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thepencilnerd · 6 years ago

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- 𝐁𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 -

bib·li·o·phile- noun; a person who has a great love reading and/or collecting books for their content, appearance, quality, format, etc.

➳ Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

➳ Summary: The library was a place dedicated to knowledge, studying, and peace and quiet—so why was it that when Jimin came to pick up a book, it just so happened to be checked out by the same person each and every single time?

➳ Genre: AU! Fluff, barely a soulmate AU

➳ Word Count: 5.1k

a/n: first time making a moodboard! i hope it’s alright ^^

“So I should come back again next week?” Without giving a vocal response, the librarian simply nodded curtly. Sighing in defeat, Jimin ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

Today was the third time this month he had tried checking out one of his favorite books, but all his efforts were in vain. It had already been checked out the day before.

“And you can’t tell me the name of the person who checked out the only version you had available?” he pried desperately. Huffing at his insistent nature, the woman stapled the corner of a page a little too aggressively before looking up at him with a fiery glare.

“I told you, Jimin,” she whispered through clenched teeth, trying to hold back her temper. “I’m not allowed to give out any further information other than the date the book gets checked out and its scheduled due date. Any personal information and I’d lose my job.”

He could only whine and kick his legs in annoyance. “But, Ninnie! You’re supposed to be my cousin! Help me out!”

“Zip it!” she hushed. “I’m your cousin but I also have a job that I enjoy and respect, so unless you want me to confiscate your library card, do as I say and come back next week. I’ll text you as soon as I get it back and you can rent it then.”

To others, it was evident that she seemed to hate Jimin’s very existence, but outside of the work environment, they were as thick as thieves. Since childhood, holidays and family dinners always revolved around organizing seating arrangements so that Jimin and his favorite cousin were sat at least across from each other. All times when Jimin was sat next to any other cousin? Pure chaos ensued.

“Promise?” he pouted at his sibling of a cousin. Shaking her head. she gave him a thumbs up before waving him off to resume her paperwork. With a smile that spread ear to ear, Jimin’s disappointment faded into joy in an instant. It was times like these that he was grateful for his cheery ability to brush off negative occurrences like these. Waving goodbye to his older cousin, he returned back to the main view of the building he had grown fond of through the years at university.

Throughout the years of attending university, Jimin was grateful to have access to his favorite place to enable his obsession with books. From near-ancient almanacs, dusty textbooks, worn out novels, and outdated newspapers, the campus library was a central hub of overflowing information. With rows upon rows of books that seemed to stretch for miles, it was a historical museum in and of itself. The essence of torn paper, feathering ink, ragged covers, and disorganized array of what had once been in alphabetical order made Jimin’s heart race in excitement each time he came to visit, and he even opted for weekend visits to the aged building rather than go out to parties with his friends.

In a shorter summary, reading composed the essence of Jimin’s very existence. Although his passion for literature and hunger for the discovery of new books was constantly growing, his patience began wearing thin ever since that fated Monday so many months ago.

Over the past few months of falling back into the habit of re-reading his favorite books, he never expected in a million years that every single one he’d want to read would always somehow be checked out by a mysterious benefactor. The Little Prince? Checked out last week. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban? Currently unavailable. Frankenstein? Scheduled to be returned next week. You’d think that with an inventory nearly the size of a national library, there’d be at least two copies in stock—unfortunately, the odds were never in Jimin’s favor.

Sure, he could always go down to the bookstore two blocks down from his flat or to the bookstore Downtown, but it wasn’t just the book he was after; it was the environment. The background hum of hushed voices, the light rustling of pages from nearby readers, and right down the faint scent of aged wood and antique paper pages that laced the air, everything about the atmosphere was all-too inviting for to Jimin to resist.

As two books turned into five and five turned into eleven, the former excitement of re-reading his old faithful works of literature had slowly grown into anticipation of whether or not they’d actually be on the shelves. Each time he left the library after hearing the repeated melody of, “Come back next week when the book gets returned,” a strange feeling began consuming him. At first, it seemed like a coincidence.

To be fair, most of the books he was interested in checking out were fairly popular, so it’d make sense that Alice In Wonderland was unavailable. However, in his mind, it all seemed too incidental. Since then, a theory began to develop in the back of his mind, and the chances of it being true were almost little to none, but that didn’t stop him from pondering over it.

Jogging up the creaky stairs to the second floor, Jimin was determined to find another book to keep him occupied, at least until he got his hands on The Shining next week.

There were a handful of possible answers to the dilemma. One revolved around the plausible theory that since his favorite books were iconic pieces of literature, it only made sense that they would be rented out. The second involved around the much less plausible theory that Jimin had an equally book-obsessed stalker who was hell-bent on making his enjoyable weekends at the library a living hell—but as stated earlier, that was much less plausible.

After a couple minutes of carefully walking past tables of stone-faced and deadly silent students, Jimin found himself in a familiar aisle; the historical fiction section. Tracing his fingers over the edges of the neatly aligned book spines, he settled his fingertips on another novel he held near and dear to his heart; The Great Gatsby, by the one and only F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Letting out a sigh of relief that it was on hand, he slid it out of the shelf and clutched it close to his chest, smiling sweetly at the satisfying feeling of the hardcover pressing assuringly against his chest. Guarding it close, he turned a corner to a hideaway he had made for himself as a regular here. The secluded area was nothing more than a cozy hidden spot that virtually no one knew about. Except for Jimin, of course.

The reason it was rarely occupied by anyone was due to the fact it was the only corner of the floor that didn’t have a specifically organized genre shelf or pre-set-up seating area. All that decorated the remote nook were a couple plush comforters and detached seat cushions, courtesy of Jimin’s cousin. With hundreds of available seats and paired wooden tables, no one really paid attention to the solitary corner of the library, and Jimin didn’t want it any other way.

Settling himself on the cushion, he stretched out his legs and pulled a pillow close to his side and relaxed into the plush texture. Before he began reading, he had formed an almost ritualistic habit of admiring the antique condition of the texts. Trailing his fingertips over the now-flat metallic engravings and skimming the frayed edges of the pages, a warm grin spread to the edges of his lips.

He could never explain the feeling of what it was like to have a book in his hands. It was daunting to him how ink could paint such a magnificent picture. The endless combinations that words and thoughts could compose when paired together and the possibilities that presented themselves in the form of bound paper?

Indescribable.

When he placed the book onto his lap, it opened itself to a random page. At least, it appeared that way. Embedded in the block of the page was a laminated red maple leaf. Eyeing it carefully, Jimin furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

‘It seems too valuable for someone to just forget and leave it here...’ he thought.

Grasping the delicate film in between his fingers, he couldn’t help but observe and admire the details of the immaculately intact leaf. The main stem of the leaf was smoothed out, probably due to the period of time it was kept in the plastic encasing, and the blades of each extended leaf remained crisp like a freshly fallen flower petal. Examining it further, he noticed that the veins were not only near-transparent and paper thin, but they that were also outlined and handpainted a deep gold color.

Another heartfelt smile began to form on his face at the beauty of what would normally be considered a seemingly insignificant bookmark. Scanning his eyes at the spot the bookmark was placed in, he let out a huff of surprise at the line he had known by heart.

“I wasn't actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity.”

An iconic quote from page 57, the words made old memories arise from when he first came across the book. Months went by as he tried to analyze and dissect the quote, but it wasn’t until his first crush came along and made him understand the true meaning of the words themselves. Reading over the words once more, he directed his gaze back to the red maple leaf in his hand.

‘You’re quite the peculiar thing, aren’t you?’ he couldn’t help but speculate.

Smiling to himself once more, he tucked the bookmark safely inside his wallet, making sure to mind the delicate edges of the blades. Jimin rose from his cozy spot and almost tumbled down the stairs in a hurry, unable to contain the excitement that began brewing at the premeditated lazy Sunday he’d have all to himself.

The three-day weekend passed by in a blur of spilled coffee, procrastinated study guides, and feeble attempts at being social. The great thing about having a library card, however, was the fact that Jimin’s 675 word-per-minute reading skills never went to waste.

Skipping to the front desk, he earned a few confused glares from the students sat at the tables around him. No one except Jimin could be in such a good mood on a Monday.

“Any updates, Noonie?” he grinned brightly, eyes forming into half moons when he flashed his pearly white smile. Standing on his toes, he raised his eyebrows in an attempt to peep at his cousin’s workspace, hopeful that at least one of the books he tried checking out last week was returned.

Flicking him on the forehead and muttering something that sounded like a vague, “Calm down,” she opened one of the creaky wooden drawers and stood up to hand him a black hardcover book. Before Jimin could jump around like a giddy preschool child, she pressed her lips into a thin line and widened her eyes at him; a silent warning to not do exactly what he was about to do.

Scrunching his lips sheepishly to hold back the string of thanks that threatened to spill, he swiftly reached over the desk and gave her a tight hug.

“Let go of me if you want to live another day to read,” she whispered through clenched teeth. Her tone was tense, but Jimin knew better than anyone how it was as harmless as when two children were arguing over the last cookie in the cookie jar.

“Thank you, Noonie,” he beamed gleefully. With the book held tightly in hand, he quickly tread up the stairs to his usual hideout. Focusing on the detailed pattern on the cover, his feet quickly carried him to the hidden corner he knew like the back of his hand.

As he exhaled at the familiarity of the serene corner once again, his body melted into the pillowy cushions. Opening the book to the first page, the edges of his lips lifted into a trace of a smile as his eyes grazed the italicized title.

The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin

Just as his mind was about to note how it was another one of his favorites, he realized that there really was no such thing as a “bad” book—just ones that didn’t particularly suit people’s tastes at the time they read them.

In a matter of minutes, he was already done with the beginning introductory chapters. Words translated into images that whizzed past his mind faster than a vintage film roll, and the lines of ink were slowly beginning to envelop his mind in a world of vivid imagination.

Turning onto the next page, his intense gaze wasn’t met by black printed font, but rather by a bookmark. Not just any bookmark—the exact same style laminated maple leaf he saw last week. The only difference this time was that the encased leaf was bright yellow and a bit smaller. His mouth parted in awe.

His eyes refused to further down the page. Once is an accident, but twice makes it a coincidence—right?

“Life, too, is senseless unless you know who you are, what you want, and which way the wind blows.”

Swaying to the logical side of his brain, Jimin considered the realistic possibilities. In his mind, this bookmark seemed too intricate to be a mass-produced product from Barnes and Noble, but it also seemed entirely too cliché for it to belong to the exact same person from last week. Book cult signature insignia? A silent protest against the greatest minds in literature? Or maybe it was just another bookworm who enjoyed tagging the pages with the best quotes in them for future reference.

Hundreds of people probably read this edition before he did. Within those hundreds of people, it just so might have been possible that the same person who checked out The Great Gatsby also enjoyed a few Ellen Raskin works as well. Who was he to judge?

Now it was time for the illogical side of Jimin’s brain to kick in. In the simplest of terms, it mimicked that of a cheesy romantic movie trope that got tossed about two minutes into the plot meeting. Was there some kind of “maple leaf bookmark month” holiday he wasn’t aware of? Who had the time or patience to laminate anything nowadays anyway? Did he have a stalker?

He let out an audible cough to hide a snort. The only person that would ever be interested in stalking a hermit such as Jimin would be people sentenced to. They’d probably die of boredom within the first few hours.

Pulling the encased leaf from it’s wedged position, his stare tried to search for any clues; initials, writing, markings, or even fingerprints in an effort to try and see if his inner Sherlock would be of any use to him. As if he actually expected anything to present itself, the results were nonexistent.

He snapped the book shut and exhaled through his nose. Why was he thinking so much about it? So what if someone else had the same tastes as him? What difference did it make if their favorite quotes from their favorite books mirrored that of his? Wagging his head back and forth rapidly to snap himself out of his daze, Jimin reluctantly decided to call it an early day.

There are two types of people in the world; thinkers and feelers, talkers and doers, skeptics and believers, and those who don’t deem any of the above to be of any importance in any given situation regarding life. Ironically, as hard as Jimin tried to make himself out to be a hardheaded stone-cold logical analyst, it was clear to anyone that he was, in fact, the exact opposite.

The book thief predicament continued on for weeks and didn’t show any signs of stopping or slowing down. Page by page and book after book, the sight of a single plastic-enveloped maple leaf became an everyday sight. At this point, the longer he denied the occurrence, the fear of going genuinely insane began to grow. Often times, he found himself sitting in his once relaxing spot questioning his own sanity. Was he just imagining the stupid thing?

Distracted by his own thoughts, Jimin didn’t bother keeping his eyes focused on where he was walking. Apparently, the oncoming passerby didn’t either.

Contrary to being conditioned into forming a habit of whispering in the building, Jimin gasped out loud when his forehead came into contact with a hooded figure, causing the two to collapse onto their knees from the impact. Emitting a muted groan, Jimin looked up with a scrunched expression as he rubbed his temple and attempted to form words. Rather than seeing a mirror image of someone also rubbing their forehead, the stranger was kneeled in child’s pose, presumably in great pain. How fast were the two of them walking?

“I’m sorry!” he apologized while holding back a pained whimper. “Are you alright?” Unable to see the person’s face from the angle and the fact that their hoodie was incredibly oversized, Jimin started to worry when they didn’t respond. Reaching down with one hand, the figure peeked up ever-so-slightly and immediately recoiled in—fear? It looked as if they recognized him instantly, but Jimin hadn’t even gotten a visible view of their face.

Standing up with their head tucked down, the figure apologized wordlessly by ducking their head, grabbing the book they dropped, and ran off, disappearing almost as quickly as they had appeared.

Left in a state of shock, pain, utter confusion and slight offense, his eyebrows furrowed. What was their problem? Trying to brush it off, he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit annoyed that they didn’t even apologize or ask if he was alright, but it was Monday after all. Ushering himself to forget the rude occurrence, Jimin stood up with one hand still pressed on his forehead and the other holding his book—the only thing keeping him sane today—and continued his way to his quiet spot.

“Stop frowning; you’re gonna get wrinkles,” Noonie reminded for the third time today. Pressing a finger to the purple spot on his temple, Jimin growled at her. The only other sound besides the shuffling of papers in the empty space was the occasional scold Jimin received from his cousin and the gentle whirring of the computer fan.

It was a mellow Saturday and the library was closed for the weekend. Jimin, having nothing better to do on a Saturday, decided it was a good idea to invite himself over to his cousin’s place of work to help her sort through some files. She was also aboard the “solitary social life yacht,” making the two of them wonder if introversion ran in their family.

Grumbling under his breath, his cousin frowned. “Is something going on with you these days?” Her tone switched from badgering aunt to caring sibling like the flip a light switch. Jimin was acting weird.

Jimin pressed his lips together, mindlessly repeating the action of tucking another fill-out form into the cover of a textbook. “I’m fine.”

Prying the book from his hands and slamming her hand on the cover, the action forced him to look up from his robotic state and form a bewildered face.

“You’re acting like you just lost the ability to read for the rest of your life,” she phrased. “Why have you been so miserable for the past few weeks? Did someone break up with you? Concussion from the bruise you got two days ago? Identity crisis? Who do I need to beat up?”

“Noonie!” he whined, burying his face into his hands. The last thing he needed was for his cousin to assume he was reasonably upset, let alone that he had a girlfriend. The word itself made goosebumps prickle his skin.

“I’m just—it’s—” he stuttered. “It’s just this—stupid thing.” Sighing at how pathetic he sounded in his own head, Jimin groaned in sheer frustration. The next time he saw a leaf, he’d make sure the ending result would involve it being crushed under his feet or torn into shreds by his hands.

“I’m a librarian, not a mind reader,” she sighed. “Help me out here?”

“It’s these!” Bursting into a fit of restrained emotions, he gestured to the mountains of books around him. “These things. Every single time I come here to try and relax with the books I love, all I end up is feeling like I have some sort of stalker slash parallel universe clone who reads the exact same books as me and marks the same quotes and has a weird fetish for maple leaf bookmarks. I mean, they could’ve used a feather or a post-it note, but no. They had to—”

“Maple leaf?” her ears perked up at the words, halting his avalanche of words momentarily. “Are you—”

Waving his hand to take a breath of air before continuing his rant, he shook his head rapidly. “I know, I know, it’s dumb, right? Who makes their own bookmarks and then leaves them in library books? More specifically, just to mark a good quote?”

“But—” she pointed her finger and held her hand up as she tried to speak, but was cut off by Jimin each time, clearly in need of a venting session. “Why am I even obsessing over it?” he chuckled in disbelief as his hand slapped his own forehead. If his eyebrows rose any higher, they’d be about two centimeters from flying off of his face. “Hundreds, no—thousands, of people read books here. People check out the same book all the time. It just so happens to be the same stupid bookmark in the same stupid book with the same stupid quote—”

“Park Jimin!” she snapped.

Overwhelmed by the flurry of word vomit that continued to spill from his lips, he was too distracted to notice the ring of the bell that sounded from the door behind him.

“I think I’m going insane...” he deadpanned, resting the side of his face on the desk and staring blankly at the rows of books that seemed to mock him.

“Noelle!” a voice greeted. “I thought you weren’t going to be in today?”

“Had nothing better to do,” Noonie laughed. “What are you doing here?”

Huffing to himself, Jimin stayed frozen there, minding his own business and not listening to their casual banter. So Noonie did have friends...

“I needed to return a book,” the unfamiliar voice giggled. Cutely, might he add. Drifting off into a bored trance, Jimin earned himself a slap on the back of the head from his cousin.

“Don’t be rude. Introduce yourself,” she whispered through her smile, widening her eyes in warning as usual.

Lifting his head from the desk, Jimin directed his stare behind him as a hooded figure came to view. A sweet smile crossed his features like second-nature as he waved to the stranger. Opening his mouth to greet them, his breath hitched in his throat when his gaze met yours. More specifically, his eyes strayed to the blooming bruise on the mirror side to his.

“Y/N, this is my dork of a cousin, Jimin. Jimin, Y/N.” Introducing them to each other, the two reached out awkwardly and shook hands. Jimin’s mouth was still parted as he attempted to form at least a greeting.

“Hi—hello,” he finally managed to make out.

A nervous grin crept onto your face when you noticed he was still holding onto your hand. Retreating sheepishly, Jimin’s cheeks flushed a bright pink color. “Hi,” you murmured.

Noonie’s eyes bounced back and forth between you and Jimin. “Do you two know each other?” she asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

The two of you were in such a daze, you forgot she was also in the room. Snapping both of your heads to her, Noonie’s hands flew to her jaw-dropped mouth when she too noticed the matching bruises.

“Huh,” she chuckled. “I guess this is where I bid the bibliomaniac and bibliophile goodbye.” Getting up from her seat, Noonie shot the pair a teasing wink before running off to the storage room in the back. With Noonie gone, the socially inept bookworms were left to their own devices, silent and struggling to find the courage to speak first.

A few seconds passed by like minutes, and the tension only seemed to grow; an unavoidable outcome, given the current circumstance. You were the book thief he’d been chasing for the past three months? Noticing Jimin’s lingering gaze that trailed higher than your eyes, your hand instinctively shot up to the dark purple spot on your forehead in embarrassment.

“Pleasure to finally meet you,” you mumbled softly, eyes glued at the floor for the fear that he’d see your red cheeks through your shielding hands.

Blinking a couple times to make sure that this was real life, Jimin cleared his throat. What if this was all just one big dream?

“So you’re the book thief,” he chuckled half-heartedly, still in shock that he had finally found you.

Raising your eyebrows, you stood frozen like a deer in headlights before remembering that you actually had to breathe. “Oh—yeah. That...” You rubbed the back of your neck as your nerves began to creep up on you. “And you must be the book hoarder?”

Pursing his lips to hold back a childish snort, Jimin nodded. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one that made up a nickname for you. More seconds of awkward silence followed, making the two of you burst into laughter at your similar nature.

“I’m sorry,” you choked into nervous coughs. “I’m not good at this whole—socializing thing.” Jimin could’ve sworn his heart hiccuped at your confession. Were you reading his mind?

“No, no!” he assured, waving his frantically in rebuttal to comfort your flustered state. “Don’t worry. It’s fine. I’m awful at it.” Flashing a bright smile at his crescent-shaped eyes, his face seemed to glow like the moon when he laughed.

“God,” you facepalmed, still giggling and blushing at how embarrassing this entire meeting was. “Where should we start?”

Biting his lip while grinning in thought, Jimin felt his pulse race as a newfound confidence revealed itself.

“Maybe we can talk about your obsession with laminated bookmarks?” Giggling softly, you broke into another smile. How could you resist a face like that? Nodding in submission at his undeniable soft nature, you came up with a split second decision that might aid in diffusing the awkward tension that still lingered.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” you offered shyly, the blushing warmth of your racing pulse still evident on the center of your face.

Holding back another giddy smile, Jimin nodded eagerly, allowing the two of you to walk side by side up the stairs you knew all too well.

Turning right at the anthropology and history text shelf, the narrow aisle led you and Jimin to the hidden corner you loved.

“You know where this is?” Jimin gawked. His face was that of pure astonishment, but he spoke with a pout in his voice, probably disappointed that another soul knew of the whereabouts of the ‘secret garden’ that was hidden in the old building. “I thought this was a super secret hideout...”

Breaking into a chuckle at his stupefied look, you nodded proudly. Sitting down and patting the cushion beside you, he sat down carefully. “Who do you think added the extra pillows?”

Opening and closing his mouth a couple times, you took the chance to lift the corner of the fluffy blanket and reveal a book the size of an archaeological manuscript. Concealed by the bulk of the blanket and positioning of the cushions, it wasn’t a book at all, but rather a hollowed out encyclopedia with a hidden compartment. In said compartment lied a box of Pocky sticks, a packet of Sour Patch Kids, gummy bears, and wipes. Nevertheless, you were a responsible library snacker and Noonie didn’t allow you up here without good reason.

Jimin’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “How did—when did you— ” he stuttered. “How? What? I’m so confused, are you MacGyver’s second life reincarnation or something?”

You burst into a giggly fit of laughter and were on the verge of getting a stomachache. He was cute when he was speechless. “I think I’m the only other person who knows this library as well as you do. I’m here all the time.” Tearing open a packet of Pocky, you popped a chocolate-covered pretzel stick into his agape mouth and smiled at his reaction. Just like a child, he began chewing mindlessly, unable to resist the chocolatey treat. “And I was here yesterday.”

“Let me get this straight,” he said with food still in his mouth. “You were coming downstairs after hanging out here, and you ran away from me after that collision because you knew who I was?”

Hiding your face in your hands, you mumbled an inaudible “yes” at the embarrassing statement. “I thought Noonie told you about me or that you’d have some sneaking suspicion about why the cushions were out of place by the time you got there.”

“I knew I wasn’t going crazy...” he muttered to himself. Popping another stick into his mouth, the snacking gave you time to mask your mortified face and relax into the padded fabric.

“So what’s with you and laminated dead foliage?” he finally questioned, carefully reaching over for another pretzel stick. No one could resist chocolate, after all.

An unconscious nasal snort escaped you when his honest form of asking the question registered in your mind and nearly made you choke. Reaching into your back pocket, you pulled out an orange leaf. Since your freshman year, you always made sure to carry one around with you for good luck.

Biting your lip as you tried to concentrate on coming up with a response, you sighed. “When I was in preschool, I always got in trouble for reading too much. During naptime, I’d be nose deep in a book when everyone was asleep, and the teachers would scold me for not playing with the other kids during lunch. I’d come home upset. Sometimes, I’d even cry because I was so frustrated that no one understood that I just wanted to be left alone with my book.”

Jimin was listening intently as a dry smile crossed your face at the memory. “My mom saw how upset I was, so one day, she asked me if I wanted to make bookmarks with her. She told me about how if I left each leaf in a book that I loved, the person who would find it would be the one who understood me.”

Jimin’s gaze pierced through yours as his hands suddenly but slowly wrapped around yours, still holding the fallen leaf. When you looked up, your breath hitched in your throat. “But that seems a little elusive, right?” you whispered.

“After everything we’ve gone through the past few months, I think it’s plausible.” His voice was confident. Studying his features, the corner of your lip perked up into a smile.

“When someone blushes, doesn't that mean 'yes?'” he phrased, referencing a book the two of you could probably recite by heart.

Unable to repress your smile any longer, a warm blush fanned over your cheeks once again, but this time, you weren’t the only one whose face had gone rosy.

“Nice to meet you, Jimin,” you giggled, welcoming the warmth of his hands that enveloped yours perfectly. When he began running his fingertips over the tops of your hands soothingly, an awestruck expression flashed across his face.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he replied softly as your name flowed off of his lips like honey.

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”

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fortunatelylori · 6 years ago

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The Winter Rose - A Jonsa fic

So, I have decided to post my @jonsasecretsanta2018 fic today. This is a Jonsa one-shot for @thescarletempress0208.

I don’t know about you guys but I love Christmas. I love the tree, the ornaments, the caroling. I love waking up on the 25th and running to the tree to see what presents Santa left for me. I love it all. It’s the time where I really connect to my inner child. And there’s nothing my inner child loves more than fairy tales. Since this is placed within the ASOIAF/GOT universe, I didn’t center it around Christmas, as they have none but I sill wanted to make it really festive so I hope that shows through.

I will post it here in its entirety but it will also be available on AO3, if you prefer that format.

A special thank you to @jonsasecretsanta2018 for this initiative. I had a really great time writing this and I can’t wait to see what everyone else comes up with. Lastly, Merry Christmas @thescarletempress0208! I hope you have a great festive season and that you enjoy this!

* word to the wise: I play around with the rules of medieval tourneys in this fic and also the magic elements are far more whimsical than in the source material. My excuse: this is a fairy tale! :)))) Also, this gets long, so sit down comfortably, grab a snack and enjoy!

The Winter Rose

She stumbled over the stairs, struggling with the thick coat of ice that covered the stone and as she came out into the cold, winter air she breathed deeply, happy to have escaped the dank and musty crypts below.

All around her the charred and blackened ruins of the once great castle of the North laid bare and empty, covered in thick layers of freshly shed snow and, as she walked through the court yard, it scrunched beneath her feet, giving out hollowed echoes. It was a desolate place, to be sure. Even more so as dusk was fast approaching and she found herself alone, all the other tourists having long since left.

But as snowflakes danced all around her, nestling in her hair, melting on her cheeks, she had to admit there was also a strange kind of beauty to it. In front of her was the last of the towers that had remained tall and whole, aside from the caved in roof that had given it its name. It was like a sentinel among the crumbled ruins, with thick vines that encircled the ice laden stone, covering it with lush green foliage despite the time of year. Sprinkled throughout were the most beautiful blue roses, the shade of which she had never seen before, come into full bloom, their soft petals covered in thin shards of ice that sparkled in the reddish sunlight.

She drew a deep breath and inhaled the sweet floral scent that hanged thick and fragrant in the air.

“Do you know the story of the Broken Tower and the winter roses?”

She smiled at the sound of his voice, leaden with the thick Northern accent she had grown to love. She had left him in the crypts, pouring over the inscriptions even though he must have seen them a hundred times before. Yet she knew it wouldn’t take long for him to come looking for her. After all, they had only met three months before and leaving each other’s sight from that day had proved an impossible task.

She looked at him as he came by her side, and smiled. “To hear you speak,” she said, “you’d think every rock in the North has a story to tell.”

He laughed and shook his head. “You shouldn’t be so dismissive of your own people’s history.”

She rolled her eyes at that, even though he did have a point. She had been born here after all, though she held very few memories of the North. Her family had moved when she was ten and from that time, it was Braavos she had called home. She doubted she would even be here if she hadn’t met an utterly charming and all too handsome Northern archeologist on a train ride to Volantis and promptly married him.

“Is this another one of those stories of the ice zombies and three eyed ravens you’re so fond of telling me right before I go to sleep?”

“No,” he said, coming closer to her and taking her hands between his own. He started rubbing them and blowing hot air between her cupped palms, warming her frozen fingers. Her smile widened, still surprised at the care he showed for her in such small ways that she wouldn’t have been able to think of.

“This is a story that takes place after the Long Night had ended and the Night King was defeated,” he said, his voice low. “It was the time of the Long Summer when the Targaryen queen had taken the throne and ruled the Seven Kingdoms on the back of her dragon. She was hailed as the savior of the realm and all soon forgot about the bravery of the Northern men against the army of the dead, of the warrior that mounted a dragon and beheaded the Night King with the aid of his cousin, The Three Eyed Raven. All had forgotten but one … because in Winterfell, there was still one that remembered and held fast to those memories.”

“Who?” she asked, trying to contain her curiosity although she knew sooner or later she would fall under the spell of his deep voice.

“A princess,” he said, kissing the tips of her fingers. “Beautiful and brave, with long flowing hair that shone like fine polished copper. Her name was Sansa Stark and she was the Lady of Winterfell.”

“Sansa …” she said in mocking disbelief. “Her name was Sansa …” He was good, she had to admit. Very good indeed.

“After the Long Night had ended, winter was soon chased from the lands and with the coming of the dragons, summer settled over Westeros. At first the people rejoiced, as they set upon the task to rebuild what the war had destroyed, rising their holdfasts again and planting crops. But, in time, the earth grew hard and dry and the rains did not come to quench them. Crops began to wither and die under the scorching blaze of the sun, rivers shrunk and lakes all but vanished.

It was this that brought the great sorrow upon the princess. Justly and ably she had ruled for ten years, from the ancient seat where her father had once stood. But the North was a barren place and summer did not take kindly to the little food it had to offer. As times grew hard for her long suffering kingdom and men’s bellies went empty, her bannermen began to pressure her to marry.

“Marry, my lady,” they said. “Join the North to a great house that will bring prosperity back to our lands.”

The princess refused at first. She had been a child of summer songs and love once, wishing nothing more than to marry a handsome prince and bare him sons. But life had snatched those dreams from her and left only sorrow in their place. Twice she had been forced to marry before and twice she had been humiliated and abused.

But her bannermen’s voices grew ever more insistent. Each day they would find her and gave her no peace, proposing one high lord and then another. In time, the princess’ resolve began to falter under their unrelenting assault.

“If I am to marry,” she told them, “let it be to a strong and capable man. Do not forget, my lords, that he who shall be my husband will also become your liege and lord and such qualities are not easily found.”

