#rhiannon mountain-heart | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nomie-11 · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 6 - Echoing of Silent Screams

<- previous part | masterlist | series masterlist | next part ->

Violet’s cry tears through her throat, echoing across the cliffs as she watches Aurelie plummet to her death, the moment stretching out in agonizing slow motion. Her body hits the cliff, and the air is forced out of her lungs in a wheezing shout. She’s collapsed in on herself, tumbling down the side of the mountain as Violet and her screams echo in Genevieve’s ears, melding with the pounding of her heart.

“NO!” Violet’s voice cracks, the terror in it slicing through the stunned silence. She’s reaching out, straining towards where Aurelie had just been, but there’s nothing she can do now. It’s over. Aurelie is dead.

Her body finally hits the rocks at the bottom of the Gauntlet with a sickening thud, the sound reverberating up the cliff side. For a moment, the world is deathly quiet. The wind has died, the rustling of the leaves halts and the world stops spinning. Even the distant calls of the dragons seem to have disappeared, as if earth itself is holding its breath in mourning.

Genevieve’s heart feels as if it’s stopped beating, she hasn’t even made it up the ramp, she’s just collapsed in front of it, refusing to admit defeat.

Her breath is caught in her throat as she reaches for the rope and makes her way down without ever reaching the top. The second failure she’s had in Basgiath in straight succession. First her fight with Xaden, now Gauntlet. What has gotten into me?

As she reaches the bottom, the rest of the squad is at the base as well. Only Rhiannon, Ridoc and Sawyer made it to the top. Violet, Tynan and Genevieve failed. Aurelie died. Genevieve can’t breath, she can’t talk, but she refuses to let the tears escape her eyes the way Rhiannon and Violet have. She cannot cry, she cannot cry, she cannot cry.

Professor Emetterio is beside them in an instant, his face a mask of grim professionalism, though his eyes betray the weight of what just happened. He stands beside Genevieve, his voice steady but cold. “You have to keep moving as a squad. Don’t let what just happened slow you down.”

Genevieve looks at him, disbelief and rage bubbling inside her. She won’t cry, but she will get angry. “She’s dead! Aurelie’s dead! How can you just-?”

“You should know better than anyone else! There’s nothing you can do for her now.” Emeterrio’s voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. “If you don’t finish, her death will be in vain. Do you understand? Get up, and tomorrow, you finish the course like the three who did in your group will do before you.”

“Genevieve, come on,” Rhiannon whispered, tugging on her arm. “It’s the next squad’s turn. We have to go.”

The words barely register. Genevieve’s hands tremble, her fingers digging into her training pants. A scream builds in her throat, but she swallows it down, forcing herself to take a step and another. She looks back at the spot where Aurelie fell, her heart heavy with guilt. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to her, not like this.

But the Gauntlet doesn’t care. The world doesn’t care. And the voice in her head, now silent, offers her no comfort.

Genevieve's legs feel like lead as she forces herself to walk away from the Gauntlet, each step heavy with the weight of Aurelie’s death. The squad moves in a somber silence, the excitement that once filled the air now suffocated by the grim reality of their world. Every breath feels like it’s burning her lungs, her heart pounding in her ears as the image of Aurelie’s fall replays over and over in her mind.

Violet is crying quietly, her shoulders shaking with each sob, while Ridoc walks beside her, his face pale, lips pressed into a thin line. Rhiannon, usually the calm voice of reason, looks just as shaken, her eyes red-rimmed as she holds onto Genevieve’s arm, guiding her through the motions.

Genevieve wants to scream, to punch something, anything, to make the pain go away. But she doesn’t. She keeps walking, keeps swallowing down the rage and guilt that threaten to consume her.

She can’t let herself break. Not here. Not now.

What the hell is wrong with me? How could I let this happen? She was right there, and I couldn’t save her.

A part of her knows that she couldn’t have done anything, that it was just bad luck, but another part of her, the part that refuses to let go of control, blames herself entirely. She failed. Again. And this time, it cost a life.

She’s not even sure how long she stands there, frozen, before she feels a hand on her shoulder. It’s Rhiannon, her eyes filled with a compassion that only makes the guilt worse.

“Genevieve,” Rhiannon says softly, “it’s not your fault.”

But Genevieve can’t find it in herself to believe her.

Shoving past Rhiannon, her world collapses inward. She’s stuck in the middle of a swirling vortex of emotions she can barely understand. Rhiannon’s words bare;y register as she stares at the floor as she runs down the stone hallway, her vision blurring at the edges. She can’t breathe, the air in the room is too thick, too suffocating. The steady rhythm of her pulse begins to pound in her ears, mocking her. The harder it pounds the heavier her breaths, each reminding her that she is alive and Aurelie is dead.

Her feet move solely on instinct, dragging her up the winding stairwell and into the darkness. It’s dark and cold without the use of mage lights, but she can’t bother to think. There’s one place she can find solace, there’s one place that’s as familiar to her as her mind is. Her feet know where the steps are as she clambers up, higher and higher, until she slams the door to the roof of the dorm hall open.

She’s not alone when the door opens, the all-to-familiar silhouette of Xaden greets her on the edge of the roof, and her breath catches. Her chest heaves with the effort of scaling the stairs so quickly after running away in a panic, her eyes are glossy with tears, and as he turns around, all he sees is her.

For a split second, Genevieve hesitates, her body screaming for her to turn around and run right back down the staircase and into Rhiannon’s open arms. She doesn’t want to face him, not like this, not after everything that’s happened, not when she’s this raw and exposed. But being alone sounds worse.

“Genevieve,” Xaden crosses the roof, his voice is low and steady, but there’s an edge of concern in it that she’s not used to hearing. “What happened?”

She doesn’t answer, she can’t answer. The words are trapped in her throat, tangled with the screams that threaten to let loose and matted with the sobs that she’s been holding back. Instead, she stumbles backwards, her back hitting the wall as her legs buckle beneath her. She clutches her head in her hands, her hand tightly clamped over her mouth.

She lets out a scream, muffled by her own hand as she tightly clenches her hair, her body tense. Sobs follow the scream, and once the first choked sob escapes her lips, she can’t stop. The tears she’s been holding back for years spill over, and she gasps for air as the sobs wrack her body.

Xaden doesn’t say anything, but she feels him kneel beside her, his presence solid and grounding. for a moment, she’s still and he doesn’t move away, the only sound is the ragged gasps of her breath and the distant roar of a storm long off.

Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, Xaden reaches out and pulls her into his arms. And for a moment, she relaxes into him, his warmth of his embrace surrounding her.

But then she shoves him off of her.

“No! No, no, no-!” She gasps, getting up and moving away from him. “You do not get to pull me into your arms as if you care for me! I’m a failure, I’m awful, I can’t- I can’t!” Her breath catches in her throat and her legs crash down into the tiles of the roof once more. He moves to get close to her once more, but she shakes her head no frantically, her eyes terrified. “You don’t understand, get away from me!” She yelled, her hands shaking as she wrapped her arms around herself.

Xaden freezes, his expression shifting from concern to something more guarded, though he doesn’t retreat. His dark eyes swim around Genevieve, taking in every detail of her slow unraveling. For a long moment, he says nothing, just watching her as if weighing his words.

“You think I don’t understand?” he finally asks, his voice low and laced with intensity. “You’re not the only person who’s lost people.”

Genevieve shakes her head, vision blurring with tears that she's relented to hold back once more. “No,” she chokes out, her voice trembling. “You don’t get it, you don’t-” her voice catches in her throat, and her hands snake into her hair once more. “I’ve never failed, I never fail, and then I fight you once and I lose! And then I fail to make it up the Gauntlet. And then she dies, right in front of my eyes and it hurts!”

Xaden inches forward, slowly but surely. He’s getting closer and closer to her, but she doesn’t even look at him.

“When Quinn died, I didn’t even cry, I just got up and pushed through it. When my mother left, I did what I needed to survive! But this! It replays in my head over and over again every time I blink and it’s your fault!”

Genevieve’s accusation hangs in the air between them, sharp and jagged and crackling like a downed electrical wir5e. She doesn’t know if it's fair or even true, but right now, she doesn’t care. Everything feels like it’s crashing down on her, and she needs someone to blame.

Xaden’s expression hardens at her words, his eyes narrowing, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he stays right where she can feel him, feel the tension radiating off of him. “My fault?” His voice is dangerous. “You think this is my fault?”

“Yes!” she screams, her voice tearing through her chest like a wild animal. “If you hadn’t- if we hadn’t-” Her voice cracks, and she shakes her head, her thoughts barely clearing with each word she spits out. “It’s your fault because you started talking to me, you made me weak, and now-”

“Now what?” he cuts her off, his voice harsh. “Now you’re human? Now you feel something? This isn’t about me, Genevieve. No, this is about you. And now you’re pining it on me because you can’t handle what’s going on inside you.”

“Shut up, just shut up-” Her voice is awfully panicked, ragged and shocking. “You don’t know what it’s like, Xaden, you don’t know what it's like to be alone. You have your cousins and friends who are so close they’re basically brothers waiting for you, but I’m alone! I can’t feel anything because then I feel alone. Everytime I look at you it’s a constant reminder of every single failure in my life! How could I fail!? You don’t know how much I hate myself right now!”

Her sobs finally broke free once more, they were loud and desperate, and Xaden nearly flinched at how guttural they sounded. It’s raw and destructive, and Xaden’s jaw tightens at each desperate breath that passes by her lips. Her hands tremble as she claws at her chest, her skin raw and red underneath her thin training shirt.

And then, in the midst of the mess in her head, she feels it again—that steady presence beside her. Xaden doesn’t say a single word, doesn’t try to move her, or pull her into his arms this time, he simply stays close, sitting next to her the same way she’s already used to. His warmth grounding her the same way it did on those mornings they sat together.

Genevieve’s breathing is still erratic, her chest is still rising and falling with each gasping sob. Her heart feels like it's being squeezed in a vise, the pain radiating outwards, making her limbs heavy and her thoughts sluggish. She’s drowning in it all, the guilt, the anger, the self-loathing—it’s suffocating her. But Xaden’s presence beside her, steady and unyielding, is like a lifeline she didn’t know she needed.

And for a long moment, they don’t speak, just wait and listen to her breathing even as the storm in the distance rumbles softly. The night is thick and oppressive, the darkness around them is heavy and close in, but there’s a strange comfort to the shadows that surround them.

Her body is slumped against the rough stones of the rooftop wall, and the cold air nips at her tear-streaked face, but she doesn’t try to move, doesn’t try to warm herself. The numbness of the cold is a foreign relief.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” she whispers, her voice barely audible before being carried away by the wind. It’s a confession, one she’s denied and never allowed herself to voice, not even to her own reflection. The girl who was never afraid of a challenge, who always knew she wanted to charge into battle, is failing.

Xaden shifts slightly, just enough that she can see him out of the corner of her eye. His expression is unreadable, a mask of calm that doesn;t betray the storm brewing in his own mind. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and measured, careful, as if each word would make or break her.

“You’re more than who everyone else wants you to be, Genevieve. You’re allowed to fall apart.”

She wants to reject his words, to push him away, and reshape her mask into the image of a perfect soldier who obeys every order without a second thought, but she’s too tired to fight anymore. His words are truthful, and she lets them sink in, lets herself feel the weight of her own humanity.

“I don’t know how to do that,” She admits, her voice trembling. “I don’t know if I want to do that.”

Xaden doesn’t offer any solutions, doesn’t tell her that it will get easier, instead, he leans back, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the first hints of dawn are beginning to streak the sky of their sleepless night.

“You’re not a machine, Genevieve. You’re not meant to keep going without feeling anything. No one is, not even you.”

Genevieve flinches at his words, the contradiction between him and Violet not too long ago cutting her deeper than she wants to admit. For so long, she’s buried her emotions, convinced herself that they were weaknesses she couldn’t afford. But now, she sits on this rooftop, raw and exposed in front of Xaden, and she realizes just how wrong she’s been. The walls she built around herself are crumbling, and she doesn’t know if anything will be left once they’re gone.

“I can’t- I don’t know,” Her words struggle to escape from her mouth. “I don’t know how to just… be.”

Xaden finally turns to face her, his eyes searching hers, and for the first time she sees a clear emotion hidden in his gaze. It’s new and something she hasn’t seen before. It’s not pity, not judgment, but a deep and quiet understanding.

“You learn,” he says simply. “You do what you can and take it one moment at a time, and you let yourself feel everything, even when it hurts like hell, because that's the only way you’ll ever know who you are.”

His words hang in the air between them, heavy and lingering with the weight of the truth they carry. Genevieve doesn’t want to accept them, doesn’t want to admit that she's been wrong all this time. But deep down, she knows she can’t continue the way she’s been going.

The first rays of sunlight break over the horizon, casting a soft, golden light over the rooftop. It’s a new day, a fresh star, but Genevieve feels anything but renewed. She feels raw, her emotions scraped down to the bone, and yet, she feels lighter.

She turns to look at Xaden like he looked at her, her eyes red and swollen from the tears, her face streaked with the evidence of her breakdown. But she doesn’t care about appearances right now. All she cares about is the truth in his eyes and the strange, fragile connection that’s between them.

“How do you do it?” she asks, and Xaden is taken aback because her voice is soft, almost childlike. “How do you keep going, even when you know everything is falling apart?”

Xaden can’t respond for a moment, his mind weighing his options on how much to reveal. Then he shrugs, the movement small and almost imperceptible. “I don’t know. Some days, I just put one foot in front of the other and move, and other days, I find something–anything–to hold on to. Even if it’s just a single thought that gets me through the day.”

He can tell that Genevieve feels small, trying to find some sense and solace in his words, some piece of advice she can cling to, but all she feels is fear of the unknown. The terror of facing herself without the armor she’s so carefully constructed over the years is making her feel like a child again.

“Am I strong enough?”

Xaden’s gaze softens, and for a moment, she thinks she sees a flicker of pride in his gold-speckled eyes. “You’re stronger than you think, Genevieve. You’ve been through more than most people can imagine, and you’re still here. That’s what strength is. And if you aren’t, you’ve got people who care about you. You’ve got Rhiannon, Ridoc, Sawyer, Violet… and you’ve got me.”

The last part of his statement lingers in the air, and Genevieve feels something inside of her shift. She looks into his eyes, and for the first time, she sees something she hadn’t noticed before—a flicker of vulnerability, a hint of something deeper. With each passing moment she’s coming to realize that maybe…

Maybe she can learn to be human.

The thought is paralyzing, but for the first time, the paralyzing fear barely scares her. It feels like a challenge, one that she has no idea how to face, but she knows she needs to try, because the alternative is running. To keep hiding, and to be afraid. And she’s tired.

“Why do you care?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Xaden doesn’t answer immediately. He just sits there next to her, leaving the space between them empty and waiting. “Because you’re worth caring about,” he finally says.

For a moment, she’s stunned into silence. She doesn’t know what to say, how to respond to the raw honesty in his voice. She just nods, and the world outside the roof fades away. For the first time since the fall, the tightness in her chest loosens.

Whipping the tears from her face, her eyes are rimmed with red, and she holds his eyes for a moment longer. She stares, her gaze hopeful, searching for his or some sign that she’s not alone in this, that he’s human too. And then he meets her gaze head on, his expression steady and unwavering, she feels a flicker of hope.

“I’m going to try,” She says, her words strong for the first time since Aurelie fell from the Gauntlet. “I don’t know what I’m doing or if I can, but I’ll try.”

Xaden nods, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing at the corners of his lips. “That’s all I can ask.”

And then they sit in silence as the sun rises above the trees, the light washing over them, a new day beginning. Against the stone wall, Xaden and Genevieve sit with a space between them, and then her hand moves to the center of the space. Xaden’s gaze flickers downwards. And then her hand is in his.

—————————————————————-

The buoys are Tynan’s downfall, the chimney is Violet’s Achilles heel, and the ramp is Genevieve’s worst enemy. Before the tenth session-and the last session- Ridoc, Sawyer, Genevieve, Rhiannon and Violet all sat in a circle.

“We need to figure out a way to get Violet up the chimney and Genevieve up the ramp,” Rhiannon said, laying out the purpose for their impromptu meeting. “All of us are making it to Presentation tomorrow, so we need to get this done.”

Genevieve zones out for a moment, the weight of the ramp crushing her. If she fails, her squad’s time ranking is tanked, then they’re last in presentation. Which she won’t even get to go to if she fails. No presentation, no threshing, no dragon, no sky, no stars.

“Pay attention.” The voice booms.

So you’re back, she thinks to herself, no longer startled by the huge presence in her mind.

“I never left,” It responded, and her eyes widened.

Can you hear my thoughts?

“Unfortunately.” It grumbles, and she stifles a snort at it’s deadpanned response.

Why didn’t you say anything that night?

Her thoughts drift back to how alone she felt, despite physically sitting right next to Xaden. To their hands meeting in the middle-

“You needed him, not me.”

Oh. Genevieve’s cheeks are red.

“Maybe you can climb up onto my shoulders and then…” Rhiannon pauses her ‘save violet’ tirade, and puts her attention onto Genevieve. “Why are you blushing?”

“No reason!” She immediately says, her flushed face immediately getting darker. “Let’s go back to the issue at hand- Violet! You can’t touch a squadmate during Gauntlet, let alone help them, so she needs to do it alone with her own devices.”

Rhiannon passes her a glance, as if to say ‘sure, no reason, definitely,’ but Genevieve waves it off, not passing her a second glance.

“So you read the codex about the Gauntlet?” Ridoc asks, a part of him genuinely surprised. “What else does it say? Any loopholes?”

“I’m not smart enough to find loopholes, believe me,” Genevieve waved him off, before eyeing Violet, who definitely is smart enough. “It said that only a cadet and stuff that is considered them or on their person when they crossed the parapet can scale the Gauntlet. I’m not sure what that’s insinuating, but it might be able to help us.”

Violet’s face flashes with an idea, and she immediately pushes herself to a stand.

“I’ve got it!” She said, her voice finally happy and full of hope. “I’ll be back!” And she turned to run towards the dorm hall, leaving the four of them still sitting in a circle, planning for Genevieve’s ascent.

“Well, she’s got it, so now let’s focus on you,” Sawyer says, turning his attention

“So, you and the ramp,” Ridoc starts, turning his attention to her. “You’ve got the speed, and the stamina, but every time you do it, it’s like you hit an invisible wall halfway up. What’s going on?”

Genevieve bites her lip, the memory of her last attempt fresh in her mind. The ramp is deceptively simple—a steep incline that requires both speed and precision. But every time she’s tried, her legs give out just before the peak, her muscles locking up as if resisting the very idea of reaching the top.

“It’s not just the ramp,” She admits, hating the vulnerability in her voice that she tries to fight back. “It’s like… everything stops working when I get close. My body, my mind. It can’t be fear, I’m not afraid, it’s something else…”

The presence in her mind stirs again, a warm, steady pressure that isn’t quite comfort but something close. “It’s not fear,” it rumbles, more thoughtful this time. “It’s doubt. You’re holding onto your loss against Xaden and your failure in protecting Aurelie. The ramp is a reflection of that. You think you don’t deserve to make it to the top.”

Her breath catches, once more, the truth in a stranger's words stabbing her in the gut. She’s been so focused on the physical obstacle that she hasn’t even looked at the mental one.

“What? What happened?” Ridoc asks, concern and curiosity etched into his features. “Why’d your breath catch?”

Genevieve hesitates, the words tangled in her throat. She knows what Ridoc is asking, and she knows the answer, but saying it aloud feels like admitting defeat.

“I’m… not sure,” she finally says, her voice tight. It’s a lie, of course, and Ridoc knows it. He gives her a look that says he isn’t buying it, but he doesn’t push further. Not yet.

Rhiannon, however, isn’t patient. “Genevieve, this is serious. If something’s messing with your head we need to know. We can’t afford having you freeze up tomorrow.” Her tone is firm, but there’s an undercurrent of worry that softens the edge.

