perry-the-platypus-f1cs

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

Heir to the Stars. PT1

A Empyrean and Star Wars the old republic crossover fanfic.

Summary:

Deep in wild space is a planet named only as ‘The Empyrean.’ It is an uncharted and primitive world that houses several islands and large continents. On one of these continents there are two kingdoms: Naverre, the larger of the two kingdoms, and Poromiel, located between the barrens and Naverre. But a secret is hidden in one of Navarre's largest provinces. Tyreendor. A secret housed by a dead man who led a rebellion against Navvere's king, but what if the great betrayer wasn't born on Tyrenndor's soil? Fen Riorson was instead a Sith lord that descended from the stars in search of a world where he could expand the Sith Empire's reach to. Because Fen Riroson was no ordinary Sith lord. In fact, he was one of the twelve members that led the Sith empire. He was a dark councillor. And now his son, Xaden Riorson, must shoulder his father's ancient and dark history. What will happen when Sith overseers arrive at Basgiath in search of the heir who will rise to fill his father's absent seat on the dark council? 

Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End

MASTERLIST LINK

Basgiath was a marvel to the eye, the tall spires climbing into the sky, reaching out like a waiting hand.

At least that is what Xaden had thought when he first arrived at the war college, but then days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months, and now finally his time here was coming to an end; it was both a blessing and a curse.

‘Brooding again, are you?’ Sgaeyl murmurs in his mind, her voice echoing through their bond, and Xaden feels a smirk scorn his usually impermeable mask. ‘I am not brooding,’ he responded, his words holding no heat as he leaned against the cool stone walls of the training room.

It was just another day at Basgiath; the cadets were training like always, and Violet Sorrengail was looking as ravishing as ever.

Her hair was tied up in a tight crown braid as usual, with small streaks of hair falling out of place as she moved fast as a whip on the training mat.

It had been a year ever since Xaden had watched Violet cross the parapet and make her way through threshing and the gauntlet, bonding Sgaeyl’s mate Tarin in the process. 

Xaden can't forget how his heart had soared when he first communicated with Violet telepathically; the way that her face had adorably scrunched in confusion would forever be a cherished memory of his.

“I yield!” The poor cadet that decided to challenge Violet yelped as she pressed the top of her blade against their throat. A smile quirks at the corner of his mouth for a millisecond before the presence of the ever-annoying Garrick appears beside him, seemingly piping out of thin air.

“What happened now?” The smile immediately wiped from his face as he turned to see Garrick's usually cheerful face now drawn into a serious and… Nervous sweat dripped down his forehead. 

‘Something is wrong.’ Xaden mentally tells Sgaeyl, "What possibly could have happened now?" Xaden knows that the others are uneasy after what happened to Liam.

‘I was going to inform you, but you were far too busy brooding.’ Sgaeyl's blunt voice makes Xaden pause. What was really going on? 

“Someone's here to see you… He's in General Sorrengail's office.” Garrick mutters, his eyes glancing from Xaden to the floor nervously, his hand clasped tightly behind his back. 

Xaden lowers his voice to a watery whisper about the others around who could possibly be listening, either out of curiosity or stupidity. “Who is it?” Xaden questions his eyes piercing into Garrick; whoever it was that wanted to see him, it confirmed it was for a good reason. 

After a pregnant pause, Garrick speaks. “I don't know.” He whispers, looking at Xaden as if he had all the answers. 

Their conversation had attracted attention from all around the room; Xaden could see Imogen's curious glances and Bohdi’s imperative gaze matched by other marked ones who were glancing at the conversation from afar.

But a certain silver- and brown-haired woman's gaze drew his attention away from all else. Violet, his violence, was looking at him with those wide-too-curious-for-her-own-good eyes. He simply shook his head at her softly, an action that was missed by almost everyone in the room.

‘Xaden, what’s happening?’ Violet prods mentally at Xaden through their bond, her voice a soft, velvety caress against his mind; he tenses. Xaden had known this day was coming, but it didn't make his heart ache any less. 

‘Don't worry, Violence, I'll tell you soon,’ he responded softly, a twisting feeling turning in his gut, and he would tell Violet as soon as he himself knew what was happening.

As he turned and walked briskly out of the training room, he felt Violet's gaze burn into his back, his boots padding against the hallway floor as he walked. Heart hammering in his chest as he felt Sgaeyl’s curiosity press down against him, the bond thrumming with curiosity. He shut it down.

As he climbed the staircase to the general’s office, he felt himself shiver. There was something different in the air, a twisted dark feeling that crept down Xaden’s spine and tingled at the edges of his mind. 

He felt his signet soar slightly, the shadows of the hallway darkening and leaking out towards him; he sighed, brushing the feeling off of him, straightening his back, and twisting the cold brass door handle.

The door swings open with a soft creak, revealing the all-too-familiar surroundings of General Sorrengail's office.

The dark curtains, wooden floors, and tall bookcases lining the walls stirred painful memories long buried forward again, but Xaden quickly subdued his growing emotions when his eyes fell on the three hooded figures standing hand clasped behind their backs as they gazed at him with piercing eyes. 

Xaden shuddered slightly but found himself bowing his head slightly as a form of respect towards the figures despite his heart leaping to his throat and pounding relentlessly in his ears. 

Lilith Sorrengail fixes him with a sharp, intruding glare as she leans back in her chair behind her desk, a cold mask of indifference and slight annoyance freezing over her face. Clearing his throat, the general speaks up, “Riorson, care to explain what exactly this is?”

The general asks sternly, looking directly at the three figures, not taking her eyes off them as a low growl is heard from outside the window.

Xaden goes to speak, but one of the figures steps forward, pushing the hood back and revealing their face. 

Deep brown skin with wrinkles creasing around the mouth and eyes, a head of short buzz-cut curly black hair, and dark brown eyes that put Xaden’s shadows to shame, stared at the general. As the newly revealed man spoke up.

“That will not be necessary, General,” he said simply, his gaze now flickering over to Xaden, who flinched back at the piercing gaze that bore into his very soul. 

“We are envoys here to retrieve Xaden Riorson because of a long-term agreement made by his father; we will be out of your hair as soon as we possibly can.” The man responded, his voice holding a joyous tone but his eyes reflecting none of the emotion held in his voice.

Xaden watched as General Sorrengail recoiled slightly, clearly seeing the way the man's face crinkled in false sincerity, the underlying threat clear as day. 

Xaden finds the courage to speak up.

“Overseers,” he says simply, watching as all three heads turn to look at him with equally piercing and curious gazes.

“I would appreciate it if I were able to speak with the general in private,” he says, looking to General Sorrengail, who leans back in her chair, suspicion glowing off of her.

“Ah, of course.” The dark-skinned man replies, turning on his heel and gliding out of the room smoothly, the two other figures following behind him. 

“Who. Are. They.” The general states bluntly her voice is hard and unforgiving.

Xaden straightens up, Sgaeyl’s voice thrumming into his mind, ‘For once, I will agree with the general.’

Xaden grits his teeth together, ignoring Sgaeyl. “They are overseers of an academy within a foreign empire, my father—” Xaden paused; he had not spoken of his father in so long, especially in General Sorrengail's presence. 

“He created a pact when I was a child to allow the overseers to come and collect me once I was grown and take me to their academy within the empire.”

Xaden could tell his explanation was fruitful enough from the piercing glare that the general was fixing him with; she straightened up in her seat, her hands clasped together and her elbows leaning on the tabletop. 

“This foreign empire…who are they?” the general demands, making Xaden sigh, straightening himself up.

“I am not at liberty to tell you, General,” he explains, watching as she narrowed her eyes, leaning her head against her hands. “You are aware that we cannot allow you—” Sorrengail began, but Xaden cut her off.

“I understand,” he said simply, watching as she leaned back, her eyes digging at his very soul, trying to find what lay underneath.

It makes Xaden’s skin crawl, but he reminds himself of the impervious mask that clouds his face. “But the empire will not stand for it; this was an agreement between their leaders and my father. I am not at liberty to disagree, and neither are you, General, with all due respect.’

Xaden says gracefully, his voice taut as he watches Lilith Sorrengail's eyes narrow at him, agitated. He knew that he would always have to leave everything behind, so he did all that he could to prepare himself and to prepare the others to care for the marked ones.

But Violet, his sweet wicked violence. Xaden didn't know if he had it in him to leave her here. 

“And what about my daughter?” The general's voice was blunt and harsh, making Xaden meet her eyes once more.

They had made a deal; Xaden hadn't forgotten about that. At the time he thought he would use his father's agreement to get out of it, but now… 

“I don't know.” Xaden responded, his voice tightening as he spoke, and silence fell over the room once more. 

A knock sounded on the door, making the both of them jump slightly. Xaden and the general exchange a look before she speaks up. “Enter.” The door swings open once more, and the three overseers are standing on the other side. 

Xaden only knew one of them, the dark-haired and dark-skinned elder male, Overseer Tremel; after all, he was the one who spoke to his father all those years ago. 

-

The Riorson estate was bustling with activity. Xaden was oblivious to all of that, of course; he was rushing down the halls, skipping past doorways and servants as he made his way towards the kitchens.

Whenever they had guests, his mother always made sure that the kitchen staff made chocolate cake as a bribe to make Xaden behave. 

Xaden slipped past a maid carrying laundry and leaped down a flight of stairs leading to the main floor, but something made Xaden pause as he passed his father's office. Muffled speech bled through the walls, feeding into Xaden's curiosity.

The sound of voices drawing his attention as he pressed his ear against the cold wood of the door. 

“Overseer Tremel, your presence here is a threat to everything I have worked for. You can understand my hesitation.”

Xaden perked up at the sound of his father’s voice and pressed his ear against the door more insistently, his cheek smooshing against the wood, uncaring for the splinters that prickled against his cheek. 

“Of course, my lord, but you have a duty to the empire, as does your son. The dark counsel have already made their desires known…” A deep, gravelly, aristocratic voice emanated from the other side of the door. He had never heard that voice before, and Xaden’s curiosity began to boil.

“I have already forwarded my reports to the dark counsel. This world is underdeveloped and untouched; it would be detrimental to involve ourselves now. The rebellion is still in the making; my son won't be able to fully grasp what is going on. Much less survive the training needed.”

The sharp determination that gripped his father's voice made Xaden freeze; he had never heard his father talk like that before. 

What were they talking about? Underdeveloped? Why was this person calling his father "lord"? His father was a duke; even Xaden knows that.

The questions swirled in his head. Xaden strained more to hear the words being spoken, and thanks to the thin door, he was able to eavesdrop even if he missed every third word spoken. 

