#soon to be oathbreaker

[joanofexys]

Keres • oath of vengeance paladin • haunted one

[computerram]

Dirge again

[a-drama-addict]

finally sharing my durge <3 meet freyja (she/her) everyone

[elibunn]

i love garnet so so much (she’s putting her hair up bc they’re in the shadowfell, dangerous territory)

[swordmaid]

lrt before I like giving shri’iia butterfly imagery hehehe it was bc it’s just cute at first but now I think it’s quite fitting for her and if bg3 had the dai tarot card system where the image changes depending on the story course I think act 1 shri’iia would have a butterfly enwebbed, then after she breaks her oath it’s gonna be butterfly image but the patterns on the wing is reminiscent of a web, Oathbreaker shri’iia will be a butterfly in flight (reaching for the night sky…..) meanwhile reclaimed oath shri’iia would be a spider devouring a butterfly

[stinkrascal]

when life gets hard my cope is making paladins in bg3 and now ive made 3 new paladins in the span of a day i simply cannot be stopped

[partenopae]

if larian won't give me the oathbreaker vibes i want i will do it myself

[seafleece]

lyra, my nīðing paladin for a horror minigame run by @dungeonsanddragonsfifthedition and my first playtest of the revision of oathbreaker i’m making :3c

[mellybaggins]

WIP Wednesday!

(well, close enough anyway)

Hey everyone! I'm still on break but I thought I'd post the opening scene for my next chapter, going up December 1st. I enjoyed having days when I didn't write at all and instead zoned out watching YouTube or whatever, so much that I'm making my new posting schedule twice a month. Once a week isn't sustainable for me anymore, and this will give me room to breathe and more time for RL stuff on top of writing and editing. I can't wait to share what I have planned for the home stretch of the story, I'm stoked!

Alright that's enough of that. Slightly Spicy snip under the cut:

[xxcrystalinerose]

Gotta love how Zag's love interests are 1) The punisher of jealousy and oathbreakers, 2) Peaceful Death, and 3) Cute gorgon head maid who's a total sweetheart

While Mel's (possible) love interests are 1) Divine Retribution, punisher of hubris, 2) Doom (feared and hated by all mankind), 3) Strife (Greek pantheon's #1 troublemaker), and 4) Two mortals whose whole life story is a cautionary tale about hubris.

All the while unlike Zag, Mel's implied to have never had a romantic relationship before as an adult, based on her Aphrodite boon dialogues (to me, her and Icarus screams "childhood puppy love", which doesn't actually count as true relationship experience).

Girlie I think you need to get therapy or get laid. Preferably both. And soon.

...

I do think it's cute that at least between Meg/Than and Nem/Moros, both women are deliverers of punishment, while both men are embodiments of concepts that will inevitably arrive at the end of mortal lives. Dusa and Icarus + Arachne also fit the mold of "sweetheart dealing with power dynamics issues" (prince/servant vs. goddess/mortal, in Arachne's case a mortal maligned by gods).

Zagreus and Melinoë may have never known each other, but they somehow have the exact same bisexual taste, which is very important to me.

Also proof that they're DEFINITELY Persephone's children: got their mother's taste for tall big tiddy goths lmao.

[djarincore]

a sacrifice in your name

SUMMARY: A paladin's oath means everything to them—but not to Simon, not when it comes to you.

ALTERNATIVELY: Simon sacrifices his oath to save you.

TAGS: oathbreaker!ghost, f!reader, DND!au, smut, angst, hurt/comfort, nondiscript violence, implied minor character death(s), Simon can lift reader, special villain guest appearance by Graves, body worship, cock warming, WC: 3.2k

A/N: a little what if scenario for vengeance paladin!Simon, who will always choose you over everyone else no matter the cost. and yes, the title is another sleep token lyric...

thank you to @/saradika-graphics for the dividers!

You wake to dim woods, a full moon overhead, and arms firmly encircled around your waist. The world bounces and sways in your bleary vision with a persistent ache pounding through your head.

Memories of the past few hours are a rapid flash of reds and oranges, sounds of crackling, splintering wood, and terrified screams echoing through the night. The bone-chilling fear of death seems to still freeze your sore muscles.

Now, as you slowly regain your senses, you realize you're riding atop a horse somewhere deep in unfamiliar woods in nothing but your night gown. The figure, whose arms encircle your body, grips the reins in front of you. Their own weight almost sags against yours. A helmet rests against your shoulder.

Icy fear crawls back through your body. You wish you can remember or get a clue as to where you were, but it is too dark and the horse is no longer on a path. The best you can do is escape, run, somewhere far from this stranger.

You jerk forward and claw at their arms, but you're blocked by leather vambraces. The stranger pull you closer to their chest, trapping your arms against your body.

“Let me go,” you plead. The stranger scrambles to restrain you and reign in the horse, who has become spooked by your cries. “Please!”

“Shh, you're safe,” a familiar voice soothes. It's grated, rough. Simon. “It's alright.”

Your body sags into his, but your heart still pounds. Your thoughts are mush in your head as you try to piece them together.

“What happened?”

The last thing you can recall is smoke and flames, raiders breaking down your door, and the blunt end of a sword bashing your temple.

Your query is followed by thick silence. A dark cloud of confusion hangs over you and Simon doesn't seem to want to offer any guidance.

“Simon?” You attempt to turn, but he holds you tighter, almost forcing the air from your lungs. And then, you realize he's trembling.

Simon, who was the pillar of strength, never trembled, never showed an ounce of fear. You grew worried.

“Don't,” he says quietly. “Just rest. We’ll be at an inn soon.”

A pit sinks in your stomach. An inn, but not your inn. If your fragmented memory serves you correctly, your inn is ash. The home and business your family-owned for generations was gone in a single night.

All the fight and adrenaline drains out of your body, leaving you weak and exhausted. You shut your eyes and lean against Simon, allowing tears to fall freely in the dark.

The neighboring town’s inn is small, cold, decorated with the heads of different animals and sharp weapons mounted on the walls. You hate it. There is no fireplace, no warmth, or life—nothing like your inn, your home.

You stare into the glassy eyes of a deer hanging above the owner. Your blank expression stares back in the reflection.

The owner is a bony, severe-looking man whose slimy gaze clings to you alone. Even as you cower behind Simon the man’s hunger makes you shudder.

You stare into the glassy eyes of a deer hanging above the owner instead. Your blank expression stares back in the reflection.

“A bath for her.” Simon tosses an extra silver piece onto the counter.

You're covered in soot with a trail of dried blood running down your temple and a small cut on your neck.

The owner perks up. “Do you require any assistance washing?”

You can't help but cringe at his words and wrap your arms around yourself.

Simon’s hand darts over the counter to grab the man by the scruff of his neck and slam his face onto the counter.

“Shut the fuck up,” he barks, “and get it ready. Or I'll spill your fucking guts on the floor and you can wash that up instead.”

The man whimpers and you can't find it in you to feel bad for him. But you do worry. Simon always makes a point to keep his violence away from you.

His fury wasn't a sight you saw often. You only know the beginnings and ends of it. The deep breaths as he tried to control himself and keep his temper in check or the bloodied knuckles and split lips.

“Yes, yes, right away,” the man stammers.

Simon doesn't let up. You see the fingers of his pointed gauntlets curl tighter, forcing a choked gasp from the man.

“Mercy,” the man pleads, voice wavering on the edge of tears.

Finally, Simon flings the man back and he stumbles to catch himself from hitting the wall. Scampering off, the man disappears around the corner.

Simon heaves a sigh, bordering on frustration and exhaustion. His shoulders are tense and when you reach a hand out to touch his arm, he doesn't look at you. He hasn't since you woke up on his horse. His helmet being on didn't help either.

You desperately want to know what he is thinking. Simon was never a talker, but his eyes were always more expressive than his words.

His arm wraps around you, bringing you into his chest. Your cheek rests against his chest plate. The metal is cool against your skin. Your arms wrap around his waist in turn.

You want to ask him so many questions, but now isn't the time. You want to think he’ll explain everything soon, but his tension doesn't reassure you.

He holds you in silence until the owner returns.

The man's gaze doesn't fall anywhere near you this time. The bloodshot, green eyes stay firmly on Simon as he stumbles over his words and let's you know the bath is ready.

Simon takes your hand and leads you around the corner. The narrow hallway has a wooden staircase built into the left and leads further down to an open door. You can see the tub inside, a towel draped over a wooden chair beside it.

