#still vaguely plodding through these when the moment/inspiration hits!!!!

[strawberry-daiquiris]

trying to recover from the jondo + 26 that took me out at the knees and greedy as I am, if that's anything, a jondo + 24 would probably be the last nail in the coffin 🙏🏼

a top reader, a top prompt 💕 this could either be seen as a continuation of edging jon and lando ooooor, just another version of them where jon gives lando what he needs because it's safer than letting him try to find someone else who might not be so trustworthy

jondo | oral fixation/mouth play | warning for gagging, choking, being a bit dangerous with plastic objects

for the kink generator ask game

****

It’s boring, when they have to wait around for the rain to clear. Lando’s hit over a hundred in a row playing keepy-uppy against the wall with his padel racket and one of Andrea’s stress balls.

Boring. Like Oscar when he refuses to rise to the bait of Lando’s challenge to try and beat him, retreating to his driver’s room to call his girlfriend, or something shit like that.

For the last five minutes, Lando’s been trying to get his mouth around the plastic of one of his water bottles.

He’s just about made it past the spout, the hard rim of black popping through the straining red sides of his lips. It stings, but in a good way, his eyes starting to water as he feels the smoother plastic start to slide in, the bit you suck on with your mouth poking at his uvula. He must be past the markings now, slipping down the 1000ml to the 900ml. He got to about 850 before, once, but the bottle was smaller. Thinner.

When Jon wanders in, right on time for his scheduled lunch, he doesn’t look as shocked as Lando wanted him to. Just rolls his eyes, chucking a plate of chicken wrap and badly cut vegetables onto the table.

“Lunch. Looks like that might hurt,” he comments. He cranes his neck, looking for Lando’s crotch. “Ah, maybe not.”

Lando smiles, or tries to anyway, the plastic suddenly feeling too hot in his mouth. He tries to tell Jon to fuck off, stop staring at his willy if he’s not going to do anything about it, but the only sound he makes is muffled, like he’s getting choked.

That’s when the panic starts to set in, a bit. He tries to pull at the bottle, but it’s not coming.

It’s stuck, he mumbles, but it just sounds like a hum.

“You bloody idiot,” Jon snorts, leaning close to Lando’s face, peering through his stupid big glasses. “Can you not get it out now?”

Lando tries to plead with his eyes, blinking out tears. Jon leaves it just long enough that he’s starting to feel his heart beat painfully against the shell of his chest before he gently puts a hand behind Lando’s head.

“You’ll have to relax,” Jon tells him. “Or it’s going nowhere.”

Lando tries, he really does, but it’s no use. He can feel himself going a bit faint, forgetting he can breathe through his nose.

He’s going to die with a big fuck off plastic bottle plugging his mouth. The photos of the crime scene will be all over the internet. Someone will leak them.

“I have to do everything around here,” Jon grumbles, as he steadies Lando’s head a bit firmer and hooks his finger in next to the plastic. “Stop moving.”

Lando grabs at his hand, because it fucking hurts, and the whole point is that his mouth is splitting open, so why is Jon sticking more in?

“Stop. Wriggling,” Jon says, teeth gritted, and his fingernails are digging into Lando’s scalp now. He can feel the bits of dandruff flaking off him. “I’m trying to help you, you muppet.”

The air Jon lets out through the corner when he pulls his finger out is enough to break the seal, and the bottle comes free. Lando breathes in deeply, coughing and retching as Jon pulls it out, the plastic covered in spit, bubbling in some of the deeper grooves on the lid.

“What was that about?” Jon asks, wiping the bottle on the expensive jacket Lando wore into the paddock that morning before he chucks it onto the pile to go to the hospitality dishwashers. “If I hadn’t been here you’d have had it, you idiot.”

“Knew you were coming, didn’t I?” Lando counters, picking up one of his crudités and sticking it in his mouth. It feels impossibly small after the bottle, and he clashes his teeth when he bites down too hard. The carrot chops in half, hitting against the swollen mess he’s made of the roof of his mouth before he can swallow it. “Wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?”

Jon puts two of his fingers back in Lando’s mouth, but gentler this time. He feels around the bits that are red, pink, in danger of bleeding or already well past that point. Lando can taste the metallic twang when he smacks his lips together, like when you pick at a spot on your lip, or have a nosebleed.

“You have to be more careful,” Jon says quietly, soothing his fingers along the inside of Lando’s cheek. It tickles, sensitive, and if he was hard before, he’s harder now. “It’s one thing wanting this-“

Jon flips his wrist over, and slides the rest of the fingers from one hand in until the bent part of his thumb bumps against Lando’s lips. It takes him by surprise, even though it’s what he set all this up for, eyelids fluttering at the intrusion.

“And another doing whatever that was.”

He jerks his head at the bottle, and Lando tries to make sure his eyes look understanding, sorry.

When he pulls his fingers out, Lando rasps it out too, to really hit home.

“Sorry Jon, I didn’t think it woul-”

“Fuck off,” Jon snorts, plugging his thumb into Lando’s mouth and waiting with it resting on his tongue until Lando accepts the peace offering, closing his mouth and sucking on the digit. It tastes a bit like peri-peri, like Jon’s already had his lunch. “You absolutely fucking did, you weirdo.”

Lando feels his cheeks go a bit pink, and there’s actually a bit of shame that creeps in. Wanting weird stuff comes naturally to him, but acting on it takes a bit of confidence. It’s the same in racing - he knows he’s good, he knows he can take it.

He just needs it to go well to kick him off.

Jon sighs, using his free thumb to swipe the tear on Lando’s cheek, and then he leans in.

“Since you got started, d’you want to finish off before you eat?”

Lando nods, so eagerly he moves Jon’s hand. It’s like they’re shaking on it.

“Idiot,” Jon says, but not unkindly, ruffling Lando’s curls. He pulls his thumb out with a pop. “Go on then, trousers off.”

They always do this before Lando eats, if they can, just in case. He’s never, not really, but he’s gagged a few times when it’s been too soon after a meal, or he’s downed a big glass of water.

Jon gets him to sit on the side of the bed, legs hanging off. They swing about, miles off touching the floor. Lando works himself up a bit, first, spitting on his hand and sliding it along his dick until a bit of pre starts to collect on his tip.

“Eager,” Jon comments, as he comes up beside him. “Open up then.”

They do two things in this position. Sometimes, Jon adjusts his neck, gently pressing it from side to side to work out a knot, relax a muscle.

And sometimes, he loops an arm around Lando’s head, holds it to his shoulder and sticks his full fist in his mouth, until Lando chokes, feeling fingernails brush the sensitive parts inside.

“That’s it,” he says, as he uses his free hand to slap Lando’s own off his dick, taking hold of it himself. “Good boy.”

Lando wishes he could see what he looks like, his dick red and leaking and Jon’s arm disappearing into his mouth at the wrist. The metal of the band for his whoop keeps bumping cold against the tip of Lando’s nose, so he knows he must be that deep. There’s a mirror on the wall, but it’s just a bit too far away.

Still, Lando points at it, even as his eyes roll back in his head, breathing as heavily as he can out of his nose. Unlike the bottle, he trusts Jon not to hurt him, not to push too far.

“Hmm?” Jon asks, following Lando’s finger, and then laughing. “Jesus, really? Fine, just… careful when you jump down.”

Between them, they manoeuvre him off the table, his legs shaking as Jon helps him across the room, still working over his dick. Lando closes his eyes, not wanting to see the full picture too soon, like not paying attention to the start of a reel and seeing the punchline before you get the set up.

“Look,” Jon commands, when they get in front of the mirror. “Come on, you wanted to see, didn’t you? So fucking look.”

Lando opens his eyes.

“What do you think?” Jon asks. “Do you like it?”

Lando nods, slurping around Jon’s hand. His mouth is full of saliva, bubbling out the corners like an overflowing bath.

Jon squeezes his dick, and spreads his fingers at the same time, and Lando loses it, coming into Jon’s hand, lightly splattering the mirror at the same time.

”Oh fuck,” Jon says, with a cheeky smile playing on his lips, the one he uses on the engineers when he’s doing the whole isn’t this one annoying thing like he doesn’t like shit just as weird as Lando does. “How fucking messy are you, mate?”

Jon steadies Lando’s head as he pulls his hand out, positioned over the sink to let him dribble and spit whatever he needs out into the ceramic, tap running to wash it away. He splashes Lando’s face with water, washing away the crusty bits at the sides of his mouth, and the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Outside, the rain has stopped.

“Let’s see you,” Jon’s voice is kind as he tilts Lando’s head up, using his phone torch to check the back of his mouth, like some kind of fucked up dentist. When he’s done, he leans in and kisses Lando. Just a peck. That’s all he ever does. “I think you’ll live.”

He looks to the window, a high rectangle angled so you can’t see through it, and smiles. The sun is starting to reflect on the bright white of the walls, making the room lighter, like a new dawn.

Over the walkie talkie in the corner, Andrea’s voice carries.

“Session will start in twenty-two minutes, everyone back to their places, please.”

Jon grins, nodding his head over the mirror, the drops congealing against the glass.

“Guess you’ll need to clean that up later, won’t you, mate?”

[bestsongby]

New Thoughts on Old Classics:

Hotel California, by the Eagles. 1976

Is it Essential? 

The Eagles (or, more specifically, Henley and Frey) were often viewed as cocaine-fueled El Lay misogynists. I think the cocaine-fueled and El Lay are indisputable, but is the misogynist tag a little unfair? Could be.

I’ve always been fascinated by Hotel California, the Eagles’ bazillion selling magnum opus, and how it plays with that perception in mind. 

Hotel California is the Eagles stretching their powers as far as the rubber band will allow before it snaps or loses its shape forever, which probably explains why their only subsequent release as an active band was the lackluster The Long Run, a collection of half-assed disco shuffles and by-the-numbers rockers. (aside from barely an Eagle Timothy B. Schmidt’s heartfelt soft rock gem “I Can’t Tell You Why,” and barely upright Eagle Joe Walsh’s catchy as fuck guitar rocker “In the City.”)

For what it’s worth, the stretched rubber band theory is one I apply to most great rock acts who spend any time working under the Album as Art theory of record making. (acknowledging that there have been many, many Not Great bands operating under this theory) The Beatles wisely realized they’d reached that point with Abbey Road, and packed it in before the slope slipped. The Stones began that climb with Beggar’s Banquet, and went from strength to strength until they reached their apex by plunging back down through the depths with Exile on Main St. The Kinks bucked the trend to some degree by releasing one pretty brilliant and one almost pretty brilliant album after their ultimate statement of intent, The Village Green Preservation Society. The Who…well, the Who never really got there. They fooled the world into believing Tommy was their Everest flag-planting, but the truth is Quadrophenia was a better album. All of which obscures the fact that the Who’s greatest album is Meaty, Beaty, Big and Bouncy, a perfect collection of classic singles, few of which managed to tickle the U.S. charts. 

And then there are the Loves (Forever Changes) and Zombies (Odessey & Oracle), who strayed outside their comfort zones long enough to produce single discs that stand up to the greatest of the Greatest, despite neither band ever really being truly among the Greatest. (and, yes, both bands were otherwise very, very good at times)

Whew. I digress.

Let’s start with this: Is Hotel California a great album?

I’d like to say it is, but it might not even be the Eagles’ best album. I think, assuming assessing a “best” of anything Eagles-related doesn’t make your stomach clench, an argument could be made for One of These Nights (the album that immediately preceded this one – which easily wins the battle of cover art, anyway). But Hotel California is the most Eagles of Eagles albums, and stands as the best summation of their moment in the sun. And, it marks that moment when tuneful music produced by strong personalities could dominate the American pop culture landscape like no other medium.

In hindsight, Hotel California, riding shotgun with Fleetwood Mac’s equally mammoth Rumours, stands as a signpost in a pivotal moment in pop culture’s de-evolution from artist-controlled playground to complete corporate takeover. The suits always knew there was money in the music, but, holy shit, this much money?

Hotel California is an arrogant, confident, pretentious, calculated work of fiction, and you can hum along to it. It’s dominated by Don Henley, but it’s the input of the other band members that prevents it from completely collapsing under its own weight.

So, in review, let’s start with the title track, which can almost definitely be tuned in somewhere on your terrestrial radio dial at this very moment.

“Hotel California” started as a killer guitar riff by lead guitarist Don Felder. (Fittingly, Felder, who primarily kept his head down and played the shit out of his guitar throughout the Eagles’ history, eventually became estranged from the band) Once Don Henley grafted his lyrics to the music, the song became the ultimate distillation of the Eagles’ Desert Cocaine Tableau. Most of the group’s biggest hits were pretty direct, lyrically. A woman either pissed them off, or a woman was invited to lay down in the desert with them. Or sometimes the women were left behind while the band wrote their own desperado inspired mythology. But the fragmented imagery in “Hotel California” could only really make sense if the listener has a straw permanently lodged up his nose. The Witchy Woman of the past becomes the hostess of a demonic hostel where pink champagne replaces wine and pretty boys dance endlessly in sweat drenched courtyards. It seems as if the Hotel California is a place to run to and to run from, and we’re pretty sure Henley is only lamenting the “mirrors on ceiling” because all of his coke is now going to wind up on the floor.

