#weeping monk / reader

[salliesimpkins]

“I like you a lot”

Isaac lahey x fem!Reader

TW: Smut, oral (fem receiving), use of pet names, claws, nipple play

+16 read at your own risk. I’m not your mommy A/N: first smut to write + english isn’t my first lang word count: 2.5K

You were at school, leaning against your locker. smiling at and laughing with Stiles, until you caught Isaac glaring at you across the hall, visibly upset.

"alright Stiles I've got to go now, I'll see ya" you walked away after Stiles nodded and walked to Scott, and you made your way to Isaac.

"hey" you flashed him a smile and he blushed. How could he not? he thought you were the most beautiful thing ever.

The beta glanced over Stiles before turning back to you. "hey.." he spoke softly.

"Just tired... I uhh, I’ve got a lot on my mind lately" he said slowly and softly, not wanting to ruin this moment between you two.

You nodded slowly, feeling bad for him. "well you know, you can always talk to me" you said softly, reassuring him that he's got someone by his side.

You watched him closely as he looked at you quietly, and you didn't want to rush him to speak, you knew how sensitive Isaac is. It made him feel pathetic when he opened up to anyone or asked for help, that's what his dad has taught him. That a man is a man, boys don't cry, but Isaac knew you, he loved you, trusted you, and he knew your listen and get him anytime.

"I've just been going back.. thinking about my family" He looked down as his expression softened.

"oh" you whispered softly and placed your hand on the boy's back, rubbing it gently. "I know you've suffered from your dad your whole life, but his death Isn’t your fault".

Isaac flinched, but he didn't move away from you. Even though your gesture was tiny, it felt huge to him, It made him on top of the world. He let out a soft sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. "I know... I just-" he paused, unsure if he can keep going or not, but he really counted on you, so he kept going. "I didn't even cry at the funeral and everyone thinks I don't care, that I was wishing the whole time i'd get rid of him, and the problem is.. it's true. I was relieved that he's dead"

"Honey listen to me" you took a step closer, placing both your hands on his shoulder. "your dad used to lock you in a freezer. that night.. that night he hurt you and you ran like any other night, because you didn't know what he would die" you then place your hand on isaac's cheek, caressing it softly "you were just scared, you did nothing wrong"

Isaac paused for a moment and leaned into your touched as he shivered. The relief he felt when his father died was a burden to him, but he knew you were saying the truth so he bit his lip thoughtfully. He wanted to say that your hand felt to right on his skin, but he didn't and rubbed his face with his hand then looked at you hesitantly as he spoke. "I- Iwas scared" his voice trembled as he stammered softly, making you unsure if he meant you to hear him. he slowly smiled at you softly and leaned into your touch again, causing his breath to hitch.

you sighed softly as you try to build up some courage and confidence to ask him to go out with you, but you were too scared that he'd turn you down so you just looked quietly at the ground until you heard a familiar 5 taps on the locker next to you and looked to the direction to see lydia. She must have noticed your flustered face because she tilted her head at Isaac and winked at you. You two have been talking about it and she was eager for you to confess to him, and apparently she was so sure Isaac wouldn't let you down for a reason she wouldn't tell.

you snapped out of my trance as Isaac cleared his throat and looked at the same direction you were just looking at, except there was nobody there.

"sorry about that. I was just wondering if you would want to go home with me? I mean-" You paused and took a deep breath. "why don't you come over and we can just.. relax?" you asked nervously as he just looked at you quietly. "Scott's sneaking out with Allison again and our mom won't be home until ten.. so I was thinking if you'd want to just come over instead of staying alone or with Derek, he could be lame sometimes" I chuckle nervously and put on a fake confident grin.

Isaac stayed quiet for a moment or two, taking in your words, and he thought there was no way he could turn that down, the thought of you and him alone in the house with no distractions. He knew he wanted it but he wasn't sure if you did. if you were just doing him a favour because you felt bad, but he decided to push his paranoia to the side and smiled at you softly with a blush on his cheek, nodding. "I'd like that, if you're okay with it"

"ahh perfect! we are gonna have so much fun! we can watch the notebook too if you want to, or maybe cook or play or just" you pause for a second or two, not wanting to creep Isaac out with your sudden excitement. "we could just.. chill you know?" You looked up at him with a smile.

The two of you walked to your house, as Stiles has already left with his jeep, and while you were walking you felt Isaac's hand brush against yours until he took it in, intertwining your fingers together. you could feel how his hand shakes softly and you knew his stomach was probably flipping, he was a nervous wreck.

You held his hand confidently the way home until you reached it and opened the front door for the two of you. After walking in, you turned to Isaac and smiles. "do you wanna stay in the living room, or go to my room? or we can even cook something!" you asked excitedly.

"Your room...?" He asked hesitantly. Your room was usually off limits, that's where you go to relax on your own, away from the pack. He couldn't deny how much he wanted to be there with you. But part of him knows it won't end at just being in your room. Not that he had a problem but that he was worried from Scott's reaction if he knew Isaac was in his sister's room alone in the house. Scott and Isaac were best friends and Isaac didn't want to risk it, but he still loved you.

you saw the look on isaac's face as he started to look overwhelmed, and more anxious than he was, so you decided to cool it down. "I mean it's okay but if you don't want to that's fine. we can sit in the living room" you shrugged, leaving the decision for him to make as you looked at his eyes.

Isaac nodded slowly, looking at your lips then your eyes. "your room" he said softly and carelessly. He wanted to be with you alone. he didn't care what scott would think, he didn't care what the whole pack would think, he only cared about you and being with you, he wanted you.

you smiled and tilted your head for him to follow you. you walked past Scott's room until you reached your room then you walked to the bed, After taking off your shoes, sitting on the bed, then patting on the space next to you for Isaac to sit on.

Isaac followed you to your room, closing his door behind him. His heart skipped a beat when you asked him to sit next to you and the only thing he could think of is how nervous he is. he looked at you and he thought you look so vulnerable, sitting alone waiting for him to join you, so he took a few steps, trying to regulate his breath before sitting next to you. He was so close and nervous, slowly turning his neck to look at you.

"so.. what would you like to do?" you asked softly, trying to make sure he's not uncomfortable.

Isaac looked at you and for the first time he has walked in the room, he didn't know what to say. A part of him wanted to kiss you and see what happened but he didn't want to make you pressured, and he didn't want to risk kissing Scott's sister, he was the leader of the pack, so he let the silence between you linger before he decided to break the ice.

"can I be honest with you?" he stressed.

"of course, I won't judge" i nodded in reassurance

Isaac struggles to speak so he leans closer to you. He just wants you to understand him, he needs you to know how he feels, what he's been thinking of, but it's hard for someone like him, someone whom emotions always were rejected. He took a deep breath and leaned closer as his eyes fluttered between your lips and eyes then he opened his mouth to speak but he failed so he looked one more time at you before smashing his lips on yours as he moved one hand on the back of your neck as the other ran over your back to your hips, pulling your whole body into his lap while you froze in shock before pulling him closer, cupping his cheeks while you kissed him back with the same amounts of passion.

After a few moments he pulls away, and looks at you in shock, he had expected everything other than you kissing him back.

"I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have kissed you and if scott finds out he's gonna kill me and-" you cut him off pulling him in another kiss, slowly pushing him to lay down as you move on top of him.

"Scott doesn't have to know" you whispered pulling him in a deeper kiss that made him forget everything.

he was in a daze as he pulled away from you. "you look so beautiful when you kiss me like that" he said softly with a soft smirk that caused you to blush.

He smiled softly as he gently ran his fingers thorough your hair. "you're so beautiful you know? it's just so hard to focus on anything else when we are like that, when you're with me. We can take this as slow as you want"

you pulled him for a kiss in response, breaking it as you smiling against lips, and he moaned softly, slipping his hands under your shirt, caressing your soft skin.

"i want this. you. Right here, right now, But I also don't want to hurt you so tell me what you want, darling." he whisper in your ear as his breath hit your neck, causing you to shiver.

"i want you, please" you whined and pulled him into another kiss as your tongue begged for entrance in his mouth. he let out a soft involuntary moan, as his caresses on your back got faster. His tongue danced with your and he began to grind on you, making you feel the hard bulge in his jeans that rubbed your throbbing pussy, until you pulled away from the kiss breathlessly, pushing him up by his chest, reaching to his shirt, playing with a soft fabric slowly. He sat up on his knees in front of you between your legs, taking off his shirt. You looked up at him, slowly placing the balm of your hand on his chest, tracing your finger over it to his stomach. He let out a low groan while he watched you trace your fingers over his chest, his muscles tensed under your touch.

"you're killing me honey" He whispered, moving closer to you as he kissed your neck slowly, then he sat up again as his hands found their way between your legs. Should undo your bra, or maybe start with these pants?" he teased, and sprung his claws out, moving them swiftly above you, tearing off your clothes.

"i loved that set" you pouted and he smirked

"i'll get you new ones" he pulled your clothes off your body, tossing them away on the floor with his shirt.

He smirked when he saw the blush on your face when you looked away, leaning down to your neck. "don't be shy baby" he whispered, before tracing kissed down your collarbone.

you moaned softly, moving your hands to caress his back softly and he let out a sigh against your skin. His hands found your thighs as he rubbed them slowly, kissing lower and lower. His kisses and nibbles reached your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth, swirling and sucking around it while he groped the other one with his hand, pinching the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger teasingly.

"I love you, so much" He showered your stomach with smooches and pecks, until his mouth found your slit, running his tongue through your wetness, humming in satisfaction. "so wet baby" he flicked your clit with his tongue as you struggled to answer him back, running your fingers through his hair as you pulled them gently. He took one of his hand, wrapping it around my waist to keep me down while he slid a finger in you with the other, slowly and gently, causing you to moan softly.

he sucked your clit harder making you pull his hair tightly, causing him to moan which vibrates against your pussy as his fingers go faster, feeling you clench around them, sucking them in. "Fuck Isaac" you whined. "i'm so close" you whispered, wondering if he even heard you, then he confirmed as he added a finger in, moving his fingers in a scissoring motion, stretching you out as you pull his hair tighter. "Isaac!" you warned, and he understood as you reached your climax, coating his fingers with your cum while he kept his gaze on you then he pulled them out, lapping at your pussy hungrily, taking in your juices.

"you're so sweet baby" he moved up to kiss you as you taste your own arousal. He pulled away from the kiss and you bit your lip, panting for air and you moved your hand to his head, pulling him back down to kiss you, you couldn't get enough of him.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

hope you guys liked this 🎀

[everlastingdreams]

