#The beads woven through it that catch the light every so often

[pedulum-chronometry]

I just need you to know that I could stare at Yennefer’s Princess Jasmine hair from the ball for hours

[wolfbark-and-co]

Sky Colony

(Formerly Skyclan)

A small, eccentric group of cats who live in a ravine camp. Often found hunting in the tops of trees, these cats seek comfort in high places.

Leadership

These cats have a fairly loose leadership style, often given the most freedom out of every Colony to do as they want. They often accept loners and daylight warriors, almost always pass a “yes” vote on clan changes, allow other Colony cats to venture in their territory, and are generally a welcoming group.

Territory

Sky Colony rests partially on a large, open field, and partially on forested land. They hunt more often in the forest, but are known for being quite fast on the prairie as well, and doing most ceremonies under the light of the stars.

Nifty-senpai

Prey

Sky Colony is the worst at hunting large prey in groups, but is incredibly good at catching flighted prey. Songbirds, birds of prey, and other tree dwelling animals are most often on the menu, along with berries and nuts. They also have a lot of grains available, so commonly cook with them.

Camp

Sky Colony camp is in a hollow with a small stream running through it and some trees growing along the walls. The main feature of their camp is a wall filled with rock crevasses and stones.

At the center of camp is the cooling area, which keeps the space around the den warm. In the area there is a dug out hole to store raw prey, a rock oven, and some spaces to set up smokers and hot stones. There are also many woven mats around the area for cats to put food on, and sit around and eat as a group. There are many clay pots and storage containers around also, including kittypet tools.

Bonefall

While Sky Colony’s main camp is on the ground, it’s not uncommon to find the bulk of the cats spending more time sleeping, hunting, and patrolling from the trees- their camp serves as a base of operations and a safe place, but surrounding it are large trees with platforms, hammocks, nests, and bridges between the trees, many of which hang/cross over the main camp, making a sort of walkway over the hollow, meaning they can always see their camp even when resting up in the trees. Many of the surrounding trees are hollowed out on the inside, making great dens for single cats or couples, or pairs of siblings who nest together.

The elder’s den is a small, warm tree hollow with many nesting materials.

In the center of the camp is a pit used for a constantly burning fire. It is only put out during bad weather they could cause smoke to blow too much.

Culture

Sky Colony cats are very open and honest, acting as one large family more often than not. They value each other's company a lot, often being found napping and hunting together. They are the least aggressive colony and prefer to socialize and make peace as opposed to fighting.

For tools, they use a lot of kittypet items mixed with stone and wooden tools. They often decorate with feathers and brightly colored flowers and berry paint, as well as the stunning colorful leaves from their territory’s trees. They’re often considered the most skilled clan when it comes to craftsmanship. When using bones in crafts, they mostly use small animal bones such as birds, making them very delicate, careful carvers. They are the most technologically advanced group because of this, often being found to even use strange twoleg lights that they claim are powered by the sun, to hang from the trees surrounding their camp.

Sky Colony is the leading colony for making small decorative items like beads and charms, so their harnesses and knives are often decorated with these items.

Sky Colony, second only to Moor Colony, are amazing at digging and tunneling- however, they use their skills to hollow out trees, both to serve as small dens, and to make an amazing place to hide and ambush prey and enemy cats. They have large claws that are great for climbing, jumping, and drilling into wood to make these hiding places!

Because of their long time spent away from the 4 colonies during their exile, Sky Colony views battle as a last resort and views all fighting as dishonorable unless in the defense of one’s life or limb. Because of this, they have a neutral view of scars as opposed to the forest 4’s reverence of battle scars. While they live with the 4 now, they’re certainly still quite unique.

Fatal-rewrites-warriors

Sandstorm is wearing what I’d consider close to this AU’s Sky Colony outfit. She has bright colored paint, twoleg objects, and a leather belt. A typical Skyclan cat would have a smaller, more intricate knife unless traded for from another clan, and would at least be wearing their ranking feather on their tail tip.

They’re a fairly spiritual group, but come second in that category to Moor Colony. During ceremonies, they often wear colorful paint to resemble their most common food source, birds.

Sky Colony has a feather ranking system! Any cat can wear any feather, but the one tied to the tip of their tail decides their rank. Feathers anywhere else on the body can be any type, and this only applies to Sky Colony. Other Colony cats may wear feathers anywhere with no meaning.

Leader - eagle

Deputy - hawk

Healers - jay

Warriors (including hunters, crafters, guards, etc) - crow

Skywatchers - goose

Ambassador - owl

Caretakers - flowers replace feathers, flower garlands are wrapped around the tail or neck.

Elders - same feather as their current rank, but with the top sliced off.

Apprentices (warrior) - finch feather

Apprentices (healer) - finch feather + jay feather

Apprentices (caretaker) - single flower on ear.

Ambassador’s apprentice - Owl feather + finch feather.

Trivia

- Skywatchers are Sky Colony’s version of the other 4 colonies Starspeakers. The name is to honor an old Skyclan cat.

Goose feathers for Skywatchers are a reference to Goosefeather.

Jay feathers for healers are a reference to Jayfeather.

Goldfinch feathers are a symbol of apprentices as a whole.

Naming

The most common names in Sky Colony revolve around birds, trees, and plants. Among the most common clan names (suffixes) are

Flower, petal, rose, stem

Light

Jump, leap, spring

Tuft

Tail, foot

Feather, wing, talon, flight, fall.

Credits

Nifty-senpai (camp art)

Bonefall (some AU ideas + oven art)

Fatal-blow (sandstorm)

[swordandboardllc]

Book Review: Children of Time, by Adrian Tchaikovsky

Patrons received access to this post 2 days early.

If you’re looking to squirm a little out of your comfort zone, Children of Time is hands-down one of the best science fiction choices with which to do so. The story follows two major plots that converge dangerously at the end: a ship full of survivors from Earth’s self-destruction, and a planet populated by a mad scientist’s experiment gone awry. 

How awry? The experiment was to create a new type of human from rapidly evolving apes. Instead of apes, we watch the sentient evolution of something quite different from ourselves:

Spiders.

Don’t throw the book away! If you do, you will miss one of the most incredibly written lessons in empathy that you will ever read.

"Life is not perfect, individuals will always be flawed, but empathy – the sheer inability to see those around them as anything other than people too – conquers all, in the end."  -- Adrian Tchaikovsky

There is something truly incredible about experiencing a world so wholly differently than your own, through the eyes (or more appropriately, feet) of something that, for most of us, instinctively pulls on our fear or revulsion. I’m not arachnophobic but I do enforce a very strong policy of social distancing with the spiders in my home: keep 6’+ away from me, preferably quite out of sight and they can feast away on any pests that enter my home to their little arachnid heart’s delight. Any closer and I used to be quite firmly in the “squish it” category. It’s the fast, easy, expedient method of handling the little rule breaker. 

Not anymore. 

Admittedly, the cats usually get any spider that’s on the ground in our house faster than I do, but if I manage to catch her before the cats do it’s off outside she goes. Now, I’m not saying this book will be a turning point if you’re arachnophobic and make you love spiders. Far from it. But Tchaikovsky has an incredible gift for building up a world so believably different from our own that it’s hard not to view spiders in a different light.

We have grand assumptions about how the world exists that is driven by how we perceive it. It’s foreign to us to consider viewing the world in any way differently than visually first, everything else second. It’s part of our failing in understanding our own pets (dogs perceive the world scent→sight→sound), and certainly a failing in understanding non-mammalian animals. Yet Tchaikovsky manages to build an entire world, an entire plot, with incredible characters, built on perceiving the world first through touch, then through sight. There is an incredible interconnectedness based believably off both the genetic changes done by Kern (the egomaniacal mad scientist) and the intense web weaving inherent to the spiders themselves.

"If there had been some tiny bead present in the brain of all humans, that had told each other, They are like you; that had drawn some thin silk thread of empathy, person to person, in a planet-wide net – what might then have happened? Would there have been the same wars, massacres, persecutions and crusades?"  -- Adrian Tchaikovsky

If you are a writer, this book offers a brilliant reminder to consider the numerous different aspects of worldbuilding and race creation rather than just following the rule of cool. It is a reminder to delve deeper, to play around with every possible facet of your characters and world. To put your limited perception of the world aside for a moment and ask yourself “What if x?”

For the reader, this book places us often in an uncomfortable position and then eases us gently into understanding, empathy, and shows us a beautifully woven world fantastically different from our own. 

It’s why I now have an old pill bottle on the coffee table for catching and releasing our spider roommates. I hope you’ll do the same.

-L.J.

Author of The Dying Sun, Book 1 of The Gods Chronicle. Pedantic Scribe of the ‘Scribe’s Journey Podcast’

Support Independent Creativity! Become a Patron

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (38) || atz

It’s cold here.

The second you step into the tunnel before you, the stone wall rises behind you once more, plunging you and your captain into darkness, the only light that reaches you is at what you presume to be the end of the tunnel. It’s far dryer than you expected for the lair of a sea witch, but you’re definitely not complaining.

Hongjoong takes your hand and moves in front of you, armed with his cutlass. You think about drawing yours as well, but wielding a blade with your non-dominant hand is probably going to do more damage than any actual help, so you refrain from doing so.

Every step you take sends echoes bouncing eerily off the walls around you, so you hold on tighter to your captain’s hand and stick to his side, shying away from the walls. Hongjoong’s grip on your hand is firm and warm, pulling you with him as the two of you finally reach the end of the cave and step into the light.

To your surprise, you’re not in a cave anymore.

It’s a beach.

After joining a pirate crew, you had been on the sea for most of your time since awakening. And when you hadn’t, you had often been at docks or beaches, and yes, you would like to say you had seen many beautiful beaches in your short “life” here so far.

But this beach is like none other you’ve seen before.

Tall, jagged cliffs rise around you like fingers stretching for the grey, stormy sky above you. No water touches your skin yet, but you can taste it in the air you breathe that a torrential downpour is on the brink of falling. The white, foaming sea ploughs forward and would have crashed down upon the beach you are on if it weren’t for the rocky reef barriers breaking them apart, sea spray flying into the air.

“I hope this is symbolism for something bad coming in the near future.” You mutter grimly, but before your captain can reply, there’s someone standing before you.

You don’t know how she got here. One second she wasn’t there and one second she simply was, looking completely calm and unruffled as if she had been there the whole time and you two merely hadn’t noticed her.

You nearly leap out of your skin in fright, Hongjoong handling this surprise a lot better than you are. He pulls you behind him in one smooth motion, tip of his cutlass pointed right towards the woman.

“Who are you?”

The first thought that registers in your mind is that she’s beautiful.

No, beautiful is actually too tame of a word to describe her. When the fortune teller on Tortuga had spoken of a sea witch, you had expected for someone that looked much like her, an old hag draped in rags with occult symbols and beads, perhaps missing several teeth and smelling like she hadn’t known a bar of soap her whole life. But you’re almost guilty that you thought about her that way, because this woman is completely different from what you expected.

Her lovely, slender figure is adorned in a sheer golden dress that brushes the sand behind her and flies with the wind like a bird in the sky, woven from a material that for some reason you recognise even though you’ve never seen it before. Sea silk, you realise in shock, a textile so valuable it is actually worth more than its weight in gold.

In stark contrast to her gown, her hair is a midnight black, flowing over her shoulders in waves and plunging down her back to her waist like a inky waterfall, the strands gently brushing soft, petal lips.

Then you meet her eyes.

People say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. If that statement holds true, then the woman before you must have an eternal one, because her eyes are a bottomless blue that remind you of the deepest, most mysterious depths of the ocean. There doesn’t seem to be an end to the infinite wisdom and grace of her, and when you look at her, face to face, she merely gives you a gentle smile.

When she moves, something abruptly slams into your mind that she isn’t a statue and is, in fact, a living, breathing human being. The smile she presents you with is bright enough to turn a man blind, and you feel as if your eyes have just been blessed by the mere sight of her. She opens her mouth to speak.

“Welcome, Choi Chin Hae.”

You don’t even realise you’re gaping at her until Hongjoong lifts one hand to shut your mouth, which closes with an audible clop. He doesn’t seem the least bit fazed by her, however, his sword still focused on the woman with an unwavering hand.

