#the only reason he’s a fantastic healer is so he can patch himself back up after Mel’s ripped his leg off

[eclipsesalign]

I need to start drawing gore

[thedistantdusk]

Arcadia, Chapter 4

Well! What could happen next to our star-crossed investigative pair? Yeah idk, man... somehow, this fic got a lot darker than I intended. Anyway! Thanks again to the same folks, without whom this story wouldn’t be possible. None of this story is safe for work, and this chapter is no exception ;) 

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

D A Y + F O U R

She’s not sure when she wakes up. Her eyes blink open in the bleary morning… that foggy gap between night and day. Blue-green light streams through the windows, coloring the bedroom like it’s underwater.

He’s the first thing she notices, all warm and curled beside her. Harry… her Harry. A sad smile graces her lips as it all comes flooding back. Mike. The tulpa. The shower. Harry…

But together, all of those things are uncomfortable. Bits of it were nice, but the whole thing makes her stomach churn. It’s much easier to—

She presses her bum against him, hoping that wakes him up. Hoping he takes the hint. Harry heaves a deep breath, but doesn’t acknowledge her. Ginny bites her lip and wiggles back. Again.

Finally, he responds. But not how she’d hoped.

“Let’s… not jump to starting that up again,” Harry murmurs into her ear, his voice graveled with sleep. “Ok?”

She whips around, brow furrowed. “So you’ve suddenly become unattracted to—?”

He barks out a humorless laugh and reaches for his glasses. “We both know that’ll never happen.” He takes her in, reclining on the tufted headboard; she can’t help but feel flattered by the red patches that bloom on his cheeks. “Erm…” He clears his throat. “Could you get a dressing gown, actually? I really want to have a serious conversation and…”

He’s never been able to concentrate while she’s naked, has he?

“Sure.” For some reason, her skin prickles as she rises to her feet to pad across the carpet. Exposed. She feels exposed, even though Harry’s probably seen her naked more times than she has. Because this time, it’s not so much that he’s seeing her body naked— it’s that he’s about to discuss things she’s tried very, very hard to deny.

Ginny emerges from the closet in a white dressing gown and gives Harry a little twirl. “Happy?”

His lips curl in a tired smile. “Not… exactly. But I’m hoping to change that.”

“Oh?” Ginny settles in the desk chair. She’s not keen on this conversation, but some part of her recognizes it’s long overdue.

Harry begins by clearing his throat again. “So. Erm.” He places his fingers in a steeple and studies them. “As I… admitted last night, I’ve never stopped loving you. It’s been an awful, awful five years, but frankly it would’ve been worse if we’d stayed together, under those circumstances.”

She opens her mouth to object, but he raises a hand to forestall an interruption.

“Let… let me finish. Because after Percy died...” He shoots her a significant look. “You changed. Ok?”

“That’s not exactly fair,” she snaps, peering at her painted toenails. “Of fucking course I changed. If I didn’t change, I’d be a bloody sociopath. Is that who you wanted to shag?”

Harry heaves a deep sigh. “No. And I’m not going to let you get away with twisting things… again. Ok? Please, just let me finish.”

She presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth. For fuck’s sake, why does she already want to cry?

“You changed,” Harry continues, “and I really don’t blame you for it, but you refused to talk about Percy, or that night, or- or honestly, even anything remotely sad! Ever!” He pauses to collect his thoughts; guilt stabs at Ginny’s stomach. She wasn’t aware this frustrated him quite so much…

“You threw yourself into schoolwork,” he adds, blinking at the far wall. “You lost interest in things you loved. We still had sex, but it was…” He winces. “Unattached. It was… it was like it didn’t even need to be me there, in particular.” His eyes flit back to hers. “I tried to talk to you about it loads of times, but then when you joined the Unspeakables, you just used that as an excuse.”

Traitorous tears drip down her cheeks. She brushes them away to defend herself. “I was already interested in joining up before that,” Ginny insists, her voice warbling. “You weren’t there that year, Harry. You didn’t see what it was like at Hogwarts. The Unspeakables were putting out all this… this rubbish misinformation about you and about muggleborns, and—”

“—All of that is well and good,” Harry interrupts, “but the fact is that you became a different person after Percy died, and after nearly a year of living with that, I’d had enough.” He shrugs. “And even five years later, you’ve never sought help, as far as I know. Professional help, from someone who knows what they’re talking about. Not the type of help you find at the bottom of a pint.”

He’s right, of course. It’s like a stinging slap in the face, but he’s bloody right.

“So!” Harry clears his throat again. “As much as I… enjoyed last night, that can’t happen again if we don’t fix what split us up before. You’re still convinced you killed Percy. Until you’re not? This”— he gestures between them— “can’t work. Full stop.”

Ginny swallows and stares into her lap. “I’m not responsible for my brother’s death,” she whispers, emotionless. It’s a mantra, an oath, one she’s so accustomed to repeating that it’s turned foreign and unfamiliar on her tongue.

“Oh, I’m aware,” Harry says, spreading his palms. “The whole bloody world is aware, Jenny.” He sucks his teeth. “But you aren’t.”

There’s a pause. Ginny bites her lip, tempted to launch the spring-loaded denial she’s learned through years of counseling. But this time, it doesn’t come.

Because Harry knows better.

Shit.

That fact settles in the pit of her stomach; what are the chances, really, that she found herself trapped and playing house with the only person on earth who knows better.

“I was the last to see him,” she mutters, eyes downcast. “I told him he’d never replace Fred. I was drunk. Stupid. Stupidly drunk.” She grips her head in her hands, but the words don’t stop. They’re shooting from her, spurred by years of grief and regret and bursting forth like a steam engine.

“My stupid fucking temper,” she continues, every syllable dripping with self-loathing. “Ruining everything. And then he goes and—” She makes a flailing gesture. “Offs himself. Right on my mother’s fucking birthday! The day before your parents—”

“I know,” Harry whispers, his voice pleading. “Ginny, I know. But please, love, it’s not your fault. It’s never been your fault.”

She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe. It’s too much to say it aloud, to admit it, to let the waves of regret wash over her. There’s a scuttling of movement as she blinks ahead, gaping like a fish out of water. She’s not even surprised to feel Harry wrapping his arms around her and bringing her back to the bed. To feel his lips pressing to her temple as her body wracks with sobs. And she can’t do anything but lean into him. She can’t do anything but surrender, completely. To indulge in feeling raw and vulnerable and alive.

She doesn’t know how long it takes to come to. It’s not until she’s clinging to his chest that she draws a deep breath.

“You never told me any of this,” Harry says softly, mournfully, his hand playing with her hair. He loves her hair. He’s always loved her hair. With a final sob, she admits— if only to herself— that she misses letting him love it. She misses how he’d bury his face in the crook of her neck. How he’d inhale deeply, right at the crown of her head, and blink down at her with a dreamy smile.

She misses him.

Fuck. She misses him. And not just shagging him… but the whole bit. The late-night snacks and discussions on quidditch plays and heated debates about the best brand of toilet roll.

“What… what if I agree to work on it?” she finally whispers, eyelashes thick with half-dried tears.

Harry sighs; his hands still haven’t left her hair. “If we both agree to work on it… because trust me, I’m not doing fantastic either.” He lets out a chuckle. “Do you know how weird that was, being the stable one for once? Anyway.” He waves this off and continues. “If we both work on it, with proper mind-healers…” He swallows. “I don’t see why we couldn't be physical. Eventually.”

She pulls back to give him a watery grin. “I love you,” she murmurs. For the first time in years, her chest feels full. Her heart warm. Like there’s a chance at something in the future that doesn’t involve work and sadness and takeaways.

But speaking of work.

“I’d erm. Like to keep things with us private,” she says, playing with a piece of lint on the duvet. “Especially from work. And my family. Because…”

The thought of Attica’s face, pinched in disappointment, is nearly enough to replace the progress they’ve made over the past day.

“No,” Harry agrees quickly. “That’s. Yeah. Especially from Ron.” He shudders. “Can you imagine how well that would go over?”

“Huh! That’s ridiculous, Harry.” She bats her eyes at him, her expression the picture of innocence. “You mean you don’t want my brother to know that you went down on me and promptly spunked your—”

He cuts her off with a laugh, tossing a pillow on her face. She pulls it off with a giggle before settling beside him.

“Didn’t think you noticed that,” he admits, trailing a finger down the side of her face. “I really hoped you were asleep.”

She stifles a yawn. “Mmm. Don’t have to be Hermione to put that one together. Clue one: you were down there, which you’ve always… enjoyed.” She sleepily raises her eyebrows. “Clue two, I’ve seen you do that before — more than once— and you always have this weird… sort of duck-walk to take your trousers off.”

Harry groans, his entire face the color of her hair. “Please, please, don’t stop on account of me.” He somehow manages a sarcastic drawl as he removes his glasses and places them on the bedside table. “Let’s continue to detail all the times I’ve finished too quickly.”

“Not just too quickly,” she corrects, kissing him on the nose. “I’m only talking about coming in your trousers, which you’ve also managed to do several ti—”

Harry snorts. “And how many times have you done it, then?” His green eyes dance with mischief. “Also more than once. As memory serves, our time at Hogwarts got a lot more interesting once you discovered the combination of my thigh and snogging. You just don’t have the equipment to make things particularly messy when—”

“Clue three!” she loudly calls over him. He has the grace to laugh as she turns so they're spooning, her bum pressed against his crotch.

“I… said I loved you,” she finishes, interlacing their fingers. “And that’s always… you know.”

Harry shudders; there’s a sudden rise of fabric against her bum. “Ok, speaking of embarrassing,” he admits, adjusting himself. “You’re actually going to have to erm. Stop saying that? For now? Because…”

“Trust me, Auror Potter,” she murmurs, dropping her voice to her best impression of Kingsley. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Unfair,” he complains, toying with a piece of her hair. “As you can see, I’m a bit of a mess. It still turns me on when you say you love me.”

“Yeah, well, it still turns me on when you breathe,” she mutters, her eyes growing heavy. “Reckon we can just be messes together.”

Harry chuckles before burying his face into her hair. “I’ll always be your mess. Jenny.”

[thestalkerbunny]

Are you abble to make 1 headcanon for each menber of the felt?

:3c

Itchy- Itchy is on constant probation from the garage because of his crimes against car-manity. He has blown up, destroyed, scratched, sunk and totaled more cars than one can count on fingers. There is a reason why there is 5 locks on the door to the garage and a sign that says 'Itchy is not allowed in the garage under any circumstance' and he just stands there in front of it is saying 'THAT SIGN WONT STOP ME I CANT READ'. He can't help it he just does everything at 6x the acceptable speed. It makes him a fantastic getaway driver-but he will always end up destroying something in the process.

Doze- Doze is weirdly good at puzzles. Compared to Itchy who tries to do something at 50 miles per hour, Doze is good at analyzing things from every angle and then breaking it down to what he needs to do because he takes his time and is careful. If you ever needed a bomb defused-provided there's not a timer, Doze is the who can do it successfully. He's the dude who takes 4 days to solve the rubix cube but it's at least better than anyone else can do.

Trace-Trace's favorite hobby besides following people around to see where they've been and have that level of dirty blackmail on them and playing stickball with Fin, is blowing up cars. Any day where an order comes in for the a bomb to be planted on a car for some reason is a good day to be Trace. Fin often helps him; not that he's good in any regard at it, it's just because only the two of them combined can actually remember all the lyrics to the song 'Cars that Go Boom'

Clover-Clover is the ideal leperchaun in many regards. Mainly because he's just so GOOD at charms (thanks to his luck) his riddles are always air tight, the pranks immaculate, his jokes and japes are always funny, it makes him basically the hottest leperchaun in the felt. He also has one of the better singing voices of them all.

Fin-Between the two pool sharks, Fin has lost more teeth because he just impulsively bites everything. Like a true shark, he goes thru life biting everything he can rather than using his hands to figure out what they are. They grow back rather quickly, but at the same time, it's not uncommon for him to bite into something-or someone-and a tooth to be left behind. One could make a macabe necklace from the teeth he sheds.

Die-Die is more of a complex fellow than most of his fellow members believe, he's devoutly obedient to his 'belief system' and refuses to do anything that might break it's code of conduct. He is prone to fits of Insomnia and long periods of heavy sleeping and just in general takes very poor care of himself and and is only a proficient mobster when he really puts his mind to it. He's a very touch starved person and his erratic and eerie behaviors often push people away and he is often immediately suspicious of people who willingly want to spend time around him because he assumes it’s a joke or they want something out of him. It's a private fact that he keeps secret that he simply does not like himself that much.

Crowbar- Crowbar is a firm believer that he's under appreciated in the group and feels often left out of things because he's the 'boss'. It's like you don't conventionally invite out the guy who is constantly telling you to 'cut that shit out' for drinks because he's a stick in the mud, right? He feels like always has to be better than the rest of them; be the model example, be the immaculate leader he is expected to be and it drives him up the wall half the time because he never has a real break from it. He has the stress of those kids who you know have been tiger parented into success and the idea of anything less than perfect just screws with their head a little too much. Crowbar has eldest child syndrome despite being the 7th oldest.

Snowman-When she was first introduced to the group, she highly resented all of them because by technicality, they are 'frogs' and frogs are what got her in this exiled state in the first place. She gradually warmed up to them more when she realized none of them had ever spoken to a woman and were unquestioningly frightened of her based on that fact alone. She still doesn't understand their weird customs and reasoning behind doing things most of the time.

Stitch- He's actually ironically very good friends with Die-Die thinks that Stitch is an excellent listener and enjoys his company but in actuality, Stitch is lazily grooming Die to be the next 'tailor' for The Felt incase something happens to him that makes him unable to fufill his tailor/sawbones duties. Nobody fucking ever protects the healer and now his leg don't WORK half the time and half his face is fucked up and can't see good out of one of his eyes anymore, if Die has to become the next tailor, it's YOUR GUYSES FAULT

Sawsbuck-Actually a very good gambler??? For some reasons, he plays the game of 'ooh what card game is this fellows? I do not know it but I wish to play it' on people and it WORKS. And then everyone loses their money. You'd think Clover goes to those back room dark poker room games-no, everybody in the city is too wise to play against CLOVER, but they will play his pudgey friend who is holding the cards upside down, that guy obviously can't win a single hand by the looks of him. And then everyone but Sawsbuck goes broke.

