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tendertenebrosity · 4 years ago

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Part 2 of the Duel Flashbacks, for Consort Rill. Part 1 here.

The exhibition field in the grounds of the palace had a packed dirt floor and ranks of raised seating, kept for performances and demonstrations and, yes, duels.

The crowd that inhabited those seats now was a modest size, mostly nobles and merchants of the court, young and fashionable. News spread fast, considering Rill had only made the challenge last night. He supposed, sourly, that this was pretty juicy gossip; nobody who was anybody was going to want to miss it. Whoever wasn’t here was inevitably going to hear the story.

Armand was dressed in bright clothes, no longer a uniform but something casual and fashionable. No trailing scarves or sleeves to get in the way, sensible boots. The sword buckled on to his waist was the same one he’d had last night. He’d spent the waiting time making conversation with his friends in the first few rows.

Rill had spent the waiting time trying to ignore the crowd as much as possible, although a few people did attempt to catch his eye or say something encouraging. How sincere they were, Rill found it hard to tell. He was too busy trying to keep his face calm and collected and with no hint of the dread tying his stomach in knots.

The referee who stepped forward into the circle chalked into the ground was one of the men who oversaw the training grounds – a grizzled older man, probably a retired soldier. Honestly, Rill should have known his name, but he didn’t.

“All right,” he said, matter-of-factly, looking between Rill and Armand. “Is there any chance this grievance could be settled without coming to blows?”

Rill looked over at Armand, keeping his face smooth.

“If the Captain would withdraw his comments,” he said, flat, toneless. “Then of course.”

Armand actually chuckled. “And miss this chance to show the whole court what you’re made of?” He grinned. “I don’t think so.”

“I don’t know what you expect this to achieve,” Rill said. “My wedding vows were made six years ago and contrary to what you seem to think, a duel doesn’t have the power to dissolve them.”

“Really?” Armand said, quirking an eyebrow. “In that case… Queen Tali came here to support you, did she?” He made a show of scanning the crowd. “I don’t see her…”

Rill gritted his teeth. Tali had not come. Would not - Rill had asked – and she would not. That was absolutely none of Armand’s business. “She has a country to run,” he said. “She doesn’t have time to waste on this sort of thing.”

“Then surely she at least gave you a favour or a token of some kind?” Armand was still grinning. “A ribbon, or a flower, or…”

Rill took a deep breath, let it out slowly in order to not say something stupid and hasty. It’s not important. What he says is not important. Let’s just get this whole embarrassing thing over with, shall we?

After several seconds passed with neither of them saying anything, the referee shook his head. “All right, then. On my word?”

Rill nodded tensely. The crowd cheered as the referee stepped back and away, leaving Rill and Armand alone in the circle.

Rill shifted backwards, drew his sword, and dropped into a ready stance. Across the circle, Armand drew his own sword with a flourish and lifted it to the crowd.

“Begin!”

No sooner had the words left the referee’s mouth than Armand was uncoiling from his deceptively casual stance, covering the space between them with a few short steps, and sweeping his blade across and down towards Rill.

Rill parried, rushed and clumsy, no grace to it.

Damn it. Why did I let myself in for this?

The duel started exactly how Rill had known it would. He blocked once, and again, losing ground each time. Armand was pushing him backwards against the line that marked the barrier of the dueling circle.

Rill needed to do something other than block and give ground. He parried the next blow desperately, and turned the movement into a lunge forward.

Rill knew the strike wasn’t going to land home as soon as he started it. He was going to blunder past Armand and leave himself wide open. Oh, well, at least it’ll be over quickly.

Armand stepped aside neatly as Rill plunged past him; the crowd roared and Rill got his feet underneath him and spun, raising his sword slowly, much too slowly.

To find Armand standing back, allowing him the time he needed to turn around, not taking the obvious opening. Smiling.

Making it clear to the crowd that he could have easily ended it.

Oh, you bastard.

Armand made a little after-you gesture, a smile touching the side of his mouth. He was barely breathing hard.

That was the thing. It would have been easy to despise Armand as a blow-hard, conceited, arrogant. Rill knew that he was all of those things, and the kind of hothead that would lose their tiny, fragile new country its only chance at independence if he got his own way.

If only he wasn’t every bit as good with the blade as he thought he was.

Rill licked his lips, tasting sweat. His breath dragged in his throat. Apparently Armand meant to make a show out of this; which Rill should have expected. A duel that was over in five seconds was more indicative of skill, probably, and more accurate to what real fighting was like. But it didn’t give Armand as much of a chance to show off for the crowd just how badly he outclassed Rill.

Rill stepped forward, blade raised. Armand let him have a few offensive strikes, batting each aside with ease. Then he stepped forward again, sword a graceful blur, and effortlessly knocked Rill back into poorly coordinated, slow defence.

Rill panted, his forearms aching from the force behind the blows. The crowd noise battered at his ears, everything outside this little circle in the dirt blurring into a confused mass of colour and noise. It was distracting. Particularly when he stumbled, like – ouch – like he had just now, and only barely got his sword up in time to meet Armand’s lazy swing.

You should have practiced more. What, you thought it would never come up? Like you could avoid it forever? Idiot.

It felt like Rill was being chased from one end of the dueling circle to the other, while Armand just kept coming, never slowing, never letting up unless it was a calculated move to swing the fight the way he wanted it.

Rill wanted this to be over. But he couldn’t just yield now; that would look even worse. No choice but to limp through this farce, getting hotter and clumsier and more tired with every step.

Rill’s eyes stung with sweat, his heart was pounding; he wished this was over, he wished people weren’t watching, he wished this wasn’t going to be taken as proof of how unsuitable Rill was. Can’t even fight a duel without embarrassing himself. Can’t even be bothered keeping his swordsmanship up. What use is he?

The crowd was quieter now – was that just Rill’s imagination? He could barely hear them over his own breathing.

Abruptly, Armand seemed to tire of the game. His next blow came faster, with less warning; Rill blocked it with a wild, desperate movement.

And then he was off-balance, an and Armand’s sword had flicked out to score a blazing line from his elbow to his wrist. He jerked back, away from the pain - incredibly, his fingers kept their hold on his sword hilt as he fell backwards into an undignified and painful sprawl across the dueling ground floor.

Armand was there, immediately, standing over Rill. He leveled his sword downwards, looking down the blade; the very tip of it came to hover just below Rill’s chin.

“First blood,” the referee announced, somewhere very distant. “Victory goes to Captain Armand!”

The crowd was noisy with applause and cheering, voices gabbling. Rill turned his wrist and let his sword drop to the ground, then raised his palms upward in surrender. There had only ever been one way this was going to end.

A courteous opponent would have removed their blade from his throat immediately. Armand just stood there, silhouetted against the morning sun, and kept it there. As if savouring the moment, or pondering whether he would cut Rill again anyway.

“You lose,” he said. “That was an even more pathetic display than I was expecting.”

Rill shifted in the dirt; pain radiated through him, from his back and head where he’d fallen, to his ankle that had been under him as he fell, to the hot burn of the sword cut down his arm. Blood ran hot across his wrist. The sword-tip made him keep his head tipped back at an uncomfortable angle.

“Yes,” he said eventually, the words coming out between heaving breaths. “First blood; well fought.” He couldn’t disguise the bitterness in his voice. Armand should have let him get up by now. His arm was hot and wet with blood.

“How can the court possibly believe that you’re fit to be by the Queen’s side?” Armand demanded, his voice a little breathless. “Coward. Incompetent. You can’t even put up a decent pretend fight - what use are you? You’re not worthy of her.”

“Look, the duel is over,” Rill said. “I yield. You won. What are you waiting for?”

The crowd was as noisy as ever, loud conversation, applause – and the thing that Rill dreaded the most. Laughter. His stomach twisted itself into a knot of misery.

The sword at his throat drifted to the side a little. “Maybe I want you to say it out loud,” Armand mused. “Admit it. Admit you’re not worthy.”

“Well, you’ll be waiting a while,” Rill snapped. He lifted a hand as if to swat the blade away, but it darted closer like a snake and scored a shallow, stinging line against his collarbone.

“God’s blood,” Rill snapped, hating the way his voice wavered. “I yield! I yield, get off, I don’t have to say anything!”

The referee materialised at Armand’s shoulder. “He doesn’t,” he rumbled disapprovingly. “Move back, Armand, you scored your blood and he yielded. That’s it.”

The blade was withdrawn; Armand’s shape moved out of the light and away, letting the full force of the morning sun shine down on Rill’s face. He wanted to slump back against the ground and pant, miserably; but this was overpowered by his greater need to get away from here. He rolled over, aching body screaming at him, to get his back to the crowd. The sound of them still beat against his ears. He gripped his injured forearm, teeth gritted against the pain, and gathered the strength to push himself upright.

His shirtsleeve was sodden, blood pressing itself out between his clamped fingers.

The referee’s hands were there, helping him to his feet. Rill wanted to throw them off, but that would be churlish. He was only trying to help. It wasn’t his fault Rill had lost.

It was nobody’s fault but Rill’s own.

“Let’s see that,” the referee said. “Tsk. Looks shallow enough. Can you move your fingers?”

“Yes,” Rill said, trying to keep his voice steady. His eyes stung, threatening to betray him with stupid, childish, humiliating tears. Plenty of people sustained worse injuries than this in duels, or even training. Let alone real injuries sustained on the battlefield. There was no call for this shallow cut to make Rill feel unsteady on his feet. “I don’t think it’s… too bad. Just… bleeding. I’ll… find a healer back up at the palace.”

“There’s one here. Always is,” the referee said. “If you head to the waiting room and sit down, I’ll send them through.”

Rill nodded, holding his injured forearm pressed against his middle. He carefully avoided looking at anybody as he limped off the packed sand; not even to the scattered wave of half-hearted applause that sounded as he left the exhibition grounds.

#fantasy/historical court #public duel #public humiliation tw #emotional whump #self-worth issues #unhealthy relationships #Consort Rill

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johannstutt413 · 4 years ago

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(requested by anonymous)

Every king needs an advisor and a physician - one to ensure they do not stray from the path they’ve set for themselves, and at times do what must be done so their liege doesn’t have to, and the other keep them alive so they can stay the course. This is the natural way of things, and for King (well, technically Queen) Theresa, hers were no doubt some of the finest ever granted the position...at least somewhat because they both could fill either role as needed.

Much in the same way either or both kept her delightfully warm on the brisk high-altitude nights aboard her flagship.

Perhaps in another time, or she’d actually been able to claim her throne properly rather than have her usurper of a brother striving to snatch it form her, Theresa would never have consorted with either of them, but it was hard to deny there was a certain symmetry in her life thanks to it. On the one hand, the Doctor - not only a proficient physician, but tactician as well - was a constant delight thanks to a well of eccentricities that persisted despite his rather dour attitude and grave responsibility as her left hand; he wore the weight of his actions like a greatcoat, but Amiya could make him smile...and the King could as well, and a little more, albeit behind closed doors. Dr. Kal’tsit, in contrast, bore the equally-burdensome role of Theresa’s right hand, handling the day-to-day and logistical concerns of their operations as well as managing their secondary goal of eradicating Oripathy, but lacked the stained conscience of her counterpart and therefore visibly enjoyed life more. Not quite to the same degree as the King herself, of course - after all, she made an active effort to be the shining beacon of their organization, because her role as figurehead demanded it and there was no way to repress the light she carried with her - but she could do what the Doctor and Theresa could not, which was be openly affectionate with either of them in public and make it seem natural. It was a wonderful life, being able to share it with both of them, even if the King did wish it was under better circumstances...Still, beggars could not afford to be choosers, and royalty even less so, so she made the best of the hand she’d been dealt and strove to win each little victory as they came their way.

Starting with waking up the pair who’d decided to use her chest as a pillow and thereby made it impossible to leave the bed. “Doctors, it’s morning...Rise and shine, my loves~”

“Five more minutes,” the Doctor grumbled. “The good pillows are on sale.”

“Marshmellows~” Kal’tsit replied before nomming the one in front of her.

One “kyaa~” later, and they were getting dressed for the day, the Feline positively steaming and her counterpart’s smile masked by...well, his mask. Theresa had never understood why he wore a mask in public - his scars were rather spectacular, in her eyes - but apparently he was worried about someone recognizing him from somewhere else? What a mystery.

“The supply team should be back by now,” he noted as he pulled his sleeve over a concealed blade. “I’ll debrief with them before joining you on your rounds, my liege.”

“Likewise, once I’ve seen to Amiya and the urgent cases. Try not to keep us waiting, Doctor.” She winked at him from across the room.

He froze for a moment before shaking his head. “I swear, you’ve weaponized that charm of yours. Your Highness.”

“One moment, Doctor.” The King closed the distance as he went for the door; she lifted his mask for a kiss. “Alright, now you’re released. We’ll see you soon.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” His face was wonderfully red as the Doctor repositioned his mask and left to go about his morning errands.

Kal’tsit passed Theresa, still at the door, but spun around to give her a hug before leaving. “He’s almost cute when he’s embarrassed, isn’t he?”

“Almost?” Kiss number two; now she was ready for the day. “Bring Amiya with you today, if she’s not too busy with her Arts lessons. I want to ask her about a drawing she made for me.”

“A drawing? How did she give it to you without my seeing it first?”

The King booped the Feline’s nose. “The little Lupo she talks to, with the red hood?”

“Hmm...Thank you for reminding to check on her as well. I’ll bring both of them with me.” Kal’tsit sighed as she broke off the embrace. “You have a check-up at 1030; I’ll see you then, if not earlier.”

“Until then, dearest~” She waved as Kal’tsit left before turning back to the bedroom...She kind of needed to finish dressing herself.

Most days, Theresa left their room by herself and spent an hour or so roaming the halls. She might check in with Closure on the process of renovating their vessel, which they’d started but hadn’t been able to finish before it took to the skies out of necessity; she might make conversation with an Operator or two if she passed them in the hall, asking about their plans for the day or a lightly philisophical discussion to help her mental gearworks spin up for the day’s diplomacy and politicking; on a particularly light day, she might even have time to see the children in class and get a read on how far along they were in their education. This morning, however, the halls were oddly quiet, and so the King was left alone with her thoughts. ‘I wonder if they know yet?’ She pondered, a sad smile on her face. ‘They must, at least on some level, but do they fully understand what it means for me? For them? I hope they learn sooner rather than later...It will be easier on them that way.’

“Your Highness?” A small Cautus with soft blue eyes barely visible behind her bangs was lightly tugging on her shirt. “Are you okay? You look blue.”

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Amiya. I’m okay, little rabbit; simply thinking about the future.” The King squatted so she could be closer to eye level with Rhodes Island’s heir apparent.

Amiya nodded. “Okay. Did you like my drawing?”

“I did. It was very colorful.” Theresa moved the Cautus’ bangs aside. “You drew the Doctors as blue in your picture, and you drew me in black. Do you remember why?”

“Um...Not really. Sorry, your Highness.”

She simply smiled and patted Amiya’s head. “It’s alright, little rabbit. Did you see Dr. Kal’tsit already?”

“She said I’m doing good, so I could walk with you today!” The end of the serious conversation clearly made her happier. “Oh, and she said to tell you to eat breakfast, if you haven’t.”

“She knows me so well...Have you eaten yet?”

The Cautus shook her head. “Not yet. I have to wait for my medicine to stop bubbling first.”

“Then we can wait for it to stop in the cafeteria together.” The Queen offered Amiya her hand. “Shall we?”

“Okay!” She took her hand, and they walked to the cafeteria, talking about everything and nothing as you do with the little ones.

It was the sort of thing Theresa was sure she’d miss when she died, but she had a little time left...just a little.

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

“So that’s the sort of person she was,” the Doctor sighed, lying in bed. “The kind that made the world a better place just by existing. And they say I had a hand in her death?”

“That’s what I’ve heard, and what W believes more than anything,” Kal’tsit replied from the bathroom a short distance away.

He set aside the book he’d taken out; tonight wasn’t the night to finish it. “It makes sense why she was so mad at me when we first met, at least...Did she ever talk about what would happen when she took back the throne?”

“Never in concrete terms, like she did with most things.” The Feline stared at her reflection for a moment. “She knew long before any of us what would happen to her, but she couldn’t tell us without destroying the foundation we laid for the true successor.”

“Amiya?”

She nodded. “Amiya. The things I’ve heard all these years make sense now, in a way they wouldn’t have without...without...” She blinked the tears back.

“If you need to cry, Kally, don’t stop yourself on my behalf.” The Doctor felt a little misty-eyed himself, although he wasn’t completely sure why. “It never gets easier, does it?”

“Some of them do, but not hers. What was it that tipped you off in the end, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He cocked his head. “You mean what told me we were a couple before I lost my memories?”

“Exactly.” Kal’tsit turned off the light as she turned around, standing in the threshold but looking at the Doctor head-on. “I can’t think of a single thing that would’ve tipped you off, but almost from the first day you seemed to think of us that way.”

“Honestly? I knew from the moment I looked you in the eye for the first time; there was something about your eyes, the way they shone for the briefest instant before flatlining, that told me everything I needed to know. It took some time for me to act on that intuition, since things have been so hectic, but...you look beautiful tonight.”

Something the old Doctor had never felt he needed to say, but hit home nonetheless. “Thank you. I don’t know what to expect from thi- from us anymore.”

“Neither do I.” The Doctor’s hand slid back and forth in the empty space next to him. “If this doesn’t work out the way you want it to, tell me. I won’t be offended.”

“I know you won’t.” ‘He wouldn’t have either,’ she noted to herself as she flipped off the lights and sat next to him.