The bannermen fell over themselves exalting the virtues of the man they proposed, one voice giving way to another until they seemed but a hive of agitated wasps, flying ever more dangerously close to her. She fought them as best she could.

“I will not take the word of other men on the qualities of my future husband,” she finally said. “I will see them for myself. We shall hold a tourney at Winterfell in 3 moons time. All those fit to bare arms are invited to join and the victor shall have my hand in marriage.”

Let the fates decide, the princess thought with a heavy heart. Let him be brave and strong and, if the Gods are not silent, let him be gentle too.

But her bannermen were wily men, that could not be trifled with and for whom fates were but a child’s fancy. They pretended to accept the princess’ decision but in secret they sent out invitations only to the highest born of the land, their kin and allies, men they thought would rise their standing in life were they to become their lady’s lord and husband.

Winterfell had always been a beautiful place, with its sprawling court yards and glass gardens. Tall, proud walls of white stone rose high into the sky, springing rounded towers where they adjoined. Large, clear glass windows were cut deep into the walls, reflecting light and buried deep into the stone, a labyrinth of pipes pumped water towards the bathing house, giving the stone life and filling the outer walls with lush moss and ferns even as draught had dried all the greenery in the land.

The princess had loved it here once. When she was kept away, suffering at the hands of strangers, the thought of Winterfell had kept her hope alive, dreaming and praying to see it once more. But now, with all her family gone, with her bannermen watchful of her every move and the impending arrival of the Dragon Queen, who had insisted on joining the festivities, the hallways of her beloved castle seemed to close tightly around her, suffocating her. It was no longer a place of safety and refuge but a prison that kept her chained, at the mercy of other people’s whims.

As the contenders gathered in Winterfell, their high and esteemed coats of arms flung defiantly into the air when they passed through the gates, her bannermen’s ploy became clear. Still, as she stood in the court yard awaiting the Dragon Queen, her heart leaped into her chest anytime a new contender passed through the gates. Her eyes searched every new face to see if she could recognize the form that she hoped to find hidden beneath the armor. But all the men were strangers, some fair of face, others merely boastful and grinning with excitement. It made no difference to her.

The air was dry and hot that day. The trees of the ancient godswood twisted and shivered horribly as a gust of wind blew past. High above, the first screech of the dragon was heard, loud and piercing, and all the souls down below looked up to see the terrible sight before them. Black webbed wings that covered the sun flapped lazily as the great beast descended bringing its mistress down to the ground, making the earth shake beneath its huge talons. As it came down it gave a loud roar that had the people of Winterfell back away from its huge mauls and jagged teeth. Only the princess remained in place, her face marked in steel, holding her chin high against the raging mouth of the dragon.

As the Dragon Queen descended, the men and women of Winterfell bowed before her. But even as she bowed, the princess’ eyes roamed through the court yard where the queen’s retinue assembled behind her large, winged beast. Her stomach turned in painful knots. Surely he will come with her, she thought. The image of the long lost warrior standing once again in the court yard where he had grown and fought, filled her with longing but also despair for he would come to see her wed another.

Knights dressed in armor and savages wearing leathers came down from their great horses and the three headed dragon banner casted its large shadow over all of them. But her warrior was nowhere to be found and the princess’ heart grew heavy once more.

As the first day of the tourney came, not even the skills of the puppet masters invited especially for the occasion could lessen her sadness. She sat on the dais, in the middle of the erected stands and watched as the tragic love story of Queen Naerys and her brother, Prince Aemon, the Dragonknight, was being played out.

The lords of her court knew of the princess’ love for the old tale and had brought the most skilled puppeteers in the land to honor her. But the whispered declarations of love and the Dragonknight crowning his love with the gilded flower crown held no more fascination for her now, for she knew the stories were false. Such things were to be dreamed of by the young who had not known loss or suffering.

All she could see were the men, high above the pretty colorful dolls, pulling on the strings in jerky movements, making the wooden creatures move about the stage in a ghastly dance, swoon and fall to their deaths with such aplomb as to make her shudder.

Still she did her duty and smiled, clapping now and again and chatting as amiably as she could to the Queen sitting next to her who seemed charmed by the spectacle of color and stiff dolls.

“One day, they will write songs of your own tourney, my lady,” she said.

The princess looked on as the stage was taken down and the limp dolls were carried off and nodded. “Perhaps … Let us pray I have equally skilled puppeteers to pull my strings when my time comes.”

The Queen was not wrong to note on the momentous importance of the Winterfell tourney. Tales of the princess’ beauty as well as the careful entreatment of her bannermen had brought no less than ninety-nine knights to the festivities. They were grouped according to rank and station, the noblest of them all competing against those of minor rank.

As the groups took to the field, standing on their horses on opposing sides, one sight, in particular, caught the attention and mirth of the audience. For standing alongside the lesser knights, was a fool. Dressed in steel as the rest he assuredly was but his motley patterned armor was colored in bright blues and reds and upon his head he wore a two horned helmet, adorned with bells at the tip. How he had managed to sneak in between such respectable company no one could say for sure. But fools were tricksters by nature, everyone agreed, and their amusement at the sight and the antics they would be likely to expect made them all agreeable to let the poor creature have his way.

Upon the signal of the trumpets, the knights spurred on their horses and rode to face off against each other, riding hard and fast until they clashed in the middle of the field in a frenzy of hooves and steel. Upon impact, many were thrown from their horses, their day of glory ended before it had begun but for those still mounted the fight went on through the afternoon.

The ground beneath them was dry and their fighting was so fierce and rough that dust rose all around them, engulfing them to the point where it was hard to tell man and beast apart. The sound of their horses was echoed by the grunts of the men and their cheers of victory every time they managed to defeat an opponent.

As one after another exited the tourney, the sounds dissipated until only the sporadic clinking of steel would announce the defeat of yet another contender. Finally, the dust began to clear and settle and to the audience’s great dismay only five knights remained mounted.

There was Ser Tywald Lannister, a man past his youth and strong of arm, who donned the red and gold armor of his house, one he had been raised to lead after the demise of his cousin Tywin and his children.

Ser Aegor Baratheon was also among them, a matter that enraged the audience although they did not dare voice their disapproval outright for they knew him to be the queen’s own preferred champion. But in hushed tones and whispers they called him by his proper name of Blackfyre, remembering that it was the queen that had granted him the ancient Baratheon name in order to take it from the bastard, Gendry Waters.

Lord Olymer Tyrell was as skilled with a lance as he was beautiful, with long golden hair and blue eyes that sparkled mischievously as he took down his helmet to gaze upon the princess as if he had already won the tourney.

The favorite among them was, without a doubt, Ser Harrold Hardyng, Lord Paramount of the Vale. The Knights of the Vale had steadfastly supported the North for centuries and their prowess in battle was legendary. The Young Falcon was handsome and charming, striking a dashing figure upon the field, to the approval of the ladies in attendance.

But the most outstanding turn of events was the identity of the fifth mounted knight. For it was none other than the fool. He stood tall and proud, with barely a scratch on his armor. As the five knights charged at each other again, meaning to settle the victory once and for all, the fool’s bells dangled in the air and clinked, causing the audience to burst with laughter.

But as soon as he raised his sword and fell upon Ser Aegor, all laughter seized. There was nothing amusing or awkward about the way the knight moved. He stood up in his stir-ups with ease and wielded the long sword as if he had been born to it. Ser Aegor was left with no choice but to retreat, holding his shield up to protect himself while he hunched over in order to stop himself from falling.

The fool’s ability and courage had even the princess gasping at his every movement. Enthralled, she watched him lean over the side of his saddle and cut the leather binding off of Ser Aegor’s horse. He then swiftly brought the pummel down upon the bewildered lord who came crushing to the ground with a loud thud that sent the crowd on their feet, cheering.

She found herself cheering as well, as her heart beat out of her chest only to freeze with horror as she saw Ser Tywald charging from behind, meaning to crush the upstart fool.

“Behind you!” the princess screamed, standing up from her seat. Her cheeks turned red as everyone in attendance took note of her reaction and sat down quickly.

“My lady favors the fool, I see,” the queen said with amusement, forcing the princess to swallow the choice remarks that were stinging her tongue. Yet she could not contain her sigh of relief as the brave fool heard her warning and turned around to face his foes.

In truth, she couldn’t quite tell what had sparked her reaction or her interest. Only that, perhaps, she was certain he had not come there at the bidding of her lords. Watching him as he rode in, fending off the lion’s charge with agile, almost effortless abandon caused her blood to sing and for a moment she was no longer the Lady of Winterfell, the daughter of murdered parents, the sister of fallen brothers or widow to untrue husbands. She was a young girl again, dazed by songs of chivalry and romance, watching a brave knight fighting to win her favor.

And fight her fool did until Ser Tywald’s strong arm began to slow. But just as he was about to claim victory, the great dragon began his dreadful song. He flew past the field, turning light to darkness and causing the dust that had settled to rise once again from the ground.

His piercing song continued loud and unabated and the princess saw with horror how the fool’s whole body began to shake. His sword slipped from his hand just as it was about to strike Ser Tywald from his horse and his arm fell slack at his side.

Seizing his moment, the Lannister fell upon the fool who desperately tried to fend off his attacks and pull on the reigns of his horse with his one good hand, trying to extract himself from the entanglement. If this was allowed to continue, the princess knew, he would be thrown into the dirt.

Without thinking, she rose once again from her seat and wordlessly bid the trumpeters to signal the ending to the day’s proceedings. They looked confused at the request but did their lady’s bidding nonetheless. The trumpets rang throughout the field three times putting an end to the fighting and drowning out the screeching of the dragon.

All four knights remaining looked up at her then but it was the fool she regarded most of all. “You have all fought bravely, my lords,” she said. “Rest now and enjoy the festivities. I look forward to your exploits tomorrow.”

Her decision had greatly displeased her bannermen and it took the better part of the afternoon to placate them. The Queen’s voice, however, drowned out all the rest in her displeasure at the princess’ decision. In secret she sent her men to search for the fool. As far as Hornwood and the Dreadfort they searched and yet could find no traces of him.

As for the princess, guards were instructed to escort her back to her chambers. For her safety, she had said. But as they urged her on through the corridors of her own home, she did not feel safe.

It was only when she locked the door to her chamber that she could breathe in relief. Despite it all, she could not help but think of the brave fool who had defied the high lords of Westeros for her.

She reprimanded herself for the thought. She did not know who the fool was, after all, and she had learned enough of men’s deceit to know that they are rarely who they appear to be. But still her mind wandered back to his deep and solemn bow to her from across the field. There was so little joy in her life now. What was the harm in dreams after all?

He did not remove his helmet as the other lords did, she noted and it intrigued her. A stubborn thought persisted in her mind but she chased it away as quickly as it came. It would be unwise to even dream of such a thing, she decided.

Soon the feast would begin and she needed to make ready. She busied herself with picking out her garments, settling on a long and modest Northern dress of green velvet embroidered with the direwolf sigil of her house. She had not worn it in years but she refused to dwell on why she decided to do so now.

As she went to her desk to pick up the pins she had discarded the night before, she noticed a most peculiar sight. Sitting on top of documents and books, was a beautiful, blue rose dripped in sparkling dots of ice. The princess picked it up with trembling hands.

Blue roses had grown in the glass gardens of Winterfell for centuries but she had thought them all gone since the dragons had returned. She brought the soft petals up to her nose and inhaled deeply. The sweet smell invaded her sense, almost making her dizzy.

It was perhaps the shock of seeing the flower again or a slip of her unsteady hands but one of the tiny thorns on the rose pricked her finger. The tiniest of blood drops fell upon the blue petals and it was as if the flower came alive. Fine silver threads snaked upwards, engulfing her. They moved and weaved around her, dancing in the fading sunlight as the princess looked on in amazement as what were only threads moments before became cloth.

When she turned to look at herself in the looking glass, she was draped in a magnificent silver cloak, so light that the slightest gust of wind made it bellow around her, the color so fine that it seemed as if the moon was floating above a sparkling lake. Entranced, she pulled the hood over her head to see what it might look like but before she could admire the sight, she found herself pushed towards the door, as if the cloak had a mind of its own.

Past the guards stationed at her door it took her, through the narrow hallways and into the Great Hall. Servants were quietly lighting up the last of the candles, bathing the room in pale silvery light that flickered and cast shadows on the walls. The long tables had been set up around the room and all manner of meats and vegetables placed upon them, their savory smells lingering pleasantly in the air. High up in the balcony, the minstrels were tuning their instruments as the guests began arriving, in groups small and large.

And yet, under the hood of her cloak, no one took note of her. The silver cloth carried her quickly through the hall as if she were a bird, floating and flying away, into the court yard and then further still until she found herself before the Broken Tower.

A single candle was flickering high above, from the last window atop the tower and the princess gave herself over to the cloak as it carried her through the winding staircase. By the time she arrived at the top she was breathless.

She moved about the rounded room trying to discern her surroundings. She had never liked it here and her stomach twisted as her shadow grew upon the wall. There was no light, save for the candle in the window and the moon above. It casted pale pools of light through the caved in roof.

“Hello?” she said, her voice echoing through the empty space. “Is there anyone here?”

There was no answer at first but when it came, the voice that spoke it sent shivers down her back. “I did not think you would come,” he said.

Her eyes searched frantically through the darkness, trying to find him. Next to the window, she saw a shape moving and she tried to focus on it but she could not make him out.

“Step into the light!” she commanded, trying to keep her voice steady.

He did as she bid and when the moonlight shone about his fair face, the princess’ resolve crumbled. It was the same, she noted. Long, solemn and guarded, a deep scar on his left side. The hair was the same as well: a pitch black unruly mane she had once run her fingers through.

But his eyes gave her pause. She had expected warm and gentle brown pools to gaze upon her but they were bright and fiery, as if flames were dancing inside of them. They frightened her and she stepped back.

“Do not go!” he pleaded. “I must ask you something.”

Ask her? What could he possibly have to ask her? He had abandoned all of them to leave with the Dragon Queen, never to be heard from again. Ten years had passed and he had not sent one word to her.

Not even when her younger sister, Arya, who had been as dear to him as any true sister could be, was threatened with death by the Queen for refusing to forsake her betrothed, Gendry, had he gone against her. When she ordered Gendry’s execution, fearful that his king’s blood marked him as a threat against her rule, he did nothing. And later when Arya had married her Baratheon bastard and fled Westeros, and the dragon had scoured the lands high and low looking for them, he remained silently at his Queen’s side, doing her bidding.

“You have no right to ask me anything.” Even as she spoke confidently, she could feel treacherous tears stinging her eyes, threatening to overcome her.

“I know. But I must ask.” He looked outside the window for a moment before turning to her. “The enchantment won’t last long. You can ask me three questions as price for one of mine,” he offered.

I have nothing to ask you, she wanted to scream. Nothing at all! But she found herself speaking nonetheless. “Who are you?”

“I am Florian the Fool,” he said, standing there in his motley armor. “As great a fool as ever lived, and as great a knight as well.”

She remembered the story well. But it was only that: a story and she was no longer the young girl who believed in such tales. “Why are you here?”

“Because my curse must end where it began. A long time ago I stole a dragon. Took hold of his mind, used his fire to kill the Night King. When his brother discovered it, he bathed me in flame.”

She remembered well enough and her heart still twisted painfully at the memory. The black beast had seared the right side of his body. Left the skin bubbling and raw. Three moons it had taken her to nurse him, changing his bandages, holding his hand as the Maester peeled the dead skin away, sitting with him through the night as the fevers threatened to take him away only for him to leave as soon as he could get up from his sick bed.

“What you saw today on the field,” he continued, “happens whenever the dragon is near. My sword arm grows weak, the skin burns threatening to rip off my bones.”

He grimaced and the princess’ tender heart still softened, hearing of his pain. “What do you want of me?” she said, fearing what he might ask.

“Only what you are willing to give,” he reassured her. “Will you come away with me? Be my Jonquil and I will pledge my life to your service if you will but have me.”

The words washed over her, hot and cold at the same time, touching parts of her that she had hidden away long ago. Her whole body sprung with need but she did not move. “You are as brave as you are foolish, my lord. But I am the daughter of Lord Eddard and the lady Catelyn. I cannot give myself to a fool.”

She could see the pain that her words had caused in the lines on his face, the tightness of his jaw but he did not ask again. “You must help me then,” he said instead. “If I am to fight on the morrow, you will need to break the dragon’s curse.”

“I … I don’t know …”

“A kiss will break it.” He bowed his head and clenched his fist tightly. “If you can bare it.”

She regarded him for a long while, watching him clenching and unclenching his burnt fist. The skin wrinkled horribly and even in the pale moonlight, she could see the ugly pink and purple gashes. She remembered, too, his screams in the middle of the night, all that time ago and the deep red mark in the palm of his hand. Smoke would come out of it until the whole room smelled of burnt flesh. No, she did not wish that pain on him.

Slowly, she came by his side and took his hand. He flinched at the touch but did not pull away. His fiery eyes watched her as she turned his hand in the light of the window candle. The red mark was still there, sharp tendrils of smoke coming out and drifting into the air. She put her lips against it and, even though it burnt hot, she kissed it softly.

When she pulled away, the mark was gone and the fool sighed in relief, as if a great burden had been taken from him.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said, solemnly. “When I win the tourney, will you sing for me?”

She lifted her chin and spoke as coolly as she could: “Good fortunes, Ser Florian.”

She pulled her hood up and allowed the cloak to take her away, back to her chambers. As brave as the fool was, it was not he that the princess wanted.

That night the skies parted and the rain began to pour. It did not stop. As the second day of the tourney began, canopies had been erected to protect the high lords in the stands. Through the heavy vale of water, two knights came forth. Incessant and indignant at the fool’s audacity to defy his betters, Ser Tywald Lannister and Lord Olymer Tyrell had thought it only right to join their forces and crush him once and for all.

The princess sat on the dais, her hands digging into the arms of her chair, waiting for her Florian to appear and praying that his arm was strong enough to withstand his foes. But the fool did not show.

In his stead, a king dressed in armor of black and red, a three headed dragon emblazoned on his chest made his way towards the middle of the field atop a great black horse. His helmet was adorned with a simple, golden crown.

As soon as the trumpets signaled the beginning of the fight, Lannister and Tyrell charged ahead with murderous intent. The Dragon King did not move, waiting for them to come at him. The rains had the ground drenched and black water splattered everywhere as hooves dug deep on their charge.

The harder they pushed, the deeper their horses became entangled in the pools of black until they could advance no longer. Pulling as hard as they could on the reins, the knights tried to get their horses to move onward but all they managed was to cause them to slip, as they held on for dear life.

That was when the king fell upon them, punishing their pride and treachery. He drove his great black beast straight in between his two adversaries and moved swiftly, his sword arm striking again and again against their feeble attempts. Lord Olymer was the first to fall, as a wilted flower might drop from a shrub when the king used all his might to strike him in the chest. He used the length of his sword, wounding the lord’s pride more than his ribs as he came tumbling face first to the ground.

Such a shame, the princess thought smiling as Lord Tyrell struggled to stand up, mud dripping from his head. He was so very proud of his hair.

Ser Tywald proved a worthier opponent, managing to strike the king’s left arm as he turned to face him. His long sword left a gash in the armor and to the princess’ horror a thin stream of blood trickled from the slash.

As if it could sense this moment of vulnerability, the dragon appeared once more, circling the field, his song louder and harder than the day before. But it did not matter. The king payed it no minf as his sword clashed with Ser Tywald’s. As he pushed back against the Lannister’s brute force, the princess could not help but take pride at the thought that it had been her kiss that had given him the strength to fight as ably as he did.

It only took a small skirmish for the lion to attempt an ill-fated retreat. The king pursued him to the edge of the field of battle, striking him down in front of his own tent.

He rode his horse at leisure back towards the dais where the princess sat, while the crowd watched silently, some unsure of how to react, others, undoubtedly, disappointed at the loss of gold that they had incurred with the defeat of their champion.

But as the king passed in front of them, it was the Dragon Queen that rose to her feet to stare him down. Sansa’s breath hitched in her throat at the violent expression in her eyes and the fire that assuredly burned on the inside, threatening to overcome her.

“That is enough! Dismount!” the queen commanded, in a thunderous tone and as mighty and strong as the king was, it took only those words for him to submit.

“Lay down your sword and kneel!”

If the princess had any hopes that he might refuse, they were soon dashed as her king laid his sword on the ground and fell to his knees, as limply as a puppet cut off from its strings.

“Seize him!” she ordered at last.

Get up. Run! the princess urged wordlessly but it was no use. He remained kneeling on the ground, as if chained in place while the queen smiled victoriously. From the stands, guards rushed to the field ready to take him away. And he would have gone with them, as a lamb might go to slaughter, if she had not spoken.

“My queen,” she said. “The knight is attending the tourney under guest rights.”

The dragon queen turned to look at her then, suspicion and surprise etched on her face.

“No knight that attends this tourney,” she went on, addressing the guards, “may be taken unless he has committed a crime. To break guest rights is a grievous sin, sers.”

The queen had changed many things in the realm once she had conquered it, but she could not change men’s hearts or fears. They all knew the princess spoke the truth and were reluctant to damn themselves over a foolish knight whose only crime had been to wear a crown.

Angry, the queen turned on her heels and left. But once the crowds were dismissed and the princess made her way back to the castle, she came at her, probing and asking so many questions that it became all too clear that she had guessed the knight’s true identity. She, once again, sent her men to search for him. This time they went further than in search of the fool. The Last Hearth itself they reached but could find no traces of him.

When she arrived safely back to her chambers, the guards heavy on her heels, the queen’s words still rang in the princess’ ears. Why would he wear the colors of my own house and pretend himself a Dragon King unless to defy me? She feared for his safety and her own but the fragrance of the winter rose called to her as sweetly as a lover’s whisper and her nerves quieted as she found it laid on the desk before her.

She readied herself for the night in a dress of misty blue silk, adorned with rubies as would befit an audience with a King. When she was done, she took the rose and pricked her finger without hesitation, for now she knew that no magic ever came without a cost.

The small droplet of blood disappeared through the petal folds and in its stead a fine golden dust rose. It settled on her chest, her neck, it ran down her arms as gentle as summer rain, pooling on the ground beneath and rising once more until it formed a cloak of glittering gold, more magnificent than any cloth the princess had ever seen.

The moon was already high up in the sky as she glided through the castle as swiftly and silently as a ghost. Past the guards singing a bawdy song and the kitchen maids fetching water for the guests she went, until she entered the Great Hall.

The music rang loudly and people danced all around her, spinning and jumping heartily, bathed in the golden light of the iron wrought braziers. The princess carried a sad sort of smile looking at the happy faces of young girls being picked up by their suitors and spun into the air, her heart longing to feel such lightness again. At the long tables the high lords sat, fat and satisfied, as they feasted on choice meats and roasted vegetables and the cup bearers filled their mugs with ale.

The cloak did not allow her to dwell, however, whisking her away outside, through the court yard. The rain poured all around her making her cloak glisten in the moonlight but she did not feel it. As the Broken Tower came closer into view and she saw the flickering candle perched in the window, she found her heart beating to the rhythm of the distant drums of the Great Hall she had left behind.

The long walk up the stairs felt like an eternity but finally she arrived back in the rounded room. As she walked towards the window, the darkness and the movement of her shadow upon the wall did not frighten her as much as it had done the night before. Nor did she call out for she could see the shape moving in the darkness just in front of her.

The King stepped into the pale moonlight, the simple crown still atop his head and gazed upon her, his posture hard and his eyes burning aflame. Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of him. His hair was slick with rain and his beard covered in shimmering water drops. She longed to run her fingers through the curls at the back of his neck, trace the skin upon his fair face with her fingers but his fiery, red eyes gave her pause.

“Who are you?” she asked, breathless.

“I am Aegon Targaryen,” he said. “The rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because I made a choice and that choice was taken from me. Winterfell was my home once. There was no place in the world I loved more. No other place where I wanted to be and I swore that once the war was over, I would never leave it again. But on the last night I was here, the queen came at me as I lay in bed. She said that, as punishment for deceiving her and taking her dragon, she would take something from me. I did not know what she meant then ...”

Tears pricked the princess’ eyes as she remembered the Dragon Queen hovering over his weakened and burnt body. She had sent her away from the room with a curt command but she has lingered behind the door, fearing the queen might hurt him. She could have never imagined that a few hours later, he would rise from the bed and follow her South without so much as a farewell.

“When morning came and she told me I was to come with her, I found that I could not refuse her, my body and my mind no longer my own.”

As his words registered, relief overcame her. He had not left her after all. Not willingly at least. Her heart leapt as she asked: “What do you want of me?”

“Only what you are willing to give,” he said, his voice tinged with hope. “Will you come away with me? Be my queen and the whole of Westeros will kneel at your feet.”

Part of her wanted to go to him then, curtsy as she had been taught to do as soon as she could walk and thank him for the honor of his proposal. But her feet would not move and she bowed her head sadly. “You are as brave as you are noble, Your Grace. But I am Sansa Stark, blood of the North and of the First Men. I cannot be a Dragon’s queen.”

His eyes closed sadly against her implacable words. “She knows who I am now,” he said. “Grant me your kiss so I might fight on.”

That she would do gladly for he was never meant to be chained. As she approached him, she remembered their last night together, the specks of ash that had come out of the queen’s breath and the way he had rubbed at his left eye all through the night, until it turned red and swollen.

Her hand cupped his cheek then and he leaned into her touch just enough for her knees to go weak. She kissed his eyelid softly and tenderly, feeling him tremble beneath her touch. A single black tear fell upon his cheek and when he opened his eyes, the fire in them had been extinguished.

She smiled for she recognized those eyes now: warm and kind, gentle pools of brown and amber that gazed upon her so intently as to make her quiver.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said, bowing to her. “Will you grant me your song if I am victorious on the morrow?”

Her voice was but an uncertain whisper: “Good fortunes, Your Grace.”

She lifted her hood and gave herself over to the cloak that carried her back to her chambers. She had wanted to be queen once and wear a beautiful crown upon her head, sitting on the left side of her beloved King and husband. But as magnificent as the Dragon King was and even as the feel of his warm skin lingered on her lips, it was not he that the princess wanted.

During the night, the first of the summer snows fell. By morning, the field was covered in a heavy blanket of white. All the world, it seemed, had fallen still and quiet as the lords and ladies huddled in their furs for warmth, waiting for the final battle to commence. The queen shivered on her throne, her face barely concealing the discomfort.

The princess, however, did not mind the cold. She looked around in wonderment at the thin sheets of ice that formed upon the wooden stands, the icicles dripping from the canopies and the pure white snows of her childhood memories that glittered in the sunlight so beautifully. It was all so perfect that she thought it an enchantment.

Soon her untouched snow was tainted by heavy hooves marking the ground as Ser Harrold Hardyng advanced, dressed in his polished steel armor and helmet adorned with the falcon and the half-moon sigil of his house. Proud and tall he stood upon the field as he waited for his opponent.

When the man showed, he was no longer fool nor king. He was a warrior drabbed in a simple armor of stiff brown leather, save for his steel breast plate marked by two direwolf heads facing each other. His head was uncovered for all to see him, his hair tightly pulled at the back but none of the lords in attendance seemed to take note of it.

No one but the princess and the queen knew him and while one regarded him with warm, blue eyes, the other burned and seethed with barely contained rage.

As soon as the trumpets rang, the two men charged at each other, swords unsheathed. When they clashed in the middle of the field, the ringing of their steel pierced through the air as thunderbolts. They circled each other again and again, hitting shield and sword alike, in a dangerous dance that had the princess terrified.

When Ser Harrold pushed his sword forward it landed inches away from the warrior’s cheek and it became hard for her to breathe. Thankfully, he jerked his horse at just the right moment, avoiding the blow and quickly striking hard against Ser Harrold’s shield.

So hard was the blow, that the Vale knight’s shield broke in two and he staggered back loosening his grip on the reins of his horse. As the warrior came at him again, the animal spooked and rose on his back legs to defend himself, sending the Young Falcon to the ground unceremoniously, his helmet flying off his head.

The audience gasped at this sudden turn of events. Was the tourney over? they wondered. Their favorite had been dismounted and yet they were not prepared to give up their claim.

The princess’ rejoiced, preparing to stand up at once and declare the warrior the victor of the tourney and of her hand but, as always with brave men, things were never simple for the women that loved them.

A moment passed and the warrior dismounted. “Stand up, my lord,” he commanded. “I will not let a horse claim my victory.”

Bewildered, Ser Harrold scrambled to his feet, retrieving his sword from the snow. The warrior waited until the knight was good and ready but when he finally came at him, he parried his attack with ease, striking at the sword and swiftly moving out of the way as the Falcon drifted forward, hitting at air. Again and again, he tried to catch him but his sword met only the falling snow.

Only when he tired, his sword heavy as lead in his hand, did the warrior strike back. His response was hard and brutal. The white wolf pummel of his great Valyrian sword hit Ser Harrold flush in the stomach and he fell to his knees. He stood over him and asked: “Do you yield, Ser?”

The Young Falcon still had some fight in him and he stood up, on trembling legs, pushing forward with a loud grunt. So weak was his assault that the warrior pushed him back with one arm while the length of his sword hit at his calves sending the knight on his knees once more.

He placed the tip of his sword against Ser Harrold’s neck, forcing him to look up. “Do you yield?”

The proud lord’s eyes still held the look of defiance about them but when the warrior lifted his sword, meaning to strike him again, he grew desperate enough to lift his hands and scream. “I yield!” he said, terrified. “I yield!”

Ser Harrold was spared that final blow and the warrior lowered his sword slowly, before turning to face the princess.

Even from the distance, she could feel his eyes upon her, warm and full of longing and she smiled wildly. He had come back to her and she would never more be alone.

She wanted to ran down to him that very moment, embrace him and welcome him home but before she could do just that, the queen spoke out, in a hard cruel tone.

“That was quite the performance,” she said. “But the time for tomfoolery is over, ser. Kneel!”

The warrior stood still, his frame proud and unbending. “The only queen I plan on bending my knee to sits beside you,” he said.

“Why have you come here?” she barked. “What do you want?”

