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Blood in the Rivers: VI

A/N: Mkay. Thank you to everyone who read, commented on, and reblogged the last chapter. You’re all angels and I would marry all of you if polygamy wasn’t illegal. Smut is not my forte but I tried.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: NC-17 for fingering, blow jobs, my over-use of italics

Word Count: 9.1k (yeah...I hate me too)

Read Chapters I-V here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Six: Ruins in Moonlight

Whispers followed her through King’s Landing. Eyes watched her every step.

“She killed The Mountain!”

“Her? Surely not. Prince Oberyn more like.”

“No! Truly!”

Y/N tilted her head back to catch the sun for a moment as Daisy kept a firm lock about her arm. She hadn’t slept. Ellaria had come rushing in with Daisy as Oberyn held her and they quickly sent most of the others back out into the hall. Ellaria pressed a kiss to her blood-stained lips without care and with tears in her eyes. None of them had parted from her side for the rest of the night, even when Cersei and Tywin had come in. The pair surveyed the carnage with a muted sort of surprise before Cersei asked, “how do we know that you did not invite him into your bed?”

And, for once, she didn’t have an answer.

Oberyn held her close as he made it clear that he knew the halls had been emptied to give Gregor few obstacles to get to her door. Daemon had come to give food to the guards at her door and had noticed the eerily empty hall near her chamber and had gone to fetch the prince at once. “But which one of you gave the order for them to leave? For Gregor to touch my betrothed?” Before he received an answer, Tommen and Margaery appeared, followed by a wash with morbidly curious nobles from The Reach. Both king and queen quickly apologized to Y/N for “the incident” and promised her anything she wanted. And, with the assembled audience, there was little that could be said without revealing motives.

Y/N asked for Gregor’s head and watched as both Tywin and Cersei twisted their mouths into poorly hidden and matching grimaces.

Daemon cleaved the man’s head off right there in her chambers and then shoved it in a box to be taken to Dorne.

The rest of the night was filled with Ellaria and Daisy carefully washing the blood from her skin as Oberyn watched, mouth pulled into a firm line as he stood with his back to the door. A quiet sentry.

There was no sleep to be had that night.

Daisy helped her into the wheelhouse as it arrived in front of the Red Keep’s steps and then settled in beside her. As soon as the door was closed, the wheelhouse lurched forward. She did not lean out toward the window to catch a final glimpse at the fortress. She did not try to remember how it smelled as the gates to the city opened and they were let through. She did not want any memories from that horrid place. But her attention was soon drawn to Daisy as she held out a small canteen.

“Prince Oberyn sent this for you, my lady. So you may sleep while we travel.” Her lips twisted to the side. “And for the pain.”

Y/N resisted the urge to touch her swollen cheek. The cut that bisected her cheek had been deeper than she had originally thought and would likely leave yet another scar. She took the canteen and uncorked it before taking a large gulp of its contents. It tasted like dreamwine sweetened heavily with honey—she took several more gulps before pushing the cork back in and handing it back to Daisy. “Where is he, by the way? And Ellaria?” He and Ellaria had both been called away as Y/N had readied for the day. Y/N had been too tired to ask where they were going.

“I believe he is only a few paces ahead of our wheelhouse, my lady. And Ellaria is traveling with her father in his.” Daisy pulled something else from the small satchel at her side and handed it to her. It was two rolls of parchment. “They both insisted you read these, to help you sleep.”

Y/N frowned but took the offered rolls and unfurled the first. It was the letter of arrangement between Prince Doran and her father. It spoke of a modest dowry and the promise of her new title and the life she would lead in Dorne. She frowned as she noticed the color of her father’s signature. It was in a pretty green-blue that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. In all her years, he had only ever used black ink in his missives. Uncle Hoster, on the other hand, had loved a shade of ink very similar to the one on the parchment. He had the ink specially made and always requested that the finest pearls be crushed into the ink to make it shimmer. Her finger brushed against his signature as her mind, starting to fog with the dreamwine, rolled over a sneaking suspicion.

Had Oberyn gone to Riverrun?

Either way, the next roll nearly had her crying the instant she unfurled it. It was a letter to her, in her father’s familiar tilted handwriting in the same green-blue ink.

My darling girl- I am so sorry I am not there to give you this news in person. It has been too long since I have looked upon your face. When this war is over and won, I shall hold you tight. I promise you that. But you, my daughter, know I must finish what has started. Little Robb must be king. Your cousin Catelyn died saving him at the Twins, taking the blade and arrow meant for him. I cannot rest until my family is whole again. Your betrothed is a good man. My largest sorrow in this world is that I will not be there to remove the maiden’s cloak from your shoulders and see you wrapped in his colors. I asked him to give you this letter before we parted—he is a valiant warrior, if not a little hotheaded. But he speaks about you as if he has known you all his life. You have much of your mother in you, I know that. She weaved the same spell over me as you have done with him. And his paramour, it would seem, too. As long as you are happy, my darling girl, I am as well. All I have ever wanted was your happiness. Damn the rest. But, if the prince is to ever make you unhappy, I shall spirit you away at once. No man would stop me. Just send a raven and I will run to you. I should have seen you grow into the woman you are now. My mistakes will haunt me for the rest of my days even though your gentle heart has forgiven me. Just know I love you.

Y/N pressed the parchment to her chest and sobbed. It crinkled under her grip as tears streaked down her cheeks and soaked the neck of her dress.

Daisy quickly leapt to her side of the rocking wheelhouse and instantly devolved into trying to discern what had upset her so. Y/N could only hand over the letter through hiccups. Daisy quickly read it and then pulled Y/N into her arms as she was so fond of doing and let her weep. But soon, the dreamwine and exhaustion pulled at her eyes and she fell asleep in the quiet hold of her handmaiden.

It was midday when she woke and the wheelhouse had grown warm. Y/N blearily opened her eyes and expected to see that she was on Daisy’s lap—but instead found her head resting on a pair of sturdy legs covered in soft linen trousers. Across the wheelhouse, Ellaria was reading a book in her lap with her legs crossed under her on the cushion. Y/N turned and saw Oberyn looking out the wheelhouse window as his fingers idly traced the stitching of her dress.

“My love,” Ellaria said, “she’s awake.”

Oberyn looked down at her with a soft smile. His hand settled on her uninjured cheek and his thumb swept across her skin. “Or are you still dreaming, My Tully?”

“This feels like a dream.” She leaned a little closer to his hold. “Where is Daisy?”

“She is riding with Ser Daemon,” Ellaria answered with a mischievous glint in her eye as she set her book aside. “They are quite the match.”

“They are,” Y/N said as she sat up, despite Oberyn huffing when she did so. “I would see them happy.” She wiped the sleep from her eyes, only partly mindful of her injured cheek and glanced outside. “We must be halfway to the Stormlands by now, no?”

“We are. We should make it to Summerhall by nightfall.”

Y/N nodded and kept her eyes on the passing greenery. Her mind was still fuzzy from the dreamwine and long nap. “Thank you for giving me the letters.”

“Your father was insistent.”

“But how did you get them?”

Oberyn shared a look with Ellaria before he sighed. “I rode to Riverrun.”

Her head snapped to the side so quickly she felt something pinch in her neck. “What?”

“I rode to Riverrun,” he repeated. “There had been whispers of your father being seen at Oldstones and then Fairmarket, the Whispering Wood—a small band of men at his side. It did not take long to find him.”

Her mouth had gone dry. Questions bubbled and turned over in her mind.

“The Freys’ defenses were easily outmaneuvered and I did what he needed of me so he could take back your home.”

“But…but why…” Why had he gone? Why had he helped her father?

Oberyn reached out and gently grasped one of her hands and raised it to press a kiss against her palm. “Consider it a betrothal gift.” His smirk made her huff out a laugh as he continued, “the Realm needs allies—strong allies. Your Father in Riverrun. Starks in the North. The Reach. Dorne.”

Ellaria moved to sit beside her and held her other hand.

“I don’t understand.” And she didn’t. All of it seemed so convoluted and she was sure she only had half the pieces to this puzzle. But there was a voice at the back of her mind telling her that he did it for her. And why did that make her heart speed its beat like a dragonfly’s wing?

“We are in the long game now, My Tully. We will be rid of the Lannisters and the Realm will have peace.”

Ellaria squeezed her hand. “We did not want to involve you until we were certain that your father was alive. We could not be the ones to give you the news that he had perished. Breaking your heart…” Her smile was sad. “We couldn’t bear it.”

“But we did anyway when we kept it from you.”

And now, Y/N was seated between them, each holding one of her hands and gazes filled with sorrow and warmth. For her. For each other. “Tell me of this plan you have of to rid the Realm of its Lannister stain.”

And so they did. Oberyn spoke of alliances across the Realm to outnumber and outwit Tywin Lannister—the man House Martell held responsible for the deaths of Elia and her children. Gregor Clegane may have committed the act, but they knew The Mountain did not move unless Tywin commanded it. Years of bloodshed, war—they were Tywin’s doing. Ellaria spoke of meetings with lords and ladies who felt slighted by the Lannisters or Baratheons. All a carefully crafted plot to turn anyone and everyone against the most powerful man in Westeros.

“But what of Tommen and Myrcella? They are innocents.”

“They are,” Ellaria said.

“They will be allowed to go to Essos with their household and part of their riches—unharmed. But they are never allowed to step foot in Westeros again.”

It felt cruel to leave gentle Tommen and little Myrcella to a life of exile. But it was kinder than the end Rhaenys and Aegon saw at the hands of Tywin Lannister. And this was war—fought in shadows and in secret, but a war all the same. Y/N nodded. But then a thought struck her, pressing its sharpened blade between her ribs and twisting to open a wound she thought nearly healed. The want to pull away and curl into herself reared its head but she tightened her grip on their hands instead. She just needed truth. “And…I was the key to the Riverlands? Would it not have been simpler just to liberate Edmure from Casterly Rock?”

Oberyn chuckled as Ellaria smiled. “You were always meant to be ours. War or not, we would have you. But the formality of having an agreement between my brother and your father was a necessity so they could not try to force your hand. I had Doran draw it up before we left for King's Landing--I could forge your father's signature if had come to that. But I made sure that the Dornish forces were ready should the need arise to have to pull you from their clutches,” he said. “They are all waiting at the mouth of the Boneway.”

“And while Oberyn was out cutting down Freys, I was taking tea with Lady Olenna and that new Queen, Margaery to be sure of their alliances.”

“My Ellaria is a master negotiator,” Oberyn said, pride blooming in his tone but then his dark eyes focused again on Y/N. “And we’d do it all—the fighting, the long, insipid dinners—all of it, again for you.”

“Oh.” The sound warbled in her throat. “Are you sure? Are you certain you still-”

Ellaria hooked a finger under Y/N’s chin and made her look into her eyes. “Never doubt that. We have kept you in the dark for our own selfish reasons. It will never happen again. You are Our Tully. In this world and into the next: ours.”

Oberyn slid closer to her side, pressing his body against hers. He raised their clasped hands and pressed a kiss to her palm, lips then dragging to her wrist. Teeth scratched against her pulse. She shivered at the contact, lower belly clenching. “Do you still wish to be ours?”

Y/N felt the answer bubbling in her throat but her eyes dipped down to Ellaria’s pink lips. Soft and supple. She leaned forward slowly and saw the question rise in Ellaria’s beautiful eyes. Did she want this? Was she ready? Tentatively, slowly, she pressed her lips to Ellaria’s. It was a relief to feel Ellaria’s smile press against her mouth and easily let Ellaria assume control and guide her lips to open. The Dornishwoman stole her breath as she licked into her mouth with an effortless ease, coaxing her to follow.

Y/N let loose her grip on their hands to hold Ellaria closer, fingers curling into the loose fabric of her skirts and sighing against her pretty mouth. Not to be outdone, Oberyn pressed ever closer to lathe kisses against the side of Y/N’s neck. His hands slid across her stomach and the heat of him quickly soaked through the fabric of her dress as his fingers crept up to cup her breasts. A single squeeze had her moaning into Ellaria’s mouth.

She wanted them everywhere, anywhere. Wanted their touch branded on her skin for all the world to see. She wanted to lose herself to their kisses and touches and forget everything outside this small wheelhouse. Wanted to forget that The Mountain had ever touched her. Y/N would rather bathe in his blood a thousand times over than to remember what his hands felt like.

Her injured cheek suddenly throbbed in pain and she drew back quickly with a wince, fingers pressing to the broken skin as if the touch would help—only to catch the end of the cut with her nail. “Seven hells,” Y/N hissed.

“What is it?” Oberyn quickly asked, his mouth leaving her neck at her sudden movement, hands quickly pulling back and then hovering over her like he was ready to stem any hurt she might have.

“I am afraid we have been too enthusiastic with Our Tully,” Ellaria murmured. She reached out to pull Y/N’s hand away from her cheek with a careful hand. “We never meant to hurt you.” She pressed a kiss to Y/N’s fingers in a quiet apology as Oberyn hummed his assent, his fingers falling to rub comforting circles into her shoulders.

“It was my fault,” Y/N murmured. “I do want…to have you touch me, to touch you. I simply forgot my injury for a moment.”

“Your battle wound,” Oberyn said with a smile. “My fierce princess. Slayer of The Mountain.”

Y/N snorted and then winced as it once again agitated her cheek. “That moniker will never take and you know it.” She sighed and settled a little further into her cushioned seat as Ellaria and Oberyn both looked at her, fondness coloring their features and her chest filled with warmth at the sight. “I want us to be happy. Always. No more secrets kept about my welfare or half-truths. Happiness. That is all I want.”

“And you shall have it,” Oberyn whispered. “You shall have every happiness.”

She had never been to the Stormlands. She had heard of its verdant forests and lowing valleys that crested up to meet the Red Mountains but never truly seen it outside the illustrations in her books. The travelling party settled for the night at the mouth of a valley abutting a small outcropping of evergreens. The ruins of Summerhall were at her back and she wanted so desperately to explore them, touch its crumbling rock. But a handful of others in the party had insisted that she tell them the story of how toppled The Mountain. Even hardened knights had settled near her to listen. But their eyes all carefully dragged across her discolored and scabbed cheek and she fought the urge to hide it beneath her fingers. There was no jokes at her expense. No calling it a stroke of luck. Only careful nods and questions about the blade she used. She readily handed it over for inspection. It seemed that her killing of Gregor had given her an air of blood-filled sanctity in their eyes. She had heard the whispers of the Dornish as they had made camp for the night—they were much kinder than those of King’s Landing.

Her eyes drifted over to see that Oberyn had found their small gathering and leaned against a tree with his mouth lifting into a small smile only when someone asked how she came to use a blade. “Most Northern ladies don’t like it,” he said.

Y/N’s lips pulled into a small smile of her own, still bemused at how the Dornish thought anything and everyone above Dorne was ‘northern.’ “My father found me playing with one of his blades when I was just a child. He thought it would be wiser for me to know how to use it properly so I wouldn’t hurt myself on accident. When I left for Riverrun, Uncle Hoster always grumbled when Ser Desmond, our master-at-arms, would place a bow in my hands or blade. But he knew I am my father’s daughter.” She laughed a bit. “But he nearly collapsed when Ser Desmond somehow befriended some former Second Son and had him train me in exchange for a bit coin.”

“A Second Son? What was his name?” Oberyn asked, stepping closer. The gathered crowd murmured at his arrival. Everyone knew of Oberyn’s time with the Second Sons when he was sent to exile for a handful of years when he was younger. Even Y/N had heard the stories.

She smiled a little more openly as he stepped to her side, warm hand sliding down her spine to settle at the small of her back. “Ser Maegyr. He was quite a rogue and I was sure I was half in love with him until he was caught stealing from our storehouses.” She chuckled at the memory. “He managed to escape our dungeons the first night and we never saw him again. Did you know him, My Prince?”

“Maegyr?” Oberyn repeated as his thumb rubbed circles into her back. “He was a fine swordsman. But a terrible mercenary. He disappeared one night before he was to report to a commander about his battalions’ dealings with a Volantene merchant. I am surprised he made it this far west.”

Y/N looked at him in the dying light of the day and felt her heart pleasantly tighten in her chest. She should ask him more about his time in Essos, about what he had seen. She was sure he could never cease to ply her with his tales of blood and glory and she would never cease to wonder at them, at him.

“She is a fine lady, my prince,” a man draped in the colors of House Manwoody said. “The Seven have smiled on you.”

Oberyn pulled the small blade from his hands and looked at. The thumb of his nail picked at the dried blood still caking the sharp edge before he turned his gaze back to Y/N. “Yes. They have.”

Without realizing it, she curled a little closer to him as he held her dagger and felt a strange bit of peace in the depths of her soul, even as her eyes dragged over the blade. But the moment was soon broken by a servant saying that the food had been served for the last meal of the day. Dinner was an assortment of berries and cheeses and wines that sated her hunger and left Y/N feeling comfortably full as the moon rose higher into the dark sky. She met Harmen Uller, Ellaria’s father, an affable man who instantly endeared himself to her by regaling her of tales from Ellaria’s childhood.

“…and then she leapt from her horse’s back and into the Brimstone,” he finished his story with a chuckle. “The stench of Sulphur stuck to her hair for nearly a moon cycle.”

Y/N laughed and felt Ellaria’s fingers trail across her thigh before suddenly grasping it in a strong grip. Her knee nearly hit the table out of reflex and had Ellaria laughing quietly into her ear. Oberyn smiled at them from across the table and slid a berry into his mouth.

“You must see Hellholt, my lady. After the wedding, of course.” Harmen leaned forward to pointedly look at his daughter with a playful sort of anger. “Since it will be the only wedding I will be attending for quite some time, it seems.”

Ellaria scoffed. “Father, must you always do this?”

Harmen huffed and tried to hide his smile. “My Ellaria told me when she was not but eight that she would never take a husband.”

“And I still haven’t,” Ellaria said with a matching smile, her fingers starting to massage the meat of Y/N’s thigh and sending small, but pleasurable zings up her spine. “And I am better for it. I now have a prince and a princess to call my own.” Ellaria pressed a kiss just below Y/N’s ear and delighted in the shiver it created.

“Are you sure?” Y/N asked as she looked to Ellaria. To be truthful, it had been a question whispering at the back of her mind. Did she care that she would be Oberyn’s wife?

But the easy smile Ellaria gave her was enough. “I have never been one for marriage. It creates shackles I swore to myself I would never let ensnare me. But I am happy to have captured you both.” Another squeeze to her thigh. “Truly.”

Y/N’s eyes glanced back over to Oberyn to see him fondly watching them as the lord next to him prattled on about something, clearly under the assumption the prince was listening. Warmth bloomed in her chest. With all of the turmoil and heartache and bloodshed she had fought through—this moment right now, with Ellaria’s hand on her thigh and her breath on her neck, and Oberyn’s affectionate gaze, all of it was worth it. This happy moment.

The meal was finished with more berries and wine and then songs sung by a few of the knights as the moon was fully seated in the night sky. She was pleasantly full and buzzing with Ellaria’s constant touches. Against her thigh, curling against her knee, trailing against her hip. All of it was so pleasant and perfect that she assumed that it would carry over to her dreams.

Oberyn had erected a tent in the center of the camp for her and Daisy, draped with silks in every shade of red and filled with cushions that nearly swallowed the bed whole. It was a lovely, extravagant way to spend the night and he kissed her soundly as he told her goodnight, curling his fingers at the back of her neck so he could hold her close, keep her still. Ellaria quickly followed suit and reveled in the little gasps she emitted. It left Y/N smiling and a little dazed as Daisy helped her out of her dress and they settled in for the night.

It was supposed to be perfect.

But as she started to dream, mind filled with the touch of silk and Oberyn’s lips and Ellaira’s fingers, it all went wrong.

She woke only a handful of hours later, feeling the phantom fingers of Gregor Clegane. Her dream had been cruel. The dagger to his throat had not stopped him. He bled all over her and took what he wanted before wrapping his hands around her throat and squeezing until she woke with a gasp.

Daisy was still sleeping peacefully in the small bed on the other side of the tent, unhearing of her panicked breathing or her hammering heart. She rubbed at her throat as if that would ease the invisible ache and tried to steady her pulse to little avail. There would be no sleeping after that. Y/N stood from her bed and pulled her discarded dress back on and tied the laces at the back as best she could before shoving her feet into shoes.

The camp was largely quiet, most having retired for the night and retreated to their tents or their sleeping rolls under the stars. A handful of knights were in the middle of a drinking game at one of the empty tables and guards were stationed around the perimeter. She pulled a torch from its metal stand and ventured out on her own, feet sinking into the lush grass with each step. If she could not sleep, she could have a bit of adventure. It had been a habit of hers when she was a child. She would wander the halls of her father’s keep at the Bloody Gate or slip out of her chambers at Riverrun to ride her favorite steed bareback along the riverbanks. Tonight, she would see the ruined palace of Summerhall.

She started up the hill but caught the eye of two knights emerging from the trees. They had been part of the group who had heard her tale against the Mountain.

“My lady?” One of them started, confusion coloring his tone.

“I am unable to sleep. Do not worry yourselves. Please rest for the night.”

The two knights seemed to war with themselves before they each nodded. “As you wish, my lady.”

And as they continued on back to camp, she trekked forward and soon she was gazing up at the blackened stone of the former palace with a bit of awe distracting her from her nightmare. Quiet steps echoed in the night. She wandered through the half-destroyed halls and let them lead her this way or that as shadows danced alongside. Pieces of stained glass still clung to the frames of a few windows and the bright moonlight glittered in blue and green and red behind them.

Narrow halls gave way to an opened room and the remnants of a dragon-head mosaic in the stone had her pondering if this was the great hall of this once-beautiful palace. Ivy covered most of the rock and rubble and a mess of small, white flowers had managed to bloom amongst them. The entire west wall was gone and gave her quite the view of the valley below. Y/N set her torch on the ground and settled onto crossed legs. She watched the wind blow through the trees and rattle the branches. She knew of the tragedy that had befallen the Targaryens here. Wildfire had swept through its halls and killed the king, prince, Commander of the Kingsguard, and countless others generations ago. But it had once been a place of luxury, beauty. She wondered if there were ever dances in this hall. If kisses were stolen beneath the stained glass windows. If they ever stopped to look out over the valley like she did now.

She heard muffled yelling in the distance—probably from the drinking game she’d witnessed earlier.

It did not matter.

Y/N turned back to the view and pulled in a few deep breaths as her mind once again drifted to think of her nightmare. It was not the first time she had killed a man—the Riot of King’s Landing had her seeing two men to their graves as they chased her and Sansa through the mud-caked streets, intent on having their fill. Sandor had found them not long after and slew the rest of the hoard of men that pulled at their skirts. He had been gentle with Sansa then, making sure she was all right before pocketing Y/N’s dagger as his own to keep anyone from asking questions. It was then that she knew she could trust him with Sansa’s life and care.

That had been two and she had felt nothing but relief when she had watched their lifeless bodies fall to the ground. So why did this third seem to shake something innate in her marrow? Was it that she had to pretend to want it? Was it because she had his blood fill her mouth?

“Y/N!”

She leapt at the sound of her name being yelled through the night air. Hurrying to her feet, she turned to see Oberyn and Ellaria rushing into the remains of the hall, a torch held in his hand and casting dark shadows against the ivy. Daemon quickly followed. Oberyn’s entire being sagged when he looked at her and Ellaria placed a hand against his chest, as if she were the only thing keeping his heart behind his ribs.

“What is it?” She asked, feeling the tension. “Has something happened?”

“You were not in your tent, My Tully,” Ellaria answered.

“Tell the others that she has been found. Unharmed,” Oberyn said to the knight beside him. Daemon nodded and then slipped back into the blackness of the ruins without a word.

“The night after we almost lose you and I cannot find you in your bed.” Oberyn’s voice wavered the slightest bit. “I had dreams of you… of finding you dead under The Mountain, dead like Elia.” His lips pulled tight against his teeth and the sharp planes of his face looked even harsher in the dancing firelight.

“I told him to simply look at you while you slept, to rest his heart.” Even Ellaria’s soothing voice twisted in her throat.

“But you were not there.”

Y/N grimaced as shame bubbled in her gut. “I did not mean to frighten you. I…had dreams of my own that would not let me sleep.” She sighed. “I would never intentionally cause either of you duress. Walking simply helps me breathe after my mind is cruel at night.”

Oberyn and Ellaria were quiet for a moment before he set down his torch. He waved her forward and Y/N quickly did as he bid and suppressed a gasp when he grabbed her wrist when she was within his reach and hauled her close. His mouth descended on hers and robbed the air from her lungs as he laid claim to her in a kiss that she was sure would consume her entirely. Of all the kisses she’d ever had, she had never been kissed like this. She had never been kissed by someone who had thought they had lost her forever to the clutches of The Stranger. His tongue licked into her mouth as his hand cradled the back of her head, holding her tight against his heaving chest. Her hands pressed against his chest, robe and tunic left open to the night air and rumpled with disturbed sleep and the ensuing worry. It was only when she whimpered against his mouth, desperate for more but aching for breath, that he pulled away from her. Ellaria followed suit and pressed her lips against her shining mouth and coaxed more whines and moans from her throat.

She could kiss them forever if her lungs allowed it.

But Ellaria pulled away, too, before quickly pressing another kiss to her forehead. “Never do that again, My Tully,” she whispered.

And Y/N could only nod in return.

The three of them collectively sighed. Oberyn turned and nosed beneath Ellaria’s jaw and made her laugh as his teeth scratched against her pulse. “We all need a bit of release to help us sleep.” His hand slipped down and patted Ellaria’s butt as she smiled. “I have an idea.” He fixed his dark gaze on her and Y/N suddenly felt like a trapped lamb. “You will hide.”

“Here?” Ellaria’s smile started to grow to match Oberyn’s and Y/N’s poor heart hammered in her chest as her foot took an uneasy step back, snapping an old twig under her heel. “In the ruins?”

“You wanted to see the ruins. Now, go. Hide in the shadows.” His smile was more of a display of teeth and had Y/N skittering backward, into the darkened, half-standing halls without her torch. “We will find you!” He called out. It echoed against the rock.

Y/N quickly dashed away, skirting through the broken halls and around corners until she was so deep in the ruined palace she was sure no one would find her. Her heart thundered. The look in Oberyn’s eyes had been frightening—but it had her thighs clenching now, as she thought of it again. And the promise of him and Ellaria both trying to find her with the promise of something…it sent heat straight through her. She tucked herself into shadows of what seemed to be a bedchamber and listened for any footsteps approaching. If either of them came in, she could escape from the north door or through the hole in the east wall.

She couldn’t stop the smile she felt forming, even as her heart sped its beat like she was preparing for a fight or race. But then the soft footsteps echoed against the broken stone and she pressed closer to the wall at her back.

“Y/N,” Oberyn sang and it sent a shiver down her spine. “You know I’ll find you.”

His footsteps drew closer and she put a hand over her mouth to stifle her panted breaths.

He sang her name again and through the dark she saw him lean in through the crumbling doorway and swivel his head one way and then the next to try and spot her in the moonlight. Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, wanting to stretch this game out a little longer. But she knew she had been discovered when a familiar smirk split his face.

“Found you.”

She dashed toward the hole in the wall and leapt through it and into the adjacent room. He readily followed with a laugh. Y/N sped through the room, back out into the hall and slipped into another room before backing into the shadows again, skirts catching on the rubble.

Oberyn steadfastly followed and once again found her.

A giggle bubbled in her throat as he sprinted toward her with arms outstretched. But she dodged his hold and tried to slip by him and made it one two three steps before his arms wrapped around her waist and hauled her back against his chest as it rumbled with another laugh. Oberyn tucked his face into her neck and she could feel him smiling against her skin. “Can’t run from me, My Tully.” He planted his hands on her hips and turned her around so he could look at her. “You are beautiful in the sunlight but you are celestial in moonlight.” One of his hands gently held her face, mindful of her bruising.

Y/N slunk away from the compliment. “I think it has played tricks on your eyes, my prince.”

Oberyn pulled her closer, fingers a little tighter on her hip and grip a little more insistent on her cheek. “I do not lie and my eyes do not deceive me. You are beautiful.” His dark eyes were black in the moonlight. “Tell me you’re beautiful.”

“My prince, I-”

“Tell me.”

“I’m beautiful,” she mumbled.

He hummed and nodded. And they were quiet for a moment as he continued to hold her. “Tell me of your dreams.”

Her eyes shut and she pulled her face away from his hand to settle her forehead against his collar. “I can almost feel his hands on me as if he were standing here.”

“That is what you dreamed of?”

Y/N sighed but didn’t answer and closed her eyes, listening to the wind whistle through the stone.

“Where do you feel him touch you?” His hands hovered over her. “Tell me.”

She could tell him. She could whisper the places she felt Gregor’s fingers try to rip her apart. But she wanted to feel him—her prince—instead, with a little shame. Without pulling her head from its resting place, she grabbed Oberyn’s hands and placed them over her hips before dragging them up to her breasts for a moment and then having them encircle her throat. And then slowly, she pushed them down to the crux of her thighs as tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. “I feel him everywhere.”

His fingers never pulled or pushed or prodded. They did not dig into her in search of something. He gently curled his fingers over her hips again and rested his cheek atop her hair. The wind whistled again.

“Can you touch me?” She turned her face and asked the question into the fabric of his tunic. “I…I want to feel you. Feel your hands instead.” She felt him push out a long breath.

“Are you sure? Are you certain you want me now?”

It was only then that she dared look up at him. “Please.” It was barely a whisper.

His grip on her hips tightened and he pushed her backward until she was pressed against the nearest wall and he loomed over her. The moonlight framed his head and made him look like some dark, avenging god before his mouth claimed hers again. It had all the heat and intensity his other kisses held, but it was slower. Like he was trying to draw it out for as long as possible in long, strong strokes of his tongue against her own. But then his hands started to move, to knead her hips and then sliding up to grasp at her breasts through the fabric of her hastily tied dress.

A familiar coiling pulled tight in her stomach as her shaking fingers sunk into the sturdy weight of his shoulders. “Oh,” Y/N gasped out as his mouth left hers to press open-mouthed kisses against her jaw and down to her neck.

“No one will touch you again. I’ll have their hands on spikes before they even dream of touching the edges of your skirts.” He breathed the words against her neck and she shivered despite the warm night air, dampness starting to pool between her legs. “No one is worthy to feel your skin like this.” His nose skirted the edge of her jaw and tipped her head back so he could scrape his teeth against her throat. “But I shall tempt the gods’ wrath every time you let me.”

“You are to be my husband. I want no other man’s hands. I will never want another man’s touch,” she breathed out, eyes unfocused as they opened to see him smirk against the top of her breast.

