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thecampjuicebox · 1 year ago

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To have and to hold Pt. 3 (End)

Pairing: Tav(f) x Gale x Astarion

POV: 2nd person (Reader is Tav)

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Marriage (throuple), smut, fluff, fingering, oral (f receiving), potential game spoilers (mostly just character names)

This is the end of "To have and to hold" as a story, I really hope you all enjoy! It's going to be a long one so I can do this ending justice. Let me know if you want more stuff like this in the future!

Gale paces back and forth nervously, little beads of sweat pooling above his eyebrows. He guides his hands over the front of his pale blue robes, the smooth fabric flattening beneath his trembling fingers. Tonight's the night. And you're late. Astarion rests comfortably against the wall of the temple, fiddling with the end of his coat, soft silver hair jostling ever so slightly in the autumn breeze. He traces the silver filigree around the bottom seem and admires how it sparkles in the light of the full moon. The newly rebuilt Selune temple stands tall at the end of a long cobblestone bridge, the outer edges of the bridge decorated with grand displays of flowers, tall metal arches adorned with moonstone turning the bridge into an extravagant tunnel. It's truly breathtaking, and it still does nothing to calm the wizard's anxiety. Everyone is already waiting inside, bards at the ready. Gale continues to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, mumbling little "Where is SHE"s and "I'm going to kill her"s to himself, earning an amused chuckle from Astarion.

"Calm your nerves, Wizard. She'll be here soon enough."

"Gods, she'd be late to her own funeral."

Quick footsteps thunder towards the two men and Gale whips around at the noise. Karlach barrels towards them, waving her arms. to shoo them into the building.

"Both of you! Inside! Now! She's coming!"

Gale throws his arms up in frustration, grabbing Astarion by the elbow and they rush into the temple. Wyll and Halsin are already waiting at the altar, hands folded neatly in front of them. Gale peeks around the corner to assess the size of the crowd, air catching in his throat when he sees just how many people showed up for the ceremony. The late, and not at all shocking, news of the addition of Astarion to the ceremony didn't seem to dissuade any of the guests. He breathes a sigh of relief and motions to Volo to start the music, Volo excitedly swinging his arms about at the bards. Lutes, lyres, and flutes all play in a beautiful harmony, Alfira singing softly to welcome Gale down the isle first, Astarion following not far behind. They both take their places on each side of the altar, the white haired cleric of Selune, Isobel, exchanging kind smiles with each of them.

You stand outside, large bouquet in your hands, the soft green ivies and hanging bell flowers nestled amongst the Selune's Tears and Crocus flowers trickling towards the ground, contrasting against the pale blue silk of your dress. Your last second dress change was Shadowheart's idea and you couldn't thank her more. Silver filigree and moon symbols adorn the bodice of the dress, silver velvet cloak swaying behind you in the night time breeze. You shiver lightly, wiggling your fingers beneath the heavy foliage of your bouquet. Shadowheart asses you carefully, poking and prodding at the neat plaits of dark hair that encircle your head. You giggle and hold still for her. She carefully places a small moon hair pin in the back of the braids, fixing its position a few times before settling on a spot she agrees with. She smiles to herself, gently stroking your back for a moment before stepping away and mumbling a quiet "Perfect." Karlach takes a small handkerchief from her back pocket and wipes under her eyes, hot tears threatening to stain her cheeks. You poke out your bottom lip and fight back tears of your own, gently reaching up to stroke Karlach's cheek, soothing her.

"I'm just so happy for you, Soldier. You're really doing it. And you look so beautiful."

"Oh! I almost forgot!"

Your head cocks to the side at Shadowhearts sudden exclamation, watching as she pulls a thin silver necklace from a pouch beneath her skirts, unclasping it and bringing it around your neck. A small silver moon pendant with a teardrop cut moonstone dangle rests against your pale skin, sitting snuggly between your collar bones. You gently run your fingers over the cool metal and smile, closing your eyes to savor this moment. It's actually happening. You're about to marry the loves of your life. You truly couldn't be happier now. All of your fear falls to the wayside, doubt being swept away by the autumn wind.

"Onward."

Karlach huffs quietly and moves to the handle of the left door to the temple, Shadowheart following suit to the right. You nod at them both and they swing the doors open, stepping inside before you. You hear the music swell, Alfira singing sweet melodies as Shadowheart and Karlach walk arm in arm down the isle towards the altar. They both settle to the right of the cleric on Astarion's side. Halsin waves to them excitedly, quickly straightening back up when Volo's voice thunders through the temple.

"Esteemed guests, I now present to you, the bride."

You inhale sharply, feeling as though you should hold your breath and you walk forward, breeching the temple doors. The crowd stands. Candles light the isle as you walk, the entire room of friends and family from each side settling their gaze on you. The music softens to an ethereal tune and Alfira simply hums, carefully strumming at her lute. The sights and sounds are enough to bring Gale to tears and he quickly swipes his thumbs under his eyes, Astarion chuckling at him once more until his gaze finally falls upon your frame. He scans your figure and gulps, mumbling a soft "Gods..". His breath catches in his throat, immediately choking him up. The two keep their eyes fixed on you as you walk, your cloak and the small train of your silk dress trailing being you. No goddess could compare to the way you look right now. You smile and blink tears away from your brown eyes, lashes coated in little droplets. Little gasps and coos flutter through the crowd and you approach the altar, Shadowheart reaching out to take your bouquet from you. You carefully hand it off to her and smile, your bottom lip catching between your teeth. She gives you a reassuring nod and you blink slowly. Isobel steps forward, raising both of her hands to instruct the crowd to sit and they obey, little sounds of feet shuffles echoing through the temple room before all falls silent.

"Welcome friends, family, lovers. Tonight we gather under the light of the Moon Maiden Selune to unite these families. Tav, Gale, Astarion, please join hands and kneel before me."

The three of you join hands, Gale capturing your left and Astarion capturing your right. You all kneel on the step of the altar carefully, Astarion and Gale helping to adjust your dress so you don't crumple it beneath your knees. You give each of them a sweet smile before turning your attention back to the cleric. The witnesses at the altar all lower their heads, eyes falling shut as they listen. The cleric sings in an unfamiliar language, raising her hands to the open ceiling of the temple, the full moon shining down on you and all of the guests. You sigh quietly and give Gale and Astarion's hands a gentle squeeze. They return the squeeze and your eyes flutter closed, a sense of calm washing over you while you listen to Isobel’s hymns. Her voice fades out, the room falling silent once more. A cool breeze sweeps through the temple, rustling your hair and cloak, making you shiver. The cleric stares up at the sky, eyes glowing with the bright light of the moon.

"She is with us.. Moon Maiden, hear me. Grant your love and protection over these souls as they unite under your light. Embrace them in your warmth, oh mother. Lead them through darkness, through sickness, through blight. Fill their hearts with your patience. Show them the way. So it shall be."

The crowd quietly mumbles in response "So it shall be". Isobel turns to a small table on the altar, two silver chalices shimmering in the moonlight placed with purpose in the middle of it. Your fingers tremble with excitement in your lovers' hands. The cleric raises the chalice carefully to the open sky, mumbling in the unfamiliar language again before instructing you to stand. You release Gale and Astarion's hands and approach Isobel.

"Moon milk, for protection, abundance, and fertility. Drink, my child. Accept the Moon Maiden into your heart and into your womb. Allow her to guide you. So it shall be."

You accept the chalice from her strong hands, raising it to the sky and mumbling "So it shall be" before taking a small sip of the milk, the cool liquid coating your throat and you sigh. She encourages you to finish the chalice with a small wave of the hand. You oblige, tilting your head back and swallowing the last of the sweet drink. You hand her the chalice carefully and she places a hand on your abdomen, mumbling quietly to herself. Astarion raises an eyebrow. Gale swats at his hand and the vampire grunts quietly. The cleric eyes the two men before tracing the symbol of a moon into your forehead, finally releasing you to join your lovers once more. She then motions for the two men to join her and she raises the second chalice into the air, mumbling a new prayer to the open sky.

"Wine, for protection, abundance, and patience. Drink, my child. Accept the Moon Maiden into your heart. Allow her to guide you. So it shall be."

She hands the chalice to Astarion first. He eyeballs the liquid inside. White wine. Certainly not his favorite. He closes his eyes and raises the chalice to the sky. "So it shall be." Taking a small sip, his body trembles at the taste, the unfamiliar burn making him cough lightly. Halsin chuckles and Wyll nudges his shoulder to shut him up. Shadowheart shoots eyes like daggers in their direction and they turn their attention back to the display on the alter, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Astarion hands the cleric the chalice and she then hands it to Gale, the ritual being repeated exactly the same way. The cleric clasps her hands together and smiles at the three of you, motioning for you to join hands one more and you obey.

"Family, friends, witnesses. By the power of the Moon Maiden Selune, I now declare these three to be wed. You may now share a kiss."

Astarion wastes no time pulling you to him, his lips crashing to yours and the crowd of guests cheers. Volo quickly motions for the group of bards to play "Bard Dance", Alfira strumming happily on her lute, spinning in little circles and dancing about with the others. Gale keeps hold on your hand, impatiently waiting for Astarion to stop the theatrics before he pulls you over to him. He embraces you gently, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss, much less desperate than Astarions. You sigh against his lips and the vampire scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, a small smirk hanging on his wet lips. Shadowheart, Wyll, Halsin, and Karlach all rush down to the three of you, embracing you in a tight group hug. You giggle, smashed between all of the warm bodies and Astarion groans out loud.

"Gods, you're all too much!"

...

The long and exhausting night of festivities comes to a close, family and friends bidding your their final farewells as they seek the inns for sleep. Halsin throws a drunken Shadowheart over his stocky shoulder and she beats against his muscular back in protest, small hiccups leaving her before she finally gives in and goes limp in his grasp. Karlach stumbles into Wyll, laughing loudly, her bright flames burning a deep shade of purple and she wiggles an eyebrow in his direction. Wyll sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his index finger. You giggle to yourself, your own wine buzz sending tingles up and down your spine. You eye your new husbands, both seemingly tired of the shenanigans that they've watched all night. The trek to your tower is short, filled with giggles and little kisses, reminiscing about the nights' events.

Astarion scoops your small frame up bridal style once you reach the front door, chucking at the small yelp he earns from you and he carries you past the threshold of the quaint wizard tower, Gale following close behind with your cloak in hand. He watches you both with love drunk eyes, carefully closing the front door behind the group and he tosses your cloak onto the bench below him. Astarion places you on your feet and you smooth your dress down carefully, reaching back to remove the moon hair pin that Shadowheart had given to you. With a swift tug, the pin releases your hair, the thick dark braids on top of your head falling with it and the plaits unravel themselves. You shake your head to further release your hair, the locks falling in perfect waves down your shoulders and back now. You reach your hands up to soothingly scratch at your scalp, sighing in pure pleasure at the relief taking down your hair has given you. Gale moves behind you now, hands resting on your hips, rubbing soothing circle into them as he leans down and buries his face into the side of your neck. He inhales your scent, the perfume you chose for your wedding night standing out to him distinctly. Rose water and orchid, a flowery scent he wasn't used to smelling on you. He sighs against your skin, peppering the area with the softest little kisses. Astarion steps toward the two of you, pressing his torso to yours, his hands resting on top of Gales at your hips. He pecks a kiss to your forehead, leaving a trail of kisses to the opposite side of your neck from Gale and he takes inventory of the knew smell as well. You shudder at the sudden overwhelming amount of sensations, your entire body breaking out in goosebumps. Gales fingers move to your back, fiddling with the corset lacing holding your dress on your body.

"Why don't we.. Get this off."

He tugs at one of the laces, loosening the ties. The dress drapes on your frame and Astarion reaches his hands up to slide the silk fabric down your shoulders, bodice moving down your torso to expose your breasts, nipples already hardening at the temperature change. You hiss at the cold air now assaulting your chest and back, both men making quick work of sliding your dress the rest of the way down your shivering body. Two pairs of lips latch to your skin, Astarion's sucking little bruises on the flesh of your breast while Gale works the side of your neck, tongue lapping at the skin there sweetly. You lean back into Gale, pulling Astarion closer to you, your mouth falling open. The vampire's right hand comes up to grasp at your breast, kneading the sensitive flesh as he kisses and licks on the other, tongue occasionally flicking over your painfully erect nipple. You buck your hips backwards, ass meeting Gale's growing bulge. You groan in excitement, completely unsure of what to do with your hands. Reaching forward needily, you gasp at the front of Astarions coat, fumbling with the silver metal buttons.

"Hm, a needy little thing, isn't she Gale?"

Astarion's honeyed tone makes your knees buckle. Gale nods in agreement, fingers toying with the plush skin of your thighs now.

"I think we should take this upstairs."

Gale lifts you into his arms and begins to ascend the stairs, leaving your wedding dress in the middle of the floor. You lace your arms around his neck, gazing up into his hungry eyes. He looks forward, determined to make it to the bedroom quickly. Astarion follows close behind, sliding his coat off and tossing it behind him, fingers working on the buttons of his silk shirt next. He smirks at you over Gale's shoulder and you eye him carefully, bottom lip trapped between chattering teeth. You let out an audible gasp when Gale suddenly tosses you onto the bed. You sink into the soft pillows and blankets, the smooth fabrics against your naked skin feeling absolutely delicious. Astarion steps behind Gale, helping him remove his coat and shirt, the two men standing in only their leathers now. You peer up at them, arousal burning between your thighs. Astarion steps in front of Gale and traces his fingers around the mark of the orb, earning a shuddering moan from Gale's lips. In a swift motion, Astarion captures Gale's lips with his, his hand sliding up and into the back of his hair. The two men press tightly together, hips grinding into one another feverishly. You groan at the sight. Gods, they're beautiful. Gale pulls away reluctantly and chews his bottom lip, eyes fixed on Astarion's before moving to you, your naked body causing him to salivate. He moves to the bed, reaching down to run his fingers over the soft silk of your underwear. He was surprised you'd worn any at all.

