#snow covered tree dragon!

[hoard-of-dragons]

oilslick/umber/ice

[targaryen-dynasty]

SET ME ALIGHT AGAIN.

Cregan Stark x female!Targaryen!Reader (Part 2 here)

"It was on request of your younger brother's small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And now it's at his hands that the haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s giving back to you. And you let it flood you."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; p in v, oral (fem receiving), angst (?), breeding kink, size kink, size difference, romantic fucking in front of the fireplace, afab reader, post dance of the dragons

WORDS: 4.8 K

NOTES: I dedicate this to @sylasthegrim. You're not only one of the few people I really grew fond of in the short time we truly got to know each other, but since both our minds basically came down to the same idea, this is for you! Thanks for beta reading this. 💕

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

You’ve been in Winterfell for a moon’s turn by now, and have quickly noticed that the ancestral castle possesses a beauty and calmness the Red Keep can be jealous of. But even that isn’t enough to make you feel at home – as if you could ever call a place your home again. Not after you’ve witnessed almost everyone in your family, no matter whether you liked them or not, perish at the hands of each other. 

It was on request of your younger brother, now dubbed King Aegon the third, or rather of his small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And while you’re grateful for the chance to flee the one place that has caused you more hurt than good, riding in a carriage up to the far North like a commoner wasn’t exactly pleasant. 

But how else should you have gotten there when your precious mount died along its kind as the common people stormed the Dragonpit?

For the past month, you’ve very rarely seen the sun – or anyone else than your maids. 

Your days are spent in your chambers, not leaving the safety of the Guest House as you often try to find the sleep you can’t seem to get at night. And during the night, when the Hour of the Owl strikes and no light other than that of the moon reaches Winterfell, one often finds you wandering the quiet halls of the castle. Sometimes one even spots you outside in the Godswood, regardless of the low temperatures that make the three pools fed by an underground hot spring look even more inviting. 

But warmth and comfort are never what you’re after. 

You feel incredibly daring tonight, sitting beneath the ancient weirwood tree on one of its roots. Although there is a thick fur coat draped around your frame, the thin nightgown beneath does not allow you to be kept as warm as one usually desires, your bare feet hidden inside of the coat not a big help either. 

Tiptoeing barefoot through the snow was the hardest part, but it was worth it as it gave you exactly what your body longs for. 

You’re far too absorbed by the reflection of the moon dancing on the pool of black water beneath the tree, and the peaceful allure of the snow-covered night that you don’t notice you’re not alone anymore.  

“Princess?” a husky voice rings out from the shadows, one you’d even recognize in a room full of loud and drunken men. 

Almost as if he doesn’t want to startle you, the tall frame of the Lord of Winterfell approaches you without any sudden moves, becoming more visible with the moonlight shining down on him. “What are you doing out here this late?”

Only when he’s stopping not far away from you do you avert your eyes from him to the water again. “I could ask you the same, Lord Stark,” you reply softly. 

A chuckle rumbles in his chest at your remark, and you can’t help the tint of heat hearing it brings to your cheeks. “Indeed you could,” he says. “I have not slept well, and the night has a peaceful allure. But you should not be out in the open without any guards, especially not this late at night.”

You drag your index finger through the snow at your side, drawing a mindless pattern in the dark as you do not pay any mind to his words. “And why is that, Lord Stark?” you ask, a certain snarkiness to your tone. “There is nothing worse that could happen to me than what I have already endured.”

Cregan sighs, and even in the dim light you can make out that he’s scratching his stubble covered chin. “And yet, should something else happen to you, I would not like myself for neglecting you and not protecting you just as I have sworn to the king,” he explains. “Besides, there is a cold chill in the air that I can not believe you are not feeling right now.”

“Perhaps that is the answer you’ve been looking for, my lord,” you mumble. “Perhaps I came here to feel something.”

The Wolf of the North doesn’t immediately answer you. Instead, there lingers a pause between you. But it’s not uncomfortable or feels as though it doesn't pass, no, you find yourself to actually enjoy his company. 

His next words, however, even surprise you as you didn’t think he was capable of it. “Feeling the cold of the snow has its way to make one feel alive, that much is true,” he agrees, and then looks up to the dark sky. “You wish to feel something else than the pain of the absence of the people you’ve lost in this war, I understand… I think.”

His words make the feeling of emptiness, the hollowing ache of loss just worse, while at the same time, he seems to know the feeling of craving pain when you’re just so used to it. 

“This cold bite, the chill that lingers on the skin — no one should want to feel it, Princess. It makes even my bones shake, do you know that? Surely you must be shivering, and we should be getting you inside. I should be getting you inside.”

You know he‘s right. While his words are blunt in nature, they are very much that of truth. You shouldn’t be out here, nor should you want to be out here. There‘s nothing to enjoy about this cold chill and the snow, not when you‘re as sparsely dressed as you are. You‘re not yet used to the chill of Winterfell, of the North. 

Cregan offers you his hand, but you‘re still hesitant to take it. Albeit you reach out, your significantly smaller hand hovers over his, not yet grabbing it. “You‘re not exactly wearing proper attire to be out in this wretched cold for very long,“ he remarks. “Let me help you get up, your feet must be in agony by now.“

“And what if I don‘t want to?“

“Then I will still get you up.“ There is a tinge of amusement in his voice now, seeing this little bit of rebelliousness from you, your strength of mind. Even if he doesn’t exactly approve of it. “I shall simply pick you up myself, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you inside to your chambers, even though I‘d get you quite angry and don‘t imagine you want me to do just that.“

You don’t believe he actually has the gumption to do something like that at first, although you know he’s able to muster a decent amount of strength that would easily allow him to lift you up. But then, you wonder if he would truly do it if challenged. “Try that, if you dare, my lord.”

He lets out a snort of amusement, enjoying the teasing that slowly shapes between you two. It still is a challenge, and as a man of his station, he could never let words like this go unspoken. “Oh, I dare, Princess.” 

Putting forth his arm, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and easily pulls you forwards onto your feet without applying too much pressure. You’re certainly caught off guard by his actual willingness to lift you up, and a squeal escapes your lips before you’re tossed on his strong shoulder as if you are some silly, helpless girl. 

Cregan carries you through the Godswood and towards the Guest House, though you don’t resist too much as you’re hanging there over his shoulder – a part of you is grateful you don’t have to walk through the snow with your bare feet once more. 

“Lord Stark, put me down at once!” you demand with a little twinge of laughter in your voice. You feel so light, much lighter than you imagine he’s used to lifting up, almost as if it’s taken all of the pressure off your shoulders. 

But when there doesn’t come an answer from him, you grow slightly frustrated. “What if anyone sees, you madman!” you remark, embarrassment warming your cheeks. 

“Madman? That’s rich coming from the woman who was willing to freeze to death in the snow,” he says jokingly, approaching the large doors. “Who do you think could see us at this hour, princess? The rats? And what if they do? What if someone sees me carrying the poor princess, who had the gall to get out of her bed after midnight and wander the Godswood while in her nightgown?” Although there is amusement in his voice, you also notice the faintest hint of flirtation laced within. “Will they judge me for carrying her, or would they judge her for her imprudent midnight excursion?”

You stay silent thrown over his shoulder, not sure how to reply. You thought you had a good comeback, but it seems Cregan is one step ahead of you. The flirtatious teasing you’ve heard catches you off guard, not expecting to hear it from him at all. It makes your cheeks flush with even more embarrassment when you notice that he’s actually right. But you don’t want to admit the truth in what he’s said. 

“You mock me, but you shall see there would be much scandal if someone were to see this,” you retort, trying to keep calm as you’re now a little bit flustered by these sudden developments. “Besides,” you say, trying to remain unbothered and nonchalant, “who says I won’t tell a tale of you being the imprudent one?”

“Ah, you little rascal,” Cregan replies with a chuckle, giving your thigh a tight squeeze. “I see you’d find a way to turn the tides and have it end up with me being the bad guy, taking my chances on a vulnerable woman in the guise of protecting her.”

You’re clearly enjoying the teasing a tad too much, enjoying these quick and witty back-to-backs with him, taking your mind off of your grief. Drawing in a deep breath, you hold onto Cregan’s thick coat. “What would you have been protecting me from, Lord Stark?” you ask with feigned innocence. “Were the trees too menacing that you just had to sweep me off my feet to carry me away from their clutches?”

“No, I am afraid it was not the trees that had me worried, Princess,” Cregan replies as he brings you further into the Guest House, easily opening the door to the sleeping quarters with one hand. “The cold was the greater menace, and it had you in its grasp.”

Your words die in your throat when he puts you down on your bed, the soft furs very welcomed beneath your cold feet. You look up at him with wide eyes and a heaving chest as he towers over your significantly smaller frame, and you wait for him to make the next move. 

There’s a moment of silence between you, obviously he’s considering his next words. 

And boy do they disappoint you. “I shall make sure a fire is lit for you to warm yourself, princess,” he says, turning around to approach the hearth on the other side of the room. 

Cregan crouches down to build and start a small fire in the hearth that should last the night, not wanting you to stay too cold. But you wouldn’t be a thoroughbred dragon if it didn’t mean for you to take any risks. And so you get onto your cold feet, the coat still draped around your shoulders sliding down to the ground. 

Feeling a bit too exposed too quickly, you grab one of the thick fur blankets laying on your bed instead and wrap it around your frame, before you tiptoe towards the large wolf kneeling in front of the fireplace. 

“I have something different in mind,” you speak softly. Cregan, startled by your words and your sudden approach, turns around and faces you as he rises to his feet. You reach and bury your hands in the collar of his coat, the blanket falling to the ground in the process, and when you use your grip to pull him close, you find that he does not shy away in the least – if anything, he follows the tug to connect your lips in a heated kiss. 

He brings his large hands to your waist with ease, and presses his body against yours. The wolf feels like he’s drowning in you, in your lips, your warmth, your presence and scent. Wanting to lose himself in the moment, in you, his hands wander lower to your hips. 

“I did not expect you to do this tonight,” he breathes against your lips, breaking the silence. 

“And I did not expect some things from you tonight either,” you reply, breathlessly, voice breaking with every breath you take. “Is that a bad thing?”

His voice is low and smooth as he speaks, shaking his head. “Quite the contrary.” There is a flirtatious smile on his lips, and a playfulness you haven’t seen before in his gray eyes. It’s as if that small spark between you has quickly evolved into an inferno that now burns bright in the both of you. 

It’s a fierce and burning kiss when your lips connect once more, fueled by the fires coursing through your veins. You release a soft whimper with his large paws trailing over your sides, feeling the fabric of your nightgown. 

“If we continue this, I won’t be able to stop myself,” he rasps.

You tilt your head back to look at him, a cheeky grin on your lips. “Perhaps I do not want you to.”

Cregan’s eyebrows raise at your reply, and you feel his hands tighten around your waist once more. He can’t help but feel a jolt of arousal run down his back, which prompts him to release a low chuckle. “Well, if you wish for it that much…” he whispers in response, before pulling you back toward him, kissing you passionately. 

A breathless chuckle slips past your lips as you pull back from him, licking your kiss swollen lips. “But there are a few things we need to get you out of first,” you tease, tugging at the thick, furry coat that’s draped over his broad shoulders. 

“Are you this eager to have your hands over all of me?” he replies with a flirtatious smirk, but still unclips the coat and lets it fall to the ground. He doesn’t mind you seeming quite intent to get him out of his armor, allowing you to fumble with the clasps and buckles, and eventually helps you remove the heavy bits until he’s left wearing nothing but his breeches. But even those are quickly unlaced by you, left to be a puddle around his feet. 

“My my, do you not feel a little too hot still, Lord Stark?” you tease, letting your fingers wander over his exposed stomach. You can’t help but feel warmth creeping onto your cheeks as you see him in such little clothing, so exposed. He’s a muscular man, tall and large, and the sight of his bare skin with the dark of hair on his chest and a trail of it running below his undergarments is a welcoming one. 

Through the linen you see that he’s already hard and begging, waiting for you to take things further. Truly a shame you seem to relish in the teasing. 

Goosebumps prickle on his skin in the wake of your finger, making you smile. You drag your finger along the waistband of his undergarments, hooking it beneath to tug on it. He knows what you desire, and he’s not ashamed to give you just that. “I do not see you so eager to remove your own clothes, Princess,” he teases, undoing the laces in the front for his undergarments to join his breeches. “It is hardly fair you want to see all of me, yet I am not allowed to do the same.”

You take in a sharp breath at the sight of his hard cock, standing to full attention. It has you licking your lips. Batting your eyelashes at him, you’re quick to pull your nightgown over your head, a smirk on your lips. A flimsy piece of linen conceals what lies between your legs, but it’s still enough for him to all but devour your almost bare frame. 

“There,” you whisper, “now we are on equal grounds.”

Cregan takes a moment to look over you, licking his lips at the sight of your breasts fully exposed mto him. He knows you’re no maiden who’s completely untouched, you wouldn’t be as confident if you were, but it doesn’t stop him from appreciating the sight in front of him. 

“Equal grounds, truly?” he asks you, taking a step toward you. One arm snakes around your waist, pulling you against him, as his other hand fists the linen of your smallclothes. “I think you still have an advantage over me, Princess. Because I have yet to see what lies beneath your undergarments.”

Your palms rest flatly against his chest, and you press a chaste kiss to his skin. “I will not stop you, Lord Stark,” you whisper, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. 

“Then let’s make these ‘equal grounds’ a little bit more equal, hm?” Cregan whispers as well. He sinks to his knees with his mouth trailing a path down your body, licking and kissing over your skin until he reaches your navel. His large hands trail over your sides and thighs on his way down, the movement and sight making your breath hitch in your throat. 

A shudder ripples through your body as he tugs your smallclothes down your legs, and while you watch him with your hands buried in his dark curls, his eyes are all but focused on what’s between your legs. 

He drapes one of your legs over his broad shoulder, his dark blown eyes darting up to meet yours, and before you can make any teasing remark, his mouth is on you. A gasp catches in your throat. “Cregan, please,” you whimper, forgetting all courtesies the moment his tongue drags through your slit. There’s no softness, no gentleness in the way he all but devours your cunt, the previous teasing having made his patience run thin. 

Your head tips back in pleasure as his tongue alternates between sliding into you and swirling around your pearl, noticing both options have you grind your hips against his face. The tip of his nose rubs so perfectly against your pearl when his mouth pays attention to your entrance, and Cregan’s fingers dig into your flesh with your body tensing up already, keeping you steady. 

The Wolf of the North growls against your cunt as if he’s truly turned into one, devouring you with all he’s got, the sheer pleasure brought by his tongue and lips taking over you. 

As you look down at him again, you find him already staring up at you, watching you carefully as you slowly but surely unravel on his tongue. It’s intense, but you’re captivated enough not to break eye contact. 

“Gods, yes, I–” you whimper, and fall apart all over his tongue with a shudder. If it wasn’t for Cregan’s paws on your body, you would have lost balance by now, especially with the way he seemed to work his tongue in and out of you faster just in rhythm to his nose rubbing your pearl. 

He pulls away from you slowly as your peak subsides, and with his beard and lips glistening with the remnants of your arousal, how could you not pounce on him right then and there?

He supports his body with one arm placed on the ground and stretches his legs as you push yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his strong neck. The taste of yourself on his tongue makes you moan against his lips before you deepen the kiss. 

Cregan’s hard cock is nestled between your bodies, and you can’t resist wrapping your hand around it, stroking him once, twice, before you shift your hips and slowly sink down on him. 

Muscular arms completely wrap around your waist, making you very well aware of the size difference between the two of you. You’re significantly smaller than him, and relish in the feeling of being safe and protected with him around. You two haven’t been too close upon your arrival in the North, but it seems that there has been a hidden attraction lingering for quite some time. 

You know your hips would sooner or later become sore from pumping him with your core, hence you stick to rocking your hips back and forth with his cock stuffed deep inside you. It’s intimate and slow, but with the coarse hairs around the base of his cock dragging over your pearl with each swivel of your hips, you’re still racing for completion. 

While he mouths along your jaw and the curve of your throat, one of his hands comes up to cup your breast. Rolling the perky bud between his index finger and thumb, the slight sting works wonders to amplify the pleasure coursing through your veins. 

“By the Seven,” you whimper, grinding your hips against him with more determination. 

There comes a sharp hiss in return from him, barely audible between the open mouthed kisses he presses to your collar bones. You’re clawing at his shoulders and neck by now, scratching it despite the sensuality of your movements, and it feels as though you’re even drawing blood. But he doesn’t care about that – he rather enjoys having a woman that doesn’t hold back. 

Trailing his lips up to your throat, he nudges your chin with his nose, prompting you to tip your head back. “It’s not them you need to pray to right now, Princess,” Cregan rasps, a clear strain to his voice. “But perhaps I should take that as a compliment, hm?”

His words cause you to chuckle, and you’re grateful that he’s quickly distracted by kissing your throat again, because otherwise he might have noticed the heat his words bring to your cheeks. “If that is…” you trail off panting, burying your hand in his curls to tug his head back, forcing him to look up at you. The sight of his dark blown eyes hungrily gazing at you sends a shiver down your spine. You feel desired. “If that is a compliment, then I shall have to say it much more often.”

You’re not sure if it’s the fact you state wanting to compliment him more often, or if he’s just not used to having an appreciative lover in general, but your words seem to flip a switch inside of him. You quickly find yourself lowered on the fur blankets, warming your back while the flames heat up your skin and Cregan your blood. 

Nestled between your legs, he’s growing more determined now, the sensual rocking of your hips clearly not enough for him, but you don’t mind it. As much as you enjoy being in control, setting the tone, you also revel in following the lead. 

He’s propped up on one elbow, supporting himself as he thrusts into you, rolling his hips that make his cock drag so expertly against the sweet spot inside of you. 

With one hand, you hold onto his broad shoulder, digging your nails into his skin, while the other gropes at his chest, teasing his bud just like he’s done with yours before. The feeling of his coarse hairs beneath your fingers feels somewhat strange at first, for Aemond hasn’t had as much chest hair as Cregan does, but it’s also comforting. 

The familiar coil in the pit of your belly tightens slowly with his hips snapping into yours over and over again, split open by his hard cock.  

“Will you fill me up, my lord?” you moan breathily, arching your back with your breasts pressing against his sturdy frame. 

Cregan releases a choked groan at the question, and for a moment you can feel his hips stutter. You briefly wonder if you’ve pushed your luck too far, especially with him not replying immediately, until his raspy voice cuts through the heavy pants and moans. 

“Only if you let me take you to wife, Princess.” 

You inevitably clench down around him as a small, hiccuped gasp catches in your throat, resulting in Cregan drawing in a sharp breath. The haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s now giving back to you. And you let it flood you. 

Your hand comes from his chest to his biceps, holding onto it as you gather your thoughts. His hips haven’t slowed down one bit, and he’s truly expecting you to answer as if he wasn’t repeatedly impaling you on his cock right now. 

Staring up at him with wide eyes, your voice isn’t any louder than a whisper. “It would be foolish of me to turn this offer down,” you reply.

An impish smirk dances along Cregan’s features. “Is that meant to be a yes?”

“Y-Yes, it is, “ you whimper beneath him, arching your back once more. 

The warmth of his body, his weight and scent cloud your every being, and his thrusts are determined and harsh enough to render you speechless, your mind and body completely claimed by him. 

His hand snakes between your bodies, aiming for your sensitive pearl. Though the coarse hair around his cock has granted you at least a bit of friction, it’s not enough to bring you to your peak. His thumb circles over the little bud, fully coated with your arousal, and the thread in your belly is close to snapping. 

“Then I just might,” he grunts in return. 

Your body jerks at the sudden touch, but his muscular frame between your legs is enough to keep you pinned to the ground. “I need you… Cregan,” you whimper, bringing a hand behind his head to pull him down for a heated kiss. Your lips hardly part to release whimpers and moans, swallowing each other’s sounds of pleasure without any shame. “Let me give you a spare.”

It appears that your words give him a new-found vigor that leaves you gasping, the pace of his hips increasing. As you start to roll your hips against his thumb, you not only create some friction that feeds your pleasure but his as well. It’s not long after that your peak washes over you with a soft gasp, walls clenching around him like a vice. 

With your small frame trembling between his strong arms, Cregan releases a strained grunt, his own peak being milked out of him by your cunt fluttering around his cock. He keeps on dragging his thumb over your sensitive pearl, prolonging your peak and the pleasure that comes with it.

You stare up at him with wide eyes as you’re milking him for every drop, because there’s something so vulnerable in this wolf of a man, towering over you with his skin glistening with sweat, so desperate to fill you with his seed and breed you. 

The last jolts of his peak force him to languidly rut his hips into yours, desperately chasing the feeling of bliss that courses through your veins. His chest heaves with every heavy breath he takes, and the dark curls are damp and fall into his face. 

Only as Cregan is certain there’s not one drop of his seed left inside of him does he slowly stop his ministrations, and the hand that has toyed with your bud seizes your hips, stilling them.

His erratic breaths fans over your sweaty skin with his lips pressing to your temple. The feeling of being whole with him doesn’t leave you, not when his weight pins you down and keeps you grounded, easing your tumbled mind.  

“I shall welcome the arrival of any child you bear me,” Cregan says, inevitably breaking the silence. 

A smile spreads across your lips as you wrap your legs around his hips, and your arms around his neck. “Be careful what you wish for. My children will certainly be just as stubborn as me.”

His heart is practically pounding against his ribs, and he can feel himself on the verge of being lost by your touch alone again. You make him go wild and feral, your bold and flirtatious nature bringing out another side to him that’s completely unexpected. And yet it feels so right.  

The teasing banter brings a smile to his lips and a light to his gray eyes, your wit and humor shining through. “Let them be stubborn, then,” he chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “They only need to be half as feisty as you, and I shall be the happiest man in Winterfell.”

[chaotic-minds-think-alike]

Finally finishing all these guys we’ve got charts and headcanons! (Long post)

(Height)

(Wingspan)

(Body length & basic shapes I used) (it might be odd but ignore any detail on the back, the shapes are for general body shape)

Headcanons:

Seawings: - Colors range from red and purple to yellow - Aquatic is based off areas of bioluminescence rather than singular scales (because no one wants to draw all of those) - Although they average small compared to the other tribes, gigantism is more common - Wing bioluminescence gene is always present but for some doesn't show, thus aquatic doesn't utilize the wings

Rainwings: - Can change the texture of their scales alongside color - Weakest bite due to their fangs, probably why they're vegetarian - Mimic interesting behaviors - Have forked tongues

Mudwings: - Colors range from olive green to purple-ish red - Very resilient - Able to breathe fire regardless of body temperature, the heat of the flame depends on body temp - Their horns constantly grow and sometimes have to be cut due to dangerous growing patterns - Love gnawing on things, tough foods like jerky is popular - The horn covers of fallen siblings are harvested and turned into instruments to remember them by

Leafwings: - Colors range from gold to teal (and pink to olive green during cold seasons) - Can appear to have false eyes - Bug-like just like the other Pantalan residents (because they're just some weird outlier like what is going on here) - Leafspeak doesn't actually allow them to hear voices from plants but rather increase the sensitivity of their antennae which pick up on the changes in plants - In colder seasons, regions that have deciduous trees influence leafwings in that their scales change into warm tones similar to fallen leaves for camouflage but this also negatively impacts one's leafspeak ability; this doesn't apply to evergreen leafwings however

Hivewings: - Colors range from hot pink to olive green - Can appear to have false eyes - Have elbowed antennae just like their "cousins", Hymenoptera (wasps, bees, ants) - Tend to disregard personal space/get close out of habit, being close means better temp regulation and better communication - All hivewings have stingers, wrist stingers, and a venomous bite but it largely depends on preference of which they choose and like muscles, they can be exercised to become deadly weapons - They're not capable of "emitting a horrible stench"

Icewings: - Colors range from white to pale indigo - Melanism is still very rare but more likely in icewings - Can be iridescent in any color, especially visible in lighter scaled individuals - The scales on their face is very fine and is flushed with blood which darkens the area and allows them to see in the snow by absorbing light, otherwise the glare from the sun reflecting off would be a hinderance - Their wings are thin and thus have visible veins most of the time - Idk how to describe their scales other than its kinda like basalt formations - From the side they appear large but are actually thin and flexible - They can freeze to death if they've gone without cold for a long time and then reintroduced too quickly - In hybridization, they have dominant genes, partially because the animus gene - The extra mane of horns can appear randomly on the body in singular spikes, they also make a clink sound when they collide as if they're made of ice, making a pretty scary rattle when disturbed

Nightwings: - Colors range from orange to purple - Albinism is still very rare but more likely in nightwings - Dwarfism is more common - Teardrop scales are always present, highlighted when the dragon has powers regardless of type - Pitbull ready to bite kids - They CAN hang upside down as the books suggest but not for long - By taking dust baths, they dull their scales to reflect less light and blend in better in the dark - Have white fire but cant breathe for long due to how hot it is (this is mainly to add onto the mysterious factor of em and I always liked the idea) - Due to eye sensitivity, they hate sudden bright lights and will close their eyes as they breathe fire

Silkwings: - Can have black or dark accents but never as a whole body color unless they've hybridized - Wing shapes vary widely - Can appear to have false eyes - Flamesilk is rarer than one might think - Very flexible and have strong tails used as a sort of 5th limb in climbing - Albino or melanistic dragons still keep their iridescence - Silk is emitted through a spinneret on the chin rather than the wrists - Prefer to travel in pairs (instinct)

Sandwings: - Colors range from red to olive green - Dark patters often mimic a snake's - Horse-like in complexion - Alongside their snake-like appearance, they have pit organs - Tend to move like birds - Poor eyesight but good hearing - Their horns angle upwards sort of like a bull

Skywings: - Colors range from red to yellow (and green because skywings are meant to be your typical fire breathing dragon which is most often depicted to be red but can also be green) - Tend to move like birds - Weaker than they appear - Green skywings are incapable of being or having flamescales - Their horns constantly grow and have to be filed down - A flamescale cant melt rock or metal by touch alone, only via fire is it possible - It's not that they don't want flamescales that they kill them, it's more of a mercy killing because of how lonely their life can be

[myladysapphire]

The Dragon and the Wolf (I)

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 2,305

CW: angst? depression, religious imagery, not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | prologue | next part

disclamer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my Original characters

Winterfell was a truly beautiful place, it spanned acres of land, and at its centre stood the gods woods. The gods woods were truly the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. You were lucky that your rooms, in a tower touching the clouds, faced out onto the woods. Allowing the view to be one you woke up to day and night.

Though it was the only view you saw, as you rarely left your rooms, rarely ate, and said even fewer words and grew a cold exterior.

You at first were visited often by both Creagan and Sara. Though the visits and constant nickering had caused an outburst from you, anger you had never once felt or shown spilling through. You had demanded space. And Cregan had listened, Sara had not.

Sara tried everything in you to leave your room, but her attempts feel on deaf ears

Until today.

You often stood watching out of your window, though it had the spectacular view of looking out onto the gods woods, you could rarely see anyone between the endless trees.

That was until you saw him.

He stood kneeled before the heart tree, deep in thought and prayer. He seemed so peaceful, as if the woods were the one place he could find the peace and quiet he deserved.

A smile graced your face as a memory brushed your mind.

You had been at Winterfell less than a week before you had the chance to see the gods’ woods. Cregan had taken you there himself, he seemed like an egar puppy when you had asked to see it, standing up from his seat and instantly taking your hand, nearly running down the halls as you made your way to the entrance.

A calming breeze had hit your face as you entered the woods, the feeling of the hot springs between your feet, instantly warming your whole body. The woods were covered in a soft layer of snow, the floor almost entirely untouched as it seemed the only footsteps were that of your own and Cregan’s.

You walked for a time, walking through thick layers of untouched trees, before you finally reached the centre, and the heart tree stood in all its glory.

With red trees and white bark, it allowed the faces carved so naturally in it to appear so clearly, they seemed to watch your every move, and as Cregan knelt before the trees, you swear you saw there faces move and there mouths moving to answer whatever prays Cregan was saying.

It was a funny feeling, never before had you felt the presence of the gods, never in the sept or before a septon. But here, in a natural place, land untouched and no alters erected to honour said gods, you felt them. A calming presence but also the fear of complete superiority over you. They seemed to welcome you, enough so that you yourself moved forward and knelt before the tree. You did not pray as you felt no need to, and the gods did not demand it of you, they simply welcomed you and made you feel there warmth. You closed your eyes beside Cregan, basking in there presence, and when you opened your eyes, you came face to face with a smiling Cregan.

