#while the seneschal is standing right next to him -

[lordcaptains]

i do like that the dlc lets heinrix show off a bit more of his knowledge and skill as a member of the ordo xenos. in the main game, the most we get of that is in commorragh, and he's…not really at his best there.

but in the dlc, heinrix knows - or at least has an idea of - what's going on before anyone else. he suspects that there's something up with the flute player from your first meeting and has him followed - which the nemesite later tells you did interfere with his plans. (the player may also suspect this, but they have the advantage of knowing the flute player is a named npc with actual dialogue.) 

he's the first to realize you're dealing with a genestealer cult. (in typical inquisition fashion, he won't tell you what he suspects until it's absolutely necessary, but he does know.) 

when you're investigating the body of the mutant drained of blood, heinrix tells you what you need to know about it, even if you fail the checks. he helps you withstand sharing choirmaster weisz's sight of the alien mind on board the ship. he notices the bite scars on the man's neck in the plasma drive chambers before the player even has a chance to check.

he's pretty good at his job!!

(also i love that he says he'll correct jocasta's information only if she's wrong about something and then he immediately shares what he knows after every question you ask her anyway.)

[atlanticum]

A rundown of my favorite "The Queen of Nothing" moments<33333

• Does he have a new seneschal? Does he have a new lover? <…> Does he talk about me?…

• “Love is stupid. All we do is break one another's hearts.” I feel like Jude agreed with Heather at that moment:/

• “You,” I say to my twin. “Get out.” YOU GO GIRL

• “Locke is dead” LADIES AND GENTLEMEN THIS IS THE MOMENT WE’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR

• The very thought of being there, of seeing Cardan, speeds my heart. Oh juuuuude

• "I knew you liked her," says Locke. "That's why I had to have her first. Do you remember the party in my maze garden? How I kissed her while you watched?" "I recall that your hands were on her, but her eyes were on me," Cardan returns. I FUCKING LOVE THIS

• "I loved him." "Sometimes I believed that you did, yes," Cardan says absently. AND THE FACT THAT HE KNEW IT WAS JUDE

• "Jude never loved Locke." "She loved someone else. He's the one she'd want dead.” —or in her bed who knows;)?!

• WHEN CARDAN SAYS HE’LL “EXAMINE” HER ALONE IN HIS CHAMBERS. Naughtyyy boy;)

• “Well, didn’t you get my letters?” “What letters?” THIS LITERALLY RIPS MY HEART OUT AND TEARS IT TO SHREDS

• "Jude, you can't really think I don't know it's you. I knew you from the moment you walked into the brugh." *Crying, screaming, throwing up*

• When Cardan tries to explain the exile to her and that it was all a trick that she was supposed to figure out and be proud of him, but he doesn’t have enough time… :(

• I am the Queen of Elfhame. Even though I am the queen in exile, I am still the queen. And that means Madoc isn't just trying to take Cardan's throne. He's trying to take mine.

• The fact that even when The Ghost betrayed her, when Jude found him she still wanted to save him!!! SHE’S THE BEST

• I'm not going to let myself get distracted by letters I never received or the way he looked at me when we were alone in his rooms or my father's theories about his weaknesses. I’m a tad speechless…

• WHEN THE ROACH COMES TO SAVE HER WITH CARDAAAAN!!! AND FOR HER HE LOOKS EVERY INCH A SPY FROM THE COURT OF SHADOWS

• “That boy is your weakness” OH WOW stupid Madoc is right about one thing. SHOCKER.

• Let Cardan not be shot. Let the Ghost be clumsy. Let me get inside easily. Let me stop him.

I do not pause to ask myself why I am in such a panic to save someone for whom I swore I rooted out every feeling. I will not think about that. Oh, sweetheart.

• “Do not touch her. She is my wife," Cardan says, his voice carrying over the crowd. “The rightful High Queen of Elfhame. And most definitely not in exile." CHILLS. literal chills.

• Cardan stands over me. <…> His white sleeves are rolled up, and he’s washing my hands with a wet cloth. My gods, i’m dying, he cares about her so much

• (about the gown)>> It is perhaps too plain for a queen, but Cardan is extravagant enough for both of us.

• “And the next thing we know, the High King is on our doorstep looking ready to tear down the whole apartment complex to find you” AAGHAHAHA I LOVE HIM

• “It was terrifying watching you fall. I mean you’re generally terrifying, but I am unused to fearing for you. And then I was furious. I am not sure I have ever been that angry before”

• “I was afraid of you when I had a knife to your throat” this tore my heart open

• “This is my room” he points out, affronted “And that’s my wife”. FUCK YEAH “So you keep telling everyone” the bomb says AAAHAH LOVE HER

• “Oh, I don’t know,” I say “Maybe he’d like to hear me scream”. oh he would “I would” Cardan says “And perhaps one day I will” I’M FOLDED.

• “Unlike Locke, I never thought love was a game” he says “You may accuse me of much, but not that” oh boy

• “I offer my queen’s hospitality. The hospitality of knives” ah, yes, badass jude

• “You looked like a knight in a story tonight” I’M ON MY KNEES CRYING. THIS IS TOO CUTE.

• “By you, I am forever undone” I AM SCREAAAAMINGGGGGG

• “My sweet nemesis, how glad I am that you returned”

• “It’s you I love” he says “I spent much of my life guarding my heart. I guarded it so well that I could behave as though I didn’t have one at all. Even now, it is a shabby, worm-eaten, and scabrous thing. But it is yours” ABSOLUTELY MELTINGGGGG

• I can’t believe he said that and then just walked out, leaving me reeling. I am going to strangle him. I adore her

• When the bomb hugs her once they see each other, when Cardan was turned into a snake.

• “Please. I will do whatever you want. I will give up the crown. I will make any bargain. Just please fix him. Help me break the curse” im gonna cry

• I was happy, just before everything went so terribly wrong. This is gut wrenching

• They won. Everything was going to work out. AND HE LOVED HER

• “I would settle for even his worst self, his cruelest trickster self, if only he could be here” THIS IS ENEMIES TO LOVERS AHAAHAHA

• The Ghost’s eyebrows rise, and he glances at me. I grin.

• Like the whole thing how the Roach is telling the Bomb that he loves her is hilarious and super cute.

• The way Jude thinks that she can never tell Cardan how she feels is so sad. If Holly black had actually killed him off I would have died with him.

• “With my whole heart, I wish Cardan was here” she is longing for his annoyance I CANNNOT

• WHEN NICASIA TOLD HER THAT HE SENT THE GOWN I WAS SCREAMING MY GODSsss “He never told you, did he?”

• “And I saw the way you used to look at him when you didn’t think anyone was watching you” AAAH YESSS

• He’s every bit as terrifying as any serpent. i don’t care. I run into his arms. IM ON THE FLOOR SOBBING

• He holds me as though I am the only solid thing in the world. im absolutely dead in the best way possible

• “You don’t want me dead” “If you joke about this, I am going to—“ “Kill me?” I think I might hate him after all Thin line between love and hate, right Jude;)

• “I knew little else, but I always knew you” MY HEART IS EXPLODING

• And when he kisses me, I feel as though I can finally breathe again. MY HEART SQUEEZED IN THE BEST POSSIBLE WAY

• When Cardan silences Randalin when he interrupts Jude. You tell them KING

• THEY’RE CELEBRATING THAT THEY GOT MARRIED YEYYYYYYYYY

• When Cardan adjust his crown and she rolLs HeR eYeS and HE GRINS.

• To family and Faerieland and pizza and stories and new beginnings and scheming great schemes. I can toast to that.

i’m absolutely in love with these series🤍

[vigilskept]

Happy Friday! I'd love to see your Gavin Cousland and Nathaniel for this prompt from the sensory prompts: "40. A lingering sour aftertaste."

thanks for the prompt!! first thing that came to mind was a little bit of post-joining introspection from nate. not much as far as romance goes here, however. they get off to a hell of a rough start 🥲

words: 466 | @dadrunkwriting

If he closed his eyes, let the familiar sounds and smells of the Vigil crowd in his senses, he could almost convince himself that nothing had really changed. That when he next opened his eyes, he could seek out Thomas or Delilah to sneak into the pantry for a quick bite after hours, catch up on all he'd missed while he was in the Marches.

Almost, but not quite.

It was the sour aftertaste of the darkspawn blood that killed the illusion before it had any real chance to take root, incontrovertible proof that everything had changed now, and Nathaniel too.

Rotten blood, the lot of them, the barkeep at the Crown had spat out, when he asked after his family. The arl's father sided with those damned Orlesians during the rebellion too, you know?

As if all the good his father had done, all the blood he'd spilled for Ferelden meant nothing.

Whatever the truth of the war had been, the Wardens had seen to it that the gossips would have the right of it when it came to Nathaniel at least. Rotten blood in his veins, and the taste of it lingering on the back of his tongue. Conscripted by a man who he could hardly recognise, who wouldn't even meet his eyes.

Cousland — and it was Cousland now or Warden Commander, Gavin was as good as a stranger to him after all these years — was deep in conversation with the seneschal at the far end of the hall.

There had been a moment where that distance had seemed to close, a warm hand and a sure grip pulling him to his feet as he tried to shake off the disorientation from the savage dreams that seemed to come with the Joining. It had almost seemed like he wanted to say something, then. As a commander, if not as an old friend.

Whatever it might have been, Cousland had seemed to think better of it, his eyes growing cold again as he turned away and called over a servant to find him some armour.

He hadn't so much as glanced in Nathaniel's direction since.

Should've hanged me if you couldn't stand to look at me, he thought, the bitterness surfacing in his mind even as he tried to retreat behind a cool, professional mask like Cousland seemed to have settled on.

He couldn't fathom what kind of revenge Cousland imagined he would be getting out of conscripting him that he couldn't gain by simply taking his life as his own arling’s justice would’ve demanded. He was resolved not give him the satisfaction of thinking that the prospect of this phased him in least.

Do your worst. Us rotten-blooded Howes can take a great deal. You’ll be the one to regret it, in the end.

[lafayettenossie]

Previously...

Mid-August 2024. Ballroom. Bourbon Orleans Hotel. New Orleans (LA).

Me and my Childe, Coroner's Assistant Josephine 'Joey Laveau' Archer stood in front of the two people we would have least wanted to meet that night at the Hecata Council meeting place in NOLA.

-"Wow... how long has it been since we've been treated to your kindness and jovial presence, Marie Louise!"- The tone of sarcasm in Robert Milliner's voice was more than evident.

Robert Milliner, banker and mobster. Hecata Clan.

-"You know, work has me absorbed! So many crimes and deaths in the city..."- I didn't mean to be condescending, it was clear that neither of us could stand the other.

-"And you come with your Childe! It must be something important to discuss... Go ahead, you've got me on tenterhooks!"- he said while exaggerating his pose as if he were listening to my next words.

-"I was looking for someone else from the Council... Caleb won't be around, will he?"- I asked him, already knowing his answer.

The man faked a laugh. -"Our beloved leader? Caleb the Cappadocian? No, he's not around..."- And he made an exaggerated gesture with his hands pointing around him. As he did so, I caught a glimpse of the hilt of the weapon he carried in a holster: a Colt Python revolver with a 6" barrel and .357 Magnum caliber. A very powerful weapon, and surely loaded with some kind of ammunition harmful to Cainites...

.357 Magnum, 6" barrel, Colt Python revolver.

Joey snorted under her breath, she couldn't stand people like Milliner. She realized that this wasn't the time for her sarcastic comments by the way I looked at her sideways.

-"But is he still in town or is he traveling with your Sire Miriam?"- I asked the pale red-haired woman with tattoos and scarifications on her arms, legs and torso.

-"The High Priestess of the Bahari cult is in town. So the leader of the Hecata clan in Louisiana must be too..." - the young redhead woman spoke with an emotionless voice, almost as if another being used her lips to communicate through her. It was chilling!

-"Wow, thanks for the information... New bodyguard, Robert? What happened to Esther? She's had enough of your insidious personality and your misogyny?" The red-haired girl wasn't the first Lamia who had been assigned to the protection of the banker from Boston, Massachusetts, since he arrived in the Crescent City at the beginning of 2022. He wasn't loved, but the 'Anziani' considered him important enough to keep his skin intact.

-"Esther has been returned to her previous position in Baton Rouge, as protector of the city's Seneschal, Mrs. Constanza di Palermo..."- That would certainly have bothered Milliner, losing his protector because she returned to protect a Harbinger of Ashur... Caleb would surely not have been happy either, given his past with these former beings.

-"Well, she has certainly won out..."- Joey said with a shrug.

Joey's comment didn't please Robert. Not in the least. That guy was very dangerous, and grudgeful. That ran in his family! -"I think your Childe should speak only if she is being spoken to directly..."-

I waved my hand and Joey gave up on arguing with him. -"Okay... So, can you tell me where I could meet Caleb, please?"- and I looked especially at the red-haired Lamia.

Robert held his tongue and nodded to his bodyguard. -"Caleb is in his haven. He didn't say he was going out anywhere tonight."- She said seriously.

Jessie Malone. Lamia bodyguard.

-"Thank you, Jessie, right? That's your given name..."- I knew her name was Malone, that she was the most recent Childe Embraced by Miriam, the High Priestess of the Bahari cult, Caleb's personal bodyguard, and little else... Although there were rumors about her being as lethal as she was cold and cruel. As if there was someone else inside her, someone old and powerful. I saw the subtle postmortem scars on her cleavage, hidden by tattoos and scarifications. What torment had they subjected that girl to?

-"Indeed. That's my name. Jessie Malone."- And her green-brown eyes suddenly changed. For an instant they were completely black, without a trace of the white of the sclera.

What the hell did that mean?

To be continued...

[cruelprincae]

Your Highness, I don't know whether this is such a good idea. (from Jude )

Watching his Seneschal writhe while standing tall next to the oak-made throne is rather entertaining ― in fact, Cardan has not been this amused in weeks prior to this court hearing meant to occur before the revel. Though his gaze is focused on the bark-covered Treefolk with dark green vines for hair that effortlessly reach and pool in the ground they kneel upon, from the very corner of his eyes he does not fail to catch sight of Jude's subtle movements in response to the Fae's rather unusual ― yet not completely unreasonable ― request; Her chapped lips purse, a gloved hand comes to close tightly around the hilt of her sword and her head ever so slightly turns to regard him with the sharpest of glares. All signs point that the mortal is utterly displeased with his judgement, yet does not dare to contradict him with a command they both know he cannot defy in front of an audience, for it would shatter the already fragile image of security they ― or well, she ― are struggling to build.

Rather, she opts to remain silent, though, if one is to ask Cardan, he is fairly certain Jude has mentally stabbed him in the side, inches away from where his heart lay for the thirteenth of time already, knowing the blow would not kill him but the recovery would be torturous to come back from. That is until she does speak up, disobeying him in her own, subtle way that, even though most of the court pays little attention to, has Randaline's goat-like slit eye darting in his direction with evident surprise. A common Fae defying the High King is unheard of, but coming from a mortal is outright scandalous.

And yet, when he shifts in the throne to regard her, with hard, black eyes and a crown resting askew in a daring angle upon black locks, plumb lips are curled into a sly grin that ever-so grows around his sharp features and a manicured brow arching high, as though daring her to spit out a command right then and there, or talk around her statement, admit she is in the wrong, swallow her pride and apologise.

Both are things Cardan knows she would never do, yet is delightful to see her try.

❛ Are you questioning my judgement, my Seneschal ? Or perhaps, would you like to step in as High King and make one of your own ? You are the one who makes all decisions, after all. ❜

[psalacanthea]

WiP Wednesday

Thanks @oxygenforthewicked and @kirkwalls-dumbest for the tags!  Here is just a friendly little chat between siblings from the next chapter of the Howe x Cousland DA Awakenings fic (found here!).

...

Before Phoebe quite knew what had happened, he stormed past her.

The visceral sound of fist hitting flesh landed before she could spin around to face it.  She jerked around just in time to see Nathaniel fall to the stone floor, hitting shoulders and arse but thankfully not skull.  He lifted a hand, covering his nose as blood began to spill, trickling between his fingers.

Phoebe blinked, her body and mind abruptly jolting to life at the sound of steel being drawn.

“Fergus!” she snapped, bolting to stand between the two of them.  Ignoring her brother’s hardened scowl, she grabbed his hand by the wrist and forced his blade back into his sheath.  She felt the muscles tensing under her arm, but he’d been bedridden for ages while she was fighting the Blight, and she was stronger despite his superior size right now.

Fergus glared down at her, eyes blazing.  “Release me.”

“You will not harm him further,” she retorted in a hiss, letting go of his wrist as he shrugged her away, putting distance between them.  “Teyrn Cousland, you stand on my soil now, and you will not harm one of my Wardens.”

“Rendon Howe killed my son, and I will pay that debt in kind,” Fergus replied, low and threatening.  She could see how tight his hand was on his blade, and it made her heart ache.

She understood…oh, she understood all too well.

Phoebe couldn’t help averting her gaze at the swell of sorrow, but she simply couldn’t back down.  Hopefully they could resolve this as siblings.  “Fergus, I–”

“The tears and blood both spilled by treachery cannot be repaid, but you cannot expect me to suffer his continued existence in your presence, Phoebe.  And I cannot believe you are allowing it, after what his brother–”

“Stop,” Phoebe interrupted, all too aware of attention fixed upon them.