Forged Of Fire Masterlist

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31

Chapter 32 Chapter 33

~~~~!!!More Chapters will be added as the story progresses!!!~~~~

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapters: 47

[yoihoshi-maki]

Okay I need some help, I am trying to find websites to watch some of my shows like Medici and teen wolf and stuff like that but I can’t find any can you guys please help

[throped]

The Weeping Queen // Weeping Monk x OC // Chapter 3

This place isn’t so bad. I’ve made friends but also some twats who love to annoy different people. Nimue is going to wield the Sword of Power; I just know it. But other than that stuff, I know everything from how to shoot someone directly in the eye to all the knowledge one could possibly hold. Although I’m a human, every adult in the village accepted me, I was given to them by The Hidden. Apparently I was a gift. I’m a lot older now, 21. I still reminisce about my old world, Earth. I hope that all of this will pay off. The hours and hours I struggled to grasp the knowledge and the hours and hours I sat with the healer because I couldn’t mount a horse back then. Now that I mentioned it, Lenore gave me a horse, he was swift and not to mention a gorgeous grey with black hooves. He is wonderful. I still remember the first day I met him, I was 14, it was exactly a year after I had arrived. I had been walking near around my hut when Nimue arrived, pulling on the horse’s reins as she tried to pull the horse towards me.

“This is a horse mother asked me to give you. She said you deserved it after all the work you’ve been doing,” Nimue spoke as she heaved harder to try and pull him towards me. But to Nimue’s disdain, the horse just wouldn’t move. I just laughed at Nimue’s angered face as she kept on trying to pull on the reins. I carefully made my way to the horse as to not startle him. I told Nimue to give me the reins and to my surprise, the horse licked my left pocket of my long black coat. I got confused until I reached inside and found a little baby carrot in it. I chuckled and handed it to the horse who gobbled it up in mere seconds. Then I pulled on the reins once more and he moved to my desired place. He would listen to all of my commands. I ended up naming the him Raven. He was intelligent for sure, and I was stunned when he always found his way back to me after running around in the woods.        

***

Squirrel came running into the gate as I and Nimue stood talking about her wanting to escape this village. I knew that they didn’t treat her right. Everyone called her a witch when she was just like them but had her share of scars. “Look what I have!” Squirrel jumped. “Where’d you get that from Squirrel, you’re not meant to be stealing!” I scolded him. I shook my head and motioned him to try it if he wanted, I couldn’t care less, as long as he didn’t get hurt. He took a sip and made an awfully good acting face, “little too much,” Squirrel said. I laughed it off as some person came walking and called Nimue a witch. “Piss off you old hag!” Squirrel shouted back. He sure had the guts. I muttered a small, ‘I need to go find Raven,” and smiled.

“There you are, boy,” you called out to Raven, he neighed in response, or just naturally? I don’t know. Well, I sat there feeding him his favourite apples, green apples. He loved green apples and that caused me to like them too. They are sour but they taste amazing. Just as I was about to get another piece to eat myself, Nimue came out of no where with Pym following her behind. “I was chosen by the Hidden,” Nimue mumbled, “and I’m leaving for good, I’m going to board the ship that sails in Gramaire, I never wanted to be chosen anyway,” she added. I suddenly stood up, “Nimue wait-.”

“No Dae, you cannot stop me, I’m going either way,” she said. Pym and I looked at each other. “It’s not that you idiot, we’re coming with you,” I stated. Nimue smiled and quickly packed her things. She’s always wanted to leave this place. I knew that the boat in Gramaire had already left a week ago and wasn’t going to come back for another 6 months but I knew I couldn’t convince Nimue since she would say I’m lying to keep her here. The least I can do is be there when she’s disappointed that the boat has left already.

We set out on our horses. Well, Nimue didn’t have a horse, so she borrowed one from the stables and Pym sat along with her. I took Raven of course, couldn’t leave that horse behind even for a second. As we galloped through the path, Pym kept asking Nimue questions on how we’ll survive. “Do we even have money?” Pym asked. “I have 20 silver, Pym. That’ll be enough to last us a week if we’re lucky,” Nimue replied. I sat on Raven for hours and hours and I probably fell asleep at one point, but I knew Raven wouldn’t drop me. When we finally reached Gramaire, I tied Raven to a stand nearby as well as the other horse Pym and Nimue picked up and ran up to Pym and Nimue who were already at the dock. Nimue asked a guy near us, “Do you know when the ship is mean to arrive?”

“It already left. The next one is going to come six months later,” he said. I knew it. She was sad. “Well, guess I’ll get to keep you for six more months,” Pym tried to lighten the mood. Nimue sighed and motioned for us to follow her back to the horses. I felt bad for Nimue, everyone insulted her and called her a witch when she wasn’t. Just because she’s more connected to this world doesn’t mean you shame her! It’s unfair. I cant even imagine the pain Nimue has to go through.

As we were walking back, Nimue suddenly stopped for a second and looked towards this man preforming a song. He appeared to look towards Nimue too and I was certain Pym saw it too. I didn’t have time for distractions though. I had sword fighting with some of the locals in a day, so I had to go back to prepare. I thought Nimue would just come back after hearing about the boat, but I was wrong. Seems like she’s found someone she’s interested in, so I’ll let her be. She deserves this. While Nimue was staring at the performer, I took a step towards Pym as my cloak followed behind me. “Pym, I trust you to take care of Nimue, it turns out that since we’re not leaving, I have sword fighting in the span of 14 hours. And I need you to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid,” I said, concerned whether I’d make it or not. “You’re leaving?” Pym asked. “Yes, I see that Nimue has found someone that she may like, I can see it in her eyes. But I have to attend, or the sword fight will be an automatic defeat if I don’t go. And you know that I’ve never lost a sword fight, Pym,” I said. “Okay, I’ll be here for Nimue. But Dae, seriously, travel safe, red paladins could be anywhere,” Pym said. “You think those dimwits can kill me? I’m here to kill them, Pym,” I stated with full confidence. “I know, I know, but just, be safe. Alright?” She said. “Yes, yes Pym, I’ll be fine,” I replied. I waved her a goodbye and wandered off to Raven.

“Hello Raven, Pym and Nimue aren’t coming so it’s just me and you back,” I smiled as if he knew what I was saying. I placed the saddle more securely on Raven’s back and mounted him. I then rode out of Gramaire’s gates and into the woods. It was cloudy and gloomy today, but I could see traces of the sun trying to shine through the clouds. “I hope Nimue and Pym are safe,” I spoke under my breath. I kept riding on the trail until I found myself at the entrance of the woods, I’ve been here for 8 years so I surely know my way around this place. It was part of my studying in the 8 years I’ve stayed here.

I then realised that Red Paladins were attacking other Fey villages and killing them. I hated the red Paladins, I promised myself that if I’d ever see one, they would be dead before they even knew what hit them. But of course, I feel bad for them too, they think we’re monsters. Wait no, they think the Fey are monsters. “You’re a human Dae, you can and never will be Fey,” I said to myself, sighing. I just need to find a way out of this fantasy world, but I fear it will be too late if I stay here too long. I fear that I will make attachments to others just like I’ve done with Nimue and Pym. I kept on riding into the woods until I saw a little clearing where Raven and I rested for the night. I set up a small fire, as to not catch much attention from Paladins because I know that they may be somewhere near here. My fight with locals is going to be fine and honestly, I didn’t need to practise but I was exhausted today. I really didn’t have a proper reason to leave Nimue and Pym in Gramaire, but I couldn’t help feeling like I needed to sleep. Just as my thoughts dimed down a little, my back resting on Raven gave up and I finally fell asleep.

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I post everyday now! I'm not sure if people are gonna read this but who cares, I'm still gonna post.

[themuselesswriter]

The Monk’s Wife - Chapter 7: An Amused Queen

Characters: Lancelot Du Lac, Original Female Character, Original Male Character, Squirrel

Summary: Tarja takes a day off to spoil her husband but Squirrel doesn't really allow them any peace, especially after he notices the bruises on Lancelot.

Word count: 1400+

Warnings: implied abuse

A/N: This fanfic has been becoming more of a night-time imagination than a well constructed work that makes sense, it will only get weirder from here so enjoy!

Credits: photos from Pinterest, editing app is picsart

--------------------------Teaser--------------------------

The next morning Tarja woke up with a headache, she looked around at the state of the house, it was a mess, broken furniture everywhere, a few drops of blood, she recalls nothing “Lancelot” she called, but he did not answer, her heart raced, someone broke in and hurt him! Who would dare! She rushed to search for him, he wasn’t in the kitchen preparing a meal, nor in the bedroom, at last, she decided to search for him in the second room and that’s when she saw him, sitting in a corner, hugging himself, he was barely visible “Lancelot?” she asked worried.

He lifted his head up and looked at her, she rushed to him and knelt next to him “Lancelot, are you alright? Who did this?” She asked once she noticed the dried blood on his face, he flenched as she reached out to examin it “I’m sorry, alright? I wish if I had the courage and the understanding to end my life, I sadly didn’t and I couldn’t! I will leave just like you requested” he wept, the woman looked confused “I don’t understand, why would you want to leave?” She frowned.

The weeping one looked at her confused for a moment “because you don’t want me here” he replied, she looked even more puzzled “what makes you say that? I just pardoned you, I want you here, of course i do! You are my husband!” The man opened his mouth to speak but he was uncertain of what to say, this was beyond odd “do you not recall yesterday?” She shrugged “I got drunk and I assume fell on the ground asleep” She truly remembers nothing, none of the hatred nor the beating “what happened to you? Did someone hurt you? Who did it?” She asked “y-you” She blinked a few times, she recalls nothing of last night.

That’s when it hit her, Tate, he intoxicated her, she groaned “I’m sorry about whatever happened yesterday but it wasn’t me, I swear it” she assured him, he looked confused “my people… we manipulate fire and intoxicate thoughts, if the brain loses control which I assume happened by the hands of ale! I apologize, I never meant to hurt you” She said softly “this makes no sense” She nodded “I know but my brother… Tate, I suppose he used his powers on me yesterday and made this happen, it is a rare gift that he alone holds” she huffed.

Continue Reading

[mirdaniaa]

22 and ingilmundr

When Ingilmundr is five, his father loses a battle against the Saxons. The price he must pay is a hostage. A son.

His only son.

Ingilmundr weeps when they take him away, even though his mother told him not to. “You will bring shame to your father,” she warned him.

He weeps, and watches through his tears as his father’s neck stiffens, his head turning away from the sight of the crying boy. When Ingilmundr remembers his father in the years to come, he will think of this wretched moment; of him, crying, and his father, turning away in shame.

.

The Saxons bring him to a place called a monastery, where men in coarse brown robes and wooden crosses try to teach him about the Christ-God. He shuts his ears against their stories, because his father has told him everything he needs to know about the Christ-God. There are many gods, not just one, and Ingilmundr will never trade Thor’s hammer for a flimsy wooden cross.

He does not shut his eyes, though, when they teach him how to read. Ingilmundr buries himself in the calfskin pages, stories of kings and battles and miracles from the Christ-God unfolding before his hungry eyes.

“Your eagerness to learn will take you far, Ingilmundr,” the abbott tells him.

His eagerness to learn takes him into minsters and monasteries all across England, where they forget he is the hostage Ingilmundr Anlafson and know him only as a Brother in Christ. Monks aren’t always peaceable book-readers, he soon learns; some of them are as hard as the land they till, made harder still by having to defend their flocks against Scottish and Welsh raiders. Someone, at some point, forgets who he is and puts a sword in his hand, and as with his books, Ingilmundr is a quick study.

He is good with a sword; better than most, even. Somehow, over the years, he finds himself given more and more chances to use it.

He knows he should be gratified. He is a Dane, and the son of one of the greatest sword Danes in the world.

And yet.

And yet, Ingilmundr prefers his books. He loves the letters carefully and lovingly shaped by monks in their quiet scriptoriums, he loves the stories they tell, he loves the gilded pages and imagines this is what the bridge Bifrost is made of.

But no one wants to talk to a Dane about his books.

Until one day, someone does.

He meets Aethelstan by chance. If he truly believed in God, he would say it was His will. As it is, he cannot help but feel that the gods might have thrown Aethelstan in his path. They talk all day and into the night: about faith, about books, about swords, about fathers. Ingilmundr has lived amongst the Saxons longer than he has not, but he has always viewed them as separate from himself until now. Now, when he looks at Aethelstan, he sees himself mirrored in those dark eyes.

When Aethelstan kisses him, Ingilmundr does not hesitate to kiss back.

.

In the morning, he sets out on trembling legs, telling his brothers he is journeying to find a rare book. They smile and shake their heads.

“Ingilmundr and his books,” they say fondly, but they do not stop him. It does not occur to any of them that he could be lying, that he might yearn for anything that lies beyond the turn of a page.

His trembling legs somehow carry him all the way to Dyflin, where his father now rules as king. The Danes almost do not let him into the high hall, plucking at his short hair and the cross around his neck, but he shouts his name over and over, Ingilmundr Anlafson, I am Ingilmundr Anlafson, until a woman with sharp teeth says, “It’s him; he has his mother’s look.”

She brings him into the high hall, where a man he remembers turning away in shame sits on a carved throne.

“Father,” he says, his legs trembling so hard he can barely stand.

“You will call me ‘lord’ as long as you wear that cross around your neck,” Anlaf Guthfrithson growls.

Ingilmundr pulls off the cross. “I never forgot who I was. Who my real gods are.”

Anlaf takes in his Saxon clothes, his Saxon hair, and turns away in shame.

Ingilmundr swallows. “I have lived amongst the Saxon and learned their ways, it’s true. But I never forgot who my people are. And I have come here because I know how to win England for our people once and for all.”

Anlaf drums his fingers against the arm of his throne. “How?”

Ingilmundr takes a step forward. In the shadows, a dog growls in warning. Ingilmundr takes a step back. “Their king, Edward, sickens. His son and heir, Aethelstan…he is fond of me. I can make him bend to my will.”

Anlaf snorts. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Ingilmundr says with cold certainty.

Anlaf is quiet for a long moment. When he stands, Ingilmundr realizes that they are almost the same height; even so, the other man still seems to tower over him. “It will not work. The Christian kingdoms have always united against us.”

“Aethelstan will offend them until they have no choice but to join with us. I will make it so.”

Anlaf considers him…and then he smiles, an ugly, sharp smile, but a smile nonetheless. “I believe you will.”

Ingilmundr doesn’t know what he’s expecting; an embrace, perhaps, an invitation, some sign that his father is proud. Instead, Anlaf says, “Go back to England, and await my instructions. I will send your sister Astrid to you.”

“Yes, lord.” Astrid. His sister by his father’s other woman, little more than a squalling brat the last time he’d seen her. Ingilmundr does not yet realize that the squalling brat is now a warrior, and their father’s chosen heir. He will learn this when it is too late to change his mind.

“And Ingilmundr.”

He cannot read the look on his father’s face. “Do not throw my name around like that again. You might get shit on it.”

Ingilmundr turns away in shame.

[renniethedwstan]

Prompt: I thought you could do with a hug.

A strangers comforting touch

Eleventh Doctor/Reader

Oneshot.

Warning: veryyyyy light angst, fluff.

The Doctor and Reader are complete strangers in this.

Once again, The Doctor had found himself completely alone. He missed his friends dreadfully but had slowly accepted that he'll never see them again. Loneliness didn't take long to seep in, causing The Doctor to be at his lowest point once again. He was used to loneliness by now as it was the curse of the timelords. He was always going to outlive his friends, or they were going to move on eventually. But it didn't make it hurt any less, nor did it stop him yearning for another person to travel with. But he had decided that he would rather hide away than lose another person and experience heartbreak all over again.

He sighed as he walked through the streets in the Victorian times, three years after losing The Ponds, then Clara not long after. He was a monk for a while, but he quickly grew bored and went back to the clouds in the sky. It was now summer, so the nights were brighter, so he had grown rather fond of walking through the park in the evening where he could watch the sunset. He went over to his favourite park where the perfect view between two trees enhanced the burning ball of fire that was growing more red as it slowly dipped into the horizons. When he first watched the sunset after the Ponds incident, he weeped. He weeped because it meant that it was a new day without his friends, and that loneliness had truly sunk in.

Two arms wrapped around his neck from behind, causing The Doctor to smile softly. "Warmth, Happiness, Comfort." Those were the first words to come to his mind as another person joined him. They were always there when he needed comfort. Never asked questions and never asked who he was. They just hugged him before joining him, where they both watched the sunset. After that, they just went their own way, living their lives again. Not a single word is ever spoken between them even all these years later. He knows what they look like. Of course he does. He's not an idiot. They had (your H/C), (Eye Colour), (skin colour) They were (your height) he also noticed that they had the most beautiful smile in the universe. No matter how sad he was, somehow, they always made him feel better when they smiled.

Once the sun had set, they stood up, leaving again, but a voice stopped them in their tracks. "Why do you keep coming back?"You looked like you needed a hug." They smiled at The Timelord, who smiled back at the mysterious but kind person as he watched their figure grow smaller and smaller. He turned back around, staying seated on the bench as he let out a chuckle. "One day, Doctor. Maybe one day." He got up and walked back to The Tardis thinking about the mysterious person once again as he realised. Maybe he wouldn't feel so lonely anymore if he simply started up a conversation.

(Sorry if this isn't the best. I just thought it would be a fun and cute little story to write.)

[journeythroughjourneytothewest]

Chapter 28 Recap: At Flower-Fruit Mountain a pack of fiends hold assembly; At the Black Pine Forest Tripitaka meets demons

This chapter begins with Sun Wukong feeling regret and nostalgia upon viewing the Great Eastern Ocean, for he hadn’t seen this area in five hundred years. He leaps over this ocean with a single bound, and soon arrives at Mt. Huaguoshan. Yet though it was named for its flowers and fruits, the Monkey King finds that now it didn’t even have plants “while the mist and smoke seemed completely extinguished: cliffs and plateaus had collapsed and the trees had dried and withered.” Readers are informed that after Sun Wukong had been captured and brought to heaven, “this mountain was burned to total ruin by the Illustrious Sage, Erlang God, who was leading the Seven Bond-Brothers of Plum Mountain.” Seeing the eco-catastrophe that had been inflicted on his beloved home, Sun Wukong becomes even more grief stricken. A poem he composes suggests the Monkey King hadn’t thought the heavens would have done anything to Mt. Huaguoshan in retaliation for his war against them, but that now he believes that “It must be for evil deeds in former times/That I should this day suffer so much pain.”

As Sun Wukong is giving voice to his grief, a group of small monkeys suddenly leap out of the remaining vegetation and kowtow before him. The Monkey Kings asks them why they were hiding themselves instead of “having a little fun,” for he hadn’t seen “even the shadow of one of you” since he returned to Mt. Huaguoshan. Every monkey starts weeping when they hear this questions. They then go on to tell Sun Wukong how ever since the Monkey King was taken captive, they had been relentlessly hunted by humans, with none of them able to “withstand those sharp arrows and strong bows, those yellow hawks and wicked hounds, those ensnaring nets and sickle-shaped spears!” As such, “none of us dares come out to play.” The monkeys of Mt. Huaguoshan now spend their lives hiding in caves, only emerging to snatch a few mouthfuls of grass or to get a sip of water. The monkeys then beg “our Father Great Sage” to take care of them.

Sun Wukong is very distressed upon hearing this. He then asks how many monkeys are left on Flower-Fruit Mountain and learns that there’s no more than a thousand left from an original population of forty-seven thousand. The monkeys recount how half of that number were burned to death when Erlang Shen set fire to the mountain. A half of that half then left in search of food because Mt. Huaguoshan’s environment was all but completely destroyed; there were no flowers and fruits to be had in the past five hundred years. And then the last two years saw the monkeys’ numbers dwindle by another half because of the hunters. They also let the Monkey King know that the hunters go after the monkeys not only to kill them to be “skinned and boned, cooked with sauce and steamed with vinegar, fried with oil, and sauteed with salt,” but to catch them alive so that they could be forced to “perform every kind of trick to entertain humans.”

Enraged, Sun Wukong asks who is in charge of the Water-Curtain Cave now, and learns that the marshals Ma and Liu and the generals Peng and Ba are the current leaders of the Mt. Huaguoshan troop. The Monkey King tells the little monkeys to report to them at once that he has returned. Ma, Liu, Peng, and Ba thus know to expect Sun Wukong, but they are surprised to see him as they “heard recently that you had regained your life so that you could protect the Tang Monk on his journey to the Western Heaven to acquire scriptures.” Sun Wukong tells all the assembled monkeys that Tang Sanzang is “wholly ignorant of who is worthy and who is foolish,” and that he had been given a formal letter of banishment from the westward pilgrimage. The monkeys are delighted with this news. They go on to ask the Monkey King “What do you want to be a monk for?” before then telling him he should lead them “to have a few years’ fun. They also call for coconut wine to be brought out “for the reception of Father. Sun Wukong, however, has different plans.

Asking Ma and Liu how often the hunters come to Mt. Huaguoshan to attack the monkeys, the Monkey King learns that they “are here every day to make trouble.” He then orders the monkeys to collect the rocks “that have been burned to small pieces,” and then to pile them in groups of thirty or sixty pieces up on the mountain. The little monkeys leap into action to do so. After they finish, Sun Wukong tells the “little ones” to “go hide in the cave. Let old Monkey exercise his magic.” It isn’t long before Sun Wukong spots “over a thousand men and horses approaching from the southern half of the mountain. Beating drums and striking gongs, they were holding spears and swords, leading hawks and hounds…they appeared to be most ferocious indeed.” They are, however, no match for a “terribly angry” Monkey King. “Making the magic sign with his fingers and reciting a spell, he drew in a breath facing the southwest and blew it out. At once a violent wind arose…that blew up and scattered those rock pieces in every direction.” In this way “those thousand-odd hunters and horses” are killed; “The rocks broke their dark heads to pieces.”

At the sight of this carnage, Sun Wukong “clapped his hands and roared with laughter.” He goes on to berate Tang Sanzang’s advice to refrain from perpetuating violence, for through it “it was the merest trifle to finish off all those hunters” and save the remaining monkeys. The Monkey King then tells the little monkeys to come out and to “strip the dead hunters of their clothes” so that they can wash out the bloodstains and wear them to keep warm. He also tells them to push the human corpses into a deep mountain lake, but to make sure to collect the horses’ corpses for their hides and their meat as well as the hunters’ weapons and their banners. He uses these to make himself “a large banner of many colors,” upon which he writes “The Flower-Fruit Mountain Rebuilt, the Water-Curtain Cave Restored��Great Sage, Equal to Heaven.” In the proceeding days, Sun Wukong gathers more allies in the forms of “fiends and beasts,” as well as stores up all kinds of foodstuff. He also borrows “some sweet, divine water from the Dragon Kings of the Four Oceans to wash his mountain and make it green again. He next planted elms and willows in front, pines and cedars in the back; peach, pear, date, and plum—he had them all. He then settled down to enjoy life without a care.”