With all of that said, the interplay between the guitars is deathless, and even vague descriptions of driving through the desert at night are enough to conjure up personal imagery for anyone confused as to what “colitas” is (are?). (The fact that the Eagles played an acoustic version of this live is either proof that they’re assholes, or that, like Eric Clapton’s tedious acoustic return to “Layla,” they just don’t quite understand the reasons for their own success – Felder trumps Henley here, and that’s that)

With that out of the way, we catch our breath and listen to the gang take it down a notch (with the help of JD Souther – the Eagles were never lacking for talented SoCal co-conspirators, starting at the beginning with Jackson Browne) with “New Kid in Town,” which, damn it, is pretty unassailable, musically. It’s got hooks for days, lush production that never swamps the tune, and a sincere, understated vocal performance from Glenn Frey, backed by great group harmonies. What? The lyrics? Well, okay. The woman is doing him wrong (in the third person, for some reason – maybe it’s not manly to admit you’re the one being cuckolded?), and she’s not living up to her end of the bargain, and…

Okay, you get the point. It’s a Henley/Frey lyric.

“Life in the Fast Lane” (It’s interesting to note the band led the album off with Hotel California’s only three single releases – all smash hits, of course) kicks in next, and we’re reminded overtly of the cocaine. It’s a great radio rocker – guitar licks weaving in and out, featuring maybe the slickest production on the album, and Henley doesn’t spare the dude in the equation this time, letting us know that both parties are feeding each other’s sinful excesses (sex and drugs). It’s a tale as old as Los Angeles, and the spoken “are you with me so far” dropped in by Henley manages to insult the listener almost by accident. (yeah, we’re with you, Don! Sex and drugs go hand-in-hand with rock and roll, brother! Revelation!)

And then we roll into “Wasted Time.” In which Henley (boy, so far, this is really a Don disc more than a Glenn disc) strains to let the poor dumb broad who left him know that she’s done nothing but fuck up her love life by fucking the wrong dudes, and, most importantly, by leaving Henley. It’s definitely this type of sentiment that allows critics to glue the MYSOGYNY label on our heroes. It never occurs to Don that this girl might have made the right choice in leaving a dude who not only plods through an orchestrated piano ballad about the terrible decisions she’s made, but backs it up with an orchestral reprise to hammer the point home. (the reprise actually originally opened side two, just to make sure you couldn’t escape the sentiment by flipping over the album – the fucking Eagles led off side two of their biggest album with an orchestral reprise. Admire their balls)

The sequencing of Hotel California comes across as pretty messy in the era of the compact disc/digital album, with the “Wasted Time(s)” dropped right smack into the middle of things, and “Life in the Fast Lane” book-ending the song(s) with the next track up…

And it’s another Henley rocker (what demons was Frey battling in 1976 that allowed him to take such a backseat to his his white ‘fro-sporting partner?), “Victim of Love.” It’s a catchy rocker about…some poor dumb broad. I hate to harp on the cocaine, but how much of it was Stevie Nicks doing to think Henley was a fun dude to party with? Anyway, this one is another radio staple, despite never being released as a single. Truthfully, all the album really needed was “Life in the Fast Lane” to remind us the boys could rock a little. But here they slowed it down a notch in case you had trouble keeping up with them the first time. 

And then, out of nowhere, we’re dropped into Joe Walsh’s melancholy reflection on life, “Pretty Maids All in a Row.” I can’t say exactly what the Eagles were thinking when they pulled Walsh into the band (”Hey – this dude makes us look sober!”), but I’d be hard-pressed to believe they anticipated his first recorded contribution would be such a beautiful, naked sentiment, punctuated not with his trademark guitar rips, but by piano and synthesizer. It’s a jarring shift in tone, helping the album achieve an eclectic vibe it was struggling to achieve with Henley dominating the proceedings, and all the more powerful for it.

Anyway, great track. And it’s followed by another great track.

Backing up “Pretty Maids” is, for my money, the best track on the album, and one of the most overlooked songs in the band’s catalog. No coincidence it’s a Randy Meisner song. “Try and Love Again” is a soaring, hopeful rocker, punctuated by Meisner’s upper register, and some truly uplifting guitar soloing. It’s a mystery why this track wasn’t released as a single, unless Henley and Frey were still annoyed that Meisner’s “Take It to the Limit” was the band’s first number one single. But it’s the one track from the album I find myself revisiting most often, without apology. It’s also worth noting that while Meisner’s lyric is treading on self-pity, he’s not blaming a chick for his problems. 

At this point we’ve wound our way through a collection of hit singles, timeless riffs, and a couple of contributions from lesser used band members that stand up to the hits. It’s hard to say there’s a definite theme at play here, although California and Los Angeles are definite players on the scene. So it’s up to Henley, again, to hammer things home with the most pretentious track in the Eagles’ entire catalog.

“The Last Resort” answers the question, “What if Randy Newman didn’t have a sense of humor?” A confused history of California (and over seven minutes long, to punctuate its importance as a statement), complete with references to the “Red Man” and Malibu and all of those bright lights that sullied the landscape, presented by a group that pretty actively moved closer and closer to the neon the further their hitmaking prowess ascended. The song starts as a literal travelogue about a girl from Providence (”The one in Rhode Island”), and then slips into a reminder that California has really succeeded at excess, which is evidently a bad thing.

In the end, it’s all the preacher’s fault, anyway. One suspects that Henley (and Frey?) realized he wasn’t really headed toward any logical conclusions with this one, and the lesson we’re left with is that the missionaries traded the Red Man’s peace of mind and started us on the path toward…well…all of that cocaine and colitas, I guess. (it is a pretty tune, though)

And that’s it. Nine songs (split into ten tracks), three hit singles, and 38 million copies sold.

Is Hotel California essential? In terms of understanding the “evolution” of pop culture, it’s an essential landing point for those curious how Los Angeles went from acoustic canyon-dwelling hippie haven to the paranoid personal driveway for limos filled with coke-addled celebrities wearing sunglasses at midnight because the lights fuck with what’s left of their peripheral vision.

But in the battle of juggernaut Los Angeles pop albums, Rumours creams Hotel California because Fleetwood Mac can be heard shutting out the world and wrestling with their relationships while coincidentally at the peak of their songwriting and performing abilities, whereas the Eagles were trying to make statements without much to state. Rumours is essential. Hotel California sounds good when you’re not paying attention too closely. 

[inkedmyths]

Monstrous roars and mistakes

Wow, another update within only a couple days? Wow Myth, you crazy.

Almost as crazy as this update.

Also, special thanks to @thehufflepuffleboi and @spacemalarkey for inspiring some of the events in this chapter

Also @theonlytrashpanda you said you wanted a ping when I posted it

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"What are we hiding from?"

They were crouching down behind a crumbling stone wall, one of the few pieces of cover in the nearby area. Most of the surroundings at this point were hills and grasses, the trees having dwindled behind them. They'd ducked suddenly at Wild's insistence, though Twilight was still unsure as to why.

"Shut up, Frog Foot!"

"Excuse me?" Twilight blinked incredulously at Feral, who grinned while he put a finger to his lips.

"You heard me. Now be quiet!"

Twilight had to bite down to keep from snapping back. Just like Feral to give him a ridiculous nickname over that incident.

Wild gestured at them both. Be quiet, he signed. Then he paused, glancing at Twilight as though a thought occurred to him.

You're good, go on, Twilight signed back.

Relief flickered in Wild's eyes. Didn't think to ask if you knew sign. Sorry.

Twilight waved him off. It's fine. What are we doing?

Plotting, Feral replied.

What for?

You never approach a - Twilight wasn't sure what that sign was, he'd never seen it before - unprepared.

A what? I didn't catch that.

L - Y - N - E - L. Wild signed each individual letter, then repeated the sign Feral had used. Must be a sign specific to their Hyrule, he guessed.

What's that?

Wild paused before moving quietly to the edge of the rock. Peeking around the corner, he waited a moment before gesturing to Twilight to come over. He followed the example set and was careful to steady himself silently as he peered over the top of the younger hero's head. What he saw made him suddenly understand the need for stealth.

It was definitely a monster, no question about it, but it was no monster he'd ever seen. Even from far away he could tell it was huge, likely more than twice his height. It had the lower body of a powerful horse, but where the head would normally be was the meaty torso of a humanoid. Thick arms no doubt capable of delivering a blow like a rock slide held some sorts of objects (weapons, he guessed by the sunlight glinting now and again). A mane that blazed like fire burst from the head of the beast, that turned this way and that as it plodded slowly through the grasses.

He slipped back behind the rock. Yikes, he signed, grimacing. Looks nasty.

It is, Wild signed back.

I was wondering why we ducked out of the way so suddenly.

Sorry. There isn't one here, usually. Wild frowned as he signed this.

Since the fall of the Calamity, they no longer seem to be bound to one place, Feral commented.

Yeah, true. But I'm fairly sure there were none even close to this area!

Maybe it's on vacation.

Okay, Twilight signed, gesturing to get their attention before they got to preoccupied with monster vacations. Regardless of why, it's here for now. What's the plan?

I'm surprised you're not making one, Feral signed, raising an eyebrow in what Twilight was quickly associating as his signature expression.

Your Hyrule, your monster. You two have experience with this kind of monster. I don't.

Wild tapped his chin thoughtfully. Well, in theory we could just go around it. The issue there is the possibility it will notice us as we try and sneak by.

I say we do operation Y - A - H - A - H - A.

Yahaha? Twilight was lost. Operation what now?

Wild, on the other hand, was grinning. Sure, why not? Sounds like fun.

Fun? Uh oh. Considering the appearance of the 'lynel', as they called it, fun was the last thing he thought of. That could only mean bad things. Hang on-

But Feral had already disappeared. Literally. He dissolved into the shadow of the wall, and within seconds it was as if he was never there. Vaguely, Twilight registered this ability was important information, but he was a bit preoccupied by his other thoughts. Namely the ones that said this was probably going to go very badly in a moment.

Wild had scooted out from behind the wall, and was slowly making his way around the lynel, inching closer with each step. Twilight saw that he'd pulled out a bow and some arrows.

The beast paused. It's great head sniffed the air, searching. It slowly turned, ears pricked as it's path changed to a direct course for Wild. The closer it got, the more tense it seemed, the more positive it seemed of a presence. Twilight wanted to yell at Wild to move, to retreat, but he knew that wouldn't help anything. He saw the hero draw back his bow, arrow readied. The beast grew closer, pulling its weapons up in ready position-

"YAHAHA!"

Feral leaped out of the shadows near the beast's feet, startling it to its hind legs. At the same moment, Wild fired off the arrow, which exploded on impact on the creature. Bomb arrows? Feral launched himself up and grabbed on the creature's mane, whooping in a decidedly too excited manner. Twilight thought he could hear him say "You found me!" over the lynel's enraged roars.

Dear Hylia help him. Twilight sighed, gathered his thoughts, and drew his sword. Unknown monster or no, he was a hero. He'd improvised plenty of times, and lived to tell the tale. Better that he learn how to deal with this monster first hand then just watch. Dashing out from behind the rock, he joined Wild as the lynel rampaged, trying to shake the shadowy nuisance off.

"A bomb arrow? That was your plan?!"

Wild shrugged. "Does a lot of damage from the get go. These things can take awhile to take down." He traded out the bow for the Master Sword and ran forward. Pivoting to avoid a hoof as it kicked out, he slashed at the lynel's side as it raged by.

Feral, meanwhile was cackling madly on top of the furious monster. He'd drawn his own sword and was slashing repeatedly at its arms and head. This only seemed to make the beast angrier, and it increased its vehement bucking. One arm reached back to grab the shadow, but he dodged, using the mane as a hold to swing himself out of the way. With one last slash across the lynel's chest, he dropped and rolled out of the way.

Incensed, the beast roared it's fury, brandishing its weapons in preparation to counter the pesky lifeforms that dared challenge it. Wild was once again next to Twilight.

"The trick is to not get hit by it."

"That's the trick with every monster!" Twilight hissed.

He stared up at the fearsome beast, sizing it up. It was truly a sight to behold, and not one he relished in. Muscles rippled under thick, red skin. A sword and shield that looked able to tear and break in unison were brandished by unyielding arms. Eyes a sickly, brilliant yellow glared them down, malice emanating from its gaze. He also noted a bow and a quiver of arrows on its back, making it capable of still attacking at long range.

