#so they ran away and told themselves it was all a masterful ploy

[gmalaart]

Something thick sticks to the back of their throat. Dr. Cavendish gulps down a glass of terrible wine and finally pulls away from the dusty window of their lodgings. It's useless to stay there, with their nose pressed to the glass, now that the diatomist has finally vanished in the fog clogs the streets. They'd hoped the matter wouldn't come to a confrontation, but then again, the diatomist was never one to take a hint without it being shoved in front of his priceless microscope. Cavendish will have to offer some sort of apology to their neighbours: something generous but not generous enough that they will feel that talking behind their back would be improper. If they've had to put up with the diatomist screaming and pleading for their regard, banging on their door for the good part of an hour, then let it at least make the news. Let people know that Emon Cavendish is a player, one who is able to hook the most reclusive of fish and reel it in as they please, only to release the catch and leave behind a mark. Someone clever, someone who will entertain and give the people something to chatter about, if only they pay them the time of day. A simple exchange. Scandal is currency, if used right. This was always the plan. And yet… Cavendish ignores the piercing eyes of the dubiously shrewd rat living under their bed, as they kneel to pry a loose board off the floor. They pull a jar of golden honey from the hidden compartment and then settle on a rickety chair, kicking off their shoes and hoisting their feet onto the desk. They'd offered the diatomist some honey once. The man had refused, citing his preference for keeping his mind firmly anchored to reality and studying all the pieces that made it what it is. Passionate, steadfast, focused. Cavendish thinks that they had also been like that, once. However, there was an earnestness in the diatomist that the doctor can't remember ever possessing. Had they forgotten? Had they been innocent and sweet once? Was their curiosity always sharp like an edge, rather than flowing and moving like the diatomist's? They pull a teaspoon from the cupboard, dip it in the jar and in the sweet golden strings of honey, Cavendish loses themself.

[gingermintpepper]

In my Zeus bag today so I'm just gonna put it out there that exactly none of the great Ancient Greek warrior-heroes stayed loyal and faithful and completely monogamous and yet none of them have their greatness questioned nor do we question why they had the cultural prominence that they did and still do.

Jason, the brilliant leader of the Argo, got cold feet when it came to Medea - already put off by some of her magic and then exiled from his birthland because of her political ploys, he took Creusa to bed and fully intended on marrying her despite not properly dissolving things with Medea.

Theseus was a fierce warrior and an incredibly talented king but he had a horrible temper and was almost fatally weak to women. This is the man who got imprisoned in the Underworld for trying to get a friend laid, the man who started the whole Attic War because he couldn't keep his legs closed.

And we cannot at all forget Heracles for whom a not inconsiderable amount of his joy in life was loving people then losing the people around him that he loved. Wives, children, serving boys, mentors, Heracles had a list of lovers - male and female - long enough to rival some gods and even after completing his labours and coming down to the end of his life, he did not have one wife but three.

And y'know what, just because he's a cultural darling, I'll put Achilles up here too because that man was a Theseus type where he was fantastic at the thing he was born to do (that is, fight whereas Theseus' was to rule) but that was not enough to eclipse his horrid temper and his weakness to young pretty things. This is the man that killed two of Apollo's sons because they wouldn't let him hit - Tenes because he refused to let Achilles have his sister and Troilus who refused Achilles so vehemently that he ran into Apollo's temple to avoid him and still couldn't escape.

All four of these men are still celebrated as great heroes and men. All four of these men are given the dignity of nuance, of having their flaws treated as just that, flaws which enrich their character and can be used to discuss the wider cultural point of what truly makes a hero heroic. All four of these men still have their legacies respected.

Why can that same mindset not be applied to Zeus? Zeus, who was a warrior-king raised in seclusion apart from his family. Zeus who must have learned to embrace the violence of thunder for every time he cried as a babe, the Corybantes would bang their shields to hide the sound. Zeus learned to be great because being good would not see the universe's affairs in its order.

The wonderful thing about sympathy is that we never run out of it. There's no rule stopping us from being sympathetic to multiple plights at once, there's no law that necessitate things always exist on the good-evil binary. Yes, Zeus sentenced Prometheus to sufferation in Tartarus for what (to us) seems like a cruel reason. Prometheus only wanted to help humans! But when you think about Prometheus' actions from a king's perspective, the narrative is completely different: Prometheus stole divine knowledge and gifted it to humans after Zeus explicitly told him not to. And this was after Prometheus cheated all the gods out of a huge portion of wealth by having humans keep the best part of a sacrifice's meat while the gods must delight themselves with bones, fat and skin. Yes, Zeus gave Persephone away to Hades without consulting Demeter but what king consults a woman who is not his wife about the arrangement of his daughter's marriage to another king? Yes, Zeus breaks the marriage vows he set with Hera despite his love of her but what is the Master of Fate if not its staunchest slave?

The nuance is there. Even in his most bizarre actions, the nuance and logic and reason is there. The Ancient Greeks weren't a daft people, they worshipped Zeus as their primary god for a reason and they did not associate him with half the vices modern audiences take issue with. Zeus was a father, a visitor, a protector, a fair judge of character, a guide for the lost, the arbiter of revenge for those that had been wronged, a pillar of strength for those who needed it and a shield to protect those who made their home among the biting snakes. His children were reflections of him, extensions of his will who acted both as his mercy and as his retribution, his brothers and sisters deferred to him because he was wise as well as powerful. Zeus didn't become king by accident and it is a damn shame he does not get more respect.

[capricornus-rex]

Two Sides of the Coin (19)

Chapter 19: Out of Here | Jidné Sheedra x Cal Kestis

Summary: Hell-bent on exacting revenge and retrieving the Holocron, the dreaded Darth Vader is now on the hunt for the young Jedi Knight, Cal Kestis. Under the assumption that he still possessed the artifact, while fueled by the intrigue of the boy’s strength and skill with the Force, the dark lord hires the bounty hunter, Jidné Sheedra, to track him down and have him delivered alive. However, the task becomes a trial for young Jidné, as she faces a conflict that tests her beliefs of a scarred past she had hidden for so long.

A/N: I feel like I’ve delayed on this chapter even though it’s not? Feels kinda weird, I’ve probably lost my sense of time but I’m glad I’ve finally finished it either way 😁

Also tagging @berenilion​ @silver-is-in-too-many-fandoms​ @stellar-trinity​ @justtinfoley​ @peterwandaparker​ @calgasm​ @queen-destenie​ @calsponchoemporium​ @sweeetteaa​ @cal-jestis​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @fallenjedii​

Also in AO3

Tags: Fem OC, Jidné Sheedra, Force-Sensitive! Fem OC, Bounty Hunter! Fem OC, Jedi! Fem OC

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 – 12 – 13 – 14 – 15 – 16 – 17 | Previous: Part 18 | Next: Part 20 | Masterlist

19 of ?

Jidné had never felt more alone in five years.

The hallway in which she marched through made her feel small. The canister in her hand hung heavy—literally and figuratively—she thinks she couldn’t hold onto it much longer. The droid clinging on her body harness peeked over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of her expression, ID has noticed that Jidné has been awfully quiet, save the stifled, repressed sobs that squeak out of her throat.

“I’m… It’s nothing, ID,” she mumbled and then bit her lip.

Warm wind suddenly gusted through Jidné’s spine, it wasn’t from the circulating air in the fortress—it was something else. She looked around only to find nothing but herself and ID in the desolate corridor.

“Is that truly your final resolve?” the disembodied voice of Master Anesh called out from the nothingness.

Hearing Nomara’s voice again when she least expected it took her by surprise. Jidné searched left and right for the Force ghost of her late master until she found blue smoke materializing in front of her; it started out hazy and shapeless, from the Jedi girl’s eyes it appeared to be wafting towards her—the closer it got, the more defined the silhouette became, from the montral tip down to the sweeping hem of Nomara’s robes.

Unlike her previous encounters with a vision of her master, this one felt significantly different: it was warm and sage, like how Jidné exactly remembers Master Anesh until her death.

“Master…” Jidné gasped. “I… I feel like I’ve failed. I have failed, haven’t I?”

Nomara, stood close in front of her apprentice, her arms crossed together underneath the overly-loose sleeves of her robe. Even in her Force ghost form, a rather melancholic expression painted upon her face; empathizing with her disdained apprentice, the Togruta took notice of the cylindrical case in the girl’s hand, the tightness of the grip was fluctuating.

“Your actions contradicted your true feelings, Jidné, and here you are fighting it all by yourself and within yourself,”

“I know what I should’ve done—then if I did, none of this wouldn’t have happened! If only I’d told him the truth sooner, but that doesn’t matter now…”

Jidné proceeded to walk forward on the way to her ship. The Togruta’s shoulders rose and then relaxed, her calm expression contrasted against the troubled child who was on the verge of tears.

“Do not succumb to your regrets, my little one,” Nomara’s hand rested on Jidné’s shoulder, subsequently hindering her from walking and convincing her well enough to heed and listen.

The girl was taken aback, it’s been a while since she felt Master Anesh’s touch. Her hand searched for the phantom and only felt warm air hovering over her shoulder—but it was comforting.

“You have foreseen this, but you still have the power to change it—so that the boy will not fall into such vain of a fate.”

Their exchange prompted Jidné to subconsciously recall the visions that manifested in one particular meditation. Recalling to the final seconds before she had actually left the foyer, she overheard Vader ordering the Inquisitor and Stormtrooper to make arrangements for a torture chamber. She closed her eyes for a moment to revisit the premonition she found in her trance.

It all made sense now: the thud of a body falling to the floor, the pleading that fell to deaf ears—whose voice turned out to be Jidné’s own voice in her own premonition—and the harsh crackling of the electric current coursing around its host.

Vader has ordered Cal’s slow execution… not until he reveals the locations of the children he has memorized.

Her eyes shot up and abruptly turned around to face Nomara again.

“They’re going to kill him!” she exclaimed, and then she gradually reduced to tears as she realizes. “And it’s all my fault!”

“Perhaps not all is lost, child. Trust your instincts and the let the Force guide you through,” little by little, Nomara’s Force ghost starts to dissolve, she hoists one translucent hand to Jidné’s jaw, running her thumb across the girl’s cheek to wipe away a tear stain. “Only then will the clarity of your mind erase the conflict that hazes your judgment.”