Meanwhile, the rest of the pilgrims, traveling ever onwards, soon find themselves in a large pine forest. Tang Sanzang is worried that they won’t be able to continue because the path is overgrown, and that they might “run into some friends or monstrous beasts.” Zhu Bajie, however, uses his muckrake to clean a path through the forest. Soon enough, however, Tripitaka gets really hungry, and asks Zhu Bajie to get him some vegetarian food. The former marshal agrees to do so, but even after he walks out of the pine forest and ten miles beyond that he can’t find a single household. He soon decides to take a nap to “while away another hour or so” before he goes back to the rest of the pilgrims. And so, finding a good patch of grass, Zhu Bajie soon falls into “a deep, snoring slumber.”

In the meantime, Tang Sanzag is becoming more and more restless, anxious, and in all likelihood irritated as to how long it’s taking Zhu Bajie to return from his food trip. Tripitaka finally asks Sha Wuing why it’s taking so long for Zhu Wuneng to return, to which the sand monk states that when the pig yaoguai “sees how many families there are in this region of the West who love to feed monks, he’s not going to worry about you, is he, especially when he has so large a stomach!” Tang Sanzang agrees, but also wonders where they’re going to meet back up with Zhu Bajie, as it’s getting late and they had better leave the forest before it does so. Sha Wujing tells Tripitaka not to worry, and offers to go search for their swinish companion as well as for shelter. Tang Sanzang agrees to this plan, and is thus left alone.

Soon becoming weary, fatigued, and depressed, Tripitaka decides to take a walk in the forest, and soon becomes hopelessly lost. Yet it also doesn’t take him long to stumble upon a “bejeweled pagoda, whose golden dome was gleaming in the rays of the setting sun.” Noting again his vow to “burn incense in every temple, to worship Buddha when I saw an image of Buddha, and to sweep a pagoda if I came upon a pagoda,” Tang Sanzang decides to walk to the structure and see if he can ask for lodging for the night. Yet no sooner does he walk inside the pagoda when he finds “a monster asleep on a stone couch,” which the text tells us is a very powerful yaoguai. Tripitaka “retreated in horror,” but the yaoguai orders his “little ones” to chase down and capture the monk. Tang Sanzang tries to flee, but he’s soon caught and hauled back. The yaoguai demands Tripitaka tells him who he is, and the monk gives a true account of who he is. The yaoguai “roared with laughter” upon hearing this, for Tang Sanzang is “exactly the person I want to eat.” On the yaoguai’s orders, Tripitaka is tied to a pillar. The old yaoguai, “grasping his scimitar,” then interrogates Tang Sanzang further about who’s accompanying him on the westward pilgrimage. The monk informs the monster that his party is made up of Zhu Bajie, Sha Wujing, and a white horse. The old yaoguai says that this is true luck, as the four of them are “enough for a meal.” He also decides to wait for the rest of the pilgrims to come for him, as “Business at one’s own door is easier to do.”

Elsewhere, Sha Wujing, after searching high and low, finally finds Zhu Bajie talking in his sleep. After some arguing, the two then head back into the forest, only to find that “their master was nowhere to be seen.” This incites the sand monk to berate the former marshal, stating that it’s his fault the party got split up and Tang Sanzang likely captured by a yaoguai. Zhu Bajie, however, but laughs, stating that the forest “is a pure, lovely place and it definitely cannot harbor a monster.” The pig yaoguai guesses that “that old priest cannot sit still and has gone sightseeing somewhere.” And so they set off in search of their shifu, Bai Longma in tow.

It isn’t long before they spot beams of golden light coming from the pagoda, with Zhu Bajie declaring that Tang Sanzang must have walked to it and that they will surely be treated to a vegetarian meal. Sha Wujing, however, is more suspicious, and recommends that they be cautious when approaching. Sure enough, when they get close they find that the pagoda is actually the Casserole Mountain, Current-Moon Cave, thus showing itself to not be a monastery but rather the “cave-dwelling of a monster.” Zhu Bajie tells Sha Wujing to guard the horse and luggage, and goes to confront the yaoguai in the cave by himself. The master of this cave, now named as the Yellow Robe Demon, is pleased to learn of this, and goes out to battle with Sha Wuing and Zhu Bajie.

The pilgrims demand their shifu back. The Yellow Robe Demon laughingly admits that he does have the Tang Monk in his custody, and that he was “just preparing some buns filled with human flesh for him to enjoy,” and that they’re welcome to such foodstuff as well. Zhu Bajie “would have gone inside immediately if Sha Monk had not pulled him back.” Right after the pig yaoguai realized he was being deceived, he begins a battle with the Yellow Robe Demon, the two of them using magic to fight in midair. Sha Wujing also joins in, but even though they clash “for scores of times…a decision could not be reached.” And it is here where the chapter ends.

[alt-ctrl]

The Art of Less: How Minimalism Maximizes Home Design

In a world where excess is often celebrated, the quiet revolution of minimalism is turning our homes into sanctuaries of simplicity. But don't be fooled—this isn't about living in a stark, joyless box. Oh no, dear reader, we're talking about the kind of elegance that would make Marie Kondo weep tears of joy into her perfectly folded handkerchief.

Welcome to the paradox of minimalist design, where less somehow becomes more, and emptiness fills our souls with contentment. It's like the design equivalent of a Zen koan: What is the sound of one throw pillow clapping? The answer, of course, is pure, unadulterated bliss.

The Siren Song of Simplicity

Picture, if you will, a living room so carefully curated that each object seems to have its own haiku. A sleek sofa stands proudly, unencumbered by the tyranny of excessive cushions. A lone piece of abstract art hangs on the wall, silently challenging viewers to find meaning in its deliberate brushstrokes. This, my friends, is the minimalist dream—a space where every item has earned its right to exist through sheer force of purpose.

But here's the twist: this apparent emptiness is actually full to the brim with intention. It's as if each square foot of your home has gone through an existential crisis and come out the other side with a clear sense of its raison d'être. Who knew your coffee table had such depth?

Function Meets Fabulous

Now, let's waltz into the kitchen, where form and function tango in a dance of culinary efficiency. Gone are the days of gadget hoarding and utensil anarchy. In this minimalist paradise, every spatula and spice jar has been interrogated with the intensity of a film noir detective: "What's your story? What purpose do you serve?"

The result? A kitchen that's part Michelin-star restaurant, part NASA space station. Open shelving displays a curated collection of essentials, each item standing at attention like soldiers in a very chic army. Multi-purpose furniture whispers sweet nothings about efficiency, while hidden storage solutions play hide-and-seek with your less photogenic possessions.

Nature's Cameo in the Minimalist Show

But wait! Before you start thinking this is all about cold, hard surfaces and sharp edges, let's throw a plot twist into our minimalist narrative. Enter: natural materials, stage left.

Imagine a bedroom where a wooden bed frame holds court, its grain telling stories of forests and time. Linen bedding drapes languidly, inviting touch and promising cool comfort. A stone vase sits quietly in the corner, a silent reminder of the earth's ancient whispers.

This isn't just design; it's a love letter to Mother Nature, written in the language of simplicity. It's eco-consciousness wrapped in a chic, unassuming package. Who knew saving the planet could look this good?

Your Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It

Now, dear reader, it's time for you to join the ranks of the minimalist movement. But fear not! This isn't a call to purge your home of all personality and joy. Instead, think of it as a grand adventure in intentional living.

Start small. Pick a room, any room. Channel your inner Marie Kondo and ask each item if it sparks joy or serves a purpose. If it doesn't, thank it for its service and send it on its merry way. Remember, you're not just decluttering; you're curating a life-sized work of art.

Choose quality over quantity. That one perfect lamp will outshine a dozen mediocre ones any day. Embrace neutral colors like they're the Switzerland of your personal design United Nations—calm, cool, and unerringly stylish.

And when in doubt, ask yourself: "What would a very chic monk do?" The answer might just lead you to minimalist nirvana.

In conclusion, minimalism isn't about living with nothing; it's about living with everything that matters. It's a rebellion against the chaos of modern life, a quiet revolution fought with thoughtful design and purposeful choices. So go forth, brave designer, and create spaces that whisper rather than shout, that breathe rather than suffocate. Your home—and your sanity—will thank you.

If you’ve enjoyed this article please consider sharing it or buy me a Coffee

[the-greatadventures]

Cuddling with the Weeping Monk would include:

Your parents had given you to father Carden when you were a little girl

You trained under father Carden to become a healer, and accompanied him when he found Lancelot

You healed Lancelot when he got hurt training and started talking to him

You guys were inseparable from each other, where ever there was one of you, the other was sure to be either watching or nearby

Eventually, you guys confessed your feelings for each other, and you were even more inseparable

You accompanied him on his journey across Britannia slaughtering the fey

It would normally be after a long day of travelling

You would stop for the night, he would go and find some wood for the fire, and you would set up the camp for the night

He would build the fire, and then check you over for any injuries you may have sustained from fighting the fey that day

If you had any, he would always be careful and slowly clean off the blood, before patching them up

Once your injuries had been seen to he would sit down and open his arms to you

You would kneel down in front of him and check him for any injuries

If there were no injuries, you would lie down with your cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat

And he would wrap his arms around you with his cloak covering most of your body apart from your head

He would always whisper things into your ear to get you to go to sleep, normally about how much he loved you

He would also whisper about what he would do if you guys ever got away from the church as well as father Carden

About how you and him would own a farm near a lake, be married and have three kids, preferably two boys and a girl

You would normally wake up with him packing up your camp and his cloak wrapped around you

This would happen every day that you were on the road, and even though he never showed it, Lancelot loved it

He loved you falling asleep in his arms, he loved having his arms wrapped around you, and above all, he loved the way that you would almost always smile in your sleep

Cause when you were at the Abbey, father Carden made sure to have your room on the other side of the Abbey to Lancelot's, so it was hard for you two to fall asleep in each other’s arms

《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》

Taglist:

@dashkana @coco25 @padfootsworld @cece-lives-here @books-netflix-and-pizza @withered-poppies @rogershoe @of-all-things-crazy11 @princessmarsofearth @psychichologramgalaxy @afuckingdisasterreally @spoooyxxqueen @linkpk88 @fandomstuffff @chennyetomlinson

[rainyv-skies]

Dear friend; The Weeping Monk / Reader , Isaac Lahey / Reader

Fandom: Teen Wolf/ Cursed

Story summary: reader is a universe traveler who can enter through different alternate worlds. She meets and bonds with Isaac Lahey in the Teen Wolf universe and recalls her times and dear friend in the Medieval fey world, set in the Cursed universe with The Weeping monk. She remembers her last memories together with the monk, but was it really her time with him? Isaac seems to resemble someone she knew long ago.

Notes: I stood up all night writing this, no exaggeration. If this is not decent , I apologize. This was a very spontaneous idea and I had not written and published something to the public in a longgg time. Anyways, this is sort a cross over au and reincarnation type of thing between The Weeping monk and Isaac Lahey, and a bit of a hint of soulmate au. I hope it makes at least a little sense lmao, I struggled whether the relationship between the reader and Lancelot should be platonic or romantic so I settled on putting it between the lines so the readers have different perspectives . Enjoy , hearts and feedback is very much appreciated

Word count: 5300 ish??

—————————

“He meant a lot to me ,” (Y/N) divulged, keeping her tone quiet while her hands ddled with one another. Sat side by side, Isaacs ears perked at the reveal. His head tilted towards her and his eyes studied her far expression. “He was... good company. The best company. My dear friend,” She all but solemnly disclosed and her hands had stopped fiddling, Isaac took notice. She recalled the times of her old companion with a heavy heart, having not spoken of the formal Weeping Monk in a while. It had been some time since her adventure in the world of Fey and Man, the fighting and survival still fresh in her memory. “He was dear to me. We never spoke of our relationship. We both understood that we meant a great deal to one another. He protected me, he made sure I was ok and he absolutely refused whenever I tried to do the same.” A small smile curled her lips and she huffed a chuckle as she shook her head. Isaacs eyes led astray from her, now casted down at their shoes.

He tried imagining this friend (Y/N) seemed to hold close to her heart. What was he like? Sure, from what (Y/N) told him he was protective and hated relying on (Y/N) . But what else? His heart tugged when the question was raised. “The git was always so difficult when it came to someone else looking out for him. I had to force him most of the time, but we grew very close. Very close. ” (Y/N) inhaled deeply and exhaled then pulled her knees up, propping her elbows on them. The air became sad, and Isaac could smell the sadness slowly seeping from her, but a small hint of...nostalgia. “It was a very different time then, Isaac. Very medieval, and magical. I suppose you wouldn’t feel so out of place there, huh.” Isaac looked back up at her , raising his eyebrows quizzically at the jest. (Y/N) looked over to him and met his eyes with a grin playing at her lips, a twinkle in her eyes. His own grin pulled at his lips in response. (Y/N)’s grin faltered slightly,his smile igniting a sense of familiarity in her brain, though she couldn’t place her finger on it.

He turned his head back forward and leaned his head against the wall, letting out a sigh.

“Ok, I turn into a full blown werewolf during a full moon. I get it.” he retorted and (Y/N) let out a chortle, brushing her train of thought away. She bumped his shoulder with his own and Isaac reciprocated the action. A silence hung in the atmosphere among the two and (Y/N) mind went back to thinking, discreetly taking a glance at his face while Isaac wondered about the mysterious friend of (Y/N). Isaac waited with a bated breath and he wondered if his curiosity was worth sating, but the question sitting at the tip of his tongue itched to be spoken. He didn’t want to intrude on deep history, especially one that seemed so emotionally sensitive to (Y/N). The tug in his heart didn't let up, almost like it was urging him to ask the question.

“What..” The question faltered on his lips in hesitation, (Y/N) looked away in time but glanced at him and hummed in acknowledgment. Isaac gathered his question, his mouth opening to ask once again. “You never mentioned his name. What..what was his name?” Isaac asked softly, looking over to the girl whose head was still turned forward. Initially , he thought he shouldn’t have asked in the first place because the far away look took over Y/N)’s eyes. He gulped.

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I shouldn't have,” Isaac stammered and (Y/N) shook her head. “No,” (Y/N) said softly, although her eyes still held the same expression. “It's ok.” She reassured him. It was a long time since she had spoken his name, and recalled the time when she and Lancelot were riding on Goliath - his horse and another friend of (Y/N)’s - through the forest. At that time, they had not known much of each other, but a small friendship had unknowingly begun to start.

—

Green trees and lush grass filled (Y/N)’s hazy view as she slowly came to after dozing off. Her body rocked as Goliath trotted through the forest, birds chirped and the buzzing of flies surrounded her. She blinked and lifted her head, taking in her surroundings. She noticed the reins were loosely held on from a pair of hands, of which were also circled loosely around her waist.

“Good nap, girl?” The monk's deep and raspy voice quipped from behind her, startling (Y/N) slightly.

(Y/N) grumbled in annoyance and rolled her eyes, although embarrassed of dozing off. She hoped she hadn’t almost fallen off the horse during her short nap, the monk probably would have had to make sure she didn’t. Although, she secretly knew he wouldn’t have minded letting her fall off.

“Shut it. Who wakes someone up before the sun even rises.” She shot at him, shuffling in her spot. God, her ass was numb. The monk smirked, amusement filling him.

“Did you know you snore in your sleep?” The monk took everything in him not to chuckle at (Y/N)’s stiffened posture, his eyes set on the path ahead of them.

“I do not snore!” She growled and felt her ears heat up. She knew she snored in her sleep. Dear god, why had she fallen asleep?! The monk let out a small sarcastic hum with a smile on his lips.

(Y/N) let out an exasperated huff, her head falling forward slightly.

“Ok, so I snored in my sleep. What about it Monk ?” (Y/N) said sharply , rolling her eyes once again. The monk chuckled, deciding that he was amused enough from the interaction. All that was heard now was the annoying buzzing of the flies and Goliaths hoofs pounding on the ground beneath them, and the occasional bird. (Y/N) grew restless and the numbness had not disappeared from her ass. She shuffled once again, jostling the Monk's forearms in the act. The monk glanced at her but continued to let Goliath trot forward. (Y/N) huffed and shuffled again hoping to ease the painful ache that was now spreading to her thighs, the monk sighing as she did so.

“Stop moving.” The monk said and (Y/N) grunted.

“Can we take a break? My ass is numb.” She murmured the last part, trying to shift some feeling back into her bottom. The monk snorted, debating whether he should stop. The next stop wasn't going to be for another day and the sun was beginning to set, so he decided to just set up a fire and camp for the night. Goliath needed a break anyways. He pulled on the reins, bringing Goliath to a stop and setting his foot on the stirrup , swinging his leg and dismounting off of Goliath. (Y/N) let out a sigh of relief but came to a realization she’d have to get off as well. She looked down at the ground on both sides, obviously seeming unsure of how she should get off. She supposed she could just slide off of the beast of a horse, but the numbness had made her legs stiff. This was going to be a bit awkward. The monk took notice, his blue eyes gazing up at her with an eyebrow raised.

She glanced at him and back at the ground.

“Um..” She started and the monk could’ve snickered, but held off.

“Take your time, girl.” The monk smirked. (Y/N) ignored him, figuring out how she should go about it without falling on her ass in front of him. Frankly, she could’ve asked for help, but she knew the monk would see it as a satisfaction. So no. She wasn’t going to ask for help. Awkwardy, she scooted back on the seat and gripped onto the saddle, carefully bringing her leg to the same side the Monk was. She leaned on the saddle, preparing to slide off. Problem was, when she looked down there was no way she was going to jump off, not at how far the ground seemed to be. She was now leaning on the seat with her legs dangling on the side, gripping on for dear life. She grunted, her foot trying to find the stirrup in panic as her weight slowly started to pull her down. The monk had crossed his arms, watching silently in amusement as she struggled to find the stirrup.

“Do you need assistance?” He asked as she continued to struggle.

“No. I'm fine. Just..just,” (Y/N) trailed off as she had finally found the stirrup. She let out a small grunt and started to descend to the ground. The monk took a step towards her for if she were to fall, he would be able to catch her. Thankfully , she landed on the ground on both feet with a ‘hup’. She turned towards him with a triumphant smile. The monk looked at her and held his breath, trying to keep his composure intact. He nodded his head and cleared his throat, sidestepping from (Y/N) to adjust the saddle.

“We’ll set up camp. Stay for the night and start riding at dawn.” He grabbed the pack from the saddle and led Goliath towards the camping area he had spotted a little deeper into the forest. (Y/N) replied with an ‘ok’ and followed closely behind.

Shortly after, a fire was started and frogs croaked into the night. The sun had set and stars twinkled in the dark sky, (Y/N) was eating the packed bread and some rabbit meat the monk had hunted. He was quite skilled at hunting, she had to give him that. The monk leaned on a log opposite from (Y/N) across the fire, maintaining the steel sword he owned. The sword he used that claimed many fey lives. (Y/N) swallowed down her food and looked up at the weeping monk, studying the way his eyes focused on his sword, the cloth held in his hand gliding down across the steel. (Y/N) licked at her lips and cleared her throat. The monk glanced up at her but returned his gaze to his sword.

“Are you going to eat something?” (Y/N) asked, furrowing her eyebrows. The monk gave no immediate answer but continued to wipe his blade. (Y/N) waited for a reply, staring at him.

“No. You eat, and then sleep. I will keep watch.” The monk replied a moment after, putting his sword back into the sheath. (Y/N)’s frown deepened. “Keep watch? You need to sleep and eat. We’re traveling early.” (Y/N) shook her head in disagreement and set the food aside the cloth that laid in her lap. The monk looked up at her, his hood slightly concealing his face.

“Do not worry. It will be fine.” The monk replied, staring right at (Y/N). (Y/N) sighed. Of course he was going to be stubborn about it. Gathering the food in the cloth, she stood up. The monk watched her closely, his eyebrows pinching together slightly in question. His eyes continued to follow until she stood in front of him, now holding out the cloth of food. He glanced at the food and back up at her in confusion. (Y/N) raised her eyebrows and shook the food in her hand.

“Take it.” (Y/N) said, shaking her hand once again when the monk didn't react. The monk pulled a face at her and she rolled her eyes. She gave him a deadpanned look.

“I'm not offering, I’m commanding. I'm not gonna catch you if you faint on the horse from lack of sleep and food. Now, take it. Or else.” She threatened. In truth, she had no idea what she was gonna do. Shoving the food down his throat was not an option. He would probably throw her into the fire.

Much to (Y/N)’s surprise (and relief) the monk reluctantly grabbed the food from her hand and glanced at her. The whole time, he was silent, not expecting the kind action. It stirred something unfamiliar and warm in his chest at the action. He had never once in his life had someone be so kind to him, having spent most of his time massacring fey, he felt like he didn’t deserve such kindness at all.(Y/N) knew what kind of things he did, and still does for that matter. He set the food down and cleared his throat.

“Thank you.” he quietly said, setting his sights down on the ground. (Y/N) smiled in success.

“You're welcome, Monk.” She turned around and made her way back to her spot across from his. She sat down on the blanket and stared at the fire, letting the sound of crackling fire and frogs take over. She was comfortably sitting in the silence, the warmth of the fire giving her some contentment in the cold night. The monk looked at her over the fire and stared intently. The question still hung in his mind and for a while he wondered. For a good five minutes he wondered while (Y/N) sat in silence.

(Y/N) and he had been traveling together for a while, it was his responsibility that had fallen on him after Father commanded to ‘keep the odd woman under his watch’ after she had appeared seemingly from nowhere dressed in odd clothes for a woman, immensely confused and in shock. It was an odd relation, if he could call it that. But she had helped him in many ways. Stitching his wounds that he gained when protecting her and even that one incident when the lashes on his back had grown infected causing him to fall ill. (Y/N) watched over him during his fever. After the horrifying near death incident, (Y/N) had made it her mission she would take care of him when he took care of her. It felt wrong at first; her taking care of him. It often made it difficult to complete his missions, the bond was risky. Father would most certainly banish her from his life would he figure out that his most trusted warrior was becoming soft for a random woman, he was a monk. The Weeping Monk. But, he decided to keep it a secret. Deception was a sin and every day he feared for the girl. But never for himself. Though they often spited each other, she lightened the days and made them less dull, always finding a way to make him laugh every once in a while. He stuck around and made sure she was ok when she became confused again until she wasn’t. It was like clockwork, it became their nature. He cared for the girl. She meant a great deal to him. It was apparent she cared for him too. Their bond was completely natural. Maybe one day she would be his biggest regret, but he didn’t seem to think so cautiously about it anymore.

Suddenly, he spoke, causing (Y/N) to switch her gaze at him in surprise, most certainly caught of guard.

“Lancelot.” He said. And for a while (Y/N) was silent, still staring at him with a caught off guard expression. A moment later, (Y/N) responded.

