#three sovereigns au

[saphstories]

Hey there, Shadow. What's up?

Someone's curious. Yeah, this is the big project I'm working on. Wanna see?

Something tells me he isn't that impressed... or maybe he's just annoyed that it isn't yet finished? Don't worry, Shadow, it'll be up and ready soon!

(Nearly done with the first draft of the Three Sovereigns: Book One!)

[saphstories]

I have been summoned...

This is one of my favorite lines from The Three Sovereigns:

"I said no homemade fireworks!"

"It wasn't me, I swear!"

I shall tag @e-vay @maddiebwrites to play if they so desire!

Out of context line tag

Thank you @late-to-the-fandom! I actually have a perfect line I just wrote that's stabbing me in the chest rn so I need to post it.

He could only be loved as much as he could live up to perfection. And he had known, for a long time, that meant he could not be loved at all.

Yes this is from a Sonic fic but I'm not saying anything else about it yet 😈

Tagging: @sparkles-rule-4eva (I'm chasing you down for more Enchanted content lol) @mama-qwerty and umm I don't remember who else writes stuff at the moment cuz I'm tired so open tag please jump if you want!

[yikes-kachowski]

A piggy back off your last ask! Your AU has me all excited. I'm curious about Zuko and Katara's tenure as monarchs? How did the people receive her as their fire lady?

Also your art is amazing!! Can't wait to see more 🥰❤️

This au is very detailed lol, so if you have questions feel free to ask. Just understand that @shalheretical and I have named lots of places in the atla world.

We’re going to break this into three parts: one on notable events in Zuko’s tenure as Fire Lord; one on Katara’s accomplishments that relate specifically to duties she performed in relation to being the Fire Lady (she did other things outside of it); and a final note on the reception of an outside minority woman as the Fire Lady.

PART I

Immediately after the complete and unconditional surrender of the Fire Nation, all military personnel who are not directly involved in civil administration are recalled back to the Fire Nation—though they must find suitable local replacements and return as soon as possible. The Gaoling Agreement of 101 AG saw the repatriation of 1.3m Fire Nation occupiers from everywhere in the Earth Kingdom but the northwestern Gansai region. Because of this, and a late Azulon policy of Development First, Industry Now, which had 75% of all Fire Nation agriculture halted in favor of industrial development and had most food being imported by way of colonial extraction, the sudden population growth and the fact that they had to move factories and warehouses to start farming again, saw that 53 percent of the Fire Nation was experiencing starvation, and that 16 percent was experiencing acute starvation—5 percent experienced famine. This would be at its worst for the first four years of Zuko’s reign—known as the Rice-Rations Years—but it would only truly stabilize in 110 AG.

A near-complete shutdown of the archipelago’s ports until 103 AG exacerbated this problem. However, this was to prevent, as much as possible, the 3.5m individuals identified as war criminals/accomplices to war crimes from escaping to “safe havens” such as Jinyala, the Si Wong, or Whale Tale Island. No one was allowed to leave the ports without a written order by the Fire Lord. The nascent Earth Kingdom Navy helped patrol Fire Nation waters; these sailors, along with some Kyoshi Warriors, also helped inspect ships leaving Fire Nation docks for potential stowaways. The Earth Navy would stay until 104 AG.

The Boiling Rock was used to hold Tier 1 and 2 war criminals until the Omashu Trials began. After this, the Boiling Rock would be shut down. Non-political Fire Nation prisoners would be moved to more humane prisons; non Fire Nationals would be extradited back to their home nations. Captives—such as Hama, Tyro or the Boulder—were repatriated from the work camps they were imprisoned in.

Shrine consolidation was a Sozin policy of putting all shrines under direct monarchical control and turned over for use of the state religion—Agniyo, the religion of the ethnic majority (Shiboshi) Fire Nationals. Zuko begins a policy of Great Reversal, where these shrines are returned to their traditional stewards. The Intranational Sovereign Rights policies is the parent policy of the Great Reversal. The Fire Nation is home to 98 ethnic minority/indigenous groups (including the Sun Warriors and the Bhanti), with 106 recognized languages and dialects apart from Hokugo (the state language). These are all put under Special Status, where extra government protections and provisions are made to protect traditional Fire Nation diversity. Specifically, local councils are approved to use state funds to protect Status minority religions, languages, ecology/land, food, dance, and arts. The Sun Warriors in particular are given greater autonomy and sovereignty over their ancestral lands.

In 107 AG Zuko made an official declaration to renounce the millenia-old belief that the Liufeng dynasty is in any way divine, or descended from Agni. In apology for these centuries of disrespect towards Mother Agni, a new shrine in the capital of Kazanshi is announced; it is officially completed in 125 AG, and dedicated in 126.

Zaibatsu, vertically integrated business conglomerates, are dissolved; the businesses are put under monarchical control, and their assets are partially used for reparations paid towards the Water Tribes and Earth Kingdom. (Aang turned down reparations outside of help rebuilding Air Temples/shrines, and protections on sacred Air Nomad land, such as areas in Gansai and Whale Tale Island.) Land was seized from landlords and nobles, and sold to their serfs and tenets for extremely cheap prices. This is open to anyway once all serfs and tenant farmers have their share, which leads to some immigration from especially the southern Earth Kingdom.

Starting in 103, all war criminals are prosecuted under Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe officials at Omashu, which only ends in 119 AG, due to the thoroughness of the prosecution. Some critics from the Fire Nation claim that no Fire Nation representatives presented an unfair bias, and Why can’t it be held in the Royal High Courts? Zuko maintains that the Earth Kingdom and the Water Tribe are a lot more merciful than he would be. Note: Iroh volunteered to be tried for the Siege of Ba Sing Se and his March on the Si Wong, even though King Kuei offered him immunity. He was given a postponed sentence of ten years; during this time, he would stay in his tea shop, and most of the money he made would go to helping Go Shi Wai, one of the worst-affected places of the war.

Gansai, later the United Republic, holds the largest number of Fire Nation settlers. This is due to an early Azulon resettlement policy, wherein ethnic minorities in the Fire Nation were resettled in Gansai and away from the imperial core, for Azulon’s All-Shiboshi Empire dream (the officials that ruled them were still Shiboshi, though). There are nearly 4m settlers living there; and since they’ve been outside of the Fire Nation for at least a generation, they are the least willing to move. Gansai was made independent in 115 AG through a referendum that went through every village, town, city, settlement in the region. Many Earth Kingdom citizens still consider this a humiliating capitulation to the Fire Nation, and resent King Kuei for allowing this.

Serfdom and slavery were abolished in the Fire Nation by 105 AG. Looted wealth is confiscated from the noble class, and repatriated to their home countries. The royal coffers do the same. Since the power of the noble class was severely weakened by these moves—and the removal of the zaibatsu system—many enraged nobles would attempt government takeovers—whether through the legals means of an Agni Kai, or through nine different assassination attempts from 105 AG to 127 AG. These, by the way, would only lead to legislation that weakened the noble class even more.

The Fire Nation educational system was technically reformed, though specifically. Zuko was looking to return the institution to its prewar systems, with some amendments. He took a lot of care for educational reforms, because he considered it ground zero for deradicalization policies. Teachers were screened and replaced when necessary; there was a national recall on textbooks, and Zuko commissioned a completely new curriculum. The military education of children from 11 to 16 stayed in place. The national examinations that gave people opportunities to work in government positions were opened up to the merchant and former self classes.

Protections and rights for same-sex couples are restored. Abortion is made legal. Funding goes back to the arts. Overall, Zuko’s policies mark a return to the cultural pursuits from before the war—especially in the arts, education and religion.

PART II

Once again: these are her activities that relate to her acting (somewhat) in capacity to traditional Fire Lady duties. However, a lot of her actions—even when acting as Fire Lady—are outside of traditional royal involvement, which is noteworthy. It should also be noted that she is not a part of the legislative body of the Fire Nation in any capacity, nor is she in any way given any sort of powers of making policies at an official capacity. To me, this doesn’t really matter, because I personally don’t think she’d be incredibly interested in dealing with Fire Nation legislative proceedings anyway, and it’s way more straight forward for her to just tell Zuko what she thinks would be a good idea since he can just enact it immediately. Not that she never influences policies through cooperation with Parliament, just that she normally chooses not to.

She specifically is known for her deep involvement with charity and patronages. She tends to focus on issues involving the homeless, youth, drug addictions, the elderly, environmental protections, illness and minority rights advocacy. It’s due to her nearly weekly visits to hospitals and health clinics across the Fire Nation (and sometimes abroad) that Katara gets very specifically interested in serious and terminal illnesses—the care of their patients, prevention and destigmatization. She’s especially famous for initiating physical contact towards patients with leprosy, to prove that leprosy could not be easily transmitted through casual touch—such as hugs and handholding.

She is president of the Taiyang-jie Childrens’ Clinic in the capital. She is a patroness of the Natural & Geologic Historical Society in Lopyang. She is president of the Royal Academies of Healthcare, Sociology & Philosophy, and Music & Theatre. She is president of the Gojiki Child Association, a charity to care for vulnerable tribal youth. She also works with the National Leprosy Trust, the Fire Nation Centre of Minority Dance and Theatre, and the Imperial Phoenix Hospital.

She was integral to the founding of Taqqittiavak, an international medical association, inspired by witnessing the calamity of war, and how there’s often not enough medics for the wounded, who are often left to suffer and die. She is a patron of the Three Nations’ Doctors League, a similar organization, though Taqqitiavak works in conflict zones, and 3ND in humanitarian crisis zones. She specifically works with them in an anti personnel landmine campaign. Her work directly leads to the signing of the Qiue Treaty to create an international ban on the use of landmines.

She makes regular lengthy visits to the Ruzuro-yeiji Hospital in Kemkami, where she specifically helps in the care and comfort for patients who are seriously or terminally ill—something royalty had never done before. She is a patronesses to the Imrani Cancer Fund, an international charity dedicated to cancer research.

She is the founder of Tunnganiq, an association dedicated to research and care for mental disabilities, especially those acquired in war or in accidents. She regularly supports efforts in the advancement of mental healthcare, institutional reform, and the stigmatization of all psychotic and neurotic disorders. She (and Toph) opened the Centre for Disability and the Arts in Republic City.

She is the patron of the Fire Nation branch of the Nutaraq Appeal, an international organization dedicated to helping pregnant women and new mothers in need around the world.

Katara (and Sokka) launch the International Child Bereavement charity, which seeks to support the children of: military families, children orphaned by war and conflict, children of suicide victims and children of the terminally ill. She and Sokka are also patrons of the Southern Water Tribe Cultural Center in Republic City.

She supports the Laiyi Fund, which is a parent fund to several smaller charity organizations that give accommodations and social assistance to the homeless, and campaigns to destigmatize homelessness worldwide. In general, Katara is very vocal and active in her support of homeless populations, and to end the conception of homelessness being a moral failing in the Fire Nation, especially by regularly working with the homeless directly, without any official means of protection. She supports the Just Homes Initiative in the United Republic, which seeks to “just house them” with no strings attached.

She was awarded the Freedom of Omashu Award, the highest honor in the Southern Earth Kingdom for her humanitarian efforts—as well as the Ba Sing Se Citizens’ Award and being awarded a gold medal in a healthcare conference in Piriyakheri.

PART III

To be honest, her marriage to Zuko really wasn’t a huge deal to most peasants in the Fire Nation—they were so far removed from royal life, that who the current Fire Lord is hardly mattered, let alone who the Fire Lady is. The middle class, especially in major cities like Kazanshi, Kenkami, Lopyang and Kimosaki, and the noble class (especially, much to her embarrassment, Mai’s family, the Keohsos—where the brides for the Fire Lord are traditionally found) were the most vocal in their disapproval of the idea of there being a foreign bride. What if the Fire Lord abandons them (a population that’s starving and struggling) for the South Pole? What if she roadblocks courtly promotions only to Water Tribe immigrants that will surely be used to replace the ethnic Fire Nation population? What if their heir is a waterbender, of all things? Most ire was reserved for Zuko, either way. The Fire Lady is hardly a consideration, at this point in time—the role is prestigious solely because she is the wife of the Fire Lord, who actually matters. Katara is who gives the position prestige and reverence beyond that, through her compassion, altruism and humanitarian efforts, which kind of gave the role of Fire Lady an entirely new role in greater Fire Nation society, outside of just running the household and being the head of the royal family, which doesn’t really affect regular citizens.

Besides, nobles who didn’t know better than to keep it to themselves were pretty readily dismissed from the court and removed from the Caldera—a hugely humiliating experience.

Their wedding is a big deal. Some agitators try to say that they’re wedding, in 106, is a flagrant extravagance when the whole nation is suffering—this is still more of an attack on Zuko, than Katara. The wedding, though a big royal wedding, is mostly used to help lighten the air for the population—it’s an excuse to be off of work for a week, to have fun celebrations, to be with family, to keep up with royal fashion, etc. It’s a reprivement.

Katara becomes somewhat of a fashion icon—not the biggest, by far, but especially her jewelry, accessories and hairstyles take the country by storm. It’s big enough that she’s able to auction off her old clothing and her own beadwork projects for thousands, which she would then donate to places she felt needed the most help. She alone is responsible for making smiling—especially smiling with your teeth—popular in the Fire Nation.

A lot of people really idealized her as a mother, with the way she was regularly seen walking her kids to and from school, and around the capital. She would participate in parent-student events in school, and was known to very rarely use nannies. Unlike other Fire Nation noblewomen, she never once used a nursemaid. She very regularly took her kids on holidays to the Southern Water Tribe. Non-racists in the Fire Nation really admire her dedication and loyalty to her origins and native land/practices. Racists thought she would teach her kids to look down on the Fire Nation and only care for the preservation of her homeland and culture.

A lot of people—especially older, more traditional folks—also thought she acted unbecomingly for a Fire Lady. She dresses casually in deels when not working in an official capacity, regularly goes off to do things without following royal protocol, smiles and waves to crowds and in photos. A lot of people criticize her speeches as being emotional and, occasionally, even hysterical. Her willingness to act outside of capacity and to do things that should be beneath her—in public—was especially condemned.

But overall, she’s been pretty popular from the beginning, and definitely went down as at least one of the most beloved Fire Ladies in history. If not the most.

[la2yn0va]

General Self-Aware HSR Headcanons/Guidelines(? Is that the word I’m looking for?)

~~~

Notes — I’m not coming back, YET. I still need to see a few things before I came back.

~~~

Reader is referred as ‘The Omni Aeon’ or ‘The Voidborne Sovereign/Arbiter” ORRR “creator/lord/Their, Your Grace”

I believe if hsr WERRE self aware, it’s highly likely that the ‘normal’ au for this au is that it’d be a cult au.

There’s already different factions that worship/follow in the paths of already existing aeons. So if reader was… well GOD, then I believe everyone would be in this unspoken cult organization.

Along with this unspoken cult, there’s unspoken guidelines. Just to list a few;

Any blasphemy of any degree is punishable by fates worse than death. (Newly added, their grace is okay with jokes)

You will be disowned by everyone, weather they be family, friends, jobs, factions, or aeons. You’re now an utter nobody and a blight that must be punished.

The Voidborne Sovereign must have statues on every conceivable planet, and be worshiped three times a day, no matter your business, condition, or whereabouts.

No violence or outburst will be allowed within 30 feet of The Voidborne’s Statue.

Unless the creator themselves give you permission, NO. ONE. Is allowed to call their grace by their real name.

Every faction have different ideas about you, but at the same time they all have the same belief of you.

The only mortals who’re able to follow your path are the emulators of aeons. (Acheron, Herta/Stephen, Feixiao) and the aeons themselves, but only with your permission.

Every planet has a building for you along with servants trained from birth. In belabog, they just give you the Qlipoth Fort. The Xianzhou managed to build a whole ship for you. And Penacony… well I honestly don’t know.

The reader has the following powers;

Omni-Manipulation

Absolute Creation and Destruction

Future-Past-Present Seeing,

Knowledge and Power Gifting/Revoking

Omniscience/Omnipotence

Complete Arsenal

In short. Everything.

Story wise, reader SHOULD NOT, gain these powers immediately. He should have a peak superhuman physicality, along with the same amount of martial arts training/experience of a 1,000 year old. Along with manipulating Either the imaginary or Quantum element at first.

The aeons would put aside all their differences if you so order them to. Nanook should be slightly rebellious and, if someone wants, he should be the main villain in a Self aware HSR x Reader story.

Reader should have a backstory. I’m talking about what happened BEFORE they made the HSR universe. I’m a fan of the reader being in a universe where there was ONE planet with a corrupt ‘god’.

I’m pretty sure I already posted a story of this back story. If you want to read it click here. RIIGHT HEEEEEERRE

Everyone in the galaxy has multiple books/fanfics about you written by some mysterious author. despite this, NO ONE is shameful enough to admit they have fanfics of you.

They’re are absolutely debates about how good you are in bed, along this other stuff.

-That’s all I got right now, sorry. SEE YAA-

[buckets-and-trees]

FINE LINE collection

a near-future dark omegaverse AU

Twenty years ago, the United States went up in flames and burned to ash. Canada and Mexico came down in the blaze alongside it. From the charred embers, eleven sovereign states emerged with a tenuous affiliation to stabilize and keep the peace among them. Noble and nefarious forces are now emerging to try and reshape the political landscape - some to become more united, some to seize power.

Scattered amongst the political games is the complexity of life in an omegaverse. Alpha, beta, and omega distinctions are only as straightforward as a fool believes them to be as feelings and beliefs intermingle with the biology of all relational dynamics.

Once known as the Winter Soldier, the White Wolf, Bucky Barnes, now leads the fearsome HYDRA pack that has emerged to make a play for power. You could not stand in his way, but what can you do if you fall in step behind the cruel alpha?

Content Warnings: [check individual parts for their respective warnings] DARK STORY, omegaverse dynamics (biting, claiming, scenting, heats, bonding, alpha commands), scenes of dubious consent, angst, manipulation, blackmail, kidnapping, explicit smut

COLLECTION: ↠ part one: Give Up ↠ part two: Falling Away ↠ part three: Every Minute Of It

EXTRAS: ↠ Alpha Bucky is mean, hints of characters to come (response to a reblog)

[sweetbunpura]

Take what you can. Give nothing back...

I was looking at Jack Sparrow quotes (I love POTC 1-3~) and I can't help the idea of Yuu saying the quotes....but in a Pirate AU.

Yuu's been an absolute menace on the seas, out of the Eight Sovereigns of the ocean, she is the one the government can't keep tabs on. They hope to weed her out somehow, learning that Yuu rescues anyone stranded or people needing help from an sinking ship. The leaders of the government think of an idea and if it means sacrificing one of their own....they'll do it.