For a little less than a minute, they stayed like that; on instinct, however, he found her hand in the dark and grasped it, and a flood of emotion washed over them both. Neither of them understood it fully, but it was enough to assure them that, at least at some point, they had understood each other very well, and that time could make up for some of what they’d lost, even if it would never fully repair the divide. Kal’tsit leaned against him, crying into his shoulder, and the Doctor held her as if he’d spent his entire life doing just that.

From the other side of the wall, a much older blue-eyed Cautus wiped a tear from her eye as she felt the emotional hurricane rock her family - at least, what was left of them. Did she have the strength to see this through? Was she really the sort of person that could be a king, but before even that, a kingslayer? Her eyes drifted to the drawing she’d found in her belongings the other day while cleaning, two blue figures on either side of a black one...and a smaller, bright yellow one with a pair of long lines coming out of their head. Maybe that younger Amiya had already known what she’d have to become, what she was destined for. In some small way, the thought gave her hope.

What gave her even more hope, though, was the reunion going on in the next room, and the mending of a bond she’d never thought severable. Later that night, maybe she’d knock on the door and see what they’d do if she told them she’d had a bad dream...Time surely did strange things to them all, didn’t it?

#arknights #arknights fic #dr. kal'tsit (arknights)#amiya (arknights)#theresa (arknights)#from what i've seen it's doubtful this is close to canon #but somehow it hits all the emotional beats nonetheless #hmm

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tanoraqui · 4 years ago

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[previous]

so there’s fog, you know, soft and empty fog, except that sometimes there are people in it. There are songs, soft and sweet, except the song about the woman named Janet isn’t allowed at all - the song- the song his...the song for which He beats him, when he sings, beats him and beats him until he can’t taste anything but blood, and he swallows it and sings louder for spite - and feels terrible immediately, for disrespecting Him so terribly.

Acacia comes for him, dresses him and scares off his attendants, and he remember...Wei Wuxian remembers a little...

“Your daughter’s dead,” he says abruptly, as they pretend to have every right to walk the corridors. “Your lost Rhodia - but she had a son.”

“What?” says Acacia, hungry.

“He’s a bit of a brat,” Wei Wuxian says, in the contemplative way of someone still partly asleep. “But only because he’s loved and well-cared for, and knows it. Also because he’s a brat. He sent me here.”

Acacia pulls him along a little faster

But they don’t make it. Blind Michael’s more clever, more cruel lieutenants interrupt them, and Blind Michael himself, and Wei Wuxian is dressed for a Ride and a wedding, and Blind Michael becomes a god in his eyes, through his eyes - and they Ride

oh, how they Ride.

With a thousand eyes and none his own, Wei Wuxian sees it: through the cold-capped mountains they Ride, horse-hides steaming in the clouds. Through the sea-wide lakes they Ride, over and under. Through the stony hills they Ride, and all the beasts scatter in their wake. Through the golden streets they Ride, and human and faerie alike cower.

until the Hunt reaches a lightly flooded crossroads, and with a thousand eyes and none, Wei Wuxian watches a woman form from the water. She’s dressed like a pirate and stands like a queen; her skin is darkly scaled and her teeth are as sharp as a shark’s.

“With the holy water in her hand,” she shouts with a captain’s voice, “she cast the compass round. At twelve o'clock the fairy court, came riding o'er the mound.” And, “Michael, this is ending.”

[NB: our lyrics for this evening are “Tam Lin” by Steeleye Span, my favorite version of the song/poem]

Hands pull Wei Wuxian down from his horse in the confusion, drag him forward and pin him in a vicious headlock just above water just deep enough to drown. He struggles to return to his lord and he goes limp and hopes the familiar arms will flip him over, into the water facefirst

He can’t quite see who’s holding him; the Huntfold gaze he’s part of is still focused on Blind Michael and his half-sister

“Get out of my way, daughter of Titania,” he sneers, and probably several other things. “You have no right to be here, tonight.”

“Oh, am I the one being a selfish, manipulative egomaniac?” Amphitrite calls back. “But fine.” She stamps her foot as a child in temper, a woman drawing a line in the sand, and the air reeks of ocean and fresh kills, deep currents ripple in the flooded intersection. She points toward the held figure near her feet. “That’s my descendent you’ve got there, by birth if not by blood, and I want him back. He was under my protection when you took him, and he owes me a debt.”

several other Riders have been pulled down, too, now struggling and limp in the hands of unseen strangers

“You have no right!” Blind Michael snarls again (only a child in temper)

“Friends and family and companions of blood always have a right.” Amphitrite warns one last time, “You can still walk away, Michael. I don’t really want you to - I’m not Annie. But I’ll let you.”

“Who would come for him?” Blind Michael demands.

“Lan Wangji, heir to the Duchy of Cloud Recesses,” a voice says from above him, as cool as though it was rude of Blind Michael to ask. “My claim precedes yours.”

“Wen Qing.” “Wen Ning.” They speak almost at the same time, Wen Qing somehow sounding exasperated through her steely determination, and Wen Ning only, rarely, confident in his. “He’s our idiot.” “He’s our friend.”

“Luo Qingyang, formerly of the Court of Golden Sun,” says the one holding down his legs, and for the first time, Wei Wuxian scrambles completely organically to remember. Wait, that’s not- Mianmian? “Wei Wuxian saved my life, and those of many I love, and I don’t see why that debt should go unpaid.”

“Jiang Yanli,” declares the one with a firm arm around his neck, “Princess-consort of the Kingdom of Golden Sun and heir to the Duchy of Lotus Lakes. I’m bringing my didi home.”

She speaks with such furious intent that he almost expects to see Madam Yu when he looks up, a thousand eyes fading to just his own. But it’s his shijie who smiles down at him, and tightens her headlock (Madam Yu would approve)

Blind Michael raises his hand and change hurts (change always hurts) but Wei Wuxian was made for it. He is sleek and long and made of nothing but muscle - and fang and poison, and desperation to escape the grip that suddenly slips on his neck. He is nothing but neck. He slides and twists and swipes his tail, and the grip tightens around his middle with a startled gasp. He twists and rears and lunges and bites, sinks venom into blood and the grip goes slack -

- and the best Daoine Sidhe blood-healer in a generation, in several generations, slaps Jiang Yanli’s back and grimaces, and Jiang Yanli grits her teeth and tightens her hold and above and before them, Amphitrite chants, “They've shaped him in her arms, into an roaring snake. She's held him fast and feared him not, to be her lovely mate.”

Another change. Wei Wuxian is a beast of dark fur and gnashing teeth, slashing claws and sharp as a sword and twice as savage. He is the wildness of the Hunt itself. He swipes at his captor - he cannot be contained, he will not be contained - and strikes her across the cheek; he writhes and snarls and -

- a pale hand shoves a sachet into his face; a glimpse of ice-blue eyes and a strong hand shoves his head down into it, his nose, and orders, “Calm.” He inhales to snarl and strike again and breathes in pure, alchemically enhanced catnip and...it’s kind of like being hit with a truck, if the truck was dreamy serenity but also raw LSD. He wants to escape the arms now locking more firmly around his neck, but he also wants to nuzzle up into Lan Zhan’s hand now scratching his head, and also never take his head out of this really amazing-smelling bag...

“They've shaped him in her arms, to a wood black beast so wild. She's held him fast and feared him not, the father of her child!“

A third. Wei Wuxian is heat, is pain, is light, screaming, ecstasy, agony, destruction, life, fire. (“They've shaped him in her arms again, fire burning bold!”) He isn’t sure he even wants to go back to Blind Michael, but he can’t stop burning. (“She's held him fast and feared him not, till he was iron cold!”) Jiang Yanli cries out and Wen Ning grabs her arms to keep them steady, gasping in pain himself, and Luo Qingyang drags all three of them down into the water, which does very little but -

“ - They've shaped him in her arms at last, into a naked man,” Amphitrite calls at the last. “She's wrapped him in the green mantle, and knew that she had him won.” And at last it is true: Wei Wuxian sags, exhausted and bruised and not a little blood, his own and his sister’s and his friends’.

He licks his lips absentmindedly, and realizes he’s naked when Lan Wangji looks away with a stiff expression. Luo Qingyang rolls her eyes and pulls a spare robe out of somewhere and throws it over him, and it catches Jiang Yanli as well, because she does wait to hold him closer and cry-laugh against his shoulder. “A-Xian! Are you okay? We were so worried! You’re not to do that again, do you hear me?”

“Ah, shijie,” Wei Wuxian gives a laughs right back, only a little fake. “I’m always okay! And you - ” He’s about to say something about how magnificent she was, but a dash of his memory catches up and he actually does pull away from her a little just enough to look in her face with horror. “Wait, Princess-consort - no! Shijie, you didn’t marry the peacock?!”

(while around them other families reunite, and a few weep - not all held tight enough. while Blind Michael shouts and whines his protest and Amphitrite invites him to fight or fuck off)

Jiang Yanli smiles tearfully. “I wanted to wait for you, we all did, but...” Her shrug encompasses everything from true love to royal politics. But her smile both widens and softens as her hand runs over her stomach. “I’m even pregnant already.”

Wei Wuxian almost smiles, before he sits up with a horrified start. “No - Janet’s first baby didn’t - Wen Qing! Wen Qing, is the baby okay?!”

His panic is infectious; Jiang Yanli’s eyes widen and Wen Qing drops to her knees and presses her hands to Jiang Yanli’s side, swipes a drop of blood from her cheek and tastes it, and all stop until she says, “The baby’s fine. You should rest, though. Both of you. All of us.”

Blind Michael and his Hunt turn away in shame, ride away in defeat...all but one. Acacia lingers, golden.

Two figures wade carefully through Amphitrite’s flooded crossroads to greet her, one head black and the other dark, dark red.

“Grandmother,” says Nie Huaisang, part curiosity and part awe.

Acadia reaches out without a thought. Her hand stops in the air above Amphitrite’s lapping waves (which wouldn’t last for much longer, not on land, but for now still fought back the touch of Blind Michael’s realm).

She smiles sadly as her hand drops. “You do look like her. I don’t suppose you’d like to come home with me?”

Nie Huaisang bites his lip with the longing of a faerie meeting (one of) his Firstborn for the first time. But he says decisively, “No thank you. It seems kind of terrible.” He hesitates. “Would you...like to come home with me?”

Acacia doesn’t laugh, though her smile twists like she might have, once. “Would you pull me through into my sisters waters yourself, child? Would you hold me tight and fear me not, and set me free?”

“If Huaisang cannot, I’d be happy to, Lady,” says Nie Mingjue, every maiden’s picture of a strapping young knight and duke. “My brother’s family is mine, by definition, and Lady Rhodia is much-loved by all of Butcher’s Hill, whether or not she still dances with us.”

“I’m glad,” she tells him, after a pause the length of a flower petal’s breadth, and turns her gaze back to Nie Huaisang. “But, no. Live well, grandson. If you ever take your bloody hero’s Choice - ” her gaze flicks over his shoulder to Wei Wuxian, and back - “I hope you choose your mother. You have her wits as well as her face.”

And she turns and rides away without another word.

And for a brief while, it’s over.

TBC

#mdzs #the untamed #october daye #my fic #flash forward 15 years to jin ling who's a perfectly normal daoine sidhe-merrow halfblood thank you very much #except that okay he CAN slide from one end of the spectrum to the other at will #like it hurts like hell but he can do it #can't change anyone else but can do himself #all hallow's eve ride change magic man. it messes up the in utero

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missizzy · 3 years ago

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Fic: Old Home, New Home(Critical Role, Vaxleth)

From the time they stepped out of the tree and into Zephrah, everything has been a rush of greetings and important conversations. Vax has now been introduced to just about everyone his lover had known well in her youth, had his first good long conversation with her father, and learned a lot more about the general history, culture, and day to day life of the Air Ashari. It was helping him get an idea of how he might best aid her as the man by her side, especially since there were a few people he met that he was very sure he was going to become good friends with.

The entire time, he and Keyleth had barely had time to talk to each other. Today's not the only day where that's been too much the case. Their final days in Whitestone, she spent most of her time badgering Percy, Cassandra, and the city's other leading figures for any advice they could give her and then reading every book in the library they recommended. Vax, for his own part, prioritized spending time with Vex while he still could. Even now, as he walks hand in hand with Keyleth to their new bedchamber, his mind dwells on his last sight of her face before the tree closed up.

But now, at last, the two of them are alone together again. It feels a little strange as they enter the bedroom together, Keyleth looking around at a place that probably in her mind still belongs to her past. She looks at him and smiles shyly. "Hi."

"Hi," he agrees. He takes in her tired face but clouded eyes. "Ready to sleep?" he asks.

She has to think about that one, and even after doing so, her best answer is, "Maybe after I change for it?"

Vax probably isn't as tired as her, but unlike Keyleth, he hasn't spent half a day being bombarded with dozens of different thoughts that all might keep a new Headmaster awake on her first night in Zephrah where she didn't have any immediate plans to immediate go off on some other daring deed. What troubling things he does have to dwell on, missing Vex and the bidding of the Raven Queen still in his future, have settled down in his head, and while there may be nights they might keep him awake, he doesn't think this'll be one of them.

All the clothing he has Vax has brought with him, so he just has to open his pack and fish out his sleepwear. Of course his taking his armor off is nothing new, since he's been constantly sleeping next to Keyleth. But it's still a relief, especially now, when it reminds him that he's now free of the menace he was wearing it against, and even most of the other ones that have kept him looking over his shoulder for so long. He feels more than just the weight of the armor fall off him.

Keyleth, meanwhile, has dug into her old drawers, and donned a nightgown that Vax assumes has just been sitting in them since she first left home. She is now looking down at how it reaches only partway down her calves; it's obviously meant to reach her ankles. "When did I get taller?" she wonders out loud. "I though I'd finished growing already."

"Magic," Vax grins at her, and it might actually be true. Although he hasn't grown out of anything recently, since pledging himself to the Raven Queen and accepting the powers she's given him, he's felt the magic inside him change him physically-it wouldn't be easy to explain, if anyone ever asked, exactly what has changed, but Vax knows and understands it, which is the important part.

Combined they're a little big for the bed, too, having to snuggle up together to fit. That's not something either of them minds, though. Vax slings her arm over Keyleth's chest and lays his head against his neck, the way he often does when they're tired out enough. He focuses on making his breathing slow and steady, which ought to help her sleep.

He wakes some time later from a dream where by the time his eyes are fully open, he can only remember that it was a very unsettling one. Keyleth is exactly where she was, but she's murmuring in her sleep. Vax catches the words, "dangerous," "people," and "Scanlan."

It takes a moment for him to remind himself that the two of them are completely safe, that there isn't even anything after them at the moment, as far as they know. After that, as he gazes around the darkened chamber, he finds himself contemplating everywhere he'd slept in the past, from the hovel in which he lived the first ten years of his life to the grand bedrooms of Whitestone Castle. None of them ever felt quite like Keyleth's childhood bedroom, not even her room in the Keep.

It's partly the design, of course. Most rooms Vax has been in haven't had living plants incorporated into their structure. In the darkness, he can just make out the various vines and even thin shrubs that had been expertly woven against or even into the walls. For all he knows, the thatch that makes up the rest of the walls is also alive; he might ask Keyleth about that.

But it's also the decorations hanging from the window, little handmade beribboned boughs that were put together lopsided, and would probably have fallen apart if they hadn't been literally joined together by obvious magical means. There's a doll on a table in the corner, not the fanciest thing, but still a finer one than the poorer half of Byroden would have seen. The ceiling is decorated with more of the boughs, arranged to form a star, though the lines aren't completely straight.

In some ways, Vax knows, Keyleth actually had less of a childhood than he and Vex did, at least once she started training for her position. He's not going to begrudge her what she did get. But he's left very aware of how different his life has been, how for most of it, he never was in this kind of world, where both love and comfort could be easily had in the same place, where he never had to worry about what would become of him and those he cared for, where he'd neither had one accent mocked and bullied out of him nor had another make people look at him warily, grouping him with the snobs of Syngorn. Where he and Vex had never had to prove themselves to be accepted.

How unlikely it should be, that he and Vex both should come to the places they're now both in. In new homes they already love, consorts to those that rule them, Vex with her own title and role in hers, where they wouldn't have to worry when they woke each day how they were going to get by.

Had he ended up following a different goddess than the one he's pledged himself to, he would be giving thanks to her for this. As it is, Vax silently instead asks the darkness to stay where it is for now, for tomorrow, for as long as it's willing to. Let us both be happy, please, he pleads. For her sake, if not mine. She made no bargain with you; all she has done is love me, and she will have too long a way to go after me no matter what happens. Be kind to her, please.

As if even his thoughts have stirred her, Keyleth murmurs, "That doesn't make sense..." and Vax pulls his head up as her eyes blink open, and while he can only see so much in the darkness, they seem to him to still be moving around too much. "Vax?"

"Kiki?" he whispers. "Bad dream?"

"Not bad, exactly," she sighs. "At least....not like the nightmares I've had in the past. Nothing was trying to kill us, or even do things like possess us or torture us or nasty things like that."

Vax thinks back to nights in the woods with Vex, and the dreams they'd dealt with then, of all the snubs and trouble they'd suffered in Syngorn lurking in their minds. There'd been dreams of their mother's death, too, and certain dreams Vex wouldn't talk about in the weeks after Trinket joined them; Vax can guess what those there about now. But even when they'd slept out in the wild with only themselves and a bear cub to protect them, it was what they'd left behind that haunted them more.

He wonders what kind of dreams he'll be having when they've been here a few months. Or what dreams she'll be having.

