#sawyer x ridoc

[callsign-rogueone]

lean on me

Sawyer Henrick + Ridoc Gamlyn Sawyer runs out of painkiller and drags himself, fully clothed, into an ice-cold shower in an attempt to take the edge off. It works, but once he sits down on the tile floor, he can’t get back up to turn the water off. Feeling that his rider is trapped there, freezing cold and dissociating, Sliseag reaches out to Aotrom, who sends Ridoc to the rescue. words: 3.2k 🏷️: trying something new, so be gentle with me pls, written before the release of Onyx Storm, set 2-ish weeks after the end of Iron Flame. nonsexual nudity, brief description of Sawyer’s injury site (Rid changing his bandages) but no blood or anything, mentions of nausea and skipping meals, the word puke is used exactly once, painkiller reliance, negative self-talk — Sawyer’s self esteem issues re: the injury and not bonding in his first year make an appearance, as well as Ridoc's guilt for letting things get this bad. this could be read either as platonic or as a ship fic, if you want. there’s mutual I love you’s in there, but nothing too romantical — and if you aren’t cuddling with your homies on the regular, wyd?

“Sliseag’s boy needs you.”

Ridoc is out his door and down the stairs in seconds, headed to the first-floor room they’d moved Sawyer into after he’d been discharged from the infirmary. The door is unlocked, the room empty, but he can hear water running in the bathroom right across the hall.

“Sawyer?”

No response. 

Then he sees a person sat against the wall under the spray of one of the faucets — unmistakably Sawyer, from their red-brown hair and pale skin. He’s still dressed. He hadn’t drawn the curtain, seemingly just turned the water on and sat down under it.

“Sy?” Ridoc tries again quietly, not wanting to startle him — nothing. He reaches up to turn the water off, and only then does Sawyer seem to notice his presence, looking up from his blank stare at the opposite wall.

His cheeks are wet, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes red and swollen from crying. His entire body is trembling — from pain or from the cold, Ridoc can’t tell. How long has he been sitting here?

Ridoc steps into the shower and kneels beside him. Water instantly soaks into the knees of his pants, but he’s used to the cold, being an ice wielder. Regardless, he isn’t focused on that right now, just on making sure Sawyer is okay.

Maybe okay isn’t the right word. There’s clearly something wrong if he’s in the shower fully clothed, and okay might be too lofty a goal for him these days after losing more than half a leg. 

Sawyer blinks a few times, coming back to reality and seeing the soft expression on Ridoc’s face — not pity, but genuine concern and love.

Sawyer had pushed him away for two weeks, pushed everyone away and insisted he’d be fine on his own, but Ridoc is here with him now. He was willing to climb in with him, to sit across from him in the cold water and guide him back into reality. He knew something was wrong, despite Sawyer’s reassurances that he was fine, and he sought him out in hopes of fixing it. 

“Hey,” Ridoc coaxes softly. “Talk to me.”

Sawyer can’t form words. Tears start to slip down his freckled cheeks, mixing with the cold shower water that’s still dripping from every inch of him. 

Ridoc moves closer, until he’s just inches away — hesitant, not wanting to cause him further pain. 

Sawyer closes the gap for him, letting his head drop against Ridoc’s shoulder as he continues to cry, quiet little sniffles that break Ridoc’s heart right in half.

“I know it hurts, Sy. I’m so sorry.”

He wraps the older boy in a hug, not minding the cold water that soaks from Sawyer’s clothes into his. His heart clenches as he realizes how thin Sawyer has gotten without the daily exercise, and without as much food — the healers had said something about the pain tonic reducing appetite and causing nausea, but the squad had been too relieved that he was still alive to properly focus on the instructions they’d been given. 

Ridoc can’t help but berate himself for letting it get this bad. He should have been more careful. He should have checked in on Sawyer more often, ignored the boy’s insistence that he’d be fine in his own room at Basgiath, and that the rest of the squad shouldn’t let him keep them grounded. 

Second squad had agreed without too much protest, knowing that the fight was far from over, and they needed as many trained riders as they could get.

Still, it shouldn’t have come to this. 

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, bringing a hand up to smooth down his wet curls. “We should have been there for you earlier.”

Sawyer doesn’t respond, but his breathing has steadied, the sniffling quieted. He’s still shivering, leaning into Ridoc for warmth — he must have been sitting here for some time if he’s this cold. 

“Let’s get you dried off,” Ridoc coaxes. 

Sawyer nods against his shoulder, taking a breath to brace himself for the discomfort of standing again. 

Ridoc rises to his knees, then his feet, hooking his arms under Sawyer’s to help him up. Sawyer pushes up off the floor, a soft cry parting his lips as the movement sends a needle of pain up his spine.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Ridoc soothes, the only thing he can think to say at the moment. “Hold on to me, it’ll take the pressure off.”

Sawyer shifts his weight, making the five steps to the small bench more bearable. 

Ridoc finds a clean-enough towel on the counter, extending it to Sawyer. “Dry your hair if you can. I’m gonna find you some clean clothes, okay? I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Sawyer makes the slightest nod of understanding, back to his slow-blinking silence. 

Time has been reduced to the slow drip of water down his face. He doesn’t know how late it is, or how long he had sat in the shower. It’s dark out, but it’s January — it gets dark after four. 

Ridoc is back quickly. Sawyer still hasn’t dried his hair, so he takes the towel back from him, working it through the wet red curls gently. His hair has gotten long enough to cover the tops of his ears. Ridoc would offer to do something about it later, but he’s not sure Sawyer would trust him with the task. Rhi, maybe. 

“Arms up,” Ridoc coaxes.

Sawyer complies, allowing Ridoc to peel the soaked tunic off. It’s unceremoniously dropped to the floor with a quiet splat, replaced with a soft towel that Ridoc wraps around his shoulders.

“Alright. How do you want to do the pants?” Ridoc asks gently. “We’ve seen each other naked before, so I don’t care either way, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable — and I don’t want this to hurt.”

“It’s going to hurt no matter what,” Sawyer says distantly, the first words he’s spoken since Ridoc found him. His voice is a raw whisper, hoarse from disuse. “I can take them off myself if I have something to lean on. Putting new ones on is always harder.”

“Okay. Whenever you’re ready,” Ridoc offers quietly, holding out two hands. 

Sawyer wavers a bit as he stands, holding onto Ridoc’s right forearm with one hand as he finds his balance, then slowly starts pulling down one side of the waistband, then the other, until they drop to the floor, a wet heap of fabric around his remaining foot. 

Ridoc doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to that sight, if it’ll ever stop feeling like a punch to the gut.

It’s not about you, he reminds himself. However uncomfortable and upset you are about this, Sawyer is probably ten times as much — it’s his body, his life that’s changed forever. 

Ridoc guides him back down onto the bench, kicking the soaked shorts aside, next to the shirt, and looks at Sawyer, trying to read the expression on his face. 

“Do you want a break, or…”

He shakes his head. “Pass me the shirt?”

Ridoc hands him the dry t-shirt he’d found in Sawyer’s room, one of the few clean garments he had left. He doesn’t ask if Sawyer wants help with this part — he gets the feeling that this is probably deeply embarrassing for him, and that he wants to do as much as he can on his own.

Sawyer tugs it over his head, easily putting his arms through the sleeves, and stepping through one leg of the boxers, pulling them up to his knee.

Ridoc extends an arm again, a silent indicator that he’s ready when Sawyer is. 

Sawyer takes another breath, gritting his teeth as he stands, but he seems more steady this time — putting more of his weight on Ridoc, trusting the other boy to hold him up as he dresses himself. 

Back down again. Sawyer takes a second to catch his breath, willing himself not to cry again.

“Shorts too, or…”

Sawyer shakes his head no. He doesn’t want to go through the up-and-down again, and he just wants to sleep. That’s all he’s really done this week, because sleep is the only place he’s comfortable — if you don’t count the nightmares, that is. 

“Okay. Can I look at the bandage?”

Sawyer nods, exhausted but knowing that the wrapping needs to be replaced; it’s soaked, the cotton gauze swollen with water. He definitely wasn’t supposed to bathe with it on, but he wasn’t really in his right mind when he’d dragged himself into the shower, just desperate for any sort of relief from the bone-deep ache and the shooting pains that keep coming whenever he moves.

Ridoc unwraps the dressing gently, keeping one hand on Sawyer’s other leg in an attempt at comfort, and bracing himself for the worst, but trying to maintain a neutral expression on his face. 

It’s not as bad as he’d thought. It doesn’t look infected, and the stitches are still holding the skin together in two intersecting, slightly-wavy lines. They’re probably ready to be removed — he’ll ask about that tomorrow morning, when he takes Sawyer to see the healers.

Ridoc tosses the wet bandages into the trash, reaching under the sink for the basic first aid kit that’s kept in every bathroom in the dorms. There’s enough gauze in there to make a passable re-creation of the neat dressing that had been on it before. It’ll only have to last the night, anyway; the healers will put on a new one in the morning. 

“Is that too tight?” Ridoc asks, looking up at him.

Sawyer shakes his head no, eyes still closed. He’s so tired, even after a day of doing hardly anything.

Ridoc stands, gathering the wet clothes and wringing them out over the sink. He’ll wash them tomorrow — Sawyer is running out of clean clothes, having been pretty much bedbound for the last two and a half weeks and unable to do his own laundry.

“You ready to get back in bed?” — A nod. — “Do you want your crutches, or do you want to lean on me?”

“You,” Sawyer says softly, blinking up at Ridoc. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open.

Ridoc pushes down the little swell of pride at Sawyer’s choice, draping the boy’s arm across his shoulders and hooking an arm around his waist to hoist him up. He lets Sawyer set the pace for the twenty-foot walk back to his new room, making sure that he’s well-supported. 

Thankfully, Sawyer had never warded his new room, so the door swings open easily, and Ridoc carefully deposits him on the edge of his bed, tossing the still-damp clothes in his laundry basket. 

Looking at the clock on his desk through bleary eyes, Sawyer can see that it’s sometime between ten and eleven. Ten thirty, maybe. A reasonable enough hour to go to sleep.

Ridoc should be going to bed soon, if he wants to get a decent amount of sleep before the standard six a.m. wakeup required of the cadets that hadn’t been permanently injured in the battle — everyone but Sawyer. 

He’s tired of being the exception. He should be out there training with them, not spending his days sleeping in an uncomfortable first-year bed.

Being back on the first floor for the third year in a row has broken him. 

Being in this room all day reminds him of his first first year, when he was one of the only cadets who hadn’t been chosen at Threshing, and thus couldn’t attend most of the classes that everyone else did — leaving him to spend the bigger half of six months entirely alone.

Every hour within these walls is another reminder of his failure. Death by a thousand cuts, or whatever they say. 

“Talk to me,” Ridoc says softly. “Tell me what I can do to help you.”

“I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice cracking. If Ridoc doesn’t leave soon, if he doesn’t stop looking at him like that, all soft and concerned, Sawyer is going to cry again. The first time was humiliating enough.

Ridoc keeps pushing, deciding yes-or-no questions might be less overwhelming. “Do you want to eat something?”

Sawyer shakes his head no quickly — he definitely doesn’t want food. Even the idea of eating is enough to turn his stomach. At least Ridoc hadn’t seen him puke. 

“Okay. You should probably get some sleep, then.”

Sleep is good. Sleep will numb the pain for a while, and he’s so tired… probably because he’s hardly eaten since he moved out of the infirmary and the healers stopped forcing him to choke down three meals a day. 

That had been torture. 

Sawyer nods, starting to shuffle back from his seat on the edge of the bed. The bed is unmade, as it has been for the last week and a half, so he’s able to scoot under the duvet easily, pulling it up over himself with minimal discomfort.

Ridoc helps him get settled, draping him with an extra blanket, because Sawyer’s skin is still cold to the touch. He quickly pulls his eyes away from the space where Sawyer’s other leg should be, that’s now just flat, only blankets laid over the mattress.