“I want only what was promised,” the warrior said, looking at the princess. “Lady Stark’s hand in marriage.”

A cruel smile spread across the queen’s face. “But that is impossible, ser. You are not worthy of such an honor.”

As her bannermen joined the queen in voicing their protests, the princess stood up quickly and faced them. “I have made a pledge, my lords, that the man who won the tourney would become my lord and husband. Upon my word as a Stark, I will honor that pledge!”

Her bannermen came at her then, speaking and whispering in her ear. “You must reconsider, my lady,” they said. “This man is not worthy of you. Who is he to deserve such a prize?”

“Do you not remember, my lords?” she said, smiling tenderly at her warrior. “He was your king once. He ended the Long Night and saved you and your children from the army of the dead.” With pleading eyes, she beseeched them: “Do not forsake us now, my lords, as we did not forsake you.”

But the bannermen were blind to their lady’s entreatments, all memory of the warrior long gone from their minds. “This man is nothing to us,” they said.

“Listen to your lords, child,” the queen said, her cruel smile still dancing upon her lips. “This man is nothing but a cur and a liar. It was surely deceit that won him the tourney.”

“The queen speaks truth,” the lords agreed. “It must have been his vile tricks that defeated the brave Ser Harrold. Otherwise how could one like him win against the Lord Paramount of the Vale?”

The princess could barely contain her disgust at the treachery of her vassals. Her last hope rested with the Young Falcon and she turned to the man who stood upon the field, still doubled over from the blows the warrior had handed him. “Is this true, Ser Harrold? Were you defeated by tricks and deceit?”

The Falcon hesitated for a moment but when he looked up at her, his face was a mask. “It is, my lady. I am quite certain of it.”

She swallowed back the bile at his untrue words and she regarded him coldly. “I had always thought you an honorable man, ser. I see now that I was mistaken.”

“I am sorry to hear of your low opinion of me,” he said, standing up straighter, his dull, blue eyes filled with pride. “I hope that once we are married, I will be able to remedy that.”

The princess swore as loud as she could that she would never marry him but the queen’s power seemed stronger than her will. “The lady is tired,” she announced, signaling her guards to come for the princess. “Please see her safely back to her chambers. She must make ready for her betrothal to Ser Harrold tonight.”

As the guards grabbed hold of her, her bannermen stood to the side and allowed them to drag her from the stands.

Only her brave warrior spoke out. “Unhand her!” he commanded and unsheathed his sword, running towards the dais.

“He means to attack the princess!” the queen shouted for all to hear. “Stop him!”

Before he had managed to reach the stands, soldiers and lords alike ran towards the field, intent on capturing him. As she was being dragged away, the princess looked back. Run, she thought. Run!

The warrior hesitated for a moment but, as she slipped further and further from his grasp, he finally turned and ran back towards his horse.

She could hear the clicking of steel as he fought to get away from the field and through the corner of her eye, she saw him ride away, as the queen’s men gave chase.

The princess did not struggle against the vice like grip of rough hands that dug into her flesh, when the guards pulled her back towards the castle. It did not matter now. They could lock her up behind a hundred walls. A thousand locks they could put on the doors. It did not make a difference. When night came, she would go to him and he would be waiting for her.

The sun had already set when the guards pushed her inside her chambers and instructed her to make ready for the feast. Unable to wait a moment longer, she went to her desk and picked up the blue rose that had been left for her. She caressed the petals gently before pushing her finger against one of the small thorns peppered along its stem. She let the drop of blood fall unto the silky folds, leaving a trace of red upon the blue as it slided downward.

She waited for the magic of the rose to rise and engulf her but as moments turned into hours, tears feel on the petals where the blood had once been.

Cry as hard as she could and stare at it for as long as she did, the rose still would not yield. There is no magic left, she thought, bitterly. She had healed his hand and his eye, lifted his curses and he had given her but a rose for her troubles.

When the guards pushed the door open, they found her sitting on her bed, dressed in her maiden clothes. Dutifully she had labored for months on them, with an unwilling hand. The heavy light grey cloth of her dress rustled and moved as she stood up, the weirwood branches embroidered on the skirts, glittering in the candle light from the mother of pearl beads she had patiently sown into the stitching.

Upon her shoulders she wore her maiden cloak. It was not cloth of silver or gold, but the white furs that encircled her neck gave her a dignified pure look that queens would envy. A large direwolf head was embroidered with silver thread upon the back, so determined was the princess that she should walk a Stark to her unwanted wedding. And in her hands she still held the small blue rose. It burnt her, scorned her and yet she could not let go of it.

As the guards escorted her to the Great Hall, her feet dragged upon the stone floor like a prisoner before an execution. But walk she did, holding her head high, her face still and quiet, unwilling to show her pain.

The queen and her bannermen had taken great pains that night to turn the austere Stark hall into a truly joyful, lavish place. Sumptuous silks had been placed upon the long tables and the chairs were decorated with wreaths of pine and winter flowers. Guests feasted on exquisite golden plates filled with delicacies brought from all corners of the seven kingdoms and so many candles had been lit that the whole room seemed bathed in warm light. The best minstrels in the North had been commissioned to play that night and their sweet songs filled the Great Hall, beckoning the guests to dance and swoon to the rhythm of lute and drums.

But as the princess was made to sit on the left side of Ser Harrold, the man whom others had proclaimed to be her betrothed, she found no beauty in any of the finery. Stiff she sat, feeling as if it was all but a cruel joke, one to be enjoyed at her expense. And none was more hateful to her than her betrothed. Proud and fawning as a peacock, he laughed and cheered with the lords around him, looking back at her from time to time with dull, blue eyes.

She turned her face from him, staring blankly ahead, not wanting to look upon his lying lips or think of what would come once morning broke.

The feast went on and the guests began to forget that she was even there. Her mind drifted as she aimlessly toyed with the rose in her hands, bruising her fingers but feeling nothing at all. Her thoughts turned to the Broken Tower where the fool and the king had waited for her, imploring her to come away with them.

Will you grant me your song, he had said. It was the one question she had not answered. I don’t know any songs. But she had known them once … A long time ago, her heart had been filled with them.

His question lingered in her mind, melding to the tune of the minstrels. Your song … grant me …Will you grant me your song?

Her feet seemed to know what to do before her mind did and she stood up, drawing the attention of the guests on her. Slowly the music died down as she made her way to the center of the hall. She looked up at the minstrels, sitting in their alcove. “The Winter rose,” she said.

The soft, winding tune began and for a moment she feared her voice would break but as she began to sing, a steady, crystal clear sound came out, so sweet and tender as to make grown men weep.

The spring was clear and it was here

Where Bael took his lady of the Winter

Her spirit wild, heart of a child yet gentle still

And quiet and mild and he loved her

As her song began in earnest, the fragrant smell of the rose she was holding began to rise and float about the room. It settled on the silky table cloths and on the choice meats. Men ate it from their plates, and drank it with their ale, breathed it in their lungs. So sweet a flavor it was that they could not get enough.

And he would say:

“Promise me, when you see

A blue rose, you’ll come to me.

I love you so, never let go.

You will be my Winterfell rose”

Lulled by the princess’ song, they stretched their limbs and laid back in their chairs. Even when the minstrels’ instruments began to creak and then fell silent, they did not notice. Their arms grew heavy and they sighed in contentment.

When all was done, he turned to run

Fading with the rising sun, as she watched him.

And ever more she thought she saw

A glimpse of him upon the snows forever.

The princess’ voice grew stronger and bolder, like the gleeful song of a skylark in spring and she smiled as she saw her bannermen and all the queen’s men stretching out before her, heads on tables, drifting blissfully to sleep. The queen herself struggled to remain awake but finally gave in, her head gently laying against her pale white arms, an innocent, childlike expression on her face.

And she would say:

“Promise me, when you see

A blue rose, you’ll come for me.

I loved you so, a long time ago,

When I was your Winterfell rose.”

Her voice echoed through the silent Hall long after her song had finished. All around her, the lords and ladies of Winterfell lay on the stone floors, spread out in their finery. Guards had fallen asleep on their posts, servants had laid down their serving trays and huddled in corners. On her golden throne, the queen slept, sighing from time to time as if in the midst of a sweet, summer dream.

The princess pulled the hood of the furred cloak over her head and ran out of the Great Hall. In the court yard, squires and stable boys, horses and dogs alike slept in the frozen hay and not a sound was heard, save for the snoring of the dragon, coiled atop the Hunter’s Gate.

Man and beast mattered not to the winter rose. All of the North slept that night as the princess ran towards the Broken Tower, gentle snowflakes dancing all around her, guiding her way.

As she came upon the tower, she looked up towards the last window, expecting to see the candle flickering. But the window was dark and for a moment a sharp jolt rumbled in her stomach. It wasn’t until she heard the snicker of a horse, that her senses return to her. She ran, encircling the tower until she found him on the other side. He stood dressed in his brown leather armor, the sigil of their house still upon his breast as he gently patted his horse.

When he heard the scrunching of the snow, he turned around and finally gazed upon her. His face lit up in such happiness that the princess felt as if his eyes alone could keep her warm and safe for the rest of her life. His arms stretched out and he ran half way towards her before she stepped back, smiling at him demurely.

“Don’t I get three questions?” she asked.

He stopped in his tracks, his arms falling at his sides but an easy smile rested upon his face and his eyes glimmered as he answered: “Of course, my lady.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell.”

“Why are you here?”

“I am here for you,” he answered, his voice strangled with longing. “You are my heart and no man can live without his heart.”

“What do you want of me?”

“Only what you are willing to give.” He came closer then, talking all the while in a low, hushed tone that made her tremble with joy. “Will you come away with me? I have no lands or titles but if you will have me, I will spend the rest of my life loving you.”

Tears fell down her face as he came to wipe them away, his warm callused fingers gently tracing down her cheeks. “I am Sansa Stark, the Daughter of Winterfell,” she said. “I have no need of lands or titles as long as I have you.”

He sighed a ragged breath dropping his forehead to touch her own while his hands cupped her face. “Will you let me kiss you then?” he asked. “As you did on that last night?”

She closed her eyes and nodded slowly, remembering the sweet taste of his lips on the night before he left when he had told her he was hers forever. He sealed his promise to her once more, as he tasted her lips, melting the snowflakes off her skin. He lingered in his gentle kiss until she felt weak in the knees and her hands wrapped tightly around his neck to pull him close, the blue rose she was clutching falling upon the snows. She made a promise of her own then. She would never let him go again.

When morning came and the people of Winterfell awoke, the North remembered. They remembered their brave king and the Three Eyed Raven and how they had ended the Long Night. In vain they searched for their beloved princess and her warrior and great was their sorrow when they could not be found.

None was as sorrowful as the queen, however, and none as angry in their grief. Her guards were dispatched across the seven kingdoms to find the lovers but none ever came back with news of them. So great was her fury that she took to her dragon and bathed Winterfell in fire, knocking down its white walls, flinging open its gates, raining blazing storms upon it until it fell in ruins and ash.

But try as hard as she might, she could not bring down the Broken Tower. The place that had been her bane and her shame stood proud against her dragon’s flames and from the snows where the princess’ rose had fallen, strong, thick vines spread across the stone, blue roses blooming from fire and ice.

From that day until this day, the blue roses bloom in Winterfell and, as long as they are here, the North will always remember,” he said, at last, dropping another kiss to her fingers as he finished his story.

His voice still held her in its spell and she was unwilling to break it just yet. “And what of the princess and her warrior?”

“All traces of them disappeared from Westeros but, further into the North, in the Lands of Always Winter, the free folk still tell stories about them. Of how they hid them in their caves and warmed them at their fires and how on a winter’s day, much like this one, their king, Tormund Giantsbane, took them to the place where the last remaining weirwood tree stood, to be married.”

“So they lived happily ever after?”

“They did.”

“That’s nice,” she finally said, her arms curling around his waist. Her head rested against his chest and she hummed. “I liked this story.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and held her close. When they parted, he stretched out his hand and plucked one of the blue roses from the tower’s vines. Carefully he picked off all the thorns before placing it in her hair. “The blue looks pretty with your red hair,” he said.

She rewarded him with a wide smile and grabbed him by the waist again as they began to walk away from the tower. “Let’s go home, Jon,” she said.

In their wake, a chink of ice fell from where Jon had picked the flower and a new blue rose bloomed to take its place, filling the air with sweetness.

* a final disclaimer on this: I’m absolute crap at poetry! I can’t write it, my brain explodes when I attempt the simplest of rhymes but I really, really wanted Sansa to sing in this and I wanted to show what she was singing. So I used the song below as inspiration and just changed a few words around to fit with the story of Bael the Bard. So I essentially used it wholesale! :))))

youtube

Please check it out. It’s a beautiful song and Ritchie Blackmore is a freaking genuis!

#jonsa #actually jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fanfiction #jonsaff #anti-daenerys #jonsasecretsanta2018 #sansa stark #jon snow #the winter rose #jonsasecretsanta

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starspatter · 6 years ago

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WIP Challenge

Tagged by: @summertime-children

Tagging: @astrologista, @atsushishelteredinmoonlitjasmine, @benditlikegumby, @cryptoriawebb, @ibmiller, @iceperialprincess, and @otherwise-uncolonized

Challenge: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

I'll also do what deta did and post comments + short fragments. (Be warned it'll be very long though, and most of these are actually Pokémon fics since I was a much more prolific writer when I was younger, and that was the fandom I wrote mainly for.) I also won't be including "Heroes and Thieves" on here (or any DC/superhero stuff really since I’ve essentially “done” everything I had planned for now), as *technically* it is all already completed in draft form, and I'd like to keep things a surprise for whenever I do end up posting~

Hero and Seek

“Well, we’re all together now, so let’s have some fun, all right? Don’t worry, it’s really simple. One person is the ‘demon’, and the others have to hide from him.” “Eh? A ‘demon’? But that’s scary!” Three pairs of eyes turned up to her in fear. Those eyes, which screamed and streamed the stark color of blood the first time she saw them – not just from tears, but from the ‘monster’ they believed dwelled deep within. She thought for a moment, then removed her scarf. “How about this then? Whoever’s the ‘hero’ has to find and rescue the others. It’s a very important Blindfold Brigade mission!”

I’ll start with the one Kagepro fic I did attempt at least, which I described previously here, but is basically about Ayano + the Meka Trio playing “Hide and Seek” for the first time. (I actually had it originally titled as that but just came up with this new version on the spot lol I’m so clever~) For some reason I’ve always been hesitant about reading/writing Kagefic, but I actually got a fair bit farther in this than I thought, so perhaps I should try to finish it someday... Princes and Frogs

“K-Koizumi-senpai… Um… Please go out with me!” Itsuki stared down at the tiny underclassman, watching a rose mantle spread slowly over her cheeks as she gazed back with shy, but determined hope in her bespectacled eyes. The older boy could make out his own handsome face reflected off the lens, a virtual image embellished by sparkling hearts and stars. With dim satisfaction and relief, Itsuki ensured that his bright, patient smile betrayed no hint of the weary sigh that whispered behind it.

This is an intro excerpt of the first chapter I planned to write for an ItsuHaru fic from The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, which I only ever posted the prologue for. ItsuHaru was my first obsessive OTP, and I still think about returning to this story someday (especially since I have now proven to myself I *can* finish a full chapter fic if I put my mind to it), but it’s been so long I feel like I’d need to refresh my memory of the whole series/am still holding out hope for a Season 3 to motivate me again. *shot*

Fall to Pieces

As Itsuki stared at Yuki’s vacant visage, his resentment kept building. His hands clenched, rigidly gripping the edge of the table. Somehow, it just didn’t seem fair. That she could so easily ignore the madness fate had dealt them, never reveal any signs of suffering or bitterness towards her situation, and yet always, always wear the same damn expression on her face. How could she possibly stand it? He can’t stand it. (any more)

An ItsuYuki one-shot, where Itsuki basically blows up at her from pent-up frustration over having to wear a mask all the time and his hidden feelings for Haruhi. The two start to form a connection over their respective “unrequited loves”/understanding of each other’s pain, and one thing leads to another... Like “Heroes and Thieves”, this is in fact technically “complete”, since I actually used the leftover steam from the former towards finishing at least one thing I started a long time ago - although I’m still not sure I’m totally satisfied with it/kinda want to wait to figure out what I’m doing with my other ItsuHaru fics before I publish it by itself. (Incidentally the working title comes from an Avril Lavigne song lol.)

Little White Lies

“Perhaps the best thing for the princess would have been to fall in love. But how a princess who had no gravity could fall into anything is a difficulty--perhaps the difficulty.” -George MacDonald, The Light Princess - Haruhi Suzumiya was walking on air. Itsuki could tell by the way she glided into the clubroom, sailing like a paper airplane – or a balloon with an inflated ego to match.

...Yeah that’s as far as I got with this. This was meant to be a “White Day” story, which is Japan’s “answer holiday” to Valentine’s Day, where guys reciprocate by giving gifts to the girls who gave them chocolates. I always wondered how the boys actually responded in-universe, and I imagine Itsuki secretly stressing out a lot about taking care to not upstage Kyon, but at the same time wanting to sincerely express his genuine appreciation and feelings towards Haruhi - whatever they may be. In the end, he settles on a copy of “The Light Princess” by George MacDonald, which I highly recommend reading since it reminds me so much of this pair, and in general is such a fun and snappy “tongue-in-cheek” take on the fairytale genre. Sora in Wonderland

But wait- this one was a bit different from all its brothers and sisters. For one thing, it was wearing a fancy waistcoat with pockets- and sleeves that were far too long for it. As soon as it passed by her head, it stopped and slowly turned its head around to stare directly at her with its huge circular yellow eyes. Sora stared vacantly back for a full five seconds before the information registered in her brain and she suddenly yelled, “Hey!”, and sat bolt upright. The Heartless panicked upon hearing her voice and fled at top speed across the white sands, headed towards an opening in the rocks; Sora jumped down off her perch and immediately chased after it, no longer caring about the heat. The Heartless hastily disappeared inside the cave, and Sora soon followed after, determined to catch the freaky little thing and ask it some questions, like what it was doing on the island at this time, and where on earth did it get a waistcoat.

OKAY SO I TOTALLY FORGOT THIS WAS A THING but apparently I tried to write a Kingdom Hearts parody of “Alice in Wonderland” lmao. I’ve never actually played the games (aside from half of CoM), but it was probably inspired by a crossover art my friend drew? ^^; Also Sora is a girl in this bc that’s my headcanon and I’m sticking to it. XP *shot* Note: The following fics are all Pokémon-related so I’ll just be listing them in roughly chronological order (from most recent to ancient, although they’re all pretty old at this point). Stranger

The elder slowly rose to his feet, gazing at the boy, the champion, the stranger. “In all this time, why didn’t you come back? You could have seen for yourself how she was.” Lance wanted to yell something defiant, like a child. But he wasn’t a child. Children were forgiven for their mistakes. And he didn’t want to be forgiven. The professor’s ancient hand came to rest on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s the way this town works. We don’t talk about things that happen outside our own world. Maybe it was too long ago – too late for you to understand.” Lance didn’t say anything. “At least talk to Delia. She’s been wanting to see you.” “Sorry. It’s too late.” “You’re a bastard.” “I know.”

So this looks to be among the last things I’d written before taking a long break from fanfiction circa... 2007, jeeze. Over 10 years, huh. But, I think it speaks a certain amount of maturity that it’s the piece I liked most upon rediscovering. It’s based on an idea I once had that Lance was (unknowingly) Gary Oak’s father, and he was friends/rivals with Ash’s father, who originally won the title of Champion but relinquished it so he could be with his “wife” and kid (or rather, then-pregnant teenage girlfriend). *Something* happened though (I forget what I had in mind) and he ended up dying, leaving Lance bitter and depressed so he refused to return to Pallet Town because of too many painful memories. (Though he *cough* “comforted” their other female childhood friend for one night of drunken grief before he left. ;() What I like most about it honestly is the parallels bw Lance’s relationship with Ash’s dad and their sons’, and that amidst all the angst I enjoyed portraying the earnest energy and optimism of Ketchum(?) senior (”like father like son” after all). I was definitely inspired by Mitsuki’s father in Full Moon wo Sagashite/Maes Hughes from Fullmetal Alchemist by making him a total “dork dad” who’d brag about his (illegitimate) family on national TV during the championship tournament lol.

Ihavenoidea

Either way, I get the feeling this really wasn’t what I had in mind when I made my decision to quit training. I mean that in an intuitive sort of way. Like, sometimes I feel as if I’m not meant to be here, like my life should have ended up differently someplace else. Perhaps this is just one of those weird inconsistencies I told you about. Perhaps not. Even after all that’s happened to me recently, I still can’t really be sure about it.

...No seriously, I have no idea where I was going with this. As far as I can tell it’s written from the POV of Gary Oak, whom I’ve always had a lot of... “complicated” feelings towards. It probably has something to do with another concept I’ll discuss next, although for some reason it sounds like I was going for some sort of AU? *shrug* By contrast to the above, it reads like a whiny teenager complaining about his life - which makes me cringe but is probably an accurate portrayal of who I was at the time. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ This one was actually dated a little after the previous, so my best guess is it was some kind of vent rant where I would “give up” writing/creating and “childish” ideals for a while, as I was wont to do - but I still always come back to it somehow... RainbowMolly

Molly stepped out from the car and onto the dusty road, her heart beating wildly. She could hardly believe she was actually here, of all places. The ride had been long and mind-numbing with anticipation, and now that they’d finally arrived at the destination, it all felt somewhat surreal to her. A small bear clambered out from the vehicle, joining her as she stopped to take in the rustic view that met her bright blue eyes. She smiled and picked up her Teddiursa, cuddling its warm, fuzzy body close to her own. Her gaze traveled down the road which stretched in both directions, houses lining up against its margins. She followed it with her eyes towards a hill in the distance, on top of which sat what looked like a quaint little farmhouse with a windmill, turning in the summer breeze. She breathed in the country air, catching whiff of a faint salt smell from an ocean in the distance. So this was Pallet Town.

...Why I didn’t actually name the file “Chasing Rainbows” - which was the title I had planned for this - I don’t know. This dates back to an old idea I had where I believed Molly Hale from the third Pokémon movie was secretly the true “God” of the Pokémon world - in the sense that the entire universe was an unknowing fantasy of her own creation, similar to Haruhi Suzumiya (ok fine this was totally a crossover/rip-off of the same concept so sue me OTL). In a place where children never seem to grow up and can go on grand fantastical adventures forever, Gary always struck me as an anomaly who willingly *chose* to forego such a life to pursue more “adult” interests by becoming a researcher. So I saw him as filling the role of “Kyon” - the cynical narrator who was destined to ground “God” and bring her back down to earth, but at the same time be won over by her innocence and charm and learn to appreciate “kids’ stuff” again. However, the Legendaries were actually aware of the power Molly holds, and so saw Gary as a threat to their very being - as by “waking” the dreamer and having her face reality meant erasing their kinds’ entire existence. As the “apocalypse” nearly occurred in the third film, Mew and Celebi took on human disguises (in the form of May and Max respectively) to investigate Ash, who was able to calm Molly and “save” the world by “perpetuating” the delusion (and whom Molly totally has a crush on btw *shot*). So it’s a bit of a love triangle lol, with Mew and Celebi (*cough* an alien and a time traveler, get it? *shot*) acting as mediators/interference. (Although Mew might’ve secretly shipped Gary and Molly herself. ;O)

Betrayal

And these blades, these damned scythes that attached themselves to my arms when I was born, a curse upon me since birth, though it had not been apparent up until now. They were covered with blood, the vital crimson liquid that flows through our bodies, now dripping down the steel surface in a webbed pattern, drops beginning to splatter the pure, emerald grass below. The arm felt heavy and weak as I tried to lift it, as if it did not belong to me, but that was only a wishful thought. I gazed calmly at it, inspecting the intricate designs the flow of the substance had created, as if it were an abstract piece of artwork. Tentatively, a pink tongue rolled out and caught a small droplet of it just before it fell from the sharp edge, just to convince myself that it was real. The semi-sweet, metallic taste confirmed this. I had indeed taken these men’s lives, just as I had taken hers.

So I remember this was written from the POV of a Scyther who seemingly went on a murderous rampage. I only know that I wanted to give him an “Edward Scissorhands”-like story, since the idea of having such sharp objects attached to one’s limbs so that one could never directly “touch” another without being a danger is pretty tragic. I suspect “her” was someone (a human?) he cared about but killed by accident, and after that he was only seen as a symbol of power/treated as a tool to incite fear before eventually rebelling against his “master”... Roses

“If you love someone, you should give them something that’s yours. That shows how much you care for them.” In the darkness, I pictured his smiling face, explaining to me as he wrapped a present for his girlfriend. His blue eyes were shining with a sort of spirit unfamiliar to me; I guessed, a feeling of love.

Another “dark” take on a Pokémon’s biology (I really liked writing explorations of those back then lol), this time of Roselia. The idea was that a Roselia was so in love with her trainer that she would do anything for him - including allow him to cut off her arms so he could give them to his girlfriend. I actually ended up turning it into a poem at one point:

Love is like a rose they say, And affection leads to grief they warned. For in the end love betrays, Its Beauty maimed by a poisoned thorn. You gave me pure water with a smile. Your cheerful face became my sun. I offered up my blood to you, And in return demanded none. Chop off my wrists, and tie them together. I’ll gladly bleed myself to death. In order to give you that which I hold most dear. My dear, my dear, Won’t you accept this bouquet? You take it, smiling warily. A blush creeps onto your face. And in those eyes I can see A garden of roses stretched out, Composing a wondrous place. Then you bound my hands in lace, And brought them to the girl next door. You presented them to her with grace. … My blood continued to pour.

Fanfic

She smiled at me, although something about her expression indicated something wasn't quite right. I watched as she glanced over towards the west, her gaze lingering momentarily on the setting sun. The glowing, orange sphere was slowly sinking behind the distant mountains, peaks cloaked in a pale, lavender haze illuminated by flickering beams of gold and scarlet cast across the horizon.

More accurately, I found this buried in a “catch-all” file where I had several (mostly finished) fics saved. This was meant to be from the POV of an Eevee who had just evolved - supposedly into an Espeon due to happiness and bond with her trainer, which is what both wanted. However, since it took place at sunset, she didn’t realize she had become an Umbreon instead, and her trainer ended up abandoning her for it. ;( It was a warm

Children’s shrieks and laughter echoed across the park as they flocked towards each other, and soon were chasing one another round the playground, weaving in and out between the swings as they partook in an innocent game of Tag. One child was It; she was trying desperately to catch one of her friends so that they would take over the job instead. Then it would be her turn to run away, for none of them wished to play the loathsome role of It. Or was it because they feared being tainted by the person’s touch? It must have been one of the two, for while she would struggle to reach them, catch hold of them, they would only flee, thoroughly enjoying the fact that they were vexing her. Twice she nearly caught one. Her fingertips were almost within reach of one of the other girls’ dresses, whose russet tresses were flowing wildly from the rush of movement and shining with golden highlights as the rays of the sun struck individual strands. The target shrieked and shook her head, whisking her skirt free in time to escape capture, laughing with glee at the sight of the girl left behind, miserable and alone.

Yeah I totally just went with the default beginning of the first sentence lol. I guess this comes full circle with the first Kagepro fic I mentioned (although I’m not even sure I was aware back then that the Japanese version of the game literally called “It” a “demon”, which is even more fitting). I believe this was part of a Pokémon series I was writing involving a creepy little girl and Mewtwo who would bring about the end of the world or something like that, but generally I guess I was just going for a “Catcher in the Rye” feel. *shrug* Golden Lights

The pale, rosy fingers of dawn were filtering in through the Granite Cave entrance, basking a small area near the opening in pinkish illumination. Just out of reach of its expanse sat little Mika, huddled in the gloom of the shadows, watching the light creep steadily towards her as the glowing ball of fire rose slowly towards the East. She knew about the Light that came from Outside. There were plenty other small apertures broken into the cavern walls and ceiling that allowed some thin streams of gold brilliance to trickle through. She had always done well to avoid them. The brightness was like poison to her skin. But they weren’t the Lights she’d had described to her by the old Crobat that always resided now deeper within the underground chambers, dozing now, most likely. He wouldn’t awaken until night came round, and she did not wish to rouse him and perhaps disturb him from a pleasant dream. She was very wise about things like that, being the young child that she was. Still, she would have liked to hear a story to comfort her just then.

Last one I could find, about a Sableye who, like Icarus, literally “flew too close to the sun”. In this interpretation I imagined that Sableye were creatures who could not stand sunlight at all, as it would cause their skin to burn. But Mika (pronounced like “Mica”) always dreamed of going outside to see the “Light” anyway. She was eventually tempted by Mew to leave the cavern under her angelic PROTECTion and step into the Light, who was acting as Ho-Oh’s messenger to “recruit” souls to “live eternal as an element of Ho-Oh’s Guarding Flame“, as the PROTECT faded and a “holy fire” began to spread. I guess I was going for a Biblical/”Rapture”-esque reference. (...Man I sure was obsessed with the endtimes as a kid. *shot*)

#Kagerou Project #Tateyama Ayano #Mekakushi Trio #Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuuutsu #ItsuHaru #ItsuYuki #Pokemon #Gary Oak #Molly Hale #fanfiction #starstories #astrologista #atsushishelteredinmoonlitjasmine #benditlikegumby #cryptoriawebb #ibmiller #iceperialprincess #otherwise uncolonized

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etherealblasphemy · 6 years ago

Text

Return to Vasryia

OH SWEET CALYPSO IT’S BEEN A WHILE.

Apologies for taking so long! I’ve been a little caught up with schoolwork and extracurriculars (whoops). I hope this is worth it for you all! :D

TW: Mild language, mental recovery, mentions of hallucinations and imprisonment, possession, heavy angst (haha)

The light still bothered them. It blinded their eyes and reminded them of the darkness of the dungeon, which in turn made them recall those awful visions that had shaken them so badly.

Patton would come in every morning, patient and understanding as he tried his best to convince them the visions were just that- hallucinations of a terrified mind. He and the others were unraveling the seed of doubt that had been rooted on their mind, weeding it out as best they could.

For now, they buried themself in their blanket, trying to block out the light.