“Yes, this backwater planet that you call home… Lord Riorson, your followers have secured your position on the council in your absence, but you need an heir. Lest you want someone to take your seat in your absence," the diplomatic voice became harsher. Whoever this 'council' was, his father was a member of it?

Xaden blinked. None of this made sense. What was a planet? What was his father talking about? Who was his father talking to? 

The sudden sound of wood creaking makes Xaden jolt, immediately pushing himself away from the door as the sound of footsteps creaking against the hardwood floor of his father’s office grows closer to the door; they were leaving the office!

Xaden breaks into a run, pushing himself forwards away from the office door and down the hall until he clambers his way to his room, panting. 

-

“Your son was listening.” Tremel's short reply made Fen Riorson sigh, placing a hand on his forehead; he knew his son was listening. The boy’s forceful presence was like a newborn star. “He's too curious for his own good.” Fen mutters under his breath, standing up from his desk and brushing down his robes.

Xaden had heard what no one on this planet ever should have heard. The force walls Fen had placed around his office to block anyone listening in had all but bent at Xaden’s curiosity. 

His son was almost like a mirror image of Fen when he was a child: curious and deadly powerful. After a moment Tremel walked back to the front of Fen’s desk, bowing his head slightly to the dark lord of the counsel.

“My lord, you knew this day would come. Your seat on the council may be secure, but you need an heir; the old houses and the council demand it.” Fen gritted his jaw tight.

The Sith Empire was a spider's web of politics. The other noble Sith houses were greedy and bloated by their legacies; Fen never gave into that delusion. He was a part of a lengthy line of ancient Sith descended from one of the first dark Jedi that came to Korriban all those millennia ago.

The Dark Council, the ruling twelve Sith Lords of the emperor acting under the emperor, was a different story.

He held a seat on the council controlling a sphere of power throughout the empire, all under his command, and yet here he was, on a backwater planet deep in the unknown regions. He had established himself seamlessly in this world, and now, the counsel demanded he name his heir. 

“The boy is nine. He was raised here believing this is the only world that exists.” Fen hissed, and Tremel bowed his head more deeply; the overseer knew better than to prod deeper at a dark counselor's temper.

��An early age for his training at Korriban, but…his mother—you mentioned in your reports on this world that your wife would leave when he turns ten, correct?” Tremel prompts, and Fen found himself pausing. Tremel was correct. “The boy has power, maybe even more than you did when you were his age, my lord.” Tremel's faltering falls flat as Fen speaks up once more. 

“I will train my son. I will teach and instruct him, and after. Only after that, will he be sent off to the Sith academy.”

Fen Riorson’s voice was sharp, bearing no argument or differing options. Tremel bowed his head and straightened his spine up.

“May I ask for an estimate of when that will be?” Tremels asked, his fiery eyes watching as Fen Riorson’s hand clasped behind his back, the burning yellow of his Sith eyes bleeding through the dark depths of his brown eyes. “Thirteen years.” 

The air around the two Sith paused. Tremel Snape looked up to look at Fen Riorson, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed his pride and spoke. “As you wish. Darth Vauren.” 

Tremel bows deeply before turning on his heel and exiting the office, slipping away into the halls of the Riorson estate, presumably to return to the dark counsel via holocall with the report of events. 

Fen Riroson felt his shoulders slump forwards, one hand coming up to cup his forehead; his mind was aching. The spider’s web that was Sith politics was being spun once more, and this time his son would either be caught in its web or he would have to learn and evolve to spin his own string. 

Gritting his teeth, Fen Riorson turned on his heel and headed down the hallways of the Riorson estate. He needed to speak with his son. 

-

Xaden paced his bedroom, his hands collapsed close to his chest; none of this made sense.

None of it—he shook his head trying to find any sense in what he had heard, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. None of it made sense.

Xaden paced his room, his hand rubbing at his face in annoyance, the curiosity burning a hole in his mind. 

 It had been many hours since he had overheard his father's secret conversation; he had been pacing in his room ever since, and no matter how hard he pondered, none of it made any sense. The sun had long since fallen beneath the horizon when a knock at his door made Xaden jolt, suddenly shaken away from his thoughts. 

He carefully trod towards the door, creaking it open and sticking his head out to look at the person who knocked; he forced a soft look when he saw his father standing there. 

“May I come in?” Fen Riorson prompted, quirking an eyebrow at Xaden, who froze in the doorway.

Did his father hear him when he was listening in on the meeting? Was he in trouble? Opening the door further and letting his father slip into his room, Xaden tried and failed to act nonchalant and unknowing while sneaking looks towards his father, who now sat on the end of Xaden's large plush bed. 

Xaden closed the door and turned to see his father patting the space next to him on the bed; it was a gesture Xaden knew too well. It was the ‘let’s talk’ gesture. Xaden trod towards the bed, climbing up onto the bed and sitting next to his father, suddenly finding the color of the floorboard very interesting. 

When his father spoke, Xaden sank in on himself. “I know you were eavesdropping on my meeting, Xaden.” Xaden went to speak, but his father held up a hand.

“I know you must have questions. So, I’m giving you the opportunity to ask them.” Xaden stared up at his father, who lowered his hand to his side. Motioning for Xaden to quell the burning curiosity boiling underneath his skin. 

“What’s a dark council?” Xaden asks tentatively, watching the way his father's face draws into a serious mask.

Fen Riorson cleared his throat, his back rigid. “The Dark Council is a group of powerful Sith that lead and rule over an empire called the Sith Empire.” Fen said, carefully watching Xaden's head tilt in confusion, another question already on his lips.

“What's a Sith?” Fen chuckled. “I was getting to that.” Xaden watched as his father stood up from the bed, turning and holding out a hand to Xaden. 

“Come. Let them show you something."

Xaden took his father's hand. Fen led them out of Xaden’s room and down the hallways of the Riorson estate. They reached the courtyard, and Xaden tilted his head up, his eyes gleaming with barely controlled curiosity. “Where are we going?’ he asked.

“The gardens,” Fen answered simply. Xaden blinked as his father led him further away from the courtyard opening metal gate, opening up the entrance to the hedge maze that resided in the first part of the gardens.

The maze was Xaden’s idea, a small combination of twisting hedges that eventually led to the center of the garden, if you knew how to navigate the maze. 

“Why?” Xaden asked, his eyebrows scrunching together. His father wasn’t making any sense.

Why would he take Xaden to the gardens to tell him something? Why not go to the library? His father chuckled softly, then spoke evenly.

“Like I said. I'm going to show you something.” They walked through the maze of hedges, twisting and turning until they reached the center of the Riorson garden. 

The garden was a lush canvas of many different kinds of greenery, and in the middle stood a large cobblestone fountain that, for as long as Xaden had lived, had always had unevenly dribbled water.

Xaden watched his father find a small patch of grass not too far from the fountain and lie down against the cold grass, patting the spot next to him, a silent command for Xaden to also lie down. 

“Why are we lying down?” Xaden whispered as if the very trees would steal his secrets.

Fen raised his arms towards the sky, his hands open and palms up, as he spoke. “Look up at the sky. What do you see?”

Xaden paused. “The stars?” He said, slowly turning his head towards his father, who only laughed softly, his arm falling back to his side. 

“Exactly, but it's what you don’t see that's what is important. Above the sky, far beyond where any kind of dragon can fly, there are other worlds. Xaden. Each of these worlds is like an island floating in a great sea, called a galaxy.”

Fen continued, his eyes never wavering from the stars even when Xaden sat up and stared at him like he’d gone mad. "Some are all full of forest, some are all desert, and some are cities that never end." 

Xaden heard his father sigh longingly before he continued. 

“Long ago, on one of these worlds, a people called the Sith built a mighty empire. They believe in strength and passion, they live by a code, and they use power that comes from the very life of the galaxy, called the Force. Their empire stretches across many worlds, binding them together.”

Xaden blinked up at the stars; they were all just small speckles of light in the sky.

But on some of them there is an empire? Xaden's quiet wonder slowly dissipated as Fen continued speaking. 

“But the galaxy is not just Sith, Xaden. There are also the Jedi, who use the same power as the Sith but in different ways; they serve a faction called the Galactic Republic. The Republic is bloated with inconsistencies and falsehoods. But there is more to the galaxy: countless people who live their lives on ships that sail between the stars. The Empire is just one of many great powers in the stars, and it's where I'm from.” 

That night was the first time that Xaden Riorson felt truly small. And that was the first night that Xaden looked at his father and asked if he too could sail throughout the stars.

His father smiled at him and said that he would do more than sail through the stars. He would rule them.

-

A knock came at General Sorrengail’s office and was immediately followed by the door creaking open and Overseer Tremel walking back into the office, his words echoing through the office.

“I am deeply sorry for the interruption, but I really must get going, and I would like for Lieutenant Riorson to be able to pack his things.”

Lilith Sorrengail snapped her head away from Xaden to glare at the overseer, her voice harsh and non-negotiable. “I'm afraid that won't be happening.”

Overseer Tremel raised an eye, and his mouth turned into a small, cruel smirk. “Oh? And what makes you so sure, General? Xaden Riorson, as of right now, is under our care and protection because of an agreement that you have no authority over.”

Tremel's mocking tone wasn't lost on the General. “Just as your ‘empire’ has no authority here,” she snapped, rising to her feet from behind her desk. Tremel tilted his head, appraising the general in front of him with a cold and calculating gaze. 

“On the contrary. It is you who has no authority on this general. Xaden Riorson is, as of right now, under my jurisdiction. Not yours. There is nothing that you can do, and no one that you can call that will change this. 

Xaden could feel the chill seep into the room; he watched as Lilith Sorrengail paused. No, she froze. Her body was unmoving, but her eyes darted between Xaden and Tremel. It wasn't her magic that she gained from her dragon that was making the room chill. Then Xaden felt it, in the very air itself. He had only felt it a handful of times. 

The force. 

“Get your things ready. And say your goodbyes, we're leaving,” Tremel smoothly said, turning back towards Xaden, who nodded and quickly left the office, his boots clicking against the stairs as he descended down the tower. 

He reached his dorm and quickly started shoving things into a small satchel bag.

Simple things like clothes, boots, and most importantly daggers were all chucked into the bag haphazardly; he needed to be quick, and he needed to have enough time to speak with Garrick and Bodhi about the marked ones, and she needed even more time to say goodbye to Violet. 

Xaden paused as he opened a drawer and saw the round rope bag stuffed in the far left corner of his drawer that was buried under a mountain of clothing now stuffed in Xaden’s satchel.

The bag contained churam, a very effective magic-blocking drug that is also highly restricted, especially among riders.