“You are going to be my wife.” His breath came out in a sigh as he kissed her again.

“Yes,” she said, the single word coming out in a gasp against his mouth as she felt his hands start to gather her skirts, pulling them up up up.

“You are going to be mine. Forever. And mine alone.”

“And Ellaria,” she managed to say as his fingers started to slide up her leg, leaving a burn in their wake before cupping her, pressing the heel of his palm against her clit through the barrier of her small clothes.

Oberyn chuckled. “Oh yes, she will have you, too. And we will take you apart together.”

Her breaths were coming out in hot, labored pants even as he nearly devoured her mouth in a kiss. Deft fingers pushed aside her clothes and found her heat. He dug into it slowly, gathering the wetness before pressing against her clit again, circling circling circling. He mouthed at her neck as the first cry broke her lips.

“Yes, sing for me, My Tully.”

Her shaking hands wrapped around his wrist as he continued to work at her; to push him away or pull him closer, she didn’t know. “Oh-oh, my prince-” Another moan had her choking on the word, coiling something terrifying and beautiful in her stomach.

“Say my name.” The words were hot against her neck then trailing down against the tops of her breasts and he lathed his claim there, too, as his fingers continued to swirl. “Say it.”

“Oberyn.” It was a gasp and nearly scream as he dove inside with a single finger. “Oberyn.”

“Again,” he commanded, thumb now pressing against her bud, slowly working a second finger in.

“Oberyn.”

She was leaking all over his hand, she was sure of it, but could not find it in herself to be embarrassed. This touch felt good. This touch was wanted. This touch left her heart singing and thighs quaking.

He bit at her throat as his fingers continued to thrust and he could feel each of her moans as they came, higher and higher and higher until she crumpled.

She squeezed his fingers with a broken sort of moan still on her tongue but he worked her through it until her knees were shaking and she finally did push his hand away, afraid of another. But, she watched with a thundering heart as he raised his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. And he did it all with a smile on his face as he looked at her.

When he finally finished, he said, “the moonlight suits you.”

“Does she taste as good as we had thought?” Ellaria’s question had them both turning to see her leaning against the remains of the doorway, looking smug. Y/N righted her skirts and bodice to distract from her embarrassment.

“Even better than imagined, my love.” Oberyn held out his hand for her and Ellaria quickly took it but Y/N had one last soft sigh left in her when Ellaria pulled Oberyn’s fingers into her mouth to suck the last bit of her slick from his skin.

“Next time, I get to taste her first.” Then Ellaria’s hand trailed down to the top of Oberyn’s breeches and palmed the obvious bulge. “But it seems I can still have some fun tonight.”

Oberyn pressed a kiss to her mouth as her fingers unlaced him with a practiced ease.

Y/N could only watch in a hazed trance as Ellaria sunk to her knees before Oberyn and pulled his cock out before licking a firm stripe up the underside. Her still-slick pussy throbbed at the sight and she curled her hands into fists at her sides in a poor attempt at relief. He was unabashed at letting his moans out into the night air and they echoed like a forgotten, ancient god of desire. Ellaria’s mouth worked in tandem with her hands and soon had him thrusting down her throat with his hands in her dark hair.

Y/N continued to watch and found herself wanting to know what it felt like, wanting to know what he tasted like, what Ellaria tasted like.

Oberyn sucked in a quick breath between his teeth and Ellaria crooked at finger at Y/N and the younger woman quickly shuffled to her side and knelt, listening to the wet sounds of his cock moving against her talented tongue. Spit had started to leak out of the side of her mouth but Y/N only found that it made it more beautiful in a strange way, more debauched. Ellaria pulled her mouth off him and continued to stroke him in long, firm tugs.

“Put your mouth on him,” Ellaria instructed as she moved to the side just slightly.

“What?” It came out a squeak.

“Hurry. Or you’ll waste it. Watch your teeth,” She quickly added with a smile before licking her lips.

Y/N moved closer and opened her mouth. Her tongue caught the underside of the head of his cock and Oberyn groaned. Her lips closed around him and she tasted the salty-sweetness of his skin. Mindful of her teeth, she clumsily took him a little further into her mouth and it wasn’t much until she gagged and tears filled her eyes.

“Aren’t you perfect,” Ellaria cooed into her ear. “Just relax.”

Oberyn’s hands suddenly found the back of her head and he thrust once, twice, and one more time before he shoved his cock further and spilled down her throat and it left her gagging and gasping and only further increased the ache between her thighs. The taste of it still filled her mouth and she swallowed instinctively, earning a twitch against her tongue before he pulled out from between her spit-slicked lips. She didn’t even notice if her cheek ached from the mess of it all. He quickly helped her and Ellaria both up to their feet and fussed over their knees before kissing them soundly on the lips with a sigh. He tucked himself back into his breeches as Y/N looked at Ellaria.

“Shouldn’t we…” And now she was at a loss for words. “Wouldn’t you like to…” A vague hand gesture.

Ellaria, ever astute, knew exactly what Y/N was trying to imply. “Unlike you two heathens, I prefer my pleasures to beds and cushions—and the occasional chair.”

Oberyn hauled her close. “And we do have a bed waiting for us.”

“Oh,” Y/N started, a strange sort of courage blooming in her chest. “May I watch?”

Sunspear was a gilded fortress of sand-colored stone and gold. It touched the sky with domed towers and glinted like a precious gem in the sunlight. Y/N was sure she had never seen anything so beautiful as they finally spotted it in the distance.

Dorne was a delight to the senses. They had crossed through the Boneway and it seemed the world devolved into a wash of reds and yellows and browns under a crystal blue sky. The air was warm and fresh. (As the Red Mountains flattened into a dry, flat expanse of sand and rock, she was gifted a sight that had her heart roaring. An army, as promised, was camped. Tens of thousands of knights and infantrymen waiting for the command of their prince. An army raised for her.) The traveling party was on the road for nearly two weeks and it had shrunk little by little as lords and ladies and knights returned to their keeps along the way until only the royal party were left. Every night, she dreamt of Oberyn and Ellaria. They consumed her thoughts and dreams, blotting out the specter of the dead Mountain. She no longer felt his touch, only theirs. Her cheek healed and the scar was minimal. It wasn’t a perfect solution, and she knew she would need to speak to a septa to truly soothe her rattled soul, but they had been a balm to her very being. They spoke to her every day and into every night.

They were her companions, her friends—her lovers, even if she still maintained her virginity. They both insisted that she wait for the bedding after the wedding ceremony but had taken great delight in watching her fall apart on their fingers or teaching her how take Oberyn’s cock down her throat (Y/N’s favorite, truth be told, was just watching Ellaria and Oberyn together). But the twinkling of their eyes and secretive shared glances gave Y/N the thought that they might be planning something. It did not matter. She would let them do whatever they wanted. She trusted them both implicitly.

And perhaps it was too soon to truly say, but she knew she was falling in love with them—again.

Oberyn leaned next to her and murmured each part of the fortress, naming the Sandship, the Winding Walls, the Spear Tower, and the Tower of the Sun as he pointed them out over her shoulder. His warmth was a calming touch to her racing heart. Y/N was still nervous. This was still unknown territory. She might have Oberyn and Ellaria in her bed but that did not mean all of Dorne would welcome her.

As if feeling her turmoil, Oberyn pressed a kiss against her shoulder. “Relax, my moonlight. This is home.”

She smiled at the new moniker—it had been his name for her since that night at Summerhall and it never ceased to make her heart sing.

“We have a surprise for you,” Ellaria said as they finally pulled into the gates.

“You must not spoil me so. I will grow quite vexing, I’m sure.”

Ellaria chuckled. “Too late. We have decided to spoil you to our heart’s content.”

The wheelhouse eventually slowed to a stop at the steps leading to the heart of the castle and Oberyn exited first and helped Ellaria and Y/N out with a careful hand. There were serving men and women lined up to unload the wheelhouses and horses and each of them bowed or curtseyed as Y/N was announced. They smiled and Y/N found herself smiling, too. It felt worlds apart from the whispers and plots of King’s Landing.

“Come,” Ellaria said as she pulled on her hands. “The surprise awaits.” She tugged Y/N up the steps and into the heart of the fortress and Y/N could scarcely see the domed, painted ceilings or marble floors inlaid with gold as Ellaria continued to pull her along until they slowed to a stop in front of a door of white-washed wood and banded with gold. She held up a finger to her mouth and quietly pushed the door open before nudging Y/N into the room.

“And what happened then?” A child’s voice asked.

The room was large and open and draped in soft tones of ivory and tan from the silk carpets to the drapes fluttering in the wind at the open balcony doors. But all Y/N could see was the pair sitting on a chair on the balcony. One was the child, a cherubic looking girl with dark hair and matching, laughing eyes and the other was Sansa. A book was perched over the little girl’s lap as she sat on Sansa’s legs.

“The knight grasped his sword and slew the bear!” Sansa read and pointed to the illustrated page.

“He did?”

“He did!”

The girl giggled and clapped before grabbing at the book and quickly flipping the pages to find another tale to be read.

And she could not stop the tears then, even as Sansa continued to read to the little girl and did not notice her stepping farther into the room. She listened to Sansa read more, softly answering all of the girl’s questions and even doing different voices for different characters—like Catelyn used to do when they were children. It squeezed her heart in a grip of melancholic happiness.

“Loreza!” Ellaria called from the hall.

“Mother is back!” The girl smiled up at Sansa before squirming off her lap. She barely cast Y/N a second glance before dashing away.

Sansa laughed to herself before closing the book and standing. She froze as she saw Y/N standing just inside the room. But then she was running toward her and throwing her arms around her shoulders with a cry that Y/N quickly matched. They held each other tight until their arms cried for reprieve but it still felt like it was too short of an embrace. They had been separated for too long. Too much had happened since they parted. To be reunited felt like a splinter of her soul had been slotted back in place.

“Oh, let me look at you,” Y/N said, holding Sansa at arm’s length. “Still gorgeous as ever.” She reached up to hold Sansa’s smiling cheek in her hand, thumb sliding against her skin. “The sun has made you pink, little one. Your freckles are beautiful.”

Sansa laughed and nodded. “It is beautiful here. But it is as if the sun never sets.”

Y/N smiled and pulled her close for another hug, tucking her nose into Sansa’s auburn hair and breathing her in. She still smelled of lemon cakes and freshly bloomed flowers. “I have missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too. But you’re here now. That’s all that matters.” Sansa’s fingers trailed up and down Y/N’s back, nails catching on the tight laces of her dress. And the pair simply held each other for a moment, stretching into another. “You saved my life.”

“I’m sure Sandor saved you more than I did, little one.”

Sansa sighed. “He is a good man.”

And there was something in the young Stark’s tone that had Y/N pulling back with a small smile. “Do not tell me you have developed some sort of longing for him.”

Sansa’s pink face burned red. “I..I-I-”

Y/N chuckled and patted her shoulder. The infatuation would end eventually. Y/N knew that--she’d had her own crush on Ser Maegyr when she was Sansa’s age. “You have quite the taste in men. A rogue prince of your own, hm? Just like the stories Catelyn would read to you.”

Her blush grew darker. “He is not a prince.”

“Oh no, of course not. You’ve had your share of princes.”

They both laughed but stopped as sounds of an argument grabbed their attention. Y/N laced her fingers with Sansa’s and pulled them toward the noise, down a hallway and around a corner as she followed where the sound led. As they grew nearer, Y/N’s heart leapt into her throat, recognizing the voices. Her footsteps hurried and Sansa quickly moved to match her pace.

“You are not welcome here, Dog,” Oberyn nearly hissed.

“I’m not here for you. She-”

Y/N thrust open the door and her knees nearly buckled. Standing behind Sandor, nearly hidden, was Arya.

A/N: The next chapter will finally see a few more familiar faces and some fall out from the Lannisters’ anger.

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut @lostinwonderland314 @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills @nyrnerosmartell @5hundreddaysofsummer @honestlystop

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #oberyn martell x ellaria sand x reader #oberyn martell #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #asoiaf

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razieltwelve · 3 years

Text

Overextension (Final Rose x Game of Thrones)

If there was one thing that Tyrion had learned in all of his games of Cyvasse against his nephew, it was the importance of not overextending. Edward was an absolute master of feigning weakness to disguise strength. Of course, what made that style of play so obnoxious was that Tyrion could never be sure when to press his advantage more sharply and when to simply nurse his lead into the endgame.

As Edward had so aptly put it: “You feel like you’re winning... right up until you aren’t.”

For weeks, Tyrion had compiled evidence that a certain Lord Petyr Baelish had been launching attacks on their businesses using a variety of means, most of them rooted in the man’s dealings in the city’s underworld. Most of these attacks had been too pitiful to truly care about, the sort of posturing that Tyrion would have expected of any ambitious lord with designs on the city’s underworld.

However, the man’s purchase of more and more brothels combined with his moves into smuggling, tax evasion, and other fraud meant that he was no longer a problem that could be ignored. It was a simple fact that a great many highborn folk frequented brothels, which meant they were prime sources of information. Since Tyrion was not an idiot, he could see the danger in letting Lord Baelish control so many such establishments.

Furthermore, the tax evasion, fraud, smuggling, and standover rackets that the man was running were beginning to have a noticeable and growing impact on businesses throughout the capital, both legal and illegal. It had gotten to the point that both Tyrion and Edward agreed that the man needed to be dealt with. of course, their exact method was still something they were discussing.

Until now.

Why only until now?

Because Tyrion was currently standing behind Deron as Ser Bronn, Markel, and Jerod fought off a band of would-be assassins in one of the seedier parts of King’s Landing. Tyrion’s lips curled. To think he’d come down here to check on some of his informants only to find them dead and these men waiting for him.

“Stay back,” Deron warned as he palmed another pair of knives. The motion was so smooth and swift that Tyrion only noticed what he’d done when the knives were already in motion, whistling through the air to bury themselves in a pair of throats. Just as quickly, another pair replaced them, and the lean man’s eyes were once more scanning the battle for another opportunity. “Your nephew would gut us all if something happened to you.”

“Yes, he would be most aggravated if I got stabbed.” Tyrion had drawn his own dagger, not that he wanted to use it. No, he’d leave the fighting to those best suited for it - and these four were most definitely suited to it.

Bronn was a blur of motion, mixing expert swordplay with the sort of roughhousing, underhanded tactics that spoke volumes of his experience. He blocked one strike and drove his knee into his opponent’s groin. As the other man crumpled, he brought the pommel of his sword down on the back of his head with skull-cracking force. A second man tried to rush him, but Bronn simply stepped to the side and drew a knife with his off hand. He drove the weapon into his opponent’s side, and the assassin gave a wheezing, shocked gasp before stumbling and collapsing against the wall of a nearby building.

The twins, Jerod and Markel fought together. Their swords rose and fell with less grace than Bronn’s, but there was a ruthless efficiency to the butchery they dealt out. The two of them fought side by side, their movements perfectly synchronised as they pushed their opponents back, switching seamlessly from one assassin to the other until they forced openings they could take advantage of. All the while, Deron hung back, keeping himself between Tyrion and the assassins, his knives lancing through the air whenever one of their opponents dropped their guard.

With a final blow from Bronn, it was all but over. Only a single assassin remained. He turned to run, but a knife caught him in the leg, and he dropped to the ground. Bronn gave Deron a grateful nod and then ambled over to the downed man, kicking him brutally in the side before turning him over and landing a punch that rattled his teeth.

“Now,” Bronn growled, tossing aside the dagger the man had tried to pull and driving his fist into his gut. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

To the man’s credit, he didn’t choose the easy option, but although Bronn wasn’t the most persuasive man in the world, Deron could be exceedingly persuasive with his knives. Tyrion gulped and looked away as Deron got to work. That left him with Jerod and Markel since Bronn was the one asking the questions.

“I’ll bet a week’s pay it was Baelish,” Jerod grumbled.

Markel nodded but didn’t say a word. In fact, Tyrion had never heard him speak although the other three somehow seemed to know what he was thinking.

“Most likely,” Tyrion murmured. “No one else has both the cause and the means to kill my informants and then try to kill me.” He nodded at the twins. “And, by the way, my thanks for dealing with those assassins.”

Jerod’s lips twitched. “We’re men of House Baratheon now, and we serve your nephew. He said to keep you in one piece, so we’ll keep you that way by hook or by crook.” He chuckled. “And you’re not a bad sort either, my lord.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Tyrion shuddered as the assassin’s screaming trailed off. “It sounds like they might be finished.”

“Aye.” Bronn walked over. “It was Baelish, all right. He wanted your informants to turn their coats. They refused. He had these bastards torture them and kill them before having them wait for you.”

“I’ll see that their families are compensated,” Tyrion replied. “Loyalty should be rewarded... and avenged.”

“Aye,” Bronn muttered. “Baelish must have lost his damn mind. By going after you like this, he’s opened himself up to the same.”

“He’s underestimating us,” Tyrion replied. “He thinks he knows what we’re capable of, so he thinks he’s ahead when he’s not.” His eyes narrowed. “This is an overextension, and he’s going to pay for it.”

X X X

Petyr Baelish was not pleased that his attempt to deal with Tyrion Lannister had failed. Those assassins had been amongst his finest, but they’d evidently been no match for the dwarf’s protectors. His lips curled. Perhaps Ser Bronn was more than some upstart mercenary who’d somehow bought himself a knighthood.

Oh well.

He controlled the brothels, and he was making inroads on the docks, to say nothing of his other schemes. The money was pouring in, and money made the world go round. Of course, money wasn’t the only thing in the world that he enjoyed. His gaze drifted to the woman who was a pale shadow of the lady he truly loved.

“Come here,” he murmured. “Catelyn.” It wasn’t her name, of course, but he could pretend, at least for a while.

He might have been a bit rougher than he intended, but a man had needs, and his frustration at his failed plan might have gotten the better of him. Still, when he closed his eyes, it was with a smile on his face. Soon... soon he’d have the money and power to put his real plans in motion. Little Finger? It was supposed to be an insult, but he’d always considered it motivation.

It wouldn’t be long before people stopped mocking him and started bowing instead.

X X X

When Petyr Baelish woke, it was to find himself in a room with five other men.

“Hello,” Tyrion Lannister drawled.

Petyr scrambled for the dagger he always kept nearby when he visited this establishment, only to find it gone. Of course. Behind Tyrion, a lean man held the dagger up and smiled. It was not a nice smile.

“Nice dagger,” the man said, handling it with the skill of an expert. “I’ll hang onto it.”

“You can have it and more,” Petyr said. “If -”

“We’re not the sort of men your coin can buy, Baelish,” the man said.

“Indeed,” Tyrion added. “These men are amongst the most loyal I can call upon.” He gestured and the man Petyr knew to be Ser Bronn walked over to stand beside the bed. Petyr was torn between trying to keep his eyes on him and watching the twins who lurked nearby as well. “You know, I was perfectly content to wage war against you in a matter fitting our respective positions. After all, we’re both men of noble standing. There was no need for our... squabbles to get so bloody. But you killed my informants, men and women sworn to me. That was your first mistake. As for your second mistake, that would be trying to kill me.”

“Yes,” Petyr said. “I might have gotten carried away there.” He looked at the door. He’d owned this establishment for years. Where were his guards? Where were his people? “But perhaps we could reach an accomodation. Payment, perhaps, for damages.”

Tyrion followed his gaze. “If you’re wondering where your people are, they won’t be coming. They’re our people now.” Tyrion chuckled, and Petyr would have tried to wipe the smirk off his lips if he hadn’t been outnumbered five to one. “You see, when people are only loyal to you because of money, all it takes is more money to have them switch sides.” His lips curled. “You’ve been a naughty boy, Petyr. The woman who runs this place? She hates your guts. And the guards? Underpaid and treated poorly.”

“What?” Petyr growled. “I raised her out of the gutter. The only reason she isn’t some common street whore is because of me!”

“Ah, right. Well, Amara is a woman of ambition, Petyr. You might have picked her up off the street, but she’s put her time to good use. She’s learned what she and her girls could be earning if you weren’t taking such a large slice of the profits, and she’s learned about what sort of enemies you’re making.” Tyrion shook his head. “There’s a saying in the Stormlands, Petyr. Only an idiot stands in the path of a storm. Well, the storm is coming, and she has no intention of being an idiot.”

“You can’t kill me,” Petyr growled. He prided himself on his quick wits, but they’d caught him off guard and flatfooted. This place was in the heart of his territory. it was supposed to be safe.

“Your third mistake, Petyr was underestimating both me... and my nephew.”

“The prince?” Petyr scoffed. “A talented boy, to be sure, but naive.”

Tyrion laughed. He actually laughed. “Oh, you poor fool. You think I run everything?”

“You don’t?” And now Petyr was worried. His informants, the information he’d paid so richly to acquire, all of it had suggested that Tyrion was closely intertwined with both legitimate and illegitimate businesses in the city.

“I’m technically the second-in-command of the most powerful merchanting group in the seven kingdoms. My nephew is the one in charge.”

Petyr’s stomach clenched. “He’s a figurehead, nothing more.”

“That’s what he wants people to think. But the ones who know him, truly know him, understand that he is more than a mere figurehead. Most of the ideas, plots, and plans are his. Me? I come up with my fair share, but a lot of what I do is ensuring that my nephew’s visions come to fruition. After all, he can’t do everything himself, and he does have to keep up appearances.” Tyrion grinned. “You made a lot of enemies rising to the top, Petyr. Too many enemies, I’d say. It wasn’t hard for us to find those enemies, as well as a great many disgruntled... employees.”

Petyr’s fists clenched. “What are you going to do?”

“Now, there’s a part of me that thinks we should just let you go. After all, you are a nobleman. Killing you would set a bad precedent. But... you did try to kill me, and that is not something that can be forgiven. Your death will also give my nephew a wonderful excuse to start reforming the gold cloaks.” Tyrion’s smile turned cold. “Yes, we know how many of them are taking your coin, and it’s not something we can tolerate any longer. Your death will simply provide us with an example of how badly the gold cloaks have failed and how desperately reform is needed.”

Petyr’s blood was cold now, like ice.

“Some of your former associates turned over records... records that will be found shortly after your death.” Tyrion sighed dramatically. “Such a pity, Lord Baelish. You were on your way home from a house of ill repute when some of your business partners decided to decided to have you killed to increase their slice of the profits. Naturally, the gold cloaks won’t be able to capture the culprits, which will make them look quite horrible. After all, you’re a childhood friend to Lady Catelyn Stark and Lady Lysa Arryn. How disgraceful that your murderers should escape unharmed.”

“You can’t do this.”

“We can, and we will.” Tyrion nodded. “Bronn, let’s get this over with.”

X X X

“It’s a disgrace,” Robert thundered. Beneath the king’s fury, Janos Slynt cowered. Edward almost felt bad for the man since what had happened to Petyr Baelish wasn’t exactly his fault. “You’ve had more than a week, and you’ve turned up nothing?”

“Your Grace,” Janos simpered. “My men and I -”

“You and your men are utter failures!” the words came from the Hand of the King himself, Lord Jon Arryn. “Petyr was one of my bannermen, and he was like a brother to my wife and her sister.”

“I -”

“Silence!” Robert boomed. His hand twitched, and Edward had a feeling that if his father had his war hammer within reach, Janos would be missing his head... and most of his torso. “I’ve put up with your stupidity until now despite Jon’s opinion because I was worried that whoever we replaced you with might be worse, but now?” He lowered his voice, and Edward winced. Unless his nose was mistaken, Janos had just soiled himself. “You have a week. Seven days. If you can’t bring Baelish’s murderers to me before then, I’ll have you banished from the city.”

“Your Grace, please -”

“A week!” Robert snarled, eyes flashing with rage. “And by all the gods, man, if you dare come before me with nothing at all, I’ll have your head mounted on the wall on a damn pike!”

As Janos scuttled off. Robert sighed and turned to Jon. “I’m sorry,” he rumbled. “You were right. We should have replaced him sooner.”

“Aye,” Jon said. “But you were right to an extent... we weren’t exactly drowning in suitable candidates earlier.”

“The city guard,” Robert shook his head in disgust. “They couldn’t guard a bloody brothel.” He rapped his knuckles on the arm of his chair. “Whether he succeeds or not, we have to replace him and many others besides. What we found out about Baelish...”

Jon covered his face with his hands. “I thought I knew the boy. He was always a good lad. To be so involved in such... dealings. I do wonder if what happened to him with Brandon Stark changed him. Still... I’ll not have his death go unavenged. Lysa was distraught, and I’m sure Catelyn will be too when she finds out. They were close when they were younger although they drifted apart with time.”

“Boy.” Edward met his father’s gaze evenly. “I know you’ve been gathering... reliable men. You struck gold with Ser Bronn and the others. I might be crazy for asking this, but have you anyone in mind that might be able to run the damn gold cloaks?”

Edward smiled. “Oh, I might have someone in mind, father. Let me get back to you in... a week or so.”

X X X

Later that night, Edward made his way toward his secret meeting with a spring in his step. Beside him, his uncle raised one eyebrow.

“Is there a reason you waited for my shift to go on this meeting?” Jaime asked.

“Oh, yes. Ser Barristan is a good man, one of the best in all the kingdoms, but he’s not exactly fond of skulduggery and treachery.”

Jaime’s lips twitched. “No, nephew, he is not.” He frowned. “Does this have anything to do with what happened to Tyrion?” His lips curled. “And thank you for having your men watch out for him. Tyrion might be clever, but he’s not much good with a sword.”

“Which is exactly why he never goes out without at least two reliable men.” Edward and Jaime were both quite fond of Tyrion and both equally worried about how easy it would be to kill him if he was caught alone. Despite his keen wits, Tyrion was not, by any means, a gifted fighter. Jaime, on the other hand, could fight a dozen men and come out with nary a scratch if he had a sword in hand. “As for your other question, yes and no. The two men we’ll be meeting today will guarantee that the gold cloaks come under the control of a reliable man who just so happens to be loyal to me.”

“You might look just like your father,” Jaime said fondly. “But you remind me a lot of Tyrion when you speak like that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Edward nodded at the door ahead of them. “Shall we?”

Inside, Oberyn Martell and Sandor Clegane went from glaring at each other to glaring at him.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” Edward sat at the third spot at the table while Jaime did his best to disguise his surprise as he moved to stand behind him. “Shall we get down to business?”

Oberyn scowled at Jaime who returned the expression with equal fervour. “I would not be here if you had not been so... vigorous in expressing your desire to help me with a certain problem.”

“A problem?” Sandor snorted. “I’m here, Your Highness, because you promised to give me a chance to kill my brother.”

“Aye,” Edward said, biting back a chuckle at Jaime’s gasp. “You’re both correct.” His gaze shifted to Oberyn. Now, this was not a man he wanted as his enemy. Clever, cunning, and deadly with a spear, to say nothing of the backing he enjoyed courtesy of his family. “You want Amory Lorch and Gregor Clegane dead. I want peace between our Houses.”

Oberyn took a deep breath. “The two... beasts you speak of are loyal banner men to your grandfather. You would give them to me?”

“For peace between our Houses? Yes.” Edward could feel the confusion and bewilderment coming from his uncle but pressed on. “What happened to your sister... Prince Oberyn, it was lunacy. Had I been in my grandfather’s place, I would have ordered her captured unharmed along with her children. I would have ransomed them back to you for a princely sum under the condition that neither she nor her children ever leave Dorne again.”

Oberyn’s fists clenched. “We would have paid any sum you asked.”

“Instead,” Edward continued. “My grandfather... well, I cannot say for certain if he ordered them killed or simply turned a blind eye to what went on. And even if he didn’t give an order to have her killed, he should have ordered her spared if he was going to send beasts like Amory and Gregor there.” He didn’t look at Jaime, but his next words were for him all the same. “You know I speak the truth, uncle. You were part of the Kingsguard then. Elia did not deserve that fate, nor did her children.”

“No,” Jaime murmured, and Edward could hear the grief in his voice. From what little he’d said of her, Elia had always been kind to him. “They did not.”

“And what good did the murders of her and her children bring us?” Edward said, raising one hand and staring into his empty palm. “Nothing. After all, there are still two Targaryens alive, so killing the children hardly ended the bloodline, and Elia? By all the gods, what stupidity. Dorne is one of the seven kingdoms, and it has shown its worth in battle many times.” His gaze shifted to Oberyn. “I am not stupid. Dorne obeys, but I’ve no doubt that it is only grudgingly.”

Oberyn nodded. “You can hardly blame us, can you?”

“No. My grandfather should have offered you the heads of Amory and Gregor years ago. Instead, he did not because they were his banner men and he did not wish to look weak.” Edward scowled. “I doubt anyone would ever think the man who brought about the Rains of Castamere weak, and antagonising an entire kingdom is hardly the wisest thing to do.”

“And you intend to rectify his mistake?” Oberyn asked.

“I do.” Edward folded his hands together. “My mother the queen intends to take a trip to visit her father. I will request that certain banner men be sent to attend her. Amory and Gregor will be amongst them. That is how I will draw them out. They will have to come here to King’s Landing to escort her.”

Oberyn pursed his lips. “And you could guarantee a chance?”

"King’s Landing is a dangerous place.” Edward’s lips curled. “Why, only last week a lord was killed. Who’s to say something can’t also happens to those two?”

“I see.” Oberyn nodded. “And I have you word, Your Highness?”

“You have my most solemn vow, not only as a Baratheon but as the future king of the Seven Kingdoms.” Edward inclined his head. “What was done to your sister and her children was monstrous. Let us put an end to the enmity between our Houses and rid the world of the filth responsible at the same time.”

“Very well,” Oberyn said. “But what is he doing here?” He looked at Sandor.

“Oh, you have no idea what my brother has done to me,” Sandor growled. “But I’ve more reason than most to want him dead.” He turned to Edward. “You help me kill him, and I’ll serve you for the rest of my days. It’s all I’ve ever wanted since I was a child... to see that bastard dead for what he did.”

“Good.” Edward smiled. “Then we have an accord. I’ll let you two decide exactly how you want to kill them, but let me know once you come up with a plan, and I’ll take steps to make sure it will work.”

Later, as they walked back to his chambers, Jaime spoke.

“You’re going to use the deaths of Lorch and Clegane to make the gold cloaks look even worse, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes.” Edward said. “The gold cloaks are an absolute disgrace. If there is going to be a city guard, I want it to be competent and under the control of a man whose only loyalty is to me and my family... a man who can do what needs to be done but who, at his core, is a decent fellow.” He grinned. “Sandor should do quite nicely, I think. And he’ll be a lord too, after his brother meets his end. He’ll be perfectly suitable.”