“Hey, Cal,” a soft voice whispered as they heard someone enter. “How are you doing?”

“Too bright.” They burrowed deeper into the throes of their blankets, groaning. “Too dark. Too loud. Too quiet. There's no happy middle. There's no happy,” they mumbled, still delirious from another night spent unable to sleep without finding themself back in that miserable cell.

“Would you like me to dim the lights?” Patton asked, voice calm and reassuring. They nodded. They paid no mind as the Drisine waved a hand, the ship magically knowing exactly how dark Patton wanted the room to be. “Is that better?”

“Yeah,” they mumbled, rolling over. They felt the cot sink towards the middle as Patton sat down. They opened their mouth, trying to find the right words to speak, and closed it, finding nothing but ancient verses that had played upon lips for generations.

“Hey, Cal, why don’t you tell me a story? You seem to be a good storyteller, if Sleeping Stars was any indication,” Patton giggled. Cal felt a ghost of a smile on their lips before it disappeared. “It doesn’t have to be anything in particular. Just something you like.” They sighed, racking their mind for a story.

�� “Alright,” they mumbled, turning back over. “But it’s a stupid story.”

Patton sent them a sweet smile. “I bet it’s not as stupid as you think. We’re so focused on beating out the bad, we forget all the good inside of us. I know you’re focused on the bad inside you right now, Cal, but I’ll always make sure you remember all the good.” Their heart twinged, touched by his meaningful words.

They sucked in a breath, letting it out as a hiss between their teeth. “Right.” They hesitated, glancing at Patton for his reaction. He grinned patiently, grabbing their hand and squeezing it. “This story begins long, long ago, on a planet far, far away. There was a little… little child.” Their words lulled, feeling a familiar haze in the back of their mind. No! They had to fight it. They had to fight it, for Patton.

“This little child loved the stars. To them, the stars were beings. To them, the stars were the only family they had. Now, the little child had… a fair amount of enemies. The child said they were strong, and got hurt because of it. But the child ran away. They ran far, far away, hoping that if they ran far enough they could land among the stars. They found a family. One they loved very much.” Patton straightened, his hand squeezing ever so slightly harder, as if knowing where this story was headed.

“But then, a monster came. A snake, which the little child was so terrified of. Their family disappeared, one by one, until all that was left were the voices in their head. The child said they were strong, and got hurt because of it. But the child ran away again, still reaching for those stars that never got any closer no matter how much they ran.” They faltered, feeling tears prick at the back of their eyes.

“What happened to the child?” Patton asked knowingly, watching Cal carefully for their body language. They had let go of the blanket, which was good enough for him.

“The child was alone. For… a long, long time. They lived in a small apartment with six other children just like them, doing what they had to do to survive. They couldn’t see the stars anymore. For the first time in their life, the child felt truly alone.” Patton let out a soft gasp, his heart wrenching with empathy.

“Did they… find a family?” Patton asked softly, letting his thumb run over Cal’s knuckles.

“...yes.” Patton held his breath, anxious as to what this family was like. “The child found another family… but… as wonderful as this family was, as much as the little child loved them, they were still just a little child, scared, needy, and alone. And they wanted to be strong, they did, but to them it seemed that every time they tried to be, something would come along to prove how weak they really were. And they didn’t want their family to get hurt because of it, because soon enough they would see it, too- how worthless they were, how… how… broken they were.”

“And… how does this story end?” he inquired, treading carefully. Cal looked him straight in the eyes, the usual light inside of them gone.

“I don’t know.” Their voice wobbled dangerously.

“...would you mind if I added on to it?” Cal shrugged. “Well, let’s say there’s a little shapeshifter, who’s been misunderstood all his life, told to calm down, to be serious, to smile once in a while. This little shapeshifter met the little child, and they became family. The child is scared, but the shapeshifter believes in them. He believes in their bravery, in their strength, and in their love. If I were that little shapeshifter, I would tell that child that I love them very much, and that… it’s okay to be scared sometimes.”

Cal let their eyes flicker up to meet Patton's, full of love and patient understanding. “Patton… you know… you know, I'm that little child, right?” Patton nodded softly.

“I know, Cal.”

“I'm so scared, Patton.”

“I know, Cal. I am, too. Draven… he's extremely powerful. But… so are you.” He let his head drop, studying the creases in his pants. “I know something happened to you back in that dungeon, something awful. You don't think we love you.” Cal bit their lip, scared of what Patton was going to say. “Cal, you said it yourself, you found a family. And family doesn't leave each other. So, believe me when I say, I'm not leaving your side. You’re a sibling to me, I could never lose my love for you. No power in this universe, not even Calypso herself, could make me stop loving you, Cal. You mean too much to me for that to happen. So, please, believe me that I love you.”

Cal broke their gaze, their voice cracked and raspy as they whispered, “...I do,” so quick Patton half-thought they hadn’t even said anything.

Patton’s smile grew wider, now confident of how the little child’s story was going to end.

A sharp, insistent knock interrupted the serene peace of the med bay. Cal jumped, eyes growing with fear. Patton gave their hand a quick pulse, reassuring them everything was alright.

“My dear Cal, how are you feeling today?” came from the doorway. Cal shifted on the cot, pushing themself up to see Roman leaning against the doorway, one eyebrow cocked playfully. They shrugged.

“No happy,” they mumbled, rubbing their eyes. They didn’t miss the concerned look Roman sent to Patton. “No sad. I don’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything.”

“Patton, would you mind if I spoke with Cal privately for a few minutes?” Roman asked. The Drisine nodded, leaving the room with a quiet farewell to Cal. Roman took his friend’s place on the cot. “Sweet Calypso, I don’t really know where to start.” Cal titled their head.

“Start with what?”

“After… what happened back ho- on Vasryia… we’ve started something, Cal. All five of us. I don’t think we can end it without you. But we’re not going to do anything until you think you’re ready. And I want to help you. I’m just not exactly sure how to do that.” Roman sighed, looking up at the ceiling for inspiration. “Your first night after… all that, do you remember anything that you said? You were... beyond delirious, to say the least.”

“N-no,” they whispered, shaking their head. “It’s all fuzzy.” Roman let out a breath, pressing his lips together.

“Well, you said that, while you were in the dungeon, you had these… visions. We apparently told you we didn’t love you or need you, which couldn’t be further from the truth, in my opinion. Of any matter, according to Patton and Logan, you’re still suffering from… what was that word? Corgitive disproportions? Perhaps it was cognitive disproportions? Well, no matter, I'm fairly sure he can explain it better than me, anyways.” Roman tsked, faltering again. “I suppose… I suppose I'm trying to show you that I do love you, Cal. You're the leader I wish I could be. Y-you’re strong, and brave, and gentle, and quick-thinking, and everything I'm not. I really do care for you, Cal.” The prince fell silent.

“And to prove it, there's something I think you should have seen a long time ago.” Roman tilted his head up at the ceiling once more as if asking the stars for guidance, and let out a heavy breath, his eyes falling shut. He grabbed the hem of his breeches’ right leg and pulled it past the knee, revealing the secret Roman had kept hidden for so long.

Cal inhaled sharply as their eyes ran over the burn scars, taking in every detail. “What… Roman, what happened?” Roman let go of the hem, his breath uneven and shaking.

“Draven happened.” Cal watched in shocked silence as he swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “He… burned my parents at the stake. I would have burned at his hands, too, if it weren’t for Patton.” Cal shuddered at the thought. “Both my physical and mental scars hurt. Yours likely do, as well. But when I think of you and the others, I know none of you leave me behind. It goes both ways, Cal. Whenever your scars hurt too much for you to walk, let us carry you. We’d never leave you behind.”

Cal blinked back hot tears threatening to spill over their eyelashes. Again, they felt the haze in the back of their mind. No, no! They had to fight it. They had to fight it, for Roman. “You’re part of our family, Cal. Whether you like it or not, we’re here for you for the rest of your life. That’s a promise.” Cal nodded slowly, willing themself to believe Roman’s desperate words. “I’ll leave you to rest, now.” He stood up and headed for the door. Cal whimpered softly. They had to say something, let Roman know it was going to be alright.

“For the record, Princey?” Roman stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I think you’re a great leader.” He smiled and bid them farewell, more hopeful than he had ever been those past weeks.

Anxiety was the next to come to Cal. He found them in the Commons, curled up on the couch, eyes staring off into space. He saddled up next to them, sharing the silence, hoping they would be the one to break it.

“Do you like stars?” Anxiety jumped, startling at the broken quietude. Cal was eyeing him. He could see a sharp, pointed look in their eyes, something he hadn’t seen in a while. They could see him relax. Roman had been right. Cal was going to be okay. “Do you like stars?” they repeated. Anxiety nodded, a soft smile coming to his face.

“Stars are my favorite thing to look at,” he mumbled.

“Besides Roman,” they quipped. Anxiety choked on his breath. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. You love him, don’t you?” He supposed honesty was something Cal needed most right now, and nodded.

“Don’t get me wrong; it doesn’t change how much I love you, or Patton, or Logan, or anybody. I’ll still fight beside you to my last breath. I just… love Roman in a different way.” Cal’s lips quirked up bittersweetly.

“I wish I had someone who loved me like that.”

“Cal!” Anxiety spluttered. “We love you, don’t we? I know the love of a friend is much different than that of a lover, but trust me when I say that both are incredible and neither should be looked down upon or seen as better than the other. Yes, a lover is wonderful, and amazing, and exhilarating, and a slew of words that make no sense, but so is a friend. A friend is just as important, Cal. We’re definitely not lovers, but we are definitely friends. And you are just as important to me as Roman is.”

They exhaled slowly, glancing away. “You know what I like about stars? They’re omnipresent. No matter where you are, the stars will still be there, recording your history when no-one else will. If I could ask a star a question, I’d ask them to tell me a story.”

Anxiety joined in. “Even during the day, they’re still there. They’ve seen some terrible things, but they’ve probably also seen some pretty awe-inspiring stuff.”

“Yeah.”

Once more, they fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying the quietude of each other’s presence. “If it makes any difference, I think if the stars ever told your story, it would be the greatest epic ever told.” Cal snorted, shaking their head.

“And what would the stars say about you?”

“They’d tell the story of a earthen boy who thought he ran away from home, only to find his real home was among the stars, living in a spaceship with four aliens who became a family to him.” He stopped suddenly, biting his lip harshly. “And… they’d call him… Virgil.” Cal gasped, eyes widening.

“Your name is… Virgil?” Anxiety- Virgil- flushed, ducking his head. “That’s a nice name. I would’ve pegged you for an Aarun, or maybe Ragaroth, but Virgil?” Virgil glanced at Cal, worried. “I like Virgil much better.” The human smirked. Cal's smile fell. “I know you guys love me, and I know you'd never leave me, but there's this little voice in the back of my head telling me one day you guys are just going to walk away…”

“I know the feeling. There's nothing you can really do to make the voice go away, but with time, you'll learn to drown it out. And trust me, Cal, your voice is loud enough to drown it out.” Cal laughed against their will.

Without warning, Cal enveloped Virgil in a hug, their hands shaking behind his back. “Thank you, Virgil. Thank you.” Virgil, though hesitant at first, felt the nerves ebb away, and wrapped his arms around Cal. They felt the haze, but they knew they could fight it. They could fight it, for Virgil.

They were expecting Logan when he finally found a proper time to speak with them. Cal was perched upon a windowsill, gazing at the stars dancing across the heavens. He sat down on across from them on the sill, his eyes fluttering over the stars like a bird that couldn’t sit still. After the silence stretched on for too long and Logan began squirming on the windowsill, he abruptly turned to Cal. “You know what I’m going to talk about, correct?” Cal nodded halfheartedly, shrugging.

He coughed, adjusting his always immaculate tunic. “Right. You are suffering from cognitive distortions- in this case filtering, where you only focus on the negative aspects of something, in this case yourself, while filtering out all of the positive aspects. Now, it seems the others have done fairly well in enlightening you of those positive aspects you are currently filtering out. So that is not my intention today.”

The robot ran a hand through his hair. “I’m… not quite sure what my intention is. I… I only seek to show you your strengths.” He focused once more on the stars, faltering. “Forgive me, I’ve never really found myself at a loss for words…”

“You don’t always need to express yourself through words, y’know… actions can speak just as loud,” Cal advised. Logan gave a pointed look to the pirate.

“Then forgive me if I make you uncomfortable,” he said as he threw his arms around them. Though Cal couldn’t say they hadn’t been expecting it, it still made a soft smile come to their lips as they leaned into his side, taking comfort in the rhythmic pulse of his artificial heart. “My systems detect a lowered heart rate. Am I correct in assuming this is what’s called ‘comfort’?” Cal nodded as Logan let out a long sigh.

“It’s been two weeks,” he started. “I’m not saying you should be fully recovered by now; that would be absurd, you’re the only one who can determine the pace at which you continue. However, I think it must be said that we have to finish what we started. Vasryia is still under Draven’s control- only the stars know how many people are at risk if we let things remain unchanged. We have to act, and soon.” Once more, Logan huffed, letting his head rest against the side of Cal’s, unsure if his words were having any affect.

“We can’t do this without you. You have become a leader in the short time you’ve been with us. When I first met you, I would have written you off for a rowdy, insensitive adventurer who cared for alcohol, gold, and little else, but you… you are so much more than that, Cal. You are brave and caring and selfless and strong, and you’re our leader. We can’t do this without you, Cal. When you’re ready, we’ll be waiting for your calls.” Logan swallowed nervously and added quietly, “I know this shall seem out-of-character on my part, but… please. We need you, Cal. I need you.”

He had yet to get a reaction from the pirate. The AI frowned, releasing Cal from his grasp. He stood up, brushing off nonexistent dust from his trousers, and headed back for the cockpit, his mood sinking.

A laugh from behind him stopped him in his tracks. He whirled around to see Cal. Only… something was different in them. Maybe it was the way they were holding themself. Maybe it was the shit-eating grin on their face. His grey eyes met their multicolored ones and he saw what was so different about them. The spark of danger in their eyes, which had been absent since their kidnapping, was back. Cal noticed Logan’s speechlessness at the suddenness of it all.

“I… don't know what came over me. It feels like I've… come awake. I’ve been asleep for too long. It’s about time that I wake up.” Logan couldn’t help but grin. Cal was back. Logan felt a rare, relieved laugh bubble out of him as he shook his head. Cal was really back. “Should we head to the cockpit?”

Logan dipped his head in acquiescence, and they began to race each other. Normally Logan would never participate in such activities, but right now he was unable to fight those errors in his programming. And for the first time since his creation, he enjoyed those glitches.

They practically burst into the cockpit, startling those inside. “Look who I found,” Logan breathed. Cal smirked, striking a small pose. It seemed all air had been sucked out of the room as Roman, Virgil, and Patton fell silent.

“Well, don't all speak once,” they joked. They yelped as they were engulfed in a unexpected hug from their friends. Something warm and wet trickled down their cheek as they choked on a voiceless sob. Their breath cut off with the realization that they were crying. They cuddled against their friends as fat tears rolled down their face. Cal couldn’t explain it, this unforeseen overwhelm of emotion.

“Dear Calypso, I’m so happy to see that you’re feeling better, Cal!” Patton cried, crushing them in a tight, unyielding hug. They took a shaky breath, wiping the happy tears away from their eyes as they let their gaze fall on each of their friends.

“You all taught me that I have to rise above my pain. I have to move forward. I owe that much to you all for helping me through this, for helping me see the light.” The tears of relief and gratitude wouldn't stop, pouring out of their eyes as though somebody had forgotten to turn off the faucet. As much as they wanted to stay forever in this loving embrace, stay forever in this little bubble of comfort, they knew they had unfinished business. They pulled back, wiping away the tears.

“Let’s have some fun, shall we?” They started for the center of the room, gearing up for the speech of the century. “We need to get to Vasryia as soon as possible. You’re right, Logan, countless scores of people may be at risk because of our- because of my inaction, and that will only grow the more time we waste. We’ll get into the palace, we’ll get Draven alone somehow, and we’ll… we’ll…” They trailed off as their voice grew more desperate. Logan stepped forward sympathetically.

“With all due respect, Cal, I believe I might be best equipped with planning and strategy.” Cal flushed, nodding sheepishly.

Logan took a breath, meeting each of his companion's eyes. “First, we'll land in Vasryia, as far away as possible to walk so we can increase our chances of remaining hidden. I suggest we wait until we know for certain that Draven is within the throne room. Once that is confirmed, we can, in the words of Roman, ‘storm the palace’ and disarm the guards. Draven will be taken hostage; we’ll hold a trial stating all of his crimes- Cal, before you even start, it is necessary that we keep our hands as clean as possible if we wish to rally support from the common folk. Once we get to that point, we can reconvene and discuss what actions to take next. But, as of now, I believe this is as far as we should plan.” The robot turned to Cal.

“Would you like to add anything?” he asked. Cal blanched, their mind immediately forgetting what they wanted to say. They shook their head, cursing silently as their doubt welled up in their stomach as if their body was warning them they were making a bad decision.

“That settles it, then,” Roman said with a curt nod.

“I can’t believe we’re really going to do this,” Patton breathed.

“I can’t believe we haven’t died yet,” Virgil joked, lightening the mood. Cal shot him a thankful smile.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” they asked, taking a step towards the window, where the heavens lay bare before them, eternal, silent witnesses to the history they were about to write. “We’ve got an ass to kick.”

They stepped onto the emerald blades of grass as wind whistled through their tousled hair. Cal took a deep breath, enjoying what they could before they crossed the boundary of no return. They turned back to their companions. “Let's get going.”

Though they would've preferred to run under the cover of the night, they knew the clock had been ticking for a while. They had to do it now, or Draven would be able to claim victory. They couldn't let that happen.

With little dialogue, they started for the palace gleaming in the distance. They took the time to glance about, feeling the bile rise in their throat as old memories starting popping up. They swallowed and marched on.

It took them only a few minute’s walk to come within the outer limits of the Vasryian palace. Cal let their guard drop for a moment. No matter how many times they had seen the palace, it never failed to impress them, standing stark and proud silhouetted against a cool blue sky.

“Roman, could you lead us to the outside of the throne room?” Logan inquired.

“Of course, my dear friends,” Roman replied with a smirk and a wink. Quietly, they snuck into the gardens, Cal cursing a little less than quietly when they tripped into a thornbush as Patton scolded their language and Virgil snickered with mirth at their misfortune.

It was funny, really, how domestic they were being, knowing full well they would either emerge victorious, or not emerge at all. Cal let their eyes fall on each one of their friends, admiring what they might never see again. They started with Logan. It didn’t take even a second for them to know they would miss his calming rationale and those little slips of character that reminded them that though he was a robot, he was just as alive as the rest of them. They moved onto Virgil. They would miss his sarcastic wit, for sure, and his always present smirk, as though everything was one big amusement to him.

With Roman, they would miss his charm that they found oh-so-hilarious, and that gentle, serious side of him that he seemed loathe to show. If they got out of this shitshow alive, they would make a point to tell Roman it was okay to let his guard drop sometimes. None of them would judge him.

And Patton. Calypso Above, they didn’t even know where to start. They would miss his smile, assuring them everything was going to be okay. They would miss his antlers that glowed blue and pink even in the dark. They would miss the way he found to make a joke out everything to help lighten the mood. They would miss his paternal mannerisms that made them feel safe. They would miss his hugs, which crushed them tight in his arms, never letting go until they could easily fall asleep in his arms. They would miss his cooking lessons, him telling them wild stories of past adventures, him staying up late at night to make sure they could go to sleep without any nightmares. A solitary tear trickled down their cheek as they inconspicuously shielded their face from prying eyes. Patton had been right. They had found their family.

All at once, Roman held up a hand, halting their actions. They came to a standstill as Roman ushered them behind a cluster of large bushes, a trio of guards idly wandering down the garden path, chatting with one another.

“I wonder when they’re going to fix the hole in the throne room?” one with rabbit’s ears was saying.

“Oh, yeah! It’s way too breezy in there now. Honestly! You’d think the King would be able to contract a capable architect by now,” another with red feathers interwoven in their hair quipped.

The third one, with a wolf’s tail peeking out from under their cloak, giggled softly. “Hush! If the King hears you, he’ll surely have your head!” The three burst out laughing as they walked away. Cal let out a breath they hadn’t realized they’d been holding in suspense.

“Did you hear that?” Roman whispered excitedly. “That hole we blasted last time is still there! We can sneak into the throne room that way!”

“I don’t know, Roman, it sounds like it might be a trap. Draven is a crafty little shit.” Virgil sighed, biting his lip nervously. Roman pressed a kiss to Virgil’s forehead.

“I know, lavēhsea, but-”

“Um, excuse me, when the fuck did you two get together?” Cal cut in. “I know we’re probably about to die, but I’m not dying without finding out the truth!” Virgil pursed his lips, gulping as he gestured for Roman to explain.

“...well, the thing is… I, um… sort of maybe kissed Virgil while you were recovering in the med bay?” Roman replied, blushing furiously.

“Finally…” Logan muttered.

“Pardon me?”

“Nothing,” Logan said quickly. “Thank you for informing me of Anxiety’s name.” Roman suddenly paled as Virgil’s eyes darkened. Virgil turned to Roman, who swore under his breath.

“If we get out of this alive, Roman, there is going to be hell to pay.” Roman gulped, nodding intensely, as if his acceptance would lessen whatever punishment Virgil would dole out.

“Right, kiddos!” Patton interjected, clapping his hands. “As much as I would love to talk with you guys all day and have fun and be a family, we have a king to overthrow, remember?” Roman nodded ever more intensely and Virgil scoffed, rolling eyes playfully.

They continued their mission, creeping through the garden as they approached where the throne room was located. True to the gossip of the guards, the hole the Sanders Yersinia had blasted into the wall remained unrepaired, an easy entrance into the palace. Cal brushed off the tingle running down their spine. Everything would be fine.

Cal stopped and turned back to their friends. “I’m just going to say this really quick because I don’t really want to think about this, but if any one of us dies, I just you all to know that I love you and you’re family. It has been an honor and a joy to have gotten to know you all.”

“Oh, Cal, don’t say that!” Patton cried. “We’re going to be fine. We’ve got to be. None of us are going to die, I won’t let it happen!” He laughed weakly. Logan squeezed his shoulder in comfort.

They turned over their shoulder, staring at the hole in the wall. It was almost certainly a trap. But they’d gotten out of traps before. They could do it this time, too. They just had to make sure everyone else got out with them. They faced their family once more, putting on a bright smile. “Are you all ready?” Logan nodded solemnly. Patton returned their smile with a quivering grin. Roman, clasping Virgil’s hand within his own, gestured for Cal to lead the way.

They approached the hole with caution, wary that at any moment, guards would surround them and they wouldn’t even get to at least see Draven’s face. The hole was a good ten feet wide and nearly double as tall. Whoever had manned the blasters that day was a sloppy shot.

Cal could hear distant chatter from inside and chanced a peek. They saw Draven, seated on top his throne at the end of the room, focused on a man kneeling in front of the chair of ill-begotten power, who seemed to be frantically pleading with the king. Draven motioned to one of the guards, who was unhesitant in manhandling the poor innocent out of the room.

“Logan? What should we do?”

“Well, it’s now or never. I never thought I’d be saying this unsarcastically, but let’s storm the palace.” Cal was unable to keep the grin off their face as they gave a two-fingered salute before slipping through the hole.

They kept their back against the wall, hoping to buy enough time to actually formulate a plan of how to disarm the guards and take Draven hostage. They scooted closer to the corner, Patton and Logan following them; Roman and Virgil were on the opposite side of the hole. Roman began pantomiming wildly, pointing at himself and Virgil, and then pointing at Draven, thumping his wrists together like mock chains. Cal cocked an eyebrow but dipped their head in acquiescence, shrugging.

Somehow, they managed to sneak up behind a guard. They took a deep breath. They wouldn’t be able to turn back now. Cal steeled themself. They were ready, they would accept any and all consequences for their actions. Without another moment to spare for doubt, they grabbed the guard from behind, clamping down a hand on his mouth as he let out a yelp. They pulled out the guard’s blade, throwing the guard against the wall and stabbing the sword through his uniform’s cape, pinning him there.

The cry of the man had alerted his compatriots, who rushed at Cal. They heard a shout from across the way and cried out as they saw Roman and Virgil brought to their knees, struggling against their captors. Patton fell to the ground as Logan growled, taking out his own blade, baring it against the encroaching guards, little blue lights flickering in his grey eyes.

The guards swarmed them all at once as they swung their arms, cringing each and every time their fists found contact. One guard grabbed their right arm as another took hold of their left leg. Cal struggled against their restrainers, grunting. They felt their lungs clench as their mind raced. This wasn’t how it was going to end. They wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Cal let out a bone-chilling shriek as they ripped their arm from the hold of the guard, sending her tumbling to the ground with a cry. As soon as their arm was free, they grabbed the knife in their belt’s holster and gripped it tight, slashing at the guard holding their leg. The knife cut his clothes but did little physical damage.

Adrenaline was coursing through their veins by now as their lungs overexerted themselves trying to catch a breath. They swung their knife at the guards closing in on them, forcing them away and hurried for Patton and Logan.

“Are you guys okay?” they whispered as they helped Patton up from the ground. The Drisine nodded slowly, eyes darting around the room.

“Cease!” The unanticipated voice that rang out from across the room shocked every being into stillness. Draven, in all his deceptive glory, lounged across the throne as though the short-lived fight had been merely entertainment to him. He let out a dark chuckle as dread swirled in Cal’s stomach. “Let them go.” Cal sent Logan a worried glance as the guards disgruntledly released Roman and Virgil from their grasp and stepped out of reach. Draven’s cool gaze snapped to them.

“Do tell me why you’ve come, my darling Calrex,” he ordered, smirking as he clasped his hands together, expecting a great spectacle to be made.

Draven stared them down from the throne, daring them to answer as Cal felt their fists clench. They could sprint to him, slit his neck within a second, and the whole thing would be over before the guards could react. But they had to stick to the plan if they didn’t want any of their friends getting hurt.

“You’re going to pay for your crimes, Draven,” they stated fiercely, their voice carrying throughout the throne room. They could hear him scoff from where they stood.

Rather than respond, they saw him reach into the depths of his cloak, pulling out a small glass vial full of churning gases. They inhaled sharply, recognizing it. Ragar. They opened their mouth to speak but found themself unable to breathe, unable to form words, unable to save their friends.

Draven chucked the vial at them, the glass shattering on impact with the stones. The gases inside sprung free, filling the room as the king chuckled darkly, thinking of the devastation to come.

They heard Patton gasp beside them. “This is- this is what was in the Treasury!” He glanced up at Cal, panic in his eyes. “Everybody, cover your noses! You can’t breathe this stuff!” he yelled. Virgil immediately threw a hand to his face, holding his breath. Cal copied his movements, plugging their nose as the gases swirled around their face.

Coughing exploded from one side of the room and all eyes flickered towards Roman, who had been closest to the explosion. He fell to the ground, coughing, breathing heavily as he gasped for breath. Draven’s lips curled into a satisfied leer as he watched the chaos begin to unfold.

“Roman?” Virgil asked quietly as the prince calmed, his movements stilling. Cal could see the human clutching his hands behind his back, wringing them anxiously. “Please tell me you’re alright…” Virgil cautiously approached Roman, his hands shaking as he held them out to the Vasryian.

A dark laugh bubbled up from the prince’s throat. Virgil froze, the others watching in abject horror, terrified of what had befallen their beloved prince. Even the guards watched on in petrified silence. Roman gracefully pushed himself off the floor as the others flinched at what they saw.

As he rose, the Vasryian’s flower crown, which Cal had many a time admired for its rich, whimsical hues, drained to black before their very eyes. His eyes darkened to the same color, devoid of all the adventure and kindness they were known for. Cal felt their blood freeze, daring to take a much needed breath as the gases in the air began dissipating.

Draven surveyed the scene with little emotion, sparing a glance for the changed prince before ordering, “Dispose of them.”

Cal held their breath, waiting to see what the Vasryian would do. Roman reached into the satchel hanging by his side and drew a stone, tossing the bag limply to the floor. Within the moment, the stone transformed into the mythical Halo Sword. Roman’s eyes of the beast fell upon Virgil, who hadn’t moved a single muscle.

“You,” the marionette monarch said, jutting his chin towards the earthling.

“Roman, you don’t want to do this,” the human warned, his hands falling to his sides. “This isn’t you.” The prince cocked an eyebrow, uninterested in pleas from the broken. “I know you’re somewhere in there, Roman. Please, fight against… whatever happened,” he pleaded. Cal heard his voice crack. “Roman, you’re family. And family means nobody gets left behind. So God damn it all, Roman, I'm not leaving you behind. Please. I love you. You promised you would always be there for me if I was ever scared. Well, guess what, Princey? I'm fucking terrified out of my mind right now. So come back to me or I'll tell everyone you're a prince who breaks his promises.”

They heard him choke back a sob. “Please, Roman. Just come back to me.”

For a moment, they could see Roman swimming in those eyes, reaching out to Virgil, begging him to save him. But just as quickly as it came, the moment was gone as the puppet prince steeled, raising his sword, the point just barely touching the pale skin of the earthling’s neck. “Sorry to disappoint, then.”

Virgil fell to his knees as Cal felt the air rush out of them in shock. “Then kill me. Because if you haven't realized by now, I would give my life for you, Roman.” The daring human stood up and took a step forward, challenging his love. “If my death means your peace, your happiness... I'll gladly throw myself on the blade.” Virgil seemed deaf to the protests of his friends as he opened his arms, as if accepting the cruel fate that was to be handed to him. A faint aura of purple engulfed him as he bowed his head.

A sudden, booming voice ripped itself from the earthling’s throat. “Let him go!” The command echoed through the room as Roman at once collapsed limp on the floor as though he had been cut free of some puppeteer’s strings controlling him from behind the scenes. Virgil gasped and rushed for his lover, cradling the unconscious prince.

The gates of Chaos had opened, letting the Generals run wild. Cal shot forward, racing for the usurper of a king, drawing out a sharp blade reflecting the warped face of the ruler. The robot and the Drisine pulled out their weapons, turning to the guards, ready to resume the fight.