Genevieve meets Rhiannon’s gaze, her usual confidence faltering under the weight of the lingering self-doubt. “It’s just… I’ve been messing up a lot lately,” she confesses, her voice low as if whispering will cause her friends to miss it. “Aurelie’s death, losing to Xaden,” the voice in my head… “I feel like I’m dragging all of you down with me.”

Silence falls over the group, heavy and uncomfortable. Genevieve stares at the ground, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

But then, to her surprise, Ridoc laughs—a quiet, almost incredulous sound. “Genevieve, you’re not dragging us down,” he says, shaking his head. “If anything, you’re the reason we’ve all made it this far. We all doubt ourselves, but that doesn’t mean we’re done for.”

Sawyer nods in agreement. “He’s right. Look, we’ve all had our setbacks. But we’ve also seen what you can do when you’re on your game. We believe in you, even if you’re struggling to believe in yourself right now.”

Rhiannon places a hand on Genevieve’s arm, squeezing it gently. “You’ve carried us through so much, let us carry you.”

Genevieve feels a lump forming in her throat, the unexpected support from her squadmates overwhelming her. Tears well up in her eyes, her hands are trembling, her shoulders start to shake with silent tears.

“Woah! Don’t cry!” Ridoc says, worried, waving his hands trying to get her to stop. “We’re just here for you! Is that so shocking?”

They don’t see her as a failure, as a burden—they see her as someone worth fighting for. Someone to believe in.

“Listen to them,” the voice in her head says. “I chose you because you’re strong and kind. I trust you, now trust yourself.”

Genevieve takes a deep breath, ushering the tears from her eyes, and clearing her cheeks of the now familiar red streaks. “Alright,” she says, looking up at them. “I’m getting the quickest time on the stupid Gauntlet. Let’s figure this out.”

Sawyer grins, his eyes lighting up. “There she is!” His voice is loud and welcoming.

Rhiannon smiles, and the tension breaks as she pulls Genevieve into a quick, fierce hug. “That’s the spirit!”

Ridco nods, his own face one of happiness. “Alright, so it’s a mental block, here’s what we’re going to do…” he begins, launching into a strategy to tackle the ramp. One that not only capitalizes on Genevieve’s superior physical abilities, but strengthens her inferior mental abilities.

As they plan, the hope reignites in Geneveive’s chest—a reminder that she’s not alone in this, that she has people who will fight alongside her, and with them, she can overcome the doubts that have been holding her back.

————————————————————

Genevieve took a deep breath, Ascent #4 was easily passed as she flew up the staircase of rolling logs. She propped herself in the chimney and quickly made the climb, her time getting longer with each passing second but still miles ahead the slowest. All that was left was the vertical ramp, and the sprint up to it. She could do this.

Exiting the Chimney, the ramp towered over her at the end of the short runway. Sweat trickled down her temples, and she spared a quick glance down to where Violet was starting her ascent. The sun was high and mighty over the course, but she paid it no attention, not allowing her eyes to squint from the glare of the blazing rays reflecting off of the shiny and frictionless surface of the ramp.

It feels like she’s been standing in front of the wall for hours, but in reality, it’s been less than 3 seconds. She focused her breathing, steadying the adrenaline coursing through her veins. One more push and then you’ve done it. Just one more.

With a burst of energy, she launched herself forward, feet pounding against the ground as she sprinted towards the ramp. The weight of the past few weeks threatened to drag her down, the memory of Aurelie’s fall, her failures, her guilt—but she couldn’t let them win. Not now. Not yet.

Her boots made a clashing noise as they hit the base of the ramp, and she dug her fingers into the grooves, pulling herself up with every ounce of strength she had left. The incline fought back, gravity and doubts pulling at her, but her resolve was stronger than the force of the earth. She could hear the distance cheers, the voice of her squad mates who had already made it up the Gauntlet.

Halfway up, her muscles seized, screaming in protest, her breaths came in ragged gasps. Her vision blurred for a moment, and the thought she was dreading crept in—I don’t deserve to make it up this ramp. I can’t do this.

“Ignore yourself,” The voice echoed in your mind. “You deserve this. Climb. Go.”

She pushed herself aside, forcing herself to listen to the voice in her mind. She was fighting for herself, for her squads time that she’s undoubtedly dragging down the longer she lingers here. For her squad. For Aurelie. For herself.

The top of the ramp made contact with the palm of her hand, and this time she gripped down on it. With one final, desperate effort, she hauled herself up and over the edge, only using the force of one arm, collapsing onto the flat surface.

She laid there for a moment, chest heaving, the world spinning around her.

She had done it.

“You did it, my child,” The voice in her head had an air of pride.

Quickly, she pushed herself to a stand. Her eyes excitedly meet the eyes of Rhiannon, Ridoc, and Sawyer. In an instant, she’s running to them, jumping into their arms.

“Yes!” She yells, her voice the happiest it’s been since she’s arrived at Basgiath. “We did it”

As they excited the hug, Rhiannon placed both of her hands on Genevieve’s shoulders, holding her tightly as she looked dead into Genevieve’s eyes. Her smile was so big it looked like it was out of place at this hell of a school.

“No,” She corrected, glee audible in her words. “You did it.”

———————————————

Hey guys! Last chapter for a little bit as I’m starting school tomorrow!! Exciting, right? (No, save me please)

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! Please leave likes or comments letting me know your thoughts or if you liked the chapter. Thanks!

#violet sorrengail #fourth wing #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing xaden #xaden and sgaeyl #liam mairi #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x reader #garrick tavis x reader #the wounded healer

55 notes · View notes

iaminfourthwing · 7 months ago

Text

The Generals Daughter

Chapter VIIII

It’s been a few days and I am still trapped in my confusion about Imogen’s words of encouragement after my father’s punishment. My throat is almost completely healed, just some faint bruises lingering.

The “drama” between Violet and Dain is still going on and Xaden is still making her life harder than necessary. It’s kind of amusing, how the two of them are constantly bickering and the tension is rising day by day. I am waiting for the day when she tells us they fucked. Xaden is clearly interested in her too.

Today starts the Gauntlet training and currently, we are standing in front of the … menacing obstacle course, how Violet calls it. Said girl takes her place next to me and looks up to the top horrified. And while Rhiannon shares the sentiment, Aurelie looks fucking excited.

“I’ve been waiting years for this day!” she grins widely.

She explains how her father used to set up obstacle courses all the time and how she and her older brother trained for this. She also explains, what we have to look out for while running through this.

I observe every death trap we have to cross in order to get to the top. My heart rate picks up, even though I’ve run this more than once and am familiar with this. Father made me train this and every time he came back to Basgiath I had to show him, how much process I’ve made. And all that in secret, without prying eyes around me.

“Still not sure why they call it the Gauntlet” Ridoc says next to me, shivering from the morning cold, while the sun is still set behind the mountains.

“To ensure dragons keep coming to Threshing by weeding out the weaklings” Tynan sneers from the other side while sending a pointed look in Violets direction. Fucking. Asshole.

“Knock it the fuck off” Ridoc snaps at him, earning himself the attention from the rest of our squad. Surprised and a smirk waiting to lift on my lips, I watch the situation in front of me unfold.

“What’s your problem?” Tynan asks, trying to be intimidating in front of our dark-skinned friend. He is as intimidating as a slide of molded bread as Ridoc is way taller and wider than him.

“My problem? Just because you are one of Barlowes lapdogs you think you can be an asshole to your own squad mates?” Ridoc states. They bicker front and back till Sawyer has heard enough and shuffles between them, trying to calm the situation.

He starts to explain, why they measure the time you need to get up the Gauntlet, since he survived it last year. “Little bitter, are we?” Tynan asks smirking.

“Can I punch him?” I ask no one in particular, earning a few chuckles and a lighthearted laugh from Sawyer, looking gratefully in my direction when I am coming to his defense.

Professor Emetterio arrives and starts explaining the function of the course.

“Sawyer, you’ll start and show your squad mates how it’s done. Then Pryor, Trina, Tynan, Rhiannon, Ridoc, Violet, Aurelie, Arya and Luca.”

“Great,” Luca murmurs, “so she can push me down.” Rolling my eyes, I ignore her and take my place into the formation.

“You are the only squad to fully remain intact since Parapet. Your squad leader must be proud” Emetterio walks past us.

“Aetos is especially proud of Sorrengail” Tynan sneers again, earning a high-pitched giggle from the annoying blonde behind me.

“You want to talk shit about me, fine. Do it. But leave Dain out of this” Violet hisses. My girl is gaining confidence. They grow up so fast, I think amused.

“Like it doesn’t bother any of you that our mighty squad leader is fucking one of us” the boy asks in the group, offended.

“I’m not-“ Vi starts but I don’t let her finish, heard enough of him.

“Look, buddy, you crave some attention and affection from our squad leader, I am pretty sure you can ask Dain yourself, if he could fuck you. Seems to me that you are quite jealous of Violet, that she gets all of his attention.” I say, glaring in his direction.

And while Ridoc and the rest of our group, besides the offended boy and Luca, starts laughing loudly, Tynan turns deep red, clearly embarrassed.

He opens his mouth to reply, but our professor gives the signal to start the Gauntlet.

“Any words, Sawyer?” he asks our friend.

Said boy lets out a deep sigh. “There are ropes every six feet that run from the top of the cliffside to the bottom. So, if you start to fall, reach out and grab a rope. It’ll cost you thirty seconds, but death costs you more.” So much more.

Violet whispers to Trina when a heavy chunk of granite tumbles down. And after that, Sawyer is off. And off he goes. Not a single misstep, no balance problems. None. He is simply fantastic. He faces the giant ramp and sprints forwards. He uses all of his strength to pull himself over the edge to the top and into safety.

Rhi and Vi cheer loudly for him while I look up impressed. He is really fucking good. He could easily earn the Gauntlet patch, if it weren’t for a certain blonde hulk of a cadet in Tail Section. Liam Mairi is a beast through and through. He’ll easily beat everyone.

I bet that Sawyer will bond a dragon this year and I’ll lose any hope if not.

Emetterio praises him. And then Pryor is off, struggling hard on his way.

Violet struggles too, I already predicted that, but she is fast, wicked fast.

After her, Aurelie is on her way and you can clearly see the training she has in her bones.

I give her around twenty seconds and then I make my way to the first point. I can hear the others encouraging each other but I try to focus on myself, still having father’s words in my ears. “We’ll see us after Threshing when you’ll have your dragon.” And if I don’t even make it to Presentation, then he’ll haunt me even if I am meeting Malek early.

Shouting sounds from above and just in time I see Violet slamming into the rocks, clearly dazed after the hit. My heart starts beating faster, adrenaline is rushing through my veins. Shit.

“Come on Silver one, you’ve got this!” I roar up to her. She blinks through the pain and gains her composure back. Her and Aurelie land on the gravel path.

I take a deep breath through my nose. She is alright, for now.

I am in front of the giant buoy balls and jump on the first one. It rotates slightly and I take the chance and leap onto the next one. Not wanting to slip and fall to my possible death, I immediately jump over the next ones too and land on the gravel path that leads me to the giant metal rods. Luca is struggling behind me, but I pay her no attention.

I am directly under the rolling logs and see Violet crossing them successfully.

“Violet, here I come!” Aurelia shouts. She starts good but then a roar sound from above and while Violet is distracted by the Green Daggertail that fly’s over our heads, Aurelie slips on the fifth post. She cries out and rolls of the log, Violet too far away from her to catch her.

“Aurelie!” Shouting erupts from the top.

I sprint forward, desperately trying to catch her. I can reach her. I can grab her when she is near and pull her into safety. Hold her off from falling. I can-

A body slams into my back and I am tackled to the ground. Aurelie passes me, screaming loudly, while I hang limp over the edge. Shocked, the air freezes in my lungs as I watch her with wide eyes fall into her death, having a direct view on her terrified face.

She slams on the last buoy ball with murderous force, clearly breaking her neck and possibly every bone in her body, and falls on the gravel path down.

She is dead.

#fourth wing #iron flame #fourth wing x reader #bodhi durran #xaden riorson #bodhi durran x oc #bodhi durran x reader #violet sorrengail #booktok #fourth wing by rebecca yarros

43 notes · View notes

lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 28 days ago

Text

From the Ashes Pt.46

Pairing(s): Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, one-sided!Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister

Warnings: slow burn fic, changing povs, MC POV

Words: 7517

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 43 Part 44 Part 45 Part 47

Taking the mountain passage once more, your stomach appeared better equipped this time as Inniros’ shadow swept you up to deliver you outside the secret tunnels of the Shadow Hills. Everyone else agreed upon this fact. Rhiannon came out with a slightly pale face, but her citrine eyes still held a healthy shine when she smiled up at you.

When you turn to look out at the landscape before you, you realize that this was a different exit from where you had first entered with the darkin. You stood on an unfamiliar mountain range that lacked any sort of foliage except for column-like mountain peaks. The sun weakly attempted to break through the permanent bog of the Shadowlands. In the distance, you could see where the mountains finally ended to the tall spires of a forgotten city, lost to time and darkness: Stygai.

You creep over the cliff’s edge to find the descent to be a long and arduous one. No wonder you had been awaken so early in the morning. Jagged rocks jutted from the sides, assuring anyone who fell over a painful death. Eyes roving back to your cliff, you see an extremely narrow path along the mountainside, barely noticeable by the naked eye. Casually winding down the summit.

“We will have to travel in a single file.” Lovissa nods to the beaten path. A black veil covers the bottom portion of her face. Bright and early, she had risen both you and Inniros out of your slumber. You had almost forgotten that you had spent the night outside, securely tucked underneath Latilth’s wing. Her naturally hot body kept you warm and content all through the night. Behind her waited Weles and the others of your group.Along with a foreign figure you hadn’t met the day before. Tall with wild, long black hair that reaches down to muscly calves. His limbs were long and sinewy, the only definition to them was large muscles. Loviisa had introduced him as Qheen. His true face was hidden behind an eerie mask that was hard to look at. Perhaps it was the mask’s stretched-out smile that disturbed you, or maybe how Queen stood still at attention like a statue. He merely nodded his head as his form of greeting.

You knew it was a custom in Asshai for many to wear a mask when leaving their homes. Thought to keep evil spirits away, the more terrifying the mask, the better.

Latilth, having the luck of wings, took flight and soared as the rest of you were forced to make it on foot. Seemingly watching everyone in case someone slipped. Not that she was large enough to carry anyone on her back, let alone eight people. In the gloomy atmosphere of Asshai, her scales still shimmered without the help of the sun.

Thankfully, you had never been one to fear heights; you grew up on Casterly Rock, a castle high up on a bluff much like this one. Although there was much lovelier scenery there than where you were at the moment. This, however, did little to soothe you when you misplaced your foot as it slipped too close to the edge. Your heart would run up into your throat, and you broke out in a cold sweat. Moments like that reminded you that you didn’t have wings like Latilth and could possibly die by one silly mistake.

A sweaty hand reaching out to the side of the mountain offered you some small support and assurance.

Deep breath, (y/n). You remind yourself and slowly side-step behind Loviisa.

Loviisa, Qheen, and Inniros quickly slinked along with skillful feet.

“Inniros. . .” Ray spoke carefully, eyes trained on his feet. “You once mentioned training on a mountain ledge. Is this the very one?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Like baby birds, the masters would push us off the cliff, one by one, with the hope we would shadow dance to prevent our death.” Even though she was upfront, you could hear the resentment in Loviisa’s voice. After that, many remained quiet except for the soft gasps emitted as someone’s foot ultimately slipped along a tapered ledge.

Pebbles that were dislodged tumble softly down, warning of your fate if you were to do the same. You kept your conscious focus on the shuffling feet in front of you. Loviisa made no noise and was nearly dancing precariously and effortlessly. The back of her blue head was done up in extravagant braids and swirls that made you dizzy as you tried to make out a design.

Every so often, Latilth would glide beside you and everyone else; eyes like bursts of fire watched you in a guarding manner before veering off to explore the barren forest scattered around the mountainside.

“Now she’s just showing off.” You hear Rhiannon complain, taking all your restraint to turn your head to look at her pouting face. You giggle a little bit.

“I thought Shadowlands still fostered living dragons.” Weles mutters.

“It’s true that dragons originated from the Shadowlands, but now they are scattered and in hiding. They only come out to hunt, which I doubt you will want to be around then.” Loviisa corrects him flippantly.

The idea of seeing another dragon excited and scared you. If you did stumble upon a dragon while it was hunting, everyone would be immediately killed. Latilth was still smaller than an adult horse, and there was no chance of her winning any fight against a fully grown dragon who had been alive for who knows how many centuries.

Still, you were hopeful whenever you looked up into the sky. You learned that Latilth possessed a natural sense of empathy and understanding. She was smart, and her intelligent eyes revealed that much to you when she looked at you. Were all dragons as intelligent? Maybe you could find one that didn’t have a naturally aggressive personality.

Unable to reel in your wild imagination, you let it entertain you. Before realizing it, you were at the end of the mountain trail, finally stable ground to walk upon.

If it hadn’t been for your previous training at the temple, you would have been drenched in perspiration. Instead, a few beads of sweat that gathered at your hairline were all that you suffered. That and the lightheadedness from the elevation change.

Rhiannon did not fare as well. The collar of her dress was discolored with sweat as she placed her hands on her knees and took deep breaths. She wasn’t used to physical exertion. Unlike Sirvart, who was an actual member of the Fiery Hand, Rhiannon had no background in fighting and had not even held a sword in her hand. A mere acolyte of the temple, Rhiannon spent most of her time in spiritual exercises with the rest of the red priestesses and doing other chores around the temple.

You pat her on the back, ignoring how damp the material of her clothes was, and smile. “Hey, you did really well!”

“I need to work out more.” She groaned in reply and straightened her back to fully stand. Her hair pulled back into her signature braided ponytail and fluttered against the slight breeze that drifted through the air. Light brown strands escaped from their ties and loosely fluttered around her face, reminding you of when Thalina had long hair. It was just as pretty, if not wavier than Rhiannon’s. Hard not to compare the two sisters. Your chest always thumped harder in your chest during moments like that when she reminded you of her older sister. You wondered if Rhiannon thought the same of you. Were there moments she experienced when you reminded her of her deceased sister?

Melisandre gazed up at the barely spruced trees. “How much longer until we reach Stygai? It must be midday by now. If we stay out till dark-“

Loviisa quickly reassured her, “It will be another hour or so before we reach the gates of Stygai. You will not have to worry about the dark.”

Not wanting to discover what happened after dark in the ruined city, you wrap your calluses fingers around one of Latilth’s horns. She was clearly happy to finally have your group back on the ground where you were safe. Well, it's moderately safe. There were still unknown forces that the darkin hadn’t bothered to tell you about. Only Inniros had half-asleep, muttered the creatures you might encounter in the wild of the Shadowlands. Deformed monstrosities that had no name lurked, especially in the crumbled architecture of Stygai. Mutated animals also called the dark region their home. Many rivers and streams were polluted, causing defects in what little animals thrived there. An unlivable land, whatever life managed to live was secluded to nighttime activities.

The bog you experienced on the ground level started to overwhelm you as everyone followed Loviisa and Queen once more toward a vaguely decipherable pathway. It would be quite the walk until you reached Stygai. The valley you passed through is a narrow cleft in the mountains that stopped several miles from the border of Stygai. This was known as the Vale of Shadows.

To make the time go by, Loviisa gave everyone a rundown of the city. “If you have any weapons, best sharpen them as we walk. Stygai is plagued by demons of all types. Things you would have never imagined to be walking. Some have bodies like a scorpion. Others could look like you or I. But these are corrupted beings. Dark magic lingers heavily on the earth there. You will never be safe in the city, so keep guard. And do not break away from our formation until I say so.”

Only Latilth remained unperturbed by her disturbing warnings.

This might have been the most terrifying thing you were willingly walking into. Scarier than when you were dying from poison; it even beat out when you were stuck in that damn lion cage. The fact that you had beaten the darkin master Batur, nothing comforted you. Darkin may have been different from your mother's tales, but you guessed Stygai was very much the nightmare-inducing place. Was this the right choice? Did Loviisa think this was the only way to help you better reach out to your past life? She could be lying.

