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author-morgan · 7 months

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Title: A Dove and a Hound Rating: T Pairing: Sandor Clegane x fem!Reader Summary: A little dove with broken wings must save her wounded Hound. Or in which Sandor Clegane finds something sweeter than killing. Word count: ~3.7k Warnings: Injury/blood and typical Westerosi shenanigans.

ARYA STARK LOOKS at the bleak landscape around where they had made camp for the night in the northern Riverlands—almost in the Vale. It’s all craggy with sharp boulders and high patches of land, and hardly any trees. The names roll off her tongue as they do every night. The Mountain, The Hound, Cersei, Illyn Payne, Meryn Trant...she doesn’t make it to the next name after hearing the scraping of boots on rock nearby. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Syrio Forel’s words are burnt into her memory.

"What’re you going on about now, girl?" The rasp of the Hound's voice makes her jump, and she curses him, looking up at the night sky, watching for shadows when she hears the soft noise again.

“We’re being watched,” she tells him, turning on her bedroll to face the Hound, her hand resting on the hilt of Needle.

His laugh cuts through the air—a rough sound that hurts her ears in a strange way. A man like the Hound should never laugh. "Here, in the middle of fucking nowhere?" His scarred face looks all the more hideous with the light of the fire licking at his skin. "Finish your little list, girl, then go the fuck to sleep." Arya frowns and looks around again at the land but sees nothing but boulders and empty plains, but she knows someone is out there.

Sandor Clegane won’t admit it, but the Stark girl’s warning is the reason he stays up for over half the night. Then, when he’s certain Arya is asleep, he rises from his bedroll and unsheathes his sword, setting off to search between boulders and in the shadows cast by their dwindling campfire. But there’s nothing there. The Hound moves to return to his bedroll, but that’s when he hears quiet cursing and soft crying. And then he finds a woman huddled between two rocks, trying to nurse an injured leg.

You see the hulking shadow approach too late to muffle your grunts and groans of pain. “Come any closer and I’ll put a fucking arrow through your eye!” You shout. But Sandor Clegane can see the bow in your hand is broken, even if you try to hold the two wooden pieces together to make it seem whole. Then he sees the broken arrow shaft sticking out of your swollen calf, too—the reason for your caterwauling.

“With a broken bow and the only arrow you got stuck in your leg?” The Hound asks, laughing. “Pay a couple of hundred silver stags to see that done.” Sandor drives his sword into the dirt and awkwardly kneels near you, looking over the wound. He can feel your eyes on him, gaze nigh burning. But the soft white light of the moon softens the sight of his half-burned face. He looks familiar. Like you’ve seen him in passing somewhere—or maybe on the parchments nailed outside taverns noting bounties and the enemies of the Crown.

You swallow the knot in your throat and look up at him—you might not be able to place who he is, but you know he’s dangerous, a killer. “Well, go on,” you snap, tears stinging in your eyes. “Kill me and get it over with.”

The Hound recoils as though stung by the words—he knows he’s put a lot of people in the ground, but for some damn reason, he can’t stomach the thought of landing the mercy blow now. You close your eyes and wait—no longer fearing death or pain. But the cold bite of steel never comes. Instead, Sandor Clegane lifts you into his burly arms and heads back toward the dying campfire.

Arya’s surprised when the Hound returns and lets you down to rest against the boulder nearest the fire. The girl’s quick on her feet, bringing a half-filled skin of water, and you greedily drink. "Think I'll end up losing it?" You ask the girl—wiping your mouth with a torn sleeve—a glint of humor shining through as you pat your thigh, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain that shoots down to your calf and makes your toes curl.

“If you’ve gone this long” —Sandor crouches down and looks closer at your injury— “it’ll take more than an arrow to kill you,” he says. It earns him a dry and humorless laugh with a surprising grimness. Given enough time, he thinks he could come to enjoy the company, but right now, he and Arya Stark are already pressed for time, luck, and coin. Neither of them needs the liability of an injured woman—another mouth to feed—on the path to the Eyrie. Be best to leave her come the morning, he thinks, but now that he’s brought you back here, he knows the Stark girl won’t let that happen.

“May I have your name, good ser?” You finally ask—it only seemed proper to know the name of your white knight.

Sandor Clegane looks at you, and the firelight paints the tangled and twisted mass of scars on his face red—pocking the flesh with craters and cracks. “Not a fucking knight,” he bites back.

And then you can piece everything together—his brute size, the burned half of his face, the posters scattered around the Riverlands. The rumors people whispered are true then, you think. Joffrey’s dog tucked tail and ran while the Blackwater burned. “You’re The Hound.” He grunts. You glance at the girl staring down at you with wide ice-grey eyes. If he’s the Hound then... “You’re Arya Stark.” The girl nods.

The silence that grows between the three of you is heavy and tense. You shift and grimace again. Then your gaze flits back over to the Hound. “Well, are you going to help me get this arrow out my fucking leg or not?” You ask, not understanding why he hauled you back here if he didn’t mean to do something about your current state. “'Cause if you aren’t, I’d sooner you cut the damn thing off or put me out of my misery.”

Sandor moves to you after that and cuts away the fabric of your britches from the arrow, then calls Arya over to set his dagger in the flames—unwilling to go closer. She does as he says, pushing the blade into the hot coals, but then Arya Stark leaps to her feet when she sees Sandor’s hand grip the shaft of the arrow—like he means to tear it from flesh. She knocks his hand away then pushes back on his shoulder, almost hard enough to knock him off balance from where he sits on his haunches.

“We can’t just pull it out!” She tells the Hound like it should be obvious. But he’s not the one who grew up with a maester in Winterfell or spent time reading any books.

“Then how you gone get it out, girl?” He asks, gruff and impatient. You glance between the odd pair, wondering how they haven’t killed one another by now. Arya crouches down and prods the swollen and bloody flesh, then without warning, she grips the arrow shaft and breaks off the fletching. Seven hells, you think, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep a wail of pain at bay, I am going to lose my leg.

“Push it through,” Arya says, remembering the time she watched Maester Luwin remove an arrow from a hunter's shoulder. The Hound grunts and draws a second, smaller dagger, starting to whittle away at the splintered end of the broken arrow shaft.

Arya goes to fetch more water and brings back a cloth with her before settling down to watch with wide, curious eyes. Blood starts to seep down your calf around the entry and exit of the arrow shaft from being handled so roughly. Satisfied with his woodwork, the Hound steadies your leg against his trunk and starts to pull on the iron-forged arrowhead.

You grit your teeth together, fingers digging into the soft earth below, as he begins to ease the wooden shaft through gently and quickly as he can. Arya watches your face twist in pain, but somehow, you don’t cry out. It feels like an eternity. Sandor sets the arrow aside and takes the waterskin from the Stark girl, dumping the cool water over your leg to wash away the blood—there’s a cool but welcome sting.

Sandor tosses the empty skin back to Arya. "More water, girl,” he rasps.

“Bring wine too,” you insist, and the Hound howls with laughter.

“Seven hells,” Arya remarks. You’re just like him. The girl heads off, then comes back with more water and looks at the open wound on your leg with a scrunched-up nose.

“Needs to be sealed with fire,” Sandor says, sitting back on his haunches, that’s why he already had Arya put a dagger into the flames. They don’t have salves and ointments and teas and brews to keep infection at bay, and despite his fear and hatred of the fire, he knows it’s the best way to clean and seal a wound like this.

“I’ll do it,” Arya offers. Her hands are steady, and the fire and heat don’t bother her like it does the Hound. He nods, and the girl goes to fetch the hot knife. They give you a strip of leather to bite down on, and then the Hound looks away when the girl presses the flat of the blade against your flesh—you do scream then. He knows that pain—that scream—and the putrid scent of burning flesh that jumps into the air. Black dots and white stars dance around in your vision. It hurts worse the second time. But you fight through it.

Your gaze settles on Arya after a while, struggling to stay awake. “Where are you taking her?” You ask, eyes flitting to Sandor Clegane. The two are an odd traveling party that much is certain—a Hound and a wolf—made even stranger by your sudden arrival.

“The Vale,” he tells you, “she has an aunt there.” You hadn’t expected a man with his reputation to do something so kind, not even if heavy coin purses were offered as rewards. A hush falls over you, but then the Hound rises and picks up a threadbare blanket from his bedroll. He drapes it over your shoulders, not ungently. “Best get some rest,” he says. “It’ll hurt worse tomorrow.”

THE DAYS ARE both quick and slow to pass, and soon, you’ve lost track of the time since meeting Arya Stark and the Hound—it could have been a few weeks or maybe months. But since that fateful night, your wounds have healed cleanly, and the only reminders of them are a fading scar and the limp in your stride after long days or over strenuous terrain. You remember the first time you insisted on walking instead of riding Stranger—a great black, unruly destrier. When you slowed, Sandor Clegane slung you over his shoulder like a sack of flour before depositing you back on the horse and complaining about the slow pace. Arya Stark was particularly amused by it all.

Disappointment is all that awaits you all at the Bloody Gate of the Vale. Lysa Arryn is dead, and her young son and named protector, Petyr Baelish, will not accept visitors—not even one of Lysa’s own kin. So at the point of arrowheads and tips of steel blades, the Hound turns back, and you and Arya follow, trekking through the Vale and back to the Riverlands, unsure of what to do and where to go. Arya says they should go north, to the Wall—she has a brother in the Night’s Watch—or across the Narrow Sea.

There’s a small village not far, and you take a handful of silver stags and copper stars in hopes of replenishing your stock of ointments and bandages—especially with the now festering wound on Sandor’s neck, a nasty bite from a rogue—and maybe a decent bottle of wine or ale too. But by the time the sun is beginning to set and you return to Sandor and Arya, they’re not to be found.

The campsite is empty. The fire still burning. The bedrolls laid out for the coming evening. You look around the craggy landscape, feeling panic seize your heart and stomach—mind racing. “Arya!” You shout, but there is no response from the girl. “Sandor!” And again, there is nothing but silence.

If not for the fading evening sun glinting off tarnished pieces of silver armor, you think you might not have found him. You stumble over to him, kneeling at his side, fearing the worst. But his chest still rises and falls, and he starts when you touch his cheek, hand wrapping around your wrist, leaving a thick smearing of blood.

There’s something in your eyes, not pity, but he’s not seen that look before —almost doesn’t want to think of what it could be, could mean. Sandor’s grip goes slack, and he grimaces, each breath a ragged rasp. You look over his mangled shoulder, the bruises and scrapes on his face, the muscle-deep cuts on his palm, and his lame leg. These wounds are beyond your skills, and there are not like to be any travelers on this path for days.

The Hound tugs free a dagger from his belt and places it in your hand. "Go on,” he rasps, nodding toward the knife, resigned to his new fate. “Get on with it." The Stark girl wouldn’t put him out of his misery for the hatred she still bore toward him, but maybe you would.

Your fingers curl around the hilt of the blade, grip tightening, but frozen in place—unwilling and unable to move. "I can't," you breathe, fervidly shaking your head. I won’t. He curses you when you drive the blade into the hard earth and not his heart. Sandor Clegane saved you from certain death, and now you’ve a chance to return the favor.

You wet a strip of cloth and dab it over his bloodied face until he turns his head to look at you. "If you think I'm some wounded pup you can redeem, you're stupider than I thought, woman,” he snarls like an aggrieved dog.

But you don’t pay any mind to his hateful words. “Be still,” you chide, gently, going to collect the pack of supplies from Stranger’s saddle. The Dornish strongwine eases the pain, and he lets you clean the rest of the cuts and bruises to the best of your abilities —his broken leg, though. You aren’t sure what to do, but you know if something isn’t done soon, Sandor Clegane won’t be using that leg again in this lifetime. You lose track of how many times you have to wander down to the nearby stream. All you know is the limp in your step has come back. By nightfall, the wine and pain claim him, and you’ve said your prayers to the Seven, asking them to spare your poor wounded Hound.