“What.” (Y/N) finally said . The monk looked at the fire, avoiding the stare (Y/N) gave him, growing slightly nervous at the attention.

“Lancelot,” He repeated himself but firmly this time. He continued, adding more description to his words.

“ A long time ago, my name was Lancelot.” He said, crossing his cloak covered arms over his midsection. (Y/N)’s eyes widened slightly , stunned from the reveal. She slowly recovered from the shock and soaked in the new information.

She said his name in her head, testing it out. It was quite nice. Medieval, of course, but nice.

Huh. I like it. She thought.

“Lancelot.” She echoed, and the name felt foreign on her tongue. The newly learned name gave her a new perspective of the Monk, but it was growing on her already. The monk returned his gaze to her upon hearing his name, and it did sound strange - having not heard his own name being spoken from another person in a very long time, it would take time to adjust to hearing it once again. Now, to think of it, he didn’t mind hearing it from her. It felt like a breath of fresh air and a small weight was lifted from him. Who knew telling someone his true name would’ve given him some sort of relief in his damned life. Although, it unsettled him slightly. (Y/N)s eyes swiftly shifted over to him smirking. At this, his eyes narrowed at her, waiting for whatever would spill out of her mouth.

“Have you gone soft on me, Lancy?”

The monk let out an elongated sigh.

-

Shouts of men were heard from a far distance and the sound of multiple feet pounding on the ground pushed Lancelot further and further, stumbling in his path as he urged (Y/N) forward. They both rushed to find his horse, away from the paladin camp. His arm clutched at his side which bled and burned profusely, but the grip pulling at his sleeve kept him from passing out from pain and the concussion he had gained from the fight with the trinity guards. He barely made it out alive, had it not been for the distraction (Y/N) gave of which worked to his advantage.

“Come on, Lancelot! Keep going!” (Y/N) cried, her voice wavering as she tugged his arm. His chest fell up and down, heaving out breaths. His footing lost balance, tipping over an uneven muddy spot on the ground and fell down on one knee. His grip ripped from (Y/N) to catch himself before he fell completely on the wet ground. (Y/N) let out a small yelp and fell down on her knees, his fall taking her down with him. Bent over with his hand braced on the ground, he gasped from the pain and the utter exhaustion he felt. (Y/N) crawled over to Lancelot and grasped at his shoulders.

“Here, give me your arm.” (Y/N) grabbed the arm that held Lancelot up and put it over and around her shoulders. He grunted as he was pulled up, (Y/N) grunting in the process too from the sheer weight of him. “Christ, how much do you weigh?” She quipped through clenched teeth.

“Leave me.” Lancelot rasped, leaning on (Y/N). The voice of men grew closer, even their torches they carried seemed to be getting closer from the looks of it. Soon they would reach them and Lancelot was in no shape to ride a horse. He would most likely fall off. He would be dead weight.

“What? No! Are you crazy?! You're coming with me!” (Y/N) protested and pulled him along towards the horse. Lancelot let out a pained moan as his deep wound continued to bleed and ache terribly. He was sure he was seeing black spots from blood loss and the concussion.

“Over there!” A red robed monk shouted far from behind them. (Y/N) gasped and looked behind. They were getting closer. She turned back around, fastening their pace even more than last time.

“Hurry, Lancelot! The horse is right there!” Lancelot could hear the men coming closer and closer, their torches more visible and their stomps became louder.

“(Y/N).” he pleaded her name, although (Y/N) kept going, ignoring his plea.

Through (Y/N)s struggling and Lancelot’s wheezing, they had finally made it to Goliath who waited for their arrival. (Y/N) adjusted the saddle and with shaking hands she untied the rope from the tree. Lancelot fell to the ground on his knees a few feet away from (Y/N), beside Goliath when she had gone to untie the rope. He panted, his head hanging down. From behind them , Lancelot could hear the groan of a string being pulled back. He turned quickly at that, and his eyes widened at the archer that stood further away had begun to draw an arrow towards (Y/N) which would no doubt hit her, though she hadn’t the slightest clue. With the remaining strength he had, Lancelot swiftly stood up and ignored the sharp burn and pain in his side. It did nothing to stop him from grabbing a dagger from the pouch that Goliath carried on his saddle and hurling it towards the archer, using his whole body to throw the dagger with a yell. The dagger flew in the air and embedded itself in the stomach of the archer. He fell to the ground in shock and fell to the floor moments later.

(Y/N) gasped and had spun around to see what had happened, her eyes landing on the fallen body and Lancelot who was completely hunched over the ground, moaning in pain. (Y/N) rushed over to him and pulled him up to his knees. She fell to her knees, grabbing his face when his head lolled back while in a daze. She forced him to look at her, using her hands to hold his face upright.

“Lancelot! Hey!” She slapped his face hard enough to bring his attention to her. His eyes were half lidded and his forehead dripped blood down to his chin and over (Y/N)’s hands, but she couldn’t care about the blood. She scanned his body for new wounds that he could’ve possibly got from the encounter but found none. Good. She needed him to stay awake and alive.

“Listen to me, you need to get on the horse.” She commanded him, and she wasn't too sure if he could even comprehend what she was saying by the dazed look in his eyes. She wiped away the blood that dripped down his eyebrow.

“You hear me? Get on the horse, I’ll help you.” She spoke in a rush and tugged him up to his feet roughly, jerking him forward and onto Goliath. He yelped in pain , clutching his wounded side and found purchase on the saddle, barely holding himself up with (Y/N)’s help. There was no way he’d be able to get on the horse if he couldn’t even hold himself up.

“(Y/N)-” Lancelot weakly spoke, but (Y/N) shouted and cut him off, sending him a sharp glare.

“NO Lancelot! Get on the fucking horse!”

He stared at her, the weakening becoming apparent in his eyes. She searched his eyes with rage, but it slowly shifted to a sorrow filled expression. Her lip starting to quiver as tears pooled in her eyes and a lump formed in her throat.

“Please,” her voice cracked as she choked out. “Don’t do this.” She begged. Lancelot's heart squeezed painfully in his chest at the plea, his eyes squeezed shut and hung his head towards the ground. He shook his head.

“No, petal. I cannot go further.” He rasped.

A small sob from (Y/N)’s throat.

“I'm not leaving without you!.” (Y/N) declared, gripping his shoulder. Lancelot shook his head once again and grasped her hand that gripped his cloak , looking up at her through his lashes.

“I'm going to die, (Y/N). One way or another. But I'm not going to get you killed in the process. I'm too weak. You have to leave me, flower.” he pleaded, looking earnestly into (Y/N)s teary eyes. Her nose was red, her eyes were red and her lip couldn’t stop quivering. She whined and shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks.

“No, we can run away! We can! W-we can leave right now Lancelot, just get on the horse!” She cried out in desperation. Lancelot growled lowly in frustration, shouting out to (Y/N).

“No, (Y/N)!” He shouted. His eyes were furious as he stared (Y/N) down. She cried as she looked right back at him, her shoulders shaking from her sobs. He couldn’t leave with her, not even if he tried. He would die anyway, from his wounds or the men that are certainly making their way to them. He couldn’t get on the horse, let alone to keep himself standing up. He was too weak and too heavy for (Y/N) to carry. They would kill him first if he were to escape, knowing he was already mortally injured. He would slow down (Y/N), and then kill they would kill her. He could not let that happen.

“I am too injured, too heavy. Too weak. And even if I were to get on the horse, I would lose consciousness and slow you down. They will kill me and then you. I cannot go.” He firmly explained to her, his bloody hand gently caressing her neck and trailing up to her cheek, smearing blood along her skin. He was losing time, he noticed. His gaze softened, his throat closing too. He pulled (Y/N) into his chest who immediately drew her arms around him and hugged him tightly, crying into his gray surcoat. He stifled a groan that threatened to escape him from the impact of the tight embrace, but regardless of the pain, he wrapped an arm across her back and cradled her head. He pressed his lips firmly to the crown of her head while (Y/N) continued to cry in his chest.

“It’s ok, girl. You will be ok.” Lancelot whispered. At that , (Y/N)s cried harder and buried her face deeper into his chest and gripped onto his back. He cherished the precious moment, knowing it would be the last. After some time had passed, he pulled her apart from him and pushed (Y/N) toward Goliath. She almost protested, after having been pushed away from his embrace but He jerked his head toward Goliath, hunching over as he held his side and urging (Y/N) to mount the black horse.

“Go. Quickly. They are coming.’’ He pushed her back towards the horse, forcing her to mount Goliath who brayed and shook his head. He fastened the saddle once (Y/N) had pulled herself up the horse with his help, tugging at the straps and grabbing the reins. (Y/N) sniffled and wiped at her eyes roughly, though the tears kept coming. Lancelot had grabbed her hands with his hand, still holding onto the saddle to support himself and put the reins within her hands, closing them around the leather. He looked up at her with his cold hand covering her own, gripping them.

(Y/N) looked down to him from the horse, and her eyes locked onto his blue ones. Once again, she couldn’t help the tears falling and her lower lip curling, knowing this too, was going to be the last time she saw him. She hiccuped and Lancelot brought her hand towards his chapped lips, kissing her knuckles while he kept his eyes locked on hers.

“I am not afraid, so do not fear for me, petal. Death does not scare me. Be brave. Be strong. I will always watch over you. And if I cannot, I will find a way.” He promised to (Y/N), and she nodded her head slightly. “You are my salvation, (Y/N). ” He declared, holding a meaningful gaze with her. They held eye contact for a few seconds and (Y/N) quickly leant down to his face and pressed her lips to his cheek. She broke apart from him and stared down at him, speaking the best she could with her shaking voice.

“I care deeply for you, Lancelot. I'll miss you. Greatly.” Lancelot’s face slowly broke into a smile, a smile that reached his eyes and revealed his teeth, and the sight was cruel. Bloody, bruised and cruel, yet beautiful. “And I you, petal.” He responded softly, silence taking over as he stared deeply at (Y/N).

His eyes snapped towards the sound of men shouting and fire blowing, having now caught up to them. They approached from the trees and pointed to the pair, yelling at one another to catch them.

“Hold on!” He shouted and (Y/N) nodded her head quickly, her grip tightened on the rains and Goliath surged forward when Lancelot gave Goliath a smack to his behind, the horse letting out a squeal from the action. (Y/N) looked at Lancelot, committing his face in her memory one last time, him doing the same before Goliath took off in a bolt. (Y/N) let out a scream of fear, but held onto Goliath as he galloped away. The horse was fast, unbelievably fast. For a minute, she rode Goliath but turned back to watch Lancelot. He grew further and further away, turned towards her as watched her ride away until she forced herself to rip her eyes from the view when he turned towards the paladins, dropping to his knees. Surrendering.

And that was the last time she saw him. Her beloved friend.

—

(Y/N) breathed softly, her heart clenching at the memories. Isaac stared at her in silence, giving her a moment to herself before she spoke. He heard the soft beating of her heart and leaned closer to her body, their shoulders pressed against each other.

“Take your time, petal.” He reassured her and looked ahead. (Y/N)’s eyes snapped towards him at the name and stared at him, too stunned to say anything which caused Isaac to look back to her in alarm.

“What’s wrong? Did I say something?” He questioned with a frown on his face. (Y/N) stared into his blue eyes , slowly taking in his features. They were almost similar to Lancelot’s. Almost too similar. Excluding the moustache and the long hair that was always tied in a bun. Don’t forget the Ash folk marks. The tear marks under Lancelot’s eyes. And Isaac. The blue eyes, the youthful shape of his face, his lips, his smile. Everything. At first she thought it was just a crazy coincidence. A lot of people look alike, and quite frankly there's a shit ton of people alone in one world and in addition to many other worlds. Shit, she can even enter other worlds somehow and that was crazy enough, but the resemblance was uncanny….

(Y/N)s eyes widened as she looked back into his eyes and Isaac continued to watch her as she stared at him, his ears even turned red at the attention.

“Lancelot...” She whispered in astonishment as she gazed at Isaacs face again. He heard the beat of (Y/N)’s heart start to pound, and her scent became an overwhelming smell of emotions. Love, sadness, immense happiness.

He blinked at her.

“What.” He muttered, eyes wide as he stared at her. He hadn’t heard her speak from the pounding of his heart and (Y/N)’s combined, completely thrown off as warmth enveloped him from the name she seemed to call him. This was so strange, he thought. Lancelot? Had he heard that name before?...

(Y/N) broke from her trance, clearing her throat she shook her head. Isaac too seemed to break from the trance, now hazy as confusion filled his mind. What was happening to him?

“His name..” (Y/N) began softly, looking at him intently with prying eyes. Isaac listened, staring at her as well, waiting for her to nish as he held his breath.

“His name was Lancelot.” She finished quietly, watching his expression. Hearing the name, a sudden electricity shot through him and a ringing deafened him. He yelped in pain and covered his ears as the high pitched ringing blared in his ears. Suddenly, a rush of jumbled words echoed in his ears, like a sped up record replaying over and over again.

“... petal…Death...be brave...Always watch over you..can't...will find a way..”

Isaac yelled out in pain, grabbing at his head and curling into a ball, the jumble of words giving him a splitting headache. It hurt. It hurt so bad he wanted to tear his eyeballs out and rip out his hair. But eventually, It had started gradually slow, the echos fading away until it had completely stopped. Moments passed.

Until another loud echo of a whisper in his ears.

“You are my Salvation.”

That seemed to have Isaac collapse, like a button was pressed and the lights flickered off , black slowly creeping up in the corner of his vision. He saw a glimpse of (Y/N) kneeling over him, her frightened face fading to another image of her bloodied and despaired tear filled face. Back and forth, like flashes.

“Lancelot!” Was the last thing he heard before blacking out.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 24

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Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: The Baker And The Monk.

Notes: Looking back, I'm surprised how big this story got. Wasn't my intention lol.

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  24/47

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The others were still asleep in the morning when you had gone downstairs in the inn to drink some soup and enjoy a peaceful quiet moment alone before having to face the Monk again. Where to go from here? What with Percival, did he still have parents or was the boy on his own? There were a lot of things to think about and it was hard to come to a solid decision or plan. Your peaceful moment alone was interrupted when a man approached the table you were sitting at.

“I noticed you are sitting alone, care for some company to talk to?” He seemed rather friendly.

You were in doubt. “I fear I will not be very talkative.”

He did not give up just yet. “I’m quite the opposite, if you wish to offer a listening ear I might entertain you?”

It was starting to intrigue you. “What would you speak of?”

The man was an open book. “My successes and failures as a baker.”

“Fine.” You decided. “Take a seat. Start with the failures.”

He chuckled and took the chair opposite of you. This baker, whom was named Charles, was a friendly fella that loved to chat with anyone who would listen. Hearing how the life of another was so different compared to yours was refreshing. There was no talk of paladins or the war. It was just a baker speaking of his occupation with an enthusiasm not many still had. For just a moment, you forgot about your own situation and let yourself be carried into the story of another. That lasted until you saw the man look at something behind you, the Monk had came down the stairs and his attire was drawing attention. His attention however was solely on you, and how quickly you were to get to your feet and hurry over to him.

“Your surcoat!” you quietly scolded. “Do you want everyone to know we are hiding in this inn?!”

As you pulled at his arm to lead him back up the stairs, the innkeeper caught your eye and beckoned you over. With a small heart you went over to her.

She was drying off a tankard. “I was under the impression that you didn’t want anyone to notice he was here.”

It was a correct assumption. “You’re right, I’ll talk to him.”

“He’ll bring trouble in those clothes.” She nodded in his direction.

The Monk was watching the conversation, still waiting for you by the stairs. You were aware it was pulling attention to him. “It’s not our intention to-”

She put the linen towel down. “Follow me through the kitchen. I may have something in my quarters, he looks the size of my late husband.”

That was an offer you did not reject, you made eye-contact with the Monk and tilted your head to call him over. He understood the silent request and crossed the large room to where you were waiting.

“The innkeeper may have some less holy clothes for you.” you told him.

Before he could react to the jest, the innkeeper spoke up.

“The name is ‘Amelia’.” She proceeded to lead you through the kitchen of the inn, another door was opened and led into her large quarters. Amelia went to the large wardrobe and opened it’s doors. “Pick out a couple of clothes. Come back to the inn when you’re done.”

You thanked her as she walked past, she murmured something about how her late husband wouldn’t need them anymore. Her generosity was surprising, perhaps she had not always been as fortunate as she was now. The Monk had not set one foot in the direction of the wardrobe.

“Go on. See if you can find something in there for you.” you encouraged.

Slowly he walked to the wardrobe, and tentatively touched a shirt. “It was not my intention to cause you trouble. I had not considered that my clothes would be so noticed here.”

You strolled around the room somewhat impatiently. “A monk in an inn will always draw attention.”

He hummed in agreement. “I had not even noticed.”

That was strange to hear considering how perceptive he could be. “That isn’t like you, often you were the first to notice something out of the ordinary.”

The truth escaped him when he picked up a light grey shirt that interested him. “When I woke and saw that you were no longer in the room with us, my only concern was finding you.” The weight of his confession hit a second later, he almost looked in your direction but stopped himself just in time. A black leather jerkin caught his eye next and he took it from under the stack of clothes on top of it.

“You thought I had run off again.” you stated what was so obvious now.

He swallowed hard and shook some dust from the jerkin. “Yes.”

“I would.” You crossed your arms over your chest, finally daring to face him. “But you did not arrive here alone, there is a child up in that room who needs someone to look after him. Where are his parents?”

The Monk told you what the boy had mentioned to him. “They’re gone.”

It wrangled at your heart to hear it. “What now?”

Not even he seemed to know what to do, it wasn’t like he had experience with raising and looking after children, because even though Percival acted mature for his age he was still just a boy under that hardened character.

He walked towards the bed in the room and put down his choice of clothing, then began to take off his cloak. “He picked up a sword to fight the Trinity Guard, to save me. I will do all that is in my power to ensure he will be safe.”

“How?” It slipped out.

His hands slowed down on their task, his voice got quieter. “I had hoped to not be the only one watching over Percival’s well-being. He could use someone gentle of heart.”

It clicked right away what he was suggesting. “Using a child as leverage to keep me with you?” You scoffed and turned to head towards the door.

He caught you by the arm to stop you. “What must I do for you to forgive me?”

You pulled yourself free from his hold. “Stop trying to stop me every time I want to get away from you, that would be a good start! If you let me be free, I might be more inclined to seek out your company.”

It was something he would need to learn, to let what he was so protective over run free in this world full of dangers he had hoped to shield you from.

His hand moved along your arm until it could take hold of your hand. “It does not have it’s roots in trying to have control over you. I-…” A long pause fell. “I felt the loss of you for a day and it was worse than any punishment forced upon me. Hate me, scream at me, harm me… I surrender to your will. But I beg you, stay.”

You were hoping he could not feel how your body was trembling in response to his plea. “Lancelot, I don’t know if I can after what happened.”

He knew why you were so cautious towards him. “I needed no order from Father to wish for your trust. I meant what I said to you once, you are important to me.”

“Because I was the key to achieving Father Carden’s praise and love for you.” It came out bitter.

“No.”

“No?”

He stepped away. It wasn’t until he continued to dress down that you noticed how much his hands were shaking. “Your presence brings me solace.”

You crossed your arms again, hugging yourself for some comfort. “I hope this is not some elaborate plan to regain my trust and take me back to the paladins.”

He almost looked over his shoulder to you. “Do you think so low of me?”

Your eyes turned cold. “Why do you think that is?”

He swallowed his tongue.

You sighed. “But I trust Percival to be truthful.”

Not him… of course not.

You hated how you couldn’t help but look when he bared his torso and let the ruined clothes drop to the floor. “Your wounds look better than they did last night.”

It was as if he had already forgotten them when he looked down at his healing injuries. “I owe it to your kindness. I doubt you had ointment at hand to use.”

So he knew you must have went out and searched for herbs to make the ointment. It told him you still must have felt a form of attachment towards him. “You’re lucky I know how to make one.”

He slipped the shirt on and inspected its fit. “Indeed.”

To distract yourself, you strolled around the room a little. “Just so you know, I will be referring to you by your actual name in this place. It is best we do not draw attention to ourselves. I hope others here did not figure out already that you are a monk, it would starts rumors and rumors can spread to the paladins and lead them here.”

He had not a single objection to that. “That is alright.”

Suddenly he winced, a pained sound escaped him when he had tried to put the jerkin on.

You approached him right away. “Let me help.”

Again, he had not a single objection when you began to close the leather belts of the jerkin. When you gave a stronger tug on one of them, a chuckle fell out of him. “Is this an attempt to murder me?”

You rolled your eyes at the jest. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

The smile remained on his lips. He almost seemed to enjoy the slightly rougher handling.

“What happens now? Will Father Carden not wish for you to return?” you asked.

He was not sure what to expect. “I do not know. But returning will not be possible, news will have spread of my heritage by now.”

You finished closing the last belt and took a small step back. “And if they were to want you back…?”

He shook his head. “With broken faith? And after what I did? The only reason they would want me back is to kill me.” His eyes locked on your face. “Besides that reason, I know that if I were to return to them you would never forgive me.”

It was a correct assumption. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

He gave a nod. “It goes without saying that we should stay out of the sights of paladins. And I will try to see if I can find us a place that will be safer than here.”

Easier said than done. “Won’t be simple. We have not much more than horses and the weapons you carry.”

“We have coin.” He said oh so matter-of-factually, as if you knew what he was speaking of.

“What?” you blurted out.

He was confused for a second. “I-… I always have a pouch of coin with me as I travel. One never knows when it is needed.” Upon seeing your expression change, he asked, “Were you concerned there was none to survive on?”

Him having coin did not mean it would help you too. “Well, it’s your coin. Not mine.”

A frown creased his forehead. Realization hit. “Do you truly think that I would not share what I have with you? What is mine, is yours. You are my wife.”

You took a step away and handed him back his cloak. “Our marriage is nothing but an arrangement that has benefited everyone but myself.”

He held the cloak in his hand, feeling frozen in time and place. “Then it is time I prove what benefits this arrangement will provide for you.”

It had you mildly intrigued, but you didn’t dare to show it. “Put your cloak back on. I hope Percival is still upstairs in the room.”

He did as asked. “He was still asleep when I came to find you.”

You headed for the door to the kitchen, him speaking your name made you stop. He came closer again, stopping right in front of your nose. He intended to take hold of your hand but you moved it back a little and it made him abandon the idea.

He spoke in a quiet manner, “If it would put your mind at rest, I will go and fetch the coin from Goliath’s saddlebag and put it in your possession?”