You became heightenly aware of Qheen’s presence. An ambush could easily be performed with Loviisa in the very front and Qheen in the rear. Inniros, unperturbed by the new darkin’s presence, gave you a slight peace of mind. With time, your paranoia declined; the worry of them betraying you faded. Having not really spoken with Qheen, he was more suspicious than Loviisa. So far, Loviisa has only instigated a quiet kindness. Qheen’s aura held no warmth like his female counterpart. If you had a chance to speak with Inniros alone, you would ask him about this darkin.

Decaying archways of Stygai greeted you, and your group was finally pausing to assess your surroundings. At least when you walked through Asshai, it had some semblance of life, as seen in the candles you spied in the windows and the subtle movement of curtains. Stygai didn’t even have a breeze to break the staleness of the air. The only sound was the dirt and other miscellaneous debris that crunched under your feet.

Remnants of a great wall could be traced as thick vines clung onto whatever stones were left standing.

Great trepidation weighed heavily inside of you as you slowly passed under the curved structure. Even the atmosphere felt like it was pushing you down to the ground. How was it possible that people used to live there?

You kept your palm rested against Lightbringer’s pommel, your security blanket. From the entrance into the forgotten city, it was a straightforward path to the heart of the city. Much like Loviisa had described to you, the atrium of Stygai had a circle of black obelisks. Only the towering obelisks were fully intact among the decrepit buildings and structures. Surviving even after the city’s doom.

You swore you could hear gentle chants in the film of mist that overran the streets. Ghosts of the lives lost so many centuries ago from whatever plague condemned the City of Night.

Loviisa stops right outside of the obelisk circle. You could make out the carved inscriptions in the stone, although you had no idea what it said. A language beyond your comprehension, but the darkin that accompanied you stared at it with a certain type of reverence.

“This is it?” Weles asks incredulously.

Melisandre scowls at him before shaking her head. “You would be wise to check your tone in this place. We are but intruders.”

Eyes closed for a moment, Ray murmurs a prayer of protection.

“So what’s (y/n) supposed to do?” Rhiannon turns to Loviisa and Inniros for an answer. “Do you guys have a spell or something to activate it?”

“Like I told (y/n), I don’t know if this will work, but it’s worth a shot. All different types of magic run through the earth here. While the city looks dead, it’s pumping full of certain enchantments. You see the inscription on the stone? Part of it warns that whoever can withstand its intensity can access the deepest corner of their soul. It will unlock that you could have never achieved alone.”

Quietly, Ray speaks up “Isn’t it also rumored that it was the obelisks that also brought on the death of Stygai?”

“Who really knows what slowly killed Stygai. It’s been thousands of years.” She merely shrugs, doing nothing to bring hope to the rest of you.

Would these rocks actually help you? You encountered so many crazy things during your travels in Essos. Flaming swords, dragons, darkin. . . It wasn’t exactly that insane once you remembered all of your other ventures. Viewing everything with an open mind, you convince your body to start moving forward. Collective breaths were held and you were certain you could hear Weles’ heavy breathing. Taking a massive amount of self-control to stop him from following you. Leader of the Fiery Hand, it was his immediate instinct to be near you in case any misfortune was to befall you. Jaime had been much the same. Did he regret not going with you? You were certain he did. When you had last seen him on the docks of Volantis, his eyes had radiated concern, hands clenched, and feet grounded. If he didn’t ground himself, his body would move on its own and leap after you.

You wished he were there. Now that your anger toward him had cooled down, you longed to have your older brother at your side. In the end, it was for the best that he stayed behind. Tyrion was there and needed a familiar face to help him familiarize himself with the temple. A tinge of jealousy, you envied your little brother, who was able to bask in Jaime's security. To know that in the morning, he would be able to easily see Jaime’s face, or if fear struck him, he could instantly grab his hand.

A heaviness of the heart weighed down your steps and caused you to hesitate over the threshold. If things went bad, there would be no Jaime to fight alongside. Your partner was gone.

Something nudging your back startles you.

Latilth lowly coos before nudging you again.

Jaime may not be present, but Latilth was. She would be the one to give you courage, to offer you comfort.

Grateful, you smile at her and continue to pass into the center of the circle, the temperature dropping dramatically. You could see your breath in the freezing air. The gentle chants had even been choked into silence. Once, a gentle mist became a thick fog that blocked you from glancing at your friends. Barely able to catch a few muffled voices, they, too, grow quiet.

Inhaling slowly, you wander to the black stones that were like a gate to some unknown world. ‘Alright, (y/n). Let’s get this over with so we can get out of this creepy place.’

You squint your eyes at the chiseled writing, begging to see some clue or that magically you could read it. To you, it was simply a bunch of scribbles that meant nothing to you. Not even when you stared at it for several minutes. Idly, you run your fingers over the thin dips and run the tips over the outline of the strange hieroglyphics. Surprisingly, the stone felt smooth, almost as if it had been polished recently. Not like the rest of the city, where the architecture lay in ruin, taken over by weeds and vines. Rugged and crumbling.

An exhaustion that you hadn’t felt prior took a grip on you.

Closing your eyes for only a moment, you open them back up to a dark hallway. ***

(y/n) abruptly disappeared as a thick fog descended on her.

Weles began to run but was tugged into a halt. He looks over his shoulder at Melisandre. Garnet's eyes held him down as her stern expression gave him reassurance and told him to be faithful in (y/n). He didn’t like feeling so helpless, so weak. Restlessness tingled in his veins. The red priestess was right though, Weles needed to have more faith in his acolyte. He trained her, after all, did he not? She had proved herself a ready student and developed her skills from when she first started. Scars that now littered her once flawless skin were testament enough to her progress.

She wasn’t weak or helpless. That had to be enough to console Weles as he stepped back to stand beside Melisandre and Rhiannon who couldn’t wipe the dread she was experiencing off her face. Letting (y/n) go by herself wasn’t easy for Rhiannon either. Her concern remained internal as she prayed inside her head for (y/n) to be safe.

Inniros and Loviisa stood together. The red haired darkin couldn’t help but inquire “How long should we give her?”

Deep blue eyes stared at where (y/n) had vanished. Through her shadows, she could feel that the girl was still there physically. Standing still. With that knowledge, Loviisa allowed her eyes to cautiously glance to the side where a partial tower stood. Perhaps once, it had been tall and proud, looking over whatever residence passed by it, but now it was no taller than a hedge. Other buildings, scattered here and there, were all left of the main city courtyard.

They weren’t alone though.

“That depends on how long we’ll be left alone.” She could feel it.

Inniros followed her gaze. Loviisa had always been sharper than him. There was indeed a presence, many, hiding behind the cracked stones and bricks. “We need to spread out, surround the obelisks so nothing gets through.”

Loviisa nods and relays the message to the others. Qheen, who had been silent during the hike through the mountains, sidles up to Inniros. In a raspy voice from lack of use asks, “Do you really think that will be enough?”

His red brows furrow, and he shoots the masked darkin with a dark glare. Something in the way he said it didn’t sit right with Inniros. A condescending tone underneath the question.

He could practically hear the ugly smile that distorted Qheen’s mouth. “What happened to not believing in any gods let alone R’hllor.”

“You haven’t seen what I have. Haven’t seen her glory.” Inniros stonily replied.

“Glory.” Qheen chuckles to himself. “You’ve never concerned yourself with glory. Last I heard of you, you were cutting throats along with the rest of the Golden Company.”

Inniros would never deny his past. The many lives he had ruined and the blood that forever tainted his hands. He couldn’t resurrect those that were dead. There weren’t enough apologies he could make to ever amend the wrongs he had done, such vicious and violent acts against all of humanity. (y/n) should have killed him when she had the chance. Only his death would erase his mind clear of his sins.

But (y/n). . . When the Fiery Hand wanted his head, (y/n) offered mercy instead and took him back to the temple. As unpopular of a choice as it was, (y/n) remained loyal to her conviction and didn’t bow down when the others voiced their dissent. The shock he had suffered when they had spoken to one another for the first time. She was timid and childlike when introducing herself. At that moment, she treated him like he was still a person. Like he was a human being. And when she had pierced his shadowy tendrils with Lightbringer, a spark of understanding had fanned into a raging flame. The warmth of a connection. Something came alive in him because of (y/n).

He could never truly explain it and had ceased to find an answer. Content with the feeling of having a purpose for once in his life. “Yes. It is quite odd.” Inniros admits aloud to both himself and Qheen. “Maybe once you feel her fire, you’ll understand.”

Hardwood floor beneath your boot produces a clicking noise as you walk down the hallway where it gradually became the entrance to a dimly lit tavern. The sound of metal strings being strummed tickles your ear and makes you follow it around solid wood pillars and abandoned chairs and tables. Until you come across the bar, which is just as empty as the rest of the establishment.

That is except for the musician.

He sat alone but apparently happy to be playing. You only saw his side profile and muscular arms, which managed to hold his instrument so tenderly. A mane of thick, black hair fell off his shoulders, yet you could spy a few strands of white hair peeking out. His beard, however, remained like that of a raven’s feather.

You were afraid to disturb such beautiful playing. Loviisa said the obelisks offered you a view into the deepest part of your soul, but you had never met this man before.

“You know who he is.”

You hadn’t heard that voice in quite a long time. You turn around to see the Warrior smiling kindly at you. Your older self. How had you not realized her true identity sooner? Now, it seemed so obvious. She even possessed the scar above your left eye. Even her wisened, green eyes were your own.

“We are one and the same. All three of us.”

No. . .

Doing a double-take at the mystery man, you search what features you could see for anything familiar. This. . . This was really Azor Ahai?

Shy feet glide closer to where he sat.

His voice rolled smoothly past his lips, deep and harmonious. “I’ve been waiting to meet you, (y/n).”

He knew who you were. Of course he did. Azor Ahai was really part of you after all. The foundation of your soul.

“I-I’m. . . I’m honored to meet you, Azor Ahai.” How else were you supposed to great the man you were reincarnated from?

The music stopped, and he actually laughed and waved off your formality. Finally, he turns around to face you fully, barrel chest and all. Now that he set aside his odd string instrument, he stands to his full height. The man was a giant. While the rest of his hair may have been pitch black with shocks of white, his bangs were completely grayed. “I don’t want to hear any of that. We are closer than that. After all, I’ve been with you this entire time.”

He pulls a chair from the bar and gestures for you to sit down. You do so and watch as he leisurely throws himself into his chair. You are in complete awe at how different he is from what you imagined. It’s difficult not to gawk at the legend himself. Definitely friendlier than the image you had painted in your mind. His dark arms were thick, nearly rippling with the muscle underneath, and covered in various burns and scars. Fingers that had strummed ethereal notes were especially burned, you suppose, from forging Lightbringer.

“Not what you imagined?” Azor laughs.

Oh, his smile. How was it possible for someone else to have Rhaegar’s identical smile? Bright and inviting. “Not exactly. . . But you’re really Azor Ahai, aren’t you?”

Still grinning, he nods. “I get it.” Then, as if on second thought, he reminds you jovially, “Don’t forget there’s something important to ask me. I doubt your friends want to stay waiting long in Stygai.”

You nod. Right. You couldn’t waste time, although you had dozens of questions to ask him. “How do I show Master Batur that I’m truly you?”

He hums, having already known what you planned on asking him. “I’ll let you in on a big secret. Something that the surly Master Batur may know, but definitely not the younger darkin. A secret passed among the elders until the darkin pupil surpassed them in battle. It’s given only by the lips of the dying. I’ll share the secret of the first darkin with you. Only if you vow to never tell anyone else until your dying breath. You must only share it with one other person who is at your side during your final hours. They must take this very same vow, for the name of the first darkin becomes the wax that seals their promise. It holds magic to it that makes a person follow through with their vow.”

His eyes are dark and almond shape, drilling into you with a new sense of severity. “Do you promise this, (y/n) Targaryen?”

“I do.” You confidently reply at level your own serious gaze on him. “You can trust that I’ll safe guard this secret. Until the day I day.”

Azor smiles. “I know.”

They emerged, one by one, from the crevices and bones of the courtyard. Odd shaped beings that at first couldn’t be deciphered due to the mist in the distance. Deformed monstrosities that crawled out of the lower bowels of the underworld. What had appeared as the torso of a human man stopped at the waist as a scorpion body takes form. A large, pointed tail bobbed as it’s many legs creeped over the earth. Its misshaped head and big, black eyes blink at them. Clicking noises emerged from a pincer like mouth.

Rhiannon nearly lost her courage but remembered that right behind her was (y/n). In the distance she could hear the chanting spells of Melisandre and Ray, the orange light of fire emerging. It was up to Rhiannon to finish the circle that her seniors were casting.

When the scorpion creature spotted Rhiannon, it grew faster in its steps. Right for her.

Grimaces, Rhiannon held her hands out and chanted “Ñuha āeksio, ōños hen, lēda troubled prūmia nyke māzigon naejot ao. Renigon ñuha sīr nyke sagon hen ñuha. (My master, divine light of the heavens, with troubled heart I come to you. Touch my spirit so I might be alleviated of my anguish.)” Words spilling out, sprigs of flames rushed out from the ground, putting it off it’s forward path to her. Her heart beat rapidly, it even crawled up to her ears so that she heard it’s frantic pace.

Others were now being brave and slithered into view. Demons that shouldn’t be alive shrieked so terribly, angrily leaping at the heat of R’hllor’s flames. As her chanting grew more rapid, the higher and fiercer the flames grew. Such an exertion of concentration fatigued Rhiannon though. Her endurance had never been good but she held on.

“Hey! You’re getting better!” Thalina’s smile grew as she crouched down next to her sister who was holding a candle that possessed a small flame that threatened to go out if she dared to even breathe on it.

An improvement it may have been, a young Rhiannon frowns with frustration. She would never be talented like her older sister at this rate. Slow with lessons, Rhiannon grew discouraged and would nowadays rather be watching the Fiery Hand practice than learning with the other young girls in training to be priestesses.

Sensing her sister’s frustration, Thalina makes her safely set down the candle so that she could hold her small hand. “I know it hasn’t been easy. I’m sorry I haven’t really been around to help you either. Ever since they tested me on my flame reading, my own lessons are being piled up.”

Rhiannon shakes her head. “I know. My progress is too slow to my liking though.”

“Sometimes its better to take things slow. And there’s nothing wrong with that.” She leans her head against Rhiannon’s. “You don’t have to torture yourself like this. Take a step back.”

Finding the memory a point of concentration, she replied it over and over again to keep her mind off of the spell draining her energy the longer she held it. Relishing at the memory of her sister’s support and confidence in her younger sister.

The tavern melted around you like watercolor. New warm colors brightened a small, shabby room that held a clay stove and fireplace. Brutal wind beat against their tile roof and rattled their wooden walls.

You and Azor still sat in your same tavern chairs, watching the scene in front of you unfold. A young man stoked the fire, humming happily to himself. He bore no scars that told of hard times. Not yet at least.

Nearly blown off its hinges, his door is thrown open and bangs on the wall behind it. In stumbled in a young woman, bundled up and struggling to close the door. Azor scurries to his feet to help her out.

When they manage to close the door securely, the woman airily laughs. “My goodness! I felt like the winds were about to sweep me up!”

“I warned you about going out, ñuha dyni (my goblin).” He laughs when she starts slapping his bicep.

“Will you ever stop calling me that?” She fakes a tired sigh as she starts to shed her layers. Underneath was the figure of an hourglass with hair so long and wild that it was hard to get control of it. Her skin glowed in the warmth of the fireplace, dark and blemish free except for her chapped lips which were quickly thawed by Azor’s in a kiss that had her melting into him.

“The first darkin given the gift of shadowdancing was my beloved, Nissa Nissa.” The Azor Ahai right next to you said in such a longing tone that it broke your heart. The very same Nissa Nissa whom he plunged in the heart in order to create Lightbringer. Seeing them being playful with one another, it was clear how in love they were. He did the unthinkable to one he cared deeply about. You recall fighting with Inniros, the first time your sword burst into flames was when you stabbed his shadow before he got away.

“Nissa was the only one after that to bequeth the gift to those she deemed worthy. No other darkin was able to do that. After. . . After I killed Nissa, the only way new darkins were brought into the world was through the usual act of passing it down through progeny. The people she chose in those early years became my first trusted allies.”

“Then how could you kill her?” You accidentally blurt out and quickly cover your mouth with your hands but the damage was done.

He wasn’t angry. Eyes cast down to his folded hands, he looks torn. Nissa Nissa, thought quite demure most of the time was a stubborn and defiant woman. If she thought something was the right thing to do, there was nothing that could stop her from doing it. Chosen by R’hllor, she was able to get an answer on how to make Lightbringer.”

She had insisted on her own death, much like Thalina had once she foresaw her end in the flames. Both were ready to do what was best for the majority.

“I begged both her and the unseen R’hllor. There must have been some other way. That couldn’t be the only solution.” He shakes his head.

The two of you are now in some sort of tent. Azor, covered in grime from hours in his forge, had his back turned to Nissa Nissa. “That is a cruel joke you tell me.”

“It’s not a joke.” Her voice is firm. “ Vēzos (Sunny), I’m not trying to upset you but that is what R’hllor has revealed to me.”

Cynically he laughs but it almost sounded like he was weeping. “Why must all gods be so cruel.”

Her hands flutter to his shoulders. “Don’t say that. R’hllor has given us so much. My death will be for the greater good. Tis the price we must pay.”

“Damn the greater good!” He bangs his fist on a table, scattering the pieces that represented his army. “Damn the whole world if killing you is the price.”

“Look at me.” So stern she had grown, Azor reluctantly turned around. “Do you honestly think death is the end of us?” Her hands slid down his arms to his hands which she held firmly. The pads of her fingers smooth the rugged skin of his knuckles, damaged from encountering hot temperatures while in his quest to make Lightbringer. “I’ll be a part of the weapon that will be used to slay the Others that bring the night.”

“No. I can’t do that to you.”

Abruptly, she grabs his face in her hands and yanks it down. “Listen, I want there to be a world for our children to thrive in. To enjoy life and grow old in. That’s the least we can do as parents.”

Now you could hear the high pitch laughter that is often associated with kids at play. Nissa goes to the flap of the tent and pulls it back to show a sunny day outside. Four little ones pranced outside.

“Don’t you want them to live without fear?”

“She always had to be right.” The Azor Ahai that sat next to you grudgingly admits with a small smile.

You knew you were short on time, but you wanted to know “How are they able to be brave enough to accept their brutal deaths? People like Thalina and Nissa Nissa I mean. Aren’t they scared?”

“Oh I’m sure they must be terrified. Love for others can give you the courage to do just about anything. Nissa was a devoted mother that literally wanted the world for her children. Thalina loved and raised you knowing you would do great things.”

You had the answer you were looking for, but you were reluctant to leave. “There’s so much more I want to ask you.”

His warm hand lands on the top of your head affectionately. “You already have the answers. You don’t need to ask me.”

You blurted out something that you had buried deep inside of you. The doubt that ate at you. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to succeed in what everyone expects of me. What if I fail?”

“You won’t.”

Tears blurred around your vision. "How can you be so sure?"

“(y/n),” He must have spoken to his children in the same comforting tone. “I know you won’t. I’ve watched you suffer pains the likes which I have never had to experience. The lion’s den, losing your baby, you’ve survived all of it and more. Not by sheer dumb luck. You have a strength all your own, (y/n). A spirit that refuses to die.”

Many of the people who should have loved you in your childhood had beaten you into submission with their cruel words. So easily you had become convinced that everything they’ve said about you was true. Your father saying behind closed doors how much of a disappointment you were. Refusing to even pay you the simplest kind of affection. Instead he lavished it all on Cersei and Jaime, they could do no wrong in his eyes. Not to even start counting all the things Cersei had done to you.

And. . . even Rhaegar had made you feel like you were never enough.

Hearing the Azor Ahai calling you strong ironically resulted in your tears flooding over your lower eyelid and onto your cheeks.

He tenderly holds onto your hands and presses his lips against your forehead to bless you. “Do you understand now?”

You close your eyes, nodding your head slightly forward. Azor gives your hands a squeeze before letting go.