They command Rollo, one of the new captains, to try and find Yuu who will no doubt lead them to the rest of the Sovereigns. But unknown to Rollo, they load up his ship with explosives. While they're docked in the ocean for the night, the explosives go off, sending the ship and it's crew members into the ocean. Ramshackle, Yuu's flagship, comes to their aid as their lookout had seen the explosion.

Sadly, Rollo's the only survivor as the crew pulls him aboard, he passes out before he has a chance to see Captain Homura. He wakes up the next day in the infirmary, startles their doctor as he stumbles his way out onto deck to see he's been taken "prisoner" by the pirates.

While the crew watches him, some faces Rollo's seen in the bounty pictures: Ace and Deuce from the Heartslabyul, Jack from the Savanclaw, Floyd from the Octavinelle, Epel from the Pomefiore, Ortho from the Ignihyde, and Sebek from the Diasomnia. There where three people he was unware of watching him from the mast. A ginger haired man with fox ears and tail, a tall man with white hair and black shades, and a young boy with cat ears and tail.

Before he could say anything, footsteps are heard behind him.

"Finally up are we?"

It was Captain Homura.

[violent138]

Thinking of writing a superhero roommates AU (haven't decided who with Titans, Outsiders, Dick and Jason, Superbat, Babs and Dinah, JLA, so I shall take suggestions) and brain dumped what I found funny:

Can't scold your roommate for not doing their share of the chores because you've been watching the news all day/you both have returned three days later due to a crisis and the place is a mess

A shocking number of supervillains target the building leading other residents to try and figure out why

Your roommate vanished for superheroing reasons and the cops are now at the door because their workplace filed a missing person's and you're the top suspect because you didn't

Blood and gore from injuries everywhere/slime from the monster/dust from the collapsed building

Spending money on suits and tech cuts into rent

You argue in the field and continue arguing all the way to the house and then at each other through thin walls when the mood strikes

Each other's questionable dating life is judged severely

It's actually kind of nice having one person that is in on this massive secret in your life

You will be woken up during Witch business hours to answer moral/ethical quandries

Your roommate waking up at the break of dawn means you also have to train now

You're both first aid trained because injuries

Sometimes you have to pretend to be a clueless civilian around your suited roommate (and be on the news)

Things break a lot. The fire alarm was broken on purpose and hasn't been fixed

The walls are used for murderboards quite often and there are squabbles when one person's murderboard starts invading the sovereign territory of another's

[spitefulbull]

Writeblr Intro

Well, guess there's a first time for everything. Had no idea folks did this until recently.

Hi ^-^ My name is Sy, I'm 29 years old, queer and a cis-female. I've been writing fictions on and off since my late teens, and I just recently began writing with serious intent. English is my second language, so I apologize if I mess up the spelling or grammar on something. I'm currently in school for computer programming and living with my grandparents, whom I take care of as well. I hope to meet some kind mutuals and share ideas with them ^-^

My hobbies are simple, mostly just video games, reading, writing, annoying my cat, and just vibing. I'm a homebody now, so I don't get into too many crazy shenanigans anymore (if my liver could talk, it'd have stories for days).

I like to write in high fantasy settings, but I tend to experiment with modern AUs from time to time. I have dabbled in Star Wars universe fictions, thanks to a gaming club I've been a part of for nearly three years.

Current WIPs

Ravens of Fate

Star Wars in-universe story of espionage, sabotage, and questioned loyalties. Post Episode VI Imperial POV.

Unnamed WIP

My serious attempt at writing my own story. High-fantasy military team charged with the protection of their sovereign's only daughter. An adventure with lots of action, some angst, and plenty of queer shenanigans. Doesn't have a title yet, but working on it!

If you're also a fellow writer, please interact with this post! I'd love to follow more writeblr blogs and meet new folks.

Well, that's all I got for now. My inbox is always open, so feel free to drop in there. Hope to meet some of y'all soon ^-^

[readyforthegarden]

When the Nightingale Sings - Part One

Pairing: Danny Wagner x F!Reader

Synopsis: Medieval AU! In a world where noble alliances dictate futures, you have been betrothed to Prince Emers, a man you barely know and certainly don't love. As you travel towards the royal palace for your impending wedding, your journey is upended, causing you to run straight into a kind, lonesome hunter. With no choice but to trust him, you embark on a journey together towards the nearest village, navigating through the forest and it's perils. As the solace you find in his companionship builds will you choose to honor your duty, or will you abandon everything you've ever know to follow your heart?

WC: 3424

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, brief depictions of murder, angst, anxiety, fight or flight emotions.

A/N: It's here!! I am insanely proud of this story and all the work I've done on it. It wouldn't be anything like it is without the help of some good friends. A big thank you to @earthlysorrows for beta-reading and editing and helping me along the way! And @joshsindigostreak for always hearing me out when I text her saying 'i have an idea 👀' and always playing dialogue off with me. Love you both so much!

You had always disliked riding in carriages, the juddering and shaking motions of them as they traveled down worn paths between villages, towns and cities always making you feel ill. Today was no exception. You were currently on day three of a two week trip across the country, and a soft rain had fallen in the early morning, ensuring muddy tracks and sinking holes along your path. You rested your head against the wall next to your seat, closing your eyes and wishing sleep would take you. Perhaps death would even be better than the pounding in your head. 

“I imagine you’ll have much finer carriages after you marry the prince, my lady.” your handmaid smiled, trying to ease your discomfort. “I hear he has one that’s lined with fur.” What a comfort that would be on such a cold journey. The foot warmer between your feet had already begun to grow cold, the embers refusing to be stoked with life again in the late fall air. 

“That would be something to see, Marta.”  the handmaid’s eyes glittered at your response. She was young, only a few years younger than yourself, and the niece of the maid that had helped take care of you most of your childhood. Though there should have been a stronger boundary between lady and servant, you had found a form of friendship in her, though it was stiff and formal. 

“And imagine all the beautiful gowns and jewels, I cannot wait to help you dress for royal banquets.” Marta slipped into a diatribe about how the balls your family had held would pale in comparison to the ones the royal family had, how glittering you would look in the crown jewels. The unease in your stomach grew. Your parents had worked out a strenuous match between you and the sovereign prince of Farrynden. It was an effort you had no part in, nor wanted. Unfortunately, you had no say in the matter, and after exchanging a few letters back and forth, you were summoned to travel across the country and marry the prince. 

It was just you, Marta, and two coachmen making the journey. Your family was well-off for the most part, but could not afford for all to travel to the nuptials. Their presence would not have been a comfort anyway. Your father was too proud of the match he had secured for you, and your mother was far too happy to lose you and gain a title in court. You wished for your older brother, though he had been long gone at this point, to try and talk sense into father. He might have listened to protests coming from him. 

The carriage jostled roughly, making you place a hand over your mouth and groan, preparing for the back wheels to follow suit, however, the carriage was stopped. Sharing a confused look with Marta, you glanced out the window. You were surrounded by woods, the path cutting through a dense, large forest. The confusion set in further until you heard the horses whining, the coachmen shouting. Moving back from the glass you glanced at Marta, who met your wide eyes with her own. 

The door was ripped open by the same large, grimy hands now reaching into the carriage. Your shriek matched Marta’s, both of you pushing away from that side of the carriage as much as you could. You cursed the large foot warmer, it’s bulk making it difficult to move. Marta’s wrist was taken by one of the hands, it pulled her harshly, yanking her screaming figure from the carriage. Another set of hands entered the carriage, grasping at the hem of your dress, your ankles. Kicking you tried to fight them off, but only succeeded in the assailant grasping your ankle and tugging you closer before grabbing your arms. 

You fought against the hands that held you steady, twisting and turning your body, stomping your feet in the mud. Marta’s screams were flooding your ears, and as you looked around for help,  you could see why.

The two coachmen were dead, blood pooling around their bodies. One was lying face up, his throat slit, blood still pouring from the wound. The other was face down in, a dark stain on his light blue coat, the blood mixing with mud beneath him. 

Tears began to run down your face, the inevitability of your own death coming to light. You thrashed further as the man holding you gripped tighter, bringing you towards the front of the carriage. 

“Oi, make that one shut up!” the man’s voice was hard and gruff, sending fear shooting down your spine. He spoke to his accomplice, a younger, greasy looking man, his teeth dark as he grinned. 

Marta’s screams were silenced as your own sobs echoed out into the forest around you, unable to look away from the blade that dragged across her throat. You saw the light fade from her terrified eyes, the image burning itself into your memory. You would be next. Oh god, you would be next. 

With everything you had in you, you braced yourself as the man holding you turned you in his grasp. 

“What a pretty little thing you are.” he smirked, his breath blowing across your face, pungent and sickening. “Maybe we should keep you, have some fun.”

“Lookie here,” the younger man caught both of your attention. One of your trunks was opened, and with his soiled blade he lifted up a nightdress. “She could be our little dolly, dress her up and strip her down.” Bile rose in your throat, and the next thing you knew, you had wrenched your head back, and brought it forward, cracking it against your captor. 

The man dropped you, startled from the impact and you slipped in the mud as you realized your chance to escape. Gathering up your skirts as shooting pain rippled through your skull, you bolted, dashing for the forest. You could hear both the men behind you, shouting and giving chase as you hastened through the dead leaves and twigs on the ground. 

Your lungs were burning with every breath you could take. You cursed the corset you’d been laced up in, knowing you could run faster without its hindrance. Not daring to check behind you, you kept going, not caring if you could hear them or not. Stumbling, you cursed, getting back up, though your legs were screaming at you. Cold tears whipped down your cheeks and from your eyes, the image of the coachmen and Marta flashing every time you thought about stopping. 

Time had escaped you. You knew that at some point you felt a soft flurry of early snow, but didn’t know how long you’d been running. The forest was thicker here, and you began to slow down. It was quiet now, and you glanced around. There was no sign or sound of the men following you any longer. You still kept a quick pace, checking for them behind every tree and branch. Watching over your shoulder, you pressed forward, stumbling but continuing to go. 

“Stop! Stop!!” you froze, whipping your head around to see a tall man standing a few yards from you, his hands thrust out in front of him, palms up. He didn’t look like the men that had chased you, he was clean, his dark, curly hair shining in the sun that broke through the trees. Fear still shot through your veins and you started to run, but he yelled again. “Stop! If you move you’ll step in a trap!” freezing again, you looked down. Right in your path, hidden under a few scattered leaves, was a metal contraption, meant for hunting large beasts and animals. You would have stepped right into it, maiming whichever foot landed in it. 

The man moved towards you, and you moved back. He took in your pale face, the only color your cheeks and nose tinged pink from cold and tears that were sliding down your cheeks. Your wide, scared eyes regarding him like a monster as he regarded you like a feral creature, scared and confused. 

With a breath, you bolted, darting off to your right before he could come closer. You would take your chances with any other traps, refusing to be held captive again. 

You had lost the sun, the trees looming overhead blocking out any of the sunset. You were staggering around, a painful stitch in your side mixing with hunger pangs. The headache you’d had earlier reappeared, and you slumped against a tree. The cold was creeping in, your sweat coated body chilling faster. 

The bark of the tree scratched against your coat, small bits flaking off and catching on the wool. Surely death by cold and hunger was a better fate than what had been in store for you, whether earlier or with the prince. 

The shaking shivers that wracked your body wouldn’t cease as the sky grew darker. Nestling into the tree trunk as best you could, you let your eyes fall closed dreaming of the warm fire in your old bedchambers, and the cozy bed one a few feet away from it. 

The sound of twigs snapping jolted you from sleep. Your eyes looked around, but instead of a dark forest, you were in a small, homely cottage. The sound of twigs was not that exactly, it was larger pieces of chopped wood, crackling in the hearth. And instead of a tree trunk, you were nestled into a large, warm bed. Furs were laid over you, their warmth making you feel slightly delirious. 

Sitting up, you inspected yourself, raising the blankets. Your dress, though dirty, was still intact. The only thing removed had been your shoes, though long, thick wool socks had been put on you in their wake. Glancing around the interior, you saw few items in the small space. A stack of firewood next to the fireplace, a small kettle hanging over the fire. Two wooden chairs and a small table, seemingly handmade from the rough edges of the items. A rack with various pelts draped over it was in the corner, drying. 

Finding you were alone in the cottage, you peeled back the furs on top of you, placing your feet on the wooden floors, you moved to get up from the bed, just as the door opened. A large figure lumbered in, the door slamming shut behind them. They were cloaked in a large coat and hat, both made of dark fur. Scrambling back into the bed, you pulled the blankets over you, clutching them to your chest. Your heart rate spiked as the figure turned toward you, his eyes regarding you anxiously. 

“You’re awake,” he smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. You backed up, further in the bed when he stepped forward, pausing as he took in your move. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He watched as your hand shook, clutching the blanket, your eyes darting up and down his tall stature. Sighing softly, he reached up, his movement slow, and took off his hat, allowing his curls to bounce back to life. It was the young man from the forest earlier, that had stopped you from stepping in one of his traps. He put it on the small table, then unfastened his coat, lowering it from his shoulders and draping it over the back of his chair. Glancing at you, he put his hands on his hips. 

“My name is Daniel, by the way.” he paused, waiting for you to reply. When you didn’t, he glanced around the cottage. “This is my home. I found you in the woods while checking my traps. You were turning blue, so I brought you here. Have you been hurt?” This pause was met with an almost imperceptible shake of your head. “Good. Can you tell me why you were running in the woods like that?” Silence. Daniel sighed, watching your eyes cast down to the floor. 

Turning, Daniel moved away from you and to the fire, grabbing a small bowl from the mantle, and opening the lid on the kettle, stirring the stew inside with a ladle that had been hanging from a hook by the hearth. The smell of cooked meat and herbs met your nose, and your stomach growled loudly. Daniel chuckled under his breath and ladled some into the bowl, his own stomach softly rumbling as the aromas wafted up to him. Grabbing one of his few spoons from an old tin on the mantle he walked back over to you. 

He held out the bowl to you, raising his eyebrows, idly twirling the spoon between his fingers on his other hand. You looked from the bowl to him a few times, before shifting on the bed, letting the blankets go and reaching for it. Daniel pulled back slightly, making you gasp softly in surprise. 

“I’d rather not have rabbit stew spilled in my bed,” he explained. “Come sit at the table.” you hesitated, but Daniel moved back, setting the bowl down on the small table by the fire, and plopping the spoon gently in. He sat down on the other side, and waited. 

Feeling a spectacle, you slowly climbed from out of the covers, your feet on the hardwood floor again. The socks slid against the smooth wood as you stood, and you brushed down your skirts. Every step you took toward the table, and the man sitting there, was timid. You were afraid that he would pounce at any moment, finish the job of the other two bastards before him. 

Yet he sat still, his eyes wary but kind as you gripped the back of the chair, pulling it out somewhat before taking a seat. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips as you tucked in closer to the table. Eyeing the stew, you spied chunks of lean rabbit, potato and carrot, a beetroot or two also mixed in. Your mouth watered, but what if he did something to it? What if this was all a trick?

Seemingly reading your mind, Daniel shook his head. 

“Go on, eat. I wouldn’t poison my own stew.” he rolled his eyes, but the gentle smile was still present. Still, you hesitated. Daniel moved, his chair scraping the wooden floor, making you jump in your seat. You braced yourself, ready to endure another headache if you had to headbutt your way to freedom again. 

Daniel only moved to the fire, taking another bowl from the mantle and ladling himself a serving, grabbing a spoon and sitting back down. He kept his eyes on you, dipping the spoon into the stew and bringing up a steaming spoonful. Blowing gently on it, he raised the spoon to his lips before taking the bite. He did this a few more times, you were sure the food was still too hot, evident by the wince he did on the last before he spoke. “See?” 

Your hand raised from your lap, grabbing the rustic spoon. It had been worn over the years, no polishing, showing slight grooves where fingers had held it. Yours fit snugly into those grooves, and you stirred the stew a bit, releasing more steam before taking a bite of your own. 

It was delicious. You had to hold yourself back from slurping and sloshing down the meal as your tongue was coated with savory warm broth. The meat was soft but a little stringy, but it was a fine supper. Daniel continued his own meal, the two of you eating in silence until he spoke again, half-chewed bite in his mouth. 

“Do you have a name?” glancing up, you nodded, and supplied it to him quietly. “Are you from around here?”

“Where is here?” you asked. 

“I take that as a no, then.” he sighed. “Here is my home, in Timberhill. Where did you come from?” 

“Indigwall.” you answered. Daniel let out a long, low whistle. 

“You’re a long ways away from home,” he leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What are you doing all the way out here? And running through my hunting grounds?”

“I-I,” you stammered, trying to think of a lie. Just because this man seemed kind, didn’t mean he wouldn’t hold you ransom for money, from your father or the prince. As you glanced up to his eyes, you realized how soft they were. Amber flecks hiding in splashes of green mixed brown sparkled in the firelight. You could see no malice in his eyes, and suddenly the truth spilled from your lips. “I am betrothed to the prince of Ferryden. I was traveling to the castle for our wedding.” Daniel stared at you, mouth slightly agape as you continued. “This morning, our carriage was stopped, and these two men-“ you choked on a sob as the images of Marta and the coachmen flashed again in your mind. “They killed them, they killed Marta!” Tears spilled down your cheeks, and Daniel stood, going to a small hutch and rifling through it before coming back with a handkerchief. You accepted it, dabbing your eyes and wiping the tears away. 

“I am sorry,” Daniel murmured. “I understand why you were so afraid of me earlier. You do not need to speak of it, if you do not wish.” nodding you tried to compose yourself as he sat down across from you again. The silence fell between the two of you again, but this time there were fewer questions, fewer anxieties weighing on it. 

Picking up your spoon, your hand trembling after the images, you continued your meal, swallowing down the stew, your appetite still fighting your nerves. 

“I thought from your coat and dress, you must have been a lady of some sort.” Danny cleared his throat. “I have a few things I must do before I can take off, but in a day or so, we can start the journey to the next village, see if we can send word to your prince.”

You knew better than to protest. If your own parents didn’t listen to your pleas not to be shipped off, not to marry the prince, a stranger wouldn’t either. 

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” you gave him the best smile you could muster, feeling it barely raise the corners of your lips. “But I don’t have money to pay you. All of my things were in that carriage and with…them.” Daniel didn’t need you to elaborate on whether your belongings were stolen by the murdering bandits or left behind with the bodies laid across the path. 

“No need for formalities.” Daniel instead chose to break the ice further. “You can call me Danny. My friends call me that.” he had hoped the more casual nickname would help ease the tension of formality.

“Danny, then.” Nodding, you sat back in your chair, a little easier now that your belly was full and you knew the name of the man across from you. “How far are we from the next village?”