“I asked, who are you?”

The woman merely shows a teasing smile and quirks a brow at him playfully, as if she’s part of a little secret that he’s not included in.

“You would battle all manner of sea storms and sirens to reach this island, yet not know what you are searching for?” She shakes her head, as if disappointed. “Even if you have your suspicions on who I am, I know full well who you are, Kim Hongjoong.”

Every word she speak reverberates with power and now that you hear her voice for the second time, it sends shivers down your spine. You don’t know how to describe it, but her voice sounds like waves sweeping against the shore in the early morning light. You can feel a powerful pulse around her, a billion times more intense than your master’s, like invisible riptides in the air around her.

Your captain’s eye narrows. “You’re the sea witch?” You can hear the confusion in his voice and the woman nods, each simple action effortlessly graceful and elegant as a dancer.

“That is what most call me, yes.” She gazes towards you with those fathomless blue eyes. “But the name my mistress bestowed upon me is Eldoris.”

Eldoris. Even her name sounds beautiful.

“Well then, Lady Eldoris,” Hongjoong’s tone is carefully polite, but his grip on the sword is still tight. “Would you mind if you answered a few of our questions?”

Eldoris’ smile widens to show pearly white teeth. “I will answer all the questions you have for me to the best of my ability.”

There’s something tugging inside you that’s warning you that everything has been too easy up till now and your captain obviously feels it too, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Instead, he merely glances at you, encouraging you to move forward and ask what you want to know.

For a moment you just stand there as the two of them look at you expectantly. Even though up till this point your mind was overflowing with questions, now that you’re face to face with the prospect of getting real answers, your mind suddenly stutters to a stop, completely blank.

So much had happened. There is so much you want to know. Where are you to begin?

“First,” You start off with the simplest question you can think of, “What do you know about me?”

The sea witch tilts her head to the side as she searches your face intently, eyes skimming your features in a way that makes you a little uneasy.

“A month ago, you awoke in a prison cell in the town of Raguza wearing the coat of a Royal Navy officer.” She begins softly, her gaze holding yours captive as she lays out your story since awakening. “You were sentenced to death by hanging, but managed to escape when there was a raid on the town by the pirate band ATEEZ. You hid on the ship when it sailed away, and from there on became part of the crew.”

You know you’re supposed to be shocked by how she knows all of this, but you’ve been through a lot, from learning about the fact you’re actually a golem to how Seonghwa’s family actually were pirates. The novelty of having near unbelievable feats being dropped on you had kind of worn off after a while.

You swallow nervously as you begin to probe a little deeper. “Then do you know about what I am?”

At this she pauses, as if thinking about how to phrase her words very carefully in a way that would be the most accurate. The wind sweeps around her, tossing her dark hair into into the air as she answers your question. “I am aware that you are considered to be, in part, a golem of clay that has only existed for a moon.”

Your breath catches in your throat. It really is as the fortune teller had told you back on Tortuga. You had made a deal with the woman before you, a sea witch, to gain this body that you have.

As if sensing the turmoil within you, Hongjoong takes your hand in his gently, squeezing tight to let you know he’s still there.

His comfort gives you the courage you need to ask the question you need answered. You take a deep breath and finally spill what you’ve been intending to ask her this whole time.

“Did you… make me?”

There’s a long silence as the sea witch stands opposite you on the beach, her eyes filled with secrets as she meets your desperate gaze. Then she nods her head very slowly, as if this time she’s trying to be deliberately vague.

“I did make your body.” Eldoris speaks softly as she looks you over with an intense gaze. A chilling shiver wraps around your throat and dances down your spine, you feel as if someone has just walked right across your grave. She’s studying you like how a potter would study her work, her eyes tracing every inch of your body.

Hongjoong’s fingers tighten around yours.

You force down the unease and meet the sea witch in the eye the best you can.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘make my body’? The fortune teller I visited told me she had never seen a vessel crafted so beautifully.” You don’t mean to sound like you’re flattering yourself, but it is what she said, at least. You want to know how exactly you’re different from other golems, why the fortune teller had been able to tell you that you were unique in an instant.

Eldoris’ deep blue eyes narrow slightly. “I built your body from the clay found along the rocks worn away by the sea that have bathed in moonlight for aeons, before the mortals came into existence. With my own hands I crafted you, a feat unheard of by any other magician. To animate golems, a magic slip is placed in their mouths by their creators to represent the breath of life of the Creator. They then move, act upon their master’s wishes, but you see, Chin Hae… there’s one thing that sets you apart from all other golems.”

You find yourself unconsciously leaning forward, desperate to know what she has to say next. As far as you know, there is no slip of paper in your mouth. What makes you different?

“You have a heart.”

The very heart she’s speaking about stops in your chest for a second, as if aware that the witch before you is speaking about it. You remember the starry night on the beach, watching the clay of your fingers run with the tide until the mysterious man with eyes as green as the earth had plunged a knife into your chest, placing it inside.

A clay heart.

The moment the heart had been put in your body, clay had become skin and flesh, where there had once been nothing but earth, blood flowed through your veins. You felt the wind and water of the sea with your own fingers, felt air rush into your lungs with each breath you took. For the first time in your life, you felt a heartbeat thud in your chest.

But how?

How was that man able to turn mere clay into… this?

“Powerful magic.” Eldoris says, her voice drifting to you over the wind. You’re startled into shock when you realised she can read your mind with a single glance at your face. “Powerful, ancient magic that I could never even dream about.”

A hysterical snort escapes you. All this talk about arcane and magic and ancient beings is really starting to scare you, goosebumps crawling up your skin. “I suppose not all golems also have this friendly green eyed man to turn their clay into skin?” You shake your head at your own joke, but when the sea witch answers you, her voice is perfectly serious, solemn, even.

“No. Only you.”

You’re stunned with disbelief. What would this supposedly immensely powerful being want with a mere clay golem like you? Why would he bother giving you a heart? And why would he say that everything is going according to plan?

Are you… a pawn in some scheme of his?

But that feeling of desperately reaching out for him comes back to you. Even though you couldn’t recognise his face, part of you seems to remember him, you just know somehow that you trusted him with everything you were.

Then something strikes you as odd.

If golems were merely animated beings of clay, without conscience or heart, then how did you have memories even before the heart was put into your chest?

Your eyes fly wide open in shock all of a sudden.

“Eldoris…” You ask desperately, too anxious to bother addressing her respectfully. Something about it doesn’t feel right to you, anyway. “Before my body was created… was I someone else?”

Her expression doesn’t change in the slightest, but you can somehow see the genuine surprise that flashes across her face. Beside you, you can hear Hongjoong draw in a surprised breath.

“Chin Hae-”

“Yes.”

That one single word leaves her lips with so much surety, as if she needs you to understand that you were someone before this all. Shock shoots through your entire body. It’s not that you had no memories, on the other hand, your memories must have been erased somehow. You were someone.

Her eyes don’t leave yours, beseeching, as if willing you to know something that you don’t.

“Then do you know who I was, how I got into this body, why I have no memories?”

Suddenly, Eldoris’ eyes darken at your words. Her voice drops to something more grave, her tone almost warning, but you don’t realise it in your impatience to get the answers you’ve been waiting for since your awakening.

“I do.” She answers, but her words are grim.

Finally. Your identity and memories are finally in your reach now.

“Can you tell me?” You almost breath, desperate for your answers. You’re finally at the end of your journey now, you can finally discover who you once were and put an end to all of this agony within you.

Eldoris meets your anguished gaze with a calm one of her own, folding her hands elegantly before her and opening her mouth to speak once more.

The word that leaves her lips is unbelievably simple, yet more infinitely complex than you can comprehend.

“No.”

[mamabearcatfanfics]

Instinct - Part Three

Read on below, or here on AO3 if you prefer!

Kaede sighed, rolling her neck from side to side to ease the strained muscles. She rose slowly from her cramped position at the low table where she’d knelt all afternoon, pounding fresh herbs for a poultice. Even though she used a cushion now as a concession to her arthitic knees, her joints were protesting painfully. Overuse, or was another Spring storm brewing, like the one last night? The fingers on her right hand spasmed a little as she shook them out, and she rubbed her aching knuckles absentmindedly. All these little aches and pains. When did she get so old? And why did these troubled times have to come upon her village? Yes, she was still powerful spiritually, but her aging body now came with all these niggling physical limitations that prevented her from seeking direct confrontation. The battle against Naraku and the collection of the Shikon no tama was much better left in younger hands.

Shuffling her weary limbs over to the door frame, she pushed the woven screen aside to look out down the road leading north, away from the village. The sun was setting, throwing its firey colours on to the darkness of the gathering storm clouds in the west. It looked like her arthritic joints had forewarned that more rain was brewing after all. She wondered how her children were doing, and if they were safely out of the weather.

Kaede smiled wryly. Such a motley little group they were. Even though they were no relation, and Inuyasha and probably Kirara were decades older than herself, she did think of them as her children, the closest she would ever get to having a family. Even though she was well liked in the village, loved even, the position of miko was a lonely one, set a little apart from the daily lives of others. Having that rag tag bunch burst into her life had brought her troubles, yes, but also joy.

She’d known Inuyasha longer than any of them. When she was just a simple village girl and her much older sister Kikyou was priestess of the village and guardian of the Shikon no Tama, he’d been there, looking no different than he did now, over fifty years later. Around Kikyou he’d been reserved, almost hesitant in his manner, as if he were afraid to upset her and draw attention to his half youkai nature. But he hadn’t been that way with herself, meeting her teasing questions with his usual gruffness, willing for the most part to suffer her childish fascination with him.

She could admit to herself now, she’d had the smallest crush on him – the innocent feelings of a ten year old girl for an older man who was beautiful, strong and unattainable. He was a big brother figure when for so long there had only been her and Kikyou, whom she’d adored as one who could do no wrong. And then Kikyou had died, accusing Inuyasha of fatally injuring her as she sealed him to the Goshinbuko in retaliation.

Kaede had visited the tree often in the weeks following Kikyou’s death. Yelled at Inuyasha, screamed at him, asking him how he could have betrayed them, when he’d shown evidence of loving Kikyou, when she herself had looked up to him as a big brother and a protector. In the following months when she could steal moments from her new role at the shrine, she visited the Goshinboku to sit amongst its roots underneath his silent beauty to weep hot heavy tears over the way her life had turned out. She had never wished to be a Miko, but she was helpless under the weight of village expectations when they discovered she also possessed reiki after Kikyou’s death.  

Over the years, those feelings had settled. Her grief had dimmed and she had accepted her role as village protector and healer, enjoyed it even. When her emotions finally ceased to cloud her memory, she recalled how Onigumo’s prescence had made her feel, the crawling uneasiness that crept up her spine whenever she visited that cave in Kikyou’s place. But there had been no answers to her lingering questions. And now… now she had more answers than she knew what to do with. Inuyasha had awakened and returned to her life, and so had Kikyou in a warped and twisted form. Onigumo had become the half demon Naraku and Kikyou’s reincarnated soul was housed in a girl five hundered years from the future. Fate truly had a warped sense of humour it seemed.

She was still learning what to make of Kagome, her far distant descendant who fell through time. She seemed to be such a spirited girl, always willing to speak her mind, never afraid to raise her voice, which was not in itself a bad thing, considering the circumstances. She had a good heart, always willing to give others a chance and try and see a situation from another’s perspective. And Kaede could plainly see that girlish heart longed for Inuyasha.

Was fate playing a part in this too she pondered? Inuyasha’s feelings for Kagome were also strong; Kaede was sure he meant for them to be hidden, but it was easy to see the regard he had for the girl. He cared deeply for her, in his own way. But what could come from it? Could they really have a future together? Only time would tell.

The last ebbing light of the sunset fell away, and Kaede let the door screen fall, shivering a little as the cool night breeze blew in around her ankles. Time to light a lamp and set the rice to cook.

She had just finished washing the rice and put the pot on the embers when she heard the sound of pounding feet coming up the path to her home, too fast to be one of the villagers, accompanied by the snapping aura of youki. Rising as swiftly as she could, knees cracking with age, she reached for her bow. But before her fingers could grasp it, Inuyasha crashed through the doorway, his chest heaving and expression wild.