Jidné instinctively jerks her hand up to hold Nomara’s now-fading hand on her face. She closes her eyes to savor the warmth—albeit being only an illusion—when she finally opens them again, she finds herself and her droid alone in the eerie hallway of the dark lord’s fortress. The droid peeked over her shoulder again, ID-3 finds a face seething with resolve from his owner.

“There’s still time,” Jidné muttered, and then turned to ID. “I’m going to save him.”

“BEEEEE!!!” the droid bursts with an overjoyed, celebratory trill to the point that he hovered a couple of inches off of Jidné’s back, the girl received his affirming response.

She dropped the canister and ran to the other direction. As her legs carried her through the inorganic hallways, she recalled again the details of Vader’s request in the foyer—the preparations are due in an hour.

“Trill, chirp?” ID-3 beeped, in translation, he asked what Jidné’s plan is.

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking,”

The duo came across a control center along the way to the prison block. Jidné stormed in and made quick work in emptying the room from Stormtroopers and a KX security droid. ID-3 hovered towards the main terminal and spliced the internals, absorbing data regarding Cal’s torture down to the last bit of information.

Jidné joined her droid and watched the monitors flash number codes, area coordinates, and maps of the locations involved—in this case, the prison block where Cal is held captive. Jidné tapped the projection of the map, zooming in and enhancing the area, and then finding a red blip blinking on a specific section.

“That’s it, the prison block,” she muttered and then read out loud the area code. “Cell Block E-6.”

“Trill, beep!”

“Come on!”

—–

Cal sat at the very end of his holding cell, still couldn’t fully wrap his head around what Jidné had done. He recollects the look on her face when she was being Force-choked by Vader until she was being prompted to take the money, he sensed the hesitation in the slowness of her reach, and he could’ve sworn he spotted tears welling up at the rims of her eyes—that is why she was so eager to turn away and walk.

Two Stormtroopers paced back and forth in the narrow corridor where Cal’s holding cell is, casually bantering off on random things until it came to the subject of bounty hunting.

“So how does one get a price on their head? I mean, who calls it?”

“I guess it’s the actual person who’s got beef with them, I don’t know, but I’ve noticed that’s how they do it,”

“You ever been to a bounty hunter’s hive before?”

“Well, no, but I’ve patrolled a cantina they went to once before,”

This conversation continued on until the main door retracted open and revealed Jidné entering the prison block. She carried herself in an indifferent aura to continually fool the Stormtroopers. The girl approached the exact cell where they kept Cal.

“Lord Vader ordered me to escort the Jedi to the torture chamber,”

“It’s not yet due in a few minutes,”

Cal gradually stood up, listening to the exchange between Jidné and the Stormtroopers. He tries to read her through her expression as she spoke with the guards. There was her trademark calm and coolness in her demeanor, a small part of him manages to convince him that this was a ploy, but he continued to listen in.

“There was a change of plans,” Jidné rebuked with the casual calmness in her tone.

The pair of Stormtroopers looked at one another, hoping to find something that tells them to believe the girl; meanwhile, Jidné kept her straight face intact while preparing to cast a Jedi mind trick against them, should they see through her bluff. Fortunately, she needn’t to do the latter. The Stormtrooper pressed a button on the control panel, the red ray shield vanishes and Cal was gestured to step out of his cell.

The redhead stood in the very front, the Stormtroopers behind him, and Jidné behind the guards. The second Stormtrooper thought their formation was unusual, but decided to brush it off and nudged the Jedi boy forward.

While they strode through the hallways, Cal senses a motive from Jidné—little did he knew that she’s already putting her plan into play, starting from the moment she walked into the prison block. Jidné patiently waited until they were left in one section of the corridor where it’s empty and devoid of witnesses—especially the patrolling Stormtroopers—when that moment came, the girl found themselves alone in the path and a pair of hard thumping sounds, following two quick grunts, came from the Stormtroopers, who are now lying limp and unconscious on the floor.

Cal turned around to find Jidné shaking off the sting in her hand. His lips parted so as to say something, but he was too taken aback by this other change of plans. Jidné approached him to his back and used the Force to unbind the handcuffs around his wrists.

“Escape now, hate me later,” said Jidné quite abruptly, avoiding small talk with the boy as the tension between them is still heavy and conversing as such would be simply awkward.

“Thank you…”

“Where are they keeping your saber?” Jidné examined Cal’s person and noticed someone missing. “Where’s BD-1?”

“They confiscated it—along with BD-1—but I know where it is,”

ID-3 reacted to BD-1’s captivity, the fast-paced, tone-deaf trilling and chirping from the droid evidently conveyed his eagerness to save his new fellow droid.

“I couldn’t agree more, ID,”

Jidné took her own blaster out of her second holster, “You a good shot?”

“I’d like to think so,” Cal shrugged. A coy, little smirk couldn’t help but emerge on his mouth.

Jidné’s lips returned the gesture and she tossed the ballistic weapon toward him which he skillfully caught.

Cal led the way, Jidné followed and kept cover for him. All throughout, the both of them relied on stealth, not seeing the need to brandish weapons unless necessary. With little to no action, it feels as though time moves differently and rather slowly in this dark palace, where the winding hallways lead to one after the other with hours on end.

Finally, their little adventure in the labyrinthine came to an end when Cal recognized a door and caught a glimpse of the inside.

“That’s it—that’s the door,”

“Who’s in the other side of it?” asked Jidné who was hugging the wall behind him as he peeked over.

“Two guards—one standing in the middle, the other behind a terminal.”

“How do you wanna go about this?”

“Well,” Cal’s eyes trailed from Jidné’s head to toe. “We could use your Shroud. Take them by surprise once we’re through.”

She rolled her eyes pensively, and then shrugged, “Fair enough.”

Cal was the first to leave cover, Jidné stayed closed by the tail. They stood side by side with one another, in front of the sealed door. Cal discovers Jidné’s fists clenching and then relaxing—and the cycle repeats-his eyes trailed upwards, studying her hesitant, nervous expression. Both of them are still fully aware of the tension and awkwardness borne from the scene that transpired back in Vader’s receiving hall.

Cal had already forgiven Jidné the moment she knocked those Stormtroopers out cold and untied him; on the other hand, she’s still under the impression that he hates her for actively and passively betraying him all this time—she wasn’t exactly used to this brand of kindness, being a bounty hunter has somewhat deprived her of such.

Nevertheless, Cal slowly reached. Little by little, he broke through the closed fist, she flinched upon the gentlest tap of his fingernails against her skin; his fingers tangled with her slender yet trembling digits, and his warm hand felt the clamminess of her palm, though he didn’t care. He curled his fingers, further securing his hold on her until she herself gave. Jidné shot him a quick glance with a flinch from the corner of her lip as an excuse for a weak smile.

“Relax,” Cal coaxed.

Jidné tightly clutched on Cal’s hand, almost equal to his own grip, and focused as she taps into her Shroud. She remained still as a stone—her features steady, her grip unwavering—slowly, she lifted her eyelids and saw that it was successful. One look prompted Cal to wave his hand at the control panel at his left side. The bulb under the button blinked green and the door responded by retracting right into its frame.

This startled the guards; the door had opened with nobody on the other side—in their point of view, at least.

“What’s happened?” asked the terminal guard, quite spooked himself as well.

“Don’t know, the door just suddenly opened,” replied the standing guard.

“Must be a wire malfunction. Go check,”

While they debated on what caused the door to open “by itself,” Jidné and Cal had already snuck through the lobby. The two Jedi exchanged glances and conversed with a nod at each other, signaling Jidné to let go and thus end the effect of her Shroud. The moment her hand slipped away from Cal’s, they slowly materialized and took on each guard. In a split second, the guards were denied a single second of reaction time. Jidné charged towards the terminal guard while Cal gunned down the one who approached the door, he also shot down the security cameras fixed on the corners of the ceiling.

“Cal, here!”

She retrieved the Jedi’s weapon. They returned each other’s weapons by tossing them to one another. Meanwhile, ID-3 did BD-1 a kindness by unscrewing the restraining bolt off of the little droid—the tiny white droid spun and danced in front of the probe droid as a gesture of thanks. Cal walked up to his droid and caught BD in his arms, coddling him as they rejoiced in being together again.

“Glad you’re okay, BD!” Cal laughed, mingling with BD-1’s happy beeps.

In a moment’s peace, both Jedi were met with the sight from where they stand. Beyond this lobby was another, but there was an impossible gap between them that can only be connected by a retractable, hydraulic bridge operated by the terminal. Jidné got curious and stood at a safe distance from the edge, peering to the orange, infernal abyss below—the magmatic underbelly of the planet on which the castle’s foundation stands.

“It’s almost the same as the one in Nur,”

“In what?”

“The planet where I last fought him,”

“You… fought Vader? Okay, that just kinda adds up to his list of reasons why he’s after you,”

“I can see your snark hasn’t been choked to death,”

“Takes more than that to kill me, ginger,”

The two exchanged glances with each other. Neither of them can deny the tension looming over their heads, not even the affection they had for one another that bloomed during their stay in Ombari. Obviously, Jidné was still guilty and this was her best effort of an apology—Cal saw her intentions and had secretly forgiven her the moment she knocked out those two Stomrtroopers from the prison block.

A small smile curled along Cal’s lips when he noticed Jidné’s face was flushing in color, when she spotted that boyishly charming smirk, she looked away, though it was futile to hide her blush even over her tough-girl demeanor.

“Come on,” she mumbled, bobbing her head once and briskly walked out of the confiscation lobby.

Meanwhile, in Vader’s chamber, a royal guard opens his commlink disc to answer the incoming transmission of a Stormtrooper. After the report, the royal guard approaches Vader sitting in his open meditation chamber, he relayed the news to the emotionless, blank face of the Sith lord’s mask—a slight turn of the head was his only response.

“Send out the Sixth Sister,”

“Yes, my lord.” The royal guard bowed, he kept it that way whilst he steps back to his original spot. He did what he was told.

From the Sixth Sister’s temporary room, she had felt the disturbance in the Force making its way to her trance. Dark, transient eyes popped and stood out of the crimson skin around it. The small hologram of Vader’s royal guard materialized on the projector connected to the short podium in front of her meditation spot.

A second projection appeared—the map of the castle, zoomed in on Cal and Jidné’s location where they’re both symbolized as a pair of moving, red blips. The Inquisitor made a bemused smirk as she raises her eyebrow at the same time.

“Looks like the kiddies decided to make some trouble,” the Sixth Sister purred.

