megmoonlightmeg

[megmoonlightmeg]

Bonus #riorgailweek2025 share: I wrote this less than a month ago so I’m going to count it, but I’m not going to be too sad if you don’t @empyreanevents 👋 meant for “signet” day…

You can read the full fic here on AO3 and I’m @moonlightmeg there, too.

Just a Dream

The final hour flying back to Riorson house passes quickly. Tairn, Andarna and I fly in relative silence, all of us cruising together, the night pleasantly warm. We skim the trees, which smell floral—Aretian summer nights feel absolutely tolerable in comparison to the daytime heat. My joints ache increasingly, with every minute I’m in the saddle. I shift my weight in an effort to alleviate the stiffness in my hips and wonder when I’ll get to bed tonight.

Tairn announces, in response, “We will arrive at Riorson House in ten minutes. Glane has relayed that Cadet Cardulo’s shields are completely locked down. Her location is undetectable, though we know she’s within or around the grounds.”

Ah. Shit. Considering it’s Imogen, I’m not that surprised. She enjoys a bit of alone time now and again—but this isn’t the same—even when I’m shielding from them, both my dragons always have a relative knowledge of my location.

“Glane is disturbed with the way she’s currently being shielded out,” Tairn clarifies. Me too, Glane. Me too. Keeping her dragon from knowing where she is for an extended period feels like a drastic measure for secrecy, and one that should make Imogen just as uncomfortable as Glane. Shielding from your bonded dragon for extended periods is emotionally disorienting to say the least. I think back to when Quest Squad landed on the beach in Deverelli, and how distressed the riders and their dragons felt. Experiencing the loss of magic and losing their mental bonds, it felt—unbearable.

We reach the valley outside Riorson House and I dismount, giving Andarna a quick pat on her foreleg, before watching as the both return to the hatching grounds. Strolling into the courtyard, there’s a fire burning in the central area, and a few cadets are gathered around in amicable conversation. One flyer among them looks injured—a bandage covers what looks like burns on his left arm and shoulder. Over the past two days occasional cries of pain have echoed through the house, coming from spillover healing stations, where injured infantry are treated by healers around the clock.

I continue in the direction of Imogen’s room, after pausing to nurse my left kneecap, rubbing the stiffness out of it. If I’m lucky, I’ll find Imogen already turned in—if not, I can wait for her there. She will need to sleep eventually. But when I open the doors to the house, Sloane bursts through the door, almost knocking me on my ass.

“Oh—sorry Violet,” she says, helping me steady myself, holding me by the shoulders.

“That’s ok, Sloane, I’m just tired—it wouldn’t take much to take me down right now,” I huff, wearily.

Sloane cracks a smile, “It usually wouldn’t.” Taking a good look at me, she notes my obvious fatigue. “You should get some rest, Violet. I was looking for you to talk, but I can wait—can I maybe walk you up?”

I nod, and we head inside, crossing the entryway, and begin to climb the stone steps of the double staircase leading up to the bedrooms.

Sloane and I have gone through a lot during her first year, her hatred has softened, then transformed into shame. Painful and harrowing shared memories stretch between us in the silence. It feels like she still holds herself somewhat accountable for my mother’s death, though we both know it was mom’s choice when she gave her life using Sloane’s signet to raise the wards.

“I’m not going to lie,” I chuckle, “it feels weird, now that you actually want to talk to me.”

She glances at me and raises an eyebrow, shrugging. “We have truly come a long way, Sorrengail”—but we’re far from bosom friends. I care deeply for Sloane in a way she has only just begun to understand through Liam’s letters.

Without turning to look at me, she explains, “I’ve been worried about you, Sorrengail.”

We continue walking together, and she continues, “A lot happened at the end of the battle, and you’ve been essentially sleeping or unreachable for days. Bodhi has been waiting outside your room but Brennan keeps telling him to give you space.

I’m suddenly curious. “Oh really? What has he said to Bodhi?”

“Just that you are really needing rest and that he should get back to class or sleep.” I wonder why Brennan is monitoring my room, but keep this question to myself for now as we turn the corner into the corridor.

When we arrive at my room, I can’t help but wish Xaden was waiting for me there. “Look. There’s no easy way to say this—” Sloane begins, as she looks around—her eyes darting to the left and right as if to check we’re alone.

“Do you mind?” she asks, gesturing toward my sound-shielded room beyond. I sigh, pulling Sloane into the room by the hand. “Come on in, then.” My plan is shifting slightly, but if I can’t catch Imogen tonight, I might as well hear whatever Sloane wants to share with me. I have more than a few questions for her. I’d love to ask her about the gift Aaric’s left me—the marble dagger he sent with Sloane. But I think better of it for now, keeping this question to myself.

Sloane sits in the solid dark wood chair at the desk. There's an almost practiced casual nature to the way she holds her body, as if she’s trying not to sit like a lady. Her arm drapes over the back of the chair and she begins to say what she actually came here to say.

“Look, Sorrengail. I know you know that I know. About—you know, about Xaden.”

Holding tight to control the emotions on my face, I wait for her to continue. “I have known Xaden my whole life. I have known for a while that he’s not… himself,” she says, picking up a dagger from the desk, and twirling it casually in her delicate hand.

It’s like she has been practicing this speech, so I sit on the bed, giving her my full attention after removing my flight jacket. “The battle report is yet to be released, but everyone is talking about it. Xaden’s shadows took down all those venin, there’s not much room for doubt.”

She shifts in her seat, and looks up at me. “What are they saying then?” I ask, giving a little—also because I’m curious. Not so much about what people think, but I’m not sure if Brennan even knows the depth of the gossip that has been raging since the battle.

“Xaden’s powerful and all, but not that powerful. I mean, the shadows—they had Xaden written all over them. People are saying he had to have channeled for more power.” And in a reverent almost sisterly tone, she finishes, “But what he did saved lives—thousands of lives. He saved us all.”

“I’m not sure I can feel grateful for it,” I say, lingering too long on her eyes. I can’t help how deeply I miss Liam when I look at Sloane. Her eyes are the same icy crystal blue, and she has Liam’s high, sharp cheekbones—even her hairline reminds me of him. Liam would have been such a boon for me right now. But maybe Sloane can be here for me, just as Liam would have.

Sloane breaks the silence first. “That is to say—unless there’s another extremely powerful shadow wielder in our ranks—Xaden took out all those wyvern and venin.” I remember Tyre, the first year who’d manifested shadow-wielding as magic’s answer to Xaden’s turning venin— keeping the balance. Looking down, I sigh, but don’t respond. My right hand covers my eyes, framing my temples.

“There’s a rumor you have been hiding him in here or something.” At this suggestion, I look up—Sloane fakes a serious look into the bathing chamber, scrunching her nose and says “But I’m pretty sure he’s not here, nor hiding, because he’s pretty fucked now.”

But it’s not funny, so I don’t laugh. I don’t hold her gaze. There’s nothing to say.

“Look—I get why you don’t want to talk to me about it.” Sloan says, curtly. Wait. Is Sloane hurt because I’m not confiding in her? She pauses, laying the dagger back on the desk and clasps her hands in her lap.

“No, it’s not that Sloane—it’s just…” I stop short because I'm not convinced she actually knows about Xaden. I’d rather not confirm any of these suspicions, as it only puts her at risk if she knows everything. Brennan is venin, too, and I’ve not fully processed that information myself, let alone do I feel I should share it.

“Fuck, Violet.” Sloane’s face slackens—her eyes wide with shock. “Is that what I think it is?” Sloane approaches me pointing at the huge emerald set in gold on my finger.

“That…That is my wedding ring.” I admit, simply. Sloane’s eyebrows float high into her heart-shaped hairline. Her stray moonlight-colored strands flow in the mild breeze from the window, and she gently takes my hand to look at it.

“I just actually wanted to check on you, as there is so much to process. But I had no idea. What happened, Violet?”

Grief takes me again, a tear flowing down my cheek. And maybe it’s because I’m in my room, or Sloane reminds me of the safety I felt with Liam, but everything suddenly just comes tumbling out. I tell Sloane about everything I know. We hug, we cry, we laugh. I cry to her as if she were Liam. I I leave out the parts about Brennan, but by the end of it, Sloane has her arm draped around my shoulder.

“I know you feel the weight of the secrets, but I’m not so sure Xaden wants you to keep any of his secrets anymore, Violet. I know he wouldn’t want you to feel so isolated, remember that there are a lot of us who want to support you.”

“I know I’ve not been a friend like Liam was, but I think I can relate to you, Violet. I’m all too aware of what it’s like to support a revolution in secret while holding your shit together for the province.” It’s true. Sloane endured years of preening, grooming—years of forced pomp and circumstance—before we met on her conscription day. Her foster family threw her to the wolves, sending her completely untrained into Basgiath. Always the princess of Tyrrendor, the beauty doomed to die at dragon school—Sloane might be the only Tyrrish female nobility left alive who has experience navigating Navarrian aristocratic circles and operating inside the chaos of the revolution. Sloane is loyal to Xaden, as loyal as Liam was—but she will do whatever it takes to protect her people.

Laughing a little, she reclines on the bed, “So. You’re the new Duchess of Tyrrendor, Violet.” It’s clear from her tone that what she’s actually saying is, “You’re totally fucked.” Sloane knows just how heavy the title will be. If only it were her, instead of me—Sloane Mairi seems born to do this.

Sitting back up, Sloane turns toward me, serious. “Xaden means something very special to all of us, Violet. But my people—my Tyrrish blood mean more. I’m glad you are the one, Violet. Xaden has made a lot of tough choices which I cannot fully understand. We cannot let his sacrifices be in vain, and we cannot put our people in danger.”

As she says it, I note her posture—the tone in her words, and in the way she sets her shoulders and jaw—Sloane would cut Xaden down if it meant it would save Tyrrendor. But would I? If I’m going to lead this province, perhaps I need to get to a place where Tyrrendor comes first. And I have definitely not arrived there, yet. “Yes,” I reply, “Tyrrendor needs a leader who rules with empathy, strength, and wisdom. Xaden was all of those, Sloane. I’m not sure I can be, not without help.” My voice sounds small in my own ears.