“By the Kami Inuyasha” she scolded, “are you trying to give this old woman a heart attack? What is going on?”

He knelt next to the fire, clutching a gasping dark haired figure wrapped snugly in Kagome’s sleeping bag, and turned his beseeching eyes to Kaede. She was taken aback by his frantic words.

“Please, help her. Don’t let her die.”

Kagome woke with a start. She was so cold. Her teeth chattered, and she couldn’t control the intense shivers that shook her body, displacing the blanket that had been tucked carefully around her. But her head felt hot, sweat beading on her forehead then running down her face to dampen her hair and collect in the hollow of her throat. How was it possible to feel like she was simultaneously freezing and on fire – surely that was a physical impossibility. She groaned, wanting to open her eyes, but feeling like even that was too much for her.

Everything hurt. Every breath while she lay on her back cut like shards of glass, the pain excruciating, but she had no strength to sit up. It felt like there was a tight mask held over her face that only let the barest trace of oxygen into her screaming lungs, no matter how much she wheezed to take in air. Her body fought to cough and breathe at the same time, without her having any say in the matter, and she whimpered, panic rising. She was drowning on dry land, with no way to swim to the surface.

Warm hands. There was pressure on her shoulders, a soothing rumble, and she turned blindly towards it, craving the heat and life in those hands and the comfort of that sound. Now that she was upright her breathing felt a little easier, the pain in her chest and back more bearable, now he was here. Those warm hands moved her gently to lean against him, her naked skin shivering against fur and cloth, a deep rumbling sound vibrating against her spine. Warmth encircled her, those hands tugging a blanket up to her chin, and she sighed in relief, tucking her face in against that small patch of smooth skin, resting her nose into the hollow of his throat. The fresh clean scent of cedar and cypress from the woods calmed her. She could barely breathe, but she knew that smell.

“Inuyasha”, she gasped softly, raising one hand to clench her fingers into his suikan, her relief in his prescence palpable. She wanted to open her eyes and smile for him, show him she was glad he was here, but her body betrayed her, harsh coughs racking her already shivering frame.  

Inuyasha looked down at the pale girl in his arms. The previous silence of the small hut was now filled to the brim with Kagome’s coughing, the raw sound grating up her throat, stealing the air from her lungs until she was gasping. She looked so fragile, curled up as she coughed into his shoulder, letting out a soft whimper at the end of each fresh burst. It was a pattern that had repeated over and over since they’d arrived here the night before. Just as she seemed to settle and was drifting into sleep, her breath would catch, and another fit would start.

His heart clenched at the sight of her pained face, tears falling from her sooty lashes and down her feverish cheeks. He held her close, tapping on her back and supporting her as he had for the past night and day in the isolation hut.

When they’d first arrived and he’d begged Kaede to save her, the old woman had insisted he leave them in the isolation hut so she could get Kagome comfortable and sponge her down to help her fever, citing propriety. He’d hovered outside, snarling and pacing, listening to a barely conscious Kagome weeping and gasping inconsolably as Kaede tried to calm her with quiet words. After a few minutes, he hadn’t been able to stand it any longer, and had rushed back into the hut, pulling her semi-naked form into his lap, rocking her as he held her tightly in his arms. Almost without thinking, he’d begun to make that grumbling noise that he made only for her, and Kagome had calmed almost instantly, his deep rumbling vibration soothing her almost to sleep.

With a wry smile, Kaede had conceded to the needs of her patient and had handed Kagome’s nursing over to Inuyasha, only bustling in and out of the small hut behind her own to bring medicinal tea, broth, and water to sponge down her fevered skin. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d tapped on Kagome’s back to help her try to clear her lungs, sponged her heated skin with cool water in an effort to bring down her fever, coaxed the bitter herbal medicines down her protesting throat.

Inuyasha laced his fingers into Kagome’s, and she squeezed his hand hard as another coughing fit had her lungs spasming, more tears running down her face as she cried out in pain, finally managing to cough up the greenish phlegm that had been choking her into a cloth he had ready under her mouth.

“That’s it. Good girl. That’s my good girl. I got you.”

He hadn’t wanted to leave her side when she had finally fallen asleep after coaxing her to swallow a little broth to take away the bitterness of her afternoon dose of medicinal tea, but he’d had to. She wasn’t getting any better. There was no improvement, despite his and Kaede’s careful care. And he could tell Kaede was worried, no matter how calm she looked on the outside, which made him even more so.

So, heartsick and anxious, he’d gone through the well. He’d falteringly explained the situation to Mama Higurashi, his voice breaking a little as he told her exactly how sick he and Kaede thought she was. When she’d angrily demanded why he hadn’t brought her home straight away, he’d tried to explain Kagome’s reasoning and her fear of spreading the illness. Told her he was now making the decision to bring her back through the well against her wishes, and that he didn’t care if Kagome was angry with him. He’d just wanted to warn Mama first, in case she thought precautions needed to be taken.

After a few moments of pure panic, Mama had embraced him, soothed him with quiet words that he’d done the right thing in letting her know, and had taken charge of the situation just like he’d hoped she would. While he hovered in the background, she made a phone call to another mother to arrange a sleep over at a friend's house for Souta, then ran out to Grandpa sweeping the temple grounds to explain the situation. He’d wanted to stay, but she’d finally got him to agree to stay with one of his friends for the night, just until the doctor had seen Kagome.

Then she called their family doctor, asking if he could make a house call as soon as possible, explaining her concerns about possible influenza and not wanting to take Kagome to the emergency room at the hospital, just in case. As he left the shrine she’d just finished collecting medicine from the bathroom, and was busily putting clean sheets on Kagome's bed, the bedroom window wide open to and air out the room. All Inuyasha had to do was bring Kagome back through the well. He could feel the fear driving Mama’s nervous energy, but it also gave him hope. He didn’t care what else happened. All he cared about was Kagome.

Now that Kagome’s coughing fit had eased, he propped her limp form up against his chest, reaching for the pyjamas that Mama had given him to dress her in, fluffy, pink and soft. It was easy to tug the pants with the elastic waist up her legs and over her underwear, but the shirt with its tiny heart shaped white buttons tested his shaking fingers.

Kagome thanked him sleepily, her voice raw from coughing.

“Kagome, I gotta tell ya somethin’.”

She blinked her eyes open, looking blearily upwards and taking in his tired anxious expression with concern.

“Inuyasha, you okay?”

He snorted, sighing exasperatedly at her, and smoothed back her damp fringe.

“Stop wastin’ your breath on me, dummy, it’s you that we need to worry about at the moment.” He took a deep breath, his gaze serious. “Kagome, I want you to listen to me”, he said, his voice slow and deep. “I don’t want any fuss, and I’m not gonna take no for an answer. I’m takin’ you back through the well to your Mama.”

“No”, she whispered, reaching up to tug on his suikan weakly, her voice wheezing and cracking, “contagious… don’t want them to die… isolation hut, you promised.” Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and her bottom lip trembled.

“I didn’t promise nothin’ of the sort”, replied Inuyasha gently, brushing away her tears with his thumb. “Besides, you’ve been here in the isolation hut for over a day Kagome, and you’re just gettin’ weaker. Kaede agrees with me. I ain’t gonna let you get any worse. I know you’re stubborn wench, but so am I.”

He folded down the collar of her pyjama shirt that was sitting crooked, and gently pulled the dark hair caught inside the collar loose to rest down her shoulders. Her tearful expression of betrayal was breaking his heart.

“I explained to your Mama what you were worried about, and she has it all sorted. Your grandfather and Souta are stayin’ somewhere else. She’s got a doctor comin’ to the shrine and medicine organised. It’s going to be okay. You’re gonna be fine”, he said, his voice hitching a little. He pressed his forehead to hers, then planted a brief kiss there as he tucked the dark sweat dampened hair hanging in her face behind her ears tenderly. “That’s what Mama said, and she’s never lied to me, so it’s gotta be true, right?”

His voice cracked a little more, and he took a deep breath, pulling her close to him, tucking her in under his chin to hide his sudden tears, blinking them away before Kagome could see them. He could swear over and over that he would protect her, that he would lay his life on the line for her, but what good was a sword against this?

“Inuyasha”, she whispered, her face burrowing into his chest, “… I’m scared.”

He pressed his lips to her hair, rocking her in his arms as he had the night before, when he was desperate for her to get some healing sleep. “Don’t cry my sweet girl, don’t cry. I got you.”

He eased himself to his feet with her still in his arms, moving slowly and carefully. He paused in the doorway where Kaede waited to say goodbye.

“Don’t cry child”, she said soothingly, patting Kagome’s arm in a comforting manner. “Inuyasha is doing the right thing – let him take care of you. Your body is working hard to fight this illness, but this fever of yours needs to come down, and you need rest. I am sure the healers in your time will know how to proceed, and I have no doubt I will see you again when you are feeling better.”

“Kaede…”, Kagome whimpered tearfully.

“None of that now”, said Kaede firmly. “Off you go. I’m sure your mother is anxious to see you.” She nodded to Inuyasha, her expression calm and kind. “Keep your spirits up Inuyasha”, she said softly, “all will be well, you will see.”

He blinked at the older woman, his own eyes bright, then nodded, his jaw clenched tightly as if to prevent the unspoken fears in his eyes from spilling down his cheeks. With Kagome held safely in his arms, he took off towards the well, his graceful speed pulling them from Kaede’s sight in no time at all.

Once they were safely away, the serene expression dropped from her face, and she raised her tired eyes to the heavens, the late afternoon sun lengthening her shadow far behind her. In her long years as a healer, she had seen very few recover from the lung fever once their symptoms were as severe as Kagome’s, but surely the kami could not be so cruel. She was worried for Kagome, but just as worried for Inuyasha. How would he handle the loss if Kagome died, when he was only just beginning to accept the place she held in his heart?

“Please”, she pleaded, a single tear rolling down her weathered cheek, “please let all be well.”

Mama was waiting for them at the well house, her usually kind brown eyes anxious above a white mask that covered her nose and mouth. Her breath hitched as she took in Kagome’s flushed cheeks and shallow breaths and she blinked away sudden tears.

“Mama, I’m sorry”, wheezed Kagome.

“Shh, baby, everything will be okay, you’ll see. I’m just glad to see you.” Seeing Inuyasha’s startled expression at the mask she explained.

“You said Kagome was concerned about infection, so I will wear this mask unless the doctor says she’s no longer contagious – that way she won’t have to worry. Please take her straight up to her bedroom so we can give her some medicine to help with her fever. The doctor will be here soon.”

She followed quickly behind Inuyasha as he carried her daughter up the stairs to her bedroom, watching silently as he gently placed her on the bed and propped her upright with soft pillows. She handed him two small tablets and watched as Inuyasha coaxed Kagome to take them, praising her when she managed to swallow them down with sips of water.

“Now that we’ve got Kagome settled, we need to disguise you a little before the doctor gets here”, she said quietly to Inuyasha, stroking his shoulder. “I’ve put some old clothes of my husband’s in the bathroom, a t-shirt and some loose comfortable pants – he was about your height, so hopefully they’ll fit well enough.” Nodding, he dropped a soft kiss to the top of Kagome’s head, then left the room.

“Inuyasha?” Kagome called out, her eyes widening at his sudden absence.

“Shh my darling, it’s okay. He’ll be right back after he’s changed into modern clothes. You want him to be able to stay in the room when the doctor is here, don’t you?” Mama soothed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Reaching for the cloth sitting in a bowl of tepid water, she wrung it out, smoothing it over Kagome’s face and wrists, the heat of a mother’s love swelling in her chest. Her baby. No matter how old Kagome got, she would always be her baby.

Kagome began to cough and Inuyasha reappeared in the doorway as if summoned, pulling the dark t-shirt over his head as he sat on the other side of the bed, easing Kagome forward a little so he could tap gently on her back.

“That’s it. That’s my brave girl”, he soothed, as Mama reached for the box of tissues, placing them in front of Kagome. “Cough it up now, that’s the way.”

