#tyril x f!mc

[missameliep]

Bonds of Sea and Fire - Part 2 (Blades of Light and Shadow)

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

Pairing: Tyril Starfury x Arwen (MC - F!Elf)

Summary: How can trust be forged? At the Wraith's deck, Arwen and Tyril have a conversation under the stars.

Word count: ~3.000

Rating: G

Notes:

* English is not my native language;

* Characters belong to PixelBerry;

* This takes place between chapters 6 and 7 from Blades of Light and Shadow - Book 1.

This is my submission to @choicesaugustchallenge hosted by the lovely @lilyoffandoms - Day 10: late night talking under the stars

At the deck of the ship, Imtura was on her natural environment. Not a member of the pirate crew would dare blink at one of the instructions the captain shouted.  

The Wraith’s sails, filled with a fair wind, spread like wings, taking them away from those cursed islands until they vanished. The sunrays peppered the waters with a shimmer that rivaled the fae fishes’ glow, and there was so much beauty in the world one could risk forgetting the dangers lurking not only in the shadows. 

The waves were like mischievous kids, crashing against the hull and spreading a salty misty all over the deck, heaving the ship high into the air just to let it fall and catch it once more.

The motion was harsher than she’d like, however Arwen was confident. Confident the ship would carry them to the shore no matter the weather. A confidence born from the faith on Imtura’s abilities and determination to find the missing shards and bring Kade back.  

The challenges faced were enough to seal the bond and she came to trust not only her, but all the companions – even if the feeling might not be mutual when it comes to one of them. Her gaze, like in so many occasions these past days, was instantly drawn to the other elf of the party, cleaning the blade of his sword at the opposite side of the deck.

With a heavy sigh, Arwen lets her head fall back on her crossed arms. Eyes on the blue sky and on the passing white clouds, she tries to relax, but her mind constantly drifts to the two shards inside her satchel. Two more to go. At least a week’s journey until Undermount after beaching.  

Hopefully, they’d find the next one there. 

Hopefully, she’d also find the answers to questions of a lifetime. Her heart races with the idea of finally be among her own people. Her people. What a change would it be! 

While the sun gently sinks on the horizon, its golden rays set the sky ablaze; the blue welcoming all shades of orange and red. 

The first star appears, and dusk announces the time of joyful songs, chatter and games. Bottles of the strong orcish ale are passed from hand to hand, while the sound of seagulls is replaced by extraordinary tales, laughter and music.   

The party of adventures eagerly joined the crew, except for Tyril, who does not seem to share the same enthusiasm or friendliness. The elf managed to keep himself the further away from the buzz without jumping ship. After days spent at the sea without a moment of quiet solitude, she supposes he’s reached some personal limit. 

While Threep was gnawing the third fish on a stick, Nia smiled listening to all sorts of anecdotes and jokes, blushing at the obscenities spilling from the sailors’ mouths and Mal’s as well. The man is not intimidated by the orcs towering over him and sat at the improvised table for a game of cards.  

Mal winked at Arwen when she caught a glimpse of one card tucked into his shirt, and she stifled a chuckle at his audacity or sheer recklessness before returning the gesture. Their flirtation, she notices, assumes more and more an air of camaraderie. 

Her contemplation is halted when the bench squeals with Imtura’s weight. The orc slumps beside Arwen with a smirk, gulps the ale and offers the bottle to the elf. 

“Enjoying the sail, landrat?” 

“I’ll be fine as long as there are no storm and no more grobtars,” Arwen quips.  

The orc let’s out a loud guffaw and with a massive hand pats her shoulder. “Worry not! Just good weather ahead. And trust me, if those grobtars know what’s best for them, they’ll avoid the Wraith for a long long time...” 

Besides them, the alcohol blushed Nia’s cheeks, and loosen Mal’s tongue, who shares the most passionate narratives about his deeds and conquers, who involves a lot of flirting his way out of trouble. 

“What’s wrong with that elf friend of yours?” Imtura asks, tilting her head in his direction. “Afraid of the sea, is he?” 

Arwen shrugs, unsure if the orc is concerned about Tyril or annoyed by his aloofness like the rest of the crew seems to be.  

Listening to the exchange, Nia suggests someone should invite him to join them for a cards game and cast a not-so-subtle look at Arwen. She wonders if Nia noticed the fleeting glances exchanged between the two or assumes she’s got a better chance at talking him into accepting the offer for being an elf herself. Either way, she accepts the challenge.  

Without a word, she takes the bottle, stands up and unconsciously rake her fingertips through her windblown hair, combing it back in place as much as possible. 

The wooden floor creaks beneath her feet when she approaches him, who glances over his shoulder acknowledging her presence. 

Tucking stray locks of his long hair behind an ear, his gaze follows her attentively, and by his expression and the absence of a scowl, she chooses to believe her company is a welcomed one.  

Tipping the bottle of ale at him, he purses his lips and shakes his head.  

“My senses must be sharp.” 

“Imtura says we can expect nothing but good weather,” she replies leaning against the railing beside him, but keeping some respectful distance. 

“The sea is untrustworthy,” Tyril confides.  

There’s bitterness when the elf utters the last word that is not missed by her keen senses. After the past days of companionship and fighting side by side, she hoped his opinion of the party would have changed for the better. Or mostly, his opinion of her.  

“Is it only the sea you do not trust?” she asks and grimaces after gulping the strong ale. 

Mulling at her words, he fixed his gaze at the starry sky. 

“Have you ever seen a swordsmith working?” 

Even though it was an unusual question, Arwen confirmed she had seen many times the blacksmith at Riverbend forging all sorts of objects. Closing her eyes, she could almost feel the heat in the air and hear the clang of metal on metal. 

“The craftmanship requires not only strength, but mostly diligence and a great dose of patience. The swordsmith cannot hurry the process otherwise the blade might flake and shatter… Trust, I’ve learnt, must be forged like a sword. And one cannot be certain it is perfected and will withstand until it’s drawn and tested. Peace is not a good test for a sword, like a smooth sea does not make a skilful sailor,” he concluded in his grave tone without meeting her eyes. 

“Trust, friendship and loyalty, I believe, can be forged by different and unexpected means.”  

Her statement is met by a quizzical stare that lingers far too long to be ignored.  

“You think I am naïve.” Her words break the heavy silence that fell upon them. 

Something crosses Tyril’s face, and he shakes his head to deny her assumption.  

“I do not, but...”  

There’s a long pause and she struggles to not fill the silence.  

His gaze flicks from her face to the infinite dark sea surrounding them, and she almost expects him not to complete the sentence. But he speaks again and when he does, his words are drowning in sorrow. “If you freely offer your trust to the undeserving of such gift, they’ll take it for granted and won’t hesitate before stabbing your back...” 

His body has become so rigid with tension that if not for his long raven strands blown by the salty breeze one could mistake him with a statue. While he stares at the sky, she wonders which kind of betrayal stole his faith in others. 

“What do you suggest then? Should I mistrust everyone including yourself?”  

Her questioning sound a lot like teasing, which partly is her intention to try and light the mood. However, judging by the seriousness of his expression contemplating the sky as if the answer could be hidden among the stars, he considers it worthy of a genuine answer. 

“Trust no one outside your house.” He pauses and his gaze turns away from the sky to meet hers. “I learned it from my father once I was old enough to stand on my own feet. Your house and your blood – those are the sole things that matter and upon which you can rely on...” His face remains impassive, but his voice wavers with emotion and she struggles to control the urge to reach for his hand. “I suggest you consider the advice from someone who’s seen what happens if one loses sight of that...” 

Sipping the ale, she cast a longing glance at the sea and thinks of her life at the nurturing community of Riverbend. Such a long way from where they are now! Her thoughts return to Kade, her only family. His blood is not her blood, but her fate and his are the same. They were united to share the kind of sincere love that would take either of them to the ends of the earth to save the other, just like she is doing now. 

“Not some advice easily taken...” she mutters the words hoping they’d disappear into the throat of the bottle. “Not when you’re twice orphaned....”

His eyes widened for the briefest moment, a glimpse of sorrow crossing them, before he uttered an attempt to apologise in what she assumes is part of Undermount’s fine etiquette.  

“It was a long time ago...” she dismisses with a forced smile, despite the hollow in her chest that aches more frequently than she would let anyone suspect. “With no house to have my back... I guess my experience and perspective on the matter might be a little different from yours...”  

He nods, and his gaze contemplates her face until he averts his eyes. “I suppose.”  

She releases a breath, thankful he does not press on.  

When she looks back at him, Tyril’s chin tilted up, exposing his elegant long neck, and his gaze is fixed on the stars again.  

Maybe he’ll speak of the constellations, she hopes; maybe he’s lost in thoughts that are not meant to be shared with her, which would be less desirable. Her heart aches, fearing to have this moment abbreviated. 

Arwen takes another swig at the ale, building the courage to bring another topic and encourage him to maybe speak more of himself. She doesn’t exactly know why, but she craves to learn more... Probably because he’s an elf and holds the knowledge she so long desired; or maybe that’s just what she keeps telling herself to not think about the other reason for her eagerness... 

She licks her lips, and a warm smile curls them.   

“May I ask you a question?”  

His long black hair sways when his head turns, and his eyes return to her face. It’s difficult to determine if it’s the sight of him and his piercing eyes or the sea that makes her sway gently. 

“Are you a poet, Lord Tyril of Undermount?” 

“Excuse me?”  

“A poet,” the words slowly roll from her tongue.  

“You mock me?” he scowls, and she stifles a giggle. 

His face is always ready to respond with indignation, as if expecting to always meet the worst in those around him. It’s amusing, but also makes her wonder the depths of the loneliness this mindset brings. The frown is back, and she'd like to erase it with a kiss, right between his eyebrows, to help erase whatever poisons his mind.   

“Mock you? Absolutely not,” she stresses the negative word and heaves her hands in theatrical surrender, unable to supress the grin parting her lips. “I’d never dare mock someone who could slice me in half like butter and not break a sweat!” And look like a gorgeous angel of death while doing so...  

“I’d never draw my sword against you!” his response is quick and apparently more truthful than he intended.

The butterflies on her stomach almost flee through her mouth, taking her voice away with them, but she whispers, “You wouldn’t?”

He coughs and covers his mouth.  

“Don’t be absurd!” he scoffs. “Everyone knows that is not the appropriate punishment for mockery and slander according to the elven code!” 

“Oh, right,” she utters with sheer disappointment. 

The graveness of his expression gives way to the slightest twitch of his lips, and that’s when she sees it: the small, almost imperceptible smile, and the glint of mischief in his eyes.  

She gasps, “Was that... a joke?” 

“Everybody knows I do not joke about such matters. Or any matter at all.” His face is still quite serious, but his voice not so much. It wavers as if he's struggling to contain the laughter bubbling inside. What would it take for him to let it out? “Beware, if you sustain those false accusations, you might face time in the dungeon...”

“Oh! We don’t want that, do we?” she teases.

The amusement reaches the corners of his eyes. 

“Wow! You cracked a joke and evaded the question... I’m impressed, Tyril!” 

“Ludicrous allegations are not worthy a rebuttal,” he finally says, his words coated by a lilt of a laugh and his lips slightly curled at the corners. But it isn’t enough. She needs to see him smiling, unabashedly baring his teeth, cackling with her... so relaxed that his beautiful blue skin would be freed of the soft lines marking the area in between his eyebrows.

“Too late! I already have evidence.”

“Evidence?” he echoes.

Grinning, Arwen moves a little closer, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.

“The sword was a good metaphor. Fits a trained warrior like yourself, but hints you got the heart of a poet hidden in there…” She points at his chest, and his eyes narrow, but not in a menacingly way; there’s a hint of amazement at the gesture. When one of her fingertips lightly touches the armour over his heart, Tyril visibly swallows, despite not drinking anything. 

A teasing smile plays on her lips, appreciating the way his cheeks have darkened again, tinting themselves in that lovely shade of lavender she’s fascinated with. Would his cheeks be soft and warm against her fingers? 

“And since you did not deny my assumption, from now on, I’ll be picturing you writing poetry late at night, pen in hand, eyes squinted in concentration... Warrior by day, poet by night...” 

He takes a deep breath and a step away from her, then sharp words fly from his tongue, “How could I make time for poetry when the Shadow Court is spreading their corruption in these lands? Endangering the entire world? I could never waste precious time with such frivolity!” 

“Can’t you do both?” Her lips roll inside her mouth, and she moistens them, giving them both time to contemplate the idea. “Can’t you allow yourself to be overwhelmed by the beauty in the world, love and whatever else moves you... without losing sight of your quest? I believe it can be a motivating force to achieve greater things...” 

“You assume much about myself, including that I would have any talent for poetry...” 

“I’m certain you do, and I envy you.”  

A wistful smile curls her lips when she remembers the first time she saw the sea at Port Parnassus, the way her heart filled with so much joy and craved to have Kade’s talents and compose a song to immortalize that feeling, to share it with him once they are reunited.  

“When I first saw the sea, I was just...Wow!” She waved her hands to try and convey all that excitment. “My first thought when my brain stopped screeching was 'Gods, I wish Kade was here!'” She takes a deep breath, and leans forward, letting both her elbows rest on the railing, the bottle held close against to her chest. “If he were there, he'd have the perfect words... and five minutes later he'd pop a new song and just capture that moment... you know? But he was not there... I was and it seemed like a waste of prettiness... What will I tell him?” She shrugged. “The sea was huge... and blue... and... I don’t do metaphors! And I'm physically uncapable of rhyming!” 

“Maybe you underestimate your capabilities...” he said softly when she stopped rambling.

The bottle almost plummeted into the dark waters, and she took it to her lips once more, before speaking again.

“Kade is the storyteller, the singer... My talent with words is from an entirely different nature.” She winked at him to make sure he understood what she meant by that, and he looked away, which usually is not what happen when she does that with her charming smile.

“Hey! Kit, are you and Elf boy coming over or what?” Mal question rings in the air and she’s reminded of what she came to do in the first place.  

“Would you like to join us? We’re playing cards, sharing tales…” 

A mere glance at the groups, and the crease between his eyebrows returns and looks even deeper than before.  

She risks a pat on his arm, and says softly, “The swordsmith needs something to work on...”  

Tyril’s eyes flick to her face, and his reluctance slowly vanishes. With a nod, he accepts the suggestion and follows her towards the improvised table. 

“Oh, look!” Nia cries, “How fortunate! Mal was about to tell us of the encounter with Duke Erthax!” 

“Listen closely, elf boy, you can learn a thing or two!” 

Tyril halts and Arwen looks over her shoulder.  

“Does your party really requires a thief?”  

“We’ve been through this,” she huffs amused, “you cannot throw Mal overboard.” 

The elf sighs.  

“May I?” Tyril asks, pointing at the bottle, and she hands it. The elf coughs loudly after taking a swig not anticipating the pungent taste, drawing the attention of the group who failed at pretending not to pay attention at the two of them. 

“It’ll get better.” She pats his arm lightly. 

“The taste?” he snorts. “I certainly doubt!” 

“Everything.” She winks and receives the bottle from Tyril’s hand.  

When he crosses the last steps and takes a seat with the others, she smiles to herself, celebrating this small victory, anticipating the others certainly to come. 

[choicesficwriterscreations]

CFWC F/AtoW: Aug 4 - 10, 2024

✒️ = Fanfic | 📱 = Text Fics/Edits | 🎨 = Fanart Ⓜ️ = Mature Content 18+ | 🔥 = Explicit/NSFW 18+ 🏳️‍🌈 = LGBTQIA+

BLADES OF LIGHT AND SHADOW

Bonds of Sea and Fire (Series) ✒️ | Tyril Starfury x F!Elf!MC - @missameliep Chapter 2

THE DEADLIEST GAME

Love isn’t something you find 🎨 | Jun Seong x F!MC - @weetlebeetle C: @storyofmychoices

Through the Pain ✒️ | Jun Seong x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

THE ELEMENTALISTS

A Brush of Magic ✒️ | Beckett Harrington x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

THE FRESHMEN

The Graduate (Series) ✒️🔥Ⓜ | Chris Powell x F!MC - @eadanga Chapter 5

IMMORTAL DESIRES

Book 2 Cover 🎨🏳‍🌈 | M!Cas Harlow x F!MC x F!Gabe Adalhard - @rjschoicesstuff

LAWS OF ATTRACTION

When Love Lasts (Series) ✒️ | Gabe Ricci x F!MC - @eadanga Chapter 11

OPEN HEART

And Baby Makes Three 📱 | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @genevievemd

Bitter Brunch ✒️ | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @jerzwriter

If It Were Canon...AU (Series) ✒️ | Tobias Carrick x F!MC - @jerzwriter Second Thoughts

Mono~poly (Series) ✒️ | Multiple Pairings - @jerzwriter Chapter 4: Moving On Tobias Carrick x F!MC

Say It ✒️ | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @alj4890

The Garden Party 📱 | Tobias Carrick x F!MC - @jerzwriter

The Next Chapter ✒️ | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @liaromancewriter

RED CARPET DIARIES

Only Her ✒️ | Thomas Hunt x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

THE ROYAL ROMANCE

Can't Take My Eyes Off of You (Series) ✒️ | Maxwell Beaumont x Olivia Nevrakis - @alj4890 Chapter 7

Ghosted (Series) ✒️ | Liam Rys x F!MC - @kristinamae093 Chapter 12: Betrayal

Princesa Real 2 (Series) ✒️ | Liam Rys x F!MC - @belencha77 Chapter 20: Caminos Cruzados Chapter 21: Sorpresas en Roma Chapter 22: El Último Brillo Chapter 23: Final Agridulce Chapter 24: Secretos y Desfiles

Savage Love (Series) ✒️ | Drake Walker x F!MC, Liam Walker x F!MC - @angelasscribbles Chapter 28: Here Comes The Bride?

[lovehugsandcandy]

like a ghost into the fog

Pairing: Aerin x f!MC, Blades of Light and Shadow

Ratings: Explicit/18+/N*FW (the last part contains sex, maybe swearing?)

Word Count: ~4,600

A/N: Title from 'Round Here' by the Counting Crows

Summary: 5 times Aerin and Raine weren't reunited and 1 time they were

i.

The desert is boiling, even at night, and Raine lacks both the motivation and strength to set up a tent. Instead, she merely unfurls her bedroll directly onto the sand and plops down, exhaustion both physical and mental making even another step just out of reach.

She waits, until she can hear Tyril's quiet rhythmic breath, until Imtura has settled and stilled, as the darkness surrounds her like a shroud. Then, the tears start, slowly at first, tracing down the slope of her cheek, and then faster, harder, until she realizes that dehydrating herself in the middle of an endless desert is foolish, but she can't stop her eyes from pouring out onto the sand below.

Of all the troubles she knew she would encounter in her quest, the sudden disappearance of the fallen prince hadn't even registered. But now that it's happened, she can think of nothing else.

Swiping at her cheeks, she turns her attention to the night sky over her head. Above, where there had been only darkness, pinpricks of light work their way through the night. At first, it's one star, then two, and then a blaze, constellations popping from the atmosphere faster than she can count. It’s dizzying, the swirl of stars above her head in the desert’s open void; the sobs slow, then cease, tears drying in the omnipresent heat, and each new bloom of light sparks a bloom of hope.

She can see The Lovers, tied together in the southwest sky, while Nithrax stands guard in the north, and she can trace each constellation as clearly as if they were ink on parchment, clear sky a canvas for the points of light and images of the Gods above her.

And finally, above her, the crescendo of this nighttime vision—a shooting star, sweeping overhead, brighter and brighter as it flies across the horizon. Her breath stalls, waiting, as it peaks in the distance, before its arc descends and slowly, gradually, it fades away.

She releases the breath she was holding, and the exhale sounds like prayer in the night. Maybe the star was a portent. Maybe the journey would ease. Maybe they could close the rifts. Maybe her heart could heal. And maybe he would find peace, in whatever shape it took.

Maybe the stars would align for them again.

And with that hope, underneath the blanket of stars twinkling to her, she finally sleeps.

Only seven miles away but a world apart, Aerin tends the fire outside his tent, poking at the tendrils of flame with a stick. It’s quiet in the woods, with only the stray chirp of a cricket or popping of tinder to keep him company, but he’s still alert, attuned to the surrounding darkness. Horrors can emerge abruptly in the night, he knows it as well as anyone, and a battle alone amid the moonlight would be far more treacherous than if he had companions at his back.

Raine.

The name comes to him unbidden, and he pushes it away. He can’t help her; Gods, he can’t help anyone, least of all himself. All he can do is keep the small fire alive and ponder his next move.

Once the blaze is stable, he leans back in a huff, rich grass buffeting his head, and gazes up through the trees. Past the rich foliage, he can just see a few stars, light fighting through the gauzy clouds, and he tries to focus his mind on his next move when he sees it—there!—peeking through the trees, moving above him, a curving light far above the atmosphere. 

He’s seen shooting stars before, a few, huddled alone and shaking amid the castle towers, but this is different. Its light is pure and bright even at distance, and he can’t take his eyes off of the sparkling trail.

Some ancient peoples thought that shooting stars were foreboding, predicting evils yet to come.

Others thought they promised good fortune to all who were lucky enough to see them, sprinkling magic and luck through the trailing sparkle.

He watches the star’s graceful orbit across the sky until it’s blocked by the trees above, disappearing in the ceiling of green, and he wonders what fortune the star would bring to him.

ii.

It feels like an eternity that he’s been traveling alone but Aerin knows it’s only been about a week (8 days, 7 hours, and 13 minutes since he stole away in the night - he’s not counting but the ache makes it impossible to ignore just how much time has passed). In that time, Aerin has learned how loudly his thoughts echo in the dark, how quickly rations are depleted when he doesn’t have access to simple shops, how vile the word ‘traitor’ is when hissed by those who catch sight of him.

He’s learned how important it is to stick to the shadows.

His hood stays over his head, tightly, hiding his hair, and when he bows his head, he can sneak by unnoticed, skirt the edges of crowds as he moves through the small towns that dot the coast.

He’s in such a small town, an hour south of Port Parnassus, huddled in the back booth of a dingy tavern. His companions - past companions - would be at home here, particularly the thief; the room is full of shadowy corners and the patrons pay him no mind, lost in their own dealings and trickery. He sips his ale, slowly, lost in thought; the din doesn't permeate his senses, not even when the door opens and a blast of cool ocean air sweeps the room.

He doesn't hear the jangle of coins, misses the awed voices ('the Hero of Morella'), doesn't recognize the hushed tones across the room.

When the door opens again, he again doesn't notice, lost in his own world, in the shadows (is the darkness in the tavern or is it in him?). 

He just sits and thinks and aches.

iii.

Aerin's fingers linger over the familiar bottle, asphodel in liquid form, vial cool to the touch. The shelf is lined with stopped bottles, reagents, tinctures, salves, and balms. He grabs the ground evenbloom, looking at the label while debating which would be the best investment of his dwindling stash of coin, when a bell rings from the front.

"Hello, travelers!" He ignores the shopkeeper's greetings until he hears the response.

"Hello!" Nia's ducelet tone rings out and, even now, months since he has seen her, he knows it is her like he knows his own hand. The vial almost falls from his grasp and he rushes to return it to its place. "You have an amazing shop! We just wanted to look around, if we may."

We. And footsteps, multiple. Nia's not alone. Aerin is torn - the desire to peer around the corner, to catch just one glimpse, is sudden, overwhelming. He's already started tiptoeing down the aisle before he stops.

"I'm almost out of herbs," Mal says. Aerin can't breathe, freezes in place. He just-

"Is your chest still bleeding?" Tyril asks and Aerin cannot stay to hear the rest. He glances around and, right there, behind him, is a small doorway. He makes a break for it, footfalls as quiet as possible, dodging past a surprised employee before pushing out the back. 

The doorway leads to an alleyway, and he sprints faster, following maze-like corridors until he's sure he's free of the group. 

Unfortunately, one cannot outrun guilt.

He stops only when he is halfway across the city, chest heaving in exertion in a side alley. The cobblestones are uneven under his feet, and the buildings around him are covered in soot, but it's a shadowed place to hide. He sucks in a breath and sputters, smoke from the butcher nearby catching in his lungs. This is absolutely pitiful behavior, unseemly even for a former prince, even for one who's fallen from glorious heights to tragic lows, and he slumps against the wall, ashamed.

He can't- he can't be seen. He has no excuse, nothing of worth to share, nothing by way of explanation, and the world to atone for. His legs give out and he sinks to the ground, amid the dirt and grime, and buries his head in his hands.

He doesn't move until after nightfall, when the darkness around him provides comforting anonymity, when he can vanish into the darkness.

iv.

It's ridiculous. Raine knows how foolish it is, so she keeps her mouth shut, leaves her friends to enjoy the festival, and slinks through the crowds. She knows there are many festivals throughout the small towns that circle the capital, occuring often, ale flowing for days, so it's a nonsensical desire but she sets her sights on a small tent at the edge of the fairgrounds. Purple and gold striped flags flutter in the gentle wind as she steps closer to her goal.

She's almost there, fifteen yards away at most, when a flap of the fortune teller's tent opens, a hooded figure emerging to slide quickly into the crowd.

Her heart catches in her throat. She couldn't be sure, but it almost- it could have been-

Her feet move before her mind catches up, sprinting towards him. She doesn't have a plan and doesn't know what she would say or demand or, in her weakest moments, beg. She just moves, her legs charging forward, dodging through the crowd, pushing past tourists and townsfolk alike. At one point, a vendor pushes a cart into her path, and she leaps, soaring through the air only to vault over the wares, never missing stride, keeping the deep green of his hood in sight.

Her heart pounds, legs straining with the effort as she catches up, closer, ten yards, then five, darting around a small child and diving forward, shoulder to the small of his back as her hands wrap around his waist. They fall forward into a pile of limbs, bystanders gasping as they roll together, head over feet, their momentum landing them sprawled in front of a cart selling ales and liquors.

“What by the Gods are you-”

She leans over and tugs the hood off his head. “Aer-” The word dies on her lips as blond hair emerging in a messy tangle. It’s not him. She sags against the earth and only her pride prevents her from weeping. It’s never him.