Xaden had managed to get a pouch from a dealer during his early days at Bassgiath, and he had rationed out his use over the years. 

“Ah, fuck it,” he hissed under his breath, grabbing the pouch and chucking it into the bag. 

He quickly sealed the bag shut, swinging it over his shoulder. He walked towards the door, pausing at the exit; he turned back at the room he would probably never see for a long, long time. He closed the door behind him on the way out. 

Xaden walked down the hallway back towards the training rooms, quickly slipping into the room he left just hours ago.

The training had stopped at least half an hour ago. But some of the groups still lingered behind. Most notable was the cluster of figures all huddled together not far from the sparring mats.

Xaden watched as Garrick quickly jolted up from the group and rushed towards him. Garrick's brows were drawn in confusion and unease. He fell into step next to Xaden, whispering hastily under his breath. “Xaden, what the hell is happening?” 

Pausing, Xaden slowly placed a hand on Garrick's right shoulder, never breaking his strides towards the group. “Listen to me. Keep Sloane and the other marked ones safe; I'll be back, I promise. But I have to go.” Xaden's tone was sharp.

He knows she doesn't have a lot of time before Tremel and the other overseers want to depart, and he knows that a Sith's temper can only be stretched so far. 

Garrick gawks, his mouth gaping, as he sputters, Xaden's words hitting him like a brick.

“Go where!? What the fuck are you talking about!?” brushing Xaden's hand off his shoulder.

Xaden winces; he can't afford to argue right now, not with Garrick. He couldn't explain either.

“You have to trust me. Please, Garrick. Keep them safe. Keep Violet safe; the assassination attempts are getting more and more frequent, please. Keep her safe.” Xaden’s hand curled into a fist, his jaw clenching as he whispered under his breath. 

Garrick balked, his voice rising. “What the hell are you talking about!?” Xaden could practically feel the prickle of eyes darting over him in curiosity.

Xaden watches as Violet slips out from the huddled group. Approaching him, her eyebrows squinted together in confusion. 

“Xaden?” She questioned, her head tilted in curiosity, but an underlying flicker of fear was hidden in her eyes; no doubt she heard Garrick's outburst.

“Violence.” Xaden sighs; his heart suddenly feels heavier in his chest as he looks at her.

He remembers when he had first seen her on conscription day, the way her hair was braided tightly against her head, and the nervous fear that almost emanated from her, but the fearful girl who crossed the parapet had long grown into the strong, resilient, and absolutely brilliant woman that had stolen his heart away from him. 

“What's going on?” she asked, and Xaden felt his chest tighten; he quickly took her hands in his, eyes searching hers. He bit his lip hard; he hated keeping secrets from her, and he hated hurting her. But he needed to go.

“I have to go, Violence. I love you, and I promise I'll be back.” His words were hurried and frantic.

Watching as Violet's eyes widened, her gaze flickering to Garrick for confirmation.

“What are you talking about? Xaden, what's going on?” Her voice hardened, and Xaden opened his mouth to explain, but Violet cut him off. “No. You can’t leave! Where are you even going?” Violet questioned, and Xaden suppressed a grimace. 

He didn't have time to explain, not in any way that would make sense. But by the gods, if the look that Violet gives him doesn't make his heart swell, Disney knows what else would. 

‘You are not leaving.’ Sgaeyl’s voice rumbles in his mind. Xaden had known his destiny years before he had bonded her, and he never shared that crucial information with his dragon even when he felt the burden of his knowledge weigh down on him.

"No one else can know," that is what his father said to him when the rebellion began.

No one could know of the outer galaxy. Not until the rebellion succeeded. But the rebellion failed, and now here Xaden stood, reaping the consequences of his father's actions and having to turn his back on everything he had known for the past years of his life.

He had to turn away from all of this to fulfill his father's legacy. Something icy and hateful soared through Xaden’s veins. 

He was born to do this. He had to do this, and then his eyes met Violet’s, and all his senses left him.

His mouth opened, words on his lips; he didn't even know what he was going to say to her. He didn't know whether he would explain to her that they were alone, that a whole galaxy awaited them.

Or if he would tell her that he was a part of much. Much larger than the rebellion.

But the words were never able to leave his lips as two figures entered the doorway of the training room.

Xaden easily recognized Overseer Tremel, but it took him a moment to recognize the other overseer that stood beside Tremel.

It was an elderly woman, her face wrinkled and drawn into a disapproving sneer as her eyes cut over the riders laced throughout the room before her gaze landed on Xaden and her harsh sneer fell back into something almost like a uniform assessment. 

It was Overseer Ragate, one of the eldest overseers of the Sith academy.

Xaden only knew that form of the short tutoring lessons that his father gave him in his darkened study on long nights.

He remembered marveling at the incredible technology of a hologram as his father spoke of the empire from the stars. 

It felt almost surreal that Xaden was now going to go to that empire and climb to his father's seat on the dark council.

If he lived long enough, of course. “Riorson. We must be going now.”

Tremel’s no-nonsense tone and dark eyes just made Xaden nod. From the corner of his eyes, Xaden could see Violet’s eyes bulge, and she tried to reach out to Xaden through their telepathic bond only to find the brick wall Xaden had placed over his mind. It wasn't just Violet he was blocking out. It was Sgaeyl too. 

Xaden turned to Violet, cupping her cheeks, a mournful expression on his face as he kissed her forehead.

This could be the last time he sees her, he realizes; this could be the last time he sees any of them. He pursed his lips away from her, whispering quietly in her ear so only she could hear him.

“I love you, Violet; never forget that. I will be back soon, I promise, and when I return, I swear on all the gods I will never leave you again.” It was a solemn vow that made violet eyes prickle and water with unshed tears; it took every epic of strength Xaden had to pry himself away from her.

He looked at Garrick, his voice rising slightly. “Keep them safe.” His words were short and simple. Before any of them could get a word in, Xaden turned on his heel and quickly walked toward the two overseers that stood at the door. 

That was his final goodbye. Xaden could only hope—no.

He could only pray that the others would be alright and the violet would be safe and protected from whoever the fuck was sending assassins on her in the night.

His stomach twists. Violet is getting attacked, and he wouldn't be here to protect her.

He hated that thought; he wanted to shake himself free of this feeling. This uncomfortable twisting of emotions. 

Somewhere in between the walk from the riders’ quadrant to the central area of Basgiath, Xaden’s shield slipped, and the roar of Sgaeyl’s voice bombed through his skull.

‘You. Are. Not. Leaving'

guilt twists in his stomach like a dagger. He wasn't just leaving Violet and the marked ones.

He was leaving Sgaeyl too. His dragon, his bonded dragon, the one who specifically sprawled the bonding relic so large across his back that it covers the 107 individual lashes he was marked with after the rebellion. 

107 marked ones. Violet, Sgaeyl.

He was leaving it all behind. Not because he wanted to but because he had to. And if he didn't, Xaden looked up at the sky; the blue expanse swelled with fluffy clouds. Hellfire would rain down from the sky.

The empire would come. Not as guests that he controlled but as conquerors seeking to subdue everything in their path.

He was not naive to the ways of the Sith. His father had drilled their cruelty and callousness into him when he was still a child.

He knows the games they play and the politics they spin. He would survive it, because if he did not, then Navvere and the rest of this god-damned planet wouldn't. 

-

Xaden and the overseers reached the tree line. They had been walking for a while; Xaden knew they probably had a ship around here somewhere hidden with cloaking technology of some sort.

The most confusing part of his childhood was the advanced technology that he later taught him to use and understand.

He still remembered how much his mind ached when his father explained alien species and how genetics worked. Even now when he occasionally quizzes himself on the subject, he still messes up meiosis with mitosis. 

The sound of dragon wings beating above them made Xaden look up, but he already knew the dragon that now slammed herself against the grass that stretched before the treeline.

The navy blue dragon roared, and Xaden could see Tremel's hand jolt to his belt at the sound, but Xaden stood still.

Sgaeyl’s voice roared in his mind once more, almost making his head ring like a bell.

‘You are not leaving!’ The invasive push of Sgaeyl’s words made Xaden wince. He opened his eyes and saw Sgaeyl’s golden eyes blinking down at him, almost daring him to oppose her. A waft of heated steam rushes from her nose. 

“I'm sorry.” Xaden spoke aloud, a lump forming in his throat. As he reached out a hand to brush against the large, sleek, navy blue scales of her large snout. Behind him he could hear Ragate whisper to Tremel.

“He tamed one of the beasts…” Her voice was filled with a cruel awe, almost like she wanted to dissect Sgaeyl down to the bones. A hot anger filled Xaden, but he stamped it down, turning his attention back to Sgaeyl. “I'm sorry,” he repeated.

”But I have to go. I’ll be back, I promise. But until then, stay with Tairn and Violet. Protect the others…please,” the beg left his lips as he bowed his head to her. Here he was, Xaden Riorson, leaving to go venture through the Sith academy to eventually rise to the highest seat of power within the empire, and here he was bowing to his bonded dragon. 

The silence that Sgaeyl gave him was painfully long. But the bond thrummed as she spoke. ‘Be safe, shadow wielder. I will wait for your return.

But our bond will strain. I do not know where you are going, but I can assume it is far.’ Sgaeyl’s voice turned from sorrowful to sarcastic, and Xaden couldn’t help but chuckle a wet laugh.

“Thank you,” he whispered. And he watched as the navy blue daggertail leapt back into the sky, making the ground shake as she took off flying in the direction of Basgiath. 

Tremel took a few steps forwards, stopping next to Xaden as they both watched Sgaeyl fly away.

The overseer turned to the dragon rider and asked, “Are you ready to get going now?” Xaden couldn’t reply, because he knew that he didn't have an answer to the question, and no matter what the answer could be, he knew it would make no difference.

Now his only goal was to live long enough to see everyone else again and to kiss Violet like there's no tomorrow. 

Once Sgaeyl faded into the distance, Tremel and Xaden both turned on their heels and walked with Ragate further into the forest. Xaden knew his future was uncertain. But even if he has to fight every day for the next ten years just to stay alive? He would do it. 

For Sgaeyl, for the marked ones. And for Violet.