The washroom is a simple room with a basin and a chair. There's a standing mirror tucked in the corner you use to look at the grime covering your body. Your face is gaunt, a shell of yourself. Your fingers ghost over the frown you fear will become permanent.

Simon shuts the door and moves behind you like a pillar, poised to support your unsteady legs. “Off,” he commands with a low voice, brushing the strap of your nightgown off your shoulder.

Your clothes slip off easily and Simon guides you into the tub. The water is lukewarm at best and you curl your knees to your chest to conserve heat.

“Will you tell me what happened now?” Your question is quiet.

He runs a cloth over your shoulders.

“Raiders,” he all but spits.

“What of everyone else?”

“Gone.”

Your brows furrow. You just couldn't believe you were the only one to make it out. Your heart breaks for all the people who were lost.

“And the raiders?”

No doubt Simon made short work of those bastards. He always did.

Simon wrings the towel out and extends his hand. “Come on. Out before you get cold.”

You're redressed in your nightgown but not satisfied.

He leads the two of you up to your room for the night. There's a wooden bed tucked in the corner and a dresser beside it with an oil lamp. You grimace at the sheets which are covered in a layer of dust. You pull them off the bed and toss them to the floor.

Simon begins the quiet routine of shedding his armor at the door. It almost feels like you're back home. His helmet comes off first and rests on the dresser.

Finally, you can see the tight furrowed brows, the downcast eyes, and tense jaw he wears. There is a quiet conflict raging behind his tired eyes. He looks exhausted and beaten to the core. He leans his sword against the wall, places his gauntlets on the dresser, chest plate and greaves beside it.

You watch as each piece comes off, searching for signs of injury. He never returns to you without scars or bruises for you to fuss over. But piece by piece, his clothes are free of blood and his body doesn't tense from sudden movements.

No sign of injuries should be reassuring, but it only adds more questions.

“Are you okay?” Your hands run down his chest to rest on his abdomen.

He's quiet for a moment, tense beneath your hand, before he mutters a curt, “Fine.”

Simon takes your hands and guides you back onto the bed. He leans over you, forcing your neck to crane back. A hand cradles your cheek, caressing your cheekbone with his thumb, as his lips lower to ghost over yours.

You want to ask him more questions—ones he won't answer, he can't answer—but he stops you short.

Simon captures your lips in a desperate kiss. He kisses you with a hunger that he needs satiated. His hands cup either side of your face, always gentle.

When he pulls away there's something missing from his gaze, replaced with a despair that stretches beyond you.

“Simon…”

“Not tonight,” he whispers.

He never liked to talk about his missions, the evils he faced all in the name of upholding his oath. And you never forced him to, simply doing your best to provide him comfort in other ways. You gave him a home to return to, open arms to fall into, and loved him completely. But, the hollow look on his face warns you of something terrible, something that can't be healed.

He brings himself to his knees, head hung in quiet repentance. His lips press against your knee. Then his hands snake up, pushing your nightgown past your thighs.

You grab his hands before he can reveal anymore, but he is insistent.

He looks up between your thighs like you alone can offer him salvation for whatever sin is consuming him whole.

“I need you,” he pleads. “Let me have you.”

Simon doesn't wait for your response before he’s rising once again to push you against the bed. When his lips meet yours, it's fierce and demanding. His body cages you and you're helpless to refuse as he knees your legs open.

Simon’s rough hands explore the soft curve of your body. Your hands caresses the slender curve of his neck and into the silk strands of his hair while his thumb traces random patterns on your stomach before dipping below the waist of your panties. His fingers skim lower and lower, and you squirm when the dull ache between your thighs grows stronger.

The pads of his finger meet your sensitive clit for the first time and rub slowly. Your body seizes around him, thighs clamping around his, and your arms wrap around his neck to ground yourself around the sensation.

The way he gazes upon you so reverently, like a goddess worthy of his devotion, nearly makes tears spill down your cheeks. You let out a gasp as the pleasure in your stomach grows stronger.

Your hips move against his hand, demanding more. When his hand moves away to tug at your gown, you pout.

“Off,” he commands.

Nothing needs to be said twice, not with Simon. You pull your dress off, freeing yourself to the darkness and his roaming eyes. Your nipples are pert against the cold air. His calloused hands glide over your waist, mapping every inch and curve of your body to commit you to memory.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispers in awe. His hand cups your breast as he lays kisses across your chest. Between each kiss he says, “You’re mine.”

You feel yourself blossom beneath his reverent touch and words. You lift your hips to let him pull your underwear off. His hands slide up your calves, over your thighs, and eventually one settles over your mound. You arch into his touch. A sigh leaves your lips as he runs his finger through your slick folds.

Two fingers are thrust into you without warning. Your breath is caught in your chest as you clench around him. His fingers work inside of you, pulling sweet moans from your lips, until you come undone.

Simon lifts your limp body against him as he settles on the bed with his back against the wall. You lay against his chest, face buried in his neck, as a wave of exhaustion hits you. The traumatic night is finally catching up with you.

As you come down from your orgasm and your eyes grow heavy, he pulls his cock free and positions you above him.

You attempt to shift your hips down to take him, but he stops you with a gentle squeeze of your hips.

“I've got you. Just relax.”

Simon eases you down on his cock, stretching you open. You want to squirm, to move, to please him the same way he did for you.

“Just stay here,” he says, his breath heavy in your ear. His hands cling to you as he shifts your bodies against the pillows. You feel the stir of him in you and involuntarily clench. He groans, burying his face into your neck to regain control of himself. “Let me feel you.”

You stay in each other's arms until your breaths fall steady. The closeness, his warmth, is a comfort you relish. Your home may be gone, but you still have Simon.

And, for now, it is all you need.

Simon waits for you to fall asleep first, cradled against his chest, before he allows himself to feel guilt wash over him. The weight threatens to drown him and he clings onto you like a raft.

He leans his head against the wall, staring at the water-stained ceiling. A veil of unshed tears blurs his vision. “Forgive me,” he whispers.

To who and for what, he doesn't know. He just hopes those words are enough to make the ache fade—it doesn't.

He allows himself to fully recall the entire night before he found you, before it all fell to shit.

Simon returned to ruin.

He saw the plume of smoke in the distance and hoped it wasn't real, but it was. Your town was engulfed in flames, glowing in the dark as bright as day, burning in his eyes like hellfire.

He moved through rubble, mind swimming with dread, to find you at the center of town, bound and unconscious. There were men surrounding you who wore a familiar coat of arms.

Graves, the pain in his side who never seemed to just disappear, was standing in the center of it all. Simon had faced his men before, but never Graves in person.

Simon would have caught on to the strangeness of the situation if not for the fury boiling in his blood.

Simon knew what he had to do—kill him, make him suffer. His oath wouldn't allow his evil to continue any further.

Gods, he hated the cocky grin on his face.

“There you are,” Graves called out like he was greeting an old friend.

“What the fuck do you want?” Simon’s sword was already unsheathed, ready to taste blood.

“To teach you not to fuck with me.”

Simon almost barks out a laugh. He raised his sword toward the challenge. Not one of Graves’ men moved to help defuse the situation.

“Go ahead and do as your oath commands—kill me.” Graves stood proud, arms spread wide.

Simon took a step further.

“But if you kill me, your girl dies too.”

A henchman hauled you up and placed a dagger at your throat.

Simon, for once, faltered. The sword in his hand trembled. He tried to steal himself but found he couldn't catch his breath.

He couldn't kill Graves and reach you in time. And he was sure if he made any move to save you, you'd be dead already.

“If you don’t kill me, I'll let you leave with her. Make your choice.”

So that was the game.

“Fuck you,” Simon spat. “I don't know ‘er.”

Graves ignored the bluff. Something in his smile told Simon, he saw right through his bullshit. “Go ahead and be a hero, Ghost.”

“I'm not a hero.”

He scoffed at the word. Destroy evil by any means necessary. His tenant echoed in his mind. Any means necessary.

He was far from a hero. A hero didn't turn a blind eye to those in need to pursue evil. He left behind innocent's far more times than he can count in the name of his oath.

Would you become one of the souls he sacrificed too?

Ever since he lost his family and took up his oath, he couldn't allow himself to feel emotions like guilt, sorrow, or fear, less it made him weaker to deliver the vengeance he swore to uphold.

