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adorerdraco · 5 years ago

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Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 2

PART 1

Summary: PART 2 ! of Draco falling in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP) and dealing with the consequences of opening his heart to someone.

Warnings: angst !!! but just a little fluff as always, BLOOD, violence, more crying, very detailed sectumsempra scene, mentions of death

Words: 4.9K

A/N: omg i can’t believe so many people liked the first one and to everyone who left me a comment, I appreciate you so much you have no idea plsss you guys are so beautiful. but here is part 2 and I hope you guys like it as much as the first oneee !!!!!!!! this one got dramatic. I’m thinking of doing a part 3, but I’m not sure and i also want to make it be mostly fluff so PLS let me knowww <3 i do not own gif.

It was an awful feeling; the feeling of needing a specific someone to bring him a peace he so very much lacked in his life. It was a feeling of not being able to feel joy unless he had you by his side. He felt stupid and pathetic knowing he had made an even bigger mess of himself and regrettably of you. He felt more weak too, wondering to himself why he couldn’t stop crying and do what he needs to do without several potions or you with him to get him through the day.

He didn’t want to need anyone. He didn’t want to need help. He didn’t want to need advice.

“Why can’t I just do this?” he cried to himself one night in the room of requirement, kicking something by his foot across the floor in frustration. He stared at the dead bird in hopelessness, not wanting to move it from its spot in the vanishing cabinet. He had managed to send inanimate objects, but not living things and that was only a discovery he was able to make when you were still in his life.

It had been weeks, since he left you under the tree, broken and in tears. He regressed back into to his old ways of lacking proper self care, of sleeping and eating, his studies being the last thing on his mind, him distancing himself from his Slytherin friends again. It was right back to square one, maybe even below that this time.

In Potions, he didn’t dare look at you, ever. He moved to a seat in the very back of the class where he would be hidden from you and could sulk to himself in peace.

“Mr. Malfoy, forgive me as it is none of my business, but why are you no longer working with Miss Y/L/N?” Slughorn asked him one day as he came by to grade his potion.

“It is nothing of concern, Professor,” Draco answered bitterly, holding back the scowl that wanted to show but deciding against being any more rude to authority. “I just rather work by myself.”

“It’s a shame, Mr. Malfoy, you both were my star pupils,” Slughorn mixes the potion around, eyeing it with a frown. “Now the both of you are falling behind. This potion is not passing, you forgot to mix in the dried periwinkle leaves.”

Draco never noticed how you would glance at him throughout Potions class. Of course, he was ignoring you and you felt that nasty realization every time your eyes landed on the platinum blond.

You felt numb, to say the least. You cried for days and days on end. If you weren’t in class, you were in your dorm, wrapped underneath the covers wondering why someone you shared so much love and time with had dropped you with no explanation. You tried endlessly to get him to talk to you, cornering him in the corridors, going up to him in class, but he would ignore you until you went away. He never once met your eyes, and your heart broke more every time you saw the coldness in his icy gray’s that made you feel like you didn’t even exist to him.

Your roommates and friends had gotten involved, forcing you to take better care of yourself. Staying up and hugging you while you cried. Bringing you meals from the Great Hall into the dorm. Brushing your hair when it started to become matted. Encouraging you to divulge yourself in studies rather than your sadness.

“Y/N, you are so much more than what you’re feeling,” your closest friend whispered to you one night as you cried in her embrace. “You can’t keep going like this. It’s okay to cry and be sad, but this is eating you up. Remember how strong you are. Remember the healer you are trying to be. You’ve helped so many people, inside and out, let your friends help you now.”

You nodded sadly, and finally accepted the help your friends had been trying so desperately to give you. You allowed them to take you out into the Great Hall again for meals. To Hogsmead for a fun day out. To the courtyard where you guys would sit and just talk. It was nice, feeling your old and normal life coming to light again even if it was just for a couple hours. But when you couldn’t sleep at night and your mind wandered off to Draco, you felt that same empty feeling of a gaping hole in your heart sting at you.

There was nothing you could do or say anymore. The cornering him was getting desperate and made you feel weak. The ignoring was never going to stop. You didn’t cry anymore, forcing yourself to bottle up your feelings for him deep down into your mind, body and spirit to the point where you just tried your best to recognize him as a dream.

Your brain didn’t know any better, right?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Draco sat on the floor of his dorm, head resting against the side of his bed as he twiddled with the letter from his mother between his fingertips. His owl, Aquila, sat beside him and enjoyed the loving pets he was giving her with his other hand. It was rare she let him do this, but he figured it was because she felt that he might have possibly needed this. She nibbled on a crumb of a biscuit he gave her that she had brought with her on her journey from home. Draco sighed and opened the letter again, his eyes scanning over the perfect cursive of his mother’s handwriting once more.

My Dearest Draco,

How are you, my love? I feel as though we have gone too long without writing to each other. I must say, the Manor feels lonely without you and your father here, but the house elves have been keeping me company. They are quite entertaining, some of them. I do hope you enjoy the small pastries I sent with Aquila that the elves also send on their behalf.

I know the pain you are feeling, my son. I know it wears at you and I am deeply sorry that I cannot change it or help you. Please do entrust in Professor Snape, as he is the only one who can help you and understands your circumstances. You cannot get through this alone.

Please also remember that you are just a boy. In these times of turmoil, it is easy to lose yourself in your own despair. You are young, Draco, only 16 years of life and it has already failed you. Please find it in your heart to locate the little several joys in life that keep you going. Despite your situation, It is okay to be that 16 year old boy and revel in those joys for as long as you can before it is too late and they are no longer there. Do not succumb, it is what he wants.

I will always love you, and I hope to see you soon.

All my love,

Mother

He felt tears sting at his eyes, clutching the letter to his chest as if his mother had charmed it with the feeling of a hug. It wasn’t, but he swore he could feel it. He felt sad, knowing she was all alone in that house, but suddenly remembered that his aunt was seeking refuge with her at the Malfoy Manor and his mother left it out for the sake of keeping Bellatrix’s location secret. Seeing as she was a maddened Ex/Present Death Eater and escaped prisoner on the run. The thought of Bellatrix left a bitter and foul taste in his mouth, making him feel even worse that his mother was stuck at home with that beast who was nearly as bad as the Dark Lord himself. He didn’t care that that was her sister, his aunt, she had no empathy for anything, especially not for him. He recalls her telling him right before he went to school, that he should be grateful and honored for being entrusted with a task so important.

As much as Draco wanted nothing to do with his tasks, he didn’t ignore them. He begrudgingly let Bellatrix teach him Occlumency, something he desperately needed to learn and was now a little good at. He had even tried convincing himself that he needed to do this. It was all up to him. He was chosen for this. He hated it, but he was chosen nonetheless. And he would try with everything to save his family and to make them proud, even if it killed him.

He ignored the thoughts of his aunt and his dreadful life options, refocusing on the words his mother wrote to him. They echoed in his mind, imagining her saying them to him.

“It is okay to be that 16 year old boy and revel in those joys for as long as you can before it is too late and they are no longer there.”

His mind wandered to you, knowing full and well you were are the one and only joy in his life he so deeply desires. His mother’s words hit him hard, to the point where he almost ran out of his room to go look for you. Almost.

But he was stubborn and still couldn’t pull himself out of the mindset he had boxed himself in where he thought being with you would be worse in the end for you than not being with you.

So he went over to his desk, Aquila following him before flying up to the wooden surface where she perched herself in front of him as he sat down and pulled out a parchment and quill to begin his responding letter for his mother. He thanked her for the pastries, told her he would try his best in confiding in Snape, loosely promised he would fulfill her wishes of him finding some happiness, and gave her his love. He gave the letter to Aquila, smoothing the feathers on the top of her head one last time before she chirped and flew to the window and then out of his room and into the open dark starry sky.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

More weeks had gone by. And then a month. You were seeing less and less of Draco and for a healing heart, it was the best thing for you, but also the worst. He had even began skipping class as much as he could, not that anyone ever noticed, except you and Slughorn of course.

“Miss Y/L/N, may I have a word?” Slughorn came up to you while you were working on a potion with your friend. The same friend who had given up her seat to Draco who she now despised and regretted ever doing in the first place. She gave you and the professor a look before getting up and heading to the front of the class where she began to pick up vials and jars to store the potion.

“Of course, Professor,” you answer with a polite smile.

“I spoke to Mr. Malfoy about a month ago, he seemed rather distraught,” he began, placing a finger over his chin in thought. “I’m beginning to grow worried of the boy! Is there a reason he’s no longer showing up to class?”

You swallowed thickly before responding, “your guess is as good as mine, Professor.”

“Ah, well, one mustn’t pry too much,” he says. “Also, I’m pleased to see your marks improving in the last couple weeks. Keep up the good work, Miss Y/L/N.”

And with that the professor turned around and left to go check on other students, your friend returning.

“What’d he want?” She asked, setting the supplies down on the table.

“Wanted to know about, Mr. Malfoy,” you mocked quietly, your voice turning bitter when the name left your lips.

You knew Draco’s disappearance was your fault and you felt that twang of hurt beat against your chest thinking about it. That whole conversation with the Professor killed your entire mood. It wasn’t great to begin with, but the feeling of nothing had turned into hurt.

You were roughly stirring the cauldron, preparing to put the nearly finished potion into the two large jars so it could sit overnight. They were right beside your arm and you felt your elbow collide with the glasses, cringing internally when you heard them crash onto the ground and shatter. Luckily there was nothing in them, but you had still made a mess of glass. In your heat of embarrassment and with the people are you now staring at you, you forgot you could easily clean up your mess with magic so like a klutz, you instead bent down to pick up the shards of glass that scattered the floor with your bare hands.

A loud gasp left your mouth as you began to pick them up, feeling the largest piece of glass in your palm deeply slash the skin of your hand. You dropped it, feeling the blood begin to drip down your arms and onto the floor.

“Oh no, Y/N,” your friend sighed from above you, gripping onto your other arm and lifting you up. “Are you okay?”

The question was meant for your hand, but you felt it hit your soul just as it did whenever someone asked you that question when you were so overwhelmingly not okay. You shook your head no, the pain from your hand and your heart taking over you completely as tears began to trickle down your face.

Slughorn came up to the table, waving his wand over the mess of the floor and fixed the damage done to the vases and making the small puddle of blood disappear.

“Class is dismissed, students, you are free to go to the Great Hall for lunch,” Slughorn announced and everyone quickly packed up their things and hurried out except for you and your friend. The full-bellied Professor watched you with concern and you turned to your friend where she took your hand in hers and placed it palm up for you.

You shuddered, bringing up your wand to the cut and simply thought your healing spell before watching it completely fade into a faint light pink scar.

“I’m going to explain to Slughorn what happened and put away our stuff,” she says to you, a sad glint in her eyes. “Go clean yourself up and I’ll meet you at our table for lunch with everyone when you’re done.”

You could only pathetically nod before you slung your bag over your shoulder and trudged off into the direction of a bathroom. You decided to go up to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, wanting to be alone from everyone so you could clean yourself up in peace and also have a meltdown. You didn’t know why you wanted to torture yourself with the ghosted memories you shared with Draco in that bathroom, but you still went.

You took your time getting there and you were only down the hall when you saw the entrance. It was then when you heard a familiar ghastly screaming and wailing. It was horribly loud.

“MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!”

Moaning Myrtle floated from the large wooden double doors, screaming so loud it ricocheted off all the walls of the now deathly silent castle. You felt all the blood drain from your face as an awful and sickening feeling had bubbled in your stomach.

“It better not be Draco,” you said to yourself, your legs taking longer strides towards the bathroom. “Please, don’t let it be Draco.”

By now, you were sprinting towards the end of the corridor, throwing your bag to the floor as soon as you reached the doors and flung yourself through and into the destroyed bathroom, stepping into a pool of water that had streaks of crimson red. Your eyes followed the trail of blood, stopping suddenly when you found the source.

A blood-curdling scream twice as loud and stronger than Myrtle’s, left your throat as you tripped over your own feet to reach him. You saw Harry Potter, standing a little ways by the door, a panicked and pained look in his eyes as he tried to understand what he had just done.

Once you reached Draco’s nearly lifeless body covered in angry red gashes, you fell next to him, his eyes finally meeting yours for the first time in ages. He was breathing raggedly in choked grunts, clutching at his mauled chest as he struggled to breath. The stormy eyes you loved so much were clouded in fear. Nothing but fear.

You shoved your hand into your pocket, searching for your wand and pulled it out hastily. You shakily waved it over his cuts, thinking and saying any spell you knew that came to your mind in the matter of 5 seconds. This was what you did. This was all you did. Why couldn’t you heal him? None of your spells worked.

“I, I can’t heal you,” you sobbed, resorting to putting your hands over his chest at a failing attempt to stop the bleeding. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“n...o,” Draco said weakly and quietly. He mustered up all his remaining strength and placed a bloodied hand over yours, you grabbed it tightly and leaned over him when you realized he was trying to speak. “S-sorry. lo...ve. y...ou.”

It felt like there was a knife in your chest being repeatedly stabbed into your heart and twisted. His eyes closed and you cried harder, knowing you were going to lose him. Everything was happening so fast. You had only been in the bathroom a solid 10 seconds, everything around you moving in a slow blur but so quickly.

It was as if Merlin had answered your pleas, the sound of the door slammed open and a maddened looking Snape rushed inside, pushing Harry roughly to the side and looking down at Draco and then you only momentarily before dropping to his knees beside him and opposite of you.

“Vulnera sanentur,” he began running his wand over the cuts on Draco’s chest and you watched with wide teary eyes as the blood pooling around you began to retreat back into the wounds. He said it again, and once the blood was back in, the cuts began to close. He chanted it one last time, and the cuts had healed into thick and reddened scars. “Miss Y/L/N, please help Draco over to the hospital wing for some dittany, and quickly please. We might be able to help with the scarring, perhaps avoid it completely. I need to deal with, Potter.”

Draco was half conscious, a dazed and confused look in the gray of his eyes as they fluttered open and closed. You noticed the scar beginning to form on his paled face and you bit back a sob. You knew if that scar stayed there, it would only drive him into a deeper hatred for himself.

You quickly got up, Snape picking up Draco and throwing his arm over your shoulders so that you would be able to help him over to the hospital wing which luckily happened to be a hall away from the bathroom. The adrenaline and sheer love for the boy was pumping through your body which had made you feel stronger in basically carrying Draco through the halls. He was dragging his feet, mumbling incoherently and you couldn’t stop crying.

You saw the doors to the hospital wing open, Madam Pomfrey staring at the scene heading towards her in horror.

“DITTANY!” you called to her. She threw open the doors wider, nodding before she ran back inside in a hurry. A passing seventh year Hufflepuff had dropped all of his books and his bag and linked arms with Draco’s free side, helping you take him inside with much more ease. Madam Pomfrey yelled to rest Draco on the nearest bed and she quickly returned with the dittany, shooing the both of you away from him.

“I’m afraid the two of you are going to have to leave, immediately,” she demands, her hand reaching up to grab the privacy curtain before shielding her and the love of your life from you and the prying eyes of shocked students gathered at the doorway to see what had happened. The Hufflepuff that had helped was already out the door, but you couldn’t bring your legs to move.

“Away from the door!” McGonagall suddenly appeared from behind the crowd of students, a disgruntled look etched into her aged skin. “Return to your house’s common rooms! That goes for you too, Miss Y/L/N.”

She gently placed both her hands on either of your shoulders, guiding you outside the door and out of the hospital wing. She gave you an empathetic glance before grabbing the handles of the doors and shutting them with a loud clang.

The lingering students stared at you in discomfort and grimaces. You looked around, still in a daze and then looked down at your body. You were drenched in blood and water, looking straight out of a horror movie and closely resembling the clothing of the Bloody Baron, Slytherin’s house ghost.

Everything still felt quiet and slow. You didn’t even notice your friends rushing towards you in hysterics, throwing you in hugs as you only stood there, unable to react. You let them pull you away, leading you to your house’s common room, tripping every now and then. You caught a glimpse of Moaning Myrtle in the distance, her cries still very loud and apparent. She had gone around the entirety of Hogwarts wailing the same news that had broken you, only this time you heard the new choice words she had added along the way.

“MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER! HARRY POTTER HAS MURDERED DRACO MALFOY!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You sat immobile on the edge of your seat besides Draco’s hospital bed. Much to your surprise, Madam Pomfrey had allowed you to stay overnight with the fallen Slytherin Prince. You recognized it might be her way of paying you back from all your countless volunteering and because of that, she trusted you in knowing exactly what to do when it came to the medical field of the wizarding world.

It was around three in the morning, the incident having happened well past twelve hours ago. You were showered now and in a fresh pair of robes, your pajamas holding in your warmth as a cold draft flowed throughout the dark dimly lit room. The hospital wing was tall and large, it felt like a castle in itself, and it only made you feel more feeble. You scooted your chair closer to the bed, placing a hand onto the mattress right next to Draco’s paled slender hand.

Fingertips ghosted over his knuckles, your body shivering at the closeness of the near contact. You didn’t know how he was going to react when he woke up. It was all a waiting game, and your heart squeezed with anxiety as you awaited his regained consciousness. You didn’t forget the words he said to you right before he slipped away. They rang and rattled in your head like a pinball game on loop.

He had told you he loved you.

The thought of him dying and you never being able to tell him you felt the same haunted you. You thanked Merlin that Snape got there when he did. You also made a mental note to hex Harry into the oblivion the next time you got a chance.

You sighed deeply, your voice quavering as your ran a hand through your tangled hair. His face glistened under the orange lamp on the bedside table, his skin tinged with a grayish undertone and his eye bags deep and dark. The scar you had seen on his face earlier was gone, the skin now just holding a skinny reddened line going across his features as if he was just hit with something. You smiled slightly, knowing it would be gone in the morning and feeling grateful for him that he wouldn’t be scarred with it.

His body was covered in a hospital gown and bandages infused with dittany, but seeing how bad his cuts were before they healed, you knew those would leave something behind no matter what. In your studying towards becoming a Healer, you read about the effects of dark magic and the marks it left behind on its victims. You didn’t know what spell had done what it did to Draco, but it was violent and radiated with darkness.

The softness of his his skin was met under yours, your hand finally allowing itself to fall over his and you let out a sharp exhale at the touch. It wasn’t like earlier when you were holding onto him for dear life, rough and filled with fear and pain, this time it felt familiar. It felt warm despite the coldness of your skin and his. You shook quietly, another set of tears rippling through your body as you tried your best to not wake him. You sat up and slowly leaned over him, looking down at him to observe his peaceful features. He slept soundly and peacefully, his breathing even and quiet. Even though he almost died earlier today, he looked as though he was having the best sleep of his life. The sleep he gravely needed but seemed to never be able to get.

Your free hand softly rested on his cheek now and you carefully moved your lips towards his forehead where you placed a long kiss. A stray tear had fallen onto his skin as you pulled away and you frowned, wiping it away with your sleeve before moving your hand up towards his hair. You smoothed it back, the soft blond strands feeling like silk between your fingers. He was a dream, an angel to you. You stood by what you had told him that unfortunate day under the tree, he was good, and you would tell him again and again until he believed it himself.

Just as you pulled back from him, a sharp gasp erupted and he shot up in bed, grabbing and tearing at his gown as breathless quick pants fell from his lips.

“Hey, Draco, I’m here, you’re okay, relax,” you coo gently, grabbing his hands and holding them tightly in yours so he wouldn’t tear his bandages. Your heart battered against your chest, the waterworks in your eyes beginning all over again. He stared at you, searching your eyes and he began to cry too. The same broken and deep sobbing from months ago you had grown accustomed to hearing.

He threw himself onto you, crying even harder as his arms wrapped around you, his hand on the back of your head pressing you into his chest. You climbed into the bed in deep shaky breaths so that you were now sitting on your knees between his legs. It was overwhelming, to put it lightly, both of you crying into each other as you remembered the fall out, the lonely days and nights, the wasted opportunities, the endless missing of one another’s presence in their lives.

“I’m sorry,” Draco chokes out. “I never meant to hurt you. I thought that by pushing you away, you would be safer, but I can’t do it anymore. I need you, I love you, Y/N.”

You cradled him in your arms, rocking the two of you back and forth, and you shook your head reverently.

“I forgave you the second I thought I was going to lose you,” you respond quickly. “Merlin, Draco, you scared me to death. I thought you were gone.”

The same words from his mother echoed in his head again and he finally understood what they meant.

“It is okay to be that 16 year old boy and revel in those joys for as long as you can before it is too late and they are no longer there.”

Darkness was going to arrive one way or another, it was going to steal the rest of whatever life he had left in him one day. It was out of his hands, out of his control. The time to live his life was now. Because he didn’t know when he would ever have this opportunity of love again, of safety, of light. Everything was undefined and unknown and he felt the anguishing regret of all his decisions when he had seen you in the bathroom hovering over him with a hopeless look in your eyes. He promised himself, to Merlin and to the sun, the moon and all the stars that in the 1% chance that he survived that close call with death, he would never abandon you again. His heart pained at the memory of him trying to sputter out his final ‘I love you,’ not knowing whether or not you heard it or if you understood how genuinely he had meant it.

The room was only filled with sniffles and shaky breathing, both of you still in the same rocking position, afraid that if you let each other go, the other is going to disappear.

“Draco,” you say, lifting his head up from the crook of your neck so that he could look you in the eyes. “I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know. Please don’t ever, ever leave again.”

“Not in a million years, darling.”

PART 3

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azucanela · 5 years ago

Note

OMG I AM OBSESSED WITH YOUR WRITING YOU ARE DEFINITELY ONE OF THE BEST WRITERS ON TUMBLR NO CAP!!! i love ur zuko fics, and i wanted to request some sokka x reader!!! i want u to have complete creative freedom but i love how you write slowburn omg so some enemies to friends to lovers sokka content would be insaneeee! maybe reader is fire nation (zuko’s cousin/iroh’s daughter??) but joins the gaang after crossroads or something?

AFTER | SOKKA X READER

SUMMARY: Sokka didn’t expect the girl who held a knife to his neck to be the same girl he’d fall for. Y/N didn’t really expect to fall either.

WORD COUNT: 10k

WARNINGS: injuries, implications of death, kisses, bloodbending, threats of bodily harm, death threats

A/N: time to give sokka the attention and hype he is OWED, also im SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONGGG but this is quite possibly my favorite Y/N. writing for sokka is hard tho. im not sure how much i like this tbh but its really long omg. also thank you!!!! i feel honored to be considered the best :D you are too kind

When she was younger, Y/N joined Azula’s little troupe of girls. Though she wasn’t some loyal little soldier for her to order around, no, Y/N never feared Azula. Nor did she follow her blindly. No, it had always been a struggle for power between the two. Even when her father was booted from the throne as the rightful heir.

Losing her brother made her wonder if giving up like her father had in Ba Sing Se was the easy way out. Perhaps thats why she promised herself she would never give up. Maybe thats why she challenged Azula to... an unofficial duel when she’d heard her comment. Challenged her and won.

The new Fire Lord’s pride and joy had lost against his niece, a shame.

Y/N hadn’t thought much of it, but it probably would’ve explained why Fire Lord Ozai was rather pleased when Y/N had came to him and explained her intents to go alongside her father and cousin in banishment. She was, no matter how unlikely, another potential heir to the throne. And unlike Zuko, an actual threat. Sending her on a journey to find someone who’d been missing for a century was the best way to get rid of her.

If Y/N was honest, she viewed the banishment as more of a vacation. All her life, she had to deal with banquets, politics, war tactics, all at such a young age. It was tiring, and dull, spending day and night in the palace doing such things. Now, she had the opportunity to travel the world, though her grumpy cousin was rushing them throughout each spot, it was still nice. Zuko certainly didn’t think so, given that they hadn’t found the Avatar yet, not that Y/N believed they ever would but, it is what it is.

A sigh escaped her as she sat, on leg propped up against the other on the deck of the ship, they had arrived in the Southern Water Tribe after seeing an odd light in the distance. Maybe it was cruel, but Y/N sincerely hoped they didn’t find the Avatar. She didn’t want her vacation to end, she didn’t want to return to the politics, and she didn’t want to deal with one of the most powerful people on the planet. Aside from her own desires, Y/N couldn’t help but disapprove of Zuko’s need to please his father, the man who’d hurt him beyond forgiveness.

She sincerely doubted her father approved either. Though their relationship had been strained for some time now. Y/N didn’t hate her father, she doubted that was possible, he was a kind man and a good father. Things between them simply felt... off. She liked to think she’d gotten over it, the initial jealously she felt when she discovered her father intended to join Zuko on his hunt for the Avatar.

When she’d found out from Fire Lord Ozai.

Sometimes she wondered if her father even intended to say goodbye. But she wasn’t a fool, Y/N knew he had recently lost a son, they were both hurting and Zuko needed someone who wasn’t going to hurt him if he did something wrong. Though, Y/N saw him try to save the lives of the soldiers of the so-called great Fire Nation, not do something wrong. Regardless, Zuko needed a father figure, yes. But Y/N needed a father as she grappled with the death of her brother.

Maybe she was just a little bitter about it.

“Are you coming?” Zuko asked, his words coming out harshly.

Raising a brow, Y/N shook her head, “no. Don’t get too violent, though.” She warned, looking at him pointedly, “they’re a small tribe that’s going extinct.”

Zuko rolled his eyes as he exclaimed, “that’s not my fault!”

Sitting up to face him, Y/N smacked him upside the head as she walked past him, “considering the royal family, which you are a part of need I remind you, ordered the genocide of every single Waterbender they had...” She paused, cracking her knuckles before turning to look back at Zuko, “I would say you that everyone here probably blames you for it by assosiation.” Y/N reasoned. She had never liked the history that her ancestors had, much less approved.

Taken aback, Zuko exclaimed, “you’re a part of the royal family too!” Y/N was well aware of the circumstances surrounding his banishment, he’d tried to save lives, but war was the only thing that mattered to the Fire Nation it appeared.

His attempt at defense simply earned him a shrug, “perhaps.” Y/N didn’t consider herself a member of the royal family, and she doubted her father did either. And no matter what Zuko thought, though he was royal by blood, his banishment severed his ties to the throne permanently.

Unless they happened to find the Avatar, though that wasn’t very likely, Y/N decided she would rethinking her life choices should the Avatar be here of all places, as she rested her forearms on the side of the ship and watched Zuko march down his soldiers.

She wasn’t going to tell him that the Southern Water Tribe didn’t have a military, much less benders. As previously mentioned, the genocide destroyed the benders, and the most of the soldiers in the village had headed off to fight in the war against the Fire Nation. Though her brow did raise as she watched him yank an old lady from the small crowd of people, Y/N straightened her back, preparing to get involved.

Of course, a young warrior ended up running at her cousin, war paint and all as he attempted to attack. Key word being attempted. Watching him fall face first into the snow, Y/N realized he wasn’t a warrior, but a boy. The Avatar also happened to be a boy. A very, very young boy. Not a century year old Airbender.

Y/N supposed it was time to start rethinking her life.

Sokka didn’t know what he was supposed to do as he helped Princess Yue onto the Sky Bison. They needed to find Aang’s physical body, quickly, otherwise he wouldn’t be returning to the real world, and they happened to be fresh out of Avatars up until recently so that wasn’t really an option. Not when they needed the balance of the world to be restored immediately.

Sighing, Sokka moved to get onto the Sky Bison, only to be yanked backwards, stumbling before having a knife pressed to his neck. “What the hell!” He exclaimed in shock, garnering the attention of the others that were already on Appa. Katara’s mouth gaping open at the sight of him as Princess Yue cried out in shock.

The knife against his neck is certainly uncomfortable, and he realizes that he probably should’ve stuck around Kyoshi Island long enough to learn how to get out a situation like this. “I’m coming with you. Someone has to make sure Zuko doesn’t do anything else dumb.” Comes a voice from behind him, and Sokka’s brows furrowed in confusion, who was this? And why were they trying to kill him? More importantly, how did they know Prince Zuko, the guy who had been chasing them since Aang had come out of that iceberg. Questions ran rampant through his mind, and he nearly forgot that his life was being threatened.

That was a luxury he couldn’t afford at the moment.

Though he couldn’t see the person behind him, he could see Katara grimace at her demand, anyone associated with Prince Zuko likely had a similar end goal, to capture the Avatar. This wasn’t something they could allow, and Sokka recognized this as Katara asked, “why should we trust you?” Katara’s eyes soon met Sokka’s and he knew that no matter what he said, she would give into the girl’s demands for his safety. Sokka mentally scolded himself for failing to prevent this situation.

The girl behind him scoffed, “unlike my dear cousin,” Sokka couldn’t help the shock that flooded him, cousin? As in Zuko is this girl’s cousin? Or did she mean someone else? He was kidding himself, there was no one else it could be. “I like banishment, it’s like a fun little vacation. I could care less about the Avatar.” The knife draws in closer to Sokka’s neck, nearly drawing blood, likely expressing the fact that she could care less if Katara believed her. Though Sokka doubted she didn’t care about the Avatar, he was one of the most important people in the world.

But Sokka would likely die if she didn’t agree, or at least end up fatally injured. No matter how far Katara had come with her Waterbending, she hadn’t perfected it yet, and healing was only so effective. Sokka sincerely doubted she could beat the speed of this girl and her weapon considering the fact that she’d gotten the jump on them the first time around. Death wasn’t something he wanted, but anyone who knew Zuko couldn’t be trusted, much less someone who shared his blood. If he turned out... like that, Sokka didn’t want to imagine how this stranger ended up.

“Don’t try anything.” Katara warned, eyeing the girl wearily. Though it was an empty threat for the most part, in the air, there was little Katara could do against a foe. Though three, well two if you exclude the princess, against one seemed like favorable odds, this girl seemed talented in combat, even without bending.

She released Sokka, and he turned to see her beaming up at Katara, “happy to be doing business with ya.” Turning to Sokka, she looked him up and down, sizing him up before speaking, “be a gentleman and help me up?” Yeah, she was crazy. The pretty ones are always crazy. That, and she was Zuko’s cousin, it made sense. Though Sokka was fairly sure that she was joking, you could never be too sure.

“Who even are you?!” He exclaimed, exasperated and preparing to whip out his boomerang as he glared at her. He didn’t recognize her, but she’d likely been traveling with Zuko for quite some time now if they were related.

She just shrugged, “you can call me Y/N.” She got onto Appa with ease, Katara on guard a she eyed her, eyes piercing into her soul, Y/N raised a brow upon noticing this, “calm down. I wouldn’t have killed him.”

Katara inhaled deeply, trying to maintain patience as Sokka got into the saddle, “yip, yip.”

Y/N wasn’t really shocked when it turned out Azula was after them. Of course good old Uncle Ozai sent his most valuable asset to bring them back. Though some good at come of it, Zuko cut his ponytail, something Y/N had taken pleasure in bullying him over. Now they were on the run, in the very city that her father had tried to run to the ground all those years ago.

Irony at its finest.

Tugging at the sleeves of her Earth Kingdom garments, Y/N sighed, walking through the streets of the city. She didn’t know where she was if she was honest, and standing in the beautiful plaza, Y/N wondered if maybe, it would be better if she never returned back to that horrid apartment. Her father was starting over, getting them all jobs at a tea shop, even Zuko had tried to move on, going out on a date with a girl.

The Earth Kingdom was an odd place, but here, no one knew who she was. It wouldn’t be difficult to restart, alone. Without the expectations she’d been raised with. Fists balling up, Y/N exhaled slowly, turning a corner. There wasn’t graffiti in this part of the city, she realized, staring at the walls. Though there was an odd poster, squinting at it, she moved closer. It was a poorly drawn image of-

A Sky Bison. The same one she’d ridden on back during the Siege of the North, not that any others existed, the Sky Bison were a dying breed. Which could only mean one thing, the Avatar was in Ba Sing Se.

"Have you seen him?” She heard from behind her. Y/N recognized the voice, it belonged to the boy she’d held at knife point, “the drawing isn’t my best but-”

Turning around she spoke rapidly, “don’t freak out.” This was a problem.

Y/N liked to think she was the least threatening of the Royal Family, aside from her father that is. Though they could both be lethal in their own ways, neither demonstrated the true extents of their power unless it was truly necessary. Maybe that’s why Y/N hoped that the boy, Sokka, she believed his name was, wouldn’t freak out.

Of course, he did. Dropping the posters in his hand, he opened his mouth, likely to scream, only for Y/N to practically tackle him. She slammed his body against the wall, covering his mouth with her hand as she glared at him. Sokka let out a grunt of surprise, immediately beginning to struggle in her hold, “calm down! I don’t have a knife this time around.” Y/N cried out, her voice a hushed whisper. Of course, what she said was a lie, she always had at least three weapons on her. Upon entering the city, she’d knocked that number down to only two weapons, much to her dismay and Iroh’s relief.

She felt him lick her hand, and she quickly removed her hand in disgust, while keeping the other planted on his shoulder, they both exclaimed, “what the hell!”

Sokka’s eyes narrowed at her, “look. I don’t wanna cause a scene, so I’m just gonna go-” He sighed when her hand remained on his shoulder, firmly holding him against the wall as he tried to move away only to be pushed back into the wall. “Or not.”

“Look, you cannot go back to your little group and tell them that I’m here.” Y/N tried to choose her words carefully, if she didn’t need to, she didn’t want to suggest that her father and Zuko were also in the city. “I’m trying to have a permanent vacation, away from the Fire Nation and my crazy family, in Ba Sing Se.” She explained, slowly removing her hand from his shoulder, “think you can respect that?”

He looked at her wearily, during their last interaction, she’d made no attempts to actually injure them. And when she had the Avatar right in front of her, unlike Zuko, she hadn’t tried to kidnap him. Y/N had been honest last time, and chances were, she was being honest now. That didn’t make him feel any better about trusting her though.

“How do I know you won’t follow me and kill me in my sleep?”

Y/N looked at him incredulously, “is that a joke?” She’d considered that too though, the possibility that he’d follow her back to her shared apartment and alert his friends of their location. Y/N refused to be the reason that they lost their new lives in Ba Sing Se, and had already decided to check into an inn for the night.

Raising a brow at her, Sokka gestured for her to give him an answer, and Y/N stared at him momentarily, “well. How do I know you won’t kill me in my sleep?” Y/N retorted.

Sokka rolled his eyes at her, “I’m a good person.” Came his response.

“Debatable.”

Sokka stared at her in disbelief, “I’m trying to save the world here!” He exclaimed, and Y/N wasn’t shocked by his response, her goal had been to fluster him and she had.

Tilting her head at him, Y/N replied, “sure.” Stretching her arms upwards, she waves to him, “don’t tell your friends I was here, and we’re good.” She began to walk further into the alley, towards the other side, “see you around.” If he was here, his friends were probably around the area as well, meaning she had to leave.

His mouth gaped open and he stared at her figure as she stalked off, pausing momentarily before groaning and running after her, ending up at her side. “What do you mean, sure?” Sokka asked, confusion laced in his tone.

Y/N raised a brow at him. “What are you doing?” She wanted to laugh at his reaction, though he was now following her liked a lovesick puppy, which could prove problematic.

Crossing his arms he responded, “making sure you don’t do anything bad.” Sokka eyed her suspiciously, “because I am a good person.” He asserted.

“And I’m a bad person?”

She already knew he was going to say, ‘yes, yes you are.’ After all, she was from the Fire Nation, and Y/N had no doubt she’d done terrible things in her life, especially when she’d fallen into a dark place and taken on... less than favorable coping mechanisms.

And he’s silent for a moment, leaving Y/N to wonder if he suddenly cares about the feelings of the enemy. Only for him to say, “in my experience... good people can do bad things.”

That wasn’t what she expected. Y/N found herself stunned, speechless as she looked to Sokka, though he simply continued to walk alongside her nonchalantly. Quickly collecting herself, she looks away from him and to the nearby food stand, “that didn’t answer my question.” And as Sokka opened his mouth to likely continue his statement, Y/N realized she didn’t want to know the answer as she spoke, “you want food? I want food. Let’s get food.”

Sighing, Sokka followed her, “as long as you don’t poison me.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed at his comment, looking back at him, “do you-” A small laugh escaped her, “do you think I just carry around poison?”

Sokka didn’t know why he swelled with pride when he made her laugh, “in case you run into your enemies, absolutely.” It was probably because she was the enemy, and it took real talent to make someone who hated you laugh.

“How often do you think I run into my enemies and invite them to get food with me?” She asked, picking up a few things from the stand, before heading over to pay.

Frowning, Sokka watches her pay, “I thought we were bonding over,” he paused to take a meat bun from her and shove it into her face dramatically, “meat! Yet, I’m still your enemy.”

Y/N simply shrugged, “this is a one time thing.”

It was not a one time thing.

Sokka found himself ‘coincidentally’ running into Y/N, more and more often. She’d be walking through the streets of the upper ring about once a week, though she had started walking through the streets of the inner ring of Ba Sing Se far more frequently than normal in recent weeks. He’d been meaning to ask her why, maybe she’d also grown accustomed to their meetings and started to come around more. During their meetups they’d talk, about things other than the war, which was a conversation difficult to come by with the others. Though he cared for his friends, talking to Y/N felt different, a good different. She wasn’t overbearing like Katara, or mean like Toph, but she also wasn’t as passive as Aang.

It was odd. Knowing someone who had once held a knife to your neck in a more friendly way. Though, if Sokka was honest, he didn’t trust her, and she likely didn’t trust him either. They’d both taken precautions due to the mistrust between them, not that be blamed her. At the end of the day, they were still on opposing sides, kind of. Y/N had never seemed to care about finding the Avatar, but she was certainly loyal to her family above all else.

She’d demonstrated that in the Northern Water Tribe.

Sokka was the same, if he had saw an inkling of betrayal as a possibility, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell the others. Their safety was his priority at the end of the day, and Y/N didn’t owe him anything, just like he didn’t owe her anything. Maybe that was the beauty of it all. But for now, everything remained peaceful, calming, and simple.

Of course, all good things must come to an end.

Katara had oddly disappeared after Aang arrived with news of his vision. And then, as though things couldn’t get any weirder, Iroh arrived, Y/N’s apparent Father Iroh. Toph seemed to know him well, which certainly came as a shock to Sokka and Aang. “I need your help, Prince Zuko has been captured.” He explained, opening his mouth to continue only for Sokka to interrupt. He couldn’t help it when his brows furrowed in both confusion and frustration, Y/N had never suggested that the rest of her family was here.

“Are you crazy? You guys were trying to capture Aang not to long ago!” Sokka pointed out, throwing his arms outwards, “why not get Y/N to help?” She was certainly capable of raiding the palace and retrieving her cousin.

At this comment, Iroh’s face darkened, “we were separated in the palace. I’m unsure if they managed to capture her or if she escaped.” Oh. So that’s what he was going to say.

Sokka couldn’t help it when his face dropped, looking to Iroh he exclaimed, “well- why didn’t you lead with that!” Pushing past Aang who had been prepared to start giving a speech on why they should assist Iroh, only for his mouth to gape open as Sokka headed for the door.

“Why are you so eager?” Toph asked as they began to follow him out the door.

He faltered, quickly trying to think up a good excuse as he replied, “no reason.”

Toph’s frowned, “I can tell when you’re lying Sokka.” She reminded him.

“We can discuss this later!” He exclaimed, flustered. “Let’s go.”

Y/N had contemplated killing Zuko before.

It had never really been serious, as far as she would’ve gone was maybe injuring him badly enough that she got her point across. But at the end of the day, she protected Zuko to the best of her ability, and tried to keep his mind from being poisoned by the Fire Nation ideals that she’d once lived by unquestionably.

Now she actually wanted him dead. He stood alongside Azula, who had offered Y/N her spot in her little gang hours ago, though she’d rejected the offer much to Azula’s chagrin. But she seemed sure that Y/N would accept some time soon. Perhaps it was because Zuko had betrayed her father and left him to the Dai Li.

He had betrayed her father, the man who had practically raised both of them.

Y/N had a violent past, she wouldn’t deny, and she liked to think that she was past all that. But looking at the situation ahead of them, watching the Waterbender, Sokka’s sister, Katara, cry over the body of the Avatar, she realized that maybe violence was the answer. Just this once.

So, when she hopped in front of them, she had a plan. A violent one.

“Pull yourself together.” She snapped at Katara, who looked up at her, bloodshot eyes and tears streaming down her confused face, “he’s getting out of here alive. But first, I need you to soak them.” Y/N gestured towards the troops coming towards them, Zuko and Azula accompanying them. Katara opened her mouth, and Y/N didn’t care what she was going to say as she ordered, “now!”

Katara’s brows drew together as she released the Avatar’s head onto her lap, raising her hands to use the waterfall behind them to successfully drench the soldiers, who groaned at the discomfort but pausing temporarily before they continued towards them. “What did you think that would accomplish? What a pitiful-” Azula’s taunts were paused when she watched as Y/N drew her hands together, inhaling deeply, and Azula stopped her movement. “That’s not possible.”