“If there’s anything you need, anything at all, have Sli tell Aotrom, okay?”

Sawyer nods again, the soft cotton of his pillowcase making a whispering sound under his cheek.

Ridoc straightens the books on Sawyer's desk, picking up a few dirty clothing items that Sawyer had dropped — damn tremors caused by that extra-strength pain tonic that he’d been using around the clock — and hadn’t been able to bend down to reach, or even to kick toward the laundry basket. So on the floor they’ve remained, all week — until now.

Sawyer feels a spike of cold move through his chest, his pulse jumping at the thought of Ridoc leaving, telling him goodnight and disappearing for another two weeks.

“Rid?” he asks in a small voice.

The other boy perks up at the sound of his friend speaking. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to sleep over?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment before Sawyer starts to take it back. “Obviously you don’t have to. I just thought it would be nice. The way it used to be, in Aretia.”

If Ridoc catches the panic in Sawyer’s voice, he doesn’t bring it up. “I thought you’d never admit it,” he says with a slow smile that Sawyer can hear, even with his eyes closed. “You miss me.”

It’s unclear if Sawyer can hear the thick guilt covered by Ridoc’s teasing. 

Of course he misses you, Ridoc thinks. You haven’t spoken to him in a week. He needed you, but he didn’t ask for help because he didn’t think you’d care. 

You’re a shitty friend.

“Should I steal some of Imogen’s black nail polish, or do you want to make popcorn and talk about cute boys?”

“Get the fuck out,” Sawyer snorts, and then regrets it immediately — What if Ridoc can’t tell that he’s joking? 

“Alright. GTFO-ing.”

Ridoc closes the door behind him quietly.

Sawyer squeezes his eyes shut, because he knows that if he opens them, the walls will start to press in on him. This room is the same size as the one he’d had in his parents’ home in Luceras, if not bigger, but after spending two weeks in it pretty much non-stop, it feels like a birdcage or a fish tank that he’d been shoved into.

That’s why he’d never warded the door. He already feels trapped here. If he becomes too weak to channel, he’d be trapped for real.

He hasn’t tried to use his signet, or any of the basic magic, since the battle. It’s unclear if he can, but Sli comes and goes in his mind, and that little red string had remained tied to his rib all through the surgery and his delirium afterward, never once fading or faltering, so he should still have access to it, but he might be too weak to do anything significant with it.

When he gets some of his energy back, he’ll try again. Maybe he can do something useful with it. They can park him in a chair and have him make weapons, more of the runed daggers. That way he’d be helping, instead of dragging everyone down. 

That’s exactly what he’d tried not to do, and look where it had landed him. 

Ridoc opens the door again after what’s probably fifteen minutes. He’s pajama-clad, his hair damp from the shower, with a pillow tucked under one arm and his duvet knotted around his shoulders like a cape.

“You came back,” Sawyer murmurs. He’s already half-asleep, his eyes closed and cheek smushed into his pillow. 

“Of course I did. It’s not every day that your adult male best friend asks you for a sleepover.”

Ridoc scoots the desk chair aside, making space for himself to lay down on the small rug there, untying the duvet-cape. 

Sawyer scoots himself over toward the other side of the bed, gritting his teeth. “The floor will fuck up your back. Get up here.”

“If you insist,” Ridoc replies with a grin. 

Sawyer would roll his eyes if it wasn’t such an effort to keep them open, about to jokingly retract his offer — only to wince at the feeling of the mattress shifting underneath him. 

Ridoc apologizes his way under the covers, trying not to jostle him too much. “I’d offer to rock-paper-scissors over who gets to be the little spoon, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

That gets a lazy laugh out of him, finally. 

Ridoc doesn’t think he’s seen Sawyer smile or laugh since before they left Aretia. They’d been in Battle Brief, and Ridoc had made a gods-awful pun around one of Brennan’s serious statements. It had nearly gotten the both of them kicked out of the auditorium from how hard they’d been laughing.

“Thank you for finding me,” Sawyer murmurs. “Probably would have died of hypothermia or something if you hadn’t.”

His hair is nearly dry now, the almost-ginger strands curling up in odd places. Ridoc reaches over to smooth a few of them down, but they spring back up after a few seconds. He keeps doing it anyway. 

“You can thank Sli for that, really. He told Aotrom to tell me that you needed help. He loves you, y’know. And he knows that none of this was your fault.” 

There’s a soft pause. “We all know that you’d be out there with us if you could. It isn’t the same without you, but until you’re healed and you can make yourself a super badass custom prosthetic and fly with us again, we’ll look out for each other. And I’ll help you with whatever you need — I’m really sorry for dropping the ball on that. I was a shitty friend, and there’s no excuse for it, really, but I’ll try my best to make it up to you.”

It’s a lot to process, and Sawyer is too tired to respond to all of it, but he’s able to sum it up in two mumbled words. “Love you.”

Ridoc smiles, moving his hand away from Sawyer’s hair. “I love you too, dude. Get some sleep.”

Later that night, when Sawyer rolls over and tucks himself into Ridoc’s arms, he doesn’t feel cold anymore, and the pain has dulled.

He decides that he wants pancakes for breakfast.

[mattyalwayssmokesweed]

Would anyone be interested in a fanfic about an arranged marriage between Xaden and Violet where Tyrrendor wins the Battle of Aretia, Xaden is the crown prince, and Violet is taken by Fen after the war to ensure Navarre doesn’t step over the line? And Violet is raised alongside Liam and Sloane? And Liam doesn’t die? And Xaden is certified simp but Violet hates him because she’s being forced into a marriage without her consent? And there’s a very big secret about Violet only Fen knows about? 👀👀

“Our armies in Aretia have fallen, your highness.”

King Tauri rose from his throne in a swift movement. His hands gripped the fine clothes he wore as he cursed.

“Where is General Sorrengail?” He asked. He looked out of breath, even though he had barely moved.

“She’s returning to Navarre, with her husband,” he hesitated. “They… Fen Riorson—” Tauri growled at the mention of that name. “He… he has taken Sorrengail’s youngest, Violet, as hostage.”

“What?” he all but screamed. It couldn’t be… Could he know about what Violet truly was?

“He said she will stay in Aretia with them, to ensure you respect his demands as the new king of Tyrrendor.”

“For how long?” he asked.

[angstywaifu]

Violet: If I fall… Xaden: I’ll be there to catch you. Ophelia: *looks at Garrick* What if I fall? Garrick: Then I’ll fall with you, never leaving your side. Ridoc: *watches these two interactions* Ridoc, to Sawyer: And if I fall? Sawyer: I’ll be the one who pushed you.

[nickeverdeen]

Not saying “I love you too” to the Fourth Wing characters before they leave

Violet Sorrengail

Violet’s mind would immediately race, wondering if something is wrong but trying to keep her cool

She would try to brush it off, telling herself it’s not a big deal, but the hurt would linger

Throughout the day, she’d find herself distracted, replaying the moment in her head

She might overanalyze every interaction leading up to it, questioning if she said or did something wrong

She’d send a check-in later, casually asking if you’re okay, trying not to sound too worried.

She’d confide in Rhiannon about it, seeking advice on whether she should be concerned

Violet’s insecurities would flare up slightly, making her wonder if you’re distancing yourself

She’d miss you more than usual during the day, longing for reassurance

The next time she leaves, she might hesitate before saying “I love you,” waiting to see if you say it first

Violet would gently ask you about it, trying to get to the root of the issue

She might have trouble sleeping, her mind not letting go of the small interaction

She might subtly distance herself, unsure of where you both stand.

Violet might subtly seek reassurance in other ways, like asking if you’re happy with her

Despite the worry, she’d find herself doodling your name absentmindedly

After you finally talk about it and reassure her that it’s a prank, she’d feel a huge weight lift off her shoulders

Xaden Riorson

Xaden would maintain a stoic expression, not letting on that it bothered him

Internally, he’d feel a mix of confusion and frustration, but he’d suppress it

He might briefly wonder if he’s to blame, questioning if he did something to cause it

Xaden wouldn’t talk about it with anyone, keeping his feelings bottled up

He’d become extra protective, channeling his emotions into making sure you’re safe

In his mind, he’d see this as a test of loyalty, waiting to see if it’s a one-time thing or a pattern

He’d throw himself into work or training, trying to distract himself from the lingering doubt

Xaden might subtly monitor your behavior, looking for other signs of distance

Despite his tough exterior, he’d deeply long for your reassurance

He might start to feel a bit of fear, though he wouldn’t show it

He’d put up a colder exterior, trying to protect himself from potential hurt

Xaden might test your feelings subtly, seeing how you react to his affection

He might indirectly bring it up, making a vague comment about how much he values honesty

He’d show his care through protective gestures, even if he’s feeling unsure

Once you reassure him that it’s a prank, he’d feel a mix of relief and a renewed sense of connection

Liam Mairi

Liam would be immediately worried, thinking something might be wrong

He’d probably ask you directly if everything’s okay, his concern clear

If you brush it off, he’d try to reassure you softly, even if he’s still a bit uneasy

He’d be extra affectionate the next time he sees you, trying to make up for the missed words

His protective instincts would kick in, making him even more attentive to your needs

He might casually mention it to a close friend, seeking advice on how to handle it

Liam would keep a subtle watch on your mood, making sure you’re truly okay

He’d go out of his way to do something nice for you, wanting to see you smile

He’d worry that you might be pulling away, even if there’s no real reason

Liam would become even more supportive, trying to show you how much he cares

He might plan a small surprise, hoping it will cheer you up and bring you closer

He’d have a heartfelt conversation with you, wanting to clear the air

He might have trouble sleeping, his mind occupied with thoughts of you

After you talk and reassure him that it’s a prank, he’d feel a deep sense of relief, his worries melting away

Rhiannon Matthias

Rhiannon would be confused at first, not understanding why you didn’t say it back

She’d start to doubt herself, wondering if she did something to upset you

She’d subtly check on you throughout the day, making sure you’re not upset

She’d be extra kind and gentle with you, hoping to smooth over any potential issues

Rhiannon would definitely overthink the situation, replaying it in her mind

She might seek comfort in small gestures, like holding your hand or cuddling with you

Rhiannon would feel a bit insecure, wondering if you’re losing interest

She might write you a sweet note, hoping to bring a smile to your face

She’d worry that something has changed between you, even if it’s just in her head

Rhiannon would be extra thoughtful, trying to anticipate your needs and make you happy

She might start to subtly distance herself, afraid of getting hurt

She’d have nervous energy, fidgeting more than usual when she’s around you

Once you reassure her that it’s a prank, she’d feel a wave of relief, her usual confidence returning

Dain Aetos

Dain would be immediately concerned, thinking something might be wrong

He’d ask you directly if everything’s okay, his tone serious and caring

Dain would go into overprotective mode, making sure you’re okay in every possible way

He’d plan a special date or outing, hoping to reconnect and make things right

Dain would be extra attentive, making sure you feel loved and appreciated

He’d reassure you with his actions, doing little things to show he cares

Dain would worry internally, even if he doesn’t show it on the outside

He’d subtly seek validation from you, looking for signs that you still care

He might have a sleepless night, his mind racing with thoughts of you

Dain would overanalyze the situation, trying to figure out if he missed any signs

He might ask again later if everything’s okay, just to make sure

Once you reassure him that it’s a prank, he’d feel a deep sense of relief, his worry melting away

Imogen

Imogen would be confused at first, not understanding why you didn’t say it back

She’d play it off casually, but the confusion would linger in her mind

Imogen would subtly keep an eye on you, looking for signs that something’s wrong

She wouldn’t push you to talk about it, respecting your space

Imogen might give you a bit more space, thinking you might need it

She’d worry in silence, not wanting to burden you with her concerns

Imogen would be extra careful with her words and actions, trying not to upset you

She’d subtly seek reassurance from you, hoping to feel closer to you

Imogen would feel conflicted, not wanting to make a big deal out of it but also feeling uneasy