But, you were his new family, the love he found amidst his violent wandering. He couldn't lose the safety and warmth that you were.

No matter what he chose, you or his oath, he would lose a part of himself.

Simon wanted to plunge his sword into Graves’ chest and be rid of the man and his impossible choice and that fucking smug smile. He wanted to destroy his very existence, so not even the strongest magic or God could piece him back together. He knew the world would be better off without him. He knew it deeply.

Yet, Simon lowered his sword and made his choice to condemn the world.

“I knew you were a selfish one.”

“Give her to me.”

Graves waved his hand and you were dropped. Simon caught you before you could touch the ground. He wrapped his arms tight around you, shielding you from the world.

“Fuck with me again and I won't wait for you to save her.”

Simon gritted his teeth but didn't say a thing. He kept his eyes on you. There was a cut on your neck where the blade was, shallow enough to draw a sliver of blood, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Fighting Graves would mean your death. Simon didn't care if he died, but he would never risk you. All he could do was lift you up and walk away.

Each step away from that ruined town he felt a piece himself slip further into the dark, remaining in the wreckage. His limbs lost feeling; his chest constricted.

A rope pulled inside his chest, urging him back to finish his duty. But, his feet dragged against the force to continue forward.

When Simon stepped over the town's threshold, the rope snapped. He was left with cold, empty despair.

Simon held you because that was all he could do as he left behind the destruction and his oath. At least he still had you.

He condemned the town’s survivors to death and allowed evil to escape the wrath of punishment—and he would do it all again to save you.

He will tell you of his selfishness in the morning. But, for now, he will hold your bare form tighter against his chest, closer to his heart, convincing himself you will fill the piece of himself that will never return.

But the void is boundless. It is echoes of flame and terror, shame and guilt, and a haunting voice calling to him in the dark.

“Oathbreaker, what have you done?”

[trappedinafantasy37]

Minthara is a paladin of her word. She does not make promises, she makes vows. She makes oaths. Even as an oathbreaker, she heavily adheres to the tenants of it. Being an oathbreaker just gives her more flexibility and freedom to fulfill the oaths she makes. She never breaks a promise and she never breaks a vow, and when she says she's going to do something she is going to do it.

So when she says she will go to Avernus with or without Karlach, she means it. She will personally throw hands with Zariel, and the only thing that will stop her is Zariel's death, or her own. And it is one thing if Karlach does go with her, but a whole other thing if Karlach dies on that pier.

Not only will Minthara be grieving, she will be wrathful. And she's going to channel that wrath to the front to avoid feeling the grief (cause she doesn't always approach her emotions in the healthiest way). And she's going to take some of Karlach's rage and Karlach's fury with her. She will kill any demon or devil that gets in her way. There will be no distractions, unless the side quest gets her closer to Zariel or increases her chances in the fights to come.

Minthara is not doing this for power, she is not doing this for glory, she does not care for a crown or a throne. She is down there in Avernus to avenge the love that burned out too soon.

[vanilleandclove]

the meadow in which you lay | 6

ser erryk cargyll x arryn!reader | chapter six: a raven disguised as a crow

Upon reaching Dragonstone, the ideals of allowing your love to pursue his oath unabashedly and correctly ring through your head, only problem is, he is unabashedly and correctly understanding the means of loving you whilst being sworn into an oath.

word count: 1.5k | warnings: me when the reader is avoidantly attached like every man i have once encountered, LUCERYS, tooth-rotting love confessions. | a/n: currently listening to thoroughfare by ethel cain, this part is going to be angsty i fear.

previous - next

taglist: @wolvestitches @holb32 @callsignwidow @fwaeriys @hummusxx @erysione @snixx2088 @opheliax98

Erryk and yourself had reached Dragonstone come the set of the next sun, seeing flames in the distant, you felt a lump in your throat as you both approached the scene. As three, now Queensguard, drew their swords at the sight of Ser Erryk as another announced your name and title. You found yourself holding Erryk, lacing your arm within his.

"I mean no harm brothers" Erryk told the guards, Daemon signaling them to rest their position as Erryk took the Crown of Jaehaerys I and Viserys I. Erryk kneeled, swearing fealty and his life to your dear cousin, her eyes filled with shock before they caught yours, the look of love it was.

"I swear to ward the Queen with all my strength and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honor" Erryk swore as Daemon took the crown from his hands, crowning your cousin before kneeling. Soon after, you all kneeled, besides Rhaenys who just gave your cousin a nod of both pride and honor.

After which, Erryk found himself walking to you, resting his forehead on yours "I am sworn to a Queen now" he whispered, you nodded as there were no words to say, his hand found itself on your waist. You bit your lip lightly, forbidding yourself from letting your emotions be on display.

"You- We must go" you whispered back, choosing to bite your tongue rather than tell him how much you love him, you too, would give your blood for his. You removed yourself from the hold of his, finding your now Queen of a cousin to hug her, she had a stillbirth and was crowned within the next turn of the night.

"Any secret would you like to share?" Rhaenyra joked to ease the mood, you looked at her somberly, "There are men in the Kingsguard whom are oathbreakers and heathens. He is not one of them, no matter the vow of chastity".

"There is a war to be fought over the succession, I fear his blood being in me more than it is defending you may cause some feats we can prevent" you told your cousin before giving her a warm hug.

Towards the end of the sunset, you had not spoken a word to Erryk, simply walking side to side with your cousin, even in the war room. You chose to remain distant, it was the easiest way for you, but you knew it was cruel to Erryk. Near the end of planning and Daemon's outburst, your cousin dismissed all of you. You quickly made your way to your set chambers in Dragonstone.

Your peace interrupted by a knock on your door, opening the door to be met with Erryk, hair completely down and armor retired into sleeping attire. You opened the door wider to invite him in, not speaking a singular word.

"I was raised in the Crownlands" Erryk started, fidgeting with his fingers lightly, "I was knighted into the Kingsguard alongside my brother when we were just eight and ten. By then, I was privileged to be infatuated with this Lady of the Vale. At times, I regretted the decision of my oath seeing that I would potentially have to see her marry a higher lord, siring his children, and live a life that I was not in. Extremely selfish, I loved this Lady to the extremes that it did not matter what oaths I took or swore" Erryk confessed, your lips parted from the confession. "Tell me you do not love me and I will forget everything we shar-".

"I love you Erryk" you shook your head, "You are the only man I have ever loved and found myself waiting for; I cannot let you go, ever". You walked away from the knight, going to your vanity, "There is a war to be fought, blood to be spilled, I cannot fully love you the way I am able to under these conditions".

"Come the end of the war then," Erryk told you optimistically, "I will marry you". You smiled at the promise of certainty, you looked into the knight's eyes once more, eyes reminiscent of the ocean. "I should go to my quarters; we both have long duties to be served".

You nodded in agreement before Erryk left your quarters. There was an exaggerated feeling of anxiety in the air, the unsettling pit in your stomach led that feeling to increase by tenfold. Taking a breather to look outside your chamber's windows, wondering if there was a reason. You seemingly shut out all the worries that clouded your mind in order get rest, must the gods punish you like this? Without reason?

Come morning, the anxiety diminished, as you entered the war room, you took place next to Erryk. His hand found a place on the small of your back before his fingers brushed through your hair, he admired the color and how it flowed, he loved the feeling, even with his gloved hand.

"Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm" Erryk shouted as your cousin made her way into her war room before her people.

As the lords planned out the war, spitting out ideas that quickly faltered, your cousin being the only one whom held restraint, Daemon's temper led him to be excused on his own terms. You positioned yourself opposite of Erryk, next to your nephews.

"The Lord of the Tides! Lord Corlys Velaryon and his wife the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen" Erryk announced out of nowhere as the lords ceased their dispute. Your back straightened from the announcement, fearing the words that were yet to be declared by Corlys, your hand found itself resting on your blade.

Though you did not have to worry as much, as Corlys swore anew his oath to your cousin, giving his land for her cause. One of the happiest of memories it was in the war room. As Jacaerys advocated for his mother's cause simply putting that he and his brother should be the ones delivering the messages to Baratheon, Arryn, and Stark. Though you swore allegiance to your cousin, it was Jeyne who had a say on whether House Arryn would ride for your cousin's cause and claim, you trusted Jace in the care of your Jeyne, though she was kind, she always had been fierce for the sake of your house.