“It is beautiful is it not?” he asked

“Spectacular” you replied, “ I have never felt or seen anything like this…the gods woods at the red keep is a mockery to this”

He smiled softly “it is an experience that is hard to explain, is it not?”

You nodded, moving to stand, “do you spend much time here?”

“as much time as I can with my duties”

You nodded, “a shame, I feel as if I never want to leave”

He laughed softly “then perhaps you shouldn’t”

Looking back on it apart of you is glad the rest of your life will be spent here, with the gods woods as you view, and had the circumstances been better you were sure you would love Cregan by now, be happily married even.

Instead you haunted the halls, depressed and yet to marry. Speaking little to no words, eating little, and spending your days writing endless letters to your only surviving brother Aegon, and you sisters Baela and Rhaena. You missed them so dearly and yet you could not bare the thought of seeing them.

It had been months, they had moved on, there letters expressing happy lives, contenting in the life they now had. And you, you had simply stopped time and lived in and endless loop.

You dressed quickly and stormed out of your rooms. You didn’t know where you were going, but it seemed your feet had made up their mind as before you knew it you were striding into the gods woods, startling Cregan from his thoughts.

He said you name Softley, moving to stand “you’re here?” he asked in a question, as if he couldn’t believe it.

“i-“ you started, through your mind when blank, a trait not new to you, but this time you seemed scared to speak, the last time you had truly spoken your mind, was when you watched your mother burn and that only ended in screams. You did not speak one word for moons after that and only after did you speak sweet lies, painting the yourself to be the picture of love and loyalty, and now all you wanted was to speak the truth, to say the words breaking you from the inside out, and yet all you could say was “I’m sorry”.

“what?” he asked softly, “what are you sorry for?”

“for months I have ignored your and Saras efforts to help me, taking your kindness for granted and giving you nothing in return-“

“its okay” he interrupted kindly, “I only wanted to help you, I never expected anything in return”

“except to marry me” you replied, it was the truth, a clear point in the alliance struck between the north and your mother.

“I am in no rush to marry” he moved towards you, “you have been- we have been through so much, I am sure the lords of the north will understand waiting however long you need”

But that wasn’t the case, you both knew it. In fact just the other day Sara, in one of her efforts to annoy into speaking, had stated how the lords were in uproar of your lack of a union, House Bolton at the for front of the complaints.

Once you longed for the days you and he would marry, though things between you then had turned sweet and shy, you craved the days he would marry you.

The first time you saw him you were in awe of him. He towered over you, his face cold and blank, but his eyes held a warmth to them. He welcomed you formally, though it lacked warmth. You both knew why you were there and yet all you could do was stare at him. Tracing the outline of his face with your eyes. Wondering how his hair might feel between your fingers.

You had smiled shyly at him as he walked you through the halls though neither of you spoke until you reached his solar.

“I have come on the behest of my mother, Queen Rhaenyra of house Targaryen” your proclaimed, stating your mothers name and title proudly.

“queen?” he had hummed.

“yes, King Viserys sadly passed in his sleep” you spoke with sadness lacing your voice, “my mother has requested me to remind you of your of your fathers Oath”

“the north remembers, princess, and there is no Stark who forgets his oath.” He looked at you quizzically then “though I must ask why you have been sent here, has the north caused mistrust with he crown?”

“no, my lord, it is quite the opposite” you had shook you head, “my uncle has usurped the iron throne, naming himself King Aegon II, I have only come to show the north the crown lies with the rightful heir, my mother”

He had nodded, “then I must ask if it is war you ask of us, princess”

“for know all I ask is your loyalty, we do not crave war, but if it comes to it we ask for the north support” you had remembered then that your mother had given you a script, she knew of your nerves, how you often stuttered, something that had never happened with Cregan, despite it being common even when you were only surrounded by family.

“you have my loyalty, but o shall need terms if it is war that is to come” you had nodded, kindly, agreeing.

Politics had never been an interest of yours, and yet the hours on hours you had spent talking treaties and alliances, not once did you wish to leave, in fact it seemed both of you had dragged it on for as long as you could, neither wanting to leave the others company.

You had accompanied each others every meal, even if no words were spoken, and only kind looks exchanged.

You had felt the warmth and welcoming feeling you lacked at first, and you had hoped that after your return to Dragonstone and the declaration of your betrothal with Cregan, the feeling would stay.

And despite a part of you wanting to feel cold and alone in the north, you had not once felt that way, and as Cregan looked at you now you realised that Winterfell had felt like home ever since you had first arrived, and the only coldness you raved was the one you felt in your heart, the one that you feared Cregan would melt.

 “that’s not true” you sad softly, replying to his statement on the lords agreeing with his decision to wait to marry. “it will be near to a year since my arrival soon enough, my brother even writes that we soon must wed” you moved towards him now, you bodies now only a breath away from each other “I…as much as I miss them, I must move on with life and we must marry” you spoke it sternly, why the realisation of you sisters being happy and content made you want to move on was unclear, you knew you would never stop mourning them, but you didn’t want to mourn what could have been with Cregan.

You had liked him so much at first, always blushing in his presence, even more so once Jace had noticed and pushed the two of you together, though you had both used him as a shield to your fancy of the other, making things turn even shyer between the two of you.

You had been happy with he match, and so had he, with shy smiles and longing in your gazes as the news was announced.

You wanted to marry him, not just for duty, and not just to sate your old self, but as Cregan smiled at you, gaze deep with care, you realised that perhaps the only happiness you would find would be with him.

He nodded, “sara spoke to you?” you nodded “ah, very well, but only if you are sure.

You smiled, reaching for his hand, “I need to marry you Cregan, it is my duty” you saw a slight drop in his smile at the word duty, so you continued, “as well as my desire”, his gaze grew heated, a heat you were a stranger too.

“very well, I will not deny my own…desire to marry you, princess, I have long admired you” he coughed awkwardly “it was me who asked your mother for your hand, after all”

You gasped slightly, “really? I had no idea.”

He laughed softly, “Of course, I had hoped my intentions were clear during our stay at Winterfell, I never left you alone”

“I never would have thought-“

“you have encompassed my every thought since I first laid eyes on you” he caressed your hand in his as his tone turned serious, “seeing you in pain these past months, has caused me agony, I am glad you wish to wed me soon, and I can only hope this is the start to the end of your tournament”

“I believe that marrying you is the only way I will be able to end it” you confided in him.

You had had nightmares non stop, your memories on repeat. Fire and blood, your house words and yet they were the very thing that brought you torment. The faces of your brothers, Jace and Luke lying dead at the bottom of the sea. Of Joffrey being torn to shreds, your mother burning. And of Viserys, sweet Viserys she dreamt of him to be alive, only to return home in anger at being abandoned by her and Aegon. The thought had filled her with dread. And fear for Aegon had the same dreams, and dreams like those were said to come true in your family. Your torment was of what had already happened, and the knowledge you could never change it, so the sudden need to pull yourself from the endless misery all from Cregan kneeling before the hearts tree confused you apart of you wondered if Cregan had been praying for your happiness for you torment to find a release, and the gods had answered.

You hoped they had, for you had no nightmares, only dreamless sleep after the day in the gods woods.

You had started to dine with Cregan for dinner, and Sara to break your fast.

Though your rooms were still the place you stuck to, Cregan’s and Saras demands for you to leave your chambers were answered, with walks and hours spent in the library or gods woods.

All as going well for you, until a letter from Aegon came.

Viserys was alive.

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[moonlight-joy]

The Wolf and the Dragon

MASTERLIST

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: You are a loyal supporter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, sent to negotiate an alliance with the Starks. Tensions rise when you realize Cregan mistrusts the dragons — but despite your differences, a spark ignites between you.

Pairing: Reader/Cregan Stark

The journey to Winterfell was long and grueling, the icy winds biting through your cloak as your dragon descended onto the frost-covered lands. The North was as harsh as its reputation, its cold seeping into your very bones despite the heat that coursed through your Valyrian blood. You dismounted gracefully, the snow crunching beneath your boots, your dragon looming behind you like a silent sentinel.

The Stark bannermen watched with wary eyes as you approached the gates of Winterfell. You could feel their mistrust, their unease. It wasn’t just the dragon that unnerved them; it was you, a Targaryen loyalist, sent to broker an alliance in a land that valued honor above all else. You raised your chin, refusing to let their cold reception faze you. This was your duty, your chance to secure Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne.

Lord Cregan Stark awaited you in the great hall. He was younger than you expected, his broad shoulders and stern demeanor a perfect match for the rugged land he ruled. His gray eyes met yours with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

“Lady (Y/N),” he greeted, his tone polite but distant. “Welcome to Winterfell.”

“Lord Stark,” you replied, offering a slight bow. “Thank you for granting me an audience.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Let us speak plainly. The North has no love for southern politics, nor for dragons. Why should we involve ourselves in your war?”

You squared your shoulders, meeting his gaze head-on. “Because Rhaenyra’s claim is just. She is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. With the North’s support, we can ensure a future of stability and honor for the realm.”

“And if that stability is bought with fire and blood?” he countered, his voice sharp. “You don’t trust me because of the blood I carry,” you said, your tone firm but calm.

“I don’t trust anyone who brings fire to my snow,” he replied, his words cutting like a blade.

“Then let me prove I’m worthy of your trust,” you said, taking a step closer.

The days that followed were a test of endurance. Cregan was courteous but distant, his mistrust evident in every word, every glance. You spent hours in the great hall, negotiating terms and offering reassurances, but his walls remained firmly in place.

Despite his aloofness, you couldn’t help but admire him. He was a man of integrity, fiercely loyal to his people and his land. And beneath his cold exterior, you caught glimpses of something else—a quiet strength, a deep sense of honor that mirrored your own.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself walking through the godswood. The ancient trees stood like sentinels, their branches heavy with snow. The quiet was a stark contrast to the chaos of war, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe.

“You find peace here too?” Cregan’s voice broke the silence, and you turned to see him standing a few paces away, his expression unreadable.

“It’s different from the south,” you admitted. “The godswood feels... timeless. Unchanging.”

He nodded, his gaze drifting to the heart tree. “The North remembers. It always has.”

You hesitated before asking, “Do you think the North will remember me? Or will I always be the outsider who brought fire to your snow?”

His eyes softened, just for a moment. “That depends on what you do while you’re here.”

The turning point came during a hunt. You had joined Cregan and his younger brother, Jon, along with a group of Stark bannermen. The air was crisp, the forest blanketed in snow. The hunt had been uneventful until the roar of a dragon shattered the stillness.

A rogue dragon, one you didn’t recognize, burst from the trees. Its eyes burned with fury, and it let out a deafening screech as it lunged toward the group. Chaos erupted as the men scattered, their shouts mixing with the dragon’s roars.

Jon froze in fear, and without thinking, you leapt from your horse and sprinted toward him. The dragon’s talons slashed through the air, but you managed to shove Jon out of the way, taking the brunt of the attack. Pain seared through your side as the dragon’s claws raked across your flesh, but you didn’t falter.

Drawing the dagger from your belt, you lunged at the beast, slashing at its vulnerable underbelly. The dragon reared back, its wings beating furiously as it retreated into the sky. You collapsed to the ground, blood staining the snow beneath you.

Cregan was at your side in an instant, his hands trembling as he pressed them to your wound. “Why would you do something so reckless?” he demanded, his voice raw with emotion.

“Because he’s your brother,” you gasped, clutching at his arm. “And because... it was the right thing to do.”

His eyes searched yours, and for the first time, the icy walls around him began to crack. “You could have died,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“But I didn’t,” you replied, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Dragons aren’t so easy to kill.”

The days that followed were a blur of pain and recovery. Cregan stayed by your side, his presence a constant comfort. He spoke little, but his actions spoke volumes. He ensured you had the best care, personally overseeing your recovery.

One evening, as you lay in bed, he entered your chambers with a bowl of steaming broth. He set it on the bedside table before sitting beside you, his expression unreadable.

“You saved Jon,” he said quietly. “At great risk to yourself.”

“I would do it again,” you replied without hesitation. “Your family means everything to you. I understand that.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze meeting yours. “You’ve proven yourself, not just to me, but to the North. You’re not just a dragon. You’re... something more.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against his. “And you, my lord, are more than the wolf I first met.”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath as the space between you disappeared. His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, then deepening as the walls between you crumbled completely.

When he pulled away, his gray eyes burned with a fire that matched your own. “You’ve earned my trust,” he said softly. “And my heart.”

You smiled, your hand tightening around his. “Then let me stay by your side, Cregan. Together, we can show the North what it means to be bound by fire and snow.”

The alliance between the Targaryens and the Starks became stronger with each passing day, and your bond with Cregan grew alongside it. Together, you navigated the challenges of uniting two vastly different worlds. You learned to love the unforgiving winters, finding warmth not in the hearths of Winterfell, but in the steady presence of its lord.

And when the snows melted and spring began to touch the North, the people of Winterfell spoke not of a Targaryen intruder, but of the lady who had brought fire to their snow and left them stronger for it.

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[satubby]

[Once upon a dream: When I loved you]

[Once upon a dream, where I saw you sleeping in my arms, I'm starting to forget what loneliness is, my beautiful human baby... Child of man, is this what you call love? If so, I'm afraid of losing you and this feeling. —Malleus Draconia ]

Disclamer: I was listening to my usual music and I don't know why but YouTube recommended old songs that I gave a like to, so among them was One Upon a Dream, which led me to rewatch the 2014 Live Action based on Maleficent. and from there to doing this, anyway I'm sorry if there are spelling mistakes and as such I'm sorry if the characters in Diasomnia look like those in Oc I haven't played in a long time and I left the fandom due to lack of time and interest.

[This writing will have 2 parts, the second I will be thinking about how to do it and if it will have Lana del Rey's song, this time I put Cinderella's song, I'm sorry lol!]

It was a rainy night, a woman escaped from her pursuers and was carrying her baby in her arms. "Catch that bitch! She deserves to be punished for witchcraft!" 

The strange and mysterious woman ran faster than before when she heard the scream of those guards. How did she end up like this? She wondered, not long ago she was a happy woman, the prince loved her as she loved him, yet his stepmother the dowager empress, discovered her elven blood, which was considered blasphemy. She never asked to be singled out, even her pregnancy was a constant danger. 

From where did it all go wrong? It wasn't her fault or her baby in arms that the human world hates magical beings given how greedy they are, especially noble ones like her stepmother who called her a bastard abomination. 

Arinet, bastard daughter of the duke belonging to the south and daughter of a winter elf, was now nothing more than a heretic cursed and hated for the blood that ran in her veins. And she blamed herself for being foolish to believe that the dowager empress and her own stepmother would not conspire to ruin her romance with the crown prince.

Crying she coos trying to calm you down you in her arms, her precious baby, in tears she gave you one last kiss as she continued to run away from the gunfire coming from the archers and the duke's mages, falling down a through a snowy well, she smiled for the last time and left you hidden from the hunters who followed her, if she died it would not be with you, so she said goodbye crying and with the little strength in her feet, she ran despite her ankle pierced by the tip of the arrow shot before. 

Malleus was walking through the dreary paths of his forest full of thorns and dry trees covered with seasonal snow, it was another dull morning and the old black dragon, prince of fairies and dragons, was bored. When was the last time this forest had anything interesting beyond its creatures fearing him? He doesn't remember, yet his thoughts are broken when he hears a cry, more precisely, the cry of a small human baby, an offspring of man. Then his bare feet on the cold snow traversed like a dance in the snow, walking towards you he approached your basket, taking you from it curiously but awkwardly, whoever put you there did not measure the coldness of his forest, he was unaffected given his nature and body, Malleus was already warm on his own. 

Emerald eyes narrow slightly at the sight of you. He carefully and lightly touches your cheek with one of his sharp nails, accidentally giving you a scratch so he uses his magic to heal it. He've never seen a baby up close before, the ones he saw were many, different and weirder, but you're even more so given that human nature of yours. And him have no idea how to handle the situation. He lifts you up to his eye level... you look pretty upset about being out in the cold and he doesn't blame you for it, even your tender cotton cheeks were ruddy. 

"I wonder... What exactly are you? The humans I know are bigger than you." Malleus mutters under his breath as he looks towards you still trying to be careful. He can sense that you have a special thing, in fact he smells traces of magic on you, but that confuses him even more as to why you, a frail, human little thing of all things... are in the woods in the middle of the cold. 

Curiosity filled his being as he looked at you, you a small being resting in his big arms, sleeping as if he were not the dominant creature in this territory. He was confused. You are a human baby so... small that you could easily be killed by accident, could this little thing be so cute? As far as he knew, humans are ungraceful or so he was told, plus the fact that he has killed some fools daring to enter his lands. He gently used a finger to touch your little nose. So cute you looked! He was also intrigued. Why did they leave you, so small and vulnerable in their forest? And alone, with no one to hold and care for you. You would become food for vultures or some other monster very quickly.

Malleus looked around looking for the human responsible who has left you abandoned, however instead his nose detected a smell of iron and acrid mixed with traces of magic.... It was blood of the child of man, so walking with you, even if clumsily, he cradles you in his arms they go towards the place where the trail was, strangely on the way you didn't cry, in fact, you even fell asleep comfortably.

Normally everyone is afraid of him, although it is normal given his status but that makes him socially awkward and lonely, maybe that's why he unconsciously clung to you. Malleus then arrives at the place where that iron smell came from, finding the corpse of your mother, a beautiful woman but... The old dragon prince notices that she was stabbed several times and until her last minutes of life she fought. In addition there were traces of magic thrown, from elves more specifically although it does not give him so much importance; he bends down and takes a sample of blood, licking it from the snowy ground— This woman had Mana, like you, so he assumed it was your mother as you had the same bracelet as the woman as well as the same smell of that magic.

Malleus stares at the deceased woman with? something like a sad look in his vibrant green eyes. You moan slightly with a groan as you stir, but go back to sleep a few minutes later. Malleus' long tail wags behind him as he thinks, frowning slightly. He looks down at you in his arms, then at the strange looking woman, she has white hair and apparently blue eyes, plus somewhat pointed ears. Malleus knelt down next to her lifeless corpse, carefully analyzing the bracelet, it had elvish letters which read: "The eternal and pure shall remain, the evil and impure must be purged" And honestly he didn't understand what the engraving meant, so he just leaves it there. 

"A human mother and daughter abandoned in the forest.... Who would do such a heartless thing...?" His gaze hardens as he look around the area, trying to find any clues left behind, but there was nothing. He looks closely at the wounds on the body and notices every feature your mother shared with you, from the lips to your beauty, he couldn't help but be distracted from his goal. 

"She died protecting you, little daughter of man.... Now I understand her determination and strength. If I'm honest, she was no ordinary human, too bad that led to her cruel fate." Malleus gently touches your cheek wiping the drool running from your lips, you were still asleep.

There was a mixture of curiosity and a strange sense of melancholy in the eyes of the ancient being. His eyes sparkled as he recognized the faint traces of mana lingering in the air, mixed with the unmistakable scent of mingled human and elven blood, definitely the children of man were hard for the old dragon to comprehend.

"What a waste. A mortal life, snuffed out by the callousness of other humans."

He spoke softly, almost wistfully, his voice tinged with a touch of what seemed like sadness, though he did not understand it. He stood thoughtfully for a moment, then, sighing, he closes his eyes to the woman's corpse and with his green magic breath, casts a living flame that burns away all traces of your dead mother.

"Rest in peace daughter of man and nature, I will take care of your human baby." 

Then he withdraws with you in his arms, he doesn't know much about humans, in fact he hasn't even seen one in 400 years, yet his curiosity and compassion made him act like that [perhaps the fact that you, a small and fragile thing, managed to move something in him beyond indifference and boredom] Then he saw you sleeping, he smiled softly.... What a curious little thing you were.

Upon arriving at his castle, he was greeted by Lilia, his guardian and close friend, as a father figure to Malleus even though he is already an adult in dragon terms.

 Lilia approached smiling and playful, although he noticed the bundle in Malleus' arms, as a father figure and royal advisor, he was curious.... How unusual for his little Malleus. "Oh, I see you brought something interesting from the forest, hehehe, tell me, did lonely little Malleus get bored with himself and decide to bring a little human?" Lilia teased, however Malleus just snorted smiling at his advisor and guardian, still holding you in his arms.

The prince of Briar Valley had chuckled quietly at Lilia's comment as he walked carefully towards him, his expression was calm and the tail dragon wagged back and forth behind Malleus himself, revealing his mood. Lilia always teased him when he was bored with his normal routine.

"Hm, this... 'little human' was abandoned in the forest by her mother, I thought she would surely become dinner for a wandering monster. I was also curious to know what human cubs are like, I see they are fragile to be greedy when they reach adulthood."

Malleus mutters under his breath, his eyes moving quickly to look at the baby again as he sleeps soundly in his arms.

Lilia was really surprised, normally his little Mall showed no interest in anything and was very socially awkward, but here he was hugging you, a small and fragile little thing. Lilia fell from the ceiling of the throne room, like an ingratiating acrobat he sat up and then sighed the veteran fairy, speaking earnestly before his king and pupil. 

"Your Majesty, you know that raising another living being, especially a human, who is different from us in terms of biology and growth, is not easy at all so tell me your highness? Do you really plan to raise that human baby, YOU who barely even know about them, beyond the times they have tried to invade our lands? I really sometimes don't know what you think Mall" Lilia sighed looking seriously at the dragon, Malleus lifted you up in the air looking at you still sleeping, you looked so... soft and tender. You would be a beautiful girl. Mall raised an eyebrow at Lilia for his comments. 

"I am perfectly aware of that, Lilia. A fairy and a human child... a combination that I know very well will take time to understand..... She is more resilient than you think. But I cannot leave this baby alone, she was abandoned by her own mother. Such a cruel fate for an offspring of man." 

His eyes shifted down to look at you as your small body shifted restlessly in his arms, sighing again, he cradles you in his arms once more. Malleus smiles softly.

Lilia sighed again, smiling and shrugging his shoulders surrendering to the blackhaired prince's stubbornness. He then walked over to you to look at you, you were certainly pretty, though as Malleus said, you had magic that was rare in humans, so Lilia asked his king and pupil, "Malleus, tell me something, do you know what it's like to raise a human? The consequences of it are something with variables and they age fast, besides you are sure to do it, from what you told me his mother had magic.... What did she look like, eyes and hair color?" 

The dragon did not understand at first as he was dense at times, but then he understood what she meant, Lilia was asking the race of that human, if she was one and she certainly was not— Your mother was a half elf, a very beautiful one with white hair and blue eyes, perhaps that is why she was killed and in a desperate attempt to protect you both, she ran to her lands seeking to return home. So far he was able to piece together conjectures, his density and disinterest sometimes blinded him.

Malleus thought for a moment, studying your face, trying to find any resemblance you might have to your mother beyond your features but you looked more human. The old dragon prince hummed thoughtfully before finally speaking.

"She... was a half elf if I am correct. Her hair was soft and like a white flake.... Plus her eyes were a beautiful light blue color. But she also had magic, as strong as she may have been, the poor woman was outnumbered and killed for unknown reasons."

He looks towards you who were still sleeping once more as he spoke, his eyes soft as he recalls the memory of the woman.

Lilia analyzes the situation and then asks one more question. "How do you plan to take care of her? Sooner or later she will have to return to her homeland, is that okay with you? You know that the magical races and humans have accomplished nothing together for centuries and their traces of disdain still remain? So, be honest, my dear prince, how long do you plan to keep her here? Surely sooner or later you will get bored."

Lilia saw Malleus' expression, there were many emotions clashing and the veteran fairy smiled, he just needed a little push and Lilia would be sure that his beloved ward would understand the implications of this... What would Malleus do, the ever shy dragon monarch and the one who longs to know human emotions and humans themselves?

Malleus looked conflicted as he listened to Lilia's question. He knew there was tension between the races and he also knew it would be difficult for you to return home after being raised here. But him simply could not allow you to suffer, you were innocent. His green eyes shifted from Lilia to you, a small frown on his face debating his decisions.

"I'm... not entirely sure. If he goes home, I'm worried he'll never fit in with his own people.... And if he stays here, will he have a happy life?"

Lilia smiled and honestly, it wasn't bad that his beloved monarch and prince for once longed to have something, whether he was aware of it or not, that's why Lilia asked such a question. He wanted to see how far his pupil's interest would go. Would it be temporary or could you, a fragile little thing, really awaken something more in the bored and shy prince of thorns? The mere thought excited the former Fae.

Malleus let out a soft sigh as he lifted you closer to his chest, your small face was warm and soft to the touch, that little body fit perfectly like a puzzle piece in his arms. He felt something in his heart that wasn't there before as he looked at you, a strange feeling of responsibility, of protection, maybe even a hint of affection? He wasn't sure, he had never been close to a baby before, let alone a human like you were. 

"I don't want her to suffer the same fate as her mother..."

Lilia clapped his hands and smiled, there was a long way to go. "Very well Your Highness, let's learn about humans and especially about their offspring, breeding and feeding!" 

That afternoon Malleus was educated on what things they should and should not eat, down to the basic necessities. Malleus wrote everything down in his mind and would then apply it even though he still had doubts.

Malleus listened attentively as Lilia explained things, taking detailed notes in his mind of everything he told him. He was a fast learner and quickly remembered every detail. As Lilia spoke, the dragon prince gently ran a finger across your forehead, gently stroking the baby skin with an expression of slight amazement on his face. In a little over a year you will be able to walk, talk and think. Malleus couldn't believe how wonderful humans could be .... Or was it that you were just a unique baby?

And over the next few days Malleus did all sorts of things that no one would think possible coming from his royal highness and mighty dragon, but there he was changing diapers. "No! Be careful, don't you see? You're irritating her skin, though it's rare that she doesn't cry from your rough touch, anyway, look at tying a diaper!" Lilia pushed Malleus aside and changed your clothes, playing a little with you, making you laugh, but this was a simple provocation on the fairy's part, he wanted to see how Malleus would react to this and indeed, the dragon became jealous of his former tutor. 

Lilia turned as he saw Malleus' green eyes glowing, after finishing your change of clothes, he handed you over to the dark prince. "I assure you that you will improve with time and practice as I won't always be here!" 

Malleus watched as Lilia deftly changed your diaper, baby laughter filled the room as the old fae made you laugh. The dragon was a little puzzled to see Lilia do something with such ease, he even felt a little jealous for some reason, as he wanted to make you laugh too, but you just looked at him curiously. He let out a small snort as Lilia handed you over, looking at you and studying your face again, he was still clumsy in grabbing you. 

"TSK! TSK! Look how stiff you are, you should carry her more gently" The fae scolded his monarch and prince who grumbled like a child pouting softly. 

"I'm a fast learner, Lilia. Don't underestimate me..."

Lilia scoffed with laughter, his little Malleus was really cute in his own way [Of course if Lilia wasn't aware of his immense influence and power] At the dragon prince's frown, Lilia playfully apologized and raised his hands in peace. 

"I know, my dear prince, but you must be careful! You wouldn't want the little one to cry, would you? Well, leaving that aside, come to think of it, you haven't given her a name have you, you, do you want to give her one?" Lilia noted this, for several weeks now you had been called 'Child of Man' or 'Little Human' and if the Fae were honest, they can't always call you that, names are important though given Malleus' own obliviousness, he hadn't even noticed until his advisor and former guardian pointed it out to him. 

The fae-dragon sighed, squeezing into his embrace and widening his eyes in confusion when Lilia pointed that out. You would definitely need to be given a name of your own, and they couldn't always call you the man's daughter... or little girl. 

"Hm, I guess you're right... what do humans normally call their children? I don't want to accidentally give it a name that has an unfavorable meaning..."

Malleus was somewhat (perhaps too much) unaware and sometimes his naivety with humans or other races that are not dragons or Faes, are unknown to him (either in customs, ways of acting or physiology). Leaving aside that sometimes he himself prince was carried away by rumors or experiences of his own. "I don't know, but what do you think.... (T/N), sounds nice, means timeless and infinite." Advised the old Fae as Malleus looked at you, you were playing with his fingers sticking them into your mouth.

Malleus hummed curiously as he listened to Lilia's suggestion, raising his hand to gently touch the top of your head, letting you cling to his fingers as he continued to think... the name '(T/N)', sounds good... he thought. Then he looked at you, watching you play innocently with his fingers as you looked at the old dragon.