Doesn’t talk to anyone about it as this is her personal business

She might start to subtly distance herself, unsure of what’s going on

Once you reassure her that it’s a prank, she’d feel a wave of relief, her worries melting away

Jack Barlowe

Jack would feel immediate annoyance, wondering why you didn’t say it back

He’d mask his insecurity with a sarcastic comment, trying to play it off

Jack might overcompensate by being overly affectionate the next time he sees you

He’d seek validation from you, wanting to make sure you still care

Jack wouldn’t talk about it directly, keeping his feelings bottled up

He’d feel internal frustration, not understanding why it bothered him so much

Jack might make sarcastic comments, trying to cover up his feelings

He’d go into protective mode, making sure you’re okay in every possible way

Jack would throw himself into work or training, trying to distract himself from his feelings

He might indirectly bring it up, making a vague comment about how much he values honesty

He might start to feel a bit of resentment, though he wouldn’t show it

Jack might test your feelings subtly, seeing how you react to his affection

He’d show his care through protective gestures, even if he’s feeling unsure

Once you reassure him that it’s a prank, he’d feel a mix of relief and a renewed sense of connection

Sawyer

Sawyer would play it off with a joke, not wanting to make it awkward

Despite his playful exterior, he’d feel a sting of disappointment

He might bring it up later in a casual way, just to see if you’re okay

Sawyer would keep things light-hearted, not wanting to put pressure on you

Later, when he’s alone, he’d overthink the situation, wondering if he did something wrong

The next time he sees you, he’d be extra affectionate, hoping to make up for whatever he did

He might check in with a Ridoc, casually asking if you’re okay

Despite his calm demeanor, he’d worry that you’re upset with him

Sawyer would be extra attentive, trying to gauge your mood and see if anything’s off

He’d plan a fun outing, hoping to reconnect and make sure you’re okay

Sawyer would avoid having a serious talk about it, preferring to keep things light

He’d subtly look for signs that you’re still interested in him, even if it’s just in your actions

He’d feel a bit of internal conflict, wanting to know what’s wrong but not wanting to push you

Once you reassure him that it’s a prank, he’d feel a wave of relief, his playful nature returning full force

Ridoc

Ridoc would immediately joke about you not saying it, trying to lighten the mood

He’d briefly wonder if you were joking or if you meant it seriously

Ridoc would pretend not to care, brushing it off with a laugh

Despite his outward calm, he’d think about it later, wondering if something’s up

He might bring it up in a light-hearted way later, asking if everything’s okay

Ridoc would tease you gently about it, hoping to get a reaction

The next time he sees you, he’d be extra playful, trying to keep things light

Ridoc would worry in silence, not wanting to make a big deal out of it

He’d keep things casual, not wanting to pressure you into explaining

Ridoc might subtly check in with you more often, making sure you’re okay

He’d plan a fun day together, hoping to reconnect and make you laugh

Ridoc would feel a bit of internal conflict, not wanting to push you but also feeling uneasy

He’d avoid having a serious talk about it, preferring to keep things light.

Once you reassure him that it’s a prank, he’d feel a wave of relief, his usual playful self returning

Garrick

Garrick would feel immediate concern, thinking something might be wrong

He’d ask you directly if everything’s okay, his tone serious and caring

Garrick would go into overprotective mode, making sure you’re okay in every possible way

He’d plan a special date or outing, hoping to reconnect and make things right

Garrick would be extra attentive, making sure you feel loved and appreciated

He’d reassure you with his actions, doing little things to show he cares

Garrick would worry internally, even if he doesn’t show it on the outside

He’d subtly seek validation from you, looking for signs that you still care

He might have a sleepless night, his mind racing with thoughts of you

Garrick would overanalyze the situation, trying to figure out if he missed any signs

He might ask again later if everything’s okay, just to make sure

Garrick would become even more protective, making sure you’re safe and happy

He’d feel a bit of internal conflict, not wanting to push you but also feeling uneasy

Once you reassure him that it’s a prank, he’d feel a deep sense of relief, his worry melting away.

[fourthwingfan]

Madness Masterlist

Introduction Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 - coming soon

[mrsjoeythehurler]

When I Met You

(OC FMC x Liam Mairi)

I’ve decided to write a fic about an OC and Liam Mairi from Fourth Wing. It’s going to follow the events of the first book and I’m so excited to share it with you. This is my first fic I’ve ever written so keep that in mind while reading :)

I hope you enjoy it!

All characters except for Aurora Sallow who is my OC and the FMC of this fic belong to Rebecca Yarros. The plot of Fourth Wing also belongs to Rebecca Yarros.

Content Warnings: most of the warnings that are for Fourth Wing are also going to be for this fic. That includes: Blood, death, injury, violence and war. The only content warning I am adding is panic attacks (2).

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ Aurora Sallow ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

It's Conscription Day—a day I'm not particularly happy to take part in, but I don't have a choice.

I was always meant to become a Scribe. I was always meant to look at books all day and spend my time transcribing them. It's what I've been studying for since I could remember.

That all changed when my parents sat me down two days ago to tell me I was required to become a Rider. My whole world was flipped upside down, my entire future ripped away from me in one 20-minute conversation.

The Riders' Quadrant is apparently in need of more Riders. I heard it's because most dragons are uninterested in bonding with humans, and I'm one of the unlucky ones who's been chosen to try and change that.

Looking around me, I see guards mounted on either side of the entrance and walking about. I see people hugging and conversing with their loved ones and the occasional person silently praying, most likely to any gods who will listen to ensure their safety. They're probably going towards the same destination as me.

Sighing, I look down and make sure my outfit is in order before fixing my hair. I tried to dress appropriately for the Riders' Quadrant—well, as appropriately as my closet back home had to offer. I'm wearing a gray long-sleeved shirt and corset, black pants that are a bit too tight for my liking, and my favorite pair of black platform boots. I'm just about to look through my bag to double-check that I have everything when I hear a familiar voice.

It's Violet Sorrengail. We've been classmates for a really long time. She's always been really kind and someone I consider a friend. Like me, Violet always wanted to become a Scribe; we would always talk about our hopes for the future and look forward to reading books all day.

What is she doing in this line?

She's talking to her sister Mira, so I don't want to interrupt, but I want to know why she's not with the Scribes anymore. She was always among the most intelligent people in our class, if not the smartest. She was going to be the best Scribe the Quadrant ever had. I don't see her wanting to give that up, especially considering it was her dream.

The line continues to move slowly, and when there's only one person ahead of me, I start to really feel the anxiety. I don't know how I'm going to do this. I didn't know two days ago, and I sure as hell don't know now. Who knows if I'll even pass the Parapet? I could be slowly walking towards my death right now. Maybe I should have talked to my parents more and tried to convince them that I can't do this and that anyone else out there is a better fit for this than I am. But I hate disappointing people. My parents don't even know that my panic attacks are back. They were so happy and relieved that I was doing better over the last year, but it all fell apart.

"Next!" Someone calls from ahead of the line.

It's a rider, a marked rider. Along with Captain Fitzgibbons, who’s a Scribe. "Aurora Sallow? First Violet Sorrengail, and now you?"

I give him a small smile. "I'm sorry, sir."

He nods. "It will be sad to see you go. Your future as a Scribe looked so bright."

I want to cry. Instead, I keep my small smile in place and try my best to keep my voice level. "Thank you."

As I go through the entrance, I climb the hundreds of stairs.

After what feels like 100 hours, I'm at the top of the turret, and it's raining. The turret is all stone, formed in a circular platform. The river below shines, with the sun glinting off the surface. Darkness runs through it that rivals the deep sea. I shouldn't have looked down.

Straight ahead lies the Parapet. It's a very slim bridge made of stone with nothing on either side to hold onto. It's a test to see how well you would manage while riding a dragon.

I'm screwed.

There are three riders at the entrance, but only one catches my eye—a mountain of a man with black hair and warm, tawny skin. He turns my way, and I can see the scar running through his left eyebrow, and that's when I know who it is. Xaden Riorson.

Xaden is the son of the Great Betrayer, Fen Riorson, who led the Rebellion. All of the children of the rebels were forced to join the Riders' Quadrant in response to their parents' decisions. I bet they hoped Xaden would get killed, but they were wrong. He's a third-year Wingleader now.

And he's also kind of scary.

Once he sees me staring at him, he narrows his eyes. I'm not sure if it's with recognition or disgust.

Then, I decide to wave at him like an idiot.

He turns back to talk to the Rider beside him, pretending I don't exist.

Yeah, I'm so screwed.

"Next!" Another Rider calls, and I step forward.

[marshmellowrio]

Semblance of Control | Masterlist

A Fourth Wing fanfic.

A/N: Here's the aesthetic for my new fanfic on Fourth Wing along with a sneak peek preview of the dialogue. When I post a new chapter, you'll also be able to find them here. I'll also update my Masterlist to include both this story and Flight of the Night.

Disclaimer: I do not own these pictures, nor do I own Fourth Wing. Those rights go to Rebecca Yarros. However, the story of my character and how she is interwoven into the story is all mine.

"Are you insane?" My breath catches in my throat. I can almost hear the laughter in his voice as he responds, "Do you really want me to answer that, love?"

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

I gasp at the quiet. The void. And drop to my knees, not caring Xaden is right beside me, trying to hold on to me.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

"Oh, so I'm second choice? All right, I see how it is." She winks and the two of them laugh.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

"If you want to fight me, just say so. You don't have to be mean about it."

Last update: 09/13/2024 Total chapters: 4

★・・・・・・★

Chapter 1 05/08/2024 Chapter 2 05/25/2024 Chapter 3 06/10/2024 Chapter 4 09/13/2024 Chapter 5 - in progress

★・・・・・・★

[nomie-11]

Chapter 3 - Secrets at Sunrise*

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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where are you going?” Violet’s voice slipped out in a whisper before she could stop herself. 

Genevieve froze mid-step, the soft crunch of gravel under her boots the only sound in the still night. She spun around, her face unreadable in the shadows, though Violet sensed the flicker of annoyance. 

“I’m sorry?” Genevieve’s whisper was sharp, a quiet challenge. Violet immediately regretted her question but pressed on anyway. 

“I asked, where are you going?” Violet shifted uncomfortably, trying to hide the unease in her voice. Genevieve looked her up and down scanning Violet, silently begging her to back down. 

Gotcha, Genevieve thought, her lips twitching ever so slightly. 

“I’m going to watch the sunrise,” Genevieve answers, her voice steady, almost amused. “And you’re not going to tell anyone.” 

Violet frowned, unsure whether to be offended or intrigued. “Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, half taunting, her tone suggesting "You don’t know me at all—I’ll tell whoever I want.”

Genevieve stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. “Because,” she said, her voice soft but cutting. “I see you wrapping that pretty little knee of yours. You’re hurt, and doesn’t that make you an easy target?” She let the words sink in as Violet’s eyes widened in surprise. “I won’t breathe a word, if you keep my secret. I like to watch the sunrise. Simple as that.” 

Violet opened her mouth, hesitating, then asked, “Why do you like to watch the sunrise?” There was no taunt in her voice this time—just curiosity. 

Genevieve rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed. “Why do you think? Stop asking questions. It’s simple. You tell, I tell. Or we keep each other’s secrets. Yes or no?”

Violet bit her lip, forcing herself to swallow her response. “Yes,” She muttered. “I’ll keep your secret.”

“Great!” Genevieve’s sudden smile was unsettling, genuine but fleeting. “See you at morning formation. And when you wrap that knee of yours, make sure you tuck in the end of the wrap. It’s too easy for someone to grab.” 

With that, the smile vanished from her face as quickly as it had appeared. She gave Violet a final glance, scanning the rows of beds, then disappearing into the darkness without another word. 

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

The sky was still a blanket of deep indigo, the kind of dark that clung to the horizon before dawn. Morning dew shimmered on the front lawn of Basgiath, catching the faint starlight. It was so quiet, Genevieve could hear her own breath mingling with the night air. The moisture on the ground made her boots slick, and for a fleeting moment, as she climbed the stone wall to the top of the dormitory tower, she feared she might slip. The stones were coated in a thin layer of water, glistening like frost. The windowsills she passed were slick as well, threatening to betray her with the smallest misstep. It wasn’t a high climb, but the thought of falling, of losing her grip without even catching the first light of sunrise gnawed at her. 