“What is wrong with…” The man trails off, pushing up onto his elbows as his glare softens. “Aren’t you the Hero of Morella?”

She doesn’t feel heroic now, side smeared with mud, palm scraped from her tumble. Words don’t exist to describe the mortification and loss she feels; she pushes up to her feet, head hanging down. “I’m sorry; I must have confused you with someone else.”

And she flees.

Across the fairgrounds, Aerin drops a pair of coins into the palm of the fortune teller. If she recognizes him, she doesn’t say a word; her eyes widen for an instant before she beckons him to sit. He settles into his chair, nose wrinkling as the incense wafts through the room, and wrinkled fingertips slowly turn his hand.

“I see a betrayal in your past. It cuts you deep, to this day, regret like a stone holding you down.”

"This is sounding very familiar," he drawls. "Repetitive almost."

She continues on as if he said nothing, finger tracing a path across his palm. "You had a decision to make recently. I see the crossroads, here." She points to something, but Aerin only sees flesh. "Did you make your decision?"

He blinks. "Yes." He wishes he felt as sure as he sounded.

"Good." She turns to his other palm. "For your future-"

"Dark and full of terror? Unyielding pain?"

"Don't you think you've had enough of that?" she chides. "I see knowledge. It's always been important to you, knowledge, learning, but it's critical now. She needs it."

"Who?" 

She ignores his question, but he's certain he already knows the answer. Everything always comes back to Raine. "There is knowledge only you hold that needs to come to light." Her hand tightens in his palm. "She needs to know."

"What… what knowledge?"

Her face is imploring, but she doesn't answer, only dropping his palm against the table. When it becomes apparent she’s finished, he turns to leave, but her voice stops him midstride. "One last thing, Prince-"

"Former Prince."

"-she has forgiven you."

He pauses, narrowing his eyes, hand clutching the tent flap behind him. "Really."

"She has."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Do you really?" Her stare is hard. His chest suddenly aches, a dull pain right in the center underneath layers of scarring and recrimination; he can't help shivering at a memory of lips ghosting across his scar. "The question is," she continues, "have you forgiven yourself?"

There's no answer he can give to that question, no reply in any realm that could come close to encompassing his complicated feelings on that subject. He only turns, slipping out of the tent, vanishing into the crowds and the night.

v.

Raine is tired, the type of exhaustion that seeps into weary bones and lingers, a perpetual twinge embodying her every movement. They are no closer to ridding Nia of shadow, and, as days pass, her condition worsens, more and more of her time and thoughts spent in a haze of darkness. She is tired of fighting, tired of worrying, and, right now, wants nothing more than to sink into the exquisite bed in this palace room and stay there until the problems of the realm are nothing more than memories lost to the passage of time.

She crosses the room, intending to do exactly that, but pauses at the sight of a parcel on her bed. It's small, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, folded piece of paper balanced atop. She tilts her head. Is it clothing? Is there some royal party she had forgotten about?

The top of the paper is blank, but, when she unfolds it, the first word makes her start, paper falling in a gentle sway onto the plush carpet.

It's not the word. Her name is a perfectly logical start to a letter. But the writing - neat, regal. She knows that handwriting, knows it like the back of her hand, has traced those lines while huddled away in her tent, unsteady fingers walking over the consonants and vowels more times than she can count.

She stoops to get the paper, and it trembles in her hand; she takes three steadying, deep breaths- inhale, exhale, breathe- before she continues reading.

Raine-

I apologize I cannot give you this in person; though, of all the apologies you are owed, perhaps this minor one is all I can yet provide.

I told you I would be there if you needed me and my understanding is that, perhaps, that time has come. I know better than most how to remove shadow corruption and, while I am loath to dredge up these particular memories, it seems like you need them now more than ever.

Please find everything you need within this package. The ritual is complex, difficult, but if anyone can succeed, it's you.

Yours, always,

Aerin

She looks around, blinking stray tears from her eyes, but the room is empty. With the halls teeming with knights and guards, it should be impossible for anyone to sneak in, but he knows this castle better than most and, in particular, this room, the one he chose for her before, before, before. That he could slip in, past the guards, past her friends, and find this very room? The security risk alone should concern her; instead, she is almost comforted. Even in an opulent cage, even in her darkest times, he can still reach her. 

She wishes she could have reached him, too.

She opens the parcel with shaking fingers: a large book, three tallow candles smelling slightly of sage, a gilded cloth wrapped tightly around the blade of a stout knife, a pink crystal glowing softly in the candlelight. Her fingers pause over each one, taking in the gifts he left for her, imagining that the warmth of his palms still lingered over the items he so carefully wrapped.

Once she has examined each and every one, she cracks open the tome and begins to read, exhaustion gone as she drives toward a solution. 

i.

It's not obvious, but, by now, she knows the signs. The movement of the door, a whisper over silence and just enough to make her stir. The change in the air, barely perceptible by her skin but just enough to make the goosebumps erupt on her arms. She groans. Why is he here? The coronation is tomorrow!

"What do you want, Mal?"

A throat clears behind her. "Not Mal. Though I apologize if you were expecting him."

She sits up so fast that the sheets fly from her torso, pooling around her as she peers into the darkness. She's in a nightgown, the chill of the night prickling her skin, but she's wide awake now, too stunned to be embarrassed. Her breath is caught in her throat as there's one footstep, then another, and finally, he's appearing out of the shadows, a dreamt-of apparition made solid before her eyes.

"By the Gods," she murmurs, edging to the side of the bed, her bare feet finding the stone floor as she takes him in.

He looks tired, dark smudges under his eyes, slightly pale, but well, alive, pulling back his hood to nod a greeting. "Raine. I just wanted to congratulate you on your coronation tomorrow."

"Aerin. Where have you… what have you…" She stands, toes curling to steady her trembling legs, sheets slipping to the ground. Tomorrow, she is to be Queen; she truly should be far more articulate. "...you're here. In Whitetower."

"I've been here for a while, actually."

"Yet you never made my way to visit me?"

His smile is wry, and the blush that flits across his cheeks is so familiar that she can almost pretend to feel its heat warm her palms. "I wanted to. The whole escaped felon and enemy of the realm situation puts a damper on social visits, you know."

"The documents are already drawn. I'm going to pardon you. Tomorrow. After…" She trails off as he blinks dumbly at her.

"I-  I'm not sure that would go well with your citizenry."

She can see through him in a heartbeat, his foot scuffing a jagged trail against the floor. "You saved Nia." She takes a hesitant step forward and, when he makes no move to flee, continues closing the distance. "I don't care what anyone has to say about it, including you. You are worthy." She takes care to stress the last word, but he only shakes his head.

"No, you saved her; you were able to complete the ritual."

"With your guidance. Your faith in me was not misplaced, Aerin."

He shrugs one shoulder. "It never was."

"And mine was not misplaced in you." She watches him through her lashes. Up close, he embodies all the memories she clutched so close in the night. Tangled curls trace down his forehead, sloping over eyes brimming with intelligence, and the pout of his lips is so intimately familiar that her stomach lurches. "Did you-" She could curse the hitch in her voice. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

He glances away, avoiding her gaze; moonlight filtered through the clouds highlights his face, and his eyes glow like gemstones. "I… there is still more work to be done."

"Always," she murmurs. "But are you going to stay? Here?" The 'with me?' is unstated, but it roars with the throb of her heart.

His gaze is slow to find hers again, but when he finally catches her eye, he looks hesitant yet forthright, equal parts young prince beside a lake of Light and hardened soul who battled darkness within. And, as always, he can hear her heart as if it strums in his own chest. "If you'll have me."

She can't hold back, not now, not when he's close enough to touch, and his hazel eyes peer cautiously at her underneath soft curls. She takes the last step slowly, closing the distance until they share a space, her hand skimming the front of his tunic as the room, the coronation, Gods, the utter realm fade away, and there is nothing but Aerin and his hand rising to sweep over her cheekbone.

"Raine… you have no idea how-"

She doesn't wait for him to finish the sentence, as she has some idea—every idea—that his nights away have been spent like hers, longing and yearning. She cannot yearn any longer, pushing forward to taste the way his lips part under hers, to relish the way his palms cradle her cheek. Every needy sound from his mouth is swallowed by her own, and she drinks them all in, eagerly, pulling him even closer as if a lack of personal space could ever make up for the previous distance, when she spent sleepless nights just wondering if he still lived.

She pulls back as moisture falls on her cheeks, and she's surprised to feel tears pooling in her eyes.

"Raine?" His fingertips are tender as they wipe away the lingering tears tracing her cheek. "Are you - what's wrong?"

"I thought you would never return. I thought you wouldn't come back."

"I told you. I wrote… I said that I would be there if you needed me."

Her fingers grip the front of his tunic tightly, fabric straining in her hold. "I did need you! I did! We journeyed through both realms, over and over, and you weren't-"

He dives forward for another kiss, rougher, unrestrained, his hands finding her waist to drag their bodies together. "You didn't." His lips brush her cheek before traveling to the shell of her ear, the side of her neck. "You didn't need me. You defeated the Ash Empire. You saved the realm."

"I still needed you." Her fingers find his chin, so she can raise his head and stare intently into his eyes. "Aerin, I need you."

The sound that slips past his lips is raw, undignified, but she doesn't have a second to react before his lips again meet hers, and it's a blur of movement and sensation. One instant, he's kissing her until her lips tingle with it; the next, his tongue traces the straps of her gown, and her knees buckle so fiercely that he needs to hold her up, cradled against his chest as he continues his careful ministrations. His hands cup her waist as he prods her backwards, until the back of her knees collide with the mattress and she falls onto the feather mattress.

He follows her down, bracing himself over her, but his lips never leave the curve of her shoulder, lower, tracing the skin right at the edge of the lace, his lips worshipping the slope of her breast with a reverence she only felt in dreams.

She shifts as insistent hands tug, nightgown pulled over her head, vanishing along with her good sense and any vestiges of propriety. "Gods, Raine, you're-" His words fall into a groan as her own hands make quick work of his clothing, the tunic falling to the floor. She pushes, hard enough that shock flits over his face before she scrambles over him, and she can feel the hard lines of his body as her thighs bracket his.

"Maybe I will keep you like this." She touches the mark at the center of his chest, tracing the tendrils of scar tissue as they whorl across tender muscle and skin. "Make it so you can't just disappear."

"I won't." His tone is so assured, so confident, that her hand stills.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

She can't meet his eyes; she only stares as her own unblemished fingers stroke his scarred skin. It's huge, so close to his heart, and it strikes her that removing the stone could have been yet another of the endless ways he could have been lost to the dark. "Don't say that."

"Why? I mean-"

"The last time—" Her voice hitches, and it's pitiful, embarrassing, how easily the Hero of Morella is undone. "Last time… you said… you…" She can't continue the train of thought,  lost in the memory of his lips drawing trails of lies across her skin, "and you left."

"You know why I left."

"I know. I understood. I just didn't know if you would come back."

Aerin grabs her hand, raising it to his lips for a kiss that would be almost chaste if it weren't for their utterly indecent position. "I will always come back."

"Prove it."

His answering kiss is all-consuming, fire licking down her spine and forming a pool of heat in her stomach. She moves, carefully, a slight shift; his mouth falls open as she slides down, slowly, every inch a revelation. As she rocks into him, his hands don't stop, pulling her down for devouring kisses that makes her toes curl, palms sliding down her back until every vertebrae sings, hand circling her hips and then lower until he is the entire world and she can only bask in every sensation of pure rapture.

He remains a quick learner as his fingertips become reacquainted with her body. Her legs shake with every touch, and it's too much, she can't bear it, teeth digging into her lips to muffle the sounds of pleasure building at the pit of her stomach. It only takes one more thrust, one more twirl of his thumb, and she's flying, falling, release sparking from her core and outward through her limbs. Her vision goes white, blind to anything but the line of his neck as he cranes his head, deaf to all but the moan from his lips.

She rolls onto the bed beside him, draping an arm across his torso as her breathing slowly returns to normal. When she's cogent enough to make sense of the world, she's shocked to find him staring at her.

"I'm not going anywhere." Aerin's voice is calm and measured. "Not unless you ask."

She props her head up on an elbow to stare into his face. "Why would I ask?"

"Escaped felon, danger to the realm and all the Light touches, remember?"

"You will be pardoned." Her mind shifts to tomorrow, to the pageantry that awaits. "Would you want to be more? More than just free?"

"What?"

"Would you want…" She tangles her hand in his hair. "You know much more about royalty, the duties of ruling, how to manage a kingdom."

“No.” He cuts her off, her hands still among his curls. “We both know what happened when I had power last. I’m not-”

“You’re not who you were.”

"None of us are."

It's a conversation for another time, her future as Queen, his future as the man he was always meant to be. "You know," she says, laying down again, over him, and his heart beats a steady rhythm in her ear. "Nia will be pleased to see you. She always said you would return."

"She was always too trusting."

She huffs a laugh against his chest. "Unfortunately, the reunion will be short lived. Imtura will cut you in two."

"Oh, yes. Your heroic friends. I almost forgot what it was like to have my life constantly threatened."

"They're joking. Mostly. Will you play nice with them?”

“Probably not.” The smile flits across his lips, charming and sure, and she’s desperate to taste it again but is desperate for one more assurance.

“Will you really stay?”

Aerin pauses, holding her gaze so she can’t look away, can only wait with bated breath for his response. His voice is low, single word imbued with every ounce of royal gravity he possesses. “Always.”

[aria-ashryver]

Woven Threads and Winding Roads (Pt 1&2)

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Raine) Words: 2.2K Ratings/Warnings: General; mention of (Nesper) pregnancy

Summary: Five times Tyril attempts to braid Raine’s hair; and one time those threads begin to come together again as they should.

A/N: Written as a gift for @thosehallowedhalls as a part of the Choices Secret Admirer event! It was such a delight to write for BOLAS again. Also participating in Choices February 2024 with the prompts Eros, Philia, and Pragma. Thank you Caro for letting me borrow your lovely Raine! 🌷🎀

Raine bit down on a laugh as Tyril strode into their bedroom, a scowl biting deep into the angular lines of his face. She rose to meet him, settling a hand against his cheek.

‘There’s the frown I fell in love with,’ she teased, laughter bubbling out of her as his brow furrowed further at her words. ‘We’ve had so little to trouble us these past few weeks — I was beginning to worry you’d forgotten how to brood.’

‘I am not brooding,’ Tyril brooded. 

He sighed, wrapping his arms around her waist, closing his eyes and leaning into the kiss she pressed to his jaw.

‘Thank the stars Adrina has the stomach for these tiresome nobles and their courtly swill. The entire Venesterium seems determined to vex me. The sooner we escape this evening’s ball, the better.’

Raine grinned. ‘Mal and Imtura have been rubbing off on you.’

Tyril’s eyes snapped open. ‘How dare you.’

‘They have!’

‘I… forgive me.’ Tyril paused, stepping back to take in the sweep of silver-blue silk swathing Raine from head to toe. His face softened. ‘Here I am complaining about the nobility, when I should be telling you how utterly radiant you look. You are dazzling spring water beneath the noonday sun, a pure vision of Bakshi come to life. You are the very stars themselves, beloved.’

Raine’s chest glowed. She tangled her fingers with his, swishing her shoulders back and forth.

‘Look,’ she said proudly. ‘My dress has a cape!’

Tyril chuckled.

They were still getting used to life in Undermount. To peace. 

To not being woken by Imtura’s snores, or the quiet cadence of Nia’s morning prayers; to the soft bed linens they’d traded up from hard-packed earth; to days that held no more danger than social faux pas and politics, instead of threats to their lives, to their friends, to the realm itself.

Well. Realms, plural, Raine thought. 

All that time running back and forth across not one but two different planes hadn’t exactly left much time for updating her wardrobe — that, at least, was one aspect of their new life together that Raine had quickly adapted to. Every last seamstress and tailor in Undermount was vying for House Starfury’s patronage. Raine had wasted no time taking advantage. 

‘You’re looking rather handsome yourself,’ she told Tyril, running her fingers over the ornate metalwork embellishing his robes. ‘What’s all this?’

Tyril’s face flattened into a frown again. 

‘Adrina’s doing,’ he groused. ‘House Starfury has been steadily regaining our former standing. Our coffers are stable, our contracts are shoring up, Father has been able to rehire the staff he let go with considerable bonuses. My dear sister, in all her brilliance, has decided that means I needed to look suitably ludicrous for our re-entry into elven courtly society.’

‘I think you look lovely.’

Tyril’s face pinched in distaste. ‘Have you seen the size of this ring? It’s a House Starfury heirloom.’

Tyril flapped his hand before Raine’s face — rather unnecessarily, in all honesty; there was little chance she’d have missed seeing the ring, given that it was the size of a small continent. There, on his left pointer finger, was a sparkling affair of curlicued silver and diamond, set with a sapphire so immense, its sale could have supported the entire population of Riverbend for a solid year or more.

‘Can you imagine what our roguish friend would say if he took one look at me in this get—up?’

‘Mal would call you a prissy elf boy and probably wet himself from laughter, yes.’ Raine pursed her lips, trying not to grin. ‘I take it Undermount’s finery and flattery isn’t to your liking any more, then?’

‘The flattery never was,’ Tyril said, his eyes trained on Raine as she slipped into a seat at the vanity and finished applying a kohl liner to her eyes. ‘The fineries?’ He hummed thoughtfully. ‘I’ll admit, the novelty of clean sheets and dry boots is wearing off faster than I’d expected.’

He stepped up behind her to run a brush through the silken gold of her hair.

Raine closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, remembering for a moment the mornings Nia had done the same. She had no problem braiding her own hair, of course, but sometimes she and Nia had helped each other tease away the tangles and road-dirt, fixing one another’s hair in readiness for travel and combat. 

It had grounded them both. Anchored them in the present, in the living pulse of their Light. Soothed them on the days when the darkness was too heavy to speak through.

Raine met Tyril’s piercing, blue gaze in the mirror over her shoulder. He raised a brow in silent question.

‘Would… would you braid my hair for me?’

A soft smile lit his face. 

‘Whatever you would have of me, I would give to you.’

The minutes passed in silence as Raine gave herself over to the gentle touch of her lover’s hands. He’d almost finished a passable —if slightly uneven— braid, when his ring snagged on her hair, pulling a section loose at the front. 

‘Drat! Apologies, this ring is impossible. I’ve never seen a piece of jewellery so cumbersome — Gods forbid it’s wearer deign to lift a finger to do anything for themselves. Though, I suppose that’s rather the point, isn’t it?’ Tyril clicked his tongue. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea how I am supposed to hold a sword with this monstrosity on my finger.’

‘Tyril…’ Raine caught his hand, holding his gaze for a long moment. ‘You don’t need to anymore.’

‘Oh.’ His eyes grew round, unguarded. ‘I suppose you are right. Yes, I don’t… right.’

Standing, Raine fixed the end of the braid with a simple leather band.

‘You’ve no wish to fix the snag?’

‘No, it’s fine. I rather like it.’ Raine glanced at the fall of hair that had tugged loose. ‘We don’t want to be too put together for the smarmy nobles, do we?’

‘We do not.’ Tyril cupped Raine’s face, his thumb sweeping over her cheekbone, sighing fondly. ‘You are exquisite, Raine. Do you know that? You are perfect. Celestial. I almost want to keep you all for myself. You know… we could just stay here, tonight.’

Laughing, Raine swatted at Tyril as his gaze grew hooded.

‘Tyril!’

She was rewarded with the sight of one of his rare and dazzling smiles. A secret sight, just for the two of them. It still caught her stomach up in swooping knots every time Tyril smiled.

‘Fine,’ he said, warmly, ‘let us away. But we are leaving as soon as the dessert courses are over.’

Raine’s hand found his.

‘Deal.’

‘Why do you get a cool half-cape?’ Raine grumbled, as they wound their way through the cool expanse of the public gardens. ‘I want a cool half-cape. Instead I get idiotic, too-long sleeves.’

Tyril’s face remained impassive as he nodded at a passing head of house; the gardens were bustling this morning, the lush greenery offering a cool respite from the late-spring sun. Raine greeted the elf in kind with a cordial wave —or, she tried to— the gesture botched by the yards of gauzy fabric tangling about her hands.

‘I hate everything!’ she shrieked under her breath. ‘I am this close’ —Raine raised a hand, snarled when her sleeves got in the way again, flailed her arms about until her hands were free, and pinched her thumb and forefinger before Tyril’s nose— ‘to ripping these awful sleeves off and shoving them into that fountain.’

Tyril smiled, tucking his hand against the small of her back and steering her neatly away from the aforementioned fountain. They walked instead toward a cluster of chatting nobles whom Tyril would rather have avoided, but knew he ought to greet.

‘Adrina is close to closing a significant contract with House Moonchaser,’ Tyril said quietly as they neared. ‘It would be a shame to offend their head of house by destroying the gift she bestowed upon you. Damaging such a gift would be perceived as a deliberate snub.’

‘Godsdamn it all to the blackest reaches of the Three Hel— ah, that is— hello, Lord Frostcrow! Yes, the gardens are looking splendid this morning, you are quite right.’

Their welcome ball had been pleasant enough. Raine had bewitched the gathered masses with her effortless radiance —not that Tyril was surprised; his lover stole his breath with every passing heartbeat— though none had been more taken with her beauty than the Lady of House Moonchaser. The elven matriarch had insisted on gifting Raine a custom-made dress from her personal seamstress as a show of welcome from their House.

It had been delivered late that morning — a heavy concoction of lurid pink velvet and silver embellishments, complete with decorative pearls, ribbons, and something Raine had described as “a headache masquerading as fashion” to be woven into her hair to match.

Raine had thought the whole thing garish… but, it would do well to be seen wearing the garment publicly at least once, so here they were.

Tyril had tried his hand at braiding her hair again that morning. Raine had humoured his attempts —there was something intimate and tender in their stolen moments of quiet together as he worked the ribbons through her hair— and for a time, he’d been rather proud of his efforts.

At least, until they’d made the journey from their small manor in the hills and into Undermount proper, and the whole thing had begun to unravel under all the weight. The imperfection irked him. Damn it all, he wouldn’t stop until he was the single most talented personal hair stylist in all of Undermount!

‘Stupid elven politics,’ Raine muttered, blowing a strand of hair from her face as they continued on with their stroll. ‘I look ridiculous. I’ve slept in war tents with less fabric than this dress. How am I supposed to defend myself in a swordfight with these sleeves?’

‘Were you not the one reprimanding me for my obstinate refusal to relax?’ Smiling, Tyril dropped a gentle kiss to the top of Raine’s head. The braid sagged a little further. ‘Perhaps you might take your own advice. We are safe, beloved. There aren’t any agents from the Ash Empire hiding under the magnolias, waiting to ambush us the moment we—’

‘A MISSIVE! A MISSIVE FOR YOU, LORD STARFURY!’

Heart in his throat, Tyril spun on instinct to find the point of his dagger hovering mere inches from the face of a wide-eyed courier. Beside him, Light crackled in Raine’s palms, her stance poised to strike, her expression nothing short of thunderous.

‘Apologies!’ The courier squeaked. He pinched an envelope between his trembling fingers, prodding it meekly toward them as the colour drained from his face.

Sighing, Tyril flicked his wrist in a practised motion; the dagger slid smoothly from his palm to tuck itself inconspicuously in his shirtsleeve. 

He really ought to thank Mal for showing him that particular trick, Tyril thought. He wouldn’t, of course, on account of that would mean actually thanking Mal for something, but the gratitude was there all the same.

He tugged the letter from the courier’s hand. The shiny, wax seal bore a small paw-print in the centre.

‘An urgent missive from the most humble Threep Percivacurus Pompedorfin and the magnanimous Loola Coriandropolis Dupopodolis, dispatched via high-speed drake-courier service out of Whitetower,’ the courier recited breathlessly. He swayed on his feet.

‘I think you should go and sit down for a minute or two, buddy,’ Raine told him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. ‘Drink some water, catch your breath. Maybe have a think about whether or not it’s a good idea to sneak up behind people who were recently involved in the harrowing trauma of saving the entire Godsdamned realm from certain doom and yelling at them, you know. Turn that one over in your head a couple times.’

‘That— I— yes. Sound advice, my lady.’ 

Bowing stiffly, the courier departed, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away.

‘By the Light,’ Raine muttered. She sounded as tired as Tyril felt.

‘Every day I think to myself, “the general populace couldn’t possibly grow any more dense”,’ Tyril murmured, watching the terrified courier wobble away, ‘and every day, they find new and fascinating ways to prove me wrong.’ 

‘Um… Tyril?’

Caught by the horror in her tone, Tyril turned to see a sheepish Raine inspecting her hands. Two smoking, fist-sized holes burned clean through the trailing sleeves of her dress.

She winced. ‘Just how important was that contract with House Moonchaser, again?’

Feeling a headache coming on, Tyril scanned Threep’s letter. His mouth dropped open.

‘Oh! Never mind that — Raine! Threep and Loola are expecting!’

Raine clutched at his hands, giddiness sparkling in her eyes. She squealed.

‘You’re joking. Baby nespers?! How adorable!’ Her eyes bugged in her head. ‘Oh, Gods, wait. An army of Threeps…’

The budding warmth in Tyril’s chest flipped to alarm. ‘Oh no… Oh, we need to start stocking the larder, yesterday.’

Stricken, Raine nodded. ‘I’ll place an order for a few bushels of dried anchovies.’

‘Whatever number you are thinking,’ Tyril said, ‘double it.’