X X X

Author’s Notes

The scheming continues. Edward (Diana) isn’t a vicious person most of the time, but go after people she cares about, like Tyrion, and the gloves come off. As for the scheming Edward had going on, he has identified the corruption in King’s Landing, particularly the gold cloaks as a huge weakness, so he’s going to deal with it.

Removing Janos and replacing him with Sandor ensures that the gold cloaks are not only loyal to him and his family but will soon be whipped into shape since Sandor will not tolerate that sort of stupidity and incompetence. Moreover, combined with the removal of Baelish, it gives Edward effective control over both law enforcement and the underworld.

You can bet that Alera’s (Jahne’s) agents in King’s Landing are going to have a lot of interesting things to tell her. She’ll know there’s another player in the game, one as skilled as she is. Also, in case it isn’t clear, these snippet aren’t necessarily in chronological order.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

#final rose #game of thrones #fanfiction #diana yun farron #bronn #tyrion lannister #jaime lannister #robert baratheon #jon arryn

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kanene-yaaay · 4 years

Text

Could and Should

Kanene’s note: *Looking at this monster*

LOOK-

I DUNNO. I DON’T HAVE ANY IDEA OF HOW OR WHY THIS IS LIKE IT IS.

I just- dfghjkkjhgfdfghiopoiuytr xDDDD. Oh gosh. This is for an experiment. I’m dfgyhjukikjhgffv xDD. Someone save my soul.

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* Lee!Roman and Ler!Logan/Ler!Janus (Kind of. Because there is no tickles here, just teasing) Romantic Pairing. Human AU.

* Mentions of intense tickling

* Hmmm… This is a Tickle-Fanfic! If you don’t like this kind of stuff, please look for another blog, there are plenty of amazing art in this site!! ‘u’).

* This have 4.200 of Roman just being A BRAT. ‘w’)b.

* Also, if you’re not comfortable reading about Janus, he only shows himself (but being mentioned before) after the “(...)”, so feel free to stop reading there if you wanna! <3

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! I didn’t proofread that one very well, so I will probably be correcting a few things later. Any advice is always very, very welcome!

* They’re very gay and this fanfic is inspired in this post. (I’m trying to find it. It’s a post about brat lees and shy lers, give me a sec-).

* A versão em português brasileiro irá ser escrita, ainda. Eu espero! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Do something crazy today, take a good rest, talk with the one that you love and drink water! Byeioo!~

[~*~]

He wore his favorite boots. Hamilton’s playlist blasting in his room and giving him a more than good reason to sporadically throw the outfit he choose for that specific day together with his makeup onto the bed and swirl across the place singing and performing ‘My shot’ with all his being, increasing even further his excitement and adrenaline which were already running, probably breaking all the speed limits in his veins and soul.

Especially when he thought about what he was about to do.

There were many differences in the world: right and wrong, day and night, divergent opinions, divergent ways to see the world and even differences in the meanings of words depending on where exactly you are localized in the planet. Roman grew attentive to this after he started to be Logan and Janus’ boyfriend, both of them always using every and any opportunity to begin a whole discussion about moral, philosophers, really weird humans habits - Particularly slangs. These two nerds seemed to simply don’t understand an infinitesimal piece of their existence. It was precious admire their confused and frustrated faces every time he and Virgil decided to shout or recreate vines together. - Or animals habits (Roman isn’t able to even look at a dolphins after that one) more often than the one with dyed hair was willing to try to count.

“Oh, yeah.” He spun before his body mirror, doing some poses as an extremely confident and shiny smile took over his features. This was one of those days when he felt just like a perfect dose of absolutely amazing. “I’m digging my own grave, aren’t I?”

Yes. Roman didn’t doubt a fraction of second about this. However, he thought in the same moment a smirk bloomed itself in his face, leading his expression to gather a particularly malefic look, he couldn’t stop imagining how much he would love every second of all of this.

Roman adjusted his clothes, his fingers tracing the golden words in it.

Every. Second.

So… Of course. Perhaps Roman wasn’t a nerd about concepts or meaning or even differences as his two incredibly smart boyfriends, but he knew very well that there was a clear distinction between what he “could do” and he what “should do”. He understood that not everything that is possible to be done had to be done and not everything that should be done in every single occasion was something possible to be done. This was only normal and simple common sense, right?

Roman finally arrived The Place, the wooden door shutting with a soft ‘click’ behind him, which was immediately muffled by his steps, those almost as echoing as the dangerous gleam in his eyes when they focused on (poor) Logan, who had just closed the cash register and now adjusted his glasses in order to be presentable to attend the new client. When the latter fixed his glare on him, the welcome sentence he should say died in his tongue in the exact moment he acknowledged who just arrived.

Then it was a good thing that Roman didn’t had a single drop of common sense, right? The one with dyed hair decided proudly amused as he observed the blush consuming entirely his boyfriend’s face.

In the last week Logan and Janus ganged up on him with ruthless teases before, during and after their tickle fight - ‘tickle fight’ obviously being an euphemism for the way they both suddenly squished the smaller between them and started to tickle him with those stupid, beautiful smirks and teases whispered on his ears that happen or not to be extremely sensitive, which should be UTTERLY, DEFINITELY AND ABSURDLY illegal. - And the aforementioned knew, deep inside he really recognized that - technically - he didn’t had any obligation to get revenge on them.

But he wanted.

Also, he could, therefore he should.

And that was exactly what he was doing in this very same heartbeat.

“Logaan!” He opened his arms, aware of how this showed even more his skin, while got confidently closer in his red, adorned with some special golden details, crop top.

Logan couldn’t deviated his glare, no matter how conscious he was that his whole face betrayed his neutral expression as it painted itself in dark and darker shades of red. His eyes running nonstop in the words on the other’s vestments, as if they mocked of him and his necessity of keeping a professional and serious facade during his work.

Tickle me, Elmo~

Logan’s gaze inevitably went to the - immensely ticklish, his mind unhelpfully remembered him - totally unprotected belly from the other’s. His fingers twitched, clawing the air for a moment before he realized what he was doing, deciding to deviate his gaze to the cash register before him, the adjustment of his tie taking more time than it would usually do.

“Ouch.” He could almost hear the pout in his dramatic boyfriend’s voice – if he really stopped to consider, which he already did previously, Roman and Janus were almost tied when the subject was about their dramas. - as he positioned himself right in front of him, almost laying his torso entirely in the balcony in order to find his glare again and, as always, Logan couldn't help but let himself be captured for his beautiful eyes. “I came here in a good, impressive, romantic act to accompany my dear beloved during his break and that is how you pay me, not even looking me in my fabulous face? I feel wounded.”

Logan scoffed, already signaling for one of his coworkers to take his place as he removed his hat, folding it carefully and putting in his pocket while he moved to the small space between the employee’s place and the costumer’s room, Roman cleverly taking some quick steps to put a bigger distance between both.

“I highly doubt that this is the reason of why you’re here today.” His gaze got back to the words printed on his crop top, a malefic gloom getting stronger in his eyes, his feet leading him closer, and closer and closer. “Actually, I’m certain of the real meaning behind this ‘visit’ as you say.” And closer and closer and-

“Nah ah ah!” Roman shook his index finger almost in his face, taking the opportunity to move some meters away. “Now, now, Logan, I would expect better of you! No love business during the shift, remember?” Teasing smile. “Keep these silly hands to yourself, would ya?”

Logan.exe had clearly stopped working. It was easy to say for the way his furrowed brow and very confused look stared at him with such honestly that Roman couldn’t help but let a laugh out, quickly holding Logan’s hand and dragging him to the farther table on the establishment.

“I wasn’t thinking on this and you know it very well, Roman.” The one called only smiled, letting go of his hand in order to taking a seat.

“Is that so?” He purred, his chin resting on his hand as Logan tried to sit next to him. “It’s not what it looks to me.”

Logan deadpanned at him rolling his eyes and internally considering his words – because the poor guy couldn’t bear the thought of breaking a rule. - before going, instead, to the chair in front of his boyfriend with a quick “Very well, then.”

“So, how is your day doing?” Roman dropped his teasing for a bit. “Is that okay?” He whispered, the honest questions making a soft expression took over the features of the one who wears glasses. He signed, his lips going slightly up as he gave an almost unnoticeable nod.

“My professor is crazy and absurdly unaware of how much time a normal day possess, I’m certain. Our final presentation was quite… adequate, but-” The listener let himself be carried into his venting, having no idea of what he was talking about, however trusting him to elucidate his mind in maybe some minutes. It didn’t lasted long before Logan started to divagate about the last subject learned and Roman felt in a secure ground to begin tapping in the suffice of the table.

Persistently. Rhythmically.

“And saying this means that, when compared to every other person on humanity-” Roman tapped a bit louder and Logan’s left eyebrow trembled for some seconds. Nice. He was getting his attention. “-We have only, genetically saying, 0,02% of difference- Could you stop this?”

Roman blinked innocently, almost seeing the gears of one in front of him moving at full speed in his mind as he repeat the sentence, the tip of his finger colliding in the wooden surface purposely. A dash, two dots, dash dot dash dot, dash dot dash, dot dash two dots and one dot, a quick space, two dashes and a final dot.

Logan’s eyes concentrated in his fingers, he repeated the pattern, his smile increasing.

Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me.

He could see the exact moment when Logan understood it. It was in the same heartbeat that light blush found room on his cheeks and he deviated his gaze, cracking his fingers.

“Stop what? I’m doing nothing.” Roman wriggled his fingers of his free hand, the sentence still echoing between them.

Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me.

“You are literally asking for it.” The one who wears tie, and now a quite determined look, supported the weight of his body on his elbows as these rested on the table, leading to his whispers being audible only for them. “Be careful to don’t do something you will regret later, my very sensitive subject.”

Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me.

“I’m not afraid of your ticklish” Roman absorbed the challenging tune as well, letting it slip slowly together with the words through his tongue. He refused to move or squirm under the other’s sparkling promises, his chin lifting some inches in the air. “Tickly” He knew how this word managed to fluster Logan and was quite of pleased for the way his boyfriend’s tip of ears gained a soft shade of red, refusing to acknowledge how hot his own face felt and was. “Tickles, mister.”

“Oh, aren’t you?” Roman felt a wobbly, more uncontrollable, smile grow in his features despise his efforts as Logan backed again, his gaze resolute and analytical, his fingers crossing themselves in front of him, a parody of Sherlock Holmes that made tingles spread on each his tickle spots. “Well, that is a pleasing information that I will sure keep and use in another moment, be sure. We can’t touch, you said? Very well. In that case we will have so much fun for the next hours when I will explain to you, slowly and thoroughly all details of course, how I will tickle and destroy you and each and every one of your immensely ticklish, vulnerable and many, many spots which you so kindly choose to remind me.”

Roman considered himself a really lucky person, but when - in that very glory moment - Logan’s phone rang, his alarm going off and breaking the concentration of the duo, he literally giggled in relief, knowing his personality well enough to be completely sure that Logan wouldn’t need much more than another two or three phrases like that to transforms him in a blushed, high-pinched giggly mess and he still had Janus to go, tease and try get some revenge and hopefully not die during the process.

“It seems that you’ve been ‘saved by the bell’ as said.” Roman was sure he never heard this slang in his whole life, albeit he didn’t want to press further his luck, instead choosing to press his back on the wall in the seek to put the most inches of physically distance between him and Logan’s elaborated teases. “I shall go back to my work now. You’re so creative and imaginative, right? Try to not think in the thousands ways, figuratively talking or not, I will wreck you when I get home.”

He then turned away.

And Roman knew, believe me, he really, really, really knew very well he shouldn’t press his luck any further.

But he was always up to a challenge, anyway.

Before he could even debate with his own conscience and common sense about how this was an absolutely horrible idea, Roman got up in a blink of eye and squeezed that exact point where Logan’s side connected with his hips, making the most serious one jump a few centimeters in the air, an almost yelp running from his lips. Logan stopped right on his tracks, not bothering himself to turn in the other's direction to stare with the corner of his eyes right in Roman's lee soul.

“Te arrepentirás de hacer esto.” (You’re going to regret doing this.)

Roman felt his eyes widening as cold, panicked shivers ran across his spine, opening again that traitor wobbly smile on his face. Logan very rarely used Spanish, Roman’s first language, holding it for the special cases when he was on a full Ler mood, since it spiked the smaller sensitiveness to the atmosphere.

However, the latter couldn't help the answer which already escaped from his mouth and flied in the room.

"Oh, will I?"

"Sí." (Yes.) Logan smirked. Logan. Smirked. "Y yo voy me assegurar de esto." (And I will make sure of this.)

‘Oh. Mierda.' (Shit)

(...)

‘Well, he was already dead, wasn’t he?’ Roman thought as he at arrived Janus’ work ‘What more he had to lose?’

(He didn’t know who would be proudest for this optimism, Patton or Virgil.)

The one with dyed hair forced himself to concentrate, cleaning his head of the previous teases just as using all his will power to ignore the uncountable butterflies profusely flying in his stomach. Janus was a very serious person in his work as well, but he wasn’t nearly fond to rules as the other and definitely more tricky and less going right on the spot than Logan.

He was mostly like drag an only one finger around your worst spot, encircling it and watching as you dissolve in desperate giggles while asked ‘What is the matter, dear, something is bothering you?’ and stay there, sometimes lightly attacking another spots so you can’t get used to the feeling but never staying for too long, until he is absolutely sure your sentiviness is at one hundred percent and so he can finally attack that helpless spot without a single drop of mercy.

Which was a technique very divergent of Logan’s, who would prefer to take, as everything in life, the moment as an experiment. First documenting out loud and on a specific archive in his cell phone all the things he would do with you, starting with spots he would “study”, techniques that should be “experimented” and sometimes tools which would “help him to get more accurate data”. He would document every single result, not bothering if Roman’s laughter got in the middle of it.

“Ok. Ok. Okokokokokok!!” Roman almost squealed when a cold wind softly hit his skin, quickly rubbing his belly to get the ghost feeling of tickles away. Maybe, just MAYBE, enter into that rain of memories wasn’t a very good and clever way to calm and prepare himself for the danger he was about to face. He looked at the time on his phone, noticing Janus was already on his break and he would need to be quick if he wanted to do that.

“Okay, Roman.” He murmured to himself, cleaning his crop top from any dust and walking confidently to the door. “You can do this. You are strong, you are brave, you know what you want and therefore you will get what you want! You will get into there, be amazing and get back your mean sneak boyfriend for every little single tease he dared to give to you! Because you are royalty and no one can win royalty!”

‘French Revolution.’ Some un-welcomed part of his brain remembered.

‘Shut up.’

‘Actually, is there any Royal Family in the power nowdays?’ It continued.

‘England.’

‘You are not in England.’ Shut!! up!!!

Roman got inside and he managed to win the game, taking all the blows, walking proudly and - most important - not giggling when Janus fixed his hawk eyes on him and simply smiled back, gladly following him to the table they always went on the breaks without any attempt to get close or tickle him.

As any other usual day, they sat there in silence, appreciating each other’s company and making small, quick talks between the sandwiches Roman bought them (He would do the same to Logan if he didn’t get dizzy eating during his work), and as any other day with no revenge planned, Roman finished his snack first and just stared at his beloved one.

“This will not work with me. You know that I’m not Logan.” Janus didn’t even looked up his food, pointing in a casual voice. “But enough of me. Did you went to his work like this?”

“Yes.” Roman couldn’t help the smirk opening in his face. Janus didn’t had an slightly idea of what was about to come. “Poor nerd. You should had seen how much red his face was! I thought for a moment I broke him.”

“And you didn’t took a picture for me? Shame to you and your family.”

“And your cow.” Janus scoffed for the reference he totally didn’t intend to make. “Also don’t try to play innocent, I know he probably already gave you an entire report of what happened and what you both will plan to do. I know you, you know?”

If Janus was surprised, he only demonstrated this by a toothless smile painting itself on the corner of his mouth, his eyes still focused in his plate, the comfortable silence again falling against them.

Roman started to humming. He wasn’t lying, he knew very well the same teasing wouldn’t work for both of them. Words were far better with Logan than Janus. But that didn’t mean that he haven’t planned what he would need to do.

He was in the middle of “Itsy Bitsy Spider” when Janus started to grew slightly restless, his fingertips tapping on the table (not in a pattern, just annoyed) and his gaze running time from time to Roman and the words in his vestments. An evil idea crossed Roman’s mind and he started to humming the “Round, Round The Garden” patiently waiting for the moment Janus’ eyes finally dislodged themselves from his phone, turning his attention back to the first in the exact part of ‘And tickle over here!’ the heartbeat chosen by Roman to poke his own belly button, letting out a soft ‘Boop’ noise fly from his lips.

It was as if he was pressed an actual button instead of the one in his belly, because suddenly Janus’ whole face was dyed with a bright shade of red, quickly deviating his face to his device one more time, the resolute look in his expression only increasing more and more as Roman decided to repeat the movement a few more times.

“Anyway.” Roman just smiled bright, blinking naively in Janus’ direction when the latter got up. “I’m done, wanna go to the parking lot?”

That sounded like a trap, or probably was just the sound of his own phone buzzing in his pocket. He nodded and followed his boyfriend’s lead, the talking and sound of plates and cups clinking gradually fading behind them as they arrived to their destination, the one with dyed hair watching Janus’ acts carefully, but noticing no indications that he was about to do something.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Is that okay?”

Janus stopped for a little, fondly sighing and finally allowing himself to lock Roman’s eyes.

“Yes. Just not around so many people next time, okay?”

“Oh, gosh. Right, right! I, er… I apologize, dear. We can stop immediately! I can go to our home and get another shirt-” The rest of his sentence was interrupted as Janus captured his lips in a quick kiss, a smirk founding way to his fond expression.

“I wouldn’t take you here if I wanted that to stop, don’t you think, my ticklish prince?”

A blush spreaded across Roman’s cheeks, who was totally unprepared for the unexpected display of affection and specially the use of this specific nickname, a squeal escaping as some scribbles were left behind his ear, making him immediately jump and walk some centimeters away, a hand in front of his mouth in order to let any other sound escape.

“Hey, snake! Don’t you know that masterpieces are better left untouched?”

Janus snorted and rolled his eyes, resting his back in the wall and looking back at his phone, which remembered Roman he had some messages as well.

Janus sent 40 pictures

‘Pictures’ was a euphemism. Janus sent a fucking evil mix of images of brushes, feathers, electric toothbrushes buzzing and dragging across his skin, tingling and tickling and leading to snorts and giggles to come out from his lips, feeling that only increased as he went down the conversation, finding the tickle gifs of fingers scratching at his neck, scribbling in his unfairly ticklish armpits, poking his ribs, prodding his wiggly sides, kneading his thighs and spidering behind his knees. They flowed nonstop and felt almost real.

“Oh my my, you always were weak for the teases, but you looove them, don’t you?” And it was true. Roman was already squirming and even starting to giggle uncontrollaby just for seeing Janus’ messages, his mind running and involving him in a sea of memories and shivers that ran across at every single centimeter of him, making his nerves to buzz and tingle and leading him to almost feel the ghost tickles again.

However, when Roman found Janus’s glare, noticing that shine he knew so well and the smirk that made a smile split his face in half, he obligated himself to not deviate his glare or hide his giggles, to look him dead in his eyes and let the words fly freely from his mouth.

“Yehehes. I do.”

Janus face lighted up, not expecting such an honest answer. “So you admit it? Awww. You’re so adorable and precious.”

“Yehes, I lohohove every single onhehe of them and how happyhi and excited they ahahall make me feel, juhuhus as I lohove when you and Logahan’s tickle mehe sohoho much. My heart melt wihihit how you are all so evil and yet so caring, mindful and cute. Ihihi swear I can almohohost explode of excitement when you chase me and yohohou hold me and tickle me more for running ahaway from the tickles. I love when you sing those horrible, atrocious, mean rhymes and when you ahahand Logan pretend to have a normal discussion as if you both weren’t wrehecking me. I love how silly and yet malefic, amazing tickle monsters you both can be and how vuhulnerable, happy, special and loved you make me feel. I lohove your whispered teases and your not-so-subtle ones. I love with all my sohoul all of this, but-” Roman took some steps in his direction, leaning closer to Janus’ ear.

“I love even more that you are so baffled with me saying all these truths out loud that you didn’t even remembered to record it.”

He tweaked Janus’ hips, watching he jump a few inches while he took the opportunity to move away, bright smile.

“And I’m never saying this again.”

Janus stepped closer, his eyes in a mix of pure adoration and danger that flamed and quickly consumed them. Roman lifted his finger, shaking it just as he made with Logan.

“Nah ah ha. No touching, remember?”

“Oh, really?” Janus moved to his direction. “I don’t think so. Not when such masterpiece so willing decided to come in here with so teasy, sweet words and cocky attitude. Give me a good reason to not pin you down right here and use all those good information you so cutely shared with me, my wiggle giggle lee.”

“I will run.” Roman blurted out, his mind running, seeking for any excuse to keep his game going on.

“I will catch you. I always do.”

“If you attack me now you will not gang up with Logan later.”

This made Janus stop, looking at his with a raise of eyebrow.

Silence. Roman couldn’t even lessen the excited smile that took over his features, his muscles tensed and prepared to run for his life.

“Very well.” And just like that Janus made his attention come back to the device in his hands leaving an atonished Roman to himself. He couldn’t believe his bluff had actually worked!

Well, maybe he made it worse to himself? M a y b e. He didn’t know, he was just happy with himself at this point.

“Well.” Janus looked at his clock. “My break was over, anyway. I see you later, lee.”

Janus kissed Roman’s cheek and got into the store, rolling his eyes, exasperated when he looked behind him just to see his boyfriend no so subtly stretching all he could as he waved him a goodbye, blowing him a kiss.

“He is so screwed when we get home.”

77 notes · View notes

romansleftshoulderpad · 5 years

Text

Love Sick aka “Five Times Logan Thought Roman Didn’t Love Him and the One Time He Was Sure He Did. (Number 5 Will Shock You!)”

Ships(s): Romantic Logince, background QPR moiety

Words: 4,513

Warnings: Food mention, swearing, caps, sex mentions, implied sex at the end, a character gets poisoned and is mentioned as “dying” a few times, (No one actually dies), Logan had Dumb Bitch Disease

Tags: @fandermom @patchworkofstars @poisonedapples @hogwarts-my-love @opaque-puppet @omni-hamiltrash @darling-elm @jynxlovesluck @max-is-tired

---

One

Baby, can’t you see

Logan had been hiding from his feelings for quite a while now. He had convinced himself that if Roman did not return his feelings then he could move on with no issue. But first, he had to convince himself that Roman did not return his feelings.

I’m calling.

When they enthusiastically recited Shakespeare together or debated whether or not the inaccuracies of Hamilton matter, or when Roman’s eyes light up every time he shows off a new poem he wrote for Logan, it’s hard not to imagine how wondrous life could be if he did.

They had been sitting together watching Bambi while Virgil and Patton hogged one end of the couch, pressing Logan into Roman’s side. Logan thought he could get over his feelings for Roman.

“I bet you those two will get together before the end of the week,” Roman said with a smile, the pastel colors of the television illuminating his face. Logan had been wrong.

Two

A guy like you should wear a warning.

It should have been illegal for Roman to be a morning person. Logan had hypothesized that it would be much harder to be attracted to Roman if every morning he looked messy and had bad posture. Unfortunately, by the time Logan woke up every morning, Roman was already clean and dressed after his morning run. He smiled, adrenaline still pumping through his veins, and his eyes seemed to sparkle.

Quite frankly, it was revolting how attractive he was.

“Aww️‍, don’t look so grumpy, Teach,” Roman said with a laugh, lifting Logan’s chin with his fingers.

Logan’s only coherent thought had been, “Boy if I wasn’t gay before.”

“Don’t talk to me until I’ve had coffee,” he muttered.

“Don’t talk to me until I’ve had seven,” Virgil said, sipping his mug from where he sat on top of the fridge.

“When the fuck did you get up there?”

“When the fuck did you become such a nosey bitch?” he asked through another sip.

“Kiddos, play nice,” Patton warned. “Your swear jar savings are going to fund my trip to Hawaii.”

Roman rolled his eyes and sat down next to Logan. He stole a sip of the teacher’s coffee, smirking as Logan blinked back in shock. “You have very pretty hair, Logan,” he said dreamily before mumbling under his breath, “bet it would be great for pulling at.”

Logan could have sworn that his face was on fire.

It’s dangerous.

He almost enjoyed it.

I’m falling.

Three

Roman and Remus had come back scraped and bruised from what Roman had claimed to be “a fight with a dragon witch and a manticore chimera” and what Remus had claimed to be “a bitch of a good time.”

“You look like hell,” Virgil said, wincing slightly as he saw the cuts on Roman’s neck and arms.

“Thanks, I just got back,” Roman laughed, coughing up a bit of blood. “C’mon it’s Heathers! I had to!”

“You are utterly ridiculous,” Logan said, his usual monotone cracking with worry.

“Come on, Teach, don’t get all soft on me,” Roman teased, wincing in pain as he laughed.

“After we have a talk about your impulsiveness, we really must discuss how you’ve picked up on Patton’s habit of hiding your pain with jokes.”

“Hey!” Patton yelled defensively.

“You’re getting better at dealing with that.”

“And we’re very proud of you,” Virgil said tenderly.

“Nonetheless, Roman is still a massive dumbass.”

Roman scoffed in offense. “Would a dumbass have saved that whole city?”

“Your brother helped,” Virgil countered, “so, yes. A dumbass would do that.”

“Would this dumbass do that?”

“So you admit that you’re a dumbass then?”

Roman hesitated as if his brain had been lagging. He sighed into his palm. “Shit.”

“Sit down, Roman,” Logan said softly, snapping his fingers and causing Roman to fall back onto the couch on the other side of the commons. He snapped his fingers once more, summoning a first aid kit and turned to Virgil and Patton. “A moment of privacy please?”

There’s no escape

“You’re going to have to take your coat off,” Logan said as he organized his supplies.

“Are you looking for an excuse to see me topless?”

“Aren’t you always?”

“How dare you!” Roman yelled in feign offense. “I am SHOCKED! I am OFFENDED! I am APPALLED!”

“Just take your coat off before I decide not to help you,” Logan warned. Only a second later he felt heavy fabric hit his head. He whipped his head around, retaliation on the tip of his tongue, but he lost all will to fight back when he saw Roman before him. A deep cut ran across his abdomen. Dried blood covered his skin both near and away from his wounds. Logan sighed, snapping one last time and summoning a washcloth in hand as well as a bucket of warm water by his side. “Just take a deep breath,” Logan said, “and try to relax.”

Roman smiled softly as Logan cleaned the small cuts and gashes on his arm. “You care about me,” he said, more matter-of-factly than teasing. “It’s cute.”

“Your blood loss is worse than anticipated,” Logan said, dipping the cloth in the bucket and ringing it out. He continued cleaning, trying not to think about how intimate the moment was or how beautiful Roman was, especially this close.

“Maybe so, but I’m still right.”

“I didn’t think you can be even cockier, but here you are.”

“Oh I can certainly be cockier,” Roman said with a wink, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You’re worse than your brother,” Logan said. He cleaned the washcloth once more and gently placed it on the large wound on Roman’s torso. He jumped back as the prince loudly sucked in air, biting his lip in pain. “I’M SORRY!” he yelled.

“NO- No, don’t be,” Roman said, taking in a deep breath. “It’s my own damn fault for not wearing proper armor.”

“I’m sorry,” Logan repeated.

“No hay necesidad de ser, luz de las estrellas,” the prince whispered softly, brushing Logan’s hair away from his face.

I can’t wait

I need a hit.

Logan blushed, shying away from Roman’s touch. “You sound like you’re exhausted, you always get flirty when you’re tired.”

“Not true.”

“I once saw you flirting with Patton’s cookie jar.”

“That was one ti-”

“And Virgil’s Nightmare Before Christmas posters.”

“Okay but-”

“And Virgil.”

“You got me there,” Roman mumbled. “But can you blame me? I was really into him at the time and you’d do the same if you had a crush!”

“Me? No way.”

“Ah, right, I suppose you are too cowardly to flirt.”

“I will literally reopen this wound.”

“Ouch.”

“Don’t test me, bitch,” Logan threatened.

“Okay, okay,” Roman laughed. “You’re not a coward.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re the romanced not the romancer.”

Logan rolled his eyes. He snapped away his cloth and bucket of water and began putting disinfectant and bandaids onto Roman’s minor cuts and injuries. “And what are you suggesting?”

“I’m saying someone should flirt with you,” Roman said.

“Oh yeah? And who’s going to do that, you?”

“If I must,” he teased with a wink, noticing the way Logan’s face turned red.

Baby, give me it.

Four

Logan was taking a lazy day. He was perfectly content to stay in bed, drinking tea and not think about Roman Sanders, thank you very much.

But we can’t all get what we want, which is why Roman came bursting into Logan’s room at that exact moment. “Entertain me,” he demanded, plopping himself into Logan’s bed.

“Roman, I’m busy.”

“No you’re not,” he said. “You have nothing to do other than entertain me.”

Logan put down his tea on his bedside table and watched in defeat as Roman wiggled until his head was sitting comfortably on Logan’s lap. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re the one who was obsessing over my wounds the other day.”

“I wasn’t obsessing-“

“C’mon, you can play Doctor and like double-check my cuts or whatever,” Roman said. “Pwease Wogan.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Logan reminded.

“And I’m bored.”

“Boredom is no excuse to intrude on my important tasks-“

“You were gonna lay in bed for the next two hours and take a nap,” Roman said.

Logan looked down, blushing in embarrassment. He mumbled under his breath, “It’s true but you shouldn’t say it.”

Roman adjusted himself, moving up and turning over so that his chin rested on Logan’s chest. “You were just going to lay around anyway, what’s the harm in me joining you? I’ll even stay completely silent if that’s what you want!”

“If your only desire is to lay around in silence, why can you not do so in your room?”

Roman looked away in shame, hiding his face in his arms. “It’s lonely in there,” he mumbled.

Logan pushed Roman’s hair out of his face, smiling softly at the prince. “I... wouldn’t mind a cuddle buddy, if that is an adequate situation for you.”

Roman’s eyes lit up as he smiled. He quickly dipped under the covers and wrapped his arms around Logan’s torso. He nuzzled his face against Logan’s chest as he tried to find a comfortable position. Logan held back the urge to laugh as Roman’s hair tickled his skin.

Instead, he tried to return to his book, and in less than a chapter, they had called into a steady rhythm of synchronized breaths and heartbeats. It felt like they were meant to be next to each other, like long-separated puzzle pieces, as Roman gently stroked his fingers up and down Logan’s arm. It was soft and quiet and just a bit domestic. And Logan wished it could have lasted forever.