"(T/N)... (T/N)... yeah, yeah, that sounds pretty good..... (T/N), then."

That day Malleus finally gave you a name, which would be one of the first signs that his curiosity would turn into love and love into obsession.

It had been 5 years, for Malleus this was nothing, as he sometimes has long periods of sleep (of course Lilia would wake him up to avoid sleeping more) Otherwise your growth would be lost and since Malleus loves you too much, the prince of Briar Valley did not want to miss anything about you, that included your growth stages.

"She do grow up fast, I can hardly remember what her was like yesterday!" Lilia complained dramatically but Malleus, who was drinking his tea, put down his cup and smiled softly as he watched you play in the garden. From large your beauty was remarkable, unbeknownst to you, you made more than just the barren thorn garden bloom in his heart. 

Malleus smiled slightly as he watched you play in the garden, admiring the way you made the normally withered and barren garden come alive with your presence. He had certainly grown fonder of you over the past few years, watching you grow and learn new things always made him smile. He looked at Lilia with a loving smile on his face.

"In fact, Lilia... it seems like only yesterday that I found her in the forest... now she's growing with each passing day."

Lilia put his hands under his chin, watching you play and make wreaths, it's been a while since Briar Valley had this warm and colorful atmosphere. "Don't you think humans are kind of interesting and chaotic? By the way, our little girl will soon be 6 years old, what do you plan to do? The past years you gave her many a gift, but oh my little Mall! Remember that unicorn you gave her didn't even last because your jealousy won the battle?, poor creature, they ran as soon as you came angry at them" He chuckled, in the end Malleus was attached to his dragon nature more than his Fae half, as much as this one wanted to deny it. 

The prince of Briar Valley let out a small snort at the memory. He had indeed become jealous of the unicorn, and it wasn't the only time either.... Every time you got a new toy or friend from the animal world, he got so possessive that he couldn't help it. He sighed. silently as he thought for a moment before responding....

"Hm, I'm actually very aware of my little human birthday... like you said though, this time I want to do something special for her, but I have no idea what to give her."

The old fae laughed and responded with another question to the dragon prince's confusion. "And what do you think you can give him this time? It can't be something living or something non-living, since you get jealous over anything, like the time you 'accidentally' burned one of her favorite toys with your fire because it took her attention away from you." Lilia fiddled with the fork and Malleus coughed his tea, avoiding looking at the fae who teased him about his extreme behaviors. 

Since he was just processing centuries of emotional numbness and you were the one who awakened those experiences and emotions in him, it was difficult for him not to go to such extremes. 

The black-haired man snorted at Lilia's words as he looked away. It was true that he was extremely possessive of you and would get jealous of anything that caught your attention.... But he couldn't help it. The dragon sighed softly and closed his eyes, crossing his arms as he thought for a moment about a solution to this.

"Hm... How about... a new toy, but only she can touch it? Sounds like a good solution, doesn't it?" Malleus asked thinking it would be ideal but Lilia made a face almost as if to say 'Are you seriously thinking about that?' and answers him with another question.

"How are you sure you're not going to burn it or destroy it? It's funny to a point that you destroy his stuff out of jealousy, but (T/N) he doesn't find it funny. I have an idea! How about you take it to the meadow mmm? Flowers are beautiful and safe, you can't get jealous if they are symbols of love. You know, you always keep her cooped up here, the royal garden is beautiful and the castle too, but remember, kids are curious and like to explore, you used to do that when you were a little lizard." 

Malleus sighed, shaking his head and ignoring the ramblings of Lilia who boasted about how beautiful and tender the dragon prince was before he grew up. On the other hand, you approached towards them smiling and showing a butterfly in your hand.

 "Tsunotarou, look how pretty them is; although their wing was broken, but I repaired it!" You laughed, peeking out from the table with your small stature. Malleus looked at you smiling anyway and lifting you in his hands, you were just as small as when you were a baby but you were growing faster than expected. Either that, or it was just his abnormal perception of time. 

The Fae-dragon looked at you, his bright emerald eyes shining with pride as you showed him the butterfly. He couldn't help but smile broadly when he saw your enthusiasm and laughter. He always loved the way you looked when you were happy.

"Hm, it looks quite beautiful. You did a good job with the wing, it broke before..." He says complimenting your little acts of love for others though a bit jealous of that butterfly. He then lifts you up in his arms, hugging you like he does all the time. The dragon loved you as much as you loved him.

Lilia laughs internally, his enigmatic gaze analyzing the situation, only in time would Malleus accept his possessive and territorial side, Lilia would be sure to witness it. "Aww~ our princess is a saintess!" Lilia teased in her cheesy tone, then pressed her lips together mockingly as if she wanted to give you a duck kiss, you on the other hand laughed avoiding his lips as he began to chase you away from Prince Briar's embrace. Malleus looked at you and smiled though the vein in his forehead and neck said something more than simple elegance, jealousy, raw as poisonous. 

́Maybe I should break his neck and cut his legs off? ́ thought the Fae Dragon, but he restrained himself from those possessive and murderous fantasies, on the other hand Lilia felt a look on the back of his neck imagining that his pupil and monarch It was almost drilling his head (figuratively), in a way it was funny. 

 "AH!!! yuck, I don't want your kisses uncle Lilia, they're slimy and I hate it when you pinch my cheeks!" You exclaim, snapping Malleus out of his thoughts as Lilia caught you and you tried to push him away while laughing.

"Come on, just one little kiss! And can you blame me? You're so cute" The old fae squeezed you in his arms. Malleus felt a small twinge of discomfort in his chest as he watched Lilia try to give you a kiss, the dragon fae clenched his jaw slightly and his fists clenched into fists of fury.

"Lilia... Fuck!"

He muttered under his breath, looking at the two of them and keeping his feelings under control. Malleus again refused, it wasn't right to be jealous, he wouldn't give his advisor the pleasure of seeing him in such a state let alone losing control. 

So he represses his emotions once again, causing Lilia to look at him out of the corner of her eye and sighs, releasing you from his arms. "How boring you are! Well, anyway, I have to go, I need to check the barrier on the moor, what was it...like 200 years ago? Yeah, I haven't seen the state of it in 200 years.... I'm off then, have fun my children, bye bye bye!" Lilia smiled saying goodbye as the door closed, you on the other hand walked up to Malleus taking his hand.

"Tsunotarou... Were you upset? You know Uncle Lilia is like that, by the way I made you this crown! I hope you like it" Malleus looked sideways at you and blushed, coughing in embarrassment at your tenderness, he bent down to your height so you could put it on his head. The rose wreath, although twisted by its awkward horns, was still beautiful to look at. However, it was cute to see how your delicate little hands went out of their way to give him such a gift.

Malleus looked at you, his mood changing almost immediately as he saw your expression. He couldn't help the laughter that came from his pale but beautiful lips as he watched you try to put the crown on his head, but fail miserably as his horns got in the way of said task. He chuckled softly as he gently took the crown and put it on perfectly as he bent down and ruffled your hair.

"Thank you, he's lovely, as always... I won't get mad at Lilia, he's like that with everyone, but promise me you won't leave room for his jokes ok?"

"Yep! I won't let uncle bully me with his jokes anymore" You laughed once more, clapping your hands and with innocent grace, you hugged his neck giving him a kiss on his pale cheeks making Malleus blush once more that you would almost swear steam was coming out of his ears. So much so that his emotions affected the atmosphere of the whole valley, you saw how the gardens grew more roses and out of nowhere butterflies or birds appeared. 

Because of your innocence, you were frightened to see him so red, thinking you had done something wrong. "Tsunotarou is red because of me, now he has a fever!" You began to cry with worry in your girlish eyes, as you noticed earlier how hot he had become because of your actions, but you didn't know what triggered that.

Malleus looked surprised, his eyes widened at your innocent and adorable way of looking at the situation. He let out a small scoff and chuckled under his breath, he always forgot how innocently cute you were and how your naive personality embarrassed him most of the time.

"No, no, you didn't do anything wrong, it's okay...I'm fine, you're just too cute and beautiful my precious princess" He said softly as he stroked your back, trying to calm your crying as he blushed a little from embarrassment.

"Eh? ... Then why are you red? If you don't have a fever, maybe it's another illness? I don't want you to be sick, Tsunotarou!" You were still sad and worried but you weren't crying so much anymore, much to her relief. 

Malleus sighed, lifting you up in his arms and sitting you on his lap, then wiped away the excess tears by kissing your chubby little girl cheeks pulling them as a game and a little reprimand.

"That hurts, a lot Tsunotarou."

He smiled at your innocence and how you so quickly assumed he was sick because of his red face, he was a little amused that you couldn't see the underlying reason he was embarrassed rather than sick. A small chuckle escaped his pale lips when you complained at how hard he pulled on your cheeks, then he sat you on his lap as he stroked your head talking softly. 

"No, no, I'm not sick... it's much simpler than that, little girl."

The prince/monarch smiled at you once again saying how tender and beautiful you were in his eyes and that's why he was embarrassed when you did such tender acts.

"Am I pretty? But Sebek says I smell like a dirty human, but I don't know what that is. He always criticizes me, the other time he scolded me for accidentally knocking down one of your paintings in the office, he also says humans are ugly, does that mean I'm ugly and stinky?" your tender and gullible eyes made Malleus swallow bile, mostly because of what you were telling him, sometimes your tenderness and naivety reminded him of himself. 'Sebelk, that idiot' he thought to himself, cursing his loyal friend and self-proclaimed knight, though to Malleus Sebek was an annoying zealot.

The prince of Briar Valley shook his head and sighed softly. Yes, Sebek tended to say things he shouldn't say in front of you. And yes, he was also an absolute fanatic who was too loyal to him, sometimes not even liking his attitude because of how loud and restless he got. 

"No, you're not ugly, you're beautiful... in fact, you're the most beautiful little girl I've ever seen in my life... and ignore what Sebek says, because he's a brat who talks too much..."

And speaking of the devil, he will come! Sebek knocked on the door, although it didn't do much good as he ended up whipping it anyway, mostly to warn of his presence.

"MALLEUS-SAMA!!!" Both you and the aforementioned covered your ears at Sebek's cries and his following praise, the Prince of Thorns had to silence him before he gave any more speech about how he is the most perfect among dragons that ever lived.

"Ahem! As I was saying I brought breakfast because honestly Lilia-sama is horrible at cooking, and I also wanted to tell you that Silver will be away for a week and is still dealing with the demons in the troll pit." After that introduction, Sebek served everything with grace and- Perhaps too much perfection; even Malleus was sweating with embarrassment from his eyes with imaginary stars staring at him, sometimes Sebek was too overwhelming.

Sighing as he looked at Sebek and rolling his eyes at the green haired dragon's strong presence, the half-dragon fae let out a small snort as he listened to the strong praise and watched how hard Sebek tried to please him as he fed him breakfast. As he watched Sebek kneel on the ground after finishing with the table and the plates with food, Mall let out a small scoff.

"Very well, thank you, Sebek... you may go, I'm sure Silver will need help handling the demons in the pit..." He said, trying to get rid of him so that he would stop being too overwhelming; and be able to continue chatting with you without the stalker-like vigilance of the green-haired one. 

"Your highness... You're telling me you don't want me here? WHAT AN HONOR TO HAVE YOUR DISGUSTING TOWARDS ME, MALLEUS-SAMA!! YOU CAN EVEN TREAD ON ME IF YOU WANT, I WOULD LOVE TO BE YOUR RUG FOR WHATEVER—" The Green-haired's cries of adoration ceased as Malleus swung his black claw and pulled him out of the garden and into the castle hallway. Still, the young dragon's cries could be heard. You laughed so hard at Sebek's own witticisms that the black-haired fae's bad mood was relieved.

"Sebek is funny, even though he's always nagging me..." You pout as Malleus smiles at you burying his face in your baby neck.

He sighs again as he hears Sebek's ramblings and praise in the background, letting out a small scoff. He chuckled under his breath when he heard you laugh, nodded and agreed with you.

"I know, he's a jerk... but at least he's a loyal jerk, I guess..." Whispered the fae as he wrapped his arms around you once more, burying his head in your small shoulder, enjoying your scent that reminded him of fresh roses.

Days later Malleus took you flying through the forest as it was like your birthday present, as you laughed in his arms, the first spring breeze hit your delicate face, Malleus spread his draconic wings taking you even higher in the air to enjoy the view without actually stepping on solid ground. He won't admit it but he doesn't want something else to catch your attention and make you want to go out more often. Your hands caress a cloud and the black-haired man sees you laugh which makes him happy. 

 "This is the best birthday ever!!!! Thank you Tsunotarou" Your eyes looked at him and at that moment it was just the two of you, something in Malleus started to resonate it was like a: 'Badump! Badump!' ...It was the beating of his heart that echoed in his ears, for the first time he knew what that was, the feeling longed for millennia and jealous of those who could feel it and experience it but now he finally felt it. You were the reason? He wondered, but at that moment he didn't care, he just closed his eyes letting himself go while holding you in his arms.

Malleus watched you with a fond smile on his face as he saw the way your eyes sparkled when the breeze hit your face, happily observing how you were thrilled by small things like clouds. He chuckled softly as he watched you laugh at the simple joy of being in heaven....

"Of course, of course... Anything for my little daughter of man..."

His eyes closed as he embraced you, feeling the gentle beat of his heart flutter in his chest, his heart beating for the first time in centuries like butterflies in full spring. 

This moment was precious and although Malleus is not normally greedy, with you it is another case, he wants to have you and make you happy just like you do with your simplicity and innocence, his beautiful sleeping beauty.... The tulip in his garden of thorns.

"Tsunotarou! Look there— Is that me!!!? Woah, what a beautiful garden" Malleus smiled again seeing you excited, this is the special gift for you, in this forest there is a beautiful portrait made with so many flowers of so many colors and froms the air you can see it. So he wanted you to see how much he would give and do for you, for your smile and the feelings you make him feel, for what you are and represent in his life. 

He tilted his head to look at the portrait of the flowering garden in question, a small smile on his face as he watched the colors come together and form a beautiful image from above. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he listened to you speak, his ears twitching at the way you seemed to be getting more and more excited.

"It's beautiful... Do you want me to take you and take a closer look at it, little one?" he said, flying a little lower now so he could take you there and let you see the flowers up close.

You both descended and immediately ran through the fields of flowers, like a princess in his eyes, the prince and wizard Fae-Dragon, moved his hands making your dress turn white as snow and floral decorations grew from it, then he made you float. and dance in the air as you laughed.

"LOUDER!!! YAY! WHAT FUN" The prince of Briar Valley continued to wiggle his fingers and watched you float away, then he pulled you close to his face and their noses touched, the magic was removed and with a kiss on your forehead, you fell asleep. Malleus had long since ceased to feel alone, much less hated and feared, only loved by the simplicity of a human, his human.

At the end of your birthday, the prince of thorns tucked you into your bed and before you went to sleep, you gave a thank you. "Thank you for everything Tsunotarou.... Good night." 

Your smile faded as you slept, Malleus Sighed, leaving the room and walking to his own, the cold corridors smelled of wet earth and nature, his footsteps echoed against the aged stone until he reached the black door. The creaking reminded him of the years that passed and he never aged, his physical age stopped at his seventeen years. Upon entering, Malleus removed his clothes and then sank his body into the soft feather bed, his green eyes wandering to a shelf; There were all those gifts that to others are cheap trinkets made by the innocent hand of a girl like you, but to the Dragon Fae it was more than that, it felt special to receive them from the one he loved.

Malleus sat on the end of his bed for a second, his thoughts wandering as he looked at the items on the shelf. He couldn't help but feel warmth and happiness in his chest as he looked at the little trinkets... it brought a small smile to his face as he thought about how much happiness you brought him....

He lay fully back on the bed, resting his head on the pillows and pulling the covers over his shoulders, closing his eyes and letting the dreams take him soon....

And who knew that that nap of his would make the future of both of them turbulent, because Malleus fell into another one of his hibernations, besides, without anyone to wake him up with anti-sleep magic, he wouldn't be there for you. Lilia, Silver and Sebek would take a maximum of 4 months to return, the vast territory of the royal family of dragons and fairies had to be constantly supervised by many nobles and among them were the three close to Malleus. 

After waking up, you went to look for him and excited, you opened his door running towards him and climbed into his soft, padded bed but Malleus was still asleep, even so you decided to move and pull his cheeks, talk to him or yell at him. but nothing happens, he still does not respond.

"Tsunotarou? Come on it's already daytime! it's not funny.... Ugh! Don't scare me, come on, wake up already! You're going to make me mad... Humm!" You started to hit him on the cheeks, You even lifted his eyelids but as soon as you removed your fingers they closed again and still it didn't work and you couldn't use your magic since it only worked on plants and to heal wounds. "I have another idea! I'll look for uncle Lilia, he might wake you up" Jumping out of bed you leave the royal room and head to your own, preparing your backpack to go in search of the old fae.

It was your first time out of the castle, you were scared and the monsters terrify you, but as Uncle Lilia once said, "Never forget to be protected, if you wear a dragon scale, no monster or weirdo will attack you given our essence! So don't forget to take one, even Mall would be happy to give it to you". And that's what you did, as Malleus wouldn't wake up even if you removed a black scale from his tail, so you would use it as a toll and scare the monsters away.

A while after walking, you ended up lost. Since you have never left the castle unless Malleus or another fae (except Silver, from what Sebek said, he is a human like you.) guides you, you would get lost on your own and that happened. Now you didn't know where to go.

"Phew, wasn't this the way? Maybe I should go back, but... Why are there three paths? I don't know anymore! I'm lost!". You cried in frustration and continue walking, if Malleus would complain about anything, it's your pride and stubbornness.

It wasn't long after you left the castle that you still couldn't find the right path. Unfortunately, without high-ranking magic, you were doomed from the start to get lost if this happened, especially since Malleus would normally be guiding you.

The dark wood were mostly silent, a few crickets chirping could be heard. Even your footsteps echoed and you didn't even want to think about other unknown sounds because it made you nervous and afraid. But the sounds of the crickets soon faded away, leaving you in silence as the sound of rustling leaves added to the sound of your beautiful magical sandals made of flowers and wood. Suddenly, a soft glow caught your attention.

You had reached the end of the forest and the sun was about to set, you were apparently in a part where the barrier of magical flowers and thorns was weaker, you also had the scale of Malleus in your possession, so when you followed the path fleeing from the darkness; the thorns and bushes parted, allowing you to pass as you sensed the magic in that scale inside your bag. The fresh air greeted you, you smiled believing that you would return to the castle but it was not so, as you barely took a few steps, a carriage passed by you and the person stopped to look at you, it was a humble peasant. 

"Umm hey little girl, what are you doing on this side of the road? You don't know it, but there are ugly monsters roaming around."

"I don't know sir, but who are you and what are your names? I'm (T/N) and I'm looking for my uncle Lilia, I must wake up Tsunotarou or else he will sleep too much, so he won't be able to play with me" Facing your naivety, the farmer smiles and invites you to come up. 

Since Lilia never explained to you about the dangers outside (thinking that because of Malleus' obsession with you, it would be impossible to escape) you continued talking to these strangers.

The farmer, as well as the person sitting in front with the horses, were both older adults, who were quite surprised to see a young girl like you wandering through the dark and dangerous forest with no parents or other people in sight, just you and the forest behind you.

They both see that you were hungry and tired, the farmer felt bad for you, nodding and smiling as they brought out some stale bread and water to let you eat something. The person in the wagon with the horses watched you intently. In the end you end up going out with them, not knowing that your innocence would bring chaos and that the carelessness of some would make many pay, even death will be a mercy rather than delayed suffering. 

And so 4 months had passed, in that time the 2 faes and Silver returned from their duties, when they entered they were surprised to see the palace so... silent.

 "Lilia-sama, I can't find the rambunctious human, I already searched every floor for her but there's no trace" Sebek said in alarm when even Lilia couldn't find you either. 

Silver then cried out in surprise and somewhat worried, Malleus was in a state of hibernation earlier than expected, as normally dragons sleep 100 years but since he is half fairy, this time is maximum 50 years and it also depends on Malleus himself.

"No way, damn it, what are we going to do? Hurry Silver, go and get some chains, I need to wake him up but we mustn't just blurt out the news, Sebek gather everyone you can and look for her!" Lilia ordered as she bit his fingers cursing his luck. Once Silver finished binding Malleus, the old Fae put spells on the chains to at least hold some of the strength the Fae dragon prince possesses. In the end Malleus awoke with magic and the anti-sleep potion.

Malleus, dazed, opened his eyes after being suddenly awakened from his sleep, his senses immediately sought your presence again. The first thing he felt were the chains and spells on him, which irritated him, and as soon as he saw Lilia, his senses went on guard.

"Lilia...! What are all those chains and where did she go (Y/N)" His voice was soft but demanding, his cold, sharp eyes looked at the old Fae in front of him. 

"First calm down Malleus, you are not in your five senses, I didn't think it would come to this but there was a mistake and we miscalculated your hibernation, so we left and 4 months passed. And sorry to tell you but (Y/N) is not here. I think she went out to look for me, from what the few creatures who saw her told me, I only know for sure that she left the magical forest and Briar Valley, heading for the human world, in that case we can't track her and the only one who can is Silver, so I sent him to look for her.. " 

Malleus listened to him in silence, his calm and gentle expression slowly twisting into something much darker as he took in what Lilia was saying in his mind.

"You mean to tell me that you all left the castle without waking me up or leaving someone to take care of her?" The Raven-haired fae's voice was cold, his usually calm tone now filled with silent anger about to explode as he stared at Lilia for a second.

"Didn't any of you think that leaving a young woman home alone would end up with something like this.."

Lilia sighed just as frustrated, his cheerful and youthful demeanor left behind by his deadly and bitter self. "Look Malleus, I couldn't calculate the variables, you were supposed to hibernate until February but it was earlier than planned, I think the anti-sleep potion affects something in your hibernation states." 

Lilia rubbed his nose septum in frustration. Malleus might have looked calm but his vacant stare and his vibrant emerald eyes with shrunken slits, said otherwise, he was overthinking everything. 

"Can't you calculate the variables? I'm sure you have more than experience in dealing with issues revolving around me. You should know that this was a situation that had the possibility of happening, Lilia!"

Malleus' tone darkened with anger, he was beginning to blame Lilia even though he knew it wasn't entirely her fault, knowing that it is also his for constantly manipulating his sleep states making himself more unpredictable when it came to hibernating. 

"She's going to be lost in a world that is cruel and uncaring... Who knows what has already happened in the last 4 months?"

Unfortunately for everyone and especially for Sebek, who interrupted them, receiving almost lethal green fire from Malleus narrowly burning the green-haired Fae but resulting in the burned wall and a prince who was still raging almost eager to release his dragon form, but Sebek caught their attention.

"Can you listen to me for a moment? As I said, I went to investigate and proudly I can say that this is the only thing he left..... I'm sorry Malleus-sama and Lilia-sama" Sebek bowed showing pieces of the torn dress the prince of Briar Valley had given you, and that infuriated Malleus more and from that anger he went to raw but horrible sadness, a silent one because the words got stuck in his throat and tears fell from his beautiful emeralds for eyes.

Malleus stared at the torn pieces of your dress, his eyes widening as the reality of the situation slowly hit him. A small trembling of his hand became noticeable, as his fists clenched tightly to where it hurt, his nails slowly digging into his own skin and drawing blood as he reared up savagely towards the Raven-haired fae taking the piece of cloth from him. 

"No... She is still out there, we must look for her, I must— I MUST LOOK FOR HER!! Ah..., Sorry for that, please leave a time me alone."

His voice came out as a halting whisper, as he slowly closed his eyes... taking in what had just happened; the reality of what he had lost, the reality that he had lost you... of all things, losing you to him and his draconic heart was very devastating.

Lilia said nothing at the scene of his beloved ward and prince/monarch, so both Sebek and he let his process it all and so for a few days Malleus locked himself in his room without coming out, falling back into an abyss of loneliness and silent rage.

In the days that followed your disappearance, Malleus mourned your absence, spending his days trapped in his room, talking to no one if he could help it and only looking at the pieces of your dress... the only thing he had left of you or your scent. 

The fae dragon spent most of his time pacing his room or sobbing on his bed sheets, crying his eyes out and hating himself for how he had handled things when he could have avoided them.

Mmmmmm

Mmmmmm

So this was love

Mmmmmm

So this was love

So this was what made life divine

I was glowing, mmmmmm

And now I know

And now I know

The key to all heaven was mine

My heart had wings, mmmmmm

And I could fly

I touched every star in the sky, but no more

So this was my miracle?

That I've been dreaming, that I've lost

Mmmmmm

Mmmmmm

So this was love, but I won't feel anything, anymore

[lionwitch]

Hear me out. Secret magic user Jason Todd, except it's a secret to him too. Like, Nature Witch potential.

When he was little, out on the streets, people died from the elements, left and right. In Gotham, it always rained. It was hard to light a fire when the things you were trying to light were wet. So during the colder months, the homeless population tended to go down— hypothermia's a bitch.

But Jason somehow always managed to light a fire. He gathered newspapers, even if they were wet, rolled them up and made a little campfire, just like other homeless people. Except they took care to gather the dry ones, and Jason just... Didn't care. While others struggled to get it to light, he always got it on the first try.

And see, he should probably notice something's odd there, but this started when he was little and lacked the common sense that, you know, wet things shouldn't light up. It had started when his apartment didn't have heating and it was cold, so he made a makeshift campfire in the sink so he could extinguish the flame later, and somehow his parents didn't bother to question it. And then, well, if it had worked before, it should work now, right? He never realized that it wasn't exactly normal.

And he didn't realize that rain should put it out. Sure, he tried to do it on a covered spot because he didn't particularly enjoy being soaked, but he didn't realize that fire doesn't enjoy being soaked, either, and when he is unable to find a cover, he seeks warmth from his fire. Under the rain, no matter how heavy.

And it's not like he's using gasoline or oil. Nothing special. He's just using newspaper and a cool lighter he found that should've run out ages ago. He's been using the same lighter for years (it did run out— it never lights up for anyone else, but he attributes it to the pressure he's mastered. Not that he lends it much). He jokes that his trusty lighter is picky and loyal. He loves his cool-as-fuck dragon lighter as much as it loves him. It's red, black and gold and he loves it. He keeps it in an inside pocket of his jacket, right above his heart, and on cold nights it seems to heat up wonderfully.

Sometimes when it's snowing, he finds he's not all that bothered by it. Then again, he has no point of reference. Maybe that's how everyone feels? Or maybe he has a damn good jacket, plus his lighter is warm.

He also finds snowballs are too easy to form. He doesn't even need to form them, really, he grabs a fistful and when he throws it, instead of, you know, a fistful of snow, it's a perfectly round snowball. Also, if he intends it as a weapon (say, to escape the police or a criminal), it seems to do far more damage than friendly throws. He attributes it to the strength of the throw (it's not)

This little shit can walk through a storm, or a blizzard, or strong-ass winds from a hurricane, and he's fine. He can walk easily through weather where even Batman stays in for.

There's an apple tree in a park, it's very tall and very hard/impossible to climb. The lower apples may be collected if you have a ladder, but the upper ones are usually just bird food until they fall, hardly ever in one piece. And yet, if Jason is hungry and passes under it, any apple the tree has to offer falls near him, enough to be caught, perfectly ripe and whole.

There's a raven that always steals his lettuce. If he gets a sandwich, the raven comes down and bothers him until he gives her the lettuce. If he gets a salad, she comes down and settles with him and steals the lettuce from his fork, but lets him eat anything else in it. It works, because lettuce makes him itchy (is it supposed to be spicy?) and while he can eat small quantities, he prefers to give them to Lettuce (not very original, but it works) unless he's really starving.