Click here for: [Next - Pt. 3&4]

Tagging: @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesfebruary2024 @choicesfandomappreciation @thosehallowedhalls @lilyoffandoms @stars-are-within-me @jerzwriter

[peonyblossom]

Ships I'll Write For

for reference :)

Pixelberry

Alpha

m!Channing Lowe x m!MC (Kalani Mochizuki)

America's Most Eligible

Carson Stewart x f!MC (Juliet James)

Blades of Light and Shadow

Nia Ellarious x f!human!MC (Iris of Riverbend)

Valax x f!human!MC (Iris of Riverbend)

Mal Volari x Tyril Starfury

Mal Volari x Tyril Starfury x m!elf!MC (Hades Nightbloom)

Bloodbound

Adrian Raines x Gaius Augustine

Dirty Little Secrets

m!Carpenter (Emmett King) x m!MC (Brooklyn Peters)

High School Story

Wes Porter x Ezra Mitchell

Payton Saunders x f!MC (Lola Williams)

Michael Harrison x nb!MC (Jamie Baxter)

Mia Warren x Katherine

Ajay Bhandari x m!MC (Matty Wright)

Hollywood U

Thomas Hunt x f/nb!MC (Jackie Winters)

Hot Couture

Marco Di Vincenzo x f!MC (Analise Moore)

Immortal Desires

m!Cas x m!Gabe x nb!MC (Reese O'Malley)

Lewyn Junius x m!OC (Jude Junius)

It Lives Anthology

Noah Marshall x m!MC (Harry Spear)

Noah Marshall x Connor Green

Connor Green x m!MC (Jesse Harrison)

Ava Cunningham x f!MC (Raven Adams)

Stacy Green x f!MC (Ivy Lovelace)

Imogen Wescott x f!MC (Fiona Vance)

Tom Sato x m!MC (River Vance)

Danni Asturias x f!MC (Merliah Vance)

Abel Flint x nb!MC (Ollie Bridgers)

Lincoln Aquino x nb!MC (Keagan Burke)

Amalia de León x nb!MC (Lottie Hamilton)

Jocelyn Wu x f!MC (Eleanor Wilkins) (slowburn)

Matthias McQuoid x m!OC (Ezra Wilkins)

Laws of Attraction

Gabe Ricci x Aislinn Tanaka x nb!MC (Sav Zarza)

Open Heart

Ethan Ramsey x m!MC (Sydney Valentine)

Ethan Ramsey x Tobias Carrick

Aurora Emery x Sienna Trinh

Queen B

Zoey Wade x f!MC (Quinn Hughes)

Ian Kingsley x f!MC (Quinn Hughes)

Untameable Anthology

m!Kit Jackson x m!MC (Jules Rojas)

Mandy Martinez x Ryder Wilson x m!MC (Barrett Kemp)

Grey's Anatomy/Station 19

Mark Sloan x Jackson Avery x Lexi Grey

Mark Sloan x Jackson Avery

Meredith Grey x Derek Shepherd

Meredith Grey x Andy Herrera

Victoria Hughes x Lucas Ripley

Izzie Stevens x Denny Duquette

Ben Warren x Miranda Bailey

Cristina Yang x Teddy Altman

Maya Bishop x Carina DeLuca

[petalouda85]

Chase

Fandom: Blades of Light and Shadow 2

Pairings: Tyril x f!human!MC (Kassandra)

Word count: 1.0k

Concept: Tyril encounters his worst enemy.

Tags: @mikaelsrose, @dutifullynuttywitch, @megas-choices, @starlight-starfury, @thosehallowedhalls, @choicesficwriterscreations , @lilyoffandoms

AO3 link: x

A/N: this started as a joke and I just ran with it. Something a bit more lighthearted than what I'd normally write and I think is much needed with everything going on. Hope you all like it

It was a lovely morning in the village. The blue skies were clear, and the afternoon summer sun was thankfully not too hot as Tyril and Kaya headed into Riverbend for their usual supply run, the toddler wrapped and strapped snuggly to her father’s back, babbling happily as they traversed the path into town. 

As they entered and headed to the various destinations on their errand run, the elf nodded greetings to all who he encountered, many of them also stopping to wave to the child on his back, the girl squealing with delight each time. In the few times he stopped to chat, usually at a stall, he caught up on the happenings in the small village.

On the forefront of everyone’s mind was a kerfuffle in the town earlier in the day; somehow, a pen of geese had gotten loose, and the creatures had ended up terrorizing and chasing some unfortunate folks around as they had traversed through town. Thankfully, by the time the elf had entered the village, almost all had been corralled back into their pen. 

Tyril went about his usual business, getting the items he needed, chatting to a few of the villagers before heading back to the sanctuary in the woods. Kaya had been babbling throughout most of the errands, ready to be set down and let out her energy. 

When they entered the homestead, Tyril gave the area a quick glance over, finding Kassandra nowhere in sight. Nothing to worry about; she’d probably just gone back into the house to take care of something. He knelt in the grass, putting his basket of goods down next to him, and he began to work away at the knots of the sling. Once loose, he carefully worked and moved the fabric and the child to the front. 

“Here you go.” He muttered as he placed her down on her usual spot in the grass, turning away slightly to continue with his unpacking but turning often to check on the child; last thing he needed was for her to wander off and he wasn’t about to have her close to the treeline again.  

The peaceful bliss of the homestead continued, the day progressing much as it always did, Tyril keeping a close eye on the little girl, at one point running to keep her from crawling too far away. 

The girl seemed highly entertained by her little attempted escape, laughing and giggling as her father carried her back. After he placed her down, Tyril watched her for a while ensuring she was staying in her spot before he turned back to his task. He cluttered around a bit more when there was a faint rustling sound of grass behind him. He smirked as he turned, expecting his little escape artist to be halfway to the treeline again. Instead, he froze in place, finding himself face to face with the creature he despised so much: a goose. Kaya was silent in her spot as she too looked to the bird, though it paid her no mind. It stared at him with those empty, beady eyes and he stared back, trying to deny the slight knot forming in his stomach. The goose stared a little longer, giving a small hiss before lowering its neck, picking up speed. 

“Oh no.”

He dashed towards the nearest thing to him that offered some height: a shut storage barrel. Quickly, he jumped up, stomach sinking when he noticed the goose still charging at him. Without a thought, he grabbed onto the edge of the roof and yanked himself up even higher. Once seated, he looked down, eyes widening when he saw Kaya still sitting in the grass with a cheeky smile on her face while the goose continued to hiss and squawk at him, angrily flapping its wings as it tried to reach him. It honked, making Kaya laugh. 

“Not helping, Kaya!” He said through gritted teeth, the child continuing to laugh. The noise drew the goose’s attention, making Tyril’s stomach drop. “Hey!” He shouted, the goose immediately looking back at him. “Eyes on me, you little devil!” It hissed at him again, still flapping its wings menacingly; he didn’t feel so brave anymore. 

“What in the hells is that noise?” He heard shouted from the door before Kassandra appeared around the corner, immediately stunned to silence. Her eyes met his before shooting towards the goose and then towards the still laughing toddler in the grass. She repeated the sequence again before her hand shot up to her mouth, covering up a laugh. 

“This is humiliating enough as it is!” Tyril shouted back, kicking towards the goose. He heard her burst out a laugh while the goose honked again. “Kassandra!” 

“Oh alright!” She laughed, shaking her head. She carefully walked towards the angry creature, hands held out in front of her at the ready.

In a flash, she grabbed onto the neck of the creature, just below the head and, in a quick maneuver, she chucked the creature high and far, back towards the treeline; in any other situation, he would’ve complimented her aim. As the creature frantically flapped its wings to slow the fall, Kassandra ran and grabbed Kaya.

“Time to head inside.” Tyril didn’t need to be told twice. He jumped down from his perch and ran after Kassandra into the cabin, locking the door behind them once they were both indoors. Both made a dash for the window, where they watched the goose land and ruffle its feathers. It honked grumpily before waddling back into the forest. 

As the creature disappeared, Kassandra burst out laughing again, Kaya joining her. 

“Very funny.” Tyril said, trying his best to look grumpy despite a hint of a smile at his lips. 

“It was for me.” Kassandra said while looking at their giggling toddler. “Daddy was being silly, running away from that mean goose.” Kaya giggled a little longer before she made a honking noise, the imitation rather poor though it made Kassandra laugh. Tyril took the little girl from her mother, giving her a little poke in her stomach. 

“Why do you do this to me, Kaya?” The girl simply honked again. The smile finally crept through his grumpy expression. He turned to Kassandra. 

“Not a word about this to Mal.” She teasingly smiled. 

“Not a peep.”

[wordholic]

longing is the place of exile

pairing: aerin valleros x f!mc

summary: Aerin and Aria return to the Deadwood and confront their feelings.

note: rated G but there's some mentions of mc's experience while being held captive in the shadow's realm (such as valax taking mc's blood). wc: 3.9k. takes place around ch5. i wrote this solely because i wanna smooch his little face. and also i wanna study him under a microscope

comments and reblogs are always welcomed <: (tagging @choicesficwriterscreations ) ao3 link

Aerin had always had, in his mind, a plan for jailbreak. 

Sure, yes, siding with the Shadow Court, threatening a priestess' life, and committing fratricide made life imprisonment a somewhat sound punishment, but he wouldn't be caught dead resigning his years to a dingy, run-down prison tower. He'd much rather spend the rest of his life hiding from guards and living in shadows. 

Over the year, the plan had grown from a mere idea to an intricate web of schemes and back-up plans, as well as back-up plans for those back-up plans. In fact, if he hadn't been dragged out of the depressing cell to go on an 'adventure' with Morella's heroic saviors, he probably would've broken out in a month or two. 

Well, that was in the past anyway. Right now he found himself craving (for the first time) the cell’s creaky cot and undisturbed silence– gods, the silence–

Imtura's thunderous snores seized the moment. With a stifled groan, he rolled over, facing the crackling campfire.

The group had been forced to spend the night here in the Deadwood after a long day of trekking and fighting off monsters. While the notion of resting was pleasant at first, it soon proved to be difficult. It's a miracle any of these people managed to fall asleep, Aerin thought as he got on his feet and planted a step on the dry forest floor–

ZAP. A savage pain jolted up his leg. He cursed under his breath and stumbled back onto the ground, temporarily paralyzed by the sting assaulting his muscles. He'd forgotten all about the barrier Tyril had set up around his tent. He might not be behind bars, but he was still a prisoner.

"Aerin?"

His head snapped up. Immediately he caught Aria staring at him from the other side of the fire, partly startled, partly suspicious. "What are you doing?"

Something compelled him to put on an act, so he did, spreading his numb leg out and positioning himself in a way that wouldn't show how much discomfort he was in. "I find it impossible to fall asleep in a place like this."

Aria shot a knowing glance in Imtura's direction. A lopsided grin crept up to her lips. "It does take time to get used to that."

"Glad you agree. My solution was to go for a walk, but…" he gestured vaguely at the space around him. "That is also impossible."

She nodded. Then he realized that it was much stranger that she was awake as well. "And you? Don’t tell me you’re still not used to that."

"Please, that snore is nothing to me." She cast a meaningful look into the dark woods beyond the camp. "There's just… a lot on my mind, I suppose. I was going to take a walk myself."

Their eyes met once again. A silent understanding was passed, and after some contemplation, she added, "You should come with me."

He made a doubtful hum. "Should I? I mean, it's the middle of the night, and your friends here think that I'm a ticking time bomb. You're not scared some harm may come to you out there?"

To his surprise, she smirked at the mere idea. "We'll be safe from monsters as long as we don't make much noise, plus we both know you're no match for me. And to answer your question, I'm not scared of you, even if it's against my better judgment."

She came to a full height before him, limned by the dancing fire behind her, and he held his breath.

"After you," she said with a flourish, motioning outward. "My advice is to stick to the right side."

Still skeptical, Aerin stood up once again and took a cautious step, this time leaning toward said side of the opening. Amusement took over his expression as he made it out without being electrocuted.

"I don't suppose your mage friend made a slip while casting my shield?"

"...Let's just say I have more trust in you than all of them combined."

With that, the two set off at a leisurely pace, Aria illuminating the path in front of them with a wooden torch and Aerin waiting for the right time to break the silence. All around them, crickets chirped in harmony. The air was dry and still. Lifeless trees were shrouded in pitch black where the flame couldn't reach, concealing whatever dangers lurked within them. 

It suddenly seemed less of a good idea to be wandering around in the dead of night, but at least… Aerin debated with himself. At least they get to spend some time without everyone else keeping their watchful eyes on him.

"So," he started, stealing a glance at the back of her head. "A penny for your thoughts? Specifically those that managed to keep you up after a whole day of toil."

Out of the corner of his gaze, he could see her trying to tether her emotions to the ground, but the flash of trouble was unmistakable. It seemed that he wasn't the only one putting up a front. 

Just as he thought she was going to ignore him completely, she shook her head. "I'm worried about the others." 

"Is this about the extremely depressing moment you guys had earlier?" The question escaped him.

Aria shot him a withering look before returning her attention to the road, but it was enough to confirm his suspicion.

A year ago, the five of them had been formidable, no doubt drowning in glory and praise, victory and pride. They'd been Morella's newest legends, the ones who managed to pry off the Shadow Court's icy, greedy grasp. They still were, at least that's what Aerin believed, but time had passed. It was as Aria had pointed out: they were tired and still hurting from grief. They'd gone different paths, too. They might've managed to find their rhythm with each other before, but things had changed, and it's not easy to recreate the same picture with new puzzle pieces. 

It wasn't anyone's fault but time's, but he could still see on her shoulder the impossible weight of responsibility. The world was hers to save again, and this time she also had her companions to stress over. If there was one thing that hadn't changed, it would be the worry etched between her brows.

Though he supposed that she couldn't have changed much, given that she'd been captive the whole time. 

He chewed on his lip, this time threading his words delicately. "If you don't mind me asking, what exactly happened when you were in the Shadow Realm? I mean, I know the gist, but Mal said that you'd mostly slept through it, and I seriously doubt that."

Aria swallowed hard. He wondered if they were thinking about the same thing– the barren, devastated land, the despair and hopelessness permeating the air. 

Somewhere off in the distance sat a lonely log. They took their time heading towards it and sat side by side, shoulders brushing against each other in the newfound proximity. This close, Aerin could properly observe the wavering flame burning in her eyes and the way it painted shadows across her countenance.

She was every bit as beautiful as the day they'd met, and he could never tell her that.

"Mal was right, I was out cold for the most part… but I still remember what happened," she started. "I remember the room they kept me in, the leather straps bound around my limbs. I remember regaining consciousness every once in a while and feeling devastated when I saw that I was still stuck in the same place… that no one had come to save me.

"Usually I would wake, and then Valax would come and take my blood until I passed out again. The cycle went on and on. I was no more than a helpless prey waiting to be slaughtered. There were times when I thought that I was going to die there, that one of those days I would slip into unconsciousness and that would be it. I was going to die in another realm, away from my friends and Kade."

Her posture slouched as she recounted the past, head bowed as if trying to fold into herself. There was a noticeable tremble in her hands, and Aerin would give anything to be the one to hold her close and tell her she was still alive and safe, except he didn't have the right. He hadn’t even known about her abduction until just a few days ago.

"Even worse was the nightmares. There were horrors when I was awake and horrors when I was asleep, and I was always alone in my dreams. Sometimes I would see Tyril and the others, but they'd be wrong. They were cruel and vicious, and it was either that they did terrible things to me, or that I'd have to do terrible things to them. Those dreams terrified me, and I was always drenched in sweat when I woke up.”

Nightmares were not new to Aerin, and if he had to be honest, the 'creaky cot' and 'undisturbed silence' never did help much. He hadn't had one good night's sleep since he'd been defeated, not when he knew that he was doomed to be a prisoner, a traitor, a monster for as long as he breathed, and probably long after he was dead too. 

And if he did manage to escape confinement, who's to say that he'd be safe from those affiliated with the Shadow Court and wanted his head on a spike? And now he was also against the Ash Empire, no less. The stakes had only gotten higher.

The point was, he knew how the mind could turn into your worst enemy. That was probably why sitting next to Aria and adventuring with her after all this time felt surreal to him– because she was always different in his dreams. Sometimes cold and unforgiving. Other times hurt and broken. But never as… genuine and honest as she was now, heart on her sleeves and all.

She suddenly laughed, trying futilely to dispel the gloom with a shake of her head. "I'm lucky I forgot everything that day; otherwise I wouldn't have been able to make my escape. But these memories have a way of returning. They’ve been surfacing from time to time, haunting my mind." 

Her shaky fingers were clenched around the cloth on her lap, and Aerin knew that any one of her companions could take her hand and have it mean more than a thousand words from him, but they were alone and he couldn’t bear seeing even more hurt color her features.

So he reached out and wrapped his arm around her, and when she rested her head on his shoulder, his heart shuddered.

“It’s like the whole world’s moved on but I’m still stuck here.” 

“I know what you mean.” He whispered, recalling all the times he’d sat by the barred window and strained his ears for the sounds of the outside world. “…I wish I’d known earlier what happened to you.”

She scoffed good-naturedly. “So what, you could escape from the luxurious prison and come save me?” 

"Sure, maybe I would've figured something out."

Aria said nothing to that, lost in thoughts. Then, with a start, she tore herself away and restored the distance between them, brows tight with a thousand unspoken thoughts. "Whatever. It's all in the past now." 

Aerin had a feeling she wasn't just referring to the kidnapping.

As silence draped around them, she let the strong, determined mask slip over her face again. The whole day both of them had been hiding behind false pretense.

"Wait," she craned her head, frowning. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

She raised a finger, prompting him to keep quiet, and he rolled his eyes.

A beat later, she stood up and grabbed the torch. "There's water nearby." She illuminated the foliage around them and began following the general direction in which the branches and scarce leaves were bent. Aerin scrambled to his feet and followed suit.

"Should we be wandering even further out?" he asked.

She merely shrugged. After a few minutes, it became apparent to him that she was no longer a stranger to the road she was taking. The twists and turns she took were concise. Something had clicked in her head. 

She'd been here before.

And so had he, as he soon discovered.

They'd managed to find their way back to that fateful lake. It was precisely as he remembered– glimmering with an abundance of magic, casting whimsical hues on its surroundings. The moon managed to reach down through the grotesquely crooked branches to shine down on the water, specking it with starry sparks. For once, the air smelled like something other than depression and death. There was sweetness in every breath he took, courtesy of the dreamlike flowers that bloomed along the shore.

"Just how I remember it." He bent down to rub a smooth, roundly shaped leaf between his fingers. "We did have some good time here, didn't we?"

Aria rolled her eyes so far back that she probably strained something, but he didn't miss how she crossed her arms stiffly, eyes darting around as if desperately looking for a distraction. "If by 'good time' you mean playing me like a fiddle, then yea. We sure did."

Hurt bled back into her face, and he angled his own away before it could crack his facade. He knew hiding behind snarks was never going to grant him the olive branch that he wordlessly longed for, but it was still tenfold easier than asking for the impossible– her forgiveness.

Yet still, what she said wasn't true, and he couldn't let that become her impression of how that night went down.

"I know how this sounds after everything I've done, but I wasn't trying to trick you that night." 

Her expression was evasive. Unreadable. "What were you trying to do then, if not to bribe my trust?" 

"Nothing," the response was immediate. "There was no ulterior motive, Aria. Everything I said was true, and everything I did, I did it out of my heart."

He wished that he'd been a better man. Maybe then he wouldn't be standing where they'd laid their souls bare, trying desperately to make her understand. What good would it do if she believed him anyway? A criminal and a villain, he was never destined to be anything more than a footnote in her story. He could never force his way back into her life, let alone attempt to heal her wounds when he'd been the one to wield the knife. 

But she was the only soul who ever truly saw him as he was, and she'd been the person he'd wanted to hurt least in his grand schemes, despite how little that meant now. He just couldn’t let his feelings go unspoken.

Finally, she lifted a tentative gaze to him. He could see the exact moment her armor shattered. The slightest bit of hope crept into her expression, and it quickly seeped beneath his ribs as well.

"I can't trust you when there's still so much I don't know, Aerin," she says quietly. "I've been trying to understand why you joined the Shadow Court. I had a hunch that your family played a part in your decision, but the picture's still hazy."

The memory of his family was an ache that he actively avoided. He still felt rage gnaw at him when he thought of all the ways they disregarded him, and he’d be lying to say that he regretted the way the Blade of Shadow protruded from his brother’s chest. He did what he had to do.

He drew in a deep breath. It'd never been easy to broach this topic, but if he'd managed to open up at this same lake with the same person a year ago, maybe he could do it again. 

"Fine. I'll tell you everything." He took a seat on the soft grass and patted the spot next to him. Shortly after, Aria followed suit, quietly encouraging him to go on.

So he did. More than two decades of neglect and belittlement came tumbling out, as well as the shadows that lurked in the corners of his dreams, beckoning him to the other realm, promising him all the power he needed to change the world.

"Most people were so preoccupied with getting on my brother's good side that they didn't realize what a bleak future awaited Morella if it was to fall into his hands, and for the few that weren't busy singing praises, they cared too much about their status to speak up. Anytime I appealed to the court, they shot me down like I was some babbling kid. Eventually, I reckoned that no one was going to take me seriously."

"I'm guessing that's where the Shadow Court came in?"

He nodded. "They promised me power, and my brother would've plunged Morella into a living hell. I thought…" He balled his hands into fists, staring narrowly out at the tranquil water. "I thought I could finally get everyone to see things my way."

"Even if it meant sacrificing the lives of innocents? Even at the cost of my friend?" Aria speared him with a look, and he averted his eyes. 

"...It was my only option, and I was willing to take it."

She turned away, seemingly mulling over his words. Now that the truth was out in the open, a weight had been undoubtedly lifted from his mind… but the bitter taste of guilt lingered. The sins had been committed. There was no undoing the harm he'd done, regardless of how noble the cause might've been.

When she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper. "Have you ever had second thoughts?"

"I suppose I have," his mouth curled into a bittersweet smile. "The whole time we were walking along this lake, I was lamenting our ill-timed meeting, even more so when I welcomed you at the palace. I couldn't stop wondering how things could've changed if we'd met sooner…" He trailed off, realizing himself. With every thread of memory unspooled, the defense around his heart was crumbling piece by piece. "Though I suppose there's no use dwelling in the past, is there?"

"I supposed not, but we still have the future ahead of us. You can still do better. Make up for what you've done."

That stupid, innocent hope crawled back again, yawning in his chest, pushing away all the doubts that'd been plaguing his mind. "You really think so?"

He held his breath as she reached out and placed her hand atop his. Her skin was calloused from all the tireless fighting, but it was warm and familiar. It was only when his hand instinctively turned over to grab her fingers that he realized he'd underestimated just how much he missed her.

In return, she gave him a brief squeeze. It lasted only for a split second, but he felt as though it could ground him. "I know so." 

Tranquil as the night was, the space around them felt tight all of a sudden. There was a tingle in his hand that longed to graze her skin, a tightness in his throat that threatened to spill whatever softness he'd been burying inside him, and he knew that he should look away before his face said something he couldn't take back, but it was impossible to do so when violet and turquoise waves were rippling across her features, highlighting the longing the mirrored his own.

His heartbeat was going so fast, he was surprised it was still safely contained within him. My heart still beats for you, the confession died on his tongue. Did he even have the right to say something like that, after all this time?

At first he thought that he'd imagined her lilac eyes darting down to his lips, but then she leaned forward imperceptibly, boldly. Her other hand, trembling, came up to hold his cheek.

"Are you sure?" Was all that he could muster in that closeness.

"I'm sure." 

Her eyes drifted close, and she slanted her lips against his. 

It was sweet and cautious, but enough to light up every nerve in his body. Whatever resolve that'd been holding him back dispersed as her tongue swept across his lower lip, and he readily parted his mouth, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. He untangled their hands and moved to cup her neck, relishing the way her pulse quickened under his thumbs. 

The tension lining her torso melted away as he tipped her head back, letting whatever that was unutterable to him spill into her open mouth, desperately and eagerly, with the likeness of a man starved of oxygen. He'd spent the better part of the past year dreaming (and resisting to dream) of having her this near again, and it was even better than anything he could've imagined. She was here and real and smelled like home, even though he had never understood what the word meant. Her fingers were tangled in his curly hair, drawing from him noises of contentment with each tug, and he couldn't help but trace his hands over the contours of her body before coming to a rest on her lower back, praying silently that this moment would stretch out forever and ever.

The moment ended eventually, as all things did. Face flushed and out of breath, he pulled away and dared to glance at her.

There was the slightest hint of hesitation behind her glossy eyes, like she was replaying in her head what'd just happened. Suddenly, with her face a breath away from his, he had a feeling he was back in the Shadow Court's macabre throne room again, holding her at knifepoint, feigning indifference at her bruised and crestfallen look. 

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he was right in believing that there was no way she– or anyone, for that matter, would give him a chance again, let alone forgiveness. 

A defeated sigh interrupted his racing train of thoughts. There was a wistful smile that Aria couldn't quite fight back as she knocked her forehead softly against his, letting their breaths swirl together. 

"I just can't seem to listen to reason when I'm around you," she murmured, gaze downcast. "But I do trust that you can walk a different path, Aerin. Not to mention…" her next words came out in a hurry. "I can't do all this… saving the world business without you."

He couldn't help but chuckle, his heart thumping like a gavel inside his chest. "Feels like the world’s always depending on you."

This time her smile went all the way, reaching every corner of her face, crinkling the corners of her eyes. "What can I say? I am a hero." She shrugged. "I guess what I'm trying to say is… I need you to stay with me. No matter what comes, we'll figure it out, I promise."

His heart squeezed at the confirmation; he wasn't as damned as he thought he was. She'd still have him, even as he was. The yearning in her eyes was a living thing, and after all this time, what was he to say except yes, yes, I will stay with you?

So he brought her knuckles up and pressed his lips to them, like hot wax making its mark, like a prayer, a promise. "I'm not going anywhere."