As she neared the top, the night sky began to soften. The dark hues gave way to shades of lavender and pale blue. The horizon glowed faintly, signaling the inevitable arrival of the sun. It was then that Genevieve saw him—a silhouette standing on the roof, a figure cut out against the shifting sky. She couldn’t make out his features, but his stance was enough to make her stomach drop. There was something about the way he stood, so still, that made her instinctively wary. Fight or flight stirred within her, but before she could decide whether to retreat down the ladder or confront him, he spoke, his voice smooth but unmistakably commanding. 

“What are you doing up here, first-year?”

That voice. Of course, it had to be him. Xaden Riorson. She mentally groaned, feeling a mixture of irritation and dread settle in her chest. He always had a way of appearing when she least wanted him to. 

“I could ask the same of you, wingleader,” she shot back, surprising herself with the steadiness in her tone. She sounded almost defiant, like she was talking to General Sorrengail instead of the infamous Xaden Riorson. 

He raised an eyebrow, though she couldn’t see it in the dim light. His posture shifted, radiating authority. “I thought I asked first,” he said, his words dripping with the kind of superiority only someone in his position could muster. “And you shouldn’t talk back to those above you.” 

Genevieve resisted the urge to roll her eyes. His presence was as suffocating as ever, and the power dynamics at Basgiath were always exhausting. “I’m watching the sunrise,” she answered bluntly, her voice laced with mild annoyance. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, after all. “Is that what you wanted to hear, wingleader?” 

Xaden’s dark eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her. His gaze was sharp, almost calculating, as though he were piecing together a puzzle. The riders in this quadrant didn’t get up early for trivial things like sunrises. They used every spare moment to rest, knowing full well how grueling the days were. No one with any sense would climb a rock wall slick with dew to see the sun rise. No one, that is, except her. 

“Most first years would rather be resting,” he said slowly, his tone tinged with suspicion. “Yet here you are, alone, watching the sunrise. Why?” 

Genevieve met his glaze evenly, refusing to flinch under his intense scrutiny. It felt as though he could see through her, as though his eyes were searching for something deeper, some hidden motivation. “You can’t afford to miss a sunrise if you don’t know when the next one will come,” she replied, her voice steady, almost philosophical. “And maybe I prefer the peace of the sunrise over the tension of the dorm halls.” 

Xaden’s expression shifted, a hint of something darker passing over his features. “Peace,” she said, his voice low and dangerous. “Is a luxury you can’t afford at Basgiath. Especially if you keep making enemies.” 

Her eyes flashed with defiance. “Who says I’m making enemies?” she shot back, the words sharp. “I’m just minding my own business.” 

And trying to carry out my mission. 

Xaden’s lips curled into a smirk, the kind that sent a chill down her spine. His eyes, flecked with gold, gleamed in the low light of dawn. “Careful, first year,” he warned, his voice a whisper of amusement mixed with something else she couldn’t quite name. “Minding your own business doesn’t mean the rest of us will mind ours.” 

Genevieve’s fists clenched at her sides, but she didn’t back down. “Is that a threat?” she asked, voice hard. 

His smirk widened, but his tone softened, almost gentle now, though the tension between them was palpable. “No,” he whispered, stepping closer. “It’s a warning. You have no idea what you’re playing with.” 

Her eyes narrow. What does he know?

“And do you?” she countered, her pulse quickening. There was something about the way he looked at her, like he was peeling back layers of armor she’d spent years crafting. 

For a brief moment, Xaden didn’t answer. His gaze lingered on her face, taking in the scar that ran from her jaw to just beneath her eye. It was a scar that told a story of violence and survival, a story he seemed to recognize. It was a scar that told a story of violence and survival, a story he seemed to recognize. She wasn’t just a first year cadet. She was someone who had been through hell and returned, a kindred spirit in a way. 

“I’m playing a game of survival, cadet,” he finally said, voice low, almost reflective. 

“My name is Genevieve Hale, not ‘cadet.’” She snapped, frustrated with being reduced to nothing more than a rank, than a number. 

“I know,” he replied, a strange glint in his eyes. “I knew your sister.” 

The revelation struck her like a blow to the chest, leaving her momentarily speechless. Before she could respond, Xaden turned and walked toward a hidden door at the side of the tower. Just as he reached it, he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. 

“Oh, and just for future reference,” he added casually, “don’t climb the side of the tower. There’s a staircase for a reason.” 

And with that, he disappeared, leaving Genevieve alone on the rooftop with nothing but the fading stars and the slowly rising sun. The dawn had finally broken, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink, but the warmth it brought did little to chase away the chill that Xaden’s words had left behind. 

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

The reading of the death roll feels hurried to Genevieve, too rushed for her liking. These are names of the dead—people whose lives were snuffed out in an instant. Yet, they are only granted the briefest of acknowledgments before being commended to Malek, the god of death, for the small mistakes they made. Maybe they missed a step on a slick stone bridge, or maybe fear caught up with them at the wrong moment. Either way, their fates are sealed, and now their names are burned into fleeting memory, only to fade just as quickly. The moment is somber, but it passes almost as swiftly as the names themselves. The cadets are dismissed soon after, the wingleaders and squad leaders shepherding the first years with an almost mechanical precision. For the second and third years, the movements are routine, practiced—this chaos is second nature to them. 

“First years, at least one of you better have memorized your academic schedule but now!” Dain Aetos, Genevieve’s squad leader’s voice booms, carrying over the squad with an air of forced authority that Genevieve can’t help but find slightly ridiculous. She fights the urge to roll her eyes as he continues, “Stick together. I expect every single one of you to be alive when we meet this afternoon in the sparring gym.” 

Sparring. Genevieve’s heart skips with excitement at the word. Sparring? I forgot about that! Genevieve smiles, her time is coming. This is where she excels. 

Meanwhile, Violet, standing just a few feet away, is having the opposite reaction. Sparring? Fuck! I forgot about that. A grimace pulls at her features, and she looks visibly uncomfortable. Rhiannon, caught between the two, shifts awkwardly, trying to manage the whirlwind of emotions on either side of her. Genevieve’s bubbling excitement is more than Rhiannon could ever imagine being on her face, and Violet’s distress couldn’t be more obvious. 

“Sawyer!” Dain calls out, interrupting the moment. Sawyer, a repeat first year, snaps his head up at the sound of his name. Genevieve has heard the rumors—Sawyer failed to bond with a dragon during last year’s Threshing and now faces the grueling ordeal of repeating the first year all over again. Genevieve can’t imagine anything worse. She’d rather die than endure such humiliation. 

“I’ll get them there,” Sawyer says confidently, stepping up as the rest of the squad prepares to move. Dain and the upperclassmen stay behind as the first years break formation, leaving the second and third years behind. Now, all eyes are on Sawyer. 

“We’ve got twenty minutes to get to class,” he shouts at the group. “Fourth floor, second room on the left in the academic wing. Grab your stuff and don’t be late.” Without waiting for anyone’s response, Sawyer strides ahead, leaving the rest of them scrambling to keep up. 

“That must be tough,” Rhiannon muses, glancing between Violet and Genevieve, who still refuse to directly speak to each other without her presence as a buffer. “Going through all this again, after anything.”

“Better than being dead,” quips a voice from behind them. Genevieve turns to see a smart-ass brunette from their quad, the first to put into words what she herself was thinking. A grin tugs at her lips—she likes him already. 

“Ridoc Gamlyn,” he replies, falling into step beside her. “You’re Genevieve Hale?” 

She nods, biting her tongue from saying something else stupid. 

“That’s true,” Violet chimes in unexpectedly, clearly agreeing with Ridoc’s earlier statement. 

“I heard that if a first year survives Threshing without bonding, they get another chance if they want it,” Rhiannon adds, still trying to engage Violet. “Isn’t that insane? They could just as easily die the second time around.” 

Her comment hangs in the air, and at some point, Violet slips out of the conversation with a quiet murmur, but Genevieve barely notices. Her attention is elsewhere. 

“Would you rather drop out?” Ridoc asks, a playful glint in his eye. 

Genevieve lets out a short laugh. “As if that was ever an option once you’re here.” 

Their conversation flows easily, without the tension that Violet’s presence seems to bring. Genevieve feels the squad beginning to gel, to form something cohesive and solid. In this moment, she knows that they’ll make it—that this group will stick together. It feels safe, steady, like no one here is going to die anytime soon. For the first time in a long time, Genevieve allows herself a sliver of hope. 

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

Geneiveve’s eyes swept across the sparring gym, meticulously noting who was present and who wasn’t. She labeled each of the squads, organizing them first by the amount of students per year—one group of first, second, and third years from each wing from various squads. Among them was Jack Barlowe, the boy Violet couldn’t seem to escape. Genevieve expected a fierce match between the two of them, especially since today’s challenges were chosen by the cadets themselves, and she was a Sorrengail—a thoroughly created and purposefully prepared weapon. 

Today was just for assessments, but Violet’s anxiety was tangible, almost electric in the air. An off putting contrast to the preconceived notion Genevieve held of her.

”You’re really nervous about this?” Rhiannon asked, her surprise genuine. “I mean, you’re a Sorrengail, you’d think a Sorrengail kid would be bred for battle.” 

Exactly my thoughts, Genevieve confirmed in her own head, but didn’t say it out loud. 

“My sister and brother were,” Violet replied, her voice edged with frustration. “I was trained to be a scribe. That’s why I’m so good at battle briefings, history, physics, everything that’s based on knowledge. But hand-to-hand? That’s where I suck.”

“I could offer some tips on surviving combat training,” Sawyer chimed in from Rhiannon’s other side. “History’s not really my thing, though.” 

Rhiannon’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “How about a trade? We help you with combat, and you help us with history. Deal, Sawyer? Violet?”

“Absolutely,” Sawyer said, extending his hand. 

“Deal,” Violet agreed, though her throat tightened as her hand met his. She half-smiled, her mind still half-worried. “But I think I’m getting the better end of this.”

Sawyer turned to Genevieve, who had been standing nearby, quietly observing the conversation. “What about you, Genevieve? Are you in?” 

“No,” she replied flatly, her attention fixed on the mats. 

“Oh, come on, you must struggle with something,” Rhiannon teased. “What about battle brief? You didn’t say a word in class. Violet could help.” 

My stamina is more than lacking right now, maybe I should– no! Genevieve, what are you thinking?

“No,” Genevieve repeated, more firmly. “I’m not asking Sorrengail for help, and I’m not training her.” 

Sawyer and Rhiannon exchanged glances, sensing the rising tension between the two girls. 

“What if I need combat help?” Rhiannon pressed, her lie barely convincing. “I could help you with physics. I saw how lost you were in class.” 

Genevieve rolled her eyes but couldn’t deny it. Physics had always been a struggle, and Rhiannon’s offer was more than tempting. She sighed, rubbing her forehead in annoyance before giving in. 

“Fine. But Violet’s your responsibility.” 

Rhiannon and Sawyer exchanged satisfied nods, saying in unison, “Deal.” 

The moment was interrupted when Rhiannon was called to spar with a boy named Tynan, and Violet was paired against a second-year with striking pink hair. As they left for their matches, Violet whispered a prayer under her breath, hoping today wouldn’t be the day she met her end. 

Genevieve remained, her focus unwavering as she waited for her own match to be called. 

“Hale! Barlowe! Third mat!” came Emeterrior’s call, snapping her to attention. 

Jack Barlowe, despite already having fought earlier, looked ready for another round. He stood at the edge of the mat, grinning with overconfidence, his body loose as he stretched. He’d already killed one opponent today, and his newfound reputation for brutality hung in the air like a dark cloud. But Genevieve wasn’t shaken. 