For now, he murmurs, "Just because the challenges we'll be facing now don't involve us risking our lives doesn't mean it's not okay to be anxious about them. I mean, right now, my main immediate worry is how your people are going to perceive me, and that terrifies me. And when I genuinely haven't cared about strangers' opinions of me for most of my life. That's not anything near what I know you've got to be worrying about right now-except that one of my biggest worries about it is how I'm going to reflect on you, because I know I'm not exactly the ideal consort for a leader, and I don't even have the kind of useful skills Vex does..."

"Vax!" Keyleth cuts him off, dismayed. The interruption makes Vax fully aware of what's just spilled out of him, as well as the thoughts he hadn't even been consciously aware of before he voiced them. When Keyleth pauses, maybe reconsiders her immediate reaction to his words, he himself takes a moment, and finds himself feeling the need to add, "I think it's because I really do like your people, more than I've liked most."

"Well," that makes Keyleth smile, "that makes you far more suited for being my consort than anyone who doesn't feel that way, right?"

"True," he says, "and I know you won't even make demands of me, but I think you know I'll need to do anything I can think of to make myself useful. Even if it's just spending however many hours it takes to talk you past your nerves and build up your confidence."

"And I don't think anyone's better at that. You're doing a pretty good job right now."

"I wouldn't mind doing it all night," Vax tells her. It's a tempting thought, in fact, to just stay like this for the rest of the night, talking the hours away until dawn. He decides right then they will have nights like that in the future, maybe before mornings when they can sleep in a little.

But tomorrow's not one of those mornings, and they've both had it impressed on them that she and probably him as well will have to be fully there mentally. So Keyleth, with clear reluctance, replies, "Thanks, but we need to sleep a little more tonight if we can. We drifted off once already, right?"

"Right," he says. "But if you want to talk about your dream, surely we can take a few minutes."

Maybe in the end, they remain awake a little longer than they should. Keyleth can't remember more than the basic outline of her dream, and even when prompted she can't remember Scanlan being in it at all. But even the mention of his name brings forward pain and regret they both confess to there, and more words pass between them after that about general insecurities and the future.

Although when Keyleth says, "You might get the most attention at the upcoming midsummer festival, when the people around me won't have more important things to pay attention to," Vax has to grin and say, "I think that might be fun. Before Vex and I left Byroden, we did pick up a thing or two about our town's seasonal festivals. I'll tell you a bit about those if we have some time tomorrow."

"Tell the others, too," she says. "At least some of them must be interested, I think."

Well, if she says so, Vax fully intends to.

#critical role #vaxleth #vox machina #vax'ildan #keyleth

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punkandsnacks · 4 years ago

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Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Fifteen; Anticipation.

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

Also on AO3-

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: No warnings in this chap- animal shapeshifting but thas about it really-

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

The very next days seemed to crawl by. As if time itself was dragging through claggy thick treacle.

Nothing moved quickly and Iris knows it’s because she’s anticipating the weeks-end more than any other event she’s ever awaited on in her life.

More than Yuletide morning. More than her birthday. More than buying a new book or taking an early morning walk all to herself. More than a sunny frosted morning where everything seems to glimmer as if crafted from gold, or seeing wildflowers dot the woods with their colour in spring.

She’s waiting on that much anticipated midnight with baited breath. Every second closer to it is both torture and sweet blessed relief.

She fulfils her remaining days with a permanent smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Even her acetous mother remarks upon it. She tells her daughter the fine manner of her engagement must be bringing her joy. Iris bites her lip to keep from grinning.

She clutched her romantic secret all that tighter to her chest. Moulded it like warm clay to clasp around her glad heart.

Mother and Maratella insist on setting a date. And getting her whole ‘bouquet’ of daughters measured for their gowns.

Posy and Flora for they are of course to be bridesmaids, and Iris, of course, for her bridal gown. They get up a merry party to Pembleton one fine clear morning.

The snow and frost govern the landscape once more. Ebbing back in after the recent rain. The brown frost-hardened hills and trees and fields. Governed under the fierce cyclops of a mustard sun blazing in the effortless blue of the cobalt sky. It made Iris think of robins eggs, and the golden buttery buds of spring. When the bulbs and shoots blossom up through the earth with their sickly scent and colour.

It is a fine clear day and it indicates that the end of the long bitter winter approaches. The cold is as ferocious as ever so Maratella insists upon them not catching a chill in the vile icy winds. Shes most kind as to stop to collect the Misses Ashton’s in the Hux’s second largest coach. They are all bid to the dressmakers in the high street. Along the medieval shamble of barrel window and oak timber shops.

The news of her engagement spread far and wide. Before her boots have even touched the cobbles, stepping out the coach, their party is virtually mobbed by matrons and ladies of their acquaintance.

Iris had in mind a silly image of them prowling at the pavements like baying wolves, chasing after the muddy churn of the carriage wheels; anything for to first seize that newest scrap of gossip.

Posy and Flora ladle up all the attention. As does Mama. Proudly boasting - along with Maratella - of the suitability of such a fine match. Iris wants to roll her eyes as Flora greatly exaggerated the romantic manner of Hux’s proposition. She gabbled about a room full of red roses and how Iris wept tears of delight as he swept her into his arms.

The ravenous eyes turn toward her. “May we see the ring, Miss Ashton?” Comes out of numerous smiling mouths like a chorus of cawing seagulls. Iris feels like they’ll rip her glove off themselves if she doesn’t.

Unused to such attention, she blushes as she slips off her grey calfskin glove. Wrenching it off her hand. There is a troupe of awed gasps as they admire the diamond set in the gold band.

Iris feels as if she’s sticking her hand into a dangerous animals maw. Like some exhibit at a zoo. Feeding her hand to the rabid starving tiger’s. There’s so much gasping and in taking of breath it’s a wonder they don’t suck her up. And take half the street with them.

Luckily, Maratella fusses that they’ll be late if they don’t make haste. She then proudly utters that the ladies five, their happy little bridal party, are off to Madame Larousse’s dressmaking parlour for a wedding gown. And Mrs Ashton and Mrs Hux are to see to both having new hats to mark such a happy occasion.

The flock of ravenous ladies ceases. Satisfied with their mauling of Iris and her news and her engagement ring. The party is able to proceed along the pavement unhindered.

They slip into Madame Larousse’s. Greeted by the lanky, heavily perfumed proprietor herself. She was a tall, ungainly woman with poky shoulders and an always over-rouged complexion. And will always, without fail, exaggerate a mildly French accent to gild her words. For she believes that all the best dressmakers and seamstresses were French.

The tall stretch of Madame claps excitedly and demands to see Iris’ hand when she hears they are here to purchase ribbons and lace and all things fit for a bride. She is whisked away by a very efficient assistant. And stood on a pedestal for the next hour and half.

Iris spends that time with swatches pinned to her. Flapped around her ears. Tucked under her collar. There’s so many back and forth decisions from her mother, it makes her quite dizzy. A tape drawn tight around her so many times to squeeze the stuffing out her. Eventually, they stumble to a conclusion. It was to be a saffron orange.

Flora remarked it made her rather look like a carrot.

Around her they lounge on the chaises provided, clutched around the mirror and the box she’s on, and they drink sweet tea. Brown sugar sprinkled and stirred into the earl grey.

They all pose interjections and opinions and preferences on her. Iris just stands there like a tailors doll. Only half there.

She’s caught sight of a swatch of ruby-wine velvet near her thigh and is stroking it fondly. Remembering Lord Rens exquisite bed coverlet. How it felt under her fingers, it took her ricocheting back to that moment. And it calmed her.

That’s how she can stand all this grousing and prodding. It reminds her of her secret and she nearly faints off that box pedestal.

They settle on a pallid frothy blue silk instead. To better bring out the excellence of her mud and twigs hair. Mama chooses the best silk madame has in stock. Says she will have to fetch more in from her supplier especially. From London.

That causes much excitement for Flora and Posy. They’d never had a dress made from material fetched as far nor from a city as grand as London, before.

Posy had selected a teasing slip of pink silk. Flora, for her more fiery hair, chose a delicate pastel pea green. Iris thinks they’ll look like a platter of French fancy cakes.

Then a pang of something hits through her heart with all the intensity of an arrowhead studding there - she hopes Mama lets Posy and Flora keep their new gowns after she’s gone. She hopes very much. They are the stillest girls in existence but they do deserve nicer things than what they get.

By Madame’s husky drawl of a smoky voice is she brought back into the room, the awful pink pink pink room. Stuffed with velvet chaises and bolster cushions and trimmed fringed oil lamps. Great big fat rosebuds sprout up the wallpaper and flourish across the fabric of the pillows on the settee.

It’s as if the whole room is the summoning of the evil fairy in sleeping beauty. Who commanded swarms of brambles and thorns and swamping plants to take over. That was this room to the last pink thread - only it was instead summoned to contain every incarnation of pink roses as far as the eye could see.

Her ears burn hot and pink as Madame talks of London. Relating the gossip back to someone in the village. Matter of fact, a certain Lord-

“Apparantly, you know he sent that tall turbaned butler of his up to London just yesterday...” Madame hushes to them in her hazy terribly-affected French.

“Sent him to Mayfair.” She grins crookedly as she measures from Iris’s hip to her hem. Barking orders at Suzy, her ever suffering assistant.

Maratella seems most diverted. “Pray whatever for?” She leans forwards. Perching her half eaten violet macaroon on her saucer.

“He sent him to Bond Street. You know there is an establishment there that supplies jewels to the palace. Apparantly he came back having purchased something.” Madame says.

“Pray why would be send his butler all that way?” Flora asks.

“Why, Miss Smith told me so this morning; she suspects Lord Ren has left his heart behind in Bavaria. He is soon to quit Hellford. She heard Clarence Pennington’s butler say that his housekeeper, Mrs Jones states that half his house is shut. And the staff vacated.” Maratella excites them all. Flora and Posy are mortified at such news.

“The house is emptying. And Lord Ren shall soon be gone.” She adds.

Mrs Ashton smiles gladly. “He is journeying back home to his castle I wager...” She delights. The spitting smug nature of her tone was clear. Good riddance.

“Who must he be besotted with I wonder?” Posy asks indelicately.

Iris tries not to be twice as smug. Thinking that she is that very woman.

He goes back to his castle and I will gladly go with him, she thinks.

The giddiness and joy roils in her stomach like golden champagne. Fizzes through her veins and she has to hide a smile. Biting her cheek hard.

“Well. if he is shortly to leave our shores. I’m willing to bet he’ll break a fair few maidens hearts in this county and the next over. Such a striking gentleman. The young ladies will certainly feel his loss most keenly.” Maratella comments in sadness for all the female admirers he’d amassed. They’d all be heart sore now he’s going away.

“You’re blushing Iris.” Flora sing-songs at her. Pointing it out. “Thoughts of your intended sweetheart?” She ribs her sister.

“You are a colossal pest. Flora.” Iris smiles at her. Matter of fact. Her little bug of a sister is quite right. She is thinking about the man she’ll marry.

Only another agonising hour whilst Mama and Maratella select their hats for the occasion. But Iris can atleast sit down and drink some much too sweet earl grey tea. Doesn’t have to stand on that wretched box for another hour.

Eventually their purchases were rung up and settled. Flora and Posy love Iris very much because she buys them two new ribbons each and some velvet buttons for their bonnets. They’re singing her praises as they quit the shop. Trilling like a pair of canaries about their gowns. Iris was glad to spend some of her pin money on them before she leaves for good.

She’s fully appraised of the weight of her actions. And the serious consequence of them. It would be ruinous for her mother and father. It would be a disaster for her sisters. But atleast she was of age and she could marry. Whatever else others might say of her - she fully believes Lord Ren’s intentions are honourable.

They can’t scandalise her for marrying Kylo. Just censure her for running away from Hux and jilting him. She’s certain he’ll recover amicably enough. He doesn’t love her. And his mother is suitably well connected. She could snap her fingers and summon another willing bride. She’s only sorry it can’t be her.

She’s despondent to remark upon the pain she’ll be causing hers and Hux’s family. But in time, they will recover. Posy would do well and Flora will follow in her footsteps. Mother will see to it they catch fine husbands when the time is right. Their mother is most skilled in that area.

The party journeys along Pembleton street. Maratella stops by the haberdashers to seek after some ribbons. Mama is in the milliners seeking after a new pair of occasion gloves. Posy and Flora amble slowly along the street with their sister. Watching the carriages and coaches trundle by. Various riders on horseback too.

A loud nickering snort behind her makes her turn. She can hardly hide the smile that quickly grows across her face when she catches sight of a lone rider on a huge stocky black stallion. Both man and his mount are furiously muscled beasts.

His Lordly attire is its usual. All black. Save for his white shirt and red cravat. The great overcoat frames his wide shoulders and his bulky chest. His boots gleam in the meagre sun. His grin tips up when he catches sight of her.

He looks terribly smug and Iris’s heart feels like it’s trying to ram out the cage of her ribs. This handsome lordly man who stole it away, sets it pounding freely and rampant in her chest.

She tries not to arouse the suspicion of her sisters. They were much too curious and meddling for their own good. She wants to protect her secret and she thinks she’s a proficient enough liar to accomplish it.

They burst into fits of giggles on seeing him. He rides Erland closer to where they are stood and dismounts. His strong boots thud into the frosty mud. His wool coat laps and swathes his body. He tethered himself to Erland. Massive gloved hand gripping the reins. The creature didn’t seem to have any care for wandering off. He just wished to see Iris - Kylo empathises with the horse. He rather feels the exact same.

Iris, Posy and Flora all curtsey to him. He bids them all a greeting. She bows her neck and when she looks up. His eyes fondly fix on her. Warm in the sun. The contrast of him is astonishing. Milky creamy complexion, bordered by the onyx shadow of his hair and eyes. Utter opposites in the juxtaposition.

“Miss Ashton. A pleasure to see you again. I trust you are still well recovered. You look very radiant this morning.” He comments. Walking Erland just that tiny step closer.

The obstinate animal his stallion is, reaches his nose out and snorts into her hand. Nudges her glove for pats and scritches of affection behind his ears. She doesn’t care that she’ll get horse hair on her. She strokes him.

“You are most kind. Your lordship. I am very well.” She smiles slightly. The pretty kiss of rose on her cheeks.

“I need not tell you Erland is pleased to make your acquaintance once more.” He remarks starkly. Hint of irony not lost on her. Erland almost nudges her to fall over with his big strong head. She laughs.

“Your ears must’ve been burning. Lord Ren. For we were just discussing you...” Posy flirts. Batting her lashes at the man.

Hands crossed in front of her. Like she was a genteel little doe. Iris glares narrowed silver dagger eyes at her sister to stop displaying herself so readily. As ever, the little vexation pays no attention. Not when there was a hot blooded male around.

Kylo tilts his head. Intrigued. “Is that so, Miss Posy?” He asks.

“We we’re discussing how heart sore all the young ladies hereabouts will be when you quit Hampshire...” Flora tells him.

Kylo takes her confession in his stride. “It’s true. And I am sorry more than I can exclaim to be leaving such carnage and desolation in my wake. But sadly I do return to Bavaria shortly.”

That handsome expression barely betrays a thing. The cold wind flounces and ruffles that wild hair. A tuft of it drifts in his face and tangled in his dark eyeline.

Iris decides in that moment he truly might be an angel sculpted by gods own hand; or a demon designed by the devil himself. She isn’t sure which of those creatures is all the more tempting.

One thing she’s certain of; He’d win that draw of most handsome, every time.

She quivers when those eyes gaze at her. Peels her right out her clothes and down to her goose pimpled skin. Then Posy has to go and open her foolhardy mouth some more...

“We were just helping Iris shop for her bridal gown.” She preens. “And our bridesmaids dresses.” She comments. Speaking as if she wants Kylo to snatch her up and steal her away to Bavaria. Stuff her in his pocket and run off with her.

“I had heard rumour of your engagement...” He lies. Iris is biting the inside of her lip and smiling genially to hide how wide her excitement wishes to make her smile grow.

“Show Lord Ren your engagement ring, Iris!” Flora bounces excitedly. Iris glares. Reminding her of the inappropriate nature of her words.

“Flora. Lord Ren is not interested in such matters. And I’m afraid we’ve already impressed upon too much of his time...” She insists.

Kylo holds out his hand to her. Steps closer so she has to crane her head back just to keep sight of his eyes. “I am certainly interested. And I might add, most eager to see the bauble that decorates such a fine, pretty hand.” He teases.

She decides he was designed by the devil. And lucifer gave him a silver tongue to boot-

Iris slips off her grey glove and gently lays her palm in his.

The way his fingers curl around hers is criminal. She tips her eyes up to his as he shifts closer and admires her ring. A soft smile tugs at his mouth. The gold winks at him in the sun. It’s a pretty delicate morsel. He can’t deny. But plain. Much too plain. Entirely humble as decoration went.

-it’s certainly nothing to the one he’d had Jomar go all the way to London to fetch for her from Bentley & Skinner on Bond Street.

“It is a fine ring. Miss Ashton. Sergeant Hux is the most fortunate man in England to have you as his intended bride. I’m quite envious of his fortuity.” He says. Bowing to lay a kiss on the back of her palm.

His eyes electrify her. He winks at her and she flushes with heat. Blood pressing up in her face.

“I’m sorry to hear of your leaving England. Lord Ren. Such a shame Hellford Park should be quitted before the summer.” She tells him.

Her palm leaving his. Sliding away from the touch of his hand would have made her wretched were it not for the heat in his bronzed eyes. Made a warmer melting shade by the shimmer of the buttery sun. And their shared secret lifts her heart.

“It is a great shame. But I’m eager to return to Ranlor. I’ve missed my homeland a great deal.”

“The rumour in circulation is that you have a certain lady in mind to return home too.” Posy dares most outlandishly. Iris chides her for her brash rudeness.

“Posy!” Iris calls out.