Cal tackled Draven to the ground as he let out a yelp of surprise. They bared their fangs, growling as they pinned him against the ground, a wild craze growing in their eyes. “You’re going to pay, you fucking bitch!” they screamed as they drew their knife back, prepared to sink it deep into Draven’s flesh and finally end the cruel feud they had been locked in since the birth of the universe.

Without warning, Draven kicked their stomach, throwing them off of him as they groaned. He grabbed the discarded blade, twisted it in his hand as he stood up, creeping towards the recovering pirate. He rose above them like a snake towering above its next meal as they pushed themself off the floor, wiping away a trail of blood from their lip as they snarled, ears deaf to the chaos breaking loose around them.

He loomed over them with disdain, his head twitching to the side as he paused.

Cal used the momentary hesitation to hurl themself at him, knocking the breath out of both of them as they collided. Something fell out of Draven’s cape.

The odd, captivating stone Cal had seen in the Treasury tumbled to the ground as the fight raged on around them. They were drawn to it like Remy to alcohol and adventure as they rushed for the fallen stone, Draven mimicking their actions. They snatched it first, standing up triumphantly before a rush of air swept through the room, knocking down all but Cal, who blinked, and saw through the eyes of another being.

They stood in a barren desert, harsh winds whipping around them. A gargantuan beast stood before them, towering above them as its ashen body swayed dangerously back and forth. The serpentine beast opened its smokey mouth, wails of the damned echoing from the depths of its inky throat. “Damned Blood of Calypso!” it screamed, its black eyes full of fury. It rushed at them, passing through them like a specter as their vision returned to reality. Draven lay on the floor as though dead, all others staring at them with wide-eyed wonder.

“Dear Calypso,” Patton breathed, breaking the awed silence.

“What? Am I bleeding?” Cal asked worriedly, examining their arms for wounds. They turned over their shoulder. “Holy shit!” They closed their eyes, opened them, and swore again, seeing bright, colorful wings spread out like the Guardian’s.

Logan stepped forward, rubbing his eyes in disbelief, as did the guard he had just been fighting. “Cal, I can't explain what just happened, but it seems you've taken on the form of a-”

“Stargazer,” they finished. “The Guardians of Calypso’s legacy... But those are myths! Children's stories! Not… not… this…” They scrutinized their new wings with something near disgust, as though they were unworthy of such mystical beauty.

A growl sounded throughout the room, ending the second of amazement that had gripped every soul within the throne room. Draven was pushing himself off the ground, his movements jerky and dead-like.

“You meddling pirate!” he snarled, his voice deep and jutting, like a glitching hologram seven years too old. His head twitched again like the undead as the adrenaline began pumping through Cal’s veins, prophetic of the chaos inexorably approaching. Virgil, sensing the same storm on the horizon, began dragging Roman to safety away from the king.

The awakening prince groaned as he blinked hard, eyes fluttering open. “What in the name of Calypso is going on?” he mumbled drowsily. Virgil pointed grimly at Draven.

“I’m pretty sure we’re all about to die.”

As the Machiavellian monarch opened his mouth, black smoke began spilling out, engulfing Draven as a low scream echoed through the throne room. Cal covered their ears as they winced at the noise, stepping away from the king. The sable-colored fumes dispersed around the room, filling it. Cal began coughing, shielding their eyes from the toxic gases.

The smoke disappeared as soon as it had appeared, revealing Draven in all his insipid glory. But what they saw was not Draven.

Instead of the deceitful king, a monstrous beast stood in his place, taking the form of a serpent. Cal thought back to that day in the orphanage, of Cato transforming into the same such creature and sliding towards them, swaying. The serpent before them now was a carbon copy, approaching them with glittering black eyes.

“Guys, I think now would be a good time to run!” they shouted. They turned on their heel, wasting no time in grabbing the arm of the person closest to them, who happened to be a guard, and racing for the gaping hole in the wall. They clambered outside, trying their best to not trip over their feet.

They let themself slow to a stop as soon as they were several feet away from the palace walls. They bent over themself, panting heavily, wincing as another low shriek was emitted from within.

Cal looked up, relieved to find their friends had all escaped the throne room as well. It seemed the guards who had left with them had abandoned their plight, letting their weapons drop to the ground. All attention was turned to the palace.

An ominous rumble rang out, bringing with it a hallmark of doom. Cal gulped, their new wings beating nervously. The serpent slithered out of the palace wall, creeping towards them and their friends.

“Descendant of the Heavens, you shall either perish or emerge victorious today. And I shall make sure only the stars can recount what happens!” echoed across the rolling hills of the Vasryian landscape.

The serpent seemed in grow, grow, grow, until it could taste the heavens with its forked tongue. Cal thought back to their childhood and the myths they had muttered throughout it. At long last, they finally saw the truth and understood.

The myth of Calypso was repeating.

(don’t you just love it when the author doesn’t post anything and then BLAM hits you with some gold ole’ shitshow that makes no sense?)

The end is nigh! Only two more chapters until Starbound will finally come to a close! (I can’t believe I’ve written this much.) I’ll be honest, this was a very hard chapter to write. I have no idea why, it just took a long time to plan out and write. Thank you all for being so patient!

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stephanythedramaqueen · 4 years ago

Text

~Ω~

The most famous wedding in the course of history was to take place within three days. A wedding that would mean the significance of all the worlds and countries bound together as one.

It was a marriage that would echo through time and legends. Poets would write hymns of this wedding, artists would depict the event on disks and walls. New stars would be born and shine in the name of this union. All the divine were invited to witness the making of the marriage. Goddesses would bless the pair with eternal love and virility, gods would praise them with competence and glory.

Mortals were asked to attend as well; mighty humans whose names were famous through the lands. From the four warrior of light to the prince of the shadows, they were all openly welcomed to the wedding. Never before have gods and men come together like this, in celebration of a marriage of one single human man to a mortal human woman.

Everyone was to come… except one.

Thunder rumbled like music, storms grew in dark clouds and the most heinous of creatures dwelled in half the darkness, while Lighting awaited her invitation to this famous wedding. None had come yet, not for her at least.

“You will be welcomed too, sister.” Serah said with a smile. Whenever she beamed the sun shone a little bit brighter, as if she was made of its glowing rays itself.

Lightning, on the other hand, was her sister’s utter and complete opposite. Grey clouds hung about them and the more her temper grew, the darker the storm clouds got.

“They haven’t faltered to send a chocobo to you and your husband. They didn’t even exclude that imbecile friend yours. Yet they dismiss me?” Lightning’s growl was full of anger. It was one thing for all the gods and mortals to like Snow. He was everything that was optimistic and foolish, after all. Full of piss confidence and reckless luck, he never ceased to annoy Lightning in every way possible.

There was a time where she secretly sent a chimera to fell him, long before Serah married Noel, Snow had enough gall to court Lightning's little sister. But Snow managed to slay the beast and Lightning attempted no more. He made her sister happy with his friendship, and as long as he could provide her with happiness, Lightning allowed him to live.

It didn’t help much to think that her generosity was spit back in her face when she learned that all the beings of the heavens, earth and underworld was to attend this legendary wedding but for her.

“Do not blame Snow, sis. He loves you dearly, despite your… less friendly regard to him.” Serah cringed sweetly. “I will make sure to ask after your invitation. The chocobo lettered for you must have been lost, or feathered down. You know, mortals.” It was Serah’s nature to try and pacify things, especially her hot tempered sister.

Lightning scowled and thunder boomed loudly somewhere in the distance of her house. Her dress billowed about her as if a zephyr was permanently blowing around her. “If it is their folly to exempt me, they shall pay.”

Serah knew how true Lightning always kept to her words. “Hush, dear sister. It is not like that, I am sure. I will find out what went wrong.” The younger goddess left Lightning quickly thereafter with a hug and a smile, promising all would fall into place if it was meant to be.

Lightning sneered. Fang controlled faith and that shrew was a fickle bitch. She didn’t believe her sister at all. Light knew the gods all had their invitation to this horrible wedding moon turns ago. If Lightning didn’t receive her inquired presence now three days afore the feast, she was never going to have it. She swore vengeance if that was the case. She knew all the other deities weren’t fond of her and in turn she did not like any of them. But the mortals… she would not forgive their insolence. She would cast destruction and chaos on them all, and there’s no god or goddess that could save them from their wretched doom.

Mayhaps if they prayed hard and long enough, and sacrifice men’s flesh in her name, she would consider their redemption.

In the silence of her house, Lightning was left to contemplate dark and bloody thoughts that were mostly expelled by Serah if she were present. Mayhaps her sister was slightly right. Mayhaps the chocobo assigned to bring her her invite was lost after all. Lightning’s realm was by no means a pleasant place or easy to find, unless you’re indubitably looking for it. And her home was shrouded in mist and mystery. It was a realm between light and grey darkness, a zone where creatures of legends rested half in shadows and warm sunlight.

The goddess floated there, along with all those rejected by both men and deities. A manticore purred as Lightning passed it by, its wings folded open wide in the thin rays of light. Between the storm clouds that perpetually hung in Lightning’s domain, were more fiercer and fearsome beasts. She moved along, more gliding than walking really, waving a hand carelessly between the treacherous storm clouds. They dispersed and slowly, her own humble abode appeared in front of her.

Palaces of grandiose sizes were for the likes of Vincent and Cloud, whose dwelling had to reflect on their prowess. Lightning would do with her manor, for no one visited but her sister and occasionally Noel, if Serah forced him along. Light’s house was hidden for all eyes to see, as there were vehement creatures in her dimension that even she did not trust. Some wouldn’t hesitate to kill and devour her at all.

Inside her manor, everything was either gilded or crystallized, checkered floors and painted walls. And then there were the roses. Tons of growing roses with thorns as sharp as they were poisonous. They followed Lightning as she passed by, hundreds upon hundreds of roses, begging for her attention even if it were but a glance, but the goddess ignored them all, heading straight towards her bedchambers.

The curtains parted for her as if they were alive as soon as she set a foot inside, the ceiling-to-floor windows allowed as much of the little sunlight inside as it was capable of. There wasn’t much of a view except storm clouds and mists, mayhaps the outline of a monster could be seen, but nothing more. The rest of her chamber was lavishly furnished, for Lightning had little else except control of her own surroundings and she liked the sight of pretty things; with colorful tapestries, side-tables holding candlesticks that flicked alight and statues molded of more divine beings. Her four poster bed was giant and unslept, translucent drapes hung about it as if keeping the insides a secret, but it was none of this that Lightning was interested in than for her vanity table in the corner of her chamber. A grandeur mirror awaited her arrival, entirely casted in silver, wrought with roses and faces carved in agony.

The mirror itself was no mere looking glass, but a deep black crystal completely useless to see one’s reflection. It was at least half of Lightning’s height and fastened to the wall above her vanity table that held powders, oils and perfumes. Dark arts went into the making of it and was one of a kind in the whole known universe. It was a timeless piece of work, far older than Lightning’s existence and nameless even to this day.

Lightning stared at the object with contempt, the black glass quiet. “Mirror on the wall,” She hissed at the thing, the candles dancing around her. “Show me the mortals who spurned me.”

The black in the crystal glass swirled into a whirlpool, the tiny faces silently screaming in their suffering and the mirror glowed until at last an image appeared in front of the goddess.

The first mortal who came into view through the looking glass was the bride; a lovely maiden of two-and-twenty – too old to be still unwed, but her Ancient mother would only give her daughter’s maidenhood to the highest bidder. That bidder turns out to be Zack Fair, already a legendary warrior who just conquered himself a crown. His marriage to Aerith of the Ancient house Gainsborough would unify their kingdoms like there never was before. The mighty Cloud favored Zack above all mortals and with this wedding, it would once more bring the gods in alignment with the humans. That was why all the deities were invited for this day. No one wanted Lightning there though, no one remembered to send for her honored presence.

The thought angered Lightning beyond belief. Humans of important stations in life were to come too, those who hail from families with wealth and lineage, dear friends and treasured relatives. They would live through an event, meet all the deities that they only knew from temples and stories, except for her.

It was not that Lightning cared for these worthless humans or the foolish gods, but there was a slight that she would not suffer to her person. It was an insult to have every god both high and low regarded to be welcomed but for her. That was a great impertinence she would not forgive.

Resentment grew within Lightning the more she gazed through her magic mirror.

The maiden fair was lovely in white, frolicking through her garden and tending to her flowers while humming to herself. “Lady Aerith!” The sudden voice of her groom caused the maiden to spun away from her plants and gasp in delight.

“Your highness… I-I mean, Zack! You were able to come to me still.” She left her garden forgotten to blush prettily at her betrothed.

Lightning rested her chin in the palm of her hand and rolled her eyes. Was there ever something more odious than young mortals in love?

Zack ginned widely, a perfect row of gleaming white teeth. “I couldn’t leave my sweet lady waiting for very long, now could I?” From behind his back he produced another bush of flowers, roses this time, red as beetroot. “For you, my lady.”

Lightning scoffed aggravatingly at the gesture. How original of him. Mayhaps she should make this less sweet and much more amusing. She stared at the roses through the looking glass, a flower she was all too intimate with. A single word whispered from the goddess and she saw Zack flinch horribly through the mirror. He groaned and upon the flash of pain coursing through him, all the flowers dropped from his grip.

Aerith inhaled sharply at her future husband’s sudden discomfort. “Oh, Zack, what is the matter?!”

“Ouch, ah, I don’t know, I—“ He opened his hand and saw the blood that leaked from the tiny puncture wounds in his palm.

“Gods be good, you’re hurt!” Instantly Lady Aerith fretted over his injured hand, binding it with her handkerchief. “You have to be careful, my lord.”

“I was! I-I don’t know how, I thought that the thorns have been cut. I did it myself!”

Lightning chuckled behind her mirror. Roses can’t be tamed, no more than she can. Re-growing the thorns was child’s play, merely the beginning of her vengeance, and now his blood mingled with the flowers he so thoughtfully plucked for his maiden bride.

Said woman proceeded to clean the wounds for him and in his gratitude, Zack kissed her. They went on talking quietly with each other, strolling through the beautiful gardens. The girl’s betrothed complimented her every passing minute before another voice added itself to their party, calling the name of the young lady.

“I will be with you, Mother!” Aerith looked at her fiancé apologetically. “I have to go. I had to escape many hands to meet you here. Wedding plans never seem to come at an end, I guess.”

Zack laughed warmly, taking the maiden’s hand and kissing her knuckles. “Worry not, my lady. Once we’re wed, we have a lifetime to be together.”

Aerith giggled. “I cannot wait.”

Lightning felt sick to her stomach. She flicked her wrist to the mirror and the image swirled back to the dark crystal glass it first was. Apparently the betrothed are quite happily in love. Who would have thought? A couple bound to be married and in love? That was a rare sight indeed.

She can’t imagine a crueler curse.

A disgusting one as well. She barely tolerated her sister’s happy marriage. Where were the unwanted feelings, the objection, the sense of bitter duty between couples? The absolute turmoil that used to be during a wedding? Marriage for love was a notion as uncommon to humans as it was for the gods. The good old days of miserable distant marriages are gone. Instead, it is going to be a desired wedding, one blessed by both man and god. No wonder they were so happy.

Still, Lightning wondered if this blessing by all the gods was just a stunt Cloud pulled by forcing the hands of the deities beneath him. Surely not all deities were as elated to see this forsaking wedding as the tale seem to suggest, were they?

“Mirror on the wall,” The pink haired goddess started anew. “Show me the Underworld.”

It has been long centuries ago since Lightning even glimpsed into the Underworld, even via her mirror. She had no interest in it nor was she very welcome in the place, but things has changed quite a lot down there the last time she heard about it. The black glass twirled, slowly revealing what Lightning recognized was Tartarus, the river Styx, the confused souls taking the ferry boats provided they could pay, and lastly, the impressive palace where faceless servants carried dresses upon silken dresses through the hallways.

“Which one do you think looks better, Vinnie? The golden one or the white one? I liked the emerald green one but mayhaps I should wear the crimson one, y’know, so we can match!”

The quiet underlord, the most powerful being in the dark world, only sighed tiredly at the bubbly goddess. Vincent just had to fall for the one woman who was everything he is not; obnoxious, loud, young, talkative, incredibly annoying and utterly too light.

“Whatever you choose will be fine, Yuffie.” His baritone voice was deeper and smoother than any other deity in existence. “You look exquisite in all of them.”

Yuffie curled a lock of her short hair around a finger – another attribute opposite of Vincent’s long tresses. “You’re not helping! Everyone is going to be there, Vince, and I do mean everyone! We must dress like the best! I’m sure everyone’s attention will be on Terra or Lenna and I don’t wanna look pale in comparison.”

Yuffie’s careless distress on what to wear to this wedding only made Lightning furious. Even they were going.

Vincent unfolded his arms. “You should not care what anyone think. You are above that, Yuffie.”

“Aw, Vinnie, you just say that because—” Yuffie was interrupted by Vincent’s raised hand, who silenced her immediately. Before another moment had passed, the God of the Underworld looked straight at Lightning.

Startled, the goddess pushed away from her mirror. Did he see her? How was that even possible? The mirror was blown with dark magic lost to the gods. It was supposed to be completely undetectable by lesser deities. And yet Vincent… how did he know? Lightning waved the image away and the mirror faded to black. She shouldn’t have underestimated the power of the God of the Dead.

Still, it did nothing to Lightning’s overgrowing wrath. They were all going to this feast, regardless of element, power or rank. She got up, enraged, pacing her chambers up and down. Unfelt wind made her dress blow about her as a storm gathered in her room. Electric currents split dangerously in the air as she waved at the ornate above her vanity table.

“Mirror on the wall,” She spit between clenched teeth. “Show me Firion. Show me Atlantis. Show me Locke.” It did not matter where Lightning cast her mirror, all the immortals were preparing to attend this vile wedding.

The insult she bore only grew with each second and so did her anger. If only she could destroy that wedding of theirs, just to spoil their enjoyment. She should kill that groom and separate him from his beautiful maiden betrothed by sending him to the land of the death herself. Mayhaps she should unleash one of the monsters on them, just to irk all the gods and goddesses there. Echidna was Lightning’s favorite servant, a terrible beast whose body was half a viper and half a woman, deadly to men and deities alike. Echidna never failed her task. If not her, then she could throw in a naga, a sfinx, a harpy. Anything to ruin their perfect little event.

“Lightning!” Serah had returned, hopefully with news about what was going on and calm the temper that was boiling inside Lightning. Mayhaps she had just been exaggerating all along, mayhaps there was some kind of an error made.

“Light, where are you?” Her lighter sister had taking her time figuring out what was of the matter and her older sis met her in one of the posh sitting room. It was one of Serah’s favorite place to be in Lightning’s silent abode, the other location being the greenhouse build inside. Light’s place was always quiet, for there was no one that accompanied the tempered deity but her roses and Serah. The sitting room was no less deprived of the plants, the blooming flowers were red and wafting up their delicious scent into the air.

When Lightning joined her more harmonious sibling, the invisible storm swirling around her evaporated instantly. Serah’s entire being was warmth and peace, and the younger goddess smiled as soon as her sister joined her.

“Took you long enough.” Lightning crossed her arms. “Were you too busy fitting dresses for the feast?” Just like all the goddesses and humans were doing.

Serah blinked, confused, before she shook her equally pink head. “No, I’ll just wear anything I have available.”

“You want to be underdressed at this exciting party? The likes of Stella and Ashe will be there.” Lightning may hate everyone attending, but she would not have her sister be anything less than gorgeous.

“I care not for that, sister.” Trust Serah not to worry much about vanity. It was one of the many sides to her that Lightning admired.

“What took you, then?”

At this, her sister started to fidget. “When I spoke to Noel about this most unfortunate circumstance that happened to you, he had to call upon one of his, um, acquaintances to get to the bottom of this and… well, he…” She stuttered to a stop, nervously glancing about.

Her behavior didn’t sit well with Lightning. “What? Tell me.”

Serah nodded. “Hey, you can come out now.”

Before Light asked who she was talking to, a purple gem glimmered into existence. From that, a white moogle popped out, its little wings fluttering wildly in the air.

“Oh no, kupo!” It took one gander around and started panicking to Serah. “Why did you bring me, kupo? Do you have any idea where we are! This place is dangerous, a realm of the most foul and its keeper—”

“Is standing right behind you.” Serah finished with somewhat of an apologetic expression.

Mog turned with a frightened kupo towards Lightning, positively trembling. “M-mighty goddess! Ho-how lovely you have b-become!”

Lightning scowled, causing the moogle to quiver under her harsh gaze. “Spare me your false praises.” She directed that same scowl to her sister. “Serah, is there a reason why that thing is here?”

Unlike the moogle, Serah was long since used to Light’s cutting eyes. “His name is Mog, sis, and he’s a Carrier among the gods.”

Lightning eyed the white creature, with its too big head, small eyes and glowing diamond, “Really? It has never brought me anything.”

“K-kupo.”

“That’s not his fault, Light.” Serah reached for Mog, hugging his grotesque head to her chest. “There, there. Lightning won’t hurt you.”

“Don’t lie to it, Serah. I will throw it for the Cyclops if he doesn’t tell me why he’s here.”

With a gentler voice, the younger goddess started. “Mog here supervised the chocobos who were sent out for the human wedding. And… Mog, tell her what you told Noel and I.” When the moogle did nothing but stare and gulp heavily at Lightning, Serah petted his head. “Go on.”

Mog flew out of her endearing hug, floating a tiny bit closer to Lightning, albeit still keeping his distance. “It’s true that you are the only one among the immortals who is not welcome.”

There was a short silence.

"What?!”

Whatever sunlight that was permitted through the windows was gone entirely when dark clouds gathered outside. Thunder claps boomed through the air, angry and full of resentment.

“I-it wasn’t the humans, Y-your Divinity. They claimed all the gods and goddesses were welcome, but so-some of the gods took heed of you, kupopo.”

Lightning’s wrath was so immense, Serah felt she had to cut in before her rage grew out of hand. She put a hand on Lightning’s arm, her skin cool to the touch, the magic around her thick and dark.

“Who?” Her sister hissed, blue eyes spitting fire. “Who had the nerve to exempt me?! I command you to tell me lest I rip you apart myself!”

Her aura alone instilled enough fear in Mog, that the messenger moogle was reduced to a sobbing mess. “It wasn’t just one, Goddess. Queen Tifa, Zidane, p-perhaps Caius, kupo.”

Tifa? Lightning could understand Caius and Zidane. She had a long term feud with Caius that spanned for millenniums now, and Zidane knew first hand of her power. But Tifa? It was to Lightning Tifa came when Zidane and Garnet claimed to harbor a love for one another that was greater than Tifa and Cloud’s. As the king and queen of all mortals and immortals, Tifa didn’t tolerate Zidane and Garnet’s arrogance. It was Lightning she asked to bring wreckage upon the couple to teach them humility. Chaos was Lightning’s forte and destruction her favorite pass time. But with all things great and of immense power, Lightning could only truly be unleashed once in a few centuries.

“I don’t understand, Mog.” Serah interjected softly, seeing her sister seethe. “There are mightier forces there too. The Fates, for example. And the God of W—”

“Of all, they thought her too impulsive!” The moogle cried, pointing at Lightning. “Too unstable and a curse to be at a wedding that has to be blessed, kupo. Please, kupo-po.”

“How dare they?” Lightning’s growl was low, but the winds howled loudly outside the manor walls, the clouds nearly black around them. “The nerve of all of them!” It started to rain, the water drops furiously tapping against the window glass like pebbles thrown from above.

“Lightning…” Serah stepped closer to her sister.

The goddess shrugged her off. “Who gives them the right? They scorn me but they gladly receive the kind of Caius?”

When a lightning bolt flashed in the sky outside and thunder boomed above the house closer than what was safe, Serah knew her sister was overwrought to the point there was no conciliating her.

Mog shivered on the floor. “Kupo! Kupo, kupo, kupokupokupo-”

“Shut up!” Lightning snarled at the moogle. “Be quiet before I kill you.”

“Light, no!” Serah begged her sister. “Please, this is not his doing, don’t hurt him.”

“He sneaks into my realm,”

“I brought him here!”

“Insulted me and my domain,”

“He’s just a moogle, sis, he fears.”

“To tell me I am lesser, lesser than the lowliest of gods, lesser than fucking mortals?” She spit the word as if it was venom.

“Lightning, please, calm down.” The young goddess pleaded, protecting the moogle from the electricity in the air. “I thought you didn’t care for this wedding?”

Vexed, Lightning glared at her. Mostly at the moogle in her arms, but she was displeased with both. “I don’t.” That would be untrue, if she was fair. She wouldn’t have gone to this feast, even if she was asked. That wasn’t the point for her anger though; they didn’t even bother inviting her, scorning her when they did so. “But I will not forgive them this slight upon my name. They will endure my wrath for this, all of them. This, I swear.”

Serah feared for all their wellbeing. It does not bode well for a deity to swear anything, for they keep to their word. And one does not cross Lightning, especially not Lightning.

“Sis, no. You shouldn’t, please.”

There was a time that even Lightning had enough of her sister’s heartfelt pleads. That time was now. “Enough. I want you to leave.”

Serah gasped. Rare were the moments that her powerful sister wished her to leave. “But Lightning—”

“Leave!”

The young deity’s head bowed and the moogle kupo’d pathetically in her arms. Serah sniffed, her thin arms trembling before she disappeared with Mog in a blink of an eye, leaving behind the scent of glowing sunlight.

The infuriated goddess was once again all alone in her manor. The roses on the walls curled away from her, as if they too feared to witness the anger of their mistress. Her fury only grew in her solemnity, with no Serah to ease her and talk her back into a reasonable mood. Everything seemed to anger Lightning now. Just the mere thought of the offense the gods paid her, the betrayal of Tifa, the unassuming mortals – even her sister, who always took their side, always defended anyone who crossed Lightning. Serah was no hair better than the rest.

That wasn’t true, she conceded immediately in her thoughts. Serah was a pacifist who loved everything that was balanced and peaceful. She was not like them. It was one of Lightning’s habit to keep everyone at arm’s length, even her sweet sister. That was Lightning's nature, but she wasn’t incapable of love. The gods and humans had that one trait in common; they were all weak in the matters of the heart.

Lightning huffed, heading towards her chamber to bathe and dress for the evening. Outside, the storms continued hailing wind and rain and thunder. Darkness fell inside the windows and many of the roses upon the walls and statues closed into buds once more. Like clockwork, the spells cast on the chandeliers and torches in their golden scones came to life by themselves.

When Lightning arrived in the lounging chamber, she was freshly bathed, but no less mad. She allowed herself to dress lazily into a robe instead of a dress. A robe made of the richest linen with sagged sleeves that nearly reached the floor and a long trail that dragged behind her. She wasn’t in the mood to dress herself entirely underneath it. Her sister wouldn’t return to her tonight and if she didn’t, then no one will.

The giant fireplace in front of her was doused, but it took only a pointed stare for the hearth to lit itself with warm flames. The fire danced, sparked and the wood inside cracked, illuminating the figures that were carved around the mantelpiece. A Kline was awaiting her presence, a furniture that was a half-breed combination of a sofa and a bed. The side-table was empty save for the crystal canteen and a sapphire crusted goblet. As the goddess lounged on her chaise, the canteen floated into the air, filling the goblet next to it with a shimmering thick liquid.

There was a cry of a beast resonating outside her manor walls, no doubt disliking the storm that continued raging on and on outside. Lightning took a sip of the ambrosia, mayhaps the drink could calm her down and thus also the storms, but it did not seem to help this time. Quietly, she fumed and tried to form plans in her head on how to abolish that famous wedding for all who are involved. Regardless of her spite, she couldn’t just unleash any of her monstrous servants in the middle of the reception feast. Serah was still among them, after all. No, this vengeance of hers had to be intimate, emotionally scarring, making them all rue the decision of excluding her.

The fire in the chimneypiece sparked violently, dancing wildly before strangely settling to its previous form. It caught Lightning’s attention however. The fire felt different now, the music of it had changed. The flames singing a tune that was unfamiliar and mystifying. She willed it to quiet down, but the fire refused her command. Smoke leaked out of it instead, first in small wisps but the quantity of it increased. Black smoke rising and filling Lightning’s lounging chamber until it covered all of the floor like a carpet.

Stranger still were her roses on the walls, that bloomed from their buds once the caliginous smoke touched them, as if it was the light itself. Her flowers didn’t regard the mist as danger, which was the reason Lightning remained calmly and slowly put her goblet filled with the divine drink aside. From the hearth, the smoke was the thickest, no longer simply onyx. The flames revealed that there was red within the smoke, glowing like rubies in coal dust.

And from that dark mist, a god emerged.

Lightning did not recognize him, at least, not immediately. He was young, undoubtedly younger than her. His toga was as black as his hair, like the mist that clung about him. The upper part of his body was bare, smoke and shadows danced over the muscles of his stomach and chest. Her eyes flicked briefly over his chest and abdomen. Briefly, but appreciatively. His features were aristocratic, refined, and although handsome, she could see conceit in the manner of his poise. There was also something incredibly black in the corner of his irises, something as ominous as the smoke he’s engulfed in.

She wondered who he was more so than why he was here. The clasp that bound his toga over his left shoulder depicted a weapon; a sword. Nothing came to mind as she looked it, no particular deity that she connected it with.

Neither did he utter a word once he revealed himself completely, except for to look at her. His eyes were typically blue – most deities took to this eye color safe for a few, but his expression was unrevealing. He stared at her from head to heel, lingering idly on her bare leg that parted her robes.

Lightning moved and so did the direction of his gaze, shifting back up to her face, fierce and daring. It was only when she noticed the cuff of a broken chain around his left wrist that Lightning knew who he was.

The goddess sat upright, immediately cautious. “What brings the God of War to my doorstep?”

He blinked, slowly, ethereal. “Lightning,” Her name had never sounded as suave by any man’s voice. “I need you.”

“Right.” That was quite up front of him. It was obvious that he wanted something from her, though no god or goddess ever showed itself unannounced in her domain. And if they did come requesting her services, none ever came without payment. “For what, precisely?”

The corner of his lips twitched. “War.”