You blinked. “Maybe you should fetch that pouch from the saddlebag before someone else does?”

His expression changed instantly, as if he had not even thought about the possibility of someone stealing it. “I-… One moment.”

Lancelot walked out of the room, through the kitchen and the inn, to outside. After everything, it was not strange for it to be forgotten or overlooked. It was also somewhat amusing to see him hurry out of the inn because of it. You on the other hand went back up the stairs up to your room after thanking Amelia and asking her for two bowls of broth. When you went inside, you found Percival starting to wake up. The scent of the broth was enough to wake him up fully.

“Good morning.” You handed him a bowl.

Percival mumbled the same in reply and went towards the bed. You cleared your throat to get his attention and he saw you point at the table. With a small sigh, he took place at the table to eat his broth. Just as he sat down, Lancelot entered the room and he went straight over to you. A pouch was put into your hand before you could even think to protest it.

Percival eyed you curiously. “What’s that?”

He told the boy the truth, “Coin.”

Percival’s eyes fell on the pouch again, slightly widened and very interested.

Lancelot noticed it right away. “She has a satchel to carry it in.”

The idea he fed was clearly aimed at you, but you were still a bit taken aback by the weight of the pouch that he had put into your hand. Never had Aldith or Cassian let you carry this much coin on you, they were quick to take it if they knew you had some savings. And for it to just be put into your hands now like it was nothing…

Even the boy had noticed the strange familiarity between you and him. “Are you friends?”

Your attention snapped to Percival, who was looking between you and Lancelot like he was trying to figure it out. Lancelot did not answer, he was looking at you to see what you would say. The last thing you wanted to do was alarm the boy by telling him that the friendship between you and Lancelot had come to a sour end not long ago, Percival barely knew the two of you and it would make more uncomfortable questions arise.

“We are.” you said, and noticed how relieved Lancelot looked.

“How?” Percival looked at Lancelot. “You killed the Fey, then how come you’re friends with her?”

Again he looked at you for an answer, but this time you gave him a look back that let him know that this was his answer to give. Lancelot struggled to explain it. “Father made an exception for her.”

The boy fired another question, “Why?”

He kept looking at you for help in this. “Because she is Ash Folk, as I am.”

“He only let Ash Folk live?” Percival frowned.

“The broth is getting cold. Eat Percival.” You turned to Lancelot. “The other bowl is yours.”

Lancelot was quick to ask, “Have you eaten?”

You gave a nod. “I had soup before you came down to the inn.”

Only then did he take the offer of the broth and took place opposite of Percival. You stashed the pouch of coins into your satchel.

You sat down on the bed for a moment, then let yourself fall back onto the mattress to look up at the ceiling. “You could use some more of that medicine I have given you, Lancelot. Charles told me that the market in this village is available for wares here everyday.”

His spoon stilled midway to his mouth. “ ‘Charles’?”

“The baker I was talking to before you came down the stairs.” you informed.

He continued to eat. “You wish to visit this market then?”

Your eyes closed. “I think it is necessary, that medicine will dull the pain for now, but when it wears off…”

“It would indeed be wise to be prepared.” He agreed to the idea. “Shall we go after this meal?”

Percival gave a ‘yes’ with his mouth stuffed full, earning a scolding look from the Ash Man.

“That’s fine.” you stretched your arms behind your head, enjoying the soft bed. Humming contentedly. A slight cold chill crept over the skin of your waist where it was exposed by your clothes that had moved up a little, it was not bothersome.

“Don’t you like the broth?” Percival suddenly asked.

You turned your head to look at the table and saw how Lancelot turned his head towards the boy. Percival was looking at him curiously, and perhaps hopeful that he would get the other bowl of broth for himself. Lancelot cleared his throat, and took a spoonful of the broth in his mouth in response to that. You smiled at the hint of disappointment in Percival’s expression and made a mental note to make certain the boy would have a proper set of meals every day as long as you could provide him with such.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  The walk to the market was rather odd, you had to keep a focused eye on Percival who showed a tendency to wander off alone. Lancelot did not seem all too comfortable among the busy crowd, he was constantly looking around himself.

“Try to be calm.” you told him. “You’ll hurt your neck if you keep turning it so much.”

He picked up on the jesting tone. “How can you be so calm?”

You stopped at a stall with small curiosities. “I’ve spend days living among the enemy. It’s nothing new.”

It was a small lie. Being among a crowd was causing you distress but you did not want to draw attention, so you pretended all was well.

Lancelot noticed Percival had taken an interest in a stall a little further away and caught the boy by the vest before he could disappear in the crowd. “Remain in my sight.”

“It’s not my fault if your eyes are bad.” Percival bluntly said.

He took on a more firmer tone. “Stay.”

Percival rolled his eyes and came to stand a little closer to you, looking down at all the small bits and trinkets on the stall. Visiting a market was something you had not done in quite some time and it was the first time you weren’t doing it alone.

“I can see a stall further up ahead that is selling medicine.” Lancelot informed you.

He leaded the way to the stall, a friendly old lady was selling some basic necessities for those who dabbled in medicine. There was a certain set of herbs that you needed to make more of that ointment you had made but the seller had no stock of it. Another trip into the forest for them would be warranted. Fortunately she did have a few vials of medicine for when Lancelot’s fever and pain would return. When it was time to pay, for the first time you found out just how much there was actually in the pouch of coins. The small gasp from you made the others look.

Lancelot came closer, noticing your startled reaction to the contents of the pouch, by doing so he blocked the view others could have on it. “May I?”

Was he truly asking if he could use his own coin to pay for the medicine? It was such a ludicrous thing. “Of course.”

He took two small coins out and handed them to the seller whilst putting the pouch back into the safety of your satchel, then put the vials into it as well. Your attention was pulled away from him when Percival lightly tugged at your sleeve.

“Can we get a sweetroll?” The boy asked so very carefully.

Out of reflex you looked at Lancelot for an answer, before reminding yourself that he had said that the coin was yours just as much as it was his. “I believe we can?”

A sweetroll, after how brave the child had been to step into the Trinity Guard fight with him? It was the very least he could give in return.

Lancelot noted the doubt and put your mind at ease. “Yes.” He relied on his nose to find what the boy was asking for. “Over there.”

For you it was still hard to distinct all the scents, especially in a place so filled with all sorts of kinds.

Lancelot gave Percival an encouraging nudge against the back once at the stall that sold the sweetrolls. “They are fresh.” Then he looked at you with a knowing look. “Can you tell?”

You shook your head. “No.”

“No?” he asked curiously.

There was no ill intent behind his question, you could tell. This was just him being curious how well your sense of smell was now.

Percival pointed at a sweetroll, one that looked a little larger than the others of course. “I want that one.”

Lancelot hoped to improve Percival’s manners and corrected his way of asking for something. " ‘May I have that one?’ "

Percival did not pick up on what was being gently taught to him. “I saw it first.”

You turned your head, covering your mouth to stifle a laugh.

“I meant-” Lancelot sighed, but he did not want to make this more confusing. He would speak to the boy about this later. “Alright.”

Percival became far more cheery when he could eat his sweetroll on the way back to the inn. On your way there, the path got more crowded with people, and after having been alone so often the crowd felt overwhelming. Seeing a threat coming felt impossible like this. People were almost walking against or into you constantly, the many voices flooded your ears, you began to lose sight on where you were and where you were going. Your heart was beating too fast, there was not enough air getting into your lungs. What on earth was happening…

“Are you alright?” Percival suddenly asked.

No. No, you were not. “I…”

Just before someone else could walk into you, Lancelot placed himself close to you, using his form as a barrier against the crowd. “What is wrong? You look unwell.”

It felt embarrassing to say it. “There’s too many people.”

Lancelot looked around him for a moment and spotted a smaller and less crowded path. “We’ll take that path instead. Come.”

You barely registered that he had placed a hand on your back to guide you along. The second you were out of the crowd, you leaned against a wall to recover.

Percival looked so very worried. “Are you sick?”

“No. I’m not used to being around so many people so closely anymore.” You hoped he wouldn’t ask why that was. “I can’t even see if there’s paladins around.”

Lancelot spoke. “Do not worry. I will notice them.”

He saw the look in your eyes change, it twisted a dagger into his gut. You did not trust that he would warn you if he saw paladins…

The boy touched your arm to comfort you. “It’s alright.”

No one expected for Percival to offer you the last bit of the sweetroll, it instantly made you feel a bit better.

“No, thank you.” you refused the sweet offer. “Did that sweetroll make you so sweet, or were you always like this?”

Percival’s face flushed a little, especially when he saw the slight grin on Lancelot’s face who saw it happen.

Lancelot came closer, supporting you by the arm to see if you were stable enough to walk. “Are you certain you do not wish for something to eat or drink?”

You pried his fingers loose from your arm. “I’ll be alright. Let’s get back to the inn before we run into paladins.”

The Ash Man kept a sharp eye on you whilst the three of you walked back to the inn. Percival and him picked out the lesser crowded paths and at some point you ended up on a narrow cobblestone street. Houses were build left and right in a long line and at the end of that street was a blacksmith working at his forge.

Lancelot came to a halt. “Do you mind stopping here for a moment?”

Of course he would be curious to see what sort of weapons this village had to offer. “Go ahead.”

He gave a grateful tilt of the head and approached the blacksmith, you and Percival followed suit.

“Good day.” The blacksmith gave a greeting nod and halted his work, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“Good day.” Lancelot greeted just as polite. “Do you have wares for sale?”

“I do.” The blacksmith pointed at the house beside the forge. “My daughter keeps charge of the shop. Feel welcome.”

Whilst walking the short distance to the shop, you discreetly handed Lancelot the pouch. “In case you need it.”

He tucked it under his sword belt, in those few seconds Percival had already walked into the shop and reminded you both that this child would walk right through fire if there was something he wanted on the other side. Lancelot followed him inside immediately and grabbed hold on the back of the boy’s jacket. One look at the boy and Percival knew that Lancelot was serious about staying in sight.

A woman who looked your age was cleaning one of the many swords inside the store, she halted her task right away when she saw Lancelot. “Hello, is there something you seek? We have many weapons a man such as yourself would love to have.”

You noticed how it took her a little too long to even notice you were in the store too, not that she seemed to care, her eyes were glued to Lancelot from the second he had stepped inside. It irked you, a feeling you suppressed, this woman had done you no wrong.

“A sword.” he answered her.

She gestured for him to follow and leaded him to a wall with swords on display. “See something you like?”

Oh, it could not be more obvious that she was not talking about the swords then. Even Percival noted an undertone in her voice and looked up at her questioningly. The Ash Man said nothing, his gaze waved over the wall of swords and then he picked one off of the wall. He created some distance and spun the sword in his hand a few times.

“No.” he said, dissatisfied. The sword was placed back and another was put to the test, and another… and another…

You were watching the picky twit, starting to feel embarrassed for how he turned down sword after sword. “What exactly are you looking for?”

He smiled at the slightly annoyed tone. “Balance.”

“Balance?” Percival parroted. “It’s a sword. You just have to hit someone with it.”

He inspected the crossguard of the sword whilst explaining it to the boy. “A sword must have a good balance to control it well. It must be strong, not just the blade but the pommel and crossguard as well. A blade alone will not offer much aid in a sword fight without a strong pommel.”

The blacksmith’s daughter approached him now that he was just looking at the details of the pommel. “Spoken as a true swordsman. You are in need of a new sword then?”

She placed her hand on his lower arm, he looked at her hand right away. The sight of it bothered you, it shouldn’t have, not after all that had happened.

“No.” He finally read her intentions from her face. “It is for her.”

You saw him gesture your way and stared back at him in surprise. A sword, for you? Truly?

“Oh… I see… of course.” she stammered and stepped back.

When he beckoned for you to come closer, you became very aware of the sets of eyes on you. It felt a little awkward to approach him.

Upon seeing the reluctance, he approached you himself. He stood at your side and placed the sword into your hands, with your state from earlier in mind he behaved as gentle as he knew he could be. “See? Perfectly balanced steel. The right length for you to wield, a strong crossguard that can be used as a weapon in itself.”

The enthusiasm with which he spoke was infectious, if someone knew what sort of sword was good it had to be him. And with the way he was touching your arm and hands, you struggled to fully focus on the details of the sword he was explaining about.

He stood half against you. “What do you think? Do you like it?”

“Yes.” It flopped out, as if air decided to flee your lungs before the rest of your body could.

He looked at the shopkeeper. “We’ll take the sword.”

“Very well.” She sounded a little disappointed that he wasn’t interested in the other matters that she had wanted to offer.

He made an observation. “She needs a belt and sheath for it.”

“Of course.” She went to a hook on the wall that held multiple sorts of belts and helped you pick one out, then she attached the sheath to it.

Lancelot approved of the ensemble and was seemingly wondering if there could be more added to the belt that would be useful. “A small pouch for it?”

That sure sounded handy to store small things in. “I’d love that.”

With a polite gesture of his hand, he told the shopkeeper to add it to the ensemble. Then there you stood, with a proper weapon belt and a sword at your hip, the joy it brought was refreshing.

“Will that be all?” The shopkeeper asked.

Percival piped up, “I want a knife.”

“No.” Lancelot denied that request.

The boy fired back. “Mine was stolen! By the people you lived with.”

The way the child glared at him and gave him a warning look… It was a blessing that he had not referred to them as paladins.

Lancelot looked at you for advice. Was it proper to give the young boy a knife?

You mistook the look he gave. “If the sword is too costly for Percival to get a knife, I will manage without a sword.”

He sighed and looked towards the shopkeeper. “Do you have something appropriate for one of his age to use?”

“My ‘age’ ?” Percival glared at him. “What’s that got to do with it?”

You snorted a laugh, curious how Lancelot was going to talk himself out of this one. And apparently he considered it wise to not answer Percival’s bait for a battle. Thankfully the shopkeeper sensed the mood of the boy shifting in the wrong direction and quickly handed a knife to Lancelot.

He inspected the knife before giving it to Percival. “Good?”

The boy got very cheery instantly again, and with a wide grin he nodded up to him. The sword and knife were paid for and the shopkeeper bid you all a good evening. Indeed evening had arrived over the land, there were far less people on the streets now. With a sword that you could rest your hand on, you felt more at ease. Had this been Lancelot’s intention, for you to feel less threatened by the crowd? It worked.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Before entering the inn, the three of you stopped by the horses. They were indeed being fed and taken care of, the innkeeper was one of the better ones out there it seemed.

“I miss Bear.” you said quietly whilst brushing the coat of the horse, that you had stolen from the paladins, with some straw. Lancelot was beside you, tending to Goliath’s coat.

Percival had heard it too. “Who’s ‘Bear’?”

“My own horse.” you told him. “This is the one I stole from the paladins. He’s sweet too, but he’s not Bear.”

The boy pouted a bit. “Where is Bear?”

You sighed. “Still at the paladin camp, I think.”

“He will be alright.” Lancelot reassured. “A good horse is always valuable, they will treat him well.”

You hoped he was right about that. “I hope so.”

After tending to the horses, you headed into the inn. The scent of warm potatoes and vegetables hanged inside the place, it was a warm welcome to your nostrils.

“I’m hungry.” Percival said the second you walked into the inn.

“I will ask the innkeeper for meals. Do we eat in the room?” you asked them.

“Yes.” Lancelot was quick to reply. The visit to the market had been enough risks for the day.

He did not have the heart to remind the boy that he had eaten a sweetroll not long ago, considering one of the ways to win the war against the Fey had been to burn their mills to cause famine amongst them.

As you walked towards the bar, he took Percival up to the room. Amelia was already looking at you, awaiting the interaction whilst she brushed a stray lock of her curly black hair behind her ear.

“That is a fine looking sword.” She nodded down at the sword resting at your hip. “Went to the market then?”

The wish for small talk was shared. “Yes. I needed more medicine for my friend.”

Her eyes narrowed for a blink. “That man you are with is your ‘friend’?”

Friend… it was the only way you could describe him that wouldn’t draw attention.

You worried what her reaction meant. “Yes…”

“I thought he was your lover.” She shrugged her shoulders. “And the boy?”

Rumors could be born so easily… at least Amelia was not afraid to ask for the truth. “Percival’s parents died, he only has us now.”

She hummed and filled some plates with the stew she had prepared for those at the inn. Her voice was just loud enough for you to hear. “Not many know what the Weeping Monk looks like, the people speak of him as if he is a ghost. Those who have not seen his face, or heard the stories, will not recognize him. But I have heard the stories. So tell me, should I be concerned?”

Your hands got clammy. She knew… she knew… “He is not a ghost, nor a monster. He will do you no harm.”

At least you hoped that was true, and that this was not some elaborate plan of his to get your trust back and return you to Father Carden.

She stared you down for a second, then gave a nod and placed the plates in front of your nose. “Be careful. Someone like him must have dangerous enemies, do not find yourself in the midst of it.”

If only she knew that you were already standing in the midst of it all. You took the plates to carefully carry them up the stairs. “Thank you for the meals.”

“You’re welcome. And once your ‘friend’-” she truly enunciated the word, “-feels better, do ask him if he could be so kind to move some of the lumber from behind the inn inside for the fireplace. There is no rush, but I would appreciate the help.”

It was a small favor to ask for in return for the hospitality she had shown. “I will ask. And he is truly just a friend, that is already complicated enough as it is.”

Her voice got a little louder, as if she meant to embarrass you in a playful way, “Perhaps it is complicated because he keeps imagining all the sins he would commit if he were to get you into bed.”

It caused your cheeks to burn. You tried to hush her. “What?! No! Of course not! He’s not like that-”

She arched a brow after you said the last part. “He’s not?”

Doubt was dripping off her tone and her expression, it only got you more flustered. She was such an open personality, unafraid to voice her thoughts and opinions and you found yourself at their mercy.

“He’s not.” you said firmly. Aware that your expression did not match the confidence of your voice.

A cheeky laugh escaped her. “Alright, don’t get so nervous. Who would I be to judge you for seeking some comfort in the arms of a monk?”

You rolled your eyes and turned away from her, carrying the plates in hand to carry them up the stairs. “You should write a book with that kind of imagination, Amelia.”

A laugh rippled through her chest and the sound followed you up the stairs, it wasn’t until you were in the room and had closed the door that you finally stopped hearing it. You placed the plates of stew down on the table. Percival was at the table not a blink of an eye later, Lancelot was more patient in his approach. He did not sit down yet when he saw you ignore the meal to attach your dagger to your new belt as well.

You finally noticed once you were done with the task. “Go on, sit. You don’t have to wait for me, you need your meals to get healthy again.”

“So do you.” he said whilst taking seat beside Percival.

You took the remaining plate of stew to eat on the bed. “How are your wounds? Is that ointment still working?”

“It is wearing off I believe.” He took a bite. “The vials will bring some relief.”

Those vials were good for fever, but you were not sure how well it would work against dirt getting into the wounds. “But you need ointment to protect you from infections, and it helps to quicken the process of healing. I’ll go search for what I need after the meal.”

He shook his head. “Tomorrow is better.”

You frowned. “But-”

He would not hear it. “There is no need to scour the woods for me at night. I will not perish within hours. You should concern yourself over your own health more, have your own bruises even healed yet?”

“ Fine, I’ll go tomorrow.” you agreed to it. “And they’re almost gone.”

“How did you get bruises?” Percival asked with his mouth full.

“Paladins.” You spared the boy of the darker truth, drank the last of the broth that was left of the stew and put the plate down on the bed.

Lancelot scolded the boy for the lack of manners. “Do not talk with a full mouth.”

“Why?” Percival asked with his mouth still full.

“It is not proper.”

“Why?”

Lancelot sighed when the boy kept speaking whilst he chewed. “I can see right into your mouth. It ruins the appetite.”

Percival rolled his eyes and finally swallowed the food down. “Then don’t look.”

Those two conversing was so entertaining to watch. Lancelot trying to help the boy learn some manners, whilst the boy reacted to it as if Lancelot was exaggerating. The patience he had with the child was admirable. You watched their entire interaction, and Percival proved quite talented at trying to change the topic when it was most convenient for him.

An unexpected question of the boy derailed their entire conversation. “That man that talked to you before you fought those masked paladins, why did he ask if I could smell the Fey? Can you smell who is Fey?”

Lancelot had finished his plate not long after Percival had, and confirmed what the boy believed to be true. “Ash Folk have a strong sense of smell. Fey kind gives of a different sort of scent than Manblood.”

The boy looked somewhat confused. “Different how?”

He leaned back into the chair. “Imagine it as a cloak hanging over them at all times, a fresh scent much like young grass. It is different for all Fey, but it always smells similar to what one can find in the woods.”

You had never been able to put the scent into words, but his description made complete sense. “It prickles the nose.”

His attention turned to you. “Yes.”

“But not in a bad way.” you assured Percival. “I can’t pick up on scents as good as he can, but his description fits.”

Lancelot was glad to hear that you experienced it in a similar way. “I can ignore most scents, it would overwhelm my senses too greatly otherwise. But I will always notice the Fey scent.”

“Because you used it to find us?” Percival was starting to piece the puzzle together again.

Lancelot gave a small nod, aware how even the boy must have realized how terrible it was that a Fey had used his abilities against his own kind.

It lead Percival to chase the truth. “Why were you with them? If you’re Fey, why did you fight against us?”

You didn’t want this to end in trouble. “Percival-”

“It’s alright.” Lancelot said to you. “He has a right to know.”

You rose from the bed and approached Percival, leaning onto the back of the chair with your arm as Lancelot began his story. He told the boy how he ended up in the hands of Father Carden, what was expected of him and why. Percival had not been so quiet in quite some time, often a look of confusion set in his eyes to which Lancelot explained a little more.

“Do you really think we’re damned?” The boy asked.

Lancelot got quieter. “I do not know what to believe anymore.”

Percival looked down for a second, chewing his lip. “But you won’t hurt the Fey anymore?”

That was at least one thing he was certain of. “No. Not unless it is to defend us from danger.”

To the boy it was an agreeable condition. Percival still had some questions that were a little less hard to answer, mostly about how monks lived and how they prayed. You did notice that Lancelot was careful not to mention how they used the scourge on themselves. The memory of the wounds he had inflicted upon himself the last time he had done so was etched into your mind, you doubted those were not still hurting him even just sitting there.