Matchsticks-Covered in burn marks from having to time travel and even though he uses his extinguisher to put it out most of the time, sometimes you're on fire just a little too long and it just leaves a big of permant damage on the skin that doesn't heal correctly. Not too many-small patches, the fire usually eats thru his clothes first before it can get to his skin.

Eggs-Eggs is not a good liar. (I have no good strong headcanons for Eggs or Biscuits because I rarely give them heavy thought.)

Biscuits- Has cried for 15 minutes straight when Itchy told him that 'bread makes you fat'

Quarters-Quarters never smiles for anything, he has an eternal poker face and Itchy's running theory is that he broke the muscles in his face years ago and now he's stuck with this neutral gargoyle scowl all the time. Which is no true; he smiles and actually laughs, it's only because the one person he actually finds funny and worth laughing at is Clover and his little antics. They're not in Fin and Trace level inseperable but are decent runner ups.

Cans-Kronk. He's Kronk. It's all coming together now. Would you like a spinich puff? (I also don't have very good headcanons for Cans. RIP.)

[fericita-s]

Including Anna

A new story in the When All is Lost series that @the-spastic-fantastic and I are working on to tell the story of Iduna and Agnarr.  This one takes place as they are new parents, and leads up to the night of the accident and the visit to the trolls for healing.  Thank you @the-spastic-fantastic for the beta read and especially for the wonderful line about parental worry. Is it any wonder we feel a kinship to these characters?

***

“Agnarr! Quick, grab her! Before she goes to the fireplace again!” At Iduna’s words, Agnarr rushed into the room and scooped up his youngest daughter before she could push on the screen separating the fireplace from the girls’ bedroom.  The fire wasn’t lit, but the soot would be a mess and his formal Naval uniform was still being cleaned from the last time Anna had gotten into it and given him a hug.  Elsa might have magical ice powers, but Anna seemed to have magical mischief powers.

Agnarr picked up Anna and threw her up in the air, laughing with her as she gave a delighted shriek. "We have a whole staff! Maids! Cooks! Nannies! Can any of them keep you out of trouble, my dear?" He set Anna on the bed, tapped his nose against hers gave her a kiss on the forehead.

Iduna paused again in the story she was reading to Elsa and smiled at Agnarr. "Yes, but you're her father. And I don’t want a maid or a cook or a nanny to put our children to bed. Besides, the staff are all through for the day. Now the mischief management is up to us.”

Anna had been with her mother and Elsa until the draw of the fireplace had lured her out of bed. Now all four of them sat together, Agnarr wedging himself between Anna and the side of the bed, trying to keep her from any more bedtime adventures. Iduna continued the story about a mermaid and a prince, Elsa listening raptly, Anna getting sleepy. Agnarr smiled as she read, not paying attention to the story.  He was lost in a memory of when Iduna had surprised him by jumping down from a tree while he read the very same book. When they had both been lonely and without a family.  He looked at his daughters and his wife, and felt a rush of love at their presence. He didn’t want to be without them, without his family, ever again.

The story read, lullabies sung, prayers said, kisses given, denials for last glasses of water issued, Agnarr and Iduna closed the door behind them and walked down the hallway to their sitting room. Agnarr sat down with a heavy sigh and pulled Iduna down next to him on the couch. She turned and laid her head on the end of the couch and put her feet in his lap.  He slipped off her shoes and began to rub her feet, their own nightly ritual.  They were silent for a while, enjoying the quiet after the joyful chaos of putting the girls to bed. It was especially hard in the summer months when the sky stayed bright long past when they wanted to girls to be asleep.

As he massaged her soles, Agnarr mulled a thought that had been nagging at him with increasing persistency for some time. “Before we were married, you told me about a tea you could make to be sure any…premarital activities didn’t result in a baby.”

Iduna smiled, thinking of that conversation. “Yes, and I believe you told me you had to stay pure and kingly, duty over desire, something something.  Aren’t you glad we’re married now and you don’t have to worry about that anymore?”

“But I do worry.”

Iduna tilted her head with a quizzical look. “Worry?  About what?”

“About having more children.” His hands stilled, but kept holding her feet.

“Is this because Anna climbed out of the window last week? And used your scepter for a fairy wand? She’s two.  It will get easier.” Iduna rubbed her forehead.  Sometimes it was exhausting to even think about the antics of her youngest daughter.

Agnarr hugged her knees to his chest.   “It’s not about that. When you carried Elsa, I worried for you, cold all the time and shivering instead of sleeping. Anna’s birth was difficult.  And…Revna’s before that.” His voiced hitched on the name of their second born daughter.  Who was born but did not live.

Iduna swung her feet to the floor and sat up, her body facing him, her hands taking his. He felt her closeness and drew strength knowing that she was now with him and whole once more.  He cleared his throat and continued. “And it’s not just the magic – the ice, the heat. My mother died during my birth.  My father said she seemed strong and healthy right up until the end. But nothing helped her, not even my father begging the mountain men to comb for trolls and bring any healers to the castle.”

“Agnarr, I’m fine! I’ll be fine.” she brought a hand to his face, running her thumb over his mustache, cupping his cheek like he was one of the girls when they felt scared.

Gerda knocked on the door and entered with a tray of glogg and chocolate.

“Now I’m really fine! Thank you Gerda!” Iduna reached for the tray, broke off a piece of chocolate, and sighed as she ate.  

Agnarr picked up a mug of glogg and handed the other to Iduna. He tapped his against hers, saying “Skal,” good health, a toast as well as a wish.

***

It was a warm October day, and Iduna was harvesting the last of the lingonberries on the castle grounds. She was hoping to make a batch of vattlingon for Captain Calder who would distribute it to the departing vessels bound for long journeys.  It was the best remedy for preventing scurvy, and the sailors enjoyed the taste of home.

Elsa was helping, and had only squished a few berries while adding to the basket Iduna held. Anna had tried to eat one on off of the shrub, but made a face at the tart taste and spat it out in the dirt.  Now she was sitting in a particularly comfortable patch of dirt, trying to plant the half-eaten berry so a new shrub would grow. Mostly, she was stabbing the trowel into the soil and then placing the dirt over her legs while giggling.

Soon Elsa tired of helping and sat down next to Anna, trying to make a trowel out of ice. Anna stopped her digging to admire her sister’s attempts, clapping and laughing as Elsa’s efforts looked more and more like the trowel Anna held.

Iduna paused in her work to watch them, grateful that her daughters had each other, grateful that she had them.  And then, the prickling sensation of sadness came. Like a harvest, it kept cropping up, never lay fallow for long. Her grief for family lost never quite went away, just appeared anew in unexpected ways. Like watching Elsa clasp her hands together and recognizing her mother’s mannerism.  Seeing Anna’s laugh and thinking how it was an echo of Duvka’s. It was a joy and a sorrow. To see what was lost in what she had gained.

Maybe later she could pull Agnarr from his duties so the four of them could pick some more berries in the woods nearby.

As if by thinking about him summoned him, he appeared, walking out of the castle towards their spot in the garden.  He must have been able to see them from his meeting with Minister Wollen.

“Good afternoon!” he called, getting closer.

“How was your meeting? Did you convince Minister Wollen to take on teaching duties at the academy?”

Agnarr drew close and kissed her, his arm around her waist.

“Convincing her was easy. I can now talk Anna into taking naps, so anything pales in comparison to that.”

Hearing her name, Anna looked up. “Papa!” She pulled herself out of the dirt and ran over to give him a muddy hug.  He bent down to embrace her, and gave her a tight squeeze. She released him and went back to her patch of dirt.

“What are you doing, Elsa?”

She held up the ice trowel and Agnarr marveled over it, exclaiming, “What a wonderful likeness! Will it work?”

Elsa smiled and showed him how she could dig with it. “This is the fifth one.  The others weren’t so good.”

Agnarr leaned over to give her a kiss on the head. “It’s good you kept trying.  First tries are not usually perfect.  You have to keep working to get it right sometimes. That’s good for a future queen to know.” Elsa grinned at him and then went back to perfecting the trowel, trying to add the rosemaling design that was on the handle of Anna’s.

“I was planning to ask you if you could spare some time from your duties to go on a walk in the woods with us. I’m sure you could use the break.”

Agnarr laughed. “Governing is difficult work, but keeping up with these two is harder.  But a better job no one could find.” He kissed her again and said “Let’s go now. We have time before the Sundbergs join us for dinner. And my jacket is already muddy, so it’d be a shame to waste that.”

***

After dinner and dessert and a little bit of dancing, Iduna and Agnarr said goodnight to Henrik and his family. Elsa and Anna had been put to bed by the nanny a few hours earlier, and were hopefully asleep by now.  Walking upstairs, Iduna asked “Did you mean what you said earlier? That being king is easier than being a father?”

Agnarr nodded. “I do believe that to be true. But I know ‘king’ is the only title out of those two that I would willingly give up.”

Iduna linked her arm in his, voices quieting as they walked past the girls’ room. “As king, you can assign all of our best people to the task at hand.  Minister Wollen for any delicate matters of diplomacy.  Captain Calder for trade disputes.  With the girls, we can’t have someone else decide how much dinner is enough to warrant a chocolate course, or how well-behaved a two-year-old should be during a church service.”

Agnarr thought to himself that was exactly what a royal nanny usually did, but didn’t want to speak it aloud.  He hadn’t liked spending more time with a nanny than with his father as a child, and since Iduna had no experience in the lives of royalty prior to living in the castle, he saw no reason to tell her of the traditions that neither one of them would like.

“It’s a weighty responsibility, taking care of their wellbeing.  I suppose a king has the wellbeing of an entire kingdom to concern himself with, but it’s more about the structures and policies that allow the people to thrive. With Anna and Elsa there are so many things I want to get right, so many things I want to say and experiences I want them to have and to avoid. I’m glad we don’t have as many children as we have subjects.”

Iduna laughed. “What a thought!”

Agnarr opened the door to their room and put his hand on her back to guide her to the couch. They sat down and took their usual nighttime spots. Iduna’s head rested on the end of the couch, her feet in his lap.  Agnarr took off his formal coat and they sat that way in silence for a time, Agnarr thinking about his conversation with Henrik in the library as they waited for dinner to be served.

“Henrik told me you helped his wife with some preventative measures after their last.  That was a frightening birth, he said. Each of ours have been a terror for me, and hearing him tell of how she almost died, I – “

He stopped, unable to continue, unsure of what words to use to convey what he felt. He took a breath, and then his voice changed, like he was in a council meeting strategizing for the best way forward out of a crisis.  No emotion, just a plan that needed to be put into motion. “I don’t want any more children.  We have two healthy daughters and I am blessed.  I don’t want to risk losing you, Iduna.  I couldn’t.  I lived without a family for years before we were married and even then I had you as a friend. I need you.  Please – do what you have to do to keep it from happening again. If there’s something I should drink, I will. No more children.” The pleading in his eyes belied the king’s command of his statement.

Iduna’s hand dropped, but she kept it in her lap. “But a son – don’t you want a son to take over as king?”

“We don’t need a male heir. Elsa will make a fine queen. The English were fine with Queen Elizabeth and now Queen Victoria is doing well. Arendelle’s flag will always fly.  It doesn’t need to fly under the rule of a king. As you show me daily, queens are very capable. If it means your life or a son, I choose you.” He turned to look at her, smiling with a sadness behind it. “Did you want more children?”

Iduna looked alert now, the relaxed sleepiness in her posture gone. She paused before answering, her voice quiet. “I hadn’t thought about not having more. But I will give it thought.” They were silent, Agnarr tense and still.

He stood, an abrupt motion that unsteadied her position on the couch, and she felt unmoored, shifting back and forth.  “I’ll go down the hall and get Gerda to bring up some glogg. Perhaps the chocolate cake from dinner?” Iduna nodded and he left.

***

It was good to have a minute alone with her thoughts.  She so rarely had that luxury. Being a mother was more wonderful and more difficult than she had imagined, and though she had longed for it, she sometimes mourned the loss of freedom and loss of sleep.

Since becoming a mother, she had never felt completely calm.  There had always been worry, a constant companion as she thought about what was best for Elsa and Anna, what she could do to protect them, what she could do to prepare them for the life of a princess when it was still so foreign to her. Her capacity for joy seemed to have increased, as well as her capacity for fear.

And then Elsa’s powers – it hadn’t opened her forest homeland the way she thought it would, but it could at any moment.  At any moment, more people could find out about Elsa’s magic and their reactions might not be as delighted as Agnarr’s had been.  She hadn’t forgotten the Arendellians’ suspicion about the magic her people used in the forest. Suspicion and fear were unpredictable.  She worried daily, hourly, about what that meant for Elsa. It was with her when she woke, when she saw her daughter perform her enchanting miracles, when she tried to drift off at night with troubled thoughts.

Iduna thought about the fear in Agnarr’s tone as he made his request and realized that he wasn’t asking this for her sake or for the kingdom. She understood that he was asking her to do this for him, a request not from a King to a Queen, but a husband to a wife.  

She knew what it was to be fearful. She knew what it was to lose a loved one and never quite recover.

Agnarr entered the room with two mugs of glogg. “I couldn’t find anyone still awake to serve us the cake.”

Iduna reached for the cup and squeezed his hand as she took it, thanking him. As they settled back into the couch, she pressed her body against his, head on his shoulder, thigh against thigh. She wanted him to feel her closeness, to feel that she was alive and well.

“I like that I can see my mother in Elsa’s face, Duvka in Anna’s playfulness. Having a child is like a way to see, to remember, the family I’ve lost.  A way for them to live on.”

Iduna placed her mug on the floor and took one of his hands in two of hers and held it tightly.  “But I don’t need more children.” She sought his eyes and spoke, willing him to hear and believe what she was saying. “It would be nice to not end up like that poor Queen of the Southern Isles.  She just had her thirteenth son the year Elsa was born. Thirteen boys! It’s a given at least one of them won’t turn out right.”

Agnarr relaxed into the couch as she spoke, receiving the gift of her light-hearted acquiescence, his laugh one of relief and joy. “Probably several of them won’t turn out right.”

“Tell Midwife Jora the sad news that she is out of royal work indefinitely. And don’t keep doing that with your hand or else we will need her after all. I’ll need a few days to get the brew going.”

“I think I can figure out something for us to do in the meantime.” Agnarr leaned in to kiss her, his relief at her agreement making him feel giddy, and he felt he had secured a future of joy.