That caused her to snort unflatteringly. How blunt of him. “You’re the very embodiment of it. Why would you need me?”

“There has been no cause for neither humans nor gods to declare it.” He started his conversation as if he had been with her for hours before. In fact, he was rather blunt about it. “Peace makes me useless.”

Lightning scoffed cynically. “You searching for a reason to entertain yourself?”

He wasn’t amused. “My motives are beyond just a passing fancy.” He knew that she didn’t permanently dwelled in her domain here because she wanted to. This realm was her cage. And he knew the insufferable feeling of imprisonment. “As should be yours.”

The goddess didn’t seem convinced at the slightest. “Why search it by me then?”

“Fish can’t swim without water.” The dark god eyed the crystal canteen holding the ambrosia. She didn’t know whether he wanted to drink it all – for it was very addictive – or throw its content all over the floor by the way he was looking at it. “No war can commence without a cause.”

She would be lying if she said that this immortal didn’t somewhat piqued her interest. She inspected her nails nonchalantly. “Remind me again the name given to you. You’ve been away for so long, it slipped my mind.”

The young god glanced down at his left wrist. The first true expression broke his unreadable façade when he glared at the broken chain before he could hide it. “Noctis.”

Dark as the night, as black as that essence in his eyes.

He proceeded on without pause. “I heard you were not welcome to the mortal Fair-Gainsborough wedding.”

Intrigued Lightning had been the moment he appeared, but as soon as he uttered those words, the spell was broken and fury filled her once more tenfold. Another thunderclap boomed loudly outside her house, causing Noctis to look up and back to her, witnessing first hand of all her cold hatred.

“Unbelievable.” She spit angrily. “Does everyone know? Do mortals and gods alike mock me everywhere that even you heard of it, in whichever pit hole they threw you in?”

His eyes narrowed sharply when she mentioned his imprisonment. “You swore vengeance on them all, didn’t you?”

She told Serah so earlier that day and her sister left sniffling. “You eavesdrop on conversations as well as entering ones abode uninvited?”

He shrugged, a movement so simple looked positively dangerous when done by him. “I pay attention to declarations of hatred. Specifically coming from you.”

Lightning finally took to her feet, the hundreds of roses on the wall snapped to alertness when she did so. On her full height, she looked straight at the god’s collarbones, and in order not to let her gaze slip further down his physique, she turned towards her canteen and refilled her goblet with the glimmering ambrosia drink.

“Should I feel honored? Doesn’t the likes of you associate with Stella?” Goddess of Love was but an euphemism Stella likes to call herself, to justify the whoring she does all around. Goddess of Sluts is a more apt title for her, a married woman no less. Despite all that, there were very few men who resisted her and a young God of War wasn’t one of them.

“I’m done fucking her.” There was menace in his voice, a silent tension that heeded ire. “There’s a score I need to settle with all the gods. Her included.” He looked at Lightning then. Whenever the firelight caught in his eyes they had the same color as the deepest depths of an ocean. “Just like you.”

The goddess should have asked him how long he had been listening to her conversations with her sister to fall in right at the proper time. How he knew, how he managed to do that? And how did he even find her? Her vestige was ever moving, never on the same place it had been a minute ago, invisible within the clouds and sealed.

But she didn’t care to ask him. It seemed pointless to know when he was standing in front of her. “Aren’t you wasting your time by coming to me? You should just cause some havoc on that holy wedding. You’re invited, right?”

“I am.”

That notion only pissed her off more. No one was fond of this deity and yet they deigned to welcome him and not her?

“Then you should go, kill half the party guests.” She turned away from him with an endearing scoff. “And leave me be.”

He would have left, if the very sight of her didn’t entice him. “I thought you’d be up for more sport than that.”

“You assume.” The goddess shot back. “How would you know I’m up for any such thing?”

Noctis eyed the growing roses around them, each blooming red and full and lovely. “I haven’t heard of your existence sooner… that must mean you’ve been within this realm here for, how long?”

Her eyebrow twitched. “No longer than they have imprisoned you.”

“I guess.” He commented nonchalantly. He pretended like his imprisonment was nothing, but Lightning could see the irritation in his mannerism. “Since they went through pains to snub you from their party.”

She rose angrily, blowing by him out of the lounging chamber, leaving her robe to flow after her in the rush of magic and fury. She didn’t need to hear him put more insult to her injury. Unperturbed, he only followed closely behind her.

“I’ll ask you for the last time,” She huffed, hearing her roses swoon and sing as the God of War passed them. “Why are you here?”

His voice sounded smug and close. “I want to demolish their feast just as much as you do. You and I have no reason to like any single guest there. So why won’t we blast that wedding of theirs apart?”

That does sounded like music in her ears. It was something she wanted to do beforehand, didn’t she? When she turned back to him, he was no more than two feet away from her, Persian blue eyes glowing darkly.

“Fine.” Lightning regarded him suspiciously, crossing her arms. “Tell me first why you want to do this with me?”

He cocked his head sideways, scrutinizing her carefully for a second too long. “I imagine we could help each other to get what we want.”

“What makes you so certain I want to participate in this?”

He chuckled, turning to one of her roses. They were delighted with his attention on them, craving for his touch with moans and keening. Upon contact, the single rose flowered and turned completely black. “There’s dark ambitions in everyone.”

“Right.” He drew his power from those dark ambitions, did he? So did she. “If I do this, what’s in it for me?”

“Revenge.” Noctis assured her with an obscure smile. “And if it goes right, war.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “And what’s in it for you?”

“War.” The corner of Noct’s lips lifted more. “And if it goes right, revenge.”

She neared him slowly. She found it interesting that despite him always finding some kind of reason to be close to her, when she did it to him in return he tensed. She didn’t miss the tendon of strength running down his arm but he didn’t stop her once she stepped in his proximity. He held a healthy amount of mistrust for her.

She would strike a deal with him, but only because she saw profit in it for herself.

“Tell me true or we’re not going through with this.” Lightning spoke against his collarbone. “You have no other particular reason to search for my aid to get what you want, do you?”

“They say there’s no war without chaos.” Noctis soon got over whatever issue he had with her nearness and he touched her, smirking. “Wouldn’t you want to prove if that is true?”

The smile she gave him convinced him he had won her to his side. “Return to me on the morrow then.”

~Ω~

Serah didn’t visit her sister the next day. Neither did Lightning search for her presence nor look through her mirror for her sibling. Whenever there was conflict between the two – more often than not considering Lightning’s nature – her little sister would give her the time and space she needed to cool down. The younger goddess would spend time with her husband or actually went about answering the prayers of humans from the good of her heart.

Lightning didn’t get any prayers. Not much at least, for who would seek for chaos? No, they only offered sacrifices in her name to appease her; the blood of a lamb, a bull, or gold and precious metal to keep her at bay.

No amount of sacrifices would save them now.

Lightning wouldn’t be caught unawares again once Noctis came tonight. He wouldn’t find her clad in nothing but her robe. The dress abound her body fitted her like a glove and nearly see through if not for the lace-knitted roses on the cloth. Its length was long enough to hide her bare feet, as long as the magic around her doesn’t blow the skirt about her legs.

She wasn’t dressing up for him in particular, she told herself, she just didn’t like being underdressed in front of any stranger. She got so few guests as it is.

She wondered where the God of War would appear again, whether fire was his means of transportation from one place to another. As she would soon figure out, Noctis didn’t need a fireplace to appear somewhere. It was the atramentous smoke that was the signal, it puffed up from the ground in the middle of her bedchamber. Lightning could hear her roses sigh in delight to be reunited with the dark mist that came with him.

He stepped out of the mist like he was walking through the door. He looked the same as yester night; his toga black, his eyes a dark blue and the broken shackle clung softly against the cufflink when he moved his left wrist.

“You’re late.” She told him.

His eyes slid over her slowly from top to floor and she didn’t know whether his smirk was either because he liked what he saw or because he was amused with his next statement. “I’ve been told I was never punctual.”

Either way, Lightning didn’t like it. Brazenly, she put her hand one her hip. “Yeah, I heard you tend to lose the track of time once imprisoned.”

That wiped the look of amusement from his face. A shadow flashed over his face and she might have glimpsed a flicker of a color in his eyes. “If you mention that despicable place one more time—”

“You’ll do what?” Lightning’s roses seemed to sense the danger for the young god, but she wasn’t perturbed by him. He did not have the power or the virility to hurt her. “Kill me? I’d like to see you try.”

He frowned darkly at her, a look that conveyed what exactly he wanted to do with her and it certainly wasn’t pleasant.

Lightning let the look slide off her, unimpressed with his troubles. “It is not I who had thrown you in there.”

“No,” He straightened, seemingly calmer after having acquiesced with her reasoning. “You are not.”

It was her turn to smirk slyly at him. “But I do know how to get back at them for what they did to you.”

The step Noctis took closer to her was on impulse. He seemed suddenly elated with the fact that she kept up her side of the deal. The darkness Lightning had seen from the very first moment she met him, hidden somewhere deep in the corners of his navy blue irises, vanished with the thrill of excitement. She was surprised how quick his countenance shifted.

“How?” He asked, voice lighter but every tendon in his body stood on edge. “How are we going to do this?”

Oh, it’s we already? “Let me show you.” She wasn’t sure if he caught the ghost of a smile on her lips before she turned away from him. She hadn’t asked him to follow, but she felt – more than saw – Noctis fall into step with her.

Her roses didn’t occupy all the walls in her manor. They grew ahead of wherever she was going, blooming red and huge, singing a song only the goddess could hear, begging for her attention as she passed them by. This time they weren’t as attentive to her as they were obsessed over the new stranger who followed the goddess around. Lightning knew her flowers had an affinity for guests – they liked to be admired – but the sweet sighs they omitted at the sight of the god was an infatuation. It wasn’t sunlight they craved or a touch from their mistress, but the black mist that accompanied Noctis as if it was his shadow.

The corridors of her manor were silent, save for the sound of sandal-clad feet on the limestone floor. The god’s steps echoed loudly through the hallway, for Lightning’s own remained unheard.

She could feel Noctis’s eyes on as he walked but a single step behind her. Her senses tingled from the length of her neck down her back and below. From what she could tell, his gaze roamed over her their whole journey through. Mayhaps her dress was doing its job.

“Where are we going?” His voice was closer behind her than she calculated, but she willed herself to remain calm.

“You’ll see.”

The greenhouse within her manor was big and wide enough for half a field of corn to grow in. True to its name, everything was green and growing inside; the grass was soft underfoot when Lightning stepped on it. The hem of her dress blew softly around her ankles in the wind that didn’t exist, making sprits of grass and foliage tickle up her legs.

The vegetables and plants in her greenhouse were the only things that didn’t answer to any of Lightning’s calls. Unlike her roses, who were part of Lightning’s essence; there was no difference between her and her flowers. Grass, vegetables, trees and all the other greenery weren’t part of Lightning’s heed. It wasn’t her nature to grow or command them, but she kept them purely for nourishment. Albeit deities had no need for any consumption of such kind except ambrosia. The liquor was enough to sustain them, but the gods liked the taste of food as well, Lightning included.

The care of these plants were mostly Serah’s doing too. Lightning didn’t have a green thumb nor did she have very much patience to handle things she can’t command to grow by magic. So she left the business to her younger sibling. The greenhouse being one of the places in the manor Serah liked to spend the most time in, if she came over.

When Noctis got into the greenhouse, the feeling in the very air changed. It was as if the plants took an aversion to his presence, their reaction opposite of her roses, who were too attracted to him. The few bees and butterflies scattering away instantly when they felt his added presence in the greenhouse.

The repulsion in his tone indicated he didn’t like the garden much. “What are we doing here?” He wrinkled his nose, as if the very lush and peaceful surrounding disgusted him.

Lightning turned to him with eyes as green as the grass beneath her. “Did you know revenge is like a fruit? It needs to grow and the longer the time to ripen, the sweeter it is when plucked.”

“I don’t have a long time.” He was impatient. And impatience went hand-in-hand with rashness. “You told me we had a plan!”

“I do.” She blinked at him, once more astonished that he had already included the two of them as a team, even though she was the one doing all the planning. “A fruit needs a seed to grow from.” She smirked at him, silent and unpredictable. “Give me one of your swords.”

The stare he gave her was sharp. “No.” He wouldn’t trust her with a weapon, least of all with one of his own.

“Do you want to go through with this or not?” When he hesitated, she asked again. “Give me your sword.”

He contemplated a moment longer, a battle of staring ensued between the two of them. They say that every immortal has its secrets and the act of war is clearly Noctis’s. How he does it, was part of his being. With what he creates it, was one of his secrets. Lightning wouldn’t have minded at all if he disappeared altogether to fetch one of his swords where she didn’t see him, but he didn’t. The atmosphere around them turned cold instead, the temperature dropping significantly. The black mist of his reappearing thickly and with intensity. And stars popped up all around them. Small glistering stones that first floated softly in the air, but then they all started to whirl in a circle about, faster and faster until a shield of stars formed around them.

When Lightning dared a glimpse of him, his eyes were glowing a crimson as red as the deep fires of a volcano. He raised a hand, and the stars gathered to materialize into a sword.

The steel gleamed dangerously, the curving blade still smoking stardust and black mist, both beckoning Lightning’s attention to it. She could practically feel the spells woven into the blade and hear it hissing vehemently in a dead tongue that even the gods did not understand. Titan’s talk, most likely. Such a rare and precious sword it must be, one of the most powerful weapons both in the heavens as on earth. A sword made with forbidden spells woven of stars and crystal and dead tongues, the blade must have been forged in the blood of titans. Such creatures were no more, and if this sword was true, it was both lethal as it is ancient.

Lightning wondered how many battles were won with this sword, how many throats were slit with it, how much blood it drank. And how it came in the possession of this young god. He wielded it as if he was born with it, the sword perfectly poised in his grip. It was a weapon made for war, capable of slaying immortals and men alike.

Lightning wanted it. “Give it to me.”

He didn’t. “What are you going to do with it?”

She shouldn’t toy with this. It could irreparably damage her, but its power was too potent for her to resist.

“Plant a seed.”

The dark god hesitated. The sword was powerful enough to destroy even him and in the hands of such a goddess, whose nature was unreliable at best, who knows what she’ll do with it. But her eyes were green and eager, warm and bodacious. He saw no mischief in them, no sense of betrayal.

Noctis handed her the sword.

Lightning lifted his favorite weapon like it weighed as light as a feather. In her hand, the sword looked abnormally huge, but there was something alluring to the picture of her holding it. He could feel her hands on the hilt, gripping the leather snugly. Her touch was cool, her fingers slender, her hold strong but tender.

He and his sword were one.

She did the most unexpected when she turned the razor sharp edge to her wrist and cut her own flesh apart. Noctis was forced to withheld a gasp, but couldn’t help himself when he staggered backwards. That was the last thing he’d thought she would do, cutting herself with his sword. The thrill of it made his eyes leak crimson once more, everything about her suddenly enhanced when he looked at her. He was more aware of her being than ever before, with her essence on his blade. Her blood – ichor as the humans called it – was translucent like, silvery and gold, thickly filled with magic.

It was one thing to have humans’ blood on the point of his weapon, it was something else to have immortals life’s essence spilled by his sword.

He could taste her on his tongue as his blade tastes her blood and there was much to be said from that alone. He breathed as her, he felt her power, much and more immense than he gave her credit for. He could also feel a darkness within her; the destruction that made her entity, the instability. There was also a lighter part of her being. That lightness wasn’t part of her core, he saw now. She was chaotic and uncontrolled under that thin surface of hers, and the more calmer, restrained part she contained was taught to her by someone else, not born with it. He wondered who forced her to know that discipline? Who enclosed her like that?

He wanted to know just to see the look on their faces when she was released. He would be looking forward to the day he could break all those barriers down of Lightning’s and unleash her on the world.

The pink haired goddess quietly hissed to herself when the blade cut into her wrist. She knew she had to expect pain – they weren’t very much accustomed to it, being deities – and she knew that a magic sword as his would hurt, but this excruciating torture was something else. She was surprised she didn’t cry out and curl into herself, for the pain was blinding, but she managed to keep herself together.

A breath was all it took to convince herself the pain would eventually ebb away and she concentrated on the task at hand. It was her blood she needed, so she held her pulsating wrist above a patch of lively grass. Her golden blood dripped to the ground, the earth sucking it like it was water. For a moment, the earth glowed and then all went still.

Lightning returned the ancient sword back to its owner. Noctis eyed it as if it was unfamiliar to him. The goddess’ lifeblood was still wet on the edge, gleaming provocatively against the steel of the blade. It made him feel alive.

He didn’t disperse his sword yet, knowing that if he did, all of it would be cleansed. He turned to Lightning with it still in his hand. “That’s it?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, green eyes flecked with fire. “Now, we wait.”

He didn’t want to wait. “The wedding is over two days. We have no time for waiting. We should be discussing which of your mangled foul beasts we should send to that assemble to rip half of the attendees to pieces!”

She liked the way he thought, but that wouldn’t be the way they were going to do it, this time. “As much as I would like that, I preferred to do things more… subtle this time.”

“I didn’t know you did subtle.”

“As I see that you have no patience.”

Noctis presented her with a red-eyed glare. “I didn’t know you had the virtue of patience either.”

“In any other circumstance, I wouldn’t.” She shrugged, owing up to herself that she wanted to do the very same and send one of her servants to end that joyous wedding in catastrophe. “But trust me, it’ll be worth that wait.”

Trust me, she said. Did he trust her? She was chaos personified, he had every reason to doubt her. She was powerful and as beautiful as her roses that grew around her, but even beautiful flowers can have a poisonous fragrance. But he will. Trust her, that is. With everything. She just spilled her own blood for the execution of their plan.

“What will come of your blood?” If he concentrated hard enough, he can still see the ichor glimmering between the grass.

She glanced at it with sparkling blue eyes. “It’ll grow.”

Into what, he wondered? “Once that thing has grown then,” Noctis pointed to the patch of earth, hoping it’ll grow fast. “What do you plan to do with it?”

The right corner of her mouth lifted. “We give it away, of course.”

“How? And who are we giving it to?”

She silently beckoned him out of the greenhouse, leaving the place behind them once more. He commanded his sword to return to its place among the stars before following her. As soon as he was gone, the bees, butterflies, dragonflies and ladybugs returned to buzzing and flying about, particularly surrounding the patch with the magical blood.

They returned to her bedchamber, an elegant room of itself. The tapestries that hung about, where her roses didn’t grow over them, were painted with the beauty of mankind. Of death and passion, which would romantically go well together. Her four poster bed was hid behind drawn drapes that held light and sight without. He wondered if she hid someone in there, a lover she took while he wasted away in that hole they put him in.

It wasn’t the bed the goddess floated towards, much to his utter disappointment, but to her vanity table opposite of it. Jars and pots containing crèmes and powders were neatly arranged on the flat surface of the table. She didn’t open a single one of them when she stood next to the furniture.

The dress on her body stilled and hung around her quietly when she looked back at him. “You wanted to know how? Here’s your answer.” She waved at the vanity beside her.

Was she mocking him? “What?”

It was as if she knew that he wouldn’t understand, so she signaled for him to come closer before pointing at the great black looking glass that was up against the wall above the table.

“Mirror on the wall,” She whispered in a voice as soft as flickering fire in the wind. “Show me the weakest of them all.”

The magic that surged both from her and the looking glass was addicting. Like a magnet, Noctis was drawn to her immediately. He was a weak god, the time of his imprisonment reduced him so, and the longing he felt was for her power, to have it for his own.

The black mirror misted into grey, twirling together like a whirlpool before an image was seen. It was vague at first, but it quickly became clearer. The mirror showed the inside of a palace; the floors were of ivory marble, the walls a mosaic of depicted gods and colors. There was a rectangle knee-deep pool in the middle of it all, supposedly filled with blessed holy water. Then the people appeared; they were humans. A singer was playing on a lyre while six scarcely dressed maidens were bathing in the pool. Their linen dresses were soaked and left very little to the imagination as it clung to their bodies and they giggled among each other. Perfumed slaves walked around serving fresh fruit on glass platters, waiting upon the wet maidens in the pool and the one young man who was with them.

That young man was in the height of his youth, rich, good looking and of royal birth. On cushions of velvet and stuffed goose feathers, he was lazily enjoying the sight of the maidens in the pool. Every time a slave besides him served him a grape, he chewed absentmindedly while eyeing the nipples through the wet dresses of the maidens. The girls didn’t mind his gaze, for they were entertaining him. They said something in their human tongue and the young man laughed loudly, boisterously, almost awkwardly. The maidens giggled along with him.

Lightning’s mirror closed in on the face of the young man. His hair was blond and his sun-kissed skin made him handsome if not outstanding.

The goddess misliked the look of him instantly. “Do you know who he is?” She asked Noctis, who was standing behind her, too closely. She could feel the warmth of him at her back.

“That is Tidus,” His voice was right behind her ear when he spoke. “Prince of Troje.”

“He will be the one that will give you want you want.” When Lightning turned towards him, they were nearly nose to nose. “War.”

Noctis had not forgotten what Tidus’s forefather did to him. His descendant will pay for his ancestor’s actions. “He is weak.”

“So are you.” She answered him, knowing that he wouldn’t like it if she pointed it out.

Red eyes glaring down the bridge of his nose at her. “It’s his father who has the power. It’s him you need.”

“No. The mirror never lies.” Lightning glanced over her shoulder at the laughing image of Tidus. “It’s the prince. He’ll be the key that undoes them.” She wanted to cross her arms, but doing so would make her brush against him.

Noctis eyed her cheekily when he saw that she noticed their distance. “How do you know for certain?”

He was too close to her for far too long, so she pursed her lips and when she blew, a hard gust of wind physically pushed Noctis an acceptable distance away from her that left him bewildered. The look on the God of War’s face was intimidating and she would have been more bothered if she didn’t know how little power he beheld.

“The only creatures who are more vain than humans are the gods.” She looked at him stoutly. “And the only creatures more greedy than the gods are humans.” She made a backhanded gesture to her mirror, where the vision of Tidus fondling the breast of a maiden faded into the black looking glass it once was. “You only have to unravel one to gain utter chaos.”

Noctis smirked at the goddess in front of him, enjoying the sight of seeing the first wall that held her back crumbling away.

~Ω~

He eyed the unusual tree with amazement. “How did you do this?”

He had promised to return the next day again to see the progress of their brooding plans hatch, one day before the famous wedding. He was skeptic when he left, thinking that whatever Lightning had in mind wasn’t going to work in time. But he made himself return, if not for their vengeance then for her, and he couldn’t half believe his eyes when he came back to her greenhouse.

The tree that had rooted in the place where she had leaked her blood stood taller than they were. It had grown overnight as if decades had passed. Noctis assumed it was because of her power, the immense amount of it that she kept at bay.

“Not just I,” Lightning said. “My blood couldn’t have simply produced this. It was due to your sword as well,” She looked at him. “Your power.”

“Both of our mights, combined?” There was an eagerness in him that wanted to know what else they could create with their powers over time.

“Yours and mine.” She confirmed with a look that stole his breath.

There grew but one fruit from the tree. A single piece of fruit. It was still small and was long from being ripe, but still, the temptation it omitted was unlike anything Noctis had ever felt before. He wanted to pluck it himself and keep it, but he knew Lightning would use it for their cause. She caressed the immature fruit in her palm, her slim fingers curling around it. Jealousy coursed through the god. He was jealous because she was holding the fruit and not him. That’s how strong the magic of it was.

Lightning didn’t pluck it from its stem, for it still wasn’t ripe yet. “It’ll be sweet soon.”

Noctis’s throat was dry. “What are you going to do with it?”

“It’s a gift.” The pink haired goddess didn’t seem like she was at all affected by it. “You’ll see. Are you going to the wedding?”

Noctis glared at the broken shackle on his left hand. “No.” Everyone who chained him would be there and the rest resented him enough to find enjoyment in his past misfortune.

“Oh, but you should.” Lightning’s melodic voice convinced him otherwise with a teasing quirk to her rose colored lips. “You’ll miss the party if you don’t.”

~Ω~

Tidus stumbled into the garden, wine spilling from his cup as he tripped over his feet. He may be slightly intoxicated, but not by much. He felt too euphoric to be completely wasted.

What a wonderful time to be alive! The gods were mightier than his puny mind could ever imagine. And the goddesses the most beautiful beings he had ever had to pleasure to witness. The walls really don’t do any of them justice. Each goddess beheld more beauty than the other, he really couldn’t pick the loveliest of them all if his life depended on it! It’s a grace that the bride didn’t mind her own inferior beauty, for though Aerith was a picture herself, she was outdone by many female immortals in the room.

Tidus was drunk on more than just wine. He was drunk on life itself. He may have a lovesick virus on all the deities within the hall and he acted like a lovesick puppy around them too. His father had warned him to act properly in the presence of the gods, but one look at Cloud, and Tidus fell all over himself. How many humans can boost that they met the almighty and famous Cloud in their lifetime?

Life was good, life was swell, life was surreal, and what better way to celebrate the highlights of life but with sweets and drink? When he started laughing too loudly at the jests of Wakka, Jecht had taken the goblet of wine right out of his son’s hand and told him to go clear his head outside, lest he made a fool of himself. Tidus complied easily enough, not wanting his father to scold him in front of the otherworldly beings. So he took his way towards the lonely garden outside. Although, before he was out, he made sure his father didn’t see him when he snatched another cup filled with sweet summer wine, to sip on as he pretended to get sober outdoors.

The garden was completely empty, for all the important party guests were still inside. Only a few wood nymphs were frolicking in the greenery. Tidus had never seen a nymph before of any kind. The drawings and statues he’d seen of them were of beautiful women, walking about half naked with wood harps or lyres in their hands, either serving the gods or bringing unsuspecting men to some kind of doom. Though these nymphs were pretty, they had the appearance of children, were no bigger than his hand, wore dresses made of leafs and floated around with an ethereal glow about them. From afar, one might mistake them for fireflies.

They still lured Tidus towards them, as he drank from his cup and stupidly grinned after them. The sun had long since set and night had fallen. With a bright full moon, shining stars and glowing nymphs all around him, Tidus had no lack of vision. Nightingales sung their lovely songs in the trees and crickets only joined them in making the evening music. Flowers opened and blossomed whenever a nymph touched them, breathing life into plants that should be asleep. Violets blew in the night wind, lilies drooped in the light of the moon. The air smelled of olives and figs, while the grass welcomed him warmly like a carpet beneath him.

And a frog croaked Tidus’s name behind some reeds.

Or at least, he thought it was a frog. In his semi-drunken stupor he tried to follow where the sound of his name came from and found the frog in a small pond that was hidden behind tall weeds. The frog he thought he heard was comically sitting upon a pond leaf. Its round yellow eyes darting each in an opposite direction. Its cheeks puffed when it croaked again at the sight of Tidus’s giant figure looming above him.

The young prince smiled, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t call me, did you?”

The frog cocked his head, horizontal black pupils zooming in on him before it jumped and disappeared into the murky water. The night turned was quiet. Tidus couldn’t hear the crickets anymore, no birds singing in the wind.

Strange, he thought, turning back to find the party again. He had enough fresh air to make him hear things.

Behind him, he suddenly met face to face with a woman.

Startled, he gasped loudly, not expecting in the least someone to have walked up on him, considering he didn’t hear anyone. He tripped again, landing with his feet in the ankle deep pond.

“The frog didn’t call you.” The stranger said with a voice as suave as cream. “I did.”

“W-who are you?” Tidus couldn’t say that she scared him, but she certainly surprised him with her random appearance. “You’re a goddess.” He added quickly after closer scrutiny.

He couldn’t recognize her. He had never seen her likeness anywhere. She was an immortal though, that much was a fact. The unearthly flawless of hers confirmed that she was no mere human. That lead up to the question of which deity she was? Granted, Tidus had never paid much attention to his studies. Preferring to go hunting or playing sports to impress girls. He would have remembered the drawing of this goddess if he ever saw her, because she was exceptionally gorgeous.

Gaping, he stared at the rose haired immortal standing in front of him, in a white dress, a color that made her look innocent which clashed stunningly with her eyes and hair. Completely made of lace her dress was, and was sinfully snug on her body. The piercing look in her emerald green eyes froze Tidus on the spot like stone, as if she was Medusa herself.

The prince swallowed thickly, mesmerized by her appearance, he took a trembling step towards her. “Who are you, lovely goddess?”

Her long lashes blinked. “I am…” She looked into the direction of the temple, where the reception feast was still raging. “…Not invited.”

“What?” He thought that all the deities from far and wide were welcomed to come to Aerith and Zack’s wedding ceremony. “Why not?”

She raised her shoulders, a simple gesture that somehow made her all the more attractive.

Maybe she didn’t get the notion on time, but Tidus wasn’t going to let the goddess slip away unnoticed like this. “But if you will, join me. And I’ll tell you all about my favorite water sport and how dolphins once joined me in my play.” It was a tale he always told to enchant the ladies towards him and they were mostly fascinated to hear it. Whether they came with him because they were really interested in his story or because he was a rich young prince, that was up for debate.

The goddess in front of him didn’t fall for it in the slightest. She stared at him aloofly, not very interested. He should have known that the bait he used to trap silly maidens wouldn’t work on an immortal.

She sighed. “I would rather not.”

“Oh, but you must!” Tidus grinned charmingly, or at least, tried to. “All the pretty goddesses are within and you would fit right in! Please, come with me?” He raised his hand as an invitation for her to take. He was positively excited by the prospect that he would return to the feast leading such a phenomenal looking deity on this side. And what would Jecht say about that? Tidus couldn’t wait to see the stupefied look on his father’s face. Ha!

She cocked her head to the prince instead. A tsk in her tone. “But I’m not the most beautiful goddess there, am I?”

Tidus paused, not knowing how she came to this conclusion. The goddess in front of him was breathtakingly dazzling, but he would be lying if he said that she was truly the loveliest of all the deities at the party. “…Eh,”

“Who would you choose?” She insisted, her blue eyes gleaming like mountains of ice. “Who would you pick as the most gorgeous of them all?”

“I—I,” Tidus stuttered. “I don’t know…” He backed away, instantly insecure.