Fergus inhaled, gaze shifting left and right, and then past her shoulder at Nathaniel.  His jaw and eyes both hardened.  “Be sensible, Phoebe.  I’ll give you a dozen men to replace him with.  I’ll even kill him in a fair fight.”

Out of the corner of her vision she could see Nathaniel rising, pinching his nose.  Thank the Maker he was sensible enough to stay silent.  He didn’t leave, however, or back down.  She would have rather he had, but she understood that it would be a difficult request to make of anyone in these circumstances.

Well, when siblings failed, politics would have to take over.  “I am sorry, brother.  Warden Howe has survived the Joining.  He is a Warden, and I am his Commander.  I will not turn him over to you, and if you demand a fight, it will have to be with me.  Your request is unreasonable and goes against Ferelden’s agreements with the Wardens.”

Their stares held, his full of frustration and rage, hers resolute but pained.  She knew he could see that this was hurting her, and that might have been the only reason he stood down now.  They were all the other had now.

“While I’m certain that would delight him, to watch the last remaining Couslands fight over his pathetic life…”  Fergus gritted his teeth, averting his eyes.  Finally he released his blade, breathing in slowly through his nose.  “Temperate and just.”

“Temperate and just,” she agreed quietly, refusing to be cowed as he turned a very dark look down to her.  Phoebe lifted her chin, staring right back, trying to hold his gaze.  She spoke up again before Fergus could turn his ire back in Nathaniel’s direction.  “Have you been assigned rooms yet?”

Fergus snorted roughly. “Your seneschal is efficient.  Yes.  Show me where your rooms are, pup, I have things that need to be delivered to it.”

Phoebe knew full well that her brother was spoiling for an argument, and he wanted to have it in private.

She wished she didn’t have to fight him, that she didn’t have to defend Nathaniel, but she had no choice– there weren’t enough Wardens left for her to lose any.

That was the only reason she’d stepped between them.

[iviarellereads]

Harrow the Ninth, Chapter 2

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Ninth House icon) In which Harrow starts to get some time upright and on her feet.

God tells Harrow she needs to take better care of herself and spend less time throwing up, she's losing her already meager muscle tone. Harrow appreciates God's visits, because he always knocks and waits for a reply, proving his divinity. She asks what use she has for a sword, and he says he's not going to debate philosophy with her before she's rinsed her mouth out.

While she's in the bathroom, she overhears God and his entourage talking. One mentions that the "Saint of Joy" issued an order, which God says should normally be followed in his absence, but not when he's specifically there and countermanding it. He suggests making static noises if she keeps trying to give the same orders.

In the mirror Harrow sees the Body, wearing a hospital gown just like her own, with a sword strapped to her back.(1) For a brief moment, Harrow thinks God can see her, too, but it's a trick of the eye.

God asks Harrow to come with him. His entourage try to get him to attend a meeting, but he declines, as he needs time with Harrow, and tells them to meet him in ten minutes. Harrow is afraid someone will steal the sword if she leaves it, but she can't lift it herself. She contrives to lay next to it and roll over onto it, so she can strap it to her back that way.

The narrator, by way of speaking to Harrow, tells her she looked ridiculous, wearing a bedsheet robe over a sword, a hospital gown, and flaking blood for face paint.(2)

Harrow asks on the walk if this happens to all new Lyctors. God replies vaguely, "Some of them," which doesn't offer much in the way of relief. She says she's tired of her convalescence. God says he'd rather it could take months, not weeks, but they haven't the luxury of that kind of time. He wishes he'd mastered time, not death. Still, he might have something to help Harrow's progress along.

God brings Harrow to a room like a warehouse, full of boxes. He's kept a number of people in stasis for his myriad of years, and now he will wake them to restore the Ninth House, as promised. Five hundred or so, a third necromantic.

"Oh my God," you said, forgetting that the deity in question was right there.

Harrow asks if he's committed another Resurrection. He says no, but he set some aside, and has felt a little bad about "just keeping them as insurance."(3) Harrow asks to go with them, long enough to introduce them to her seneschal, but God says they need to have a conversation before she asks him that.

They walk through the cargo hold, and Harrow comes upon some corpses she's felt from a distance: the bodies of those that could be retrieved from Canaan House. God says he intends to get answers about those he couldn't account for, but for now, they're declared dead.

"Call me premature, but I'd rather the Houses weep now, Harrowhark, with room for later rejoicing."

Harrow stares at one coffin, with a rose on it,(4) until her nervous system shuts down from trying to process her emotions. The Body appears again and turns her face away. God says she has to go home, but when Harrow assumes that means the Seventh House, he says no, home is with her sibling Lyctors. Harrow wants to feel relieved, but isn't quite capable of it on a glandular level.

Harrow asks why he won't resurrect the fallen of Canaan House. He tells her the cost is too great. Harrow falls to her knees, not quite fully aware of the action, and asks him to teach her how to count that cost. God, or perhaps now better the Emperor, helps her stand, and asks her not to kneel to him or worship him until she understands the full story.

The Kindly Prince tells Harrow that the Erebos will be departing soon with the passengers for the Ninth and the corpses of the other Houses. He offers her the choice, again, to join him or go back. Harrow says she already chose, but he says that was done in ignorance, it doesn't count.

He asks Harrow what happens when someone dies. Harrow goes into the mechanics of death and necromancy. The Emperor asks her to think past the mechanics of a human death: what is the role of a Cohort necromancer? Harrow hasn't really a clue at first, until she logics it through: kill the planet, enable necromancy. Only, she doesn't quite think planets can have souls.

He asks her to bear with it as a hypothesis: if a planet could have a soul, what would happen during the same death process? Harrow points out that the Cohort does the process very slowly, it takes generations before the population needs to be moved to complete it, but nothing really happens. Then, the Emperor asks what might happen if that transition were completed all at once. Harrow asks that he tell her, since he was present for the Resurrection.

The Emperor tells her that it's the difference between dying of illness and murder. The shock was immense, and created revenants. Every planet. They call them the Resurrection Beasts. At first, they ran off into the universe to hide from their deaths, as many revenants do. And all the Lyctors who have died, died to the RBs.

Harrow asks how many there are. The Body raises its(5) eyebrows when he tells her, three remain, of the nine that were. They took out Number Two(6) early, Eight cost a man's soul,(7) Six died because one of the Lyctors, Cyrus, "drew it into an ultramassive black hole,"(8) and Six had better be dead because Cyrus isn't coming back.

Before Harrow can respond or even question his math, which does not add up in the slightest,(9) The Emperor pushes away from Cytherea's coffin to face Harrow in front of the Third's, and he tells her the choice he offered was a false one. The RBs can feel and follow him, no matter where he goes, and to a lesser degree they can also sense and follow those who have committed the "indelible sin" of Lyctorhood. No Lyctor has ever chosen to go home, once they knew of this problem. None, but one, who knew he would come because she went home.

Harrow asks if he intends to teach her how to fight the RBs. Not before he teaches her to run from them, which is the even harder lesson, one he's been learning for ten thousand years. The Emperor lays his hands on Harrow's shoulders, and she looks up into his ordinary face.

"What he is saying," said the Body distinctly, "is that you have to learn that sword."(10) You looked at her, over his shoulder. The Emperor instinctively followed your gaze, but he could never have seen what you saw:(11) the weals where the chains had passed around the other girl's wrists, neck, ankles. He would not perceive that long hair hanging wetly over her shoulders, that resinous colour that in death might have been anything. He could not have heard the voice--low, husky, musical--or its dry and uncanny echo of other voices you had known: your mother's, Crux's.

He wouldn't know other things. That the Body hasn't spoken to Harrow since the night of her parents' deaths. That she had only walked with the Body for a year, and then only seen her in dreams. That in Harrow's youth, the Body's eyes were black, but since she'd become a Lyctor, the eyes had become a yellow that makes Harrow dizzy to see.(12)

Harrow converses a little more with the Body, telling it that she has failed, she is only half a Lyctor, and useless. The Emperor, confused about who Harrow is talking to, puts his hands on Harrow's shoulders. She looks at him, and he says "Ortus Nigenad did not die for nothing." But something about his face looks wrong as he does, and Harrow feels a hot line of pain in her head. She says Ortus Nigenad died thinking it was the only gift he was capable of giving, and she's wasted it. The Emperor needs a minute to process this,(13) looking like someone working out a very strange anagram, and says "Ortus" again. Harrow experiences another stab of pain and falls to the floor, senseless and out of control of her body.

"Ortus Nigenad," said the Emperor again, almost wondering; but then you knew nothing more, except that you hadn't thrown up on God, which had to count as consolation.

=====

(1) Now why would the Body suddenly have a sword, in the presence of God? (2) None of the text implies that Harrow is aware of looking this way, or that she cares, but the second-person here really implies that someone's saying it for a reason. (3) Insurance against what? (4) Ah, Cytherea's. (5) What a curious pronoun change. (6) I wonder, do the House numbers correlate to the order of the Beasts? (7) Well that's fuckin grim. (8) Confession: every time black holes come up in fiction I think about the Nightmare/Atmosfear VHS board games, because one of the "host" characters says "BLAGOL!" a lot and it's really funny. The Loading Ready Run crew has played all of them, and the vods are available on their streams channel, if anyone's curious. A+ entertainment. (9) Yeah, if there were nine of them, and they've eliminated five, but he only lists three dead… Something's fishy here. (10) The Body is the woman who was in the Tomb, who has been described in the legend of the Nine Houses as the Emperor's greatest enemy. Why is she helping Harrow? (11) So, if he's a necromancer, presumably he's attuned to the dead and their haunting presences, right? So, does this mean the narrator is implying that the Body is only a hallucination, or is there something funkier going on? (12) Now why would the eyes change colour, at the point where Harrow achieved Lyctorhood, and further… why would those eyes make her feel dizzy? (13) I could play coy and say that it's odd for him to need a second to process someone saying the same name back to him perfectly normally… but this was where I started to suspect something was really Going On on my first read. Can you see why? Can you see my guess? Do you think I was right?

[yostresswritinggirl]

Abandoned By The Altar

Part 3.1; were you really meant to be? VIBE

A timeline oriented story focused on your once perfect childhood relationship as Diluc’s bride to be, soon becoming estranged after the death of his father and his neglect. You only wish now that he looks at you the same way he did when you heard you were supposed to be together forever when you were young.

Pairings -> Diluc x Reader

Word Count -> 3510

Themes -> Reconciliation, Cyno was here, estranged relationships everywhereee

Series -> Part of Sojourner and Bonafide (event masterlist) Part 2

Warnings -> Goddamn violence

In the winery empire of the city of wine and freedom, this world is ruled by two unmatched tycoons that never fall from the top pedestal, with the mastery over wine-making and business marketing. Truly when it comes to this matter, Diluc Ragnvindr and (Y/N) (L/N) are the scariest and most charming duo to befall such economical prowess.

So when parties and gatherings are held in the Winery, noblemen and businessmen all over Teyvat scramble for a chance of invitation to level themselves to at least a humble chat with the prestigious business duo.

Yet even if they were witness, they will never be privy to the true secrets those two hold within.

"Apologies, esteemed guests. Master Diluc must excuse himself for a while," your stare shifted to the side over the rim of the glass you were cradling. His ruby eyes meeting yours after sparing the wine glass a stare, a meek nod you then reciprocate as he goes past your side with the Fatui Harbinger, the Seneschal and all other company joins him at a private room.

"But there is no cause for concern. The party shall continue under the supervision of the Mistress," you set down your drink upon hearing your name, stepping up to offer a humble yet radiant smile. You hope things work out on his end, was your thought as you finally entertained the remaining guests who recognize your prowess.

Behind your back you flicked your wrist as the Albino silently slinks away from the limelight to prepare.

The intervention was not as long as it was in terms, and yet the moment was painstakingly slow for your side. Many noblemen seeked not only your prestige as the master practitioner of economics but also the perfect wife ready for the taking. Your fingers uneasily fumble with the infinity ring on your hand, something they barely paid mind to as they continued their attempts to woo you, something you can only sigh over.

Unfortunately your 'relationship' with Diluc was still something only a few people know. There was no need to make it public yes, but it also caused a lot of unpleasant interactions that you wished you could easily avoid by telling, something you couldn't do to ensure your safety. Diluc was still a huge mystery to you despite the assurance of your encounter in the garden of cecilias.

But you thought to yourself with a sigh, a promise ring is different from an engagement ring.

A hand suddenly slides around your shoulder as you were distracted, and your head whipped to the side where the presence was with your elbow read to break a rib- "I hope I'm not intervening an important discussion," Diluc’s eyes bore straight ahead to the Fontaine businessman you were half-heartedly conversing with and your arm immediately drops to your side, "But I must discuss an urgent matter with the lady as well."

The Fontainian grumbles as he pries his head away from the hand on your head, producing his best smile in forced understanding as Diluc sweeps you away to the back. This is for a serious matter but the consistent grip on your shoulder had your mind reeling. It was only when he revealed his equipped Delusion did you have the mind to finally focus and work on your own attire.

"Guards! Take down the assassin!"

The blunt end of your polearm smacks painfully against the back of the chest plate of the guards, knocking three out as you look over to the Darknight to see him dispose the two nearest him. You then watch in awe as he summons chains from thin air, gripping them as he expertly throws it at the escaping Master Krupp, and like a lasso he was captured by the slithering cage.

Diluc's power always intrigued you since the day you were first witness of it. Not a Vision but definitely not far from it. He's also in the dark of its true meaning but even you know that he had a little bit of information from his four years of isolation, something he didn't want to tell you.

As your raise your head from staring at his Delusion, hearing their grunts of interviews, a glint to your right suddenly alerted you of another presence. "Wait-!"

"Master's planning to-"

You muffled your horrified gasp at the sight of the blood shooting out of Krupp's side, your polearm shakes in your hand before tightening your grip once again as you two turn to the assassin. Il Dotorre stands there in great poise two giant needles hovering by his sides.

He just killed his own companion, such thoughts made your face twist under the black veil that covers your identity as much as it could. And those thoughts distracted you from the one-sided conversation in front of you, "Keep up the good work and hone your unimpressive powers.

But this visionless one," an arm slinks around your waist in a blink, a masked face inches away from yours that forced you to hold your breath, "is much more remarkable than you."

Before Diluc could even reprimand him, he disappears within seconds after bidding his farewell. And your knees would have buckled if not for your fiancé catching you in the nick of time, collapsing at the tense situation that had passed.

You could have died like Krupp.

But the feeling of Diluc's arms squeezing you protectively reminds you of your existence.

Not even a day old of cecilias were swept off the stone slab in place of newly harvested ones, both batches can be mistaken to be the same with how healthy they still seem to be. This was Diluc's observation as he watches you replace the flowers on his father's grave. Crepus Ragnvindr.

Perhaps it was his own neglect and adamant refusal that made him forget about this isolated cemetery. He expected the grave keeper or at least a member of the Winery to keep it well-kept, not you who seems to have come to this place on a daily basis.

The smile he enjoys and dreads is wiped from your face as you offer a silent prayer. Eyes closed and hands together. Next to you Diluc only stands with his arms crossed as his gaze continues to linger at the engraved words.

Lisa was at the mansion earlier to investigate about the recent Fatui incident, and as the interrogation ensued by the gazebo of the Cecilia gardens, Diluc realized that you lingered in the distance to eavesdrop. In the span since your arrival and before his, did anyone else explain the accident to you? What did you hear? Did anyone actually tell you anything?

And maybe these questions were the reason that he willingly accepted your invitation to visit his father's grave just like that.

Four years without your constant touch and smiles had broken Diluc into who he is now, an empty shell of a man who once had high hopes. A helpless puppet who struggles to grasp the man he was before. And as he moves closer enough for your shoulders to touch, it was an unconscious gesture that cries for your help in the turmoil that spirals in his head.

But when you look at him with a reassuring smile— Diluc's walls fortified by four years of hatred and isolation all came crashing down with the heavy wave of his tears. The pain of that day pours out of his lips as he felt small within your arms, eyes painfully avoiding your face.

The true story of his father's death, the disaster that lead to his resignation from Ordo Favonius, his quest to find answers in all the years he had abandoned his life in Mondstadt.

There were details that you were unaware was truncated from his confessions, the only ones that mattered were those he spilled.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," words the both of you repeated for the pain you two couldn't confide to with one another ever since that day.

No, things wouldn't be fixed in one day. Hearts destroyed for years cannot be melded back today, but it is that moment that solidifies the trust between you two:

That deep within the abyss of your souls lie the desperate desire to reach out to one another like they used to before.

The petals of the Cecilias on Crepus' gravestone tilts in respect, but within it blooms a new hope you were both not witness to.

Only the elderly and close acquaintances knew of your original existence in Mondstadt, and only a few ever recognizes your prior occupation and childhood before you left for Sumeru. Even if you had only been gone for two years, changes so drastic happened in your wake.

The most painful one always lingers in the back of your mind, never failing to bring a frown to your face.

"You loved Ludi Harpastum when we were children, so what's with the long face?" Your eyes that lingered on Amber and her new friend looks up to the ones next to you, eyes also distant as it comes upon yours.

You couldn't tell him or even ask about Crepus, not now at least. But the words he spoke washed away the melancholy off your face, smile brightened at the idea that he still remembers such precious memories. He looks away immediately. "I do, but I'm not a kid anymore, the festival caters to children's participation."

Diluc hums in agreement and the talk ceases like so. He's not into small talk but the short conversation still had you feeling light and euphoric.