Suddenly, lightning was between Y/N’s fingertips, and she extended her hand into the large puddle of water that Katara had created. Y/N had learnt to bend lightning soon after she’d mastered Firebending, from her father, he’d insisted that she only use it when necessary, so she kept her ability to herself. This was necessary, she decided, hand touching the water and sending a shock throughout everyone with it, successfully putting all of the soldiers out of commission.

Unfortunately, Azula recognized the signs of lightning bending, and withdrew alongside Zuko, and the two were now coming to attack from above at a rapid rate. Y/N whipped her head around to see Katara, mouth gaped open at all the fallen soldiers. “You two need to leave, I’ll hold them off.” She began to move to create another strike of lightning

“No.” Called out another voice, and Y/N whipped her head over to see it was her father, Dai Li agents likely nearby as he moved in front of Y/N. “You all need to leave. Take Y/N with you, she will help the Avatar reach his destiny.” Y/N wanted to laugh at that, how could he be so sure? If the boy did die, then this would all be for nothing

Y/N scoffed, “are you crazy?” She moved closer to her father, “unlike Zuko, I’m not leaving you.” She exclaimed, exasperated.

Iroh simply smiled at her as he said, “I’m proud of you, Y/N.”

Sokka knew he seemed dumb. He knew how others perceived him, as the ‘extra’ member of Team Avatar, the useless one, because he lacked bending. At the end of the day, Sokka was the brains of their operations, he was observant, and this helped him develop plans that most people would never even consider.

Not that anyone else knew, but Sokka was the only one that had actually interacted with Y/N prior to what happened in Ba Sing Se. Sure, they’d all met once or twice in the past, but Sokka had a knife to his throat then, so Y/N probably didn’t seem that appealing to the others. And he doubted they understood how odd it was that she was so... apathetic. Normally she’d tease, and joke alongside him but now?

It was odd, and nobody else could notice the shift in her personality but him, and he was concerned. Y/N had lost her father, and been betrayed by her cousin, and she had yet to talk about it, at all. Sokka liked to think that they were close enough to discuss such things, and he’d tried to get some sort of emotion out of her, the key word being tried.

Despite her apathetic personality, the others had warmed up to her for the most part. Apparently Toph had met Y/N in the past, during the time she’d run off and encountered Iroh. So, the two got acquainted fairly fast, Aang was happy to have a Firebender, and insisted that once he was back to full strength, and they’d found a better place for practice, he’d learn Firebending from her. Y/N had agreed but it was clear Aang wasn’t as excited as he was acting, Sokka figured he still associated the time he hurt Katara with Firebending.

Katara had been far less weary of Y/N than Sokka had expected, but given what Katara had told him when she’d first joined, that made sense. Y/N was a powerful Firebender who had betrayed her entire nation to help save Aang’s life, and though Katara didn’t approve of everything she’d done in the past, she tolerated her. Which was better than nothing in Sokka’s book.

They were currently camped out in the woods beside a Fire Nation town, everyone had scattered to prepare for the few nights they’d likely stay in the area. Katara had gone to the town with Toph and Aang, in search of supplies and food, while Sokka and Y/N set up the camp and collected wood to help start a fire. Y/N had insisted that she could maintain the fire without any wood, but Sokka viewed this as an excuse to get her alone and force her to discuss her feelings.

“So...” Sokka mumbled, looking to her as she leaned down to pick up another piece of wood, “lovely weather we’re having.”

Y/N turned to him, raising a brow before nodding, “yeah.” It was clear she wasn’t entirely paying attention the nonsense that was coming out of his mouth as he tried to get her to listen to him.

Sokka grabbed another piece of wood, “how have you been?”

Tilting her head at him in confusion, Y/N brought another piece of wood into her arms, “fine.” Looking up at the dimming sky she frowned, “we should start heading back to that spot we’d found earlier.” Y/N turned to begin walking, and Sokka struggled to match her pace.

His brows furrowed in frustration as he stared at her, the light of the falling sun filtering in between the trees and onto them. Y/N seemed to glow as she maneuvered between the trees, “how have you been sleeping?” Even Sokka sounded confused at the question he asked, but he didn’t know how to broach the topic with Y/N.

She simply paused her movement, turning to him, he stumbled slightly due to the abrupt stop, and met her eyes. “Just ask what you wanna ask, Sokka. Stop dancing around whatever it is.” Y/N sounded tired, looking to him expectantly as she awaited his question. Sokka scolded himself for being so obvious that she’d noticed something was up.

He sighed, “are you okay?” And she opened her mouth to respond but he continued, “actually? You can say that you are okay, and not mean it. Y/N you lost your dad and were betrayed by your cousin, and you-” Sokka grimaced as he met her eyes, “you haven’t been the same since you joined us.”

Y/N is silent for a moment, then her eyes were piercing into his, “how would you know that I haven’t been the same?” She asked, turning away to continue walking back to the chosen campsite, “it’s not like you know me.” His statement had set her off it appeared, but her response had easily done the same for him.

“Are you serious? Not like I know you?” He scoffed, jogging to catch up with her, “I know that you do whatever it takes to protect the people you care about. I know that you really like Earth Kingdom food because most of the food within the Fire Nation is on the spicier side.” Y/N didn’t seem to be listening, and the camp was in sight, but Sokka continued, “I know that you get really cold easily unless you regulate your body temperature with your Firebending. And I know that you can’t pick a favorite color because you are very indecisive.”

Aggressively, Y/N dropped the sticks into the center of the campsite as they arrived, turning to him, “you can stop now.” Her voice was almost taunting as she spoke, sarcastic in a way.

Sokka simply followed suit, placing the firewood in the center and facing her head on, “and most importantly, I know what it’s like to lose someone.” He takes her hand, and Y/N practically growls at the contact, attempting to yank her hand out of his grasp, she ends up pulling him closer towards her. Sokka clumsily topples onto her, knocking the both of them down into the dirt with a grunt. His forearms preventing him from crushing Y/N under his body weight as he held himself up, his eyes meet hers.

Y/N finds herself glaring daggers at him, while Sokka finishes his little speech with, “you don’t have to deal with this alone.”

And in that moment, he looks at her, really looks at her. And she’s really pretty.

Y/N opens her mouth to say something to him, only for someone else to begin speaking, “are we interrupting something?” Toph. Looking up, Sokka sees the others as well, Aang looks rather smug as he wiggles his eyebrows at Sokka, and Katara gives him a pointed look, likely disappointed that he’d fraternizing with the former enemy. He can’t help it when he feels his cheeks warm, and before he can move to get off Y/N, she’s launched him off of her, and he’s flat on his back on the ground. Toph laughs at the actions, bending a seat of earth for herself and the others before falling backwards into it, the girl seems to wish she had popcorn as she watched the moment unfold.

“No.” Y/N mumbles, bringing herself to her feet and dusting herself off. “I’ll be in my tent if you need me.” She retreats into one of the tents they’d set up earlier, and Sokka groans as he lets his head fall backwards into the ground and runs his hands over his face.

When he removes them, Aang is standing over him, along with Toph, while Katara organizes the firewood. “So... did we interrupt something?” Toph asked.

Sokka just sighs, his plan failed. This time at least. Next time, his goal would be to make her laugh, to make her smile. At least she had expressed some emotion, anger was better than nothing.

Anger seemed to turn to annoyance, since Y/N doesn’t leave her tent until nightfall and Sokka can’t help but wonder what was entertaining enough to keep her in there for all that time. When she does exit, she uses her Firebending to light a fire, and uses the firewood they’d collected earlier to ensure it stays alight. The rest of the group was seated around the center of the campsite, and Sokka wonders if she’s going to go back to her tent when she realizes the only open seat is next to him.

She doesn’t return to her tent though and he’s grateful. Though she sits as far as possible from him on the bench that Toph had created, half-heartedly listening to the things that the others are saying. Y/N can feel herself getting cold and can’t help the resent that bubbles up in her chest as she recalls what Sokka send earlier. Exhaling deeply, a puff of blue fire escapes her mouth and Y/N feels nauseous at the small reminder of Azula.

This catches Sokka’s attention, though the others are too enraptured in the story Aang was telling, Sokka turned to her, “cold?” He asked, leaning to the side to grab a blanket from his small pack, he offers it to her.

Y/N knew she wouldn’t be able to regulate her temperature when she fell asleep, but accepting the blanket from Sokka felt like... it felt like accepting him and everything he had said about her. So, when she doesn’t take the blanket from his hands, Sokka sighs, moving to put it back, only for Y/N to snatch the blanket from his hand and wrap it around herself begrudgingly.

This was her way of apologizing, moving closer to Sokka on the small bench she huffed as she pulled the blanket tighter around herself and turned her attention to Aang. She’d been mean, she wouldn’t deny, but what was she supposed to say? Exhaling deeply, Y/N closes her eyes temporarily, allowing drowsiness to consume her for a moment, before looking back to Aang.

It isn’t until Sokka feels a weight fall onto his shoulder midway through his own story that he realizes Y/N has fallen asleep, his mouth gaping open in shock as he pauses his words. He quickly shakes off the shock, cheeks warming as he turns back to the rest of the group, who all regard him curiously. Aang once again wiggles his eyebrows and Sokka ignores the action, continuing his story. Though he’s more weary of his vivid hand movements in fear of awakening Y/N, and noticeably quiets his voice. Sokka finds himself wishing he was Y/N as he listens to Katara’s Water Tribe horror story intently, after all, this is the most peaceful he’s ever seen her.

It doesn’t last long, because she’s soon startled awake, hand going to her side where she keeps her dagger as she and Toph speak simultaneously, “someone’s coming.”

As an old woman emerges from the shadows, Sokka practically holds Y/N down to keep her from lunging at her and attacking as the woman speaks. And of course, Y/N’s distaste for the woman doesn’t stop there, even when she invites them into her home, though Sokka doesn’t blame her. She’s a suspicious woman.

It’s not until he and Aang are attacking each other that Sokka regrets preventing Y/N from attacking the old woman when she had the chance. Katara is struggling to move, and Sokka can only hope that Toph and Y/N return from the cave soon as he yelps upon nearly making contact with Aang, the old woman laughing cynically. Sokka watches as she shifts, hand outstretching behind her, “don’t think I forgot you little Firebender.”

His eyes widen in both shock and fear as Y/N’s body is suddenly thrown onto the ground in front of him. Her body rising almost mechanically, back to a stand, Sokka realizes there’s lightning at her fingertips, the woman manipulating her body to aim for Sokka. “A shame you’ll be the woman to end your friend’s life isn’t it,” She’s making eye contact with Katara who is crying out and begging for her to stop.

Sokka can see the panic in Y/N’s eyes as the her hands aim towards him, “Y/N. It’s okay.” He calls out her, in an attempt at assurance that he doubts does much to soothe her. “It’s okay.” He repeats, squeezing his eyes shut as he prepares for the lightning to hit him. Except it never does, instead, it goes upwards into the sky as Y/N cries out in pain, having moved her body despite the woman blending her blood.

She had overpowered Hama’s bloodbending, something that clearly came as a shock to the old woman as Y/N turned around sluggishly, staring at the shocked old woman as blue fire left her mouth once more, chest heaving. Sokka could feel the weight on his bones slowly disappear, leaving behind an ache, the woman likely intended to focus her abilities onto Y/N, who was struggling to walk towards her.

“Scared?” Y/N asked, looking up at the woman, “you should be.”

The next time that Team Avatar feared Y/N. She was face to face with Zuko.

He’d approached them as they sat in the Air Temple. And Y/N had practically jumped out of her seat, preparing for a fight as lightning seemed to dance at her fingertips. Though Sokka knew better than to allow her to attack her cousin, and grabbed her arm. “Can you guys handle this?” He asks the others, maintaining eye contact with Y/N. The others looked to them understanding what would likely occur if Y/N was allowed to be involved.

Zuko wouldn’t walk away from that fight.

“We got this Sokka.” Katara assured, pure hate in her eyes as she stared Zuko down, and Sokka couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he should remove both of them from the situation.

Sokka’s hand found Y/N’s, and it was almost burning hot, a sparks seeming to fly between them, he pulls at her hand. Y/N hesitantly allows him to drag her away, though she turns back momentarily to meet Zuko’s eyes. “I’ll kill you later, cousin.” She promises, and her voice is scarily calm. “For my father.” The condescending tone in her voice and the wince Zuko has in response is enough for Sokka to know that her intent was to hurt him emotionally if she couldn’t do it physically, and it was clear she had been successful.

Inhaling deeply, Y/N closes her eyes temporarily as Sokka brings her into one of many abandoned rooms in the temple, sitting her down onto a bed before kneeling down in front of her. “Are you good?” He asks.

“That’s a stupid question.” Comes her response.

Sokka tilts his head at her, giving her a smile, “well I’m a stupid guy.”

He’s rubbing gentle circles in her hand as she shakes her head, a small laugh escaping her, “no you’re not.” Her voice cracks and she cringes at the sound so she clears her throat, staring at the wall beside her. Sokka can’t help the way his heart swells at this comment, because for once he doesn’t feel like the comic relief, he doesn’t feel like the side character. Though he appreciates the rest of Team Avatar and loves them all dearly, at times, they didn’t take him seriously.

Y/N makes him feel important. Though he doesn’t say this as he looks at her, clearly shaken by Zuko’s sudden appearance, she speaks once more, “are you sure I can’t kill him?”

This time Sokka laughs, shaking his head, “I’m sure Katara would love to help you with that, but I doubt Aang would approve.”

Y/N nods slowly, letting out a shaky breath as a tear escaped her, though she quickly wiped it away and looks to the ground. “You wanna sit with me?” She asks, patting the spot on the bed beside her.

“Sure.” He replies softly, moving to sit on the bed with her. One he’s situated, Y/N leans her head onto his shoulder, and Sokka finds his hand wrapping around her waist. And they sit like this for several moments.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N removes her head from his shoulder and looks to him, “thank you.”

Sokka raises a brow, “for what?”

“Being here.” She replies, bringing her hand to move a hair from his face, Sokka watches her actions intently and in awe. “With me.” Her hand remains on his face for longer than necessary, and when she moves to let it fall back into her lap, Sokka’s hand cups hers.

They’re both silent when Sokka’s hand releases hers, and his other hand leaves her waist, both coming to her face. The look in his eyes tells her enough, and she nods to him.

The kiss felt like the first breath of fresh air in a while. Maybe it’s because it had been long overdue, but as Y/N brought her hands to his arms to pull him closer, she felt her head empty of all thoughts.

He pulls away momentarily, their foreheads resting against each others, he can see her eyes are shut, lashes pressed against her cheeks. “I hope,” Sokka pauses, and her eyes flutter open to look at him, he can feel his cheek warm as he continues, “I hope I can always be here, with you.” It’s a confession in its own way, and Sokka understands the weight of his words as he watches her reaction.

She opens her mouth, likely to reply, be closes it quickly, and Sokka can’t help the panic that floods him. Though this is quickly replaced by the feeling of her lips on his as her hand collides with his chest and pushes him down on the bed, earning a grunt from him.

“Guys, Zuko is gone-” Y/N throws herself onto the floor as she rolls off Sokka, and he sits up immediately. “Am I interrupting something now?” Aang asked, giving Sokka a look.

Y/N clears her throat, “no.” Sokka couldn’t help it when his brows drew together at this comment, bringing a hand to his temple as he sighed, and Y/N stood, dusting off her thighs as she mumbled, “see you guys later.”

She started avoiding him after that.

When Zuko joined the group, she’s also made a point to avoid him no matter how hard he tried to apologize to her. And of course, when Sokka first showed him to his room they had a... chat. To put it simply, Sokka had threatened him.

Just a little.

“So yeah, here it is, your room.” Gesturing to the room, Sokka gave Zuko a tight lipped smile, watching him wearily.

Zuko’s back was to him as he placed his stuff down, “thank you.” He said, expecting that to be the end of it, upon hearing the door close he assumed Sokka had left.

When he turned around, Sokka was still very much there. “Let’s have a chat, Prince Zuko.” It didn’t go unnoticed by Sokka how the boy grimaced at the use of his title, though that didn’t stop him from moving forward and placing a hand on Zuko’s shoulder a little too tightly. “Y/N does not want to speak with you.”

“I know,” Came his reply. “Thank you for keeping her from... killing me. The other day. I intend to apologize-”

A small laugh escaped Sokka, “next time. I won’t stop her.” This was for multiple reasons, one of which being that Y/N was avoiding him, and the other being that he wished to respect her and her feeling about Zuko. “And you need to respect her wishes. One of those wishes being, avoiding you. Until she approaches you, leave her be.”

Zuko’s brows furrowed at this comment, “she’s my cousin. You can’t expect-”

“Leave. Her. Be.”

Zuko became silent, nodding slowly as he looked to Sokka curiously.

And now, to avoid some of his problems and solve some of them, Sokka ended up running away in a hot air balloon with the person he related to the most at the moment, and the person he threatened rather recently. Zuko. Both of them were being avoided by someone important in their lives, and they both had slightly crazy younger sisters. Though their conversations were certainly... odd.

“My first girlfriend turned into the moon.”

Zuko looked at him for a moment before saying, “that’s rough, buddy.” There was silence after this, a temporary lapse in conversation that Zuko seemed determined to fill. “So...” Zuko mumbled. “You and my cousin huh.”

It wasn’t a question, Sokka realized this, but he disregarded it as he responded, “what about us?” Playing dumb would hopefully get him to drop the subject.

Zuko raised his brows at Sokka, “us?”

Scolding himself, Sokka realized he’d unintentionally dug a deeper hole for himself when he said this as he tried to avoid Zuko’s gaze. “Not really.” Sokka replied, “she’s avoiding me too.”

Nodding, Zuko gave him a tight lipped smile, “what did you do?”

“I wish I knew.” Sokka could only make assumptions about why Y/N had begun to avoid him, but at the end of the day was confused over it.

He really needed to talk to her.

As the day of Sozin’s Comet drew closer, Sokka had started trying to talk to Y/N more and more, she’d keep basic conversation but whenever he tried to address... the kiss, Y/N would shut down the conversation. And now, it was the day of Sozin’s Comet, and they established that Zuko and Katara would take on Azula, Aang would take on Ozai, and the rest of them would go after the army that was heading for the Earth Kingdom.

It seemed that Sokka intended to try to speak with her once more as he approached her while she strapped a dagger to her thigh. “We need to talk.” He said, plopping down onto a rock beside her.

“About battle strategy?” She asked, looking to him, “I had some ideas.”

Play dumb, play dumb, play dumb.

Sokka’s brows furrowed as he shook his head, “about the kiss, Y/N.” Y/N tried to hide her shock at his forwardness, he’d never been this blunt before, during his previous attempts to discuss this with her. Turning to him, she prepared to speak but he silenced her, “you’re going to listen this time.” Grimacing, he looked away, towards the horizon. “I don’t know what’s going to happen today. And if something goes wrong, I need you to know-”

“Nothing is going wrong.” Y/N stated firmly. “Nothing. So, we can have this conversation after.”

Sokka sat up from his place on the rock, moving in front of her, “there’s no way to guarantee that Y/N.”

Squeezing her eyes shot, Y/N took a deep breath, “I’ll make sure nothing happens to you guys.” She promised, “and I swear we can talk about this after.” She grabs onto his hands, holding them in hers as she looks away. Y/N knew why she was avoiding it. He was right, it was totally possible for one of them to die, and a relationship in the midst of a war was the worst possible idea. After would be better, or at least that’s what she’d told herself.

The pleading look in his eyes almost burns through her resolve as he asks, “will we?” It almost hurts that he doesn’t believe her, but Y/N can’t blame him.

“We need to go.” Her voice was almost a whisper as she releases his hands. Even if she wanted to continue discussing the subject, they needed to begin the battle soon.

Sokka frowned though, “if you don’t want this, just tell me and I’ll-” He sighed, bringing a hand to his temple. “I’ll stop bothering you.”

Y/n began to shake her head, “you are never a bother to me I just-” Sighing, she looked into his eyes, “I want this. I do, I’m just scared, and we’re in the middle of a war Sokka!” She exclaimed, the words spilling out of her mouth before she can stop them.

“You think I don’t know that?” Sokka cried out, exasperated. “Y/N I’m so scared that something is going to go wrong, and I’ll never get to tell you that I-”

“Don’t say it.” She interrupts, fear in her veins as she watches him.

So, he didn’t.

If she didn’t feel like she had something to come back to, maybe that would make it easier. Sacrifices would have to be made to reach victory, and Y/N wouldn’t hesitate to be the one to make them if it meant the others survived. They deserved to see the new world, the world of peace, prosperity, and freedom, the one that came after all this.

Y/N could feel the power flooding her as the comet drew closer, pure and raw power. Though this accompanied by her skill would likely help her in the upcoming battle, dozens of Firebenders with half her skill and the power of the comet was something she was definitely worried about. Overpowering them all was unlikely, and in the best case scenario, Y/N could slow them down. But she wasn’t a fool. In war, there were always casualties, and she was prepared to become one of many.

Then there were the thoughts in the back of her mind. Though nobody had discussed it, the throne could potentially go to her after all this, and that wasn’t really something Y/n was looking forward to debating. Perhaps it was selfish, but Y/N didn’t really care. Was it wrong of her to dream of escaping the shackles that bound her to the Fire Nation since birth, to leave behind the politics and the lies and the pain of it all?

Maybe.

Sokka knew Y/N had a lot going on in her mind right now. And he knew she was scared of what was to come, and no matter how much it hurt him, he respected her wishes to wait until this battle was over to discuss whatever it was between them. He knew where he stood. But now that Suki had left them, he found himself beginning to regret it. On the top of the Air Balloon, Toph was practically blind, and Sokka could do little in terms of long distance, aside from his boomerang. Which left Y/N to do her best to defend them from the Firebenders that had begun to swarm them.

“Go!” She cried out, knocking one of the Firebenders off the balloon. “Take out the rest of the fleet.” Y/N dodged the oncoming flames, intercepting them with her own to prevent the others from getting burned.

But Sokka wasn’t going to let anyone die today. “You still owe me a conversation,” came his response, looking down at the bridges on the Air Balloon. “Jump!” Sokka cried out as another ball of fire rushed towards them, he took Toph by the hand and hoped that Y/N followed.

Thankfully, she did, he took notice of her as he fell towards the bridges extending from the giant hot air balloon. They were all screaming as they fell, and Y/N grunted in pain as she hit Sokka, tumbling over him and off the edge, yelping as her hands grasped the bridge, with little leverage. Toph similarly went over the side, her screams filling Sokka ears as Y/N released one of her hands from the bridge and caught Toph’s wrist.

Panic flooded Sokka as he scrambled to the edge of the bridge, Y/N’s hand slipping, “Sokka! Hurry up-” Another scream rips out of her as she loses her grip on the edge.

Nearly falling as he grabbed her hand, his chest heaved. “It’s gonna be okay.” He promised, looking into Y/N’s panicked eyes. “It’s gonna be fine Toph!” He cried out to her.

“Yeah, right!” She called out into the wind, the fear evident in her voice despite the sarcastic nature of the comment. “Y/N I don’t wanna die.”

Y/N almost can’t hear her, too focused on maintaining her grip on both Sokka and Toph’s hands. She exhales slowly, eyes falling on the soldiers that are beginning to make their way down to them as she replied, “you’re gonna be fine, I promise. I’m gonna get you to Sokka, okay?”

Sokka was internally panicking, he wouldn’t be able to fight back against the incoming soldiers if both his hands were occupied, but his grip was faltering and he couldn’t pull them both up. Grimacing as he looked down at the two, he nodded in agreement to Y/N signaling that he was ready. It made sense in his mind, she would be able to use her free hand to Firebend, which was far more useful than anything he could provide at the moment.

Inhaling deeply, Y/N looks to Toph, “Toph, I need you to climb up my body, and grab Sokka’s free hand, okay?”

Toph’s death grip on her hand seems to grow stronger, tears brimming her eyes, “I- I don’t think I can.”

Y/N shakes her head at these words, “yes, yes you can. Bring your legs up to grab my lower body, and then make your way up, okay? Like a tree.”

Toph shook her head rapidly, “I’ve never climbed a tree!”

Sokka couldn’t help but grow impatient as he exclaimed, “there are soldiers coming, Toph please!” His hand was growing sweaty as he used his free hand to throw his sword at one of the oncoming soldiers, effectively knocking him down.

Y/N felt her arm swing slightly, and watched as Toph blindly extended her legs, finally managing to wrap them around her legs. She released Y/N’s hand and wrapped both arms around her lower body, slowly inching upwards until her legs were around Y/N’s waist and her arms were on her shoulders. “Good job, now reach up, as far as you can, and Sokka’s gonna grab your hand.” Y/n instructed using her free hand to pat the hand that Toph had wrapped around her.

Y/N could feel the young girl’s tears fall onto her shirt as she extended her hand upwards, Sokka’s freehand moving as far down as possible. The strain on Y/N’s body slowly becoming too much as tears leaked out of her eyes.

Maybe it would be better to just... let go.

She quickly shook off those thoughts, Toph, Toph, Toph, she couldn’t do anything brash until Toph was safe. Y/N watched as Sokka’s hand narrowly missed Toph’s. “Sokka, please.” Y/N whispered, looking to him with pleading eyes.

Maybe it was the desperation he heard in her voice that moment, or maybe it was pure luck, put his fingers grazed Toph’s and he latched on, extending his arm as far as possible and gripping her hand. “Now let go of me, and Sokka’s gonna pull you up, okay?” Y/N explained, looking to Sokka, his eyes meeting hers. Y/N quickly realized he couldn’t lift either of them up. Just like her, this was straining his muscles, and Sokka was struggling to keep both of them up.

“Sokka.” She said, demanding his attention, his eyes met hers, filled with fear as Toph relieved Y/N’s body of her weight and evened out the distribution on Sokka’s body. “You can’t fight back with both your hands taken.” More tears were streaming down her face as she spoke, “a-and... you can’t pull us both up.” Sokka was crying too now, shaking his head rapidly as Y/N simply pointed out the facts.

Toph’s grip on his hand tightened, “we’re all going to die.” There was resignation in her voice, and it hurt Y/N to hear it.

“We’ll figure it out. We are all going to be okay.” He stated firmly, a shaky breath leaving him as he made an attempt to pull them both upwards, a failed attempt.

Squeezing her eyes shut momentarily, Y/N allowed herself to imagine it, a life with Sokka and the rest of her friends. A life where they were all happy. Where everyone made it out of this war alive, and they helped bring balance to the world.

To give them that world, they had to end this war. And what was war without death?

Opening her eyes, she looked to Sokka, and he was panicked, noticing that far more soldiers had surrounded them and were preparing to mercilessly throw them off the balloon. “Sokka.” She repeated, and he looked to her with a tear streaked face.

“I love you.”

Everything seemed to slow as she spoke this words, and Y/N didn’t see the horror on his face for long as the grip of his hand faltered when she released it, he was screaming, crying, begging for her to stop. Toph clearly didn’t understand what was going on as she began to call out Y/N’s name in a panic.

And then she was falling.

It appeared there would be no after.

It felt peaceful, she decided. Falling. The stress on her body had dissipated and she caught one final glimpse of Sokka’s mortified face before going through the clouds. The comet was visible from where she was, the horizon, it was a beautiful way to die. But staring at the comet she realized she wanted to know what would come after, she realized that Toph was practically helpless and all Sokka had was a boomerang against dozens of Firebenders.

They would die. So, what was the point of her sacrifice? What was the point of her dying?

No, she wouldn’t be dying today.

Inhaling deeply, Y/N felt the power course through her veins, and she reminded herself that she was Y/N L/N, a force to be reckoned with. Nobody would forget that as fire tore through the soles of her shoes, and extended from her hands, propelling her upwards.

She was the daughter of the famed Dragon of the West. And she would take on his mantle, she decided, as she flew upwards and through the clouds.

She could see Sokka had managed to bring Toph upwards and onto the platform alongside him, and they were surrounded by Firebenders. It was clear that they’d seen her when their mouthes gaped open, and a few of the soldiers began to retreat, much to the chagrin of their commanding officer. Y/N found herself ceasing her Firebending and falling towards the platform, she landed in a roll and rose on one knee before opening her mouth and allowing fire to pour outwards.

The Firebenders fell off the bridges beside them one by one, and those who didn’t retreated back inside along with the others at the sight of the Air Balloon that Suki had evidently comandeered.

Closing her mouth, Y/N’s chest heaved, and she felt Toph tackle her from behind, “you’re alive!” She exclaimed, punching Y/N’s arm roughly, “idiot.” She dug her head into Y/N’s shirt.

“Yeah, I am an idiot.” Y/N replied breathlessly, holding the girl tightly.

When Toph finally released her, she gave her a smug look, “I’ll give you and him a minute.” Though this was partially an excuse to head back inside and into the safety of the balloon, maybe even attack some of the remaining Firebenders, it was also because Toph could read the room.

And there stood Sokka, mouth gaping open, tears streaming down his smiling face as he looked at her, before lunging towards her similar to how Toph had. Except his hands came to her cheeks as he brought their lips together, effectively knocking the two onto the ground of the platform, be pulled apart from her with a smile on his face, “I love you too.”

Yeah, after was looking pretty good right about now.

A/N: i hope you guys liked this SUPER LONG THING WOW, that was an accident. i was super close to like breaking everyones hearts and killing Y/N but then i felt bad so be grateful i was nice ksaljdlahfkj

anyways take care of yourselves!

taglists:

atla: @bubblebars @jada-cleo @art-flirt @the-deli-meat

#sokka x reader #sokka x you #sokka x y/n #sokka atla #atla sokka #atla sokka x reader #sokka atla x reader #atla sokka x you #atla #avatar the last airbender #lok #legend of korra #sokka is a bottom change my mind #im sorry ignore this #i hope no one reads tags #anyways have a nice day #drink water

3K notes · View notes

honeybeezx · 4 years ago

Text

Armor - Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand - Part 1

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! So this is the first fic I’ve ever posted on tumblr, low key kinda scary😄 But this man and his paramour have been on my mind for the longest. This is a self insert fic, but I don’t really use “Y/N”. Hope you enjoy and any feedback would be great!

Summary: You are an assassin hired by Tyrion to act as extra security alongside Bronn. He brings you back to King’s Landing just as the boy king Jeoffry Baratheon plans to marry the cunning Margaery Tyrell. But with all the guests roaming around, you begin to wonder who is a friend and who is a foe. No one makes you wonder more than the famed prince from Dorne and his captivating paramour.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: mentions of murder, allusions to sex

—————

You never knew anything in the seven kingdoms could make you feel so small. It wasn’t as if you’d ever let it show. You held your head high, walking alongside Tyrion as both of you entered the great hall of the throne room, Bronn on the opposite side of your employer. The Red Keep was even bigger than you had imagined it to be. The throne room was the tallest room you had ever seen. Against the dark ceiling the columns looked as if they stretched up into the night sky.

Every eye in the palace was on the three of you, and you felt no one’s eyes more than Cersei’s. You held her gaze. A woman who lived in luxury her whole life did not frighten you. She may have influence, but you had experience, strength, freedom, and skill with your bow that you were now acutely aware was strapped to your back. Having the protection of Tyrion’s influence and connections and Bronn’s strength and skill with a sword brought a sense of comfort, allowing you to remain calm under such scrutinizing gaze.

“Brother.” Cersei greeted with a soft smile that failed to hide all the vileness in her heart. “You come with friends.”

“Oh no, more like bodyguards. We have so many enemies now a days sister, I like to know I’m protected.” Tyrion smirked, leaving Bronn chuckling. You, on the other hand, would not let your intimidating demeanor fade, remaining as stoic and unyielding as the stone columns that held up the palace you wished to see fall. “May I introduce Bronn, Lord of Highgarden and-“

“Yes, I know all about the Silver Hawk from the North. I wonder if you are half as good as they say you are.” She mocked, her tone anything but genuinely curious. “I am told that you can hit your target 200 meters away and steal their breath before they even know what hit them.” If you didn’t know any better you’d think she was impressed, even if she did look at you as if you were the lowest creature she ever beheld.

“Perhaps I will have an opportunity to display my skills while I am here, your grace.” You’ll see first hand when my arrow is aimed just above your crooked neck.

“Perhaps.” She replied, feigning as much sweetness as a ferrel cat.

The both of you narrowed your eyes at each other. There was no outright exchange of harsh words or petty language, but the furious tension between the two of you was enough to fill the entire hall with uncomfortable silence. You hoped your unyielding gaze scared her. You wondered how many people actually defied her, you wondered how long it would take to get under her skin.

“Yes, well.” Tyrion interrupted, knowing you were bubbling with anger. Cersei was too, and although you allowed her to see your own emotions, it please you a bit to know you could anger her just as easy. You hated Lannisters almost more than anything, but you also knew Cersei’s time would come. She would pay for her crimes, fate would decide her end. You knew that fate had not brought you here to slay the queen regent, as much as you despised her. “As much as I love chatting with you sister, I simply wanted our arrival to be known. We have much unpacking to do and much to discuss.”

“Be careful, little brother.” She warned. “Your guard has little reserve and it seems your little silver hawk has a silver tongue as well. You would be wise to remember that people have been killed for that and less.”

“I’ll be sure to keep very close watch over them.” Tyrion retorted sarcastically before turning on his heal and exiting the great hall. You and Bronn followed, the later unable to contain his amusement.

“I’d say that went well!” He quipped, smiling at both you and your employer.

“She didn’t call to chop off our heads, that is some relief.” Tyrion noted. “But you both must be careful, especially you.” His scrutinizing gaze met yours.

“What? You expected me to just let her try and hold some dominate power over me? Just because she is draped in finest jewels in the seven realms and hides behind the her father’s influence does not mean I will tremble like a child before her.”

Tyrion sighed. “You must, for now, hold your tongue. Your wit does you credit, that’s why I like you, but you must check yourself. My sister is more dangerous than you can imagine. Don’t tremble, but don’t overstep either.” You remembered that Tyrion had been playing the game his whole life, he was basically born into it. He knew his sister better than anyone, and that meant he knew how to get around her better than anyone. You made a note to observe exactly what made Cersei tick, what made her preen under her usually reserved demeanor.

Despite the warm tones of the palace, you felt as though you were walking on ice. One wrong step and you were dead under a frozen tundra. You didn’t like this at all. Tyrion promised your freedom would not be at risk, yet you felt the freedom to speak your mind, the freedom to do as you pleased slip from you more and more. You were being watched here, you weren’t stupid. Every move had to be calculated, every word like honey laced with poison. The faster the boy king could marry, the less people there were for you to worry about. It made you uncomfortable not knowing who was an ally and who was a foe. The one thing you could appreciate about Cersei was that you always knew where you stood with her.

“I will try to remain civil if she approaches me, otherwise I will avoid your sister to the best of my abilities. But she would be wise not to challenge my reserve.” I huffed, earning a laugh from Bronn.

“Your reserve, little hawk, will be undone, whether it be from your words or your arrows.” He teased. You gave him a shove and he stumbled a bit, but not much. The last thing you needed was the oaf calling you “little”.

“The sooner we are out of this horrid place the better.” You huffed.

“I agree,” Tyrion agreed, nodding in understanding, “but don’t hold your breath. There is so much to be done before my nephew’s wedding and I will be relying on both of you to help me. While I am arranging more intimate details with my family, you two will be protecting me, but also doing some side tasks that I will not have time for. Bronn, for the most part you will be either at my side or Shae’s. If the palace discovers her they will use her against me. She can’t be found.”

Shae, Tyrion’s lover of sorts. You had grown close to her on your travels. You were wary at first. Your job was to protect Tyrion, naturally, you were cautious of anyone who might try to hurt him, to get close to him only for information or power. But it was a tough business, out spying a spy, and all your instincts told you to trust Shae. She had not left any of you astray thus far, and though the couple had not named their relationship, you could tell Tyrion and Shae cared immensely for each other. But Tyrion was right, she could be used as a pawn against him, especially if Cersei found out.

There was a sort of kinship between you and Shae. You were both strong, clever women, and she had tended to the few wounds you found yourself with on your travels. She seemed like a sister, and you were grateful for the company and friendship she provided.

“As for our favorite archer, you will be assisting some guests, getting information. I want to know the people attending this wedding, I want to ensure that this wedding goes smoothly. The Tyrell’s are a powerful ally, we cannot lose them.”

You nodded in understanding. Tyrion hired you to protect him, yes, but archery was not your only strength. You could be quiet, and you could listen as well as you could speak. You knew he would ask that of you with all the guests roaming around. You were curious to know what King’s Landing was really like, and even more interested in knowing the people who came here. “Ask it of me and it will be done.”

“Aye.” Bronn agreed.

“You are the most trusted of friends.” Tyrion gave the smallest of smiles. You were hesitant to even be in his service when the lord found you and offered you a job, afraid of losing your freedom. You knew the Lannisters, you knew their foul and power-hungry disposition. Being in their service seemed to you signing your life away. You were surprised to find he did not wish to take such things from you. He hired both you and Bronn to protect him, yes, but he would do the same for you both. You were an odd sort of family, but a family nonetheless. “Get settled and rested for the evening, we’ve had a long journey. We will reconvene later to discuss further plans.”

You nodded and left to your new chamber, one just across from Bronn and down the hall from Tyrion.

The trio was still not aware of the Red Viper slithering about the halls.

——————

Days passed with little to do. You hadn’t seen much of Tyrion. Since your arrival at King’s Landing your employer had become hand to his nephew king and married the pretty Stark girl you later learned was named Sansa. Still, you found ways to spend your time, keeping eyes and ears open for any useful information. You were particularly interested in Joffrey. It was astounding how a little boy could hold so much power, so much evil. You figured he inherited his terror from his mother.

Sansa was an interesting girl as well. Your heart broke for her. She was nothing if not resilient, staying loyal to her betrothed if only to keep herself alive. She was smart, you learned, but not useful when attempting to gather information. She did not deny her loyalty to Joffrey, even to those she liked. You were grateful that Tyrion stepped in to propose to the poor girl, if only to save her from the tyrant king. Both you and Shae kept close eyes on her. She was as smart and clever as Shae and yourself. You had a sneaking suspicion that she could be a close ally, if only your little family could get her away from the palace.

But today was different. Today you left your quarters to explore the palace a bit. You wanted to know what sort of battleground you were working with. It seemed surprising that a palace that was so heavily targeted was so...open. It seemed like light could illuminate any room. Even the gloomy and foreboding throne room could not escape a few beams of sunlight. If you didn’t despise every Lannister crawling about the palace, you had a mind to stay. The palace was only under the allusion of being warm and charming, the people who inhabited it ruined any chance of it being a lovely place. You noticed that the open windows and balconies made perfect outlooks should you need to eliminate a threat with one of your silver arrows.

But for now, the open windows became your place of peace as you ate a bowl of berries, just watching the rest of the sunrise. You saw the sun just barely grace the city with its light before you were called into Tyrion’s chambers. You arrived promptly, Bronn stumbling in a few minutes after you. You rolled your eyes at his lack of punctuality, which only earned you a playful nudge from the Lord of Highgarden.

“Behave you two. I swear I am dealing with children.” Shae huffed, but you could tell behind her sharp features was an air of mischief. Still, you straightened up and diverted your full attention to Tyrion.

“Well, much has happened. Prince Oberyn has arrived in The Capital. I visited him yesterday morning and he made it very clear that he wants to kill any Lannister that he sets his sights on. My father apparently ordered the death of his sister and her children. Our goal, for now, is to keep him happy, to keep him entertained. Bronn, your job will be to appear inconspicuous as you keep a watchful eye over my quarters, make sure no one goes in or out.” He ordered.

Shae huffed. “I’m perfectly capable of handling myself thank you.” She huffed.

“No one disputes that my dear.” Tyrion chuckled. You remember watching Shae stab a man she did not want for laying a finger on her. “I’m not worried about you. But my sister and my king nephew are very powerful. They will know how to use you against me.” He explained. Shae still was not pleased with the idea, but she relented.

“As for our hawk,” he turned to you and gave you a list with names you did not recognize, “you will present these girls to Prince Oberyn in my place. You will tell him that royal duties as the king’s new hand have prevented me from revisiting him, but you hope he enjoys the whores as a welcoming gift to King’s Landing.”

“Excuse me?!” You snapped your eyes narrowing in on your employer. “I am not a squire whose job is to bring in girls for spoiled princes!”

“Do not think of it as that.” Tyrion poured himself a glass of wine, knowing that he should chose his next words very carefully. He could feel your eyes burning into him. “Consider it a diplomatic mission. Besides, the prince wishes to meet you. The legends of the Silver Hawk have reached so far as Dorne and he is eager to make your acquaintance. This is the perfect opportunity for the both of you.”

You still weren’t pleased. “So I am now to serve as entertainment for the prince of Dorne.” You sighed and shook your head. “I am only staying long enough to bring him the girls, then I’m leaving.”

“Fine,” Tyrion relented. “But you will be cordial to the prince. Don’t be deceived by his charming words, he stabbed one of my cousins for a few unkind, brutish remarks. I don’t want to know what he’ll do when he hears your fire-laced words.” If it weren’t such a serious situation, Tyrion might have been amused to hear you use your wit against a prince, but the prince’s history with the Lannisters was anything but a joke.