It took upon hours, the sun had since set, yet you and the lords strategized the war, surprised the lords took your words into consideration despite the sexism you faced to that of the Lannisters and Hightowers. The Lady Arryn must close her mouth as well as her legs, Alicent once teased as she figured out your affections were set to Erryk, you were near ladies of nine and ten, as she married Viserys and sired him children- boys to be exact including sweet Haelena, Rhaenyra married Laenor, you remained unmarried.

It was only until Daemon came back into the war room, that feeling of anxiety came back once again, your back straightened, only Erryk took notice as his hand reached for the small of your back. You shrugged him off, giving him a look of worry, as the room went silent, you reached for the raven's words that nearly left your cousin's hands in defeat.

Your heart dropping, a gasp leaving your mouth that quickly turned to sobs, the raven delivering the message of crows.

Prince Lucerys Velaryon, heir to Driftmark, has been slain in a harmless dispute with Prince Aemond Targaryen.

Harmless? Harmless be the murderous instinct both Aemond and his older, drunken, usurper brother, Aegon exhibited when your nephews were their kin and significantly younger than them yet constantly berated. Your blood ran hot, boiling even, your ears rang to the point where you could not hear the words that came from Erryk's mouth.

[ladystoneboobs]

theon's thoughts of his existing black wardrobe when considering the watch has been talked of plenty, but let's not ignore the rest of this fantasy which is imo even funnier. bc a) he remembers jon snow joining the nw as a selling point but fails to consider what it would mean to meet jon again after taking wf and supposedly killing bran and rickon and b) he describes it as a life of honor but assumes he can bed wildling women, which watchmen usually see as the most dishonorable kind of sex, not just patronizing the whores south of the wall but sleeping with the enemy. his newly-turned and fleeting ambitions of captaining a ship at eastwatch, rising to first ranger and even lord commander look downright logical and realistic compared with forgetting the celibacy vows and the motive he's just given jon snow--who never really liked him to begin with--to oathbreak by murdering him on sight. (tho, funnily enough he is kinda foreshadowing jon's soon approaching experience of sex with a wildling woman and facing accusations that his black cloak was indeed turned, even after rising to the position of lord commander. biggest difference is jon did not plan and go looking for a wildling lover, was unaware of his own possible princehood, and ygritte likely would not care about jon's royalty except to joke about it if they did know.)

[hemi-demi]

I don’t mean to rush you or be rude but I am SO in love with your dragon!jon fic, do you know how you will update it?

I'm glad you're enjoying it!

So I don't have a set update schedule for dragon!Jon fic(s) like I do some of my other long-form content. Normally for long fics, I have a backlog before I start posting so I can maintain constant updates and give myself some room to breathe. But with this series being a bit looser in structure and entries sort of bouncing around to the moments in time, I'm just posting as I go!

That being said, I want to have another chapter of Oathbreaker out soon, hopefully within the next week! I'll share a short snippet below the cut as a teaser.

Hope to have more of them soon!

Jon chuckles at that before polishing off their second (or perhaps third) tankard. “High tolerance. Comes with the bloodline.” They reply confidently, albeit with a subtle slur that colours their speech. The mead is just a bit stronger than they anticipated.

---

“Gods, how can you drink this much? You're so little. Thought you'd be under the table by now.” 

“Just a shock, is all.” Martin remarks. “Don't think I've ever seen you drink.”

“Unfortunately the higher tolerance just means that I am not a cheap date. It's hardly worth the effort, or the coin.”

“I don't think that's true. It's nice seeing you get to loosen up a bit, I’d say that's plenty worth it.”

[blurbfics]

There'd Better Be a Mirrorball | Azriel x OFC [part ten]

Summary: A message is sent and Azriel learns that Eowyn doesn't know how to swim.

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: angst, insecurities, implicit jealousy, description and talk of scars, talk of past self-harm, daddy issues, mind-intrusion (learn to ask first, Rhys), Elain. (on a lighter note: sexual tension, fluff, nosy cassian, idiots in love but they don't know it yet)

Minors, do not interact.

a/n: helloo i hope there's still someone interested in my emo babies! sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out, i'm traveling out for a wedding next week so i've been scrambling to get all my last minute things for my trip BUT hopefully this chapter makes up for it. i already have the next few written out so i'll probably post again soon (don't hold me to it, i still need to edit)

part nine

masterlist

"If it's all in my head, there's nothing to fear

Nothing to fear inside

Through the darkness and the light

Some sun has got to rise"

Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Despair

Elain was here.

Granted, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her. She was visiting the High Lady unannounced and uninvited after all, and Elain had more reason than anyone else to visit Feyre, yet it wasn’t exactly surprise at the fact in itself. It was a surprise at the defensiveness with which Eowyn regarded her.

Try as she might, she simply couldn’t shake off the feeling of irritation that the sweet female produced within Eowyn.

She’d been shown inside the parlor room by Nuala and Cerridwen; the High Lady was at her side immediately with a grin as she welcomed her inside. As she had done with the High Lord, Eowyn apologized profusely for showing up unannounced but admitted she felt rather guilty for making the High Lady travel all the way to the library whenever they got together, and felt it necessary to visit her for once, taking advantage of the Illyrians’ summons.

But the ever generous Feyre only waved her off and assured her she was always welcomed before playfully chastising her for curtsying as a greeting as she’d come to do the past few times, now a playful act more than anything, before introducing her to her older middle sister, Elain.

Eowyn found her feet glued to the floor as the beautiful fae rose from her seat and greeted her shyly with a sweet and kind countenance that was so pure and… unsullied, that Eowyn found it hard to look at her for long. She had only heard whispers of her beauty, both from the wind and from other faes that had witnessed her unblemished features themselves, but she’d never been face to face with the sweetest of the Archeron sisters. 

She had, however, heard other things about the fae.

Heard that at first, she’d rejected any sign of courtship from Lucien, half brother of the heir to the Autumn Court, and the heir of the Day Court himself; she heard, primarily from Gwyn, that she’d turned her attention to the Shadowsinger and encouraged a brief fling before settling for the one Cauldron-intended for her. She’d heard she was a Seer and that she’d correctly predicted the path Feyre Oathbreaker was meant to take before any of them could correctly decipher her visions, although that she’d learned from the wind and the voices in the water instead.

She knew much about the middle Archeron sister. So much that she knew the young fae, despite her mistakes and the hardships she’d faced, truly was as unsullied and perfect as she seemed.

It made something ugly coil inside her, a feeling she’d never had before, even in the days when any sort of emotion beyond the superficial wasn’t completely foreign.

Despite their pleasant introductions and the cup of tea the High Lady had insisted on pouring for Eowyn, she found she felt entirely out of place as the sisters chatted lightly. Regret began to churn in her stomach for her impulsiveness, making her feel anxious.

She took in three deep breaths and held onto it for six counts, before softly blowing it out for another count of six. She repeated the breathing technique twice more as she settled into herself, opening her awareness to her surroundings before bringing it unto herself, assessing both the negative and the positive emotions battling within her before letting them go.

“But oh Feyre, you should just see these libraries! They’re twice the size of the library in the mountain and they’re just magnificent! Helion gave us a tour himself and said most of the furnishings and the chandelier in the main hall are made of real gold,” Elain gushed, licking powdered sugar off her thumb from the baked goods she’d made herself.

Finding it a safe topic Eowyn could contribute to, she nodded along to her words understandingly, “it is quite grand,” she agreed. 

“Oh, you’ve been?” Feyre asked curiously, causing Elain to turn her attention to her, eyes wide and searching and so full of life.

Eowyn looked away and cleared her throat, “yes, I… lived in the Day Court for awhile. I know the libraries and Helion’s Court well.”

“Are you two friends?” Elain tilted her head.

“Sure, although colleagues is probably a more accurate term” Eowyn chuckled at her earnestness. It was conflicting, this feeling within her. Finding the young fae innocent and enchanting but simultaneously finding herself equally plagued by an anger that was undeservedly projected onto Elain. She felt strangled by the self-conscious feeling that she was too big, too dark, too much, to be around someone who was only in the first stages of adulthood and was only just finding herself in the world.

She inhaled deeply and once again let go of the smoking darkness within her, forcing her attention once more to the topic at hand. “The libraries,” she said abruptly, “you said Helion gave you a tour?” At her confirming nod she continued, “he must’ve told you the histories, then, I imagine. Helion’s quite the established storyteller.”