Mama couldn’t help the sudden tears that sprang up to roll silently down her cheeks, dampening the mask. When had the brash self-defensive boy that had burst into their kitchen over a year ago been replaced with this kind and caring man, his face worn with worry and fatigue? The weight of fear sat heavy on his shoulders, but his eyes when he looked at Kagome held an intensity of feeling that could not be denied.

She had been watching the growing attachment between her daughter and Inuyasha with trepidation at first, unsure how any relationship between them could work. They were both still so young! Where would they live? Inuyasha was half youkai - was it possible for them to have children? And what would happen when the first blush of love receded and Kagome began aging and Inuyasha did not – would he turn her aside? Questions, too many questions that had no answers, none that she felt she had a right to ask. There was no denying the love between them. And she felt with all of her heart that they were made for each other, and meant to be together. But she knew only too well, that love, no matter how strong, could be taken away, and she was petrified, for both of them.

She had grown to care for this boy like a son, this vagabond half demon from the past that had burst into their humdrum modern lives. Kagome had explained his lonely life previous to their quest for the jewel, and Mama had decided from that moment to love him fiercely, whether he wanted it or not. She could feel the neediness in him; it was hidden deep down, so deeply that he probably didn’t recognise it himself, but she could see it. She had welcomed him into her family, done her best to show him that she valued him both for himself and as a protector of her daughter, accepted him as he was. And now just look at him.

Kagome closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep.

“Inuyasha”, she said quietly, watching as he maneuvered himself to sit on the bed so Kagome could lean against him, “when was the last time you ate?”

His slow blink and blank stare had her nodding. Not recently then. “What about Kagome?”

“I managed to get her to take a little broth around midday. But not much. She said that eating makes her feel sick.”

“Alright, I’ll just make something for you then.”

“You don’t hafta. I’m alright.”

Smiling, she reached forward as she stood, softly tweaking one of his pointed twitching ears.

“I know I don’t. But I want to. You’re taking such good care of my daughter Inuyasha, let me take care of you.” Tactfully ignoring the sudden brightness in his amber eyes, she left the room to go down to the kitchen, turning to take one last look at them before she headed down the stairs.

Inuyasha had his head bent forward, his lips pressed firmly against the crown of Kagome’s head, his own long white hair falling either side of her face like a protective curtain. He was making a sound she could only compare to Buyo’s contented purring, deep and low. It was a calming sound, and even though she knew it wasn’t meant for her, Mama took comfort in it. Kagome was as safe as they could make her, until the doctor arrived. Yes, she was very ill, but she was also young and strong. Their little family would get through this, and come out the better for it, she was certain.

Part Four

[athenagc94]

Portia’s Customs

Another little snippet from Gust of the Heart. Gust leaves her an unexpected gift in her mailbox one morning after a night of drinking. This is the ‘confession’ from Piper’s POV.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Piper groaned and massaged her temples as she made her way back towards her workshop. That workshop inspection was particularly tedious and she definitely regretted last night ー in so many ways. She never drank that much and now she remembered why. The pounding in her head refused to go away no matter how much water she drank and the sun burned a little too bright for her liking. She blamed Sam and her need to make everything a competition.

How was she supposed to do her job while the world spun around her like a merry-go-round?

She noted the flag standing upright on her mailbox as she approached and fought the urge to cringe. She hoped it wasn’t all commission requests, otherwise she might curl up right there and cry. Her list of outstanding commissions was already so long. How was she supposed to keep up with the demand. She flipped open the lid of the box and pulled out the stack of mail inside. Her heart sank as she shuffled through the various envelopes.

A message from the research center ー Petra finally found something in the stack of data discs she submitted earlier that week. Perfect. Hopefully it would be something useful. If she had to keep using her rudimentary skiver that broke every other day, she was going to scream. Another message from Carol ー she was asking for an update on her broken sewing machine. That was top of her list, right there. Not the whole issue with this mysterious Rogue Knight and his hidden agenda. She was definitely more concerned about Carol and her fucking sewing machine. Albert and the Mayor had a few commission requests for her. Nothing dire, just busy work from the looks of it, but she often wondered if they were just throwing things at her for the sake of keeping her out of their hair.

The last envelope in the stack was larger than the others and pale blue in color. She flipped it over in her hands and felt the contents shift inside. She furrowed her brow. Strange, she didn’t remember ordering anything and she had no outstanding requests with the Civil Corps.

She ripped it open and peered inside.

A bracelet of intricately woven string sat at the bottom of the envelope. She pulled it out and regarded it with a curious tilt of her head. It was fashioned in the shape of a heart, red and adorned with tiny gold beads. She knew Alice sold these at her shop, but she never bothered to ask what they were for. She just assumed they were just another trinket she sold to scrounge up a few extra gols. Who would bother to get her something silly like this?

She stuffed the knotted heart into her pocket and fished out the note that accompanied the charm.

Piper - You should finish your work early and meet me at the Church of Light after sunset this evening. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you. -Gust

Her heart skipped a beat. She recalled the previous night. She tested the waters with that skirt that she borrowed it from Sonia. She just wanted to see if he'd notice something as trivial as a shorter skirt. And he definitely noticed. His eyes traced the curve of her ass anytime he thought she wasn’t looking, but she was always looking. That had to mean something. Then when they piled into the booth at the Round Table, Gust’s thigh pressed flat against her despite having plenty of room to spread out. Another sign that it wasn’t just her, right?

So, she went for it and brought up the brooch when they made it back to the workshop that evening.

It had been one of those rare moments of vulnerability with him. She knocked down a few more of those rough steel walls that kept everyone at bay and he felt comfortable opening up to her. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to open up in kind. She traced the curve of her jaw, where his fingers had left a burning trail the night prior. The area where his lips had brushed her forehead still buzzed with an electric energy. It was so soft, she doubted he'd done it at all, but she swore he did. She practically confessed to having a crush on him, but he didn’t say anything about it. Or had he? The charm in her pocket grew heavier the longer she considered it. Wait. Was he trying to…?

She stuffed the envelopes back into her mailbox and headed straight back to town. She needed answers and she needed them now.

♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢

Piper stormed through the doors of the Civil Corps building and threw the heart knot onto the table in front of Sam and her breakfast. She peered between it and her, unimpressed, then returned to shoveling eggs into her mouth. “I’m flattered,” she mumbled as she shoved another spoonful into her mouth, “but Phyllis is way prettier than you and she’s going to be a doctor. You don’t even hold a candle.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Gee, thanks for that vote of confidence. But it’s not for you. I found this in my mailbox this morning,” she said with a nod towards the charm, “along with a note from Gust asking me to meet him at the Church of Light this evening.”

Sam choked on her next bite. She doubled over in her seat, red in the face and struggling to catch her breath. “You,” she heaved a deep breath and pointed to the knot, “you said you got that from Gust?”

“Yeah?” she said slowly, “so I’m guessing this stupid trinket means something then?”

“Oh shit.” Sam hissed and pushed her plate aside, “That’s right, you wouldn’t understand what this means, would you?” Piper tried to ignore the panic churning in her stomach. She had an idea what it meant. It was a heart-shaped bracelet for Light’s sake. How could she not have a guess? But she wanted to know for sure. Before she did something she might regret later.

Sam swallowed hard. “The heart knot is used in Portia to express their feelings for someone,” she explained with a swipe of her hand, “Gust just admitted he had feelings for you.”

Piper closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. Fuck. “Through a letter?”

“Through a fucking letter.” The chair creaked as Sam settled back in her seat. “I knew the guy was hopeless, but I didn’t know he was this bad at talking about his feelings.” She drummed her fingers thoughtfully along the table as she considered something. “Maybe he didn’t want to chicken out at the church tonight?” she offered after a moment, “you can’t really take back a heart knot once it's given?”

Piper sank into the chair opposite her. Her mind raced faster than a long range bus. She combed her fingers through her hair and tugged until tears formed at the corner of her eyes. There were customs when it came to this shit in Portia? How was she supposed to know that? She never really showed an interest in anyone in town and no one said anything to her before now. Did she have to give him a heart knot in return? Would it be rude if she didn’t? Fuck.

She slammed her hands flat on the table and said, “I need to go.”

Sam straightened in her seat as Piper stood and made a beeline for the door. “Do you want me to talk to him for you?” She cracked her knuckles to emphasize her point. “I can teach that pretty boy a lesson. The lecture from Arlo will be worth it.”

“No.” She took another slow breath to calm her fraying nerves. She had so much to do before sunset. Did Carol sell blue string? She had never tied knots before. Light, this was going to be a mess. Gust was going to hate it. “No,” she said again a little more firmly, “it’s fine. I’m fine. We’re fine. I’ll talk to him later at the church. Don’t do anything to him.”

“Butー”

“I’ve got it handled, just…” She trailed off and sifted through the contents of her messenger bag. Maybe she should just buy a knot from Alice? Her expression hardened. No. She didn’t want rumors to start flying, because rumors would start flying if she bought something like that in the middle of town. The citizens of Portia didn’t know how to keep their noses out of other people’s business. She’d just make one of these stupid knots herself.

“Just let it be,” she snapped as she shoved through the doors of the Civil Corps, “Everything will be fine.”

Or at least, that’s what she hoped.

[pressedinthepages]

Mångata

noun. the glimmering, roadlike reflection of moonlight on water.

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 2242

Rating: E  

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24673801

Masterlist

Tags: @whitewolfandthefox​ (Add yourself to my taglist here!)

a/n: Late night skinny dipping in a lake could lead to something interesting...no one asked for this, but this is a fav trope of mine so i just hadddd to do it...send me requests of more pairings/tropes to write!!!

Warnings: shameless smut, sex, penetrative sex, female reader

The chill of the water on your feet sends a shiver up your spine and you curse aloud. You really do not want to have to do this, but you’re sweaty and dirty and aching, and this is the first body of water that you’ve seen in days. It’s a nice enough lake, surrounded by forest and drenched in light from the full moon overhead. The water is clear enough to see through to the bottom, but-

    “Melitele’s tits, the water’s freezing!” Jaskier exclaims, probably loud enough to wake the dead. You bite your lip, dreading the idea of taking a full plunge. But you would rather gnaw your own foot off than deal with being this filthy for even one more day, so, with a resigned sigh, you begin to undo the buttons on your blouse. 

    The summer air is warm on your arms as you let the shirt slip to the ground behind you. Nevertheless, your fingers tremble a bit as they move to the ties at the waist of your skirt. You can tell that Jaskier is watching your every move, but you pretend not to notice as you step out of the skirt, the edges damp from the little bit of water seeping upwards. 

    As you are left in just a light chemise and underclothes, the light of the moon dancing along your skin, Jaskier takes in a deep breath before moving to his own trousers. You steel your nerves before swiftly removing the chemise, your nipples hardening under the faint breeze. Quickly, you continue your movements, removing your smallclothes and tossing them into the pile of your clothes. 

You chance a small peek at Jaskier, and you find him staring at you, mouth agape and trousers only around his knees as he struggles to keep his balance. He rights himself and removes them, eyes never leaving your body. His gaze is like the sun, intense and radiant, and you feel the flames lick along your skin as they roam over your form. 

    His chemise is hanging askew, and as he pulls it over his head, your eyes float downward and notice that he is half-hard. You flush, heat pooling in your core with the knowledge of his desire. In a sudden burst of bravery, you begin to step forward, the water enveloping your legs as you glance over your shoulder and throw Jaskier a wink and a knowing smirk.

He throws a hand across his chest dramatically as you fully turn back to face him, the water now to your stomach. You slowly lower a bit further in, your body dipping below the surface, leaving only your head above the water. You rise once more, your breasts glistening as the moonlight dances along the beads of moisture dripping down your skin. 

You crook a finger at him, calling out “You going to just stand there and gawk at me, or are you going to give me a hand?”

“Well, love, I was quite enjoying the show, but if you insist…” Jaskier strides forward, grimacing with every new inch of skin exposed to the sharp chill of the water. 

You hold out a hand to him as he gets close, his fingers intertwining with yours. Warmth radiates from him, but you feel him shiver as you raise your free hand to his chest, lazily drifting your fingers across the dusting of hair. You raise your head, his eyes stealing your breath. They are the clearest blue, woven of moonlight and river water. He is looking at you as if you are his entire world, and you are confident that he truly believes that.