***

The winter was the best time to take the girls to Market Square. No one noticed in the chilly weather if Elsa’s touch made something turn to ice or grow cold. Anna in particular liked watching the busy activities of the market, the sailors unloading goods, the fishermen stacking their catch on mounds of ice, the Yuletide bunting being hung over doorways and windows. Now the yearly royal visit to Eir’s came before the bell was rung, to give out coats and mittens to the children so they were well dressed for the ceremony within the castle gates. Eir smiled watching Anna and Elsa at play in the snow with the children in her care, and if she noticed that Elsa was able to make more snowballs than anyone else, or more than seemed possible from the pile of snow she had been near, she didn’t say anything.

***

When the royal family stood in front of open doors and rang the Yule Bell, everyone noticed the pride in the king’s smile as he and Elsa held the rope, the queen holding Anna. Elsa’s bare hands clutched the rope and she pulled.  Agnarr, gripping it further up, pulled as well and the loud tolling startled Anna who laughed and reached for the rope herself.  Agnarr smiled to see it, and hoped she would always reach for what she wanted, and that it would always be within her grasp.

***

In August, Anna was three and she was a little easier than she had been at two.  She was now a constant companion to her sister, begging her to “do the magic” and utterly enthralled with the ice and snow Elsa conjured. Iduna and Agnarr liked to watch them at play, creating worlds and voicing stories that were so imaginative, they thought of inviting that Danish author to come listen and be inspired.

But bedtime had gotten harder, and Anna, now out of a crib and in a bed, would wake her sister up and beg her for a nighttime session of playing with the ice. And one night, it ended in disaster.

***

Iduna clutched Anna to her chest as she slumbered peacefully, so relieved that she would heal from her injury that she couldn’t speak. Magical wounds were not something she could cure, and though the trolls were no friends of hers, she was grateful for the healing. She was not grateful for the words of prophecy Pabbie spoke. The last time she heard his voice, he was telling her to leave her home.  Now, he was showing her a vision of a mob pulling and tearing at her eldest daughter, and she thought about the body in the woods, the murdered Northuldra man. The fear she felt as a fourteen-year-old was just as pressing, just as strangling as it had been then. She had no words, it felt like they had been pulled out of her by a frenzied mob. Agnarr’s rang out in the clearing, echoing loudly among the trolls and the rocks. “No, we’ll protect her.  She can learn to control it I’m sure. ‘Til then we’ll lock the gates. Reduce the staff.  We will limit her contact with people.  We’ll keep her powers hidden from everyone.  Including Anna.”

Iduna looked down at Anna and thought that this was a death after all. A death of a kind. Certainly an ending, and one from which she did not know how to begin again.

[iwritefanficion]

Sanders Sides Dating Headcannons!

Prompt/Summary: Fantasy Au (because I can), (fem)reader is a witch, meeting the sides. Medieval-ish setting, if you want a more in-depth explanation, just ask.

Characters: Roman, Patton, Logan, Virgil, Remus and Deceit

Warnings: Remus, sexual innuendos, some swearing, inappropriate language, non-graphic violence, mentions of wounds. 

~

Roman

-Prince Roman had set out to kill the supposed ‘wicked’ witch that lived in the enchanted forest. 

-When he actually got there, he was surprised to find not an ugly old wench but a lovely woman who opened up her home to him and offered him tea.

-You told him that sure, you were a witch, but you didn’t harm anyone. You mostly just made herbal remedies and potions to help others. 

-You traded plants, food and money for these concoctions and that's how you stayed alive. 

-Sure you could cast spells, but you rarely used them. There were wards around the cottage, and you did use your magic on your garden but you didn’t actually like hurting people.

-So, Roman apologized profusely. You accepted the apology gracefully and told him you were used to it. People often made assumptions about witches because of the bad rep they get from fables and actual wicked witches.

-You two spent the day together, just talking and laughing. Each asking questions about your respective lives. 

-”Is the castle as large as they say?” 

-”What kinds of things do you put in potions?”

-Roman had a fantastic time with you! Honestly, he knew he fell head over heels in love with you the first time he heard you laugh. You were so incredibly sweet and thoughtful he thought he would melt. 

-When the sun was beginning to set, he knew he had to go back. His subjects awaited his return. But, he did ask if he could come to see you again. 

-”Of course, my home is always open to a friend,”

Patton

-Patton was a healer. One sought out far and wide because of his amazing abilities. He did live with his friend, the Prince, at the castle because of the abilities but also had a store in town. 

-Though his magic could heal wounds, he couldn’t treat pain with his abilities. But, he worked with plants and herbs that had medicinal and pain-relieving purposes. Some even had magical properties but he couldn’t make potions. 

-But, when he was working on a certain herbal remedy, he realized he needed a rare plant that didn’t grow in the kingdom. 

-He asked around but all that anyone can tell him is it grows in the darker part of Enchanted Forest. 

-No one really goes there but he was never one to let someone suffer, so he decided to go there. 

-He quickly finds himself lost. 

-Like, he spends HOURS trying to either get out or find the plant, neither which succeeds. By the time the sun is setting, he’s so close to crying. 

-That is until a soft voice speaks through the darkness and fog of the mystical forest. 

-”Are you alright? You seem lost,”

-Patton cries in relief when he realizes someone is there. The figure steps out, shrouded in a long robe, a basket at their side. 

-He, through snot and tears, tells the stranger that he is lost and can’t find his way out. He begs them to help them. 

-The stranger reveals themself as you, a lovely woman, and you smile so sweetly at him. You tell him that you can help him get out. 

-He grasps your free hand as the two of you exit the dangerous forest, being extra careful to stay close to you. 

-For some reason, he feels safe with you, as if you could shield him from all the darkness of the forest. As if you were a bright beacon, banishing all the evil creatures that lurked. 

-You can sense his uneasiness and talk with him. Distracting him is easy, you ask who he is, what he does. Basically, you learn his life story by the time you’re both out of the forest. He actually starts making dumb little jokes that make both of you laugh.

-Patton takes a liking to you, not just because you saved him. You’re just so sweet and kind that he wants to get to know you more. So, he does feel a bit disappointed when the two of you are at the edge of the forest.

-Then he realizes he never got any of that plant he was looking for and he heaves a heavy sigh. That just ruined all the pleasantness of being around you. 

-You ask him what’s wrong and he tells you about the plant. He mentions he doesn’t want to go back in there but he really needs the plant. 

-You smile at him, like an angel from above he could swear. You pull out some plants from your basket and hand them to him.

-”I have too many, will you take some off my hands?”

Logan

-Logan was a wizard, one who worked with and under Prince Roman, someone he could call a friend, even if the prince exasperated him most days. 

-Books and knowledge were his specialties, and how he gained his many magical abilities and spells. He considered himself quite powerful, and so did many others. He was trusted by the Prince, even to join parties on quests or go alone on these journies. 

-On one of these quests, he was sent, alone, to take out some rogues in a village who were stealing valuables and money of the poor people who lived there.

-But, as he was travelling, it soon got dark- just not from the night sky rolling in but by grey clouds crowding the stary skies. Rain poured down heavily, soaking him in a matter of minutes. 

-The road he travelled was absent of any shelter, he picked it so no one would know he was coming. Since there was no cover from the rain, he kept walking, knowing he would get sick from being in the cold. 

-He was shivering, his steps slowing. The chilly air nipped at his skin, and the water soaked him to the bone. With bleary eyes, he saw a light only a short distance away. 

-Hoping it was some shelter, he ran to it, finding it to be a small cottage. 

-Relief washed over him as he knocked on the door, his hands trembling. 

-The door was open by none other than you, who took one look at the shivering traveller and ushered him in without another word. You set him on the couch, peeling off his drenched robes and wrapping a warm blanket around him. 

-You set a fire with a few words and a flick of your wrist. This man, who was saturated with water, felt like death, blue in the lips, and paler than a corpse, had to be warmed before he joined the dead. 

-Logan could feel the energy of magic flowing through the air, sparking him with familiar comfort. The house was filled with the aroma of herbs, especially sage, and the smoke of the fire. It wasn’t hard to figure out the woman was a witch.

-You made him some tea and hung his wet clothes by the fire. 

-You asked him his name, giving yours as well, and smiled when he told you. He also mentioned what he was there to do, and thanked you for letting him in.

-The rain doesn’t let up, so you tell him to stay the night, and he weighs the options before agreeing. 

-The two of you spend hours talking about different subjects, astronomy, magic, books. Everything and anything. Time just flies by until you yawn, then you both realize how late it is. 

-You allow Logan to take the bed and you take the couch. He tried to argue with you but you use logic against him, saying he needs a good night sleep to continue his quest. He can’t argue with sound logic.

-By morning, the rain has stopped and you give Logan back his now dried clothes. 

-”Come back at any time. I want to hear more about the stars,”

Virgil

-Virgil is an angel who fell because he wasn’t angelic enough but wasn’t accepted into Hell because he wasn’t demonic enough. This lead to him just falling to earth, his wings burning as he plummeted to the ground. 

-Still (sorta) a celestial being, he could survive without food or water. But, he spent a few days unable to move or speak, his physical body weak and none of his abilities working. 

-He thought he was going to die from his injuries, some were severe and, because of the limitations of his body, were prone to infections. The days he spent on the ground was filled with agony, and his mind was still reeling in all that happened to make this occur.

-But, a stranger had come around, and as soon as they saw the fallen angel, a small shriek of horror left their lips. 

-Virgil, being anxiety-ridden, thought they were scared of him because of the burnt, black wings protruding from his back that would usually be an indication of a demonic presence. 

-However, he was not expecting to be picked up and carried bridal style. He would have done something to stop them but he couldn’t move or speak. So, he could only watch as they carried him off. But, they were mindful of his wings, so that was a good sign.

-Being held only added to his suffering, physically speaking. This caused him to pass out from the pain. 

-When he woke up, he was in a comfortable bed, in a warm house, that smelled of candles and sage. Coming from angelic past, he was able to sense the magic that stuck to the air. It was something peaceful and soothing, so he knew he wasn’t dealing with something malevolent. 

-The creaking of the door alerted him to someone coming in, and you did, in all your witchy glory. In your hands were a basket of ointments, herbal remedies, bandages and something to drink. 

-You told him who you were, and that you found him when out in the forest. He was badly hurt, so you brought him back to patch up. 

-He asked if you were frightened of him. He was a fallen angel, and angels who fell became demons, usually. 

-You told him you weren’t, you were a witch, you could feel the aura’s all beings give off. His was not evil nor wicked, and you had no reason to believe he would harm you. 

-You gave him the hot tea and asked if you could patch up his wings. You examined them when he was asleep and they were broken, badly scarred, and burnt. If he didn’t want to get an infection or if he ever wanted to fly again, she would need to fix them.

-Virgil was skeptical. Why were you being nice? Why would you help him? Was there something you wanted from him? However, he could get his answers later. The pain was unbearable and he did need them fixed. 

-So, you did. You used healing spells for the major wounds, healing the broken bones and fixing the majority of the burns. You used ointments and herbs on the minor cuts and bandaged any open wounds. 

-Virgil was in misery the entire time, his screams echoed through the house. He bit into your pillow to try and silence himself but it was useless. Even with the trembling and yelling, you managed to finish. 

-You apologized profusely when it was over, putting a wet cloth to his forehead. You told him the tea would help soothe him, ease the pain and make it easier to rest. He would need it.

-Before he did, he demanded to know why you were helping him. Everyone had an agenda, everyone wanted something to gain. So why help him? What were you after?

-You told him you wanted nothing from him except for him to feel better. 

-He didn’t believe you but decided that you would have to mention something sooner or later. So he drank the tea and immediately felt better. 

-Before he went to sleep, he asked you if you were going to take any feathers from his wings. He knew that angel feathers- or fallen angel feathers in this case- can be used for spells.

-You laughed softly and shook your head. 

-”Of course not. If I wanted angel feathers, all I’d have to do is pluck a swan and soak the feathers in holy water.”

Deceit

-Deceit was a naga. A serpentine-like creature with scales and a yellow tail, long enough to wrap around humans and constrict them. Though, being a naga, he could turn himself human or transform into a snake. 

-He often tricked rich people and stole their belongings for his personal stash. Unlike his brethren, he didn’t like to kill all that much. He was more into deceiving people and tried to make people do the worst they’re capable of.

-It was uncommon for people to venture into the dark part of the Enchanted Forest, where he resided in. It was nearly unheard of one to come into his cave. 

-Yet, there you were, coming in. You looked so naive, so curious. You had no weapons, no sword or armour, only a bag by your side. A smile lit up on your face as you wandered the cave, lightened by the pools of water that made everything glow. 

-He watched from the shadows, waiting to strike, to deceive and trick you. He watched as you took an empty glass vial, round in shape, and filled it with the glowing water before placing it in your bag. 

-Then you began searching for something. Deceit believed you were looking for his treasures, why else would you come here? Why else would you come into a dark cave in the most treacherous parts of the Enchanted Forest? 

-Slithering out, he turned into a human. Black and gold clothes adorned his body, looking much like some kind of nobility or royalty. 

-”Looking for something, little rabbit?”

-You spun around, hand clutching your chest. When you saw that it was nothing more than a man, you let out a sigh. You told him not to sneak up on people, you could have hurt him!

-He chuckled at your ignorance. Then he apologized in a way that was charming but it wasn’t sincere. However, you didn’t seem to notice. 

-You said it was fine, and that you were looking for something. Then you asked him what he was doing in the cave. 

-He told you that he was looking for the naga’s treasure since he lived in these parts. He asked if you were looking for it too. 

-You shook your head, saying you weren’t. Treasure meant little to you, you were searching for a particular plant. You also told him if he was going to steal from a naga, he was writing his death sentence. And that you wouldn’t blame the creature. 

-He was a little bit stunned by your words. He thought you were lying to him, or that you knew he was a naga and were trying to fool him. But, he watched as you were looking near the water, trained solely on the ground. 

-The two of you chatted for a bit, talking about your lives and such. You gave him your name and told him how you lived near the forest. He told you his name was ‘Dee’ since he didn’t tell anyone his real name.

-You let out a little ‘aha’ when you found a bundle of a certain flower, plucking them and placing them in a box then in your bag. 

-You told him you found what you were looking for and would be taking your leave. You also said you would love to see him again if he didn’t get killed, that is.

-He didn’t know why but he almost wished you would stay. You had this warmth to you that a serpent much like him adored. But, your last words to him were anything but warm, and that made him all the more interested.