Kylo seems amused by it. “That would he telling. Miss Posy. Not to mention betraying the confidence of the most honourable lady in question.” He smirks at her sister.

Who giggles and blushes like it’s no ones business. His vampiric charms seeping out of his every pore, truly intoxicating to them, Iris can see it’s influence.

“Is she a great beauty? I imagine she is most elegant indeed and very superior and titled in rank and manner. And of great fortune...” Posy digs for more details. Kylo will reveal none.

“Pray. Don’t be impertinent twice-over.” Iris corrects. Posy pulls a vexed face. Shoves her tongue out at her sister.

Kylo’s chuckling. They were entertaining little chits. Relentless. But he admires something about that sparky quality. Iris had the same sense about her - only more sensible and humble.

“She is the singularly, most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld in all my years.” He promises. “And I cannot wait to have her hand in marriage. She will make me a very blessed and lucky man.” He declares.

“How romantic.” Posy declares in a sigh. Flora dreamily agrees. They’re both veritably Moony eyed. Gazing up at him in wonder as a consequence. A silly girls kryptonite. A handsome and dark romantic man. A Byronic figure to set all the foolish girls swooning at the knees.

Kylo’s eyes sweep across to Iris at a passing glance. He smiles. And it almost undoes her.

“We must be on our way. We’ve availed ourselves of too much of your time. Lord Ren.” Iris says in parting. Trying to herd her vapid sisters away before they flirt anymore.

“We must go. For we are bid to the Hux’s tonight for a celebratory engagement supper.” Posy curtsies boasting as she’s bobbing away.

“Give the Sergeant and his family my warmest regards.” Kylo insists. Knowing what a barb that would be to Hux’s temper.

Iris turns and meets his eyes. Giving him a polite bowed head in parting. When Posy and Flora are otherwise looking elsewhere. She turns back and gives him such a look of longing and delight it makes him grin at her as she walks off down the cobbled pavement.

“Very good to see you again. Your Lordship. Have a pleasant rest of your day.” She insists.

Cajoling her sisters along the path and away before they get any notions. Erland snorts at her as she moved away. She smiles and gladly rubs the flat bone of his nose before she goes. Lord Ren stays standing until she does move away.

Kylo pats his neck, and hauls himself up on his strong stallions back once again. Booted feet in the stirrups. He adjusts on the saddle. Scanning the tumbled windows of the high street proprietors.

In the milliners, he sees a face like sour lemons and thunder glaring out at him. Mrs Ashton’s stony face peering outwards through the glass. Having seen his exchange with all her daughters.

He coaxes Erland into a slow walk. A little nudge in his side. He gives the foul Caroline Ashton his most winning enigmatic smile. And nods civilly in greeting at her as he rides off.

He sees it makes her lips purse in irritation.

Iris can’t resist glancing back at him. She knows those eyes watch her all the way down the street. She can feel them. Two pinpricks of heat, like candles, burning into her shoulder-blades.

It makes her too giddy for words.

They soon catch up with the rest of their party and are whisked away in the Hux carriage. Soaring across the dirty English roads. Mud churning in their wake as cold air and sunshine bounces off the roof.

Mama asks them what Lord Ren. Iris told them he was just politely passing the time of day. She seems satisfied with the answer. Iris fights not to squirm into shivers of desire at the merest intimation and memory of him.

Posy and Flora sing-song his romantic praises all the way home. Mother soon shuts them up with a cross cold stare.

The afternoon seems to fly her by. No sooner than she’s home and she’s readying herself for the dinner they’ll take at the Hux’s residence. Cavenham House.

The not so modest estate in the border of the next county. A gorgeous house if she’s being perfectly honest. Terracotta red bricked exterior, of modern Georgian design. Huge arched white windows. Rococo interior. All gilded with cherubs frolicking on the murky painted ceilings and baroque trim on every door. Rolling scrolls. Frescoes and pastel colours. Gilding, moulding and trompe l’oeils giving the illusion of motion and drama. Raining down from every ceiling.

A handsomely kept garden was also what it was resolutely famous for. Though it would not be pictured to its best quality in this dead winter. Spring will liven it soon. The hardy bright bulbs will crop up through the frost. But for now it remains speckled in snow with only the evergreens surviving.

Iris can see it all as they pull up the long stretch of the torch lit drive. In the coach Maratella was kind enough to send to collect them all.

Once again she was wedged beside Posy and Flora, and their shrill gossiping. Mother and Father opposite. Noiseless and as disagreeing as ever. Silence blazed between them as somber as a churchyard. They were about as animated with each other as two gravestones.

Iris dressed in her navy silk gown with 3/4 sleeves and a sheer white chemisette swirled with stitched white flowers, decorating her shoulders and neck. Meg cleverly weaves that teal ribbon into her hair coiffure again. She finishes the look with pearl droplet earrings and white satin gloves up to her elbows.

They are welcomed inside by stony faced servants in the blue Cavenham livery. Taken into the drawing room to meet their hosts. Maratella had invited some local flavour along also. Everyone’s merry and mingling. Posy offers to play a Handel piece on the Pianoforte before dinner is announced. She does so rather well. Thunks the opening notes in shocking volume but she picks up from that point onwards.

Iris is admiring the scenery from the drawing room window. Even in the dark she can see how lovely the gardens are. It doesn’t dissolve the fact that this house would still be a prison to her. There weren’t bars on the window and she won’t exactly be stitching mailbags - but it will still be her cage.

A handsome cage, she won’t deny. But a cage nonetheless as she mothers the children and lives for planning fine parties to boast of her and her husbands excellence. And slowly becomes a woman of high rank and no substance.

Hux moves to stand by her side, hands folded behind his back. A tall lean column of red, black and white in his ceremonial dress. Medals shining. Hair groomed. Perfectly respectable. Infuriatingly loveless, as always.

“You shall like the gardens in summer. I should think.” He remarks.

“They are most handsome.” She comments. “A fine prospect indeed.” She agrees.

They perfectly form the vision of lovers conversing by candlelight. She can hear Mama and Mrs. Hux cooing proudly behind them. It’s infuriating. Iris can’t spend the rest of her life in a manner such as this; being prodded and manoeuvred and gossiped over like a chess piece on a board.

“I care little for being out of doors. Save for riding with my regiment.” He impresses.

Iris nods. “I am perhaps overfond of walking. I take an excursion each day if I can.” She tells him.

He sniffs. And coldly watches the view before them. “Well. You shall have to make allowances and sacrifices when we are wed. I can’t have you scampering around the countryside when you are with my heir.” He insists.

Iris’s mouth turns dry. She makes little response to his words. He turns away to speak to someone else but she catches his arm to stop him.

“Please I just want to say-“ she starts.

She looks up into his face. The bright copper of his hair and the steel of his eyes. The surety of his rigid auburn brow. She doesn’t dislike him. He’s not an unpleasant man. Just, misguided.

She says what she’s thinking now before she loses the chance. No doubt he’ll think very badly of her when all is done.

“I think well of you. You know. You are a gallant man. Not lacking in honour or credibility. I admire that about you. Hux.” She says. Even if I can’t marry you for it.

He nods. Accepting her words. Then their granite faced butler coughs dryly and announces dinner to the room.

Maratella lets the engaged couple be seated next to each other at dinner. Wanting to encourage the tepid affection brewing between them. Iris doesn’t know what the woman expects from them. They weren’t matched for love but it’s as if that’s what she’s hoping to see blossom.

Maratella is hoping for romance to pass betwixt them.

It could and never will be that. Iris thinks.

Iris remarks inwardly to herself as she sips down her soup a la reine. Served alongside several large golden Bouchée à la reine’s.

The next course is of stewed beef and venison steaks, and a whole champagne poached salmon with slithers of white and black truffles decorating the cooked fish acting as scales.

More seafood came served in the form of fried then boiled sole, heaped in a terrine and a whole platter of pickled crab. A haricott of vegetables and mashed turnips. There was enough food spread on this very grand table, to keep them dining for a fortnight. Mrs Hux organised a feast intended to show off.

She gets everyone to toast to the newlyweds. The gentleman stand to raise their glasses and the ladies stay seated.

The pudding banquet is brought out and quite rightly enough, as she suspected, the whole table is flouncing in ruched fancy french sugar concoctions.

Silken French pies. Syllabubs of lemon and rose and brandy. Ice’s of all flavours. Custard tarts smothered with fat ripe fruit drowning steeped in syrup. Sugar plums and cinnamon and mace laced apple tartlets with baked custard. Iris indulged in some of the tarts and the fruits.

Posy and Flora fall upon creams and dainty fancies like hungry wolves. And eat until they are stuffed.

The ladies retire to the parlour for music and snifters of sweet ruby port wine. Iris indulges in a glass as her sisters and various other young accomplished ladies take to the pianoforte to sing and show off. Posy drags a reluctant Iris up to sing whilst she plays. She grumbles but bends to her sisters will.

She gives a shortly sweet chorus of ‘Let no man steal your thyme’ for it was the only song she could sing comfortably well.

She never much liked performing for amusement. Some girls were a glutton for it. Iris is no such a one. She stands with one hand on the pianoforte and the other folded behind her hip. She sings her choruses and smiles meekly at the small scattering of applause offered for her when she is done.

She heads back to her spot on the settee. Maratella is remarking to her mother how divine it will be to have a songbird in the house once again. Iris sits back in her seat and spends the rest of her evening in silence. Though she wants to say a great deal.

The evening slips past well enough. Night spills past her relatively quick. Another day gone. Another day closer to her happiness. She’s almost too giddy to contain it.

Then the time comes to bid goodnight to their hosts;

Iris watches as Hux fondly kisses her hand. Seeing her off out the rich gilded foyer out into the black black night. Sky so dark it’s a whole void studded with freckling stars. Cold shudders at the shivering trees.

She wants to say something impactful and veiled. To speak of her regard for him. She cannot think how best to do so. She swallows down her thick tongue. Remains a coward.

She can only hope in time, after the wake of her scandal settles. That Hux will find someone better suited than her. Maybe even find someone that he can love? She prays deeply for that little happy happenstance.

She is not so unfeeling as to wish a joyless life on the man who just wasn’t correct for her.

Her teeth grits with all the things unsaid. “I hope you’ll be happy.” She smiles lightly. He thinks her to be referring to the engagement that stands between them.

“I’m sure.” He comments. “Goodnight.” Is his curt response.

It doesn’t incense her. Tonight it vexed her. Caused a tiny crease between her brows. It seemed such fickle words to part on. But she leaves them be-

Let’s those words spirit up into the quiet undisturb of the night. The heavens can have those words. Iris wishes it could have been more. But how appropriate is it that even his parting words are found wanting.

She gets into the coach after curtseying a polite goodbye to Brendol and Maratella. She says something sweet to Iris about her singing. Iris cringes a smile. She won’t be thinking such good things about her shortly. She imagines she’ll curse her name for all of hell and heaven to hear. She’ll wake the sleeping dead cursing the day Iris was born.

Iris thanks her. For her hospitality. For her kindness. Under all her airs and graves, she’s a fairly nice woman and she should find a more amicable daughter-in-law to crow over.

She slots herself into the coach beside her sisters. Listens to the door slam shut. The rattle and crunch of it shifts on the gravel. Rumbled away up the long elegant curve of the drive.

Iris twists to look back. She isn’t sure why she wanted too. But they weren’t a dismal family. And she’s sorry for the pain and offence she’ll cause to them all.

She watches Hux’s stiffly-posed, regimented figure. Shadowed against the night. The scarlet of his blood coat. The ice white of his breeches stained blue, glowing in the night. The stars glimmer off his shining boots and off the pierce of his pale eyes. She wishes him well. She truly does.

They trundle on home. Full of food and as usual with Posy and Flora spouting gossip on and on endlessly. Mother chiming in. Father and Iris retain their silence. Eyes cross firing in a glance when they all agree on something cruel and senseless.

Westwell’s windows emerge gold out the dark. Surrounded by the bustling trees. All of the landscape is merely dark moulded shapes. Looming and shifting in the shadows. The moon casts washy film of silver to try and spill over the cover of smeared clouds.

They are just to the drive when a small dark shape flits overhead. Iris looks upwards, and sees the definable shape of a bird landing on her windowsill. She smiles giddily.

She exits the coach quick. Bidding them goodnight and rushing off up to her room. Her skirts picked up in her hands. Mama remarks how odd it is. Posy shrugs and supposes she’s got a secret missive to read from Hux.

Iris absolutely flies for her door. Twists the handle and launches herself in the room. Shutting the door firmly after herself. Pressing it with both hands flat to the wood.

The warmth of the fire hits her. She doesn’t even pay mind to the tiny crack of her open window. Or her swaying curtains that shift on the breeze.

She can only focus on the huge frame of a dashing vampire stood fireside. One elbow resting on the mantel as he gazes into the flames.

His big frame swallows up the whole room and strangled out all the air. The ochre of the blazing flames captured his skin. Turned that milky-cream of his complexion into pale fire.

She smiles and he does too. “Thank goodness it’s you. I was worried I’d scare seven shades out of your maid.” He drawls softly so his voice doesn’t carry. Smirk curling at the corners.

She crosses the distance. Her feet eat up the floorboards quick. She avails herself of an embrace. Throws herself into his arms.

The cloak of his fire warmed clothing envelopes her as his arms do. He smells like the damp snap of frosty woodland and the acid tang of woodsmoke. The night air of wild outdoors clings to every inch and fibre of his clothes. Swirls about him like a clouding tempest.

He chuckles as she gets herself in his hold. The deep bass of his voice rumbled through her skin and sinking to her bones. Her cheek mashed to his sternum. His arms close around her. Stroking her body through the rasping silk of her dress.

One big warmed hand clasps the back of her neck as the other holds the back of her waist. His nose nudges into the crush of her muddy hair. Her scent teases him just as much as his had, to her. Lavender and sage. The plain spice and calm floral scent.

“I could feel the happiness pouring off you as you alighted the stairs.” He smiles. She steps back and gazed up at him.

“How pretty you look tonight. Dove. You’re exquisite in silk.” He remarks when she steps away. Hand toying with the loose tawny curl at her ear. The sapphire dark of her dress suits her very well. Throws her complexion into brilliance. Does something to make the tones of her hair look rich.

She always looks ravishing to him.

She blushes. “I missed you all day. Isn’t that mad?” She asks.

“If missing is madness, then I’m out of my sane mind whenever you’re not in my sight.” He promises gently.

Big hands cupping her hot silken neck as he leans down to plant a firm, slanting kiss to her lips. His mouth is cold and he tastes of frosty air and wine.

Kissing him is like kissing someone who just stepped inside, taking shelter from a bitter cold wind.

She’s beginning to wonder if there is some clever addiction woven into his lips. One kiss never seems to be enough. She holds his wrists as he grabs her. Makes her feel small in his arms. She’s lost in his hold. It’s powerfully thrilling.

He breaks the kiss and his thumbs stroke at her cheeks. Her eyes glitter keenly at him. He spies the ring on her finger. The one that doesn’t belong there. It makes him smile.

“I’d like to surmise you snuck in here just to steal a kiss. But I suspect a different motive altogether?” She asks.

He broke into a grin that creases his eyes and bares his teeth in a smile. She was no thoughtless woman; his darling Iris.

She’s always thinking. Always fretting. Always mulling over things in her head.

That was one of the first things that that came to his notice about her. She tended to be introspective about all manner of things in comparison to her acetous mother who spewed vile words. And her daft sisters who spouted out their every dangerously silly thought.

He kisses her for that clever remark- slow and paced and soft. Languid like melting warm honey. Lips curling to hers.

“I do have some news. But kissing you will always my first priority.” He husks against her rosy lips. Her warm cheeks blaze from under his icy fingers.

“The date is set. We must leave tomorrow eve.” He tells her with a smirk.

Her stomach completely soars in giddiness. She doesn’t have to hide her grin here.

“It feels as if I’ve been waiting at eternity to hear those blessed words.” She cries in happiness.

“Slip away to me after everyone’s gone to bed.” He instructs. She agrees.

“Mother has been pleased with my conduct of late. She’ll have let her guard down over tonight. I’ll leave once everyone is abed. Even the maids.” She tells him.

Stroking her fingers down the finery of his waistcoat where they’re still stood close to each other. The material was so soft. The softest grain of velvet she’s ever felt.

“You don’t have to bring too much. I can buy you everything you may ever need.” He leers. Cupping her cheek. Feeling the smooth of her skin. Right up her jaw.

His eyes carve flinty paths down her neck as he strokes his fingers there. Her pulse quickens. He can feel and hear her blood slushing hot through her veins.

She shrugs. “I cherish very few possessions. Posy and Flora can have the rest.” She insists. Her hand coming up to stroke over his thick crook of elbow with the hand that’s touching her neck.

He drags the edge of the chemisette down and strokes along the flat of her collarbone. His eyes turn into a palette of bittersweet autumn. Orange and gold swirled with flecks of russet brown.

“Is it difficult?” She asks suddenly.

“Restraining from the need to...” Her face fixed on his. Words trailing away. Air bursting with heat and lust. His eyes snap from her neck to her face. Her cheeks bloom rose petal red. Blood red and hot.

“To feed?” He asks her. She swallows and nods.

His other hand catches the back of her hips reels her right in close. She gasps. Air around them thick and full of snapping sparking static. Her hands press to his cavernous chest.

“I have got several hundred years of restraint up my sleeve.” He crooks a smirk.

His eyes flicker to watch her jugular pulse. The thrum of her little timpani heart makes his mouth wet. He knows she’d taste like salt and sickly Turkish roses and warm bronze coins.

He presses the chemisette aside again and nudges his nose against her pulse point. Right at the epicentre of his life’s greatest desire. He hums a kiss against her neck and she almost faints-

“You shake all those very hard learnt lessons right down to their very foundations.” He promises.