[mikaelsrose]

Starry Night

Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Reyna) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow 2, chapter 3 Word count: 4000 Rating: T Warnings: emotional hurt Category: hurt/comfort Synopsis: Having reunited with most of her party, Reyna discovers the true extent of the traumatic events of the previous months. A/n: special thanks to @starlight-starfury for encouraging me to include Tyril speaking elven 🫰🏻 × Calanín - my light: elven word of affection, the elven equivalent of the Common language's "my love;" the elves believe that love is often fleeting, but the Light is constant, and the most precious resource they possess. Tag list: @starlight-starfury @cashweasel @watatsumi-island @lilyoffandoms @sophie-summer @lazypartridge @brycesgirl @agattthaa @secret-fungi @megas-choices (if anyone wishes to be added/removed pls let me know!) @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesbookclub

Nia, Mal, and the children had developed a routine, thanks to which the kids changed into their pyjamas, brushed their teeth, and were tucked in under thirty minutes. If one would take Nia at her word, developing the schedule took weeks, but due to eager cooperation the group managed to reduce the time from two hours to just thirty minutes, saving the guardians a considerable amount of time—time that they would spend reading, searching, and discussing the possible methods of rescuing Reyna. After ten minutes, Nia and Mal returned downstairs, having wished the kids a good night and slumped in the chairs, exhausted. Soon, the giggles and banter upstairs quietened down, and Mal breathed out a sigh of relief while Nia smiled at her friends, her features softened by the warm candlelight. 

“Can I offer you anything? Water, tea? We don’t have much, but I’d love to host you properly,” the Priestess chirped, already rising from her seat, but Tyril held out his hand to stop her. 

“It’s alright, thank you, Nia. Save what you have for the children.”

Nia nodded, while the elf rested his left hand on Reyna’s thigh, gently squeezing it in a poorly disguised display of affection. Her lips curved in a soft smile, and she vaguely covered his hand with her own before addressing the rogue before her.

“Lord Weasley of Riverbend, huh?” 

Mal smiled sheepishly and scratched his neck, blushing faintly as if he had been caught in a lie. “I had to improvise, and Riverbend just happened to occupy my mind an awful lot lately.”

“Gotta admit, you really nailed the accent. If I hadn’t known better, I’d think you were a native,” she winked, drawing a laugh from Mal.

“What can I say? I had spent an awful lot of time with you, kit.”

Nia joined the conversation. “How is Kade? I’ve been meaning to visit him, but there was always something urgent to attend to, and…”

“He’s doing just fine, cooped up in the library or in the royal gardens with Loola and Threep. He’s made the Master Librarian his archenemy, though.”

The Priestess chuckled. As Mal rested his arm on the back of her seat, a quiet yawn escaped Reyna’s lips and her eyes watered uncontrollably. She rested her head against Tyril’s shoulder, continuing to smile at her friends. Although she did not feel the true length of her absence, she had missed them, and at that moment she felt at peace. 

The idyllic atmosphere was disrupted by a quiet childish giggle coming from the top of the stairs, and the group's heads turned simultaneously in that direction. Mal sighed exhaustedly and rubbed his tired eyes before addressing the children.

“Guys, we talked about staying up past bedtime!”

The grave silence that followed his remark was soon interrupted by barefoot steps and the creaking of the old wooden floor. A frail, pale blonde girl stood next to Mal and whispered in his ear, her big eyes glued to Reyna. In response, Mal smiled at the child and nodded. “Do you want me to introduce you?”

The girl nodded her head excitedly, and he addressed his friend. 

“Kit, this is Nyra, she's a big fan of yours.” 

Reyna's brows furrowed. "Fan?"

“Mal and Nia often told us stories of your adventures! My favourite is the one when you ran after Duchess Xenia and fought her! I want to be as brave as you when I grow up!” the girl chattered reedily. “Can I ask you a question?”

"Ask away, Nyra," she sent the girl an encouraging smile, squeezing Tyril's hand under the table. 

"Weren't you afraid?"

"I'd be crazy not to be afraid,” she smiled. “Bravery isn't about not being afraid, it's about doing the right thing despite fear."

The girl nodded, drinking the words off Reyna’s lips, staring at her heroine in awe. 

“Now go to sleep, Nyra,” Mal rubbed the girl’s arm, softly pushing her towards the stairs. Before disappearing in the darkness, Nyra waved at the couple, and Reyna sighed.

“Said like a true hero,” Nia concluded while the men agreed silently. 

“It’s good to see you, guys. I just wish Imtura was with us.”

“We’ll find her, don’t fret, Rey-Rey,” Mal assured. The nickname made Reyna groan.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“How about Rey of Sunshine?”

Reyna glowered at him. “Mal, I’m warning you.”

“Reiny?”

“Oh, I like Rey!” Nia joined in the conversation, grinning. 

“What do you think of “Reine”? I think it suits your personality,” the thief continued. “What do you think, elf boy?”

Tyril, smiling softly at the course the conversation took, looked to his left at his partner, his eyes glistening with the reflection of a nearby candlelight. “I believe my answer falls under a public display of affection.”

Nia brightened up. “Aw! It’s so nice seeing you two together again. Tyril had been so miserable without you, Reyna.”

“Tyril, my man, I’d like to remind you that we were direct neighbours at the Palace and their walls are surprisingly thin, so you really shouldn’t be em—”

Tyril cut in, blushing. “Stop talking.”

Grinning, the rogue continued teasing, pointing to Reyna with a nod of his head, while Nia and Tyril grew considerably more abashed. “I see you already had a chance to celebrate.”

Reyna touched her neck, remembering the necklace of red love bites that her lover bestowed upon her the previous night, and bit her lip, slightly embarrassed. She forgot to cover the bruises in the morning as she was in a hurry. The Priestess intervened.

“Stop teasing them, Mal. They’re young and in love, of course they celebrated their reunion.”

In love. The couple looked away, uncomfortable with the subject, but Nia continued, oblivious to their discomfort.

“I’ve been meaning to ask before—” she bit her tongue, cleared her throat, and continued. “Who said it first? Was it romantic? I bet it was! Tyril always had a way with words and—”

“Oh, Priestess, read the room!” Mal chuckled. The redhead’s smile faltered as she raised her eyebrows in question, tilting her head slightly. The rogue explained. “Look at them! Elf boy’s about to turn dark purple, they obviously haven’t said that yet.”

Nia’s lips shaped into the letter “o” as the realisation dawned on her, but before she had a chance to apologise, Reyna intervened. “Alright! It was great to see you, but we should go. It’s getting late, and we need to rest.”

“True,” Mal agreed. “No offence, but you look terrible, lordling.”

“It takes one to know one, thief.”

“You don’t like my haircut? You wound me,” with feigned offence, Mal placed a hand over his heart, making Tyril roll his eyes. Reyna smiled at the exchange, but agreed with Tyril. Mal looked exhausted, the dark spots under his eyes and slouched posture explicit evidence of that. “Let me walk you to the door.”

Hugging Reyna goodbye, Nia whispered, squeezing her eyelids tight. “Please, don’t disappear again.”

Reyna rubbed her friend’s back reassuringly before moving away from the warm embrace. “I’ll do my best.”

“Your disappearance wreaked havoc, kit,” Mal admitted quietly, patting her back. “I know it may look like we just moved on, but there wasn’t a day Nia didn’t stay up late sifting through the Temple’s scrolls in search of rescue. Whenever I got a promising lead, it turned out to be just an urban legend. We—” his voice broke. In no hurry, Mal took a deep breath and moved away, his hands resting on Reyna’s shoulders. “We really tried, kit. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.”

Reyna smiled comfortingly. “Don’t beat yourself up, Mal. I’m here, in one piece, am I not?”

He smiled. “I suppose.”

“Thank you for trying.”

Unpersuaded by her assurance, Mal nodded weakly, and before the couple took their leave, he patted Tyril’s arm. “Don’t let her out of your sight. See you in the morning.”

Strolling through the streets of the capital, slowly climbing towards the Whitetower castle, Tyril and Reyna grudgingly discussed the following day’s plan, in the meantime looking around for a seamstress. Despite the late hour, one of the very last vendors was still folding clothes in the town square, and being in desperate need of a more appropriate gear, Reyna left Tyril waiting outside. Patiently pacing around the ornate fountain, the elf studied a nearby florist when his gaze stopped at a bouquet of familiar flowers in the man’s hands. It took a bit of haggling and bragging about his title for Tyril to purchase the flowers imported from his homeland—black-petaled frilly sunflowers with luminescent red stamen—but he purchased them, and he could not suppress the proud smile on his face when Reyna emerged from the building with a paper package in her hands. He handed her the gift wordlessly.

“Oh! What’s the occasion?” 

“There is no occasion. These flowers are native to Undermount, we call them melissë anar’insil. They were my mother’s favourite, she grew them in our garden, and…” he bit his lip, blushing slightly. “And they remind me of you.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said quietly, awestruck. “Thank you, Tyril. But you shouldn't have, they look like they have cost a fortune."

"There's a possibility that the saviour got a discount."

A hearty laugh escaped her lips upon hearing the word saviour yet another time the same day. "Admit it, you like being the hero."

Tyril bit his lip, trying to contain his smile. "I suppose the title carries some benefits."

Chuckling, she climbed on the tip of her toes and pressed her lips to his for a short, sweet kiss. She could still faintly taste the sour lime lemonade with mint on his lips, the drink he claimed his favourite, the memory bringing a smile to her face. She thought of their first, and at the same time last, date—the day they partook in festival activities, roamed the streets of Whitetower holding hands, made love in a secluded tower, and ended up intoxicating themselves at a local tavern with Riverbendian drinks. As if reading her mind, Tyril’s lips curved in a knowing smile.

“Does the name of the flower mean anything in Common?” she asked, interlacing their fingers. Resuming their lazy stroll back to the castle, the elf nodded, yet he took his time with the answer, eventually smiling sheepishly. 

“It translates to ‘the lovers’ sunflower.’ These sunflowers are considered the flower of royalty in Undermount as due to their rarity only the wealthiest can afford them, and they symbolise devotion, loyalty, and adoration.”

Nodding, Reyna brought the bouquet closer to her face and took a deep breath. The smell was sweet but not overpowering, reminding her of the first days of summer, and the exact smell of Tyril’s bedchamber in Undermount. She remembered walking out to the balcony when he fell asleep and seeing the luminescent stamen in the darkness, thinking how otherworldly they made the garden look. 

“I can see why these were your mother’s favourites.”

“Their appearance is but a fraction of the reason for her admiration. Mother adored them because father asked for her hand in marriage with half a dozen bouquets of these flowers and had showered her with grandiose bouquets ever since on the most important occasions. She always said it’s a perfect addition to any confessions and talked very fondly of the day Adrina was born as father had the Manor’s ballroom filled with flowers,” Tyril reminisced, his gaze distant but a smile was playing on his lips.  

“I’d love to hear more about your mom, she sounds like a very kind soul.”

Tyril nodded. “She was. However, that is a story for another day. We should hurry, it will rain soon.”

The moment Tyril locked their chamber's door, the toller announced the clock struck eleven and Reyna plopped down on the mattress exhausted. 

"You don't have to buy me flowers if you want to propose, I'm a simple girl, Tyril," she teased, yawning. The elf flushed purple, realising how inauspiciously he crafted his words back in the town square, and smiled at her. "Duly noted."

"And if you want to fool around, just stay the word," she winked, unlacing the corset of her dress. "Not today, though, I'm dead on my feet."

"Ever the romantic," he smiled. As he helped her out of her clothes and into a loose nightgown, Tyril made sure she was tightly tucked in, and soon joined her, stroking her back until she fell asleep.  

People have a saying, one that Tyril overheard while patrolling the streets of Port Parnassus, just minutes before he first bumped into Reyna. They say that what does not kill will make you stronger, and during the year she was gone he prayed it was true. He hoped all this suffering was not in vain.

Yet now she was here with him and he felt everything but stronger. He felt weak, broken, undeserving. He couldn't protect her. It should've happened to him. 

He hadn't slept the night before—after he lulled his beloved to sleep, he stayed guard in case of the worst. It gave him plenty of time to look at her, admire the features that he had prayed to see again, to assess the damage she had suffered at the hands of… Of who exactly? She didn't want to talk about it, and he didn't push her. Overwhelming her was the very last thing he wanted to make her feel so soon after returning; alas, because of that choice, his imagination was running wild. His mind was painting the pictures of Reyna running through the obsidian desert, fighting the remaining Shadow soldiers, battered, aghast, and disappointed she had to save herself because the people closest to her had failed. 

Studying the fresh horizontal scar on her inner arm, Tyril ventured into a dangerous territory of fear-fueled theories as to what lay ahead. The Shadow Realm was an unexplored area, where unlike Morella they were on a hiding to nothing. Tyril did not doubt the loyalty and capability of their group, but they managed to win the fight against the Dreadlord by a stroke of fortune—had it not been for the Priestess’ sacrifice, the party would have lost at least two members, himself included. If the new enemy was indeed a competition to the Shadow Court, they needed allies. 

Tyril noticed that upon her return, Reyna not only possessed new wounds and scars, but also lacked that mesmerising glint in her eye, her movements were slower, and body weaker, not to any sudden or loud noises paralysed her with fear. Reyna came back different. Tyril would even risk saying that it was not Reyna who came back. Not the one he knew. It was someone new entirely.

The woman next to him took in a shuddering breath, her fingers gripping the duvet tightly. Restless even in her sleep, Reyna was indisputably facing the consequences of living through numerous traumatic events within a short time period without respite. Reaching forward, Tyril smoothed out the worried crease between her brows with his thumb, deluding himself that with this simple gesture he was able to transfer all her worries onto himself. 

Take the utmost care of her and relay that Father and I rejoice at the news of Reyna’s return! 

Against his will, Tyril’s mind replayed the moment of reading Adrina's letter. Could he truly protect Reyna? Without demur, he would give his life trying to ensure her safety, albeit such sacrifice seemed pointless from his current standpoint. If he was gone, who would protect her?

“I suppose sleep is not my ally tonight,” she sighed to herself, having woken up from a nightmare-filled sleep. Wrapped in their sheets, Reyna observed Tyril, carefully studying his back, the hair that cascaded over his muscles, the way the moonlight reflected on his skin and how utterly ethereal he looked against the starry night sky. He was sitting on his legs on the balcony, facing the city, unnaturally still. As concern gripped her heart, Reyna cautiously walked over and touched his shoulder. 

"Tyril, are you alright?"

The elf looked up, snapped out of his reverie, and his hand covered hers mechanically. "I was meditating. I'm alright."

As it dawned on her, she covered her lips with a hand, doused with a wave of embarrassment. "Oh, I'm sorry, that's— that makes much more sense than what I feared," she blubbered. She did not intend to reveal the exact reason of her concern, he did not need to hear that her initial thought was that he had been petrified the same way Kaya was. "I won't bother you any longer, I'll just—"

Tyril slowly rose to his feet and rubbed her arm. "It's alright, Reyna, I was supposed to finish a long time ago anyway. Let's get you back to bed."

As his hand rested on the small of her back, he noticed the dampness of her skin. 

"Do you do that often? Meditate?"

He nodded. "It's supposed to be only thirty minutes a day, but…" he sighed. "Once the feasible solutions were depleted, I started praying for a miracle. There was nothing more that I could do but pray, so I prayed for hours on end."

Reyna bit her bit as an impulsive thought emerged in her mind. "Would you pray with me?"

As the look of surprise flowered on his face, his brows furrowed, but his expression changed into a kind, encouraging smile within seconds.

"Absolutely. Is there anything in particular you'd wish to pray for?" 

Her answer was affirmative. "Do you mind telling me a bit more about your prayers first? I'm not exactly religious, and I don't know much about your gods, but I feel like it's the right thing to do."

"Anyone is welcome to seek comfort and guidance from the gods, you needn't be religious for that," he reassured. "We do not have many prayers per se as we'd rather engage in a silent conversation with the gods during meditation, but should one need a prayer there is a universal formula. I can't know for certain, but I believe the gods would look kindly on prayers for blessing or good fortune," he explained, gently rubbing her back as he guided her inside. As they made themselves comfortable on the silk carpet, assuming the exact position Reyna found him in, the elf interlaced their fingers and rested their hands on his lap. "I suppose one could also pray to nature, as do orcs, although I haven't heard of my kind practising that."

"I'd like to pray for Kaya, to put in a good word for her, so she can rest easily," she breathed out quickly, almost cutting him short. When his expression fell, she rapidly added: "Unless that's not how it works, then—"

"No, it's just— it's very thoughtful of you," he smiled, and Reyna breathed a sigh of relief. "If you wish, you may repeat after me, but it’s not necessary since you may find it challenging to pronounce certain words.”

“I’ll try,” she nodded and took a deep breath. As soon as Tyril noticed her shoulders relax, he began reciting the prayer, slowly, pronouncing the words clearly, giving her time to repeat. 

“Alcarvalda nostar, varyando o in nór nosyë, iqulmë lissë an vilissë o Kaya Duskraven. Cé pataro imbi eleni, nínion ‘nin gwannad lîn. Hiro hyn hîdh ab 'wanath.”

As he finished, the elf stroked her knuckles softly, observing her carefully. Reyna was on edge, that was clear, although he could not figure out the exact reason—however, as tears spilled from her tightly shut eyes, he intervened, closing her in an embrace.

"Do you think she rests in peace? That Xenia's deed hadn't influenced her eternal rest?"

"I believe our Gods are omniscient and just, and as they welcomed Kaya, they saw her for the wonderful person she was before her life was stolen from her."

She hummed in response. They stayed like this for several minutes until Reyna’s breath evened out, and a yawn slipped past her lips. Tyril helped her climb onto the mattress and lulled her to sleep, just the night before, telling her a story of Undermount society’s attempts to open the city to the world. "Thank you," she whispered. “I— The prayer did bring me some comfort.”

Two hours. It took only two hours for Reyna to wake up again. She sat up straight, her skin blanketed with sweat. Tyril stroked her back through the damp gown as she took deep breaths to compose herself. 

"It's alright," he comforted repeatedly, allowing her to rest on his chest and cry out all the emotions bothering her at that moment. 

But it wasn't alright. At that moment, Reyna could not remember the nightmare that caused her to wake up drenched in sweat and with a plea on her lips, but she felt utterly devastated and powerless, and no amount of consolation was able to calm her down. Her heart would not stop pounding against her ribcage as tears would not stop flowing down her cheeks, and the terror she awakened to deftly transfigured into suffocating panic that immediately alerted the elf. 

Fixing their position so that they were sitting facing each other, Tyril's palms cradled her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Reyna, focus on me, alright? Breathe with me, take as long and deep breaths as you can, and hold it in for five seconds," he instructed, feeling his equilibrium wane as the woman before him struggled to settle her nerves. The calming spell was ready to roll from the tip of his tongue when at last Reyna took a deep, shaky breath. 

He counted down the seconds out loud for her, time after time, until her muscles relaxed, and the body became heavy in his hands. The back of his hand wiped the drops of sweat off her forehead as he laid her down, back to the same position she woke up in, and kissed her cold temple, pressing his lips for several long seconds.

She hadn't slept well the night before, and that night would probably be no different. Rubbing her back up and down, he proposed to tell her another story, in a poor attempt to help her fall asleep. 

"Just hold me, please,” she pleaded. And as a devout worshipper, Tyril held her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, although his heart ached seeing his partner in pain. 

"Are you asleep?" 

Startled, Tyril blinked repeatedly to rid his eyes of the remainder of sleep. "No." 

“I want to cut my hair.”

The elf’s brows furrowed in confusion, his gaze focusing on the pendulum clock on the far side of the room. “Now? It’s three in the morning.”

“I need a change, and my hair reminds me of what—” she held her tongue. “Will you help me or not?”

Rubbing off the blur in his eyes, Tyril rolled off the bed and approached the mirror she was sitting in front of.

"Are you certain?"

"Just do it."

Visibly unstrung and beaded with sweat, Reyna sat facing the vanity mirror, holding back tears. Unconvinced, he took his own sword from her hand and gripped the hilt tightly. Several seconds and one skilful swish of the sword later, inches of her dark locks hit the floor silently. Holding her blurry gaze in the reflection, Tyril inquired further.

“Calanín, what’s troubling you?”

Reyna dismissed his worry with a shake of her head and made her way to the en-suite bathroom. “Sorry for waking you up,” she added before disappearing into the dimly lit room. The last sound he had heard before drifting off to a turbulent sleep was that of Reyna climbing into the ornate bath. 

As the full moon gave way to the sun, coolness to sparkling dew and thin fog, the couple set out to meet their friends, shyly setting out on a new adventure, leaving the turbulent night but a memory. 

[missameliep]

Nothing is impossible with you - Blades of Light and Shadow - Tyril Starfury x Arwen (f!elf!MC)

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

Characters: Tyril Starfury; Arwen Nightbloom (F!Elf MC); Siora, the healer (f!Elf); Mal Volari.

Pairing: Tyril x Arwen

Rating: G (see notes bellow for tw)

Word count: ~1,5K words

Summary: All her life, Arwen never ever got sick. All of a sudden, she''s fallen ill and letting someone take care of her and find out what's wrong will not be an easy step for someone so used to be on her own.

Notes:

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

English is not my first language.

Based on this ask sent too long ago by my dear friend @princess-geek to whom I dedicate this little silly fic. Again, Happy late birthday, sweetie!

TW: non-graphic mentions of sickness/vomiting, pregnancy.

This is also my submission to @aprilchallenge - prompt: family.

Growing up, Kade used to be sick often.

Even as a child, Arwen could recognize the earliest signs and take care of him. Whenever the winds and the flower season came blowing pollen everywhere, it would get him feverish and coughing for weeks at a time. Weeks before the season started, she would bring home the herbs from the wetlands to make him medicine, like she was taught.

Other times it was the rain or haze or the invisible creatures that surround the humans despite the existence of the Light and are said to put you to bed with your flesh crawling and your stomach twisting with pain. These evil creatures seem to have an aversion of elves or couldn’t prevail against the strong blood running through her veins since she never ever got sick.

The only thing that once or twice got her to bed were the orcish ales brought to the tavern, that were not like the ales of her land and could almost burn your skin and set you on spontaneous fire. But that was not on her, some more resistant to liquor than she ever was succumbed to a bottle of those greenish evil concoctions.

Therefore, the second day she woke up nauseated and no food or drink could settle on her stomach was absolutely unusual.

“Maybe I’m no longer used to elven food...” she coughed, and resumed washing her face with cold water.

“I’ve seen you eat the most questionable food over the years, my dear... food that the mere sight of twisted my insides... and not once you fell ill...” Tyril said, worry frowning his brows while he held her long braided hair back, and observed her pale face reflected on the mirror. “And you were feeling nauseated before we gotten here.”

“Perhaps the treasure was really cursed,” she pondered, gripping the edge of the sink for support and snarled, “If I die because of it, I’ll forever haunt Mal...”

“It was merely a tale to keep the weaklings away from the island. There was nothing magical about it... I assure you.”

“I hope you’re right...”

“I am and I think we should see a healer...” he said, dabbing a clean tissue on her chin and neck, but Arwen was too stubborn to agree with him just yet. Maybe tomorrow she’ll feel better.

“I’m not sick!” she growled from the other side of the door, despite Tyril’s insistence that she would let him inside – which she didn’t and he sat by the door for the next hour in silence.

At night, she crawled to bed after one cup of tea, trusting the queasiness was finally gone, and he worried about the extreme paleness of her cheeks and lack of energy. A strong fear settled in his heart.

“Let me take care of you, dearest of my heart,” he whispered against her hair. “Tell me where it hurts, and I can find a spell...”

“I am fine now,” she stubbornly refused his aid, but not the welcoming arms or the strong chest where she laid her head and immediately fell asleep.

On the third day, before sunrise, Tyril found the space beside him in the bed empty and wouldn’t have it anymore. One of the healers of Undermount was called to the Starfury House, and after a moments deliberation, Arwen allowed her walking inside the room.

The elderly elf with skin as dark as the night and long ash blue braids that reached just above the hip bone approached her in silence and helped her back into bed. Her voice was soft and melodic as the jingle of tiny bells.

“How long you feel ill?” she asked. Leaning against the wall, Tyril shook his head in disapproval when Arwen replied she wasn’t sick, and insisted on the elven food theory.

“Four days, Siofra. Maybe more,” he said, “She hasn’t eaten anything these past two days.”

“I ate bread yesterday.”

“A slice of it and immediately threw up.”

“I had bergamolkan tea with honey and lemon,” she said pointing at the cup by the bedside table, “and I’ll feel better soon...”

The healer’s gaze flicked to the tray where the teapot and cup were, and she sniffed it. Tyril and Arwen shared confused looks, and the other requested silence.

“You are not ill.”

“I know,” Arwen said throwing a smug grin at Tyril. “It’s a curse.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“What?” Arwen cried out, her eyes bugging out.

If the female elf was clearly shocked with the news, the smile that parted the male elf’s lips was merely an external evidence of the glee that invaded Tyril’s heart with those news.

Having children was something they spoken briefly right after they got married, and being an elf from one of the Great Houses, Tyril is expected to produce heirs worth of his ancestors to both honor tradition and become valuable members of their society, and loving Arwen as much as he does, the idea has crossed his mind often.

“Just like it came, the morning sickness will be over soon...” Siofra said and explained what else could be expected in the future. Then she requested for silence again, one hand on Arwen’s wrist and her piercing ice-blue eyes fixed on the other’s eyes.

“I hear two heartbeats in your womb,” she said now with a small smile of her own.

“What’s wrong with the baby?” Arwen inquired.

“There’s nothing wrong, my dearest,” Tyril said, lying a hand on her shoulder. “The Gods favoured us!”

Her hand immediately went to her own chest. “Do elves have two hearts?”

“Fear not, you have two babies growing inside of you,” the healer took her hand affectionately, and Arwen used her free hand to cover her mouth, afraid of saying something she might regret or throwing up despite having nothing on her stomach.

“No more bergamolkan tea. It is bad for this sickness... I’ll prepare a concoction that will make it settle, and everything you’ll need to feel better. I’ll tell the cook to make a clear vegetable soup.”

After Siofra, the healer, was gone, Tyril returned to Arwen’s side. The shock was still visible in her features, while she was lying in bed lost in thoughts staring at her stomach. For the past months on their journey through the lands with the Rogue, one couldn't say they have done much to prevent a pregnancy.

“Light of my days,” he called softly and her gaze darted to his face. “Talk to me. Share what troubles your heart.”