Notes:

I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter! I just wanted to add that the timeline for the Empyrem series is near the beginning of Iron Flame. I haven't followed the events of Iron Flame closely for this fic because it is mostly going to be about how Xaden navigates the Sith empire and how his time at Basgiath plays into him becoming a Sith. The events of Iron Flame are still playing out during the events of this fic the exact same way they played out in the book; the only difference is that Xaden is not there. This fic is tagged with “timeline what timeline” because I’m still figuring out the intricacies of how I’m going to incorporate the Empyrem universe and its timeline into this fic. This fic will also include my own personal headcanons about the Sith Empire and how it operates and how the Sith Academy operated. Reminder, this Sith Empire is the reconstituted Sith Empire from SWTOR. The Star Wars timeline is set after the events of all the classes' storylines and is taking place during the interlude era before Rise of the Hutt Cartel. I’ll try to put a timeline memo on every chapter note. Additionally, when Fen is explaining the galaxy to Xaden, he is explaining the galaxy to Xaden from his point of view, not from the actual factual status of the galaxy. And a little bit more explanation on his and Sgaeyl’s bond. The bond weakens over distance, and because Xaden is in another galaxy, the bond is basically nonexistent, and it feels like it's broken, but it IS still there, so Sgaeyl can’t bond another rider, so she’s kind of just stuck with Violet and Xaden, and she is mourning like she did lose a rider, but she didn't. AND Xaden can still use his signet, but it is VERY VERY weak. (Love going on my fanfic writer bullshit) Also, this first chapter was VERY long, and the chapters that will follow this first chapter will all be around 2,000 words each compared to this chapter, but I may expand the word count whilst writing, but I'm not sure yet! Anyway, that's enough of me yapping! I hope you all enjoy this fic and are hungry for more. I hope you all have a good day/night! Please feel free to ask questions in the comments or even just leave a comment. I read all of them!

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[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

I FINALLY FINISHED WRITING THE FIRST CHAPTER OF MY EMPYREAN AND STAR WAR CROSSOVERRRR

(i'll post it on here soon!)

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

Shadow company bell au masterlist

Shadow company Bell au oneshot PT1 Anthems of a Brainwashed soviet. PT2 Events of Las almas Chapter 1 PT3 Events of Las almas Chapter 2(finale) PT4 A job that slowly kills you AU

TBC

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

This is the kinda stuff Phillip will send to his dad every once in a while.

Yes he got this humour from woods.

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

I want to shake Phillip Graves by his shoulders so much that his head swings back and forth making him look like a broken bobble head with his stupid blonde hair and stupid pretty eyes and stupid scar.

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

War, Royalty, and The conqueror PT7

Chapter 7: I've escaped!

Summary:

Reader escapes from the western kingdom with the help of their long lost friend Phillip!

Masterlist link

“Hold on tight!” Phillip encouraged me as he gripped the rope tightly with two hands; my arms were wrapped around his shoulders, and my legs were hooked around his waist.

Despite my healthy form as the heir to a kingdom, I hadn’t climbed a rope since my childhood. Thankfully Phillip was accustomed to climbing with triple his weight.

“Just get it over with!” I almost yelled, squeezing my eyes shut as Philip laughed and swung himself out of the broken window. We needed to be quick; the morning sun had fully peeked out over the horizon, and I would rather no one spotted me clinging on the back of a mercenary commander sliding down the length of the castle in an escape attempt.

Phillip slowly clambered up the rope, and I kept my eyes squeezed shut. I had seen the magnificence of the castle during my first escape attempt, but I wasn't about to look down to the possible height of my doom no matter how close to the ground we were getting.

So instead I clung to Phillip's body like a lifeline as he continued to slowly slide us down the castle until his boots hit the ground.

I opened my eyes and pulled myself off Phillip; we were around the left side of the castle, which was closest to the surrounding forest.

Phillip grabbed my wrist, pulling me along the edge of the building. “Did you come alone?” I whispered, my eyebrows creasing, if Phillip had come alone, then this truly was a suicide mission. No matter how skilled Phillip was, I still doubted he would be able to take on the entire castle by himself.

I thought back to the training arena I had glimpsed during my first escape attempt; Soap and that other man looked deadly together, and a shiver rose through me. Phillip glanced over his shoulder, giving me a simple smile before nodding his head towards the trees peeking out over the hedgeline of the fence. 

I turned my head and squinted at the treetops; sure enough, among the green leaves were human figures all dressed in the deep black uniform of Philips' mercenary group, Shadow Company. A small flicker of relief filled my chest as I looked back at Phillip.

"We're good to go," he said to me. The coast was clear; his grip on my wrist tightened as we made a run for the hedge line. My boots pounded against the grass as we ran.

When we reached the hedge line, I looked up at the tall hedge; it was a few meters high, but it was still climbable. Phillip turned to me, his hands folding over each other as he bent down. “I’ll push you up. You climb over the hedge, and I’ll follow you.” I didn't argue.

I stood on his hands, and he threw me into the air.

For a second I was floating, weightless; even in the midst of my escape attempt, the feeling was serene, but it was short-lived as I smacked into the hedge, my body falling into the tangled branches and leaves before my hands grasped something metal.

It was an iron fence. Of course, the hedge itself might have been soft and easy to sift through on its own, but a fence like this would stop anyone from getting out—well, unless they climbed over it. 

Slowly I twisted my body over the fence, the branches of the hedge snapping around me. Slowly I climbed my way down the fence, hitting the grass-covered ground on the other side; leaves and twigs now shifted through my hair.

I shook my head as I pushed my way out of the hedge, my finger running through my hair to filter out the twigs and leaves. The crunching of branches and shuffling of leaves made me turn my attention back to the hedge as I watched Phillip break out of the leaves and branches following behind me. 

“This way.” Phillip said, stepping past me and rushing into the forest.

“We need to be quick; they have hunting dogs and horses. Ours are in a meadow a few yards away.” Phillip explained a sign followed behind him trekking through the underbrush, the trees sending streams of light down. 

The forest air flowed through me, the cold morning chill prickling at my cheeks, and I followed behind Phillip, almost dazed by my thoughts.

I was free.

I hadn't dared to think of freedom away from the castle after my last escape attempt that soap had foiled.

But now, as I followed behind one of my oldest friends through a forest towards my home, the realization fully sank into me, seeping through every vestige of my body. I was free. 

The meadow was rather small, a few meters of open grass with a single oak tree standing in the center and two horses tied to a tree branch. I pause, blinking at the two horses before turning to Phillip.

“What about the others?” I ask. There have been other shadows with us; why weren’t they coming with us? Phillip paused, a strange silence falling over the both of us. “They’re staying behind to keep an eye on the castle.” Phillip answers simply, walking towards the horses and untying one of them, grasping the leash, and climbing onto the horse fluidly.

I followed suit, untying my horse and climbing onto the saddle, settling onto the leather seat. 

The ride was unsettlingly quiet save for the sounds of branches and leaves creaking under the horses' hooves. The sun rose higher and higher into the sky as we rode.

Phillip took the lead, and I trotted behind him. The forest grew denser the further we ventured. I had no idea where we were going; I could only assume that Philip was leading me home, and as the sun began to lower towards the horizon, as Philip rode up a hill, I followed behind him.

We had made several stops before. Some to eat and let the horses rest and others to collect water from the small streams we had found on our way through the forests.

But as I rode the horse up the hill, my eyes widened as we reached the top of the hill and looked out.

My eyes were met with the sight of tents sprawled out across the large open meadow speckled with the white cloth of thousands of tents.

I blinked, resisting the urge to rub my eyes; this couldn't be real. I slipped down from the saddle, taking a step forwards, my heart soaring in my chest.

I didn't even hear Phillip step down from his horse. 

The memory came back to me like a knife in the chest: the end of the war, being brought to King Price's feet. But the memory that stung the most was the fire.

The smoke that clouded my lungs and made my throat burn. It was the last day of the war between the western and eastern kingdoms.

It all started when the western kingdom launched their final attack on the eastern kingdom's capital, my home.

I remembered the way fire licked at the buildings within the capital as western soldiers ravaged through the streets, cutting down any soldier who faced them.

Mercifully the civilians that used to live in the capital had fled hours before when scouts had first seen the army approaching. 

But my family had stayed, overlooking the carnage and watching as the flames spread to the palace, burning wildly and consuming anything in its path.

I had wanted to fight that day; I wanted to take up a blade and strike at anyone who dared come for my family. But it had been no use; there were too many enemies and too few allies.

A charcoal-stained white flag rose, and we surrendered. 

I remember being marched towards the western kingdom, Prince’s kingdom. A small ache hissed in my chest. I remember the jeering laughs, the mocking humiliation that I felt every time I dared snap back.

I didn't understand why my parents had given up. I wouldn’t have given up. Our people were safe, with the main forces of our kingdom protecting them. We were supposed to draw the western kingdom’s soldiers into an ambush and come out victorious. Instead we surrendered and found ourselves dragged at the feet of a tyrant. 

“The king's not a bad man, Bonnie.” The memory of Soap's soft-spoken words made me pause, a flicker of doubt filling me before I stomped it down.

I was home now. Phillip rested a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, they’re waiting for you,” he said, handing me my horse’s leash.

I quickly mounted my horse, and Phillip followed suit. He led me down the large hill, the horses' hooves galloping against the grass, the loud thunks pounding in time with my heart as we approached the line of white tents. 

I felt my throat bob as I swallowed nervously, the feeling twisting in my gut. I didn't know why I felt so nervous.

These were my people, my subjects, the people I was meant to rule over. So why did the feeling of them seeing me fill me with an inexplicable feeling of dread?

Phillip troded ahead of me; a small dirt path had been beaten into the ground by constant wear and pressure.

The trails wound through the tents and towards the center of the meadow. As we trotted past, I watched as people slid out of their tents, their eyes growing wide as they saw me pass.

I saw a group of young men, their clothes tattered and worn; as I passed, they all bowed at the waist, their heads downcast, but the youngest-looking one of the group kept his eyes on me, an emotion striking in the depths of his eyes. Hope. 

As we moved forwards, more onlookers appeared, their eyes wide; some bowed, and like that young man, others looked upon me with a sparkling emotion in their eyes: hope. 

Something painful in my throat twisted, my sight blurring as I blinked away tears as I watched slowly as people emerged from their tents, standing on the edges of the small dirt path, all bowing as I passed, one after the other. It was like a wave, a wave of devotion, a wave of hope. I raised my gaze away from the people as Phillip and I reached the center of the meadow, the tents cleared away for a small circular patch of grass with one large imposing red tent standing in the middle, a drop of red in a sea of white. Like a drop of blood in the snow. 

Phillip climbed off his horse first, handing the leash to a nearby knight dressed in chainmail and leathers. I followed suit, slipping off the leather saddle, my boots hitting the dewy grass with a thud. The leash of my horse was taken by a young man barely past his teen years, who bowed deeply to me before taking the steed away. Phillips had found my shoulder once more. I hadn't noticed that I was zoning out; it all seemed like too much.

the eyes and the whispers that travelled through the watchful crowd, but the warmth from Phillips' palm pressing against my shoulder centered me. Even after all these years Phillip was still my rock, my anchor in this crazed world.