“Iris my love, you are the hardest thing, I’ve ever had to resist.” He tells.

Swooping upwards to kiss at her cheek. Sighing in need against her hot warm skin. If he indulges the temptation of tasting her blood. He doesn’t even want to fathom what the raw animal in him will do to her. Such debauchery he’d surely scandalise her innocence to tipping point.

He will have her on their wedding night and not a second before.

Though the rogue in him does think how goddamn glorious it would be to have her on that bed of hers right now, torn out of that gown. Screeching his name for the whole house to hear. And they can listen to her rapture and whimper, and beg and writhe under the man who really does love her.

Bite her neck as he pumps deep into her slick heat. Gather up every groan as she opens those sweet pink thighs for him and claws at his back. He’d kiss her neck until she yanks her fingers into his hair and tugs. Opens that sweet songbird mouth and calls for him in her bliss, with that ambrosial voice.

He holds the backs of her hips and strokes the silk there with arcing curves of his thumbs. Drawing shapes on that stiff silk.

“I must tell you-“ She starts. “I never was much good at resisting you either. Even after knowing what you are. It shocked me I won’t deny. But it somehow in its twisted way, it made all the sense in the world. It didn’t alter me for my knowledge of it. It didn’t even begin to change the severity my feelings for you.” She tells him. Reaching up and stroking along the handsome plain jaw.

Wholly, un-confinably, remarkably handsome.

“My love-“ He begins warmly. “If I had to, I would throw you over my shoulder to carry you up the aisle to marry me. Even if I had to tear you from your bed and steal you away in the dark of night to be mine. I would have done it. Because this, what we share, it cannot and will never be undone. Can never be ignored.” He promises her.

“Vampires love more deeply than any mortal longing. What I feel for you, it is not fickle. It will never fade. Never wane. We love each other and that will last for as long as we exist on this earth. I thought I had better edify you with these clear facts about my nature, before we are to be bound in matrimony.” He pledges to her. Declaring his undying devotion to her.

Iris rather wants to swoon into his chest - if she had ever been inclined to be a swooning sort of woman. Instead she just beams. A smile so glad it touches the frosty barren place his dead heart inhabited.

“These last few hours will be such a torture.” She comments seriously. But giddy. So giddy it felt like her sides would split open. And molten happy gold would pour out.

His eyes turn promiscuous. As does his domineering smile.

“I can safely offer you nothing but pleasure once the torture is done.” He filthily promises.

She blushes. He wants to lift her up and devour her in a kiss again. Taste those saccharine sweet lips in an animalistic kiss. He savours holding her instead.

Tomorrow he can let the animal roam free over his delicate dove. Tonight is the last night it must be caged.

“Not long to wait now. The last of my household servants left today. I sent Jomar and Jones off to London to make passage to France. Erland and Kana remain to take us to Scotland with one driver, and the coach.” He tells.

She liked that he’s bringing Erland to their elopement. It’s quite fitting when the creature loves her almost as much as he does.

“Then it’s just us. Riding into the wild of the Highland. Roaming over the Scottish moors, and glens and lochs, as a Lord and his Lady.” He paints a vivid picture for her.

She sighs a smile. “Us, has never sounded so splendid.” And she beams brighter than the sun.

He clutches her close for another kiss before he slips away.

The appointed hour loometh. And Iris won’t sleep a wink for thinking of his sharp smile or those savage eyes.

She eventually dreams. And thinks of kissing his soft plush lips once more. Like kissing pink rose petals.

The next time she will, they’ll be well on their way to being man and wife.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

#kylo ren #kylo ren x oc #vampire au #vampire!kylo #vampirelovestory #very wolves and doves #adam driver #Iris vibes 🕊#Draegan vibes 🥀#Lord Ren vibes 🐺#vampire #demon #ao3 fanfic #more swooning #secret lovers

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descendantofthesparrow · 5 years ago

Text

Harry Hook x reader - abandoned

@marvelfanatic004

Could you possibly do a story about reader being Mal’s sister and pregnant with Harry’s baby during D3 and Mal doesn’t know when she says she’s going to shut the barrier? With lots of reader and Harry fluff!

You rubbed your swollen stomach, holding new life, staring at the broken tv screen in lady tramlines hair shop, as beasty boy proposed to mal…your traitorous sister who abandoned you…for three years.

Its been three years since that fateful day when mal, evie, Carlos, and Jay went to Auradon.

Two and a half years since she broke and came back, when she saw you, she seemed surprised, as if she had forgotten you.

During the planning of getting ben back, she begged you to go along with it and she would have evie take you back to Auradon.

You refused, not wanting to leave your friends…your family.

Then…then…

She had just…left. Like the cowardly traitor she was.

And now, now after THREE FUCKING YEARS, she was finally getting more kids off the isle.

You knew you weren’t going to be one of them, you didn’t bother to fill out an application, and you knew she would never choose you. She offered to give you a better life ONCE before giving up. A hero she was? Yeah right, more like a backstabbing villain.

You glared as the core four and ben climbed into mals new purple limo-like she needed more fancy shit, she was more Auradon than isle now, she’d gone soft, weak.

The strong hold on to their promises, not afraid to say what they thought, not afraid to step up and call attention.

Mal was weak, she broke every single promise, she jumped on the bandwagon, she cowered and stepped down, letting others do the hard part and then took all the credit.

Just like all the pranks you did when you were young and mal taking credit and you were just her little henchmen.

You were lucky that your mother didn’t like it.

She demanded that mal start thinking for herself, evil queens didn’t use someones else's plot to rule the world, evil was original, not a copy cat.

It was one of the few times that you were higher than Mal in your mother's view.

Dizzy skipped down the stairs, a bright smile on her face. “omg (y/n)! can you believe im going to auradon~!” you smiled at the happy 16-year-old, you held no ill feelings toward the young teen, she deserved to leave the deary isle.

“I do, you belong there sweetie” dizzy squealed, wrapping her arms around you, you hummed, giving her a tight side hug.

“When you get there you have to let me babysit okay!”

Your smile dropped, but you faked one when dizzy pulled back “of course, who else would I let take care of the little one?”

Dizzy giggled, grabbing her designs and crafts from around the room, stopping at one.

“oh!” she grabbed it and raced back over to you, holding out an interesting necklace.

“This is for you!”

It had red gems and (f/c) jewels, with silver and gold vines with leaves decorating the front, it looked like a tiara made for a fae.

“the red ones are Harry's color see, and the (f/c) ones are yours! I wanted to look like the trees of the fae like in that old book you showed me!”

You stared at it in awe “oh dizzy” you teared up, damn hormones, “I love it!” you hugged dizzy, careful of the baby bump.

“ill treasure it forever!”

Dizzy squealed “im so happy you like it! Oh!” dizzy’s aunt Anastasia came down the stairs, holding another one of dizzy’s suitcases

“come on diz, the limo is almost here”

Casting a look on the screen, you saw the barrier opening, the limo pulling in.

“aye, now love, I think its time we go home”

Strong arms wrapped around you, a thick Scottish accent purring in your ear. You sighed and nodded, grasping Harry's hand and letting him help you up.

“yeah yeah, let's go”

“bye (y/n)! bye, harry!”

“yeah yeah, bye ya runt”

“shush har, see ya dizzy!”

You exited the hair salon, entering the streets of the isle, some of the residents looking up and glaring but coward back when your eyes glowed bright (e/c) and harry flashed his hook, a crooked grin on his face.

You arrived at bargain castle, where you took the reigns after your precious sister turned mother into a lizard.

After the events of the coronation, many tried to salvage whatever they could from the castle, but you didn't let them, baring your sharp teeth and glowing eyes, the flames and shadows flickered around you. Making those who dared to try cower away and never return.

Harry was the only one to step through and manage to take something, and that caught your interest. Uma did too, glaring back just as harshly and stepping right up to you, sneering in our face.

You liked her, so you broke away from your sister's calling of ‘shrimpy’ and made peace with uma, the two of you ruling the isle.

And harry was one of your treasures, after some time, people had started to call him the consort of the isles queen.

Now, why would they be calling harry that? Because you and him had begun to…see each other? If that’s the right wording.

And no one dared to mess with the darker descendant of maleficent and the insane son of captain hook, so it was an easy match.

And it had been two years and 3 months since you had started..dating…and now, you smiled down at your protruding belly, felling the life move within.

You were pregnant with Harry's child. About 2 months pregnant to be exact. Still flat stomached enough to cover it with baggy clothes, mostly Harry's jackets and shirts.

Harry unlocked the main door, stepping in and leading you through, he quickly locked the door behind him and followed you up the stairs, and into the kitchen.

“so love” he started, plopping down on one of Cruella's old plumply chairs, sitting halfway on and his other half sticking up in the air.

“are we just gonna chill in here for the rest of the night or~” harry sang, wiggling his brows “we gonna have some fun!?” you sighed, walking over to him and sitting in his lap, laying your head down on his chest. “chill, im really tired.”

Harry hummed, sending vibrations to you “alright love” he wrapped his arms around you, snuggling into your hair and sighing happily, rubbing his thumb on your swollen stomach.

“boy or girl, the baby I mean?”

you thought for a second, before mumbling out “doesn't matter to me, ill love them even if they don’t have a gender.

Harry snorted, smiling softly “aye, I feel the same”

The two of you fell asleep on the plump couch, soft breaths, and faces tucked into the other.

---

“so my little fire fae!” your father strut around the room, being his extra self. “how's your life been~?”

now, lemme explain a thing, you had a much better relationship with your dad than mal did since you went out of your way to see him and he kinda just grew used to you and stopped trying to force you away, becoming a semblance of a real father.

You groaned, flopping into his chair and making a fart sound.

“that bad huh?”

“being pregnant sucks!!!” you moaned, pouting at your dad, who messed with his tall fire blue hair. “how’d you deal with mom when she was pregnant with me and mal?”

Hades barked a laugh “I didn’t! she had her” he made finger quotations “friends help”

You snorted, aka the people who would cower below her and the Tremaine sisters, sounded like the fairy bitch, but you digress “so how is harry?”

You smiled, you could talk about for hours “good, he hooked a couple people who tried to get in the castle to get me yesterday”

You sat up, clapping your hands “oh! Know what I heard~”

Hades slumped his shoulders and sighed exaggeratedly “what?!”

You grinned, teeth sharp “you tried to get out~”

Hades snuffed “yeah, didn’t work”

He turned, strutting up to you and tossing his scarf around your neck “now if you would be so kind, it's my nap time~”

You rolled your eyes, swinging your legs around and standing, bumping your fist into your dad's torso.

“yeah yeah, sleep well”

----

You watched as harry lept out of the barrier, catching his eyes as he turned back, he seemed to send you a message with those ocean blue eyes of his

‘I will come back, for both of you’

You nodded back, watching as uma emerged and the chaos ensued, you also caught her eye, and her mouth dropped open slightly at your slightly protruded lower torso.

You nodded at her, telling her to go.

You watched them all walk away, seeing Harry constantly glancing back before he became a tiny dot in the distance.

before pink smoke started to gather around you, you took a step back, eyes widening,

“wha-“

Everything went black.

---this is gonna be a 2 parter btw---

#descendants #Descendents #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #pregnant reader #mals sister reader

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solohux · 5 years ago

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So after staying away from A/B/O for a long time (idk why i just figured it wasn't for me) someone got me into it and tbh I kinda need more now? 😅 So anyways, do you happen to have some good omegaverse kylux recommendations? Thank you in advance!

Of course! Luckily, the Kylux fandom is truly blessed with some amazing ABO writers so I’ve put this list under a Read More because it’s a bit long! ❤️

Enjoy! （　´∀｀）☆

◾ Unexpected Avenues by @sinceyouaskedmeforataleof (WIP)

No one wanted to take this particularly grisly task, but Dopheld is glad it fell to him when he realises that all is not as it seems. Can he make a new life on the run with his ex, now that everything he thought he knew has been turned upside down?

◾ Safety In His Arms by @redcole

Kylo knows it's time to bond with Hux, he just wants to make sure that his intentions are clear. After all, it isn't often that an omega courts an alpha.

◾ Heat Sink by @sparrows-trashcan

Kylo Ren is an omega but so is General Hux. While Hux doesn't mind everyone knowing that his preference is limited to male omegas Kylo Ren is shamed to feel the same. Everything changes after the Starkiller incident: Kylo Ren is in heat and there is only one person on the Finalizer who could possibly help him...

◾ Lighting The Fuse by hey_honey

"What is going on?" Phasma asked when Hux returned from his meeting with Leia looking pale. He stared at her."The Queen's son agreed to marry a First Order official on one condition," he said."And?" Phasma encouraged."That official has to be me," he said.

Alternatively, in which a political alliance is made between mere Lieutenant Hux and Ben Organa, soon to be queen of Naboo. Leia is about to get more grey hairs. And Snoke is an asshole.

◾ High Risk, High Reward by Alexandra_Savile (WIP)

My take on the entirely unoriginal premise of demanding and possessive Alpha!Hux attempts to court a confused and skeptical Omega!Kylo.Feelings are caught, supreme leaders killed, and heats satiated. Story begins a little before TFA.

◾ What We Did For Love by Lady_Faulkner

They were both born wrong but that’s what made them perfect for each other. Hux is a slim Alpha and Kylo is a bulky Omega. Neither thought they would ever find a mate, but after the destruction of Starkiller, Kylo goes into heat and Hux finds he can’t resist him.

◾ Falling Stars by @huxative WIP

Armitage Hux is the omega son and ever present shame of Lord Brendol, overseer of the Arkanis region. That was, until King Snoke arranged a marriage between his adopted son and Armitage.

◾ Hadopelagic by DustOnBothSides After a life of staying pharmaceutically heat-free, Hux has to allow his body to go through at least one natural cycle, lest there be consequences. He takes a shore leave and travels to a former omegan retreat, abandoned and all but forgotten after the fall of Old Republic. Ren, not knowing of Hux’s predicament, decides to follow, suspecting treason. He finds something else instead.

◾ Bodies, Can’t You See? by sual When Hux sees the positive result on the pregnancy test scanner, he comes to several alarming realizations all at once. One: that his birth control has been tampered with. Two: that the baby is Kylo’s. Three: that this is his true punishment for Starkiller’s failure. And quietly, in a weak, tiny voice in the back of his mind, the unsettling conclusion that he wants to keep it. He’ll die before he lets anyone near his child. He’ll tear apart anyone that tries to get in his way. Even Kylo.

◾ The Emperor’s New Consort by @redcoleThe First Order is in control of the Galaxy, in a last ditch effort to save those who are left, they request negotiations. Only to find that for the Resistance to survive they only need to give up one thing small thing - the angry Senator Ben Organa.

◾ Babe, I’m Here Again by @sinceyouaskedmeforataleof It’s 2008 and graduate student Armitage Hux has no idea why hes still hanging out with that nerd of a second year Ben Solo. Surely he had better things to do that sit around planning Dungeons & Dragons adventures with this not-at-all-attractive Alpha who he definitely doesn’t think about constantly.

◾ Flame by bastila_s

On their way to an important meeting with Snoke, Hux and Kylo become trapped when the elevator breaks down. To make it worse, Kylo goes into heat.

◾ Shades Undimmed by @longstoryshortikilledhim Hux is a bounty hunter who teams up with renegade Jedi Kylo Ren for a hunt. They’re determined not to let their biological needs intervene with the integrity of their mission. They fail.

◾ Fields of Gold by @ mssdare Ren and Hux crash on a planet full of strange flowers. Soon, Hux starts feeling the effects of the pollen.

◾ Unexpected by @gonna-pop (WIP)After twenty years together, Ben and Armitage have gotten comfortable. There are no surprises left in their marriage, and nothing new to learn about each other. That is, until Armitage unexpectedly goes into heat while they’re vacationing on a resort world — and a few days of renewed passion changes the course of their lives.

◾ no hope, no quarter by @thethespacecoyote Stolen away to a temple on Moraband, Kylo Ren finds himself at the mercy of an obsessive, sinister captor. Only one person can hope to save him, and would even dare put their life on the line against such insurmountable odds—Armitage Hux, his general and lifelong mate.

◾ To Build A Home by @reluctantly-awesome Ren is truly a hopeless alpha and Hux helps him reluctantly and not because he wants a home himself, not at all.

◾ In Your Debt by @pangolinpirate Things work a little different in the Order then they do in the Resistance

◾ need you baby (more, more, more) by @thesunandoceanblue “Ren?” “Yes?” Hux traced his finger down Ren’s jawline. “You’d do anything for me, right?”

◾ Alpha You Are Knot by @darktenshi17 Alpha Kylo Ren has finally found his perfect mate, now they can begin a family together. There’s only one problem; that’s not how human reproduction works at all.

◾ Amnesia by @bubbaknowlton Hux wakes up on an unknown ship, seven months pregnant with a baby crying in a crib. The last thing he remembers is leaving Kylo Ren at Snoke’s citadel. Not knowing what alpha has bred him, nor the fate of the First Order, he takes the baby, some supplies, and runs.

◾ Checkmate by @thez1337 Alpha Kylo Ren strikes down Omega General Hux’s alpha. Then he takes his place. With omega Hux’s pup in tow, will Kylo keep them or make new rules for the den?

◾ Stress Relief by orphan_account Kylo helps his omega settle after a nightmare.

◾ I’ll Even Call You General by @asexualavenger Without a mate, Kylo turns destructive during his heat. Snoke tasks Hux with finding him a partner.

◾ Not a Mistake by @redcole Hux was just looking for a good time when he met the strange man named Ben, but he ended up finding a lot more.

