#save me royal guard link

[superpikefish]

royal guard

[lokisgoodgirl]

Mine, Utterly [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: After making Prince Loki a little jealous, he lays down the law on the eve of an important occasion. (w/c 2.1k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Minors DNI. Dirty talk, language.

Your hands hit the mattress and grasped at the silken sheets, as if that would save you.

“My Prince,” you gasped, breaths scorching against your lungs as he ripped the chiffon around your thighs.

All you’d done was smile at the guard. Okay, maybe flirt a little…just enough to rouse the jealousy Loki had suggested with a mischievous shine in his eyes before taking his place on the Royal banqueting dais.

A palm landed on your exposed ass cheek. Crying out, you shot a glance over your shoulder. Prince Loki stood, storms in his darkened eyes, the leather belt that had been slung across his chest now dangling from a fist. "You dare to make a god jealous?"

Your stomach dropped. What if it was a test; what if he was joking? But for all his antics, the Prince wasn’t known for his humour when it came to matters of the heart—or the flesh. He didn’t share, and as that thought sank in, the knuckles on the fist whitened. You inhaled sharply, grip tightening on the sheets.

Something struck your ass again, but this time it gripped. Loki’s back was pressed to yours. The emeralds studded into the intricately constructed doublet pinched through the thin fabric of your bodice as he whispered, “Perhaps I wasn’t clear that when you are mine, you are mine; utterly.”

His knuckles trailed down your bicep, those fingers that had been wet with your cum too many times to count in palace corridors and dark corners dancing across your skin. Those digits had fastened around your wrist and torn you away from the feasting hall, his obligations forgotten, and whisked you in an explosion of green light to the candlelit expanse of your own bedroom.

Now, Loki’s cock pressed through the layers of leather and velvet covering it right into the swell of your ass. It was a familiar feeling—but he’d always resisted. Only his fingers, his tongue, his words—that was the only relief he gave you over past months since your arrival at court. Never his pleasure—never his cock.

Norns, how you wanted to fuck him; wanted to ride him until his own name scattered on the wind like ash, feel him slam into your cunt until his brilliant mind was a blur of lines like wine spilled on parchment. You wondered how your name sounded on his lips when he came: staggered, gasping, choking for mercy.

His nose drew a line up your neck, inhaling at the pulse point like a hound. “You are mine, aren’t you?” he murmured.

In answer, your hand slid up his temple and knotted into Loki’s hair. A growl built in his throat, swelling your confidence in time with the heat throbbing between your legs. “No more, and no less, than you are mine, Loki Odinson.”

His teeth sank into your shoulder, just enough to make you squirm against his cock. He spun you around, tipping your over the edge of the mattress while he towered in a silhouette of black and forest green pulsating in amber flickers.

His fingers made quick work of the laces at his groin and then, his legendary, iron cock was in his hand. It was even more perfect that you’d dreamed. A well of saliva rose indelicately beneath your tongue. Loki stroked it, back and forth, as you watched: hypnotised.

“Tonight, I will show you what it is to be mine,” he said, low and thicker than molasses on a winter’s eve. “After that, I’m afraid you will be ruined for all others…” A devilish smirk lit at the corners of his mouth. Your heart pounded as you sat up on the bed, trying frantically to untangle the dress sprawled around your hips. Loki’s knees hit the mattress.

"Allow me," he said, before ripping the dress from your body in one, swift movement.

Your eyes widened as it fluttered to the floor. Only the corset remained. "My Prince…I," you said, attempting to keep the game fluid; but Loki pressed a finger to your lips with a hush. It was still warm from the friction of his cock.

"We have talked long enough, you and I. I would very much like to fuck you…" His eyebrows rose. "I will, fuck you. I will have you; utterly."

As the final syllable melted, so did his clothes. The emerald encrusted doublet was first, then the sigils of his station, then the boots and—oh, gods—the leather trousers.

Your chest tightened at the sight of him: carved like marble, the tremor of his muscle beneath taut skin as he rested back on his heels, thighs spread, enough to make you howl. Loki’s chin dipped to his chest, unbound hair falling around his milky shoulders like hot tar over battlements. His cheekbones flashed in pulsing candlelight as he said with a touch of malice, "I will not be kept waiting. Not anymore," but his eyes glinted.

You crawled the space between you and hoisted onto his lap. With your arms around his neck, your bare cunt pressed against the throb of his flesh, you couldn’t imagine it ever not being thus. And then, you kissed him; one sliding into the next like spring into summer, like night into day.

Loki’s kisses were a medley of ravenous restraint; morphing like his magic between complete desperation and tenderness. His hands cupped your ass, scooting you further up his lap. The tip of his cock rubbed against your slit.

"I want to consume you," he whispered, lips wet from your kisses. "And you will never be anothers."

"Never." A ragged moan ripped the air as you sank onto his length. Loki’s groan of pleasure was everything you’d dreamt of—a primal flash beneath the regal façade you wanted to tear at with your bare hands. His chin tipped back, nailing you with his dilated stare as his hips pushed up.

"Loki," you gasped, clutching at his back muscle. He was huge. The Prince bottomed out, teeth clenching. 

"You’ve no idea how much I craved this little cunt," he panted as your hands fisted in his hair. "How many times I’ve wanted to pin you against the wall and fuck you until all thoughts of other men were shaken from your mind forever."

The squelch of your pussy jammed with his cock punctuated every word. "How you’ve teased me, played with me; ruined me—all for the want of the Valhalla I knew would be between your legs."

Loki’s head fell back with broken cry of anguish as you clench around the root of his cock, dragging up before slamming down onto the meat of his thighs.

“Fuck, kvinne…now I find myself tricked…” he said, breathless. The god’s head rose, strands of sex damp hair plastered across his brow. "I want you more than ever."

His eyes narrowed, and then his lips collided to yours, tongue demanding entry with the sureness of a tide on the shore. His nails dug into the curve of your waist, guiding your hips. Every gyration made new sparks burst to life, sizzling from your clit to the deepest parts of your body and mind that had never been so alive.

“I will never be sated,” Loki growled, thrusting faster, “Never…never.” With a rumble, he flipped you onto your back. Loki’s lips worked down the hard sinews of your neck, sucking against supple skin, palming your breasts upward. He was possessed. Loki’s name was a chant in your throat, the absence of his cock inside you becoming unbearable.

"Fuck me," you whined, and Loki looked up from where he’d been distracted with your nipple between his teeth.

“Ruined for all others,” confirmed Loki, smirking. He crawled over your body, settling his legs on either side and drawing the leaking head of himself through your sopping folds. “Beg for it.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Beg…my pretty, pretty whore.” Loki’s lips grazed across your cheek like wind through barley; a short, trembling sigh flooding your ear.

“Maybe you’re my whore, Odinson. Did you consider that?”

His thick cock twitched against your heat as he stared down at you with your perfectly styled hair mussed, your thighs spread, your lips bitten and stinging, before he whispered, “I consider everything.” Dark curls hung down either side of his jaw, framing the angle of his jawline as he licked his lips and settled into a cage around your head. The muscles of his forearms twitched with the effort of not fucking you into the mattress. The words bubbled in your throat, spilling forth before you could second guess them. “Well, if you’re my whore, then satisfy me.”

“Tell me you’re mine.” Those words shaped his tongue like summer storms. “And you will have everything you desire; always.”

You scraped hair back from his face, the beat of his heat thumping through his skin. His hips dragged against your clit, making your knees tighten around his ribs. “I’m yours,” you whispered, “Utterly.” Loki’s cock squeezed inside, and his face twisted in relief absolute. One of his hands flew to the ornate headboard; whacks of ancient wood against stone sounding with every thrust. His pubic hair dragged against your swollen clit, moans mingling with the fragrance of sweat and sex that clung to your bodies and rose like steam.

The god knew your body like you thought only you did, and every grip of his hands, shift of his hips, work of his mouth—you couldn’t catch your breath. His lust was the chop of waves, drowning you on the undertow of his strength, and scent and the hair brushing your lips as he fucked you. You never had a chance. Need scorched up your skin as climax broke. It flooded through your body, Loki’s name a rattle in your throat as his exhales of pleasure pounded in your ear. He hissed as fingernails dragged down the wide expanse of his back, the slide of his cock primal and wet, balls smacking against cum-slick skin.

The prince’s thrusts slowed, rocking you through the final threads of orgasm stringing you together. You gaped at him, heavy eyed and open mouthed as his torso rose between your legs, his palms splayed on your thighs, his abdomen flexing with every glacial, devastating thrust.

Loki’s head fell back, his black curls a sheet down the faint flush of pale skin.

The veins in his neck hardened, jaw clenched to the ceiling as deep lines settled on his brow. Your breath hitched.

Every glide of his cock was met by the gluttonous squelch of your cum. Loki rocked on his heels, guiding himself over the edge inside your perfect cunt.

“Gods,” he choked to the murals above the bed. And then, he came.

His face screwed up as the wave hit was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Loki’s groan trembled through your skin, beneath your flesh and vibrating your bones. His fingers tightened, and you knew that tomorrow your gown would hide the evidence of obsession marked in blue and purple shadows of devotion.

Devotion, you thought lazily as he gasped out the syllabled of your name and collapsed on your chest; meeting your lips with open mouthed enthusiasm.

Somewhere, a bell tolled. Loki sighed, slipping himself out of you with a mutter of irritation. He clicked his fingers, and the elaborate garb assembled on him like a blossom of ink. His lip curled. “The next time I see you, it will be in white.”

“Mmm…” “And yet they will have no clue what a fantastically depraved wretch for me that my intended is.” “I think they might know that already if the maids who caught you pleasuring me in the kitchens last week weren’t mute—and besides, perhaps they’ll just think my intended is a bad influence.”

“Gods, I hope so,” Loki murmured against your skin before biting your cheek softly, melting into a kiss. “Until tomorrow, then.” Loki drew away, his eyes serious but a small smile playing at his lips. “When you’re my wife, you shall never be rid of me.” “Gods, I hope so,” you echoed, and in the space of a heartbeat, Loki vanished.

Tags in comments! 🤗

[lalunanymph]

MOONLIT DREAM

SUMMARY a budding jade aficionado receives a personal lesson from her lover

WARNINGS established relationship, outdoor sex, boat!sex, blasphemy, sensory deprivation (use of blindfolds), sensory play (with a brush), dirty talk, petnames (little love, little one), soft!zayne, orgasm control, edging, begging, fingering, dirty talk, marking, pulling out (zayne cums in his own hand cause he's a mf gentleman like that), astra hate, allusions to theories of zayne's myth, mdni, 18+

DAWN SAYS FIRST ONE IS HEREEE istg this event has me by the THROAT I know it isn't very canon-compliant but I wanted to do something based on the vibes I got from the cards so I hope you all enjoy this! I will eventually cross-post this to a03 so if you want to follow me there, it's under the same username! <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── SYLUS ⊱ XAVIER ⊱ RAFAYEL

The art of jade carving was slowly dying out.

Touted as a precious stone the color of rich grass, its value was placed not in its glossy, green finish, but on the weight of meaning it carried.

To gift someone a jade pendant meant you wished luck, prosperity and success on them. Mothers would often lend their sons their necklaces hidden in the lapels of their hanfu as they took their official tests, while a groom’s parents would adorn their new daughter-in-law with jade jewelry to bestow upon the newlywed couple blessings of marital bliss and harmony. 

On nights like these, you liked to wander these grand, opulent hallways, lost in thought as the glimmering green gems twinkled from ceilings, pillars and statues.

The moon was bright tonight as you caught sight of Zayne, a royal court physician your family had connections to. 

(And who was also, your secret-not-so-secret lover). 

He was struggling under the weight of his documents, and you rushed forward to greet him, calling out his name. 

“Y/N—there you are,” he gave you a small smile, warmth twinkling behind his green eyes. The sheen of them reminded you of how jade shone. “What’re you doing up so late? The moon is bright tonight.”

You flushed, gathering yourself before you divulge your deepest thoughts to him. “I was up till yesterday night trying to read up on jade carving. Did you know the practice is diminishing?”

Zayne, though not much of a man of the arts, could concede on your astute observation. “I see,” he teased, “And you thought that by devouring clips of them, you might have a chance to save this dying art?” 

Used to his teasing, you huffed and wagged your finger. “At least I am dedicated to a cause that matters. Tell me, Mr. Zayne, don’t you have a passion you want to protect, too?”

At your question, his eyes softened.

“Perhaps.” He glanced at the number of documents in his hand. “I have some summons to work on. Maybe you might like to keep me company and tell me all about your discoveries of jade carving while I work?”

The offer sounded too good to resist. You followed him down the hallway and into the vacant space—an unoccupied room linking right to the court library. It was connected by a veranda, where the man-made lake ran around it, a shallow body of water meant for aesthetic purposes commissioned by the emperor himself. A pile of scrolls laid on the shiny, mahogany desk, and you realized too late that you were in his private office.

“Zayne—”

While the idea of spending more time with him was intriguing, you couldn't risk a court scandal by being seen with a man at such late hours. He didn’t stop you when you stood, though the look in his eyes held you back from leaving too soon.

“It is fine, Y/N. I have checked for guards and there are none at this hour. Besides, aren’t we both past the boundaries of such careless affection?”

He grabbed your hand, and you let him tug you closer. Sitting in his embrace, you relished in the secrecy of your meetings under the moon, this hidden fondness belonging only to you two. 

“I wish to hold you forever like this.” Zayne was not someone who waxed lyrical about his feelings, but tonight felt different.

Far more intimate.

His touch echoed with shades of absolute need when he tilted your face up, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I have a surprise for you,” he whispered.

Intrigued, you let him take your hand, stepping out of the balcony and onto the connected veranda. You hadn’t immediately noticed a line of candles sat by the edge of the water, too caught up in his embrace. Zayne led you right to the makeshift dock where an ornate boat rocked in the man-made lake, stepping on its deck first before holding out a hand to you. 

Taking his familiar, calloused palm in yours, you lost your footing for a split second, tumbling right into his arms. 

“Oh—”

“I got you,” he murmured, righting you on your slippered-feet.

Zayne made sure you were alright and tightened his hand on yours, taking you into the anterior single cabin, where a smaller version of his desk stood, the light of the moon illuminating his warm cheeks.

“I thought we could spend some time here—away from any prying eyes.”

A smile spread across your face, delighting at this romantic and secluded initiative.

“I see. So, you have me trapped right in your hands while I ramble on about jade carving?”

You should have known your lover always had a special trick up his sleeve. He wasn’t called the brightest official without his uncanny knack for deciphering what it is people around him truly wanted.

“No.” 

He gestured for you to sit on the plush cushions, and removed a box from the side of the hull, opening it. Bringing out paint brushes, scrolls, newly minted jade pendants and glass bowls which he filled with water. Zayne let you touch them, enamored by your bright gaze and excitement.

"You... remembered?"

He smiled. "Of course, I did."

Touching your cheek, he said, "When your lover develops a fixation on something, you do your best to try and satisfy her."

Pleased and slightly flattered, you turned your attention to the rows of jade waiting for you.

“Are we sending our wishes to be carved on these pendants?” 

Fondly, he nodded.

“Yes. I thought this would be a great step in our courtship—to have our wishes bestowed on these jade jewels for us to wear. A memento of our love.”

You flashed him a smile so bright, it could rival the moon up above.

Sitting down next to him, Zayne watched as you dipped your brush in ink, slowly filling up the scroll with your earthly desires which the jade carver would put onto these pendants. 

I wish for Zayne to always be healthy and happy, you fluidly etched onto the paper. I wish for him to find success in court. To grow in his filial piety and strength. May he always be kind, courteous and brave.

Glancing at him, you were surprised to find him dozing off, elbow perched on the mahogany desk, head laid resting against a closed palm. The lights from the palace veranda and the moon in the sky played with the shadows on his face, making him look younger than his years of twenty-seven. The innocent curve of his brow, the slight parting of his thin lips, stirred a desire within you. 

A need to push him and see how much he could take before he broke.

Grinning to yourself, you picked up the prep calligraphy brush, still dripping with cool water, and gently ran the bristles over his lower lip. Zayne grunted in his doze, but didn’t stir, exhausted from his duties to pay your foolery any mind. You smirked, wondering if he would feel it when you dragged the brush down his jaw.

Still—nothing. 

Besides a furrow in his brow, Zayne remained locked in his slumber. A part of you wondered if the sensation felt akin to cool wind brushing his skin, and you decided to up the ante. 

Taking the brush down to his neck, this time you managed to garner a sweet, sweet visceral reaction from him. 

Zayne’s nose twitched, a sound of consternation and… desire?... leaving his lips. 

He sighed. You paused.

Tucking your lower lip in between your teeth, you took the brush now to the hollow dip of his collarbones. Another sigh, another baited breath.

But, he didn’t open his eyes.

Growing bolder, you glided the brush down the groove of his toned chest, mesmerized by the silvery trail of water left behind—a delicate mark of your teasing on his pale skin.

A part of you wanted to see what his entire body would look like ‘painted’ with these slick marks; your curiosity mingled with a stirring desire to have him completely under your spell. 

As you dragged the damp brush down to his chest, intent on finishing up your canvas for the night, you felt the gentle grasp of his hand around your wrist, stopping your descent from going any lower.

“I see I woke up at the wrong time,” he teased.

Whatever remained of his nightly exhaustion dissipated, his breathtaking green eyes gauging your reaction with the ghost of a smirk tugging the corners of his mouth. 

Zayne’s skin and lips were tingling from the effects of your little ‘painting session’.

As much as the hunger inside of him was roaring to overcome you, he wanted to see what you would do next; how else you would surprise him. 

Deciding to tease him even more, you dropped the calligraphy brush, hearing it roll onto the barge’s floor somewhere under the desk. You slid your fingers across his hand, feeling his touch gliding on your open palm.

“Carving jade requires a clear mind,” you murmured, your fingertips breaching the hem of his ornate cuffs, touching the warm skin of his wrist underneath the clothes. “This is a test.”

Zayne was not expecting you to tighten your grip on his wrist, or for you to boldly drag him on top of you. 

His gasp brushed the tender shell of your ear, the heat of his body on top of yours made you shiver.

“How bold you are, little one,” your lover murmured, settling on his elbow to gaze down at you, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “You are quite commendable indeed—getting a court official into such a… compromising position.”

The moon glowed, the broadness of his shoulders eclipsing its luminescent rays from fully spilling onto both your tangled bodies.

“I merely wanted to share my passions with a certain court official, but it appears he found the entire ordeal boring,” you quipped back, throwing in an eye roll for added effect. 

His thin lips twitched in amusement, the hand on your cheek moving down to briefly cup your jaw. “Alright, then. Why don’t we make your little session a bit more interesting for me?” 

Before you could ask, he took the discarded brush you had dropped, dipping it in a pot of water. Dabbing off the excess, he touched the firm tip to your cheek, his jade green eyes darkening with an unnamed emotion.

“You speak while I simply… listen... and return your little painting favor. Whoever can retain their composure without breaking first will win a month’s worth of rabbit candy.”

Not one to refute his games or back down from a dare, you raised a brow. “Are you questioning my resolve, Mr. Zayne?” 

He forced back a huff of laughter, trying to retain his equanimity. 

(Which was steadily chipping away the more you provoked him). 

Zayne hummed. “I do not question it. I want to test it.”

As he spoke, he glided the cool paintbrush from your cheek to jaw. “And to make this more fun for me since I have not heard of the intricacies of jade carving, I want to test your knowledge further with this—”

From his lapels, he removed a silk ribbon, one which you recognized to wrap up mooncake boxes. 

Flushing warmly from the implications of what he wanted to do next, you attempted to keep your voice steady, but failed.

“Playing dirty, Mr. Zayne? I never mistook you for such a bad sport.”

A glimmer of mischief ignited in his eyes, and he placed the paintbrush down next to your neck, coaxing you to raise your head so he could wrap the soft strip around your eyes.

“You are always testing my resolve. You should know I always repay the favor.” 

Despite the intensity of his request, a playful intimacy remained between the two of you. Whatever happened, you always trusted Zayne to put your wellbeing and dignity above everything else.

“Alright.” 

You raised your head, letting him tie the makeshift blindfold around your eyes. 

Hidden in darkness, you could only rely on your senses of touch and hearing to guide you on what was happening. You heard the rustle of the paintbrush picked up again by your ear, felt the damp tip on your jaw. Zayne glided the brush down the side of your neck, secretly enjoying your quiet gasp of surprise.

“Now, little one,” he hummed. “Tell me all about the intricacies of jade carving since you know them so very well.”

Your heart was pounding, but you managed to keep your calm when you recited the first fact to pop into your mind. 

“U-um… j-jades were known as the ‘essence of heaven and earth’.” Your gasp melted into a stifled moan at the sensation of his warm lips chasing after the cool trickles of water left behind.

“I see. Enlightening. Do tell me more.”

His husky voice brushed the shell of your ear, and your stomach tightened in knots. 

Unfair. Zayne was unfairly using your weakness against you.

He knew you were always sensitive to his kisses; his touch. 

A bead of clear water trickles down your neck, and you struggle to think of the next fact as his lips follow the winding trail the liquid carved along your skin, each kiss soft and deliberate.

“Jade has a sharp resonance and that is why it was often used as chimes—mhm.”

He nuzzled his nose into your pulse point, inhaling the sweet scent of jasmine from your skin. 

“I am listening,” he reassured, and you could imagine the smirk playing on his lips. “And I am interested. What else is there for me to learn about jade, little one?”

As you fought hard to recall another fact, your hands instinctively tightened, crumpling the soft material of his hanfu in your grasp. 

“With n-new drilling tools, jade can now be made in larger scales of production—”

The sensation of bristles on your skin interrupted your train of thought. Nothing could have prepared you for the sting of his teeth biting down on your neck. Zayne’s heated breath caressed your sensitive throat, leaving goosebumps on your skin in their wake. 

“I think I have quite the knowledgeable grasp on this matter, little one.”

In a swift yet gentle motion, the blindfold melted off your eyes, and you caught Zayne gazing down at you affectionately. 

The damp brush and these damn games were discarded to the side in favor of him dragging you onto his lap, letting you sit astride him. 

Warmth suffused across your cheeks, and your entire body was tingling from the sensation of the rough bristles mingling with the contrasting tenderness of his lips on your skin. You felt the tension tightening in your belly, tensing the muscles on your thighs wrapped on either side of his waist.

Zayne took this opportunity to roam his hands across your back, down your sides—feeling the smoothness of your robe underneath his touch; the way you shivered as if caught in a chill.

“Are you afraid?” 

His gentle whisper was followed by a sweet kiss on your temple.

Yearning sparked from the tips of your fingers down to your toes.

You shook your head.

“No, Zayne.” 

Smiling to himself, Zayne cradled your head in his hands, nudging you further up the plush pillows he prepared for tonight. The sight of you, all sprawled out with the warm palace lights and the shining moon illuminating your flushed cheeks, looking far too ravishing for your own good filled his mind with a light-headed daze.

He couldn’t believe you were here, that you were his. 

A low grumble resonated from his chest, and he pressed his lips to your ear, delighting in your little shiver in response.

“You have to forgive me, little one. I cannot control myself when I am with you.”

His traced circles onto your cheek with his thumb, absorbing your hitched breath, the way your body shifted under his broader, muscular one. 

As he spoke, he planted a tender kiss on your cheek. 

“It is not my fault that someone gets distracted easily when carving intricate patterns… and appreciating the moon.” 

He pressed another soft kiss to your temple, worshiping you with his entire soul. 

Never mind that the bright lunar rays were burning into his skin. Or, he felt the unseeing eye studying his every move. 

All that mattered to him in this instant was you—your sounds, your sighs, the look of desire and love in your eyes. 

It was everything and more that Zayne could wish on his fallen luck. He wanted nothing more than to claim you under his god’s eye, defying logic and order to demonstrate his undying love for you. 

“Are you feeling what I am feeling as well, my little love?”

He looked to you for confirmation.

Consent.

You nodded wordlessly, threading your fingers through his hair.

“Yes, Zayne. I feel it.”

That was all the permission he needed. Zayne leaned in and captured your lips in a heated kiss, his desire for you pouring into every movement. Every breath. 

He needed to make you his completely; needed to love you with his entire being. 

His lips touched your ear again, his scratchy whisper igniting your desires. His nimble fingers, deft from years of practiced writing and studies, twined with yours, holding you impossibly close.

Another tender kiss right on your cheek. “Then we will just have to blame the craftsman… and the moon.”

Careful yet firm hands shed your robes from your body, the rocking boat adding momentum to your every movement. Zayne took his time to undress you, marveling as inches of flawless, moon-soaked skin appeared before his eyes. Taking his time to run his fingers over your body, he breathed you in, his eyes fluttering to half-mast as he savored this moment of peace. 

When your body was fully bared to him, he sucked in a deep breath.

“Beautiful,” he mumbled.

Zayne’s hands roamed your body with a newfound possessiveness, his expression a mix of tender yearning.

The sight itself was too much for you to bear; the shame, lust, and need coalescing together to bring you to your knees. 

You tugged him closer, unable to stand another minute apart from him. 

He fell right into your embrace, your eager hands undoing the loop of his hanfu, baring his full chest, dragging it down his shoulders. 

The act of undressing one another, meant for the marital doings of a husband and wife, felt natural when it came to Zayne.

Such love shared between the two of you sprung forth like a fountain, effortless in cascading your bodies in ebbs and flows. Zayne kissed you like you would disappear if he opened his eyes, his lips soft and tender against yours.

It made your heart full to bursting, overwhelmed by the love of it all.