He jutted his head towards the red tent, and I nodded numbly as he led me towards the entrance flap. 

I heard the muttering of conversation bleed out of the tent as we got closer, my curiosity piqued.

Phillip swept the entrance flap to the side, letting me step through before he himself stepped through the tent entrance, his hand folded behind his back.

The tent was large. Its tall ceiling drawing my attention before my gaze lowered back down, my eyes sweeping across the room immediately landing on the large wooden table that sat in the center of the room, with occupied seats wrapped around it, and seated at the head of the table looking directly at me was none other than—

“Lord Shepard,” I breathed at the same time as one of the advisors seated at the table jolted up and exclaimed.

“Your grace! You're alive!” The room seized into a chorus of voices and shouts, but my gaze never faltered from the figure sitting at the head of the table.

Dressed in a red tunic with my family's sigil embroidered on the breast, an overlapping deep black cloak, and several belts and sheathes fastened around his waist, was none other than Lord Hershial Shepard, my father's most trusted advisor and hand of the king.

Shepard held my gaze for a moment before she stood up from his seat, the chair swinging backwards as he rounded the corner of the table, rough calloused hands grabbed mine as he held them tightly “thank the lord your alive, your grace.” he said his voice strained and uneven, almost shaky.

I paused my heart beating in my throat as I spoke, my voice barely above a whisper. 

“Why are you calling me ‘your grace’?” The room audibly paused; every advisor, general, and armored guard fell silent as my question hung in the air like a criminal at the gallows.

I stared up at Shepard as his hands slowly released mine. Shepard glanced at Phillip, who was still in the entranceway of the tent. I could see Phillip shake his head softly out of the corner of my eye. 

In the eastern kingdom there were clear ways to address the royal family; any heir, no matter gender or age, would be addressed as "your highness." It was how I had been addressed all my life.

The rulers of the kingdom, however, would be addressed as "your grace." That is how it was and how it has been for as long as the kingdom has stood. There was no reason for me to be addressed as ‘your grace’ unless…

I heard Shepard call my name, spurring me from my thoughts.

“You have my deepest condolences. Your parents…they were executed by the eastern king the morning after your capture.” My heart stopped in my chest, I felt my stomach twist, and my throat was dry.

My legs shook underneath me. “No…” the small whisper fled past my lips before I could stop it. My knees trembled under me, my vision blurring as I blinked back tears. It couldn't be true.

The memory of my mother's smile and the sound of my father's laugh came crashing down onto me; the tears I was so desperately trying to hold back came rushing forward. I couldn’t cry, not here, not now. My knees threatened to buckle beneath me.

It couldn’t be real; this couldn't be happening. My parents, they couldn’t be-

A sick feeling twisted in my stomach, and I gagged, my knees hitting the soft grassy floor of the tent.

Noise escalated around me, but I was numb to it; a sharp ringing echoed in my ears, muting all other noise around me. A strange tingling feeling crawled through my body, followed by a hollow numbness.

I felt my body collapse to the ground, that same sickly feeling cascading over me as I resisted the urge to gag. The noise around me escalated, and the ringing in my ears started to drone on, but Shepherd's voice cut through the ringing.

“Take their grace to a tent to rest.” Warm soft hands pulled me up from the ground, leading me out of the tent flap, the warmth of the sun doing little to melt the chill that had fallen over my body. The hands, Phillip's hands, comfortingly squeezed me as he led me towards a nearby tent. 

I felt my body being lowered into a cot as fur blankets were pulled over my chest, the warmth of the animal pelts doing little to melt the ice-cold grief that grips me relentlessly.

A stray tear slips down my cheek.

I couldn’t stop the rest that followed even if I wanted to. I heard a soft rustling at the entrance of the tent as the tears rolled endlessly down my cheeks, pooling in my chest as I sniffled. 

The shuffling stopped, and the same warm hands softly brushed away the hot tears that ran down my cheeks. I felt Philip's weight press down against the cot.

Everything was unbearable; the weight of the furs was too heavy, my tears were too sticky, and my lips were too dry. Everything was unbearable.

Phillip leaned down, and I could feel his breath softly brush past my ear.

“It's alright, your grace, your safety. That's all that matters now. And I swear to you, those bastards will pay for what they’ve done.” I don't know why, but Phillip's words made the sick feeling in my stomach stir even more.

But the comforting tone that his words held helped me to slip into a restless sleep.

The comforting weight of Phillip continued to press down onto the cot; a comforting guardian, he remained there until the sun dipped down underneath the horizon.

Even when stars started to flicker through the night sky, he remained there, by my side, the ever-watchful guardian.

My longest friend and protector. 

He was the only person I needed at my side. I was wrong to ever doubt that. 

Notes:

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! It took me way longer than I wanted to. Anyway i hope you all have a good day/night!

Masterlist link

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

Perry🩵🩵🩵

You have created so many amazing call of duty fics. I always love your Dadler and Graveson stuff as well. It’s bring a different side of Adler that I always love to see. Also your God’s Gambit fic is 👩‍🍳💋. I just love AUs and Black Ops, I think is just a perfect game series for those type of fics

Omg this took me so long to respond to I'm so sorry 😭

thank you so much ❤❤❤ I'm really glad that you enjoy my writing and getting this ask honestly almost made me cry 😭🥰

again thank you so much.

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

Raised form the Sith hells PT10

Chapter 10: Archives and agreements.

Summary:

A flashback to the jedi councils discussion after Destrus, obi wan and Anakin left. Destrus finds himself meeting another young orange haired padawan.

Masterlist link

Flashback: After Destrus, Anakin and Obi-Wan left the Jedi Council chambers. 

Silence had fallen over the Jedi Council chambers like a shroud of darkness, the sudden realization clamping down on all Jedi Masters present.

A Sith, an ancient Sith back from the dead, was just standing before them in this very temple. The thought was inconceivable; the last active Sith empire was 1000 years ago, but this Sith was not from that empire.

No, this Sith was from a much older lineage of the Sith, 4000 years spent encased in carbonite only to be found in a Jedi excavation to prevent Count Dooku from scavenging any ancient Sith artifacts. 

The silence fades as the grand master of the Jedi order speaks. “Troubling, this is. But to our advantage turn the situation, we can.” There was a lingering calm in Yoda’s voice, the ancient wisdom of the grand master resonating with each member.

The grand master had lived for roughly 800 years; he was by far the wisest Jedi within the temple, but the words that he had just spoken made his fellow masters turn to him in confusion. 

“What do you mean, Master Yoda? There is a Sith walking freely within our halls!” One master shrieked, their brows drawing together, waiting for the grand master to continue. 

But instead the grand master remained quiet, only for Jedi Master Plo Koon to speak up, the Kel Dor rubbing a hand on his chin in contemplation.

“That may be true, but he has hardly acted violently towards us, a rather…unorthodox method for a Sith. The empire he served has fallen; he seems rather pragmatic for a man in his situation.”The Kel Dor’s words did hold some merit; the Sith haven’t outwardly attacked anyone at the Jedi temple, but the distrust in the room was still clear.

The Sith was not only a part of the order that they were currently fighting in war, but he was still an ancient enemy. 

“Agree with Master Plo Koon, I do.”Yoda hummed, nodding his head certainly.

Another master spoke, their voice still filled with doubt, “He is still a Sith, and an ancient Sith at that! Their treachery was legendary; it is more likely that he is waiting to strike at us.” The council was once more returned to uneasy quiet.

History texts clearly showed that Sith were not to be trusted, for even the most seemingly kindhearted Sith could turn at a moment's notice. 

Yoda hummed, nodding his head absently. “True, that might be. Speak with him, I will. Understand him, I will endeavor to. Recognize the symbol he wears. I do.” Many Jedi Masters’ eyes widened at Yoda’s words; they all had noticed the unique symbol that decorated the Sith cloak, but none could recognize it. 

“The symbol? What do you mean, Master Yoda?” Master Windu leaned forwards, his hand folding together as the council waited with bated breath for the grand master to explain. 

“On his cape, he wears a symbol, he does. Of an ancient alliance from his time. I suspect he was a member of that alliance, I do.” Yoda states he remembered a time from his youth when he had stumbled upon an ancient part of the archives still marred with damage from a time before the galaxy was united.

It had been a treasure trove of ancient knowledge, and through the lake of knowledge he had found mentions of an alliance where the outcasts of the republic would flee for prosperity, protection, and most shockingly, peace.

The alliance had very few mentions in the ancient holo books, and Yoda knew that he had failed to find all that there was to learn about this alliance. He had left those archives defeated, but now his knowledge bears fruit. 

“That could explain his rather unusual ways of conducting himself.” Plo Koon paused before continuing, his tone thoughtful. “Perhaps, we could gain a better understanding of our enemies from him, if he is willing.” 

Mace Windu raised an eyebrow as another Jedi master spoke up. “You believe he would help us against the separatists?” The council seemed to collectively hold its breath; a Sith walking throughout their temple was enough to make many of them quick to draw their lightsabers, as the idea of a Sith lord advising them seemed like a recipe for destruction.

Not only that, but if the senate found out about Destrus, there would be extreme outrage from the senate. 

The Sith may have been the Jedi’s ancient enemies, but the politicians of the galaxy still remembered the Sith’s tyranny through their ancient records and historians.

Although many were quick to move on and forget the memory of the Sith, some still recalled times of struggle and slavery under the many Sith empires that roamed the galaxy. 

“He said it himself; he is mourning the loss of his people. He has no empire to return to; perhaps aiding us is what he intends to do.” Plo Koon piped up, his words carrying a serene consideration.

The rest of the council could plainly see the advantages of having a Sith lord help them in the war effort against the separatists.

The idea held merit, but Sith were conniving and calculating, and they had no way of knowing what Destrus’s true intentions could be, but the idea of the grand master speaking to the Sith gave some members of the council a little ease. Yoda was by far the wisest and one of the most powerful members of the order; if anyone could decipher the anomaly that was Darth Destrus, it was Grand Master Yoda. 

But the comforting idea did little to ease some members of the council, who balked at the idea of their ancient enemies helping them.

“A Sith aiding us? It’s absurd! We have no way of ensuring that he will not turn on us!” Agen Kolar argued, watching some members of the council nod their heads. Plo Koon added his rebuttal. 

“Perhaps that is a risk that we need to take, for the republic and for the prosperity and continued peace of the galaxy.” Once again murmurs filled the council chambers.