Her muscles coiled with anticipation, her heart hammering a relentless rhythm in her chest. She lived for this—the clash of fists, the thrill of the fight. She rolled her shoulders, loosening up as she locked eyes with Jack. His grin widened, a mockery of what was to come. 

“Ready to dance, traitor?” he taunted, his voice dripping with scorn. 

Genevieve didn’t respond. Her silence was her answer as she shifted into a fighting stance, light on her feet. The signal was given. 

Jack struck first, a quick jab aimed at her head. Genevieve dodged it effortlessly, countering with a swift low kick. He blocked it with his shin, the force of the impact vibrating through both of them. They circled each other like two predators stalking their prey, exchanging blows without yielding ground. 

Jack had power, each of his hits packed with raw strength, but Genevieve was faster. She wove through his attacks, ignoring the thrum of her heart and how out of breath she was, slipping just out of reach with each lunge. Jack tried to grab her, but she spun away, delivering a sharp punch to his ribs. He grunted, momentarily winded, but recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing. 

“You’re out of breath,” he muttered through gritted teeth, taunting her. “It’s not even been ten minutes. You can’t keep this up.” 

He advanced again, more calculated this time. Genevieve could see his tactic—he was trying to corner her, limit her space to maneuver. She let him think he was succeeding, catching a few fleeting breaths as she backed up toward the edge of the mat. His confidence swelled, and as he prepared for what he believed would be the decisive blow, she made her move. 

In a fluid spin, Genevieve swept her leg low, knocking Jack’s feet out from under him. He hit the mat hard, breath rushing from his lungs. She followed with a precise knee to his chest, pinning him down, her forearm pressing into his throat. His eyes widened in shock, the weight of defeat settling in. 

Leaning in close, Genevieve’s breathless voice was cold, barely more than a whisper. “If you ever even think about going after Sorrengail, I’ll make sure this mat is the least of your worries.”

For a moment, everything seemed to pause. Jack’s chest heaved as he struggled for breath, his gaze locked onto hers, searching for any sign of mercy. But there was none. She was unrelenting, her grip firm. 

Finally, with a tap on the mat, he surrendered. 

Genevieve stepped back, releasing him. Jack coughed, scrambling up to his feet, his pride more battered than his body. She extended a hand to help him up, but he ignored it, mumbling, “you’re lucky this ended before your lack of air caught up to you.” 

“And you’re weak,” she shot back, her voice sharp as steel. “Next time you call someone a traitor, make sure you can back it up.” 

As she walked off, Ridoc, Sawyer, and Rhiannon shared a glance, none of the daring to say a word as she passed. 

“Remind me never to get on her bad side,” Sawyer murmured, still processing the scene. 

“Poor Violet,” Rhiannon added, imagining what awaited her friend in the upcoming challenges. 

Ridoc grinned. “Was it just me, or was that kind of hot?” 

Rhiannon cast a side-eye at the boy standing next to her. “You’re weird.” 

—---------------------------------

On the rooftop the next morning, Genevieve sat alone, a small, rare smile tugging at her lips. Above her, the sky was still painted with stars, shimmering clear against the deep blue of pre-dawn, and a silence enveloped her in a way that felt almost sacred. The world lay in a still slumber, save for the gentle calls of morning doves echoing from the treetops. This quiet moment felt like a glimpse of peace—a fleeting grace amid all the turmoil, a reminder of something she’d nearly forgotten.

The creak of the stairwell door broke the silence, followed by the soft thud of heavy footsteps. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was. 

“I didn’t realize this would become a morning ritual, Hale.” Xaden’s deep voice broke the silence, and he settled beside her, leaving enough space for comfort. Together, they dangled their feet over the edge of the roof, letting the wind brush past them like a shared secret. 

She shrugged lighty. “Neither did I.” Her voice was soft, stripped of its usual edge, as if it, too, was still waking up. 

They sat in silence for a while, the sky brightening with every passing second, casting the world in a gentle glow. 

“What happened yesterday, on the mat?” he asked, his voice almost hesitant. 

Genevieve’s expression tightened. “Barlowe called me a traitor,” she muttered, bitterness lining her words. “I’ve done nothing to betray Navarre. Whatever my father did or my sister had done, I was kept in the dark.” 

Xaden gave a slow nod, his gaze distant. “Yeah, it’s hard to be called a traitor, believe me I know,” he murmured. “You really don’t know anything about them? About your father, or your sister?” 

“I mean, I know who they are, I just don’t know what they did.” She shook her head, her mind turning back to memories she rarely revisited. “When my father became a general, I was nine. My mom didn’t want us following him around, so we moved in with my grandmother in Aretia. My father visited maybe once a year after that. My mom trained my sister and I at her mother’s house until my sister had to leave for Basgiath, and the same week she left for Basgiath, the entire rebellion collapsed. My father died fighting General Sorrengail and my sister was somewhere along the road on the way to Basgiath. Three years later, my sister was killed in some petty skirmish.” She looked away, her gaze fixed on the horizon as the sun began to rise, casting a soft, golden warmth over her face. 

Xaden was quiet, watching her. Then, he spoke carefully. “Our fathers believed in the same vision, the same freedom.” 

And she looked back at him, her eyes narrowing as a surge of emotions overwhelmed her—confusion, betrayal, anger. She’d been kept in the dark her entire life, punished for things she’d never even know. Her fists clenched, nails pressing into her palms. 

She was always hidden from that world. She didn’t know anything. 

“So everyone hates me because of his choices. I’m guilty by blood.” 

“It’s more than that,” Xaden nodded. “To them, we’re a symbol. A reminder of the wounds they carry—wounds that are still bloody and raw.” 

Genevieve’s jaw tightened. “But I had no choice in this. I didn’t even know.”

His gaze softened, a flicker of understanding—or was that… guilt—flashed in his eyes. “I know. So I’m telling you now. You deserve to know just as much as I do. But it won’t change how they see you. You’ll always be fighting against their perception, their hate.” 

She looked away once more, her gaze on the dawn’s growing light. As she took in the world bathed in the morning glow, she felt a strange clarity settling within her. “I won’t be defined by their hate or my father’s actions. I want to be my own person, make my own choices.” 

Xaden’s tone was firm, almost challenging. “Then you need to decide what you’re going to do with your truth. You can let it weigh you down, or you can use it to prove them wrong. To rise beyond their hate.” 

The words hung between them, and for a moment, she felt everything she had lost, and everything she had yet to gain. She took a shaky breath. “Easier said than done.” she huffed. 

Xaden’s gaze flickered to her shoulder, but he remained fully in place, steady as stone. “You can.” 

She met his gaze, feeling the fire in his eyes light something within her. “I guess then I’ll survive. And I’ll fight. But for me this time.” 

A shadow of a smile touched his lips. “You’re so weirdly confusing and cryptic.” 

She shrugged. “It takes one to know one.” 

Silence settled once more, and the sun finally broke the horizon. 

“I guess we’re both just trying to outrun our fathers’ shadows, aren’t we?” 

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice gruff. “But maybe it’s not about running. Maybe it’s about learning to live with them and become something more.” 

The golden rays of light stretched across the world, filling her with a quiet, determined strength. “So I’ll become something more. Something better.” 

And as the morning rays of the sun crested the horizon, casting their warmth over Basgiath, Genevieve felt a new resolve settle within her heart. With each dawn, she would rebuild herself from the ashes of her past, a phoenix forged from fire and defiance.

---------------------------

Hey everyone! New update here~ I tried to get this out within a timely manner because I knew you guys were waiting!

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, kudo, heart or whatever it is called and comment! I want to know what everything is thinking!

see you guys soon~

[amanita-muscaria-lover]

Iron Flame lines that have altered my brain chemistry:

"She made her choice, and it wasn't you. It will never be you."

"I'd rather you scream at me than pretend everything is all right with silence."

"then what about the wabern, or whatever you called them?"

"Do I know something about the Archives that you don't?"

"And I still don't regret it, Vi. Not one second."

"You're all right... I'll be right here. I'm not going to leave you."

I look up into the wrath of Dunne in the form of gold-flecked onyx eyes.

"My heart only beats as long as yours does, and when you die, I'll meet Malek at your side."

The entire cliff, above and below, echoes it, as if the gryphons grieve the loss of the flier as one.

"You've earned an honorable death."

"My house. My chair. My woman."

"Look at how beautiful you are, Violet, coming for me on Tyrrendor's throne."

"That trick you mentioned? You know, with the fingers? Thanks."

"I fucking love you."

"I'm sorry. I choose your life, too. You are mine. I can't let you die."

"Less than a minute."

[elidelochans]

Rhiannon: Alright Vi, what's your secret?

Violet: I'm in love with Xaden.

Sawyer: I'm sorry?

Violet: Xaden. I'm in love with Xaden Riorson.

Ridoc: Yeah, I don't think she knows what a secret is.

[philokaliist]

Feelings that come back,and feelings that never left.

Xaden Riorson x OC (Irellya Aetos)

A small peek at my new fanfic + quotes.And yes,I’m alive,apparently,lol.

“…What happens when the girl who is described as the embodiment of winter - cold,icy,detached,deadly…yet so incredibly beautiful,falls in love?The only right answer:chaos.”

-

“…But that girl…could it be?Indeed it was.The tiny clumsy girl he had saved from drowning all those years ago.Now standing in front of him,shooting him the darkest glare he had ever received from a woman.Well…some people never change,so it seems.”

-

“Emptiness in her eyes.But a storm in her soul.”

-

Irellya Aetos. Sister of Dain Aetos. Adopted (p.s:She LOATHES Colonel Aetos,so yeah,get ready for that).Born on the 21st of December,on the Winter Solstice.

Irellya,having wished to be a healer,and having spent most of her years studying herbs and magic,alongside other topics she simply found fascinating,is forced by her father to enroll into the rider’s quadrant.Just as Violet,her best friend,had been,by her mother,which,honestly,Irellya wasn’t particularly fond of either.

Although she is…odd…and does not look as one would perceive ‘normal’,that doesn’t mean she will be stepped on.

Because those who mess with her,or anyone she loves,end up in two ways:Dead…or damaged beyond repair.

-

Irellya:Aesthetic board

[mattyalwayssmokesweed]

It just dawned on me… what if Brennan’s signet is mending because what he wanted most in the world was to help Violet with her pain? They say signets are what the rider is at their core and, despite his many flaws, Brennan loves Violet.

He grew up watching his little sister —someone he should keep safe— always in pain, always breaking, always crying, and it made him wish he could do something about it, so his signet gave him a chance to help her. Because, back then, before the venin and the Battle of Aretia, Brennan was first and foremost a brother, Violet’s brother.

[inlovewithquotes]

"Are you really going to stand here and compare secrets with me?"

"It's not the same." He winces.

"It's exactly the same!" I grip the strap of the bag to keep from jabbing him in the chest with my finger. How fucking dare he. "I'm researching the wards for you."

"Why do you think I'm so angry?" The tension in his eyes, his posture, his tone equals mine

"Because you don't like being on the other end of secrets."

"What the hell is going on?" Sawyer asks from the hallway.

"I...uh..." Ridoc scratches the top of his head. "I think they're fighting."

"That has.... How long have you been hiding this from me?" Xaden questions.

"They're not even... speaking." Rhiannon mutters.

"I haven't hidden shit from you. I've simply told you selective truths."

He draws back like I've hit him.

-Iron Flame

[fourthwingfan]

Madness - Chapter 21

Hello, there readers. Here is the new chapter. Enjoy :) And as always you're all awesome! ❤️

Don’t freak out if you can’t immediately channel your dragon’s powers, Mira. Yeah, I know you have to be the best at everything, but this isn’t something you can control. They’ll channel when they feel you’re ready. And once they do, you’d better be ready to manifest a signet. Until then, you’re not ready. Don’t push it.

—Page sixty-one, the Book of Brennan

This really isn’t necessary.” Violet glances sideways at Liam as we make our way toward the door of the Archives. The cart doesn’t even squeak anymore. He fixed that the very first day.