“Oh yes! He told us of the First Scholars who spent centuries building the libraries that supposedly form a great circle around the heart of the Court. I can’t quite imagine spending so much of your lifetime determined to build all those beautiful temples. It’s truly impressive, what they accomplished, I think,” she spoke animatedly with a pleasant smile, reaching over for her tea. 

“Well they surely didn’t have a hard time at it,” Eowyn chuckled, although there was little amusement in her voice. “The First Scholars loved taking all the credit for ‘funding’ those sanctuaries but always failed to give credit where it was due.”

When both the High Lady and her sister looked at her with owlishly confused eyes, Eowyn swallowed. “Well… Helion must’ve told you all our great pieces of architecture, including the Day Court’s grand libraries, were built by enslaved human laborers?” Feyre immediately nodded in understanding, clearly having heard that part of the histories while Elain only stared at her in horror.

Eowyn felt uneasy, and the way the young fae looked at her didn’t make her feel any less like a wild feral animal trampling through a thin crystal box.

“This was way before our time, of course,” she tried to mend the stricken look on Elain’s face and the concern on Feyre’s as she gently placed a hand on her sister’s arm. “It’s cruel ancient history and unpleasant to talk about,” she continued, as she felt she just couldn’t leave the words alone, “but it’s also history that cannot be forgotten lest we be tempted to repeat our mistakes.”

“And we won’t,” Feyre assured. 

Looking at her High Lady then, Eowyn noticed with relief that she didn’t seem altogether displeased by her revelation.

“Yes, you’re quite right,” Elain agreed in a small voice, her face still pale with anxiety. “I suppose Helion must’ve avoided that part of his lesson for my sake,” she tried to smile, but it came out shy and perhaps a little forced, “you see, I’ve had a harder time at adjusting to fae life than my sisters,” she confessed something Eowyn had detected the second she walked into the room. 

Although Elain had the features and the small slender body of a picturesque perfect female fae, there was something inherently human about her. It was an almost undetectable but ever present sort of foreignness to her actions, almost stilted whereas even Feyre and Nesta had mastered the fae way of effortless swiftness.

That wasn’t to say she was clumsy, she was simply very human-like, much more than her sisters. It was part of her charm.

Despite her sympathy for the girl, however, she found she wasn’t sure how to act around her. Even the priestesses in the library, who had suffered through all kinds of disgraces and tragedies didn’t feel quite as fragile as the former human girl. 

“Is that something you still struggle with?” Eowyn couldn’t help but prod gently.

She believes she knows his ire; she has only foreseen his betrayal.

She archived the whisper for later.

“Not as much,” Elain glanced at her sister and at her encouraging smile, continued, “my adjustment process has been quite slow but I’ve had plenty of support and company.”

“I imagine it can’t be easy at all,” Eowyn empathized genuinely, nodding a bit, “no one can reasonably expect you to be fine with transforming into a different species against your will within a decade, much less a year.”

Feyre nodded, squeezing Elain’s hand, “I didn’t have an easy time of it either. Even now, I still struggle to think of myself as anything other than human.”

“I suppose it should’ve been easier for me, having you and Nesta and Azriel at my side for so long,” Elain squeezed her hand back and as Feyre consoled her, lost in their heart-to-heart, neither sister noticed the way Eowyn’s spine straightened as she tensed. Her inhale was quiet but sharp and she could do nothing but hide her clenched fist under her robes, focusing on the faint sting of her nails digging into her flesh.

There was a shift in the air.

“And here I thought it was access to my gardens and kitchens that got you back onto your feet,” Rhys drawled as he stepped into the room, followed closely behind by the winged males.

Eowyn said nothing as Elain laughed and replied sweetly to the High Lord, standing up from her place on the sofa to greet Cassian with a hug. Tension bloomed in the room as she turned to Azriel. Stoic and unemotional male that he was, Azriel only stood in place as the blushing fae nervously turned to him.

“Hi,” she breathed lightly, her voice so petal soft and light that Eowyn had to bite her tongue to keep her mind focused on anything else.

“Hello,” he cleared his throat, mirroring Cassian’s forward lean into what was the beginning of a hug. Faltering but quickly finding herself, she hugged him back, if perhaps a little longer than she did Cassian.

Clearing her mind of all thoughts, Eowyn turned her eyes away from the scene to find not only the High Lord and Lady observing her intently, but also the General, who ridiculously began to whistle as he snapped his gaze away when her eyes met his, pretending he hadn’t been staring.

While Feyre observed her with curiosity— the kind sparked by a freshly shared piece of gossip that you know just might continue to unfold before you— the High Lord’s gaze was different, not unkind but still calculating.

She couldn’t help it. She quirked an eyebrow at him in challenge.

She was no stranger to the threat of intrusion into her mind, but as she felt the cold long talons of the High Lord brush against the fortress of her mind, she shivered at the sheer power behind such a light tap. Strikingly, she wasn’t sure how or what she did to nudge back at the brushing talons with a teasing caress of her own, as if tickling the underside of the invisible large shadowed claw.

The action seemed to surprise even the High Lord who squirmed slightly as his eyes widened at her and it was the shock of whatever that reaction had been that allowed for her walls to drop for a fraction of a second before she reinforced them again. 

But that second was enough, for as their eyes met, there was something there they both understood— a kindred feeling of someone who had known violence, of someone who understood abuse in a form that was beyond physical. It was the understanding of a survivor that lived both despite and in spite of what had been done to them but now wanted a life to reflect only the best of them, rather than remain drowned in a cycle of existential dread.

She understood him at a deeper level then, and his engagement with the priestesses and the library. Understood why he was so accommodating and encouraging for any and all projects the priestesses brought to him.

“Are you ready to leave?” Azriel pulled her away from her intense eye contact with the High Lord, standing beside her on a chair, directly in front of their hosts, their sister, and the General.

“Yes,” she nodded and stood to follow after him, thanking the High Lord and Lady for having her, if perhaps uninvited (to which they promised she was welcomed at any time, and then playfully chastised her once again for curtsying at them in respect), and calling out pleasantries and farewells as Azriel practically dragged her away.

As she was thanking her hosts, however,  she noticed that Elain’s eyes remained glued to the Shadowsinger; they followed the movement of his arm as he lightly placed his hand on Eowyn’s waist to pull her towards the door, but snapped back up to meet hers when she felt her gaze, widening ever so slightly when they met Eowyn’s, for she was sure, that in that fraction of a second, she had effectively conveyed a clear-cut message to the middle Archeron sister: back off.

Elain visibly shuddered from her spot on the sofa.

Eowyn couldn’t hold back her smug smirk when she crossed the threshold, easily keeping in step with Azriel as they walked out to the balcony.

“I take it you didn’t have to go on a mission right now?” She asked him as soon as they were out of earshot.

“No,” he said distractedly, “what did Rhys say to you?”

She tilted her head in confusion, “weren’t you there?”

“In your head,” he clarified, eyebrows furrowing and she noticed for the first time that he was quite agitated. “Did he go inside your mind without permission?”

“I don’t think he meant to?” The way it came out as a question had her quickly adding, “he didn’t try very hard if he did. I didn’t let him in.” Not the complete truth, but also not a complete lie. It was…strange, that interaction. It wasn’t that she allowed him to read her thoughts, it was that her mind was always so replete with thoughts and information and in such a flurry of awareness of so much around her, that all he got was an overall feel of her. Just as she did him.

“I’ll tell him not to try it again,” he grumbled, yet her response seemed to pacify him enough. Once they made it to the balcony he turned to her, suddenly thoughtful. “I was thinking...” She only tilted her head at him, allowing him time to speak the words on his mind. “Can I ….take you somewhere?”

She startled at that. Questions sprang up in her mind in a rush of: where? Why? How far? How long would they be out? Did she need to go back to the library and get a thicker cloak for the crisp chill in the air?

But as soon as she glanced up and met his hazel eyes, saw a mirroring flurry of thoughts and information behind his honey dipped leaf irises, all questions vanished and she simply nodded.

“Are you sure?” he pressed, taking her brief silence as reluctance.

She raised an eyebrow at that, “should I be worried?”

“No,” he said immediately, then turned to look over the balcony at the city. “Although…I would have to winnow us there.”

Her eyebrow only arched higher, “is it not within flying distance?” she followed his gaze then turned to him quickly with an affronted gasp, jutting out a hip and resting her fist on it as she scoffed, “or are you saying I’m just too heavy to carry?”