-”I’d wish you luck, but you’re stealing from someone, so I give you a warning instead: don’t do it.”

Remus

-This was so not your day. 

-First, you were forced out of your home by a fire started by royal soldiers. Then, said soldiers tried to kill you because you escaped. So, you had to wipe out the miserable little bastards. Then, there’s a bounty on your head, so you had to stay away from all towns and villages. 

-Oh, then there was the matter of all your stuff being burnt to a crisp. You managed to salvage some things, some books and vials of potions. Anything you could grab, basically. You could make new stuff and many of your most valued items were safe, but still!

-You had to hide, so the darkest corners of the Enchanted Forest was a good place. Sure everything there wanted to kill you but they were mostly just creatures and plants. Those you can deal with because sooner or later, they’ll get the hint. 

-You’re not to be trifled with. 

-However, as you’re searching for a cave to hide out in, you spot a dark tower in the distance. As you get closer, you can see how worn down it is. 

-The windows are cracked or shattered, the stones are crumbling, vines are invading the walls from below, the doors look like they’d turn to ash by being touched. 

-Despite being a powerful witch, a certain uneasiness grows in you. Something sinister lived in there. Was it more powerful than you? You didn’t know but you were dying to see what lied beyond those walls. 

-So, you started walking towards it, making sure to keep your magic at high alert. 

-That did not do much because the second you were close to it, slimy tentacles popped from under the ground and wrapped around your arms, legs and neck. 

-You grimaced at the wetness of the tentacles but otherwise, weren’t bothered by it, besides the fact that you couldn’t move. Sure, you could wipe these suckers out, by why do it now?

-The person living there would come out and not be on guard. If you did it now, they would know you had abilities. But, you could surprise them with your powers if they posed a threat. 

-So you waited for a few minutes before a cackling laugh echoed through the forest, coming from all around you. You rolled your eyes at such a cliche. 

-A man showed up, looking very similar to the goody-two-shoes prince of the land, besides for the fact that this guy had a mustache and a silver streak in his hair. 

-”Well, looky what we got here! What should I do with you? Maybe replace your fingers with your toes and your toes with your fingers?!”

-This guy threatened you with a few more very weird ideas but you weren’t scared. You were actually kind of amused. Sure, he had a wacky brain, but those are the best.

-So, you cut off his rambling by asking who he was. 

-He stopped talking, looked you up and down in more of a quizzical manner, before grinning. He did a bow, over the top and very dramatic, introducing himself as the Duke, but he said you had a face worth his tentacles, so you could call him Remus. 

-That’s when it clicked. Ah, the Prince’s evil (and demented) brother! He was mostly forgotten about after he escaped execution and all attempts to find him were unsuccessful. 

-Smirking, you told him it was nice to meet him, before saying your name. He was taken aback by your politeness to him, even after everything he’s said and done. 

-He whined that you shouldn’t be nice to him. He had you as his prisoner! You were supposed to be begging and pleading to be let go, as well as disgusted by his presence. 

-You shrugged at his words. Honestly, you’ve imagined worse than some of his ideas and after everything you’ve done, nothing really grosses you out anymore. You’ve stuck your hand up a dragon's ass. It doesn’t get much weirder than that.

-That’s when a mace just randomly appeared in his hands. It was just there. But you sensed no magic. Huh. Wait, was that a dead mouse on the mace? 

-”Well, if you’re not going to be any fun, no point in keeping you around. At least I can cut you up and start making a meat dragon out of you,”

-At that point, you let your magic flow through you, generating a skin of flames around your body that burnt the tentacles to a crisp and made calamari. With a wave of your hand, you melted the mace in his hands and stepped closer to him. 

-Next, you made stone hands rise from the earth and grip onto him, everywhere. They wrapped around him and held him in place. 

-”You were saying?”

-”Well, now I just want you to fuck me until I’m covered in sweat and come, so I can lick it off my body,” 

-You laughed at his words, again, finding him amusing. He had zero filters! You loved it, it was refreshing. 

-With a wave of your hand, the hands all crumbled to the ground. 

-You hooked arms with him, deciding you’re going to stick around with him for a while. Not like you had anywhere else to go. Then you ventured to his tower, saying a few words as your life changed. 

-” We’re going to be great friends, I can tell,”

That’s it for now! If you want another scenario with this au, just let me know! I’m going to be definitely writing some more! If you have any other ships, ideas not related to this au, or imagines you want me to write, don’t be afraid to ask! My inbox is always open!

[danbevanwriting]

The Ranking of Final Fantasy: Final Fantasy IV

Final Fantasy IV was the second officially English translated FF game to come to the West, renamed to Final Fantasy II so as 'not to confuse the market', leading to years of confusion ever since! The version that the Americans got was also heavily dumbed down to the point where abilities are stripped from certain characters to better suit the Western audience, who were considered to be a lot less capable of handling a more complex game by the Japanese developers. This has since been rectified in the remakes since then, with the version I played, the Nintendo DS remake (which I played on PC through Steam... which is a port of the mobile version... which is a port of the DS version...) being harder than any other version released. Honestly, I didn't have a great time with this version of the game. The 3D models look a bit tacky when blown up to 1080p, the battles run at 15fps which makes the bad menus unresponsive too, I wasn't a fan of the voiced cutscenes, and during gameplay the camera is zoomed way too far in meaning that most of the time in dungeons you spend having the map overlay on your screen. I would advise playing basically any other version: the PSP remake is incredible with beautiful sprite work, or failing that get a hold of the GBA version or if you have the means a translation patch of the SNES Japanese edition. Avoid the US Final Fantasy II release on SNES! With that all out of the way, let's review the actual game!

Gameplay in FFIV is so good, they used this battle system in Final Fantasy games for the next 5 in the series! The ATB battle system was revolutionary: it took the slow and static turn-based combat from the first 3 games and made it instantly more exciting by making time a key factor. Each character has a timer before their turn to take an action, which means faster characters can attack more often as their ATB gauge fills up faster. This makes even random encounters exciting as the goal is to get as many attacks in as you can while also navigating the menus as fast as you can to get spells out. The rushing aspect can be lessened somewhat by setting the game to wait while choosing a spell, but before you start choosing a spell the timers are still ticking, and the enemies won't hesitate if you don't choose anything. In some ways you can use this to your advantage, such as not choosing an action for the healer, switching to your other characters to do attacks, and only using the healer to quickly patch up your party. Spells are learned through levels now too rather than bought or found in the world like before, so as your characters grow stronger so too does their arsenal of spells and abilities. This has a lot to do with a new concept of character based progression in the series.

The job system from Final Fantasy III is gone here and instead each character has their own built in 'job' or role within the party. This ties in to the other major change with this game: each character is actually a character this time. The story is a lot more character focused, with each character having their own stake in the events that unfold. It's a shame then that the story falls so flat about a quarter to halfway in. The first quarter of this story is fantastic. Cecil, a dark knight in Baron's Red Wings military unit, starts questioning his leaders and his place in the world when he's sent on a mission to basically slaughter a defenceless village for their crystal. What unfolds is a tale of redemption for Cecil, culminating in him climbing Mount Ordeals to shed himself of the darkness and become a paladin of light! But this crescendo occurs a quarter of the way through the game, and now Cecil's character has no growth left. It's a real shame. The story in general gets really stupid after the halfway mark too, with characters heroically sacrificing themselves only for them to not actually die, even when they really should have. Cid exploding in to a ball of flame to stop people chasing you comes to mind, it's a great moment ruined by a cowardly reversal of the consequences. Or stupid sacrifices are made, like Yang staying in an exploding control room to... let the others escape? It doesn't really make sense. But even then Yang survives and comes back in to the story by the end. The story also has all sorts of people double crossing you, Kain most of all, with it all being down to mind control. Contrived doesn't cut it. Speaking of which, the ending is similar to Final Fantasy III in that the main villain, who was totally behind everything, is revealed close to the end of the game. It's not as bad as the Cloud of Darkness reveal, but the evil alien on the moon being behind everything was a bit dumb (although not a terrible concept if the story was better overall). I won't knock the story too much though, I'd argue that at least this time I actually have a story to criticise here which was certainly not the case in the previous games, and this was still more of a story than most games of the time were accomplishing.

Characterisations are certainly where FFIV separates itself form its predecessors. Cecil, Rosa, and Rydia are my favourites as they have good strong personalities; Cecil is a reflective person which ties in to his sub-plot, Rosa is caring which ties in to her being a white mage, and Rydia's empathy allows her to be a master summoner. These aren't amazingly fleshed out characters but, again, at least there's something to talk about here when previously there was almost none of this. I will say I absolutely hate Edge though, he has an extremely irritating personality which means he brags in an annoying manner (as he's a prince) but also falls instantly in love with Rydia, which would be fine if it wasn't done in such an annoying fashion. Luckily Rydia doesn't really respond and it's mostly played for laughs, but I just found it irritating to be honest...

The music in this is legendary at least, the game kicks off with one of its best tracks (The Red Wings) and stays consistently good for the whole game. The overworld theme (Main These of Final Fantasy IV) is truly iconic, as is the battle and boss themes. Even the prelude, a series staple at this point, got a beautiful new melody which makes the track even better. With the power of Spotify you can now even listen to these tracks to hear for yourself, other highlights I would recommend listening to include 'Theme of Love', 'Into The Darkness', 'Battle with the Four Fiends', and 'The Final Battle'. All the tracks fit the context or the environment very well and is a memorable OST in general.

The gameplay which is supported by the music is equally excellent. Dungeon design is great, with most dead end diversions resulting in a decent reward, a concept that is used to great effect in the final dungeon. The final dungeon is surprisingly short, but with all the diversions which lead to optional bosses guarding the most powerful equipment it's worth exploring every nook and cranny. The new battle system also leads to more interesting boss fights too as some have their own unique mechanics. The ATB system means that bosses can go in to retaliation phases that you can wait out by not doing actions, or other bosses like Bahamut turning the fight in to a damage race to defeat him before he casts Mega Flare. It's all very fun and is a positive change from the turn based system.

I touched on the graphics briefly above, but I figure it's worth reiterating how gosh-darn ugly the 3D models are in the remake of the game. The sprites from the SNES or PSP version are practically timeless which ooze personality despite their relative simplicity. Bosses look great in the SNES version where they look a bit dorky in 3D, the final boss being a good example of this. The environments in the 3D version are nice though, but like I said before the camera is so zoomed in it's hard at times to appreciate that. The SNES version takes full advantage of the hardware leap from the original NES to make the graphics far and away better looking than what came before, truly demonstrating the capabilities of the SNES and cementing Square as the top dog in RPG graphics (and this will only get better in time during this console generation).

So, in conclusion, this game is regarded as a true classic, and I think that's with a good reason. The story is engaging despite how stupid it gets and how it falls short in places. The gameplay is great even today, with history demonstrating just how good the ATB battle system is due to it being in a further five Final Fantasy titles, and the fact that so much of this battle system was done so right the first time around really demonstrates how successful Final Fantasy IV is. I would definitely advise people to play this game if they can, even if it's just for curiosity's sake to see where the series has come from. I would be much quicker to recommend this game over the older titles too as it certainly has aged better than any of the NES titles.

Current Rankings:

Final Fantasy IV

Final Fantasy III

Final Fantasy

Final Fantasy II

[pitterpatterpot]

A Lion’s Pride - Chapter Seven

9.

Aedion is on edge, as well as Aelin. Ever since Lysandra left with Fenrys and Gavriel to visit Elide in Perranth the two have been prowling the castle, snapping at others out of a strange sense of worry.

“When are they coming back?”

“Two days.”

“Two days? Shouldn’t it be faster?”

“No, it’s two days.”

“Are you sure, because it’s already been a week-“

“Two. Days,” Rowan pinches the bridge of his nose, looking away from Aelin and Aedion. “It will take two days. Two days, and Fenrys, Gavriel and Lysandra will be back, alright?”

“But-“

“Fleetfoot,” Rowan stands suddenly. “Why don’t you two take Fleetfoot for a walk? You always enjoy that.”

“They could have-“

“It’s a beautiful day,” Rowan has one hand on their back each, gently pushing them towards the door. “The sun is shining, the sky is clear, Fleetfoot would love to play some games and you two could burn off your energy.”

At once both cousins twist their heads around, scowling at Rowan as if personally offended. Which they are, technically.

“How old do you think we are?” Aedion snaps. “Five?”

“You? Yes,” Rowan glares. “Aelin you’re in charge.”

“Excuse me? You know I’m the older one, right?”

He ignores their protests as he shuts the door.

~~~

Sunlight streams through the canopy of trees, the three members of Terrasen’s court struggling through the undergrowth.

“See? There’s the palace. You’re going to be fine.”

The figure hanging between the two of them just groans.

~~~

“How’s my baby? Huh? How’s my girl?” Aelin asks, kneeling down and allowing Fleetfoot to climb upon her as she plays with her fluffy ears.

“Wanna play?” Aedion grins, hunkering down to roughly ruffle her coat. “We can play fetch with Aelin. I throw, you chase.”

“As if you wouldn’t be the one throne,” Aelin snorts. “Can’t last a day without Lysandra around.”

“Like you aren’t missing them,” Aedion narrows is eyes. “You miss your second favourite puppy.”

Aelin says nothing to that, not even a word in Fenrys’ defence.

Barking, Fleetfoot runs around their feet, trotting happily next to them as they stroll down the garden path, red and white flowers blooming around them. She strays away to sniff at the buds, the cousins watching with small flowers as she pauses to roll around in a patch of grass.

“What about Gavriel and Lysandra?” Aelin raises a brow. “I was certain that they were both half of your impulse control each.”

“I lasted twenty-four years without them, didn’t I? I can do it again.”

“And that fire yesterday morning?”

Aedion stops, whirling around on her, clearly aghast. “That was you! I went in to put it out!”

“But did you succeed?” Aelin raises a brow.

Shaking his head, Aedion turns away. “I- no. We are not talking about this.”

“Fine,” Aelin rolls her eyes. “Deny your queen. I mean, it’s only-“

She cuts off at Fleetfoot’s frantic barking, the coarse sound breaking through the silence as she races ahead of them. Without hesitation Aelin and Aedion spring after her, darting around corners and Aelin even being forced to jump over a gardener.

Good thing she passed on wearing one of her elegant, lavish dresses.