The peace and protection of the galaxy were the Jedi’s purpose, but they were peacekeepers, not soldiers.

The current war effort had dragged Jedi knights to become generals in the republic's army, and that created unease among the older members of the Jedi Order, but perhaps if they employed the expertise of someone from an ancient time of war to aid them, perhaps they could focus on being peacekeepers and ending that war quickly. 

“Perhaps, but safety measures must be taken. Perhaps we could place him with some temple guards to watch him? Or a Jedi knight?” Mace Windu proposed an agreement filling the Jedi Council; they still couldn't trust this Sith, but they could prepare for any treachery that Dastrus may try to pull.

“Skywalker and Kenobi would be the best pick; they have already interacted with Darth Detrus, and it seems he's most comfortable with what he already knows.” Ki-Adi-Mundi proposed sending a murmur of agreement through the council chambers. 

“Settled it is; speak with Darth Destrus, I will. See if he will aid us in this war; I will.” Yoda hummed, and all his fellow council members nodded in agreement. Grabbing his wooden cane and hopping down from his seat, Yoda looked around the room at his fellow councillors. 

“May the force be with us.” 

Present

The halls of the Jedi temple were quiet save for the sound of Destrus’s boots clicking against the floor.

It was quiet; the distant glow of the Coruscant sun lowered over the horizon made the shadows stretch along the walls. Destrus had just left from the room of a thousand fountains; the grandmaster's words still thrummed through Destrus's mind.

The Jedi wanted him, a Sith. To help them fight in their war? The idea was laughable, and Destrus could practically feel his ancestors cry out in outrage.

But the thought didn't burn as harshly as it would have if Destrus had been his younger, headstrong self. 

If he needed to fight alongside the Jedi to root out the aberration that was the Banite Sith, then he would do so.

He would do all that was necessary to destroy them; he had fought alongside Jedi once before, and many splinter groups of their order had joined the alliance over the years.

He had no self-consciousness about doing it again. He knew their ways; he understood them and studied them until he could dissect every little thing about their order.

well, the order that he fought against 4,000 years ago. He had noticed some differences between the customs and mannerisms of the Jedi he fought and the Jedi he now walked alongside. But that much was expected after 4,000 years. 

His heart twisted in his chest, the memories of his allies boiling up in his mind; it was still jarring to think that they were all gone. Destrus bit his tongue; the more he thought back to the day he encased himself in carbonite, the more things that didn't make sense.

His memories of the event were blurry at best and forgotten at worst; it was as if something had possessed him during the days the plan was set into motion.

But Destrus hadn't heard nor sensed the incessant dark whispers that Sith spirits often press into the minds of their prey; he has spent too long on Korriban to not be able to block spirits out of his mind.

It wasn't possible that he was possessed, but it was the only conceivable answer for his actions. 

Destrus had never been impulsive during his time as the alliance commander; during his younger years as a Sith, he was rather arrogant, and even he recognized that now, but he had outgrown the childish antics of a lord and grew to become the alliance commander. 

The Sith pureblood's thoughts were broken by the sound of footsteps, two pairs of footsteps that were fast approaching.

Destrus paused ignorantly in front of one of the large floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out at the many levels of Coruscant. Destrus waited at the window, a small smile spreading across his face as he recognized one of the two force signatures fast approaching. 

He turned his head as he heard the soft sound of shoes patting against the floor approaching him. He watched as a familiar dark-haired padawan rounded the corner running in a full sprint, followed by another orange-haired youngling who yelled out to the dark-haired padawan.

“Caleb, wait!”The dark-haired padawan skidded to a stop next to Destrus, looking up at the Sith pureblood with a bright smile and a sparkle in his eyes. The orange-haired human padawan stopped next to Caleb, panting heavily, glaring at Caleb, who gave the youngling a sympathetic shrug.

“Hello Caleb, who’s this?” Destrus asked, tilting his head, watching as the orange-haired youngling shrank back slightly, glancing nervously at Caleb, who rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm around the youngling's shoulder, pulling him in closer.

“This is Cal, and he needs help with his assessments, and he and the others were too nervous to ask you for help, so I'm helping him ask!” Caleb said helpfully, and Destrus couldn’t help but almost laugh.

He remembered how nervous Caleb was when he first approached Destrus for help, so it wasn't shocking at all that Cal would feel similar. 

Destrus raised an eyebrow. “The others?” Destrus questioned, watching as Cal glared at Caleb, who seemed to shrink down a bit before he shrugged his shoulders. “Well, uhm, there are some other padawans and younglings our age that need help, so—” Caleb cut himself off by shaking his head. “It’s easier if we showed you,” Caleb said, reaching out and grabbing Destrus’s hand and dragging the Sith lord and his fellow padawan down the halls of the Jedi temple towards the archives. 

Never in his many, many years of life did Destrus ever imagine that he would be dragged through the Jedi temple by a duo of Jedi padawans who wanted his help.

But as the trio wound themselves through the maze of hallways and ended back at the entrance of the Jedi Archives, Destrus couldn't help but be amused by the children's antics. But it was only when the padawans tugged Destrus towards the far corner of the archives that Detritus started to become suspicious.

The further they walked from the center of the archives, the more the lights dimmed, crafting looming shadows across the floor. Suddenly, they reached a door tucked in between the space of a large holobookshelf and the wall.

Destrus raised an eyebrow as Caleb didn't let go of his hand; instead, the padawan walked forwards and stuffed his arm behind the bookshelf, shuffling around for a few seconds, then smiling victoriously as a soft clicking sound reached Destrus’s ears. 

Caleb had just pressed a button. And slowly the door opened, revealing a new hallway lit by flickering light panels that rimmed the floor.

“Come on, you two.” Caleb said, tugging Destrus and Cal into the hallway; once they were past the threshold, the door slid shut once more.

Destrus almost laughed; a padawan had found a secret passage within the Jedi temple, and now he, a Sith lord, was walking through that same passage. 

They continued down the hallway before opening up into what seemed like another chamber that glowed with a dim light, unlike the flickering panels that laced the floor.

Caleb let go of Destrus's hand and raced forwards. “This way!” Caleb called out over his shoulder as he ran forwards; Destrus glanced at Cal, who looked uncertain but sighed and quickly ran after Caleb towards the light.

Destrus sighed. A smirk on his lips as he whispered. “Padawans.” He followed after the two padawans.

Destrus had noticed it, but the hallway that he had adjusted exited and seemed to slope downwards slowly as it leapt toward this chamber.

And before he knew it, he had reached the entrance of the chamber; he stepped through the threshold only to widen his eyes as he looked out into the large area that opened up around him. The sight was breathtaking. 

A high dome ceiling rose several meters above him; the chamber was dripping with lush vines and plants coating the walls like lace intertwining and wrapping together.

To cover what seemed to be deep slashes and cuts in the walls as well as deep dents and spots scattered across the floor. They look like lightsaber and blaster marks, and then it clicked; he had seen this chamber before.

Back when he was an apprentice at the Sith academy, he had seen this chamber interior a thousand times over as he watched the holo recording of Darth Malgus and his troops ravage this very temple during the siege of Coruscant.

This wasn't any chamber; it was the original Jedi temple gardens from thousands of years ago, only destroyed before the signing of the treaty of Coruscant. 

But that wasn't what drew Destru's attention; what truly made the Sith lord's jaw drop to the floor was the small group of Jedi padawans, younglings, and a few young knights that were all collected in the center of the room, all seated in a tight circle looking up at him.

Caleb stood in the center, but the dark-haired padawan quickly raced towards Destrus.

“This is what I meant when I said, ‘We need your help.’ We all need help with something, and I thought that you might want to help us.” Caleb remarked, pointing towards the group of young Jedi, his pleading eyes blinking up at Destrus's with big hopeful teal-blue eyes. 

Against what little better judgment Destrus had left in him, he nodded and watched as a bright sparkle filled Caleb’s eyes, a smile spreading across the youngling’s face as he once again grasped Destrus’s hand and led him towards the group. 

This was going to be a long lesson. 

Notes:

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! hopefully I will be able to update this fic more frequently! thank you all for your support an kudos i hope you all have an amazing day/night!

Masterlist link

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

Adler after the events of MW3:

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

Pov: Adler's lock screen

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

He looks constipated 😭

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

God's Gambit PTi8

Chapter 8: Oh, now I'm yours?

Summary:

Bell wakes up the morning after his escapade with the Fae king.

Masterlist link!

Bell squinted his eyes open, feeling the sleepy haze slip away from him. The first thing he noticed was how undoubtedly vulnerable and naked he was. A red heat filled his cheeks as he turned his head towards the other side of the bed he lay in. 

A tuft of sandy blonde hair peeked out from the bedsheets; realization dawned onto Bell. Memories of the night before trickled back to Bell; he could feel his face growing hotter and hotter the more he remembered. 

He slept with the fae king.

 He slept with the fae king. 

 Bell looked down at his chest. The glint of blue catching his eyes.

The necklace that Adler had given him the night before still rested on his chest, its cold, thin chain pressing against his skin.

“No.” Bell breathed, horrified, his hand shakily reaching up to touch the necklace. Bell's fingers brushed against the crystal, feeling the sharp spark of magic prickle at his fingertips. 

He had accepted a gift from a fae. He’d done more than just accept a gift from a fae; he’d-

Bell shook his head, banishing the thought from his mind, a sick feeling sinking into his stomach.

He spun his head back to the sleeping form of the fae king. This was bad; this was horrifyingly bad. A panicked breath rattled through Bell's chest. 

His hands wrapped around the crystal, uncaring for the way the fae magic stung against his palm.

He was tricked; the damn fae tricked him. Bell pulled, waiting for the necklace to snap off his neck; he waited for the relief of not accidentally enslaving himself to the fucking fae king.

But the chain never snapped; it was stranded against the skin on his neck. Bell pulled again and again until the chain rubbed his skin raw. 

He had been tricked; the damn fae had tricked him. Bell glanced at the still sleeping form of the fae king, an idea spawning in his mind. His hand balled at his side, the faerie king was lying next to him, oblivious, vulnerable, and utterly at Bell's mercy.

A glint of silver in the corner of Bell's eye drew his attention to the bedside table on Adler's side of the bed. He craned his neck, his eyes catching sight of a sheathed dagger lying openly on the table; it seemed to call to Bell, tempting him to take it and plunge it into Adler's neck. 

Slowly Bell slipped out of the bed, careful not to stir the sleeping king; his feet slid across the cold marble floor as he inched his way around the bed until he finally made his way to the bedside table.

His hand wrapped around the pale leather sheath, and his other hand slipped around the handle.