Taking the lead, Zayne helped to reposition you on his lap, this new angle allowing you to control what came next.

The moon was his unwilling accomplice, painting you in the most alluring light. Its rays shone brightly, illuminating the brightness of your hair, your skin.

You gleamed like treasured jade right in his arms, and Zayne would never let you go again. Not in this life, or the next.

You were his to treasure, to hold. To cherish and love—his obedience to Astra be damned.

He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, bringing you into his arms; feeling you lift your hips and gingerly take him. The tightness of you, enveloping him slowly, drove him mad with need.

But, Zayne reined his lust in, focused on your pleasure. He would never do anything to hurt you; all he desired for was to see you happy. 

You are doing so well, he praised, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. Good girl. That’s it—go on and make yourself feel good.

Emboldened by his praise, you braced your hands on his chest, wincing at the stretch. 

It wasn’t the first time you had taken him, your months of courtship blooming into a rapid need of each other.

But, it was the first time you were doing it so publicly, boldly declaring your claim on one another.

If anyone walked by, word would soon reach the wrong people of this escapade. But, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

You wanted Zayne, needed him like you needed air.

He was as enamored as you were, watching you take him. 

You were a vision above him, a moonlit dream he could only wish to hold onto for the rest of his life.

“You truly are the most beautiful sight I have ever seen,” he breathed, placing his palm on your cheek. The melted look of devotion in his eyes was second to how secure and safe he made you feel.

With Zayne, nothing was closed off or too much—everything was in order, right and sweet as it was meant to be.

Your head lolled back, the pleasure taking center stage to this act of consummation burning your veins.

“Zayne… you feel so good…”

The sound of his lover’s praise drove him into a frenzy, and he let his immaculate self-restraint slip; giving into the vulnerability. 

Zayne’s beautiful emerald eyes glimmered, taking in the heavenly sight of your smooth skin, your hard nipples carving a silhouette of erotic desire in the barely-lit night. 

He leaned up to gently run his tongue over them, trailing goosebumps across your chest. You moaned, lost in the haze of the pleasure, putty to his whims.

“I cannot believe you all mine…” His voice broke, trailing off into awe. 

Dedicated to showing you his entire devotion, Zayne let his innermost thoughts flow freely. 

“The way the moon shines upon you… the luster of your hair in the night… gods above, you feel like a fever dream, my love.”

A soft whimper left your kiss-swollen lips. Zayne ran his thumb over your lower lip. 

“Do you feel it?” His breath is heavy and desire-filled.

He could not wait to see you coming undone for him.

“How much do I belong to you?” Infused with yearning, his words made you tremble. “I am all yours tonight. I want to give you everything you desire.”

Zayne…

He grunted, the sound of his name on your lips a glimpse of heaven opening up.

Sweat beaded on his brow, a droplet trailing from between your breasts to roll down towards where you were connected.

Zayne halted its path with his tongue, lapping at it gently. He ran his tongue over the curve of your jaw, across your pulse point—stopping to nip and suck the tender flesh until he was sure the marks of his affection would bloom upon your skin.

The idea of anyone taking one look at you and immediately deducing you belonged to him drove him wild with desire.

He wanted to mark you, inside and out.

You belonged to him and no one else.

Not to the world, not to your people or your books.

But, to him.

And he belonged to you. 

The moon rays seemed to blister his skin, an angry curse waiting to consume him whole. But, Zayne didn’t care for the warning, making a mockery of his god by claiming his beloved right under His light.

He brought you in for a tender kiss, just as your walls shuddered around him. 

The romantic atmosphere, the way his tender gaze bore into your soul… was all too much for you to hold back.

But, before you could come undone, Zayne stilled your hips, a pinch on his brow.

He captured your lips in a heated kiss, one which silenced your moans and protests, giving you what you longed for.

Zayne picked up his pace, surprising you with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“That look on your face,” he murmured huskily. “I love it. I love when you rely on me to come undone, my love.”

Your toes curled, his heated words making a shiver of need run down your spine.

“Zayne…”

Yes, my love. He moved his hand between your thighs, teasing you with delicate circles on your flushed nub.

What is it you desire?

“You.” 

He smirked, hearing the desire and need in your tone.

“You have me.”

The ball of heat tightening in your belly demanded to be released.

No… I need you in a different way.

In what way? He raised a brow, looking irresistibly smug. 

Your lover intended for you to say it out loud. To tell him explicitly what it is you needed.

Wetting your lips, you shifted your hips, feeling the head of his length graze your sweet spot.

You winced, and murmured, I need you to make me come undone. 

But, Zayne was adamant on drawing out your needs.

“Just a little longer,” he promised. “I swear it will feel better once it is drawn out.”

You trusted him, letting him take his time.

“You’re pleasing me so well tonight, my love,” he praised in a soft voice, the look of devotion in his eyes never wavering. “I think I can give you what you are yearning for…”

However, his promises came with a caveat: 

“Only if you beg for it nicely.”

A jolt of arousal sparked through your bloodstream, tightening your walls around him.

Zayne grunted, his composure hanging by a loose thread.

The circles on your clit grew sloppier, a sign of his unraveling.

You couldn’t hold back the need any longer, digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Please…” your thin whisper illuminated the dark interior of the barge. 

Please, Zayne. I need this… I need you…

Not one to push his beloved too hard, Zayne relented instantly; his chest swelling with pride at your obedient response.

Surging forward, he wrapped a hand around your waist, bringing you down onto the plush pillows as he took over.

Undulating his hips, he felt you falling apart underneath him—your toes curling, fingers lacing through his hair, tugging hard. 

Already coming undone? I can feel your control slipping, my love…

Yes, yes. You chanted, squeezing your eyes shut. 

Languidly nuzzling your neck, Zayne’s command was a heated whisper into your ear.

I know you need this—I can feel how much you need it. Let go, my love. 

It was the permission you needed. In an instant, you spilled over, following his command, always his obedient, sweet lover. 

He worked you through your contractions, feeling your entire body tensing under his touch. His cock splitting your walls over and over again drove you to the peak of your second release, and Zayne took pride in how you dug your heels into his lower back, crying out his name.

The official didn’t care who would be hearing; if the universe would conspire later to end him for his disobedience.

He couldn't think about anything else, not when you slumped into his arms, his voice a low hum; mumbling reassurances into the hollow of your throat. 

Careful to pull out and release into his own palm, Zayne didn’t care for your muffled outcry. He wouldn’t dare besmirch your body with his seed inside or out—prioritizing your dignity above all else.

The dark-haired man was careful to wipe his release on a spare silk handkerchief he brought onto the barge, taking another one to wipe the mess you made between your thighs.

Sated and glowing from your release, you let him work on you, quietly enjoying the devotion in his eyes and touch. 

Zayne’s smile was soft and hazy as he pulled you on top of him, letting your head rest on his chest. 

Longer, sturdier and calloused fingers traced patterns on your back, watching how the moon shone through the slanted windows, drawing shadows over the expanse of your skin.

His arms wrapped tightly around, pulling you deeper into his embrace, unwilling to let go. 

Outside the boat, a storm began to brew, dark clouds closing in and concealing the moon from sight. 

The balminess of the night gave way to a blessed, cooling drizzle, enveloping the boat much like his arms, keeping you safe and grounded. 

With the light of the moon extinguished, the glow of your smile became the brightest thing in the night as you leaned in, cradling his face, 

“Are you alright?” he asked softly. 

His love for you shone brighter than any celestial being could, limitless and profound, as he lost himself in the warmth of your touch.

“I am perfect.”

Not one to give him a moment of peace, you cheekily quipped:

"So, does this mean you are giving me a month's supply of rabbit candy?"

Zayne's eyes twinkled, and he chuckled, shaking his head at your question.

"If I recall," he turned you over, pinning you back onto the pillows, desire alighting his usually stoic and steady gaze.

"It was not I whose composure wavered, my little one."

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost on other websites and claim as your own. do not feed my content to AI.

[luvrxbunny]

churn

pairing: knight!Miguel O’Hara x princess!reader

summary: Your royal knight helps you in a way your fiancé never could.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader has hair that can be pushed over her shoulder, reader has visible collarbones, infidelity, miguel seems to have a little thing for readers collarbones.. Idk,  f! masturbation, IMPORTANT LINK (ill be refering to this throughout the fic)

wc: 4.9k

a/n: i don't even think this is good guys cry i just needed to post something but i tried ilya 🫶🏾 (not proofread one bit)

He hated this part of the day. 

Miguel isn’t allowed to feel many things, he is even more limited in who he can feel them for, but he hates this part of the day. When you finally finish your chores and duties. You always tell him that you’re not going to get excited this time, that you know he’s busy but he always sees the excitement build in your face as you search tirelessly for your fiancé. 

Ser Isaac was one of the more well-known lords of the land. He’s known for his outstanding looks and entertaining charm. Everyone has heard of his endless generosity, empathy, and care for others. But in Miguel’s experience. He’s a selfish dick. 

He doesn’t hate Ser Isaac, of course not, that’d be treason. He is allowed to hate his actions, however; the way he neglects you. He hates how Ser Isaac is using you for your position, stature, and admiration throughout the kingdom. He spends all his time sucking up to your father, thanking him for his daughter's hand in marriage rather than worshipping the daughter for tolerating his artificiality. 

You round the corner to find your father and fiancé at the bar, once again. This is where they’ve been for the past few weeks. You’d asked them to try to spend less time together, to make some room for you, but they both laughed you off and continued their boisterous chatter. 

Miguel watches your smile melt off your face as you take in their inebriated state. You turn to him for a moment with a small smile, knowing he’ll give you the same pitying look you get every time this happens. It’s a small comfort; knowing that at least one person in your life cares about you, even if that person is your assigned guard.

You approach the pair of drunks with a brave smile. “Have you saved any for me, my love?” The two men pause to look at you before slowly turning back to one another and breaking out into a fit of laughter. Miguel can see your expression flush into one of embarrassment and anger. You open your mouth to speak again but their laughter raises in volume, drowning out anything you would’ve said. 

Miguel sees a heartbreaking sadness flash over your face before you compose yourself. 

In his mind though, it’s the same as you begging him for help, so he steps in. He moves from his corner by the doorway to stand at your side. His presence gives you a small boost of confidence and commands the men to give you more than 3% of their attention. 

Your fiancé is the first one to quit his laughter and sober up a bit. He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes at Miguel’s presence. “Is he necessary?” He doesn’t even look at Miguel, his eyes don’t flicker in his direction once. Miguel does the same, keeping his eyes forward and surveying his surroundings. He can’t help the slight smirk that worms its way onto his face, however. 

You stand up straighter at the acknowledgment of your muscle. “Miguel is mine, therefore he stays by my side.” Miguel’s eyelids flutter and flicker to you for a moment. He tries his best to ignore the swirling in his stomach but his breathing stutters. “I’d like to confer with you about your schedule, dear.”

Your fiancé smirks maliciously at you before changing it into a faux kind smile. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll make so much time for you.” He stands up, looming over you but not taller than Miguel. “When I’m finished organizing all of our affairs, paying all your maids.” His voice gains more and more venom as he stalks closer to you. 

Your confident gaze is gone, now looking at the wall rather than your soon-to-be husband. “Yes, dear. I’ll spend time with you when I’m done with cleaning your messes.” His voice raises to a shout, screaming right in your face as your eyes stay on the ground. Miguel’s hand goes to rest on the hilt of his sword, just as a reminder of what could happen if Ser Isaac decides to do more than yell. But that negatively catches his attention. 

He scoffs loudly and turns to Miguel, who still isn't meeting his threatening eyes. “You think to strike me? You?” Miguel hears you take a breath, like you’re preparing to speak up for him but he can’t allow that. “I only mean to protect the Princess, Ser.” Miguel keeps his smirk from crawling onto his face this time, he keeps his expression stoic and straight ahead. 

“Oh? OH? I’ll I have you know that I shall do whatever-” He raises his hand. “I’d like-” 

It comes down toward you “with MY wife.” Miguel grabs his wrist, stopping all movement. You watch his grip tighten before your eyes, so tightly you swear you can hear Isaac’s bones cracking. 

“You will not. Not in my presence, or ever, if I can help it.” You’ll never forget the look on his face. The pure shock on his face, the look of disgust and disdain. You don’t even want to think of Miguel’s face. The anger, and unwavering confidence. He exudes this certain dominance over Isaac that you can’t help but admire.

Isaac’s face shows a look of embarrassment once he sees how easily Miguel can hold him back, so he scoffs and goes back to his seat, grumbling about your ‘big oaf of a guard.’ He complains about the both of you to your father as if you aren’t even in the room. You’re not too sad about it, you’ve grown a bit used to his rejection, and it doesn't sting as bad. 

A clock in the corner of the room catches your eye and excitement runs through you with a soft gasp. Miguel looks over to you and follows your gaze to see the time, 3:00 PM. The swirling in his stomach returns as you clear your throat and begin to leave the room. Although you know Mguel will follow, you keep pace with him once you both exit the room, choosing to walk by his side. 

You’re always different for the next two hours. You linger by him more, find more excuses to touch him and talk with him. He knows why, he knows how princesses like to play their games, how they love all their suitors. But sometimes he slips up, sometimes he believes your advances are genuine, that you honestly wish for him to whisk you away from your castle life, your perfect, royal life. Then he comes back to reality. 

You enter your chambers and stand by the foot of your bed, Miguel by the door. His heart is racing because he knows what comes next. It’s- unfortunately, his favorite time of the day. You stand by your wardrobe, just looking into the mirror before catching his gaze in the reflection. “Mig?” Your soft tone sends a suppressed shiver through his body. “Do you think you could help me?”

He’s walking towards you without hesitation. “I- I’d ask one of the maids but they’re all busy and-” He doesn’t need a justification, you don’t need an excuse. “Of course, Princess. I understand.” You do this every time. Your maids are always ‘too busy’. You both know it's a ruse, but neither of you wants it to stop. 

He lets his hands rest on your side for a moment, relishing the way he can feel you expand with the deep breath you take. He slides them back to where you’re laced into your dress and takes his time untying the strings. You wish you could see his hands, the way they’d thread through the strings, how careful and gentle they’d be. Or how small the strings would look between his thick fingers. 

Once he finishes loosening your corset he opens it for you, reliving the extreme pressure it puts on you and you thank him with a soft sigh. He’s in a trance though, he slowly removes the fabric from your body. Your spine seems to compress itself, making you seem even shorter than usual now that you don’t have this brace forcing you upright. You’re just watching him in the mirror as his hands come up to your shoulders and slowly turn you around. He’s not looking you in the eyes yet, he’s just looking at you. He looks at your collarbones and slowly pushes your hair over your shoulder to reveal more of you to him. But something snaps him out of his trance and he puts distance between the two of you before you even take a breath. “S- I’m so sorry, Princess.I—” You cut him off before he can say more. 

“There's no need for an apology! I didn’t say anything, did I?” There’s a shy flirtiness in your tone that causes Miguel’s face to sink into a dark red color, bringing a giggle to your lips that only worsens his condition. He turns and walks back to the door while you finish undressing. 

He keeps his eyes dutifully out the window. Pretending he can't hear the fabric sliding against your naked skin. How he yearns to look, it's like you have your own gravitational pull. It’s a constant struggle to hear you undressing and redressing yourself into something he knows is going to screw with him. You’ll probably change into your favorite nightgown. It’s an adorable sleeved gown with feathers at the top. You always mention you don’t like how long it is, and that it’s “unflattering” but in truth, everything you wear is flattering. You make it so. 

Miguel suddenly becomes aware of the silence in the room. No rustling, no sliding fabrics. He risks looking over at you and his heart almost beats out of his chest. It’s new. You must’ve gotten it tailored because he’s never seen anything fit you so well. It’s a night dress, flowy but short, very short. It barely reaches the halfway point of your thigh. It has no sleeves, your neck, collarbones, and shoulders on full display, and the top hugs your breasts in a way he’s never witnessed. 

You watch him admire you for a moment before speaking up with a soft “Hmm?” and his eyes fly to yours. “I think it’s quite cute!” You smile at him brightly, waiting for his opinion. He doesn’t give you one though, he just stares at you for a little longer. You grow conscious under his stare and anxiety begins to eat away at you. “W- What do you th—” 

His face twitches before he blurts out. “Yes. Yes, you look-- It’s very- You look very cute. It’s beautiful. You- You look amazing, Princess.” His sentence ends with a sharp inhale that's followed by a calm exhale as Migusl straightens out. He’s been slowly leaning down, subconsciously trying to get closer to you. “You look incredible, Princess.” He tries to place his eyes forward again, trying to turn the environment back to professional, he can’t help but look at you one last time as you thank him. 

Your eyes are on the ground and your hand sliding up your arm, uncomfortable with all the skin you’re showing. “You do.” Your eyes snap up to his upon his third confirmation. You seem to be searching his eyes for something, looking deep into him in a way he’ll never get used to. 

Your brows furrow and you chew on your lip for a few seconds before declaring that he follow you and starting a rapid pace. He follows behind you urgently before realizing where the two of you are headed.

The castle has a lot of tunnels and hidden passageways, these passageways sometimes lead to other rooms in the castle or secret rooms in the castle. One of your handmaidens was kind enough to show you a passageway right by your washroom that leads to a secret chamber. You’d instantly fallen in love with what you found. 

Miguel was there the first time you saw it, you laughed so loud it echoed off the walls. You thought it was a novelty. He was there when he saw it pique your interest for the first time. It had been late at night, and Miguel hadn’t retired to his quarters yet so he was guardian of your door. Inside your room, he could hear you giggling with a drunk Ser Isaac. Your giggle soon turned to breathy whines but they were interrupted with a dull ‘thump’ before a very disappointed sigh from you. It was a matter of seconds before you opened your chamber doors and told him to follow you with about the same amount of urgency that you just did. 

You told him to guard the door and quickly shut it before you could see any opinion on his face. He was almost hyperventilating at his post. First of all, he was uncomfortable being out here, staring at your drunk, passed-out, fiancé, while you’re in that room doing god knows what. The other thing that bothered him was how he could not stop thinking about how he’d be so much better for you than that machine. 

You opened the door again far too quickly with an even more frustrated expression on your face. “I cannot figure it out. It- It doesn’t work.” Your words come out as an exasperated whine that tugs at his heartstrings. “Show me.” 

You chew on your lip for a second before opening the door to let him in and shutting it behind the two of you. There’s a single, yellow light overhead, shining down on where you would be sitting, where the heavy, metal rod protrudes from the seat. “This thing? It will not move, no matter how hard I try!” He examines the churning lever, immediately spots the problem, and starts removing his gloves. 

“It’s rusted over, Princess. I can fix it.” You watch as his thick fingers curl around the lever and his biceps tense as he pushes, trying to break it free of the rust. There’s an awful screeching sound and Miguel grunts roughly as the lever begins to move. You try to hide your smile of excitement as Miguel rotates the handle a few more times before letting go. “There.” 

You rush over to test for yourself and make sure you can operate it on your own. You smile and turn to Miguel after moving it around with ease. He smirks back at you while he brushes his hands together to remove the rust, and something about the whole scene does something to you. His hands are dirty, his knuckles hairy, his hands huge and thick as he stares at you with something you haven't seen before. You still have one more problem. 

“It also…” You trail off before clearing your throat and starting again. “It doesn’t seem to fit.”

Miguel has to shut his eyes for a moment as arousal floods his veins. He takes a deep breath before looking up at you with the softest expression he could muster, hoping it would hide his lust. “You need to start with your fingers, Princess.”

Your eyes widen at his answer and you quickly nod despite him being able to see the confusion written all over your face. He smiles fondly before explaining further. “That.” He gestures to the machine. “Is too big for most girls.” He looks you directly in your eyes as he speaks, slowly bending to your height. “So you have to start with your fingers.” Your eyes dart to his dirty hands for a moment. “You put them inside you, however many you can take.” 

You start blinking rapidly like your innocent little brain is having trouble processing what he’s telling you. All you respond with is, “Oh.” Miguel chuckles quietly before standing upright and putting his gloves back on. “Yes. I hope that helps.” You walk up to the door with him, to open it for him or accompany him out but you both pause when you hear a bit of commotion on the other side of the door. 

You watch him as he identifies the noise, and breathe out a soft sigh of relief when you see his tense expression relax. “They’re cleaning up Ser Isaac.” He states with a certain disdain that makes you smile softly. You stare at him.

“Okay, then you stay here.” You walk over to the seat and churn the lever a few times to ensure you could do it yourself before sitting on the edge, not quite on the metal penis but close. Miguel is watching from the corner with wide eyes, unable to rationalize what’s going on. You simply tell him “Don’t look.” And he whips his head back around. 

He stares at the dark wall, unknowing what he’s waiting for until he hears it. A soft sigh leaves your lips. He waits. He receives more. You grow in volume as you become wetter, he can hear it, the little squelching sounds getting louder, and faster as you get more desperate. Miguel is using all his willpower to not turn around and take in what he has no doubt is a beautiful sight. 

He hears your whines muffle as you bite your lip and he wishes you could tell you not to, that he wants to hear them all and more. He heard you let out a ragged breath as you added another finger and he couldn’t help his desire to do it for you, but he happily settled with only hearing your beautiful sounds and movements. 

He thanks the Gods every day for letting him stay in that room, for giving him the saccharine memories of you pleasuring yourself for the first time. 

This time feels different though. You’re all dressed up and giving him that look. The one that swirls fantasies into his head and makes his hands clam up. 

He follows you to the room and assumes his position in the corner, but never hears the metallic clink of you situating yourself in the seat. He waits and waits but hears nothing, no movement from you. So he turns around. He has to see what you’re doing, even if it's only for a second, just to make sure you’re safe. 

He finds you standing directly behind him, staring right at him so you guys make eye contact the moment he looks over his shoulder. He instantly turns back around, embarrassed that you found him looking, and worried you might get the wrong idea.

Miguel tries to explain himself, stumbling and stuttering over the start of his sentence before you cut him off. “How come you never look?”

The question silences him. 

“Do you have no desire to?” He turns around again. You seem genuine in your questioning, he feels like he detects a bit of hurt in your voice as well, but that’s most likely in his head. 

“You know I cannot desire.” He states softly. He, as a knight, cannot desire any woman, and most definitely not a princess. Yet he sees anger flash through your eyes at his statement. 

“Just because someone tells you you’re not allowed, does not mean you can’t.” Miguel stays silent, not knowing what you want him to say in response. He can see you scanning his face, examining his features to try and find any crack in his exterior. You must find whatever you’re looking for because you suddenly nod and take a step back. 

“Who are you more loyal to, your oath, or me?” The question baffles him. “If I, your princess, were to tell you to disobey your oath… Would you?” 

His eyes widen and you can see the gears turning in his head, trying to understand where his loyalties should lie. His mouth opens and closes with unsaid words and you decide to give him a break. 

“Come here.” You demand, pointing next to the machine, by the churning lever. You take a deep breath, seat yourself by the metal phallus, and slip a finger under your gown before you can give it a second thought. 

You slide your fingers over your panties for a moment, teasing yourself. Through a lot of trial and error, you’ve found that this is your favorite part; exploring your body, what makes you feel good, and feeling yourself soak your panties throughout the process. 

You hear Miguel take a sharp breath of air, reminding you of his presence and sending a jolt to your core. You’ve never been like this in front of someone, aside from what Miguel could hear and the few times your fiancé was sober enough to attempt to get you off. But even then, it didn't feel like it does now. 

You can’t help but imagine what it would be like if Miguel was the one touching you. If it were his thick fingers sliding under the satin fabric of your underwear to finally slide into you. There’s a burning stretch due to you using two fingers instead of one but it only furthers your fantasies of Miguel’s large hands. You peek your eyes open for a moment, your gaze still on the ground but you can see his feet, a small (or rather large) reminder that he’s right there. 

You can’t help the whimper that slips out, louder than usual. You’re more desperate. You can’t think of any other reason aside from him. You’re soaking your fingers in a way you haven’t since your first time and it’s driving you wild. “Miguel” His name comes out with a small whine, pitching your voice up and scrambling his brain. 

He has to take a deep breath before answering you out of fear that his voice will shake. “Princess?” His voice is rough and gravelly. He hears you take a sharp breath at the sound of it before clearing your throat in hopes of composing yourself. 

“You will churn the lever for me today.” His heart stops. “Understood, Ser?” His eyelids flutter as his eyes burn holes in the wall he’s facing. He goes over your sentence in his head, assuming he must’ve misheard you. His brows furrow and twitch along with his face before accepting that he heard you correctly. “Un-” He takes a shaking breath. “Understood, Princess.”

His hand comes up to wrap around the lever without him even looking in your direction. 

You stare up at him as you pull your panties aside and slide down the cold metal, your teeth digging into your lip to try and keep any noises inside. You only let out a satisfied sigh once you’ve sunk to the bottom before pushing yourself to the tip again. 

You can’t help but focus on him. He’s right there. You can see the curve of his nose and the plush of his lips, the way they purse before his tongue comes out to wet them and pull one into his mouth to bite. He doesn’t have his helmet on so you can see his rich brown curls, the way they frame his face and dance over his neck. You can see his thick, bushy brows, and behind his beautiful lashes are his warm, chocolate-brown eyes looking down at you. 

You gasp once your eyes meet and Miguel goes red. He just wanted to see you for a moment. You’re right there, practically whining in his ear as you impale yourself on what should be his cock. 