“I’m sure she can handle herself. Hawks have talons after all.” Shae teased, but squeezed your arm affectionately. You offered a kind smile, but you still loathed this plan.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Tyrion rubbed his temple like the very thought of you getting into trouble was enough to send him over the edge.

You relented and chuckled a little before placing a hand on your friend’s shoulder. “I will be on my best behavior, but only because you will worry yourself ill.” You teased. “It can’t be too bad if I just deliver your message and leave. I better get going though. Can’t leave a prince waiting.” You snorted. As if you cared what a prince thought.

��———————

Oberyn Martell lied in his temporary bed at the brothel, Ellaria Sand at his right, a blond haired boy on his left. He was the picture of lustful bliss, his golden chest glistened as the small rays of light entered the sinful den. But the prince was quiet deep in thought as he started out into the empty space before them. All the pleasure the brothel had to offer could not break his focus.

“Your thoughts are too loud, my prince.” Ellaria chided as she placed a kiss to his chest. “Tell me.”

Even then, Oberyn still could not break his thoughts of you, but he ran a hand through his paramour’s raven curls in acknowledgment. “I think I found our third partner.”

Next Chapter

#pedro pascal #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell #oberyn x reader x ellaria #game of thrones #ellaria sand #prince oberyn #oberyn x you #oberyn x you x ellaria #game of thrones fic #oberyn martell imagine #pedro pascal fic #got #armor

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ktheist · 4 years ago

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the hero.

knj / myg / jhs / ksj / pjm / kth / jjk

the first time jeon jeongguk met the demon lord was when he wandered into the forest while he and his friends were playing hide and seek.

“hey, have you seen anyone pass by here by any chance?”

well, before she became the demon lord, she was just an ordinary village girls collecting herbs with her younger brother.

“o-oh um, they climbed up that tree.” she pointed at a great oak tree a few feet away, cheeks flushed red.

“you promised you won’t snitch!” comes a voice from the branches.

the next time he sees her is downtown when she’s shopping for groceries with her mother.

“hey, you’re that girl that helped me win!” he grinned, recognizing an ally.

she held out her hand shyly, palm facing the sky, “where’s my share for helping you win?”

“uh,” jeongguk hesitates, looking left and right as if a prize would materialize if he kept looking.

“you can help me find some wood sorrels.” she proposes.

“yeah! i’ll pick all the wood sorrels in the forest!” he folds his arm inwardly, showing off what little muscle he has in his arm.

she gawks at his radiance as if he’s the meteor that lights up her night sky.

7 years later, he’s knocking on the door of the quaint little cottage her family lives in.

“jeongguk, did you get into a fight? again?” she rushes over to him, eyes brimming with worry and hands clasped in front of her chest.

the small tremble in her fingers tell him she wants to touch the hair and sweep it behind his face but won’t because she doesn’t want to end up grazing his cut.

“you’ll heal me, won’t you?” he puts on his best grin even though it hurts.

and the tremble cease. a smile tugs on the corners of her lips.

she flicks her wrists and the fire on the stove begins to dance. a cauldron levitates in the air and settles on over the dancing flames a second later.

she’s going to make that bitter healing medicine he hates so much.

“what am i going to do with you?” she shakes her head.

“oh, jeongguk, you’re here too. would you like to have dinner with us?” her mother asks, coming from the back door of the kitchen, hands full with the harvest from their backyard.

“no! mother!” only a day after he had a warm meal with her family, he’s holding her by her waist.

“we have to run,” he says, eyes not even looking at the flames that lick her mother’s body at the stake.

her brother and father have fallen at the axe of the villagers that came barging into her home, searching for a “witch”.

she was with jeongguk, picking stinging nettles because they’re only traceable at night.

they live together in a tiny cottage meant for one but they made it work for one more.

her smile is gone.

not really, but it comes and goes. and jeongguk suspects, they’re just shadows of what once was, if only to tell him not to worry about her.

at night, he hears he soft sniffles and he slips out of his bed to climb into hers. he holds her tight until she falls asleep in his embrace.

a year has passed yet they’re stagnant; living the same day over and over again. filled with sorrow and tears.

if he could take away her pain, he would.

jeongguk didn’t know that after a year of endless night sniffles and dried cheeks; this is the last night they spend in each other’s arms.

jeongguk doesn’t know where she is or if she’s found another person to hug her on nights when the cold gets unbearable.

he gets enlisted into the knight squad.

it’s like a miracle. like he’s meant to wield the sword.

no man his age would have the skills he has now without any prior practice.

“i did get into fights as a teen and won every one of them,” he would laugh whenever someone brings up his unmatched expertise in swordsmanship.

little does he know, it’s the working of fate, preparing him to kill a childhood friend and the woman he lives for.

“i won’t,” he declares, the clang of his sword ringing against these cold walls of the demon lord’s castle after he tossed the holy blade away.

“and this is the hero you so love and worship?” she looks at his comrades with eyes painted in blood red.

“j-jeongguk, snap out of it! she’s controlling your mind!” the healer’s voice reverberates against these walls.

she and the others stand a few feet behind him as if an invisible wall has separated them.

“no,” he says, taking steps to her throne until he’s cupping her face with his gloved hands, “my mind has never been clearer- i- i’ve missed you.”

a shattering silence.

a crack in the ground.

vines creep up the distance between the hero and his comrades until they completely shield them away from the rest of the world.

she leans into his touch like she would when they lived together in that little hut.

‘she’s not lost.’

‘not really.’

“do you know what causes the birth of the demon lord?” she asks.

“wha-“

“a heartbreak.” she finishes without waiting for him to say anything, “it has to be more painful than death. more sinful than the goddess’ blessings. and more hollow than the deepest depths of the hell.”

his fingers are wet from the rain the acid rain that has never tore through the skies.

until now, that is.

“i’m sorry i couldn’t protect you,” he holds her in his arms like he’s always dreamed of doing.

she weeps and the blood in her eyes washes away. “i miss them, jeongguk...”

their tale becomes a legend. of a virtuous hero and the wretched demon lord.

the castle gets torn down by the emperor’s reinforcements that arrived a month later.

yet they couldn’t find any trace of the hero nor the demon lord.

it’s as if they’ve vanished like the wind that carries their tragic beautiful story from kingdom to kingdom.

over the years, their tale took different turns. some say the demon lord took on the form of hero’s most beloved. others say the demon lord’s lonely soul trapped him in her pitless dungeon.

her favorite, which she goes back to as she tucks her little ones in their bed, is-

“mommy, mommy, can you tell us about the story of the hero and the demon lord’s love that turned her back into a human?” the boy with his father’s deep brown eyes blinks at her with evergreen wonder.

“blegh, that again? i want to hear about the hero’s journey to defeat the dragon before he went after the demon lord!” says the little girl with rich black hair, as black as hers.

“my children, never grow up,” she sighs, gathering them in a tight embrace until they begin to squirm and complain about how-

“mommy, you do this every night.” the both say in unison.

“don’t blame your mother too much kids,” jeongguk laughs as he enters the room the three are huddled in together, “she just loves you a whole lot.”

“daddy! daddy! is it true? that love changes even the evilest of soul?” the boy sighs, falling into his bed with a dreamy thump.

jeongguk looks at her for the briefest moment. her dark, jet black hair looks magnificent catching the light of the silver moon. she’s smiling at her two younglings like they’re her world.

“you see, no one is truly evil...” and he goes on to tell the tales of the hero’s journey to be reunited with the love of his life.

though the journey has been arduous; though he wonders if life is worth living without her around; they always find their way back to each other.

back home.

he kisses the boy’s forehead and she kisses the girls before they cross each other at the foot of the bed, doing the same for the child they haven’t bid good night yet.

“they grow up so fast,” she’s holding back tears like she usually does.

she’s always had a faint yet strong heart.

he kisses the top of her head and wraps his arms around her, swaying their bodies gently to the tune he’s humming from their childhood.

how long ago that felt.

how long ago the tale of the hero and the demon lord had happened.

how glad they are, to have walked the road less traveled by.

#bts scenarios #bts fics #bts fanfics #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfics #jungkook fics #bts fic #jungkook fic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook smut #sonder

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lalahbug · 4 years ago

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Guidance - Zuko x Reader Chapter 6

Fandom: Avatar the Last Airbender Word Count: 3,232 My Masterlist

Warnings/disclaim: General 18+ Angst

Author’s Note: under story ___ is a blank for your name/oc/whatever you prefer Written in 3rd person Line/header is to separate paragraphs to indicate time skips, as Tumblr hates my formatting.

Story under cut, 6 of 8, Guidance Masterlist

A few weeks had passed, ___ was healed and quickly became the new mother figure of the group. Teaching about survival, chi blocking, and helping with most of the chores. Of course, she also played with the group and lectured them like a mother as well.

___ and Aang were meditating together, during a sunrise, which Aang wasn’t too happy about after being up most of the night traveling. Aang peaked at her as she exhaled deeply, relaxing further, still keeping her posture.

“Staring at me isn’t going to help your mediating, Avatar.”

“You didn’t even open your eyes; how did you know?” He pouted but started meditating again.

“Your breathing went normal instead of trained.”

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Hear so well, know when I’m doing something I’m not supposed to do.”

“I’ve had heightened senses for a long time. But as for knowing when you’re doing something, we’ll chalk it up to Mother Instinct.” She chuckled softly. “You’re really not in the mood to meditate, are you?”

“No!” Aang groaned before falling backward.

“Okay, practice your breathing with me for a bit then I’ll let you go.”

“Okay!” Aang agreed with a smile while sitting up.

Aang and Katara were practicing some waterbending, while ___ watched their movements.

“Why don’t you come join us? Aang could use the opportunity to fend off two waterbending foes.” Katara smiled and splashed some water at Aang.

“Thank you, but I don’t know many waterbending moves, I’d be an easy target. I can only whip water and create waves.”

“That’s right, being from the North Pole, they never taught you. But didn’t you learn on your own?”

“I only got the water whip and the wave, that’s all I learned on my own.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? We could have taught you.” Aang urged.

“I’ve never been a good waterbender, there’s no point in teaching me. I’m an average healer and I can do pretty movements with a full moon, but that’s it. My strength is chi blocking and fast reflexes.”

“Well, I think you could be a good waterbender. Why don’t you practice with us? You can learn some new moves and there is no pressure if you can’t do it well. Because like you said, your strength is chi blocking.” Katara urged, ___ shrugged before disrobing a bit, and getting into the water with the two masters.

One day before the invasion, The Day of Black Sun, and Aang wasn’t able to sleep. ___ was up with him, just after sunset.

“You can’t stay awake before the invasion. You need to be rested. But I think if you’re alone, it’ll be worse. So, would you like to go over the chakras to help you with the Avatar State?”

“I think I know them; I just can’t do the last one.”

“Ah, you mean the Thought Chakra? Is it because of Katara?”

Aang blushed a bit before sighing. “Yes, but also, I don’t know how to let go of Earthly attachments when I have to protect them.”

“The Avatar is bound to this earth to protect it. You must learn to balance these or they will be your downfall. You let Katara go completely at Ba Sing Se, you were then attached to cosmic, too attached to cosmic energy. As the Avatar, you must find balance with your cosmic energy and your Earthly attachments. You can open the Thought Chakra, by learning to balance your attachments. Earthly, Avatar, cosmic, love, spirit, and even your nomad teachings.”

“What about my nomad teachings?”

“There will be a day where you might have to sacrifice your beliefs for the greater good, to keep balance in the world. But because of your teachings, I know you’ll find a way to balance the good with your morals.”

“You’re talking about the Fire Lord, aren’t you?” Aang curled up and placed his weary head on his knees.

___ smiled at him gently, examining the bags under his eyes. “You can face him, you can beat him, we all believe in you, especially as he is powerless during the eclipse. But, what if, you can’t get to him in time. Don’t get me wrong, Sokka’s plan is amazing. Things don’t always go as planned. If you can’t get to him in time, you will have to fight him someday. How will you restrain him? Or will you have to take his life? I worry about the outcome of this plan a lot. From my talks with Roku to how devious the Fire Nation is. I just hope you know, if this fails. It’s not your fault. There will be some other factor that makes it so you can’t get to him in time. I have no doubt about you facing him, just our timing.”

“It’s terrifying to even think of facing Ozai, but hearing the faith you have in me helps. Hearing that you don’t expect me to defeat him tomorrow, really helps. But your question haunts me. How will I restrain him?”

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I believe in you Aang, the world does. But in the end, you are just one kid, and you will need to listen to words of wisdom from your past lives. From ancient sources, and learn to bend life and energy itself if you are to defeat Ozai without taking his life.”

“Bend life and energy? How do I do that?”

“I’m not sure, I only read about it in the spirit library. You will have to hope that an ancient source shows you.”

“Well, with you and the Spirit World to access, I think I’ll be able to find it if needed.”

She smiled at him before meditating with him. She knew of the group's plan to make a bed for Aang so he could finally sleep, she was just keeping him company in the meantime.

“___?” She hummed softly in reply, still meditating. “What if we see Zuko during the invasion? What will you do?” She opened her eyes, a sorrowful smile formed as their eyes met.

“Depending on where he is in his journey, I’ll either have to disable him or listen to him.”

“What do you mean?”

“My first night in the Spirit World with Roku. He let me know of my future, to help me mentally prepare for it. He told me a beautiful tale of me falling in love, with his great-grandson. But he warned me, his great-grandson has the ability to be good or bad. As Roku and Sozin are both his great grandfathers.”

Aang gasped, “Zuko’s mom is the granddaughter of Roku?”

“Yes, that’s why he is at war within himself. Between his two natures. He also didn’t have the healthiest of families to help him cope with it either. His uncle, although wonderful, found his path in life a bit late. I hope Zuko will find that path one day too, but I can no longer be the one to guide him, he must find it himself. But only time will tell if he will find it soon or if he will live a long life trying to find it.”

“Do you still love him?”

Her eyes fell to her stomach and the bump there. “I do, but when he took another woman because I was unconscious for weeks, I feel as though maybe my love might have been blinded by the fairy tale Ruko told me. For he never mentioned a child. He only mentioned I would have to choose to forgive Zuko or not, and that it would be very difficult for me. I love him, but I'm not sure if I can forgive him just yet."

"It must be hard, not knowing if he loves you or not, yet still having this child."

"It hurts not knowing, but it's not too hard. I'm not worried for some reason, not when it comes to this baby."

Aang had a flash of the small baby named Hope that Katara had helped deliver a few months back. "Babies are a beautiful thing, especially when you have someone to share it with."

"Katara asked me to stay until the baby is born at the very minimum, so in a way I will, you guys are the closest thing I have to family right now. So, I'll share that experience with you."

"So, I get to be an uncle?" He smiled.

"You'll be the best uncle!" They giggled softly and she smiled at him fondly as the group approached them, ready to help Aang finally sleep.

After the invasion, Aang wanted nothing to do with the planning for the next steps, next attack. ___ shut herself away from the group and the others with them now. She should have been left behind with the other adults, but they wouldn’t hear her protest, since she was pregnant.

Walking along one of the many corridors of the Western Air Temple, she hummed softly to herself, enjoying her solitude, wanting to fix her mental state before joining everyone. No one needed a pouty pregnant woman around, all because they didn’t listen to her. They had her and the baby’s health in mind, they weren’t trying to make her feel more useless or weak. So; she needed to be alone to fix the brewing thoughts before they burnt anyone needlessly.

She walked until she felt lost and sighed and started to head back to the group, for dinner. But when she arrived everyone was sulking and arguing about something.

“What’s wrong?” ___ asked while getting some food after Sokka said something about not adding animal cruelty to the list.

“I’ll tell you-” Katara started, ready to vent to someone else.

“Wait,” Toph cut off Katara. "___ how would you feel, if Zuko came here asking for forgiveness and to teach Aang firebending?”

She understood what had happened just from Toph’s question, her heart sped up, the broken pieces throbbing, she took a breath to reply. “Aang needs a firebending teacher, and Zuko, well he’s a good firebender. I don’t know how I feel about him asking for forgiveness, but if you thought he was sincere, Toph, I would let him stay. Because if you think he was sincere the whole time, it hopefully means he’s finally found the correct path.” She looked to Aang with a sad smile, reminding him of their conversation when he was so sleep-deprived.

“How?” Katara asked softly. “How can you just allow him here? Forgive him and trust him? Especially after what he’s done to you?”

“I don’t forgive him; I don’t trust him. But the options of firebending teachers are pretty limited to Aang. Only time can tell if he can earn trust and forgiveness from any of us. We have to look past ourselves. The world needs the Avatar, the world needs Aang to learn firebending. If we still can’t trust him after he’s with us and he’s taught Aang, then you can give him the boot and send him packing.”

“I hate when mother is right,” Sokka grumbled.

“I am not your mother,” ___ snapped. “I’m a friend. I’m tired of being treated like some soft pregnant woman with motherly love. I’m a fighter. My pregnancy doesn’t change that. I will only let motherly change take me when the world is no longer at war. I can’t soften and hold everyone’s hand through this. You’re all kids to me, but the world can’t have the Avatar, a master of waterbending, master of earthbending, and a sword master, be kids. You have to keep the goal in your mind.”

“You’re still mad at us for making you come with us? Instead of letting you stay with the other adults, aren’t you?” Aang asked softly.

“Yes.” She exhaled sharply before taking a deep breath. “But I know you did it because you care about me,” she rested a hand on her stomach. “About the baby. But you wanted me here, so I’m here. And I think you should listen to what Zuko has to say without emotion.”

“All I know is that while he was talking to us, he was sincere. Maybe you’re all just letting your hurt feelings keep you from thinking clearly.” Toph said in agreement with ___.

“Easy for you to say, you weren’t there when he had us attacked by pirates.” Katara spat.

“Or when he burned down Kyoshi Island,” Sokka added.

“Or when he tried to capture me at the fire temple.” Aang finished.

“Why would you two even try to defend him?” Katara said so frustratedly she was shaking.

“Because, Katara, you’re all ignoring one crucial fact. One ___ has already told you!” Toph stomped up to Aang and poked him in the chest. “Aang needs a firebending teacher! We can’t think of a single person in the world to do the job. Now one shows up on a silver platter and you won’t even think about it?” She shook the ground with a couple more stomps.

“I’m not having Zuko as my teacher!” Aang walked away from ___ and Toph.

“Aang-” ___ started before Sokka cut her off.

“You’re darn right, you’re not buddy.” Sokka stood tall, finalizing his backup with Aang.

“Well, I guess that’s settled,” Katara said smugly. ___ sighed before looking at Toph.

“I’m beginning to wonder who’s really the blind one around here.” Toph stormed off, ___ followed behind her.

Toph and ___ were walking through the forest, to find Zuko.

“You didn’t have to come with me,” Toph sighed.

“I know, but I would like to talk to Zuko too. I think I know him well enough to tell when he’s lying, whether you can detect it or not.”

Toph giggled pointing to ___’s stomach, “I would hope you knew him well enough.”

“Oh shush,” she pushed Toph playfully, but it was clear she was a bit exasperated by the comment.

“Do you think Zuko would try to trick us all; like he did to you and Katara?”

“Zuko didn’t trick me. I don’t think he meant to trick Katara either. I think he loved me in his own way. He was good in Ba Sing Se. But the allure of home was stronger than the good.”

“But now that he’s here, you think the good called him back?”

“I’m hoping that. I’m hoping he found his true destiny.”

“I’m hoping you’re right,” Toph said with a sigh.

While moving through the brush the women alerted Zuko.

“Who’s there?” His voice was groggy, the sound of it stung ___’s heart. As they got closer, he yelled. “Stay back.”

“It’s me!” Toph shouted back, but it was too late, Zuko had already lashed out fire in his fear, Toph even tried to make herself an earth shield. She fell as the flames licked the soles of her feet “Ow! You burned my feet!”

Zuko was up and running towards her as she started to crawl away. “I’m sorry, it was a mistake!” He cried while chasing after Toph, but sudden strikes to his body made him collapse.

“Get away, Zuko!” ___ shouted while scooping up Toph.

“___?” He gasped, trying to sit up, she only chi blocked his right side. As she started to walk away, he called out to them. “No, please, come back! I’m sorry!” He tried to get up, but the weight of his right side would not shift and he fell back. He groaned along with his heart ache seeing ___ walk away and ignore his plea, his apology. “Why am I so bad at being good!” He cried to the sky, wishing to be able to rewind time.

He’d go back so far if he could, but he pleaded now silently inside his head. “Please let me go back, even just 5 minutes.” He exhaled in defeat, wondering what the girls had wanted to say, but now he’d never know.

Days passed and the threat of Combustion Man was gone, Hokada and Suki back. While sitting around the fire with everyone, Zuko served tea again, while he did so, he noticed ___ left the group. Excusing herself to go lie down. And the night where he burned Toph’s feet came to mind. She came with Toph, what did she want to say?

After his failed joke and everyone had settled their laughter. “Does ___ leave the group often after dinner or is that because of me?” Zuko asked softly, silence rang afterward. Katara and Aang shared a soft look.

“Before the invasion, I was restless, ___ was meditating with me. I asked how she would react if we were to run into you since, at the time, you were still an enemy, a threat.” Aang sipped his tea before continuing. “She simply said she'd either disable you or listen to you. She believed in you even then, she just wasn’t sure when you'd find your correct path in life.”

“But when she thinks about you, hears your name, or even just briefly has a polite encounter with you. Her heart beats sickeningly. Like the broken pieces are trying to pull together.” Toph added since she was able to hear and feel ___’s heartbeat.

“I want to explain myself, talk to her. But I want to do it alone.”

“You should be thankful she even acknowledges you exist,” Katara spat, still angry.

“I am, she’s always been forgiving. But I don’t know how forgiving she’ll be with me.”

“___ still loves you,” Toph encouraged him.

“But before we allowed you in the group, she did say only time would show if you deserved trust and forgiveness,” Sokka added, Suki elbowed him. “What? He should know the truth, the good and the bad.”

“Thank you, that helps. Maybe she’s not ready to hear my apology, because she doesn’t forgive me or trust me yet.”

“Make sense, you engaged her, impregnated her, broke your promise then left her for another woman because she was basically in a coma,” Katara stated with venom.

“I never left her, but I was too cowardly to tell my father no to the arranged marriage. Scared to not be his perfect son again.”

“Mai still seems to love you, since she helped with the prison break,” Sokka said.

“Another heart I broke, by being a misleading person. She loves someone within me that I’m not. She doesn’t understand that I’m trying to save my country, my kingdom. The world fears and hates the Fire Nation. I need to try and heal that and help the Avatar bring balance back into the world.”

“I think ___ just needs a little time, she was for having you here from the get-go with me,” Toph popped some more food in her mouth. “She’s just not ready to deal with you. Since she’s been having some health issues with the baby, every time we have stress, she gets sick.” Toph said sadly.

“Well with the invasion being over, Combustion Man gone. Hopefully, things will calm down.” Katara said before standing up. “I should go check on her and the baby before we sleep.” She stood and left towards the way ___ had left earlier.

Zuko sighed and sipped his tea. He would need to be patient a bit, wait for some alone time with his love, and keep an eye on her troubled health with the baby.

Author’s Note:

Hello, I know I’ve been gone for awhile, but I’m getting better mentally and personally. I can’t promise when the next chapter will come out, but I’m hoping by the end of May.

I’d like to thank everyone that’s liked previous chapters and stayed with me on this. This is still my indulgence, anime fanfics, but after this series. I might go into show/movie fanfics (like Marvel and Supernatural), make a list of who I’d be willing to write for and open a for request for a bit.

Also, for the one lovely who wanted to be added/tagged for new chapters, here you go; thank you for your love on this <3

@eridanuswave

#guidance series #fanfic #fic #zukoxreader #zuko/reader #avatar zuko #atla fic #lalah writes #lalahbug #reader insert #xreader #self insert #fire lord zuko #firelord zuko #x reader

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

Note

Hey i heard that you are in our blonde man mood, so what about Maxwell and reader having a car accident. Angst hurts but you wrote that amazing.

Those Three Words [Maxwell Lord x Reader]

Author's note: This was tough. I knew it was going to be tough the moment I received the request but oof— I don’t know if it hit differently because Maxwell is my comfort character or… I just. Thank you for the prompt though, and the lovely compliment. Hope you enjoy.

Warnings: car crash, injury, blood mention, hospitals, coma mention, mention of stalking, angst.

Word count: 2.2k

Rating: 13+

MASTERLIST

READ PART TWO HERE

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal (let me know if you want to be added!)

You knew it would never be easy. Dating Maxwell Lord was never going to be a walk in the park. He had his moments, dazzling you with his smile and making your heart melt just from the simplest of touches. You forever cherished the moments on a morning where he'd hold you tight in his arms, your body pressed against his chest. He'd plant lazy kisses along your jaw and whisper sweet nothings into your ear. The strain on the relationship came from his fame. He had warned you before you had both decided to become official. He'd warn you that the paparazzi would go wild once they found out you two were dating. He knew he had obsessive fans who would try doing anything in their means to split you both up. It was hard, but you and Maxwell were more than confident that your love for one another would transcend any difficulty.

That morning was your worst fight yet. "We are going to be late for the meeting," Maxwell growled. "Will you just get your shit together and get in the fucking car?" You had never seen him so angry before. You'd seen him shout at his employees, treat them like dirt, but this was different. His voice was low and gruff and dripped with hostility. It scared you, just a bit. You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand and took a deep breath.

"Don't talk to me like that," you snarled back and his head snapped in your direction when he heard your tone of voice. "You need to do something Max. This is getting too much." you were practically begging.

"I can't- I- what can I do? Tell me, what can I do?" he asked, throwing his arms up in the air, completely exasperated. It was only the morning but his dark blonde locks were already falling out of place and he had loosened his tie. The work day hadn't even begun.

"I don't know!" you cried. "But you have to do something." you gulped. "You have to. Max please-" you sobbed, falling into his chest. You wanted him to hold you, and shush you, and promise you that he would handle it. That everything would be okay.

He rarely said I love you. You didn't mind so much, because he had his own way of showing it. They were just words and— actions spoke louder than words. But just this once you wished he would say it. You wished he would say those three damned words. He felt your tears dampen his shirt and he gently pushed you off him. He took the magazine out of your hand and sighed before throwing it in the trash.

He wanted to burn the magazine. The dumb tabloid journalists who had taken photos of you when you hadn't even realised. Stalked you. It disgusted him, it angered him.

You shakily folded your arms over your chest and looked at him with glazed eyes. He looked pained too, you could just about tell. The slight uncomfort in his posture. Although Maxwell Lord rarely spoke about his feelings and he did a hell of a good job at hiding them. You had known him long enough to just about identify when he wasn't doing okay. You swallowed the hard, anxious lump in your throat.

"Come on." he said quietly, but he didn't even move, and neither did you.

"Max," you whispered sadly, feeling another tear fall down your cheek.

"Don't," he croaked, pursing his lips together. He turned around and opened the front door, waiting for you to walk out of the house and get into the car that was waiting for you so he could lock up. "Jeeves is waiting. Go."

You sniffed, taking a deep breath and quickly checking your reflection on the way out you did your best to fix your appearance. No doubt the paparazzi would be trying to snap photos of you and your boyfriend. You and Maxwell both slid into the back of the car. Neither of you spoke a word during the first half of the journey.

"You're acting like this is my fault." Maxwell said stiffly, not even bothering to turn to you.

"Is it not?" you asked but regretted the words as soon as they departed your lips. It was unfair to blame him. He had warned you. He had.

Maxwell looked down with guilt and shame bubbling within him. "If you're not happy-"

"Stop it." you snapped.

"Because you don't seem happy." Maxwell continued.

"Stop!" you cried out, startling even the driver.

"Max, you can afford security. Or lawyers. You can afford to sue the papers or even pay paparazzi off. Fuck, I don't know how this shit works. I don't know but those people are crazy. They terrify me." you admitted. "I'm begging Max."

"I should have this business deal closed by the end of the week. Then I can-"

"Oh my God, fuck the business deal! Max, this is our relationship, this-" you stopped, your eyes fixating on the rear view mirror. "Jeeves… how long has that car been behind us?" you asked hesitantly, your fingers curling into an anxious fist.

"I'm not sure ma'am, would you like me to take a diversion?" Jeeves, the driver, questioned politely.

"No," Maxwell replied before you even had time to open your mouth. You scowled. "I'm already late for work. Don't need to be any later."

"Max," your voice was timid. Shy. Afraid. "I really think that car has been following us."

"You're paranoid." Maxwell rolled his eyes.

"No, Max I-"

"You're paranoid because of everything that's happened this morning. Because of the magazine-"

It was when Jeeves turned at the next junction, the car behind you crashed into yours. You heard the windows shatter and Maxwell scream your name, but then. Blackness. Darkness. Nothing.

***

Fuck, Maxwell knew he had fucked up. You didn't even want to leave the house this morning— he knew that. He knew you'd rather just lay with him, in bed, subdued in the morning sunlight. He knew it and yet he still selfishly chose to ignore it. He had to go to work; he had to close the business deal. Once again he had made the mistake of prioritising his damn job over you. Over your wishes. Over your relationship.

You grazed his thumb over the cut in his eyebrow as his feet tapped impatiently. The hard blue chair he was sat in grew more uncomfortable by the minute as he waited for the doctors to finish your check up. Jeeves was okay, the airbag hidden in the steering wheel saved his life. He'd gone home for the rest of the day. Maxwell suffered a few cuts and bruises from the broken glass and his face slamming into the seat in front him. He thought he had broken his nose but the x-rays showed that he was fine. A few stitches and he'd be healed within weeks.

But you…

Maxwell groaned, rubbing his head and slowly opening his eyes. His own seat belt had snapped and he cursed at the way his head was pounding. He could already hear sirens. He wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious for, but it mustn't have been too long. He shuffled upright into his seat, peaking over only to find that Jeeves was gone. He wasn't in the car. Then, he turned to face you.

You were curled up in your seat, your eyes shut. For a split second, Maxwell felt nothing. He looked at you and admired your beauty. Your softness and your angel-like features. You were as still as ever. Your hair was tangled in your seatbelt, your cheek pressed against the leather of the seat. Maxwell leaned over and cupped the side of your face, gently tilting it to one side. It wasn't until his action revealed a pool of blood dripping from a deep cut in your neck, he began to panic.

Panic was an understatement. His heart dropped. It broke within an instant. He looked closer, examining the cut and trying to make out how serious it was but there was too much blood. He couldn't see anything. He couldn't do anything. He was helpless. The sirens began to get louder but it was like everything was happening in slow motion.

"Baby," he whimpered, tapping you lightly. "Baby." he repeated, this time his voice louder and more stern. He dropped his hands to your shoulders, picking up your lifeless body and cradling you in his arms. Your arm flopped across his legs and your eyes remained closed, despite his pressure to awaken you. "Hey," he whimpered, tears spilling from his eyes. "Hey stay with me. Stay with me."

He cried your name. He sobbed hysterically. He placed his hand under your shirt and over your chest, desperate to feel your heartbeat. Your skin was still warm and a flood of relief washed over him, but you still weren't responding. Maxwell pressed his lips against your forehead, his salty tears dripping onto your face. "Please." he croaked. "Don't leave me. You can't. You can't-"

The doctor interrupted Maxwell from his thoughts. "Mr Lord," he said. Maxwell felt sick. He was preparing himself for the worst. What if this was it. What if you were gone. He'd lost the love of his life, just like that. It would be all his fault. He could never forgive himself. "She's stable, but unconscious. We think she might be in a coma which is concerning but we've booked her in for an MRI scan this afternoon. We'll have to take it from there."

"Can I go see her?" Maxwell asked. The doctor barely had to nod before Maxwell bolted past him and into your room.

You were laying in bed, tied to an abundance of machines by wires and tubes. Maxwell's heart sank. He slowly approached you, and sat on the edge of your bed. Hesitantly, he held your hand. He wasn't sure if he deserved to even touch you. He couldn't help but blame himself. If he had just listened to you...

He hissed when he felt how cold you were. Your hands were like blocks of ice. He gently smoothed your hair out of your face and cupped his hands on your cheeks, desperate to bring you some kind of warmth.

The worst part about it, he had been fighting with you all morning. He didn't even get the chance to tell you how much he loved you. He loved you so much.

"Darling," he sobbed, shuffling out of his suit jacket and wrapping it over your body. "I don't know if you can hear me. I heard- I heard on the television that sometimes, a person in a coma can hear you if you talk clear enough, I- I hope you can hear me." he choked out.

He prayed for you to make some kind of movement. Show him some kind of sign. But nothing.

"Listen darling, you're strong. Strongest person I know. I need you to wake up for me because I love you so much and I need to prove to you that I can fix this. I can handle it. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry I let this happen." Maxwell conceded, trying to compose himself. "I can't live without you. I need you. I love you."

It was the three words you had longed to hear this morning. Those three words.

I love you.

You stirred, only slightly, but it was enough for Maxwell to notice. "Nurse!" he screamed. "I need a nurse!" your eyes were still closed but he felt you give him a small, reassuring squeeze of his hand. It was weak, it was tired, but it was you. Tears began to spill from Maxwell's eyes. "Yes, yes baby," he cried. "I know you're there. I know you can feel me. Listen, I love you okay? I love you. You're going to get through this." he encouraged, pressing a kiss into your lips.

It was a doctor who pulled Maxwell away from you. Nurses scrambled around you, checking your vitals and the machines as Maxwell stood there and watched. "Be gentle with her." he whimpered, but earned no response.

He couldn't lose you. He wouldn't lose you. He loved you.

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader

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imnotusedtobeingloved · 4 years ago

Text

EQUALLY LUCKY

(PLEASE DON’T REBLOG!)

Warnings: Internal conflict / Mental struggles.

Pairing: Azula x f!Reader

Characters: Azula, Zuko, Izumi.

Requested: Yes!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor the gif. Credit to the owners.

Summary: You get a glimpse into Azula’s life years after Sozin’s Comet, with you by her side.

A/N: This was my first time making an x reader with Azula, so i’m very nervous to post this lol. It got way more angsty than i intended it to be, but i also wanted to try and stay true to Zula’s character to some extent. And i very much hope i did. Thank you for the great request @the-desert-shewolf i hope this is what you were looking for.

“Zuzu, you don’t look so good!”

The last Agni Kai. It was a day that was forever branded into your mind. You could still remember the heat of her flames. How her patient, strategic mind slipped into a rash and impulsive demeanor. She’d fataly wounded her own brother. Ready to do the same to Katara, if she hadn’t stopped her. And that was when you’d found her. Chained to a grid on the floor like an animal, crying in despair and spitting fire like a dragon. Nobody dared to go near her for hours. Nobody but you. “You need to stop, Azula,” You’d cried tears of your own as you forcefully hugged her, body winding against yours. Still trying to free herself. Still trying to fight. Still trying to win. “Please... I’m begging you...” Her whimper broke your heart. You were all that she had left.

There were times when not even a heartfelt “I love you,” could save her. Instead it was interpreted as a further manipulation through her mother. The so called ‘Puppetmaster’. She felt so far out of reach.

But not all days were bad. Sometimes Azula remembered. In the bright hours she recalled your supportive actions and words. You always hoped they would give her some kind of strength. And it wasn’t any easier to face those hardships yourself. To love someone who was hurt so very deeply.

“Being damaged doesn’t give you the right to abuse others,”

A lot of people called her crazy. Called you crazy for feeling affection towards the princess. But what were you supposed to do? You couldn’t just ignore them. Or turn them off. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t what you wanted. All you were trying to do was to care for a person you’d known since you were a kid. A childhood friend, teenage crush and an adult lover. Where Zuko had been saved by Iroh, Azula had been saved by you. But it wasn’t quite the same. You'd just been a little kid yourself at the time.

“Are you going to see Azula?” You nodded, smiling at Zuko over your shoulder. The robes of the Fire Lord really suited him. “I am. I want to surprise her with a picnic,” He raised a brow, curiously leaning over the little basket on the table before you. You’d spent hours picking out different kinds of tarts and snacks, trying not to get in the way of the cooks.

It was a perfect summer day. The climate was warm and mild. Your timing couldn’t have been better.

Years had passed since Sozin’s Comet occured. Years full of anxiety and anger. But finally you’d arrived in a part of your life, where things were looking up again. The time spend supporting Zuko as the Fire Lord hadn’t been wasted. Both of you worked together on a daily basis. Especially when it came to his sister. Despite everything she had done, he couldn’t deny that he held a soft spot for her. So it was no wonder that she resided in one of the finest suites of the palace. After being monitored and treated for ages, her mental heatlh finally regained stability.

“She’s lucky to have you, (Y/N),” He said, attempting to steal one of the tarts only to earn a slap on the hand. Grumbling he retreated, watching as you checked the contents again, before closing the lid. “Maybe,” You turned around to face your friend. “But i’d like to think we’re equally lucky,”

Your picnic was set up in the gardens, by the fountain, under the old apple tree.

Her whole life Azula only gained approval from two people. Her father and you. The few moments of empathy she experienced were supported by you. If she had a nightmare late at night, you’d crawl into bed with her. When you reduced the choice between you two to physical affection, Ozai couldn’t keep up with you. The mixed messages her parents gave her as a child were what lead her into misery. But her best friend, someone of the same age, stuck by her.

Eventually you’d won her over. Relationships were rekindled. Needs were met.

And right this moment, you were beyond glad that you had. “There you are, sugarplum,” An involuntary grin spread on your face. You’d been so busy with displaying everything perfectly that you hadn’t heard her come up behind you. “I see you haven’t grown tired of the petnames,” That nickname would truly stick with you for life. She’d once used it mockingly, back when you visited Ember Island. And she did ever since. It was always used with an edge of sarcasm, but never empty of love.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way, would you (Y/N)?” You turned around to her, reaching for one of her hands. Her fingers intwined themselves with yours. “Of course not, Azula,” Pulling her towards your little arrangement, you sat down on the blanket, leaning against the strong stem of the tree and patting the spot beside you.

Since her recovery she’d formed a habit of over-sharing her feelings and often apologizing more than nessecary. Those were new sides that you had to grow accustomed to, but that weren’t unwelcome. Nevertheless you were relieved that she also kept some of her wit. She knew she could be free with you. Didn’t need to fear any jugdement. Some days were harder than others. On those Azula would cry a lot. And so would you. You couldn’t stand seeing her so broken.

“Keep it together, (Y/N),” She would say at first, making you laugh through your tears. “It’s okay,” You’d reassure her time and time again. “Healing takes time,”

It was hard to face all those bottled up emotions after such an amout of time. It wasn’t her favorite way to deal with things at first, but she quickly found it helped. And it didn’t take long for her to tell you.

“Sharing your tears doesn’t make you weak,” She’d repeat your words in her darkest times. It brought her comfort. Kept her from going back to her old ways.

The princess moved to sit in the spot next to you, but she never made it that far. Small feet rushed through the grass, running straight into her legs. A tiny, little person curled around them, hugging her as far as she could reach. “Zula!” They squeaked.

The so-called ‘Zula’ raised a brow and crossed her arms, looking down at the little troublemaker. “What do you think you’re doing here?” The girl only lifted her hands in response. You stiffled a smile as Azula picked her up. “Where is your father? Didn’t he want to spend time with you?” Yes he did. And he arrived right on time. “Izumi?” Zuko looked around, searching for her, until he spotted you. The princess was snuggling into her aunt’s chest, a place that always felt warm. You knew it best. “There you are!” His sister raised a brow, tapping her foot on the ground, when he walked up to the three of you. When they stood next to each other, the family-resemblance was undeniable. They shared the same shade of amber eyes, the soft umber strands, and the fair, spotless skin.

It was another person that had helped Azula on her journey. Izumi.

The girl got to experience the childhood the siblings never had. She was proof that princesses didn’t have to be perfect all the time. Nobody did. And she loved her aunt without any doubt or fear.

“You really need to keep better watch on her, Zuzu. This is already the fifth time this has happened,” The Fire Lord nodded, holding his hands out. “Of course. It won’t happen again, i promise,” Azula tried handing her niece over, who whined, clinging to her neck. “But i mean, now that we’re already here, we could also just join you on your picnic,” He argued, pointing to his daughter who held onto Azula’s clothes with all her might. “Izumi seems to like the idea,” You squinted your eyes at him. This was definetely not a coincedence. Accidents don’t repeat themselves that often. “Admit it, Zuko. You’ve purposefully told Izumi that her aunt is here, only so you could get your clutches on our food again!” You’d connected the dots and read the situation. He’d taken a glimpse into your basket every time before you went out the past times. Particular interest always occured when it contained those delicous fruit tarts. With rose pedals on top. He gasped. “No, i didn’t!”

“He’s lying,” Azula said, rolling her eyes. Izumi proceeded to tell her father that “Lying is bad!” which earned her a gentle pat on the head from her aunt.