“Then you’re ready to go back.” His sad yet kind face is still there in front of you when you open your eyes. “I really wished I had more time to talk to you. There’s so much I want to tell you and warn you about.”

A deep breath brings a small smile onto your face. “Me too.” You’d be okay though.

Azor led you to the Warrior who had been waiting so patiently with a knowing glimmer in her eyes. She holds out your hand to you. You don’t hesitate to take it, but once you do, the Warrior’s body bursts into light that you gradually reabsorbed through your skin. Gazing at your once tan skin, now glowing with a brilliant light, you feel your body become heavy before you realize the fog that had once enveloped you in the real world had once again descended into your vision.

Something from above released a booming call that almost sounded like thunder. Lifting her face up, Rhiannon watches a winged creature glide above and plummet into the fog encased (y/n) and Latilth. Then, another of the same breed did the same until more took flight in the same direction.

Her head snaps back behind her, hoping to see some sign that (y/n) was okay. Rhiannon could see nothing, and a great debate tore at each part of her brain. If she left her position, the flames she had conjured would gradually die out, allowing more monsters to get through. It already sounded like the others in her group were in the midst of their own fight for life. That piercing clang of swords and death screams emanated from the dwellers of Stygai.

Beyond the flickering tips of her holy fire, many others besides the scorpion had gathered. Teetering back and forth to find an opening like their flying brethren.

Then, there was the unmistakable sound of Latilth in distress. Her roar was loud enough to break through the spell that hid her. The piercing point of her tell slashes out of the barrier, offering Rhiannon a view of what was going on even for a brief moment before more fog came back in. (y/n) was standing utterly still, her hand rested against the stone’s surface as chaos ensued around her. Possibly dozens of flapping winged bodies are flitting about before they attempt to attack (y/n)’s frozen form. Latilth, biting into one that had bit into her back and flinging it off, opens her mouth to a cyclone of fire. The heat hit Rhiannon fully in the face, making her shield her eyes.

Shaking off the ground underneath her, Rhiannon saw the top of one obelisk come dashing down when Latilth’s burly body was slammed into it. What if it was the one (y/n) was under?

Rationality fled her. The darkin, even though they numbered at just three, was enough to stop the monsters that would slip through in her departure. Without thinking about the repercussions, she breaks through the fog and enters the eye of the storm. Latilth’s lashing body and fire offer Rhiannon the light she required to spot (y/n). Now, with a closer look, she wasn’t exactly unharmed from the spray of rubble. Small cuts were dashed across her face, and there was a long line of blood trailing from one nostril, but it didn’t look like she was seriously harmed.

She thanked R’hllor, hand about to touch her shoulder until something sharp sank into her ankles and abruptly pulled her down harshly to the ground. Her chin smacked painfully into the cobblestones of the floor. A tooth may have cracked, too, but she had no time to assess the extent of the damage. She’s pulled across the surface, and something else rips from her side. The set of teeth on her ankle now swings its head back and forth. Spitting out a quick prayer, it was enough to engulf them in flames. They made exceptionally good fodder for R'hllor's fire. Greedily, the dancing flames gobbled up whatever flesh and bone was available.

Latilth, noticing Rhiannon, draws closer to her while still fending off her own assailants. They formed a small protective guard around (y/n).

Something warmed her back, something bright too, for the fog dissipated in its presence. Rhiannon got her complete sight back and saw the small fights that had sprouted around the outside of the obelisk circle.

An iridescent hand cups her shoulder. (y/n)’s hand. Wide-eyed, Rhiannon takes in (y/n)’s glowing form, for she is covered in the sun’s fire. Both she and Lightbringer shined in a celestial light. The streak of blood that had dripped from one of her nostrils seemed to disappear, as did many features of her face, becoming lost in the bright light that had consumed her.

She passed Rhiannon, and she tore through the horde in one fell swoop of her sword arm. The obelisk ring was alive with fire, yet even though flames licked at the bottom of her skirts and arms, Rhiannon was not burned. Like (y/n) had control over the intensity of her magical blaze that spread rapidly. The others jumped back out of instinct when they realized the fire was about to pounce on them, but there was no need to. Red Priest Ray dipped his hand into the many tongues that flickered from the ground and watched how they only affected the monsters that had appeared from the shadows. He grins and raises his hands to the sky; a joyful litany of Valerian bursts from him.

The Darkin Qheen, having witnessed the others unharmed, also experimentally moves his hand out to caress a wayward tendril of fire. There was no biting pain from the blaze; a mellow warmth greets him, and he remains even when he pulls his hand away.

Behind his morbid mask, yellow feline eyes watched the unassuming young girl take on the role of a warrior with her dragon thrashing at her side. They made a fearsome sight, and Qheen would only admit to himself that he stood there in awe and admiration, becoming witnesses as her dragon danced alongside her in a macabre flurry of movement. Neither bumped into the other as they slid and struck. Whatever she had been looking for, (y/n) definitely found it.

Master Batur's utter expression of disbelief gave you immense satisfaction; a weight on your shoulders that you had not yet noticed was lifted. You felt you could stand a little taller and breathe a bit better.

Pinprick's blue eyes stare at you, and his mouth normally pinched into a scowl, goes slack. Probably the most emotion Batur has ever displayed in his life is that he looks at you; he really looks at you and takes in your presence. Could he see a change in you? You certainly felt something. No longer grasping out in the dark for answers and reassurance. You were whole, complete now, with Azor Ahai's blessing.

In front of Batur, you get down on one knee and bring Lightbringer to balance on the palms of your hand. Instantly, flames swirl to life, and the hesitance it had once displayed was vanquished. "Master Batur, the last thing I want to do is bring pain onto the darkin. I know it won't be easy seeing the red priests again, but I promise you that they will not subjugate you to slavery. Not like before. They'll have to go through me before that were to happen. Please, fight by my side once again as equals. I cannot defeat the Others without the power of the darkin."

To your confusion, Batur commands you to rise in a somewhat embarrassed tone as he keeps his gaze averted from where you are. You extinguish Lightbringer, returning the sword to its scabbard. Deep lines across his forehead are still furrowed even when it's he now who kneels in front of you. "I will not have our champion in a state of prostration," Batur grumbled.

For the first time since arriving in Asshai, your smile truly shined.

Taglist:

@boywivlove

@esposadomd

@domoron

@yentroucnagol

@enchantingcupcakecollectionfan

@bregarc

15 notes · View notes

skinreflectsthesun · 6 months ago

Text

I think the best way to win my love for a female main character is to show their kindness. Within the first 4 chapters I knew I loved Violet in fourth wing for her kind heart, she didn’t have to give Rhiannon her boot to cross the parapet but she did, she wanted them to both make it. And that won me. The same way that Feyre won me with her endless devotion to her family and her selfless nature when she went under the mountain, but even so later when she gave the water wraith her jewelry so they could pay their debts. Kindness. That made me love these characters as easily as they dispelled their kindness.

#personal #bookblr #fourth wing #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury

19 notes · View notes

rosanna-writer · 1 year ago

Text

The Dust of the Stars in Her Eyes (7/7)

Summary: Feyre Archeron didn't want a prince, just a night off and a dress. But when the mating bond snaps for Rhysand at the ball where his father is pressuring him to choose a wife, he'll do anything to keep Feyre close—even convince her to fake an engagement to him. Warnings: Light discussion of injuries Pairing: Feysand Chapter Word Count: ~2.4k

Chapter One: The Prince is Giving a Ball | Chapter Two: I Have Found Her | Chapter Three: So Why is the Fellow Going Crazy? | Chapter Four: I Wake in the Loneliness of Sunrise | Chapter Five: Move a Mountain, Light the Sky | Chapter Six: And She's Taking Me Back to the Skies | Chapter Seven: ...or Are You Wonderful Because I Want You?

We've reached the final chapter this fic and the final day of @officialfeysandweek2023! Thank you so much to the event organizers; the absolutely INSANE amount of behind the scenes work to make this successful is so, so appreciated!!!!

You can find the last chapter below the cut or here on AO3.

Feyre didn't winnow or fly, just ran. There was no plan in her mind, hardly another thought other than a desire to put distance between herself and Rhys. As much as possible, as fast as possible.

It wasn't until she was too winded to go on that Feyre stopped to think about what she was doing. Returning to the house wasn't an option, not with Rhys there. And she wouldn't go back to her stepmother, either. Or any of the Illyrian camps.

The only place for Feyre was the forest.

She could make do with that—she'd been keeping a hunting knife strapped to her thigh, a precaution since Rhys had been shot. Ideally, she'd have more supplies than that, but Feyre Archeron had made herself a master of surviving on very little.

She'd intended to split the soup with Rhys, but now she found herself right back where she started–hunger clawing at her stomach as she prowled the woods for game. Perhaps she'd been a fool to think she'd have a chance at ever doing anything more than that.

Feyre cut branches from a sapling and began to build a snare. The process had become so intimately familiar that the steady motion of her hands left her mind free to stop and think.

Rhysand had known. And for the life of her, Feyre couldn't understand why he hadn't just said something instead of taking the most roundabout route to getting her to agree to marry him. They were mates—there was no way he wouldn't have her if he wanted her. Until a few hours ago, she'd been convinced he had wanted her, but now she wasn't sure what was true any more.

Feyre finished the snare, then perched in a tree above it to wait, still alone with her thoughts. She replayed the last few days on an endless loop in her head, trying to make sense of them.

The leaves rustled. A rabbit squeaked. The snare held.

Feyre got down from the tree and started on the work of slaughtering and butchering her meal. Skinning the carcass and building a fire took more of her concentration, but even then, she still couldn't quite escape the conclusion she'd come to, as much as she wished she could.

She'd have to talk to Rhysand.

While Feyre roasted the meat on a makeshift spit, she considered what to say, whether she owed him an apology for throwing soup and asking questions later, what questions to ask, how those answers might change her mind about what she wanted. Between the confusion and the hunger, her head was pounding.

She'd taken her first bite of the unseasoned meat when the snap of a twig and the sound of her name had her hand flying back to her still-bloody knife. Feyre leapt to her feet, heart pounding.

But it was just Rhiannon and Mor who emerged from the trees. For a moment, they just stared, taking in the sight of the fire, the snare, and the pelt she'd cast aside. Feyre didn't move her hand from her knife.

"What the hell are you doing? " Rhiannon said. "I thought you said you hated hunting."

"I needed to eat," Feyre said, keeping her chin up. She refused to be ashamed about it.

"You didn't have to run off to the woods to do that," Mor said. Feyre just gave her a flat look—there hadn't been a more appealing option. Mor sighed and added, "I meant what I said before, about not watching you end up in a desperate situation."

There was a long moment of silence, and Feyre considered whether or not to accept the help. Being alone in the woods might not be comfortable, but it was familiar. She couldn't quite find the words to ask for what she needed.

Mor just held a hand out, obviously ready to winnow them somewhere else. Feyre took it.

The world disappeared into smoke and shadow, and when it reappeared again, they were outside a log cabin. Before Feyre could ask, Rhiannon said, "It's been in the family for generations. The wards keep out anyone who doesn't have permission to be here."

"We were sent up here for 'reflection' when we were younger. No one's going to be using it for a while," Mor said.

They ushered Feyre inside, showing her how the cabin was spelled to take care of its occupants. Then Feyre found herself being shooed out of the kitchen while Rhiannon reached into a pocket dimension and pulled out more of the soup that she'd originally meant to send to Rhys that night. Feyre started to ask about it, but Rhiannon just winked and said her brother's soup privileges were revoked for the time being.

Feyre spent several days in that cabin, the first time in her life there was nothing to do but rest and consider her next steps. Mor and Rhiannon stayed with her that first night, but after that, they were in and out, sometimes keeping her company and sometimes giving her the stretches of alone time she needed. They shared news, though only when Feyre asked. Rhys was recovering well, back on his feet and pursuing changing the Illyrian inheritance laws with a renewed fervor. The updated statutes would go into effect in a matter of days.

And when they did, Feyre would have options, something that had been so rare in her life thus far. The money from her father's estate would keep a comfortable roof over her head and food on her table for a few months, enough time to decide on a path dictated by her own desires. She'd never have to speak to her stepmother again.

The morning of the day the changes would be signed into law, Feyre was waiting for Rhiannon when she arrived at the cabin. Rhiannon took in the sight of Feyre in leathers again and said nothing, just raised her brows.

"You still have the Suriel's cloak, don't you?" Feyre said. "The one I left in your room?"

"Of course. What do you need it for?" Rhiannon said.

"I want to see what the Weaver is willing to trade for it," Feyre said with a shrug.

Somehow, Rhiannon's brows climbed higher. "Are you…?"

"We'll see. It's an heirloom ring. If he ends up alone, then I hope you find someone to give it to instead."

That afternoon, Feyre arrived in Windhaven with a newly acquired star sapphire on her right hand. Just outside the tent where Rhys was meeting with the camp-lords and signing paperwork, she found a place to sit and wait.

When he emerged from the tent, speaking to Cassian, Feyre took a second just to watch him. She's known his wings were healed, but it was a relief to see it for herself. Deep down, she'd still worried.

His nostrils flared slightly as he caught her scent, and his head whipped around in her direction. Rhys went still. Feyre raised her right hand in greeting, letting the ring glint in the late afternoon light.

His steps were carefully measured as he moved closer to her, but Feyre had the sense that he was doing everything in his power not to run. The bond went so taut she nearly pressed a hand to her chest.

"What brings you to Windhaven?" he said, carefully casual, even as his eyes moved back and forth between her face and the ring on her finger.

"I'm here to claim what's mine," Feyre said. There was one stiff nod from him, then she continued, "How are your wings?"

"Intact, thanks to you."

There was scar tissue from the first time he'd been shot, perhaps that was true this time around, too. Feyre hoped that was the worst of it.

She watched Rhys's throat bob, and after a beat of silence, she said, "We should continue this conversation in private."

When she held out her hand to winnow them, Rhys had never moved more quickly to take it. Within seconds, they were outside the cabin. Feyre pulled her hand from his, and a part of her hated how reluctant she was to do it.

"Is this where you've been staying?"

Feyre just nodded and gestured for him to follow her inside. She sank down into a chair at the kitchen table, and Rhys followed suit, though from the way he was looking at her, she'd half-expected him to wait for her to give him permission to sit. Taking a breath to steady herself, she toyed with the ring.

"I'm going to ask questions, and you're going to explain everything and leave nothing out. And I'll decide at the end of it whether I'm giving this ring to you or your sister."

She'd already decided she wouldn't be accepting the bond that day. There would be time for that eventually, when everything between them wasn't so new and she had a better sense of what she wanted now that she was out of that cottage in the woods. Today, all she'd decide was whether there would be a chance for Rhys to use the ring to ask her properly one day. He seemed to understand, going silent and weighing his words before he spoke again.

"I didn't want a spouse, either," he said softly. "That's why my father held that ball in the first place. You've seen for yourself now that being close to me comes with danger, and I couldn't ever imagine asking another person to shoulder that burden because of me. Especially not someone I loved."

Feyre said nothing, just let that sink in. When she didn't ask a question, Rhys continued, "Then you landed on that balcony, and even though the bond hadn't snapped yet, I think I knew who you were, deep down. You were so different from everyone else there. And then you said that you were only there for a night off, and that's when the bond snapped and everything became more complicated. I wouldn't marry anyone else, but I couldn't— I could ask anything of you, not like that."

"You could have told me right then," Feyre whispered. She still didn't understand why he hadn't or where he'd gotten the willpower to keep from blurting it out in the moment.

For the first time that day, Rhys looked her in the eye properly. "I wouldn't force you to choose between accepting the bond or returning to your stepmother. Those would have been your options, and a choice like that is no choice at all. You deserved better."

Feyre could see the truth in those words, the way history would be repeating itself if he'd told her about the bond then. She was half-Illyrian; of course she'd heard the stories of how the bond snapping with the High Lord had saved his mother from wing-clipping. Feyre's life in poverty and Rhys's as a High Lord's heir left a gulf between them too wide for a mating bond to properly span.

"But I wasn't strong enough to stay away," Rhys continued, "so I schemed, the one thing I'm good for. And you seemed to want me, and that was intoxicating. I couldn't decide if I hoped you'd change your mind and stay, even after you received the money you were owed, or if I hoped you'd run far away and stay safer that way. Then I was attacked and I'd known you less than a day and I already thought I'd lost you. I didn't know how to tell you about the bond, after that. I just…wanted to stop feeling like I was in a crisis first."

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Feyre said, voice sharp. Rhys flinched.

"I don't know. Probably. But it was hard to think very far ahead after coming so close to death. I knew you'd figure it out eventually, but I didn't anticipate you'd do it that fast."

Feyre considered that, too. He was being honest, more concerned with giving her the truth like she'd asked than trying to win her. And maybe that's what she needed from him.

"I couldn't stay away, either," she admitted softly. "You should have factored that in."

"That would have been mighty conceited of me."

"Did I really deflate that massive ego of yours so quickly?"

For the first time in days, Feyre was smiling. And so was Rhys. The bond uncoiled in her chest, and she started to believe they both might actually be alright.

"I promise the other massive parts of me are—"

Rhys stopped abruptly as Feyre slid the ring off her finger. As he watched her, Feyre wasn't even sure he was breathing.

"I want you to try again, when the time is right. No lies, no scheming. Ask me for real next time," she said, holding the ring out to him.

Rhys took the ring and pocketed it. "One day, only when I'm sure the answer will be yes."

Feyre stood up from her chair, holding a hand out to tug Rhys out of his and closer to her. "And what will you do to make that happen?" she said, tipping her head back to look at him.

Rhys cocked his head, his eyes taking on a predatory glint. "Would you believe me if I said I made a list?"

She'd started to lift her hands to rest on his chest, but they froze in midair. "You— You made a list? "

"Of everything I wanted to do to you but couldn't because I was stuck on my stomach."

"How long is it?"

"I thought you'd be more concerned with the length of–"

Feyre pushed up on her toes and kissed him; Rhys had no business finishing that sentence when there was nothing handy she could throw at his head. She pulled away just long enough to mutter, "Don't dig a bigger hole for yourself."

Before he could respond, she was kissing him again, deepening it and leaning him backwards until he was nearly splayed out on the table for her. She wasn't sure exactly what was on the list, but she guessed there were plenty of items that involved getting Rhys on his back.

There was still more to figure out–what to do with her stepmother, how they fit into each other's lives, what settling into the role of future High Lady might even look like. But for now, Feyre was just concerned with how to get Rhys out of his clothes as fast as possible.

And that was more than enough of a happily ever after for her.

#feysandweek2023 #feysand #the dust of the stars in her eyes

29 notes · View notes

ravnloft · 10 months ago

Text

RULES: post 5 songs associated with your oc, followed by 3 outfits they would wear

tagged by @bardic-inspo ooooooo i love this ty. doing it for amma my beloved little terror

i am a libra to the last so ummmmm you get 2 lists of 5 songs, one without vocals and one with, you're welcome

instrumental:

catwoman, michael giacchino

happy childhoods make for dull company, sonya belousova and giona ostinelli

when murder entered my heart, neal acree

the last agni kai, samuel kim

the rising sun, cfo$ and lee england jr.

with lyrics:

teddy picker, arctic monkeys (and it's the thousandth time that it's even bolder, don't be surprised when you get bent over)

gold guns girls, metric (more and more, more and more, more and more, more and more and more and more and more)

rhiannon, fleetwood mac (would you stay if she promised you heaven? will you ever win?)

bullet with butterfly wings, karen o (and what do i get for my pain? betrayed desires and a piece of the game)

foreign object, the mountain goats (i personally will stab you in the eye)

outfits:

ellen terry as lady macbeth by john singer sargent, which is what i based her gown on for the portrait of bonnevance amarthen & wife :) // athena dress, rat & boa // this armor that was ported to skyrim from the witcher 3 and i can't fucking remember what it was originally called in tw3 but it's like her default casual/day clothes when she's out of her armor, picture is from the apachii divine elegance store

also. honorable mention to joelle jones' art of talia al ghul because talia was such a big influence as i developed amma and this art is just. so perfect. the tiddy window... the heavy jewelry... the swords... the inability to move on from her ex-husband

#amma #I LOVE THIS I LOVE HER SHES MY SWEET EVIL BABY THANK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

6 notes · View notes

aceofswcrds · 10 months ago

Text

i will lay me down — (spotify)

mountain hymn, rhiannon giddens // coal miner's daughter, loretta lynn // coat of many colors, dolly parton // on the road again, willie nelson // 500 miles, peter, paul & mary // don't think twice, it's all right, joan baez // girl from the north county, bob dylan // daddy sang bass, johnny cash // bridge over troubled water, simon & garfunkel // let me ride in your big cadillac, blaze foley // sittin' in the amen seat, yvonne devaney // take care of us, the revelations // when he reached down his hand for me, bill monroe & his blue grass boys // reconsider me, margaret lewis // something about what happens when we touch, lucinda williams // wishes, lari white feat. suzy bogguss // send a message to my heart, dwight yoakam with patty loveless // i'm so lonesome i could cry, hank williams // she's got you, patsy cline // moonlight, daniel lanois

a playlist consisting of a variety of songs — some from mary's childhood, some from her personal playlists which she would listen to today, some are slightly fourth-wall breaking tracks that had been chosen to encapsulate mary margaret's character.