The goddess grabbed his hand, however, the same hand he held up for her in the first place. Her fingers were unnaturally cool, her touch sending a jolt of unexplainable electricity through his body. Her skin was pale compared to his tanned tone, glistering softly in the light of the moon as she held on to him.

Lightning smiled, producing the fruit from thin air and dropped it in his open palm.

The blond prince peered at the apple with wide eyes, as it was no ordinary one. It was entirely made of crystal and gilded, unlike anything he had ever seen before. There was a song coming from it that hypnotized him, not allowing him to look away from it.

“Give it to her whom you deem worthy.” Lightning whispered from behind him. Which should have alarmed Tidus, because but a second ago she was standing in front of him, but he didn’t seem to pay attention.

He did not see her, because the golden apple in his hand struck him senseless like it was nothing real.

“Go,” Lightning pushed the foolish mortal towards the temple. “And decide who is truly the most beautiful of them all.”

The last Tidus remembered of her was the knives hidden in her voice as he stumbled towards the party with the apple.

~Ω~

The feast was flowing smoothly, with gentle music and sweets and singers. The guests were mingling well together and the newlyweds looked very much in love. Noctis, though, hated the very sight of everyone at the reception party. None of them had deigned to acknowledge his presence, except for the mortals, who paid their homage with little civility at best. They feared his man-slaughtering reputation too much to disrespect him, but no one welcomed him warmly either. Save for Aerith Gainsborough, whose gentle character was the only one who graced him with a genuine smile.

Cloud ignored him, and thus all the other deities as well. He saw Terra sending him a cutting eye from across the hall when she first saw him, but afterwards she as well pretended he wasn’t there. As a malevolent god, Noctis was no one’s friend. Men and immortals alike were pondering on the question as to why he would come to the celebration in the first place. A wedding was no place for a God of War. Neither was it for gods like Vincent and Kuja, who had no real business here either, but none treated them with the disregard they were treating him.

That aside, the invitation did say that all the gods and goddesses were welcomed, even though Noctis knew that message wasn’t entirely true.

The mortals didn’t waste their opportunity to praise Cloud and Tifa of every glory, supposedly the mightiest of all gods and goddesses, leaving the lesser deities in want for attention.

Noctis didn’t give a shit. He had no need for their flattery if he was just sitting here not doing what he does best. He was content enough for now, to just sit in this desolated corner drinking high quality wine in his lonesome. Even the slaves were apprehensive to approach him. Probably afraid he would just slay them where they stood for his own amusement.

As tempting as that might be, he wasn’t here for that. In fact, he would not have come at all if the goddess of discord didn’t tell him that he should. He still wished he hadn’t, for there were people he didn’t wish to see. Stella being one of them, as she flaunted around at the party, turning heads of all men towards her wherever she went. She was showered with courtesy and compliments on how she looked all the time, but today she took extra care to look more fabulous than usual. As much as the sight of all the deities angered him, he could not deny that he missed Stella. She had been his friend once, long before their involvement doomed the two of them.

He would try to pretend she wasn’t there and mulled on his wine instead in silence, thinking what Lightning would accomplish with that plan of hers. He hoped it would work and that he hadn’t rushed himself into trusting her word. There was a strength in her that he liked and something incredibly appealing about her that he couldn’t quite figure out what. In a short period of time he was looking forward to see more and more of her every time.

He didn’t think Lightning would show up at the reception feast herself. She was much more cunning than that, but his heart stopped short for half a second when he saw a rose haired goddess slip through between the guests. Who he assumed was Lightning wasn’t, but an entirely other deity altogether. She was shorter than Lightning, her aura a complete difference than Lightning’s. She smiled with such a sweet complacency, a glow of happiness surrounded her that there was no way that she could possibly be the chaotic constrained goddess Noctis knew. He didn’t address her, choosing instead to remain anonymous in his quiet corner than to chase after her. But he was surprised to see the unfamiliar pink haired immortal hand-in-hand with Noel, whom Noctis knew from eons ago.

Then the previously uninterrupted wedding feast was disturbed when a heavily inebriated mortal prince dropped back into it, causing noise and havoc when he knocked over chairs and bumped into a slave, who let a bottle of alcohol come crashing to the floor.

That earned the boy the attention of the whole hall. The music stopped playing, the singers went still and everyone else remained frozen.

Only one person, an older male slowly rose from his seat, spitting the boy’s name through clenched teeth. “Tidus!”

The blond young man picked himself up, wine stains on his clothes. He looked up at the man who spoke to him. “Father?”

Jecht glared down darkly at his son, who still managed to make himself look like a fool and humiliate his whole family while doing so. “What are you doing?”

Tidus took a gander about him, nervous to have every eye of men, gods and slaves upon him. He had the decency to color and scratch the back of his head sheepishly. “Well…” He held up the golden apple in his hand and the air in the hall shifted.

Noctis immediately felt the essence of Lightning in the fruit, the magic that she was able to create with her blood and his sword. Now that it had fully grown, it felt more addicting than ever.

Gasps rung through the air, indicating that most guests in the hall had felt the power coming from it likewise. Cloud stood, his voice quiet and solemn. “Who are you, boy?”

“T-Tidus, Your Divinity.” He answered. “Son of Jecht, prince of Troje.”

“Prince of Troy,” Cloud pointed at the object in the boy’s hand. “Where did you get that apple?”

Tidus looked at the apple he was holding as if he saw it for the first time. “I… I don’t know.” He swallowed uncertainly. “It’s not mine. I think… I don’t know who, but I have to give it to someone.” As soon as he spoke the words, magic – enslaving compelling magic surged from the apple as if it was the sun.

Letters engraved themselves into the apple, forming words that would doom them all.

‘For The Fairest One’

That got all the goddesses rushing towards young Tidus, allured by the golden apple like flies on honey. From the corner of Noctis’s eye, he saw Vincent hold Yuffie back from joining the commotion, slowly he shook his head no and pulled her back towards him.

The other goddesses weren’t so lucky, a few dozens of them begging the blond prince to gift them the golden apple, yanking the poor boy left and right.

“Hand it over to me, prince, for clearly I am the most beautiful!” Mindy smiled at the young mortal, indeed exceedingly pretty.

The finger of Cindy slid from Tidus’s jaw to his lips, effectively turning his head towards her. “No, to me. T’is I who has been always called the loveliest of my two sisters.”

Sandy gasped appalled. “Untrue!” She pushed the faces of Mindy and Cindy away from Tidus. “Choose me, obviously!”

Other goddesses pulled her off, literally squabbling to Tidus to give them the apple, each one of them flinging themselves onto the young prince.

“Stand aside.” Rikku blew her long yellow tresses over her shoulder. “Grant me the apple, Prince Tidus.”

“Don’t give it to that ugly wench!” A voice was heard yelling between the masses of immortals.

Rikku, easy to anger already, turned with an irritated frown towards the masses, searching for the guilty one who insulted her. “Who said that? Who?!”

No one faced her, but someone pulled on her equally yellow dress, tearing part of its hem apart. She didn’t have the time to get upset about it, as all the goddesses crowded around Tidus once more, pleading for the apple.

“Give it to me, please!”

“No! To me!”

“Am I not beautiful?”

“He’ll never give it to you!”

“I want the apple!”

"The apple is meant for the fairest, y’know?”

“I beg you, hand it over!"

“Are you telling me I am not fair?”

The bickering went on and on, getting louder until the goddesses were literally screaming and hissing at each other, throwing insults and nearly getting in one another’s hairs, but then Lady Tifa decided to put an end to it.

“Calm down, ladies.” She said in her gentle tone, descending from the dais she occupied along with her husband, the startled bride and groom.

The inferior deities tried to compose themselves in the sight of Lady Tifa, who slowly made her way towards Tidus. “Now, what do we have here?” She asked, not ignorant to the tempting magic that flowed out of the apple. “Meant for the Fairest One, huh? I know a way to end all your fighting among yourselves.” She smiled beautifully at the human boy, who gaped at her awed. “Give me the apple.”

There were indignant sharp inhale of breaths all around, but no one went ahead and came out to oppose her.

Except for Terra. She was a mighty goddess of her own right and didn’t fear the superior deity half as much as the rest of them. “That would be unfair, Lady Tifa,” Terra spoke in her solemn tone. “Who would contest with you?”

Tifa turned towards the blonde goddess with a narrow look to her brown eyes. “Are you saying that you would contest me?”

The other goddess shrugged, saying nothing in return.

But Tifa wouldn’t have it and flipped around to Tidus, who was too astonished by the overwhelming attentions of the deities to actually have a voice in it all. “Why don’t you give it to me, hm?”

Prince Tidus would have gladly given it to Lady Tifa, a stunning goddess if he ever saw one. “I-I…”

A third voice added to the party, protesting for the golden fruit. “The apple isn’t mean for you, Lady Tifa.” The female goddesses parted aside, enviously glaring as Stella sauntered by.

The sight of Stella would never falter to amaze Noctis, no matter how many times he had seen her both publicly and privately. She was nevertheless as beautiful as always, with her violet eyes, glossy hair and curves that made deities and men alike swoon.

“Nor is it for you, Terra.” She flipped her golden hair towards said goddess.

“Stella.” Tifa acknowledged lowly.

“Lady Tifa,” Stella curtsied elegantly, with more grace than any of them could muster, before she, too, turned her appealing eyes towards Tidus, locking straight on the mysterious golden object. “Grant me the apple, as is my due, don’t you agree?”

“What?” Tifa objected.

Terra wasn’t Stella’s biggest fan and the two never went along well. Stella posed for everything that Terra was not. “What makes you think it belongs to you?”

Stella waved at the other lighter blonde immortal as if the answer was obvious. “No man has ever resisted me, unlike you.” She told Terra. Slowly she slid her lilac gaze to Tifa. “Or you.” She smiled, letting the implication lie. They weren’t very much worth her trouble, so the golden goddess addressed Tidus once more, successfully seducing him with a single look. “Give it here.”

Stella was already reaching for the golden fruit, but faster than the mortal eyes could follow, Tifa had pushed Stella’s hands away and Terra pulled the goddess away from the unassuming mortal prince. Aghast that the queen of gods and the virgin goddess would humiliate her so, Stella blushed prettily. Like everything else she did, it was pretty.

“Ah, who are you really trying to convince, Lady Tifa?” Stella sneered, the first sign of her losing her composure. “The apple is meant For the Fairest One, and you aren’t particularly fair.” She indicated at Tifa’s dark hair conceitedly. “And you,” She said to Terra with a turned up nose. “Though you are sweet to look upon, I admit, who has ever called you the fairest of them all?”

They both knew the answer to that question and it only managed to rile up Terra’s more unruly side. “Why you–”

“Enough!” Tifa stated, pointing an angry finger at her husband. “Make an end to this.”

All eyes turned towards Cloud. He merely raised his hands instead. “Keep me out of this. The apple belongs to the prince of Troje. He shall choose between the three of you.” The king of gods smartly washed his hands from the business that would otherwise turn ugly. “It’s Prince Tidus’s judgment.”

The other lesser female deities who were silently still crowded around the prince, sighed and whined and slinked away, leaving Tidus in the hands of the three most powerful goddesses known to mankind.

Tifa wasted no time, lest Tidus dared to change his mind, knowing that the apple must belong to her. “Choose me,” Said she. “And I’ll give you all the political power you would ever wish. Every senator will be your friend, every family of title and influence would easily plead fealty to you.”

Tifa’s hand touched his gently. And from her touch, Tidus saw himself shaking hands with lords and fat rich merchants.

“If you pick me,” Terra ushered, turning Tidus by his shoulder towards her. “I’ll give you all the wisdom you’ll require. When you are king after your father, you’ll rule wisely and honorably, and once you’ve passed, you’ll be remembered as the most venerable king that has ever lived.”

By her touch, Tidus saw himself as a king, old and bearded, wearing the crown of his father, signing laws and verdicts for the good of his kingdom.

“But grant it to me,” Stella purred, grabbing the prince by his chin so she could have his full attention. “And I’ll…” She stopped. She wasn’t sure what would sufficiently convince the prince to pick her above the opportunities of ultimate political power or infinitive wisdom. “Give me the apple and I will offer you the most beautiful woman in the world.”

To push the prince even more, she gave him but a hint of what could be his with a touch of her finger. A vision formed in Tidus’s mind, cloudy and vague, but then he indeed saw a gorgeous lady, dancing on the surface of the ocean with the setting sun glowing red and orange behind her. Stella pulled the vision away before he could see the rest of it, leaving him wanting for more.

It was now up to the prince to decide.

For beauty, he couldn’t say. Each goddess, Tifa, Terra, Stella, they were all three very fine. He would have given the apple to each of them if he could. In fact, he would give a golden apple to all the females in the room, but he only had one, and it were only these three goddesses he could choose from. Lady Tifa has always been the most beautiful goddess on Mount Olympus… he could not ignore the fact that she was the wife of Cloud. She seemed like an obvious choice. Terra is the Virgin Goddess of Wisdom and even though she is sometimes called the Grim-Goddess, she is quite beautiful by any mortal standards. Stella is the Goddess of Love. Her charms and enchantments were legendary. If he picked one, he would still be lying, for he could not say who was truly the fairest one!

Their bribes, however, were something else altogether.

His father would have wanted Tidus to choose either Tifa or Terra. Their offers were sound and things most men would want in life for themselves and their families. But Tidus was a hapless prince. He cared nothing for politics and not once has he had an interest in being king.

But that last offer though…

To the surprise of everybody in the room and the irrevocable disappointment of his father, Tidus gave the golden apple of discord to Stella, the Goddess of Love, sealing the faith of himself and the future of Troy.

It would have been stuff of legend and glory to say that Prince Tidus chose Stella for her pure appearance and that he chose fairly. Stella was after all famed for her seductions and her arts in love. He should have chosen Stella for those reasons alone, but his choice was based on greed and desire. Beauty had nothing to do with it.

Terra and Tifa’s anger was evident, but Stella did not care for their jealousy nor their resentment. The apple was hers and all its addictive magic, as it was always meant to be.

The new owner of the apple smiled a smile of lust and want. “Yuna, Queen of Sparta is awaiting your arrival, Prince Tidus.” Stella offered slyly. “Go find her.”

~Ω~

Noctis found her on the roof of the temple, sitting cross-legged over the edge, listening to the commotion within. A few red roses grew around her, protecting her from getting detected. He assumed Lightning would be watching the event go down from her mirror in her home, but when he traced the essence of her blood back to her, it seemed that she wasn’t very far off from him.

The black mist that accompanied him when he warped alerted her flowers of his arrival, curling fantastically on contact. Nothing has ever responded to his mist like her roses do.

“What now?” His voice flew through the air from behind her.

Lightning twirled a rose in her hand. “Within three days Tidus will arrive at Sparta to claim his price that Stella promised him. What she cleverly omitted from her offer was that Yuna is already married, to Seymour, King of Sparta. Once Prince Tidus successfully seduces Yuna to join him on an elopement, Seymour would want his bride back. He’ll call upon his allies to form an army, follows them to Troy and once there…”

“He’ll declare for war.” He finished her sentence.

Noctis finally saw what she was planning all along. Everything was falling into place. And it was pure geniality.

“I told you, all you had to do was count on the vanity of the gods and greed of humans for them to arrange their own requiem mass.” Lightning stood up from the roof’s edge slowly, letting her rose fall to the ground below them. “You’ll have what you wanted.”

“And you?” Noctis asked, knowing that she had yearned for her chance of revenge as much as he wanted war.

“I already have what I set out to do. That perfidious bitch Lady Tifa felt the sting of being scorned. And listen,” She went quiet and the rumble of immortals and men arguing below was heard loudly. A glass fell and broke, people were rudely pushed aside and all the guests were either ruffled or shouting at each other. “Their precious party is in ruins.”

So it was.

She smiled contently, before turning away to return back to the domain she called hers. “Well, I got my part of the deal.” She announced. “You have fun with your war.”

This would be the last he’d see of her if he let her slip away.

“Wait,” Noctis held her slim wrist before she disappeared altogether.

Lightning stared sharply at his hand on her. His palm was warm against her skin. “Our business is done.”

Cobalt blue eyes smiled coyly at her. “I’m not done with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I want you to join me in war.”

Lightning chuckled. It had been a long time since anyone made her laugh, even if it was a cynical little sound. “That’s cute. But no.”

He wasn’t hoping to hear that answer from her. “You prefer to stay locked up in that realm of yours, isolated from Olympus, the mortal earth and even the Underworld once more?”

“Who says I am locked up? Unlike when you were prisoned, I can leave whenever I want.”

Noctis scoffed. “We both know you’re confined against your will in there. Or are you trying to tell me that you like your nature to be restrained at all times?”

That arrow came too close to home. Lightning, for once, had nothing to say as retort.

The corner of his lips lifted superciliously. “Join me and show them that no one can truly contain unconditional pure chaos.”

It sounded tempting. So incredibly tempting to join this young god and take his offer to sow strife and cruelty wherever she went. It has been so long she was allowed to inflict her nature upon the mortals, she couldn’t believe how much she actually longed to see men fear her. Serah, with her resilient and peaceful character, had managed to subdue Lightning so many times when she wanted to destroy half the world with her powers.

Noctis had the truth of the matter. She had been caged and constrained. For centuries.

She didn’t take this young god up on his offer yet though. What did he know of pure chaos anyway? She had existed for millenias and eons before he came along. “You have raged war without my aid before. Why would you want me to join you now?”

He had seen what they could do combined with something as insignificant as an apple among the gods. Imagine what they could do if they put their skills together entirely? “Together, we’re at our most powerful.” That was a bet. His power had diminished significantly, but with her, his magic could increase and become what it once was. There was vast power when they were joined. So much more than even he could realize. Without her he was just war, but with her, he could be more. They could be terrifying, unstoppable, fearsome. Together.

What would happen if war, discord and aggression becomes one? The world would not know what hits them.

“That’s why you would want me to join you?” She yanked her arm out of his grip, but he didn’t let go. “Typical.”

“Believe me,” He said with a grin as he pulled her close by her wrist. “Your magic isn’t the only reason why I want you with me.”

She was glaring up to him in a way that made him want to kiss her, just to see her reaction. He knew the taste of her blood, now he wanted to know the taste of her lips. He had an inkling she would push him off her and curse him, but he would love to see if he could sway the powerful goddess enough to return it.

Her lips parted slightly and mayhaps she saw what he intended to do in the first place, and she didn’t back away from him. Challenge rose in her eyes and Noctis couldn’t resist to not take it.

“Right,” She finalized haughtily. “Prove it.”

He looked at her, cobalt eyes eager and waiting. “Prove what?”

“That you want me not only for my magic.”

This took for a direction far more interesting. “Are you certain you want to go that way? There's no going back from me.”

Lightning urged herself to think about this, before she plunged head first into the ocean with him. He was right about one thing, for sure. Their powers combined together would be something fierce to behold. It was simply up to Lightning whether or not she wanted to take his dare and bring woe to every mortal, deity and creature in their path. It had been so long since she was allowed to truly be herself, always calmed by Serah when her ire became too great at times, always hid away in her domain. Tonight she had felt more alive sending Tidus into his misfortune and thus igniting the doom of Troy, than she had been in a long time.

Imagine how much more devastation she could cast if she went into this war with him? So much, so much more.

All Lightning had to do was ask herself if she indeed wanted to thread into those waters? Go against her sweet sister Serah’s wishes and rival all the gods and goddesses on Olympus at her own behest.

Was she sure she wanted to do that, with him? “I am.”

Noctis leaned forward to kiss her, pausing right in front of her lips to smile against her mouth. Before taking her and everything that she was. It was positively delightful knowing that she would be on his side, like this.

And in his kiss was freedom – freedom from her lonely realm and her sister, who had successfully kept Lightning dormant for hundreds of years. Then this young god came along, claiming he wanted war and vengeance by threading on chaos, and severed all the restraining bonds that kept her nature from hungrily wanting to destroy everything.

Noctis pushed her closer to him and Lightning felt the strength in his arms, the same strength she knew would hold her as they rode into war together. She would enjoy casting disorder among the mortals, as they murdered their enemies and slaughtered their kin in the confusion. Their rue would be her amusement, their pain would feed her like nothing had before.

And during the heat of war, she would be able to see Noctis grow into the mighty god he was always meant to be.

They kissed on the roof of the temple, with a disbanding wedding reception that had plummeted into ruins below them. They faded out of existence with black mist and blooming roses.

~Ω~

The waiting game ensued.

All Noctis had to do was wait, and the inevitable war will be upon them and he could ride onto battle on his chariot, his swords flying through the air and decapitating men left and right.

All he had to do was wait. But it was known that he was an impatient god, unless he had something to distract his mind. Which, luckily for him, he did.

The mirror in Lightning’s bedchamber followed every step of Prince Tidus, making his way towards Sparta to see Yuna, but it was not something neither the God of War and Goddess of Discord was watching.

Three days it took for Tidus to find Yuna, in those three days Noctis had done nothing else besides breathing in the scent of Lightning’s roses and taste the flavor of her skin.

He hadn’t ever spend three days quite so fruitful.

The sight of Lightning as he cut her dress from her person was one of the highly arousing moments of his life. She was truly beautiful, in her own striking way that was nothing like the goddess of Love or Virginity or Family. They would sing a tune differently if they saw Lightning stretched naked on the bed, welcoming his body on top of hers. She was enchanting, with her flowers growing about her, each turning black when he touched one of them, sighing a sigh of lust and madness.

It were three days of heat and pain and ecstasy.

It was a time spent idling around with her, where their limbs were entangled together and her kisses stole the very air from his lungs. Moments where he enjoyed discovering the softness of her thigh with his lips before she turned the tables and explored every inch of him. Goosebumps broke out across his skin as she ghosted her fingertips up his chest, feeling the muscles underneath as they tensed in hypnotizing ways.

She smiled a Cerberus-may-care grin at him right before she kissed a trail down the ridges of his abdomen and further down, then bobbed her head. He kissed her when she came up and he finally caught his breath. Her mouth tasted like ambrosia and his cum and roses, always like her roses.

He easily returned the favor, reveling in the fact that whenever he managed to get her to finish, storm clouds gathered and boomed dangerously outside her manor.

Somewhere between the moments that Noctis was licking the silvery ambrosia drink from between the valley of her breasts and the dip of her stomach, Lightning’s sister, Serah, decided to appear.

“Sis, where are you?!” Came the more harmonious melodic voice from somewhere in the manor.

Never before had Noctis seen the look of utter panic on his companion’s face when she urged him to disappear from her presence, lest Serah found him. Naked, she jumped up from the floor of her bedchamber – since they have long rolled off of the bed – and commanded her red robe to fly into her hand.

“Why are you still here?” She hissed at him lowly, while he eyed her lazily as she dressed herself enough to look presentable for her sister. “Leave before she knows you’re here.”

He merely propped his head on his arms and lay unabashedly nude on the floor. “Why, you ashamed to be seen with me?”

“Not at all.” And that was the truth of it too. “But I do not want to expose my innocent little sister to any of our… interactions.”

He smirked wolfishly at her use of words. “I think your sister is a big girl by now.”

“Light!” Serah called again and Lightning cursed Noctis’s stubborn refusal to leave immediately.

“I’m in here.” She responded before Serah thought something suspicious about her not answering. She glared at Noctis on the floor, demanding him to leave one more time. “Disappear and don’t leave any trace either.”

“Only if you promise that I can do whatever I want to you when she is gone.” There was an inferno of heat in his gaze.

His words caused the place between her legs to throb, but her stomach was filled with caution for her sister coming nearer. She could practically hear Serah’s light footfalls down the hallways, thanking her sister that she didn’t just transport herself into her bedroom. Serah was like that, she enjoyed the more baser part of life, like walking around and gardening.

Lightning crossed her arms angrily. “Fine.”

The young god misted away with the black smoke that was of his being the very second later. Lightning kicked any sheets and pillows that was lingering about under her bed. Her hand had flicked away the image of Yuna and Tidus smiling at each other through the mirror right when Serah opened the bedchamber’s door.

“There you are!” She said with a smile. “Still abed at this hour?”

Lightning found herself awkwardly sharing that smile. “I was bored.” Quickly to pull her sister’s attention from her disheveled bed, she changed the subject. “How was your wedding party?”

At this Serah’s smile shrunk. “Oh, Light, it ended in complete disaster! First the party had been moving on nicely for several hours, but then this mortal… I don’t remember his name, but he was a prince of somewhere I think, he had this golden apple that had such a potent power, it just lured everyone to it. Even I wanted to go, but Noel prevented me.”

Bless Noel then. “Truly? I guess I missed a lot at that legendary wedding.”

Serah looked guilty. “It’s good you stayed away, sis. It was later that Noel pointed out that only the goddesses seemed overly affected by it, that though he felt an urge himself, he wasn’t desperate for it, not like how I wanted it and the other goddesses as well. Everything fell apart when the apple was meant for the most beautiful person in the room and the poor mortal prince was forced to choose between Lady Tifa, Stella and Rikku. If you were there too, you would have been a mighty contender for the apple.”

Lightning shrugged. “Such things doesn’t bother me. You know that, Serah.”

She nodded that she did. “Still, the apple was hypnotizing enough to push those three goddesses to even bribe the mortal, and he took Stella’s offer. The most beautiful woman above political power and eternal wisdom as Terra and Lady Tifa offered him.”

“Hmm. The vanity of gods and the greed of humankind,” Lightning said smiling, thinking of her own words and how much her plan worked. “They never cease to astonish me.”

Serah had never liked to see the darker aspect of any being. “Sad to say that some are, sister. After the prince gave the apple, the party was rowdy. Some goddesses even cursed Stella for a cheat, and Lady Tifa and Terra weren’t very much amused either. It looked like everyone was blaming each other until there was shouting and pushing and hysterics… It was total chaos by the end!”

When Serah saw her sister smile on her normally apathetic face, she rose an eyebrow at her. “Light, you didn’t have a hand in this, did you?” Serah couldn’t feel her sister’s magic in the apple. She would have recognized it if it was Lightning’s power that created it.

Lightning’s eyes were green and warm and expressive when she looked at her. And Serah felt a dread in the pit of her stomach. “All by myself?” Her elder sister asked lightly. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Serah glanced down at her toes. “I came to check up on you and tell you that I was sorry about how we parted last time.” It wasn’t her fault, but she liked to smooth things over on her part anyhow. “I have to go.”

“You barely got here.”

Serah looked from Lightning’s mirror on the wall to the bed with all its thrown sheets and then back at her barely dressed sister, whose brilliant eyes were still glowing emeralds and lovelier than a forest lake in spring. It was all wrong. She feared Lightning had something to do with this. She feared that the threads of chaos and disorder was pulled by Lightning. She knew that something or someone might have aided her on her vengeance - Lightning swore that she would, after all - but Serah did not know who. All she could do was pray, and plead and beg for her sister to restrain herself. Because she could feel it; the fate of the world is in great danger, and the ruined wedding feast had only been the beginning.

Serah saw it in her expressively otherworldly green eyes, when they had always been blue. “Please don’t do this, Light.”

The quirk of her beautiful mouth meant no good. “I already am, sister.”

Serah bit her lip, fearing for them all. Whatever hope she had that she could talk her sibling out of this doom she had casted would be futile. The control she carefully placed over Lightning’s dangerous nature throughout the eons was gone.

She left, leaving behind thunder storms brewing in the sky and onyx mist surrounding ominously about the manor.

As soon as Serah blinked from existence Noctis misted up behind Lightning, his hand on her waist, touching her in wicked, sinful ways. He didn’t even waste time pushing the robe from her body when he took her wildly against the wall right then and there.

~Ω~

The tale of the war of Troy would be forever remembered on disks and walls and paintings. The mortals wrote the tales of the gods into legends and poems and stories.

Ten years of war reigned, followed by the fall of Troy due to the Wooden Horse that Lightning cleverly slipped into the minds of the mortals. Armies were formed and battles were fought, where the two deities only thrived on. War not only expanded Noctis’s power, but also her own, more than she would have ever realized. She spread hatred and cruelty down at the mortals fighting, seeing the darkness and chaos in all their hearts. She fed on it, as Noctis’s power grew with every battle, with every slaughter, with every melee. The Goddess of Strife, the mighty driver of armies, rose in strength and the God of War bellowed his cry from far across the lines, churning black as a whirlwind with sparkling sharp blades flying about them like bleeding stars.

Lightning was once again free, uncontrollable and unstoppable, and Noctis was still between reveling in the strength that war fed him or kissing her deeply every time his blades drank mortal blood.

From then on to every war known to mankind, the two deities rode together on their chariot as War and Strife, spreading slaughter and fury. Bearing children together that would become known to mankind as Famine and Sorrow, Battle and Folly, Lawlessness and Slaughter. Their children joining the two deities wherever they went to cause havoc.

Forevermore together, until the end of time.

~Ω~

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jaeminlore · 7 years ago

Text

Immortal // Lee Taeyong

the prompt: Can i get fantasy scenario with Taeyong with The Hobbit/Lord of the ring theme? aka: you, a human, are the best friends with taeyong. the two of you realize the truth about mortality a bit too late.

words: 2000

category: angst + lotr elf!taeyong

author note: ayo your local tolkien stan is here!! I was so excited when I got this request I wasn’t sure what to write for it bc I wanted to make it perfect. anyway i figure some elves must hate being immortal, you know? so that’s what prompted this.

- destinee

You walked down the length of the stone corridor slowly, to take notice of the scenery around you. Lothlórien had become like your home after many years of traveling. As a child, you were a wanderer, so it didn’t surprise anyone when you decided to go off and search for the ancient elves realms that only few humans knew about.

The first time you met an elf was entirely by coincidence, and was the main reason you chose to look for more elves. His name was Taeyong, and he was your age or older (as no one can really tell with immortal beings). His dark hair was straight and flowed down past his collarbones, covered by a circlet of bronze. Your thirteen-year-old mind thought he must be royalty.

After talking to him, you found that he was only friends to royalty. Having been orphaned sometime during the war with Morgoth, he had been taken in under the wings of Lothlórien elves and their families. The elven prince, Sicheng, was exceptionally kind to Taeyong, always including him in royal activities so that Taeyong felt like royalty himself.