Nevertheless they swayed you to share some of the ‘goodies’ as Izumi liked to call them. Finally you had Azula were she belonged. Next to you. Her niece sat in her lap, munching happily as your lover ran her hand through her hair. It had taken some time until she’d been allowed to see Izumi at first. Zuko and her mother hadn’t let them meet each other until his sister was completely stabile. Additionally he didn’t want to put Azula through something she couldn’t handle at the time. Their first meeting had been nervewracking for everyone who watched, but an eye-opening event for the two princesses. They seemed comfortable. Content with each other. Sometimes Azula would act as if Izumi bothered her. But she couldn’t deny that she was fond of the girl.

It was also no secret that Azula was clearly the ‘coolest aunt’. At least from Izumi’s perspective. She looked up to her as the strongest female firebender, to be known. Of course she was still too young to fight. But that didn’t stop her from constantly begging the siblings for stories. “Can you tell me a story?” She’d ask, making a pout. “I’ve told you stories countless times,” Her aunt replied, booping her upturned nose. “Another one, pleeease?” Azula sighed. Zuko chimed in, coming to her aid. He started telling the tale of the ‘Dance of Dragons’ in great detail, paying no mind to his sisters sarcastic comments interrupting the tale. Izumi was exstatic about both of them engaging in the narrative. When the story was completed, he beamed at Azula. “Remember when mother used to take us to watch the Ember Island Players perform this play? Afterwards you and i would reenact every scene. I don’t get why i always had to be the dark water spirit, tough,” His sister scoffed, not hiding her gleefull smirk. “Clearly, i made a better dragon emperor,” Her niece laughed at their antics, clapping her little hands. You could comprehend her joy. It was hilarious to have them both participate.

Unfortunatly, Izumi couldn’t escape her duties forever. “Bye, auntie Zula! Bye auntie (Y/N)!” She waved when Zuko carried her back inside. Upon her loopsided smile, Azula couldn’t help but grin, waving back. It wasn’t a sneer or a grimace. It was a genuine expression of so much beauty, that it took your breath away. When she turned back to face you, she furrowed her brows. “Why are you looking at me like that?” There were a ton of reasons. You didn’t even know were to start. So your delight had to be expressed differently. Her lips weren’t far from yours. It took a mere second to connect them. They were soft, as always. She tasted sweet, like the pastries she’d eaten before. “You’re my everything,” you mumbled, her lips still brushing yours. You see her eyes watering as she struggled to speak her next words. They reminded her of all that she’d endured. And yet you’re important enough for her to pull through. “I love you, (Y/N),”

A moment later the tears were replaced by a smile. Her hands came to rest on your cheeks, one of her thumbs running over your bottom lip, removing the lipstick hers had left. You yelped as she abruptly grabbed your shoulders, pulling you to rest your head in her lap.

She worked to untangle your locks, massaging your scalp in the process. Her nails lightly scraped your skin every so often. It felt relaxing. Heavenly. The smell of smoke and leather teased your senses. Something so familiar that it was like home. You allowed yourself to close your eyes for a moment, being at peace with just... feeling her. Being in her presence.

“Agni, you look just as self satisfied as my niece,” She playfully remarked.

The slight breeze made the leaves rustle softly. “Why wouldn’t i?” You chuckled, slowly opening your eyes to look up at her. Her slim fingers hadn’t stopped spoiling you. She looked stunning in the midday sun. Her eyes glowed like molten gold, framed by long, dark lashes, casting shadows on her cheeks. “I’m being pampered by the princess herself. I consider myself to be very lucky,” Her lips pulled into a smile as she caught your gaze.

“You’re right, (Y/N). We are lucky,”

Because everything you did for her, she would return tenfold.

Despite all the hardships, neglect and abuse she’d suffered, Azula had managed to get out on the other side.

Stronger, and better than ever.

Reconnected to the world around her, she remained one of the most powerful fire benders. Her blue flames offering protection wherever you’d go.

When she’d first felt affection towards you, she thought you were her weakness.

Now she knew you were her strength.

#azula x reader #azula redemption #azula avatar #azula x you

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tenspontaneite · 4 years ago

Text

Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 24/?)

In which Corvus has some visitors, Rayla takes the princes somewhere nice for a change, and Runaan sits in a new cell.

Warnings: Food shortage; discussion and portrayal of recently acquired physical disabilities.

(Chapter length: 17.5k. Ao3 link)

---

Corvus regarded his visitors. His visitors regarded him right back. In that moment, arrayed in this back room of the House of Healing, they seemed at an impasse.

Lord Viren’s children had come to see him in the afternoon. Having heard of his presence here, and what scant details of his mission he’d shared with the townsfolk, they’d arrived already brimming with questions and impatience. They wanted to know the details of his mission. They wanted intel on his mission.

Corvus had, of course, told them in no uncertain terms that the details of his mission were classified. Certainly, they were not available to two children who wouldn’t even say why they were here. He told them nothing; not even what he had shared with the townspeople.

That had led in turn to some squabbling over the semantics of childhood, and then to further attempts to wheedle information from him, and then to this: silence.

Finally, after a considerable amount of wheedling, complaining, and prodding, the dark mage – Claudia – changed tracks. “…Look,” she said, slowly, and for the first time since they’d arrived, there was a hint of something sincere in her voice. Corvus watched, stone-faced. “You heard about there being two kids with that elf, right? Do you know what that means?”

He wished he could fold his arms, but they weren’t exactly in a fit state for it. “Do you?”

She sighed, plainly frustrated, and lifted a hand to her face for a moment. “It’s Callum and Ezran, right?” she said, impatiently. “It has to be. The last time anyone saw them, was with her.”

Corvus noted her wording, and said nothing.

She wasn’t impressed by his reticence, and scowled. “If you can’t trust anything else, you should trust that we want to help them,” she informed him, resolute. Beside her, her brother shifted uncomfortably. “They’re our friends. We grew up with them. And if we’re going after them and you can’t, because you’re injured – you should tell us what you know. Anything that could help.”

There was, he thought, some honesty in that. He didn’t know how close the friendship between the princes and Viren’s children might be, but they had grown up with each other. That much was true. But… “You didn’t come here looking for them,” he said, eyes narrowed. “I know that.”

Claudia hesitated. She looked at her brother, who seemed about to speak, and motioned him silent. She spent several long moments thinking. Finally, she said “No, we didn’t.” She hesitated again. “We…thought they were dead.”

A lie. Or at least, not the full truth. It was plain from her expression. Sceptically, he asked “Did you?”

She stared at him, expression caught between frustration and irritation and some thread of genuine worry. She exhaled, and admitted “We…didn’t know for sure. But it – it seemed like that’s what would happen, you know? Elves kill people. What else was going to happen, when they ran off with her?”

That was interesting. “’Ran off with her’?” he repeated, sharply, and again she hesitated, plainly uncertain how much she should say. He could get it out of her, he thought. It would take just a little more prodding. “Until I understand what you’re doing here – why you’re really here – I’m not telling you anything,” he said to her, flatly. “I don’t need specifics, if you’ve got your own orders. But I’m not going to share classified information when, from what I know, there’s no good reason for Lord Viren’s children to be here chasing that elf.”

“Isn’t catching a bloodthirsty elven assassin enough?” she asked, with some asperity.

“No. It’s not. If that was all you were here for, your father would be working with General Amaya, and I’d know to expect you. Instead…” He lifted his eyebrows at them, as if to draw attention to their presence here.

She sighed. Her brother tapped his foot, clearly irritated. It took a while for her to deliberate, pacing a little, looking at him uncertainly, biting her lip. For some of that interim, she looked startlingly young. It was almost enough to make Corvus pity her. But he didn’t let his expression change. The General was counting on his judgement – the princes depended on his judgement. So he waited, and then, finally…

The dark mage came to a decision; he saw it in the slump of her shoulders, the way she exhaled, the way she looked at him.

“The elf stole something,” she said, plainly.

Her brother looked uneasy. “Claudia…”

“Shush, Soren.” She didn’t look away from Corvus. “The elf stole something,” she repeated, as though willing him to believe her, and he watched her carefully.

“Something important,” he judged, when he had looked, and determined that she seemed to be honest.

“A weapon,” said Claudia. “I’m not going to tell you what it is. But it’s – magical, and incredibly powerful. My father was keeping it secret, and safe, for if something big happened, and we needed it to protect the kingdom. But then…”

“The elf assassin broke into the castle and found it,” Corvus guessed, and she nodded. He considered the words for a long few seconds, wondering. There was truth to this; he could see it. It didn’t fill in all the gaps, not by any means, but it was important information. He wondered at the implications. “Who knew about it?” he asked, following one thread of thought.

The girl shifted uncomfortably. “Aside from us, and dad, I – think only the King knew. No one else. It’s important, and secret, so – that’s why he sent us after the elf. No one else could know.”

A weapon as powerful as she was implying…yes, that would be something to keep close to one’s chest. Something only to tell the primaries of a Kingdom about, certainly.

But…not to tell Amaya? She controlled the front lines to the entire Pentarchy. What sense could there be in not telling her something so potentially significant? “If it was so secret, then how did the elf know it was there?” he asked, instead of following that up. He doubted the Lord Protector’s daughter would know, or tell him, why her father had judged this too dire a secret for the General of the Standing Battalion.

She blinked, and frowned. “I think it was just by accident,” she said, slowly, as if she wasn’t sure. “Maybe she was told to break into dad’s workshop? It’s not like they wouldn’t know we had powerful mages, and powerful ingredients.”

If the stories were to be believed, it had been dark magic of unspeakable power that had slain Xadia’s monstrous King. Corvus couldn’t imagine anything else managing the feat. If he was Xadian command, and he was sending assassins into the stronghold of the enemy…yes, he thought he’d have them do their best to uncover and remove anything powerful enough to do it again. It made sense. He filed it away. “And what about the princes?” he asked, finally getting to the meat of the interrogation. She’d said the princes ran off with the elf, like she’d seen it. She’d been there.

She scowled, hand clenching on thin air, as though for some weapon she missed. “The elf-“ she started, then shook her head, angrily. “I don’t know how. I don’t know what she said. But – she convinced them to help her.”

Corvus sat up straighter, intent. “Willingly?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, I wasn’t there when she found them. I don’t know what she did, or what she said, or if she cast some kind of – Moonshadow illusion on them…I don’t know.” The frustration in her voice, her bearing…it was utterly genuine. The memory angered her. Corvus watched very carefully. “All I know is that when she stole the weapon, and I found them there – the boys helped her get away.”

He nodded slowly. “Tell me how,” he ordered her. She stared at him, mulish, as though considering cutting off her tale. But in the end, she’d already started, and it was easier to get someone to keep talking than it was to get them to start.

“I had a primal stone,” she said. “I was going to hit the elf with lightning to stop her. But – Callum made me miss, and then trapped me, and ran off with the stone, after the elf and Ezran. By the time I got free, I couldn’t find them.”

Corvus blinked. “Isn’t lightning primal magic?”

“Primal stone,” she repeated, impatiently, and – Corvus didn’t know what that was, didn’t have any frame of reference for what it looked like, but…abruptly, he couldn’t help but remember that last glimpse of Prince Callum, right before the wind had hit him. The memory was coloured and scattered by the snapping, searing pain of the minutes that followed, but…

There had been something in his hand.

“What does it look like?” he asked, slowly, trying to blink away the memory of the wind, the cliff, the fall. “This…primal stone.”

Claudia frowned, suspicious. “Why? It’s gone.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Corvus said, and then “Humour me.”

“…It’s like a glass ball, with a miniature storm inside.” She watched him, eyes narrowed. Clearly, she wanted an explanation of her own, now.

He nodded, and the pieces clicked together in his head. “Prince Callum still has it.”

She blinked rapidly. “What? Are you sure?” The incredulity made sense. What kind of elven captor would let her captives, deceived or not, keep hold of something that – in some measure – could allow them to attack with magic?

Still. “I’m sure,” he said, thinking of the campsite that looked like it had been ravaged by an isolated windstorm, of the dead fish floating in the lake, of – of the cliff edge. “And he knows how to use it, too.”

“That’s impossible,” the dark mage said, frowning. “He’s never learned any spells.”

“He knows at least one.” Corvus shrugged. “Maybe the elf taught him. I wouldn’t know. But if you’re in pursuit…” he hesitated, and sighed. He rubbed a hand over his eyes.

That was it, then, wasn’t it? He believed the girl. She had a legitimate – if suspicious – reason to be here, and she and her brother were able to make a pursuit. If they had a chance of getting to the princes…he had to give them something. Any less would be irresponsible. If they caught up and then failed, or were killed, because of a lack of intel…that would be on him.

The girl didn’t fail to notice his change of heart. “You’re going to tell us what we need?” she guessed, watching him.

After a moment, Corvus nodded. “I’ll share my observations with you.”

“Finally!” the Crownguard boy exploded, as though the outburst had been brewing through every moment of his unwilling silence. “I thought you were going to keep us here forever!”

“It would’ve been faster, if you’d been honest from the start,” Corvus told him flatly, and received a very grumpy frown in response. He turned back to the girl, who was waiting for him to speak, shoulders tense with barely-leashed impatience. “Do you have a way to track them?” he asked, instead of speaking. “They’ve gone through the mountains, now, and there were several days of snow to cover their tracks. They could be anywhere.”

The dark mage’s hand drifted to the satchel at her side. “…Yeah, we have a way.”

Her brother stared at her. “Wait, we do? Then why did we take the dogs all this – ow!” he cut off as his sister elbowed him, glaring.

“The dogs were before there was a storm and rain getting in the way,” she told her brother, sourly. “What do you think I was going through all those caves looking for? I needed components. It’s not like they grow on trees.”

Quietly, Corvus gritted his teeth, and banked the flare of fury that surged at her words. There was dark magic to track the princes. Magic that the Lord Protector could have offered…and hadn’t.

Nothing to be done, he told himself, and tried not to react outwardly. It was something else to tell General Amaya. Being angry at this witchling wasn’t going to get him anywhere useful.

“So?” she demanded, when he’d been silent a while. “What do you know?”

He exhaled, and looked at them. The princes knew them; would recognise them on sight. That was…good. If they trusted these two, they might well have better luck than he had. “The princes appear healthy, and don’t seem to have been harmed,” he said, directly. “They’re not restrained, and help with camping and travelling. I can’t say how much of that is willing, but they’re helping.” He hesitated, then finally sighed. “If you attack the elf, they might defend her.”

Both of them stared at him. “What?” the girl asked, bewildered. “Why?”

“She’s an elf,” Soren objected, similarly taken-aback. “Her gang killed their father. Why would they help her?”

Corvus shrugged tiredly, then winced. He had a lot of broken bones, and a lot of bruises, and every movement hurt. “Maybe they don’t know,” he suggested, half-heartedly. “I don’t know what the reasons are. Maybe they really are bewitched. But…” His hand drifted slowly to his sling. “Well. I’m in this House for a reason, you know.”

If they’d looked surprised before, they seemed astonished now. “Wait, but – didn’t the elf do that to you?” The Crownguard boy demanded. “We heard she’d pushed you off a cliff!”

He shook his head, silent. “You heard wrong. The elf – she’s injured. I almost had her, but then…” He couldn’t quite help it. It was all so tangled up in the memory of pain, and confusion, and fear – that image of the terrified boy with the glassy stone in his hand. He laughed, and it hurt. “Prince Callum pushed me off the cliff.”

“Callum?” Claudia repeated, fully incredulous.

“But he’s so scrawny!” Her brother protested. “And he sucks at fighting.”

It was hard to reconcile those words with the remembrance of what had happened to him. “He blew me off the cliff,” he clarified. “With magic. A – it felt like getting hit head-on by a sudden, horrible gust of wind…”

The girl had a hand over her mouth, aghast. “I – are you sure?”

“It certainly wasn’t the elf,” Corvus said mirthlessly. “She was on her back on the ground, and I was about to kill her. So it was either Prince Callum, or Prince Ezran. And Prince Callum was the one who was-“ His wounds ached, and he cut off, feeling a light tremor in his fingertips. Wordlessly, he gestured with one hand, as if holding a ball. It was explanatory enough.

“I…never thought he had something like that in him,” Claudia murmured, seeming almost shaken. “He was always so…goofy. And kind.”

“Maybe he really has gone elf-mad?” Soren suggested, worriedly. “Bloodthirsty, like one of them.”

Corvus shook his head again, and sighed. It hadn’t been bloodthirst, in that face. Only the awful, panicked terror of someone looking a friend’s death in the eye. “Be careful,” was what he said, in the end. “He knows you, so maybe he’ll trust you. But – be careful, attacking the elf.”

“We will,” the girl promised, still looking a little unsteady. “What can you tell us? You said she was injured…”

“She has some kind of magic tourniquet on her wrist that won’t come off. I assumed a dark mage must be responsible for it.” He looked at her, questioningly.

She frowned and shook her head. “Wasn’t my spell.”

“Your father?”

“Dad didn’t see her. He was in the tower.” And there weren’t any other registered dark mages, in this part of Katolis. Who then cast the spell? Something else to note in his upcoming report, to be certain.

“Well, wherever it came from, she’ll probably have lost the left hand by now,” Corvus said in the end, pursing his lips. “She’s a dual-wielder, so it should make her much easier to fight. On top of that – I did hit her, at least twice. She’ll have at least a shallow wound in the shoulder, and one or two severe injuries on her left arm.”

“Finally, some good news,” grumbled the Crownguard, rolling his shoulders as if they were growing stiff from standing still too long. “A one-handed elf will be easy to deal with.”

“Don’t get overconfident,” Corvus told him, remembering the elf’s skill and agility, obvious even when she’d been injured. “She’s a skilled opponent, with the senses and reflexes of any Moonshadow elf. Don’t let your guard down.”

“I was there at the tower, you know,” the boy said, a little irate, and a little uneasy. Like the memory was an unpleasant one. As well it should be; Corvus had heard most of the Crownguard defending the tower had died. How many survivors had there been, other than this boy? How many of his fellows had he seen die? “I know they’re dangerous. But this one’s going to be missing a hand. That’s got to count for something.”

“We’ll make sure to avoid attacking at full moon, too,” said Claudia, looking speculative. “You said you injured her? Like, with a weapon? Did you break skin?”

Corvus eyed her, strangely. “…Yes?” he said, slowly. “I use a hook and chain. I caught her with the hook, on at least two prongs – it was a ripping injury, would’ve been messy, and slow to heal. Why?”

“Any chance you’ve got the weapon around, and it still has some blood on it?” she pressed. “I can use something like that to track her. We’ve got hair from the boys we can track them with, but…” she trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid: if something happened to the princes, there’d be no way to track the elf.

He held silent for a moment. “I had to leave my hook behind, at the base of the cliff,” he said, in the end. “If it’s not buried in snow, there’ll probably be old blood on it. You’d have to find it, though.” He thought for a moment. “The bargemen who found me will probably have directions for you.”

She looked delighted. “Great! That just leaves one thing…”

Corvus lifted an eyebrow.

The dark mage, daughter of the Lord Protector, grinned sunnily. “Do you know where we can find a mountain guide?”

---

Some time later, with a few mental notes taken, Claudia took her brother and her supplies and left for the outskirts.

When they were a short distance outside the town – far enough to deter snoopers but not so far it’d be annoying to get back – she set out her bag and got to work.

“Can you maybe explain why we had to walk out here?” Soren demanded, while she was plucking vials and bunches of supplies from her collection with wild abandon. “I thought we were supposed to be looking for – elf blood, or mountain guides, or something.”

“We can go back later. First I need to know what we can do,” Claudia said, with half of her attention; she was far more focused on the spellwork now.

“That doesn’t answer anything.”

She flapped a hand at her brother distractedly. “Not now, Sor-bear. I’ve got to do some testing.”

He eyed her supplies, expression souring. “Great. More creepy dark-magic-stuff.” She didn’t deign to answer that, and after a moment, he asked “You’re casting spells now?”

“Yep,” she agreed, lining up her ingredients neatly, ready for use.

“But aren’t those, you know, supposed to be rare? I thought you were saving all-“ he waved at her bag, “that, for important stuff.”

“This is important,” she insisted, and eyed their surroundings calculatingly. “This is going to decide which way we need to go. And how big a mountain we need to climb.” She considered a nearby boulder-sized rock with interest, and then a sort of snowed-over grassy bluff of packed soil a little closer, about half as tall as the rock. After some deliberation, she took her selected ingredients and made for the bluff.

“How’s it going to do that?” he pressed, dubiously. “And why are we climbing mountains anyway? Aren’t we supposed to be catching up to the elf?”

Claudia laid her things out atop the bluff, running her eyes over them analytically. “Well, you see, my tracking spell is supposed to be cast from the tallest mountain,” she said, and plucked a leaf from a half-dead oak sapling peeking through the snow nearby. “And normally, that’d mean Kalik.”

Soren blinked. “But Kalik is at least two weeks’ riding away!”

“Exactly,” she agreed. “Which is why I’m doing this. I need to know what counts as ‘tallest mountain’ for the spell. Because it can’t just be tallest mountain ever, right? Pretty sure I’ve read that Del Bar has something taller than Kalik.”

“…The elves could have tall mountains, too.”

“Dad did say the lair of the Dragon King was on a really, really tall mountain. So, you’re probably right,” Claudia mused, and then approached Soren, holding the leaf out. “Here, lick this.”

“What?”

“Lick the leaf, Soren,” she repeated. “I need it for my test.”

He folded his arms. “But why?”

Her eyebrow twitched. “For the spell. It’s not a big deal, just lick the leaf!” She shook the leaf at him, more insistently.

“Why can’t you lick the leaf?”

“Because I’m doing the test! I can’t lick the leaf when I’m the one doing the test!”

“Why not?”

“Because then it won’t work! Just lick the leaf!” She shoved it in his face until it was up against his nose. He grimaced, snatched it from her fingers, and stared at it suspiciously.

“Is this going to do something weird and creepy to me?” he asked her, wary. “Like turn my tongue purple? Or make my pee green? I don’t want to have green pee again.”

“That was one time, Soren. And no, it’s not going to do anything like that.” She pinched the bridge of her nose to ward off a headache. Should’ve just pulled one of his hairs out, she reflected, morose. But no, she’d wanted to be nice to him, and not cause him the admittedly tiny amount of pain that the plucking of a singular hair would involve. Or, technically, two hairs. Maybe more. It’d depend how many tests she needed. Again, she repeated: “Lick the leaf.”

Soren stared at it, grumpily resigned. He licked the leaf. “Happy?” he demanded.

“Let’s find out.” She sighed, plucked the leaf from his fingers by the stem, and took it over to the rest of the stuff. “Stay there.” He made a belligerent noise at her but stayed put, arms folded as he watched her ascend the small grassy bluff again.

She’d been telling the truth about this being important, but still…it galled to be using such valuable and rare ingredients for experimentation. But dad wasn’t here to consult, so she had to make do. One way or another, they needed to know which way to go. So:

Claudia uncapped the wisp bottle, set the oak leaf down as the focus, and reached out to burn.

The heady power of the spell flowed through her veins, swelling behind her eyes. It ached, a little, but it was an ache she’d grown used to over the years; now, she imagined she could feel the way that the strength of the magic grew within her, making her an ever-greater vessel for its might. Great spells did that, dad said. The more magic you cast, the more room there was for it inside you, and the stronger you became. She believed it. She believed it more with every spell she wrought.

This wasn’t a ‘great’ spell. But it was what she needed, for now.

The magic on her lips distorted the words she spoke, so that they came out backwards and echoing. It loosed the spell, and she blinked black eyes as she watched.

The violet of the tracking spell glowed, then shot upwards; it formed an arc from the point she’d cast it from to – well. To the target. The magic came down on Soren and hit him solidly on the head, casting purple wisps all around him. “Claudia!” he spluttered, indignant, wiping furiously at his hair.

“Oh, shush, none of it even stayed in your hair,” she dismissed, observing him sharp-eyed. Well, that worked, she thought, a little disturbed by the ease of it.

An arc. Upwards from point-of-casting, and then down to the target. But it only went so far up.

What would happen if there was something taller between the target and the cast-point?

She had a feeling she knew. But it needed testing. So… “I need you to lick another leaf,” she told her brother, and he glared at her.

“What, so you can hit me with weird glowing things again?” he demanded, and she considered it.

“Yep,” she agreed, honest. “But if it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure it’s not going to work this time.”

He subsided a little, from confusion more than anything else. “Then why are you doing it?”

“Because I need to understand how it works,” she said. “And if it doesn’t work, then I’ll understand.”

Soren grumbled and complained at her, of course, but eventually she got another saliva sample from him. Then she directed him to stand a good distance behind the big rock, in a direct straight line from the grassy bluff.

She cast the spell again. And, as she’d predicted, the arc of the spell brought it up a short distance….and then its downwards arc impacted the intervening rock. Thwarted. The wisps burst around the stone and began to dissipate.

Claudia sighed, satisfied, then went to retrieve her brother.

“So?” he asked, looking considerably less grumpy now that he’d gotten out of being pelted with magic a second time.

“We don’t need to climb Kalik,” she determined, hefting the strap of her bag back onto her shoulder. “We just need the tallest mountain between here and where the e-“ She hesitated, then amended herself. “Where Callum and Ezran and the elf are.”

Soren seemed appeased by that. “Well, good. So where’s that?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know,” she answered cheerfully. “Let’s go ask around and find out.”

---

For all the difficulty imposed by the snow and ice, Rayla had been right: it did get easier to breathe as they descended. It didn’t do much for the developing blisters on his toes, but he started to regain his breath, and it became easier to talk as they walked. Time passed faster that way. He barely tripped over his snowshoes, he didn’t fall off of anything unfortunate, and the rest of the day’s walking went smoothly. He had the sense that Rayla was beginning to look for somewhere suitable to stop, but…

In the end, a few hours past lunch, their path was interrupted by a river. A very remarkable river.

Callum stopped short as it pulled into view, eyes widening, fingers reflexively reaching for his sketchbook. He had to stop himself from opening it and starting to draw then and there, and just stared with undisguised wonder instead.

Spilling over a rock wall around thirty feet high, there was a waterfall – wide and glittering and entirely frozen.

“Whoa,” he breathed, staring at it, Rayla slowing to a halt ahead of him. She looked back, eyebrow raised, and then back at the frozen river and the frozen waterfall as if it were nothing interesting at all.

“What?” she asked, looking almost amused. “Never seen a waterfall before?”

“It’s frozen,” Ezran exclaimed, neatly summing up the novelty of it.

He couldn’t get his head around how crazy it looked. If it had frozen steadily, he’d have maybe expected the surface of the ice to be sort of…drippy looking, as if water had sluiced down over the existing ice and frozen half-way down. But it wasn’t like that at all. Instead, the ice looked frothy, full of splashing and tumbling shapes that seemed to have frozen in a split-second, preserving all the life and movement of a living waterfall, now motionless in solid ice. The river that ought to have run across their path was frozen, too…although, now that he looked, he thought there might be water running under the icy surface somewhere.

“How does anything even freeze like that?” he wondered aloud, eyes drifting back to the waterfall and its astonishing appearance. It glittered under the sunlight, full of icy blues that deepened towards the middle, the colours shifting as he craned his neck to look at it. “It’s amazing.”

Rayla rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips as she glanced at him. “It’s just frozen water,” she said, dryly, and stepped towards the river. “Which is less awful than normal water, but…still not exactly my favourite thing. Let’s just cross over and keep going, alright? We’re not here to admire the scenery.”

Ezran pulled his eyes from the waterfall and scurried over to her side, pulling urgently on her sleeve. “But it’s useful, isn’t it?” he wheedled, eyes wide-blue and sparkling like the waterfall. “We should camp next to it! We’ll have so much water to use, right there!”

“We’d still need to melt it,” she said, cynically, and then blinked at the river. Perhaps she’d seen the hints of moving water underneath, as he had. “…Or…maybe not,” she amended. “Hm.” She tilted her head, and he wondered if she was thinking of how long it had been since any of them had washed…well, anything, really. Clothes, themselves, equipment…the most they’d had access to was whatever they boiled in their pot.

Though, he had to admit, he wouldn’t exactly be keen to wash in water that was literally frozen over.

“…It’s not too long from when we’d be stopping anyway,” Callum implored, after a few moments, and saw potential success in the way that Rayla sighed and did not immediately deny it. It was the truth, right? She’d been scoping places out to camp already. “We might as well just set up here.” And then maybe he could spend some time drawing the waterfall from sight instead of from memory, if there was a chance for it.

She didn’t answer, instead looking up at the waterfall, eyes narrowed. She moved her head from side to side, as if trying to gauge the distance, or…something.

“…Rayla?” he prompted, as she stepped a little closer to the ice, still tilting her head like she was trying to take its measure. “Is something wrong?”

“Is there something in the ice?” Ezran inquired, interested.

“This isn’t ‘The Sword in the Waterfall’, Ez,” Callum said, but he was looking too. Instead of answering, Rayla picked her way across the rocks jutting from the river’s ice, and then went up and to the side of the waterfall, peering at something there.

“I think there’s a cave behind here,” she announced after a moment, eyes on the side of the waterfall, by the rocks. “The shadows in the waterfall don’t make sense, for there just being solid rock behind, so…cave. If I can just…” She extracted a blade with her right hand, flipped it to pick-shape, and then hacked at the side of the waterfall. A large chunk of ice cracked off and fell noisily around her ankles.

“Rayla!” he reprimanded, indignant. “I was going to draw that!”

“I’m not going to break the whole waterfall, Callum,” she said, rolling her eyes, still assailing the ice, sending pieces flying everywhere. She might’ve claimed that the moon phase was making her weaker, but it certainly didn’t look like it. “You’ll have plenty left, don’t you worry.”

“It’s not like you wouldn’t just remember it anyway, you know,” Ezran added, from beside him, and Callum crossed his arms.

“I like to draw from life sometimes,” he said, a little sulkily, and then startled at a little at a pronounced cracking sound as Rayla broke through. The next moment saw her literally kicking in the side of that part of the waterfall. A whole section of the ice just caved in, crumbling inwards, and then there was a hole.

Rayla peered in. “Definitely a cave,” she said, with satisfaction. “So long as there’s nothing nasty in there, we might not even have to bother with the tent tonight.”

Carefully, Callum tried to venture across the frozen river to join her in looking in, though he didn’t even bother with attempting to step across the rocks like Rayla had. He’d definitely fall over, probably breaking the ice in the process. At least the river didn’t seem at all deep. It was basically just a very wide stream. The snowshoes were rough enough to offer some purchase on the ice, so – carefully – he crossed over, stopping by Rayla’s side.

He peered through the hole she’d made. Behind the ice, the river was still running shallowly, streaming down the ice, and…sure enough, there was a deep yawning shadow behind the waterfall that seemed to go quite far back.

“Define ‘nothing nasty’,” he said, after a moment, beckoning Ezran over. “Do caves usually have something nasty in them?”

“Caves are good places for animals to live!” Ezran chirped, still inching his way carefully over the ice. Bait was following grumpily at his heels; he loved water, but wasn’t a fan of ice. “They’re warmer and more sheltered. So there could be a bear or a banther or something in there.” He eyed the waterfall with interest, as though trying to peer past its darkness to the hypothetical animal denizens within.

And there was a thought. “Can you feel anything?” Callum asked, curious. “Like you could feel where animals were during the storm?”

Ezran blinked, taken-aback. He plainly hadn’t thought of that. “I mean, maybe? I could try?” Rayla nodded at him encouragingly, so he clamped his eyes shut and went silent. Whatever he was doing seemed to be a struggle. Evidently the power of the storm had magnified his abilities beyond what he could manage now. “…There are some alive-things in there,” he said, finally, opening his eyes. “But it’s hard to feel them from here. I think they’re pretty small, though.” He frowned. “And…fluttery? With wings?”

“Bats?” Callum suggested, thinking of fluttery winged things that might live in caves.

“Bats don’t like places this cold.” He sounded dubious.

Rayla didn’t comment on it either way, just tilted her head at the dark passageway. “Pretty narrow, a little further in. Don’t think a bear could get through there,” she decided, after a moment. Then she whistled sharply into the cave, seeming to listen to the way the noise of it resounded along the stone. “Goes pretty far in.”

“I want to see it!” Ezran said, intrigued, looking as though he were about to step into the darkness that very second. Before Callum could do anything, Rayla put a hand on his brother’s shoulder to stop him.

“Why don’t you let me check it out, first?” she suggested, gently nudging him back. “I’ll just go take a wee look around, make sure it’s alright.” Her lips twisted with a hint of humour. “Keep an ear out, and run if you…I don’t know, hear me yelling about mountain lions, or something.”

“I’d like to meet a mountain lion,” Ez objected, wistful, and Callum patted him absently on the shoulder, already distracted with watching Rayla stalk into the mouth of the cave, weapon still at the ready. Within a few moments the shadows had swallowed her, and he couldn’t see her at all. It was weirdly nerve-wracking; uncomfortably reminiscent of watching her disappear into that awful blizzard. He exhaled, forced himself to relax, and waited.

After a few minutes, for lack of anything else to do, they started speculating idly on what she’d find. Ezran wanted some cool animals, winged or otherwise. Callum wanted a nice vacant space that would make a sheltered and less-cold camping ground. Ezran agreed that a sheltered campsite would be nice, but remained very certain about wanting to meet some cool animals.

He was in the middle of unfolding the tale of the bats he’d found under the castle machicolations last year when Rayla suddenly re-emerged, bereft of her packs, looking intrigued and bright-eyed and in general not as if she were being urgently pursued by the occupants of anything. Nonetheless, she materialised so suddenly from the narrow darkness of the cave that he jumped a little, pulse jolting with surprise.

“I’m back,” she announced unnecessarily, her cheeks pink with excitement and a smile upon her lips. Reflexively, he found himself smiling back, a little startled by her obvious cheer. “The cave is – you’ve got to see this.” In a flash, she’d disappeared into the cave opening again. He stumbled after her, mildly alarmed.

“Er, Rayla?” he said, into the dark, exchanging a bemused smile with his brother. “You know we can’t see in there, right?”

There was a pause, and then she ducked back out into the light again, just close enough to the cave mouth that he could see her eyes glowing in the shadows. “Forgot about that,” she admitted, and then a hand extended from the darkness. “I’ll lead you in.”

He eyed it, shrugged, and reached out to close his fingers around hers. “…Sure,” he sighed, and then reached out behind him for Ez. “C’mon, Ez, take my hand. I’ll try not to trip over anything.”

His brother snickered at him, but obligingly reached out, and then they were walking in a little row along the tremendously narrow cave passage towards…whatever Rayla wanted to show them. Bait started glowing a while in, which at least let Callum see where he was putting his feet, and from there on it was easier to follow where she was leading. The air tasted like an echo of the waterfall, all damp rock and wet air. It was oddly pleasant.

“This goes pretty far,” he noted, craning his neck to try to see whatever she had found so remarkable. The air grew palpably warmer as they turned a narrow corner, squeezing past the rock, becoming damp and humid rather than damp and cool. A new scent came into the air; something green and verdant, like the smell of wet moss in an old forest.

“It’s pretty warm in there, actually,” she said, as if echoing his thoughts, still cheerful. “It’ll be a good place to camp.” He was opening his mouth to question her when she cut him off, announcing “Here we are!” Then, with a flourish, she bowed them into the wider cavern.

He stared, open mouthed, and stepped tentatively out into the open space, ghostly light spilling around him. Rayla slipped ahead of him and turned back, grinning a little as she watched for their reactions.

He tried to say something, but all he managed was “whoa.”

The cavern was relatively large, tall enough to accommodate thrice or more Rayla’s height, and wide enough that they could comfortably put up six or seven tents if they felt like it. The whole place was suffused with light: it glowed on the walls from strange phosphorescent mushrooms that grew in frilly clusters upon the rock; it glowed in points of light in the thick damp mosses under his feet; it glowed in the strange little wisps that danced around in the air. There were butterflies too, or maybe moths, fluttering this way and that in the glittering air, casting gentle light from their wings.

And there were plants! Not just mosses, but thriving leafy shrubs, and even what looked like a couple of young pine or spruce saplings – little trees with delicate needles on their branches. There were even a few larger ones, almost tall enough to brush the roof of the place, wreathed in glittering vines that climbed up their trunks. The whole cavern, trees and all, seemed suffused with a blue-green glow, moving and shifting as the light-wisps roamed.

A few of the glowing moths fluttered past, and he lifted a hand to one. He wasn’t really expecting anything, but – it landed on his finger, wings opening and closing, and he was absolutely certain that his face looked completely ridiculous right now, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He stared at the moth with wonder, admiring its enormous pale green wings and the metallic bronze patterning, and kept staring long after it fluttered away from his finger again. “Wow,” he breathed, looking out at the cavern with a sort of stunned awe.

“It’s so pretty,” Ezran said, similarly spellbound, and when Callum glanced at him he was already covered in the wispy light-things, and was amassing an entourage of moths. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“It reminds me of some of the parts of the forest I live in, back in Xadia,” Rayla spoke, and there was a contented smile on her lips as she looked around them. “All the glowing things, you know? And the colours, and Moon-moths. Feels a little like home.”

For a second, Callum was very, very jealous. But that envy lost cohesion quickly in the face of this kind of awe. He stared around, eyes drinking in the cave and committing it to memory as best he could. This kind of environment would be hard to do any proper justice with just charcoal and paper, but…with luck, in the future, he’d have access to paints again, and could capture this scene properly. “I can’t wait to see Xadia, then,” he said softly, and looked back at Rayla just in time to see one of the light-wisps fall into her cupped hands.

The wisp flickered gently in her palms as she smiled down at it. A moth had landed on her left horn, and another on her shoulder, and the wisps followed in their wake as if moving on some invisible current. She looked at once far more serene and far more content than he thought he’d ever seen her, and – and suddenly, he couldn’t quite seem to look away. The shifting light over her skin drew his eyes to follow it; he watched her white hair reflect the colours of the glowing cave, her eyes luminescing as though to match all the other magical things around her.

He forced his eyes away, heartbeat strange in his throat. More in an effort to distract himself than anything, he asked aloud, “How are all these plants even growing in here? Don’t they need sunlight?” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Bait already off trying to hunt moths, and shook his head. Those moths were huge. Maybe too huge for a glow-toad. But then again, what did he know? Bait ate all sorts of weird stuff.

Rayla looked upwards at the cave ceiling as if trying to find some hidden aperture to the sky, then shrugged. “I guess not?” she offered, still with that small contented smile. “Magic’s like that, you know. Things that shouldn’t be able to live somewhere just…can. And then you get places like this.”

And, supposedly, that sort of magic was everywhere in Xadia. “I can’t wait to see Xadia,” he reiterated, fervently, and cautiously set his bag down. The ground was carpeted in moss of varying thickness, with very few patches that were just lichen-encrusted stone. He eyed it for a few more moments, and said “You know, we probably don’t even need to set out our cloaks to sleep on.”

Ezran turned his attention to the cave floor, his body still entirely shrouded in light-wisps. They seemed to like him, enough so that he had to brush a few away from his eyes to see. He giggled as they passed over his skin, and then carefully lowered himself and his bag to the ground, bouncing experimentally. “Yeah, this moss is pretty comfy,” he reported, cheerful. “What a great place to camp! I wonder if there’s any animals in here?”

Rayla huffed with amusement, wandering over to ruffle his hair, displacing a few wisps. “If there are, I’m sure you’ll find them.”

Within minutes, Ezran was off prancing through the cave, investigating every tree root, every stalagmite, every mushroom. It was such a delight to see him this happy that Callum didn’t even consider calling him back to help with setting up; practicality could wait a while.

“It’s good to see him so cheerful,” Rayla said to him, a smile on her lips, as if reading his mind. “I was worried.”

“Yeah,” Callum agreed, gut twisting a little at the memory. “Last few days…it’s been pretty tough.”

She glanced at him, sidelong. “They have,” she agreed, after a moment. “But-“ she broke off, and muttered to herself, “Of course you wouldn’t know,” before looking back at him again. “He’s having trouble sleeping.”

He blinked, and re-evaluated his memories of his brother throughout the day. Ez had looked tired, sure, but…well, recent times had been tiring. It had made sense they wouldn’t be fully recovered from it. But… “He is?” Was he having nightmares? Callum would have expected to wake up, if his brother had been having nightmares. He always had in the past.

“Mm. Azymondias is keeping him awake. I woke up a bit last night, talked to him.” She shrugged, looking briefly uncomfortable. “Don’t know how much sleep he got, in the end.”

Callum grimaced. One more repercussion from that awful storm. “Well, that’s not ideal,” he said, now a little worried. This kind of travelling was hard enough even on a full night of sleep. He’d slept pretty well last night, after all, and everything had still been exhausting. What if it was a persistent problem? What if it kept keeping Ezran awake? That…wouldn’t be good. “…Maybe it’ll pass? When more of the storm-magic is gone.”

“Maybe.” She didn’t look convinced. After a moment, she sighed and shook her head. “Well, we’ll find out, I suppose. For now…” she gestured at their bags, hers on the ground and his still on his back. “We could get set up?”

“We won’t need the tent today, right? It’s really warm in here.” A novel experience, really. Even the tent last night had turned chilly by morning. A thought occurred to him, and he huffed. “Gonna be weird to have space to sleep again. We’ve been squashed in that tent for weeks now.”