He sighed, leaning his head back, his book long forgotten as Roman’s strokes got slower and slower until he was sound asleep. “Bonsoir, mon chéri,” he whispered softly, wishing for the ache of longing to stop grasping at his heartstrings.

You’re dangerous.

I’m loving it.

Five

“You’re back early,” Virgil said cautiously. The twins had been on what should have been a two week trip to the Imagination. It had only been three days, and Remus was already standing in the Core Sides’ living room, with an arm awkwardly wrapped around Roman to support him.

“This dumbass had to go and get pricked by an enchanted rose’s thorn,” Remus said as he rolled his eyes. “Hasn’t stopped talking about being hot for teacher for hours.” He tossed Roman onto the couch next to Virgil before reopening the Imagination’s door, “He’s your problem now.” The door slammed shut before disappearing completely.

“Virgil?” Roman groaned, rubbing his eyes with his palm. “Where are we?”

“We’re in the Commons,” Virgil said softly, placing his hand on Roman’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“That’s because I’m so hot,” he laughed weakly before breaking into a coughing fit.

“I’m so not equipped for this,” Virgil said. “Some help here?!” He summoned Patton and Logan, who seemed very confused to suddenly be somewhere other than where they had been two seconds ago.

“Virgil, you don’t typically summon us,” Logan said. “What seems to be wrong?”

“It’s Princey.”

“And water is hydrogen monoxide, what else is new?”

“Logan!” Patton gasped. “Be nice!”

“He’s burning up,” Virgil said quietly. “Remus said he got pricked by something. Can flowers be venomous?”

“Flowers?” Logan asked.

“It’s only venomous if it bites you,” Roman mumbled, closing his eyes and laying his head on Virgil’s lap. “Logie taught me that.”

“Never call me that ever again.”

“I’ll watch over him, you two can figure out what’s wrong,” Patton said, scooping Roman up into his arms with a shocking amount of ease. Roman clung onto him, burying his face in Patton’s neck like a toddler.

It’s getting late

to give you up.

Logan and Virgil spent countless hours trying to find any real, logical answers. Textbooks lay scattered across the room as crumpled up papers overflowed from the recycling bin. “We- There’s gotta be some way to help,” Virgil said, biting his thumb.

“Take a deep breath,” Logan reminded, hiding his own pounding heart and paranoia. “Perhaps there’s one solution we haven’t tried.”

“I don’t know if there is a solution! Remus said they had been in the imagination and- and who knows/what’s going on in that hellhole!?”

“The imagination,” Logan repeated. He jumped up from his office chair and raced across the room, digging under a pile of journals and binders. “AHA!” he yelled, holding a red leather-bound book above his head. “What did he get infected with?”

“An... an enchanted rose- Logan, what is that?”

“A scientific journal!” he announced as his eyes lit up like Time’s Square for the first time in a night of dreary hopelessness. “The Imagination isn’t a realm like any real one, so the obvious choice is to study it.”

“So, it’s, I- What?”

“I haven’t had the proper time to go and catalogue all of the flora and fauna, but Roman’s friend- er- ‘Mortal Enemy’-” He made air quotes- “was very supportive of my investigation during my brief stay as her hostage.” He opened the book and quickly flipped through the pages muttering, “Love potion, love potion, love- AHA! Found you!”

“When did you get taken hostage?”

“Virgil, that information is hardly relevant, please stay focused.”

Virgil blinked back in confusion, raising his arms dramatically as he silently asked a million questions.

I took a sip from my Devil’s cup.

“Enchanted roses are the main ingredient in love potions and, truthfully, the only one that really has any effect. Everything else is basically an antidote for the rose’s lethal toxins,” Logan explained. His face dropped slightly. “Unfortunately, there’s no cure. The potions tend to wear themselves out but only because of the curative properties of the rest of the potion. If we could... create a potion without the rose... perhaps then we could brew an antidote. But there are too many complications, it’s unlikely we’d even be able to brew the first batch before his condition gets... a- and even so, we really can’t assume that a first trial would be the best and that could make him worse if he isn’t already de- Simply speaking, we need to find the best solution that takes the least amount of time and-“

Virgil tuned Logan out as he continued rambling. He picked up a book sitting next to him, it was an aged collection of Grimm’s Fairytales with enough silver and gold accenting the cover to make it seem more like something Roman would own than Logan. Virgil took and book carefully into his hands and aimed at his target.

“-of course I only care about him for Thomas’ sake, that the logical thing here and- OW what the FUCK?!”

“That’s a dollar in the swear jar.”

“VIRGIL!”

“The book is a hint, Dumbass.”

“That’s a quarter in the swear jar,” Logan mumbled angrily.

“It’s Roman. It’s a love spell.”

“And?”

“Haven’t you seen Enchanted? Put him on a fainting couch and kiss his gay face with your gay face.”

“VIRGIL!” Logan screeched.

“You look exactly like his stupid sash, wow.”

“I don’t know what- I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re insinuating.”

“‘True love’s kiss will break the spell’ or whatever it is Roman’s always singing about.”

“Yes, well, I don’t think we can contact Ryan Reynolds to help with this issue.”

“He is hot, but you’re dodging the real solution here,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “You have feelings for Roman and you gotta suck his face to get the poison out of it.”

“FALSEHOOD!”

Virgil flinched at the sound and forced a yawn to pop his ears. “Indoor voice, please.”

“Even if I did somehow, hypothetically, have-“ he scrunched his nose in disgust- “feelings, it’s not like Roman would ever return such... meaningless chemical reactions.”

Slowly, it’s taking over me.

Too high, can’t come down.

“Are you feeling any better, Kiddo?” Patton asked, putting a fresh washcloth on Roman’s head.

“He’s so pretty,” Roman sighed dreamily, as if completely unaware of the poison flowing through his veins. “And smart too. Do you think he would let me play with his hair? And kiss him? I wanna kiss him.”

“I think you need some rest, Kiddo, you’ve been doing a lot of adventuring. And even brave knights need nap time.”

“But I don’t waaaaaant to go to sleeeeeep,” Roman whined. “I wanna keep talking about Logan. And how pretty he is. And how smart he is. And how wonderful he is.”

“You can gush more after you nap,” Patton said.

“Promise?”

“I promise.

Losin’ my head,

Spinnin’ round and round

Roman pulled a pillow against his chest and snuggled into it, quickly drifting off to sleep. Patton put a hand against his cheek as he took the washcloth, Roman’s fever had only gotten worse, and he hated to admit how much that terrified him.

Do you feel me now?

“This is a terrible idea,” Virgil said. “Like, probably the worst idea you’ve ever had. Ever. Don’t even try. Take a nap. Do literally anything else.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Logan asked, tucking the last of his books into his leather crossbody bag. He wore a long coat over traveller’s clothes that looked almost nothing like his typical wear save for the color scheme.

“Yes! Just spend some time with him holy shit.”

“Swear jar.”

“Logan,” Virgil reprimanded, his voice growing deep and echoey. “If you don't want to listen to me, fine, whatever, I don’t care, but don’t get yourself killed over something that you, yourself, said won’t work.”

“Then what do you propose instead?” Logan snapped. “Chicken soup?”

“If it keeps you safe, yes!” Virgil yelled. “Heaven forbid we actually care about your safety just as much as Roman’s.”

Logan did the last of his coat buttons and carefully tucked his bag under his arm, adjusting the strap to fit him neatly. “I’m going. I’ll use Remus’s door and I’ll find someone who can help me.”

“Logan, we need you here!”

“You need Roman!” Logan yelled. “Just... please, Virgil, let me do this. Let me do right by him.”

“You’ve really lost your mind, huh?”

“Well,” Logan mumbled under his breath as he sank out, “people do crazy things when they’re in love.”

Can you feel me now?

“Oh, and what do we have here?” Remus asked with a smirk.

“I am here to request that you grant me access to the Imagination,” Logan asked. “And that we make this meeting as brief as possible.”

Remus looked him up and down suspiciously before bursting out into laughter. “Logic going willingly into my realm? Ha! Oh Logan,” he said, pretending to wipe a tear from his eyes, “you are a riot.”

“Need I remind you that I’ve been to the Imagination before?”

“Yeah, with my brother,” Remus said, still laughing heartily. “You went because you have a massive crush, not because you actually like the place.”

“Falsehood,” Logan mumbled sheepishly. Were his feelings for Roman really so obvious?

Remus’s laughter died down but he kept an obnoxious smirk on his face. “You can deny all you want, Logiebear.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It doesn’t change that you an oblivious fucking disaster gay.”

“Just open the door, Remus. I’ve had enough of this meaningless small talk.”

“No can do, Nerdy Wolverine!” he said with a smile. “No sides allowed. Gate closed. Your face will melt clean off!” His wide smile dropped slightly and twisted into something just short of contempt. “But Roman said we aren’t allowed to melt any faces off. He locked me out too.”

“Damnit,” Logan muttered under his breath, trying to hide the disappointment and guilt spreading through his chest. If Roman’s condition got any worse, he couldn't help but feel that it would all be his fault. “I must be going, Remus. I am sorry that this was such a fruitless venture.”

He sunk out and found himself back in the commons, just outside of Roman’s room. The sound of hushed whispers and the feelings of anxiety and guilt hung through the air. He leaned against the door planning a million apologies and trying to fight back the tears that formed in his eyes at every single one of them.

“I don’t know what we can do,” Patton whispered, his voice weak, like it always had been whenever he cried. “We don’t have any ideas or- or any clue what’s happening to him.”

“Patton.”

“Virgil, I’m scared.”

“I know you are, Patton. We all are. But we can’t let Princey know that.” In the brief silence, the air grew stiff and the feelings are guilt gripped at Logan’s head and chest pulling him down like an anchor into a sea of reminders that this time he just wasn’t enough. A swirling ocean of regrets and love confessions he’d never get to make. It drove him mad.

He slowly opened the door.

“Gentlemen,” he said quietly, nodding at them as a sign of greeting. “I was... unsuccessful in my mission.”

“Oh, Logan,” Patton said quietly. Logan never met his eyes, but he did notice the way Virgil and Patton’s hands were interlaced.

“Can I have a moment with him? A- Alone?” he asked nervously. “I just... I want to apologize.”

“Take all the time you need, Lo,” Virgil said softly. He gave Logan a tired thumbs-up before leaving him completely alone with the prince.

He sat on the edge of Roman’s bed, brushing hair out of the tired prince’s face. “Logan?” he asked with a yawn, rubbing at his eyes as he tried to see the man beside him.

“I apologize, Roman, I didn't mean to wake you.”

“Yours is a face worth waking up for,” Roman said.

Logan blinked back tears but felt his face go scarlet. “Roman, I’m... sorry I couldn’t do better for you. I’m sorry for every petty fight we’ve gotten into. I’m sorry for being so stubborn. You deserve better than this.”

“Better than what, Logan?” Roman asked. “You can be an asshole sometimes, but I think that’s just another one of your charms. You’re stubborn but you’re also passionate. And brilliant. And so wonderfully handsome.”

Tears fell down Logan’s cheeks. “This isn’t you,” he whispered. “This is the poison talking.”

“What do you mean, mi corazón?”

“This isn’t you,” he repeated. “Because you could never return how I feel.”

Roman sat up weakly and Logan could see how he had grown skinny and pallid. If Logan didn’t know better he would think him to be a ghost. He placed a bony hand on Logan’s cheek and wiped away his tears. “You’re the smartest idiot I know,” he laughed. “I have loved you as the sun has loved the moon, bowing to its presence every night and watching in awe as you shine in the starlight. But perhaps you are the sun, for I am the plants, orbiting around you as you provide life and warmth. You are the universe, Logan, and I am a humble garden.”

Emotion overtook Logan’s body. His face stung as tears poured down his face and he quickly lost his composure. He found himself shaking with choked sobs, pressed against Roman’s chest. “This isn’t real,” he mumbled between weak breaths. “This is cruel.”

“Is love cruel?”

“It can be.”

“But love can be healing, too,” Roman said. He traced Logan’s jaw with his hand and ghosted his thumb, cracked and dry, over Logan’s soft lips. “Can I kiss you, Logan?”

“Are you really m- our prince?”

Roman smiled, pressing his forehead against Logan’s and looking down at the lips he had spent countless nights dreaming of. “I’ve always been yours, Logan.”

Logan’s breath hitched and he shut his eyes, afraid that if he opened them again he’d be waking up from a dream. He felt Roman’s thumb leave his lips and fall towards his neck as Roman’s lips met his.

Taste of your lips I’m on a ride.

Logan forgot about everything at that moment. He forgot about the guilt and pain. He forgot about the poison slowly killing the one he loves.

You’re toxic, I’m slipping under.

All that mattered was Roman’s lips on his. Roman’s hand against his neck and Roman’s fingers tugging at his hair in a way that drove him crazy.

With the taste of a poison paradise,

When they broke apart Logan’s heart was pounding but the bright smile on Roman’s face was infectious. Some of the color had magically returned to his face. He still didn’t look like himself, but he was no longer a mirror of death. He was the embodiment of hope. He was life.

Logan kissed him again.

I’m addicted to you.

Don’t you know that you’re toxic?

Over the days that passed, Roman slowly regained his strength. He was able to eat more which helped him regain the weight he had lost. The color came back to his face and within a week he was back to his peppy, annoying self. Every morning Logan counted his blessings.

“So,” Roman cooed, pointing at Virgil sitting on Patton’s lap on the couch. “When are you two oblivious love birds finally going to get together?”

“We’re the oblivious ones?” Virgil scoffed.

“We’ve been in a QPR for three months,” Patton said with his head tilted to the side and his face twisted.

“WHAT?! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”

“Virgil said it would be obvious,” Patton justified sheepishly.

“You and Logan were too busy being gay fucks,” Virgil said. “We didn’t need your chaos tainting our civilized union.”

“Swear jar,” Logan said.

“And you owe me a dollar for the phrase ‘civilized union,’” Roman added.

“Sit your asses down so we can start movie night already,” Virgil said.

“Swear jar.”

“I’m gonna shove the swear jar about your-“

“VIRGIL!”

“Sorry, Patton.”

Logan laughed, letting himself fall against Roman’s side as the movie started. With his attention completely stolen by the feeling of Roman playing with his hair (which he quickly discovered is his favorite feeling in the world) he knew he wouldn’t be watching much of the movie.

He pressed a kiss to Roman’s cheek and rested his head against Roman’s chest, letting out a satisfied hum as he listened to Roman’s heartbeat.

And I love what you do.

Don’t you know that you’re toxic?

His eyes began to feel heavy and he found himself fighting between wanting to fall asleep in Roman’s arms or staying awake to spend every possible moment admiring him.

Don’t you know that you’re toxic?

But when Roman caught him staring and leaned down to kiss him, he knew that sleep could wait.

Intoxicate me now with your lovin’ now.

I think I’m ready now

I think I’m ready now.

“What do you think about staying in my room tonight?” Roman whispered, trying to prevent Virgil and Patton from overhearing.

Intoxicate me now with your lovin’ now.

Logan smirked, pressing kisses to Roman’s neck and teasingly undoing the top three buttons of Roman’s shirt. “Sounds perfect,” he purred.”

I think I’m ready now.

#logince #ts logince #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #ts roman #sanders sides roman #roman sanders #ts logan #sanders sides logan #Logan sanders #my logince liver

1K notes · View notes

cncofantasias · 5 years

Text

Justice - With Christopher Velez

Chapter 1: Everything

Hey guys! I really hope you enjoy this imagine because I’m hoping to turn it into a series. Let me know what you think, it’s a lot different from what you’re used to reading because I don’t involve their singing careers in this but it’s more of a mystery. I got the idea from watching a ton of Law & Order: SVU but it’s not based off one specific episode. If I turn it into a series I do plan on including all of the cast members into the story one way or another. Anyways hope you enjoy it!

Summary: You’ve dated your boyfriend Christopher Velez for 2 years and even now that you guys have been together for so long, there was still so much stuff Christopher refused to tell you. That is until Christopher gets arrested for the murder of a man named Zabdiel de Jesus. As the trial against Christopher goes on you learn things about him that you never thought he was capable of. Y/n is fighting between the Christopher who was her loving and adoring boyfriend and the man who’s committed so many awful crimes.

Chapter 2

“Christopher Velez you are under arrest for the murder of Zabdiel de Jesus. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law—“

My head was spinning and for a second I thought I was dreaming but it wasn’t until I heard him yelling my name that I snapped out of it. “Y/n! Y/n! Llame mi abogado! Call him him and tell him to meet me at the precinct bebe!”

I quickly nodded barely able wrap my head around what was happening as I followed behind the police who were escorting mi bebe, Christopher, out of our house. As soon as they put him in the backseat of the cop car I took out my phone with shaky hands and began dialing our lawyer, Joel Pimentel. The only reason I knew who he was because one night a couple months ago Christopher gave me his number. He said in case something ever happened to him I needed to know who to call. I didn’t understand at the time what he was referring to, but I guess I do now.

As I sat in the lobby of the precinct waiting for our lawyer to show up, my mind was racing. I didn’t know if I could believe Christopher as a murderer. He was always the sweetest boyfriend to me: he showered me in affection, always kept his promises to me, and never once had I been scared he’d be violent towards me. I wanted to believe he was innocent, but deep down it made sense... Since we first started dating he always was sketchy about telling me personal information about him.

2 years ago

“So tell me Mr. Velez what do you do for a living that you can afford to take me out to a restaurant so expensive they charge you for the water?” I teasingly emphasized his name as I studied him, enamored with who I saw when I looked at him.

“No te preocupes por eso mi amor. Todo lo que necesitas saber es que hago negocio.” He reached over the table and held onto my hand as he sent a wink my way.

I stared at him for a bit furrowing my eyebrows trying to get any indication of what he was really meant with his response. He held a stone face as he looked into my eyes and I slowly nodded my head and went back to eating.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” “hello, Miss. Y/L/N.”

I snapped out of my thoughts to see our lawyer in front of me. “Perdóname, I was just thinking.”

“It’s okay Miss. Y/L/N, I understand how difficult this situation must be on you. Why don’t you wait here while I go talk to the investigating officers and get as much information as I can about the situation?”

I nodded my head at him unable to find the correct words to say to him at the moment. He gave me quick nod as I watched him disappear. I knew that I was very little of a help, but Christopher had prepared me that way. He never gave me too much information about him and at the moment I was conflicted; I couldn’t believe the man I choose to lay in bed with, could be a murderer and who knows what else.

Half an hour had passed as I waited for Mr. Pimentel to get back with the information he promised. A part of me didn’t want him to come back, if he never came back and he never told me the horrible details then maybe it wouldn’t be real. But of course that wasn’t reality, no matter what we were still stuck in this situation.

“Okay Miss. Y/L/N, Christopher is being charged on first degree murder as well as multiple counts of arson, burglary. It looks as thought they’ve been investigating Christopher for some time now for distribution of narcotics-“

“Wait, wait, wait distribution of narcotics? I don’t understand. Christopher doesn’t do drugs and I’ve never in the 2 years we’ve been together found any illegal drugs in his possession.”

Mr. Pimentel looked at me shocked for a second, his face conflicted as he began deciding if he should be the one to break the news to you.

“Miss. Y/L/N, I cannot divulge too much information about the case but I want you to know that Mr. Velez isn’t who you think he is. This case runs so deep that even the Federal Bureau of Narcotics is involved and they’ve done much investigating until they presumed that your boyfriend is the leader of the largest gang in New York.”

My heart dropped, my brain buzzed. I didn’t know what was going on and all I could do was stare at him. “Did he ever tell you anything to lead you to believe that he held that position?”

I shook my head a no in response, “I- I- need some air.” I escaped out from his stare as fast as I could and walked out of the front door feeling the crisp hair hit me. I stood on the sidewalk hunched over with my hands on my knees. Everything was a lie, he was a lie. The life we had begun to build together wasn’t real and now I didn’t know if the man that I shared 5 years of memories worth, was real or fake.

1 year ago

We were parked on a cliff overlooking the ocean. There was no car in sight for miles and a soft rhythm was playing on the radio adding to our romantic evening together. The sun was beginning to go down as the salty fresh air filled my nostrils. I was admiring the view with my hand interlocked with Christopher’s.

“Eres tan bella.”

A light blush filled my checks as I teared my eyes away from the scenery to look into his.

“Nomás dices eso porque me miras con ojos de corazón.”

“No, eres tan bella y/n que cuando salgo contigo los otros muchachos están celosos que ya tienes alguien. And I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

I felt my heart clench a little at his beautiful words. I stared into his eyes and just staring into them made me believe him. He wasn’t afraid to let his eyes show the amount of passion he held for me.

“Do you see a future for us Christopher?”

“Of course I do, I see us moving somewhere far away from here one day. Living in our own house, in one of those neighborhoods where it’s so safe nobody is scared to leave there doors unlocked and the kids ride their bikes around.”

“Do you want kids mi amor?”

“I want as many kids as you’ll give me cariño and I want them to look exactly like you with your beautiful hair, tu sonrisa, tus ojos bonitos. And by that time you’ll have graduated with your degree and have your career. Tal vez puedo ser un stay at home dad while you work like an independent boss woman and bring in the money,” he gave me a wink and I playfully hit his chest laughing.

“You wouldn’t be a machista that I’m the woman of the house and bringing in the money?”

“Claro que no. You’ve worked so hard studying all the time it’s only fair that I let you live your dream career.”

My heart melted hearing him say that, because he understood my struggle to be where I was. With Christopher I never had to worry if I didn’t have enough money to pay for my rent or my school tuition or anything else really because he always took care of it. I didn’t even have to embarrass myself by asking him for the money to pay the bill that I couldn’t afford. He’d already know because of how open I was with him and he’d just do it because he wanted to help me. I knew that no matter what your future held: whether it was me working and he wasn’t or both of us working. I knew that I’d always be okay with him and that I could always depend on him because it was never about whose money it was and he wasn’t so traditional that he felt the need to overpower me just because he was a man.

I grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him in crashing my lips onto his. Our lips moved together perfectly without too much effort and his hands gripped onto my waist. In that one kiss.. it was everything.

I pulled away from him and leaned my forehead on his as we both sat breathing for air. “Quiero todo eso y más contigo mi amor.”

“Yo también bebecita.”

I was still outside the precinct hunched over fighting for a breath I’d been holding and before I knew it... I was crying.

#cnco #cnco fanfic #cnco richard #cnco imagine #christopher velez #christopher velez imagines #cnco preferences #series #imagines #cnco imagines #cnco x reader #cnco chris #cnco joel #cnco zabdiel #cnco fic #cnco fics

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orsino-the-enchanter · 5 years

Text

Dungeons and dungeons

Few things frightened Jowan more than being returned to the Circle Tower, but Amell, despite his best efforts, could not spare him the Guerrin family’s sentencing. But...Amell did what he thought was the only thing that MIGHT save Jowan’s life, despite the fact that if Jowan had to spend even one more day in the Circle Tower he would set the place ablaze.

He never even got a chance to cast a spell after he awoke from the Fade though. His life was spared on the condition that he would be returned to the chantry’s custody upon the Warden’s return to the castle. True to their word, the Templars did not run a sword through the apostate’s chest on sight, but that /did/ beg the question-just what should they do with him??

The answer was unclear even to Irving. Making him Tranquil was the most...obvious choice. But Jowan had defeated a demon in the Fade in single combat-which technically matched the accomplishment of a Harrowed Mage. That would make the Rite of Tranquility an unjust and illegal move. And Irving knew Amell well enough that if he found out his former friend was branded, Jowan would die anyway. A mercy killing by Amell’s hand was still a promise broken.

So while the good folk of the Chantry bitched and bickered over what to do with Jowan he awaited sentencing in the dungeon at Kinloch Hold, no one visited him save for the Templars who so graciously offered him stale bread. Not eating was better than giving Templars the impression he was vulnerable. Maybe Jowan would even be stubborn enough to die. Amell has claimed to care for him but at the end of the day, the man had betrayed him to the First Enchanter and THEN attempted to get him a stay of execution?

Ohhh what a cruel game the system played with weak mages. It was the only reason Jowan was locked up, probably forever. He was believed to be weak. A weak mage wouldn’t save a child’s life, now would he? He was only a smidgen bitter. At least no one was beating or torturing him like Isolde had. He’d expected more cruelty in that regard.

But what he hadn’t been expecting was his sentence to be a transfer. To Kirkwall’s Circle. The gallows. Ultimately it was his choice. The gallows or tranquility. (He guesses a Harrowed mage could be made tranquil as long as it was “voluntary.”This was such a no brainer, as soon as he was given the chance to speak Jowan had already made his choice.

“I choose the Gallows.” He said, in a voice he almost didn’t recognize as his own. There was determination in his tone. A sense of stubbornness too. He refused to let anyone know how terrifying this turn of events was for him. At least he’d never hear from Amell again, though, right?

“You are braver than you look my boy. Very well. The Templars shall arrange transport -but I must warn you, and offer you one last chance to change your mind...you will be sent to the Gallows upon the condition that you will remain in their dungeon for six months. More if they deem it necessary.”

Jowan gulped at Irving’s words. But he stood fast, forgetting the ever present Templars who held his arms despite the fact that his hands were bound in heavy chains.

“Pass me from your dungeon to theirs then. Fine. I wanted to prove to you and yours that I’m not weak or evil-I’m well on my way to doing that. Send me to the City of Chains. At least tell Amell to never contact me or visit me.”

One of the Templars sighed loudly and Greagoir nodded to his escorts.

“You will need to learn to curb your tongue there, Jowan.” Irving pinched the bridge of his nose and turned away.

“Goodbye to you too, Irving. You know, I regret a lot, but I will never feel bad telling you that you bow to the Chantry’s every whim.” With that Jowan was led away, and he didn’t struggle.

The journey through the Blighted land was long and slightly terrifying for Jowan but the Templars did a good job keeping their group safe from darkspawn at least. The wagon was harsh in its movement and the cage in the bed of the wagon held Jowan for most of the journey, but he spoke to none of the escorts. It didn’t matter, they wouldn’t listen to him and he imagined if he talked too much, even just to himself, they’d gag him. So he didn’t bother. It was several days before they reached the sea. He enjoyed breathing in a few desperate breaths of fresh sea air before they cut him, poured magebane in the wound and threw him, hands still chained tightly, into the brig.

The ship was creamy and Jowan was at least allowed better food on this journey. But he usually threw most of it up if the sea was unsettled. Once in a while, before the cut on his arm healed he would be re-doses with magebane. That stuff put a huge damper on the former apprentice’s spirits and it made him ill most of the time. By the end of the journey he was so happy to be off that ship he could sing. But the Templars would likely gag him and/or beat him for that. Spoilsports. His journey ended when the gates of the Gallows closed ominously behind him and the small army of Templars they’d sent with him dissipated into just four or five. Two Gallows Templars met them at the doors to the inner quarters.

“Do the knight commander and First Enchanter wish an audience with this new mage before he is taken to the dungeons?”Jowan’s head escort asked.

“That will not be nesessary Ser Knight. We will take him from you. This is the Ferelden apostate we were expecting, with a history of dabbling in blood magic?”

“The Redcliffe one, yes. He’s been real quiet on the trip here. Might be a good idea to keep him isolated from the other mages until you know he isn’t planning anything.” His escort replied nonchalantly.

“Quiet, eh? We can change that. Knight commander has ordered a flogging for him on arrival, regardless. We agree that a problem mage must be made an example of? Don’t we?”

He felt all eyes turn to him. He was terrified and now the Templars could probably see it in his eyes. His face went very pale.

His escort nudged him roughly. “I agree with that, but I believe that question was directed at you, lad. Answer when spoken to.”

“Sorry. Irving told me to curb my tongue.” Jowan replied with a solid frown about his normally gentle features.

The Templars laughed and then one of them kicked the back of his calves, putting him on his knees.

“You insolent little bastard. You will learn to respect those above you. Now I think that flogging is long overdue?” The Templar in charge of the Kirkwall group asked.

“Want someone to gag him, Ser Karras?” Another Kirkwall Templar asked.

“No, let the boy scream.”

Jowan was struggling against the men holding his arms now. Not begging or pleading, just scared and stubborn. He was dragged to a metal stake cemented into the ground. His hand bindings were fastened into place hmwith it and then someone unsheathed a knife.

Jowan’s heart was racing.

He didn’t handle pain well even when he’d used blood magic. His shirt was cut off and then he heard who ever held the whip give it a test crack.

Then he was blindfolded. Jowan panicked. No one knew how afraid of the dark he was except Amell ... he pulled at his restraints uselessly.

“All right. Let’s get this done.” Someone said.

“Yeah Karras, stop making it into a show. Bad enough you gotta punish the kid.” A younger female voice retorted.

“Silence. Anyone who objects to this maleficar’s treatment gets the same as him. Including you, Recruit Shannon.”

He heard a sigh after that and he reminded himself to pray recruit Shannon never became like Ser Karras. One less horrible inhumane templar in this terrible place. Why hadn’t he chosen Tranquility again? Oh yes. Not giving Templars and first enchanters what they wanted. Speaking of which-

-CRACCCK-

Jowan didn’t make a sound.

-CRACK-

He was screaming by the fourteenth lash and when it was over, or he at least thought it was over, cold water was poured on his head to revive him so Ser Karras could continue to beat him.

He made it to...twenty nine? Before he passed out again. By fourty it was over,truly this time. Then he was dragged down to the Gallows’ dungeon. He was unconcsious but fully aware that his mana was sucked away the moment he entered the hall. He whimpered in Recruit Shannon’s arms as she carried his dead weight through the hall and his mana supply weakened down to nothing.

He let out a loud cry as she placed him down on his side on the lone cot in his cell. No blanket or pillow. Just a cot. Jowan was still seeing stars under the blindfold they hadn’t bothered to take off, but he swore he heard her say “Sorry you ended up here, lad. Good luck.”

Then he was alone. He drifted in and out of consciousness for a long time before the door opened again. Maybe it had been hours. Or days. He couldn’t tell. He was feverish for sure. His wounds weren’t healing and he couldn’t tend them himself even if he was able to cast spells -he was too weak. And afraid. And his hands were still bound anyway.

_________________________________________

Way above the Gallows’ courtyard where a metal stake was casting its ominous shadow waiting for its victim to arrive, another battle was being fought.

"I have questions, Orsino.” Meredith’s expression was more grim than the sight of the stake down below and her careful choice of words did nothing to conceal her irritation; however the determined stare from across her desk would not waver. “That maleficar who is responsible for almost killing Arl Eamon is being transfered here... and noone thought to inform me of this travesty?”