Soon enough Amber had come over to introduce the two of you to her demure friend Collei, shy and hesitant but still trying her best to be polite. An imagined arrow pierces through your heart at the cute child in front of you, and you couldn't help but coo and oogle at her.

So adorable with beautiful green hair, unique and paired perfectly with her wide eyes. Every compliment makes her face redder. This only makes your fangirling worse, already hugging the flustered child who's having an internal mental breakdown.

"Oh, I wish I could have a child as pretty as youuu!"

Amber looked up upon the sudden shift of his posture, absolutely baffled at the sight of Master Diluc's face as colorful as his hair as his gloved hand desperately tries to hide it. The knight felt like she had witnessed something she shouldn't, immediately snapping her head back to you and Collei with her lips trying its hardest not to break into a smile.

You were on your knees to be eye-level with Collei as you held her hand, placing on it a bag of mora as you told her to use it to enjoy the most out of the festival. Her previous embarrassment still lingers as evidence on her still flushed cheeks, yet her eyes had in it a gaze of awe.

There was hesitance when Amber finally dragged Collei away to venture through the festival more, leaving you in exaggerated tears at the departure of 'a little angel' with a still silent Diluc next to you. The sun had already set, and yet you two stood in place for a little longer.

The thought of having children passing by your minds.

If there's a recipe for a good time in Angel's Share, Kaeya knows what it is.

A cold glass of Death After Noon, raucous laughter spurred on by joyous tunes, and just the right company. It was a while since he'd last felt such comfort with company, he thought as he holds back a smile and grimace as he sips the sour grape juice in his mouth, eyes twinkling as he watches your already flushed face intensify as you down your drink.

When Kaeya had heard from multiple yet scarce accounts from the servants of the Winery on how you act drunk, he felt it was his mission and privilege to find out how such moment happens. And so one night when you two had the time to sit down at Angel's Share, what should have been a night of a single drink and grape juice after switched around to nothing but liquor.

"You've been looking at us weird the whole day, do you want to fight?" The Cavalry Captain reached for your hand to settle down your glass, but when you literally threw your drink against the wall with a loud bang, he knew he was done for when at his peripherals he saw the horrified look of your Fiancé as he was immediately alerted with the breaking of glass.

"Oh shit, she's feral," Kaeya breathed incredulously with a small, small hint of awe as he watched you pull up your sleeves to throw hands.

"What the hell is going on here?"

"Luluuuu!" The swordsman did NOT miss the minute detail of Diluc's red stare recognizing the switched drinks on the table, exposing his involvement on the matter. If it were not for your intoxicated self barreling towards your fiancé, he would have been given a scalding glare.

A jumbled mess of a conversation transpired before the captain, made up of hushed grumbles and slurred whines sometimes filled with begging or with rage from the random person you'd set pure hatred upon seconds ago. Your hand clutched his sleeve as his other one was placed on your shoulder to ground you, somehow this proximity and interaction... made Kaeya remember the first time he met you.

"Alright, that should be enough for tonight," the third wheel clapped his gloved hands together as he stood from his table. "This commotion is on me, I'll take her home-"

"What gave you the idea that I'd let you?"

The same hostility that started four years ago made the man of frost- freeze where he stood, challenging the accusing glare with a playful squint. The mini stand-off already made the other patrons too curious as all attention was caught by the trio, while you had your face buried to Diluc's fluffy ponytail as his bargaining chip for calming/distracting you.

Diluc isn't familiar with taking care of a drunkard, only kicking them out. If he were to leave you at your current state, he'd be clueless as is on the mistakes that would pile up.

Kaeya raised this point as he reached over to take your arm, the redhead publicly wrapping his arms around you protectively in response. The blunette wasn't even wary of the increasing agitation his sworn brother wore but the scandalous gasps and gossips the customers around them now speak at the action.

Get a grip, Diluc, you wanted to keep this hidden, didn't you? By some miracle, he managed to communicate this telepathically through side glances and gritted teeth.

But if there was one thing the Ragnvindr had inherited from being with you for more than ten years:

It was your stubbornness.

...

When you roused from your slumber, you were in an unusual place yet one so familiar. The nostalgia hit you tenfold more than the headache your hangover dangerously inflicted, "How did I get here even?" It was four years since you've last seen this place, set foot in this room even.

The moonlight hitting through the room's balcony tells you it's around midnight.

The room didn't change a bit last you remember it, as if it was well-kept despite being abandoned. The lamp that was tilted a little bit, books of stories you've read long ago were arranged the same way you'd left it. Not a single dust catches on to your soles as your feet touched the wooden floor of your room in the Ragnvindr's home.

It was still creaky at some parts of which you expertly maneuvered around bare, shoes discarded in place for stealth as you exited to the corridor. No sounds or light emanates from the underside of Diluc's room across from yours, without checking you weaved through the hall to climb down the main stairs.

You find your man seated by the fireplace. You may not live here anymore but even you were well aware of his insomnia that stretches past sunrise.

"You're awake," he speaks when you reached the main floor.

"Look who's talking," you mumbled cheekily as you sat adjacent to him, noticing his quick glance at your bare feet.

Tight lipped as it may, you saw a little quirk to the edges of his lips that lifted up your spirits through the small chatter and mostly silent time after that. The crackles and embers of the furnace was good company too, and yet it was not enough to distract you from the obvious stare he was giving to your leg.

Anxiously you hid one your foot behind the other, folding your legs under the chair's shadow when his gaze didn't waver. Perhaps it wasn't that bright of an idea to leave your room barefoot, maybe it was too childish, for him especially if it was bothering this much.

You opened your mouth to excuse yourself, or maybe defend your actions,

"Can I touch you? Nothing- Nothing sexual, there's just something I need go check."

You didn't have to ask, was what you wanted to say. But you held back your tongue in favor of giving a meek nod, curious and faintly doubtful of whatever it is that he would do.

Yet when he kneeled down and gently took your leg upon his hold, you can't help but smile solemnly as his gloved touch reached your thigh where the scar from long ago lingers. Diluc's eyes stayed on that spot, soothing the long lost pain with rubbing circles.

Ticklish, as he leans down to graze a soft kiss to it. It almost made you cry with how gentle this Diluc is in front of you.

"I promise... I'll do better. With every heartbeat I have left, I will defend your every breathe."

You're crying now.

One faithful morning in a miraculous setting where Diluc was the only one available to tend to the reception, a young man presents himself by the entrance with a passive look. This unfamiliar man was someone he knew, something he realized when he finally looked down for a better view past the black hood.

"I am here in the guidance of an old address. Is this where (Y/N) (L/N)?"

"I'm (Y/N)'s fiancé, what do you want?"

"... That does not answer my question, but I am only here to see how life has been faring since two years past."

Diluc never felt discomfort in silence as heavy as this. Having to walk with Cyno the whole way to Mondstadt from the Winery was not part of his itinerary, nor did he wholy agree to the arrangement. Perhaps it was because he knew how you two were good friends back from his 'observations' in the Academia that he felt responsible.

Or it was his pride to not let the shorter guy know that you were in fact, not resident to his home despite being betrothed.

It would have been very weird.

"What the actual- Cyno?! Is that really you?!" Why you were near the gates that day was a mystery to them both, but at the sight of the familiar figure had you barreling towards the foreigner, tackling him into a hug with a laugh so carefree it almost pained him.

That was your signature move to when you always met him excitedly in your childhood. Diluc shakes away the thought as he stood at the side to watch and eavesdrop. You're around the same height as the Sumerian, although the hood and ears? makes it hard to distinguish who was taller between you two.

"What are you doing so far out from the Academia? Aww, did you miss me?" Playful as always to those you are close to.

Scarlet eyes found its way to him in a split second. "I came here under the request of Lisa, she needed scholarly help over an important matter," your pout had him smile a tiny bit, "but it is relieving to meet you once again."

In a honesty, it was a curious case as to why he was even there, lingering. He has work to do, the Tavern's first shift was his. But when he took a step away Diluc found it very difficult to leave you be, to leave you with this... person.

He has no business here.

He shouldn't idle.

He's not the type to idle.

You turn your head at the sound of footsteps as you realized Diluc approaching, who you honestly thought already departed during your reunion with Cyno. "Ah, senpai, I wanted to introduce to you my-" full and pale lips captured your words in a quick swift dip, a grip on your waist to steady you before he stood back too quick for you to react.

"I'll get going, stay safe."

Quick and concise like his kiss, Diluc left in hurried steps as you stood there, a mess. He'd never- he has never-

"How amusing," the words the Sumerian uttered barely registered into your short-circuiting brain.

I can't believe this. I'm actually cutting this to a fourth part what the fuck, I swear the next one is the last,holy-

@optimestick @moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre @traveler-lumine @nonniechan @creation-magician @hanniejji @gojos-baby @just-some-stars @volleybloop @mortifiedmoon @dankchikorita @endeavors-big-dick @karlitaburrito @bunniesrorange

[shutupaboutandraste]

“Hear this now — I will always come for you” for Fenders? <3

OKAY so like. I saw this and was just immediately inspired and knew exactly what I wanted to write so I hope you like it!

It's more pre-ship, buuuuut still Fenders.

Words: 3203 Pairing: Fenris/Anders For @dadrunkwriting

ACT I

To say Fenris didn’t trust Anders would be an understatement. An abomination through and through, he would never understand Hawke’s trust in him. Perhaps, it was because of her sister-- Bethany always seemed to vouch for him, something else that made Fenris’ head spin. Never before Bethany Hawke had he seen a mage so in control of themself. Yet, there was Bethany who shined in beauty, grace, and kindness all without being possessed or resorting to blood magic. He had only known her for a short time since he was approached by Hawke’s motley crew.

Still, he stuck by them, despite it all. Hawke had become a good friend in the short time he had known her. Even if her taste in women was… questionable. Anyone with eyes could see the tall warrior had affection for the Dalish blood mage of all people. Of course, that did exclude the elf in question. Merrill seemed entirely blind, even when Hawke told her that she was free to call her Aingheal. To everyone else, that name seemed off limits and Merrill seemed content to leave it that way for herself. Strange woman…

There were days he thought about leaving. Danarius could arrive any day on the doorstep of his borrowed mansion any day. The thought of leaving, however, left the taste of ash in his mouth. Little things were what he would miss-- Hawke coming to check in on him, coming back to the mansion to find little plates of food from Merrill, Isabela’s flirting, all of it. Loyalty threaded into Hawke’s group, evident in the way they watched each other’s back in battle to those little gestures Fenris had grown fond of in the past few months. Echoes of his days with the Fog Warriors sang softly within him.

These thoughts tumbled and toppled over each other with each passing day. Fenris took each one in and compartmentalized it within. These were the people that he had thrown his lot in with, for better or worse. Yet, he never knew if Merrill would be possessed by a demon, or whether Anders would suddenly turn on them to fulfill the desires of Vengeance. So, when Anders was still glowing after an encounter with a Tal Vashoth mercenary group on the wounded coast, Fenris leaped into action.

His brands lit up as he reached for Anders. Justice’s glare flashed his way, but he did not flinch. The only thing that stopped him was Hawke’s sword in his way. His heels let him skid to a stop just in time to avoid phasing through it. There was always a chance that phasing through a weapon would just wind up with him impaled.

“What the hell, Fenris?”

Varric whistled, “Easy, Broody! That one is friendly.”

“Hardly,” he snarled, “Why is your demon still active, mage?”

“I AM NO DEMON,” boomed that voice that both was and was not Anders. Still, it didn’t argue further, seemingly releasing Anders for its thrall.

Anders snarled at him, “Justice was fine! You could have killed me!”

Fenris crossed his arms, holding his head high, acting as if he could stand down the taller man, “And you could have killed Hawke.”

Hawke scoffed, “I can fight my own battles. Thanks. Justice doesn’t scare me.”

There she went again, trusting the fool mage and his demon. Even though Fenris had warned her of all he saw in Tevinter, Hawke insisted that she knew better. One day she might live to regret it. Fenris hoped that he didn’t live to see that day. For all his terse nature, he did want Hawke to be right about Anders. So, he let the argument brewing inside him die.

Hawke was a harsh woman. When she spoke, there was no argument, one simply followed. That did not make her unkind, simply firm. It was one of the many things Fenris found himself respecting, all but in awe of. Leadership decorated Hawke like well-fitted armor. There was very little she could do now to waiver his trust in her. The group began heading out, Varric and Hawke immediately taking to counting out the loot as they walked.

Fenris came up to walk beside Anders, “You may have favor with Hawke, mage, but hear this, should you betray her--”

“Why are you so sure of my guilt long before I’ve committed a crime?”

“Should you betray her, hear this now-- I will always come for you. That is a threat.”

ACT II

Putting trust in Hawke was far from misplaced. Long after the Deep Roads, she still remained his friend, helped him when Hadriana came knocking, and trusted him in return. Fenris was a regular member of her party, trusting him even about Aveline whom she had known for far longer. Hawke was a natural, but ruthless in her efficiency. Fenris respected that, even when he wasn’t sure he agreed. Sometimes, Fenris caught Hawke with a wild, angry glint in her eye as she plowed through enemies with an almost sadistic glee. Fighting was the happiest he had seen her bar her time spent with Merrill or after she was permitted a visit with Bethany at the Circle.

Yet, still, Hawke persisted with Anders. The mage had only grown more rebellious and unstable since they had met. Fenris did not despise him, but Anders set his teeth on edge in a way Fenris had not known in some time. Yet, she had left him to deal with the wounded as healer and protector while she fought the Arishok.

Upon the kill, Fenris thought she might cut off the Qunari leader’s head and hoist it up as a trophy. If she was, she never got the chance as she was rushed upon. The word ‘Champion’ echoed about the halls of the Viscount’s Keep. Before Fenris’ very eyes, the city seemed to be turned upside down. In the chaos, he managed to stumble out of the building, attempting to follow Merrill and Varric as they both rushed after Hawke.

Bethany was outside, tailing Orsino under the watchful eye of Meredith-- Shit. Where was Anders?

Templars milled about outside, keeping watch over mages who were working on healing the wounded while Aveline’s guard began lining up the dead, human, dwarf, elf, and qunari alike. There was no mess of dirty blond hair among them. No matter what he thought, Anders did a service in Darktown. Without him, the Ferelden refugees would be worse off. Instead of following whatever parade was forming around Hawke, he ducked down a side street, attempting to search for Anders.

Smoke still filled the air, making Fenris cough as he attempted to plunge ahead. Loud wailing was still echoing in the streets, amid the cheers of victory. Loss had still struck everyone fiercely. While he searched for Anders, he also kept his eyes peeled for Isabela. Wherever she had left to go to, he had a sinking feeling that she was never coming back.

Neither deep black curls nor a dirty blond mop was what caught his eye. Instead, it was Aveline’s flash of bright ginger hair. And, safe from templars, Anders was next to her. Fenris found himself surprisingly sighing with relief. He had worried for nothing. Carefully, he approached them.

“This is your fault,” Anders snapped, teeth grit as he tried to control Justice.

Aveline snarled, “What? Saving you from templars?”

“No! The Qunari attack!” he replied, “Much as I appreciate you getting me out of there.”

“Isabela stole that tome,” muttered Aveline, crossing her arms, “That’s what started this.”

“Isabela stole that stupid book ages ago. Then you let that… that monster get away with raping a girl!” Blue crackled at the edges of Anders’ eyes, which he shut, quickly as he tried to slow his breathing. His self-control after a long day of casting and healing was reaching its limit.

Aveline rubbed her nose bridge in frustration, “Anders, honestly, I don’t know what you expect me to do--”

“Punish the guard?” offered Anders, “Or would that be too much effort because the victim was an elf? I didn’t realize we were in Tevinter.”

“That was uncalled for,” snarled Aveline, clearly close to losing her patience.

Quickly, nearly fade-stepping to get there, Fenris went forward, taking Anders by the shoulders. Justice flashed, but Anders merely looked alarmed at being touched. His eyes narrowed on Aveline, who instead just looked relieved that someone else had interrupted them. He nodded at her slowly.

“Hawke asked me to escort him back to Darktown,” he said, “Go to your guards.”

“Be safe,” she said before turning to leave.

Anders scoffed, pulling away from Fenris and trudging ahead, “I should be out there healing.”

“You can deal with the injured that make it to the clinic,” sighed Fenris.

He crossed his arms, trudging forward, “Did Hawke really ask you to come check on me? I figured she’d send someone else. Varric, maybe, or--”

“She’s too busy entertaining the masses,” admitted Fenris, “I wanted to make sure you did not get caught by the templars.”

“Me?” Anders scoffed, “Why do you care?”

Why do you care about the lives of elves? Fenris wanted to ask. Yet… He knew why. While the Spirit within Anders could ebb and flow between Justice and Vengeance, Fenris knew that the Anders had originally allowed a spirit in him. Anders had stories of Justice and their time with the Grey Wardens as separate people. Letting the guard go unpunished was unjust, no matter who the victim was, but as usual it was elves who saw the short end of the stick.

Despite every notion Fenris had of the other man, Anders continued to prove himself dedicated to the people, even if those people were usually mages. Everyone was welcome at his clinic, from refugees to the Seneschal himself. Many things Anders did annoyed Fenris, but his dedication and passion were to be admired. To see a spark of joy when healing, that was something Fenris could respect. Maybe he even wanted to, if he would just let himself.