"Off with them."

His tone is commanding and unfamiliar, but you obey him, thumbs sliding into the corners of the fabric. You drag them down your thighs and kick them off. Astarion raises an eyebrow in amusement at the wizard's new found courage, hands resting on his hips.

"I'm impressed, Gale. What else can you do?"

Gale scoffs. Astarion takes a seat next to you on the bed, moving up and behind you so your head can rest in his lap and he strokes your soft hair away from your face. Grinning up at him, you pucker your lips playfully and he chuckles. Gale settles at the end of the bed, fingers tracing lazy shapes into your thighs, a quiet yawn stretching his mouth open.

"Careful, wizard. You'll catch flies."

"Gods I'm so happy I married you, Astarion."

You giggle at their banter and pure joy engulfs you in warmth. This moment is perfect. You are happy. Never did you think you'd be wed to both Gale and Astarion, a fantasy most ladies in Faerun wouldn't dare mutter in public. You feel so lucky. Your thoughts are halted suddenly as Gale slides his fingers up your inner thigh, pressing your legs apart and into the bed beneath you. You gasp loudly at the force of his grip. He smirks up at you from between your legs, brown eyes glowing in the lanternlight. Watching hip lick his lips at the sight of you makes your body weak and you slump back against Astarion, his toned arms pulling you up and into his lap gently, hands pushing your thighs apart for Gale once more. You chew on the skin of your bottom lip, picking little pieces off and drawing blood. Tiny droplets dot your lips and Astarion catches on to the scent immediately, lids lowering. He inhales deeply through his nose. "Mm.. A treat." Your lips flatten into a smirk. Gale sits up on his knees, reaching his fingers out to trace the top of your mound. You hiss and shudder. Astarion nuzzles his nose into your neck, breathing heavily against the sensitive skin there, tongue flicking out to trace the barely healed pierce marks from his last feeding. You obediently tilt your head to the side to expose more of your neck to him. With a quiet groan, he sinks his teeth into your tender flesh and begins to suck, earning a steady stream of crimson. You grasp onto the soft sheets beneath you, pain like shards of glass making you tense until the familiar numbness sets in. You go limp. Gale watches closely, taking advantage of your boneless state to swipe his fingers through your slick folds. You react quickly, hips bucking forward at the new sensation. Astarion pulls away to lick the remnants of your blood from his lips. He grins.

Your legs tremble with excitement and you wiggle your hips, silently begging to be touched again. Gale grants you temporary relief with another swipe, this time lower. He collects your slick on the tip of his finger and spreads it around your clit, rubbing agonizingly slow circles. You mewl in response to the gentle friction, rolling your hips upwards to push against his fingers. He backs off, shaking his head at you and you whine.

"Patience, my love."

"Yes, patience, pet."

Astarion smirks and licks a long stripe up the side of your neck, sliding a hand up into the back of your hair and giving your head a forceful tug back. You yelp in pain, gritting your teeth. The low growl that rumbles in Astarion's chest makes your hips buck upwards and Gale chuckles, fingers meeting your core once more. He circles his fingers around the outside of your clit, dipping down to collect more of the slick that's pooling beneath you now, a puddle forming on the sheets.

"Hm.. So messy. Just for us, Astarion."

Gale groans, sliding a finger into your aching cunt and you cry out into the night air, Astarion leaning in close to your ear to coach you through the sensations. He whispers softly, making your cheeks and chest flush deep red.

"That's it.. So good. So good."

You spread your legs wider for Gale, writhing in Astarion's tight grip. He hushes you, fingers tightening around your tangled locks. He pushes your head forward, forcing you to watch as Gale inserts another finger, pumping in and out slowly, not giving you any time to adjust to being filled by his thick digits. Gale grinds his hips into the mattress and moans at the small amounts of friction his leathers provide. Astarion watches intensely, eyes flicking from you, to Gale, and back again, his own erection straining painfully against his leathers. He reaches a free hand down and palms at his bulge. Gale curves his fingers upwards inside of you, your walls fluttering at the change of position and you melt into Astarion's lap now, moans silencing to strained gasps. Your mouth hangs open. Gods, he's torturing you. The pale vampling behind you releases his grip on your hair, smoothing the tousled locks back into place, his eyes fixed on Gale's hand now, digits pumping furiously in and out of your cunt. That knot tightens in your belly, threatening to snap at any moment. You grind your hips up against Gale's palm and whine his name loudly, hands now resting on Astarion's thighs and you use them as leverage to push yourself up further towards Gale.

Astarion leans back on his hands, perfectly content with watching the show. It's no secret that Astarion finds so much pleasure in watching you be pleasured. Whether it be by him, yourself, or someone else. The sight and sounds alone are enough to completely unravel him. You learned this during your encounter in the Underdark and you think about it often. The way he's comfortable just sitting back and watching Gale touch you. Gale has learned the same habit in the couple of weeks the three of you have lived together before the wedding. A few nights were spent with Astarion between your legs and Gale just watching. Enjoying. Savoring the moment. You always offered to reciprocate, and they both often refuse. This moment is no different.

"G-Gale, I'm so close.."

Gale leans in quickly, the flat of his tongue pressing firmly to your clit, rubbing back and forth against the swollen nub while his fingers continue to pump into your cunt, arousal coating his hand. Your hips find a steady rhythm and you grind upwards, pleasure bubbling, bubbling, bubbling, BURSTING inside of your gut. You gasp loudly, clinging to Astarion's legs on either side of you, riding the tidal wave of your orgasm as Gale continues to lick at you furiously. His fingers slow their motion and he carefully slides them out, your jaw falling open again at the sudden emptiness. Your walls flutter around nothing, swollen clit pulsating. You bring your knees to your chest, curling up into Astarion's abdomen, wanting nothing more than to be simply absorbed by him. He chuckles at the closeness and lies down on his side, tugging your back to his torso. He snakes his arms sleepily around you, Gale following suit to snuggle up to the front of you. Both men hold you and each other tightly, exchanging sleepy kisses and rubbing noses with one another. Your eyes meet Gale's and you mumble softly.

"Is there anything.. I can do? For you?"

Gale shakes his head, hand lifting to cup your still flushed cheeks and he strokes your high cheekbone with his rough thumb.

"Nothing at all."

He smiles down at you and you offer the same question to Astarion. He ponders for a moment, unsure of how to answer. He's never been asked what he wants. Not in situations like this, anyway. He contemplates his options. He could obviously ask you to pleasure him. Get on your knees and let him rut into your mouth, let him use your holes like any other woman that's ever lusted after him. He shakes his head and grins, pressing a loving kiss to the top of your head.

"You've given me the one thing that no one else ever has, my love."

You quirk an eyebrow in confusion, turning your head to face him. Gale yawns, crawling out of bed to quickly check all of the curtains in the room, pressing any two together that he thinks might let in a little too much sunlight in the morning. He smiles to himself once each window is sufficiently covered and climbs back into bed, pulling a blanket up over the three of you. You watch Astarion for a moment before quietly asking.

"And what is that?"

He sighs happily, nuzzling his face into your warm neck, pressing you impossibly close to him. A quiet yawn escapes him and his lids flutter closed.

"A choice."

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cryptictongues · 1 year ago

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Dawns in Dalimil

pairing: Joshua Rosfield x Fem!Reader rating: Mature word count: 1.7k summary: You and Joshua have a sweet moment post-coitus.

warnings: Mentions of sex and the sweetest fluff EVER!!

Spoilers: There are a few mentions of things that if you aren't in a certain point in the game, you won't understand what I'm talking about. But just to clear things just in case, this takes place when Dalimil is first introduced.

Author's Notes: Just a heads up, please read my pinned post before following me! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked as this blog's content is NSFW.

[AO3 link]

It’s late in Dalimil, so much so that the market outside the inn is dead silent and the ale house downstairs doesn’t have a whisper. The place is taking its rest, taking everyone with it before the dawn breaks… well except for the two of you.

With heavy breaths, heaving chests, and sweat shining on your bodies, you and Joshua lie in a small bed within a room from the Dalimil Inn recovering from the passionate love-making you both endured. Your trip to Dalimil was supposed to be short-lived as you both are trying to make it north to the Isles of Ark to meet with Prince Dion. However, the tension between the two of you had finally come to its breaking point and the most passionate, intimate sex you have ever had began and lasted until the dead of night.

The bed creaks as Joshua moves to his side and you feel him get close to you, a hand placing itself under your left breast and lips making homage against your neck. He massages the subtle skin as he gives feather light kisses, causing you to giggle as a shiver runs down your spine. He bites down gently on the skin below your ear, causing a small yelp to leave your lips. “You are insatiable, you know that?” You breathe out, and he lets out a low chuckle into your ear. “You do this to me.” He bites down a little harder this time around, sucking and licking the spot to get another sweet sound out of you. You push him away slightly, laughing as he tries to keep his head in between your neck. “I need a break, Joshua. We’ve been at it nonstop for hours.”

He grabs the hand pushing against his chest, smirking at your struggle to get it out of his grasp. “You didn’t give me a break when I oh so kindly asked for one.” He brings your hand to his mouth, kissing your fingertips as he gauges your reaction. You scoff and sit up slightly. “Hey I gave you a cool down, and besides I did all the work that time. Give me some credit.”

Joshua shakes his head in amusement, propping himself up so his head was in his hand as his hand keeps hold of yours. “I hope you did enjoy yourself. I surely did.”

You grin, amused at his current demeanor. “Oh I most certainly did. To be honest, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

He grins as well, mischief appearing. “Didn’t have it in me to do what? To make you say my name like a prayer?” You smack his arm, a small oof leaving his lips. “You know what I mean.” You look down to his chest, focusing on the purple glow coming from it. “... but that too I suppose.”

“If it’s any consolation, I was very nervous.” You cast your eyes back at him, shock strung on your face. His eyes focus on you, the softness of his gaze making your heartbeat just a tad faster. “All I want is to love you properly, and it is my duty to ensure that you receive that love in full. If I couldn’t love you in moments of intimacy, I think I’d go mad.”

His nervous admission was precious, and it made you happy. Joshua and you have been close for so long, and to know he had felt just as nervous soothes you. You bring your hands to his forehead, brushing the strands of sweaty hair away. You then cup his cheeks and bring his head down for a gentle kiss. Leaning your head against his forehead, you let your hands travel to the beautiful hair at the nape of his neck. “I promise you I have never felt so loved in my life.” You place another kiss on his lips. “Only you can love me in the way that I need.” You kiss the apples of his cheeks. “You could never disappoint me, especially when the love I receive comes from you.” You then kiss right under his ear lobe and speak in a whisper. “And if it's any consolation, I didn’t sense your nervousness. You exude confidence.” You snicker a little bit, causing Joshua to pull away to look at you. “Especially since you tried to basically fold me in half.”

Joshua groans, and throws half his body on you, head hiding into your neck and an arm around your torso. You throw your head back into the pillow, laughing fully with your chest. Joshua lightly smacks your backside, more as a signal to quiet down as to not wake anyone rather than in embarrassment. You start wheezing as you try to calm down, the memory of Joshua trying to push your legs back against your body making it hard to. It had caused you to curse out, a muscle pulled in your thigh and him apologizing profusely as he massaged it back to good health. Looking back, you know it would be a silly memory you both could laugh at.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to.” Joshua says, his voice muffled as he buries his face deeper. “I admit I got carried away.”

You chuckle. “I know I’m flexible, just not THAT flexible.”

You feel him vibrate as his muffled laugh travels before he sits back up into his last position, only letting his hand go to the marks he had left on your neck and chest. He traces them, circling his fingertip on each hickey he had brought to light. “Maybe I really did get carried away…” You can barely hear him, his voice almost nonexistent as he mutters. “Do they hurt?”

You are taken aback, a little surprised he would even ask that given that he had a few hickeys on his neck as well and scratch marks that run along his back. Your silence convinces him and he places his hand over the mark above your collarbone, an orange glow lighting around his hand. It takes you a minute before you smack his hand away, shaking your head vigorously. “Don’t you dare try and remove the marks you blessed me with. Do you not like seeing them?”

“No, of course not.” Joshua says quickly, hand still in the air after you’d smacked it away. “I apologize for my hastiness.”

You take his hand, kissing the back of it before putting his palm against your face. “I’m in no pain, I can assure you.” Your other hand goes to trace the purplish pink blemishes on his neck, copying his earlier movements. “Would you want to get rid of yours?”

“Absolutely not.” He speaks immediately, a shiver running down his spine as you push on one of his hickeys, the ache feeling more like bliss. You hum, engaging in his reaction. You love how sensitive he is; every touch and stroke upon his body makes him squirm in your hold. It is endearing, as well as mesmerizing.

“If you keep touching me like that, you won’t be getting that break.” Joshua breathes out, both enjoying your touches and cursing you for the hold you have on him; his will being shaped by your gestures.

You feign innocence, acting like what he said didn’t have an effect on you. You continue touching his chest as the hand still holding onto his lets go to grip on his waist, squeezing his skin causing him to jolt with a gasp. “Hey!”

You laugh and continue to do it, making him laugh hysterically as you tickle him. He tries grabbing for your hand, but your previously occupied hand on his chest grabs his hands, holding onto both of them as you continue your attack. He releases grunts and is moving his body frantically to try and get away. Next thing you both know, he is on the floor.

“Oh Founder! Are you okay?” You panic, climbing off the bed to see the damage you caused.

With a sigh, Joshua smiles. “I’m alive, even after your attempt to murder me.”

