key card and an old brass key - judging by the antique lockhanging from the bay doors.

You were battling between the choiceof abandoning your beloved scarf or finding another, sneakier way in when youfirst noticed the faint notes of a melody. Viola, perhaps? No, somethingdeeper, cello? You couldn’t help but quietly seek the melody.

As you sneaked as silently aspossible through the hallways, which were getting narrower and narrower, thesong got a lot louder. A lot louder than the first few strains you’d heard. Andit seemed to be emerging from the wooden closet door at the end of the hallway.

It was not a closet.

Stark overhead lighting immediatelypierced your eyes, but you sure are glad you opened your eyes instead oflooking away. The first thing or things, were the canvases of various sizesstrewn all over the room, and mainly the one on the easel in the centre of itall. It was majorly empty, but the few strokes on it captured your attention.Was it a chameleon? Or a …bird? It was difficult to judge.

The attention was short lived though.You caught motion at the corner of your vision and your glance shifted to the manswaying in front of the canvas. At first you thought he was drunk off his assand then noticed what he was holding. He had a battered palette in one hand anda paintbrush in the other.

He continued to move with the musicand added a few more lines of colour. Of course, the canvas probably only a bitwider than a foot, but with his work, it seemed endless. There didn’t seem tobe a definite sketch. It was all very abstract. Yet you were able to pick out aprimary subject in the mess. That’s all you could understand. What it was hewas painting was all but a mystery.

The man paused dancing for a moment(if one could even call it that) and you finally got a good look at him. Andyou realized you already knew who he was. Park Jimin, Jeon Changhyun’s assistant. He was at the exhibition, welcoming the guests and guiding themthrough the space. He spoke with you for quite a while too. And you had to say, you were quite encorselled. 

Yet he hadn’t  formally introduced himself with the artists themselves,but later on at the luncheon.

He made quite an impression with the crowd. Helooked like a fresh drop of dew among all the aged leaves of artists, andeverybody noticed. They were quick to ask names and ages, but never actuallygot to work and business cards.

That might help later on, but fornow, you assume, he has as much respect in this world as you do. And this wasyour second art gala. Looking at his handiwork, it didn’t make sense, but youknew how much it took to make a name in this industry. To be honest, it’s worsethan film.

You’d been puzzling all of this outin your head for so long, that you didn’t notice that the painting wascompleted. You let out an involuntary gasp, it was a bird. It seemed familiar, but you were no ornithologist.

“Do you like it?” That same honeyedvoice that greeted you at the entrance a few hours ago was directed towards youyet again.

“Uhh, yeah. Yes! I don’t recognizethe bird though.” You’re just hoping he wasn’t too irked at your uninvitedpresence, and threw on your best smile. Not that you needed to force it.

“It’s not specific. But, truly? Whatdo you think it means?” So it’s a test.

You took a slow step forward, andwaited for a response. After receiving a small but sure nod from him, you makeyour way through the mess of supplies and pieces.

At closer observation, the colourslooked altogether different. What you perceived as a deep crimson now appearedpurple. The bird wasn’t placed at the centre, but it still won attentions quiteeasily. A partial cityscape made up the background. The foreground was the birditself, and a mess of what appeared to be wires.

“It’s a nest. Of wires?” Your voicesounded small and uncertain. You really didn’t want to wrongly perceive what hewanted to express. That would be one of the worst insults to an artist.

Fortunately, he smiled.

“It’s wing is stuck. It wants toleave but it’s being stopped, by someone in its home. It wants to leave it allbehind, spread its wings and just fly.  Maybe it’s reached its limit. So it wants anescape. It wants to soar above the oceans until it reaches a place which willnever remind it of what it’s left behind.” Your voice cracked a little at theend. What can you blame though? The artwork had the ability to render peoplespeechless and teary eyed.

“That was beautiful.” His eyes weretrained on you the entire time you spoke. He seemed genuinely grateful. “Thankyou.”

A sigh of relief coursed through you.You passed the test set forth by this striking man you met only today. Why didit feel like such a victory?  “I got itright? I was afraid I’d accidentally insult you, or something.”

“No, no.” His moved smile shiftedinto one of ambiguous origin. He’s “There’s no right or wrong to it.  Art is art. What it means to you can beentirely different to someone else. Or the same. You were quite close to myprimary proposition, though.”

“Oh? Might I ask what it is thatmesmeric mind was brewing?”  You didn’tknow what made you say that. You didn’t know if it was the atmosphere – themessy studio, the music continuing to play, his faint cologne – or simply thelook he was giving you, leaning on the table behind him, arms folded across hischest. Whatever it was, you were sure you were stepping way out of line withthe smirk and the question asked with a finger to your lip.

With a push and a step, he wasstanding right beside you.

“Rather than something holding it back, it’skeeping itself there. It has responsibilities it cannot abandon. It’s stayinghalfway in both worlds; to fulfil its duties while keeping its goal in sight.  Let’s put it this way, it’s scared of whatwill happen when it finally leaves the realm of comfort. It stays,contemplating the risks and rewards of making its place in the world. Maybeit’ll stay small and hidden forever - a shadow. Or it’ll finally spread itswings and carve an eternal mark on the world.”

“Now that, was beautiful.” You tentatively reached to clasp his hand inyours, which caused him to lift his downturned head. You could see yourreflection in his eyes and so much more.He was ready to spread his wings and soar. “You can do it. You’ll hurt yourself at some point. But you’ll remainetched deeply in everyone, Jimin. I only met you today, but I know you can and will rise. Don’t be scared.”

He squeezed your palm once and let itgo. “And you too. You’ll find a life far from whatever you want to escape.” Hecautiously ran a hand through his hair, “And I would certainly love to be apart of it.”

“I’d certainly love that too.”

The scarf was left forsaken.

+ Ahhhhh! I actually posted something after a million years. lolololol. I really hope you like it Unna~ And I apologize for making it sound very formal(ish?). It’s probs because I’ve been reading science reports for so long ;_:  +

 +I might continue artist!Jimin as drabbles :D +

+Forgive any grammatical/spelling errors, I didn’t proof read and I don’t have a beta reader :/ +

+ Jeon Changhyun is a real sculptor!  This video talks about his most famous work at around 2:03 - x  The gallery in the fic was kinda based off this one :P  +