The First Enchanter kept his expression neutral as he replied, "I assume you mean apprentice Jowan." Meredith nodded impatiently, gesturing for him to continue. “If noone had informed you, Knight Commander, we wouldn’t be having this discussion right now. You did receive a letter concerning today’s transfer, did you not? It is on your desk this very moment.” The envelope with Knight Commander Gregoir’s signature was indeed laying on the desk half open like a smile that seemed to mock them both.

The Knight-Commander's eyebrows drew down, a sure sign she was displeased with the answer she received. “You do not need to state the obvious. This letter, Orsino, arrived only this morning. The maleficar is supposed to arrive in any minute, and I knew nothing of this.”

“Too bad. Gregoir should have sent a raven, then.” Orsino casually replied, with a shrug that irritated Meredith even further. “Apparently he does not share your overzealotry and thought there was no hurry in informing you. I still do not see how-”

“ORSINO!” The yell that cut the elven mage’s sentence was loud enough for the templars outside the office to hear. “It was not your decision to make!”

“It was not yours either. First Enchanter Irving and Knight Commander Gregoir had their hands tied when it came to the fate of the particular mage, until Senior Enchanter Uldred made the suggestion that he should be transfered here because the Templars are more vigilant in case he dabbles in blood magic again. I just happened to send a very persuasive letter in favor of Uldred’s suggestion, nothing more. The final decision belonged to the Ferelden Circle of Magi and the Arl Eamon, the injured parties of the mage’s endeavors and they were both in agreement to send him here instead of killing him. Jowan made his choice too.”

“And how did you know of this and I did not, until an hour ago?”

“I have no obligation to disclose the nature of my informants. As for you, you never asked so I never told you.” he replied smoothly. Meredith just huffed. This was proving to be a lost case, as it seemed there was nothing she could do to prevent the arrival of this maleficar. This accursed elf’s ability of fade-walking could be his informant for all she knew, but even if her suspicions were right, there was no way to push the First Enchanter into a confession, unless torture was involved. A Maker-destined pleasure for another time. The last thing I want is to make a martyr out of him.

“I just want to know how you persuaded Gregoir to agree to this.” she eventually said without bothering to conceal her murderous intent. “It must have been via blood magic.”

“Blood magic through a letter? Your underestimation of my diplomacy skills wounds me.” Orsino faigned a shocked and hurt expression.

“My fist will wound you more if you keep this up.” Meredith warned.

“He’s going to remain in the dungeons for six months, Meredith. Six months. It will take him at least one more month before he’s able to cast again, even if your templars -he uttered the word as if it were a curse- treatment of him is amiable. Speaking of which...” The moss green eyes darkened. “What are you going to do to him?”

“Seeing that I cannot kill him or send him back? I will make him regret he was even born.”

“I expected no less from you.” Orsino commented dryly. “I was hoping for a little more specific answer, though.”

“Why, you dislike the taste of your own medicine? I’m not-” Meredith scoffed.

“You are.” Orsino cut her off solemnly. “Bringing him here was out of your hands and you have every right to resent me for it. But when it comes to punishing my people, Chantry law gives me the right to ask and you the duty to answer.”

It took Meredith a while to reply, but when she did, her eyes were cold as steel.

“I will make sure he never thinks of doing blood magic again. They gave me six months with him in the dungeons. I will make the most out of it. Fourty lashes for starters. Then we’ll see.”

____________________________________________

~CRACK~

Orsino gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to turn away from his office window at the sound of the first whiplash coming from the courtyard below. Instead he steeled himself and gripped on the thick bars of his windows with white-knuckled resolve. It was one of them they were torturing; one of the very people he advocated for. It was his duty to watch and feel his pain as if it were his own.

He hadn’t lied to the Knight Commander, but in true Orsino fashion, he didn’t reveal the whole truth either. Neither he or Meredith had much say on the matter, and yes, this wasn’t the first mage that had been transfered to the Gallows due to bad conduct, but it was not the same. Meredith knew that; that was why she was furious. Being able to save a criminal like Jowan from death sentence was in itself something of a miracle, and even Orsino didn’t expect he’d be able to make it. It seemed Meredith had indeed underestimated his prowess in diplomacy; although having friends in high places and excellent knowledge of the Chantry Law didn’t hurt either.

Uldred, Jowan’s mentor in magic, was to be praised for this victory as much as he were. There was no doubt in Orsino’s mind that everything Jowan knew on blood magic had come from him; he had taught him many things on the matter as well; albeit years ago. The older man seemed to have a soft spot for the young apprentice, and was concerned about his safety even long before things went downhill. Orsino had promised him that if anything were to happen he’d look after the boy for him by taking him to the Gallows. Sure, he were the youngest first enchanter in the history of Thedas and the third elf to reach that position, but he already knew never to give his word lightly and always to keep it. If he wasn’t like that perhaps he’d be living a much easier life as a mage. Now, however, that Jowan’s pained cries reached the First Enchanter’s window, he was starting to doubt whether bringing him here was the best option.

I’ll make him regret even being born, that was what Meredith said. In that respect they were quite similar, for the Knight Commander was as good as her word too. With thirty years of Gallows experience under his belt, Orsino had no doubt that there was no shortage of Templars who would be more than glad to follow her orders on the matter... fenedhis; as if there weren’t enough incidents of abuse even without official authorization; some of which not even he was excempt. The templars were too afraid of him not to remind him constantly. Good. That meant he still had some power over them. It was now his job to prevent them from proving Meredith’s statement true. Jowan being whipped with nothing he could do about it was admittedly not the best start, but still, better whipped than dead, he forced himself to remember. We should take our small victories no matter where he find them.

Eventually it was over. The Templars untied the half dead by now mage and carried him to the dungeons. Orsino’s first instinct was to immediately follow, but he restrained himself. He needn’t see Jowan’s injuries to know how bad they were, and the mage would probably be half starved too. The elf first went to the kitchens and instructed the tranquil in charge to prepare a basket of food suitable for an ill mage, then to his chambers for a healer's kit and blankets. The basket of food was ready when he came back down, and so laden, he gave the tranquil the request to inform the spirit healer to meet him at the dungeons and headed into the dim lit stairway that led deep into the Gallows’ guts.

It was an intimidating walk, each archway guarded by seasoned templars, faceless in their helmets, glaring at him through the eye slits. At one point Orsino was forced to stand and wait while one of the guards went through his supplies and searched him. It was humiliating; the templar was rougher than he needed to be and seemed to enjoy the power he had over the First Enchanter. The worst part was, this was nothing unusual. He went through it every time one of his mages was shut away down here. "He's clean," the templar finally said, sounding almost disappointed. The elf was allowed to continue past. It was freezing cold in the dungeon, and the cells down here drained mana constantly, so casting was nearly impossible. Orsino wasn't sure if the Tevinters built it this way, or if it was something the Chantry added later. Either way, there was very little documentation. He supposed the Tevinter magisters must have built it though. If the Chantry had found a way to drain mana, every Circle would be built with nothing but.

Finally he was there, The templar accompanying him unlocked the cell and he pushed the iron door open, cringing at the creak the old hinges made. Jowan was huddled on the floor, torn robes pulled tight around her for warmth. His hands were still tied up as the First Enchanter noted, but the blindfold...? He cursed internally. That was utterly uncalled for. One more exhibition at the extra length some templars would go to cause more suffering to his people. This must have been Ser Karras’ handiwork... or perhaps Ser Alrik’s? At this point he was just glad he had Ser Thrask, Samson and Recruit Shannon on his side. At the sound of the door opening, the young mage crawled back, terrified. "Peace child. I've come to check on you," Orsino said softly, placing down the basket of food and medical supplies he was carrying and removing the offending blindfold from Jowan’s eyes. He nodded to the templar and he retreated, leaving them alone in the dungeon’s semi-darkness.

#orsino speaks #dungeons and dungeons #jowan #rp #submission

21 notes · View notes

halfblood-fiend · 5 years

Text

Every Single Star - Dragon Age: Origins, Cousland x Alistair

Written for Blu’s Discord Secret Santa, here is the first half of my gift for @mothmanaintshit. Thanks for your patience while I do it this way because it totally got away from me but I’m thinking that it’ll be super worth the wait because I am very proud of this whole thing! :D

So here’s my first coffee shop AND college AU, just for Axel with their Warden Cousland, Delilah, and the best ball of awkward, Alistair. <3

Words: 8,257 (big yikes)

Rating: General Audiences

Warning(s): light cursing

Read it on AO3

Ferelden’s capital, Denerim, seemed to always be awake and bustling, which was why the silver and blue light-up sign emblazoned with a griffon and announcing their space as The Grey Warden Coffee Roasters never turned off. Must’ve been a rule here, to appear to never need sleep. The line out the door most mornings implied this rule applied to people as well. They all crammed themselves into the cozy shop, certainly following the smell of brewing coffee more than the desire to bask in “the glory” of the fraying Warden memorabilia hanging on the dark walls. Duncan was proud of “his brand” though, so it stayed, no matter how many sneezing fits Alistair had from the dust.

The commuters rush and the first pinkish lights of dawn had just about died down in favor of a full grey sunrise before the next wave of morning-time ghouls lumbered their way into the café. Instead of the existential dread of a long, slow life in the office, these ones carried with them the crisp air of the first day of autumn. This rush was all new notebooks and shuffling papers and the strangely satisfying sound of polyester backpack straps being anxiously shifted on shoulders as folks rooted around in the bottom of them for Sovereigns.

Alistair and Duncan helped all these idiots get their mornings in some semblance of order before their first classes of the term at the University of Ferelden: Denerim, conveniently just down the street.

The glass doors banged open, the silver bell overhead ringing like mad, a sharp gust of biting wind swirling leaves across the floor. Alistair paused from frantically writing on a black insulated paper cup in a squeaky silver pen and saw her.

A small woman with blonde hair, a thick blue scarf the shade of denim and a cream-colored sweater stood there wrestling the door closed. Her scarf slipped from her flushed, wind-bitten cheeks as she yanked on the handle, the tousled top of her short-cropped hair whipping around her head. She panted and pushed, her pointed face straining until the door closed with a snap and she turned, murmuring a short apology to the onlooking line of patrons. Alistair hardly realized he was staring with a slacked jaw until the elf in front of him cleared their throat and asked how much for the Caramel Griffon Steamer in a voice that told him that this wasn’t the first time they’d asked.

“Sorry, I—? What size will that be?”

They looked at him doubtfully but replied, “Small. The Genlock. It’s literally the one in your hand you were just writing on.”

Alistair flushed hard and coughed. “Oh! Right!” As he pressed the buttons on the register, his gaze wandered towards the back of the line where the woman fell in with the rest, but now that the door had been righted and the wind calmed down, she’d disappeared into the jumble of people. He tamped down the strange disappointment that swelled in his chest as he took the elf’s money and dumped it into the register’s drawer.

The line moved steadily enough, but impatience started coloring his voice with each new customer that wasn’t the Door-Wrestling-Woman. Every once in a while, he would catch a glimpse of her. A cream-sweater-clad elbow, a flash of that scarf or the peeking toe of her shoes. She wore tan boots with a flat heel, skinny jeans neatly tucked into the knitted tops. Alistair amused himself by deciding that meant she was practical, maybe even economical, as though he was some sort of detective from a bad mystery novel. He knew that in reality, those random details meant very little, but it just felt so important to know something—anything—about her. And why that was, was beyond him.

He was internally interpreting the symbolic meaning of wearing a denim-colored scarf and blue denim jeans at the same time when the next person in line stepped forward and made him do a double take.

He had to be the nastiest, most sour-looking man Alistair had ever seen—and he had seen so many people in his time working here. He recalled to his mind every negative interaction to date; every upset PTA parent complaining about the consistency of their latte’s foam and every harried businessman with neckties so tight their purple faces looked like they would pop clean off after Alistair told them they were out of pumpkin spice syrup. He put them all together as one person and this man still managed to look nastier. Something about his long black hair or his piercing blue eyes or the vicious glower that settled just beneath his stern features made Alistair’s guts wilt and curl into themselves like paper in a fire. He looked to be the physical manifestation of every bad thing that ever happened in Alistair’s life thus far, and when his thin lips attempted a brief but grim mockery of a smile, Alistair gripped the counter behind the register to keep from jumping backwards.

Thank the Maker that the expression slid from the man’s face almost as soon as it appeared, as though it pained him to make the muscles in his mouth do that for even an instant.

Alistair adopted the most chipper tone he could manage in light of his desire to dart into the back room away from this man. “Er-Hello, ser. What can I- erm- get started for you today?”

The man’s eyes flicked upwards to the menu as though he hadn’t just spent the last 20 or so minutes waiting with nothing else to do but read the carefully written chalk letters. He frowned. “Do you have just plain coffee in this Maker-damned place?”

Movement from behind him caught Alistair’s eye and the flash of blonde hair and cream sweater grabbed his attention. The Door-Wrestling-Woman’s head snapped up from her phone at the man’s gruff voice and recognition sparked in her eyes. Then horror. She turned away from him in order to pull her green canvas messenger bag in front of her, hold the flap up between their line of sight and begin rummaging around in the bottom of it. Alistair’s brows furrowed at her. The man started to turn to look when Alistair realized that was probably the last thing she wanted and cleared his throat to get his attention back.

“Uhm, yes. We have several signature blends and I’d be happy to recommend some to you. Wha-what are you looking for to satisfy that palate of yours, hmm? Any favorite tastes or flaaaa-vors I should know about?”

Scowling, the man replied, “No. I just need the caffeine and this silly little place happened to be on the way to the university.”

“Ah, so, on your way to school, I see—”

“No small talk. I’m not interested.”

“Oooohkay,” Alistair’s mouth snapped shut. The Door-Wrestling-Woman lowered the flap of her bag a few inches and his eyes found hers. He was delighted to note the scrunched-up touch of amusement in the corners of her eyes.

When the man spoke, she disappeared behind the bag again. “Give me whichever one has the most caffeine and be done with it.”

“Ah. That’d be our Darkspawn Roast! Excellent blend, ser, you are truly a man of impeccable taste. I guarantee you will find it absolutely de-blight-ful and sure to make your eyes wide as a—” The deep scowl was enough to make Alistair abandon all hope of making the Door-Wrestling-Woman laugh and he cleared his throat instead. “Er- what size?”

“Large.”

“Oh, er, sorry about that,” Alistair began. He really didn’t want to have to break any sort of bad news to this man, but at this point he was contractually obligated to. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last thing he did with his short life. “I aaactually can’t do that. See, there is too much caffeine in the Darkspawn Blend and it is actually quite illegal for me to sell that much to you. I’m afraid I can only give it to you in a Hurlock size, not an Ogre.”

The man did indeed appear as agitated as Alistair worried he would, the curl of a sneer appearing at the corners of his mouth. “Illegal?”

“Mmm, yes. Illegal.”

“Why?”

“Caffeine is a drug, technically, as I am sure you are aware, ser. You’re only supposed to have so much a day. We could be shut down if I sell you Darkspawn Blend in an Ogre because it would be too much caffeine.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Ah, yes, well, still a no, ser, I’m afraid. I…I’m sorry. I can still give you the Hurlock size…?” His hand edged for the middle-sized insulated cup and Alistair almost wished that he could just sell him the big one and be done, if for no other reason than to get this man away from him. But Duncan was always watching, even as he busied himself making drinks as Alistair took orders. The last time Alistair had sold an Ogre-sized Darkspawn Blend to someone, Duncan had refused to sell Alistair any of his favorite Mabari Cake Pops for a month.

Frowning, the man squinted up at the menu and then asked, “I can add espresso shots to any drink, can’t I?”

Alistair gulped. Ah, the Shrieks. Not the Shrieks and the Darkspawn Blend? At his age, this man would have a heart attack before he left the parking lot. “…yes?”

“Is there a limit to them? Because of that silly caffeine thing?”

“Yes. Five.”

“And I can add them to this drink, too, if I wanted?”

Alistair’s eyes widened and darted to the left where Duncan was busy at the steamer and shaking up other drinks in the line. He really should ask, he thought to himself, though he knew the answer was, technically, ‘yes.’ Sod it, if the man died, he died and it was his own fault, wasn’t it? Alistair had warned him. “Yes,” he said finally, and the man nodded.

“Good. Then give me that blasted medium size and put five shots in it.”

With a shaking hand, Alistair wrote what he was told and repeated the order back while in a vague state of shock. “Darkspawn Blend, Hurlock, five…Shrieks… Uh. Room for cream?”

“No. And no sugar, either. Black, if you please.”

Alistair nodded, but didn’t understand as he wrote the last bit of order. “Name?”

“Loghain.”

Alistair proceeded to make the most terrifying coffee order he’d ever taken in his life. He couldn’t help but hold his breath when he handed over the drink that probably tasted just like the Blight itself and Loghain walked out of the café. Please don’t die in our parking lot, he thought, I’d have to clean it up. As the door closed behind this Loghain man, he breathed out an audible sigh of relief.

“Awful, isn’t he?”

Blinking a little to clear the haze of horror that had settled over him, Alistair realized with a start that the Door-Wrestling-Woman was now standing right in front of him, unobstructed by either customers nor her own messenger bag.

When faced with her up close, whether she was economical or practical or whatever fanciful things he had made up about her before this moment, he realized only one thing was abundantly obvious: that she was breathtakingly beautiful.

She beamed at him, in all her tiny glory, the wool scarf around her neck the same light blue of her eyes, making them pop and dance. Her hair reflected the light with golden strands. Her slim jaw accentuated the pink feminine curve of her mouth. Her brows, somewhat raised with amusement, furrowed the purple tattoo around her left eye. His greedy gaze took in as much of her as he could, and for the first time in what Duncan might have called ‘forever’, Alistair was stunned into silence.

She misinterpreted that silence, her smile slipping slightly and added, “Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything. He’s like that with everyone.”

Duncan crossed behind him and placed a carrying tray of drinks on the pic-up counter. “Tabris!” he shouted into the room in his deep voice.

And with that, the spell was broken, and Alistair shook himself slightly and returned an uncertain smile. “Oh. You…you know him, do you?”

“Sadly. He’s my Modern Military History professor,” she said with a grimace.

Wrinkling his nose, Alistair echoed, “Modern Milita—what kind of a class is that? What would it even be for? It sounds horribly boring!”

He gulped as the woman’s face hardened at his words. “It’s actually quite fascinating,” she replied cooly, “It’s a part of the Military Series for a Political Science degree.”

Alistair saw his opportunity to fix this interaction with humor and he took it. “Riiight. Political Science. That’s every child’s dream, isn’t it? To grow up and be a corrupt politician. Is there anything better in the world?”

To his horror, she didn’t crack a smile.

“It was my childhood dream to be a politician. Like my parents are now.”

Oh. Well…shit.

“Mmmm,” Alistair hummed and picked up his silver pen to fidget with it. “And, on that note, what can I get for you today? I hear the foot-in-mouth breakfast sandwich is very good this morning. I can make it as an Alistair-special. As you can see, I’m really good at putting them together.”

Blessedly, she did laugh this time and shook her head. The tension in his stomach disappeared immediately and Alistair secretly decided there wasn’t a better sound in the world.

“I mean, you’re kinda right. It’s not a normal thing to want, and you didn’t know…and Professor Mac Tir is the worst…”

“It is quite unfortunate that you have him as your teacher, yes. You have my condolences for that.”

She smiled up at him again and said, “Thanks. He’s brilliant though, even if he is mean.”

Duncan appeared at the register beside them and typed on the keys quickly to log in. He threw a look at Alistair as he called the next customer in line forward that told him that he was bristling not just because he was beardy. You’re supposed to take their orders, Alistair, not chit-chat with them, he practically heard his friend say in his mind. But Alistair pretended not to notice.

She continued, “He just recently published a paper, you know.”

“Oh?”

“And also made it required reading for the class.”

“Oh. So, a total douche, then?”

“A bit. It’s called Philosophical and Theoretical Perspectives on Wartime Justice: The Question of War and Ethics. In case…I dunno, you ever wanna look it up for yourself. It’s good, I’ll admit, but I’ve been staring at it for the last couple of hours because I forgot it was due before our first class. And honestly, I’m getting so sick of thinking about it, so how about some coffee?”

“Coffee! Yes. I do have that, if you would like to buy some!”

Giggling, her eyes briefly roved up to the menu and Alistair took the moment to be relieved that he had successfully navigated out of the hole he’d dug himself into. Good job, Alistair.

“Oh man… there’s a lot of drinks… What would you recommend?”

Wide blue eyes blinked at him, waiting, and he struggled not to get lost in them so he could answer. “Me? I would recommend…hm. The Calling Latte and the Conscrip-uccino are both popular and they’re pretty good. But my personal favorite is probably the Brewed Mother. It’s a pour-over blend of several of our roasts so it’s got all the taste of coffee but is also very sweet and thick and foamy because we use druffalo milk instead of a cow’s.”

“Sure. I’ll try that then!”

“Excellent choice!” Alistair said, double underlining and starring either side of ‘Brewed Mother’ on the cup. “And if you don’t like it, I can give you your money back!” Duncan threw him a dirty look.

But she laughed. “I doubt that’ll be necessary.”

Alistair grabbed the size she wanted (Hurlock), took down her name (Delilah—has there ever been a more beautiful name in all of ever??) and sent her on her way. Once she moved on, Duncan signed off of his register and elbowed him gently in the ribs.

“We’re too busy to make fools of ourselves in front of pretty girls right now. How about staying on task, hmm?”

Alistair rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he assented to the warm and firm grip of Duncan’s hand on his shoulder. He should have known there would have been no hiding anything from Duncan, even busy as they were right now. Knowing the old man, he probably heard everything, too, and was going to grill him about it as soon as the rush died down. Yet even replaying the embarrassing things he just said to Delilah couldn’t dim the warm glow of happiness that breathed life into his chest and spread all the way to his toes with each fluttering beat of his heart.

His gaze kept flickering to her as he took more orders, but her own was glued to her phone. Each time he looked, she would be squinting at the screen or typing furiously with flying thumbs.

That was just as well, probably. A little voice inside urged him to ask her for her number, but how weird would that be? Hey, I know that I just met you and I insulted your life’s goals but I’d love to keep doing so over texts if you give me your number. Worrying his lip between his teeth, Alistair told himself that would never fly. Rom-Com romances didn’t happen in real life in busy coffee shops near universities. Total strangers didn’t have instant connections, no matter how much he believed it to be true. The only connection Delilah had to him was that she was about to drink his favorite coffee, and once it was gone, that was it. No more Alistair the Grey Roaster in her life.

But he wanted so badly to ask her anyway.

So maybe he just should.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair saw Duncan fit a Hurlock-sized cup with a lid, and as he spun it to make sure the lid was fully closed, Alistair spied the silver stars peeking over the cup sleeve. As he turned to take Delilah’s cup to the counter, Alistair wheeled away from the register and plucked it from Duncan’s hand.

“Hey—”

“Switch you!” And without waiting for a response, Alistair marched her cup to the counter and called Delilah’s name.

She looked up and when she saw him, she beamed. And when she beamed at him, a strange shiver of delight rippled through his body and made him grin in return. Like the most wonderful domino effect.

“Your coffee, Future Arl of Denerim.”

Delilah giggled as she took the offered cup. “I’d have my work cut out for me if I pursued that. I’ve got my eyes on a smaller but no less noble prize. Highever will do just fine for me. Though it’ll take just as much work to get there.” She took a sip from her cup and her eyes lit up. “Ooh, this is good! Thanks for the rec. Gotta get to class now. Wish me luck!”

“Me luck,” Alistair said, somewhat breathlessly, earning him a final smile over her shoulder before Delilah disappeared out the door.

As he watched it close behind her, he realized he hadn’t asked for her number after all.

“Alistair! Register!”

Good luck out there, Delilah, he thought, a soft regret constricting his throat. He rapped the counter with his knuckles then returned to the morning mayhem.

Alistair had been wrong. Duncan wasn’t going to tease him later that day. And not that night or the next day or the next. He was beginning to think he was in the clear and Duncan would be cool and never mention Delilah at all… until after the morning rush on Thursday.

Duncan leaned against the counter with the steamer machine and mopped his brow with a handkerchief he produced from the pocket of his grey and blue apron. A few people still milled about at the array of black tables with their headphones on, but at least there was no more line of people and no more orders to fill. It was enough time for them to breathe, for certain, but not enough to relax if the teetering pile of coffee-stained shakers, glass blender jars and measuring cups in the shining metal sink had anything to say about it.

“So,” Duncan began in his baritone, causing Alistair to freeze with his hand inside the baked treats display.

“Soooo….?”

Duncan’s dark eyes bored into his and twinkled with mischief. “Still no sign of the Cousland girl, eh?”

“What?” Alistair’s back snapped straight so quickly that he forgot the sliding glass door he was holding onto and it closed on his wrist. “Ouch!”

Duncan chortled to himself and switched out his handkerchief for a dish towel. He picked up the first dirty serving glass with worn, careful fingers and got to washing. “Why don’t you pick up your jaw and make yourself useful, Alistair. Wipe down the machines while we still can.”

“How…How did you find out her last name?” Alistair asked him. He bent to pick out a clean microfiber towel and Duncan’s favorite all-natural cleaner from a lower cabinet. “And how did you know I was looking for her? I wasn’t, by the way!”

His friend smiled and Alistair heard the low rumble of quiet laughter over the spritz of his spray bottle. Just like Duncan to decide not to answer. But after some washing, he said, “It was easy enough. Her name was Delilah; she said she was a political science major and has wanted to be a politician all her life, like her family is. And she mentioned she wanted to be Arl of Highever. One internet search was all it took to find Delilah Cousland, only daughter of the current Arl of Highever. Even filled in my search bar for me.”

“You searched for a customer?” Alistair gasped, offended for her. Duncan did some socially questionable things sometimes (like take a penniless orphan in and give him a job and a place to stay, for one) but this was low, even for him. “I just can’t believe you would do such a heinous thing. I don’t think I can even look at you!” Alistair moved on to spray the cappuccino machine and made a mental note to search for ‘Delilah Cousland’ on his own computer later. He knew just enough about the current state of the Houses of Nobles, Arls and Teryns to know the Couslands were somebody, but he couldn’t quite recall what they had been known for.

“Oh, good morning, Delilah, welcome back,” Duncan rumbled.

Alistair spun around towards the register and dropped the spray bottle, his hand flying to his hair instead—

—but there was no one there.

The room shook with Duncan’s great, booming laughter.

“Oh, har har, Old Man,” Alistair scolded, flushing as he snatched up his spray bottle from the floor. “What a wonderfully cruel trick to play on your poor employee. Feel good now, do you?”

“Absolutely,” he chuckled, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “You were looking for her then. You’ve been sullen and sulking after every morning rush for the last couple of days.”

“No,” Alistair insisted. No way was he letting Duncan get the best of him. Not again. “I do not ‘sulk.’ And I’m not looking for her. I don’t even remember what her name is anymore.”

“Oh, so, I can unbookmark her MyPhylactery page and not tell you her current relationship status.”

“Wait, wait, wait! You found her MyPhylactery page?”

Duncan gave him a satisfied side eye, his bushy black beard betraying the wide toothy smile beneath and nodded.

“And…it wasn’t set to private?”

He shook his head. “It was. I invited her to Bond to our company page.”

“But our company page is just your Phylactery!”

He nodded.

“So now you can see all her information!”

Duncan’s eyes twinkled.

“That was a skeevy thing you did, you know.”

“So, you don’t want to see her Phylactery?” Duncan asked again even though it was clear he already knew the answer. Alistair cursed himself for being so blighted easy to read.

“No, no. I’ll look. But I won’t be happy about it, and I will deny any involvement if she ever finds out. I’ll throw you under the cart-wheels in an instant, Old Man, mark my words.”

His threat was only met with snickers.

Alistair didn’t have to wait long at all before he saw Delilah again. After all the waiting and all the eager searching of faces each morning, he figured it was just his luck that she would reappear now, at the end of his break. The break that he had just spent pouring over the link to MyPhylactery that Duncan had sent him and scrolling over every picture and every life update she had posted in the last five years.

As soon as he saw her wander in, he blushed. He shouldn’t be blushing. It…It was perfectly normal to look someone up after you’d met them! Even though…she’d never actually given him her last name. Nor had she really consented to letting Duncan see her private profile. Because how was she supposed to know that he was bad with tech like some strange youngish-Old Person and didn’t even know how to make a business account on MyPhylactery? Alistair felt that he really shouldn’t know that she had broken up with her boyfriend of four years before moving to Denerim to go to school, and that he was still commenting on every single post that she made. Clearly, he couldn’t let her go. It had to be annoying for her. But Alistair shouldn’t have known that, it was weird.

So he blushed scarlet when Delilah waved at him, and his stomach twisted in guilty knots when she bounced forward to order at the counter. Her bright smile, while still dazzling, didn’t quite melt the ice pounding in his veins. He was sure she could read the guilt in his eyes.

“You okay?” she asked, shifting her bag’s strap from her right shoulder to her left. Her head tilted quizzically. There was genuine worry in her eyes. Alistair might’ve felt touched if he wasn’t too busy feeling ashamed. “You look flushed. Are you sick?”

Alistair tried to speak, failed, cleared his throat and tried again. “’S’just warm back here…is all.”

Every impulse in him screamed to tell her, but what would that even do? It wasn’t a big deal! Was it? If anything, he would look like more of a stalker if he just announced to her that he’d looked her up and found out that her brother, Fergus Cousland, had gotten hired to work as a campaign manager for the incumbent Arl of Amaranthine Rendon Howe, and was slated to become the next Arl once Howe gained the Teyrnship, and then she, Delilah, was promised an internship on the committee (which she was very, very excited and grateful for, a sentiment that earned her 106 likes from all her various Phylactery Bonds).

Oh, Maker, no, he should tell her. He should fess up and beg forgiveness before he accidentally let on that he knows more than he should and loses the possibility of a friendship with this beautiful, wonderful, intelligent—

“Did you hear me?”

He started. “Sorry. What was that?”

Delilah smiled and shook her head at him. “Are you sure you’re not sick? You should go and sit down because you seem really out of it.”

“I’m okay, really,” he replied shakily, lifting a hand to rub out a kink that started forming in the back of his neck from the stress of his own personal disaster.

“Well, if you’re sure… I said that I really liked what you recommended to me last time. So I think I’ll just have another Brewed Mother. But I’ll take it in an Ogre this time.” She patted her bag and sighed, “I’ve got a lotta work to do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Alistair asked somewhat automatically, picking up the large cup and scribbling away. He wrote her name without asking for it and added a star at the end.

Tell her, you idiot. Say something!

“I should—”

“I also said—”

They both spoke at the same time, then they both paused to chuckle awkwardly.