“That depends on the method of travel.” he answered. “Tomorrow after I check my traps, I’ll see about finding your carriage, and if the horses are still there, we can ride those and it would only be a few days. Without them, we’ll be on foot, and that could take about a week.” as he finished his sentence, a large yawn stretched your face. “Go on back to bed. You need to rest after all the running you did.”

“No, I can’t take your bed again,” you shook your head. 

“I insist.” Danny got up, walking over to an old, worn cloth that was strung in the corner of the large room. With a jump, he climbed up into it, swinging precariously with a smile. “See? I don’t mind sleeping here.” 

Rising from your seat, you moved to the bed, and took one of the furs from it. Folding it over your arms you walked over to him, smiling as you raised it up. One of his large hands reached down, grasping the soft material and pulled it into his hammock as he returned your smile. 

“Thank you Daniel-Danny,” you corrected. He merely nodded at you, fluffing out the blanket over his long body, settling in. As you crawled back into the bed, you pulled the blankets back over you, finding its warmth and your full belly already lulling you into sleep. 

“Goodnight, princess,”

“I am not yet a princess,” you mumbled, slightly offended by the unwanted title. 

“Goodnight, all the same.”

“Goodnight, Daniel.”

Taglist: (feel free to add yourself!)

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@mar-rein12 @laurynnnn125 @maddie-rae @eraofstardustchords @musicislove3389 @starsinmyeyes00

[dzala-va]

I am absolutely in love with the art you’ve done for your Medieval AU!!! I’m curious about how you are splitting the different teams into kingdoms! (If you have it all mapped out) Are all the teams a kingdom or are they different parts of a few kingdoms?? Would love to hear how you see it!

Thank you so much! I’m really grateful you like my AU, it inspires me to think of it more and make more artworks!

About the teams - yes, there are three big kingdoms with sovereign “states” within each. “States” were formed from big Houses, and they are, in fact, vassals of the ruling house. For example, House McLaren are Mercedes’ vassals. House Haas are Ferrari’s vassals. House AlfaTauri are RedBull’s vassals.

I didn’t quite decided on the physical map of their lands yet, but here I have a rough sketch of how i imagine that. There is a big sea channel, which is used for trades between the kingdoms and houses. Everything else still needs to be settled in my mind ✍🏻 but here we are!

Thank you for your question and for kind words 🫶🏻

[saphstories]

Farewell, My Friend💔😭

(PSA: Possible spoiler warnings for The Murder of Me by the Zielo Cave. Only a couple panels, but still...)

So, on Monday night, I was at work, and I checked my phone, mostly out of habit. (I don't recommend doing this, btw, it's a good way to get you written up or worse.) And I saw that I had a YouTube notification on my lock screen. So I open my phone and pull down my drop bar to have a look. And literally saw the absolute worst news.

TMOM is over from The Zielo Cave

Now for those of you that don't know: The Murder of Me, AKA TMOM, is a Sonic the Hedgehog fan comic that first debuted I think 15 or so years ago, give or take, and as much as I would love to claim that I've been a fan since the beginning, I only discovered TMOM about a year or so ago. (I have the worst luck when it comes to finding things; I'm always late to the party 🥺)

When I discovered TMOM I was in a terrible rut. I hadn't posted anything in YEARS, and the writing I had done I kept locked away in notebooks, never to see the light of day. I had no inspiration, no motivation to tell stories. It was a horrible place to be. (-10000/10 recommendation.) Then I was scrolling through Pinterest one day, and I saw a panel of this random comic.

You could probably imagine my reaction. It's so random. Then more cropped up:

My thoughts went HAYWIRE. "Why is Sonic fighting his mother? Why's he dressed like that? WHY IS HE DROWNING?? WHY ARE KNUX AND TAILS LETTING HIM DROWN??? WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING???" So I went hunting, and came across The Murder of Me by Gigi-D on DeviantArt.

I was HOOKED. The plot was so well thought out, the characterization was incredibly done, and as you can see, the art itself was BEAUTIFUL. I couldn't get enough. I flat out ignored life and read through 14 issues in one sitting. It took me all day but it was so worth it. AND THEN: I discovered the dubs on YouTube, and found that Gigi-D had decided to put together a creative team to produce the issues of The Murder of Me as episodic dubs, and I fell head over heels. The cast and editing was absolutely phenomenal, and The Murder of Me had my heart, hook, line, and sinker. What was even better was that they turned Issue 15 into an animatic episode.

Episode 15 Part 1: Purpose released on October 30th, 2022, and since then I have been anxiously awaiting the next episode by rewatching the series and all the prequels and bonus episodes I could get my mouse on. I even forced my best friend one night to binge the entire series with me, and she's not nearly as much of a Sonic fan as I am!

TMOM was more than a great watch or story for me. It was inspiration. I had an itch in my fingers that grew from writing a TMOM fanfiction that would stay hidden away into it's own complex project who's rough draft is now in production. (And could very well be released this summer if all goes well.) It was life breathed into my creativity. It was hope. For the first time in a very long time, I wanted to write. To tell a story like Gigi-D and the Zielo Cave.

And then that notification came. It was like a punch in the stomach. I was terrified and without watching it, I reacted and sent it to my best friend, wailing that once again, a story that I loved was being abandoned. That the writers were giving up. I was indignant. Screw that, I was angry and hurt.

Then I watched the video. I listened to Gigi's story, and immediately felt shamed by my own reaction. The Zielo Cave had been saying that Part Two was taking a while because of personal situations, and when Gigi revealed what had happened, that her inspiration was gone and couldn't bring herself to even sketch these characters that she loved so dearly...my heart shattered for her. While I might not really know or understand the pain of her personal situation, I do know what it is to completely lose the passion for your story. For the characters you still love, but can't bring yourself to engage with.

And while my heart of hearts aches, I know Gigi is doing the right thing. No one wants a story that it's writer is dragging their heels to share, can't bring themselves to write. God knows I've tried that, and trust me, it only hurts everyone. The writer, the fans, and the story itself. By ending TMOM here, she's protecting TMOM and its fans, and even though my heart breaks for TMOM's fate and (mostly) for her, I couldn't be more proud of her. The courage and strength it takes to walk away from such a huge part of your life in search of something more, something better?

Not only that, but honor the work and effort her team has given for Part Two and post it anyway, even though it's unfinished? To offer a written conclusion for the series for the fans that want to know what happens? I've never heard of any creator doing that, ever. All that I have seen would NEVER post any unfinished content, or unveil the unwritten plot and ending. And while I'm devastated for what that means, that TMOM is well and truly concluded and Gigi will probably NEVER return, as a fan of this series, I'm so grateful that what happens to these characters won't remain a mystery.

And to repeat what I said in the comment section of the announcement video: I pray a future that is bright and beautiful for you, and you discover what an amazing person you on this journey of healing. You're going to be magnificent because you are already an incredible person, Gigi. I can't express how important TMOM has been for me, how inspiring the story has been when I was down and unable to pursue my own creativity in my writing, and I just want to thank you for the years of dedication, passion, and love you and your team have given us through The Murder of Me. I bless all the paths you walk from this day forward, and all my love and support for you goes with you on your journeys for all the rest of your days.

The Murder of Me is over. I will always be a TMOM fan, and I will always love Gigi-D and the Zielo Cave for giving me inspiration, passion, and hope for my writing again. It's because of TMOM that The Three Sovereigns even made it to development and is now currently being written with the hope of release this summer, and The Three Sovereigns will always be a tribute to The Murder of Me and the hope this story has given me.

Thank you so much, Gigi-D, the Zielo Cave, and The Murder of Me, and fare thee well, my friend.

[inkareds]

Colonisers || MCU Namor

nav // marvel m.list // ko-fi ✧.*word count: 6k ✧.* warnings: violence, blood, murder, white ppl being demonised, a lot and I mean a lot of murder, kinda ooc Namor, focused more on the reader's journey instead of the romance aspect, kinda soulmate au (oh black panther 2 spoilers FYI) ✧.* genre: NSFW, fluff, no smut, but violence

Transitioning from a soldier, fighting for your nation's independence, to a supposed beacon of diplomacy after your nation finally was free was difficult. Especially when the man in your dreams on the days that you were more violent beckons you to the ocean.

A bit of an author's note before we start, the reader here is heavily referenced to be Indonesian, or at the very least of South East Asian heritage and the time period around 1945-1949. But both of these are kind of irrelevant if you ignore the food and geography. This is important because there are some details like the colonisers here being blonde and blue eyes (Dutch) and them colonising the 'nation' for 350 years is true to Indonesia's history.

I wanted to write more about other cultures but because I am not really the best person for that I wrote what was most personal to me. And just a bit of a warning ik I said soulmate au but Namor plays a small part here. It's mostly about the reader's struggles! Other than that please enjoy (p.s most of the references here about the war, genocide, etc etc is actually true to Indo's history)

How was it that even after 350 years of pain and suffering, you and your people had to suffer more and more? You had thought that by becoming a sovereign nation, you and your people could be free from the colonisers who plagued the fertile soils of your homeland. But they have yet to leave, and they have yet to apologize. 

Even here, as you now sat, a diplomat to your country in front of the leaders of the nation who oppressed your own, they judge you. Their eyes analyse you as they try and rip you to shreds with their gaze. Was it not enough? Was three hundred and fifty years of oppression not enough for them? Would it be so terrible for them to free you all now? 

All those thoughts come to a halt when your leader called you to speak. You stood when the council allowed you to, “As my President has spoken to all of you before. We are not here to ask for reprimands, we do not demand aid nor do we demand money for all the suffering your people have caused us. We simply ask that you leave. There are still many of your people on our lands, spiting our men and women. For the sake of peace, we ask that you urge them back to their home country. If this continues on, our people will act accordingly.” You warned the leaders in front of you. 

Just as you and your president had predicted, they went on the defensive, one of them stood up once you sat. “Are you implying that we should take people who only share our blood but never even touch our soil back here? Those people were born and raised in your now sovereign country. They are your people now. They are no longer our issue anymore. It is not our fault that you are too blind to see you are not able to lead a country without us.” 

Now it was your president’s turn to speak, you could already tell he was enraged by the insults thrown your way. “With all due respect, General, I beg to differ. The people of living within your  country still think of ‘these people’ as their own. As even if they have never gone to your country, your country’s people still view them as family and vice versa. These people in our land still mock our natives. They still adopt the mentality that they are greater. If this were to continue our nation’s people will be pushed to violence.” 

As the meeting droned on, you realise slowly what was happening. There will be no resolution nor an end to this. They will never take their people back because it would be too much work, not to mention the fact that they still have their people in your home means that they still have some control over your people. They can always go back once they’re ready and take back your nation. 

Anxiety overtook you on your flight back home. Your only companion, your president, held your hand tightly against his own. A vain attempt to ease you. It was your idea to go to them, to ask and to plead with them. You did not want more blood to spill on your lands. Your people had seen too much war and had seen too much violence. Brutality would be etched into your history books, though you did not wish it to be so. 

You wish for a better life for your people. A life where they could live just as they want to. A life farming the lands for what is in season, not what they are told to harvest. A life sailing the seas, diving the oceans, not bombing the sea beds as they were forced to. 

But even as you were a beacon of peace and prosperity to your people. They can only take so much. 

That much was clear when you landed on the runway and left the plane, reporters hounded both you and the president. 

“Was the discussion successful?” ���Do you have anything to comment about the recent meetings?” “What did they have to say about their brutal history here?” “Have they apologized yet?” “Are there any plans for future collaboration or communication?”

You stayed quiet, knowing anything that leaves your mouth would only stroke the fires of anger within your people’s hearts. You only wish for peace. An end to this war. But your president, a beacon of the brutal fight for independence, a stark contrast to yours of peace within diplomacy, had different ideas. “I will not entertain the idea of collaboration with such a nation ever again. Not after the insults thrown at my companion’s way.” he gestured towards you. 

Your eyes only grew wide at his statement. This will surely anger your people. Quickly trying to control crowd damage you spoke to another reporter. “We were lucky enough to be met with respect and dignity, although it is true the meeting did not end well. I have high hopes for diplomacy between our two countries.” Before you could say anything more you were already dragged away by your bodyguards. 

Packed into a small Chrysler Imperial, chosen by none other than your president himself, you were quick to criticize him. “Why did you have to say that?! No one needed to know that those foreigners insulted me. You know the effect it would bring to the people!” He looked towards you with familiar anger in his eyes. 

The same anger you saw when you first worked together with him in the field against the very same foreigners you now try to have civil conversations with. “Maybe that’s what I’m hoping for. Enough with this bullshit. Enough with the tension. I absolutely hate how they treat you, how they treat me, how they treat our people.” He spoke with certainty. “Let our nation deal with them. After years of torment, we should at least let them have that.” 

“You don’t understand, there are already reports of violent uprisings against the foreigners. Soon enough there’ll be murders-” “And would that be so bad?!” He looked towards you in a way a friend would, not a leader and his subordinate, not a superior and his worker. But a tired friend to another tired friend. A veteran of the war to another veteran of the war. 

At that moment, the driver pretends he could not hear the private conversation his two leaders were having. “My mother was killed by those people in front of me.” he spoke your name so softly and held your hands in his. “They killed our friends, tortured our people. Would some of their deaths be so bad?” 

For a second, you almost caved. You had almost forgotten how he was able to become president in the first place. After all, his charisma allowed him to lead the rebellion, lead the decades-strong fight for freedom, and now here he sat with you. A president, a leader of a broken nation. He was militant, you were supposed to be his other side, the peace, the diplomacy. You could not support this. 

“It will only lead to more violence. What happens when angry people realise it isn’t enough to just kill those that are pure-blooded foreigners? What happens to the people who are mixed? Half of their being belongs to this nation. What about those who supported our oppressors so that they may continue to live? It was not their choice to fight against their own. We must protect them.” You tried to reason. 

But with the way, he threw his face away from your gaze you knew he was far beyond reasoning. Despite the fact that you were the one who was insulted, he took that insult to heart. After all, he was the one leading the country, and any judgement made towards your decisions or your position in his council is judgement to his own abilities to lead this great nation. You knew that if you stayed here in the car, arguing with him, you will lose your composure and say things you did not mean. 

“Driver, stop here, I can find my way back on foot.” The driver seem to hesitate, but with no further qualms from the president, he stopped and let you off the car. 

When you got off, you recognized the place immediately, it was simply by chance that you got out here, of all places. Looking around, you smiled to yourself. This was your hometown, where you were raised. Sure a lot has changed ever since you left to join the fight for independence. But a lot of it was still the same. 

One of those things was the kindness of the people. As you were taking in the view of your home and the smell of the salty air, no doubt thanks to the ocean not so far from where you were. An old woman walked by you, when she called your name your head quickly turned around to meet her. “You are the diplomat who’s always by the president’s side aren’t you?” she spoke excitedly. 

You felt your heart soar when you heard her. “It seems my reputation precedes me.” The old woman laughed at your little joke. All before pulling out a couple of small circular red fruits, alike lychees but quite different in taste and texture. “My garden’s rambutan trees just went into harvest, take some!” she didn’t even let you protest as she pushes the fruits into your hands.

You laughed whilst thanking her. But because you left your bag in the car,  you were left carrying the handful of fruits in one of your hands. “OH! I also just finished baking some pineapple treats! Have some!” 

“Ma’am I really shouldn’t.” “Hush now, I have too many anyways. My grandchildren don’t like them very much. I make them for me you see, but I have to watch my blood pressure now. So you’d be doing me a favour!” A sense of joy and easiness flowed into you as you accepted her jar of baked goodies in your hands. Smiling to yourself at her excuses. 

This was something you’ll never get over about your hometown. This was what you so desperately want to protect. The kindness and graciousness the people around you raised you with, you only hope to be able to inspire such emotions towards your nation’s people. You know they were raised surrounded by violence, hatred, war, and oppression. But maybe, just maybe, with your help and guidance, they can be so much more. 

So you thank the old woman and went on your way to the beach. A place you’ve spent so much of your childhood and adolescence in. The water brings peace. And as now it was getting dark, there were very few people on the beach. You went to sit down on the part of the sand which was still dry and placed down the container of baked goods. Choosing to indulge yourself in the sweet fruit. 

Watching the waters etch the sand, leaving behind sea foam in its wake, brought a calmness that you could only guess the fishermen you were raised around could feel. How you grew up seeing brave men and women go out to the oceans with their sails high, letting the winds take them where they need to go, only to grow up defending the very ocean that foreigners claimed to be their own. 

In another lifetime, perhaps you could live from the ocean, just as your ancestors had. Instead of dealing with paperwork day in and day out inside an office. Hoping to whatever gods were listening to you that your hard work will pay off. 

As you pop one of the fruits in your mouth you hum in enjoyment at the sweet taste that filled your tastebuds. “What fruit is that?” in your fun you did not sense the presence of another person on the beach with you. Your head snapped towards his direction and realised he must’ve been here a while before he spoke, as he was already sitting on the sand beside you, the heels and half of his feet buried in the warm sand. 

By the look of him, decorated with piercings and beautiful necklaces, you assumed he wasn’t from here. A guess that was solidified by the answer to your question. “They’re rambutan. Have you never seen them?” he only shook his head. “You’re not from here. But you don’t really look like one of the foreigners.” You analysed. “Have one.” Trying to ease the tension of your obvious suspicion you offered one of the fruits to him. Which he gladly took. 

He shrugged as he peeled back the skin of the fruit. “I am from around, but,” he paused, “Just not from here.” You wanted to giggle when you saw his eyes ever so slightly lit up when the fruit hit his tongue. “Careful with the seed.” you warned before continuing. 

“Not from here but from around?” you thought to yourself before getting an idea. “Ah, you must be one of the tribe members I’m supposed to meet next week! I didn’t know they were coming so early.” 

Having been a combination of different tribes and kingdoms before the foreigners came and combined everyone. You were aware of the separate needs each tribe needed once your nation was formed into one sovereign nation. So, you had invited their leaders to a meeting in the capital. You weren’t expecting one of them to meet you on the beach of your hometown though. 

The man didn’t answer, you thought perhaps he just wanted to not talk about politics right now. Gods knew you needed a break. 

“Anyways, would you like to try some baked goods too? The people here make the best things with pineapple.” You offered the container to him. At first, he seemed very apprehensive, but after you took one of the goods into your mouth he went to grab one. “Those are truly delicious.” he spoke absentmindedly. 

You continued watching him as he ate the food. Now that you got a good look at him, he was quite an attractive man. Dark skin alike your people, contrary to his curlier hair. He was incredibly handsome actually. 

“What do you think of the ocean?” he suddenly asked. You were obviously caught off guard but after sputtering a few nonsense you finally got a hold of yourself. “Uh- I think it’s- well it’s beautiful first and foremost. But I think other than that, it’s just great.” you shrugged. “In every way possible.” 