Jaskier steps closer, hands moving to your hips and his body pressing against you. You can feel his hardness at your thigh, hot and heavy. You tilt your head up and meet him, finally, for a kiss that is burning with the love and lust of the moment. You shift your leg, dragging his cock against your skin and Jaskier hums against your lips. You open your mouth and allow him to deepen the kiss, letting yourself get drunk on the taste of him. 

Jaskier’s hands rove your body, dripping water that rinses you of the grime of traveling. You mirror his actions, feeling his skin grow softer under your touch. When you are satisfied with the rinse, you thread your fingers into his hair, the ends dampening a bit from your hands.

Jaskier pulls back to let you both catch your breath, but only for a moment. He moves to your neck, gently kissing down the line of your shoulder. His hands move to your breasts, softly kneading the tender flesh. His mouth moves lower, taking one of your nipples and sucking. You arch into his touch, eager for more. You feel him smirk against you, licking and tugging at a devastatingly slow pace. 

“Jaskier...” you groan, low and sinful, “please-”

“Hmm, anything for you, my dear.” He adjusts, his mouth and hand switching places. He takes your other nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. His other hand drifts lower and he nudges your legs open, just enough for him to run his fingers along your cunt. Your fingers tighten in his hair as you whimper, desperate to fall apart under his touch. 

Suddenly, his teeth glance along your chest and send a bolt of heat straight to your core. You yank him back up, kissing him hard as you wind one of your legs around his waist. It’s sloppy and needy, both of you running on pure instinct to chase your pleasures. Jaskier’s fingers deftly run along your heat, circling around the bundle of nerves at the top. 

You wrap yourself further around him, nestling your head into his neck and crying out as he holds you up by the waist. He whispers praises and prayers, quietly and only for you. Your walls flutter as he slowly pushes a finger inside of you. He moves lazily, only adding a second finger when you begin to grind down onto his palm. His thrusts gain momentum, your hips meeting him as he spreads you open and presses his palm against your clit. The water sloshes and swirls as you move, the chill of the water grounding you and allowing you to focus on the man before you. 

You can feel the pleasure building, threatening to spill over when Jaskier abruptly stops and jumps back. You fall forward and he catches you and you can feel his heart beating out of control.

“What the ever-loving fuck was that???” he yelps, startled out of his arousal. You look down into the water and see…

A plant. With leaves.

You roll your eyes, gaining your footing and lightly pushing him backward towards the shoreline. 

“Love, it was just a sprig of duckweed, relax,” you purr, soothing him as you run your hands down his arms. The muscles jump beneath your touch and his eyes soften. When the water is at your waist you step around him, pulling him to turn and watch as you walk back to the shore. The water cascades down your legs as you approach the edge of the lake, the warmth of the air embracing you once more. 

The grass that lines the shore tickles and scratches lightly at your ankles as you spin, catching Jaskier’s gaze. It always baffles you that this man, who is so famously eloquent with words, could be struck speechless at just the sight of you. You bend to grab your skirt and you hear a soft hiss and the faint splashing of water and you look back to Jaskier, who is palming himself under the surface. 

Your teeth catch your bottom lip as you move to lay the skirt out onto the ground. It’s already filthy, might as well make use of the soft fabric. You settle onto the ground, reclining onto your elbows and ever so slightly spreading your legs. Shifting your weight to one arm, you bring your other hand down to your core to resume where Jaskier left off. Your fingers circle your clit and you moan, spreading yourself under Jaskier’s watchful eyes. 

Jaskier breathes your name before walking towards you, pulled by the spell of your arousal. You watch as he rises from the water, jealous of the moon as it dances and kisses along his skin. The water drips and tumbles from him, hanging on until it can no longer. His hand never leaves his cock, pumping slowly as he pads across the ground to rest at your feet. 

He lowers to one knee, moving to lean over you as he kisses up your leg. Jaskier takes his time, content with the little gasps he pulls from you at every touch. He pulls your hand away as he places a chaste kiss to the peak of your core, the sweetness of the gesture contradicting the lust of the moment. He does not linger, moving up your stomach and between your breasts, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. 

You move your arms to wind around his neck, pulling him to your lips. He adjusts, settling between your legs as you wrap them around his waist. He brackets his arms on either side of your head and you trail your hands back down his chest. The water is still cool under your fingers, and every so often you feel a bit drip from the ends of Jaskier’s hair onto your neck. 

One of your hands grips his waist before the other wraps around his length, and you can feel the drip of his arousal onto the cleft of your cunt. The moan he lets into your mouth is warm and light, all sunshine and dripping with honey. You gently pull him to you, guiding him until he presses at your entrance. 

You fall back, head resting among the grass and flowy fabric as Jaskier pushes forward, resting his forehead on yours and sheathing himself inside of you in one swift motion. You arch once more into his touch, impatient and trembling beneath him. 

“Ah, fuck” he whispers as you dig your fingers against his ass, silently begging for more. 

“Eloquent as always, dear,” you chuckle, the raspiness of your voice betraying your need to be sated. 

Jaskier begins to move, just slight thrusts at first before deepening them, your hips canting up to meet his every move. You cannot hold back the whimpers that spill from your lips, pleading for him to fuck you.

He suddenly thrusts himself forward, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss and nipping at them as he pulls back. He pushes himself upwards, settling on his knees as he pushes your legs further apart.

From this angle, he hits that impossibly deep spot inside of you that makes you see stars and your cunt clenches around him. You try to set a faster pace, but Jaskier only smiles down at you as he continues thrusting lazily through your heat.

“Ah, ah,” he chuckles, “you are being very impatient tonight.”

“Well, if you weren’t so fucking stubborn I wouldn’t have to be,” you grate out as you keep trying to quicken the pace. Jaskier may be adamant, but he is not cruel. He speeds his thrusts ever so slightly, his hands running streaks of light across your legs. He moves to grasp your hips, his fingers holding you hard enough to bruise. 

His movements suddenly become incredibly quick, hips snapping against you as you yell out to the sky. Every move hits that spot deep in your core and the fire in your belly builds and spreads through your body. Your hips move fast, sloppily meeting him before stilling, his cock pounding relentlessly into you. The dam breaks and spills, pleasure flooding your senses as you rock your hips, blindly grasping for any bit of Jaskier you can reach. Waves of light soar through you, burning their path along your skin.

Jaskier keeps moving, thrusting fast and deep within you as you climax. Your walls grip and flutter around him and he cries out, stilling within you and gripping your hips flush to him. His spend is hot and thick inside of you, and you can feel a bit drip out around the seal of his cock. Jaskier falls forward, resting his weight on you as you both come down from your pleasure. 

As he finds himself once more, he slowly pulls out of you, more of his spend falling out of you as he rolls to lay beside you. You turn, gazing into his eyes and seeing nothing but pure happiness and adoration.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close as he whispers, “You know, this whole world is so beautiful. The sun, the moon, the stars, everything around us existing in perfect harmony. But you know what?”

You hum, brushing your nose against his. 

“I love you more than I love this life, and I’d give it all up in half of a heartbeat if it meant spending even just one moment with you in my arms.”

He leans forward and kisses you, all sweetness and light, and you can feel the promise and dedication behind it. You could almost cry with the sentiment, and though you may not be so talented with turn of phrase, you pull back and say, with all of your might,

“I love you too.”

[herald-divine-hell]

Woven Memories

Me, uploading another fanfic of Woven Memories? What is this audacity! But anywhere, I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter 1 - A Sea of Light

Year: 9:17 Dragon

The visitors poured through the gate in a river of gold and silver with banners withering overhead; banners of gold and green; of silver and blue; of black and crimson. The banners of House Trevelyan danced upon poles of polished silver, waving in the wind high up in the ramparts. The golden steed of Trevelyan reared upon its black stable in defiance, proclaiming its command over all the earth that it may step its hooves upon.

But, Amayian saw, there were others like it as well. The purple-black checkered field emblazoned with the silver steed of Trevelyan-Hasburn from Wycome; the silver-blue quartered with the black steed and golden rose of Trevelyan-DŐrthar from Hercinia. Cousins upon cousins that Amayian did not even know existed, yet somehow bounded by blood. The Trevelyans were a large family, his tutors often spoke of. One of the greatest houses in the Free Marches, spanning from the Trevalius in Minrathous to distant relations in Ferelden. Beside him, his younger brother, Rhyis, shifted on the balls of his feet, eagerness lighting his eyes and features. 

“Do you think Cousen Alexandra is with them?” asked Rhyis. The wind stirred his thick, wavy locks of russet-brown, falling like a crown of dark tendrils that framed his features. His face was soft, cheeks flushed with pink from the cold, and freckles dotted the bridge of his nose and splattered across the crimson and white skin. Like his sister, Ashania, Rhyis had their father’s eyes - violet that shone with a light which made them even brighter than Lord Rhyis’. He wore a black doublet, striped with trimmings of gold. A cape of golden-embroidered darkness tumbled down his slant shoulders, a white wolf’s fur trimming at its borders. It looked almost too big on him, but their mother, the Lady Jacqueline, had expressly instructed stern punishment was to be enacted on if she had seen his brother stripped of it. Even Amayian had been warned, and he had never been one to defy the will of the Orlesian matron.

Amayian pushed up on the tips of his toes, narrowing his eyes as they flickered from banner to banner, seeking for House Trevelyan-Dulaphin of Kirkwall. Sunlight sparkled like glittering beads and caused the white marble walls of Vasenarg to shone as if wrapped eternally in its golden embrace. The wind came soft and gentle and sweet, fresh morning dew dancing with the cool air. Despite his mother’s many worries, Amayian had doubted that either his brother, his sister, or himself would have caught any shivers. But there would have been no point in bringing that up to his mother. Uncle Esmarian had once jested that their mother had been Andraste herself, with the way she conducted herself in a very clean and stern matter, but caring nevertheless. Lady Jacqueline had not denied it.

“I don’t see it,” he whispered back, and turned to find his brother’s lips pulled into a pout. “She’ll be here soon, no doubt.” Amayian understood his brother’s disappointment. Even he was filled with a sense of it when the great sea of multi-hued banners were neither the one they searched for nor sought. Yet, a part of him knew that the Trevelyan-Dulaphins would not turn their noses to Lord Rhyis Trevelyan. No one could even do that, not even Uncle Maxalias. 

He tugged his cloak closer over his shoulders and hunched a little over, taking a soft breath. Without Alexandra’s presence, Amayian knew that this visit would not be a good one in any sort of manner. The bailey was soon filled with shining armor gleaming silver with scabbards clacking against metal-covered thighs. The sounds rang in his ears like thunder across a storm-filled sky. His fingers twitched and clawed at the soft texture of his cloak, and he wished he had the ability to disappear into the shadows, away from the rising tide of Templars who had blood connections to his family. 

A feeling pulled at his stomach, a heated flame that sought to escape from the confines of his body. It boiled his blood, seared and sizzled beneath his skin to make it feel like his flesh was shifting with burning water. A brittle, chilled hand clawed at his chest, hammering icy pains across his shoulders and down to his fingertips. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A storm of fire and ice, flecked with lightning which crackled tendrils with the frosted hand. 

For the briefest of moments, only the sound of the wind was in his ears, tilted with the clacking scabbards against the armor of Templar family members. But he straightened himself, clamped his hands together and halted their trembling. His fears of the Templars were often abdicated with the knowledge that his father would protect him from any of their zealous actions. It did not keep the fear entirely at bay or subsided in any meaningful way. 

Though he did wanted to flee into the shadows, hide in the safety of his bedroom, but he did not. Instead, he shifted his heels, dug his feet into the softening mud, and stood his ground, like his father had. Hairs at the back of his neck prickled.

The sea of banners rode forward like an unsheathed blade, before spreading like colorful wings. The gates were spread wide, and the Trevelyan horde seemed to gush forward like a running river, Amayian worried that there would be no more room for any other visiting lords. It seemed to him that all of Thedas swarmed the bailey, like a buzzing hive of silver-gleaming swords and burnished armor of gold and copper and white, with clouds of purple and black and crimson and gold and emerald and azure whirling and whipping overhead. 