    “Alright.” You grabbed their empty plates. “Whilst you two talk further, I’m taking these downstairs before it attracts flies into the room.”

They barely acknowledged the announcement, Percival was too engulfed in what Lancelot was telling him and Lancelot was too concentrated on not saying something that the boy was too young to hear about. So you headed down to the inn, Amelia was sweeping the floor and gave a grateful nod when she saw you carrying the plates down.

“To lessen some of your workload.” You held the plates up. “Do I put them in the kitchen?”

“Please do. Thank you.” She continued her task of cleaning the inn for the night.

The baker, Charles, was still up and sat at a table alone, you had to walk past him to go to the kitchen. “Care to offer a listening ear again, or perhaps accept one for yourself?”

You walked past him. “My ears always listen. I’ll put these in the kitchen first.”

Once you returned from the kitchen, he was awaiting your presence and leaned over the table to move the other chair so you could sit. Again he told of his life, about how before he became a baker he dreamed of being a bard, and when he offered to play on his lute you had to tell him that those already asleep in the inn upstairs might not appreciate the music at that hour. He was rather sweet, it was nice to listen to him talk. He had some quite amusing stories to tell about how some patrons would empty out a loaf of bread and try to return the shell of it to get their coin back.

Charles leaned a little closer over the table, his hands wrapped around the tankard that was long since emptied. “And you, what sort of stories can you tell me?”

It made you get evasive. “I’m not that interesting.”

He tsk-ed. “Nonsense. I see stories in those beautiful eyes.”

“‘Beautiful eyes’?” A chuckle escaped you. It had been a while since such flattery had been aimed your way.

“Not used to flattery?” he sounded surprised. “Hard to believe from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” You had a cheeky grin.

“I enjoy your company and would love to enjoy it for the rest of the night.” Charles made no secret of his intentions, especially when he reached over to place a hand over your own.

A plate was put down on the table between you and Charles, who jolted back in his chair from the loud clattering it made. You reacted the same way, your heartbeat spiked. It was not Amelia who had put the plate down on the table, no, Lancelot had brought down your empty plate that you had forgotten upstairs in the room.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Charles asked rightfully irritated.

    "Her husband.”

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[golden-pickaxe]

Wrong Side (Part 1)

Fandom: Cursed

Paring: Weeping Monk x F!Reader

Type: post season 1 (aka I do what I want, this show has been cancelled)

Wordcount: 10.177

Warnings: Violence, eventual Smut (18+), canon typical themes, christians are not talked nicely about

A/N: I actually wanted to post this as just one part, but as it is getting close to 20k words, I thought I would split it up. The second part is almost done, so yea. A few things are, that this story contains OCs, it contains made up lore because the source did not give much, and I based most of the lore on Celtic stuff, thought I am not an expert and it is also not super detailed. Idk where this came from tbh. Mostly because as someone who does longsword and types of short sword fencing (HEMA) in my free-time, every time I see or read bad fighting descriptions I want to cry. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this! Not a fandom I ever thought I would write about, but apparently my brain was searching for a new fixation in these trying times! It is basically a sweet romance with sword fighting, angst and hope, with a happy ending :) because we need happy endings!

Title of the story is from Wrong Side by Abney Park, a quote of which you will also find in this story!

Edit: This story is finished! [Part 2] , [Part 3]

Summary: You and your friends are the last of the Fire folk, making your way south to flee the red paladins that have destroyed your village. One night, a man and a boy stumble upon your camp, who had once stood on the wrong side of history. 

Even though the days were still quite warm, the nights had already started to grow bitter cold. The leaves of the forest had started to turn orange, yellow, red and brown, the beautiful turn of the seasons, as fall was slowly creeping over England.

You usually loved the fall, always excited for the many colours and harvest celebrations, the rituals that usually marked this time of year. The fall equinox was just a few days away now, if you read the heavens correctly, but where you usually would be busy with helping bring in the harvest and preparing the feasts and bonfires to end the season, you were now sitting on the cold ground, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, staring into a small, smouldering campfire. It was dark, the sky covered in clouds, to that not even moonlight could reach you, as you kept the first night watch over the camp, over the few remaining friends you still had in this world. They were huddled up in their own cloaks and blankets, finding a bit of restless sleep before you would travel on again.

You chewed on your lower lip, staring into the flames, your fingers idly moving, causing sparks of the fire in front of you to for figures and dancing shapes in the night.

It had been a long and horrible summer. The red paladins had ravaged the land, storming over the Pendragon kingdom from the north, where all this terror had started so long ago. Their kind had killed the fey for over two decades now, but this year was the first time that they bolstered such numbers, raged a war with so much strategy and determination. And surly with more funds from their overlords in Rome. Where years ago a fey village here and there was burned, with even some people surviving to tell the tale, now one after the other fell, so quickly that it was almost impossible to know where they would go next. Even larger strongholds, that had until now withstood the terror the Christians brought with them, had fallen like a house of cards.

 You pulled your blanket tighter around your body. You felt so trapped, as if the paladins were closing in on you and your friends with every passing minute. Part of you was just about to give up, to accept that this was the end of your people, as the places where you could hide dwindled every day. You and your friends had initially been on your way to Nemos, after you had heard other fey you had met talk about it, but when you had arrived, all you had found were burned remains of an abandoned camp.

 So now, you travelled on a bit aimlessly, planning to go south, towards Cornwall, a place where there were still enough woods, still enough unpopulated land, so that it could maybe be a new starting point. As far as you knew, the paladins had not made their way this far to the south yet, and if you remembered the stories of your mother correctly, it was still mostly inhabited by fey, with many clans of Piskies, Browneys and Spriggans scattered over the forests, fields and cliffsides.

Old stories were of course not much to go by, but it was at least something to give you and your four friends some hope.

 A sigh left your lips, your breathing forming a cloud of mist in the cool air. Cold, howling wind was rushing through the trees, pulling at your blanket and biting through your clothes, a constant wall of noise around you, making it even more vital for you to pay attention to your surroundings. But it was hard to make anything out besides the sound of the branches in the wind or see anything beyond the small light of the fire.

You were quite tempted to make the fire burn a bit brighter, not only to see more, but also to feel more of its warmth on your cold skin. But you knew, that just having that small fire in the first place, was risky enough, so you kept it low, only shimmied a bit closer to the flames, stretching out your hands to warm your clam fingers a bit, which were clad in fingerless gloves.

 A sudden noise, that managed to reach your ears even through the howling wind and rustling branches, made your head turn to the right, your hands automatically reaching for the longsword lying next to you. It had distinctively sounded like the crack of a branch. A branch that was stepped on.

 You got up in a swift move, your still fingers wrapped around the hilt of your sword, the metal reflecting the orange light of the low fire.

 “Born in the dawn..” a small voice called out from the shadows beyond the light of the fire, the voice of a small boy. Your heart was beating in your throat, the confirmation that there indeed were people in the woods around you. That a child had spoken was no reason for you to let down your guard, who knew what new tactics the red paladins had thought up now. Using a child as bait was not beyond them.

 “To pass in the twilight.” You answered nevertheless, your foot kicking on of your friends that was lying closest to you in the ribs, Calder instantly waking up. “Who are you?” you then added, shooting Calder a quick, intense look, as soon as the man had opened his eyes.

 “I’m Squirrel!” the voice said, and stepping out of the shadows of the trees and into the light of the fire was indeed a small boy, bruises on his face.

 “Are you alone out here?” you asked, while Calder had gotten up as well, gripping his own sword and waking up the rest of you.

 The boy looked uncertain for a moment, shooting a glance back into the shadows.

“No..” he finally said.

 “Who is with you?” his behaviour alarmed you immensely, as apparently your gut feeling had been right. He was bait. You immediately raised your sword, your body tensing up, ready for a fight.

 “He.. he is one of us!” the boy quickly said, noticing your demeanour. “Please, don’t hurt him! He saved me!”

 You frowned at the words of the boy, confused why, if the person was fey like all of you, he hid in the shadows instead of approaching together with the boy. You friends seemed just as confused as you were, as none of them lowered their weapons.

 “If you are fey, you have nothing to fear here. Step out, or we will be forced to attack!” Calder spoke up, his reddish eyes trying to spot any movement in the dark forests. You felt increasingly uncomfortable.

 Even through the constant howling of the wind, steps now became audible to you, the sounds of a horse, and a person walking closer to the camp. Then, with raised hands, though one hand was holding onto the reigns of a black horse, was a hooded man. Even though you had never seen him before, you had heard enough horror stories to immediately recognise who had just stepped into your camp. It was the one who cried, the weeping monk.

 Panic ran through you, blood rushing through your ears. You took a step back, though the grip around your sword grew even tighter.

 “I knew this was a trap!” you brought out between gritted teeth, and your friends around you looks as if they were ready to attack. “The boy is bait!”

 “No, please wait!” the child cried out, jumping in front of the monk, raising a small hunting knife defensively.

 You stopped yourself, as you had already taken a few steps towards them, shooting one short look at your companions. You had absolutely no idea what was going on, why this fey boy was defending your most dangerous enemy like that, and why.. why he had called him ‘one of us’. You mustered the monk more closely now, and noticed that he had no sword around his hip, was unarmed. His face was covered in dried blood, almost covering the weird tears on his face, that made the man so recognisable. Seeing those tears sent a shiver down your spine, a shiver you could not quite place.

 “Explain.” You said, earning a confused look from Calder.

 “He-.. he saved me from the paladin torturer! And he killed those guys in the golden masks! We just escaped the red paladin camp yesterday, and have been riding ever since!” the boy stumbled over his words, still protectively standing in front of the tall monk behind him.

 “And what did you mean, when you said he was ‘one of us’? As far as I know, none of us here is a murdering Christian!” your words were biting, accompanied by unfiltered hatred. You had seen too many of your brothers and sisters killed to have any kindness in your heart for this bastard. The monk clenched his jaw, his eyes dropping to the ground. He almost looked ashamed, if you didn’t know better.

 “He is fey! I saw it!” the boy exclaimed, looking around himself. You could almost see the gears running in his mind. “Look!” he then suddenly said, bending down and picking up a leaf from the ground. Without hesitating, he pressed it against one of the raised hands on the monk, who immediately flinched back, as if the boy had not pressed a leaf, but hot coal against his skin.

But it had been too late, you all had seen it. You all had witnessed his skin turning green, mimicking the colour and texture of the leaf it had touched.

 “How.. how could you?” the small voice from one of your friends, Leofyn, broke the tense silence, laced with pain and disbelief. “Your own people..”

 Your mind was racing as you stared in the man’s face, suddenly realising what the shiver down your spine had meant.

 “Ash folk.” Another one of your friends, Edwyn spoke up, wording what you had just realised. “The face markings.. weeping monk, what a joke.” He shook his head in disgust.  

 You closed your eyes for a moment, frustration flooding your mind. You lowered your weapon before opening your eyes again.

 “If he is Ash folk, we can’t hurt him.” You spoke up. Calder gritted his teeth, before spitting on the floor, although he knew better than to argue. He knew it as well as you all did.

 Squirrel looked shocked and confused, his eyes darting from one of you to the next, before relief overcame his features when he noticed all you reluctantly lowering your weapons.

 “Wh- why?” he asked carefully. The monk behind him looked just as confused.

 “We are Fire folk. Our clans.. back, before the Ash folk were murdered, our clans had a pact, a friendship dating back for centuries. We can’t hurt them, no matter how much we would like to.” Edwyn explained, wiping a hand over his face. “After the massacre of the Ash folk up in Scotland, our clan moved south, until the paladins reached us here too. We’ve not been this far south in a few hundred years.”

 “I am certain that this monster won’t abide by our ancient treaty! I bet my life, he has already killed more of our clan than he can count!” the last one of your friends, Morrigan, raised her axe again. “He may be born fey, but he is fey no longer!”

 “Do you really want to anger the gods, Morrigan!” Leofyn sounded scared.

 “What do you want?” you interrupted, as Morrigan opened her mouth to probably say something blasphemous. Your eyes studied the child and the monk, who still had his hands raised defensively.

 “We.. we..” the boy started, but with his eyes darting over to Morrigan’s threatening, tall figure, he seemed to stressed and confused to articulate himself.

 “We were trying to find refuge, to flee the paladins.” The monk spoke up for the first time, and all of you instantly raised your weapons again. His voice was smooth and low, reminding you of smoke and ash in your lunges. “For the boy.” The monk then added.

 “And you? What do you want?” Calder asked, his voice biting.

 “Nothing. I just want to see the boy safe.” The monk said, and you could sense no deceit in his words or expression.

 Morrigan laughed.

“Yes, sure. And I am the queen of England.” She shook her head, her short black hair slightly falling into her face. “So, you wouldn’t mind if we killed you right here, right now?”

 “Morrigan!” Leofyn exclaimed, but to the surprise of everyone, the monk just nodded.

 “It would be what I deserve. I know that.”

 His words surprised you, you had not expected him to say that. You were not sure what you had expected, though it certainly was not him being so willing to throw his life away like that. And recognising that this would be what he deserved after all he had done.

 “You want to die..” it came out of your mouth, before you could stop yourself, and it was not a question. The monk just looked at you in silence, not confirming, but also not denying your suspicion.

 “Whatever he wants, or does not want..” Edwyn spoke up again. “As Y/N said, we cannot harm him. But we can take the boy with us. Though, you must know, we are just as lost as you are, Squirrel.”

 “I will only come with you, if Lancelot can come too!” the boy seemed serious, his face a grimace.

 Lancelot.. you frowned hearing his name. It made the whole thing more real to you, that the phantom haunting so many fey dreams now had a name.

 Edwyn pursed his lips. It was obvious that he was not ready to just let this boy leave again with the murderous monk, not wanting to leave a fey child behind. He stepped towards the child, kneeling down before him, to be face to face. His hazel eyes mustered the young fey intently, before he spoke up again.

 “I think that I am correct, when I say that you have seen great terror, my boy. Terror and pain and death. We all have. So, you must understand why your request is impossible. Even if he is fey, we cannot take him with us, he who has murdered more of our kind than any other of the paladins.” His voice was soft, his words slow, to make sure that the boy understood him and his reasoning.

 Squirrel opened his mouth, but closed it again, turning for a moment to look at the tall man behind him.

“I know.” He finally said. “But.. but he can change! Why else would he have saved me? Why else would he have killed the Christian knights?”

 Edwyn frowned at the words of the child, but then looked up at the weeping monk too.

“That is a good question. Why did you kill them?”

 “What does it matter?” Morrigan asked, before the monk could even open his mouth. “He is a murderer, of course he is going to kill his own people! He is ready to wipe out his own kind, why would he stop at his brothers?”

 “Silence, Morrigan!” Calder let out a frustrated sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose. “We.. we should consider this.”

 The black-haired man chewed his lower lips for a moment, before he knelt down, rummaging through the bag at his feet, which he had used as a pillow when he slept. A moment later he pulled out a rope, stepping over to the child and the monk.

 Squirrel positioned himself defensively in front of the tall man behind him once more, his eyes staring daggers at Calder, who raised his hands for a moment.

 “I will not harm him, I will just bind his hands.” He started, before looking from the boy to the monk. “And then he can sit down with us, and explain his motivations. Then we will decide.”

 There was a long moment of silence, while the boy thought it over. It was weird that the monk said nothing for himself, just stood there, unmoving.

 “Alright.” the boy finally spoke up again.

 The monk clenched his jaw again, not looking happy at all, but he still stretched his arms out, to let Calder bind them together. Leofyn in the meantime took the reigns of the monk’s horse, leading it to where your own horses were standing, trying the animal to the same tree.

 Calder led the monk closer to the fire, pushing his shoulders so he sat down, the boy taking a seat right next to him. The rest of you sat down as well, apart from Morrigan who was still standing, her axe still in her hands.

 “So, tell us then. Why did you decide to save the boy and kill your brothers? What caused this change of mind?” you asked, and you felt the monk’s piercing eyes on you. He held eye contact for a moment longer, before looking down at his bound hands in defeat. It was obvious that he would rather not talk about it, would probably prefer to leave the boy with you and ride away on his own, but he knew that there was no other way out of this situation now.

 “I.. there was a fey knight, that.. that I captured.” He started, closing his eyes for a moment. “He had seen what you had seen, seen my hand mimic the leaves. He recognised what I am, but he didn’t tell anyone about it, did not expose me. When I asked him why, he just said that all fey were brothers, even.. even the lost ones.” The monk was silent for a moment, but you all felt that he was not done. Squirrel watched him intently as he spoke. “This knight, he said many things. Things that seemed to ring true, things that made me.. question. Question, like I had never before, I..” he let out a shaking breath. “I realised that he was right.”

 “And where is this knight now?” Morrigan asked, tilting her head. “Who is he?”

 “I don’t know.” The monk answered. “They called him the green knight.”

 Morrigan huffed, shaking her head in disbelief.

 “His name is Gwain! He is our greatest warrior, and he saved many fey, bringing them to Nemos! He made me a knight too!” Squirrel suddenly spoke up, causing Morrigan to look over to him, her stance less defensive now.

 “Gwain? I know him.” She then said, even if a bit reluctantly. “I met him a few years back, on his travels. He needed some of his weapons sharpened. He is a good man.”

 “So finally talking to someone from you own kind made you realise that we are also just people.” You said, raising an eyebrow. The monk returned his attention to you.  

 He shook his head.

“It was more than that. I had.. doubts before, doubts I thought were my failure. His words just.. made it all make sense.”

 “How did you end up like this?” you asked. “How did you end up as the right hand in our destruction.”

 Your choice of words were harsh, you knew that, but you also knew that now was not the time to sweeten your words, that now was the time to ask the tough questions.

 “Father Carden.. he spared me, when they burned my home. I was just a boy, and he.. he knew about my ability to sense other fey.” He started. His eyes went towards the fire, and it was obvious that he was not really looking at the flames, but past them, seeing images of his early life that he would rather like to forget. There was a pained expression on his face. “Father Carden told me that I was damned, devil born. That he would lead me to the road of salvation. He taught me to read, gave me scriptures to learn by heart, taught me how to fight. He made me hate the fey with burning passion, while keeping my own origins a secret. He told me that my suffering would cleanse me of the sin of being born fey.” He pursed his lips.

 “Oh, gods.” Leofyn clasped her hands in front of her mouth, a shocked expression in her green eyes.

 There was silence around the fire for a moment, no one quite wanting to imagine what kind of suffering the monks had made him suffer through. His face told them enough.

 “As much as I hate to admit it, I believe him.” Morrigan was surprisingly the first one to speak up. “The Ash folk were known for their ability to sense other fey, and I certainly don’t think it was beyond them to steal a child, and brainwash it to believe the hogwash they tell it.”

 Everyone looked up at her a bit shocked, but she had a grim expression on her face.

“Nevertheless..” she then added, axe still in her hands. “I am not convinced that a simple conversation with a knight, however noble Gwain was, could truly change him. Not yet at least. And killing a few of his brothers is not enough for me.”

 “Morrigan is right, I’m afraid.” Calder nodded. “Years of teaching are not easily undone. He probably does not even remember much from our own culture, his own culture.”

 “So, what do you suppose we do now?” Leofyn got up, walking over to the horses to run her hands through the mane of her mare, to calm herself down a bit.

 “He is kin, one way of the other. Probably the last of the Ash folk.” You said slowly, your eyes staring into the flames again. You didn’t want to face the monk right now, and also none of your friends. “And he is a good fighter, from what we have heard about him. Having him on our side could increase our chances of survival, as much as I hate to admit it. We could teach him our ways, remind him of what he has forgotten.”

 “The choice is his.” Edwyn looked over to the monk, who just stared at you in surprise. “As much as I would hate it, he can take the boy and leave. Or the two can stay, on our conditions. And we teach him what we know. If he wants that.”

 “I do.” The monk said, so silently it was hard to hear his words over the howling of the wind. This time he looked surprised by his own admission.

 There was a long moment of silence, with only the boy smiling up at the monk, who seemed as if he was not sure how to handle this expression.

You and your friends all shared a look. It was difficult to make a big decision like this, as there was no established leader in your group, no one to take charge. Ever since you had fled the destruction of your village a few weeks ago, you had just decided things together. It had been fine, you and your childhood friends on the run, but now you needed someone to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Everyone knew that the one to make the decision, would also be the one who had to take the responsibility for whatever the outcome was.

 “You can come with us, then.” Calder said, throwing a quick glance in your direction. You nodded. “And learn our ways.”

 “But do not think you are just fine to move freely as you like, not yet!” Morrigan glared at him. “Your hands will remain bound, for now, and we will tie you to a tree at night. These are the conditions for now, until you have proven yourself to be trustworthy.”

 Calder nodded at her words, before looking back at the monk.

“You have to understand that we can’t just trust your word. Not after what we’ve been through.”

 The monk kept silent for a while, before he simply nodded.

 -----

The night felt endless, and it was obvious that after what had happened, none of you really managed to find any rest. When you went over to Morrigan, for her to take over the watch, she was still wide awake, a grim expression on her face.

 You also had a hard time falling asleep, images of the slaughter of the Ash folk haunting your mind, images from when you had found had heard the screams, and found the remains of their village hours later, their bodies and homes burned.

The name Lancelot did not sound familiar, but you wondered if you had known him back then, when you had been a child. He seemed around your age, and you and your friends had often played with the Ash folk children in the forest and at the loch that bordered both of your homes.

 Those weeping eyes, you had forgotten them. They looked so different now on the face of the enemy, half hidden underneath a hood, instead of your friends’ laughing faces. You groaned, turning onto your back, as your mind was running, trying to remember a child that had a similar face as the man you had met tonight.