There’s a dim lantern on the dark horizon, steadily drawing nearer and brighter, and then you can hear the rattling of a cart and the braying of a mule. You rise from your post and go to intercept the rickety cart thumping along the winding trail. The mule comes to a halt—the path forward blocked.

The driver has a kind face, rounded from smiles and wrinkled with wisdom, and eyes that are deep and thoughtful but speak of the horrors of the world. “A lady and her knight,” he muses, sparing a glance at the makeshift medicinal supplies illuminated by faint firelight and the state of the brutish man sleeping—half-dead more like.

“Can you help us?” You ask. “Please.” And the broken plea strikes something deep down in the man’s heart.

He thinks on it for a moment. “Aye,” the man says, “I can try.” If he couldn’t, the others on the Quiet Isle could—especially the Elder Brother. His dusty brown robes dust across the rocky ground as he goes to the Hound’s side. It takes all your strength combined to lift Sandor Clegane into the cart—even with the weight of his armor gone. Then you clamber to the front of the cart next to Sandor, letting his head rest in your lap, and with a snap of the reins, the mule walks on again, heading south along the bumpy road—it would be a long night.

Weary and exhausted, you look between the Hound and the driver. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Ray,” the kindly man says. “I’ll take you both to the Quiet Isle. The Elder Brother can help.” You’ve heard tales of the isle—where men go to atone for their sins and take vows of silence. Some even say those who reside in the Bay of Crabs live in a world unlike the one ravished by war and pain. Brother Ray can see the growing trepidation on your expression. It’s nigh common knowledge women are not allowed to dwell on the Quiet Isle. “Won’t force you and your knight to be parted,” he tells you.

“He’s not a knight,” you murmur, eyes trailing from the road ahead to Sandor, knowing he doesn’t like being called a knight—and for good reason.

“No, but it seems he’s your knight,” Ray says with a chuckle, sparing a wayward glance back at you and the Hound. You flush at the thought and turn your gaze to Sandor, his head resting on your thigh.

A FEW MONTHS pass and Sandor is as well as he’ll ever be. The damage done to his leg makes him limp after long distances or strenuous tasks, but no one would be able to say such injuries made the Hound a feeble man. Even now, you’ve never seen a man split firewood with so much power and anger. Sometimes, you wonder if he hates you for not ending it when he pleaded for the blade’s mercy. But on the day when the brothers let you see him again, he wore a fleeting smile, soft and weak—the first time you’d seen such a sight.

Storms roll in for the night, and lightning flashes through the window—thunder rattling your featherbed. You pull the covers tighter, squeezing your eyes shut, praying for sleep to come. It feels childish to be afeared of a storm, but it’s a reminder of the night the Lannister men destroyed your home and family and put an arrow in your leg. Rousing from the uneasy rest, you pull on your dressing robe and wrap the wool and linen blanket around your shoulders before setting off in search of company.

His bed is empty, and you frown. Disheartened, you turn back only to bump into a solid wall of flesh and muscle. No man his size had a right to move around so quietly. “What are you doing awake, little dove?” Sandor asks, and you’re unable to meet his gaze with your flushed cheeks as you search for a valid answer. “Can’t sleep?” He surmises, and grateful he spake first, you nod sheepishly. The hand that wraps around your wrist is warm and calloused, yet his touch is light—as though you’re some bird with a broken wing. But wordless, you climb onto the bed next to Sandor, still huddled under your blanket, but not alone, and even with the storm raging outside, within these walls with him, you’re safe.

The morning light breaks through the small window—only glowing embers remain in the hearth, not enough to chase away the chill in the air. You wake to find yourself alone, and it sends a strange pang of sadness through your heart. Making your way back to your chambers, you change into a plane shift and stride from the cottage to find him—the wet grass tickling the soles of your feet as you head down a winding path toward the water’s edge.

Sandor is sitting down on the rocky shore of the island, his dusty brown cloak fluttering in the wind. You go to him and sit on the weathered rock next to him. The morning is cool, and the spray of waves breaking against rocks in the bay kisses your cheeks. Wordlessly, the Hound pulls his cloak free and drapes it around your shoulders. In comfortable silence, you pull the coarse material tight and rest your head against his arm, looking out over the water and the clear blue sky—as though the Old Gods had not unleashed their wrath upon the land last night.

After a long while, Sandor rises, knowing it’ll be time to head to the Sept and see what tasks the Brothers need help with today. You’re quick to follow after him, but before he can start up the rocky path again, you brush your hand against his with all the timidness of a mouse, daring to have a lingering touch as you gather the nerve to ask something that’s been festering in the pit of your stomach, in the darkest parts of your mind and the deepest parts of your heart. You take both his hands—rough and twice the size of your own—and look up at the Hound. "Sandor,” you breathe, his name like a birdsong in your voice, “will you kiss me?"

He laughs—thinking you are playing him for a fool. No sane woman would ever wish to have his touch or his kiss. “With this ruined mouth?” He mocks. But the next jape dies on the tip of his tongue when you fist your hand into his woolen tunic, hauling him down with all your strength to just the right height where if you stand on the tips of your toes, you can kiss him. And you do. Sandor is surprised at first, but his hard exterior fades, and then a strong arm curls around your middle, hoisting you up and then off the ground entirely. You pull back for only a quick second and smile for him.

“Little dove,” he rasps when you move your hands to hold his face, thumbs stroking over his cheeks—one marred by the flame—and down into his thick, wiry beard. He half expects to find a shred of fear or disgust in your eyes, but there isn’t any. There never had been. You kiss him again, softer and sweeter this time, and he returns it in full.

Reluctant to part, he places you back on the ground but is quick to pull you into his side and hold you close in the golden hour of the morning. And for the first time since he can remember, Sandor Clegane has a handful of happy memories, and perhaps, in the end, he's found something even sweeter than killing.

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#Sandor Clegane #The Hound #Sandor Clegane x Reader #Sandor x Reader #The Hound x Reader #Sandor Clegane Imagine #Sandor Fanfiction #Sandor Clegane Fanfiction #Game of Thrones #Game of Thrones Fanfiction #ASOIAF #ASOIAF Fanfiction #my writing #i really wanted to rework this previous one-shot (posted to AO3 and Wattpad) I had with my current writing style #and thus we have Sandor being a big hard man but also soft and squishy on the inside

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catsteeth · 4 months

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The Caged Bird & The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 9 ✿:+ Moon Tea.

1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-_-10

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it.

CW: MDNI, NSFW themes, VIOLENCE, misogyny, angst, forced use of a contraceptive, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of death, blood, threats of violence, mentions of arranged marriage,

Word Count: 3851

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊

As the Hound lounged on the Hog farmers' stolen wagon as he ate a pig's foot. He looked over to the Stark girl who’d been peering over towards the Twins every five minutes.

The Hound huffed, “It’s not going anywhere.” He said as he took a large bite of a pig's foot.

“I know that,” Arya said, almost as if she were offended, still not taking her eyes away from the Twins.

“You keep looking back at it… like you’re afraid of it’s going to disappear.” He said going back to chewing on the fatty meat of the pigs feet.

“I’m not afraid.” She said, turning her pointed and angry attention towards him.

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, a knowing smirk slightly appearing. “Yes you are, I know the look. I’ve seen it a lot. The closer you get the worse the fear gets.” He spoke almost from experience.

Arya turned to face him completely, her eyes hateful “I know what you’re afraid of… You’re afraid of fire.” She stepped closer, “And I know why too, your brother pressed your face to the fire like it was a nice juicy mutton chop.” She smiled slightly, mockingly.

The hounds' cold demeanor buckled from under him. “Your cousin tell you that?”

“She never talked about you.” Her brows furrowed, confused by the question. His predisposed feelings of betrayal went away.

He shrugged, going back to the pigs feet in his hand, “That give you some ideas?” He asked in a gruff tone.

She turned away from him, “Might do.” she said stoically.

He scoffed, “Go ahead then. You might even make it there on your own. It’s just over the river. Closest you’ve been to family since Illyne Payne snipped your daddy’s neck.” He said mockingly, his best way of deflecting any kind of pain.

Arya turned back to him, stepping closer. “Someday I’m going to put a sword through your eye and out the back of your skull.” Her eyes emotionless, her voice cold.

The sudden, abrupt, and seemingly not empty threat made him halt his chewing. He stared at the girl with eyes of shock.

He could see you in this girl somewhat. Stubborn and willful. But with this one it was more annoying, and less forgiving of his shit attitude.

He huffed, and went back to eating as the girl went back to staring at the river that divided them and her family.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You hadn’t seen or spoken to Petyr about the killing of your aunt.

That morning you felt sick, sicker than usual.

You had grown to appreciate the gesture of murdering someone who posed a threat to you. But with him it didn’t feel as unconditional as when your dog did it. When he did it, he did not want something in return. He did it because he wanted- no he needed you safe. With Petyr it felt as though it was something he would use, a new string tying to a limb of a puppet.

You spent most of your time avoiding him, in the high tower where the falconers keep their birds.

There were less birds than when you left. But your favorite was still there, Lenarea. The one your mother gave you.

“A hawk, a beautiful creature isn’t she? “ Your mother said, as she pointed to the flying creature, soaring above you.

“Yes, she is.” You said, somewhat disinterested, staring off at the falconers who were teaching their birds to hunt.

“A hawk is a forgiving animal. You could make mistake after mistake and she’d forgive you at the end of each day because she knows you’ve chicken feet in your pocket.” Your mother said, petting your hair. “A falcon however, doesn’t forgive so easily. She remembers what you did. and she’s not keen on letting you forget either. No matter how many chicken feet you try to shove at her.” She said as she poked at your nose, making you giggle. “So, what bird should you start with?”

“A hawk, but I want a falcon.” You said with no second guessing, you always knew what you wanted.

“You’ll have many birds, sweet dove. But your first should be one of a forgiving nature.”

“I won’t make a mistake.”

Your mother giggled, “You are a stubborn thing aren’t you? Alright then.” She said, just as she began to lead you to the high tower you were in now. There was a beautiful falcon whose chicks had just hatched. You pointed to the one you wanted.

As she placed the babe within your palms you caressed it, feeling its warmth as it chirped in your hands. Her feathers still fluffy, sparse, and white.

“Lenarea.” You named her quietly.

The memory soon faded from your mind.

Memory is merciless, ruthless. And this white prison evoked so much of it.

You put on that thick leather gauntlet, and you took Lenarea out of her cage. Her black eyes examined you fondly. You smiled at her. Until you saw the reflection of a short pale black haired sickly looking boy in her glassy eyes.

“Sister,” He said, his voice shaky.

“Hello Robin.” You said, turning to face him, “I am sorry about your mother. I was only a little older than you are now when mine died.” You said, you weren’t sorry for her, but for him.

“You hated mother,” He said, slightly confused.

“Even still, you shouldn’t feel pain. Too young for such pain.” You said, petting Lenarea’s shining feathers with your finger.

“My mother said, when you marry the baby man and I get old enough, I'll be lord of the vale.” He said childishly,

“I didn’t marry Lord Tyrion. I won’t be marrying him… ever.” You spoke to him with an intensity you wouldn’t normally speak to a child with.

“So, what will that mean?” He was confused, uncertain, as he was with most things now.

“Robin, you and I share blood. That means a great deal to me.” It did, somewhat… “I know you don’t care about what i am going to say but it would be wise for you to listen to it and remember it. I was born with this land as a promise. I was born with the titles of Lady of the Eyrie, Warden of the East, Defender of the Vale, Keeper of the Moon Door, and Head of House Arryn. I was born to it. And at certain moments of my life I would have given it to you. But I made a promise to my own mother. To keep this house safe.” It was somewhat a threat, but not quite.