#bhqtask001 #:: MARY — musings.

2 notes · View notes

atyourperil · 2 years ago

Note

25, 5, 18 (music asks)

HI SOUP THANKS FOR THE ASK! 25: A song by an artist no longer living ough this is a hard one. kind of cheating but many of the members of fleetwood mac have passed so i'll go ahead and say Rhiannon

5: A song that needs to be played LOUD This year the mountain goats!!!!!!!!!!! there are actually probably many many other goats songs that would work but this year has such a special place in my heart.

Honorable mention: The Chain works for both questions!!!

#don't feel comfortable answering 18 publicly. sorry :(.#mutuals!!!#ask games!#musicposting

2 notes · View notes

asuindara · 1 month ago

Text

Fourth Wing 2.0

A fix it canon divergent fanfic

Chapter 3: Changes (Ch. 2 / Ch. 4)

Summary: Violet crosses the parapet and makes two enemies, alongside an ally. Later, she finds an old friend and notices how things have possibly changed forever.

Trigger warnings: attempted murder, death threats, anxiety attack, panic attacks

The threads of panic were still there, waiting to choke Violet with every difficult step on the parapet. The rain poured down, plastering her hair, and she sent a quiet thanks for Mira due to the secured braid. There was mist forming and Violet’s sight was a bit compromised. She became hyper aware of the slippery stone and the bigger smooth-soled boot started to slip millimeters off to the side with every step. Her heart pumped blood into the limbs and the pulse pounded in her ear, the pain of her tense muscles starting threatening to become distracting in a situation that demanded nothing but full attention.

“Keep your eyes on the stones ahead”

Her mind registered the distant figure that was Rhiannon and the large mass of bluish gray colored stones, but did not stop to overanalyze it. Every drop of Violet’s focus was turned to the small steps she took on the bridge. Nausea was starting to rise as she took in the distance between her and the fortress, the rain seeping into her clothes and wrapping around her joints with the vice grip of a snake, injecting its cool venom. Every logical fiber of her being screamed to return back to safety and deal with the humiliation, it was better than dying after all, but it was too late. There was no going back, Violet either crossed or she died. Gods, that was really happening. Malek was making her dance on the stage of life like a cheap circus girl, ready to reap her soul any moment or cruelly letting her live to have an even worse death.

Thunder rumbled through the sky and sent her arms flailing. Panic was gripping her throat and Violet knew if she did not calm down it would be her downfall.

Her father’s beautiful features sparked in front of her eyes, the crinkles of his face frozen in time, almost disguised under the dark blue paint he so loved to adorn himself with. Her father used to babble when he was nervous, usually about something trivial as a comfort theme or his latest research, sometimes quotes of a fictional story. Yet another thing Violet had inherited from him, or mimicked.

“There are a few different divisions for the continent. Considering Uran’s view as a topographer, in A study on the landscapes: from the Emerald sea to the article Ocean, the division consists of the Cordillera, plains, mangroves and the Great Desert. Taking a more political approach, in their book named Navarre: an unedited history, Markham and Praxis first coined the division in which there are two kingdoms, Navarre and Poromiel, and the Barrens, the inhospitable desert area…”

Her voice was stolen by the wind, the words not reaching the ears, but she did not mind. Violet knew exactly how they sounded, every single letter of what she had been extensively taught for years of preparation. Words that she could also hear on her father’s voice. How odd it was that Violet prepared so long for the scribe test only to perform it on the parapet of the rider’s quadrant. It was ironic even, to think that lost dreams were her only form of dissipating the wild panic. At least the comfort of her knowledge would accompany her either through the ordeal, subsiding the pounding of the rushing blood and allowing the sloshing nausea to simmer down.

“Navarre is the largest kingdom, divided into six provinces: Luceras, Morraine, Calldyr, Deaconshire, Elgum and Tyrrendor. Each one has their own customs and language, sharing Calldyrian as a common tongue. According to Uran, due to the Leth-ghealach cordillera that separates the two Kingdoms and the Baideal mountains encasing Luceras, Navarre offers an abundance in ore, hardy timber, fruits, wheat, deer and elk. The kingdom of Poromiel, divided into the provinces of Cygnisen, Braevick and Krovla, mainly consists of arable plains and marshlands and is known for exceptional textiles, endless fields of grain, and unique crystalline gems capable of amplifying minor magics…”

There was a small distraction at the sight of the white painted line marking the halfway mark of the parapet. Looking forward, she noticed in elation as the faint shade of Rhiannon neared the last section of the bridge. Violet had to drown the sparks of hope before they even attempted to fire, there was no good in expecting survival until both her feet were on steady ground.

“Returning to Markhan and Praxis, Navarre was a product of the six province’s unification under the same monarch, King Reginald. Said alliance, forged six hundred and twenty six years ago, was a protective measure due to invasions coming from the Barrens and was fortified later on by the political tensions with Poromiel. The wars and truces between the two kingdoms have lasted for over four hundred years, but the Trade Agreement of Resson-”

The smooth sole of her boot knocks a few pieces of mortar out of place, startling Violet from her steady pace. She wobbled for a few seconds, her heart increasing its beating to a thunderous rhythm until her balance was restored. She felt the nausea hit all the way up, threatening the acidic liquid to spill. She tried her best to keep focused on taking the next step, willing her feelings into behaving.

“The Trade Agreement of Resson, signed more than two hundred years ago, ensures an exchange of meat and lumber from Navarre for the cloth and agriculture from Poromiel. The trade happens four times a year at the Athebyne outpost on the mountainous border of Krovla and Tyrrendor…”

The wind began to pick up once again and Violet was forced to crouch and grip any raised edges of the stone, though the wetness made it difficult to grasp it correctly. The howl in her ears was eerie instead of the usual comfort and she felt something akin to loss on her heart at such change. The water kept trickling down her face and she lowered it to avoid the droplets from reaching her eyes, the oils in her paint also helping divert the stray ones.

Violet took that moment to quickly glance behind her, confusion contorting her features. She first noticed how close Jack Barlowe was, which prompted her to curse at the pace of her steps. The strangest sight though was the fact he was facing away from her, arms lowered, completely still and steady, as if the wind did not phase his stance at all. Violet decided it was not worth her time, choosing to let go of the stone and resume her walking. The weird man could do whatever he wanted, she did not care in the least about whatever prideful point he wanted to make by testing his balance.

“The agreement was able to quiet the conflicts between the two kingdoms, until the Rebellion of Tyrrendor, in the year 618, in which the relations wavered-”

A loud noise pierced the air for a split second, sending her heart into another pounding pulse. After seeing Dylan fall, that noise had become awfully recognizable. Violet wanted to glance behind her, see if Barlowe had finally been arrogant enough for Malek to take him, but stopped herself from doing so. Then, as if Zinhal had taken personal pleasure in torturing Violet, a mocking voice carried through the relatively low howl of the wind.

“You’re next, Sorrengail!”

Against her will, she glanced over her shoulder. Barlowe was facing her again, awfully close and approaching confidently. Confusion soon settled into shock at the implications of his words and a new type of horror settled into her bones. Violet was not sure if throwing someone from the parapet was a punishable offense, but she would not find that out if Barlowe caught her. Testing her life, she hurried her steps and hoped that it would be enough to maintain some distance between them, trying to adjust her stance whenever her left foot slipped.

“The Tyrrish rebellion was a period of instability on Navarre’s cohesive unification, though not the first sign of resistance. As one of the last provinces to enter the alliance, Tyrrendor had always vindicated their autonomy and, considering the Annales of Aretia, frequently formed relations with Krovla…” Violet’s voice was trembling under panic, but she did not stop shouting into the wind, forcing her lungs to expand semi-regularly.

The wind slammed against her with such force that her left foot completely slipped out of the bridge. She felt her insides shift as complete dread filled her blood, her body feeling weightless and all sounds vanishing from her ears. Violet used a split second to quickly kneel on the only leg she had leverage, hitting her knee with a brutal force and gripping the stone until her nails bent. A guttural sound left her lips as the pain irradiated from her right knee all the way to the base of her spine in a searing sting. Her left leg was dangling completely, only the empty space meeting her soles. The position had Violet inevitably looking down at the ravine, at the kilometers of a free fall. She quickly averted her eyes, but the sight was burnt into them.

“I’m coming for you, Sorrengail!” Barlowe yelled once more, voice eerily close.

Through gritted teeth and grunts of pain, Violet tried to find leverage for her left leg, thankful for the first time in forever that her hypermobile joints were helpful. She would pay the price of the exertion later, but whatever her body conjured up as a consequence would be better than being thrown by a mad man or falling to her death. She adjusted her crouching, both feet set on the stone, and stood up. Pain sparked through her entire lower limbs and tears fell down her cheeks in a stream, but Violet used all of her abilities to close it inside a box. She could cry of pain, fuck up her knees, but death by murder was not an option. Violet was not going to die at someone’s hand, Malek would only have her for her own mistakes.

“Will you scream the whole way down?”

Violet kept her eyes on the fortress, close enough that she could see riders and define their features, close enough that she saw as Rhiannon stepped into the safety of the walls. A silent thankful prayer was the only acknowledgment Vilet allowed herself before focusing on her steps again. Her heart kept beating faster as wet steps behind her kept cutting the distance at an alarming rate, but she remained steady in her hurry. Panicking and taking a longer step would kill her. At that point, the pain was a muffled pestering child as her survival instincts kicked in, her tongue tied and mind too tunneled to even remember how to ramble.

All Violet could see were dark colored stone and faces. The clearer they became, the closer to safety she was. The last quarter, all she needed was to cross that last quarter.

“There’s no way someone who can’t even carry a full rucksack passed the entrance exam. You’re a mistake, Sorrengail” the condescending tone of his voice was clearer than ever before.

Her steps did not sway, her gaze fixated in front of her.

“It’s really for the best that I take you out now, don’t you think? It’s so much more merciful than letting the dragons have at you. They’ll start to eat you leg by rickety leg while you’re still alive. Come on. It will be my pleasure to help you out”

“The fuck you will” she blurted to herself.

Violet did not even have time to panic as her left foot slipped almost entirely out of the stone bridge, instead locking muscles and redirecting the next step while firming her stance with her right leg. The walls screaming safety were just on her reach, only a couple steps from encasing her. Elation started to bubble on her throat as the walls of the turret began to rise beside her, a happiness akin of the day she finally mastered an entire prose in Old Lucerish, with no mispronunciation and perfect structure.

“You think you’ll be safe in there?” Barlowe was definitely right behind her.

As soon as the stone walls reached her hip height, she bolted to the turret, hearing as the man behind her did the same. Every hit in the stone made her knee joints wobble under the pressure of her wraps and braces, but the pain was dulled as it dissipated into her heated blood. She felt the sound of his fingers grasping her pack, to which Violet quickly slid it off his reach, and she unceremoniously jumped from the parapet into the solid ground of the tower, her right knee almost popping out of its socket at the bold move. She barely paid attention to the sounds around her with how deafening her pulse was, but Violet spun with a dagger in hand. Jack was too close for her to throw the dagger and cause considerable harm, so she chose to simply work his speed into her advantage and let the man impale himself on it. Unfortunately, he paused just enough for the tip of her blade to press against the fabric of his briefs.

“I think. I’ll be safe. For right. Now” Violet said between labored breaths, her steady hand pressing the dagger and cutting through the fabric.

Barlowe stared at her with wide eyes, but not a single drop of fear in them - only rage. That man was no common harasser, there was more to his blue eyes than simply being a condescending asshole. She made an enemy without even speaking to him.

“Will you?” his words were just as laboured, spewing malice.

“It is unlawful for a rider to cause another harm. While in a quadrant formation or in the supervisory. Presence of a superior-ranking cadet” Violet quoted, sending Barlowe her best condescending look in return “As it will diminish the efficacy of the wing. And given the crowd behind us, I think it’s clear to argue that it’s a formation. Article Three, Section-”

“I don’t give a shit!” Barlowe snarled.

Violet twisted her blade and pressed even further, hearing as the fabric ripped open even more “I suggest you reconsider or I might slip”

“Name?” a voice ringed behind her, disinterested and bored. Not surprising since they probably saw death on a daily basis “You’re pretty small for a rider, but it looks like you made it”

“Violet Sorrengail” Her reply was not dignified with a look, she would not divert her eyes from Barlowe “And before you ask, yes, I’m that Sorrengail”

“Not surprised, with that maneuver”

Violet tried to hide the surprise in her face. Being complimented over a physical ability was a first outside of a medical situation.

“And what’s your name?” the female rider continued.

“Jack Barlowe” his blue eyes were glued on Violet’s, as if reconsidering his earlier thoughts with how thoroughly she was being analyzed.

“Well, Jack” a male rider spoke behind her “Cadet Sorrengail has you by the actual balls here, in more ways than one. She’s right. Regs state that there’s nothing but respect among riders at formation. You want to kill her, you’ll have to do it in the sparring ring or on your own time. That is, if she decides to let you off the parapet. Because technically, you’re not on the grounds yet, so you are not a cadet. She is”

“And if I decide to snap her neck the second I step down?” Jack asked, not a shred of doubt or bluffing in his words.

“Then you get to meet the dragons early” the female rider replied “We don’t wait for trials around here. We just execute”

“What’s going to be, Sorrengail?” the other rider asked “You going to have Jack here start as a eunuch?”

With the angle of the dagger, neutering the man was the only option of harm. She considered it, knowing it would only fester his dislike towards her even more, but it would probably give her a little satisfaction after almost being murdered. Unfortunately, her blood was beginning to lose its heat and the pain on her right knee was becoming harder to ignore by the minute. If Jack retaliated out of instinct, Violet would not be able to defend herself properly.

She used her last few threads of energy to take a quick step behind, but never lowered her dagger, building distance between them, taking another dagger from her rib sheath and pinching the blade in preparation for throwing if Barlowe went for her neck.

“Pity” the male rider sighed.

Jack glanced at the man briefly before stepping into the fortress, officially a cadet. Violet did not stay for long, walking backwards into the courtyard with daggers still in hand, trying to build as much distance from him as possible. She only turned her back on Barlowe when the sea of people swarmed her from all sides, giving a few seconds of peace before the forming line of enemies began to go for her throat.

First Xaden Riorson, now Jack Barlowe. Violet would add rotten apples to her list of offers for Zinhal.

The pain on her knee and hips was growing and Violet felt the tell tale nausea join the sensation. Soon, her fingers began to tremble uncontrollably and too fucking visibly for a place so dangerous. The elation from surviving the parapet and being alive still there, but now attached to this constant dread for what was to come.

She had survived. Violet proved herself capable of beating the first odds of her destiny. Mira was not going to mourn another sibling.

Violet did not die.

A hand grabbed her by the shoulders and she had to swallow the pain once more, spinning and raising her blade and plunge on whomever had touched her. It was only her fast reflexes that allowed Violet to stop as soon as she recognized Rhiannon.

“We made it” the woman practically squealed, what seemed to be a genuine smile on her full lips.

Violet lowered her blade and tried to steady her accelerating heartbeat “We made it”

The pain was clouding her senses again and the trembling spreading through her body. Violet wanted to just surrender and fall to the ground and was trying very hard not to lean on Rhiannon’s hands, not sure if the woman was fit to be an ally. Considering there were two people on the list of potential murderers in less than a day, Violet was beginning to lose hope anyone there could be an ally by default.

“I can’t thank you enough. There were at least three times I would have fallen off if you hadn’t helped me. You were right, those soles were slick as shit” Rhiannon was still smiling, her own body trembling a little while removing her hands from Violet’s shoulders.

“I also did not expect everyone here to be so carefree with their appearance” the woman continued and Violet was trying her best to focus on the words and remove the attention from her own collapsing body “I just saw someone with such a bright rose colour in their hair. Also, I kind of feel bad for not bringing more of my hair accessories now, everyone here is fully adorned”

“Conformity is for the infantry” Violet reiterated.

Rhiannon shrugged “Come on, let’s get out of this crowd”

Violet felt her throat constrict and her limbs trembling uncontrollably. Every step seemed to induce another wave of nausea, another shift on her right knee, a stronger spark of pain. Her mind felt as if it floated above everyone else, leaving her body behind.

“Speaking of which” Rhiannon continued, looking over her shoulder “We need to trade boots. There’s a bench-”

Violet froze as a familiar figure cut through the line of people, bringing with him an overwhelming relief to the point she wanted to laugh.

“Violet?” the soft spoken yet masculine voice was enough to redeem Zinhal for a while.

He grabbed Violet by the shoulders, his familiar yet so different features contorted into shock and disbelief. She noticed the change in stature first, he had grown a few centimeters since their previous interaction. Holding his forearms for support, it was evident the muscle gain too. Adding the beard and hardened dark eyes, the cropped brown hair, the black uniform, there was an entirely different Dain Aetos in front of her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” his whispered.

He was different, sure, but it was still her oldest friend. Violet hadn’t seen him in so long, their last encounter barely counting as a farewell since she was drowning in grief. She missed him and, at a certain point in the morning, was not sure they would ever reencounter.

“Find Dain Aetos”

Violet hoped Mira did not have to wait long to hear that she had succeeded. She was alive, she had found Dain and, for at least a moment…Violet was safe. Her body, probably reaching the same conclusion, collapsed completely, knees failing and her weight falling over him like a sack of grains. The movement sparked her nausea to unbelievable levels and Violet was one hundred percent sure she would puke all over Dain’s boots. What a reencounter.

“Dain. It’s good to see you” her voice was relieved but she couldn’t smile properly, her face felt all wrong.

“Damn it, Violet” he balanced her back up, holding by the lower back and left arm, leaning her entire weight on his side.

Violet barely felt her legs moving, but her knee complained either way. She groaned quietly and locked her jaw to avoid making too much noise. They moved away from the crowd, towards an alcove before a long corridor. She felt a cool surface on the back of her knees and soon Dain pushed her into the bench as delicately as possible, taking off her leather rucksack off her shoulders. The movement yet again flared the nausea and saliva pooled inside Violet’s mouth.

“I’m going to be sick”

“Head between your knees” Dain ordered. The tone was a little too commanding, but Violet did not have the capacity to glare at him. He was not wrong anyway and there was redemption in the way he comfortingly rubbed between her shoulder blades.

“It’s the adrenaline. Give it a minute and it’ll pass” he murmured.

Violet tried her best to focus on her breathing, swallowing the excess saliva and willing her stomach into behaving. She was not going to puke and let people see her in such a state.

“Who the hell are you?” Dain’s harsh words startled her and this time Violet did look up to see Rhiannon right beside them, looking a little worried.

“I’m Rhiannon. I’m Violet’s…friend”

“Listen to me, Rhiannon. Violet is fine” Dain continued “And if anyone asks, then you tell them exactly what I said, that it’s just the shock working out of her system. Understand?”

“It’s no one’s business what’s going on with Violet” Rhiannon said in a measured tone, but there was an obvious defiance in her voice “So I wouldn’t say shit. Especially not when she’s the reason I made it across the parapet”

“You’d better mean that” he replied.