“You can—”

“What were you—”

They shared more uncomfortable titters and Alistair stared at the register keys, willing them to spell out what to do next or to come to life and attack him, or anything really to abate his discomfort. Sweet Maker…

“I-I was just going to say that I had also asked—before, I mean—well, that I didn’t get to catch your name last time. Is all.” Delilah fiddled with the grey and tawny feathers taped to the tip jar. Duncan swore they were real griffon feathers and would encourage people to be more generous with their tips. Alistair was sure they were eagle feathers, which didn’t seem to inspire anyone to give more silvers than they usually would.

Strange thing to ask for, his name, Alistair thought as he glanced down at his apron to double check that his blue nametag was indeed still attached to his chest. It’s right there, after all. But before his brain decided if he should point his badge out to her or not, his mouth was moving, and his name was falling out of it. His whole name.

“It’s Alistair Theirin,” he said, the sounds coming out like a rush of water with no hope of damming it up. His mouth clamped shut so hard that his teeth snapped together and rattled his brain, but he knew the damage was done. Delilah’s face had whipped back up to his and she searched his soul as though she could confirm he was telling the truth if she stared hard enough.

“Theirin?” she echoed in astonishment. “Like the Theirin? Like King Cailan and Maric and—”

Alistair leaned over the register and shushed her more violently than he intended, eyes frantically darting around the coffee house. The only patron now was one dwarf in the corner, and he had on a headset nearly as big as his whole head.

Delilah lowered her voice, but her eyes were still wide. “I-I can’t believe… A Theirin? But then, why are you here?”

Grimacing, Alistair replied, “It’s a long story… One I’d really rather not talk about it, to be honest.”

He expected her to press—the handful of people he’d told over the course of his life often did—but, to her credit, she only nodded. “I’m a Cousland so…so I get it. Kinda. In a not-as-big way, of course, but, yeah… There’s just a lot of expectations to be something, am I right?”

“Right.” Not that you knew the half of it, Alistair thought darkly. Not that being the daughter of a prestigious man repeatedly voted into the House of Arls was really anything when compared to being the bastard son of the late King. But sure. Sure, Delilah “gets it.”

He supposed that he should be grateful. Since she now knew his best kept secret, he felt exactly zero amounts of guilt for knowing what she ate for dinner three nights ago (Antivan Spicy Noodles that looked delicious, 38 likes). No need to fess up about stalking her now. There was no doubt in his mind that she would go home and scour the internet for him now.

“An Ogre-sized Brewed Mother will be five silvers and eleven bits, by the way,” he mumbled.

“Oh! Yeah.”

By the time the coins clinked into the till, Alistair regretted being short and the bitter things he had thought about her. Delilah wandered away more towards the pick-up counter, her phone in her hand, but Alistair found himself speaking anyways.

“It’s not really so bad. The whole…you know, thing. My parents, or whatever.” He rambled while he made her drink and didn’t bother looking up to check if she was even listening. Alistair decided he didn’t really want to know. “I kinda stopped paying attention to it, really. Some people have cared a lot about my parentage, but none of them were my, you know, actual parents, so, what’s the point? I try not to let it bother me.” Why was he saying this to someone he’d only met once before? Just because he was guilty about stalking her social media? Or because there was a slight chance that he could finally get these things that nagged him in the dead of night off his chest? “I figure if they don’t care about me, I shouldn’t care about them. I’m happy to just be…me, you know? I’m just Alistair. That idiot Grey Roaster who talks too much and… aaaaand spills secrets to total strangers. That’s who I am. That’s what I’m here for. Saving the world one Brewed Mother at a time.” He snapped the plastic lid on over the lip of the cup and tried to pick it up by the top to make sure it was on properly. When he was sure, he spun around to slide her drink over the counter and found himself face to face with Delilah.

She had been listening, and if he didn’t know any better, she looked…sad. Not pitying, not disdainful, not any of the kinds of emotions he had come to expect from people when they learned of his very own Tragic Backstory, just…a little moved. A little mournful. Her cool fingers brushed against his own as she took the coffee from him without breaking their locked gaze.

“I understand,” Delilah murmured after a moment. “And… and I’m happy that you’re you too, Alistair.”

He blinked. His mind wiped blank. He had no idea what to say to that. She was…happy for him? No one had ever been happy that he had abandoned his old life before. Even Duncan tried to push him to do something more with himself every now and again. Delilah’s support, even if she didn’t know it, meant more than any words he could think of to describe it. So, he didn’t say anything.

After what felt like several Ages smushed together all at once, Delilah bit her lip and turned away. He watched her disappear out the door again in stunned silence.

She started coming in a lot more often after that. So often, in fact, that Alistair was starting to piece together her schedule. Totally on accident of course, because he had refused to look at her MyPhylactery again until she wanted to send him a Bond. If she ever even wanted to. If they even got to that point.

Delilah came in most Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings, and some Thursday afternoons. She greeted him each time with a “Hey, Just-Alistair!”, chatted amicably until her drink was ready, and then she was off to class. She tried a few different things off the menu, but more often than not, she ordered a Brewed Mother; a fact that made a tiny flame of happiness light up in Alistair every time. She never mentioned his heritage again.

On a dull autumn Thursday when the grey clouds that always hung low over Ferelden seemed particularly thick and heavy, the bell over the door tinkled and Alistair looked up from his sweeping to find Delilah easing her way in with an armful of large books with faded leather covers.

“Do you need help?” Alistair asked, moving to lean his broom against the counter but Delilah answered faster.

“Nope! I’m good!” She lugged them to a table near the register and dropped them rather unceremoniously with a loud bang that echoed off the glass windows. “Oops, sorry.” She glanced around apologetically and when she realized there was no one else in the shop, she shrugged.

Alistair shook his head and laughed at her. She must have been much stronger than her height let on, he realized. He respected a woman that could bench press her weight in books. “The usual?” he asked, already reaching for a Hurlock cup and writing her name on it with a flourish. And a star. Always a star.

She appeared to consider for a second as she divided up her books into piles over the entire surface of the table and then answered, “Yes. Get me that Brewed Mother. I have a midterm paper to write!”

“Midterms?” Alistair asked in shock. He did the math quickly in his head. There was no way it was that far along in the semester already. “Isn’t it still too early for that?”

“It is,” she agreed, pulling her laptop case and several notebooks from her bag. “Dr. Mac Tir is notoriously picky about papers. He’s got a strict grading scale so he hands out prompts in the first week so that we can start our papers as soon as possible. He’s already given us our final too! Can you believe that??”

Shrugging, Alistair filled her cup with milk from the carton marked ‘druffalo’, set it back in the mini fridge and kicked the door closed. Even only meeting the dreaded Loghain once, Delilah’s story checked out in his mind. “Wish I could say no, but just that five-minute conversation I had with him took 10 years off my life.”

Delilah sniggered as he moved on to the steamer. “You sure all the coffee you drink while working here isn’t what’s responsible for that?”

Alistair allowed himself a smile for a brief moment before swallowing it and turning around to find the plastic lids. He worked hard to keep his face neutral and controlled. “Oh, I don’t like coffee.”

As predicted, Delilah was taken aback, her blue eyes bugging a little. Alistair bit his tongue to keep from laughing. “You…work at a coffee house. At The Grey Warden Coffee Roasters! It’s only the most famous international chain of cafés!”

Alistair let his own eyes go wide and pretended to be just as shocked. If he didn’t have to clean the mess up himself, he might have dropped her coffee. For comedic effect, of course. “What? I do??”

Her eyes narrowed at him and he suspected she was catching on, but Duncan appeared from the back room carrying a large box and spoke before either of them could.

“You won’t for long, Alistair, if you don’t charge her and help the other customers in line,” he growled as he passed by.

“Yes’ser, Café Commander Duncan, ser!”

His friend rolled his eyes and pulled a box cutter from his apron instead of replying.

Dancing back towards the register, Alistair checked that the lid was tight and handed it over. His heart skipped a beat when her fingers grazed his. He grinned. “One Brewed Mother for one brood…y…mother, you know, that made a lot more sense in my head until I said it.”

Delilah held out her handful of coins in her palm, but he waved her away.

“Eh, don’t worry about it. What’s one on the house for my favorite customer?” he told her with a wide dreamy smile, leaning on the counter to cup his chin in his hand.

“Alistair…”

“Did I ever mention to you how astute Duncan’s hearing is? I think it’s something to do with being Riviani. You know, on second thought, I will take those silvers, if it’s all the same to you…”

Handing them over and laughing, Delilah shook her head at him and warned, “Keep going on like this and you’ll get fired. Then what will you do?”

“Pft! Me? Fired?” Alistair shook his head and shot her what he hoped was a cocky grin. “Nah, Duncan needs me. I don’t think he’d know how to run the shop by himself, at this point. He makes me do all the work, you know.”

Duncan kicked at Alistair’s heels as he walked back to the store room with the empty box.

All customers taken care of, Alistair was free to bother his favorite patron, still bent as she was over her books, occasionally pausing to type something on her laptop. He grabbed the broom and unlatched the hook holding the counter between the registers in place in order to pretend to sweep around Delilah’s table.

“You solve that great mystery of wartime ethics yet?”

Delilah barked a short laugh and leaned back in her chair to look up at him. She put her arms over her head and stretched. Alistair realized too late that it gave him a clear angle down her shirt. Blushing, he averted his eyes and worked very intently on an invisible speck of dust on the floor that refused to be swept up. “No, have you?” he heard her reply.

“Oh, er, that old thing? Yeah. I solved that ages ago. I’m on to the secret of eternal youth now.”

When she laughed and her eyes met his, Alistair all but melted. He blushed again, but this time for a different reason. For a somersaulting stomach filled with butterflies sort of reason.

“Great! So you don’t mind writing my midterm paper for me, right?”

“Well, isn’t that plagiarism, dear Delilah?”

She shrugged and replied seriously, “At this point? Not if anybody knew about it.”

Alistair chewed his lip. He saw his moment, plain as day right there in front of him. I would think about writing that paper for you if you gave me your number. No, no. That came off too predatory. Maybe we can work out the details of the midterm exchange over dinner? No, too serious. Damn. The opportunity was there, he could sense it, but for the life of him, his brain wouldn’t make that last connection towards the perfect way to ask. And if he dawdled too long, the knowledge that he’d lose his chance looked over him like a dark cloud.

Sod it, man, speak.

“I-uhmmm.”

Light blue eyes turned up to his and Alistair lost track of what he was doing. He had a vague thought that maybe he would faint.

“I-I-I could, er, write it for you. Er, try to. Aaaaand we-we could, um. We could, um…”

Delilah waited patiently, expectantly, her face open. A small smile settled on her lips, and Alistair willed himself not to glance at them. Don’t you dare imagine kissing them. Don’t think about how soft they would be or how pleasant of a thing kissing Delilah would be. Don’t… no, don’t think about it.

You thought about it.

Alistair tried to clear his throat and made an awful noise that sounded more like a bleating ram than anything human. Delilah politely pretended not to notice.

“W-we could- er, I could bring it to you if we were somewhere else. If we met somewhere else, I mean. Like for coffee, or…”

Sweet Maker, you absolute dunce, why coffee, of all things—you work in a coffee shop, for crying out loud!

A touch of color began rising in her cheeks. “You mean… you would write my paper for me if we went on a date?”

Alistair started to nod but then her words washed over him. “N-no! I mean, the paper was…more of an excuse, really, I-I don’t—”

“Oh, so… just a date then?”

Alistair’s knees buckled and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he nodded.

The smile spread across her face and her eyes lit up and danced the same way they had when she had first tried his favorite drink. These were good signs, weren’t they? No one glowed like that and then shot a man down. Not that he’d had enough experience to know but… but, Maker, he hoped. What he did know was that someone like him didn’t deserve to bask in her radiating warmth. Alistair drunk from her anyway, letting all the lovely facets of her fill him and make him light. Her kindness, the way she laughed, the brightness of her, it was everything to him. And fumbling and awkward as he was, Delilah was going to say ‘yes’ to him. They were going to make plans and go on a date and maybe she was going to choose to be with him. Him, of all people. Just-Alistair and Delilah Cousland.

The door to the café banged open and both Alistair and Delilah leapt out of their skins. Her wide eyes fixed on the door before he could turn and she uttered a quick squeak of alarm, scrambling to get back to work on her laptop. Alistair’s brain was sluggish in making connections, but the voice that spoke nailed him to the floor.

“Ah. If it isn’t the youngest Cousland,” Loghain drawled, his footsteps drawing nearer to the table. Like flipping a switch, Alistair’s mood changed as ice shot through his veins. If he didn’t know any better, he would say the temperature in the shop just dropped several degrees, even after the door closed to the chilly outside.

He didn’t want to turn and face the last person he wanted to see during a conversation he’d been working up to for weeks, so Alistair closed his eyes and shouted every curse in every language he knew in his head.

Loghain swooped in on Delilah like a hawk on its prey, his shrewd eyes roving over the books on the table. Even his head turned like a bird’s to better read each gilded title. “I take it you’re in need of subpar coffee in order to finalize your midterm paper. I needn’t remind you that you have little over two weeks to turn it in.”

Scoffing, Alistair echoed, “Subpar coffee?” as though he’d never been privy to a more grievous insult to his person before.

The other man looked up at him as though noticing Alistair’s existence for the first time. “Don’t you have something else you should be doing besides eavesdropping, boy? Sweeping, perhaps. Or, better yet, making my coffee. Same as last time: darkest roast with as many espresso shots as you can give me, black, no sugar.”

There wasn’t really anything else for it. Alistair knocked the bristles of the broom against his boots for a second, debating saying something else, but Loghain wasn’t paying him any mind anymore. He’d make Loghain’s coffee. And if Duncan wasn’t looking, maybe he’d spit in it too. Wouldn’t that be nice?

As he stalked away, Alistair heard Delilah stammer a response he couldn’t understand over his heartbeat in his ears, but he did catch Loghain’s reply.

The dark-haired man grunted. “I hope so. If it’s anything like your brother’s papers, I highly doubt it shall be anywhere near “ready to go” without more serious work. But given your source material, I’m willing to be open to the possibility of being surprised. We shall see.”

“Ser,” Alistair barked, drawing Loghain’s raptor gaze from Delilah. “Six silvers and fourty-eight bits. For your subpar coffee.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up and Loghain reached into his pocket to pull out the coins. He crossed to the register. “So, you’re always mouthy, I see—” his eyes flicked to the nametag and then back to his face, “—Alistair. You really shouldn’t speak to your clientele that way. It discourages them from returning.”

Alistair’s face hardened. He didn’t know what it was but something about this man made his whole body shake with anger. He hadn’t felt this much hatred since he was dumped at the doorstep of a Chantry boarding school by a family that didn’t want him. He was aware his voice would shake if he wasn’t careful, and Alistair wanted to be sure nothing was open to Loghain’s interpretation. Whether Duncan would approve or not, Alistair decided right then and there that this man was unwelcome in his store. “That is the idea. The only clientele I want, are the ones who appreciate my work. If you think it’s so subpar, I suggest you don’t come back. Ser.”

“I might just heed your suggestion. But then…perhaps this swill will grow on me, and I’ll come by more often.”

“Pray it doesn’t. The doors are locked, as far as you’re concerned.”

Loghain gave Alistair something impossibly close to a wry smile and handed over his coins. With one hand, Alistair dumped them into the till without counting and with the other he passed Loghain his disgusting coffee.

“Good lad,” Loghain said softly. His eyes bored into Alistair’s, but Alistair refused to look away. He didn’t even dare blink. He believed with all his soul that blinking would mean weakness. “You remind me of someone I used to know. From a long time ago.” He smirked and raised the cup to his lips. Alistair watched the steam curl from the small opening in his peripherals. He knew good and well that was fresh coffee from the pot and he had dumped it into Loghain’s cup scalding, but the man drank it anyway. A long drag of it. “Wonder why that could be,” he murmured.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

With a little shrug, Loghain turned away and Alistair all but sagged onto the counter.

“Good day, Delilah, and good luck,” Loghain said to her as he passed her table and headed out the door.

Merry Christmas, Axel!! ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ヽ(´ ▽ ` )ﾉ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

I’ll have part 2 ASAP!!!

#Dragon Age: Origins #DAO #Alistair Theirin #Warden Cousland #Coffee Shop!AU #College!AU #Secret Santa #Fiend writes

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99nzheorphanedacc · 5 years

Text

Trolling Su

Rating: K+ Words: 2455 Description: Korra keeps her promise to Baatar and Izumi teaches Suyin a much needed lesson.

For Lin and Tenzin, the airship ride to the Fire Nation was unbearably awkward. It felt like they were parents having to bail their child out of prison. Korra had sneaked into the Fire Nation with Baatar Jr. in tow. It was all because of a promise she made to keep the two separated if Baatar failed to talk Kuvira out of surrendering to Republic City during the Invasion of the United Republic only a few days prior. In a last effort to save her son from being tried for aiding the Great Uniter in her war crimes, the Matriarch of Zaofu even sponsored the Avatar’s plans and sponsored hers and her son’s passage in the cargo hold of some merchant vessel in an attempt to have the voyage go unseen by border control in the United Republic and Fire Nation Islands.

When Lin and Tenzin landed, they found Lin’s younger sister waiting for their arrival on the runway of the Royal Airfield, positively quaking while waiting for ‘an audience with her Lordship, Izumi’.

“Spirits, I miss the days when she was like a sister and we could just waltz in and –” Suyin grumbled, furious that no one allowed her to see her eldest son yet.

“Cry about how your sister beat you in sparring again?” Izumi asked, appearing behind them in all of her grey-hair and crimson-robed glory, accompanied by Tenzin’s two older siblings of all people.

“Zumi!” Lin exclaimed, rushing to hug the Fire.

“Bumi?” Tenzin asked, eyeing his older brother with surprise. “Kya?”

“We were on the islands just visiting when we got the report!” Kya explained, hugging her little brother first and then his ex-girlfriend.

“What report?” Tenzin asked.

“The report that Izumi had my son arrested?” Suyin asked pointedly.

“Spirits! No!” Izumi exclaimed. “The one that announced they’d been seen, the Avatar and the Great Uniter’s Fiancée, without visas or explanations for their presence on our pumice.”

“It was supposed to be Baatar’s punishment for his involvement in Kuvira’s Regime!”

“How is sending him on a vacation in my country a punishment?” Izumi asked, accepting a drink from a passing palace servant as they walked into the Red Keep.

“The punishment isn’t sending him on vacation! It is keeping him from Kuvira during the trials!” Suyin explained carefully.

“So he can get away un-accused without any sort of sentencing for building that spirit mecha?” Izumi asked Suyin.

“Well—” Suyin stammered. “Kuvira coerced him to—brainwashed him—”

“—You know, I was going to let them go, at first, as long as they didn’t disturb the peace we have worked so hard to achieve.” The Fire Lord explained, entering a private parlour of the palace. “But after Kya gave me a few drinks, apparently I gave the order to have them detained for illegal trespassing.”

“Why?” Suyin asked. “He’s my son!”

“I know, and I regretted it for a few minutes, but then stopped once you started talking,” Izumi finished, kicking her feet up onto a coffee table as she sat on a love seat with Kya.

“Bu—” Suyin stammered. “Zumi you can’t be serious!”

Izumi simply smirked as she took a sip of her drink and folded one arm under her other elbow.

“Oh, you’re cruel,” Lin exclaimed, laughing as she noticed the wicked grin just beyond the rim of the cup that Izumi made no attempt to hide.

“What have you done?!” Suyin yelled, stomping her foot, shaking the room. “Release my son at once! Lin you can’t let her do this! He’s a Beifong!”

“The Beifong name might mean something in Zaofu, and maybe Republic City on some days, but Suyi, this is the Fire Nation,” Lin apologized to her little sister.

“You guys are such—UGH!” Suyin yelled, pacing the room in her fury, only a few moments away from collapsing the entire palace with her bending.

“Do you have back up?” Bumi whispered in Izumi’s ear, standing behind the love seat with his hand’s on her shoulders, mildly concerned for their safety.

“Always. I’m the Fire Lord,” Izumi replied.

“You guys are so mean!” Tenzin yelled at Lin, Izumi, and his siblings. “Come on, Suyin. I’ll help you find Junior and Korra. They don’t deserve this treatment.”

The other four watched the Air Nomad lead the enraged earthbending matriarch from the room with mild amusement.

“Was all this a ruse to spin up my little sister for your entertainment?” Lin asked curiously once they had gone.

“Only partially. I do believe Baatar needs to face some sort of judgement for creating the weapon that enabled that power-hungry- child to invade my Father and Avatar Aang’s masterpiece and destroy its capital city—but those crimes were not committed in my country, so—” Izumi sighed and ser her cup down. “I could not be the one to do the judging… But he needed to be sentenced to something and then Kya reminded me that after the 100 year war, the Fire Nation lost all previous visa agreements with other countries. If we can’t cross their borders without reason and permission, they can’t cross ours. While it is not justice for the mecha, it’s something.” Izumi said, taking another sip of water.

“I didn’t know you knew how to intimidate,” Suyin exclaimed, impressed that her older sister’s nerd of an ex-boyfriend managed to get the location of the Avatar and the Great Uniter’s Ex-Fiance out of him without taking off fingers as Suyin had suggested.

“I may not have been the greatest Councilman, but I picked up some things,” Tenzin replied, walking quickly down an underground of the Capital City’s highest security prison. “KORRA!!! JUNIOR!!!”

“Oh shut up! I can’t stand the echo, allow me,” Suyin said closing her eyes and stomping a single, heavy foot down to feel the vibrations of the earth to search for her son and the Avatar’s signature heartbeats. “This way!”

Tenzin followed suit. By the time he caught up with the matriarch of Zaofu, she had torn off the iron door to the cell and run in only to be punted back into the opposite wall by the inmates of that cell.

“That prophet was right about an escape opportunity on the fourth moon of the seventh year of—”

“You’re not escaping if you weren’t meant to escape,” Suyin said, grimly lifting a hand as the other rubbed her head, bending a spear of earth from the floor of the prison cell into the ceiling, pinning them to the roof of the prison hall by their shackles.

“That doesn’t look anything like Korra or Junior,” Tenzin commented, resting as Suyin found her feet again.

“They’re the same weights as Korra and Junior,” Suyin replied, standing up.

“I thought Seismic Sense identified people by their heartbeats!”

“Yeah, mine was never as acute as Mom and Lin’s, so I had to make do with weights and densities,”

“Do I they know that?

“They’re the same weights as Korra and Junior,” Suyin replied, standing up and dusting herself off as the guards came to collect the ‘escaped’ criminals.

“My Lord, Masters Tenzin and Suyin have discovered at which prison your guests were being held,” a palace servant wearing Earth Kingdom clothing announced while Lin, Izumi, Bumi, and Kya were enjoying a large plate of lychee, longan, and rambutans.

“Good,” Fire Lord Izumi replied, discarding a rambutan skin in one of the large tins beside the plate of fresh fruit.

“Were being held?” Lin asked curiously. “Where are they now?”

Izumi raised a hand and the palace servant in Earth Kingdom clothes earthbent open a secret door revealing the two in chains in a chamber just off the parlour.

“Lin?!” Korra yelled.

The Palace guard threw a flat metal strip over the Avatar’s mouth. “You were told to be silent!” the guard yelled.

“Tadashi, that isn’t necessary. Unbind them please, I’m sure Lin has many questions for them… and they should eat,” Izumi instructed, sitting back on the lounger with a handful of longan.

Tadashi and Korra both exchanged rather menacing glares as the earthbender unlocked the platinum cuffs and hung them on hooks on his belt.

“Korra, you let yourself get captured by the Fire Lord?” Lin asked incredulously.

“My Father would be so proud of me!” Izumi whispered to Kya and Bumi with a smirk as the other’s snickered.

“Okay—first of all, she didn’t capture me! Her cronies did—”

“And who trained them?” Izumi asked.

“Her lordship was the one to discover your hiding place and coordinate the attack—” Tadashi added as Baatar sat down on an empty couch and reached for some fruit.

“You didn’t think to use the Avatar State to escape?” Lin inquired.

“I thought you and Tenzin didn’t want me to use it except for when my life was in actual danger!”

“You didn’t know Izumi’s guards! They could have been Red Lotus insurgents or something.”

“For your information, we’re confident we’ve scourged them from our soil, but—” Izumi tried to chime in.

“Izumi revealed herself pretty immediately so—” Korra exclaimed.

“You were afraid of her?” Lin asked, raising a brow and turning to her friend.

“She explained that she knew what we were doing and how she thought Baatar still deserved some sort of sentencing and—”

“In short, the Avatar knew she wasn’t in mortal danger and therefore didn’t need to initiate the Avatar State. Anyways, this isn’t about Korra, Lin. It is about making sure Baatar knows he overstepped his bounds in the Earth Kingdom and United Republic and that Suyin knows she can do nothing to hide it,” Izumi explained. “Not from us, at least.”

“Like how my mother covered up her involvement with the Terra Triad,” Lin realized, looking up at the ceiling in relief.

“Exactly!” Izumi raised a rambutan to her friend.

Lin let out a sigh of relief and picked up her cup of tea.

“So when are we supposed to expect Su and Tenz to come back raging?” Lin asked.

“A few days. My agents report her sub-par seismic sense abilities mistook two legitimate inmates for Korra and Baatar…”

“She also thought that Zhu Li was Kuvira the night she tried to assassinate the Great Uniter,” Baatar whispered bitterly.

Lin clicked her tongue and shook her head. “I guess that’s what she gets for being cocky and not practicing.”

Izumi shrugged.

“I wonder what skills you missed. Toph mentioned neither of you ever really grasped the finer points of metalbending,” Korra chimed in, trying to make conversation as they waited for further updates on Su and Tenzin’s wild goose chase.

“She WHAT?” Lin shrieked as Izumi, Bumi, and Kya burst into equally raucious fits of laughter.

“I can’t believe we still haven’t found them!” Tenzin sighed in defeat as he and Suyin walked down another alley on another island following another lead that lead to nothing.

“Wait!” Suyin said. “Is it just me or do you get the sense that we’re being followed?”

They both stopped walking to listen. There was no breeze under the cover of the high walls that surrounded them on all sides. It was the perfect place for an ambush, they realized as a dozen men in long, hooded black coats appeared on the roofs of the flanking buildings.

One drew a knife. Suyin stepped in front of Tenzin and raised metal stips off of her necklace preparing for a fight. She fired first as he threw his knife . He missed intentionally and out of the handle, fluttered a rolled up piece of parchment.

Just come back, Suyi was written on it in Izumi’s hand.

“Not until I have my son back!” Suyin yelled, crushing the paper in her hand, tossing it up, and shredding it with a swipe of several metal strips bent into blades of a knife.

One of the cloaked men threw another dagger. “And what makes you think he has been held in one place?”

“Fuck the Fire Lord!” Suyin groaned turning up to the sky.

“What was it?” Tenzin asked.

“Zumi,” Suyin growled.

“She’s had him the whole time?”

“Yes,” Suyin confirmed.

They both waltzed straight into a meeting Izumi was having with her war generals in the throne room.

All of the generals stood upon the intrusion ready to defend their Lord to the death only to find the matriarch of Zaofu and the Air Nation’s only grand master.

“Session dismissed. We will recommence tomorrow,” Izumi snapped, standing with her hands folded in front of her, eyes narrowed and mouth pressed into a tight frown.

The Generals all saluted and filed out.

“WHERE ARE THEY?” Suyin demanded.

“The pool in the guest quarter,” Izumi answered immediately

Suyin ran with Tenzin at her heel.

When they arrived at the pool, they found Korra screaming as she slid down a water slide that lifted at the end, launching the Avatar into the air.

“WATERBENDING BOMB!” Korra yelled as she came crashing into the pool shooting a column of water into the air.

“Kya! Heads up!” Baatar yelled, passing the ball to the older waterbender as Bumi and Lin opposed them in a game of water polo on the opposite side of the pool.

“My Son!” Suyin yelled, running towards the water’s edge.

“Mother?” Baatar gasped, spinning in the water.

Lin intercepted the ball and caught it, holding onto it, eagerly waiting for her little sister’s reaction.

Suyin stood, dumbfounded.

“I see you’ve been—treated well,” Tenzin uttered, displaying an equal expression of confusion.

“His paperwork,” Izumi said appearing out of a secret passage way, handing Suyin a stapled stack of papers.

Charges: Illegally crossing International borders without Visa and Resisting Detainment Penalties: - 500,000 Yuan fee to be paid to the Department of Border Control of the Fire Nation - 500,000 Yuan fee to be paid to the National Border Protection of the United Republic - 5 years probation (details outlined on page 6 of Release Documentation)

“He has already paid the fees, and knows the consequences of not reporting to the United Republic Probationary Offices here, in the Earth Kingdom, Water Tribes, and URN. Don’t try to pay off the probation officers, or any other government officials in any country to buy his freedom. No more crimes will go unpunished, my dearest little Suyi.” Izumi said firmly.

Suyin’s hands shook as she read the front page bearing her son’s name and the words “Yuyiao Provincial Police Department, Fire Nation” and fell to her knees.

Baatar moved towards his mother by the pool edge, but Lin stopped him.

“Don’t,” Lin whispered. “She needs to learn just like you.”

“Only justice can bring peace,” Korra whispered, quoting one of her previous incarnations.

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

A/N

I was rereading some old one shots and remembered just how neglected the Gaang’s children are in the fandom and needed an excuse for them all to get together again, so.... HERE IT IS! :D

Also, Tadashi is one of my original characters that regularly appears as an earthbending member of Fire Lord Izumi’s personal guard in a lot of my other stuff that is posted... somewhere.

#fanfiction #oneshot #korra #baatar jr #suyin #suyin beifong #lin beifong #tenzin #kya #bumi #fire lord izumi #longan #rambutan #lychee #Fire Nation #Earth Kingdom #kuvira is mentioned but briefly

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entamewitchlulu · 5 years

Text

How to Catch a Dragon

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh Arc V

Pairing: Pendulumshipping (Yuya/Reiji), Lustershipping (Masumi/Yuzu)

Characters: Reiji, Masumi, Yuzu, Yuya

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: none

Summary: Magic is illegal in Maiami after the magicians of Heartland killed Princess Ray -- or at least, that's how the propaganda tells it. Prince Reiji knows better, and if he wants to have a chance to stop his father from ripping apart the very fabric of the world to bring his daughter back, he is going to need a little more magic at his disposal than he has.Unfortunately, the best source of magic in the world comes from dragons. And dragons are difficult to find -- and even more difficult to master.

commission for @czoedy!

Ao3

Although she took every bit of her job immensely seriously, she knew that getting this shift meant that she was considered the most useless knight on the entire force.