For some reason, she flushed and looked away. “Yeah. Weird,” she muttered, ears flicking back, and turned to kneel to the bags. “…We won’t need the tent, no. But I reckon we should get everything out anyway. The tent was covered in frost this morning – it needs to dry.”

He nodded, and crouched to help her. “And if we’re going to be washing clothes and stuff, we should probably get all of that out, too.”

“Might as well,” she agreed, and so, without further ado, they started unloading their bags. Over the next ten minutes or so, everything came out; even the slabs of frozen, yet-uncooked meat that had been wrapped and tied to the sides. Rayla took those out through the cave mouth to sit behind the icy waterfall, there to remain frozen, with the exception of an already partially thawing one that she left to defrost in the corner.

Ezran noticed her coming and going, and then noticed that they were doing work without him, and came over to complain. “You should’ve called me, if you were going to be doing stuff,” he said reprovingly. “I can help.”

“I know you can, Ez,” Callum smiled, and reached out to ruffle his hair. “You were having fun, though. And it’s not like unpacking is hard.”

“Still,” his brother insisted, and looked at what he was doing, calculating. “We’ll need wood, right?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Ezran nodded, determined. “I’ll go get that, then.”

Rayla returned in short order, and the two of them went back to their tasks while Ezran saw to his. With clothes, food, medical supplies, and other miscellanea separated into their discrete piles, it became clear how much cleaning really needed to be done. “I really bled over a lot of clothes,” Rayla said, sourly, inspecting the torn shirt, undershirt, and jacket she’d been injured in. Not to mention the sweater she’d started to bleed through, early on. “These stains aren’t going to come out.”

“That’s…fine,” Callum said, trying not to think about the blood too much. “It’s just clothes, and we’re travelling. It’s not like we need to look good.”

She glanced at him. “Yeah, but these aren’t just dirty, they’re ripped. I can wear them, maybe, but only if I cut the arms off. Might be worth more as cloth to wrap food with.” She frowned at the clothing, and sighed. “Well, whatever. I can put my clothes back on, after this. They’ve got the arms bare, anyway.” Left unsaid was the fact that, with bare arms, it would be easier to get at the bandages. Though he couldn’t imagine she’d be travelling without a sweater on any time soon, with how cold it was.

Callum nodded, sparing a moment to despise the fact that she had to plan her outfits around how hard it would be to access her wounds. “…Is it hard to get in and out of, though? I don’t think I could get at your shoulder through your assassin jacket thing.”

She made a face. “Right. Shoulder. Stab-wound.” She shook her head, annoyed. “No, the light armour is kind of a pain to get dressed in.” Her eyes slid to her own arm. “Suppose I’ll just have to stick to what I’m wearing until I’ve healed up a bit more.”

“…You can always borrow some of my stuff, if you need to?” he suggested, vaguely abashed to suggest it. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been borrowing and wearing his clothes for most of the journey already. “I mean. I think most of it needs washing, for now, but…”

Her expression was amused. “I’m technically already borrowing your stuff, Callum.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He coughed, embarrassed, and changed the topic. “So – how exactly are we going to wash everything? Break a hole in the ice?” The idea of having his hands in water that cold was very far from appealing, but…

“We’d freeze our hands off,” Rayla said, shaking her head. “Nah, I’d best just find somewhere we can heat water and make a pool to wash everything in. There’ll be somewhere that works for it around here.”

True to her words, Rayla went out into the cave again and did a quick circuit of all the walls, eventually finding a rocky hollow behind the waterfall where water had pooled and frozen. She promptly grabbed a sword and went to break the ice out, claiming it’d work just fine for what they needed. They lit the campfire outside the waterfall, Ezran making several trips around the surrounding area for wood, and steadily started heating pot after pot of water to create something vaguely warm and usable in their makeshift basin.

Washing everything took a while. They each did a round of clothing first, and Callum had the opportunity to use his primal stone for the first time in days, setting some of it to drying faster. When there was something vaguely dry for everyone to change into, they took it in turns to wash themselves in the swiftly-cooling pool; Rayla went first, after briefly and grumpily soliciting his aid in getting her sweater and second shirt off. She went away after that, handling the rest of her layers alone.

“It’s really nice to not feel like I’m covered in blood anymore,” she announced upon returning, newly-clothed in the somewhat-dry things they’d just washed. Her hair was wet, reflecting the lights of the cavern even more than before. “Might want to put some fresh water in, though. It was getting pretty gross.”

It took a few more rounds of heated water, and a little more taking of turns, but eventually they’d washed just about everything they had that needed it, themselves included. The rest of the clothes they hung on various cavern trees to dry, and then, miraculously, they were pretty much done. Callum sat back down in the cave beside his brother, the sensation of cleanliness bizarrely foreign after days of accumulating grime.

“Feels better, doesn’t it?” Rayla asked him, as if noticing his bewilderment. There was a wry twist to her lips.

“It really does,” he agreed, clothes and skin and hair still damp, and weirdly pleasant for it. He’d got used to being grimy. It had just…sort of fallen into the background, a sensation beyond his notice. And while he wouldn’t say he was immaculately clean, not when all he’d had was a little bit of soap and a rag and an increasingly dirty pool of lukewarm water…he felt strangely lighter for having washed some of it off.

She smiled ruefully. “Yeah, travelling’s like that. I’d never really done anything long-haul before this mission, so I wasn’t used to how gross it gets.”

“I’m pretty used to getting covered in mud and dust and stuff. Me and Bait go exploring in the tunnels a lot, or in the forest,” Ez claimed, blinking slowly at the egg in his arms, newly retrieved from the bag. He’d taken a moment to wipe it over with a cloth too, and now was just…sitting with it. Looking suddenly bleary. “It’s…kinda different when you can’t just wash it off at the end of the day, though.”

“I’m going to remind you you said that, next time you complain about me telling you to wash up,” Callum informed him, and received a half-hearted snicker in response. He frowned at his brother, noting how abruptly out-of-it he looked. “Something wrong, Ez?”

Rayla looked over too, alerted by his concern. In short order they were both scrutinising Ezran, who looked…very tired. Considerably more tired than he had even five minutes ago. “Feeling sleepy?” she guessed, looking at him.

“…Zym’s asleep,” he admitted, after a moment. “He’s been sleeping some other parts of the day, too, but…I wasn’t holding him, then.”

“And you didn’t sleep well last night.” Rayla peered at him, frowning. “Maybe you should have a nap, or something.”

He blinked, looking startled. “Isn’t it kinda late for a nap? And…isn’t there stuff to do?”

Callum, who’d been about to suggest the nap himself, shook his head. “What, you think you’re not going to be tired enough to fall asleep later?” he asked, rhetorically. They were all tired enough to just about pass out they second they lay down, after all. “A nap isn’t going to go that far, Ez. And anyway, we’ve already washed everything, it’s fine.”

“But…dinner?” The objection was very faint. Rote, more than anything. He looked on the verge of dropping off already.

Silent, Rayla took the opportunity to drape Ezran’s cloak over him. Callum approved. “We’ll take care of dinner, Ez,” he said, voice gentling. “We’ll wake you when it’s time to eat, okay? You just…nap there with Zym.”

It was a little alarming, how quickly sleep took him. He’d barely been laid down, arms around the egg, when his eyes closed and he very plainly fell unconscious. Callum stroked a hand over his brow, frowning lightly, though he didn’t speak. He looked questioningly at Rayla, and she nodded towards the cave mouth, so they stood and quietly made their way out.

“It’s kind of worrying me,” Callum said, finally, when they were at the other end, behind the ice of the waterfall. “His…connection. To the egg. I just…” he sighed, following Rayla further out to where the fire still burned, growing sluggish from lack of attendance. She glanced at him, plainly listening, and knelt down to add another branch to the embers. “It was pretty terrifying, how he got during that storm,” he said in the end, softly. “And you saw how fast he just fell asleep. What if that happens while we’re walking? He could – he could get hurt.”

She hummed understandingly, and gestured him over, waiting until he sat down at her side. “We’ll keep an eye on him,” she told him, gentle but firm, and rested a hand on his wrist for a moment. “Make sure he doesn’t drop off a mountain if he does come down all narcoleptic.”

He nodded, wincing. ‘Falling off a mountain’ was about the size of what he was worried about. “Yeah. I’ll make sure he walks ahead of me, or something.” He paused for thought. “I guess we can always try to switch so one of us is carrying the egg instead? He seems a lot more affected when he’s close to it…maybe it would help to take it away?” Rayla eyed him for a moment, as if he’d said something unusual, and he frowned, trying to figure out why. “What?”

She shook her head, the corners of her lips twitching. “Nothing much. I was just thinking about how neither of you’d let me anywhere near the egg when we first left, and now…”

Callum blinked, and tried to remember. “That feels like so long ago, now.” His stomach dropped weirdly, in a sensation alike vertigo, as he recalled how much he hadn’t trusted her in those first days. “How long has it even been?”

Rayla frowned, and shrugged. “Dunno. Ten days since we left, maybe? Eleven?” Her eyes went distant, as though looking at something he couldn’t see. “Feels about right, from the Moon.”

He pursed his lips. “I’ll go get my sketchbook. I was keeping track of it a while back, I think…”

So he rose, walked back through the cave as quietly as he could manage in the dark, feeling his way along the rock walls to the magical glow of the cavern proper. He checked on Ez, finding him still solidly asleep, and then receded back out with his sketchbook and an armful of medical supplies. It was about that time of day, after all. Rayla was poking critically at the fire when he returned. “Might stake some of the meat, today,” she said as he sat down again. “There was a big bit that had kind of…unfrozen, so that’ll need cooking first.”

“Sounds good?” he offered, setting himself and his things down. He shivered a little; none of them had wrapped up as warmly as usual after washing, what with how temperate it was inside the cave, which meant he was cold now. He inched closer to the fire. “You want any help?”

“Nah, I’m good. You can draw, or something. You brought your book, right?” At her words, she looked over as though to check, and evidently noticed the other supplies he’d brought: bandages, a couple strips of willow bark, scissors, disinfectant, lilium. “…Oh.” Her hand went reflexively to her arm. She was only in a short-sleeved shirt, so he could see the bandages there, arrayed thickly beneath her fingertips. They looked damp, like she’d got them wet while she was washing.

“Needs to be done at some point,” he offered. “It can wait till later, though. But you should maybe have some painkillers now.”

She opened her mouth, glanced at the supplies, and frowned. “I…don’t know if I want to take the lilium again. At least, not today.”

Callum paused, looking at her. “…Because of addiction?” he guessed, and watched her shift uncomfortably.

“Suppose,” she said, noncommittal. “I can just take more willow bark. It’s…fine.” She threw another stick into the fire. She wasn’t looking at him, in a way that felt decidedly avoidant. He watched her for a few long moments, concerned, and she seemed to notice. Her shoulders hunched a little. Finally, she spoke again. “I just…don’t like how it makes me act,” she admitted, eyes still averted.

“…Fair enough, I guess.” Tentative, he shuffled a little closer, so he could see her better. “You know we don’t mind, right?”

She glanced at him, then; quickly, and then away again. There was a hint of a flush on her cheeks. “So you’ve said,” she muttered, sounding embarrassed, of all things.

He took a moment to think of why, and then actually remembered how she’d behaved the previous evening. She’d been…cuddly. And had seemed to have some very definite opinions on her medically-indicated hand massage. Right. “…Still true,” he managed, abruptly a little flustered himself. He hadn’t lied, though; it wasn’t a problem, how she’d acted. Not at all.

She looked at him again, from the corners of her eyes. “Ugh,” she grumbled to herself, and tossed another stick in. It crackled. “Just the same, I’ll stick with the bark, today.”

Callum nodded, a little dubious. He really didn’t want to pressure her into taking addictive, mind-altering drugs, but… “Has that…been working out okay? Through the day, I mean?”

Rayla lifted her arm a little, as though testing it, and grimaced. “Okay enough,” she said, seemingly annoyed at, presumably, her wounds’ continued insistence on being sore and swollen. She must have caught the way he frowned at her then, because she elaborated “It’s not as strong as the lilium. Still hurts when I move it. But it at least stops it aching as much.”

“…Have some more bark,” he suggested, and passed a piece over. She sighed, but agreeably put it in her mouth to chew. “I can change the bandages now? Kind of looks like you got them wet, so…”

“Probably not the best idea to let them sit, no,” she agreed begrudgingly, and waved him over to her left side. “Go on, then.”

So, with the increasing efficiency of practice, Callum set himself down beside her and unwound the old bandages, looking over the wounds carefully. As yesterday, there didn’t seem to have been much change. They were still lividly swollen, as from a fresh wound, and there hadn’t been any obvious healing on the surface at all. They still weren’t showing any signs of infection, at least; that was a mercy. “Well, they’ve not opened,” he offered optimistically, and reached out to daub around the edges with an edge of alcohol-doused cloth. “And they’re not infected.”

She winced a little at the touch, even as careful as he tried to be. Clearly, the willow bark wasn’t going very far. “Best we can hope for at the moment, I suppose.” He winced, and nodded.

He did his best to be gentle, he really did – but she had two great big jagged tears in her arm. There was only so much that ‘gentle’ really counted for, with wounds like this. She winced and flinched several more times through the procedure, and all he could do was murmur apologetically at her.

He cleaned everything and set the fresh bandages on, then peeled back her collar as politely as he could manage to get at the shoulder stab wound. That was still doing fine; it was a much cleaner injury, after all, and smaller too. And then there was just the wrist.

After a while with its bandage off, the sores there had gone hard and dark and dry, like old scabs. He felt at the edges of them, very carefully, noting where the binding was even now applying pressure. “How are these doing? Are they painful?”

Rayla shrugged, uncomfortable, and flexed the fingers of the hand. “Maybe a little? It’s…really not much, compared to everything else.” She twisted the wrist a little beneath his fingers, experimental. “It hurts where the binding is,” she said at last. “That’s mostly it.”

Healing, then. But very slowly. She’d said that was normal, for this part of the lunar cycle, but it still left him anxious. He tugged at her hand to bring it closer, inspecting the tiny blister that had formed on one of her fingers, what felt like so long ago now. It, too, hadn’t progressed very far. It looked similar to the wrist sores, if on considerably smaller scale. “It’s barely healed,” he muttered, unhappy.

“New Moon,” she said, by way of explanation.

He made a low noise, disconsolate, and stared at her hand as he held it. “At least your hand’s mostly okay now, I guess.”

She didn’t answer. When he looked up, she was staring at the her upturned palm, brows furrowed as though it were troubling her. She didn’t look like she agreed with his words at all.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, a little anxiously, eyes moving back to her hand. The colour seemed fine, but…was there something else? Something she hadn’t mentioned?

Rayla remained silent for a few long seconds, then said “It doesn’t hurt.”

He blinked, startled. “…Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Well, it’s nicer than pain, I suppose,” she said, still staring at her hand as though it were something alien and disturbing, rather than her own limb. She pulled it away from his grasp, and started pressing her own fingers into its palm, as though testing it. She turned it over, and ran her thumb lightly over the back, tracing her knuckles.

Callum watched, worried, as she poked and prodded along her fingers as though searching for something. Her expression was bleak, her shoulders tense. It took her a while to speak again.

“It doesn’t hurt, anymore, except maybe…tiny aches, and prickles, I guess.” She trailed fingertips lightly over one edge of her hand. “So…that means it should be better, right?”

Slow, uneasy understanding dawned on him. “But it’s not?” He guessed, and shuffled closer, leaning to inspect her hand more closely.

Rayla flexed her fingers outwards until they trembled with visible effort; it took him a moment to figure out she was trying to straighten them. It…hadn’t worked, really. They were shaking as though strained beyond endurance, but remained somewhat bent. She clenched the fingers closed, well within his view, as though to demonstrate something…and the fist seemed looser than the amount of effort seemed to indicate.

She held the fingers straight again, or tried. The fingers shook badly, as if being forced beyond their capabilities, but still failed to extend properly. “I can’t straighten them out anymore,” she admitted, lowly. “I’ve been trying, but I just...can’t. And my grip is – not right. Weak. Before I thought it was just…recovering, you know? But now – it doesn’t hurt, but it’s still…” She didn’t finish, eyes dark as they rested upon her still-bound hand.

He’d noticed some of it, of course. The way she’d seemed to have difficulty with using the hand, the way its gestures had noticeable lagged during the sign language lesson today...he’d noticed. But she hadn’t wanted to talk about it. “…It hasn’t been that long, yet,” he pointed out, voice quiet to match her own, heart aching with sympathy. “Sometimes the deep stuff takes longer to heal. It could still get better.”

She made a noncommittal sound, and touched her fingers to the back of her hand again. “The skin feels weird, too,” she stated, not responding to his words, her eyes hooded. “Here, especially.” She traced a finger along the thumb side of the back of her hand, in a broad line along it and then up the first two fingers. “But the rest of the hand feels off in places too.”

He looked at it, and restrained the urge to reach out. “Off, how?” he wondered, and watched her press fingers against her own skin.

“Depends, really,” she said, and stroked along the back of the thumb, for a brief second. “Here, light touch is…it doesn’t feel right. Sort of itches, or prickles. If I press deeper, it feels a little bit numb.” She moved her fingers. “The rest of the back of my hand is weird with the light touch too. Firmer feels normal, but light...it’s weird.”

“…How long have you been noticing this?” he asked, uneasy, because there was a hint of practiced familiarity to how she laid out the symptoms. As if she’d chartered the strangeness in every inch of her skin, over and over, while he wasn’t there to see it.

She shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Over the last couple days, I suppose. Since it’s been hurting less,” she said, turning her hand over. “It’s been easier to notice, since I’ve been using it more.” She hesitated. “I’ve…been trying not to think about it.”

Callum held quiet for a few long moments, thinking. He was familiar enough with medical principles to know that certain types of wound could have effects on the mobility and sensation in parts of the body, but…he didn’t know nearly enough of the specifics to understand what this meant. He didn’t know what was causing it, didn’t know if it could be made better, didn’t know anything. “I guess we’ll just have to keep an eye on it?” he said, finally, reaching out for her hand after only a moment of hesitation. He took it between his own with a gentle familiarity, palm turned upwards, thumbs lingering on either side. “How’s the palm?” he asked, after a moment. “Is that prickly too?”

Rayla pursed her lips, watching him. “No, it feels mostly normal.” She admitted. “It’s not numb either.”

“Mostly the back of your hand that feels off?”

“Pretty much.”

He hummed, and wondered what that meant for the daily hand massages. Should he change anything? Be a little firmer on the back of her hand, maybe, to avoid setting off the prickling that seemed associated with lighter touch? “I wish I knew more about healing,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stall them. His shoulders hunched, and he glanced up to find Rayla’s eyes on his own.

“Can’t be helped,” she said, after a moment. “I wish I knew more about one-handed fighting. But I don’t. So.” She shrugged. “At the moment, I’d be pretty useless in a fight.”

“…More use than I’d be, anyway,” he muttered, somewhat distractedly, his gut unwilling to renounce the vague sense of guilt and self-recrimination. If he’d only learned more, that feeling said, he’d be able to help her. He could have done something different, would know what to do now…

Rayla shot him a sidelong look that seemed oddly penetrating, as though she knew precisely what he was thinking. She nudged him in the side with her elbow. “Stop beating yourself up over not knowing literally everything about healing,” she ordered him, words just a little gruff. “We had a deal, remember?”

He exhaled, and the breath felt a little shaky as it emerged. Some complicated emotion twisted in his gut: shame and gratitude conjoined. “Yeah,” he said, voice a little thicker. He glanced at her, hesitated, and shuffled just a little closer. Their shoulders brushed together, the pressure strangely reassuring. “…Thanks,” he said, more softly.

Her eyes lingered on him for a heartbeat longer, strangely intense, before she quickly looked away. She mumbled something indistinct that sounded vaguely like ‘you’re welcome’, eyes fixed forwards on the fire. Her fingers twitched in his hands, but she didn’t make any move to take her hand back. After a few moments…well, it just seemed sensible, given they were already there, for him to move his thumbs inwards and start pressing into her palm.

Rayla offered no objection. She just glanced down at their hands, then looked away again. She shifted, just a little, to move the arm more solidly across the front of his chest, fingers uncurling outwards from her palm. “It’s a little funny,” she said, after a moment, and he looked across at her to watch her as she spoke. “I started sleeping on my back because my hand hurt too much to sleep on. But now my hand’s stopped hurting, but I still have to sleep on my back. Because-“ she nodded towards her arm.

Callum considered that. “’Funny’ isn’t the word I’d use, probably,” he said, and she huffed, lips twitching.

“Funny in a depressing way, though.”

He was already thinking, though. He’d not known that her hand was why she slept on her back, but it made enough sense. Particularly after the fight with that tracker, when she’d gained the arm injuries as well as the abdominal bruising… “Couldn’t you just sleep on your right side?” he wondered, and blinked at the way she immediately barked out a laugh.

“If I did that, you’d probably slap me in the face twice a night,” she informed him, mirthfully.

His hands stilled on hers as he spluttered. “I’d – what?” Then, a second later, he remembered her previous comments about how active a sleeper he could be. “Oh.”

She held his gaze for a second, then ducked her head away, ears dropping. “And that’s if I was lucky,” she said, but now, abruptly, she sounded a little embarrassed. There was a hint of colour in her cheeks. He wasn’t sure he had the courage to ask.

“…I’m still an annoying tent-mate, huh,” he deduced, a little morosely, and wondered how badly he tended to keep her awake. She didn’t need that on top of everything else. “We can change places? I think Ezran mostly just hugs Bait or the egg when he sleeps now, so he probably doesn’t move too much…”

Rayla was quiet for long enough that he started to fret, particularly with how she was still determinedly avoiding meeting his eyes. “…No, it’s fine,” she said, eventually, a note of something odd in her voice. “Honestly, I think I’m getting used to it. I’ve hardly woken up in the middle of the night at all, lately. And when I do it’s because Ezran wakes up, not because of you.” She shrugged, trying for nonchalant and failing. He eyed her.

“If you say so,” he accepted, albeit dubiously. “I can swap with Ez, you know? If it’d help-“

“It’s fine,” she repeated, now with a distinct spot of colour on either cheek. She shook her hand aggressively at him, reminding him that he still had it and was supposed to be doing something. “Just – get on with this, would you? We need to get the food cooked.”

Callum huffed, said “Yes, ma’am,” and did as he was told. He pressed his thumbs into her palm, wondering if it hurt at all without the lilium. She’d said it still ached a little, right? He glanced at her furtively as he worked. She…wasn’t flinching, or wincing, and didn’t seem to be in pain. She did seem a little embarrassed, still. She was sat closely enough that he could literally feel the way her shoulders were hunched.

It didn’t last, though. After a minute or two, she slumped against his side, sighing. She still wasn’t looking at him, but…she wasn’t so tense anymore, either.

It wasn’t quite like the evening before, where she’d been so down in the marshes as to cuddle up without a care in the world, admitting things that she probably never would have uttered sober. She was self-conscious, he thought; like he’d been self-conscious last time, like he still was now. But this time she was fully in her right mind, and was sitting with him like this anyway. He liked it a lot better.

She looked at him, once; there and then quickly away again, as though checking his reaction. Then she mumbled something indistinct to herself, vaguely embarrassed-sounding, and settled a little more. She sighed again, and very slowly, started to relax. He could feel it in the ebbing of tension in her, could see it in how her eyes went half-lidded as she stared into the fire, watching the flames as they flickered and danced. He wondered at it a little, but…she had seemed to find this very relaxing, the other times she’d not been in pain from it. Maybe that applied now, too, even without the lilium.

Callum sat there with her hand in his, her form solid and reassuring against his side, and started to get a new, quiet sense of calm from it. Before, he’d always been too occupied with how much pain she was in, or how embarrassing the situation was. Now, though, he thought he was getting used to the whole thing. It was technically a subset of wound care, so it felt weird to actually find it nice, but…well, that was probably better than being awkward about it forever.

Rayla stayed there unmoving through all the quiet minutes of his working, and seemed a great deal calmer by the time he finished. When he glanced over, she looked…comfortable. Not half-asleep, as under the influence of lilium, but calm.

He let the quiet sit for a little longer, not quite wanting to speak. Eventually, very gently, he nudged her. “Alright?”

Rayla blinked, as though realising he’d finished, then looked across at him. A hint of colour rose in her cheeks. “…Yeah,” she spoke, soft. “Thanks.” For a moment, her fingers curled around his own. A tentative smile ghosted over her lips.

Some strange, light emotion fluttered in his chest.

Then she took her hand back, tugging it gently away. She didn’t move beyond that, at first; just looked at him, eyes lingering on his. Then she sighed, and sat up, the warmth and solidity of her vanishing from his side. “Time to get the food started, I think,” she said, still quiet, as though reluctant to break the calm that had settled over them, and started to shuffle closer to the fire.

He nodded, cleared his throat, and looked around. “Anything I can go get?”

She inspected the items around the fire: a stack of firewood nearby, the iron pot with the defrosted meat in it, and one of her swords. She shook her head. “Nah. I’ve got everything, thanks.” Again, she shot a smile his way. “Weren’t you going to figure out how long we’d been travelling, or something?”

Callum blinked. “Er, yeah, I was,” he admitted, rueful, and sat up to stretch a little, shoulders clicking. “I forgot.”

“You do that, then.” Without further ado, she set about cutting the meat and spearing the pieces on an array of sticks, arranging them carefully around the fire. She remained a lot calmer-looking than she had earlier; relaxed and loose-limbed in a way he hadn’t really seen outside of the influence of lilium. It was…nice.

He smiled to himself, oddly pleased, and reached for his sketchbook. He’d been keeping track of the days on a loose page tucked in at the back; he peeled it out, readying his charcoal, and inspected it. It hadn’t been very thorough, barely more than a tally. He considered it for a while, and finally, in script as small as he could manage, started trying to count back the days. He added a little note for each one: waterfall cave for today, left thundersnow cave for yesterday, and so on. With a little twist of grief, he oriented learned about Harrow onto the page, and then a note for the day before, and before that, and before that…

“The full moon was on the night of the twelfth,” he said to her, finally, when he was done. “So we started travelling on the thirteenth. It’s been twelve days since we left the castle.”

She looked up from the fire, blinking. “Feels like longer. But yeah, seems right.” She shuffled over to look at his notes, tilting her head to read. He’d noted the day she’d first had the binding loosened, and the day she’d been injured by the soldier; her eyes lingered on those for a while. “Probably a good idea, to keep track of things like that,” she said at last.

“Yeah. It might be important, if we ever find a proper doctor or healer for you to see.”

Rayla snorted. “Fat chance of that, in the middle of Katolis.”

“We won’t be in Katolis forever,” he reasoned. “And in Xadia – you have to have magic healing, right? If nothing else, someone over there should be able to figure out how to get your binding off.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” She lifted her wrist, staring at the binding. “Never heard of one of these being broken, though. Not sure how it works.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, determined. “Somehow.”

Rayla’s lips turned up at the edges. “I hope so. Can’t exactly keep Ez and his dragon loosening the thing for the rest of my life.”

Callum winced, a thought occurring to him. “And there’s another good reason he can’t just go back to Katolis and be King right now,” he muttered, chagrined. “Pretty sure Azymondias can’t do the binding on his own. You’d lose your hand.”

She blinked. “I…didn’t actually think of that.”

He hadn’t, either. With this holding pattern of loosening it, again and again…it was easy to forget that her hand wasn’t safe, yet. If anything changed, if Ezran’s trick stopped working…she could still end up losing it. She was already starting to have to face how much damage had already been done, but – that wasn’t necessarily the end of it. As long as the binding was there, she was still in danger. “…We’ll figure something out,” he repeated, as much to himself as to her. She grimaced, but didn’t reply, and he cast about for a change of subject. “You said new moon is in a few days, right?”

Rayla grimaced even more at that, expression sour. “Yeah. I can already feel it coming on.”

Carefully, he wrote out the dates for the next few days. “Do you know exactly what day it’ll be?”

She paused for a moment, as though consulting her magic lunar-sense. “Not the day after tomorrow, but the one after that.”

He noted it in. He had a sinking feeling that it wasn’t going to be a good day, and thought it might bear planning for. “At least we’ve probably got enough meat for a while. You won’t need to go hunting.”

“Yeah, we’re not going to run out of that in a hurry,” she agreed. “Still got loads. It’s something, I suppose. And on that note-“ she turned back to the fire, checking on the cooking. Already the smell of roasting meat was making his stomach growl.

She attended to the cooking, and after watching for a while, Callum returned to his book. He noted down a few more things in the makeshift travel-log, then set it back into the pages, folded. He flipped through the other loose sheets, finding Draconic vocabulary, his rough map, a sketch of some noteworthy rooms in the Banther lodge; mementoes from earlier in their journey. It felt so distant. He wondered how he’d feel in a month, or two, or three. It would take that long to get the egg home, wouldn’t it? Getting to Xadia was only the start.

Already it felt like his entire world had changed, and two weeks ago seemed almost a dream of a past life. What else would change? Would he think on today in a week or two, and feel like it had been an age ago?

He sighed, and turned the page to the front. Nostalgic, and a little homesick, he started to flick through. He lingered for a long time on the drawings of Harrow, grief twisting in his chest. And then he flipped onwards again.

Finally he was to an empty page, and he remembered where he was. Even now, he was sitting beside an entire magnificent frozen waterfall, at the mouth of a cave that held a little refuge of magic in its belly. There was plenty to draw. Plenty that wasn’t depressing. So, determinedly, he set his charcoal to paper, and made a start.

He’d made a respectable sketch of the waterfall and its surroundings by the time Rayla deemed the food ready, and put the pot back on the fire to boil some water. In went a few handfuls of pine needles, and away went Callum’s sketchbook. They brought everything back inside the cave when it was done, settling near Ezran and coaxing him awake.

“Ughhh,” Ez offered, groggy and grumpy as Callum tugged him upright. “I – what…?”

“Dinner, Ez,” Callum said to him, sympathetic, and coaxed him into putting the egg down on the mossy stone. That seemed to help; a hint of alertness returned to his brother’s eyes, and he blinked at the pot with sudden recognition.

“Oh.” With some difficulty, he seemed to pull himself awake, wiping a hand over his face. “Right. Bait?” he called for the toad, who was off in the cave somewhere. “Do you want food?” A croak echoed back from somewhere behind a tree, and Ezran nodded. “He’s fine, he’s been eating bugs,” Ez explained to them, shuffling lethargically over. “Can I just…eat and go back to sleep? I’m so tired…”

“That’s fine, Ez,” Rayla said, and passed him a jar. He accepted it, and stared at it with consternation for over ten seconds before he seemed to realise what it was.

“Tea?” he questioned, plaintively.

“Sadly, yes,” she nodded. “Drink up. The sooner you do it the sooner it’ll be over.”

Callum rolled his eyes, a little amused by how much they both seemed to disdain it, and waited patiently for Ezran to finish with the jar so that he could take custody of it. He sipped his with quiet enjoyment while they ate, then got a refill, and slowly depleted it while working through his own dinner portion.

He ate more than he’d have expected to manage, in the end. Meat really wasn’t that filling on its own; or at least, not in a way that lasted. He wondered if they’d be able to start finding more wild edible plants again, once they descended far enough for there to not be snow and ice on everything.

“I’m getting kinda sick of just meat,” Ezran mumbled, groggy and ill-tempered with it, evidently having similar objections as Callum. “It’s just the same thing, every day…”

“Travel’s like that,” Rayla said, shrugging. “It sucks, but unless you find stuff along the way, or can supply in towns…”

“What did you do?” Callum asked, curious. “Your…team. When you were travelling. You wouldn’t have been able to carry that much food, right?”

She looked briefly nonplussed, and then a little uncomfortable. She averted her eyes. “Well, we had…nutrient pills, and stuff,” she said, after a moment. “It didn’t go really far, but it at least meant we weren’t missing out on anything important if we did just eat meat. And we had some packets of seasoning and the like, so it wasn’t as boring.”

He inspected her, tilting his head. “So you’ve been eating mostly meat for like, months now.”

“I got sick of it a long time ago,” she agreed, expression sour. “Now it’s just sort of…fuel. I really miss proper food.”

“I already miss proper food,” Ezran sighed.

Callum looked between them, and his lips twitched. “…Would this be a good time to do that sign-language practice about our favourite foods?”

They both shot him disgusted looks. “No,” Rayla said, grumpily. “I had enough of missing Moonberries earlier, thanks.”

“Aw, come on, it’ll be fun,” he wheedled, and after a little more cajoling did actually manage to get a little practice going. It had the foreseen consequence of making them all hungry again, so they actually ended up eating almost everything they’d cooked for once. Rayla approved of that, at least; apparently none of them were really eating enough to support themselves on a meat-only diet, and she was getting a bit concerned about it.

“I’m thinking of cooking up a lot more tomorrow night, so we can just sort of start snacking as we walk,” she confided, when they were putting the pot away and filling up their waterskins for the night. “We’re never hungry enough when we stop for breaks. All the exercise, you know.”

“Probably a good idea,” Callum said, though his stomach rebelled at the thought of eating during exertion. “I never really feel full. Even when I stop eating…I don’t know, it feels like I just can’t eat anymore, instead of actually having enough?”

She looked troubled. “Yeah. It’s not great.”

“Maybe we can get some bread or something, when we get to Greatport,” Ezran mumbled, trailing along sluggishly at their heels. He hadn’t become significantly more alert over the evening, and had stumbled through the sign language as though half asleep. “That would be nice.”

Callum didn’t point out that Greatport was probably a good two weeks away, or that they lacked money of any kind. He supposed he could…try to sell something? Or trade? He wasn’t sure what he could sell that they didn’t need, though. “It would,” he agreed, instead of voicing any of his thoughts, and ushered Ezran gently back into the cave.

In the end, he settled his brother in the thick moss beneath one of the cave-growing trees, egg situated a careful distance away.

“I know you like to keep him close,” Callum said to him, laying the cloak over him like a blanket. “But it’s probably going to make it harder for you to sleep, if he does wake up in the night again. We’re not in the tent, there’s tons of room, so just…leave him there, okay?”

Ezran sighed. “Yeah, okay,” he blinked up at him, drowsy, and blinked as Callum settled the cloak on. “You gonna tuck me in?” It was a joke; it had been a good long while since Ezran had wanted tucking in at night. But Callum paused, nostalgia stirring in his chest, and leaned over to do precisely that, tucking in the cloak around his sides.

“Comfy?” he asked, leaning back as Bait shuffled over and insinuated himself under Ezran’s arm.

He smiled, small and sleepy, and hunkered down under his cloak with a sigh. “Mmhm,” he agreed, and then closed his eyes. Barely seconds later, his breath started to settle out into a familiar rhythm; already asleep.

“…He drops off fast,” Rayla said, very quietly, from where she’d been watching. Her eyes were soft when he turned to face her, and just a little sad. He wondered what she was thinking about.

“A lot of the time, yeah.” He gave his brother a last glance, then went over to settle where he’d left his bag. Rayla followed, sitting down beside him as he rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling his exhaustion. His legs were sore from all the climbing, his toes hurt from the descending, and he was just…tired. “…How late is it?” He couldn’t really tell, inside the cave. He’d been outside only a little bit ago, though, and it had been almost fully dark.

Rayla paused in that increasingly-familiar way, consulting a sense that was utterly foreign to him. “Not too late, yet,” she said, finally. “Maybe eight?”

He considered that. “I’ll go to sleep soon, I think,” he decided. “I’m…really tired.” He paused.

“But not yet?” she guessed, looking at him. He looked back, for a long moment. In the soft glow of the cavern, she looked…she was just…

He averted his eyes. “Not yet,” he agreed. “I want to draw a little more, if there’s time.”

“There’s time.” She blinked at him, eyes luminescing gently, and shuffled closer. Callum opened his sketchbook and hesitated for a long while, exhaling softly, nudging his artist’s mind away from the way it seemed to want to fixate on the light flickering on the edge of her face. He turned to the waterfall sketch, and kept drawing.

Rayla glanced at him, and when he didn’t object, settled in to watch. They didn’t speak for the rest of the evening, sitting in companionable quiet, until at last Callum’s exhaustion got the better of him and he put the book away.

Even with the whole cavern available to them, Callum settled only a metre or so from Ezran; in turn, Rayla settled a similar distance from him. Close enough to smile at him as she pulled her cloak over herself and nestled on her front into the moss, and to mumble a good-night as her eyes closed.

He echoed it, already half-gone, but…glad, in a way he couldn’t quite put to words, to have her nearby.

In the warm quiet of the cave, sleep came quickly; his dreams spun images of light and moon-moths all through the night.

---

The window was large, and wreathed in a cage of tightly-packed metal bars.

Runaan had assessed it as an avenue of escape when he first saw it, but more as a matter of instinct than of anything else. He was in no condition to stage an escape attempt, even if his captors had been more lax with their restraints and security. The bars were solid, and deeply embedded within the stone walls; even with how recently they’d evidently been placed, it was too much for him to pull out as he was now. Were he at his best, he would be stronger and faster than any human his size, but even that would do him little good against quality metal like those bars, or the restraints wreathed around his surviving limbs.

So, there would be no escape through that window. But he found himself pathetically grateful for its presence, anyway.

There was nothing of interest to be seen through it. The window opened out into some sort of courtyard, his location evidently high up enough that he couldn’t see any of the movements of the people within. Instead, he had an uninspiring view of the castle and its dark windows, and a decent strip of sky above it. A sky that offered light.

An hour after he’d been moved here, a well-ornamented Katolian soldier had entered the room, flanked by two adjuncts, the dark-clothed observer waiting behind. With a stiff posture and cold eyes that spoke very well of her animosity, she’d read to him the letter of the Millennium War Crimes Accords, a piece of legislation that he, as a prisoner of war, was legally entitled to the knowledge of. Within that knowledge had emerged the reason that he’d been permitted a cell with a window. The Pentarchy, it seemed, knew a little more about the weaknesses of Moonshadow elves than he was entirely comfortable with.

Despite it all, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret the presence of the window. Even if that lack did signify weakness.

Daylight was harsh against eyes that had spent so long in the dark, but welcome even so. Moonlight, though…

He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it – how much he’d weakened in its absence – until the waning Moon rose, and cast moonshadows from the bars on the window that filtered onto his skin. It had felt like an awakening – or like coming alive. In that moment, heedless of all the years he’d spent training, the years he’d spent uttering the creeds, a part of him had stirred and opened and yearned for life; even though he was already dead.

A few days. A few days more without moonlight, and he would be dead. The agony in his body and rasp in his lungs was stark testament to that. But already, the livid swelling on the stump of his left arm seemed cooler. Already, he was breathing easier. A few days more, and it would have been over. But now…

Strength and energy and vivacity filtered into his blood via the touch of the light through the window, and he was helpless to do anything but adore it, as must any creature who owes its magic to the Moon. He sighed, the exhalation shaky with relief, and could not help but feel the shame of the weakness.

I am already dead, he reminded himself. But…

It was deceptively hard to believe, with moonlight on his skin.

His eyes fell on the dim shape the moonlight cast through the window, with its bar-slatted shadows and the gentle shading of the near-New Moon. His impulses warred with him, and he did not know that he had the fortitude to resist them for long.

The length of his chains allowed him to move about the cell. They were heavy with weights, and fastened firm to the walls, but he could stand. He could walk, if only two paces in either direction. He could choose to sit in the slatted square of light cast on the floor in front of the window, and bask in the moonlight. If he were stronger, he might have been able to resist that call. Might have been able to stay to the shadows, and let the absence of the Moon chase a little more vitality from his body with every passing moment. If he were stronger.

But he was not so strong. The moonlight called to him, and weakened and diminished as he was, he was powerless to resist it.

So it was that Runaan settled in the Moon’s path with a metallic clatter of chains on stone, and stayed there for hours, trembling incessantly with the relief of the light. It was a testament to the days spent caged away from it that even the light of a near-dark Moon could affect him so, when usually this stage of darkness would have been chasing strength from his body. It drifted across the sky, the angle of the light upon the stone floor shifting, and he moved with it, turning to follow its path like a puppet on a string. He could no more have ignored that pull than he could have willed his blood to stop flowing. So he followed the Moon across the floor of the cell, mind gone mercifully quiet behind the soul-deep benediction of the light.

Until, a few hours from dawn, something strange flashed in the gloom.

His eyes, held half-lidded to behold the moonlight through the bars on the window, snapped fully open. His mind came awake as though pushing through fog, following that hint of strangeness, of movement; a conditioned response that had been stamped and fastened into him through year after year of his work. He stared, unerring and alert, waiting.

Another flash of light.

This time, he was looking for it, so his eyes sharpened quickly upon it: someone, in a window loosely opposite and to the left of his own, across the courtyard, was flashing light in this direction upon a reflective surface. Probably a small, hand-held mirror. Runaan watched, eyes tracking the light with more intensity and focus than he’d managed to muster since the first few days of his privations.