Sloane gives my shoulders a little squeeze. “You can be. And you are that kind of leader.” Liam would have said exactly that, if he were here, and it makes me love Sloane a little more. “And of course I will help you,” she adds, guessing at my implicit request. As she gets up to leave, I try to be casual and ask if she’s seen Imogen around, explaining that I want to talk to her to try to make some sense of what happened during my 12 missing hours.

“I’m actually not sure. I’ve been looking for clues myself.” Sloane says, her beautiful browline crinkling, pensively. “But I’m concerned about Bodhi most of all. He’s not just ‘Xaden’s cousin’ to me,” she says, using air quotes—and adds, “to me he’s like a brother.”

“Yes. Bodhi. And Garrick.” I say, considering each of them. “And Aaric,” Sloane adds, her voice sounding tight with emotion as she says his name. “We need to talk to Imogen.” I repeat, enlisting Sloane in my sleuthing mission.

“Yes, well, she has been around…but she’s also been gone a lot. I also wanted to speak to her these past couple of days, but I keep missing her in her room.” Then she adds, “I think she’s been sleeping very little and coming in way past curfew… any thoughts on where she’s going?”

“No. Not really,” I say, feeling the secrets and questions starting to weigh on me again. “You need sleep,” Sloane says nothing more, and slips out and down the hall.

I watch her a second before closing the door, turning back to the large bed. I pull on my nightgown, craving someone I could trust enough to theorize with—someone who could know everything. Someone who could have my back, Xaden’s back, and Brennan’s best interests at heart. Someone who could help me sort through the fog of emotion and grief. A lifetime ago, that person used to be Dain, but not anymore. And though Imogen and I have somehow really forged a bond over the past year or so, I’m not sure if I’m currently mad at her, or grateful to her for following my plan. I’m dying to know how she’s coping with it all. But there aren’t many like Ridoc—who I previously had trusted with everything. Ridoc fought to be by my side on Quest Squad in a way that surprised even Xaden.

But now I feel that not one of them can know all of it—hold all of it—and Xaden can’t be with me now, when I need him most of all.

——————-

Climbing into the black bedding, I curl up in my bed which feels way too big tonight. I pull Xaden’s pillow into my arms to inhale the remnants of his scent. I’m willing sleep to take me, but the breeze smells too glorious. I toss back and forth, turning back onto my pillow and looking at the moonlight, shining in through the dark curtain. I wish my aching body would surrender into oblivion, so I could escape the rising frustration. My desire for Xaden is a dull ache rising in my belly, and it burns that tonight would have been the third night of our honeymoon. I haven’t ever been married, but this feels more like a mourning period.

“You’re still alive, love,” I whisper down our bond, knowing there won't be an answer. My finger runs along my bottom lip. I picture Xaden somewhere, lying under the same moon, daring to hope he’s picturing me, too. Desire for him floods my body with warm energy. I play with the lace on the edge of my nightgown—the impossibly soft Deverelli silk Xaden had gifted to me—perfectly suited to a warm night like this one. Playing with the strap on my left shoulder, I trace the outer curve of my right breast. The sensation through the silk leaves me tingling, and I find myself lifting the lace hem and running my fingertips up, down, and up again on my inner thigh.

My legs fall open naturally, and my eyes flutter closed again. I focus my mind entirely on visualising Xaden. His hand on the lace, his thumb rubbing the silk across my nipple over and over, his fingers slipping up and down until it’s hard and erect—a warmth spreading across my ribs. My hands roam downward, and I slip my fingers under the waistband of my panties to spread my lips and place two fingers directly against my clit. Then I’m circling, increasing pressure, slowly. I spend as much time as I want to, then coming to the outside of my panties, I continue rubbing hard, creating some much-needed friction. All the frustration that’s been building, all the unknowns and instability keeping me awake tonight drives my need. The building sexual energy now pools low in my abdomen and between my legs. I picture Xaden naked, hard for me, and licking me senseless like he often does before we even start kissing.

The stimulation reminds me just how much I wish it was Xaden’s hard cock directly between my thighs instead—rubbing me exactly like this. But for now, my panties come off, and I pull my left breast and start flicking my left nipple. I part my lips, and I swear I can imagine the feel of him on top of me, my fingers moving fast and hard now directly against my pubic bone.

Warmth builds with firm, swirling motions that only I know how to make. I clench my jaw a bit, increasing the pace exactly how I need. A wave of sensation makes me angle my hips upward, and I inhale sharply. When I finger my hole a little, I’m wet and soft, and my clit begs for more. Harder. Faster.

Let’s go.

But when I next breathe in, the smell of a salty breeze floods my senses. The constant hum of grasshoppers has gone silent, and I swear I hear a seagull. I’m not sure why, but I know that when I open my eyes, I am no longer going to be in my bed at Riorson house.

But, dammit—I am so close to coming—I want to keep going. I reluctantly peel one eyelid a crack open, and I see the bedroom I shared with Xaden in Draithus. The light all around me, illuminating the unmistakably huge bed, and the door to the bath chamber is cracked open ahead of me. I turn over and my vision is filled with the outline of Xaden’s back. He’s facing away from me, sleeping perfectly, calmly. His body rising and falling with slow breaths. This dream is so like the moments we had together on the islands. Xaden is carefree, without magic, he’s just able to exist.

It’s a dream; and because I want to touch him, I do, my fingertip tracing from the nape of his neck along his spine. His back moves slightly, the muscles shifting slowly under his tattooed, scarred, and completely delicious, brown skin.

“Mmm,” he stirs, but doesn’t turn around, still asleep.

His left arm flexes and I see him moving slightly, so I slide my fingers further down, finding the dimples above his ass, slowly scraping my nails across his taught skin til I grasp a handful of ass and squeeze. I press my tits against his back, and his back arches, his head leaning back a little so his soft curls touch my forehead.

I kiss his left shoulder and scoot forward a bit, pushing my arm around him, under his arm. Touching my way over his hip under his left arm, I sit up enough to crane my head over his and let my teeth graze his left ear. Then I reach my hand over the dip in his hip, instinctively running my hand toward his cock.

But he’s already got his hand around his hard length. And as I watch him moving his hand up and down the shaft, I bite my lip. It’s suddenly way too hot under these sheets. I sit up a bit more and the sheet moves so I can fully see him now. He turns slowly in his sleep onto his back, gripping himself with his right hand now. His muscles tighten, and his abs undulate once, twice—I want to join in, desperate to put my hands everywhere. I want to lace my hands in his tousled hair, rub along his stubbled jaw, and kiss his sleepy, sweet half-smile. But instead I just watch him as he writhes, curiously turned on, and loving every second of my voyeuristic power.

His head turns left and he breathes my name again, tension obviously rising in him. “Violet.” Grasping his balls with his left hand, he crooks his leg out of the way, and groans, so I lie down next to him and softly kiss his bicep, then his chest, licking a trail around his left nipple and he makes a sound in response. Shit, if drawing out a low moan from this man doesn’t feel like flying. I start trailing my leg up his, and reach across to touch the head of his cock. He’s so big. The ridge at the edge is so defined in the moonlight that I am tempted to go over there and bite it. Seeing him so long and hard makes me want him in my mouth, but I don’t want to wake him. Not yet.

“Xaden,” I say sweetly in his ear. His neck cranes a bit and he pulls hard on his cock. A few fast strokes and I hear a low growl, “Mmm.” His lips part and I succumb. I am on my knees next to him, and bring my mouth to his jawline, licking the tip of my tongue into his neck. He lets out a full groan of pleasure.

Then suddenly he’s grabbed me, hands in my hair. He takes my mouth in a kiss so intense I think it will melt the sheets entirely beneath our bodies. We press and twist together like we can’t get close enough—though there’s nothing but skin between us here.

Then I’m on top of him, holding his mouth hostage. His eyes remain closed, but his breathing is ragged. He’s trembling a little, my hips firmly in his hands, then he’s caressing upward to my waist and breasts. His left hand comes to the small of my back. His right hand squeezes my breast firmly, and then it’s on my neck, winding into my hair, locking me in a kiss that somehow makes me ever more hungry for him.

And I’m sure I’ll just stay here forever, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s so fucking hard and his cock is knocking up into my crotch in obvious need. I reach between us, right where I straddle his thighs and I grab him firmly to bring him to my entrance—but when I grasp him he breaks our kiss, groaning from just one touch.

I laugh a little then. It’s so hot, and I am so happy, this dream is everything I needed. He wakes up just enough to startle.

“Violet!” His eyes open a little further. “Mmm—you’re here,” he says, licking his swollen bottom lip. He looks around like he’s making sure of where he is. Then he looks back, shrugs almost imperceptibly, and his eyes smile back at me, holding my hips and rubbing his thumbs on my pelvis. “Of course you are.”

“Mmhmm.” I lean in for a kiss. But he stops and flips me over, on top of me and between my legs in an instant. He pushes his upper body back enough to smile, looking into my eyes. I squeeze my legs around him, and bring him in closer. I don’t want any distance.

“Violence, you’re here.” He says it again. But this time I can hear in his tone that he didn’t expect me to be.

“Haha, yes?” I giggle playfully, holding his eye contact, “Happy to see me?” I wouldn’t want to dream of anything else, I half-wonder if this is a manifestation of my need to know he still wants me.

And, reading my mind, without any magic, Xaden answers, “This fantasy is my only real happiness, now. But…you actually being here—is lighting a fucking fire in my belly.”

“But—“ he pauses to kiss me first, and then continues between kisses, “I… wasn’t… expecting you.”

What a weird, fucking amazing, dream. I thank Loial for the gift, biting into Xaden’s shoulder. He pushes his hips against me in response and it almost hurts to have his weight against me, he’s so hard. Nothing else exists foe me but this feeling. My Xaden, unbelievably hard against my body.