“How did I not know?” she muttered. “I should have known.”

He sat on the bed and took her hands in his.

“How could you? You have never been pregnant before...” he said with a lilt of laugh, not to tease, but realizing some of the extraordinary joy flooding his being. “Now we know, and we’ll take good care of you and our little night-blooms.”

“How can you not be freaking out, Tyril?” her voice raised to an unnatural higher tone. “There are not one, but two of them growing inside of me!”

“The more the merrier.”

“Not the best moment to quote Mal...”

“I have dreamed of children with you. How could I be anything other than absolutely thrilled with this news?”

“Because I know nothing about babies!” she spoke quickly, without pausing to breath, “I don’t remember being a baby. I don’t think I was ever around a baby.. –”

“Does anybody remember being a baby?” he interrupted, but she didn’t even hear his question continuing with her ramblings.

“- And I can barely take care of myself. I eat bad, I drink too much, and doing dangerous things is basically all I know how to do...”

Tyril knew none of those things was true. Arwen had a heart of gold and was always ready to take care of others, even himself, who needed not to be cared for, or so he thought. Besides, there is nothing they can’t learn or do together. They have learned to fight and trust each other. They can do this too.

“We’ll learn together,” he offered with a big smile.

“Two babies, Tyril. How could you do this to me? I don’t know how to take care of one. How can I care for two?”

“It could be worse,” Mal jumped in, leaning against the door-frame, even though he wasn’t invited to this private conversation, “it could be three babies. And you only have two hands and tits.”

Arwen didn’t laugh and reached for the cup, but Tyril didn’t let it be thrown at the Rogue’s direction, solely because it would make a mess and he had no desire to clean it, nothing to do with the friendship forged over the years.

“Please, go,” Tyril requested, and Mal bowed and cried from the door, “Congratulations, daddy!”

Tyril’s eyes rolled to the skies, and his attention returned to his wife. His fingertips caressing her hand and the ring on her finger.

“We can do it, Arwen. Trust us.”

Her pink lips compressed forming a thin line and her eyes stared into nothingness, which Tyril recognized to be a sign of the deepness of her thoughts.

“What if I can’t?”

“Maybe alone you can’t... But together, we can. Besides, can you imagine two tiny versions of you in all your magnificence to shower with all the love in our hearts? Running around the house? Blowing dandelions on the garden?”

This was enough to bring a small smile to her lips.

“Or maybe two little versions of you, two small broody elf boys that I’ll get to carry with me and love deeply until their frowns became smiles...”

Her expression brightened with a big smile and Tyril kissed her forehead.

“We're going to be parents,” she whispered against his chest, when he held her close.

[storyofmychoices]

Shadows of Hope

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 1 + Beyond] [Mal’s Orphanage] [Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 2 AU]

Pairings: Mal Volari x Daenarya (F!MC) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow II, Chapter 1 Word Count: ~3,000 Rating: Teen to be safe; emotional hurt (I'm sorry!) Warnings: drinking, depression, hints toward suicidal thoughts A/N: I use dialogue and the setting from chapter 1 in the beginning to set the scene, and then incorporate Daenarya's dream with Mal's at the end.

Synopsis: She was there, and then she was gone. Mal would move heaven and earth to bring her back, but what happens when he can't?

"A toast!" Daenarya's smile widened, filling her face as she lifted a glass toward her friends. This new life of hers would take some getting used to, but she couldn't imagine a better group to experience this journey with. "To beating the Dreadlord."

"To green things and fresh air!" Imtura added, grateful to have escaped the Shadow Realm.

"And sunshine," Nia beamed, basking in the glow and safety of the warm sunlight that streamed into the White Tower palace gardens. The priestess of light might not be serving the temple, but she was going to spend her new freedom experiencing all the world had to offer.

Tyril feigned a frown, though his smile was still visible in the corner of his lips, betraying his stoic nature. "This is ridiculous. You may as well toast to the bees."

"Agreed!" Mal cheered, his jovial spirit soaring high. He was damn proud of the man he had become over the last few months and it was this crew that helped him get there. "To the bees. May they teach Tyril to have a better attitude—" 

The Rogue's laughter roared through the gardens as the traveling crew clinked their glasses together. They had done it. They had done the unthinkable. They had not only defeated the Dreadlord and the Shadow Court, but they had traveled to the Shadow Realm and returned, a feat no one had ever done before them. They also rescued Nia, Kade, a second Nespar, and discovered the Blade of Light. 

The group's spirits were high as they enjoyed the jubilant atmosphere. They didn't know what the future held, but they knew whatever it was they were ready. Together.

But that thought barely had time to glimmer to light, before darkness descended, shattering the revelry.

A swirling purple vortex cuts the serene gardens. Soldiers of the Shadow Realm march out. Mal drew his daggers, Tyril his sword, Imtura her axes, and Nia her light. They would fight and win, they had to. 

But then she came. 

The Dark Elf. 

Before anyone could react, she had seized Daenarya, her grip like an iron vice. With a malevolent grin, she dragged her back into the Realm of Shadows. The room fell into stunned silence. The laughter was gone. The drinks were shattered and spilled on the floor. Their weapons remained clutched in their hands, yet she was gone. The portal sealed shut before them, leaving only their memories that she was ever even there. 

His grasp on his daggers tightened, his muscles straining beneath his armor. This couldn't be how it ends. Not like this. Not without her. 

Mal drew in a long, measured breath. His eyes closed as he paused. The world around him stilled in response. The warm sunlight caressed his cheek. He could hear her whispering in his ear as she pressed a kiss there. The soft breeze from the open window carried the fragrant scent of sweet peas, like the ones he brought for her. His grip on his dagger loosened as he felt her hands over his. She was still there. He exhaled slowly, resheathing his weapons. It was only then that he had heard his friends. 

"You okay, Land Rat?" Imtura questioned, concern lacing her words.

"Mal!" Nia cried, her hands on his shoulder, shaking him back to them.

Tyril's hand moved in front of his face, trying to sense if any dark magic lingered on him. 

Mal snapped back into awareness, taking a step back. "What in the three hells is this?"

Nia wrapped her arms around him, her eyes filled with tears. "You're okay." 

"Of course I am," He responded. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She took a step back, studying his face. Her gaze shifted to Tyril.

"I sense no darkness or magic," Tyril decided. He rested a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Which part?" His tone was snarky, his smile cocky. "The part where we beat the Dreadlord and were celebrating, or the part where my girlfriend was kidnapped by a dark elf?"

"He's fine!" Imtura slapped him on the back. 

"Fine is a relative term," Tyril added skeptically.

"What's wrong with you, Elf Boy." Mal shook his head, his face twisting in confusion. "We're wasting time. Let's raid the armory again and go rescue Daenarya." He marched forward, pushing past his friends. 

"Mal—"

The way the elf said his name would haunt him in ways he couldn't know yet. It was soft. It was pained. It was broken.

"The portal's closed," Tyril explained. "We have no means of opening it again." 

"We have to try," Mal demanded. 

"I'm not saying we won't, but it won't be easy."

"Nothing ever is."

"I know." Tyril's reassuring hand was there on his shoulder again. It was heavier now. "We will not rest until we have rescued her, but rushing into things won't help. We need a plan. We need to research."

"I'm not going to stand here while Daenarya is being tortured and having gods knows what done to her." He pulled his shoulder away. "We are getting her back. One way or another. We are getting her back."

"Aye!" Imtura agreed. "I'm with the land rat."

"Me too," Nia added. "Daenarya risked her life to save mine. I owe her everything."

"Obviously, I am in, as well. It will be a challenge, but one I would be honored to accept with the three of you." 

Mal nodded at his crew. "Then, it's decided. We rescue Daenarya."

"We should check the royal records and library for any information about realm crossing," Tyril offered. 

"I'll check with the temple to see if there is any light magic or rituals that might be of assistance," Nia suggested.

"That leaves you and me, Princess—" Mal's smirk grew as his hope rose. "Weapons and armor. We will need all the tactical help we can get." 

"My kind of duty!" Imtura nodded, giving him a one-time pass on the Princess comment. 

Mal held his head high as they each went off to their tasks. Daenarya wasn't lost to the shadows, not with them readying to rescue her. 

Hours turned into days. 

Days turned into weeks. 

Every lead they found led to failure. 

One defeat after another, smothering their hope a little more with each failed attempt. The once bright light filling their eyes had dulled. Dark circles hung beneath their weary gaze. Lines of exhaustion dug creases across their faces. 

Day after day, week after week, they worked tirelessly to save her, but now it was physically killing them.

Emotionally, they were no better. They were unraveling—fast. The spark of optimism that once fueled their determination now flickered like a dying ember. Frustration lurked beneath the surface. Mal found himself snapping at Imtura over the smallest things, their camaraderie strained by the constant setbacks. Nia, usually a calming presence, had her patience tested as she argued with Tyril over their research and what powers they could harness from the light. 

With each passing day, the bonds that held them together grew more fragile without her. She was the glue that brought them together, and without her... without her, they were just 3 very different people with a common memory.

In the dimly lit room where they gathered to discuss their most recent findings, the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken tension. Mal's jaw clenched as he glanced at Tyril's furrowed brow, and the elf's narrowed gaze showed his growing impatience for the human. Imtura, once the heart of their humor, now responded to jests with a forced smile that failed to reach her eyes. Nia struggled to keep her voice steady as she raised concerns about their dwindling options.

Weeks turned into hopeless months.

The weight of their mission pressed down on them like a relentless storm. It tore them apart until all that remained was the fragments of a group that once was celebrated, but was now pitied and avoided at all costs. 

Mal's gaze darkened, and he snapped at everyone at any word. Nothing was enough. Nothing was right. Nothing was his way. But most of all, nothing brought her back. His burning rage consumed him. He lashed out at his friends who tried to console him, his once-charming demeanor replaced by a bitter and resentful man.

"I shouldn't have ever let Kit convince me friends are anything more than a liability," Mal snapped. "You lot couldn't save yourselves. How could I rely on you? I'll save Daenarya myself." 

The rage in Imtura grew; she drew her ax as he walked away. Her grip on her weapon tightened. No human would speak to her like that and draw another breath.

Tyril stood in her path, a somber expression on his face. He shook her head. "Let him go. He's lost more than the rest of us."

The remaining three agreed to go their separate ways. They'd never give up on trying to rescue her—Daenarya was strong; if anyone could survive the Shadow Realm, it was her. The knowledge brought little comfort. 

As he walked the cold streets of White Tower alone, his gaze fell upon the disgraced temple of light. His jaw clenched as he remembered what he had seen the last time he stepped foot in there. Yet, his feet carried him toward the glimmering building's white steps. He climbed the stairs, one reluctant step after another. Mal had never been a religious man, but he had tried everything else. He promised her he'd try everything, so that meant this as well. 

He fell to his knees at the altar, begging the gods of old, new, and anyone listening to save her. He offered everything he could think of, anything he could use to bargain with them. His soul and his life were among the last. His life didn't matter, hers did. She saved the realm; she got a rag-tag group of misfits to work together. It wasn't them; it was her. Let him be damned but bring her back. Only silence filled the room in response. 

Mal traveled the kingdoms, searching for any religion to turn to, anything to breathe life into the embers of hope that vaguely glowed within him. Without hope, he knew there would be nothing left of him. 

He dragged himself back to the Temple of Ellara, where their journey first began. He fell beneath the statue of Ittar and Bakshi, the two souls that formed one god. The lovers. If anyone would take pity on him, it was them. He cried out, begging and pleading for refuge. The only response was the sound of his sobs echoing in the hallowed halls. 

He was alone.

Daenarya had been taken.

He had pushed his friends away.

The gods had failed him. 

He was alone.

He should have been used to it. Gods know he had spent his life with that feeling, yet this time was different. This time was heavier. Because this time, he knew what it was like to have a family. This time, he knew what love felt like. This time, he knew how it felt to have hope, to trust in a future that might be okay, and to lose it all.

Now, he was alone, and there was no escape from the pit of despair he found himself in.

He didn't remember how he got there. He didn't know how long it had been. All he knew was he was back. Perhaps it was where he was always meant to end up.

Mal retreated into the shadows, seeking solace in the dark, forgotten streets of White Tower. It was a place where no one remembered your name, where he could be as lost as he felt inside. His despair was a suffocating weight, threatening to consume him entirely.

"I tried, Mom," he whispered as he leaned against her grave, a bottle of liquor in his hand. "I tried," he repeated, drinking the remaining liquid. 

His fingers massaged one scar after another. Some were new, most old, and some had even been forgotten. But that was then. That was when she was there to listen to every story, hold his every pain, and share the burdens that shadowed his past. Without her, the pain returned. Every pain he had ever felt, all at once. It was suffocating. It was all-consuming.

"I'm sorry." He pressed a kiss to her grave and dragged himself back toward the abandoned building he had been squatting in. His steps were weak as he shuffled down the streets. Every muscle in his body ached. His weathered skin and sunken features made the once infamous White Tower reaper unrecognizable. People scurried in the shadows to avoid passing him. No one dared approach him for fear of what he had become.

With another bottle in hand, he entered a dilapidated building. Forgotten and abandoned, the place reflected his own broken spirit. He collapsed on the floor of his new "home". He couldn't stop the chuckle growing at the word. She was home, but she took it with her, and she was gone. 

He held his dagger in his hands. A beam of moonlight slipping through one of the many holes in the structure glinted on its surface. Was tonight the night? Was this the end? 

His heavy eyes fought to close, his body desperate for sleep. He refused to let himself fall. Sleep meant dreams and, in his case, nightmares. Or, on the rare occasion that nightmares didn't consume him, he was left with only a dark purple vortex, sucking out the last of his life force. There was such little left to give. 

The bottle fell from his grasp, the liquid spilling on the floor as sleep overtook him. Instead of being greeted by the monsters and darkness that had become his only companions, he found her. She was beautiful. Just as she remembered. Her smile stirred the forgotten embers of hope that lingered deep within him. 

His body trembled at the thought of her. He smiled weakly, nervous and uncertain. "What does this mean?" 

Her fingers attempted to thread through his once luscious locks, now dirtied and tangled. Her gaze was soft as she spoke. "It means you can open that orphanage we dreamed of."

His eyes filled with unshed tears. He had forgotten about their dream. The night they had celebrated their victory, the promises they made to one another. "It would be nice to give poor kids a better life than I had. Make it so they don't have to steal to survive."

She nodded, her face beaming with pride. "It's a worthy goal. One might even say a noble one."

"Please. Anything but that." He was far from noble. He was one step above the shadow court themselves. Darkness had consumed almost every part of him.

"And Mal, my Magnificent Rogue, I promise you, no matter what... we'll be together again," her voice was a whisper in his ear—the warmth of her breath a welcomed old friend. 

"Just try not to lead me on any wild goose chases, Kit," he teased, forgetting himself. "You know how Elf Boy feels about geese." His voice was light, and laughter rumbled on his lips for the first time since she was taken. 

Mal leaned in, closing the gap between them. His lips brushed over hers, sparking the flames of hope inside him once more. His body filled with warmth. 

"And you know—" He continued. "I will always find you." 

As he reached to embrace her once more, the vision faded away, leaving him once more surrounded by darkness. He reached for the fallen bottle. Whatever remained at the bottom was better than nothing. 

His hand hovered over the glass container, something stopping him. Her words echoed in his ear. 

We'll be together again. 

Hope. 

For the first time in a long time, he had hope. 

He wanted to believe he could find her still, but he knew he had no other paths to exhaust. So he would do the one thing he knew would keep her alive. Make their dream a reality. He would build their orphanage. He would save the children of White Tower from the fate he and Daenarya had suffered. He would build a better future from the ashes of the world that had forgotten them. 

His hope turned to determination. If he was going to remain in this world without Daenarya, he would make it better—a world deserving of someone as kind and brilliant as her.

Moment by moment, day by day he poured his grief and his love into that building. It became a testament to his devotion to the woman who had made him a better man. 

With each nail he drove into the walls, and with every floorboard he replaced, he whispered her name. He imagined her smile, her laughter, and the dreams they had shared. It was as if she was there with him, guiding his hands. He could still hear her whispering his name beside him.

Sooner than he could have imagined, in the heart of the slums of White Tower, a run-down, forgotten building transformed into a home. Their home, if only in spirit. Though quiet now, soon, he hoped, the rooms would teem with laughter and light-hearted squabbles of children he could rescue in his orphanage. The place would be one of love and hope. He would tell stories of the woman who saved the realm and who saved him in doing so. He would make sure her light lived on in this realm. If anyone deserved to be remembered, it was her. 

"For you," he whispered as his fingers ran over the sign reading "Mal's Orphanage". Beneath the name, in smaller lettering, read "no longer forgotten". He wouldn't forget her. He wouldn't forget the man he became because of her, and most of all, he would make sure the children he rescued were never forgotten. He would show them a better life, a beautiful life filled with the most powerful magic he had ever learned from Daenarya—love and hope. With those two things, the world would never descend to darkness again. 

A/N #2: This is not edited, my heart broke writing it and I can't bear to read it back right now. I hope you enjoy it, despite how painful it is. My heart is absolutely broken from the first chapter back. Mal's struggle with his grief as he goes through the stages.

I'm going to create a new masterlist for Blades 2 because I'm going to keep my orphanage as my personal canon timeline from Book One. Book 2 stories will be an AU. I know that makes no sense, but to me, my orphanage will always be my personal favorite place and my canon.

[dutifullynuttywitch]

Things left unsaid

Blades of Light and Shadow

Summary: A continuation/slight rewrite of Blades 2 Chapter 3. Autumn reunites with Mal after her escape from the Shadow Realm. She stays the night to explore their relationship after a year apart.

Warning: Ⓜ️🔥 Angst, Explicit/NSFW 18+

Pairing: Mal Volari x f!mc (Autumn Nightbloom)

Word count: 1,900

At the orphanage, after having tucked away the children for the night, Autumn, Mal, Nia and Tyril discuss what she’s learned from her time trapped in the Shadow Realm and the latest existential threat. The conversation turns to finding the last member of their party, Imtura.

Mal sits back in his chair and exhales sharply.

“I may have been keeping track of her. She’s been hanging around a tavern in a village about a day’s travel from Whitetower.”

“So what are we waiting for, then? Let’s go find her.” Autumn makes to get up, mind set on the mission ahead.

“I think it would be best if we waited until the morning, Autumn. That way I can make arrangements for acolytes to look after the children while we’re away. And some of us could use a good night’s sleep…” Nia looks pointedly at Mal.

“I’m fine, Nia,” Mal waves off his friend’s concern, “let’s go find the princess and get this Ash Empire-busting show on the road.”

But his quip doesn’t quite land, Autumn notices. And his trademark smirk doesn’t reach his tired eyes.

“Nia is right.” Tyril declares, “Let us all get what rest we can tonight. From the little you have shared, Autumn, our quest will be far from easy. We can meet up at the palace at first light to gather supplies for the road.”

Everyone nods their agreement.

Tyril pushes off from his chair, followed by Nia.

Autumn hesitates, glancing Mal’s way, suddenly unsure.

She catches him looking at her intently, in his eyes a mix of uncertainty, sorrow and longing.

She feels an ache in her heart.

In her messed-up, altered memory, it had been mere days since they’d laid in a loving embrace in her palace chambers, sharing dreams and promises of a life together.

But he’d gone through a whole year’s worth of growth and experiences without her. Her very surroundings, this orphanage, a testament of it. How much had he changed? Had he found a different kind of happiness in her absence? Was he still her Mal?

“I’d like to stay here tonight, if that’s okay with you?” She asks softly, tentatively.

Mal exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Of course, kit, I’d like that.”

“We’ll see you both tomorrow, then. Try to get some rest.” Nia stops behind Mal, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze. He nods, giving her a soft smile in return.

“And I know I’ve said it a dozen times already but it’s so good to have you back, Autumn.” She beams, wrapping her dear friend in a tight hug before stepping out into the night.

The moment the door clicks shut, a palpable tension settles in.

“It really is.” Tyril nods his farewell, a smile tugging at his lips.

Mal and Autumn observe each other from opposite ends of the table, faces in turmoil.

Afraid to release the weight of unspoken truths.

Elation at being reunited, but also uncertainty… and a latent anger at all the stolen time.

Her growing anxiety at feeling left behind, her friends having shared a whole year’s worth of living while she’d been locked away, frozen in time. The cold terror that grips her whenever she thinks of her recent imprisonment, knowing that Valax could open another portal at any time, anywhere, to drag her away again. Incapacitate her. Cut her open and steal more of her blood and life away from her. How Autumn feels utterly powerless to stop her.

His guilt at having failed to stop Valax from taking her, failed again and again in his attempts to free her from the Shadow Realm. A deep-seated trepidation, knowing he can’t possibly protect her against such a powerful enemy, though he’d readily give up his life for her. Shame he’d lost hope in ever seeing his kit alive again… He doesn’t deserve her.

But he sure as hells can’t live without her.

Suddenly, Mal strides across the room and lifts Autumn into his arms, pulling her into a searing kiss. He tries to convey all of the love and fear and hurt and regret.

All the emotions he can’t make himself say out loud.

She holds on to him for dear life, returning his kiss with just as much fervor, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Autumn, gods how I’ve missed you. You have no idea, this past year without you, I can’t even…” He trails off, burying his face into the crook of her neck, sucking in a ragged breath.

“Mal, I’m right here.”

Neither can promise it will be all right.

Not until all the rifts have been sealed and the threat gone. And even then, some scars may never quite fully heal… but at least they have here. now.

Mal cups her cheek tenderly. He captures her lips once more, softly, coaxing, seeking entry. She moans as he parts her lips, tasting her.

She loses herself in his kisses, threading her fingers into his much shorter hair as his hands explore her, rediscovering, caressing, sending delicious shivers up her spine.

He pulls her flush against him, and she can feel his need.  

“Hmm Autumn, I’ve missed this, gods I’ve missed you.”

“How about you show me just how much, my handsome rogue?” She whispers in his ear.

His fingers tighten on her hips, eyes darkening at her invitation.

“Your desires are my command, kit.”

She makes to unbuckle his armor straps but he stops her, warm hand over hers. “Wait, let’s take this somewhere more… private.”

He lifts her up, carrying her up a few flights of stairs as she distracts him, lithe fingers caressing his face, soft kisses peppering his jaw and neck.

He takes her into a vast attic room and lowers her reverently onto a soft bed.

The moon shines through a large slanted window, bathing the room in an ethereal glow.

As he unstraps his weapons and armour, she takes in her surroundings, curious.

The room is sparsely furnished, with an imposing dresser off to one side. She spots a table cluttered with papers, maps, parchments and a few leather-bound books. On a far wall stands a cabinet filled with artifacts, jewelry, golden goblets and knives. A few richly colored Parnassian rugs strewn across the floor.

He catches her appraising gaze and sweeps an arm across the room with a flourish.

“Welcome to my humble abode, kit.”

“I like it. It’s very… you.”

“Is it now?”

He smirks as he peals off the last of his clothes slowly, teasingly, then settles down next to her.

“But right now, I’m more interested in the man than the place…”

She marvels at his naked body, drinking him in.

Mal trails hungry kisses down her jaw, her neck, undoing the straps of her dress with practiced movements.

She sighs, then gasps, as he pulls off her dress in a smooth motion, blazing a hot trail along her chest with his mouth and tongue, calloused fingers caressing her stomach.

“I have to say, your presence vastly improves the place, kit.” He whispers onto her skin, his beard titillating her senses.

"Oh Mal, ever the charmer." Autumn giggles breathlessly.

Mal trails bites followed by hot kisses from her breasts to her collarbone, then neck, before recapturing her mouth in a hungry kiss.

“Gods Autumn, you’re stunning. A work of art.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, your magnificence.” She purrs as she trails her fingers along his chest down his chiseled abs, wrapping her hand around him, stroking, relishing in his deep groan.

He caresses every inch of her skin with deft fingers and his wicked mouth, rediscovering her and delighting in all the wonderful gasps and moans he elicits. Mal fully intends to show Autumn just how much she means to him, how much he missed her, by ravishing her and worshiping her for as long as she’ll let him.

The delicate, teasing caresses soon overwhelm her senses.

“Ah yes, gods Mal… just like that.”

She gasps as he finally kisses between her thighs, every brush of his talented mouth and fingers provoking wave after wave of intense pleasure.

“Hmm… Autumn, you taste as good as I remembered.”

She’s on the verge of unravelling under his praises and caresses.

“Mal! Please, I need you, all of you.” Autumn tugs at his shoulders, desperate to kiss him, feel his body against hers, feel him inside.

He chuckles at her commanding tone and happily obliges, wrapping her into his strong arms as he sinks into her, both groaning at the delicious sensation.

He sets a slow, languid pace, intent on teasing every ounce of pleasure out of his wonderful kit.

The feel of his powerful body moving against her, his familiar scent soon overwhelm Autumn. She urges him on, increasingly impatient, pleading. Their rhythm grows frantic, until they both cry out, reaching their peak together.

“Well, that was... exquisite.” Autumn sighs contentedly, sinking back into her lover’s arms.

She gazes up to find Mal smirking, self-satisfied.

“Now don’t let it get to your head, your magnificence.”

“Can’t help it if I’m good at everything I do…” He drawls smugly, avoiding a pillow aimed at his face.

He wraps her in his arms, basking in the afterglow.

His fierce, beautiful kit. Back in his arms after so many desolate months.

Mal caresses her tenderly as they both fall into a contemplative silence.

After a while, he looks at her, eyes tinged with sorrow. “You know, I dreamed of holding you like this every night you were gone, Autumn. I tried so hard to find a way to get to you. I… I’m sorry I let you down….”

“Mal, you kept looking, you didn’t give up on me. It means a lot.” She smiles sadly.

Mal winces, the familiar pangs of guilt back again.

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t have appreciated a rescue party say, a year ago,” she smiles wryly, “but we all know crossing the realms is near impossible. I know you all did everything you could to reach me. I keep wondering… if I’d somehow been able to wake up sooner. Escape sooner…”

“What do you remember from your... captivity?” He asks cautiously.