◾ It Feels Right by @deluxekyluxtrashcan After the destruction of Starkiller Base Kylo finds out that Hux is an omega, and tries to help him by finding suppressants to replace the ones Hux lost. It turns out that there are three others omegas on board the Finalizer, and, much to a somewhat jealous Hux’s displeasure, Kylo ends up getting better acquainted with one of them - Petty Officer Thanisson - just a day before Hux goes into heat.

◾ If You Can’t Be with the One You Hate by @tethysian At Snoke’s request Hux has always helped Kylo through his heats, albeit reluctantly. Then Kylo happens to go into heat while a prisoner aboard a resistance ship. Poe is the lucky(?) alpha chosen to take care of him, and Kylo discovers he might prefer an enthusiastic partner. Hux discovers something else about himself.

◾ time whets the fang by @thethespacecoyote As an alpha, Supreme Leader Snoke believes he has free reign to do whatever he wishes with the omegas beneath him, including his apprentice and top general. He may wind up regretting his arrogance.

#kylux #fic rec #abo #omega hux #omega kylo #alpha kylo #alpha hux

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disregardcanon · 4 years ago

Text

end of year writing meme

time for my end of year writing meme! this has been a tradition for me since 2015 or 16, so i’m excited to keep it up :) i normally do it ON new year’s eve because i write over winter break. but.

i have the depression/anxiety cocktail and have to go back to teaching next monday so i highly doubt i’ll get anything else written or posted by then. sigh

tagging @titaniumsansa @bodhimcbodeface and anyone else who wants to do it

Total Stories Written: 18 on ao3 19 completed total

Total Words Written: i know my ao3 stats are shifted p drastically this year because i updated two extensive drabble collections, but i do have more unposted drafts this year so i’ll just go with it. 96k Average Words Per Story: about 5k as the mean, which tracks Shortest Story: 370 words Heaven on Her Mind Longest: 11,875 words Academia Nuts

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted?

less! i knew i’d write less this year than i have in the past because student teaching and then first year of teaching are both supposed to be hell, but i kind of expected going into quarantine that would give me the time and energy to write.

but NO! in some months of quarantine i wrote less than i did during student teaching, certified most stressful time of my life

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write most?

pairing: cassunzel! coming in clutch at 6 stories

genre: no fucking clue

fandom: tangled was the most by number, but i think jedi fallen order is the most by word count because those two fics combined come in about 13k

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? uh, that’s probably rwby. i always knew that when i watched rwby i’d go feral but i didn’t expect to watch it this year

Did you take any writing risks this year? i think my biggest writing risk was writing a 12k fic with romcom tropes about a platonic relationship no one cares about from a mainly dead fandom

Academia Nuts, the one where merlin and morgana are bickering in-laws and academic rivals

Do you have any fanfic or general writing goals for the new year? i would frankly just like the time and energy TO write. this year has been the most stressful and depressing time of my life and that’s reflected in my writing output. i would like to see more output because i have more energy and drive to do the things that make me happy again

From the past year of writing, what was your…

Best story of this year: the thing with feathers fluttering in her chest the jedi fallen order fic about trilla suduri capturing cal kestis but still eventually deciding to defect

Personal favorite: Smoke Rises, Cinder Falls my personal take on the cinder backstory before it dropped! while i definitely like where the show took the backstory better because the hotel imagery is TOP NOTCH i still love what i did here. i think that i made good use of style and the information that we had, and i think that the salem connection works very nicely

Most under-appreciated: i know calling a fic with 65 kudos “underrated” is a bit ridiculous, but this is for a very large fandom. it might be dead but i still think it could drum up a bit more support :(

Academia Nuts, the merlin and morgana are bickering in-laws and academic rivals fic

Most fun to write: as a reward for being so fucking happy that biden won the election for real, i rewarded myself by writing the pines family reacting to it

Remember, Remember the 7th of November

Story with the single sexiest moment: how about that inquisitor caltrilla au?

I Want You to Want Me

Most “holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you” story: captive caresses, the one where the v shaped polyamory dynamic that i normally do with cassunzel and new dream isn’t so healthy

Most challenging to write: from a technical standpoint that would be academia nuts, but from a personal standpoint...

Scar Tissue, the steven universe fic about connie still keeping secrets from her parents

Biggest disappointment: frankly, nothing i wrote this year can be a disappointment because i put words on a page. however, i will say that i could have polished this one that i wrote years ago up more before i posted it

Holy Ground, the shireen/jeyne poole fic from like 2015

Favorite character to write: i didn’t get stuck on a fandom long enough to get a favorite character to write tbh

Favorite opening lines:

Sometimes, when Rapunzel wakes up in the morning, she likes to pretend that everything is alright. She closes her eyes and imagines that Cass is right down the hall, just like she used to be. Rapunzel will burst into her room as soon as she gets up, ready to plot some new mischief to keep them busy for the day. Cass will roll her eyes, but she’ll go along with it because she secretly enjoys Rapunzel’s plans. She’ll smile when Rapunzel isn’t looking, and she’ll call her Raps with a soft fondness that makes Rapunzel's heart melt.

Jeung

Sophie knows that she shouldn’t be walking home alone at this hour. Of course she knows that. She’s a tiny white girl who lives in Gotham with little self-defense training or experience in athletics. She’s had “don’t walk home alone” beaten into her head for so many years she wonders if those were the first words the nurse said when she came into this world.

Not “it’s a girl!” but “don’t let her walk home alone at night!”

Walk Me Home in the Dead of Night

Favorite closing lines:

“Follow me,” the fairy godmother ordered, taking a brisk step forward. Cinder followed without question, just a step behind. Following, following, following- just as she would be following her until the end of time. Cinder was her protege, after all, and must be prepared to take over the fairy godmother’s work someday.

That day would not come for many years, but it would come. And the fairy godmother would finally have everything she ever wanted.

Smoke Rises, Cinder Falls

Trilla can’t exactly have her second-in-command stay that low in the hierarchy forever. A consort to a queen needs to walk only a few steps behind her, after all.

I Want You to Want Me

Other favorite lines:

She can lead a horse to independent thought, but she can’t make him think.

The Name Game

When Trilla gets back to her room, she grabs the damn cube and throws it against her wall as hard as she can. It doesn’t break, because the holocron is made of stronger stuff than that. Cal Kestis is made of stronger stuff than that.

Maybe she’s the only one in the world who’s so capable of shattering.

the thing with feathers fluttering in her chest

“You don’t have to forgive him,” Fuyumi says, “just don’t kill him.”

“Because he can’t come back from that?” Dabi demands, “a corpse can’t decide that it wants to love its daughter, right?” Dabi watches as the knife twists, and Fuyumi’s facade finally crumbles. She slams her mug of tea down on the table, and they're both lucky that it's not full anymore or the hot liquid would have come flying out.

Justice Without Dispassion

“But you’re a good trainer,” Lillie says, “you’re what I want to evolve into.” Selene shakes her head.

“We're from different evolutionary lines,” she says, “you evolving into me would be like- I don’t know. A Charmander evolving into a Blastoise.” Lillie looks like she’s holding the fur even tighter, and Selene snakes her hand underneath to disentangle Lillie’s hand from the fur and give her something else to clutch. Lillie squeezes her hand like a stuffed Jigglypuff that people carry around to squeeze away their stress.

“But what if I’m stuck at Charmander forever, and what if Blastoise is better than Charizard, and what if I’m just- just not cut out for this?”

Even Gods Like Cuddles

“Do you remember when we were really little,” you say, “and I used to come over for dress up parties. I’d wear your extra princess dress, let you do my hair however you wanted.” You smile, thinking about how cute the pictures that Bianca’s mom took of you two looked. Your mother always said that they’d be good blackmail material, someday, but-

It wasn’t ever shameful, especially not if your mother didn’t make you feel ashamed.

“Of course,” Bianca says, “you were always the best at sitting still. No one else would have let me do their nails and makeup.” You’re not looking at her, but you can hear the soft smile in her voice.

“You were always so indulgent, Hils. I really appreciated that.”

“I wasn’t being indulgent,” you say, balling your hand into a little fist and rubbing your thumb over your knuckles.

“I always- I just,” you say, “I wanted to be that “girl friend” that you always wanted.”

Girl Talk

#end of year writing meme #writing meme #sunkelles writes

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unicyclehippo · 5 years ago

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This isn't really a question or a prompt or anything but i was thinking about beau & leylas slow dancing 😌 i wanted you to Be Aware of it

There’s an event being held at the Lucid Bastion. A gathering of the dens to remind them of what is important in this time of unforeseen peace following the talks. What is important is mentioned in a brief welcoming speech—unity, cooperation, momentum leading into discovery, all that propaganda shit—but from the looks of things at the party, it’s very small foods and a truly colossal amount of some amber-coloured drink that goes down sweet but kicks like a horse with the afterburn.

Beau digs it.

She’s on her second when the Taskhand finds her. Them, actually. The entirety of the Mighty Nein had quickly decided that this? This whole...thing? So far from their bailiwick—even clever, groomed Caleb, even charming Fjord—that it is safest to remain pressed against the wall of the chamber with Cad keeping an eye out for any- and every-thing. The only outside excursions from their exclusion is when Veth and Beau are sent to steal the drinks and food.

She’s sipping from her glass when Caduceus clears his throat.

‘That man is making his way toward us,’ he says, low and pleasant as ever. There’s a line of tension that strings him up though and he hums when it’s plucked again, the man stepping gracefully through the crowd.

‘What’s he look like? Where is he?’

‘Tall gentleman, dark elven. Walking past another dark elf,’

‘Just tell me like twelve o’clock, three o’clock,’

‘I don’t think that’s the time at all, Beau,’ Caduceus tells her, pulling his eyes from the interloper to look down at her, bemused. ‘Mister Cale—‘

‘Just tell me where he is, Caduceus.’

‘Oh.’ He looks up. Hums again. ‘Right in front of us.’

As pleasant as his voice is, as easy-going as the dude is, he’s been with them through a lot of shit and the appearance of a stranger in front of their group is nothing less than a deliberate act given how they’ve removed themselves from the rest. Deliberate acts tend to end poorly for the Nein and Caduceus’s fingers twitch toward Caleb and the dot of amber hanging around his neck, staff and weapons stored protectively within it.

Beau steps in front of him, in front of all of them, as the Taskhand steps out from the line of the crowd and into the empty space between.

She looks him over as she has been trained: tall, as Caduceus had said; a dark elf with platinum hair bound into several braids, the style and ornaments not dissimilar from how Den Myteri decorate their warriors; armoured but no visible weapons, as the invitations had demanded. As she finishes her perusal, a final thought shoves to the fore of her mind. Familiar, it screams at her, and her eyes feel like they’re about to pop, her head aches with the squeeze of pressure as too many selves try to squash into her skull.

‘Rhurin,’ she greets him smoothly, and the Taskhand stops a few paces back, hands folded behind his back as he bows.

‘Lhuthurin, actually. Rhurin was my father,’ he says, and when he smiles, Beau sees it.

Rhurin never smiled.

‘Sorry. You looked—‘

‘Please, don’t apologise, I’m well aware—the similarity is striking. My own father calls me his shadow,’ Lhuthurin laughs. ‘He is here, if you would like to speak with him.’

‘Ah.’ Beau can feel the weight of the Nein’s eyes on her. ‘No, thank you. Maybe another time.’

Lhuthurin nods. ‘As you please,’ he says, pleasantly enough. If he feels the watchful eyes on him, he gives no sign of it. If anything, he seems to relax further, unfolding his arms loose at his sides, sweeping one hand up through long hair with that guileless smile. ‘My congratulations on your consecution, Lady Beauregard—‘

‘Beau. Just - it’s just Beau.’

The eyes on her grow sharper. Perhaps, after this, she should finally tell them about the whole Captaincy...and wife...and Consort thing. And her apparent title? Later.

Lhuthurin nods slowly. ‘Very well. You honour me. You may call me Rin.’ He extends a hand. Beau takes it. Feels the callouses and scars of a hand not so dissimilar to her own. A firm grip, dry palms. ‘As wonderfully and deeply uncomfortable as it is to be stared at by your companions,’ Rin continues, and he grins when Beau barks a laugh, ‘I didn’t come to make small talk. Even at parties, I am the Queen’s to command. She has asked for me to...’ Rin hesitates.

Beau pulls her hand out of his. Narrows her eyes—not at him but over his shoulder, toward the maelstrom of activity that follows the Queen wherever she treds. Courtiers and petitioners and pesky trouble-makers. Guards and advisors wanting to bend her ear even at a ball.

‘Collect me?’ Beau asks, finishes for Rin.

‘Those are not the words I would use, Hi— Beau.’

Her gaze slides back to him. The weight of a half-dozen lives narrows in on him. ‘Then what would you use?’

He swallows. ‘Request. Your presence.’

‘So she wants to summon me to her side like a dog.’

‘Beau,’ Jester says. Sets a hand on her shoulder.

It’s a peculiar sensation to feel everything in her settle into its right place again. To have her skin fit her frame, and everything within it.

Beau blinks. Shakes her head. ‘Uh. Yeah. Yes. Sure, I’ll go with you,’ she says to Lhuthurin, and when Jester squeezes her shoulder, eyes dark with worry, she gives her friend a nod. ‘I’m okay.’

‘Are you sure? You went all...’

‘One of my lives was apparently super prideful,’ Beau mutters and it makes Jester snort. ‘They don’t like being told what to do.’

‘You’ve never liked that. But you are clever and strong and you’re real. You’re the real one,’ Jester tells her very very quietly and quickly, leaning in to adjust the collar and lapel of Beau’s suit. She grips Beau’s wrist, hold firm, and meets her eyes directly. ‘You are the real one.’

‘I’m the real one.’

‘You’ve got this.’

‘I’ve got this.’

Jester smiles then and turns her around to Lhuthurin, still waiting. Though less comfortably now, with Fjord and Caleb and Yasha gathered around him making entirely pleasant conversation with entirely off-putting and direct eye contact that doesn’t shift, nor blink.

‘Rin. You wanna stay there, or?’

‘I’ll come with you.’ He leaps on the offer, jumping out of the circle to walk with Beau. ‘Thank you,’ he says when they’re a short way into the crowd. ‘Your companions are... Are they always so...’

‘That was us being nice. Polite, even.’

Lhuthurin shivers.

The crowd parts easily around them, most of the guests very interested indeed in the human and the Taskhand. Word had spread, Beau knew, about her and her consecution. But it was one thing to know that people knew and quite another to walk through walls of staring figures. Jester’s reassurances, the firm pressure of her hand that snapped Beau back to herself, begins to lose its weight as another self tries to assert itself; this Beau is calm and collected and always rightfully in control. This Beau matches the Taskhand’s military precision, this Beau folds her hands behind her back and wears her silver hair in the single braid of—no. That’s not right.

‘Steady,’ Rin murmurs.

Beau drags in a breath. Allows her eyes to dip to hands instead of faces—cups and little pastry purses and handkerchiefs and coins and flowers, empty gesturing hands and hands entangled. No one armed, apparently.

‘Almost there,’ he says.

‘Are you consecuted?’

There’s a beat before he answers in which Beau remembers it’s not exactly a polite question.

‘Yes.’

‘Happy about that?’

‘Most of the time. Are you?’

Beau can see her up ahead, where the crowd is gathered close. The sweep of her crown stands a small distance above the rest of the heads so she’s easy to pick.

‘I don’t know,’ Beau tells him, stopping where they are. Rin tilts his head invitingly. ‘No,’ she adds. ‘I don’t like it.’

Rin doesn’t seem scandalised by the comment. She thought he might not be. Myteri is many things but stuffy and proper isn’t typically how it is described. And even then, Rhurin—whole always solid—had never been buried in the formalities and traditions of his den. To find a like mind in his son is nice, but not surprising.

‘Do you want me to push a path right through to her?’ he offers.

‘Would you?’

‘It would be an honour and a pleasure. I’ve been eagerly waiting a chance to shove some of these scorpions.’

Beau laughs, and finds that the crowd parts when they turn to see her. ‘I don’t think you’ll need to. Sorry.’

Rin shrugs. ‘Probably for the best.’

#i didnt get to the dancjng yet im sorry #consecuted au

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trvelyans-archive · 5 years ago

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recompense

another commission for the lovely and kingly @dauntless-necromancer !!! thank you so much for commissioning me again, i love writing for this lil’ world with elrich and the Squad !!! i really liked working on this one and i really hope you enjoy !!! <3 <3 <3

9:53 Dragon

There’s a girl at the front gates of Castle Cousland, and she’s demanding to see the Hero of Ferelden.

Kieran pushes through the throng of soldiers that have gathered in front of the main doors to reach her. The girl, when he finally comes face-to-face with her, is a head shorter than him, with thick brown hair tied into an elegant braid hanging over her shoulder and her lips pulled into a frown. There’s something about her that looks familiar, but he’s certain he’s never seen her before – and he would remember her if he did, considering how easily and quickly she has commanded the attention of the crowd. Still, despite his wariness, he approaches her with his hood pulled down around his shoulders.

“Who are you?” Kieran asks. His wife, Satine, trails behind him and clutches the sleeve of his jacket, inspecting their guest carefully.

The girl meets Kieran’s eyes. “My name is Celia Mac Tir-Cousland,” she replies, sheathing her sword without so much as wavering, “and I’m looking for my father.”

9:30 Dragon

“I can’t believe I’m marrying the Queen.”

Morrigan glances up from where she’s been lying on Elrich’s chest to meet his eyes. “Neither can I,” she responds, raising her hands to trace the shape of his face. “And I cannot believe she agreed.”

The announcement was certainly startling for the court, however – Morrigan is willing to bet that there are a fair few nobles who wouldn’t agree with the decision, although there’s little they can do about it in the end, considering they would be challenging some of the most important people in Ferelden. “You know me, my love,” he says, running his fingertips up and down her spine. “I can be very convincing.”