“But Violet,” he moans, struggling to open his eyes enough to focus them and speak, “this is my dream.”

Realisation dawns on me, and I gasp, breaking our kiss so I can look at him properly.

I touch my hand to his cheek and smile, “Tonight I fell asleep touching myself, missing you, Xaden.”

“Fuck yes, tell me about that later.” He laughs.

I continue, “And now, somehow, I’ve stumbled into your parallel fantasy. But I wouldn’t have ever guessed it wasn’t my own dream. It is so familiar, so exactly matching mine.” The realisation nearly brings me to tears. I guess this confirms Andarna’s power is still working, then.

“Violet, you are in my dreams as often as I can dream. You’re everywhere in my head. Fantasies about your body consume my sleep—and my waking thoughts, too.” Xaden looks from my eyes to my breasts, and then he groans, leaning into me as he feasts upon my mouth again. He ravenously grabs my ass, lifting me to press harder against his rock hard length that’s wedged between us. The friction and pressure against my pubic area are so good that I buck my hips again a few times. This, this is exactly what I was imagining before I drifted off…

Then I get an idea. This is my power, so by the gods I’m going to make it count. Who knows if this is the only time, or the last time. Right now I don’t care where he is, I don’t care what the future holds. In this dream I can get whatever I want, even if it’s not my fantasy. I don’t care if it’s real, I want to forget whether it’s my imagination or a true case of dream walking. That’s a problem for ‘Tomorrow Violet’.

For now, I’m in charge.

I push him off me, and I shove him hard onto the pillows, flat on his back. Then I stand up on the bed, straddling his waist, and he smiles up, studying me.

“I don’t know if I’ve seen this exact view before.” He lets out a gravelly sort of sound as he gives his shaft a few hard strokes. He’s obviously quite into this underside view.

“You don’t get to touch that anymore.” I make a serious face gesturing downward. “That’s mine.”

“Okay, Violence.” Xaden’s eyes darken, his brows raising once. But then he surprises me, and smiles wide, letting go. He puts his hands lightly on my calves, waiting as I tie my hair back into a messy bun.

I straddle his chest, knees nearly in his armpits. I glance back and see his very needy cock still standing at attention. Good.

“You know,” I say, taking his wrists and pinning them against the pillow, on either side of his head, “I hadn’t fully understood the benefits of my signet, and I’d like to develop it further, I think.” Xaden’s arms flex and I know it’s taking everything in him to not take what he wants right now.

“Violet, it’s—I am—” he starts, but I put one hand over his mouth.

“No.” I command. “Not yet. This is my dream now. You don’t get to ruin this for me, too.” And in his eyes I see he knows exactly what I mean.

I kiss him quiet, and go back to holding his wrists down above his shoulders. His hips rock upward, and I put my ass in the air. I take one hand and l lick my palm, then reach between my legs and flick his tip, hard.

“Ah. Fuck!” he protests. “Violence—”

But my wet hand is already smoothing the length of his cock and the precum I find on him tells me it’s not because he didn’t like it.

I shimmy back a bit, lift his neck to lean him more upright onto a second pillow—and climb up him again. He’s at the right height now—he glances up at me darkly, and meaningfully smacks his lips. I grab his hands and place them on my ass, then grabbing the hair on his crown I make him look at me properly.

“Huh. I think we both know how hungry you are for me. So now you’re going to eat me out so thoroughly that I scream your fucking name, Xaden Riorson. How does that sound?” The smile he gives me is intoxicatingly beautiful. And while Xaden couldn’t be more perfectly sexy, it’s my control that has me buzzing most. Taking the lead is somehow never this much fun in real life, but here in this dream, it’s turning me lust-drunk.

I drag him by the hair toward my clit, and his fingertips spread me apart. He grabs my ass and taking my weight, guides my hips expertly, essentially lifting me onto his face. Then Xaden devours me—first with long, hot, open-mouthed lapping strokes, grazing his teeth on my folds. It’s all I can do to merely breathe. I close my eyes, and hold on. Xaden’s sucking my clit—alternating in quick little tongue flicks—then back to eating me with his entire face. His tongue dips inside me, and I grasp his hair tighter, squealing from the sensation. His muscles strain, to bring me closer still, dragging my ass forward. My hands are both on the headboard now, and I’m gasping for air. My core feels like it’s on fucking fire. The intense stimulation escalates so quickly that my explosive orgasm legitimately takes me by surprise—I scream, loudly, as the aftershocks of ecstasy shake through me. I’m clinging to the headboard for dear life.

“Xaden! Fuck that’s good!” I praise him. Then I remember, I’m in charge—so I come down off of his face.

“What next? Tell me.” Xaden sounds impatient, and then almost desperate. He asks, “Make me do it, Violet. Please ask me to make you come a few more times.” But he doesn’t move, obedient. His eyes are hungry, and his smirk is wet with my pleasure.

Utilizing what the quadrant gave me—my hard-earned muscles—I spin myself 180 degrees, and look at Xaden, upside down, through my legs—my ass in his face. Xaden’s low huff signals his lusty approval, and he grabs the fronts of my thighs. But I hold myself where I am, and stop him from taking over.

“I can tell you want some more, Xaden, but you have to listen to me tonight.”

“Or what, Violet? I’m already getting exactly what I want,” he chuckles.

“Don’t make this harder for yourself, Xaden.” I say playfully, gesturing toward his bulging member, which remains tall, sad and lonely. I grasp the width of him, and his eyes roll. “We must do something for this now, don’t you think?”

“Uh huh,” he manages.

“I wanted to taste you earlier. I will get what I want tonight, Xaden fucking Riorson—So eat up, now. Oh—and don’t stop, or else I will.”

“Fuck me, Violet.” He laughs. “I want you in control like this way more often. Why the fuck didn’t we do this before?” I have no idea, either, but I’m also kind of mad that I waited until now to try this. “By far my hottest sex dream ever,” he adds, grabbing my thighs, and burying his face into me, warming me with his tongue, perineum to clit. Then he spreads my ass wider for his face. Holding myself up with one hand, I bask in the bliss of him feasting on my ass. Then I look forward to finally give Xaden’s outstanding cock some attention. I hold firmly at the base and lick the entire edge of the head of his cock. I suck him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around, and then sucking him further into my throat. Pull off slowly, tightly, I then graze my teeth along his ridges and nibble gently on the tip, revelling in the sounds coming from behind me in response—wet, slurpy, Xaden moans.

“Fuck me, Violet! You might kill me in my sleep.” This is the hottest sex I’ve had with Xaden in ages—and he’s not even inside me yet. He’s holding me up to his face—I’m angling toward his length. I ghost up and down the shaft with my lips, kissing and licking the taut skin. I continue teasing until finally sucking him into me, tightly—from his noises I can tell taking his ridge in and out is edging him closer.

“I want you inside me—now, Duke Riorson.“

“Anything for my Duchess,” he seethes in a satisfied way.

I smile, turning to look back at him. Xaden looks easily the most attractive I’ve seen him in ages. He’s messy and wiping his glistening face with the back of his hand. His expression is priceless—no worries or cares, just greedy for me, licking his lips and leaning toward me like a sleek, brown, wild cat, ready to pounce. I bite my lip and lean back, spreading my legs to welcome him, and crook a single finger to beckon him to come and get in me. He growls. Then I’m twirling like I weigh nothing, thrown down on the bed. Xaden crooks one leg up and slips his cock just barely inside. I arch for more, bringing him deeper, and he groans—his eyes suddenly intensify on me.

“No, Xaden.” I put one finger up and wag it back and forth. “Now you’ll go in and out, nice and slow—no, slower—Fuck—No. Just the tip.” I try to push his hips back, though of course, with my joints, I can’t hold him off for long.

Xaden growls in response, clenching his jaw and pinches my nipple. I yelp and slap him hard on the ass—he hisses a sharp inhale through his teeth, and leans in to bite my earlobe.

I push him back more, pulling off his dick, so I can put my hand between us, grasping the width of him. This functions to keep him shallow, and I bring him where I want so I can move myself up and down underneath him. My slow thrusts edge me closer, exactly as I need—it’s so incredible my breaths become shallow and short. I lean down and suck a bruise into his neck, “I am so, so fucking ready for you, Xaden.”

“Seeing you, feeling you around my cock, tasting you—I don’t ever want to wake up, Violet.” I let go of him, and then—as soon as he can, he seizes the opportunity to drive into me, hard. He’s so thick and full inside of me that my breath catches.

The angle, the power, the emotion behind his needy thrust rupture the tension I’ve been building up—first playing with myself, then toying with Xaden. There are no thoughts. Everything goes white. I'm only nerve endings—just feeling—and I need to feel it again, right now. I need him harder, and faster.

“I love you, Violet. Sorrengail. Riorson.” He punctuates every part of my new name with a joyfully enthusiastic thrust.

A smiley, open-mouthed moan escapes me at the sound of our combined names—and damn if sharing this missing detail at this exact moment doesn’t push me right to the very edge. “Xaden!” my heart is bursting as our bodies claim each other— “You’re mine.”

My nails bite into his ass, his back, and now I’m meeting his thrusts, sweating to be closer, to push harder. My pleasure is unending, building to a climax that I’ve designed perfectly for myself. I am desperate for him to strike, over and over, further, more. Xaden himself is failing at his usual dirty talk—grunting and driving into me as if this time is simultaneously taking everything he has, and giving him life. Finally, we both yell and come together, and ride out the waves of pleasure. Our joyous release overflows as we collapse, kissing in the best sort of out-of-breath way—a hot mess of sweat, and sex and sheets.

I look into his eyes, sweet bliss all over his expression, and I drink in his smile one more time—and before I notice if I’m choosing it or being shoved out—I wake up, still sticky with sweat. I’m devastatingly alone in our bed in Riorson House, wondering how my dream walking tonight into Xaden’s dream was even possible—isn’t Xaden far, far away? He was so wonderfully himself in sleep—no veins, no ice. But how is he, really? Will I ever get to do that again, if even in dreams? Overpowering longing follows the sweetest, dreamiest moments of satisfaction, but I am sure that every night will end the same—there’s nothing for it but to sob myself to sleep, again.