Masumi ground her teeth, shifting from one foot to the other. Her armor clinked softly against the chainmail beneath. She didn’t break formation, though, standing at attention, her lance at the ready, and staring out at the dark, winding back road that led up to the very far end of the city gates. There was nothing but rocks leading up towards the mountains — no one would ever mount a serious assault over those. Only fools traversed the hills — not only were they a terrible place of uneven footing, sudden pitfalls and dangerous cliffs, and took days to get across, but you just didn’t pass through without attracting the attention of the fae.

No, this was the kind of job you gave to someone you wanted to get out of the way, and Masumi knew it. Fools. She ground her teeth again, cracking her shoulder blades. All because she’d dared to show how good she was in a practice match. All because she’d humiliated the captain — not that that was her fault. The captain ought to train better if he didn’t want an only recently sired girl to defeat him. She could do so much more good on the front half of the guard, or even guarding the royal family — gods knew they needed it, what with all the trouble they’d caused lately...

Her thoughts ground to a halt as she heard the soft, almost imperceptible footstep in the courtyard behind her. Immediately, she stood up straight. She lowered her lance into both hands, aimed towards the ground for now, but easy to lift up and impale at a moment’s notice. Her breathing stilled to such a silence that she could hear a mouse skittering over the stones. But she didn’t hear the footstep. Had she imagined it?

The tiniest scuff of a shoe, a soft intake of breath — it was right beside her.

Her brain roared with thoughts of magicians and fae and magic, and without thinking, she swung the butt of her lance about, and struck. It hit something invisible in the air beside her, and she heard someone’s breath catch and cough, heard the sound of someone collapsing to the ground. She swung her lance back around to the point end first and pointed it towards the sound, as the magician’s spell broke apart and the cloaked figure appeared beside her.

“On your feet!” she commanded. “In the name of the Crown, you will state your business!”

The figure coughed a moment more — she must have caught him right in the diaphragm with her first strike. It took him a moment, and a quick poke of her lance, for him to raise both hands over his head and slowly stand up.

“If it’s the Crown you invoke, then I’m afraid I do have the right to decline.”

Masumi’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes widened.

The man pushed the hood back from his face, keeping his hands otherwise up, and dark eyebrows raised over his bespectacled eyes, up into his slick, gray bangs.

“Your Highness?” Masumi said, letting her spear drop to the ground. She fumbled for a moment, caught between disbelief, shock, and annoyance, and unsure of whether to be angry or respectful. “What — what in the gods are you doing out here, sneaking about?”

His Highness Crown Prince Reiji smiled blandly. He let his hands fall back to his sides, fixing the lay of his cloak and the position of his glasses.

“How unfortunate for me,” he said. “I thought for certain they’d put someone of little skill back here.”

He glanced her up and down, and it took Masumi a moment to realize that he’d...sort of complimented her. Hang on, that wasn’t the point.

“I know it’s not my place to ask, sire, but — what are you doing here?” she asked.

Reiji glanced towards the gate, and then at Masumi.

“I was hoping to sneak out,” he said. “I should think that’s obvious.”

“But — why?”

Masumi didn’t know very much about the prince. She’d met him a few times, in passing. He’d be present, quiet and unemotional, during her siring ceremony. She’d seen him watching the knights practice a few times, and heard him speaking to the captain of the guards here and there about what sort of patrols were going on in the city proper. He was said to be quiet, scholarly, and was well-liked among the people because he was often seen among them, speaking to them and actually listening — he continued to hold court petitions long after his father had stopped making public appearances to focus on the war effort. But she didn’t know him. And she definitely hadn’t known he was a magician — how could she? Magic belonged to the enemy, Heartland — it was banned. Illegal. The prince himself still shouldn’t be above that law, not since it was said that his sister, the Heir Apparent, had been killed by magic.

Reiji glanced back and forth across the courtyard.

“Ser Kotsu, is anyone else in this vicinity?” he asked.

Masumi blinked, startled that he knew her name.

“No,” she said. “Not to my knowledge.”

She scowled at him then.

“And there shouldn’t be. Including you, milord.”

Reiji fixed his glasses, considering her for a moment. He glanced her up and down, checking her grip on her lance, and then glancing at the gated off exit.

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me through the gate.”

“We’re — your father the King instituted a lockdown,” Masumi said, incredulous. “Unless you have some letter of note explaining why you’re sneaking about — and for that matter, for why you’re using magic —”

“If I ordered you to step aside and let me through, telling no one I was here, would you obey?”

His voice cut her off midsentence, despite being much lower and softer than her own. Despite the cool, level quiet of his voice, she heard it plainly — and the warning in it.

She hesitated. Well...he was the prince. She’d sworn fealty to the nation he ruled. But she’d also sworn an oath to uphold the law, and currently, the law set by the king, higher ranked than he, was that no one was allowed to enter or leave the city without permission. Considering Reiji’s response, it didn’t seem he had such permission. Still, refusing his orders could also come back to bite her.

As she struggled briefly with the idea, Reiji tilted his head down to fix his glasses again.

“I’ve put to you quite an impossible question,” he said. “I apologize.”

He took one step backwards. Masumi didn’t move from her place in between him and the gate. She glanced at it, and then back at him.

“What’s so important that you’re leaving in the dead of night, shrouded in magic, and trying to sneak away without permission? You’re the prince. Can’t you get permission — your Highness?” She added the honorific hurriedly.

Reiji considered her more deeply this time, his stance suddenly very rigid. He glanced at the gate again.

“Ser Kotsu. Let me ask you one further impossible question.”

“And what’s that, Your Highness?”

“When you took your oaths, did you swear yourself to the king and the Crown? Or did you swear yourself to the people? In other words, Ser Kotsu — were it a choice between the Crown and the people, whom would you put your life on the line for?”

Masumi’s lips parted. He was right, it was an impossible question. She was a knight of the Crown, sworn in by the king — but she’d joined the forces to protect people like her friends and family and neighbors and...and, well, if she was honest, she would protect them first, if it was a choice. But she couldn’t exactly say that to the Crown — even if he was only the prince.

Reiji waited with remarkable patience for her answer while she struggled with what to say — what answer was he looking for? She couldn’t read him.

She gave up after about twenty seconds of deliberation — she had never been one to stay silent on what she thought, and she wouldn’t do so now. Even if it could land her in trouble.

“I swore on the Crown,” she said, “but my first duty is to the people of this kingdom, and serving them.”

Reiji let out a long, low breath, like air releasing from a kettle. He tugged his collar open just a bit.

“Good,” he said, surprising her. “In that case, Ser Kotsu, this is not an order: this is a request. I request that you accompany me on a mission of great, and discreet, importance.”

Masumi considered him back a moment, this time it was her turn to do the look up and down, at his scrawny frame and soft hands. He certainly looked like he needed an escort, even if he was a magician.

“Am I allowed to ask what the mission is?” she asked.

“Only that if we do not complete it,” Reiji said, “it is likely that this kingdom, and its people, will all be razed to the ground.”

His voice brokered no time for questions or disagreement — it thrummed with an authority that she expected from the Crown, but also with a concern and worry that surprised her. She hesitated only a beat longer. Then she swung her lance around to her back, strapping it back on, and turned towards the gate. Using the key around her neck, she unlocked it, and wrenched it open as quietly as possible.

Then she turned to Reiji.

“You know,” she said, “you could have started with that.”

“You need to be more careful. There could be more traps — even ambushes. You’re a prince, you know, Your Highness.”

“Next time I think I may be about to step in a rabbit’s snare, I will let you know.”

Reiji suppressed a small smile at Masumi’s clear irritation, the scowl on her face at his quip. He carefully extracted his foot from the small rope that had snatched at his ankle, leaving the spent snare off the path. Masumi’s concerns were, of course, understandable — he had taken her on as a bodyguard, and it was her job to fret. But there was no way anyone would know that he was even out here. His usual personal bodyguard, Tsukikage, was doing an excellent job of covering for him, or pretending to be him with an illusion when absolutely necessary. As far as the kingdom was concerned, Crown Prince Akaba Reiji was suffering a bad cold. No one would expect to find him tromping about in the forest wilderness with an unknown knight.

Still, Masumi’s single-mindedness — and her bluntness — was part of the reason he’d decided to bring her along on impulse. The other part was not trusting her enough to not say anything about seeing him, and liking to keep her close.

But she was honest. And she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, even to someone who ruled her. It was an admirable quality, and one that would hopefully serve him in this fool’s errand.

He rolled the stone in his pocket while Masumi insisted on forging a bit ahead, looking suspiciously at trees and poking bushes with her lance. The stone sparked and warmed slightly, revealing to him the magic within it, but he did not siphon any off. The invisibility spell had taken quite a bit of his reserves already, and he would need what remained for his quest.

“Be more careful,” Masumi complained as she returned to him. “If Heartland knew you were out here...their magicians would have you and I both killed in an instant.”

“Magic isn’t so instantaneous,” Reiji said.

Masumi gave him a suspicious look.

“And of course you would know all about that.”

He didn’t respond. His use of magic had likely concerned her, but he didn’t need to tell her all — or any — of his secrets. She walked alongside him a moment longer while they made their way through the thin forest trail, barely more than a deer trail.

“So you can use magic,” she finally said, cutting straight to the point. Straightforward, he thought again. It was what made her so unsuited to getting along with the other knights, who preferred their subordinates to be quiet and not ask questions. “I thought it was illegal.”

“A clever trick for my father to have an excuse to seize every available source of magic in the kingdom,” he said.

He offered nothing further — and he would not, unless she asked the right questions. For a while, she didn’t speak. Then she let out an annoyed sound.

“Maiami Kingdom has never had magicians,” she said. “They’re from Heartland.”

That wasn’t a question, so Reiji didn’t respond to it. He checked the height of the sun filtering through the trees, trying to guess at what time it was, and what time they would arrive at the village.

“How do you cast that spell? The invisibility one.”

“You wouldn’t be able to do it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Masumi actually glowered at him, and he couldn’t help but turn his head away to smile slightly. It was almost refreshing, how little respect she had.

“I don’t have any need for magic,” she said. “But if I’m going to protect you, I’d like to know what I have to work with — if you could make yourself invisible during a fight and hide somewhere, it would make my job a lot easier.”

Ah, there it was — an understandable reason for her to ask a question.

He dug into his pocket, and withdrew his stone. Masumi frowned at the small, red ore, glittering with chunks of black glass within it’s somewhat rounded, but still rough, shape. He was slightly surprised to see recognition flare in her eyes.

“Heartish ore,” she said, “now where did you get a hold of that?”

Reiji tilted his head with surprise.

“You know of it?”

Masumi shrugged as she stepped over a rock.

“My father was a jeweler,” she said. “Once, a noble asked to have one cut for him. It was the rarest stone my father’d ever worked with, and the most money he’d ever made. It paid for my way into the knight’s academy.”

Reiji nodded, impressed.

“So you know of its rarity.”

“I do, of course,” Masumi said with a sniff. “But I don’t see what it has to do with magic.”

Reiji turned the stone over in his hand, feeling the heat of the magic without taking it into himself.

“It’s found only in Heartland, and it’s the most refined source of magic in the world.”

Masumi’s eyes widened. Her lips parted.

“It’s magic? But...it’s just a stone.”

Reiji shook his head.

“Magic is a natural force in this world. Magicians are people who can draw that power from the world, and redirect it to perform spells. People are born with the talent, or they are not.”

He tucked his stone away.

“There are many ways of drawing magic from the earth, but none is so raw and full of magical energy as Heartish ore. One small stone the size of mine can power a magician for a decade.”

“Magic comes from rocks?”

“Most often, yes. Old ores absorb and hold magic more easily than other materials. Old wood holds some, but rarely more than enough in a piece for more than three or four spells.”

Masumi shook her head, clearly not getting it.

“So you have enough energy there for a lot of magic, is what I’m hearing.”

“I’ve been using this stone since I was young,” Reiji admitted. “So I no longer have the vast store I began with.”

“Enough for whatever this mission is?”

I hope so, he thought.

“Yes,” he said aloud.

Masumi nodded, clearly content with the answers she’d received, and not looking to ask for more. For that, Reiji was glad. Any more questions, and he’d have to begin to lie, or evade.

He couldn’t yet tell her how his father had seized every bit of ore in Maiami. How the war with Heartland had nothing to do with their magic killing his sister, that his sister had never even been to Heartland — and every bit to do with the Heartish ore he was desperate to collect, the vast stores of it he had squandered away beneath the castle, and the plans that Reiji had found scribbled in shorthand that had taken him weeks to decipher.

And he absolutely could not tell her about the kind of magic that was performed by draining people’s souls.

It took an astonishing amount of magic to bring a person back to life.

Reiji looked up from the trail again, checking their position. A moment later, the trail turned, and as they went around, the sun broke over them. Masumi shielded her eyes, stepping up beside him in the break in the trees. They looked down over the valley, with rolling green hills and bobbing flowers, a bright blue sky hanging idyllically over head, with the mountains on the other side framing it, nestling the valley, and its tiny village dotting the earth far below, in a protective embrace.

Masumi looked confused. He was not about to enlighten her.

After all, the truth would be too terrifying — his father was a magician beyond the realm of understanding with the magic he’d collected. Reiji could study and train for years and have no means of defeating him. Heartish ore was the strongest source of magic in the world, and Akaba Leo had more gathered together than a mountain could hold.

Well, actually...Heartish ore wasn’t the strongest source. Magic was a living thing, after all, and the kind of magic that calcified in rock, while strong, was stale, as far as magic went.

No, there was one way Reiji could hope to outmaneuver his father — with a source of living magic. Magic that would not deplete — magic that refreshed itself perpetually, magic that was pure and raw with the life energy of the world itself. There weren’t many sources of living magic left in this world, however, not since the unicorns had returned to the world from whence they came during the Great Migration, and taken most of the magical creatures with them. Finding such a source, if it had been easy, would have likely been his father’s first choice. But he believed there was no such source left in this world, and focused only on the remnants in the earth.

As they gazed down at the faraway village, Reiji hesitated before beginning down the valley.

Then they heard the distant, echoing roar.

It was far away, but the mountains made it vibrate, made it shake them to their bones. Masumi shuddered, but Reiji closed his eyes, letting the feeling wash through him with a feeling of relief. The stories were true, after all. He’d finally found rumors that weren’t just gossip.

When he opened his eyes, Masumi was staring at him with utter disbelief — with almost a betrayal in her eyes. Well. There had been a reason he hadn’t told her his plan before inviting her along. Even the bravest knight would have reason to quiver before...

“You never said anything,” Masumi said, “about a dragon.”

Hot. So hot. Everything is so hot. It’s hard to breathe. Throat is raw and choking and the smoke, it’s everywhere, ugh, ugh, ugh...

Everything hurts. Where...where am....

Help...help me, help me, help me...

Reiji didn’t even bother to hide his face when they came into the village, a fact that drove Masumi mad. Not only was there apparently, a gods-damned dragon in these mountains, but having the Crown Prince himself marching into a village where everyone could see him?? This was a nightmare for even someone trained to be a bodyguard, and Masumi was trained to be a knight. This damned prince...why had she let him talk her into this?

“Please relax,” Reiji said, smiling blandly and raising a hand in greeting to a farmer walking past with his card. “You and I are simply a wandering scholar and his mercenary friend.”

“They’ll recognize you,” she said.

“Out here? Doubtful. Very few from this village have come as far as the capital.”

Masumi glanced at a pair of gossiping women on the side of the road. They gave Reiji a passing glance, but their eyes actually lingered for longer and with more surprise on Masumi. She did stick out more in her armor, even if Reiji had made her take off her crest so that no one would recognize her as a Royal Knight. Perhaps Reiji was right.

Didn’t mean she was going to relax, though.

Reiji wandered down the street, stopping to look in windows or to wave at passersby, and Masumi wanted to yell. Where were they going?? Why was he meandering so much??

Finally, Reiji glanced up at a wooden sign swinging above a tavern — The Declawed Dragon, it read. He made his way over to the door and walked in, Masumi on his heels.

There were few inside; it was the middle of the day after all. A couple of teenagers were playing cards on one of the tables, and a haggard looking old man huddled at the counter. Behind the counter, a pretty girl was wiping out glasses, her bright pink hair pulled into a pair of twin tails. She hummed softly to herself — even from here, Masumi could hear the sweet notes of her voice.

Reiji went straight to the counter, sliding into a seat. Masumi took the one beside him, and the girl looked up with a bright, cheery expression.

“Welcome!” she said, putting down her glass and rag. “How can I help you?”

“I would be glad of some water; we’ve had a long walk,” said Reiji.

“Coming right up. And for you?”

Her smile was the brightest, loveliest thing Masumi had ever seen, and for a moment, she was rendered speechless. Then she caught herself, and cleared her throat.

“The same for me, thank you,” she said.

The girl smiled and nodded, turning back towards one of the kegs and filled two glasses with clear spring water. She placed them back on the counter in front of them.

“We don’t see a lot of soldiers around here,” she said, eyes on Masumi. “I’m Yuzu, by the way. And you? What brings you all the way here?”

Masumi hesitated — the girl didn’t seem dangerous, but it was always better safe than sorry.

“She’s been kind enough to accompany me on my research expedition,” Reiji said smoothly, skipping the answer of Masumi’s name. The words drew Yuzu’s eyes to him, and Masumi was somewhat disappointed that those deep blue eyes were no longer looking at her.

“Oh?” Yuzu said, eyes lighting up. “I hope you can tell me a little! I love hearing the stories of everyone who walks through here.”

Reiji sipped his water before answering.

“The truth is, I’m researching the old legends of dragons,” he said. “And I’ve heard rumors of one around here.”

Yuzu’s smile slipped. All at once, all the brightness seemed to drain out of her.

“Ah,” she said. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first.”

She picked up her glass again and began to clean it out. Masumi and Reiji exchanged a glance. Before either could ask, though, she started talking.

“A lot of folks have come around here asking for dragons, hoping for treasure and hoards. But dragons...they aren’t just legends around here now, you know, sir.”

“Is that so?” Reiji said calmly, as though he didn’t know that he had come here to find a real, living dragon, and not just study their myths. Gods!! She could still hardly believe he’d dragged her out here to hunt a dragon?? They were dangerous, sure, but how did one dragon threaten the lives of the entire kingdom? “I’ve heard stories of a dragon called...Zarc. One who used to live in these mountains as a protector.”

Yuzu’s eyes grew even sadder. She slowly put her glass and rag down, and leaned back against her kegs. Her eyes lifted to the two of them.

“Maybe a long time ago, that was true,” she said. “But...well, it was only a legend for so long. Until...”

Her eyes got even sadder, and she seemed to crumple in on herself. Masumi leaned forward.

“My lady, are you all right?” she asked, concerned.

Yuzu smiled, but she had to wipe tears from her eyes.

“The truth is, sirs, there is a dragon about here, but whether or not it’s the Zarc we once told stories about, I don’t know. All I know is that...well.”

She bit her lip, and shook her head.

“My best friend went missing around the same time it appeared,” she said. “Almost two years ago. We...all we found was blood.”

Her smile was tight and sad and she looked like she was ready to fall apart. Masumi felt her heart break for her.

Reiji, however, fixed his glasses, a strange light coming into his eyes.

“That’s very tragic,” he said, calmly. “I’m sorry.”

But that sentiment wasn’t the one that was in his gaze. Masumi was starting to guess what that look meant — he had just figured something out.

“Have...there been any other losses?” Reiji asked.

The bar girl ducked her head away, and despite her attempt to hide it, Masumi knew she was wiping some tears away. When she turned back, she had mostly composed herself.

“No,” she said. “Well, except for a sheep or two here or there. The hunters still find deer ravaged by it. But it’s stayed away from the village since then.”

“I see,” Reiji said, nodding slowly. “I’m very sorry you had to lose your friend.”

“Thank you,” she said. “But it’s no good to talk only of sad things. He wouldn’t want me to mourn him forever.”

She seemed like she might be ready to say something else, but the doors opened, and boots clomped onto the old wooden floor, and a bright smile split her lips as she pasted back on her customer smile.

“G’morning, Yuzu.”

“You’re here early today,” Yuzu said with a laugh as she moved down the counter to meet them.

Masumi took advantage of the moment to shoot Reiji a glance, but he didn’t look at her. He was mouthing to himself, brow furrowed, as though he were doing math in his head. She poked him in the arm, and he stirred.

“Well?” she said in a low voice. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

His eyes flickered to Yuzu, and then to Masumi. He set a coin down on the table, finished his water, and stepped away from the bench. Masumi hurried to follow him, shooting a glance back towards Yuzu before they were back outside in the sun.

Reiji glanced about them, and then stood off to the side of the door, just under the shade of the awning, so that they wouldn’t be blocking the door. There were few people around, and none close enough to hear them. Reiji waited for a small group of men to walk into the bar past them before he turned to speak.

“While that was hardly hard evidence of the dragon, it seems likely that it is nearby,” Reiji said. “Unfortunately, from this conversation, I’m still not sure what type of dragon it is, which will make tracking it more difficult. I assume due to the environment that it is likely a hill dragon, and thus will probably not be able to fly —”

“No, no, no, shut up,” Masumi said, aware of how disrespectful she was being and not caring. “You dragged me out here to fight a dragon?”

“I brought you here to help me catch one.”

Masumi’s mouth fell open. Her eyes bulged, and for a moment, her head spun.

“Oh! Great! Let me just go and get the snares!” she said, throwing her hands over her head. “Are you out of your mind, Your Highness?”

“There are magics that can bind the dragon to me,” Reiji said, still as frustratingly calm as ever. “All I need from you is to distract it while I cast those spells.”

“You want us to track down, and distract a man-eating monster?”

Reiji pursed his lips then, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Odd, don’t you think?” he said.

Masumi blinked. Her hands fell back to her sides.

“What’s odd?”

“Only one human casualty in two years. Even a wolf that gains a taste for human blood is more than likely to strike again within months of the first attack. But a dragon doesn’t feel safe enough to come near the village for more than a few livestock?”

Masumi’s brow furrowed — she had a feeling he was trying to get at something, but it felt like it was going over her head. That...was strange, though, now that he was pointing it out. She opened her mouth to ask him, straight out, what he was trying to say.

A yell rang out from inside the bar, and glass shattered on the floor. She whipped around to the sound of bodies striking the ground, boots hitting hard, and another scream.

“You put her down, you damn —”

“Let go of me! Let go!”

Another scream and a thud, and Masumi had yanked her sword from her scabbard — Reiji’s hand had dove into his pocket, for his magic rock, probably, but she moved herself in between him and the commotion, eyes fixed on the door.

A man came barrelling backwards through the door, leaving the door swinging open on its hinges, and crumpled down the steps. A second man came through the door on his feet, brandishing his blade around — his lips curled with distaste, looking annoyed.

Her hands tightened on the hilt of her sword when he limped through the door, sword in front of him — and Yuzu’s wrists clamped in the other.

Yuzu twisted and struggled to get free, yelling and kicking at his shins, but he had a firm grip on both her wrists in one hand, dragging her out the door.

“Let her go,” Masumi said, stepping forward. “Let’s calm down, all right?”

The man’s eyes shot to her, breaths ragged. He snarled as he spun his sword towards her.

“You’ll stay out of the way if you know what’s good for you,” he said. “‘Less you’d like to get on the caravan with her.”

Masumi’s throat tightened as she realized the meaning — but gods, slave traders? Stealing girls in broad daylight? What had become of this kingdom?

Yuzu’s eyes were wide with fear, her face bone white as she struggled in the man’s grip. He kept her behind him with his sword out in front, eyes fixed on Masumi. Two more men followed after him, blocking Masumi’s way towards Yuzu.

Masumi kept her stance, jaw tight as she tried to decide what to do. If she got into a fight here, it could put Reiji in danger. But she couldn’t just let this man get away with this, either — it would be against her oaths to defend this kingdom. What was Reiji even doing —

Reiji let out a tiny, choked sound behind her. Before she could check what for, his hand had snatched her shoulder, and he was yanking the pair of them backwards —

Just before the awning caved in, and a deafening roar filled the air.

Masumi’s ears popped from the splitting sound — the air was suddenly hot, so warm that it almost felt as though it were singing the hair on the back of her neck. A faint crackling ran through the air, sparking over her armor like static. Reiji yanked on her again, and she was forced to duck just before something huge swiped over her head.

As her head spun, she forced herself back to her feet again, still gripping her sword.

She had to stop, though, and only stare — just like everyone else was.

The dragon was huge — the size of two draft horses high and four long. Huge, curving white horns of different sizes sprouted from a slender head, glittering scales like rubies coating every inch of it. It stood on two legs, with more large horns sprouting from its back instead of wings, jewel like orbs sprouting from various points of its body, and two shorter but strong looking arms tipped with deadly looking claws.

The man holding Yuzu reacted first. With a loud yell, he threw his sword as far as he could. It clattered on the ground, and the dragon’s head swung towards it. At the distraction, the man snatched Yuzu up, threw her screaming over his shoulders, and bolted.

The sound of Yuzu’s screams drew the dragon’s attention. Masumi’s blood ran cold. Oh, gods, no —

Yuzu screamed and kicked at her attacker — and the dragon attacked.

With a mighty roar, the creature lunged forward. It butted its huge head against the man’s back, sending him flying. Yuzu went flying too, hitting the ground and rolling. Masumi snatched up her sword and ran at the dragon, yelling a battle cry.

It wasn’t even paying attention to her — it’s red and green eyes were fixed on the man who’d tried to take Yuzu, and as he scrambled to his feet, the dragon’s head lunged forward — teeth tore into flesh and a scream cut through the air. The dragon’s tail whipped around as it flung the man from his mouth, tail smacking hard into one of the other slave traders and sending him flying into a wall. Yuzu tried to get up, coughing and choking on the dust, and the last of the three tried to snatch her. The dragon was on him in seconds, teeth crushing the man in less than a breath.

But now the dragon was crouched directly over a frozen Yuzu, blood dripping from its mouth as it flung the now dead man away. Masumi reached the beast, swinging her sword hard at its tail. Her sword merely clanged off its scales, and the tail caught against her chest, sending her back a few feet. She only needed its attention — and yet, it seemed unconcerned by her attack, still crouched over Yuzu.

“Is this enough of a distraction for you?” she screamed at Reiji as she moved to strike the dragon again.

She wasn’t the only one, either. A woman charged from the bar with a pitchfork, yelling. He stabbed it at the dragon’s underside, catching it beneath the arm and it screamed — blood dribbled from where the pitchfork had struck. It must have weak points!

The first man who’d been thrown from the bar was on his feet now, too, brandishing a shovel, running at the dragon’s other side to strike at it.

Now the dragon was getting agitated, tail lashing so badly that Masumi had to hit the ground to avoid it. She heard the clang of weapons against scales, yells of other villagers heading for them. She pushed herself up again — and Reiji immediately shoved her back down, as the dragon’s mouth opened wide, and let out a stream of pure green light that rushed over their heads.

The light hit a building behind them and exploded. Masumi threw her hands over her head while debris and rocks tumbled over her head. She coughed, choking on dust. Her ears rang.

As her hearing returned, she realized that the cloying heat had disappeared. She swallowed thickly, pushing herself up on her fists. Her heart clamored against her ribs as she looked around.

The dragon was...gone? No, she could see the wreckage that led towards its escape, and in the distance, the glitter of rubies — was it that fast?? No wonder it had snuck up on them so suddenly.

Her chest tightened as she realized that something else was missing.

Yuzu.

She reached up and grabbed Reiji by the collar.

“Are you happy now?” she coughed at him. “It’s taken another human.”

But somehow, she wasn’t surprised to see how unconcerned Reiji appeared to be, even covered in dust and debris. He extracted himself from her grip, and sat up on his knees.

“Yes,” he said. “It has.”

His eyes glanced over the dead bodies of the slavers, still crumpled on the ground.

“Interesting though, that it did not simply take the meal it had already had in its grasp.”

Masumi’s heart thudded in her chest and ears, and she couldn’t be bothered to interpret his cryptic words. She pulled herself up to her feet, using her sword for support.

“Gods,” she swore. “I don’t care. We need to go after it before it kills Yuzu.”

Reiji only nodded, sweeping to his feet. A strange look of awe had entered his eyes, though, as he stared after the dragon’s wake. Masumi ignored it, yanking her sword from the ground and sheathing it. She started walking, not waiting for him.

Run run run run run don’t look back oh it hurts it hurts so badly, but can’t stop can’t stop, must run —

She’s still screaming she must be hurt oh no she’s...oh what is he...what is doing...

He has to...get away. Has to...get her away.

Has to protect protect protect protect

It’s so hot it hurts has to protect it hurts it hurts it hurts

A jeweled dragon, Reiji thought, trying to restrain his excitement — Masumi might very well strike him if she realized how he actually felt about their encounter with the dragon. But a jeweled dragon!! This was beyond any of his hopes and dreams. Jeweled dragons had been rare even when dragons were plentiful — and like Heartish ore retained more magic than normal stone, a jeweled dragon produced much more magic than any other dragon.

He cleaned off his glasses for the third time — he still couldn’t seem to get all of the dust off of it. Every step up the mountain was another step closer to being able to end his father’s reign. Every step was a step closer to peace.

Masumi forged ahead with much more speed than he — she was quite worried about that girl. She certainly was the very picture of a knight, with her devotion to protecting the innocent.

“The girl will be alive,” he called to her.

“Oh, like you can be sure,” she snapped back at him. “We need to hurry!”

The forest was getting thicker this far up, and the ground more treacherous. It was easy to track the dragon, however — it had left singed footprints in its wake, and broken branches all over the ground. Reiji stepped over a few more of them.

The dragon likely wouldn’t have run very far — it was laden down by the girl, and clearly a young dragon judging by its size, meaning it would tire quickly. And, Reiji thought with some concern as he looked over the droplets of blood that scattered the dragon’s foot prints, it was injured. It would need to rest soon.

His calculations turned out correct. It wasn’t long before the air began to grow heavy with a thick heat. Masumi pressed on without concern, but she must be starting to sweat in her armor — Reiji had to pull his scarf from his neck and tuck it into his bag in order to stave off some of the heat.

Several trees were broken in half on the other side of the path, leading away and into the forest. The heat grew stronger and thicker, making it almost hard to breathe, and a strange sense of dread grew in Reiji’s stomach that he knew didn’t come from within him. Masumi seemed to be feeling it too, because she actually hesitated before charging into the woods, face tight.

“It’s the dragon’s aura,” Reiji told her, coming up alongside her. “They grow thicker when they are frightened. The heat comes from this dragon’s connection to fire — the fear is a natural dragon skill. It’s meant to cause us to turn away.”

Masumi grit her teeth.