Fleetfoot doesn’t stop until she’s rounded the corner of the side of the palace, barking at three people hobbling towards them.

Both Aelin and Aedion pale at the sight of blood, Aelin pausing in her running to call for guards while Aedion continues to fly towards them. Barely listening to the guards forging forward Aedion helps Lysandra and Gavriel lower Fenrys to the ground, the fae barking himself at the pressure on his clearly broken leg.

“I’m fine,” he pants, sweat beading his brow. “Just need a healer.”

“I didn’t have enough magic in me to heal the bone,” Gavriel mutters, aiding Aedion in lowering his friend. “The journey was long, and I had already healed Lysandra’s wrist-“

Without a moments pause Aedion whips around to Lysandra, allowing Gavriel to catch the cursing Fenrys before he falls the last few centimetres. “Your wrist?”

She holds up both hands, wriggling her fingers. “I’m perfectly fine. Gavriel healed me well, though he should have saved the last of his magic to aid Fenrys.”

“If I knew a damn hunter,” Fenrys growls, “was going to pull a trap on me I wouldn’t have turned into a wolf!”

“A hunter hurt you?” Aelin’s eyes flash as she stalks towards them, kneeling by Fenrys’ side. “Who are they? Where did you find them?”

Everyone besides Fenrys and Aelin give a little wince at that. It’s no secret that the queen is protective of the wolf, just as he is of her. Since Fenrys started turning into his wolf form, something he did in order to rip out the throat of someone threatening Aelin, he’s been slowly relaxing once again. It warmed all their hearts to see some strain leak from the wolf, his laughs and smiles becoming more genuine and less faked. If this attack, this injury by a hunter, has any negative effect on Fenrys’ comfortability in turning into a wolf Aelin will be on a man hunt. And Gavriel, Lorcan, Vaughan and Rowan by no doubt. They new Fenrys, helped train him, and in no doubt will want to defend someone who used to be their student. Someone they trained. Gavriel himself has a stiff and clenched jaw, a small flow of agitation waving form him.

A healer immediately returns with the guards along with Vaughan, using magic to heal Fenrys’ leg while everyone watches closely. Soon the wolf is able to stand, albeit limping, and is slowly led to his room with Vaughan’s support.

“Alright,” Aelin sucks in a deep breath, running her taught hands through her hair. “I’m going to go keep an eye on Fenrys. The healer did what she could but he’ll still need to rest. Aedion, you take over the investment dealings in trade. Fenrys was going over that, but I want him to rest so you take over those finances.”

Both Gavriel and Lysandra notice the way Aedion hesitates slightly before agreeing. They share a glance, Gavriel raising a brow and Lysandra resisting a smile. They’ll quiz him together later.

It’s one of their favourite activities to do together, after all.

~~~

“I need your help,” Aedion murmurs to Rowan, hands braced on the table as he leans forward, eyes darting around frantically. “I’m being watched.”

Immediately the king of Terrasen sits upright, leaning towards his brother-in-arms (and in-law, if you ask anyone in the inner-circle). “Assassins?”

“My father and mate,” Aedion deadpans, horribly serious.

“Go eat, Aedion,” Rowan turns away, unimpressed.

“I don’t know what they want,” Aedion hisses, obviously panicked. “For some reason this happens sometimes; I can’t turn away without one of them there! It’s as if I’m being herded, or preyed upon!”

Rowan tries to swallow back a laugh. He knows very well that Gavriel and Lysandra both plan and strategise against Aedion from time-to-time. They make quiet the team.

“I’m sure it’s all just a coincidence,” Rowan keeps a straight face, internally cackling at his suffering. “Just go talk to your father, maybe that will rectify it. Or Lysandra. Either one of the two will do.”

He doesn’t know when they all started openly referring to Gavriel as Aedion’s father instead of just by his name. Aedion’s acceptance of Gavriel has given the Lion a new title, one that every member of the court can see Gavriel light up at every time it’s used. It’s nice to see his eldest friend beam every time he is referred to as Aedion’s father, even more so when Aedion is the one who does it himself.

“Thank you for helping me,” Aedion glares, sliding back. “Talking to the very people I’m purposefully avoiding is a fantastic suggestion.”

“And why are you avoiding me?”

“Because they want something! Information, a deal, something!” Aedion insists. 

“Right,” Rowan nods, while secretly waving, leaning to the side so that Aedion doesn’t see the action occurring behind his back. “So tell me, when did this strange behaviour begin?”

He doesn’t actually give a shit, but he needs to stall.

“It started this morning,” Aedion places his head in his hands, voice exhausted. “I woke up, and Lysandra was strangely attentive. As soon as I left I ran into Gavriel here, at the dining hall. Then as soon as I left Lysandra was waiting at the rings for me to spar, and kept pestering me with questions. I left to go over and complete Fenrys’ work, but Gavriel was waiting there for me. As soon as I finished a came here, but it was as if they were both waiting for me around every corner! I have to tell you, Rowan, that I don’t know if I can relax while-“

“Aedion.”

It shocks both Rowan and Gavriel at the way Aedion jumps and yells at his father’s hand on his arm. Rowan leans back, glancing from Gavriel to Aedion and back again, clearly startled at Aedion’s reaction.  

Who knew the general could get this wound up.

“Are you alright?” Gavriel asks Aedion, concern written across his face as he sits next to his son, a hand braced on Aedion’s shoulder.

One hand clasped to his heart Aedion nods, breathing heavily as he stares wide-eyed at his father, leaning away slightly.

“Alright,” Gavriel says, clearly not believing him with the incredulous look he gives. “I was wondering if we could talk?”

Swallowing thickly, Aedion nods, hand still gripping above his heart.

“Alone.”

Aedion winces. As if the request couldn’t get any worse, he now knows that the topic at hand is a serious one. As he leads his son away Gavriel has to bite the inside of his cheek, glancing at a green-eyed mouse that watched Aedion’s reaction from a nearby table.

It’d be mean to laugh.

So they’ll do it together later. Not that Gavriel told her what he found in the office; no, he’ll leave that to Aedion to explain.

“I realised that you were going to give the investment lists to an official,” Gavriel steps into the office with Aedion in tow, gesturing to the papers strewn out across the desk, “but then I looked at them myself.”

He picks up a sheet, looking at his son with concern after he takes in the investment and insurance rates as well as taxes. “Aedion, you didn’t get a single thing right.”

Looking away, Aedion’s jaw stiffens. “I usually just let an official do it, or go over it with me.”

Gabriel further looks through the papers, baffled at the amount of crossed out and scribbled equations. “Do you not know how to do this? Shouldn’t you have learnt?”

Aedion keeps his arms crossed and back straight, still stubbornly looking away. “It wasn’t exactly easy to continue my education while a war and invasion was breaking out.”

The realisation slaps Gavriel in the face. “Aedion-“

“I was thirteen,” Aedion’s hands tighten on his arms. “It wasn’t as if I knew nothing. I was one of the lucky ones considering children such as Elide were left without the ability to read. Along the way through the war I also learnt basic math, as well as languages and geography and how to be a tactician. I know politics and laws like the back of my hand considering I’ve dabbled with treason and kings and queens. But there was never a need for me to learn this. My job was never to work through taxes or investments. Or insurance. It makes no sense! I mean the rates and how they can apparently ride or fall and the fact that the sums are just so large-“

“Alright,” Gavriel jumps in, watching Aedion sag against the desk, rubbing at his face as if tired. “Aedion, why didn’t you simply tell any of us you don’t understand different components of math?”

“Because you all do,” Aedion keeps his gaze averted, anger clear through the clenching of his jaw. “Aelin and Lysandra both gained detailed educations. You and Rowan and the others are hundreds of years old with knowledge. I don’t know how-“ Aedion pauses for a moment, swallowing before forcing the words forward. “I don’t know how to explain that my education was rudimentary at best even though I’m a general helping to lead this country.”

“I think it’s clear, as seen both through you and Elide, that smarts don’t just come from academics,” Gavriel raises his brows. “You were right in saying you were one of the lucky ones. Right now out of your generation you may be one of the ones with a higher standing of education.”

Something they’ll have to work on. There are too many people who missed on education and other means to survive. But as always the persistence of the people never ceases to amaze, the citizens trooping forward to gain a richer future for their children.

“You could have just asked for help,” Gavriel shrugs.

He knows Aedion couldn’t have, not with how stubborn he is.

“Right,” Aedion runs a hand over his neck, still not looking Gavriel in the eye. “Just... please don’t tell Lysandra. I don’t want her to know.”

Shaking his head, Gavriel frowns. “Aedion-“

“I don’t think understand how shameful it feels,” his son looks at him clearly then, “to sit with your cousin and mate and barely understand a word they’re saying in terms of the state of your country.”

Suckling in a deep breath, Gavriel nods. “Alright. I believe that you should tell her instead of suffering in silence-“

-‘thanks to your own damn pride,’ he doesn’t add-

“-but I’ll help you,” Gavriel offers. “If you’d like.”

Relief clears Aedion’s face. “I would like that. In all honestly I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

“I could tell when you started scribbling down dates to try to see who out of Rowan and I is older.”

“You both day you’re in your five-hundreds. That gives almost a hundred year span to differ from!”

“Not you have aptitude at math,” Gavriel smiles, sliding into the desks seat and sorting through the papers, grabbing out a pen to point out where Aedion went wrong and offer correct methods and solutions.

Aedion drags a seat around to sit next to him, dutifully watching as Gavriel explains which methods fit which problems and what steps Aedion skipped.

After a moment of silence Aedion speaks up. “Would you have helped me with schoolwork like this if you lived here, with us, when I was a child?”

Gavriel pauses for barely a second before continuing. “Undoubtedly. I also would have stopped you from literally brawling in the hallways.”

Laughing, Aedion tips back in his chair. “How different do you think I’d be, if I had been raised by you?”

This time Gavriel does pause, looking over to his son. “I don’t know what you were like before the war broke out, but I have no doubt in my mind that you have always been a wild spirit.”

A small smile tugs at Aedion’s mouth. It’s the truth, but they both know what Gavriel won’t say. That Aedion would have been less angry, less explosive and stubborn. That he may have grown to be a male at peace with himself and others instead of one at constant war. That patience may have been sewn into his bones.

But neither of them say that. They simply let the truth hang between them, a truth that lurks too closely to saying ‘you would have been better.’

At least in Aedion’s mind that’s what it would be. That’s the truth he’s been contemplating.

Gavriel for his part meant what he said; Aedion is a wild spirit. To see him subdued in any way would be heartbreaking. His truth is a far cry from his son’s.

“I would have been better, I think,” Aedion says quietly, allowing his truth to spread free.

Gavriel clicks his tongue, turning back to the papers. “No. I think you would have turned out exactly as you are now. I mean it when I say you’re a wild spirit; I would have done nothing but encouraged that, and I have no doubt that you would have ended up to be the exact same untameable person you are now. The only difference is that once the war broke out I probably would have done everything within my power to escape with you.”

Aedion swallows down a lump of emotion in his throat. “Thank you.”

“You wouldn’t have been better, Aedion,” Gavriel shakes his head, tapping the . “You still would have been you. There are core parts of a person you would never want to change, and I believe that you will always be whoever you are meant to be.”

“There’s the philosophical bullshit Fenrys was talking about,” Aedion smirks after a moment.

Gavriel rolls his eyes. “Just for that I’m teaching you some philosophy.”

“You really don’t-“

“That’s my price for teaching you math,” Gavriel smiles, looking over to his son. “I teach you numbers you learn the discussions of life and morals.”

“Ech.”

“You may enjoy it.”

“If I can sit still long enough to read it,” Aedion rolls his own eyes, then grins. “By the way, you’ve been receiving a hell of a lot of letters lately. More reading material?”

Hesitating, Gavriel places his pen down, turning his seat around to face Aedion and clasping his hands. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

“Right,” Aedion’s brows furrow at the sudden change in atmosphere.

“The last time I went to Perranth, before the visit last week, I met a woman,” Gavriel clears his throat. “We have been sending letters to each other, and last week on our trip I saw her again. She’s coming to Orynth for a short time and I thought that perhaps everyone could meet her, though I’d like to introduce you two to each other first.”

Aedion blinks at his father’s statement and the worried look he receives. “All right. We’d all be glad to meet her, you should know that.”

“It’s just,” Gavriel hesitates, “I know we made plans to visit your mothers grave in a few months time, and I don’t want you to feel betrayed in any way with me possibly starting a new relationship.”

“Are you cancelling the trip?”

“No-“

“Then there’s nothing to worry about,” Aedion shrugs. “I’ll admit that once I... I would have felt betrayed. My anger towards you would have raged at the idea of you finding peace with another female after what you did to my mother.”

“And now?” Gavriel asks quietly.

Aedion shrugs again, looking down. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Aedion.”

“I mean it. I don’t expect you to mourn my mother forever. It’s difficult, to accept the idea of you starting a serious relationship with another woman, but I never even really knew of your relationship with my mother to begin with,” Aedion appears as lost as Gavriel feels. “You don’t deserve to be lonely forever. In the past I would have felt furious and betrayed, but I don’t now.”

Gavriel studies his son closely. “Really?”

Aedion catches the look. “Gods, yes. You’re allowed to be in a relationship. It wasn’t as if my mother and you were together long or married anyway.”

“I did love your mother, Aedion,” Gavriel’s voice drops into the stern tone it sometimes adopts. “I loved her with all my heart.”

“Which is why I’m fine with you seeing a female,” Aedion stresses the point, ignoring the way his fathers admittance of love causes his heart to ache. “I’d love to meet her. It’s been nineteen years; you deserve to move on.”

“But you didn’t know until too long ago,” Gavriel reminds him gently, gold eyes soft. “Your knowledge of my relationship with your mother is still quite new.”

“Yet I’m fine,” Aedion’s own voice drops into a flat, exasperated tone as he sits back in his chair. “I’d love to meet this female. Besides, what were you going to do if I wasn’t fine with it? Leave her?”

“Yes.”

The admittance nearly knocks Aedion out of his chair, and he stares at his father. Gavriel simply shrugs and stares back.

“I- don’t do that,” Aedion blinks. “I’d be fine with any female you date.”

“That’s not the issue,” Gavriel sits back. “I’m not going to pursue a relationship with someone who does not like my son, or who you do not like.”

“I haven’t even met her yet!” Aedion growls. “I’m sure I will if you like her enough to introduce her to everybody.”

“I know,” Gavriel winces. “It’s just that she’s quite nervous about meeting you all.”

“You said she lives in Perranth. What does she do?”

“Works for the city…”

“Great,” Aedion claps his hands together. “Basically an employee of Elide!”

“That doesn’t help.”

“Just tell me what she does.”

After moments hesitation, Gavriel waves his hands towards the papers. “This. Investments, taxing, math.”

“Alright,” Aedion grins. “So she helps handle the cities finances. I can’t wait to meet her.”

“It’s more of the fact that I can’t keep putting her off,” Gavriel mutters, turning away. “You can only be injured or missing so many times.”

“I greatly resent that. I could also be travelling to visit our allies, but it’s your own fault for not thinking of better excuses.”