“My mother said-” He began as Lenarea let out a short but sharp and shrill chirp.

“Your mother did not understand me well. I hope you do.” You said coldly, not proudly.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As Sandor rode the cart up to the entrance of the Frey’s gates. The men surrounding drinked and shouted, He stopped a man walking passed.

“You, have the Starks arrived?” He asked gruffly, Arya looked at the man with hopeful eyes

“Oh yes they have,” The drunken man said, smirking and letting out a devious chuckle. The man began to walk passed when Sandor reached out and grabbed the man by the arm stopping him.

“What of any Arryns?” He asked, a bit more gruff than the last question. Arya raised a brow at the question.

The man looked at the Hound's hand on his arm, surprised by how large it was “No Arryns here, big fellow.” The drunk man said with a hiccup as the Hound let him go.

He rode on, further up to the gate's entrance. He and Arya were stopped by the Frey’s guardsmen.

“Hog meat for the feast.” The Hound said, tilting his head towards the cart behind him.

“Feasts over.” The Guard said,

Hound looked over to the men singing and celebrating, “Doesn’t sound over.” He said looking back

“It’s over when I say it is.” The man said gripping onto his swords handle,

The Hound huffed and looked back at Arya only to see she was gone.

By the time the Hound was able to abandon the cart, and finish unhitching Stranger from it the loudness of the bannermen grew.

It wasn’t celebratory, no this was victorious, and brutal. A battle, he knew it well.

His thoughts immediately went to you, but satisfied with that drunk man's answer to his question earlier his mind went to Arya.

He couldn’t let her die, not when he knew how much she’d meant to you. Also the money. And he could try to deny he didn’t care for her even a bit but he did… only a bit.

As he hit the guards man hard, partially to move him out of the way and partially for his tone earlier.

Once inside he saw Arya, about to run into the wedding, as if the little girl could do anything.

“It’s too late.” The Hound said harshly, grabbing the girl by her shoulder.

Arya tried once more to run inside, unwilling to let her take her chances in a room full of savage, drunk, stark hating men, he hit her. Hard enough to knock her unconscious. He picked the girl up, tossing her over his shoulder and carried her to Stranger.

The Hound grabbed the Freys Banner as he rode on, to better disguise him and the girl he carried. Soon the banner men’s war cries rang out throughout the courtyard, Sandor held the unconscious girl close to his chest. The cries grew louder and louder, until a crowd emerged from the Freys gates. As Sandor looked closer at what they were dragging out behind them he felt something he didn’t often feel.

Disgust.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As your dreaming ended, you opened your eyes as a cloud passed your window bringing the sun, filling your room in its warm light. Its warmth cutting through the cold air of the mountains.

It shined in your eyes, you winced as you stretched your limbs and breathed in deeply.

You averted your eyes from the sun, directing them towards the dagger Sandor gave you. You kept it on a small table by your bed. Now that your bruises were beginning to fade it was the becoming the only thing you had to remind you of him aside for the memories that haunted your dreams.

You reached over and grabbed it. You held it in your hand, the handle had a weight to it. You ran your fingertip over the engravings on the handle. You kissed the tip of it, the way you would have if it were his cock.

You closed your eyes, and imagined as if it were. You imagined his groans that he’d let out. Deep and low, so low it’d rattle in his chest. And you imagined his teeth biting down on your sides, on your breasts, your neck.

You ran your fingers down to your cunt. You played with your clit the way he did, circling and rubbing your clit. You used two fingers, which was almost the equivalent of one of his.

You remembered the way his hands would grasp your thighs when he pushed inside you. How the heat felt pouring out of him and into you. You pressed two fingers inside you, using your palm to tease your clit. It was not nearly as satisfying or fulfilling as his cock but it was enough for now. You began to moan out, breathlessly. Wanting nothing more than to feel his hot breath against your neck, his beard against your skin. His tongue in your cunt.

You were closing in on your high, when suddenly-

“My lady-” Ser Cole said as he opened your chamber door, He saw you, with your hand in your small clothes. He turned his body away instantly, “My apologies.” He blurted out

You reasonably startled, removed your hand, sat up in your bed and covered yourself with your blanket, “Men should not sneak into a ladies' chambers!” You spat at him.

Still not looking at you, “Of course not, please, I beg you to forgive my rudeness. It is only I’ve a message of critical urgency.”

“Then tell it quickly!” You said, furious. Sandor would have taken this man's eyes, maybe hanged him by his guts as he liked to threaten often.

He began to turn back towards you, “Your aunt, Catelyn, and your cousin Robb. They were murdered last night.” His voice sorrowful

“What?” You asked softly, in disbelief.

His eyes finally fell on you, cautiously, “The Frey’s massacred them at the wedding of your Uncle.” He looked at you, waiting for a response “My Lady?”

“Leave me.” You said, stoically.

“My lady” He began

“I said leave me!” You commanded, and finally he left.

Alone, alone in your room, and alone in this world now finally. The last remaining bit of your family that weren’t political hostages were murdered. And your one chance at regaining your birthrights without an arranged marriage along with them.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Later that morning, you hadn’t washed, or changed. You found little point in it.

You began to walk down the marble steps of the Eyrie as Ser Cole stopped you, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the stairs.

Assuming he was going to beg for forgiveness for catching you with your fingers in your cunt you pushed away with a huff, “Please, I do not need any more apologies-” You began before he pulled you into a hallway and covered your mouth with his hand. You began to struggle when you heard a familiar voice coming from the throne room.

“My condolences. Lady Lysa was a woman of strong character.” Tyrion said, you could tell it was disingenuous. Your heart dropped to your stomach, and you felt yourself tense. Your eyes went wide, as Ser Cole pulled his hand away from your mouth.

“She was. My own condolences of your own lady.” Petyr said in response. You listened intensely.

“condolences are not needed.” Tyrion said, offendedly.

“Of course,” Petyr said, pretending to be sympathetic.

“She's not been found, is all.” Tyrion said, uncomfortably.

“It has been many nights.” Petyr began “You’re a smart man, you are aware of the terrible things that happen inside castle walls. Half her family was killed within them. Your walls and the Frey’s. And you know the kind of world that lies outside of castle walls. You know the terrible things that could happen to a girl-”

“(Y/N) Arryn is a woman of great intelligence, strong will, and a clever nature. I believe she’s alive, taken, but alive.” Tyrion stated, with confidence. The same confidence he always had.

“Another theory.” Petyr said, as if he were tired of hearing his constant wailing about you.

“She’s my betrothed. It is my duty to see to it that she is safe.” hearing him say those words made you feel sick. Or at least you thought it was those words that did it.

“It hasn’t crossed your mind she’s fled. Escaped upon her own free will?” Petyr said, why would he say that? You thought.

“It only crossed it for a moment. I’d be a fool not to consider it, but I would be a fool to consider it longer than a moment. She’s no reason to want to flee.” Tyrion was sweet to be so unaware of how disloyal you were to him.

“She didn’t?”

“She doesn’t.”

“Betrothed to the least desirable Lannister. A man accused of murdering her father-“

“Ah yes, and thank you for informing her of that.”

“You’d have rather kept her blinded to the truth?”

“There was no truth to the accusations. Only thing to come from such knowledge would be pain.” Tyrion stopped himself, taking a breath and reminding himself of what he came to the Eyrie for, “I want to ally our forces, The Knights of the Vale should be searching for her. She is their Lady-“

“They are looking for her. You act as though we want her gone.” Petyr acted like he was offended.

“You don’t? It would be convenient.” Tyrion's tone was pointed.

“I love my niece,” Petyr said and you felt vomit begin to rise in your throat.

“We all know that. You ceaselessly reminded her father of your affections when he rejected your proposals.”

“This is not about me, or you. I am willing to join our forces with one another. Though I believe it is wise for the both of us to anticipate… disappointment.” He talked about you like you were dead. It calmed you somewhat, “It has been how many days since she was seen alive?”

“I say that Dog took her.” A man's voice said, and you recognized it, the cut throat that Tyrion paid as his own bodyguard. Your body tensed, and you felt a wave of heat crash against you.

“Enough,” Tyrion said, tired of his words, as if he’d heard this theory before.

“I mean really, am I the only person with two eyes who could see how cunt struck that bloody dog was?” The cut throat said, it made the vomit rise even higher. You pressed two fingers to your lips to keep them shut.

“I said enough.”

“A theory you don’t like?” Petyr questioned.

“A theory not worth considering. It is blood and ash in my mouth. There is no reason for her to have left with him, no reason for her to have left me willingly.” Tyrion tried so hard to defend what he thought was your love for him. You felt the guilt in your stomach mix with the nausea.

“I’m not saying she went with the fucker smiling. Can’t imagine any lass especially one like her going with a man like that. That fucker never cared if anyone but the king lived or died. But the fucker went against his own king to save that girl from the riots.” The cut throat’s words only pushed you to gag slightly. You covered your mouth with your hand fully.

“There is a bounty on his head and people looking for him. But we are here to discuss (Y/N), finding her.” Tyrion said as a final and swift effort to shut the man up.

“We will ally our efforts to seek her out. They will work in tandem under the one objective of finding her.” Petyr said

With your hand covering your mouth you pushed Ser Cole away with your other hand, walking passed him. Lightly, making sure not to make a sound as you rushed towards the privy as you vomited.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You hadn’t left your chamber all day. That night Petyr came in. He had a tray of dinner for you. And a tea.

“You’ve not dressed at all?” Petyr asked, concerned. You looked back at him with tear stained cheeks and annoyed eyes. “I am sorry. What the Frey have done…”

“I don’t wish to discuss it.” You said looking over at the food on the tray. You pulled it towards you and began to eat. Your stomach was empty from the sickness earlier.

“I believe we’ve matters of importance to discuss.” Petyr said softly as he watched you eat.

“The killing of my aunt?” You asked sardonically.

“Your aunt had made some worrying allegations against you, my dearest one. And the cut throat that accompanied your betrothed raised an interesting theory.” His eyes were filled with concern.

“You believe them?” You asked stoically

“I don’t know. That’s why I am bringing them to you. For your answers. I could bring you to a Maester and have you checked, but I don’t wish that for you. Nor can we afford the risk of any more people knowing you are here.”

“Lord Tyrion did not touch me. I’ve said it already-“ You began, sneeringly.

“I am not concerned with Lord Tyrion.” Petyr said, it made all the words you’d planned vanish. “Ser Cole might have found you alone but that doesn’t mean you were. It would take a great deal of protection to make it that far on your own.” His accusations were heavy but his voice was nurturing.

“I am intact.” You spoke like a mouse.

“Even still, I’ve prepared a tea… or rather a maester has upon my command.” He picked up the chalice and handed it to you.

“Tea?” You smelt it, it smelt bitter and ugly.

“Only to be sure. It will rid you of any unwanted consequences.” Petyr said as he petted your hair, it reminded you of your mothers touch, your eyes stayed on the tea and away from him. You pretended that it was.

“Moon tea. I know it.” You said, nodding. Your voice was raspy.

“If you are intact, as you say you are, there will be no effect. However, if you are not, and if you are with child, it shall save you the shame.” He continued to pet your hair,

“You don’t believe me?” You still didn’t look at him. You sniffled, your face heating up, eyes watering.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe, or what you say. What matters is that you drink this.”

You felt tears coming, you knew that feeling well… sorrow. “Will it hurt?” You felt submissive, that was new. Even when you had no power you knew a way to find your own power. But not here.

“Drink it, my dear.” He commanded softly.

“As you command it.” You said as you drank it. All of it, within one gulp. It was revolting.

“You are not as good of a liar as you might think, my dear.” Petyr said, he pulled you into a hug, you closed your eyes and pretended it was your mother, and hugged back. “Do not lie to me again, there is no need for it. I am your only ally now.” He threatened you sweetly, and softly. You hated that he was right.