Glancing a little to his right, past his sister who wore a gown of white laced with gold, Lord Rhyis and Lady Jacqueline of Vasenarg stood erect and unmoving, like the like the gleaming walls of Vasenarg herself. Though, Amayian thought them more terrifying.

Lord Rhyis wore a black doublet with golden buttons flashing with pale light down the center. A cape as dark as his doublet cascaded down his broad-shoulders, like a river of darkness trickling down the face of a mountain. Little adorned it, besides the bear fur trimming across its shoulders and borders. His long, lushed black hair fell in raven waves, peppered with hints of gray. His features were sharp and chiseled, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline with a close-cropped beard covering his cheeks and jaw. His mouth was pulled tight and straight. He looked as if he was the Vismark Mountains staring down at the flowers of a meadow. A force greater than the bright colors of life. Amayian felt a sense of pride fill him. There was no other man as great as his father, Amayian was sured. That pride allowed himself to straightened his back and banished the tremble from his hands.

Lady Jacqueline stood as magnificent as his father appeared strong. Her long waves of the same brown that Ashania and Rhyis both had, tumbling in heavy locks, like a shuddering shroud framing her features. Hints of laughing lines adorned the sides of her golden-flecked green eyes, but her lips were frowning as tight as her father’s. Mother dislikes it as well. That did not sit well in his stomach. 

The widening, colorful sea parted, leaving a road from the gatehouses to them. Then, Amayian saw the banner: two rearing, golden steads flaking a flame upon a black field stirred toward the west. The banners of House Trevelyan-Daluphin. Uncle Maxalias is here. He leaned once more on his toes, nudging out his chin to see if he could catch the sight of the black wooden wheelhouse. At the head of the approaching entourage rode Lord Maxalias, a slim man with skin as pale as snow and thick black, wavy hair cut short. His nose was long, sharp, and straight. His purple eyes were a dark violet, speared with a deep, harsh blue, but on his lips was a soft smile - though it never reached his eyes. Lord Maxalias dressed in vivid colors of silk: a crimson coat and breeches, a creamy-white waistcoat lined with golden buttons. Across the coat’s shoulders, running down in floral patterns to trim at his cuffs, were golden embroidery. It seemed to practically shimmer beneath the life. Riding at a mere trot, Lord Maxalias looked as gallant on the horse as a knight from the tales. But a cold pressure weighed heavily on Amayian’s shoulders at the sight of him, and he fought a shiver. 

Behind Lord Maxalias rode the wheelhouse, which trembled and shook with every bump of a scattered pebble or risen earth. It was black, like the banners that wove through the air on the curtain walls. Golden paint covered the wooden’s corners, bringing out the black more so than the gold. But Amayian knew what hid in the hobbling carriage. The thought brought a semblance of a smile to his lips, and he clenched his cloak tighter to his chest. 

Turning, the wheelhouse came to an abrupt stop, heaving forward a little, before settling back with a low groan by the wooden axis and wheels. The clattering of a thousand voices silenced with the halt by the wheelhouse. Most of the Trevelyans had came by horse, embodying the ideal of their heraldry. Not even great-aunt Lucille had came with her wheelhouse, though the woman neared her fiftieth year. Uncle Maxalias seems happy that he drew everyone’s attention, thought Amayian, glancing at his uncle and the door to the wheelhouse, expectedly. 

Lord Maxalias swung from his horse with swift elegance, landing with a soft bounce onto the earth. Spreading his arms wide, he turned on his heels, leaned back, and smiled brightly. His purple eyes caught the sunlight, softening the indigo to a paler blue, though they glimmered with mischievousness. “My beloved cousin, the Storm of Starkhaven.” He laughed merrily, but a chilled hand shrouded the bailey, and both feet and hooves of men and horses alike shifted.

Lord Rhyis neither shifted nor gave any indication that he was pleased at the sight of his cousin. Instead, his mouth tightened, the wind fluttering his hair back. His father’s eyes narrowed, the Lord of Vasenarg said, “Maxalias.” He did not offer his hand. 

Uncle Maxalias’ smile did not falter for a moment, but something flashed in his eyes which hurled Amayian’s stomach, a glint of sharp ice that made his paling eyes paler and colder. Turning his gaze away, they landed upon Amayian’s mother, who was as straight-backed as his father. “Jacqueline, as beautiful as ever.”

Her mother merely inclined her head for a moment or two. “Lord Maxalias.” The title on her lips was harsh and filled with disgust that even his mother could not hide. 

The door to the wheelhouse swung gently open, pulled back by a foot soldier in silver armor and green cloths and brown leather. His shortsword hung in a scabbard plain and worn, and the silver of the guard glimmered faintly beneath the light when it caught it. But Amayian could not see his face, even when he turned to stand flat against the wheelhouse, door handle in hand. His face seemed entirely made of shifting shadows, but a pair of golden-hazel eyes burned with a calm and serenity. Kyal. A golden-hazel eye winked when it caught Amayian staring, but quickly returned to gaze off in the distance. 

A woman stepped down, garbed in a dress of emerald green satin laced with intertwining vines across the corset and sleeves, which draped with sheer, translucent cloth toward the ground. Her long hair was a mane of wavy locks and of a rich deep brown, framing a square-jaw, with soft cheeks tinted with a hint of rose. Golden-green eyes peeked out beneath long, black lashes, twinkling. A smile danced upon full, small lips. 

Aunt Amélie, he thought, watching as she slipped one of her hands into the other. His mother’s younger sister. Lady Jacqueline and Lady Amélie were both daughters of the House of Talayene, an old cadet branch that had split when one of Amayian’s many ancestors married into a Orlesian house with a sickly lord as her husband. He had died, and his wife had taken command as the matron of the household, installing her son as the new lord and declaring the House of Du Valus to be renamed the House of Talayene. Ever since then, Amayian been told, his family had a strong influence in the northwestern parts of the Orlesian Empire. Sizable enough for them to claim the title of Dukes. Enough to catch the eye of the Storm of Starkhaven. 

“My dearest, eldest sister,” said Aunt Amélie, pulling the sides of her dress up, crossed her legs, and knelt a little to the earth in a humble. She then brought Amayian’s mother into a warm hug, kiss both cheeks, and cupped them with gloved hands. “Why don’t you smile? It's been years since I last saw you do so.” Glancing at Father, Aunt Amélie’s eyes were frosty and narrowed to slits. She leaned close, whispering something in his mother’s ear. Something which caused Lady Jacqueline’s shoulders to tremble with laughter. Amayian shifted to side to side on the heels of his feet. His Uncle had warned him to be wary when he saw Trevelyan woman interluding with one another. But it did not seem entirely too bad. It had gotten his mother to laugh, and that was what mattered, did it not? 

His mother and father spoke in soft words with Uncle Maxalias and Aunt Amélie, leaning together in a huddle as the bailey was continued to be filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter, and Amayian was slowly believing that the entire world was streaming through Vasenarg’s gatehouse to clog the castle. 

Rhyis whimpered in disappointment and poorly hidden annoyance. His fists were balled into tiny fists, bottom lipped pumped out into a pout, and his cheeks flushed bright red. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, Amayian pulled him into a hug, his own dread tugging at his stomach. Did they leave her back at Kűrgaz? Instead of letting himself reveal that dread, Amayian smiled and kissed the top of his little brother’s head. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “We’ll see her next time Uncle Maxalias and Aunt Amélie visit.” He did not think that he sounded as assured as he would have liked, but his brother seemed to have bought it well enough. Sniffing, the pout his brother had worn retreated a bit and he pressed his face flushed against the silk of Amayian’s doublet. 

Then, the wheelhouse creaked once more, and a shadow slipped down from the doorway, landing with a slight jump onto the earth. Black, billowing curls trembled in thick waves by the wind which came eastward. A small, childish smile played at her lips, and large, almond-shaped green eyes, speckled with gold, shimmered like light spearing through evergreen trees. His cousin stood only a little taller than him, with a soft face and rosy cheeks. She had her mother’s eyes, but her glimmered more green than gold, as if the sun dripped pools of light into a meadow dancing with flourishing grass. 

Rhyis untangled himself from Amayian’s waist and lunged forward, draping his arms tight around their cousin’s neck with enough force that Amayian was sure he thought his cousin lost her breath. But, instead, she merely giggled and wrapped an arm around Rhyis’ waist, a lopsided grin plastering her features. “Hello, little cousin,” she laughed, with a voice as sweet as summer air. 

Alexandra Trevelyan was always the sunlight at the soirees his siblings and Amayian were forced to attend, a breaker of darkness as boredom from which would have slowly settled on them with time’s slow crawl. She knew how to make Amayian laugh, and with a mind that matched Ashania, she shown as a beacon, a symbol of what a Trevelyan ought to be, even if she was little more than a year older than Amayian was. 

Aunt Amélie’s voice broke the joy like a howl from a wolf. “Alexandra,” she said shrilly, “greet your aunt and uncle. It is unbecoming of a lady.” Her lips were thinned, jaw set tight, and Amayian watched as his cousin’s cheeks flushed the brightest of red. 

Hesitatingly, Alexandra released Rhyis, whom pouted and crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. Mother sent a dark, but not unkind, look toward her youngest child, and spread out an arm, combing her fingers as an offering. Rhyis took it, and slipped to nuzzle his face against the skirt of Lady Jacqueline’s dress. Amayian noticed the smile forming at his mother’s lips.

Alexandra curtsied with only the slightest mistakes, and rose to clasp her hands at the front of her dress, like her own mother. She smiled up at Amayian’s mother and father. “Greetings, Uncle Rhyis, Aunt Jacqueline.” Her words came strong and vibrant, unlike the softness of a lay sister or the Revered Mother when uttering prayers in the chantry. But she seemed to whittle beneath the gaze of her mother and father, and brought her own stare to rest at his parents’ feet. 

It was his mother who saved his cousin from inflaming her cheeks with crimson. She knelt down, fingers raking through Esmyial’s wavy locks, and pressed a kiss to Alexandra’s forehead, pulling back with a smile. “It is good to see you again, Alexandra. Maker, you’ve grown. You’re almost up to my stomach.” She laughed and rustled Alexandra’s hair, who pouted, puffed, and soon joined in with the laughter. Amayian felt a smile blossom on his lips. Rising from her bent position, Jacqueline Trevelyan notched an eyebrow. “Where is little Malanias?”

“Alas, we were forced to leave Malanias at Kűrgaz with our other servants.” Uncle Maxalias shook his head, sighing, as if that was the most disappointing news in the world.

Father spoke, and when he did, Amayian jumped at its sudden arrival, like a clap of thunder from a storm that seemed to have ended. “Then let the Maker preserve him.” 

Amayian’s mother followed suit, tilting her head in a soft bow, the words uttered gentle and not loud enough to be heard, but he knew what she said well enough. Ashania brought her hands to her lips, cupped together, eyes closed, and by that point Amayian was compelled as well. Malanias was only two years old, but even Amayian saw that the boy had little in him to survive. It had hurt his heart to see him so thin and small. The babe smiled and laughed easily, even with the shadow of death crawling over him. The Chants gave a soft, warm beat to follow in his blood and quieted an uneasiness which lingered unexpectedly on his chest. When he lifted his eyes, the sun glowed warmer, somehow. 

“Thank you, Uncle Rhyis,” said Alexandra chirply, and the wind eased into a soft breeze to allow her hair to finally settled about her shoulders, like a rippling curtain of darkness. 

For a moment, his father seemed to smile, but it disappeared as swiftly as it came. He turned to Uncle Maxalias, who’s smile never waved, not once. “Ashania, Amayian. Take your cousin with you to one of your bedchambers. I’ll send the others to you once they arrive and I greet them.”

Ashania and Amayian bowed, and the wind curled up, splattering his cloak behind him in a hard whip. His sister smiled, nodded, and said, “Yes, Father.” She entwined her arm with Alexandra’s, and nearly dragged her along with a light skip to her step. Rhyis soon followed in a run, nearly tumbling to the ground. He steadied himself and continued on, laughing. The guards at the keep’s bronze doors pushed the open with a loud creak which was drowned out by the chatter. 