Twilight had never seen a lynel in his life. Never even heard of one until now. Yet, looking at the looming beast, he couldn't help but feel something was off with it. He couldn't be sure what, but his instincts were blaring alarm bells all over the place. Was it just the beast being unfamiliar with his experiences? He glanced at Wild, who was brandishing the Master Sword in preparation for another go, which dripped with the lynel's blood from his attack-

His veins turned to ice.

Twilight put his hand out to try and tell him to stop, to hold on, wait a moment, but it was too late. Wild charged forward, swinging the blade upwards to knock the beast's swing off its course. He slashed at it's feet as he ran by. A roar of rage answered. The huge blade of the monster followed Wild, but he rolled to the side as it carved out a divet in the soil where his feet had been. Feral took advantage of the switch in focus, slashing at one of the front legs of the beast before flipping away.

They had to stop. This was really bad. "Feral, Wild! Hold on a minute!"

But his yells fell on deaf ears. Possibly literally, he thought, as the enraged monster gave another earsplitting roar. The two of them slashed and hacked at the lynel, neither seeming to notice what Twilight had. It was clear they wouldn't listen to him. He had to do something...

Then the beast stopped, inhaled. And when it exhaled, a blast of fire seared past him, singeing the edges of his cloak. At that point, instinct took over.

He sprinted forward to where Wild was. Without pause, he picked him up and slung him over his shoulder. Wild yelped in confusion. "No time to explain." Twilight could feel something hot and slick drip on his arm, and knew the younger hero had gotten injured. Worry about that later. Keep running.

He streaked past Feral, who protested as he scooped him up in his free arm. No time to talk, no time to deal with this. Keep running.

The lynel's thunderous roars boomed behind them as it realized they were getting away. Twilight recalled the bow and quiver on its back, and resolved to run faster. Then, he heard a distant snap. Keep running.

"Shock arrows!" Wild yelled. Twilight changed course immediately, and he felt the electricity crackle at his heels as the arrows barely missed.

He ended up dodging three volleys of shock arrows before finally the roars faded behind them. After a moment he slowed his pace, but only a little. He didn't want to take any risks.

"What's the big idea? We were doing fine!" Feral grumbled. He kicked out, but Twilight ignored it.

"I'm sure he had a good reason, Feral."

"Really? Well I'd sure like to hear it."

"Just wait a second!"

"I want to know now- are you bleeding?"

"Uh..."

"You're bleeding."

"Only a little! That last swing nicked my arm."

"'Nicked'? Dude, you're bleeding all over Twi's arm."

" 's not that bad."

"I bet that's why he grabbed us."

Twilight spotted the ruins of a building up ahead. It wasn't completely destroyed, and he knew they needed to stop at some point. The sun was getting low in the sky. He slowed, and walked onto the ruined threshold.

"Finally! I'm tired of being carried like a sack of potatoes." Feral complained. "Put me down!"

Twilight dropped him.

While Feral complained about that being rude and that the ground was cold, he was more careful in setting Wild down. He held out his hand expectantly. Wild, somewhat reluctantly, held out his arm. Twilight examined the injury. While it was definitely more than a minor scratch, it wasn't as bad as he'd initially thought. The cut was several centimeters long, but seemed to be relatively shallow. The important thing would be making sure it didn't get infected. Rummaging through his bag produced several first aid supplies, and he immediately set about tending the wound. A little health potion and a bandage later, the wound was wrapped and taken care of. "There, that should do it."

Wild examined the bandage. "Thanks."

"Alright, now that Wild is no longer getting blood everywhere, I want answers!" Feral crossed his arms, making a face somewhere between a scowl and a pout. "Other than Wild's arm, everything was fine! We've taken down plenty of those things in the past."

Twilight sighed. "I'm sure you have, but there was something wrong with that one."

"How do you know? You didn't even know what it was until today!"

"Feral, don't be rude!" Wild looked somewhat nervously between his shadow and the older hero.

Twilight shook his head. "No, it's a valid point. However, I say that because I've seen it in other monsters."

"What do you mean? Seen what?" Feral still looked skeptical, but that was becoming overpowering by curiosity.

"Wild, the sword."

Wild looked confused, but pulled out the Master Sword onto his lap. Twilight looked it over, humming and nodding.

"Unless I am mistaken, that's not a normal thing for blood to do, even a monster's."

Wild and Feral looked at the sword, and for the first time noticed something was happening. The blood from the Lynel was hissing. Faint tendrils of darkness streamed away like smoke in the wind. Much of it was gone by this point, evaporated into nothingness. What was left was dark, too dark.

"What the-" Feral started, then paused, squinting at the vanishing stains.

Wild was wide-eyed. "No, it doesn't - it shouldn't - I, I haven't..." He swallowed, then, quieter: "This isn't normal, no."

Twilight nodded. "That's what I thought. The lynel was unnaturally empowered. It was too risky to stick around and try and fight it off when it wasn't really necessary."

Wild nodded slowly. "Okay that makes sense. See, I told you there was a reason Feral." A moment's silence, and Wild looked up. "Feral?"

The shadow was fixated on the remnants of the blood as it spiraled away on the wind. Twilight hadn't seen Feral so quiet and still. It was unnerving. Slowly, he reached out a hand to the sword, waving it through the wisps trailing off of it. His gaze was unreadable.

"Feral?" Wild asked again, looking worried. "Is everything alright?"

"I didn't notice."

"What?"

"I didn't notice. How didn't I notice? It should have been obvious- !" His brow furrowed in frustration, and he clenched his outstretched hand.

Wild reached out a hand in an attempt to calm him. "Hey, Feral it's okay! We were too busy fighting to notice-"

"No!" Feral jumped to his feet, too fast for a normal person. "I should have noticed! I should have sensed it!" Twilight had to resist the urge to reach for a weapon. He knew by now Feral wasn't a threat to him or Wild, but it was hard to fight instinct. Especially given the fact that Feral seemed to be upset enough that his hold on his form was slipping. Edges of his clothes blurred, darkness curling around his hands and hair as he paced.

"Feral..." Wild seemed at a loss, but stood up. "Hey." He crossed the broken stone floor to his shadow, gently placing his hand on his shoulder. "It's alright. Everything is okay. We're okay."

Feral stiffened, but after a moment seemed to calm down slightly. His form re-solidified, and the shadows dissipated. "Right. Okay."

"Yeah. It's okay." Wild patted his shoulder. "Why are you so upset about not sensing that there was something wrong?"

Feral looked as though he might get agitated again, but bit his lip. "I just... I should have noticed the darkness before. I can't believe I didn't notice until Twilight pointed it out. It should have been glaringly obvious."

"Why's that?"

Feral was silent for a moment. "You remember how we've talked about how light and dark each come in many different forms?"

"Right. Like how the type of light manifested in the Sword is related but different from the light in the Bow?" Twilight didn't quite follow the comparison, but Feral seemed to.

"Yeah."

"So you're saying the darkness in the lynel should have been more-" Wild paused. "That you think you should have noticed it sooner?"

"Exactly."

"Why?"

Feral stared at the sword. "For one thing, it's very different from the Malice of monsters. It's only as related as far as all darkness is related. For another, it's... unique."

"Unique? Have you seen it before?"

"I have, plenty, but... I've only seen it come from one source, and this definitely didn't come from that."

Suddenly, Feral's reaction made sense to Twilight. Of course. No wonder he was so agitated about it. He was a fool for not considering the possibility of him reacting to it earlier.

Wild furrowed his brow. "How do you know it isn't from that source?"

"Because that source is me."

[paladin-andric]

Happily Ever Afters: Eignach

In honor of the upcoming holidays, I’m going to be posting some Christmas related stories! Up first is the journey of Eignach, the urchin from Genmere who somehow found all his dreams coming true. Below are two perspectives, one of how hard he had it as a child, and one many years later, celebrating the holidays with his love. His tale is surprisingly inspiring now; when I first wrote him he was just “Razorwing’s bf”. It’s nice to look back and see how much he’s developed, both in my setting and as his own person. Read under the cut.

Tag list: @thereisnothingwrongwithbeingmad, @lady-redshield-writes, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @sheralynnramsey, @tawnywrites, @writer-on-time, @oceanwriter, @zwergis-spilledink, @fluffpiggy, @elliewritesfantasy, @homesteadchronicles, @laurenwastestimewriting, @elaynab-writing, @the-ichor-of-ruination, @candy687, @fierywords, @shewrites-sometimes, @nerds-and-nebulae, @purpleshadows1989

“Hiya, mister Jacob!

A small, all black koutu ran up to the store counter, hopping excitedly. Even with jet black feathers all over the koutu’s body Jacob could tell he was filthy. In addition, he wore a sleeveless shirt and shorts, both gray, dirty and torn.

The bearded man behind the counter gave him a smile. “Aah, Eignach! How are you today?”

“Oh, good I guess!” the child answered back bashfully. “Erm, so I was wondering if you had anything for me today…?” Eignach stared up at the man with wide, hopeful eyes.

Jacob knew this child well. Eignach was a common sight in this less well-off part of the city. Genmere was pretty well-off, being the capital city of Geralthin and the trade hub of the known world, but that didn’t stop the occasional bout of hard luck…especially when it came to orphans.

Eignach was one such orphan, having lost his parents to a monster attack outside the walls. With no other family and no one to take care of him, he ended up on the street. The orphanages of Genmere were already full due to a recent war up north, and so none could take him in.

Jacob sighed. He didn’t need the help, and he’d rather spare the money, but he wasn’t about to leave this kid without a way to make money. He needed it to buy food, to stay alive…

“Well, I suppose my yard’s a bit of a mess. Think you could water it and pull the weeds?”

“Sure thing, mister Jacob! I’d love to!”

Eignach bolted towards the back door, fidgeting excitedly as Jacob plodded over. The adult unlocked the door and headed outside, where the back of his property lay in relative disuse. He barely came back here and it showed. The yard was mostly empty save a few tools lying about, and a small, short fence was all that separated it from the streets.

Jacob looked down and picked up a large, heavy pail full of stagnant water. It had been sitting there for weeks, but…

“Alright, just dump this around the yard, I guess. Don’t go drinking it though, you’ll get sick!”

He thrust the huge pail into Eignach’s talons, who quickly buckled and strained as he tried to keep it held up. “Urg, hng…s-sure thing, mister Jacob!”

“Once you’re done, pull out all those weeds, and all those dandelions and clovers too.”

“Y-you got it, sir!”

“Take your time. I’ll be inside. If you need anything, let me know, alright?”

“Y-you bet!”

“Alright, I’ll come back to see how you’re doing later! Pace yourself, now!”

Jacob entered the store again and closed the door behind him. He trusted Eignach, not that there was really anything for the child to steal back there anyway.

The shop owner sat down behind the counter and kicked his feet up, taking the papers he left there and beginning to flip through them.

Huh…this Razorwing fellow just killed ANOTHER dragon. Been hearing his name a lot lately…a lotta dopes wanting to be adventurers come through here, but he sounds like the real deal. Hmm…a crash in the chocolate market? That’s odd…trade wars with the Federation? Dumb turtles…huh! Says here a paladin just vanquished some cult, too. Lotta weird things going on lately…

Jacob continued thumbing through the news that the Drake Express had published, noting that while news had been slow for a long while, things had been ramping up the past year.

More heresies, buncha incidents on the human-koutu border, strange happenings in the south…hmm…what’s going on, I wonder?

Jacob’s casual perusal was interrupted by what sounded like shouting. Very loud shouting, by several different voices…coming from his back yard.

“What the hell…?”

He quickly put the papers down and stood up, hurrying over to the back door and throwing it open.

The sight before him was not what he had expected.

Eignach was surrounded by a large group of boys, all older and bigger than himself. He was on his knees, cowering as they pulled and hit him.

“It hurts! Stop! Stop it!”

“What are you gonna do about it, birdy? Squawk? Come on, squawk for me.”

“Please…”

Jacob’s face was beet red as he opened his mouth and bellowed “HEY!” at the top of his lungs.

The children all froze and turned to look at the furious man. He was quite tall and imposing in appearance, but this angry he was something else.

“You little rats! I oughta whip you all half to DEATH!”

The human children all yelled and began scurrying, jumping over the fence and rushing back into the city. The man ran to the fence and raised his fist in the air.

“If I ever catch you here again, I’ll give you the beating of your life!”

“I’m telling father!” one of the well-to-do boys called back.

“Then I’ll beat his ass too, you little snot-nosed brat!”

Jacob sighed and shook his head as the last of the children vanished into the city. He turned and looked over at the koutu, walking over and kneeling down next to him. He extended his hand. “Are you okay, Eignach?”

The crow sniffled as he accepted the man’s help, getting pulled to his feet and then staggering over to the tree stump in the middle of the yard. His shirt had a new tear, larger than all the others. His face grew wet as he began to cry.

“M-mister Jacob? W-why is everyone…so mean?”