He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched with a hint of a smile, “shut up and c’mere.”

She took a step towards him, and although she’d winnowed hundreds of times, both on her own and with others, she found she didn’t protest when he looked down at her from under a few rogue strands of hair and placed his hands on either side of her waist. She gasped ever so softly at the feel of his large warm hands circling her waist, the weight of his battle-worn marred hands somehow both exhilarating and comforting. Although there was no need for such contact to winnow, the act being sufficient with just a clasping of hands, she instinctively placed her own hands on his arms, firm and warm as they were under his leathers.

Her eyes never once left his.

“We’re here,” he spoke softly, and although she clearly heard his words it took her much too long for her to register its meaning. 

“So soon?” The words left her mouth before she could think it, only realizing how blunt they were when he actually chuckled softly and the prettiest shade of pink appeared on the bridge of his nose.

She pulled away from him then to take in her surroundings, the first thing she noticed being that they were definitely not in Velaris, yet as she went to look around found herself restricted by his hands still holding firmly onto her waist.

He immediately dropped his hands yet she didn’t linger on the strange empty lightness she felt, as if he had been the sole thing anchoring her to the ground.

The lightness lingered as she twirled around, taking in the sight of trees and… well, more trees.

“Where are we?” She asked as she inhaled deeply, immediately soothed by the scent of unsullied nature allowed to grow without intervention from fae or human hands. Despite the lack of paths seen anywhere, he clearly knew these woods well considering he’d winnowed them straight into a small clearing.

“In the Illyrian woods, under a few of its older mountains.” She felt his eyes on her, yet rather than feeling self-conscious and restricted, she felt strangely free and like something within her flourished. 

She hadn’t been fully surrounded by nature in so long. It was more liberating than anything she’d felt before, even the sanctuary of her greenhouse and beloved library.

“What are we doing here?” She turned to look at him to find his gaze already on her.

“I figured since you allowed me to go into your greenhouse, it’s only fair I show you a place of my own,” he inclined his head to the side towards the trees and held out a hand to her. She took it, marveling at the way his strong hand gently curled around hers. 

She thought about his words as she followed him through the trees, not finding herself even the slightest bit frightened or apprehensive. It was dangerous, she thought absentmindedly, how willing she was to follow this male through the ends of the earth.

“An exchange?” She wondered as she digested his words, “what exactly did you take from my showing you the greenhouse?” She asked with an incredulous chuckle.

He stopped and twisted only slightly to look at her, beckoning her with his head to step in front of him. She followed his nonverbal queue, hand still grasping his as she lifted her skirts with her other hand as she stepped over the overgrown tree roots and ducked under branches.

“I got to take in the sight of you in your most natural state,” he stated simply, never detaching his hand from hers but using the other to push the intervening branches away from her to walk through.

With a swiftness born naturally only to a fae who’d grown up amongst nature, she twirled in a single step to look at him, eyes seeking any form of taunt or teasing before lifting his arm above her head to allow her to circle around and step forward with the other foot without losing momentum in her step, finding nothing in his tone or eyes that signaled to any form of mocking.

She remained silent for a while, considering his words and wondering where he would take them. The whispers that came to her were different from those she constantly heard at the House of Wind. Whereas the winds of Velaris carried with them brief declarations or fragments of words blown across the land that just so happened to make their way to her, the whispers among the trees were not intended for her to hear at all. 

The ancient language of the trees cared not if she understood or even wanted to listen, yet as she listened to them murmur to each other she caught hints of long stories shared, all of them deep in overlapping conversation.

Soon, they broke through the line of trees to what seemed like the bottom of the mountains— a moss covered wall of rock that sprouted all kinds of flora she wanted nothing more but to inspect but turned to Azriel instead, tilting her head questioningly. “This is what you wanted to show me?” She tried not to sound judgmental but based on the quiet laugh that bubbled out of his chest, she failed to sound as excited as she meant to.

“Not quite,” his lopsided smirk spoke of his amusement. “You like puzzles, don’t you?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “are we playing a game, Az?”

At his answering smirk, she turned back to the wall, suddenly determined to beat him at his own game but all she had to do was look at the wall. Truly look at it and the long strands of ivy and moss that covered it to notice the plants themselves served as a veil to the entrance of what looked like a cave.

“In there?” She turned to him only to find him  smiling at her softly before he nodded. He stepped forward first, holding a hand out for her to take before stepping through the entrance of the cave and guiding her inside. It took her a second for her eyes to adapt to the darkness, but once they did she gasped in surprise at the sight before her.

The walls of the cave were a smooth crystalized black glass encrusted into the rock, and the absorbing light within it told her immediately that he’d taken her directly into an obsidian cave. Her surprise only heightened when she looked down to see what looked like a small black pool inside.

“What is this place?” She breathed.

“It’s the underside of an ancient volcano,” he spoke, quiet and still but so clear that she realized that the small gap in her mind that never fully filtered out the whispers in her day to day was completely silent. She couldn’t hear a single thing other than her own thoughts, the sound of their breathing, and the cool sound of his voice. “I thought maybe you’d like it,” he trailed off thoughtfully, “and maybe you’d be interested in going for a swim?”

“A swim?” her voice, only slightly louder than his, echoed through the dark cave, her voice bouncing off the walls going much further than the entrance where they stood. She cringed at the volume and ignored his amused huff before lowering her voice,“how big is this cave?”

He hummed in response, and with the curtain of ivy falling back over the gapped entrance, they were now encased in complete darkness. The cave was so dark that the only light shining was that of his cobalt blue siphons, which didn’t provide nearly enough light to illuminate the cave, especially once he began to take them off. “A few miles in.”

On any other occasion she would’ve balked at his response but she could do nothing but stand still as the sound of his undressing echoed within the cave walls. Suddenly, he stilled, “we can leave, if you don’t want to stay.”

As if that was what took her breath away. “I do,” she elongated the word, “my concern is, how exactly do you expect me to swim if I can’t even see my hand in front of me?”

“You don’t exactly swim with your eyes, do you?”

She glowered at him and he knew it despite the lack of light, if his small chuckle said anything.

“Look, if you don’t want to swim, you can sit on the edge of the rock here and dip your feet in, but I’m going in,” he stated plainly, sounding more animated than she’d ever heard him before in the most un-Azriel-like way.

She opened her mouth, either to ask him who he was and where the real Shadowsinger was, or to ask why he insisted that she touch the dark ominous water, but all words vanished at the realization that this was something important to him. He knew how meaningful the greenhouse was to her and he explicitly said he wanted to share something in kind.

This wasn’t a transactional relationship— friendship, she mentally corrected herself— despite their past exchanges. This was an act of trust and intimacy.

And Mother above, he was excited to show her this place. How can she deny him anything now? In all truth, she didn’t want to deny him anything.

“Where are you?” He called out from within the surface of the water and she startled slightly, realizing she’d been lost in her own mind.

“Here,” she replied immediately, taking a step towards his voice only to stumble over a few rocks before finding her footing. She reached out with her hands, using them instead of her eyes to gauge what was in front of her. As soon as she touched a larger rock, realizing it marked the edge of the dark pool of water.

“Careful,” he spoke and suddenly his hands found her as he held her on the edge of the water. “Here, let me..” He started but trailed off, wrapping one hand gently around her ankle, slowly and barely touching as if ready to pull away as soon as she spoke the words. She allowed him to continue, curious about his actions. Not taking her silence as consent, however, he stopped, “can I help you take your shoes off?”

She nodded, and almost smacked herself at her idiocy, before clearing her throat, “yes, that’s fine. Is- is the water deep?”

“Not here,” he assured her, “the further in you go, the deeper it is.”

Swiftly, he unlaced her boots and she braced her hands on his shoulders as he held her shin with one hand as he pulled the shoe away with the other and tossed it somewhere behind her, “hey!” She frowned looking over her shoulder at nothing, “how am I supposed to find it later?”

His small laugh was a little lighter, and she saw his face in her mind if not in front of her. Saw his eyes sparkle and crinkle at the sides as the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. “The shadows will take care of it.”

Oh, right. She forgot about them for a second.

“They must like it here as well,” she murmured, mostly to herself, picturing the amorphous dark creatures roaming every inch of the place at their discretion.

“They do,” he affirmed, “they were born here… or so they say.”