Turning towards the slowly descending sun and the ripples of water that reflect its gorgeous glow, you could only sigh in contentment. “If I could, I wouldn’t mind just being in it forever. It’s probably more peaceful than whatever is happening here. Much calmer.” you whispered to yourself. 

A faraway dream, you thought. When you were a child, you would dream of joining your people on their voyages out to the ocean. But because you were too young to join a ship, you imagined yourself swimming under them, meeting them as they dive into the ocean to catch fish. A few years after joining the fight with your people, when you were a young adult, you dreamed almost every night about swimming in the ocean with someone. He’d take you from the terrifying life of death and violence and bring you to the calm of the cold waters. You laughed at your own childish thoughts. 

How would the younger version of you see you now? They would be proud of you a few years ago. Making plan after plan on how to outsmart the soldiers, how to defeat your colonisers. But now? Stuck in formal attire, in dingy offices, always getting disrespected by the people you were once fighting in the field against? What a disgrace you are. 

“I don’t know.” After the long silence, you spoke. “I think the water just reminds me of all I could’ve done. Had I stayed here in my fishing town, perhaps I wouldn’t be as stressed as I am now.”

The man sat silent for a moment, before answering, “What is stopping you from leaving it all behind and staying here, at home?” You don’t know what it was about this stranger you just met. But it was as if you had known him your whole life. 

He was electrifying to be around and you just had to get a good look at him one last time before you have to leave. Turning towards him, it would appear he had been looking at you this entire time. Flushing slightly you almost wanted to turn away. But you didn’t. You dejectedly smiled. 

“I want to make a difference. Maybe it’s partly due to the way I was raised too, always wanting to make sure everyone was kind to everyone. But I’ve been on both sides of this war. The violent and the diplomatic. The diplomatic is more boring sure, but it kills fewer people. Fewer people die and I’d have to bury fewer people. If I leave now, these people won’t have that beacon of hope. I’m fighting so that my people may always see peace. After all,” you turned around to look at the town behind you. 

“If those people, the ones I was raised with, can live this long with kindness in their hearts. Who's to say this nation can’t?” With that, you realised it was getting very late. 

High tide will come soon enough and no matter how far you are from the shore, the waters will become dangerous. So you stood up and offered your hand to the man sitting on the sand. He had an empty look in his eyes as if he was lamenting about what you said. It then popped into your mind once more that this man might just be a tribe leader, cursing to yourself inwardly, you only hoped that you gave a good impression to him. 

When he noticed your outreached hand to help him up he declined. “I want to stay here a bit longer, the ocean calms me, just as it calms you.” You nodded, completely understanding what he meant. “Well, let these fruits be your company then, cause I’m taking these delicious pastries with me.” You chuckled as you gave to him the rest of your fruits and took the container from the sand. 

He then gave you the most electrifying smile you have ever seen in a person. It was a smile you felt as though you have seen before. Perhaps in your dreams, but how would you know? Those days of dreaming were far behind you. 

Violence was in your days when dreams were in your nights. And you were steering clear of violence. 

That night you went to your childhood home and slept there. You’d be able to find your way to the capitol tomorrow morning, but tonight, with your stomach full of fruits and baked goods, and your mind filled with the amazing memory of that mystery man on the beach, you fell into a deep slumber. 

Well, it would’ve been a deep slumber, had you not awoken to screams. 

Your eyes jolted awake as your body jumped itself from adrenaline. The first thing you noticed was the smoke, there was smoke, everywhere. Trying to think quickly, you let the instinct from your fighting days override your senses, you immediately took a rag and spilt some water on it. Bringing it to your nose you made your way out of your home. 

There was fire everywhere. Your home was set ablaze, and it seems as though your home was not the only one. The moment you stepped out of your house, the sounds of the screams, ones which you had ignored at first filled your ears. 

You had never thought you’d ever see such a sight greet you ever again since your nation gained its independence. 

The world seemed to move in slow motion. All around you, buildings, homes, shops, all of them were set ablaze. Black smoke and smog filled the air as the streets were covered with blood. People were being dragged out of their homes, beaten, bruised, and slashed. You stared in horror as the foreigners flooded your hometown, dragging your people with them. They screamed obscenities as your people thrashed against their hold. 

Their laughter haunted you. 

Looking to your side, your eyes landed on an old woman. Immediately, just like that, everything went back to normal pacing. The fires spread as water flowed, people were running, screaming, and begging for help. And the old woman? She was on the ground pleading for someone to rescue her. A man twice her size and half her age towered above her, his hair a golden yellow and his eyes a bright blue. 

He held a large wooden stick in his hands, raising it to strike at the old woman. Without thinking twice you ran straight towards the individual. Barrelling your body against his own to throw him off the old woman. She screamed in horror once she realised it was you. But you had no time to think. 

The man you threw off struggled against your hold as he slammed the wooden stick onto your back you quickly reeled back. The impact from such a hard object along with the smoke slowly filling up your lungs was too much. You collapsed to the ground as you coughed and wheezed. From the corner of your eye, you saw another foreigner slam the head of the old woman into a brick wall. 

At that point, you were sure she was dead. 

Your screams fell on deaf ears as your struggling figure laying on the ground was kicked in the stomach by the man you originally pushed off the old lady. Pain spread through your entire body as you cried out for help. 

Not here. Please not here. Anywhere but here. 

Why out of all places, must they ruin the one untouched home you have left? 

Tears flowed down your face as the heat of the fire filled you with pain. You heard their laughter. They laughed as they killed your people. Your friends. 

“Let this be a warning.” One of them grabbed your hair and pulled it back to look you in the eyes. “A warning to your stupid president who thought our government would even listen to you monkeys. This land will be ours once more. So, give up, or die.” Your vision slowly clouded away, but in one last act of deviance, you spat at their shoes. “Merdeka atau mati (Freedom or death).”

“Mati it is. (Death it is).” You closed your eyes waiting for impact, but it did not come. 

What did come was the release of your hair, and when nothing else came you opened your eyes with worry. 

What you saw was unlike anything you would ever expect. There, standing in front of you, was that man on the beach. He held the foreigner’s neck in his hands with ease as he choked the man to death. You didn’t have enough oxygen left to really comprehend what you were seeing but now you were sure where you had met this man. 

He was the man who brought you to the ocean in your dreams. It was him. But as the oxygen was slowly depleting from your system, your eyes started to blur. Just in time to see him rush to your side. “I’m sorry I was late.”

Was all you had heard left before you dropped to unconsciousness. 

Swimming in the darkness that was the unconsciousness left you with many uncertainties. There was no telling how much time has passed or what was happening during the time that your mind was not present in your body. It was terrifying. But, in a way, it was almost comforting. Away from the duties of having to be the ‘calm’ one in the leadership position. 

A part of you almost missed the days when you fought alongside your best friend. But those days were far behind you now. You had to bring balance to his anger and determination to the fight. You had to be that person. You were raised to be that person, and you will honour your people by being that person. 

In the meantime, you swam and swam in the cold darkness. Where were you swimming to? You didn’t know. It was as if you were being called somewhere. Somewhere further from your understanding. Somewhere away. 

“Mr President, there are already reports of murders towards the foreigners.” 

“Let them be.” “But sir-” “I said let them be! Can’t you see what they’ve done to them?? They’ve burned their hometown! If anything, they’re lucky I’m not the one directly persecuting them. The people shall be the judge and the jury.” 

Their conversation was simply muffled to your slowly conscious mind. But as your eyes slowly opened, your best friend was on you immediately. Seeing your eyes squint he immediately jumped to be by your side. 

Groggily you looked around, parts of your body were bandaged and there were machines connected to you. “What happened?” You whispered. 

He hesitantly answered. “You were found on the outskirts of the town, near the beach.” “And my town?” 

He was silent. 

Why was he silent? 

Oh. no.

So that’s why.

The realisation hit you like a bullet. Every part of you wanted to scream out and if you could, you would’ve. But with how dry your throat was from the fire you could barely make out a few words. The only thing you could do was cry. Tears after tears fell down your face. 

“What am I doing?” you hoarsely spoke, “All those years ago, when we were fighting. I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to kill as many bastard oppressors in our lands. Even when you asked me to be by your side as you ruled. I knew where I was going. I wanted to protect my home. What am I doing now? I have no home to protect, no people to inspire peace. Nothing else. I have,” he felt his heart break at your proclamation. “Nothing.”

“Tell me, please, Mr. President. Tell me what I need to do. I’m- I’m so fucking tired.” This was it. 

You couldn’t do it anymore. 

Your childhood was seared with war and blood and pain. The only reprieve was your home, the beaches of your home, the ocean of your home, the shores, the water, the fish, and the people. What did you have now? If you ever come back, the only memories would be of the slaughter. 

You had nothing else to fight for. No reason anymore to be merciful. “Just- tell me what I need to do.” Your voice cracked from your desperation. 

The president simply held your hand. Exactly as he had thousands of times before to ease your worries. “Nothing. Do nothing, say nothing. Let our people show you how much they care about you. Let them avenge you.” 

And avenge they did. 

Two years. 

It was two whole years of slaughter, violence, and dreams of the ocean and that mysterious man. Two years followed after the threat and attack of your hometown, your nation could not take the colonisers any longer. They broke. Anyone pro-colonialism or of colonial blood was slaughtered. When all of it ended, when the foreigner’s nation finally relented and pulled back any and all efforts. Signing a very official document of peace between the two of you, everything seems to end. 

The murders stopped, and the violence stopped. But the dreams did not. 

Perhaps it was because the violence was now etched into your mind. 

Then one day, the president walked into your office. You stood and saluted him as part of your formalities. “Mr President, to what do I owe the pleasure of meeting you today?” 

He walked towards you and spoke your name softly. “You’ve served this country a great deal. You fought alongside me and you’ve lost almost everything.” You nodded. “I wish to relieve you of such burdens. You have given everything to this nation, and I wish to give everything to you back.” 

Your face paled at his insinuation. “Are you firing me? You can’t, Mr President please. This is all I have left now. What will I do if not this?” 

“Nothing! You will do absolutely nothing!” he sighed, dragging his palm down his face. “Listen, okay? I’m talking to you now as your childhood friend and not as your superior. I’ve seen how you’ve changed. I see the way you’re not taking any time to mourn. I see the way you submerge yourself in apathy. The only time I ever see you calm or even happy is when I catch you asleep in your office! The military pension plan I’m giving you should be enough to live a lavish life. Find something else to live for. Find someone to love. Find, anything!” 

He was practically begging you. “Don’t let guilt consume you. Please.” You furrowed your brows as silence overtook the two of you. 

All before you looked away from him. How dare he? You’ve stood by his side throughout all this time and he thinks he can just throw you away now? Does he not see how much you needed this? You need a distraction. You can’t just be left to your own devices. But he won’t listen. He never does. He’s a stubborn man and perhaps that’s what makes him the leader your nation needs. A man who’s unafraid to make the decisions necessary, not someone like you, someone who tried so hard to be kind only to have it amount to nothing. 

After all, your hands know pain and suffering, it was a fool’s errand to be something you weren’t. 

“I’ll have my things packed by tomorrow,” you whispered. “But promise me.” turning quickly towards him you looked at him with fire in your eyes. “Promise me you’ll do what is best for the nation. You remember that diplomacy is as needed as violence. As much as I want to see coloniser blood flood our streets, it is not what’s best for our people.” 

He nodded. “I swear to you.”

That night, you dreamt of the beach. Your hometown’s beach. And of the mysterious stranger. He had winged feet and he was staring at you, beckoning you to come closer. With hesitancy, you approached him. When you were close enough, he reached out his hand towards you and every part of you compelled yourself to take his hand. 

Slowly bringing you towards him he held your cheek in his other hand as he slowly angled your face towards his own. How had you not noticed his pointed ears before? Every part of him was absolutely beautiful. 

Slowly pulling you in closer and closer, his lips were mere centimetres away from your own when he whispered. “Come to me.” 

Then your body jolted you awake. As if working on autopilot, you jumped off of the bed and quickly dressed. All before jumping on a motorbike and speeding towards your hometown. Despite your body willing you to go immediately to the beach. You took your time. 

You hadn’t had the heart to visit your home ever since it was burned from the ground. And as you looked around, everything was different. The buildings were crumbling, the stores were gone, and the people were dead. But the salty air still stayed. 

The salty air. 

The ocean. 

That’ll never change no matter how much destruction the colonisers curse your lands with. 

Making your way towards the beach, there he was. Standing in all his glory. The man who has plagued your dreams ever since you went to fight alongside the other freedom fighters. His back was turned towards you, he faced the high tides of the ocean at night time. 

You were taught better than to approach the harsh waters at night, but you felt as though you were protected with him around. As if with him around you could do anything you wanted. 

As soon as your bare feet touched the cold sand, he turned around. He stood so regally that it made you quite self-conscious. He smiled at you with both his hands behind his back. “It is really you.” You whispered as you approached him. 

Once you were face to face, you continued. “The man in my dreams.” his smile brightened at your statement. “Who are you?” With bravery, you didn’t know you have your hand raised to his face. The man practically preened at your touch, leaning into your warm hand. 

“My people call me K’uk’ulkan.” You tried repeating his name. The word was very foreign to your tongue and you wondered if you pronounced it properly, but with the way, he chuckled your face flushed realising you probably didn’t. “Others call me Namor.” That sounds more feasible for your tongue. 

Though you inwardly swore to learn how to properly say his name. 

“I am a king, a god, a leader to a nation not unlike yours,” he spoke in such a soft tone that it made your heart melt. “A nation built on violence and bloodshed. A nation whose people have war etched onto their veins. But we have long since fled from it, the threat of war is ever looming over our heads, sure. Yet my people know peace and easiness in their daily lives.” he explained to you softly. 

If any other man would tell you he was a god, you’d scoff at their face and assume they had the ego of a coloniser. But this was a man with wings on his heels, he could say he was from outer space and you’d believe him. “Must be nice,” you spoke with sadness, “If only I could live in such a way.” 

“You could.” Namor’s eyes bore deep into you, he took your breath away. “Come with me. I have searched nation after nation for you. The person of my dreams. You haunt me day and night and now here you stand before me. I first came to you that day to kill you. I do not wish to have my life plagued by a human, but I could not bare myself to do such a thing. And your surface world fruit tastes incredible.” He chuckled. 

You didn’t even bother asking what he meant by the surface world. His offer was incredibly attractive. But you still had your apprehension. “What of my life here? What of my people here? I swore an oath to always protect them, to be by their side.” 

It was then Namor held both your hands in his. “When they need you, I shall let you be with them. But I promise you now, they are content with how they are now. Be selfish, my love, and have the peace you’ve always wanted. Leave this violent land.”

Perhaps you would’ve declined his invitation weeks ago. But now, without a job, without a title, and without a hometown. Especially with the man you’ve been dreaming of standing in front of you, his face mere centimetres away from your own. It’s very hard to decline. 

“Take me with you.” With those four words, his lips moulded into your own. With that kiss, he gave to you everything. And you gave him your everything. 

All your pain, all your suffering, all your hopes and dreams, all of it you poured into the love you have for him. When did you fall in love with the man in your dreams? Perhaps it had happened so long ago that you didn’t even realise it. But you would’ve never thought he was real. Yet here he was. As real as daylight. And here you were, the one he thought he could only ever dream about. With all your bravery, compassion, and violence. 

You were perfect, and you were finally his. 

tagging people who seemed interested hehe: @omgsuperstarg @queenotaku23 @gamorxa @girlymusiclover09 @honestlyka @internetmultifandomfangirl @tzurue @marvelupsetsme @superpartyclamthing @ben-solo0 @bontensbabygirl (I fucking love ur username) @tacorei @starkgaryan @sera-wonderland (I'm sorry if it's not as soulmate au ish as you'd wish lmao I'm working on sumth else that's more soulmate-y but w/ the same concept as this) @n3v43hj @fictional-darlings

I'm sorry if this wasn't what you guys were expecting hehe. Watching Namor defend his people and watching the colonisers was just a very personal moment to me (and I'm sure a lot of people), so I made this story as a personal self-indulgent story.

[sjsmith56]

The Flame Burns From Within, Part 1 - Negotiations

Summary: The arrival of three strangers at the castle of Ser Anthony of House Stark, signals the start of negotiations for the hand of his niece, Lady Arden Worth.

Length: 5.2 K

Characters: Lady Arden (OFC, described), Lord James Barnes, Ser Anthony Stark, Lady Stark, His Highness, the Duke of Long Isle, Steven Rogers, Ser Samuel Wilson.

Warnings: Age gap (OFC is 21 while Lord Barnes is 32. She would be considered old for her first marriage during this time period). Description of the status of women in the 15th century as property, description of the death of Lady Arden’s parents, arranged marriage.

Author notes: Set in the 15th century AU where America is a sovereign kingdom. Spain has only recently returned to Catholic control after some time of being a part of the Moors empire (they were Islamic). It would take some time for the remaining Muslims to leave or convert to Catholicism. AI image in banner created by author using MS Copilot app in Designer mode. Borders found at vecteezy.com.

Part 1 - Negotiations

Lady Arden

The gates to the courtyard opened and the delegation from the Citadel were welcomed into the keep of my uncle's castle. I watched their arrival from the window of my chambers, as my presence wouldn't be needed until later, after the three men who rode in were formally welcomed by my uncle and legal guardian, Ser Anthony of House Stark. Ever since my parents died of the wasting disease when I was still a child, he had overseen my preparation for life as the lady of a great lord. Unlike some of the fathers and guardians of other young women of my ilk, he had been rather progressive towards my education. Where others had been taught to walk and speak with grace, while learning the arts of needlework, music and art, my uncle had made sure I could do all of those, plus ride a horse, handle a sword, learn foreign languages, read and write more than just my name, and above all else, to carry myself as one who was as capable as any man. It was certainly not the usual life of a young woman.

My uncle had his reasons for my unusual upbringing; some of which he shared with me. Where other young women of my stature were being married off to whomever was politically in favour, in addition to receiving a generous dowry, my uncle was more interested in a particular man to become my husband. Lord James Barnes of the Citadel was his goal; a consummate warrior, well educated, able to speak several languages due to his travels, and the most powerful lord of our region. He had already been sought as husband for any number of simpering brides that didn't interest him. Rumours circulated by the unsuccessful families seeking to install their daughters as his lady said that he was a lover of men, or was damaged in body and spirit by his travels in dangerous lands, but my uncle had heard through unofficial sources that he preferred an accomplished woman to become his consort, as he saw value in intelligence above all else. By promoting my unconventional education, my uncle was certain that word of me would eventually reach the ears of those at the Citadel whose task it was to find a suitable mate for the great lord. That day had finally come.