Lettuce wakes him up at dawn every day. No matter where he hides away for the night, she finds him in the morning, and comes and goes throughout the day. They each do their own thing, but she sticks relatively close, and if he's in danger, she protects him. With patience and a lot of boredom, and lots of time together, Jason and Lettuce have developed a call between them, a birdcall they both can mimic and respond to. And if Jason is in danger, he'll call for Lettuce loudly, and it takes no time before she flies in, attacking whoever is threatening him. This is of course more effective during the day, because Ravens are diurnal. However, if she happens to be sleeping close enough to hear him at night, she'll wake up and call back, and Jason will repeat the call and she'll find him. She has blinded many people, including but not limited to cops (it's always creepy afterwards, watching her eat the eyes of his attackers, but he's grown numb to it)

Lettuce is his best friend, his partner in crime. She helps him steal, be it food, money or objects. It's mutually beneficial, see. He couldn't be more unafraid of bugs and rodents. He calls her over and they're being eaten the next moment. And he shares a lot of space with bugs and rodents. It's only at night that he needs to worry about them, once Lettuce goes to sleep. It's much easier to take care of yourself only at night than it is 24/7. Besides, while Lettuce wakes him up early, she lets him take a nap later on if he needs it, while she keeps guard. They're family.

When he got adopted, he worried he'd miss his feathered friend, being unable to spend as much time together. He underestimated her.

He woke up at dawn, habit unbroken, but went right back to sleep, feeling the absence of his loyal friend. And a few hours later, he was woken up again by a pounding on his window and angry croaking. He looked over to find his big-as-fuck bird repeatedly slamming against the window, talons first so she wouldn't get hurt. He rushed to open the window for her immediately, a grin on his face.

"Lettie!" he greeted happily. She greeted him angrily, instead, pecking his shoulder, however careful, and tugging on his hair. She'd been so worried when she couldn't find him! "I know, I know, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to dissappear on you, girl. But hey, I'm safe, promise!"

Now, listen, Ravens can reach a length of up to 66 cm (26 inches) and have a wingspan of more than 1.3 metres (4 feet). These are big birds, ok? So imagine Alfred's surprise when he saw Jason walking down the hallway, all good there, but with a massive raven flying above him.

Naturally, he assumed that the bird got in, at first. He was amazed by the sheer size of the bird, not having seen one so big from this distance. And then the raven descended towards Jason, talons out, and he was about to tell the boy to duck, because he though the bird was about to attack his head, and then the bird just landed on his shoulder.

"Ow! Bitch, mind your talons, they do hurt, you know?" he complained playfully, and the bird croaked back. Even to Alfred's ears it sounded amused. She clicked her beak, Jason clicked his teeth, and they seemed to argue playfully like that, as Alfred watched from behind them, unnoticed. Evidently, the bird won the argument, because Jason looked away and huffed "Ass", and she let out what sounded very much like a laugh.

"No, I hate you. So much" Jason scoffed, a blatant lie, his lips twitching into a smile. She cawed, fondly, like saying "no, you don't", and tugged gently on a strand of Jason's hair.

"No, I really do. Bossy bitch" he said, his voice lacking any bite. He leaned in, resting his head against her body carefully. She started preening his hair lovingly, almost motherly, and he let his eyes flutter closed as she pulled him closer with a wing. "Fine, maybe I love you. Just a little bit. Big dumb bird."

When he walked into the dining room, Bruce and Dick stared at him. Or rather, at her, perched on his shoulder, preening his hair and leaving it a mess, a wing around the back of his head. She paused, analyzing them too, but took note of Jason's relaxed demeanor around them. Not a threat, then.

"Jason... That's a big crow." Dick breathed out.

"A raven. Same family, different birds." Jason corrected, and the bird croaked, agreeing.

"Raven or crow, both are wild birds, Jason. That's not a parrot you can keep as a pet." Bruce intervened, eying the bird wearily "it's a predatory bird, that can and will turn on you in the blink of an eye if it wants. It's a dangerous bird. Not to mention it's illegal to keep them as pets"

"Well, good thing she is not a pet, then. She's a friend that chooses to stay by my side because she loves me and it's a beneficial agreement. And I'm aware of her potential. I've watched her eat human eyes—"

"You've what?"

"—but to be fair, they deserved it. She won't hurt you unless you hurt me."

"Hold on, circle back to that about eating human eyes"

"If you see people without eyes near Park Row, or blind former cops, that's us. They tried to attack me, she attacked them. I gave them plenty of warning, mind you."

"Wait, didn't Officer Johnson lose his eyes recently, Bruce? Commissioner Gordon was losing his mind because Johnson took lots of shifts."

"Johnson, Johnson..." Jason ran the most recent officers through his mind, trying to see if he remembered a name, but he didn't exactly stop to chat.

"Blond hair, 5'9, short beard, nasty scar on his—"

"—Right arm! Yes, I remember that one. He beat up another kid and then chased me, I told him to get lost and even decked him, but he wouldn't stop. Nearly crushed my wrist, that bitch. Then Lette flew in and—" Lettuce snapped her beak and puffed her feathers proudly "Yeah, that was us, but I did give him plenty of chances."

That did not make Bruce feel better about having this bird in his house, near his boys. There had been plenty of cops though the years that lost their eyes, it was driving Gordon mad. True, none of them were good cops, but still.

However, he could recognize as he watched his newest son and the bird communicate with various sounds, working as one, with evident years of teamwork, that sending the bird away to a sanctuary was not an option, and nothing short of the death of either of them would separate them, so he compromised. The bird would stay, as long as she proved healthy and didn't attack anyone.

Now on another note, Jason proved undefeatable in a snow fight

Somehow, no matter how good their aim was, or how hard they threw it, the snowballs either missed him, falling a few feet short of reaching him, or they hit him very softly. He never made any noise, like the snow didn't crush under his feet, and he always stayed on top instead of his feet sinking into it. And his snowballs always hit damn hard and accurate— unless he was only intending to get your attention, in which case it barely brushed you.

Patrolling on snowy days also proved easy. Bruce and Dick were in no way noisy, but the snow did slow them down and crushed under their feet, and they left footprints that left them easy to follow.

Jason didn't.

He somehow walked on top of the snow without leaving prints. The snow didn't crush, didn't make any noise at all, and he didn't slip on it either. It was as easy, maybe more so, for him to patrol on heavy snow than normal nights. Same with storms. Batman and Nightwing had to be careful to not slip when it was raining, and extra mindful of their movements so the splashing didn't give them away, while Jason could run or jump without making a sound or slipping even once.

"Practice" he said, "I've lived in the streets, I grew used to it, I guess."

He was a strange Robin.

The first time he met Poison Ivy, she had been particularly aggressive. And then she caught sight of the new Bird. And she stopped. She'd had the upper hand, Batman unconscious and trapped, Nightwing in Blüdhaven. She could've won. And Jason knew that, but he'd be dammed if he went down without a fight.

"Who are you?" she whispered, awe in her voice.

"I'm Robin." he answered simply, standing with a confidence he didn't feel.

"I see that. It's not what I meant. Who are you?"

"What, you think I'll give you my identity so easily? No way!"

"I didn't mean that, either. Who are you?"

"Listen, lady, I don't know what you want. Are you hard of hearing? Do you need me to use ASL? I mean, sure, if you want. I ain't ableist." Jason shrugged and actually started signing his words "I'm gonna need you to let Batman go."

"I am not hard of hearing, but I appreciate the inclusion anyway." Ivy smiled, and carefully laid Batman on the ground, much to Jason's surprise.

"Huh. That was easy."

"Listen, kid. If you ever need a mentor..."

"I'm with the Bat."

"Not what I meant. I can help you in ways he can't."

"I'll pass."

"Very well. The offer is on the table, if you ever change your mind, you can find me. Tomorrow or in twenty years, I don't care. I can guide you. I can help you."

And surprisingly, she handed herself in, giving the new Robin a smile. He kept her words a secret, confused. Weird woman, he thought.

And then, a few months later, he found his mother wasn't who he thought. And he looked for his mother. And he found her and was sold out by her. Bruce searched for him desperately, with Lettuce on his shoulder ("A promise", he'd said as he instructed Lettuce to stay with Bruce, "so you know I'll come back to you. So you know you're my family, even if I still have a mother. I'll be back, Dad"). But Joker had him.

But see, magic tends to wake up when the user is in danger.

So as Joker beat the boy, as fear beat in his heart, so did his magic. Barely conscious, beaten, bruised, but alive, the little Bird was underestimated.

"I'll say hi to your daddy for you." Joker said, planting the bomb.

And Jason realized he wouldn't be coming home. He realized Lettuce would never wake him up at dawn again. He realized Dick would never hug him again. He realized Bruce would never ruffle his hair again. He realized he'd never play with them in the snow again. He realized he'd break his promise.

And he screamed.

The warehouse went up in flames before Joker could leave. Far before the bomb went off. All-consuming flames that rose around him like the depths of hell, but caressed him like the touch of a loving mother, like Sheila never would. He heard the screams of Joker, just like his before. The flames enveloped Jason's broken body and pain overwhelmed him as his most broken bones snapped into place. He sobbed.

And then came the water. As his tear hit the flames, red turned into blue in a flood that put the fire out. Jason saw his blood seep into the water, red dissolving into the clear liquid. His wounds, the most severe at least, closing into scars. Jason saw the body of Joker floating on the water, charred and barely recognizable.

And then he saw hers. Sheila's body, still restrained, at the bottom of the water, skin melted by the fire. And she may have sold him off to Joker, he may never be able to forgive her, but still, he sinked to her, praying for her to be alive.

But Magic protects Her loved ones, and Magic doesn't forgive all that easy. She deemed Sheila unworthy of her favor. She was the reason Her Child was in such a situation, and as such, she earned Her wrath.

Jason reached for his mother, but as he touched her, the water evaporated. He carried her body out of the warehouse, no pulse to be found. He stared, a third parent dead. But was she really ever a mother? He reached down and closed her eyes. And vines sprouted from the ground, covering her body like a coffin. Jason knew this was her burial. His fingers traced over her covered body as he said his goodbyes, and then watched as she sinked down, down, down, into the earth, disappearing six feet under.

Jason looked down at himself, still wounded but not nearly as much. He took off his gloves as he felt his right hand burn, and he watched as the mark of a vine engraved itself into his skin, spiraling from his palm, the back of his hand, his wrist, all the way to his elbow. The mark shone green for a second before it settled with an bright silver color.

He heard a familiar caw and panicked. Because Lettuce meant Bruce, and Bruce meant Batman, and Batman didn't like metas in Gotham. And apparently he was a meta, right? Just like Poison Ivy.

He put his glove back on and searched his utility belt for a bandage, which he wrapped around his forearm, hiding his mark.

And then he called to Lettuce. And he heard her respond, louder, happy, worried, hopeful. He called again, and soon she was flying to him, Bruce running right behind her.

Bruce didn't understand what had happened, what happened to the warehouse, to Joker. To his son. But he didn't care. He was there, he was safe.

He checked his son for injuries, and he was quite hurt, but not as much as he could've been. Broken bones, bleeding wounds. Bruised, broken, scared. But safe.

And Jason let him assume that was as badly as he was hurt, let him believe Joker didn't beat him to death's doorstep. Because if he told him, he'd have to tell him how he healed.

The rest of his injuries healed normally at home, but Jason didn't let them see his right arm.

Dick, Bruce and Jason assumed maybe Joker had marked him. It wasn't uncommon to mark victims in some way. They wanted to help, but if they pressed about it, Jason would run out for an hour or two. So they let him. Jason always wore long sleeves and gloves, or a bandage on his arm, even when he slept. It became part of his style, just like the white stripe on his hair from where his head was split open.

But see, once awakened, his magic refused to lie dormant again. It buzzed and ached for release. And it seeped out of him with his every breath.

And it terrified him.

He lived with the world's greatest detectives. They were bound to notice the flames flaring when he walked into the room, be it candles or the fireplace. They were bound to notice the wind picking up unnaturally indoors. They were bound to notice his glass of water moving with unnatural waves.

So he ran out when he felt the call more active and let it explode. The plants deep into the Wayne Estate wildest part had never been greener. Plants that shouldn't bloom in there were growing. It was as easy as breathing, letting it flow. The problem was controlling it.

Jason felt like a baby learning to use the restroom. Doing it was instinctual, natural. A reflex. But holding it in was a challenge. The thing is, there were no diapers for magic. And he couldn't let anyone find out.

This is part one, I'll come back another day with how Tim comes into the picture, because duh, Jason didn't die

[syndrossi]

Winter Prompt #3: Hot Springs

Prompt #44 won the "present under the tree" popular vote, so here we are. Enjoy!

(I opted to set this in Regnal AU, and this is in the year 103, while Jaehaerys still lives.)

x~x~x

“I know that your family has an unnatural love of hot baths, but I did not expect that we would play host to nearly all of them.”

“You cannot dangle the prospect of springs near boiling hot in the depths of winter and expect otherwise,” Daemon said with a shrug. “Be grateful that we have been spared the king’s presence, at least.”

His lady wife did not exaggerate. Not only had his father, the Prince of Dragonstone, made his entirely expected appearance, but he had brought along with him Daemon’s brother and his family. And if his grandfather and grandmother had still been capable of riding their dragons, Daemon had no doubt they would have wandered over as well, along with his aunt Gael.

The Royce summer estate, a towering stone fortress that had once served as an outpost for guarding against mountain tribesmen, was an unusual destination for the cold heart of winter. It was nestled partway up the eastern slopes of the Serpent’s Spine, which meant that although it afforded a breathtaking view of the valleys below, it was shrouded in snow during the cold seasons.

The hot springs themselves were a half-mile trek from the keep that was nigh impassable in winter except by dragon, and Caraxes and Vhagar had made several short trips to ferry everyone to the small patch of mountain where half a dozen pools lay scattered amongst snow-covered rock, their surfaces lightly steaming.

Both Jon and Aemon had begged to be allowed to ride their dragons, who had surpassed drakes in the Dragonpit twice their age in size already. A grown man in full armor—three even—could easily ride on either Shadow or Qelebrys’s backs.

The twins had taken a few rides on their dragons already, but only with Daemon or his father accompanying them. They were already so fiercely independent, both his sons, that even Daemon understood that allowing them to ride their dragons freely would be courting disaster.

It is difficult enough to keep track of them already.

The last dragon ride had been his father’s, bearing Aemma and a saddlebag’s worth of supper for those in attendance, once they tired of soaking.

The air was crisp in mid-afternoon with the sun cresting behind the mountains. “Shall we?” Daemon asked Rhea, already shedding his clothing.

The children had already flung theirs off and gone splashing in the largest of the pools. By the looks of it, Jon had challenged his brother and cousin to a race. Viserys was standing squire to Aemma as she divested herself of her many layers, and Daemon belatedly mimicked him. Rhea raised a brow, but gamely piled his arms high before easing herself into the pool.

Daemon dropped the clothing off on a palette that had been set down to form a dry layer above the snow, then stepped carefully along the slippery, snow-covered rocks that rimmed the first pool. He waited until the gaggle of children neared, then leapt in behind them to send the water flying.

He emerged to shrieks of delighted laughter and gave chase, slipping easily into the role of water monster. He captured Aemon first, then Rhaenyra, but by then, Jon had formed an alliance with their mothers, who kept him at bay with splashes of water long enough for his father to ambush him from behind and “free” the captured children.

Rhea eased herself out of the pool after a few minutes of frolicking, sweat beading her brow, and watched from the snowy rocks outside.

“I do not know how you and the children can stand it,” she said when Daemon drew near to check on her.

Daemon brushed his hands along the surface of the water. “It is not that warm.”

Her mouth opened to answer, only for her eyes to widen in alarm, and Daemon spun around to see the children atop the snow once more, peering into one of the other pools. “It is too hot, it will burn—”

But they had already leapt, disappearing beneath the water. Rhea’s hand gripped his bicep, hard as a vice, as she shouted for his father, who was nearest, to pull them out of it. His father reached into the water, then turned back.

“The water is fine, Lady Rhea,” he said, but Rhea’s grip did not loosen until he followed them into the pool, as though to demonstrate, and the children emerged to swarm him.

She released Daemon, but walked hurriedly over to the pool while Daemon closed the distance through the water to meet her there. The cold winter air felt pleasant on his skin as he heaved himself out, and he crouched to touch a hand to the waters of the other pool. It was markedly warmer, but closer to how he preferred his baths, and he joined the children.

Rhea tested the water with her own hand, withdrawing it with a wince. “That is near scalding, are you certain that it’s safe?”

Aemma looked a little uncertain as she caught up to the Targaryen migration, but after dipping a cautious foot in, she lowered herself in with a happy sigh, head tilting back against the rocks as she kicked her feet out in front of her.

Daemon heroically restrained himself from yanking her under, instead finding his brother to visit such treatment upon him instead. His father was the true menace, however, eager to prove that he was no less capable in his forties of handling either son should the need arise.

Once he had swallowed half the pool between his father’s repeated dunkings and the childrens’ splash warfare, he joined Rhea on the edge for some peace. She had lowered her feet into the second pool once, withdrawing them quickly, and Aemma had taken pity upon her, keeping her company in the other pool.

“By the end of this, you will all have shriveled to prunes,” his wife warned. “And do not complain to me when your manhood meets the same fate.”

Daemon scoffed, baring said manhood to prove its pristine condition. “Would not you be the one with a complaint if such were to happen?”

A hand on his back toppled him back into the water. “You can demonstrate otherwise later.”

Daemon tossed his hair triumphantly and returned to the battlefield. Viserys was the one in need of rescue now, assaulted from all directions, and they joined forces against their children and father, until everyone took their leave of the pool at last to descend ravenously on the provisions that had been lugged on dragonback.

It was a rare treat to be wholly free of watchful knights, and his sons’ drakes provided the entertainment as they ate, dipping into another pool that Rhea described as near-boiling-hot, then chasing one another in the skies above while Vhagar and Caraxes watched lazily. Eventually Caraxes was goaded into giving chase, and his dragon reminded the hatchlings that although they had grown a great deal, they still could not challenge him in the air.

It was over his wife’s vociferous objections that they all approached the hottest of the pools. His father, in a move that would have made the king grimace, stuck half his hand in before withdrawing it with a ponderous expression.

“It is not pleasant,” he admitted. “I do not think it safe to enter.”

His father should perhaps have realized that naming the pool forbidden only made it more enticing. Even Daemon found himself glancing over occasionally, once they had returned to the first of the pools, thinking to test himself against it.

His opportunity came when the children snuck over to poke at its waters. Rhaenyra promptly stuck her hand in the snow afterward, looking betrayed, but his sons were taking turns dunking their arms deeper in. Daemon sprung out of the other pool to retrieve them before they gave their mother too grave a fright.

“I do not think it is too hot,” Jon said, demonstrating by plunging both legs into it. “See?”

Aemon copied him, looking similarly unconcerned with the heat. “It feels nice,” he said, wiggling his toes.

“It burned your cousin,” Daemon said, adopting his best stern tone while trying to ignore the inviting call of the water. He gave in after a moment, laying his palm flat atop its surface, where the water presumably was the coolest. It was quite hot, but he did not feel his skin scalding, so he lowered his arm curiously.

“Daemon!” his wife said sharply, and he snatched it back out.

“Your mother will not be able to enjoy herself while she is worried,” Daemon informed them, and scooped them up in each arm. “If you wish to test yourself against the pool later, you must earn her permission.”

Which he knew would never be granted, though Aemon’s eyes narrowed in determination.

“What if kekepa gave his blessing?” Jon asked. “He is of higher rank.”

Daemon felt his mouth twitch. His father’s soft heart when it came to his grandchildren versus his wife’s iron will was a battle that would be worth watching.

“There is only one way to find out,” Daemon said innocently.

[novaursa]

Legacy (what whispers)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: what burns

- Next part: of the past

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

The settlement below was eerily silent, cloaked in the thick, oppressive darkness of the endless winter. Viserion circled above, her powerful wings stirring the snow-covered earth with gusts of wind as she descended into the abandoned village. Her scales shimmered faintly in the moonlight, reflecting off the snow-covered roofs, and her low growls resonated through the empty air like a warning.

You slid down from the saddle, boots crunching against the frozen ground, and felt the chill seep through your heavy fur-lined cloak. The air was unnaturally still, carrying an edge that made the hair on the back of your neck rise. You rested a hand on Viserion’s side, her warmth a sharp contrast to the icy surroundings. The she-dragon sniffed the air, her head jerking toward the far edge of the settlement, and let out a guttural hiss.

“Easy,” you murmured, brushing your gloved hand against her scales. “Stay close.”

The village was small, no more than a collection of cottages clustered around a central square, where a well sat frozen in the heart of it. Snow blanketed everything, but the absence of life was the most unnerving part. No footprints, no sounds of animals, no flickering lights in the windows. It was as if the village had been wiped clean of any trace of its people.

“Where is everyone?” you whispered, though no one was there to answer.

You stepped carefully through the main path, your boots crunching against the snow. Viserion followed closely behind, her massive body moving with an almost feline grace as she sniffed at the air. Her golden eyes were wide and alert, scanning the darkness around you. Every so often, she let out a low, rumbling growl, as though sensing something unseen.

The first cottage you approached had its door wide open, swinging faintly in the wind. You pushed it open further, the creak of the hinges unnaturally loud in the stillness. Inside, the hearth was cold, its ashes scattered across the stone floor as if someone had left in a hurry. A wooden table was overturned, and scattered plates and mugs hinted at a meal interrupted. You crouched to pick up a child’s toy—a small, carved horse—its surface smooth from years of use.

“They left in a hurry,” you muttered to yourself, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or… something drove them out.”

Viserion rumbled outside, her claws scraping against the stone as she turned her head toward the woods bordering the village. She hissed, her breath visible in the frigid air, and you felt a knot of unease tighten in your stomach.

You stepped out of the cottage and scanned the surroundings. The woods were dense, their skeletal branches reaching out like claws against the black sky. You couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, as though eyes were following your every move. Your breath came in visible puffs as you turned to Viserion, her agitation matching your own.

“What do you see?” you asked softly, your hand instinctively moving to the hilt of your sword.

The dragon let out a sharp roar, her head snapping toward the shadows near the edge of the village. The sound echoed through the empty streets, sending a flock of crows scattering from the treetops. You turned to face the direction she was looking, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Who’s there?” you called out, your voice firm despite the unease crawling up your spine.

There was no answer, only the sound of the wind howling through the trees. You stepped closer to Viserion, her body radiating heat as she shifted uneasily, her wings half-unfurled. You could feel the tension in her muscles, ready to pounce or take flight at a moment’s notice.

“Something isn’t right,” you muttered, your grip tightening on the hilt of your sword. “We should—”

A sudden movement caught your eye—a flicker of shadow darting between the trees at the edge of the village. You turned abruply, drawing your sword in one smooth motion. Viserion roared again, louder this time, her golden eyes locking onto the same spot.

“Show yourself!” you demanded, your voice cutting through the stillness.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, faintly, you heard it—a low, guttural growl, almost animalistic but not quite. It sent a shiver down your spine, and you instinctively stepped closer to Viserion, who crouched low, her tail swishing behind her.

The growl grew louder, joined by the sound of branches snapping and snow crunching. Your heart raced as you scanned the treeline, searching for the source. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the sound stopped.

The silence was deafening.

“We’re leaving,” you said firmly, sheathing your sword and turning to Viserion. “Now.”

You climbed back into the saddle, your hands gripping the reins tightly. Viserion shifted beneath you, her body coiled like a spring. As you urged her to take flight, she let out one final roar, the sound reverberating through the empty village. Her powerful wings beat against the air, lifting you both into the sky.

From above, the village looked even smaller, its emptiness more pronounced against the vast, dark expanse of the woods. You glanced back once, and in the faint moonlight, you thought you saw movement—shadows slipping back into the forest.

Viserion growled low in her throat, and you patted her neck. “Let’s go home.”

The she-dragon soared higher, her scales gleaming faintly in the darkness as she carried you away from the haunting emptiness below. But the feeling of being watched lingered, like a weight pressing down on your chest. Whatever had happened in that village, you knew it was only the beginning.

The road below stretched like a silver ribbon through the snow-blanketed land, leading to a lone watchtower standing sentinel in the endless dark. It was a vital point for supply deliveries, one of the last strongholds along the route back to Casterly Rock. From high above, Viserion's growls were low and uneasy, rumbling like thunder against your back.

You narrowed your eyes as the watchtower came into view. Something was off. The tower was surrounded by an eerie stillness, the usual activity of sentinels entirely absent. The wooden gate at the base of the structure hung ajar, swinging gently in the wind. Your heart tightened with unease.

“Where are the sentinels?” you muttered, gripping the reins tightly. “This isn’t right.”

Viserion rumbled again, her massive wings beating against the frigid air as you urged her to descend. The ground rushed up to meet you, the snow crunching beneath her claws as she landed a short distance from the tower. You slid down from the saddle, your boots sinking into the frost-covered ground. Viserion’s head snapped toward the tower, her eyes narrowing as a low growl escaped her throat.

“Stay close,” you whispered, resting a hand on her warm flank before stepping forward.

The tower loomed over you, its stone walls worn by time and weather. The faint flicker of a torch burned in one of the upper windows, but no voices called out to challenge your approach. You stopped at the base of the structure, your breath visible in the frigid air.

“Sentinel!” you called, your voice echoing through the stillness. “This is Lady Lannister. Report your status!”

Silence.

You felt a chill crawl up your spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Viserion shifted behind you, her tail sweeping through the snow as she growled softly, her gaze fixed on the shadows clinging to the edges of the tower.

Then you saw it.

A pale, humanoid creature clung to the side of the tower, its long, spindly limbs moving with unnatural ease as it crawled upward. Its flesh was almost translucent, its head jerking toward you with a grotesque speed. Glowing blue, empty pits stared at you where eyes should have been, and a wide, toothy grin stretched across its face.

Your heart stopped. You stumbled back, your hand instinctively going to the hilt of your sword. “What in the name of the Seven…”

The creature hissed, the sound sharp and inhuman, before skittering around the tower like a spider. Viserion let out a deafening roar, her wings flaring as she bared her teeth at the abomination. The creature froze for a moment, tilting its head unnaturally, before vanishing into the darkness.

“Viserion, what was that?” you whispered, your voice shaking.

Before you could make sense of what you had seen, a voice called out from within the tower, cutting through the silence like a knife.

“Y/N.”

You froze. The voice was soft, familiar, and achingly distant. A voice you hadn’t heard in more than two decades.

“Rhaegar?” you whispered, your eyes wide as you turned toward the open gate.

“Y/N,” the voice called again, filled with a strange warmth that made your chest tighten. “Come to me.”

It felt like your legs moved on their own, your heart hammering in your chest as you took a step forward. The cold seemed to disappear, replaced by a strange, almost soothing warmth. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, only the sound of that voice pulling you closer.

“Rhaegar…” you murmured, your hand reaching out toward the gate.

Viserion let out a piercing shriek, the sound breaking through the spell like shattering glass. You stumbled back, gasping as the chill of the air hit you once more. The weight of what you were about to do crashed down on you like a tidal wave.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head violently. “That’s not possible.”

The she-dragon stepped closer to you, her massive body a barrier between you and the tower. Her growls were low and menacing, her gaze fixed on the structure as though daring anything within to come closer.

“Thank you, girl,” you said breathlessly, placing a trembling hand on her side. “Let’s get out of here. For good this time.”

With a final glance at the tower, you climbed into the saddle, your hands shaking as you gripped the reins. Viserion roared again, a sound that echoed through the silent night, before launching into the air. The wind rushed past you as she ascended, her powerful wings carrying you far from the cursed place below.

As the tower disappeared into the distance, you couldn’t shake the lingering feeling of those empty, blue eyes watching you. Or the sound of your brother’s voice calling your name.

The heavy flapping of wings filled the air as Viserion descended into the courtyard of Casterly Rock, her golden cream scales were brilliant in the dim light of the endless winter. Snow swirled around the she-dragon as her talons struck the ground, her massive form creating a gust of wind that sent cloaks and banners fluttering. Servants and guards scrambled to clear her path, their faces a mixture of awe and unease.

You dismounted from the saddle, your heart heavy after the troubling discoveries you had made during your journey. The cold bit at your cheeks, but you barely noticed as you glanced back at Viserion, who fixed her molten gaze on you. For a moment, the she-dragon simply watched, her posture stiff and alert, before letting out a low, rumbling growl and retreating toward the mines beneath the Rock, her wings folding tightly against her body.

Tywin was already striding into the courtyard by the time you turned around, his expression set in a rare display of urgency. His crimson cloak billowed behind him, and his piercing green eyes locked onto you the moment you dismounted. There was no mistaking the relief that flashed across his face, though it was quickly replaced by something far graver.