He can’t take it anymore, he can’t hold his feelings back as he feels a ripple flow through him and blood rush to his dick. His head decides to conjure every arousing, heart-warming, lovable memory he has of you. He hears you whine again at the loss of eye contact, even if it was only for a moment. Another ripple flows through him, settling in his lower stomach, and creating a painful pressure as your whimpers grow. He tries to redirect his thoughts and focus ahead as he keeps churning for you, cranking the lever again, and again. Your moans pick up as he regains his steady pace.

He tries not to imagine that it’s him. He tries not to think about the fact that your moaning aligns with the throbbing of his cock. He definitely doesn't think about the way his dick is pressing into the metal plate covering his cock. He doesn’t note the way his free hand twitches behind his back, wishing to provide any sense of relief to himself. He doesn’t get distracted by the thought of him touching himself with you sitting right there. 

You feel your orgasm building before Miguel starts to slow down again, his timing uneven again and you look up at him in confusion. He’s staring at the wall, his chest heaving and that same expression on his face. You don’t care to decipher what it means in your impatience. Miguel just feels your delicate hand on his, pushing his hand, forcing him to churn the lever.

You moan as your seat becomes functional. Your chin collides with your chest as you release all the moans and whimpers you’ve been trying to quiet. It almost feels like he’s been toying with you, with all his starting and stopping. You’ve been pushed to the edge of your sanity. 

You can’t comprehend how embarrassing this might be for you, a princess burying this rod inside you again and again, wishing it was someone other than who you’re set to marry. 

You shake the thought of Isaac from your head and replace it with Miguel. Just thinking about the life you could have with him has you tensing over the metal. Your fingers lace with his before you can even think about what you’re doing.

Miguel’s gaze is now on the ceiling, his eyes already slipping shut as your nails dig into his hand. His dick is leaking behind his crotch plate now, begging for your attention, a feeling he isn’t used to regulating. He feels himself pulse painfully and his free hand twitches again. 

Just for a moment. He thinks. Just one second. 

His hand comes from behind his back to crush itself against his crotch, trying to relieve any pressure before he loses his mind, but you hear the clink of the metal hitting and open your eyes instantly. You spot his hand over his dick before slowly looking up to meet his eyes. Miguel lets a moan slip out as he massages himself more thoroughly, squeezing more precum from his tip before pulling away and forcing himself to break your stare. 

“Please.” Is all he hears from you. It’s weak, pathetic, and punches him in the gut, taking all the breath from his lungs. His eyes wander back to you before he can think better of it and he’s instantly stuck, locked into your eyes. 

He watches your body catch alight. You tremble over the steel cock, holding eye contact with Miguel and pushing his hand, forcing him to churn, fuck you over and over as you cum. He can’t do anything but watch. He doesn’t even think about touching himself, not wanting anything to take his attention away from this moment. 

He watches you come down, your body melting into a puddle before him. You drape yourself over the front of the machine as you huff. Even out of breath and covered in sweat, your hair a mess and your dress surely mussed, he thinks you look like an angel, and it breaks his heart that he’ll never be able to keep you. 

He takes a deep breath before releasing the lever, relishing in the whine that leaves your throat as the rod slides out of you one final time. Despite better thinking, Miguel pats your head fondly, almost petting you before speaking as softly as he can. “Come on, Princess. Let’s get you to bed.”

You only hum and bury yourself in his neck as he lifts you from your seat. He takes his time getting back to your room, letting you rest in his arms for as long as he can allow. 

He lays you on your bed gently, propping your head up on the pillow and even going to cover you before you stop him. “Mmm Mig..” You begin sitting up again and stretch before opening your eyes to look at him.

Your eyebrows twitch, furrowing for a moment before he sees recognition in your eyes, quickly accompanied by mischief. “Sit down.” Your voice slurs adorably with your fatigue. He doesn’t get to hear this often. Normally, he’d do anything to stay with you, talk with you just a little more. 

But Miguel is still harder than steel in his suit, so pairing that with the hard metal of his armor, and sitting down? It sounds like the most painful thing he could do right now. “Princess… You should get some res-”

“ Sit down, Miguel.” He stares at you, debating his options again in the face of your stubbornness. You, however, take this as more defiance. “Please?” You beg him. 

You should know you never have to beg him for anything. 

He’s seated before your mouth even shuts. Your mouth is shaped into a smirk before he can take a breath, and you’re in his lap before he can blink. 

“Wha-?” Is all he can breathe out before your mouth is on his. His hands find your hips on instinct, grabbing all that he can and pulling it against him. You pull away. “Thank you.” And dive for him again. 

He places one hand behind your head to ensure you don’t do it again. 

thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist or send me some motivation here!!

[skzdarlings]

the kingsguard ; jisung x reader ; part iv

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba | ao3 link

pairing: han jisung/reader summary: You are a queen. He is a kingsguard - a member of a holy order that vows to defend the king in the name of the gods. They forsake all earthly goods and swear a vow of chastity to avoid all worldly temptation. When he stands in as proxy for the royal wedding, all those vows are tested.

content info: reader described with curly hair.

content warnings: the previously established story dynamics are prevalent in this chapter, please proceed at own discretion.

chapter word count: 12000 words.

<3

-

Your body inevitably surrenders to its exhaustion.  You sleep through the sunrise and past noon, opening your eyes to a day gone by.  The deep gold of afternoon sunlight fills the room like a dreamy mist. 

The golden shade obscures all your worries.  You forget where you are.  You forget who you are.  You feel well-rested and well-loved, a warmth blossoming in your heart, reminiscent of a hopeful spring in this rotting hot summer. 

You are brought back to reality by voices outside your door.  You sit up in bed, straining to hear. 

“—had me ride ahead to see the queen was safe.”  That voice sounds like Changbin.  You have only heard him speak a few times but he has a recognizable pitch, not to mention his tone when he says, “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Jisung replies.  He sounds tired.  You can only imagine what he looks like.  Did he sleep at all?     

There is a beat of silence.  Maybe Changbin is waiting for more, but Jisung is not forthcoming. 

“Did something happen?”  Changbin asks. 

“Huh?”  There is some clattering as Jisung moves.  “Yeah,” he snaps, in a tone more agitated than you have heard from him.  “Someone tried to kill the fucking queen.”

“Hey, watch your tone with me. I know that, but you—”

Changbin stops halfway through his sentence.  Jisung’s expression is evidently enough to quiet him. 

There is some more movement, the swish of fabric, then Changbin says, “Go change into clean robes.  Take a nap. I’ll guard the queen.  When you’re done, I’ll ride back to the others and report.  We should all arrive by nightfall—”

“I’ll ride back,” Jisung says, his voice and footsteps already sounding farther. 

“Hey!” Changbin hollers.  “You need to rest!”   

There is no reply.  You hear the creak of booted steps on the stairs, then Jisung is gone. 

“Be careful with my horse!”  Changbin shouts.  “Ahhh, if he leaves her in the woods…” 

Changbin keeps muttering even though Jisung is long gone.

You sink into the blankets. 

It does not matter how far he goes.  Not the shade or the sunlight or the mist can hide him.  Even when you close your eyes, he is there, looking back at you.  In a few short days, Han Jisung has inextricably twined himself around your heart.  You don’t love him yet, but you could.  You want to love him.  That warmth in your heart is him, a blossom unfolding in the spring of your new becoming, but it aches – not because a love is ending, but because it can never begin.

Jisung has saved you yet again.  He took care of you last night, disregarding himself as he has done before.  You want to chase after him, swear new vows to him alone.  You would give anything for him to experience the same devotion he has bestowed upon others.  You want to fly out of this bed and saddle a horse, chase after him, find him in the woods and –

And what?  That plan did not work last time. 

You linger in bed for a long time, awake but nonetheless dreaming, pondering: 

You.  Your duty, your family, your people.  The king.  The marriage, the cruelty, the wedding bed.   

Jisung.   His eyes, his voice, his everything. 

Hunger finally lures you out of the covers.  You dress yourself in the gown gifted by the innkeeper’s wife.  When your hair is pinned up as neatly as possible, you step into the corridor and greet Changbin.  You go downstairs and the innkeeper prepares you a meal.  You eat by the unlit fire, the same place you sat with Jisung last night, before –

Your whole body burns when you think about it.  Whether you are with the king or on your own, you doubt you will ever touch yourself without thinking of Jisung and last night. 

“Is the food all right, Your Majesty?” Changbin asks.  His nose crinkles as he looks down at the bowl, as if he expects to find the source of your misery there.  “It smells all right.” 

“Oh, yes, it is,” you say.  You suppose morosely poking at a bowl is bad manners. 

The inn is bustling with workers preparing for the royal arrival.  When you finish eating, you find the innkeeper’s wife and ask for something to do.  Though she says the queen should not lift a finger, you insist that you prefer to stay busy.  You tell her you have genuine technical skills and she relents, perhaps seeing the sincerity in your pleading.  You do not want to sit in silent thought right now. 

That is how you find yourself with the mending.  Changbin loiters nearby, not hiding his boredom very well.  He starts lifting random objects to exercise his already-ample muscles.  He tries to challenge himself but it loses novelty quickly as there is nothing especially heavy in the room. 

You ask if he wants to sew with you.  He gives you a wary look but takes a seat.  You show him some basic stitches.    

“Kingsguards don’t do their own mending, I suppose,” you say.

He furrows his brow with concentration.  He has thick fingers and struggles to thread the needle, but he cheers for himself like the winner of a game match when he succeeds. 

“Ah, no,” he eventually answers, stabbing the needle into a torn shirt.  “The squires take care of it.  I haven’t touched a needle since my training.” 

You chat about his time as squire for the kingsguard.  Unlike Jisung, Changbin comes from a noble family, though he is the youngest of ten.  Knowing he would never see a penny of inheritance nor an acre of land, he devoted himself to the gods.  He claims beyond prayer, his only real skill is crushing skulls.   

“Well, I don’t know about that,” you say, resuming your own mending now that he is easily sewing on his own.  “You’re quite the seamstress.”

He giggles.  That bubbly laughter in that bulky body makes you laugh too. 

“Well, it never hurts to have more skills,” you say.  “And I don’t think any work is beneath anyone.  If you don’t take care, you may forget just how much effort goes into menial tasks.”

“Hmm.”  Changbin looks thoughtful.  “Yes, that does happen.” 

The day passes with a few chores and some conversation.  The sun begins its descent sooner than later.  You are eating supper when the royal party arrives. 

You promptly lose your appetite.

You and Changbin wait in the front room while the party loudly organizes itself outside.  The contrast of quietude makes it feel like there is a bubble around the room – weak, vulnerable, about to burst.  

Changbin looks at you sideways.  He has spoken freely this afternoon and appears to debate whether he should question your wellbeing as a person or stay silent as a kingsguard.  He rocks on his feet, fist curled around his sword hilt.  His mouth opens with a question when the door swings open.     

Chan enters first.  He and Changbin exchange a nod, then Chan bows to greet you.  “Your Majesty,” he says. 

He moves aside swiftly.  The king enters right behind him.  Your knees knock but you conceal your fright, hoping your queasiness does not show on your face. 

“My queen,” the king says.  His tone is warmer than usual.  He has only ever addressed you with open contempt, but now he approaches you with his hand outstretched and a respectful dip of his head.  “The gods have surely blessed you to survive such a trying ordeal.” 

You flinch when he grabs your face, though he does not strike you.  That would have been less surprising than the kiss he places on the top of your head. 

He drops his hands and walks away without another word, leaving you standing there in shock. 

The other kingsguards follow.  Minho does not show much expression but Hyunjin rolls his eyes at the king’s display.  His aggravation seems as red hot as ever, barely concealed as he bows appropriately.  When he rises, he gives you a look, one you can only describe as a warning. 

Your shock settles.  Maybe it is not strange the king is acting nice.  He would not want anyone to suspect him of your assassination attempt.  Feigning affection for his wife would redirect the accusations. 

Hyunjin and Minho move along.  Seungmin and Jeongin bow next.   You wait but Jisung does not show, just an array of courtiers and servants that have been travelling in the retinue. 

“Wife,” the king says, though bellows and commands is more appropriate.  “Sit.  Eat.” 

You do not have an appetite.  You sit beside the king as he glowers and mutters complaints about everything and nothing. 

Part way through the meal, Jisung arrives.  He makes some excuse to Chan, something about minding his horse after its ordeal.   

You stare at Jisung across the room.  He shakes out his robes, brushing a few twigs of hay from the black cloth.  His dark hair is pushed back, his face open as he turns his face to the room.

He catches your eye before anyone and anything.   Your heart reacts with an eager leap. 

Last night was overwhelming.  You remember his desperation towards the end.  You can only imagine what was on his mind.  You have spent all day in turmoil, alternating between reassurance and berating yourself.  Perhaps he just needed to decompress, or perhaps he regretted ever telling you a word, that he would prefer to never look upon you again. 

He looks at you now and you realize that was nonsense.  It is the same roving, intense stare as last night, one that moves like a hungry touch.  You shiver even though the heated room is packed full.   

The king pays him no mind, engaged in conversation while he eats.  Jisung bows from across the room and it is only for you. 

He does not look at you after that, sitting with the other kingsguards while he eats his meal.  When it is over, the king asks for music so Jisung fetches his guitar.   His singing soothes your anxious spirit.  It is so calming after so much turmoil, your eyelids start to feel heavy. 

You fall asleep to his music.   You wake to a gentle touch on your shoulder, finding yourself slumped over the table, head on your folded arms, a very un-queenly pose.  You surface groggily, blinking slowly up at the guard who touched you. 

It is Minho.   The front room is empty except for the innkeeper, some servants, and two kingsguards chatting, evidently manning the front door.  The king is gone, perhaps already to bed.  You sigh with relief as hopefully that means he will not bother you. 

Minho has been assigned to guard you tonight.   He sweeps through your room, checking the windows and locks, but thankfully does not stay inside.  You prefer privacy, though you would not mind if it was Jisung, even if it is dangerous to think that way. 

Yes, very dangerous, as you close your eyes and imagine his dark eyes, watching you from across the room.  You kiss your fingertips and touch your neck, just like he showed you, feeling that tell-tale flush of warmth when you imagine his lips on your throat.  Your body feels tight, everything from your waist below clenching inside. 

Your hand slips under the covers.  You do not think of the king even once, all your thoughts rivetted to Han Jisung.  You follow the natural call of desire, going so far as to curl your fingers inside yourself.  You dare only a little touch but it still makes you gasp.  You bite your lip to stay quiet, even though you want to scream a certain name when you stroke the place he showed you and come apart with the same earth-shattering release.  You picture his face the entire time, specifically the dark and desperate way he looked at you when you put your fingers in your mouth.

You do it again, imagining those fingers are his, imagining kneeling in front of him like you desired last night.  You take your fingers to the knuckle and wonder what he would say, what he would do.  Just watching you made him blaspheme, the gods on his tongue as his whole body shook with a deep breath. 

You fear you may be an insatiable, lecherous creature on top of irredeemably sinful, as you lower your fingers and do it all over again. 

You whisper his name as you come over that crest of pleasure.  It sounds like a prayer in the quiet dark. 

-

A long day of travel looms ahead of you.  You do not want to give the king any excuse to berate you, so you rise early and dress quickly without assistance.  You intend to be the first downstairs. 

You open your door without warning, causing the guard to stumble backwards because he was leaning on it. 

The guard is no longer Minho. 

Jisung spills into your path, eyes flashing with surprise.  You are surprised too.  The guards must have traded posts overnight, allowing the first group to get some sleep.   

Of course, no one thought anything of assigning Jisung to your room.  No one would have reason to believe you would stand like this in the doorway, staring at each other so intently. 

You make no sound, just the gentle exchange of breath, but your heart races towards him in a noisy stampede.  Given how he leans towards you, as if enthralled in a spell, his own heart is doing the same. 

“Ah, uh, Your Majesty,” he finally says, sweeping into a bow. 

His dark hair falls over his face.  Unable to resist the soft allure of each dark wave, you touch the back of his bowed head.  It is a soft, quick caress of your fingertips. 

He makes a wounded sound.  When he stands, his face is flushed. 

“Are you, ah, ready for me to take you?” he asks.  His eye twitches.  He clutches the hilt of his sword very tightly.  “Downstairs,” he says quickly.  “Are you ready for me to take you downstairs?  Yes.  That.”      

You nod.  You have not spoken a word out loud, but you suspect your gaze gives you away, because Jisung looks into your eyes and makes that same sad whimper before darting down the corridor.

“Downstairs,” he says, a sing-song as he scuttles down the stairwell.  “Downstairs, downstairs, la la—”

The king arrives while you are having breakfast.  Before long, you are gathered outside the inn, preparing to travel.  There is a long stretch of countryside between this city and the capital.  The next few nights will be spent camping in the woods, then you will arrive at the capital city and stay at an inn, then finally traverse the great city to the palace. 

You are not sure what fate awaits you there.  It seems so impossible and far away, but the interim is only a handful of days. 

You stand on your own, watching the activity around you, anxiously twisting your fingers around the sleeve of your dress. 

In the midst of the hustle, your eyes find Jisung.  He is adjusting his saddlebags, surreptitiously glancing at you from a distance.  If anyone caught him looking at you now, you fear they would see far too much of everything.  Those eyes betray him every time.  Right now you see anxiety burning in them.  Perhaps he is picturing what you are picturing: that you will have to ride with him, your back pressed to his front, and you will not be able to think of anything except the other night. 

You make your way over to him.  He turns his attention to his saddle, securing and re-securing every strap, rein, and buckle.  He keeps his eyes occupied and his hands busy, even when you finally step into his periphery. 

“Jisung,” you say.  

“Hmm?” He tightens a strap he just loosened. 

“Is it all right if I ride with you?” you ask. 

“Of course!” he says, his voice bright and joyful, like a bard entertaining a crowd rather than a man in conversation. 

“I just thought I would ask, in case there was a problem,” you say.  You get more anxious the longer he does not look at you.   

“That’s nice,” he says, in that same boisterous tone.  “But why would there be a problem, ha-ha?” 

He steps away, circling the horse to adjust something on the other side.  You blink at the empty air then follow.  The horse dips its head you so you take a second to stroke its muzzle.  To anyone passing, you and Jisung look perfectly occupied and uninterested in each other.  Truly, you can feel the distance straining.  You step a little closer. 

“Can you look at me please?” you say softly. 

His frantic hands finally stop their fluttering.  He looks the other way.  It is towards the king’s carriage where the other kingsguards are organizing.    

In the blink of an eye, that cheerful bard disappears and a much more solemn character stands before you. 

“No, Your Majesty,” Jisung speaks in a low voice.  “Not when you’re this close to me.” 

It is good he has the sense to look around, because you forget about everyone but him.  You are rooted to the spot, unblinking and not breathing.  It comes in a shallow gasp at last. 

“Why not?”  you ask.  

His brow furrows with utter confusion, like he cannot fathom the question because the answer is so obvious. 

“You know why,” he says.    

You are not sure how religious you are anymore.  You have drowned in the silence of the gods.  When Jisung says those words, this quiet but honest acknowledgement that he is just as affected by this power between you, you feel a force of nature rise within you.  It is the closest sensation to the breath of the gods, the supposed life force they breathe into their chosen ones.  It moves through you like lightning.  You feel hot, dizzy, and not from the sun as it creeps towards its midday pinnacle. 

 You look at Jisung.  He looks at nothing. 

“Your Majesty,” Chan’s voice breaks the wall of intense silence. 

You and Jisung both whip towards him.  If Chan saw anything untoward in your nervous behaviour, he does not comment.  He strides to you with the confident steps of an authoritative man.  He dips smoothly into a bow.  When he rises, one hand rests in a fist above his heart.  The other sits on his sword hilt. 

“As I’m sure you know by now, yesterday was not just a robbery,” Chan says, getting to the crux without wasting a breath.  “Jisung is a very capable soldier but if there is another attempt on your life, the safest place will be with me.  If it’s all right with you, Your Majesty, I would personally escort you to the capital.”   

There is no reason to refute his request.  Perhaps it is better you do not even try.  With the intensity of the last few days, maybe it is better to let all these passions simmer.  When they have burned themselves to ash, it will be easier to sweep them away. 

“Of course,” you say.  “Thank you, kingsguard.” 

Chan guides you towards the front of the train.  You do not look at Jisung until you are perched on the horse.  You intend to merely glance over your shoulder, but he is staring intently and it locks your gaze on him.  Fortunately, before it lasts too long, Chan swings onto the horse and blocks your view. 

You let yourself settle near the kingsguard leader.  All the while, you feel a different pair of eyes on you.   

It feels like ages before you finally depart.  After some time on the road, the others begin their chatter and sing-song.   Jisung starts the singing, as is his wont.  You wonder if anyone else notices how he starts the songs but never finishes them.  As soon as the others begin their jovial singing, Jisung goes silent and remains quiet until prompted again. 

You do not have to turn around to know his expression is solemn between bouts of entertaining giddiness. 

Chan does not sing or chat much.  He has a clear respect and even affection for his men, but he puts his duty first. 

Chan is also better at keeping an appropriate distance between your bodies.  Perhaps that is because the king’s carriage is close enough that you can catch a glimpse inside.  Some of the king’s favourite courtiers ride with him, all of them adjusted to the uneven road as they play card games and drink while talking.  You are sure some of their gossip is about you given the side glances and whispers. 

You are not sure if Chan notices.  You get periodically tense and he is close to you, so maybe he can tell.   Perhaps that is why he lets his horse fall back just enough to lose view of the inside of the carriage. 

With the king’s judgemental eyes no longer snapping towards you, you can breathe easier.  You even dare start a conversation with the kingsguard leader, though it feels intimidating in its own right.  Riding with Chan is not like riding with Jisung, and a conversation with the devout leader is very different than giggling with the bard. 

“Why doesn’t the king want me to ride with Hyunjin?” you ask curiously.  “He seems like a competent soldier.”

“Ah.”  Chan laughs, a nervous little giggle.  “He is.  It’s, ah, not for any real reason.  Really.  Just that, well, Hyunjin is good-looking, I guess.” 

“But he’s a kingsguard,” you say. 

“Yes, he is,” Chan answers more seriously.  “Honestly, I know the guys joke about it but… Hyunjin is one of the most devoted soldiers I have ever known.  There’s a reason he’s in the order.  He can’t really helps what he looks like, but whatever you hear: it’s not true.  He’s good, Your Majesty.  They all are.” 

“I believe it,” you say.  “I’ve never known a more loyal group of men.  They live up to their reputation.”

“Yes, they do,” Chan says with obvious pride.

You were seeking the warmth that is now in his voice, the respect with which he clearly regards his men.  It makes the real question inside you burn.    

“May I ask something more serious?” you finally say. 

“Of course, Your Majesty!” Chan says. “You can ask me anything.” 

There is not a hint of insincerity there.  You truly do believe Chan wants to do the right thing, but you are still wary in conversation with him.  Chan is steadfast with his responsibilities.  To him, the right thing will always involve the king in some capacity, so you cannot be as free as you were with Jisung. 

“The matter does not necessarily concern me,” you explain. 

“Hm, you’re the queen,” he answers.  “If it’s about the kingdom, it’s to do with you.  Ask me.”

He lends himself easily to trust.  With his competency and sincerity, you see how he easily rose the ranks of the kingsguard.  Jisung mentioned Chan was one of the youngest squires in history, setting records for length of time spent in training.  Those years of study and prayer make him incomparable.   He is the best and worst person to ask this question. 

“The guard who ran off,” you say, “and the king’s former mistress… What will become of them?”

The king has not forgiven nor forgotten the treachery.  It contributes to his constant stream of anger.  You cannot imagine anyone, even this spoiled fool, possessing the energy to rant and rave so incessantly, but his passions will not be tempered.  He has mused aloud all his gory desires, threats you know he will manifest if given the opportunity. 

It makes you sick to your stomach.  The details of the king’s fury are nauseating, not to mention your personal connection to the couple.  You saw them with your own eyes.  You saw their hope and their desire as they risked everything for freedom. 

You know that Han Jisung was involved.

All those gory images dance across your mind like tableaus from some horrible play, too gargantuan and horrifying to be real life.

“Ah,” Chan says.  Though he encouraged your question, he does sound a little hesitant now.  “I understand.  That was a… bad introduction to the kingsguard, I guess, wasn’t it?” he says.  “We couldn’t spare the resources to search for them, not without delaying our return.  The king wants to launch a kingdom-wide search once we are settled in the capital.”

“You’ll be the one in charge?”

“Well, I’m issuing it to Changbin and probably Minho, because I’ll have to attend to my usual duties.  But I’ll oversee it.  Why?”   

“How much will a search like that will cost?” you ask. 

The question surprises Chan.  Perhaps he did not expect such a pragmatic question, but there is an emotional underbelly to your query.  That is your family’s money the king will use to satisfy his own petty grievances, rather than putting it towards the kingdom he is sworn to protect. 

“It won’t be nothing,” Chan finally admits. 

“What purpose will finding them serve?” you ask. 

You want to turn around and shout it: that the king is pursuing them to soothe his own damaged ego and not because they are any threat to the wellbeing of the kingdom.  Surely, a man as capable and intelligent as Chan must know that.

You wonder how it must feel for this dedicated guard to be sworn to this type of king.  He deserves better.  Everyone does.       

Chan bristles, hearing the unspoken accusation in your question.  You feel his upright posture straighten even more.

“They broke the law,” he answers, his voice steadier than his body.  “He broke his vows.  She broke her promises.  There are consequences.”

“Consequences?” you ask.  “Or punishments?” 