Her body grows tense in his arms.

The nightmares.

Her friends, Mal, taunting her, attacking her.

Flashes of the lab. Feeling trapped, strapped onto a gurney.

Unable to move or scream.

Sharp pain.

The smell of blood… her blood…

Over and over again.

She is unable to speak, frozen. The emotions too raw. Unable to process. Not yet.

Mal holds her tighter, protectively. Wishing he knew how to take away her pain.

“Autumn, I’m here for you, no matter what. Whatever you need, I… I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

His assurances slowly pull her away from those dark memories and back into the present.

Back to this moonlit room. To the relative safety of her lover’s arms.

“I know.”

She manages a weak smile before burying her face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent, trying to center herself.

They still have so much to figure out, to talk through. They’re still in mortal danger. About to embark on yet another impossible mission.

But for tonight, at least, they can find some solace in each other’s arms.

[choicesficwriterscreations]

It's that time of year again! Thank you to the creators who have shared their Top 5 creations of 2023 according to Tumblr note count. The Creator's Pick Top 5 will be posted this weekend! Links to all fics can be found below the break.

@aallotarenunelma ✒️

So This is Love (BOLAS) - Aerin Valleros x M!elf!MC

Distant Light (BOLAS) - Tyril Starfury x F!elf!MC

Indigo Night (ID) - Cassius Harlow x NB!MC, NB!OC

Répondez, s'il vous plaît! 3 (ILS/ID) - Various Pairings

Sophomore Secret (ILITW) - Dan Pierce x F!MC, M!OC

@angelasscribbles ✒️

A Fervid Fixation (TRR) Ⓜ️ - Drake Walker x MC

In Your Room (TRR) Ⓜ️- Drake Walker x Leo Rys

The Dark Kingdom (TRR) Ⓜ️ - Various Pairings

Dark Elf (TRR) Ⓜ️- Various Pairings

Heir Apparent (TRR) Ⓜ️- Drake Walker x MC, Liam Rys

@baldwinboy5ive 🎨

Blades Coffee Shop AU (BOLAS) - Aerin Valleros x MC

I Will Drag Him Back (BOLAS) - Tyril Starfury & Aerin Valleros

The Spray Bottle (BOLAS) - Imtura, Mal, Aerin

Aerin Instagram (BOLAS) - Aerin Valleros

The Prison Visit (BOLAS) - Aerin Valleros x MC

@cariantha ✒️

Accidental Valentine (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

If Only I Could (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Code Yellow (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

A Kiss on the Hand (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Daddy Distress (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

@inlocusmads ✒️

Intro To Negotiation Science (COP) - Trystan Thorne x F!MC

A Strange & Sudden Companionship (COP) - Trystan Thorne x F!MC

Cross Your Hearts & Set it Ablaze (COP) - Trystan Thorn x F!MC

Partner (Disambiguation) (COP) - Trystan Thorne x F!MC

New York, June 2014 (COP) - Trystan Thorne x F!MC

@jerzwriter ✒️

A Different Fate, Part 1 (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

What Happened in Vegas, Part 4 (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Abundance (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

The Perfect Gift (OH) - Tobias Carrick x F!MC

Take Me Out (COP) - Trystan Thorne x F!MC

@ladylamrian ✒️

Welcome to the World of Night (NB) - Nightbound MC

Bound by Fate (NB) - Nik Ryder x F!MC

A Meeting in Wyoming (NB) - Nik Ryder x F!MC

Wedding Proposal (NB) - Nik Ryder x F!MC

OC Headcanons (NB)

@liaromancewriter ✒️

Every Day (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Summer Romance (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Beautiful Stranger (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Sleeping Beauty (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Something to Talk About (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

@noesapphic ✒️

The Other Woman (D&D) - Roselyn Sinclaire, Ernest Sinclaire, Duke Richards

A Glimpse of Us (TRR/TRM) - Liam Rys & MC, Fabian Rys & MC

Barcelona | Prince Hamid (D&D) - Prince Hamid x MC

Worthy (TRR) Hana Lee x MC

The Cursed Heiress, Ch. 17 (D&D) - Mr. Sinclaire x F!OC

@peonierose ✒️

Losing Game - Part 1 (OH) - Bryce Lahela x F!OC

Nightbound AU vs. Hänsel & Gretel, Part 3 (NB) - OCs

Nightbound AU vs. Hänsel & Gretel, Part 2 (NB) - Nik Rider, F!MC, OCs

Once, Part 2 (TNA/OH) - Sam Dalton x F!MC

Hau’oli la Heleui (OH) - Bryce Lahela, F!OC, Keiki Lahela

@storyofmychoices ✒️

Go On, Feel It! (BOLAS) - Mal Volari x F!MC

Our Future Doctor (OH) - Bryce Lahela x F!OC

No Kissing! (COP) - Trystan Thorne x F!MC

Dance With Me (OH) - Bryce Lahela x F!MC

A Theif in the Gardens (BOLAS) - Mal Volari x F!MC

@tessa-liam ✒️

Memories (TRR) - Liam Rys x F!OC

The Sacrifice (TRR) - Liam Rys x F!OC

Regrets (TRR) - Liam Rys x F!OC

Old Habits Die Hard (TRR) - Liam Rys x F!OC

Turning the Page, Prologue (TRR) - Liam Rys x F!OC

@trappedinfanfiction ✒️

Brunette (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Crossroads (OH) Ⓜ️ - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

A New Neighbor (COP) - Trystan Thorne x F!MC

Midnight Talks (OH) - F!MC, Sienna Trinh

What's in a Name? (COP) - Trystan Thorne

@zealouscanonindeer ✒️

Together (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Company (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Locked In (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

20 Questions (OH) - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Long Overdue (OH) Ⓜ️- Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

[lovehugsandcandy]

tongue of silver, taste of blood

Pairing: Aerin x f!MC, Blades of Light and Shadow

Ratings: M (blood, illness, pain, swearing)

Word Count: ~11,000

A/N: This is set after Book 2, with the assumption that Nifara will be the villain? Idk. Thank you to @choicesficwriterscreations for all the work you do on the archive!

Summary: In which Aerin meets the vhampyrs. In which the vhampyrs learn the tale of the mercenaries of Lord Kelvin Gillbottle. And in which that tale gets the ending it deserves.

He feels it, the telltale prickling in his head, a subtle but undeniably present static behind his forehead. 

There’s someone else in his mind.

Aerin clears his throat and speaks aloud, alone in the empty cell. “I know you’re there.”

Hello, Little Human. Apparently, you know my tricks. She’s probing, delving into his psyche, but he bats down everything rising to the surface as he desperately searches for a thought to cling to, something innocuous, unrevealing, something that won’t put his entire mission in danger.

“I will tell you…” He cuts off to cough. “I will tell you the story of Lord Kelvin Gill-“

Little Human, I don’t want stories. The voice hisses, but Aerin is certain; he knows, if he can keep his mind focused on nonsense, there will be nothing of value for the voice to discover.

“Well, it’s not about Lord Gillbottle, per se, but more about his mercenaries.”

And so he starts the story, a fanciful tale of roving adventurers becoming heroes, and it continues until the static leaves his mind and, exhausted, he slides into unconsciousness.

~~~~~

“What do you mean the vhampyrs can read minds?”

Aerin jerks awake. It’s cold wherever he is; he’s since lost track of where the vhampyrs led him, somewhere through a maze of never-ending stone stairs and dusty crypts, and even rubbing his hands over his arms doesn’t quell the chill. There’s one blanket, threadbare, draped over his legs, but he refuses to clamber into the bed he was given so when he lies on the floor, the cold of the stone seeps unyielding into his bones. 

Searching through the recess of his brain, thankfully, it’s quiet - his thoughts are clear. No static. During the day, the vhampyrs sleep, so he’s alone in his mind; besides, he knows that voice that just echoed in his head. 

It wasn’t the vhampyr.

It was a memory. Mal, leaning over a tattered map, in the Palace Archive.

More of the memory returns to him, unbidden.

“What do you mean the vhampyrs can read minds?”

“Not all, but some. The powerful ones. They can delve into your head,” Kade says, a stack of tomes towered beside him to match the two spread open before him, his fingers flipping carefully through weathered pages. It appears that he has pulled every single book he could find on the creatures from the entire Palace Archives; Aerin is almost impressed.

“Can you stop it somehow?” Raine asks, already in planning mode.

“No,” Tyril says, shaking his head. “Not to that I know of. An Elven lord once tried to create a charm of sorts, but it failed miserably. And then they drained his blood and put his head on a stake.”

“Vile creatures.” Imtura crosses her hands over her chest as she speaks. “Are you sure we need to meet with them?”

Rain frowns. “Yes. We need them as allies.”

“But we managed before, with allies that can’t read our minds.” Imtura says.

“The stakes are even higher now.” At least Raine looks apologetic as she continues. “We need anyone we can find.”

Aerin frowns before offering a likely unwelcome interjection. “And, there is something you can do. You can’t stop them from trying to get their way into your head, but you can stop them from finding anything.”

“What do you mean, princeling?” Tyril asks.

Aerin sighs, glancing away. “When someone else is in your mind, you can sense it, feel it. It’s a bit like static in your brain. So, when you sense it starting, you need to think of something else, something you don’t want them to know. Or they will learn everything.”

“Of course you know what it’s like to have voices in your head,” Mal sneers, and Aerin glares back. 

“Well, they couldn’t read your mind, as there’s nothing of value there.”

“Enough.” Raine speaks, cutting off the brewing brawl. “It’s not much, but it is something. Time is of the essence here; we will need to split up.” Aerin waits and doesn’t breathe while she surveys the group. “Valax and I will work on that unstable rift. Tyril, could you and Mal travel to the Cliffs of Colaris? Imtura, you will go to Necropolis and meet with the vhampyrs. Nia will accompany you. And…” Aerin shifts his feet as her eyes meet his. “Aerin will go, too.”

Imtura grimaces, swatting his arm; Aerin tries not to wince at the sharp ache. “Looks like it’s you, me, and Nia, princeling.”

At least Raine looks apologetic and hangs back, waiting until the others have left to catch his arm. “Are you ok with this? Going into the vhampyrs’ lair?”

“Where no one has come back from alive?”

“Those are just stories.” 

Aerin grimaces and says, “Even the stories are unsettling.”

“They are sentient; I am sure we can reason with them.”

“Are you sure I can’t accompany you instead?”

She sighs. “Kade filled me in on everything he knew about the vhampyrs. Their ways of living, their power structure. I need a diplomat, someone who can drive agreement with them.”

“Imtura can’t do that?”

Raine laughs softly, and it’s so much like music that he’s compelled to smile back. “She can get you physically out of there if need be, and Nia will protect you all with her Light. But I need you to get through to the vhampyrs. Just like you struck an accord with Baroness Isador, I need someone clever to do the same with the immortal.”

He rubs the back of his neck; while he would rather travel with Raine, he can’t doubt the logic. He does have half a mind to doubt the faith she shows in him, but decides to only reply with “I’ll try.”

“I know.” She glances around, making sure that their companions have departed before stepping forward, catching his cheek in her palm. “You’ll come back to me, right?”

“Of course.” He smirks; judging by her raised eyebrow, she’s thinking of all the times he left. And yet, each time, he returned. “Raine. I will always come back to you; I told you, until you order me away, I will be here.” He tangles their fingers together.

“I know. But I am sorry to make you do this.”

“It’s alright.” She has no idea what he would do for her and, before he can profess that lengthy list, she leans forward to press her lips to his. 

Aerin’s eyes fly open. They cannot have this part of his memory; he would die before he lets any of the bloodsuckers take it from him. This one is his - and Raine’s - theirs alone.

These memories come like a dream, but he’s unsure whether he’s still sleeping. All he knows is that it’s night.

At least he thinks it is. With no windows, the passage of time has become choppy, incoherent. The servants, clad in dark shrouds, deliver food twice a day; assuming it was dusk and dawn, it’s been two days. 

Four meals.

He eats little.

Aerin clambers from the floor, just as the familiar static returns. 

Hello, Little Human. The voice speaks, disembodied. He’s alone in the cell, the words only in his mind and, if he weren’t familiar with whispers calling out to him, he’s sure it would be thoroughly disorienting.

“Hello.”

I would like to ask you something. Lady Lilith is still surface level, not digging yet, so he entertains the query.

“What?”

What does the Commander of the Armies of Light want with creatures of darkness?

“You live in this realm, so you have an interest in its continuation, do you not?”

The issues of the human world do not concern us anymore.

“This is bigger than just one race, truly.” The static grows louder and he winces; she’s now deeper, looking for the truth in his words. He begins the story anew. “So Lord Gillbottle had asked the mercenaries to travel through the deep, dark forest.”

This again?

“Yes, it’s called the Deadwood, where I come from. You’d fit right in.”

Very funny, Little Human.

“So Lord Gillbottle sends them to the Deadwood, but he never expected that they would run into the drakna.”

What are drakna?

“Giant monsters. Horrid things. My brother - I mean - anyway. The monsters were chasing a pair of princes.”

Human princes?

“Yes, human princes traveling the kingdom from Whitetower.”

Why were there princes in the Deadwood?

“They were traveling. Do you want to hear the story or not? The mercenaries bravely fought off the drakna and saved the princes.”

Why?

At this, he loses focus. “What do you mean, why?”

Why did they save the princes?

Dumbstruck, he’s not quite sure how to respond. “Have you never done anything because it was the right thing to do?”

There’s laughter, and it’s a brittle, olden sound that seems to travel over centuries. What do you think, Little Human?

“I think you have. I think you have done good before.”

The voice only snorts at that.

“They saved the princes because that is what heroes do. But there was gold involved. Later.”

Later in this interminable tale?

“If you would rather discuss terms of joining the Unified Forces of the Light Realm as we fight the Olden G-”

Enough! The scream echoes around his skull and he winces, palms jumping up to cover his ears. But they do nothing to dim the screech coming from his own mind. It is an insult that the Commander did not come. We will not engage in discussions with feeble diplomats.

Aerin drops his hands, stung. “I’m not just a diplomat.”

What do you mean? The voice changes to a purr and he realizes, a split-second too late, that he lost control.

“I mean to say, would you like me to continue the story?”

If you are not just a diplomat, then who are you?

Aerin doesn’t reply, only runs through times tables in his mind until he feels ready to speak. He doesn’t want to give them any ammunition. 

Indeed, he’s not quite sure he knows the answer himself. 

Finally, when he has assured himself that his thoughts and voice are all under control, he speaks. “The princes gave the mercenaries gold to accompany them through the forest. Well, they promised them gold. But before they got the gold, they needed to set up camp for the night. So they all set up camp by a lake, and settled down.”

And so the story continues until the static subsides, and he is finally left alone with his thoughts.

~~~~~~

Would you like to see my fangs?

The buzzing in his skull howls, and he forces it aside. “That is a very odd question, not something polite company generally asks.”

Lady Lilith giggles. Would you? The others always seem fascinated.

And then she’s there, the door flying open at her inhuman strength; Aerin can just glance through the doorway to see a milling servant before Lady Lilith closes it again, the slam shaking the walls. 

“Hello,” he says, rising from where he had been picking through his meal (breakfast or dinner, who could ever tell?). “I’m flattered to warrant a visit.”

“You cannot see my fangs without my presence.”

“I am not sure that -“

“When the humans come, they always stare. Wouldn’t you like a peek?”

He doesn’t yet know what to make of her. She looks remarkably like a child, a rather pale one, but still small. Her bony wrists peek out from her shroud and her smile is almost impish in candlelight, but, when she speaks, Gods, Aerin cannot believe he ever considered her young. The weathered tone of her low voice carries eons, millennia, and it echoes dully in his ears. “I am not interested in your fangs. I am interested in your alliance.”

She’s at his side in an instant, the superhuman speed a blur to his human eye, and her thin fingers drag his hair back so his neck is bared. It’s an uncomfortable angle, the crown of his head tilted so far towards the side of the room that his throat feels stretched and his eyes water, but he forgets the pain when he feels two pin-sharp teeth, right at his jugular.

“I could do it. Right now.” She’s so close her lips brush against his skin with every word, breath tickling the curls that graze his neck, and his heart leaps into a frenetic pace in his chest. “I can see your pulse, Little Human. So close. May I just- may I taste?”

“No.” 

“But it smells so delicious. You don’t understand, do you, what it does to us. Like metal and vengeance and pain. May I?”

It’s a struggle to stay still, but he does, though the nails digging into his scalp make his eyes water, though all he can see is the uneven ceiling above his head. If he sways closer, the sharp points will pierce his skin and, if he moves farther, the hand gripping his curls would snap his neck. “No.”

Finally, with a low groan, she releases him. “You’re lucky you are somewhat amusing. Little Human.”

“Aw, you noticed? I’m touched.”

“I do hope your Commander comes for you.” She steps toward the door, turning as her hand grasps the handle. “It would be a shame if you perished before she arrived.”

By the tone of her voice, Aerin is not sure she considers it any shame at all.

~~~~~

When he is sure it’s daytime (at least he thinks, he thinks, he thinks he is losing his mind) and the vhampyrs are asleep in coffins of their own, he tries to remember, as much as he can, anything, anything at all, that would prove useful.

He remembers packing for the trip, a satchel long lost.

He remembers leading horses over uneven terrain and then, when the path was too treacherous, walking on foot, for days.

And he remembers the starkness of the ruins, Necropolis empty and falling into dust before his very eyes.

“Where are we supposed to look?” Nia asks, carefully stepping over a fallen column. 

“The crypts.” Aerin answers. It feels a betrayal (yet another one) to hope they don’t find it.

They pass ruins and more ruins. Buildings, crumbling to dust. Town squares, desolate and silent save for the howling wind. It’s old, deserted, and they walk down streets of rubble until they come to the center of the city and one solitary mausoleum.

Aerin has seen his share of palaces, but this stands alone in his mind. It’s the only structure truly standing for miles, four stone walls seemingly untouched by the ravages of time. The walls are a deep gray, imposing and strong; if not for the rays of twilight glinting across the stone, they would look almost black. They enclose a space no larger than a single room at the Whitetower palace, short and squat. There are no windows, only an imposing metal door stretching into a pointed arch.

“Is this the place?” Imtura’s eyes are dubious as she takes in the stone. “I don’t know if I can fit inside.”

“Must be. It must go down, underneath the city.” Aerin answers.

Imtura cuts her eyes to him before she turns to the iron-wrought door with a shake of her head. “Shall we?”

“No, let’s wait. We need to give it a few minutes.”

“Why?” Nia looks curiously at him.

“The vhampyrs won’t be awake. They sleep during the day and… and hunt at night. We need to catch them right as they wake up.”

“How do you know all this, landrat?”

“Books in the Archives, research.” He shrugs. “It’s mostly fable, but better than nothing.”

“Anything else we should know?” Nia asks.

“They do not feel temperature; those receptors on their skin are all dead. They drink blood, obviously, but also eat things full of blood, organs, the like. Don’t eat the food. It’s not meant for human or orc consumption; legends claim that ingesting food touched by the hands of an immortal can make you ill. Like, incredibly, deadly ill.”

“Sounds pleasant.”

“Indeed.” Aerin wracks his brain for any other tidbit of information he has gleaned from the archives. “The clan is about fifty individual vhampyrs, all sharing a fang line.”

Nia glances at him. “A fang line?”

“The clan is all descended from the bite of the clean leader. Very hierarchical, and we will be expected to show extreme deference to the leaders. And they are very devoted to those in the clan; loyalty is highly valued.”

“So they probably won’t take too kindly to betrayers, will they, princeling?”

Aerin shakes his head, something like dread pooling in his stomach. “Probably not.” Not one race in the world takes kindly to traitors; it’s not like the vhampyrs would be an exception. “I don’t remember much else. It’s been so long since I dove into that section of the archives.”

“It’s fine.” Nia smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure it will be enough.”

“Reckon we can enter now?” Imtura asks.

Aerin surveys the horizon. The sun has just dipped below treeline; while the hazy clouds above reflect a few pale rays, it is undoubtedly dusk. “Yes. We should go.”

Imtura leads them closer down the path, weathered and crunching beneath their feet, and they stand before the unnervingly imposing door of the tiny building.

Something tickles in Aerin’s memory, something about visiting.

Before he can parse the recollection, Imtura knocks and the door creaks open. A tall, thin vhampyr stands before them; Aerin tries not to gape, but he’s sure his mouth is hanging open. This is the first vhampyr he’s seen in the flesh and, while he knows that staring is a rudeness, he can’t help himself. The vhampyr is pale, his flesh almost glowing like moonlight, and his eyes beam a pale red that seems to overshadow his entire face. His cape is deep obsidian, flowing out behind him in the evening breeze, and thin fingers curl around the door.

Those red eyes stare at them for entirely too long; Aerin shivers under their weight but, if Raine is relying on his diplomacy, then he has no choice but to step forward.

“Hello. My name is Aerin Valleros, emissary of the Commander of the Armies of Light,” Aerin bobs his head in greeting and gestures to each of his party, “and these are my companions, Imtrua Tal Kaelen, of the United Clans of Flotilla, and Nia Ellarious, Head Priestess of the High Temple of Whitetower.”

If the vhampyr knew of them, he did not react, only continued to drive his eerie gaze straight into Aerin’s soul.

Aerin inhales before continuing. “We are here on behalf of the Commander to discuss a matter of deep import that would affect the entire realm.”

Still, the vhampyr says nothing, the silence eerie and cold, though his long fingers tighten against the doorway. Slowly, he steps back, and Aerin shares a glance with Nia and Imtura. Shrugging, Imtura takes a step forward and, as her foot hovers over the threshold, Aerin grabs her arm, stopping her in her tracks. She only raises an eyebrow but obliges, taking a step back.

Aerin addresses the vhampyr. “May we come in?”

His heart hammers as he waits but, finally, there is a slight smile and the ghoul speaks at last, voice like the rattle of a scroll over every consonant. “Please be welcome.”

They follow his silent footsteps and, in a low tone, Aerin whispers, “We need to be invited inside. It’s important to them.”

Imtura only shrugs and ducks as they follow down a pale stairwell, torches lighting the way on each side. Aerin loses track of how deep into the earth they travel, but, eventually, the stairs open into a wide entryway where three additional vhampyrs await them. This is obviously the ruling family. There’s a broad man clad in a black cape, looking impossibly tall in the flickering torches. The woman beside him is adorned in a dazzling deep red gown, lace dancing up a gray collarbone to highlight a dazzling blood-red gemstone dangling from a satin ribbon. And then there’s a girl, perhaps twelve, looking intently at them, clad in a simple dark shroud clamped tightly around her torso with thin hands that taper off into pointed nails.

“Hello.” Aerin nods and, though his mouth runs suddenly dry, he curls his fingers into his palms and continues. “I am is Aerin Valleros, the emissary of the Commander of the Armies of Light, and these are my companions, Imtrua Tal Kaelen, of the United Clans of Flotilla, and Nia Ellarious, Head Priestess of the High Temple of Whitetower.” Imtura and Nia step forward, Nia with a small curtsy.

The three vhampyrs turn and look at each other before the man steps forward. “I am Baron Claudius, and this is Madame Miriam.” The woman curtsies as she is introduced, and a hint of fang peeks out underneath burgundy lipstick. “And this little one is Lady Lilith. Thank you for respecting our customs; as we would not seek to enter your home uninvited, we appreciate your courtesy of the same.” The child smiles, a tight, forced movement, and terror creeps up Aerin’s spine.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, and we thank you for your hospitality. We come about a war brewing in the realm of Light and seek your assistance.”

“A war?” Madame Miriam, mouth agape.

Imtura jumps in. “And it will come for you if we can’t stop it.”

“Ha. War does not concern us,” Baron Claudius scoffs. “We have seen many wars over the millennia and outlasted them all.”

Aerin tries not to shiver as he speaks, but the underground chill winds its way through his tunic. “This war is different. The Old Gods come for the Realm, and they shall spare none.”

The Baron stares at him, eyes narrow, before turning back to his companions for another round of wordless conversation. Aerin barely has a moment to wonder if they’re in each other’s minds when there is a hum, right in the center of forehead, and then a soft whir of static stretching to his temples. 

‘No.’

He purposely clears his mind, surveying each of the vhampyrs in turn, the frown of the Baron, the smirk of Madame Miriam’s rouged lips, the forceful eyes of Lady Lilith.

‘Begone!’

With a sigh, the static recedes. He tries to catch the eye of one of his companions, to see if they had felt the same, when Madame Miriam speaks.

“We could… we could discuss the matter over our evening meal.”

“Splendid,” the Baron nods, but his smile stays contained to his lips. “Come.”

With only a worried glance between each other, Aein, Nia, and Imtura make their way further into the crypts.

Aerin wonders if he should have turned around then, should have fled, given up on the vhampyr allies and ran, like a coward. 

He has plenty of experience in that, after all.

No. Not anymore. Not now, he wouldn’t have. He remembers his last conversation with Raine, the earnestness on her face, her hands sure and soft in his.

Even knowing his fate rests within these damp walls, he would do it all over again.

~~~~~

On the third day, Lady Lilith brings him a tray of food in person.

The blanket is still wrapped around his legs, accomplishing nothing against the frigid underground floor, but he scrambles up as soon as he sees her.

“Lady Lilith, hello.” He bows his head. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“I come with your breakfast.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t need to lift the lid to know it is the fat and muscle of some unfortunate animal. Raw. The smell is familiar enough by now. “I would offer you a seat but, as you see, I have no chair.”

“I prefer the floor.” She gracefully lowers to the ground, knees tucked primly beneath her, and studies him under eyelashes that are tinged with white. “You know, we do get some word of human events.”

“Truly?” he asks, placing the platter down before joining her on the ground. 

“Yes. We know a bit of the outside world, but had no idea the emissaries of Light would dare come see us.” Lady Lilith looks about him, almost bored, but there is an edge to her voice that sets Aerin nerves aflame.

“And what do you hear from outside?”

“Snippets. Stories of those who live in the Light Realm.” She waves her hand, dismissive, unaffected. “The Elves have magic, the Orcan do not. And there are humans, like you.” Her violet eyes darken as they glare at him. “They serve a King. A Valleros King.” 