Hawke expected his loyalty-- she had it, of course, but she still expected it. When that loyalty was questioned, she made sure you knew about it. When he had run off after killing Hadriana, she had made her position known. If Fenris wanted to do that again, he better damn well wait until they got back to Kirkwall so they weren’t romping across the Wounded Coast without help. Her anger had shamed him.

A few nights later, he had brought Anders dinner. The practice was not uncommon among the group, but it happened when Anders failed to show up at the Hanged Man. Usually, they played a round of Wicked Grace to see who took the meal. Fenris had been the first out, thus the man to take the meal. Anders had been finishing up with a patient-- a little elven girl with a scraped knee. The injury was hardly worth the time of a healer with Anders’ caliber, yet Fenris watched as he distracted her with jokes while healing her knee. Once he was done, he patted it, making her smile before he dug around for a bit, pulling out a sweet. Most of them were stale, but the refugee children hardly cared, always pleased that the healer had candy for them.

When he saw Fenris, Anders had asked him if he was okay. There was no yelling about Fenris’ comment about how magic spoiled everything--though Anders had made a snide remark when he had spoken it. No, concern lined the wrinkles of Anders’ face as he graciously took the meal, double and triple checking that Fenris didn’t need healing or something to help. Once that was over with, Anders huffed, told Fenris he was stubborn, thanked him for the meal, and reminded him to clean the up mansion before he caught something from the corpses.

“Hear this now,” he said, “I will always come for you. That is a promise.”

ACT III

Smoke had a horrible, overwhelming scent. After the Qunari attack, he didn’t have the stomach to even enjoy a good campfire anymore. But watching the rubble of the Chantry smolder before him sent a revulsion through his gut. Why did Anders always have to be such a fool? Why couldn’t he just wait for the conflict to run its inevitable course?

Hawke did not ask for their opinions. Sebastian was furious-- so was she. Merrill had her hands clasped at her heart as they watched Aingheal Hawke walk around Anders like a predatory animal. For prey, he looked remarkably calm, sad, even.

Run, you idiot. Petrify her and run for your life.

Anders didn’t move. He wanted to die. Fenris felt sick.

“I trusted you,” hissed Hawke, “I made you part of my family; I protected you. Then you LIE to me, have me help you do this.”

“The war is inevitable,” said Anders, “Justice and I have done what had to be done. Kill me if you will and be done with it.”

“You put my WIFE in danger! You put my SISTER in danger!” Hawke raised a fist, bashing it across the side of Anders’ head.

“Vhennan, no!” exclaimed Merril, “Don’t kill ‘im. He can help us protect the mages, please.”

“He doesn’t deserve to live!” bit back Sebastian.

Hawke growled, “Do not speak to her that way! Merrill, I can’t. He’s too dangerous. He’s… He’s not the Anders we knew. Not anymore.”

Fenris felt his fist clench at his side. These theatrics were ridiculous-- there was a city to save. And, to be frank, either they chose Anders to die as he pleased or they went with Merrill’s plan. Hawke had seemingly chosen the former. Tears streamed down Merrill’s cheeks as she looked away, her wife hoisting her greatsword high. Fenris felt his insides twist.

He remembered the Anders he thought he knew. Once upon a time, that man had been an abomination, just a foolish mage playing Maker. Then, things had shifted. As much as he wanted things to be simple, Anders never allowed anything to be so. With his manifesto and ranting, came the healing and the gentle touches. Even when he himself forgot to eat, he never let anyone else forget. He would risk hair and hide in battle to protect others.

One night, not long after Hawke had been dubbed the Champion, Anders had admitted to Fenris that he had not always been so selfless. Justice was what brought out the best in him-- that if Fenris hated him now, he would have loathed the Anders of the Circle or the Grey Wardens, all flirt and wit and self-serving. Somehow, Fenris doubted that was the whole story.

Each passing day over the last three years, he found he craved it more. Was Anders really so different? Or was he exaggerating in an effort to self-loathe everything about himself? One minute he was witty and charismatic the next he seemed to gain ten years from exhaustion. Yet, each day, that wit and charisma faded away. A demon-- not a traditional one, but some sort of sickness of the mind-- had taken hold of the healer. Had anyone tried to help him?

Varric, perhaps, refusing to give into such demands like taking a pillow that meant so much Anders. Yet, no one else knew what to do. None of them knew how to cope with this shell of their friend. But he was still there. After Danarius, Hawke had clapped him on the back, asked him if he was alright, and went on her way.

Anders had shown up that night, barging his way in, double-checking injuries he had already healed while Fenris pushed him away. It didn’t work, of course. The mage had always been too stubborn for that. No matter how easy it would be for Fenris to kill him, Anders had never feared him. He treated him like any other friend. Only a week ago, he had invited Anders to eat dinner together… privately.

And then Fenris, cowardly, had failed to show.

Showing up would not have changed this event. No, Anders was too far into this plan, he was sure. Yet, now, he could not find it in him to overthink. Firelight glinted on Hawke’s as it arched its way down. Far faster than he knew that he could run, Fenris found himself knelt at Anders’ side. His hands clutched the other man’s shoulders, before shoving him forward. Lyrium flickered to life.

Hawke’s sword passed through him. Phantom sensations touched him, but did not harm him. Anders looked at him from where he had fallen, gathering himself up as he stared at them all. His feet slid backward, his mouth attempting to make Fenris’ name. Behind him, Hawke seethed.

“Run!” he ordered, urging Anders, “Run! Hear this, I will always come for you! I will find you! Go!”

Anders nodded quickly, life suddenly seeming to spring forth in his eyes. Oh, how long had Fenris longed to see that glint again. He had not realized he had ached for it until he saw its gleam. The mage took off, rushing away and into the chaos of the street. Once he was out of sight, Fenris turned to face them. Sebastian had his bow cocked at his head while Hawke looked disgusted.

“You bastard,” she hissed, “What had gotten into you?”

“What has gotten into you?” he repeated, “Anders was your friend. More-so than he ever was mine.” And yet, his stupid, treacherous heart and all of its longing had found the sympathy to save him.

“You were right,” she sneered, “He was always an abomination. I was blind.”

“Your wife is a blood mage,” snapped Fenris, “Shall you put her to the sword next?” Merrill gasped, but he glanced at her, trying to show her that it was not something he wanted. Hawke looked appalled at such a suggestion, thank the Maker, and lowered her sword.

Hawke did not circle him like a prey animal as she did Anders. No, instead he raised her nose to him. Golden eyes, just a bit hazel and always piercing, cast their judgement down on him. In an instant, without thinking, she saw what he had done as throwing away her loyalty to save Anders. And Hawke always expected his loyalty.

“I loved you like a brother,” she said, shaking her head, “Get out. Get out of my sight. If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you both.” Merril sobbed, Varric quickly tending to her, looking unusually surly at Hawke. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t so unusual. Hawke was always funnier in his tales than she was in person. Perhaps Fenris had been blinded to something Varric had always seen.

Fenris did not say goodbye. Instead, he walked away with pride, head held high, a free man who would not be tethered to a woman who confused loyalty with ownership. Fenris owed her much, but she did not own him. And a free man was allowed to walk into whatever fate he damned well please.

Fenris chose Anders, and he knew he would keep choosing Anders every day after. All he had to do was find him.

[playlistmusings]

I am sick of the chase But I'm stupid in love (And there's nothing I can do)

 1,571 words

Jude Duarte x Cardan Greenbriar

Response to a prompt from @charrise :  “ Do you accept fanfic prompts? Because I got an idea it’s post TWK and Cardan’s wondering why Jude won’t come back and then he begins to reevaluate how he treated Jude in the past? And he realizes he treated Nicasia like a queen and Jude like dirt and he begins to wonder if Jude’s not coming back because of him and he begins to regret how he treated her?”

Cardan was pacing. It was an unfortunate habit he had picked up since becoming king, the actual king that is, one without a meddling seneschal secretly working behind the scenes. It had started at some point while Jude had been held captive by Queen Orlagh, when his days bled together because of repetitive meetings and his nights bled together because of the worry that had filled the pit of his stomach. It felt odd to be alone with his thoughts, usually when things got bad, Cardan made a point to surround himself with people and vices, in an effort to escape his mind. But those days, where all he could think about was Jude and getting her back safely, it felt wrong to surround himself with people he knew she would hate, doing things that would cause her to look at him with disdain. So, he paced.

He had hoped that the habit would be forgotten when he got her back. When he slipped the ring on her finger and proclaimed her his queen, hoping that meant that instead of pacing at night he would hold her body to his and never worry about her safety again. But then she had killed Balekin and Queen Orlagh had demanded a punishment and he had exiled her.

It had been far too long since then, far too long since Cardan had heard her voice or saw her face, and, yet she still filled his mind. He felt like when he was younger, writing Jude, Jude, Jude over and over again on paper before hiding it away in books, as if he could stop his thoughts from controlling him by forcing them onto paper. He had tried that since her exile. Writing long winded prose explaining that she should come back, that she should come home. He had not-so-subtly hinted at the loophole he had left, writing until such time as she is pardoned by the crown with such emphasis on the last word of the phrase, that he knew that lest she had, somehow, never received a single letter, then she had to understand his meaning. So he was forced to assume that she understood his meaning and chose to ignore it, chose to ignore him.

That fact hurt him more than he would admit. Throughout the whole time he had known Jude, he didn’t mind that she hated him, in fact, it usually made it easier for him, knowing that she thought of him at all, even if her thoughts were colored with anger and hatred. This time though, when he had, for once, been trying to help her, when he thought she should finally see through the cruelty and understand he didn’t want to hurt her, he just wanted her. Jude. The High Queen. His queen.

So he paced. And contemplated writing another letter.

Eventually he decided against it, less so because he thought it'd be best not to, but because the sun was slowly moving up in the sky and he knew he only had a few short hours until he’d be forced to go to a meeting and then another and end the evening with a revel. Slipping under the spider silk sheets, Cardan forced thoughts of Jude out of his mind and focused on ignoring the way his bed felt too big and cold and lonely.

-----

Cardan felt his crown tipping precariously off the edge of his head as he sat haphazardly on his throne. He was aware that he should be smiling, laughing, dancing, something other than frowning on his throne, wishing he could get drunk without seeing Jude every time he closed his eyes. To be fair, Jude was usually hidden behind his eyelids, but when he was less than sober, his mind muddy with alcohol and his inhibitions lowered, he found that her face was more vivid, that he could feel the intensity of her glare as if she were right next to him. So he didn’t drink.

He was slightly aware of Locke and Taryn and Nicasia off to his side, walking towards him with drinks in their hands and mischief in their eyes. As they approached the throne, Cardan saw Locke’s eyes catch on a faerie walking past, clearly enamored and lust driven, despite his wife’s presence at his side. It was no surprise that Locke split from the trio, leaving Taryn to wander away pretending that she wasn’t hurt by his actions. So only Nicasia was left to approach his throne, nodding her head in a small acknowledgement of his position before speaking.

“My King, wouldn’t you rather be dancing or doing something more enjoyable than sitting on your throne all alone?”

Cardan could feel a part of himself come to the surface, the other side of him reserved for his school friends and members of the court that reeked of self-importance, yet polite in the way only someone raised from birth to be a part of the gentry could master. The frown slipped from his face as he replied, “Of course, but, alas, a king must make time for his subjects to come to him with their problems.”

Cardan refused to acknowledge that when Jude was seneschal times like these were secretly one of his favorites. He would put on airs while drinking and laughing, all the while knowing Jude would always be by his side, whispering into his ear exactly what he should say and do. Now, it felt like a slap in the face to only have Nicasia by his side, someone he couldn’t banter with or insult or antagonize. The thought shot a painful jolt through his heart. Imagining the rest of his life like this: lonely, boring, sad, and all because of his actions. It was something he was loath to admit, that it was his words that caused Jude to leave, even if a part of him knew that it was a risk when he said those words on the beach, a bigger part of him hoped it wouldn’t be true. And he was wrong, so instead he was left alone with Nicasia and her pretty smiles and flirtatious words, all the while wishing she were someone else.

Something about the moment reminded him of all the revels before this mess, before the bloody coronation and Jude’s secret plot and everything, when him, Nicasia, Locke, and Valerian would walk through these same rooms, demanding respect and hurting those who refused to give it. It almost felt nice to be lost in those memories, of trysts and teenage foolishness, until Jude’s face worked its way into the memories. For every moment of satisfaction he got, there was a memory of Jude’s frown or hate shooting from her eyes, burning into his heart. It was enough for him to mumble some half-hearted apology to the direction of Nicasia as he slipped from the room into the halls that led to his chambers.

His mind felt too full, as he thought through all the times he had antagonized or hurt Jude. Flashes of her face stubbornly refusing to show weakness as he watched Valerian force faerie fruit into her mouth, glimpses of her saving Taryn from drowning in the river, all of it clicking into place in a horrid montage of his misdeeds. What struck him the hardest is that for every memory of the pain he caused Jude, there was Nicasia, standing by his side laughing or smiling, perfectly happy. Even as she toyed with his heart, leaving him for Locke, he had shown Nicasia respect and knew that she would be there as a friend— regardless of how messed up his definition of the word was. It hurt, finally acknowledging that while he only saw the kind gestures, he gave Jude, pricking her so she would stop suffering from the faerie fruit induced madness, offering her an out from his antagonizing, she must only remember the pain that he had caused, all the while treating someone half as deserving of his love and compassion more kindness than her.

It suddenly made sense why she didn’t respond to his letters or come back to him. Because even if he had thought he made his loophole clear, even if he had exaggerated the point in his letters time and time again, Jude was used to seeing the worst parts of him, of being blinded by the pain and unaware of the miniscule efforts he had made to help her.

Every memory stung like an arrow lodging its way into his skin, knowing that all of his actions were horrible, that he was horrible and cruel. Knowing that Jude must think of him as horrible and cruel, and that she was right to believe it. But the realization that right when he had earned her trust, right when Jude had seemed to let go of the memories of Cardan’s cruelty, he had exiled her, had denied her as his queen, in front of Orlagh and Nicasia, struck his heart like a dagger. And now she wasn’t coming back, because of him. Because he was everything she must think him to be, a wicked king, undeserving of love or respect, least of all from her.

So, when he arrived back in his room, thinking of all his regrets, refusing to let himself remember anything but the truth of how he hurt the one woman he would do anything for, he paced.

————

So, I lied, and I wrote this all in one sitting instead of starting my school work. Which means that I am apparently better at getting things written in a timely matter than I thought I was, but I am also apologetic if this isn’t the best because I should probably edit it more, but oh well. Anyways, I hope you liked it and that it was sort of what you had in mind, I feel like I’m not that good at writing angst but I tried my best :)  (Title from Killer by Phoebe Bridgers, which side note I feel like is such a Jude and Cardan song but that may just be because I listened to Stranger In The Alps while reading this series oops)

[thewickedkings]

Tell Me What You’re Thinking

jurdan7 said:                                                                

- “I don’t deserve you. I never did.”~~~ jurdan pls💕from the angsty prompts dialogue for the 600 follower celebration! Congrats luv!!! I can’t wait to see what you come up with💖

Thank you so much for the prompt!! I had a lot of fun writing this, especially for my first time writing in the canon-verse. Title is based off a random song called Misery by Michigander that came on my recommended and I kept replaying while I wrote this. I just have to say though... this is very, very angsty. Read at your own risk.

Jude rubs her eyes, picking up her pen to respond to another of the many inquiries piled up on her desk. She knows she should go to bed, but she finds herself purposefully delaying herself yet again.

In the few months that have passed since her official coronation, she has found that she almost prefers being the seneschal, where she didn’t have to hide behind the guise of formality. Being Queen comes with many responsibilities, from coordinating diplomatic relations and hosting formal banquets. But recently, there is one responsibility that is weighing her down the most, that is keeping her hiding behind stacks of paperwork avoiding her problems.

After two more letters, Jude stacks them neatly in a pile to go over with Cardan later and resigns herself to return to her room. It is late in Faerie; sunlight streams through the windows, and most Fae would already be in bed.

She silently pushes open the door to their shared chambers. The room is dark, drapes covering the windows, except for a single lantern burning softly on the side table. She slips off her gown and changes into her night clothes and turns to their bed, expecting Cardan to be fast asleep. Instead, she finds him sitting up with a book in his lap, shirtless and with his dark curls mussed, as if he’s been running his hands through them. Even in the dim light, she can see the exhaustion lining his face, the shadows lingering beneath his eyes.

“Ah, so my wife finally decides to join me.”

Her heart sinks. She responds with a forced smile, and slides beneath the sheets, turning her back to Cardan. She knows he’s going to ask her questions she won’t know how to answer. She still doesn’t know how to do this, how to talk to him, tell him what’s on her mind. She knows she should, but fear gnaws in her chest at the thought.

He grasps her arm gently, turning her around to face him. He scoots down in the bed until he’s lying next to her. His eyes scan over her face in the faint light, brows furrowed, trying to puzzle her out. She shuts her eyes against the concern in his gaze, willing herself to keep her expression neutral. To blot out the whispers that had been making their way through castle and worming their way through her thoughts, making her second guess this wondrous thing between them. “Where are you right now?” he murmurs softly.

It’s too intimate, the way he’s looking at her, laying on his side in the faint candlelight. Despite their progress over the last few months, she still finds her armor flaring up. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Cardan sits up, and she falters at the coldness in his expression. “No, you’re not.”

“What?”

He grits his teeth. “You’ve been distant. You’re not talking to me.”