“I would do no such thing!” You huff before pulling him up. You both are, once again, laying back down on the bed flat on your backs. The sleepiness is starting to set in and you can feel your eyes start to shut, when all of a sudden you feel hot air hitting your ear. You turn your head, eyes fully shut. “What?”

“Lie closer to me.”

“Our shoulders are literally touching.” You say, sleep seeping into your words.

Joshua groans. “You know what I mean. Let me hold you.”

Without a peep from you, Joshua rolls you to your side so you face him and brings you into his arms. He squeezes you to him, cradling your head in one arm and the other pushing your body into his. You groan, the heat from his body heating yours to almost unbearable lengths. “You’re too hot.”

He chuckles. “I don’t care. You are going to let me embrace you after the number you did on me.”

“I didn’t mean to push you off the bed.” You whine, kicking your feet against his legs to get back at him for his attitude.

He chuckles and reaches down to your butt, giving it a light squeeze.“I was talking about our love making but that’s a good excuse too.”

“Can I adjust at least?” You ask, already starting to shift. Joshua hums and lays on his back, letting you scoot into side. Arm around his torso and the other held close to your chest, you lay your head down against his chest. His heartbeat is steady; a calming rhythm that’s lulling you to sleep.

Joshua watches as you slip away, sweet hums vibrating from your chest as you sleep. All he can think is how pretty you look in your sleep, especially with your messy post-sex hair and slightly swollen lips. He could watch you sleep forever, but sleep was starting to take hold of him as well. He kisses your forehead, whispering a goodnight before he enters dreamland.

And you both sleep soundly as signs of life start to pick up outside; with shops getting ready for the day and the hustle and bustle of people taking the streets of Dalimil.

#joshua rosfield x reader #joshua rosfield fluff #ffxvi x reader #joshua x reader #joshua rosfield #ffxvi #my fics #final fantasy xvi #fluff

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baelonthebrave · 2 years ago

Text

'til queendom come, ch. 7

[masterlist] [Ao3] [playlist]

aemond targaryen x targaryen oc

wordcount: 10,004

ch. 7, pariah: "It is about time you young ones learned what it is to play the long game. Now is not the time for the rashness and hot blood of youth. It is time to dig in before winter and lay plans, Lady Visenya. Will you trust me on that?"

warnings: canon-typical violence, canon-typical incest, abusive parent/child relationship, nsfw/18+ in later chapters, mentions of canon sexual violence & abuse (including against minors), spoilers for HoTD/F&B

a/n: each and every ask, reply, reblog puts a gigantic grin on my face, guys, so thank you so so much! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Once the maester came to tend to her father, Sena did not waste any time in using the distraction to slip out of Dragonstone. The wind on the rolling moors before the keep’s walls was ice cold and it penetrated Sena’s dress like so many knives. She wrapped her arms around herself, her splinted one still aching angrily, and carried on up the incline to the smoking home of her family’s dragons.

The tunnel she found was a familiar one, and the skeletal remains of fish and seabirds littered the floor as she retreated into the cave. It was dark. So dark. And cold. The blackness was only broken by a thin few shafts of light penetrating the ceiling. She usually would have asked Grey Ghost for light, but she did not find him there. He was not coiled in the cavern, dozing safely and happily, knowing as sure as the sun rises in the east that it was only his master who approached him. His master, his only friend, who would never let harm come to him.

Sena’s chest started to constrict and spasm and she threw her weight down onto the cavern floor.

The sobs started wracking her body like they were being drawn from the depths of her stomach, the marrow of her bones. Her throat felt raw and her cheeks stung as she swiped at them angrily. She could not draw breath, could do nothing but gasp and pray desperately to every God she knew of that she would find air. The sounds that were shredding their way out of her throat echoed off of the rocks around her and bounced back to her ears like the wails of a ghost.

Maybe she was a ghost, doomed to haunt this smoking isle forever, lonely and lost. Try as she might to pretend otherwise, she was still little more than that sad child who fifteen years ago had wandered off into the hills, searching for a fabled dragon of the fisherfolk who was as alone in the world as she was.

The last few moons were nought but a bleak blur in her head. It had been savage blow after savage blow. Aemond, her poor, sweet uncle, Aegon’s crowning, Luke, Grey Ghost… and now this.

She had promised Jaehaerys they would race his uncle and sister on her own Grey Ghost. Now… now Aemond seemed an entire world away, and Grey Ghost was dead at her hands, and poor Jaehaerys. It did not bare thinking about. A tiny blood-soaked body… Helaena screaming.

Sena hit her hands off of the cave floor until they were raw and bleeding. She screamed and screamed until her voice failed her, throwing every rock and shard of bone she could lay her hands on, listening to them ricochet in the dark.

Her father.

The wet arc of his blood spattered across the front of her gown.

The split in her lip that leaked her own blood onto her tongue. The aching of her jaw where her father had struck her.

She needed to move. The castle garrison would come looking for her soon, once Prince Daemon was bandaged. When they asked the guards on the walls and found out she’d made for the Dragonmont, the empty haunt of her lost dragon would be the first place they checked. She had to move.

The only problem was that she could not see anything. Her hands were aching, her left arm had lost much of its sensation, and she was desperately cold, shivering even as she dragged in ice cold air like a dying man. Was this how Grey Ghost had always felt, like he was stumbling around in the dark? This was how she had killed him, flying him into a storm and taking his sight from him.

She got to her feet shakily. The cold air of the Dragonmont felt like knives in her chest. She needed to find somewhere safe to hide, somewhere in the smoking hill. Somewhere closer to the molten veins, far from the surface, far from where the Queen’s guards could find her.

Would she hang for it, she wondered? What sentence would the Queen pass down for an attempt on her consort’s life? Hanging was probably too kind - if they did it right, it would snap her neck and end it all instantly. No, her father would not like that. Maybe it would be Caraxes? The Blood Wyrm would do it, certainly - he held no love for her, did not even tolerate her like Vhagar did. But then, her father’s words rung in her head like a struck bell. He had no intention of wiping her from the face of the earth until he had first hurt her each way he could.

She would not be a prisoner until that day came, she decided.

The floor of the Dragonmont was uneven and slippy beneath her feet, damp in the cool air of the nearing winter. Her cotton dress and shift were like a paper shield against the penetrating cold, so she pushed forward, up the connecting passage and deeper into the heart of the hillside. She felt her away along the wall, probing carefully with her feet before her with every step so as not to be caught unawares by a sudden drop. Meagre sunlight broke up the darkness when it could, but she was mainly on her own, her eyes straining for any kind of guidance.

It was while she fumbled in the dark that she first heard a low growl. Fuck. She was just trying to find warmth, light, not step on the tail of a sleeping dragon-

The grumble grew louder and she crouched into the wall, as if it could give her any cover. It had to be one of the bigger dragons she had stumbled across, as the sound was distant and echoing, like it was coming from overhead. Not Syrax, Vermax or Tyraxes. She winced. Maybe Caraxes was about to put a swift end to her after all. “Lyks,” she hissed urgently. “Lyks. Lykiri.” Peace. Calm down. She crouched down before the beast, making herself small, willing the racing of her heart to slow.

The dragon did not set fire to her, at least. Not straight away. Recognising its own tongue, the blood of the dragon, the way she was only sitting somewhere close by and not actively trying to come nearer, was enough to get the beast to settle some.

Sena let out a long breath and calmed her racing heart. “Nyke jeldan naejot sagon mērī,” she said, I wanted to be alone. “Kesan daor jenigon ao.” I will not bother you.

The dragon grumbled its assent. The cavern was warmer, at least, with the great beast’s breath filling the air, and Sena felt her shivers subside as she set herself down on the stone. The floor radiated a little heat, closer to the glowing heart of the Dragonmont. She could stay here - for awhile, at least.

She focused on her breathing. In and out. That was it. That was all she had to do.

-----

Sena had no idea how long it was before she heard boots approaching and distant calls of “Lady Visenya?” Men’s voices. More than one. The castle garrison. As soon as the dragon she shared her cavern with heard, it shifted in the dark and growled, low and menacing.

The steps in the hallway faltered. “Careful,” one man hissed to another. “That one doesn’t sound friendly.”

“We have to find her,” the companion hissed. “We can’t go back to the Queen empty-handed.”

“We won’t go back to the Queen at all if we get torched.”

The second man made a sound and said, “C’mon, then, craven. We’ll look for her elsewhere.”

The footsteps retreated again.

Sena could feel the dragon’s gaze on her, the beast’s steady breathing causing her skirts to ruffle a little. She hoped the beast would not decide her to be more hassle than she was worth and just torch her there and then.

It wasn’t until many hours later that she heard someone approaching again. She’d been passing in and out of a light sleep, her thoughts exhausting her and her stomach starting to growl. But she heard light feet on the hallway she had come down, and the dragon sharing the cavern stirred once more, growling at the incomer.

“Lykiri,” came a woman’s voice. “Nyke māzigon isse lyks.” I come in peace.

The woman bore a torch, and blinding light flickered across Sena’s field of vision for the first time in hours. She flinched and averted her eyes. Gods, could no one in this damned family leave well enough alone?

Princess Rhaenys stood at the mouth of the cavern, her eyes catching on Sena’s crouched form with an unreadable look on her face. “There you are, my lady,” she said. “You’ve had the entire castle garrison and all the family scouring Dragonstone for you all day.”

Sena gritted her teeth at the idea of Jace, Baela and Rhaena knowing what she had done and being made to search the entire isle for her. “The dragon kept the garrison away.’

“He could do that, yes,” the Princess raised her torch, and the light caught on a truly fearsome beast, bronze in colour and twice the size of Sena’s Grey Ghost. The dragon peered at Rhaenys through a slit of eyelid, then lay his head down to go back to sleep, unbothered by the intrusion. “He was my grandfather’s mount, once upon a time. I flew across the realm upon Meleys with him on a royal progress, when I was a young woman. The same progress where I told my grandfather I intended to marry Lord Corlys.”

Sena gazed up at the bronze beast in wonder. “Vermithor?” She breathed. The name was like legend in her family. The mount of her great-grandfather, Jaehaerys I, the progenitor of all living Targaryens and the greatest King their House had put on the Iron Throne. The King who seized back power and restored order to the Seven Kingdoms after his father’s throne was usurped by Maegor the Cruel. The Conciliator. It had been Vermithor who bore Jaehaerys I across the realm, from the North to the Stormlands, cowed his enemies and sired clutches of eggs that had birthed many of their current dragons.

Rhaenys had a wistful look in her eye. “Those were better days,” she said, and looked down at where Sena still huddled on the cavern floor. “If you had told me then as a young woman that my good, kind Uncle and bawdy, courageous Aunt would sire a man like your father… I would have been too naive to believe you.”

Daemon never told her about her grandfather and grandmother, Baelon the Brave and Princess Alyssa. Truthfully, she thought he struggled to speak of them. Childbirth scared her father - he had not been with Rhaenyra through any of her births after losing both his mother and his second wife to the birthing bed. And if someone who seemed so destined for greatness as her grandfather Baelon could die of something as menial as a burst belly… she sometimes thought it had put a recklessness in her father, a distaste for patience, reserve, morality. He could die at any moment and it weighed on his mind constantly. It made him dangerous. “So you’re not here to drag me back to Dragonstone and clap me in chains then?”

Rhaenys gave her a wry look. “If I was, I wouldn’t waste time by standing here talking to you, girl,” she said. “Your father has left for his troops in the Riverlands. The Queen commanded him to stay and heal, but he is as wilful as he is foolish.”

“’Twas only a letter opener,” Sena said darkly, “he’ll live.”

“I can’t decide if you meant to kill him or not. Lord Corlys thinks you did. My grandchildren think you did not.”

“I knew I couldn’t. Like I said, it was only a letter opener. I just… wanted him to feel the fear he inflicts on others,” Sena said, rubbing at her eyes with the backs of her hands. There were still specks of blood on them, she noted with a grim smile. “So I guess there isn’t an answer to your question.”

Rhaenys nodded, as if that was answer enough. “Are you going to come back down to the keep for supper and a salve on that bruise or shall I have to send your sisters up with a plate?” She asked. “The Queen will not punish you tonight. The immediate threat to Daemon’s life is over and I do not think she would wish to lose the loyalty of any more dragonriders.”

Sena looked at her, really looked at her. Took in the snow white streaks in her hair and the fine lines on her face. She envied the Princess her wisdom, she realised with a pang. She envied the assuredness and the strength that Rhaenys walked through the world with. The kind of certainty you only get from having your world fall to pieces and putting it back together many times over the years. The assuredness that nothing in life was unsalvageable if you knew how to pick through the rubble. Sena did not know if she was strong enough to make it as far as the Princess had, not if her next twenty years were to be anything like her first. “Am I supposed to just go back to normal? Pretend nothing’s happened?” She asked and her voice was hoarse from the screaming.

“No,” the Princess said, shaking her head. “I am not asking you to do that. But it is about time you young ones learned what it is to play the long game. You will not get your revenge today, my lady… or tomorrow, or in the next moon, or maybe even next year. Now is not the time for the rashness and hot blood of youth - you tried that today and it failed spectacularly. It is time to dig in before winter and lay plans, Lady Visenya. Will you trust me on that?”

Sena considered her and thought about it. It was true, rashness had not prevailed today. Her father was still breathing and more livid than ever, even if he had run off to the continent to lick his wounds. She also knew she had lost much of her favour with the Queen. Not that she could truly care who liked her, not while Helaena was leagues away, drowning in agony and grief. But if she wanted to stop this war, wanted to stop the pain, the death, wanted to right the wrongs that had been done to her and the people she loved… she sighed. “I guess I had best keep my strength up, if it’s the long game we’re playing,” she said and pushed herself up from the ground, a little wobbly.