That's not to say there weren't bumps in the road to this occasion. There are always men who want what they see as different or even exotic. Before I turned 14 my uncle was being offered great wealth for the promise of an engagement with any number of eligible sons. Several great houses in our land, Walker, Rumlow, Pierce, even Dreykov in the Russian region far to the east across the sea, had amped up the pressure for my uncle to accept one of their own as my future husband, but he wouldn't even entertain the offers that came over the years. It was some time before he shared that his goal was to align his house with the Citadel, and nothing less would interest him.

As I approached my 21st birthday, an age considered old for marriage, rumours began of my own shortcomings as a prospective bride. It was said I was vain, unattractive, too heavy, too thin, too unhealthy, defective in mind and spirit, even that I was barren due to the wasting disease that had killed my parents but had spared me. Knowing I was none of those, I always held my head high. At public occasions I was visible, open, and friendly with those around me. I acted as I had been taught; that I had a place in society, and it would be one of influence no matter if I were the wife of a great lord or not.

Thus, the arrival of the three men from the Citadel on that cool autumn afternoon was proof that my uncle had properly read the situation. It was clear that I was of interest to the most powerful lord, seen as an important counsellor for the next king himself. As the three men dismounted, they stood in their travelling cloaks, heads still covered, removing their gloves and, in the way of men of action, taking note of their surroundings. I could see that they assessed the guard complement in the keep, while searching the walls of the castle itself to see if their arrival had been noted. That is when one of them pulled his hood back, revealing a bearded man of dark-hair and eyes of blue like the ocean. He made eye contact with me from his place in the courtyard. A hint of a smile crossed his face then I stepped away from the window when he turned to his companions. His looks matched the description of Lord Barnes, but it was unusual for the head of a great house to personally attend the negotiations for a marriage. Until I was summoned for dinner, I wouldn't find out who he actually was.

My aunt, a strong and confident woman in her own right, sought entry to my chambers shortly after the arrival of the three men. She entered with a complement of maidservants, intent on preparing and dressing me in a way that emphasized my best features. With my tall build and red hair, that I was born with, the colour of which had only deepened over the years of my existence, there wasn't much else to be done to make me more visible. I had drawn attention from many sources my whole life. Even my name, Arden, was different as it meant "little and fiery." Although I was no longer little, I was often referred to as the Flame of the Forest, for I usually took my daily ride there with my hair unencumbered by coverings.

After much fussing over the various dresses, they chose a blue one, trimmed with lace and a brocade border. Its full sleeves ended at a wide brocade cuff. My hair, left long, was brushed until it gleamed, then a portion was twisted and fastened at the back of my head. My colouring was usually high, so no additional applications of powder, charcoal or berries were needed to accentuate my features. By all the accounts of my uncle's inquiries, Lord Barnes was known to prefer a natural appearance. Regardless, as my aunt regarded my appearance she smiled in approval.

"If they don't acknowledge your physical appearance, they are blind," she said, with authority. "You are a vision, Arden."

"Did you see their arrival?" I asked. "There were three and one fit Lord Barnes' description."

"Yes, but I was not presented to them when they entered so I cannot confirm that gentleman was him," she answered. "I will be presented to them in the great hall then you will be sent for."

"May I wait in the library?"

It was my favourite place in the castle. When my uncle first discovered me in there after taking me into his care, he could have sent me away but apparently, I offered him a book and asked that he read it to me. Seeing the title, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, my uncle took it as a sign of my innate intelligence and determined then that I would be educated in the same manner as any young man of high standing. In that sanctuary, I spent many hours reading of far-off lands, great heroes, and tragic loves.

With my aunt's approval, I relocated to the library and pulled out the copy of The Canterbury Tales, one of less than a hundred in existence according to the Bishop, as they were hand lettered and illuminated by monks who spent weeks or even months creating them. The time and effort it took to create a book meant the possession of more than a handful was a sign of great wealth. Our library had hundreds. This book was a favourite of mine and I sat down at a table in the late afternoon sun. I had only been there a brief time when I heard the door open. Assuming it was my aunt, I closed the book and stood up to return it to its proper place. Instead, it was the dark-haired man who entered, dressed in richly brocaded clothing. At his discovery of my presence, he bowed his head briefly.

"I beg your pardon, my Lady." He spoke in a voice that was deep and rich. "Ser Anthony did not say anyone would be in here."

I curtsied to acknowledge him. "He was unaware of my presence here," I answered. "I sought some comfort from Chaucer."

He approached and extended his hand to receive the book, looking fondly at the title.

"Which one is your favourite?" he asked.

"The Wife of Bath's Tale, of course," I smiled then spoke freely. "I have been raised to believe that I am equal to any man but not all men believe the same. It is my hope to be blessed with a husband who freely gives me my sovereignty."

He smiled warmly. "It is one that I enjoy reading as well, although I am not meek, or submissive. I take it that you are the Lady Arden. I am James Barnes, Lord of the Citadel. I am at your service, my Lady. It was you in the window overlooking the courtyard, was it not?"

"It was, sir," I replied. "I was curious about you accompanying your courtiers for the negotiations. That is why you are here, is it not?"

He seemed amused. "You are correct that my travelling companions will undertake the negotiations on my behalf. I accompanied them to meet the Flame of the Forest herself. Word of your beauty has travelled far and contrary to the rumours which swirl around us both, I am pleased to find that the positive reports are quite true." He opened the book and glanced inside. "Your education appears to be superior to other women of your status if you find comfort in a library. Your skills on a horse and with a sword are also based on truth, according to my sources."

I could have been elevated by his declarations, but I wasn't, not completely. Even though it was proof of my uncle's contention that I would be of interest to this handsome and powerful man, there was still a part of me that remained wary. At that moment, the door opened, and a servant announced to Lord Barnes that Ser Anthony wished to present his wife and niece. He then announced that I was to present myself in the Great Hall. Looking at the shelf, Barnes immediately spotted the place where the book belonged and returned it to its spot. Then he bowed graciously to me and left. With a breath to calm myself I exited the space and stood at the top of the stairs for a moment before descending.

Lord Barnes was already at the bottom of the large staircase, with his travelling companions, a man with dark blond hair and a darker beard, and a man of Moorish descent, both dressed as he was, in fine clothing as befit their stations. Although I didn't know who the blond man was, the other was well known as one befriended by Barnes on his journeys in the Spanish peninsula. Taking the Christian name of Samuel Wilson, he had become famous throughout our kingdom for his chivalry. All three men watched me closely as I descended alone down the great stone staircase, no doubt to assess the grace of my movements. As the wife of a powerful lord, I would constantly be looked upon as a symbol of his house. My comportment would be seen as either a benefit to his stature or a hindrance to it. When I reached the bottom, my uncle smiled and extended his hand to me.

"May I present my niece, Lady Arden Worth," he said simply. "Lady Arden, may I introduce you to Lord James Barnes, of the Citadel, his Highness, Steven Rogers, the Duke of Long Isle, and their trusted friend, Ser Samuel Wilson."

The blond man was Steven Rogers, the Duke, grandson of the king and third in line for the throne. No wonder Barnes seemed amused when I described him as a courtier. That alone required a deeper curtsy than what I gave Lord Barnes in the library.

"My Lady," said Barnes, taking my hand to raise me from my lowered position. "The Duke is here as my closest friend and has agreed to act as a negotiator for the marriage arrangement. May I escort you to the dining hall?"

To refuse would have been considered rude so I placed my hand on his forearm and allowed him to lead me to the dining hall. The Duke escorted my aunt, which was puzzling, since he should have led us all, considering he was of the higher echelon of nobility. My uncle and Ser Samuel brought up the rear of the party. Footmen pulled our chairs out, then assisted in pushing them closer to the table as we settled. I noticed the arrangement of cutlery in our places, a knife and fork, specifically. Although I had been exposed to using them it was still surprising as most of the nobility thought that forks were an affectation of the Italians; a sign of hubris that they were too proud to dirty their fingers as they ate. In our nation most of the nobility dispensed with any utensils, other than using a knife to spear a portion of fowl, or roast, then bite into it with their teeth and allow the juices to run over their faces and onto their clothing. It was obvious by how our guests used their utensils to cut the meat into smaller bites, that they were well used to eating in the new fashion.

"You were successful in finding my library, Lord Barnes?" asked my uncle.

"I was Ser Anthony," he replied. "A fine library at that. You must spend many pleasant hours there."

"When I have the time. Lady Arden is there often. She has likely read everything in there at least once, even the texts in French or Latin."

"Is that true?" he asked me in French. "You are fluent in those two languages?"

I answered him in French. "Yes, in Spanish and Italian, also. My uncle invested a lot of money in language tutors."

He said nothing about our meeting in the library, but he looked at my uncle with a degree of surprise and approval. Apparently, four additional languages were more than he was expecting. The look exchanged between Lord Barnes, the Duke, and Ser Samuel was subtle but telling. I had the feeling that even with the reports they had commissioned about my attributes I was still something of a mystery.

After dinner, my uncle disappeared into the library with the Duke and Ser Samuel with the intent of beginning the negotiations. My aunt went up to help settle my cousins for bed. That left me and Lord Barnes alone.

"Is there a garden where we can walk before it gets dark?"

"There is."

I led him out to the formal gardens, walking along the gravelled path between the displays of hyacinths and mums which were still blooming. The trees, which were casting off their green colour, were displaying some yellow, red, and orange hues. As the sun approached the horizon, the golden light it projected lent a soft glow to everything. We stopped at a pond briefly, then the wind came up and I shivered. Although it had warmed slightly since Lord Barnes arrival, I wore only a shawl over my dress, not enough to stay warm as it darkened.

"We should return to the castle," he said. "I wouldn't want you to catch a chill on my account."

"As you wish, my Lord," I answered, mindful of his superior status. "There is a small conservatory in the castle, with a fireplace where we can keep warm and still enjoy the plants around us."

He agreed to go there and by the time we arrived a fire had been lit, and a tray with a decanter of wine and two metal goblets were on a table. As I sat, he poured out some for each of us, then joined me on a padded bench built into the wall near the fireplace.

"To your good health," he said, before sipping his drink

"And to yours," I replied, sipping my own. "You know this is unusual. Allowing us to be alone."

"I requested it. Too many of my peers have arranged their marriages through intermediaries without meeting until the wedding day. Both parties experienced disappointment more often than not. I vowed never to make that mistake." He gazed steadily at me. "If there is anything you wish to ask me, I am open to your inquiries."

"Where have you travelled?" It was something I was genuinely interested in, having never left the country myself.

"I have been as far east as Greece, to the northern shore of Africa, Italy, Spain, France and Brittania. There have been journeys north of our kingdom, but it is still mostly wilderness and those who have lived there for eons are not the friendliest, with reason considering how our ancestors first treated them. The Northmen still have settlements there and have a truce with the original inhabitants. We do have trading relationships with the Northmen, as you know. Most of my travels was accompanying the Duke as his Majesty desired to know those who have the closest relationships with our country. We met Ser Samuel in the portion of Spain that had recently thrown off Moorish control. He agreed to stay with us as we found each other's company engaging. Since his Arabic name of Saqr Sama Allayl or Falcon of the Night Sky, was often mispronounced by those who were unfamiliar saying it, he asked for a Christian name to go by while he travelled our lands. The name Samuel in Arabic means prophet and seer. Wilson was suggested as a common last name. It has made his travels here easier. When he returns ... if he returns, he will revert to his given name."

There was a lot of information in his answer, but he obviously found value in knowing about the people in other realms. Placing his goblet down, he picked up the poker and adjusted the wood in the fireplace, as if he were used to taking care of such things himself. He sat next to me again.

"Have you travelled?"

"Alas, no, although I have read many accounts of different journeys, such as those of Marco Polo, The Travels of John Mandeville, and others. I have great admiration for the women who journeyed with Eleanor of Aquitaine to the Holy Lands. I wish someone had thought to document their journey."

"As my wife I would request that you accompany me on my travels," he mentioned. "It would be your choice but the alternative would be spending a significant amount of time apart, which is not conducive to marital harmony."

"What about children? Travelling with an infant would be an issue, wouldn't it?"

"Depends on the destination."

We were quiet again, with only the crackle of the fire to listen to. When the moon's glow appeared through the window, Lord Barnes stood up and turned to me.

"I believe I will retire now. May I request the honour of riding with you tomorrow?"

I stood up. "Of course. I usually ride in the morning an hour after breakfast. If that is acceptable to you."

"It is."

He bowed to me and left, leaving me puzzled to his sudden and arbitrary departure. My aunt arrived shortly after, and we returned to my chambers where she questioned me on what Lord Barnes and I spoke about.

Lord Barnes

As I walked to my chambers, I reflected on the time spent with Lady Arden. Her beauty was unmatched by any other woman I had ever seen. How Ser Anthony had managed to keep her isolated enough to avoid a kidnapping and forced marriage I will never know but it was imperative that we formalize our marriage as soon as possible. Since I first glimpsed her in the window, then spoke with her in the library, I had been unable to think rationally of anything or anyone else. Steven and Samuel were already in my chambers on my arrival, having ceased the negotiations at moonrise, which prompted my departure from the conservatory. They both turned to me as I entered and bolted the door, then checked the hidden passageway for listening servants. Steven handed me a goblet of wine.

"Well?" I looked at both expectantly. Steven answered.

"She is the only survivor of the House of Forrest. Ser Anthony confirmed it. She was brought to him by the housekeeper of the House Forrest, after they were attacked by the forces of House Pierce. Of course, they were not wearing the insignia, but she recognized several faces as Pierce's men. Lady Forrest pressed her daughter into the care of that woman, and they escaped via a secret passage that let them out a mile away. Even in the passageway she could hear as Pierce's men slaughtered the entire family. You know he would have taken her to keep for one of his sons, or his nephews and cement his acquisition of their lands."

"It was he who said he made a social call the following day and found the family dead of the wasting disease. Then he burned their castle to purify it and took their lands for himself, although he calls it a stewardship until the missing heir is found." I was angry at such villainy. "She doesn't know the truth, does she?"

"No, upon the housekeeper's arrival, Stark swore her to secrecy and claimed the child was his orphaned niece. She believes she is the daughter of his sister, Lady Worth and Ser Louis of House Worth from a sudden bout of the wasting disease. His position as godfather to Lady Arden guided him in her upbringing. It was her father's wish she be given every opportunity to be as educated as well as possible. He is aware of the betrothal document which is why he indicated his preference for your favour. That was late in being made known as he was under the impression for some time that you were aligned with House Pierce."

I looked at Samuel for his opinion. "That is understandable. You feel his vow of fealty to House Barnes is now honestly offered?"

"I do. Ser Anthony is a rare individual. He is a man of truth and honour, and both he and Lady Stark love the young woman as much as one of their own. His dowry request is for her benefit, not his, so that she is independently wealthy in the event of your death. Otherwise, he only requests an alliance with the Citadel. It may be that he fears reprisals if Pierce realizes the true identity of Lady Arden so would require the strength of your garrison to protect him and his family."

"Accept his terms. We'll read the banns as soon as possible, then I will apply for a marriage license so that the normal time period can be waived. As soon as it is approved, I will send for her to come to the Citadel for the marriage ceremony. With luck, we can be married after a fortnight. If there are any objections, then I can produce the original betrothal contract between our parents."

Steven placed a hand on my arm. "It will come to pass, Buck. I have faith."

"I hope you're right," I replied, draining my goblet. "Now that I have seen her, I cannot think of ever marrying another woman. By the way, we're going riding tomorrow, so we'll have to stay another night since you'll be engaged in negotiations during the day."

"Alone?" Steven and Samuel smirked at each other. "Is that wise?"

"We were alone this evening when we walked in the garden and when we sat in the conservatory, drinking wine. I'm a changed man. No more brothels or courtesans for me. A woman of her quality deserves a husband who will remain steadfast and faithful. It is my intention to be that type of husband for her."

"If you say so," remarked Steven, draining his wine. "Come Samuel, let's leave Lord Barnes to have sweet dreams of the Lady Arden."

I gave him a rude gesture then locked the door behind them. As I disrobed, I felt encouraged by their report. When our spy in Pierce's castle brought us proof of his part in the death of Lady Arden's parents, I knew the day was coming for the man's part in many similar incidents. He amassed his wealth and power by undermining the rule of law we were all supposed to live under. Even if it wasn't his men who performed all his suspected crimes, his alliances with the Walker and Rumlow houses meant he had them as his accomplices and co-conspirators. With his end game believed to be an attempt on the throne, we needed to be careful not to tip our hand too soon.

The following morning, we took breakfast with the Stark family, and I met the younger children, three daughters. The oldest was dark, like her father, while the other two resembled their mother with their fairer features. They were very well behaved, and I observed Lady Arden's interaction with them, curious about her suitability as a mother. They seemed fond of each other, and it was obvious that they were also being raised in the same manner as Lady Arden had been, for they spoke extensively of stories they wrote for each other's pleasure. They spoke French and Italian easily, making each other laugh. Their commentary was enjoyable, even bringing grins to Steven and Samuel's faces. The oldest child, Morgan, dared to ask Samuel about his childhood in Spain, then listened with rapt attention as he told her about his first time hunting with a falcon under his control.

When the meal was finished, Ser Anthony and my two friends repaired to the library to continue the marriage negotiations. Lady Arden excused herself to prepare for her daily horseback ride, agreeing to meet me in the courtyard of the keep. With the order given to prepare both of our horses I returned to my chambers to change into something more suitable for riding. I went out to check my horse, and found the care given to Soldier since our arrival the day before was exemplary. His coat gleamed in the warm sunlight. As always, he greeted me with affection, brushing his head against mine, then searching for the apple I usually gave him. The stable master offered me one and I broke it in two, feeding the pieces to him separately.

"He is a fine stallion," said Lady Arden's voice, behind me. "It is rare to find a fully black horse without a white patch somewhere on his body. Have you bred him yet?"

"Aye, he has sired a dozen foals in the past two years," I answered, before turning to look at her. For a moment, no words came out of my mouth as I took in what she was wearing. "This is your usual riding attire?"

She grinned and looked down at the short knee length skirt, and knee-high leather boots she wore. On her upper body she wore a tunic under a jacket that was styled in the same manner as a man's. It was scandalous but it also allowed her to have greater control over her horse. Her hair was loose and flowing down her back, brilliant in its colour that reminded me of a sunset or a smouldering flame.

"Do you disapprove?" she asked, almost daring me to forbid her from leaving the keep.

"No, it suits you," I answered, truthfully. I gestured to her horse, a beautiful grey mare. "Do you require assistance to get on?"

"A hand up, please," she answered.