“Cardan, that’s not-“

He cuts her off. “Don’t tell me I’m making this up. Your visits to the mortal world are getting longer and longer and you’re shutting me out. You wait until after I’m asleep to come to bed. You don’t-” He clenches his fists. “You don’t smile at me like you used to. I feel you going away.”

Jude knows him well enough to see that his cold exterior is covering a deep hurt. And yet she cannot tell him the truth. She cannot tell him about what she’s heard, the people wondering whether if there will be an heir, and most of all, wondering if the King would settle for a half-mortal heir. “I’m not shutting you out.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

She hugs her arms around herself, and Cardan’s voice softens. “You can tell me what is bothering you. I will be here with you, no matter the case.”

She sits up, avoiding his gaze. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He stiffens. “No matter what you may think, I am not stupid, Jude.”

Guilt hits her like a tidal wave. She’s hurting him, but she doesn’t know how to fix this. She tries to think, but her thoughts are muddled. “I don’t think you’re stupid. You know that.”

“Right now, I feel as though I am.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “Cardan, I can’t do this right now.”

She immediately feels his anger. “Then when, Jude? Tell me. You can’t keep avoiding this, avoiding me, forever.”

Panic fills her body, and she knows if she doesn’t leave right now, this will get worse. She stands up from the bed and walks towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Cardan’s voice is hard.

“I’m going to visit Oak and Vivi.”

Cardan gets up and moves to block the door, his voice betraying an edge of panic. “You can’t leave like this.”

“What is it Jude?” When she avoids his gaze, he pauses. “Is it really so bad you’re going to leave? What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything Cardan.” She knows he won’t give up, so she lies. “I just- I need a break from all this.” She gestures her hand in the air.

Cardan rears back as if she struck him. When he responds, his voice is brittle, edged in steel. “A break. I see.”

Crap, she’s ruining this. She leans towards him. “Cardan-”

“If you need to go, then don’t let me stop you.”

“Cardan, wait.”

He steps back from her. “No, you’re right.” He laughs humorlessly. “I don’t deserve you. I never did. And I know that, Jude. I know you could walk away from me right this second and there would be nothing I could do about it.”

He pauses. “My biggest fear, Jude, is that I will wake up and you will be gone again, that you will realize how much better you can do than me. And it would tear my heart out of my chest. But if you need a break from this, from me,” he spits out, “I won’t stop you.”

Jude’s heart is bleeding, bleeding for the pain she’s causing him. Her words are stuck in her throat. She stumbles towards him, but he pulls away, again.

“Cardan, no,” she chokes out. “I was going to come back. I want to be here. With you.”

“Then tell me,” he says, not a demand but a plea. “Tell me what is wrong.”

She swallows, looking at the floor. “I can’t.”

He pulls away from her, eyes going vacant. “Then go. Leave.”

“What?” she whispers.

He turns his back on her, as if he can’t stand to look at her any longer. “Take your break. Come back if you’re ready to tell me the truth.”

Later, when Vivi opens the door to her apartment to see Jude, eyes rimmed with red and a small bag slung over her shoulder, she sighs and steps back, letting her in.

~~~

Part Two is now posted here :)

I mean... I did warn you? *inserts evil laugh* I’ll go hide now.

Also, I have a lot of people tagged for Between the Two of Us but I don’t know if you guys will want to be tagged for my other writing. I’ll probably make a separate tag list for my other writing, so if you want to be added, let me know!

[booklover41802]

Could you do a Jurdan fanfic sequel where Cardan eventually wins back Jude’s love? The sequel to your Cardan finding Jude on a date and gets jealous fanfic?

Of course!! This was one of my favorite prompts to write. I absolutely love Jurdan with all my heart.

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Cardan

Day 1

With Jude’s return, Cardan had issued a revel be thrown in honor of their Queen. The folk had no objections, as they never passed up an opportunity to drink and party.

However, though his Jude had returned with him to Faerie, he had left bloodshed and heartbreak in his wake in his quest to bring her home. The consequences of his actions had not been worth what he had done to his love, who was his no longer. 

Cardan studied Jude on the throne next to his, noting the blank stare, and rigidity in her limbs. One would almost think she was a statue if she didn’t blink from time to time. Cardan was worried this state of being was permanent. There was no fire, no wicked triumph flickering through her stance. A blank nothingness now sat where his lively Jude had once resided. “Jude, darling, would you like to dance?” He’d asked her many things before, and she hadn’t responded, but perhaps this time…

He leaned forward and rested his fingers under his chin in mild contemplation. Jude’s chest slowly inhaled and exhaled, her stare fixed straight ahead on the revel that celebrated without the two of them. The briefest dance of pain shot across her brown eyes before that too vanished and was replaced by a vacant expression that she so often donned.

Cardan should give her space, after all, she did lose her mortal love due to his own pride. If only he had just listened to her and explained himself. Even given her an egregious declaration of love, perhaps things would be different. 

Then, just as he was about to resume his grumpy posture on the throne, she mechanically turned her head and whispered, “Not with you. Not again.” For a moment her hand came up and fingered the pearl necklace around her throat before once again facing the revel, as though she hadn’t just knocked the wind out of him.

Cardan didn’t quite know what to do. He was a terrible husband.

The revel shouted and danced and drank while he sunk further into his sorrows with each passing minute. Jude hated him, and he did not know how to live with that realization. A straggler stumbling past offered him a cup of wine, and he heartily gulped it down, hoping to drown out his thoughts.

Day 2

With a light knock, Cardan announced his arrival at Jude’s doors. She had been reinstated into her old chambers when she’d been seneschal, keeping the door locked at all times. The human heart was a fickle thing, yet he was sure it could be persuaded with an astounding declaration. Or was he the fool for not understanding the emotions of his love? 

As if to spare him from his conflicting thoughts, the door slowly creaked open, revealing Jude within. Dark circles coated the underside of her red eyes, indicating she hadn’t slept one bit. Despite her appearance, however, she was dressed in a high neck onyx dress. Lace appliques adorned the bodice and the sleeves of the gown. The only thing she needed now was a veil, and she’d be complete for a funeral. “What do you want?” Her voice was low, cold. 

He was not wanted here, that much he knew. He brought his hand up to his mouth and cleared his throat. “I wanted to invite you on a stroll about the castle. Doing so day after day by myself is quite lonesome, wouldn’t you agree?”

The response he received was a spark of fire lighting her features, her gaze burning through him. It was almost like a warning that if he stepped any closer to the flames, he’d get burned by the heat. “It’s almost as lonesome as spending your entire life alone, wouldn’t you agree? Without a lover, life seems a bit empty, yes?”

He wasn’t stupid enough to suggest that they were lovers, and she needn’t look any farther for such things. It was his fault she was in this state of mind. “Of course. Perhaps we could share a meal later together if you are not up for a walk.”

“Perhaps.” The door proceeded to shut in his face, no definite answer given to him. Cardan sank down to the floor and rested his head against the wooden paneling. He was pathetic. He could run Faerie just fine, but when it came to Jude, he was lost. Maybe it would just be better for him to sit and wait outside her room until they were to eat. 

Just for a few minutes, he would wait. But he was awfully tired after getting no sleep last night. He would shut his eyes for a moment and then get back to work. A few minutes.... that’s all.

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He was startled awake when he seemed to fall backward for no apparent reason. The reason became clear as he lay on the floor of Jude’s room, the door clearly having been opened by her. Her mouth was open in an o shape, the most emotion he’d seen from her in days. He grinned ridiculously at her, causing the blank mask to once again fall into place. “You look beautiful,” he said, admiring the way the sun hit her eyes. They were a caramel glow against her smooth skin. 

“So I’ve been told.”

Quickly he slid into a standing position, casually leaning against the doorframe, acting as though he hadn’t fallen asleep outside her door. He had no idea how long he’d been out, and he felt too embarrassed to ask. “My dearest, Jude, I beseech you to accompany me to the dining hall.” For good measure, he sinuously bowed, smirking at her beneath lowered brows.

She released her grip on the door and backed away a few steps. “It’s only two in the afternoon.” 

“Ah...so it is.” This meant he had been sleeping for… four hours. Were his cheeks burning? He could feel a blush creeping up his face at the realization he’d fallen asleep outside his wife’s door for hours. What his advisors must think of the king who can’t stay away from his love. 

“Were you waiting outside my door this entire time?”

His eyes darted around the room, not wanting to meet her fierce gaze. “No. I-I got a lot of work done today. I didn’t fall asleep outside your door, no.”

Her forehead creased as she looked at him in confusion. “I didn’t say you fell asleep… did you?”

He checked his wrist, exclaiming, “Oh, look at the time, I have important things to do you know! The High King has time for no one.” She still looked so utterly bewildered that he blurted out, “Except you, of course, I’ll always make time for you. Good night!” And with that, he bolted out the door, leaving a trail of embarrassment behind him. “Idiot,” he murmured under his breath.

He walked very fast to his room after that, to avoid another awkward encounter. He didn’t trust himself to spout coherent thoughts at the moment.

Day 7

One week since Jude had returned with him to Faerie, and she still wore nothing other than black and gray, the colors of mourning. Was she mourning for the life she could have had, or for the boy who offered her his heart? Cardan could never give her safety and security like the boy could. There was nothing similar between the two of them, and Cardan was quite jealous over that.

He cut into his food a bit more savagely. “Are you planning to scowl like that all evening, your majesty?” At the sound of Nicasia’s voice cutting through the hall, he whipped his head into the air. Why was she here? She was interrupting a wonderful meal between him and Jude, even though they were seated on opposite ends of the table, and Jude hadn’t responded to him once. 

Nicasia’s strut through the wide, double doors radiated confidence, which is why Cardan was surprised when she practically fell on him. Her slim fingers roved against the fabric on his shoulders, inching her way up towards his face. “What are you doing here, Nicasia,” Cardan bit out, annoyed at her presence. 

She pouted, her eyes glittering with disappointment. “Is that any way to greet an old friend, Cardan?” Cardan took a page out of Jude’s book and stared at her blankly. Nicasia rolled her eyes and elegantly dropped into the chair on his right-hand side. As if she was invited. As if she was wanted here. “I was tasked by the Undersea to bring the peace treaty.” 

“Peace treaty?” He raised a brow, his gaze darting to Jude. The way she was looking at Nicasia, one would think she was trying to singe her where she sat. Was Jude… jealous?

Nicasia jabbered on and on, but Cardan was exhilarated by this thought. He couldn’t even focus on the conversation. He cut Nicasia off with a hand and rose to his feet. The legs of the chair scraped back menacingly in the silence that now echoed in the room. “Send the paperwork up to my chambers, I’ll sign what is necessary.” He ignored her sputters and threats, focusing on Jude.

Her face betrayed nothing, but Cardan was sure he didn’t mistake the look she had given Nicasia. He strode by her chair, letting his tail wrap around her arm that was under the table. She inhaled imperceptibly. 

Cardan smirked as he exited the room. 

Day 30

Though Cardan had signed a peace treaty with the Undersea kingdom, they still felt the need to declare an all-out war between land and sea if Jude wasn’t handed over to them. It seems as though Nicasia had whispered a few twisted statements to her mother. Both of the women believed they were entitled to Cardan’s right to rule. Humans can’t be the High Queen, Nicasia had sneered.

Cardan had brushed her off, but maybe he shouldn’t have. Things had been going so well with Jude, that he had ignored Nicasia’s attempts at flirting. All he seemed to make were mistakes these days.

He sighed as yet another hurricane swirled and churned just on the borders between their kingdoms. For days the Undersea had been taunting them all with thinly veiled threats. If by the end of the week, Jude still resided within the castle, their land would be destroyed. Queen Orlagh did not take well to a human queen on the throne. 

Muttering under his breath, he shoved himself out of his chair and stalked out of his room to do something incredibly stupid.

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Cardan softly knocked on Jude’s door, waiting for the telltale sound of her feet pattering against the ground. When the door swung open, Cardan was surprised that she wasn’t wearing her mourning clothes anymore. Instead, she wore a royal blue tunic, and dark pants over soft, leather boots. The pearl necklace still lingered at her throat, though. She looked to him with expectant eyes. “Are you here because of what the Undersea is demanding?”

He fidgeted with his hand. The words were practically jumping off his lips, words he had kept silent for so long. “Yes I-”

“I’ll go. I’ll do what Queen Orlagh wants.” 

Needless to say, Cardan didn’t expect that answer. “Actually, I was going to say that I was about to head to the shore to try and work things out without you there.”

She shook her mane of curly hair, her lips downturned. “I’m the reason Orlagh and Nicasia are threatening to turn Faerie into a landslide. It’s only fair I offer myself up.”

Cardan dared a step into her room, and when she didn’t object, he took another until they were close enough to kiss. But Cardan merely grasped her hands and held them in his own. “My darling, you are the light of my life, and I admire your courage, but you are not to face the Undersea again.” The way Jude had been after coming back from being in their clutches for a month was not something he wanted to relive. “I wanted to tell you something before I left.”

“What is it?”

He took a breath, preparing himself for rejection. “No matter what has happened between us these last few months, I love you more than the moon loves the sun, more than the stars love the sky. You are my one true love, and I never want you to believe otherwise.”

A shocked expression overtook her, her grip going slack. Cardan was sure this was a sign of rejection and quickly fled to the Undersea, where he planned to offer himself in her stead. It was the only way. 

Day 31

After offering himself to Queen Orlagh and being laughed off, he had returned to the castle, dejected, but with a plan. He had requested the queen meet with him again for a different negotiation, and she had begrudgingly agreed. This time, he would bring Jude with him, but he was the High King of Elfhame. The land responded to him and his will. He would either bring down the entire Undersea or die trying.

If he died, it was of no consequence to him as long as his Jude was safe. As long as Jude made it out alive, his quest would be a success. She had slowly opened up to him as the weeks had passed. She now kept her door open for Cardan at all times. 

As the pair of them exited the castle together, hand in hand, Cardan felt an exuberant burst of joy exploding in his heart. “What are you planning to offer the Undersea?” Jude asked, turning towards him, with an adorable scrunch to her forehead.

“What they desire the most.” Bloodshed.

“I know you tried to barter for yourself to be their prisoner instead of me. You know I can handle myself against them, I don’t need you to protect me against the world.”

He tried a grin and immediately felt it slide it off his face. Today wasn’t the day for side smirks and debauchery. “I am fully aware of what you are capable of, Jude. But do you not think for a second that I am protecting my heart? It may be cracked, and in shambles, yet you carry it. I do not want to lose it quite so soon.”

“Cardan-” Jude was cut off as the sandy border of the Undersea came into view. Queen Orlagh and Nicasia hovered just below the surface.

“How sweet, the faerie confessing his love to the mortal.” Nicasia sneered, snickering behind her hands. 

“What have you come to offer us this time, Cardan, High King of Elfhame.” Orlagh ignored her daughter and examined Cardan with suspicion coating her features. It was clear that there was no trust between both parties. 

Cardan released his hand from Jude’s, feeling the vibrations of the land, along with the sea. He took a breath and moved his hand through the air, drawing up his connection. It felt like a small tingling sensation at first, but gradually pinpricks of light punctured the air, drawn to his touch. His gaze landed on Nicasia who had drawn herself up out of the water, legs replacing her tail.

Cardan smirked and released the tension building up in his chest. Immediately Nicasia was pulled against a tree and held in a lover’s embrace by the branches. She shrieked and yelled for Orlagh. “I offer you your daughter unharmed if you do not concede to my rule. I do not wish to be a tyrant, but I will become one if you do not let my chain of succession be. I have chosen Jude, and you will not interfere with my affairs again.” To prove his point, the branches squeezed Nicasia tighter. 

Torn between saving her successor, and winning this fight, Orlagh said, “You are not the green boy everyone says, your majesty. It seems you do have a skill set worth keeping an eye on. But,” she smiled, “Humans have no right to this land. That much I will never admit.”

“And you are not the mighty Queen everyone believes you to be. You are no more than a power-hungry creature who grapples for a position that is slipping out of your grasp.”

Jude took a small step forward. “Human I may be, but you were the arrogant one who did not deign to check if I was able to be glamoured. You are the reason I was banished in the first place. I accept your right to rule, as much as you accept mine.” Jude’s chin jutted out in a show of confidence. There was nothing but pure, unrelenting rage raging in the depths of her eyes. She wanted revenge and she was about to explode. 

Orlagh glanced between the three of them and noticed how Jude’s hand curled into a fist. Noticed how the land began to respond to her movements. Noticed how a boulder was suddenly rocketing its way towards the tree where Nicasia was encased. “I concede! I accept your right to rule. Just give me back my daughter unharmed.”

Cardan and Jude smiled, grinning with their teeth. Nicasia was released, the branches of the tree slithering back to its normal position. The bounder stopped its descent inches from wreaking havoc upon the bark. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Orlagh’s jaw clenched. “Leave my daughter alone, and I will leave your… wife unharmed.”

“I would love nothing more.”

Nicasia stumbled back into the water, throwing reproachful looks our way. 

But it mattered not to me, not as Jude looked at me, truly looked at me, and grinned. Her eyes softly shone, in a way that they hadn’t done in quite some time.

Day 65

Two months after Jude’s return and she no longer was the silent piece of marble she was when she first arrived back in Elfhame. The pair of them had shared the same bed for the first time in a long time. Her scent of citrus and oak trees imprinted itself into the sheets.

Nothing had happened last night, save for the intimacy of being close. Yet somehow they had ended up in each other’s arms sometime during the night. Her warmth seeped into his clothes, creating a bubble of security around the two of them. He ran a slow, steady hand through her thick mane of hair. Her lids remain firmly shut, but he could see her eyes rapidly moving. Carefully so not to disturb her, Cardan traced a light finger across her smooth skin.

He craved touch, and intimacy with her like he had never had with anyone before. He’d had lovers in the past, but with Jude, he wanted everything. He couldn’t contain his selfish desires, wanting her all to himself. He leaned forward and delicately pressed a kiss onto her forehead.

Before he could move away, she cracked open an eye and took him in. He didn’t dare move, not as she looked very intently into his face. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he breathed.

 For a few moments, Jude didn’t say anything, as she took him in. Her eyes were still sleepy, and her lips upturned in a small smile. Cardan ran a hand across her bare arms, while she shivered, goosebumps rising across her flesh. “If I’m waking up next to you, I don’t mind being woken.” 

Cardan was dumbstruck by how alluring her morning voice was. She was so unlike the sharp queen in moments of wakefulness. She was… gorgeous. Her sleep mussed hair, and… Cardan blushed as he realized she was wearing one of his shirts. He had passed out before her, so he didn’t know she had put it on. “You’re wearing my clothes,” he stammered out. He didn’t know how to react. His inner heart flared up with desire, as he realized what this meant. She was no longer keeping him at a distance. As if they were the most natural movements in the world, he shifted his weight so he was on top of her.

His arms wrapped around her middle, while his head nestled between her shoulder blades and neck. He hardly dared a breath, as Jude said,  “I missed you, Cardan. Even when I hated you, I wanted you.” His breath caught in his throat, he wasn’t prepared for such an open and honest statement. “I’m yours, I always have been. Despite what occurred in the mortal world, my guilty heart still desires you.”

His tail wrapped around her ankle and pulled her closer as if she might disappear at any moment. “I beseech you to forgive me for all the wrongs I have committed in your name.”

“All is well, you were forgiven long ago. I feel immense guilt, but I can’t stay away from you any longer, Cardan. You almost sacrificed yourself me, how can I be angry with you when you would give up everything for me?”

He could feel her heartbeat thundering under her skin. “How could I not wish to give up everything, if it meant that you would be happy? My darling Jude, I desperately missed you. I was lost when you were away. You are the light that guides me through life. When you were angry with me, I did not know what to do. I will never make that mistake again.”

Her hand came up and brushed down the side of his face with reverence. “I did not like being angry with you, either. Let’s agree to never do such foolish things again.”

“Never again.”

In the silence that accompanied their shared bond, Jude sighed in content. “I love you, Cardan.”

Tears pricked Cardan’s eyes as he shifted a few inches. She really truly loved him, the monster that destroyed her life. His voice broke as he whispered, “I love you too, Jude. More than anything I ever have before.”

The High King and Queen of Elfhame stayed clutching one another, bonded by their love for one another, vowing to never part again.

Tags: @illyrian-bookworm, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @webcraft4eveh

[snusbandxknifewife]

STICKY FICKY 4

Y’all, I’m sorry lmao yes I really did write this shit and yes I’m really posting it 😂 Do y’all have any idea how hard it is to write budding attraction in a crack fic about fucking sticky hands? Somebody save me