[megmoonlightmeg]

"Extra Credit"

Post Onyx Storm, for @empyreanevents Riorson Week 2025 prompts "Professor", "Signet" and "Bond" @ moonlightmeg on AO3

I’m sitting in the quiet of the small garden, pondering what I could possibly do to make me care about the meetings I know I’ll have to attend later. Until recently, I’d been too sad to really want to come out here, even though our room opens onto it. Bodhi’s room does, too. and Garrick’s, and Imogen’s. 

“There are too many damn bees,” Imogen eyes a big bumble bee with way more fear and disgust than I’d expect. 

“It’s just a bee, Im,” I say, yawning. The sweltering sun beats down on my paleness, and all my clothes stick to me. Thank Amari for the sun-shielding rune Imogen brought out earlier, or I’d have literally melted into the stone patio by now. 

And though the Aretian summer heat isn’t my favourite, the sweet fragrance of the pale purple roses and jasmine, the breeze—they remind me of last summer.  the salty cool sea breeze cutting through the moisture easily and Xaden coming into the unwarded bedroom, unburdened by magic or the lure of channeling—his focus entirely on me. The smell and taste and feeling of his skin, under me, over me, inside of me. The windows thrown open wide, Xaden took me so thoroughly, likely all of quest squad heard me screaming his name before we broke the beautiful carved table. 

I laugh at the memory, but it’s followed by the gut-wrenching aftertaste of grief. Still daydreaming in the afternoon haze, I start to feel drowsy in the shade. 

Imogen heads go the kitchens to grab us some lemonades. I mutter some thanks, and as she walks out of focus, my eyes flutter shut. The sweet fragrance of the trailing  blue Jasmine lulls me further, and I allow it to take me.

A familiar voice in the darkness, “Why hello, Violence.” As some of the fogginess clears, I realise I’m outside somewhere, but I can’t tell yet.

A prickly tingling on the back of my neck tells me that we’re being watched. I look around, but I can’t see anyone I know—can’t quite recognise any of the faces in the crowd of students. 

“Hit me,” he says, bringing my attention back, and crooking his hand, he beckons me playfully, showing everyone in the pit that he’s not afraid of me at all. 

But I’m keen on keeping myself away from problematic situations, compromising in ways that could potentially jeapordise Xaden’s position. 

“But Xaden, if I come over there…” 

“You’ll do what? Zap me? Climb me like a tree? A man can dream, can’t he?"

Exactly, I think to myself. I can’t give him, or anyone, the satisfaction of breaking the codex publicly. Xaden is safe here within the wards at Basgiath. Now that he's a professor. 

But… wait...This is a dream. 

Oh… 

As I finally catch on, the recognition in Xaden’s eyes are gold-flecked bliss, and my body is their playground. 

I look down. 

I’m wearing black silk, it seems, at signet sparring. 

Convenient. 

“But Professor Riorson,” I whine, “I’m not dressed appropriately for signet sparring.”

“I think you’re dressed very appropriately, cadet.”

“Now come over here and try to hit me,” he orders, this time through our bond. 

“I love when you’re in my head, even in a dream,” I say, feeling a longing that’s far deeper than this dream. 

“I know, me too,” he says, and his eyes smile so warmly that it hurts below my sternum. 

But then I remember what I’ve recently established. I can influence how things work here in a dream—I pull myself together, deciding in a moment that tonight is the perfect opportunity for me to try something new. 

Biting the inside of my cheek to ground my body in a sensation that’s not related to the dream, I begin reaching through our bond. Except this time, I go even deeper. It might feel a bit like rummaging around to an experienced inntinnsic, but now I’ve started, I’m committed. I feel even further for Xaden’s power and ask it, What is Xaden intending to do now? 

“Would you like to tell me what the fuck you think you are doing?” As usual, it’s that deadly calm in his tone that makes me shudder just a little. I can even feel it in my mind—he’s giving me a frigid mix of curiosity and cool annoyance. 

And then there it is. I feel his intention almost as clearly as if they were my own. I can sense his desire for me—his want—how his need is driving his decisions. Now he wants to grab my hips and-—and now he’s using his shadows—

“How… are you doing that?” he asks aloud, incredulous. I open my eyes. I’d not even realised I’d closed them. The shock on Xaden’s face is priceless—eyes wide, eyebrows raised so high, they’re hidden amongst his curls. 

I look down at my hands and sense my intention blending with Xaden’s. There’s movement on the floor that I notice out of the corner of my eye. I palm a dagger in an instant. Electricity stirs near the surface of my skin, but there’s something else—I notice now that the thing on the ground is a silvery stream of darkness. And then the tendrils of that something are interlocking with Xaden’s shadows...

I take one step toward Xaden, and draw a second blade.

“What if—Professor—I am just trying to fully the signets at my disposal?” I school my features to pleading, I’m his student. A petulant student. “Isn't that what you keep saying? Use the power you have at your disposal?” His nostrils flare infinitesimally as his eyes darken and squint slightly at me. 

Oh, it’s on. Now I can sense more of him—I feel his power. And perhaps because I will it to be so, I can feel it in my body, too. The heat in my core as I slam my silken strands against the shadows Xaden is throwing my way. They intertwine and wind their way to him, and I understand now—how delicious it is to touch someone else like this with your power. 

Shadows feel much more solid and effortless than the unruly currents that I have had to learn to draw from the air and the electro-magnetic fields that produce lightning. Within a couple of tries, I wrap a strand around his waist, and, using it like a string, pull him toward me. All my intentions laid bare for him. 

“What are you—” he starts. 

I look across his chest and his name tag that says “Riorson”, like all the other professors at Basgiath. 

Ugh I can hardly stand it. 

He’s fighting me off with his shadows now. But not that well, I can sense he’s enjoying playing with me way too much. Now I’m close enough he notices my lusty gaze and squares his shoulders to me, leaning back against the strands round his waist, and finally stops trying, crossing his arms. 

“Ok, Violence. I’d definitely call that inappropriate use of a signet power.” 

I stick out my lip, giving him a fake pout and puppy eyes in response. 

“But as ever, you are utterly astounding. I mean, I know we’re in a dream, but there’s no way anyone else could have wielded shadows with that level of control. Only you, my love. Only my perfect wife could do that.” 

My heart swells stupidly with pride. I’m so gods-damned turned on by his praise that I think I’m ready for him to get inside me, now. Yep. Right now. Can he read my intention? “Right now, Professor Riorson. That is my intention.” 

But my blades are still in my hand, and while he’s distracted, gawking, and stunned by my words and my body in his Deverelli silk, I realise that I’m not done yet. So I take action now as it is likely my one and only chance. 

Maintaining eye contact, I come in close, so there’s just a couple of feet between us. Before he can read my intention, I shove his shadows aside, and swing my leg out, throwing his torso down with my shadow strands. In an instant, I spin, landing on top of him, my blade to his throat and straddling his waist.

He’s surprised, and breathing hard. So am I. I fix him with an intensely serious look of satisfied triumph. This is a rare moment that might ever only happen in dreams. And then Xaden laughs. 

It starts so suddenly, and so loud it surprises me. But his eyes shut as he throws his head back—his mirth is so genuine and warm that I can’t help but cackle along.   

When we finally catch our breath he rolls us so he’s on top, and I have to gloat a little. 

“Wait. Professor Riorson, you didn’t think that just because I am a sucker for your teaching uniform that I was going to let you beat me, did you?”

“Oh I’m sorry, Cadet Sorrengail. Stealing tricks from my book certainly wasn't playing fair.” 

The look of lusty admiration all over his gorgeous face, coupled with the way his lips part, his hot breath tickling my lips — I start turning to jelly in his arms. It’s taking everything I have to make my eyes not roll back in bliss. Our mouths are so close that his lips vibrate against mine when he adds, “That didn’t go the way I thought it was going to go.”

“The right way isn’t the only way, Xaden.” 

And then I lay my dagger down and kiss him with everything I feel, because who knows when one of us will wake up, and cut this lesson short. 

[megmoonlightmeg]

Something coming to you for day3 😇😇😇😇

Riorgail Week: June 16th-22nd

Riorgail prompts! Two prompt lists in one day, oh my! Keep an eye out for one more. Make sure to tag @empyreanevents and use #riorgailweek2025, or use the AO3 collection. As always, prompts are open to interpretation. I can’t wait to see what you create!

Day 1: Professor Riorson | For the Teacher/Student trope lovers.

Day 2: Bond | They have a magical dragon mating bond connecting them to each other. Explore that.

Day 3: Signet | Inspired by the 'inapproprate use of signet' tag on AO3, but can be intepeted however.

Day 4: Jealousy | They’ve both had their moments of jealousy and it was H-O-T! Give us some more.

Day 5: Truth | All Violet has ever wanted from Xaden is the truth and in some aspects that is the one thing he can’t give her. Explore the ways that the truth, or the lack thereof, affects their relationship.

Day 6: Domestic | What do we want? Domestic Riorgail? When do we need it? Now!

Day 7: Free Day | Canon or AU, the freedom is yours!

🎨 by hmmr.art

[megmoonlightmeg]

Um YES

sometimes writing empyrean fic is just doing math about dragon speed trying to make a timeline make sense and wanting to cry

[megmoonlightmeg]

Inspired by “Tutor Me (Use Me)- Caelge”on ao3

I draw every six months (probably) and it usually stays a wip. So I will say that I am very happy to have made much more progress than before!

I am still learning quite a bit, and I know in the Empyrean fandom there isn’t too much “anime” style fan art. I plan on practicing/studying a bit more to give my style a more mature look. As of right now I am content with this! I hope I get to make progress and do our fav couple justice.

The author and her friends reactions were such a delight! What started as an itch in my brain, made others happy, and honestly nothing could beat that feeling. TMUM brought down the art block I’ve had for awhile, so many thanks to Caelge for writing such an amazing modern take of Xaden and Violet.