She concluded the transmission with the royal guard and immediately scrambled to her feet. The Inquisitor uploaded the map data to her own holodisk and left her room to go after the Jedi and the bounty hunter.

—–

Jidné and Cal sprint through the corridors, but they were still cautious enough to elude the enemy’s line of sight. Even if they had their weapons, they preferred leaving Mustafar as peacefully as they can; little did they know that the Sixth Sister is already after them.

“We need to get to the hangar!” pressed the girl as they ran.

The castle was a complete labyrinth—one would never think that the inside looks this intricate and complicated after looking at the exterior. Perhaps this was one of the subtle, intentional features of the structure: intended to exhaust a runaway prisoner until they got nowhere to go or is simply cornered by guards lest Vader himself.

Both Jedi were trusting their own instincts as they navigated their way through the maze-like halls. They eventually found themselves in the leftmost side of the castle--where they both thought it is the side where they came from upon their arrival here. The corridor’s wall was split by a window that streaked the entire length of the annex; they peered through the glass for a landmark.

“I don’t see the Scarab anywhere, do you think they could’ve taken it?”

“Impossible,” Jidné held her arm up, showing her remote control armguard. “If they did, this would’ve went off hours ago.”

“We must’ve taken a wrong turn after evading those troopers,” Cal theorized.

Jidné confirmed it when she joined Cal’s side and saw the same thing as he does—a hangar filled with ships except her beloved Crescent Scarab. She withdrew from the window and looked around the annex they’re standing in, she finds the combination of a letter and a number painted white on the wall—she doesn’t recognize the label when they arrived.

“We did take a wrong turn,”

“Then let’s circle back,”

Both were startled by the echoing thud of a turbolift arriving at its designated floor.

Cal snatches Jidné’s wrist and drags her along with him. “Come on, we gotta move!”

“I can run fine by myself, thank you very much!”

He heard Jidné but he chose to ignore her, he secured his grip around her arm as they dashed their way through. Eventually, they found the Sixth Sister being the only thing standing between them and the correct hangar. The two young Jedi have caught sight of the ship, but they have to get through her first.

“Going somewhere?” purred the Twi’lek.

“Yeah,” Jidné snarled. “Out of here!”

A suggestive chuckle rumbled in the crimson-skinned Inquisitor’s throat, her white-as-porcelain fangs baring through her amused grin.

Playing along, the Sixth Sister squints her eyes as her grin closes into a smirk, “Oh, I don’t think so.”

She brandishes her haloed saber, one blood-red blade spewed out after the other—against Jidné’s purple and Cal’s cyan sabers.

The hangar became their battlefield, trapped inside a circle of Stormtroopers and Purge Troopers who made a human arena out of themselves around the pair of Jedi versus the Inquisitor.

“I’ve been into better fights than the two of you combined!” the Twi’lek boasted.

The corner of Jidné’s lip curled upward into a condescending smirk, following by a casual shrug.

“Pretty sure that’s a bluff,” scoffed the Jedi girl.

Provoked, the Inquisitor was the first to take on the offensive; and so the two Jedi buckled themselves for the worst.

[snowfall-fanfictions]

Beware The Frozen Heart (Formerly “The Hired Blade”)  Ch. 1- The Deal

Author’s note: I had originally taken this down because I wasn't satisfied with how the first edit went. Now that I've had some time to rework it, I think it's in a much better place now. Enjoy!

Ao3 link here

FFN link here

Rated M for violence and character death

Eryn sat alone in the corner of the dimly lit tavern, swirling his drink in its glass studying the other patrons. Some came to drown themselves in flagons of alcohol, trying to forget their troubles. Others were there simply to avoid the raging storm outside. But Eryn? Eryn was there on a more personal venture. He always found himself conducting some sort of shady business either in a dark alley under the cover of night or in a secluded cabin, far away from any unnecessary eyes. That was simply the nature of his craft.

He was a thin and lanky man, due to the demands of his profession. Along the right side of his gaunt face, underneath his hazel eyes, was a long faded scar that ran down his cheek which disappeared into his thin, cleanly shaven beard. He considered it a trophy from his job in Drusselstein, disposing of some hapless noble. His hair was always shaggy and unkempt, as he never truly had a moment’s rest to properly tend to it. In the three years of this profession, Eryn simply grew used to it.

Eryn began tapping his hand on the table impatiently. A week ago he had received a mysterious letter requiring his services and to meet him in this very tavern at 7. He took a watch out of his brown travelling coat to check the time. It was approaching 7:15.  Eryn pouted with frustration and shoved the watch back into his pocket. Just then, a figure approached his table, its face obscured by the long black traveling cloak it was wearing.

“It’s quite warm out, isn’t it?” the figure asked. His voice was old and eccentric, like an aging politician. Eryn smirked at the question.

“Sweltering,” Eryn replied as his smirk turned into a glare. “You’re late.”

“Forgive me, I was not expecting to be as delayed as I was,” the cloaked man grunted, taking a seat, “damn this country and its unpredictable weather.”

“Karnisvarne is always like this, I’m afraid,” Eryn growled, “ But I’m sure you didn’t want to meet me to discuss the weather now, did you?”

The mystery man sat on a stool as he reached within his cloak and produced a small roll of parchment tied with a ribbon. Eryn grabbed the parchment, undid the ribbon and began reading the note:

ATTENTION, ALL ABLE BODIED MEN AND WOMEN! The Arendelle Royal Guard is now accepting positions. All those who are seeking a challenge should report to Arendelle Castle no later than Wednesday the 25th at noon. Come forth for Glory and Honor!

-Captain Torvond of Arendelle

Eryn studied the note for a few more seconds as he scratched his head. “You sound a bit old for a soldier’s life, don’t you?” Eryn asked after a while.

“I’m not the one enlisting,” the old man replied, “You are.”

“And why, pray tell, would I do that? I’m no soldier.” “But you are an assassin, are you not?”

Eryn paused, narrowing his emerald eyes at the mysterious figure, “What are you getting at?”

The man reached back into his cloak and produced a large sack, which he threw onto the table. Eryn opened the bag cautiously. It was completely filled with gold coins, glistening in the candlelight!

“Alright, you’ve peaked my interest,” Eryn chuckled, taking a swig of his drink, “So, Who am I killing?”

“The queen of Arendelle,” the man answered. Eryn choked on his drink at the response.

“I’m sorry, what?” he sputtered as liquor dribbled down the front of his coat.

“I need the queen disposed of,”  the figure said calmly, “Is there a problem for a self-proclaimed master assassin?”

“Can I ask why you need the queen killed?”

“She’s a witch, a sorceress. She needs to be destroyed.”

“And you think they’ll let any fool bearing the colors of Arendelle near the queen?”

“It’s simply a way for you to get closer to the inner workings of the castle. It’d be much easier than going in as a random citizen.”

Eryn regained his composure and contemplated the man’s offer. A part of him told himself that this was a ploy to off him, much like that incident in London. Eryn still had the goose egg from when that whore beat him over the head with a parasol. He decided to try and call the old fool’s bluff. “Even then,” He laughed, patting the sack of coins, causing them to jingle, “This paltry purse of coins can never justify killing a monarch. I need a little more than this to risk my life on some… fool’s errand.” The shady figure quickly threw three more bags onto the table, causing Eryn’s jaw to drop. “This is half of my offer,” the shady figure explained, “Bring me the head of the queen of Arendelle, and you’ll receive the rest.”

Eryn sat there dumbfounded at the man’s offer. He already had his retirement fund sitting on the table between the two of them, and the fool was offering more! He really wants this “witch” dead Eryn thought to himself, his mouth forming a cocky grin. “Alright,” he said, “When does the bitch need to die?”

“Whenever, just kill her and return to this tavern when the deed is done… I’ll be waiting.”

With that, the figure stood up,  turned around, and proceeded to hastily disappear into the crowd. Eryn pulled out a coin from one of the sacks that laid before him and flipped it around in his hands. He studied the symbol on the face as the coin shimmered in the candlelight. The Duchy of Weselton’s symbol was embossed into the gold disc. What was a man from Weselton doing this far north? Eryn thought to himself.

Ever since that foolish duke completely soiled relations with Arendelle nearly one year ago, tensions between the two has been incredibly restricted. Any fool caught here in Arendelle with anything from Weselton would have a hundred guards on his ass in a second. Eryn gave the shady old bastard some credit, risking everything on finding some hired killer to off the queen. Made sense that he would come to the Karnisvarne. No one in this town had any love for a monarchy that neglected them, who spent most of their time in the capital and not in some backwards farming province. Eryn really only knew two things about the queen: that she had ice magic, and that she had a sister. At least, that’s all that the travellers he met talked about when the queen came up in conversation.

Eryn grinned at the idea of killing that harlot in the north. Not only for the wealth, not even for any personal reason, but for the glory of it all. Any fool could off some peasant or some low ranking noble. But when a monarch is killed? The one who pulled the trigger goes down in history as a legend! Eryn grinned at the thought of etching his mark into history.

He called the young barmaid over to his table. As she approached, Eryn took a few coins out of one of the bags and shoved them towards her. “Another round, sweetheart,” he said, winking at the woman. The barmaid ran back to the tap and returned with a frothy tankard in her hand and took the coins she was offered. Eryn thanked her as he brought the tankard to his lips.

Tonight, he would drink all that he could.

Tomorrow, he would begin planning for the queen’s death.

[haphazardlyparked]

Peddler in the Towers

Part 6 of Into Fairy

(previous - part five)

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The Towers road was hard-packed dirt that ran from the docks through the center of town before stretching out past the cultivated fields and orchards; then it wound its way into the forested Towers feet and disappeared from view.  Cal and Meg set off down it two days after arriving to Auphont, the trio from their riverboat were long gone. But Cal was right that they wouldn’t be alone. Early on their first day, rambunctious group of four adventurers who’d been in town for a week passed them riding fine horses, laughing and joking as they went, as well as another pair on more sensible mules. Cal and Meg had opted to go on foot, carrying their supplies. 

“They do know they can like, die out there, right?” Meg asked when a third set of adventurers—another trio, also mounted on horses, and also laughing amongst themselves as they rode—passed them by. They were even passing some kind of meat pastries between them, as though it were a picnic. Meg wouldn’t have begrudged anyone a picnic. The pastries had smelled delicious too. But this was a quest, and there had to be some kind of solemnity to it all, right? 

Cal looked over at her with the patience of a stone. “You do know we can like, die out there right?” he asked, mimicking her words but completely botching the inflection.