~~~~~~~~~

Jude Duarte, Seneschal to the High King of Elfhame, didn’t often find herself intoxicated. Whether it be from lacking access to wine that could be considered safe for mortals, or from lacking the time and opportunity to truly enjoy that wine, alcohol was the one poison she didn’t regularly partake of.

But, she supposed there was a time for everything, and the time for Jude to angrily drown her sorrows in wine had come today.

Cardan Greenbriar, High King of Elfhame and perpetual pain in her ass, had taken it upon himself to get uproariously drunk and offend a visiting dignitary or seven from the lower courts at that night’s revel. Leaving his Seneschal to pick up the pieces, he’d then retired to his rooms with an orgy’s volume of people and promptly lit his bed on fire. Again.

So after a night spent putting fire after literal fire out, Jude had decided to bead down to the Court of Shadows and burrow her way to the bottom of a bottle. She’d been remarkably successful, chasing off even the Roach, who was typically quite willing to help one drink to forget.

Nearly five months with Cardan under her control had already passed, her one year and one day was almost halfway over and she didn’t have even the slightest clue of how to extend her hold on him or keep the crown on his head past that day. As she buried her face in her hands, the world still spinning even behind her closed eyelids, she started to wonder if it was even worth thinking about while this drunk.

“You’re thinking loudly enough to raise the dead.”

She startled as a familiar object wrapped around one of her wrists, a sticky hand lightly smacking against her cheek before unraveling and flying back towards where the High King leaned against the doorway. She hadn’t even heard him come in, she must have reached record levels of intoxication.

As she looked over towards him, hoping he hadn’t noticed how he’d surprised her, her heart fell. The cruel smirk plastered across his lips told her everything she needed to know, though the red stains of wine dripping down his moon-pale skin were abundant enough to give her hope he wouldn’t remember in the morning.

“Why do you always have that wretched thing on you?” She lowered her hands and reached for her wine bottle, leaning back so far in her chair that she almost fell.

“Oh my darling god, you should know it’s always a new one,” he said with a smile, pulling his own wine bottle from behind his back and advancing towards her.

She didn’t comment as he took a seat across the stone table, propping up his feet and downing a swig of wine in solidarity.

His tail swished violently, coming to rest on top of his ankles with the soft tuft tap-tap-tapping against the top of one of his boots. She found herself almost hypnotized by the movement, staring at it for gods only knew how long.

“Your tail is out,” she finally lamely offered when she noticed him grinning at her, his teeth looking all the more sharpened in her intoxicated state.

“That tends to happen when I undress.”

She hoped he didn’t notice how her eyebrow twitched in annoyance with that announcement. She knew he’d been up in his rooms with an impressive amount of people, she’d figured he’d been partaking in some rather lascivious acts. Why should she be surprised he would’ve been undressed?

Why was she jealous?

“I’d think that, if I had a tail, I’d prefer to keep the delicate little thing hidden safely away from fires,” she announced, looking away from his face just in time to catch his tail curling around his abdomen almost fearfully. “And curious courtiers who would pull at it.”

“Would you pull at my tail, my darling Jude?” She didn’t look up at his words, not interesting in seeing any mocking on his face.

She turned the bottom of her drink skyward, chasing bubbles as they floated up into the abysmally empty bottle. The green glass cast a delicate, mossy hue over her amber eyes, making the High King suck his breath in.

“After what you did tonight, I’d pull your tail off and eat it raw in front of you,” she blamed the wine for her rash words as she fixed her gaze back on Cardan. He winced, one hand going protectively to the tuft of his tail and the other swinging wide, sending his sticky hand straight for her.

She also blamed the wine for how she didn’t move fast enough, for how she let that pink sticky hand—glittery this time, a gift Oak had been particularly excited to send—hit her dead center in the forehead.

THWAP

“Oh my sweet little villain, don’t torture me with promises of pleasure that you don’t plan to follow through with,” he recovered quickly, his tail unwrapping and coming back to rest stop his shoes. “And, I beg of you, don’t bother me with talk of courtiers and politics when my head swims so.”

“And what would you have me to instead?” She snorted at him and then did her very best to ignore his momentary flash of emotion.

“Play with me.” He sent the sticky hand flying.

And, this time, she caught it without thinking.

His eyes sparkled with mischief as they sat, time suspended, a gods damned sticky hand the only thing between them.

Then he unlooped the hand from around his finger, letting it fly towards her.

She looked down, studying it for a moment before giving in and looping the toy around the index finger of her right hand. Then, she looked back up, cocked her arm back, let the hand fly—

And missed terribly.

Cardan let out a roar of laughter, the sound shocking in the surrounding silence of the empty room. As her face contorted in a scowl and she tried again—and missed again—he continued laughing at her, his cruel little laugh sounding far too pretty to her intoxicated self.

“Who would’ve thought the master marksman would be bested by a cheap gadget of her own world’s making?” As he mocked her, his grin looking painfully similar to the one he wore when he spoke of her looks the day of the failed coronation, she continued to get irrationally more angry. She kept trying to hit him, kept failing, kept letting the sticky hand whiff through the air.

Then she would’ve landed a hit on his shoulder, but he’d already moved to a standing position—far too gracefully for his drunken state, at least in her opinion.

He offered her a hand and she looked up in confusion, her brow raised at him.

“Allow me to help you properly wield a sticky hand,” he said. “I can’t have my Seneschal and lead spy so woefully incapable of handling a weapon.”

It must’ve been the wine coursing through her system, but she decided to take his hand. She let him pull her to a standing position and lead her into the weapons room where targets lined the walls. She let him position himself behind her, his chest strong against her back and his soft breathing tickling the hair that had come loose from her plaits.

He ran a hand down her arm before encompassing her fist in his own, his other arm laid across hers and keeping her pressed into his embrace.

“It’s a lot like skipping rocks,” he whispered in her ear, pulling her throwing arm back with his own and angling her elbow properly. “You have to envision where you want the hand to hit.”

THWAP

Together they sent the glittery pink sticky hand directly at the target’s bullseye.

Jude tried to ignore how her heart sped up, how her breathing became labored, how Cardan’s tail rose to wrap around her middle. She couldn’t help the shiver she let out as the soft tuft on the end ran across the sensitive inside of her elbow. Behind her, the High King tilted his head, feeling the brush of her hair against his cheek and allowing his eyes to flutter closed.

THWAP

Another bullseye

THWAP

The hand slapped against the hilt of a sword, cast aside by someone too lazy to put it up.

THWAP

What was she doing? Was her head swimming from the alcohol or from the scent of him?

THWAP

“That’s much better,” he praised and her heart absolutely ached with something she wasn’t prepared to understand.

She stepped out of his embrace rather forcefully, trying to hide how her steps shook and her breathing was coming in ragged bursts. He was watching her discomfort with sad eyes and a smile just like the one he wore when she tied him up all those moons ago.

“I’ve an early day tomorrow,” she lied, turning on her heel and fleeing.

She ignored the empty wine bottles on the table as she passed, ignored the pounding in her head and the way the world lurched with every turn. When she made it back to her rooms and slammed the secret door behind her, she didn’t even think to take off her boots before crawling into bed.

She couldn’t remember what had been said at the revel that night, she didn’t know what her duties were for the next day, she couldn’t recall if the king’s chambers had been burned earlier that day or the one before. She was so lost in her drink and confusion that memories and dreams bled together, none of them feeling even remotely right or real.