Rhaenys gave her the barest hint of a smile. “Now you’re getting it.”

After that day, Rhaenyra was loathe to be in Sena’s presence. Whether it was fear or anger or shame, Sena did not know. But truthfully, she did not mind. She too could not stand to be in the presence of a Queen who either had not known that Daemon had set his eyes on Prince Jaehaerys or had elected to ignore it. So Sena trained instead, and helped train Jace and Joffrey and Baela, and wandered the Dragonmont when she needed some quiet, some time alone. And with every meal and prayer and parry and heartbeat, she thought of Helaena.

Helaena, Alicent, Aegon, Daeron… Aemond.

The maester to her father’s army reported his swift recovery. Targaryen blood burned out infection better than all others and she had clearly missed everything vital. Sena made a grim mental note to herself to study the veins and arteries of the neck when she got the chance.

Harrenhal fell quickly to Prince Daemon’s burning wrath, and by all reports it set the green council ablaze. Ser Otto Hightower was dismissed from the Tower of the Hand, with Ser Criston Cole taking up his office and the Usurper’s armies being ordered to march. It seemed the war of words was well and truly over, and the storm of swords was about to begin.

It was the day that Maester Gerardys removed the splint from Sena’s arm and she was testing out her healed arm that a new line of dominoes began to fall. She had managed to dress herself and was overjoyed at being able to wear her favourite gowns again when her handmaiden, Sophey interrupted her. “Pardon me, m’lady, but the Queen is requesting your presence at the war table.”

Sena looked up, shocked. “Are you sure?” She asked Sophey and the doe-eyed girl nodded hurriedly. What could Rhaenyra possibly want with her at the war table? She had not spoken to Sena in two long moons and this was how she chose to break the silence? “Okay,” Sena nodded stiffly. “I’ll be right behind you.”

When she entered the makeshift throne room in Dragonstone’s great hall, she curtseyed low to the Queen. Rhaenyra was more gaunt than the last time Sena had seen her, clearly was not sleeping well, and let Sena stay crouched in a curtsey for a moment, seemingly deciding whether or not to relieve her legs. “Rise,” she commanded eventually, coldly, and Sena’s thighs burned with relief as she followed the order.

Around the war table, the Queen, Prince Jacaerys, Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys were focused on the small corner of the map they currently stood in, the mouth of Blackwater Bay. Sena could see black dragons on Dragonstone, Driftmark and Harrenhal, showing their forces, and a green dragon advancing up the coast. “What news do we have?” She asked, drawing close to the table to observe the troop positions.

“Duskendale has been sacked,” Lord Corlys said, “with heavy casualties for us and the death of a member of the Queen’s black council. Now, Ser Criston Cole lays siege to Rook’s Rest, and Lord Staunton is asking for our aid.” He slid the letter across the table to Sena, who took it up to read it.

Some 3000 knights, men-at-arms and sellswords at the gates of a town garrisoned by a hundred men, and that was not even considering the usurper-king on dragonback. It did not look good for Lord Staunton. “Then we should send dragonriders. The greens are attacking our declared allies to prevent further defection in the Reach, the Riverlands, the Crownlands. If we are to gain more supporters, we must defend the ones we already have.”

“Our allies?” The Queen bit out. “You still count yourself amongst our number after making an attempt on the life of your Queen’s consort, your own father?”

“Mother,” Jace warned in a stiff tone.

“It’s alright, Jace,” Sena placated him with a small smile. He looked so grown, standing there in his fine wool and steel, his brow adorned with a circlet. “It seems as though I’m here because you are asking me for help. Is that right?” She asked the Queen, who looked away from her with a flicker of rage.

Lord Corlys seemed to be suppressing a weary sigh when he said, “Yes, my lady.”

“What do you want from me?” She asked and eyed Princess Rhaenys. She remembered her words in the Dragonmont that day - that it was time to dig in and lay plans. Sena would not end this war today or tomorrow, as much as she might wish it. But if she was to have any hand in it coming to an end sooner rather than later - fuck whoever sat on the damnable throne in the end - it was high time she rolled her sleeves up and started incurring favours and loyalties.

Princess Rhaenys gave her a knowing smirk, and Sena felt a burst of pride. It was high time she sharpened up and learned to play. Aemond would be proud. “We think it is time you claimed another dragon and joined me in defending Rook’s Rest.”

Sena raised her eyebrows and looked to Lord Corlys, who was clearly in on the plan, eyeing his wife. The Queen was stoney faced, and Jace seemed even less pleased. “Do we have a shortage of dragonriders on Dragonstone?” Sena asked, a little perplexed.

Jace frowned unhappily and was ready to speak up when his mother silenced him with a hand. The Queen met Sena’s gaze. “Baela’s Moondancer is much too young to go to war. Rhaena has no dragon, no experience as a dragonrider and I will not put my sons into the monstrous paths of my half-brothers again. Nor will I risk making them orphans by going myself.” The implication that by comparison Sena was expendable was clear.

“I also have no dragon,” Sena said. He died, trying to save your son, she longed to say. “Aegon’s beast is young, still not so large. Smaller than my Grey Ghost. The Red Queen is more than a match, Princess,” she told Rhaenys.

“Nothing is ever so certain when dragons dance, my lady,” Rhaenys said grimly. “If we can stack the deck in our favour, we ought to. Make a decisive victory of it and shatter Cole’s advance.”

Sena considered it. “What dragon did you have in mind?” She asked. “We have a number of riderless ones. Will it be a case of wandering the Dragonmont like it is the Street of Silk until one takes a liking to me?” She got a hint of a smile out of Jace at that.

“I think one already has,” Princess Rhaenys said dryly. She was a somewhat humourless woman, Sena thought, and found she liked that about her. “My grandfather’s mount is not a kindly beast. He is ferocious, only tolerates my presence because I have been around him and pulling at his tail since I was out of swaddling clothes.” Lord Corlys looked a little horrified at that, as members of other houses were wont to when they heard of children playing with dragons. “The fact that he did not eat you that day I found you in his cavern is enough indication to me that you could be a good match.”

Sena thought of the gigantic beast, the colour of beaten bronze, large enough to ride a horse down his gullet, and shivered. “Just because he liked me enough not to make a meal of me does not mean he will let me ride him or command him,” she said. “Even if he did, we would need time to bond so I could control him. Time we do not have. I will not have a repeat of what happened above Storm’s End.”

Princess Rhaenys, Lord Corlys and Jace all stiffened at the mere mention of Storm’s End, and the implication that it had not been entirely under Prince Aemond’s control. It was so much easier to hate him, call him One-Eye and kinslayer if they could believe him to be evil to the core. But for the love she still bore the Prince, Sena would not have it. The Queen glared at her. “On the contrary, that might be exactly what we need. Put an end to the Usurper and I’ll make you rich beyond your wildest dreams.”

“I do not see what that would achieve,” Sena said coldly, her tongue dripping with acid. “I am already rich, and Aegon has heirs… unless we were planning on murdering Aegon’s other infant son, as well.”

Queen Rhaenyra gripped the model black dragon in her hand hard enough to splinter and clenched her jaw. “If that’s what it takes,” she said, but it sounded weak to Sena’s ears, like she could not bring herself to mean it.

Rhaenys looked like she was stifling an eye roll at their dramatics. “This war will not be ended by cutting off a single head, for two more will always grow in its place,” she said plainly. “We need to do this with force, with decisiveness. And with unity.”

Sena sighed and looked across the table at her cousin. Rhaenyra looked tired and broken. “If my Queen will have me, I will join this fight, Princess.”

Rhaenyra looked up at her from across the table and her expression was conflicted. So vengeful, and yet Sena thought faintly that it was not directed at her. She was just unlucky enough to be close at hand, catching the brunt of it. “I will have you,” Rhaenyra breathed, and Princess Rhaenys gave a barely audible sigh of relief.

Sena nodded at her cousin, then looked down at her dress. “I guess I had better go change, then.”

-----

The morning was brisk as Sena pulled her dragon-hide gloves into place. The leather under her chainmail felt strange on her body, too stiff, too new. The armour was an inky black and her breastplate was emblazoned with the crest of her family, a crimson three-headed dragon reaching for its own tail. As she stalked up the incline to the Dragonmont, she prayed to every god who would listen that Vermithor would be in a pliant mood.

Thrice. That was how many times she had ridden Vermithor so far. She could barely even work the chains on his saddle that kept him from throwing her midair. But needs must, and Rook’s Rest was in distress, so she was approaching the great bronze dragon with trepidation in her chest, ready to meet Rhaenys and Meleys on the cliffside.

Vermithor surveyed her with amber eyes as she entered his dwelling. He was still young enough not to be as sluggish as Vhagar and that made her even more nervous, being surveyed by a dragon big enough to swallow her whole, nimble enough to catch her off her guard and interested enough to bother doing it. “Lykiri,” she commanded as Vermithor’s tail flicked with irritation at being disturbed once again. It had been some five-and-twenty years since the Old King’s death, and Vermithor had grown used to being his own master. “Dohaerās.”

The dragon did not seem pleased to see her but did not protest as she started the long clamber up his wing and onto his back. As soon as she brought him back from Rook’s Rest, she would be adding some sort of ladder to his saddle, but there was no time for that now. With a grunt, she jumped and caught the stirrup and back of the saddle with her hand and elbow, and her left arm twinged as she dragged herself up. Undignified, but worth it to be riding one of the largest dragons her House had ever hatched. That was, if she could control him and not accidentally set a killing machine on the people of Rook’s Rest. She had some comfort in the fact that Vermithor was familiar with Rhaenys and Meleys - at least they would be safe from whatever carnage she unwittingly unleashed.

The ground shook as Vermithor moved, and he clawed his way forward, out of his cavern and onto the side of the Dragonmont. When he met the fresh sea air, he let free a deafening roar that almost had Sena clapping her hands over her ears. She hurriedly fastened the saddle chains to her armour before he could take flight and throw her off with a well-timed flick of his tail. “Gīda,” she commanded the beast. Calm. Whatever good that would do.

Above her on the side of the Dragonmont, Sena saw the vibrant red of Meleys emerging from her cave and a sharp salute from the Princess. “Are you ready?” Rhaenys bellowed down the hillside.

“As I’ll ever be,” Sena gritted out below her breath. Then, “Sōvēs,” she commanded the dragon in a strong tone, and the bronze giant lurched forward. His size meant he was not so manoeuvrable as Grey Ghost, and instead used the sea cliffs to drop off of to take to the air. Sena’s heart lurched every time he did it, pitching them both over the edge and letting them fall for seconds that felt like hours. Then, with a solid, swooping beat of his wings, they would soar up, up into the clouds.

Meleys followed behind her on the wind as Sena turned Vermithor due west. It would not be a long flight - as they climbed into the sky, she could practically see Rook’s Rest on the horizon - but every moment, her heart was in her throat.

It was bizarre, to ride a dragon this large. Larger than her father’s own Caraxes, larger than Syrax and Vermax put together. Vermithor’s wings covered vast swaths of the bay, blotting entire islands from Sena’s view, and sometimes, when she pulled at him or bellowed commands, she felt like she was trying to reign in a glacier, so vast and uncaring was the beast.

She could do this, though. She needed to believe it. If she was to have any chance at putting a stop to this bloodshed and torment, she would need to be riding a dragon like Vermithor. The only thing her family ever bowed to, the thing they had been wielding as a weapon for more than a century now was the pure, unadulterated power given to them by their dragons. Without them, they were nothing.

After some time in the air, with Meleys close behind, Rook’s Rest drew closer until it was beneath them. From here, Sena could see the town’s walls and the thousands of soldiers marshalled outside, laying siege and blockading every road in and out.

Trying out her control of him, she commanded Vermithor lower and he swooped down over the King’s army. She squinted her eyes and could make out dragon banners, mounted knights, men at arms. Everyone had stopped what they were doing and turned to the sky to watch the two dragons circling overhead, one a vicious red and the other monstrously large. Sena’s breath caught in her throat when she laid eyes on Sunfyre - proclaimed to be the most beautiful dragon to have ever lived. He was a fine beast and shone like beaten gold against the burnt ground he coiled on, watching his kin circle above him with lazy interest.

Sena sighed and commanded Vermithor down to land in the town square. It was barely big enough - she gritted her teeth as smallfolk rushed out of the way and Vermithor’s tail knocked the top of the spire off of a sept, but she was suddenly surrounded by gasps of relief and cheering, so she guessed she was forgiven.

She met Lord Staunton in his keep with Princess Rhaenys. He was beyond relieved to see them - the people of Rook’s Rest would have needed to start slaughtering the horses to keep eating if relief had not arrived soon, he informed them. “Relief is here,” Princess Rhaenys said, standing tall in her armour and doing her best to calm him.

There was little to be done to calm anyone when the letter from the encampment outside arrived, however.

Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men and Protector of the Realm requests the presence of the Bronze Dragon at parlay. In one hour, a pavilion will be erected before the gates of Rook’s Rest. Guest right will provided in the form of bread and salt so that negotiations may proceed peacefully and safely for all parties.

The Bronze Dragon. Sena gripped the letter in her hands and nodded at Rhaenys. It had been what they wanted. They had hoped that Vermithor’s mere presence would be enough to scare off the enemy and end the siege without blood being shed. She could only hope that Aegon would be smart about this. “I will go-“

“I will come with you, my lady,” Princess Rhaenys said firmly. Sena’s pride smarted at that. The Princess caught her look and sighed. “I mean no offence but in these matters, you remain as green as grass.”

Sena set her jaw, knowing that Rhaenys meant it in more ways than one.

Within the hour, a pavilion was hastily erected before the town gates, and Sena and Rhaenys approached under a peace banner. Their dragons stayed inside the town but the women remained armed for their own protection.