“So you’ve told me for the last week.” He shoots her a grin, revealing a dimple.

“And yet you’re still here. Every day. All day.”

“Come on, Vi. Don’t be like this.” I chided her. “Admit that you actually like him. Liam is awesome, you know.” I wink at her.

“Shut up, Aelin.” She retorts but blushes so hard, her face is almost red.

And that’s it. Liam’s charm is working. He’s courteous, funny, and ridiculously helpful. He makes it difficult to loathe his constant presence. I mean I tried to avoid him when we first met, but somehow he wormed his way into my life. And Violet can’t hate him either. Even though he leaves wood shavings in little piles everywhere he goes. The guy is constantly whittling with that smaller knife of his. Yesterday he finished the figurine of a bear.

“Until otherwise ordered,” he answers to Violet’s remark.

I shake my head at them as Pierson jolts upright at the Archives doors, straightening his cream tunic. “Good morning, Cadet Pierson.”

“You as well, Cadet Melgren, Cadet Sorrengail.” He offers us a polite smile, which dies as he glances at Liam. “Cadet Mairi.”

“Cadet Pierson,” Liam responds, as if the scribe’s tone hadn’t completely changed.

My shoulders tense as Pierson hurries to open the door. Maybe it’s just that I haven’t been around marked ones before Basgiath, but the outright hostility toward them is becoming glaringly, uncomfortably obvious to me.

We walk into the Archives and wait by the table just like every other morning.

“How do you do that?” Violet asks Liam in a hushed whisper. “Handle when people are that rude without reacting?”

“You’re rude to me all the time,” he teases, drumming his fingers on the handle of the cart.

“Because you’re my babysitter, not because…”

“Because I’m the son of the disgraced Colonel Mairi?” His jaw ticks, his brow furrowing for a heartbeat as he looks away.

I silently squeeze his shoulder and he faintly smiles at me.

„I guess I’m really no better, though. I hated Xaden on sight, and I didn’t know a single thing about him.” Violet says softly.

Liam scoffs, earning us a glare from a scribe near the back corner. “He has that effect on people, especially women. They either despise him for what his father did or want to fuck him for the same reason, just depends on where we are.”

“You actually know him, don’t you?” She cranes her neck to look up at him. “He didn’t just pick you to shadow me because you’re the best in our year.”

“Just now catching on, huh?”

“Hey, take it easy, Liam. I needed time too. It’s not that obvious.” I elbow him in the ribs.

A grin flashes across his face, then he looks toward Violet. “I would have told you that on the first day if you hadn’t been so busy huffing and puffing about the pleasure of my company.”

I roll my eyes as Jesinia approaches, her hood up over her hair. “Hey, Jesinia,” I sign.

“Good morning,” she signs back, her mouth curving in a shy smile as her gaze darts up to Liam.

“Good morning.” He signs with a wink, clearly flirting.

It shocked me to my toes that first day that he knew how to sign, but honestly, I should have known. He’s awesome at everything.

“Just these today?” Jesinia asks, inspecting the cart.

„And these.” I reach for the list of requests amid their obvious glances and hand it to her.

“Perfect.” Her cheeks flush and she studies the list before putting it in her pocket. “Oh, and Professor Markham left before his daily report arrived to teach your briefing. Would you mind taking it over?”

“Happy to.” Violet waits until she’s pushing the cart away from us, then smacks Liam’s chest. “Stop it,” she whispers out loud.

“Stop what?” He watches her until she turns the corner at the first set of shelves.

“Flirting with Jesinia. She’s a long-term-relationship woman, so unless that’s what you’re looking for…just…don’t.”

Ohhoo, Violet are you jealous?

His eyebrows hit his hairline. “How does anyone think long-term around here?”

“Not everyone is in a quadrant where death is less of a chance and more of a foregone conclusion.” She says as she tries to calm herself down.

“So you’re saying that some people still try to make cute little things like plans.”

“Exactly, and those some people is Jesinia. Trust me, I’ve known her for years.”

“Right. Because you wanted to be a scribe when you grew up.” He scans the Archives with an intensity that almost makes me laugh. As if there’s any chance someone is going to lunge out of the shelves and come after Violet.

“How did you know that?” She lowers her voice as a group of second-years passes, their expressions somber as they debate the merits of two different historians.

“I did my research on you after I was…you know…assigned. And Aelin is really gossipy.” He shakes his head. “I’ve seen you practicing this week with those blades of yours, Sorrengail. Riorson was right. You would have been wasted as a scribe.”

“Hey, I’m not ‘gossipy’, you moron.” I scowl at him.

“That remains to be seen.” She answers both of us.

At least challenges haven’t resumed. Guess enough of us are dying during flight lessons to hold off on killing more through hand-to-hand.

“What did you want to be when you grew up?” Violet asks suddenly.

“Alive.” He shrugs.

“How do you know Xaden anyway?”

“Riorson and I were fostered at the same estate after the apostasy,” he says, using the Tyrrish term for the rebellion.

“You were fostered?” Her mouth drops open.

Fostering the children of aristocrats was a custom that died out after the unification of Navarre more than six hundred years ago.

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs again. “Where did you think the kids of the traitors”—he flinches at the word—“went after they executed our parents?”

“I didn’t think.” She admits it in a meak voice.

Oh, Vi. I didn’t know her mother never mentioned it to her. It seems I am much more informed on the subject. Thanks to The General…

“Most of our great houses were given to nobles who had remained loyal.” He clears his throat. “As it should be.”

I don’t bother agreeing with what’s obviously a conditioned reply. King Tauri’s response after the rebellion was swift, even cruel.

The burning of Aretia, which had been Tyrrendor’s capital, to the ground had never sat well with me, though. Liam was the same age. It wasn’t his fault his mother had broken faith with Navarre. And I’m sure there’s more to it.

“But you didn’t go with your father to his new home?” Violet asks.

His gaze swings toward her, and his brow furrows. “It’s hard to live with a man who was executed on the same day as my mother.”

“No. No, that’s not right. Your father was Isaac Mairi, right? I’ve studied all the noble houses in every province, including Tyrrendor.”

“Yes. Isaac was my father.” He tilts his head, looking toward the area where Jesinia disappeared, and I get the distinct feeling he is over this conversation.

“But he wasn’t a part of the rebellion.” She shakes her head, trying to make sense of it. “He isn’t on the death roll of the executions from Calldyr.”

“You read the death roll from the Calldyr executions?” His eyes flare.

“I needed to see that someone was on it.” She admits it.

He draws back slightly. “Fen Riorson.”

She nods. “He killed my brother at the Battle of Aretia. But your father wasn’t on that roll.”But Liam was—as a witness.

“Vi, enough.” I try to stop her. We should not tear open his wounds.

She glances at me and I can see the understanding in her eyes.“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“He was executed at our family’s house.” His features tighten. “Before it was given to another noble, of course. And yes, I watched as they did it that time, too. I already had the rebellion relic by then, but the pain was the same.” He looks away, his throat working. “Then I was sent to Tirvainne to be fostered by Duke Lindell, the same as Riorson. My little sister was sent elsewhere.”

“They separated you?” Her jaw practically unhinges.

He nods. “She’s only a year younger than me, though, so I’ll get to see her when she enters the quadrant next year. She’s strong, quick, and has good balance. She’ll make it.” The edge of panic in his tone reminds me of Mira.

“She will make it, Liam. And after that we’ll be there to help her.” I grab his hand and squeezes it.

“She could always choose another quadrant,” Violet says softly, hoping it will soothe him.

He blinks at her. “We’re all riders.”

„What?”

“We’re all riders. It was part of the deal. We’re allowed to live, allowed a chance to prove our loyalty, but only if we make it through the Riders Quadrant.” He stares at her in bewilderment. “You don’t know?”

“I mean…” she shakes her head. “I know that the children of the leaders, the officers, were all forced into conscription, but that’s all. A lot of those treaty addenda are classified.”

“I personally think the quadrant was chosen to give us the best chance of rising in rank, but others…” He grimaces. “Others think it’s because the death rate is so much higher for riders, so they were hoping to kill us all off without having to do it themselves. I’ve heard Imogen say they originally figured the dragons have unimpeachable honor, so they’d never bond a marked one in the first place, and now they don’t quite know what to do with us.”

“How many of you are there?” I ask him, because I don’t know the exact number.

“Xaden’s never?” He pauses. “Sixty-eight of the officers had kids under the age of twenty. There are one hundred and seven of us, all who carry rebellion relics.”

„The oldest is Xaden,” I murmur.

He nods. “And the youngest is almost six now. Her name is Julianne.”

I think I’m going to be sick. “Is she marked?”

“She was born with it.”

I understand it was done by Codagh, but what the fucking hell? My father is a monster.

“And it’s all right that you ask. Someone should know. Someone should remember.” His shoulders rise and fall as he breathes deeply. He suddenly turns toward Violet. “Anyway, is it hard for you to be in here? Or is it more of a comfort thing?”

Subject change noted.

„It’s like coming home, but not. And it’s not that it’s changed—this place never changes. Hell, I think change is the mortal enemy of a scribe. But I’m starting to realize that I’ve changed. I don’t quite fit here. Not anymore.”

“Yeah. I get that.” Something in his voice tells me he really does.

That’s when Jesinia reappears, the cart laden with the requested tomes.

“I have everything here for you,” she signs, then gestures to the scroll on top. “And that is for Professor Markham.”

“We’ll make sure he gets it,” Violet promises, leaning forward to take the cart. Her high collar shifts, and Jesinia gasps, her hand flying to cover her mouth.

“Oh gods, Violet. Your neck!” Her hand movements are sharp.

“It’s nothing.” She puts her collar back in place, covering the ring of yellowing bruises, and Liam reaches across me, taking the cart. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

She bobs her head and wrings her hands as we turn for the door. Pierson closes it after we pass into the hallway.

“Riorson taught me to fight during the years he was at Tirvainne.” Liam’s change of subject is appreciated and no doubt intentional once again. I still feel terrible. My farher is a monster. There’s no doubt about it. “I’ve never seen anyone move the way he does. He’s the only reason I made it through the first round of challenges. He might not show it, but he takes care of his own.” He glances toward me with a smirk.

“Are you trying to sell me on his finer points?” I ask as we make the ascent.

We round the corner and take the path past the Healer Quadrant.

“How can you do this anyway? Guard someone whose own mother oversaw the wing that captured yours?” Vi asks before he could answer.

“Wondering if you can trust me?” He flashes another easy grin.

“Yes.” The answer is simple.

He laughs, the sound echoing off the tunnel walls and glass windows of the clinic. “Good answer. All I can say is that your survival is essential to Riorson’s, and I owe him everything. Everything.” He looks me straight in the eye for that last word, even as the cart hits a raised stone in the paved corridor.

The scroll on top tumbles to the floor, and Violet retrieves it and it unrolls along the slight slope of the passage.

“Got it.”

The thick parchment isn’t eager to roll back into place, and when she looks at it, she pauses.

“What does it say?” Liam asks.

“Sumerton was attacked.” She flips the scroll to see if it’s marked as classified, but it isn’t.

“On the southern border?” He looks as confused as I feel.

“Yeah.” She nods. “It’s another high-altitude attack, too, if I remember my geography correctly. It says a supply convoy was looted.” She reads a little further. “And the community storage in nearby caves was ransacked. But that doesn’t make sense. We have a trade agreement with Poromiel.”

“A raiding party, then.” I say.

She shrugs. “No clue. Guess we’ll hear about it in Battle Brief today.”

Attacks along our southern borders are rising, all with the same description. Mountain villages are being torn apart wherever the wards weaken.

I hear an enermous growl.

„Sorrengail?” Liam looks over at her, concern etched between his brows.

“Tairn’s awake,” she manages to say, clutching her stomach. „Does it ever get any easier?” Being tackled by what they’re feeling?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Aon is pretty good at keeping his emotions to himself, but sometimes I can’t separate myself from him.”