“They’re idiots, Eignach. Don’t think about them.”

The child wiped at his face, looking more crestfallen than Jacob could ever remember him looking. “I-I hate it here…”

“I know, I know. It’s gonna be alright, Eignach.”

“I miss mother and father…”

Jacob’s face grew sullen at those words. He knew Eignach’s story, and his heart was heavy at the reminder of it.

“T-the guards don’t let me back in my house. They said it’s not ours anymore, that mother and father are gone. I don’t understand…did they leave because they hate me?”

The man’s eyes went wide. “N-no, no, Eignach! They don’t hate you! Of course they don’t! They’re your parents! They love you!”

“T-then why don’t they come back?”

So young, so innocent…Jacob could only look down and try his best to comfort him. “They can’t. It’s not their choice. They were forced. They miss you, Eignach, just like you miss them. If it was up to them they’d be here right now.”

“I wish they were…I wish they were here with me…I wish they’d protect me…”

The shop owner felt a great deal of pity for the little misfit. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to find a place to call his own, and sought out nice adults like Jacob for guidance and validation. “They wish they were too, Eignach…but you have to stay strong for them, alright? They want you to be happy.”

“I’m not happy.”

Jacob nearly started crying too. Here was a small, young child, at his most important moments in life, where he would be shaped into the man he would be when he grew up, when he should be learning and growing and having fun and living with friends and family…and he was a homeless urchin without a soul to bond with, doing hard labor to scrape by, sleeping in back alleys and crying to himself when the other kids bullied him.

Eignach seemed surprised when Jacob leaned down and gave him a hug. Jacob was surprised, too, but for a different reason.

…man, this kid STINKS.

The crow child sniffled and accepted the hug, wings wrapping around the man.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Jacob assured him. Eignach could only barely keep himself from breaking down like this.

“Y-you’ll be my friend, right, Jacob?”

“Of course.”

They remained like this for a while longer, Eignach not wanting to let go. It gave him vague memories of years ago, when his family was still alive, and his mother would lovingly cradle him and whisper lullabies to him…

He felt a little cold and alone when Jacob broke the hug, but when he looked up the warm smile the man was giving him put him at ease. “Say, Eignach, forget the weeds. Why don’t you come with me? I think you deserve an easy day after all that.”

The koutu wiped his eyes. “W-what do you mean?”

“I mean we’ll take you to the bathhouse, get you and your clothes washed, I’ll treat you to dinner, and rent you an inn room for the night. How does that sound?”

Eignach’s eyes lit up. “T-that sounds wonderful!”

“Great! Come on, let’s get started. You reek!”

“Sure thing, mister Jacob!”

The crow eagerly followed the shopkeep back inside, eyes alight as he considered the day ahead. No dirt in his feathers, fresh clothes, a full stomach and a roof over his head…

…maybe someday, he could live like that every day.

------------------------------------

Many years later...

------------------------------------

Winter Music

The living room was warm, both in color and temperature. A roaring fire before the couch and a smattering of themed decorations around the carpeted room gave a lovely, inviting appearance where once could relax in a harmonious setting.

Outside, snow fell from the sky in a great flurry, and the darkness was only broken by distant lights on the horizon. The snow had piled up quite a bit on the ground, not a twig or blade of grass in sight. It must have been utterly freezing, but inside, it was as if one was in a different world.

Two koutu stood beside one another before the tree. It was decorated in various ornaments, some purchased, some handmade. It was tradition to bring in a tree for the day that awaited them tomorrow. This was a cultural side effect of the decision the koutu made to embrace humanity’s faith. Tomorrow was Creation Day, a religious observance of God’s kindness and mercy, and now the koutu celebrated it just the same as humans.

The tree had been brought in by hand, and Razorwing had wowed Eignach with his great might, cutting down and carrying in the thing with little effort.

Now, with all the other decorations in place, the small crow stepped forward and offered the final piece to complete the tree. Eignach, smiling widely, rose his arms to place it upon a high branch.

A large, ornamental heart, with the heads of two avians resting against one another inside.

He stepped back to admire it, and the tree as a whole. Razorwing put an arm around his shoulder.

“Looks wonderful, eh?”

“Sure does,” he answered quietly.

The pair of them stood admiring the tree for a while, other thoughts in their minds forgotten. It had been quite a journey up to this point. So many long years as orphans, the adventuring on Razorwing’s part and the skulking the streets in disguise on Eignach’s part, both many miles apart in different kingdoms…

How did fate allow them to be together like this?

“Hey…” Eignach’s voice was hesitant and shaky.

“Yes?”

“Do you…do you think it’ll be like this…forever?”

Razorwing turned and looked at the younger man. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…us. I spent my entire life never having seen you, on the streets of Genmere, wandering around without a home, without a purpose, a-and all of a sudden…I have a home. I have…a place I belong. It’s strange…I never knew what it was like to have a home, or a family, or a love, or anything…I’m just curious…is this how life is supposed to be? It feels too good to be true.”

Razorwing gave him a warm smile and pulled him closer. “Of course it is. You were just unlucky…as I was. I had to claw myself to this position, and it’s not one I intend to throw away. You know I’ll never leave, and we’ve been over this before…you’re not a guest anymore; you’re family. This is your home, too. We’ll live here as long as we’re together, and I get the feeling that’s not going to end in this life or the next.”

Eignach felt his eyes watering. He dove into Razorwing, pulling him into a tight hug as he squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in the other man’s shirt.

Razorwing’s expression softened, and he returned the hug, looking down at the crow latched onto him. He patted his back and let out a quiet “You’re safe,” as the other koutu quivered.

“Y-you are too,” Eignach said, his voice muffled by all the cloth and feathers.

“Hmm?”

“I love you, Domnall.”

The utterance of that name broke Razorwing’s stoic visage for a moment. Only two people in the world knew him by that name; Eignach…and the one that abused him in his younger years.

Admitting the truth of his life before “Razorwing” and giving him his real name was a massive amount of trust that Razorwing had placed in Eignach…and he had no reason to believe that trust would ever be broken.

His smile returned as he remembered where he was. The old bag of bones and feathers would never trouble him again. Like the crow had just said, he was safe here, with him.

“I love you too, Eignach.”

In a world of their own, the pair embraced on this most holy day of kindness and love.

[sobiwanfan]

Second Chances

‘What’s that noise?’ whispered Saché, her fingers twiddling over the holster of her royal pistol. Sabé, Ellé, Moteé and she had been serving in the Alderaanian court since Senator Padmé Amidala’s death as Princess Leia Organa’s personal body guards. ‘Hush,’ Sabé said, waving her silent, her own pistol in her hand. It just after the second hour of the morning, pitch dark clouds overhanging the mountains surrounding the capital. There were rumours that the year-old princess’s life was at stake ever since Viceroy Organa made another offensive motion against Emperor in the senate. Footsteps plodded in the hallway and then two blaster shots fired. Saché fell without a sound. ‘Captain, he’s here,’ Sabé called into her comms. There was no time to mourn her fellow handmaiden, for the princess’s life was threatened. Swiftly, Sabé entered the princess’s chamber, just as another shot hit the door. The invader was coming and within a matter of seconds, the door was broken down. She was prepared for the bounty hunter, but her shots bounced off his armour. The bounty hunter fired at her, but she ducked and rolled, hitting his leg between the plates of armour. He cried out just as she tripped him. He fell forwards and fired up his jet pack. Sabé fired another round of shots, causing his jetpack to overheat. He stripped off the pack before it exploded, sending it hurtling across the room and blasting a hole in the wall on the far side. He fired at her again, hitting her straight in the torso. Clutching her middle, she fell to the ground. Assuming she was dead, the bounty hunter moved back to grab the child. Sabé laid there for a moment, but would not give up. She would not fail Padmé. Sabé struggled to her feet and took hold of a heavy metal tray. With all of the strength she possessed, Sabé tottered towards the bounty hunter and swung straight for his head. The blow was so hard, it knocked his helmet clean off and he toppled to the floor. Tears from the pain clouded her vision, but Sabé wouldn’t be satisfied until he was dead or the royal guards arrested him. She stood over the fallen body, aiming her pistol, but before she could fire, the bounty hunter got to his knees and with a great force, took a swing at her. Sabé was sent flying backwards and before she hit the floor, she heard a sharp crack in the arm she had used to prevent her head from slamming into the wall. The wind knocked out of her, she collapsed with a cry of pain. Now the blaster wound to her abdomen ached so fiercely she was slowly losing consciousnesses. The bounty hunter rose to his feet and made for the young princess once more. Sabé fired at him continuously, barely able to focus on her target, but she refused to pass out until she knew she had successfully prevented the bounty hunter from abducting Padmé’s daughter. 