He left you.

You thought about what Sandor would do. You thought about that often but right now you really wanted him. Not for his violence, but you wanted his touch. His arms around you. You wanted him to hold you.

But you didn’t have him, so you held onto your stomach, feeling the possibility of what could be slip away. You’d not know for certain if you were, or were not with child but now it was certain you were not. You day dreamed so often of what could have been. But now no more.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Sandor had seen every kind of brutalization. There was little that ever shocked him, even littler things sickened him. But what he saw that night truly did.

The Frey’s are animals…

It was early morning as Sandor sat beside a dying fire with the Stark girl still sleeping, his thoughts only turned to you.

Where the fuck were you?

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

NOTE:

Hey all you cool cats and kittens,

I’m sorry that this chapter took so long (again lol), but I aced my finals!

Also I wanted to tease that these two are probably going to be crossing paths again soon…

K love you, xoxo

Bambi

Beloved Tags: @dontfollowjuststuff @helpmeescapethisreality @merfic @broadsdrinkwhisky @the-queen-of-sorrows @eddiesbongwater @not-neverland06 @symonedoesart @wyvernnest @bdudette @frosch-thefrog @patrick-hockstutter @drymushroomfics

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yoonia · 13 days

Text

the bedroom hymns ● chapter xxiii

⟶ Chapter summary | He may not be the Prince Charming written in fairy tales, but in your eyes, he seems perfectly yours. Even with many secrets lying between you, a part of you insists to put faith in him, to trust him, even with your secrets. Besides, there is a good reason why fate answered your prayers by allowing you to meet him again, shouldn’t it?

chapter xxiii. serendipity-3

The sun has finally gone out. The bright sky is now painted in vibrant colours of blue, faded teal, and purple as dusk slowly melts into night. Up above, the stars are beginning to show their presence, looking like pixie dust spreading into the night.

Once the pixies welcomed Yoongi into their circle, he was sat down by the curious pixies to endure the same questioning as you had.

“Where did you come from?”

“How did you cross the border?”

“Is that a real sword? Is it heavy? Have you ever hurt anyone with it? Have you ever hurt yourself?”

“Your hair is so soft. What did you put in it?”

You had to hold back a smile while he went through it, yet your own curiosity rose when Yoongi visibly tensed and surprised when he heard Illyn asking, “Did you also walk past the fairy portal in the woods?”

It didn’t take long for the pixies to lose interest in Yoongi, however, as fireflies began to come out of their hiding once it grew dark and caught their attention. Seems like they have yet to run out of energy, even after playing the whole day and the entire afternoon, as they are now busy chasing the fireflies and slipping between the thickening white mist rising around the riverbank. The sound of their joyful giggles echoes through the evening as you join Yoongi on a stroll along the length of the river, spending the last hour that you have left before you have to run home.

The thought of having to say goodbye when you barely have enough time to share with Yoongi saddens you. Yet you try to make the best of it. You don’t even resist when Yoongi insists on holding your hand when he helps you jump across a small puddle, and you say nothing when he still keeps your hand in his as you slowly make your way back towards the elven town.

“It feels really peaceful here, doesn’t it?” you muse with a sigh as you look up beyond the canopy of leaves above your head, marvelling at the colours showing in the sky—colours you wouldn’t normally see back home—and the sparkle of stars now filling the sky.

Far ahead of you, just beyond the tree line, the elven town lights up. Golden lights emerge through the open windows, lanterns hanging from the houses and on the small roads illuminate the rest of the town, and each sparkle of light is reflected on the waterfall that gleams brighter in the night.

“Aren’t you afraid of the dark?” Yoongi asks, almost teasingly, “There is barely any light here, under the trees, and starlight can’t really reach us once we get deeper into the woods.”

You glance around, seeing the contrasting sight of the dark forest filled with nothing but unmoving shadows against the brightening town. Before, it would have been daunting for you to travel into these woods, when the only colours you’d see are the white mist crawling on the ground and the fog forming from your breath. But after the chilling darkness and the daunting sights you find during your previous trips, this kind of darkness doesn’t incite any uneasiness rushing through your skin.

The cold breeze doesn’t make you shiver. The cricket sounds echoing from the riverbanks, the faint night birdsong, and the echoes of the giggling and humming sounds of the pixies only give you a sense of calmness. Yoongi’s gentle hold on your hand and his warm presence make you feel secure enough to stare into the darkness and walk through it.

“No, I’m not afraid,” you simply answer him with a smile. “Compared to where I’ve been lately, this place feels more like heaven. And what should I worry about when I have you here with me?”

Yoongi lowers his eyes as he draws his bottom lip between his teeth. “Have you missed me while I was gone?”

“No. Not really,” the lie easily slips out of your lips, and the corners of his lips rise to a smile.

A deep chuckle escapes him, causing your heartbeat to trip. Air slowly leaves your lungs as he gently opens his eyes, showing you the deep gaze which haunts your thoughts whether you are in slumber or when you are awake. “You look pretty even when you lie,” he whispers with a low voice.

Turning away from him, you take a deep, long breath. You have no idea if the heat rising on your cheeks came from his words or the way he is looking at you. “You always speak as you please.”

“Yet I’m not the one who is lying,” he replies, and you can almost hear his smile before your eyes find him again. “That’s me saying that I don’t believe you. Not for one second.”

Your cheeks are flushed, his words become a spell that makes your heart race and your hope bloom like wildflowers. And then the feeling is made worse when you turn to face Yoongi, capturing the deep longing in his gaze which mirrors yours perfectly that your words begin to spill out. “And if I tell you that I missed you, what would you do?”

His chest rises with a sharp breath. The intense look in his gaze makes it hard for you to breathe and you cannot understand why. “I will cherish it,” he says, his voice sounding firm and sure that you find no reason to be doubtful. “The thought of you thinking about me in my absence brings me joy like no other.”

Your throat feels dry. Your heart feels like it is about to jump out of your chest the first chance it gets.

“Always so charming with your words.”

A ghost of a smile appears on his face, and then it is gone. “Yet none of it is a lie.”

“I believe you,” you whisper with a sigh, and you mean it. because you can see it—you can feel it—simply by looking into his eyes. For a moment, you find it hard to look away. You despise ever thinking about having to look at other things but his face, to even look away from his eyes that are sometimes more honest than his words.

But then the sound of wild giggles seems to be coming closer, the fluttering movements of the pixies entering the trees break the spell forming between you, and Yoongi is the one to give in first with a smile.

“Now, shall we enjoy the rest of the evening? Maybe see what they are up to now before I send you home?”

Home.

The thought of having to walk away from this place, from him, is eating you from the inside. Yet you try to push it down, silently hoping—praying—that this wouldn’t be the last evening that you would be spending with him.

“All right. Lead the way.”

Yoongi is left astonished at what is happening at this moment.

Right before his eyes, the pixies are dancing and singing together, giving the two of you a show in an opening they found in the middle of the forest. Here, the moonlight is shining brightly from above, as if creating a special stage for them to perform their little celebration. And you are standing right beside him, enjoying this view together with him, with your hand entwined with his and shoulder brushing against his as you gently sway to the song the pixies are singing.

He secretly steals a glance at your face without you realising it. He wants to commit this moment to his memory; the look of awe on your face as you watch the pixies dancing before you; your eyes that are glowing with amusement and pure joy; the delicate way your fingers seem to sink into his palm, as if they belong there.

For the first time after quite some time, Yoongi feels at ease. Perhaps being with you helps, feeling your presence nearby and the touch of your hand in his becoming his anchor.

For the past week, he felt as if his life was going out of control. But with you, he feels like everything is slowly falling into place, and he simply wants to hold on to everything before it slips away from his hold.

Smiling, Yoongi turns his attention back to the pixies. The song they are singing seems to rouse a peculiar sensation within him. It fills him with joy and—amusingly—raw pleasure that he had only ever felt from drinking the strongest ales created by the hands of the moon fairies of Emburn.

He shouldn’t be surprised to feel this kind of sensation simply by listening to the pixies’ tune. He has learned quite a lot about pixies after his previous journeys and his various close encounters with beings of their kind. Many may not have known this, but their magic dust isn’t the only thing that is special about the pixies. The song they sing, the tune and the words they hum, are said to be magical, acting like a spell to incite various sensations within other beings—mostly humans, as they are the most vulnerable beings against magic.

As he continues to watch their performance and feels as if he is no longer carrying unwanted weight on his shoulders, his troubles forgotten and feeling only hope blooming in his chest, Yoongi wonders if the song that they are singing is the kind of spell that only brings joy. The kind that often causes dream-like experiences for other beings like himself, and others like you.

Needing this escape, Yoongi allows himself to relish this feeling for a moment longer, to enjoy this moment with you, before he begins worrying about other matters.

One of which is trying to make things right with you, when his lack of presence as of late may have placed him a few steps behind from what he wanted to achieve by following you through the portals. All he wanted was to become closer, not to feel as if you were a world apart from him even when you are right beside him.

He wanted to win your trust, and perhaps one day, he can win your heart. But how would he be able to do so if he kept missing from your life whenever you needed him?

“Forgive me for not being able to join you during your previous trips. I had somewhere else to be, and not one of my excursions ever led me to your path.” Yoongi says as he walks beside you, continuing your stroll along the river once he can sense that your time here is slowly coming to an end.

You and Yoongi have left the pixies behind you, still enjoying their time partying in the forest with more and more other pixies joining in to form a bigger circle. The last time Yoongi turned to glance over his shoulder, the pixies’ dancing had become so intense that he began seeing golden dust sparkling all around them, their rapid dancing and the spells they were singing brought together magic pixie dust to illuminate the forest around them.

Those pixie dust have now scattered all over the gravelled pathway before him, as the wined pixie kept floating across to drop the magical dust to help light up the way, allowing the two of you to see clearly through the darkening woods.

Muted golden glow from the magic dust spreads all around him, the lights reflecting perfectly on your face that Yoongi cannot look away. In his eyes, you look as if you are walking among the stars, up there in the night sky, and he is floating with you like a shadow, protecting you from the night.

He has pictured this moment many times before, when he was walking down the royal garden or through the halls within the Imperial Palace, wishing that you were by his side. Wishing that he was spending time with you instead of with the bratty princess who was more than happy to play along with the Empress’ ploy in keeping him back home. Now that this is finally happening, it seems hard for his mind to accept that this is his reality and not just a figment of his imagination, his wishful thinking playing tricks on him to make him believe that this is real.

“I—wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to see you today, to be honest,” Yoongi painfully admits, while recalling how hard it was for him to escape from the palace today.

It was his own fault for getting him in such a situation, after all.

He shouldn’t have traded the dance that he wanted so badly to avoid with a promise. A promise that he regretted the moment he stepped into the royal garden, when he realised too late that he had made a deal with the wrong force.

What Yoongi had imagined to be a swift affair, a simple afternoon tea to appease the royal brat of a princess where all he had to do was sit and act nice while she gushed and gossiped about life within the empire, had turned out to be everything that was not.

The entire encounter had instead turned mostly peculiar.

Princess Celestyna has always worn the facade of a coy and almost naive and child-like, just like any other sheltered and spoiled princess he has ever met. But this afternoon, as she sat at the table set up for their little ‘date’, the princess had shed her entire facade and worn a new persona. Her presence emitted arrogance and an eerie calmness that made him feel uneasy. He was just about to call everything off when the princess dropped a bomb on him.

“I know that this is the last place you would rather be, Your Highness,” she said to him between taking dainty sips of her tea, with a gaze that carried a peculiar look to which Yoongi felt cautious. But then his blood ran cold when she added, “Do you know the real reason why I followed my father to visit your empire and meet the Empress? You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The air is changing. You cannot tell me you have no idea what, or who is causing it.”