“Tywin,” you began, your voice edged with worry. “I’ve seen things out there—things I cannot explain. Something is—”

“Later,” Tywin interrupted, his voice firm but strained, his usual composure cracking ever so slightly. “It will have to wait. There’s been an incident.”

The way he said it made your stomach twist. “What happened?”

“It’s Damon,” he said, his tone clipped and heavy with frustration. “The boy sneaked into the mines again. He tried to claim the black dragon.”

The air seemed to leave your lungs all at once. “No...” you whispered, your heart pounding. “No, no, no.”

“The dragon rejected him,” Tywin continued, his face hard. “It burned him.”

You didn’t wait to hear more. Without a word, you turned and ran toward the keep, your boots crunching against the snow as you pushed past the startled guards. Tywin called after you, but his voice was distant, drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears.

The warmth of the castle did little to ease the chill that had settled in your bones. Servants and guards stepped aside as you hurried past, their murmured words falling on deaf ears. All you could think about was Damon, your eldest son, your lion cub.

When you reached his chambers, you pushed the door open to find Maester Aldren bent over Damon’s bed, his hands steady as he applied a salve to the boy’s burns. The air was thick with the pungent scent of herbs and ointments. Kevan Lannister stood near the hearth, his face pale and drawn, while Ser Barristan Selmy lingered by the door, his expression grim.

Damon lay still in the bed, his small frame dwarfed by the thick blankets piled around him. His left side, from his shoulder down to his chest and arm, was covered in bandages. The skin that was visible bore angry red burns that stretched across his face, pulling the corner of his lips into a permanent, pained sneer.

You froze for a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you took in the sight of your son. Then, with trembling hands, you moved to his bedside, sinking into the chair beside him.

“Damon,” you whispered, your voice cracking. His eyes fluttered open, dull and unfocused, but they met yours, and for a brief moment, the corners of his lips twitched into something that might have been a smile.

“Mother,” he rasped, his voice hoarse.

You reached out, brushing your fingers gently against his uninjured cheek. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

Tywin entered the room then, his boots heavy against the stone floor. He stopped beside you, his gaze shifting between you and Damon. “The boy was reckless,” he said, his voice low. “He could have—”

“Not now, Tywin,” you cut him off sharply, not taking your eyes off Damon. “Please.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more, stepping back to allow you your moment.

Damon stirred weakly, his small hand reaching for yours. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Don’t,” you said quickly, tears blurring your vision. “Don’t you dare apologize, Damon. Just rest. That’s all you need to do right now.”

Maester Aldren straightened, wiping his hands on a cloth. “He’s strong, my lady,” the maester said softly. “But the burns are severe. It will take time for him to heal.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thank you, Maester Aldren.”

As the room fell into a heavy silence, you leaned closer to Damon, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’re going to be fine, my sweet boy,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “You’re strong. Stronger than you know.”

Damon’s eyes drifted closed, his breathing shallow but steady. You stayed by his side, your hand never leaving his, as the weight of what had happened settled over you. Somewhere in the distance, you thought you heard the low rumble of Viserion from the mines, as if the she-dragon, too, mourned the pain of your lion cub.

Maester Aldren adjusted the bandages around Damon’s burns with meticulous care, his movements steady despite the weight of the moment. His weathered features betrayed nothing, though the faint lines around his eyes deepened with concern. You stood by the bedside, your hands trembling as you smoothed Damon’s blanket, unable to tear your gaze away from his fragile form.

Finally, Aldren straightened and turned to you, his voice measured but soft. “He’s stable for now, my lady. I managed to save his left eye—it was touch and go for a time, but it remains intact.”

Relief mingled with the anxiety already churning in your chest. “And the burns?” you asked, your voice cracking despite your effort to stay composed.

“The burns are severe, but not insurmountable,” Aldren replied, his expression grave. “The greatest threat now is infection. That’s what we must guard against. He is young, strong. That works in his favor.”

You nodded, clutching the edge of the chair for support. “Thank you, Aldren,” you murmured. “Do everything you can. He’s—he’s just a boy.”

Aldren inclined his head, his tone quiet but firm. “I will, my lady. He has the best care I can provide.”

As he turned to gather more salves and tinctures, you stood motionless, staring at Damon’s face. His breaths came slow but steady, and his small hand twitched faintly beneath the blanket. He looked so vulnerable, so unlike the spirited child who often darted through the castle halls.

A quiet presence at your side made you turn slightly. Tywin, his face carved in stone, placed a hand on your shoulder. His grip was firm, grounding, yet there was a rare gentleness in the gesture. For a moment, the weight of his touch was the only thing keeping you from crumbling entirely.

“Come,” Tywin said, his voice low but commanding. “There is nothing more you can do here.”

You shook your head, your tears spilling freely now. “He’s just a child, Tywin. Our child. He was trying to prove himself—trying to be brave, like he thinks we want him to be.”

“He will recover,” Tywin said firmly, though there was an undercurrent of tension in his tone. “You must compose yourself. Damon needs his mother strong, not broken.”

His words, though harsh, carried a truth that cut through your grief. You nodded slowly, wiping at your tears, but your legs felt heavy as if they didn’t want to carry you away from Damon’s side.

As if sensing your hesitation, Tywin’s hand slid from your shoulder to the small of your back, guiding you toward the door. His touch was steady, unyielding, but it wasn’t until the two of you stepped into the corridor that your resolve crumbled completely. You let out a choked sob, covering your mouth as tears streamed down your face.

Tywin stopped, turning to face you. His green eyes, normally so piercing and unreadable, softened for just a moment. Without a word, he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you in a gesture so rare it felt almost surreal. You buried your face in his chest, your shoulders shaking as the weight of the day overwhelmed you.

“I can’t lose him,” you whispered, your voice muffled. “I can’t, Tywin.”

“You won’t,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “We won’t.”

For several moments, you stayed there, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you upright. The chill of the stone corridor faded in the warmth of his embrace, and though the fear for Damon’s life still gripped your heart, there was a flicker of solace in Tywin’s presence.

When your sobs finally began to subside, Tywin stepped back just enough to look at you. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his expression calm but resolute. “Come,” he said again, his voice softer this time. “The great hall awaits.”

You nodded, though your tears continued to fall. Together, you walked toward the great hall, Tywin’s hand remaining firm at your back. The world outside felt colder, darker, but with him beside you, you allowed yourself the faintest hope that the storm, for now, would pass.

Tywin guided you to a chair near the head of the room, his hand firm but not unkind on your arm. You could feel his silent command to sit, to breathe, to collect yourself after the turmoil you had just endured.

“Sit,” Tywin said, his tone calm yet unyielding. “You need to steady yourself before we discuss anything else.”

Reluctantly, you sank into the chair, the weight of your worry for Damon still pressing heavily on your chest. Tywin stood over you, his green eyes scrutinizing your every move, ensuring you would not crumble further.

“You mentioned before,” Tywin began, his voice measured as he pulled out a chair for himself, “that you saw something while you were away. Something disturbing. Tell me what it was.”

You hesitated, your hands trembling as you clasped them in your lap. “It was… shadows,” you started, your voice uneven. “The settlement I went to was abandoned—completely empty. No signs of a struggle, no bodies. Just silence. Viserion was agitated the entire time.”

Tywin leaned forward, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Shadows?”

You nodded, your gaze distant as the memory surfaced. “There was… something near a watchtower, Tywin. Something climbing its walls. It wasn’t human. It moved on all fours, pale and unnatural. And then…” You faltered, your voice catching.

Tywin’s expression remained unreadable, but his attention was unwavering. “And then what?”

You swallowed hard, your eyes meeting his. “I heard his voice, Tywin. Rhaegar’s voice. Calling my name from inside the tower.”

The hall fell silent, the crackle of the torches the only sound as your words hung in the air. Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowing slightly. “Rhaegar?” he echoed, his tone disbelieving but not dismissive.

“Yes,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “I haven’t heard my brother’s voice in decades, but I know it was him. It froze me in place. I almost—” You stopped, shivering at the thought. “If it weren’t for Viserion, I don’t know what would have happened.”

A movement to your right drew your attention. Beric Dondarrion, who had been sitting with his men near the hearth, had gone still, his one good eye fixed on you. His usual casual demeanor was replaced with something far more solemn.

“What did the voice say?” Beric asked, his voice low but carrying across the hall.

You turned to him, startled by his sudden interest. “It called my name. Nothing else. Just my name, over and over.”

Beric exchanged a glance with Thoros of Myr, who sat beside him. Thoros’s expression was grave as he leaned forward. “And the creature? The one on the tower?” Thoros asked. “Did it vanish when the voice spoke?”

You shook your head. “No. It climbed higher, faster. It was watching me, I think. And then Viserion shrieked, and it was like a spell was broken. I ran back to her and flew away.”

Beric’s gaze darkened, his expression contemplative. “Shadows and voices of the dead,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “The Long Night brings horrors we have yet to understand.”

Tywin’s focus snapped to Beric. “What do you know of this?” he demanded, his voice cutting through the growing tension in the room.

Beric met Tywin’s gaze evenly. “Only that the dead do not rest as they once did, Lord Lannister. And the creatures of shadow serve no master we know.”

Tywin exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “And now we know nothing more than before: that the enemy is not content to stay in the North.”

You looked down, the weight of his words sinking in. “I’ll go back if I have to,” you said quietly. “I’ll find out what—”

“No,” Tywin interrupted, his voice firm. “You’ve done enough. We will find another way.”

Beric rose from his seat, his men following his lead. “If you wish it, my lord,” Beric said, addressing Tywin, “we can investigate this further. My men and I have dealt with shadows before.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed. “You offer much, Dondarrion. And what do you expect in return?”

Beric smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach his eye. “The same thing you want, my lord. Survival.”

The room grew quiet again as Tywin considered the offer. You glanced at Beric, grateful for his words but still uneasy. Tywin finally nodded, though his expression remained guarded. “We’ll discuss it further in the morning.”

Beric inclined his head and led his men out of the hall, leaving you and Tywin alone once more. He turned back to you, his gaze softening just enough to reveal the concern beneath.

“You should rest,” Tywin said, his tone gentler now. “There’s nothing more you can do tonight.”

You nodded, though the heaviness in your chest remained. As he stood and offered you his hand, you took it, letting him guide you from the hall. The shadows that haunted your thoughts felt no less distant, but with Tywin’s steady presence beside you, you allowed yourself a moment’s reprieve.

The chamber was quiet except for the crackle of the hearth and the soft rustling of Maelor’s toys as he played on the rug nearby. Damon, still confined to his bed, was propped up against a pile of pillows, his face a blend of youthful determination and regret. The burns on the left side of his body had begun to scar, leaving his cheek taut and pulling his lips into a permanent sneer. Despite his injuries, the boy’s spirit had not wavered entirely. He watched his mother with a mix of guilt and yearning as she gently dabbed a cloth against his unburned cheek, her touch careful and tender.

“You should rest more,” you said softly, your tone warm but firm. “Healing takes time.”

Damon shifted uncomfortably, his right hand gripping the edge of his blanket. “I’m tired of resting, Mother,” he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. “I feel useless.”

Maelor, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a wooden lion in his hands, glanced up at his brother. “You’re not useless,” he said with the blunt honesty of a child. “You’re just burned.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips, though you quickly suppressed it, turning your attention back to Damon. “Maelor’s right,” you said, smoothing Damon’s hair. “And I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself that again.”

Damon’s eyes lowered, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I only wanted to help,” he admitted after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stilled, your hand pausing mid-stroke. “Help with what?” you asked gently, though you already suspected the answer.

“To help like you,” Damon said, his gaze meeting yours, his expression earnest. “I thought… if I had a dragon, like you, I could make a difference. I could protect everyone.”

Your chest tightened, a mix of pride and heartache swelling within you. You took his hand in yours, careful not to brush against his bandages. “Damon,” you said softly, “you have nothing to prove. You are still so young. The weight of protecting others is not yours to bear, not yet.”

He frowned, his youthful determination bubbling to the surface. “But you do it,” he said. “You and Viserion. You’ve always been so strong, so brave. I wanted to be like you.”

The words struck you deeply, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the right response. Maelor, oblivious to the gravity of the conversation, crawled up onto the edge of Damon’s bed, his tiny hands clutching the blanket as he peered at his brother.

“You’re already brave,” Maelor said matter-of-factly. “Even when you got burned, you didn’t cry.”

Damon let out a soft, humorless laugh. “I cried plenty,” he admitted, his gaze shifting back to you. “But it still wasn’t enough. Arraxes rejected me.”

The name hung in the air, heavy with significance. You hadn’t heard him speak it before, but it was clear he had already claimed it in his heart.

You squeezed his hand gently, leaning closer. “Damon,” you said firmly, “dragons are not easily won. They choose their riders, just as Viserion chose me. Arraxes may not have been meant for you, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“But what if no dragon ever chooses me?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. “What if I’m not like you after all?”

You reached out, cupping his unburned cheek and guiding his gaze to yours. “You are my son,” you said, your voice filled with quiet strength. “You are strong and brave in ways you don’t even realize yet. A dragon will come to you when the time is right. But until then, you have no need to rush. You are already more than enough.”

Damon’s eyes glistened, though he blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. “I just wanted to be like you,” he murmured again.

“And you are,” you assured him, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You are more like me than you know. But you are also your father’s son, and he would say the same thing I’m saying now: your time will come. Until then, you must heal, learn, and grow.”

Maelor clambered onto the bed fully now, his small arms wrapping around Damon in a clumsy but heartfelt hug. “Don’t worry,” Maelor said. “You’ll get your dragon. I know it.”

Damon let out a soft laugh, though it was tinged with emotion. “Thanks, Maelor.”

You watched the two boys, your heart swelling with both love and sorrow. No mother wanted to see their child suffer, and Damon’s ordeal had been almost as painful for you as it had been for him. But as you sat there, watching Maelor’s unwavering faith in his older brother, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope.

Leaning down, you pressed a gentle kiss to Damon’s forehead. “Rest now,” you said softly. “Both of you.”

As you tucked the blanket around them, Damon’s eyes began to flutter shut, exhaustion finally overtaking him. Maelor stayed close, his small hand resting protectively on Damon’s arm.

You stayed for a while longer, watching over them, your thoughts a swirl of gratitude, worry, and resolve. 

The private chamber of Casterly Rock was heavy with silence, save for the faint crackle of the hearth in the corner. Tywin Lannister stood near the tall windows, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out over the snow-covered courtyard below. His expression was as stern as ever, but there was an air of tension about him, a tightness in his jaw that betrayed the thoughts swirling in his mind.

The door creaked open, and Maester Aldren entered, his chain jangling softly as he carried a worn leather satchel. His lined face was solemn, the weight of his duty evident in his weary posture. Tywin turned slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing as the old maester approached.

“You sent for me, my lord?” Aldren asked, inclining his head respectfully.

Tywin gestured to a nearby chair, his voice clipped but calm. “Sit. I wish to discuss my son’s condition.”

Aldren obeyed, settling into the chair and placing the satchel on the table between them. He began to retrieve small vials and folded parchments, his movements deliberate. “How is young Damon faring, my lord? Has there been any change in his behavior since the incident?”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, and he turned fully to face the maester. “He is restless,” he said bluntly. “The burns trouble him, and his demeanor has grown… quieter. He refuses to look at himself in the mirror, and I do not tolerate weakness, even in children.”

Aldren nodded, though his brow furrowed slightly. “The physical scars will heal in time, my lord, though some will remain as reminders. But the wounds of the mind and spirit… those require a different sort of care.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Speak plainly, Aldren. What are you suggesting?”

The maester folded his hands on the table, his eyes meeting Tywin’s. “Damon is a boy of strong will, my lord. But what he endured in the mines—the fire, the pain—it has left an impression. He will need guidance and patience to process it. If he does not face what happened, those fears may fester and grow.”

Tywin scoffed quietly, though there was no true derision in the sound. “My son will not wallow in fear. He is a Lannister.”

“Of course, my lord,” Aldren said carefully. “But even lions have moments of doubt, especially at such a tender age. If Damon feels unsupported in his struggle, it may lead to anger or recklessness. Both are dangerous paths for a boy with his lineage.”

Tywin stepped closer to the table, his sharp gaze locking onto the maester. “What do you propose? I will not coddle him.”

Aldren opened one of the parchments, revealing a detailed sketch of a burn salve recipe. “There are herbs and ointments that will soothe the physical discomfort, making it easier for him to rest. As for his mind, it may help to allow him small victories—to rebuild his confidence. Teach him that the fire did not defeat him, and that he is still strong.”

Tywin considered this, his expression unreadable. “And his schooling? Can he continue?”

“With some adjustments, yes,” Aldren replied. “His burns require careful tending, and strenuous activities may irritate the skin. But keeping his mind occupied with his lessons will be beneficial—it will give him a sense of purpose.”

Tywin’s gaze drifted toward the fire, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. After a long pause, he spoke again, his tone quieter but no less resolute. “What of the scars? They will mark him for life.”

Aldren hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, my lord. But scars are not merely blemishes—they are stories, reminders of survival. If Damon learns to see them as a symbol of his strength rather than his pain, they may serve him well.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his sharp mind weighing every word. “He is my heir, Aldren. The weight of our house will rest on his shoulders one day. I will not allow this incident to weaken him.”

“It will not, my lord,” Aldren said firmly. “With your guidance—and that of Lady Lannister—he will emerge stronger. But he needs to feel your support, even if it is not spoken outright.”

Tywin turned his gaze back to the window, his expression contemplative. For a moment, he said nothing, the only sound the faint crackling of the fire. Then, with a nod, he straightened his shoulders and looked back at Aldren.

“Very well,” he said. “Prepare the salves and the necessary herbs. I expect a full regimen for his care by tonight.”

“Of course, my lord,” Aldren said, rising from his chair and bowing his head.

As the maester gathered his belongings and prepared to leave, Tywin’s voice stopped him at the door. “One more thing.”

Aldren turned, his brow raised in question. “Yes, my lord?”

“Do not let anyone speak of weakness in my son,” Tywin said, his tone cold and commanding. “Not the servants, not the guards, not anyone. Is that understood?”

Aldren inclined his head once more. “Perfectly, my lord.”

With that, the maester exited the solar, leaving Tywin alone in the flickering light of the hearth. He remained still for a long moment, his mind heavy with thoughts of his son and the future of House Lannister.

Finally, he turned back to the window, his gaze piercing the dark horizon. The weight of his name, his house, and his legacy bore down on him—but Tywin Lannister had never been one to yield.

The heavy wooden door to Damon’s chambers creaked slightly as Tyrion Lannister pushed it open, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Inside, the room was warm, the hearth crackling brightly against the harsh chill of the endless winter outside. The golden lion banners draped on the walls swayed faintly in the draft, and near the window, Damon sat in a cushioned chair, his face turned away as he fiddled with a wooden lion toy.

Tyrion stepped inside, his movements slow and deliberate. The guards at the door had hesitated to let him pass, but his sharp tongue and reputation for stubbornness had won out. As the door shut softly behind him, Damon glanced over his shoulder, his left side still visibly marked from the burns he had sustained weeks ago. The scars pulled at his features, making his expression harder to read, but his bright eyes gleamed with curiosity.

“Do my eyes deceive me,” Tyrion began in a theatrical tone, “or has the great lion cub of Casterly Rock decided to hide himself away from the world?”

Damon frowned slightly but didn’t respond immediately, instead watching Tyrion as he approached. “What are you doing here?” the boy asked, his tone guarded but not unkind.

Tyrion gestured to the chair opposite Damon, lowering himself into it with a groan of exaggerated effort. “I thought I’d pay a visit to my youngest half-brother. I’m told you’ve become quite the talk of the Rock. Though, judging by your expression, it seems the stories of your charm may be a touch exaggerated.”

Damon frowned deeper, crossing his arms. “Father said you’re not supposed to be near me or Maelor.”

“Ah, yes,” Tyrion replied with a mockingly serious nod. “Father did mention something to that effect. But, as you’ll soon learn, Damon, rules set by Tywin Lannister are often more… suggestions than absolutes.”

Damon tilted his head, unsure how to respond. “Father won’t like it if he finds out.”

Tyrion chuckled, his mismatched eyes gleaming with mischief. “No, he won’t. But I’ve found that annoying him is one of life’s greatest small pleasures. And you, my dear brother, are far too interesting to avoid simply because of a decree.”

Damon shifted in his chair, the toy lion now forgotten in his lap. “Why do you want to talk to me?”

Tyrion leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re my family, Damon. My blood. Besides,” he added with a sly grin, “I hear you’ve been getting into all sorts of trouble lately. Sneaking into mines, naming dragons, and now brooding by windows like a proper young lord.”

Damon flushed slightly, looking away. “I wasn’t brooding.”

“Of course not,” Tyrion said, his tone light. “You were contemplating, which is a much more respectable pastime. Tell me, Damon, what does a young lion like you think about when the days are dark, and the world feels too big?”

Damon hesitated, glancing back at Tyrion. Despite his father’s warnings, there was something oddly comforting about Tyrion’s presence—his wit, his easy manner, the way he seemed to see right through the walls Damon tried to build. “I think about… the dragons,” Damon admitted quietly.

Tyrion’s expression softened, though his voice remained teasing. “Ah, yes. Our fiery friends beneath the Rock. I hear you’ve named the black one Arraxes. A fine choice, though I hope he doesn’t mind the name.”

Damon’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “He didn’t seem to.”

“Good,” Tyrion said with a nod. “Dragons are temperamental creatures, much like our father. Best to keep them on your good side.”

At that, Damon let out a small laugh, the sound surprising them both. Tyrion leaned forward slightly, his tone more earnest now. “You’re going to be great one day, Damon. I can see it. The scars you bear, the burdens you carry—they’ll shape you into someone strong, someone clever. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Damon’s smile faltered, and he looked down at his hands. “But Father says I shouldn’t have gone into the mines. That I was reckless.”

Tyrion reached out, placing a reassuring hand on the boy’s knee. “Father says many things, and most of them are true. But do you know what I see? I see a boy who wanted to claim his place in the world. A boy who was brave enough to face fire and live to tell the tale. That, Damon, is something no one can take from you.”

Damon met Tyrion’s gaze, his eyes searching for something—approval, perhaps, or understanding. After a moment, he nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thanks,” he said softly.

Tyrion patted his knee before pulling back. “Anytime, my boy. Just remember, if you ever want to annoy Father, you know where to find me.”

The door creaked open then, and one of the guards poked his head inside, his expression wary. “My lord Tyrion, Lord Tywin is asking for you.”

Tyrion sighed dramatically, rising from his chair with a mock groan. “Ah, duty calls. Or perhaps it’s my sentencing—always hard to tell with Father.”

He winked at Damon before heading for the door, pausing briefly to look back. “Take care of yourself, Damon. And try not to burn down the castle.”

Damon smiled faintly, watching as Tyrion left the room. For the first time in days, the weight on his chest felt a little lighter.

[thefadecodex]

Our first real exposure actually beings with the Grand Oak tree in DAO! (Thank you @meganooooooooooooooo for pointing this out!)

Players began to notice a distinct cadence in Solas's speech during interactions in DAI. Notably, when he recounts moments from the Fade, his voice occasionally takes on a rhythm and tone reminiscent of a hymn or chant, evoking the cadence of "Hallelujah," specifically the K.D. Lang cover.

(note: @the-northern-continent does a great breakdown of the Hallelujah cadence vs iambic pentameter in this post. And @liaragaming does a good breakdown of Solas speaking in that cadence in this post.)

This has led The Fade Codex to theorize that this cadence reflects a dialect used by spirits—an ancient, rhythmic way of communication that blends emotion and intent through a deliberate structure. The 6/8 musical framework of the K.D. Lang Hallelujah cover. This framework prioritizes reflective pacing, 1-2-3 / 4-5-6 measures, and allows secondary stresses to create an emotional cadence.

This concept is further explored in Dragon Age: The Veilguard through various encounters with spirits. Below are examples that demonstrate this rhythmic, almost lyrical, pattern in their speech:

The Anxious Spirit (A Spirit of Comfort) - Arlathan Forest

"Trapped. Can't get out. It hurts. It's dark. Please. They didn't know what to do. They didn't want to die."

TRAPPED. CAN'T get OUT. It HURTS. It's DARK. PLEASE. They DIDN'T know what to DO. They DIDN'T want to DIE.

"Stop the thoughts. Stop the fears. Quiet, please. Make it quiet."

STOP the THOUGHTS. STOP the FEARS. QUI-et, PLEASE. MAKE it QUI-et.

Eulogy (Originally a Spirit of Compassion) - Minrathous

"Something larger stirs. Calling the desperate. I cannot see what."

SOME-thing LARG-er STIRS. CALL-ing the DES-per-ATE. I CAN-not SEE what.

"Know the hope you bring Dock Town thwarts it. And may you continue."

KNOW the HOPE you BRING. DOCK TOWN THWARTS it. AND may YOU con-TIN-ue.

"As you found their names, I felt them whisper through the Fade."

As YOU found their NAMES, I FELT them WHIS-per THROUGH the FADE.

"My own name changed. I am now Eulogy."

My OWN name CHANGED. I AM now EU-lo-GY.

Hope Unyielding - Hossberg Wetlands

"Light glimmers the surface. Flowers break through snow. Hope unexpected. I am such."

LIGHT glim-MERS the SUR-face. FLOW-ers BREAK through SNOW. HOPE un-EXPECT-ed. I AM SUCH.

"No. But nor was I forever."

NO. But NOR was I for-EV-er.

Pluck - Hall of Valor

"What foul-hearted spirit tugs at the corners of your lips to turn them down so?"

What FOUL-heart-ed SPIR-it tugs at the COR-ners of your LIPS to TURN them DOWN so?

"Greetings, Mourn Watcher. You are a long ways from Nevarra."

GREET-ings, MOURN Watch-er. YOU are a LONG ways from Ne-VAR-ra.

Emmrich (to Pluck)

"Hail to you, child of Valor. As voice of our lightless shores, I pray your blade may never sunder."

HAIL to YOU, child of VAL-or. As VOICE of our LIGHT-less SHORES, I PRAY your BLADE may NEV-er SUN-der.

Pluck

"You honor me. Few remember the old ways."

You HON-or ME. Few re-MEM-ber the OLD WAYS.

The phrase "the old ways," as used by Pluck, is believed to reference this rhythmic, cadenced speech. It’s a pattern steeped in intent, echoing the emotional resonance of the Fade itself.

Grand Oak - West Brecilian Forest

(image source)

What manner of beast be thee that comes before this elder tree?

What MAN-ner of BEAST be THEE that COMES be-FORE this EL-der TREE?

Ahhhh, yes, I remember thy kind. So brief of life and all but blind to the peril you cause, the lives you take, such chaos is down within thy wake.

AHHH, yes, I re-MEM-ber THY kind. SO brief of LIFE and ALL but BLIND. To the PER-il you CAUSE, the LIVES you TAKE. Such CHA-os is DOWN with-IN thy WAKE.

This dialect may serve as both a form of communication and an expression of a spirit's essence, allowing them to convey ideas, emotions, and purpose in a way that transcends mere words.

This theory deepens our understanding of how spirits interact with mortals and each other, highlighting the unique and poetic nature of their existence.

[acronym49]

My takes on the Wof tribes!!

Skywings: Fast efficient hunters of mountain terrain. They have a much higher stomach acidity, allowing them to digest bone and neutralize bacteria that would be dangerous to other tribes. Wings claws have hooked talons to make it easier to cling to sheer rock faces (or the palace walls even), where they sometimes like to sleep. Pupils are round, and there's a ring of bone that keeps the eyes sharp and prevents shape warping with age. Fastest fliers, but not the longest fliers.

Icewings: A combination of cute and elegance, soft and sharpness. Wide spread paws to disperse weight on snow, with thick hollow fur that traps in heat. Horns are some of the most decorative, used for display or battle. Fur color can range between pure white, or even mottled darker greys to blend in with the taiga forest of their lower territory. They have good endurance and extremely keen senses, as well as a built in tolerance to excessive light.

Nightwings: Steathy both in air and on land. Paws are adapted specifically to be silent, as they are ambush hunters. Eyes have the strongest night vision of any tribe, but can be sensitive to daylight. Wing feathers are fringed for silent flight, as well as the tail fans and tip. Fur is lightweight but warm, as they were originally built to live in the tundra forests between the Ice Kingdom and Sand Kingdom. Very long canine teeth, they like to haul prey up into trees to eat.