 At dawn, all of you got up quietly, packed up the camp and stomped our the remainders of the small fire. The only one who had seemed to have found any sleep was Squirrel, the child probably exhausted from what he had gone through these past days. He blinked at you through hooded eyes, when Edwyn woke him up.

 Leofyn handed out a bit of food to everyone, a small piece of slightly stale bread and a small apple, which had to be enough until you found a river to fish in, or spotted game to hunt. With two more mouths to feed now, you were afraid that the small rations you had would not last for very long.

 Everyone climbed on horseback, Squirrel, despite his protests at first, riding with Edwyn, and you slowly made your way further south, the sun rising to your left. The wind had gladly died down a bit, but the morning was still quite cold.

 “Do you understand what ‘Born in the Dawn, to pass in the Twilight’ means?” you asked after the group of you had ridden for an hour or two, your horse walking beside the dark animal of the monk. The sooner you would start with teaching him your ways, the better, you thought.

 There was a moment of silence between you, and for a moment you thought that he would not answer at all, until he finally spoke up.

“No.”

 It saddened you, that he wasn’t even aware of the most basic things of your people, the simplest sentence every child could recite.

 “We believe that we were the first, to walk the earth. The very first spirits to be created. This is what we mean, when we say ‘born in the dawn’. We were born in the dawn of the world.” You started, mustering him. His eyes were on the road, his face half hidden behind his large hood. “’To pass in the twilight’ denotes our connection to the hidden.”

 “What is the hidden?” you heard the monk ask, his low voice somewhat shy. He still didn’t look at you.

 “Spirits of nature. The Sky folk say that they are direct decedent from the hidden, which is why they have such a strong connection to them. But all fey are somewhat connected to them, some more and some less. This is what gives us our magic.” You raised your hand, producing a dancing flame between your fingers, catching Lancelot’s eye.

 “How do you know, if you have a connection?” he asked with a frown, looking down at his bound hands. “And do you see the hidden as your gods?”

 You were glad that he asked questions, that he seemed to be interested of his own accord. You would have hated to have to lecture him, not knowing if he took in anything you said.

 “To answer your second question first, no. The hidden are not gods. As I said, they are spirits of nature, to which we fey have a connection to. See them more as.. ancestors, watching over us, and supporting us. We have to go into ourselves, to feel them. It can take time, but it is always possible. We also have our gods, many gods. Good ones, bad ones.. and everything in between. But that is a topic for another day.” You smiled carefully.

 “Father Carden told me that I had to fight the fey, to feel the grace of god.” Lancelot said, and your smile dropped.

 “Well, he was wrong.” You said with a slat voice, causing the man to turn his head towards you. “You didn’t feel his grace, because their god is not real.”

 The monk squinted his eyes at you.

“How do you know I never felt his grace?”

 “Well, have you?” you challengingly raised an eyebrow, mustering his face.

 Lancelot stared at you for a whole with pursed lips, before averting his gaze. You huffed, a smile forming on your lips again.

 “As I said.” You clicked your tongue, a command for your horse to speed up a bit, so you were able to catch up with Leofyn riding in front of you.

 You felt Lancelot’s eyes like daggers in your back, but you also knew that you had helped him take the first step back to who he was supposed to be. It would take time, you knew, and it would not be easy to undo all the years, all the damage the church had done to him. But you believed that it was possible.

 ------

 The days went by, the weather ever changing. It grew colder and the leaves started to fall from the trees, providing less cover from both the elements, and possible prying eyes. You travelled most of the day through the forests, trying to avoid roads and open plains, always going south and only stopping for one or two hours at the time, to hunt and eat. When it grew dark, you made camp to sleep, getting back on horseback as soon as it dawned.

It was not always possible to find shelter from the rain, and being damp and cold was your everyday reality by now.

 Morrigan had started to train the young boy, who had finally admitted that his real name was Percival and not Squirrel, after the boy had begged all of you to make him the knight he ought to be. You guessed, as Morrigan indeed knew the knight who had knighted the boy, that she felt that it was her responsibility to teach him what she knew.

 Morrigan was a good fighter, one of the best you had ever met. She had been the blacksmith of your home, had taken over the profession from her mother, and her grandmother before that. When you had been teenagers, she had forged her first swords, blunt once, so you could practice together safely. Which of course did not mean that you did not suffer many bruises, and two broken fingers over the years from these blunt swords.

 You and Edwyn took turns, telling Lancelot about your culture and history, challenging the believes that the Christians had beaten into him. The evenings the man spent in contemplation, and where you had spotted him praying to the Christian god in the first few nights that he was with your group, you were relieved when he had stopped, instead leaning against the tree he was usually bound to at night, staring up into the orange leaves above him.

 You were sitting at the campfire, after everyone had just finished their meagre meals, as so often staring into the flames and making them dance with your magic, noticing how Lancelot’s blue eyes watched as well, from his spot on the opposite side of the fire. You were not sure if it was a good idea, making him see what you so casually could do, when you were not entirely sure if he had already stopped to think of you as devils and demons. Before you could entertain the thought further, Calder sat down next to you.

 “The nights are getting colder. We need to find a place to stay, if we want to survive the winter.” He said in a low voice, so that only you could hear him. Calder had established himself more and more as the leader of your group, and you supposed it was not different back when you were children. He was just a year older than the rest of you, but when you had played pretend in the forests as children, everyone had always looked at him to be told what to do, or where to go.

 He of course never made decisions all by himself, never had. Just as back in the day when you were children, he asked each of you what you thought about things, sought out your council, never blindly guiding you somewhere you didn’t want to go. He most often came to speak to you, though, which made sense, as you two had grown up together, and were almost like siblings. Your families had been close friends, and you saw each other as family.

 “I know. I don’t think we will reach Cornwall before Samhain, not with the pace we have now.” You sighed, resting your arms on your knees.

 “If we hurry, we might reach it a week or two after, but frankly, I don’t want to risk it, not with the boy. Morrigan and I want to scout out tomorrow, to see if we can find some caves or something similar, to make a more permanent camp for the time being. To wait out the winter and travel on come spring.” He sighed. “Though I am not sure what is more dangerous: you all remaining here, where you could be attacked, or you keep moving further south, risking us not finding you again.” He pursed his lips.

 “Neither sounds appealing, if I am honest. But with all of us, you would be slowed down.” You nodded at the many saddle bags next to the horses, containing everything you had managed to save of salvage from the red paladins.

 “You are a very skilled fighter, and Edwyn is also not half bad. I’d rather know where you are, than go looking for you.” Calder said after a few moments of silence and you nodded.

 “We should still move a bit, away from the camp here and find a more secluded spot. Maybe travel and hour or two together in the morning before we part ways.” You suggested, and now it was Calder who nodded.

 “Good idea.” He said before getting up. He walked over to Morrigan, who was with the horses, to discuss the plan for the next day.

 “What were you talking about?” a voice caused you to turn your head to the other side, where Percival was sitting. You had not noticed him approaching you, let alone sitting down right next to you. The boy was as silent as a mouse, if he wanted to be.

 “Calder and Morrigan will ride out tomorrow, to look for a place to spend the winter.” You explained to him. “We will go with them for a bit, and then make camp, so they will find us again.”

 “Sitting in one place for so long, won’t that be dangerous?” the boy tilted his head at you. You nodded.

 “Yes, but it also means that the others can find us again when we return.” You crossed your legs, turning a bit more towards the boy. “But with a knight like you and a fighter like me, we can best anything that would dare to attack us.” You grinned.

 “You are a fighter?” the boy’s eyes grew big.

 “Oh yes!” you put your hand onto the sword at your side. “My parents were both fey knights, protectors of our village. They taught me from a young age. Morrigan and I used to practice a lot together, and I think you already got a taste of her skill, no?”

 Percival seemed both impressed and relieved that he was at least in good hands, when you had to stay put. He smiled, before his expression got serious again.

 “Was Morrigan named after The Morrigan, because she is a warrior, or did she just become like that because she was named after the war god?” he asked looking over at the tall woman.

 “I’ve asked myself the same thing, you know.” You had to grin. “You should go to bed now.” You than added, glad that the boy just nodded and went over to where a few blankets were waiting for him.

 You were not sure how far from civilisation you already were, how far from the roads, and most importantly, how far from the next red paladin patrol. You were still not southern enough, to escape their influence, and had stumbled over more than a few remains of fey wandering the forests, alarming you that the monks were indeed patrolling this area. They seemed to be everywhere, even in the most remote areas, jumping out of the bushes wherever one went.

But on the other hand, now with their sniffing dog gone, maybe they would not find you so easily.

 You felt a bit bad, comparing the poor man to a dog in your mind, but that was exactly how he had been used by the Christians. To sniff out his own kind and hunt them down. Thinking about it made you both want to rip his throat out, and wrap him into your arms, to tell him that it was all over now. Which was a really weird mix of feelings, you had to admit that.

 -------

 The next morning you got up before dawn, stomped out the fire and got on horseback, riding south. Percival was asleep in Edwyn’s arms, having fallen asleep almost as soon as he had been seated in the saddle. When the sun finally edged over the horizon, Calder and Morrigan said their goodbyes, kicking their horses’ sides and galloping on further, while the rest of you made camp, hidden in a small grove between thick bushes, and a small waterfall.

 The horses went grazing, munching away on what little begetation was still green, while Leofyn and Edwyn started to pull the bags off their backs, to set up camp. You scouted the surroundings, to make sure that there was not already someone close by, and that you were far enough from roads or settlements. You also made your way a bit more upstream, filling everyone’s waterskins in the small creek, after you had made sure the water was more or less clean. You put the waterskins back into the large bag you were carrying them in, before returning to the camp.

  When you arrived, you found Percival awake, in the centre of the camp, a stick in his hand, moving it like a sword, while Lancelot gave him instructions, sitting with his back against some rocks next to the waterfall, his bound hands in his lap. He was still wearing his hood, and you had to admit that you had never seen him without it. You wondered why he never took it off.

 “No, stretch your arms out, or else they can be pushed down easily.” Lancelot said, as the boy held his stick in a lower, defensive guard.

 “Like this.” You came up behind the boy, correcting his position carefully by guiding his arms. You rounded him, pulling your own sword from your sheath, and demonstrated the correct grip and stance. “And from here you can do many things, while the position of the blade covers you. You can thrust like this, or cut, or strike.” You demonstrated a few movements. “Personally, I prefer to thrust.”

 “Why?” Percival asked, trying to copy what you had just shown him.

 “It is quick and deadly, especially if your opponent is unarmoured.” You made a few elegant routines with your sword, swinging it through the air in practiced moves, before taking the same guard as before. “If he tries to strike you, you parry, move your sword and thrust. If done right, it can be very effective, especially against unexperienced or tired opponents.”

 “What else can you do?” the boy stared up at you with big eyes, causing you to laugh.

 “Oh, many things! When we find a place to stay for the winter, Morrigan and I will show you all of them. Then, come spring, you will be a lot closer to being a true knight.” You winked, sheathing your sword again. You pulled out one of the waterskins from the bag around your shoulders, throwing it at Percival, before throwing another one at Lancelot, who caught it with his bound hands. There was an odd expression on his face that you could not really place, so you quickly turned towards Leofyn and Edwyn, who were close to the horses.

 You felt quite bad for the two of them, as they had initially intended to join their lives, right at the time when the paladins had destroyed your village. They had been together since they were teenagers, and finally wanted to start a family of their own.

 “I hope they are safe.” Leofyn said, as you handed her the remaining waterskins. She shook her head slightly. ���The thought of losing them.. no, I could not bear it.”

 “They will be alright. Morrigan is a berserker, nothing will cut her down, you know that.” You smiled, putting a hand on your friend’s shoulder.

 “Oh, I know, I know. You are right.” A sad smile was on her lips, and she petted your hand a few times, before sitting down next to Edwyn, resting her head against his shoulder. You nodded, before turning away again, wanting to give them some privacy.

 So back to the kid and the monk it was, then, you thought.

With a sigh you wandered over to them, sitting down with your back to the rocks as well, though in a safe distance from Lancelot. Both of you kept watching Percival, as he spun around, trying his best to follow the instructions the two of you had given him. You hoped that he would tire himself out quickly, so that the rest of you could have a moment of tranquillity to yourselves.

 “Tell me about.. our home.” Lancelot’s voice broke the silence between you, and you head turned towards him. His blue eyes mustered you, his expression one full of sadness. You looked down at your hands for a moment, trying to recollect what you remembered. Your grandmother had never gotten over having to move south, so she always recollected stories and talked about people, so you never quite forgot the few years you spent in Scotland.

 “Be aware, I was quite young myself, when this happened.” You started with a sigh. “Well, our villages were located north, in the glens of Scotland. There was a forest between us, and a lock. There was a lot of trade between the Ash and the Fire folk, and we children met up often, paying in the forests or in the water, were up to all kinds of shenanigans. I wonder if we knew each other back then.” You finally looked up, studying his face, to see if any of this sounded familiar.

 “I remember a lake. I remember the fishermen being angry because we scared away the fish.” Lancelot frowned. You had to grin.

 “Yes! Yes, they would try and hush us away! But we would just steal their ale and run.” You had to laugh, and Lancelot grinned as well.

 “Yes, I.. I remember that.” He looked quite surprised by that.

 “We celebrated our ceremonies together, the Ash and the Fire folk. We met on one of the hills, where our temple was. We celebrated Samhain, which we would celebrate in a few weeks, actually, the beginning of winter. We celebrated Imbolc, the beginning of spring, Beltane, the beginning of summer and Lughnasadh, the beginning of the harvest season. Do you remember?” your voice was full of excitement. It was the first time that the man seemed to remember his past, remember what came before the monks and the Christians, and you wanted to latch onto that. Most of what you and Edwyn had told him until now were general stories about the gods and old heroes, but you realised that starting with simple things, like things you did as children, were maybe better to jock his memory.

 Lancelot pursed his lips, his frown deepening as he stared onto the leaf covered ground. He picked up one of the leaves, his skin starting to turn red and orange, his blue eyes watching the change.

“I remember.. I remember a hill. With tall stones.” He started.

 “The temple.” You said, nodding enthusiastically.

 “I remember holding my mother’s hand.. she told me that there would be a feast after, and that I had to behave.” One of the corners of his mouth raised slightly, as he turned the leaf between his fingers. “I remember being very bored.” He then added, looking up at you.

 You had to laugh at his words, and a real smile also formed on his face. You realised that this was the first time you had seen the man smile. It was a beautiful smile, from a beautiful man.

 “This’ our time, the night’s our day.” You started, mustering his face intently.

 “We’ll dance this fading life away.” He ended the rhyme, part of a song sung during the Samhain festivities, again looking very surprised by himself. Then, his smile grew sad, and he looked down at the ground again, his hood covering his face. “To think.. that I destroyed so many of us.” He said silently, shaking his head. “Thinking that I was doing the right thing.”

 “Isn’t that something the Christians always talk about? Atone for your sins, or something like that?” you said, not knowing if that was even correct. You did not know much about their religion, only that they worshipped a guy, killed in the most painful way possible, and whatever the paladins yelled when they were slaughtering your kind. But Lancelot nodded.

 “I thought that killing fey would wash the sin away.” His voice was pained.

 “Being born fey is not a sin.” You sin, your eyes mustering his slumped form. You hated the whole concept of ‘sin’, it was something that did originally not exist in your culture.

 “I know that.. now.” He let his head drop against the stones behind him. “But it won’t bring any of them back.”

 You could not argue with that.

“It won’t bring them back, no. And it won’t undo the horrors you have created. Assessing how much of that was your fault is not a simple black and white matter, and frankly, I don’t think trying to figure it out would be particularly useful.” You sighed, pulling your legs to your chest. “What is important now for you is to change. To renounce the lies you were fed and to find back to what you are. Who you are.”

 There was silence between you for a moment, both of you simply watching Percival, who was still practicing with his stick, completely oblivious to your conversation.

 “Your magic.. what can it do?” Lancelot suddenly spoke up again, and you had to look over to him once more.

 “Many things. Some people can do more than others. Why?” you frowned a bit. He had told you about the ash storm the Wolf-Blood-Witch had conjured up a few days ago, and considering that he was Ash folk and the rest of you were Fire folk, he wondered if you too would be capable of such things.

 “Can it heal?” he asked instead, catching you a bit off guard, his expression undecipherable.

 “Leofyn can heal with magic. She also used to be the healer of our village.” You said, nodding towards your friend. “Are you injured? Is that why you keep your hood up?” you had not forgotten the blood on his face, that he had since washed off. It had only been two weeks since he and the boy had joined you, and if he had been seriously injured, his wounds would not have healed yet.

 Lancelot took a deep breath, staring at the ground.

“Yes. But that is not why I’m asking.” His words confused you, but before you could ask anything else, he had raised his hand, and pulled his hood from his head.

 His hair was greasy and dishevelled, a look all of you shared after such a long time on the run. It was long, and tied up to a knot in his neck. But there, right on the crown of is scalp, you saw something that made your breath hitch in your throat.

 You had seen it on the heads of the paladins too, but for some reason it had not occurred to you that he would bear the same mark. A bald spot, with a cross deeply cut into his flesh. For some reason it did not look like an old scar, even though you were certain that it must’ve been there fore years. You didn’t even want to think about why it looked so fresh.

 “Can she heal this?” Lancelot asked, facing you, and you could see the pain in his eyes. “I don’t want to have this mark on my boy any longer.”

 You could not supress the utter pity that was written across your face. You nodded quickly and got up, hurrying over to Leofyn, who was silently talking with Edwyn. When they saw you approach, both of the looked up to you.

 “Leo, he needs your help.” Was all you could say, as you stretched our your trembling hand, and pulled the other woman to her feet. She nodded, and followed you, her eyes growing wide as she too spotted the cross on the young man’s head.

 “By all the gods!” she exclaimed, taking a step back. Percival, a frown on his face, lowered his stick in confusion.

 Leofyn took a deep breath, her expression turning from shocked to determined. She knelt down in front of the monk, pushing up the sleeves of her tunic.

“Lower your head. Yes, like that. This will hurt.” She simply said, before putting her hands onto the cross, her eyes closing and her lips starting to move.

 You had seen her like this often, had seen her heal with her magic many times before, but Percival, who stared at her with an open mouth, had definitely not. Leofyn started to glow from the inside, as if there was a fire burning right in her core. One could see the shadows of her bones through her skin, as she emanated a warm, orange light. A pained groan left Lancelot’s lips.

 Percival dropped his stick, wanting to run over to him, but you reacted quickly, managing to grab his shoulders to pull him back. You keeled down beside him, your arms still wrapped around him.

 “She is healing him. But fire burns.” Was all you said, as both of you watched Leofyn glow even brighter, and Lancelot’s breathing turn into a hiss.

 And then, just like that, it was over. The glowing subsided, and Leofyn pulled her hands back, a smile on her face. The cross was gone, not even leaving a scar. The hair would soon grow back, given some time. Leofyn looked exhausted, healing a wound to thoroughly had drained her.

 “It is alright.” Leofyn’s voice was soft, and Lancelot looked up at her, his face red and his breath still ragged.

 “Thank you.” Lancelot finally found his voice again, but Leofyn just smiled.

 “Welcome home.” She simply said.

 The woman sighed, before she got up, leaning on Edwyn who had also come over. He half carried her back to where they were sitting, letting her lean against him, wrapped up in his arms.

 ------

 The sun was high in the sky, and Edwyn had taken Percival to hunt for rabbits, the bounty of their efforts being enough to feed all of them for two days. The boy had also found a few berries and a pear tree, enabling you to stock up on as much fruit as your horses could carry.

 Lancelot had fallen asleep, after the wound on his head had been healed, and you were glad that he could finally find some rest. You had noticed that, at least every time you had held watch at night, he had been wide awake.

 You had wrapped yourself up in your cloak and blanket, the ground and the rock behind you cold, despite the sunshine. The sound of the waterfall was intensely calming, and you felt yourself almost dozing off too, when suddenly you could hear an unnatural rustling of the leaves. Your eyes flew wide open, and you were on your feet a moment later, your cloak falling onto the ground behind you, and your sword in your hand.

 Edwyn and Leofyn startled, when they saw you jump up, but seeing our expressions they too got up and drew their weapons. Edwyn threw his hunting bow and quiver over to a frightened looking Percival. You moved a finger in front of your mouth, a sign for the others to keep quiet, before you slowly moved away from the rocks and the creek, and towards where the bushes and foliage around you opened up, so you could look into the forest.

 You held your breath, when from between the trees you spotted a group of red paladins, two on horseback, riding through the forest, one in the front, looking at the ground, apparently searching for tracks. They were already quite close, and in a minute or so they would probably pass your hiding spot. It was hard to make out how many of them were there, but you guessed around a dozen or so.

 You looked back at the others, nodding once, and gesturing the number of paladins you estimated to the others, before stepping a bit back to get more cover. Percival picked up the bow and the arrows, before shaking Lancelot’s leg to wake him up.

 The steps of the paladins grew louder, and you tried your best to keep your breathing even, raising your sword. As soon as you spotted just an inch of red fabric, your struck with your blade, hitting the monk right in the neck and cutting him open. Shouting immediately followed, as you kicked the gurling man in the stomach, so his body fell back and onto one of his brothers.

 The horses got spooked, and started to kick, and you used it as a distraction to round the group, your sword in front of you, to guard you from any attacks, in exactly the manner you had taught Percival just hours before.

 Edwyn jumped out of the bushes behind the group, thrusting his short sword in the back of one of them, and using his small shield to block an attack. You also parried the attack of a monk charging at you, using his momentum to your advantage by simply side-stepping, letting his sword glide down yours and cutting him right in the shoulder when he moved past you.