Sena ducked under the tent flap and came face to face with Aegon and Ser Criston for the first time in many moons. Aegon could not be said to look kingly - he was as gaunt and tired-looking as ever - but he was still the handsome lad she remembered and he sent her a menacing grin. Ser Criston nodded his head at her but showed little warmth despite knowing her from girlhood. The badge of his new office shimmered on his cloak.

Both men were less impressed when Rhaenys followed behind her. Aegon huffed and poured them wine, which they hastily ignored in favour of the bread and salt Ser Criston pushed towards them across the table. Sena chewed at the dry heel of loaf the enemy had scrounged up and grimaced at the salt on her tongue. Aegon might have been enough of a cur to not care for the symbolic protection of guest right, but Ser Criston was nothing if not a stickler for the rules. When it suited him, at least.

“What is the meaning of this?” Rhaenys asked as soon as she had swallowed her own guest right.

It was Aegon who spoke, leaning forward in his seat. He shone from neck to toe in polished plate, his circlet of Valyrian steel and rubies nestled in his silver blonde hair and the other ancestral blade of their house hung at his hip. Sena was not fooled. It would take more than Blackfyre and the crown of the Conqueror to make Aegon a King. “We simply wish to give you an opportunity to turn tail and leave before things get… messy,” he said with his familiar lilting smirk.

“It’s more than you gave Prince Jaehaerys,” Criston cut in, surveying them both stonily.

Sena clenched her jaw and Rhaenys balked at that, going pale in the face and rounding on Aegon. “If it is mercy you speak of, what sort of mercy did your mad dog of a brother show my grandson?” She spat.

Aegon grinned at the mere reminder of Lucerys’s fate and it only set Rhaenys further on edge, reaching for the hilt of her blade. Sena laid a hand on her arm to stop her, trying to catch her gaze with a glare. Where were her lectures about rashness and hot blood now? Was it just that she did not know Aegon? Did not know how purely aggravating and contemptuous he could be?

But it was Ser Criston who spoke up, cutting through the thick tension between the Princess and the would-be King. “Careful, Princess. You speak of someone who is very dear to all those around you,” he said, and Sena glared at him, her cheeks flaring with shame.

Aegon looked at her and smirked at the embarrassment on her face. “Everyone knows, goodsister. It’s alright.”

“Shut it,” she snapped at him and Gods, if she could only reach across the table between them and clobber him with his own crown.

Ser Criston was not looking at her, though, and addressed the Princess. “We are willing to incur what casualties we must to raze Rook’s Rest to the ground, Princess. It would certainly show your allies how little the support of their so-called Queen is worth. You need only look outside this pavilion to see we are equipped to accomplish this,” he said. He crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed Princess Rhaenys with a hard look. “Of course, neither of us truly desires a battle where considerable life will be lost, and potentially another dragon. We would like to discuss the terms of a mutual retreat, if that is amenable.”

Sena looked at Ser Criston in confusion as he rounded the table. Mutual retreat? What in the name of the Gods was this about? It made no sense. Ser Criston offered to escort Princess Rhaenys from the tent, and rage flared inside Sena. The disrespect of it all, speaking as if she was not there-

Once they had left the tent however, Aegon turned to Sena, furious, and it all became a little clearer. “Why did you bring her? I asked for you and you alone.”

Sena rolled her eyes. It was all a ploy. “Do you think I can command her about like a servant? Do you truly think I got a choice in the matter, fool?”

Aegon scowled at her. “It’s King Fool to you.”

“Fine then, King Fool. Do you care to explain to me what in the seven hells this parlay is about? You don’t truly expect me to believe you would give up so easily, or expect us to,” she said, leaning over him where he sat.

Aegon considered her for a second, clearly trying to come up with some pithy response. He eventually realised where he was, though and that time was of the essence. He cut to the chase. “He won’t fight you.”

“Who?”

Aegon screwed up his face like he was talking with a simpleton. “Gods, Visenya, who do you think?”

Her brow shot up. “Aem-“

King Fool stood up swiftly and slapped a gloved hand over her mouth, eyeing the tent flap where Ser Criston and Princess Rhaenys had been moments earlier. “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed.

Sena’s blood thundered in her ears. “He’s here?”

“Yes,” he nodded and her heart swooped, suddenly turning her head this way and that like Aemond was going to materialise in the corner of the pavilion or pop out from under the table. “This was a trap for Meleys, but even my clever brother did not think to anticipate you swooping in on the second largest dragon in the known world. You really ought to have words with him - underestimating you like that shows a certain lack of respect, no?”

“Aegon,” she hissed, willing him to focus.

“Right,” he said, conceding with a nod. “So we’re at a stalemate. He does not wish to fight you - I think the whole nearly killing you the first time thing is weighing on him, y’know? And if I know this ridiculous little lovesick dance of yours well enough by now, I know you do not wish to fight him. So what does that leave us with?”

Sena thought about it for a second, leaning down to the table to cradle her head in her hands. Aemond was here. He was near her, near enough to talk to, near enough to explain, near enough to babble apologies, touch, kiss until they were drunk on each other. “We both go home,” she breathed. The thought was agonising. “Aemond goes to King’s Landing, I go to Dragonstone.” And in the ensuing battle, Meleys would snap Sunfyre’s neck, she thought grimly.

“No way,” Aegon waggled a finger at her. “Not good enough, goodsister. I would like to propose you and Princess Rhaenys turn around and go home and leave us to Rook’s Rest. No bloodshed, no sad ballads to be written about star crossed lovers dying on each other’s swords today.”

She scowled at him and looked around her. “Where is he? You can’t expect me to stand here and have this conversation with King Fool. Gods, even Cole would be better.”

“No,” Aegon snapped, his expression gone hard and he looked so like his little brother in that moment that Sena’s heart leapt to her throat. “You don’t get to speak to him. You don’t get to bat your eyelashes at him and say pretty please, none of that shit. You are going to turn around, go and explain to our sweet cousin Rhaenys that the largest dragon alive is sat behind a hill five leagues away, and go home. You won’t win this fight, Sena. And I know you think I don’t care about this family, but I won’t watch my brother destroy himself by killing you.”

“I can’t, Aegon,” she hissed, her throat burning. “I can’t counsel retreat. Don’t you think they already mistrust me enough, for how I love your sister? For how I feel about your brother? If I turn tail now, my own father will take it as a betrayal and slit my throat in my sleep.”

Aegon looked as though he could not care less. “Not my problem, sweet Sena,” he said. “You could have switched sides anytime you liked… you still can.”

Sena ignored that vehemently, blazing right past it. “And what if we hold fast? What if you turn around and go home?”

“We don’t go home,” he said. He was growing weary of this now, his expression sullen. “There will be a fight if you do not retreat, Sena. And Aemond is dutiful, he will do what I command of him and turn Vhagar against you if he must. I don’t want that to happen, but the alternative is giving up the crown and losing my fucking head. Not just mine, all of our heads.”

Sena leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “I guess we’re at an impasse, then.”

Aegon shook his head at her in disbelief. “Trust my brother to love the most stubborn fool in the Seven Kingdoms. It seems we are, Sena.”

She surveyed him. The armour that was tailored to him perfectly but still did not seem to fit, the crown that was seemingly causing his neck to buckle under the weight. She eyed Blackfyre on his sword belt. Could think of few people in her family less suited to wield it. “I’ll speak to Rhaenys,” she said at long last. “If I can convince her to retreat, you will have my word by daybreak tomorrow.”

Aegon nodded his acquiescence and sunk deep into his chair, raising his goblet to take a long gulp of wine. “Think about it carefully, Sena. And I meant what I said. Whatever you feel towards me, there will always be a place for a stubborn bitch with a big dragon in my army.”

Sena shook her head at him and turned to leave. She paused at the tent entrance though, and her heart stuttered in her chest. She could not stop herself saying it. “I’m sorry,” she said, “about your son. He was a sweet boy.”

Aegon’s petulant manor froze and his jaw went tight. “Why are you sorry? You didn’t kill him,” he said, and she could hear a quiver in his voice.

“I’m sorry it has come to this, Aegon,” she said softly.

He frowned down into his lap and the crown slipped deeper down his brow. “So am I.”

Sena braced herself with a breath. “How is Helaena?”

But Aegon wasn’t having it. He shook his head at her. “You have made your choice, Sena. I think you have lost the right to ask me about her.”

“Aegon-“ she said with a pang in her chest, but he cut her off.

“Good day, Lady Visenya. Consider my terms carefully.”

-----

“There is not a decision to be made,” was Rhaenys’s answer to Aegon’s proposal over supper that night. They had been given Lord Staunton’s private dining room, and a fire crackled low in the grate, their food barely touched. Sena felt guilty for wasting what was already in short supply, but her gut was churning so much it was unthinkable to eat. “We must stand and fight.”

Sena dragged her hands through her hair with a weary sigh. “It’s not truly a decision, is it? If we turn back now, we’ve as good as lost this war. Our lives will be forfeit.” What hope did they have of suing for peace if their allies saw their words meant nothing? What leverage would they have to stop Aegon storming Dragonstone and putting them all to the sword? “And if we fight… the odds are about as even as they’re ever like to be.”

“Even? We’re still a hundred against an army.”

“The real battle is the one in the air, you know that,” Sena said, eyeing Rhaenys. Their family’s battles were fought and won with their dragons - the Conquerors had shown what little use men-at-arms were against the winged wyrms of Old Valyria.

“So it is the dragon battle you’re concerned about?” Rhaenys asked and Sena knew that was what she had been probing at all along.

Sena narrowed her eyes. “I would be a fool not to be concerned about it. I ride a dragon I have no bond with against two of my cousins, one of whom rides Vhagar.”

“It is not Vhagar you are worried about, though, is it?” Rhaenys said, leaning back in her seat and holding her wine goblet close. She surveyed Sena with hard eyes, and the words caught in Sena’s throat. Rhaenys sighed. “You shall take Vermithor against Sunfyre and I shall take Meleys against Vhagar. Do you think you can do that?”

Sena raised an eyebrow. “With all due respect, Princess, I don’t think that is a fight you can win.” There were few dragons alive who could hope to survive a bout with Vhagar and at first glance, Sena would not put Meleys among them.

“You give me little choice, Visenya,” she said, and pushed her chair back with a scrape. She composed herself and went to leave, the matter having been decided.

“If it was Lord Corlys,” Sena said, stopping Princess Rhaenys in her tracks. “If you found yourself on opposing sides with the Sea Snake, could you truly meet him in battle?”

Rhaenys turned back to her and gave her a pitying look. “If what you feel for that brute is a shadow of what I feel for Lord Corlys… you are truly lost, Visenya,” she said, and Sena’s heart plummeted. The elder woman sighed, not uncaring. “And truthfully, I do not know what you are doing here.”

Neither did Sena.

Daybreak came and went, with no peace signed.

It was midday by the time Aegon’s vanguard made to breach the gates. Lord Staunton’s men held it valiantly and defended their position, but the two dragonriders knew that their time had come. With a nod to Rhaenys and a prayer to the Gods, Sena took to the skies upon Vermithor. No sooner had she chained herself to his saddle than she caught sight of Sunfyre rising with her, a brilliant gold-and-pink blur against the sky. She set her sights on her target and steadied herself.

It was only when she saw Vhagar’s monstrous form looming in the distance that dread flooded through her like ice water.

As Vhagar drew closer and Meleys circled above her, Sena suddenly knew for certain that this did not bode well for Rhaenys. Meleys was not a small beast by any measure, but Vhagar loomed nearly twice as large.

Before she could intercede though, Sunfyre was tackling Vermithor and the battle in the sky begun. It was as though the brothers could read her mind exactly and knew they needed to divert her to give Aemond a chance to take down Rhaenys.

But Sena forced it all from her mind for now and focused on her own battle. Vermithor was new to her, did not know her well enough. That coupled with Sena’s own gnawing uncertainty was enough to draw the fight between Vermithor and Sunfyre nearly equal as Meleys and Vhagar clashed behind her.

Sunfyre banked and rolled, resplendent in the high noon, missing Vermithor’s gnashing teeth by the breadth of a scale every time. Sena could hear Aegon laughing. Could hear the howls of Vhagar and Meleys tearing at each other on the wind.

Gods be good, if this was the end, she wasn’t going to die fighting Aegon.

Sena directed Vermithor for one more wild snatch, letting Aegon become complacent and arrogant, as he was wont to do. He was a lazy swordsman, and even bearing Blackfyre, he could not make up for the fact that his next move shone on his face like a lit beacon in winter snow. The same principle seemed to carry over into his dragonriding. Sena and Vermithor came around on Sunfyre and Aegon one more time, and, at the most logical moment for the larger dragon to dip and lunge, she screamed “Navemanon!” into the wind. Vermithor hesitated - it was not a Valyrian command, not even a word in their tongue, but it sounded enough like it to Aegon and it worked beautifully, because whilst her dragon was confused and trying to work out what she wanted him to do, Aegon turned his entire head to the right. There. “Nābēmagon, Vermithor! Paktot!” Attack, Vermithor! Right! And as Aegon feinted right to dodge the first, false attack, Vermithor lunged with him and clamped his teeth down into Sunfyre’s wing.

The scream from the golden dragon was piercing, and it was all Sena could do not to let go to cover her ears. Vermithor gave one good shake of his head, shredding the membranes of Sunfyre’s wing, and the King’s dragon screamed, spewing flames back at Vermithor. But Vermithor was too large, his scales too thick, and with a sharp “Dracarys!” from Sena, he caught the King’s dragon in a blast of his own flame. Sunfyre roared and began to wheel desperately in circles, only born aloft on one good wing. Sena commanded Vermithor to bank so they could take a final swipe and be done with Aegon for the time being, but there was no need, as the King’s dragon was falling from the sky at speed.