Sandwings: Long- legged and extremely opportunistic. They use a mixture of fur and scales to keep cool air in and warm air out, which is used also to keep the warmth in for the cool nights. Paw pads are thickly furred to create a barrier between skin and hot sand. Despite being efficient fliers, a lot of Sandwings prefer to chase their prey on foot, a task aided by their long legs and tail. Wings are the longest of all the tribes, broad in shape and used for soaring on thermal currents when the ground is too hot.

Mudwings: Semi-aquatic, with an incredible bite force. Their frills are surprisingly thick and sturdy, able to huld up well against bites or piercing. Paws and wing claws are both webbed for movement in water. Their wings are similar to Rainwings, being broad and eliptical, but lean more towards heron wings than that of a harpy eagle. Can hold their breath for up to an hour, and host many whiskers to feel for prey in murky water. Lips have small dotted pores that pick up electromagnetic currents for this same purpose. Bite force is one to be reckoned with.

Seawings: Heavily adapted to water, but still surprisingly efficient on land. Their running speed is still just as good as other tribes, even a little on the fast end. Their head and body are all streamlined, skin covered in tiny toothlike scales to keep them sturdy yet swift. Numerous fins, with two on either side for stability and steering, and a powerful fluked tail. Wings are considerably flexible as they close nearly flush to the body when swimming.

Rainwings: Masters of camoflauge and color. Frills on the back, neck, and tail are all very thin, with moveable spines connecting them. These frills are moved in a natural wave formation to mimic shifting leaves while hiding. Their paws and wing claws are nimble yet deceptively strong, the hooks are able to support nearly the entire weight of the dragon. They have both sensory whiskers and modified whiskers for decoration, as well as heat pits to detect other lifeforms. With this, hiding rainwings can lower their temperature to not be found. Colors are usually only for decoration or camo, so it's common to see lots of contrast and variety in the villages.

[gouraminnow]

Birds of a Feather

(Entirely platonic | SFW | Marco & OC) Marco the Phoenix is found by an orphaned harpy child that mistakes him for one of their own kind. It takes less than a day to commit to adoption- he really is taking after his father.

Warnings: Past world government/celestial dragon related incident, drugging/sedation. This is self indulgent fluff catered to me and exactly one other person she knows who she is. Hi <3

Marco had just wanted to stretch his wings. The winter island they’d all stopped at was beautiful- sloping hills, valleys and deep forests blanketed in thick snow, with the soft orange lights of the small town that had only recently sprung up. They weren’t going to be here very long- at least they didn’t plan on it. Apparently, there were some nice hot springs in more remote areas, and some of the others had asked him to see if he spotted them on his flight. Whether or not his brothers actually wished to commit to the hike when there was booze to be had in town was another matter, but he enjoyed the airtime anyway. The clear wintery skies were quiet and refreshing.

Cresting over a hill and peering down into a valley, he spots the stacked hot spring pools overlapping like fish scales.

But he also spotted something else.

When he swooped lower to get a look at the layered pools of the springs, he also noticed a small white shape- scampering through underbrush, between trees, trying to keep up with him despite being grounded. He can’t get a good look from up here- but whatever it is, it’s awfully little and makes no attempts to conceal itself. He dips again, going lower in an attempt to catch a glimpse of this thing- aiming for a clearing between some pools up ahead, he turns in a wide arc, flaring his wings out to catch the frigid air and slow his descent. He kicks up a healthy plume of snow when he lands, and takes a second to shake himself off. He stands still, arms still transformed into wings as he searches for any movement- though he doesn’t have to wait long. Something white and fluffy with bits of gray and black darts right toward him with a loud trill. He steps to the side, the tiny thing skidding right past him with an undignified squawk. 

The fluffy mess shakes itself off, and he’s met with the confused face of… some sort of little bird creature. It can’t be much taller than his mid-thigh. It wears no clothes, but it does have a leather shoulder bag. It’s covered from head to taloned toe in thick, downy feathers. It has wings instead of arms, but longer, more dextrous phalanges form three functional fingers at each wrist. Little black talons poke through a generous amount of unkempt plumage at both the feet and pseudo-hands, and the face- large, black eyes rimmed with orange, with bright blue circular markings on the cheeks, framed by a wild mane of… well, feathers, but it takes the place of hair. Two little tufts stick out on top of its head, not unlike the “ears” of a great-horned owl. They’re covered in gray and black stripes and speckles- impressive camouflage. He’s sure if the little beast had actually tried to be stealthy, he never would have noticed them. 

But it wasn’t. It was dead-set on getting his attention. It didn’t take a genius to be able to guess that it mistook him for its own kind. He furrows his brow, watching it shake itself off and look back up at him, releasing a quizzical chirp. His mouth presses into a firm line. This was… probably a harpy chick. While harpies were typically depicted with bare faces and torsos, this was a cold environment. Probably just a climate-specific adaptation- or maybe they’re completely feathered as babies and they’ll lose coverage as they age. It chirps at him again, taking a tentative step forward, and he sighs. He’s not sure what to do here. He’s unfamiliar with whatever this species is, and he doesn’t want to inadvertently upset some territorial parents. While the little one seems to think he’s one of them, it’s entirely possible the adults would know better. He looks around- scanning the treeline, the clearing, the sky- and finding no hint of any other presence, he turns back to the creature before him, who has been inching closer and closer. He holds their gaze for a moment. “Where’d you come from, little one?”

They blink up at him. One of their little ear tufts twitches.

“... Can you understand me at all?” He tries.

They tilt their head at him, a little chrrr chrrr chrrr sound bubbling out of their throat.

Inconclusive, but probably not.

With a low chuckle, he crouches down- and that’s when they strike. They launch themselves forward, tackling Marco with a shrill cry. “Woah there,” he says as they cling to his coat, little feet scrabbling frantically as they struggle to get themselves up on top of his bent legs, sitting themselves right down on his lap. They’re not shy at all about getting settled, curling up and nuzzling his chest with a sweet trill. Marco huffs. “Well, aren’t you affectionate, yoi?” he muses, shifting his wings back into arms. Gently, he wraps an arm around the creature, supporting their weight by pressing them against his chest as he sits down cross-legged, settling them back into his lap.

They don’t really react, just continuing to nuzzle against the man. They’re awfully happy to be here, aren’t they? His hands run through the downy, speckled feathers on their back and his mouth presses into a firm line. Checking them over, he finally realizes just how dirty and unkempt they are- specifically in spots they wouldn’t be able to reach on their own. There’s an uninterrupted strip of grimy, disheveled feathers interspersed with the waxy sheaths of developing pin feathers down their spine- when he pulls his hand away, there’s a thin layer of grime on his fingertips. 

“... Who’s taking care of you, kiddo?” He murmurs, only met with the happy, idle twittering of the creature in his lap. “You’re real excited to see me huh…” He’s not sure what to do. They very well could be an orphan, or even a case of a hatchling being ejected from the nest by a stronger sibling. Or they could just be very, very lost. Gently, he pushes the creature’s shoulders back, so they can look each other in the face. “Blink three times if you understand me,” he says, voice firm. They just stare, tilting their head a little bit. Marco sighs. The language barrier is a problem. He takes a second to think, letting the kid snuggle up again. How much this creature takes after regular birds was unknown but some things could be inferred. The eagerness with which they latched onto him suggested a social species- the state of their feathers suggesting flock members assisted each other in grooming. At least at this age, anyway. If this creature had parents, he needed to figure out how to locate them- but as of right now, he had no way of telling if that was the case or not.

 He’s pulled out of his thoughts when the creature begins to rummage through their little bag- producing what looks like two small, dried pieces of meat and then holding one up to his face. They chirp, smiling brightly, practically shoving it against his chin. He looks at the creature's wide eyes, then at the shriveled, burnt looking scrap they’re offering. When he doesn’t accept it immediately, their little face scrunches up, mouth settling into a pout. They pull away, maintaining eye contact, and pop one into their mouth. They make a loud, exaggerated display of chewing(with their mouth closed, thankfully) and swallowing with an audible gulp. Marco huffs, a lazy smile spreading across his face. As unappetizing as it looks, he can smell the char on it, so at least it's been thoroughly sterilized at this point. Not that contaminants were something he worried much about with his particular devil fruit, but some things are just a matter of principle. Dubious meat is dubious. But the display was awfully cute, and he’d hate to disappoint them, so when they slowly hold it out to him again, he plucks it from their talons and swallows it whole. He does briefly taste the char he suspected, but the big grin from the hatchling is worth it.

He ruffles their hair, and they eagerly lean into the gesture. But when he tries to pull away, they grab onto his hand, hopping to their feet and gently trying to tug him along with them. “Oh? Got something to show me?” He gets a series of chirps in response, and they keep tugging. Well, he’s got plenty of time. Might as well see where they want to take him- it's probably his best bet at answering some of his questions.

-

Marco casually follows behind the little bird as they lead him through the snow. He’d gotten them to let go of his hand- they were so short he had to awkwardly bend down in order for them to reach it, and walking like that was very uncomfortable. At one point during their little walk, they had turned back to him and twittered with a quizzical tilt to their head, before flaring their wings out. He raised a brow, and they just repeated the gesture. “Sorry, kiddo, not sure I get what you mean…” they huff, stomping their little feet- before pointing to him and flaring their wings out a third time. A light goes off in his head. Ah, that’s what it is, huh? With a dramatic flourish of blue flame, his arms bloom into wings. He flares them just like they had, flapping a couple times for good measure- disturbing the pristine snow around the two of them in a ten-foot radius. He seems to have gotten it right- they cheer loudly, hopping up and down and twirling in a circle. He can’t help but soften at the sight- he wasn’t a conceited man, but appealing to his ego certainly didn’t hurt. After the little display he just followed along, listening to them chirp and warble endlessly. They may not understand each other, but there was no doubt they were a chatterbox. 

It isn’t long before they come upon a sort of crevice between two tall pools, hidden away by some simple foliage. The little one slips right in, but it’s a bit of a tight squeeze for Marco. The first thing he notices is just how warm it is in the little cave. Makes sense to him- perfect place to make a den. The walls are a soft, reddish brown, working with the pleasant warmth to directly contrast the bitter chill outside. There are a few old wooden crates and cracked, scavenged pottery shoved against the walls of the cavern- the former of which store a variety of pilfered knicknacks, most notably packs of crayons and paints along with what looks like a coarsely-bristled brush tied to a long stick. There’s a nest further in, made of loose furs and old rags primarily- but just beyond that, on the far wall, countless drawings have been pinned up, rows of wobbly child-like sketches displayed right next to their bed. Stepping further, eyes gradually adjusting, he notices something else:

Tally marks.

Hundreds of them- tiny, shallow tick marks etched into every wall of the cave, reaching only a little higher than his knee. Something in him twists, as he crouches down to run his fingers against the clumsily scratched lines. These ones are organized in groups of seven, rather than five. 

He hears another trill, the rustling of papers- and he looks back to see the little one bounding toward him, holding a drawing up above their head with a grin. They shove the paper towards him with an excited cry, earning a chuckle from the man, who graciously accepts it, raising the yellowed material up for a closer look. He goes still, a tightness blooming in his chest. In a childish crayon scrawl, the colors bleeding past the wobbly outlines, are three figures. One is the child standing before him, who is currently excitedly hopping from foot to foot in silent anticipation. They draw themselves as little more than a speckled puffball with big eyes, blue cheeks and their distinct ear tufts. The second figure is bigger, standing to the left of the child. The stripes on this figure are darker, with some browns mixed in with the black and gray stripes. The markings are similar to the child’s, with the blue cheeks and orange-rimmed eyes, but with a few key differences- namely the large tail feathers, black tipped wings and feet, with a hint of that same blue on the undersides of the wings.The drawing is actually… really good, for a kid- there’s an impressive amount of detail put into recreating the distinct markings of their family.

The third figure… confirms some of his suspicions. It’s slightly smaller than the second, but still larger than the child. And the plumage of this adult is primarily a bright, brilliant blue, save for white patches on the belly and face. There’s a tightness in his chest as he holds the paper, eyes flitting to the ever-hopeful face of the child. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. If these harpies matched up with the same types of sexual dimorphism as many bird species, the brightly colored ones are probably the males. This is clearly a family portrait, but the little one’s parents are nowhere to be seen. And the tally marks on the wall don’t reach very high, nor do the drawings they’ve hung up- if they had someone older looking after them, more of that wallspace would probably be utilized. Do they think he’s just another harpy, or their dad specifically? Probably not- if they were able to draw out the markings their parents had, then they’re probably able to see the difference.

“Kid…” he starts, taking a step forward and crouching down. They seem to view this as an invitation, because just like last time, they launch forward and flail their way onto his lap. He sighs, circling an arm around their waist and standing back up. They barely weigh anything at all. He wonders if their bones are hollow.

Now carrying the child, he approaches the wall featuring the rest of the drawings. His steps reverberate around the small cavern, the harpy purring against his chest. He steps into their makeshift nest, settling down in the various pelts, blankets and cushions. It smells a little musty, truthfully… reminds him of the few times he’d entered Ace’s room.

He shakes the thought out of his head, instead focusing on the drawings the little one had made. It’s… a lot of drawings of other Harpies, some scribbly mountains and trees… one seems to depict a gathering of twelve, with a bonfire in the middle and the bird people taking turns roasting nondescript lumps on sticks. He’s sure it’s meant to be meat, as two of them do almost look like rabbit silhouettes. Another depicts the child in his lap playing in the springs with other harpy children- all drawn with sweet little smiles and those big, black dot eyes. All the drawings they’ve pinned to the cave wall are happy scenes with a loving flock that is nowhere to be seen. Many figures celebrating, playing together, hunting and cooking game… none depict a Harpy by itself, all of them groups of at least three. Going off of these, he was right in suspecting they’re part of a highly social species, raised as part of a crowded and attentive flock. Abandonment seems out of the question if these idyllic little pictures are to be believed- but regardless of the circumstances behind their isolation, this was clearly some sort of desperate coping mechanism. Hanging pictures of the family they missed dearly, right by where they sleep? Examining another drawing of adult harpies fending off some large, fearsome thing- mostly black scribbles, big sharp teeth and eyes- while the chicks watch from behind them- the idea of abandonment at the talons of these bird-folk feels like nonsense. He doesn’t want to say anything for sure when all he has to go off are these pictures, but some deep, small but sharp sting of instinct within him makes the suggestion of neglect feel utterly wrong. Something worse had happened, the phoenix was all but certain. His mouth presses into a thin line, and he can’t help but hold the poor kid a little tighter. 

They’re completely oblivious to the inner turmoil welling up inside him, interpreting the slight squeeze as deliberate affection. Their eyelids droop and their feathers puff up as they settle against his warmth. It isn’t long at all before they’re snoring softly in his lap… Marco sighs, idly petting the little bird monster as they doze. “You make it real hard not to get attached, huh, yoi…” He mumbles, gently scratching their chin. Hmm. He wants to check something. Thinking back to their little family portrait, he leans them back and gently unfurls one of their arm-wings. Most of the feathers are still soft and downy, but he catches hints of those iridescent blue patches the mother in the drawing had right under her armpits. Checking their wings, gently detangling as he goes, he catches no further glimpses of those vibrant pinfeathers, and concludes that the child is most likely female- though he is unfamiliar with the child’s age and how quickly their species develops, so he wouldn’t know for sure until all the baby feathers were gone. Judging by the little blue sprigs, it wouldn’t be long-

Marco blinks, stopping his train of thought. When had he started thinking as if this kid was going to live with him? He hadn’t even known them for a day. Suspicious circumstances and heartstring-pulling be damned, it’s far too early to be acting this way. The ideal way this all turns out is that their real family is located, and they’re left with their kind. In the best-case scenario, he’d never even see their adult plumage, having sailed on with his family after reuniting the child with their own. If he did take them with him, he would have to figure out their specific needs on the fly, such as diet, exercise, hygiene, sleeping habits… though at least the size of the crew was unlikely to bother them once they’d integrated, if the large social groups in their artwork were anything to go by. 

Marco sighs. It’s simple- he just needs to know more. And now is the perfect time, seeing as the little one is sleeping like… well, a baby. He sits up, hands raising to their shoulders to gently pry them off from where their claws dig in to the fabric of his coat- and god is the little puffball tiny, one splayed hand covering the width of their speckled back- but as soon as he tries to pull them away, he hears a sleepy little whine and their three-fingered hands bunch up the wool. He frowns- taking in the way their eyes move behind their lids, and the drooping of their ear-tufts. Ugh. Damnit, they’re far too cute for their own good.

With an exaggeratedly resigned sigh, he pulls them back in, the little one cooing contentedly as they snuggle back into the warmth of his chest. He takes a second to adjust, moving the sleeping chick up to a more comfortable position before swinging his legs over the nest’s edge and standing up. He'll just... carry them while he has a look around, since they're so attached. So, with the little chick tucked against his chest with one arm, he begins his search. Starting with the wooden crates off to the side, he’s careful- sinking into a crouch and resting the harpy in the gap between his chest and the tops of his thighs. He picks through- this one is primarily art supplies, as he observed before. Packs of wax crayons dumped into a smaller box, paintbrushes- most in poor condition, he observes, the chipped handle of one resting against his palm as his thumb rubs over the frazzled, uneven bristles spiking outward. There’s a ripped canvas with a broken frame slotted into the box- when he goes to lift it, some chalk falls from where it had likely been resting on the wooden struts. The soft clatter makes the hatchling twitch, but nothing else. There are a few paint pots at the bottom as well, but they’re mostly empty or dried out. Curiously, he finds a couple small rectangular boxes with hinged lids as well, no bigger than his palms. They’re made of a thin, light colored wood and they remind him of Izo’s makeup- a thought that proves its merit when he flips the lid up to reveal the brightly colored chalky substance they have packed away inside. This one has three colors- yellow, orange, and red, and there’s a small mirror tucked into the underside of the lid. Snapping it closed, he opens the other- a sky blue, a darker cobalt pigment, and a deep purple. Hmm. He puts the palettes back where he found them, and turns his attention to the sleeping kid again. Leaning back, he rubs a thumb against the bright blue cheek spot, then pulls it away. Nothing. Those markings were natural, then. Well, it was left at the bottom of the box. If it was something they used with any regularity it would’ve been easier to reach. But the idea of birdfolk adding a little extra pigment to their plumage is one that tickles him.

He doesn’t find much else of note. He examines the brush on a stick he had seen earlier, finds some tools such as knives and scissors. One box has netting, rope, and fishing line- a broken rod laying at the bottom in two pieces. There’s a hole in the floor closer to the entrance of the cave, covered with an old pot lid- when he opens it, he finds a rabbit, two wrapped fish, and a handful of berries in a cheesecloth resting in a bed of snow.

But then, looking back to the inside of the cave, his eyes catch something he’d missed, somehow. Peeking out from under the nest, are more scraps of paper- the crinkled, triangular corners overlapping each other. More drawings… moving back toward the nest, he crouches slowly, careful with the child as usual. Reaching out, he tugs the crinkled papers out from under the furs they’ve been hidden under-

His heart leaps into his throat. His hand, tightening its grip, further crumpling the thin material.

The first picture is of a ship bearing the familiar emblem of the world government, scribbled navy blue and white trim topped by the golden figurehead all world noble ships have. He doesn’t need to look at the rest to know this poor child really is alone. The rest of the hidden drawings, pulled out from where they’ve been shoved and unfolded by his deft hand, are devastating- not just because of the contents. All of them less precise, more frantically drawn, indents or even tears where the kid had applied too much pressure while coloring. Tiny pinprick stains of water damage, if he looks close enough. One drawing is just a large fire. In another, adults and children alike trapped under nets. One shows suited men shooting some of the creatures as the ridiculous bubble-headed celestial dragon oversees. And there was yet another, depicting the familiar bright blue-plumed male flying away with the baby in his talons, little dots as tears falling from their eyes.

No wonder they were so happy to see him. No wonder they could overlook the glaring differences between him and their own kind.

The little one shifts, and Marco realizes how hard he’s breathing. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he takes a moment to calm himself, for their sake- but it’s not easy. Well. He’d already wanted to take the little one with him. He didn’t see a world where Oyaji would say no, especially not once Marco told him everything. And if anyone else had an issue (though he doubted anyone would, other than the typical rational concerns when it comes to having a small child on a pirate ship), they would just have to deal with it. Marco was a commander, he did what he wanted.

But of course, he still has questions. In the brief time they’d spent in town, nobody had made any mention of harpies. He knows the small village is a very recent development- four years old, if he remembered right- is it possible that its presence is younger than the tragedy that befell the birdfolk? When visiting a new place with his family, local urban legends were quickly picked up on. Proud, hardworking folk like these often want others to be impressed with the places they call home- that’s why they’d put so much emphasis on the springs. It seemed odd that nobody had mentioned that this island once contained at least one whole flock of mythical creatures.

But looking at all the tally marks on the walls, the small, clustered groups of seven, seven, seven- he hadn’t counted them, but over four years of living alone looked very plausible if he assumed the kid counted accurately. Did… the kid know there was a human settlement? He would assume they did, but then again… the distance is a lot for someone so small. He only spotted the remote cluster of pools from the air, before he swooped down for a closer look. And all of their things look old, held together through improvised fixes- nothing new that would suggest they had stolen from town. Though if they did know of its presence, it was possible they avoided it on purpose. They only wanted Marco’s attention because he was a giant blue bird. They might not differentiate between world nobles and humans in general. With that in mind, he should be cautious with crew introductions.

Well, regardless of the kid’s relations (or lack thereof) with the other locals, they were coming with him. As well as he can using one hand, he gingerly stacks the previously hidden artwork, tapping it against the ground to line them up. He wishes he had some sort of folder… tucking them into his coat will have to do for now, so he slowly leans them back- prying their little fingers out of the grip they hold so he can unbutton the front enough to slide the papers in. Something to show the others- some sympathy for his cause wouldn’t hurt.

And with that, he lets himself partially transform- Wings, feet, tailfeathers. with a flourish of healing fire- that he washes over the child, just in case. She blinks, yawning- and he watches the flickering of his own flames in their dark, glassy eyes as they widen. They smile up at him with a chirp, and he returns it. “Have a nice nap, little one?” He croons. “How would you like to go on a little flight with me, yoi?” They twitter up at him, feathers puffing up. He sets them down on the floor- which they whine about, earning a laugh from him. He shifts from foot to foot before holding one up and making a grabbing motion with his talons. They perk right up- and sprint outside. Marco blinks, moving after them and squeezing himself through the jagged opening to their little hideout. That’s something he wasn’t looking forward to when he came back to pack up their belongings.

Out in the snow, the hatchling calls out to him- they’ve laid down on their belly, sinking into the powdery substance. He’s amused and impressed they got the message so fast. He thought he’d have to take a leaf out of their book and draw a picture of himself carrying them away. He approaches slowly, holding out one foot again- and when she doesn’t move, he slowly, gingerly wraps his talons around their midsection, the first of his three front toes resting just under the armpit. He tests his grip first, lifting them up while balancing on the other foot, which earns a giggle from them. It feels secure enough, and they don't seem uncomfortable. So using his free foot to propel himself upward, he flaps once, twice, and they’re off- Marco smiling widely at the excited trill they let out. While a little awkward to carry, they’re tiny and weigh nothing to him. They soar over the trees, and Marco climbs higher- even through the sound of the air rushing past his ears, he doesn’t miss the little gasp that escapes them once he’s gotten enough air to reveal the pinks and oranges of a horizon at sunset.

It doesn’t take long. His jaw clenches when he can feel their little body growing more and more tense, the closer he gets to the Moby Dick. When he begins his descent towards the deck, Oyaji and a few others in view- they emit a loud, piercing whine, starting to wriggle. He pulls up, wings flaring out to slow himself, and sticks the landing on one foot, balancing himself before gently setting the kid down with the other. They immediately latch onto Marco’s legs, feathers bristling in agitation. Whitebeard raises a brow, leaning forward in his seat. He’s still shirtless, despite the weather. “Marco,” he rumbles out in greeting. “What’s this you’ve brought to us?” He asks, gesturing to the cowering child clinging to Marco’s legs.

Some of the others have started to gather around, wanting to see what this is about. Marco sighs. First, he reaches into his coat for the bundle of artwork. “Tate, would you mind looking over these with Oyaji?” He asks, extending his arm to the nurse, who approaches slowly. He hands them off to the nurse, who is thankfully dressed for the weather unlike his father, and crouches down to try and dislodge the kid. They whine at him when he grips them by the shoulders, peeling them off of him to the amusement of his brothers. He flashes a quick glare to the men and their chuckling quiets down. “Come on kid, you’re fine, yoi” he chides, opting to lift them into his arms. They bury their face in his chest as he sits them on one arm, turning the other into a wing which he carefully folds around their trembling body. Hopefully, hiding them from view gives them a little security.

He looks back up to Tate, and to Oyaji- he’s leaning over her shoulder as the blonde woman examines each childish drawing, her face growing more troubled with each one. Oyaji keeps the same stony expression the entire time, save for the subtle narrowing of his father’s eyes. “This one spotted me flying, Oyaji. Chased after me from the ground.” He says, watching his old man’s eyes raise to meet his own. “... They think I’m one of them. They’ve been alone for a real long time, yoi. What you’ve got right there, that’s what happened to the rest.”

“These… these are awful,” Tate breathes, still fixated on the foreboding artwork. Marco nods, mouth set in a firm line. 

“Hmph. So you’re saying we’re keeping them, I take it?” the old man says, plucking one of the drawings from Tate’s hands and leaning back to examine it closer. 

Marco nods. “My responsibility, of course. The kiddo’s already… attached.” He sighs, feeling them shift against his chest. “They don’t speak any… human languages. I have no way of telling them that I am not what they think I am, yoi.”

An uncomfortable silence settles over the deck, Whitebeard’s stern gaze sinking to the wing concealing the tiny creature. “And you are certain there are no others of their kind left here?” He asks, the unspoken meaning clear. He is not unsympathetic- it’s the same thought Marco had. It would be better to reunite them with their species, if possible.

Marco nods once again. “They’ve been living in a small cave, and they’ve scratched hundreds of tally marks into the walls. I didn’t count, but it’s been years, yoi. I think…” he sighs, pausing for a second. “None of the townsfolk said anything about bird people. I think this event predates the existence of the village, and this child has managed to remain hidden all this time, yoi.”

His father regards him from a moment, a warmth in his eyes few others would have recognized. “Let me get a look at them. Only for a moment.” Marco nods, retracting his wing. The little one sits with their face buried in his chest, trembling. He nudges them. They whine. He sighs, leaning them back, patting their head with his free hand and gesturing to Whitebeard. They hesitantly turn their head, and he feels them tense when they meet eyes with the Yonko. The towering man gives them a small smile, but it doesn’t help much. They recoil into Marco, pitchy squeak leaving their throat. The Phoenix sighs, letting them latch onto him and covering them from view once more. “Well, that’s it, then.” Whitebeard grunts. “What d’you need?”

“Somebody find Thatch- I need him to whip something up for ‘em. Some meat, add a sedative- I’m going back to their little hideaway to pack their things while they sleep.”

-

Thatch is located, and is reportedly happy to assist. Marco had moved the little beast to his own room, since being around so many humans all of a sudden had utterly terrified the poor thing.He swaddles them in blankets, and intends to leave them in bed- but his face softens when a hand shoots out to cling to him once more. He sighs at the little one glaring at him from the bundle of fabric. “I know, I know,” he coos. “I wish you understood me,” he laments, lifting their swaddled form into his arms. “But this is a good thing, yoi. We’re going to take care of you.” He makes his way over to his desk, opting to at least read over some reports while he waits for Thatch. Settling the child in his lap, he picks up some papers and leans back. 

A bit of guilt creeps up the back of his throat- the poor thing is still trembling. They aren’t being deliberately affectionate like they were before- no chirping, no squeaking, no nuzzling. Just laying where he put them. He sighs, using his free hand to rub their back. They don’t do anything, other than shift slightly. 

It doesn’t take long before he hears three knocks at his door- making the kid flinch. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, patting them softly before speaking up louder. “Come in.” Thatch enters, carrying a  covered platter on one hand.

“Hey, Marco!” the chef beams, strutting inside and setting the food down on the little corner table. The child clings to Marco’s chest tighter, at the sound of his voice. “Heard the big news- fatherhood is gonna look great on you, papa bird~” he teases in a sing-song voice. Marco rolls his eyes, adjusting the kid and standing up to face his crewmate. Thatch’s face softens when his eyes fall onto the bundle in Marco’s arms. “Aw. Still upset, huh?” He says, considerably more subdued now.