Aerin freezes, breath shallow. “Oh?”

“You did say…” She leans forward so they are at eye level; he can see her pupils narrow in the center of her violet irises. “You did say your name was Aerin, correct?”

He doesn’t answer until her hand drapes over his shoulder, and those gray talons dig into his skin. “Yes.”

“Aerin Valleros.”

“Yes.”

She straightens with triumph in her eyes. “So we have a Little Prince, do we not?”

“You’ve heard of me? I’m flattered.” He’s sure his smirk wavers, and it takes every focus to steady it.

“Why does a Prince follow the Commander? Is that how it works in the human world?”

He takes too long to answer, and soon, the buzzing is back. Little Prince?

“Don’t call me that.”

Why not?

A memory resurfaces, Itty Bitty Prince, and he shoves it down, away, away. “So the two princes and the mercenaries awoke, and the drakna had recaptured them.”

This again?

“They all awoke inside the drakna nest, a vile place, these gross cocoons suspended over the forest floor. Just a mass of goo so thick the sunlight cannot penetrate.”

I don’t like sunlight anyway.

“I’m aware, but humans live in sunlight; we need it to see. So our mercenaries and princes were all trapped in this vile goo cocoon, and the hero rescued them.”

Wait, who is the hero?

“One of the mercenaries, please keep up.”

Ah, of course.

“She used her sword and arrows to free her friends and the princes and, while they all were rescued, they actually killed the drakna queen, the biggest and baddest of the monsters. But there was still trouble afoot.”

Does this story ever end?

“The princes were actually evil.”

Oooh, a twist. I like it.

“Yes, but the mercenaries didn’t know that. The princes are hiding their evil nature, one better than the other.”

Are they really evil? Or do people just think that they are evil because they don’t understand?

Aerin stops and stares at her, watching the violet in her eyes dim. He knows he’s out of practice dealing with emotions, but he is clever, quick-witted, and, after years of deception, he understands people. There’s something here. “Lady Lilith, will you speak with me? In person?” The static recedes.

“Aren’t you going to tell the rest of the story?” she asks aloud.

“I don’t think you’re evil. You know that, right? And neither does the Commander. If we did, we wouldn’t have come here. We wouldn’t want to be allies.”

Lady Lilith studies him for so long that he starts to fear he read her wrong. But then she leaps to her feet, her shroud swirling about her like a ghostly mist. “I will…” She opens the door and fixes him with an inscrutable glance. “I will speak with you tomorrow.”

~~~~~

And on that day, he’s starving.

“You know we don’t really eat this food, right?”

There is a pause in his brain. What do you mean?

“Humans need different food than you. We don’t drink-” He eyes the copper pitcher at his side dubiously. “-blood.”

There is a longer pause. You don’t?

“Do you remember being alive? Being mortal?”

Vaguely. It was so long ago.

“Well, when you were, I assure you, unless you were a mosquito, you did not drink blood.”

It’s been so, so long.

“You must have seen a lot of change.” Aerin wonders what it’s like to watch time flow past you while you yourself remain still. Probably like watching Whitetower from a prison window, he supposes, or watching the walls of an underground crypt. Time passes somehow while you yourself don’t move.

It’s hard to keep track of, sometimes. I guess we forget how to care for a human.

“You should have started with a dog.”

She chuckles and the static blooms in his mind before trailing away and Aerin is, once again, alone with his thoughts.

He waits, watching the door, and when she doesn’t return after an interminable time, he peeks at the food under the platter. As he guessed, inedible raw meat of indeterminate origin. However, he’s out of options. 

Snatching a torch from the wall, he does his best. Tilting the platter lets him rotate the meal without touching it and, though it burns his fingers a few times, eventually he can make enough of a char that at least it isn’t raw.

His own warnings about the vhampyr food echo as he takes his first bite. And then his second. And then he is losing count, for the bites that follow consist of him ingesting the food as fast as he can.

His stomach roils as he finally empties the platter and, while his vision is a little wonky, he feels decent - well, as decent as one can be when trapped in a crypt full of vhampyrs. So he supposes that’s something.

~~~~~

Worse than the hunger is the solitude. It's tedious, pacing the four walls of his cell, one direction and then the other to break up the monotony. And it's also terribly lonely. Ever since he rejoined Raine and her party, he had thought - hoped - that the heartache that followed him since birth might be healing, every jovial conversation and gentle caress sewing up a deep pain like mending a rip in fabric.

Unfortunately, it's easier to be alone when it's all you know; now that he's known friendship, love, well, this loneliness is excruciating.

On day five, Lady Lilith finally returns with some water. 

“Oh, hello, Lady Lilith. You’re awake.” He clambers up and bows; time seems to flow differently within the four walls of his cell. Wasn’t it the middle of the day? “How can you spend your time speaking with me? Don’t you need to feed?”

Her laugh is bitter, older than time itself, and it sends a shiver down his spine. “I have servants to hunt for me. Here. Drink.”

He looks into the pitcher, eyebrow raised. There is a fir sprig floating at the top, and three shiny pebbles glint at the bottom. “Thank you.”

“It’s from the river in the woods. Far from Necropolis. It should be safe.”

He takes a tentative sip, and then another, and soon he is gulping his way through the entire pitcher. “It’s perfect. Hint of pine.”

“I can get more. Tomorrow. The sun will be up soon.”

“It will?” Without a window, time is meaningless.

She sits across from him, gnawing her lower lip where a smear of red appears to be drying. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Are you one of the princes?”

“Who? … oh, from the story.” He pauses. “I’m flattered that you’re actually invested in my tale.”

“Well?”

He checks his mind and, thankfully, he is alone; it’s much harder to deceive someone who can hear your thoughts.. “I am a prince but, Lady Lilith, it’s just a story.”

She frowns, as if his answer is unsatisfactory. “And how does it end, Little Prince?”

“Please stop calling me-”

“How does it end?”

“I… I’m not sure.” He knows how parts of the story end, of course, the defeat of the Dreadlord and the Ashen Empress, and the rise of Nifara. But the entire story? “I guess we will have to see when I get to the conclusion.”

“I like happy endings.”

“... I would not have guessed that.”

She giggles, hand over her lips, and only the pale skin and purple eyes give away the fact that she is not a normal child. “Who doesn’t like a happy ending? Will this story have a happy ending? Please?”

Aerin looks around the room, the windowless walls, the coffin as the sole piece of furniture, the fact that he hasn’t seen the sun in a week, and the only answer he can provide is “I’m not sure.”

~~~~~

“Please, be seated.”

The table is adorned with a tablecloth of deep red, a couple servants smoothing the edges while another carts pitchers to the table. Four serving platters sit covered, the closest just inches away from the ivory plate and crystal wine glass placed in front of him.

It smells of decay.

Imtura sits to his right, muscles tense and ready, while Nia’s face is only calm and curious. He sometimes envies her inner strength, her fortitude under challenging conditions, and never more so than now, as six unnaturally colored eyes follow his every move.

When the servants lift the platters’ covers with a flourish, Aerin can only stare in horror at what emerges underneath, more innards than he has ever seen - entrails, one platter stacked with hearts glistening so vividly that he can only imagine they were beating just hours ago, red jellied concoctions dotted with organ meat. Then, servants pour red liquid into his wine glass, and he needs to fight the dry heave as the smell of iron wafts up. Nia turns to him and all he can do is shake his head, subtly; they cannot and should not consume this.

“Thank you for your hospitality, but I regret that we cannot partake of your generosity this evening,” he says, swallowing down the bile, “Unfortunately we cannot eat a single-”

“Why?” Lady Lilith looks at him, tilting her head. “I assure you, these are from animals. No… humans were harmed in the making of this meal. You are a human, yes?” The last question is a purr, and all of Aerin’s hackles rise.

“I am. And we eat our meat-”

“If these delicacies were created from people, would you eat them?” Madame Miriam asks, and he could almost believe in her naivete had her eyes not been gleaming like the ruby at her throat.

His stomach turns. “Unfortunately, I would rather spend our time discussing the great threat to our Realm. The Commander of the Armies of Light is gathering allies-”

“And where is this Commander of yours?” Lady Lilith lifts her fork, sharp points of her fingernails gleaming like a knife edge, and, too swiftly for his eyes to catch, stabs it into the center of a heart, plucking it triumphantly from the platter. “Could they not come to beg for assistance themselves?”

Imtura crosses her arms over her chest. “Unfortunately, she’s busy at the moment.”

“But we are her trusted emissaries and I assure you that any agreement we make will be-” Aerin jumps in, but it’s too late.

“We would prefer to discuss the matter with your Commander.” Baron Claudius interjects around a mouthful of liquid. Aerin is watching a drop of red pool at the corner of his lips, just beginning to descend down his graying chin when he feels it - again - the buzz in his mind.

Quickly, he surveys the table; the Baron still swigs his blood, Madame Miriam is cutting a piece of jellied carcass, but Lady Lilith, the young one, is staring at him as if she were trying to drill through his skull.

He imagines that she is.

‘Begone from my mind.’

He realizes in shock that he has found the leader of the fang line, in the guise of a small slender child.

Her voice is a hiss in his head. ‘You’re clever, Little Human.’ It’s nauseating, the familiarity of another’s voice in his brain, another’s whispers he can’t drown out; this time, there is no stone to rip from his chest to end the hushed tone rattling his brain.

‘Begone,’ he grinds back. ‘Leave my head.’ When the static doesn’t abate, he fills his head with song, as loudly as he can without moving his lips. Just when Gartho is about to abscond with the queen’s buttons and hood, it’s gone. The roar leaves his head, and he is left with blessed silence.

“Do you really think we should get involved in the affairs of mortals?” Madame Miriam is asking once his attention returns to the table.

The Baron opens his mouth to reply, but Lady Lilith beats him to it, standing with a clatter. “We may, but only if we can speak to this Commander herself.”

The other two vhampyrs stand, and Aerin is wise enough to know they are being dismissed, so he stands as well, Nia and Imtura following.

“We will relay this information and return post haste. I am sure that -”

“Not all of you will.” Lady Lilith’s mouth opens into a smile that showcases her shiny, deadly teeth; Aerin averts his eyes. “One of you will stay. To ensure she will come.”

“Excuse me? No one is staying.” Imtura takes a step forward, as if to go through the table, but Aerin stops her with a hand on her bicep. 

Lady Lilith’s eyes flash molten violet, and she says, “I want an assurance that your Commander will visit us in person. Either two of you leave or none of you do.” 

Aerin has made many misjudgments in his life, far too many to count, but he’s sure that this could play out one of two ways. In one scenario, he, Nia, and Imtura die. And in the other? “Fine,” he replies, directly to Lady Lilith and her fanged smile.

“Aerin, what do you-?”

“Nia, it’s fine.”

Lady Lilith’s smile grows wider, and she claps her hands together in murderous glee. “Excellent. It’s decided. The human boy will stay.”

“No.” Imtura moves as if to reach for her axes, and his fingers tighten.

“Imtura, stop.”

“Have you lost it, landrat?”

“It’s fine.” He grinds out, dropping his voice to a whisper. “They could kill us all before you manage to pull one ax, I assure you.”

“We can’t leave you here, Raine will-”

“Raine will come. We will have our detente. It will be fine.” He holds her gaze, just long enough that she softens, and then he drops her arm with a sigh. Turning to the vhampyrs, he speaks louder. “And you assure me that they will have safe passage out of the city?”

“Surely. We’d never go back on our word.” Lady Lilith’s smirk does not give him confidence, but none of this plan gives him any kind of surety.

He steps forward with one last glance to Nia and Imtura, hoping they can read his plea to flee. And then, turning to the vhampyr leader, he nods. “I will stay.”

“Splendid. Follow me. I will show you to your quarters.”

He doesn’t watch Nia and Imtura leave - he can’t. Unfortunately, he lacks the bravery to watch them go silently, to not call out to them and beg them to wait, so he doesn’t even turn. He only follows Lady Lilith’s careful footsteps down more steps than he can count, mind-boggling pathways carved of the earth and inhabited for thousands of years. Just when he is sure he’s seen these particular cobblestones previously on their trek, she stops, pointing to a doorway.

“And this is where you will stay.”

Aerin’s eyes widen as he takes in the room. He’s definitely stayed in worse accommodations, but, with the past year at his back, his hackles rise at yet another prison cell. His fingers tremble, and his breath hitches shortly, hints of gray at the edges of his vision, before he can return to himself. Vaguely, so long ago it may have been another life, he remembers telling Raine to take a deep breath, right when the current of pain threatened to tear her away, and he is grateful for the reminder even as he stores it as far out of reach as possible. He inhales, slowly, and glances around.

There is one large room, windowless like all the others, and the three torches are too few to provide much light in the chilly chamber. To the right is a small door, almost certainly leading to a washroom or lavatory, but his gaze is transfixed by the deep mahogany at the center of the room.

“Is that… is that meant to be my bed?”

“Yes?” Lady Lilith eyes him, and he tries to stifle his discontent. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s just… humans don’t sleep in coffins.”

“Then what do you sleep in?”

“Beds?”

She narrows her eyes, pondering. “You know, I vaguely remember beds.”

“Do you? Because this is not exactly…”

“It will need to do.” Her voice sounds curt, eyes assessing. “If your Commander is all you claim, you won’t be here for long.”

“She is all I claim and more.”

“Well, then.” 

She turns to leave, but Aerin stops her with one more question. “Am I truly to remain stuck in this room?”

“It’s safer for you if you do.” She yanks open the door, forcefully, and Aerin is struck, but the incongruity of her slight frame and the fearsome strength it holds. “But this lock here will make sure of it.”

The door closes with a slam, and his shoulders droop. He should be used to prisons. He’s been in his fair share recently. 

But none so unnervingly creepy.

When his eyes fly open, his mind is ablaze in static and he sits up in a panic, shockingly thrown awake in a mere instant. “I can sing you the ballad - it’s a good one. How Gartho Swindled the Elven Queen.”

No need.

“Did you know that the mercenaries helped at the Battle of Whitetower?” His stomach aches, an empty yawning sensation that makes it hard to focus on his words.

Do you dream often?

“Never. I never do.”

Don’t lie to me, Little Prince.

He squints his eyes, trying to fight back the buzz in his mind. “Perhaps I prefer to keep my dreams to myself.”

Why? That was a boring dream. And I was there for it; I already knew what happened. Do you know why I wanted you to stay?

“Stay here?”

Yes.

He’s not entirely sure he wants to know the answer. “Why?”

Because you fought me. The others, the green one, your pretty friend, they didn’t even know I was there.

“You mean they didn’t know you were in their heads?” So much for his advice.

The green one thinks of her mother. And the pretty one wanted to help us. But you? You fought me. And after so long, I do like a challenge?

“So if I had let you see into my mind, you would have let me go?”

Maybe. Maybe not. It may still have ended up like your dream. Who knows?

After a life lived as a miserable failure, it’s only fitting that his success lead him into a vhampyr’s lair. “Do you dream?”

Lady Lilith hums, and it makes his brain shake. Sometimes. Sometimes I dream of things far past, of people I once cared for. Do you?

I do not, I do not, I do not. Perhaps if he repeats it enough, it will be true.

I can tell you are lying.

“I dream of the mercenaries.” He will never reveal the dreams he revels in, keeps close to his heart. “Where did I leave off in my tale?”

Your stories are tiresome.

“I am tiresome. So the mercenaries were just leaving the forest with the evil princes when they had to part ways.”

Why?

“They were going in separate directions, but one of the evil princes knew they would meet again.”

How?

“Uh… evil ways?” Aerin shrugs, even though she cannot see it, and continues on. “But they do meet again. Later. The mercenaries go on their way to the Elven city, and the princes return home to the palace.”

What is the Elven city like?

“I’ve never been.” He’d always wanted to visit, had read tomes about it at the Archives, but only King Arlan and the Crown Prince had been permitted to visit. “I’ve heard it chiseled into a mountain.”

So there is no daylight. Maybe I could visit.

“Would you like to?”

Yes. There is… much in this world I have not seen.

“Odd, since you’ve been alive for so long.”

Most places do not take kindly to immortal visitors and most people do not visit us. We’ve never had a human visitor before.

“Can’t imagine why,” Aerin mumbles.

We’ve had humans come, a few, but only to request to be turned. Or to hunt us.

“I can imagine that those hunters turned into the hunted.”

She chuckles. Yes, very quickly… and deliciously.

“Did you turn any of them?”

The ones we took a liking to. Sometimes, it doesn’t work and they perish, most painfully.

He shudders. If his current predicament is bad, he can’t imagine worse.

What is it like in the human world?

The question seems honest, curious, and the static doesn’t deepen - she’s not probing his thoughts and memories for information. “It’s not underground, for one. Our buildings are above ground since we can be in the sunlight, and there are towns and cities where many humans live together, much like this.”

Are they all related? Like us?

“Not everyone in a city, but families will usually share a home.”

Do you have a home?

His gut twists and his fingers tremble, a curious unsettling shake, so he curves his hands into fists so tight his fingernails dig into flesh. “I did. Once. But now I travel by the Commander’s side, mostly.”

So you are always working.

“It’s not always work. We share meals, for example, share stories. Campfires and adventures and… other things.” Aerin needs to screw his eyes shut to hide the tears welling just behind his eyelids. Thinking about Raine hurts.

You are very loyal to your Commander.

“I wasn’t always.” It might be a mistake to divulge, but his situation can’t get much worse. “We went through a lot of struggles to get to where we are.”

Why? Is… Is your Commander mean?

“What? No! The struggles were mine and mine alone.” He swallows hard. “The Commander is… incredible. You will see when you meet her.”

Do you still think she is coming?

He doesn’t answer the question. In his heart, he knows that she would never leave any of them behind. But in his mind, well, he can see the danger of bringing the entire party to Necropolis and, if she had to lose a member of her party, unfortunately, the non-magical weakling betrayer would be the most logical choice, regardless of whatever undefined attachment existed between them. 

Lady Lilith continues. Or do you think she will leave you to be locked away with the vhampyrs, never to be freed?

He doesn’t answer that question either, but shoots back one of his own. “If she does come, what will you do when she arrives?”

Lady Lilith doesn’t reply.

~~~~~

It starts slowly. 

His mind starts to play tricks on him, a flash of light where none exists, a phantom touch when he’s alone. He opens his eyes to see Raine, standing in a corner looking downcast; when he leaps up to greet her, she disappears, his hands wrapping around cold air.

He could almost brush it off as a symptom of imprisonment when the cough begins, settling in his chest as a heavy weight.

His voice cracks in the middle of the tale. He’s just recounting how the mercenaries are gathering troops to fight the Ashen Empress when Lady Lilith interjects.

Do you need water?

“From the river? Sure, thank you.”

When Lady Lilith returns, he’s overheating despite the chill, traces of sweat beginning at his hairline, slipping down his face.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course.” He wipes his brow. “Now where was I?”

“The evil Ashen Empress. Was she evil like the princes?”

“I…” It takes him far longer than he’d like to answer this question. “No. The princes were different. The Empress wanted to kill everyone.”

“Sometimes those that the world thinks are murderers are actually something different.”

His head begins to throb. “Lady Lilith, are you speaking in riddles?”

“No, continue, continue. So the mercenaries prepare for war.”

“Yes. So they all get ready, very exciting. Even the bard is there.”

“Who?”

“The hero’s brother. He tells stories, sings tales of old.”

“Like you?”

“This isn’t a tale of old! This was about the Battle of-”

“I thought it was just a story.” Lady Lilith narrows her eyes.

“Of course it is.” 

“Then, will you ever tell me the ending? How does it end?”

He doesn’t know; he can only pray - not here, not here, please, not here. “I will tell you the end, but-” He’s cut off by a cough. “Do you… do you mind if we continue the story later? I’m not… I forget the words.”

Lady Lilith looks confused, but nods. Aerin doesn’t look up as she leaves, only focusing on a singular point on the stone floor to keep the nausea at bay.

~~~~~

Seven days.

Fourteen meals.

Though he may have lost count.

~~~~~

Ten days.

The world sways, as if his vision were failing or if he were no longer on solid ground, instead tilted at stomach-churning angles.

That morning (or whatever ill-defined time the exhaustion threatens to take him away), he can’t take the chill of the floor any longer, so he grabs the wispy blanket and crawls into the coffin.

The walls are green velvet, soft, and it’s absurdly comfortable.

Dimly, before sleep takes him, he thinks that he might want to stay there forever.

~~~~~

Thirteen days.

The blood in his veins burns. Is it his own?

If they were going to come, wouldn’t they be here by now?

~~~~~

“And then the portals opened, and the battle began.” Aerin tries to move his eyelids, but they only open halfway. He can see the ceiling through the flutter of his lashes, and the sweat pouring off him has soaked the velvet of his coffin. If he could get up, he’s sure he would see a wet imprint of his body in darkened green, but he can’t even imagine moving. 

“Were they all there?”

“Hmmm…. Who?” Aerin’s losing his mind and he’s pretty sure he lost the plot of his own story, but he can see the moon from his cell twirling in frantic circles before his eyes but he’s underground (he thinks, he thinks) so he’s sure he’s seeing things but can he truly be sure of anything anymore? What story was he telling? 

“The mercenaries?”

“Where?”

“At the battle against the Ash Empress!”

“Ah, yes. They were there. They all were. The Hero, the priestess, the Orcan princess, the grumpy mage, the insufferable rogue.”

“Was the bard there?”

He blinks. The walls appear to be dripping blood. “Yes. Why? Is that your favorite character?”

“I appreciate a good storyteller.”

“Ah…” Aerin trails off as his vision is almost entirely red. “Well, I do… I do apologize that I am not…” And then there is only darkness.

~~~~~

It’s dark. 

It’s always so dark.

~~~~~

“Wake up, wake up, wake up, Little Prince!”

It’s painful to open his eyes. His head hammers in pain, almost overpowering Lady Lilith’s words, but he can hear the years in her voice over his headache. “What?”

“You need to stay awake, Little Prince.”

He is exhausted, so bone-weary that the strength to hold her gaze is painful. “I want to sleep.”

“No.” There is panic in the word. “No, you mustn’t, you mustn’t.” He nods, but his eyes slide shut. “No! Please. Tell me… tell me about the story.”

“What about it?” he murmurs.

“It’s always been real, hasn’t it?”

His lips are so dry that he tastes blood every time he licks his lips. “What has?”

“The story. The mercenaries.”

“Of course… mostly.” Even his bones are tired, but he doesn’t need to defend himself from the outside voices in his brain anymore. His mind is empty.

“Little Prince.” Lady Lilith grabs his shoulders and shakes; he winces. “Sorry. Tell me the story again.”

“Which one?”

“Any one.” His eyes flutter shut, and she rubs his shoulder, gentler this time. “Aerin!”

“The Heroes went into the forest and defeated the monsters and saved the princes. And they all fought a God of Old. It was real.” 

“You were there.”

“Yes, we all were.” The cold has seeped into his brain, and every inhale audibly cracks his ribs.

“Your companions? The travelers we dined with? They were there?” He can only nod. “And who is your green friend?”

“The tough one.”

“And the pretty human?”

“The kind one.”

“And which character are you?”

There are spots in Aerin’s visions, dark masses that sway about the periphery. “The one who either leaves…” He breaks off with a cough so deep it feels like it’s scarring his lung with every forceful exhale. “Or gets left behind.” And then the black spots enlarge and swallow him whole.

~~~~~ 

There’s sunlight. Aerin looks around him in awe. There’s sunlight!

He takes a deep breath of the fresh forest air, looking around in utter delight. The canopy of trees about his head is sparse, allowing ample daylight to filter through, and the harmonies of song and merriment carry down a dirt path. 

As he steps forward, he realizes in an instant where he is. These are the woods outside Riverbend and, as he turns the corner nearing the temple, he stops short at the figure waiting for him, lounging on a boulder.

“Raine!” He jogs forward, smiling growing wider with every step, until he slows when he is mere feet from her. As she stands, there is fury painting her flawless features. “Raine, what’s wrong?”

Her voice drips venom. “You lied to me.”

“What?” He wracks his brain for deception and nothing comes. “I… no, no longer. What do you mean?”

“You said you would come back.”

“I… I am here now.” He’s not quite sure what she’s referring to, but he’s standing right before her, in the flesh. “I am here. I will always be here.”

“That is not true, Aerin. That is what you do. You leave.”

“But I -”

“You leave me.”

“No.” He shakes his head frantically. “No, I never wish to be parted from you, you know that. I would never, never again.” His legs carry him forward to embrace her, but she only steps away, tears brimming in her eyes.

“You promised.” A sudden wind whips through the wood as she turns away, leaden steps taking her further from him. “Aerin,” she calls over her shoulder, “you promised.”

“Wait.” He wraps his arm around his torso; the wind turns frigid, so cold, always so cold, and she crests over a hill and out of side. “Wait!” His useless feet won’t move and the chill settles in his bones. Is this his destiny? Doomed to be separated from the one person whom his heart beats for?

The chattering of his teeth awakens him.

When Aerin opens his eyes, Lady Lilith stands above him, worry lines etched in the pale skin of her forehead.

“That’s not concerning.” A cough cuts him off, and he waits until his lungs stop rattling to speak. “Not concerning at all, waking up to a vhampyr staring at you.”

“I would change you.” She whispers, urgently. “If I had to, I would.”

“No.” More coughing. “No.” His mind flashes to a millennium without sunlight, missing the golden rays of sunshine peeking over the Cartesian Sea, the bustle of the Whitetower marketplace, the sun gleaming off Raine’s hair, her smile as they hike through woods bathed in the afternoon warmth. “Don’t change me.”

Lady Lilith blinks back tears, though a few break free to edge over her cheekbone. They glisten in the torchlight, like dew at breaking dawn, a sight he shall never see again.

His own eyes start to sting, sweat trailing down his face, and there’s salt on his tongue. Lady Lilith grabs his hand, clutching it carefully in her corded strength, holding tight until the darkness welcomes him again.