And when she woke the next morning with a head pounding so badly that she went racing for a chamberpot to be sick in, she didn’t remember why a pink glittery sticky hand was wrapped around her right index finger.

~~~~~~~~

I was trying to channel the pottery making scene from Ghost but it didn’t work lmao have some straight up ShitTM from lex you’ll get angst and pining next update I promise so PREPARE YOURSELVES

Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @hizqueen4life @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thewickedkings @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @cheekycheekycheeks @queen-of-glass @b00kworm @doingmyrainbow

[jeanjauthor]

Hello I think thinking more high born ladies, in typically England or even France16th century. Like how could I show the importance with embroidery, needlework, making cheese, and other lady specific things in those times

Well, think of it this way: Certain regions were doing exceptional work in different things. English wool was considered superior, Flemish cloth was considered superior, French lace (in certain regions) was considered superior, England again had an entire guild dedicated to making thread-of-gold that no one else could match, Italian cheese (parmesan) was widely traded because it was preserved so well, Sweden / Finland sold a lot of tall straight trees for ship masts, and so on.

Do a little bit of research, and then you could have your embroidering noblewomen being praised for "being every bit as good as (region)" ...though if it's in an historical setting the noblewomen wouldn't necessarily be expected to make a living at such embroidery, because as people head toward the later centuries. If it's an English woman and she's making lace, "That's even better than what I've seen the merchants bring from the lacemakers of Alsace! With your skills, we could make a gift of such fine lace to the King & Queen! That would surely raise our standing in the royal court..."

As for cheesemaking, the dairy was THE woman's domain, and men were NOT allowed into it. Women might not have known about microbes and germs, but they DID know that cleanliness was an absolute must for the dairy room. There's a wonderful series online, Tudor Monastic Farm, and I'll share a link to where the scenes with the dairy first begins, located here: https://youtu.be/fhZv2iYuWVE?t=1068

The series has a couple of archaeologists (the gents) and a domestic skills researcher (Ruth Goodman) doing historical re-enactment based upon the archaeology, writings, and theories about how things actually happened back then--and the Tudor era is right in your ballpark in the 16th century (1500s CE). You might want to watch the whole series for inspiration.

Even if it is about what farmers went through in a year, not nobles, a lot of what happened on a farm was still very important to the nobility, because that was a part of their livelihoods, too. Nobles didn't always just sit around in the cities looking pretty. (In fact, cities were often a bit...anti-noble...especially prior to the era of the Black plague, because of that whole freed men not land serfs status thing.) The sitting in cities looking pretty thing was much more later period. (1700s, 1800s.)

A competent noblewoman was expected to be able to oversee, hire, and possibly even train various servants on the estate / in the manor house / castle, as well as visit the various tenanted farms (like the Tudor Monastery Farm, taking the place of the monastery's oversight). While the lord of the castle might do more of the visiting, if he was away handling matters of politics, warfare, etc, perhaps taking his adult sons, and he might have a seneschal to oversee properties he didn't live upon, his lady wife was often expected to take up the burdens of the nobility's leadership (such as it was) and see to things herself--in an overseer's capacity, if not necessarily putting her own shoulder to the wheel of the stuck wagon.

If you have a character that tries to disparage women by saying, "What did you do while I was off saving our lands from invasion, literally risking life and limb in battle?" you could have your women reply, "Making sure you still had a home to come back to, and food on your table, and clothes on your back! Money in your coffers, the taxes paid on time and in full so the king didn't take our lands from us in payment instead! Everything you see here that is still here while you were gone, is still here because I made sure it would be! You would have nothing without me, and you know it! Have the grace to admit it, and stop yelling at me."

On the other hand, if the husband/father/brother isn't a douchebag*, then he/they can notice "However did you convince Farmer Attewell to fix that hedgerow? I nagged him for weeks before leaving for the city!"

"It turns out it's very hard to do a full day's labor far from the house if your wife is too ill to mind the children, so I sent the Widow Thrushberry off to the Attewell's farm to tend the house and children, along with Maisy, the hen girl to help as well, since the hens weren't laying until this last week. And since the blacksmith wasn't too busy either, I paid his two strapping sons to make a pair of bill hooks for pleaching, and sent them out to help Attewell with the hedge laying, so they'd know how to wield what they make, and thus give it some thought as to how to make them better, the next time."

"You paid the blacksmiths sons? With what money? Not the seed money for ensuring all the farmers can do their plantings?"

"Not the seed money, no. Since you didn't take me to the city, I didn't need to buy embroidered trim from Mistress Speckleton to cover the worn spots to make my gown look newer...though if you made any profit off your time in the city, I should very much like that trim for a gift some day soon."

"I shall see to it tomorrow. You have done well, my wife--far better than I. The Attewell's bull will no longer be a risk for wandering the roads--I'll see to it the linen weavers make you some fine linen for new clothes as well. I was never so blessed as the day we wed, though I could not know my great fortune for years to come--I should have you solve all the problems around here, my lady wife! You'll have me right-handed to the king some day!"

"You deal better with the merchants than I do, so I'll be pleased, my lord husband, if you'll continue to do so--else we'd be right-hand to the king, but absolute paupers for it."

...As you can see, there are ways to show the value of women's work, either through combatting disrespect or showing (ideally but not necessarily mutual) respect.

If it's an actual historical setting, there's only so much a writer can do to nudge things towards better equity and better equality between the genders, before it starts straining the readers' credulity too much. But if it's a created world, there's quite a lot more flexibility. In a created world, there's more room to include in your culture acceptance of women who are big and strong, women who can fight, women who can do "traditionally male" tasks...and you can also show more gender-equity by having men doing "traditionally female" tasks, too.

For example, if you have a noblewoman trying to teach her daughter how to run the manor's dairy, but the daughter is mad for combat and insists upon training with sword and bow, etc, that's one way...but you can also have a son who is absolutely interested in the complex methods of making cheese, brewing beer, and who absolutely loves doing embroidery. And if both children are in the same family, the parents can have one of those brief eye-contact moments, roll their eyes, sigh, shrug...and the father takes the daughter under his wing, the mother takes the son under hers, and they go on with that arrangement instead of "the more traditional one."

[of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog]

Hike

Commission for the grand @auspiciousagape !!! So sorry this took so long, love! I hope you like it!

Commission info is in my about page!

~

Jayson adjusted the basket slung over his shoulder restlessly. Why had he agreed to this again?

Because Marcus hadn’t been allowed to visit in a few weeks and Jayson really wanted to see him. To feel that two-tone warmth when they stood close together.

Jayson rubbed the back of his neck and bit his lip. He really had to get these feelings under control.  What if he let them slip while they were out? No, they would not slip out. He would not let them.

“Nervous?” Rosalia asked slyly, making Jayson jump. She moved to stand beside him and grinned as he glared at her. “Oh, don’t act so annoyed. He’ll be here.”

“I know he will,” Jayson replied, still scowling a little. “He always is.”

Rosalia shot him another sly look, but said nothing.

Soon after that, Jayson’s ears pricked as he caught the sound of boots thumping up the drive. He looked and grinned, heart lifting, when he saw Marcus running towards them. Rosalia patted Jayson’s arm and said sweetly, “I need to get back to work. Have fun, Jayson.”

“Uh-huh,” he said absently. “Thanks, Rosa.”

She snickered and went back inside of the House.

Jayson took three steps forward and then Marcus slammed into him, hugging tightly. Jayson laughed and hugged back, basking in the warmth that shivered through his empathy whenever Marcus was near. “You’re not late, no need to run,” Jayson told him, still grinning.

“I wanted to be early,” Marcus replied, muffled in Jayson’s shoulder, before releasing Jayson from his fierce embrace. He grinned too, and Jayson almost told him that he looked adorable with his hair all mussed and his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed. “The Seneschal was being dramatic again, though, so I had to run.”

Jayson shook his head and tweaked Marcus’s nose. “You’re not stern enough,” he teased. “Practice a foreboding frown and a tone of disapproval.”

Marcus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling still. “Whatever. When are we going?”

“Right now, if you want,” Jayson replied, picking up the second basket and holding it out to Marcus. “It won’t take long to get there, but we have a lot of work to do.”

~

Normally, Jayson would have asked one of the other Healers to come with him. Kurreb was always easier with a companion, and it helped build connection. But all of his friends and the other Healers were doing other things, and so Rosalia had decided to pester Jayson into asking Marcus to come.

The joke was on her, Jayson thought grimly, as he and Marcus approached Mirus Forest. Nothing would make him confess to Marcus. Nothing short of truth serum, and that was illegal, anyway. And so, they were safe.

That is, they were until Jayson made the mistake of looking at Marcus when they entered the cool shade of Mirus and the fairy-lamp mushrooms lit up in alarm. Marcus gasped, his face lighting up, ears pricked, tail high. “They’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Jayson swallowed hard as warmth built in his chest. “Yes,” he replied, his gaze on Marcus’s face, “They are.”

The first ten minutes were spent showing Marcus the herbs and plants that needed to be picked in large quantities, and also the copycats that should be avoided completely. Then they set off down the path that had not been used recently, and started gathering.

Most herbs had been tamed into patches along the myriad paths, as were bushes, vines, mosses, flowers, and slender trees whose leaves were a very effective headache cure when made into tea, though they tasted horrible. But there were some that were too delicate to move into easier reach, and these were the ones Jayson looked out for. He knew roughly where they all were, he’d been on Kurreb plenty of times; but plants, being what they are, don’t follow people rules. The patches shifted, or shrunk, or grew, or split up. Jayson left the path often to try and find the shy little herbs he needed.

Marcus filled a third of his basket quickly, tying each bundle together neatly with string and stacking them in a grid pattern. He also hummed, or imitated birds, and Jayson had to smile. Marcus’s eyes were wide, his expression delighted and awed as he took in the wonders of Mirus; flowers that shifted through the rainbow every time their petals were ruffled, ponds of strange colors with vibrant algae and cranky blue frogs, stones that vibrated gently and gave off heat. Every time he heard an interesting bird call, he did his best to replicate it. He looked so happy, in his jeans and t-shirt, with dirt and sap all over his hands and knees.

Jayson wanted to help him stay happy. He wanted Marcus to never lose this day of beauty and freedom. Brown-toned love shivered through him.

When they reached the river that flowed through the forest, around the middle of the morning, Jayson kicked off his shoes, rolled up his pant legs, and told Marcus, “The water here isn’t magic, really, but it is nice on the feet after walking. Come on!”

Marcus immediately took off his own shoes and socks and rolled up his pants, and they both leapt into the river, yelping at the cold. Fish scattered and a grumpy turtle swam to the other shore.

Jayson sat on a large rock near the bank and hummed happily, closing his eyes and tilting his head up to feel the sunshine on his face. Was there anything more peaceful than sitting in the sun by flowing water? Well, other than stargazing in the hammock with Marcus.

That sunshine-yellow love touched his empathy, and then the brown love, the color of perfectly-brewed honey cough syrup, rose too. He smiled and opened his eyes, and when he looked at Marcus again, his friend was bent over, peering intently at the rocks in the riverbed. He was blushing faintly.

“Hey, what are those little crab things?” Marcus asked, pointing.

“Crab things?” Jayson stood, walked over, and also bent to look. “Oh! Those are hermit--AUGH!”

Marcus laughed far too gleefully as Jayson fell into the water and came up spluttering. “You are way too easy to trick!” Marcus exclaimed, grinning as Jayson growled and rubbed water out of his eyes. “It’s been years and you still fall for ‘what’s this’!”

Jayson reached up, grabbed Marcus’s shirt hem, and yanked hard.

Marcus shrieked as he plunged into the water with Jayson, but when he sat up he still laughed. Jayson had to smile back, and slicked the water out of Marcus’s silky hair.

“You’re an ass,” Jayson chuckled, then stood and helped Marcus up. “Alright, we’re both soaked. Let’s get back to work.”

Marcus sighed dramatically but followed him out of the river.

Their dunkings seemed to wash away any leftover quietness. Marcus complained about the courtiers and the military between bird calls; Jayson grumbled about the newest trainees, a pair of twelve-year-old twins who thought they knew more than the master Healers because their parents were the court Healers in another country. Marcus taught Jayson to whistle like a robin; Jayson taught Marcus how to properly ask the fireberry vines for a harvest. They ate the spicy delicacies as they walked.

At noon, they sat beneath a huge oak tree covered in sweetheart ivy, and ate the sandwiches Jayson had brought.

“I just don’t understand,” Marcus muttered, nibbling a piece of ham. “My uncle says that we need to strengthen the army, but it’s already as strong as we need. He acts like we’re going to war at any minute. The delegates and ambassadors are nervous around him, now, and he doesn’t seem to notice.”

Jayson shrugged as he swallowed a bite of sandwich. “Maybe he wants attention,” he offered. “I’ve known a few people like that.”

Marcus snorted, but sighed and leaned on Jayson lightly. Jayson’s heart turned over. “Maybe. Jay?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I come with you next time you do this?”

Jayson smiled and resisted the urge to kiss Marcus’s ear. “Yes, of course.”

~

Late afternoon sun was slanting through the trees, touching everything with gold and yellow. The forest was alive with birds, squirrels, ground mammals, chiming bluebells--and the laughter of two teenagers in the river.

“No, no, that isn’t a waltz!” Marcus cried, apparently unable to stop giggling, as Jayson deliberately messed up the figures. “You’re doing that on purpose!”

“Not at all, sire,” Jayson replied primly, trying to ignore the shivers of excitement in his chest from the touch of Marcus’s hands and the closeness of him, as Marcus attempted to teach Jayson to dance. “I am simply following my heart. Hup!” He lifted Marcus by the waist and spun them both around, cackling as Marcus whooped and water flew off of them both in a glittering whirl.

They had finished harvesting earlier than Jayson had expected, and were now just being silly and wasting time because they didn’t want to go home. It was nice. Jayson didn’t feel like he had to be a miniature adult out here, with just Marcus and time slow and sweet as honey. He felt more like himself.

Marcus buried his face in Jayson’s shoulder when he was set down and continued giggling for a few moments. Jayson stood still, his hands still on Marcus’s waist, breathing a little harder with exertion, and had the thought that, if he put his hand under Marcus’s chin and tipped his face upwards, he was at just the right distance for a kiss. He was not ashamed or alarmed by that thought; he simply held it, and wondered idly what Marcus would taste like. Sweet water from the river; the mint that Jayson had found that they had both promptly rolled in; the fireberries from earlier. He smiled to himself, thinking of how nice it would feel to kiss Marcus.

Marcus had stopped giggling, and was now just standing quietly, pressed against Jayson. The water rushing around their legs felt just as good as the sun on their necks and arms and faces. Jayson’s empathy picked up several emotions that he sensed were coming from Marcus: pink contentment, silver happiness, blue calm. It was lovely to just exist, in a place where no one would judge, hurt, or accuse them. 

Jayson closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Marcus still smelled like warm earth and honey.

“Should we head back?” Marcus asked, very softly.

“We don’t have to,” Jayson murmured. “We can stay for a little longer.”

Marcus sighed and slid his arms around Jayson’s neck. “That would be nice,” he said.

[aboveallarescuer]

Dany and Hizdahr’s relationship

This is a list of all the passages from the books featuring key moments in Dany and Hizdahr’s relationship. Unlike with the other lists, I didn't go after horrible opinions for this one because Hizdahr played a relatively minor role in the show and, therefore, didn't help to undermine Dany as much as show!Jorah did (though he still did, to a lesser extent).

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

A girl might spend her life at play, but she was a woman grown, a queen, a wife, a mother to thousands. Her children had need of her. Drogon had bent before the whip, and so must she. She had to don her crown again and return to her ebon bench and the arms of her noble husband.

Hizdahr, of the tepid kisses.

~

As the world darkened, Dany settled in and closed her eyes, but sleep refused to come. The night was cold, the ground hard, her belly empty. She found herself thinking of Meereen, of Daario, her love, and Hizdahr, her husband, of Irri and Jhiqui and sweet Missandei, Ser Barristan and Reznak and Skahaz Shavepate. Do they fear me dead? I flew off on a dragon’s back. Will they think he ate me? She wondered if Hizdahr was still king. His crown had come from her, could he hold it in her absence? He wanted Drogon dead. I heard him. “Kill it,” he screamed, “kill the beast,” and the look upon his face was lustful. And Strong Belwas had been on his knees, heaving and shuddering. Poison. It had to be poison. The honeyed locusts. Hizdahr urged them on me, but Belwas ate them all. She had made Hizdahr her king, taken him into her bed, opened the fighting pits for him, he had no reason to want her dead. Yet who else could it have been? Reznak, her perfumed seneschal? The Yunkai’i? The Sons of the Harpy?

~

Dany, starved, slid off his back and ate with him, ripping chunks of smoking meat from the dead horse with bare, burned hands. In Meereen I was a queen in silk, nibbling on stuffed dates and honeyed lamb, she remembered. What would my noble husband think if he could see me now? Hizdahr would be horrified, no doubt. But Daario ...

Daario would laugh, carve off a hunk of horsemeat with his arakh, and squat down to eat beside her.

 ADWD Daenerys IX

“Those bearers were slaves before I came. I made them free. Yet that palanquin is no lighter.”

“True,” said Hizdahr, “but those men are paid to bear its weight now. Before you came, that man who fell would have an overseer standing over him, stripping the skin off his back with a whip. Instead he is being given aid.”

It was true. A Brazen Beast in a boar mask had offered the litter bearer a skin of water. “I suppose I must be thankful for small victories,” the queen said.

“One step, then the next, and soon we shall be running. Together we shall make a new Meereen.” The street ahead had finally cleared. “Shall we continue on?”

What could she do but nod? One step, then the next, but where is it I’m going?

~

Hizdahr had stocked their box with flagons of chilled wine and sweetwater, with figs, dates, melons, and pomegranates, with pecans and peppers and a big bowl of honeyed locusts. Strong Belwas bellowed, “Locusts!” as he seized the bowl and began to crunch them by the handful.

“Those are very tasty,” advised Hizdahr. “You ought to try a few yourself, my love. They are rolled in spice before the honey, so they are sweet and hot at once.”

“That explains the way Belwas is sweating,” Dany said. “I believe I will content myself with figs and dates.”

~

“Gentle queen. You do not want to disappoint your people.”

“You swore to me that the fighters would be grown men who had freely consented to risk their lives for gold and honor. These dwarfs did not consent to battle lions with wooden swords. You will stop it. Now.”

The king’s mouth tightened. For a heartbeat Dany thought she saw a flash of anger in those placid eyes. “As you command.”

~

“Ser Barristan, will you see me safely back to my garden?”

Hizdahr looked confused. “There is more to come. A folly, six old women, and three more matches. Belaquo and Goghor!”

~

“Magnificence, the people of Meereen have come to celebrate our union. You heard them cheering you. Do not cast away their love.”

“It was my floppy ears they cheered, not me. Take me from this abbatoir, husband.” She could hear the boar snorting, the shouts of the spearmen, the crack of the pitmaster’s whip.

“Sweet lady, no. Stay only a while longer. For the folly, and one last match. Close your eyes, no one will see. They will be watching Belaquo and Ghogor. This is no time for—”

~

A queer look passed across Hizdahr zo Loraq’s long, pale face—part fear, part lust, part rapture. He licked his lips.

~

“Kill it,” Hizdahr zo Loraq shouted to the other spearmen. “Kill the beast!”

 ADWD Daenerys VIII

This is peace, she told herself. This is what I wanted, what I worked for, this is why I married Hizdahr. So why does it taste so much like defeat?

~

So Daenerys sat silent through the meal, wrapped in a vermilion tokar and black thoughts, speaking only when spoken to, brooding on the men and women being bought and sold outside her walls, even as they feasted here within the city. Let her noble husband make the speeches and laugh at the feeble Yunkish japes. That was a king’s right and a king’s duty.

~

“I keep my promises,” he told her, as Irri and Jhiqui were robing them for bed. “You wished for peace, and it is yours.”

And you wished for blood, and soon enough I must give it to you, Dany thought, but what she said was, “I am grateful.”

~

Dany slid her arms around him and let him have his way. Drunk as he was, she knew he would not be inside her long.

Nor was he. Afterward he nuzzled at her ear and whispered, “Gods grant that we have made a son tonight.”