She inhaled to argue--and then scowled and kicked a pebble at him instead.

Cal was right; Meg was being a bit hypocritical. 

Even after all the stories she had hunted down and begged and bribed out of people—the most maddening of which included the nearly-forsaken wanderers who’d traded precious heirlooms to the Peddler in exchange for the way out, only to find they had been just one turn away from the road all along—the whole Oracle quest thing didn’t seem quite real to her. Taking it seriously, or hoping that everyone else did, wasn’t going to make it feel like a quest for her either. 

“Whether it feels like one or not,” Cal said sympathetically, when she tried to explain it to him later that night, after they’d made camp on the side of the road. “You’re right that we should be cautious. There’s a reason why the Towers are infamous, Peddler stores or no; there has only ever been the one road through them, and it really is dangerous if you leave the path. They say the Towers were one mountain once, before a great earthquake shattered it into three peaks, and that’s what makes traversing them beyond the known road so dangerous. You never know when you’ll come up against a deep chasm, or a sheer bluff. They’re not like normal mountains.”

Meg tried to take Cal’s words to heart, but the truth was that she still didn’t feel any sense of danger or adventure. 

*

Though most of the other adventurers broke off from the caravaners’ road after only one night on it, Cal had learned of a travelers’ shrine while talking local flora and fauna with the caravaners, and being Cal, he wanted to leave an offering there. The shrine was a humble thing, set on the first major crest of the pass before it descended into a steep, switchback route plumbed the depths of a deep valley between two of the mountains. For the traders on their way to Auphont, the shrine marked the easy sloping end to their journey. For Meg and Cal, it would mean the real start of their wandering, and maybe the real start of their quest. 

Meg had agreed to the shrine plan because she couldn’t see how it would significantly change their plans. She even gathered plant stems and wildflowers as they went, to braid together her own offering to the shrine as they made their ascent along the road.

It was early afternoon of the third day by the time they reached the shrine, and Meg’s whole body was tired. Her only consolation was that Cal seemed to be a bit sore himself after their long indolent months on his lands. The shrine was small and modest, little more than mounds of rocks, moss, and other woodsy things clearly meant to represent the three peaks of the Towers. Cal had bought a small candle of green wax to burn from a trader, and Meg laid her wreath over the mini-Towers so that it encircled them.

“Is there something we’re supposed to say?” she asked, yawning and stretching out while they waited for the candle to burn down or get blown out—either would do, Cal said, but from where Meg was sitting it looked like the three miniature Towers would protect the tiny dancing flame from the gentle breeze until there was nothing left to burn.

Cal shook his head. “It’s more of a reminder. We are saying we are guests here, and the important thing is that we respect the lands we pass through.”

“Got it,” said Meg. “No hooliganism. I can do that.”

“Mm,” Cal agreed, and dodged the piece of hard bread Meg threw at him.

*

Cal’s candle was nothing more than a puddle of wax in less than an hour, and then they were off.

From the shrine, finding a little game trail was easy (for Cal) and they followed it away from the road to make their first camp in the proper wilderness of the Tower. They had only been trooping haphazardly through the underbrush of the woods for an hour or so—Meg picking their route at random with a rising excitement, while Cal kept an reflexive eye on the sun’s position over head—when it became clear that someone was trooping haphazardly after them.

They were following a small trail that rose and fell as it seemed to circle around something, and Cal kept looking at the falling sun when he stopped suddenly, tugging on Meg’s arm silently to halt her too. The look on his face--thoughtful, head tilted as if listening--had Meg doing the same, but Meg didn’t hear anything until a dog yipped loudly. 

“Hello?” Meg shouted in the direction of the bark, before Cal could stop her.  

It was a human voice that replied. “Adventurers?”

The speaker sounded distant but hopeful. Meg froze Cal went for the hilt of his sword, and then Meg heard what Cal had before the dog: the sound of someone tromping closer to them grew louder and louder.

In front of them, a dark shape bounded out from behind a copse of trees just to the left, and Meg yelped. Cal pulled her back and stepped forward, drawing his sword. The afternoon’s sun flashed against the steel, and Cal was already in a wary, protective stance before they both realized that it was just a dog.

“I thought I was going to have a heart attack,” Meg muttered under her breath, but Cal still didn’t relax. 

The dog was a skinny, long hunting dog of some sort, with the kind of narrow hound face that Meg had always found somewhat creepy, but there was a loop of leather around its neck that said it wasn’t wild. Its tail wagged in a satisfied blur when it saw them relax, and then it sat down on its haunches and panted and watched them.

A few minutes later, the shoemaker from Auphont emerged from the same place as the dog, carrying a small traveler’s pack on his back. “Oh thanks be!” he pronounced, throwing his hands up in relief the moment he saw them. 

Meg and Cal stared. Meg kept staring while Cal sheepishly sheathed his sword, nodded at the shoemaker, and greeted, “Hello, Master Cobbler.”

“I’ve been following you,” the shoemaker said without preamble.

“Apparently,” said Meg, not very politely 

Cal nudged her chidingly. “What for?” he asked.

“To save you!” the shoemaker exclaimed like it should have been obvious. “And now that I’ve found you, you need to return to the town before you actually die here.”

“Do you know something of the Towers that we don’t?” Cal asked.

“No, no, no,” the shoemaker said. His reply was quick and impatient. “I think we all know equally well that the Towers wilderness means death. There’s a reason we have the road.”

“We’re searching for the Peddler,” Cal said, though Meg thought the statement was both a little unnecessary--surely the shoemaker already knew this--as well as a little wrong. It was more like they were waiting for the Peddler to find them. 

The shoemaker reply was an agitated exclamation. “He doesn’t exist!”

“But…” Meg said, grappling with a disorienting mix of disappointment and the sense that she’d known this would happen all along. “The oracles—?”

The shoemaker threw his hands up again. “Yes, yes, the oracles, nevermind them. They come second. First, what’s important is that you know the Peddler is only story, you understand, perhaps something made up to interest a customer, and perhaps now someone feels responsible for all the adventurers that keep disappearing into the Towers and has to go running after them to save them as if he were the Peddler in truth.”

Meg gaped as she processed this. “Are you saying this is all some giant marketing ploy?”

“I—” the shoemaker frowned at her defensively. “I told someone they maybe wanted a new pair of shoes in case they lost the trail and were doomed to wandering the broken faces of the Towers until an unreliable sole caused them to slip and die, and then I spun a tail about a mysterious peddler who might also trade them the secret of safety for a good pair of boots. To drive the point home, you see.”

“Oh,” Meg said, because as long as you were a little bit of afraid of losing the trail and believed in things like the Peddler, that was actually kind of a great sales pitch. And Meg and Cal had flown partway to the Towers on dragonback in search of that very same Peddler, in order to find directions into fairy so that they could hunt for a magical sword from a long-dead ancient hero... so who was Meg to say what people should and shouldn’t believe in? 

“I am very good at selling my wares,” the cobbler said soberly. 

“But the oracles,” Cal said, repeating Meg’s question, and Meg felt a faint odd tingling in her shoulders. He was right—she had been right, too. How could a lying shoemaker set off a bunch of oracle prophecies? And there was something else she was forgetting, she was sure of it. 

The dog thumped its tail loudly against the ground and smiled its weird smile. The cobbler rubbed a hand over his face and said, “Yes, about that. I did learn something…ah… portentous, shall we say, a few weeks ago. And since I am the Peddler, after a fashion... you see?”

Meg looked at Cal; to Meg it sounded sufficiently loop-holey and frustratingly prophecy-like, but Cal was the one who would know those things. 

Cal returned Meg’s look thoughtfully, and asked the cobbler, “Will you be sharing this portentous information?”

“Of course!” the shoemaker exclaimed. “Who am I to meddle with the prophecies? I know my role, an I will do it. Now, you will go back to the town and wait for me, and I will go and warn a few of the others, and then return within three days to... Share my story.”

Cal glanced at their packs, laden with camping supplies, and said, “We will stay here tonight, and head to the base of the mountain tomorrow. And wait for you by the road on the way back to Auphont.”

“Agreed,” said the shoemaker quickly. “Wait for me three days by the road. Now. I must go after the others.”

And with that same air of exasperated impatience, he confirmed the way back to the road to Cal, gave Meg a thin rolled scrap of paper for just in case they still managed to get themselves lost, and started away. 

“Three days, remember!” he said as he trotted off, the smiling dog at his heels. “It was agreed!”

And then they were both gone.

Meg stuck the scrap of paper into one of pouches and looked at Cal. “It’s nearly sundown, and you didn’t even offer to share our camp with him,” she observed.

Cal avoided her look guiltily. “I know, it was very rude, but…”

“,I’m not going to complain,” Meg assured him. “I’m just surprised. But really, I’m glad that you also—” she paused abruptly, uncertain of what she was trying to say. “I am not in the mood for company.”

“Yes,” Cal murmured. “I think I was feeling the same.”

“Makes sense. We only just got started out on our adventure, and then he totally just put a damper on everything!” 

Cal nodded along with Meg, but still she had the unpleasant suspicion that she was forgetting something. 

Something important.   

*

In the forest that was not the Temple, Meg knelt with Chai in her hands, point ground into the dirt. She clung to the hilt, leaning against it an attempt to keep herself upright.

“—son of a—”

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(the tone of this has been bugging me for like a week now and i still want my line breaks back but ;_; alas)

[docsamurai]

Sleeping With the Enemy: New Moon

The day of my 18th birthday I decided to test the Cullens so I could see firsthand their bloodlust. They had thrown a party for me and I contrived a way to cut myself on the wrapping paper of a gift. The reaction was more than I was expecting as Edward's "brother" Jasper lost control and lunged at me. Like most of the family he had been turned over a hundred years prior. Over a century of training and still this wild animal nearly killed me at the scent of a single drop of blood. It was a dangerous game I was playing with them but I was more sure than ever that I couldn't leave a single one of them alive. The biggest surprise of the night though was from the mastermind Carlisle. In the brief melee where the bloodsuckers with enough sense to restrain themselves held off Jasper I had been thrown across the room and injured. For a moment I felt real fear and had lost control of the situation but it was Carlisle who not only stepped in to intervene but who also took me away to give me medical attention. It was here that I experienced his surgical precision for the first time.