“Your Majesty,” he says, as sternly as he can without being rude.  You suspect if you were a foot soldier, you would have been told to shut up.   “The kingsguard is pure.  When we give up our earthly goods, that doesn’t just mean literally, it means emotionally.  We trade our present life for eternity.  Everything we do, we do in service of the gods who provide for us.  Then and only then can the kingdom thrive.  A slight against the king is a slight against the gods.  Corruption can’t be allowed to spread.” 

“Corruption,” you say softly.  “You truly believe in the king’s purity?” 

When he does not answer right away, you look at him.  He looks at the carriage.  His brow is furrowed, his jaw set, looking very austere and cold.  He softens his expression when you meet eyes. 

“I think you’re a good kingsguard and a good leader, Bang Chan,” you say.  “Your men are good and they put their faith in you as much as the gods.  Whatever you believe, I will believe too.” 

You know Chan will not speak ill of the gods-chosen king.  You also know he will not commit a sin like lying.  So when you ask if he believes in the king’s purity, you are not surprised there is no answer.  He simply sighs as he turns his gaze ahead. 

“Maybe we should talk about something else,” he says.

It is all the answer you need. 

-

Your journey follows a river that flows to the sea, now behind you.  The course ahead lays inland.  Rest comes a few hours into travelling.  It is at a clearing not far from the river.  You can only just hear as it rushes and pours in a steady stream that leads far away from here.  

Everyone mills about, stretching their legs or sitting in the shade, while some prepare food and share drinks.   The king is with his courtiers, Chan close to him as usual.   You sit near the remaining kingsguards, close enough to be guarded but not so close to make them uncomfortable.  You know they will not speak freely in the queen’s presence so you grant them privacy.    

It means they are distracted just enough, blind to the way you and Jisung lock eyes across the breadth of woodland space.  After your conversation with Chan about the potential fate of the runaway lovers, you have fought to restrain all those deep, complicated desires.  You are less committed to true obedience, resigned to your own tragedy if the king moves against you, but you cannot be so careless with Jisung’s fate. 

It should be easy.  You hardly know the man.  But those dark eyes find you and see you, always right down to the core of you, and it is so difficult to wrench your gaze away.  

Jisung turns first.  He mutters something to Minho who is sitting beside him.  Whatever he says makes Minho freeze, a drink halfway to his lips.  His eyes dart over to you.   

Your back straightens, goosebumps rising, wondering what Jisung just told him.  Whatever it is, Minho makes the same report to Seungmin who also looks your way. 

Startled with all the attention, you resume focus on your idle task.  You dug some embroidery tools out of your trunk, so you sit on a stump threading patterns with no particular end design in mind.  It is just way to look and feel busy.  Your loneliness is less acute when occupied with a familiar task. 

You are disrupted by the crunching of the dirt path under booted steps.  You lift your head, gaze travelling long dark robes until you meet Seungmin’s eyes.  Seungmin is not exactly the friendliest, but there is an honest simplicity to him.  He does what he must, when he must, and he does it well, with no subterfuge or obfuscation of true intent.  So he must mean it very sincerely when he tips his head towards the circle of guards, clearly inviting you to join them.

“Your Majesty,” he says.  “The kingsguard would be honoured by your company.” 

“Oh,” you say, surprised.

Seungmin does not leave time for argument, taking your embroidery out of your hands and offering his arm.  You accept it blindly, ushered along before you can think twice.  You are soon seated, this time a part of the kingsguard circle.  You take a seat between Seungmin and Hyunjin. 

Seungmin returns your tools once you are settled, skirts neatly arranged around you.  The boys continue their conversation while you work, a tenderness and warmth in your heart that was not there before. 

“I can do that too,” Changbin says, pointing to your embroidery.  It makes Hyunjin spray his drink everywhere, the others similarly laughing.  “I can!”  Changbin protests.  “Tell them,” he says to you.  “Tell them how good I am.” 

“Tell them, Your Majesty,” Jeongin reminds him, nudging him with an elbow.   

“You don’t have to call me that,” Changbin jokes, ruffling the youngest’s hair. 

“Yes,” you say.  You laugh at their antics, but lay a hand on your heart and declare with teasing solemnity, “It’s true.  Kingsguard Changbin is quite a natural with a needle, I must swear it so.” 

Seungmin whistles, the others still chuckling.  

“I believe it then,” Hyunjin says, a twinkle in his eye.  “If the queen swears it, it must be true.”  There is a hint of seriousness to the proclamation, a knowing glance cast aside.  “It’s easier being a queensguard when the queen is true.” 

Though it is not unusual to refer to the kingsguards as queensguards in relative context, it is rarely done, and certainly no one has said it yet.  You suspect this king would not be so partial to acknowledgement of shared power.  Any reminder of your own latent holiness just angers him. 

Not to mention, while Hyunjin does not mention the king directly, the proclamation it is easier to guard a true monarch nonetheless carries a hint of accusation. 

You say nothing to refute nor encourage the claim, anticipating someone else may correct or shush him. 

Instead, Minho tips his cup in your direction. 

“Mm, hear to that,” he says casually, before taking a sip. 

“To the queen,” Jisung says, lifting his own cup too. 

Your gaze flies to him.  He smiles from across the circle, his arm outstretched and his cup tilted towards you.   Strange to say you have missed that sincere smile after so short a time, but you have, and it moves you more than the toast.  It reminds you of the first time you saw him, the first time he saw you in turn, when he stood above a crowd and sang to you across hundreds of people. 

The other guards follow his prompt.  They lift their cups and take a drink, leaving you more than a little flustered. 

“You’re the queen,” Seungmin says with that wide, cheeky smile, lightly nudging you with his elbow.  “You’ll have to get used to this.”   

You find it unlikely anyone but the kingsguard will ever toast to you, but you smile and express your gratitude.

Conversation has scarcely resumed when Chan comes stomping over.  His agitation ripples like rings in a disturbed pool of water, spreading to his men who are follow his flow.  They all sit straighter, looking at him for orders. 

Chan, clearly frustrated, just huffs and takes a seat. 

“Jeongin,” he says.  “Go stand guard over the king.”  He unwraps some food and takes a bite, shaking his head all the while. His irritation clearly gets the better of him because he mutters through his teeth, plenty loud enough for the others to hear, “I can’t listen to more complaining.”

“Is he mad about the weather again?”  Changbin asks with a laugh. 

“He’s the chosen one,” Minho says with a sly grin.  “Why doesn’t he just make it less hot?”

Chan clears his throat loudly, though he doesn’t berate them beyond that. 

“Jeongin,” he says, making a vague gesticulation in the direction of the king.

“Why do I have to go?” Jeongin asks, wearing a petulant pout that only the youngest could get away with.  You suspect anyone else would have received a lecture, but Chan just gives him a look, eyebrow quirked, and Jeongin complies with a tired sigh. 

“That’s what you get for eating so fast,” Seungmin says, earning himself a smack up the head as Jeongin passes him. 

“He’s right,” Minho says.  “You eat like a horse.” 

“Whoa, hey, man!” Jisung says.  “Don’t insult our horses like that.” 

There is some more laughter.  Jeongin shakes his head but his deep dimples show his amusement.  You giggle too, though it is probably inappropriate to jeer and chortle with a group of guards, hiding it behind your palm.  It is just too funny.  You watched moments ago as Jeongin shoved a truly impressive amount of food in his mouth, all but unhinging his jaw as he crammed it in like it was going to be taken away.  The jokes are mostly to that effect as the youngest ambles over to the king for guard duty.   

The conversations splinter after that, everyone more or less talking in pairs.  You just listen while working on your embroidery.  When Seungmin leaves to relieve himself, it opens an empty space between you and Chan.  The others are engrossed in their conversations – and playful but rowdy debates – while Chan just smiles and listens.  He occupies his hands with sharping the point of a dagger. 

You shuffle closer to him.  The motion catches his eye and he looks at you.  Though your conversations on horseback were polite after the initial topic, he still looks wary, perhaps now recognizing the look in your eye.   

“May I ask a question?” you ask. 

“You know you can,” he says, though he looks even more concerned. 

“It’s about the kingsguard vows,” you say.  “I know you said it prevents corruption – but how?  But why?”

“Why those vows?” Chan asks. 

He picks up the sheath for his dagger, eyes there as he slides it back in place.  The other guards notice his contemplative attitude, eyes flicking towards him then towards you.  Their conversations trail off when Chan begins to speak. 

“The kingsguard is an old service,” Chan says.  “Almost as old as the kingdom itself.  The gods chose favourites even before the palace had walls, and those favourites become kings, yes?  But with palaces, and money, and power… comes corruption.  There was a king who lost his way.  He stopped listening to the gods.  Sin and lust and anger: he let it conquer him.  The kingsguard was formed to save him from himself and, when that couldn’t happen, to save the kingdom.  The first kingsguard order burned all their clothes, put on the black cloth, and vowed to never be swayed by any temptation or sin.  It is not an order you can just join.  It is not a vow you just make.  The king, your brotherhood, and all the kingdom rely on your sword.  The corrupt king was executed by the kingsguard so the gods could choose another.  Since then, there has been no need for intervention.  It has been a perfect harmony for centuries.  So we maintain the vows of those first kingsguards and so the kingdom stays in harmony and order.”

“So it is of utmost importance both the king and the kingsguard keep their vows,” you say. 

There is a beat of silence, like Chan knows you are going to say something that will make his forehead throb, but he relents and says, “…yes.” 

Rather than torment him with more implications the king is not pure, you ask, “What makes a sin?” 

His shoulders fall with a sigh of relief, though it doesn’t last.  His eyes dart over the other guards, aware they are waiting for an answer too. 

He slowly turns to you and says, “Anything that distracts from the gods.” 

“I see,” you say.  You can feel the kingsguards looking at you, their attention moving between you and Chan as if watching the volley of an intense game match.  It makes your skin prickle, sweat on your nape as you swallow your nerves.  “Such as lust and anger, as you said?” 

Their eyes flick to Chan. 

“Yes,” Chan says.

Their eyes flick back to you. 

“Yet I fear I feel the gods most strongly in the throes of such things,” you say.  “The gods created all those feelings. I have spent much of my life suppressing the call of great emotion.  Perhaps it is not a coincidence that since being chosen by the gods, I have felt their designs all the more powerfully.”

Their eyes practically bulge out of their heads.  Chan just stares at you, barely even blinking. 

“Perhaps the king does too,” you say, your voice light, like this is a simple remark.  You draw your needle through the fabric, watching the colourful thread as you draw it heavenward.  “Perhaps that is why his relentless wrath is considered a permissible action.”

Hyunjin makes a sound, a short, sharp cackle, throwing a hand over his mouth before it can grow.  The others wear long faces, not daring to remark.  Jisung is wide-eyed.  When you glance at him, he tips his head, at once curious and concerned. 

You tear your eyes away from him.  You smile at Chan. 

“Ah,” Chan says.  “Well.”   

“I think it might be the same for other so-called sins,” you say.  “Lust for example.  I think… I think it’s a lot like prayer.”

“I’m sorry.”  Chan shakes his head rapidly back-and-forth.  His eyes close in a painful wince.  “Like.. like prayer?”  He looks at you like you just smacked him.  He probably would have preferred it.  A kingsguard can take a hit, but you are not sure they are built to withstand the queen speaking like this.   

“Yes,” you say, smiling.  You look down at your embroidery, threading a little flower.  “I think intimate intercourse is like praying.  It is the highest expression of gratitude and love, showing appreciation for the life the gods have given you, and the appreciation of the life they have created in another.  I think this can be turned into a sin, of course.  When it is stolen, when it is forced, when it is coerced, when it is taken without care or consideration for the other…  Yes, I believe this great gift can be corrupted.  But I believe it can be the holiest of all earthly actions.  I dare say there is no way to be closer to the gods.” 

There is a long gap of silence.  Hyunjin still has a hand over his mouth, like he doesn’t trust himself otherwise, and Jisung is still wide-eyed – and more than a little flushed.  Tufts of dark hair are flicked up at the nape of his neck, a scarlet tinge to his complexion.   

Minho and Changbin eventually say, “Wow.” 

“Um.”  Chan clears his throat. 

“I know,” you say, smiling at him.  “We should talk about something else.” 

You focus on your embroidery, humming to yourself. 

Seungmin returns and sits down in the silence.  He looks around the quiet circle and lifts an eyebrow. 

“What did I miss?” he asks. 

-

Rest comes to an end.  There is a bustle as everyone packs up and prepares to continue the journey.  You will travel a few more hours, at which point the sun will begin its descent.  You should reach the predetermined site to build camp before nightfall. 

You wait near Chan’s horse, stroking its muzzle, lost in thought.  You imagine what would have happened if you died yesterday.  Would the king have the audacity to celebrate, even in the face of his solemn guards?  His success might have emboldened him, made him feel justified, like the gods were on his side.  You like to think his failure has tempered him, that he will take it as a sign of the gods’ disapproval, but you doubt it. 

You spot Changbin in the middle of the crowd.  He is helping the servants with some heavy lifting, packing cooking instruments back on the wagon.  Chan looks like he will be another minute.  While he is distracted, you wander over to Changbin. 

Changbin puts the last piece of equipment on the wagon.  A servant bows and thanks him profusely.  Changbin grins and lifts the servant out of his bow.  He winks, saying, “Ah, no work is beneath anyone!  You don’t need to thank me.”

You smile as Changbin gives the flustered servant a friendly pat on the back.  Of course, Changbin is quite strong, and the willowy servant stumbles, but it is still a sweet moment.  Once confirming the servant is all right, Changbin approaches you and bows. 

“Your Majesty,” he says.  “Can I help you?” 

Changbin is in a good mood.  The kingsguards did not seem angry with your earlier words, just surprised, even amused.  You think they just like to see their incorruptible leader so flustered. 

“Not so much,” you say.  “I just have something on my mind.  Chan told me the king intends to launch a search for the missing guard and mistress.  He said the primary duties may be relegated to you.” 

“Ah.”  Changbin’s eyes darken with the furrow of his brow.  His grin disappears and he looks very morose.  “Yes.  Most likely.  Do you have something to report?” 

Flashes of that night play in your mind.  You shiver as you suppress them. 

“No,” you say.  “I just – I have a great deal of respect for the kingsguard.  This is a difficult situation for you all, I am sure.  I just wished to make my allegiance to you known.  In the event of any… complications.”

“Complications,” Changbin repeats. 

“Yes.”  You weigh your words very carefully.  You can either win Changbin’s confidence or push him further away.  “Like Chan said, the vows are so important, and your brotherhood relies so strongly on each other.  I’m sure Felix meant a great deal to you, at a time.  This must be very difficult.” 

“Yes.”  Changbin’s brow unfurrows, his face softening in a moment of obvious reminiscence.  He seems to stare right past you, lost in some faraway thought.  He sighs and runs a hand through his black hair, smooth strands falling back over his forehead.  “Felix was a good man,” Changbin says.  “You… remind me of him, a little.  The things you say.  Ahhh, this is all wrong.”  He shakes his head, his expression pinched with frustration.  “It shouldn’t be like this.  I don’t like the idea of going after him.”

You restrain yourself, not leaping too eagerly at the brazen remark.  With the well of emotion rising in your chest, you ask, “Then why do it?”   

“Because those are my orders,” he says, like it is obvious.  

“What if those orders are wrong?” you say. 

“They’re the king’s orders,” Changbin says, not quite an argument, not quite an agreement. 

“Yes,” you say.  “And the king is heaven’s earthly sovereign, who rules us all by the will of the gods.  But what if those orders are not actually coming from the gods?”

The king is close to you.  Changbin sees him first, but too late to spare you. 

The king shouts your name like it is a blasphemous slur.  The scream is imbued with so much fury, it sounds as though he means an exorcise a demon right here, right now. 

Although you told yourself you were resigned to his wickedness, the terror of that voice makes your whole body shake.  Bravery is much easier in theory, a whispered voice in the back of your head that extends no further than stolen words in shadows, but it is different to stare down a hateful man whose cruelty knows no bounds.

You turn to face the king, grateful for the length of your skirt as it hides your trembling legs.  You summon your many years of etiquette practice, feigning the most stoic countenance you possibly can. 

The king gets right in your face, screaming so loudly it blows a loose curl out of its pin. 

“You have the audacity to blaspheme against your king?”

A deathly hush has fallen over the forest, all conversations ended.  You hear nothing but the shuffle of bodies as people either retreat or approach the action.  Servants make themselves scarce, courtiers gathering with eager eyes.  The kingsguards swarm, abandoning their horses and forming rank with a hand on their swords.  You are not sure who they mean to protect.

Chan is the only one to directly intervene, shoving through the throng to reach the king. 

“Whoa, whoa, Your Majesty,” he says, skidding to a halt, his black robes swishing around him.  “What happened?” 

“This blasphemous creature dared to question the will of gods before my people,” the king snaps. 

“I did not,” you say, wrenching your voice from the nauseas pit of your gut.  “I did not question the gods.” 

“You have the nerve to call my authority into question?” the king asks, taking another menacing step forward. 

You instinctively stumble back.  Your gaze darts when you move, eyes finding the other kingsguards.  Minho, Changbin, and the younger two watch the scene intently, hands on their sword hilts.  Hyunjin has partially withdrawn his sword, hilt firmly in hand and a shiny length of silver catching the sunlight. 

Jisung has one hand on his hilt but his grip is loose.  He is the only one moving, taking tentative steps towards the scene.  His wide eyes are concerned but not frightened, his shoulders tensed, entire body braced.  A fist uncurls, hand lifting.  You are not sure if he is reaching for you or warning you. 

The king is still ranting.  All he does is repeat the same accusation, hurl the same slander.  There is a wretched delight to his snarling ire.  Because of the assassination debacle, he has been forced to feign a modicum for respect for you.  Your remark serves as justification for unleashing all that contempt once more.  

He calls you every foul name a man can call a woman.  No doubt you are also subject to his anger for the mistress.  It makes your hands curl up in fists at your side.   Your trembling body is building adrenaline with every quivering shake.  You think of the mistress, of Felix, of Jisung, of a cluster of crying servants, of your own body slumped in a carriage with an arrow in your heart, when all you ever wanted to do was help your people. 

“I would never speak ill of the gods,” you snap.  Perhaps it is your shaking or perhaps it is heavenly intervention, but you feel your voice as it thunders out of you.  It reverberates in the arching trees and quakes underfoot like an earthen tremor.  “Even in moments of my greatest doubt, I use them as my example in how to conduct myself.”  You speak loud but steady, looking the king in his startled eyes. “I would never speak against them.  I would never act against them.  I would never assume I have the perspective to rebel against their will.  No matter how someone might offend me, I would not attempt to intervene on the god’s will by bringing harm anywhere near to them.”     

Ostensibly, this is in retaliation to his comments – but everyone knows the attack yesterday was not just a robbery.  No one is speaking the accusation aloud, but it sits on the tip of every tongue when the subject is broached.   Yes, everyone here knows what the king has done, and when you make your declaration, it is all anyone hears. 

Only one of you has kept your vows.  Only one of you is righteous. 

He backhands you, clean across the face.  It lands even harder than on the wedding night.  That slap burned like a hot iron welt, but this one drums like a storm.  It knocks you to the ground, the earth rushing up so quickly that you cannot even catch yourself.  Your cheek hits the dirt, your body crumpling on impact. 

Your face is downturned but you hear the zinging slash of sword after sword as the kingsguards reveal their weapons.  When you look up, you see every blade partially drawn.  Hyunjin is the only one to fully draw his weapon, his sharp, intense face focussed on the king while the other guards look at Chan.

Jisung is the only one who looks at you.  He does not draw his sword.  His hand leaves his hilt and he runs straight towards you.  He slams onto his knees with so much impact, it sends leaves and gravel flying.  His hands are on you, shameless and without delay. 

“Your Majesty,” he says.  He holds your shoulders, guides you upright into a sitting position. 

You can barely see him through your tears, watering from the sheer physicality of such brutal pain.  You face is numb so you do not even realize Jisung is wiping it clean. 

His efforts accomplish very little because the king kicks you over, a sharp jab in your side that makes you cry out.  It is more unexpected than the smack and makes everyone gasp.

Jisung catches you, drawing you protectively into the cradle of his arms.  You imagine his face, his wide, startled eyes turned up to the king in questioning terror as he clutches the queen to his chest.  You fear he will be kicked for insubordination.  You press against his chest and will the world to disappear to around him. 

“Are you seriously going to allow this?”  Hyunjin’s voice rips through the clearing. 

You turn your face, cheek pressed to Jisung’s chest.  Hyunjin has stepped forward but he does not address the king, anger bright red on his handsome face as he stares at Chan. 

Chan looks at him but it is the king who answers, spinning on his heel to march up to Hyunjin.

Bellowing, the king begins, “The kingsguard does not allow or disallow me anything—”

“The kingsguard has a right to intervention in the face of injustice!” Hyunjin shouts back, driving his sword into the dirt a mere foot from the king. 

It draws the man to a halt, a flicker of intimidation crossing his face as he looks at the guard.  He quickly shakes it off, pointing a threatening hand at Hyunjin. 

“What do you dare accuse me of?” the king demands.  “Do you have the audacity to make so formal a claim against me?  Tell me, kingsguard!  Use your rights!  Make your claim!  And I shall make mine, rest assured!” 

Hyunjin cannot say anything more.  He stares at the king, fuming.   Chan was not exaggerating when he spoke of Hyunjin’s devotion to his beliefs.  More than a pretty face, indeed.  He does not budge an inch for the tyrant king. 

While the king is distracted, Jisung helps you up.  You rise on shaking legs, using his arms for leverage.  He murmurs your name, not your title, so soft an utterance that no one else hears.  It affects you more deeply than the king’s shouting. 

Your watery eyes lift to Jisung.  You are clasping his forearms for support but you want to fall against him.  Your heart and body both call to him.  You are overwhelmed with the memory of being in his arms at your most vulnerable moment, bare and open and overcome.  It makes you feel like if he is close, there is no height you cannot reach, no harm that can ever pursue you there.       

With your eyes locked so reverently on Jisung, you do not see the king approach.  You turn your face as he throws Hyunjin an arrogant, challenging look.

Then the king reels back and punches you. It is clumsy and too emotional, his anger getting the better of him, so it lands with less force than intended.  You still feel it right down to your toes, a shock of awful pain.  You are not sure what actually hurts, if he hits your nose or something else, but you taste blood, tangy and metallic on your lips and tongue.  Jisung catches you when you fall, keeping you upright while you spit blood onto the forest floor.   If anyone gasps, you cannot hear it over the ringing in your ears. 

Hyunjin instantly explodes.  He attacks the king with his bare hands, his swing far cleaner, a swift punch that strikes the royal face so hard, it makes a cracking sound.  Hyunjin is lean but evidently strong because the king reels upon impact. 

Hyunjin does not let him recuperate.  He lands another blow, then one more, coming at a different angle each time.  The king hits the ground on the third punch, landing with a humiliating scream and thud. 

Everyone is chattering and shrieking now, even the most eager courtiers retreating from the violence.  Minho and Seungmin spring into action, charging Hyunjin before he can chase the king to the ground. 

“Hold him back!” Chan shouts at them.  Like everyone else, pure shock delayed him. 

Minho and Seungmin seize Hyunjin by the arms, hauling him away from the king while he froths with anger.  The king recoils from him, then starts to rage because he has been humiliated.  Hyunjin shouts back, so much piercing chaos that you hardly make sense of it.

“This ends now!” Chan shouts above it all.  He does not need to draw his sword or swing his fist.  Hyunjin finally goes silent, shrugging Minho and Seungmin away.  Even the king ceases his hollering, spitting blood onto the ground. 

Your own mouth is still streaked red.  Chan looks at you, his hard expression softening. 

“Your Majesty, are you okay?” he asks. 

The king begins to answer, a furious exclamation that he is obviously not okay, then he realizes Chan is speaking to you. 

“How dare you address that creature—” the king begins. 

“That creature is the gods-chosen queen!” Chan shouts.  Where Hyunjin and the king raged with a red hot fire, Chan is cold, the harsh narrowing of his eyes speaking for him.  It cuts across the clearing.  Everything, high and mighty or low to earth, seems to bend in acquiescence.  “The queen is not to be struck under any circumstances,” Chan says sharply, a hand on his sword hilt, his eyes on the king.  “I am making a formal accusation against you as I just witnessed the offense with my own eyes.” 

The silence is more deafening than the chaos.  You watch as Chan shakes his head.  His booted steps roll like thunder on the dirt as he approaches you.  His arm is outstretched, a word on his lips, but he interrupted by the king.

“I want him flogged.” 

Chan freezes.  His back is to the king and all the courtiers, guards, and servants.  Only you and Jisung see the flash of fury, barely tempered as Chan clenches his jaw then draws a breath. 

“The gods spoke to him,” Chan says, frighteningly calm.  “They told him to defend the queen who should never have been struck so carelessly.”

“And for that I won’t have his head removed,” the king snaps.  He spits blood on the ground again, looking at Hyunjin as he does.  Hyunjin stares back but has the sense to not act again.  The king lacks any and all sense.  No sense of duty, no sense of responsibility.  He points at Hyunjin like an infant points at a child, stamping his foot and crying to his parents of some petty, childish plight.  “Twenty lashes,” the king demands.  “Ten for each time beyond this so-called defense he dared laid his hand against the holy king.”   

Chan turns.  He looks at Hyunjin.  Hyunjin stares back, a silent conversation unfolding in the space between them.  You see the calculation, the surrender.  Chan shakes his head and Hyunjin clenches his jaw. 

Your hand twitches at your side, instinctively searching for Jisung.  He finds it, clasps it, hiding your joined hands between his robes and your dress. 

“Jisung,” you whisper. 