Morrigan laughs. “Hardly,” she replies.

“Hey! You’re talking to a future king, here.”

“Prince-consort,” she reminds him airily. “You are not going to be king, Elrich. A king, and certainly not the king of Ferelden, could never have an apostate mistress. The nobles would sooner hang themselves than allow that to happen.”

He frowns, suddenly growing serious. “You’re not going to be my mistress, Morrigan,” he says softly, an affectionate look in his dark eyes. She never thought that anyone would look at her like that. “You are my partner in life. I hope you know that.”

With a playful roll of her eyes, she smothers a hand into his face and playfully pushes him away. “Don’t look at me like that,” she responds, and he just grins at her. “I do know that already, Elrich. You do not have to continue reminding me whenever it comes up.”

“Besides, Queen Anora and I have agreed that it is more of a… political arrangement.” He clears his throat, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling with a frown. “I have no feelings for her, Morrigan, nor does she have any for me.”

“Beside annoyance, perhaps.”

“Hey!” he repeats, chuckling. “You’re talking to a future prince-consort, here.”

“Yes, and he loves it.” She leans down to bite his earlobe, just long enough for him to start writhing with breathless laughter underneath her, and then releases him when she can’t hold back the chuckles tickling the back of her own throat. “You do not have to worry about my feelings, Elrich,” she says once they’ve recovered, shifting so she’s sitting higher in his bed and can see more of him. “I can handle them – as well as many other things, I might remind you – perfectly fine by myself.”

He raises an eyebrow, smiling, and she rolls her eyes before she even hears what he has to say. “And…?”

“Yes, yes, and our child. They’re not even here yet, and you’re already worried about them –“

“I’m not worried!” he protests, and then frowns. “I mean… of course I’m worried about them. I want them to be safe. I want you to be safe.”

He reaches up to cup her cheek, and Morrigan leans into it as he brushes his thumb over her skin. There’s a peace that settles over them, now, in this moment, with the candles throughout the room burning low and the shadows more comforting than menacing, like the only thing hiding inside of them is more warmth. She has not felt this comfortable, nor this happy, in her entire life.

And yet they can’t be together forever. They have a battle to fight. There’s a country in ruins that they’ve risked everything to save.

“You need some sleep,” she tells him, trying not to choke on the words as a sudden wave of emotion washes over her. “You will need it.”

He nods. “You’re right,” he replies. “As always.”

She smiles, and leans over to kiss his forehead before settling against his chest once more, letting the sound of his heartbeat lull her to sleep.

Whatever comes tomorrow, they have right now. And this has been worth waiting for.

9:33 Dragon

“They’re expecting an heir, you know.”

Elrich looks up from where he’s penning a letter to Morrigan to see Anora approaching.

As much as he likes the rest of the Palace, the garden is one of his favourite places to sit and think. The smell of flowers in the air; the sunlight. It reminds him of the garden in Castle Cousland, where he would sit and eat lunch with (and occasionally spar) Ser Gilmore when he was younger. (Even though he knows Fergus is taking good care of things back home, he misses it very much.) The garden is where he comes when he needs some time alone, usually to write a letter to Morrigan like he is now, which means Anora doesn’t often come find him here – she’s too busy attending to her duties – so the fact that she is coming to see him, at the time of day when she usually has the most to do, means that she must have been thinking long and hard about this.

“I know they are,” he says, watching her slow to a stop in front of them. Two years ago – perhaps even one – he would have denied her, knowing that his heart belongs to Morrigan and he did not want to have another child when he already could not see his son, but he did not become prince-consort because it was easy. He did it because he knew what needed to be done to save his home country, whatever the cost, and he was – and still is – going to have to live with that decision, despite his feelings. “We’ve talked about it before.”

“Elrich.” Anora sits down beside him, smoothing her hands over her skirts. His eyes narrow at her tone of voice for a second, and then, when she looks at him with a somewhat understanding expression, he feels anger dissipate and his shoulders relax. “We need to have a child soon. It’s for the good of the country. My country, the one I have sworn to lead – the one you swore to lead alongside me the day of our wedding.”

The day of their wedding was a memorable one, with the coronation and then the celebrations that neither of them really felt like attending, but it seems like it was so long ago, now. Elrich knows that it’s only been three years, but it feels like it’s been an eternity since the Landsmeet, since the Blight. Since his son – since his son with Morrigan – was born. “I know,” he replies, and he can’t help the sigh that escapes his lips as he runs his fingers through his hair. “I know, Anora.”

“It does not have to be now,” she says, and he’s surprised at how gently she says it, even as she reaches up to lay a hand on his shoulder that she seems to consider sliding up to his cheek. “But soon, alright? We cannot put it off much longer, no matter how much you wish to.”

Elrich glances over at her and smiles. Anora is a good leader, and a kind woman. Perhaps she’s kinder than he deserves, when he’s in love with another woman; when he can never be the husband she wants him to be. Morrigan knows very well that Elrich will have to raise another child as an heir, and Anora is the only person he would ever consider doing that for. She’s proven her understanding for him and his situation time and time again, and he wishes he could tell her how much he appreciates it without feeling like a fool. “I know,” he says again because that’s the only thing that feels sufficient enough. “I’m ready, Anora. Whenever you are.”

“I am glad to hear it,” she replies. “You are a good man, Elrich, and any child we have will be raised well. I know that.” Nodding, she adds, “I will leave you be, then, and I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Yes,” he replies, “see you then.”

She gives him one last smile before turning away, and Elrich looks down at the blank parchment in his hands, his own smile twisting into a frown.

Now that he has something important to write about, he should probably get started…

9:35 Dragon

“Morrigan –

My daughter was born last week. It’s a funny thing to write in a letter instead of telling you in person, but we don’t have that option right now, so this is the best I can do. I hope you’ll forgive me, my love. For lots of things, but firstly this.

Her name is Celia Eleanor Mac Tir-Cousland. It had been raining all night and all morning the day she was born, but the sun broke through the clouds when she was safe in her mother’s arms and streamed in through the window. If I were a different man I would think that it was the Maker blessing her – I’m trying to think like that anyway. I think that Anora is upset that the baby looks more like me than it does her, but we will love her anyway no matter what. She’s a beautiful child, and I’m hoping that I’ll be a good father to her. I’m sorry I can’t be a better father to Kieran.

I miss you every day, and dream of you every night. I long to be with you again, and remember our days together fondly with every breath. Stay safe, my love – I will find a way to see you soon, in a place where we can all be safe from the world for a while.

Give Kieran a hug and a kiss from me. Tell him that his father misses him more than anything. I can’t wait to see him again and hear his laughter, see his smile, watch his face light up when I show him something interesting. How he has so much curiosity at such a young age, I’ll never know. It’s my favourite thing.

With all of my love,

Elrich.”

“Elrich –

I am glad to hear the birth went smoothly. You will be a good father, and you and the Queen will prepare her well as heir to the throne. For the little I am sure about right now, I am sure about that much.

I miss you too. My bed feels lonesome without you and the sound of your snoring, which I miss more than I thought I would even though it disrupts my sleep more often than not. Please come visit us when you can. I understand your work is important, and would not ask you to give it up for my sake, but Kieran misses you.

I will be thinking of you all night. Please stay safe, my love.

Yours,

Morrigan.”

9:37 Dragon

It’s hard to finish writing a letter to Elrich when Kieran will simply not stop running around.

And it’s not that Morrigan does not understand his excitement. This is the first time he has really had a place to call home since he was born – it is the first time Morrigan has had a place to call home, too, for a very long time. They have beds to sleep in that aren’t stuffed with straw or grass, they have nice clothes – real clothes – and enough food to eat every night that they can go to bed with full stomachs, even if neither them are quite used to that yet.

But she wants to write this letter – she needs to write this letter. There is a lot of things she has to tell Elrich now that she and Kieran are officially moved into the palace in Orlais, and she hasn’t heard from him for a couple months now. She is trying not to worry because she has an image to maintain, but it’s hard not to worry when it comes to him so she is trying to write and send this later as soon as she can so that worrying can stop.

And she can’t send the letter because Kieran is distracting her.

“Darling,” Morrigan calls, staring out the window in front of her desk with slightly narrowed eyes. Most of the time she would be amused by her son’s antics, but she needs to finish this letter and then she will give him the attention he wants. “Are you being careful?”

“Yes, Mother,” Kieran responds from behind her. She can hear the smile clear in his voice only a few seconds before she hears the smash across the room that follows.

With a sigh, she turns in her seat and stands up, her eyes falling on a table across the room with nothing on it because Kieran accidentally pushed the vase that had been sitting on top of it onto the ground. It is nothing special – it was just a gift from the Empress that she gave Morrigan – so she doesn’t particularly care about it one way or another, but, nevertheless, Kieran’s eyes immediately start to well with tears.

Morrigan crouches down and pulls him into her arms just as he starts crying.

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” she says soothingly, rubbing his back as he buries his face into her shoulder. “It is just a decoration, nothing more.”

“I didn’t –“ He hiccups – “I didn’t mean to, it just h-happened, and I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Kieran, honey.” She pulls away from him and reaches up to wipe the tears from his cheeks, shaking her head with a quiet laugh. She was never this emotional at his age, and she’s glad that he feels like he is allowed to be. “It doesn’t matter, Kieran, I promise.”

“I j-just don’t want to ruin anything here,” he stammers, wrapping his fingers around her wrists while she slides her hands to his shoulders. “I like it here, and I don’t want us to have to l-leave.”

“I know,” she says. “I do not want us to have to leave either, but I promise that, if we do, it won’t be because you broke one vase, or two, or three. Especially not when I can hide all the evidence.” She smiles at him and, between his sniffles, he laughs, which is a near-miraculous sound to hear as a comforting mother. “Alright?”

“Alright,” he says. “But I will try not to break another one. Just in case.”

“That’s my son.” She pulls him against her and kisses his forehead, and when she straightens up, he tugs at the sleeve of her dress.

“Mother?” he asks, eyes wide and still wet as he looks up at her.

Morrigan sighs, smiling. “Yes, love?”

“I miss Papa.”

Despite herself, Morrigan feels her bottom lip start to wobble. He is certainly not the only one who misses Elrich.

“I know,” she replies. “We will see him soon.”

“Do you promise?” Kieran asks.

“I promise,” she says, and she feels like, of the promises she’s made today, it’s the one she believes the least.

9:39 Dragon

Celia sits on Elrich’s lap in the garden. He bounces her on his knee while she twirls a flower between her fingers and smiles down it, and he tries to control the ache in his heart that reminds him he’s leaving her – and Denerim, and perhaps Ferelden entirely – tomorrow. And he doesn’t know when he’ll return. And he doesn’t want to miss another one of his children growing up, but he will.

She already looks more like Elrich than Kieran does, even at four years old – she has warm brown skin dotted with little heart-shaped freckles and thick, dark hair with even darker eyes to match, though she’s much prettier than he is because, thankfully, she has Anora’s features. She has a rumbly giggle and the sweetest smile Elrich has ever seen, and it can often take hours for him to put her to sleep because she is just so curious about everything – there’s a shelf in her room lined with trinkets and toys she’s picked up from whenever they explore the city together, and he often finds her in her room staring at them before he puts her to bed.

He’ll miss that, too, telling her stories of the Blight until she falls asleep. He’ll miss her so much.

But he can return, one day, when he’s free of the taint. He wouldn’t go if he didn’t have to – it makes him feel sick to think about how he’s going to miss watching another of his children grow up – but he’s becoming weaker and weaker already, and he’d rather try and fail to be in his children’s futures than give up without trying and force them to go through losing one of their parents.

He knows exactly what that feels like, and he can’t do it. Not without trying his best, like he always has. Like he has to.

“Mother says you are going away for a while,” Celia says, turning around to look at him. Elrich reaches up to push some hair behind her ear, smiling.

“I am,” he replies. “But it’s very important, my love. I promise.”

“Will you miss me?” she asks, squinting in the sunlight that makes her eyes shine golden.

“Of course I will,” he says, trying to ignore the way his smile begins to fade. “I will miss you every day, Celia.”

She hands the flower to him. “Will you remember me?” she asks.

He plucks the flower from her hands and holds it up to his nose, sniffing deeply, and, to his delight, she starts giggling, leaning her head on his shoulder while he looks down at her. “I will never forget you,” he answers finally, handing the flower back to her to keep. “You’re my favourite girl.”

“Really?” She frowns. “Before Mother?”

“Before Mother,” he says.

“You’re my favourite father.” Celia buries her face against his chest. “I will miss you so much, Papa.”

He presses his cheek against the crown of her head. She smells like flowers and soap, and she hugs him so tightly around his middle that he feels safer than he’s felt in a long time. He’s sure that nothing could make him feel safer. “I will write you whenever I can,” he promises, trying not to choke on his words.

“I love you, Papa.”

“I love you, too.” And he wishes so badly that things were different.

9:41 Dragon

“Elrich –

You would like Skyhold, I think. There are far too many people for my liking, but Kieran is happy. As happy as a boy his age can be, I suppose. He’s gotten in trouble more than once – you know how curious he is – but we are safe, here. For now, anyway.

The Inquisitor and I are leaving soon for the Arbor Wilds. I do not know how long it will be until I can write you again. I hope you are well, my love, and I hope you can join us again soon. We miss you dearly. I miss you dearly.

Love,

Morrigan.”

“Morrigan,

I am in Antiva right now. You would hate it, I imagine. It’s very loud, and the people are very happy – well, they are in the taverns, anyway. It’s nice to take a night off from searching for a cure. It would be nicer if you were here, of course, but I’m trying not to dwell on that, or else I’ll drop everything to come find you.

I’m glad that Kieran is happy. I know things were hard for him in Orlais. I have not heard from Celia and Anora in a few months, but I would like for Kieran and Celia to meet soon – well, as soon as they can, when I return to Ferelden. She’s as curious as he is. At least she was when I last saw her. I think they would be good friends. I hope they are.

I miss you. I never stop thinking about you. And I love you, dearly. Never forget that.

Yours always and forever,

Elrich.”

9:43 Dragon

“Mother,” Celia asks, “when is Father coming home?”

“I don’t know, Celia,” Anora replies, pushing food around her plate with a frown. “He’s on an important mission.”

“For what?”

Anora sighs, giving her daughter an affectionate look. “You’re too young, my love,” she says. “It is not the right time to tell you yet.”

Celia frowns, swinging her legs back and forth underneath the table. “Did he tell you to tell me that?”

“Of course not,” Anora scoffs. “Your father would tell you everything if I let him, but it’s not the right time. He will tell you when he returns.”

“And you don’t know when that will be,” Celia whispers.

“No.” Anora leans over to squeeze her hand, but Celia’s frown does not disappear. “Finish your supper, sweetheart.”

She doesn’t finish her supper. She just wants to go to her room.

9:45 Dragon

Celia passes the small, ornate box between her hands.

Her father is not here for her tenth birthday. She doesn’t blame him – he still has to finish his important mission – but she misses him. She wishes he were here to hold her hand and sit her on his lap; she wishes he were here to put her to sleep every night with his stories.

Instead of returning to Denerim for her birthday, his gift for her is whatever is inside this box.

She opens it, and pulls the silk fabric away to reveal a silver dagger. Resting on top of it is a note.

“Celia,

When I return, I’m going to teach you how to sword fight. For now, however, I give you a dagger in case you need to protect yourself. Don’t play with it – it’s not a toy. This will keep you safe in my stead. You are incredibly precious, not only to the country but to your mother and me.

I love you, Celia. I miss you. And happy birthday. I can’t wait to see the woman you become.

Love,

Father.”

Her face crumples, and she tosses the note aside, curling up in the middle of her bed and clutching the box to her chest.

9:47 Dragon

This is the first time Celia has seen Father in a long time.

“Plant your feet,” he says, tapping the front of her thigh with his hand. She can barely see his smile through the hair of his beard. “It’ll be harder for an enemy to knock you off-balance.”

“And then what?” Celia asks.

“And then,” Father says, “you watch your opponent.”

“Shouldn’t I attack?”

“You’ve seen my scars,” he answers. She has seen them – even the new ones. She could see them at supper last night. He wasn’t even trying to hide them. “That’s what happens when you throw yourself into battle. I don’t want you to do the same thing, my love. You could easily take an opponent down if you outsmart them.”

“So I watch what they’re doing, and then…?”

“Dodge,” he answers. “Try coming at me.”

Celia’s sword falls down by her side. “What?”

“It’s okay.” Her father smiles at her again. Despite his hoarse voice, his shaking hands, and the bags under his eyes, he still looks strong – his smile is even stronger. “They’re blunted swords. Don’t worry.”

She frowns, and yet still, after a long moment of thought, darts out towards him. Before she can even swing the sword, he steps to the side and, as she stumbles forward, touches the back of her armor gently with his own blade.

“That’s good,” he replies. “You’re doing well, Celia.”

“I am?” she asks, turning around and raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

“Yes. I’m very proud of you, my love.”

Celia turns to face him. “I don’t want you to be proud of me,” she says quietly. “I want you to be here.”

Elrich frowns. “I know,” he responds softly, and in that moment he sounds more like a man than the warrior that he is. He doesn’t have to say anything else – she knows what they’re both thinking anyway, what is left unsaid between them.

He wants to stay, but he can’t.

9:49 Dragon

“I heard that you’ve been incredibly successful in training.”

Celia looks up from her plate, smiling. “I hope so,” she replies. “I’m trying my best, using what Father taught me. And you, of course, Mother.”