Realisation dawned in Yoongi back then, just as everything that he noticed about the realm upon his return came back to him; the turbulence he felt welcoming him home in waves; the stillness in the air; and the imbalance of magic.

Before Yoongi could process things further, or inquire the princess about the secrets that she seemed to be offering him, he felt the ripple of magic rising at the back of his mind. It was subtle enough so that he knew he would be the only one who could feel it, and he immediately knew that it was the moment you stepped into a portal.

Yoongi was caught between staying, accepting the princess’s olive branch, and the fear of losing the chance to see you again, so for a moment, he nearly faltered. But his wish to see you again prevailed. He felt your presence calling for him, pulling at his soul, and it gave him the willpower to walk away and race through the portal to catch up with you.

“You won’t be able to keep running, Your Highness,” the princess called out to him just as Yoongi began to walk away, “You can try to avoid me as much as you want to or deny what must happen for as long as you can, but you must know that you won’t be able to change anything.”

Yoongi shakes his head, shaking away the memory of the unpleasant encounter from his mind. He hates that even now, when he is supposed to be enjoying his time with you, that second princess of the Kosha Empire still dares to invade his mind—just like how she has been trying to invade his entire life.

“It wasn’t easy, and I debated if I should risk making this trip at the last minute, when I still had my duties ahead of me,” he says with a grim smile on his face as the memory of Princess Celestyna’s cunning smile comes and goes. “But in the end, I am glad that I chose to listen to my gut and risk everything for a chance to see you again.”

The smile that you give him alleviates his guilt. Only slightly.

But it is still the same smile that he has been longing to see. So much so that he has been seeing it in his dreams that he suddenly feels the urge to pinch himself just to make sure that this isn’t another dream, taunting him with your presence only to take you away from him so soon.

“And here you are, right when I was just wondering if I should walk away sooner than planned,” you respond to him, much to his relief. A part of him was expecting to see your growing distrust of him, and yet your words hold no adversity in them that it makes him feel almost undeserving of your kindness.

“I am beginning to believe this matter of fate that you spoke of so often, seeing that you were able to find me despite how busy you’ve been.” A soft chuckle slips out of your lips. “I’m amazed that you managed to find me at all.”

Pain pierces through him as he returns your smile. He feels bitter about the fact that he had been the one who spoke of fate intertwining your lives together and yet has become the one defying fate itself. He cannot stop feeling as if he has failed you, and he knows that this feeling will continue to haunt him each time he remembers the disappointed look in your eyes looking back at him.

And he knows that he will disappoint you further by not being able to share his secrets, even if only to answer your curiosity.

“Is it another mercenary work that’s been keeping you away?” you innocently question him, and Yoongi can only bite back his tongue. In a way, it wouldn’t be too off the mark, since he did use his mercenary work as an excuse to stay out of the imperial palace from time to time, or when he needed a break from the Empress’ plot of keeping him close to their royal guests.

It was safer for him to use the mercenary army as an excuse rather than using the magic portals, with the chances of having the Empress planting an eye around him.

“Perhaps,” he sighs, “you can say that.” He hates not being able to tell you the truth, but he also has no way of confessing that his lack of presence in your expeditions has been caused by another. With a tight smile on his face, Yoongi turns to ask you, “Have you been travelling well lately?”

For a moment, you look quite reluctant to answer. At first, Yoongi simply takes it as your hesitance about sharing the secrets behind the magic that you are using. But instead, you choose to share something completely unexpected.

“Not that much, actually. I have been—unwell,” you slowly admit. “After the last time we met in Grimm, I was left bedridden for quite a while.”

His brows rise. “How so?” he asks, feeling uneasy.

Pressing your lips together, you shrug at him. “It seems that I have been using up my mana due to my travelling.”

“Do you mean to say that your means of travel has been draining your mana?” Yoongi asks. His surprise almost caused him to make a slip-up, to show you that he knows by which way you have been travelling to different places.

Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice it as you continue walking. “It may seem so”—a touch of a smile flickers on your face—”although it is just a personal assumption that I made up, seeing that it happened after I came back from travelling.” You stop for a moment, thinking. “Actually, now that I think about it, this kind of exhaustion only happened when I went across to places within Far Far Away.”

Yoongi falls silent as he ponders over this. He cannot figure out why the same magic that empowers him—and one that he has learned to understand and control since he was just a young boy—would be reacting differently towards you. While this explains the reason behind your recent absence, he cannot say that he takes any pleasure in knowing.

Perhaps it would have been better to hear that you had encountered something else getting in the way of you using the portals. Anything else but having your well-being and your safety having been compromised to be the reason for it.

“You never felt the same when you were travelling back to Smotia?”

You consider it for a moment before shaking your head. “Hmmm, I don’t recall that I have. I always felt tired, but it wasn’t as bad as it has been lately.” You stop, furrowing your brows, before turning to him. “Do you think—”

“What?”

Gnawing your lips, you shake your head gently before sharing your thoughts. “It’s just something that I thought of,” you begin to say, still hesitant. “What if, the—magic that I’m using to travel is feeding off my mana?” You turn to him. “Can something like that happen?”

“You mean, it’s using your mana like fuel?” Yoongi asks, raising his brows.

You slowly nod. “Like what oil does to a lamp, or food to humans.”

Humming to himself, Yoongi recalls everything that he has learned about the magic portals. To think of any possible side effects or the possibility of it not taking its powers from the moon—as expected of these types of portals—but from its user instead. Yet he comes up with nothing. Because nothing similar to this has ever happened. Not to him, and certainly not to the Emperor, who used to travel merely through the portals to deal with the empire’s business.

But the truth is, he simply never heard of it.

A random thought suddenly crosses Yoongi’s mind just then.

“In theory, it can happen,” he cautiously says, just as he remembers something that he once learned about magic.

Any form of magic requires a price. A sacrifice is needed to be made to pay for any magic that is pulled out of the realm, used and cast by whoever is summoning them. For the type of magic as strong as the fairy portals, a sacrifice must be made. The Ancient moon fairies, however, had found a way to resolve this.

By borrowing power from the moon, the fairies obtaining the skill to create, open, and use the portals would no longer need to sacrifice a thing. Only to then repay all the powers lent to them by the moon by celebrating the rites during the Runea Luna Eve. This is how it’s been done for centuries, until Yoongi was given the keys to the magic portals.

But could this really be the reason?

Yoongi wonders as he looks at you. Since you are not a fairy such as himself, nor you were born with a fairy blood or a direct connection to the moon, using the magic which belonged to his kind may require you to pay for it with something else. Something valuable.

Your mana. A piece of your heart. Your—lifespan.

Yoongi fists his hands by his side. “Have you talked about this with anyone else?”

“Well, yes.” The crease between your brows deepens, and then you mutter, “Okay, maybe not.” A beat of silence passes, before you correct yourself, “Not really.”

Yoongi says nothing, only that he knows now that you have yet to share your secret with anyone else. No one knows about her using the portals, he muses, surprised with what he just learned. He shouldn’t feel relieved about it, since that only means that you have no one by your side to guide you through it.

But if you still have nobody to talk to about this, if you are still keeping this a secret, then this means he can use this to strengthen the bond he has with you. To gain your trust that has become so fragile from his own doing.

Cocking your head, you innocently ask him, “What are you thinking?”

Yoongi grabs your hand instead of answering directly. He still has to work on finding out the truth about this side-effect before slowly revealing the truth about the portal—that he knows more about it than he is letting on, and that he and his family are the ones behind it. He needs to make sure that you trust him enough before he can.

Because revealing the origin of the portal you are using might risk him losing your trust. It might risk him losing the only link he has to the Wicked King.

“I’m just wondering,” he says, as he begins rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, drawing shivers through your skin, “you mentioned before that this is all new for you. That you are still getting used to your new life in Far Far Away.”

He stops to wait until you respond with a nod before he continues, “Even without having to use magic, travelling within this realm itself can be draining, and you still can’t fully access your magic to begin with.” Looking down at the ground covered in pixie dust, Yoongi points at the glowing lights. “Take a look at how the scattered magic dust is covering the dark, hard ground beneath. Look at it as the realm we are standing in.”

You turn to look at the sparkling magic dust and keep your eyes on it while Yoongi keeps speaking, “There are layers and layers of mana in this realm which—depending on which part of the land you are—may require different levels of mana within yourself to withstand it. For you to be able to ride the energy flow that is present all around you when you are stepping into a new territory.”

Yoongi smiles as he senses you growing more at ease, and that you seem to understand what he is trying to say. “With your magic still restrained, you haven’t been able to put your raw mana to use. At the very least, not in its full potential.”

Your gaze finds his after hearing this, which encourages Yoongi to continue, “So it’s quite possible that your body was weakened due to the insufficient amount of mana you had to boost the power of the magic. And it if had instead begun to feed on your life energy, that might explain why you experience fatigue and why it took longer for your mana to recover.”

An understanding look fills your eyes. “That would make sense,” you mutter softly, and Yoongi can almost hear the wheels in your head turning. He can hear the questions that you have before you even think of voicing them out loud. He knows that—despite your lack of experience with magic—you are smart enough to understand things quickly.

Right when you are about to speak, to question him further—to force him to tell you everything about the portals—Yoongi cuts you off with his own question, “What about your latest trips? I thought you said you had been going back to back while I was away? How are you feeling now?”

Finding out that you are experiencing some side effects from the portals made him feel wary, and it worries him more when he thinks about the constant waves of magic reaching out to him and he was never there. “You know, some people might think that it would be better to avoid anything that was harmful to them,” he tries to joke, “and yet you decided to jump right back into it again the moment you had the chance.”

A grin lifts on the corner of your lips. “You got me,” you softly laugh. “I suppose my curiosity got the better of me. In a way, I wanted to test my theory, and—” You stop for a moment as you recall the past few days—the days that Yoongi would have loved to hear more about in detail—and then shrug a little. “You can say that the circumstances made it hard for me to avoid going on those trips.”

Your gaze flicks back to him. “I might say that fate pointed out the way and I simply followed.” Yoongi returns your smile. “But things are different now.”

“Different? In what way?”

You make a humming sound as you answer, “I’ve been training. Someone—one of my guardians—offered to help me practice controlling my mana, even if I can’t really use it to expel magic.” Yoongi cannot help but smile as you share this. He loves seeing how proud you look, simply from thinking about what you have achieved on your own. The look of excitement for overcoming a challenge and getting yourself ready to try facing another.

“Do you think your training has been helping you, seeing that you are doing quite alright now even after—how busy you’ve been?”

“I’m not quite sure, really,” you admit with a nervous smile, “That’s also why I’ve been waiting to see you. What do you think? Do you reckon my progress may have anything to do with how I’m not sick right now?”

Yoongi considers the option for a moment before nodding. “It might,” he cautiously says, “By having control of your mana, you might have been able to inadvertently prevent your mana from being drained completely while you had your expeditions.”

This answer seems to please you. “Of course, I am not an expert in this type of magic,” he quickly says before you get your hopes up. And it is not a complete lie, as there are real experts back home at Emburn who study this old magic properly that would know better than he does now. And he quickly makes it his mission to find them once he returns. ”I can try and help you look for answers if that can help you.”

Your smile widens. And he suddenly feels like his chest is too tight for his beating heart. “Would you do that for me?” you ask, to which he feels his knees weakening beneath him that he comes to a halt, bringing you close to him as he pulls you gently towards him.

“Anything, little dove,” he murmurs as he gently leans closer. “Even if only to make up for my recent absence and the days that went on without us being able to enjoy our time like this.”

Yoongi is so close. You are so close that he can breathe in the scent of your shampoo and the soft fragrance that you might have dropped onto the curves of your neckline this morning—something sweet and floral and maddeningly luscious—that his entire body grows warm. Before he can stop himself, his hand rises, fingers gently sweeping back some stray strands of hair that keep escaping to your cheek, and your face flushes.