“It’s all right,” Jisung whispers back.  Despite his words, he sounds upset.  “Hyunjin can take it.” 

In proof, Hyunjin does not await further instruction.  He rips at his outer robe, tearing it off his body and dropping it in a heap on the forest floor. 

“Jeongin,” Chan says.  “Get me a horsewhip.”

You jolt.  Jisung squeezes your hand, holding you back, shushing you gently.  You watch, heart in your throat, as Hyunjin tugs off his under-shirt.   He drops to his knees where he stands, Minho and Seungmin backing away, their faces plastered with practiced stoic looks.  Seungmin betrays only a hint of thought, shaking his head an infinitesimal degree as he backs away.  Minho flashes Jisung a look of similar aggravation. 

You still taste blood, even when you wipe your mouth with a shaking hand. 

Hyunjin prostrates himself on the ground, a full bow as if at prayer.  Chan has the whip in his hands and he snaps it open at his side.  You do not know if your eyes water from pain or sorrow. 

The king stands nearby, arms crossed, a smug look on his face.  You look at him as Chan swings an expert arm and brings the whip down.  The king does not flinch, his pompous self-satisfaction only deepening.   

You jump at the crack of the whip, eyes racing back to Hyunjin.  There is a welt across his skin, pale as it is never exposed beneath those layers of black.  Despite all the jests made at his expense, Hyunjin does not remove those robes for anything.  He keeps his vows with an unrelenting determination.  He is a good kingsguard.  It is not his fault he has a bad king. 

“Stop,” you say.

Jisung tries to hold you back but you drop his hand.  You are still dizzy and speaking with a mouth full of blood, but you march onward.  The king is probably looking at you with all that heated aggravation but you do not care.  You look at Chan, the only authority you respect. 

“Hyunjin was defending me,” you say.  “He acted on my behalf.  I will take his punishment.” 

There are immediate protests, not just from the kingsguards but from servants and even scandalized courtiers.  Their vocal protestations make chaotic discord, the forest shaking with every shout and holler. 

You hear Jisung above the rest. 

“Chan!” he says.  “Don’t you let her, Chan!  Chan!”

You and Chan are the only ones who remain silent, staring each other down.  You are perfectly calm, holding his gaze.  He looks at you like he is reading a book in a language he did not even know existed, scrutinizing the shape and sound of everything that lies in front of him. 

“Silence!” the king finally shouts, curtailing the worst of the chaos.  He marches over to you, hand out like he intends to grab you.  “Stand down, woman!  You’ve caused enough problems today!” 

You storm towards him too, wiping the blood off your face with such a flourish that it flicks towards him.  He takes a step back, so surprised by your approach that he almost trips over his own feet. 

“Am I not correct in saying that a citizen has the right to stand in for another when a punishment has been issued?” you ask. 

“You are not a citizen, you fool, you are the queen,” the king snaps. 

“Oh, so now there’s some fucking rules about propriety!” you snap back.  “Punching me in the face did not account for it, but this does?  I am curious where your lines are drawn, Your Majesty, and which gods drew them, as they certainly do not resemble any teachings I know.” 

The look on the king’s face is more satisfying than any welt or punch. 

“Enough,” Chan says, not raising his voice.  He drops the horsewhip to the ground and Hyunjin lifts his head.  “This has gone on long enough,” Chan says firmly.  “We have a long journey to make today.  This was a petty disagreement and a misunderstanding, and it is an insult to the gods and all of us present to draw it out any longer.  Hyunjin, get up.  You’ll spend the night in prayer asking the gods for forgiveness for any slights they perceived.  Accept their revelation and be done with this.  Everyone, back in formation.  Now.”    

Finally, the crowd disperses, speaking lowly amongst themselves as they return to their former tasks. 

Chan faces the king.  In the same tone, he demands, “You too, Your Majesty.” 

The king boils with such a quiet, fiery rage that you are amazed he does not burst.  Chan does not relent in the face of his threats, standing firm until the king storms away.   Once he is gone, your own adrenaline cools.  Your legs feel weak again.   You stumble.

Jisung catches you.  His arm swings wide, catching your waist and drawing you into him. 

“She’s still bleeding,” Jisung says. 

“Take her,” Chan says, nodding sharply.  “Get cleaned up.  Meet back at the horses soon.  He’s not going to be in the mood to wait.”  Chan rolls his eyes and turns away. 

You and Jisung are the only ones left.  You are standing too close to him, his familiar heartbeat pounding against yours, and you need to rip away but you want to be even closer. 

Jisung takes a step, guiding you towards the sound of the river.  When you try to separate further, he pulls you back into his side, that hidden strength revealing itself.  Your feet only skirt the ground as he practically carries you the riverside, like if he lets go for a second the gods will sweep you away from him. 

Jisung holds the briars as you cross through dense brush.  The riverbank is on the other side.  You step onto the gravel bed, breathing a sigh of relief as you feel separated from the world again at last.   

Jisung touches your lower back, just a press of his fingertips to get your attention.  It certainly works, sparks shooting up your spine as if he traced the length of it.  But no, it stays there, palm on your lower back, nudging you towards the water. 

Earlier, he could not bring himself to look at you.  Now you are the one hiding your gaze.  After a tumultuous day of warring with yourself, of provocations and retreats, accusations and regrets, you feel tired and unsure, hurt and embarrassed. 

“What were you thinking?” Jisung asks. 

You kneel at the same time, at the river’s edge, the cool fresh water lapping at the edge of his robe and your skirt.  It is paid no heed.  You gather water in the cup of your hands, bringing it to your face in a gentle splash.  You close your eyes, relishing in the cool kiss of the stream.  The water runs pink as it spills over your lips.  You scrub your mouth on the sleeve of your dress. 

“It doesn’t matter what I do, does it?” you ask.  “It doesn’t matter if I follow every rule he makes or if I break them in front of him.  He is going to hurt me.  He is going to find ways to justify it.” 

Jisung is still bad at hiding his emotions, looking at you with sad, shiny eyes, his face long with sorrow. 

You spare him a momentary glance, too affected by his empathy.  It would be easier if he did not care.  It would be easier if he did not look at you.  It would be easier if he did not gather every undone curl to pull them back over your shoulder. 

It makes you shiver like the first time.  That chill is swallowed by heat as you remember him looking at you through that mirror, drawing your hair off your shoulders, firelight warm against your naked skin as he choked on his breathing. 

Even now, his hand lingers on the back of your neck, on your shoulder, your arm.  Every touch is just a second too long.  He looks at his hand like it belongs to someone else, curling his fingers towards his palm like they hurt. 

“Your Majesty,” he says, not much louder than a whisper. 

“You can use my name,” you say, just as quiet. 

The roar of the river makes you bold.  You are alone but even if you were interrupted, you could never be overheard.  It makes everything feel so natural, so right, like the gods themselves have aligned the world in such a way that you would be here with him at this exact moment.   Yet at the same time, that is impossible.  The gods chose you for the king.  It was you who chose Jisung. 

“I know,” he says.  With a laugh, airy and humourless, he runs a hand through his hair and says, “Believe me, I know.” 

You finally look at him.  His eyes are drawn to your mouth, but that is because you missed some blood.  You fold your hands neatly in your lap, the very picture of lady-like perfection if not for your bloodied lips and the aching swell of your cheek. 

Jisung cups water into his own palm.  With one hand, he holds your face, thumb and forefinger curled around your chin to tilt your head.  He brings the water to your lips, pours as neatly as he can. 

“You’re incredible,” he whispers.  “I mean, you’re crazy— Fuck, I shouldn’t say that to the queen – Fuck, I swore again – don’t listen to me – Your Majesty, with all due respect, you’re just—”  He laughs, truly and deeply, wiping blood off your cheek while you stifle your own giggles. 

The ordeal is still too fresh to truly have any perspective, but you suspect you will be reeling later tonight as you remember your own adrenaline-fueled actions.  

“Don’t tell anyone I told you that,” he teases. 

“Our secret,” you say, smiling. 

His eyes are on your cheek, his thumb scrubbing a mark.  When you say that, his gaze flicks to yours. 

Your whole body reacts to his eyes.  You feel – tight, clenching, stomach twisting with heat.  There is at once an impossible emptiness at the centre of your being, and also a penetrating fulfillment as he looks at you so intensely that you feel it deep inside of you.  You think the king could come to your chamber every night, could do whatever he would, and it would not feel half so thorough a claiming as one glance from Han Jisung. 

“I, um, oh.  Oh.”  Jisung shakes his head.  He looks down, hair falling into his eyes as he swoops over to cup some more water.  He still holds your chin with his other hand, fingers loosely clasped. 

He straightens, tossing his hair out of his eyes, focussed on your lips. 

You know it is just because he is cleaning the residual blood, but his searching glance moves through you.  It deepens when he wets your lips, as he lets that little bit of water pour off his skin and onto your mouth. 

Your lips part, trusting.  His fingers on your chin tremble just a bit.  When he exhales, it flutters through a loose curl. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, lips moving against his fingers. 

“Your Majesty,” he says, trying to be jovial, trying to laugh, but it comes out like a croak.  “It’s why I’m here,” he says in a voice that sounds as rough as it did the other night.  “I’m supposed to serve you.  And – And I—”

His thumb runs slowly across your bottom lip, his eyes entranced with the way it gives under his touch, where it softly springs back.   Your breath spills over his fingers and he swallows. 

“And,” he tries again, breathing deeply when you do.

“And?” you say on that breath.

His gaze moves from your lips to your eyes.  He drops one hand as if startled, fumbling for nothing, accidentally finding yours in its descent.  You clasp that hand in your lap, heart racing as he so tightly curls his fingers around yours.  It is such a desperate clutch, but it does not hurt.  No, it never hurts. 

“And,” he says, those other fingers still curled under your chin.  It would make any defense impossible, his fingers so obviously  guiding your face closer to his own.  His mouth is a breath away, every exhale soft against your lips.  “And I want to serve you, my queen,” he says in a soft, low murmur.  “I need to serve you.”

You make a noise that could be mistaken for pain, wounded and sharp, but it is not that.  It is the sound you make when you draw your kiss-wet fingers down your own throat, the way his damp fingers now trace that same descent.  You tilt your head, offering him all that vulnerable skin, shivering under the long, slow touch. 

He recognizes that sound too.  He heard you make it two nights ago.  You remember him kneeling, just like this, looking at you, just like this.  You remember him, slouched in that chair by the fire while you dreamed of nothing more than kneeling in front of him.  What would you even do from that vantage?  You do not know.  You just know it beckons to you like a call from above. 

“Oh,” you say, trembling for a very different reason than earlier.  “Jisung,” you whisper, “I want to serve you too.” 

It is that remark that petrifies him, his hand freezing, his eyes wide.  He stares at your neck like it is more dangerous like a sword-hand.  A million complicated thoughts seem to flash across his face, one after the other. 

His fingers splay open across your throat, your pulse beating under his hand.  You swallow. 

“What are you doing to me?” he breathes. 

Then his fingers are under your chin again.  Your faces come close.  His lips are touching yours but it is not a kiss, just the promise of one, so painfully close to kissing that your mouths brush with the slightest twitch or breath.  Still, he does not close the space entirely.  He leans into it like he will, but then he collapses with a pained whimper, abruptly letting go, turning his face to the side. 

“Fuck,” he says.  He puts a hand over his face and shakes his head. 

You turn your face the other way, closing your eyes too, breathing hard.  You also touch your face, fingers shaking as you touch your unkissed lips, still tingling from the proximity. 

Your other hand is in your lap.  It is still tightly clasped around his. 

“Oh gods,” he says. 

“Yes,” you say.  “I feel them too whenever you’re near.” 

You look at each other.  His mouth opens, some sentiment on his lips, desperate to be uttered, but he only manages to move his lips a few times before surrendering to muteness.  He stands.  With a gentle tug, he brings you with him. 

The river laps at your feet.  There is a swirl of pink where your blood spilled.  You look at it for a long moment. 

“In the banquet hall,” you say, watching the pink wash away.  “In the wedding ceremony.  On the road.  In that inn.”  You lift your eyes to his.  “I felt it everywhere,” you say.  “The gods, or just you, all around me, like nothing I have ever felt before.” 

You lift his hands, bringing them to your lips as he did last night.  He just stands there, mouth open, watching as you kiss his knuckles with the same devoted press.  Where he was all desperate teeth and lips, you are tender, a soft wet kiss that lingers on his knuckles, scraped and scarred from so much work.   

“These hands are a testament to years of hard work, kingsguard,” you say.  You give his hands one final squeeze before letting go.  “They should be worshipped too.”

He makes a sound you can only describe as a comical squeak.  Your sweet, complicated, funny guard.  Big eyes blink at you as you step back. 

“Shall we?” you say, nodding to the brush, to the world that waits on the other side. 

He nods, still too stunned to speak, staring at you as if in a trance.  You bow your head to him, clasping your hands politely in front of you.  You turn to leave.

You have only taken one step when you feel his hand on the back of your neck.  It sends a bolt of fire shooting down your whole body.  Your heart, moments ago doused with cold water, comes roaring back to life, shooting heat to every extremity. 

You remember the strength of his arms.  Yes, you will never forget.  He wraps one arm in a possessive grip around your waist, just like before, but more.  The other hand stays on the back of your neck, buried in your half-pinned hair, leaving it even more dishevelled. 

The state of your hair is a perfect visual metaphor for what you feel inside: unravelled, undone. 

He pulls you right into him.  His name has scarcely left your lips before he swallows the sound, mouth pressed to yours in a hot, hungry kiss.  His lips, his tongue, his teeth, all of it there, soft and hard and needy.   

A kiss is the most you ever dared to steal over the years, silly childish exchanges that amounted to nothing.  

But this –

This is everything.    

“Jisung,” you say, like begging, almost a cry against his mouth before he steals the sound again. 

You are both clumsy from lack of practice, or maybe lack of time.  You are desperate to feel everything in the few moments afforded to you.  There are lifetimes of desire packed into that kiss, eternities surrendered to the passionate press of his lips on yours. 

He breathes your name, cups your jaw, tilts your face just so, kissing you slowly despite the ticking clock.  You shiver, humming a sweet, amorous sound against his lips.  The taste of blood is long gone, replaced with him.  Just Jisung, on your lips and your tongue.  You want it everywhere else. 

You would give yourself to him if he asked.  You would forget about everything and do it right here on this riverbank. 

Fortunately, he has more sense than that.  He lets you go, takes a small step back.  He breathes unevenly while raking his fingers through his hair.

“We can’t do that again, okay?” he says.

You blink at him.  It must be a convincing argument because he groans, then grabs you by the hips and pulls you towards him.  He kisses you again, mouth open against yours, coaxing all those tender sounds you did not know you could make.  It feels wet and messy and it should be awful, this frantic animal hunger, but it just feels good. 

You just – feel.  

“Okay,” he gasps.  He clutches your waist, holds your body in his hands and counts under his breath.  Finally, he steps back, nudging you away from him.  “Okay,” he says, wiping his mouth and shaking his head.  “That’s fine.  That was – that was just.  Exactly, you’re so right.  Yes.  All right.  Very fine.  Very good.”

He clears his throat, adjusting his black robes neatly like he did not just ravage your mouth in his holy garments.  He tips his head back and stares up at the sky, holding the briars back for you, pointedly not looking down even when you approach. 

You could walk right past him.  You should walk right past. 

You lean towards him and whisper, “I thought of you again last night.” 

You step through the brush.  You listen as he somehow accidentally slams them all in his own face, sputtering as he fights through the greenery to join you.  He shakes himself out like nothing happened. 

“Right,” he says.  “Right.  Right.  Right.  Go.”  He points ahead. 

You walk a few paces ahead.  He escorts you back to Chan.  When you are perched on the horse, you look back over your shoulder, once more intending just a fleeting glance.  Jisung is already looking at you, fingertips pressed to his bottom lip.  He lowers his hand.

You smile softly.  Like something heaven-sent, he smiles back. 

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a person in possession of a good blorbo must be in want of art of that blorbo. And on this front, I have suffered because there is really no Háma art out there despite the fact that he’s rad. (I won’t bore you all again with all of the reasons why he’s the best, but you can find that here.) So I asked @rinthecap to draw me a lovely and handsome Háma, and they delivered in the best possible way!!! Here’s my guy, with a lot on his mind as he watches his king slowly lose his grip on reality, but always at the ready to jump into the fray and help.

I love ALL of Rincap’s art, which you should definitely all go check out if you haven’t, and am extremely grateful for this beautiful and necessary contribution to a world that was severely lacking in Háma representation! ♥️♥️♥️ His face, his armor, his hair, it’s all aces!

And here, for good measure, is my Háma headcanon:

His father was the royal armorer in Edoras, and his mother worked alongside him; he did the metal work, and she handled leather. Little Háma grew up around their workshop, playing quietly in the back or listening to his mother tell stories while she stitched together vambraces or gloves. As he got older, he helped his parents with simple tasks, like linking rings for chainmail. When a mailcoat he worked on saved Théoden from a Dunlendish arrow and the king himself came by to thank young Háma, he nearly burst with pride. He knew right then that he wanted to dedicate his life to protecting the king and made it his goal to be captain of his guard someday.

Háma’s father was severely injured in a workshop accident not long after, and everyone marveled at how quickly he apparently recovered and was able to keep turning out work. What they didn’t know is that Háma’s mother took over most of the business, having learned metal crafting over the many years of work alongside her husband. They didn’t tell anyone who was actually making the pieces because they weren’t sure anyone would wear armor made entirely by a woman, but Háma knew, of course, and it filled him with both pride and frustration to hear people heap praise on his mother’s work while attributing it all to his father.

While he was working his way up through the ranks of the guards, Háma met and fell in love with Bryttalif, a midwife in Edoras. Brytta was herself pregnant and unmarried when they met, so she was viewed as a little scandalous. But they hit it off right away and he really didn’t care about town gossip or what other people had to say because she was just the sort of kind and gentle-hearted person that he was. The scandal was eventually forgotten because Háma and Brytta got married, which gave the whole situation a sheen of acceptability. He adopted her daughter Halwinë as his own and was absolutely crazy about her–Middle Earth’s truest Girl Dad. Brytta was pregnant with their second child when Háma was killed at Helm’s Deep. It was a boy she named Wilspell (“welcome news”).

Háma’s sword was recovered from outside the gate of the Hornburg after his death and was thereafter always used by the captain of the king’s guard, being transferred from person to person as part of a little ceremony whenever a new captain was appointed.

He was buried in armor his mother made.

[blueskittlesart]

can you expand on your purah thoughts

i've been waiting for someone to ask me about purah since botw came out. im obsessed with her. let's talk about it.

what we know about purah's life pre-calamity is limited, but we do know that she was a sheikah tech researcher in her 20s when the calamity hit. in her diary, she says this about the calamity:

Ganon had been dormant for 10,000 years. Perhaps his power had been building all that time. The slaughter that followed was arbitrary and merciless. The destruction complete. We lost everything... Hyrule Castle, Princess Zelda... Well, perhaps not everything was lost. A youth named Link was brought to me a hundred years ago, covered in wounds and on death's doorstep. Link... So young, yet so courageous. He was the youngest knight to have ever been appointed to the Imperial Guard at Hyrule Castle. He was also a gifted swordsman who was selected as captain of Princess Zelda's personal guard. I thought his skills would be enough to defeat Ganon in glorious fashion... Since ancient times, the royal family of Hyrule and us Sheikah researchers have had a strong bond. Their pain is our own. We took the swordsman and the Sheikah Slate Princess Zelda left behind to the Shrine of Resurrection. Although the Slumber of Restoration had not been fully tested, we decided to put the swordsman under to save his life. It was the best we could do...

What this tells us is that Purah was present and involved in the war effort pre-calamity, and she, like most other hyrulians, bought into the idea that Link was strong enough to defeat ganon. it was only after his defeat that she saw him for what he truly was: a child. "So young," she says. There's a clear undertone of regret in the way she talks about Link and the slumber of restoration. It wasn't fully tested, and she knew that it would likely cause him more pain in the long run, but it was the best she could do. It also implies that she believes Zelda is dead, or, at the very least, unreachable in her current state.

Purah was a researcher of ancient sheikah tech pre-calamity, and one who was very close to Zelda, meaning it's very likely she was heavily involved with the development of the guardians and divine beasts. When this tech was ultimately turned against hyrule and used to decimate their armies, Purah likely felt more grief than most. this was her tech, her brainchild, that was killing thousands of innocents. When link was brought to her, inches from death, covered in wounds inflicted by guardians, she would have known exactly what it was that did him in. For all intents and purposes, she killed him. it was her technology that led to this. Her decision to put him in the untested and potentially dangerous shrine of resurrection is an act of desperation -- not just an attempt to save hyrule from the calamity, but an attempt to prove to HERSELF that her tech is capable of more than senseless violence. that she's capable of saving this boy who she has caused such suffering for.

For 100 years, she has no idea if her gamble has worked. Presumably, it's only after nearly a century of radio silence from Link that she begins working on the anti-aging rune. in her diary, she says:

This technology will enable us to make retired warriors young again, thereby strengthening the Hyrulean army. When Calamity Ganon inevitably returns, we'll be ready. Our offense will be solid, and our defense impenetrable. The need for this tech pains me, but I truly hope to use it to attain everlasting peace for all.

it's interesting, here, the way she equates youth with strength. I think it's likely that, subconsciously or not, she is remembering Link and the other young champions. She believes that they COULD have won the war as they were, if only HER tech hadn't gone haywire. In her mind, the young soldiers and champions she saw weren't doomed until SHE doomed them. With this rune, she is once again clinging to the hope that her inventions will be able to do some good in the war, to somehow make up for the suffering she caused. I think this is also a big part of the reason why she tests it on herself rather than a third party -- she would rather put herself in imminent danger than let someone else suffer the consequences of her actions ever again.

The self-inflicted de-aging is also especially interesting. The way her BOTW diary is written suggests that the anti-aging rune affected not just her body, but her mind, too. there are noticeable changes in the way she writes as her body ages in reverse -- the diary becomes more juvenile and carefree the younger she gets. This is an especially important piece, the fact that she was mentally affected by the de-aging. Before the de-aging process, based on her diary, purah comes off as a very wise, very careful, very grief-stricken woman. Every decision she makes is rationalized and carefully tested in such a way that no one (except her) gets hurt. She looks back on impulsive decisions she made in her youth with melancholy regret -- "I thought his skills would be enough." "it was the best we could do." but she moves forward regardless, attempting at every turn to correct her mistakes in any way she can. "The need for this tech pains me, but I truly hope to use it to attain everlasting peace for all."

And her de-aging rune works. but when she tests it on herself, she accidentally takes herself back to the mindset of a six-year-old child. She remembers what she's doing and why she's doing it, but the wisdom and impulse control and regret that came to her with age and experience have all left her now. She has the boundless optimism of a little girl -- the same boundless optimism that likely led her to utilize the guardians and divine beasts pre-calamity, and with none of the fear of consequence she learned in those hundred years past. When link comes back, she's playful and carefree with him despite her knowledge of who he is and what his return means. She's dismissive of the choice she made to put him in the shrine of resurrection -- when link tells her he doesn't remember her, she says:

"Really?! Well! I'm so shocked I don't know if I'll ever be able to recover from this! Even though, 100 years ago, I took you to the Shrine of Resurrection after Calamity Ganon fatally wounded you... Even though I was the one who put you safely into the Slumber of Restoration... Hmm... As expected. After 100 years in the Slumber of Restoration, subject...has...lost...all...memories. Noted! Oh, sooooorry... I have a bad habit of taking notes rather abruptly like that. It's a charming quirk, isn't it?"

and in her diary:

I can't believe it... Our hero, Linky, has awoken from his 100-year slumber! As expected, he has lost his memory. The Slumber of Restoration... I really should have done a test run on that thing first. Well, live and learn. In any case, he got the ancient furnace working, so now I can start my research once again. Finally!! ☆ Only a truly gifted and heroic swordsman like him could have achieved all that. ♪ Speaking of...this seems like a good opportunity to get him to do some other chores for me too, heh. ☆

All the regret and careful wisdom she spoke with when she was still her accurate age has been replaced with childlike curiosity and mischief. She has, essentially, zapped the war right out of herself. In conversation, she consistently frames this as a mistake, an experiment gone wrong, but I almost wonder if that's truly the case. In totk, she re-ages herself only up into her 20s, the age she was just before the calamity hit, and her diaries reveal that this was a deliberate decision. She decided to put herself back into the headspace of a researcher unburdened by past failures, rather than putting herself back to a true "normal," i.e. her accurate age. I wonder if her regret over what happened in the calamity became too much to bear; if, after a hundred years of not knowing if her final desperate gamble had paid off or if she'd just killed a 17-year-old, she decided to take matters into her own hands and get rid of the guilt. Being the first test subject for the anti-aging rune, she had no idea what the effect on her body would be -- it was an act of self-sacrifice just as much as it was an experiment. Whether the consequences were intentional or not, whether she expected to die, or lose her memory, or nothing to happen at all, taking her life into her own hands with an untested piece of ancient technology was likely her attempt to atone for her sins -- to sacrifice herself to tech she didn't fully understand in the way she'd unwittingly sacrificed so many lives to the guardians during the calamity. the result of the experiment is a little girl with the mind of a seasoned veteran researcher but none of the inhibitions, and while that luckily ended up working out for link, it could just have easily have led him down the path of destruction again.