[megmoonlightmeg]

I seriously actually cannot wait.

This duo is everything.

Watch #HowToTrainYourDragon, in IMAX cinemas Monday June 9.

[megmoonlightmeg]

Anyone want a little 🤏 bit of visual inspo??

Lately, I’ve been on my kid’s school trip and snapped these as reference — can you guess where?

For Aretian architecture and Riorson House:

For the doors into Riorson House / the bedroom

Redacted if you’ve not read OS

The ring!

What do you think?

[megmoonlightmeg]

The perfect Bodhi

Bodhi Week Countdown: 1 day!

Bodhi Week Announcement

🎨 by itswibell_art

[megmoonlightmeg]

Liam Week: June 4th-10th

Liam Week Prompts! Make sure to tag @empyreanevents and use #liamweek2025, or use the AO3 collection. As always, prompts are open to interpretation. I can’t wait to see what you create!

Day 1: Honor | Not only was "It's been my honor" one of the most heartbreaking lines, but Liam was also an honorable man. He didn’t hesitate to help out Xaden, he kept Violet’s secrets, and despite the way other cadets treated him for being a marked one—he never took the bait. What does honor mean to you?

Day 2: Protective | Liam was protective in nature, highlighted by his role as Violet’s bodyguard. Show us some protective Liam.

Day 3: Gone | Gone but not forgotten. This is for the angst or paranormal lovers. Go nuts.

Day 4: Hands | Liam frequently used his hands to make precious wood carvings. What else can those hands do?

Day 5: Number One | Liam was #1 in a lot of things. Gauntlet time, strength, and in our hearts. Explore other ways he could be number one.

Day 6: Brother | Liam was a biological and a foster brother, but if you ask me— we didn't see nearly anough of that. Give us the brotherly Liam we all deserve.

Day 7: Free Day | Canon or AU, the freedom is yours!

🎨 by @ratabrasileira

[megmoonlightmeg]

Kinda didn’t realise how Xaden voice starved I was until I listened to the Onyx Storm GA this month 😏🥵🥵🥵🥵

[megmoonlightmeg]

Garrick and Xaden act like divorced co-parents of a rebellion and it’s genuinely hilarious

Xaden: We need to be subtle Garrick: Like last time? When you killed a man mid briefing? Xaden: He was a threat! Garrick: Dear, we can't keep assassinating everyone you don't vibe with

[megmoonlightmeg]

For Bodhi week, but I can't tell you which day - Day 1, Day 4? Day 6? I'm not sure @empyreanevents. Anyway, this ficlet is part of my longer fic called "What Remains"

Did anyone ask for a Bodhi x Aaric adventuretime? I don't mind—I am shipping it!

Deliverance

— Bodhi —

“I want to believe you, Durran,” Aaric laughs, genuinely amused, “but I find it very, very difficult.” 

“No it really is true,” I laugh in response, reminiscing. I stare into the unendingly starry sky above the Umbriel coastline, “I wanted to be a map-maker, and he wanted to be an architect, I think.” 

It’s strange remembering how small we had been, once. Xaden had always loved the house, he’d study books on woodworking and runic detailing and stay for hours with them scattered all around him on the floor. His unending questions about architectural details of the city would surprise his tutors, and he was always better at math. That made sense, calculating as he is. The recollection makes me miss his certainty, and feeling adrift, I circle my arms tighter around the knee drawn into my chest making myself smaller on the fallen stone pillar where I’d  sat down.

The haloed moon is bright tonight, and conveniently comfortable—warm enough that we don’t need a fire, as needn’t draw any attention to our encampment. Aaric and I had searched these temple ruins before dusk, but of course, you never know—if Umbriel’s forces sent someone to follow us, we’d have a hard time making an escape in unknown terrain. Luckily, this former sanctuary, used by the priestesses of Dunne, overlooks the surrounding area—a welcome bit of luck to secure a strategic vantage point. Still, it’s hard to push away the slight undercurrent of unease I feel as the lush forest murmurs all around us. It’s just another reminder of the foreignness of everything—even the flora and fauna. 

Aaric balances a small stick on his first finger, and then twirls it across them, playfully. It’s strange that this guy is the now the anchor in my unease, a fortnight ago, all I would say about Aaric was that he was a good fighter but nothing more than a mysteriously unlikely ally, and someone that Violet trusts. Before that, Cam Tauri on the quadrant felt mostly like a liability. 

When Aaric—the unknowable first year who was surprisingly lethal on the mat—turned out to be Cam, I  wondered if Xaden would kill him just to eliminate one of the many variables that could expose us all. But Xaden didn’t, and Violet trusted him—Aaric showed us with every defiantly loyal act that he was Aaric first, and Cam second. 

The late evening moonlight pours onto us, thinning the anxieties of the day, as if the light is casting us anew. Now Aaric looks refreshed, as if we haven’t been on the run, dusty, dirty and exhausted for days. And though we have both worn the label in so many ways, outwardly and inwardly, there’s a new layer of “traitor” all over us now. 

Since setting off our perhaps unlikely pairing was surprisingly natural and trusting. We made decisions and moved in easy unison, with a shared resoluteness to play our part, narrowing our focus to survival and quick strategic choices. The timeframe Cam forsees is tight, and all the reason I needed to decide I was in, but Xaden and Violet’s aligned certainty made our mission feel like the only right choice. 

In the daylight our eyes are shadowed by the exhausting inevitability of defeat should we fail on our rebellious errand, but in this thin blue light Aaric Greycastle the traitor looks more like a swashbuckling pirate—my new friend. I wistfully linger in a deep inhale, and just for a little while I think I’ll will myself to forget that it’s a mission, and not an escapade.

“I can take first watch,” Cam offers blithely, not looking my way, as he runs a hand through his wavy blonde hair. The sleeve rolled tight across his bicep is distracting as it flexes upward. His body seems lithe and smooth, but he’s wound tight inside and out—it’s beautiful, admittedly.

The regal air he exudes is almost enough to take my breath away. He leans back, with one leg up, his foot propped against the doorframe. Holding the stick he was playing with absently between his teeth, he folds his arms across his chest and his knee sways slightly side to side, fidgeting. 

Aaric’s gaze moves toward mine, like he senses I’m eyeing him. Long sandy lashes reveal the luminous green stare I bet I’ll fantasize about later. Their intensity makes my stomach flip, and I avert my eyes.  

It’s been a long, long eleven days. I might even go so far as saying that the prince and I have shifted into friendship territory. But tonight there’s a heated tension in the warm air that feels new. 

Looking back at Molvic, he smiles. “There’s a bit of magic here in the templ—“ he starts to say.

“Yes, I can feel it too,” I agree too quickly, my voice gravelly—overly sultry—because I’m still caught in the magic of him. 

I speedily clear my throat, “…I mean, I’m glad to have some tiny bit of access to Cuir, yes.” I’m surely blushing, but I doubt you could see it in this light and with my skin tone. Fuck.

My hair falls into my eyes as I look down, and shrug it off, cringing. Right now, I don’t need to be anything but effective. Nothing matters but surviving this war. We are saving our friends, fighting for the continent. Yes. Button it up, Bodhi. 

I fucking let my guard down, and he noticed…shit, shit…he’s fucking turned toward me now.

I suppose, after all, it’s not such a big deal if someone actually notices me being frivolous, or reckless. I never got to have personal needs or desires, except for the occasional sexual encounter to alleviate stress. Having to hold it together in front of the marked ones, being Xaden’s shadow at all times, was exhausting, but holding it together for myself—has been impossibly hard. I have sacrificed nearly every part of myself, under everyone’s scrutiny, even my cousin. 

Until this trip.  

Under the pale light of this glorious moon, I don’t have to be anything, to anyone—because shit, I’ve only ever given everything, always. My parents died, I sacrificed my childhood, then I sacrificed to keep Xaden safe—kept his secrets, prepared to take the throne, and shouldered the burdens he took on for the rest of the marked ones. I’m tired. 

Yes. I’m tired—and it’s hot, and I’m melting in my flight leathers. Thank Amari we have enough time to properly stop and rest now. When I took off my flight jacket earlier after nearly twenty hours straight on Cuir’s back, I nearly died from my own stench. I’m now regretting that I’d not scouted for a stream or something before the night was dark, as I smell my armpit, fishing around for the pair of sleeping trousers I know stuffed into my pack as we rushed leaving our last camp. 

I’m so busy faffing around in my nervous embarrassment that Aaric properly laughs—and I swear I get a bulge just hearing the tinkling timbre sound of it—and that’s before I’ve seen his expression. I glance up to find him watching me—like really looking—and gods if it isn’t so disarming to see someone too perfect, too controlled, too guarded—finally letting me see a little more of himself. His expression is a victory I didn’t know I needed to win. 

“I really need a bath. Fuck.” I make a face, and fake-gag. 

“Agree,” he’s smiling with his eyes, now—and it sends me buzzing. I’ve always been able to disarm the stoic, angry broody men in my life, after all—but Aaric feels extra closed off—and now he’s smiling and it’s big. It’s all teeth, and extra dazzling, all the way up into the pit of my stomach. What an unlikely setting for such an intoxicating, easy feeling—here, millions of miles from everyone we know—with Cam, the fucking crowned prince of Navarre. 

“Put those land-nav skills to good use then, Durran, and find somewhere to bathe?” He raises an eyebrow, arms still folded, eyeing me.

“Yeah, I’ll check if there’s a pool or stream nearby,” I respond, feigning nonchalance as I grab the map, a sneaky half-smile forming on my face. What a pleasure—a night swim. My stress slides off me like I’ve been wearing dragon scales for multiple years. And suddenly I feel like I want to ‘pull a Ridoc’ and name our trip. Something like… 

‘Our adventurous side excursion’? 

‘The secluded lush island tour’? 

Who knows. 