Clearing your throat, you lower your gaze with a bashful smile. “Speaking of places with mana,” you softly speak, a hint of shyness flutters in your voice which pleases him dearly when you ask, “Have you been to a place called Aeris?”

Swallowing hard, Yoongi tries to calm his expression when he answers. “I’ve been there many times. Some of the merchants and barons that have hired me are those who deal with businesses in both realms, that’s why I frequently go to marketplaces like Narlès and Aeris.” He inclines his head. “Why do you ask?”

“Have you been there recently?” you question him, gnawing your lips as if you aren’t sure to ask.

“Not that I recall, no. I’ve been going to places where people were dealing with various crisis, and I have yet to visit any marketplaces lately.”

You try to hide it, but Yoongi can see a hint of disappointment in your eyes. “I see.”

Yoongi falls silent instead of questioning further. Because he knows why you would ask him about Aeris.

He was unable to leave the Imperial Palace when he felt you visiting the Mage City, so he had to send out the only one he trusted to go in his place and watch over you, making sure that you were safe. Yet it seems that Yijeong has failed to report back to him to let him know that you had caught him, or perhaps felt his presence while shadowing you through the city.

That fool.

Swallowing a frustrated groan, Yoongi reminds himself to be grateful. Despite his recklessness and his lack of trust in you, Yijeong has been there when Yoongi couldn’t. His loyal friend has continued volunteering to take his place, jumping into the magic portal whenever the ripples came calling for Yoongi to follow, all to be able to watch over you and keep you safe while Yoongi was stuck in the Empress’ little ploy.

From the mage city of Aeris to the legendary E’l Alora, the ancient place that is no longer shown on any kind of map, and then to the fallen city of Arselon, where mortals are no longer welcomed after they became casualties of war.

Yoongi cannot imagine what kind of adventures you have been to. Not even Yijeong’s reports were adequate in letting him know what you’ve learned from these expeditions of yours. How much he wishes to be there to witness it. And how inadequate it makes him feel to realise how much he has missed.

“The next time we meet again,” Yoongi gently says, “Tell me everything about your latest journey.”

The smile you give him holds hope and promise. “As long as you share me yours.”

As soon as you’ve made it across the bridge with Yoongi, you come to a halt, hesitant to continue.

You can feel it from a distance; the ripples of magic coming out of the portal, waiting for your return, hidden deep between the trees.

Silently, you wonder if Yoongi can feel it too. For some reason, you know that he can feel it, but he chooses not to show it. Not to say anything. Respecting your need to hold your secret just a bit longer until you can trust him completely with it.

Judging from the way he isn’t making any move to continue, he is respecting your choice by not following you through the woods unless you allow him to.

But keeping your secret and preventing him from following you to find the opened portal is the least of your concerns at this moment. You hate having to say goodbye so soon when you just met him again. Your time together has been too short, you feel like it wasn’t enough.

Yoongi tilts his head, noticing your silence. “Is there something wrong?” he asks, as if he can sense you having an inner battle in your silence.

“I don’t want to say goodbye so soon,” you admit with a quiet whisper.

“Then don’t,” Yoongi says, smiling. “Don’t say goodbye. Not when we’re going to see each other again.”

“Is that true? Will we be able to see each other again?” You cannot help but ask, “I’ve believed that we would, but—”

Taking your hand in his, Yoongi gives it a gentle squeeze. “I promise, whenever you make the jump to travel somewhere, to a new place across the realm or even towards the next realm, I’ll come running to you,” he says with a firm voice, only that you are too afraid to believe him, to hope, after being disappointed the last few times you went and never found yourself crossing paths with him.

“Don’t say such promises as if it is something that you are capable of doing,” you whisper bitterly, looking away.

Still keeping a gentle hold of your hand, Yoongi tilts your chin up with his other hand, bringing your gaze back to him. “As I’ve told you many times before, little dove. I wouldn’t dare make a promise that I’m not sure I can keep,” he whispers as he plays with a few stray strands of your hair before tucking them behind your ear. Just like before, when he did the same and the tips of his fingers brushed lightly against your cheek, your body shudders. Your skin grows hot, and you sway on your feet, your body leaning towards him to feel more.

Your eyes flutter to close as you embrace this feeling, yet you quickly open them again, resisting, only so you can look at him longer. But then his face comes closer, almost as if he is leaning for a kiss. “Can you keep that promise?” you force yourself to ask, even when your voice comes out small, almost breathless. “Can you really find a way to know where I am the next time I walk across the realm and be there when I make the jump?”

Yoongi says nothing at first. But the intense way he is looking at you, with no words, only with a gaze that seems tortured, as if he is pained for not being able to say much seems to speak louder than his words would.

“How? How would you be able to do such a thing?”

Instead of answering you, Yoongi only smiles. “Why don’t we make a little deal, you and me?” Yoongi offers instead, “I will tell you the next time we see each other again. Better yet, each time we meet again, I will share with you one secret of mine for you to keep. Something more about myself.”

Sucking a deep breath, you try to calm the flutter building in your chest. And fail. “Promise?” Your voice comes out in a whisper. “And I—” You continue, feeling your throat tightening when you think about all the things you can offer to make this fair. You want to give something back. A piece of you to every piece of himself that he is willing to give you.

Bringing your hand up, you offer him your pinky finger. “Then I’ll share something about myself too when we see each other again.”

Looking up close, Yoongi’s eyes seem to sparkle. Intrigued and pleased, Yoongi’s smile deepens as he entwines his pinky finger around yours and murmurs, “It’s a promise.”

Neither of you makes a move to separate, remaining in this position just a bit longer, staying close with his eyes staring deeply into yours. For a moment, you wonder if he is going to kiss you, as he slowly bends down, his face growing closer, until he suddenly stops with a hesitant smile. “Until we meet again,” he says instead, kissing the back of your hand.

You are filled with a mix of emotions, yet the touch of his lips on your skin makes your heart flutter, soaring with hope.

“Remember,” he whispers, “All you need to do is jump, and I’ll come running to you.”

Despite everything, you know deep down that you can hold onto this promise. You want to believe him, and that is exactly what you say to him in the end before you finally decide to part ways just beyond the last line of trees.

“Will you be okay crossing the woods on your own?” Yoongi asks, still reluctant to let you go into the woods.

“I have my dagger with me, and I know how to defend myself,” you reassure him, and his gaze flickers with knowing, believing that you are telling him the truth. “If all fails, I’ll scream for help.”

Yoongi softly laughs. “I’ll be here,” he says, as he slides his hands into his pockets, as if he is doing so to hold back from reaching out to you. “At least until you make it across.”

You leave him standing by the bridge as you trudge into the thickets, his warm smile becomes the last thing you see when you look over your shoulder one last time, before slipping deeper into the woods and entering the magic portal waiting to take you home. You close your eyes for a brief moment when the magic engulfs you, pulling you through the space in between before you arrive back home. The force of the magic is so strong, that you barely feel it when another ripple of magic follows your departure, coming from somewhere nearby, right before the magic door closes behind you.

The moment you open your eyes again, you are standing in the middle of the quiet corridor back in Stargrave. There is an emptiness in your chest as you walk further away from the ghostly feeling of the magic portal slowly waning behind you as you slowly make your way back to your bedchamber, yet you find no reason to feel any sorrow as you stroll down the empty hallways and into your silent quarter.

Because you've arrived back home not all empty-handed. Not when you have the warmth of a promise filling your heart, the ghost of Yoongi’s touch lingering in your palm, and five pouches of pixie dust in the pocket of your dress.

The day after your last trip, where you got to visit the home of elves and pixies, you remain in the castle instead of allowing your curiosity to take you away once again.

Your father’s keys are secured safely in one of the drawers inside your bedchamber. Out of sight, though not entirely out of mind.

“Take a day off from travelling, especially since you’ve been travelling more frequently as of late,” Yoongi had suggested yesterday, right before you parted ways, right after you made him so obviously worry about your well-being after you shared your recent predicament.

And you have chosen to follow his advice. To preserve your energy and mana until the next time you will be needing it again. Until the next time you see him again.

“And where will you be while I’m gone? Back to your mercenary business?”

Yoongi had given you a tight smile when you asked. Yet his eyes were filled with resolve when he answered, “Perhaps I shall handle my business to make sure they will no longer be in the way of me catching up to you.”

With no plans on escaping the confines of the castle, you spend your afternoon at the terrace on Nanny Abigail’s quarter for some afternoon tea with your governess. It has been a while since you spent some time with her without any agenda hidden under your sleeves—or hers.

Being here also means keeping you away from any possibility of you straying down vacant hallways in the castle and finding cryptic doors with humming spells enchanting you to open.

“It’s quite remarkable to think that on the same day you spent the hour of your dancing lesson stubbing your toes one too many times, you spent the rest of the afternoon sparring with the knights,” Nanny Abigail lifts her eyes from her tea and runs her gaze on your body, perusing briefly before commenting, “and without any injuries on your skin.”

You look up, forcing a smile as you resist the urge to admit that you did gain some injuries. But you choose not to say anything, lest you are to be forced to explain everything. Or worse, to risk causing an innocent royal knight to take the blame.

“How did you find out?” You ask her instead while keeping your voice calm.

Nanny Abigail presses her lips together. A look of displeasure is written all over her face. “Words travel fast in this place. The maids here keep curious eyes on the Princess who had been kept away from the only home she ever knew and is struggling to adjust in this new place,” she says with a wistful tone of voice, as if she has grown tired of the gossips, until she adds, “And those words always come back to me.”

“No wonder I felt like I was constantly being watched.” With an exaggerated sigh, you shake your head and mutter, “And here I thought it was all you.”

Eyebrows raised, Nanny Abigail looks at you with an unamused look on her face. “You think I planted a spy on you?”

You give her a sly grin as you shrug. “Wouldn’t be too surprised if you had. You’ve always seemed to have many eyes looking at me even when you are not around.”

Your governess narrows her eyes at you as she murmurs almost to herself, “Perhaps it’s time I should put a spy on you to make sure you behave like a princess for once.”

The bitter way she says it only makes you laugh, which draws a smile to her face. A fleeting sight to see, that you almost believe you are imagining things, until you hear the sound of her soft chuckle, laughing at her own joke. She expertly hides it behind her cup of tea, keeping her poise as always.

“May I ask you something?” you carefully ask her when a thought comes through your mind. Something has been weighing in your mind lately, and seeing that your governess seems to be in a light mood—enough for her to joke around with you—you figure this might as well be the right time to bring this up.

Nanny Abigail lifts her eyebrows and hums. “I don’t suppose it will stop you from trying if I refuse.”

You roll your eyes. “Glad to know you think so highly of me,” you tease, once again drawing a small smile from her. You take a deep breath before asking, “How well did you know my mother?”

At the mention of your mother, Nanny Abigail’s shoulders grow stiff. She quickly recovers and straightens up as she slowly lowers her cup. She clears her throat before answering, “Well enough to see parts of her in you each time I’m looking at you. It’s like seeing a reflection of her when I look at your face, or listen to you speak.”

Her gaze finds you. The joy in her eyes dims and softens when a smile comes to her face. A smile that is filled with melancholy and a familiar sense of longing. “Might be why it doesn’t surprise me when you are always up to something whenever no one is looking.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Nanny Abigail sighs. “The Queen, your mother, has always been just as mischievous as you are. She has always been like that since she was a child. Always so curious, always questioning and looking for answers, even if it’s the most impossible ones to find.”

You cannot help but smile as you hear this. “How did that go with my father?”

“His Majesty was always worried about her, but what can he do?” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “Not even the most strict rules can stop her from going out to see the world.”

Your back straightens. You have learned from Lord Gordan that you may have some similarities with your mother. You never expected to even share this with her. “She was a traveller.”