“Yeah,” he affirms, patting the bundled creature on the top of the head. “Can’t blame the poor kid- they don’t understand a word we say, so it’s not like I can do much to reassure them, yoi.”

Thatch sighs. “Well, I got the message,” he says, one hand on his hip as he removes the lid with a flourish. The child doesn’t move, but Marco can hear them sniffing. Thatch prepared various types of meat, cut into thin strips, arranged almost like a charcuterie board. There’s a peeled orange and some mixed berries as well. “I’ve got some cured meats, fruits, and I grilled a bit of pork- that’s what's got the sedative in it. Thought about doing chicken, too, but y’know…” He gestures vaguely, and Marco snorts with a shake of his head.

“Thanks, Thatch. And don’t leave just yet, alright?” He says, sliding into a chair. Thatch pulls up one of his own right across from them.

“Don’t have to tell me twice. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of ‘em, anyway. Everyone up top is gossiping.” He smiles, leaning back and propping a foot up on the opposing knee.

Marco returns the smile. “It’s your lucky day, then. You’ll be the first crewmate I introduce, yoi.” If he wants the kid to learn that the others won’t hurt them, the chef is a good place to start. He pries their little talons out of his shirt, shushing the undignified whine the action draws from them. He pulls the blanket down so it’s bunched around their waist, and spins them in his lap to face the tray of food. Thatch’s eyes widen, and a soft gasp falls from his lips. 

The kid regards him warily, leaning back against Marco’s chest. Their ear tufts are drooping back, and their talons find their way to the arm around their waist. “Hey there, little one. Oh, aren’t you cute?” Thatch greets, offering a small wave and a reassuring smile. “I heard all those brutes upstairs gave you a scare, huh? Poor thing,” he coos, before pushing the platter closer. They tense, but lean forward, sniffing the air. “Go ahead, kiddo, all yours.”

The hatchling is hesitant. Their little hands rise from Marco’s forearm, and both men watch their fists clench and unclench. When they turn back to look at Marco, their little face is scrunched up in worry- even if he can’t see their eyebrows through their thick, messy hair, he can tell they’re drawn tight. He gives them a relaxed smile, and slowly reaches out to pluck a piece of salami off of the plate. He makes sure they’re looking when he eats it, chewing slowly. He nods to Thatch. “You eat something too, yoi,” he says. The other man nods, opting for an orange slice. The kid’s little ear tufts perk up, just a little, and they lean forward. Some of the apprehension is beginning to melt away, but they still aren’t going for it. They look nervously back and forth between both men, head swiveling on their little neck. So Marco reaches out again- another piece of meat in his hand, holding it to their mouth as they had done to him. Slowly, they lean forward, biting the edge, and Marco lets go. It doesn’t even take a full second for the kid to realize how good it tastes, snapping it up instantly. They chew, swallow, lick their lips, go to reach for another-

And they freeze, just shy of touching the food. Marco could groan, but he doesn’t. Thatch gives the kid a nod, and when they look back to Marco, he does the same. Their dark glassy eyes go wide for a second. They pick up a blackberry, looking at both men for any reaction before eating it. This repeats a couple of times before they finally give in and start eating like the damn place is on fire, much to Thatch’s delight. The cured meats and fruits are snapped up in a flash, the thin prosciutto torn to shreds as they indulge. The pork is a bit chewier, taking them a little longer, but they eat everything before the drug even starts to set in. They’re licking their talons clean when Thatch pulls the platter back, and stands up. “Well, that was impressive,” he muses, smiling down at the child. They don’t cower against Marco anymore, instead leaning forward to chirp quizzically at the tall man. “Yep, I’m talkin’ to you, honey,” he laughs. “You’ll give Ace a run for his money, I know it.”

“Hope so. All of this is fluff, they’re a scrawny little thing underneath, yoi” Marco chuckles, rubbing the top of their head, relaxing when they lean up into his touch again. He was right. Food is a good way to help most creatures feel secure. 

“What do you need hope for? You know I won’t disappoint! They certainly seemed to like it, didn’t they? Oh, just look at them,” Thatch coos, watching as their eyes squint in satisfaction. 

The two speak a little longer, Thatch telling Marco that word had spread quickly. Oyaji had already given them a nickname, referring to them as “Pipsqueak” and sternly instructing his sons to leave them be for now. Marco told Thatch more about his encounter in turn- the way they’d exuberantly tackled him, the cave, the way the happy drawings had been pinned up by their bed- that particular detail had him dramatically slapping a hand over his heart. “Sent off to find some hot springs, and you come back with an orphan. You’re really taking after the old man, Marco.” He says with a sly smile. It doesn’t take too long for the kid to start nodding off- after around five minutes, there’s a big yawn, and they’re snuggling up to Marco again. He wraps an arm around them, gently preening their wings with his fingers. The speckled little creature all but melts against his chest.

“I think that’s your cue to get going, yoi,” he says.

Thatch sighs, dramatically slapping his hand over his heart. “So it is… how cruel.”

“Oh don’t pout about it, yoi. I actually let you see ‘em didn’t I? And you’ll be bringing them plenty more meals, I’m sure.”

“Of course I will! I’m aiming for the title of Favorite Uncle, after all!”

“You’ll have some stiff competition, yoi.”

“I’m a chef, my dear brother,” Thatch beams, spreading his arms. “Kids love food. Everybody loves food. I like my odds.”

Marco wouldn’t say it, but he did, too. Instead he just smiles, lifting the child into his arms. They rub a blue cheek against his chest, eyelids fluttering. “Yeah, yeah. Now go, yoi. Shoo. I’m sure I’ll be up shortly.” Thatch chuckles, gazing tenderly at the child before shaking his head. As his weathered hand grips the brass door handle, he shoots his brother a knowing smirk.

“You sure you’ll be back in time for them to wake up? I’m a busy man, but I’d be happy to keep an eye on-”

“I said shoo, yoi! Get on with it!”

Thatch laughs, the door swinging closed behind him with a creak. Marco sighs, shaking his head, but he’s still smiling. Turning his attention back to the kid, he holds them closer and stands up from his seat. He listens to their soft breathing, trying not to let the patch of drool seeping through his shirt bother him. He sets them down on the bed, carefully unwrapping the blanket to tuck them in properly. He lays them against the pillow, huffing at their drowsy face, their mouth still hanging open. He pulls the blanket up to their chin, patting them on the head. They nuzzle into his pillow, sigh, and quickly slip into slumber.

He stays for a moment, warm hand resting on top of their head as they doze. “Big day for you hmm?” He muses. It didn’t take long at all for him to commit to this, did it? He wishes they understood him. That he didn’t have to do things like this. But at the very least, his intentions were altruistic, and the child suspected nothing. And when they woke up, they’d have all their drawings hung up within view of their new nest.

[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader Part 15

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 14, Part 16

Mental health was really important, especially for someone like you whose will to live changed faster than a pendulum. A strong will to live without an actual reason made you swing wildly from suicidal thoughts to a death grip on life.

So even though logically it wasn't a good idea to visit the Dragon-Queller tree as Shenhe was still lurking around, and she was by far the most dangerous thing to your physical health, your mental health was taking priority after the clusterfuck of events that you just went through.

Staring out at the stretch of land required to reach the landmark, you cringe at the thought of the stamina needed to glide that far. It would be safer to glide in chunks for proper rest and control. It doesn’t take long for you to spot a small mountain below with a leaf puzzle.

With a shaky breath; you jump off the cliff and glide to the lower landing spot. The wind caressed your exposed skin, causing goosebumps to appear in response.

You feel Zhongli's prayer and emotions enter your body. In petty retaliation, you reject his offering and ignore the persistent prayers. It becomes background noise as the landing spot comes closer. In spite of the short duration, the journey seemed to go well until it was time to land.

Your feet skid across the rocks as the wind continues to push you. In a panic, you grab the leaf puzzle uncaring how the sharp edges cut your hands. The glider folds back into itself making you breathe a sigh of relief.

Your blood stains the green of the puzzles as you move your hand to hold the stem of the mechanic. A faint smear of blood covers it as you search for your next landing spot.

To your right, you can see a Hilichurl camp, the same one you used to escape from Shenhe. The Hilichurl camp on your left and directly below you were empty. It seems Shenhe didn't stop at exterminating just one Hilichurl camp, which was definitely not a good sign for you. If you glide here there's a large chance she'll spot you. And if she does, you'll be vulnerable to any attacks.

Deciding to climb down and travel on foot, you move down to grab the minor grooves of the rock. Suddenly, a sense of dread overwhelms you, almost completely identical to the one you felt when Yae was watching you in Inazuma.

Instincts honed from years spent surviving dangerous situations kicked into full drive. Scaling down the small mountain, your feet and hands groped the stone in search of any spots to grasp onto. Rocks and pebbles scrape your skin from your rush and anxiety grips your heart. More than once your limbs will slip and you're left dangling for a few seconds.

Finally, you land on the ground and roll to balance the force, avoiding any serious injuries. Worry quickly begins to settle into your bones at the lack of hiding spots. In a last-ditch effort to conceal yourself, you climb up the nearby tree, painfully aware of how the leaves will shake loudly and offer little protection.

To your surprise, there's no sound when your body shakes the tree, and the tree shifts to cover you more. Teyvat really couldn't make their affection for you any more obvious. That relief is cut short when the temperature starts to drop suddenly.

From your spot, you can see ice creep out of the Hilichurl's main building. It cracks and creaks with every inch of it being consumed by that frosty snow. Shenhe had to be in there and although you may be hiding, just how good would it actually be? She's an Adepti disciple, and Celestia knows what tricks she may have in store.

Her heels click with every step onto the clear ice, blood, and dirt covering the exposed spots of her body. The stab wound you gave her has slowed down into a minor stream of blood as she chews on medicinal herbs.

A large and deep wound you gave her healed so much in such a short amount of time. It's laughable. An injury like that would have left you decommissioned for a week at least, yet she's able to walk with no problem. Was this due to Teyvat and its vast magical properties, or just Shenhe's natural constitution?

Staying still and quiet, you continue watching Shenhe who walks down the Hilichurl stairs before crouching to the ground. Those empty iridescent eyes glow as she touches the ground as if trying to find something.

Frowning, you try to guess what she could be looking for. A certain herb? Something she dropped? Maybe a sigil? It's only when she looks at the barely lit brazier and the electro crystals on the side that you realize what she's doing.

Elemental sight!

All vision holders and those with sensitivity to elements can use it. That must include you since you're connected so heavily to Teyvat, but would that mean you're basically a walking ball of raw elemental energy?

Now nervous you watch Shenhe look in your direction and walk closer while staring at the ground. Shit, you must've left a trail all this time unknowingly. The only thing that can erase a trail is other elemental energy covering it up and it didn't look to be raining anytime soon.

Crossing your fingers; you yell internally to Teyvat to cover up your trail and hide your presence as fast as possible, praying that it would work. But there's no hindrance in Shenhe's slow progress to your location. What could be causing this? Teyvat wouldn't deny you unless it's something out of your control.

Forcibly calming yourself, you settle down to review anything you or Teyvat could be doing that's using elemental energy. This allowed for something that you were content to ignore, to spring up on you again.

A rush of dizzyingly love and admiration clouded your head as something darker in nature nipped at the back of your mind. Was Zhongli still praying and sacrificing pieces of himself to you? Was this constant stream of devotion the cause of your trouble?

You couldn't telepathically tell Zhongli to give up or get up to go tell him. Now at a loss on what to do, you stare at Shenhe who is but a mere few steps away from the tree. Something moves in the corner of your eye, making you perk up.

A barely alive Samachurl is killed by a Hydro-infused arrow to its already cracked mask. Not a single sound was heard from the attack. It seems you weren't the only one trying to hide.

If you can't hide something then the next best thing to do is to amplify something else to mask your presence. You order Teyvat to strengthen the presence of whoever is hiding, and watch as Shenhe immediately stands up.

Turning away from your hiding spot, Shenhe takes long strides to the back of the Hilichurl camp. Tilting your head for a better view, you watch as Shenhe uses her Cryo sigils to create a large spike of ice in where you assume was the person hiding.

A mirage-like figure runs out of the way and heads toward Shenhe with Hydro lacing trailing behind them. The figure just barely evades Shenhe's attack and wraps Hydro rope around Shenhe, binding her arms to her sides.

The skill wears off showing Yelan holding the Hydro rope that you recognize as her skill 'Lifeline'. Yelan yanks at the lifeline but Shenhe had already frozen it, causing it to break off. Shenhe begins to charge at Yelan again, making Yelan dodge. From what you can see, their fight against each other seemed to be continuing without a clear winner already.

Using their distracted state, you decide to finish off what had caused this fight. Zhongli's sacrifice comes to mind as the taste of the offering has become sickeningly sweet after all your rejections. The words of acceptance refuse to be spoken aloud in fear of the Wind hearing. Instead, it's kept in your mind where Teyvat can safely perceive your gospel and carry out your commands.

The sky silently grows dim as the shooting stars make their way past. Blood flies off Shenhe's spear as it cuts Yelan's calf. The attack's revenge comes back in the form of water whipping Shenhe's skin, leaving bruises. Neither see the gold shooting star disappear behind the mountain that no doubt entered the temple by the skylight.

The game screen pops up making you skip through it all without properly looking. You still weren't sure whether Zhongli would keep trying to offer you sacrifices. Hasn't he cut off enough body parts by now? The sky returns to its previous blue as the sun drowns out the lingering stars.

The fight comes to a standstill as both women breathe heavily a few feet away from each other. You lost your opportunity to flee due to Zhongli's offering which sucks, but at least you have something to gain here.

"The Traveler was proud to say that the white-haired Adeptus apprentice had learned to control herself. That must have been quite the overstatement."

Yelan's confident smile is shown to be quite the facade judging by the slight tremble in her right ankle. It's already been injured with what looks like a fresh burn mark. From what you remember, she has hereditary physical frailty, making her energy a precious resource. Using her as a diversion must have caused her to nearly overexert herself.

"How do you know the Traveler trespasser? Tell me, who are you to them?" Shenhe becomes more on edge at Yelan's words, and points her spear at Yelan.

"I'm a child of the family that runs the Feiyun Commerce Guild and an acolyte. I'm sure you'll recognize my brother, Xingqiu, as a good friend of your nephew. You know, the young exorcist who shares the same vision as you."

Staring at Yelan who smiles mysteriously at Shenhe's surprised but somewhat annoyed face, you have to try hard to not laugh. Yelan's use of identities was always underwhelming when you never saw her change clothes to match her identities, but this was gold.

Yelan's awful haircut was so similar to Xingqiu's that it was already a running joke that they were related in some way. Adding in the fact that her clothes are Liyuen style for upper-class citizens, her lie of being Xingqiu's sibling is pretty believable. Of course, it would only work on Shenhe who has no idea of the well-known families in Liyue.

It never really made sense that she switched identities so many times in her story quest while not changing her clothes. It's always better to have higher quality identities rather than a huge quantity of them. Especially with such flashy clothing. But maybe you're the hypocrite here considering you're wearing a gold-accented kitsune mask.

"What did you come for then?" Not even doubting Yelan's words, Shenhe merely asks for the archer's reasoning.

"I was sent here on a job for my father." Shenhe nods blankly before turning around to leave. But Yelan is quick to catch up and rests her hand on Shenhe's shoulder. Yelan only smiles at Shenhe's suspicious glare.

"You shouldn't be so quick to leave ya know? Have you never heard of the 'Explain in turn' tradition?" Confusion crosses over Shenhe’s face at Yelan's words and the icy woman turns around fully.

This... This was way too easy, Shenhe didn't even understand the concept of paying for things! Isn't it unfair that Yelan is about to take full advantage of Shenhe's so-called 'pure' child-like mind?

"It means to be honest and explain to the person you asked a question, your own response to the question." So she's gonna confuse her on top of it? "For instance, I answered your question on why I came here therefore you must tell me why you came here."

Shenhe stays silent and still as she stares at Yelan. Until she points to the hilichurl camp.

"I was exterminating the demonic stains that reappeared in Jueyun Karst when a pest attacked me. People come and get hurt while I work all the time but this was a first, that one hurts me so obviously. I'm sure it's another strange custom that I don't care to learn. Perhaps the Traveler can explain when she comes back..."

Shenhe's tone goes from harsh to soft at the mention of the Traveler. You curse the Adepti out in your mind for failing to explain who you were to Shenhe. This whole situation could have been avoided if they had. Sure, you would have still stabbed her, but you could have explained the situation away.

Yelan smiles out of Shenhe's line of sight which makes you worry about what she could be planning. What was her true reason for coming all the way out here?

"What a coincidence, my job involves searching for someone too." Shenhe raises an unamused eyebrow in response as if asking 'So what?' Yelan sighs in what sounds like a mix of exasperation and fondness.

"Someone let loose some geovishap hatchlings in the city. Which means they have some influence over elemental creatures. Did the person you are looking for have a similar attitude?"

The memory of the words you spat at Shenhe comes to mind. Shenhe hasn't forgotten either judging by her expression hardening.

"They said some... strange things. But seeing as they were able to come this deep into Jueyun Karst by themself, they might be the same person."

"Why don't we work together then? You lost them once already." Yelan glances at the wound you left on Shenhe with a condescending smile. "I saw you tracking them earlier, telling me how will be beneficial to you."

She falls silent at the question. It seems Shenhe isn't willing to give it up to Yelan. But if Yelan is as sneaky as she is told to be in the game, she'll find a way to drag it out of the cool disciple.

Yelan's smile drops as she removes her hand from Shenhe's shoulder and circles her slowly. That friendly tone drops into a neutral melody in accordance with Shenhe's coldness.

"Not willing to speak on the matter? Then I suppose we'll work separately. It's just a shame that I won't be able to tell you what happened to Chongyun that day."

You see Yelan make calculated steps in your direction to act like she's leaving, as Shenhe's expression changes at the last words. A Cryo Talisman is whipped out and a Cryo maiden blocks Yelan's path.

The Cryo coats the base of the tree forcing you to cover your mouth in fear of the condensation being visible. Yelan smirks from her spot as Shenhe begins to succumb to her rage.

"Tell me what happened. Tell me everything."

It seems not even the red ropes can contain her violent nature during times like these. You would hate to see how Shenhe would react to you 'hurting' the Traveler, considering her strong connection to them.

Would pulling Shenhe before your sudden migration to Teyvat make this better or worse?

Yelan turns around to face her and makes slow steps to meet Shenhe again. Your feelings toward Yelan have always been a bit muddled due to your similarities to the special intelligence officer. The loss, grief, lying, and use of multiple identities. All the things you shared should have made you love her and dub her your favorite character, but that only worked on paper. Your life couldn't be more different to hers.

A mix of admiration and envy churns within you.

"The Geovishap Hatchlings were loose in the city as the Millelith guards chased them. A few people got hurt and your dear nephew wasn't one to just stand by. From what Xingqui told me, he got roughed up and is still healing."

Shenhe's grip on her weapon loosens and tightens at various moments of Yelan's altered story. As if trying to decide whether hurting Yelan for being the messenger of bad news would be worth it.

"I was tracking down that vexation using elemental sight. They have a rare trace that almost completely blends in with Teyvat's regular and numerous Ley Lines. It's quickly disappearing as well.” She spits out the insult with venom while putting away her weapon.

"An elemental trail that mimics Leylines is something that only appears in mystical beings. It's almost unheard of." Yelan says more to herself as her eyes glow and she examines the ground.

In a few seconds, Yelan closes her eyes and rubs them tiredly. "For whatever reason, I can't seem to pick out any. You may be able to tell the difference due to your connections to the Adepti."

You watch the two women as they talk and idly wonder if you could use elemental sight too. A vision isn't necessarily needed, nor is it a guarantee that one can use elemental sight. So there's no harm in trying, right?

Figuring out how to do it is the real problem.

Several minutes pass before you manage to activate it by simply blinking in rapid succession. The world changes to a grayscale as elemental energy becomes more apparent.

And to your immense relief, you do not have a bright gold trail. In fact, you could only pick yours out due to the fact you felt an instant sense of recognition. But the longer you have it on, the more your head begins to ache.

Turning it off the same way, you clutch your head in hopes of easing the throbbing sensation. This skill was not going to be useful in any regular scenarios. Too little reward for such an easy and large drawback. Storing the information for later use is best.

"If I don't track them down quickly then they might try to attack someone else next. Like the Traveler. Pairing up with you seems to be the only viable option."

Shenhe's voice brings you back to the important conversation that you were supposed to be eavesdropping on. A gleam of curiosity can be seen in Yelan by the slight posture change at the mention of the Traveler. It seems Shenhe's codependency on the Traveler wasn't something only you were interested in.

Staying quiet on the matter, Yelan focuses on her mission or whatever her real motive is. If only you could have avoided entering the Yangshen Teahouse that day. If only Keqing wasn't so damn suspicious of you, you could have politely excused yourself from the scene and avoided drawing Yelan’s attention, or rather bring any more attention to yourself. 

"Then it's settled. You'll track down where they might be and I'll stay here to hold down the fort." You aren't surprised at Yelan's decision to piggyback off Shenhe's work. Her energy must still be recovering after the initial fight with Shenhe.

Shenhe begins to walk back to the spot that she was originally at when tracking you down, making you nervous. Something had to be done. You could take on one and escape, but both of them? You had no chance in hell.

Biting back the groan of frustration at being pushed back to square one, you began to think hard about how to escape. It was times like these that you truly missed hair dye, wigs, and colored contacts.

Unexpectedly, pressure floods your body and the weight settles into your chest comfortably. Feelings of longing and intense yearning make your head spin as the warmth can nearly be tasted. A fever-like haze consumes your consciousness forcing you to rest your head on the tree branch for coolness.

Just what did Zhongli cut off this time to force such a large offering onto you?

Smiling widely, you accept the offering and the opportunity to escape. The sky darkens as shooting stars fill the sky. Now that they aren't fighting, both women look at the sky with curious expressions.

"So it really did happen." Yelan mumbles as she puts away some dice. Shenhe stands up and walks in her direction while keeping her eyes on the dazzling star shower.

"The Creator must be active, the star showers have been happening frequently." Yelan notes as the gold star appears. You don't miss how both women pay close attention to the gold shooting star as it makes its way to the temple hidden behind the mountain.

"That star’s path… The area where it landed has some traces of the nuisance." Shenhe mutters seemingly in a bad mood as the sky lightens up to its natural blue.

"Then let's not waste any more time. It seems they are trying to escape back to Liyue Harbor." Yelan speaks with a hint of annoyance and leaves for the area. Shenhe follows her but not before a whisper is caught by your attentive ears.

"Why not me, your grace?"

So she does feel some strong emotions toward you as the Creator. She had spoken about the Traveler at every turn that you were starting to believe otherwise.

Once you're sure they're far enough, you drop out of the tree with intense relief. With no time to waste, you turn back to the Dragon-queller tree and run.

Canceling this pit stop and teleporting back to the city would be the correct and smart decision. But after all that hiding and work, you were going to see that tree no matter what. The orange leaves above you were witnesses to your stubbornness.

Walking across the small stretch of pink flowers on green grass, you notice patches of blood. Those were probably made during your chase with Shenhe. It makes you think back to her and her reason for hunting you down.

Unlike the majority of the Acolytes before this, Shenhe was going after you in hopes of protecting the Traveler rather than getting revenge for herself. All thanks to Yelan and her lies, unfortunately.

Either way, Shenhe was a huge bother to have, it'd be best to find some way to set her sights on someone else or find a way to deter her. Yet the only thing you can truly use is the traveler. Just why did Shenhe feel so attached to the Traveler in the first place?

Your distracted form leaves the sea of Sandbearer trees and coral flowers to be overshadowed by the Dragon-queller tree. The sun bears down making the orange-yellowish leaves shimmer not unlike the Cor Lapis you've seen before.

Stepping through the puddles of clear water, you continued to gaze up at the landmark with amazement. The winding bark and branches had blue crystalline embedded into them. The glittering of the aqua-colored crystalline was nice, but also subdued compared to the leaves surrounding it. Perhaps it would be better seen in the moonlight?

In any other situation, you would just sit here and enjoy the nice day. Maybe a picnic, or challenging yourself to climb the tree while awaiting the night to see the tree in its full glory.

But you have limited time. Just coming here was a problem on its own.

You stop at the tombstone, or rather stone monolith that reads out a warning to anyone who has gotten this far into Jueyun Karst. It serves as a reminder that there really is a dragon underneath you at this very moment. It shouldn't be surprising after you had literally spoken to Beisht, a goddamn Leviathan. But a thrum of excitement still urged your body to move.

To get closer to the entrance to Azhdaha.

You would need more powerful allies. More elemental creatures that could recognize you like Beisht. Azhdaha is on par with Zhongli, therefore the gnosis won't affect him as it does the Adepti. The only thing you truly had to worry about was the erosion.

All other excuses entered your mind as you crept closer to the entrance. Yet, right as you're about to go around the rocks to see the entrance up close, Teyvat brings the sound of speaking to your ears.

"Those traces were old, that means they must have came over here rather than the other way around." Yelan's smooth voice filters into your ears from the direction of the Sandbearer trees.

Anxiety fuels you to open the map and find a teleport waypoint to escape to. Yet an overwhelming sensation of love, loyalty, and obsession hits you like a truck. It leaves you breathless and gripping onto the tree nearly nauseous from the sickening saccharine.

"They may have gone back to where I first met them, it's through the opening next to the Dragon-Queller tree." Shenhe's stoic voice is accompanied by Yelan's hum in acceptance.

The time you had left was rapidly diminishing. Even if you tried to teleport now, it wouldn't work. It'd be the same scenario as when you first tried to teleport away from Shenhe.

Holding your head in pain from the clash of soft mind-numbing love and bitter possessiveness, you run into the entrance that leads to the Dragon-Queller's basement.

Does that make Azhdaha a basement dweller?

The seal glows softly with a hum as you stumble closer. Now safely tucked inside, you prioritize the mental toll Zhongli's sacrifice has been giving you.

Accepting the offering with a hazy mind, your body slides against the rocky interior until you sit on the ground. What a relief it is to finally be able to hear yourself think. The new consequences of the sacrifices were really inconvenient. The only reason you don't regret it is because it got Zhongli off your ass.

Now with a clearer mind, you open up the map and find the teleport waypoint near the city. Unfortunately, you're interrupted in the midst of selecting it by a rumble on your side making you glare at it in annoyance.

Red eyes permanently etched into a glare stare back at you. Heavy clawed feet are stomped in place making dust and rocks fly into the air around it. The pillars surrounding the geo dragon shake with force as you watch baffled.

This Azhdaha was the one the lores and description described. As large and tall as the mountains you had been climbing and gliding before with a tree tail rivaling that of the Dragon-Queller.

"Benevolent Creator!" Azhdaha cries out as he smashes his body at the surrounding seal with force. You can feel the ground shake from where you stand outside of the lair.

Was Azhdaha calling you the creator, or calling out to the creator? At this rate, Yelan and Shenhe will come over to investigate. You either have to calm Azhdaha or escape now.

"Beloved Creator, forgive me! Forgive these wretched eyes that refuse to acknowledge your grandeur! This body you carved of Geo, jade, crystalline, and the leylines of all minerals recognize you!"

So he does recognize you, it's his eyes that seem to have some sort of problem... That's right! How could you forget? Zhongli crafted him those eyes. But would that make it dangerous or safe to enter?

Your finger hovers over the teleport button as you stare at the rampaging dragon with wariness. Azhdaha sees it and only fights more.

"Your grace, please don't leave me in this isolating loneliness! These eyes are made by that traitor Morax. I beg of you, do not punish me for the wrongdoings of that traitor. I have lived this life fearing that one day I will succumb to this dreaded erosion before getting to feel your presence. I cannot even enjoy the sight of you with these cursed eyes of mine!"

If a dragon could cry, then that's exactly what Azhdaha was doing. Blue crystalline leaves glowing trails from his eyes down his jaw. Standing up you close the game screen and turn to face him.

"Rest, Azhdaha, I have arrived to see you. Calm yourself and settle in place, lest you attract company that will force me to leave." Your empathetic yet stern voice has an instant impact.