That was when she caught sight of Vhagar raking her claws down Meleys’s back in the distance. There was an almighty roar from the Red Queen as steaming blood began to spurt from the wound. “No! No!” Sena screamed. Aemond would not add another dragon or another Targaryen to his headcount. Vermithor sharply banked towards Vhagar, nearly colliding midair with Meleys who was reeling in descending loops, fighting to stay airborne. To deal so much damage to such an experienced dragon so quickly… Aemond was either letting Vhagar wreak carnage as she saw fit or he was the greatest dragonrider in a century. Sena found herself not wanting to know the answer.

She spotted Rhaenys on Meleys’s back - shaken but unharmed - and commanded Vermithor around, determined to keep Vhagar’s attention away from the failing Meleys. Vhagar seemed to have the same notion, deciding to deal with the fitter prey before finishing off the weakened one. As the two mighty dragons set on a collision course towards each other, Sena felt her blood run cold as she thought of Luke, and whether Aemond had any control of the ancient beast right now.

Sena threw herself flat against Vermithor’s back, bracing for impact, letting free a wild howl as the dragons came closer and closer. And then, Vhagar feinted left, and the force of the wind from her wingbeat would have knocked Sena clean from her saddle if she had not been chained down. The message from Aemond was clear. Stand down.

Vhagar followed a long arc downwards to where Meleys was reeling, pulling up at just the right second to catch the Red Queen’s neck in her maw. Claret blood spurted and steamed as the Red Queen gave a feeble shudder. It was too late by the time Sena brought Vermithor round and slammed down onto Vhagar. It knocked all three dragons - two living, one in the final throes of a bloody end - the last thirty feet to the ground. Vermithor and Vhagar hit the ground with enough force to knock every soldier within a league on his back. A wave of searing pain and nausea hit Sena as her head whipped off of Vermithor’s hard-scaled back, her nose burst with blood and her vision swam out of focus.

“Fuck,” was all she could manage, and Vermithor was furious at her handling of him. He roared and swung his weight in an attempt to throw her from his back, but her chains held her down. He then moved as though to roll with her still on his back, crushing her beneath his weight, and Sena’s stomach lurched, desperately pulling at the chains on her belt.

At the last second, she unhooked her entire sword belt, wrapped her hand around the hilt of her sword and threw herself from dragonback.

She hit the ground hard, and Vermithor screeched once more. Her head swam as she staggered to her feet, desperately trying to drag air back into her lungs, terrified the dragon would round on her once more. But instead, free of his rider, Vermithor took his chance and rose to the sky again.

“Well, fuck you then!” She screamed after him and attempted to staunch the blood flowing into her mouth with her glove. She stood there on the field, a wide circle cleared around her where her dragon had fell, sword in hand and watching her dragon retreat West. She was utterly alone in a field of green soldiers who were staggering to their feet, watching her, waiting for orders. She was truly fucked now. Meleys was down, twitching in her last throes of death, and Sena could see no sign of Rhaenys. Sunfyre and Vhagar were down too, the former seemingly for good, the latter only dazed, somewhere on the field behind her. Sena turned to watch Vermithor’s retreating form in the sky and groaned in frustration. Vhagar would be free to torch the entire town now once she regained the air-

“Back,” snapped a commanding voice. “I’ll deal with her myself.”

Sena spun around and her heart lurched in her chest. Aegon’s troops had fallen back from her at the sharp command, Vhagar was watching her from across the field with beacon-like eyes and her rider… Aemond stood before her, sword drawn, clad in armour from head to foot. He raised the corner of his mouth in his soft smile. “Pure ingratitude,” he said, nodding at Vermithor. “Most men would kill to have you all to themselves.”

She swallowed around a lump in her throat. “I don’t know about most men,” she said and her voice was barely a croak.

“Fine, maybe I meant I would kill to have you to myself,” he said.

It was a poor choice of words and her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Her blood surged rebelliously in her veins. “You’ve killed for less.”

His expression faltered. “I have,” he said wearily, shamefully. “Lay down your sword and I’ll get a maester. Your nose needs seeing to.”

She clutched her sword tighter. “I can’t.”

He shook his head at her, looking tired. “Stop fighting,” he told her. “Please. Let me take care of you.”

“Take care of me?” She asked, her voice trembling. “You killed Luke, Aemond. And Grey Ghost-“

“I thought I had killed you.” he said, his own voice shaking, drawing closer to her. His eye was glossy. “When I watched you fall, I thought I would die with you.”

She clenched her jaw and raised her sword as he tried to approach her. She kept him at arm’s distance with the point of her blade.

He let the point of the blade catch on the centre of his chest. Met her eyes with a beseeching look. “Give up this folly, my lady. Come back to King’s Landing, come home and marry me.”

“You’re betrothed,” she bit out, and that was another part of this that stung like hell.

He shook his head in disbelief. “There’s not a woman in the world I would not spurn, not an oath I would not break for you. How can you not know that by now?”

Her eyes were swimming with tears, her knuckles gone white from how hard she was grasping her sword. “Give up everything I believe in? Give up my Queen, my sisters, my brothers, to come stand silent at your side and bear your sons? No, Aemond. No.”

He held his expression carefully blank, though she could see the bob of his throat. “You would not be you if you were so easily swayed,” he said, “but to hear you reject me so plainly, reject us and our children… it hurts more than I thought it would.”

Everything in her was shaking. She needed to end this now, before she went weak. Before she folded. Before she succumbed and pulled him into her arms.“I can’t let you take this town without a fight, Aemond. I owe it to my family, to everyone your army will put to the sword.” Her voice was shaking. She wrapped both hands around the hilt of her sword, the point still resting against his armour.

“I understand that, Sena.”

Sena. Her name from his lips had haunted her dreams since all this began.

A breeze picked up behind him and his long hair blustered around his face. Leather, brimstone, rosemary filled her senses.

“Why did the gods make me love you, Aemond?” She asked, her voice shaking.

He smiled a sad smile as he stepped back and raised his sword. A tear rolled freely down Sena’s cheek. “Because they made me for you.”

Their swords clashed between them and at long last, they danced.

They knew this dance well, knew each other well, and it showed in each parried blow, each perfectly timed deflection and dodge. Aemond’s bare steel swung through the air on a counter and she met it with a sharp ringing sound, throwing his strength back at him and slashing with a backswing. He stepped backwards, grimacing as a few strands of silver hair were cut loose from his head, and looked at her with fire in his pretty eye. “You’re going to have to do better than giving me a haircut, issa jorrāelagon.” Sena’s heart seized. My love.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped and swung at him again.

Time and time again, her strikes fell. And time and time again, he batted them away like he was swatting flies, but never advanced on her. She grew frustrated, grew furious and howled with rage as she swung at him again. He caught the blade inches from his shoulder and deflected it, sending a sharp glare at her, but she did not care, swinging her arms back up again-

It was Ser Criston that caught the next blow, approaching from the side. She’d been so focused on Aemond, she did not even see him approach. Neither did Aemond, his mentor coming at them from his blind side, and he flinched away from the ring of their steel meeting.

“Stand down, my lady,” Ser Criston Cole commanded her sharply. “We have you surrounded. There is no way out.”

But Sena was too angry. Seething at the thought of it all. Luke, Aegon, Jaehaerys, her father, all of it, all she wanted to do was win, just this one time. She struck out one final, savage blow at Aemond, but it was sloppy, made in anger and exhaustion. He side-stepped her easily and pulled her back sharply towards his chest with an arm around her middle.

Ser Criston Cole knocked her hard against the head with his armoured elbow and the scorched field tilted out of focus.

Her vision spotted, her stomach rolled. The ground did not so much rush up to meet her as she was lowered to it. She thought she heard Aemond - her Aemond - murmuring in her ear. “It’s okay, love. It’s okay. Look at me. You’re okay.” She couldn’t be sure.

But she did feel cold shackles closing around her wrists, and a murmured “Apologies, my lady,” from a misshapen blob that looked like Ser Criston Cole.

Then, there was something sweet on her tongue, and the world went black.

taglist (dm/ask/reply to be added): @stargaryenx @trap-house-homiecide

#aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd #tqc #aemond targaryen fanfic

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inkoherentwriting · 4 months ago

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im not going to spoiler tag unless people ask nicely since everyone who's going to read this likely already knows Shivering Isles front to back (probably more than I do XD) but i am thinking about how jesan ends up becoming sheogorath in my little canon and the answer I came up with is heartbreaking

i feel as though he was like "come on mira let's go explore somewhere away from tamriel and get you out of the public eye. it's perfect" and the worst part is... it works at first. Miraina and Jesan meander through the Shivering Isles, observing the flora and fauna together. really bonding as siblings. but then miraina gets pulled away for champion of cyrodiil reasons (or possibly just "I want a break from exploring a strange world" reasons). jesan gets very curious, starts going to mingle with the townspeople in Passwall. getting to know them--

he fells the gatekeeper without miraina. not easily but he does. when she finds out she's leery but she's so exhausted lately that she goes "have fun bro"

she ends up regretting this because jesan starts spending more time in the isles and less in tamriel and. well we all know the rest. the guilt of having "sent" her own brother to his "death" eats at miraina like a pack of wolves.

on a marginally lighter note, the sunstride dancing fic being set before Jesan suggests going to the isles is kind of like the conclusion to Miraina being so done with the upper echelons and crowds of Cyrodiil that she disappears even from her closest friends and Guilbert.... a cascade of unfortunate events....

#squeed speaks #elder scrolls oblivion #oc: miraina #oc: jesan

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carpisuns · 2 years ago

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Summary: For a moment, they lay still. Willow slowly brought her hand up to his chest, where she could feel his heart thrumming under her fist, just like she did at the lake when he finally woke up. She uncurled her fingers and let his pulse click against her open palm, a steady reminder of what she needed most to hear.

In their first night back in the Boiling Isles, Willow can't sleep. Neither can Hunter. (There is a lot of talking and crying.)

Word count: 6672

A/N: spoiler free for “for the future”!

i think the stars were listening

i dont know what to title this yet lol

The shadows were alive, and Willow couldn’t sleep.

She lay flat on her back on the floor between Hunter and Gus, staring up at the dusty rafters of the Owl House. It was strange here, without Hooty, or King, or Eda. The house was too still. Quiet.

Dead.

Cold panic pulsed through her veins. She squeezed her eyes shut before she remembered that she had to keep them open—because if she closed them she would fall asleep, and if she fell asleep she would dream, and if she dreamed … Hunter would die. Again.

She sucked in a shaky breath. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 … 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

It wasn’t working.

She buried her face in her pillow, chest aching from how hard her heart pounded against her ribcage. Her breaths came in rapid, shallow gasps, and tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. She tried to blink them back, but soon there was a wet patch on her pillow, all her aching spilling out to spread against her cheek. It reminded her of the icy water that had streamed from Hunter’s hair, soaking through the layers of her Halloween costume, while his head lay heavy as stone in her lap. The water had long since dried out, but even now, she could still feel it, a phantom chill clinging to her bones.

Guys, Hunter isn’t moving.

She emerged from her pillow, blood cold, eyes bleary, chest throbbing. Next to her, Hunter’s sleeping form seemed impossibly still. He was turned away from her, drenched in those nightmare shadows, like they were devouring him whole, taking him from her once again.

She swallowed.

Hunter isn’t moving.

“Hunter?” she breathed, and her voice cracked on the way out.

Part of her hoped he wouldn’t answer. He needed rest. He deserved rest. If it had been a bad day for Willow, it had been a thousand times worse for Hunter.

But most of her just desperately, desperately needed to hear his voice, so she’d know that he was alive and safe. That her nightmares weren’t real.

“Yeah?” he murmured, so softly she might’ve missed it if she weren’t listening so intently.

Relief flooded through her, and she let out an unsteady breath. But her heart kept thumping crookedly, and a strange, frantic longing pulled at her chest. Her arms itched to be filled with his shape.

Maybe being held was exactly what Hunter needed right then. What he wanted, but couldn’t bring himself to ask for.

Or maybe Willow was just being selfish, too weak to keep her cracks from leaking on her own. She had to be strong for him. She had to give him space if that’s what he wanted.

But her hands seemed to have other ideas, because they reached for him without her permission. Her fingers brushed the fabric of his shirt, hovering over the curve of his shoulder. He stiffened.

“Sorry,” she said softly.

A long pause. “It’s—it’s fine.”

Did he want this? Did he need her? Oh, Titan, what if she made it worse?

Carefully, hesitantly, she slipped her hand beneath his elbow, draping an arm across his waist. His clothes were unexpectedly cold to the touch—still not quite dry from his deathly plunge.

“Is this okay?” she whispered.

She felt the tension in his frame relax, and all her muscles softened too.

“Yeah,” he whispered back. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

She scooted forward to press herself against his back, hugging him tightly around the middle. A shiver ran through her at the contact with his damp clothes, but she had no intention of letting go.

For a moment, they lay still. Willow slowly brought her hand up to his chest, where she could feel his heart thrumming under her fist, just like she did at the lake when he finally woke up. She uncurled her fingers and let his pulse click against her open palm, a steady reminder of what she needed most to hear.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

Her eyes slipped closed. Soon Hunter felt warmer in her arms (alive), and her own heartbeat began to slow, the aching in her chest soothed into quiet. Hunter made a small noise in the back of his throat and placed his hand on top of hers, over the exact spot where Flapjack had lain to rest.

His fingers curled around her hand, rough and warm. She’d never touched his bare hands, she realized. It was a strange thought, that after months together, with hugs and bumps and accidental brushes, she’d never once felt his hands. Maybe they’d been soft once, protected by those gloves he used to wear, but now she could feel every mark: The burn from when he’d helped Vee make cookies. The gash from when he’d upset Willow’s tentora razor plant. The callouses and needle pricks from hours and hours at Camila’s sewing machine.