All I know is Cam’s gift—his signet—gives him unparalleled insight into doing exactly what would win us this war. It was my decision to follow him now, rather than Xaden, but it’s still unclear of course if this trip will win us the allies we need. And with Xaden is gone—well and truly gone—Violet now carries the one burden I knew I could never actually take on—she rules Tyrrendor. Thank Amari it’s her job now to sit on that gods-forsaken Arretian throne, that always felt too big and too old and ill fitted for me and my worry-brain.

And so this strange, awful turn of events has shifted a lot for me. And, fuck if I don’t feel carefree—a kind of levity I’ve not had in—well, as long as I can remember. 

I’ve always worried about something. 

I was the one who needed to stay ‘sweet’, stay ‘soft’, stay likeable. I always felt it was my role to keep Xaden cool, to temper him, and present the version of Xaden that was amiable enough, palatable enough to the aristocracy, or to leadership at Basgiath—hell, even to the allied Poromiel aristocracy. 

Because if anyone found out about Xaden—about the rebellion, or lately, about how he’d turned venin—it would jeapordize everything we’d jointly sacrificed, everything I’d worked for, and everything our parents died for. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t either watching his back or being his second—and the release from the claustrophobia of never being really able to say, “No,” makes tonight feel like I’m on my first real holiday of my adult life. 

Cam had it the same, it occurs to me, as I watch him turn to rifle through his pack for something more comfortable. He was—he is, after all—a Tauri. And the king expects his sons to lead Navarre and wage the war and the propaganda war that his father’s fathers have perpetuated. It’s not like Cam could have said “No,” to his destiny any more than Xaden and I. Cam was raised to carry the burden of this inherited conflict, even before he was mature enough to understand that choice. 

And so Cam became Aaric. And Aaric was hard to get to know. But the last few days have felt the opposite—hearing him worry aloud, share his visions with me… letting his guard down and laughing with me—it’s like looking through a window and getting a rare glimpse at Cam. I can picture what he was like; long before Basgiath War College and the Rider’s Quadrant. Back when Violet, Brennan, and Mira had known him as a carefree child prince, unburdened by the truths of his father’s war. 

I look closer now, examining the faded, inked topographic sketched areas of the map, and there is, in fact, a load of water nearby. And although these maps are ancient, and probably only somewhat accurate, if even one of these tributary lakes exists, I’ll be thrilled. Aaric and I decide to head in the direction of a half dozen bodies of water. On the map they are dotted across the area just inland from where we’re sat. 

“According to this,” I say, looking up from the parchment, and keeping a finger on the page, “this lake is actually very nearby. I bet we could leave our packs, but let’s take the eggs,” I suggest, not wanting to tempt Zenhal. Better to keep them nearby, as we can’t afford to lose a single precious hatchling, that  would rob us of our most important leverage.

Cam nods once, humming in agreement, and grabs the other side of the extra pack. After dropping it with Molvic for safe-keeping, as he walks back over, he eyes his blue clubtail, mentally relaying information about the eggs. He’s so naturally lethal, in sync with Molvic—he reminds me of Xaden, but there’s a sort of pampered softness to him, too. 

Just yesterday, on the other side of the island, he’d asked me to fill his waterskin in a tributary we’d stumbled upon. I was so glad to find the small river. The water was clean, originating from a wellspring nearby—and deliciously salt-free. I’d hastily rushed to drink and fill my waterskin. And then there was something about the way Cam handed his waterskin down to me as he said “Fill this as well,” that gave away precisely how much practice he needs at asking people to do things without commanding it. 

I’d happily filled it without saying a word. 

We’ve been walking just a foot between us for ten minutes. We’re mostly silent, and the dappled moon shining down on us, chittering birds sound in the trees above us, some nocturnal bird particular to the island as I’ve never heard anything like it.

Aaric is the first to spot some dark water up ahead. He pushes me on the shoulder with a hand his eyes fixed ahead, already pulling the tie on his sleep tunic loose—“I’m glad I brought you, Durran, for this reason alone. That lake looks absolutely divine.” 

I grunt in response, “Glad my land nav skills can be of service—” my breath hitches at Aaric’s broad grin again, and his bare, muscular torso. His skin is pale, but delicately touchable, stretched across the planes of his abdomen, and I can’t help the fluttering in my belly. 

His brow lowers a bit, thoughtfully. “We shouldn’t stay long.” This type of short, foreboding statement is indeed Aaric’s style.

Because the soft sweetness of Aaric Greycastle is only eclipsed by his glowering mask of rebellious secrecy. The slight slope of his shoulders give away just how heavy it is to carrying around a defiant “fuck you” energy that seeps from him. However Aaric’s is a different “fuck you” than the “fuck you” Xaden carries. Xaden doesn't care what anyone thinks, because he’s arrogant. He’s decisive and leads because there isn’t another person in the room who’s thought it all through as quickly as he has. With a lethal vigilance, he manifested a precog ability to see intentionality so he can take preemptive action in the moment.

And so it’s no wonder that Aaric the rider has developed precognition like Xaden—Aaric is a planner. He’s secretly hated his father and brothers for years. Patiently fuming, spying, and biding his time, Cam expertly schemed to do whatever it would take to bring real honor to himself, including changing his identity. He alone will bring honor to his title—especially since his family has utterly failed to do so. Cam would fight, rightly, not only for the safety of his own people, but to the benefit of the entire continent’s populace. Therefore, Aaric’s “fuck you” isn’t directed to everyone—just to anyone who’d assume that he’s his father’s son. 

And yet, he’s not got the angsty rage-vibe you’d expect. In fact, I’d long admired his ability to compartmentalise his feelings and remain level-headed. Aaric seemed wise beyond his years, I’d personally never really remembered he was a first-year. He had every reason to hate all of us marked ones, but any enmity Aaric shouldered toward Xaden as his brother’s killer never even extended to the rest of us marked ones. He’d made a choice to rebell same as us a long time ago. I instantly sensed when he was completely at ease sharing his signet with me—he trusted me.

How refreshing.

I guess this is what it feels like to be seen exactly as I am. Not holding it together, not putting on a show, I can act and decide what’s next for me, now. I start tugging off my boots, and then my shirt.  

I steal a glance, smiling contentedly as Aaric strips fully and runs to jump into the lake, headfirst. I hope he knows I trust him, too.

[megmoonlightmeg]

This is happening tonight and last night and I’m not sad about it

Bodhi Week: May 11th-17th

The long awaited prompts for Bodhi Week! For this week I really tried to balance between Bodhi centered prompts and prompts that left room for romance because let’s be honest, who doesn’t want to explore Bodhi in a relationship? Obviously the prompts are always up to interpretation but I wanted to make them a little more open-ended. Make sure to tag @empyreanevents and use #bodhiweek2025 or use the AO3 collection. Look forward to seeing all of your entries!

Day 1: Right Hand | Bodhi said he is Xaden’s right-fucking-hand. Wherever Xaden goes, Bodhi follows. Explore that.

Day 2: Mirror | It’s mentioned repeatedly that Bodhi looks a lot like Xaden. Mirrors can show your reflection, but also your insecurities. How does it affect Bodhi to be so similar yet so different to Xaden?

Day 3: Signet Countering | What could be the reason Bodhi manifested a signet blocker? Is it as simple as being useful for the revolution or is there a darker explanation?

Day 4: Perfect | Violet said she forgot how perfect Bodhi was…but we didn’t! Highlight Bodhi’s perfections, whether that be as a rider, cousin, or something else.

Day 5: Window | Rebecca has assigned the song I Look In People’s Windows to Bodhi. How do you interpret that?

Day 6: Soft | Ridoc said Bodhi is like the soft version of Xaden. Give us some soft Bodhi!

Day 7: Free Day | Canon or AU, the freedom is yours!

🎨 by @illustratinghan

[megmoonlightmeg]

This was a good one!!!!!

ghost

Content Warnings: Spoilers for end of Fourth Wing.

Prompt: Haunted

Notes: Technically for Day 4 of Brennaolin Week from @empyreanevents. I know it’s late, but I’ve got an arc for Brennaolin Week that I’m determined to finish before Bodhi Week.

Summary: Brennan encounters the same song and dance that’s haunted him for years.

————————————————

Even five years after Naolin’s death, Brennan still felt him in his heart.

He stood at one of many balconies at Riorson House, warm summer breezes brushing his hair across his face as he stared towards the setting sun. He’d asked for the room that had a view of the cliffs where he and Naolin both died, something in his gut at the time yearning to clasp the last fragile connection to Naolin. It had been chaotic, waking up on the cliffside alone with Marbh. At some point, he’d been pressed against Marbh, the offending crossbolt gone from his chest. Tairn had been nowhere to be seen, and Brennan honestly feared the worst. It wasn’t until after he’d joined the Assembly that he learned Tairn had returned to the Vale and rejoined Sgaeyl, determined to never bond to another rider. All Marbh had told him, once he’d awoken, was that Tairn had been the one to nose Brennan against Marbh before leaving the two of them.

“Crazy, isn’t it?”

Brennan didn’t turn when he heard the voice that lived in his memories. Half the time when he turned to Naolin’s voice, no one stood there. “What is?” he finally asked. He’d learned over time that even if he sometimes couldn’t see Naolin, he could hear him. He’d also learned that by turning around, there was a good chance Naolin’s specter would disappear.

“This. We’d always planned to come and live out here after everything.” A soft laugh. “You’re doing what we both wanted to do. Protect people from the venin, do what Navarrian leadership is too cowardly to do. Me, I’m trying to tear it down from the inside. It’s harder and taking longer than I thought it would,” Naolin said, letting out a soft laugh as Brennan heard his footsteps walk from the depths of the bedroom towards where Brennan stood. “And more costly than I originally thought it would be, I’ll admit.”

Brennan hummed but didn’t say anything. Naolin had become annoyingly more and more cryptic in the last five years than he ever had been before he died. “You’re pissing me off again with the cryptic remarks, but I still fucking miss you,” Brennan admitted after a moment, closing his eyes to reduce the temptation to turn around. He didn’t want to lose Naolin’s specter yet. The longer he could talk to Naolin, the longer he could pretend Naolin was still around.