Carlisle was the oldest of the Cullens by an order of hundreds of years and unlike his minions he was able to completely resist the temptation of blood. If I didn't know him for the manipulative piece of shit that he is I might have almost mistaken him for kind. One look in his eyes told me all I needed to know though. I asked him why he resisted, why he didn't just give in and drink human blood. He was, after all, trying to tell me that they were "vegetarian". He paused for just a moment before telling me with a smirk that they were Damned enough as it is. "You can't be damned…" I told him, trying to appear sympathetic. I let the thought end there instead of saying "…because I'm nowhere near done with you."

"Is that why Edward won't change me?" I asked him point blank. Again he paused, "If the situation were reversed, could you take away his soul?" Carlisle casually burned the bloody gauze, removing the evidence and his own temptation. I knew then that I had overplayed my hand. The master of the Cullen clan had seen through my plan and was taunting me again. I may be able to outwit the simpleton Edward but this was a being who had not only kept a half dozen killing machines on a tight leash for well over a century but had existed for so long that this may not even be the first "Cullen" family. I had grown complacent. I thought I could test them and lure them into traps. I had been hunting them for less than a year but this one had been hunting humans for as long as the black death itself. To this day I don't how I walked out of that room alive. Maybe that immortal monster finds more amusement watching us squirm than in seeing us die. Maybe he respected me as an adversary. Maybe it was just an inopportune time.

The next few days pass with Edward avoiding me as I waited on the knife's edge for the Sword of Damocles to fall. Every shadow and empty room was a threat. I continued to keep up the act that I was the dutiful girlfriend hoping against hope that they might believe me to be as harmless as I felt. It was on the third day that Edward approached me in the parking lot outside of the school and asked me to "take a walk" with him. I refused to run. I would meet my end with dignity and would not let this sick freak see fear in my eyes, only hate. Edward surprised me though. He told me that they were leaving, that I had no place in their world, that he hated me. "No!" I screamed. It wasn't right! They had torn my world apart, had revealed the true existence of evil, had strung me along for months and now rather than put me out of my misery they were simply going to leave. To fly off to distant lands and let the knowledge that they were out there, hunting, killing, terrorizing the innocent and I was powerless to stop them. The monsters had won. The truth of it broke me. I blacked out there in the forest and nearly died. I wished that I had.

Months passed as the guilt came over me. I had failed to stop them. Innocent people would be drawn into their twisted games and would die in agony. Even right now they were probably devouring some poor soul and laughing about the state they left me in. I wanted to die, to rid myself of this guilt, of this pain. My father, poor Charlie, he only wanted me to be happy, to be normal. How can you tell your own father that you've stared into the heart of evil? At his insistence I finally left the house to attempt to go back to my old life. I found myself drawn to danger. I tell myself that I needed the adrenaline to feel something again but maybe I just didn't want to put my father through a suicide. Either way it was this that led me to my salvation and back to Jacob.

Jacob and I had always bonded over machines and in my adrenaline craving lows I bought a pair of dirt bikes and begged him to help me fix them. It took only a week but part of me wanted to drag it out. For this first time since I had learned of the Vampires I felt almost normal. Jacob had selflessly donated his time and had even bought the parts. All he knew was this his old friend needed help. Jacob, if you ever find this, I want you to know that had things been different I might have loved you. You were the friend I needed when I needed you most and for that you'll have my eternal gratitude. I can only hope you'll forgive me for what I must do soon.

Weeks pass as life improbably returns to normal. The wind in my hair and the adrenaline flowing through my veins remind me that I am alive and that I have friends and family that love me. As vile as the Vampires might be they made their biggest mistake in leaving me alive. All was not well though. I began to notice more and more of Jacob's strange behavior and at first I chalked it up to him being ill. He had been running a fever when he came to see me one day and for days afterward I couldn't reach him. I was told that he had come down with mono and though that seemed reasonable a part in the back of my mind told me not to let this go. I sought Jacob out in a field we had come to call our own and found a Vampire waiting for me. I knew him to be an acquaintance of the Cullens as I had seen him briefly during the episode with James. This one called himself Laurent and told me that he had been sent by Victoria to kill me. Before I had time to curse myself for believing it to be over, to believe that I would ever be safe with the Cullens out there I was rescued by, of all things, a pack of massive wolves. They were huge, at least as tall as a human and had to be hundreds of pounds of muscle. They weren't, however, mindless beasts. They didn't simply ignore me, they defended me and drove Laurent off. As they ran after the monster one even stopped to look me in the eye. It was just a moment but that was all it took for me to put two and two together: Jacob was this wolf.

Before all this started I would never have believed it even if he had told me the truth. I would have laughed in his face. I would have told him he was crazy. But in a world where Vampires use humans as pawns for their amusement why wouldn't there be Werewolves? It took me days to track Jacob down and to force him to admit the truth. He was resistant at first but when he saw that I trusted him, that he was my friend and that I wouldn't judge him for something that he couldn't control he almost cried. Jacob's pack was another story. They had kept their privacy for centuries and trusted very few outsiders. I knew that even with the history Jacob and I shared I would have to earn their trust, especially if I wanted their help dealing with the Vampire menace. It was a display of bravery that began to win them over.

There was a ritual they undertook when their wolf powers manifested. They would overcome their fear diving from a cliff into the sea. Their supernatural strength would protect them but their human instincts would tell them it was certain death and to hunt as a wolf they needed to drive that weakness from themselves. I had no supernatural strength but I would show them that I was every bit as brave as they were. It was dangerous and stupid and I had never felt more alive. I only barely survived. Afterward Jacob helped me swim to shore and I smiled weakly. I had proved to the pack that I was willing to undergo any trial. It would take time but I was on my way to being accepted by them. We almost kissed on that beach. Jacob, if you're reading this, I'm sorry. I wish I could love you but my heart only has room for vengeance.

I returned home to find a Cullen waiting for me. Edward's sister Alice came to check on me. She told me that in her psychic vision she had seen me throwing myself from a cliff. I thought at first they were coming to confirm my death, maybe to take my body, but then Alice told me that Jacob was distraught. So they wanted to try and play this game again? Good. My resolve had hardened and soon I would have a Werewolf army at my back. Things could never be so simple though. Edward was planning to expose himself to a crowd in the city of Volterra, Italy. She said this was to draw the attention of the Volturi, the vampire council. As much as I wanted to let him die I couldn't risk that this was simply a ploy. A vampire exposed to a crowd could quickly become a bloodbath and I wasn't about to allow that on my conscious. Naturally with the vampires testing my dedication it wouldn't be as simple a matter as a phone call. One benefit of being a clan of centuries old immortals was that they had plenty of money to throw at their amusements. Alice and I flew to Italy where I dramatically threw myself at Edward, once again playing the role of the lovestruck idiot.

I was mildly surprised to find out that the Volturi actually existed. They wanted to put me to death stating that it was against their law to let a human know of their existence without being changed. If they thought they could intimidate me they obviously didn't know who they were fucking with. Alice told the assembled council that I would be turned, that she had seen it in one of her psychic visions. I couldn't trust that any of this wasn't orchestrated but I have to admit, hearing her say that I would finally get the power I craved, even if it was just to lead me along, got my heart racing. The Volturi let us go and we left Italy to return to my home, Cullens in tow. They made a show of voting as to whether or not to turn me and, to my surprise, they agreed.

There were objections, mostly from Rosalie, one of Edward's sisters. She openly argued that I should remain human even when nearly the entire rest of the clan agreed that I should change. Maybe there was a shred of humanity within her still, fighting against the monster she had become, the monster Carlisle had coerced her into becoming. Rosalie had been beaten and raped by her husband and his friends only to be saved by Carlisle who had conveniently been nearby. I believe she may be willing to fight with me. I believe that she has already seen the evil that dwells within her saviors heart and is ready to join my cause. I'm sorry Rosalie, I know you think this vampire curse will destroy me, but it can be a gift with which I can rid the world of those that prey on the innocent.

Edward objected at first but agreed with one stipulation: he wanted me to marry him after graduation and then he would change me. I don't know if he thought that might scare me off or if that was part of the plan all along, but soon I would have the strength to kill them myself and possibly even allies. How could I do anything but agree?

[blustersquall]

Only Make Believe // Chapter 7: Explanations

First // ArchiveOfOurOwn  // FanFiction.net // Master Post // Previous // Next

December 18th, evening.

--

"I counted eight bruises," Nevena announced. She walked in from the bedroom to the main living area and Cullen glanced up from where he was in the midst of cooking. She zipped her hooded top up over her flimsy pyjama tank and tugged her damp hair out of the back of it.

Since they had returned from Edgehall - taking the drive very slowly given the treacherous terrain - they had both showered and changed into warm, dry clothing. While Nevena had her shower, Cullen started cooking - more out of habit than any necessity. Cooking was a focus. It gave him something to concentrate on.

They had yet to speak about what happened in the cable car, and if Cullen was honest he didn't much want to. But he could feel the unspoken conversation hanging over them like a storm cloud. There was no easy way to approach the topic. No easy way to explain what happened. Cullen was not eager to divulge his past to anyone, let alone a woman who was a client. Now he felt he was obligated to. He owed her an explanation given that the panic attack was his fault anyway. He should have known better.

"What're you making?" Nevena leaned on the on the counter to Cullen's right examining the contents of a casserole dish he found while searching through the kitchen cupboards.

"I thought stew would be good. Given how cold it's become. Typical winter warmer." Cullen did not look at her as he gathered up a handful of diced pork and dropped it into the dish with the other ingredients already in there. "Unless you'd like something else?"

"No." Nevena moved out of the way. "I'll eat pretty much whatever is put in front of me."

Cullen smiled to himself, "Good to know."

They fell into a somewhat relaxed silence. He was aware of her watching him while he continued to prepare different raw ingredients and dropped them into the dish. He mixed after each addition. Nevena sniffed a few of the condiments he had out on the kitchen counter. He could practically feel the question she wanted to ask hanging in the air. Invisible to her. A blaring, neon sign to him.

"So--"

"How many bruises did you count?"

Cullen wiped his hands on the dish towel he was using as a make-shift apron. He tilted a brow and looked at her, puzzled.

"You said in the car, we should compare."

"That's right," Cullen nodded. "I did." He paused and leaned against the counter. "Only counted five. Though the one from where I fell on my side is impressive."

"I bet." Nevena scooted away from the kitchen towards the dining table allowing Cullen to place the dish in the oven and leave it to cook through. He deposited the dish towel on the counter, washed his hands, and readied himself for the explanation he would need to give.