It was too bad that none of them were any good at healing magic. But then again, she didn’t think Hunter minded these scars. His hands were full of memories now. Good memories. Signs of the life he’d lived in the human realm—happy, maybe, for the first time ever. She’d never seen him smile so much.

Willow let out a slow breath, summoning up the image in her mind. It felt like magic when Hunter smiled. Real magic. Natural magic. Wild magic. Like if she traced back to the origin, from witch’s magic to the Titan’s magic to nature itself, it would be Hunter’s smile at the beginning of the chain, the brightest thing in the two realms. Sometimes when he looked at her she felt like a plant turning her face to the sun, soaking him in, letting him light her up inside.

In those first days after they met, when they’d established their strange and fragile friendship over text, she kept finding herself scrolling through her own Penstagram feed, back to their first team photo, just so she could look at his smile again. There was something so endearing about it, with that little gap between his teeth and the way his eyes crinkled up. It was such a golden smile. What a shame, she’d thought, that it was always hidden away behind that mask—gold without the gleam.

What a shame that just hours earlier, Belos had taken his smile away once more.

Would she ever see him smile again?

As if on cue, Hunter started crying.

He shook in her arms, quiet sobs seizing his whole body. She squeezed him tighter to hide her own trembling, burying her face in his back.

She couldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry. But her heart broke all the same, and she prayed that her arms wold be strong enough to hold both of them together.

She wasn’t sure how long they lay there, clutching each other in the dark, but eventually his sobs subsided. By some miracle, she’d managed to force down her own tears, but she felt each of his rattling breaths swell against her chest, making every part of her ache with his sorrow. She swallowed down the lump in her throat.

“I’m so sorry, Hunter.” Her voice came out rough and low.

He didn’t answer. She counted the clicks of his pulse on her palm. One. Two. Three.

Then Hunter twisted around in her arms, till they were lying face to face.

The moonlight filtering in through the stained-glass windows left strange patterns on his skin, and the shadows cast his scars into deeper relief. She wasn’t used to his new face yet, and she almost wanted to look away, if only to keep her inner cracks from spiderwebbing further.

But Hunter held her gaze with his, and in the dark she could imagine that his eyes were still the same.

(They were the same, she told herself. A different color now, but still his. Still him.)

“Are you okay?” Hunter whispered.

She blinked. Was she okay? After everything he had been through, he wanted to know if she was okay?

She considered the question. Turned it over in her hands.

She thought of his head in her lap. His skin, cold and deathly pale. The way she shook him, wishing more than anything to see the brights of his eyes, but they didn’t open.

Hunter isn’t moving.

She willed away the seawater rising to her eyes and forced her lips into a smile.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”

The crease between his eyebrows deepened. “Are you sure?”

An image of her dads bloomed in her mind, and she crumbled.

Willow withdrew her arms to wrap around herself, as if she could hold all her pieces in place if she were strong enough. But it didn’t matter how much she trained, how much she toiled, how much she tried—in the end, she could never weed out her old weaknesses. They were rooted deep inside her, wrapped around her ribs like stubborn vines. And as long as they were there, she’d fail. Over and over she would fail to protect the people she loved. Just like she failed her dads. Just like she failed Flapjack.

Just like she failed Hunter.

She realized she was crying now—sticky, salty tears streaming down her cheeks while she bit her trembling lip to keep the sobs from ripping through her teeth. Her throat burned, and Hunter’s form blurred before her, blending with shadows and nightmares and death.

No, she decided. She was not okay.

Hunter offered his arms. She didn’t want to admit how much she wanted them. But before she could say anything, he pulled her in, holding her close to his beating heart.

“Me neither,” he whispered.

Willow clung to him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. His arms tightened around her as she pressed her face into his chest and cried.

“I don’t—want to wake up Gus,” she choked.

“Should we go outside?”

At this, she nodded, and it took all her strength to wrench herself away from the reassuring thump of his heart. He stood first, stooping to help her up, and then they silently slipped out the front door.

It was a different kind of quiet outside—a quiet filled with rustling grass and creaking trees. In the open air, with the moon watching them high in the sky, Willow suddenly felt embarrassed that she was crying. She wiped her eyes roughly, as if she could hide it from him, as if she weren’t just sobbing into his chest a second ago, his t-shirt still soaked with her tears.

Hunter sank to the ground, knees bent, with his back resting against the rough stone of the house. She followed suit, keeping a careful distance between them this time, giving him space to talk.

But he didn’t. He just sat with his face lifted to the sky and let the moon kiss the scars on his face.

(His shoulder looked achingly bare. She tried not to think about it.)

“It’s beautiful,” he said at last, voice still thick from crying. “The human realm’s sky is beautiful too, but I kind of missed the stars. Our stars, you know?”

Willow followed his gaze. Without her glasses, every point of light was swallowed by the inky sky, but she stared upward anyway, picturing the constellations she’d learned about when she was a witchling. The Titan’s Eye. Orso Major. The Big Scooper.

“I used to study them,” Hunter went on. “I made a map of them to hang on my bedroom wall. I knew that magic came from nature and I thought, I don’t know, that they’d give me answers somehow. A cure for my uncle, maybe. A way for me to harness magic on my own. Just … a sign for what else I was supposed to do. Something.”

He bowed his head and sighed. “Honestly, I’m not exactly sure what I was looking for. I was just hoping, I guess. Hoping there was something out there for me. Something more than what I had.”

He fell silent, and Willow couldn’t help but think that even now, battered and broken, he still looked like that kid who stargazed out his window every night. She could picture him then, with fewer scars and shorter hair, leaning on the sill to listen to the stars. He’d always seemed so eager to learn. To see. Like he was on some kind of quest to understand the very fabric of the universe. Like he was collecting the pieces of one grand puzzle, binding them together bit by bit to see the picture that would finally tell him everything, so that every piece made sense.

It seemed so … hopeful. But a different kind of hope than the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed variety that Luz had come bounding to the Isles with. Hunter’s hope was fierce. It was a raging, wild thing, a fire that blazed through every downpour. Over the months she’d known him, it had softened into something more golden-bright and honeyed, but it had lost none of its strength.

His eyes turned on her. “Did—did you ever do that?”

“What, study the stars?”

“Yeah.”

“Nah,” Willow said. “I’ve always been more of a down-to-earth kind of girl. Like, literally, digging in the earth. Gardening.”

“Right. Of course.” He let out a strange little huff—an attempt at a laugh, maybe, that he didn’t have the strength for right now.

She wished she could tell him that she was a stargazer too. But Willow was not like Hunter, at least in that way. Hope had not, historically, been her strong suit. Before she met Luz, she’d been resigned to always being half a witch. She had decided just to make the most of it, to laugh it off when she could and keep the rest out of sight, out of mind. She taught herself to not be hungry, to be satisfied with smallness. She kept her eyes on the earth and her hands in the soil, if only to keep herself from looking up.

It wasn’t until Luz that she found courage to dream bigger. And it wasn’t until Hunter that she realized just how big her dreams could be.

She glanced over at him, with his face turned back toward the sky. Hope was Hunter’s superpower, she thought. A brand of magic that bled straight through his relentless veins. After everything he went through, he came out with stars in those magenta eyes of his, so hungry for a life he was never guaranteed to have.

It was brave of him to want things. It made her brave enough to want things too. (After all, plants were light seekers. They were born to look up toward the sun.)

Hunter pulled his knees up to his chest. “I don’t know why I told you that.”

“Hunter—”

“I miss Flapjack,” he said, and his voice sounded so bleedingly broken that something broke inside her own chest, like she could feel his wounds, bursting with fresh hurt.

“I know,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

His words came in a rasping rush now. “Sometimes when I woke up, he wouldn’t be there. He liked going out early to catch rattleworms and chase other birds and stuff. But he’d always come back.” He turned to her, eyes shining earnestly in the moonlight. “No matter what, he’d always find me.”

For a moment, she could see it, that signature Hunter hope—but it was twisted with grief, warped by fear, beaten to a shape she didn’t want to recognize. She could feel his desperation eating at her insides, and she almost couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. But before she could give up, he had bowed his head again and turned away.

“He’s not coming back this time,” Hunter whispered. “Oh, Titan, he’s not coming back.”

He buried his face in his knees with a small choking sound. This time, Willow didn’t hesitate to reach for him. Gently, she pulled his head against her shoulder, and he let himself curl into her side while his body shook with sobs.

Willow wrapped her trembling arms around him and looked up at the dark sky. Hot tears blurred her vision, and she was too tired now to pretend she wanted to do anything but cry. So she did.

She cried for her dads, who were Titan knows where, trapped by the Collector (or worse—but she refused to consider that). She cried for her home, stripped bare and silent. She cried for Flapjack, who wasn’t coming back. She cried for Hunter, the hopelessly hopeful boy with the sunshine smile, who’d lost everything once again.

(She cried for half-a-witch Willow, who couldn’t do anything to protect a single one of them.)

She shook her head, fingers gripping the fabric of his t-shirt. She couldn’t think like that. Especially when he needed her. That Hunter-brand hope was dangerously low in the embers now, and she wouldn’t just sit there and let it burn out.

“Listen,” she said, and her voice came out fiercer than she meant it to. “Hunter, listen.”

He lifted his head. The moonlight glinted on the tears that trailed down his scarred cheeks.

She took a steadying breath. “Flapjack—he loved you so much. He must’ve been waiting for hundreds of years for you. And then he chose to stay with you. Do you get it? After all that time he chose to stay with you. And then he gave himself to save you. The person he loved most in the whole world. Because—because you’re special, Hunter. And Flapjack knew that.”

For a moment, Hunter stared back at her with a look that made her ache. Then his expression darkened, brows flattening, and he tore his gaze away.

“Belos used to tell me that. But he was lying. The Titan never had big plans for me. I’m just a powerless witch. Not even a witch. I’m—I’m—”

He sucked in a breath, fingers clenching into fists.

A grimwalker? she wanted to ask, but she bit her tongue. He could talk about it when he was ready. Now was not the time. (Besides, whether he was a grimwalker or a witch or a human, he was Hunter, so it didn’t really matter to her anyway.)

She shifted to face him. “I don’t care what Belos used to tell you. You are special. Not because you were the Golden Guard. Not because you have powerful magic. Not because you’re useful to somebody. You’re special because … you’re you. I’ve just … I’ve never met someone like you, Hunter.”

He blinked, and all the sharp, grief-stricken edges of his face went soft, melting right before her eyes into a face she recognized. From lazy mornings in the clubhouse, sunlit hours in the garden, cozy nights in the basement under blankets and Camila’s twinkle lights. When he’d look at her, and she just knew.

It was hard to believe that just that morning they’d all eaten bowls of Captain Crispy at the kitchen table. Willow had glanced up from her cereal to catch Hunter staring at her, mouth slightly agape, his own spoon poised halfway to his mouth.

He used to look away, whenever she caught his eye, but he’d been getting bolder lately. So when she’d smiled around a mouthful of cereal, with cheeks bulging and milk dribbling down her chin, he’d smiled his golden smile right back. She could still remember how the flush of his cheeks somehow made his eyes seem even pinker. How she’d felt like a light spell had been cast inside her chest.

It was then that Flapjack chose to stick his beak in Hunter’s bowl, and the sound of his laugh made her wish she could carry it around in her pocket for a day when the whole world seemed too dark.

A day like today, in fact.

Willow swallowed. “I know you miss Flapjack,” she said softly. “So do I. But he’s gone because he saw that too. He knew you were special. You were worth protecting. And—and—”

He’d been laughing. He’d been happy. And now his eyes were dull and his shoulder was bare and his hair was long and his hands were far too still.

Guys, Hunter isn’t moving.

A sob broke in her throat, and then she couldn’t stop the tears from spilling out.

“Captain?” His hands found her shoulders. “Willow?”

She tucked her chin into her chest, trying to shake the fog from her head. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“No, you don’t have to—I’m here, okay? You can talk to me. You can—”

“You were dead, Hunter,” she choked. “We all watched you jump in, and then you didn’t come up, so Camila jumped in after you, and she pulled you up, and—and you weren’t moving, or breathing—you were just lying in my lap, and you were cold, and you were … dead.”

Hunter’s grip on her shoulders loosened. “But I’m fine now,” he said hoarsely.

Her head snapped up. “You’re not fine! How could you be fine?”

“I—”

She shook her head, sucking in a breath. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

“You’re not fine,” she said. “But you’re alive. And that’s a start.”

Hunter’s hands slipped from her shoulders to anchor at her elbows. “You’re not fine, either.”

She chose to ignore that, wiping her tears with the heel of her hand. “Look, I … I know it’s not the same thing, but I know what it’s like to lose someone you really care about. I mean, I don’t even know if my dads are alive right now.”

“Willow—”

“And even if it was only for a few minutes, I lost you too. I’m just lucky because you’re here now. Flapjack made sure of it. He sacrificed himself for you, and I’m devastated, but I’m grateful. Because even if you’re not fine right now”—she swallowed—“I’m so glad you’re alive, Hunter. I’m so, so glad that you’re alive.”

His face was scarred and soft and still. Then the corners of his mouth turned up, just a little. Not a smile—but a start.

“Me too,” he said.

Wordlessly, they settled back against the house, bone tired but too full of ache to sleep. Willow let her head fall against his shoulder, and together they stared up, once again, at the stars she couldn’t see.

“You know,” Hunter said finally, “I read about how in the Savage Ages, witches used to wish on stars.”