Humans wouldn’t have been able to pick up on signals as dim as this. Even most other elves wouldn’t see it. Their eyes were too blind to the moonlight. The differences in light levels would be too small for them to see these flashing reflections of the light of a waning Moon; perhaps they’d notice something, but not enough. Not nearly enough. But Runaan was Moonshadow. He could hardly fail to notice this.

The light flashed every ten seconds for the next two minutes, a standard opening to any coded transmission. His heart, though still weak and laboured, beat a little faster as he watched and waited. Then, finally, the light shifted to the shorter, more precise signals he knew. He watched them avidly, decoding it as it passed, and any chance of this not being the work of a Xadian operative passed into extinction.

Ave, sicarius, said the coded light, in the standard ancient Draconic, and he felt his breath escape him. ‘Hail, assassin.’

He’d have closed his eyes to brace himself against how powerfully those words affected him, but he needed to watch for the message. He felt himself trembling, felt his heart racing enough to make him dizzy in his diminished state, but kept watching.

The code came through entirely in that same Draconic, as was usual for communications between mixed forces covert operatives deep in enemy territory. Codes could and would be compromised, but very few humans had enough knowledge of Draconic to interpret such messages, even if they were capable of reading the moonlight, and capable of interpreting the code. It was secure, after a fashion.

Hail, assassin, said the message, in the usual abbreviated shorthand of ictus. I am watching. I am reporting. Take no drastic measures. Xadia wishes you home. Abide, and await further word.

He had nothing in the cell that he could possibly use to reply, over this sort of distance. No mirror, no candle-flame; and the metal of the chains was dull enough that it wouldn’t be anywhere near the level of reflective that he’d need. But….

With considerable effort, he stretched his foot across the cell far enough to retrieve the tray his evening meal had been given upon. It had been nothing but gruel in a bowl, and of course he’d ignored it, shoving it away across the cell in rejection along with the medicines he’d disdained, but now…now, he picked up the still-full bowl with his only remaining hand, fingers dipping into the gruel from the awkward angle, and set it carefully aside. Then, shifting his grip several times to get the proper leverage, he raised the tray.

The coded light was going through its second repetition of the message by the time he reached the bars, and raised the tray with his trembling hand to hit it against the bars. The noise was raucous and rang painfully in his ears, shrieking out through his skull as though to amplify every dull ache and sharp pain his skull had to offer – but it was necessary. The flashes of light stopped instantly as he rose against the window, and stayed gone while he shakily clanged out his response, in the same code. Noise was indiscreet, and would certainly invite investigation from the guards outside, so – he had to be quick.

AG, he spelled out with that sound, as hastily as he could. The signal for agnosco; ‘I acknowledge.’

He sat down as quickly as he could when the keys rattled in the cell door, pulling the bowl of cold gruel to his side. He painted his features with a scowl as the guards entered, bodies tense and hands at the swords on their sides. Their eyes ran over him, over his chains, over the state of the cell…and then they settled a little, though their features were tight and hard.

“What was that noise in aid of?” One of them, the man, demanded.

Runaan, of course, remained silent. He sneered contemptuously at the both of them, and maintained the expression until the man uttered an irritated tch and turned away.

“Of course you choose now to be silent,” he muttered, voice wearing the same contempt as Runaan’s face. His fellow nudged him, a friendly and supportive gesture, though her posture and expression remained coldly professional.

“Leave it,” she said, and offered Runaan a last cold glance as she ushered herself and her companion out of the cell. The heavy reinforced door was locked and bolted again, and he heard them muttering beyond it: “The hunger must have finally got the better of him,” the woman was saying, as they retreated a little way down the hall to their customary posts. “He had the bowl he threw away earlier, did you see? The noise was likely just him retrieving the tray.”

“Seemed a bit too much noise for just pulling a tray towards him.”

“Then maybe he was being spiteful. Either way, just add it to the report. If it becomes a habit…well, we’ll talk about it then.”

Runaan quietly acknowledged the words just as the other guard did. He couldn’t make a habit of sending ictusian code by noise, then. But it had been worth it this time, to tell the spy that he was watching. And, at least, in the absence of any scheduled meetings between himself and guards or healers…the code-breaker was not here to notice that someone had contacted him. That was good.

He listened, wary and guarded, for any sign that the guards were going to return. When there was nothing, he lowered his eyes to the cold slop in the bowl he held, brows lightly furrowed. His only meals these last weeks had been force-fed. He had accepted no medical aid that had not been administered by force, and the medicines the human healer woman had left were still sat tidily in their glass bottles to his side. Without sufficient feeding, and without the medicine…even the moonlight would not save him, soon. He had been counting on it.

It had been his duty as a captive, as a Moonshadow assassin, to die without giving the enemy anything of worth to use. This deep in enemy territory, it was standard procedure to consider oneself lost if captured, and hasten towards an honourable death through every reasonable measure. It was his failing that he had not succeeded yet.

But the message changed things. There was an operative here in Katolis – though whether a transient, a stray entrenched operative, or the more likely deep-cover agent, he had no way of knowing. But they were here. They were watching. They were reporting. Xadia had commanded him to live.

For the first time since his capture, Runaan allowed himself to consider the idea of returning home.

A face flashed in his mind and his heart at once; the pang was physically painful, and he closed his eyes to breathe past it. In the next second he thought of Rayla, and his heart clenched anew. Where was she, now? Had she managed to evade the General? Was she still on her way home…or was she lost, when he had only now gained the hope of being found?

He had no way of knowing, unless the agent deigned to risk themself sending him news. But…

Xadia had commanded him to live.

I am not dead yet, he thought, with a strange rush of energy. Hope, and fear, all at once.

He raised the bowl to his lips, and drank.

---

End chapter.

Chapter Notes: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1OGBo7nKVDIfWjhxGe90fwaS3lP0IfQJ3?usp=sharing

Link to PIAJ chapter notes folder (Google Drive folder including worldbuilding, commentary, medical notes, research notes, and misc notes for all applicable chapters within this section)

This chapter's notes cover: author’s notes on various scenes in this chapter, dark magic tracking spells, minor worldbuilding notes, and extended commentary on The Runaan Scene.

Timeline: https://docs.google.com/document/d/107eD8zmLAAFBWSOgsLyl8g4pAdQF4EgMh4rpN_m91U4/edit?usp=sharing Link to PIAJ Timeline Google doc ( to be updated as story progresses)

PIAJ Masterpage: https://tenspontaneite.tumblr.com/piaj Link to PIAJ Masterpage on tumblr (containing links to chapters, meta, art, Q&As, and resources) (Link may not work properly on mobile/app)

Author Notes:

God, I can’t believe I finally got to a Key Scene. I’m so proud.

There’s a much higher than average proportion of Really Old Scenes in this chapter. The frozen waterfall, glowy cave (first bit), and Key Runaan Scene were all written in 2019, I believe. Some of the cave scene could’ve been 2020 though, but not all. They were all edited of course, but it was nice to be able to give these scenes the light of day, metaphorically speaking, at last. Extended notes on these scenes, particularly the Runaan one, can be found in the chapter notes document.

A good chunk of chapter 25 is already written. I’d say it’s maybe 40-50% done? Not sure how long that’ll take, but either way, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Comments, as always, are appreciated.

(PS I might not update the timeline or the tumblr masterpage tonight as I’m very tired and it’s late)

#tdp fic #tdp rayla #tdp callum #tdp ezran #tdp runaan #tdp corvus #piaj chapters

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four-loose-screws · 3 years ago

Text

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 17, Section 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!

———————————

I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

———————————

Chapter 17 - The Demon King's Shadow (con’t)

Frelia's pegasus knight unit was continuing to desperately defend against an overwhelmingly large enemy army.

Their entire unit had already been nearly wiped out, and the remaining soldiers were putting all of their strength into defending the bridges. If they fell here, then the enemy could invade in one fell swoop, and the people of Narube would likely be massacred without resistance.

"Those who can move, take the citizens south!" Syrene, the leader of the pegasus knight unit, shouted as loudly as she could while swinging around her lance and fending off the enemy's onslaughts.

However, she hardly had any knights left that could follow that order. Even if the knights managed to get the children atop the pegasi, their wings were damaged, and they couldn’t fly. Even the citizens who had panicked and cried at first had already lost the energy to do that any longer, and exhaustedly slipped into utter silence.

They’d made a major miscalculation. The Grado Army had lost the capital, yet still had a large number of soldiers left.

If the knights thought only about themselves, then they had the possibility to take advantage of their pegasi’s mobility and retreat, but they couldn’t abandon the people of Narube just to escape.

“We’re at our limit, Lady Syrene! We’ll buy you some time! Please do whatever it takes to get out of here!” A knight wearing armor covered in blood yelled at her.

But Syrene shook her head.

She had no intention of running away until the very end. The bodies of the Frelian soldiers who’d exhausted all of their strength lay around her. She was ready to die here in battle herself as well.

Her only regret was that she couldn’t live up to Prince Innes’ hopes for her. She remembered the day that she’d officially become the leader of the pegasus knights as if it was yesterday. The prince had personally given her a beautiful whip and said that the pegasus knight unit was the pride and joy of Frelia, and he wanted them to fight for their homeland so long as they drew breath.

His words filled her chest with deep emotions. She swore to herself that she would devote herself to Frelia… and Prince Innes and Princess Tana.

The plan was to unite her forces with the prince’s at Narube River and fight together at full strength under his orders. However, before that could happen, she would probably see her end. Regret burned in her heart.

Her younger sister was together with the prince. That was her only consolation. If her sister could protect the prince when she couldn’t… then that was all she could ask for.

“Lady Syrene, that’s…!” One of the knights shouted.

Was it more enemy reinforcements? Just how much leftover strength could the Grado Army have at this point?

The moment Syrene was about to succumb to her despair, she looked at where her soldier was pointing, and instinctively breathed a sigh of belief.

A large army was nearing from the south. They were still a considerable distance away, so she couldn't clearly make out who they were, but the color of their armor was different from that of the Grado Army.

"Is that… the Renais Army…?" The moment Syrene whispered, a single pegasus knight appeared from the oncoming crowd, and flew straight in her direction.

Syrene knew who it was before her eyes could even confirm the rider’s face, as she could distinguish the slight but distinct strong wing movements and neck shaking of individual pegasi.

She smiled without even thinking about it, and felt a weight be lifted off her shoulders that had been with her since the beginning of the war.

“Commander Syrene, are you alright?!” The knight riding the pegasus shouted, and swiftly threw a javelin at a Grado soldier coming at her while avoiding his own attack.

She effortlessly hit her target, showing her strength. ‘She’s gotten so much stronger in such a short amount of time.’ Syrene thought.

“Vanessa, you’re here! Meaning…”

“Yes, Prince Innes and Princess Tana are with me! They are safe as well!”

“Thank goodness…” Relief warmed her heart.

Vanessa continued in a commanding tone, “Please stand down, Commander! We’ll take it from here.”

“No, I...”

‘...am not severely injured,’ she started to say, but thought twice about it.

Both her and her unit were already at the limits of their stamina. Even if she continued to be stubborn and fight on the front line, she would do the exact opposite of help, and get in her allies’ way. It was wiser for her to retreat for the moment, recuperate, and then pick up her weapon again.

“Understood! I will stand down for now, and let your commander take over from here. Please tell them I said so.”

“Yes Ma’am!”

“And Vanessa.”

Vanessa tried to guide her pegasus higher into the sky, but Syrene called out to her again.

Vanessa turned back around and no longer had her previous tense expression on her face, perhaps because she had finally relaxed.

Syrene responded in a casual tone, “It looks like you’ve been playing a very big role as a soldier of Princess Eirika’s guard. I was really worried when I heard that you’d been betrayed in Carcino, but… I finally feel at ease.”

“Thank you Ma’am…!”

"Your spearmanship has improved greatly since we parted as well. And you've become a bit more beautiful too."

Vanessa’s eyes widened at suddenly being teased, and her cheeks turned red. “S-Sister…!”

No matter how good their relationship was as sisters, on the battlefield, they were commander and subordinate. To Vanessa, who was so serious it made her formal and strict, keeping that distinction was of vital importance. But right now, even she had forgotten herself.

Syrene laughed out loud and guided her pegasus to softly spread her wings.

Her pegasus had taken an enemy attack, which seriously injured her wing. She wanted her beloved pegasus to be healed as quickly as possible. To a pegasus knight, her pegasus was more than just a simple mount. They were invaluable partners whose fates were linked to each other.

“I’ll see you again later, Vanessa.” Syrene parted ways with her sister for the time being, and her pegasus flew off, leading her exhausted unit.

The Renais Army had crossed the bridge and was coming closer. Syrene stopped her pegasus and landed on the ground.

Everyone was injured and bleeding. Their uniforms had been beautiful and stunning when they left home, but now, they looked like they never could have been such dazzling garments. However, each and every one of their faces were lit up like the sun.

Syrene knelt down on one knee before Eirika and bowed her head. “Reporting, Princess Eirika of Renais! The Frelian Army was surprise attacked by the Grado Army, and we regrettably lost most of our soldiers. But only a few of the people of Narube have been killed since the beginning of the attack, and the rest are safe.”

“Good work. All of you please take whatever time you need to recuperate.”

Eirika’s voice was soft and kind. Just her words alone healed Syrene of her exhaustion.

“Are you alright, Syrene?”

She recognized Prince Innes’ voice, and looked up.

He was standing next to Eirika. Among his dirt-covered army, he stood out as the one refined person. He of course should be tired since he had traveled on a long journey together with the soldiers, but he didn’t show it in the slightest. His clothing looked as if a tailor had just dressed him.

“Lord Innes… I am sorry. The Frelian Army is unable to merge with Renais’ Army. We’ve suffered too much damage, and…”

"Never mind that. None of you have anything you need to worry about. We’ll take it from here.”

His words were reassuring. ‘It appears that Vanessa is not the only one who’s grown up while we were apart.’ She felt that Prince Innes had also become even stronger since the last time they’d seen each other.

‘Perhaps…’ Syrene thought. ‘Vanessa has become more beautiful because of Prince Innes?’ It was difficult for her to imagine Vanessa falling in love with any ordinary man. If he wasn’t a partner that she could respect with all of her heart, then he likely wouldn’t be able to steal it. And If there was any man that Vanessa could respect, it was of course...

“Syrene, do you know any information about the enemy commander?”

Innes asked her in a harsh tone.

Syrene shook her head. “There is a fort on the other side of the river. The enemy commander is using it as a base. I heard that it appears to be Prince Lyon leading the army. I have not been able to confirm that myself, but that is what my subordinates reported.”

“Hmm… Do you know anything about Prince Lyon? ...No wait, nevermind.” In a move that was entirely unlike him, Innes hesitated and changed his words. “Asking won’t change anything. For now, Syrene, please get healed, and return quickly to the battlefront. We still need your power.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

He seemed worried about Prince Lyon for some reason, but knowing that she and her soldiers were living up to the prince’s expectations made Syrene happy. The pegasus knights had survived their long, grueling fight, retreated for the time being, and were healed by Natasha and the other healers.

“Leave the front line to us. We’ll defend the northern bridge.” Ephraim said and charged his horse straight north.

His loyal knights Forde and Kyle led his other soldiers and followed after him.

Eirika went with Seth and the others to save the citizens. The group totaled a few dozen men and women huddling together and shaking. Eirika talked to each of them individually to encourage them, helped the injured atop her horse, and led them to a safe place.

Eirika worked as hard as she could, trying not to think about anything she did not need to. But every so often, she would remember that wicked voice. Whenever she thought about Lyon and the pain the Demon King had caused him, she couldn’t stand the feeling she felt.

‘I ate his heart.’ Or so the Demon King said. If she accepted his words literally, then Lyon’s heart was already gone, and his body entirely controlled by the Demon King. She did not want to believe that such a terrifying thing could be reality.

It had been for only just a moment, but she'd heard Lyon scream. “Run away…” He’d pleaded with all his might. “I’ll destroy you…” There was no way that could have been the Demon King’s voice.

Lyon’s heart had yet to be completely consumed. He'd nearly suppressed the Demon King’s consciousness, and was continuing to just barely manage to fight. He was struggling as hard as he could to remain in control. And that was why they had to press forward. They had to defeat the Demon King and restore his heart.

But on the other hand of that thought, the Demon King's last words weighed heavily on her heart. Ephraim told her not to worry about them, yet she couldn't help but think about them.

Kill Prince Ephraim, and claim Princess Eirika. The Demon King said that was Lyon's desire. A kind man like Lyon shouldn't have such a twisted and ambitious desire… or so she wanted to think, but her heart was no longer sure.

As Lyon was a sickly person, Ephraim had always been the object of his admiration. In situations like when Ephraim was praised by Duessel, or he won a match against a senior knight, Lyon would cheerfully say "You really are amazing, Ephraim!" Those were words of wonder and amazement.

At the time, Eirika didn't think much of it, and just took his words at face value. ...There hadn’t been any warped feelings hiding underneath that adoration, right? He thought Ephraim was amazing… and wanted to be Ephraim… but he couldn’t. Those feelings of inferiority hadn’t turned into jealousy, had they?

“Lady Eirika, we have finished leading the people to safety.” Seth reported.

The pegasus knights had also finished receiving their treatment, and were awaiting Eirika’s orders. Now was not the time to be guessing what was within Lyon’s heart. She had orders to give as her army’s commander.

“Let’s go! We will take the fort across the river and capture Prince Lyon!” Eirika hesitated for a moment, then added, “You must not kill him! We still have a lot of questions for him.”

Syrene and her pegasus knights immediately accepted the order and all flew up into the sky at once. The pegasi had all been healed alongside their riders, and their energy was restored. They flapped their white wings at full strength.

Seth looked up at the pegasus knights and said, “Lady Eirika, I understand how you feel, but Prince Lyon is already…”

“...I know.” She cut off the rest of his sentence, not wanting to hear it.

He looked straight at her. "Our enemy introduced himself as the Demon King. We still do not know whether he truly is or not, but if he is, then this is very serious. Even if we fight him at full strength, we still might not win.”

“...You're right.”

“It’s a shame that his heart is in chaos on the outside, but…”

“I know. I’ll be fine, Seth. I’m prepared to fight him.” Eirika nodded with conviction.

She couldn’t make Seth worry, and so she spoke those words to him immediately. In truth, she still didn’t know. Would she be able to turn her sword against him?

Eirika maneuvered her horse to the front line, where Ephraim's group was fighting. She shook off her hesitation and gradually picked up speed.

A harsh battle was unfolding on the northern bridge. Grado dragon knights attacked from the sky, making the fight difficult for Ephraim and his soldiers, but the pegasus knight unit rushed to their side, and started to change their situation bit by bit.

Pegasi were of a smaller build than dragons, but were utterly fearless. They flew bravely at the enemies' chests, and threw them into confusion. Once the dragon unit's movements had broken out into a panic, Innes and Neimi shot arrows straight at them. The arrows flew through the dragon's wings. Their cries pierced the sky, and their riders lost their balance and fell into the river.

Once Eirika's army finally captured the bridge, they used that momentum to continue moving east. They could now see the fort the enemy was using as their base.

"He's in there, right?!" Ephraim asked when Eirika rode up next to him.

Eirika noticed that her brother refused to refer to Lyon by name.

Perhaps Ephraim felt just as lost as Eirika, and that was why he was purposely avoiding referring to Lyon by name. If he said it aloud, it might dull his resolve to fight, no matter what else he did.

The enemy was waiting for them outside of the fort. Eirika's army shifted into a fan formation and surrounded the Demon King.

He had a cruel smile on his face, and waited calmly for them. He no longer seemed to have any interest in pretending to be human. His facial features were clearly Lyon's, but his expressions did not feel human at all.

'That's not Lyon… such a wicked, cold stare could never be Lyon's.' Eirika told herself. But she still could not rid herself of her hesitation, rather, she tried to find if Lyon was left anywhere in his face.

"...So you intend to challenge me?" The Demon King asked.

The chilling sound of his voice made Eirika's horse tremble so hard she could not calm her.

"You are all so lucky to not yet know my true terror…”

"Get out of Lyon's body!!" Ephraim roared.

Eirika jumped. His voice was filled with an intense anger that she had never once heard come from him in her entire life.

Ephraim did not fear the Demon King, although perhaps it was more accurate to say that he was so infuriated by someone hurting Lyon that he forgot how afraid he was.

Ephraim's powerful voice boosted the morale of Eirika's army, but the Demon King met Ephraim's anger by laughing at him.

"It's not healthy to make your blood boil, prince of Renais. Don't you get it? Prince Lyon and everything about him is no more. I ate him. This body is no longer his.”

"Damn you…!" Ephraim raised his lance, and his soldiers each readied their own weapons. The archers and mages behind them also prepared themselves to support them.

But the Demon King’s spell was faster. Its waves rippled through the air, and a split second after, a horse collapsed.

Eirika looked over at them and felt fear send a chill down her spine. The neck of the fallen horse was turning in unnatural directions as if a huge, invisible hand was twisting it.

“Nosferatu…?!” Lute gasped. As someone so confident, it was entirely unlike her, but even she was panicking. “Please be careful! That is an extremely powerful dark magic. If you take a direct hit, then…!”

The army’s movements fell into chaos. The terrified horses burst out into a full gallop and tried to shake off their riders. Only Seth, Forde, and a few others managed to keep control of their horses, while the other knights all clung desperately to their horses’ necks.

The Demon King cast another spell. Another horse fell down.

The army was in a panic trying to rush outside of the spell’s range, but among them, Eirika was doing the opposite, and pushing ahead.

Seth and Ephraim noticed her and rushed over to her, flustered. They stood behind her, ready to protect her, as she faced the Demon King.

His expression changed, sharp eyes narrowing in satisfaction.

Eirika tightened her grip around her horse's reins. Her horse stopped shaking, the strength of her resolve seeming to communicate with her mount.

"Can you hear me, Lyon?" Eirika said and stared straight into the Demon King's eyes.

"It's useless!!" Ephraim shouted and tried to stop her, but she paid him no mind and continued.

"You're in there, aren't you, Lyon? Please do not abandon hope. We will defeat the Demon King and save you… so please, don't give in…"

The Demon King's expression shook ever so slightly. He furrowed his brow and glared at Eirika. "Pitiful girl… You still believe that there is any of Lyon's heart within this body? How fascinating. Then come here. I will tear you apart limb from limb with these very hands…"

"Get away from him, Eirika!" Ephraim shouted and kicked his horse's side. Seth followed after him a second later.

Ephraim thrust his lance with a sharp battle cry. The Demon King narrowly dodged a fatal blow, but blood sprayed out from his shoulder. Seth followed up without a moment's delay, thrusting his own lance.

The Demon King flailed his arm around wildly, but there was no power in his movements.

"Support Ephraim! Archers, step forward!" Innes ordered, and swiftly shot an arrow of his own.

His silver arrow pierced deep into the Demon King's chest.

'Stop!' Eirika tried to scream. 'If you kill him, then Lyon's heart will die, too!!'

The Demon King staggered, but his eyes did not lose the intensity within them. "This little is too much…? The human body is so frail." He muttered in annoyance and pulled the arrow out of his chest. Blood flowed from the wound.

He glared at Eirika with eyes burning like a blazing fire. "I have learned the extent of your power. In this case… I will hasten my resurrection. I will abandon this frail body and return to my true flesh. That is the day when this continent will once again be shrouded in darkness. There is no longer a single place any of you can run to!” He said in a tone not unlike that of one giving a curse, and disappeared.

Ephraim yelled at him, “You’re running away?! Do you really think I’ll let you desecrate Lyon’s body ever again…?!”

Ephraim ordered the soldiers to search the area and turned back towards Eirika. “Are you alright, Eirika?”

“Yes…”

"Don't do anything reckless. You know he's not Lyon. The Lyon we were friends with is already…"

"Brother, I want to believe him. The Demon King says what he does, but Lyon's heart is still alive… he's suffering and waiting for us to save him. I can feel it." Ephraim furrowed his brow. His blue eyes clouded over with hesitation.

He was still suffering, too. Just like she was.

He sighed deeply. "...I understand. Right now, finding him comes first. Eirika, you rest for a bit."

"No, I'm going to search too…"

"Your face is terribly pale. You've pushed yourself past your limit. L'Arachel, could you please take care of her?"

L'Arachel was standing near him, so he called her over.

Eirika went into a tent with L'Arachel, deciding that she would take a short rest.

ー

#fire emblem #fe #fe8 #sacred stones #eirika #game boy advance #gba #japan #japanese #translation #novel #light novel #fe8 novelization translation

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cassiabaggins · 4 years ago

Text

Athelas

A/N: lets get this Kiliel week started! All these stories are canon with my Extra Burglar timeline and occur following the Battle of Five Armies. I hope you enjoy, and please like, reblog, and leave a comment if you do! Also check out my Masterlist or AO3 for the rest of my works!beating! Also a special thanks to my betas, @anjhope1 and @deathlikessodaandpizza

Warnings: mention of major character death

Word count: 3552

Next Masterlist

Taglist: @anjhope1 @deathlikessodaandpizza @lonikje @myrin1234 @wettomatodude @lothloriien @annkdarar @artsywaterlily @hmmm-what-am-i-doing @drowingintheempty @kilielweek @estethell

Summary: Kili is grievously wounded in the Battle of the Five Armies and Tauriel is the only person who can keep him alive, but her presence is less than welcomed by many of the dwarves

To his credit, Kili is not the most difficult patient Tauriel has ever had. Granted, he does little but sleep for the first few weeks, and his care is only left to her because the dwarven healers have long since realized that they have no idea how to keep him alive, and the elven ones are too preoccupied with their own kind.

Sleep though he may, it is not a consistent one, and Kili fades to almost wakefulness several times, enough so she can feed him thin broth, mixed with crushed athelas, to replenish his strength and numb the pain. At first, she isn't positive even athelas will help him, but he seems to rest easier when he takes it, even if it is only a few sips. She battles against the possibility of infection and his own mortality and wishes, not for the first time, she had pursued healing with more vigor. She has enough knowledge to bind a wound in battle and keep a comrade alive until the real healers arrive, but knows next to nothing about nursing a dwarf back from the brink of death, so in what little free time she has, she lurks near the healer’s tents, learning what she can to help him. A far cry from her younger self, who would have chafed at the idea of sitting still and listening, but now, she has a reason to.

As Tauriel continues to tend to the wounded dwarf, she notices something quite strange: Kili gets few visitors. Tauriel wonders if that is because he has few friends, or if it is because his brother, the king, has forbidden it. She suspects the latter. The reason for this belief is because just days after the battle, while Kili is still hovering between life and death, a healer from the Iron Hills comes to check on him. She takes one look at Kili's wound and her eyes widen. Then she glances suspiciously at Tauriel and whispers something to Fili, that she knows she isn't supposed to catch.

"He should be dead," the healer says. "Your Majesty, your brother should not be alive. I am sorry, but I fear this is not him but an elvish trick, seeking to gain your trust and usurp your throne." Fili does not like that, and the dwarf is sent from the tent with a voice trembling with anger.

The brother in question sits with Kili whenever he can spare a moment, holding his hand or braiding his hair and talking to him, but there are not many moments to be had. The halflings visit more often, but they must begin their long journey home before the winter becomes too harsh. So, usually, it is just Tauriel sitting with Kili for such a long amount of time, that her younger self would be both annoyed and impressed with her commitment to the dwarf. However, there is only so much sitting still she can stand and restlessness has her pacing and singing and itching for activity. But she cannot leave him. She will not. He needs her.

Finally, on the seventeenth day, Kili awakens enough to speak. As he slowly fades into consciousness, he realizes he has been awoken by an argument between Fili, his tone heavy with annoyance and anger, and another voice, one he doesn’t know.

“...an elf taking care of the prince of Erebor?” The stranger is saying. “It’s unheard of!”

“She saved his life!” Fili snaps back. “As far as I am concerned, that means she can stay as long as needed!”

“Your subjects are already questioning your ability to rule, lad, don’t give them any more reason to doubt you.”

Kili can hear his brother’s voice shaking with anger. “I am fine with whatever they think of me, if it is to ensure my brother’s full recovery. And it is Your Majesty to you, not lad.”

Kili can’t help the soft laugh that escapes him. Fili sounds like Thorin when he does that, all pomp and pride. The argument stops and he senses someone moving close to him.

“Kili?” Fili asks, placing his hand on his forehead. It is warm and comforting. “How are you feeling?”

“I’d feel better if you all quieted down and let me sleep,” Kili mumbles.

“Aye,” his older brother says, stroking his bangs off his forehead. “I’ll take this outside. You get some sleep.”

“Where’s Tauriel?” Kili finds himself asking. He’s a little afraid he just dreamed her presence, that she has already left and returned home.

“I am here,” her soft voice murmurs, and his heart leaps.

Kili cracks his eyes open to see her and his brother leaning over him, both of their foreheads drawn with concern. "You're missing an eye," Kili finds himself saying to his brother, who gives him a dry look.

"I am aware."

Kili loses interest in Fili's bandaged face and looks over at Tauriel, a much lovelier sight. He smiles.

“Amrâlimê,” he mumbles, drinking in the sight of her. Fili’s one visible eyebrow shoots up in surprise, so high Kili wants to laugh again, but that hurts too much. Tauriel’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“I’m sorry, Kili, I don’t know what that means,” she whispers.

“Yes, you do,” he replies, sliding his eyes shut again. He reaches out with the hand nearest to her, searching for her cool skin.

“Kili,” Fili hisses, “you can’t just--”

Of course he’d protest. Kili twists up his face, suspecting his brother is more concerned with the use of Khuzdul around non-dwarrow than the fact he just confessed his love for an elf in front of two witnesses. “You’re making my head pound, nadad,” he says pettily, knowing that will shut Fili down, and it does. He subsides with some minor grumbling under his breath about Kili defeating the whole point of a secret language with a display like that.

“Get some more rest, Kili,” he says, “When you feel a bit better, we can bring you into the Mountain. I have a room set up for you already.”

“Can Tauriel come?” Kili asks, suddenly terrified his brother will tell her to leave. He reaches out for her again, making a slight grabbing motion with his fingers, but she does not weave her fingers with his like she had before. Fili sighs.

“Yes, she will come, too. She’s the one keeping you alive, after all.”

“Good.”

The stranger, whoever they are, starts to protest, but Fili says, “enough. Khar, we will finish this outside. Come with me.”

Khar. The name sounds familiar. Kili believes Thorin had a few meetings with a Lord Khar back in Ered Luin, and he had a vague memory of a dwarf with a red beard and brown eyes. Kili hadn’t liked him then, and he certainly doesn’t like him now. He reaches again for Tauriel’s hand. She’s so quiet, he’s suddenly afraid she’s disappeared. The third time turns out to be the charm, and perhaps the others have left, because her cool, slim hand suddenly slips into his.

Kili smiles. “Tauriel,” he breathes.

“Kili,” she replies, “your brother is right. Try to sleep. It will help you heal.”

“Can you sing to me?”

She is silent for a while. He opens one eye to peek at her, a little worried that asking for a lullaby is a bit more intimate in her culture. However, when their eyes meet, she is looking at him with surprise. He frowns a little, and then she lets out a breath, closing her eyes, a smile playing around her lips. “Yes, I will sing to you.”

And she does.

On the twenty seventh day, Tauriel deems him well enough to be moved into Erebor. They lay him on a pallet in a cart drawn by rams, and despite all the cautions taken, it turns out to be one of the most excruciating experiences Kili has ever undergone. His whole body is pure fire, radiating out from his wound, and every jolt of the cart is a lightning strike of pain lancing through him. He bites back the groans he wants to let out, and squeezes tight to Tauriel’s hand. At least three times the pain becomes too unbearable, and he faints, but each time when he comes to, her hand is still holding his.

The final time he passes out must be for quite a while, because when he loses consciousness, they are just approaching the mountain, and when he wakes, he is tucked up in a nice, warm, comfortable dwarven bed, leagues better than the thin cot he had been lying on in the healing tents on the battlefield. It's warmer, too, a fire crackling merrily in the hearth at the foot of his bed, and blissfully free of that post war scent of blood and mud and rotting corpses. Kili rather thought it had gone away in those last few days, but apparently he had just gotten used to it, because the smells of this room— herbs and stone and smoke and dust— are like the finest perfumes in all of Middle Earth, even with the faint lingering trace of dragon hanging about the place. He takes a deep breath in through the nose. Aye. Besides the dragon, it smells dwarven. It smells like home. But even the homey smells can’t drive away the pain encompassing his body, and he lets the deep breath out in a rush accompanied by a pained groan.

He doesn’t really notice he’s alone until a door to his left swings open and Tauriel steps through. She looks fresh faced and clean, her hair braided back, a few strands hanging free, and she’s changed clothes as well, to a loose blue tunic that looks suspiciously dwarven, and brown trousers. Kili decides he likes trousers on a lass... and the shape of her legs. She’s carrying a tray with a teapot and mug, and smiles when she sees that he is awake.

“Good evening,” she says, setting the tray on the bedside table. “You slept for a whole day.” She picks up the teapot and pours some of the contents into the mug. “How are you feeling? In pain?”

He manages a weak nod, but that hurts, too.

"I thought so. Here. Drink this," she says. Kili peers suspiciously at the steaming cup she holds toward him. He thinks it may be medicine, but unlike the dwarven tonics he's used to, it doesn't smell awful. It smells like a combination of mint, earth, and something floral, but he doesn't know the scent, so he is suspicious. He hurts too much to move or speak, but the doubtful look he shoots her is enough. She sits down on his bedside, frowning. "It is merely an infusion of athelas, Kili. It will dull your pain. If I wanted to poison you I would have done it long ago."

That wasn't what he was worried about, but he doesn't have the energy to point that out. He sighs and opens his mouth a bit, and she helps him drink. It is hot, but not burning, and warms him right down to his toes. It would even taste like a normal tea, if not for the faint bitter aftertaste. Slowly, the radiating pain from his chest begins to dull and his muscles relax, and he thinks he might be able to sleep. Actually sleep, not pass out.

"Thank you," Tauriel says, setting the mug aside. "I am going to give you a sponge bath and change your bandages, and then you can try to rest, unless you would like to try eating. How does that sound?"

"You sure you don' jus' wanna see me naked?" He finds himself mumbling with a smirk. She scoffs.

"You are hardly an appealing picture at the moment, laying here, barely alive, half drunk from pain."

Kili chuckles, but it turns into a hiss as his movement jars his wound and pain shoots through his body. "Everything hurts," he moans.

Tauriel tenderly touches his cheek in comfort. "I know. Give the athelas a moment to work."

He nods weakly and she stands up.

"Where are you—"

"I am merely fetching soap, hot water, and fresh bandages," she replies soothingly before leaving the room.

Before long she returns with a large bowl of steaming water, several rags, soap, and some warm fluffy towels. Slowly, she places the objects down next to him and it dawns on him as she soaks the soft towels in the warm water that she was about to wash him. Suddenly, Kili squirms and shies away from her.

“I don’t know how I feel about this,” he mumbles.

“About what?” She asks without looking up from her task, absently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“About you seeing me naked,” he whispers, looking anywhere but at her.

Tauriel stops and stares at him for a while and he can feel his cheeks tingling with a blush. “I have seen you naked before,” she says blithely.

Kili’s head shoots up in dismay. “What?! When?!”

She sighs. “Who do you think has been bathing you and changing your bandages for the past month?”

Now it is his turn to stare at her. He hadn’t thought of that. Tauriel touches his shoulder sympathetically.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to wash between the waist and the knees.”

In the end, that is what they settle on. While she bathes him, she is careful and gentle, but thorough. Just as quick as it begins she is taking away the bathing materials and returning with fresh bandages and a small pot of something.

“I have to change your bandages,” she says apologetically. “This will be… painful.”

“What’s in the jar?” he asks.

"An ointment that will prevent infection and reduce your pain. It's mostly echinacea, chamomile, and athelas, mixed with a lard base."

"You sure like that athelas stuff. What is it, anyway?"

"Some call it kingsfoil," she says, opening the container and checking the contents. She tilts it so he can see a greenish brown paste inside. "See? I'll spread this over your wound. It shall help it heal, with the right incantations."

"Isn't kingsfoil a weed? I've been told that it's a weed."

"It is often seen as a weed, but truly it is a healing herb, though the knowledge of how to use it has been mostly lost to mortals. I've used it on you before, when you were shot by the orcish arrow."

"Oh. I don't remember that."

"I don't find that surprising, you were quite delirious."

Kili feels cold air on his chest and suddenly realizes that Tauriel has been carefully untying his bandages. He looks down and is quite shocked at the sight of his wound. This is the first time he's seen it, an ugly, puckered gash stitched closed with thick black thread.

"Well," he says shakily, "that will leave a scar."

Tauriel doesn't laugh at his joke, too preoccupied with assessing the wound. "Soon I'll be able to take these stitches out, but not yet." She looks up at him. "I am going to clean it now. Are you ready?"

He gives her a lopsided smile. "Aye. I'm a grown dwarf, I won't cry."

In the end, a few silent tears do manage to squeeze themselves out of his eyes. After her treatment, she lays him back and feeds him medicine that not only numbs the pain but also causes him some drowsiness and he falls asleep once more until she wakes him to feed him. From there, this same routine continues, with a few minor changes with Company members visiting him when they can, but for the most part, it is just him and Tauriel.

As more members of the Company come by, Tauriel better acquaints herself with them. However, as kind as they are to her, she is no fool. She knows the distrust (and in some cases, hatred) the other Dwarves of the mountain have toward her. They only keep her around due to Kili’s steadily improving condition. But before long, he will not need her anymore. He will be at a point in his recovery where the dwarven healers will be able to manage just fine and the dwarves will tolerate her no longer. She must leave before it all comes to a head and something terrible happens.

She begins to prepare travelling supplies: food, drink, and clothing, a map as well, as she makes her plans. Plans she tells no one of; she intends to slip away, unnoticed, into the night. They will not follow her and she knows she will not be missed. They just want her out of the mountain. She plans her route carefully; choosing to slip out in between the changing of the guard and taking a discrete route south. She calculates how many days she can ration out her lembas on foot versus on horseback or by boat, how long she can walk without sleep, how long her tinderbox can last, everything is carefully planned. However, what she did not plan for, is Kili.

On the winter night that she executes her plan, she doesn't notice that Kill awakens as she creeps about the room, watching shrewdly as she gathers her belongings and crosses the room to her exit. But before she has the chance to even reach for the doorknob, he breaks his silence.

"You're leaving," he whispers accusingly.

Tauriel closes her eyes and sighs. “Kili,” she says softly, not looking at him.

“I’m not stupid, you know,” he says, “I’ve snuck out enough times in my life to recognize when someone is doing just that.” Tauriel's shoulders slump. She opens her eyes and looks up at the ceiling, studying the gold flecked green stone, but she still does not turn and look at him.

“Please don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry! ” he huffs, clearly angry. Finally, she turns and raises an eyebrow at him, meeting his glare. "You’re just going to leave me, without so much as a goodbye?!” he continues, his eyes blazing with passion.

“Kili, surely you know of the strife my presence is causing,” she replies, “I know you aren’t blind to what is going on in the Mountain.”

“Of course I know!” He explodes, punching the mattress beside his thigh, “I'm not stupid! But you can’t just go!” Tauriel rather gets the impression that he’s hiding his sadness and betrayal behind anger, and if she didn’t know better, she'd think he was begging. But that’s ridiculous. Dwarves are proud. They do not beg. Silently, Tauriel moves away from the door and toward the bed, as graceful as water, and looks down at him.

“And why is that?”

“Because then they win!” He shouts, gesturing wildly outward, as if to indicate the entire mountain and every dwarf within it. Immediately afterward, he seems to feel guilty for raising his voice, and drops his arms, looking down and away and picking at his blankets. Tauriel takes the opportunity to sit down on the bed beside him, contemplating his words.

“Kili,” she says finally, after what seems like an age, “I wish it was that simple.”

“It can be,” he murmurs, turning back to look at her, his hand catching hers where it rests on the blanket. “Tauriel, amrâlimê...”

She looks down at their joined hands and something alien wells up within her. Is it love? Is it fear? She doesn’t know.

“Stay with me,” he says, gripping her fingers. “Please.”

She looks up at him. He’s giving her the same pleading look he gave her on the lakeshore, conveying all his emotions in his gaze: love and determination and desperation...

“I can’t,” she whispers.

His face crumples and he moves his hand off hers with a heavy sigh. “I know,” he replies. Because he does. Despite how desperately he wants it, he knows that at this point in time, what they have, or at least what they want to have, is impossible. He looks away so he doesn’t have to see her leave. The mattress shifts as she stands, and he listens to her footsteps begin to move away from him. Then, they pause.

“I have something of yours,” she says. He looks up to see her reaching into her bodice. He frowns, confused, until she draws out her hand and holds it open to him. His runestone rests on her palm. She kept it? She still has it? “This belongs to you.”

“No,” he replies, staring listlessly at the stone. “It’s yours. It was a gift.”

She stands in silence for a moment, then her fingers close over it and she returns it back to where she had it, smoothing her shirt down over it. “Thank you.” She says after a while. He nods, looking down again.

She moves again to leave, he hears rustling as she shoulders her pack, and the door creaks open.