Words ran through his head. He wondered where, exactly, he should start? How much detail did he need to give? What about time scale or time frame? He ruffled a hand through his hair as he turned towards the dining table and Nevena sitting in a chair with her legs tucked up to her chest, her chin resting on her knees.

"I feel bad," Nevena blurted out, speaking again before Cullen had an opportunity.

"Oh?"

"You've cooked what, twice?" She looked at him.

"I like cooking," Cullen explained. He crossed to the table and sat in the chair opposite hers. "It keeps me distracted and it’s kind of calming. It's nice to create something and enjoy it."

"I guess." Nevena tilted her head to one side. Her hair spilled over her shoulders and she pursed her lips. "I am not a very good cook. Ineria can make whatever she turns her hand to, as long as she has enough prep time. I can just about cook scrambled eggs without messing it up."

"I haven't cooked for someone else in a long time," Cullen remarked. He met Nevena's eyes across the table and gave a lop-sided smile. "It's nice. To share that with someone again."

She beamed, "Well - I'm glad I'm the one who gets to share it. Who taught you?"

"My parents." Cullen shrugged his shoulders. "They taught all of us. My sisters and my brother. Beats spending money on take out all the time."

"I can imagine."

Silence began to settle again, longer than before. The quaint small talk about food and cooking put them both at ease for the duration of the conversation. But now with the silence dragging, the atmosphere was growing tense once more. Nevena shuffled in her chair. She raked her fingers back through her hair and gave a little cough to clear her throat. She looked like she wanted to speak but was struggling to find the words. Cullen did not want to speak, but knew what he should say.

He shifted in his own seat trying to disguise his unease as an attempt to get comfortable. He drummed his fingers on the table once. Twice. "Don't you..." he began. Nevena's gaze snapped to him. He suddenly wished there was music, or some kind of ambient noise. It would make talking so much easier. He took a breath, pretending not to feel his stomach clench. "Why aren't you asking about..." He scratched the back of his neck. "About what happened?"

"Because I had a thought," Nevena's expression softened and warmed. She smiled, a gentle, sincere smile, which caused dimples to appear in her cheeks.

"You had a thought?" repeated Cullen.

"In the shower."

"In... the shower?" He frowned, slightly bemused.

Nevena chuckled, "Don't knock it. It's where I do my best thinking."

"I believe you." Cullen leaned forward to rest his arms on the table. "And what was this thought?"

She took a deliberate breath and mimicked him, dropping her legs to the floor and perching her arms of the edge of the table. "You don't have to tell me. If you don't want to," she said. Cullen stared at her, sure he misheard.

"I'm sorry?"

"I thought about it," Nevena explained. "And I know you said you would tell me what happened, why you had a panic attack. But I decided I don't need to know. You can tell me, if you want. But it's totally your choice. No pressure from me." She teased a lock of hair behind her ear. "Honestly, I'm just glad you're okay. That's what matters. That's what is most important to me."

Cullen's chest tightened. She was so sincere, so earnest. This wasn't some kind of ploy or plot to get him to tell her things. There was no deceit in her face, or her voice. Her sentiments were genuine. Her concern and the words she said were honest. Her focus was him. Not the history, just him, and whether he was alright. Whether he was calmer and the worst has passed. Cullen couldn't remember the last time someone put him before themselves and he felt a smile come to his lips. He contemplated reaching across the table and taking her hand in a show of gratitude, but thought better of it. He did not want to make things awkward or confusing. Not when the air between them was now so calm and relaxed.

"Thank you," Cullen said after letting her words sink in for a few moments. "I appreciate it."

"No problem." Nevena leaned back in her chair and her hands were now out of reach. Even if Cullen wanted to take her hand to show his appreciation in a gesture, it was no longer possible. "I am glad you're okay..." A blush rose to her cheeks and she avoided his gaze. "Kind of scared me for a bit there."

Cullen leaned further across the table, "I'm sorry. I should have told you about the claustrophobia."

"It wasn't necessary. But at least I know for the future to avoid cramped spaces."

"Imagine if we'd been on a first date and it happened." Cullen remarked, rubbing a hand over his chin and then the back of his neck.

"It would probably go on record as the worst first date ever...” she laughed and looked him up and down, “I'd still be amenable to a second date, though."

"Good to know I'd have a second chance to make a first impression."

"You might even get a third, if you're lucky." Nervous laughter followed Nevena's words. Her blush spread up to her forehead and down her neck making her look almost sunburnt.

He watched her pull her hair over one shoulder, beginning to style it into a thick braid. His chest still ached from the trapped sensation the panic attack brought. Even though she said he was under no obligation to tell her the reason for his panic attack, he wanted to. Her kindness made him more determined to be honest, and give her all the details. Details he had not really told anyone, beyond his family and one other person. The truth weighed heavy in his stomach. A weight that would not shift until he cleared the air.

"Nevena..." Cullen murmured her name. He rose from one chair and moved to another that was closer to her. Nevena watched him do so and threw her half finished braid over her shoulder. "I know you said I didn't have to tell you..."

"Mhm?"

"What if I want to?" He looked her dead in the eye and tried to keep his expression still and impassive. He did not want to show just how much talking about the past would mean to him. How much it might help him. He did not want to frighten or overwhelm her. Nevena was a client, and given the growing familiarity between them, he considered her a friend. If he told her, then it would be a secret he no longer needed to carry around. It would be a burden shared and perhaps halved.

Nevena inched closer and turned her body towards him, giving her full attention, "Then by all means."

Cullen's lips twitched into a small smile. "Okay." He ran his hands through his hair. "I... guess... I'm not sure." He hummed thoughtfully for a moment. All the things he wanted to say before having now scattered from his mind. "Let me start with some history." He nodded to himself, as if telling himself that was the best place to start. "Is that okay?"

"Sure," Nevena nodded. "Whatever will help."

"I told you when we first met that I work in sports and rehabilitation therapy," He began. "Do you remember that?"

"Mhm-hm," Nevena nodded. "You mentioned that a lot of your work is with people learning to walk again after an accident. Sometimes military veterans who were seriously injured in service."

"Not sometimes," Cullen said. "Almost all the time." He chewed the inside of his bottom lip for a moment before continuing. "I consider it as my way of giving back. I was in the army from nineteen until I retired at twenty-eight."

"Okay..." Nevena pursed her lips. "Nineteen seems so young."

Cullen shrugged, "I was in the cadets when I was a child. All I ever wanted to do was protect people. I considered the police for a long time, but it never sat right with me. It wasn't what I wanted to do. So, I enlisted and began my military career. I showed promise. After a year I was selected for..." He leaned back, letting the word drag as he thought how best to phrase his thoughts. "I guess you'd call it a specialized squad, known as T.E.M.P.L.A.R.s."

"TEMPLARs?" Nevena quirked a brow.

"It's an acronym. The full name is Tactical Emergency Management and Passive Local Area Recon," explained Cullen settling back into his chair. "Basically, we would go into areas under attack from infighting or guerrilla warfare, deal with it, and then spend however much time necessary trying to help the locals rebuild. For the first year I was with them, I was stationed in Kinloch. You know it?"

"Vaaaguely."

"I was stationed during right before the revolution, mostly to keep watch and assist if necessary. Our presence was just to keep the peace as much as was possible, and deal with any unrest without force. We were there to help with the security for construction of buildings lost in earlier terrorist attacks and for protection of civilians." Slowly Cullen clasped his hands together and stared at them. "We were there because there was some ongoing political unrest. Two factions - Resolutionists and Loyalists - going at each other with whatever they could find. Kinloch was under the leadership of the Loyalist political faction, but a large amount of people disagreed with their choices and those in charge. Resolutionists wanted things changed, they wanted to be in power and... would bring down those that opposed them by any means necessary. Before we got there, there had been repeated attacks on schools and hospitals, as well as residential areas. As emergency response, we cleared out the extremists who were responsible for the attacks and stayed to help maintain stability."

Nevena's chair squeaked on the floor when she inched it closer. "What happened?"

"We thought the two factions had quieted down due to our presence. We thought things were under control." Cullen breathed to steady himself. "We were caught unawares by infiltrators-Resolutionists who blended in to the community we were trying to help rebuild and protect. Car bombs and IEDs were set off in precise locations, effectively corralling innocent people and my own teammates. We were rounded up. They tried to convert civilians to their cause. Those who conformed, lived. Those who didn't were slaughtered. Us, the military, some of us were held for ransom. Some were killed as examples. Some were tortured and left to die. I... saw a lot of my friends killed in front of me. To the Resolutionists, we were part of the problem."

"Oh, Cullen..." Nevena reached across and took his hands.

"With a couple of other surviving TEMPLARs, I was able to gather up a few remaining civilian prisoners  and tried to help them escape. Someone informed on us, and we were, captured. As I was an instigator they made an example of me." Recounting the history brought up the smells and sounds again. Fresh. As though he were there all over again. He closed his eyes to try and centre himself, concentrating on his words. "I was... beaten, tortured. I saw my friends, those I’d tried to help, gunned down without remorse. They kept me alive - just -locked in a cell with no windows and one way out. They denied me sleep, tried to break my will, my mind. I... I don’t know what they wanted. They never told me. "

"You're shaking." Nevena was closer when Cullen opened his eyes. He was quivering from head-to-foot. Funny how he hadn't realised it. "Cullen, it's okay." She tentatively touched his cheek and turned his head so he looked at her. It was a gesture that was almost tender in its intimacy. "You don't have to go on. I understand."

"Let me." He turned his body to face her completely. Their knees were touching and Cullen held her hands in his. "I don't know how long it was, but eventually re-enforcements came. They were able to end the occupation of Kinloch and I was freed from the prison. After that I... I struggled for a long time. I still wanted to serve and do good. This was what I always wanted to do since my childhood, after all."

He fell silent. His breathing was quicker and his heart raced. His clothing stuck to his skin with the cold sweat breaking out all over him. He felt sick and his throat was dry. He swallowed to dampen it and winced with the effort it took to do just that. He was safe. It was all a memory and it was in the past. He was in no immediate danger and he needed to remember that.

"After a brief recovery I was reassigned to another TEMPLARs’ squads. This time in Kirkwall, in the Free Marches."

"I know it," Nevena murmured. "Our family came from Ostwick, originally. I grew up there."