“I’m not–okay, I’m far, but only because I underestimated certain people recently. Your sister is more of a powerhouse than anyone gave her credit for. The venin, it’s a hivemind mentality sometimes. She has to be more careful about keeping her cards close to her chest,” Naolin said, his footsteps echoing as he paced behind Brennan.

Brennan remained silent. He didn’t know what signets either of his sisters had manifested in Basgiath. Just that both had survived Threshing, and Mira was now making a name for herself. Yet another reason to use his alias outside of Assembly, especially when working with the Poromish ambassadors. Hell, he didn’t even know the name or appearance of Violet’s bonded dragon: Xaden Riorson was his only link to Basgiath, and in his last report, Xaden had admitted to being a little too busy dealing with ‘a difficult and frustrating rider’ in his wing to report beyond the usual information and data requests from the Assembly. Brennan only knew the identity of Mira’s dragon–Teine–due to the numerous spies and news postings. As for Violet, well, he just hoped she could stand her ground with her dragon.

He sighed, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, fine, I’ll play along. Which sister are you referring to?” Which sister do I need to pay closer attention to since apparently you claim to have encountered them from beyond the grave?

Naolin said without hesitation “Violet. Your youngest sister. Her signet hasn’t been seen in at least a century, and I have no doubt that the Fates will seek to create balance as they always do.”

Brennan didn’t ask for clarification. Felix, one of the older members of the Assembly, had once commented that magic always sought balance. A powerful signet among the riders could be expected to appear among the venin. He’d already heard rumors of a venin that was to balance General Sorrengail’s storm signet, but no one had yet the misfortune of meeting that particular venin on the battlefield. Brennan also didn’t want to clarify that with Naolin, almost afraid of what the answer would be. Instead, he said “She should have been allowed into the Scribe Quadrant. I have no idea what the hell General Sorrengail was thinking. I don’t often agree with Dain Aetos, but based on what I’ve heard, I would have initially gone along with his reaction and tried to get her out of the Riders Quadrant. Yet…she survived Threshing with a dragon. So maybe she has what it takes after all.”

Naolin snorts. “Your guess is as good as mine. You’d think after losing one child, General Sorrengail would do what she needed to do to keep another safe.”

Brennan snorted despite himself, a warm breeze brushing the fringe of his hair as he continued to stare out at the sun that was beginning to sink towards the horizon. He let out a slow exhale as he studied the shadows that were beginning to form from the Aretian rooftops that he could see. “You know, you speak as though you’re alive. But I swear I’ve scoured every inch of this land for you, and haven’t heard a whisper of your whereabouts. What alias are you using? Disguise? Where are you?”

There was a moment of silence that began to stretch, and Brennan’s heart began to sink. He knew this part of the song and dance by heart. He’ll either leave, or be cryptic again with the same warning. Then he felt his heart twist as Naolin said “Don’t look for me, Bren. It’s risky enough as it is reaching out to you to talk. But once you start looking, people will start asking questions. Questions neither of us can afford to deal with right now. All I can tell you is that I’m the closest thing to alive that I can ever hope to get.”

Brennan nodded, squeezing his eyes shut at the twist of pain in his chest. “I miss you,” he said after a moment. He resisted the urge to turn. He felt as though time was beginning to slip through his fingers, he didn’t want to lose Naolin just yet.

“And I, you.”

“Brennan?”

Marbh.

Brennan’s eyes shot open, and he turned instinctively to see nothing but his somewhat tidy bedroom. His belongings were in neat stacks by the door, bed, and wardrobe depending on what the items were and how fast he’d need it in an emergency. His bed was as neatly made as he’d done it this morning. The wardrobe still had neat piles and one basket of laundry full of clean clothes Brennan hadn’t gotten around yet to folding to put away. Naolin was gone, dead, in Malek’s hands now. No matter how much Brennan’s heart yearned for even the smallest chance that Naolin was still alive somewhere, just…missing. “Marbh? Marbh, what’s wrong?” he asked, sensing a growing panic from Marbh.

“Sgaeyl returns with the others…and with Tairneanach. All with riders. Chradh and Cuir are demanding for healers, they were ambushed by venin at Resson. They lost riders and a dragon, and another rider is on the brink of death.”

Brennan’s blood ran cold, and he turned and ran to the door, snatching up his bulky medical pack on the way from its place beside the door. With practiced ease, he pushed Naolin to the back of his mind as he ran down to be ready to help with the injured, vaguely aware of other Assembly members heading to the courtyard as well. It didn’t escape his mind that this would be the first time in five years he’d see Tairneanach again, and it seemed the grumpy old dragon bonded after all despite swearing off riders. Brennan was only annoyed with him because now they had a risk of a leak, a rider not in the know, and the poor fool would either have to remain unconscious or be killed.

Naolin is gone now, and nothing can bring him back.

[megmoonlightmeg]

Loved this one! Brandon, Naolin, aisreigh, Brennan, I don’t care what names they have — faking your death and tragic separation to reunited stories including memory loss???? I’m here for it!!!

a Dazzling Haze

for the penultimate day of @empyreanevents' Brennaolin Week and the prompt 'future' I bring you something completely different and entirely unrelated to what I've been posting the rest of the week.

(cw for blood and flashbacks)

And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

The first time it happened I was twenty, spending my summer week between semesters at Basgiath on a school-sanctioned visit to the Barrens Reclamation Area. Archaeology wasn't relevant to my degree at all but I'd been raised by a historian and what's the point of having a parent who teaches if I can't worm my way into his fancy school trips?

"We're pairing you up with graduate students since you're only here for a week," was the instruction, and everyone else got paired off before. For a few minutes it didn't look like they'd have a partner for me, which was only fair since I was the only one here who didn't need the credits for my degree.

"Don't worry, Brandon, we'll find you someone," my dad reassured me as if he thought I was worried about it.

The local woman running the place decided she was completely uninterested in having an undergrad running around unsupervised, however, and she leaned out into the hall and hollered, "Aisreigh! Get your arse in here!"

I was mostly just sitting back, trying to look like I wasn't worth the fuss since I didn't want to make trouble for my dad. Not sure what to expect, I wondered if she had a spare grad student tucked away somewhere or something. The man she'd called Aisreigh walked in the room, laughing and arguing with her at the same time about something he was supposed to be doing, and the air left my lungs so fast Loial must have shot me in the chest with an arrow.

It wasn't that he was good looking- though I should say it wasn't just that he was good looking, because he wasn't built like a model but I was definitely attracted to him. His hair was dark, his eyes were dark, his skin was a sun-kissed brown that was probably normal for folks here who worked in the desert all day but would have stood out back in Basgiath.

He had clearly lost the argument, not that he'd seemed to be seriously arguing with her, and he reached out to take my hand and pull me out of the chair so he could get the tour over with.

And then time stopped.

I've heard of love at first sight, sure, and of feeling like Loial's arrow has hit you, but never expected the two to combine so viscerally. Suddenly I couldn't breathe. My chest felt like it'd been cracked open, my lungs torn apart and my ribs sharp inside me. The man I'd just met was holding me and screaming a name, my name but not my name, covered in blood that I knew was my blood. I couldn't breathe and the harder my body tried the more it hurt, fire in my veins and my nerves, everything twisted up and wrong.

The moment, the vision, whatever it was… it passed, and I was just standing there, staring at him. I was back in the conference room full of folding chairs with this stranger's hands tight around mine like he would never let go.

I realized my dad and his colleagues were watching us, and I needed to say something. Anything, really, though my chest still hurt and breathing was currently about as simple as theoretical physics.

"Naolin," I managed, my throat raw. My stomach lurched even as my brain and my lungs were disagreeing about whether they were working.

"Brennan?" he asked, quiet, almost reverent, and something was very wrong in my head because that wasn't my name, that was the way people mispronounced my name all the time and it had always made me feel like my skin didn't fit quite right when they did. But in Naolin's mouth it felt right despite everything else in my body feeling wrong and the room starting to spin around me.

"Are you two okay?" my dad asked from behind me. The woman who'd called Naolin in laughed at us both.

"Oh, Aisreigh has that effect on a lot of the student workers who come through here," she said, winking at me.

"I don't think this is what you're thinking of," I said, or tried to say. What came out was more of a hacking cough, like something was lodged in my throat and my body was trying to get it out.

I doubled over and suddenly my hands were wet and sticky and red, and Naolin was staring at me with pure horror on his face as my blood spattered across his t-shirt.

"Hells, Bran, sit back down," my father said, pushing me back into the hard plastic folding chair. Once my hands had been ripped from Naolin's, the worst of the dizziness subsided. My dad crouched in front of me like I was ten with a bloody nose again, handing me his handkerchief.

A minute later, Naolin reappeared with a glass of water and then the woman returned with an older man she said was in charge of first aid for the site. He told me to nod yes or shake my head before launching into a barrage of questions: had a I eaten anything unusual, swallowed anything, had I been coughing before I arrived, did I have a history of this kind of thing? My father answered most of them for me, supplementing my head-shake nos.

Somehow I knew Naolin was still nearby, hovering out of the way, and I was glad for it. I drank more water and it helped, because when I coughed again it was without any dramatics.

"Take him back to student housing and have him lie down same as you would if he was drunk," the man finally told Naolin. The promise of laying down made me feel a little better already, even if my head was still spinning gently.

"I'll put him in my room for now," Naolin told my father. "I have a couch in there I can sleep on, and I'll keep an eye on him, and it'll keep the noise down so he can rest."

"If you're sure," my father said, already being pulled in half a dozen directions by paperwork.

Naolin let me lean on his arm as he walked me over to the dormitories. I tried to make words but nothing sensible seemed to come out of my mouth. Certainly no questions. I wasn't sure if I was even managing words.

He unlocked a door that looked like any of the others. The room inside looked solidly lived in, so I could guess he'd been here longer than just a semester, but it didn't tell me much else. My head was still swimming too badly to read the titles on the spines of the books.