Nanny Abigail looks at you, smiling. “And a scholar,” she adds. “That was her true power.” She briefly halts, thinking, before adding, “Well, one of them. Her curiosity is one, and her knowledge is the other. But the most important one that she obtained over the years would be her courage. The one thing that kept pushing her to find more and more knowledge, no matter where and how.”

“This castle is full of books,” you muse, recalling how much the royal library had amazed you the first time you entered it. And it seems that you keep finding more and more books—all the rare ones that have often helped answer your questions—the more you explore deeper. “Was it because my mother loved to learn?”

“Yes, it was. Your mother’s always so fond of books,” Nanny Abigail says with a fond look in her eyes. “I believe she also kept a journal with her. A small notebook where she would keep the things she found and learned through her journeys.”

The conversation halts for a moment as Nanny Abigail pours some more tea into the cups, while your mind wanders. “How did she travel?” you find yourself asking, wondering, to which Nanny Abigail merely scoffs.

“Heavens know. She always had her secrets,” she answers with a soft chuckle. “Mostly, she would disappear hours into the day and come back once evening comes. Sometimes later, looking weary and excited at the same time from whatever adventure she got herself on.”

Furrowing your brows, you think about what she mentioned earlier. “The journal. Have you ever seen it? Have you ever read what she wrote in it?”

Nanny Abigail presses her lips and shakes her head. “No, she used to keep it to herself. Kept it hidden in her bedchamber.” Her gaze seems far away when she continues, “But she would talk about her day as she was writing about it. Sometimes she would do sketches. She would draw the places, the people she met, and the things she saw into these rough sketches for her to keep in her memory, but never once had she ever shown me anything she put down in that journal.”

Talking about your mother and the things they used to do back then brings another smile to her face. And she talks as if the memory is still fresh, that everything is happening in the present instead of the past, that you can almost see it through her eyes, to feel your mother’s presence the way Nanny Abigail is feeling it now. “Besides, even if I ever got a peek at her writing, I wouldn’t have understood it,” she adds.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Your mother’s quite adept with languages. She grew up speaking the language of the elves, and she was learning the native language of the moon fairies when she first began writing in that journal.” Her sigh is filled with longing when she continues, “She left a page on her desk once, something that looked like a letter that fell from the journal. She was quick to hide it, but I remember not recognising the language or the letters that she used. I couldn’t even read her scribbles, since she wrote them so quickly. Perhaps she had done it while on the road.”

She laughs. “I think it’s her way of keeping all the information she wrote a secret, only for certain people to be able to read them.”

You lean forward, getting more and more curious about this journal that your mother had allegedly carried with her. “Do you know where it is now?” you try to ask. “Or is it—is it lost with most of her belongings?”

Nanny Abigail only answers with a resigned sigh. “No one knows. The Queen holds her secrets deeply, even in her absence.” Her gaze finds yours as she raises her cup of tea to her lips. “Just like you do.”

A beat of silence falls. The wheels in your head are turning wildly as you try to connect all the dots. The places you’ve been. The words that were given to you by the people you met.

But then all the puzzling clues you have gathered in your memory scatter when Nanny Abigail suddenly chastises you, “Of all the things you could have been doing in your free time, why did it have to be a sword fight?”

Scoffing, you raise your brows at her. “Are you wishing that I’d be doing embroideries instead?”

“Well, you could need some more work on that, for sure,” she teases, making you laugh.

“Hah! Very funny,” you respond with a chuckle. “But really, I was—” Sighing, you decide to share some truth about what has been troubling you. “I was bored, and I was getting too soft.”

Nanny Abigail gives you an incredulous look. “From dancing?”

“From the lack of physical training,” you bitterly admit, “I don’t think Lord Gordan is brazen enough to defy my father in terms of giving me lessons in fighting.”

You hear Nanny Abigail sighing as she mutters, “As if you still need one.”

“You are good at dancing and yet you still practice when you have the chance.”

Your governess looks at you, saying nothing, but you can tell that she is silently agreeing with you. But the world will end if she ever admits it to your face. “So,” she says after sipping her tea. “Did you win?”

Your lips twist to a sly grin. “What do you think?”

One hour later, you find yourself returning to your quarters after a lazy afternoon. Your bedchamber is quiet, yet your mind is almost as lively as the rapid sound of your heartbeat as you reach for your dresser. Opening the top drawer, you find the set of keys gifted by your father. The magic keys cast silver and golden glow across the drawers and onto your face, the spell hums through the quiet space around you, as if asking why you haven’t reached for them today.

Yet your gaze moves past them, landing on the small bundle that you had carried home with you from the fallen city of Arselon.

You slowly reach for it, lifting the bundle in your hand with precise care—as if the thing will crumble into dust under your fingers. The bundle felt small when Gaia first handed it to you, enough for you to slip it under your cloak when you took it home. With gentle fingers, you pry open the velvet fabric covering it, revealing three small items bound together by a thick, white thread.

The first item is a key; made of steel and mostly covered in rust, reminding you of the iron gate leading towards the forbidden part of the royal garden that you have yet to travel into.

The second is an old folded map; with an inscription on the front cover written in one of the native languages you have been learning from Lady Laurel. Elven tongue.

But what intrigues you the most is the third item. Weighing down on your palm is a small notebook. Small enough to fit in the small sling bag that you often carry with you when you are travelling or into the side pocket of your coat. The leather cover is tainted with ink stains and appears to be slightly worn out by age. The papers seem old and worn, with yellowing edges and some growing crisp and falling apart. Deep down, you have a feeling that you already know what this item is even without having to open it.

“I believe she also kept a journal with her…”

Nanny Abigail’s voice echoes through your head as you gently run the tips of your fingers over the leather covering, finding the small initial embossed into the leather, right at the bottom corner of the front cover.

The inscription is made in a cursive letter, looking almost like a signed autograph marked into the leather coverings so it wouldn’t wear away by the passing of time, and the inscription reads the letter ‘M’.

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notanegganymore · 5 days

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I need to shave it soon, but until then you get vaguely hairy tummy on the floor of my childhood room.

Tags (let me know if you want on or off the list):

@catboybiologist @xenasaur @lilithtransrights @sagasolejma @shakukon-to

@lxladies @godless-of-the-hunt @valas-illyn @homoerotic-vamp

#tgirl tummy tuesday #transfem tummy tuesday

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sarah-ankh · 25 days

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I am @ankoku-teion, this is my new main. I go by Ankh, or Sarah. Preferred pronouns are she/her but I am largely unbothered.

I am an autistic, socialist pansexual, transfemme, atheist/pagan mega-nerd, who writes poetry and sometimes short stories.

My special interests include, but are not limited to: Doctor Who, LOTR, D&D, Rimworld, and a handful of very specific Minecraft mods.

Other hobbies include 3D printing, painting miniatures, most kinds of sci-fi or fantasy. And my slowly growing collection of swords, strange rocks and general weird things.

I am endlessly fascinated by sociology, psychology, politics, religion, mythology and philosophy.

on discord i am AnkokuTeion, on Steam i am Ankoku_Teion. basically everywhere i am online i use some variation of this name.

On Tumblr I have several side blogs: @ankoku-teion is my original main acct, now turned accidental OC/gimmick.

@a-friendly-stray is my ginger tabby gimmick blog, and the place where I repost everything cat related.

@secretly-a-puca is a shapeshifting trickster fae from Irish mythology. Called a Púca, or a Pookah in English.

@the-m-e-a-t is a Slasher/body horror gimmick of my own divising that I use to practice my writing chops.

@ankokuteion-blog is my old account from when I was a teenager, that I cannot access now because I don't remember the email. Feel free to browse.

There is also @valas-illyn but that's where I post/reblog a lot of nsfw stuff. Minors who follow me, please block it.

#this is me #pinned post #about me

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themostrandompolls · 2 months

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This is mad with peoples ideas in the Reblog a of this ice cream poll

The person is listed in the order of the ideas

@aldi-official-australia first

@nintendo-666 second

@actually-sarsaparillaila third

@garfildildo fourth and fifth

@microsoft-edge-real sixth

@ankoku-teionion seventh

@valas-illyn eighth

@bored-dromaeosaur ninth

@onlyinitforthefandoms tenth

@snowkestrel eleventh

@avidarakuku twelfth

Will continue in next poll

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#random polls #tumbler polls #tumblr poll #poll gimic blog #poll time #polls #poll #gimmick #gimmick blog #gimmick account #polls on tumblr #tumblr polls #Random poll #poll of random #ice cream poll

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night-dark-woods · 3 months

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Mara “Beloved Eris”/“Sweet, capable Petra” Sov

But also. Does Mara know about the assassination attempts on Petra. Realistically Mara “know everything” Sov would probably know, but then I refuse to believe there wouldn’t several less paladins when she found out

ok so for That, my dear friend Jackie's opinion (& i agree) is that Mara knows but doesn't do anything about it when she gets back, for several reasons:

it happened pretty early in Petra's regency (likely after she started actually Using her authority (see Report: Taken Power) and the techeuns and paladins had to actually deal with the fact that Petra was in charge for realsies). It's old news by the time Mara gets back.

the internal politics seem to have stabilized by Forsaken (if not of their own accord, then due to necessity- Uldren & first House Kings, then the Scorn), and Petra seems to have the Reef pretty well in hand when Mara actually returns (in Hunt iirc?). dredging up a years-old political incident would do nothing but destabilize a military already fighting an endless war on several fronts, and about to fight a new one as well.

it would undermine Petra's authority. Mara returning and immediately punishing someone over a personal slight (bc that's what it would be atp) would show a lack of trust and confidence in Petra's ability to handle internal politics, strip Petra of her hard-earned respect, and relegate her to a consort or non-military role. part of the pushback against her regency was that the high-ranking members of the court/military (same difference) thought Mara chose her because they were sleeping together (i do not think there is a single other way to interpret the Vouchsafe loretab. to be quite real) and Mara doing that would all but confirm their thoughts. Vouchsafe loretab as a treat:

"...No one thought you were right for that job. We thought…" He flattens his mouth. "Well, we thought Mara was favoring you for the wrong reasons. You're young; you were still green. You certainly weren't Sjur. When Mara died, and suddenly you were Regent instead of me or Devi or whoever…"

assassination attempts would presumably have been made by extremely essential and high-ranking commanders. top of the list would be Illyn (see loretab Illyn, Pathfinder set head armor) & Kamala Rior (see Chain of Souls, Prodigal set leg armor, a Talk to Petra flavortext). i know Illyn is Distributary-born from a Pilgrimage, and i believe Rior is as well; given that Petra on chronologically-first loretab mention (Oathkeeper) is called "a child" by Mara, i don't think there are any Reef-born in command roles tbh. both Illyn and Rior are also deeply essential to both the religious/technological AND military (inasmuch as those are in any way separate) command structures for the Awoken. those are the main suspects, but the entire command structure doubts her (see Honored, below, and Vouchsafe again). Illyn also was Petra's teacher when she flunked out of Techeun training, so that's a whole nother layer to the mess lmfao.

for Illyn:

"Quickly," Illyn hisses. "Before Petra is informed." Any breach of Processes and Services triggers an alert, and while they were crafty in their intrusion, even minute body heat and motion of the air will be detected.

We need more Techeuns, Illyn. You know I'm right." Illyn shook her head. "We are not weapons for the Queen's Wrath to command…"

& then for Rior:

Variks's fingers flexed. "Petra, the Loyal," he sneered. "Perhaps the murmurs of Kamala Rior are true, yes?"

Petra glowered.