Cullen smiled weakly. She was trying to be supportive and trying to relieve the severity of the conversation and what he was telling her. He appreciated that attempt at normality. "I still wanted to serve. I still wanted to protect and keep people safe. I thought I could. But my... My experiences in Kinloch tainted that desire. I was tarnished and broken. Kirkwall was worse than Kinloch; anti-religious fanatics and so called 'freedom fighters' wanted to make a point against the Mothers of the Chantry. Admittedly, some of the Mothers were questionable – stirring up racist fears, bringing legitimate businesses under fire because they would not give to the Chantry a percentage of what they made. After Kinloch, my own faith was… shaken. I believed in the Andrastian way, but not as strongly as I once did. I saw danger around every corner, and my commanding officer, Meredith Stannard, only fed my paranoia. I rose up the ranks and followed her every order without question." He sighed. "Until..."

He stopped. Meredith's face appeared in his mind. The sharp angles, the near constant frown, piercing blue eyes and white blonde hair. She was always an imposing woman but towards the end she was more haggard and worn.

"Until...?" Nevena prompted.

"Meredith lost sight of what the TEMPLARs were meant to do. Protect, and rebuild. I almost lost sight of it too."

"But you didn't?"

"I didn't." Cullen ran one hand through his hair and rubbed his fingers down his face. "A single man caused untold destruction in Kirkwall. He rigged the Kirkwall Grand Cathedral with explosives. One of the leading religious figures, Grand Cleric Ethina, was killed in the blast, along with hundreds of other members of the Chantry. Hundreds more innocent civilians were killed in the aftermath by other looters and rioters and falling debris. Everyone was looking for someone else to blame."

"I remember that," Nevena breathed. "It was all over the news. You were there?"

"I was there," he nodded slowly. "I was there and was almost complicit in the massacre of innocents because they were there. There was no excuse for what Meredith called for, they were peaceful protestors.” Cullen shifted uncomfortably.  “He was peaceful for a long time too. He organized protests and wrote endless letters to try and plead his case.  But no one would listen. I didn't listen. His attacking the Chantry was the last act of a desperate man."

"What do you mean you were almost complicit?"

"Meredith ordered the TEMPLARs under her command to round up the protestors. She wanted them to be held accountable for his actions... I refused. I disobeyed a direct order and questioned her leadership because when I looked around, I saw frightened people. People who were terrified and being blamed as a whole for the act of one person," Cullen shook his head at the memory and scoffed. "That wasn't what I wanted. That wasn't what the TEMPLARs were supposed to be. They were meant to help people. Keep the peace. Protect those who couldn't protect themselves. Meredith wanted us to be executioners."

"So," Nevena still held one of his hands and squeezed it. "What happened?"

"My questioning Meredith caused others to do the same. She was forcibly removed from her position and authority and detained until someone of higher ranking could deal with her. As her appointed Captain, command fell to me. So, I reminded the TEMPLARs of their duty to protect."

"That's good though, right?" queried Nevena, her tone uncertain. "You did the right thing?"

"Too little, too late," Cullen said with a bitter growl to his voice. He got to his feet and began to walk a small path back and forth between the counter and the table. "Even as we tried to rally ourselves, there was pandemonium no matter what direction you turned. At one point, I came across a collapsed building with people inside. Debris from the explosion caved in the roof. I tried to get the people trapped inside out but the building was unstable around them and with me trying to move things..." He stopped pacing to lean on the counter over the sink. He hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck where it was starting to ache.

Nevena came and stood beside him. She said nothing, simply waited. He admired her drive to hear him out. In the past he’d never gotten quite this far. He always stopped, finding he couldn't face the truth about the person he once was. How close he came to being like the people who captured and tortured him.

"The house collapsed on top of me," he said after a few minutes pause. "The rubble was too heavy to move on my own... The… The people I tried to save were crushed. I heard them screaming as the building came down." Another dragging silence where the only sound was his breathing. "I don't even know how long I was trapped. I believed I was going to die there. In a tiny space barely big enough for me to move my arms."

"Someone found you?"

"A relief effort came… I’m not sure how long it was before they arrived. Days? Maybe even weeks. When they found me I was weak, dehydrated, and delusional. I spent days in hospital recovering from the trauma and the shock... Once I was considered healthy enough, There was a hearing to answer questions about the situation. It was a formal hearing and I was questioned about my decision to remove Meredith from command. The hearing was found in my favour: that relieving Meredith of her position when her judgement was so impaired was the only sensible course of action at the time, and that I had done as much as I could to relieve the tensions. I was medically retired and given a commendation for my part in aiding Kirkwall immediately following the explosion." He drummed his fingers on the metal sink. "I never felt more ashamed or undeserving of anything in my entire life."

"Why?" Nevena asked. He looked at her and saw the confusion on her face. "They clearly believed you deserved it."

"A last minute change of heart is the only reason I have a medal and those honours," he replied fighting to keep the anger from his voice but glaring at his reflection in the window over the sink. "I didn't deserve anything except to be forgotten and to disappear into obscurity."

"That isn't true." She took his hand again. "Cullen, you did good things before Kirkwall. You survived torture and yet you still wanted to do good things and protect people. You made mistakes, but to make mistakes is to be human."

"Not when those mistakes cost lives."

Her grip tightened. "You blame yourself, don't you?" She said meeting his gaze when he looked squarely at her. "For the deaths of the people in Kirkwall? In Kinloch? Survivors guilt?"

"I thought I was all right." Cullen told her, his voice growing hoarse with the emotion he was trying to keep under control and leaving her question unanswered. "For years I lived with nightmares of Kinloch. And then I had more nightmares of Kirkwall. I thought they were nothing, that they would pass. I believed the days of not sleeping until I was too exhausted to stay awake were normal. I would see my friends’ faces. The faces of people I trained with and considered as close to me as family. The people I failed to save. I would hear them. I still hear them, even now. It didn't even occur to me until much later that I carried the effects of being trapped with me either. When I got stuck in a lift and had my first panic attack..." He managed to laugh. "I thought I was going to die."

"I'm sorry..." Nevena sighed. "That you went through... everything."

Cullen cleared his throat and shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I was kind of lost for a while afterwards. I was depressed, and I isolated myself until I got help and decided to give back. I came to the conclusion that I wouldn't waste away. The military was all I ever knew, and I wanted to do something to try and give back. It's why I chose to do an accelerated degree. I wanted to help people get back on their feet."

"You wanted to help people," repeated Nevena. "You just can't help yourself."

"Hm?"

"You said you wanted to help people when you joined the Army. You wanted to help people with your degree..." She tilted her head to one side. "You're even helping me right now. Pretending to be in a relationship with me. It's ingrained in you."

"I don't know about that," Cullen chuckled awkwardly, the weight of his past beginning to lift. "I'm sorry for putting all that on you. I didn't intend for it to get so deep."

"That's okay," Nevena shrugged. "Suddenly feels like I know you a lot better now."

"You do." He nodded and slipped his hands into his pockets turning his body to face her. "You know me about as well as my family do."

"Wow." She tucked her hands behind her back and swayed, almost playfully, on the spot. "That's pretty intimate knowledge... Any other deep, dark secrets you should tell me?" Cullen wasn't sure if she was trying to lighten the mood with her question, but he appreciated it, none-the-less.

"No," Cullen smirked. "What about you? Any skeletons I need to know about?"

Just like that, he saw her playfulness disappear and the barriers of her defence shoot up around her. She put space between them where there was hardly any before and retreated away from him. "No. Nothing." She shrugged. "I'm a completely open book."

"Of course you are." Cullen watched as she fidgeted with her hair again and untied the messy braid she tied it in before and began to retie it. He knew there was no point pushing the matter. And she didn't owe him anything. Just because he had told her the details of his past did not mean it was now her turn. Some things were more personal and more difficult to discuss than others.

He turned his attention to the oven and the food within. He checked it, stirred it to make sure nothing was burning, returned it to the oven and set a timer. In that time, Nevena hardly moved from where she was standing, toying with the tuft end of her braid.

"Something on your mind?" Cullen asked. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on the counter. "You look thoughtful."

"Just something you said earlier," Nevena replied after a moment. "I wanted to ask you about it."

"Okay." Cullen stood up straight. He assumed she meant something about his past and steeled himself to answer whatever difficult questions she might put to him. "Go ahead."

"At the cable car station..." Nevena furrowed her brows. "I mean... Maker, I must sound like a thirteen-year-old asking this, but why did you tell the paramedic I was your girlfriend? I know we're meant to be keeping a facade, but I don't think my sister would pay the whole town to spy for her." She tapped her bottom lip. "I mean, she can be extreme but even that is a bit much for Ineria."

"That's your question?" Cullen laughed in spite of himself, releasing a long breath. "Why I said you were my girlfriend?"

Nevena pouted and crossed her arms over her chest, "It's not that funny."

"No, no." Cullen closed the space between them until she was within arm’s reach. "It's not that," he chuckled and hooked his fingers under her chin to tilt her head up. "I just... I was expecting you to ask me something about... everything I just told you." He noticed a flush rise up in her face. Maybe it was warmer in the cabin due to the oven.

"I might have questions. Later. Once I've had time to organize my thoughts on what you said," Nevena answered, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. "It's a stupid question. I shouldn't have asked--"

"I said it because it meant fewer questions," Cullen explained, the firmness of his voice cutting her off. "If I said we were friends then they would ask for next-of-kin details. They would have called my sister and I would have had to deal with her. Saying you are my girlfriend eliminates that."

"Oh," Nevena blinked owlishly. "Okay. That makes sense."

"Okay." He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before it registered what he was doing. Her skin was burning under his lips and his whole body clenched when he realised. He turned back towards the kitchen, sure his face was glowing and warmer. It was an accident, a momentary lapse on his part. There was something undeniably sweet and endearing about Nevena, something that caught him off guard. She was his client. He would need to be more vigilant around her and not be so sloppy.

He stared at the oven timer, feeling the air around him crackle and willing the numbers to descend more quickly. He planted one hand on the counter by the sink and ran the other over his mouth and chin, quietly cursing to himself for that instant of foolish judgement. It was a kiss on the forehead, nothing more and not really worth getting worked up over. But a kiss on the forehead was more familiar, tender, and intimate than most other kisses. There was a gentleness to it and he could not recall ever kissing any other of his clients in such a way. They were alone too. There was no member of her family to perform for.

It was the moment. He was emotionally drained after telling her about his past. A lapse in judgement could be excused when he was in such a raw state. It wouldn't happen again.

"Hey, Cullen?" He almost jumped when he heard her voice.

He glanced back over his shoulder. Nevena was still standing where he left her. "Yeah?"