Ultimately, purah is a selfish character. she chose to put link in the shrine of resurrection in order to prove herself and her tech, ignoring the potential danger to his life. She chose to de-age herself and get rid of her guilt, ignoring the ramifications her experiment could have had on Link and his journey when he woke up. but for all her selfishness, she still cares very deeply for those around her; for her friends, for her family, for the soldiers and princess she lost in the war. She cares so much that she's incapable of dealing with her own guilt over their fates. She is a researcher, and all she knows how to do is make things, so she makes things that she desperately hopes might undo the harm she's caused.

[asofspades]

I'm making a list of my favourite Four HC

- He has a necklace made from a shard of the dark mirror to remember Shadow and a strand of his hair is dyed purple in his honour.

- I like to count Four swords and Four swords adventures as separate adventures, so he's been on 3 adventures.

- Four Swords personally would be literally Link and 3 copies of him, I like to consider this as if the clones you can make in Minish Cap just had a solid body and thinking ability but Link does go back to being the same at the end of the adventure

- Obviously I like to incorporate the FS manga to his last adventure and this time Link splits into four different beings each a main part of his personality but over the course of the adventure they sort of become their own person

- That's why I headcanon that Four isn't really link as he was before his last adventure, for me all of the colours went back together into one body but remained separate, they usually work together and that would be Four as we know him.

- Obviously I love the HC that we have seemed to collectively agree on that Four's eyes change colour depending on who's more dominant at certain points.

- I do think that sometimes not all of them are driving the wheel together and that might be because they just went through a moment that required a lot of one of the specific colours or they're in disagreement

-That leads me to the HC that Four gets migraines when the colours are not in sync, which is another one most of the fandom seems to share.

- I'm also a fan of the "dark portals scramble the colours and thus Four" collective HC

- particularly I like to think that Four is both distrustful of dark magic because of the whole Vaati resurrecting and Ganon thing, and the soldiers and his father being controlled by that magic but also it makes him sad because it reminds him of Shadow's magic

- Also, while I HC that Vio was the closest to Shadow for obvious reasons I think when they merged into Four their memories and feelings were instantly registered by each other and now the other colours also appreciate Shadow for more than just sacrificing himself for them and Hyrule.

-I like to HC that he was almost the same age as Time was in OOT for his first adventure, as a bonus I like to think his bday is on the Picori Festival day which adds an extra layer of depth to both the beginning of his first adventure and his relationship with the Minish

- Following that logic I like to HC him as being freshly 8 y.o for his first adventure, around 11 for the second and almost 14 for the 3rd, and as such I love the idea that Vio and Shadow kind of developed crushes on each other.

- On that same note, since we can see Link as a soldier in the FS manga, but obviously there's only his Grandpa in MC, I like to HC that his father was deployed somewhere far away from Hyrule for diplomatic reasons (he's the captain of the royal guard after all) and he comes back after the first adventure. He gets told about what his child did and decides him joining the Royal Guard would be a good idea

- Following the previous HC, I like to think Link is not really enthusiastic about joining the Royal Guard because my boy got raised by his very cool blacksmith Grandpa who loves him very much and he's a little blacksmith at heart. Which kind of explains why he looks a bit done about being part of the royal guard, aside from the fact that he's literally saved Hyrule on his own before. That is also the reason he's so proud to be a blacksmith but never talks about having been in the Royal Guard.

- This is a more niche HC but since Four's era is way before OOT and way after SS I like to think the legal age changes a lot and so I HC that in Four's Hyrule you're considered an adult at around 14 so he's already working an paying taxes and is of marring age by the time he joins the chain.

- That brings me to another point and it's that I HC Four to be 16 in linked universe (I think that one's also pretty much shared by the fandom) but since legally he's been an adult for 2 years he gets thrown off by people calling him "kid" despite technically being the second youngest, he's a kid in basically everyone's time but his and I find that idea hilarious.

- Another commonly shared HC, four hasn't grown or has barely grown a cm since his first adventure because he overused minish magic, I like to add a twist and since you also turn into a minish in FS I like to think he grew a tiny bit between his first and second adventures but the overuse during the 2nd one was what did him in.

- Another HC is that four can in fact use the minish magic by himself, making him one of the Links with innate magic ability. Going a step further I think both Hyrule and Time can detect some Fae magic emanating out of him due to his entrenchment with the minish and his earring and sword (after all the four sword was forged form the remains of the Picori blade), Legend can sense some light magic coming off of him (he can canonically use innate magic and is attuned to magic artifacts) and Twilight can sense something similar to Midna's magic and the twilight mirror due to the dark mirror shard necklace Four carries.

Technically Wind can use light magic just because but I like to think he senses magic but really doesn't know what he's sensing at all because nobody bothered to explain magic to him even though he uses it a lot and often.

- okay, the shield think, we know the Shield in WW and MC are quite literally the same shield. And while I support people who have the whole "wind is Four's descendant" HC, for me personally I think people just knew it belonged to a hero and the people who found it after the great flood decided to keep it and it ended up becoming a family heirloom. Particularly they just mention that it belonged to a hero, and it's the first and only time that they don't mention that hero being the Hero of Time like they do in every other instance.

- the Palace of the Four Swords is a tricky one because me personally, I like to think that Four's soul is tied to his sword not only because he forged it but because of his second and particularly his 3rd adventure. Thus, when he dies he turns into a sword spirit and in the downfall timeline the sacred realm becomes the dark world and all inside it becomes corrupt and the sword that has been resting there for eras along with it's spirit gets corrupted as well prompting the events that happen at the FS palace in ALTTP.

- personally I like to think that since the Sacred Realm gate never opens in the child timeline the sword just rests in it's palace (built out of the elemental sanctuary that became the four sword sanctuary) along with it's spirit. And for the adult timeline it just rests underwater along with the rest of the old Hyrule forever undisturbed.

I find it really tricky that the splitting of the timeline ends up affecting previous heroes in the long run but it makes sense.

-Also, because SS takes place way way before MC I like to think the story of Sky is barely known outside of the Royal Family who might know a bit just because it's tied to their very existence. However I find that I like the idea that the people of the sky do know a version of said story and are descendants of the skyloftians who never took to the surface and that's why after living on the surface for a while by themselves they decided to go back to the skies and build a city on the cloud tops. Coincidentally since the Minish did come form the sky as well they might know about those stories. I think the molemits found in the wind ruins might be a version of the mogma mits from SS and the gust jar might have been inspired by the gust bellows from SS.

- Take I like, the blue ocarina in OOT that seems to be an heirloom of the Royal Family is in fact the Ocarina of Wind from MC, timeline wise it is the earliest apparition of that ocarina. My personal HC is Four gives it to Zelda either as a parting gift before parting on a trip where he ends up dying or he simply has it on his will to give Zelda that ocarina when he dies. With time the Royal Family unknowingly or knowingly infuse it with the power of the Goddess giving it the abilities we see in OOt and then in MM but, by the time it gets found by Legend in ALTTP is has basically lost all abilities except for the one to call a bird to bring you places. Personally I like to think that in the fallen timeline since the ocarina is in Link's hands when he fails it gets lost after being used to open the sacred realm and a regular someone ends up finding it prompting the side quest you do in ALTTP to get it.

- I also think that Four's relationship with his father is a bit rocky since he left the Royal Guard to become a full time blacksmith.

Some Colour headcanons

- Red enjoys using the fire rod but he doesn't like when people mess around too much with fire in forest because it reminds him of the third adventure

- Blue hates the cold because of the time he was encased in ice during the 3rd adventure

-Green has a need to save everyone because he still feels like he failed people during his 3rd adventure

- Vio likes to act all smug about his traitor act but he actually feels very bad about having tricked and betrayed shadow and he feels guilty that Shadow sacrificed himself after having been betrayed.

- Green also blames himself for Shadow and he finds it hard to be around their father because of the whole 3rd adventure.

[marte-14]

Lorule (aka Hyrule’s Ravio)

PREVIOUS/DOCTOR

Got my tablet to work, so here we go with the next Ravio!

The Hero of Lorule is young capitan of the royal guards.

Very confident of himself and his role, sometime arrogant and he can be a bit harsh with his words,(The new recruits that are trained by him can confirm). Still he has a kind heart who just wants to be someone his people can look up to.

While Hyrule’s world is a dangerous place, where civilisation is limited to a few villages, Lorule’s world is flourishing.

He grew up in Castletown, he isn’t a survivalist like the Traveler (just the training he got in the military)

Lorule is also half fairy (just like Hyrule in this headcanon) but he isn’t good with his magic, he doesn’t know how to use it in battle and he struggles to control it.

He has two Hildas, just like Hyrule has two Zeldas. The first Hilda he met was at 10 years old when he discovered to be the Hero, he met the second Hilda during a Quest, when he saved her.

He grew up with both the Hero of Lorule and Hyrule stories (Hope and Legend), he admires them both a lot, and he is the only other Ravio who knows of the existence of the world of Hyrule.

He is the cook in his group, fortunately his food doesn’t curse people even with his face blood.

He is close with Hope, but he has more of a mentor/student relationship than friendship with him, and Hope is a bit overwhelmed by his enthusiasm to change things.

He and Hyrule have a fine relationship, they are not the closest but they work well together.

The reality is that they admire each other a lot, but struggle to express it:

Hyrule admires Lorule because he sees him more similar to his companions, strong knights that are legendary. But it also make a bit self conscious about his self worth, making him result colder to Lorule.

Lorule admires Hyrule for his strength and abilities, especially the magical ones. Hyrule also reminds him a lot of Hope, both of them shined light in their kingdoms that were is chaos, kind hearted people in an unforgiving world. He thinks that Hyrule doesn’t like him, mostly because how close off Hyrule is at times. Lorule knows that his enthusiasm can be a bit much at times, and he believes that Hyrule finds him a bit annoying.

He will ask advice to Hope, who will teach him how to communicate with the Links, especially when they don’t talk (btw Hope helps more than one Ravio out when it comes to interacting with the Links, same goes for Legend but in reverse)

.

.

.

I want to thank @lace4forest.

You have no idea how much your video analysis helped me to write this character (your video on Wars is going to save me when I do his Lorulian counterpart)

If you don’t know about her channel on YouTube, she has a series where she analyses every Link, they are very useful for any fanfiction/fancomic writer of LU.

She also does streams on Twitch and draws (very good drawings too!)

Go check everything out!

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

unearthing an old loz au :D

Extensive rambling and plot and everything in between below

ok so I made this au over a year ago and the other day in an attempt to procrastinate my brain reminded me of it so here it is! Redesigned!

Ummm basically this version of Hyrule has already fallen to Ganon, and (much like in Narnia) it got very, very cold as a result (I’m still working on the exact ins and out of this, but there IS a reason why lol)

Therefore, Zelda’s clothes are A), very warm, with lots of layers, and B), rather hodgepodged together, as they’re all borrowed. She hasn’t been able to wear her royal clothes in years, as she’s hiding from Ganon. And also most of them burned with Hyrule Castle.

so the embroidered frock (embroidered with flowers for symbolism reasons) thingie is about as princessy as her clothes will get XD

the reason she masquerades as Sheik in this au is more to hide from Link than Ganon. The latter is unaware that the princess escaped, while Link has some issues he’s working through lol

basically, when the kingdom was very suddenly overthrown, a confused and unimportant kid named Link (who was aware of the danger due to reasons I’ll get around to if I post his design), managed to save Zelda, who was still pretty young, and very much terrified. Terrified to see her terrified, Link’s protective side activated, and, well, it never really un-activated after that.

He managed to get her to a quiet, little known town on the outskirts of Hyrule, where some Sheikah (notably Impa) had taken refuge as well. They promised to guard her, and Link headed off to suffer the slow realization that he was a hero alone.

meanwhile, Zelda grew up, and grew stronger, and (once again due to things I won’t quite talk about yet) began to understand her duty towards her people, and to the hero. But, when Link returned to inform Impa of the plans he had made, he was very against Zelda helping him in any way (mainly out of fear for her).

so Zelda came along as Sheik instead :D

A few little things of note, now

I am vaguely basing Link’s inner struggle off my older brother… Link and Zelda do not have a brother/sister relationship however; it ends up a romance >:)

The only difference between Sheik and Zelda is simply that by the time Link sees her again as Sheik, she has dyed her hair and she’s been in the sun a bit more… magic is not involved in this case. Honestly it only works because Link didn’t know Zelda very well before lol

Zelda likes to sew, and garden as much as the climate will let her.

She has a very bright personality, but she takes what other people say to heart. I’ve found whenever I make an loz au, Zelda and/or Link don’t start out with Wisdom and Courage, but rather must gain it to some extent. This story is no different.

In some cases, I focus only on one of them, but this story specifically is about both. They grow together, just like Hyrule must grow again :D

in this story, they are all traumatized. Including Ganon. (he also has a backstory I’m working on hehe)

finally, the sheik design is not final… I’m still working on it lol

ok, that’s it! Byeeeeee

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

Appendix: Assorted Edward Quotes

I am yet again cutting a digression out of my 2+4 essay - this time it's evidence of what Edward is like when Gordon's not bloody around/involved (lol. I want to show that there is a difference!) Notice that there is one example when Gordon is present, however it's when Gordon is at the height (depth?) of his Disgrace Arc and for a couple of months or whatever hasn't said Boo to anyone.

However I will be offering no further analysis/explanation at this time, I just want the quotes here in case I need to link to them. So, just, er... consider this an Edward appreciation post, I guess. Yeah. Those always go over well, anyway. Look, I'll slap a picture on it. We're good.

He waited and waited - there was no whistle, no green flag. "Peep, peep, peep, peep - where is that Guard?"... / Edward began to get cross. "Are we ever going to start?" (1923)

Then the Driver pulled the lever, and Edward puffed away. / "Peep, peep," he whistled. "Look at me now." (1923)

It was fun playing with trucks. He would come up quietly and give them a pull. / "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" screamed the trucks. "Whatever is happening?" / Then he would stop and the silly trucks would go bump into each other. "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" they cried again. / Edward pushed them until they were running nicely, and when they weren't expecting it he would stop; one of them would be sure to run on to another line. (1923) 

"I've got some trucks to take home tomorrow," he told him. "If you take them instead, I'll push coaches in the Yard." (1925) 

They both rested at the next station; Edward told James how Gordon had stuck on the hill, and he had to push him up! / James laughed so much that he got hiccoughs and surprised an old lady in a black bonnet. (1925-6) 

"Shall I help you, James?" called Edward. / "No, thank you," answered James, "I'll pull them myself." / "Good, don't let them beat you." … "Peep pip peep peep! You're doing well!" whistled Edward, as James slowly struggled up the hill[.] (1925-6) 

"How beautifully you wheeshed him," laughed Edward. "I can't wheesh like that." (1926-1934) 

"Hullo Henry," said Edward, "you look splendid; I was pleased to hear your happy whistle yesterday." (1926-1934) 

"The engines in their Shed were excited and wondered who would pull the Royal Train. "I'm too old to pull important trains," said Edward sadly. (1952)

"Peep! peep! we're late," fussed Edward. "Peep! peeppipeep! Where is Thomas? He doesn't usually make us wait." (1952)

"Do save him, Sir! You've got room, Sir!" / "Yes, Edward, I've got room," laughed the Vicar, "but I don't need a Traction-engine!" / "He'll saw wood, and give children rides. Do buy him, Sir, please!" (1952)

So Duck came to Edward's station. / "It's not fair," he complained, "Diesel has made The Fat Controller and all the engines think I'm horrid." / Edward smiled. "I know you aren't," he said, "and so does The Fat Controller. You wait and see." (1957) 

Edward brought workmen to clear the mess. / "Douglas was grand Sir," he said. "James had no steam left, but Douglas worked hard enough for three. I heard him from my Yard." (1959)

"... So I tried very hard, but I couldn't work properly, and they put me on a siding. I stayed there for days and days. Other engines were there too. I was afraid…" / "I'd have been frightened too," said Edward. (1960)

"The Fat Controller told Edward he was to run ahead of the special train to make sure that the line was clear. /"Does that mean...?" he asked excitedly. / "Wait and see," smiled the Fat Controller. (1995)

[lennsart]

I see that you're a prince Legend enjoyer. Mind if I tell you about my hc about that? Jsjsjsjajsjs

- His clothes are the only ones that have golden thread. Something only royals can have, still the rest of his clothes are made of common cotton.

- He gave up his right to be the king. But he's still a prince, and he helps Fable in anything he can. He's a free soul, and Fable knows that.

- His uncle is, in fact, the captain of the royal guard. Because of the triforce in Legend's hand (another hc that all the Links have the triforce on their hand, it's just more visible on some of them) everyone knew he was the next hero so the royal family told the captain to take care of Legend and teach him how to use a sword.

- But Legend's uncle saw more in him than just a prince/hero, so he also taught him the value of hard work with the apple field. And tried to save him from his destiny, that's why he tried to save Fable before Legend.

- Almost nobody knows that Legend is a prince. So, for his kingdom he's only an adventurer and he's ok with that.

- The chain knows he's a prince. But they only use that title to tease him.

- Legend often tries to flee from royal events, but Fable stops him. He learned to dance and he sometimes played for the people. In the end, he stays on the events for about 20 minutes, and then he's out of there. He has a small social battery and feels overwhelmed. He also doesn't talk in those events, he prefers to use sign language.

Hello hello, I do not mind at all I love receiving headcanons :D

All of this is interesting !

I like the detail of the golden embroidery being a sign of nobility :0 Four do have them too though if I remember correctly... (Four, something to share with the class...? Lmao no but it could have changed between his time and Legend's, or it could be a gift from his Zelda, who is his best friend in Minish Cap I believe)

I have to admit, I also like the darker take of the royal family supposedly being blessed to only have girls (in the public's eye) since only the women of the family have Hylia's powers... Meaning they abandon/hide Legend at his birth for being a boy D: the drama !

But I never really bothered to think about a way for the royal family to have abandonned Legend without that, and your version do work very well ! The triforce is a powerful sign, but for a public figure to have it... It's ought to bring bad people's attention !

(also yeah in my heart all the Links have the triforce on their hands too hahaha)

I also (in my personal stories !) don't feel the need for Legend to actually give up on the right to be a king, since Hyrule's princesses must be such powerful historical figures... Even if you don't take in account the "only girls" thingy, maybe they at least should get on the throne first ? Sure, we only saw kings in LoZ games, but they never had a queen ; maybe they only get on the throne when the queen dies ?

(Again, you don't have to agree haha ! I do enjoy multiple contradictory headcanons at all time ; I'm just typing as I'm thinking, it's not to dismiss what you told me)

In any way, yeah, I absolutely think that Legend don't want to be king/a noble, and stays the friendly adventurer in his kingdom !

Once the chain knows he's a prince they absolutely tease him to no end haha ! But I do think he wouldn't tell them before a loonnng time (eyeing the "average nobody" line, which gets hilarious with this headcanon). I also would love for him to reveal it by mentioning it casually and everyone losing their mind wondering if he's joking lmao

And omg I think the exact same about his social battery hahaha ! (If only for projecting myself on him not gonna lie 😂)

I do think he has a fun time, especially if he plays like you say— he likes to make people happy ! But put him an hour in here and the boy's brain is absolutely fried. 24 hours nap to ensue !

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Blood of the Hero Ch 14 (Link's Parents Play BotW)

Summary: The Soul of the Hero will always be there to save Hyrule. But when Calamity Ganon is nearly victorious in killing him, it's those that bear the Blood of the Hero who will prevail. Ten years after the Great Calamity, the Shrine of Resurrection is damaged and Link's parents fight to save their son and Hyrule along with him.

(AO3 link)

Ch 14: Fallen Knight - Carnage

Abel hadn’t slept. The night crawled agonizingly along, leaving the former knight tossing and turning. Tilieth rested peacefully in the grass beside him, the tattered, half rotted wooden stall protected them from the mild drizzle. He stared between wood planks, eyes tracing the etches of jagged edges, noticing scorch marks from when the place burned.

When it was destroyed. In the Calamity.

It was stupid, really, how much it was sinking in lately. It wasn’t like Abel hadn’t been a firsthand witness to it. But lately… everything seemed to be wrong, and it drilled into his head. Perhaps it was the thought of separating from Tilieth, the idea that once they reached the Gerudo Desert he would continue on without his family in search of solutions. The anxiety and dread of it made him sick to his stomach.

You had promised, all those years ago, to protect your family. You swore in your knighting that you would protect Hyrule.

Yet here he was, lying in dirt, shivering in the chilly night, protected by the bones of what used to be one of the most vibrant stables in the country. Here he was, with his wife starving and shivering beside him, broken and terrified and alone. Here he was, his daughter dead, his son near to it, the latter’s state being entirely his fault.

He’d separated from the boy. He’d told him to take the princess to Fort Hateno. He’d promised to be there.

He’d been unable to protect the king. Link was the only one who managed to keep the princess safe when Abel was unable to do so.

His daughter was dead.

Abel’s entire life was flashing before his eyes. His mother died of grief over the loss of his father (why wasn’t I good enough? Why weren’t my sisters and I good enough for her to stay?). His younger sister never listened to him, had said he wasn’t their father, had accused him of pretending to know more than he did (she was right). His twin sister had settled in Castle Town, had been there when it had burned (I never even looked for a body, did I? Goddess, I didn’t even look for a body—) He had been given the highest honor by becoming a knight in the royal guard, had served as the captain, a trusted protector of the king and yet he’d been unable to do his duty (the ceiling had collapsed, I tried to protect him, I tried!). He’d sworn to take care of his family, to be there as a father, and—

Abel sat up, filled with energy, chest aching, blood racing. He stood, walking to the river, wanting to run, to fight something, to scream.

He stared up at the sky, breaths rapid and shallow, and asked, Farore, why did you make me? Why did you make me??

What was he even here for, if not to repeatedly screw everything up?! Even when Link had been given a fighting chance, Abel’s stupidity had ruined it - if it hadn’t been for him disturbing that hinox, this wouldn’t even be an issue! Link would still be safe in the Shrine of Resurrection, and—

Why did you make me?! What was the purpose?! I do nothing but cause problems, I can’t get it right, I can never get it right!

It was sacrilegious to even contemplate what thought came next, but Abel already knew he was a worthless, faithless fool anyway.

You made a mistake when you made me.

The drizzle continued to fall, slowly soaking him to his core. It was a splash of reality as he shivered and fell to his knees, a cold consolation in an empty world.

Wallowing in self pity won’t help them, he reminded himself. Slowly, he dragged himself back to the stall, trying to push the intrusive thoughts out, trying to ignore the berating. He was so damn tired.

The next day brought a heavy rainfall, and though the couple would have preferred to wait it out, anxieties drove them both forward. They didn’t dare bathe in the river – it was far too close to Central Hyrule for either of their liking. Instead, they barely ate breakfast, woke Link to drink some broth, and hastily made their way back to Kakariko.

As they passed through the half-barren marsh, the tower for Lanayru teased them with its proximity. Tilieth glanced at Abel with a shrug. “It’s practically on the way. We might as well activate it; maybe it could give us some helpful information.”

Abel doubted that was the case, but he didn’t argue; he himself had suggested going to the tower as a distraction yesterday. The pair cantered across the marsh, signs of life catching Abel’s eye as they went along. The marsh was slowly coming back, the rain bringing life as puddles formed amidst the mud and debris. Pieces of guardians were slowly washed away, and much more had probably already been removed over the last decade. He tried to take comfort in that.

When the pair reached the beach, Abel saw that the tower was on the other side, which was mildly problematic. This was becoming more involved than he wished it to be, but they were too far invested in it to turn back now.

Tilieth offered to cross, but Abel didn’t trust that the other side would be safe. He’d already surveyed the beach they were on and didn’t see any threats, so he asked her to stay behind instead, taking the slate and utilizing its runes to get across with little effort on his part. Meanwhile, Tilieth bathed herself and Link.

Abel hadn’t expected to find a person on the other side of the beach.

They both stood there in the sand for a moment, frozen in time. Abel felt his body stiffen, electricity firing through his muscles. The Hylian looked equally on edge, skin and bones, dark circles under his eyes, clothes ill fitting and half rotted off him. He jerked his body, reaching for something in an instant.

Abel grabbed his bow and arrow and shot true.

The Hylian grunted as the arrow sank into his chest, his sword that had been half drawn collapsing into the sand beside him. Abel remained motionless for a moment, his mind catching up to what his body had just done. The Hylian let out a gurgling breath and then grew still.

Abel released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and slowly lowered his arms.

The world was silent, save for water lapping on the shore. Abel couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear anything.

Swallowing, the former knight hesitantly walked towards the fallen Hylian. When he saw lifeless eyes staring off at nothing, he finally put his bow away.

The world came crashing back down on him an instant.

You just killed a man.

Well, he was clearly going to attack first!

You’re a knight. Your job is to defend the people of Hyrule. And you just killed one.

This wasn’t the first time he’d killed someone. It was ridiculous to let it bother him. Besides, he wasn’t a knight anymore.

At least check him for supplies.

Abel recoiled at the thought. He wasn’t going to defile the dead like that. He refused.

Taking a shaky step away, he started to head towards the Sheikah tower as if nothing had happened.

A gasp sounded, and Abel whirled, reaching for his bow and arrows yet again. He readied himself, but caught sight of a woman, a young Zora female who was watching him in horror.

“P-please!” She hastily said as she raised her hands. “I’m not even a warrior, I don’t mean any harm! I—I just came down here to find some fish, I—I promise I’m n-not a threat!”

Abel took in the sight of the Zora, memories flooding his mind of his time he’d spent in the Domain with Link. He recalled their princess, and his chest ached at the loss. The girl had been sweet and a strong warrior. She had also been the best healer in the kingdom.

Nevertheless, he didn’t lower his bow.