 You managed to get your sword up just in time to parry another strike, letting go of the hilt with one hand, to grab your own blade and quickly turning your sword, to pommel the paladin right in the face. A loud crack confirmed that you had just broken his jaw.

 You turned around to attack another of them, who stormed towards you with his sword raised, but suddenly an arrow pierced him right through the neck, and he fell down in front of your feet. Behind him you could see Percival, looking amazed and afeard at the same time, bow in hand.

 You only had a moment to nod at him, before you engaged another red paladin, this one quicker and obviously more experienced. He was able to counter some of your attacks, until you managed to parry, and hinder his stroke by setting aside his blade, and thrusting right into his chest. Sweat was running down your face and you felt a cut that had not seemed so deep on your arm to start to throb. Your left hand also felt slippery, the sword having cut through your fingerless gloves and into your hand. When you had gripped it earlier. You didn’t have time to wipe off your hands on your clothes.

 You struck the sword of a paladin to the side, wanting to go in with a thrust, when a sword cut through his neck from behind, cleanly decapitating the man, who limply fell to the ground now. In front of you was Lancelot, who had apparently picked up one of the other monks’ swords, and had cut his hands free. He nodded at you, before he turned, cutting through another man in red with elegance you had never seen before. The stories of his skill had definitely been true, although your thought his twists and turns were a bit excessive.

 It was over as sudden as it had began, and from one moment to the next, there was silence around you. The last man-blood was dead on the ground, their blood seeping into the earth and the water of the creek.

 You wiped your sweat off your face, only to remember that your hand was still bleeding, and you were just smearing it all over you. Edwyn also seemed to be lightly wounded, but he spit on the corpse of one of the monks, before sheathing his sword.

 Lancelot was looking around himself, and down at his dead brothers, looking a bit as if he was having an existential crisis, that you really did not have the patience to deal with right now.

 “We have to move.” Was all your said. “That blook will be seen by someone eventually.” You nodded at the creek.

 “I agree. We should go north-west. It will bring us away from the stream, but not too far so that we won’t be found.” Edwyn nodded, starting to pack up whatever you had taken off the horses, and making sure the rabbits and the foraged food were safely packed up.

 You went over to the water, washing your face and hand, before wrapping a piece of cloth around your palm, and arm.

 “I will make some markings.” Leofyn said, more to herself than anyone else. “Come Squirrel, help me with it.” She pulled Percival with her, as she started to gather twigs and other flora, to create fey symbols out of them, for the others to find, to tell them where you went.

 You knelt at the at the creek for a moment longer, before you got up and started to pull the arrows out of the paladins’ bodies. You also searched them for anything useful. Gladly their horses had not gone far, and you managed to find some food, some ale, and some parchment with maps and instructions, which you promptly burned in your hand.

Freed of their saddles and bags, you sent the horses off, to run into a different direction than where the paladins had come from.

 When you returned to the others, handing over your findings to Edwyn, you noticed that Lancelot had watched you.

 “Want to say something?” you asked, maybe a bit more challenging than you had intended to. But your heartbeat was still fast, blood still rushing through your ears.

 “No.” he frowned, his face confused, as he stretched out his hand, the pommel of the sword he was holding pointing in your direction. But you just shook your head.

 “No, keep it. I think you have proven yourself today to be trustworthy, and you are a lot more useful with a sword in your hand than tied up, should we be attacked again.” You were not sure if it was a wise decision, but it was the first thing that came to mind. He also seemed to be surprised at your words.

 Lancelot nodded, before walking over to one of the many bodies on the ground, removing a sheath and a belt from one of them, to secure the sword on his waist.

 A few minutes later, everyone was ready, and the markings had been placed where your camp had been just moments ago.

‘Riding north-west’ the markings said.

 “So that is what those symbols mean.” Lancelot said, as you got onto your horses, and a smirk appeared on your face.

 “So much culture, hm? Let’s make sure it’s not forgotten, eh?” with that, you started to ride.

[throped]

The Weeping Queen // Weeping Monk x OC // Chapter 2

Nimue and I were walking down the trail to her village. My head was swirling, and I felt like I was going to faint. “Wait, I haven’t asked you for your name yet, what are you called?” Nimue asked. My voice was hoarse, but I still answered, “Dae.” She smiled at me but realised that I looked paler than the first time she met me. Cold ran through me and I shivered while feeling nauseous too. “Dae, are you okay?” Nimue worriedly asked. “I feel cold. Too cold,” I mumbled before my legs gave up and I dropped to the ground.

Great, I fainted.

***

A paining ache arose when I woke up. I quickly took in my surroundings. I was on a much softer surface this time, maybe a proper bed. The height of the room was quite low, reaching probably 1.5 metres. And when I looked below me, the ground wasn’t much of a pleasure. It was covered with stone as well as some specks of dirt. Just as I was looking around, I could hear the sound of people walking in, they were blurred as my vision still hadn’t adjusted to the amount of light. But as they came closer, I could recognise one as Nimue. At least there’s one familiar face. The other person was a lot older than Nimue, probably Nimue’s mother, I hope she didn’t mind me staying in her house. “Dae, you’re alright! You had me worried,” Nimue spoke up. I mustered up some strength and sat up in the bed and replied, “thank you for staying with me, I thought you’d leave me there,” I thanked her. The woman next to her rushed to ask me. “Dae, listen to me carefully, is it true, you just woke up in the forest? Nimue told me that you said you got transported from your world to ours,” the seemingly older woman asked. “Yes that’s true, I did wake up randomly in a forest. I’m not sure how though,” I replied with. “Thank the Hidden it is her. The one who was sent to us,” the older woman mumbled under her breath. “Listen Dae, I’m Lenore, Nimue’s mother and you’ve arrived, just as they said. Please reply honestly to this, have you touched anything ancient recently?” she asked. I stayed silent, I could only think of one time and that was when I touched the sword at the cash converters, but that obviously didn’t matter. Well, I guess I’ve got to say something and that is what I will say. “Uhm, yes I think. I may have touched a sword at a shop I went to in my world,” I said. “Did it have writing on it, some sort of ancient language I would say, that glowed when you touched it?” Lenore once again asked. “Yes, it glowed a bright orange and there was this writing on it… I feel like I could understand it somehow, I can’t make out the words, but it was something like ‘Whosoever wields the Sword of Power shall be the one true king’ in English,” I stated.

“Dae, you are powerful, just like Nimue, you both have been cursed. The Hidden sent you here so that you could fight back, you’re our fighter. The Fey’s fighter. From now on, you’ll stay with us, you’ll get accustomed to our culture and lifestyle, I know that where you are from, things are different, but you’ve got to stay with us if you want a way out of here. There is only one thing that will help you. The Sword of Power. The one you touched,” Lenore explained. I couldn’t wrap my head over this. I’m only thirteen! Yes, I may look or be smart, but that doesn’t mean you drag a child into a completely different universe! “Lenore, I’m too young, I cannot fight. I don’t have the slightest idea as to how to hold a sword,” I ranted out. What was I doing here? “Dae, if you do not know, I will teach you, people may live today but die tomorrow in war, it is going to be your job to prevent that in the future. Promise me Dae, that you will protect the Fey, you will do everything in your power to save them,” Lenore spoke. I don’t know about anything but as long as I will have to stay here, I will owe them, what’s better than preventing lives from being taken as a token of gratitude? “I promise, Lenore and Nimue, I will be by your side, and I will protect the Fey to my highest ability,” I took my oath.

After that day, everything changed, my lifestyle, the people I was surrounded by, my clothes and literally everything in my other life had been altered. I looked different than everyone else though, while Nimue and Pym got to wear normal clothes like the village, I had to wear black attire, great for camouflaging in the dark. While Pym, Squirrel and Nimue had their own responsibilities, I had to learn the culture of the Fey, the history and how to wield all sorts of different weapons. I learned how to fight….. just like how Lenore said I would.

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

Anddd, that's a wrap, these past 2 chapters were how you settled in and where you came from so no more cheesy promises or stuff like that. This is my first series and I'm not sure how it'll go though... so yeah. But I'll continue until it's finished.

[n1ghtlux]

The Sandman

Dream x reader

Of Dreams And Stars

3 times you kiss him, 1 time he kisses you. [so much fluff.]

Six Of Crows

Crows x reader

"What do you keep in that handbag?"

you've built quite a reputation for yourself with that handbag you always carry around. One day the Crows decide to take a look inside but that was your plan all along. Quite a Trickster you are.

Dear Evan Hansen

Connor Murphy x reader

Stuck in between part1

when you find yourself stuck in the afterlife you meet Connor Murphy, who's been here for longer than you have.

Ragnarok (Netflix)

Magne Seier x reader

Return

In which you return to Edda and meet an old... friend.

Cookies and Thunder

In which you meet with Magne at his place and casually find yourself being able to lift Mjolnir.

In the Rain

Kissing Magne for the first time [fluff]

Video Imagine

Magne couldn't save you. [angst]

Please stay + "oh god, you're bleeding." [p26]

Soft Magne after losing his powers and a fight with Fjor. You're taking good care of him though. [angst, FLUFF]

Divergent

Peter Hayes x reader

Dauntless through and through + "you don't have to be gentle with me. I don't break easily." [p18]

In which you're a Dauntless born, ready to kick some ass.

Deadly Class

Marcus Arguello x reader

Peacekeeping + "you need to stop doing stupid shit like that or you will get yourself killed." [p30]

In which you're a peacekeeper monk and save Marcus from a beating by Chico.

{Deadly Class fic recs}

Cursed (Netflix)

Weeping monk x reader

The Siren Fey part 1

you're the newest Fey weapon of the church, but not for long. A first encounter with the weeping monk is quick to follow.

{ Back to navigation }

[theweepingwitch]

The Road to Avalon - Chapter 2, The Paladin Camp

Notes: The Weeping Monk x f!reader

Been a bad time, but here you go..

Warnings: non descriptive torture, violence.

Chapter 2 - The Paladin Camp

The monk had thrown Gawain over the back of his horse. As you were not injured, he tied your hands behind you, and put another rope around your neck. As he tightened the rope, you were able to get a close look at his face. You froze in shock, and stared at him. His eyes. Not just his eyes, but your fey senses confirmed his identity. He met your eye only briefly, but long enough to see the look on your face. You knew. He turned away quickly, and led the horse out of the woods. It was bad enough the knight had seen his hand change in the leaves, now he had you to worry about.

You watched Gawain bounce on the horse, and you prayed that he would survive long enough for you to get to him.

It didn’t take long to reach your destination.

Your heart pounded as you saw the white tents of the paladin camp. Since you left Avalon, you had only seen the occasional Red Paladin, having spent most of your time in Nemos, and always well protected. This place was crawling with them. As the monk walked through the camp, paladins began to take notice of the scene. Several of them spat in your direction, curses of “Witch!” being thrown at you. Their words didn’t bother you, but you knew all too well the damage their glinting weapons could do.

The monk brought the horse to a stop before a large tent. Paladins had begun to surround the area, curious what was happening. Two men emerged from within, one in red with a white beard, the second; younger, clad in black robes. The bearded man approached the monk, raising his hands in welcome.

“You had us worried, my son.” he said. Son? You frowned at the two in confusion.

The man in black stepped forward.

“Is this him? Is this the famous Weeping Monk?” he asked, a note of admiration in his voice. The bearded man looked annoyed, but turned toward the man slightly.

“His Holiness has sent Abbot Wicklow to observe us in our campaign against the Fey.” He composed himself, and walked toward the horse.

“So... what have you brought us?”. The hooded man stepped aside to allow the red man to inspect his haul.

“The Green Knight, and someone he takes orders from.” he said. The red man clapped his hands together, then motioned for two paladins to take Gawain off the horse. Two others grabbed your arms and untied the rope.

“God smiles on us today. Oh yes.” The man you guessed now to be Father Carden stood before Gawain, a nasty look in his eye. He addressed Abbott Wicklow.

“This one...This one likes to hide up trees and shoot my men. One of them died in my arms

on a ride through the Minotaur. His name was Peter, if I recall. Fourteen. Butcher boy.

Got a barbed arrow in the neck. Died swallowing his own blood. Are you proud of that, Green Knight? No? No answer? We like that. We have Brother Salt and his kitchens for the quiet ones.” Father Carden smiled. Abbott Wicklow approached Gawain, studying his face.

“Uncanny. He almost passes for human.” he hummed. Father Carden pulled at the rope that held you, pulling your head up.

“Some can, yes. And that's how they spread.” He bent to look you in the eye now.

“By fire...or by steel, you will sing to us. And you will tell us all we need to know

about you, and your witch.” he said, looking down at your chest, his face betraying lecherous thoughts. Gawain noticed and fought against the men holding him.

“You want my words, priest?” he spat. Father Carden stood to tower over Gawain.

“Oh, I do. I do.” he said, almost sweetly. Gawain looked him in the eye.

“Are you sure? I know many things. Many secrets.” Gawain looked behind Father Carden. Towards the Monk. He shifted his weight but didn’t look at either of you. The Abbot's eyes also flicked to the monk, clearly having his suspicions. Father Carden’s voice dropped dangerously low.

“Take them to Brother Salt.”

---

Inside the tent, you and Gawain were tied to chairs. You could do nothing to help him, but it seemed that the monk had hit him to maim but save his vital organs.

“Gawain, I can pray to the Hidden for you, but I don’t know how much they can do.” you said. He nodded, groaning.

“The pain I can handle, I will not talk.” he said, defiant. You knew it was true. He was stronger than anyone you had met to date. Still, you called on the Hidden to be with him. The tent was dark, but you could clearly see the blood-crusted devices hung around the place. It was cluttered, and everything seemed to be specially designed to inflict terrible injuries.

“You, Lianna, you must be strong. They will hurt you but we cannot give into this.” he said, looking up to meet your eye. You held each other's gaze, a solemn knowing of what was to come.

“The monk,” he said suddenly. You frowned.

“What about him?” you asked

“You saw, you would know a fey if you saw one.” Gawain said. You nodded.

“How could he turn on his own kind?” you said, feeling deeply sad for the countless lives lost. Gawain shook his head, looking back towards the tent entrance. Voices were approaching.

“I do not know.” Just then a tall paladin with horrible scarred eyes entered. He was led by another paladin towards a table full of butcher’s tools.

“Do you know me, friends?” the blind man asked.

“Have you heard of Brother Salt and his Kitchen?” the man bent over and splashed water over his head before turning to face Gawain.

“Let me introduce you to some of my friends. God’s fingers, I call them.” He brandished a white hot poker he called Michael in Gawains face.

“Don’t worry, you will meet them all.” He turned his blind eyes to you.

“And you, you will watch what happens to your unholy followers.”

---

You could only watch as Brother Salt did everything in his power to break Gawain. You cried and sobbed, but held your tongue. It would do no good to speak now, they would be killing you both anyway.

Brother salt threw down his latest tool and marched over to his table, wiping the blood from his hands.

“This one breaks slow. Some soup, then we start again, with the woman.” Brother Salt huffed, but was calm as he was led out of the tent. You shuffled your chair over to Gawain, and opened your mouth to speak, but the tent flap flying open again made you stop. It was the Weeping Monk. He walked cautiously around to the tent, stopping several feet away, facing the table. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air.

“Don’t be afraid, Ash Man. We don’t bite.” You stared at Gawain, then at the monk, who had turned to look at the bound man. He had a look of confusion on his face.

“It’s those eyes. The mark of the Ash Folk. There haven’t been any in these lands for centuries. How is it you found your way here?” Indeed, Ash Folk were almost extinct. They had been amongst the first to fall when christians first arrived. You were surprised Gawain knew that identifying mark at all, given how long it had been. The monk was silent.

“Have you just come to watch me die?”

“Why didn’t you tell them, before?” the monk cut him off.

“Because all fey are brothers, even the lost ones.” Gawain said. The monk stood silent, studying Gawain, who groaned in pain.

“This pain, it will cleanse you.” the statement made you scoff. Gawain shook his head.

“You parrot their words, but you know it’s all lies.” he said, “I can feel it in you, my brother.”

“You are not my brother.” the monk snapped. Anger rose in you now.

“They have turned your mind so far inside out that you no longer know the difference between kindness and hate.” you snapped, your words moving the monk to pace around the room. It was only now you noticed the pull deep in your being where your healer's abilities lived. Pain, such unimaginable anguish seeped from the man. You could almost cry from the weight of it.

“Who did this to you?” The monk moved again to stand before Gawain, not looking at you.

“We are saving souls. Your soul.” he said. Gawain glared at the monk.

“Tell that to the little ones that you burn.”

“I don’t harm the children.” Gawain shook with rage.

“You burn their homes, slay their mothers and fathers, and you watch as your red brothers run them down on horses. And you see it all through those weeping eyes. That makes you guilty.” The monk shook his head, and marched toward the tent opening.

“Brother,” Gawain called after him, “You can fight. I’ve never seen anything like it. You could be our strongest warrior. Your people need you.”

“You are not my people!” the monk said again. Gawain gave him a challenging look.

“Then tell them. If this is where you belong, tell them what you are.” The monk stared at him.

“I will pray for you.” he answered. You glared at him.

“And we for you.” The monk gave you a quick glance before rushing from the tent.

You stared at Gawain.

“Are you insane? Bring him to the Fey? After everything he’s done?” you asked. He looked at you, eyes intense.

“You know better than I what we do to bring back our fallen. We don’t know why he is here...but he could be our greatest ally. You have not seen him as I have.” Gawain said. You sighed.

“I doubt we will get the chance. Once the blind man gets back we’re dead.” you said.

No sooner had you said the words, paladins entered the tent. They marched past you and roughly took Gawain away, ignoring your pleas to be gentle. You had never felt so helpless, and you were sure this was the last time you would see Gawain alive. You cried as the sun set, left alone with the dripping butchers tools.

---

You were left alone for so long you had begun to wonder if they had forgotten you were here when the tent flap once again opened.

“Squirrel!” The boy was being dragged by the scruff by an annoyed looking man. The paladin holding him threw him roughly into a chair.

“Don’t hurt him, please he’s just a child.” you begged. The paladin finished tying Squirrel, and turned. He raised his arm and back handed you across the face, leaving blood in your mouth. Your eyes watered as your cheek burned. The paladin grabbed your chin and raised your face to look at him.

“Bite your tongue or I will remove it.” he said, smiling darkly. You stayed silent, but your eyes burned with anger. To your relief he left immediately, beckoned away by someone outside. You turned to Squirrel, whose face was red.

“What happened?” you asked, seeing the dried tears. The boy just shook his head, fresh tears in his eyes. Gawain.

“Percival,” you said gently. He wouldn’t look up or meet your eye.

“Percival, he would be proud of your bravery.” the boy sniffed.

“He made me a knight.” That confirmed it then. He must have seen Gawain first, and been caught.

“No matter what happens, you remember how brave you are, alright?”

---

Night had fallen now. The only light in the tent was the few candles that someone had lit a while earlier. Through the fabric of the tent you could see men sitting around fires, winding down for the evening. A rustling pulled your attention, and Brother Salt made his way back in. He was alone this time, and needed no guide as he made his way around with ease. After a few moments, he picked up a gruesome looking tool. Squirrel’s breathing was speeding up, fear coming off him in waves you could sense without trying. Brother Salt stood before the boy, grinning.

“Shall we play now?” he asked.

“You’re the ugliest of them all! Inside and out.” Squirrel’s shout made you jump in surprise.

“Boy shut your mouth!” you said harshly, but the boy kept going.

“Kill me, fine, but you’ll still be you forever. And thats a worse hell than anything I can think of!” Brother Salt turned to his work table, feeling for, and finding a long knife.

“The tongue first, I think.” he said. Squirrels eyes shot between the knife and the paladins face.

“Go on, I’ll still keep talking, I’ll be in your nightmares talking, telling you how ugly you are. When you try and wake up, your eyes won’t open because you sewed them up like a bloody idiot!” You stared at the child. He was either the bravest or the most foolish boy you had ever seen. The Paladin chuckled, apparently amused by this outburst. He suddenly turned his head, as if to look behind him.

“Who's there?” he asked. The dark form of the hooded monk came from behind the blind man, who smiled.

“Come to watch, my weeping brother?” You stared in shock as the blade slid across Brother Salt’s throat. Quickly, the monk bent forward and cut the boy free, then yours.

“What are you doing?” you whispered. He didn’t answer, but grabbed your arm and the boys, rushing you out into the night.

What the hell he was doing he wasn’t sure. All he knew was he wasn’t about to let a child be alone with Brother Salt, no matter the cost. And it dawned on him how high that cost was. This was a betrayal of everything Father Carden had instilled in him. But the Green Knight's words had got to him. It was all lies…

All he had now was this boy, and fey woman. Getting them to safety was all he focused on.

You held Squirrel as close to you as you could, trying to shield him however you could. Your heart pounded with adrenaline.

The camp was still active, but quieter. Under the cover of darkness, the monk managed to lead you almost to the edge of camp. Almost.

“I wouldn’t.” The monk stopped. You turned to see Abbott Wicklow, and several black robed men in golden masks blocking the path. The monk pushed Squirrel and you behind him protectively.

The abbott cocked his head.

“Does he remind you of someone, this, fey orphan?” he asked mockingly.

“You don't need him.” the monk said.

“Why? Can’t he smell out his own kind like some sort of animal? Or is that just your species?”

This is the end Lancelot thought.

“Find cover.” Not needing to be told twice, you grabbed hold of Squirrel and ran. Thankfully none of the paladins followed. You pushed Squirrel down between some barrels, and threw a sac overtop of you. You could hear the fight, and the sounds of flesh being torn apart. Squirrel pushed up to watch.

“Squirrel no!” you tried to pull him back but he pushed your hands away.

“They’re going to kill him!” he cried. You looked through a space in the barrels and saw him. But man after man fell to his sword.

“My gods…” Never had you seen anything like that. But now the monk was on his knees, swords gone. In your distraction, Squirrel ran back towards the monk, picking up a fallen sword.

“Whose first?!” he shouted.

"No!" You screamed as you rushed out to grab the child.

It was the moment Lancelot needed, with all the strength he could gather he swung his blade and killed the remaining assailants. He stumbled towards you and you rushed to grab him, keeping him on his feet.

"Goliath." He managed to get out, you didn't understand but threw his arm around your shoulders and yelled at Squirrell to follow. You ran as well as you could half dragging the monk towards the treeline. As if sent by God the massive horse you had been brought into camp on appeared. No words were needed as the monk reached for the saddle. You helped him up and lifted Squirrel to sit in front of him. Then the monk reached for you, and you gladly took his hand, sitting behind him. You wrapped an arm around so you could reach the boy but the monk grabbed your hand and pressed it firmly against his chest.

"Hold on."

You barely had time to cling for your life as Goliath took off into the night.