He knew the truth of course, which is why you found him in Fangorn Forest. He liked to be alone to think, but your company was never rejected. Perhaps he found something perplexing about you as a human. He had never met a nice human, and the only stories of the race of men he had learnt were horrible ones that resulted in the deaths of his elven ancestors.

You were nice to him however. You never pushed to learn about his life, or what he was thinking. Instead, you had asked him how to climb a tree. You had asked to see his pointed ears. You had asked him to teach you entish, so that you could talk to the Ents as they slowly roamed around the forest. You always wanted to learn something. Taeyong knew you hadn’t initially come to him for friendship, and the thought gave him a strange sense of comfort.

It took him forever to tell Sicheng about you. He was afraid that once you met him, you would go to the prince with all your questions. He was used to that: being surpassed by the prince. Although the royal family had taken him in with good intentions, there was always the underlying truth that Taeyong just wasn’t one of them. He was a dark elf. His skin was honeyed and his hair was blacker than the night itself. The only thing he had in common with the fair Lothlórien elves was the color of his eyes. Still then, his eyes were more of a charcoal gray people recoiled at, while Sicheng’s were a soft silver that people cooed at.

You had never really thought of Taeyong as your elven friend. You thought of him as your first friend; someone who you could learn things from. He was someone who would help you become better at your adventures. No matter where you went, you always returned to that hideaway spot in Fangorn Forest, where the Ents hadn’t yet awoken, to talk to Taeyong. You told him about the dwarven kingdoms and how they had more gold than you had ever seen in one place. You told him about the pleasant little hobbits, who lived in their warm holes, content with tea and pastries. You talked about the Old Forest and how Tom Bombadil was still doing very well, and he says thanks for asking. You talked about Bree, and how the mead was always too strong for you and the company was always a bit strange. You talked about Ithilien, the Moon-land, and how it was a cozy little place filled with beautiful foliage. You talked of Mordor, and how it was too far away, but you still had nightmares about the evil creatures you knew lurked there. By your twenty-first year, you had travelled nearly everywhere in Middle Earth. Yet, each month you would leave to find somewhere you wished to go and visit, then loyally return to Taeyong to tell him what you had learned.

When he finally told Sicheng about you, he found out that you had yet to explore any elven kingdom. He was so used to rangers coming in and out of Lothlórien, requesting blessings and gifts, that he hadn’t even realized that you hadn’t been inside of the kingdom itself.

“I’ve thought about it,” you’d say, “but I’m afraid to intrude. I know how elves feel towards human travelers.”

Taeyong had brushed your concerns away. “You’re my friend, though. They’ll want to meet you.”

So you agreed. You finally met Sicheng, the renowned prince, to find that he was quite witty. He and you clicked well, but he couldn’t replace Taeyong. He never would. From then on, Taeyong wasn’t afraid of telling others about you. He realized that you were loyal, which was a trait rarely found in elves. Humans did have that strange resilience to stay by their friend’s side until the very end. It seemed you had chosen to stay with Taeyong. Taeyong had unknowingly chosen you as well. His entire family could tell that you were someone Taeyong had attached himself to. Which is why, as you were off visiting Rohan, they decided to sit down and talk to him.

They reminded him that he was over a century old. Which was young, yes, in elven years. However, you wouldn’t even be around for a century. You were a mortal. Humans were mortal and there was nothing they could do it gain immortality. They reminded Taeyong that the gleam in his eyes wasn’t that of a friend. They admitted that they knew Taeyong had fallen in love with a human. They told him to be careful.

Taeyong was hurt in every sense of the word. Never in his life had he begged for mortality like he had the next few weeks. How could the universe be so cruel that it would not only take away his parents, but also threaten the one he loved?

So he tried to fix the universe himself. He tried to change fate, as if it were his to control. With a long knife, he chopped off his long hair, resulting in a messy cut that barely brushed the top of his collar. Then he put on human clothes and left with nothing in his pocket but a few biscuits of lembas bread. He wanted nothing more than to become a human. He wanted a life humans always talked about in their books. They were boring, short lives, filled with nothing but following expectations but somehow Taeyong thought he could endure that if you were by his side. Perhaps that’s how humans thought, too. Perhaps all they wanted to do was find that one person who would make their short, mediocre lives seem a little bit longer and a little more exciting.

Taeyong’s disappearance was the entire reason you were at Lothlórien and not at Fangorn. You had come here first to talk to Sicheng about the situation. Sicheng hadn’t known what to tell you other than the truth, so he revealed that there was no real way you and Taeyong could become one. You would die far too soon for it to become anything. Everything Sicheng was telling you wasn’t news. You had thought about it plenty of times before. There was always an extra something there between you and Taeyong. You never thought you would have to confront the truth so soon.

You felt immortal. You felt like there was nothing you could do that would kill you. It was jarring to remember that you were just a human with limited time and organs that could fail any moment.

You went to the Fangorn Forest. There, on his usual tree, was Taeyong with his hair cut short. It was attractive, just brushing the tips of his pointed ears. His gaze lifted to see your form, and you could see all the emotion hidden behind the moon nestled in his eyes. “Y/n.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you climbed the tree with little effort until you were sitting beside Taeyong, shoulders brushing. “So, I went to Rohan. You wouldn’t believe how many horses are in that kingdom, Tae.”

“Really?” he asked weakly, buying into the game you were playing. The game of acting like nothing had happened. “Did you get to ride any?”

“Get to?” you scoffed playfully. “That’s all I did while I was there. I’m sure the stablehands were mad at me. There was this one named Kun. He was so annoyed that I kept making him stay at the stable so he could do his job and clean the tack after I was done.”

Taeyong quirked a small smile, but it was nothing compared to his usual shining grin.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore. “Tae, I know I’m not immortal. It’s okay.”

With that, the damn fell. Elves didn’t cry, for they were strong and graceful creatures. For the first time in his life, Taeyong felt a warm sting being his eyes and the overwhelming urge to just sob crawling up his throat. He couldn’t stop himself from wrapping him arms around your body as he cried into your shoulder. “It’s not fair, Y/n. I love you so much. I want to be a human.”

Your heart broke at his voice, and the amount of hurt inside of it. Every lilt was accented by pain that had been bubbling inside of him for a few weeks now. You were the only person who could comfort him.

Before either of you really knew what was happening, you were kissing. Kissing and crying and touching and just… feeling. Feeling the passion that the two of you had known for that past years that neither of you had acted upon. Feeling the slow burn of love that was quickly turning into ashes that flew into the sky, never to be seen again. It wasn’t an I-love-you kiss. It was a goodbye kiss, and both of you knew it.

Taeyong’s tears stained your cheeks when he pressed into you, his teeth grazing your lips as a growl of frustration escaped him lips. He was frustrated at the world, and the rules that somehow made it to where he couldn’t be with you.

Even if the two of you stayed together until you died, he would still have to live for the rest of his life with you gone. It was better to forget you and move on now, while he and you both were still young.

He finally let go of your lips, his forehead rested harshly against yours as he breathed heavily. “We never should’ve met,” he said.

“I know,” you replied, your eyes closing in pain.

“However, I don’t regret it.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Good luck on your travels, Y/n. I’ll be sending blessings your way. I hope you find a human man who loves you so much more than I ever could.”

“Taeyong…” You cupped his cheeks tenderly, looking into those penetrating eyes one last time. “I love you.”

“I didn’t think this was going to be so hard,” he sighed. “I’ve got to go.”

As he climbed down the tree, he looked back sadly, “It might be best that you don’t return to Lothlórien for a few years. They’ll be watching me closely. Elves can die of a broken heart, you know?” He gave you a bitter smile, “They might make me forget you, and if that happens, I’m sorry.”

You wiped your eyes, “I understand. It’s for your own good, of course.”

You watched him walk away, until there was no evidence that he was even there, save the tear stains dripping down your cheeks.

You felt mortal. Although you had always known your mortality, it hadn’t registered.

You felt mortal, and there was no feeling more devastating.

~the end~

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merlinficreview · 8 years ago

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The Student Prince: Chapter 1-5 Review!

Sorry it’s been 84 years since Romeo or I have posted anything. Romeo is back to school for the semester so her time is limited and work has been really draining on me recently. Never fear, we are still here though and I’ve got a review!

The Student Prince by FayJay

Word Count: 145222

Ok guys, this is it. The infamous Student Prince fic. I have read this one before and I liked it because it seems to be the closest fic I’ve found to a modernized version of the BBC show. Plus, as I’ve already said before, I am a sucker for Modern Royalty AUs. This fic also takes place at the University of St. Andrews, which I know nothing about. So google will be my trusty friend throughout this review.

Here we go!

Chapter 1

We begin with Merlin getting hit in the face with some luggage and falling onto some poor elderly lady. Merlin has to maintain an extra sense of control when objects are flying towards his face because he has magic and doesn’t want to out himself. Yay Modern Day Magic Fic!

So it turns out the luggage situation was someone else’s fault. “She glanced from Merlin to the lady and then back again, her face the picture of mortification, and Merlin – who had been feeling a little disgruntled about the whole unexpected-rain-of-luggage scenario – took one look at her huge brown eyes and immediately wanted to reassure her that he had thoroughly enjoyed being knocked half unconscious.” Haha, aww.

The luggage canon introduces herself as Gwen. Yay, Gwen! She is studying engineering at St. Andrews. I think it’s weird that Gwen already has all her textbooks. Have they already signed up for their classes? How would she know what to buy?

Gwen tells Merlin she also has a hammer in her bag. "’Of course there is,’ nodded Merlin, gravely. ‘Who travels without a hammer in their luggage these days? One never knows when a spot of joinery might be in order.’ The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘Stop!’ he said, raising one hand in front of him. Gwen blinked, and after a beat Merlin added: ‘Hammer Time! Dooo doodoodoo! Doodoo! Doo! Hammer Time!’ as he improvised a quick, and truly terrible, attempt at the Hammer Dance in the cramped confines of the aisle.’”

Oh my God. How embarrassing. Stop it, Merlin. Then Gwen tells Merlin that she makes her own jewelry and Merlin is super impressed. Merlin even does the dance a second time and I want to crawl in a hole and die from secondhand embarrassment. Merlin, you JUST met Gwen. Calm yourself.

“’Hey, it's not really Merlin, is it?’ Gwen asked, looking at him sidelong. ‘I mean – really really? You're pulling my leg, right? I mean – nobody's called Merlin. Why would any woman name her baby after an old man with a long white beard and a pointy hat? It's like calling your baby Gandalf.’” This is the second time Gwen has awkwardly expressed disbelief about Merlin’s name. Stop being weirdly obsessed with his name, Gwen. How fucking rude. Poor Merlin. Getting assaulted by luggage and then getting his name made fun of. Good start to college, Merlin. Good start.

Then Gwen points out that Prince Arthur is also going to be attending St. Andrews and she says Merlin and Arthur will become besties. Merlin points out that her name is Guinevere and that she’ll be future queen.

"’That isn't why I applied there,’ she insisted. ‘I mean, I know that there must be thousands of girls who filled in their UCAS forms with St Andrews just because they're living some kind of stupid “Princess Diaries” fantasy and they think they're going to meet him and he'll fall for them and they'll end up with a tiara and a load of corgis, but I'm serious about my career. St Andrews has an excellent engineering department. I was going to apply there long before I heard that's where Arthur was going.’”

But that’s not the plot of The Princess Diaries at all?

I also have the St. Andrews website pulled up because like I said, I know nothing about it, or going to school in the UK, to be honest, and it doesn’t even look like St. Andrews has an engineering department. Man, Gwen is going to be pissed when she finds out she spent all her money on textbooks for a degree her school doesn’t offer.

Then Gwen tells us how King Uther met his wife while they were at Oxford once upon a time. "It's such a beautiful story, isn't it? The way they met at Oxford when she borrowed his jar of Gold Blend, not even realising he was the Prince of Wales at first because he was in the middle of shaving and she was distracted by her friend's dog...oh, they were so in love!" Gold Blend is coffee, by the way. I had to google it too. In what situation would a man be shaving his face next to a container of instant coffee while a random dog is nearby? That’s such an odd scene to imagine. Maybe she knocked in his door to borrow the coffee and she had the dog with her? Were there co-ed dormitories back then?

Merlin is just as suspicious about this story as I am and pops Gwen’s bubble, telling her it was most likely PR. I agree.

"Merlin shook his head mutely, and carefully didn't mention any of the books or magazines he might possibly have read about Prince Arthur and his family. Especially not the outrageously hot photoshoot in GQ magazine that he'd been hiding under his bed for the past three months, and frantically jerking off to most nights. Nope, definitely not mentioning that. Gwen rolled her eyes. ‘Uther and Igraine – it's like a modern day Romeo and Juliet!’" First of all, 100% do not mention that to Gwen. Good decision. Second of all, Gwen has a really hard time grasping plots, doesn’t she? No wonder she decided to major in a non-existent department at her university. She’s not a very bright girl.

We then learn that Merlin is planning to major in physics. That is a department at St. Andrews, good job, Merlin! Then Gwen compares their journey to Hogwarts. “He found himself wishing he could explain about Professor Gaius and Doctor Nimueh, and about the kind of text books he had stuffed into the bottom of his rucksack – but that wasn't going to happen. Magic was secret, and secret it should stay. Nobody wanted to go back to the days of witchburnings.” Poor Merlin. It’s always so sad that he has to hide himself. I will also give him a pass for already having magic books because that’s different.

Gwen and Merlin talk a little more about Harry Potter and then go right back to talking about Arthur and how they’ll probably never meet him. Well…

Then Merlin gets real depressing real fast. "Whatever. All those posh interbred types with more rooms than they know what to do with and flocks of sheep wandering around on their enormous ancient estates - that's who he'll be hanging out with. Not with a physics student from a grotty little council estate in Cardiff, or an engineering student – however lovely – who lives above her dad's garage in Wembley. Face it – we don't have our own flocks of sheep." Brutal Honesty Hour! It’s my favorite time of day!

Merlin then shares some chocolate with Gwen and they enjoy the rest of their train ride.

Chapter 2

“The door was open a crack when Merlin reached his room in St Salvator's Hall, and he could hear voices inside, and what sounded rather a lot like The Rolling Stones.” I looked up St. Salvator’s Hall and holy crap those rooms are nice. According to the photos, the rooms are like twice as big as the dorm rooms of the university I went to. I also decided to compare prices, for funsies, and also to sit and cry about how much more ridiculously expensive it is to go to university here than in other countries. The fee for a shared room at St. Salvator’s Hall is £5,837 which includes a meal plan. That’s 6292.55 USD for comparison. At the University that I went to, a shared room with communal bath is 6,795 USD. This does not include a meal plan which could add up to around 800 USD if you pick the one with the most meals. Those rates are also per semester and not for the entire academic year. Now, St. Salvator’s rate does not state whether the fee is per semester or for the whole year but either way, it’s still way more expensive here in the US. It also looks like St. Salvator Hall doesn’t have communal bathrooms like the one located here that I looked up. Yay not affordable education here in the US!

Anyways, Merlin enters the room and his roommate is none other than the Prince of Wales himself, Arthur. Oh my god. I NEVER saw that one coming!

“’Only – I thought – well, I pretty much assumed that you'd be staying over at New Hall. Where they have single rooms. And ensuites with all the mod cons,’ blurted Merlin. ‘Not sharing a room in Sally's. Why are you sharing a room in Sally's?’ Arthur frowned. ‘Because I lost a bet, if you must know. With my father.’ He stared at Merlin, looking puzzled and a touch irritated. ‘You weren't expecting this, then? They didn't get you to sign things – Official Secrets Act, all that?’” I think that’s a fair question Merlin is asking and I also want to know what sort of bet Arthur lost. How fucking awkward that no one alerted Merlin to who his roommate was supposed to be. Don’t they give out roommate names before the semester starts?

So then Arthur gets bitchy that Merlin hasn’t signed a non-disclosure agreement. “Well – sorry if this sounds, you know, rude, but basically if you touch any of my stuff, or take photos of me or my friends, or tape conversations, or sell your story to the press, or – basically, if you act like a dick, right? Well, we're talking Tower of London, pretty much. That's the Cliff Notes version.”

Calm the fuck down, Arthur. Throwing Merlin in the tower for borrowing your history book is way too excessive. So then Merlin asks if he can make a citizen’s arrest if Arthur does any the aforementioned things to Merlin. Good job, Merlin. Arthur is a complete asshole about that, acting like Merlin’s stuff is grosser than the stuff on the bottom on Arthur’s shoes and tells Merlin he will replace anything he ruins with something of “equal value.” "’Like a stick of gum,’ murmured Kay, sniggering.” Yeah, be prepared to really really fucking hate Kay in this. "’I can see why you have to swear people to secrecy, if this is how you act when you're not around a reporter,’ blurted out Merlin, feeling cheated. ‘You really are a massive prat, aren't you? A smug, self-entitled, patronising git.’” Yassssss. You tell him, Merlin.

Arthur and his friends leave and then Merlin goes to find Gaius. We learn a little about the School of Sorcery. This School can be found in every single building on campus, one just has to find the special door with a dragon on it. Merlin finds the door located in his residence hall. Of course the dragon on the door talks to Merlin, "’Young Merlin!’ it said, in a voice like a rusty gate, blinking sulphurous eyes impossibly as it writhed through the wood like an eel in water. ‘Back so soon?’ ‘What?’ Merlin stared at it. ‘I haven't – this is my first time here, Master Dragon.’” So we get a little hint of reincarnation.

Merlin finds Gaius who tries to shoo him away until Merlin gives him his name. Gaius changes his tune after that and tells Merlin he knew his father. The first thing Merlin does is complain about sharing a room with Prince Arthur. He says it will make it too hard to hide his magic. “Gaius blinked at him owlishly. ‘Then I suggest that you learn some discretion, young man, and quickly,’ he said.’” That is such an annoying adult thing to say. What a non-answer. Poor Merlin. Gaius tells Merlin he is supposed to be rooming with Arthur so he can protect him and that wizards have always protected kings and queens. Merlin is unhappy with this news.

Chapter 3

This chapter opens with:

“Hey, Gwen – how's McIntosh Hall?

Brilliant! How's Sallies?

View good, mattress soft, roommate total plonker. Yours?

She seems OK. Sorry you got plonker. Want to meet later & go to Union together?

God, yes please!” It’s written just like that (italics represent direct quotes and bold represents italics within the fic. You know the drill). I assume they are texting.

Anyways: “It was the tail-end of summer, but apparently that meant something rather different on the East coast of Scotland than it did in Wales, and by the time Merlin got to Gwen's Hall of Residence he was wishing he'd brought a coat, rather than just pulling on a black v-neck jumper.” Does Merlin not know how to read a map, or?

Like… I know the UK is small compared to the US but he can’t really be that surprised that the Northern part of the UK is colder than the Southern part. There’s almost 500 miles in between Cardiff and St. Andrews. I’m glad Merlin isn’t majoring in geography.

So Merlin meets up with Gwen outside her residence hall where she has acquired a gentleman caller. It’s probably Lance. Merlin and Gwen hug. “’Hey, you,’ he said into her hair, feeling something in his chest tighten unexpectedly. ‘I missed you.’”

Calm down, Merlin. You’ve known her for thirty seconds and only been away for her for three of those.

Lance is not happy with Merlin’s presence. “’Hi, Lance,’ he said, ducking his head in Lance's general direction. Lance smiled back – or at least, he bared his teeth, which was almost the same thing. Merlin had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. ‘Hi,’ said Lance reaching out a hand that Merlin rather suspected was going to be bone-crushing. He let go of Gwen and accepted the handshake, and managed not to buckle under the pressure of Lance's Very Manly Indeed deathgrip of macho posturing.” LOL HOW HILARIOUS. Men treating women like objects and prizes to be won. Real knee slapper, that joke.

Gwen tells Merlin that Lance is going to be her Academic Dad and then informs us that there’s only 8 weeks until Raisin Weekend. Thanks, Exposition Gwen! So I also googled this Academic Family business since that’s not a thing we have here. So, basically an Academic Mum and Academic Dad are like mentors for first year students and freshmen are allowed to ask for someone to be their Academic Mother but the Academic Dad has to do the asking to the freshmen. So it makes no sense that Gwen was so shocked about Lance asking her. Whatever. Raisin Weekend is basically just an excuse to drink excessively with your Academic Parents and dress up in costumes that Monday and have shaving cream fights. Typical college nonsense.

“’Well, if I'd known they were giving away hot blokes with every room, I'd definitely have put my name down for McIntosh Hall.’ Lance made a startled noise, and his territorial expression shifted rather quickly into something entirely different and almost maiden auntish as Gwen punched Merlin's arm.” Get it, because Gay Merlin is no longer a threat to Lance chasing after Gwen. No one tell Lance bisexual people exist. I think his head would explode. No, you know what? Someone should tell him. He’s an asshole.

“Lance gave her a slightly sheepish grin. ‘It's okay,’ he said. ‘I'll be your designated driver – I'm not big on the alcohol.’ ‘I don't need a designated driver,’ said Gwen, looking at him sidelong. ‘It's a three minute walk! It would take longer to get a car started than it would to get there!’ ‘Right – well, designated guard dog, then. Or knight in shining armour, or guardian angel, or overprotective Dad – whatever you want to call it. I don't drink, so, you know – I'll make sure you're okay. Promise.’”

Oh my God. Slow your fucking roll and let her do what she wants. She’s not some poor defenseless damsel in distress.

Lance gives off an extreme sense of superiority in this fic. He’s a Buddhist, doesn’t drink, volunteers all over the fucking place as Professional Knight in Shining armor and he’s vegan. “’My Dad disapproves of the veganism,’ he admitted, sheepishly. ‘But it's not so hard, really. It feels good, knowing who I am, and what I want out of life. Being mindful in all things.’” Be more pretentious, Lance. Really, I want to see if you can top all of that.

“Merlin studied Lance, trying not to be too damned obvious about it. He wasn't at all sure if this guy was for real, or if he was playing some kind of elaborate joke, with all this holier-than-thou schtick. There was a disconcerting intensity to the man. Merlin wanted to like him, but he wasn't at all sure what to make of him. He did seem a bit too good to be true.” See, Merlin knows.

Oh and Lance is going to teach Gwen kickboxing. He has classes on Wednesday. Of course he does. Merlin is not into it, especially after meeting one of Lance’s students, Elaine. “Merlin looked at her biceps and swallowed. ‘Yeah – no thanks,’ he said, with a watery grin. ‘I've got a suspicion she'd crush me like a bug.’” Mostly I just included this because I wanted to talk about the phrase, “watery grin.” I see this ALL THE TIME in fanfic and it drives me crazy. What the fuck is a “watery grin?” If your smile is “watery,” swallow your fucking spit. That’s disgusting.

“Gwen bit her lip and glanced up at them. ‘Would you hate me forever if I left you for five minutes?’ she asked. ‘I need the ladies' room. I know I should have gone before we left, but I was caught up talking, and I didn't get around to it. Can you wait for me?’ ‘Until the stars fall from the sky,’ said Lance, bowing with an elaborate flourish that made Gwen roll her eyes.”

I don’t even have a response to this bullshit.

So Gwen goes to the bathroom and Merlin does his, “hurt her and I’ll kill you,” speech to Lance and afterwards they become friends and Lance offers to be Merlin’s Academic Dad.

When Gwen comes back she is absolutely flipping her shit because she saw Arthur. “’ComeOnComeOnComeOnComeOn!’ she said in a singsong voice. ‘You should see him! He's sitting at a table! Drinking a beer!’” Yes, let’s all go and gawk at him like an animal in the zoo. Gwen and Lance are being really annoying so far.

So Merlin tells Gwen that Arthur is his roommate and that he’s an asshole. He then requests that they not go stare at him like total creepers. Gwen is not happy. “He looked at Gwen and sighed. ‘Look, I promise that you'll get to see him again. In fact I'll text you when he's in the room, so you'll know when's a good time to swing by and visit me in Sally's and meet him properly. I'm sure he'd love to pose for a photo with you, and give you his signature, and all that kind of meet'n'greet thing.’” Ok, Merlin. This shit is why Arthur already doesn’t like you. No inviting people over to stalk your roommate and make promises on his behalf. Stop it.

They all go dance and Merlin makes a fool of himself doing the hammer dance, covered in glitter, wearing DIY hammer dance pants (I don’t know) that he got from… somewhere. Arthur stares at him and Merlin falls off the stage.

Chapter 4

Merlin wonders how many other sorcerers are at St. Andrews and we learn that he is there on scholarship. Must be nice. My poor loan debt ass is going to be paying for the two years I spent in nursing school for like ten years. Cheers.

Merlin hears Gwen laughing, “He spotted her over on the other side of the room, in front of a table advertising the St Andrews Fencing Society.” Gwen? Fencing? I mean, I guess. Why not? She’ll have a lot of time on her hands when she realizes the major she’s chosen doesn’t exist at that school. Gwen is with her roommate, Sophia.

“With that thought in mind, he marched purposefully over to the rainbow-festooned table advertising the St Andrews LGBT Society in cheery glittering letters. ‘Sign me up,’ he said, firmly, grinning at a bald girl with enough silver in her various cavities to sink a small ship. ‘I'm a card-carrying friend of Dorothy, and I'm gagging for a shag.’” What a colorful way to introduce yourself, Merlin.

Merlin stops in the middle of registering for his LGBT club to fantasize about Arthur. As you do. “’Oh, marvellous,’ said a faintly familiar voice behind him, rippling with laughter. ‘Oh, that's just perfect. Does Arthur know yet?’” The person is Morgana, “’Er...?’ he said, trying to think where he knew her from. ‘Sorry, are you talking to me?’ ‘He doesn't, does he? There'd have been even more bitching and whining if he did,’ she said, decisively. ‘Oh, this is going to be good.’” Get it? Because Arthur’s homophobia is such a hilarious joke and it’s going to be SO LAUGHABLE when he finds out his roommate is gay.

Merlin goes out for coffee with Morgana, who I do like in this fic minus her laughing at Merlin’s sexual orientation in the previous scene. Morgana asks Merlin if he is in to Arthur. “He's an insufferable, rude, arrogant, overprivileged berk, and I wouldn't suck his cock if he was the last man on earth and he was paying me, so there!” Me thinks the man doth protest too much.

“Fine. We won't talk about how much you want to get into my cousin's royal boxer shorts. So – magic!” Morgana gives no fucks. I like that about her. Merlin freaks out because you can’t just go talking about magic all willy nilly like that. Merlin insists on calling magic “macramé,” but Morgana is having none of it. They decided that their cover story for being so familiar with one another is that they have played World of Warcraft for years and are finally meeting in person. Sure. We also learn that Morgana is studying Art History. Good job, Morgana. That is also a subject that St. Andrews provides.

“’Now then – word on the street is that you might actually be worthy of that remarkable name.’ She took a long, thoughtful drag, and Merlin watched blue curls of smoke snake out of her nostrils like she was some kind of very small, elegant dragon. ‘Is it true that you changed the seasons?’ she asked. ‘No!’ Merlin said. ‘Or at least – well, not on purpose.’” Yikes, Merlin. I guess Merlin was 10 and throwing a tantrum about cherries not being in season so he changed the season from winter to summer. He also summoned a kracken when he was 12 years old on a school field trip. Poor Hunith having to deal with Merlin. He sounds like an insufferable child.

They then proceed to get drunk and Morgana becomes Merlin’s Academic Mother thingy. Merlin gets Morgana to be Gwen’s as well.

Chapter 5

Merlin gets back to his dorm and Arthur is there. Arthur apologizes to Merlin and suggests they start over. Arthur then realizes that Merlin is drunk. Merlin drunkenly tells Arthur that he is friends with Morgana and they were drinking together and that she is now Merlin’s Academic Mother. Turns out she is also Arthur’s. Who didn’t see that one coming? Arthur admits that he looked Merlin up and knows a lot of stuff about him. Merlin says stuff he shouldn’t say, basically admitting he is a sorcerer and he finds Arthur hot and Arthur doesn’t pick up on any of it. Arthur is stupid.

Merlin starts to fall asleep on the floor and Arthur can’t have that, for platonic friend reasons, and so he gets Merlin into bed and decides to help him drink water and take some pain killers. “There was an uncertain space of time, and then Merlin was being manhandled upright by someone warm and shirtless, who smelled good. Merlin knew he smelled good because he was slumped bonelessly with his nose pressed into the hollow of a freshly-washed collarbone. Because it seemed like a good idea, he licked it, and made a small appreciative sound, and then tried a gentle bite. The owner of the collarbone gave a startled hiss, and flinched away, but didn't drop him; and the voice, when it came again, was decidedly hoarse.”

See, Arthur is fucking stupid. If a friend/someone I wasn’t into randomly bit and licked my chest, drunk or not, I would be like, “yo, that’s not cool.” Because that’s not something someone does with their platonic friend.

When Merlin wakes up, “Another thought wandered idly through his brain, and he was faintly aware that it was significant: he wasn't alone. He was, in fact, wrapped around somebody else in the manner of an affectionate baby octopus, one leg tangled between theirs, one arm hooked firmly around a neat naked waist and his mouth pressed damply into the warm, soft-sharp curve of a shoulder blade.” Arthur is awake too, “Do you have any idea of how much fun and frivolity I could have been having last night, while you were busy cutting off the circulation in my limbs? I'll have you know I was going to have a fantastic evening.”

Umm… you made the choice to stay behind and spend the night cuddling your roommate, Arthur. You could have shoved him over if you wanted to.

Merlin and Arthur go get breakfast together. Merlin texts Gwen to tell her about Morgana being their Academic Mother and that she is also Arthur’s. Gwen freaks the fuck out.

That’s it for this review. It’s a decent set-up to the fic. We get to know a little bit about Merlin and how powerful he is. We also have a rough start to the Arthur/Merlin friendship but then it’s nice to see Arthur actually own up to his shit and apologize to Merlin. Arthur is stupid for not realizing how into him Merlin is. Gwen and Lance have been pretty annoying so far and if I remember correctly, they continue to be insufferable for the majority of this fic because their “will they won’t they” cliché set-up is stupid.

Until next time

#merlin #bbc merlin #merlin fic #review #the student prince #modern royalty au #Merlin has magic #arthur is dumb #gwen and lance are annoying

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