“P-please,” the Zora begged, beginning to cry. “I—you c-can even have my catch of the m-morning. I b-bet you’re hungry, right? You look it. Just—just please don’t hurt me.”

Abel’s gaze flicked across the river. He could vaguely see Tilieth and Link from here. If the Zora turned around and caught sight of them…

Abel. Stop. She even said she wasn’t a fighter.

Abel took another shaky breath, the adrenaline still fresh from his previous kill, paranoia heightened by the threat, blood rushing through his ears, deafening him to the rest of the world, silencing the woman’s whimpers. What difference did that make? The world had ended. Everyone was a fighter now.

“I-I’m—I’m just g-gonna put the fish down now, okay?” The Zora said shakily, hiccuping through her words, hands still held in the air. She carefully moved to reach for a net she’d been carrying, easing it to the ground.

Abel took a threatening step closer, arrow still fixed on her head, but he didn’t release it. The Zora practically scampered into the water, hands held high again as she told him over and over she wasn’t a threat, that she wasn’t going to hurt him. When she was half submerged into the water, he narrowed his eyes, motioning upstream with his head. The woman caught his meaning and quickly fled.

As he lowered his bow, Abel grew dizzy. He stumbled forward, picking up the net of fish, and slung it over his shoulder. The balance and the way the world spun made him nearly collapse into the sand, his stomach churning. He blinked once, twice, thrice to clear his head, shaking it so he could actually hear the world again, but it was still just his heart pounding.

A chirp caught his attention next, nearly making him draw his sword, when he realized it was the slate.

A shrine was nearby?

Focusing, Abel shook his head one last time, following the slate’s guidance until he neared the entrance to the Zora trail that led to the Domain. It was blocked by fallen rocks, a piece of half decayed guardian machinery squashed underneath. The shrine was just off to the left, uphill a ways.

How could he possibly bring Link over here after what had just happened? He needed to get back, to check on Tilieth! He’d just wandered off, they were out of sight now!

But the tower was right there too. He could see everything from the tower, including threats.

The area was clearly too dangerous, though. But he’d ensured there were no monsters on the other side before leaving his family.

But the threats over here hadn’t been monsters. What if there were Zora near his family?

Abel took another shaky breath, rushing back to the beach. He could still see Tilieth, who waved cheerily at him, clearly having completely missed everything that had transpired. She looked to be dressed now, sitting on the shore with Link.

Abel heard the water lapping. He heard the flapping of bird wings, the trickle as the rain settled into a lazy sprinkling. The world came back, and he tried to take a full breath.

The tower. Just get to the tower.

Thankfully it wasn’t hard to actually reach the tower. He had to rush across the bridge and scale the cliffside, but there were very few monsters around. He picked off a few lizalfos, a moblin, and a handful of bokoblins before reaching the top.

From the top of the tower, once activated, Abel could see a good portion of the region. Zora’s Domain was just beyond his range of vision, hidden in sparkling mountains laden with luminous stones. He remembered the festivals, the nights where those cliffs would practically glow. He remembered the giggles of children as Link played with his friends.

Looking away, Abel pushed at his pant legs, which had ridden up a little since they’d shortened in length from fraying over the years, and tucked them back into his boots. He squinted at the river, catching sight of Tilieth and Link, who were still relaxing on the beach. He couldn’t see any other shrines aside from the one he’d found. He wasn’t sure if that should make him feel better or worse.

Sighing, Abel grabbed the paraglider, took a deep breath, and jumped. He wondered, for the instant before his feet left the tower, if he was beginning to overcome his fear of heights. As soon as the sensation of weightlessness hit, as soon as he was in the air, he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as an unpleasant reminder that was not, in fact, the case. The adrenaline still lingering in his system, paired with the vertigo he felt at gliding through the air this high up, nearly made him let go of the paraglider entirely. Abel squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, and then shifted his weight, tilting the glider to aim for the beach across the water. Dully, he grumbled internally that he hadn’t always been this afraid of heights, and that it was a terrible time for it to manifest so badly.

Despite not wanting to look down, Abel managed to make it across the river, but his knees gave out the instant his feet touched the sand, and he face planted. He heard Tilieth call out to him and rush over, and he slowly pushed himself up, spitting out sand.

“Are you okay?” his wife asked, dropping down beside him.

Abel swallowed, not entirely capable of speaking, and nodded with a grunt. He sat on his legs for a moment, catching his breath, and then managed to say hoarsely, “There’s a shrine over there.”

“Oh! Really? Let me see.” Tilieth reached forward, taking the slate off Abel’s hip and glancing at it. The new information provided by the tower allowed her to survey the area, and she quickly found the shrine that was marked on it. “Oh, that���s not far at all! We can cross right here—”

“No,” Abel interrupted, remembering the body. He probably should have done something with it. Buried it? He should bury it, right? Show respect for the dead?

They didn’t have time for that.

“We’ll cross further upstream,” he finally muttered.

“Upstream…” Tilieth repeated as she peered at the map before gasping. “We’re close to the Zora!”

Abel spat out some more sand, rubbing his face. “Yes. And?”

“Sheik had said something about the Zora being hostile,” Tilieth said uncertainly, lowering the slate. “Why, though? They were allies to Hyrule. And… after all the effort you and that delegation put in…and the… the princess…”

Hostile? That woman he’d encountered hadn’t been. But what if she’d told her people, and they were coming here now?

After all the effort you and that delegation put in…

Abel bit back the bitterness of yet another failure, the pain and loss of the sweet princess who had been such dear friends with his son.

The point was that apparently the Zora were enemies now.

“We need to move quickly,” he surmised, finally standing and heading towards Link. “Start working on the pillars, please.”

Tilieth nodded, walking towards the water. The family made their way across as quickly as was feasible before Abel directed them towards the shrine.

However, once they entered, they did not receive the usual greeting.

“In the name of the Goddess Hylia, I offer this combat trial.”

“A combat trial?” Tilieth repeated worriedly.

Abel smiled, remembering the tutorial trial in Kakariko. Honestly, he was a little eager to get some energy out. He carefully lowered Link to the ground and headed into the large room. He figured he would test out the guardian weapon he’d taken from the last combat trial, alongside the Sheikah shield.

The tiny guardian was surprisingly easy to defeat. It telegraphed its moves so easily it was almost laughable. Abel was again, bitterly, reminded that these things had be designed to aid the people of Hyrule and its Hero. This little machine was here to train Link.

Instead, his boy was covered in wounds from its larger counterparts, near comatose and helpless.

Abel shook his head, finishing off the little guardian and trying to focus. He’d been far too morose lately. He had a mission to complete.

Goddess, he’d kill for some sleep, though.

The expression hitched in his mind, and he shook his head again. He turned and waved to Tilieth, signaling the all clear, before belatedly remembering he should go back to carry Link. Til, however, tried to carry the boy herself, dragging her feet into the arena while huffing and puffing a little.

Abel took pity on his wife, heart warmed at her attempt, and walked over to her. “Let me carry him, love.”

“No, I’ve got this,” Tilieth argued through a strained voice. “I have to be able to do this.”

I have to be able to do this if you’re going to leave me, was the unspoken sentiment. Abel felt his stomach crawl. He followed his wife silently, worries eating him alive. The couple retrieved a knight’s bow (how long had this been down here? Why was it designed similarly to their bows from ten years ago? Wasn’t this shrine ancient? Who else had accessed it, anyway? Why were there so many modern trinkets hidden down here?) and Link received the spirit orb, and they were transported outside.

Naturally, it was pouring. Abel shivered and quickly took Link in his arms to give Tilieth a break. He noticed the boy had little braids in his hair now, along the sides, before it was pulled back into the usual ponytail he wore. He supposed Tilieth had been enjoying herself on the beach. Link scrunched his face against the rain, clearly uncomfortable with the cold, and Abel looked around quickly to ascertain if it was wise to use the shrine for shelter until the rain let up.

Tilieth took the opportunity to look at the map. “I guess the best way to get to the desert would be going back through Kakariko? We could get one last respite in before the journey begins.”

Technically, the best path would be taking the road to the Riverside Stable, but that required going into Central Hyrule, which was out of the question. Not to mention the bridge leading there from the Wetlands Stable was destroyed, anyway.

No, Tilieth was right. The surest path was back through Kakariko.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly, carefully sliding down slick stone with Link in his arms. He didn’t want to linger.

When they reached the water, Tilieth hastened forward, grabbing Abel by the arm and shushing him. Abel looked at her, alarmed, wondering what she’d seen, watching as she crept forward. When he followed her line of sight, though, he saw some ducks waddling ahead on the shore.

“Really?” he whispered. “Right now? We’re about to go back into town, we don’t need to hunt.”

“Oh, I’m not hunting them, I just want to watch them,” Tilieth said lightly, a sweet smile pulling at her lips.

Abel bit back an exasperated reply. He’d already snapped at her yesterday. He wasn’t going to do it again. But they needed to move. He kept his mouth shut, watching his wife creep forward before talking briefly to the ducks, who quacked in response, eliciting giggles from Til. He tried to enjoy watching it. He really did.

“Til,” he finally said, unable to bear it any longer. “Link’s going to get cold.”

This snapped her out of her distraction, and Tilieth apologized worriedly as she started to create ice pillars. Abel let her place the harness on him before he positioned Link and strapped him in. The couple slid across the river, occasionally nearly toppling over with as slippery as it was, but they managed to make it to the beach and their horses. Abel thought they were finally in the clear when something else seemed to catch Tilieth’s eye (after she’d already snagged some dragonflies), and she pulled Epona in circles. Abel let Ama slow to a halt, watching his wife aimlessly ride in a dizzying pattern. At least the rain had stopped, but…

“What are you doing?” he asked, bewildered.

“There’s—there’s this—oh, I almost had it!” Tilieth huffed, pushing Epona to move faster and reaching down until she was halfway off the saddle. His wife was a good rider, so he wasn’t particularly concerned, but her behavior still made no sense. Link sneezed, distracting Abel, who tried to remember if they’d fed the boy or not (they did, right? They had to, right?), and he jostled the teenager and coaxed him to drink some broth while Tilieth still rode in a circle.

“Til—”

“I know, I’ll be quick!”

“Til, this is ridiculous, what are you even doing?”

“There’s a light!”

“There’s literally nothing.”

Til huffed, jumping off Epona entirely, making Abel tense up, and she pounced on something. “Got you!”

Abel stared as his wife, breathless, laughed giddily and reached out her hand and said thank you and then rose, looking triumphant.

Scrunching his nose, he surmised, “This is another one of those koroks, isn’t it?”

Tilieth nodded, cheeks flushed with cheer. Abel had to smile at her in reply, even though he felt that familiar helplessness. Not that he cared about collecting seeds, but it seemed in this avenue he was fairly useless. What if these magical creatures could help them somehow, and he was making himself a liability by not being able to see them? Why could Tilieth see them?

Sighing, Abel nudged Ama with his legs. “All finished?”

“Yes,” Tilieth said, satisfied, as she climbed back into Epona’s saddle. “Let’s get to the village. We should be able to get there by midafternoon, right?”

“Correct.”

At least, that would have been the plan, except Tilieth wanted to pick some herbs, and the slate started chirping that another shrine was nearby, leading them to a little sandbar with a shrine innocently sitting at its center. Abel stared, bemused, wondering if they’d somehow missed this one, as they had to have passed it, right?

No matter. Another shrine was another shrine. At least this one was close to the village.

“Ah, the soil is so fertile here,” Tilieth noted, and Abel had to agree as he nearly sank ankle deep into the earth. A few chus led to enough damage to the guardian blade that the ancient relic shattered, and Abel irritably switched weapons, grumbling about faulty Sheikah tech as he did so.

The shrine was fairly straightforward, leaping across driftwood to make it to the other side. The final part involved destroying bomb barrels at the right time to eliminate a wall (Abel did have to wonder at the efficacy of such a thing as the bombs were floating in the water, but he supposed they would find out). Tilieth found great pleasure in retrieving every treasure chest she could find, though, according to her, none could beat the one that contained the headband Abel wore.

“It’s too bad there aren’t more clothes,” she commented as Abel aimed at the barrels with a fire arrow. “Or at least materials to make some. Your clothes are a little tattered.”

Abel paused, glancing down at his attire. He wore what his wife had managed to patch together from fabric and clothes they’d found on the plateau, fashioning a warm doublet. The trousers he wore used to nearly fit him perfectly, but time and use had made them threadbare, riding up to nearly midway up his calf. His wife, on the other hand, wore an oversized green tunic that was practically a dress that went to her knees with a white undershirt, and the trousers she wore were made from the tattered remains of her dress she’d been wearing the day of the Calamity. Honestly, they both could use some new clothes, Abel supposed. He was at least grateful Tilieth had made some for Link. The boy was warmer and more protected in the Hylian tunic she’d fashioned. If only they could get the boy some shoes…

Tilieth built ice columns for them to stand on so Abel could aim better, but after three tries of missing lifting the barrels out of the water at the right time, his wife was clearly growing frustrated.

“Here,” Abel suggested gently, holding out his hand. “You’re a decent shot. I’ll make the column, you fire the arrow.”

Tilieth bit her lip uncertainly and then nodded. When Abel successfully timed the ice column, leaving the bomb barrel innocently waiting at its peak, Tilieth fired true with a fire arrow.

Link flinched at the ensuing explosion, sniffling, blinking his eyes open, but he settled back to sleep quickly.

“How did you get it?” Tilieth asked, obviously a little annoyed.

Abel smiled. “Because I’m more patient than you.”

His wife rolled her eyes exasperatedly, and the pair acquired the spirit orb. As they exited, Abel saw a familiar sight – the Riverside Stable, its framework splintering up towards the sky. That was definitely the stable he’d seen on their way to the Dueling Peaks. They’d… gotten a little off track with this other shrine.

“Which way back to Kakariko?” Tilieth questioned a little confusedly before gasping. “Abel, there’s another shrine over there!”

Abel glanced up at the sky. The sun was still high. They had time. “Let’s go.”

Surprisingly, Eagus Bridge was somehow still intact, though most of the protective siding was gone. But Abel realized something, almost too late, horribly, and he immediately blocked Tilieth’s path as they neared the next bridge.

“What?” Tilieth asked.

“This leads to Central Hyrule. The Riverside Stable is in Central Hyrule.” Abel emphasized. “We’re not going there.”

Tilieth looked torn, but also very clearly petrified.

Abel motioned with his head. “We need to get to the village.”

He was not risking his family for this. He would come later, without them, to ensure it was safe. Not that he was going to tell Tilieth that.

The smell of smoke scorched his nostrils, burned his lungs—

Abel shook his head, ridding himself of the memory, the sensation. He guided Epona and Ama ahead, holding Link more tightly.

The couple moved in silence, interrupted only by the rhythmic clomping of their steeds’ hooves. Thankfully it was an uneventful trek back to Kakariko. Their arrival caught everyone's attention, and Lady Impa moved towards them quickly.

“Any luck with the shrines?” she asked. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” Tilieth assured her with a smile. “We just need to pass through again to head for the—”

“Next destination,” Abel interrupted. He… didn’t want anyone to know where they were going. Not even the princess’ royal advisor. “We’ll stay here tonight. If that’s fine with you.”

“Of course,” Lady Impa acknowledged, her tone implying that it was obvious. Abel felt a little guilty at it, at her hesitancy and uncertainty as she looked at him. He’d never interacted with the woman much in the past, but a little voice in his mind did whisper that they were all on the same side. It sounded annoyingly like Tilieth.

Abel gently lowered Link from Ama, letting Tilieth take him and hobble over to a nearby cooking pot. He glanced towards the mountain pass once more.

He’d wait until nightfall to explore. The less fuss, the better.

Tilieth’s off-tune humming filled the air, making the former knight smile. His wife rocked back and forth where she sat, taking Link with her as he was settled on her lap. Abel took comfort in the gentle, warm cheer, watching as Tilieth started to chat aimlessly with the Sheikah chief.

“Where’s Sheik?” Tilieth asked. “I saw nearly everyone else. Oh, and how’s the little one and her mother? Mellie and Jummo, right?”

“They’re both doing great,” Lady Impa answered happily. “The plum trees we planted seem to be surviving too. This rain is certainly helping. As for Sheik, she left around the same time you two did.”

“Where did she go?”

“She’s… on a pilgrimage. She’s visiting all the sacred springs that Princess Zelda visited.”

Abel tuned out the rest of the conversation, simply watching Tilieth and Link. He sat on the stairs to the inn, leaning against a crate and feeling himself nod off. He supposed not sleeping was catching up to him. He shook his head to try and stay awake – he had to investigate Central Hyrule tonight, after all.

“Honey? You okay?”

Abel blinked again, and—when had the sun set so much? When had Tilieth moved to stand in front of him?

“Oh, Abel,” Tilieth said softly, placing a hand on his cheek. He reached up, letting his hand rest over hers to reassure her, eyes searching for Link as he confusedly tried to piece together what had just happened. “Honey, why don’t you get some sleep?”

Sleep? No, not yet. He’d just slept a little anyway, right? Time had passed.

“’m alright,” he slurred, not sounding convincing in the slightest. Damn it.

Tilieth’s eyes grew glassy with worry and unshed tears, and Abel felt even worse for it. Damn it.

Reaching forward, he pulled her close, letting her sit on his lap a moment as they held each other, and he kissed her just under her eyes, catching the tears as they fell. “I’m okay, love. I promise.”

Tilieth trembled in his arms, sniffling. “Abel, I just… it’s okay. Please, just rest. I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, holding her more tightly, willing all of his love and assurance into it. Please don’t worry. She had enough to worry about. He’d caused his wife enough problems lately. “I promise I’ll sleep later tonight, okay? I just… want to pray at the statue before bed.”

Tilieth perked up, and her expression was hard to read. His wife was naturally far more trusting than him, so he hoped the lie would work (and oh how he despised having to lie to her, but she’d never let him go if he said what he was planning on doing). However, Tilieth was not a fool – she knew Abel didn’t really pray anymore. Perhaps, once in a while, in the middle of the night, in desperation or loneliness, Abel would wander to the Temple of Time before this new journey had begun, but it had been rare.

It was hard to believe in the love of goddesses who would allow this to happen, after all.

His wife watched him silently, her brown eyes piercing into him in a way that reminded him of Link, searching for answers unspoken. Abel broke the spell, though, by leaning in and kissing her on the forehead, brushing curls away from her face.

That night, he ate in silence. He didn’t dare speak, he didn’t dare try to reassure her any more, he didn’t wish to lie any further. Tilieth seemed to gain some of her earlier cheer back as she woke Link to feed him, as she cleaned him and tucked him in. Abel watched the pair, heart heavy, wondering if this was a mistake.

What if… what if he failed again? What if he got himself killed out there, in that goddess forsaken land? What if there were guardians out there as there had been ten years ago?

What would he find? What if he didn’t return?

What would happen to his family?

You’re being paranoid. There was no way Central Hyrule was that dangerous, or Lady Impa would have warned them about it. Right? Besides, Blatchery Plain was riddled with guardians and they were all harmless. So it had to be fine. Right?

Right?

There was a shrine there, though. He had to try.

For Link.

Abel watched Tilieth settle into the bed beside Link, leaving space for him to join her. He went outside, heading for the goddess statue.

Hylia smiled serenely at him. Abel stared darkly back.

He didn’t pray. He couldn’t. Even if he recognized the gift that Epona was, the miracle that Link was actually improving, he couldn’t pray. How could he, after what he’d done today?

How could he, after all his failures? He blamed Hylia for the destruction of Hyrule, but he hadn’t done any better to protect it.

He’d killed a man today.

Could he have avoided it?

It didn’t matter. Whether he could’ve avoided it or not, it didn’t matter. That person would never be a threat again.

But what if he was just scared? What if you could’ve talked him down, as you had with those siblings at Proxim Bridge?

Am I a murderer?

He supposed he didn’t deserve to pray. He wasn’t a knight; he wasn’t even a good man anymore. He was just a survivor. And he would do anything to protect his family.

Besides, that Hylian had clearly been starving. He’d likely been desperate and would’ve been willing to do anything too. He’d been a threat.

Abel still didn’t think he was a good man anymore, though. He wasn’t sure he’d been one since the Calamity.

He didn’t need to be a good man. Just a good fighter.

Hylia smiled serenely at him. Abel turned away.

He paused as he passed the inn. Almost went inside to see his wife and his son. But then he kept going. He didn’t want to risk catching Tilieth’s attention. Quietly, he guided Ama out of the village before mounting her and riding into the night.

A keese or two tried to interfere as he rode, but he eliminated them easily.

Eagus Bridge seemed infinitely more foreboding as he crossed it now. Horwell Bridge even more so.

Ama’s hoofs tapped rhythmically, a familiar, comforting cadence to the pounding in his heart. His skin felt cold, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. Was he being watched? He didn’t hear the sound of the earth tearing under clawed metal feet, he didn’t hear the claps of thunder that followed the firing of lasers, he didn’t hear the ticking as the mechanical monsters prepared to destroy whatever was in their path.

His heart raced even faster. Ama nickered nervously, picking up on his energy, pausing at the edge of the bridge.

Central Hyrule stood before him.

It was hard to really see it with as dark as it was. The moon was crescent tonight, barely spilling any of its blessed light. Abel’s eyes were wide, desperate to take in every piece of information he possibly could. The wind blew innocently, bringing the scent of soil and water.

No flowers. No leaves. No trees. Dirt was carried in the breeze, loose, eroding, barren.

It was all barren.

Abel carefully bade Ama forward, and as her hooves crunched into the soil, he felt his body tense further.

What little light was available from the moon vanished, hidden behind clouds heavy laden with rain. Ama’s black hair made her practically disappear into the darkness, and thunder rumbled not too far away.

Abel urged his steed ahead, slowly and carefully. Thunder rumbled again.

Thunder. Thunder.

The sky burned.

The bells in the temple rang repeatedly, a warning and a petition, a prayer and a guide. It punctuated the screams, it harmonized the ticking of lasers as they charged and fired, shooting through the air with such intensity that it created miniature claps of thunder as the heat separated the air harshly before it returned together with a snap.

Abel’s breath caught in his throat.

The world around him was deafening.

There was so much noise, and his ears were ringing so much, he honestly couldn't tell what sound came from what source anymore. Was it a scream? Was it a guardian? Was that a child wailing or a gear grinding? Was that his heart pounding in his ears or was it a thunderclap from another beam firing?

Ama whinnied, moving in place anxiously.

Abel stared ahead, watching troops march together, some limping, others helping their comrades. Many had wagons and horses to help them.

He heard whirring. He heard gears. He heard claws, and ticking, and thunder.

Thunder rumbled again. The earth shook. Ama neighed, growing skittish, jostling him in his saddle, it was raining, when had it started raining, something was moving, something was moving—

Abel heard horse hooves galloping, he heard a battle cry, he saw mud splashing in the barren wasteland around him—

Bokoblin!

Abel gasped, coming to reality, spurring Ama into motion, and she ran ahead. He drew his sword, catching sight of the enemy, recognizing faintly the familiar motion of aiming a bow and arrow. He jerked his horse to the side as an arrow flew by his ear, and he redirected her to charge once more, stabbing the bokoblin. His blood was racing, his body soaked, his hands trembling—

His horse whinnied with panic as flames spread too close, licking at its hooves and his heels. He steered the mare around the flames as she almost bucked him off, and then the flames were abruptly disrupted by a clawed foot tearing into the earth and squelching them.

In the haze and smoke, Abel recognized the pink mechanical eye transfixed on him. He sucked in a sharp inhale, coughing harshly on the smoke in his lungs, and urged his mount to move.

Metal glinted. Lightning flashed, reflecting on a blank eye, a mirror to a past of fire and smoke.

Abel froze in his saddle. Ama ran harder, petrified, out of control.

The guardian was hot on his heels, charging its laser as he once again pushed the horse to run faster. His steed neighed in protest, her stamina draining out of her faster than it could replenish, and the guardian fired.

Go! Go, run!!!!

Abel pulled on the reins hard, making Ama neigh in protest as she tried to obey, as her hooves slipped, she lost her balance in such a sharp turn, and both horse and rider fell into the mud.

Thunder rumbled.

Thunder clapped as lasers fired.

It was pouring.

The sky was aflame as people screamed.

It was deafening it was deafening.

Movement stirred nearby, screams—screams of civilians—thunder thunder guardian fire, they were everywhere—

Abel whirled, sword at the ready, a snarl at his lips as Ama tried to right herself. His hilt made contact, slamming something, and he looked around with crazed, terrified eyes.

Where was it where was it—

Ama finally stood. Thunder rumbled again. Lightning flashed.

Lightning flashed. Shining a light. A light. On the barren wasteland. There was—there were—what was—

Blonde curls, stained with red. A figure, lying still in the mud. Green tunic smattered in brown, the only green as far as the eye could see—

Abel felt his heart stop.

This wasn’t—this wasn’t real this wasn’t real nononononono—

Abel ran, heart racing once more. The world shook as lighting struck again. The figure remained still on the ground.

“TILIETH!”

He collapsed into the mud, shaking her shaking her begging, pleading, goddess no please no—

The still fingers. The still feet. The still body. The paleness, the redness, the black and blue and—

“NO!”

Thunder roared. The rain was deafening. But nothing could outweigh the sobs, nothing could cover the screams, nothing could stave the panic as the former knight shook his wife over and over and over and over and over.