"Rest now," he said, setting me down on his bed. Whatever couch he'd told my father about was forgotten. "I'll answer your questions when you wake up."

[megmoonlightmeg]

A fun little find that I didn't notice when listening — sometimes it pays to read books with your EYEBALLS

So this is when Violet wakes up. At first read, I thought it was Andarna so I didn’t think anything of it. But then I read it again and she notices movement to her right and instead of saying that she looked to Andarna it says that she whipped her head towards her meaning the shape in the shadows wasn’t her. And yes it’s pretty far fetched to think it’s Xaden BUT there are things we know about Xaden that makes me think that it is him in the shadows. This is my break down of why.

1. The obvious one being shadows are Xaden’s power. It make sense that he’s hiding in them since that’s his signet.

2. This one is the one that makes me 97% that it’s him. So Andarna says that she won’t let them burn violet. Violet still being groggy is confused as hell but from what we know when they burn people it’s usually criminals or people who have committed treason. So if Andarna is vowing to Violet she won’t allow it to happen it means that Violet is being considered for treason especially with there being a certificate of marriage from Dunne that she’s married to Xaden the number one culprit for the dead elders and the 6 stolen dragon eggs. Majority has also figured out that Xaden turned venin for the immense power he showed with his Onyx Storm.

So this is where it makes me so sure it is Xaden who is in the shadows. In all three books, especially when they become in love, Xaden is never ever abandoning Violet if she’s in danger. He’s also not easy going when he knows there’s a threat to her life. He literally turned venin because of the threat to her life that the mage wants her. In Onyx storm we also see a very frantic and aggressive protectiveness from Xaden ever since he turned literally losing his mind when he knows Violet is in danger. On top of being protective, The one piece of his soul that he saved was the part that loves Violet, meaning every other part of him was lost. So with his love for her still there Xaden would NEVER ever leave her especially if he knew all long what was gonna go down because of Aaric. So if she is in danger of being burned due to treason or them suspecting her, Xaden wouldn’t just leave. He wouldn’t be able to. So it’s possible he won’t always be around, but it makes sense that he was there as she wakes up just to make sure she was okay before he vanished to wherever it is he went to. That shape moving in the shadows has to be him for that reason. He wouldn’t never let her be in danger or leave her unprotected if her life was threatened.

3. I believe aaric manifested either late in iron flame or early on in onyx storm. I’m not sure if Aaric would willingly tell xaden or if xaden found out on his own (since he’s very observant and clever) but I believe xaden is aware of his aaric and the plan towards the end of the book is something they both knew would happen. So erasing violets memories could mean she knew as well or she was let know within those 12 hours but since she’d be the one who’s targeted to find xaden she couldn’t remember anything.

4. In channeling again, Xaden grew more powerful. Violet even acknowledges this when Xaden is releasing his onyx storm and her hope disappears because she recognizes that with sgaeyl he was powerful but not that powerful. So it could be that Xaden can travel within shadows and move about like that. He can possible also remain hidden for long periods of time without reaching burn out. However this could be dangerous because of the pull he’ll feel to channel more and more, and Violet can become a huge temptation for him especially if he’s hiding around her.

I have so many more thoughts but as to this specific line, I do believe it to be Xaden. He wouldn’t leave her unsafe. Never.

Please lmk if you’d like me to post more thoughts and opinions on theories I have thought of!

[megmoonlightmeg]

Love this

tussle

Content Warning: None

Prompt: ‘Past’

Notes: For Day 1 of @empyreanevents Brennaolin Week. If anything, spoilers for Fourth Wing.

Summary: A calm in the middle of the storm that is the Tyrrish rebellion.

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

It wasn’t long before he spotted his prey.

He grinned to himself and then knelt to hide better among the bushes in the small thicket. Overhead he could hear birds trilling in the thick trees, the fainter sounds from sheep and cows that lived on nearby farms, and the faint calls and barked orders of the infantry soldiers still at the keep behind him. He held his breath and kept his shields in place as he scooted a little closer over moss-covered rocks. He held his breath when his prey suddenly shifted position, the head bowed as familiar deft fingers fiddled with buckles and vest straps. Damp hair drifted in front of familiar amber eyes. He could hear the faint trickle of water from a nearby little waterfall, one that he knew emptied out into the pond, and squashed his annoyance at the commander of the keep. The busybody had kept him busy long enough for him to miss the show, and now he had to wait until tomorrow for a repeat. Assuming of course, they had a tomorrow. He knew how fast a still moment could turn into active war.

Then he saw his prey start to pull on familiar flight leathers.

Any second now.

Once the leathers were secure, his prey began to reach for the familiar weapons belt.

Now.

Naolin silently pushed himself forward and ran straight towards his target, fellow rider Brennan Sorrengail. Brennan looked up sharply at the sound of breaking twigs. Naolin saw him begin to say “Fuck you—”

He never finished.

With a shout, Naolin leaped forward, body-slammed into Brennan, and they both went straight into the pond.

Splash!

Keeping Brennan close, Naolin dragged himself and Brennan back to the surface, using the pond bottom to push themselves both back. Laughter burst from his lips as they both broke the surface, and he only laughed harder as Brennan swore and splashed water at him. “Asshole! These leathers are going to take forever to dry” Brennan complained as Naolin splashed him back, the cold water spraying back in his face as Brennan tried to block the splash. It still felt a relief to his body: the weather was warmer this time of year this close to Tyrrendor, and Naolin, being from the northern reaches of Luceras Province along the Emerald Sea, hated the warmer climates of the south.

“I know, why do you think I wore just pants and a tunic? And now I get to listen to Tairn complain for the next twelve hours about being bonded to a child who somehow made it to wingleader in his time at Basgiath,” Naolin said, leaning back to welcome Brennan’s splash. “I sacrificed my peace and quiet for this ambush for the next twelve hours at least, so you’re not the only one who’s gonna suffer,” he said, grinning as he splashed Brennan back. “Besides, you’ve got another couple hours before we’re both back on patrol duty. You can easily dry off then.”

Brennan’s voice came out as a whine as he said “Leather sticks to everything, I’m gonna be stuck like this for hours. Marbh said he wouldn’t fly fast again to help me dry off, even with me not caring that I’ll get sick with a stupid fever.”

Naolin snorted. “At least you didn’t have to explain that to your mom last time, I thought she was going to roast me if Aimsir didn’t do it first.”

Brennan rolled his eyes as he began to swim back to the shore. Naolin sighed and began to follow him. “You know Tairn would have roasted Aimsir back if it had come down to that, maturity lacking or not. Or maybe a fifty-fifty chance that he would have roasted Aimsir. You mentioned that he’s still missing Sgaeyl the other day. Letting you get roasted would solve that problem,” Brennan said, rolling over onto his back so he could continue swimming while facing Naolin.

Naolin shrugged. “She was invited to come along, but she wanted to stay in the Vale,” he said as he slowly swam to keep pace with Brennan. “Tairn wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t fight her on it either. Now he just takes off whenever we have a night stretch here. Not during these breaks during the day though. That’s when there seems to be the most surprise activity from the enemy,” he said as he pulled ahead of Brennan, and climbed ashore. Leaning down, he tilted his body to keep the water drops from landing on the clean towels he’d thrown to the side when lunging at Brennan. “All kidding aside though, he gets it. We have to grab whatever time we can get, you never know what could happen in the next sixty seconds. If that means loosening up a little, then that’s what it means we have to do. Even if, in his words, we have the maturity level of hatchlings,” he added as he turned to offer Brennan a hand.

Brennan was quiet as he accepted Naolin’s offered hand. “You just reminded me of the Tyrrish prisoner who died last night. The injured one that was brought in two days ago,” he said as Naolin braced his body to best support Brennan on the now water-slicked rocks. “One minute we were walking to lunch, complaining about having to protect supply convoys for a couple days.”

“The next, he’d come bursting out of a corridor with nothing more than a rock in his hand,” Naolin finished without thinking, a coil of cold slithery unease twisting in his gut at the memory. An escaped prisoner who wasted precious seconds in grabbing metal and rock from the forges instead of just escaping, the afternoon taking another sharp twist as a Navarrian soldier ambushed the escaped prisoner just mere feet from the exit.

Brennan frowned, slowly reaching out for the clean and dry towel Naolin offered him. “He was the one who refused to be healed, right?” he asked after a moment. 

Naolin nodded. The soldier had swiped at Brennan with an angry hiss, and only fought harder when Naolin and two others began to hold the soldier down so Brennan could heal him. Given how difficult it was proving to capture anyone fighting for Fen Riorson, Melgren had sent Captain Varrish from the northern Tyrrish border to their outpost to interrogate the soldier. The problem was that the man died not long after Varrish arrived. Naolin was convinced he could hear the screams echoing and chains rattling from the dungeons dozens of floors below his bed. “I…I still wonder what he meant, when you asked him if that rock was worth dying for…” he admitted, glancing at Brennan.

“And he said ‘better one life than thousands’ before Mav knocked him out. I know, I remember.” Brennan looked in the general direction that Tyrrendor lay, beyond the tall trees that surrounded the two of them and the land beyond. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What do they know that we don’t, what prompted Riorson into action when he’d otherwise been quiet to Navarrian rule. If I’ve learned anything from Dad, it’s that rebellions don’t happen in vacuums.”

“Well, it’s not like we can just ask the commanding generals, I think that’s intel that is hopelessly above our paygrades,” Naolin said, frowning.

Brennan hummed thoughtfully as he turned back to Naolin. “No…we can’t. But I bet anything that Fen Riorson may tell us, if we can meet him under a white truce flag. Especially if we let him think that we could be swayed to his side.”

Naolin figured that in another lifetime, he’d be shocked at the hint of treason. But Brennan Sorrengail was not just the son of a general, but also the son of a master scribe. Which made for risky but usually viably good ideas. “If I go down for treason, you’re coming down with me,” he warned as he threw another towel at Brennan.

Brennan grinned broadly as he caught the towel. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”