Lacing my hands together, I boosted her up after she put her boot into them. She easily mounted the rest of the way, and I realized the many folds of her skirt hid the fact they were cut like trousers. It gave her as much control over her horse as a man would have. I mounted my horse and signalled to her to lead the way. With a nod to the stable master, we left the keep and began with an easy canter towards a wooded area. She slowed up once we were well out of eyesight. Looking back at me, she waited for me to ride beside her.

"You go out on your own?" I asked. "Are you not afraid of being accosted?"

"I can defend myself," she answered, then reached into her boot and pulled out a long knife, flipping it over in her hand before reinserting it. "Minerva is fast and can outrun almost any horse in the area."

I wondered if she would be so unconcerned with her personal safety if she knew who she really was, but it wouldn't be my place to tell her until we were married, so I kept my observation to myself. As we rode, I took time to scan our surroundings. It was evident why she chose this area. There were many trees already covered in the finery of autumn. The reds, golds, and oranges were everywhere. Whenever a breeze came up, we were showered with the leaves pulled from the branches. It was peaceful and, in her company, I found myself relaxing just enough to forget the affairs of state.

At one point, she glanced at me then nudged her horse into a gallop. I watched with admiration as her hair flew behind her, proving the moniker Flame of the Forest. She was beautiful and magnificent, and if I had my way, she would be my wife in just over a fortnight. Perhaps, just perhaps, she would be safe from those who wanted her for their own purposes.

Note about The Wife of Bath’s Tale. It recounts the story of a knight who is accused of rape. He is given a year to find out what it is women most desire, in order to spare his life. An old crone says she will tell him if he agrees to her request. He agrees and she tells him that women desire sovereignty over their own lives more than anything. When he offers the answer to the courts he is spared and he returns to the old crone to fulfill her request. She demands that he marries her. Since he is a knight and is bound by his oath he agrees. In bed on their wedding night she asks if he would like an old ugly wife who is faithful or a beautiful one who is faithless. He leaves the decision to her, declaring himself bound to it. For his honesty and concession to her she becomes beautiful and faithful, and they live happily as husband and wife.

Saqr Sama Allayl or Falcon of the Night Sky - From Google Translate

Part 2>>

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[carnal-lnstinct]

AHH I'm so happy you're doing a halloween event 💖 Can I request a sfw Vegeta AU in which he is the king of the underworld (alternatively could be demon king of the underworld) and he pines after a human? I picture him more on the yandere side, but you can adapt it however you want! Thank you, looking forward to all your fics 💕

VEGETA X READER

✦✦Content: au, king of the underworld vegeta, light yandere / possessive behavior, one-sided pining. ✦✦Warning: manipulation / gaslighting

Mortal desires are a full spectrum of color he could see with his eyes closed. All intricately woven together to form an illusion of necessity, when it is just a sin dressed in a fragile moral shell. Your case was no different, but it garnered his attention effortlessly. The Divine Sovereign of the Underworld witnessed so little of the intent in your actions and found means to personally place himself in your path. It boiled down to one thing: He had something you wanted, and it presented him with the opportunity he’d been waiting for. His own sinful vanity couldn’t stand by and let himself go disregarded by you when he’s given you more than enough of his…curiosity? Admiration? 

Regardless, an audience with you was required now. 

The King’s large arm stretches out from his cape revealing the trained muscles and old scars. He turns his hand upright, presenting the small dragon ball. The very reason you managed to make your way into the Underworld. He showed it off as if it could be freely taken from his grasp, the corner of his lips turning upward seeing you draw your focus to the magical orb. “Is this all you come here for?” He asks you with a taunting tilt of his head. “I suspect you think I’m going to just hand it over if you begged hard enough. That I will let you continue to traipse over my life’s work and turn a blind eye while you defy the natural order of my authority.” 

As his fingers close around the dragon ball he rises from his grand throne and approaches you and you are temporarily startled by his height for one who sat so high. Though his size compared to yours didn’t outweigh his intimidating aura. “You really think your Eternal Dragon can save your friends’ souls from me? No dead may leave my realm without my say...”

“A-A trade, then! For my friends, I-I’ll give you my dragon balls!” You blurted out in a desperate breath from your chest, shaken by your own weak nerves and impulsive response. King Vegeta’s smirk twitches at that, his brow beneath his curved horns lowering further over his dark eyes.

“What nerve you have. Implying I, a Divine King, have something more to wish for?” His eyes roll in aversion to the idea as he moves around you, a twinkle of excitement in his eyes where yours cannot see. He hovers in your peripheral before he disappears from one side and circles around to your other. “What would I do with three useless dragon balls?”

“—Then take me! Your Highness…take me!” You sink further on your knees and bow your head low to the ground, hands outstretched towards his empty throne. “Please!”

King Vegeta stops circling you, standing outside of your line of sight. Those magic words were uttered so perfectly and so effortlessly, that he had to take a moment to embrace the way it rang in his ears. “Just one mortal soul?” He further teased in mock indifference. “Like there aren't countless piles of those lying around here.”

“One mortal soul…a-and the remaining dragon balls.” You spoke, resolutely. Determined to right the wrongs done to those you loved. “So… So no one else can use them to challenge your power. I’ll gather them all and bring them to you in exchange for my friends.”

Your words mellow in the brief silence, a tinge of hope daring to creep into your spirits. He turns slightly to look down over his shoulder at you, cloak loosely twisted around his leg. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” You respond sincerely, but softly. You hear his footsteps behind you descend across the room and a chair slides across the floor.

“Eat with me.” He orders you, the sudden change of topic further unsettling your disposition and giving him a surprised look in response. He gestures a hand to the long dining table, specifically to the chair beside the head of the table.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” He affirms amicably by sitting in the larger chair at the head of the table. “Unless you have something better to do right this second?” Not like your friends were getting any more dead. And time in the Underworld moved differently than the other realms, a mortal who was not of this world should be starving even in the brief time you have been here.

This shift made you anxious, but you can sense there wasn’t much choice in it. The thought of food crossing your mind did make you conscious of your stomach’s need. You swallow and stand up, “No…I’ll do it. Thank you for your kindness..” 

You settle in the designated chair with a covered plate in front of you. Glancing his way every so often until an unknown hand reaches over your side and removes the lid, warm steam flowing up toward your face. The food had a nice smell, but such earthy colors. You’ve never seen anything like this before. “...It’s poisoned.” You thought out loud, pressing your back up against your seat to put as much distance as you could between yourself and the plate.

“Don’t be stupid. What do I gain from killing you now? I’m not ruining a meal with your corpse.” King Vegeta pointed out, a hint of annoyance from your insult to his hospitality. Not any mortal could be tolerated for something like that.

Not to hurt your chances with his favor, you nod and quickly apologize. You ate without really tasting the food, just doing so to remain polite and because it was asked of you. But the hints of richness and spices made it easier. It was definitely better than it looked. The King ate with you, slowing down in between his bites to watch you feed yourself with a self-satisfied grin. Occupied with his own imagination and how much closer it was to becoming reality.

The second serving is placed in front of you and the most colorful presentation of food before you: a pomegranate. Joined with a small bowl of sorbet. It was a more appetizing surprise and without thought you lifted your spoon to sample your sorbet first. He completely stopped eating and stared you down in silent anticipation, going unnoticed by you with your focus on the sweets. There are different hints of flavors that hit all the points on your tongue, making you finish off the small bowl without hesitation. 

And then, finally, your spoon digs into one of the halves of the pomegranate, the juice pooling into the utensil with a few loose seeds. You scoop out more and carefully sip the juice first, followed by feeding the seeds to yourself in bits. The dark eyes watching you flash with a color, King Vegeta’s grin widening with his sinister snicker. It catches your attention, your gaze meeting his when you turn to him, then self-consciously turning away as you hold your other palm to your bottom lip. Careful to not spill any juice or seeds. He watches a little longer and says nothing, then lifts his goblet to his lips.

When you go to dig for another serving of pomegranate seeds, he stops your hand with a gentle grasp and guides yours away to set the spoon down. “Our business is done.” He states simply. He then rises from his seat with his goblet in hand and walks back towards his throne. “The souls of your friends await you at the gates to the human world.”

Your heart skips and you leap up from your seat, following him with wide eyes. “Wait- that’s…” You catch your breath in the rush of emotions that flowed through your chest. “A-And the dragon balls?”

King Vegeta turns back to you. “It was not about the dragon balls.” He admits with great pleasure, swirling his drink in his hold. His brow arches. ”You understand?”

Your confusion leaves you staring his way, attempting to understand. Running all your words and his together, and then you’re breathless again when the realization hits you.

 It was never about the dragon balls.

Is not the darkness sweet ?

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: The Law of Surprise (3/3)

Summary: The Law of Surprise: a custom as old as humanity itself. The Law dictates that a man saved by another is expected to offer to his savior a boon whose nature is unknown to one or both parties. In most cases, the boon takes the form of the saved man's firstborn child, conceived or born without the father's knowledge.

A/N: This is NOT a Witcher AU. The idea for this fic WAS inspired by the show, however. I’m not sure if the Law of Surprise was a show/game creation or if it existed before. Regardless, this fic is my spin on the concept and will be posted in three parts.

Much love and thanks to the @cssns mods for keeping this event going year after year! A HUGE shout out to my artist @eastwesthomeisbest for the AMAZING pieces she made to accompany my fic. Go give her ALL the flails! Finally, all the hot chocolate, rum, and grilled cheese sandwiches for my amazing betas @ultraluckycatnd and @kmomof4. LOVE YOU LADIES TO BITS!

Rated T / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  

Part One | Part Two

Part Three

The castle was brimming with life and gaiety. Orchestral sounds spilled over the balconies and light seeped from every window, illuminating the stone walls and bathing the gardens in an exuberant glow. If he’d had to guess, Hook would estimate the overflow from the ballroom to be in the hundreds as he made his way through the crush of courtiers, adorned in their finery as they eagerly awaited to be announced.

Dukes and earls. Ambassadors and emissaries. Military leaders and loyal sycophants. The creme de la creme of Misthaven and her allied kingdoms were all in attendance - all who had received a royal summons, that is. Hook had witnessed a number of people being turned away at the gate when they had failed to produce the invitation. The exquisitely designed edict with its filigree and gilded letters announcing the event of the century:

The Formal Betrothal Ceremony and Ball between Her Royal Highness Princess Emma of Misthaven and His Royal Highness Prince Neal, Son and Heir of the Dark One.

Not that Hook had received one himself, of course; their Majesties had learned their lesson the last time they’d attempted to share blessed news and an invitation with him. Pan had been serious when he’d meant no interference, though they had underestimated what the evil bastard considered as such until he’d enticed most of the Misthaven male youths away from their beds and nearly to their deaths over one of the kingdom’s cliffs, because the sovereigns had dared to have an envoy deliver him news of the arrival of their second child - a son. When David and Hook had confronted Pan before he could lure the boys to their deaths, the demon brat had made it clear that any communication, any interaction, any attempts to maintain or strengthen relationships between Misthaven and “his pirate” would be seen as a breach of contract and met with severe penalties. After that, Hook had once again kept his distance from Misthaven, and Misthaven had kept its distance from him. So, naturally, Hook did not fault them for failing to send him an invite to tonight’s festivities. They could not possibly have known that circumstances were different now.

A fact Tink kept nagging on about these past few months.

Months they had spent attempting to set things right in the wake of Neverland’s liberation. Months they had spent establishing authority and restoring order while dealing with uprisings from those still loyal to Pan. Months Hook had spent ferrying those who had wished to return to their homes, not knowing if one even still existed for them, as he warred with himself over the prospect of returning to his own.

It had been the news of Emma’s betrothal that had started the quarrel with Tink up again. Enjoying a pint in a dark corner of anonymity whilst patroning a tavern in Glowerhaven, they’d heard the toasts and cheers go up wishing the princess and “her prince” well. The Dark One’s son wasn’t truly royalty, of course, but none were fool enough to challenge the title.

While the other patrons had reveled in the news of the betrothal, their spirits high from the glee of gossip and tankards of toasts, Hook had sat with a weighty stone of despondency in his belly even as he’d tried to muster up some semblance of jubilation over the news.

“You must go to Misthaven,” Tink urged. “You have to tell them. Tell her. You can’t let her enter a betrothal or get married without--”

“Do you think I would interfere in her life now?” Hook replied through grit teeth. “Burden her with this… with me, when she has finally found happiness?”

“How do you know it is true happiness she has found? The Law of Surprise entrusted her to you. Gave you the responsibility and privilege of her destiny. You cannot sit by and allow her to--”

“To what?” Hook snapped. “To decide for herself? To pursue a destiny she has chosen? To fall in love and follow her heart while making alliances that will strengthen her kingdom and secure her reign? I am not her lord and master, nor am I her overseer.”

“No. You are not,” Tink said softly. “But you are fated to her. Bonded to her through the Law. Connected in a way she isn’t even aware of, because you haven’t allowed her to know. You owe her the truth before she establishes new bonds with another.”

Hook scoffed, but tapped the ring on his thumb against his tankard as he considered her words.

“At the very least,” Tink continued, “go see her. Before she is whisked off to the Dark Realm to prepare for her new life as Neal’s wife and future Queen of the Dark One’s subjects, go meet her. Make sure it is for love that she has chosen this path, and not out of a sense of duty or obligation. Slake your curiosity of who she has become and give yourself the peace of knowing that in spite of everything, she turned out well.” Hardening her gaze, she added, “And for the sake of all the gods, stop being a coward and go face your brother.”

He hated when the infernal fairy was right.

It was cowardice that had kept him from returning. Fear of having to divulge all he’d done in order to achieve his freedom, the lengths he’d had to go to and the ways in which he’d made Pan believe he’d broken him before finally being able to…

Afraid that there was no longer a place for him among society. Terrified over the prospect that, despite Neverland’s magic and the way it had kept him youthful, his life had already passed him by. Petrified to face the girl he’d been meant to watch over, daunted by the uncertainty of how she might react if he ever managed to work up the nerve to tell her the truth about him, about the Law of Surprise, about the fate’s design that had bonded them to one another before she was even born.

Tink had been right, though. He could not give in to cowardice, so he’d commissioned a new waistcoat and duster, one befitting a gentleman pirate paying court, and made port in Misthaven the evening of his princess’ betrothal ball. His lack of an invitation was no issue with the guards at the gate, he’d merely flashed them his hook and they’d allowed him entry, certifying that the king’s pardon of Hook’s crimes and promises of sanctuary within Misthaven still stood. Though Hook did feel it prudent to tuck his left arm behind his back, beneath his quilted, leather coat whilst in the receiving line, lest one of the guests glimpse it and start a fuss.

He wasn’t sure if it was the maddening wait, the stifling corridor, or the crowd of plumed and perfumed guests that began to grate on his nerves, spiking his anxiety and forcing him to withdraw from the ballroom hall. All he knew was that he’d suddenly found himself in a dark and isolated alcove around the corner from the crush, attempting to steady his breathing while muttering curses at himself for falling apart over something as simple as queuing for a ball.

“Is everything alright, good sir?”

Hook spun around, once more tucking his hook behind his back while his hand swept through his hair in an attempt to straighten his appearance. He stood in stupified silence for several skips of his heartbeat, too stunned by the gorgeous woman before him, until he finally cleared his throat and found his voice.

“Aye, lass,” he replied, unable to keep some of the awe out of his tone. “No need to concern yourself with me.”

The woman, young, blonde, with a slender form that did not fail to fill out the curves of her gown while demonstrating the strength he could detect beneath her proper posture, cocked her head to one side, her seaglass eyes narrowing at him even as a smile slightly tugged at the corners of her exquisite lips, rebutted, “A man hiding away in the shadows is a bit concerning, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose so,��� Hook conceded with a slight chuckle. Taking a step forward so she could get a better look at him, his smile broadened when her eyes widened and swept over his form with similar interest. “Truth be told,” he continued in a low timbre, “I am rather out of practice in the rules of court. It has been many years since I’ve attended a royal ball.”

Eyes snapping back up to his, she schooled her features and lifted her chin. “Have you not escorted someone to attend with you? Have you no one whose company you can rely on?”

Hook sighed wistfully. “My brother is here,” he said, attempting to keep all sense of melancholy or apprehension from his tone, “but I have not seen him in many years. My presence may come as something of a shock, and I do not wish to cast a pall on the evening. I would never wish to tarnish the memory of it for the princess.”

“The princess?” she parroted, her brows arching and achieving heights that nearly matched her voice. “You hold her in high regard then?”

“Aye. Very much.” Thoughts of his Emma, and the maelstrom of emotions they brought with them, made his voice constrict in his throat, making his next words a bit strained. “Though, I have not had the pleasure of her acquaintance since she was a child.”

The woman’s expression shifted, becoming pensive, almost far away, but as quickly as they had taken hold of her features, she shook off whatever thoughts she’d been contemplating. “Well, I highly doubt anything you do could tarnish this night for her.”

“I appreciate that vote of confidence, love.” Killian scratched behind his ear, his hips swinging with another swaggering step forward as he pressed a little too closely for decorum’s liking into her personal space. “I don’t suppose, once I’ve mustered up the courage to make my way into the ballroom, you would consider bestowing me the pleasure of a waltz?”

The corners of the woman’s lips tipped up again, and Hook wondered what it would take to encourage a full smile from her. Not that it mattered. He’d already accepted the challenge.

“Would such a consideration give you the necessary encouragement to face your brother and the court?” she asked.

Boldly, he took her hand and ran his thumb over the backs of her knuckles, murmuring, “Such consideration would give me the encouragement to do a great many things, Miss…”

Her lips parted, the response of her name on the tip of her tongue, when an attendant rounded the corner and jolted them apart with her exclamations. “Your Highness! I have been looking everywhere for you!”

Hook whipped his head from the attendant back to the woman who had snatched her hand from his and taken several steps back.

“Your Highness?” he said incredulously. “As in Her Royal Highness? Princess Emma?”

“I… I,” she stuttered. “I’m sorry, I must…”

“Excuse us, my lord,” the attendant said, encouraging her charge away from the alcove and towards the hallways that led to the royal entrance at the back of the ballroom.

Hook watched her depart, stunned by the realization that the woman with whom he’d been conversing - and was now rather taken with - was none other than the princess. His princess. His Emma. His Child of Surprise who was no longer a child.

He’d known that already of course, that she was no longer a child. More than ten years had passed since he’d last seen her, but as she was escorted down the hallway, briefly taking the opportunity to glance at him over her shoulder with an apologetic smile and a glimmer of attraction in her eyes, the reality of those years hit him full force. His princess was no longer a child, and once the betrothal ceremony was complete, she would no longer be his.

Forgoing the queue, Hook forced his way into the ballroom without being announced and found himself a vantage point where he could observe without taking on much notice. A resurgence of duty and responsibility filled him. He wanted to - no, needed to - weigh the measure of the man his princess was about to bind herself to in betrothal. Needed to know he was worthy of her.