“I could ask you who the hell you are” Rhiannon quipped and Violet could see one of her boots tapping on the ground.

“It’s okay, Rhiannon, he’s an old friend” Violet managed to say.

“And a second-year rider, cadet” the way he said those words was very uncharacteristic of Dain, and also a huge contrast to his caring touch on Violet’s back “No one can see you here, Vi, so take your time”

Violet nodded and tried to lift her torso enough to unlace Rhiannon’s boot from her feet, trying not to wince with every movement.

“Are you hurt?” Dain asked, his eyes oscillating between worry and anger while analyzing her body. Considering how long he had known Violet, she would not be surprised if he had already catalogued her possible injuries.

“My knee is sore” she admitted quietly.

Dain nodded discreetly, softness reaching his eyes “the right one?”

She smiled a little, confirming his answer. His hand dropped from her back and ran through the seams of the rib sheaths of her vest, noticing the two daggers nestled there. His gaze turned confused and, for a split second, Dain looked at Violet right in the eyes as if seeing her for the first time “You’re wearing daggers”

“Yeah. Four of them”

“Alright” his face slips into a hard mask again “Get your boots switched. You two look ridiculous. Vi, do you trust this one?”

Violet supposed it was the moment of truth. Rhiannon had been nothing but polite, even waiting for her to cross simply to return a boot when most people would simply vanish inside the safety of the courtyard. Whether the actions were performed out of personal interest or as payment for a favor, Violet could work with that.

“I do”

“Alright” Dain said, standing up and walking towards Rhiannon “I’m Dain Aetos, leader of Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing”

Violet took off the boot with difficulty and passed it to Rhiannon, retrieving her own in return. The movements paused slightly at the mention of the rank. It should not be a surprise that Dain attained such a high second year rank, he had always been an exceptional learner.

“Parapet should be over in the next couple of hours, depending on how fast the candidates cross or fall. Go find the redhead with the roll - she’s usually carrying a crossbow - and tell her that Dain Aetos put both you and Violet Sorrengail into his squad. If she questions you, tell her she owes me from saving her ass at Threshing last year. I’ll bring Violet back to the courtyard shortly”

Rhiannon sent her a look as if asking for confirmation.

“Wait” Violet interrupted, grabbing Dain by the arm and lowering him to her level, switching to lucerish “are you in direct chain of command from Riorson?”

His eyes snapped at her and the mask fully slipped, his features settling into horror “No, I’m not. But now that you’ve mentioned it, we can’t let him know you’re here. Whose last name did you use? because using your mother’s is a death sentence!”

“Hum” Violet shrugged “that ship has sailed. I got ratted out before even attempting at using dad’s. And Riorson was at parapet anyway, he knows my name and face”

Dain’s face was drained of all color and he muttered a blasphemous curse before turning to Rhiannon again “Go, do as I say before someone sees us. Now!”

Violet nodded at her in confirmation.

“Going” Rhiannon replied, her boots echoing on the stone in quick steps.

Shoving her feet into the boot, Violet fought through the pain and stood up.

“I can’t believe you traded a boot. That was reckless, Vi!” he scolded her, a familiar tune in their friendship. From panicked Dain trying to convince Violet not to climb a tree and break her legs to the brutal reality of their current lives.

“She would have died without trading” she tested her knees and they protested vehemently. They needed to be stabilized soon.

“You’re unbelievable” He complained, offering his arm for support “Take it. We need to get you to my room. You need to wrap that knee. Last I heard about you nobody had found a cure”

“You’d hear my odes of happiness all the way to your pristine citadel had they found it” Violet joked, but Dain did not laugh at it.

“Damn it, Violet. Damn it” was all he whispered while supporting her weight again and guiding them through a tunnel near the alcove, avoiding being seen by most people.

Violet felt relief flow through her body again, the strange detachment of her mind dissipating for a few seconds though her body still complained in growing pain. With Dain’s experienced and safe companionship, she finally let herself lower the state of high alert, trying to avoid the stress migraine that was already forming.

He guided her through a tunnel near the alcove, which opened into a secluded area. With no rider or cadet on sight, Violet finally let go and exposed the full extent of her limp, which Dain noticed.

“How bad is it?”

“Had it worse, but still hurts to put my weight on it” she whispered back.

They crossed the area relatively slow, entering a long corridor.

“You’re not supposed to be here” Dain gripped her arm tighter, his voice losing its firmness.

“Well aware”

“You’re supposed to be in the Scribe Quadrant” he continued “What the hell happened? Please tell me you did not volunteer for the Riders Quadrant”

Violet sent him the glare he was owed for a while “What do you think happened?”

He let go of her for a split second to open a large gate adorned with long lost Tyrrish runes “Your mother?”

“My mother” Violet confirmed “Something about ‘every Sorrengail is a rider’, you know?”

Dain simply huffed and they emerged from the corridor into a small anteroom. Violet mustered the most disgusting curse, one that would probably wake her own father from the dead to scold her, at the sight of circular stairs. Dain had to support her weight even more for her to manage the two sets.

“This is the second-year floor,” he explains quietly. “Which means-”

“I know. I’m not supposed to be up here” she finished “you were never this paranoid. In fact, I remember Dain Aetos being very good at sneaking where he was not allowed in”

“Sneaking into your room wasn’t illegal” he scoffed.

“Sneaking into my room with stolen liquor was” Violet countered “but if you’re that afraid, we can-”

“Don’t worry. If someone sees us, I’ll just say that I was overcome with lust at first sight and couldn’t wait another second to get you out of your pants”

His words dissipate the last of her tense shoulders and she chuckles quietly. Fuck she missed the weird ‘flirting but not making a move on you’ thing even if it was frustrating sometimes.

“I never knew a man more charming than you” she joked “also, I can throw in a few oh, Dain cries once we’re in your room just for believability”

Dain shook his head and rolled his eyes dramatically, stopping by a simple wooden door and making a hand sign. An audible click sounded on the empty hallway and the small action was enough to astonish her.

“That’s…something” she mimicked his hand motion.

Another stark reminder of his current status. It was easy to forget Dain was not a regular man anymore. Seeing such a small performance of magic was strange coming from him. From her mother and siblings? Sure, Violet had gotten used to it, but Dain…They had been equals for so long. Longer than her own siblings had been with her.

“Don’t look so surprised!” he said in indignation, entering his room.

At first sight, the space did not differ much from the one she lived in for the last few years. There was a rack with a few different weapons, from short swords to daggers, some books and paper scattered on his desk. She could even recognize a tome about Krovlan language she had gifted him for his birthday, a smile spreading through her face that Dain brought it with him to the quadrant. Her heart soured remembering the fable book she left behind.

“Nice room”

“You should see the view” he guided her towards an arched window, where the rest of the fortress extended for kilometers and the Iakobos river draped across the plain land, adorned by the distant mountains. It was strange to see the citadel from that perspective and almost beautiful if it wasn’t for the perfect view of the parapet. Violet averted her gaze immediately, the horrors from being on that bridge still raw inside her.

“Do you have wraps in here?” Dain asked, giving her pack back and guiding her to his desk chair.

“Got them all from Major Gillstead” Violet replied, sitting down with a struggle and opening her bag. The wraps were right on top, thanks to Mira.

“Make yourself at home” Dain announced, leaning against this door with significantly less tense shoulders “As much as I hate that you’re here, I have to say it’s more than nice to see your face, Vi”

His gaze softened and she could almost see the shy boy she met all those years ago come back to the surface. For a moment, she could pretend that they were just two teenagers again, waiting for the night to fall so they can finally leave and do something other than training or education.

“I’ve missed you” she admitted, a bittersweet taste on her tongue.

“Yeah. I’ve missed you, too” there was more in his eyes than the words proclaimed, something almost akin to longing, but he quickly snapped out of it “You’d better get that leg wrapped. I won’t look”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before” Violet commented, unbuttoning her pants and sliding the leather down her legs. She cursed at her swollen knees, one worse than the other. Removing the ruined wraps and the metal braces, she quickly assessed if the joint was at risk of dislocating.

“Yeah, well, we’re not sneaking away to swim, are we?” his teasing tone was a good distraction from the pain as Violet began to tighten the new fabric around her swollen joints, trying to keep the braces in the correct place. The movements were practiced and fast thanks to her years of experience dealing with the condition.

Violet adjusted her pants and tested her joints by standing. The pain was still there, insistent and annoying, but the joint was secure enough. It would be a nightmare until the swell diminished and her life would be a bit more miserable than usual, but it was still way better than a dislocation “I’m decent”

Dain turned, the softness completely gone from his brown eyes as he took her in analytically “You look…different”

Look who’s talking.

“It’s the leathers. Why? Is different bad?” Violet inquired.

“It’s just…Different”

The somber look in his eyes was another unpleasant reminder of the obvious distance that was settling between them.

“Why, Dain Aetos” she deflected the sudden realization, trying to sound humorously “You’ve seen me in swimwear, tunics, and even ballgowns. Are you telling me it’s the leather that does it for you?”

Dain rolled his eyes, smiling, and Violet felt the distance shorten a little bit. His face was tinged with redness and she rejoiced that the shy boy still in fact resided within that rider.

“Glad to see our year apart hasn’t dulled your tongue, Vi” he replied, turning to open the door for her.

Violet grabbed her leather rucksack “I can do quite a few things with my tongue. You’d be impressed”

The redness was more than evident and Violet wondered if he would stammer as he used to, but Dain simply shook his head and slipped the impartial mask back up “We have to get you out of here, I wanted to speak more about…well, everything, but I can’t be late for formation”

Violet nodded “It’s okay. We can talk later”

They left his room and she felt a little better at the stability of her knees while descending the stairs, the nausea quieting down as the ache became bearable. She walked straight towards the gate, but Dain redirected her to another flight of stairs below.

“There’s a door at the bottom of this stairwell, below the main level, that leads to the passage into the Healers Quadrant farther up the ravine” he said, already descending “We’ll get you through that and into the Scribe Quadrant. It’s just enough time for me to return without raising much suspicion too”

Violet paused at the top of the stairs “What?”

Dain turned back to face her and offered a hand “The Scribe Quadrant”

“I can’t go to the Scribe Quadrant, Dain”

“I’m sorry?”

“Lilith won’t stand for it, you know her!” she whispered “You bring me there and she’ll just haul me right back and tell your father that you helped me”

His eyes flared “You can’t stay, Vi. This place will kill you. Nobody in this quadrant would even care if you disappeared even if you had volunteered”

Violet felt laughter flutter in her chest, a bitter kind that often made her an entirely different - and not so kind - person. One honed from years of grief of who she could have been.

“One, I’m well aware of what my chances are here, Dain, and two, usually fifteen percent of candidates don’t make it past the parapet, and I’m still standing, so I guess I’m beating those odds already”

Dain looked at her in exasperation “I’m not saying you didn’t just kick absolute ass by getting here, Vi. But you have to leave. You’ll break the first time they put you in the sparring ring, and that’s before the dragons sense that you’re…”

“I’m what?” Violet prompted, sourness overwhelming her sense of taste “Go ahead and say it. When they sense I’m less than the others? Is that what you mean?”

“Damn it, Vi. Stop putting words in my mouth. You know what I mean. Even if you survive Threshing, there’s no guarantee a dragon will bond you. As it was, last year we had thirty-four unbonded cadets who have just been sitting around, waiting to restart the year with this class to get a chance at bonding again, and they’re all perfectly healthy-”

“Fuck you” her words were strangled with anger. Though his words held no lies, it was fucking awful when Dain, someone who always knew her stance and opinion regarding her illness, repeated the same discourse everyone else did. Fuck, her mother had been more confident in Violet’s survival than him!

“I’m trying to keep you alive!” Dain’s tone rose to that unfamiliar level again “If we get you to the Scribe Quadrant right now, you can still ace their test and have a phenomenal story to tell when you’re out drinking. I take you back out there and it’s out of my hands. I can’t protect you here. Not fully”

Those last sentences caught her attention. Mira had asked to seek his protection and, in a way, Violet wanted to feel safe, to have someone watching her back in a place that promised to be deadly. She had trained for half a year only, Dain was not wrong by saying she would be eaten alive either by people…or dragons. The fear in his eyes was evident, the pleading of his features and the insistence of his hands, begging her to follow him.

Could he really protect her? Could anyone for that matter?

As angry as Violet felt about the commentary on her health, his actions made her reflect even more about her abilities. Dain had survived that entire first year in that quadrant, he knew where everything could go wrong, knew Violet since they were children, and if he was not confident in protecting her, then things were in fact more brutal than she could imagine.

“I’m sorry, Dain, but there is nothing we can do. Lilith forced me into the quadrant and we are both lying to ourselves thinking she won’t anticipate me trying to run away with your help. Fuck, everyone on the loop to make sure I don’t escape”

“We can try!” he insisted “your mother can’t deviate everyone from their duties just for that”

Violet looked at Dain as if he had said the stupidest thing in the world “You want to bet me on this?”

“I don’t want to bet on my best friend living or dying! Do you think it’ll be fun to see what they’ll do to you, knowing you’re General Sorrengail’s daughter? Putting on leathers doesn’t make you a rider, Vi. They’re going to tear you to shreds, and if they don’t, the dragons will. In the Riders Quadrant, you either graduate or die, and you know that. Let me save you”

His shoulders dropped in defeat and Violet felt bad for him. It was difficult to stay angry with someone desperate to save a friend.

“Please let me save you” he whispered.

Violet descended a few steps, grasping his shoulders affectionately and offering a smile she knew was far from comforting. There was no comfort for both of them, only acquiescence.

“You can’t. Lilith won’t let it happen and you might even get in deep shit trying to help me. I either leave here as a rider or as a name on a stone”

“I can’t protect you, Vi” his voice was on the verge of snapping “I have my hands tied in so many aspects-”

“Hey” Violet tried to firm up her voice “I’m not asking you to. I’ll traverse this just like any other - on my own”

For a moment Dain was about to protest but then remained silent. He raised his hand and hovered over her face as if asking for permission, which she consented to. There was a familiar brush of fingers on the side of her face.

“I’ll find a way, Vi. You’re not going to die”

Her heart fell and Violet smiled just as sadly as she felt “I’m not going to die”

1 note · View note

ddelline · 5 months ago

Text

fic OST | bog-bodied

blurb | sakadays my beloved. sakanagurion my beloved. I've ca 5 different fics plotted and half-started at this point (lmao hyperfixation went hard, did it) and HERE is where we start! nagumo-centric jcc days-order trio exploration. in 3 parts, for the 3 doomed by the narrative-people stumbling into a relationship they neither wanted nor needed. no, it will not end well

what | 30 songs exploring the order trio as individuals and as a dynamic w genres ranging from classic rock -> instr post rock -> reworked ambient trance -> classic steppers -> liquid DnB & more

where → spotify tracklist | under cut

01 | kasabian — fire

burn my sweet effigy I’m a road runner spill my guts on a wheel I wanna taste, uh-huh I’m on fire

02 | young fathers — wow

wow, what a time to be alive wow, imma put myself first wow, everything is so amazing I said wow

03 | kent — generation ex (transl swe → eng)

I was supposed to always stand by you I was supposed to always answer when you called I was supposed to always have your back I was supposed to always, always, always be the one who comes around, goes around

04 | fleetwood mac — rhiannon

all your life you’ve never seen a woman taken by the wind would you stay if she promised you heaven? will you ever win?

05 | foreigner — girl on the moon

she felt so close to me as I reached for her hand she drifted away like the desert sand it was her and she was gone

06 | the rolling stones — paint it, black

I look inside myself and see my heart is black I see my red door, I must have it painted black maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts

07 | blue öyster cult — (don’t fear) the reaper

seasons don’t fear the reaper nor do the wind, the sun or the rain we can be like they are—come on baby don’t fear the reaper

08 | parrish smith — sex, suicide & speed metal

instr

09 | 65daysofstatic — drove through ghosts to get here

instr

10 | tricky & martina topley-bird — aftermath

your eyes resemble mine, you see as no others can here: inherit my kingdom, speak of our peoples’ plan I’ll be here for my baby, for my baby I’ll be near

11 | courtesy & lyra pramuk — saltwater (transl irish → eng)

open my eyes no more inside saltwater rain open my eyes

12 | smith & mighty — yow he koh

instr

13 | poliça — lay your cards out

in these little moments, lay your cards out: I am waiting by the waterside summer wading in sunder: girl, get your head right

14 | goldie — state of mind

I realize the state of mind where you have found me I’ve turned the page and rearranged the cards that life has dealt me I’ve played the game and felt the pain but I am stronger now

15 | little dragon — twice

twice I turn my back on you I fell flat on my face but didn’t lose tell me where would I go tell me what led you on I’d love to know

16 | labrinth — formula

the lights are on, there’s no one there puffing with the dragons I’m living for the thrill formula

17 | massive attack — karmacoma

you sure want to be with me? I’ve nothing to give won’t lie and say this loving’s best

18 | the last shadow puppets — miracle aligner

50 feet tall and revved up too high all of our exchanges are by candle light I just realized

19 | nothing but thieves — you know me too well

‘cause every love story always ends in tragedy if you wait long enough filthy impetuous soul I wanna give it to you just to see what you’d do

20 | the kills — doing it to death

doing it to death, oh baby, lately the plans we’re making are the shape of things that never come hold your horses, the light’s up

21 | kent — innan himlen faller ner (transl swe → eng)

as the sky falls down, you’re everything I have I’ll do anything to keep you, as the sky falls I’m everything you have and I’ll do anything for you to keep me

22 | foals — mountain at my gates

you show me a signpost for where I should go I see a mountain at my gates I see it more and more each day and my desire wears a dark dress ah, each day I see you less

23 | perfume genius — die 4 you

each and every breath I spend you are collecting see it through I would die for you

24 | bat for lashes — daniel

and when the fires came, the smell of cinders and rain perfumed almost everything, we laughed and laughed and laughed and in the golden-blue car, you took me to the darkest place you knew and set fire to my heart

25 | warpaint — love is to die

‘cause I got a knife to cut out the memories so carefully, too carefully—it’s not necessary to be so dark love is to die, love is to not die, love is to dance

26 | hozier — be

be love in its disrepute that scorches the hillside and salts every root and watches the slowing and starving of troops but lover, be good to me

27 | BANKS — 27 hours

it’s been 27 hours since we even saw the sun since we even saw the sun

28 | kent — vi är för alltid (transl swe → eng)

they’re going to sing songs about us they’re going to make films about us they’re going to write books about us then as now forever

I’m just kidding—no one’s going to write books no one’s going to make films no one’s going to sing songs about us

29 | blackmill & veela — let it be

let it come and let it be let it come and let it be

30 | snoh aalegra & cocaine 80s — stockholm, pt. II (outro)

instr

#fic extras #fic: bog-bodied #work: music #work: fic #sakadays #sakamoto days #sakanagurion #my doomed beloved

1 note · View note

nomie-11 · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 18 - The Scrutiny of a Sorrengail

<- previous chapter | masterlist | series masterlist | next chapter ->

Flying for short distances, for Genevieve, is enjoyable. The feeling of the wind in her hair and the bite of the air is a comforting feeling. Flight maneuvers—if she's flying alone or with Xaden—are even more enjoyable.

The dips and dives that come with combat formations are a rush of adrenaline that never fails to send Genevieve into a state of exhilaration. The weightlessness, the sharp turns, and the roar of the wind in her ears make her feel alive in ways that nothing else can. It’s the closest she comes to forgetting everything.

But flying for long distances is a brutal reminder for everything going wrong for Genevieve.

The six hour flight for their prize for winning the Squad Battles might just kill her. The weeklong tour of the most out of the way outpost ever known to man would be fine, but the flight there and back would be the death of her.

“I’m pretty sure I’m dying.” Nadine bends over, bracing her hands on her knees.

“I feel that.” Violet says, every vertebra in her spine screaming as she stretches, and that hands that were freezing from flight only moments ago begin to sweat in her gloves.