“It will have to try harder than that.”

Despite the clear fear in her eyes, produced by the dragon — and the tight panic that had spiked in Reiji’s chest as they got closer — she kept walking forward. She was strong, he thought with approval. He was glad she had come along after all. On his own part, he needed to tease out a thread of magic from his stone in order to chase away the unnatural fear.

He heard the dragon before he saw it. The heavy, ragged breaths and the lash of its tail against the air, the crackle of heat against the leaves that were starting to come close to burning. Masumi drew her sword, throwing an arm out to hold him back.

The dragon crouched low to the ground, staring at them with its two colored eyes. Its tail lashed nervously. There was no immediate sign of Yuzu...no, wait, there she was.

Yuzu was curled on top of a tree trunk, white faced and trembling, but otherwise, seemingly unharmed. Just as he had expected. Masumi began forward almost as soon as she saw her, but Reiji grabbed her shoulder. He kept his eyes on the dragon, running his tongue over his dry lips from the heat.

Softly, uncertain of the pronunciation, he spoke in a low, gentle draconic.

The dragon’s head twitched forward. Reiji tried again.

“Hello,” he said in draconic. “Can you understand me?”

Masumi twitched with surprise at the sounds coming from Reiji’s lips, but Reiji ignored her, staring at the dragon. The dragon’s eyes were fixed on him specifically now. A soft rumble rose up in its chest, and after a few moments, he recognized them as properly pronounced draconic.

Hurts.

“I understand. You’re hurt. Can I...come close?”

He struggled to remember enough words from his limited studies. The dragon only stared at him. A soft whine escaped its throat. Reiji stepped forward, around Masumi, and the dragon’s head lowered, the heat spiking. He stopped.

Could this dragon be the legendary Zarc that lived in these mountains once upon a time? It seemed too young for that to be so, but dragons could be young for a very long time. Zarc was said to have been a jeweled dragon. He decided to test it.

“Are you Zarc?” he asked.

The dragon’s eyes narrowed, and the heat spiked again. A low, angry hiss roiled up through its throat. Reiji saw the glow of the dragon’s breath weapon rising up its throat, and Masumi swore, grabbing him and throwing him to the ground. The pair of them hit the ground just as the flash of light coursed over their heads. Trees were felled in an instant, crashing to the ground on either side of them. Masumi rose to her feet and charged while the dragon hesitated between blasts.

“Ser Kotsu, wait,” Reiji tried to shout, but his throat was thick with dust and he couldn’t cough it out.

He heard Masumi’s sword strike the dragon’s scales with a massive clang, heard the dragon roaring and its tail lashing around. He sat up to see it lunge at Masumi — she deflected its teeth with her sword, but was thrust back several feet.

I need to bind it to me, he thought with a rush of panic as the dragon’s fear aura broke through his meager magical defenses.

He pulled himself up to one knee, holding his ore in one hand and beginning to mutter spells and equations. Magic began to glow around him, painting sigils against the air. He wrote the spells across the space before him, painting runes and circles, the rituals that would bind him and the dragon.

The dragon screamed as Masumi managed to get in a slash on its unprotected belly. It staggered backwards, stopping itself before it stepped on Yuzu. Damn. He’d forgotten about her. To her credit, despite the terror on her face and the dragon’s aura that likely pinned her down with panic, she scrambled back off of the stump and hurried backwards, out of range of the dragon’s tail. When she saw him, she began to edge around the clearing towards him.

Still painting the spells, he stood, moving around towards her. Masumi rolled under another lunge from the dragon, but she was slowing down. The dragon snatched at her, and the sword went flying from her hands. She dove in the opposite direction of her sword, drawing the dragon towards her.

The spells were beginning to glisten against the dragon’s scales, now, but it didn’t seem to notice. Reiji was close, he could feel it, he was nearly there —

He reached the end of the spell and hesitated then — he...he couldn’t finish it. He didn’t know the dragon’s name. He needed its name to complete the spell. And if it wasn’t Zarc after all, he’d have wasted all the magic he had left. The connection would not be able to be formed.

They all might be killed.

Think!! he ordered himself, clutching to the edges of the spell before it could unravel. If it’s not Zarc, then what is it? Do I have enough magic to cast a truename spell to find out?

Think — he had to think. Masumi grabbed up her sword again and yelled, clanging it against her armor to draw the dragon’s attention towards her. It was working; if the dragon knew what spell Reiji was casting it likely could shake it off. But he was running out of time! What did he know about the dragon? It was young. It lived in the mountains where the dragon called Zarc used to live. It was a jeweled fire dragon. It had only just appeared two years ago, and it had killed only one human — and then it had disappeared until now.

The human it had killed had been...

Reiji’s eyes snapped to Yuzu, who was now within inches of him. He reached out towards her, seizing her by the arm.

“Your friend’s name,” he demanded. “What was it?”

“I — what?” Yuzu asked, eyes wide with shock.

“Your friend! The one killed by the dragon! What was his name?”

“I don’t understand how that’s —”

“If you want us to survive, then give me the name!!”

Yuzu’s mouth hung open for a second — almost a second too long.

“Yuya,” she gasped out then.

Reiji released her and whipped both hands back into his spell. He wrote the name into his spell, quick fingered, weaving the magic around him. He bolted forwards, then, ducking right in between Masumi and the dragon, ignoring her startled gasp and the spike of heat from the dragon’s breath about to cast over him.

“Yuya!” he shouted, as he flung the net of the spell over the dragon.

For a moment, it seemed like it wasn’t going to work. The spell wavered, trembled in his fingers, and threatened to fall apart. The dragon’s throat glowed with the light about to wash over him and strike him down.

And then, all at once, the air trembled. The dragon stumbled.

And when it fell forwards, it was no longer a dragon, the air pinching and warped dizzingly about its shape. Reiji threw his arms out just in time to catch the young man who collapsed into his arms — he was surprisingly heavy, and Reiji had to lower himself to the ground to support him.

His body was hot to the touch, but it began to cool as his eyes fluttered, his breath caught.

Yuzu let out a thick, wounded cry.

“Oh my gods,” she swore, collapsing to her knees and clamping her hands over her mouth. “Oh deities.”

Reiji let out a long, slow breath — he could feel it, now, the pulsing connection between him and the boy now in his arms. It was like a rope tied to his soul, feeding back warmth into him. Pure, raw magic. A store unlike any he’d ever felt before. And even more curious — he felt almost as though something were flowing back from him and into the dragon, too. But he didn’t produce magic — so what was he giving back through this connection? He’d have to do quite a bit of research.

But for now, he turned to a gaping Masumi, and a trembling, sobbing Yuzu.

“I am going to make the educated guess,” he said, “that this is your missing friend.”

For what felt like the first time in years, Yuya opened his eyes.

His head panged with a faint headache, and his body felt heavy, but other that that, he felt...all right. As though he’d just come out of a devastating fever.

The first thing he saw, as he cracked his groggy, sticky eyes open, was a face he did not know, looking over him. His eyes caught on the deep purple irises behind glasses, and his breath caught. His eyes widened and his lips parted.

He had never met this man before, and yet...he felt the strangest sense of a deep connection with him. Like something was anchored to his soul between them.

“Yuya!!”

The voice was familiar. The man who held him helped him sit up, just in time for someone to throw her arms around him. He grunted, body whining from the movement.

“Oh my gods, Yuya, you’re alive you’re alive you’re alive — ”

“Y...Yuzu?” he said, coughing. “Ugh...what...where am I?”

He groaned, and then noticed something else. He flushed.

“Why am I naked?”

Yuzu immediately popped off of him, blushing a bit as well. He felt fabric drape over him, then, and blinked up at the man sitting over him — he’d just draped a long red scarf over his shoulders. It was big enough to completely cover him, so Yuya tugged it around him.

“T...thank you,” Yuya said. “Um...what...happened?”

“Move slowly,” the man said. “You’ve been a dragon for a very long time. It will take your body some time to adjust.”

“Right...I mean, what??”

Yuya’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. He swung his gaze between the man, Yuzu, and the lady knight he’d just noticed was standing over them as well.

The man fixed his glasses, shifting up to a better position.

“I would wait until you’d recovered to explain more fully, but I sincerely doubt we have that much time,” he said. “Let me introduce us. This is Ser Kotsu Masumi of the Royal Court. And I am Akaba Reiji.”

Yuya’s eyes bulged. He shot a look at Yuzu to see if she’d heard the same thing he did. His eyes shot back to Reiji.

“You’re...the prince?” he said.

“Yes. That isn’t the important part at the moment, however. Tell me, Yuya — what is the last thing you remember?”

Yuya hesitated. His head was still spinning about the idea of the prince being right here, and while Yuya was...well, not wearing anything to boot — and this was the prince’s scarf he was wearing! But he tried to think, because he was confused too. What was the last thing he remembered? How had he ended up here?

For a moment, all he could remember were faint, blurred impressions, like a dream barely remembered upon waking. He remembered heat. But before that...

“I’d....I’d gone up the mountain a bit,” Yuya said slowly. “I was going to check for blackberries, see if they were ripe yet. But then...”

He furrowed his brow, trying to think.

“I saw something...weird, in the sky. Something...glowing? Then there was this...heat in my chest. I think...I passed out?”

He wrinkled his nose trying to think. But he couldn’t remember anything else. To his surprise, however, Reiji was nodding.

“The times match up,” he said. “That was around the time my father was performing his first experiments.”

Reiji sat up straighter, flicking his bangs from his eyes.

“Are you going to explain what’s happening??” Masumi said suddenly with a snap that seemed unlike how a knight should speak to a prince. “Or are you going to continue to be cryptic?”

Reiji actually smiled slightly at Masumi’s outburst.

“I will not bore you with the details. However, from what I understand, you, Yuya, are a descendent of dragons.”

Yuya stared at him, mouth hanging open. His head spun. What on earth was happening here?

“But how is that possible?” Yuzu said. “Dragons — Yuya is a human!”

Reiji shook his head.

“When the Great Migration occurred many centuries ago, most magical creatures left our world to return to their own,” Reiji said. “However...not all of the dragons left with them. There were legends that some of them used their great magic to transform themselves, to hide and live among humans.”

He tilted his head at Yuya.

“It seems likely that you descend from some of those dragons — the blood runs within you. Some years ago, my father was experimenting with massive quantities of old magic, resulting in magical surges that ran through the kingdom — it’s likely that one of those caught you up in it, forcibly activating your dragon blood and reverting you to your true form.”

Yuya shook his head slowly. This barely made sense — and yet...he remembered the heat. He remembered being hurt, too. And...scared. His head pounded.

“I’ve been gone for two years?” he mumbled.

Yuzu crouched down next to him, squeezing his shoulder. She looked like she was going to start crying again.

“I thought you were dead,” she said. “But you were out there all this time...”

She swallowed, pressing a hand to her mouth. Then she smiled at him.

“You saved me, you know,” she said.

“Huh? I did?”

“You must have heard that I was in trouble. As a dragon, I mean. You came to save me...”

Yuya’s lips parted. He hardly remembered being a dragon, and yet...at least he hadn’t hurt anyone.

“So what happens now?” Masumi said, folding her arms. “We came up here to catch a dragon, and he doesn’t look like a dragon anymore.”

“Why did you want to catch a dragon?” Yuzu said, eyes widening.

“He is a dragon,” Reiji said. “Regardless of his form, he’s a dragon. And...well.”

He looked down at Yuya, and Yuya met his eyes — he felt that strange spark of connection between them again, lips parting.

“The reason you were able to transform back now, is because I have bound our souls together,” Reiji said. “We are connected, now. And I would ask for your assistance in a dire matter regarding the safety of the kingdom, if you would be willing.”

Yuya only stared at him. But Yuzu grabbed him by the shoulders, holding him close to her.

“No way!” she said, glaring at Reiji. “I only just got my best friend back, and you’re going to try and drag him off? I won’t let you!! I won’t let you use him!”

“I am offering a choice, not a command,” Reiji said calmly. “Our connection aside, I will not force him to do anything.”

“He’s just finally gotten back to himself and you’re springing this on him! Let him rest! Let him go back home and see his friends and family!!”

“We don’t have that much time, unfortunately,” Reiji said, still calm and level.

Yuzu looked like she was getting ready to yell some more, but Yuya reached up and gripped her arm gently. He smiled at her when she looked down at him, brow furrowed with worry. He turned his gaze to Reiji.

“I want to hear you out,” he said. “One way or another, I think you saved me. And if...if people are in trouble, then...I’d like to help, if I really can.”

He bit his lip, and then looked down at himself, blushing.

“Um. I think I’d like to get some clothes on, first, if that’s all right.”

Reiji’s lips twitched, and Masumi seemed to only have just now noticed his relative lack of coverings, eyes widening before she quickly looked away from him.

“I think we can arrange that,” said Reiji.

Yuya shifted forward, pulling the large scarf around him a little more to cover himself, when Reiji’s half smile suddenly slipped. His head tilted quickly to the side, brow furrowing.

Before Yuya could stand, Reiji had grabbed hold of him and Yuzu both, shoving them both down to the ground. Yuya heard the flurry of arrows shooting right over their head, heard Masumi swear and draw her sword, and then Reiji was up and on his feet, his cape whirling about him.

“What’s going on?” Yuzu shouted.

Reiji swore — he made complex signs in the air with his hands, but nothing happened, and his face tightened.

“We were followed,” he swore as he whirled to Yuya. “It’s my father’s soldiers. They’ve likely come for you.”

Yuya’s breath caught. Reiji was the prince, which meant — the king was after him?

“I didn’t see anyone follow us!” Masumi yelled, as she grabbed Yuzu under the arm and helped her to her feet, pushing her towards the trees away from the attack.

“My father employs magicians,” Reiji said tersely as he copied Masumi by dragging Yuya up to his feet.

“But — why me?” Yuya yelped.

“If I must hazard to guess, it’s likely my father waited for me to secure you — all he has to do now is drag me back and force me to transfer our bond to him.”

“And then...”

Reiji’s eyes were dark, and Yuya was afraid to ask what would happen then.

“What do we do?” he said.

Reiji sucked in a breath as another flurry of arrows flew over their heads — Yuya stumbled over the stones in his bare feet. He glanced behind him and his heart skipped a beat to see the armored soldiers almost on their heels.

Automatically, he grabbed for Reiji’s hand, and for the pulsing, invisible connection between them.

“You said you can use magic!” he said. “With my help! Can’t we get away with that?”

Reiji’s lips parted, and his eyes widened.

“We can,” he said, “but it...it’s not easy, and you’ve only just transformed —”

“I don’t care! We have to do something, or — or we’re all going to die!”

Yuya swallowed thickly — he was still so confused. So lost. He’d been gone from his home, from his life, from himself for two years. He didn’t know what was happening.

But one way or another, he was positive that Reiji had saved him. And he wanted to do something to help.

Reiji seemed to catch it in his eyes, because his jaw tightened, and he nodded. His hand squeezed Yuya’s.

“Focus on me,” he said. “Focus on the idea that you want to lend me some of your power.”

Yuya nodded — he clung to Reiji’s hand, thinking hard. He imagined a fire in his chest, a pulsing light that flowed down his arm — and he felt it. He felt the tingle in his fingers, gasping at the spark that passed between their palms.

Something came over him — a warm, soft something, much like Reiji’s soft scarf draped around him. It wasn’t like the heat that had consumed him in his last memory before he’d woken up here, but rather more like the gentle warmth growing across your skin after draping a blanket over yourself. Yuya closed his eyes, and breathed out.

I want to lend you my strength, he thought. So that I can protect everyone.

When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer holding Reiji’s hand. He was standing far over him, in fact, much taller than he had been before. A heat thrummed through him, but it was calm and collected, unlike the blinding heat that had consumed his mind and made him unable to think.

Yuya sighed out through his suddenly long teeth and snout, stretching out his long tail, and his new body felt as natural to him as his old, his mind perfectly in place. Power thrummed through him, and he could feel Reiji, felt his soul as though it were nestled against his own, a cool presence that anchored him to himself even as he was sheathed in scales.

He turned his eyes to the soldiers who had all, as one, frozen. Their swords clattered to the ground, and mouths hung open with shock.

Yuya let out a plume of smoke through his nostrils, and felt the heat of his flames grumbling in his stomach. But he would not release the weapon of his breath that nestled inside him. He was not the one fighting.

His power rushed through Reiji, and he heard Reiji gasp softly as though he were directly beside him.

Reiji’s skin glowed. When his hands moved, it left painted, glowing lines in the air, as he painted the symbols and circles that would guide the magic that Yuya lent him in the way that he wished.

“Hold on to Yuya,” Reiji said, and Yuya lowered his body so that Masumi and Yuzu, briefly having stared at him with awe, scrambled forward to put their hands against his scales.

Reiji and Yuya’s power wove together — because Yuya felt it, Reiji had a power within him too, like a coal that had yet to be stoked, something that Reiji perhaps didn’t even realize was within him — but Yuya’s flames were encouraging it to begin to flame up, and the two fires within them merged until Yuya couldn’t tell where he ended and Reiji began.

When Reiji spoke next, the words that came from his lips were so ancient that Yuya shuddered — even he did not know what they meant, and his body as it was remembered a different language than his native one. But they made the air shake, and several of the soldiers fell to their knees.

I don’t want to hurt them, Yuya thought, suddenly, with panic.

Reiji’s flames paused a moment. For just a breath, Yuya thought Reiji was going to try and rip the fire out of him. That he was going to forcibly drag Yuya’s power from him and use it to cut these people down right in front of him.

But it was over in an instant. Reiji’s desires aligned with Yuya’s.

Neither do I, Reiji’s voice echoed in his mind.

He cut through the air with his palm, and something cracked, like a lightning bolt striking the earth. Yuya roared.

When next he opened his eyes, he was human again, and staring at a scenery he had never seen before. He was also, thankfully, wearing clothes — nothing more than a simple tunic, leggings, and boots, but enough to be comfortable.

Reiji stirred beside him on one side, and Yuzu on the other. Masumi was already sitting up, arms folded as she looked about.

“Where...are we?” she said.

Reiji coughed. His eyes fluttered behind his glasses.

“I thought perhaps it would be to our benefit to...retreat,” he said. “Considering how much that magic knocked the both of us out...I’m glad I did. We will need...much more practice.”

His eyes caught on Yuya’s as he sat up, and Yuya’s breath caught as well. His body trembled with the strain of the magic they had just cast — and with awe.

He sat up, and squinting, looked down at the sun setting over the faraway mountains. He didn’t know where they were. He had no idea where to even begin thinking about what had just happened, or...what he was.

But he breathed in, and he breathed out. He stared at his hands, his human hands, and thought about the scales that lived beneath his skin.

He looked to Reiji, and Reiji looked to him.

“I’m sorry,” Reiji said. “I took you very far away from your home.”

Yuya wasn’t surprised to find a smile growing on his lips, but Reiji’s eyes widened slightly.

“Well,” he said, turning towards him and resting his head on his hands. “Start telling me what the next part of this adventure of ours, is.”

Reiji blinked, lips parting. And then, almost hesitantly, he smiled.

“I think,” he said, “that that can be arranged.”

#pendulumshipping #lustershipping #reiji akaba #masumi kotsu #yuzu hiragi #yuya sakaki #yugioh arc v #lulu writes #commission

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crowkingwrites · 6 years

Text

War Creatures (Ch.35)

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Summary: In a crossover of the Nine Realms and Westeros, you find yourself in the dawn of a rebellion. Odin, Lord of Pyke, has made alliances with your family, House Grover of Highgarden. Your father’s army will join Odin’s army to overthrow the King and take the Iron Throne. There is just one cost to this alliance.You must marry the dark, young prince Loki.In a world where Kings do as they wish, where war is an oncoming storm, and peace is nothing but a dream, you are lost but brave. Loki is more powerful than he seems, and love will grow from the flames of war.

Words: 2261 // [AO3 Link] // Seasons 1-3 of War Creatures - Chapter 31 - Chapter 32 - Chapter 33 - Chapter 34

:Ser Petra POV:

Ser Petra was knighted after he came to Highgarden, cleaning up his act. After fighting in illegal rings and sometimes going days without food, Ser Petra had grown very used to his cushy knighthood quickly. He deserved it and he had grown to be useful to Lord Garth and his family. His unmatched fighting skills with a sword and his intellect have made from indispensable to the ruling family. No one would suspect the most loyal knight to betray the house he served.

He was there when Lord Garth had gathered his men around and spoke of rebellion, even treason.

“He’s taking boys.” Lord Garth’s voice boomed. “Little boys from their families. First, it was the killing of innocents. Then, it his wavering mind. He is no longer fit to be king. King Malekith has given into the darkness that rules his mind. We must stop it.”

“I don’t mean to question you, my lord, but how do you propose we take down the King?” Ser Petra asked, scratching his beard.

“I’m glad you asked. I have been in contact with Lord Odin of the Iron Islands. He is planning for an open rebellion to take the crown himself. This is a man of power, knowledge, and value. I believe in him and his cause.”

“So, savages from the Iron Islands and Highgarden soldiers?”

“No. They are not savages. Iron Islanders have skills on the sea that we do not possess. We have advantage on the land and the numbers. Lord Odin has also spoken to Lord Steffon of Casterly Rock to join our alliance. We’ll seal these alliances with marriage. Lord Odin has two sons. I have a daughter. Lord Steffon has a daughter.”

“You’re marrying your daughter off to a man of Pyke?” Ser Petra narrowed his eyes. “I don’t mean to criticize, my lord, but I fear he may not treat your daughter well.”

“Any man who lays a harmful finger on any of my daughters will face a wrath that the Nine Kingdoms have never known. Besides, I’ve heard terrible tales spun about the Dark Prince. If he is as scary as they say he is, we will win this rebellion.” Lord Garth’s men cheered on while Ser Petra left the room. He took a vow that day. He swore he would protect the ruling family. He swore his sword to the King. He would not have that king removed.

Ser Petra met with a pretty servant girl in the courtyard. She smiled brightly when she saw him at first, but then her smile faded when she saw the wrath.

“Are you leaving for King’s Landing soon?” he asked her.

“In less than a fortnight, why?” She batted her pretty eyes. “Did you want to toss around in the hay?” “No. I have whispers that need to be sent to the King and his small council. Lord Garth speaks of treason and an open rebellion.”

“Rebellion?”

“The Lords of Highgarden, the Iron Islands, and Casterly Rock are forming alliances with marriage. Soon, their armies will march across the Nine Kingdoms and they’ll attack the king.” The servant girl left sooner than planned. Royal spies couldn’t hold information like this for long, and Ser Petra was desperate to get to work. The Nine Kingdoms had been living peacefully for decades. He wouldn’t have this peace disturbed now.

Whenever he could, he intercepted ravens. He listened carefully to Lord Garth’s words and deciphered them as best as he could for the royal spies that stayed within the walls of Highgarden. Of course, Lord Garth never suspected his own. Ser Petra thought himself as smater than the aging man.

“What have you heard of the alliance?” a young spy asked him.

“The Dark Prince will be here soon. I suspect the wedding will be soon after that. They want it to be hush-hush.”

“How do you know? Has Lord Garth revealed any days? Any details?”

“No. His lady wife handles all of the wedding crap. He is handling the rebellion. He will not make any moves until his daughter is married.”

“Leaving him open for a siege,” the spy smiled grimly. Like a ghost the spy was gone and disappeared into the walls of Highgarden where most spies hide themselves. In the coming days, Ser Petra saw Highgarden at her best. People teeming with hospitality and kindness. The best dishes were set out and the palace was cleaner.

He strolled down the hallway until he saw a posse of people heading in the opposite direction. Leading them all was Lord Garth himself. His voice still boomed in the corridors of the old castle. Next to him stood a young man. His long dark hair was combed back. Ser Petra judged his dark clothing. It looked as if he was attending a funeral, not an upcoming wedding. He noted the sword and daggers strapped to his sides.

Ser Petra also saw the young man match his glare.

“Ah! Ser Petra!” Lord Garth came closer. He gestured to the young man next to him. “This is the Dark Prince Loki. My daughter’s betrothed.”

“My lord,” Ser Petra bowed his head. He looked towards Loki’s way again and noticed his younger features. “How old are you, boy?”

“Don’t call me, boy,” Loki’s eyes glared. “I’m seventeen.” “You’re still a boy,” Ser Petra laughed at him. Although he planned for Highgarden to fall during a siege, he loved the girls. Cecelia, Dahlia, and Amaryllis would be safe should anything were to happen. He found himself smiling after meeting Loki. At least, they were around the same age. Ser Petra had spent his years in knighthood watching Cecelia grow up before his eyes. They were not blood related, but Petra had a paternal affection for her.

They met again in another hallway just as a spy ran off and disappeared. Loki stood right behind him, seeing what happened.

“Have you driven your squire mad, ser?” Loki asked. “He ran off in a hurry.”

“I ordered him to do something of urgency. Can I help you, my lord?”

“I was told that you possess knowledge of the Highgarden army. I had hoped to ask you questions.”

“Questions? Why do you need to know?”

“I am to lead them into battle. I want to know everything I can,” Loki explained, already bored of this transaction. Ser Perta started laughing.

“You? A boy of seventeen? Lead an army? You must be as mad as the king!”

“I am not. And I will be leading this army.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will, boy,” Ser Petra left an impression on Loki. One that carried into the wedding. Ser Petra saw Cecelia smiling in her beautiful gown while Loki sulked and stared at Ser Petra from afar. He didn’t mind much. This was an evening to celebrate new friends and love. Not planning the undermining of Highgarden.

As soon as Loki and Cecelia left, Ser Petra got to work in aiding as many spies as he could through Highgarden. Some had posed as servants, other posed as poets and intellects, some had posed as children seeking asylum from the war. Months had passed and he was among the first to welcome back Cecelia and her growing stomach back into the safety of Highgarden.

He didn’t anticipate this at all.

When visiting with the lady, Ser Petra took the time to ask careful questions as one of the royal spies poured tea for Cecelia.

“Is it love that I see in your eyes?” Perta laughed. “I have seen you happy but not like this.”

“Thank you, Ser Petra. You can say it is love.”

“Your husband didn’t seem too happy on the wedding day. What happened?”

“We grew. Our love needed tending and kindness. Now we reap the harvest of it.” Cecelia said, patting her swelling belly. Ser Petra smiled genuinely.

“I hope for you sake it’s a boy. I heard from your father that Loki has declared himself to be a Frost Giant. He took his own sigil. Why?”

“To be king. Loki wishes to take the Iron Throne for himself,” Cecelia said. The spy had stumbled over and stopped in her walk. She took a breath and continued. “Is she alright?”

“She’ll be fine. How are you? How is the baby?”

“We’re both healthy and fine. Lady Eir has been so incredibly helpful in that aspect. She expects me to give birth in the colder months coming.”

“Ah yes, the harvesting months. What a wonderful time to have a child.” After conferring with the spies around him, it was final. Loki presented a real threat against the crown unlike his father and older brother who had lost so many battles. Both of their armies headed south towards the civil war that broke out against the noble elf families.

If Loki was to die, so was everything that went with him, including Cecelia and her newborn.

“Is there another arrangement?” Ser Petra asked the sell sword spy cleverly named No Face. No Face sighed beneath his metal mask.

“No. Lady Cecelia and the babe must die. Either you do it your way or I’ll do it my way. Either way, it must be done. King Malekith wishes it.”

“Cecelia is powerless without Loki. Tit was an arranged marriage between the two. She does not want the throne for herself. She never has. Her baby will be born into this world wanting nothing but life.”

“Yet, the baby possesses Loki’s blood. The baby must die,” No Face warned. Ser Petra retreated back into his room, wondering if what he was doing was right for the realm anymore.

:Loki POV:

The chill of the North meant nothing to Loki and his new army of Frost Giants. They proudly marched out of the villages and homes to join his cause. Loki rode a new, bigger horse. She was black with eyes that looked like drops of blood. Caina, Loki dubbed her. He always wanted a good warhorse.

“Where do we march, my king?” a frost giant rode beside him. He was tall and lanky like Loki was. He had dark markings around every inch of exposed skin Loki saw with his eye.

“We march back to my wife, cousin,” Loki smiled. “She lives in the south where our dwarven and human friends wish to be right now.” “To Highgarden, it is.”

As the troops approached a village, Loki had an awfully good idea. He turned to his cousin on his right.

“Our warriors, they still needed to be blooded, am I correct?”

“Yes,” his cousin confirmed. “Many of us have been trained, but we have not seen battle yet.” A mischievous smile played on his lips. His eyes turned dark.

“Show me what you can do. Sack the village.”

The small Northern village burned to ashes in only an hour. Several mens’ heads sat on spikes and decorated the border of the village. Loki rode Caina through the ashes and looked down upon his easy victory. Not much of the village was left except for food and its people. Children held onto their mothers’ torn skirts while they were captured. Each person filed into the carriages. Some men had to be chained and separated from the rest.

Loki heard a man say ‘fuck the dark king’ and spit on the ground. That was his mistake.

“What’s your name?” Loki asked of the man, a smile played on his lips.

“Why does it matter?” the man yelled back. A frost giant soldier kicked the back of his knee which sent him down to the ground hard.

“Kneel before your King!” the soldier said. Loki jumped off his horse and approached the burnt man. His clothes were dirty and parts of him were burnt. His beard caught the snow that fell from the sky. Loki’s sword touched the tip of his chin.

“I have taken your home. I have destroyed everything, and yet you have the courage to tell me to fuck off?”

“You’re going to kill us, aren’t you?” the burnt man said. “Doesn’t matter whose king. You’ll end up killing us anyways. You’re no better than the Mad King.”

Loki put his sword to his neck, watching the man get increasingly nervous of his own fate. The burnt man closed his eyes and accepted what fate handed to him, a quick death. Loki put his sword down and knelt in front of the man.

“I’m not like the Mad King. I can be merciful,” Loki told the burnt man. He took his dagger and shoved it into the man’s side. “See? I gave you the pleasure of watching your family come away with me while you lay dying here in the snow.” The burnt man cried out, holding his side and rolling on the ground. Loki left him there as he rolled and writhed.

Satisfied with himself, Loki cleaned his blade until another cousin caught his attention.

“My king, this one says she knows you,” this frost giant had a young woman chained to his horse. Her light red locks and sad eyes tied knots in Loki’s stomach. This woman did know him, and he knew her very well.

“Lorelei?” Loki breathed out. The woman looked up to Loki with a grateful smile. A tear streamed down her cheek. She was dirty and bruised. Her shoes had very little to protect her from the snow beneath her toes. Her light clothing suggested her profession.

“Hello Loki,” Lorelei greeted. “I knew you’d never forget me. I knew you’d come back to me.”

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