"Regent-Commander Petra Venj, if you take the Queenship, I will take my fleet and leave." —Paladin Kamala Rior

"I'm sending you a permanent detatchment of Corsairs. Petra... I'm sorry for doubting you." —Kamala Rior

Honored

Petra does not see the cynical glance that passes between Leona and Pavel, who have both served the Queen faithfully for decades.

and lastly i dont think Mara has ever been one to act on emotion like that. she has always been LASER-focused on her goals and the Big Picture, determined to get there regardless of how grieved she is by her own collateral damage. she brought her people out of heaven to DIE. ("If you have grace, then see our sorrows, but swallow back your tears. We were made to pay this price. I led us to our fate.") the closest we get to a rash emotional decision is in the Oathkeeper tab when Sjur dies, and even then all she allows herself to do is send Orin to find her killers.

"...But if we divert our attention now to vengeance against an unknown enemy…" Mara put down the coin and allowed herself a small, humorless smile. "Then let it be my diversion."

EXTREMELY long response but. i think Mara knows, and however upset she may be personally, i think she would never act to destabilize the Reef like that. imo Petra understands, but i'd imagine it also fucking sucks sometimes. that is what it is to love a god-queen though.

ALSO. this is whats sooo fun abt whenever Sjur comes back (idec if it happens in canon. its true in my heart. it says in literally every Sjur-related loretab). bc everyone tells Petra to her face that she isn't Sjur. constantly. BUT then we got that radio message in SotWish where Mara told her that she was better suited for regency than Sjur. and Sjur isn't full of herself or unable to recognize others' capabilities, and she'd be impressed by Petra as well, and also horrified at what she had to deal with. just DEEPLY fun dynamic. i <3 Petra's small dog complex and violent tendencies. highly recommend Jackie's PetraSjur fic about it also, which touches on this actually and also belongs in a museum: (link)

#asks #manonslayme #loreposting

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greenbloods · 1 year

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#to anyone who thinks any of these characters are actually normal. in my head they all have something off about them in the most lovely way<3 #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #asoiaf polls

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atomic--peach · 1 year

Text

Her Grace's Handmaiden Pt.18

(Cersei Lannister x Fem Reader x Sandor Clegane: Tw: Death, Pregnancy, Joffrey being Joffrey)

AO3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

Both You and Cersei were pale as death and silent as the grave on the carriage ride back to the Keep.

That could not have gone worse if it tried.

Now not only would they have to contend with Stanis and Renly, but the entirety of the North would be howling for the Lannisters' blood.

When the carriage stopped, you were escorted by Kings Guard past rows of gathered courtiers who no doubt had already heard the news.

Wide and curious eyes watched them, but your mind was still on the steps of The Great Sept.

Lady Sansa's wails

The cries that filled the crowd when Illyn Payne drove the blade of Stark's own Valyrian steel sword through his neck.

The way Ned Starks head dropped from his neck with a rush of gore only to be presented to the crowd like a trophy.

"Remember uh-" Cersei blinked as if struggling to keep track of her thoughts. "Remember to go see Pycelle."

"Oh," it had been the furthest thing from your mind, "Yes, Your Grace."

Pycelle listened carefully as you explained everything.

"I can inspect you if you like My Lady" he sighed, "But it sounds to me like you already know the answer"

"All the same" You nodded, "I need to know for sure."

_______________________

Three months.

It was just an estimation, of course. But an educated one.

It didn't feel right to tell anyone today.

You were on strict orders to avoid riding, lifting heavy objects, and bathing in hot water.

"Keep drinking the tea I gave you" the old man insisted, "it is important to keep the body in a constant state of balance."

Balance, you now understood, was in preciously short supply.

Sandor found you sitting in the window of your shared quarters.

He waited patiently for the news, but when none came he nodded.

"We can keep trying, Love" he assured you, "There's no rush."

"I'm 3 months in," you corrected him. "at least we think"

Sandor withheld his smile. "You're worried"

His wife nodded slowly.

"I thought I would be bringing my children into a better world than mine was" you gazed through the thick glass window pane, dark eyes stormy like the sea. "but, now I am wondering if I've just made things so much worse for them."

"Do you mean what happened at the sept?" Sandor scoffed, "My love, you had no hand in that."

You turned to look at him with hard eyes, your soft lips drawn into a hard line as you tried desperately to communicate something you hadn't the words for.

Sandor frowned, a tight knot twisted in his stomach as he searched your face.

"Y/N," he said your name in a slow, firm voice that commanded respect. "You had no hand in that. Yes?"

You looked away, body trembling as Sandor covered his mouth with his hand, trying to make sense of this.

"What did you do?"

Tears began to spill over your face, "I'm so sorry"

"Fuck sorry" Sandor growled, "you need to tell me exactly what happened. Now."

"It was Essence of Nightshade" you whispered, "in his wine skin. It was supposed to be a quick death but..."

Sandor paled and covered your mouth

"NO. Not another word" he hissed, "who else knows about this?"

"Lancel, his squire." You whimpered, "I gave him the bottle. He said he threw it away in the King's Wood so no one would ever find it."

Sandor was shaking, both with anger and with terror.

He needed a moment, just to breathe.

"Stay here" he growled lowly. "Stay right here, do NOT leave. And never in your life speak another word about this to anyone. It never happened, is that clear?"

You could only nod, if she tried to speak it would only come out as sobs.

You had ruined everything, you knew that now.

War was coming.

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

Lancel had never known fear as he had felt it with the Hound looming over him.

"Please, ser" he whimpered "Please, don't-"

"I don't want to kill you, boy" Clegane growled.

The Kingswood was dark and lifeless at this time of night. Not a soul would have heard his screams.

"Please believe me, I won't ever speak of word of it to anyone. I swear that by all the Gods, Old and New"

"I know you won't" Sandor was a black shadow in the darkness. "Because here is what's going to happen. Tonight, right now, we are going to go see Kettleback, and he is going to knight your idiot ass. After that, you are going to write your lord father and tell him you are ready to marry anyone, and I mean anyone, to get you out of the capital. You're going to leave, get married, and never, in your life, speak of this again."

Lancel was shaking with horror but nodded as he felt like he should get out of this ordeal alive.

"Tell me you understand, or I will bury you in these woods boy."

"I understand. I do."

"Good."

_____________________________

Sandor said nothing of it when you woke the next morning.

When you'd finally fallen asleep, you'd been alone, wondering if you would even have a husband when the sun rose.

But when the dawn came, you found his form pressed against yours and your heart flooded with relief when you realized he had not left you.

At least not yet.

Neither of you spoke as you dressed for the day, but your eyes flicked back to him constantly, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I've been thinking." He finally said as you made your way to the great hall.

"Yes?"

"It might be better for you to spend the rest of the pregnancy at Clegane Keep." He posited the idea more as a fact than a question. "It's quiet there, and smaller so you won't be on your feet as much. I'd feel more comfortable if I knew you were somewhere safe."

You gawked.

You hadn't been outside the Keep alone since you were a child. Clegane Keep was in the far west, last even Lannisport.

Your heart clenched.

He was sending you away to be rid of you. You had made a horrible mistake telling him, and now he thought you were a monster and wanted nothing to do with you.

"If you think that's best." You breathed, "I will go."

"We'll need the king's blessing first. Courtiers aren't allowed to leave court without clearance from the monarch." He explained, "It should be easy enough if he's in a good mood."

"I should tell the queen." You breathed. Cersei would not take this well. Perhaps she would fight for you to stay.

"Not yet," Sandor shook his head, "Wait until we get the go-ahead."

You looked at your feet and nodded.

Sandor sighed and lifted your chin to look at him, making a concentrated effort not to look angry.

"This isn't a punishment, my love." he assured you, "War is coming, we both know that. And I want you as far out of the crosshairs as you can get."

This made you feel better, even if it was a lie.

The Hall was mostly empty, occupied by a few King's Guards stationed around the Iron Throne, and Varys.

"Ah," His face perked up when he saw you enter, "I hear congratulations are in order."

"The dear Grandmaester talks too much, I fear." You forced a smile, biting back the urge to scream I Told You So in his hairless face.

"Well, all my prayers are with you Lady Clegane." The Spider assured you. "But I expected you to be resting in your condition, whatever are you doing here?"

"Mind your business, Spider." Sandor snapped and Varys reeled back in mock offense.

"His Majesty, The King, and the Queen Mother." A Herald announced and you perked up.

The boy king was all a glow in red and gold brocade, tailed by his mother dressed in a matching style with her golden locks gathered atop her head.

The collective of underlings bowed respectfully as Joffrey ascended the throne.

"Alright, let's get this over with." He grumbled, readying for his first audience as king "Bring the interesting ones first."

"If it please, your grace." Sandor cut in, "I have a request I fear is rather urgent, if you will hear it."

Joffrey looked interested.

He couldn't recall a time when his loyal hound wanted anything more than to kill someone.

"Please." The boy sat up a little straighter.

"As your grace has likely been told, my lady wife is pregnant. I would like your leave to send her to Clegane Keep for the remainder of her term."

Joffrey shrugged and opened his mouth to grant this request, but Cersei cut in quick as a flash.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said too earnestly. "I mean, such a trip would be too strenuous for a pregnant woman."

"I will ask the Grand Maester to give his clearance before going ahead," Sandor eyed her challengingly.

Cersei smirked knowingly, Pycelle was her creature through and through.

"Let us ask him then. Lord Varys please summon the Grandmaester, won't you?"

Pycelle arrived with surprising speed for a man his age, bowing and scraping as usual.

"Grandmaester, " Cersei began prodding. "We were just discussing the possibility of Lady Clegane residing in the Westerlands for the remainder of her pregnancy. "

"Ah." Pycelle nodded, "Yes I had suspected such action might take place. I did conduct a thorough exam of Lady Clegane in anticipation of this."

"And would you not say a trip so long might be hazardous in her condition?" Cersei's eyes flashed, making the old man squirm like a worm.

"Well, I would say that in these circumstances, it would be ill-advised to travel within the first and last few months." He nodded, "I'd advise around the 6-month mark, it would be alright."

This was not the answer Cersei wanted but it was already out in the court.

Sandor's skin prickled with irritation but he nodded, "Six months then. If it pleases the king."

"It does." Joffrey had grown bored with the subject. "Let us move on to more interesting topics."

"Y/N, my love."

Your heart caught. Cersei never referred to you by your first name outside her quarters. It was too personal. Too Familiar.

"Yes, my queen."

"You've been very quiet." Cersei nodded, staring at you deeply with eyes full of expectation. "What do you think of all of this?"

You swallowed hard and your mouth went dry. You didn't want to disagree with anyone, least of all Cersei.

"I-" You croaked.

The pressure of a large hand taking yours calmed you a moment, enough to allow you to reply.

"I want whatever is best for my child, your grace."

Cersei's face was friendly but cold, and her eyes shifted to Sandor, narrowing. "Very well, 6 months."

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

You stayed for the rest of the king's court hearing, but The Queen insisted you sit rather than stand.

Lords and Ladies come forward with petty requests, mostly solidifying that the things they had asked for under Robert's reign would remain as they were.

Next came the common folk to petition for safer lives, more food, and less taxes.

None of those would come, but it would be good to at least let them make the request.

Next came sentencings.

Under Robert, sentences for criminals would be announced to the court but carried out in private.

Joffrey had a different method.

The first was a gang of thieves who had been robbing the wealthier residents of the capital just outside the Keep walls.

They were sentenced to death by hanging, and you had expected them to be dragged out to the gibbet.

You hadn't expected a rope to be thrown over a beam and the criminals hanged in open court.

A few courtiers explained in horror, but most had the good sense to remain silent as the grave.

You looked to Cersei who was maintaining an iron front the whole time.

You must do the same, you knew.

You were a killer after all, weren't you?

Your methods had been less direct, but some died all the same and you had meant for it to happen.

A few petty thieves lost their hands.

A rapist his manhood.

And a singer his tongue.

The whole time, you remained silent and tried to look without actually seeing.

Sandor was right, you realized, he wasn't sending you away as punishment.

You needed to get out of there.

#cersei lannister x reader #sandor clegane x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #her grace's handmaiden

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