~~~

“So,” Aedion keeps glancing at his father, “excited? Nervous?”

“Both,” Gavriel sighs, very nearly pacing the entrance way.

They both stand outside the entrance to the palace, waiting for Gavriel’s female friend to arrive. Avila is her name, a fact Aedion had to nearly wrangle out of Gavriel. The rest of the court is on standby to meet her tomorrow, understanding (though still complaining) that Gavriel would rather she meet Aedion first then everyone else later. Apparently her nerves have been high thanks to the idea of meeting her queen and a court filled with deadly warriors. Why, nobody can guess. Gavriel just turns away from them all when they say so, exasperated.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Aedion grins wickedly. “It’s not as if we’re going to actually throw her off the balcony.”

Gavriel pauses, turning to frown at his son. “What do you mean ‘actually’?

“What?”

“You said ‘actually,’ which suggests that you’ll make it seem as though you will,” Gavriel very nearly scowls. “Aedion, please don’t insinuate that you want to throw her off a balcony. I can’t stress that enough. If you’re uncomfortable with meeting her-“

“I’m not and I won’t!” Aedion holds his hands up, rolling his eyes. “But look, you’re distracted, right? And here she is.”

Turning around Gavriel smiles at the female walking through the palace entrance. She wears a cream and tan coloured dress, simple but elegant. Her starting-to-grey brown hair is plaited loosely over her shoulder and her brown eyes crinkle as she smiles back at Gavriel.

“Gavriel,” Avila smiles, stepping forward.

“Avila,” Gavriel bows his head in recognition, accepting her hug.

“You must be Aedion,” Avila beams at the wolf of the north, turning to bow. “It’s a pleasure and an honour.”

Aedion grins brightly, taking her hand and dipping his head. “You really don’t need to bow, but it’s likewise a pleasure to meet you as well.”

Avila laughs laughter, shaking her head. “You have lovely manners.”

“Don’t let them fool you,” Aedion smiles, lowering his voice to a whisper, “I’m a brute, I swear.”

“But that must be more fun,” Avila eyes gleam, her smile playful.

“Now that I can’t deny,” Aedion nods, immediately taking a liking to the free-appearing woman that turns to laugh with Gavriel once again.

“I hope I won’t bore you too badly,” Avila walks by his side, “I’m afraid that most of my conversations are number and politics based.”

“I’m all for politics,” Aedion smiles. “Better to talk about the sinners then the devils numbers.”

It earns another laugh from Avila, Gavriel nearly sagging in relief at the lack of tension between the two.

“You know,” Avila smiles widely, “I’d have to say that I quite agree with those names. Though I don’t mind the sinners or devils numbers very much.”

“I guess we’re all saints then,” Aedion smiles charmingly, Avila shaking her head in amusement.

“You never told me how amusing or charming your son is,” she smiles at Gavriel.

He raises his brows. “I must have forgotten.”

“You always leave out my best qualities,” Aedion sighs, shaking his head.

They walk into the palace, Gavriel sending his son a glance as Aedion continues to chat politely and holds the door open for Avila. His son just raises his brows, and gives a wide grin before following the woman through.

~~~

“I like her,” Aedion comments to Aelin, spread out on his cousin’s couch in her room. “She’s relaxed, and doesn’t seem to be one to judge.”

“That’s good,” Aelin calls out from the bathroom. “I don’t understand why he wanted her to meet you first. I heard she was nervous; why would you be the first choice?”

“Better then a fire-breathing bitch queen,” Aedion calls back, tucking his hands behind his head as he stares at the ceiling. “I do like her, though, and I think she’s less afraid of me then she was at the start so that’s a bonus.”

“I’m surprised Gavriel actually wants us to meet her,” Aelin grins, drying her hair in the bathroom. “Maybe he doesn’t actually like her if he’s trying so hard to scare her off.”

“Shut up,” Aedion smirks, just as the bedroom door opens.

Rowan freezes as he walks into the room, immediately settling his gaze on Aedion, who waves from where he lounges on their couch.

“Aelin?” Rowan turns towards the bathroom. “I thought we agreed no pets in the bedroom?”

He earns a vulgar gesture from the demi-fae on the couch. “You aren’t getting rid of me or Fleetfoot that easily.”

Rowan glares. “The difference is that one of you is nothing but a pain and the other takes up all the space in the bed.”

“I get nightmares,” Aedion smiles sweetly.

Snorting, Rowan throws a towel at his head, which Aedion easily catches, and walks towards his wardrobe. “Why are you in here?”

“He’s telling me about Gavriel’s new friend!” Aelin’s voice rings out from the bathroom, her grin apparent in her tone.

Rowan immediately turns to Aedion, curiosity clear. “Who is she? What’s she like?”

“Her name is Avila, she’s very kind and was lovely to me,” Aedion smiles, “and I was lovely and polite to her, so you can eat your fucking words.”

Glaring, Rowan turns away, swearing under his breath.

“I don’t know why you all thought I’d be a beast to her,” Aedion snorts. “I’m charming when I want to be.”

“Of course,” Aelin grins as she walks into the room, sitting on the edge of her bed. “That famous Ashryver charisma.”

“A brilliant family trait,” Aedion purrs, being rewarded with a smirk.

“I’ve married into a madhouse,” Rowan mutters, closing the bathroom door behind him.

Aelin frowns at the closed door. “I’ll bet you anything he’s the reason why Avila is nervous.”

“Oh, definitely. The rest of us are perfect.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

~~~

“Just relax,” Gavriel murmurs to Avila, stepping a little closer as they walk to the dining hall. “It’s just a meal, and I’m sure they’ll love you. Aedion already does.”

She sends a nervous smile. “I quite like him, he’s charming and polite for his age.”

Gavriel’s eyes slowly slide to the side. “Yes, he is…”

They step into the dining hall, the Terrasen court sitting at their usual table. Avila follows Gavriel, sharing a small smile with Aedion before turning to the rest.

“Your Majesties,” she bows deeply to Aelin and Rowan. “Thank you for honouring me with your time.”

“Anything for Uncle Kitty Cat,” Aelin smiles, then snaps to a growling Aedion, “I’m allowed to say that now!”

Smiling tentatively, Avila sits next to Gavriel and nods at the plate that’s placed in front of her.

“So,” Fenrys grins, leaning forward. “Tell us the story of how you two met.”

“When trading financial paper,” Gavriel answers dryly. “Now sit back and stop showing your teeth.”

Scowling, Fenrys glances to him before looking away. “Finances. You know, going through trading documents are usually my task.”

“To keep you distracted,” Vaughan mumbles, earning a glare.

“Because I’m good at it,” Fenrys sits back, arms crossed.

“Where do you live?” Rowan asks.

“Perranth.”

“Permanent residence?”

Avila hesitates momentarily. “For the time being, yes, however I’ve been receiving offers to work elsewhere…”

“Really?” Gavriel smiles at her. “That’s fantastic.”

“Where?” Vaughan quizzes her. “Here in Orynth? Someone still in Terrasen? Or are you switching countries?”

Avila hesitates. “I don’t know if I will take any offers yet-”

“How do you receive offers?” Evangeline asks curiously. “Do they ask you to come and work through their numbers?”

Avila smiles brightly at her, an action that causes Evangeline to smile back. “That’s exactly it. If they like what I’ve done with my current work they’ll consider taking me on themselves.”

“So you have financial stability then?” Fenrys tilts his head. “You’re able to support yourself and, say, a single fae male parent and his child?”

“Alright,” Aedion stands suddenly, glaring at Fenrys out of the corner of his eye. “Avila, why don’t you come with me to grab some food from the table over there?”

“Right, I would love to,” she sends everyone a strained smile before standing with her plate, following Aedion to the table heavy with delights.

Everyone watches as the two stand by the table, chatting to each other as they pile food upon their plates. The court watches them with a calculating gaze, relaxing slightly when Aedion laughs heartedly at something she says.

“I can’t believe Aedion isn’t the most uncomfortable person here,” Lysandra mumbles, she herself quite protective of the Lion, having spent a few periods of her day spying on the female in the form of small animals. “Would have thought he’d be uncomfortable with her, or at the very least uninterested.”

“I know,” Gavriel breathes. “But he seems to quite like her.”

“So,” Fenrys sips at his drink, gesturing to the two at the table, “first Lucia and now her. I suppose you must have a thing for brown-haired females, huh?”

Blinking, Gavriel slowly turns away from watching his son to stare at Fenrys. “Yes, I clearly have a thing for brown-haired females. Look at my son, Fenrys. Look at my blond, golden-haired son and guess again whether or not I have a thing for brown-haired females. Dear gods.”

“Well, someone’s stressed and sassy,” Fenrys mumbles, turning away, a cup tilted to his lips.

“I’m just a little surprised,” Rowan mumbles to his eldest friend, leaning in close. “With your plans to visit Aedion’s mother’s grave I didn’t expect for you to become so interested in females at this time.”

Gavriel shrugs, rubbing a hand over his face as if to relieve the tension there.

Aelin raises her brows at Rowan and mouthes ‘rebound.’

He glares and shakes his head.

“What did we miss?” Avila asks, returning with Aedion.

“Nothing important,” Gavriel smiles, taking her hand as she sits.

The rest of the evening goes smoothly, people chatting and answering each other’s questions. Avila bidding everyone goodnight as Gavriel walks her to her rooms.

“I had a lovely evening,” she smiles up at Gavriel, allowing her hand to slip into his. “Aedion is a gem.”

“Yes,” Gavriel smiles, the action only a little fake. “He was… incredibly polite.”

“You sound surprised?”

“Oh, no,” Gavriel quickly laughs. “It’s nothing. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“I’m glad I came,” Avila turns the corner. “So, what about the trip?”

“What trip?”

“The one Fenrys said he had planned to go to Perranth again.”

About to turn the corner Aedion stops, grinning at the way he can hear Gavriel and Avila only a few hallways away. He stops, preparing to turn back, knowing that if he wonders any closer he’ll be able to hear their conversation.

“Ah,” Gavriel sighs. “That trip.”

However, at Gavriel’s words of the trip he stops and, using his fae hearing, listens instead of moving to a distance where he is unable to understand them. Screw it. He’s been good for the last few days. Listening in for a few minutes won’t kill anyone.

“Are you looking forward to it?” Avila asks.

“Hardly.”

Aedion blinks and jolts at Gavriel’s words. He was under the opinion that his father also wanted to visit his mothers grave.

“Why not?” Avila asks Aedion’s question for him.

“He has a knack for knowing how to irritate me after long periods of time. He enjoys it.”

Hesitating, Aedion takes another step back. Perhaps he should have realised what a strain his presence can put on his father, especially considering Gavriel and he have only started spending longer periods of time together. But Gavriel thinking that Aedion tries to purposefully annoy him? What has Aedion been doing wrong to give him that idea?

Avila chuckles slightly, something that also sends a cold shiver of dread. “I can imagine, if that’s not too rude to say.”

“Not at all.”

That’s also a shock; he was under the impression that Avila liked him.

“I also have to ask; Aedion’s abilities with numbers... he didn’t seem to grasp many of the topics I was talking about.”

“Right,” Aedion can practically hear his father fidgeting. “The war broke out in the middle of his education; there was no real need for him to learn about finances.”

Some of the dread turns to anger. Aedion can see that his father enjoys the company of Avila, but to go as far as to say Aedion’s secret, to dismiss their visit to his mothers grave- He turns on his heel and storms away.

~~~

Rowan frowns at Aedion, who lays on his bed with a torn up pillow in his hands. “I may regret asking this, but why are you in my bed and appear to have mauled one of my pillows?”

“Would you rather I maul someone?” Aedion growls, tightening his grip on the fabric, eyes bright with anger.

“No,” Rowan crosses his arms and leans back against a dresser, familiar with the anger that so many demi-fae Aedion’s age produce. “I take it you’re waiting to talk to Aelin?”

Aedion simply relaxes back into the centre of the bed. You’d think he’d at least have the decency to only take up Aelin’s side. But no. Rowan inhales a deep breath to grab a rein on his own anger.

“What’s this about, Aedion?” Rowan finally asks.

It could be easier to leave it up to Aelin, she herself probably holding plenty of complaints to share with her cousin in return, but it’s been a while since Rowan has seen his brother-in-arms this conflicted.

Aedion’s jaw tenses as he thinks over the words to use. “Gavriel may be sick of my company, and I should have noticed it earlier.”

Rowan’s interest greatly perks at that. He could tell Aedion that he’s being ridiculous. He could tell Aedion that after he does any kind of activity with Gavriel his father describes it in detail for long periods of time to his other former-cadre members. He could tell Aedion that there’s no way for Gavriel to be sick with him when Gavriel is happy for days after he spends time with his son.

But he doesn’t, not when he needs to first understand how Aedion could come to that assumption. “Why would you think that?”

“I overheard him talking in the hallway with Avila. Apparently he thinks I enjoy annoying him and he isn’t looking forward to our trip.”

Rowan sinks into a chair. There’s no possible outcome where his friend wouldn’t wish to spend time with his son, or where Gavriel isn’t preparing for the trip to visit Aedion’s mother’s grave. It’s all the Lion has been planning for the last few weeks.

“Talk to Gavriel, Aedion,” Rowan advices. “Talk to your father, Aedion. I guarantee that it’ll end up clearing whatever mistakes you have stumbled across.”

“Right,” Aedion glares, and stands, making to leave the room. “Thank you for your sagely advice.”

“You’re welcome.”

Of course, now Aelin will have to complain to Rowan, her nightly complain session with her cousin cancelled.

Perfect.

At least his bed is free.

~~~

“Aedion!” Avila smiles, catching him in the hallway. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Aedion flashes one of his best smiles, her own showing of teeth disarming him as he tries to fight off any aggression he may feel towards her.