Liam winces. “Deigh keeps pretty good control of himself, but when he’s angry?” Liam shakes his head. “It’s supposed to help once they start channeling and we have the power to shield them out, but you know Carr isn’t going to bother with us until that happens.”

I’d already assumed Liam didn’t have his abilities yet, considering he’s with us in every single class, but it’s comforting to know he’s still in the waning population of powerless riders with me.

“So neither Aon nor Tairn has started channeling to you, either, right?” Liam asks, a look of uncertainty, vulnerability on his face.

I shake my head. “I think he has commitment issues,” I whisper.

“I heard that.”

“Then stay out of my head.”

Suddenly waves of emotions washes over me.

„Don’t be an ass.”

I swear I hear him chuff a chuckle in response.

“We’d better hurry or we’ll miss breakfast.” Liam says.

“Right.” Violet finishes rolling the scroll and put it back on the cart.

---

“I want to be like the cool kids,” Rhiannon grumbles as first-years from Second and Third Wings pour out of the stairwell of the turret that leads up to Professor Carr’s classroom that afternoon, further clogging the hallway on our way to Battle Brief.

“We will,” Violet promises, linking her arm through hers.

“You may be cool, but you will never be as cool as I am!” Ridoc pushes past Liam and me, and throws his arm over Violet’s shoulder.

“She’s talking about everyone who’s already channeling,” I explain, juggling my books so I don’t drop them. “Though at least if we’re not channeling, we’re not stressed about manifesting a signet before the magic kills us.” The relic on my back tingles.

“Oh, I thought we were discussing how I just owned that physics test.” He grins. “Definitely the highest score in the class.”

Rhiannon rolls her eyes. “Please. I scored five points higher than you.”

“We stopped counting your grades months ago.” He leans forward slightly. “Your grades in that class make it unfair for the rest of us.” He looks between Liam and me. “Wait. What did you get, Melgren? Mairi?”

“Not getting into the middle of this,” Liam responds.

“Me neither” I laugh at him.

I had pretty good scores. Only thanks to Liam. Despite of his assignment, he still has time to study with me. And I will be eternally grateful to him.

I smile at him as we’re entering the bottleneck of cadets to get into the briefing room.

“Sorry, Sorrengail,” someone says, stepping out of the way and tugging their friend with them as we enter the tiered classroom.

“Nothing to be sorry about!” She calls out, but they’re already headed up a few rows. “I’m never going to get used to that.”

“It definitely makes getting places easier,” Rhiannon teases her as we descend the steps that curve along the massive turret.

We find our row and walk to our seats, sitting as a squad among the first-years.

The room buzzes with energy as riders file in, and I can’t help but notice that no one has to stand anymore. Our numbers have decreased exponentially in the last four months. The number of empty chairs is sobering. We lost another first-year yesterday when he got too close to another rider’s Red Scorpiontail on the flight field. One second he was standing there, and the next he was a scorched patch of earth. I kept as close to Aon as possible the rest of the session.

My scalp prickles, but I fight the urge to turn around.

“Riorson just got here,” Liam says with mirth in his voice from the seat to my left, breaking from the little dragon figurine he’s carving and looking up the rows toward the third-years.

“Figured.” I hold up my middle finger to him and keep my eyes forward.

He just loves teasing me. Asshole.

Liam snorts and grins, flashing his dimple. “Now, that we’re talking about Xaden. I noticed that you two are always bickering. Tell me, is it fun pissing off the most powerful rider in the quadrant? ”

“You could try it yourself and find out,” I suggest, opening my notebook to the next empty page. I can’t turn around. I won’t. Wanting Xaden is fine. It has to be. Indulging the impulses it gives me? That’s asinine.

“That’s going to be a no from me.” He shakes his head.

I lose the battle with my self-control and look over my shoulder. Sure enough, Xaden is seated in the top row next to Garrick, mastering the art of looking bored. He gives Liam a nod, which Liam returns.

Then he concentrates on his carving, which looks a lot like his Red Daggertail, Deigh.

“Then you should focus on Vi. She is you’re assignment, not me.” I shot back.

“I swear, you’d think there were assassination attempts on me during every class with the way he makes you shadow me.” She shakes her head.

“In his defense, people are fond of trying to kill you.” Rhiannon sets out her supplies.

“One time! It’s happened one time, Rhi!” She says as she adjusts her posture.

“Right. And what would you call that whole thing with Tynan?” Rhiannon asks.

“Threshing.” She shrugs.

“And Barlowe’s constant threats?” I arch a brow at her.

“She has a point there,” Sawyer chimes in, leaning forward from the seat next to Rhiannon’s.

“They’re just threats. The only time I’ve actually been targeted was at night, and it’s not like Liam here is sleeping in my bedroom.”

„I mean, I’m not opposed—” he begins, his knife hovering over the piece of wood.

“Don’t even start.” She whips her head to face him and she blushes. “You are a shameless flirt.”

“Thank you.” He grins and goes back to carving.

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Don’t mind her, she’s just sexually frustrated. Makes a girl crabby.” I say and write the date down on the empty page with my quill. Those easy, mess-less pens some of the others can already use is just another reason I can’t wait to channel. No more quills. No more inkpots.

„That has nothing to do with it.” She shots me a glare.

“And yet I don’t hear you denying it.” I smile sweetly at her.

“I’m sorry I don’t make the cut,” Liam teases. “But I can review a couple candidates, especially if it means you’ll stop being so edgy.”

“And how exactly would you be reviewing candidates? What will you be scoring?” Rhiannon asks, one eyebrow raised above her wide grin. “This I have to hear.”

I manage a straight face for all of two seconds before laughing at how horrified he suddenly looks.

“Thanks for the offer, though. I’ll make sure to run any potential liaisons by you.” Violet teases him.

“I mean, you could watch,” Rhiannon continues, blinking innocently at him. “Just to be sure she’s fully covered. You know, so no one…sticks it to her.”

“Oh, are we telling dick jokes now?” Ridoc asks from my other side. “Because my entire life has led up to this very moment.”

Even Sawyer laughs.

“Fuck me,” Liam mutters under his breath. “I’m just saying that since you’re protected at night now—” We laugh harder, and he blows out a deep breath.

“Wait.” Vi stops laughing. “What do you mean I’m protected at night? Because you’re next door? Please tell me he’s not making you sleep in the hallway or something obnoxious.”

“No. Of course not. He warded your door the morning after the attack.” His expression clearly says she should know this. “I’m guessing he didn’t tell you?”

“He what?”

“He warded your door,” Liam says, quieter this time. “So only you can open it.”

“But if he’s the one who warded it, then he can get in, too, right?” I ask.

„Well, yeah.” Liam shrugs as Professors Markham and Devera walk down the stairs, heading for the front of the room. “But it’s not like Riorson is going to kill her.”

“Right. You see, I’m still adjusting to that little change of heart.” I fumble my quill and it falls to the ground, but before I can lean over, the shadows beneath the arm of my desk lift the instrument like an offering. I pluck it out of the shadows and look back at Xaden.

He’s locked in conversation with Garrick, not paying me a speck of attention.

Except, apparently, he is.

“If we can get started?” Markham calls over the room, and we fall silent as he places the scroll we had delivered to him before breakfast on the podium. “Excellent.”

I write Sumerton down at the top of the page and Liam trades his knife for a quill.

“First announcement,” Devera says, stepping forward. “We’ve decided that not only will the winners of this year’s Squad Battle receive bragging rights—” She grins like we’re in for a treat. “But they’ll also be given a trip to the front lines to shadow an active wing.”

Cheers break out all around us.

“So if we win, we get a chance to die sooner?” Rhiannon whispers.

“Maybe they’re trying a reverse psychology thing.” I glance at the others around us who are clearly overjoyed and worry about their sanity. Either I am a fool or everyone else.

“You crave the action just as much as they do, little one.”

“Don’t you have better things to do with your day than listen in on my private thoughts?”

“Not particularly. Now pay attention.”

“Stop butting in and maybe I can,” I counter.

Aon chuffs. One day I might be able to translate that sound, but it’s not today.

“I know the Squad Battle doesn’t commence until spring,” Devera continues, “but I figured that news would give you all the proper motivation to apply yourselves in every area leading up to the challenges.”

Another cheer resounds.

“And now that we have your attention.” Markham lifts his hand and the room quiets. “The front lines are relatively quiet today, so we’re going to take this opportunity to dissect the Battle of Gianfar.”

My quill hovers above my notebook. Surely he didn’t say that.

The mage lights rise to the Cliffs of Dralor that separate Tyrrendor, lifting the entire province thousands of feet above the rest of the Continent, before shining brightest on the ancient stronghold along the southern border. “This battle was pivotal to the unification of Navarre, and though it happened more than six centuries ago, there are important lessons that still impact our flight formations to this day.”

“Is he serious?” I whisper to Liam.

“Yeah.” Liam’s grip bends his quill. “I think he is.”

“What made this battle unique?” Devera asks, her eyebrows raised. “Bryant?”

“The stronghold was not only set for a siege,” the second-year says from high above us, “but was equipped with the first cross-bolt, which proved lethal against dragonkind.”

“Yes. And?” Devera prompts.

“It was one of the final battles where gryphons and dragons actually worked alongside each other to annihilate the army of the Barrens,” the second-year continues.

I glance left and right, watching the other riders begin to take notes. Surreal. This is just…surreal.

None of them knows what we do, that an entire village of Navarrians was ransacked last night along the border and supplies looted. And yet, we’re discussing a battle that happened before the convenience of indoor plumbing was invented.

“Now, pay close attention,” Markham lectures. “Because you’ll be turning in a detailed report in three days and drawing comparisons to battles from the last twenty years.”

“Was that scroll marked classified?” Liam asks under his breath.

“No,” Violet responds just as quietly. “But maybe I missed it?”

The battle map doesn’t even show activity near that mountain range.

“Yeah.” He nods, scratching his quill against the parchment as he begins to take notes. “That has to be it. You missed it.”

I blink, forcing my hand through the motions of writing about a battle I’ve analyzed dozens of times with The General. Liam’s right. That’s the only possible explanation. Our clearance isn’t high enough, or maybe they haven’t finished gathering all the information needed to form an accurate report.

Or it had to have been marked classified. We just missed it.

Or…they withold information from us.

I need to speak with The General. Somehow I have to gather more information.

“Careful, little one. You need to be careful when you uncover the secrets.” I hear Aon’s warning.

[mrsjoeythehurler]

When I Met You

(OC FMC x Liam Mairi)

All characters except for Aurora Sallow who is my OC and the FMC of this fic belong to Rebecca Yarros. The plot of Fourth Wing also belongs to Rebecca Yarros.

Content warnings: most of the warnings that are for Fourth Wing are also going to be in When I Met You. That includes: Blood, death, injury, violence and war. The only content warning I am adding is panic attacks (2)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟAurora Sallow ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

This is not ideal.

Looking straight ahead, I debate my options. The Parapet is thin, not something you can walk on regularly. One wrong move and the wind will take you to your death.

One foot in front of the other. Keep your eyes on the stone in front of you.

I can do this. I've seen countless others just cross it with my own eyes. There's no reason why I can't do it too. Except for the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing. I haven't trained like everyone else. I'm not prepared like everyone else.

I feel the anxiety start to take hold again, and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath and praying to the god of luck, Zinhal, that I don't fall to my death.

"I can do this. There's no other option. I can't back out now."

Opening my eyes, I look at the stone ahead of me and take a step onto the Parapet.

Inhale, step, exhale, step. I repeat the cycle. The rain is pouring down, making the rock slippery beneath my feet, but my boots hold, and I take my time, trying not to worry about those behind me.

The wind blows hard, making my hair fly out around me. The stone beneath my feet is steady, but some of the rocks on each side of the mountain crumble and fall into the thrashing river beneath.

I'm halfway to the other end of the Parapet when I hear a squeak, like a shoe slipping against pavement. Turning my head slowly, I see a boy about my age just starting to regain his balance. His dark blonde hair was wet from the rain.