[ofcowardiceandkings]

so in those [mumble mumble] years between BotW and TotK, the Zora replaced the weathered and unreadable monuments with new history writing by Sidon, and their contents have left me hmm emotionally compromised ??

i was gonna list em out in full but then i read them all and Sidon waffles so much bless him LOL

full transcripts below (+ the 11th monument in the Domain itself) expect Sidon being an adorable goof, Zora Deep Lore, waterbending, SO much gushing over Mipha and Link, Zelda being a sweetheart, and surprise Yona content !!!

just for clarity, i've highlighted the first word of each on-screen chunk of text ... i love Sidon so much but he's so verbose i kept missing the full log lol but im glad he went all in, its earnest, descriptive and poetic :') 💙 RIP the stonemasons ...

Learnings of the Zora, Part One The Waters of Zora's Domain As told by Prince Sidon

Long, long ago, right here in Lanayru, incredible transformations, both subtle and drastic in nature, shaped the land. The tall mountains birthed clouds, these clouds cried tears of rain, and this rain filled our deep valleys past the brim. In time, this overflowing water became the Zora River, which bred waterfalls that fell and nourished the vast Lanayru Wetlands. Perhaps it was inevitable that my Zora ancestors, who wandered in search of precious water, would finally settle here. The mountains of Lanayru are blessed with high-quality stone. The structures built from said stone are solid yet refined. Just like the Zora and our domain, our buildings exist in harmony with the water. It is a beautiful symbol of our way of life. If you go to the edge of the domain, close your eyes, and listen closely ... you shall be greeted by the gentle sound of water. This kind, soothing sound is a testament to the happy life the Zora are so grateful to have found here. As one born of royal Zora blood, my duty is as clear as it is unshakeable. I, Sidon, swear here and now ... I shall protect our home with my very life, that the gentle sound of water may never cease in our beloved domain.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Two The Legend of Ruto, Our Great Ancestor As told by Prince Sidon

It is written that long ago there was a strong-willed Zora princess who was as meandering as a winding river. This princess, who was dearly loved by her fellow Zora, was noble as she was innocent. Her name was Ruto. One day, a powerful and wicked man tried to take over Hyrule and brought great ruin to the once-peaceful Zora's Domain. Our tales speak of falled Zora soldiers drifting down the river as it sadly reflected the chaotic retreat of the terrified Zora. Princess Ruto bravely fought back her tears and she bore witness to the tragic misery unfolding in the domain. Even amid her heartbreak, the Zora princess did all she coult to help the weak and elderly escape. Next she swam against the river's current and climbed the mighty waterfall to challenge her foe. The details of this fight have fallen victim to the haze of time. Few details remain. Still, it is said she was aided by the princess of Hyrule and the hero of legend, and together they saved Hyrule. So the legend goes. I, Sidon, prince of the Zoram cannot help but ponder these events as I listen to the Zora children play in all their innocence. As Princess Ruta's descendant, it is my fate to carry the torch of her brave acts into tomorrow and beyond. I shall not fail.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Three The Great King Dorephan As told by Prince Sidon

Several springs after I lost my dear sister, Mipha, a large group of Lizalfos attacked the domain. It mattered not that this was my first true battle. The expectations of those around me weighed heavy on my shoulders. The absence of Mipha, who had always been there to encourage me with loving kindness, was like a spear to my heart. As for my own spear, though I was highly trained for its use, it seemed to only cut the air and slash the water's surface. I was taken off guard by a surprise attach from three Lizalfos hiding at the water's edge, each with their blade fixed on me. I knew that my time had come ... and that is when the three Lizalfos disappeared, as quickly as they had arrived. In their place, I saw the towering figure of my father, the great King Dorephan, who had just bested my foes with ease. "Sidon, my son," he said firmly. "You allwed your heart to falter. That is the quickest way to fall on the battlefield." His words cut deep, but as I stood on the brink of dispair, a familiar gently encouraged me. "Your king needs you." Many soldiers later attested they were certain they had also heard the sweet voice of Mipha on that day. From then on, my heart was true and my resolve firm. By lending strength to our king, we were able to save the domain.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Four Two Sisters of Different Blood As told by Prince Sidon

When I was young, I had an irrational fear of strangers. I was particularly bashful around Yona. Paralyzed, even. She was already so mature in manner, and she treated me like a little brother, even though we were not related. There came an unseasonably heavy rain that quickly flooded the river. Us children, who were playing there, were swept away. I was battered by the water's strong flow, my fins helpless to resist. It was Yona who dragged me to the safety of the shore. The water continued to swell as the shore waned, but Yona was unflappable, sweetly comforting me as I shivered in fear. It was Mipha, my dear sister, who finally showed up to rescue us with other Zora adults in tow. I still remember Yona's face as she gazed up at Mipha in admiration. My face must have looked the same as I gazed at Yona. As a child, I had two big sisters. One by birth and one by chance. Yona looked up to Mipha, and I was in awe of them both. Before I knew it, years had passed, and my feelings for Yona became more difficult to quantify. Then, one day ... My father informed me that the amazing young woman who had once been a like a sister to me was to be my bride. Perhaps these feelings and memories are too dear and private to commit to history, but such is the tale of this Zora prince.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Five The Zora Armor She Left Behind As told by Prince Sidon

For some time after I lost my beloved sister, even in the light shining on the water seemed dark and dreary to my eyes. But as they say, time heals all wounds, no matter how deep. I can now speak of her with a smile, as is only fitting. I shall now tell the tale of the Zora armor that my sister crafted for her future husband, as per our ancient custom. One dark day, the domain was in great peril, and I sought help from a traveling Hylian to save our home. He was sparing with his words, yet I trusted him at once. As fate would have it, he was a childhood friend of Mipha's. My father, King Dorephan, troubled by the domain's suffering, requested his help. The swordsman agreed without hesitation. Father bequeathed my sister's Zora armor to this courageous soul, along with her hopes for the safety of the domain. The armor fit Link perfectly - so perfectly that councilman Muzu, who then harbored a hatred of Hylians, could not object. My sister had already left this world, and with her went the dearly held intentions that she had instilled within that special armor. Yet, with Link's help, she shined a light on the Zora in our hour of need, reaching between worlds with gentle fingertips.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Six The Story of Mipha Court: The Beginning As told by Prince Sidon

There was once a terrifying monster on Ploymus Mountain, loosing shock arrows on all who dared to cross its path. It was of utmost importance to drive the beast away, but as the Zora are weak to electricity, our efforts were futile. That is when a lone Hylian arrived at the domain. This swordsman who was sparing with his words ... his name was Link. Unlike us Zora, he was immune to shocks! Well perhaps that is an exaggeration, but one thing is certain. He was very brave. After careful preparation, he ascended Ploymus Mountain and defeated the foul beast all by himself. As if in celebration of newfound peace, clean water mysteriously began flowing at the top of Ploymus Mountain. That is when many Zora, if not most, voiced support for building a place that all could enjoy in that formerly frightful spot. Yet the many tree roots and stones made this task tricky, leading to a focus on the no-less-difficult matter of the name. "Zora Park" was too obvious. "Ploymus Park" only conjured images of the former terrors found there. When I candidly asked whether we should focus on the hard work at hand rather than the name, they all turned my way. "Prince Sidon," they asked. "Surely you must have a good suggestion?" To that, I fell silent, and stayed so for a long while. I shall write the conclusion of this story on another monument.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Six The Story of Mipha Court: The Conclusion As told by Prince Sidon

The first half of this tale can be found on another stone monument. If it is not too much trouble, I advise reading that first. I now present the conclusion. When posed with the task of naming this storied location, I, Prince Sidon, fell silent. After a time, I timidly proposed the one and only name that came to mind for this place of newfound peace. I suggested that we name it after my beloved sister who had long been lost to us ... Mipha Court. I worried they would think I was unfairly favoring my own family's legacy by naming it after my kin. A hush fell over the group. After a time, one of the stonemasons raised his voice in agreement. More voices joined his, one after another. The idea was embraced whlly, and the craftsmen all returned to their work. Though the work was grueling, from then until the completion of Mipha Court, the air was filled with laughter and singing. This incident drove home to my very core how much everyone loved my sister. I hope one day to inspire such admiration. If there is ever to be a Sidon Court, I must work tirelessly to earn that honor.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Seven The Prince and the Swordsman As told by Prince Sidon

The rain always stops ... except when it does not. This humourous saying was once repeated with a soft chuckle around here. Then, one day, heavy rain started falling in the domain, and no matter how many days passed it did not cease. Although the Zora are a water-dwelling sort, we came to miss the warmth of the sun and dry winds upon our backs. Alas, as fervent as our desire was, we had no means of stopping the cause of this unprecedented disaster. When all had given up hope, I, Sidon, took it upon myself to invite a Hylian to the domain. This young swordsman of few words was named Link. I trusted him at once, sensing great devotion in his kind eyes. It was immediately clear that my instincts were correct. Thanks to Link, we were able to face the thread head on. Our battle with the source of the disaster was intense by my newfound friend and I refused to yield until we finally triumphed. Sometimes, writen words flow so much more readily than those spoken ... Link, my dearest friend, you are an unparalleled swordsman, and I admire you so very much. He may lack fins and gills, but it matters not. This hero among heroes exudes magnificence tempered with steadiness. Though we are different, our hearts both yearn to serve a higher calling. I learned much from him, and I am eternally grateful. As I recall my best friend, it occurs to me that though the rains have ceased, perhaps a true adventure never does.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Eight The Princess of Hyrule As told by Prince Sidon

One that despicable disaster had ceased to plague Zora's Domain, a distinguished yet humble lady paid us a visit. This young woman who appeared with Link at her side was none other than Princess Zelda of the royal family of Hyrule. "I beg forgiveness," she said earnestly. "Because of the royal family, Princess Mipha ..." She paused, unable to continue. Small, silent teardrops tumbled down her cheek and hit the floor, one after another, each saying a thousand unspaken words. She gently wiped her eyes and lifted her gaze to meet the king's, speaking kind words of gratitude for Mipha's sacrifice. We knew well that what had transpired was the result of a decision shared by the Zora and by Princess Mipha herself. There was no need for the princess of Hyrule's apology, and even less so for her sorrow. King Dorephan, along with the rest of the Zora, were moved by the depth of Princess Zelda's sincerity. She had held that unthinkable disaster at bay for nearly 100 years with nothing more than the sheer force of her own will. Yet she was not prideful. She dutifully set to work, traveling across Hyrule to secure cooperation for the kingdom's restoration. She was adored by all, yet so humble. She possessed an inner strength, but now I am not so certain. I feel a strong calling one day to acquire this same sort of strength within myself.

Learnings of the Zora, Anecdote One The Solid Water and the Fluid Spear As told by Prince Sidon

The Zora are not associated with water because of our dwelling place alone. We each also, to varying extents, possess the ability to actually manipulate water. We use this gift for many purposes. We use it to swim faster, to achieve mighty leaps from the waves below, to gather fish, and so much more. For me, the true awakening of this ability that many of my childhood chums already possessed came upon me quite suddenly. One day as I was training at Veiled Falls, the rain slickened my grasp, causing me to drop my spear. I reached to grab it, but it was already too far away. Soon it would fall to the bottom of the cliff, never to be seen again. I knew that I must take old of it, and at that moment, droplets created a stream extending from my outstretched hand. The water stream twisted and turned until it finally took hold of my falling spear and deftly returned it to my grasp. In that moment, the water was solid and my spear fluid. This sensation forever changed my approach to spearplay. I was reminded of how my sister, Mipha, described it ... and everything clicked. Water and spear became as one. Gaining yet another layer of admiration for my dear sister, I devoted myself to my spear training from then on.

Learnings of the Zora, Anecdote Two The Great Task Entrusted to Me As told by Prince Sidon

I, Sidon, was entrusted with the great task of renovating the Zora stone monuments that had fallen to ruin. There are 11 stone monuments total find in and around Zora's Domain, including the one you are now reading. The former text written by my father, King Dorephan, could not be salvaged, and so sadly it had to be replaced. Despite my royal blood, whispers abound that it is improper for someone my age to write over the king's glorious words. Ah, but do they not realize that it was King Dorephan himself who ordered me to undertake this restoration project? Father says it is not set in stone that I shall be the one to inherit the throne, as it is not a matter of blood alone. If we ask the eternal skies above whether I am fit to rule, they shall remain silent, and so we must look to our fellow Zora. He urged me to use these monuments to share my learnings and speak to our people straight from my heart. Father is older and wiser than I. His sage advice is a gift. As such, I have inscribed my thoughts upon these 11 stones. I do not know how far-reaching my words shall be, but it is my hope that they will reach whoever needs to hear them most. Until one of the descendants writes over my musings many years from now, I pray they resonate with whoever reads them.

WELL there we are, thanks for the history lesson Sidon you absolute sweetie fhjdkdjf i have thoughts and feelings and emotions but i wont make this post any longer than it already is but i love these characters byeeeEEE

[batrogers]

Linked Universe Time with PTSD

My friends have gotten the brunt of me going on these rambles at them directly, so I decided I’d make this everyone else’s problem as well. Especially after the recent update and the somewhat... questionable words exchanged between him and Twilight, I figured this could be a salve for people like me and a few friends going “What the fuck” about how out of the blue it feels.

A comment on my approach to canon: I am aware there are things shared in the Discord that are creator content, and on the Patreon to which not everyone has equal access or can even manage to relocate again with any ease. As such, like I do with most fandoms, I will be discounting those as “extra-canon” only referenced to augment the “core materials” which I am treating as the Tumblr account archive, because that is available to everyone, without an account and without paying.

I am, of course, including all base canon of the games in this analysis as well, which is to say all the canon directly included in the games and not including the Ocarina of Time or Twilight Princess comics. Interviews and so on are considered "extra-canon" here as well.

(Also I am in the Patreon and at the moment none of the “bonus” content is relevant to this anyways, for the curious. I am not, and have never been, in the Discord.)

Approx 1500 words.

IIII

I’m going to start from the comment everyone is making about this update: that Malon must be pregnant. Obviously nothing can prove or disprove that in and of itself, but I would argue that’s both not a necessary read of this and the mere question is actually part of my analysis: Link and Malon are, by word of god and how they’re drawn, in their thirties. They’ve been a couple since they were late teens to early twenties, and they very clearly want to have children from how they react to Twilight!

So why don’t they?

Infertility is suspected after two years of a (presumably) reproductive capable couple having unprotected sex without a pregnancy. If Time and Malon have been trying for ten to twenty years to have children (assuming their relationship started between 15-20, and currently are 30-35), they are incredibly infertile. It’s not out of the question, and a wild stroke of luck could still occur (my own cousin conceived unexpectedly after ten years of trying) but it does serve to investigate other reasons: maybe they had some reason they weren’t trying, either on purpose or because something was keeping them apart.

Something, perhaps, like a war.

The base game of Ocarina of Time does not leave Hyrule in a good state. We are told, in-game, that Hyrule was in a civil war when Link was a baby. His mother died getting him into the Lost Woods, where he was raised as an orphan. The Shadow Temple explicitly states it was used to imprison (and, strongly implied, torture) the enemies of the Hylian royal family. Ocarina of Time is the only game to use its unique script for Hylian, which suggests it wasn’t the original language and did not last into Twilight Princess later on.

Lon Lon Ranch itself is both very protected by location (very close to the Castle, close enough it supplies it with food and other supplies) and by a twelve foot log palisade. The castle grounds themselves have two guarded gates between it and Castletown (do they not trust their own populace?) and a vast number of guards on the hills around it. Kakariko also has guarded, gated entrances.

(This all has a game mechanics explanation, of course. Closing off each section with “gates” and high walls permits loading screens to feel justified and more immersive, and saves game data and space. It creates clearly defined, restricted areas for the console capabilities at the time. But they can still be interpreted this way, because that is ultimately still the world they built in the end.)

In addition to that base of implied precarious stability at home, we have the question of how the matter of Ganondorf was resolved. Time very briefly references pointing the finger at him and causing something to happen, but ultimately there is no result that would not have made the situation politically volatile for some time after. Even if they executed Ganondorf immediately, the bad blood between Hyrule and the Gerudo would’ve festered under Koume and Kotake as potential leaders. If they didn’t, and simply threw him out or banished him, the same would apply this time with Ganondorf still alive... and, if we assume that the Twilight Princess Ganondorf and this one are the same, he looks much older in-model than he does in Ocarian of Time which suggests this interpretation holds more weight.

It’s not really a question of “if” things devolved again after these events, but when and how badly. Remember, again, my comment that the script of Ocarina of Time is gone by the time of Twilight Princess. In addition, I've done an analysis of Twilight Princess game implications that do not imply Child Timeline has been peaceful, either.

But, of course, the question of what the games themselves leave us with doesn’t answer if Jojo went with this position within the canon of the comics. There is of course the potential to disregard this if someone doesn’t want to go the route of war post-game for Ocarina of Time. Many people just don’t want to write it, and that’s valid! I honestly don’t think Jojo really considered it.

But, there is evidence that could support it if you wanted to go there.

First of all, we have Time’s platemail. This is based off of the Hero’s Shade platemail in Twilight Princess. Disregarding all other factors, platemail directly implies a few things about Time’s social position at the start of Linked Universe: he has enough money, influence, and reason to have suffered the cost and length of time required to make what is extremely high-level, personalized (in size and design) armour. This means several things:

Time has social status. That armour is meant to be seen and noticed; it’s something that either was made for show (a “jewel of the crown” level of regard), or because he wanted people to notice it personally. He has money, or political favour: that shit’s expensive. He either paid for it himself, or someone paid for it for him. And he has cause to want the level of defense offered by platemail over chainmail or hardened leather. Platemail is uncomfortable. It's heavy, and reduces agility. You wear plate because you expect to get hit, and hit hard by something that could surpass chainmail or hardened leather. Something like a moblin... or an iron knuckle.

Malon directly references this in their visit to see her: “You’re in danger if you took your best gear.”

Time chose to wear his platemail to go after Dink, but this is armour he already owns before Dink ever entered the picture. In that same chapter, Malon directly states “all the times you’ve come home beaten and bleeding.” While they also joke that Talon doesn’t believe him, remember that Lon Lon Ranch is in a very protected place within Hyrule. A war that takes out the castle and central city is a war that’s very nearly lost. (Hyrule Warriors losing Zelda AND the castle was a devastating, near-lose condition and his Hyrule is probably in severe condition.) Talon can afford to consider the affairs Time gets up to none of his business.

But that doesn’t make them perfectly safe. Malon can fight, she’s been drawn with bow and arrow before. Lon Lon Ranch, as noted, is behind a tall palisade and there’s the implications that Talon’s deceased wife might’ve been a Gerudo. He’s also old enough that he was a young adult at least during the Civil War that killed Link’s mother.

And, somewhere between that picture of Time at sixteen or seventeen, when Malon promised she wanted to know what had happened to him, and the start of Linked Universe (a gap that directly implies that this was not the result of Majora’s Mask!) Link lost an eye and gained the markings of the Fierce Deity mask. And, with it, he gained what we’re told by Jojo (in a VERY old ask) is a terror of using it again.

I’m not going to presume to say what exactly his trauma might or might not look like. PTSD and similar things manifest differently for a lot of people. But it could make Time react badly to the visceral reminder of going back into serious combat. A reminder like, say, a long wait for someone to recover from a nearly-fatal injury. Add in that on long campaigns, letters from Malon may have been his only piece of home, letters that likely carry her terror for his safety with them nevermind the specific news they contain and...

He might not be in a good state of mind when setting out once more with one of the young men he’s pulled into this fight with him. He might struggle to think clearly, when he feels so responsible for their safety and remembers how Malon reacted to Twilight, all because of what he told her.

He might say things in a poor way, with fear weighing more heavily on his mind than reason.

[fioreofthemarch]

kin

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Pairing: Link/Zelda Words: 1270 [✨this is a companion piece to repast and yearnings]

When at last Zelda was returned to the present, it was all she could do not to dwell on the past.

The memories of her time as a dragon were gone, but the subconscious remained. She felt unsteady on her feet, disliked being cooped up without a view of the sky, and often dreamt of flying, always waking with a lingering sense of loss. 

It was a guilty feeling. She had gotten everything she’d wanted. The Demon King was gone, Hyrule was saved, and Link - Link! - he was alive and they were finally free to go about their lives in long-awaited peace.  

And yet?

“You look as though you’ve forgotten something,” Purah had said to her when they’d last spoken in Lookout Landing. Zelda agreed, but couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. 

An answer came to her in Hateno, while she and Link were visiting their house by the river. Link had built them a new home in Akkala, and was sure that Zelda would enjoy rearranging it to her liking, if she didn’t mind moving house. So there in Hateno, while Zelda was sorting through her things and trying to decide what to take, something bright and blue caught her eye – a dragon! A spirit of cool, calm wisdom, passing silently overhead. 

At that moment, what was forgotten became clear. She burst from the house, arms waving, crying – “Sister!”

But the dragon never slowed, only kept on as sure as the wind. Then she was rounding north, slipping down towards the horizon, and then she was gone. 

Zelda sank down onto the grass, hands clasped tight and catching tears she didn’t know were falling. Naydra no longer knew her; they’d shared the skies for millenia, and yet! 

“Maybe she just doesn’t recognise you,” Link said upon finding her like this, his voice a steadying presence, as were his sure hands leading her back inside. “You’ve changed since she saw you last.” 

“For the better, right?”

He grinned, “I loved you just as much either way.”

After this Zelda tried, earnestly, to let life go on. The Akkala house was perfect, and only needed some nicer furnishings, maybe a painting or two, or a bigger garden. When not working on that, Zelda found her thoughts returning to the dragons – she charted Dinraal’s path over Akkala, drawing it on a map she kept in her study. Then, when the need arose to travel to Hateno, she did the same for Naydra, and later Farosh too, when she and Link travelled south to visit the Gerudo. Once the map was complete, it occurred to her that the three dragons formed a distinct triangle, each guarding their own corner of Hyrule. And that’s when knew what to do. 

“I was here for longer than I can even say,” she explained to Link, after convincing him to take her to the Great Sky Island. “The three dragons visited me here every day, at the centre of the Kingdom.” 

They stood on the roof of the Temple of Time, where Link had landed the ballooncraft he had made them. The skies were clear, and all of Hyrule could be seen below. He asked Zelda what exactly she planned to do, and she admitted she didn’t really know. She just had to try something. Link gave her an understanding nod, and stepped back to let her proceed. 

Zelda clasped her hands at her chest. She focused, felt all the yearning and regret, all the nostalgia for younger days, and let them flow from her like a lighthouse beacon – a single wish that cascaded from her very soul. Her secret stone, still worn around her neck, began to glow hot against her skin, in concert with the ancient royal mark on her right hand. I am here. Come to me!

How long she stood like that she did not know, but eventually she felt the air grow hot and cold all at once. 

The sight when she opened her eyes was all but beyond words; three great and immortal dragons, servants of the very Goddess herself, gathered together before the Temple. Their bodies flowed like rivers, irridescent scales scattering light, long horns shimmering with diffuse elemental power. Summoned here, the dragons hovered in place; Dinraal to the left, Farosh to the right and Naydra in the middle. 

Zelda bowed. She shook from nerves. Did the dragons hear her call? What was their answer? There was silence, except the wind, until at last Zelda heard a voice.

Sister, the dragon Naydra said, you are changed. 

You have become small and fragile, said the dragon Dinraal. 

You have joined the swordsman as a mortal, said the dragon Farosh. 

“You know me?” Zelda said, barely able to breathe. Behind her, Link stood tall and firm, though his body was tense. It was no small thing to treat with the gods. 

You were not easy to spot, Naydra said. Your light however was very familiar.

A great power summoned us here, sister. We are impressed, Dinraal said. 

As are we curious, Farosh added. Speak your command. 

Still Zelda did not know why exactly she had called them. There had to be something that she had wanted to say…

“Zelda… are you okay?” Link said, with a hint of fear in his voice. It was enough to steel her. She couldn’t tarry here. Immortal though her sisters were, she did not want to waste their time. 

“I am okay,” she answered, and she knew why.

Turning to Naydra, Dinraal and Farosh, Zelda bowed again, long and low. Rising, she said, “I was no one, adrift in an open sky, until I awoke in your company. I had done something terrible and forbidden, but you accepted me as one of your own, and stayed with me until my task was complete. And even now that I have left you, you remember me. This kindness…” she brushed tears from her cheeks, composing herself. “I must thank you. I wish there was a way to repay your generosity.” 

The dragons hovered, eyes bright and piercing. Zelda felt foolish; sentimental words probably meant little to them. But then, together, they bowed their heads in return. After a long moment, they broke formation and began to move through the air once more, silently circling the Temple of Time in a spiral of ice, flame and static.  

“Was that ‘offer accepted’?” Link asked with a nervous laugh. 

Dinraal departed first, heading north for Akkala. Then Farosh followed, turning south for Gerudo. Only Naydra remained. She flew down towards the roof of the temple, and landed on its parapets gentler than a feather. Placing her head down so that her and Zelda’s eyes were level, she blinked slow and calm. 

Beloved sister, she said, things done for kin need never be repaid.  

Then, a single tear falling from her eye, the dragon Naydra ascended from the roof, and flew east. Zelda watched until she disappeared from view, her own tears falling free. Not all memories were lost, she realised, but the past would always be the past, and that was its own kind of loss. 

Still, the future was calling. It came in the form of a warm and gentle hand – Link, threading his fingers into hers. “Home?” he said. Zelda nodded, knowing what he meant, but feeling that she was already there as he wrapped his arms around her. 

“Good, I’ve got an apple pie in the oven that you might like.”

With a laugh she returned his radiance, fresh but happy tears falling. “I think I might,” she said. And so they went, leaving the sky behind.