It had been over a year since his arrival on Tatooine, delivering Senator Padmé Amidala’s firstborn into the hands of his aunt and uncle. Still overcome with penitence and grief over the loss of his former padawan, Obi-Wan had learnt to commune with the spirit of his former master, though he didn’t feel he was progressing as he should. The irony that Qui-Gon said he needed to be patient, that guilt and grief would ebb away in time, only caused it to sting all the more. He had so often rebuked Anakin for his lack of patience. But this evening, Obi-Wan’s dreams were disrupted by haunting images of Padmé’s other child being kidnapped. This vision was superseded by a ripping ache in his abdomen as if it had been torn apart from within. In less than a minute, Obi-Wan was up and making sure Qui-Gon’s spirit would be able to watch over Luke once again in his absence. It was not long before his ship was coming out of hyperspace in the Alderaan system. His security codes and the fact he was flying a Jedi Starfighter lent him little wait before being allowed to land in the city centre. Much like his former apprentice, Obi-Wan jumped out of the ship and was flying past the guards, sensing his way towards the quarters of the baby princess. He hoped it would be under control and that this flight had been needless on his part, but he was compelled by the Force to come here. Shots were being fired from within the princess’s chamber, so he was forced to ignore the fallen handmaiden outside the door. He stepped through the destroyed entrance, lightsaber at the ready. Obi-Wan charged at the bounty hunter and took his life. Padmé’s daughter cooed in her sleep, seemingly unaffected by the tussle. It was then he noticed another handmaiden, sprawled on the ground, pistol in hand. With her royal robe and hood shadowing her face, he didn’t recognise her, but as he stooped over her form to see if she was still alive, he knew her to be Sabé. Sabé felt someone checking her pulse and blinked her eyes open. It had to be a dream. She hadn’t seen him in ages. ‘Obi-Wan…’ she mumbled. ‘Protect…Princess…’ ‘Save your energy,’ Obi-Wan instructed, examining her torso where blood was seeping through her gown. His hand hovered over the wound, straining to close it with the Force. He had never been particularly talented with healing though he could nudge someone’s mind to persuade them with the Force without blinking an eye. He closed his eyes in order to focus. He didn’t know how long he remained in a healing trance though he could vaguely hear voices buzzing in the background. The blaster wounds were too deep, he felt, though it only compelled him to concentrate harder. He would not give up. Peace. Calm. He repeated the mantra in his head, straining to clear his thoughts as he strove to heal her wounds, but his mind kept wandering. His trance gave way to dream visions. He saw a house, larger than his current hut on Tatooine. There were flowers in the garden and some sort of device hanging from one of the larger tree branches. He approached it, testing it for...durability. He heard a young boy squealing as he ran past him. ‘Come back here, Laic!’ came the voice of a young girl. ‘I'm gonna get you!’ Laic looked up at Obi-Wan, ‘Don't tell, Ami!’ he ordered, before dashing behind the tree. The frustrated young girl, hands on hips and her cheeks red from exertion, demanded when she arrived, ‘Where did he go!’ The girl was probably no more than a few years older than Laic. ‘Oh, I don't know. Haven't seen him,’ Obi-Wan replied. The girl closed her eyes. ‘Nuh-uh! You know but you're not telling me!’ ‘No fair! Trying to read my mind!’ cried Obi-Wan. This child was Force sensitive, extremely so. And that's when it dawned on him. These were images of his children. Ami knew exactly where Laic was all along, but was playing along with her little brother. She wandered by the tree, just close enough, but looked in the opposite direction. ‘Where could he be... Oh well, I guess I'll just have to eat all of the chocolate cakes by myself...’ ‘Here I am!’ Laic revealed himself in a grand gesture. The two of them laughed and Ami went over to Obi-Wan. She placed her small hand in his, her large, dark eyes open, loving and trusting as she looked up at him. Obi-Wan broke his trance, finding himself extremely overheated and sweating. He felt a tremendous connection to the children as if they were…his own. If this was a vision of a possible future, sweet and innocent as it was, on the other end of the spectrum was extremely frightening. How could this be if he didn't give up everything he had been raised to believe, everything he had worked so hard to achieve? Surely it wasn't real. After Sabé was taken to the medical centre, the queen’s guards informed him that the queen wished to speak with him. They escorted him to her chambers. Obi-Wan entered to see Queen Breha Organa seated on a platform surrounded by her bodyguards and holding the princess in her arms. He bowed to her. ‘We are indebted to you, Master Kenobi,’ she said, thanking him regally. ‘Security has been tightened. We hope to never experience such an invasion as this ever again.’ ‘As do I,’ he replied. He calmly waited for her dismissal, figuring he was no longer needed. ‘Before you leave, Master Kenobi, I have one final request.’ She handed the baby to one of her handmaidens, rising to her feet to approach Obi-Wan as an equal. ‘Handmaiden Maberrie is to be relocated to Delaya and hard as this news is to bear, I request the galaxy’s best Negotiator to inform her of our decision.’ ‘Relocated? You mean to discharge her?’ Despite his usual tranquil demeanour, Obi-Wan was on the border of outrage on behalf of Sabé. He had always known this woman to be fiercely loyal to her mistress. Now she was being ripped away from what gave her life meaning. ‘Surely her injuries will heal soon enough for her to resume her duties here,’ he said. ...with Padmé’s child. ‘We couldn’t ask that of her. She’s suffered so much already and we feel it is in everyone’s best interest, especially Leia’s, for Sabé to be relieved of her duties.’ How could she? thought Obi-Wan, but he reminded himself that this was the queen and he wouldn’t be able to persuade her differently. He decided to try a different tactic. ‘And the other handmaidens—those from Senator Amidala’s entourage—what will happen to them?’ Though this certainly wasn’t any of the Master Jedi’s concern, Breha answered his question regally. ‘They have been reassigned elsewhere, away from the palace.’ Obi-Wan bowed and turned to leave. But then, with a flash of inspiration or lunacy, he spun around, saying, ‘Sabé Maberrie has served Senator Amidala under the harshest of circumstances as her decoy and handmaiden since her days as Queen of Naboo and now you’re taking away her life! To serve—’ Though he had forgone his Jedi calm, he would not betray the memory of Padmé and his former padawan. Breha sent her staff away with a swift, but not harsh, order before answering the Jedi whose passionate words were not to be ignored. ‘You must understand, Master Kenobi, that we must disassociate ourselves with anything having to do with Senator Amidala.’ Obi-Wan chided himself for his outburst. Of course the queen was acting consciously to protect Leia. He had no place questioning her like this when it had nothing to do with galaxy-wide matters. ‘I understand,’ he said, regaining his composure. Breha thought on the loss of Master Kenobi’s apprentice. No doubt his death had affected the Jedi profoundly, whether they acknowledged such emotions or not. Before dismissing him, she added, ‘You are to give her this once she’s recovered,’ handing him a recording and a pouch containing a good sum of credits. ‘It should be more than enough to compensate her for her years of devoted service.’ ‘Thank you, Your Excellency,’ he replied, bowing. The temporary accommodation on Delaya wasn’t nearly as luxurious as Sabé’s quarters in the palace on Alderaan, but it was a very nice piece of land. Sabé was transported there once the medical droids finished her bacta regiment and were satisfied with her healing. Due to the various pain medications, Sabé was in and out of consciousness for a few days. Once the last of the medication left her system, she was finally able to notice her surroundings were not in fact the medical wing of the palace. Sabé’s arm ached when she attempted to move it within the tight bandaging. With a bit of resistance to her healing torso, she urged herself to a sitting position and then swung her feet over the side of the bed. Where am I? She found her familiar handmaiden robe. The bandages around her torso creased uncomfortably as she drew it around her shoulders before heading out of the small room, finding herself on a balcony. It was either early evening or early morning by the position of the sun. She wasn’t alone. ‘My lady, you should be resting.’ Obi-Wan stood facing away from her, able to sense her movements without looking at her. He was watching the sun rising. The taste of bacta fresh on her lips, Sabé turned carefully to the familiar low voice. ‘Is the princess safe?’ These were the first words out of her mouth and Obi-Wan was burdened with the task of informing her that the princess’s life was no longer her concern. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Thanks to you.’ ‘And the bounty hunter?’ ‘He will no longer harm anyone,’ he replied sombrely. She recalled vague memories of the Jedi’s face hazily stooping over her fallen form. He was speaking to her, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Padmé’s daughter was safe and though Sabé thought she was facing death, she was glad at the thought she would die in service to her former mistress. Now, however, she had a second chance at life thanks to Obi-Wan, for she knew now he had saved her. Unable to express her gratitude verbally for fear she would speak out of form, inappropriately, she approached him, her hand touching a cloaked arm, half-embracing him from the side. He turned to face her. ‘My lady—’ His tone of voice was laced with remorse and she recognised this, releasing his arm and taking a step back. ‘I was instructed to bring you here to Delaya and here you are to remain.’ Sabé was confused. ‘What? I do not understand. Are they bringing the princess here for her safety?’ ‘No, they asked me to tell you that they are no longer in need of your services. The queen asked me to give you this.’ He withdrew the recorded message and the credits, handing it to her undamaged arm. He knew this matter shouldn’t wait any longer than necessary to give the woman time to express her sadness and move on. He was not prepared for the effect, as he was not the best judge of female reactions. ‘I’m sorry.’ Feeling as though she had failed, Sabé silently took the pouch from him and went back indoors to watch the holovid. Despite her passive demeanour, Obi-Wan could feel the waves of emotions radiating from her, the confusion, anger, disappointment, and ultimately sadness. He hadn’t watched the recording, but he had a good idea about what they would say. It would be a brief message relating their thanks for everything she had done in their service, perhaps a hint without saying directly why they wanted the rest of Padmé’s former handmaidens away from the palace, and a mention of her payment. After a few minutes, he peered inside to see the outward façade of calm disappear. The holovid projector was off and the former handmaiden’s body was wracked with sobs. He felt the urge to go over to her and take her into his arms, allowing her to cry into his chest, but instead he stood there watching her a moment longer before turning away. Things like this happened, especially during such dark times as these. Whether she knew someone was watching her or not, Sabé let her guard down and cried freely. She thought sarcastically that Master Kenobi ought to have let her die, for death was better than this. Banished. Though they hadn’t used that specific word, it’s basically what they meant. The Organas didn’t want her anywhere near the princess. I would have resisted the urge to tell her about her mother! I just wanted to serve her as faithfully as I did her mother. That is all. To watch the girl grow up…to protect her…to love her… Now she felt she had no purpose. What was she supposed to do here on Delaya? She didn’t know anyone or where anything was… The generous severance pay could in no way compensate her loss of duty, purpose, and belonging. She didn’t want to leave what little she had left of her former mistress and best friend. She didn’t want to leave the comfort and safety of Alderaan and it’s new no weapons tolerance law. When Master Kenobi brought something for her to eat, Sabé had dried her eyes and firmed her resolve. ‘I wish to go back to Naboo.’ ‘Naboo is under the control of the Empire, my lady.’ ‘I cannot stay here. I don’t belong here. People will speak of the royal family I am no longer able to serve and protect. I will see the princess from afar, but not be able to—’ Despite her attempt to remain in control of her emotions, she choked back tears. She took a breath, finally meeting his eyes when he moved to sit next to her where she sat on a settee. ‘I feel like I’m failing her,’ she said. Obi-Wan knew she meant Padmé, figuring to say her name would bring her further pain. ‘I do not know what to do.’ she said, her voice despondent. ‘I am lost.’ Lost. The word haunted him, causing him to recall his exchange with Anakin at his fall. He conceded to her request of returning to Naboo. ‘Before I return to my own exile on Tatooine, I will take you wherever you wish, my lady, but should any spies report I’ve been spotted—’ ‘I understand,’ she replied solemnly. Exile...because of Former Supreme Chancellor now Emperor Palpatine’s order to kill all of the remaining Jedi… He shouldn’t have to be alone. ‘You should eat something,’ he suggested, standing to leave. ‘You’ll feel better.’ It wasn’t much, but it was all that he could offer her. ‘Master Kenobi…’ He turned back, waiting. ‘Why Tatooine?’ ‘Leia’s twin brother,’ he replied, drawing his cloak a bit tighter as he left the chamber. He knew he could trust Sabé with the information only Senator Organa, Yoda, and himself were privy to. With her writing hand broken, she had a bit of difficulty picking up a fork. Though she was still overwrought with emotions, once she took a bite, she realised how hungry she actually was. Tatooine, she thought. Leia’s twin…Padmé had twins… A boy and a girl… If I am not able to protect Leia, then perhaps I can look after her brother. The thought heartened her and she resolved to ask Master Kenobi about this. Only a few days later, Sabé’s arm and torso were fully healed. She spent a good while merely watching Master Kenobi in his meditation. She didn’t even notice how long she watched him, yearning for that peace he seemed to so effortlessly attain. She wondered what it would be like to be able to feel the Force, to be able to reach tranquillity. ‘Step aside, Jedi.’ Clutching his lightsaber defiantly, Obi-Wan stood his ground. ‘This is a peaceful village. We don't want any trouble.’ The rain continued falling at a steady pace. The Dark Jedi reached out towards him, saying, ‘I call upon the power of the Sith!’ he cried, lightning shooting outwards. Obi-Wan blocked the attack. Flashes of light darted out, the fog inhibiting his sight. Other cloaked figures were on either side of him. Obi-Wan took out his two unarmed accomplices with ease. The Dark Jedi’s distractions, using the Force to toss logs and boulders at his opponent, failed to make a difference as Obi-Wan agilely deflected them. Their lightsabers met, blue on red. The energy of the Dark Jedi’s manipulation of the Force invaded Obi-Wan's thoughts, trying to convince him it was futile, that he would lose…that all would be lost. Delving into the Jedi's mind, the Sith Lord saw his late padawan, Anakin Skywalker, now Darth Vader. He saw the disappointment, the fear, and used it to his advantage. Dark Force lightning flashed through the fog. Then the red blade shot forward aimed for Obi-Wan's throat, but with his superior lightsaber skills, he dodged to the left, slicing at the Sith Lord's hand. ‘Don't make me kill you.’ ‘Anakin, my allegiance is to the Republic, to democracy!’ ‘If you are not with me, then you are my enemy.’ ‘Only a Sith deals in absolutes. I will do what I must.’ When the Jedi missed, the Dark Jedi cackled, ‘Surely you can do better!’ Obi-Wan swerved around, avoiding another attack and came at him again. The Sith Lord parried and thrust before releasing another wave of Dark Force lightning. Obi-Wan's blade blocked the lightning as the Dark Jedi lashed out with several critical strikes. With each blocked attack, the Dark Jedi mocked him. ‘It’s a wonder Vader let you live this long.’ He brought forth waves of the most recent painful memories. ‘You were the chosen one! It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them. You were to bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!’ ‘I hate you!’ ‘You were my brother, Anakin.’ Obi-Wan fought against the memories, struggling to remain in the here and now as his blade once again met with the Sith Lord’s. ‘I HATE YOU!’ The Dark Jedi rapidly came at Obi-Wan with a hard chop, but the Jedi parried and spun, cutting at the Sith Lord with the backslash. The Dark Lord blocked the strike, but Obi-Wan took his spilt second of uncertainty to slice the Sith Lord in half. ‘I HATE YOU!’ Anakin's voice echoed in his head as he fell to his knees. His lightsaber turned off automatically as it dropped next to him, abandoned. He couldn't help the tears coming to his eyes as he knelt there, head bowed over the mangled body of the Sith Lord in the mud. ‘I've failed. I’ve failed you...’ He saw Anakin crawling with his mechanised arm, clawing at the rocks on Mustafar, hate brimming in his eyes. Spitting, snarling, cursing him... Obi-Wan broke his trance to find Sabé staring at him. Sabé averted her eyes self-consciously. ‘How is your arm feeling?’ he asked, rising to his feet and moving towards her. It was much easier to focus on the here and now with her by his side. Always thinking about other people, she mused before saying, ‘It is much better today. Do you think that perhaps—’ she paused, her eyes cast downwards for a moment before she allowed them to creep up his Jedi tunic. ‘Perhaps I could have the supportive bandages removed from my arm?’ She sought his eyes nervously. The innocent query brought him back from the thoughts of Anakin. He looked at her for a moment, thankful for her presence and the peace of mind she brought to him. ‘Yes, your bandages... Let's have a look and see then, shall we?’ He walked over and dropped next to her on the settee. ‘Does this hurt?’ he asked after removing the bandages and testing the newly exposed flesh. ‘Are you able to move it?’ When he turned to look at her, he noticed just how close she was sitting to him and the room suddenly felt like it was much warmer. Overjoyed that she now had a functional arm, she squeezed his hand to illustrate how well her arm had healed. ‘There is no pain. It is as if it never received any damage.’ Her elation enveloped him, folding warmly around him like a quilt. He watched her moving her arm, grasping his to prove its strength, so unbelievably soft and sth under his calloused hands. Now he knew it was time for him to leave. During his intense meditation session, he had seen a possible vision of her future here. She would be an educator and marry a good man, but there would be no children. She would wait for the parades to catch a glimpse of Leia, but each time they met each other’s glance, Leia would turn away since this woman meant nothing to her, leaving Sabé heartbroken. But this, Obi-Wan reminded himself, was only one possible future and the decisions she made would alter that course of events. He stood to leave. ‘I want to go with you,’ she exclaimed, also rising to her feet, ‘to Tatooine.’ You want to go with me? What does that mean? ‘Certainly life here would be more like that on Naboo,’ Obi-Wan replied, trying not to reveal his surprise. ‘You have been to Tatooine before and you’ve seen what a sandstorm is like…but if you wish it, I will take you there.’ ‘I do not mean to impose,’ Sabé added, bowing her head again, willing herself to take control of her life for once. Though it had only been a few days, she had mulled over her choices and resolved to do this. ‘I do not mean only to accompany you to the planet, but to also—’ He waited patiently for her to continue, unsure as to where her train of thought was going. She took a deep breath before continuing. ‘I would be your perfect cover, Master Kenobi.’ ‘What do you mean?’ He folded his arms in his cloak, looking at her curiously. ‘Who would suspect you for the former Republic General and Jedi Master if you were to change your name and live as a poor moisture farmer with your loyal wife?’ ‘Wife?’ Obi-Wan couldn’t believe the words he was hearing from this steadfast, reserved former handmaiden, but this talk of Tatooine and the two of them reminded him strongly of the few days they’d spent there together when she was acting as decoy queen. ‘That is of course, if you’ll have me. I can cook and clean…run errands for you so you won’t be seen…’ She wandered over to the small knapsack of belongings which had been packed for her when she was unconscious and withdrew the royal Alderaanian embroidered pouch. ‘I have plenty of credits…’ She poured some credits into her hand and outstretched it towards him. ‘No,’ Obi-Wan said automatically. ‘You are meant for a better, more comfortable life here on Delaya.’ He approached and closed her hand which held out the credits. ‘I cannot take this opportunity away from you and—’ ‘And the Jedi aren’t allowed any attachments, I know,’ she replied, disappointment seeping into her voice. ‘But this would merely be a cover, a way to protect you, a way to protect her son.’ Nothing else mattered and she would not be deterred. Obi-Wan recognised the defiance in her as well as the passion in her voice when she spoke of Padmé’s other child. ‘I cannot hold you to live as a lie.’ ‘I have done so before,’ she said, satirically adding with a hint of teasing, ‘have you forgotten?’ ‘You would live a life far away from any greenery such as this,’ he remarked, gesturing to a nearby potted flower. ‘I know.’ He repeated what she already knew, shaking his head. ‘The Jedi Council expressly forbids attachment of any sort.’ He knew then that he was already in love with her. He had been for quite some time and this new arrangement she presented would be so incredibly tempting. Was it truly the will of the Force that brought Sabé to him? Or was it merely a test? Had she been sent to tempt him, to steer him off his Jedi path? Was she a test of his devotion to the Jedi? No... I trust and respect her as old friend… This debate was taxing on his already weighted mind, but he couldn't allow himself to say anything further. What if she were taken from me? I'd let her go, if she wanted. I want what is best for her, whatever makes her happy, even if that means she's not with me, but she doesn't feel the same way, so what harm could come of this? She stood on tiptoe, leaning slightly to peer behind him as she said, ‘I do not see a Jedi Council anywhere, do you?’ Sabé flashed him a mischievous grin that was all-too-familiar, though he couldn’t at the moment place the memory. ‘They have fallen or in hiding,’ Obi-Wan replied simply. ‘Let me join you. You need not do this alone.’ ‘Why are you offering this to me, my lady?’ ‘Please, let me do this. It’s not only to give my life meaning or that I’m indebted to you for saving my life—’ ‘But for Luke.’ ‘Yes, especially for him…and also a bit selfishly for myself.’ ‘How so?’ She touched his cheek, using his forename for this first time aloud. ‘Obi-Wan, I love you. I’ve always loved you and I don’t need the formal attachment. I don’t need a material, tangible symbol or ceremony to commit my life to yours because I already am yours, body and soul. In my life of service to—to her, I’ve only experienced stolen moments of hasty kisses and fumbling around with the wrong men, but there has always been a part of me longing for that Jedi learner who had the audacity to command me as the decoy queen not to send any reply to Naboo. I know there’s little hope, especially now, that you might…’ she broke off, knowing all of this was not only sudden, but extremely inappropriate. ‘Besides, someone has got to be around to make sure you don’t lose your sanity in your seclusion…’ she added to make light of her weighty speech. She hoped he wouldn’t rebuke her for being improper. Had she been five years younger, she wouldn’t have had the courage to blatantly state such things, breaking out of her reserved handmaiden mode, but she needed now to take charge of this life. With everything else spinning out of control, she wanted something to hold on to, a constant. She wanted him to be her constant more than anything in the galaxy. He exhaled and lowered his head for a moment to ponder her offer. Finally, after seemed like ages, he spoke. ‘Should you ever find yourself unhappy, no matter what happens, you will always be free to leave. I will not be your cage.’ Bursting with relief and joy, Sabé threw her arms around him and kissed the side of his mouth swiftly. Feeling awkward and at the same time perceiving her happiness, Obi-Wan stood frozen for a moment and by the time he made an effort to hug her back, she had already separated herself from him. She is not a temptation, he assured himself. I can serve her as any proper Jedi would and not neglect my duties. When the Jedi starfighter landed on the outskirts, he took Sabé’s knapsack for her and led the way to the small hut which had been his humble abode since leaving Polis Massa. Obi-Wan figured she wouldn’t last long away from the estate on Delaya since that was closer to the life she was used to. Here, amongst the sand dunes, it would be a harsh life and he didn’t think she was prepared for it. They left the hidden ship and walked for quite a long time. If it wasn’t for her recent injuries, Sabé wouldn’t have thought the walk was long at all, but as it was, she became short of breath and fell behind. She refused to let him know she was tired and focused her mind on other things to distract herself. His hair is the colour of these rolling hills of sand, she mused. Obi-Wan’s own thoughts were preoccupied thinking about what on earth the spirit of his former master would think of this new arrangement. Then he recalled how often Qui-Gon picked up random pathetic lifeforms who would tag along with them for a period of time. Finally they reached what would now be their home and he looked back to see Sabé was lagging quite a bit behind him. Her long, dark hair had loosened from her intricate plait and now whipped about freely. Perhaps it was the position of the suns or the increasing wind catching up her handmaiden’s cloak, but she looked like an otherworldly figure approaching him. She was beautiful. It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed before, but Obi-Wan always caught himself from following such a train of thought to conclusion as it might lead to dangerous things such as attachment. Then he reminded himself of the words she had spoken before they left Delaya. She had said she loved him. He couldn’t make that sort of statement though in his heart he knew it had always been true. He never thought there was the slightest chance she would feel the same way. There is no longer a Jedi Council… Upon entering the hut, Sabé was surprised how much larger it seemed than it appeared on the outside. There was plenty of room to move around, but she definitely saw things she could improve on, that is of course if he would allow her to. She shook her head. No, we will be partners in this. We will work together. Though he will never make a commitment to me… ‘So what am I to call you here?’ she asked, catching him off guard. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Well in public, I most certainly can’t refer to you as “Master Kenobi” or “General Kenobi” since people would recognise the name and you are in hiding, if I am not mistaken.’ When he merely stared back at her with a confused expression, she continued. ‘You did not consider changing your name?’ Her mouth dropped open. ‘For a former Council member and war hero, I am utterly shocked you wouldn’t have thought to— Well, I’ll just have to think of something… Hmm… You don’t have a middle name, do you?’ ‘Just Obi-Wan,’ he replied, hanging her cloak next to his on a peg near the door. She sat down on the couch and undid her hair, starting to re-braid it. ‘Are there common names on Tatooine? Do you think Sabé is too Nabooan? Perhaps I should change it as well,’ she rapidly thought aloud. ‘I-I had not thought much about changing my name before,’ Obi-Wan admitted. He liked her name, Sabé, and didn’t want her to change it. ‘We have to change our names, at least for making acquaintances.’ She was doing this for his safety. He thought of a few different names, but she rejected all of them as too Corusanti. ‘I don’t know…Ben?’ ‘Ben,’ she mused. ‘Ben Kenobi. I like it.’ He grinned at her, pleased he had found a name she liked. ‘And for you, my lady…’ Teasingly, she put her hands on her hips saying, ‘First of all, you are going to have to stop referring to me as “my lady”.’ ‘Yes, my—Sabé,’ he said, correcting himself. Then the thought hit him. ‘ Siena?’ Sabé wrinkled her nose. ‘I shall take that as a “no”.’ ‘You had better!’ she partially joked. ‘Sena? Sophie?’ ‘Sefa?’ ‘Sefa works for me,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘Sefa Kenobi,’ he pondered, not even entertaining the possibility. Sabé took a step towards him, taking his hand. ‘Ben and Sefa Kenobi.’ She looked up into his light blue eyes, adding, ‘I like it. I think it fits.’ She wanted to throw her arms around him, thanking him for allowing her to come here with him, but she resisted the urge. She didn’t want him to kick her out for coming on too strong. After all, it was only for show, this feigned marriage. A month passed and the two of them became used to each other’s presence. Sabé insisted she could make all the trips to the nearest city alone, but he was just as adamant about going with her that he would not be persuaded otherwise. So, the two of them went everywhere together and became familiar with each other’s idiosyncrasies. There was only one incident in which a smuggler thought he recognised Obi-Wan, but Sabé, Sefa, took care of it. Laughing, she said, ‘Do you hear that, Ben? This fellow thinks you look like a Jedi! I wonder what it would be like to feel the Force on me…and those Jedi reflexes ought to be handy in bed…’ Knowing it would make Obi-Wan uncomfortable, but not wanting him to ruin the cover, she planted a kiss on his lips before he could react. The smuggler was convinced he had been mistaken and averted his gaze, wandering away from the couple. After a moment, Sabé pulled away, satisfied that the smuggler had given up and disappeared. Since they were still in public, she continued to play the wifely role, though her cheeks were coloured in embarrassment. Anyone else would assume it was from the heat of midday. Qui-Gon had yet to make an appearance, but Obi-Wan hadn’t thought about the training as his mind was elsewhere. Obi-Wan’s life slowed down considerably compared to the last few years of the tumultuous galactic war. It made him feel older, but with Sabé here, it almost felt like the vague distant memories he had as a young boy before the Jedi took him away to live on Coruscant. He recalled his parents though he couldn't see their faces. They had been farmers. He could have grown up to be a farmer in another life had he not had such a high midichlorian count. If such a fate could be reclaimable, Force-willing, why shouldn't he reclaim it? There was no Jedi Council here. There wasn't a Jedi Council anymore period. She kissed me… He could still taste the hint of mint leaf on his lips. That evening, she set about fixing some recipe he had never heard of. When he questioned her about it, she explained, ‘It is for the Winter Solstice.’ ‘Winter?’ ‘When the lakes of Naboo are frozen and snow falls continuously…the days are shorter and the nights longer. We have great celebrations. The queen holds banquets inviting all the nobles to the palace.’ Sabé continued rolling out the dough and forming it into some sort of ribbon-like shape as she recalled the last formal solstice festival she participated in. ‘Rich blues and purples in dress and decoration…and there is skating and sledding on the hills. It is my favourite time of year.’ It was then Obi-Wan noticed tears in her eyes. ‘What is skating and sledding?’ Having spent most of his life on Coruscant, he wasn’t familiar with such things. ‘Skating is the best,’ she said, smiling. ‘It is like floating on air. We wear special shoes that allow us to glide on the lake.’ She turned away from the dough to face him. ‘On water? Isn’t that dangerous?’ ‘Not since the water is frozen.’ She closed her eyes, picturing the exact spot where she and a few other handmaidens skated while the others attended to Padmé. Padmé had never been a tyrant and had always allowed her handmaidens time to enjoy themselves. This was something he could work with! Obi-Wan reached out with the Force and levitated her just a few centimetres from the floor of the kitchen so that if she were to point her toes, she would touch the ground. ‘Like this?’ She opened her eyes when she felt herself being lifted from the middle and gasped. Sabé moved her feet like she was skating and he moved her slightly with each shift of her feet. ‘Yes, it is almost like this, but this is much sther.’ Her face illustrated her excitement. She closed her eyes again and she could almost feel the biting chill of a winter breeze. She opened her eyes, seeing that he had his eyes closed and wondered, ‘How do you do that?’ ‘Do what?’ ‘Lift me without even seeing me.’ ‘It’s not about seeing an object, but about feeling it,’ he replied, levitating her a bit higher. This information intrigued her. ‘What do I feel like?’ The query about what she "felt" like made him falter, but only slightly. Her voice had this breathy quality to it, so carefree and compelling at the same time. What does she “feel” like? It was certainly hard to put into words, especially as he was concentrating on not dropping her. ‘You feel like—you—’ It was Sabé. To explain what Sabé is... ‘...like warmth, compassion, love…’ And then he nearly lost his concentration, but he wouldn't drop her. He fluidly returned her to the ground and opened his eyes, briefly glancing at her, and then bowing his head. He is such a contradiction, she thought. He didn’t have to do this for her, any of this. This Jedi, peacekeeper, warrior… He was fierce when he needed to be yet so kind and compassionate. He was a perfect balance in every way. ‘I do not understand,’ she said, figuring it was because her lack of Force ability. ‘There is something else I can do that might help,’ he offered. ‘What I felt when I was levitating you— I can send that to you. It might make things clearer...’ Obi-Wan closed his eyes and concentrated, reverting his thoughts to how he had felt her: the warmth, compassion, and most of all, love. Without meaning to do so, he recalled visions of her in the evening… How on more than a few occasions he had be up late into the night for some reason or another and Sabé, who appeared to be in a habit of waking halfway through her sleep cycle, would pad through the living area in her newly purchased pale, lavender nightgown, her long hair cascading down her back. These were the feelings he had an easier time of keeping in check during the day. ‘Can you feel that?’ he asked, the sensations pulsating around him as he tossed it about her in undulating waves. She was the unattainable rose, protected by the thorns of the Jedi Code, preventing him from ever possessing her fully. ‘That's how you feel to me and that's the reason I—’ he broke off, swallowing hard. He waited for her reaction, studying her expression warily. A mix of emotions poured over her, as if she were a plant and Master Kenobi was pouring liquefied feelings over her. It was not what she had expected. She assumed that she would recognize the feelings because it would be a carbon copy of what she felt inside her own body. She was almost expecting to feel nothing that it would mimic what it felt like to breathe, or the sensation of her body weight being supported by her legs, but it was far from that. Sabé closed her eyes, her brow deeply furrowed as she tried to comprehend what he sent her. She received images of herself as well as feelings in pure energy form. She focused on the images first, marvelling at how wonderfully eerie it was to view herself in three-dimensional form from outside eyes. There were so many. She could barely push one to the side of her mind when another would take its place. Finally pushing all the images of herself aside, she focused on the feelings sent. Not knowing how else to process the information, her mind attached her own memories to the feelings so that she had a basis of association. She remembered rewarding, joyful events with her fellow handmaidens, the times when they had assisted the sick, spent time playing with children, or distributed food to the hungry. She was about to utter what she was seeing, to have the Master Jedi help her decipher it, but the memory association switched again and now she was watching the young padawan within the queen's ship on Tatooine. Startled, her eyes flew open and she gazed at Obi-Wan as she considered it all. ‘That was not what I had expected,’ she said calmly. ‘I thought it would be a physical sensation, like what it feels to pick up an object. I saw myself.’ The confusion crease in her brow threatened to become a permanent wrinkle. ‘You saw yourself?’ This was certainly not what he had expected. Obi-Wan figured she had only perceived the feelings he sent her, but it was so much more. It was odd since she obviously didn't have a high midichlorian count nor was she trained in the Jedi arts. What could this mean? She saw me through her eyes as well? This is peculiar indeed. ‘I thought it would be like that too,’ he admitted, thinking on what she was saying. He didn't even consider the fact that she didn't know how he felt about her because he was too focused on the amazement that she saw something. ‘I saw memories of my fellow handmaidens during times of public service...and I saw you.’ She tilted her head. ‘It is very confusing.’ ‘You saw me?’ That was also an interesting development. ‘When I was a padawan learner?’ ‘Yes,’ she commented, a mischievous smile sliding over her lips as she remembered. ‘It was on the Royal Starship…the last time I was on Tatooine.’ She self-consciously returned her gaze to the dough. Suddenly, Obi-Wan recalled that self-same mischievous smile. Startled by an unfamiliar sound on the Nubian vessel, Obi-Wan awoke to find his lightsaber missing. His lightsaber was missing. Padawan Kenobi jumped up, panicking as he searched all over the room. ‘Where is it? How could I have misplaced it? ‘Are you looking for this?’ the young Queen of Naboo asked upon approach. Obi-Wan whipped around, noticing the glinting lightsaber in her hand. ‘Y-yes, Your Majesty...’ ‘You should learn to keep better care of your things,’ said Sabé, who was standing in as Queen. ‘I was told this is a Jedi's most precious possession.’ She flashed him a mischievous grin and he didn't understand what it meant. She was belittling him, wasn't she? Obi-Wan blushed furiously. Embarrassed, his brow furrowed as he received his lightsaber from her silky, painted hand. ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ he muttered. Their eyes met, briefly, and she turned to leave. ‘I do recall a time when I'd misplaced my lightsaber,’ he said, chuckling at the memory. He only now realised she hadn't been scolding him at all; she had been teasing him. ‘Oh... I had forgotten all about that.’ Despite her best efforts to stifle it, she began giggling like a teenager. ‘Obi-Wan,’ she said, turning towards him and reached for his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. ‘You must forgive me. It was a cruel trick.’ She started laughing in earnest, unable to hold it back any longer. ‘Oh, your face! I can still see your adorable, embarrassed face.’ ‘You stole it!’ he gasped upon realisation. ‘An impossible task!’ Obi-Wan was surprised she had been able to do so and wondered how she accomplished it. Her light-hearted laughter caused his own face to brighten from amazement to outright cheerfulness. ‘I certainly didn't expect a young queen to lecture me on Jedi matters.’ Her mischievous grin rekindled the very same feelings which he now understood to be attraction. Oh how foolish I had been. Grinning broadly, she gasped for breath from laughter. ‘Oh Obi-Wan, I apologize. I was much more brazen in my youth. It was terrible of me to let you think you had misplaced it and then to tease you for it. It was far too tempting: one handsome, young padawan on a ship full of bored handmaidens with nothing else to do, but stare at each other all day long. Eirtaé wanted me to steal your clothes...’ Sabé blushed, grinning. ‘...but I convinced her that might not be appropriate.’ Eirtaé... Obi-Wan honestly couldn't remember the girl. It was extremely difficult to tell them apart sometimes, especially when they wore veils or covered their faces with large hoods. ‘Steal my clothes?’ He couldn't believe the things he was hearing. ‘And here I was: a naive padawan, with preconceived notions of handmaiden propriety...’ he lightly teased back, his hand finding its way to her waist. ‘It appears I was wrong.’ Sabé gasped in amused mock offence, ‘I showed handmaiden propriety!’ She playfully pushed his hand away from her waist as if to showcase how proper she was. ‘I could have taken your clothes. They were right there, while you were in the ’fresher—’ She clamped a hand over her mouth, admonishing herself for nearly admitting that she had seen him out of his Jedi clothing. ‘You don't mean to tell me—’ It seemed Sabé had this uncanny ability to take him off guard at every turn. He felt that years had been stripped away and he was that reckless young padawan again, unused to the stares from those beautiful girls; mainly from the decoy queen whom he later found to be Sabé herself. ‘You and your fellow handmaidens were spying on me too?’ He feigned offence, but took her hand which she had used to push his away. ‘While I was showering!’ His younger self would have died of embarrassment to learn all of the young handmaidens had peeked in on him. His present self was fairing little better though he still held her hand. A blush rose in his cheeks at the thought. ‘We were not spying!’ Sabé exclaimed, smiling at his impertinent comment about spying. She wrestled with him slightly, nervous that he was grabbing her hand to tickle her. ‘Well, they weren't spying,’ she said, still trying to escape his grasp, ‘and I was spying...by accident.’ ‘Is that so?’ Obi-Wan replied, chuckling to find out she had accidentally snuck a peek. When she fought him slightly, his other hand moved to attack her waist, playfully. ‘I would say, that's hardly fair...I didn't get a chance to wander in on you—’ Squealing in exhilarated laughter, Sabé fought against his playful touch, straining to get away from him but hoping against hope that it would never end. ‘You are such a…a…’ ‘A what?’ ‘A scoundrel!’ She struggled ineffectively, attempting to win the battle. ‘A scoundrel?’ Obi-Wan had a hard time catching his breath, he was laughing so hard. He felt that familiar heat rush through him at her touch. He liked the almost dishevelled look about her as she pushed against him; it was so different from her normally resigned and collected appearance. ‘It wouldn't have mattered,’ she panted from exertion, ‘since you wouldn’t have been able to. We took turns guarding the door.’ ‘Ah, but Jedi are sneaky. And I could have used a mind trick on the guards...’ He cocked his head to the side, grinning boyishly at her. She frowned at him slightly, momentarily thwarted by his very obvious statement that if he really had wanted to sneak a look at Rabé, Eirtaé, or herself, he had the abilities to do so. She rolled her eyes as her retaliation plan formed in her mind. She had a pattern of exchanging teasing remarks and banter with the Jedi and this was war. Ending her struggle against him, she slid in closer with a silky sensuality, running her hands along his arms until they met the bend in his elbows. ‘A Jedi might have the stealth of movements,’ she said, cocking an eyebrow at him suggestively, deciding to give him a full-on assault, ‘but he lacks a woman's insatiable curiosity.’ She pressed her body close to his, bending her knees slightly to rub against him, then straightened gracefully pulling her hands along his side. ‘What would you do with a room full of naked handmaidens, anyway?’ she purred softly, expecting him to back away nervously, coughing and sputtering, at her daring actions. At first he figured she had surrendered, but then her quick wit was back to take another jab at him. She was challenging him! Obi-Wan couldn't help the heat rising once again in his cheeks, not at the thought of a room full of naked girls, but at her vicinity. She was so close to him; and it made him want to embrace her, to touch her, kiss her... Unlike his untrained, younger self, he wouldn't laugh his way out of this. His gaze was transfixed on hers. He didn't say anything at all. For a moment, he just looked at her. Obi-Wan didn't think he would ever tire of looking at her. Everything Sabé encompassed and all the little quirks he had come to learn about this past month had just attracted him all the more. It was no use denying how much he wanted to be with her. He reached out to touch her cheek and then ever-so-carefully leant over to place a tender kiss on her lips. Sabé blinked in shock when Obi-Wan leaned in and kissed her. Of all the things she thought he might do, kissing her was not in the remotest of possibilities in her mind. This entire month, he had successfully avoided much physical contact at all within the hut. Her heart pounded in her chest as she meekly kissed him back, terrified of this unfamiliar territory. The touch of his lips was so soft, so gentle... She lost track of space and time as her body responded to the stimulus. Breathing in deep and enjoying the chemical sensations coursing through her body, she allowed herself to slip carelessly into sublime relaxation. She pushed forward to kiss him deeper, bringing her hand to his bearded face to caress him tenderly. Obi-Wan hadn't thought this through and now she was kissing him back. This warmth of sincerity, affection, radiated from her touch, her taste... Gently following her lead, his other hand ventured to her waist again, but only to draw her flush against him, relishing in her propinquity. In truth, he hadn't been so close to another person before. And kissing? He had only ever dreamt of it, but he had always pushed away that longing. Now it was really happening and it was almost as if his mind couldn't wrap around it. It was all so overpowering. Obi-Wan hadn't been thinking of anything aside from the impulse which drove him to kissing her. And now doubt slipped in. He was unsure of himself, which was something he hadn't truly experienced since his days of padawan training, but it somehow made sense that he should feel like this now. They hadn't ever covered kissing... When he pulled back, he looked at her, smiling and hoping he had not gone about it the wrong way. He also secretly hoped he wasn’t completely inept because he had so enjoyed kissing her that he didn’t want it to be the last. Gazing on her, another feeling of unworthiness seeped in, but instead of apologising, he left a hand tangled in her locks as he breathed, ‘Sabé…’ Her heart pounding in her ears, Sabé breathed deep to inhale the blissful feelings that wrapped around the pair like multicoloured vapour as he pulled away from her. It was a dream; a beautiful, wonderful dream. Her eyes met his and she looked at the Jedi with uncertainty, not knowing what the proper action was after their kiss. Was she to say something profound? I have longed for this day for an eternity... Offer to make him tea? Her eyes darted to the half-prepared items on the kitchen counter. Should she just smile and continue cooking? She opened her mouth as if to ask him a question, then closed it and stood silently, her eyes cast downward. Against her will, her cheeks flushed violet, painting her insecurities across her face. ‘I certainly don't need a room full of handmaidens,’ Obi-Wan murmured, ‘just you.’ And despite not having thought it through and not in the least expecting to say something, the words just naturally spilled out of him as if he had been waiting an eternity to say them. He meant it too, with his entire heart. He could sense she was nervous as well and though he could try to find a centre, to calm his thoughts, he didn't want to. All of this was so new and exciting, but all positive. Blushing similarly to the time she returned his lightsaber to him all those years ago, he asked, ‘May I kiss you again?’ Sabé was overwhelmed by his words, she blushed deeper with the sudden image of him walking in and selecting her from the room of unclothed handmaidens. Why do my thoughts stray to the border of indecency when I am around him? It was too... wonderful... to be real. She had always been so sure that the Jedi Code restricted romantic actions of any kind, assuming that her heart’s desire would remain eternally just out of reach. Perhaps he had finally let down his guard enough to love her in return. She closed her eyes dreamily at his question and then slowly opened them again. ‘I would like that,’ she said. ‘You would?’ he asked, almost unbelieving at first. Obi-Wan didn't bother attempting to contain his joy, perfectly beaming at her leant over to kiss her again. This time, he relaxed into the serenity she so often elicited from within him. It was hard to describe what he was feeling as they kissed. It wasn't that he was losing part of himself in her; but that she awoke in him what he never knew existed before, as if another part of him had been dormant and was now brought to life. All of the waiting, dreaming, hoping for something he didn't ever think was possible was worth it, for she was here with him now, and he wanted to savour this moment forever. Fairly certain of the future, Qui-Gon’s spirit momentarily looked on, sensing the peace they emitted. There would still be time for Obi-Wan to resume his training, but for now, he was thankful Obi-Wan had found the tranquillity he had struggled for since Anakin’s fall. He faded back into the Force essence until the time came, assured that young Skywalker would be looked after by two of the most capable people. After all, there was still a chance the Sith would fall, freedom would be restored, and the Jedi Order would reform its ways. ‘Happy solstice,’ Sabé whispered when they paused between kisses. ‘The first of many, I hope,’ Obi-Wan replied, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. This would work, he was sure of it now. Leaning down, he murmured, ‘I love you,’ before kissing her again. The Winter Solstice was a time of renewal and of second chances. Surely this was theirs.