"Be careful!” I shout over the sound of the rain.

He looks up at me, and even though he looks neutral, I see the speck of fear in his eyes.

All I'm thinking to myself is, I don't want this boy to fall to his death.

Not thinking too much about it, I walk backward towards him.

"What are you doing?!" he yells.

"Helping you!" I yell back.

I look back at him and see I'm within arms' distance. "Hold on," I say, extending my hand for him to grab.

He looks at me, stunned momentarily, before grabbing my hand.

We inch our way closer and closer to the end of the Parapet, our free arms held out to keep balance. The rain continues with a vengeance, and the wind rips through, making it harder and harder to take a simple step.

I can hear the sound of rocks crumbling down the mountain and the river rushing below, but I never take my eyes off the stone ahead of me. I never let go of the boy's hand.

Gust after gust of wind slams into us, but we prevail, continuing to take step after step.

When we finally reach the walls, we run to the entrance.

I smile to myself. We made it.

Finally letting go of the boy's hand, we stand in silence, catching our breath and waiting for the adrenaline to ease. We're in a courtyard where two Riders stand to the side.

He breaks the silence first. "Thank you," he says, "for helping me. You didn't have to do that."

I give him a look. "I wasn't going to let you fall."

He gives me a small smile and reaches out a hand to shake mine. "I'm Sawyer."

Even though I've held this guy's hand for the last 20 minutes, I shake it. "Aurora."

After talking with Sawyer for a couple minutes, we both head over to give our names to the Riders in charge.

[marshmellowrio]

Semblance of Control | Chapter 4

Word count: 2.2K

Semblance of Control Masterlist

"Welcome to your first Battle Brief." Professor Devera's voice fills the entire lecture hall. All cadets seem to be present for this class. First years in the front, second years behind them and third years fill in the empty spaces or stand in the back of the room.

"In the past, riders have seldom been called into service before graduation,” Professor Devera continues, pacing in front of the huge map of the Continent mounted on the wall behind her.

Colette focuses on the map, looking for the places she knows, all the while keeping one ear on Professor Devera, who continues talking in the background. The young woman’s eyes zero in on the Deaconshire province, a little under the bright pin of Basgiath and slightly tot the right. Where she knows Ruel is situated.

Once she’s found Ruel, she moves on to the right, more down on the map. Hoping her aunt and uncle are all right in Sumerton. They taught her everything she needs to know to survive on top of what she knew from her parents. But still, the turbulences along the border were already worrisome by the time she left for Basgiath. And they showed no signs of slowing down anytime soon.

“First topic of the day.” When Professor Devera flicks her hand, a mage light appears directly over the eastern border with the Braevick province.

Guess this class will let me know how my aunty Kenhan and uncle Dey are doing.

“The Eastern Wing experienced an attack last night near the village of Chakir by a drift of Braevi gryphons and riders.”

Murmurs rise in the hall, Colette’s not surprised though. That village lies right on the border of the two Kingdoms. The only thing that bothers her is the use of the gryphons. She frowns, Chakir is even higher up in the mountains than Sumerton, and they already avoid that altitude. They shouldn’t be at risk of being attacked by gryphon riders.

Six years later and they’re still not giving riders the full truth? The public, that is understandable, but these people here are going to face the real dangers. Colette glances behind her to the third years, nothing in their faces gives away that they know more. Not even the Marked Ones, their faces the picture of neutrality. They have to know though, right?

She turns back to the front, ignoring Violet’s whispering beside her. Colette puts her hand up in the air with confidence, effectively grabbing Professor Devera’s attention. “Cadet?”

“Why Chakir?” The dark brunette feels dumb the moment the question leaves her mouth, definitely not how she meant to word it. The snickers around her only confirm how she sounded.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out here, cadet.” Professor Devera starts to turn away, but stops when she hears Colette’s voice again.

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Her eyes dart to the faces around her. “Well, I’ve lived in those mountains. It’s high up and I’ve always been told gryphons don’t do well at high altitudes. So it seems an unlikely target, hence my question.”

“You’re right, it is an unlikely target. Cadet Sorrengail, do you have something to add?”

Violet’s head snaps up from whispering to Rhiannon. She squirms in her seat but takes the challenge. “As cadet Wilder said, gryphons aren’t as strong at that altitude and neither is their ability to channel.” She says. “It’s an illogical place for them to attack unless they knew the wards would fail, especially since the village looks to be about what… an hour’s flight from the nearest outpost? That is Chakir right there, isn’t it?”

Colette raises an eyebrow at her neighbour, she had heard she was trained to be a scribe and being the General’s daughter probably helped her along. As prejudiced that may be. But damn, this woman is smart.

“It is,” Professor Devera’s lips start forming a little smirk. “Keep going with that line of thought.”

“Didn’t you say it took an hour for the squad of riders to arrive?”

Colette frowns, looking at the map. Her frown deepens when she hears Professor Devera’s affirmative answer.

“Then they were already on their way,” Violet blurts out, Colette nodding in agreement from beside her.

She stays quiet during Barlowe’s degrading words, instead focusing on the map. Calculating how much time would be needed before a squad arrived at the scene. Violet relays what she figured out a minute later, not only the gryphon riders knew the wards were failing. The dragons did as well.

“She’s right,” A hush falls over the room at Devera’s words. “One of the dragons in the wing sensed the faltering ward, and the wing flew. Had they not, the casualties would have been far higher and the destruction of the village much worse.”

When the second- and third-years take over, Colette summarizes all the different questions and answers. Marking the ones she thinks are interesting or weird.

Wingleader Riorson’s question intrigued her, even though Devera’s comment on the state of the village was made in the beginning of the lesson. He still remembered and thought it important enough to bring up again.

Colette thinks she’ll finally have the answers to why Chakir was attacked, but is quickly disappointed when the Professor admits they don’t know what they were searching for.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Assessments are in full swing, literally, fists are swinging left and right. But Colette’s gaze is fixed on Rhiannon and Tynan’s match. Seems like the women are on a winning streak today. Aurelie won the previous match from Ridoc and Rhiannon seems to have the upper hand right now as well.

Colette watches both of their moves, Rhiannon moves quick and packs one hell of a punch. Tynan’s good but too angry, he fights with his emotions, not his head. Rhiannon asks him to yield, he declines and tries to take her down. Only to wind up in the same position again with Rhiannon adjusting her position so he can’t get out of her hold again.

“I don’t know, Tynan, you might want to yield.” Their Squad Leader comments. “She’s handing you your ass.”

“Fuck off, Aetos!” Tynan snaps in return.

Wrong choice, buddy.

Rhiannon presses down further on his throat, turning his face red.

“He yields,” Emetterio, their teacher, calls out. Rhiannon backs away, offering her hand and her peace. Tynan takes it and both of them take their places at the edge of the mat.

“You,” Emmeterio points to Colette, “And you. Let’s see what you can do.” He points to Sawyer next.

Both cadets step up to the mat, taking each other in.

Handle him like a second-year, because in hand-to-hand, he is. He’s been here for a year, he probably has some tricks up his sleeve.

The fight moves quickly once the two get close enough to each other. Sawyer dodges her first attempt and counters quickly with a punch to the nose. Colette staggers back. Feeling the end of the mat with the heel of her foot. She goes in again with another hit to his jaw, which he blocks. Her hand throbs as it comes into contact with Sawyer’s wrist. She doesn’t let it linger and immediately follows up with a jab to his diaphragm with her other hand. Expelling all the air from his lungs. Sawyer gasps and one arm clutches his stomach.

Colette takes the chance to send a kick to the side of his knee. Bringing him to his knees, while she’s already moving behind him. She twists one arm behind his back, bringing it uncomfortably high. And grabs him in a headlock with her other arm, tilting his head. She drives her knee into the middle of his back, and sends her opponent to the mat. His face smacks against the mat. Colette releases his arm and braces her weight on her knees and elbows while tightening her hold on his neck and head. Now bringing up her other hand to secure the position.

Sawyer attempts one last time to get out but between the knee crushing his spine and the unnatural position she holds his head, he’s got no way out. So he taps out.

Colette releases the hold she has on him, stepping aside and offering him a hand up. “I didn’t expect you to go that hard.” He grins at her, rubbing his wrist.

“Oh, don’t worry, you got me as well.” She smiles right back at him, her nose bright red from the hit it took.

They reach the sidelines when Emetterio calls Imogen and Violet to the mat.

“Yeah, maybe a tip for next time. Go for the nose of the eye. You’ll do a lot more damage than a jaw.” He gives her a wink before he walks off to his friends.

The woman nods in thought and notices Liam, the blond from yesterday sitting on the next mat over. She walks over and sits down beside him.

“Good job.” He greets her.

“Thanks,” she smiles at him. “You already done?”

“Yeah, easy.” He nods to a scrawny cadet with a bruised cheek and blood gushing out of his nose, onto his shirt. “I didn’t even hit him that hard.”

Colette grimaces at the sight, “Oof.”

“Would you like to train with me some time? It’s been a while since I’ve had a decent opponent.” Liam bumps his shoulder against hers with a grin.

She snorts, “Decent, huh.” She smiles at him. “Yeah, I’m up for learning some new tricks.” Her smile quickly drops when the sound of bone snapping grabs their attention to Emmeterio’s mat.

Violet lies on the mat with Imogen hovering over her, still holding on to the arm she just broke. The Squad Leader pushes her out of the way and pulls Violet in his arms. He has the sense to ask, “Permission to take her to the Healers?” and barely waits for Emmeterio’s nod before taking off.

Liam and Colette exchange a glance before continuing to chat and planning their next training session.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

In the weeks that follow Colette starts to get ready for the challenges that she will have to go through. She joins Rhiannon every other day in helping Violet get better on her feet, not that they can do much since she’s been in a sling since assessment. The days in between she actually trains with Liam, their training varies between actual sparring and muscle maintenance.

After a couple of training sessions Liam invites someone he knows to give them some more pointers, as he explained to Colette in the beginning of their training.

“So this is who you’ve been spending your precious free time with?” A tall male enters the gym, the doors banging shut behind him.

Colette stops her squats and wipes at the sweat gathering on her forehead. She takes in the man while Liam goes up to him to greet him. His dark hair tousled and covering his forehead. Her eyes move down to meet his hazel green eyes, twinkling with the mage lights hovering overhead.

He’s handsome.

“Glad you could make it, Bodhi.” Liam says, pulling away from the man in question. He walks over to where Colette is standing. “Coco, this is Bodhi Durran. Bodhi, this is Colette Wilder.” He gestures to them both while speaking.

“Quite the legacy you’ve got going, Wilder.” He nods to the mat, throwing his jacket to the side. “Let’s see what daddy Wilder taught you,” he comments while walking towards the mat.

Colette exchanges a look with Liam, raising her brows, but moving towards the mat all the same. She knew the guy for all of two minutes and he’s already questioning her father, while asking her to fight.

Before turning, Bodhi calls over his shoulder, “Or was it mommy?”

“If you want to fight me, just say so, you don’t gotta be mean about it.” The young woman retorts. He struck a chord there.

The two start circling each other on the mat, Liam taking his spot as neutral watcher.

“Look,” Bodhi’s voice drops to a whisper, only Colette able to hear him. “Just because Liam has decided to trust you, doesn’t mean I do. You’ll have to earn that.”

Colette doesn’t respond, but takes on the offensive. The match doesn’t last long. After getting in a couple of well-timed jabs, Bodhi quickly got the upper hand. A first year might be easy to beat for a second year, but he’s obviously been trained well before entering the Quadrant. He ends the fight by getting Colette on her back, limbs restrained in one way or another. She’s quick to analyse her non existent moves and taps out.

“Although you lost,” Bodhi starts, taking off his shirt and wiping away his sweat with it. “Consider me intrigued, Wilder.”

“Thank you?” Colette frowns at his retreating figure while he goes over to the weight station. Her eyes follow the rippling of the relic that covers the upper part of his shoulder blade.

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