“Really?” She perked up at attention at that, letting go of his shoulders when he tossed her sock off for his shadows to catch.

Without second guessing herself, she took a step back and began to disrobe, starting with her veil.

She heard his breath hitch for a second, and she briefly wondered if he could see her before he spoke up. “They like to say that about every place they think is interesting,” he deadpanned, causing her to laugh.

Summoned by their conversation and her laugh, the shadows twirled through her hair before spinning around her, snatching each robe and layer from her every time she took something off.

Once she was down to her undergarments, she carefully stepped towards the edge of the water. She hesitated, “are you sure it’s not deep?”

“Positive,” his voice appeared near her yet she couldn’t determine where exactly. “Come here,” he murmured and reached out for her, touching her hands first and placing them on his shoulders once again. 

“Oh,” she gasped when her feet touched the hot water, and quickly descended into the hot spring with his guiding hands. “Oh,” she repeated, this time in a pleasured breath. His chest rumbled with amusement once more, and she had half a mind to scold him for continuously laughing at her, but quickly dismissed the idea as she realized she’d never quite heard him laugh this much before.

It was quite a pleasant sound and in all truthfulness, it brought her a sense of pride and satisfaction at being the cause behind it.

That is, until he let go of her and she began to sink. Gasping, she scrambled for his arm once again when her feet didn’t touch the ground.

“You said it was shallow!” She screeched.

“It is,” he insisted, “I’m literally just standing right now.”

She waved her feet, searching for a bottom but could only briefly feel the ground with her toe. She scowled at him and his Illyrian bigness.

“I can’t reach the bottom” she gritted out.

“What’s the problem? Can’t you swim?” 

At her pointed silence, he guffawed.

“Shut up,” she scolded, “I had more important things to do than learn how to swim.”

“It’s a basic life skill,” he continued to giggle. Giggle. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

“You said it wasn’t deep,” she defended herself, “now you’re going to have to pull me along.”

“Fine by me,” he grinned. She could hear it. Wrapping a strong arm around her waist, he pulled her along as he pushed off the shallow end of the hot spring into the depth of its pools. Feeling his powerful legs kick in a practiced rhythm to keep them both afloat, she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist to keep her legs out of his way.

“Sorry,” she blushed, shimmying her hips away to pull her legs away from him.

“No,” the arm he had wrapped around her waist quickly stopped her in place, sliding down to her thigh and squeezing briefly to keep her close and shift her so she faced him completely, “stay like that.”

Something in her pulsed.

She inhaled sharply through her nose, and gingerly placed her hands on either side of his shoulders, trying to keep if only just a centimeter of distance between their bodies. But like magnets— and by the physical nature of water surrounding them, pushing at them— their bodies pressed against one another, unrelenting in their proximity. 

“Hold on,” he spoke quietly, the only words of warning before he let go of her to use both of his firm arms to swim skillfully deeper within the dark depths of the hot spring. After a moment of his rhythmic movements, she relaxed and tilted her head back, allowing the bubbling hot water to submerge her hair and soothe her weary head. 

Without intending to, she exhaled a soft breath of pleasure at the feeling of the hot water engulfing and massaging her skull, her mind deliciously empty and finally quiet.

Still, there was a string in the edge of her subconsciousness. A tickle of a feeling, a shy invitation. And after a long moment of well-deserved silence, she allowed the soft melodic voice on the edge of the water to fill her. 

Pulling herself up straight, she wrapped her arms around Azriel’s shoulders and hugged him.

“Are you alright?” He whispered, brushing his cheek with hers.

She nodded against his cheek so he could feel it, and with her eyes closed, now feeling nothing but the water surrounding them and him, she replied. “They were born here.”

He inhaled through his nose, “the Shadows? How do you know?”

Slowing down their swimming, he fell into a soft tread.

Her top lip brushed the lobe of his ear when she whispered, “the cave told me.”

He didn’t reply, and when she went to pull away— she didn’t know what for, it wasn’t like she could see him— he quickly pulled her back with a hand between her shoulder blades, his entire forearm somehow hotter than the water surrounding them. She shivered, feeling her very center tighten at the feeling of his fingers brushing the bare skin of her back and his cheek lighting nuzzling hers.

“You can hear it?” He asked, breathing heavily yet he sounded different. Stilted and gritting.

“The water,” she clarified, her body reacting to his before her mind could catch up.

Everything suddenly felt even more electric as she became aware of everything around her.

Her sense of touch, of feel and scent only heightened by the smothering of her sense of sight. She could hear him, hear his thundering heart and rapid breaths, could smell his anticipation and growing arousal. She could feel his desperate need, and feel the tension in the tendons of his broad solid shoulders under her hands, and the tightness of his body as her legs wrapped around him like a python catching its prey within its fatal hold. 

But she could also sense his hesitation.

And that would not do.

“Az?” She murmured, and the sultry knowing voice that left her was not that of the seductive male-eating* fae she was before that. But it also wasn’t the voice of the apathetic and cold priestess. She was someone else entirely. 

He melted under her touch and searched her face with his once again, pressing his cheek to hers before turning it to almost brush his lips against hers, but she shifted her own face away before he could, gliding her nose along his jaw before smiling against it, laughing lightly, “is the hot spring getting to you?” She tried to lighten the mood, yet the solid strength of him under her touch and the evidence of the tension between them affecting him as well made it hard for her to keep a leveled head.

He held his breath for a second, then exhaled a quick breath, shaking his head as if to clear it as well. “Shut up.”

She continued to hold on to him as he swam back to the shallow edge of the spring in silence, and she used that brief moment to replay their interaction in her mind. She was no meek and shy virgin. She had never shied away from her own sexuality, had never been truly coy unless it was tactful. She was no stranger to casual sex and a light play of sexual tension with acquaintances or those she liked spending time with— male or female— but she also hadn’t participated in any form of sex (or sex-adjacent acts) for well over half a century. 

She had begun to think of that part of herself as extinct. Had even considered herself asexual, due to her lack of feel for anyone for such a long time.

Without her knowing, the winged bat male had sparked something feral within her and she didn’t like it one bit, despite how much she very much wanted to consume him whole.

But he was Gwyn’s male, for Cauldron’s sake! How long had she spent encouraging her friend to talk to him, how many hours had she spent gossiping with her in the libraries stairwells— getting shushed by the other priestesses every couple of minutes— about his favorite foods, his favorite books and the simple lighthearted conversations she’d had with him that she’d later shared with Gwyn? (Why she never shared their more intimate conversations with her friend, she didn’t want to consider at that very moment).

As she began to spiral for being a bad friend to both Gwyn, for suddenly wanting to eat her male alive, and Azriel for playing with him the way she had, she pushed herself away from him as soon as they reached the edge, suddenly needing physical distance from him lest she climb the rest of his strong body and wrapped her legs around his face.

Azriel, however, remained just as silent as her from his place only at arms length away, but she knew his silence was of a different kind. 

“I’ve…” she scrambled for something to say, “I've told you about my father before. About how he wanted a daughter.”

What better cockblock than the sudden cracking open of an age-old can of trauma?

Azriel hummed in reply, but didn’t say anything. She heard the rippling of water as he raised his hands to the edge of the spring, using his arms to pull himself up. “Wait!” She stopped him before he could fully pull himself out, “can we… stay a little longer?”

The sound of his descension back into the water was all the acquiescence she needed to hear, so she continued. “Clearly it wasn’t because he wanted to be a loving father to a little girl. He was— he is a lunatic. An arrogant narcissistic lunatic with ideas of grandeur, and all he needed was a five-coin divination from a pseudo-Seer to convince him that he would be the almighty Sire of the one female to bring truthfulness and balance to a world that blindly followed the wrong icons.

“He believed that although we prayed to the ‘feminine gods’ and other religious figures like the Mother, it was truly the males that puppeteered the restoration to order. At the same time, he thought that the High Lords of Prythian weren’t doing enough and were only the beginning of ‘a worthy representation of our world as it should be’,” she deepened her voice slightly to imitate her father.

“Your father sounds vile,” he snarled.

“He’s worse,” she assured, thankful that the tension between them had settled into something more neutral as they fell back into their usual deep but lilting conversations. “Anyway, he’s a prick who believed that his daughter would become the heiress to the Mother’s order and he would be the one orchestrating the way.”