A tiny jolt ran through her. Another recognition of the Hunter she had known that day at breakfast. She’d quickly learned that “I read about” was one of his favorite sentence starters. During those months in the human realm, he must’ve read dozens of books, fascinated by their strange new world. Sometimes he told her about the things he’d discovered. His eyes lit up and his hands came to life while the words spilled out of his mouth, eager and unrestrained. He told her about steam trains and mummies and the Bermuda Triangle. She didn’t quite understand everything he said, but she’d hung on every word. Inevitably, he’d ramble himself into a corner and slam the brakes full stop, babbling an apology for talking too much. And even when she told him to go on, he’d blush and say he knew he must be boring her. (He could never bore her.)

But sometimes he forgot to be embarrassed. And it was those times when Willow felt the full power of the sun.

“Captain, look!” he’d said one day. “Did you know the human realm has carnivorous plants too? This Venus fly trap looks a lot like your razor plant! Except, it’s way smaller and moves really slow and doesn’t get moody and vengeful if you say its spikes look dull. But still. Cool, right?”

“Really cool!” she’d said.

Then he beamed at her, and she was sunstruck.

(The human realm was just like Hunter, she decided. No magic, but full of something else just like it. Something bold and bright and beautiful.)

Willow lifted her head from his shoulder. “Really? What does that even mean, to wish on a star?”

“I guess it means you just look at the stars and tell them what you want.”

“Oh. Huh.”

“It’s stupid, right? Stars are nothing but balls of fire burning a million miles away, and wishing won’t do anything.” He paused. “But … but sometimes I still did. Some nights when I felt extra lost, I’d wish on a star.”

“What did you wish for?” Willow asked.

He closed his eyes. “I wished for a future that I’d get to choose myself.” Another pause. “I think … in some way … I was wishing for you.”

Willow blinked. “Me?”

Even in the dark, she could see his blush. “I mean—all of you. Gus. Luz. Camila. Everyone. But … yeah. You. Captain Willow Park.” He smiled, and this time, it was real—timid and tired and blue at the edges, but real, with sunshine peeking out from underneath.

Willow blinked again, dazzled by the glimmer. “So … I—we—are the future you would choose?”

“Of course. I can’t imagine my future without you.” He glanced her way, cheeks blooming in the bluish light. “Any of you.”

“Me neither,” she said softly.

He clasped his hands over his knees. “Do you, um, remember the day we met?”

She didn’t know she was even capable of laughter today, but somehow it bubbled out of her anyway. “Of course I do. Did you think I’d forget? You made it pretty memorable.”

“Right. Right. That was a stupid question.” He breathed out something that wasn’t quite a laugh (but a start). “I guess I just don’t know exactly how you remember it. Because for me, it was like … I don’t know. The beginning of everything, somehow.”

Willow tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

He fiddled with the ends of the yellow sleeves still tied around his waist. “I mean, I’d already met Luz, and that was … weird. I didn’t know how to feel about it. It was humiliating for her to see me without my mask, without my staff—to be half a witch in front of this human, of all people. I kind of hated her, honestly. She was so … annoying.”

Willow chuckled again. Luz had told her about her first run-in with the “bad but sad” Golden Guard. She could picture Hunter’s grumpy little pout.

“But at the same time,” he went on, “she saw me the way no one ever had. The way no one ever tried. And somehow, I kind of saw her too. I wanted to keep hating her, but I couldn’t help wanting more of that … connection. I didn’t know if we could be friends. I didn’t even know if I wanted to be her friend. But I wanted … something. Something that she had.”

“A choice,” Willow said. “For her own future.”

Hunter nodded. “And then I came to Hexside, and we played flyer derby, and being there with you and Gus and Flapjack … it made me feel so … free.”

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. “It was the first time I can remember that I actually wanted to be … just … Hunter. Not the Golden Guard. And not Caleb Jasper Bloodwilliams, either. Just … me. It’s like I got a taste of what the future could be like, if I had a choice about it. And from the moment I met you and Gus, I … I wanted my life to be different. Just so you could be in it.”

She stared at his profile, lined in moonlight, and remembered a sunnier day when his hair was short and his smile was bright. She’d had some very complicated feelings at the time, but she looked back at it all with fondness. Hunter came into her life like the Wailing Star—clear and loud and dazzling (and kind of whiny, to be honest). He streaked across her sky in more ways than one, leaving a trail of brilliant chaos in his wake. And he was gone just as quickly, sinking over the horizon where she might never see him again.

She didn’t know that day at Hexside how this boy would quickly fill up every corner of her life, until the very thought of his absence made her edges crack with sorrow. But even then, she missed him, as soon as he was gone. And she hoped that she would see him once again—even if she had to wait fifty-two weeks for it.

Willow had never wished on a star, wailing or not, but maybe even on that first day she somehow knew about his wish. She felt it in her chest when she glanced back to watch him leave—a fervent hope that this wasn’t goodbye forever. A stubborn that faith they could be friends anyway, in spite of everything.

“I’m really glad you ended up on our team,” Willow said. “And I’m not just talking about the Entrails. I’m glad you’re one of us now. That we could stick together, through everything that’s happened.”

“Me too,” he said. “I had a lot of fun with you guys at Camila’s.”

“Same. We made a lot of good memories, didn’t we?””

“Yeah. We did.” He pinched at the fabric that bunched at his knees. “I know it’s probably selfish, but I think a little part of me wished that we could stay. So I could keep having somewhere to belong. So I could keep feeling like me. I thought I had finally figured out what that even means, to be ‘just Hunter.’ It—it meant that I liked sewing, and wolves, and Cosmic Frontier, and those little juice pouches Camila used to buy us. It meant that I had friends, for the first time in my life—it meant I had a family. It meant I had a future doing things I love, full of people I love. And now …”

He closed his eyes again and sighed. “Now Belos is back, and Flapjack is gone, and I don’t know what being Hunter means anymore.”

But Willow knew.

Being Hunter meant being impossibly gentle, in a world that was so un-gentle to him.

Being Hunter meant being hungry—for knowledge, for answers, for opportunities. For a future he was determined to build, piece by piece, with every broken shard of light he could find.

Being Hunter meant consuming books like oxygen. Laughing at the worst jokes. Getting flustered easily. Talking too loud when he was excited. Gesturing freely with his glove-free, happy-scarred hands.

It meant being loyal. Compassionate. Intelligent. Curious. Strong. Brave. Kind.

It meant wishing on stars, even if he wasn’t sure they’d hear him.

Being Hunter meant shining like the sun, the brightest thing in the two realms.

“Hey.” She placed a hand gently on his arm. “That’s still you. You’re still that Hunter.”

He looked down. “It doesn’t feel like that.”

“It will. You’ll feel like yourself again. I promise,” she said fervently. “And I’m gonna be here with you until you do, okay? And after that too. I’m not going anywhere.”

He offered a small smile—a glimmer in the dark. “Thanks, Willow. That means a lot.”

“I’m serious. You’re gonna get that future you wished for. That was Flapjack’s gift. To be here, alive, so you can choose whoever you’re gonna be.”

His eyes found the ground again. “But to get that future, I have to kill Belos first. I know I have to do it. I—I want to. I need to. To make sure he doesn't hurt anyone again. But … I don't know how I'm supposed to do that without Flapjack. I mean, not just because I won’t have a staff, but just …” He bit his lip, voice trembling. “How can I do something so scary without him?”

“Do you think you can do something scary with me?” she asked.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Hunter, we’re not gonna let you do this alone. We'll all be with you. We're gonna do this together. For the future, okay? The one that you told the stars about.” She paused. “I think they were listening.”

He stared at her, and she watched his face melt once again. Watched his magic hope ignite behind his eyes.

“I think so too,” he said.

Willow had never cared much for the idea of fate. She didn’t understand oracle magic. She didn’t like it. What was destiny except the result of the seeds she planted herself? She had to believe that the future was hers to decide, and that whatever mystical forces were out there had nothing on the strength of her own two hands.

But it was nice to think, for Hunter’s sake, that the stars were on their side this time. That maybe they always had been.

After all, if the stars were going to listen to anyone, wouldn’t they listen to the sun?

Hunter’s hand rested on the ground at his side. She placed her own on top of it, offering a reassuring squeeze. Then she settled back against his shoulder, and they both lifted their faces to the sky once more.

Did star wishes still count if you couldn’t actually see the stars? She decided to try, just in case.

I want my dads to be safe, she told the stars silently. I want the Isles to be restored. I want us all to be okay.

Underneath her own, Hunter’s hand was bleeding warmth into her palm.

And I want Hunter’s wish to come true. I want him to choose the future he wants. I want him to be happy.

His thumb brushed against her fingertips, soft and hesitant.

(It would be so easy to flip it over. To press their hands together, palm to palm; to bury her fingers in the spaces between his.)

I want … I want …

“Willow?”

She wrenched herself out of her reverie. “Hmm?”

“Thank you,” Hunter said. “For always being there for me. Especially now.”

“Of course. I’ll always be here for you.”

“I hope you know it goes both ways,” he said earnestly. “I’ll always be here for you too. You don’t have to hold it in all the time. We can—we can carry it together, okay?”

All the usual excuses rolled to the tip of her tongue. (”I’m fine!” “It’s nothing I can’t manage.” “You don’t have to worry about me.”) But something in his expression made her swallow them back down again.

“Okay,” she said instead.

“We’re gonna find your dads. I promise,” Hunter said. “We’ll—we’ll take down Belos. And the Collector. Everything will be okay.”

It was back. His hope. She squeezed his hand as if she could grasp the hope itself and hold it tightly in her fist for safekeeping.

“Including you,” she said.

“Huh?”

“You have to be okay too. You have to me promise you won’t do it again.”

“Do what?”

She looked him dead in the eye. “You knew—when you threw the blood into the lake, you knew you he was gonna kill you for it. Didn’t you? You knew you weren’t gonna make it. But you did it anyway. Because you wanted to protect us.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

“You have to promise me, Hunter,” she pressed. “Promise you’ll be a little selfish this time. Promise that if you have to choose between stopping Belos and being alive, you’ll choose to be alive. For Flapjack. For the future. For … for me.”

She’d been off to a strong start, but she ruined it at the end with a tremble in her voice. Hunter stared straight back at her, searching her face, and nodded.

“I promise,” he said.

Before she could say anything else, he wrapped her in a hug, tight and warm. His arms felt strong around her, and his heartbeat in her ear felt like a promise of its own. Willow tucked her head into his shoulder and let out a slow, heavy exhale, like she’d been holding her breath for years without realizing, like she’d hit the ground running and finally stopped to rest.

“Hunter,” she said, but she didn’t actually know what she was going to say. She pulled back to look into his face (soft, scarred, sunlit) and something swelled inside her chest—a half-asleep seed that quietly burst into bloom.

What could she say that she hadn’t already?

You smile like the sun, Hunter.

You make me brave, Hunter.

You’re my wish too, Hunter.

The way he looked at her made heat crawl up her neck, and she almost wondered whether he could read her mind. He could see her—that was certain. He could see right through her ribcage to her beating, blooming heart.

“Willow,” he said simply, and in his face she caught an echo of the blossom in her chest.

Beside them, the Owl House door creaked open. They both flinched toward the sound.

“Willow? Hunter?” came Gus’s groggy voice. “What are you doing out here?”

Willow’s heart was still fluttering. She fervently hoped Gus couldn’t see her blush in the dark.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said.

Gus shuffled over, letting out a huge yawn. “Guess that’s not surprising.”

“Gus, you’re exhausted,” Hunter said. “Why did you get up?”

“I just … didn’t wanna be away from you guys. After everything that happened tonight.”

All three of them fell silent.

“Are you okay?” Gus asked Hunter.

“I—I think so,” Hunter said. “I will be.”

Gus nodded. “We’re all here for you. You know that, right?”

“I know. Thanks.”

Willow got to her feet, brushing the dirt from her tights. “We should all get back to bed. I’m sure we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Right.” Hunter stood too, and they both followed Gus into the house.

They lay back down on the living room floor, Willow in the middle again. But this time, Gus scooted closer, pressed against her side.

“I’m cold,” he said. “Plus, this way I’ll know if you guys try to abandon me again.”

“We didn’t abandon you,” Hunter said. “We were, like, ten feet away.”

“Ten feet of abandonment. Now hush. I need my beauty sleep.”

Hunter didn’t argue this time. He pulled the blankets over both of them and then settled back onto his pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

She snuck a glance at him. The moonlight coming through the window caught on the edge of his nose, the tips of his hair. She didn’t have her camera anymore, but she snapped a mental photo.

He must have sensed her staring, because he turned his head to look at her. Then he smiled, and finally she saw a semblance of the sun—bold, bright, beautiful.

“Good night, Captain,” he said softly.

Willow blinked (dazzled). “G-good night, Hunter.”

“Good night, Gus,” Gus said loudly.

Hunter jolted. “I thought you were asleep already.”

“Dude, it’s been literally eighteen seconds.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry. Night, Gus.”

“Yeah, yeah. Night.”

Willow gazed up at the rafters again. The house was just as dark as before, but the shadows had softened somehow, all their jagged nightmare teeth sanded down to cloudy edges.

She adjusted herself against her pillow, and underneath the blankets, her hand brushed Hunter’s accidentally.

She froze. Neither of them moved. The edges of their hands stayed pressed together.

Slowly, Hunter slid his hand over hers.

Her skin tingled at his touch. She waited for the space of a few heartbeats. Then she turned her hand over, threading her fingers through his.

Beside her, Hunter sucked in a tiny breath, soft and sharp. He squeezed her hand in answer, and she could feel his scars again, all his those cuts and callouses from the human realm. His “just Hunter” scars, in glorious display against her palm.

A hazy warmth settled over her. Willow let her eyes slip closed, and this time, she wasn’t afraid to sleep.

With the sun at her side and the stars overhead, she knew they’d be just fine.

#toh #the owl house #thanks to them #huntlow #Willow park #Hunter toh #mine #my fics #toh fics

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