After all, it’s Gavriel who he’s confused by.

“I was just talking to Gavriel,” Avila says as she falls into step besides him. “He’s in the library, if you’re wondering.”

“I see,” Aedion nods, not bothering to mention that he heard them chatting around the corner from the room. “Interesting conversation?”

Laughing slightly, Avila shakes her head. “He’s  quite aggrieved by the idea of travelling with Fenrys again. He’s not looking forward to the next trip.”

Oh. Aedion blinks, falling silent. Oh.

That makes more sense.

But…

His father still told her about his trouble and cut-off education, even when he said that he didn’t want Aelin or Lysandra to know.

“Thank you,” Aedion smiles at Avila, dipping his head in acknowledgement. “Are you retiring for the night?”

“I might,” she puffs out a breath. “It’s been quite a long, interesting day.”

He bids her goodnight, and heads to the library.

~~~

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” Gavriel blinks at his son, looking up from his book.

“I said I’m sorry.”

“I know, but what f-“

“Just accept my apology!” Aedion scowls, already aggrieved with having to force out the words, his stubborn pride nearly hauling them back.

“Alright,” Gavriel says slowly, concerned, as he closes his book and sits up in the chair. “But what-“

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s hard not to,” Gavriel gives his son a bemused look at the way Aedion has his arms crossed, a scowl firmly in place. “Is this about how you overheard Avila and I talking? It’s fine; I understand that it’s been difficult for you to block out sounds with your heightened hearing. You were far away enough that it couldn’t have been intentional.”

“You knew?”

“Your my son. Your scent is easy for me to pick up on,” Gavriel places his book on the table, still smiling with humour. “If that’s what’s been worrying you then it’s fine, you don’t need to be so adamant about apologising.”

Sucking in a breath, Aedion tries to steady himself. It’s difficult to maintain anger when his father is already two steps ahead in this conversation.

“I also wanted to apologise for telling Avila about your cut off in education,” Gavriel sighs, looking his son in the eye. “I struggled to lie to her, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry, I understand that you must be angry with how uncomfortable her knowing may be.”

Aedion stares for a moment, then growls and shakes his head. “You are making it really fucking hard to be angry.”

“Then don’t be angry.”

He can practically see his son’s mind slow to a stop at that, trying to process the unfamiliar words in shock as Aedion blinks at him.

“I am sorry, though,” Gavriel places his hands on Aedion’s shoulders, gaze earnest. “I know that it must have angered you. I can’t pretend to know how you feel, but it’s never my intention to cause you discomfort or pain.”

Stooped, Aedion blinks at his father again, scowl replaced with a slightly bewildered gape. “Shit, you make arguing difficult.”

“We’re not arguing,” Gavriel fights back a smile, failing miserably. “Is that what you where expecting?”

“I…” Aedion shrugs slightly with Gavriel’s hands still on his shoulder. “Yes?”

“That’s not what we’re doing,” Gavriel steps back, gently mussing his son’s hair with one hand.

Again, Aedion blinks at the soft touch, looking as though he’s been whacked in the skull and unsteady. Gavriel claps his son’s shoulder before leaving, walking out of the library.

He really shouldn’t laugh at his son’s antics as much as he does, but he can’t help but chuckle.

~~~

“I- You’re leaving?”

“Yes,” Avila holds his hand gently between her own, looking up at him with a pained expression. “I’ve been excepted to help with the records at Antica. It’s an offer that I just can’t turn down.”

“I understand,” Gavriel nods slowly, cupping her hands in his own. “Is it selfish of me to wish that you could stay?”

“No,” Avila smiles slightly. “Not selfish. For what it’s worth, I really did enjoy my time with you.”