She held onto the edge of the pool as she moved closer, while making sure to keep at least a foot of distance between them. “When I began to show my gifts, he reinterpreted his prophecy to fit me, and molded me to fit the prophecy. So, when he learned that I had this… connection to the elements, he forced me to discern how much and just how exactly they worked. 

“Wind was the easiest of course, but the winds report all kinds of things— some are truths and some are lies, as we know the winds hear everything and travel where they please. He never was one to care about history unless it was his own, so he didn’t care what wisdom the earth shared with me, but fire? ‘Fire is no liar,’ he always told me as a child, and while dealing with fire definitely isn’t pleasant, it was easier than water, for ‘water does not falter’ but I did. He would toss me into the lake and not let me out until the water spoke the words he wanted to hear… and he would keep me in there for so long…”  she trailed off.

She inhaled, pulling herself back to the present, unsure of where she was going with her words, only knowing that this was the moment. This was something he had to know.

“So I’ve always avoided bodies of water. Not so much because of my father, but because I’ve never much liked the cruel secrets the voices within it like to share.”

“I’m…sorry,” he spoke lowly, and he sounded so sad and so defeated that she immediately reached out to touch him. She placed a hand firmly over his chest.

“No,” she shook her head, “stop whatever verbal flagellation is going through your head, I don’t regret coming here for a second,” she spoke firmly. “I’m not even telling you this because you brought me here. I don’t want this to be transactional.”

“Then why are you telling me this?”

“Because I trust you. Because I’ve never told anyone, and I don’t want anyone else to know, but you.”

He fell silent at that, yet inhaled sharply when her finger unknowingly traced a ridged scar on his chest, only an inch away from his thundering heart.

He flinched away from her.

“Don’t.”

She pulled her hand away, “what happened there?”

“Ash bolt covered in bloodbane.”

She nodded slowly, gritting her teeth as she remembered his story behind it. “The day Elain and Nesta were made.”

“Yes.”

“And you… are ashamed of your scars?”

It was such a simple question. An intrusive one perhaps, but not for them, not here. “Yes.”

They both knew she wasn’t referring to the battle scars littering his body. He was ashamed of the scars on his hands, the ones inflicted when he was young and defenseless. The ones that had been forced upon him, not earned through battle and will.

Slowly, she reached out to touch his hand, where it rested at his side nearest to her, but as soon as her fingers grazed the outside of his scarred hand, he pulled away. “Let me show you,” she whispered soothingly, lightly grasping one of his fingers before pulling it up above the surface of the water.

Slowly, allowing him time to pull his hand away if he wanted, she singled out his index finger and brought it to the center of her lips.

She heard and felt his breath falter, but neither of them moved further until she did, guiding his finger to lightly graze over her lips to the left corner of her mouth, where she allowed him to trace her scar there, dragging out towards her ear and ending in the center of her cheek before grazing the line back, over her lips, and over the right corner of her mouth along the jagged line that dragged upward. “Eowyn,” he breathed, but she didn’t stop. She brought his finger to trace the even thicker scar dragged across her neck and then back down under the surface of the water towards her hip, just an inch or two under her belly button and to the side, where a healed yet scarred patch of flesh curdled. As he traced his finger along it though, she could tell he felt the initial wound: the branding of a jumbled insignia that had since been covered by the slightly thinner layer of a self-made burn.

“These are just the most prominent ones. I can’t feel the ones on my back.”

“Who did this to you?” He snarled, voice only barely contained as she let go of his hand. That same hand curled possessively over her hip, his thumb lightly but repeatedly tracing her scar as if trying to figure out what the insignia was, but she had long covered it and made sure it was unidentifiable. “Tell me who did this to you so I can deal with them.”

“That’s not the point,” she sighed, and when he began to protest, she settled her hands on his chest once again to pacify him. “It’s not. They will be dealt with in their due time, trust me. But I wanted to show you what I hide. What brings me shame.”

“That’s different,” he gritted and she felt his body vibrate with repressed emotions under her touch. His grip on her tightened. “Tell me who and I’ll make them pay.”

But she shook her head, “no. They will, when the time is right, but that time isn’t now.”

“How can you say that,” he pushed as he pulled her closer, “how can you show me how they hurt you and expect me to do nothing?”

“Because it’s not about them,” she snapped, “I tell you things, show you things, not because of my father, not because of the ones who hurt me, but because this is me. I am not a product of my abuse, the same way you aren’t a product of yours. These scars?” she held one of his scarred hands to her cheek to touch her own, “they are part of us, and they may reflect only a fraction of the pain in here,” she touched her other hand to his chest, “but they do not define us.”

She felt his body tremble under her touch, from repressed anger, frustration, or just a general flurry of emotions, she wasn’t sure, but no sooner had the words left his mouth— a tortured murmured “can I hold you?”— than she had her own arms wrapped around him tightly, melting into his arms and finding, finally, that which she had been searching for, yearning for, the second he placed his hands on her waist to winnow them there, to a place that was his own. Her chest touched his, and despite the thin layer of clothing separating them it was like their flesh melded together and their hearts beat as one.

This is what she needed. She cared not for anything other than the feeling of belonging that was to be wrapped in his arms. Azriel slid his hands away from her torso, cupping her face between each hand and she pliantly allowed him to. 

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to simply feel. She lost herself to the sensation— not just the distantly familiar feeling of being touched by another, but the particular and distinctive feeling of him. 

Ever so gently, his thumbs traced her eyebrows, slowly tracing back over her closed lids, and she didn’t know when or why but she felt herself tremble under his touch, as he glided his fingers over the slope of her nose before tracing her lips once again. With the most gentle of touches, he traced her scars lightly, once, twice. He cupped the side of her head with one hand, and with the other, traced his finger along the center of her lips, pressing down slightly to part her lips before allowing it to gently plop back in its place.

“Beautiful,” he breathed so softly, it was almost as if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. 

She let out a small amused tuh, about to point out that he couldn’t even see her through the dark encompassing them, but the words remained in her throat when he quickly traced his thumbs over her smile, inhaling deeply.

All she could do was hold him tight and stay there, linger in the quiet moment of peace, of comfort, and of an intrinsic and deep rooted understanding. His forehead rested on hers, and the tip of his nose brushed against hers but he didn’t try to kiss her again. He simply held her close and breathed her in.

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed there in the depths of the dark cave that gave no way for any sort of light. All she knew was that she didn’t need the light to guide her as long as she had Azriel at her side.

—

They remained in the shallow edge of the hot spring for a long while, lost in tender conversation as she inquired after the cave, how he’d come to find it and who else knew about it. 

No longer hugging, as they treaded lightly over the water, yet never separating completely (always at least holding hands, as he kept her afloat), he told her of his formative years, when he discovered the cave when he was no older than twenty-five. He came here when he needed a breath away from his family, his duties, and even his Shadows, for although he was never without them, this was a place where the Shadows themselves liked to take their time to bask in the comforting familiar darkness on their own. 

Once Eowyn felt her fingers begin to prune, they left the water and with the quick effective help of the shadows always surrounding them, she managed to dress quickly and gather herself to leave the fog of oblivion that had settled over her with his close proximity.

Expecting to be blinded by the rays of the sun, she braced herself before leaving the cave only to find not the sun, but the moon shining down at her through the gaps of the trees. 

She gaped slightly, turning to look at Azriel who seemed just as surprised as her that they had spent almost the entire day in the cave.

“Are you ready?” He asked softly, and when she nodded, he reached for her waist and held her against him as he winnowed them back to the House of Wind.

“I-“ he frowned down at her, eyebrows furrowing as he considered his words. “Rhys is sending me on a mission for a few days.”

“Where?” She frowned immediately. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, of course, as Azriel was often sent out to fulfill his duties. He was never gone more than a few days, of course, but suddenly, the thought of him leaving caused an anxious knot to form in her belly.

“It’s this thing with the Autumn Court. I should be back in just a few days.”

She nodded, but kept silent for a beat. “You.. you be careful alright?”

He chuckled lightly, but this chuckle was softer than the rest he’d gifted her, as he looked down at her fondly. “Are you gonna miss me?”

“Az,” she tapped him lightly in the chest in the imitation of a punch, his eyes glinting with a tender look. “But you will be careful, won’t you?”

“I always am.” 

After only half a breaths hesitation, he bent down and pressed a feather soft kiss between her eyebrows, before he winnowed away.

part eleven

*male-eater = maneater bc i was listening to the song and that is indeed Past Eowyn

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