Although, he was quite certain no man ever would be.

As the ballroom began to fill, his vantage point proved to be less than ideal. Unable to clearly see the dais, he started to shuffle his way through the throng as the prince and his father were announced, followed swiftly by Their Majesties and Princess Emma.

He was halfway across the room when the ceremony began, and the heavy weight of regret, knowing he was too late to do anything, pressed down upon him, keeping him rooted to his spot. His heart twisted painfully in his chest. He was about to lose her forever without having the chance to truly know her. He was a fool for wasting these past few months. A damned fool. All he could do now was watch as the prince and princess recited their vows while a fairy wove the betrothal bonds around them with her wand.

His heartache was quickly forgotten, however, when the final binding spell failed, leaving the betrothal void and eliciting a collective gasp from those assembled.

“I… I don’t understand,” the fairy stammered. “The magic should have worked. I… I don’t know what--”

“Clearly, you did something wrong, dearie,” the Dark One accused as he took a threatening step towards the young fairy.

“No,” Emma stated, stepping between her would-be father-in-law and the scared-out-of-her-wits fairy. “She didn’t. The magic failed to bind us, because…” Turning her attention back towards her would-be groom, Emma declared, “as I have told you numerous times, I have no intentions of marrying you. I don’t care about the deal our fathers made in order to end the war. My heart will never be yours, therefore no vows I make to love you will ever be true.”

Chaotic murmurs erupted throughout the ballroom, but Hook kept his focus on the dais.

“That matters not!” the Dark One shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Emma which made Hook’s hand itch for the hilt of his sword, unfortunately left behind on his ship. “Your feelings have no bearing and are not enough to void the betrothal spell.” Casting his ire upon King David and Queen Snow, he demanded, “Explain yourselves! We made a deal! You agreed to this betrothal on your daughter’s behalf. It is your word and your authority over her that binds that agreement, so why did it fail?”

Hook sucked in a startled breath. He knew why.

“I think I can answer that, and settle this matter,” he called out, causing all eyes to fall on him.

“And who might you be?” Prince Neal demanded.

“Captain Killian Jones,” he proclaimed, stepping forward as the crowd parted. “Though some have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker.” Raising his left arm, he displayed his hook and a hysteria of murmurs further erupted amongst the crowd that was now cowering away from him.

David and Snow’s mouths dropped open and Liam, who had been standing by off to the side of the dais, rushed forward and took his place next to his sovereigns, a look of complete elation and shock coloring his aged face. The fairy fled, leaving Emma, Prince Neal, and the Dark One alone at the center of the raised platform, each of them staring at him with a variety of expressions.

“Hook!” Prince Neal exclaimed, before catching the eye of the many guards stationed along the walls. “Seize him!”

When none of the guards acquiesced to the command, an incensed and clearly alarmed Prince Neal sputtered, “W-Why are you all just s-standing there! Arrest him!”

“Oh, you must not be aware,” Hook said, swaggering his way towards the dais and stopping short of its steps. “You see, I have pardon in this land.”

Turning his incredulity and ire towards the King, Prince Neal opened his mouth, but was silenced by the quiet yet dangerous tone of the Dark One’s question.

“How, pray tell, do you plan to settle this matter, Captain?”

“By claiming that which was owed me the day I saved King David’s life and he vowed to honor me with a boon, dictated by the Law of Surprise.”

“A boon? What boon?” Emma demanded.

With confident, measured steps Hook made his way up to the top of the platform and stood in front of his princess, his body strategically placed between her and his new adversaries. His eyes captured hers and he knew they were crinkling in the corners as he smiled down at her.

“Don’t you know, Emma?” he murmured softly. “It’s you.”

Confusion and outrage flashed within her seaglass eyes and displayed themselves through each feature of her exquisite face. Though her reaction, not being what he’d hoped for, sliced through him, he could do nothing about that now, not when a fresh round of threats was being issued by the Dark One and his spawn.

“We had a deal!” the Dark One bellowed. “Your daughter’s hand in marriage to my son in exchange for me ending your war with George! You made a deal--”

“Which they have kept in good faith!” Hook roared, rounding on the imp and causing his son to stumble backwards. “They have prepared and presented the princess for betrothal, and Emma herself recited the vows, even as it went against everything she wished for herself. It is not their fault the fates did not bind the agreement. If you wish to lay declarations of war at anyone’s feet, then let it be mine, but I warn you…” Stepping closer, Hook loomed over the Dark One and in a timbre of hushed menace, he advised, “do so at your own peril.”

The Dark One’s eyes narrowed, perhaps sensing something about the man who stood before him that he had not registered before. Beside him, Prince Neal scoffed.

“Are we to be threatened by the likes of you? You are nothing but a filthy pirate.”

Hook grinned darkly and rocked back on his heels, tucking his thumb in his belt. “A few months ago I was nothing but a filthy pirate, but today,” hardening his expression, he declared, “I am Neverland’s King, and you do not want Neverland as your enemy.”

The Dark One visibly started, but the Prince merely snorted. “Neverland has no king.”

Keeping a calculating eye on the Dark One, Hook shrugged and addressed Neal with a casual air. “True. I never understood, with all his theatrics, why Pan had never outright declared himself king, but make no mistake…” The hard edge returned to his tone and countenance, ���Pan ruled that island as a dictator king with an iron scepter and a crown of cruelty not even George could have dreamed of matching. Now that Pan’s dead,” the Dark One’s head snapped towards him, seemingly pulled from his thoughts with a number of questions swirling behind his dark gaze, “Neverland is under my rule. The island, its inhabitants, and…” Hook flicked his wrist and the entirety of the ballroom gasped when a jar of glittering dust appeared in his hand, “its magic. They all serve me now, so I say again. You do not want me as an enemy.”

Shrewdly, the Dark One scrutinized the jar in Hook’s hand, then inquired, “What, then, do you propose we do? The terms of the deal have not been met. I ended the war with King George. A debt is still owed.”

“Indeed,” Hook replied, holding out the jar towards the Dark One. “And I believe this canister of pixie dust is more than sufficient in settling that debt.” Hook pulled the jar back when the prince made an attempt to take it. “So long as you promise that accepting it means no further repercussions. Misthaven is safe from any further threats or acts of retaliation from you, and Emma is free to find love and happiness with whomever she chooses. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Papa, no!” Prince Neal protested. “You can’t just--”

“I can, and I have,” the Dark One clipped in a tone of censure before snatching the jar from Hook’s hand. Addressing the King and Queen, he confirmed, “Our deal has been satisfied. My son and I will now take our leave, but heed this… do not call upon me for aid ever again.”

“We won’t,” King David assured him. His eyes cut to Hook’s, relief and gratitude swimming within their depths, but before he could make any further statements another round of gasps rippled through the ballroom as the Dark One and Prince Neal were enveloped in a plume of dark smoke and vanished.

A heavy exhale fell over Hook’s lips and he stood, frozen, in the gazes of his friends, his sovereigns, his brother, and… his Emma.

“It’s you,” she said, her expression and voice void of any inflection he could identify as her eyes seemed to look past him to that far off place he’d seen her subconscious go when they were alone before. “You’re… him. We’ve… we’ve met before.”

“Aye, Your Highness,” he hedged. Her demeanor and lack of response to all that had just transpired made him hesitant to push her too far, too fast. “Moments ago in the corridor--”

“No… no, that’s not. I mean…” Her eyes refocused on him with a mixture of awe, disbelief, and something that hadn’t quite made its way to the surface yet swirling through their verdant beauty as she whispered, “It’s you, isn’t it? The man from my… you’re him.”

“Him… who?”

“My pirate,” she exhaled, stunning Hook to his core as she lifted a chain that had been concealed beneath the high neck of her white gown. Dangling from the delicate links was a familiar looking pendant. The seashell he had gifted her - after she’d plucked it from his desk, the little thief - he realized. The far off look returned as she murmured, “Not a day has gone by that I have not thought of you.”

His heart swelling, Hook elated, “Good,” and took a step towards her. The action, like all his actions since he’d revealed himself, was not met with the response he’d been hoping for.

Taking several steps back from him, Emma rounded on her parents and shouted, “You lied to me! You made me think it was all in my head! You knew! You knew why I felt so… wrong, so deficient. So… broken. My entire life I’ve… You knew about him all this time and you never--”

“You mustn’t blame them, love,” Hook insisted. “It’s not their fault. I made your mother promise never to tell--”

“Perhaps we should take this discussion elsewhere,” Snow said, making them all acutely aware of their audience. The societal vultures practically circling in anticipation of the feast such morsels of scandal might provide.

“That won’t be necessary,” Emma seethed. “There won’t be any more discussion, because I’m not interested in anything any of you have to say!”

Hook gaped when she raised her hand, calling forth magic to transport her from the ballroom in a plume of white smoke.

“She has magic?”

“She’s the product of True Love. Of course she has magic,” the Blue Fairy replied with a terse and exasperated tone, having made her way onto the dais to address her sovereigns and offer her assistance. “Your Majesties, perhaps it would be best for you to withdraw with the… captain, whilst the other fairies and I tend to your guests?”

“Yes,” Snow agreed. “Thank you, Blue.”

Hook followed his sovereigns and brother to an adjoining room where they could converse and continue their reunion in private, though none of them seemed to know where to begin.

“I think I ought to go and check on Em--”

“No,” Hook said, cutting off Snow. “Leave her be. She’s had a terrible shock and no doubt needs some time to work out all that’s…”

They stood there awkwardly for a moment more until reality set in. They were here, together, reunited at last, and in a synchronized heartbeat they suddenly found themselves in a united embrace, laughing and crying tears of joy and relief at finally having the nightmare of separation behind them.

“Admit it,” Hook demanded of David, wiping the vestiges of his emotional release from his eyes. “You were hedging your bets when you made that deal with the Dark One. You suspected The Law of Surprise would void it when the time came, didn’t you?” Turning towards his brother, Hook surmised, “That’s why you wouldn’t let me relinquish my claim and bestow it upon you.”

Sheepishly, Snow admitted, “Blue was the one who suggested the idea. We could not be sure, though, given your… uncertain future under Pan’s rule.”

“Speaking of,” Liam chimed in. “However did you manage to defeat the little bastard?”

“It’s a bit of a sordid tale,” Hook told them. “And one I do not wish to relive in detail. Suffice it to say, I managed to gain a certain amount of trust with Pan, which allowed me close access to him. Revealing some of his weaknesses. One of them being… squid ink.”

Liam led them over to the settees and they all sat down as he remarked, “Squid ink is no easy substance to obtain.”

“Aye,” Hook affirmed. “Fortunately, whilst on one of my missions for Pan, I ran into a mermaid who wished to leave her life in the sea behind. In exchange for safe passage, and because she felt bad for nearly crashing my ship upon rocky shoals when she enchanted me with her siren song, she gave me the squid ink she’d stolen from her father’s vault. Tink and I used the ink to subdue Pan.” Fiddling with his hook, he cast his eyes towards the floor as he confessed, “My hook did the rest.”

“And Pan’s death gave you… magic?”

“Not exactly.” Hook pulled back the sleeve of his right arm, exposing the cuff secured to his wrist. “This does,” he said, tapping it with the side of his hook. “It was Pan’s. He was never without it. I learned that it tethered the Shadow to him, acting as a conduit to the island’s power which he could then bend to his will. At first, I had no desire for it, but its use became necessary in order for me to begin to set things right.”

Hook told them how he and Tink had spent the past few months: squashing rebellions from those on the island still loyal to Pan, learning about the island’s magic while working with the Shadow to restore balance to her shores, and returning those he’d brought there under Pan’s order against their will.

“There is still much to be done, but when I heard about Emma’s betrothal, I…” Not wishing to tell anymore half-truths, or admit that the news of her betrothal had not been enough without Tink’s prompting, he let his words trail off. He hadn’t shared with them his misgivings in returning, allowing them to believe these other distractions had been the reason for his delay, causing guilt to churn in his gut as he sat amongst them.

“Where is Tinkerbell?” Snow asked, perhaps sensing the shift in his demeanor.

“She remained behind in Neverland,” Hook replied. “Awaiting further orders.”

“Further orders?” David parroted. “What more could you ask of her?”

“Not from me,” Hook assured. “From Blue.” Glancing down at the cuff on his wrist, he imparted, “The island should go to the fairies. They are the only ones who can truly wield and balance its power. I have no wish to be its sovereign forever, but...”

“But?”

Hook sighed. “All magic comes with a price, and the price of using this cuff is that it cannot be removed unless both the wearer and the island agree to its removal.” A wry smile pulled at the corner of his mouth and he cheekily added, “or unless the wearer is dead and no longer has a say in the matter.”

“I don’t…” Liam floundered. “I don’t understand what you--”

“The island won’t let me relinquish my connection with its magic,” Hook said. “After Pan, I believe it finds me preferable and won’t risk falling into the wrong sort of hands again. My hope is that the fairies might be able to convince the island to free me of the obligation, which is one of the reasons Tink remained there. To continue working towards that end until reinforcements arrive.”

“Well,” Snow said, standing and causing the men to follow suit. “That is something we can certainly discuss in greater detail tomorrow. For now,” she turned to her husband and with a firm, yet regal, look, declared, “we really must return to our guests and assure them that all is well.”

“Of course,” David agreed. “You’re right. The gossip mill is no doubt having a field day and our allies deserve whatever reassurances we can give them.”

“My apologies for creating a spectacle.” Hook gave his sovereigns a chagrined and contrite look, but they quickly waved off his self-condemnation.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Snow assured him.

“Snow is right,” David asserted. “Without you, we’d likely be preparing for war with the Dark One. You saved us… again.”

Hook grinned and nonchalantly scratched behind his ear. “I imagine another boon might be in order then?”

David shot him a less than amused look. “I’m not granting you another Law of Surprise, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Though we do not plan to have any more children, I agree with Charming,” Snow said, a hint of amusement coloring her words. “Once was more than enough.”

Hook sobered at the reminder of his Emma, and the mess he’d made of things between them.

“You owe me nothing,” he said. “It isn’t as though I’ve lived up to the last--”

“Enough of that,” Snow admonished. “I know things may not have gone as you’d hoped with Emma, but tomorrow is a new day. Let me have a room made up for you, and tomorrow we can all--”

“Thank you, Snow, but I think I’d rather return to my ship.” When Liam opened his mouth to protest, Hook assured him. “I’ll remain in port. I won’t leave without discussing the matter with you first, I just… I need…”

“Much has changed for you, too, little brother,” Liam acknowledged.

“Aye,” Hook admitted. “Freedom is not something I’ve had much practice with, and I’m still getting my bearings. Still trying to decide what I want to do with my life.”

“You know you always have a home here, right?” David said, placing a heavy hand upon his shoulder. “A place to belong.”

“I appreciate that, Your Majesty,” Hook said, hoping his eyes reflected just how much that fact meant to him. “But do you honestly think things can go back to how they would have been if you’d never sent us to Neverland? Or if we’d all managed to return from the accursed mission?”

David flinched and his features twisted into an expression of guilt and regret.

“Don’t misunderstand,” Hook said, now placing his own hand on his sovereign's shoulder. “I do not blame you. I have never blamed you, but let’s not pretend I can just take my place within your navy and serve as captain of one of your ships. For one, I am no longer a man who takes orders from others willingly, and two… what crew would wish to serve under the likes of me? A pirate. A blackguard.”

“No one is suggesting we pretend the past twenty years did not happen,” Liam said. “There is much to work out, much to resolve and decide upon. For you… and for Emma.”

David’s expression shifted and he now regarded Hook in a way the pirate had never experienced before. Not as his sovereign, nor as his friend, but as a father. A rather protective father. A protective father who might have just registered the charged interactions the pirate and his daughter had shared in the ballroom.

“Indeed,” the man said with a slightly hardened edge on his words. “Perhaps we should have a talk about your intentions with my daughter.”

“Charming,” Snow scolded, saving Hook from having to respond. “Now is not the time.” Squaring her shoulders and taking up her regal posture, the queen declared, “While these matters are all important and worthy of our time and thoughtful consideration, the more pressing issue awaits us in the ballroom.” Fixing her eyes on Liam, she continued, “David and I will need your diplomacy in dealing with our allies. You and the fairies are our ambassadors for the duration of the event.” Shifting her attention to Hook, she offered, “You are welcome to stay, however, it may be best if--”

“If it is all the same to you, Your Majesty,” Hook interrupted, “I think I’d prefer to take my leave for the evening and return to my ship.”

Giving him an acquiescing nod, Snow replied, “Very well. Let us all get through this evening and get ourselves as restful of a night’s sleep as we can. We will then reconvene tomorrow.”

“And Emma?” Hook inquired.

Snow and David shared a quick look of solidarity, then confirmed with a glance towards Liam before affirming, “We will leave her be, for now. As you requested.”

Their silent recognition and acceptance of his sovereignty in Emma’s life both relieved and disquieted him. He’d meant what he’d said to Tink about not being her lord and master, but he would not hesitate to advocate for her if he felt those around her were not acting in her best interest. She needed time. They both did.

“Then I shall bid you all a good night,” Hook said, not waiting for them to reciprocate before transporting himself back to the Jolly Roger in a swirl of crimson, in dire need of a refuge where he himself could process all that had come to pass this evening.

~/~

Hook’s jaw cracked from the wide yawn he released early the next morning, his body stiff and feeling its true age as he went about his normal routine, shuffling through his cabin in naught but his skin. He’d managed to pull on his leather pants, leaving them loosely tied around his waist, when he heard a voice drifting towards him from the dock.

“Ahoy! Captain, are you there?” a woman’s voice softly called out. From the tentative tone and reserved volume, he could tell she was trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible. It mattered not, though. He’d know that voice anywhere.

Hastily, Hook pulled on his shirt, a few of the buttons he kept fastened in the front slipped free from their closures, leaving his chest completely exposed. Forgoing his boots or even bothering to check the state of his hair, he rushed from his quarters and onto the deck, stopping short at the sight of his Emma standing atop the gangplank, just shy of the deck. The morning sun bathed her in an ethereal glow, silhouetting her form, which was adorned in her riding apparel, hugging her curves and highlighting her shapely legs in a way that had Hook glad he’d left his trousers loose.

Shaking those thoughts from his mind, Hook continued to approach her, only now taking in her observations of him. Rather wide-eyed and pinked cheeked observations, he noted with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Princess?” he said, pulling her from her own thoughts, his breath catching at the way she wet her lips before clearing her throat.

“I apologize for arriving so early and unannounced,” she said, straightening her posture before inquiring, “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

Hook grinned and closed the space between them with swaggering steps, holding out his hand to assist her. “Permission granted, Your Highness.”