Genevieve cracks her neck, trying to shake off the tension that’s settled into her bones from the extended flight. Her body aches in ways that are almost too familiar—the bite of cold in her extremities, the stiffness in her muscles, the gnawing exhaustion that feels like it’s leeching away her strength. The cold settles deep, despite being early april, reminding her of the toll her last burnout took, leaving her vulnerable in ways she hates to admit.

“You’re not dying,” she says to Nadine, though her voice lacks the usual bite. “But if you were, I’d say it’s a fitting prize for us winning Squad Battle.”

Nadine shoots her a half-hearted glare before turning to stretch out her back. Violet isn’t faring much better, Liam holds her hands as if he can channel his own body warmth into hers.

Gods, Genevieve groans. I miss Xaden.

“Welcome, cadets,” the commander says with a professional smile, interrupting Genevieve’s brooding. He folds his arms across the chest of his lightweight leathers, and he has the gaunt, tired rider look that any rider gets when they’ve been stationed at the border for too long. “I’m sure you’d all like to get settled and into something a little more appropriate for the climate. Then we’ll show you around Montserrat.”

Genevieve huffs, shifting her weight from one sore leg to another. It definitely is hotter here than it is at Basgiath, but she’s sure she’s not the only one still reeling from the cold winds above.

Rhiannon inhales sharply from beside her, her gaze sweeping over the mountains.

“You all right?” Violet asks, and Genevieve nods, her eyes asking Rhiannon the same question.

She nods as well. “Later.”

Later arrives in twelve minutes, where a still slightly cold Genevieve and a two very hot Rhiannon and Violet sit in the triple-occupancy barrack rooms. They’re sparsely furnished, only three beds, three wardrobes, and a single desk sit in the room.

Rhiannon is quiet the entire time they make their way through the bathing chamber, washing off the ride, and alarmingly silent as they dress in their summer leathers. It may only be April in Montserrat, but it feels like June.

“Are you going to tell us what’s up?” Genevieve asks, stowing her pack beneath the bed before making sure all of her daggers are safely sheathed at her hips and thighs.

Rhiannon’s hands tremble with what looks like nervous energy as she straps her swords to her back. “Do you know where we are?”

Violet mentally brings up a map. “We’re about two hundred miles from the coast–”

“My village is less than an hour away on foot.” Her eyes flicker between Genevieve and Violet with an unspoken plea,the emotion swirling in their dark-brown depths clogs Violet’s throat, and Genevieve’s eyes are solid with resolve.

“Ok, so we’re going.” Genevieve said firmly, her eyes meeting Violet’s with a strong gaze.

Violet blinks once, surprise evident on her features.

“What?” Genevieve asks, her own surprise at the soft disagreement now painted on her features. “You’re telling me that if you had a happy family, safe and waiting for you, an hour away, you wouldn’t go?”

“Ok,” She says, quickly agreeing. “Don’t tell anyone,” she whispers, even though it's just the three of them in the tiny room. “We have six days to figure it out and we will.”

“Let’s go, Second Squad!” Dain’s voice booms through the door, and the girls filter out, joining the others and Major Quade as they get a tour of the outpost.

The fortress itself is just four massive walls, filled with barracks and various chambers, turrets on each corner and a large, arched entrance that boasts a spiked portcullis that looks like it might fall at any second. On one end of the courtyard, there’s a stable with a blacksmith and armory for their company of infantry, and on the other is the dining hall.

“As you can see,” Major Quade tells them as they stand in the middle of the muddy courtyard. “We’re built for siege. In the event of an attack, we can feed and house everyone for an adequate amount of time.”

Ridoc mouths something at Violet that Genevieve misses, but she doesn’t miss the death glare Dain shoots at Violet afterwards. Awkward…

“As one of the eastern outposts, we have a full twelve riders stationed here. Three are out on patrol now, three wait, standing by in case they’re needed, and the other six are in various stages of rest,” Quade continues. The distinct roar of a dragon echoes off the stone walls. “That should be one of our patrols returning now,” Quade says, smiling like he wants the cadets to believe him, but can’t find the energy.

“So,” he says, clapping his hands together. “We’ll get you riders fed and put to bed, and then we’ll work on who you’ll be shadowing while you’re here.”

“Will we get to participate in any active scenarios?” Heaton asks, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Absolutely not!” Devera snaps.

“If you see combat, then I’ve failed as this being the safest place on the border to send you,” Quade answers. “But you get bonus points for enthusiasm. Third-year?” Heaton nods.

Quade turns slightly, and smiles at the three indistinct figures in rider black as they walk under the portcullis. “There they are now. Why don’t you three come and meet—”

“Violet?”

Genevieve freezes, she knows that voice.

In an instant, Violet is no longer beside her, but running full force at the familiar girl, who sweeps Violet up and hugs her like she’s never before.

“Mira,” Violet whispers, burying her face against her shoulder, and her eyes burn as she rests her hand on top of Violet’s braid as if committing every detail of her sister into her mind.

Mira pulls back just long enough to look Violet over, as if she’s checking for damage. “You’re all right.” She nods, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “You’re all right, aren’t you?”

Violet nods, and it’s true, she is alright. But just because she’s alive doesn’t mean she’s the same person Mira had left at the base of the turret. They both know it.

“Yeah,” she whispers, pulling back Violet into another hug. “You’re all right, Violet. You’re all right.”

“Are you?” Violet says, jerking back to study her. “Gods, Mira.”

“I’m fine,” she promises, then grins. “You didn’t die!”

Irrational, giddy laughter bubbles up from Violet. “I didn’t die, you’re not an only child!”

“Sorrengails are weird,” Genevieve states, drawing a bemused look from Liam who stands next to her, arms crossed over his chest.

“You have no idea,” Dain says in response, his lips curved into a small smile that makes Genevieve want to hurl.

“Shut up, Aetos!” Mira barks, throwing her arm over Violet’s shoulder. “Catch me up on everything, Violet.”

—--------------------------------------

It’s early evening two days later, just after dinner, when Violet, Genevieve and Rhiannon sneak out of their first-story window and drop to the ground. Mira’s out on patrol, and Genevieve knows this is their only chance.

“We’re on our way.” Genevieve calls out to Tairn, giving him a warning.

“Don’t get caught,” He warns in response.

“That’s the plan.” the three girls sneak along the battlement wall, turning the corner toward the field—

Genevieve runs so hard right into Mira that she bounces backwards.

“Shit!” Rhiannon hisses as she catches her.

“Of course you would be sneaking out,” Mira says, her voice pointed at Genevieve. “When I saw you with Violet I knew you were a bad influence on her,” then she turned to Violet. “You should be staying away from people like her. You know better.”

“Me?” Genevieve asked, her jaw nearly on the ground. “You’re the one who stuck an innocent nineteen year old girl into a dungeon! You were the last face I saw!”

Mira’s face freezes, her eyes narrowing as she stares at Genevieve. “I had no choice. You were a prisoner of war, Genevieve.”

Genevieve’s jaw tightens, anger flaring in her chest, but Violet steps between them, her voice low. “Mira, this isn’t the time. We’re just—”

“Just sneaking out,” Mira cuts her off, eyes still locked on genevieve. “And dragging my sister along for whatever you’re planning. What is it, revenge? A mission? Are you planning to kill Violet while you’re off in the villages?”

“If I wanted to kill your sister I would have done it ages ago,” Genevieve bites, her pulse quickening at the accusation, her jaw clenching so hard it aches. “I don’t know if you heard, but I basically taught your sister how to fight and I protected her in situations I could’ve stayed far away from. But because I don’t care about family names, unlike you, I saw Violet for who she was past being a Sorrengail and protected her.”

Mira’s eyes flash, her lips pressing into a tight line. “Don’t you dare act like you’re doing her some favor. You’re still the daughter of a traitor. You’ve always had your own motives.”

“I was a kid!” Genevieve snaps, fists clenched at her sides, her entire body trembling with the effort to hold back as vines creep up her legs. “I didn’t choose this! I didn’t choose any of it!”

The tension between them is thick, and Violet shifts uneasily, her eyes darting between the two women as if trying to diffuse the situation.

“Mira, please,” Violet pleads, stepping closer to her sister. “We’re not doing anything dangerous. Rhiannon just wants to check on her family. That’s all.”

Mira doesn’t seem convinced. Her gaze hardens as she turns back to Genevieve, her voice as cold as the wind that had chilled Genevieve to the bone earlier. “And what do you get out of it, Hale? You always have an angle.”

Genevieve’s heart pounds, fury and frustration swirling inside of her. She meets Mira’s gaze without flinching. “Maybe I just want to help someone. Ever think of that? You don’t know me.”

There’s a flicker in Mira’s eyes, something that could be doubt, or maybe regret. It’s brief, and then she hardens again.

“I don’t trust you,” Mira says flatly.

“And I don’t care,” Genevieve shoots back. “I’m not doing this to prove anything to you, Sorrengail. I’m doing it for Rhiannon, and for her family. Because some of us still care about things like that.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Fuck me!” Genevieve exclaimed to Tairn, exasperatedly.

“Isn’t that what the wingleader is for?” He chuffs in response, laughing at her.

Mira cast a sidewards glare at Genevieve. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your natural life.”

“She means it,” Violet whispers.

“I believe it,” Rhiannon responds.

“You’re here two days and already breaking the rules,” Mira mutters. “Come this way, it’s quicker to cut down this path.”

An hour later, Mira and Violet are stretched out on the cushioned benches that flank both sides of Rhiannon’s sister Reagan’s house, watching Rhiannon rock her nephew by the fireplace, lost in conversation with her sister as he parents and brother-in-law look on from the nearby couch.

Genevieve sits alone on a chair, her body tense with what looks like… awkwardness. Violet has to stifle a laugh, and Mira knows that watching them reunite is worth everything.

Genevieve feels the warmth of the fire on her skin, but it does little to thaw the icy knot in her chest. Watching Rhiannon cradle her nephew stirs a deep, aching void she hasn’t allowed herself to dwell on in years. The joy on Rhiannon’s face, the way her sister embraces her with such ease and love—it reminds Genevieve of everything she’s lost, everything she can never get back.

Even Violet is sitting with her sister, laughing about something with her as if they were never separated. Genevieve is alone.

Her mind drifts to her mother. She could almost hear her voice, soft and comforting as she tucked Genevieve into bed on the cold winter nights in the mountains of Aretia. She used to hum lullabies when she thought Genevieve was asleep, a melody she’d give anything to hear again. A melody she hasn’t heard since the rebellion ended in flames, and her mother disappeared into the darkness.

And Quinn. Bright, caring Quinn who used to hold little Genevieve’s hand as they ran through the fields of flowers and forests, laughing as the wind whipped through their hair. She had said nothing would happen to her, that she would always be there. But she was gone, her death haunting Genevieve’s mind like a plague.

Her grandmother, though… everywhere Genevieve turned she saw her watching. The woman who raised her when her mother left and her father died. The one who knew every story, every song. Genevieve remembers the clear feeling of her strong hands braiding her hair, or rubbing in burn cream when her pale skin suffered the bite of the sun. But the sight of her face was slowly but surely disappearing from Genevieve's mind.

A lump rises in her throat, her chest tightening as she blinks back tears. More than anything, she wishes that she could be back with them again. Back in her grandma’s manor, feeling her mother’s embrace, hearing her sister’s laugh, smelling her grandmother’s floral perfume. But that world is gone, buried beneath rubble and blood.

Suddenly, Rhiannon is right in front of her.

“Do you want to hold him?”

Genevieve looks up, startled. Rhiannon is standing there with her nephew nestled securely in her arms, his tiny face soft and peaceful. For a moment, Genevieve’s heart stutters in her chest, the innocent warmth radiating from the baby pulling at the carefully constructed walls she built over the years. She opens her mouth, but no words come out.

“I don’t know if I should,” She finally manages, her voice hoarse, almost unfamiliar.

Rhiannon’s eyes soften, as if she can see right through Genevieve’s hesitance. “It’s okay. You’re in control now, you won’t break him.” She steps closer, her tone gentle but insistent.

Genevieve swallows hard, feeling everything crumble beneath her as her hands hover awkwardly in front of her before she relents, nodding slightly.

Rhiannon carefully transfers the sleeping baby into Genevieve’s arms, guiding her hands into position. The little bundle is light but warm, and the weight of him against her chest feels foreign, almost unreal. Genevieve stares down at the tiny face, the soft rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps, fully trusting that Genevieve will do no harm.

Everything fades. All she can see is the fragile life cradled in her arms. Something shifts inside her, a flicker of something long buried, something she thought was gone.

“Don’t even think about it,” Train’s voice booms in a familiar manner. “I’m too young to be a grandfather.”

Genevieve snorts, glancing at the baby in her arms and then shaking her head ever so slightly at Tairn’s comment. “Always so dramatic. I don’t even want kids,” she responds, but the humor fades quickly, replaced by the sudden rush of emotions that holding the child has stirred in her.

“Genevieve?” Rhiannon’s voice brings her back to the present. “Are you alright?”

Genevieve forces a nod, though her throat feels tight. She’s not alright. This moment—the warmth, the innocence, the tenderness—it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. She misses her family, but above all, being apart from Xaden for three days now has started to be painful over her dragon’s bond.

She can feel all the tension Tairn is carrying, being apart from Sgaeyl has been hard on him. She misses Xaden, too.

Rhiannon notices the shift in Genevieve’s expression, the fleeting vulnerability she rarely allows herself to show. “You can hand him back if you want,” Rhiannon offers, her voice understanding.

Geneiveve quickly nods, handing the baby back to Rhiannon.

Her thoughts drift again—back to Xaden. The bond between the two of them had been growing steadily stronger with every intimate moment they shared, every word they exchanged, and the bond between their dragons was infinitely stronger. Being apart from him now, even for just a few days, was harder than she anticipated.

“I need some air,” She muttered, quickly exciting the house past Mira and Violet, who looked on in confusion.

The cool night air hits Genevieve’s face as she steps outside, leaning heavily against the rough wooden door. The warmth of the fireplace and the emotions swirling inside had been too much. She couldn’t breathe in there.

A shiver runs down her spine. Scanning the dimly lit fields beyond the house, her heart skips a beat. Of course he’s come to find her. There, in the shadows by the edge of the tree line, stands a figure. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair nearly falling into his eyes. Xaden.

He strides forward, closing the space between them in long, purposeful steps. His presence is magnetic, pulling her closer even before he reaches her. When he does, the air around them seems to shift, growing heavier with the unsaid.

“Xaden,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. The knot in her chest has loosened just from the sight of him.

He doesn’t speak, not at first. Instead, he reaches out, his hand slipping around her wrist, pulling her toward him in one smooth motion until she’s pressed against him, her head resting against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath her ear, a grounding rhythm, that calms the raging storm inside her.

“I missed you,” he finally says, his voice low and rough, as if the separation had been just as hard on him. She can’t find the words to explain how much she missed him, how the past few days without him had left her feeling raw and unsteady. So, instead of speaking, she leans up and kisses him, soft at first, then deeper, pouring all the emotions she couldn’t voice into the kiss.

He responds immediately, his hands tightening around her waist, pulling her even closer. The intensity of their bond flares between them, the connection humming with the energy of their dragons, of the unspoken feelings they both kept buried.

When they finally part, both breathing heavily, Xaden’s eyes darken. “Three days. We couldn’t make three days,” he mutters, his voice laced with frustration and need.

Genevieve sighs faintly, her fingers brushing his jaw. “No,” she agrees, her voice soft. “We can’t.”

They stand there for a moment longer, wrapped up in each other, the world fading into the background.

“Mira’s going to be so pissed,” Genevieve says softly, her voice lighter than before now that she’s back in his arms.

“I don’t care.”

Neither does she, as she pulls him down again, kissing him deeper and deeper against the darkness.

—----------------------------------------

Genevieve was right. Mira was not happy to find her little sister’s best friend, who happened to be the daughter of a disgraced traitor, kissing the son of the man who killed her older brother. Nor was she happy to have him on base with her, but that was not Genevieve’s issue.

“So all we do is wait for something to happen?” Ridoc asks as the group all sit around a table that runs the length of the briefing room. He’s leaning back in his chair and putting his boots on the end of the table, and Genevieve can practically see the fire in Mira’s eyes as she watches.

“Yes,” Mira says from the head of the table, then flicks her wrist and sends Ridoc flying backwards. “And keep your feet off the table.”

One of the Montserrat riders laughs, changing the markers on the large map that consumes the only stone wall in the curved, windowed room. They all sit in this room, in the highest turret in the outpost, offering unmatched views of the Esben mountain range around them.

Second Squad plus Xaden was split into two groups for the day. Rhiannon, Sawyer, Cianna, Nadine, and Heaton spent the morning with Devera in this room, studying the previous battles at the outpost, and are now out on patrol.

Dain, Ridoc, Liam, Quinn, Emery, Violet, and Genevieve spent the morning on a two-hour flight around the surrounding area, with one extra tagalong—Xaden. He’s been the worst kind of distraction since arriving last night. Dain won’t stop glaring, Mira keeps watch on his every move.

All Genevieve wants is one moment of peace with this man before he’s ripped away from her again. But Mira doesn’t trust her yet, so every second she spends awake, Mira spends watching her, and once Xaden joins them, her eyes are split between the two of them. The two traitors.

“Whatever Violet said to get Mira off of Liam’s ass she needs to say about me next.” Genevieve huffed, glancing over at Liam, who was holding Violet’s hand comfortably. Then she glanced at her own hand and then at Xaden’s hand, before bringing her’s into her lap. She was not ready to be public like that.

“Consider this your Battle Brief,” Mira continues, side-eyeing Ridoc as he scrambles back into his chair. “This morning was about a quarter of the patrol we’d normally fly, so regularly we’d just be getting back about now and reporting our findings to the commander. But for the sake of killing time, since we’re in this room as the reaction flight for this afternoon, let’s pretend we’d come across a newly fortified enemy outpost crossing our border” —she turns to the map and pins a small crimson flag near one of the peaks about two miles from the Cygnisen borderline— “here.”

“We’re supposed to pretend it just popped up overnight?” Emery asks, openly skeptical.

“For the sake of argument, third-year.” Mira narrows her eyes on him, and he sits up a little straighter.

“What would our objective be?” Mira glances around the table, noticeably skipping Xaden and glaring at Genevieve. Last night, she’d taken one look at the rebellion relic on his arm and walked by without saying a word. And she hadn’t spoken to Genevieve since she left Rhiannon’s house in a flurry. “Aetos?”

Dain startles from where he was glowering across the table at Xaden and turns to face the map. “What type of fortifications are there? Are we talking about a haphazard wooden structure? Or something more substantial?”

“Like they had time to build a fortress overnight,” Ridoc mutters. “It has to be wooden, right?”

“You are all so fucking literal,” Genevieve groans, rubbing her thumbs on her temples. This has all been headache inducing. “Just say that they occupied a keep that’s already established. Stone and all.”

“Thank you, Hale,” Mira says, although it sounds physically painful for the name and the gratitude to be leaving her lips in the same sentence.

“But the civilians didn’t call for help?” Quinn asks, scratching her pointed chin. “Protocol calls for a distress signal this far into the mountains. They should have lit their distress beacon, alerting patrolling riders, at which time the dragons on patrol would have told all available dragons in the area. Every rider in this room would have mounted first as the reaction force and the others would have been woken from their rests, allowing the riders to prevent the loss of the keep in the first place.”

Mira scoffs and braces her hands on the end of the table, staring them all down. “Everything you’re taught at Basgiath is theory. You analyze past attacks and learn those very… theoretical combat maneuvers. But things don’t always go to plan, so why don’t we talk about the things that can go sideways, so you’ll know what to do when they do, as opposed to arguing that the keep shouldn’t have fallen?”

Quinn shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“How many of you have been called out as third-years?” Mira stands straight, arms folding over her black leathers.

Emery and Xaden raise their hands, though Xaden’s is barely a gesture. Dain looks like his head is about to explode.

“That’s not true. We’re never called into service until graduation.”

Xaden presses his lips in a tight line and nods, giving Dain a sarcastic thumbs up.

“Yeah, all right.” Emery laughs. “Just wait until next year. I can’t count how many times we’re the ones sitting in these very rooms in the midland forts because their riders have been called to the front for an emergency.”