“Where will you go?” he calls after her. She turns to look at him, framed by the door.

“I’ve always wanted to see the sea,” she replies.

He nods. “Ah.”

She gives him a smile, but he doesn’t have the strength to return it, and her face falls. “Perhaps I will see you again someday,” she tells him, and is gone before he can reply.

#kilielweek #kilielweek2021 #kiliel #kili #tauriel #my writing #kiliel fanfiction #lotr #the hobbit #hobbit fanfiction #hobbit fanfic #kiliel fanfic #the hobbit fanfic #fili #bilbo baggins #post botfa

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aliveanddrunkonsunlight · 4 years ago

Text

food

Jaime x Brienne + alternate love languages

For @naomignome

Author’s Note: The previous ficlets, I was writing from their POV for each love language and how they receive that from the other person. Example: how Brienne hears/receives words of affirmation from Jaime. This is flipped, where I’m writing it from the POV of the person who is communicating the love (if that makes sense.)

They are both, somehow, alive. The sun peeks over the distant horizon. Carnage and ashes surround them, the stench of battle filling their noses.

Her chambers. Armor coming off with shaky hands, dirt and sweat stained bodies sagging as they fall into merciful sleep.

Jaime wakes, not in cold darkness as he expects, but with the quiet rustle of flames in the hearth. The floor is no longer littered with armor. It sits across the table and chairs, his and hers, polished so carefully, the firelight dancing in its sheen.

Before his feet hit the floor, he knows where he will find her. She is in the moonlit yard, helping the other men build the pyres. He coaxes her back to bed, somehow, but the next morning, he wakes to find her side of the bed already empty.

The circles under her eyes darken and grow deeper. The crease in her brow remains constant. It is on the third day when he touches her hand in passing, feels the cold clamminess of it, and worries she is turning into one of the creatures they fought. “Bed. Now.” he orders.

She objects, even as he steers her towards their room. She has to help rebuild. It is not your home, my lady. Unless you plan to stay. She has to protect Sansa. You are not Lady Sansa’s sworn sword. She has her guard. What will Pod think? The boy would not wish to see you ill.

He brings her broth and the freshest bread (for the latter, he might have bribed the kitchen maid to set it aside for him, but Brienne does not need to know) and she swirls the spoon like a petulant child until he threatens to feed her himself. “You’ll end up with broth slung all over the bed sheets,” he teases her, gesturing with his stump.

In the evening, Pod arrives with more hearty fare and another man carrying a pile of furs. “Before you object that we are stealing these from some unsuspecting soul who needs them when we have plenty,” he tells her after they leave. “Lady Sansa said she was happy to loan them.” He spends far too long arranging the furs and pillows on the hard stone floor in front of the fireplace before he approaches the bed and takes her hand. From the look on her face, she is too shocked to speak.

He arranges the furs carefully around her, Brienne leaning back against him, and he reclines against the legs of a chair. The somewhat uncomfortable seat is worth it for the little sigh she exhales when he wraps his arms around her and rests his chin on her shoulder, the two of them watching the fire.

She dozes against him and his heart quickens, listening to her steady breath, noticing the way her fingers curl against his thigh. I love you.

He has said it so rarely since they confessed their feelings to each other, afraid saying it too often would lessen its meaning.

The next morning, when they wake together, he asks her about Tarth. “Do you mean to return?”

A shadow passes over her face and her eyes shift away from his. “I should go and see my father.” It sounds like duty more than longing, and he is not sure what to make of that, so instead he kisses her and tells he loves her. It earns him a soft smile, and it is all so easy.

On the boat to Tarth, she is excited to show him her home. Her face is open and bright as she tucks her long body against his on the deck. They watch the island grow closer, Brienne pointing out things, her voice soft in his ear, making him shiver.

When they step off the ship, there is a cavalcade of men awaiting them. Brienne embraces one of them before stepping back and taking his arm, introducing Jaime to her cousin Endrew. “Where is my father?” There is the shadow passing over her face again and an inkling of understanding begins to form.

“He is waiting to greet you at Evenfall,” her cousin replies.

Except he is not waiting, he is still meeting with whatever Tarth farmer needs counsel rather than his own daughter, returned from war.

Finally, a man with broad shoulders and a portly belly appears in the doorway. He has the same broad face as Brienne, only his is half covered by a neatly trimmed white beard. He smiles and opens his arms for a hug, his gray eyes shimmering in the bright white marble of the entrance hall.

Jaime does not expect her father to be thrilled that she has brought the Kingslayer himself home, but there is skepticism and disappointment on Selwyn’s face which he cannot hide. Brienne asks if he wants to accompany them on a walk before the evening meal, but he brushes her aside, saying he has meetings and duties and and.

Brienne is oddly quiet as she shows him Evenfall. They take their walk through the grounds, just the two of them, but Jaime notices how she walks a few steps ahead of him, lost in her own thoughts.

Selwyn is polite, but not warm. At dinner, he asks about their journey, fills Brienne in on trivial matters around the island, but after the small talk is dispensed with, he has little else to say. No questions about Brienne’s experiences on the mainland, none about the man she brought with her.

There is an absence. An absence in him, an absence which echoes in the halls of this castle. Echoes of her brother, her mother, her siblings. How much grief Brienne has known, true grief, not the false feelings he felt at the news that his eldest son was dead, the mask he wore at his father’s vigil. The dutiful son, the dutiful soldier.

No, Brienne still carried the memories of her loved ones within, a part of her so deep and recessed, even he did not have access. The longer they sit at her father’s table, the more Jaime realizes she never wished him to see it. Brienne did not want him to see how her father’s ignorance, his neglect, cast such a long shadow over his remaining child. But Jaime does see. The steel core of her begins to melt away. He watches those strong shoulders slump under the weight of childhood hurt. All those half-healed scars.

Brienne has never needed him to protect her. Not when they got taken by the Bloody Mummers, not even at the bear pit, not any moment since, but he wants to stretch his good arm down the length of the table, take up the Evenstar by his collar and shake him. Make him listen, tell him all the ways he should be on his knees thanking his daughter.

Jaime’s hand shakes, thinking of all the words he might use to explain what Brienne has done for him, much less half the kingdom.

She told me to live.

She allows him to simply be the man he always wished to be, because she knows he is capable. She does not discredit him for his faults, just as he does not discredit her for hers. It sounds emotionally distant to say they love one another justly, but it’s true. It is equanimity. Any space they are together is one where he can breathe, after decades of what felt like drowning.

He loves her more than he thinks he will ever be able to express, but he does not let it stop him from trying. Words and deeds and touch and the very air in his lungs.

I am so, so sorry, my darling, he tells her that night. She likely does not know what he means, it could easily be an apology for his reputation, the deed which cast the die for his life for so long. He means it as an apology, one which she will never get from her father.

The next morning, Brienne has gone down to breakfast before he wakes. Standing outside the great hall, he hears their voices echoing inside. “Will you live at the Rock then?”

“I--I always planned to serve in your stead, but I know that is not what you wished of me.”

“Nonsense, I only wished you to be happy.”

“I am.” After a moment, so quietly he has to lean towards the door to hear. “We chose each other.”

Upon hearing that, Jaime walks outside, needing fresh air. She finds him in the gardens, hand clutched around the seat of a stone bench. He tugs her down into his lap. “I am very proud of you.”

“Proud of me?” Her forehead wrinkles into that familiar frown. “Why?”

“Do I need a reason?” he asks in the moment before his mouth covers hers.

Their wedding party is tiny and Brienne refuses to have the ceremony in the sept, so they wed on the cliffs overlooking the sea. It is near sunset and light spills across the water in an orangey glow, shimmering in the gold trimmings on her wedding cloak.

At the small feast afterwards, her father reminds him that Brienne once swore she would only ever wed if the man could beat her in the yard. “She has already done that, my lord, I assure you,” Jaime replies in a voice which makes her whole body flush.

“That is when you were in shackles,” Brienne says, once they are alone in her chambers.

He laughs. “Well, it is too late now, my love. We are wed.”

Her blue eyes glitter at him from the other side of the room. “You mean you will not spar with me on our wedding night? I never knew you to be so dull.”

Jaime chases her around the bed, making her shriek with laughter, and when he catches her, they wrestle against each other on the mattress, both of them grinning like fools. “I happen to know you are quite good at the other type of sparring.”

“Jaime,” she chides him, but a soft laugh falls from her lips as she bends down to kiss him.

It is well past midnight when she drags him out to the yard. “You cannot let me win,” she warns him at one point as their tourney swords clash.

He chuckles between his gritted teeth until Brienne breaks the hold they are in. “You forget I am much older than you.”

“No excuses, old man,” she winks at him.

Jaime knows it is worthless to protest about his left hand. They both fought the dead. Only he likes when Brienne--his wife--can easily best him and it is difficult to summon up his usual competitiveness when she executes a particularly thrilling move.

He ends up in a rather vulnerable position, on his knees in the dirt, her sword pointed at his throat, only to revel in the slow realization dawning in her eyes. She’s won. That is until he bats her wooden tourney sword away with his left hand and tackles her to the ground. “You cheated.” she accuses, once they both get their breath back.

He smirks at her, slipping his hand underneath her tunic, delicate fingertips against her skin. “We’ll call it even.”

When her father passes, Brienne throws herself into all the things which need to be done. He is the one who coaxes her back to bed. She has to allow herself to rest. She has to allow herself to mourn. She’ll do no one any good running herself ragged.

This time, he does not have to bribe the kitchen maids. They make Brienne’s favorite dishes and willingly wake in the middle of the night to show Jaime how to warm milk for her, served with a dash of honey, to help her go back to sleep.

“We were very much alike,” she says to him a few days later, when they are walking in the gardens. “Headstrong. That is why we fought so often.” Jaime is tempted to tell her all the ways they were different, but it would not help anything. Right now, the most important thing he can provide is solace, not unwanted advice. “He tried so hard to understand me. He only wanted something to go right. To see me happily wed, except that was something he wanted. It was not what I wanted. So then,” she takes a shaky breath. “He finally let me go, even though I know he was mocked, chastised that he could not control his own daughter.”

“You represented him honorably. No one could accuse you otherwise.” He presses a gentle kiss to her temple. “And if they try, you can face them in the yard.”

She has not laughed since her father died, but she smiles then and squeezes his hand. “Thank you.”

Their fifth year of marriage, he arranges for their friends to travel to Tarth. It is an unrealistic request for most, he realizes, but everyone comes. Lady Sansa, his brother, Pod and Peck and Gendry, all of the people who know Brienne’s selflessness and his luck. There is cake and fruit and all manner of sweet things Brienne says she does not like, but which he knows she secretly enjoys. Meat pies and cheese and warm, fresh-baked bread. There is laughter and stories spun over a long meal and good wine. In some ways, it is a happier day than their wedding.

She laces her fingers through his and they lean against each other, listening to the others late into the night.

For her name day, he and the children bake a cake. Alex’s whole outfit is covered with flour and Alys’ hair is dusted with it. They insist on him writing the script in icing, even with his shaky left hand. When they present it to her that evening, she laughs in delight and kisses all of them, tears shimmering in her eyes. She presses an extra kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, darling.”

#jaime x brienne #love languages #fic: food

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jaxsteamblog · 4 years ago

Text

Healing

Click here to read the entire fic on AO3

The day after the eclipse, Katara still felt weak. But even as she struggled to walk very far on her own, she was still shoving Zuko to leave.

“You are the Fire Lord. You can’t be spending all of your time in the North Pole.” She snapped angrily. Her quilt was piled on top of her but still dragged behind her as she pushed against Zuko’s back. While he was a slender man, he was still taller than her and had been trained to not be pushed around by an invalid.

“Katara, I can’t leave you like this.” He said.

“I have my family here, plus the palace staff, and the oasis. I’m fine.” She stated.

“That’s all well and good but I, your intended husband who will be caring for you the rest of your life, cannot leave you like this.”

Katara stopped pushing and rested her head against his back.

“They’re going to overthrow you and, I don’t know, put Azula on the throne and I do not need that pain in my life.” She said.

“You make a good point and I am slightly conflicted.” Zuko said. He craned his neck to look at her behind him. “I want to talk to Sokka first.”

“Fine.”

“And you go back to bed.”

“Zuko.”

Katara yelped as Zuko turned and picked her up, walking her over to the bed and dumping her onto the pile of blankets and pillows.

“The doctor put you on bedrest.” He said.

“I am the greatest healer in all three tribes!” Katara said.

Zuko turned and started to walk out of the bedroom.

“I healed my own wounds in an active battlefield!” She yelled after him. “No one can tell me what to do!”

Zuko said nothing as he left, shutting the door behind him.

“I bet he’d change his tune if he were stuck in a bed.” Katara muttered, nonetheless burying herself in the warm nest they had constructed over the past few days.

She must have dozed off, because the next moment had her startle upwards as her door slammed open.

“Shush!” Zuko’s voice was sharp.

“She’s going to kill you regardless.” Sokka said angrily.

Sitting up, Katara pulled her quilt back over her head like a hood. Sokka stood in the doorway with Zuko’s arm around his neck. Her brother held onto Zuko and Katara looked down.

His right leg was in a cast.

“Spirits above, what on earth happened?” Katara asked.

Sokka grumbled incoherently as he staggered forward, supporting Zuko, and led him to the bed.

“I broke my leg.” Zuko said, easing himself onto the bed as Katara moved over.

“I can see that, yeah.” Katara retorted, annoyed.

“This idiot got into another fight with our father, tried to do something stupid to prove a stupid point, and fell off a wall.” Sokka clarified.

“You did what?” Katara exclaimed.

Zuko looked calm as he got comfortable on the bed. He then turned and looked at her, seemingly unbothered.

“I broke my leg.” He repeated.

“Zuko!” Katara grabbed a pillow and hit him with it.

“Tui’s gills and La’s fins, I hope she beats some sense into you.” Sokka grumbled.

“I can’t heal you right now!” Katara said. “I’ll exhaust myself resetting a bone.”

“As you can see, the bone has already been set and I am in a cast. I can heal like the normal people that aren’t engaged to the greatest healer of all three tribes.” Zuko said.

Katara hit him with the pillow again.

The palace, remembering Zuko’s previous unannounced visit to the North Pole, was more prepared for his stay this time. A temporary space was made for him in Katara’s office, and Zuko made a call back to Caldera.

The prime minister, having an irascible relationship with Zuko at best, inquired how long he would be away. Katara had forced Zuko to say three days, as she would have her full strength back and be able to heal his injury at that point.

His assistant Toyo, a man Katara couldn’t totally pin down, was on a chartered flight that night with all of Zuko’s accumulating paperwork.

In the North Pole, Arnook was doubly displeased. He had kept to himself after Katara’s coronation, but after Zuko’s own crowning, something had set him off again.

Katara wanted to assume the former king would be pleased with the results, all things considered.

Sokka kept Arnook away, yet Katara knew that stressed him out. Things had already been tense with the eclipse, and now it was getting worse.

“What did you two fight about?” Katara asked as she helped Zuko get ready for bed.

“It was something ridiculous, and not at all the point.” He said, moving awkwardly to assist more than he needed to. Katara swatted his hands away and gently pulled his pajama pants up over his cast.

“What do you mean?” She pressed.

“Well it’s obvious they don’t trust me.” He said.

“Sure, but I do and so does Thuy. And we can beat you up if we need to.”

Zuko gave a bark of laughter and Katara sat back to let him adjust his waistband.

“Your dad isn’t worried about me hurting you, though that’s what he says. He’s worried about my people.” He said.

“They won’t do anything to me.”

“They already tried.”

“That was your father, you know that.”

“Katara, come on, you know what they’re saying.”

“And? They’re saying the same things about you here.” Katara laid back and Zuko held her awkwardly, the rough cast bumping into her legs.

“Yeah but-” He started and she clapped her hand once firmly against his chest.

“You matter, stop it. You’re going to be my husband. You are going to be part of the tribe.” Katara stated.

Zuko held her hand against his chest and looked up at the ceiling.

“I just want them to know I’m not planning on taking you away. That I want to be a part of the tribe.” He said. Turning his head, they looked at each other.

“They’ll get it.” Katara said.

Toyo arrived bright and early, immediately putting Zuko to work. Arnook, grumbling about the growing red stain, shut himself in his rooms with his wife.

Suki and Thuy showed up with Rohan, mostly to make fun of Zuko. Whale Thuy and Rohan pestered both Zuko and Toyo, Suki slipped off to wherever Sokka was hiding.

As she felt better, Katara wandered through the palace, wondering where her family had gone.

Unfortunately, she ran into Malina.

“Oh! Katara!” Malina said, smiling brightly after the surprise. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much.” Katara replied, slipping her hands into her sleeves like a muff.

“Are you looking for your father?”

“Sokka.”

“I think they’re together actually.”

“Wonderful.” Katara croaked and Malina’s smile fell.

“You know, your father misses you terribly.” She said.

“He seems to be filling his time just fine.” Katara shot back.

Malina sighed but didn’t fight back.

“I think your father and Sokka are in our rooms.” She said and walked away, leaving Katara to make her way alone.

Her family and Arnook kept their private rooms close to Katara’s and it wasn’t an arduous journey by any means. But as she approached the door, she saw Suki outside, leaning against the wall.

“Hey.” Katara called out. Suki turned and stood up.

“How are you feeling?” She asked as Katara approached.

“A lot better. I might be able to heal Zuko tomorrow.” She replied.

“Don’t push yourself.”

“I won’t.”

The conversation died and Katara tilted her head.

“Is everything okay?” She asked.

Suki sighed and rubbed the back of her neck; a gesture she borrowed from Sokka.

“Sokka hasn’t been here since before we all went to the Swamp. It’s making him anxious.” She said.

“What about you?”

Suki shrugged.

“Is Sokka with my dad?” Katara inquired.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t bother them right now.” Suki said, glancing at the door.

Katara followed her gaze and frowned.

That night, Katara tested her bending as she washed under Zuko’s cast. It didn’t tire her as quickly as she feared, and Katara knew she’d be able to heal him at the Oasis.

“How does it feel?” She asked as she dumped the dirty water.

“It aches, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” Zuko answered, hopping backwards onto the bed.

“We’ll get the cast off tomorrow and you’ll be back on your feet by the afternoon.” Katara said, joining him under the blankets.

“Are you sure that’s not too soon?” Zuko asked.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” She quipped and Zuko grumbled in annoyance.

“I don’t want to leave you.” He said.

“It’s only a few more months until the wedding. Then I become Fire Lady and I’ll be in Caldera all the time.”

“No you won’t.”

“Watch me.”

“No one here is going to let you be in Caldera for very long.”

“No one else here is Queen of the Water Tribes.” Katara snuggled close to Zuko and she smiled as he kissed the top of her head.

The next morning, the doctor arrived to cut away Zuko’s cast. He brought a wheelchair and Katara pushed him down the halls toward the Oasis. Thuy and Rohan joined them, chattering about the Oasis and other spiritual places in the world.

To her surprise, a lot of other people were waiting for them at the entrance. Arnook and his wife, Hakoda and Malina, plus Sokka and Suki.

“This is a sacred place, Fire Lord.” Arnook said before Katara could ask about his presence. She frowned but Zuko nodded.

“Of course.” He said.

Katara ignored them and wheeled Zuko in, careful not to jostle his leg as they went over the bricked path. Stopping before the bridge, Katara walked around and started to take off her parka.

“What’s going on?” Zuko asked.

“I’m getting in.” Katara replied.

“I thought we were going to the pond.” Zuko said.

“No need.” Katara said, dropping her outer layers on the grass. “I’m close enough to La I can practically hear its weird, fishy thoughts.”

Walking to the edge, Katara touched her foot to the water. It always surprised her when she found it warm. She continued into the water, slipping a bit on the slick mud under her feet.

When the water reached to her waist, she turned and looked at the gathered audience.

“Can someone bring him to me?” She asked.

Sokka stepped forward but Zuko held up his hand.

“Wait, I need you to promise me something.” He said.

Katara crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him.

“What?” She asked.

“You only heal the leg.” Zuko said.

“What?” Katara repeated, confused.

“Not the lightning and not the burn.” He said.

“Zuko…”

“Only the leg.”

They stared at each other and Katara sighed when she gave up.

“Fine.” She said.

Sokka helped Zuko up and steadied him as he hopped to the bank. He sat at the edge and put his legs in as Katara held out her hands.

“Only the leg.” He said again.

“I promise.” She replied.

Zuko pushed himself off the bank and Katara caught him as he sank into the water.

Having him close and being in the Oasis, Katara felt her heart hammering in her chest. With every beat, light shimmered over the top of the water. Joy filled her and Katara squeezed Zuko. He hugged her tightly and they both started laughing. As he was still trying to hold himself up on one leg and with the mud offering nothing in return, they both slid as they held each other.

Katara gasped when she went under but Zuko hauled her back up, sputtering and trying to shake her hair out of her face.

Blinded by her hair, she jumped when Zuko suddenly kissed her. Still, she relaxed and kissed him back, pushing her hair back after he pulled away.

“I love you.” He said.

“I love you.” Katara murmured.

“You’re soaked.” Zuko said and laughed again.

“Well you’re…” Katara gasped and pushed on his chest. “You’re standing up!”

“Yeah, you healed me.” He said.

“I didn’t!” She exclaimed and Zuko frowned.

The glow on the water dimmed and they both turned to look back at the grass.

Everyone was looking at the pond past the bridges.

Sokka suddenly sat down and Suki crouched next to him, rubbing his back. Arnook and his wife held onto each other, while Hakoda and Malina walked to the water’s edge.

Hakoda held out his hand to Zuko.

“Welcome to the family.” He said.

Zuko hesitated but took the offered hand and Hakoda pulled him out of the water. As water streamed from his clothes, Zuko pulled up his pant leg to look at his injury. The skin was smooth and unbroken, without even a bruise to hint at the break.

“What happened?” Katara asked, pushing herself onto the bank and looking around.

“When you went under the water, a black circle glowed where you had been.” Malina said and then looked back at the pond. “And the pond glowed white.”

“Yue?” Katara asked anxiously, taking a step toward the bridge.

“No.” Hakoda said. “But, it was Tui.”

“It was her.” Sokka said, his voice thick. “She.”

He cut off and lowered his head, putting his hands on the back of his neck while Suki hugged his side.

“She told him he didn’t need her forgiveness.” Suki said.

“She said we shouldn’t seek forgiveness for falling in love.” Arnook corrected, finally turning around. “Still, I feel I should apologize to you, Fire Lord.”

“Oh.” Zuko said, moving to stand beside Katara. “It’s okay.”

“Katara.” Hakoda said and Katara glared at him.

“Don’t ruin it.” She said. “I’m not Tui.”

Holding onto Zuko’s hand, Katara used her bending to remove the Oasis water from their bodies. After returning it, she bent down to grab her clothes and walked off.

She had done the healing she had come to do and that was enough.

“Hey.” Sokka said, grabbing onto the parka under her arm and forcing her to stop.

Katara looked down at him and Suki.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

“Can I have a hug?” He asked in reply.

Katara dropped Zuko’s hand and her clothes, falling onto Sokka. They hugged and Katara pressed her cheek against Sokka’s.

Then again, she’d do anything for her brother.

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#zutara #fanfiction #jax writes #zutara month #modern au #the fic that prompts built

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youngster-monster · 4 years ago

Text

fools rush in

Quel’thalas may sit on the coast of Lordaeron, but it has never been a naval nation. Kael’thas has never been quite so acutely aware of his people’s lack of seafaring abilities as he is now, bent over the side of a ship and fighting a losing battle against seasickness.

“Hold on. We’re nearly there.”

He sends a venomous glare Rommath’s way. His friend seems perfectly at ease on deck, only moving to shift his weight so he doesn’t stumble with the sway of the ship. Looking at him, Kael’thas could almost believe his motion sickness is a personal weakness rather than a quel’dorei trait.

Fortunately he’s seen Lor’themar looking a little green for the whole journey. Rommath is the real outlier here. Probably out of spite. He wouldn’t be caught dead displaying any kind of vulnerability, let alone something as small as seasickness.

“You’ve been saying that for hours,” he grits out in response.

Rommath shrugs, unconcerned by Kael’thas’ plight. “Nearly is an imprecise unit of measurement, I’ll admit it.”

“Although this time he’s right,” another voice intervenes. “We will be in view of Theramore’s harbor in under two hours.”

Kael’thas blissfully closes his eyes as Jaina lays a hand between his shoulder blades. Her magic sinks under his skin and the chill of it soothes his nausea to a point he no longer feels like he might throw up at any moment.

“Remind me why I’m subjecting myself to this again?”

Jaina chuckles warmly. “Because you are my dear friend and you wish to support me during an important change in my life?”

“I should have taken a portal with my father…”

“And miss watching me dissolve into a ball of nerves in the next few days?”

It’s true that the diplomatic delegation from Quel’thalas wouldn’t be privy to Jaina’s slow descent into panic during the preparations for her coronation. That’s a privilege reserved for Kael’thas only — and the two friends he was made to bring along as bodyguards, technically.

Of the world leaders who are coming to witness the event, few will be lucky enough to enjoy Theramore outside of official functions. Kael’thas is willing to suffer countless journeys by sea for the joy of watching Jaina get drunk in a sailor’s pub for the last time before she has to act like a proper monarch.

Affecting a greater misery than what he already feels, he says, “Still. For all that trouble, I better be here for your dress fitting.”

Jaina shudders at the thought. She may be a princess, but she clearly hasn’t gotten used to all the annoying little details of royalty. Or she forgot after too many years in Dalaran. Kael’thas grins. It’ll be years, if not decades, before he has to be in her place. He intends to enjoy the spectacle while he can.

Schooling his features into something more serious, he turns gingerly to face her. The deck rolls beneath his feet and he has to hold on to the banister or fall flat on his face.

“How are you holding up?”

She quirks up a small smile that struggles to reach her eyes. “I’m alright. A little scared, but…”

It stands to reason she would be, even though this coronation has been in preparation for years. She’s been spending more and more time away from her magical studies, learning how to rule a country, ever since she turned twenty-three. Still one can never be entirely ready to lead.

The fact that the date had to be moved forward because of an attempt on her father’s life must not be helping her anxiety any.

“Have you received news from your father?” He asks, knowing the subject a little easier to deal with. Daelin Proudmoore has recovered quickly from the botched assassination, and has been more preoccupied with rooting out the conspirators than with healing from his wounds.

She nods, gazing at the horizon. Kael’thas can just start to make out Theramore from the grey sky, though it’s more creative interpretation of a vaguely rocky shape in the distance; to her, it must look like home. “Yes. He’s fine. Healing nicely, for all that he refuses to rest. But they still haven’t found his attacker. He’s afraid they’ll go for me, too.”

Kael’thas waves that concern aside. “Of course they will; the day of the coronation is the perfect occasion to get rid of both you and your father, if that’s what they seek.” He winks at her, smiling slightly at her dismay. “That’s what you have me for. Oh, and that great hunk of a fiancé you have as well, I suppose. We’ll keep you safe.”

His exaggerated scorn when he mentions Arthas gets a giggle out of her. He doesn’t despise the man like he used to, back when Kael’thas was infatuated with Jaina and saw him as a threat. But that doesn’t mean he has to like him. Rival or not, he’s still an annoying, bruttish paladin, although he looks exceedingly pretty doing it.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Rommath sighs from the side. He sounds like he has little hope about the matter. He’s used to Kael’thas and Jaina’s antics: if there’s trouble to be found, they’ll find it alright. “Go get your bags, Kael.”

“Why? We’ve hardly arrived yet.”

“By the time you stumble your way below deck and up again, we’ll be there.”

Kael’thas flips him off. But he does go get his bags; not that Rommath has a point, he just likes to take his time. And if he holds onto the railing the whole way down, well. That’s between him and the ship.

It wasn't an empty threat, when Kael’thas mentioned that any assassin would probably turn up during the coronation. Every major political player of Azeroth came to pay respect to the new Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras. If someone wanted to commit some kind of political murder, now would be the time.

It also leaves the cathedral the coronation takes place in a somewhat crowded place.

Kael’thas shifts on the uncomfortable pew while the priest drones on and twists around to look at the back of the room. He may have joked about it back on the ship with Jaina, but after three days shadowing her everywhere the reality of assassins has become much more worrying. His friend is about to leave herself open to all kinds of attacks while an old man shoves some metal on her head; it leaves a little on edge.

A cursory glance reveals no shady character hiding in the wings. If someone intends to hurt Jaina, they’re doing a decent job at hiding it.

“Stop fidgeting,” his father hisses.

Kael’thas rolls his eyes but lets himself be prodded into sitting straight again. He spares a brief glance for Arthas. The Lordaeronian king is entirely ignoring the people trying to engage him in conversation, and watches over the room like a hound during a thunderstorm, jumping at every odd sound.

It helps settle Kael’thas’ nerves somewhat that Lordaeron’s most sword-happy paladin is on the look-out. He won’t let anything happen to Jaina, Kael’thas reasons, even if he must burn the cathedral down to keep her safe. Though it hopes he’ll let them get out first.

Fingers ghost over the back of his hand and he all but jumps out of his skin before it registers that it is only his father trying to capture his attention.

“Be at ease,” Anasterian whispers, a touch of humor softening his sern voice. “You’ll do lady Proudmoore no favor by feeding into her anxiety.”

Smoothing the nascent scowl off his face, Kael’thas calls on the years of teaching in the art of decorum to affect an air of nonchalance. He can’t quite help the stubborn frown born from his worry though. “She has reasons a-plenty to be stressed: someone wants her dead.”

“This event is as safe as it can be. There is little more you can do but pretend everything will be fine, for her sake.”

Kael’thas adjusts the folds of his dress robes in his lap and says nothing. It’s easy for his father to say: it’s not his friend who’s out there risking her life.

Human lives are so fragile. Of course he worries. And what good are the guards, if Daelin was hurt on their watch?

He only lasts about five minutes before risking a glance behind again. Nothing has changed; but he feels a prickle over the back of his neck, as if he’s being watched, and it compulses him to look.

“Kael’thas,” his father sighs.

Kael’thas cuts him off before he can work himself into a proper lecture. “Are those the kaldorei delegates?”

Anasterian pokes him mercifully in the ribs until he sits properly, and only then does he offer a response.

“Yes. With the efforts made by the kaldorei to open to other kingdoms, Lord Proudmoore thought it polite to invite them. Something you’d know if you had bothered to pay attention while I talked about this event,” his father adds, long-suffering.

“I do listen,” Kael’thas says absently. He wants to get a proper look at the elusive night elves, but he thinks his father might actually hold his head in place if he tries it. Their whole whispered conversation is already stretching the bounds of propriety and trying Anasterian’s patience enough as it is.

“Do pay attention, Kael. The priest is nearly done; Jaina will be here soon.”

A coronation is a tremendously boring affair, Kael’thas finds, even once Jaina has stepped up to the altar. The priest drones on and on about her duties as Lord Admiral, the honor, the weight of name and duty, blah blah blah—

Boring. At this point even an attempt on her life would be a welcome distraction.

Jaina kneels and her father stands before her, taking the crown off his head and holding it high above hers. He looks good, Kael’thas notes, for a man who so nearly died mere weeks before.

“Do you swear to live by your people, for your people, and to serve and protect them as your duty demands?” He intones.

“Yes, I do.”

The oath goes on for some time. Jaina answers each demand with unflinching certitude. Looking at her, one might never guess her nerves.

But just as Daelin lowers the circlet, abou to set it on her head, Kael’thas feels a prickle of unease not unlike what he felt earlier. He turns on his seat, heedless of his father’s disapproving hiss. There, in the shadows of the cathedral’s upper level; a flash of—

Spellwork.

The warning gets stuck in his throat, a half-choked yell swallowed by the roar of a ray of fire shooting across the nave. He reaches out without a thought, draws up a barrier that manages to catch the spell at the last possible moment before impact. It shatters across the translucent surface of his shield and scatters in a burst of embers and arcane. The guests underneath cry out as sparks rain down on them.

What his spell doesn’t stop is the crossbow bolt that flies in the wake of the spell. It misses Jaina’s by a hair’s breadth and ricochets off the tiled floor before embing itself in the wooden altar. If she had not moved at the sound of the spell being deflected, it would have gotten her in the throat.

The room explodes in motions as guests and their guards scramble out of the pews. Kael’thas is already on his feet. He catches a glimpse of Arthas’ fair head in the commotion as the paladin ushers Jaina and her father away from the scene. He backs out of the room with his sword raised high, eyes wild as he looks around. Satisfied that his friend is safe, Kael’thas turns on his heels and run for the doors.

Rommath, who watched the ceremony from the back, calls his name as they nearly run into each other on the way out. Kael’thas stops with a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Get my father to safety!”

“Where are you going?” Rommath yells above the din, but Kael’thas is already running again.

“After them!”

Rommath’s answering invective is lost in the noise. His hand grabs Kael’thas’ robes to try and pull him back; Kael’thas unclasps them from his shoulders and leaves the heavy fabric in Rommath’s grasp as he books it.

Bursting through the doors, Kael’thas draws a gulp of fresh air before he sees, out of the corner of his eye, two figures scaling down the cathedral’s wall. He takes off after them without a second thought.

Without his cumbersome robes weighing him down he manages to keep up with the fleeing attackers — but only just. His feet pounding the pavement, he nonetheless fails to gain on the faster runners. They make a sharp turn left; by the time he reaches the corner they’re nowhere to be found.

Snapping a hand forward, Kael’thas gathers magic in his palm. This isn’t a spell he’s casting, though; it’s a summon.

And, bursting forth in a shower of fire and ashes, Al’ar answers.

He’s already climbing up his beloved familiar’s back before the phoenix has fully materialized into this plane. Kael’thas smoothes a hand over the soft feathers of his neck, smiling slightly at the pleased sound Al’ar makes, before he urges the phoenix into flight again.

They need no words to communicate. It’s for the best, as Kael’thas doesn’t think he could muster speech with his heart beating wildly in his throat. He’s not much of a runner and there was no course at the Kirin Tor for chasing after assassins. This is all very new to him; the excitement has him nearly shaking.

It’s easier to follow the assassins from the sky — and to gain on them as well.

Al’ar dives as soon as he is above them. Kael’thas holds on to a handful of feathers as the wind howls past his ears, confident that al’ar won’t let him come to any harm. The fugitives aren’t that lucky. Al’ar’s piercing cry is the only warning they get before he swoops down on them. His wings unfold to catch his fall with a sound like a forest fire; his talons glint in the light of his own burning as he extends them towards his unfortunate preys.

One is quick enough to dodge his grasp. The other gets bowled over by the force of the blow, and can only weakly struggle as Al’ar lifts them off the ground. Kael’thas jumps off the phoenix’s back before he can gain altitude again, stumbling slightly on the landing.

He’s unarmed, but mages need no weapons beside their magic, though he’s decent with a sword. He can deal with one measly little assassin without a blade.

At a glance, the assassin seems to be a human woman; and from the arcane energy crackling in her palm, the mage of the two as well. Kael’thas grins. He’s one of the best duelists of the Kirin Tor. This will be a walk in the park.

The mage casts a blue-tinted spell, too quick for him to tell what it does. He catches it in front of his face, turns, throws it back, and she has to jump aside to avoid it. Good. His smile grows, all bared teeth, as his own magic bubbles up to the surface. A tongue of fire whips towards her and hits her in the chest, sending her flying back into a wall.

Dazed and more than a little singed, she cannot get up quickly enough to block his next attack, and the concussive blast knocks her out. She slides down the wall and falls to the ground, unconscious. Shame they must be interrogated still. He’d gladly have burned her to a crisp.

But at least that’s one good thing down. He tilts his head up, trying to catch sight of Al’ar. He can feel their bond stretching as the phoenix flies away — he must be bringing the other assassin back to the cathedral, to be dealt with. Good.

Behind him, he hears hurried footsteps, and a voice shouting,

“Watch out!”

Kael’thas turns just in time to see the mage he thought he had downed take a knife out of her sleeve and throw it with unexpected accuracy. It whistles past him, close enough to leave a line of fire along the side of his neck. Kael’thas snaps his hand out and flames roar around his opponent before she can try another attack. They burn brighter and hotter than any natural fire, and her cry is cut short as she collapses into a pile of ashes and charred bones.

Here’s hoping the one Al’ar carried away survived the initial mauling.

“Are you alright?”

Turning to the new voice, Kael’thas blinks owlishly at the chest that greets him before it occurs to him to lift his eyes. It’s a kaldorei, he notes somewhat distantly; his thoughts feel sluggish all of a sudden. He’ll readily blame it on the fact that this is one of the most attractive men he’s ever seen — and he’s seen his fair share of beautiful men. His

He shakes himself, blinking some more to clear the haze that has settled over him. “I— yes, I am fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Kael’thas lifts a hand to his neck, still pulsing with painful heat, and his fingers come away slick with blood. “Oh. So I am.” The blood has an oily sheen to it, and it takes a moment of rubbing it between his fingers to realize it might actually be some kind of poison, unless his blood has all of a sudden gained some mysterious new material property.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” The kaldorei asks again, bemused. “You seem... shaken.”

Waving his hand impatiently, Kael’thas steps away from the man. “A bit of poison, nothing more.” The ground sways under his feet nearly as much as the ship he took to Theramore; it takes all of his concentration to keep himself upright.

Real alarm crosses the kaldorei’s face. “I’m going to get a healer.”

“Ah, no need. My magic will burn it away before it can deal any real damage.” He breathes in and out slowly, trying to manage the nausea. “I just have to… wait it out.”

The kaldorei seems unconvinced, though something about Kael’thas assurance must be enough to convince him to settle back for now.

He leans against the nearest wall. It still bears a black, slightly-greasy mark where the other mage once stood before he took care of her. His head spins, and black spots have started to appear in his field of view. It’s a good thing he’s been poisoned before, else he might not know this particular quirk of his biology and panic a lot more about the situation. As it is he’s quite used to the feverish feeling of his inner fire flaring to fight off the infection — it’s why he’s so rarely sick, as well.

The kaldorei looks at him and then, lower, at the remains of what once was an assassin. His mouth twists in a sardonic smile.

“I followed expecting a fight,” he says with a kind of rueful disappointment, “But it seems there’s little for me to do here.”

Closing his eyes, Kael’thas exhales softly. It’s a shame he always meets attractive people when he himself is at his worst possible state. The first time he saw Jaina, he was going on three days without sleep, and looked more undead than like a dashing elven prince. “Do not worry. I might pass out yet, which would leave you free to heroically carry me back to my father.”

He means it as a joke but in truth, he’s not sure he’ll manage to get back otherwise. Even if the dash after the assassins hadn’t exhausted him, the poison is quickly sapping his strength.

Tugging on his connection with Al’ar in the hope that his familiar will simply fly him home, he scowls when his summoning meets unexpected resistance. The phoenix must still be in this plane, then. Perhaps he found trouble with the other assassin. Wouldn’t be the first time they struggle to pry a prey out of his talons. This bird has a grip like a bear trap.

He can already feel himself sliding down the brick wall as his legs slowly but inexorably bow under his own weight. He’s ready to cut his losses and sit down in the pile of ashes when they suddenly give out from under him for good. Thankfully, before his ego and backside can be anymore bruised by the fall, strong arms catch him around the middle and heave him back to his feet.

“You weren’t joking about passing out,” the kaldorei chuckles.

Dazed, Kael’thas tries to look up at him to decipher if he’s being laughed at, but all he manages is to weakly tilt back his head until it hits the man’s chest. “Fighting off poison is no joking matter,” he tries to say, but his lips don’t quite manage the movement required for proper pronunciation, he thinks.

The chest he’s pressed against vibrates slightly as the man hums low in his throat. After some kind of deliberation Kael’thas is not privy to, the kaldorei ducks down and, passing an arm under Kael’thas’ knees, scoop him up as if he weighs nothing.

“Wha—”

“I’ll take you on that offer of a heroic entrance,” he says lightly. He shifts so that Kael’thas’ head rests against his shoulder and, with no effort apparent, starts walking in the direction of the cathedral.

“That was a joke,” he protests weakly.

“Didn’t you say poison is no joking matter? Don’t worry. I won’t drop you.”

“That’s very pretty of you,” he mumbles. It doesn’t sound quite right, and he frowns in confusion before making another attempt. His thoughts are starting to feel more jumbled as his magic responds to the poison with a purifying fever. “That’s…nicely pretty of you.”

There. Perfect.

The last conscious thought that crosses his mind before darkness swallows him is that the kaldorei has a very nice laugh, and then that Rommath is going to have a stroke, if he sees Kael’thas in this state; but he is too comfortable to care about that now.

Rommath is indeed apoplectic at seeing his friend and crown prince brought back unconscious and bleeding. Kael’thas, of course, only hears of it second-hand. By the time he comes to, he’s lying on a fainting couch in the wing of Theramore’s castle offered to house the sin’dorei delegation, and Rommath has calmed down somewhat.

Still, when he notices his charge has come awake, he doesn’t wait a second before railing on him.

“You’re an idiot.”