His tantrum stops as crazed murmurs leave him in a string of rumbled praise and thanks. You push past the seal and enter his lair. Making slow and careful steps, you walk toward Azhdaha who is surrounded by pillars serving as a border.

The opportunity of taking in another lonely and devoted elemental beast into your care was too good to pass up. You may even gain useful information or items like you did with Beisht. The serene and imposing smile you held as you walked closer to the mountain-like beast was nothing more than a cover-up for your greed.

So uh, I'm back! I really wasn't kidding about the school taking up a lot of time thing. I'm sorry if this isn't as good as previous chapters. I had to stop writing for quite a while to start school. Plus, this part is shorter since I wanted to give you guys more content. Shenhe is back with the added addition Yelan. I tend to group up most characters to help the flow of the story. And I mostly put these two together due to the funny comics they're featured in. Mind you they won't have the same dynamic as the comics, it was just inspiration for them to work together. Thanks to my editor for doing this soon enough for me to post right now. And I will not make any promises to be faster with the updates, but I do hope I can get into a new rhythm of writing to fit my school. If your username is in italics, that means I couldn't tag you for whatever reason! Taglist: @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @liansh3ng, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @shellofthewell, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0, @esthelily, @t-rex-red, @ck123, @steadybreadbluebird (I'm sorry for the wait, my computer was being dumb)

[littlefanficprincess]

Dancing across my mind

🎆One shot🎆

Pair: Tai lung x reader

Song: Someone to you (Banners)

"Dive and disappear without a trace, I just wanna be someone"

Important: (Y/A) = Your animal, ‼️Spoilers for Kungfu Panda 4‼️

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

It felt like it was ages ago when I had first met him, a life time ago.

I was about the age of eight, just moved to the valley of peace with my family. It truly lived up to its name, a lot calmer compared to the big city. A very welcome change.

A young (y/a) emerges from a building which was covered with posters. In her paws/feathers/claws were a (f/c) colored fan.

My mother was a traditional dancer, a famous one at that. She use to perform at theaters near our old home. I wanted to be just like her.

The small creature stumbles through the villages, watching as other pass by. Her (e/c) look up and latch onto a mountain with a Cherry Blossom tree on it.

Her eyes sparkle in fascination. She picks up the pace, and almost begins running. Unknownly, she almost jumps into a geese who was carrying a crate full of vegetable.

Finally after a few minutes was carrying herself up. She reaches the top of the mountain. It was really high, she could even see her house from here!

I sometimes wonder if I never went to the mountain on that faithful day, I most likely would've never met him.

The (f/a) moves to stand in the beginning pose, she in- and exhales like her mother taught her. She carefully moves her arms/feathers, feeling the wind flow past her form.

She couldn't imagine how amazing she looks as feels cherry bottom leafs flow through the breeze.

Her grip on the fan loosend and she accidentally drops it on the moss covered rocks. She was about to retrieve her when a pair of paws grab them.

She looks up, meeting two kind golden eyes. Those belonging to a snow leopard that seemed her age. He shyly bends down on one knee "I think you've dropped this" He holds out the fan for her grab.

(Y/n) reaches and takes it from him, feeling her wing/paw brush against his. "Thank you, um..." She says, not knowing his name.

"Tai...Tai lung!" He introduces himself, seeming to have trouble with his words. He seemed shy and excited at the same time.

There was something special about him, but (Y/n) couldn't place her feater/finger on it. "Thank you, Tai Lung" A smile appears on her face. "May I ask what brings you here?"

"I might have had a burst of anger and my jiaolian had send me over her to meditate and dim my anger" Tai Lung explains, akwardly fiddling with his paws.

(Y/n) resumes the begin pose, holding the fan tightly "Why don't join me, dancing always makes me relax"

Hesitantly, Tai Lung moves to stand next to the other. He copies the begin pose, looking at his arms and legs to make sure he was doing it correct.

His eyes watch (Y/n)'s movements, observing the dance. He follows her moves, soon they were moving in sync. Tai Lung realises how peaceful he felt, feeling the wind flow through his fur.

Not so far away stood Shifu, proud to see his student was able to calm the burning rage in himself.

For years, (Y/n) and Tai Lung met on the mountain. Dancing and training togheter, Tai Lung was even able to teach (Y/n) some fighting moves. (Y/n) became a better dancer and Tai Lung became a greater fighter.

But it came all to an end on the day he told me about his 'Destiny'.

(Y/n) sits calmly ontop the mountain, her eyes were shut. She in- and exhales through her nose. From behind she could hear someone approaching, she knew those footsteps all too well.

She turns just time to be grabbed by the waist and held up. The one holding her up was Tai Lung himself, seeming very happy for some reason.

(Y/n) couldn't help but let out an excited giggles, gripping into his strong arms as support "What has you so overjoyed?"

Carefully, Tai Lung places the (y/a) down back on her feet "The next time you will see, I will have the title of the Dragon Warrior!"

"Fancy title, will you get a metal of honor along with it?" (Y/n) Jokes, smiling at her companion.

Tai Lung chuckles, shaking his head, amused by her remark "Maybe, If I'm lucky. I know you'll be proud of me"

"I already am, I always have been"

After he left, I waited for him. It was so quiet underneath the cherry Blossom tree. I missed his laughter, his snarky remarks that would always brought a smile to my face.

(Y/n) looks at the letter she was holding, she was planning to give it to Tai Lung. She sighs and places it in a drawer, closing it after.

Rumors grew, stories about him destroying a nearby village. They would follow me everywhere, as many knew how close we were. Most of my shows had town.

Years past, the rumors became less and less. Until he left everyone's mind, but not mine. Fifteen years later, I had walked out of theater I usually perform at.

The infamous (y/a) strolls out of the building, holding her trusty (f/c) fan by her side. She pauses when she hears crashing nearby.

A figure gets flung infront of her, only a few meters away. They use their fist to bring their motion to a stop. It was Tai Lung.

As if feeling her presence, he turns his head to look at her gaze. Their eyes widen at the sight of the other. Tai Lung didn't get much reaction as he was punched in the stomach by Po, making him fly out of sight.

Scared, (Y/n) rush out, trying to find her old friend. She follows the trial of destruction, going all throughout the valley.

She found it stopped in the middle of the street, with a huge crater in the street. She turns to a pig standing nearby "Have you seen a snow leopard by any chance?"

"The dragon Warrior had defeated him a few moments ago, you just missed it" The pig explains to her.

Next to pig were three bunnies, jumping up and down, excitedly. "It was so cool, he went like pow pow pow!" "Then he did skadoosh!" "It was like send that cat to another dimension"

Hope dissapears in her eyes as the possibility of him being dead. After all these years she sees him finally, only to hear that he could already be dead.

A few years later

One by one, the old enemies return to the spirit realm. General Kai flies into the golden portal, leaving Tai Lung to be the only one left.

"Guess it's your turn now" Po turns to his old foe, holding his staff with a tight grip.

Tai Lung shakes his head "I won't, atleast not yet, Dragon Warrior. I have some businesses to take care of" He turns and walks up the stairs. The Bandits, along with po's dads stand aside to let him walk past.

"Should we just let him walk out of here like that?" Zhen asks Po, using her thumb to point towards the leaving snow leopard."I mean, what is the worst he can do now that he isn't out for revenge" The panda replies, shrugging his shoulders.

Meanwhile (Y/n) was in her home, pouring some tea in a small cup. She pauses when she hears rummaging, it sounded like it was near.

Turning around, she finds her old friend bend down on one knee. Tai Lung had his head lowered, not meeting her eyes.

"Tai Lung..." (Y/n) mumbles underneath her breath, taking the few of someone she hadn't seen for so long.

"I have down many reckless and irresponsible things. All I ask for you is your forgiveness, only if you think I deserve it" Tai Lung says, not moving an inch.

(Y/n) stays quiet, not sure what to say. The snow leopard takes the silence as rejection, he was about to get up and walks away.

When he was brought in to en embrace by one other than the (Y/a) "You don't know how much I've missed you"

"I missed you too, my dancer"

[peariote]

★〃─── A DRAGON'S CLAIM

Beware the beast from Andres Peaks, For maiden stolen and havoc wreaked. No gift as great as the girl returned, Then, only then, will the crown be earned. A King's Message

Legend told of a high dragon, with scales that glimmer golden and a roar that could cull an army. Her fire burns blue, licks at the edges of everything it touches and could raze towns in seconds.

They spoke of a wingspan wide as the sky, shadowing even the largest cities. Of a whipping tail and claws sharps as diamonds.

What you knew was much, much different.

They claimed you were stolen away, clutched in those dangerous claws. Your mother cried and your father raged, knights and mercenaries dissipating throughout the lands to find you.

What they didn't know was that it wasn't vicious claws that snatched you but gentle hands that guided. That you'd stumbled, blinded by snow and freezing, into a blacksmith's and caught the dragon off-guard.

Catching a dragon off of their guard. They always did say you were remarkable. Though, in all honesty, the dragon was less shocked by your arrival—later confessing she could smell you, even through the frost—but by your half-frozen state, shivering with snow coating your every inch. 

You don’t remember that first night, not much anyways. She says it was nothing remarkable, but you’ve learned she has a penchant for understating, at least by your standards. All you can piece together is the frantic press of warm skin and the summer-sunbeam feeling of dragon’s fire. It’s a fond memory, one you keep recreating with her. 

You awoke that next morning, disoriented—brain still stuck in the oppressive snow, despite your toasty state. Out the window shows a blanket of undisturbed white, coating every tree and covering the ground for as far as you can see. You realize, with a jolt, that you have no clue where you are. Going to sit up is unsuccessful, though, the failing maneuver drawing your eyes down to whatever’s restricting your movement.

A thin arm drapes over your waist, unexpectedly heavy and warm like molten metal, joined in its restraining of you by a thick, scaled tail around one leg. There’s a fireplace across from you, crackling happily despite the early hour. With the way the woman curled around you sleeps, you doubt she was getting up to stoke it—but still, it burned through the night. The sheets over you are thick and full, a large animal skin completing the pile. Even back in your father’s castle, which was constantly maintained and heated by an army of servants, doesn’t compare to the toasty, simple, wood-and-stone cabin you currently reside in. 

You settle back, resigned to your fate—trapped on the soft mattress until your companion wakes. Turning on your side, you’re granted a better view of her. Her face is half-pressed into a pillow, but soft, tawny skin framed by long, loose curls are still visible. Perhaps the sleep-haze is compelling you, but you don’t hesitate to reach forward and brush a curl from the bridge of her nose, threading it back behind her ear. 

She puffs a breath, and for a moment you freeze. Then, she nuzzles back into her pillow—eyebrows furrowed endearingly at your disruption. A touch of disappointment settles in your gut, unexpectedly so. One would think you’d already be easing her off, somehow, changing—or perhaps not, considering the tatters your dress was reduced to—and leaving. 

Your own thoughts halt you, once again. With the woman’s deep slumber, you have time to think. You’re unable to wiggle out, or even sit up. There’s no indication you’d have proper cover for the frigid temperatures, even with the weak sun. And lastly… where would you go? 

Fleeing from your home was problematic enough, but to do it as a princess? It’s unwise to even stay in the same kingdom, much less fleeing to the port town you believe is nearby—information travels, fast as the ships do. Knights would be on you in minutes, if not seconds. 

So you stay. You stare at the woman, and she sleeps.

And sleeps.

And sleeps.

Goodness. You’ll never get out from under her if she doesn’t wake, so you reach over and shake her shoulder. She huffs again, and her grip tightens on you, but she slowly starts to stir. Her eyelashes flutter first, followed soon after by a gentle smacking of her lips. Finally her eyes open, and she squints at you groggily. At the raise of your eyebrow she pulls back, too drowsy to be startled as she rubs at her eyes. 

“...sorry.” Unexpectedly, her voice is gruff, rough with sleep and low with exhaustion. She blinks at you, as if you are not some unnamed woman lying comfortably in her bed. Your lips purse. Would it be rude to interrogate her so early?

You do it regardless.

“How did I get here? I was in the woods last I remember… then warmth. And now I’m here.” You murmur, suddenly feeling apprehensive under her intense, lethargic gaze. If you look close enough, and her eyes catch in the light, you can glimpse her dark irises flashing amber and the thin, dilated line of her pupils. You blink subtly, hiding confusion. Perhaps she’s not human. They’re rare where you grew up, but it’s not as if you’re unaware. Meetings brought merpeople to the docks, their colorful scales gleaming in the bright sun; thin, willowy elves that towered over everyone, even the tallest knights, graced your expansive dining hall; and all other manner of nonhumans, sharp teeth and bark-like skin and unfamiliar features you glimpsed from your childish hiding spots in the years before you were permitted to joined them. But you’d never seen eyes quite like those. 

You’re so engrossed in your own deliberations you almost miss her answer. Despite how you’ve sunk into thought, her voice cuts through the stream of consciousness to caress your ears—less raspy, now that she’s awoken a bit more. You find yourself mourning the loss. 

“You stumbled in half-frozen and soaked late last night. Almost gave me a heart attack—you were ashen.” Ashen. So you were dying. It was foolish, really, to leave during the wintertime, but you’d thought there would be a few more weeks of mild chill before the truly heavy snow started. It seems you were wrong. “The warmth was probably what I did. It was standard. Change of clothes, fire, body heat.” 

“You do this a lot?”

“No.”

You both go silent. She stares at you, as if expecting a response to her abrupt answer. She’s clinical with her speech—nothing flowery like yours, or what you’ve been pushed to learn. There’s been no training that prepares you for such frankness, so you stare down at the bedsheets and idly pet one thick fur. 

“...do you know how far you are from the capital?” Do you know how far I am from… home?

“About two days by foot, I believe. But that’s on the roads; any other way and it could take longer.”

At that something relaxes. Your chest isn’t quite as tight, knowing the distance is more than just a few meager hours. Every day away greatly increased the area they had to search, for they did not know the direction you chose to go. “Are you going to make me leave?”

“Well, why would I do that?”

So you fall into winter with your new companion. Natasha, but she implores you to call her Tashi. She doesn’t say much to you, preferring to slink away to her workshop and forge orders placed during fall’s milder months. But still, every night, she curls around you and glares past your shoulder, her narrowed gaze directed at the frosted-over window as if someone might sneak through and pry you from her hold. 

One night you’d asked her why she did such a thing, curiosity stifled too long. I mean, she hardly spent time with you. There was no indication she desired your company… but still, here she is, cradling you to her chest and into the warm hollow that’s formed. 

She gave no response. Only the flushing of her ears.

The changing seasons were swifter than you expected. All you noticed was the frequent snow petering off, the frigid air slowly heightening to just chilly, and by then it was too late. You saw the first dandelion when you ventured out one morning, wrapped in a fur and holding a steaming mug. It had pushed through one of the piles of heavy snow, curling, weak and pale-yellow, towards the sun. But still, it grew. Soon it was joined by more, the weakening snow allowing for more to break through, and your world was alight with green again, the nearby fields flush with wildflowers. It had been so long.

As the days warm, and the nights follow suit, Tashi starts to withdraw. Every time you pack your cross-body, one you’d made from the scraps she’d brought, spare from the makings of the hilts, she’d stiffen and her eyes would tighten. She seemed to linger near the door until you came back, and only worked on days that you stayed inside. You chided her—you knew, at this point, the wealth of orders she acquires from all corners of the continent. She needed to work, to create the weapons and tools necessary for continued society. The look in her eyes was still stubborn. Despite her dedication, she seemed ready to take her hammer to the brick forge if it meant you stayed in the house. 

“Tashi! I’m not leaving. I’m going out to the wood’s edge. Just please, do your work.” You huff, packing for your short walk despite her hovering. Now, she leans herself against the doorframe, watching as you press thickly-crusted bread and a small glass container of jam into the wide basket. You shouldn’t be gone long, but still she coils in the corner, looking quite displeased. A sigh escapes you.

“...just come with, you stubborn thing.”

So, you find yourself with a rather disgruntled Tashi, curled and gleaming in the spring sun, her tawny, tanned skin honeyed from its rays and dewy as the grass around you. The view reminds you, suddenly, of the cat you left, content and full-cheeked in your window’s adjoining seat—though you would never tell her that thought. 

When she catches you staring—because oddly, she always does—you redirect back towards the blackberry bush you’re currently ransacking. At least, that’s what she called it. But you’re leaving two berries for every one you take, and the interior of the bush is full of ripe ones you’re too lazy to reach for, so she’s full of shit. 

For every two you put in your basket, you plop one on your tongue. Teeth don’t come into play this time; no, the berries are soft enough to crush. So you slowly pressure the berry between the roof of your mouth and your tongue, the thin flesh yielding enough to let the thick juice spill. It settles, tart-sweet, coating your palate. 

“What are you doing?” Tashi implores, elbow supporting her weight as she props it under herself. After minutes of watching you poach berries and your odd jaw movements, her eyes have narrowed. It’s a way that used to unnerve you, but the effect is ruined by your memories and the way her irises gleam golden. 

“Eating the berries.” As if it was obvious. Her glare thickens, knowing your generalizing is a tease. She can already see the twitch of your lips. Liar.

“You’re weird, you know that?”

“Do you always ask so many questions?”

She opens her mouth, and then closes it with a click. Irritated, she purses her lips, and finds she has nothing else to say. You’re terrible, she thinks, and then echos it aloud. You just laugh and press a berry past her lips. Sputtering, she resists, but later you find her jaw working in the same way yours did. Your chest warms, until you notice she’s putting a sizable chunk in your first basket.

“Hey! Stay away from those, you thief!”

Customers start coming for their weapons and tools by early autumn. You hid from those familiar to you but flourished around the people you hadn’t met. Dwarves come to pick up pickaxes that stayed to chat about techniques (though, you’re curious why they bought from her; their tools are the best you’ve ever heard of). Centaurs wait outside for their new arrow tips, bending their head so you can ask them questions. Knights from other kingdoms come, ones you’d never met, eager to share their culture in exchange for a meal. 

Really, you should’ve expected the knights to be the ones to create an issue. The dwarves and the centaurs were old enough to remember manners, but the new year brought new youngsters into the service, confident and overzealous and much too eager to show off. 

“Hello, hello, Natash—” the tall, dark-haired boy strolls into your house (when did it become your house?), face open with a smile and a pretty blond shadowing him. He pauses when he sees you, smile going crooked with a practiced charm. “Well. He-llo pretty lady.” 

“Step off, Pat.” Like an angel, or something just as beautiful, Tashi comes from the storeroom nestled alongside your kitchen. She’s wiping her hands on her apron, eyes averted absentmindedly towards the fabric, but there’s an intensity burning there you’re not sure you want to see today.

“Tashi.” Your voice is rife with subtle warning. Patrick’s eyebrows raise, genuine shock shooting over his features. Distractingly, though, Tashi curls around your back; she presses her forever-warm self to your back and eases her chin against your nape. You can feel her breath puff over the apple of your cheek. 

“She lets you call her… Tashi?” The blonde chimes, his confidence more mellow than the brunet. He’s not dressed in the gleaming armor Patrick is, but the smooth leather of squire’s robes. 

“I’m not allowed to call her anything else.” 

They’ve locked you, now, in a three-way stare. When one glances away the other will occupy your gaze, keeping your eyes flickering back and forth—attempting to decode their pointed looks. 

“Okay, just tell me what the fuck this is about.” You sigh, already tired of their antics. 

“Don’t you dare.” Tashi bites against your neck, glaring at the two boys. They suddenly look very small, like mice, under her intensity. 

In sync, they both raise their hands in surrender. It’d be charming or thought-provoking otherwise—you don’t see many knights that close to their squires, in both attitude and age—but you’re distracted. It feels like Tashi’s withholding information, and these two boys are too scared of the blacksmith to even say anything. 

“We’re talking about this later.” You warn, turning your own glare to the woman wrapped around you. The boys tense, and then relax as Tashi eases off of you. She grumbles, but moves to grab their new swords from the storeroom. 

(If you weren’t so annoyed, maybe you could admit that her double-wielding the swords with a sort of casual ease leaves you tense in the shoulders and with a lip that’s almost bitten through.)

Later comes, as it always does. Tashi is self-aware enough to realize that there’s no stopping this conversation, as much as she tries to ignore it. She sits herself on the edge of your bed, bare and damp, and flinches when your fingers drag down the sparse red scales on her spine. Her tail, usually kept tucked away, whips, heavy and leathery, against the soft sheets—yet never hits you.

“Want to tell me what that was about?” Your voice curls against her shoulder, the breathy drowsiness cooling her flushed skin. She shivers, her shoulders flexing. Warm touch trails up, and you press into one long, gnarled scar, mirrored perfectly on the other side. 

“...they could tell I’m in love with you.” There’s something in her voice that tells you she doesn’t like that very much. “I could tell you’re in love with me. But I’m in love with you, too, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Your pillowy lips press to her scar, and like compelled she shivers again. The drag of your tongue, subtle and hot, makes her moan in the back of her throat. 

“...I should’ve guessed that.”

“You should’ve.”

Silence comes, settles over the room. She lets you wrap around her, enjoys your ivy-strong cling and smiles when you plant your mouth to her neck. Still, there’s a charge of another truth just waiting to spark. “...are you going to tell me what you are? Because I’ve got no idea.” You admit. The truth wouldn’t truly affect anything. Love is there, no matter what she is—because whatever her species, you know she’s your Tashi. Hardworking, quiet, loving. All wrapped up in almost six feet of warm skin. There’s not more to want. She gives you the safety and the quiet you desired when you left. You’d found so much more than your dreams held, even if you landed in one place and never left.

She takes a breath. It swells against your chest, her spine curving. “I’m a dragon.”

“Oh.” And because really, you should’ve guessed this sooner, you’re less than phased and instead pushed to humor. “Where’s your hoard? I haven’t seen your pool of gold yet.”

She squints and scrunches her face, and then rubs away the tension. The tips of her ears go hot with embarrassment, her only tell. You have the desire to mouth at them. Perhaps you shouldn’t. It is important that she can speak.  

“...you are. That’s why Patrick was teasing me. He’s terrible.” 

She groans as she feels your smile spread over her back. When you tug her closer and your teasing smile is revealed, she only glares. While her spine may melt into your chest, and her curls mold under your caress, her eyes remain tight. “Really?”

“Don’t tease. It’s rude.”

You follow her instructions, just this once. Mouth dropping, you suck at the tip of her ear like you’d so desired to. It makes her gasp, and you move to swallow the sound. You’d heard tales of a dragon’s thundering roar, but their moans are much prettier. 

© peariote, 2025

[dotomuses]

sagau p1 : miss miko's mumbles. he/they for reader, but no anatomy or dni. tw: none.. tevyat is kinda mean to reader but thats all lol.

💌 no actual reader content right now... just a small something to get started, somewhat an insight on tevyat's views on the reader?

" a hidden source of ancient knowledge, scrolls shoved deep within the akademiya's restricted shelves, gathering dust, painting colourful tales of a primeval deity.

a deity unlike the archons, unlike the dragons and unlike the scattered minor gods and beasts of tevyat, a deity who held no significance to tevyat's intricate laws. a deity with no magnificent creatures to call his own, no powers or blessings to give to kneeling worshippers, yet a deity whose swiftest glance struck the mortals of tevyat tongue-tied and reeling.

"let us adorn you with our flowers!" bellowed the trunks of sumeru's towering thorned trees, "let us sing to you!" whispered mondstadt's wailing, whining gales, "rest on our shores," mewled fontaine's raging currents "or drift on our currents, and let us take you far away from all...". inazuma's thunder cried and screamed, loud as a nursery of hungry children, hungry for the god's attention. natlan's rumbling rocks fell from their perches as avalanches, running like babes wanting to be coddled by their mothers, into the arms of the god. snezhnaya's unwavering snow storms fell and fell, adorning themselves with the prettiest snow flakes, just for a look, the lightest praise, from the god.

the deity's devotees were all children of violence, creatures of doom, beings of hate. but to him, they were the scorned, the regretted, the rejected. they were the most precious of all, the worthiest of his stories, the likeliest to trust in his well-crafted chronicles.

he spoke of worlds outside tevyat, worlds overcome with cold, never receding snow and ice. worlds made of gargantuan ships, each city a large cabin, housing pelicans of metal, and people of stone. worlds where reality and expectation went hand in hand, singing songs of people's dreams, bubbling with emotion, joy and grief.

most of all, he spoke of revelation. to him, to his creatures, to his loveliest of children, it was the solid truth, the undoubted phrases that left the tongues of the cosmos higher than celestia itself. but to the archons, to the people, to every other creature, they were a fraud. a liar, who insulted the archons with his reign over their wicked beasts, who wished nothing more that to provoke celestia's wrath, and be stricken so far into the abyss, he himself would someday become one with it. his hymns stitched words, words that revealed the truth of this world, the truth that-"

yae miko laughed lightly, covering her mouth with her hand, pink pigment shining brightly against her nails. "what a lovely story you've made up for me, traveler, paimon," she began, watching the pair carefully, "paimon makes the loveliest story teller... but do tell me what set you out to recite this fascinating little thing." she added, an eyebrow arched elegantly.

paimon scowled, her little face scrunching into displeasure. "miss yae miko!" she stomped her foot in the air, "we didn't make it up! traveler already said so! she said we got it from sumeru! and won't you answer our question?!" she cawed, pointing dutifully at her companion, who smiled sheepishly.

yae hummed thoughtfully, a finger to her chin "do remind me of your question little paimon" she feigned a small yawn, covering her lips politely, "i'm afraid you've bored me asleep with this one, i can barely recall anything..." paimon looked ready to blow a fuse, ridiculously oblivious to yae's teasing, her rubber heart being prodded at, and easily provoked with yae's taunts.

"we'd asked if any of this makes sense to you miss yae, any familiarity?" traveler began, her voice lofty and slightly strained from unuse, "we've tried with other companions, but not even the akademiya scholars have anything to say." yae miko smiled, her shiny canines concealed, eyes shut in a relaxed manner.

"i'm afraid not traveler, but if nobody seems to recognize this odd 'deity' of yours, why are you so persistent on finding somebody who does?" yae enquired, pressing her lips together in a thin line, shaking her head "perhaps they're just fiction you know... another dashed, yet rather thorough attempt i must confess, at a bestseller."

paimon sagged midair, like a suspended sack of rice. "all this trouble for nothing?" she wailed, "i told you we should have called quits after al haitham said he knew nothing! and i told you we should've called quits again when faruzan shooed us away!" paimon scolded, crossing her arms at the traveler. her companion only raised her hands in surrender, smiling apologetically, and turning back to the other woman facing her.

"thank you for your help miss yae" traveler spoke, pressing her palms together, "we're sorry to have bothered you with something so trivial..." yae miko only molly-coddled her in response, shaking her head left and right. "it's quite alright dear, you've provided me with quite a bit of entertainment... be off now, i'm sure you have much work to get to."

she eyed the parchment paimon read out of so enthusiastically, hesitating from the probable absurdity of the question she thought of asking. "tell me traveler, would you mind if i held on to this for a while? perhaps we could make use of it at the publishing house..." paimon opened her mouth to refuse like a little gentle lady, adamant on keeping all their travel's treasures to themselves, only for the traveler to respond first. "i don't see any use for it, i suppose you could hang on to it miss yae."

yae miko brightened, eyes gleaming happily at her conquest "i'm very glad traveler, you've done me a great favour," she said, taking the scroll from her "now, i shan't hold you back any longer. do visit!"

traveler nodded, waving goodbye as paimon tugged on her scarf, yowling "i told you so!"s, "you should have listened!"s and an accusatory "why did you give it away?". yae lifted her hand in farewell, which dropped solemnly as soon as the traveler was out of sight.

she flourished the paper open, a sudden, uncharacteristic scowl on her face, painting her lovely features in disgust and scorn. "even in exile you bother us all, charlatan." she murmured to herself.

she ought to burn it, and throw its ashes to the fish, but held back. the lovely swirls of the letters mesmerising her, drawled along the page in a dance, elegant beyond words. her frustration only grew, chanting that no matter how much beauty liars weaved in their words, they were still lies.

and no matter how beautiful a liar was, they were still a liar, and would remain one until repentance.

and (name) would never repent.

💌 gahh i feel kinda lame.. its been a while since ive written anything and speedran this on 13% charge. had a dillema choosing between faruzan and yae for this intro piece, but i hope its turned out ok. ill try uploading the next part soon. bye bye!