~~~~~

Days fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen don’t count.

He doesn’t wake up for them.

~~~~~

He can hear the voice above him, and it could be a dream; it must be a dream. 

His mind is his own, but it’s playing tricks on him, assuredly, because it sounds like Raine is standing right above his head.

He’s flying, the room spinning in circles about him, and if he looks at the walls about him, they blur as if he turning around and around, faster and faster, and there is a light, somewhere, from outside, or maybe inside his skull, and he is dying, he is dead; he has been reborn, and he cannot breathe. 

He rolls over and vomits.

As he’s wiping bile from his lips, the door opens and Lady Lilith storms in. “Let’s get you up, Little Prince.”

“Please stop calling me that.” He wipes his lips on his sleeve and his teeth chatter against the fabric. It’s so cold.

“You need to get up. We have guests.”

“What- who-”

With superhuman strength, she jostles him until, while he may be on two feet, he is mostly leaning on her, draped over a small shoulder as he takes one stuttering step after another. They travel through the crypts, torchlight causing shadows to jump across the walls, making him nauseous anew, but finally, they reach a wooden door.

Even though it’s latched tight, he can hear voices on the other side. Loud. Unyielding. “I demand my diplomat.”

Aerin raises his head. “Raine? Is it really-”

The static invades his skull again. Who is she?

“Stop, please stop!” He tries to sing Gartho the Trickster but he can’t focus; his temples throb and besides, all that matters is that Raine is on the other side of this damnable door. 

Who is she?

“She’s the Hero.”

Who?

“The Hero of Morella, Commander of the all the Forces of Light, Savior of the Reams and Champion to All, please just-”

Lady Lilith shifts him so she can peer into his face. She speaks now, out of his head, her voice a whisper in the hall. “Is she the same hero from the mercenary tale? With the princes?”

“Yes.” Aerin is too weak to lie; he can’t even raise his hands to wipe the moisture pooling in his eyes. “Please, just- I just need to see her.”

The vhampyr leader is silent for far too long before she lowers him to the ground, crouching in the dirt beside him. “Aerin.” Her palm graces his cheek and it’s cold, so cold, and the shivering hurts his teeth. “How does the story end?”

And he doesn’t think, just replies, too weak to manufacture any artifice. The story ends the only way possible, the only way it can truly end, and, when he trails off into silence, her violet eyes glisten with unshed tears.

Finally, she stands and speaks. “Wait here.” With that command, she strides through the doorway and he hears the dull sound of a latch locking.

Aerin could almost cry, in an inglorious heap, with one measly door between him and Raine. He crawls forward over the rough earth, stones digging into his fingertips and leaving bloody droplets in the dirt. When he makes it to the door, he lifts his hands to bang against the wood but his fists barely make a sound; he is so weak, so tired, and the grains of the wooden boards are swirling before his eyes. He can’t even yell, voice a mere croak, and he slides in defeat down to the floor.

He has failed, he realizes. He was not able to broker an accord, was not even able to get any kind of agreement, and he wasn’t able to protect Raine.

And then the ground rushes up to meet his face and there is only silence.

~~~~~

He’s in the air, he’s flying, he’s falling.

There’s yelling, but it’s not him; his mouth feels like it has been stuffed with gauze, and his eyes only open wide enough for his lashes to flutter tremulously in his vision but he’s on his feet, somehow.

There’s the unsheathing of a sword.

More yelling.

The sheathing of a sword.

A flash of yellow and gold in front of him, steady arms holding him up as his boots struggle and fail to find purchase on the floor.

Safety.

“I’m sorry,” he says the words into the armor mushed into his cheek, but he’s not sure anyone can hear him. His throat is so raw, he can barely hear himself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. For all of it.”

More yelling.

Static and buzzing, traveling from his forehead to his ears, just a roar frying his brain cells, and he can’t even fight it as he passes out again.

He awakens again to a flash of green, and he’s soaring through the air anew; while there is less screaming, he’s numb and cannot feel a thing. The world spins and that’s when his brain shuts down.

~~~~~

When he awakens, actually awakens, he is in a plush bed, and light streams into the room. It’s been so long since he has seen the sun that he only gapes at the golden rays streaming through the window. The room is warm, especially under plush covers, and it’s been so long since he’s seen sunlight and felt warmth on his skin that he props up on one wavering elbow and stares for minutes until he realizes, with a start, that he’s in Raine’s palace room.

“Good morning.”

He starts again at a voice to his left and, though it aches, he turns to see Raine perched on a chair, staring at him and gnawing on her bottom lip. He means to say hello, truly he does, but all that emerges from his mouth is “Oww.”

“Are you ok?” She’s at his side in an instant.

“I love you.” It’s raspy but audible, and he sighs as he sinks back into the plush mattress.

“That… is not an answer to my question.”

“I know, but I spent the last few weeks wondering if I could ever say it again, so I didn’t want to miss my moment.”

She shakes her head fondly and threads a hand through his curls before carefully sliding onto the bed next to him. “I love you, too.”

“I had a feeling,” he replies; she chuffs his shoulder and, for the first time in weeks, he feels like he can relax. “I told you I would come back.”

“Do not- Do not joke about that. Do you know what state we found you in?”

 “A state befitting of my heroic deeds?”

“I thought you were going to die!” The arm that has wound its way around his waist squeezes tighter. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Eh, I was fine. I will be fine. Just a few more minutes, and I will be right as rain.” His eyes flutter shut, only to fly open again. “Did they agree?”

“Who?”

“Lady Lilith. Did she - did she agree to have the vhampyrs join us?”

“She did…” Raine’s words are careful, slow. “We had quite the discussion while you were close to death.”

“Sounds enlightening; my apologies for missing it. What did she say?”

“She said you taught her a lot about humans.”

“Hmmm… like that we don’t drink blood?”

“Among other things. She said that if you personally go to inform them of the battle, their forces will join.”

“Couldn’t someone else go? Mal? He would love the trip, I’m sure.”

“She specifically requested you. She seemed to like you.”

He quirks a shoulder. “I didn’t know what to expect of the vhampyrs. They seemed… lonely.”

“She said you told her stories.”

“I did.” He chuckles at that. “She kept trying to read my mind. And you know how I like my secrets.”

“She said you told of the mercenaries of Lord Kelvin Gillbottle.” A sad smile plays on her lips. “Aerin? Did you truly believe I would leave you?”

“What do you mean? No! Not really. “

“What do you mean, not really?”

“I guess - the longer it was there, the harder it was to tell the difference between what was real and what was not. But I knew, in my heart, I knew you would come for me.”

“Then… why is that not the story you told her?”

“What are you talking about?”

“She said that, every night, you would tell her the story of us meeting in the Deadwood. And that, in every telling, the mercenaries realized the princes were evil and tortured them. Killed one in cold blood. And I locked the other away with the vhampyrs, never to be freed, as revenge for his disloyalty.”

He blinks. “That’s not how I said the story ended.” He tries to sit up, but it is futile until Raine slides her arm around him, a line of solid strength and care propping him up.

“That’s what she told me.”

“That trickster… Raine, that’s not the ending I made up.”

Her eyes, large and bright in sunshine, bore into his. “Then how did you end the tale?”

“I said…” He breaks off with another cough and she hands him a waterskin; the liquid is mercifully cool on his throat. “I said that the mercenaries met two evil princes in the forest.”

“Aerin, that’s not…”

“Shhh, it’s my story. I said that the mercenaries met two evil princes in the forest. One died.” Raine’s face softens at this, but she doesn’t interrupt, so he continues. “The other realized the error of his ways. He- he fell in love with one of the mercenaries, the hero, and stayed by her side, forever, until the end of time.”

She bites her lip, eyes welling with unshed tears, and, just as Aerin moves to apologize, she nods. “Yes. That is exactly how the story ends.”

[aria-ashryver]

Aria Ashryver - Choices Fic Masterlist

🖤 IMMORTAL DESIRES 🖤

m!Cas x m!Gabe x nb!MC (Luca O'Rinn)

Snow In Crimson, Starlight in Gold (Masterlist)

Starlight Smut Supercut (Masterlist)

Moving Day

Breakfast Roast

m!Cas x m!Gabe

When the Dark Comes, Leave a Light (Can be read as a part of the Starlight timeline or as standalone)

This Pretty, Poisoned Chalice

Cas Learns to Dance (SICSIG drabble)

f!Cas x f!Gabe

Whatever You Say, President Adalhard (Pt. 1)

Misc. Characters

Swipe Right (drabble ft. Lewyn and the young Venandis)

Chroma (drabble ft. Venandi OC, Delphine Taylor)

A Pinch of Sugar (fic ft. Seth & Terri) (Can be read as a part of the Starlight timeline or as standalone)

🗡 Blades of Light and Shadow 🗡

Aerin x m!human!MC (Dorian Silvertongue)

I Cannot Bear To Hold You With These Unworthy Hands

Tyril x f!human!MC (Raine of Riverbend)

Woven Threads and Winding Roads (Pt 1&2)

Woven Threads and Winding Roads (Pt 3&4)

Woven Threads and Winding Roads (Pt 5&6)

Link to MC Masterlist

[petalouda85]

Birth

Fandom: Blades of Light and Shadow 2

Pairings: Tyril x f!human!MC (Kassandra)

Word count: 1.4k

Concept: Kade, Imtura, and Mal wait for news of the newest member of their family

Tags: @liviusofpella, @megas-choices, @starlight-starfury, @dutifullynuttywitch, @thosehallowedhalls @choicesficwriterscreations

AO3 link: x

A/N: Finally. The fic I’ve wanted to post for a very long time. I can finally reveal the name for Baby Starfury 🥰 after the emotional rollercoaster of Forever (in my Mind), you guys deserve a fluffy treat. Enjoy.

Reading had always been easy for Kade. Almost as easy as breathing. He could grab any tome and easily be lost in the words, his mind taken to places far away and times long gone, it all brought to life with his imagination. Tonight, however, it was hard to concentrate as his mind constantly drifted towards the cabin near to where he sat, his stomach twisting with the knowledge of what was happening inside. He tried to listen for any noise coming from the home, despite knowing it was pointless; Nia and Tyril had made sure of that.

Unable to focus on his book, Kade looked towards the other two that kept him quiet company in the homestead. Mal practiced a few quick movements with his dagger, stabbing into an imaginary foe, while Imtura stood off to the side, aiming and hurling her axes into a nearby tree, the bark splitting more each time. Boredom could rationalize their weapon practice, but Kade knew better.

A few weeks prior, when everyone had finally arrived in Riverbend, the villagers warned them of a group of elves that had recently traveled through. While no direct questions were asked, their apparent interest in the “Hero of Morella” had set off alarm bells in everyone and precautions were taken.

When Kassandra went into labor, Nia and Tyril had cast a spell over the clearing, masking the homestead, and then a silencing spell over the cabin. Once the door shut behind them, Mal and Imtura had pulled their weapons closer, ready to be grabbed at the first sign of trouble. Several hours had passed since then, the high afternoon sun now replaced by a bright moon; Kade reckoned it was past midnight already.

He snapped his book shut and leaned forward with a great sigh, rubbing his eyes and face trying to relieve the tension and growing exhaustion.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be an uncle.” He said softly. He must’ve been louder than he thought because in a split second, Mal stood before him.

“You and me both, buddy.” The rogue said, sitting down next to him. “It’s happening and I still have trouble wrapping my head around it. Elf boy and kit are going to be parents. Who would’ve thought the wet blanket and the life of the party would ever reach this point.”

“It is hard to wrap your head around it all.” Kade said. “For so long, it was just me and my sister. Now she’s having a baby.” He let out a weak chuckle. “It’s stupid to think so but, part of me is scared that she’ll forget me; a child takes priority after all.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Imtura said, pulling her axe from the tree before joining the two men. “I’ve travelled with Kassandra long enough to know that she’d never forget you or any of us. We’re all her family and nothing’s gonna change that, not even a new tiny landrat.”

“Would be nice if the little tyke made headway.” Mal said, letting out a loud yawn. “All this doing nothing is making me tired.” His yawn was replaced with a yelp when Imtura slapped him across his head. “Hey!”

“You can’t rush these things.” She scolded. “The tyke gets here when they get here. And that could be in the next 5 minutes or in the next few hours. Hells, little guy could already be here and Kassandra’s just not up for visitors right now. We just got to wait.”

“I know, I know! Doesn’t mean I can’t complain about the waiting. It’s not like we got a lot to do besides that and there’s only so many fake guys I can stab.”

“I’d offer a book, but I get the sense neither of you are readers, even when faced with endless boredom.” All three laughed.

“We’ll leave the reading to you, kid.” Mal stood up from the bench and pulled forth a deck of cards from his pocket. “Up for a game?” He asked the orc, who smiled.

“Always. Be ready to lose.” The two found a patch of grass to sit on and began their game. Kade watched them half-heartedly for a moment before opening his book once more, trying his best not to nod off.

He shut his eyes briefly and when he opened them next, his face was glued against the cover of the book and his back was stiff from the hard bench. With a groan, he sat up, a thin blanket falling off him. Looking around him, he found Imtura and Mal also asleep in the grass, their card game replaced by a now extinguished fire, and the birds singing their morning song as the sun’s beams began to peak through the trees. He stretched his back and checked the state of the cabin, finding the spell still on it, before moving towards his slumbering companions.

“Rise and shine.” Kade said as Mal woke up.

“Morning already? Nothing yet?”

“Nothing yet.” Kade moved to wake Imtura next. Soon, the three sat down for a silent breakfast, ready for the prospect of another day of waiting. After their quick meal, Kade returned to the bench and grabbed his book, ready to try reading it yet again, when a magical hum came from the cabin. He immediately abandoned the tome, jumping to his feet when some low noises could be heard from inside. The door clicked open, and everyone ran to it as Nia appeared in the frame, looking frazzled and tired. Despite her weary state, the priestess was smiling.

“Everything’s fine.” She quickly said, seeing the worry on their faces. “Mom and baby are doing fine. They were born just after midnight. They’re all cleaned up and have already been resting for some time.”

“Midnight? But-“ Mal began to protest but Imtura gave him another slap. The priestess fought down a snicker at his incredulous look before she opened the door a bit wider.

“You can come in but only for a little while; Kassandra’s still very tired.”

Kade ran in first, finding Aderyn preparing some food in the kitchen. He quickly sent her a grateful smile before dashing towards the bedroom, the others on his heels. The moment he stepped into the entrance way, he froze.

Mal unceremoniously bumped into him, but any complaint was quickly gone when the three heard the soft gurgling noises coming from the little bundle resting in Kassandra’s arms.

She was lying in bed, looking exhausted and worn out. Tyril, seated in a chair next to the bed, appeared exhausted as well but both were staring down at the bundle with immeasurable love and affection in their eyes. The two looked up as the visitors slowly entered the room.

“Hi.” Kassandra said, her eyes brimming with tears, before looking down at her child. “Look who’s here.”

Kade stood frozen in place for a moment, alternating his gaze between his sister and the child in her arms, before rushing to the bed and embracing her tightly, tears forming in his eyes.

“I’m so proud of you.” He whispered to her. He continued holding her, hearing her sniffle before she returned the embrace

“Thank you.” He gave her a kiss on her cheek before pulling away. He then quickly turned towards Tyril and embraced him too; it took the elf a moment to return the gesture.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

Kade pulled away and sat down on the bed, watching the child with pride swelling in his chest.

“Do you want to hold them?” Kassandra asked after a while.

“Yes.”

Gently, she passed the bundle to him, the man gawking down at the baby nestled in the blanket their mother had made for them. They were beautiful, dark-skinned and a barely visible black fuzz on their head. They looked almost entirely human, if not for their ears. Granted, they were shorter than the standard elven ears but there was no denying the point at the end of them.

“Hi.” Kade said softly and in disbelief. He took their little hand, the tiny digits not even wrapping entirely around his thumb. “I’m your uncle.” He turned to look at Mal, Imtura and Nia; none had a dry eye. “And your other uncle and aunts are here too.” He looked back to the new parents, who beamed with pride as they held each other’s hand. “What’s their name?”

Tyril looked to Kassandra, who nodded.

“Everyone,” Tyril began with a proud smile, “meet our daughter, Kaya.”

[mikaelsrose]

The Lover's Caress

Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Reyna) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow 2, chapter 2 Word count: 1940 Rating: M Warnings: emotional hurt, marked sexual content within the fic Category: angst A/n: this is for the girlies who needed to see Tyril bawl his eyes out at the sight of MC Tag list: @lxdy-starfury @starlight-starfury @watatsumi-island @sophie-summer @brycesgirl @lilyoffandoms @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesbookclub

The clock tower showed just four minutes after four in the morning as Tyril and Reyna reached her chamber and unwillingly unlaced their hands.

"I hope you will stay? I can't open a portal for you to go back to Undermount," Reyna started as her fingers nimbly worked with the matches to light the candles on the night stands. Despite the sun already rising, dark rain clouds obstructed the light, plunging the city in gloomy darkness. "Not that I'd want to, anyway."

"I intend to watch over you constantly lest you were to disappear again."

“Nonsense, you need to rest. When was the last time you got a proper night’s rest?”

Tyril shrugged his shoulders indiscernibly. Just as Reyna was about to scold him for not taking care of himself, the match burned her fingers.

“Blast!”

"Allow me," he uttered lowly before catching her wrist and bringing the burned fingers to his lips. Having whispered a short spell, Tyril touched the sore area and a wave of soothing coolness hugged the wound. Under his scrutinizing gaze, Reyna was suddenly overcome with shyness and lowered her gaze. 

"I knew having a skilled mage by my side would come in handy," she joked. “Thank you. We should probably get some rest. May I?” 

Reyna’s fingers quickly undid the intricate fastening of Tyril’s clothes and as he stood in front of her in nothing but his undergarments, her brows knitted.

“That’s new,” she noticed, touching a purplish scar on the plane of his chest. 

“A close encounter with a succubus.”

Reyna quirked an eyebrow. “Succubus? The seductive she-devil succubus?”

“She was said to be in possession of a long-lost spell book, I had hoped that perhaps she would help me open a portal.”

“And how exactly did you play to convince her?”

“With threats.”

"That's why you ended up with a wound on your chest? What did she strike you with, a hacksaw?" 

Tyril sighed quietly upon realizing that it was not jealousy speaking through his beloved but worry. "I underestimated the risk."

"Just like you did with the fluria? And this?” she pointed to a cut just above his hip. “It's also fresh."

"A basilisk. They're rumoured to have the ability to cross realms."

"And you attacked it alone," he nodded. "You were trying to get hurt, weren't you?"

While Tyril desperately searched for the right words, Reyna took a moment to study his face in the warm candlelight. There were visible dark spots under his eyes, his cheekbones and jawline seemed a bit sharper, indicating a weight loss, and as her eyes slid lower, she also noticed how much more defined his muscles had become. He must have been hunting for a while, many more creatures than he would ever admit to her.

"I was trying to be punished."

“Tyril—”

“Reyna, you don’t understand. You were gone for a year. They took you from right under my nose, and I did nothing to stop them. You were gone for a year and I never even got a single promising lead. I am sorry I couldn't do more to help you," he whispered, dropping his gaze to her cheek, which he stroked with a thumb. "Please forgive me—"

"You need to forgive yourself, Tyril," she interrupted, her hand cupping his cheek. "It was you who gave me the strength to fight, the thought of never seeing your face again helped me get off my knees and run even though my whole body burned with pain. So thank you."

His eyes glistened and she continued.

"I think I heard you, when I was still weak and befuddled."

Tyril felt his heart skip a beat. "Perhaps Gods heard my prayers after all."

"You prayed for me?"

"Of course," he assured immediately, and a tear rolled down his cheek. "I was utterly desperate, submerged in books I held onto the faintest hope, I begged scholars and mages for help, but nobody even dared to hope. It was Adrina who suggested I should reconnect with the Gods. On my knees, I prayed for forgiveness and pleaded for help for months."

Reyna bit her lip, emotions too overwhelming to allow even the quietest words to leave her mouth without breaking into a million pieces. However, seeing how Tyril allowed his grief and loneliness to leave his body in the waves of tears, her own dam broke and soon only the quiet sniffling of two entwined lovers could be heard. 

"Gods, I have missed you so much," the elf mumbled into her hair before pressing his lips to her temple, long and hard, and shut his eyes tightly, afraid she'd disappear if he opened them, just as had happened several times. "The thought of never seeing you again, never holding your hand, was driving me mad. I have grieved while still hoping, still searching for a way to bring you back, but I hit a damn wall every time. I— I have been truly awful to my family this year, Reyna, because all that mattered was getting to you as fast as possible—" 

Tyril's voice suddenly broke and Reyna, as if finally understanding the full scope of the effects her absence had on her partner, felt her heart break. Her hand soothingly caressed the back of his head, while her tears pooled in the crook of his neck. 

"I was afraid I'd lost you to the Shadows as well," he whispered. "And I was ready to lose myself just to get you back."

“If it’s any consolation, it only felt like a couple of days for me,” Reyna uttered quietly once they both calmed down. Tyril’s embrace loosened slightly, and he pulled back just enough to see her face. 

“That’s good. I’d hate for you to feel so lonely and helpless in the Shadow Realm for a year.”

The couple timidly smiled at each other, and once Reyna’s fingers wiped the remaining evidence of anguish off his face, Tyril suggested lying down.

As if nothing ever happened, Tyril took his place on the right side of the mattress while Reyna straddled him and rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. Just like they did the night before everything changed.

In complete silence only interrupted by regular pattering of the rain against the window, they listened to each other's breaths, caressing each other’s skin and kissing every now and again. Reyna smiled as his thumb began drawing small circles on her bare thigh. She took in the sight in front of her, still afraid that if she blinked, he'd disappear. The mere suggestion of waking up in Valax’s laboratory again sent an uncomfortable wave of shivers down her back.

"You look so beautiful like this," she whispered, her hands journeying across his chiselled stomach and chest, marvelling at the smoothness of his pale skin. Under her fingers, she felt his pounding heart and quickened breath, and she only smiled wider. In the early morning sun, Tyril's noble features softened, making him look like the young, exhausted man he was.

"I suppose happiness looks good on everybody."

"Nobody wears it like you do, Lord Starfury," she whispered against his lips before capturing them in a soft kiss, and within seconds she welcomed his tongue on her lower lip. 

Deftly sliding the strap of her bra off her shoulder, Tyril kissed her collarbone, first on the right side, then repeated the action on the left, soon unclasping the garment and letting it fall to the floor. 

“At long last,” he hummed in between the sloppy kisses. Reyna smiled blissfully.

Before long, the last pieces of clothing fell to the ground and Reyna, still straddling half-sitting Tyril slowly lowered herself onto him with a quiet moan.

"I have yearned to hear you make that sound again," he gasped, one of his hands tightening on Reyna's hip while the other caressed her back, pulling her closer. 

Contrary to her mind, her body felt their prolonged separation. Each touch would send a wave of shivers through her body, each bounce of her thighs pulling out soft moans from her throat. Soon they found their rhythm and the room reverberated with a blend of the couple's whimpers and ragged breaths.

As the urge to be in control for the first time in months grew, Tyril switched their position and rolled on top of Reyna, who, afraid to let him go, wrapped her legs around his waist. His lips then focused on Reyna's neck, leaving love bite after love bite in their wake, earning him a pull at his hair and increasingly louder moans.

"Please, don't ever leave me again," he huffed, pleadingly. Feeling her climax approaching, he kissed her again, sucking on her lower lip long enough to leave a tiny red bruise as his hand blindly searched for hers to lock their fingers together.  

Groaning, Reyna clenched her fingers around Tyril’s, leaving half moon marks over his knuckles. She looked at him from under her lashes—the image of her partner, flushed, sweaty, whimpering proved to be the final straw that sent her over the edge. Following suit, the elf hid his face in the crook of Reyna’s neck, his hips still lazily moving.

“I’ll always fight my way back to you, Tyril.”

The wind outside picked up, howling mournfully through the city lanes and alleyways. Blissfully spent, the couple cuddled under the duvet.

“I’ve heard you and Kade got to know each other better in my absence,” Reyna mumbled sleepily, resting her head on Tyril’s shoulder. The elf hummed. “I’m glad.”

“Bonding with your brother was the only good thing to happen this past year.”

“Has he told you all the embarrassing stories?”

Tyril smirked at the memory. “A few.”

"Rest assured that I will have my revenge."

"You already know my most humiliating story, bringing shame upon my House is impossible to top."

"Personally, I believe stepping on your date's dress and causing her to fall into mud at her own Ancestral Masquerade is much more embarrassing," she chuckled while Tyril's eyes widened in shock. 

"How do you know about it?"

"Your sister is an excellent conversationalist, did you know that?" 

Tyril shook his head disapprovingly. “Tarnishing the reputation of House Starfury like that.”

“I like your new hairstyle, it really shows off your pretty face,” she complimented and raised her head to check whether she’d get the reaction she hoped for from him. Shortly, a dark purple blush flowered on his cheeks.

“I— Ahem, I’m glad it’s to your liking,” he stuttered. 

“I’m also impressed by your musculature, you really put in some work when I was away,” she teased, making Tyril chuckle, still visibly embarrassed. “Oh, how I missed those dimples!”

“Please stop,” the elf pleaded, snaking an arm around Reyna’s bare stomach as she leant over and kissed his dimples, then the tip of his nose, chin, and finally his lips. Their kiss was interrupted by a loud thunder that made Reyna jump away, scared. She nervously looked around the room, expecting the worst, but everything was exactly the same. 

She felt Tyril’s palm cupping her cheek, and she unwillingly stopped scanning the room to look at his face. 

“You’re safe, Reyna. It’s alright, you’re safe. I’m with you.”

She nodded absent-mindedly. It took her a moment to shake off the images of Ashen soldiers, and she blinked repeatedly when the initial panic subsided. Tyril was looking at her worriedly, gently stroking her cheek, and Reyna focused on the way the candlelight glistened in his baby blue eyes.

“You’re safe.”

“I know. You’re with me.”

Tyril nodded and pressed his lips to her temple. “I’m with you.”