The color drains from Dain’s face.

“Now that’s settled.” Mira reaches under the table and pulls out a set of models, putting a six-inch stone keep in the center of the table. “Catch.” One by one she tosses painted wooden models of dragons at the group, keeping one for herself. “Pretend the other riders don’t exist, and we’re the only squad available to take back that keep. Think of the power in this room. Think of what each individual rider brings to the table and how you’d use those powers in unison to conquer your objective.”

“But they don’t teach that to first-years,” Liam says slowly from beside Violet, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of her hand.

Mira glances at the whirls of magic on his wrist, but to Liam’s credit, he doesn’t tug his sleeve down. It’s hard for Genevieve to remember that their third-years are the first riders who will serve with the children of the leaders of the Tyrrish Uprising—an uprising that could have left borders defenseless. Everyone in the room has become accustomed to Liam, Imogen, Genevieve… even Xaden. But those in active service have never flown with anyone marked by a rebellion relic.

Mira’s glare is hard, but it’s interrupted by Violet clearing her throat and shooting a look at her older sister. Her eyes widen ever so slightly at the clear warning on Violet’s face to back off, and she directs her attention back to Liam.

“They might not teach you this battle strategy as first-years because you’re all too busy trying to stay on your dragons. You had your first taste of strategy during Squad Battle, and we are approaching May, which means War Games start soon, right?”

“Two weeks,” Dain answers.

“Good timing then. You’ll need all the experience you get if you’re planning on surviving.” She holds Violet haze for half a breath. “This kind of thinking will give your whole wing an advantage, since I guarantee your wingleader is already assessing every rider for their own abilities.”

Xaden flips his dragon model in his hands but remains silent. He hasn’t spoken a single word to Mira since he’s arrived.

“So let’s do this. Who’s in command?” She glances around the table. “And let’s pretend I don’t have three years of seniority over even the highest ranked of you.”

“Then I’m in command,” Dain answers confidently, straightening his back as if an improved posture gives the illusion of power.

“Our wingleader is here,” Liam argues, pointing at Xaden. “I’d say that puts him in command.”

“We can pretend I’m not here, for the sake of the exercise,” Xaden sets his model dragon on the table and leans back in his chair, draping his arm across the back of Genevieve's, eliciting a glare from Mira. “Give Aetos here the position we all know he craves.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Genevieve whispers, nudging him.

“You have even seen me start to be a dick.”

Genevieve freezes, her head immediately swiveling to face him. That was his voice… in her head.

He turns, the golden flecks dancing in his eyes. She can hear him laughing in her mind, his lips tilted up into a small smirk.

“You’re staring. It’s going to get awkward in about 30 seconds if you don’t stop.”

Her gaze snaps forward.

“How?” She hisses.

“The same way you talk to Sgaeyl and I talk to Tairn. We both knew we could feel something in each other's mind, I just had to test if we could actually talk. Though I’m starting to wish I tried it sooner, the look on your face is priceless.” He winks and turns back to the table.

“You’re the wingleader.” Every word out of Dain’s mouth is agonizing, spoken through gritted teeth.

“I’m not even supposed to be here,” Xaden shrugs. “But if it makes you feel better, for the purpose of war games, you’d be getting your orders from your section leader, Garrick Tavis, which he’d get from me. You’ll be carrying out your maneuvers as a squad for the good of the wing. Just pretend I’m another member of your squad and use me as you wish, Aetos.” Xaden folds his arms over his chest.

“So what have you heard through this… extension of our dragons’ bond?” she whispered harshly.

“Why are you even here?” Dain challenges. “No offense, sir, but we weren’t exactly expecting senior leadership on this trip.”

“You’re more than aware that Sgaeyl and Tairn are mated.”

“Three days!?” Dain fires back, leaning in. “You couldn’t make it three days?”

“Lay off it, Aetos,” Genevieve barks. “Just because you can’t keep Violet underneath your thumb anymore doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me. Or Xaden. It has nothing to do with him, that’s up to Tairn and Sgaeyl.”

“I’ve heard just how much you miss me when I’m gone,” Xaden says, his timing impeccable.

“Of course you rush to defend him.” Dain hurls a glare at Genevieve. “I know I’m not wrong when I say that General Sorrengail gave you orders to watch him and report suspicious activity, not fall in love with him.”

“How do you know about that!?” Genevieve’s mind is reeling. She only told Xaden about her mission, maybe she mentioned once to Violet in passing. Oh my gods, Violet! Genevieve’s eyes could cut through metal as she stared so hard at the silver-haired girl, that Violet could swear she was looking right at her soul.

“Great job remaining professional, Aetos.” Xaden scratches the relic on his neck, and Genevieve knows damn well that stupid mark doesn’t itch. “Really shows those leadership qualities to their best advantage.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Genevieve sneers, her fiery gaze not leaving Violet’s, but the words are obviously pointed towards Dain.

One of the riders down the table whistles low. “Do you boys just want to whip it out and measure? It would be faster.”

Liam smothers a laugh, but his shoulders shake.

“Enough!” Mira slams her hand on the table.

“Oh, come on, Sorrengail,” the rider down the table whines with a wide smile. Both Mira and Violet look his way with sharp eyes. “I mean… the older Sorrengail. This is the best entertainment we’ve had in ages.”

Violet shakes her head, and looks around the table. “Mira has the ability to extend the shield if the wards are down, so the first thing I would do is send her to scout the area with Teine. We need to know if we’re dealing with infantry or gryphon riders.”

“Good.” Mira moves her dragons closer to the castle. “Now let’s assume that there are gryphons.”

“You want to do your job?” Genevieve says, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. “I mean, how you can forget you’re the squad leader is beyond me.”

His hands clenched around the dragon he holds as he rips his gaze from Genevieve. “Quinn, can you astral project from the back of your dragon?”

“Yes,” She answers.

“Then I would have you project into the fortress to check for signs of weakness,” Dain orders. “And then have you report back. Same with Liam. We’d use your farsightedness to see if you can locate where the gryphon riders are and if there are any traps.”

“Good. The weaknesses are the wooden gate,” Mira notes as Quinn and Liam move their dragons into position, “And the Navarrian citizens they have captive in the dungeons.”

“So much for blasting the whole place,” Ridoc says.

“You’re an air welder, right?” Dain asks Emery. “So you can shape your dragon’s flames, lead them through the occupied parts of the keep without killing civilians.”

“Yes,” Emery answers. “But I’d have to be in the keep.”

“Then we’ll get you into the keep.” Genevieve says firmly. “My signet works the best when I’m on the ground-”

Dain cuts her off.

“You want him to go in on foot and leave his dragon?”

“Why do you think we get all that hand-to-hand training? Or are you going to leave all those innocent people to die?” Mira flicks her wrist and Emery's dragon goes flying out of his hand and into hers. She puts it in the center of the keep. “The real question is, how do you get close enough without getting you killed, since I’m guessing the others will be busy fighting off the gryphons that launch once the fireworks start.”

Genevieve sits back, rolling her eyes.

“What’s your signet, Aetos?” Quinn asks.

“Above your pay grade,” Dain answers, glancing around the table and skipping over Xaden, then making the rounds again, finally sighing. “Any ideas?”

“Sure.” Violet picks up both Genevieve’s and Xaden’s dragons and shoves them toward the keep. The figurines hover above the structure, a testament to Violet’s superior ability to use her lesser magic in the absence of a signet. “You stop ignoring that you have two of the most powerful signets at your disposal, and ask the Shadow Wielder to black out the area so no one sees you land, and send her, a Life Weaver” —Violet’s eyes lock on Genevieve— “to take out the threat from the inside out.”

“She’s not wrong,” Mira agrees, but her words are clipped.

“You can cover all that?” Dain begrudgingly looks at Xaden.

“Are you seriously asking me that?” Xaden retorts.

“Just wasn’t sure you could cover an area that—”

Xaden lifts a hand a few inches above the table, and shadows pour from underneath their seats, filling the room and turning dark as midnight in a blink. Genevieve’s heart jumps as her sight goes black, gripping her dagger tighter.

“Relax. It’s just me.” A ghost of a touch skims her cheek. “Want to put some vines up just to scare him?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Genevieve whispers, this is the first real time she’s been in his signet, and holy shit, it’s terrifying.

“Fuck me,” someone says.

“I can surround this entire outpost, but I think that might freak some people out,” Xaden says, and the shadows disappear, racing back under the table. Genevieve takes a deep breath, noting that everyone at the table, beside Emery and Imogen, who have no doubt seen that trick before, are slightly green.

Even Mira, who’s staring down at Xaden like he just took an attempt at her life.

“I hope you didn’t get any idea while we were in the dark there,” Xaden teases, and just like that, whatever fear Genevieve was harboring disappears into the air around her. He laughs, and she grits her teeth.

“Get him out of my head,” She throws at Tairn.

“You’ll get used to it,” He responds, not bothering to give her directions on how to reply.

“Is this normal with all mated pairs and their riders?”

“For some. It’s a great advantage in battle.”

“Well, it’s a pain in my ass right now.” She internally groans. Right now, she misses when he was far away and not in her head, listening to her every thought and concern. She thinks a lot, and it's nauseating to think he was listening to everything.

“Then shield him out the same way you do me—or start talking back,” Tairn grumbles. “You have the power to be a pain in the ass, too. You already are one to me.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to talk back at him?” She gives Xaden a heavy dose of side-eye, but he’s engrossed in the ongoing battle they’ve waged against an imaginary keep.

“Figure out which pathway into your mind is his. You only have two, narrow down which one is mine and which one is his.”

Oh joy. That should be easy.

The hypothetical operations are concluded, each of them using their powers to the best of their abilities, everyone except Violet. But when it’s time to take out the gryphons in air, Violet knows that she and Astrape trump everyone except Genevieve and Tairn.

“Good job,” Mira says, glancing at her pocket watch. “Aetos, Riorson, and Sorrengail, I want to see you in the hallway. The rest of you are dismissed.”

The rest of the squad rises, chairs scraping the stone floor as they file out of the room. Genevieve stays seated for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she watches Xaden, Dain, and Violet file out of the door behind Mira.

“Come on, Genevieve.” Liam’s voice snaps her out of her reverie, and she looks up to see him standing behind her, an easy smile on his face. “Let’s get out of here.”

Genevieve stands, brushing her hands on her pants. “Yeah, I’m coming.” But as she walks out the room, and brushes past Xaden, he gives her arm a light squeeze.

He tries to be reassuring, but there is too much on her mind. Too many things that apparently, he can hear too.

——————————————-

“There’s a drift of gryphons headed this way!” Tairn bellows, not even minutes after she’s gotten back to her triple dorm in Montserrat. It’s evident that the other riders have gotten the alert too, because as Genevieve runs back to the battle plan room, the others are there too.

“You have to go!” Mira says to Violet, pulling her into a hug.

“We can help!” Violet argues, but she’s being held so tight.

“You can’t. And if Astrape is using her power to keep you seated, then she’s diminished as well. You have to go. Get out of here. If you love me, Violet, you’ll go so I don’t have to worry about you, too.” She releases her, looking to Xaden as the squad pours out of the door above, thundering by as they run down the steps. “Get them out of here!”

”Let’s go!” Dain shouts. “Now!”

“Lieutenant Sorrengail,” Xaden addresses firmly, practically snarling at Mira. “Even if you don’t trust me, I’m the best weapon you have,”

“If what you say is true, then you’re also the best weapon Genevieve has, and gods only know what Genevieve might do if Violet gets hurt. As much as I don’t trust either of you, you’ve kept her alive this far and you need to keep her alive now. The other half of the squad will be here in moments, we have time. Go.” Mira’s eyes shift to Genevieve. “Violet will follow you if you go.”

Xaden grumbles, grabbing Genevieve by the wrist and motioning for Liam to do the same to Violet. He’s practically tossed her up on his shoulder, as Violet struggles against his grip.

“No!” She fights, but there’s no point, Liam outmatches her by so much. “Mira! What if you get hurt? Astrape’s speed could be the only thing that saves you. Tairn’s speed could save you! At least let us stay!”

She looks over her shoulder at the doorway, but there’s steel in her expression. “You want me to trust you, Hale? Get her the fuck out of here and find a way for her to keep her seat. We both know she’s dead if she doesn’t.”

“Mira!” She screams, clawing at Liam’s arms, but he’s already halfway down the stairs with an arm clamped around her waist as if she weighs less than the swords on his backs. “I love you!”

“Liam, let us go grab our packs. She can’t run while I watch.” Genevieve says, following quickly in step behind Xaden’s long strides. It takes only minutes for Genevieve and Violet to grab their bags and Rhiannon’s since they’ve never unpacked, cramming their cloaks into the empty space. Once they return to the hallway, Xaden and Liam are there waiting, and their packs are suspiciously empty.

Genevieve doesn’t even want to think about what they’re leaving behind in order to get them out safely.

Violet doesn’t even bother looking at them, marching for the door, but Genevieve grabs her elbow and spins her around. “Nope. We can’t leave the fortress walls. We’re going up.” Liam grabs her waist and all but hauls her to the nearest turret. “We’re climbing.”

“This is bullshit!” Violet yells at Genevieve, uncaring that the other members of the squad also climbing the turret can hear. “Astrape could help them!”

“Violet, your sister is right. You have to make it out, so we’re going. Please just climb.”

“Dain,” Violet says, realizing he’s right in front of them.

He turns around and takes Rhiannon’s pack, slinging it over his own. “I don’t like Genevieve all that much, but she’s right. It’s not just you we have to get out, Violet. Think of every other first-year.” The plea in his eyes shuts Violet’s mouth. “Are you going to sentence an entire untrained squad to death? Because I’ll make it. Dianna, Emery, and Heaton will, too. And we all fucking know Riorson will. But what about Rhiannon? Ridoc? Sawyer? Genevieve? Do you want her death on your hands?” He asks, his words choppy as they race to the open door.

They burst onto the roof as Emery mounts his dragon, who is precariously perched on the thinner-than-quadrant wall. Violet pales, and Genevieve knows that she will never be able to mount Astrape at this angle.

“Ridoc and Quinn are already in the air,” Liam tells them as Emery launches skyward, where Cath, Astrape, and Deigh hover, their winds beating the air.

“Violet can’t mount at this angle!” Genevieve whispers harshly to Liam. “Get her up on that dragon!”

He nods, pulling Violet in towards her, his hand cupping his head as he gives her a quick kiss, before lifting her up for Astrape to grab. She’s fighting the whole way up. The rest of the squad is in the air and safe. Genevieve can fight. But they won’t let her.

Liam goes to mount next, crumbling the masonry with the force of Deigh’s landing, and Liam takes off down the narrow walkway toward the large Red Daggertail.

“You next, Aetos,” Xaden barks, and Dain flicks his eyes to Geneveive.

“Gene-” He starts to argue.

“That’s an order.” There’s no room for argument here in that tone, and Geneveive knows it, especially when Cath takes Deigh’s place on the wall. Dain looks like he might fight, but ultimately he nods, turning to Xaden.

“Get Genevieve in the air as soon as Tairn arrives.” He says firmly.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Xaden says, his words firm. “Now get on your dragons so I can get her on hers.”

Immediately, he turns and runs up Cath’s leg, mounting so easily that Genevieve is almost jealous.

“Where are you?” Genevieve calls out to Tairn, seeing the empty skies above her.

“Almost there. I was doing what could be done.”

“Let me stay and fight,” Genevieve says to Xaden, desperation evident in her every word.

Xaden turns sharply at her words, his eyes dark and stormy, stepping closer until Genevieve can feel the heat radiating from him. “You can’t stay,” he growls, his voice thick with frustration and something deeper— something raw that he’s been holding back.

“I’m not running away,” She snaps, her fists clenched tight at her sides, fighting against the pull in her chest, the one that keeps dragging her back to him.

“Damn it, Gen!” He grabs her shoulders, the force of his grip sending a jolt through her. His face is so close now that she can see the tension in his jaw, a battle raging in his eyes. “If you stay, you might die. And I can’t—” He cuts himself off, the unspoken words hanging between them.

Genevieve freezes, her breath catching in her throat. She’s fought her entire life. Fought for survival, for vengeance, for a reason to keep going. But this—this feeling tearing through her, the one he’s igniting—it’s different. She’s never let herself feel it before. It’s terrifying.

“I’m not leaving you,” she whispers, the words slipping out unbidden, her voice breaking with emotions she can barely hold back.

Xaden’s expression shifts, the anger in his eyes softening for just a moment, replaced by something fierce, something vulnerable. He steps closer, and before she can say anything else, his lips crash against hers, hard and desperate. The kiss is searing, full of everything he’s never said, everything they’ve both been holding back. It’s a demand, a plea, and a promise all at once.

Genevieve’s hands fly to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as she kisses him back with the same intensity, her heart pounding wildly. She can feel the tension in his body, the barely controlled restraint in the way he pulls her closer, as if he’s afraid to let her go. Her entire world narrows to this moment, to the feel of him, the taste of him, the way he’s pouring every emotion into this one kiss.

It’s like he’s trying to memorize her, to burn the memory of her into his soul. And she feels it too—that same desperate need to stay with him, to fight beside him, no matter the danger.

But even through the heat of the kiss, there’s something else. Something that trembles beneath the passion: fear. Not just hers—his. She can feel it in the way he holds her so tightly, in the way his breath hitches as he pulls away, just barely, their foreheads still pressed together. His hands remains on her, fingers digging into her shoulders like he’s fighting himself, fighting the urge to tell her to stay.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, so quiet she almost doesn't hear it over the rush of wind and the distant roar of dragons. His forehead is still pressed against hers, his breath coming fast, the admission barely escaping him.

Her heart twists painfully at his words. Xaden—the leader, the warrior, the one who’s always in control—is admitting something she never thought she’d hear. The weight of it crashes into her, and for a moment, all she wants to do is throw caution to the wind and stay. To fight by his side, consequences be damned.

But they both know the truth. If she stays, she’ll only put everyone else at risk. Including him.

His lips brush hers again, softer this time, lingering for a heartbeat longer than before, as if he’s reluctant to let her go. “But you have to,” he whispers, his hands slide down her arms, reluctantly releasing her, but not before he presses one last kiss against her forehead.

Genevieve bites her lip, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. She hates it—hates that she has to leave him behind. But she knows, deep down, that if she doesn’t go, she’ll only make things worse.

Tairn’s presence thundered into her mind, a surge of power. “I’m here,” the dragon rumbles, his wings beating the air as he descends towards them.

Xaden steps back, his jaw clenched, watching her with an intensity that makes her chest ache. “Go,” he says, his voice hoarse, filled with an emotion he won’t let himself fully show.

With one last, longing look, Genevieve turns and runs toward Tairn, her heart breaking with every step. As she vaults onto the dragon’s back, she glances over her shoulder, locking eyes with Xaden one final time.

She doesn’t need words to know what he’s thinking—what he’s feeling. It’s written all over his face, in the way his hands are still clenched at his sides, in the way he watches her as though he’s afraid this will be the last time, even though they both know he will survive.

And as Tairn takes to the skies, lifting her higher and higher into the air, Genevieve swears she can still feel the imprint of his lips on hers, the weight of his unspoken words settling deep in her chest.

She doesn’t want to leave him. But she has to survive—for both of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey everyone! whats up? I'm unbelievably excited for the next chapter-omg. This chapter was chill, but I don't think it was particularly empty, you know?

i actually am very excited for chapters like 23, 24, 25 to be published because thats when more about quinn and genevieve's backstory gets revealed and its been so much fun to write.

also i have an extreme obession with kit connor in romeo + juliet, truly the only man i've ever been attracted to (thats a blatant lie-sorry to my ex boyfriends if you ever read this)

anyways, thats it! let me know if you liked it, and if you did leave a like, comment or kudo! see you all on saturday!

-------

taglist: @awkardnerd , @hannraumari , @minjix

#violet sorrengail #fourth wing #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing xaden #liam mairi #xaden and sgaeyl #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x reader #garrick tavis x reader #the empyrean #the wounded healer

42 notes · View notes