It was smooth; it was a light oak that rubbed against bel palm as he slowly pulled the blade from its sheath. The blade glinted in the warm morning light. 

He needed to do this; this was his whole plan, right? Get close enough to the Fae king to kill him? Bile rose in his throat, but Bell didn't know why; he loomed over the fae king’s sleeping form, raising the blade high. He could end this, avenge all of his people's suffering, and end the threat of the fae. 

‘End it,’ bell thoughts screamed. ‘Kill him,’ they whispered.

And he could free himself from the chains he was tricked into. Bell swung, angling the blade downwards towards Adler's exposed neck for a moment. Bell felt the world around him disappear; it was only him, the dagger, and Adler's sleeping body.

The moment passed when Bell felt a cold arm wrap around his wrist, a punch smacking into his stomach as he was thrown onto his back once again on the other side of the bed. 

Bell blinked, and Adler was on top of him, the very same dagger Bell had just used to try and kill Adler held tightly in the fae’s hands.

Adler glowered down at Bell with a self-satisfied smirk as if he had expected this. Bell wanted to curse and spit at the Fae now on top of him, only to think that he could; his body was frozen, paralyzed in place like a puppet with its strings cut. Bell could only widen his eyes and flicker his gaze towards the now glowing crystal pendant resting against his chest. 

"Ah, so you noticed." Adler said, not a hint of tiredness in his tone.

'Was that bastard awake the whole time?' Bell thought to himself as he watched Adler slowly, teasingly place the dagger back into its sheath before tossing it back onto the bedside table.

Adler sighed, tilting his head, looking at the human splayed out underneath him. “I thought you’d be quicker; perhaps I overestimated you, general.” Alder teased, leaning down to whisper the word ‘general’ in Bell's ear.

With every passing second Bell wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off Adler's face. But he couldn't. He was trapped, like a fox in a snare. A very, very angry fox. 

“Speak,” Adler commanded simply, and Bell felt his strength returning to his lips. “I’m going to kill you, you worthless piece of—” Bell cursed as he glared at Adler with an intensity that even made the fae pause for a moment, for Adler spoke once more, cutting Bell off: “Be quiet.”

Unwillingly Bell's lips clamped shut once more, a sickening feeling settling in on him.

Adler’s smirk widened as he leaned down, his nose almost pressing against Bell’s.

“See how easy that was? How easily you fold to my whims because of a simple trinket.” He flicked the blue pendant.

“How easily you obey me. You're in my kingdom now, Bell.” The human swallowed, and the fae king leaned back and spoke. 

“Speak.”

A righteous anger burned through Bell, a prideful smile pulling at his lips as he spoke with a renowned vigor. 

“If you think this is over, just wait.” Bell sneered, craning his neck forwards as much as his paralyzed body would let him.

“Perseus won’t let you win just because you have me under one of your little spells. I did what I needed to; you freed the slaves. They are on their way to the capital right now. And I bet they're speaking to my king right now, and by Anderim, I hope you're ready for the army that will be knocking on your door very soon.”

The feeling of triumph filled Bell's very veins.

The bluff felt heavy on his lips. Bell knew that for the most part none of those slaves would become a part of the human army or come to save him, but the comfort that his own words were enough even for a second for Bell to believe that the slaves would be alright.

they should have reached the capital now. His mind flicks back to the small group of people he had saved before he was brought to the heart of the fae kingdom; Bell prayed that Theo would be alright. 

The silence that followed Bell's statement made the human uneasy; he could feel Adler's eyes on him, assessing and uncomfortably intimate.

The fae hummed softly, settling back on top of Bell once more, leaning down and whispering in Bell's ear.

“Your ‘king’ won't be able to do anything, General. And I'm not sure what army you think will be knocking on my doors, but it certainly won't be those slaves.” A chill slid down Bell's spine; something in Adler's voice made his heart stutter.

The knowing and fake pity that filled the fae king's tone was enough for Bell to want to be sick.

“You see, you made a fatal mistake when we made our deal; you never specified if I had to leave the slaves alive. You only said I needed to prove the food and transport for them to get to the capital; you said nothing about me letting them get to the capital alive.” 

The world froze around Bel; suddenly the fae king was too close to him, the room was too cold and too hot at the same time, and his throat was far too dry.

The very world around him felt like it was suffocating him; a moment passed, and the fae king leaned down once more, his breath caressing Bell's ear. 

“Speak.” The command made Bell jolt his words, stumbling clumsily out of him.

“You—you bastard!” Pain twisted in Bell's chest, a gnawing, ugly pain that he had only experienced once before, long ago, in a moment Bell would never dare to think about again. 

Adler just smirked, clearly seeing the way the bell's face shifted softly in torment.

The king looked like a cat that just got the cream, and the more that the fae smiled, the more Bell wanted to rip him limb from fucking limb. A sick feeling filled Bell's stomach.

Obviously the king would get off on this kind of sick, twisted game, but then again, why did it make Bell fall so riled up? 

The fae groaned mockingly, taunting, “Curse me as much as you like, but it won’t change anything. I know that, and sooner or later you’ll understand that as well.” Adler's whispered words stung.

Bell gritted his teeth; in some twisted sick way, the fae king was right. Nothing Bell could do would change anything; he had entered a contract with a fae, and the fae had tricked him. But that in no way meant that Bell would ever give Adler the satisfaction of seeing him submit. 

If the fae king could find a loophole in their agreement, then Bell would do his damndest to find a loophole in Adler's commands.

Bell glared up at Adler, who let out a self-satisfied sigh before he lowered his body onto Bell’s chest, his hand folded underneath his chin as he rested his head on Bell's chest.

The human then became very much aware of the fae king's nakedness, a familiar heat filling his cheeks, but as the fae king's mouth opened once more, either to tease or give a command to the human, Bell would never know which because at that very moment the oak doors of the chamber creaked open to reveal a small figure. 

Hair as golden and brilliant as the sun, eyes that put the brightest sapphires to shame, and cheeks as pink as a rosebud.

It was a child, a young, healthy-looking teen who stared wide-eyed at Bell and Adler.

Bell blinked at the child before glancing at Adler, suddenly becoming very aware that they looked similar.

no, not similar. They looked the same. 

This was a fae child, and not just any fae child. The crown prince of all fae, Adler's heir and his son. 

Thick silence fell over the room as Adler's head spun towards his son, who stood paralyzed in the doorway, a plush teddy bear clutched tightly in the child's arms; the teen looked to be somewhere between 11 and 12 years old.

A sudden embarrassed heat filled Bell as he looked once more at Adler's naked form pressed on top of his own very, very bare form.

The crown prince of the fae kingdom had just walked into his father's chambers and found his father, the fae king, and a human, one of their mortal enemies, together in a rather intimate situation. 

They disappeared as Adler shuffled himself off Bell's chest, quickly picking up a pair of brown pants Bell hadn't seen and throwing the bedsheets back over Bell's body.

Somehow, throughout the awkward silence, Adler had muttered something under his breath, and Bell found himself able to move, so the human prompt pulled the sheets closer to his body, hoping to cover the rising red glow of his cheeks. 

The child still stood in the doorway with a horrified and disgusted look growing on his face as realization seemed to dawn on the fae prince, who gagged before shouting, “Dad, what the hell!?”

Bell was sure he saw Adler roll his eyes before walking over to the teen fae.

“I thought I taught you to knock before entering my chambers, Phillip.” Adler scolded, making the fae prince, now identified as Phillip.

Shrink down slightly, shoulders sagging as he holds tightly to the plush teddy in his arms. 

Adler's face visibly softened. “What did you need?” he asked. And what was most shocking to Belle was how human the care in his voice sounded. Philip muttered something underneath his breath, making Adler raise an eyebrow and lean down to Philip's level as the teen repeated his words into Adler's pointed ear. Something dark fell over Adler's face. Bell's gut churned, whatever that was. He didn't like it one bit. Adler sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

“I’ll take you to Uncle Woods and Uncle Mason, alright? Hopefully they can…help.”

Adler spoke softly to Phillip, waiting for the teen to nod and turn around, leaving the room.

Adler paused in the doorway as if suddenly remembering Bell's existence.

He turned his head over his shoulder and said, “And you, stay here before a servant escorts you back to your room.” His words thrummed with magic, and Bell looked down at the pendant to see it glowing a soft light blue.

The door closed before Bell could lift his chin. 

Bell collapsed back into the bed, a singular thought raging against his mind. 

For the umpteenth time, what in the everloving fuck was that? 

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this new addition! Please leave a comment on your opinion I read then all even if i don't respond! I hope you all have an amazing day/night!

Masterlist link!

@ladysouthpaw1213 @pyxis-stellae

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

Shadow company Bell au headcannons!

when bell first joined shadow company he experienced some imposter syndrome at first but strangely he felt quickly accepted by the operators after he helped one of them fix their Gameboy.

2. Bell still has nightmares about Adler and whenever he wakes up screaming form one of those nightmares he always somehow finds a glass of milk in the mess hall. (milk makes him eppy in a good way)

3. Somehow bell got the nickname grandpa 2.0 (he had yet to met grandpa 1) after everyone found out he was the oldest person there. It's a running joke for some soldiers to ask him when he's gonna retire.

4. when shadow company helped Farah and Alex in urzikstan again konni bell surprised everyone by passing out the second he stepped off the helo.

5. Shadow company recruits have a Dilf leaderboard. (Bell is number one)

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

YEAHHHHHHHHH

@titchytitch88z @perry-the-platypus-f1cs @corky-kiwi

YKMET:STRADE ocs!

names blurred for privacy

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

Am I writing a star wars and iron flame crossover where xaden needs to become a sith because his father was one?

yes.

have I barely finished writing the first chapter?

yes.

will I continue to make mood boards inspired by the fic even though i've barely written it?

YES!

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

War, Royalty, and The conqueror PT6

Chapter 6: Breakfast for a king

Summary:

the reader has breakfast. It doesn't end well.

The next morning I awake to the sound of birds chirping and the warm rays of the sun kissing my cheeks.

I sigh, sitting up and stretching until I feel the satisfying pop of my bones waking up. I slide out of the bed, the cold floor pressing against my feet. I groan, rubbing my eyes.

Yesterday had been an...experience, to say the least. I turn my head towards my nightstand, where the silk cloth Farah hand-gifted to me lay, its soft fabric marred by a small dash of cookie crumbs from the remnants of the dessert. 

I slip out of the silken sheets, sighing as I bask in the small streams of sunlight, bathing in the warmth.