“You’re so young, Celia,” Anora says. “And yet you have accomplished so much. I know your father thinks you take after him, but I see so much of myself in you.” She tilts her head, raising a hand to touch her daughter’s cheek. “I think your grandfather would be proud of you. Your grandmother would be, too.”

She’s tired of hearing that people who aren’t here would be proud of her. Still, she smiles.

“Thank you, Mother,” Celia says, looking down at her plate once more as her mother’s hand falls away. “I’m pleased to hear it. Do you want to spar together after we finish eating?”

“I can’t,” Anora answers, “but I may come down to the training yard and watch you when I have a moment.”

“Alright.” Celia’s smile turns into a frown. “I hope you can, mother.”

9:51 Dragon

“Mother,

I’m leaving to find Father.

I have not heard from him since his last letter, when he said he was close to finding a cure. I want to help him if I can. When I find him, we will return together.

I am taking three soldiers with me. Please don’t punish them when we return. Punish me, if you have to. I just want our family to be together again.

I love you. I’ll be safe. I promise.

Love,

Celia.”

9:53 Dragon

“Celia,” Father says, “I’m sorry –“

“You’re sorry?” she says. “’Sorry’ can’t take back the years I spent without you! ‘Sorry’ can’t take back the sleepless nights I spent wondering if you loved me at all!”

When he finally came down to the gates after Kieran told him that Celia was here, he led her into a private room in the castle and dismissed the guards standing nearby. Despite his promise that they’d have the conversation alone, she had a feeling that the rest of the family – his family – was on the other side of the door, listening. She would tell them to go away if she could think about anything but him right now – but him and how angry she is.

“Celia.” Father’s face falls. “You know I love you.”

“I was a child!” she says. “I was a child, and you –“ She takes a deep breath and tries to stop the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “You left me,” she finishes, voice cracking.

“I know,” he responds, moving in front of her and placing his hands on her shoulders. “I know I did. It seemed like the right thing to do. I needed to find a cure for the Calling – I needed to make sure I’d be there to see you get married, have children, grow old and happy and find your place in the world.” A shadow crosses his face. “I needed to give you what I didn’t have as I grew up. What left me so broken.”

“Father –“

“It’s not an excuse,” he continues, and she feels the anger leaving her body, “and it’s a poor explanation. But losing my parents was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through – before leaving you and Kieran, of course. And I thought that I could trade being there for you during your childhood for being there for you when you grew up so you didn’t feel the way I did – so alone and so uncertain – but that was foolish of me. I should’ve tried harder to see you, Celia. And I’m sorry I didn’t. I will never stop being sorry.”

He looks so old and so weak. Even though he’s cured of the taint, he looks weaker than she’s ever seen him. It’s hard to stay angry with him when he’s like this – when she knows very well that he understands and accepts that very same anger. “I just wanted you to be there,” she whispers. “Kieran wanted you to be there for him, too.”

“Kieran and I are patching things up,” Father replies, and he sounds so certain of himself that she can’t help but feel hopeful. “Slowly but surely. We can patch things up, too, Celia. I want that more than anything, but only if you want it as well. I understand if you don’t, and I’ll accept it if you don’t want that.”

She stares into his eyes for a long, long moment – eyes that she recognizes at first as her own – before she sighs. “I do want that,” she says.

“Good,” he says, his mouth curving into a grin. “That’s great, Celia. I’m so happy.”

He wraps his arms around her shoulders and hugs her close, and she allows herself to bury her face into his chest and cry.

“I love you,” he says, reaching up to run his hand over the back of her head and hold her closer. For the first time in a long time, she believes it.

Celia sits in the chair beside her father’s. Everyone else – Morrigan, Kieran and Satine, who Celia likes much more than she thought she would – has left the dining room, leaving the two of them alone. Though dinner was filled with laughter and stories, and she liked getting to know her half-brother after so many years of knowing he was out there but not knowing who or where he was, she’s glad to have a moment alone with her father. It’s been far too long since that happened. He has an affectionate arm slung around her shoulder, and she rests her head against his as she watches the fire.

She searched for him for two years, through Orlais, through Ferelden. She even went to the Free Marches for a time. It turns out that he was here, in Castle Cousland, and he has been here for a while. They only kept it secret to keep him safe from the Wardens and whatever the Order has turned into. She would be more upset than she was this morning if she weren’t so relieved that he was alive – and she would be more upset if she didn’t enjoy travelling so much during her searches for him. She’s 18, now, and she hopes that, when she returns to the city, her mother will let her go out into the world again.

There is a lot of work to be done, and she’s young – she wants to do the kind of work that her father can’t do anymore.

And he deserves to rest. He deserves to live the life he fought for in peace, with Celia when she can be here, and Kieran, and her father’s partner, Morrigan. It’s strange seeing him with a woman that isn’t Mother, but Celia supposes that they were never in love in the first place. He seems to relax most when he’s around Morrigan. He seems happiest at her side.

It makes her long for something like that, too. Another reason she wants to travel again – perhaps her person is out there somewhere, waiting for her to find them and bring them home to meet her family – or her families, perhaps, both old and new.

She smiles. Her father shakes her gently.

“You have a room, here, to stay when you want it,” Elrich says, pulling her from her thoughts.

“What about Denerim?”

“Your mother understands,” he responds with a regretful sigh. “As do the people. I was never a king, not really, nor was I much of a prince-consort, and my duty was always to the Wardens, first and foremost.”

“And now?”

Celia pulls away from her father to look up at him.

“My duty is to you and your brother,” he says. “I promise that I will never disappear again. And I will make up for the time I missed – the time I missed with you. Alright?”

She believes his promise, but she’s not going to miss an opportunity to get something from him when she can. “You know what would help with that?” Celia asks.

He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“If you spar with me tomorrow.”

Unfortunately, Elrich gives up fairly quickly, to Celia’s disappointment. She was looking forward to besting him – she’s certain she would’ve, had she gotten the chance. Now he sits on a bench in the training yard with his arm wrapped around Morrigan as he watches Kieran and Celia fight with blunted, wooden swords, the kinds of swords that children would use. (She told him this when he first brought them out, and he only said, “Well, you’re always my child, Celia.”) The sun is high in the clear blue sky, and they have hours to spend outside yet – Satine arranged for them to eat dinner in the garden, at Celia’s request, and then, when it gets dark, they’ll retire to the library to watch Kieran and Satine play chess. Morrigan thinks that Satine will win; Elrich thinks that Kieran will.

Celia doesn’t care. Either way, she feels like she’s finally won.

#THIS ONE WAS SO FUN FUCK lksjdflksdjfkljsdklfds i LOVE THEM ALL.........#celia is queen i want to adopt her so bad. i love her so much ANYWAY #thank you for commissioning me i literally love this world we have Created together.... you're da best and i'm ALWAYS happy to write for you #<3 <3 #my commissions #my writing

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xxrainbow-princessxx · 5 years ago

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Hidden History - Leo x Isabella

History is always subjective but important to know as it can either help shape or hinder your future. Leo and Isabella find out something that would have changed their world. @drakewalkerfantasy @lorirwritesfanfic @lorircreates @debramcg1106 @rainbowsinthestorm @romancehereicome @hopefulmoonobject @liam-rhys @kimmiedoo5

Since their Coronation, the newly crowned King Leo I and Queen Isabella III were provided a lot more access to the Laurentian Palace vaults; areas that not even Isabella herself knew of when she was growing up. On the eve of their Coronation, Isabella and Leo were bequeathed with two heavily decorated gilded keys to access the main vaults held in the catacombs under the Palace. Gisele placed great emphasis that the keys were to be held separately at all times and access was not a right but a privilege. “You can make your own way in life mi querida... but this is the last gift your father could give you - a gift of knowledge with much power held in those documents but it is extremely important that whatever you read, you remain impartial; you will make your own decisions outside of bias...” These vaults contained their family’s most prized possessions and secrets but for Leo and Isabella; they didn’t know whether it was such a good idea to unlock the past, hoping that it would not become a nightmare in the future leaving the Kingdom a mirror of Leo’s previous home. As there had been so much unrest in Cordonia due to hidden secrets, Leo pushed forward demanding that they know everything so he and Isabella could be prepared for any potential coup d’êtat may that be from a civilian or the upper classes of Laurentian Society. Like any ruling Monarch before them; Felipe and Gisele made enemies along the way and they hoped that anything her father had omitted before his unfortunate passing could be uncovered.

Isabella and Leo walked hand in hand as they made their way to the vault; “Ugh...” Isabella complained as she shuffled down the dark, musty corridor. She was six months pregnant and everything hurt right now, the last thing she needed was to dig through old documents but when would ever be a good time? Each of them placed their key into the heavy vault reinforced steel door, Isabella winced as she turned her key, Leo turned his almost immediately thereafter before he began to twist the metal wheel at the front. He strained pulling the door towards them, grunting as the metal door collided with the sandstone walls leaving an echoing bang that made Isabella cover her ears from the piercing sounds. As Leo looked behind him, his sea green eyes widened in awe - the vault was like a treasure trove. “Uhh...” Leo looked back at Isabella completely stunned, “Did you know anything about this?” The newly Crowned Queen was speechless as she and her husband examined some of the rarest gemstones in the world were held under their feet the whole time. Within this collection held a handful of original fabergé eggs, passed down from Felipe’s imperial Russian tsar relatives - each item was labelled and kept in impenetrable glass glistening from wall to ceiling but further down contained a more prized fortune - the fortune of knowledge.

Much to Isabella’s fathers penchant for neatness and order, everything was filed and labelled. Each Kingdom had its own set of cabinets and subset on a person if required. Leo began to chuckle as he ran his fingers through his sandy blonde hair, “Looks like Amalas had some competition... Felipe seems to have put the Spy Queen to shame...” but it was the cabinet regarding Cordonian affairs that interested Leo the most. It was smaller than the rest which made sense as the relationship between Constantine and Felipe dissipated early but his curiosity still provoked him. Giving the cabinet drawer a swift tug, Leo began to go through each of the alphabetical dividers hunting for information. Hours had passed as both Isabella and Leo continued to read, feeling like it was only minutes. The more Leo read, the more his head spun. He knew his father was a piece of work; Constantine schemed and swindled but everything written down seemed to vindicate his behaviour. It wasn’t that Constantine was a bad person; he was easily led by the Cordonian Royal Council. Leo sighed heavily, shaking his head muttering, “History repeating itself...”

The only thing left was a box that Leo uncovered filled with photographs and letters. Leo recognised a few familiar faces, pictures of all of them as children together and documenting Constantine and Felipe’s friendship. As Leo began to open the envelopes of the embossed Cordonian Crest letters, he was stunned.

“My dear friend Constantine,

As we discussed previously, I am still having extreme trouble with enacting my motion to change our Act of Succession with our elected Government. After discussing this predicament with my wife Gisele, in order for us to preserve our lineage and for our daughter’s wellbeing we would like to propose a betrothal to align our wonderful, prosperous Kingdoms together. At the age of today, Princess Isabella is six months and one day old; an only child and the Kingdom currently favours a male heir to the throne - we wish to make provisions for her future in the case we are not blessed with the possibility of another child.

If the Act of Succession motion does not pass; we propose a betrothal between His Royal Highness Crown Prince Leo of Cordonian and Her Royal Highness Princess Isabella of Laurentia and act as Queen Consort. The Crown Prince being two and a half years her senior will allow them to be married up to a year after the Princess’ Twenty-First birthday in order to facilitate Cordonian Law practices that the Crown Prince is entitled to marry by the age of Twenty-Four.

If the Act of Succession motion does pass; we propose a betrothal between Her Royal Highness Princess Isabella of Laurentia and His Royal Highness Prince Liam of Cordonia. Once this motion has been passed, my daughter will be bequeathed with her Crown Princess title immediately once this receives Royal Assent. As per Laurentian Law dictates, both King and Queen rule together therefore it is important to ensure that Liam’s teachings reflect this. In addition, both Royal children are of the same age. As stated in statute, the Laurentian Princess will be eligible to marry by her Twenty-First birthday and legally bound this will be conducted within a year of her turning Twenty One.

We can discuss the final details over the State dinner.

I look forward to seeing you soon dear friend

Felipe”

Each letter added pieces to the puzzle, Leo never understood why Liam was taught the same lessons as he was, moulding him into a leader; a King in preparation to rule a Kingdom. He didn’t know how to feel; if the Laurentian Government said no, they wouldn’t have had to jump through as many hoops to end up where they are now but would have been left in Liam and Sienna’s shoes right now or if she had married Liam? He knew he definitely would have had a different reaction to Liam if anyone threatened to take his children from him under a regents care. Leo would have cut Barthemely’s throat upon where he stood before he could have finished his sentence.

“Felipe,

I implore you to think about this carefully. They are children, it was an unfortunate accident that the Crown Princess suffered from a horrible fracture but the boy, he meant no ill will against her but I do understand that this was one of the null and void terms of the betrothal contract. As a father I understand your actions but as King of Cordonia, I feel you are allowing yourself to be controlled unnecessarily by your emotions..”

Leo squinted as he tried desperately to read the final few sentences but alas, the ink had smudged over the decades. “Beautiful...” Leo stood up making his way to the other side of the vault before he sat down beside her, watching carefully as she stared at her once destiny in front of her looking extremely confused, “the dates of these don’t tally up...” she looked up towards Leo whose colour drained from his face. Nervously he handed her the betrothal letters from her father and Constantine, “I...” Leo didn’t know what to say as his wife’s dark chocolate brown eyes widened in horror, immediately turning her head towards him, “Did you?... Did you know about this?” as she held the letter in her hand. “No...” Leo sighed, “No I didn’t... not to ten minutes ago...” Leo raised his left brow as he reached out to hold Isabella’s hand, “It would explain a hell of a lot kitten why they would never accept us together - was it Pride? I know know but Constantine never told me, Hélène had left... I...”

Isabella bit down on her lip, her heart and soul filled with a mix of emotions. She like Leo was winded by the truth, but unlike Leo, Isabella felt more anger and hurt from the deceit as she scrunched the letter she delicately held in her hand, throwing it away. “How fucking dare they?!” Isabella’s face reddened, “I’ve been treated like an object my whole life, a pawn that’s easily moved on a chess board to another position when it doesn’t suit their narrative...” Leo put his arm around her, pulling the Queen close to him as he kissed the top of her head, “Babe... no...” Leo’s fingers played with her soft, luxurious hair as he mumbled, “I spoke with your father on many... many occasions... you were his everything...” it was hard for Isabella to hear anything about her father right now. The King had passed away only a few weeks before her Coronation; she was angry with him for leaving her but Leo knew to tread extremely carefully on the subject, “Hell Felipe might have had some of the rarest items in the world stored here kitten... but to him, you were the most precious of all... he tried to protect you as much as he could...”

Isabella glared at Leo, her bottom lip pouting. She knew he was right but the petite Queen listened to her aching heart over her head, “Then why not allow me to choose once he could change the law... why still have me married off to another to placate a room of dinosaurs who never accepted me and still don’t!” Leo looked down at Isabella questionably? “Why do you still put up with that shit? If you don’t like it...” he began to chuckle, “Sort it out... you can do whatever the hell you want because I doubt there is one thing in here that will tell us otherwise and the amount of times you had me read that fucking constitution, it’s engraved into my brain... Disband them and open the elections to all people not just those who are a part of the establishment; let the people help you! Your father didn’t ask you to be married to a man to make decisions for you, but to be by your side when you did. If the last six years have taught me anything; is that you can do anything and Felipe knew it too...” Leo began to laugh to lighten the mood, “and who would have thought... in another life you’d still have been telling me off for watching too much Sports Center ...”

Isabella sniffed, resting her head against Leo’s shoulder as she tried to laugh, “I miss him...” Leo began to nod, “me too... and Constantine... it’s strange how everything finds a way...” Entwining his fingers with Isabella’s, Leo lifted her hand towards his lips, pressing them against her soft gentle skin, “I know it’s hard right now...” he murmured to her quietly, “...but he’s always going to be with you... if you don’t know the answer...” Leo pointed around the room, “It’s probably going to be in here somewhere...” A faint smile began to grow across the brunette’s face knowing her husband was right. “Yeah...” Isabella slowly tucked a loose curl behind her ear as she struggled to get up, “It’s not a good idea to sit on the floor six months pregnant is it?” Leo began to laugh as he stood up with ease, holding onto Isabella’s hands to give her a boost, “Nope! But sure you knew that before you sat down...” Leo winked at her as she finally rose to her feet. Putting everything back into it’s place, Leo and Isabella locked back up the safe both agreeing that they had to come back down again to discover more secrets that this fortified treasure cove contained.

That evening Leo seemed a little off as he stared blankly at the television, “mi amor?” Isabella questioned as she cuddled beside him, “huh?? Oh...” Leo exclaimed, “Sorry... I was miles away...” He wasn’t though. His kind kept drifting to the fact that if Liam hadn’t had Isabella thrown off of her horse, the betrothal between her and Max would never have happened. He never would have lost all those years between them but she would have had to marry his half brother. It didn’t matter what timeline this played out in, Leo knew he wouldn’t have let it happen; it angered him remembering all that he lost, how they had to keep everything hidden - years wasted, his fist was clenched out of Isabella’s sight until she began to giggle, taking his hand into hers and placing it on her stomach, “Someone’s pretty awake tonight...” feeling their unborn baby’s uncontrollable kicking calmed Leo down as he finally smiled, “I think this one could possibly play for Portavira in the future - midfield... he’s definitely got a ogood foot...” Isabella began to laugh, “No... definitely not... maybe Laurentia United and who said it was a he??” winking to annoy her football fanatic husband. Leo always knew he was lucky but the gods above knew something neither of them did until today. He and Isabella from the moment they were born were destined for each other and no obstacle put in their way was going to stop that.

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