He glanced up at his father, and bowed once more to his uncle, aunt, mother, and father in silence. “My lord,” he whispered, “my lady.” His uncle and aunt smiled, though they did not reach their eyes. They were cold, distant, detached, though Aunt Amélie seemed warmer - only a touch, however. 

Father merely nodded. “Go on.” His voice seemed softer than before. His mother ruffled his hair and laid a kiss to his forehead and smiled. 

The sounds of the Trevelyans grew fainter as Amayian walked up the marble stairs, the echo pounding in his ears, and weakened the laughter and the prattle. It sounded like drums in his ears, and the hallway was casted in faint balls of orange and gold, seemingly bouncing in the air as darkness seeped. With trembling hands, he stepped through the threshold into Vasenarg’s great, black maw.  

[shannaraisles]

The Rose In The Crown - Chapter 3

Summerday is always a day of joy, a day of marriages made and love affirmed. And for Ferelden, this Summerday is one to be remembered. King Alistair, ten years a king with no heir in sight, will finally marry his chosen bride.

Sequel to A Rose By Any Name.

Featuring the winners of my giveaway! Marguerite Dujardin appears courtesy of @puddle--wonderful; Namari Lavellan appears courtesy of @savvylittleminx; Kira Mahariel belongs to @agentkatie; Kallak Brosca appears courtesy of @ironbullsmissingeye; Eirlys Amell appears courtesy of @ladymdc; Maeve Aeducan appears courtesy of @solverne-02; and Solona Amell appears courtesy of @skyholdherbalist! Also, huge thank you to @inquisition-dragonborn, @ladymimz, @inquisitorsmabari, and @fade-touched-obsidian for helping me with the selections from the Chant of Light!

[Read on AO3]

Chapter 3

Princess Felicita Amalia Braulia Salome Campana of Antiva looked at her reflection, and barely knew herself.

Her raven-black hair had been left long for the most part, with only a simple braid crown encircling her head and woven with seed pearls to hold the curled mane out of her face. A simple string of pearls encircled her throat, a teardrop of ruby hanging from that string to grace her skin just above the swell of her breasts. Matching pearls adorned her ears with the glimmer of matching rubies. And the gown itself ...

The elves of Denerim had outdone themselves.

Despite the disgust of human tailors and seamstresses, the princess had insisted that her wedding garments be designed and made by the elves of Ferelden. After all, she was a human; the crown was being crafted by the surfacer dwarves of Ferelden;it was only right that the elves should have a hand in the making of their queen. The call had gone out across the land - skilled seamstresses from many alienages made the often treacherous journey to the capital to join their labor to those already hard at work on the gown the Antivan princess would wear to become a wife and queen. Everything they requested was provided, from Antivan satin to Nevarran silk thread, to soft white hide from Orlais, and fine ruby and salt crystal beads from Rivain. Alistair had been so fascinated by these requests that he had belatedly asked the elves to make his wedding garments as well, enthralled by the variety and intricacy of the work being done well below the generous budget he had insisted be set aside to pay for both the materials and the labor. Indeed, the excess would still be paid out - a generous, unexpected bonus for the elves who had put so much into the beauty they had created.

What Fabs now wore was a true masterpiece, the result of six weeks and forty elves' hard work. The chemise was sheer white silk; the stays constructed from layers of white silk brocade to create a stiffness that would support without overheating her in the latter hours of the celebration. Delicate silk stockings in crimson encased her legs to above the knee, fixed in place with embroidered ribbon garters; on her feet, fine-stitched slippers in soft white hide. But these were all details that were only for the princess and the seamstresses to know, intimate secrets of the wedding trousseau that others would never guess at - beautiful, but hidden by the glorious gown that covered them all.

A gown that bore echoes of Antiva in the full shoulders and fitted bands of the sleeves that flared at her wrists; a gown that embraced Ferelden in the snugly fitted bodice and the natural fall of a full skirt allowed to sway without the artificial plumping of petticoats so favored in Imperial circles. Ivory satin hugged the ample curve of her bosom and slender waist, flaring at her hips, embroidered in gold and silver silk with the royal mabari of Ferelden, the rose of Antiva, and the griffon of the Grey Wardens. Beads of ruby and salt-crystal accentuated the fitted bands of her sleeves and cuffs, and trimmed the long train that was yet to be affixed. The train itself was in matching ivory satin, long enough to skim the floor for several feet behind her, trimmed with those same sparkling precious beads, emblazoned with a single large golden mabari nestled in the petals of a ruby-red rose.

"Now then, highness, aren't you a picture?" Andra beamed at her mistress over her shoulder, fluffing the dark curls one last time before turning away to help Golda with the last piece.

A small hand inserted itself into Fab's palm, drawing her gaze down to Maria, who was to be her only bridesmaid. Indeed, the attendants for the bride were very small in number for a royal wedding - just Ciara and Maria. Anora had been asked, but had laughingly declined and, of course, the princess had not had the first idea that Marguerite would be there at all. Maria had been garbed in dusky rose pink, all silks and satins trimmed with gold, a basket of white rose petals waiting for her to carry down the aisle of the great hall.

"You look very pretty, princess," the little girl told her solemnly.

She squealed as Fabs suddenly knelt to wrap her up in a warm embrace, woman and child giggling together for a long moment.

"You look very pretty too, Maria," Fabs promised her in return. "Alistair will be so happy to see you."

"And I got to sit next to Ceri and Ciara, because there’s no room for me next to the big chairs," Maria said in a confident tone, nodding to herself. She had been drilled on the details of the ceremony many times over, just as Fabs and Alistair had themselves.

"Yes, little one. And the ceremony may be very boring, but there will be a party afterward," the princess assured her. "And Alistair and I have a present for our very special guest who is also family."

Maria beamed happily, hugging her arms about Fabs' neck once again. "And you're going away after?"

"Tomorrow morning, yes. But only for a week." She raised one long finger to tweak the little girl's nose affectionately. "So you only have a week to throw wild parties and build a zoo in our absence."

The giggle that erupted from Maria was enough to draw the attention of the rest of the little bridal party - Ciara and Fulgeno, the princess' father. Marguerite had shown amazing forbearance in sacrificing her own peace of mind to remove the mother of the bride before anyone started crying. The unexpected, but most welcome, Orlesian guest had been instrumental in keeping the bride from flying into a panic around breakfast-time, too. Indeed, Marguerite had spent the morning treating everyone in the princess' rooms like skittish, wayward animals that needed a firm hand to be calm, and surprisingly, it had worked. Thanks to her, there had been no tantrums, no tears, and - most importantly - no last-minute declarations that the bride could not go through with this. Fabs knew she was going to have to do something spectacular for her friend to thank her for this morning's work.

"Shall we go and find our flowers, Maria?" Ciara suggested, holding out a hand to the excited little girl.

Her answer was a cheery nod as her hand was seized. Maria was likely more excited about the wedding today than anyone else was, but no one minded that so much. It was a joy to see her smiling and happy, unafraid of the future ahead of her because it would not contain judgment and cruelty from those who were supposed to care for her any longer. Fabs rose as the two of them swept away in their own wedding finery, catching the nod from the steward at the door. It was time.

Her father, King Fulgeno of Antiva, stepped forward, laying his hands on her shoulders as he smiled at his daughter.

"You look every inch the rose, pequeña," he told her, the pride in his gaze warming her heart as she beamed in response. "Your Alistair is a very lucky man."

"Thank you, Papa."

She surged forward to embrace him once more, kissing his cheek as he chuckled. And for a moment, Fabs faltered. This was her last embrace with her father as his little girl, the last time she would be just his daughter. In just a few hours, she would be a wife, her first loyalty no longer to her father but to her husband. The thought carried more pain than she had thought it might. But Fulgeno seemed to know the moment that pain struck, drawing back to tap the end of her nose, as he had done so many times in her childhood.

"Ah, ah, pequeña," he told her warningly. "No tears. You have love - the love of your father, and the love of your husband. I can see no circumstance where we will ever ask you to choose between us. Now, stand straight for the last piece to be put in place."

Fabs laughed a little, glancing over her shoulder as Andra and Golda approached, their arms full of embroidered satin - the train that needed to be attached before she was permitted to show herself publicly. It was just a blessed relief that she would be able to take it off soon after the wedding; it was heavy.

"You always know what I am thinking, Papa," she accused him, straightening her back to allow better ease for her assistants to work.

Golda's hands gathered her hair carefully, and Andra settled the train at her shoulders, neatly pinning it in place with a pair of silver brooches - griffons, for her beloved Alistair's Grey Wardens. Both women stepped back, spreading the train over the floor, their smiles bright and proud not only of the woman who would soon be their queen, but of their honored role in preparing her for these moments.

"Espléndido," Fulgeno declared, his gesture taking in not only his daughter, arrayed in ivory, gold, and silver, but also the blushing ladies who had taken such pains to prepare her this morning.

"Thank you," Fab added, twisting to look at Andra and Golda. "Truly. I do not know how to begin to thank you."

"Just you have a happy day," Andra told her, Golda still being a little in awe of the princess who had brought so much sunshine into Denerim palace in just a few short months. "And next time I see you, I shall be so proud to call you your majesty."

"I hope I shall always make you proud," the princess answered softly, laughing as the two maids, elf and human, scoffed at the thought that she could ever disappoint them.

She turned back to her father, smiling at the vague incredulity in his eyes - servants in Antiva were certainly not as plain-spoken or forthright as they were in Ferelden. But he said nothing to embarrass the two women, glancing up as the steward opened the door. Fab straightened her shoulders, taking her father's arm as they moved toward the doorway and the wide staircase beyond. The train spread across the floor behind her for several feet, drifting down the stairs in her wake with only the barest of tugs against the brooches that held it secure to her shoulders. It truly was a masterpiece of tailoring.

The hum of voices within the Great Hall rose as they reached the ground floor antechamber, where Ciara and Maria were waiting. By tradition, the little bridesmaid was carrying a basket of rose petals, clearly looking forward to covering the aisle to the dais in them as she lead the procession. They had already anticipated the natural fear Maria might feel in walking through the Great Hall first, hence the fact that Anora and Callista were going to be clearly visible along the aisle. Having a couple of familiar friendly faces to focus on as she passed by would keep Maria from feeling overwhelmed before she reached the dais and Alistair, and could find her seat next to Ceri in the front row.

The steward bowed to the King of Antiva and his daughter. "With your permission, your majesty?"

Fulgeno smiled. "Let us begin."

Beyond the doors, heralds blew their fanfare trumpets, announcing the arrival of the bride. Fabs could hear the rustle as men and women rose from their seats to look back at the doors swinging open to reveal little Maria, ward of the crown of Ferelden, all but skipping forward, tossing handfuls of her rose petals ahead of herself as the gentle tone of the mixed minstrel band played a familiar Andrastian hymn. Moments later, Ciara followed, but all eyes remained turned toward the open doors, and the princess who was soon to become a queen.

Nerves settled over the bride in a gentle rush, bright color flushing her cheeks. Her fingers tightened on her father's arm, softening only when he covered her clenching grip with his other hand. Her murmured apology was gently deflected with a squeeze of his hand and another gentle smile, a last nod before they began to walk forward, traversing the first few steps to the central aisle before turning to face the grand dais and the worthies awaiting them there.

The sunlight poured in through the high set windows, lancing down in sharp rays of soft gold over the rich blue of the carpet that adorned the aisle itself, illuminating the king and his daughter as he escorted her toward her new life. A wide circle of that same golden sunlight shone down on the honor guard that stood at the foot of the steps to the dais - Grey Wardens, there to honor their brother on this rare day for one of their order. She had met them all the day before - Kira Mahariel, a Dalish elf whose red hair blazed in the sunlight; Kallak Brosca, a fierce-looking dwarf with a surprisingly gentle manner; Eirlys Amell, a quiet human mage who seemed to radiate calm; Maeve Aeducan, a former princess among dwarves, her well-earned confidence shining through; Solona Amell, another human mage, a little more warily withdrawn than her comrades; and Demelza Tabris, bright grin shining, murmuring her orders to her fellow Wardens. In a single motion, weapons were drawn and raised high, an arch of blades for the bride to pass beneath in order to reach her groom, their brother in arms.