[triplehelix]

you got a plan?

I was super inspired by this beautiful art of Gladio and Ignis by @kaciart, so I just HAD to write something for it. :)

Really, this was supposed to be a routine scouting mission.

It’s early in the morning, and they weren’t about to wake Noctis and Prompto to come on an initial survey of the mines in Leide. The elevators had seemed functional enough that Ignis had deemed them safe to ride, so down Gladio and Ignis had gone, investigating the shallower depths of the mines.

It really was supposed to be easy.

Except they hadn’t expected the intelligence of the daemons - honestly, it’s almost like they’re human sometimes - and they’d let them catch them off guard. One moment, it had been quiet except for their footsteps echoing around the stone walls of the tunnel, and then there had been a cackle and a screech of old steel on steel, and suddenly a mine cart had come barrelling towards them out of the darkness.

Ignis is usually fast. He usually dances out of the way of any blade or attack.

He isn’t fast enough.

Now Ignis is lying on his back, breathing hard and trying to hide the hitches in his breath from the pain. Gladio hears them, though. He always hears them.

“It’s not bad,” Ignis assures him. He scrabbles for purchase on the cave wall and starts to pull himself up.

Gladio watches him warily. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” Ignis says, but his voice is tighter than before. He’s half upright, but he’s still sitting. It’s not that he isn’t moving his legs, or trying to. They’re just…not working.

“Iggy-”

“I’m fine.” He looks decidedly not fine, and there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his face. It makes him look even more pale and vulnerable under the harsh glare of their flashlights. “I just need a moment to collect myself.”

Gladio opens his mouth to say something else, because clearly Ignis needs more than a moment, but he’s not about to step on Ignis’s pride like that. He folds his arms and carefully turns his head away to give Ignis a moment. He keeps watching him out of the corner of his eye, though.

Ignis, to his credit, is a master at suffering in silence. He grimaces and clutches at the roughly hewn edges of the wall, clinging at them like they’re the only thing holding him up. Maybe they are.

Gladio can’t take it anymore. “Your legs-”

“My back,” Ignis interrupts with a shaking sigh. “The cart. It hit me on the back. It’s a temporary loss of feeling, surely.”

Gladio’s not so sure.

Ignis ducks his head, wiping the worst of the sweat and dirt off onto his sleeve. “Did you…?”

“Potions?” Gladio guesses. “No.”

Ignis scowls and tosses his head, flicking a strand of sweaty hair out of his face. “I was going to say elixirs, but it’s all the same, I suppose. We were woefully unprepared.”

He’s right. What were they thinking, running in here with only the armiger to protect them? They should’ve known better. They’re supposed to be the smart ones; they’re supposed to be the ones in charge. Gladio wants to apologize to Ignis; he wants to get down on his knees or trade places or do anything to keep this from happening. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Ignis is borderline invincible; he can’t go out of commission like this, crippled by a cart in a cold abandoned mine.

Instead, he says, “We need to get out of here.” Already he can hear the daemons starting to scramble along the rock around them, sensing their weakness. Gladio’s not in the mood to stay here and fight while Ignis sits helplessly. Not today.

Ignis nods. “Right.” He blinks up at Gladio, furrowing his brow. “You need to carry me,” he tells him.

“What?”

Ignis is dead serious. “Carry me, Gladio. I know you can. I’d wait here if I could, if it’d keep you safe-”

Goddamn martyr. “You can’t do that, you know that we need you-”

“I know.” Ignis grimaces and shifts, once more trying to prop himself up.

“Stop that,” Gladio says roughly. “I’ve got it.”

Ignis studies him carefully for a moment and then sighs. He lifts his one of his arms, bracing the other on the cave wall. “On with it, then.”

Gladio bends and carefully slides one of his arms underneath Ignis’s legs, listening carefully for any sort of reaction. Ignis’s breathing is low and even beside his ear, though, so Gladio ducks a bit lower and wraps an arm around Ignis’s back. He tugs gently, and Ignis dutifully wraps an arm around Gladio’s neck, splaying a palm across his back. He rests the other one on Gladio’s shoulder and clutches at the fabric tightly when Gladio finally lifts him up in a firm hold.

Despite the situation, Gladio chuckles. “I’m not going to drop you,” he says.

“I know,” Ignis snaps, but his cheeks are a little red, even in the meager lights they have.

Gladio chooses to not say anything. Even like this, Ignis is more than a little terrifying, especially when he’s embarrassed.

The scuffling, cackling noises of the daemons are getting closer. It’s not a welcome sound.

Gladio stares over at Ignis, who’s now scanning the darkened tunnels with a practiced eye.

“You got a plan, Iggy?”

Ignis grins. It’s one of his rare smiles, the one he reserves for the heat of battle and the grim delight of fighting. “I may be incapacitated, but I still have my knives.” With a flourish and the sound of shattering crystals, he pulls a dagger from the armiger. Gladio can feel its cold weight against his shoulder blade, pressed there by Ignis’s hand.

“Plan?” Gladio prompts.

“Indeed. You’ll head back to the elevators. I’ll cover our backs. The chamber is narrow enough that they can’t have flanked us, so the path ahead will be clear.” Ignis frowns into the darkness of the mines. “We should go,” he says, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah.” Gladio hefts Ignis, resettling him in his arms, and starts trudging up the mine tracks towards the elevators.

“Gladio,” Ignis says lowly into his ear, “perhaps you should run.”

Gladio doesn’t have time to look over his shoulder and see what they should be running from. He trusts Ignis and he knows that when Ignis says to run, they should run.

He runs.

Immediately, the mine comes alive with the sound of snarling. Something skitters up and tries to latch onto Gladio’s shoe, but he kicks it away and stomps on it in stride, relishing the sound of its squeal. Ignis twists in Gladio’s grasp, and the hand on his back disappears for a brief moment, replaced by the fierce momentum of a throw. A second later, the squeal of a daemon tells Gladio that Ignis hit his target.

“Good shot,” he mutters.

“Shouldn’t you be running?” Ignis snaps, but it’s sort of fond.

Gladio keeps running.

In his arms, Ignis leans and twists like a snake, sinuous and lethal, conjuring up daggers as fast as he can throw them. The angle is awkward for both of them, and it can’t be easy for him to aim while Gladio’s running, but Ignis is nothing if not adaptable, and it sounds like he’s making short work of whatever’s chasing them.

Gods, there’s the elevator.

The sight of it gives him new strength, and he readjusts his grip on Ignis and pours new purpose into his stride, practically leaping across the threshold. He turns as Ignis tugs the elevator shut and punches the button to bring them to the surface.

It’s not a moment too soon.

Through the elevator grate, Gladio can see the glowing red eyes of an aramusha piercing the shadows of the mine tunnel. For a few heartbeats, the three of them are silent: Gladio, Ignis, and this daemon that watches them from a mere word length away. It could stab them if it wanted to, and corner them in this elevator where they can’t escape. But it doesn’t.

It’s waiting for them.

The elevator ascends.

Ignis breathes out a sigh the moment that the car passes out of sight of the tunnel. “Thank the gods,” he murmurs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “That worked well.”

“It did,” Gladio agrees. He raises an eyebrow at Ignis. “You don’t keep still.”

Ignis snorts. “I thought you were strong enough to handle it.”

“I was,” Gladio protests. “It’s just inconvenient.”

“I’m sure.” But Ignis is smirking, and his green eyes glitter with rare mischief as they ascend into the morning daylight.

Gladio grins back.

Gods, they actually made it.

Carefully, Gladio maneuvers them out of the elevator and into the sunlight, blinking against the contrasting brightness after their time in the mines. He’s walking now, slowly plodding down from the rocky mine entrance and down towards the car.

“Gladio, wait.”

Gladio stops. The car is right there. The haven is just beyond, trailing pale magical dust and smoke through the air. He can see the tents too, looming against the morning sky. “Why?” he asks, keeping his eyes fixed on the haven.

“I-” Ignis bites at his lip in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. “I don’t want Noct to see.”

“Oh.” Gladio nods slowly. “Yeah, of course.”

He turns and sets Ignis down gently in a patch of grass, letting Ignis settle himself comfortably. “I’ll, uh.” He points vaguely in the direction of the car. “Be right back.”

Ignis nods. He’s quiet now.

Gladio heads to the car. He tugs a pack out of the trunk and rummages around in it, retrieving an elixir and also a potion for good measure. He’s not sure what they’ll need.

When he returns to the grassy spot, Ignis is waiting quietly, picking at strands of grass like a nervous child. He runs a blade of it in between his fingers and twirls it. Gladio wonders if he’s imagining that it’s a dagger.

“Here,” he says roughly, holding out the elixir.

Ignis jolts slightly, as if he’s been knocked out of a reverie of some sort. “Ah,” he says by way of greeting. “Thank you.”

“Thought you’d like to do it yourself,” Gladio explains as Ignis takes the elixir from him.

“You thought correctly,” Ignis tells him. He holds the elixir up in both of his hands and crushes it, casting both of them in a blue-white burst of magic in the early morning light. Immediately, Ignis sighs, slumping in the grass. “That feels better,” he breathes, and some of the color returns to his cheeks. His face doesn’t look nearly as pained anymore.

“Can you move?” Gladio asks.

There’s a brief moment of nervousness when he asks that. But the elixirs have never failed them before, so they can’t possibly fail now. Right?

Then Ignis’s leg twitches, and then his foot, and then he’s bending both of his legs, bringing himself into a stable sitting position.

They both breathe out a sigh.

“Much better,” Ignis says. “Much better.”

He gets all of his movement back, and he’s none the worse for wear. But. Well.

The two of them know what happened, and they know that there had been a possibility that the elixir wouldn’t have worked.

When they walk back into camp, a little dusty and sweaty but otherwise none the worse for wear, Prompto bolts up from one of the camping chairs, dropping his phone on the seat so he can bound up to them. “Where were you?” he cries.

“Scouting,” Gladio says, pointing vaguely over his shoulder with a thumb. “The mines.”

“You took a while,” Prompto tells him with a frown. “I woke up as you were leaving. You didn’t take us with you.”

Gladio opens his mouth to retort, but Ignis cuts him off smoothly. “Merely a bit of reconnaissance, Prompto. And I know how tired you were from our hunting last night. We figured you both could use some rest while we took care of some lighter work.”

Prompto pauses his restless movements for a moment, considering the words. Then he shrugs. “Yeah, you’re right,” he admits, and his grin returns.

“And Noct?” Ignis asks.

Prompto snorts. “What do you think? He’s in bed.”

Ignis visibly relaxes. “Very well,” he says, and he rolls up his sleeves primly. “Breakfast?”

---

When they go back into the mines later that day, Ignis is cautious as always. He warns Noct about the danger of minecarts with a tone that speaks of general indifference. But there’s something fierce in the way he slaughters the daemons on the mine tracks.

Gladio’s proud of him.

Iggy always has a plan.