Still dazed and developing a headache suspiciously reminiscent of a hangover, Kael’thas squints up at his best friend. “I’m a genius,” he says for the sake of argument, though as brilliant as he is it is hardly applicable now. It’s a known fact that between the two of them Rommath is the one in charge of being street smart.

“Running on foot after two assassins, and not even dispatching them correctly — that’s what you call genius?” Rommath shakes his head and his shoulders drop slightly as he heaves a sigh. “What little of the city hasn’t seen your idiocy first-hand will know of it by tomorrow morning. That’ll do wonders to your reputation.”

Kael’thas pushes himself to a sitting position and rubs his head with a scowl. “I’m sure the attempt of the new queen’s life will be more interesting news than my dashing attempt at revenge.”

“Perhaps. But the nine foot tall moon guard carrying your bloody body through the streets is certainly an image that’ll stick.”

“It wasn’t that dramatic,” he says, though it might very well have been, for all that he remembers of the trip back.

“They’ll make it that dramatic. Also, you bled a lot, for such a small wound. You’ll have to properly thank the high priestess, by the way: I’m told it’s a great honor to be healed by the envoy of Elune herself.”

Rommath’s dry tone nearly distracts Kael’thas from his actual words, and it takes a second for his mind to connect the dots.

“Tyrande Whisperwind healed me?” He asks, taken aback.

“Well, her brother-in-laws did ask her directly, yes.”

“Her brother-in-law—” Like lightning, he realizes: few kaldorei leave their land, despite the latest efforts of the leading triumvirate to open to other kingdoms. Only the most powerful would have come all the way to Jaina’s coronation. Most likely the triumvirate in person. One of which healed him, at the demand of the other one, who must be the one who carried him after he passed out from a flesh wound. He hides his face in his hands and lets out a sound halfway between a sob and a scream. “I can’t believe I fainted on Illidan Stormrage.”

“You made an impression, apparently,” Rommath notes wryly. “He told your father your aid was invaluable in apprehending the assassin. Singular. I could have sworn there were two,” he adds airily.

“I set the other one on fire,” Kael’thas mumbles in his hands.

“Yes, I expected that much.”

Kael’thas rubs his face with a low groan and drops back on the fainting couch. Maybe he could just… fall unconscious again. Stay that way until they’re back in Silvermoon. He’s sure he could put himself into a magical coma, if it came down to it.

“I met Illidan Stormrage.”

“Yes.”

“The most brilliant sorcerer of his time. And ours, probably.”

“Huh-huh.”

“And I passed out on him. Did I drool? Light, tell me I didn’t drool.”

“You did,” Rommath says, merciless.

“I told him he was pretty.” With feelings, mostly of mortification, he adds, “I want to die.”

“You had your chance already. Now you’ll have to learn to flirt through the awkwardness like the rest of us mortals.”

Kael’thas is always flirting through the awkwardness. He’s never flirted in a way that’s not awkward. Doesn’t matter how attractive and smart Illidan is; he’ll never be able to look the man in the eyes again. His beautiful, golden eyes. Who saw Kael’thas drool probably all over his fancy moon guard armor.

A magical coma sounds more appealing by the minute.

#writing #world of warcraft #kael'thas sunstrider #illidan stormrage #grand magister rommath #jaina proudmoore #long post #this is a little silly but i just Had A Thought okay #anyway this takes place in a world with No Legion™#yes the sundering and chism of elves still happened. why? who knows #civil war probably

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realtacuardach · 4 years ago

Text

Risk and Resolve

Here’s my entry for the final round of Obiyuki Trope Madness 2021, hosted by @snowwhite-andtheknight : Roaring Rampage of Rescue. And because I thought this would be clever, I decided to include the two tropes that didn’t make it out of the semi-finals, Anguished Declaration of Love and Almost Kiss. (Hopefully it worked...) It turned out a lot longer than I intended, 😅. I hope you enjoy!

...

Shirayuki kept her polite, professional smile firmly in place until the door closed with a distinct click behind her, then allowed herself to sag against the wood with an exhale.

A warm chuckle rumbled beside her. “Rough patient, Miss?” Obi was leaning against the wall with his usual coiled grace, smirking down at her.

Her smirk was ready as his, although probably a great deal more wearied. “No more than he has been for the past...month?”

“Five weeks, four days, and ten hours,” Obi replied glibly. “But who’s counting?”

He bent towards her to grab some sachets that were about to slip from her arms to the ground, and she took the chance to shove back the hair that had curved and matted against her sweaty forehead. “It shouldn’t be too much longer though, he’s through the worst of it.”

Not much could have wrested Shirayuki from her current work at Lyrias, but there was no way of refusing the summons of yet another minor lord who had insisted emphatically that his son needed the very best of care to recover from a sword wound that had nearly killed him twice - once from the initial blood loss, and then from the intense infection that had taken root in his exposed flesh. The infection had progressed to almost shutting down several of the young man’s organs, and Shirayuki had to admit that she had had intense pity for the man.

She would have had trouble refusing someone help in such a condition in any case, and Izana’s calculatedly casual comment that it would be good to keep this particular lord appeased sealed her decision.

“So far away, surrounded by dense forest, far from the cities,” he’d mused aloud. “It can be difficult to get decent medical care; it would be a shame to force Lord Shikaku to seek it elsewhere.”

Shirayuki’s sense of politics was developing, although a bit unpolished still, but she roughly translated that to mean, “He’s got a lot of land and he’s far from the capital where I can keep an eye on him. Better to have a favor binding me to him than risk him changing alliances.”

She’d mentioned that to Obi on their journey over, and he’d snorted and grinned at her. So she assumed that he agreed.

“How much more care do you think he’ll need, Miss?”

Shirayuki clicked her tongue in thought as she turned toward the wing where she and Obi had been given rooms. “Not more than a week, I’d say. Probably less. He’s able to walk now and his temperature has been mostly normal. He needs regular bouts of rest and exercise now, but probably not an herbalist.”

Obi glided into step beside her easily, and they made their way to their bedrooms in companionable silence. They were nearly at Shirayuki’s door when Obi spoke up. “Do you think they’ll let you leave without a fight?”

It was said almost as a joke, but Shirayuki heard the knowing tone in it and flushed. “Why wouldn’t they?”

Obi raised a brow, looking unimpressed and so similar to Kiki in that moment that Shirayuki wondered if he’d been taking lessons from her. “Miss,” he stated plainly, “you’ve seen how the...invalid...has reacted to you.”

Yes, she had. She wasn’t sure when the flushes of fever had begun to be replaced by blushes as she’d leaned over young Lord Gaki to check his pulse or examine his stitches. The glaze of fever in his eyes had given way to a more speculative glimmer that lingered too long where it shouldn’t. “It’s common enough,” she replied, almost more to herself than to Obi, “for patients to develop attachment-”

Obi coughed something that sounded a lot like attraction.

Shirayuki ignored it. “Attachments to the people who nurse them back to health. I’m sure it’s harmless.”

Obi exhaled heavily through his nose. “If you say so, Miss.” He popped his shoulder and groaned appreciatively.

“And I’m sure he won’t touch me ag-”

She had meant it to be a murmur under her breath, a simple release of frustration from having to keep a professional mask plastered on her face all day around a young lord who was getting increasingly tactile. She hadn’t meant for Obi to hear her, expecting her voice to be lost in the popping of joints and creaking of leather.

She should have known better.

“He did what?”

“He touched,” she swallowed hard. Now that he knew, it was better to just get it over with. Obi was not likely to be distracted or dissuaded once he was on the track of something, “my hair. And my cheek, a little bit? But mostly my hair.”

“With your permission?” Obi gritted out in the tone of someone who already knew the answer.

“No.” Shirayuki sighed. “But it was a little thing, Obi, nothing to worry about.”

“Respectfully disagree, Miss,” he growled in response. “And Master would agree-”

He froze, a sheepish look overtaking his righteous indignation.

“It’s been almost a year,” she soothed. “You don’t need to get defensive on my behalf, Obi. You know that we both agreed that it was for the best - Zen and I are better as friends.”

Obi snorted. “He still wouldn’t like it, Miss. And what’s more, you clearly don’t.”

Shirayuki glared down at where her hands trembled and stilled them. “I can handle it.”

It looked like Obi wanted to argue the point, but then she yawned despite herself and he seemed to settle for pinching the bridge of his nose instead. “You can, but you shouldn’t have to.”

“Just a week more, if not sooner.” She smiled, hoping to reassure him.

He didn’t smile back, but his eyes softened and she took what small victory she could from that. “Just promise to tell me if he tries anything else. Please.”

“Of course!”

In the end, she didn’t have to tell him anything. Because he was there to witness everything.

…

Since the young lord’s wound had completely healed, and she was only treating its aftereffects, Shirayuki had taken to bringing Obi along with her during treatments. The man hadn’t touched her again, although he had made several attempts that she’d managed to artfully dodge. She already felt uneasy around him, and when she found the hot water bottle he’d squirreled away beneath his pillow to simulate fever, she knew it was far past time to go.

Obi had been silent as a statue behind her during the sessions where he was present, only speaking when prompted. But his presence had been enough to curtail any more...impertinences...from the young lord. Gaki had originally protested at the inclusion of another person during his treatments, but something in Obi’s expression had stuck him and he had conceded with ill grace.

When she pushed open the door for what she had insisted was the final session before she and Obi needed to return to Lyrias, she expected to find Gaki lounging in bed, sulking and flushed with indignation, as had become his custom. She had not expected for him to be out of bed and seated at his desk. She had not expected the bouquet of flowers placed in front of him.

His father being there was also a surprise.

After the triple shock, the marriage proposal came almost as an afterthought.

The situation was so absurd, she would have laughed if it wouldn’t have incited some sort of incident.

“I’m honored by your proposal, my lord,” Shirayuki began, having learned that nobles found sweet lies more palatable than bitter truths, “but I’m afraid I cannot accept it. I am needed back home.”

“Nonsense.” Gaki waved his hand in a way that infuriated her. “What could be more important than finding a good match?”

“My work,” Shirayuki replied, more flatly than intended. “I have responsibilities and people who need me back home. I again thank you for your proposal but must decline. I can’t marry you.”

“Why?” Gaki nearly yelped. “It is not as though you have any better prospects, now that the prince has thrown you over.”

That struck at a rawness still healing within her, even if it had been a mutual agreement between them rather than her being simply rejected. She did not mourn the lack of romance, she was herself with or without a man, but she did grieve the friendship that had once been so easy that was now in the tentative stages of repair.

She had half a mind to retort that someone like him could hardly desire a prince’s discarded plaything, but he would probably mistake her contempt for agreement.

Obi loomed closer to her then, his presence at her shoulder grounding her; warming, steadying, assuring. He picked up the conversation with a practiced courtly air. “We must take our leave, my lords. We have much to prepare for tomorrow.” He leaned down towards her, and she could see the concern glinting through his eyes. “If we may, milady.”

And maybe it was the reminder that her attachment to Zen, an attachment that had developed from a sturdy string connecting them to a ball and chain before it eventually broke down into pieces that she was still picking up, was no more. Maybe it was the relief of having Obi close by, as always. Or maybe it was how her traitorous heart skipped a beat as Obi’s breath curled over her ear as he leaned towards Lord Gaki.

Shirayuki could not pinpoint the cause, she could only hear how her breath hitched in the stifling silence.

Gaki’s eyes narrowed over his steepled fingers. “I see.”

Shirayuki’s heart stuttered. She had a feeling that the lords had indeed both seen too much.

…

The moon gleamed through her bedroom window as she awoke to the heavy pounding on her door. Years of caring for sick and injured patients had made her a light sleeper, and she slid out of bed and grabbed for her robe even before she was fully awake.

“Yes?” She croaked, pushing the door open to see a stony-faced guard.

“You are needed, Lady Shirayuki. Lord Shikaku says it’s quite urgent.”

Shirayuki frowned. This wouldn’t be the first time that his son had needed tending late at night, but that had been much earlier in his recovery. He had seemed well earlier, albeit ill-tempered.

Still, the guard’s stance brooked no argument, and Shirayuki followed in step behind him. Her sleep-dazed mind wondered where Obi was.

She was still surreptitiously blinking sleep out of her eyes as they arrived at the lord’s quarters. She found the lord and his son much as they had been earlier that day, although their smiles were distinctly less friendly.

“Yes, Lord Gaki? How can I help you?”

“Marry me.”

So much for flowery courtship, then. He’d discarded the more eloquent language of court and civility to come down to brass tacks. Typically, she preferred a more straightforward approach, but this only irritated her.

“No, I can’t.” She bit back the instinctive sorry that she didn’t mean. If he was struggling this much with simple responses, she’d stick to monosyllables from here on out.

They would probably have to leave immediately now. She would feel more guilty about rousing Obi out of bed and getting them going far earlier than they’d planned, but she knew he was as eager to leave as she was if not more so.

Her eyes swept to the side. Where was Obi?

The lordling looked sour, and on the brink of spitting at her, when his father brandished an imperious hand to silence him. “Enough,” Lord Shikaku rumbled, “this is going nowhere.”

Shirayuki’s heart leapt at the prospect of someone in this place being sensible, but it quickly sank as the lord looked to the side and snapped his fingers.

A group of four guards came in from a side door, bearing someone between them who, despite being bound hand and foot, was giving them a hard time. They forced the figure into a kneeling position on the ground, and Shirayuki winced at the sharp crack of knees on the marble floor.

“Now, now,” Lord Shikaku crooned as he stepped closer to the kneeling figure, “is that really how you want your mistress to see you? Are you trying to make this more difficult?”

He wrenched off the hood covering the figure’s head and sneered down at him.

Obi shot him a searing glare.

…

The ill feeling Obi had been experiencing over the past week had only intensified after their supposedly final meeting with the lord and his son. Miss already knew his misgivings, and had shared she had some as well, so he hadn’t seen the point in alarming her with how strong they had become. But his instincts had been honed by years on the streets among mercenaries, on the battlefield among knights, and through navigating the tenuous, poisonous affairs of the cutthroat nobles at court. He had only ever ignored them at his peril, and it would be a fool’s move to do so now.

Still, arousing suspicion by making his own suspicion obvious would do Miss no good. So he played along with the guards when they summoned him later that evening for an impromptu meeting to discuss security measures. They had had meetings of the like before, especially when the brat noble was too busy being unconscious to harass his Miss and he’d had nothing better to do than stand around looking intimidating.

But, given the currently icy state of affairs, the timing of the meeting was...unfortunate.

So he decided to go, but with both eyes wide open.

That they were going to a different room than they had for previous meetings was bad news. The fact that he was being almost shepherded along by the soldiers behind him was worse. But when the door was opened to reveal nothing but blackness, Obi knew he was in trouble. His eyes swept from side to side to assess what he could see, and he was able to react in time to block the attack from the soldier to his right. But that left him exposed to the blow to the back of his neck from the soldier on his left, and he stumbled into the darkness.

He was a top notch hand in a fair fight. He was even better when it came to an unfair fight, because he wasn’t afraid to fight dirty. But the lord here clearly wasn’t afraid to fight dirty either.

Even if he could see it would have been difficult- there were too many bodies, too little space, and his weapons had been yanked away from him after the first blow. He knew he wasn’t making it out of the room in one piece, so he resolved to take out as many as he could in the meantime.

They swarmed him in one great mob, which was unoriginal but effective. He kicked and swung and ducked and darted, sneering with satisfaction at the cries of pain as he connected with faces and limbs. They were cowards, just as much as their boss was a coward, and he felt no remorse.

He put up a good enough fight, but the sheer numbers on the enemy’s side eventually overcame his superior but solitary skill. The captor leading the way lit a lamp once Obi had been thoroughly trussed up, and Obi noted with grim satisfaction those sprawled on the ground who were clutching their wounds and groaning, at least until they covered his head with the hood.

These nobles are idiots, he thought to himself. Everyone here is crazy. Miss was in a relationship with one prince, she has a title granted her personally by another, and her skill is openly acknowledged by a king; so that’s three reasons to assume that someone would come looking for Miss. Or for me, he added sardonically. But we are far from the castle out here, and it would take a while for us to go for help. Besides, who knows what could happen between now and then…

He was being dragged into another room, and he could hear what sounded like his Miss. She sounded exasperated and irritated, but not fearful or in distress, which was reassuring.

He heard a snap, and his captors trotted forward like the obedient dogs they were. His knees crashed into the marble floor hard as they forced him to kneel, and he felt the reverberations lance through his legs. At least the pain was a temporary distraction from the lord’s ramblings.

Lord Shikaku flung the hood off Obi’s head with an almost theatrical flair, which would have made him roll his eyes if he wasn’t so busy glaring. Who is all the theatrical posing for? There’s no one to applaud you, you pompous-

“Let him go!”

Ah, right. That’s who you’re performing for.

Obi looked over in Miss’ direction and almost wished that he hadn’t. She looked horrified and furious and desperate. That look didn’t bode well for her, or for his ability to focus on the situation at hand. He blinked down the surge of highly distracting apprehension and glared up at the windbag.

“Please!”

Don’t try appealing to his better nature, Miss. He doesn’t have one.

“I’m sorry, Lady Shirayuki,” Shikaku leered. “But I can’t. This guard of yours took out twelve of my personal soldiers-”

-That was gratifying, he thought it had only been nine-

“-and so I can do with him as I like.”

Obi was pretty sure that legally, the lord didn’t have much of a leg to stand on with that point, given that the soldiers had ambushed him. But the man didn’t seem too interested in bothering with legal quibbles. Here, his word was law.

At least until Elder Highness finds out what he’s been up to and rips him a new one.

Izana didn’t have any patience for lords who thought they were above their station. Especially when his Miss got involved, much as the king had endeavored to keep that out of public knowledge.

Miss’ eyes swept over him briefly before returning to the lord, her gaze steely. “What do you want?”

Shikaku laughed. “I would think that is obvious. Marry my son, and your knave goes free. Refuse and, well…” He shrugged delicately.

Don’t do it, Miss. I’m not worth it.

She had to know that the lord wasn’t going to let him go regardless. If he let him go and kicked him out of the fortress, Obi would be able to go for help or storm the castle himself. And if he was free and allowed to remain, he would not hesitate to wreck everything in his path.

In the long run, this would not work out for the lord. But the damage wreaked in the short term could be devastating.

Looking up towards Miss, he could see the gears spinning and turning in her mind as she deliberated what she should do. She had to know that the situation was ridiculously, hopelessly skewed in the lord’s favor, but she also wouldn’t take the risk of putting someone in harm’s way.

Obi stared into her emerald eyes with all his strength. They’re not going to let me go, Miss. No matter what you do. Say no - it’ll buy you some more time -

“Fine.”

He wanted to sag in his bonds, but didn’t want to give the lord any satisfaction.

I’m so sorry, Miss. I’m going to make my escape, and then I’m getting you out of here.

…

Brushing her hands down the ridiculously puffy, ornate skirt of her dress, Shirayuki looked at herself in the mirror and made a moue of distaste. She looked farcical, like a tiny red cherry amidst clouds of filmy fabric.

Surprisingly, forcing a woman who did not want to get married into a wedding dress did not instantly make her change her mind. Shirayuki glared at the veil anchored to her head as though it had personally offended her, before forcing herself to focus on the real mission at hand. Rescuing Obi.

She hadn’t seen him since the ultimatum she’d been given a week ago, but she knew he was still alive. She had insisted on getting daily messages from him to ensure that the lord kept his end of their bargain, and his dry comments that hid bits of crucial information about the situation as it stood brought her the only joy she’d felt the whole week.

He’d smeared a little dirt on the second letter, which smelled faintly of iron and rock and staleness - so he was probably in the dungeons. He’d taken to nicknaming the guards who stayed with him, so she was pretty sure he was only being flanked by two guards at a time. With only two, they clearly didn’t know who they were dealing with, but she wasn’t complaining.

Sitting down at her vanity, Shirayuki began to systematically tear her veil into strips and wad them up. There are three floors to this castle, she reminded herself, and then the dungeon. I’m in the tower, because of course I am. So that’s four floors to go down. He’s sent most of the guards away to drum up local attendance for the wedding, so there’s less of them to deal with.

She started tearing the surplus skirts from the dress, and her hands fell into an almost soothing rhythm as she strengthened her resolve. Tear, wad, tie, set aside. When the bundles of cloth on her vanity were stacked nearly to the top of the mirror, she opened the vanity drawer where she had stored the mixture of opium, lard and disinfectant she had been using on the lordling, now laced with a healthy dose of arsenic. Smearing the mixture on the bolts of cloth, she grinned to herself. Really, they should have confiscated her herbs and ointments - but they had been systematically underestimating her from the start. They had thought that she would sit like a pretty doll until the lordling came to retrieve his new ornament. They thought that they could restrain Obi with just a handful of thugs. They thought that she would just cry pitifully in her hands, having been thwarted by masculine minds.

It would be almost a pleasure to show them how wrong they were.

Footsteps clicked just outside her door as she stuffed the last of her bundles into her bag. Tying the bag securely around her waist, she crept behind her closet door and listened.

The footsteps were coming closer.

“Ow!” She cried piteously. “My ankle!”

There was an oath and a frantic jangling of keys. A guard flung himself into the room, his eyes scanning the area desperately for his charge that had somehow gotten injured under his watch.

Shirayuki allowed herself a smirk as he walked past the closet, looking for her.

And then she pounced.

…

The guard outside the dungeon fell to his knees with a muffled sound, snoring before he even hit the ground. Shirayuki took a quick glimpse of the rag in her hand. Finally, she’d hit upon the perfect amount of sedative; some of the knights she’d left snoozing behind her had taken more than one bundle to subdue them, and others she’d had to check to make sure she hadn’t sent them into more permanent sleep.

She wondered if the lordling would appreciate the hallways full of unconscious knights she’d left as a wedding present. She doubted it.

Creeping through the dungeon, she could see light spilling through the bars of only one cell. She closed her hands around the next bundle of cloth and moved to peek through the bars.

Only Obi could look so unperturbed while being held by two guards who were clearly out for blood. Heaven only knew what he’d been saying to them for the past week. Only his eyes, which were clearly calculating, assessing, and planning, gave him away, and only because she knew him so well. She suspected that his guards were too oblivious to notice anything.

She bit the corner of her mouth in thought. The guard on the left appeared to be favoring his ankle. If she threw herself into his knee, that would probably be enough to give Obi the opportunity he -

“Hello, my lady.”

Her blood ran cold at the croak in her ear, and then her arms were forced behind her. She cursed herself.

Missed one.

“Looks like you have a visitor,” her captor creaked as he forced her into the cell.

For the first time, Obi looked genuinely worried and Shirayuki flinched. Guilt flooded her for a moment, along with an apology to Obi for getting them into this mess when they should have left the moment he started having suspicions. But she shoved it down for later, and began struggling in her captor’s hold.

Obi followed suit, straining to get to her, his face shuttering into a professional blankness as he pulled at his guards’ grip.

This is our only chance, she reminded herself as she twisted desperately. They’re not going to fall for it a second ti-

She heard a muffled curse behind her before a dull pain exploded at the back of her head, and then there was no more.

…

Being a damsel in distress was overrated, Obi had decided. His minders were boring, although fun to mess with, and the accommodations left something to be desired. With nothing else to do, he amused himself over the week by setting personal challenges on how quickly he could irritate Dumb and Dumber into leaving him alone. Yesterday, he’d reached a personal best of five minutes.

Besides that he’d just been busy observing. The guard shift changes stayed consistent and predictable - if he’d been sincere during any of their security meetings, he would have raised the issue a long time ago. Now, however, it worked to his advantage.

There were less guards today. Thanks to his usual shadows being gossipy old hens, he knew that the guard was lighter today since they were sending men out to draw people in for the wedding. It figured that the lordling would have so few friends that they’d have to drum up stand-ins; he wondered if news had already got back to Wistal. Elder Highness did have ears everywhere.

Which explains why they’re rushing this so much. Lord has some sense, I guess.

He craned to gauge the brightness of the light streaming through the cracks of the dungeon wall. Judging by the light, it would be about an hour before the next shift change, and the one guard with the limited vision in his left eye would be in charge. It would be the best time to get away. Then there would be only four floors between he and his Miss - they could probably get out through the window before the others figured out what happened, giving them enough of a head start to -

Two sets of hands grabbed him by the arms and hoisted him up, jarring his old shoulder injury. “Really, boys,” he dryly remarked, “if you wanted to hold me, all you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up.” Dumb growled. “You talk too much.”

“Such sweet words,” Obi sighed, batting his eyes and placing a hand to his heart, the manacles dully clanking, “you’ll turn a man’s head talking like that.”

Dumber made a disgusted noise at the back of his throat. “Just come on.”

“Where?”

“Going to give your lady some encouragement,” he grunted. “She’s shown signs of not following through with the deal.”

Obi’s mind clicked into higher gear. “And you’ll carry me to my lady? How gallant of you!”

Dumber managed to look even more disgusted. “Carry you?”

“You think I can walk up there like this?” Obi tilted his head towards his bound legs. “I’m good, but not that good. I’m flattered that you think so, though.”

In all actuality, he was that good, but they didn’t need to know that.

Dumb looked skeptical, but Dumber shrugged. “Fine. Don’t try anything funny.”

“Perish the thought.”

He would probably be laughing, but he could pretty much guarantee that they wouldn’t find it funny.

The key clicked, and he could feel the manacles falling from his ankles. There. So far, so good-

All three men turned towards where there was a scuffling outside the cell door. Obi frowned, that didn’t sound like the next guard. It sounded like -

“Looks like you have a visitor,” a new guard croaked, and Obi’s blood froze as the familiar form of his Miss was manhandled into the cell.

He let his blood run hot for a moment in rage for her before rapidly discarding Escape Plans A and B from his mind. At this rate, they would have probably have to run with Plan F, which hadn’t been nearly as planned out as he would have liked.

Miss looked apologetic for a moment and then began struggling in earnest to get loose. Her captor looked dumbfounded at the fight in his spitfire Miss, and Obi let his pride in her spur his own attempts to break free, coiling like a spring, looking for weaknesses in their grip, planning to use his leg to sweep Dumb off his feet…

But then Miss’ guard made a mistake. He grunted out a curse in exasperation, reached for his sheathed sword, and slammed the hilt into the back of her head.

She slumped to the ground in a heap, and Obi saw red.

“Should you have done that?” One of the idiots holding him said, he didn’t care which. “Lord Shikaku will be mad at you for damaging-”

Through the wind rushing through Obi’s ears, he could just make out the bastard scoffing, “Her hair will cover it, he won’t even see the bruise.”

He hadn’t thought he could have been more angry. He was wrong.

The redness engulfed everything, and he feel more than hear his own bellow of rage as he dropped all the skills he’d honed over the years in favor of pure feral, animalistic fury.

He slammed Dumber into the ground, elbowing him sharply in the nose and feeling the break with satisfaction. Dumb squawked as Obi’s legs swept underneath him, only going silent when Obi shoved him into the wall. Free of two problems, Obi turned with fire in his eyes to the worst offender, who looked like he was finally realizing what hell he had just brought upon himself.

Obi leapt onto him like a panther, not feeling or caring how his prey clawed and scraped at his arms and side. He brought his arms which they had so thoughtfully left shackled around the scum’s neck, twisted the chain around his throat, and pulled. It was gratifying to see the redness darken to purple as the bastard went slack beneath him. He almost wanted to see if it was more gratifying to see him to go pale and lifeless, but stopped himself. He had more important things to worry about.

He pulled the discarded sword from the scabbard and slammed the links of his shackles against the blade until they gave way. Placing two fingers that trembled traitorously against her throat, he nearly cried when he felt her pulse. He scooped her up, held her close, and allowed himself a moment of weakness to feel her breath against his neck. Then he shifted her over his shoulders and began running.

He would have to applaud his Miss later for how efficiently she’d disposed of all the knights, he thought as he ran past the huddled bodies lining the corridor. None showed signs of waking yet, which meant he didn’t have to waste time being sneaky and lurking in the shadows.

They remained uninterrupted all the way through the castle and even out to the stables. The stablemaster was snoring heavily, his customary bottle of liquor empty beside him, and Obi deliberated whether or not he should take his horse. It would make the trek faster, but there was a limit to how quiet one could be when a horse’s hooves were involved.

It’s a shame, he thought as he watched his horse ride off, spurred by the sharp slap he’d given its flank, I really liked that horse. But it was too recognizable to ride, and would serve them better as a wild goose chase rather than as a means of escape.

He shifted her into a more secure place on his back and started his trek into the forest.

…

Obi made his way steadily but slowly through the trees, passing every now and then to listen if anyone had followed them. He hadn’t lost the ability to step lightly through the underbrush, for all that he felt that the good life at the castle had softened him. Even so, he didn’t want to take any more chances than they already had.

He also stopped from time to time to lie Miss down and check on her, to scavenge sustenance that they would eventually need from the trees, or to unearth bundles of supplies he’d paused to squirrel away as they had traveled to the lord’s estate the month before. The memory of the streets and the constant apprehension of when an open handshake could become a knife in the back had never left him, and so he liked to be ready, even now.

Miss had sometimes looked somber when he’d done this, but she never questioned it.

The sunlight streaming through the branches faded steadily as he trekked along, finally succumbing to the silver glow of the moon above. He settled somewhat, feeling more attuned to the night than the day, and he let his muscles loosen and savored the warmth soaking into his back from where his Miss was resting.

The moon was high above them when he felt her begin to stir. He stopped to place her against a tree, using her bag to pillow her head against the trunk.

“Obi?” She groaned, her hand reaching back to her bruise and wincing.

“Good to see you, Miss.”

“How long have I been out?”

Obi clicked his tongue in thought, leaning back on his haunches. “Ten, twelve hours. I wondered if you were ever going to wake up.”

He’d meant the tone to be teasing but he failed, given that her gaze went liquid and sad and soft. His heart throbbed in a way that was not helpful when he needed to remain focused.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, Miss?” Obi smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “It’s not your fault that others find you so irresistible. Or that they don’t know the meaning of no.”

His jaw twinged in pain, and he’d realized his teeth were clenched. It never ceased to incense him how people would treat his Miss - like she was a trinket or a doll that didn’t have any feelings or dreams or desires of her own. She was more than that, so much more, so much that it made him hurt with awe, and -

The adrenaline was definitely fading, along with his focus.

“No,” Miss breathed, her fingers tracing the bruising along his wrists. “I’m sorry I got caught - I was so sure I’d done everything I could to pick the best time, but -”

“You did good, Miss,” he hastened to assure her. “I was thinking along the same lines - you just got a few hours’ lead on me. Don’t think I didn’t see your handiwork on the way out.”

She blushed, and he grinned. “That was impressive, Miss. That last guy was a surprise we both didn’t see coming.” He took a deep breath. “It’s not that much further to the main road, Miss, but we’re about to lose night cover. I don’t think we’ve been followed, but there’s a chance they’ll pick up the search in the morning.”

A look of determination spread across Miss’ face and she stood up, wobbling a little on her feet before bracing herself on the trunk. “We should get going, then.”

Obi popped his shoulders before standing up too. “Follow me, Miss.”

…

The dull pounding at the back of her neck didn’t show signs of going away soon, but Shirayuki didn’t have time to dwell on it. As they walked, she grew accustomed to how her vision would somehow double, twin Obis nearly colliding in front of her, and how the ground would occasionally tilt beneath her. She could steady herself, most of the time, and when she couldn’t, Obi would press an arm against her waist until she was ready once more. He’d asked her once if he wanted him to carry her, and saw enough in her expression to not ask again.

They were passing into a clearing as the sun rose over the trees, the light striking the river in front of them and dazzling her eyes almost painfully. She squinted and shielded her eyes, and nearly bumped into Obi, who had stopped in his tracks, tilting his head and narrowing his gaze.

She was about to ask what was the matter when he let out a low string of curses.

Then she heard it too, the sound growing louder and clearer.

Dogs.

“Of course, he’d be the kind of lord who has hunting dogs,” Obi gritted before indulging in another low oath. “Come on, Miss,” he said grimly. “We have to go.”

He scooped her up and ran along the banks of the river, craning his head in search of something. Shirayuki looked from side to side, ignoring how it made her head spin.

“What are you looking for?”

“Waterfall,” he grunted, preoccupied. “It should be right about -” He stopped, a satisfied smirk creasing his face. “There.”

Shirayuki followed his gaze to see the waterfall in question, a few hundred yards away. She held tight to his neck as he sprinted, nimbly avoiding the muddy parts of the bank. Once he got to the base of the waterfall, he splashed them both through the spray, Shirayuki only just managing to bite her lip to keep from yelping in shock from the cold water.

“Sorry, Miss,” he apologized, “but the water-”

She nodded. Will keep the dogs from following our scent. She remembered as much from his lessons.

Obi began making his way up the damp, rocky incline, shielded from view by the torrential spray of the water. Shirayuki gently pushed at his chest. “Put me down.”

Obi frowned at her as he obliged. “What?”

“It’ll be easier for you to lead the way if you don’t have to worry about dropping me.”

“I always worry about you, Miss.”

And if that didn’t just do things to her heart that she wished she had the luxury to savor, but were too distracting at the moment. She placed her hand on his elbow. “I’m fine, lead the way.”

Obi’s shoulders tensed, then released, before he started his way up the glistening rock face. They climbed higher and higher, hands and feet seeking purchase on the damp stone. The ache at the back of her neck grew, augmented by the brightness of the sun on the water, and the relentless pounding of the falls as they met the river.

Obi glanced back at her, his expression at once relieved and sympathetic. He tapped her shoulder twice, and then pointed to a wide shelf of rock jutting further out from the cliff face, although it was still shielded by the waterfall. He guided her up to the shelf before helping her ease down into a seated position leaning against the stone.

She must have looked like she was about to say something, because he placed a finger on his lips before curving his hand around his ear. Shirayuki leaned forward a little, straining to hear. With effort, she could hear the yells of men spurring the dogs on, the dogs barking and baying, the sounds of riding crops striking horseflesh.

Leaning against the rocks, she shivered despite herself, and Obi knelt beside her, craning to listen even as he dropped an arm around her and rubbed her shoulder. Shirayuki curled into the warmth bracing her, and felt Obi’s breath hitch as he continued to stare out beyond the water.

After what felt like eons, the sounds of the hunt faded into nothing and left the two of them with just the sound of plummeting water and the thrum of Obi’s heart beneath her fingers. More eons passed before Obi finally relaxed, smoothly sliding from kneeling to sitting without letting go of her shoulders.

They sat there together for a long time, until the sky began to darken. Obi let out a deep breath and stood up. “Come on, Miss,” he beckoned. “I think they’ve given up for now. And it’s going to get cold soon. The sooner we get to the shelter of the trees, the better it will be for you.”

Shirayuki took the proffered hand and pulled herself up. The world spun for a moment, and she grinned to hide it. “Lead the way.”

Obi gave her a reassuring smile and turned to lead the way.

What happened next happened in a blur. She couldn’t tell if it was the dizziness, her muscles still unknotting from sitting for so long, the muddiness of her boots, or the slickness of the stone.

But suddenly she was slipping, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

“No!”

One moment she was canting to the side, too close to the rush of the water and the brink of oblivion. The next she felt a vice-like grip on both of her shoulders before she was flung bodily away from the edge, just missing the rock face. Gasping to regain her breath, she looked around. Obi was gone.

“Obi!” She barely managed to keep from running to look over the side of the ledge. There Obi was, holding onto the rocks that were slippery with water and blood from his scraped palms. She looked into his eyes and saw a resignation there that terrified her to her core.

She flung herself onto the floor and seized both his wrists. Obi tried to pull himself up, but the week of malnutrition and injuries was finally catching up with him, along with the fatigue and lack of sleep since their escape. His grip faltered.

Hers tightened.

Obi tried to push up with his feet but any rocks that could have helped were too far away. He looked up at her. “You have to let go!”

“No!” The fall was too far, the impact of the water could kill him.

“Miss! Now!”

She squeezed his wrists.

He exhaled. “Miss, I left a bag by those gnarled rocks, the ones that look like Lord Haruka on a bad day - so, everyday.”

Shirayuki giggled despite herself, a traitorous giggle that dissolved into a sob.

“The bag has strips of cloth in it. When it’s safe, go to the north,” he craned his neck to the side, “that way. The road should be about a half-mile away from here. Put a stake in the ground-”

“Obi!” He was talking like he was saying goodbye.

He continued over her. “Tie three strips around it, braid them. Then come back into the forest. Tie a strip to the second lowest branch of every third tree until you stop where you want to rest. The royal guard will know what to do, they should be passing by soon."

“Obi!”

“Don’t move until the ripples stop. The lord’s men should be far away now, but don’t take risks. At least no more than you’ve already taken.” He began twisting his wrists in her grip.

She held tighter. “You’re one to talk.”

Obi’s grin was barely visible through her tears. “They were all worth it, Miss.” The twisting intensified.

“Why?” She was crying in earnest now, her whole world narrowed to her white-knuckling grip and the man she was holding onto. “Why do you think it’s worth risking your life?”

“Because,” he swallowed hard, his face crumpling into a rawness she had never seen before, “I love you, Miss. I think I always have.”

Shirayuki pushed herself forward, grip resolute, and ignored the growing burn in her muscles. “You...love me?”

Obi sighed almost as if in relief, lassitude making his body limp in her grip. “More than life itself.”

Her heart was full of terror and exhilaration and anxiety and joy and a feeling like coming home. She craned her head towards his, feeling his gasps of air across her face as she moved closer.

She could feel his breath across her lips now. She leaned towards him.

And then he slipped through her fingers and was gone.

Despite every instinct screaming in protest, Shirayuki followed Obi’s instructions and waited for the ripples to stop. She probably wouldn’t have managed to do so if his body hadn’t resurfaced almost immediately after plunging beneath the water, his face mercifully turned upwards towards the sky. She clambered down the rocks until she couldn’t bear it any longer and dove into the water.

She swam quickly towards him, snagging his belt loops with her hands and pulling him along with her. Her muscles screamed for rest, but she ignored them as she inched the two of them closer to shore.

Eventually, her feet scraped against the riverbed, and she was able to stand up and drag him onto the muddy bank. She wanted nothing more than to flop down beside him and sleep for years, but she stooped over him to check his pulse.

No pulse. No breaths.

Shirayuki almost couldn’t breathe herself.

Mechanically, she started compressions, the rhythm even and deep and punctuated with the plea please let it not be too late please let it not be too late.

She gave two breaths, wondering how the lips that had breathed out such warmth could be so cold now.

Please don’t die, she begged as she pounded his chest. Not now. Not ever. Especially not before I can tell you-

“I love you too,” she grunted with desperation and exertion before leaning down for two more breaths.

She was halfway through the compressions when he jerked to the side, water pouring from his mouth before he started coughing himself hoarse.

“Miss?” He was looking at her in wonder.

“You’re alive.” It was simultaneously the most obvious and most wonderful thing she had ever said. She would have flung herself about him, but he was clearly struggling to breathe. She settled for simply holding him close but gently.

“Miss?” He whispered hoarsely.

“I’m here. We’re safe, for now.”

He coughed. “Ribbons?”

“In a moment.” She held him tighter.

“Miss.” He sounded exasperated and tired. “The royal guard can’t find you and get you to safety if they don’t know -”

“Is that any way to talk to the woman you love?”

It felt good to tease. His tanned skin blanched, then flushed with a fury, then blanched again. He looked puzzled.

“But...you need to be safe, Mi-”

She placed a finger to his lips. “I do have a name, you know.”

He looked even more confused. She took pity on him, it had been a rough day. “Is 'Miss' really the way you want to address the woman you love?” His expression became apologetic and alarmed, which would not do. She bent down and brushed a kiss to his brow. “The woman who loves you too?”

Obi’s body went even more lax, a whirlwind of emotions blurring through his unguarded gaze before resolving into something like wonder. He reached up a shaky hand to curve around her cheek, and she placed her hand over his, rejoicing in its warmth and the pulse beating steadily through his wrist.

“Shirayuki.” It was a whisper, a promise, a pledge. It was everything.

She kissed his forehead ahead, a longer, lingering kiss. He looked awed, although the mischief she loved to see started to creep into his gaze. “You missed.”

Brushing aside the damp hair dripping into his face, she grinned. “When you’ve caught your breath.”

“You always leave me,” he coughed, “breathless, Miss.”

She tapped his nose. “Obi.”

He smirked, eyes already drooping with fatigue. “Shirayuki.”

Shirayuki curled around him, supporting his head in her lap. “Later, Obi,” she promised. “We have all the time in the world.”

Stubborn man that he was, he looked as though he wanted to continue to playfully protest, even as sleep pulled relentlessly at him. She gave him an affectionate look. “I love you.”

He melted. “I love you, too.”

And then fell asleep.

Shirayuki remained curled around him until his snores became deep and even. She left him alone only long enough to retrieve the bag and to tie the ribbons as he had instructed. But then she returned to his side, cuddling him close through the night and the morning, and she didn’t let go even when the royal guard found them.

#obiyukimadness21 #obiyuki #ans #Roaring Rampage of Rescue #they save each other here #thanks for reading #i hope you enjoy!#Akagami no Shirayukihime

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