"For what it's worth... I'm grateful you told me about your history." A pause. "And... I think I like the person you are. Mistakes and all." He watched her nod to herself and then go to the couch and sink down into the cushions.

"Thank you." Cullen muttered, more to himself than to her. His stomach coiled and dropped to his knees. He wouldn't allow himself to lose focus or slip up. Once was one time too many. This was an arrangement, one they both agreed to. One lapse in judgement could be excused. Two was risky. Three and it was habit.

He would not allow Nevena Trevelyan to become a habit.

I hope you enjoy this chapter and this insight into Cullen's history. As with Behind the Throne (if you've read it) I've tried to integrate aspects of his game background into a modern setting. It was tricky with this, because I don't know much about the military - so I'm extra grateful to @thetimba, one of my beta readers, for her help and suggestions.

As always, please let me know what you think either here in reblogs/comments/tags, or on AO3 or FF.net if you prefer. And I will see you in the next chapter.

(Also, please check out the lovely fanart in the master post by @sangosweetz that she did for the previous chapter!)

[sleeplesspensieve]

Remedy For Guilt - XXX

Summary: The daughter of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange is a Healer who finds herself not only haunted by her past but also questioning her choice in career. When Lyra Lestrange’s old headmaster offers her a position as Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher she finds herself thrown into an adventure involving a secret affair with a colleague, discovering the cure for a disease and dealing with students cursing themselves. Who knew that being a Hogwarts Professor was such a rollercoaster?

Set in the school year of 1990-1991 with the prospect of a sequel, or two, on the horizon.

Rated: E for graphic sex scenes in THIS and later chapters. Over 18′s only please.

Word Count: 1904

Multichapter Fic (Expected to be around 30-35 chapters with a planned sequel which will take place during the Harry Potter Books)

Chapter Thirty - Heartbreak

Both Minerva and Severus had a full day with back-to-back classes, having split Lyra’s classes between them. It was easy to take over from her as she had each day planned and most of it was revision for the students anyway as their final exams were scheduled for the following week.

Severus found himself in a constant state of anxiety through the day, his stomach churning and his patience short for any student who would toe his boundaries.

He suspected that Lyra was pregnant. It made sense. It explained her fatigue over the past few weeks as well as her overly sensitive nipples although when he had dropped by the Hospital Wing, Poppy had insisted that Lyra merely had a stomach bug. He attempted to see her but she was asleep. He had hoped it was just a stomach bug but his gut told him otherwise.

Lyra was pregnant. She was expecting a child. His child.

He had never desired children, he had already discussed that with her. Yet, he found himself toying with the idea in his head. Him, Lyra and a child. A small baby. Their baby. He could see so perfectly its smiling face and Lyra’s adoration for both it and him. The way her eyes would light up and sparkle, the warmth that light would bring.

Perhaps he could be a father. He felt as though if he were with Lyra he could do anything. But for now he was worried; anxious to know the truth, anxious to see whether she was alright.

The day seemed to last forever. Every minute dragged on.

He had his own class to finish the day and once that had concluded and the room was tidied he found his way up to Classroom 3C to see whether Lyra was back from the Hospital Wing.

When he entered the classroom he realised all her things were gone. Those glass cabinets with projections of creatures were gone and her table was bare. The museum like atmosphere she had created was gone and instead the classroom was empty, except for the furniture that was already there. His stomach twisted, a chill ran down his spine and his nerves felt alight, his hands were shaking as his head began to spin slightly. He feared the worst, that she had left without a trace. Before he allowed himself to lose his nerve entirely he strode up the staircase that led to her office and pressed the door open.

Lyra didn’t even acknowledge him as he entered the room, still flicking her wand and packing her things away.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Packing my things,” she replied in a bored tone, not even bothering to look up.

“Why?”

“Because I’m leaving,” she slammed the case in her hands shut before heading for her bedroom door.

Severus reached out and grabbed her by the arm, “Lyra.”

“What?” she spat, glaring up at him. He tried casting legilimens but she rolled her eyes, pulling away from him and continuing into her bedroom.

“Why are you leaving?” he asked.

“You think someone as intelligent as you would’ve figured it out already,” she said, “I’m pregnant.”

“That’s no reason to leave,” he began, ready to give her a speech.

“It’s not yours,” she replied carelessly, flicking her wand at her suitcase and opening it, sending her clothes in.

Those words cut deep. Like a knife tearing through his heart and his stomach. He felt ill. He felt like crying. He felt so much. He felt too much.

“The wedding?” he asked, slightly dazed.

“Obviously,” she replied, “I was drunk and I forgot to cast the charm.”

“I should’ve gone with you,” he said softly. His hands were trembling. A lump caught in his throat. Gods, he was going to lose her and he couldn’t. “Lyra, we should talk about this,” he said, attempting to say it as clear and precisely as possible.

“Talk about what?” she snapped, “About how I fucked someone else?”

“Lyra, you don’t need to leave,” he said, “We can sit down and talk about it, we can discuss your options.”

“What options are you referring to?” she asked, “Do you think I’d shed pureblood?”

He swallowed hard as his insecurities began to bubble up. Of course she’d screw someone pureblooded, how could he live up to that? How could he compare?Desperation began to take hold of him as he tried to cling to Lyra and the remains of their relationship.

“Lyra, I still want you. We can still be together, we can raise this child together.”

“You want to raise a kid that isn’t yours?” she asked, “You don’t even want your own fucking kid.”

“I could it if it was with you,” he insisted.

“I knew I was a good fuck but I didn’t know I’d make you this desperate,” she said with a laugh, “How pathetic.”

“I thought- I thought you loved me,” he said, becoming uncertain of himself.

She laughed again, “Oh Sev.” She stepped forward and stroked his cheek in a condescending way for a brief moment. “You really should’ve listened to your doubts all along. I’ve been owling Ilya since I saw him at New Years. I fucked him when I got my Order of Merlin and I fucked him at the wedding.”

“You’re lying,” he shook his head in disbelief.

“I only kept you around to warm my bed and because you were a decent shag,” she said, “Our arrangement was convenient and amusing.”

“No, what about Lucius?” he asked, “He slapped you and made you cry.”

“I needed him to believe it so you in turn would believe it,” she shrugged, “It was also amusing getting under his skin. Who knew I could piss him off that badly just by fucking his best friend? I’ve always known my place but god, he hasn’t shut up about it for years. I can’t believe he was going to marry me off to Carrow. I thought I’d see how he felt if I fucked one of his other Death Eater buddies. It was enough for him to give up that idea.”

“So I was just a pawn in your game?”

“Come on, Sev,” she said with a smirk, “Don’t think about it like that. It was more like you were a toy that I got bored of, something that was filling the place until something bigger and better came along and it did.”

He closed his eyes and swallowed, his mind and thoughts were now twisted with doubt as Lyra’s words poisoned him.

“Did you really think you’d ever be good enough for me?” she asked with a small laugh, “A filthy mudblood fit for a Lestrange.”

“Don’t say that word,” he said.

“Mudblood?” she said in a taunting tone, “But that’s all you are Sev, a mudblood who thinks he’s better than the rest when you are no better than the dirt on my shoe.”

A large crack echoed in the room.

Severus’ hand had connected with Lyra’s face, slapping her. Her head turned from the impact but she gritted her teeth and looked at him with a fire in her eyes and firm expression. “Get out,” she said, “I’m done.”

Severus turned his heel and left, slamming the door in his wake. He barged through packs of students with a furious expression on his face. He barrelled into his quarters and tore the room apart with his wand, smashing things, tearing apart his furniture, allowing it to break as he threw each piece.

He couldn’t allow himself to stop. Memories of the past few months threatened to play in his head. Her voice was already taunting him.

Heavens. How could he be so naive to think that she would love him. Of course it was all a sick ploy. He shouldn’t have expected anything better from a Lestrange. How she had gotten under his skin and torn him apart.

He didn’t even realise that an angry yell was ripping through his throat the entire time. Once he had run out of energy he looked around and saw the mess he made, he fell to his knees and he cried.

God. How his heart ached like no other time before it. It was almost as though his heart had hardened and shattered into a million pieces, each shard imbedding itself in his chest.

How could he allow himself to be played by her?

There was no chance that she ever loved him. Who would love someone as ugly and horrible as him? She just used him and now he was left here, burning in the aftermath of their love affair.

He stayed there and cried, sobbing until his tears ran dry and numbness overcame him.

It may have been an hour or two before he found the strength to get back up. He headed for the bathroom and stripped, getting into the shower. He allowed the water to wash over him, hoping it would wash her away but her touch still haunted him. Her essence was still thick in the air and all around him. He reached for the bar of soap and began to scrub, trying to erase any trace of her but it still lingered.

He cried out once more, falling to the floor. His knees were pressed up to his chest and he just held them tightly to himself, trying to give himself so comfort. He felt so empty, so hollow, so broken. Oh, how he’d been played.

Severus didn’t come out of his room for days. He didn’t want to eat. He couldn’t even sleep in his own bed because he had shared it with her. Everything was tainted with the memory of her. Everything just hurt way too much and he wanted it all to stop so he tried to numb himself with alcohol.

“Severus, what do you think you’re doing?”

He turned his head and saw that the Headmaster had breached the protective barriers he had placed around his quarters. He gritted his teeth and turned back, staring at the fireplace that flickered with a fire.

Albus approached him and sat next to the Potions Master, “Interesting redecorating.”

Severus didn’t answer him, his eyes were fixed on the flames.

“Severus, let this be a lesson to not get distracted,” he said.

“So did you put her up to this?” Severus asked, “Because it doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense. Lyra was genuine.”

“Lyra is a Lestrange, through and through,” Albus said, “She is her mother’s daughter, as cruel as Bellatrix no doubt. I was misguided, Severus and I apologise. I should have listened to you when you expressed your concerns, she had us all fooled.”

There was still a part of Severus that doubted it, doubted that she was that cruel. Surely it was a rouse. Lyra had felt so real, so loving, so genuine. His mind had been swirling with the memories of her for days.

“Severus, I need you to be strong,” Albus continued, “I know it is hard to have your heart broken once more but please, allow it to strengthen your resolve than weaken it.”

“For what purpose, Albus?”

“Lily Evans’ son will be starting this coming term,” he said, “And I fear that is when Voldemort will attempt his return. You must protect him, Severus.”

“I can’t,” he said, his voice was broken.

“You can and you must.”