“And I with you.”

~~~

Two days later, she leaves. Gavriel watches her go, his son, niece (and queen, for Aelin’s been mixing up titles lately) and former cadre-members standing by his side as they watch her go.

“You have really bad luck when it comes to females.

“Shut up, Fenrys.”

[snufflesmajor]

Sirius, his parents, and his childhood III

As this is a post about Sirius’ childhood it might not be something exactly fun to read about. This part does cover punishment and stuff more, so please be aware of that.

Also, this is the third and final post of a very small series about this topic. You can find all the parts here.

When he got to be around nine or ten, Sirius realised his parents didn’t know what they were talking about and felt as though they didn’t want him to know what he was talking about, either. He realised he needed to be a lot sneakier about everything and investigate for himself (since he couldn’t ask any questions).

   Luckily (or perhaps not), Grimmauld Place was a veritable treasure trove of information. There were books, artifacts, and dozens of places and things to explore and learn from. Unluckily, Sirius was still very young and without a wand of his own, and thus, there were often very violent results.

   He was fearless—or as fearless as a small child with a large thirst for knowledge could be—and ignored his fears whilst on his quests. Unfortunately, it turned out that not all fear was fear and some of it was instinct, and ignoring said instinct when he felt he was onto something big could be disastrous.

   By the time he’d been accepted to Hogwarts, he had been cursed more times than years he’d been alive and became quite friendly with the private Healers who would visit to patch him up (selected as they knew how to keep their mouths shut about the ridiculous young heir and his exploits).    Still, Walburga and Orion put his poor behavior down to high intellect, sent an owl to Slughorn requesting he keep their young son in line, and assumed all of it would be beaten out of Sirius by peer pressure once he started at Hogwarts.

   They continued to make excuses for Sirius’ behavior—for his questions, his thoughts, his everything that made Sirius, Sirius—and were not nearly as cruel as they could have been.

   Walburga and Orion loved their son. They had very high hopes for him and wanted what they thought was best. He was their boy, their pride and joy, and believed he would somehow morph into a fantastic example for Regulus. Just because he was brave, reckless, and questioned their authority (to a point—they hadn’t seen anything yet) didn’t mean he couldn’t change. It was his noble blood, nothing more than Sirius understanding his birthright. They put a plan in place, prepared, and waited.

   To their shock, their plan failed the moment the Hat was placed atop Sirius’ head and Sorted him into the wrong House.    Within weeks, sources at Hogwarts informed them of the fast friendship between Sirius and James—heir of the Potter name, fortune, and blood treachery (even James’ relatives in the Wizengamot back during the Big Muggle Wars had suggested wizards help muggles—ridiculous, honestly)—which was totally unacceptable. With how precarious Sirius’ future was, he could not afford to be influenced by some stupid boy.

   Then, as if to add insult to injury, they were informed of his friendship with one Remus Lupin—a half blood with muggle mother—and that sealed it. They realised Sirius was walking the wrong path entirely, and both Walburga and Orion were determined to right his course no matter what the cost.    At first it was letters. Only letters—Howlers might embarrass Sirius, but they couldn’t have anyone else knowing about their problem child. The letters were insidious and manipulative, and played off Sirius’ love for his family and for Regulus. He received them weekly, sometimes more, but had no idea similar letters were being sent to Mcgonagall, Dumbledore, and Slughorn still.

   When these letters did not work, they threatened to contact James directly.    That worked, and was the reason why Sirius went home for the holidays in first year instead of asking if he could visit James.    The next year, after he had defied them and stayed at school during the holidays (letters to James be damned!), they threatened to contact James’ parents and tell them what an awful boy Sirius was.    That worked. He couldn’t have them telling Euphemia and Fleamont all his secrets. While he mightn’t have done anything wrong, and the Potters wouldn’t have believed it, Sirius did. He could not risk losing James because his parents had ruined everything.

   As an aside, this particular fear was one he held until the day he died. Even as an adult, he wondered if Euphemia and Fleamont were disappointed in him. It broke his heart, because he imagined they were.

   It was late into third year when Walburga found her field void of fucks and started with the Howlers. Though Sirius would mimic them (something started by James, for which he was infinitely grateful), he was still hurt and embarrassed. He couldn’t understand why his parents felt as they did, and in order to cope with it (and knowing they wanted the people he loved most in the world—the first ones not to judge him, to appreciate him and care for him—to leave him forever), he decided to view them as others would: as monsters, inhuman and unfeeling.

   It was quite a bit simpler that way, and it certainly helped having James around (who had long decided Sirius’ parents were terrible people).

   Over the next few years, things grew steadily worse. While his parents had never stopped the hexes sent between cousins, they actively encouraged Bellatrix (among others) to try and whip Sirius into line. There were all out firefights whenever the Family was together, and Sirius learned very early that he would need to fight with everything he had to protect himself.

   Walburga’s anger grew louder and louder, until the pair couldn’t say good morning to each other without someone throwing down. The screaming had always been there, but now it was consistent. A fixture and reminder of what could have been but wasn’t.

   Perhaps that was why it was so much worse when Sirius’ departure was met with silence. He was not acknowledged, he was not asked to stay; it was as if he hadn’t ever lived there and had always been on his way out.

   He supposed that was true.

   The lack of violence and screeching festered, and it made him feel guilty for burdening the Potters with his seemingly insignificant problems. It is a difficult thing, to fight monsters one cannot see, and Sirius found himself doing just that for the rest of his life.

    It is important to remember that Sirius was born into a house that loved him. It is just as important to remember that the love was not for him, but for who he was supposed to be. While I truly believe Orion and Walburga loved Sirius, they were unable to forgive him for breaking their hearts by, well, being himself. At least with Regulus, he hadn’t been born atop such a high pedestal and had his entire life worked out. Then again, that might’ve made it easier for him when the pressure ultimately shifted from Sirius’ shoulders to his own.

Quick edit: I do not want it to look as though there was absolutely no violence and abuse. I do believe there was, though not quite as much as others seem to think. However, that was not what affected Sirius the most. It was the emotional and psychological abuse. The passive aggression, always being told he was a failure and to stop being who he was. It was the disturbing tactics which targeted his heart, mind, and soul which was the most damaging, because it does not feel as though those things are very bad at all. If he were hexed, it was a relief from the Other--at least he could say a burn hurt without fear of being called a baby for it. The Other though... he didn’t think anyone could quite understand it, even if he could talk about it.

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Something You've Forgotten (Part5)

Author's Note: First of all, yes I've changed the format of my posts (I've learned how to do the read more!). Second of all, yes it has been forever since I've posted a part for SYF and yes I am incredibly sorry! Good news, looks like just one more part left! (Also holy crap that's a lot of people on the tag list. Let me know if you want on or off the tag list for the next part! Don't say anything if you want to remain on it if you're already on it) Hope this is to your liking!!

Tag List: @xx-thedarklord-xx @rmh8402 @drarryismymuse @dewitty1 @ramenbahman @lumos394 @markedplaces @pressedflowersandvinyl @whatisthisthingcalledlife @malec4everr @maqicool @just-a-flicker-of-hope @jewelwellspring @alanna342 @scaredboymalfoy @princess-ikol @laborinquena @greendelish @golunch @cctlnthms @frosty-vmc @blackcoffeelikemydarksoul @complete-fangirl-trash @serethiel-is-hufflepuffed @distant-illusions @qualitythingblizzard @muskaan [Blogs that are crossed out could not be tagged for some reason]

Rating: T

Warnings: None? Fluff? My horrible cheesiness.

Stories flooded his mind, as Hermione’s soft voice recounted many of them Draco tried to picture the memories, what they would look like, or had. A few memories came back, startlingly bright and colourful, like the Ministry Ball that Harry and Draco had attended when they first came out as dating, or the wedding that Hermione had invited him to, decorated in white and turquoise. A few others memories barely brushed his consciousness, though he could feel the realness of them, like a random night in the Leaky, drinking with Ron and Harry while discussing a recent case with Hermione, or a double date that the four of them had been to together.

Draco pushed his feelings down, hid them away for a time that he could be alone and unleash them where no one could see. But, as always, Hermione was perceptive, and had stopped talking abruptly in the middle of a Halloween story, watching Draco carefully.

“Tears are not a sign of weakness, Draco.” Her soft voice coaxes toward him, and he could feel the pinpricks in the corners of his eyes, glancing up and shaking his head softly toward her. He was able to hold her gaze, wondering when he had managed to acquire such a good life that she was informing him off, and why he had such bad luck as to forget it all.

“I get little flashes,” Draco begins, his voice just above a whisper, sounding harsh in his ears as his throat strains in a way that holds back sobs, “Colours, sounds- fragments of memories that proves that it’s all real but that seem so unreal.” He jumps slightly when his hand is covered by Hermione’s small, gentle one, and relaxes slightly at the feel of it. When has being around her felt so comforting?

“You know what it sounds like to me?” Hermione leaned forward, as if whispering a conspiracy that no one else would believe. “It sounds like people recovering from being obliviated.” Draco winced, glancing up and eyeing her before widening her eyes.

“Wait, does this mean we have some way to- to treat this?” He asks hesitantly, blinking slowly up to the face of comfort, one he wished he had in his younger years.

“It means we definitely have a start.”

__________

A week passes by sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly. Draco and Harry continue to repeat past dates, in whatever way they were able to manage from Draco’s hospital room. Draco finally, on the fourth day, managed to yell at a nurse to move the curtains so he could see who was coming and going from the door. He was able to relax more after that, having a clear view of the only entrance into the room- his psychologist (who visited on the sixth day) saying that it was a reflex from his past traumas, just wanting to keep himself safe. Healer Tallon and Hermione insisted on a bringing in a mind healer that worked specifically on cases involving obliviation, and Draco had to admit that the exercises the man was having him do did seem to help in his recovery.

Draco grew more attached to Harry as time grew on, though he wasn’t able to see him as often once the weekend ended, since during the week he worked as an Auror. After work every day, though, he stopped by the room and brought his little wicker basket, smiling and pulling out some random type of food, or some kind of decoration that matched something from their past. One day he had decorated practically the entire room in red hanging ribbons, placed an annoying song on the radio, and pulled out a pack of absolutely horrible food.

Draco was repulsed, confused, and slightly fearful of getting food poisoned. But after one look at Harry’s face, he felt himself relax slightly and began to laugh along with him. That was the day he had his first memory that involved an actual face.

A piercing pain shot through his head, and Draco cried out from it, dropping his noodles onto the floor by accident while shooting a hand up to clutch at the back of his skull. He ran his fingers over a shaved patched of hair where the cut had once been, and felt the bump of the injury under his fingers. Harry immediately shot up, moving close to Draco, whispering questions in a constant stream, mainly if he was okay. Draco reached out, taking Harry’s hand to comfort him and calm him a bit, nodding as he breathed the pain away.

Then he remembered what had brought the pain.

/

They were both sitting in a dimly lit restaurant, the light setting feeling so irregular on their eyes that it was causing a small headache. Their heads brushed these annoying red ribbons every time they moved their heads, and the food they ordered tasted worse than the food at St. Mungos. But this was their seventh date, and Blaise had dared Harry to take Draco here. Secretly, he knew the real reason.

“If you both can survive a date at this hellscape, then you can survive any hardships you may face in the future concerning your relationship.” Blaise had told him one time over drinks, when it was just him and Draco. Then proceeded to tell Harry how fantastic the place was, and that it was top tier dating, and of course Harry’s not at that level of a relationship with Draco to take him there yet.

So they went. And they didn’t eat the horrible food, but instead talked of their day and had fun making fun of the worst restaurant in all of London.

“Remind me to thank Blaise for the recommendation.” Harry mumbled before he took a sip of his wine, before promptly choking on the taste and taking the glass from Draco’s hand, widening his eyes and shaking his head. Draco just chuckled in response, but didn’t bother drinking it, letting Harry take it from him to place on the table next to their uneaten food.

“Ah, sure, of course. We have that double date with him and Pansy planned soon,” Draco replied easily, reaching one hand out to fold with Harry’s smiling into his caring green eyes. They were so bright, full of cheer, and were easily the most interesting thing in this whole building.

“We should take them here,” Harry mumbled, grinning as he reached into his back pocket to withdraw his muggle wallet.

“Can’t, already booked reservations at that new fish place. You know, the one where you’re sitting inside an aquarium while eating the brothers and sisters of the fish swimming around you?” Draco huffed, rolling his eyes as he remembered the premise for this particular eatery. Harry just laughed in response, opening his wallet with one hand and pursing his lips as if trying to figure out how to get the money out to place on the table with just the one hand, intent on not letting go of Draco’s hand.

“Isn’t that place like ridiculously expensive?” Harry mumbled, struggling with holding the wallet in place with his pinky while reaching inside with his thumb and forefinger, the wallet falling from his hand eventually with a sigh.

“The most expensive we could find, actually. Pansy was jealous we went on a double date with Hermione and Ron first so now this one has to be better.” Draco replies, reaching forward and grabbing a few bills for Harry and placing them on the counter for him. Silence followed, and Draco furrowed his brow, studying the now-still Harry. “We could pick somewhere else? You know how Pansy gets.”

Harry blinked a few times, shaking his head before looking at Draco with a strange expression. “That’s not it. I just,” He hesitated, biting his lip, “I just realized something.” Draco just smiled, but held a confused expression on his face.

“And what would that be?” He asks, leaning forward as if about to hear a secret. Harry leaned forward as well, but pressed a soft kiss against his lips, and Draco hummed appreciatively, leaning into it and smiling softly. When Harry finally broke away, their gazes locked and a beat of silence spread before,

“I love you, Draco.”

Sounds of water rushing filled his ears, and he blinked a few times, staring into the brightest green he had ever seen. It was the first time Harry had ever said it, and it was not something that he had expected, especially not in a place like this. A few seconds passed, and Harry bit his lip as if scared he may have said the wrong thing. Draco’s mind screamed at him, ‘Tell him you love him too! Kiss him! Do something!’ while Draco sat there staring like the world was exploding around him. Which it sort of was.

And then air filled his lungs again and he burst forward, smashing his lips in a repeat of before, expect more rough and hungry, Draco’s free hand coming up to wrap around Harry’s neck tightly as if never letting go. And he let himself admit to himself for the first time that he never wanted to let go again. When he finally parted, he glanced back up into the shimmering eyes of his boyfriend, happiness visible in a way that Draco had never seen before.

“I love you too, Harry.”

\

“Ruban Rouge,” Draco whispered, looking up into Harry’s eyes, the green slightly duller than they had been in the restaurant. From worry, he’d assume, considering his face was still scrunched up in an unpleasant way, his hands clutching at Draco’s hospital gown.

“What?” Harry asked, shaking his head, leaning down to catch his eyes, “Draco, are you okay? Do you need me to get the Healer?”

“Ruban Rouge,” Draco repeated, louder, before smiled broadly. Harry hesitated, his fists loosening their grasp before he let out a loud breath, slumping slightly and bringing Draco close into a hug.

“You remember the place, that’s good.” Harry whispered, turning his head into Draco’s neck. Then Harry backed away with a confused expression when he felt Draco shaking from laughter.

“I remember the place, I remember the horrible lights, I remember,” Draco’s smile never ceased as he raised his hands to place on either side of Harry’s face, “I remember you there, Harry. I remember your face,” He exclaimed it a bit loudly, but he was excited. “I remember our words,” He finally said, his voice low, his eyes trained on Harry’s own as he seemed to slowly realize what this meant.

Their first kiss since Draco woke up happened after his first full memory, and it was with the man he loved more than anything. Because he finally remembered that.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Yay! The ask box is open!! You all are such fantastic writers! Thank you for all your amazing work and making Droughtlander 3 more bearable! Can you imagine a complete and utter fluff moment when Jamie or Claire might have given the other a kiss on a cheek while they were still at Leoch as "friends" before the rent collection?

Mod Note: I took the ‘utter fluff’ and ‘Jamie and Claire might kiss’ parts and added them to a new AU idea I hope you enjoy, Anon.

In this AU, Claire is about a year younger than Jamie.

Chain of Command: Part One.

Mrs Crook had never played Claire false, she’d always known that she’d been found late one evening, abandoned deep in the underbrush. It hadn’t stopped her from becoming a fully integrated member of the Fraser household. From a young age Claire had begun to learn the intimate workings of the house - putting her skill as a healer to work as she learned to clean and bake.

The youngest of the children in the house, she’d grown alongside the Fraser’s three children; Willie, Jenny and Jamie. Her position as Mrs Crook’s adopted daughter had no effect on her relationships with any of them, and as they’d been put to task on their education - learning how to read and write - so had Claire, in between her chores.

It was only during Willie’s sickness and subsequent death that she started to notice the minute difference between them. Ellen, Brian, Jenny and Jamie mourned between them leaving Claire to co-exist solely with the maids. Her schooling ceased for a long while and she found herself working hard in the kitchens.

From that loss came the evolution of her relationship with Jamie Fraser. Having been close friends for a good long while, all of a sudden he would come crawling into her bed late at night, tears streaking down his pale face.

Remembering those dire times, she then recalled the moment Ellen had lost her fourth child. She’d bled a lot during that birth and had almost lost her own life. Had it not been for Claire’s quick thinking, Ellen Fraser may have not pulled through at all.

Sneaking up behind her, tall even for his twenty-one years, Jamie wrapped his arms around Claire’s waist, startling her as she kneaded the dough for the next batch loaf.

“I can almost see yer thoughts, mistress,” he cooed, running his lips along the exposed expanse of her neck, causing Claire to forget those memories forged years ago and concentrate on the very prominent figure of Jamie behind her.

“J-Jamie,” she shrugged, shifting her shoulders as she tried to shake him. “Anyone could walk in, we’ll get into bother…”

But she didn’t really want him to stop, Jamie could sense it in the way she rolled her hips backwards whilst fighting, externally, against her need for him.

Jamie had been sent to Paris to finish his schooling at nineteen. There he had come across Annalise de Marillac, an incredible French aristocrat’s daughter. She had been besotted with him and another young man. But every slight touch she’d gifted him had only reminded him that she wasn’t Claire.

Upon his return, unbeknownst to Claire, he had begun his mission to court her properly. He was in far too deep now to ever let her go.

“There’s nobody else here, Claire,” he whispered, his cool breath wafting over the damp patch he’d left on her neck, “but ye ken–”

“No,” she moaned, feeling his hand roaming under her billowing skirts. “We can’t…Jamie…you know we can’t…”

He didn’t truly understand at all, but if the price of his submission to her will on keeping their intimacy from the rest of Lallybroch was Claire’s embrace, then he would give it freely.

Claire saw, with great clarity, the social divide that lay between herself and Jamie. She’d foolishly believed in her younger days that she could overcome it. But recently there had been hushed talk of Jamie’s betrothal - to a lass, it was claimed, he held great affection for. These rumours shattered her illusions and brought her crashing back to earth with a bang.

But that didn’t stop her from wanting him. And it hadn’t stopped her from letting him touch her. Slowly but surely Jamie had been getting closer to her. Touching and teasing in those private moments when the house lay empty. Sometimes, even though she instantly regretted it, she would ensure that her work in the fields coincided with him coming home.

Until now they’d managed to stop themselves, but neither were pulling away from the other and Claire could feel her will slipping by the second.

“They’ll be back soon, Mama Crook will…Jamie, we have to be careful.”

Stilling his hands against her warm thighs, Jamie forced himself to cease, though he desperately wanted to continue - to have her at his mercy against the long wooden preparation table.

He could picture her, wanting, moaning and writhing beneath him as he laid himself over her…

…shaking his head, he leaned his head against her back and rested for just a moment.

“I’d ne’er disrespect ye, Claire, by doing something ye didna want. But I want you so badly that I ache for ye,” he sighed, feeling the subtle ripple that rolled down her spine at his words.

She was holding back from him, hiding her desire for some ridiculous reason. But if time was what she needed, then time he would give her. That and his undying affection and attention.

“Oh, Jamie,” she keened, her legs shaking with the pressure of feeling him *there*.

“Come to me, Claire,” he begged, he wasn’t above going down on his knees to plead with her, “tonight when everyone is abed. I’ll leave my candle alight and ye’ll ken I’m awake and waiting.”

In a moment of weakness she nodded, her heart hammering in her chest as she felt him leave her, a distinct breeze swirling his scent around her as he left as quickly as he’d arrived. Castigating herself, Claire cursed her weakness, but she knew, no matter what, she would go to him. He’d asked and she’d agreed…and she wanted him, too. Badly.

–

The boards creaked beneath her feet as Claire tried to make her way up through the house.

Usually she slept in her own wee study, a room Brian and Ellen had gifted to Mama Crook for her very own private education. In time she had added her own bed, saving her earnings to fit out a private place of her own. But tonight she was intent on sleeping somewhere new…

Jamie’s room lay aside from the others, along the hall, towards the end of the narrow corridor. It was the larger of the three that remained besides the master suite and Brian had seen it fit for a laird-in-training.

She didn’t knock, her hands shaking far too much for her to trust herself. Knock too violently, even by mistake, and she could wake the whole house. Instead she slid her fingers around the brittle wood and shimmied herself through the gap.

Her heart thundered as she turned to find Jamie almost nose to nose with her, a fire blazing behind his irises.

“You came…” he sighed, his lips pressing quickly against hers, not waiting for her to reply.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispered, writhing against him as she ran her fingers through his loose red locks, “I should go. I shouldn’t be here.”

“Aye, ye should,” Jamie pressed, between kisses, his nimble fingers tugging at her tight laces as he made to remove her of her clothes.

Pressed as she was, back against the door, Jamie’s weight solidly between her thighs, Claire couldn’t find it in her to argue. Her head was fast losing the debate with her body and her heart had been lost for years.

The soft fabric of the sheets surrounded her before she’d even realised Jamie had moved her, the skin of her back rubbing pleasantly against the smooth cotton of the linens. “Have you…?” She asked, her legs parting as she leaned up on her elbows to watch him undress himself now, awareness slowly making her conscious and competent once more.

“Nay, have ye?” He looked at her and knew she hadn’t, the shy tilt of her chin and the sudden fear and wonder alight behind her eyes.

“No,” she replied, not wanting there to be any ambiguity to their amorous intentions. Their relationship - if you could call it that - was complex enough. This, she realised, could be simple.

Jamie’s kilt hit the floor with a small thud, a double beat that echoed in time with Claire’s pounding heart as she shimmied her bottom back a little on the comfy bed.

Licking his lips languorously, Jamie bent forward, his eyes focused on the soft rise and fall of her breasts as he took one under his palm. His thumb circled her nipple slowly, its small peak rising under his ministrations.

“So beautiful, Claire,” he whispered, his breath washing over her chest as she bit her lip to stop herself from moaning too loudly.

She’d no notion of physical acts, so when he leaned forwards, his mouth opening slightly to allow his lips to suckle gently at her breast, she had to squeeze her eyes shut. The sensation rocketed through her, sending shockwaves through every nerve as he slowly ran his teeth over her sensitive flesh.

“Did I hurt ye?” He sighed, his tongue licking the tip of her nipple as he posed the question, his worship of her and act of attrition.

“No, no you didn’t…” she responded, breathy and light as she tried to stay focused. Her legs were spread wide now, her knees touching the mattress as her hips thrusted lightly upwards - seeking out the friction she so desperately needed.

Steadying himself, Jamie continued, lowering his arse now so that he came into direct contact with Claire.

She was warm, almost unnaturally so. And wet, so damp that he could feel her stick to every inch of his taut flesh in preparation.

“Do you want me, Claire?” He groaned, knowing it was possibly far too late for that now - but he was still a gentleman, he still needed to hear her say what she needed, what she wanted.

“Y-yes, Jamie. Always yes,” she sighed, a moment of weak abandon causing her to answer him with complete honesty.

Spurred on by her candid words, Jamie thrust forwards, his body encased comfortably within Claire now, just as the lads that worked the Lallybroch lands by his side had told him.

Feeling an intense pressure at this foreign intrusion, Claire solidly gripped Jamie’s bottom as he forced his way, albeit gently, inside her. It hurt for only a tiny moment before that sensation gave way to something else, something infinitely more pleasurable. But it seemed beyond her reach for the moment, a twinkling light in the sky just a little too far away for her to completely understand. Arching her back, she pressed her sweat-coated chest to Jamie’s as he moved above her, her eyes parting just enough to watch as he scrunched his face, the feel of her driving him to his own blissful ending.

Panting in a few rather large breaths, Jamie sealed his lips to Claire’s as he felt the telltale pull of oblivion beckon. His thighs shook and he cried out as Claire swept her tongue across his bottom lip.

In seconds it was over and he lay spent above her, the subtle tang of sex and love hovering in the air.

Cradling him to her breast, Claire allowed herself another luxury, rocking Jamie calmly as they both fell asleep in one anothers arms.

[himbowelsh]

lydia, can I request something w/spina? If there's a particular prompt you'd like to do, go for it, but I'm not super fussed, I just love this boy and the tag can always be filled up more. Thank you!