And there he was, her Alistair, resplendent in crimson velvet trimmed with gold, his eyes fixed to hers as she made her way toward him. Her nerves faded away, soothed by the smile that made his handsome face stunning and urged an answering smile from her, bright and warm and loving, heedless of anyone who saw how much she adored this man who was about to make her his wife. She barely even noticed the crown on his head, barely heard the murmur of the nobility behind her as she and her father reached the honor guard of Wardens.

How had it come to this? What had she done to be so blessed as to gain the love of a good man who needed her love almost more than he desired it? To be invited to share his life in a role he had not been born to, to be welcomed into his heart almost without thought? Yet no matter how unworthy she might feel, Fabs knew Alistair loved her. She could see it in the glimmer of his earthen eyes, in the tilt of his smile; feel it in the gentle tremor of his touch as he took her hand to lead her up onto the dais, in the warmth of the kiss he pressed to her knuckles as she released a little of her faded nerves in a soft giggle.

"You are so handsome, mi amor," she whispered to him, gratified to see him blush to the tips of his ears as he grinned in delight at the compliment.

"You beat me to it," was his whispered complaint. "I was supposed to tell you how handsome you are." He blinked, realizing what he had said. "Beautiful. You're beautiful, not ... Maker's breath, why did I have to becoming a raving idiot now?"

Swallowing down her laughter behind her smile, Fab leaned into him, squeezing his hand. "You are yourself, my darling," she murmured, as the hymn came to a close. "There is no one else I would rather stand here with."

His answering grin was all she needed to whisk away the last of those nerves, to know that this was where she was meant to be. Her whole world was in that smile, that beaming expression of incredulous, loving delight that she was standing with him and about to make vows that would bind them together for life, oblivious to the faces watching them, the indulgent smiles on the faces of friends and family, the quiet respect from allies, the unspoken resentment from those who had originally had other plans for their king.

"Are we ready?" a soft voice asked from nearby.

Fabs blushed a warm shade of rose as she tore her eyes from the king of her heart, embarrassed to belatedly realize she was keeping the Divine waiting. Surprised, too, to find the First of Clan Lavellan standing with Divine Victoria, but pleased at this inclusion. Leliana's smile was forgiving as the couple before her straightened their expressions, turning a little more to face the woman who would join them in the Maker's eyes.

Chuckling, Alistair squeezed his bride's hands, nodding to the old friend before him. "Ready and waiting."

Leliana beamed a benevolent smile, raising her hands. Fabs felt the full attention of the entire hall turn to them, and the woman who held the Chantry in the palm of her hand.

"Brothers and sisters, we are gathered here to witness the joining in marriage of two good hearts, an alliance of like minds in the formal bonds of love. Love is the gift of the Maker, a force that binds us despite our differences. You have come together today so that Andraste may seal and strengthen your love in the presence of the Maker. Andraste, who is herself the Bride of the Maker, shall strengthen you both, that you may assume the duties of marriage in mutual and lasting fidelity."

Namari Lavellan then spoke from the Divine's shoulder, the lilt of her voice carrying with ease to drown out the few grumbles from the mostly human gathering.

"A good marriage must be created," she told them, speaking only to Fabs and Alistair, despite the hall full of people. "It is standing together and facing the world. It is giving each other an atmosphere in which each can grow. It is not only marrying the right person - it is being the right partner. Love is a good beginning. The gods will smile upon it."

Fabs felt Alistair's pleasure at including a Dalish blessing in their wedding, and her own heart swelled with pride for the king who had simply asked a Dalish elf to bless his marriage, rather than asked for permission to do so from the many humans in his court who would have argued against it. Integration, racial and religious tolerance, an end to superficial division between peoples; these were all so close to his heart, a lesson learned in his few years as a Warden and brought over to his tenure as the King of Ferelden. No one within his borders need fear that their king did not care for them, no matter their race. It was simply one more reason to love the man beaming down at her in these moments, as the Divine's voice floated over their heads once again.

“In the name of the Maker, who brought us this world, and in whose name we say the Chant of Light, I offer the blessing of Andraste to this promised pair. As Andraste knew the love and duty of marriage to a mortal man, may you share in her faith and fidelity; and as she knew bliss as the Maker’s chosen Bride, may you, too, find joy in your union."

Before the eyes of the Fereldan nobility, as well as the unique guests invited from all walks of life, Divine Victoria took the hands of King Alistair Theirin and Princess Felicita Campana into her own grasp.

"Alistair, you have chosen to wed this woman in the eyes of mortal man. Will you swear by the Maker and Holy Andraste to honor her as your lawful wife, as long as you both shall live?”

Fabs let her gaze return to Alistair without even a moment of hesitation, unable to disguise her smile as he turned her hand in his grasp, pressing her palm over his heart. She could feel the steady beat within his chest, the way it thudded just a little faster as he drew in his breath to speak.

"I swear," he declared, "unto the Maker and Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days.”

Somewhere behind him, Fabs heard Maria let out a cheer, tilting her head to let the child see her laughing smile as she shushed herself in acute embarrassment at having broken the reverential silence. Ceri was chuckling as the little girl hid her face against the Kirkwaller's shoulder, the ripple of amusement sweeping through the hall quietly before Leliana raised her hands for silence.

"Felicita, you have chosen to wed this man in the eyes of mortal man. Will you swear by the Maker and Holy Andraste to honor him as your lawful husband, as long as you both shall live?”

What could she say? Fabs' heart was throbbing in her chest as she looked into Alistair's eyes, never more certain of anything in her life than she was of the decision she had made that had brought her to this moment in time. The official words felt strange and unwieldy in her mouth, but they were the only ones she could use in this time and space. There would be time enough for softer words ... a lifetime, in fact.

"I swear unto the Maker and Holy Andraste," she said, feeling her voice tremble in the ringing stillness around them, "to love this man for the rest of my days."

There was a pause as they held one another's gaze, knowing that there was a recitation looming that could easily become utterly unintelligible to anyone listening if they didn't concentrate. Fabs could feel herself trying not to giggle, though whether it was nerves or the sheer release of knowing that they were almost there urging that laughter to rise, she couldn't say. But she could see Alistair's eyes dancing, his lips twitching, and she knew he was having just as much trouble as she was staying composed. It was all so serious and solemn, a far cry from the couple they made away from the eyes of the masses.

Thank goodness for the Divine. Leliana squeezed their hands sharply, pulling Fabs, at least, back from the brink of embarrassing giggles, giving the couple their cue to complete their vows together.This, at least, had been rehearsed - these words spoken in tandem, clear and calm, in matching cadence.

"For You are the fire at the heart of the world; And comfort is only Yours to give."

At Alistair's back, Fergus stepped forward, offering a band of gold engraved with roses into his king's free hand as Leliana released her grip on the couple. Fabs swallowed, her smile flickering brightly in response to his as the cool metal found a home at her knuckle to the accompaniment of his own chosen words, taken from the Chant of Light itself.

"My hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours." And though they may have been the sacred words of the Chant, on Alistair's lips, in this moment, they belonged to him alone.

As his hands encompassed hers, pulling her closer, Fabs couldn't help the surge of soft delight, eager for what now would come. From the corner of her eye, she saw Divine Victoria raise her hands in benediction.

“I bear witness, in the name of the Maker, and Blessed Andraste, whom He loves, that these vows are binding and lawful,” Leliana declared, and in her tone was a challenge to everyone here present. If anyone dared to raise an objection to the marriage completed before them, they would have to go through the Divine to do it. "May no one seek to tear them down, for they are made in faith and love.”

She lowered her hands, and for a moment, all was still. Only the small group on the dais could hear the soft benediction spoken in indecipherable elvhen, calling down a blessing on a royal pair who truly wanted to take the danger out of the lives of their subjects. As Namari's voice died away, Leliana's smile brightened.

"Your majesty ... you may kiss your wife."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather do that for me?" Alistair asked with a playful glimmer, beaming as Divine Victoria spluttered out a very inappropriate laugh and had to turn away for a moment.

Fabs poked him with a low laugh, rolling her eyes as he chuckled. She felt his hands slide to her back beneath the hang of the train, her own curling her fingers to the soft velvet of his sleeves as he bent his head to hers. Smiling lips touched smiling lips, and she felt, more than heard, the sudden eruption of polite applause and dignified cheering in the hall. And beyond that, an echo from outside the palace itself, as the crowds in the square took up the sound of celebration with greater enthusiasm. The King was finally a married man. Very soon, they would meet their new Queen.

Alistair's lips moved as he gently drew back from their first married kiss, his breath warm against her mouth as he whispered, "I love you, Fabs."

She beamed up at him, certain she must be glowing with happiness. "Te amo, mi amor. My lord and king."

He groaned at that teasing addition to her own declaration, kissing the tip of her nose as she giggled. "Just you wait," he warned. "A whole day of wearing the crown is going to give you a headache as bad as mine used to be. You have to train your head not to feel it."

"Oh, I am very glad I shall have you to train me," she countered in amusement, watching as he realized he was preaching to the choir, somewhat. His expression of slow, sheepish comprehension was adorable.

"Princess," he said, nodding. "Right. You know about that."

"Only a little, my darling."

She leaned close to kiss his cheek, drawing in a slow breath. They were married. She was Alistair Theirin's wife; he was her husband. And in just a few moments ...

She glanced up at a scraping sound to her left. The coronation throne was being set down by a pair of guardsmen on the dais, in front of the traditional thrones themselves. Others were coming forward with velvet cushions on which were set the queen's ring and the newly crafted crown, and quite suddenly Fabs knew that this was real. In a matter of minutes, she would be Queen of Ferelden, crowned by her husband and raised to his rank, a ruler in her own right.

Alistair seemed to sense her moment of realization, squeezing her hand gently as he turned to lead her to the coronation throne. The Divine had stepped away, no longer an active part of this ceremony but simply a witness. Namari, too, had stepped down from the dais. The Grey Wardens stood at the foot of the dais, not subjects but willing witnesses to the crowning of a queen.

As she sat slowly on the uncomfortable throne, Fabs' gaze found Marguerite and Josephine in the crowd for the briefest of moments, biting down a laugh at the encouraging nods and smiles her friends threw toward her. She flicked a glance toward Maria, finding the little girl holding tight to Ceri and Ciara's hands, her expression intense as she watched Alistair pick up the ring from the purple cushion presented to him. Across the hall, the silence fell once more, all eyes turning to the crowning of a queen.

"Felicita," he intoned, and she knew in an instant that Anora had been rehearsing him for this. "Do you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Ferelden, regardless of race or creed, in accordance with the laws and statutes of this land? Will you, in your power, give justice and mercy to the supplicant in all judgments? And will you serve this land at my side, as wife and queen, and guiding hand?"

She raised her chin, looking out over the hall, still able to hear the jubilant cheers of the people gathered outside celebrating the marriage only just sealed with a kiss. The oath was solemn and binding, yet it was not a difficult oath to swear. She believed in Alistair's vision for his country, in the equality of all the races if they could possibly encourage it. It would be an honor to help guide Ferelden to a new era of prosperity and tolerance.

"I solemnly swear so to do."

She raised her right hand as he reached down, feeling the significantly heavier weight of the queen's royal signet ring find its resting place against the knuckle of her second finger - a weight she would have to grow accustomed to over the months and years to come. Alistair's callused fingers gripped hers for a moment, drawing her eyes to his in time to catch the reassuring flicker of his wink before he turned away once more to lift the crown above her head. A more delicate version of the king's crown, the surface dwarves of Ferelden had done themselves proud with the sparkling gold and exquisitely polished rubies that Alistair now held aloft.

"Felicita Theirin, in the name of the Maker and Andraste, before the Divine and the eyes of the court, I crown you Queen of Ferelden," the king declared, gently setting the crown onto the braid that looped her head and had been settled there just for that purpose.

He took her hand once more, raising her to her feet, bending to brush a tender kiss to her lips once more, wreathed in smiles. They had made it through the ceremonies. Now all that remained was the celebrations. With a last kiss to her forehead, Alistair turned to present Fabs to her new court. The herald's staff thumped on the flagstones, calling for a last moment of silence.

"All rise, and honor King Alistair and Queen Felicita of Ferelden. Long may they reign!"