The sound of knocking made the rest of my fatigue wash away; I turned sharply to see the wooden door creak open, revealing a young woman dressed in a maid’s garb enter my bedroom, bowing her head in my direction. In her hand was a bundle of folded fabric. 

She speaks softly, her voice soft like wind chimes. “Your Highness, His Grace requests that you join him for breakfast.” I blink. King Price wanted to see me? I shake away the unexpected surprise that dawned over me even as a small unsettling feeling sunk in my gut.

“Of course, I’ll be there right away.” I saw my voice shaking ever so slightly; somehow the young maid seemed to pick up on that. Her hazel eyes held a glint of kind pity as she bowed once more, walking further into my room and gently placing the bundle of fabric on the end of my bed.

"Whenever you are ready, your highness, his grace will be waiting." She spoke simply before turning and exiting the room, closing the door softly behind her.

No matter how kindly she spoke, her words burrowed deep in my mind like maggots. Price expected me to sit and dine with him once more, and after my failed escape attempt, no less. 

I let out a shuddering sigh, my eyes drifting towards the bundle of fabric.

I step forward, tilting my head curiously at it as I reach out and pick it up. The bundle of fabric unfolds into a deep blue tunic and a pair of dark black flowy pants.

I take a deep breath. I could do this; it was just breakfast, breakfast with the people holding me here against my will, but it was still just breakfast. 

I shake myself and grab the set of clothes. I needed to get ready. 

-

Whatever image I painted in my mind for what this breakfast was going to look like, it most definitely wasn't this. 

The large hall was bathed in the light gleaming from a dozen different windows, each gleaming with different colors from the various stained glass designs.

The large table was laden with various fruits and meat like ham and eggs that were cooked in a range of different ways. But what caught my attention was the spread of freshly baked goods; loaves of bread, plates of croissants, and piles of tarts filled the large room with a homely and warm scent.

It was enough to make my mouth water and my stomach grumble with a growing hunger. 

I somehow found the strength to blink my gaze away from the feast and found the three seats that were occupied.

At the head of the table was King Price, who didn't look up as I entered, his gaze remaining on his food as he slowly ate. He was dressed in a plain brown tunic with a red cloak clasped together by a golden brooch, but what was most shocking about the king was the absence of any other golden jewels or rings.

The king looked…bare. I thought back to when I was thrown at his feet in the throne room next to my parents; back then he was dressed like a king, but now he was dressed plainly.

I shook away the strangeness of it all when a familiar voice called out from one of the occupied chairs. “Good morning, Your Grace!” 

I turn my head to see soap sitting along the left side of the table. His body turned towards me. A small bun of bread was held in his hand; small crumbs of the loaf were caught in his stubble as he smiled at me.

I felt the corner of my mouth quirk up for a split second before I noticed that Soap's welcoming shout had made King Price look up from his meal.

“Good morning,” I call out tensely, walking towards the table. Fucking hell, this is awkward. Soap was dressed in a loose brown tunic that hung around his shoulder and looked like it would fall off at any sudden movement; it was almost like it was another man's shirt entirely, a much, much larger and taller man's shirt. 

Soap smiles at my response and takes another chomp out of the small bun of bread in his hands, my gaze flickering across to the opposite side of the table to see a familiar face. It was Gaz.

Dressed in a green cloak with a silver clasp, one hand holding a tart near his mouth as his eyes darted along the pages of a book sitting in his lap, Gaz looked even more handsome than when I last saw him; embarrassingly, that was when I made a dash for escape.

I silently hope that I don't lose his good graces because of that misdemeanor. 

I slid along the edge of the table, my eyes darting along all the empty seats as I debated with myself on where to sit.

Gaz looked up from the book that sat in his lap, his deep brown eyes sliding over to my face before he placed the tart in his mouth and patted his now free hand on the seat of the chair next to him. 

My cheeks flush with heat as my heart stutters. I walked over, slipping into the seat next to Gaz as calmly as I could, even when my heart felt like it would pound out of my chest at any second. Gaz smiled at me.

“Good morning,” he spoke over a mouthful of tart before he paused, realizing that the tart was still in his mouth, before taking it out and laughing softly.

I found myself smiling even as my eyes flickered nervously towards Price, who was looking downwards at his plate of food, picking up and eating the food laid out before him. I squinted my gaze as I noticed the small dark circles lining beneath the king's eyes. 

A hungry growl from my stomach shook my form, my daze and embarrassed blush heated my face once more, and I could practically feel Soap's teasing look burning into my face.

I didn't look up at the soup, but the heat in my face only intensified as another hungry grumble sounded from my stomach. I quickly reached out and grasped a small bunch of grapes, plucking the fruits into my mouth. 

I ate in silence; the suffocating awkwardness pressed down onto me more and more every minute. I didn't know what to do; every time I managed to scrape up the courage to speak, the words got caught in my throat.

Before I knew it, several minutes had passed, and the silence seemed to grow unbearable for everyone seated at the table. The silence was unceremoniously broken by King Price, who cleared his throat and stood up from the table.

"I hope you have found the castle and its staff welcoming." It didn't take a genius to know he was talking to me, even as I avert my eyes back down to my plate.

“I want to make it clear that you may do whatever you wish within the castle walls; there is a group of servants that are here to cater to your every need. You’d do best to make yourself comfortable here, your highness.” 

I felt my nails dig into my palms at his words. Biting my tongue, I gave the king a small nod, my eyes never wavering away from my plate. Silence fell over the room once more before I realized that Prince was waiting for my response. Clearing my throat, I spoke, trying my best to not let my voice waver.

“Thank you, your grace,” I said with a smile. With a bow-like nod of my head, mercifully Gaz seemed to notice my balled-up fists underneath the table. He slowly glided one of his hands away from the book he held in his lap, his hand moving slowly towards my fists as he softly placed his hand atop my own, squeezing it softly.

I looked up towards Gaz only to realize that the king had left the room. I felt my body sag in a short burst of relief as I lifted my head and unfurled my hands.

I could feel the soft warmth of Gaz's hand squeeze the top of my hand comfortingly before he offered me another smile before he turned back to his book. 

“The king's not a bad man, Bonnie.” I jolted at the Scottish drawl that existed from Soap, who still sat on the opposite side of the table. I had forgotten that he was there.

I swung my head towards Soap, my eyes wide, only to find Soap looking directly at me. There wasn't pity on his face; his eyes held an almost calculating look that I had never seen before. “What?” I mutter, confusion filling my shaky voice. 

"The king," Soap repeated, "he's not a bad man, Bonnie; he does what he sees as necessary." Soap explained his ever-watchful eyes, sending a tremor into me. I bristle at his words.

“So having me and my parents dragged before him was necessary, was it?” I spat, my jaw clenched, as the angry words spilled from me. I felt the anger boil in my body before it evaporated the very next second. 

If the silence that filled the room before was awkward, it was downright oppressive now. Soap's eyes had hardened for a second before his face drew itself into an emotionless mask.

Heart pounding in my chest, I stumbled over my next words before I suddenly pushed myself up from my seat, and an apology slipped from my lips as I rushed out of the room.

I could feel their gazes on my back as I fell out of the dining room. I couldn't stand to sit in there for another second as I felt Gaz and Soap's eyes slowly dissecting me piece by piece. 

Panting as I rushed down the hallways, I barely noticed the absence of the servants that were filling the halls when I made my way down for breakfast.

I barely noticed the fact that there weren't any servants at all in the guests' wing of the castle as I rushed towards my bedroom, uncaring for the pain that split through my feet as the calluses of my last escape reopened. 

I swung the door to my bedroom open, slipping back into the familiar room and slamming the door behind me. Thoughts rushed through my mind: What the fuck did I just do? I had been so careful in the past few days to avoid speaking about my parents to anyone directly.

I had been worrying about them for so long; the thoughts had always boiled in the back of my mind, but I had never dared to let those thoughts slip out of my lips. 

What has changed? I thought back to the feelings that had coursed through me moments ago; the comforting feeling of Gaz’s hand was brought to the forefront of my mind, as well as the image of Soap's cheeky teasing smile.

A dastardly unnatural heat filled my body as I paused my whole body, stilling the heat growing and burning in my cheeks more instantly. 

There was no way—

The ungodly thought shot itself to the forefront of my mind; there was no way. It couldn't be, I couldn't, there was no way—

“Wow. not even a welcome hug.” 

I froze, turning on my heel, and I saw him. Blonde hair. Dressed in the familiar black uniform of the mercenaries he leads, a scar dancing across his cheek and into his ear.

The same teasing smirk spread across his face.“Phillip,” I breathed, feeling my shoulders sag. He stood in front of the large now-broken floor-to-ceiling window. A thick piece of rope dangling freely as the cold spring air flowed into the room. 

“Your highness,” he said, simply bowing with a mocking grace that made me laugh in disbelief. I stepped forwards, my lips parting and closing; I was at a loss for words.

Phillip Graves, one of my best childhood friends and the greatest person to guard anyone, was here.

“Phillip,” I repeated with a laugh before I lunged at him, entangling him in a suffocating hug, picking him up off the floor, and squeezing him tightly. “God, Phillip, I’ve missed you.” I whisper, feeling the sting of tears prick my eyes. 

I had first met Phillip when he was studying as a squire in the eastern kingdom. We became fast friends after he caught me sneaking out of my room at night to walk around the castle unburdened.

After Phillip had caught me, I managed to convince him not to tell my father or mother of the incident, and Phillip made me promise that if I was going to sneak out, he would always come with me to serve as my ‘great protector.’

Our childish promise grew into an actual agreement when Phillip founded his own mercenary group and swore an oath of fealty to my father in service to my safety. 

Phillip wheezed in my grasp, “It's good to see you too.” He gasped before I let him drop back down, a sheepish smile on my face. “Sorry about that.” I muttered, “What are you doing here, Phillip?” I question the realization suddenly dawning on me: if Phillip was here, then he was in danger; he could get caught and imprisoned or worse, executed. 

Phillip flashed me a bright smile. “Well, your esteemed highness,” he teased before chuckling when he saw my unimpressed glare. “I’m here to rescue you,” he finished, gesturing obviously towards the broken window and the thick rope. 

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, that much is obvious, idiot. I mean, what the hell possessed you to do that?" I whisper, watching as he pouts unimpressed. 

“You're full of gratitude as always, your highness.” He drawled humorously, taking great joy in watching me smack my hand against my forehead and groan. 

“Phillip, I swear to god.” 

Notes:

I hope that you all enjoyed this new chapter and are excited for more! please feel free to write comments even if I don't respond I do read them all and they really help me continue this fic! thank you all for your support and kudos! I hope you all have an amazing day/night!

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