When her feet hit the boards of the deck they stood there for a long moment, her hand still tucked in his as she took in the sight of his ship. When her gaze lifted to the mainsail a shudder ran down her spine. Though he was unsure how much she remembered from that night long ago when she last stood there, Hook was certain he knew what had caused her response.

“I sent him back,” he assured her, his voice low and soft.

“Who?”

“The Shadow. He’s the reason the sail is typically black, but I won’t need him until it is time for me to return to…”

Sensing this topic made her uneasy, his words trailed off and she pulled her hand from his. Noises from further up the dock grabbed their attention momentarily and Hook caught sight of her horse hitched at one of the posts, alone.

“Did you come here unaccompanied?”

“Yes,” she replied, uneasiness once again taking hold of her tone and demeanor. “I hadn’t planned it. I was out for my morning ride, clearing my head when…” Looking about she asked, “Is there somewhere we could go? Somewhere more private where we might converse?”

“Of course,” he said, not faulting her for not wanting to be seen fraternizing with him. “Follow me, Your Highness.”

He led her to his quarters and stopped at the threshold, allowing her entrance as he hung back. A soft gasp fell from her lips.

“It���s… it’s just as I remembered,” she whispered under her breath, taking in every detail of his cabin. “I thought you were a dream,” she confessed, though he wasn’t certain she was actually talking to him, her gaze far away and her words almost murmured to herself.

“I thought the whole thing was a nightmare.” Her hands skimmed over the top of his desk, pausing at his hook which he’d failed to secure in his brace before going on deck. “The shadow that kidnapped me, the dark island, the glass cage, the boy…” Her eyes flicked up, meeting his as she continued in a whisper, “The pirate.” Wetting her lips, her gaze never wavered even if his did briefly drop down to her mouth. “You’re real. You were real all this time.”

“Aye.”

Picking up his hook, she turned it over in her hands. “This is the hook you used to attach yourself to the barrel? The one my mother later gifted you?”

“How did you know--”

Setting it down she leaned back against his desk and let out a heavy breath. “I talked with them last night,” she told him. “My parents. After the ball, I demanded they tell me everything.” Her gaze dropped for a moment, then her eyes snapped up to his, determination shining from their depths. His princess was on a mission for the truth. “Did you really not know of my existence until Pan had…”

“No,” he confirmed. “I had no idea the King and Queen had a child, nor that the child was the fulfillment of the Surprise your father had granted me until Pan kidnapped you.”

Nodding her head in acceptance of his word her demeanor shifted slightly, her shoulders relaxing and her gaze softening.

“I want to apologize for the way I behaved last night,” she said. “How I reacted when you…” Her contrite expression gave way to one tinged with anger as she continued. “The morning after Neverland, when I woke up, everyone acted as though it hadn’t happened. My being kidnapped. My parents insisted I had dreamt the whole thing, even Blue made me think I’d…” Her hands gripped the edge of his desk, her knuckles turning white as she continued to lean against it for support, and it took everything within him to not go to her and offer himself as an anchor for her feelings of hurt and betrayal. “My whole life I have been sheltered, not allowed to make decisions for myself, feeling as though something… vital was missing from my life, yet unable to seek it out. Made to feel as though I were mad, because of this dream that would not leave me.”

Swallowing hard, she glanced around his cabin once more before her eyes fell shut. A deep breath filled her chest, followed by a cleansing exhale. When she opened her eyes the anger was gone, but a sadness lingered. Hook would do anything to alleviate it, but he knew she was not finished. There was still so much she needed to work through, to process, to accept, and he would give her the space to do all of it.

“Last night,” she carried on, “when the betrothal bond failed, I truly thought it was because my vows had been a lie. I thought I was standing up to Neal and his father, taking control of my destiny for the first time in my life, only to discover my future was never my own to control, because of another agreement my father made before I was even born.”

Hook winced. “I am sorry, Princess. Truly.” Pushing off from the doorway where he’d been leaning against the jamb, Hook took a few steps into the cabin, stopping at the corner of his bunk. “It was never my intention to leave you feeling powerless or alone. If I could go back, I’d--”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said, her voice sincere and her eyes full of forgiveness. “You had no way of knowing what the Surprise would be, and with what George did to my mother, who would have ever guessed? I don’t blame you for how my life--”

“You shouldn’t blame your father either, Your Highness,” Hook said in defense of his sovereign. “He had no way of knowing either, otherwise you would never have become my Surprise.”

“True.” She crossed her hands over her chest, a hardened expression once more tightening her features. “The blame belongs to Blue and my mother.”

“What?” Hook balked.

Meeting his gaze, she informed him, “Blue knew about the barrel. She saw it listed on the inventory that was taken when the Jewel made it back with the survivors. They must have put it in the hold when they fished it and you from the sea. Blue could not be sure it had not been corrupted, so she gave the water to my mother without her knowing. It wasn’t until weeks later, when my mother came to Blue worried that something was terribly wrong with her, that Blue confessed what she’d done. She told my mother it was still too early to know for certain and that she should wait to tell my father until she was further along, then later that very same day…”

“He granted me the Law of Surprise.”

“My mother knew he intended to reward you for your bravery and sacrifice, but said she had no idea it would be… Father said it hadn’t even occurred to him to grant it to you until the moment before he declared it. So, no. I do not blame my father.”

Stepping forward, Hook closed the gap between them and took her hand in his. “I will not tell you how you ought to feel, Princess. I just urge you to not let anger and blame linger in your heart for too long. I know what it is like to let such emotions fester, letting darkness creep in and take root in your spirit, giving it a foothold in your soul. Learn from my mistakes, love. Resist it.”

“Why couldn’t you?”

Running his thumb over the back of her knuckles, he softly imparted, “For many years during my first deal with Pan, I didn’t think I had anything to live for. The demon made me a pirate and I became a villain, unworthy of association with people like your parents or my brother. I had resigned myself to a life of exile and wasn’t certain I’d even return to Misthaven, until…”

“Until… what?”

“Until I met you.” How he wished he still had his other hand so he could take both of hers in his grasp, instead, he settled for threading their fingers together. “I wanted to be a better man for you, Princess. I knew Pan would still require a villain, but I was determined to defeat him by any means necessary so that I could take back my own power and control my own destiny.”

“So… what now?” she asked, a soft tremble quaking through her words.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” she wet her lips, trying her best to hide her trepidations. “Your expectations. You said you returned in order to claim that which--”

“I said all that in an attempt to stop a war from brewing, and so you might be freed from a deal you never wished to be a part of,” he quickly assured her. “I know all too well the perils of making deals with demons, and it is a fate I would not wish upon anyone, least of all you.” Hook lifted their hands and cradled hers against his chest. “I have no expectations of you, love. I only wish to… to try and make up for lost time. To get to know you and have you get to know me. Fate may very well have its own plan, but as far as I’m concerned, whatever we become to one another is as much up to you as it is to me.”

A smile curled at the corners of her lips. “I’d hoped I hadn’t made that up about you,” she said. “I am glad to know you are, indeed, a man of honor and good form… just as I remembered you to be.”

Hook cocked his head to one side, his brows furrowed as he asked, “If you’ve always remembered the kidnapping, then why did you not recognize me in the alcove last night?”

“My memories weren’t… detailed,” she told him. “More like fragments. Impressions.” Looking past him, she began to call forth some of those memories. “I remembered you were a pirate. I remembered the silver fastenings of your waistcoat and the fact that you had dark hair, and I remembered… your eyes. They were probably the most vivid thing about you that I remembered.” Flicking her gaze up to his, she went on to say, “The truth of a person can always be found in their eyes.” Dipping her head, she demurred, “I’ve always been pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me. It’s always in the eyes. I knew, from the moment I looked into yours, that I could trust you. That you were telling the truth about taking me home. Your eyes told me I’d be safe with you.” Locking her eyes with his, she wistfully admitted, “I’ve thought about your eyes so many times over the years.”

Her cheeks reddened and she suddenly could not meet his gaze. Hook wondered what other thoughts she might have had about her dream pirate as she grew older, but held back from making a saucy quip, allowing her to move past him towards his bookcase. Truth be told, he could do with a bit of space between them as well.

“My parents tell me that though you are finally free of Pan, there are still loose ends for you to tie up in Neverland.” Distracting herself she focused her attention on the contents of his shelves, picking through the books and lifting the lids on a few of the boxes. “Once that is done, what do you intend to do with your newfound freedom?”

“Honestly?” Hook exhaled heavily. “I’m not sure.” A tinkling melody filled the room when she lifted the top of what turned out to be a music box, hastily letting it fall shut before turning apologetic eyes towards him.

“Sorry,” she muttered, running her hands down the front of her riding jacket before clasping them in front of herself. “You were saying?”

Hook chuckled, then sobered a bit when he remembered what he was about to reveal. “I was saying, I’m not sure what I’ll do once my duty to Neverland is complete. I would like to return to Misthaven, I just… I’m not certain I have a place here any longer.” Fiddling with a few of the items on his desk, he added, “Of course, there are people here whom I wish to build relationships with.”

“Like your brother?”

“Aye,” he replied, lifting his gaze towards her. “Among others.” He paused, hoping she knew she was at the top of those considerations. “I have missed so much, and while I realize he is now old enough to be mistaken as my father, Liam is the only family I have left.” They both shared a quick laugh over that observation before he declared, “I do not want to miss any more of his life, or anyone else’s of importance to me.

Emma hummed, her eyes cast down towards her feet, perhaps unable to meet his gaze because of the intensity of it. “I’d imagine you’d want the chance to get to know his wife and your nephews as well.”

Her words rocked Hook to his core. “What?”

Emma’s head snapped up, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping from the realization. “I’m so sorry! I thought… I thought you knew!”

Hook slumped down on the edge of his bed, a new sense of melancholy and injustice washing over him as he ran his hand through his hair and pulled at the strands in the back. “How long has he… how old are his… why did he not…”

“They’ve been married almost ten years, and have two sons. Her name is Belle and she’s…”

Emma paused when Hook buried his face in his hand. So much time wasted. The toll of the years Pan had stolen from him never seemed to cease in its increase.

The sound of the music box filled his cabin once more, prompting Hook to look up from his sorrows. Tentatively, Emma approached.

“I wish there was something I could do about the time that was taken from you and your brother. I wish I had words of wisdom or answers that might guide you towards what’s next, but I don’t. All I can do in this moment is… make good on a promise I gave you last night.”

Confused, Hook could only stare at her, until she clarified, “I believe I owe you a waltz?”

Hook huffed out an amused breath. Reaching up he pawed at the patch of skin behind his ear and confessed, “I know I instigated that, but truth be told… I haven’t danced a waltz in over twenty years.”

“Well,” she replied, clearly not letting him off the proverbial hook. “Good thing for you there is only one rule.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet before wrapping his braced arm around her waist. Taking his hand in hers she flicked up her gaze and murmured, “Pick a partner who knows what they’re doing.”

She took the lead until muscle memory returned, then Hook glided them around his cabin, holding her close and marveling at how she’d been able to pull him from his sulliness with such a simple act of kindness.

His Emma was a marvel, to be sure.

“Do you, Princess?” he asked, causing her brows to pinch together as her head tilted to one side. “Do you know what you’re doing?” he clarified, his voice low and hushed, wanting to keep the moment tender despite the question burning at the back of his throat. “What you are going to do now that the threat of Pan and your obligation to marry Prince Neal has been lifted?”

Chewing her lip, she gave the inquiry her considerations before drawing closer to him. Moving her hand from his shoulder to toy with the back of his neck, she sent a cascade of shivers down his spine as she addressed his question with one of her own.

“Did you know that other than the night I was taken to Neverland, this is the furthest I have even been from the castle?”

That piece of information shocked him, though he knew it should not have. Her existence had been kept a secret for the first half of her life because of George, and the threat of Pan had kept her parents cautious for the past decade. Fear had made his sovereigns hypervigilant with their greatest treasure, so no, it should not have surprised him that they’d kept her close to home, safe behind the castle walls, never straying from the grounds.

“I have never left these shores. Never seen the beauty or experienced the culture of other realms, or met anyone who wasn’t thoroughly vetted by my parents.” Wetting her lips, her eyes fell to the charms hanging around his neck, but Hook knew her gaze was far away once again. “I know I have a duty and obligation to my kingdom, my people, and my parents, but…”

“But?”

Glancing back up with a slight expression of guilt pulling at her features, she murmured, “I can't help but wonder if my brother, Leo, was the fates way of allowing me to… That is… I know I should not wish to burden him unnecessarily, it’s just that--”

“Where would you go first?” Hook asked, still swirling them around his cabin, maneuvering their bodies with the same ease in which he attempted to change the course of their conversation. “If you had the means to go anywhere, where would you go first?”

“Neverland.”

Her quick and unexpected reply had him stopping them in their tracks. “Neverland? Why?”

Once again, she worried her lip, her breath hitching shallowly in her chest. “As much as I long to see the world, the memory of the one time I left Misthaven still haunts me,” she said, her voice a tad unsure at first, though it gained a sense of certainty and resolve as she continued on. “I want to go back so I can face it. So I can put the fear it has held over my life behind me, once and for all.”

When she flicked her gaze up to his, something new stirred within those seaglass depths and the effect of it seemed to hum between them, electrifying the atmosphere of his cabin.

“I want to see what sort of place it is now. With Pan gone. I want to know how it has fared under your rule. How it’s changed due to your influence and direction.” Swaying closer to one another, she was practically a hair’s breadth away when she murmured, “I want to see it for myself in the hopes that…”

“That what?”

Her eyes fell to his mouth and his pulse quickened.

“That it proves that I am… not wrong about you.”

It took his mind several skips of his heartbeat to register the feel of her lips against his, but once it did, instinct took over. His braced arm pressed into the small of her back, bringing her even closer to him, their chests nearly touching with the only obstacle between them being her hand. Her fingers curled through his chest hair, pulling a groan from the back of his throat that vibrated against her lips as his own slanted across them. Threading his fingers through her hair, he wrapped his hand around the base of her skull so he could position her head to his liking, deepening the kiss and coaxing her lips apart with his tongue.

The taste of her was captivating. He could spend the rest of his life drinking her in yet never be satisfied, always wanting more, always needing more… of her. Just her. His Emma.

However, now was not the time for more, and from the gentle, yet insistent, press of her hand against his chest, it was evident that his princess was not ready for what could come next if they continued down this path of passion.

“That was…” he whispered against her lips, chasing them without thought.

“Destiny?” She giggled, her nerves and inexperience quivering through her laugh.

Brushing his nose against hers, he loosened his hold, creating some space between them while assuring her, “As I said before, I have no expectations of you, no expectations for what might happen between us or what we might come to mean to one another. Only… only hope and a promise.”

“What promise would that be?”

“I promise to do whatever it takes to win your heart, Princess. I promise, that for as long as it pleases you, I’ll be here, at your service.” Taking her hand in his, Hook vowed, “I will take you to Neverland, and any other realm you wish to see. I will remain by your side, even if, one day, it is only to stand in support of my future queen.”

“What about Liam?” she said, clearly overjoyed by the prospects he’d laid out whilst harbouring some guilt that their fulfillment would take him away from his brother.

“My brother will be here whenever we choose to return,” he comforted. “Besides… he has his own life to live, and whether he chooses to acknowledge it or not, he’s been shouldering a duty and responsibility he was never meant to carry.”

“Are you suggesting I’ve been burdensome to your brother?” Her tone was laced with offense, but it was betrayed by the teasing expression she could not keep from her features.

“Oh, yes,” he cheeked back, winding his arms around her waist. “Quite the burden you are. How will I ever bear being bonded by the fates to Your Highness?”

“Hmmm,” she hummed, running her palms up his chest then wrapping her arms around his neck. “Perhaps, you could start by calling me by my name, Captain.”

“As you wish… Emma,” he obliged on an exhale.

She graced him with a smile, then asked, “And you? How may I address you? Or do you prefer Captain?”

He wouldn’t deny the pleasure it gave him, hearing her call him Captain, and he was about to make a tawdry statement attesting to that fact when his eye caught a glimpse of his hook, still sitting atop his desk.

“Call me…” he said, his voice choked and barely able to utter the name he’d long abandoned. “Killian. Please, Emma. Call me Killian.”

“Killian.”

The sound of his name on her breath shot a thrill of wonder up his spine. His lips crashed against hers and they both surrendered to the destiny fate had planned for them long ago.

Which, honestly, should not have come as a… surprise.

Thank you all for going on this journey with me! I hope you enjoyed the ride!

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[novantinuum]

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild Rating: T Words: 5.4K~ Summary: In another world, a young girl awakens right beside the resurrected hero, fearful and disoriented. Outposts are left to ruins, her brother’s mind is in tatters, and they’ve barely seen a soul traveling these lands since they first emerged from that cavern… What happened to her family? What happened to her Hyrule? _ (An AU retelling of Breath of the Wild, focused on the growing bond between an amnesiac young man who must relearn how to be both champion and brother, and a lost little girl who must find new purpose in the remains of the land she once called home.)

Chapter Summary: In which Link and Aryll share an audience with an old friend (or at least, someone who would be an old friend, if he could simply remember anything about his past...)

Hi! So, I've had a few chapters of this story on backlog for a long while, and despite not spending any time writing this fic lately (I've fandom hopped, LOL) I've decided to just post them so they can at very least be Out there. I hope folks enjoy.

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Chapter Preview:

“This slate is missing a great many features,” she notes, turning the device’s screen to face him. “Y’see? No compendium. No images. Countless files, corrupted. A whole rune unaccounted for.”

He frowns. “But the king seemed to think I had everything I needed.”

“Pah!” she exclaims, practically rolling her eyes at the mere mention of the last sovereign of Hyrule. “That dusty old soul? He never truly gave a damn about this technology in the first place, what does he know? If you want the slate fixed, then I’d advise you visit my elder sister Purah, in Hateno. She runs a laboratory there, researching ancient Sheikah tech.”

His sister gives a faint ‘ooooh’ from her seat, apparently tickled by the thought of a whole lab full of advanced technology like this. He can’t help but crack a smile at her enthusiasm. And yet… he’d be amiss to deny that the mere notion of the unknown beyond this doorstep still burdens him.

His purpose here burdens him.

Why must this be his task? His duty? What’s so special about him?

“Which of these tasks should I accomplish first?” he asks, swiftly deflecting his thoughts away from the trap of self-reflection.

Ignore the why. The how. Focus on the what. Impa spoke of three different quests, three different paths forward. Beasts, sword, slate. Does it really matter which he pursues to start?

She shakes her head, declining to deliver him a direct answer right away.

“It’s your journey. Your choice,” she says. “My role in this world is not to dictate the threads of fate, but simply to offer information. Though if you truly want my advice—" she passes the slate back into his hands— “I’d suggest fixing this before you embark on the rest of your travels.”