The words of Mirri Maz Duur rang in her head. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before. The meaning was plain enough; Khal Drogo was as like to return from the dead as she was to bear a living child. But there are some secrets she could not bring herself to share, even with a husband, so she let Hizdahr zo Loraq keep his hopes.

 ADWD Daenerys VII

Dany sat amongst the rumpled bedclothes with her arms about her knees, so forlorn that she did not hear when Missandei came creeping in with bread and milk and figs. “Your Grace? Are you unwell? In the black of night this one heard you scream.”

Dany took a fig. It was black and plump, still moist with dew. Will Hizdahr ever make me scream?

~

Hizdahr will bring me peace. He must.

~

“It is not too late to tell them that you have decided not to wed.”

It is, though, the queen thought, sadly. “Hizdahr’s blood is ancient and noble. Our joining will join my freedmen to his people. When we become as one, so will our city.”

“Your Grace does not love the noble Hizdahr. This one thinks you would sooner have another for your husband.”

I must not think of Daario today. “A queen loves where she must, not where she will.”

~

She should be eager with anticipation for her wedding and the night that would follow, she knew. She remembered the night of her first wedding, when Khal Drogo had claimed her maidenhead beneath the stranger stars. She remembered how frightened she had been, and how excited. Would it be the same with Hizdahr? No. I am not the girl I was, and he is not my sun-and-stars.

~

“...This match will save our city, you will see.”

“So we pray. I want to plant my olive trees and see them fruit.” Does it matter that Hizdahr’s kisses do not please me? Peace will please me. Am I a queen or just a woman?

~

“Gracious queen, well met!” Another procession had come up beside her own, and Hizdahr zo Loraq was smiling at her from his own sedan chair. My king. Dany wondered where Daario Naharis was, what he was doing. If this were a story, he would gallop up just as we reached the temple, to challenge Hizdahr for my hand.

~

Side by side the queen’s procession and Hizdahr zo Loraq’s made their slow way across Meereen, until finally the Temple of the Graces loomed up before them, its golden domes flashing in the sun. How beautiful, the queen tried to tell herself, but inside her was some foolish little girl who could not help but look about for Daario.

~

He has gentle hands, she mused, as warm fragrant oils ran between her toes. If he has a gentle heart as well, I may grow fond of him in time.

 ADWD Daenerys VI

Hizdahr zo Loraq arrived an hour after the sun had set. His own tokar was burgundy, with a golden stripe and a fringe of golden beads. Dany told him of her meeting with Reznak and the Green Grace as she was pouring wine for him. “These rituals are empty,” Hizdahr declared, “just the sort of thing we must sweep aside. Meereen has been steeped in these foolish old traditions for too long.” He kissed her hand and said, “Daenerys, my queen, I will gladly wash you from head to heel if that is what I must do to be your king and consort.”

“To be my king and consort, you need only bring me peace. Skahaz tells me you have had messages of late.”

“I have.” Hizdahr crossed his long legs. He looked pleased with himself. “Yunkai will give us peace, but for a price. The disruption of the slave trade has caused great injury throughout the civilized world. Yunkai and her allies will require an indemnity of us, to be paid in gold and gemstones.”

Gold and gems were easy. “What else?”

“The Yunkai’i will resume slaving, as before. Astapor will be rebuilt, as a slave city. You will not interfere.”

“The Yunkai’i resumed their slaving before I was two leagues from their city. Did I turn back? King Cleon begged me to join with him against them, and I turned a deaf ear to his pleas. I want no war with Yunkai. How many times must I say it? What promises do they require?”

“Ah, there is the thorn in the bower, my queen,” said Hizdahr zo Loraq. “Sad to say, Yunkai has no faith in your promises. They keep plucking the same string on the harp, about some envoy that your dragons set on fire.”

“Only his tokar was burned,” said Dany scornfully.

“Be that as it may, they do not trust you. The men of New Ghis feel the same. Words are wind, as you yourself have so oft said. No words of yours will secure this peace for Meereen. Your foes require deeds. They would see us wed, and they would see me crowned as king, to rule beside you.”

Dany filled his wine cup again, wanting nothing so much as to pour the flagon over his head and drown his complacent smile. “Marriage or carnage. A wedding or a war. Are those my choices?”

“I see only one choice, Your Radiance. Let us say our vows before the gods of Ghis and make a new Meereen together.”

The queen was framing her response when she heard a step behind her. The food, she thought. Her cooks had promised her to serve the noble Hizdahr’s favorite meal, dog in honey, stuffed with prunes and peppers. But when she turned to look, it was Ser Barristan standing there, freshly bathed and clad in white, his longsword at his side. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing, “I am sorry to disturb you, but I thought that you would want to know at once. The Stormcrows have returned to the city, with word of the foe. The Yunkishmen are on the march, just as we had feared.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed the noble face of Hizdahr zo Loraq. “The queen is at her supper. These sellswords can wait.”

Ser Barristan ignored him. “I asked Lord Daario to make his report to me, as Your Grace had commanded. He laughed and said that he would write it out in his own blood if Your Grace would send your little scribe to show him how to make the letters.”

“Blood?” said Dany, horrified. “Is that a jape? No. No, don’t tell me, I must see him for myself.” She was a young girl, and alone, and young girls can change their minds. “Convene my captains and commanders. Hizdahr, I know you will forgive me.”

“Meereen must come first.” Hizdahr smiled genially. “We will have other nights. A thousand nights.”

“Ser Barristan will show you out.”

~

If I marry Hizdahr before the sun comes up, will all these armies melt away like morning dew and let me rule in peace?

 ADWD Daenerys V

“Your Radiance, Hizdahr was seen to enter the pyramid of Zhak last evening. He did not depart until well after dark.”

“How many pyramids has he visited?” asked Dany.

“Eleven.”

“And how long since the last murder?”

“Six-and-twenty days.” The Shavepate’s eyes brimmed with fury. It had been his notion to have the Brazen Beasts follow her betrothed and take note of all his actions.

“So far Hizdahr has made good on his promises.”

“How? The Sons of the Harpy have put down their knives, but why? Because the noble Hizdahr asked sweetly? He is one of them, I tell you. That’s why they obey him. He may well be the Harpy.”

“If there is a Harpy.” Skahaz was convinced that somewhere in Meereen the Sons of the Harpy had a highborn overlord, a secret general commanding an army of shadows. Dany did not share his belief. The Brazen Beasts had taken dozens of the Harpy’s Sons, and those who had survived their capture had yielded names when questioned sharply … too many names, it seemed to her. It would have been pleasant to think that all the deaths were the work of a single enemy who might be caught and killed, but Dany suspected that the truth was otherwise. My enemies are legion. “Hizdahr zo Loraq is a persuasive man with many friends. And he is wealthy. Perhaps he has bought this peace for us with gold, or convinced the other highborn that our marriage is in their best interests.”

“If he is not the Harpy, he knows him. I can find the truth of that easy enough. Give me your leave to put Hizdahr to the question, and I will bring you a confession.”

“No,” she said. “I do not trust these confessions. You’ve brought me too many of them, all of them worthless.”

“Your Radiance—”

“No, I said.”

The Shavepate’s scowl turned his ugly face even uglier. “A mistake. The Great Master Hizdahr plays Your Worship for a fool. Do you want a serpent in your bed?”

I want Daario in my bed, but I sent him away for the sake of you and yours. “You may continue to watch Hizdahr zo Loraq, but no harm is to come to him. Is that understood?”

“I am not deaf, Magnificence. I will obey.” Skahaz drew a parchment scroll from his sleeve. “Your Worship should have a look at this. A list of all the Meereenese ships in the blockade, with their captains. Great Masters all.”

Dany studied the scroll. All the ruling families of Meereen were named: Hazkar, Merreq, Quazzar, Zhak, Rhazdar, Ghazeen, Pahl, even Reznak and Loraq. “What am I to do with a list of names?”

“Every man on that list has kin within the city. Sons and brothers, wives and daughters, mothers and fathers. Let my Brazen Beasts seize them. Their lives will win you back those ships.”

“If I send the Brazen Beasts into the pyramids, it will mean open war inside the city. I have to trust in Hizdahr. I have to hope for peace.” Dany held the parchment above a candle and watched the names go up in flame, while Skahaz glowered at her.

~

[...] “I cannot fight two enemies, one within and one without. If I am to hold Meereen, I must have the city behind me. The whole city. I need … I need …” She could not say it.

“Your Grace?” Ser Barristan prompted, gently.

A queen belongs not to herself but to her people.

“I need Hizdahr zo Loraq.”

 ADWD Daenerys IV

Hizdahr wore a plain green robe beneath a quilted vest. He bowed low when he entered, his face solemn. “Have you no smile for me?” Dany asked him. “Am I as fearful as all that?”

“I always grow solemn in the presence of such beauty.”

It was a good start. “Drink with me.” Dany filled his cup herself. “You know why you are here. The Green Grace seems to feel that if I take you for my husband, all my woes will vanish.”

“I would never make so bold a claim. Men are born to strive and suffer. Our woes only vanish when we die. I can be of help to you, however. I have gold and friends and influence, and the blood of Old Ghis flows in my veins. Though I have never wed, I have two natural children, a boy and a girl, so I can give you heirs. I can reconcile the city to your rule and put an end to this nightly slaughter in the streets.”

“Can you?” Dany studied his eyes. “Why should the Sons of the Harpy lay down their knives for you? Are you one of them?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if you were?”

He laughed. “No.”

“The Shavepate has ways of finding the truth.”

“I do not doubt that Skahaz would soon have me confessing. A day with him, and I will be one of the Harpy’s Sons. Two days, and I will be the Harpy. Three, and it will turn out I slew your father too, back in the Sunset Kingdoms when I was yet a boy. Then he will impale me on a stake and you can watch me die … but afterward the killings will go on.” Hizdahr leaned closer. “Or you can marry me and let me try to stop them.”

“Why would you want to help me? For the crown?”

“A crown would suit me well, I will not deny that. It is more than that, however. Is it so strange that I would want to protect my own people, as you protect your freedmen? Meereen cannot endure another war, Your Radiance.”

That was a good answer, and an honest one. “I have never wanted war. I defeated the Yunkai’i once and spared their city when I might have sacked it. I refused to join King Cleon when he marched against them. Even now, with Astapor besieged, I stay my hand. And Qarth … I have never done the Qartheen any harm …”

“Not by intent, no, but Qarth is a city of merchants, and they love the clink of silver coins, the gleam of yellow gold. When you smashed the slave trade, the blow was felt from Westeros to Asshai. Qarth depends upon its slaves. So too Tolos, New Ghis, Lys, Tyrosh, Volantis … the list is long, my queen.”

“Let them come. In me they shall find a sterner foe than Cleon. I would sooner perish fighting than return my children to bondage.”

“There may be another choice. The Yunkai’i can be persuaded to allow all your freedmen to remain free, I believe, if Your Worship will agree that the Yellow City may trade and train slaves unmolested from this day forth. No more blood need flow.”

“Save for the blood of those slaves that the Yunkai’i will trade and train,” Dany said, but she recognized the truth in his words even so. It may be that is the best end we can hope for. “You have not said you love me.”

“I will, if it would please Your Radiance.”

“That is not the answer of a man in love.”

“What is love? Desire? No man with all his parts could ever look on you and not desire you, Daenerys. That is not why I would marry you, however. Before you came Meereen was dying. Our rulers were old men with withered cocks and crones whose puckered cunts were dry as dust. They sat atop their pyramids sipping apricot wine and talking of the glories of the Old Empire whilst the centuries slipped by and the very bricks of the city crumbled all around them. Custom and caution had an iron grip upon us till you awakened us with fire and blood. A new time has come, and new things are possible. Marry me.”

He is not hard to look at, Dany told herself, and he has a king's tongue. "Kiss me," she commanded.

He took her hand again, and kissed her fingers.

“Not that way. Kiss me as if I were your wife.”

Hizdahr took her by the shoulders as tenderly as if she were a baby bird. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers. His kiss was light and dry and quick. Dany felt no stirrings.

“Shall I … kiss you again?” he asked when it was over.

“No.” On her terrace, in her bathing pool, the little fish would nibble at her legs as she soaked. Even they kissed with more fervor than Hizdahr zo Loraq. “I do not love you.”

Hizdahr shrugged. “That may come, in time. It has been known to happen that way.”

Not with us, she thought. Not whilst Daario is so close. It’s him I want, not you. “One day I will want to return to Westeros, to claim the Seven Kingdoms that were my father’s.”

“One day all men must die, but it serves no good to dwell on death. I prefer to take each day as it comes.”

Dany folded her hands together. “Words are wind, even words like love and peace. I put more trust in deeds. In my Seven Kingdoms, knights go on quests to prove themselves worthy of the maiden that they love. They seek for magic swords, for chests of gold, for crowns stolen from a dragon’s hoard.”

Hizdahr arched an eyebrow. “The only dragons that I know are yours, and magic swords are even scarcer. I will gladly bring you rings and crowns and chests of gold if that is your desire.”

“Peace is my desire. You say that you can help me end the nightly slaughter in my streets. I say do it. Put an end to this shadow war, my lord. That is your quest. Give me ninety days and ninety nights without a murder, and I will know that you are worthy of a throne. Can you do that?”

Hizdahr looked thoughtful. “Ninety days and ninety nights without a corpse, and on the ninety-first we wed?”

“Perhaps,” said Dany, with a coy look. “Though young girls have been known to be fickle. I may still want a magic sword.”

Hizdahr laughed. “Then you shall have that too, Radiance. Your wish is my command. Best tell your seneschal to begin making preparations for our wedding.”

“Nothing would please the noble Reznak more.” If Meereen knew that a wedding was in the offing, that alone might buy her a few nights’ respite, even if Hizdahr’s efforts came to naught. The Shavepate will not be happy with me, but Reznak mo Reznak will dance for joy. Dany did not know which of those concerned her more. She needed Skahaz and the Brazen Beasts, and she had come to mistrust all of Reznak’s counsel. Beware the perfumed seneschal. Has Reznak made common cause with Hizdahr and the Green Grace and set some trap to snare me?

~

“You saw my brother Rhaegar wed. Tell me, did he wed for love or duty?”

The old knight hesitated. “Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know the prince was very fond of her.”

Fond, thought Dany. The word spoke volumes. I could become fond of Hizdahr zo Loraq, in time. Perhaps.

 ADWD Daenerys III

Hizdahr zo Loraq was saying something to the man beside him, yet all the time his eyes were on the dancing girls.

 ADWD Daenerys II

“Will it please Your Worship to hear the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq?”

Will he never admit defeat? “Let him step forth.” Hizdahr was not in a tokar today. Instead he wore a simple robe of grey and blue. He was shorn as well. He has shaved off his beard and cut his hair, she realized. The man had not gone shavepate, not quite, but at least those absurd wings of his were gone. “Your barber has served you well, Hizdahr. I hope you have come to show me his work and not to plague me further about the fighting pits.”

He made a deep obeisance. “Your Grace, I fear I must.”

Dany grimaced. Even her own people would give no rest about the matter. Reznak mo Reznak stressed the coin to be made through taxes. The Green Grace said that reopening the pits would please the gods. The Shavepate felt it would win her support against the Sons of the Harpy. “Let them fight,” grunted Strong Belwas, who had once been a champion in the pits. Ser Barristan suggested a tourney instead; his orphans could ride at rings and fight a mêlée with blunted weapons, he said, a suggestion Dany knew was as hopeless as it was well-intentioned. It was blood the Meereenese yearned to see, not skill. Elsewise the fighting slaves would have worn armor. Only the little scribe Missandei seemed to share the queen’s misgivings.

“I have refused you six times,” Dany reminded Hizdahr.

“Your Radiance has seven gods, so perhaps she will look upon my seventh plea with favor. Today I do not come alone. Will you hear my friends? There are seven of them as well.” He brought them forth one by one. “Here is Khrazz. Here Barsena Blackhair, ever valiant. Here Camarron of the Count and Goghor the Giant. This is the Spotted Cat, this Fearless Ithoke. Last, Belaquo Bonebreaker. They have come to add their voices to mine own, and ask Your Grace to let our fighting pits reopen.”

Dany knew his seven, by name if not by sight. All had been amongst the most famed of Meereen’s fighting slaves … and it had been the fighting slaves, freed from their shackles by her sewer rats, who led the uprising that won the city for her. She owed them a blood debt. “I will hear you,” she allowed.

One by one, each of them asked her to let the fighting pits reopen. “Why?” she demanded, when Ithoke had finished. “You are no longer slaves, doomed to die at a master’s whim. I freed you. Why should you wish to end your lives upon the scarlet sands?”

“I train since three,” said Goghor the Giant. “I kill since six. Mother of Dragons says I am free. Why not free to fight?”

“If it is fighting you want, fight for me. Swear your sword to the Mother’s Men or the Free Brothers or the Stalwart Shields. Teach my other freedmen how to fight.”

Goghor shook his head. “Before, I fight for master. You say, fight for you. I say, fight for me.” The huge man thumped his chest with a fist as big as a ham. “For gold. For glory.”

“Goghor speaks for us all.” The Spotted Cat wore a leopard skin across one shoulder. “The last time I was sold, the price was three hundred thousand honors. When I was a slave, I slept on furs and ate red meat off the bone. Now that I’m free, I sleep on straw and eat salt fish, when I can get it.”

“Hizdahr swears that the winners shall share half of all the coin collected at the gates,” said Khrazz. “Half, he swears it, and Hizdahr is an honorable man.”

No, a cunning man. Daenerys felt trapped. “And the losers? What shall they receive?”

“Their names shall be graven on the Gates of Fate amongst the other valiant fallen,” declared Barsena. For eight years she had slain every other woman sent against her, it was said. “All men must die, and women too … but not all will be remembered.”

Dany had no answer for that. If this is truly what my people wish, do I have the right to deny it to them? It was their city before it was mine, and it is their own lives they wish to squander. “I will consider all you’ve said. Thank you for your counsel.” She rose. “We will resume on the morrow.”

 ADWD Daenerys I

“Magnificence,” prompted Reznak mo Reznak, “will you hear the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq?”

Again? Dany nodded, and Hizdahr strode forth; a tall man, very slender, with flawless amber skin. He bowed on the same spot where Stalwart Shield had lain in death not long before. I need this man, Dany reminded herself. Hizdahr was a wealthy merchant with many friends in Meereen, and more across the seas. He had visited Volantis, Lys, and Qarth, had kin in Tolos and Elyria, and was even said to wield some influence in New Ghis, where the Yunkai’i were trying to stir up enmity against Dany and her rule.

And he was rich. Famously and fabulously rich …

And like to grow richer, if I grant his petition. When Dany had closed the city’s fighting pits, the value of pit shares had plummeted. Hizdahr zo Loraq had grabbed them up with both hands, and now owned most of the fighting pits in Meereen.

The nobleman had wings of wiry red-black hair sprouting from his temples. They made him look as if his head were about to take flight. His long face was made even longer by a beard bound with rings of gold. His purple tokar was fringed with amethysts and pearls. “Your Radiance will know the reason I am here.”

“Why, it must be because you have no other purpose but to plague me. How many times have I refused you?”

“Five times, Your Magnificence.”

“Six now. I will not have the fighting pits reopened.”

“If Your Majesty will hear my arguments …”

“I have. Five times. Have you brought new arguments?”

“Old arguments,” Hizdahr admitted, “new words. Lovely words, and courteous, more apt to move a queen.”

“It is your cause I find wanting, not your courtesies. I have heard your arguments so often I could plead your case myself. Shall I?” Dany leaned forward. “The fighting pits have been a part of Meereen since the city was founded. The combats are profoundly religious in nature, a blood sacrifice to the gods of Ghis. The mortal art of Ghis is not mere butchery but a display of courage, skill, and strength most pleasing to your gods. Victorious fighters are pampered and acclaimed, and the slain are honored and remembered. By reopening the pits I would show the people of Meereen that I respect their ways and customs. The pits are far-famed across the world. They draw trade to Meereen, and fill the city’s coffers with coin from the ends of the earth. All men share a taste for blood, a taste the pits help slake. In that way they make Meereen more tranquil. For criminals condemned to die upon the sands, the pits represent a judgment by battle, a last chance for a man to prove his innocence.” She leaned back again, with a toss of her head. “There. How have I done?”

“Your Radiance has stated the case much better than I could have hoped to do myself. I see that you are eloquent as well as beautiful. I am quite persuaded.”

She had to laugh. “Ah, but I am not.”

“Your Magnificence,” whispered Reznak mo Reznak in her ear, “it is customary for the city to claim one-tenth of all the profits from the fighting pits, after expenses, as a tax. That coin might be put to many noble uses.”

“It might … though if we were to reopen the pits, we should take our tenth before expenses. I am only a young girl and know little of such matters, but I dwelt with Xaro Xhoan Daxos long enough to learn that much. Hizdahr, if you could marshal armies as you marshal arguments, you could conquer the world … but my answer is still no. For the sixth time.”

“The queen has spoken.” He bowed again, as deeply as before. His pearls and amethysts clattered softly against the marble floor. A very limber man was Hizdahr zo Loraq.

He might be handsome, but for that silly hair. Reznak and the Green Grace had been urging Dany to take a Meereenese noble for her husband, to reconcile the city to her rule. Hizdahr zo Loraq might be worth a careful look. Sooner him than Skahaz. The Shavepate had offered to set aside his wife for her, but the notion made her shudder. Hizdahr at least knew how to smile.